-oo-
Chapter 21 – Little Brother
Ser Ryan wasn't too sure whether he had woken up with the pain in his head; or whether the pain in his head had woken him up. He didn't much care. All he cared – and wanted - was it to stop soon. His hearing was muffled by the pounding of his skull; a drum beat that appeared to start from the back of his head and made its way to the base of his spine. He remembered being hit from behind. So why did his kidneys hurt? Actually, everything seemed to hurt. It felt as though he'd been rolled down a rocky hill, pummelled with a mace, then left to partially freeze overnight. As a distraction from the pain, he cast his memory back, trying to remember the last thing he'd been doing up to this point…to being captured. Panic had him scrambling to sit upright, immediately regretting doing so. Several waves of nausea, dizziness and sharp pain assailed him one after another, the nausea lingering, his stomach wanting to flee his body cavity in sheer distress.
He had to get up and out of here…wherever in the Maker's name here was. There was what appeared to be a picture on the wall and a rug on the floor, so perhaps he wasn't in a cell...Still, with no idea how long he'd been unconscious his panic intensified. He had to get back to Amell…No, first he had to get out of here…Andraste's smoking smallclothes why won't my head work properly?
"So, Ser Ryan…" a cool voice startled him. He blinked blearily, unable to clear his eyesight completely. It added to the list of things to be worried about.
"Alyce?" he croaked. Had she been captured too?
"We weren't to be separated, hm?" Her voice sounded like cold iron to his ears. He winced.
His vision cleared, resolving itself into a long limbed, angry shape seated nearby. Her arms were crossed and she was regarding him with a mixture of irritation, relief and something else he couldn't identify. He knew he would have some explaining to do when he saw her next. He would have liked to have asked her how she managed to…leave the place where he'd left her. Obviously she'd had help, but…his gaze found the long red gash on her shoulder.
"You're hurt," he said, eyes widening, not liking at all where his mind was going when it tried to come up with an explanation for her injury.
"You're hurter…hurt…more…" she corrected herself. "Oh for pity's sake…" Placing her hands firmly on his chest, she pushed him back down, scowling. "Fractured skull, you ninny," she explained. "You need rest."
"We need to get out of here…" he began urgently.
"Lie back down or I'm going to have his Lordship break your head again."
Ser Ryan's vision seemed to drop out again. When it returned it was fuzzy once more. He squinted at her while she fussed with his pillow. "His Lordship?" he asked, rubbing his eyes with a grazed knuckle. "What do you mean? Are we safe here? How did you…? What happened? How did you get injured?"
"What?" she demanded. "All these questions? No, 'I'm sorry for knocking you out and locking you up in a dark shed and deserting you to a fate worse than death'? Golly Ser Ryan…" She sniffed haughtily. Sitting back, she polished the nails of one hand on her 'robes' and inspected the shine with a pair of raised, critical eyebrows. "I think you had better watch yourself. You're really not looking very good in my Official Post-Trip Status Report. The way you're going, you'll be lucky if they don't strip you of your purple sash and assign you permanently to kitchen duty…"
"Alyce…" He tried rising again. It was a feeble attempt made even more pathetic by another wave of dizziness and a sudden need to expel the scant contents of his stomach very rapidly. If he was going to embarrass himself, he might as well do it in front of Amell so she could laugh at him. Maker, it was all he deserved. What in Thedas had the girl had to go through…'A fate worse than death'…? "I'm sorry…" His words came out strained, his throat burning from bile and stomach acid. He sought out her hand, bringing it apologetically to his lips.
"Hm…" she said, pushing the pail underneath the cot with her toe and reaching over to the bedside table. "Have you always apologised by smearing vomit over a person's hand? If not, I feel so…so special." At his stricken look, Alyce finally relented. There was a shallow basin of water on the table and a cloth, which she dunked, squeezed and used to wipe his face. "You must be more badly injured than I thought…" she told him. "This head wound is making you uncharacteristically sappy." Rinsing out the cloth, she threw it over the bedstead to dry, then sat back down, a pitying look on her face. Even with his intermittently blurring eyesight, he could see she was tired – not physically tired, but mana-drained. She'd been using magic - and a lot of it - lately. On him? Or someone else?
"Look," she told him, "All you need to know right now is that we're both safe here." She touched his cheek. His skin tingled and he could feel the pain draining away to a dull ache.
"You shouldn't do that," he told her sternly. "I'm not the only one who needs rest here. You won't need any of my Templar techniques to deplete your mana if you continue."
