Every room they checked harbored corpses. Fergus' chamber proved no different.

He had been impaled. Viciously. His little body lay broken on the rug, blood outlining his corpse. Oriana lay feet away, one hand desperately outstretched, her body riddled with wounds, and her skirts bunched around her waist…

Eleanor screamed as her tears fell, but Charlotte could feel nothing. All the terror drained away as she stared into Oren's blank face. His blue, blue eyes were like glass. They saw nothing; not the blue sky of tomorrow, nor the reflection of the man he might have been. In her mind Charlotte heard his voice pipe the question, "When will you teach me, Auntie Charlotte?! When will you teach me to fight like you?"

And then: "Where do people go when they die, Auntie Charlotte?"

"They go to the stars."

"Mother."

Eleanor whimpered pathetically, her hands grasping at Oren's body.

"Mother," Charlotte murmured firmly. "We must go."

"B-but…B-but O-Oren…"

"He will be avenged, but only if we move."

This seemed to bring her back, and Eleanor rose, hiccupping and staring at her dead grandson. After a moment she gained some composure, and looked furiously into Charlotte's eyes. "Howe will pay for this!"

Charlotte nodded, unable to do or say more and, somewhere in the distance, thunder began to crack.


They ran through the apartments, fighting a few men on the way and dispatching them expediently. Before departing Fergus' chamber, Eleanor gave Charlotte the key to the treasury: "Retrieve the Cousland sword and, first chance you get, you severe Howe's treacherous head!"

The atrium had a slanted stone runway leading down to the main halls of the castle. Charlotte could see fires in the distance; the screams of earlier had grown more quiet and it made her sick to think of why. Thunder rolled in the sky above her, and lightening cracked like the strike of a god. Carefully, Charlotte traced her way down the slanted runway, Eleanor behind her with an arrow nocked and ready to fire.

As Charlotte reached mouth of the atrium's arch, she paused to get her bearings. The first patters of rain stained her hands and feet. She could feel herself shaking. Oren's glass-like eyes haunted her, the stain of his blood continuing to grow as a scream inside her chest. She tried to remember the cold she felt before so she could concentrate, but the rain was cleansing it away from her.

In the distance, men's shouts grew nearer. Charlotte shrank back, waiting to see if they appeared friend or foe. The rain began to pick up, hitting her in spatters through the atrium's open roof, and Charlotte waited.

One man tore around the corner, gasping and whimpering in fear, a small sword clutched in his hand. He was a servant; Charlotte could recognize him from his clothes. As he threw himself back against the wall to face his attackers, the hand that clutched his sword's hilt shook violently, and he held it without calculation in front of him as he used the other hand to trace his way along the wall.

Charlotte would have grabbed him, but she didn't want to incite his panic any further, and so she remained invisible in the shadows while the man panted and huddled with terror.

Out of the darkness an arrow whistled and struck the man in the chest. He jumped in surprise and gargled on his own blood as he tried to shout, before dropping harshly to the floor. Charlotte stared, eyes wide, as his eyes rolled back and he slumped over. Behind her, Eleanor hissed. Lightning struck, making Charlotte jump, and she saw in its blinding glory a tapestry flapping against the wind. On it was a depiction of Andraste rising from her ashes as her followers mourned on their knees. One hand she lovingly stretched out, her face a picture of forgiveness.

From one corner to the top slashed the darkest blood.


"GO!"

Eleanor nocked another arrow and covered her. Charlotte pushed through.

The man had tried to come at Charlotte with a mace, but she was fueled by rage and moved faster. One dagger planted itself to the hilt in his chest; as he arched back, she ripped the other across his neck, and his knees buckled onto the ground.

They kept running, killing one man after the other. Mastodon had somehow fought his way through and reached them with a torn ear. He growled and spat at an archer as Eleanor brought him down. The rain had gone and fires continued to burn, while thunder rolled above them, as if the Maker himself were raging at Howe's betrayal.

Charlotte reached the treasury, where she grabbed her family's sword and – at her mother's behest – a small sum of silvers, which Eleanor quickly stuffed in a small pouch and gave to her. Charlotte realized her mother wouldn't have known she was already running, but the Teyrna asked no questions, and they reached the main hall.

