“You know what I mean,” Maric snapped. He looked like he was trying to hold back enraged tears. “Maker’s breath! Why did you come after me? Why?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Loghain scoffed. “You’re the last of the royal blood.”
“I don’t want to hear that anymore,” Maric sighed in exasperation. “This isn’t about putting the blood of Calenhad on the throne. This is about getting that Orlesian bastard off it. Because if he was a good king for Ferelden, none of this would matter.”
Rowan shook her head. “I think you—”
“No,” he interrupted her. “I know exactly what I’m saying.” He stared hard at Loghain. “Loghain, if you hadn’t come after me, you might have made a difference in that battle. At the very least, you might have gotten more of them out alive.”
Loghain did not meet Maric’s stare, instead frowning into his steepled hands. He said nothing.
Maric sighed deeply and shook his head, his anger evaporating. “You both saved me, and while I’m grateful . . . you have to be prepared to let me go. My mother died. I could die. I would rather die than have the blood of all those men on my hands.”
“You’re insane,” Rowan snapped. “Their blood is not on your hands.”
“If you both had been where you were supposed to be, maybe we might have won. Maybe you could have pulled your men out in time, and you would be in Gwaren right now.”
“I suppose we’ll never know, will we?” Rowan stood up and glared at Maric. “Quit being such a damned idealist. We’re struggling just to survive—have you forgotten?” She walked up to him and pushed his chest, hard. Maric stumbled back into the lean-to and almost knocked it over, barely keeping his feet. He righted himself and stared back at her, more in indignation than in anger.
“I’m sorry you feel guilty that we came after you,” she continued, “but you’re important. Those men would all have willingly laid their lives down for you, had we told them what was at stake. That’s why they were there!”
“I was responsible for them!” he insisted. “Just like you were!”
“We’re responsible for you! You’re the bloody Prince!”
“And this is my command!” he shouted stubbornly.
The stood there, staring at each other, the fire popping loudly in the wind. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to kiss him. How very noble he could be, yet at the same time, how very stupid he could be as well. Did he really think she could just abandon him when there was anything she could do about it?
Loghain continued to stare into the fire thoughtfully. “Maybe you have a point, Maric, but there’s no point in fighting over it now. We’re not leading anything at the moment.”
Maric looked over at him. “But when we are . . .”
Loghain glanced up at Maric, eyes intense in the firelight. “Next time, I don’t come to your rescue. You’re on your own.” Something significant passed between the two of them. Rowan could see it, but she couldn’t understand it. Still, Maric seemed pleased by it.
He turned and looked at her next, apparently expecting her to agree with Loghain. She stood there and let him look at her, feeling nothing but rage building up inside her. “Is this a command, then?” she asked, acid dripping from her voice. “A royal command from Prince Maric to one of his commanders?”
Maric set his jaw. “I’m only asking for a promise.”
She slapped him. The crack of the blow sounded in the quiet, his head snapping back. He rubbed his cheek, confusion and hurt in his eyes. Loghain made no comment, only his eyebrows shooting up. “I’d rather the command,” she said icily.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled pitifully. He stumbled backwards and turned to sit back down on the log, his shoulders slumping dejectedly. “I just . . . I suppose this must seem very ungrateful of me.”
She fought the urge to feel sorry for him, to pat him on the shoulders and tell him it would be all right. “Somewhat, yes,” she commented.
Maric looked up at her, his eyes moist. “Your father is dead. You made a huge sacrifice to come and find me. I understand, I just can’t help but think of them all. They were there because of me.”
Rowan sat down stiffly, saying nothing.
“My father once led the outlaw camp too near a nest of blight wolves,” Loghain said softly. “He knew they were there, but took us anyway because the other direction led us to the law. We lost fourteen people, six of them children.” He grimaced at the memory. “My father was . . . upset. He wanted everyone to stop looking to him for guidance. Sister Ailis told him that she would rather have a leader who found it difficult to lead than one who found it easy.”
He reached across the fire and patted Maric reassuringly on the shoulder, in the awkward manner of one who was completely unfamiliar with such gestures. Maric stared at Loghain in astonishment. “Wow, you’re pretty good at that,” he chuckled.
“Shut up.” Loghain grimaced.
“I agree with Maric.” Rowan smiled grimly. “Console me, now.”
“You know”—he looked at her with complete seriousness—“the Arl may not be dead. Maric isn’t dead. Just because the dwarf told you there’s a head in front of the palace doesn’t mean it has to be your father’s.”
She was surprised by his answer and fought to hold back sudden tears. “You are good at that,” she muttered, her voice thick. “But if the usurper was so prepared to lie, why not just put a second head in front of the palace and say it is Maric’s?”
“There might not be any head.”
She shrugged. “I hope you’re right.” She didn’t believe it, however.
The three of them sat there in front of the fire, watching it slowly begin to dwindle in strength. Maric huddled in his shirt, shivering. They shared a sense of exhaustion that left them hollow and empty.
“I guess we should decide what to do,” Maric finally announced with a deep sigh. “We’re bad at this, aren’t we?”
“Perhaps the army is better off without us?” Loghain suggested, amused.
“Better off without Maric, maybe,” Rowan commented.
“Ow!” Maric chuckled. “I felt that! I’ll remind you both that it was your idea to save me. I would have been fine killing those . . . six soldiers? Were there six?”
“Try eight,” Rowan said dryly.
“Try eleven,” Loghain corrected. “The three Katriel killed.”
Rowan rolled her eyes. “Ah, yes. Let’s not forget her.”
“I thought I was just seeing double.” Maric smiled. Then he looked at Rowan queerly. “You slapped me.”
“Would you like me to do it again?”
“Why did you slap me?”
Loghain cleared his throat to get their attention. “We were deciding what to do,” he reminded them. “I think the only thing we can do is try to find a route through the Brecilian Forest. If we can reach it, that is.”
Maric nodded glumly. “Do we have any other choice?”
“Actually you do,” came Katriel’s quiet voice as she returned to the camp. She carried the rabbits, freshly skinned, as well as a small bundle of wood and sticks under one arm. Maric stood to help relieve her burden, and she immediately crouched down to restore the fire.
Loghain waited patiently, watching her work, until finally he couldn’t wait any longer. “We have another choice? You heard us speaking, I take it?”
“Half the countryside could hear the three of you, ser. I was not trying to, but I heard most of it from the stream.” She dug around with the new wood, and the flames roared back to life, the moist bark hissing and popping violently as it began to blacken. “And yes, you have another option.”