Loghain held his hands up in the air, palms outward. "I know you," he said slowly. "You were there when we killed that prince."

"And I know you, Loghain Mac Tir. It took me awhile, but I remembered. I tried to kill you years ago. You slaughtered my teammates."

"Too bad I missed you. What do you want?"

"What do I want? I want to fulfill the contract on your head and become famous. And I want that mirror. Looks like it could be worth quite a bit of gold. You certainly went to enough trouble to find it. I've been following you for weeks."

"I'll admit it: you're good. I knew someone was following us, but I couldn't catch you," Loghain said. "It would seem you've got the upper hand, Ser. Tell me what to do and I'll do it. Just please don't hurt the girl."

"Take off your weapons and throw them to the side."

Loghain removed his sword and shield and tossed them aside, then did the same with his belt knife and boot knives. "All right. I'm unarmed."

"Good. Now your friend. Take off your weapons and toss them to the side."

Maric did as bidden.

"Now both of you, lie down on the ground with your hands over your heads."

Both Loghain and Maric lay down on their stomachs. "All right. You've got me now; let the others go," Loghain said.

"Of course. But carefully. Don't anybody move." The Crow walked Githa up until they were alongside where Loghain lay. He chuckled grimly. "Nothing personal, my darling. It is simply wisest to kill the mages first."

He slit Githa's throat. She fell beside Loghain in a bloody heap. The Crow dived down and thrust his dagger into Loghain's back in almost the same movement. But even as he did that, Loghain rose to meet the blade, with a roar of pure animal rage. He paid no heed to the dagger in his back, and grabbed the assassin by the throat. He snapped the man's head around, and broke his neck. The Crow fell bonelessly.

"Githa. Githa!"

He picked her up. Her dark brown eyes gazed back at him sightlessly. He wept over her body.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me."

"Loghain." It was Maric. His voice was urgent. "Loghain, you have a knife in your back."

"Leave me alone, Maric," he burst out.

"You need healing. Hold still, I'm just going to…" He yanked the blade out of Loghain's back, pulled a poultice out of his pack and pressed it hard to the gushing wound. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about Githa, Loghain. I'm sorry."

Loghain wept and rocked Githa's lifeless body back and forth in his arms while Maric frantically tried to heal his wound.

Maric wiped the sweat from his brow. "That was close. I thought you were a goner there for a minute. It's knitting."

There was a strange sound from the back of the cavern, a sort of stony squall. Maric looked up, then he stood. He backed away to where his sword lay and grabbed it.

"Er, Loghain? I know you must be feeling very sad now, and probably quite angry as well, and I'd appreciate it very much if you'd expend some of the violence of your feelings against this…thing…that's approaching. It has…legs."

Loghain looked up. Through his tears he saw a strange, sticklike creature, larger than a cart horse, approaching cautiously on six spindly legs. He lowered Githa's body to the ground and rolled to grab his sword and shield.

The creature attacked, running forward on its long spindle legs. Loghain launched himself at one of them and held on tight. The creature tried to shake him off, which gave Maric time to run underneath and stab at the creature's body. Its hide was tough as stone.

"I don't think we're going to be able to kill this thing, Loghain!" Maric shouted as his blade clanged of the monster's body.

"The hell we're not!" Loghain said, and carefully began to climb up the varterral's leg. It was hard going, like climbing a moving tree, but he worked his way up a few inches at a time until he was able to climb onto the creature's back. "Aim for the neck, Maric. The neck!"

"Oh, I see what you're up to," Maric said, and began slashing at the thin join between the creature's head and body. Once both of them began furiously hacking away at that small space, it was only a matter of effort before the varterral's head came bouncing off. It was difficult, and Maric got badly stomped several times, but eventually the creature fell, headless.

"Ouch," Maric said, when it was over. He checked his bruises gingerly. "Well, I guess I'll live, though it doesn't feel much like it at the moment."

"I am so pleased to hear that, Maric," Loghain said. Maric looked at him, for the words were sarcastic, but Loghain wasn't looking at him. His eyes were riveted on the bloodied form of Githa.

"I'm sorry, Loghain. I wished for better, for both of you."

"Well it doesn't get much worse, does it? Not for Githa, at any rate."

"I don't know what comes next, if anything, but I'm sure that wherever she is now, there's no templars. She's free."

