Fate, it seemed, would not be content to allow Rìona to go very long without some living reminder of Cailan, and of her foolish and failed schemes.

She'd been utterly distraught when she had realized she carried the king's child, which she knew it must be, since she'd been careful with Duncan and Daveth. At first, she'd thought to rid herself of it but, when Morrigan had come to her and offered a concoction intended to do just that, Rìona had found herself unable to do so. This babe was not only the last of the Cousland line, but also the last of the Theirin dynasty... or so Rìona had believed until Alistair made his confession. Strange, that she should give up her ambitions for the throne only to find herself carrying the royal heir. When they finally confronted and toppled Teyrn Loghain, she would be duty-bound to attempt to secure her child's birthright.

But then Alistair had admitted who his own father was. He was still miffed with her for her reaction, and she would need to smooth things over with him, but the irony had simply been too intense to bear in that moment. She had come away from Ostagar not only with the king's babe in her belly, but with his half-brother at her side. Little wonder she'd found herself reminded of Cailan; she'd been an idiot not to realize what the resemblance between Alistair and the dead king signified much sooner. Why else would the Arl of Redcliffe have troubled himself to see to the rearing of a dead chambermaid's bastard son?

When she had finally caught her breath enough to ask questions, Alistair had disavowed being the heir to the throne. It seemed he'd been told all his life that taking the throne was the last thing he would be expected to do. Now, Rìona better understood his reluctance to assume command of their growing band of adventurers. If Alistair led the endeavor to bring down Loghain, it would be seen as a bid for the throne.

He didn't seem to understand—or perhaps he was simply not yet reconciled to—the fact that such an outcome was nearly inevitable. As Cailan's offspring, Rìona's babe was slightly ahead of Alistair in the succession, but even if Rìona could prove her claim of royal paternity, the Landsmeet would never agree to put a babe on the throne and assign a regent when an adult heir was to be had, especially when Ferelden needed leadership against the Blight. Leaving Loghain in the regency was absolutely out of the question, given his crimes. And Cailan's widow, Queen Anora, was Loghain's daughter; they had to assume she was complicit in her father's schemes to usurp the throne.

Which left Alistair as the strongest candidate for the crown—unless Arl Eamon wished to make a claim of his own by right of being the king's uncle, which Alistair assumed he would.

Rìona wasn't so certain.

Now she found herself in the presence of yet another of Cailan's relatives—his other uncle, Teagan Guerrin, Bann of Rainesfere. Bann Teagan was the younger brother of Arl Eamon and the late Queen Rowan, Cailan's mother. He'd come to Redcliffe after Loghain had declared himself Queen Anora's regent, in order to ascertain the status of his older brother's illness, but had found himself unable to gain entry to the castle. Then the attacks had begun.

"Walking corpses?" Rìona repeated in confusion,as he explained what had been happening in Redcliffe these last few days.

"Indeed," the bann replied, pacing in agitation at the front of the Redcliffe village chantry, where he had established his command center. The chantry was the sturdiest and most secure building in the village, and the last line of defense should the militia fail to defend them. "Three nights now, they've surged forth from the castle at sunset and attacked until dawn. The knights and militia have been able to beat them back, but several villagers have been dragged off to their deaths."

"Dragged off?"

"Yes. We think they may have been eaten."

"Maker's breath!" Alistair exclaimed.

"Each night the attacks have gotten worse. If that continues to hold true, tonight will be the worst yet. The militia barely managed to prevail last night and lost several men in the process. I think tonight there is little hope, unless... I realize that the role of the Grey Wardens is to fight the darkspawn and the Blight, but if you will not help us, I fear Redcliffe will be lost entirely."

Morrigan made a derisive sound. "'Tis a pointless waste of time, risking our lives to defend grubby villagers when we ought to be seeking our enemies and defeating them."

"We won't get far against Teyrn Loghain without the arl!" Alistair snapped at her.

"I fail to see how this helps us fight the Blight," Sten rumbled. "Why are we delaying here, when we should be moving toward the archdemon?"

"For a member of the qunari vanguard, you know surprisingly little about strategy," Rìona answered, looking up at the giant. "We cannot gather an army without the support of the Arl of Redcliffe. We cannot reach, much less defeat, the archdemon without an army to help us fight our way through the horde of thousands of darkspawn that inevitably surround him."

The qunari made a disgruntled sound, but desisted. Morrigan looked as though she would continue to protest, but subsided at Rìona's challenging stare. The silence was not to last long, however.

After agreeing to help defend the village, Bann Teagan requested that they confer with the mayor regarding any aid they might render the militia in their preparations. From Mayor Murdock, Rìona learned that the blacksmith, Owen, had locked himself away inside the smithy. He refused to repair any of the armor or weapons the militia was using, though after so many nights of fighting, they were desperately in need. His daughter, Owen explained, was a maid in the castle and Murdock had refused to enter the castle and search for her. He would not relent and perform the repairs until Rìona had given her word that she would enter the castle as soon as the village was secure and look for the girl.

