But in return what he got was an angry Dwarven princess, favoured heir to the throne, seemingly emotionless as she made one cutting decision after another. There is no way to be sure, she'd said in Kinloch. He's an abomination, she'd echoed in Redcliffe. Death followed her, treaties answered to the letter, and none could say that she wasn't a cunning commander. But there in the Landsmeet, she had conscripted Loghain and called Alistair a child for being hurt by her gesture, had turned her back, and he had left the country that had been one of a faint few loyalties he'd held dear.

It left Alistair's face wet with tears, his strength leaving him in favour of falling to his knees. Maker but he wished what he'd seen had been real. The good Warden striding forward, finding his place before the people, saving the innocent instead of cutting losses...

"Maker damn it all," he half-sobbed, throat tight on the words.