Ser Gilmore and what was left of his men were fighting. Charlotte dove into the fray, screaming, while Eleanor shouted something unintelligible and fired her bow. Once Howe's men were cornered, Ser Gilmore and his men killed them, rushing to secure the front doors.

"My lady!" Ser Gilmore bellowed, galloping to the Teyrna in relief. "You are alive! Thank the Maker."

Eleanor's eyes gleamed with rage and grief, "Thank you, Ser Gilmore. Have you seen my husband?"

Ser Gilmore's face grew troubled, "He was injured my lady. That Grey Warden, Duncan, took him out of the fray. I fear… he was badly wounded."

Eleanor's expression contorted with worry, "Where did the Grey Warden take him?"

Ser Gilmore tried to look reassuring, but struggled as he clutched a wound at his side, his face pale and dirty from the soot of the fires. "To the servant's exit in the larder, My Lady. Please, you must go there."

Eleanor nodded, grabbing Charlotte by the arm. "Thank you, Ser Gilmore, may the Maker watch over you."

He nodded and ran back to his men, shouting orders. "Come on Darling, we must hurry."


Every room had been in disarray; a few dead bodies littered the floors alongside broken crates, overturned furniture, and books that had been ripped to shreds. Her tutor, Old Aldous, had been murdered, along with Nan in the kitchen. And when Charlotte pushed the door to the larder, she somehow knew what she would find behind it.

And yet, the horror of it was no less than the worse she could have expected.

Bryce Cousland lay on the dirt floor, bloodied and white, one hand holding his side together where he had been viciously slashed by Howe's men.

"BRYCE!" Eleanor rushed to him, terrified he was already dead. Charlotte followed.

"Eleanor? Eleanor! Pup! Oh, thank the Maker you're alive!"

Bryce tried to sit up, but his face twisted with pain, and he slipped back down. Mastodon began barking and Charlotte grabbed his collar to restrain him.

"Don't tax yourself! You've been wounded! What happened?"

Charlotte heard her mother's words from a distance. Clutched in her father's opposite hand was a piece of crumpled parchment. It looked horribly familiar.

"I… found… a letter. From Charlotte. Running away…"

Eleanor shook her head in confusion, "No, Bryce! She's right here."

Charlotte couldn't breathe.

Bryce tried again, "I went… to check on Charlotte. There was a letter. Said she was… running away. Went to the front to find her. Howe's men were there." He coughed, and blood spattered generously onto the ground.

Eleanor turned her tear-stained face to her daughter, her expression bewildered. "Charlotte?"

Charlotte could say nothing. Her eyes were wide with something unspeakable as she absorbed what her father had said.

He had been looking for her.

And that was how that traitor's men had found him.

Because of her, Father was dead.

"Charlotte!" Eleanor's tears fell freely, but her voice was strong and clear. "Explain this!"

Bryce reached out and grasped his wife's hand, "It is… unimportant. Thank the… Maker… you are safe."

Charlotte could barely speak. "Father…" she whispered, her expression still frozen.

Bryce tried to smile through his pain as Eleanor sobbed. He transferred his grasp to Charlotte, discarding the parchment from his hand. "I understand, Charlotte. You… came back. Thank you."

Eleanor ripped the parchment into her hands and read it with increasing horror. Charlotte focused on Bryce only, willing him to live with all her might.

"This is… how could you!"

"Eleanor…" Bryce interrupted wearily, "It does not matter; you are safe now."

Casting the parchment aside, Eleanor stroked his face. "But you are not! You must come with us through the servant's exit. We must find you healing magic!"

Bryce shook his head, wincing, still clutching his side. "I fear… I will not survive… the standing up…"

"No father," Charlotte insisted thickly, trying to hold back her tears. "You are strong. You're going to be fine. We'll help you." Mastodon whined in agreement.

Sighing heavily, Bryce shook his head once more. "Oh Pup… if only willing it… made it so."

Losing strength, Bryce fell over, grunting with pain and Eleanor cried out. "Bryce!" The air filled with more of Mastodon's concerned yipping.

"No… no, you must go on… without me. We are surrounded…"

"We're not going without you! There must be a way!"

"My lady."