This prompted Morrigan to begin making snide remarks about rescuing kittens from trees.

There was also a dwarven trader named Dwyn, a combat veteran whose aid would have been quite valuable to the militia, who had instead locked himself in his house to wait out the battle. Rìona sought him out to entreat his assistance, but found reasoning with him much more difficult than she had originally envisioned. He wanted to be paid for his services, but she had no coin to spare. From his appraising look, she thought he might be amenable to payment of a different kind, but the presence of her companions kept her from offering sexual favors. Finally, she promised to speak to Bann Teagan and Arl Eamon about lowering the dwarf's taxes and duties for conducting his business on their lands. For this, Dwyn agreed to add his expertise to the defense of the village.

Then it was Sten's turn to grumble that Rìona wouldn't allow him to bash the dwarf's head in for cowardice, despite the fact that doing so would have defeated the purpose in recruiting him to help defend the village in the first place.

With each new illogical argument, Rìona found herself becoming more and more irritable that they did not seem to be capable of understanding the finer points of diplomacy. Alistair and Leliana were supportive, thank the Maker, but unless Morrigan and Sten learned to trust her leadership, there was going to be a confrontation sooner or later.

It was the misfortune of the proprietor of the village tavern that he happened to find himself the target of Rìona's frustration. Neither the barkeep nor the serving wench were in evidence when their company entered the inn seeking rooms and a hot meal before the battle. When Rìona asked some of the militia members, sitting in the common room seeking their courage in a pint of ale before darkness fell, one of them hooked a careless thumb over his shoulder at the storeroom behind the bar.

"Ol' Lloyd's prob'ly got Bella pinned in there trying to worm his chubby hand up under her skirts," the rough-clad villager slurred.

Leaving her companions, Rìona went to the storeroom to find the prediction was only too accurate.

"Get your greasy hands off me, you pig!" she heard a feminine voice hiss in a commoner's accent.

"I gave you this job, missy. I can take it away just as easy, if you don't play nice," a male voice replied. There was a pained grunt, and a moment later the pretty serving wench appeared, her face flushed and her eyes snapping angrily.

"Oh!" she said, nearly walking into Rìona before she noticed her standing there because she was too busy trying to repair the disarray of her clothing. "Sorry. If you want ale, you'll have to talk to Lloyd. He's got a vise grip on the spigots. Other than that, what can I get for you, love?"

"Meals and rooms for myself and my four companions, if you have them to spare," Rìona said politely.

"We got rooms," the girl nodded. "Only one staying in the inn right now is some elf, creepy fellow named Berwick. Says he's waiting for his brother. Redcliffe's not exactly overflowing with visitors these days."

"Well, we'll see what we can do about that," Rìona said, offering the girl a reassuring smile. "Just tell me Lloyd's a better cook than he is an employer."

"Never fear, love, I'm the one what does the cooking around here, and since I do the marketing as well, you can be sure you're getting actual mutton and not the contents of the rat-catcher's nets. Drives Lloyd mad, the expense does, but until he gets off his lazy arse to go to the market himself, that'll be the way of it. Besides, not like he can't afford it, charging desperate men for ale when they're likely facing their last sundown tonight defending him and his tavern."

"He's charging the militia for ale?" Rìona asked incredulously.

"That swine would charge Andraste herself for the fagot that lit her own pyre." The girl nodded, ladling stew into bowls while she spoke. "And then he cowers in his cellar and can't even be bothered to help defend the village, if you can believe it. Won't go to the chantry like the rest of the folk, because he's afraid the militia will break into his tavern and steal his ale. As if they don't have more important things to do than ransack the swill Lloyd serves, fighting those things coming down from the castle!"

Rìona shook her head in disgust. "Sounds like you need a better job."

"I'll just end up in another place like this, or worse," Bella shrugged. "Lloyd may grope me, but he hasn't got the bollocks to do more than that, and a sharp elbow to the ribs always puts him back in his place, which is more than you can say for some men. Anyway, I'd better get back to work. He'll be out of the storeroom once he's done having his wank, you can count on it."

Sure enough, the rotund barkeep appeared moments later, still flushed and sweating.

Moments later, Rìona sheathed her dagger as she sat down on a bench across the trestle table from Alistair, who was looking at her in disbelief.

"Did you honestly just threaten to kill the barkeep if he didn't serve the militia free ale?"

"No, I threatened to kill him if he didn't go help defend the village with the rest of the militia tonight. Then I put Bella in charge of the tavern and asked her to serve the militia free ale."