She snorted, rolling her eyes at him. "Certainly, Mr Pot…or are you Mr Kettle? You can decide. Anyway," she added. He knew that look. She was worried and was trying not to look worried. It made her slightly cross-eyed. "The sooner you recover, the sooner we can get moving," she said. "It seems we've landed ourselves in a bit of a fix here." A bit? He stared at her. Just a bit? "Your family are here – no don't try and get up again! – they're fine. There are…other people, but you can hear about them when you're feeling a little less like cotton wool and more…Holy Smite."
He grinned at that, eliciting another snort of disbelief from her. "Huh!" She sounded like Senior Enchanter Wynne when she did that. "A smile as well! Next you'll be reciting sonnets at me and telling me I have beautiful eyes and then I'd be forced to be really worried."
His grin widened. "I can't recall any sonnets at the moment," he admitted, agreeing with the cotton woolliness. "But you do have beautiful eyes…"
"Bloody idiot," she told him, but was she smiling? Or was it his imagination? "When you start feeling embarrassed about what you've just said, you'll know you're on the road to recovery." A knock sounded on the door; tentative, as though it did not wish to disturb. Alyce called out to the visitor, the door swinging wide. She stood up, finding her hand being claimed by his once more.
"You…won't stay…?" Ser Ryan frowned.
"I have to go and…check on something, but I'll be back," she promised. "You have a visitor to keep you company in any case." She stepped aside, revealing a broad-shouldered young man with a thatch of mussed dark hair, one thick lock falling low over his worried forehead. The lad had grown a good six inches since Ryan had seen him last and had put on quite a bit of muscle as well. There was even a bit of a shadow around the once-smooth chin, making him seem older, but the large hazel eyes were still the same he remembered from his youth.
"Geraint…" Ser Ryan chuckled as the young man beamed at him. "Haven't you stopped growing yet?"
The young man passed his hand through his hair, cheeks turning slightly pinker. "Heh. I don't know. Mother thinks not." Seeing this as her cue to leave the two men to do whatever brotherly things they needed to do, Alyce moved towards the door, wiggling her fingers in parting at the both of them. Ser Ryan watched his brother watch Alyce walk out of the door, not quite approving of the look on Geraint's face. "I…I like your mage…" the young man breathed appreciatively. "I think I know why you became a Templar. Are all mages as pretty as Miss Alyce?"
"It's 'Enchanter Amell'," Ryan gently corrected him. "And she's not my…"
"Good."
Ser Ryan's eyes narrowed; he shot his brother a disapproving look, spoiled slightly by his vision swimming out of focus again and having to blink rapidly to clear it. Damn my eyes…! The rapidity of his brother's response had surprised him, along with its meaning. He wasn't too sure which to be more agitated about; the fact that his baby brother was old enough to be interested in a girl, or that Geraint had chosen that girl to be Amell... "She's older than you, you know," Ryan said, unable to keep the chilliness out of his voice.
Geraint turned a blindingly charming smile on him. "Actually, I think I might be a month older." They exchanged birth dates? And since when was Geraint that old? When had Alyce turned younger?
"She's a mage," Ryan added, unable to meet his brother's gaze.
"So?" Geraint shrugged, unconcerned by this small, unimportant detail. "Mages can get married, can't they?" Ser Ryan stared at him. He's thinking of marriage…? Already? The sooner the two of them left Highever, the better, it seemed. "And you forget…" his brother threw himself into the chair that Alyce had just vacated. The legs creaked under the younger man's bulk, looking ridiculously small and barely able to contain the weight. "I'm not a Templar…or a Chantry Brother."
"I have been charged with her safety and wellbeing," Ryan told him coolly. "Regardless," It was time to steer the conversation away from Amell. "What's been going on here? Why was I attacked?"
His brother looked slightly sheepish. "Well…long story…but I can't tell you now. I promised Alyce…"
"Enchanter Amell."
"…Aly-cheeks," Geraint corrected mid-speech, "I wouldn't tell you. I was to ensure that you kept quiet and wasn't agitated in any way." Aly-cheeks? Ryan stared at his brother in horror. Where in Andraste's name did that come from? And how can I send it back? "Oh now, I've gone and upset you. Sorry." His brother did not sound sorry at all, Ryan thought sourly, a long, tense silence dragging out between them. It was broken when both of them spoke at the same time:
"So how is father?" "So she doesn't have a beau?"
Ser Ryan glared at the ceiling. "I'm not going to answer that question."
"Fine," Geraint folded his massive arms across his chest and stuck his nose stubbornly in the air. "And I'm not going to answer yours."
