"The puppies are here!"
The joyous calling roused the wardens from their beds; they sleepily rubbed the grit from their eyes before the meaning of the words penetrated their collective haze.
"The puppies!" Cora squeaked, the first on her feet. She was shortly followed by Petra and Anouk, who scarcely had their morning jackets on before they exited the barracks.
Jowan, who had helped Wynne tend Pepper through the early hours of the morning, was positively askew with excitement. His hair looked like a haystack and his eyes were lit up like candles; "Come and see them!" As Aneiren rushed to join the others, he smacked his temple on the post of his bed and cursed.
"Mind the furniture!" Cullen inserted merrily, clapping Aneiren on the back. Aneiren gave him an evil look as he rubbed the sore spot, which was already bruising.
"One of these mutts is gonna imprint on me!" Oghren announced to them all proudly. "And I'm gonna ride him into battle!" His eyes shone briefly as he imagined the glory of his warrior steed, complete with a custom leather harness. Brick, who had been impressed by the notion of imprinting his own hound, was visibly caught by this idea.
"Oghren, don't talk shit," Aneiren said; behind him, Derick burst out laughing. Over Oghren's protests, Kinnon guessed, "Still not a morning person, Aneiren?"
"Mabari are very noble beings!" Leliana told Oghren, "He or she would not allow such an undignified use of their prowess."
"Huh," the dwarf's brows lowered with disappointment, "We'll see."
The kennels were lit with the warmth of oil lamps, which glowed against the backdrop of a deep, vibrant blue not yet touched by the rising sun. Charlotte's form was visible as she stood over Wynne, who was busy cooing. Mastodon, the proud father, was standing in wait for the others with a beaming smile on his doggy face.
"Good morning!" Charlotte called, smiling again for what felt like the thousandth time. Mastodon turned back to share his joy with her, his tail wagging.
"Good job, boy," she congratulated him; as she stroked his back, Charlotte felt tender at the memory of Mastodon that morning. He had been solemn, and very respectful of Wynne, only occasionally braving her displeasure to offer an encouraging lick or nose-touch to his mate. Pepper had been grateful, but occupied, and now lay happily exhausted while her pups snuffled their way towards a morning meal.
"Lemme see! Lemme see!" Surprisingly, it was not the women who shoved so eagerly to the front, but Kinnon and Oghren, who glared at each other when they both got stuck.
"They won't imprint yet," Charlotte told them dryly, her eyes dancing with suppressed amusement. The pair of them noticeably sagged.
"Oooohhhh!" Cora's voice reached a pitch that would startle bats. "They're perfect!"
Everyone gathered round to observe the tiny pink toes; the curling, short tails; and the eyes still squeezed tightly shut.
"Oh, they're so precious," Leliana murmured, stroking one's foot. It let out a cry of protest and Pepper sat up to sniff the baby, only to conclude nothing was amiss and crash back down with an exhausted, "woof!"
"You've done well, Pepper," Keili complimented kindly, touching her hand to the dog's ear. Pepper acknowledged her with a weak thump of her tail against the stall floor.
"Now, now, don't crowd the poor girl! She's just given life!" Wynne scolded, waving them back. Everyone let out disappointed groans as they complied, still craning their necks to watch the pups.
"Come back another time," Wynne ordered, "When they've all had a chance to rest; off with you!"
Now yawning and stretching, the wardens and associated friends made their way back into the castle, hoping for a spot of breakfast. Thankfully, Charlotte had thought ahead and warned the cook of a ravenous crowd.
"Good morning, Nana," Charlotte said as they ducked into the kitchen. The head cook of Redcliffe was a cheerful fat woman who celebrated the Grey Warden appetite. A spread was already in progress; Gerta, one of her assistant cooks, greeted them all warmly.
"Mornin' mistress! The informal dining room is set for you; make yourselves comfortable and we'll serve you shortly."
