Brothers
A faint smell of herbs and something pungent tickled his nose, making him uncomfortable. He sniffled and murmured, "Wash your hands, Oriana." No reply.
He opened his eyes slowly. His face felt wet and stiff, and he realized that the smell came from whatever was covering half of it. He blinked a couple of times, trying to adjust to the poor light coming in through a hole. A tent? He was lying in a tent. Why?
He sneezed, and the exertion made him groan loudly. His right hand moved over his stomach and found it covered with a slimy mixture. He looked at his fingers, trying to focus. His left arm started throbbing. He raised it and blinked. He could feel that he was wriggling his fingers but he could not see it. He squinted and wriggled his fingers one more time. Nothing. He shut his eyes tight and when he opened them again, he saw it.
His left hand was gone, and so was his forearm. His arm ended abruptly somewhere underneath that bundle of bandages.
Fergus screamed, but when the Chasind shaman entered his tent, he was unconscious again.
Virgil stayed ahead most of the time, sniffing around and occasionally hunting if he found a rabbit. Rabbits were delicious. The Master liked rabbits too, but she never ate much, and she gave Virgil most of her share. The Master was good to Virgil, and Virgil liked finding rabbits for her. Rats were not received nicely, but rabbits… Mmm. His mouth started watering. He looked back and saw the party approaching. The air did not smell of Darkspawn, so he woofed to let Nerissa know that he would be going hunting for a while, and once she had raised her arm –signaling that she had heard him– he dashed down the road.
"Smart beast," Theron smiled. "Noble."
"Smart when he wants to be so," Nerissa smiled. "If the Darkspawn find out that they can lure him with a nice piece of smoked hock, we're doomed."
"Oh, they would get me with that as well," Neria sighed. "Smoked ham and pea soup. Winter food – warm, comforting…"
"Oh? Any time's good for pea soup," Alistair said, rubbing his stomach. It was time to eat, but they were trying to save the little food they had taken from Flemeth's hut for moments of absolute need. Suddenly he found himself longing to return to the protection of that place, where they had meals every day and being tracked down by Darkspawn was of no great concern. He wondered why anyone would want to leave that kind of unburdened life. And then he remembered the other matter. "Hrm. I still don't understand why she's coming with us," he muttered to Theron, who simply shrugged.
"There is safety in numbers, I suppose," the hunter replied.
"Especially when those numbers are not wearing protection," Sereda grunted, feeling uncomfortable in her simple clothing.
"You know 'she' is right behind you, Alistair." Morrigan's voice was like a screech to him. He shuddered and scowled back at her.
"Fine. Why are you here?"
"I did not say I would answer your dumb question," Morrigan replied. "I was just letting you know that I can hear you... Even though I wish I couldn't."
"How far are we again?" Faren asked, closing the line. His shorter legs were sturdy, but there was a limit to how far a starving dwarf could walk in a day, especially topside, where the air was lighter and opened up anybody's appetite.
"Tomorrow we'll be there," Nerissa said, falling behind to walk beside him. Neria and Theron had started bantering and she had felt as if she was eavesdropping on some private conversation. She had thought of dragging Alistair along as well, but he looked like he needed some lightness to change his mood. Let him enjoy the moment, she thought, before the weight of duty befalls him.
"Something is killing the butterflies," Gwyn said sadly, writing down that piece of information in the records of the Tranquil. His green eyes looked out of the window, hoping to catch sight of the mariposas, as Oriana usually called them.
"Perhaps it's the milkweed that died at the beginning of spring?" Anders ventured, looking over Gwyn's shoulder and pointing to one of the notes written down on top of the page. "Without food, it's almost impossible for them to reproduce. Hey, Elissa!" he shouted. The Tranquil raised her head from the plant that she was nursing and looked at the mage. "Is it possible that someone got rid of the asclepias by accident? Say… Two months ago?"
Elissa cleaned her hands and looked for the journal of outstanding orders. Her delicate fingers found an entry and she read out, "'Asclepias to be replanted by the end of the summer' – signed by Enchanter Ines. There is a note as well, forbidding junior apprentices to be punished by sending them to weed out the garden."
"Aaand the mystery's been solved, messere," Anders said, taking a bow. "Silly kids, mistaking weeds for weeds," he joked.
"Thank you, Aunt Elissa," Gwyn smiled, taking down the new information. "Solona, I think we're running low on yarrow seeds."
The blonde Tranquil stopped grinding a mixture in the mortar and opened a small chest on her working table. "I apologize, Gwyn. I seem to have forgotten to record it in the book."
"It's not your fault, don't worry. I was working on that new formula for the Temp–" Gwyn stopped. He cast a quick look at Anders, who was humming a tune as he went through the inventory of poultices. If his companion knew that Gwyn was working on something that could help Templars with the occasional lyrium intoxication, he would probably try to find a way to sabotage the formula. "I… saw that last night. I think we can place the order today and we'll get them in two weeks' time."