-oo-
Alyce stepped out into the sunshine. There was little of it today; the day having started out sullen and threatening damp. The sun had been persistent for a short while. Determined to have its way it had wrestled the clouds aside, forcing rays of warmth upon the autumn-chilled ground, but as the day wore on, even the sun appeared to lose the will to stay. Alyce stood under a single patch of brightness now with eyes closed, drinking in the brief warmth before a bank of heavy grey swept it away. A chilled breeze blew, raising goosebumps on the exposed skin of her arms. She leant her back against a tree, sinking slowly to the ground. She had not been this bone-weary since Ostagar.
They had been in Greenfell for two full days. By her reckoning they should have arrived at the Tower of Magi by now, but quite apart from the fact that Ser Ryan was in no fit state for travel, she could not leave these people to struggle on their own. The new Teyrn was not popular and the people of Highever made sure he and his soldiers knew it. Rebellion was rampant, but Howe's soldiers were not shy when it came to retaliation and retribution and that meant casualties, injuries; destroyed property and broken people. The only good thing about being so tired was that it seemed to keep the nightmares at bay…or perhaps she slept so deeply that she didn't notice or remember the nightmares on waking.
On the other hand, she didn't need to dream when the faces of the people she treated continued to haunt her thoughts the rest of the day. She still saw the soldiers in her head. That one moment when they realised she was a mage…
Something touched her shoulder. Alyce jumped, realising she had fallen asleep. She turned to behold possibly the most beautiful woman she had ever seen – and that was even in comparison with Neria. Where her mage friend was cool starshine and glittering jewels however, the woman beside her was golden honey and warm chicken soup…although the soup simile was probably because that was what the woman was offering her, a big bowl of it, along with a mug of steaming tea.
"Here," the woman smiled, showing perfect white teeth. "You haven't eaten all day. You'll need to keep your strength up."
Alyce thanked her, taking the bowl and mug. She felt awkward and gangling in the woman's presence, placing the mug self-consciously upon the ground while she balanced the bowl in her lap.
"You've been working very hard," the woman said, settling down beside her, encircling her knees with long shapely arms. Did the Maker create people like this to make people like me feel like stick figures? Alyce wondered dismally. "I also…" the woman added haltingly, "wanted to thank you for looking after my brother."
"Brother?" Alyce struggled around a mouthful of crusty bread.
Brother…Alyce thought hard, the pieces falling into place in her head. There was certainly a family resemblance.
"I wanted to ask…" the woman began somewhat reluctantly, "…you and my brother Ryan…"
Alyce froze with a mouth full of soup. She chewed and swallowed hastily, choking a little on a piece of carrot. "Me and your brother Ryan…?" Alyce repeated, uncomfortable about where this was going.
"You and he…You were both at Ostagar, were you not?"
"Oh!" Ostagar… Oh, Ostagar…The realisation that she knew where this conversation was now headed, eclipsed the fear of the direction she thought the conversation had been going. "Ostagar…" Alyce chewed on her bottom lip. "We…were. Yes."
"I see," the woman said softly. "I see…"
"Did you know someone who fought with the King's army?" Alyce asked. Clearly this was more difficult for this pretty woman than it was for her so she felt compelled to prompt conversation along.
The woman nodded. "My husband," she admitted with a sad tilt of her chin. "He was part of Teyrn Cousland's army. Since Ostagar, some soldiers have returned, but not Byron…" She stared into the distance, eyes empty of hope. "The stories some of them tell…Some won't even speak of it, finding it too awful a tale to relay, but I hear the monsters…the darkspawn…they still advance across Ferelden. Is this true?"
"I wish it weren't," Alyce sighed. "And I wish I could tell you news of your husband, but I was with the mages. The…" Alyce wracked her memory, trying to recall the various conversations about the army camp then. "If I recall correctly, the Teyrn's son had been tasked with scouting the Wilds. They were not to return until after the main battle."
"The one that the King lost?" she asked.
"That's…one way of putting it…" Alyce said carefully.
"I heard that the General…"
"Wennie?"
The woman looked up. So did Alyce. Ser Ryan was crossing the small garden towards them. Alyce put down her bowl at the same time that the woman beside her launched herself at Ryan. Alyce got quietly to her feet, holding the mug of tea to her chest, beginning to tip toe away. She had intended to sneak back inside, but just as she lifted one foot, Ser Ryan called to her.
"I see you've met Enchanter Amell," Ryan smiled down at the woman. To Alyce, he said, "And you've met my sister." Alyce grimaced in sour defeat before arranging her features into an expression more pleasant before turning it upon them. Standing, the woman appeared much smaller, the top of her head falling just under the lower edge of Ser Ryan's right pauldron. It was the perfect height for him to place an arm comfortably across her shoulder.
"And I see you're up and about," Alyce said, holding the tea in front of her like a shield.
