Chapter 10

The first companion he sought out was Morrigan, but she wasn't in her bedchamber. At first he assumed she'd gone downstairs, but as he passed the open door of his own room, he was astonished to see her standing inside, gazing into the fire. As if sensing his gaze on her, she turned to greet him as he paused in the doorway. "Do not be alarmed. It is only I."

"Morrigan?" he said cautiously, entering the room and closing the door softly behind him. "Is everything all right?"

She smiled, and her golden eyes glinted in the firelight. "I am well; 'tis you who are in danger. No," she added impatiently, as his sword-hand twitched at his side, "that is not what I meant. I have a plan, you see. A way out. The loop in your hole."

Aedan exhaled heavily and sat down on the bed. "Morrigan, I've had a very long, hard day, and it's not even over yet. I've just spoken to Riordan, and I have some news for you and the others which you are definitely not going to like. I would very much appreciate it if you'd stop speaking in code and get to the point."

"I know what happens when the archdemon dies." His head jerked up. "I know a Grey Warden must be sacrificed, and that sacrifice could be you. I have come to tell you this does not need to be."

Several seconds passed. "Go on," he said at last.

"I offer a way out. A way out for all the Grey Wardens, that there need be no sacrifice." Her tongue flicked over her lips. "A ritual... performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night."

"What kind of ritual?"

"It is old magic, from a time before the Circle of Magi was created. Some might call it blood magic," she added cautiously, "but that is but a name. There is far more to fear in this world than names."

Aedan was about to respond, when a thought struck him. "Exactly how long have you known about this?"

"Since Flemeth asked me to travel with you. She was the one who first gave me this ritual, and told me of what I was meant to do."

"And it didn't occur to you to mention this until now? How kind of you."

"Would you have believed me if I had been the one to tell you? I have my doubts." She shrugged. "Besides, 'twas necessary that I wait and be sure. Now I am."

Aedan sighed, but didn't have the energy to take up the argument. "All right. What is your plan?"

"What I propose is this: lay with me. Here, tonight. And from our joining, a child will be conceived."

"What?!"

"The child will bear the taint," she continued smoothly, "and when the archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon. At this early stage, the child can absorb that essence and not perish. The archdemon is still destroyed, with no Grey Warden dying in the process."

He stared back at her, trying to hide his revulsion. "So… this child becomes a darkspawn?"

"Not at all. It will become something different: a child born with the soul of an Old God."

"An Old…!" Aedan's jaw dropped. "And what happens then? You simply go off on your merry way, carrying an Old God child in your belly? Will you raise it in the marshes somewhere as Flemeth did with you?"

Her cat-like gaze met his, steady and calculating. "That is my concern. All I ask is that you allow me to walk away… and you do not follow. Ever. The child will be mine to raise as I wish."

"Don't be ridiculous, Morrigan." Aedan stood up. "You are asking me to give you a child, one with the soul of an Old God, and then simply forget it ever existed? What do you intend to do with this child?"

"I do not wish to tell you."

"Not good enough," he said flatly. "You wouldn't be doing this if you didn't have some purpose in mind. If you don't trust me enough to tell me your intentions, why should I trust you in return?"

Morrigan was silent for a few seconds. "I suppose it has not occurred to you that I might simply wish to save your life?"

"No, I can't say that it has. I can't think why, Morrigan, but I have the impression that you're not in the habit of doing favours for people."

Her lips curved into a reluctant smile. " 'Tis true. Very well, I will tell you what you need to know – but no more." She sat down on the bed, crossing one leg over the other, and patted the spot beside her. "Come, sit down."

After a moment's hesitation, he sat down beside her on the bed. "I will raise the child apart from the rest of society," she began, "and teach it to respect that from which it came. What I seek is the essence of the Old God that once was, and not the dark forces that corrupted it. The child will represent freedom for an ancient power, a chance to be reborn apart from the taint. Is that not reason enough to do it?"

Her voice was calm and silky-smooth, almost hypnotic: it sent shivers of trepidation down Aedan's spine. "So much for the Old God. What's in it for you?"