Solona nodded quietly. Her eyes went from Gwyn to the newcomer that was standing at the door. "Good afternoon, Torrian." She greeted her brother with all the enthusiasm that a Tranquil enchanter could express. Gwyn turned around and saw his lover watching him.
"How long have you been there?" he asked.
"Only a minute. I was struck by the quietness of this place." Torrian walked up to the workbench that Gwyn was sharing with Anders. "I hadn't been here for some time." He patted his lover on the back and turned to his sister. "How are you feeling, dear? Enchanter Ines says that you had some trouble with your… With some parts?"
"I did. Senior Enchanter Wynne usually takes care of that for me," Solona replied. "I was waiting for her to return."
"And you suffered your pain in silence," Torrian sighed. "Solona... You could have told me… I'm your brother. If we don't care for each other, who will?"
"It was a female question, Torrian. I do not think you could have helped. But Senior Enchanter Ines and a physician dealt with it. In any case, I would have asked Gwyn about it. He is a healer, and Senior Enchanter Wynne's apprentice."
"True, and I'm sure that he would have taken care of you." Torrian smiled as he looked at his partner. Gwyn's auburn hair looked fiery in the waning sunlight, and his skin had a healthy tan from working in the gardens during the day. He watched his lover's hands swiftly picking out different kinds of seeds and putting them in the correct recipients. Torrian admired Gwyn's peacefulness and his love of all things connected to nature. They were so different, but it was their differences that brought them closer and closer every day. The way Gwyn mumbled about his family in his sleep, the neatness of his room –Torrian's was always a mess–, and even the moments of solitude that they enjoyed together.
Torrian sighed. He had never resented the fact that mages were not usually allowed to leave the Hold, but there were some days, some moments when he would be holding Gwyn –always in the shadows, always hidden from the view of others– that he wished that they could go far, far away; have their own farm, perhaps. A little house where he could work the land and Gwyn could have his garden, a haven where they could love each other freely, without fearing those who frowned upon such emotional attachments.
"A copper for your thoughts," Gwyn murmured, smiling. He was not looking at his lover, but it was unusual for Torrian's exulting personality to stay quiet for a long time. Torrian approached the workbench and discreetly run his fingertips over his lover's hand. Gwyn pressed his fingers warmly. "Later," he promised.
"If you know of a better way to get some money, Morrigan, then speak. Otherwise, shut your bloody mouth." Alistair rubbed his forehead. He was on the verge of losing his patience with the witch, and every time he asked Nerissa why they had taken her along, his fellow Warden would reply evasively. "Besides, we have been doing the running around, not you." As soon as he had said this, he wanted to bite his tongue.
"Oh, excuse us for bearing the 'gift' of magic and having to stay behind so that people don't lose their minds," Neria quipped.
"I did not mean–"
"It sounded like you did," Morrigan interrupted him. "Perhaps you forgot who saved your skin at the entrance of Lothering."
"Sure, by knocking me out as well," Alistair barked.
"I am not to blame if your willpower is low!"
"Blame the lack of food," Theron said from behind, bringing some birds. "Hopefully Nerissa and Sereda have found some bread. I think that this will be enough for today."
"I'll help you to clean these," Neria said, taking the string of small birds from Theron's hands. The elves walked away, past Faren and Virgil, who were playing fetch with a sheathed dagger.
"Virgil found something!" Faren exclaimed, proud of the mabari. "I was saving it for Nerissa." Virgil woofed. "Fine, we were saving it for her, but we might have to wash it first," the dwarf said, showing them a grubby pair of trousers. "Doesn't look very wearable now, does it?"
Neria giggled. "I'm sure she'll love them. As soon as I finish helping Theron with the birds, I'll help you wash them." She looked up and saw the female Wardens in the distance, coming back to the camp. Virgil raised his head and barked, dashing towards his Master. Neria was unable to say why, but for the first time in days, she felt comfortable with their situation. Trouble seemed to follow them around, that much was true, but still…
She breathed in and out. The air felt clean and fresh. It felt invigorating.
It felt free.
The ship docked at dawn. The voyage had been rough enough for him to remember why he had not returned more often in those eight years.
Nobody awaited him. They had no reason to believe that he was coming back. As soon as news of the defeat of the Royal Army had reached his ears, he knew that his path had been laid in front of him. All those years of exile had made Nathaniel a foreigner in his own land. Having lived in Ostwick for the past three years, he was close enough to Amaranthine to feel that his home was at a stone's throw, but he wondered if he could still call it 'home'. He picked up his sack and disembarked with the few people that had sailed with him.
He did not expect to see the docks in such a hectic state. It felt like self-imposed exile; some families were carrying only the essentials, other hauled larger loads. Amidst the sea of faces, he recognized Lord Greene, one of the free-holders that had frequently visited the Keep when he was younger.
