The Stolen Throne

Perhaps this was what Queens did. Perhaps they held their Kings in the darkness, deep within their castles and allowed them that moment of weakness they could never show to anyone else. Perhaps they gave strength to their Kings, because everyone else only took it from them.

A bard must know history so she does not repeat it. She tells the tales but is never part of them. She watches but remains above what she sees. She inspires passions in others and rules her own.

Loghain shook his head in disbelief. "Maker's breath, man, aren't you suppose to have some dignity? Somewhere?" "Me? Dignity?" "Being the supposed future King and such." "I think Rowan took my dignity." She snorted derisively, folding her arms. "There was nothing else worth having.

They howled again, and Loghain raise his voice even further. 'Your prince is not here! But when he returns to us, we shall hand to him his stolen throne! Here at the River Dane is where the Dragon Age begins, my friends! Today they will hear us roar!

Really? It's no wonder you nearly froze to death the way you spend all your energy moving your mouth. Loghain Mac Tir

You are the light of my life and I believe in you.

Sometimes that which is most precious can be found where you would least expect to.

That's the claim. The Arl and the Prince, both killed at West Hill." she glanced at Maric, crooking one corner of her mouth in grim amusement. "Apparently your body was not distinguishable from those of regular Fereldan men and thus couldn't be found, according to the usurper." "Well that's just rude.

Well, it’s no wonder you nearly managed to freeze to death the way you spend all your energy moving your mouth.

I fall off horses," he explained to Loghain with a sickly grin. "It's this thing I do.