Still in their pajamas, the wardens gathered around their barracks table, chattering. Charlotte sat down near the head, prepared to endure the meal quietly before slipping away, when Zevran made an appearance.
"I hear we are blessed with yet more dogs in Ferelden?" he took the seat next to Charlotte, unfolding a napkin neatly into his lap. Zevran, as was custom, was immaculate in his best trousers and a white shirt accented by a fine vest. His shoulder-length hair was already smooth, with two braids holding back half of it from his handsome face.
"Yes," Charlotte smiled, watching how Mastodon puffed his chest at the table, as though he were hosting the meal in honor of this day. "A fine litter of five; we will see if any of them imprint on our group."
"Ah, then I will avoid the kennels," Zevran said delicately, reaching for a plate of bread. "I should not tempt them with my appealing character. It would not be fair to the beasts."
"Dogs are wonderful creatures!" Leliana disagreed with Zevran, stirring her morning tea. "I would be honored if one chose me."
"I don't know if a Mabari can imprint on an Orlesian," asserted Kinnon, his grin wicked. "It might be against their nature."
As Leliana threw some food at his head, the others laughed, knowing Leliana called herself a Ferelden because of her mother, who was native to the land. It was hard to see their fellow warden as Ferelden, though; her bard training and obsession with fine clothing and shoes were distinctly Orlesian.
"I would adore a hound," Anouk confessed. "I've only ever read about them in books at the Circle, but the stories of their loyalty and heroism are truly amazing."
"Did you hear that?" Charlotte asked Mastodon, "You're a hero!" Mastodon barked in enthusiastic agreement, making the entire table burst into laughter.
"Um, can I have a moment?"
The whole room went as silent as a grave; Alistair, framed by the dawning light in the doorway, shifted awkwardly on his feet and then stopped, as though catching himself in the habit.
All eyes turned to Charlotte, whose face had gone blank. She and Alistair had not been alone since their fight in the training yard; he had assisted in a few trainings of the mages, but since he announced his plan to take Ferelden's throne, he had become increasingly absent. Without responding, she rose from her seat, folding her napkin onto the table and walking at a clipped pace towards a study Eamon had put together for her and the other wardens. "In here," she told him shortly. Alistair followed her and she stepped aside to let him pass before shutting the door. In the dining room, everyone stared after them; "Do you think she'll be alright?" Brick whispered to Anouk. Zevran's eyes had narrowed as he stared at the door; with effort, he picked up his fork and turned to face the table. "It is none of our business," he reminded them all. "And she is not some temperamental child; she is your commander. She deserves your respect!" The last part came out as a bark and the wardens hurried to face their plates again, their eyes only occasionally sneaking a peep at the silent door.
Alistair heard the door shut behind him and felt as though he had just entered a tomb; when he saw the expression on Charlotte's face, he amended the feeling to a lion's den. She was furious; this was going to be a difficult conversation. If she said no – which he suspected she would – he had no idea how he could convince her. He'd thought of arguments, certainly, but that didn't mean she would listen to them. He decided to try and open with an easier topic.
"I heard the puppies were born," Alistair blathered, unnerved by her chilly reception. He stood, larger than life, in front of the hearth, his hands awkwardly at his sides. On the table they had been using as a desk, he noticed the maps of Ferelden and plans of their trip to the Brecilian Forest. Seeing the evidence firsthand that they really would be leaving gave him back some of his courage.
"Yes," Charlotte replied, her tone barely polite. Alistair sighed quietly; it hurt so much to see how she hated him, but he had no one to blame but himself. It's good, he tried to tell himself, It will make things easier down the line.
"Would you be angry if I went to see them?" he asked, dancing around what he really wanted to talk about. She raised her eyebrow at him – Uh-oh – and snapped, "That is not for me to decide." Alistair nodded, resisting the urge to crack a joke. Without a relationship between them, he had no idea how to soothe her rage. Nervous again, he picked up a paperweight from the table, rolling it between his hands.