"Lord Greene!" he called out, navigating with difficulty through the crates and the crowd. The old man looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. "Over here!" He raised his hand.
"Who–?" The man squinted. "Is that… Nathaniel Howe? Dear boy, look at you!" He patted Nathaniel on the shoulder. "I thought you were married and living in the Free Marches for good now!" The old man would never see Nathaniel as the son of his Arl – for him, he would always be the kind, dark-haired boy of Amaranthine.
"No, not yet, milord," Nathaniel bowed respectfully. "If I may ask, why are there so many people here? Is it because of–?"
"There are rumours, lad. Dark rumours. The Grey Wardens betrayed the King; left him to die in the Wilds. The Darkspawn are bound to come north, eventually. And your father…" The man hesitated.
"Something happened to my father?" Nathaniel's grey eyes searched for the truth in Lord Greene's face. The man took him to the side. He seemed to be considering his words carefully.
"Arl Howe… He left your brother in charge of the Arling when he departed to the south. He returned recently; he's the one who brought news of the battle. Can you believe it? The Wardens… They're being hunted now, the bastards." The man spat to the side. "If there are any of those alive, it won't be for long."
"I am not surprised," Nathaniel grunted. "The organization has been suspicious for a long time now. Maybe they believe that they can gain political influence…?"
"And they were aided by the Couslands, no less!" the man added. "Who would have thought–?"
Nathaniel swallowed hard. "Pardon me, milord? The Couslands of Highever?"
"The same, yes! Your father says that the Teyrn had dealings with the Wardens, that he saw it with his own eyes. Why, he is in Highever now. This is why Thomas is still in charge."
"Why are you leaving, milord?" Nathaniel's mind was trying to focus on his interlocutor, but he felt it slipping away towards Highever and its inhabitants.
"Many reasons, to be fair. We've got family in Ostwick – one of our daughters is living there and she's… Well, my wife would like to be there when the child is born. And I'm an old man; this Cousland matter…" Lord Greene sighed. "There will be repercussions, and I'm not sure I can survive another civil war. I'm sorry, lad," he said, patting Nathaniel on the arm. "This can't be the welcome you were expecting. There's always the boat back to the Free Marches. I'd suggest you take it with us."
Nathaniel smiled weakly. "Thank you, milord. I think I will pay a visit to my brother before I decide anything."
He took a room for the night at The Crown and Lion. He would have a long ride back home. Again, that word appeared in his mind. He had spent almost a third of his life away from that place, but never apart. His thoughts drifted into a place he did not need to go back to, into a moment of his life that he had regretted. Until he had arrived, there had been one thought in his mind.
He had wanted to find her. He needed to apologize. But now…
Nathaniel rubbed his face tiredly. He did not know what to think.
"I'd never seen or heard of a dwarf that could do any kind of enchanting," Neria muttered, fascinated. "You're very talented, Sandal," she complimented the young dwarf, who blushed and smiled. "I mean it. It's a gift."
"Thank you, ma'am," Bodahn said proudly, patting his adoptive son lovingly. "And he's such a nice boy. I really couldn't have asked for a better son."
"So what do you say, good man?" Alistair asked. "Will you be traveling with us?"
"I don't know, Ser Warden. I think it would be convenient for us, considering the recent events. Perhaps it's too dangerous for the two of us to roam around the land. Then again…" Bodahn sounded apologetic. The Wardens understood what he refused to say out loud: they were wanted outlaws, and even though they could protect the dwarves at night, they could also get them in trouble.
"We understand." Theron crossed his arms over his chest and bowed respectfully. "If we ever cross paths again, we will be glad to have you accompany us in our quest."
As the party returned to the camp, they found Nerissa and Sereda locked in a heated discussion. Alistair winced, hoping that they would not ask him to weigh in whatever it was that they were arguing about this time. But he was never that lucky.
"Ah, here they are! Let's ask them!" Sereda beckoned the group. "We have a situation."
"When don't we?" Alistair sighed.
"There's a caged Qunari on the outskirts of the village!" Sereda's eyes sparkled with excitement. She looked at her partners, who stared at her as if they were waiting for a greater revelation. "We have to set him free!"
"I assume he's in a cage for a good reason?" Alistair wondered, raising an eyebrow.
Nerissa sneered. "Go on. Tell them."
"He murdered a whole family, but that's not the point. The question is–"
Neria and Theron looked at each other. Theron blinked. "Excuse me?"
"A family of farmers. He said that it was in a fit of panic. Anyway, as I was saying–"
"I'm not sure I'm interested in hearing where this is going," Alistair muttered.
"She wants me to talk to the Revered Mother and persuade her to free him," Nerissa said. "Morrigan agrees."
"But… He is a murderer!" Neria exclaimed.
"Aren't we all?" Morrigan smirked.
"It is roughly the same," Theron frowned, folding his arms. "We killed animals or Darkspawn. Killing a family sounds barbaric, though it is true that Qunari live by their own code. I am intrigued to know why he did it."
