#eamon gettin his ass handed to him

[allisondraste]

Justice

Word Count: 2003

Pairing: Alistair X F!Amell

Other Characters: Loghain and Anora Mac Tir, Eamon Guerrin

Summary: The Landsmeet does not go as Alistair hopes, and a can of worms is opened for all the bannorn to see. Thank goodness there’s no real darkspawn threat right?

AO3 link for peeps who prefer that format. 

“You have some of Maric in you after all,” Loghain admitted as he bowed his head, conceding defeat to the furious Alistair who stood before him, sword held high above his head prepared to execute him on the spot.

Alistair closed his eyes and swung down forcefully, startled when he felt his sword strike something hard and metal, a clank and a swish as steel met steel. Had the traitor decided to continue fighting after all? He reared back preparing to strike again, only to open his eyes and see Lucia, of all people, standing between him and his intended target, her own runed sword in her hand, sparks of lightning jumping from it in every direction. For the first time ever, he wished she was just an ordinary, staff-wielding mage.

She glared at him beneath furrowed brows, her eyes saying everything her mouth did not. It was almost as if she expected him to show mercy. After all the suffering they had withstood because of this man, she still did not think he deserved to die. Alistair disagreed.

“Move,” he growled, commanded even, his own voice burning in his throat. This man was responsible for Duncan’s death, for the rest of the Wardens’ deaths! Alistair has every right to kill him. He was right.

“Alistair.” His name was like a question on her lips, as if she did not quite recognize him. Her sad eyes glittered fiercely at him, in what could only be described as disappointment.

“You can’t ask me to spare him.” His voice was calmer now, but cooler than he knew he could be. “You can’t.” His knuckles were white against the hilt of his sword and he was trembling. Sweat beaded on his forehead as his chest tightened like a vice.

“And you can’t ask me to stand by and watch as you bloody your hands for no reason.” Lucia wedged her way further between Alistair and the defeated Teyrn kneeling on the floor, his daughter now at his side. “This is not who you are. This is not how we do things.”

“He would have had us killed were the tables turned,” he said, his words desperate, “He’s already tried to have us killed multiple times, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I haven’t forgotten. I just thought we were better than that.” Lucia’s voice and eyes softened. “I thought you were better than that.”

“Yeah, well maybe I’m not,” he spat. Had he not been so angry, he would have immediately regretted his tone. “Duncan and the others deserve justice. King Cailan deserves justice.”

“Revenge isn’t justice, Alistair, and you know it.” She reached out to touch him and he jerked away, his heart sinking at the hurt look on her face. “Killing Loghain here, in front of the Landsmeet, in front of his daughter, won't bring them back.

“If you really want justice for Duncan and Cailan, then let’s end these petty politics and kill the darkspawn who are actually responsible. Unless, of course, you’d rather continue this tantrum.”

“Tantrum? Tantrum? Is that what you think this is?” There were miles between them now, despite standing close enough that Alistair could feel her breath. “You know what, Luce? Let the Teyrn help you with the Archdemon.” He threw his sword to the ground at their feet and stormed out of the throne room, the eyes of every noble in the bannorn searing into his back.

As Alistair left, the room fell silent, only hushed murmurs from the galleries remained as arls and arlessas watched the theatrics in bewilderment. Heat rushed to Lucia’s face as eyes turned to stare at her. Damn him. Damn herself too, for that matter.

Her words had been unfair. Alistair blamed Loghain because he needed to. He needed to believe that Duncan’s death had not simply been the casualty of a battle that nobody was prepared for. There were so many unexpected obstacles that night at Ostagar, it was difficult to say if Loghain’s men could have made any difference at all. Of course, the Teyrn had taken some reprehensible actions against the Wardens and elves in the Alienage, but the Hero of Riverdane, the late King Maric’s most trusted advisor, could not be completely terrible.

Her stomach lurched as she looked to Anora for a response. Eamon spoke, instead, “Look what you have done, child.” His voice was condescending, and he turned up his nose at her, threading fingers through his coarse beard.

“With all due respect, Arl Eamon,” Anora said with dignity as she stood and straightened out her skirts, “Shut up.” Her icy blue eyes pierced him, so much like her father’s. Loghain beamed slightly, a soft expression Lucia had yet to see from him. “You have done quite enough.”

“Your Majesty.” Lucia bowed her head reverently, fear creeping in the back of her mind. Would Anora take action against the Wardens, or worse, against Alistair for being so insistent that her father die? “I’m sorry for -.”

She stopped as Anora glided more closely to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, her eyes glossed with tears. It was a look of gratitude and understanding that words could not have conveyed. She squeezed Lucia’s shoulder slightly before bringing her hand to her side. Her eyes steeled.

“Guards,” she ordered as she turned her head to one of the captains that stood behind her. Lucia cringed waiting to hear the words she dreaded, waiting for Anora to order Alistair found and brought back to the castle. He was a threat to her rule after all.

