It had been, how long since he had last been to this place? Four…five years? Longer? Had Oren even been here? He could not be certain, and he found that now it did not matter.

There were memories here, to be certain. But, he found it far easier to face those that lurked within these halls than he would…elsewhere. Absentmindedly, he brushed a hand along the ironbark mantel that hung over the fireplace, his dark eyes skillfully avoiding staring up into the portrait hanging above.

He was not quite ready to face those ghosts just yet.

From beyond this room, in the hallway, came the scape and clamber of furniture being moved, luggage being dropped upon hardwood floors. A slight, sad smile crossed Fergus' face as he paced to the room's door, opening it to watch as Magda and the elven male – what was his name? – carefully shuffled their luggage from before the door.

The young Teyrn shook his head as the pair turned to each other, the elf raising a long fingered hand to run across the taller woman's cheek. There were murmured words, but he could not make them out. Like him, the Warden merely wished a place of refuge. And he knew well she would not find it by remaining at the palace.

Fergus had been surprised that most of the Warden's companions had chosen to remain either at the palace or at Arl Eamon's estates. The Warden from Jader - Riordan, the young noble recalled correctly – had indicated a desire to board where Magda would. Although new to the group, the senior Warden had shown remarkable loyalty to the young mage. Although Fergus was almost certain that the Warden compound, found upon the Palace grounds, had been so badly damaged by the late Teyrn Loghain as to be unlivable, may have also played a part in the Warden's decision to remain by Magda.

Letting a deep breath out, Fergus leaned against the door, still watching the pretty mage as she allowed the elf to wrap his arms about her shoulders and pull her down for a tight hug. He ducked his head, the sight of her tears hurting him. Reminding him, yet again, of those lost, of what could never be found.

He had offered her a room shortly after Alistair's declaration that he would take the throne. Magda had wished for them all to remain together, but Fergus had believed she would need time and space to recuperate her thoughts before once again leading them out onto the road to Redcliffe. The elf had agreed, immediately declaring he would not leave her side. The others made excuses of being settled, not wanting the hassle of packing, unpacking and repacking within such a short span of time.

Whatever their reasons, however reasonable they may have sounded, Fergus knew they hurt the young mage deeply. And he found himself once again wondering at the dynamics within the group.

They had all seemed loyal to the Wardens, following her orders without question. He had seen genuine friendship and care within each set of eyes or revealed in actions prior. Whatever had happened at the Landsmeet seemed to have diminished the Warden in their eyes. Perhaps it had been her inability of pulling back the reins once Alistair had broken free of the hard laid plans they had made. Perhaps it was the sight of her own tears – perhaps seen as a weakness by some – as Alistair set her aside.

Cursing to himself, Fergus wished he had taken the time to have gotten to know the rest of the group better. Instead, he had spent most of his time – when not in sorrowful contemplation or planning Howe's downfall – at Magda's side, getting to know the young mage.

At least a little, he revised with a bitter smile.

He still respected her; still saw her as the reason why they very well could defeat the Blight.

If the others could not, so much more their own fault, and not one that lay within the young woman who had given so much and had gained so little.

Sighing heavily, he turned, carefully closing the door silently as the pair in the outer chamber picked up their baggage and headed upstairs to search out their rooms.