"He didn't tell us that, but… Regardless: wouldn't it be cruel to leave him there? We all know that the Darkspawn will probably kill him when they get here, and in that cage, he cannot even defend himself." They could tell that Sereda was serious. There was something about the warrior that had moved her in a way that none of them had.
"I would like to avoid a visit to the local Chantry, if possible," Nerissa said softly. "The Templars stationed there are the only army these people have to protect them. A confrontation is not viable, and since they are the only authority at the moment…"
"You mean they might feel compelled to capture us." Theron looked at his companions. "Honestly, I am leaning towards 'no'. I am sorry, Sereda."
"I don't know if I'd feel comfortable around him," Neria said timidly.
"Wait wait wait; I may have missed something. You mean… Free him and take him with us?" Alistair's eyes opened wide.
"And to think that we could have let all of you die there... Ostagar, I mean," Morrigan sighed.
Nerissa patted Virgil's head. The hound had started nuzzling her hand, meaning that he was hungry. She thought of the Qunari, locked there for over twenty days, without any food or water. It was a cruel thing to do, yes. But she was unable to see a way out. Unless, she wondered…
"What if…" Faren asked, "we pick the lock?"
"Oh sure, that's not bound to get us in any more trouble," Alistair said sarcastically, as he looked at Nerissa for support. "Oh no," he murmured when he saw her face. "You're actually considering that…"
"It would be the simplest thing to do," she replied, biting her lower lip. "However, we should create some kind of distraction…"
"Which should not involve the use of magic," Theron added. "Because of the Templars."
"And not killing anybody," Neria said, casting a quick look at Morrigan, who rolled her eyes.
"We can consider it," Nerissa told Sereda, who breathed out in relief.
"Thank you," the dwarven lass said.
"He looks terrible," Daveth noted. He was sitting near the fire with Jory and the Captain, Ser Morian. They were discussing Fergus and the first time that he had come out of his tent.
"The Holy Man says that it could have been worse," Ser Morian muttered, drawing a map on the ground. "But by removing that part, he was able to stop the corruption."
"Still, losing his arm…" Jory was looking into the fire and holding his own arm. "I've seen him fight, mostly in the Highever arena. He certainly is a force to be reckoned with. Never with a shield, though." He rubbed his eyes tiredly and sighed. "This will be a setback, I know it."
"Do you think so? Wait till we tell him what happened in his homeland," Daveth said.
The three men went silent for a while. Ser Morian stood up. "I think I should be the one to tell him about it. And after all, Lady Cousland asked me to."
"Rather you than me, mate." In spite of his usual detachment, Daveth sounded concerned. "Tough job."
Ser Morian nodded and breathed in. He looked around and saw the small group of soldiers that had come with them. At first they had complained about not being able to participate in the battle, but when the Chasind had brought news of the defeat, every single one of them had knelt down and prayed for the opportunity they had had. For them, it was a chance to start again, especially if they still had their Lord leading them. But Fergus had barely recovered, and now Morian found himself with the task of giving him the worst news that he could think of.
He entered the tent and was relieved to find Fergus sitting down and having something to eat. Lord Cousland raised his eyes and smiled kindly.
"Captain. Sit with me, please. Perhaps you can explain to me why there are so many people outside." Fergus took the bowl and, before pressing it against his lips, he said, "I don't remember much, but my company was not so large."
"No, milord. These are part of my company. Thirty of them, to be precise." He fidgeted in his seat, looking for the right words. "Milord, there is something you must know, and something we must discuss."
Fergus bent down and left the bowl on the ground. "The battle was lost," he said, matter-of-factly.
Morian nodded. "Yes, milord, but as it turns out… That is the least of our concerns."
"Wow." Fergus's back had stiffened. He laughed nervously. "Losing a battle against the Darkspawn is not the worst thing that could have happened… Which means…" He looked at the man, whose eyes were looking down. "Whatever you need to say–"
"Highever was lost, milord," Morian blurted out.
Fergus blinked and frowned. "Highever? But… I wasn't aware the Darkspawn…"
"Not to the Darkspawn, milord. Arl Howe. Betrayal. Right after we left."
Fergus stood up with difficulty. He rubbed his forehead. Morian could see his jaw tensing and his eyes darting from one side to the other, not focusing. And suddenly, they were closed. Fergus's voice came out in a whisper.
"My family...?"
Ser Morian stood up and lowered his head. "I am deeply sorry, milord."
Fergus looked at the man. "Oren…?"
"Everyone, milord. Except for your sister."
Fergus pressed his hand against his chest as he collapsed on the cot. "My wife, my child… My parents?" His eyes plunged into Ser Morian's, half expecting the man to say that it was all a cruel joke. But the man remained silent. "Nerissa? Is she with you?"
"No, milord. She sent me here to help you recover Highever."
"Where is she?" Fergus's deep voice sounded strained.