She hesitated for a moment. "Safety," she said at last. "Or at least, a measure of it. I know Flemeth is not truly dead; some day she will return, and seek me out. This way, I will at least have a chance against her."

"But the ritual was her idea," he pointed out. "You told me so yourself. How do you know you're not simply walking into her trap?"

" 'Tis true that she devised the ritual, but she wanted the child for herself. I will take it to a place beyond her reach, where we can be safe." He could sense her growing impatience, yet her tone was low and caressing. "Think about what I offer you," she said softly. "The chance to avoid death. Or better yet, the chance to slay the archdemon and live as a hero. No Grey Warden has ever done this."

Aedan inhaled slowly, trying to catch his breath; his chest muscles felt oddly tight. No, he did not want to die – not now, when things were finally looking up after the senseless horror of the Blight. He wanted to take up his place as ruler of Ferelden, bed his young wife, see her bear his children. He wanted to take back his teyrnir and make the Cousland name great again. What was more, he knew was in honour bound to grant Morrigan her request after the promise he'd made to her.

But he didn't trust her. No matter how close they'd become, or how much he respected her, she was unquestionably a dangerous woman; he could barely imagine the potential consequences of granting her that kind of power. And then a thought occurred to him, so obvious that he could have kicked himself for not seeing it before.

"This was your plan from the start, wasn't it?" he said softly. "This is why you were so quick to throw yourself at me after we left the Wilds, and flatter me with all your talk of 'Grey Warden endurance'. Softening me up… to prepare for this."

To his surprise, he saw a flicker of distress pass over her face. It was gone so quickly that he might have imagined it, but when she spoke, her tone was subdued. "Caring for you as I've come to... that was not part of the plan."

He wondered if he'd heard correctly. "Caring for…?"

" 'Tis not important. All that matters now is the ritual. Did you not promise me anything I wished?" She added dryly, "There are no virgin sacrifices involved, I assure you."

"It's not the ritual I'm worried about," he said shortly, "but the potential consequences. Not to mention that there are other complications… my wife, for example."

"The queen? She has no claim on you. The two of you are not yet wed – "

"But that's just the thing: we are wed." Their eyes met. "I know it sounds unlikely, but it's true. We held a private ceremony at the palace, the night after the Landsmeet."

Morrigan regarded him skeptically for a moment and then shook her head, her expression a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Oh, you foolish, foolish man." Her tone was almost affectionate. "So desperate, were you, to claim your glittering prize? Still, no matter. There is no need for her to be told."

He exhaled heavily. "I can't agree with you there, Morrigan. She will – or would – most certainly have to be told."

" 'Would'?" she repeated, her brow creasing into a frown. "Then you plan to refuse me? If you are not willing, let it be Alistair. He is a Grey Warden just as you are, and would also serve for the ritual – "

"Alistair? Maker forbid. Alistair is the last person I would want to involve in this."

"Then your precious 'honour' is worth less than nothing. As I have always thought." The calm demeanour had cracked, replaced by sudden rage. Morrigan's eyes sparked with anger; she stood abruptly, turning away from him. "I will not stand by and watch you waste this opportunity. Die faithful to your wife, if you think it will please her – "

"Wait."

Aedan's interruption surprised even himself. Morrigan paused in the act of striding towards the doorway, and swung round, her eyes still smouldering like the coals in the fireplace. "Well?"

"Can you be certain that this ritual will work as planned? It won't backfire and transform us all into darkspawn, or kill everyone on the battlefield?"

"I do not know it will work," she said impatiently. "I do, however, have every confidence in my mother's magic. And no, there is no chance that it will backfire; it will succeed or fail, nothing more."

Aedan let out a sigh that was almost a groan. He remembered a night long ago, when he'd been larking around with friends on the cliffs near Highever, and someone had dared him to dive into the black and treacherous waters below. He'd known at the time that it was a terrible idea, yet some mad impulse had prompted him to throw caution to the winds, to accept the dare. He felt like that now.

"Very well. I'll do it." Her eyes began to glow with triumph. "…If you promise me two things. Firstly, that neither you nor your child will do anything to harm Ferelden, or threaten my people or my family."