"Right, well…." Alistair raised his eyes to hers, part of him hoping she would throw him a rope; her gaze was flatly unmoved. This is what you wanted, he told himself, to be the one to make your own moves. Time to do it!
Putting down the paperweight, Alistair forged through. "I want to come to the Brecilian Forest."
Whatever she had been expecting, it clearly had not been that. "What?"
"I want to come with you to fulfill the last treaty," he repeated, feeling braver as he said the words.
"Why?" Charlotte demanded.
"I'm a Warden first," he replied stiffly, "Whatever my plans for… later, none of it will matter if the darkspawn destroy the world."
Charlotte, who had been leaning back against one wall with her arms crossed, suddenly lurched forward. "Yes, well, thanks but I don't have time to keep your neck out of trouble."
"And what is that supposed to mean?" Alistair asked, working to keep his temper after hearing the disdain in her voice.
"We don't need to add keeping the future king from being killed to our to-do list," Charlotte snapped. "We're better off without you." She prepared to storm out.
"Hey!" Alistair spat, shocked she would stoop so low, "Would you really risk sacrificing one of their lives," he pointed at the door, "Just to spiteme?"
Her cheeks went scarlet; Charlotte stopped in her tracks. "Of course not."
"Then why are you turning away help?" He asked angrily, "Maker's breath, Charlotte! It's a Blight! You said yourself a force of 50 Grey Wardens might not be enough and you're trying to turn me away?"
"We don't have the resources-"
"Exactly right you don't! Kings fight in wars all the time – and not all so rashly as Cailan. You know me better than to think I would allow such an unnecessary risk after what I have pledged."
Charlotte's teeth were gritted; her hands curled into fists at her sides. "That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
She seemed at a loss for words, "We…. You..."
"What?" Alistair demanded.
"You don't get to just decide!" She shouted finally, the color in her face deepening.
"Decide what?" Alistair asked.
"When you're part of us and when you're not!" she spat, her fists white-knuckled. Alistair closed his eyes, overcome with the pain he was going to have to inflict with his next words. For a moment, Eamon's falsely earnest face was clear behind his lids, urging Alistair to behave like a King. He had learned a great deal from Eamon in the past two months; he was by no means throne-ready, but the loss of Charlotte and training with Eamon every day had given him something he never had before: the ability to observe himself dispassionately. Before, he had been torn apart by his insecurities and fears, and so Alistair seemed to fumble through life. Now, having lost the most precious thing in his life by his own hand, he wasn't as frightened. This had afforded him enough peace to begin to study his actions before he took them without as much judgment. And, for the first time, that clarity felt like a burden.
"No," he said, his voice quiet. Charlotte, breathing hard, growled, "What do you mean, 'no'?"
Asking the Maker for forgiveness, Alistair said the words he knew would pierce her heart anew. "Deciding to leave you is not deciding to leave the Wardens." He met her eyes, which widened in shock. "And you know it."
Slowly, her hands opened, arms going loose at her sides. "Oh," was all she said as the color drained from her face. If it could have, not going to her then would have killed him. He waited, bracing himself, willing her to pull through the pain as he had been. You're stronger than I am, he urged her silently. You can do this.
"You're right," she croaked after a minute of silence. He could see her struggling to maintain composure; his own voice threatened to break, but Alistair spoke anyway.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, looking at the floor. "But I want to help, please let me come with you."
When she did not respond, Alistair raised his eyes, worried she was angry again. What he saw was much worse than anger.
"Why?" Charlotte whispered, her tears flowing freely. "Why did you…." She hiccuped, then covered her face, ashamed. Alistair's hands curled in on themselves from the effort of resisting the urge to embrace her, to soothe the hurt he had caused her.
Collecting herself somewhat, Charlotte made eye contact with him again, "Why, Alistair? Why did you have to do that to me?"
"I….." his throat was very dry; he coughed, caught off guard. He had never expected her to try and talk to him like this; after what he had done, he had been convinced she would never speak to him again.