Ser Morian sighed. "She was only able to escape the attack through the mercy of the Warden-Commander. The price was–"
"He recruited her." Fergus snorted. "The bastard recruited her. What kind of man tells someone that he'll help them escape only if…?" He clenched his fist and pressed it against his mouth. "She was in the battlefield, as a Warden." He saw Ser Morian nod. "Fighting the lost battle." A bubble of laughter escaped him. His body was shaking. "I need some time on my own, Ser Morian."
"Of course, milord," the man replied, and exited the tent. He walked back to the campfire, overwhelmed by the news that he had just relayed.
"How did he take it?" Jory asked.
"What do you think?" Morian replied.
It was not long till they heard it: a longing cry, a broken scream that seemed to last a lifetime. Jory's eyes welled up and thought of his own wife and child. His heart understood Fergus's, and he wished they would all wake up from that nightmare soon.
"Brother!" Thomas exclaimed, trotting up to where Nathaniel was standing.
"I wonder if you would have recognized me, had the guards not stopped me at the gate," Nathaniel said, patting his little brother's back.
"Let me see." Thomas took a step back and seized his brother's looks. "The hair's still the same, but you've become… broader. It makes you look shorter. Or perhaps I've grown!"
"You certainly have," Nathaniel smiled. There was little left of the chubby dark-blond child he remembered. Eight years had transformed the giggling boy into a sixteen-year-old young man, as tall as his father, and with the same grey eyes. "Walk with me, Thomas."
His brother laughed. "Considering that Father left me in charge, I should be the one to say that, don't you think?" He patted his older brother on the shoulder and started walking towards the Keep.
"About that…" Nathaniel's words died when he saw a young woman running towards them. "Is that… Delilah?"
"Brother!" Delilah shouted. She jumped into Nathaniel's arms and hugged him. "I cannot believe you're here! Have you come to stay?"
"That remains to be seen, sweetheart. Look at you! You're a woman now!"
Delilah showed off her dress. "This was a gift I got for my previous birthday, after I was introduced to society last autumn. Do you like it?" The apricot-coloured dress was exquisite, and it brought out her eyes and hair perfectly.
"Are you sure you want to wear that, sister?" Thomas's voice was scornful. "I mean, considering where it came from… This was a present from the Couslands, you see," he said to Nathaniel.
Delilah's face clouded over. "I don't see why I can't wear it whenever it pleases me," she said coolly. "And even though Father left you in charge, you're still younger than I am." She looked at her older brother. "Perhaps now that you're here, you'll have a talk with Father."
"Suit yourself," Thomas shrugged. "Come, Nathaniel. Let's have something to drink."
If there was something that Nathaniel remembered from his home was how dark it felt. Whoever had built it had considered that windows were only necessary for the corridors that ran at the front and back of the rooms. Except for the bedrooms, none of the chambers was touched by the sunlight. It was foolish to think that something had changed: the Keep was just as cold as he recalled it.
Once he had washed his face and changed his clothes, he joined his brother in the main hall, where a decent meal had been served. His brother had sat at the head of the table, and Nathaniel noticed that Delilah had changed her dress.
"So! Tell us about the Free Marches," Thomas urged him. "Is Kirkwall as dangerous as they say? I've heard rumours of Starkhaven. They say it's pretentious…"
"Why don't we talk about what's happened here?" Nathaniel suggested softly.
Thomas sighed. "Here is boring, that's what it is…" The young man played with his food and signaled a servant to pour him more wine. "Father has been busy, roaming around the land. There's this question of the Darkspawn that appeared in the Wilds, and oh! We have a dead king." He laughed. "Father says he deserved it, for trusting the Grey Wardens so blindly. Never trust anyone, brother. When you least expect it…" He sank his knife in the piece of meat before him.
Nathaniel did not know whether he should laugh at the idea of his younger brother talking to him about treason, or bend him over and spank his bottom for sounding so smug. What did a sixteen-year-old know about the world?
Delilah sighed. Thomas turned to her. "Is there something you'd like to say, sister?"
"I was wondering if I could leave the table, since there are some matters I should check with the cook. Now that Nate's here, I'd like him to get a proper meal tonight," she said, smiling at her older brother over the table.
"Yes, yes, go," Thomas brushed her off. Nathaniel thought that Delilah looked more than relieved to be released from a meal that was evidently making her uncomfortable. "Now… What was your question again?"
"Where is Father?" Nathaniel asked softly.
"In Highever, overseeing his latest acquisition," Thomas smirked, chewing a mouthful of meat.
"Is it official, then? Were the Couslands imprisoned?"
Thomas stared at his older brother. He raised his hand and dismissed the servants. Nathaniel held his breath, wondering what he was up to. Thomas left his knife on the plate and leaned on the arm of his chair.
"The Couslands are no more, brother," Thomas smiled. "It was all Father's little stroke of genius. He was kind enough to let me know just before he left, so that I wouldn't look like a fool when the banns came asking about it."