She laughed. "Of that, you have my word. What is it you fear: that I will lay claim to the throne?"

"It did cross my mind," he said drily. "Secondly, that whatever you do after you leave, you'll never give me a reason to go after you. Because if I ever find out, Morrigan, that you pose a threat to me in any way – I swear to you that I won't hesitate to kill both you and the child. I've already lost everything once; I'm not going to risk it again."

His voice had sunk to a low growl. The laughter faded from Morrigan's eyes; she slowly nodded, her gaze fixed intently on his face. "Then I so swear," she said, all traces of flippancy gone from her tone, "and you will not regret it. This… means everything to me, you cannot know."

"I hope you get what you want," he said roughly. He was already regretting his decision, and Morrigan seemed to sense it. After a moment's hesitation, she slid her hand into his, small and fine-boned; he lifted it up to the light, tracing the delicate blue veins with his thumb.

"Come to me, then," she said softly, "and we shall make this last night together something to remember."

What followed would indeed linger in Aedan's memory, though for all the wrong reasons. His body responded to her as it always had, but his mind was far away, filled with nameless dark fears he couldn't articulate. When it was over he felt drained of energy, as if she'd sucked it out of him, leaving him withered and shrivelled up like a plant starved of water. And as he tried to sleep, it was Anora's face that haunted him: the wife whom he'd already betrayed, only a few days into their marriage.

… …

A haze of exhaustion shimmered before Aedan's eyes. Sweat poured down his face in rivulets, and his body groaned with every step he took inside the stifling metal cage of his armour. He lifted his visor for a few precious seconds, drinking in the cool air, longing for the water canteen which he'd drunk dry well over an hour ago.

He hardly knew how long they'd been fighting now. The path to the archdemon atop Fort Drakon had been difficult enough, but now the darkspawn were falling on them in seemingly endless waves, fighting like wild beasts in a last desperate attempt to protect their leader. He'd lost sight of the others in the chaos; all he could do was pray that they were all still alive.

A roar went up from the western corner of the fort, where the surviving mages were desperately lobbing spells at the archdemon, trying to keep it frozen or immobilized so that it couldn't attack. The beast no longer towered over them: it seemed to have collapsed, its neck stretched on the ground, its wings no longer beating. Maker help him, was this it? The moment of truth?

"STAY BACK!" The words emerged gratingly from his parched throat, barely audible over the din of battle; he couldn't even tell if the soldiers surrounding the beast had heard him. Aedan glanced around, scanning the battlefield frantically for a sign of his friends.

Riordan was dead. Alistair was off in the distance, locked in vicious combat with a group of hurlocks. They couldn't hold off the darkspawn for much longer; he had to end this now.

There was no time for prayer, for last goodbyes, even for thought. Summoning every ounce of strength left in his exhausted body, he launched himself forward, pounding over the flagstones towards the dying beast.

As he reached the archdemon, the creature raised its head and roared defiantly. In a burst of desperate energy, Aedan leapt onto its back and stabbed wildly at the long neck, clinging on to the spines as it reared and bucked in an attempt to shake him off. But the scales were so tough that even his dragonbone sword could barely make a dent, and suddenly he lost his grip, sliding off the great dragon's back and slipping heavily and jarringly to the floor. He barely had time to roll onto his back before a mouthful of dagger-like teeth descended on him.

He felt a stab of screaming pain as the beast's jaw clamped around his thigh, piercing the chainmail at the joints and digging deep into the flesh. No. No, he couldn't fail now –

The world spun as he found himself lifted off the ground, shaken like a rat in the jaws of a mabari, and Aedan knew that he was about to die. Then, suddenly, the low thwack of an arrow as it buried itself in the darkspawn's scaly skin, missing him by inches. The archdemon let out a pained roar and suddenly he was free, tumbling to the ground with a force that cracked several ribs. He looked up, dazed, as the creature raised its gaping maw for the final kill.

Aedan's breath came in gasping sobs. In a desperate, instinctive gesture of defence, he thrust his sword wildly upwards, piercing the softer skin underneath the archdemon's neck and slitting it from jaw to belly. As it reared up in fury, he rolled out of the way, just in time to avoid being crushed under the beast's head as it slumped to the ground once more.