"Did we mean nothing to each other?" she whispered, drawing closer. Alistair did not respond, trapped between his desires and his plans; here she was with her heart in her eyes, pleading with him to explain. If he did, he could get her back… but it would make the suffering they had both endured meaningless and put her at risk. He refused to do that.
"I have to get back. To Eamon," he replied shortly. His hands were shaking and he tried to hide it with a bow. "I will be very grateful if you could send me a summary of our plans; I shall ride out with the Wardens when we are ready."
He waited in his bow, keeping his own tears at bay. When she spoke, her voice was ice-cold.
"So you're choosing him, is that it? Eamon thought I would get in his way, so I had to go. And you wanted him to know where your loyalties lie."
Alistair closed his eyes, not answering.
"Very well," Charlotte went to the door and opened it, stopping briefly to look over her shoulder. "Return to your master like the lapdog you are, Alistair. We leave the first week of Guardian." She exited with a slam; Alistair exhaled roughly, coming back up to his full height.
"Bloody Andraste," he cursed. That hadn't gone as he hoped it would at all. Charlotte was upset, again. Why couldn't he keep himself from causing her trouble? It seemed like the more he tried to do the right thing, the more suffering he caused. And now, all the others would see how upset she was and hate him even more. Going to the Brecilian Forest had been so appealing; he missed the Wardens and being a part of the group. With Charlotte freshly hurt from their conversation, he likely wouldn't be welcomed back with open arms.
Leery of further conflict, Alistair waited until he was certain the dining room had emptied. When the last set of footsteps faded into the distance, he let himself out, his heart heavy. He paused to regard the table, where plates and cups were still laid out, now devoid of food. They hadn't left a scrap behind them; the image briefly made him smile, but it quickly turned into a grimace as memories of times when he had shared meals with his comrades flashed through his mind. Now, he mostly took his meals alone in his room. Eamon had invited him to eat at his table countless times, but Alistair refused. He was doing what he must, but that didn't mean he had to become close to Eamon. He would not make that mistake again.
As Alistair took a lonesome path back to his chambers, Charlotte was tearing off to the kennels, holding a fresh wave of tears at bay. She had managed a curt excuse to the others before quickly detouring from the route to her room to get outside. Bastard, bastard, bastard! She couldn't believe Alistair would toss her aside for Eamon. As she exited the castle, her tears overflowed and her vision blurred. Why did it have to hurt so much?
Wynne had left Pepper to rest, so Charlotte had the kennels to herself. She quickly made for the stall where the puppies were, trying not to sob. When she got there, Mastodon was waiting for her, having left the dining room in anticipation of her upset.
"Oh, Mastodon," Charlotte fell to her knees, wrapping her arms around the hound's neck. Pained on her behalf, he whined fretfully and licked her hairline, pressing his chest close so she could lean into him.
Charlotte cried as she had not cried since Highever, feeling the shards of her broken heart break free. She cried for herself and for Alistair, because he had given up on the man she saw in him to avoid the truth. She cried for the distress they were causing their comrades, and for the difficult road ahead of her, all the lonelier now that Alistair was really lost. The cold way he had separated her from his duty to the Wardens lay any doubt she had held in her heart to rest. He either never loved her or, even worse, had simply not loved her enough. The thought of the latter made her howl.
"Principessa."
Charlotte stopped, whipping round as she released Mastodon. Zevran was hesitating by the door, uncertain of whether she would welcome him. She simply stared, too shocked for a moment to even react.
"I…." Zevran trailed off, unsure what to say. Truthfully, he was aghast. He had never seen anyone so agonized. In all his life, from his childhood in the whorehouse to being sold to the Crows and growing into an accomplished assassin, he had never known anyone who loved. He had known greed, lust, and even hate, but never love. He had no idea what to do with it.
"Zevran," she gasped; Charlotte covered her face, curling into herself as raw emotion rocked her entire body. "I can't!"