Nathaniel cocked his head like an old man losing his hearing. "What do you mean, 'no more'?"
Thomas snorted. "Maker, brother. Did your training involve more than a blow to your head? They're dead. Gone. That's what I mean."
Nathaniel felt the blood leaving his face. Don't show it. Don't let him see. He cleared his throat and raised his hand to take his goblet, but before Thomas could see it shaking, he lowered it. "Because of the Wardens thing?"
"There is no Wardens thing," Thomas said, stretching. "Father thought of it to account for his actions. It seems that he managed to convince Teyrn Loghain of it, so… Things are going according to plan."
"Are they all dead?" Nathaniel asked. He did not care about all of them. He had had an image of auburn hair and green eyes engraved in his mind, and he wondered what would have happened if he had gone through with the plan of marrying Nerissa all those years before.
Thomas shook his head. "The older son is missing, and so is the little whore."
"Excuse me?" Nathaniel frowned.
"Well, perhaps I shouldn't call her like that. After all, if she has survived, there's a chance that one day we'll find her, and I can still marry her the way Father wanted. But for the moment, Father says that it's far more likely that she's either dead as a Warden, or being hunted, in which case, it will be fun to see if they bring in her head one of these days." Thomas smirked. "I could even stick my dick in her dead mouth–"
Nathaniel stood up violently and banged his fist on the table. Thomas swallowed hard. The hall was silent for a minute.
"Be respectful," Nathaniel grunted.
"Andraste's tits, brother… What is it to you?" Thomas's eyes were squinting at Nathaniel. "Don't tell me you want her for yourself…" He gasped when Nathaniel lowered his eyes. "Is that it? You want the girl? Hah!" He drank the rest of the wine in his goblet and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "So you want the little woman. I tell you what – if someone brings her in alive, we can share her," he whispered. "Though we could have a go at her if she's dead, too…"
Nathaniel turned around and left the hall.
"I think you're just jealous," Alistair teased her.
Nerissa snorted. "And why would I be jealous, pray tell?"
"Well, she's prettier than you," he replied. Nerissa crossed her arms and looked at him.
"Morrigan is prettier as well, but I still fail to see your point."
"That's because he doesn't have a point, other than he finds her attractive," Sereda said, cutting a piece of fruit. "And I also think that we shouldn't take her along."
"What's your objection?" Alistair asked.
Sereda shrugged. "I don't like her accent."
"I will have to agree with your fellow Wardens, Alistair." It was Morrigan's turn to cook the meal, which was the only reason she was still around the group. "Besides, there is no need to–"
"Yes, yes. There was no need to bring you along either, and yet here you are…" Alistair wrinkled his nose.
"I would not say that to the witch that is cooking your meal," Theron laughed.
"Well, we'll all be eating from that pot, so she either kills us all, or we all live."
"She could also give your ration to Virgil," Neria pointed out as she scratched the mabari behind the ear. Virgil barked appreciatively.
"Wonderful," Alistair grumbled. "Don't give her any more brilliant ideas, will you."
"Mages unite!" Neria exclaimed, raising her fist.
Anders's cheeks were flushed and he was out of breath. "They're back…" he managed to utter. He pressed his hand against his chest. "Maker… I should exercise more…"
Gwyn raised his head from the flowerbed that he was tending. "Who's back?"
"Uldred, Martinet, Wynne… All the Seniors…" Anders coughed.
Gwyn stood up and wiped his hands on his robe distractedly. "Not Neria, right?"
Anders shook his head. "Not now or ever, mate. You know that Wardens leave their lives behind for the rest of... Well, their lives."
Gwyn smiled bitterly. "It was foolish to hope, I guess… Well, at least Wynne's back and we can focus on working on the new batch that we had been planning before this."
He accompanied Anders towards the Seniors' Hall, where they were to receive instructions from their mentors. As they approached the spot, they heard a commotion ahead. Gwyn frowned at Anders, who shrugged and looked just as confused as every enchanter around them.
"–not the right time to discuss this!" Wynne had raised her voice. "At the moment, we should have other priorities–"
"Like what, Wynne?" Uldred looked livid. "Replenishing our repository? Focusing on healing instead of training them how to fight?"
"There is no point in panicking–"
"You saw what happened there!" Uldred shouted. "Are we to perish the way the Wardens did? Should we bow our heads now to the Darkspawn?"
The chattering around them grew in intensity until Irving raised his hands. "Brothers and sisters, please… There is something you must know."
Gwyn's eyes were fixed on the First Enchanter, who suddenly seemed to be ten years older. His troubled face was a good indicator of what they could expect, and unfortunately, he did not disappoint them.
"The battle was lost. King Cailan perished in the assault. Please…" He raised his hands again, since the mages had started murmuring again. "In the next week, we are going to have meetings with each and every one of you, reassessing your abilities and working on them as deemed necessary. I will ask for your collaboration. Now, more than ever, the Circle needs to remain strong and united."