One more chance. He clutched at his sword, barely able to hold it any longer, and crawled on hands and knees towards the archdemon. Before it could raise its head again, he lifted the blade and drove it through the creature's skull with all the force he could muster, piercing deep into the brain.

Sparks flew upwards as the blade struck home. Aedan felt himself rooted to the spot, trapped in a pillar of incandescent light that streamed upwards towards the sky. He tugged desperately at his sword, wrenched it from the wound – and then the whole world exploded.

… …

Anora sat by the makeshift bed in Aedan's tent, watching the slow, regular rise and fall of his chest – the only part of him that wasn't completely motionless. When they'd first brought him in, bruised, bloodied and barely recognisable, she could hardly believe that he would live. Now, after being cleaned up somewhat and carefully tended by the healers, he no longer looked quite so bad. She'd remained there ever since, torn between the desire to congratulate her victorious troops and her duty to stay by her husband's side.

It was strange, almost disconcerting, to see all that strength and vigour reduced to this limp, battered mess. She hardly knew what to feel for this man whom she barely knew, yet had already 'known' in the most intimate manner possible. Her second marriage had almost ended before it could truly begin.

It was Leliana, his Orlesian companion, who'd shot the arrow that saved his life. Anora could hardly suppress a wince when she described how she'd seen the archdemon catch him in its jaws, viciously mauling him like a cat toying with its prey. The ever-faithful Alfric had refused to budge from Aedan's side since he was carried into the tent; he lay curled up at the foot of the bed, quiet, but fully alert for anything that might threaten his master.

Alistair, the other surviving Warden, had – to Anora's private annoyance – escaped relatively unscathed. He'd stayed long enough to confirm that Aedan was safe before heading back to Fort Drakon with his other companions, mumbling something about needing to collect Archdemon blood. Anora couldn't imagine what he meant, and for once in her life she was happy to leave it that way.

A rustle of canvas, and Wynne the healer entered carrying a bowl of water. "Good evening, Your Majesty," she said with a smile, a motherly expression crossing her face as she glanced down at Aedan. "He looks much better now, doesn't he?"

"He does indeed." Anora brushed back a loose strand of hair from Aedan's forehead. "Are you certain he'll fully recover?"

"I see no reason why not, as long as he's well cared for. Though he should be moved indoors as soon as it can be done safely." Wynne knelt down beside the bed and began to sponge Aedan's face, which was still streaked with dirt and blood. "The wound to his thigh is the worst; that will take some time to heal. He should avoid horse-riding or any other… energetic pursuits for at least a month."

"I will see that he does." Anora glanced towards the tent-flap. "Wynne, I don't like to leave him, but I have many other duties to attend to in the camp. I assume I can trust you and Alfric to care for him while I'm gone?"

"Of course, my lady. We'll take good care of him, never fear." She bent over Aedan, absorbed in her duties, and Anora quietly slipped out of the tent.

It was early evening, the battle and subsequent clean-up having lasted most of the day. A light rain was falling, which would hopefully put out the remaining fires in Denerim before the entire city was destroyed. Arl Eamon stood nearby in conference with some of his men, blood still trickling from a nasty gash on his cheek. For all their differences, Anora had to admit that he was a brave soldier; as the army stormed the gates of Denerim, she'd glimpsed him in the thick of the fighting, hacking apart darkspawn with the vigour of a man half his age.

Suddenly she heard a commotion near the gate that separated the royal enclosure from the rest of the tents. Several soldiers were surrounding someone who appeared to be trying to enter the compound, forcing him back with drawn weapons. Wary, but bolder in her armour than she might have been otherwise, Anora took a few steps towards them. But Cauthrien, who'd been standing guard outside the tent, quickly motioned her back.

"Stay here, your Majesty. I'll find out what's going on." She set off at a brisk pace towards the gate. Anora followed a little way behind, her hand on the hilt of the dagger at her waist.

A female solider was hurrying towards them. "Ser Cauthrien! Thank the Maker you're here. There's a strange man here who's insisting he needs to see the queen. He says… he says he's the teyrn of Highever."