Charlotte couldn't trust another man to rally her through this; she had to do it alone. She had first looked to elders to save her from being pitched into madness, only to realize they were as lost as she. Then she had fallen in love with Alistair and allowed herself to believe that the two of them could conquer anything as long as they were together. He had rewarded her faith with destructive force and broken her heart. Zevran had said he was her sworn man and whenever she had needed him, he had come; but experience had taught her no one could save her and she could trust no one but herself.
"Charlotte, shhhh," Zevran did his best, rushing to her and dropping thoughtlessly to his knees in front of her. Pepper had awoken to the noises of distress and the puppies were stirring; Mastodon went to them, sniffing with concern.
"What is it that you believe you cannot do?" Zevran asked, smoothing back her hair. Charlotte jerked back, gasping for breath.
"I can't let you," she said, not entirely herself. Now alert to his mistress's hysteria, Mastodon came to her side, sniffing her instead.
Zevran muttered under his breath in Antivan and took a deep breath. "Principessa, I am on my knees in a kennel. The floor is covered in straw and smells of dog, no offense," he added the last as an aside to Mastodon, who gave him a scathing look. "I do this as your sworn man. There are Master Crows who have asked for less and not gotten it. The least you can do is tell me what troubles you."
"You can't help me," Charlotte told him, now shivering from the shock of her own upset. "I have to do this alone."
"Why?"
"Because you'll hurt me!" she spat, pulling further away from him. "I can't rely on you! I relied on Alistair and look where it got me!"
Zevran glared at her, "Do not compare me to that buffoon."
"He's not a buffoon!" she shrieked, tired of that argument; Zevran stood up abruptly, glaring down at her.
"He is a fool and a bastard, and I would kill him myself if it would not hurt you."
Charlotte stared at him, open-mouthed.
"Look at you!" Zevran shouted, "You're beside yourself over a man who rejected you - in front of your friends and comrades, no less! He has evidently insulted you further and still you defend him! Basta! You are better than this."
"I don't think I am," she trembled, feeling her grief wash over her again. Zevran grabbed her arm and jerked her onto her feet; Charlotte gasped, taken aback.
"Basta," he repeated, knowing she could understand him. Surprising her again, he wrapped her into a tight embrace. "You will cry for him now and I will hold you. Then you will never cry for him again."
"You can't help me," she told him, tearing up in spite of herself. "No one can. I'm probably going to die, Zevran."
"Absolutely not," he retorted, "I will not allow it."
"But that's the point," she sobbed, "I've so wanted to avoid it, to find happiness after all, but it's as though the Maker himself has put me on a path and every time I try to stray, He punishes me!"
"You think the Maker has time for you?" Zevran asked her, "He has abandoned us all, but made time to punish you?"
"You know what I mean!" she protested, trying to push him away. Zevran held her closer, wrinkling his nose against the dog smell. Mastodon noticed and chuffed, insulted. Zevran waved his hand at him where Charlotte couldn't see and Mastodon sat down, grumbling quietly.
"No, I do not," Zevran said. "You are young and inexperienced in life. Pain and suffering are normal; they are what drive us to our destiny."
"Then I don't want my destiny!"
"Hush," Zevran told her, cradling her close. "Of course you do. I am in it."
Despite everything, she exhaled sharply; it was the beginning of a laugh. Zevran smiled.
"Ah, now, do not start laughing until you have spent all your tears. I will wait patiently, but these truly are the last."
There was a pause; "Ever?" Charlotte challenged; Zevran sighed, "You are so trying! You know what I mean."
Calming now, Charlotte rejoined in a fine mimic of his accent, "No, I do not." Zevran chuckled.
"Stubborn woman," he chided, gently rubbing her back. She was pliant now and allowing him to hold her without resistance. "The difference between me and that jester who will be king is that I know your strength. I will never allow you to forget your own abilities."
