Somewhere along the Imperial Highway, Alistair broke off his laughter, for he swore he saw a dragon – or dragon-shaped thing – fly overhead. For a moment he considered saying something, but decided against it; no one else seemed to have noticed. If it had been the Archdemon, surely one of the older wardens would have sensed it. A few feet ahead and engaged in yet another argument with his king, Loghain briefly glanced up at the sky, uncertain of what he had just seen. With Cailan's voice resounding in his ears, he tried to shake his head clear, thinking they couldn't reach Ostagar too soon.
A little ways to the north, in Lothering, Leliana walked towards the Chantry, slowing her steps momentarily as she passed the irreversibly dead rosebush (why didn't someone just uproot the poor thing?), and as she waved a friendly hello to Ser Bryant she had the distinct impression that something very big flew by very fast, eastwards.
Zevran Aranai, Antivan Crow, was gathering his belongings and preparing to disembark at the port of Denerim, tightening the cords of his pack as though he could keep certain recent memories from tagging along, when a sudden gust of wind unbalanced him. Looking up, he thought he saw a dark shape, but further examination yielded nothing. He attributed it to the rotten weather – those miserable dark clouds hanging overhead all the time – and returned to the task at hand: finding Ignacio.
Duncan, having cut across country to reach Castle Cousland all the quicker, found himself ambushed by a small group of darkspawn. Quickly dispensing with them, and kicking the last one off the edge of the nearby cliff, he was too preoccupied with the devastation that the view to the south afforded to notice the quickly-moving shadow headed to the north.
In the training courtyard of the castle, Katherine Cousland, younger child of the Teyrn and Teyrna of Highever, was participating in what looked to be her last carefree sparring session for a while: Father and Fergus were departing for Ostagar soon, leaving her in charge of affairs at home; and Mother was having a friend (and, inevitably, said friend's son) visit for a few days. And Arl Howe was expected to arrive at any moment. Venting her frustration, particularly with the latter, on her unfortunate sparring partner, Katherine was momentarily distracted by something large travelling in the clouds above.
"Ha!" she heard, as she found herself squarely on her back. "I beat you soundly, my lady, not even ten minutes into the match. It promises to be an excellent week!" Rory teased. Smiling along with him as she got up, Katherine couldn't help but notice that her mabari, too, had his gaze turned skyward.
Oghren landed sprawled on his face as the doors of the palace slammed shut after him, the nobles and the army apparently having larger problems to deal with than another, this time rather violent, request for an expedition to find Branka. He picked himself up and found his way to Tapster's, where he ordered ale. But before he could take a swig, the entire city shook briefly, as though something unimaginably heavy had landed on the mountainside. A small pebble fell loose from the roof of the tavern, and splotched decisively in his mug. Oghren decided it was going to be one of those days.
In her room, Senior Enchanter Wynne was putting some finishing touches to her packing (lyrium, extra boots, and where in Thedas was that blasted Rose of Orlais?), while, for the hundredth time, First Enchanter Irving tried to talk her out of going to Ostagar and Knight-Commander Gregoir reminded her of her duty as a Circle mage, and to give to the templars any assistance they may need, and what to do if a mage gets out of control, and how to tell if a mage is possessed. Wynne shook her head good-humoredly, checking the shelves by the window for her book, and saw a dark streak outside. By the time she leaned out for a closer look, it was gone, and there was just Irving and Gregoir standing behind her, having lapsed into bickering as always.
Further down the coast of Lake Calenhad, the group of qunari warriors recently arrived to Ferelden made camp. Sten's temper was running short: the entire country smelled of wet dog, the people were impossible to figure out, and there was no sign of darkspawn. He rested against a large stone to polish Asala – that always helped to soothe him – but as he raised his whetting stone, he caught a glimpse of a large, dark shape in the greatsword's steel. Frowning, he scanned the skies, but there was nothing there except a few pigeons.
In Honnleath, village life went on as it ever had, which left the golem at its center wishing for something, anything, to break the dreadful monotony that had characterized the last … many, many years. Abrupt movement from above caught Shale's attention, and the golem immediately regretted its previous wish upon spying the indistinct but clearly winged form. I do not care how big it is, it had better not poop on me. For its own sake.
Having returned from her now daily scouting mission to the nearby ruins that her mother insisted upon, for she refused to sit about waiting from dawn till dusk for Grey Wardens to show up whenever it pleased them, Morrigan entered the hut only to find it empty, the stew left unattended over the fire yet once more. Sighing, she dropped her pack and walked over to the hearth and, after hearing a loud crash nearby, idly wondered what her mother had been up to this time.
And Flemeth, having resumed her human form, walked out of the trees surrounding her home, briefly wondering over certain curiosities – such as the inexplicable military inactivity that seemed to have settled over Redcliffe, peculiar for an arling ready to march to war – but altogether satisfied at the lay of the land.
Time was drawing near.