"What happened to the Wardens?" Gwyn shouted. His eyes searched for Wynne's. "If the king died…"
Wynne shook her head. "I am sorry," she said. "They…"
Uldred snorted. "The Wardens. Who cares about them? They aren't important anymore! Not to us!"
Gwyn felt his rage building up until it could no longer be contained. "It is on you, First Enchanter!" he cried out. "Her death is on you! You sent her with them! Are you happy now?" He felt a strong hand pulling him by the arm. He struggled, but the grip was powerful. Torrian led him to the stairs that connected that floor to the next.
"Let go of me!" Gwyn spat, rubbing the spot that Torrian had squeezed. "He… It's his fault… She shouldn't…" He felt the tears choking him. Torrian placed his arms around him and patted him softly on the back as Gwyn cried, calling Neria's name.
"I am not sure I approve of this underhanded method," the Qunari said. Nerissa put a finger on her lips. Faren needed some silence to work on the lock. "Are you sure the dwarf knows what he is doing?" he asked, indifferent to her signaling.
Nerissa stared at him. In the moonlight, his skin looked both tanned and silvery. "What did you say your name was?"
"I did not."
"Uh-huh."
"I do not understand."
"What?"
"Is that a word?"
"No, that's… Can you please be quiet? Faren?" She turned to the dwarf, who breathed out when the lock opened. The door creaked and the two rogues winced, hoping that nobody had heard it.
The Qunari stepped out of his cage. "So, what will it be?"
"You're coming with us to find your atonement, or whatever words you used to win over Sereda."
"Is that the female dwarf?"
"Yes, yes; now, follow us." They moved quietly towards the ramp leading to the Imperial Highway. It was only after a minute that they realized that he had fallen behind. They went back to him. "Is everything alright?" Nerissa asked.
"My legs," the Qunari replied.
Nerissa understood. He had been standing there for days, and even for someone with a physique as sturdy as his, the lack of food and mobility had taken a toll on his body.
"You can lean on me if you want," she said.
"And me," Faren added. "Although you're tall, so I guess you can lay your hand on my head."
The Qunari watched them for a while. Nerissa did not know what was going through his mind – his eyes were inscrutable and so was his face. Slowly and reluctantly, he raised his arm and passed it round her shoulders.
"I am a Sten."
"A Sten?"
"If you must call me anything. Sten."
Nerissa nodded. "I'm Nerissa. This is Faren." Sten did not reply.
The weight did not seem to be so heavy, now that the burden was shared.
"I wish there was something else for me to give you," Fergus said, handing out his bag of gold to the Chasind shaman. "I'm not sure how useful this will be to you."
"Everything helps," the man said, "although we did not do it for the money. We took you in before we knew who you were, and we are content to see that our efforts have worked."
Fergus nodded. "I… I still don't know if I'll ever get my land back, but know that you have a friend in the north. Keep your ears open and, should you find yourself in need…" He bowed.
"Malacath droane ut mel," the Chasind said. "Walk the good path."
"Milord," Ser Morian called him. Fergus walked towards the group of men, who had already gathered their things and were ready and eager to depart.
"We are set, then. Are you sure that Redcliffe is better than South Reach? Uncle Leo might be able to aid us."
"We are closer to Redcliffe at the moment, and Milady said that we should remind Arl Eamon of his promise."
"Yes, but that was before the king died. Will he still support us?"
"We can only trust, milord."
Fergus nodded. "Well then… We'd better start walking."
"We should move fast," Alistair shouted as he ran back to the camp.
"Nerissa's not going to like this!" Sereda shouted back.
"And I'm sure you will enjoy seeing her face when she sees us," he said, looking back over his shoulder. The lay sister was agile and had caught up with them pretty quickly.
"I'm not as wicked as you think I am," Sereda panted. "Ancestors, was the camp... so far away?"
"We're there… almost!" Alistair picked up the pace and reached the group first. They had already collected their things and were ready to move. He rested his hands on his knees and coughed.
"It sounds like you should run more often, Alistair," Morrigan smirked. She looked up and her gleeful look turned into a scowl. "What is she doing here?"
"I'm still… wondering that myself… about you," Alistair panted.
"Oh, do shut up. Nerissa!" Morrigan called. Nerissa looked up and saw the newcomer tagging along. She frowned.
She approached the group and the sister bowed graciously. "Greetings, friend. My name is Leliana, and I'm glad to finally have the opportunity to join you in your noble quest." Her red hair and blue eyes certainly made her beautiful, but Nerissa wondered if that was all that Alistair had seen in her.
With all the charm that she could muster, Nerissa bowed and said, "Greetings, Leliana. I am Nerissa, Alistair's fellow Warden. This is our merry group. If you'll excuse me, I need to have a few words with this man. Everybody, why don't you introduce yourselves to our new companion?" She pulled Alistair away by the hair.