"She's dead, Maric."

Maric shuffled on the spot for a few moments, and then sighed. "I'm sorry. It may seem callous, but I've still got a job to finish," he said. He walked up to the mirror, cut his thumb, and smeared his blood on the glass at the four corners. "Blood of the dragon to waken it," Maric said to himself. There was a humming sound, and then a purple glow suffused the glass. Loghain watched warily.

"I see something," Maric said. "It's…a green place with trees, and I see buildings - people. Elves, I think. How strange."

He reached out to touch the glass. "Maric, don't," Loghain shouted, but too late. When his hand touched the cool surface it went right through it, and the rest of him followed right after. The purple glow faded. Maric was gone.

Loghain ran to the mirror. It reflected nothing, as before. "Give him back, gods damn you!" he shouted, and raised his fist to smash the glass.

"If you break it, you'll never see him again," a voice said. He spun and saw the marsh witch, big as life, standing at the entrance to the cavern.

"Well, you get around, don't you?" he said. "What are you doing here?"

"That is my business," the witch said. "My business is complete, now, so if you are set on it by all means, go ahead and destroy the mirror. It is of no further use to me now. I've gotten what I came for. I'm just letting you know the consequences of such action. With no mirror, there's no way for your friend to return to this place, if he is ever able."

"So that was what you were after? Sending Maric off to Maker knows where, a place from which there is no return? Is it?"

"No, I was only after the power the mirror expels when it is activated. I never told your friend to touch the damned thing; what happened here was his doing entirely. Though not, I confess, entirely unexpected. He is so very impulsive, after all."

Loghain fell to his knees. "He's dead, isn't he? I'll never see him again."

"The world he is in now is a strange and dangerous place, but no more so than Thedas. Still, I should think it unlikely that he'll survive. Without you and without me to protect him, he is quite vulnerable. One might almost say foolhardy. And the way back is more difficult than the way forward, as is often the case."

"He's gone. I've failed him. I failed everyone." Loghain reached for his belt knife and held it to his throat.

"You're not going to do it," the witch said, derisively.

"Why shouldn't I? There's nothing left."

"Because if you do, who will bury your woman?" the witch said, and this time her voice was almost gentle. "You might not mind rotting in some underground cavern, but she deserves better, doesn't she?"

He dropped the knife. "You're right."

"And after that you will find other reasons to go on. After all, with Maric gone, that idiot son of his is King, isn't he? Your daughter may not be enough on her own to keep him from destroying everything you hold dear. He has some fanciful ideas, doesn't he? Like the idea that Ferelden and Orlais can join hands as brothers."

She watched his shoulders tense with agitation and smiled thinly. "Remember that rage is a terrible thing: sometimes it burns so hot it destroys what we love the most. Life has never been easy for you, and it gets no easier. You have my pity, Loghain Mac Tir. I know such is worth little to you, but take it, along with my sympathy. Ha ha ha."

When he looked up next, the witch was gone. He sat where he was for a long time after, and stared at his hands in his lap. Then he climbed to his feet, gathered Githa's body in his arms, and carried her out of the ruin to the bright sunshine outside. He found a quiet spot, took the camp shovel, and dug her a grave. He would not take her back to the city and hand her over to the Chantry to be disposed of in the manner deemed "appropriate" for mages, which was probably something on the order of being dumped in the river.

When the hole was shoulder deep he climbed out and wrapped her body in the canvas of the tent. He held her hands one last time before folding them away forever in the fabric, and kissed her cold lips.

"I'm so sorry, my dear."

He buried her in the earth and found a young sapling. He carefully dug out the roots and transplanted it on the grave, and watered it with a few more tears as he knelt to kiss the freshly-tilled earth where she lay. He would have to go back to the city soon, and wait for the ship to come back on its regular rounds so it could take him home again, and he would have to wake up each morning and trudge through every day somehow, and live with his failure.

The End

A/N: Not the ending I'm sure most of you were hoping for, but the story isn't really over. It continues in Dragon Age: Origins and plays out still further in "The Return." The former you've presumably already played at least a dozen times or you wouldn't have bothered reading this story, and the latter can be found in my list of stories written. For those who are disappointed that Githa died, take heart. She may be reincarnated yet. She is my Mage Hawke build and I'm considering using her for this Hawke/Loghain team-up idea I've been toying with for some time.