"I thought it was about time that I was," he agreed. "Morwenna," he began. "Could you excuse Enchanter Amell and I for a moment?" Softening his tone of voice, he looked down on his sister again. "I promise I won't be long. I'm keen to see Mother."
Morwenna slid her gaze speculatively towards the young mage, hoping to glean some clues as to what kind of relationship she and her brother had, but Alyce gave nothing away, staring intently up into the tree and making odd popping noises with her mouth. Giving a shrug, Morwenna stepped away, casting one last look over her shoulder at the two of them. Ser Ryan waited until his sister had left the garden completely before stepping up to Alyce. "You promised me an explanation," he reminded her. "I spoke to Geraint. He said the both of us arrived two days ago. Alyce, what happened? How did you manage to escape my anti-magic wards?''
"Hah!" she waved a finger triumphantly at him. "You said the 'E' word. Escape! So you admit that you did a bad, bad thing by locking me up?"
"I've already apologised," he reminded her tersely.
Alyce blew a sceptical bubble of air at him. "Some apology…"
"Just tell me whether they harmed you or not!" he yelled at her.
Startled by the sudden burst of anger, Alyce dropped her mug of tea, splashing her boots. It wasn't a loss. They were a mess anyway. Ser Ryan was immediately apologetic at his outburst, turning from her to try and compose himself. Alyce backed up against the tree, viewing him with approval.
"So…" she said. "The Serene Templar does have a temper after all…"
"I do not…" he began, then sighed. "Please answer my question."
"No," she told him. "They scared the periwinkles out of me, but they didn't get a chance to get to me."
"Then how…?"
"The soldiers did find me, that is true," she began nervously. "They're the ones that released me; a rather lusty trio of the worst dressed soldiers I've ever…" catching his expression, Alyce changed her conversational direction. "I found out why these blasted robes are cut so high." She kicked a leg out. "You can run bloody fast in them. Faster than in normal mage robes anyway. All I had to do was get far enough away from your wards. My magic came back then…" Oh, their faces…the expressions on the soldiers when they realised she was a mage…"These robes have been enchanted to amplify magic…" she explained quietly, her voice taking on an edge. "Tevinters…" Andraste's blood their expressions…Her bravado deserted her abruptly. Alyce felt suddenly drained of warmth. Wrapping her arms about herself she lowered herself back down to the ground.
"What happened Alyce?" Ser Ryan asked quietly. "What happened to the soldiers?"
Alyce gave a single, humourless, self-deprecating huff of laughter. "Decorating the landscape," she said. Fingers digging into the flesh of her arms she added in a shaking voice, "I killed three people I hadn't meant to. I only meant…" She had been terrified, repeating spells over and over in her head in desperation. The moment her magic came back to her she had been in the middle of a fire spell. Amplified by her fear and the enchantments built into her robes, she had incinerated them in a single blast. And I never want to see that again…Ever…
Ser Ryan passed a hand over his face. He sat down beside her.
"Please don't tell me I did the right thing," she whispered the warning. "I could have paralysed them, sent them a misdirection hex. I could have gotten away. I didn't have to kill them."
"From what Geraint tells me of Howe's men, they would have done worse to you," Ser Ryan reminded her.
"That doesn't make it any better!" she shot at him. "It just makes me…it just makes me as bad as they are…were…" She dropped her head miserably onto her knees, staring at the blades of grass between her boots, but not really seeing them. In her mind they were only a wash of colour, interspersed with the vision of three melting humans…This is the part where he tells me all about Aeonar…Instead, to her astonishment, she found his arm slipping around her shoulders, drawing her close. She startled into looking at his face in surprise, finding his hand coming up to force her head downwards. The top of her head bumped his chestplate.
"Ow."
"I think you'll find it still within scope of my present duties to offer you some kind of…comfort…" he told her in his official Templar voice.
"Sap," she accused him, trying to stop trembling. He gave a lock of her unruly hair a tug.
After a while, he sighed. "Two days…the First Enchanter must be wondering where you are by now. Have you been able to send a message?"
"No," Alyce tried to shake her head, locked as it was in his armhold. "Howe's soldiers are watching the border too closely. People are being stopped and searched now. We were lucky to have gotten through mostly unnoticed."
Ser Ryan frowned. "Searching?" he asked. "Why? What are they looking for?"
"Oh," she waved a hand in the air. It was still shaking. "Proof of the rumours going about."
"What rumours?"
"…the rumour that Teyrn Cousland is alive…"
Ser Ryan went perfectly still…not that he wasn't moving a great deal before this particular piece of news…"And…" he asked carefully. "Is it? True, that is?"
"Maaaaaaaaybe…"
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