"I'm not sure we're supposed to do things like that."

"Well, fortunately for us, we're the only two Grey Wardens in Ferelden. In the absence of a guiding voice, we get to make up the rules as we go along." At his dubious look, she sighed, and gestured to the militiamen as they cheered Bella for bringing them foaming tankards of fresh ale. "Alistair, look at those men over there. They're not trained knights, hardened to warfare. They're frightened peasants defending their homes from a horrific threat they don't understand. If a pint of ale is going to give them the courage they need to stand and fight beside us tonight, then I'm going to do everything in my power to make certain they get it. If worse comes to worst, at least they'll have enjoyed a final tankard before they go to the Fade, and perhaps come tomorrow there will be one less pig trying to force himself on the helpless barmaid." She shrugged, lifting a spoonful of rich mutton stew from a trencher made from the hollowed-out crust of a stale loaf of bread. "Besides, Bella gave us our rooms for the night for free as well. Of course, if your conscience is too outraged by my tactics, you're welcome to sleep on the cold ground outside."

Alistair had no reply for that, but instead turned his attention to his own stew. Rìona looked at her other companions to see if they would challenge her decision as well, only to find Morrigan giving her an approving smile and Sten nodding in satisfaction.

At least she'd managed to do something right in their estimation.


With Rìona's encouragement, her companions sought their rooms to sleep for a while before sundown, for it would no doubt be a long night. She found herself unable to rest despite her exhaustion. Although there had been several skirmishes along the road since they had reached Lothering, this was the first battle since Ostagar that she'd had time to anticipate, and she was unnerved by it.

They were looking to her for leadership, but she was neither a general nor a particularly good strategist. She'd learned to use a bow, because a teyrn was expected to be able to fight beside their banns and freeholders in time of conflict. Other nations coddled and sheltered their nobility, but in Ferelden the nobles ruled by the respect and will of the freeholders, who chose the most able fighters to lead them in war. At one time, that requirement might have excluded noblewomen, but the Orlesian occupation had changed things, with Queen Moira and Lady Rowan, later Queen Rowan, taking up arms as well.

Still, warfare was not her strength. Rìona was trained to be a politician and diplomat, albeit a rather unusual one, relying nearly as much on her sensual nature as her glib tongue. She was not meant to lead troops in battle; that had always been Fergus's intended role. Now, tonight, that leadership would be put to the test, and she could not rest for thinking of all that might go wrong with such an unqualified general leading the battle.

Inevitably, her thoughts traveled back to those last few desperate hours before the battle at Ostagar. She thought of Cailan and their frenzied coupling on the rug in his tent, the bite of his armor into her flesh and the pleasure which had come unbidden. She understood now the desire that had driven the king that night; had there been a likely candidate among her party, she might have sought him out, to release some of the anxious tension brewing within her. This was perhaps especially true in the wake of the shock she'd received in realizing she was pregnant. She wished to prove that her body was still her own, to be used at her own discretion and desire.

And so Rìona found herself restless, pacing her room above the tavern rather than sleeping as she had intended. Outside she could hear the clanging of the blacksmith's hammer, and the shouts of men as they scurried around the village preparing for battle, practicing with their bows, donning what little armor they possessed. Finally, she surrendered to the fact that sleep was a futile endeavor and left her room.

The militiamen were fewer in the tavern now, having drunk up their courage. The barmaid Bella was cleaning tables and asked if Rìona needed anything, but Rìona declined and left the tavern instead. As she walked into the crisp, overcast afternoon, she was nearly trampled by a frantic girl looking for her younger brother. Before she knew it, Rìona had agreed to help with the search and set off to search down by the docks, while the girl went up the trail to the windmill to check around there. It was as good a task as any to keep her occupied in the absence of a lover, and this way Morrigan and Sten need never know she was expending effort on a profitless gesture of no strategic importance.

Few buildings on the docks were occupied; most of the village men were helping the militia, either preparing to fight themselves, or aiding those who would. The women and children were already seeking shelter in the chantry. The general store was abandoned, its proprietor having been killed the first night the village was attacked. It was there Rìona found casks of lamp oil. She remembered the way Ser Gilmore and the knights had dragged furniture into the passageways of Castle Cousland and set it ablaze, creating flaming barricades to deter the advance of Howe's invading forces. She resolved to speak with Ser Perth about it and see if the oil might be put to some strategic use. For the first time since she'd agreed to help defend the village, she felt she was contributing something other than acting as a persuasive intermediary.