"Hey, hey! Not the hair!" he complained.
Once they were out of hearing range, Nerissa rubbed her eyes and said quietly, "All right, Alistair… I need to know what was on your mind when you invited her to come along."
"You brought the Sten and we hadn't even finished discussing whether we wanted him with us or not," he replied.
"It was a case of mercy!" she hissed. "He was going to die in that cage! So what was it, huh? Was it the red hair? The long eyelashes? What, did she bat them at you and filled that hard head of yours with impure thoughts?"
Alistair smiled wickedly.
"I am not–! This isn't amusing!" She stomped her foot on the ground, which made him laugh. "And you still haven't answered my question," she said, crossing her arms. "How did she persuade you?"
Alistair shrugged. "You're going to laugh."
"I won't. Just… Tell me."
Alistair rubbed his nose and shuffled his feet. "Well… She had this vision…" But Nerissa raised her hand, interrupting him. Her eyes were closed.
"Enough. This is your choice. If something goes wrong, it's on you. And if you want to… do anything with her, it's up to you. I really can't argue with a 'mystical' approach. Nobody can. It's a no-win area."
Alistair took a step toward her and leaned over. "Are you sure you're not jealous?" he said in a low voice.
Nerissa moved her face closer to his and looked into his eyes. "You're not my type," she said, before walking away. "Very well, everybody! We're off to the Brecilian!" she shouted.
She might still be alive, he thought. It might not be too late. And if she had managed to escape the battle, if she had survived, there was always a chance that she would return to Highever. A tiny chance, but it was all he could hope for at the moment.
He bit his lips and wondered what would have happened if that night he had talked to her father, or if he had asked her to marry him, instead of sending her away under the impression that he had only used her. He had expected something like this from his father. He recalled what he had thought that night. If his father had found out about them, if he had married her, what were the chances that her older brother and his family would have inherited Highever? What would have kept his father from murdering them if Nathaniel had married the second Cousland heir? He had tried to avoid that outcome, and in doing so, it appeared that he had condemned them.
Unless he had the chance to stand in front of her and ask for forgiveness, he would never make amends with his past. He would never get that night out of his mind. But the question was always the same – did he really want to forget what had happened between them? He had not lain with anybody else after her. There was a woman back in Ostwick waiting for him, but it had not been until he had talked to his brother that he remembered why there was a woman: she had auburn hair and green eyes, just like Nerissa's.
Nathaniel strode down the corridor and into the dining chamber of Castle Cousland. His father was sitting there, behind the table, and as soon as his son walked in, he stood up.
"When the guard told me that you were here, I thought he was jesting." He invited him to take a seat. "It is not the best time for you to be in Ferelden, Nathaniel. Why did you return?"
"I thought it was the right time," his son replied, "what with the new changes you have introduced." He looked around the hall and saw the Cousland family portraits.
Rendon followed his son's eyes. "Ah, those. I will have them removed soon. So, what brings you here?"
Nathaniel sat back in the chair. "I talked to Thomas and he... updated me. I assume you have greater plans. This can't have been your ultimate goal."
"True. I have plans for all of us. I must admit that you being here simplifies things, in a way." He poured himself some wine. "As you must know by now, the king is dead."
Nathaniel nodded. "Not by your hand, I trust?"
"Oh no, I wouldn't do that. I did consider him to be a fool, but I had nothing to do with that. His own temerity was his undoing." He watched his son, whose face remained calm. "You're a man now. Eight years make a difference."
"They do," Nathaniel said softly.
Rendon massaged his wrists. Nathaniel recalled his father doing that every time he had something to announce, something that had already been decided, like his sending his older son to the Free Marches. "We have a young widow in Denerim."
Nathaniel swallowed discreetly. "Are you planning to remarry, Father?"
Rendon shook his head. "She's your age. You are young, and you can give her the heirs that she needs to secure her place in society."
Nathaniel let out a chuckle. "You have cast your nets that far, Father?"
"She is the Queen, but before she was so, she was the daughter of a Teyrn who used to be a farm boy. She should be so lucky to marry a Howe that upholds a teyrnir and an arling, and whose family goes back in time just as much as any Cousland ever did."
Father and son looked at each other over the table. Nathaniel leaned forward and said, "I have a proposal."
"I'm listening."
"We can discuss the marriage to the Queen once the mourning period is over. In the meantime," Nathaniel made a pause, hoping that his voice would be steady enough to convince his father that he agreed with his idea, "give me Highever."
.
.
.
Next: The Beast
A/N: This chapter ended up being longer than I had planned, but it's pretty packed, and I avoided a whole Lothering chapter that made little sense, really. In case you don't remember, the event Nathaniel refers to takes place in chapter 11 of the first part of this story. Here's the link in FanFiction if you need to refresh your memories: /s/8781434/11/Last-of-The-Couslands-A-Family-Story
Thank you all for reading and the great feedback you give me!