"The teyrn of Highever?" Anora said sharply. "That's impossible. Bryce Cousland is dead, and his heir is my betrothed, the Warden-Commander."

The soldier was about to reply when the struggling man appeared to spot them, and broke away from the soldiers at the gate, almost throwing himself at the queen and her attendants. Cauthrien began to draw her sword, and Anora her dagger, but the man had already fallen to his knees before her.

"Your Majesty, I beg you – " he began hoarsely, and then broke off, gazing up at her with pleading eyes.

Anora looked down into a heavily-bearded face, younger than it appeared at first glance, with a long, ragged scar across the left temple. The man's armour was battered and stained, the leather straps frayed almost to threads, yet he carried a sword at his hip, and a valuable one at that. She didn't recognise him, and yet there was something familiar… the shape of his face, the hazel eyes. Something very familiar…

"Sweet lady Andraste," she breathed. "Fergus? Fergus Cousland?"

"Lady." Tears filled the man's eyes, and he lowered them to the ground, his voice dropping to a croak. "Lady, tell me… am I too late? Does my brother still live?"

The sheer agony in his voice was too much for even Anora's composure. As Cauthrien and the others looked on in astonishment, she took his face in her hands and tilted it up towards her, speaking slowly and calmly. "He lives, and he is safe, but he was badly injured in the battle. The healers gave him a draught that will keep him sedated for many hours yet."

Fergus nodded wordlessly and gulped down a breath, brushing the moisture from his eyes with a grimy hand. "May I see him?"

"I see no reason why not." Collecting her thoughts, Anora turned to the bewildered guards. "I thank you for your diligence, but I recognise this man. He is indeed the teyrn of Highever. Ser Cauthrien, if you please, help me bring Lord Fergus to his brother."

Cauthrien held out a hand to help Fergus to his feet, her expression still wary. For a moment he swayed so violently that Anora feared he would collapse, but he kept his balance. "Forgive me," he said with a weak smile. "I've been riding hard for days. I'm very tired." Anora smiled reassuringly, but privately wondered if he might be in need of a healer himself.

The three of them slowly made their way over to Anora's tent, where she paused just by the entrance, motioning to the others to stay outside. "Alfric?" she called softly. "Come out here. I have a surprise for you."

After a long pause, the mabari poked his head through the tent-flap, sniffing the air suspiciously. The moment he saw Fergus he hurtled out of the tent as if he'd been shot from a catapult, bounding up to his long-lost friend and leaping at him with joyous abandon. Fergus, his face streaked with tears, laughed weakly and made a few half-hearted attempts to bat him away. "Oh, my faithful friend," he murmured. "It's good to see you again."

Alfric was bouncing around in circles now, clearly trying to herd them all towards Aedan's bedside. Fergus and Anora followed him into the tent, where a surprised Wynne backed away at the sight of this dirty, dishevelled visitor.

Seeing his brother's body stretched out on a camp-bed, the young man slumped to his knees with a hoarse cry. "Oh Maker, it's too late. He's dead."

"He is not dead." Gently but firmly, Anora took his hand and pressed it against Aedan's chest, so that he could feel the gentle motion of his breaths and the slow, steady heartbeat beneath. "See for yourself. He will recover, I promise you."

A strangled sound escaped Fergus' throat. His head tipped forward until it rested on Aedan's chest, and his body began to shudder with convulsive sobs of both anguish and relief. Anora felt her own throat begin to ache as she gazed at them, and she hastily looked away, wanting to grant him a moment of privacy in this most bittersweet of reunions. At long last, Fergus' breathing quieted somewhat, and he wiped his face with a cloth which Wynne thoughtfully passed to him.

"Is it all true?" he asked gruffly. "Did my brother really end a civil war and lead the fight against the darkspawn?"

"He did. Your brother is a remarkable man, my lord teyrn."

" 'Remarkable' isn't the word, if what Teagan says is to be believed." Fergus slowly shook his head. "Mother always said that Aedan had great things in store for him. It seems she was right."

"Eleanor usually was." They exchanged a brief, sad smile that said more than words ever could.