Everyone turned as Duncan entered, blockading the door behind him. "We are fortunate in that Howe's men have not yet discovered this exit. Your husband is indeed correct when he says that we are surrounded." Grimly, Duncan nodded his respects to Charlotte's mother, "And I am afraid your husband is not strong enough to make it."

"Duncan," Bryce breathed. "Thank you."

Outraged, Eleanor turned to the grizzled Grey Warden. "For what! You failed to save my husband's life!"

Duncan bowed his head in shame, "It is my deepest regret that I was unable to reach him sooner."

"No! … No, without… Duncan…. I…" The Teyrn slumped over.

Charlotte cradled Bryce before he could fall again, "Careful, Father. You must rest!"

"Please, Teyrn, do not tax yourself to defend me. Your wife has every right to be disturbed."

Bryce turned to Eleanor, who mewled helplessly as she stared into his face. "Oren… did you find…"

At this, Eleanor's tears seemed to evaporate. She shook in her fury.

"They killed them, Bryce." Her voice wavered with strain. "Oren and Oriana both."

If it were possible, Bryce paled even further. "No!" he gasped. Charlotte clutched him closer, trying to keep him together, grasping his arm until her knuckles went white.

Outside, a fresh cacophony of sound reached them: the crumbling of the gates. Howe's men had finally breached them.

Bending on one knee, Duncan spoke urgently, "My lordship, we must leave now. I can take your wife and daughter from the Teyrnir, get them to safety."

Bryce nodded painfully, "I am forever in your debt. I can never repay you."

"Father, we are not going without you!" Charlotte's tears began to fall; she fought against them so they would not detract from her cause. Bryce smiled sadly and touched the face of his spirited girl.

"You must… go without me… You must… tell Fergus…" The Teyrn inhaled sharply, clutching his side, blood seeping out between his fingers.

"No, say no more." Eleanor took him from Charlotte, wrapping her thin arms about him protectively.

In the quiet of the larder, Charlotte could already hear them pillaging. There were the sounds of more men dying; the last of those who had tried to hold Howe's men off. Mastodon was growling; his strong body curled in as he circled the larder and watched over them.

"Darling," Eleanor pulled Charlotte back into the moment. Her face was streaked with tears. "Charlotte, you must go."

Her words dropped into place, echoing in Charlotte's ears. "I? Mother?"

Looking down into her dying husband's face, the Teyrna stroked away his protests and smiled through fresh tears. "It is the only way. I will not leave you – in life or beyond. I am staying." To Charlotte, she urgently persuaded, grabbing one of her hands. "I will shoot any bastard that comes through here. Give you more time."

Horrified, Charlotte retorted, "I will not leave without you!"

The sounds of cracking and crashing grew closer.

Reluctantly, Duncan touched the young woman's shoulder. "We must go, my lady, or all our lives will be forfeit." Eleanor nodded, once again pulling Charlotte's hand closer. "Live – tell Fergus what transpired here. Carry on the Cousland name. For me and for your father."

Charlotte stared with incomprehension, but there was no time. And there was still one condition.

"Teyrn," Duncan bent to look in Bryce's eyes. They fluttered open with effort; he did not have much longer. "There is one thing I must ask of you. One way you can pay not me, but all of Ferelden."

"Anything," Bryce whispered.

Duncan nodded, "What we see here tonight pales in comparison with the hordes rising in the South. I came here searching for a recruit; the darkspawn threat demands that I leave with one."

Charlotte could hardly believe her ears, "What?"

Bryce and Eleanor stared at their only daughter, neither of them wishing to assign her this fate. But Duncan was their only answer, her way out of this mess, and they could not deny him.

"You… you have my permission." Bryce coughed from the effort.

Nodding once more, Duncan rose from his knees and offered a kindness, "Say goodbye. We must leave." He moved to further barricade the door, allowing them some privacy.

Shaking, Charlotte shook her head. It was too much. "Go, Darling," Eleanor murmured, helping her up. "We love you. We will always love you."

"No, Mother-"

Cool hands cupped her face, "You will make us proud. I love you."

Eleanor kissed her and passed her to Duncan and, before she could protest further, he swept her through the servant's exit, Mastodon following closely behind them. Realizing what this meant, Charlotte turned back, "WAIT-"

The door clacked shut. Charlotte plummeted into darkness; all that was left to answer her was silence.