“Take my father to the dungeons,” Anora continued, a pained expression crossing her face as she said the words. “I am grateful his life was spared, but his crimes against Ferelden cannot go unpunished.”

Lucia brought her hands to her mouth in shock, watching Loghain kiss his daughter on the cheek as the guards took him away. There was still pride in his eyes. In that moment, she knew her decision to spare the Teyrn had been the right one. Whatever rift she created between Alistair and herself, she had done the right thing.

“You cannot possibly think this is a good decision warden,” Eamon protested, his voice cracking, “Leaving the usurper alive and his daughter on the throne.”

“And it would have been a better decision to let you blackmail and manipulate Alistair so that he would rule when it is the furthest thing from what he wants.” Lucia postured, crossing her arms.

“It doesn’t matter what the boy wants.” Eamon was furious now. “It is what’s best for him, what’s best for Ferelden.

“Do tell me what is best for Alistair,” Lucia retorted dryly, her words like daggers. “I’m so eager to hear about concern from the man who made him sleep in the kennels growing up.” There was a gasp from the galleries. “You’ve never cared about Alistair in any capacity except for his connection to the throne.”

The hall fell silent and Anora looked between Lucia and the arl in dismay. Eamon looked away and scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably, and Lucia looked down at the dark, stone floor.

“Is this true?” Anora’s words were cold.

“You have to understand, th-,” Eamon attempted to plea in his own defense.

“I believe I understand quite clearly,” She cut him off with a wave of the hand, “You are fortunate that King Maric never learned of your abuse. I want you out. Teagan will take over your estate.”

“Out? Of Ferelden? Anora, you can’t be serious.” The man was reeling, his voice pitched and shaky. “It happened years ago. He’s a man now.”

“You betrayed the trust of the King! Treason, a crime punishable by death. I should think my offer of exile is much more lenient.”

Eamon growled and stormed out, scowling at Lucia as he did so. The crowds in the galleries cheered as Anora made her rallying speech to the Landsmeet. Lucia stayed and mingled for a bit after all of the excitement, but eventually ducked out through one of the doors at the side of the room. As much as she knew she should be there, she was emotionally exhausted and felt her resolve wearing away. She could have broken at any moment.

She hurried out of the palace, toward the Guerrin estate. She slowed as she navigated the hallways as reached her guest quarters, the room she and Alistair had shared just the night before. She entered swiftly, shutting the door behind her and breathing deeply as she pressed her back against the cool, rough wood. She startled when she opened her eyes. She had thought she would be alone.

Alistair leaned against the bedpost, staring into the torch that burned dimly in the sconce on the wall. He turned slightly when he heard her enter, watching her breathe and jump when she noticed his presence. He smiled, half heartedly before he looked back at the torch. It was easier than looking in Lucia’s eyes.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be here,” she muttered with a shaky voice. Her typically stoic face was filled with emotion. She was raw, and it was obvious.

“Neither was I,” he admitted with a sigh. He shuffled his feet and looked down at the floor before looking up at her. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Normally it would be impossible to resist the urge to take her into his arms to soothe her, but not today. Today, she was his enemy.

“Then why?” She stepped forward, fists clenched at her side. “Did you come to say goodbye? Because that’s really not necessary.”

“About a half hour ago, my answer to that question would have been yes,” he explained with a bitter laugh, “I rushed down here to pack up my things. I was going to leave and you could deal with the Blight yourself.” He shifted uncomfortably and took a deep breath.

“Then why are you still here?” Her question was filled with a hurt so tangible it hung in the room like fog. “What changed your mind?”

“You’re not going to believe this, but... it was Morrigan.” Another bitter laugh. “She told me I was a ‘foolish child’ and that if I let you go over something as ‘idiotic’ as ‘not getting my way,’ I would regret it for the rest of my life.”

“She’s said things like that to you before.” Lucia crossed her arms the way she always did when she was bracing herself for bad news. “Why listen to her now?”

“Because this time, she was right.” He stood up from his casual lean and paced around a bit before approaching Lucia and taking her hands in his. “Luce, we’re going to battle an Archdemon tomorrow. I could die, you could die. We both could. Who knows? In any case, I don’t want to go into that battle with any doubt in the air that I love you.”

“Alistair-.”

“I am furious with you, more furious than I have ever been with you. And, honestly I don’t know how long it will take for me to stop being so angry.” He held back his tears as he spoke, his chest burning from the strain. “But I can’t handle the thought of being without you. Not now. Not ever.”

Lucia released and anguished sob, and he relented, pulling her into him and kissing her hair. She trembled under his touch, her hands clinging tightly to his shirt.

“I thought I lost you,” she cried into his chest, her words muffled.

“As it turns out,” he laughed, tightening the embrace “I don’t think you could.”

They stood holding each other in the dim light, the torch slowly dying. They would discuss the details of the Landsmeet later, and the would work through it. Alistair had no doubt. But for now, it was enough to be angry together. It was enough to share rough, ragged kisses, so unlike their usual tenderness. Still being together, despite it all, was enough.