She found the lad, Bevin, hiding in a wardrobe in his own home. He'd come seeking his grandfather's sword, determined to prove his bravery to his sister. Rìona convinced him to return to his sister's care in the chantry, and took the sword he'd been seeking from its chest, studying it. It was a well-made longsword, and valuable as well, if the gold chasing around the hilt was any indication. But the one Alistair had gotten in Lothering was nearly as fine, and no one else among their company had need of such a sword. She thought of their dire financial situation and briefly considered selling it, but she felt the weight of the Cousland family sword upon her back and knew she could not. She took the sword to Bevin and his sister in the chantry and gently pressed it into the girl's hands, exhorting her to keep it, or at least sell it herself if she had need of the funds.

Again, she could just imagine Morrigan's mockery of such a simple act of decency. It was getting harder and harder to find ways to like the contentious witch. Rìona thought they had been making some progress since leaving the Korcari Wilds. Morrigan seemed to have approved of the way Rìona had dispatched the soldiers in Lothering, and she had been pleased that Rìona hadn't reacted in horror to seeing Morrigan draw magical power from sex. They actually seemed to have come close to striking up something of—if not a friendship, then at least an understanding.

But since Rìona had refused Morrigan's offer of an abortifacient, the apostate mage had become far more scathing in her attitude toward Rìona and her decisions as their leader. Morrigan had made a persuasive argument for why Rìona was being foolish to attempt to lead them against the Blight with a babe in her belly, but in the end it hadn't mattered. She simply would not do it. From that moment on, Morrigan had little tolerance for Rìona. It almost seemed as though she wished to see if she could drive Rìona away from their company.

Sten's arguments, at least, Rìona could understand. He didn't grasp the subtleties of the politics behind warfare. But Morrigan's derision seemed to be fueled by nothing more than spite. Rìona did not consider herself an excessively altruistic person, but there was much to be gained by aiding in the defense of the village, in terms of the political and military aid Bann Teagan and Arl Eamon could render their cause.

Her willingness to assist the village seemed to please Alistair, at least. And that approval made her happier than she cared to admit, especially now that she understood who he was. It had been all well and good to invite him to her tent, before she realized that he was the half-brother of the man she'd set out to seduce to win a place on the throne. But now such an entanglement—and once she understood Alistair's views on the matter, she knew it could be nothing less than an entanglement—was simply out of the question. It didn't matter how beautiful she found him, or that watching him fight was enough to leave her weak-kneed and breathless. It didn't matter that his resemblance to Cailan evoked erotic memories of the pleasure she'd experienced even in the midst of such tumult. She simply could not become involved with the bastard heir to the Fereldan throne, not after all she had done.

"...doesn't matter anyway," she heard a glum voice say. "It's not like we're going to live out the night."

Tomas, she thought, recognizing the voice. The red-haired young man who had met them on the road leading into the village and taken them to Bann Teagan. He'd stuck in her mind because the color of his hair had reminded her of Ser Gilmore.

"Eh, lad, don't let me hear you talkin' like that," a deeper, gruffer voice chided. "We got Grey Wardens helping us now. The Warden's done got ol' Owen repairing our armor and even talked Dwyn into helping with the defense. Never fear, lad. You might just have a chance to know the touch of a woman yet!"

She came around the corner of one of the dockside buildings to see a small cluster of men gathered, the casks of oil she'd found in the general store on the wooden planks beside them. Clearly they were tasked by Ser Perth to retrieve the oil and were taking a short rest before hauling it up the hill.

"Good afternoon, good sers," she said, forcing a smile to her lips. She looked at the red-headed lad, whose face was fit to match his hair.

"Good afternoon, Warden," the men replied, some bowing politely, others merely nodding.

"If you weren't aware, there's free ale for the militia at the tavern," she informed them. "I don't recommend going into battle drunk, but a tankard is the very least the gallant defenders of Redcliffe deserve to brace themselves for the coming battle."

A chorus of thanks greeted her pronouncement, and Rìona let her eyes travel slowly from one man to the next until she had taken each of them in. They were a rough, common lot, a far cry from the knights and noblemen she'd always expected would be the recipient of her attentions. But they were also to a man hale and healthy from a life of productive labor. Farmers, millers, shipwrights and builders, all.

"Come tomorrow evening," she declared with a flirtatious grin, "I intend to be back in that tavern, and I plan to have a dance with each and every one of you, barring those who will be home celebrating our victory with their wives. I do hope none of you will disappoint me." She turned her gaze upon the blushing lad. "You will be there to dance with me, won't you, Tomas?"

"Y-y-yes, my lady—Warden," the young man stammered, turning an even more brilliant hue. She spared him a final smile and walked away.

"Come on, let's get these casks up to Ser Perth!" she heard him say as she rounded the corner. A grunt followed as he lifted one. "I don't know about you fellows, but I've got a lady to dance with tomorrow!"

With the boisterous laughter and ribbing of the men echoing in her ears, Rìona made her way back to the inn to retrieve her bow and her companions and to take her station for the battle to come.