"And…" He passed a hand across his brow. "Forgive me, your Majesty, but I'm not sure if I understood Teagan correctly. Is it true that you and Aedan are to marry?"

"We are indeed." With a slight smile, she added, "That is the traditional reward for a dragon-slayer, is it not?"

He chuckled weakly. "Half the kingdom, and the fair princess' hand in marriage? I suppose it is. I just – I can't comprehend everything that's happened while I've been away."

A heavy silence fell. Anora felt her chest constrict painfully; she hardly knew whether from sympathy, guilt, or a mixture of both. "I am so very sorry about your family," she said softly.

He opened his mouth as if to reply, then closed it and abruptly turned away, clearly overcome with emotion. For once Anora had no words to offer; she knew, all too sharply, the pain of losing a loved one. If she had only realised, after Ostagar, that he was still alive…

"But where have you been all this time, Fergus?" she said at last, before the silence could grow too painful to bear. "I know your brother searched for you, but Eamon told me he'd heard nothing. He'd given you up for dead."

"Where I've been… that's a very long story, your Majesty. As for how I got here… well, when I left the Wilds and found out… about Highever… I travelled to Redcliffe, thinking I could ask the Guerrin family for help." Fergus shook his head ruefully. "It seems I arrived there just a few hours after everyone else left. I explained everything to Bann Teagan, and then we rode up here like madmen – "

Anora frowned. "Teagan is here? I thought he was staying behind to guard Redcliffe?"

"Redcliffe is safe enough, I think. Teagan planned to bring me straight to you, my lady, but then the darkspawn started to retreat and we got caught up in the fighting. He was alive and well the last I saw of him, but I don't know where he is now."

Fergus closed his eyes. Seeing his obvious exhaustion, Anora decided not to question him further. "Well, there'll be time for explanations later. In the meantime, you can stay here in the camp and get some rest."

His eyes snapped open. "I can't. I mean – forgive me, your Majesty, but I need to make preparations to take back Highever." He passed a hand tiredly across his eyes. "Teagan told me that Bann Alfstanna had already offered her support to my brother. I was planning to set out for Waking Sea as soon as possible."

"If you mean to retake Highever, you'll need more than Alfstanna's archers. I can provide troops and supplies once the city is fully secured, but that will take at least a week." She laid a hand on his arm. "Stay here for tonight, at least. Cauthrien?" The guard captain entered promptly, stooping to fit her tall frame through the entrance. "Tell your men to find a bed for the Teyrn and bring him some refreshment – and fresh clothes, if there are any to spare."

"As you wish, your Majesty."

Too exhausted to argue, Fergus followed Cauthrien out of the tent, leaving Anora alone with Wynne. The old woman's eyes had lit up at the sight of Fergus and the conversation that followed. "That was Aedan's elder brother, I take it?"

"Yes."

"Oh, I'm so glad. Poor boy, it broke his heart when he believed Fergus had died at Ostagar." Her brow furrowed slightly. "Though it will be a great shock to him, even so. Perhaps we should hold off telling him the news until he's a little stronger."

"I agree. Especially if Fergus leaves for Highever before he wakes – it'll be hard for him to accept such a thing without proof. He might think we were playing a cruel joke on him." Anora paused, thinking things over. "Hmm, I wonder…"

"What is it, my lady?"

"Never mind – an idea came to me, that's all. For the moment, if Aedan wakes, say nothing to him about it." Wynne frowned, but eventually nodded her assent.

The next few hours were spent in conferring with Eamon and the other commanders, visiting the sick and wounded, and helping to assess the damage. It wasn't until Anora was drifting off to sleep, curled up next to Aedan on a pile of blankets and cushions, that it finally occurred to her what Fergus' return would mean for her marriage to his brother.

… …

From 'The Tale of Aedan the Warden':

The Warden fell senseless beside the corpse of the great dragon, and those who saw him cried out in despair, for no man had ever killed an Archdemon and lived. But the Lady Andraste was watching over Aedan, and seeing that he was noble and pure of heart, She took his broken body into Her arms and breathed Her gift of life into him.