"Alistair told me I was strong all the time," Charlotte confided. Zevran tsked.
"Maybe so, but he did not understand your strength because he so deeply feared having to exercise his own. Alistair is a warrior without peer, but he is a weak man. You are a woman of courage and stamina; I will always remind you of it and you will believe me because I have no doubt."
Charlotte pulled back to look at him, "How can you have no doubt? I cannot imagine such a life."
Grinning, he replied, "It is simple, my dear. I did not have my own life until I met you."
She stared at him for a moment, struck by the depth of this compliment, before shaking herself to sense and pulling away. "That is… quite the thing to say."
"It is merely the truth," he replied serenely. "Now, shall we return to the castle? I must confess I am growing ill from this stench."
Charlotte managed a watery smile; "It's not that bad, you picky Antivan."
"Words like barbs," he sighed to Mastodon, "And only a moment after exiting my arms."
Charlotte looked at Redcliffe Castle and the image of its turrets and towers made her ache; she had first seen that skyline as a warden with Alistair by her side. Even when they had been forced into a skirmish with the undead, she had felt some measure of peace because Alistair was there. They had argued that day and she had felt hurt by him, but in the end they had come back together. She realized now that it wasn't until Alistair came to her this morning that she had held out hope this was all a mistake. The epiphany brought on fresh pain; Zevran noticed it.
"I can wait," he told her, embracing her again and pulling to her sit beside him on a bale of straw. Charlotte looked at him, wondering if she could really trust this man or whether she was simply being a fool again. When Zevran looked back, his gaze was unwavering; his absolute confidence in her was Charlotte's undoing and, for the last time, she allowed herself to cry for the loss of Alistair.
"Watch it!"
As Kinnon went tumbling back, Cullen stood over him, his face flat. Aneiren spun round to point at his fellow Senior Warden.
"Stop abusing the mages, Cullen!"
"They need to learn how to defend themselves!" Cullen disagreed; emotions were running a little high since the Commander had disappeared earlier that morning. Aneiren glared back at him, not the least bit intimidated. Petra, Anouk and Keili were all helping Kinnon to his feet. They glanced between the two Senior Wardens and wondered how it was possible that Aneiren and Jowan could speak to Cullen so casually. Every time she looked at him, Petra could only see his templar armor in the place of the blue griffon now emblazoned on his chest.
"Oh? And you bruising their bottoms is going to teach them? Give it a rest!"
Angrily, Cullen got into Aneiren's face; behind them, the junior warden mages all reared back, frightened. Aneiren didn't move, only widening his olive eyes in irritable astonishment.
"Are you going to be responsible if one of them dies?" Cullen asked, "Because soon we'll all be on the road to one of the most dangerous and mysterious parts of Ferelden, on a route through Blighted lands. Cora and I won't be able to always protect them."
Growling, Aneiren pushed right back, "You won't need to!"
"Boys, be nice!" Leliana's voice carried over the gnashing teeth. "By the Maker, we have troubles enough, non?"
Cora, who had been assisting Cullen, was standing off to one side, panting. Cullen and Aneiren had taken charge of the others after breakfast and insisted on more training. Aneiren's idea of training had been to coax Morrigan into sharing her art of shapeshifting; Cullen was more concerned with ensuring the mages were prepared for hand-to-hand combat. Leliana had brokered a deal between them since Morrigan was content to be begged for some time, and so Aneiren had relented his claim to the junior wardens while he worked on her ego. Now, Leliana turned to them both, eyebrows raised.
"Whatever has gotten into the two of you?" she asked. Everyone's eyes slid away from hers, like children unwilling to be drawn out. Brick kicked at the dirt by his feet, grunting, while Derick stared up at the sky. It was Cora who eventually had the courage to answer.
"We think Alistair told Charlotte he isn't coming," she explained. Aneiren and Cullen both glared at her, making her wince. Leliana held up one hand to them, her expression reprimanding.
"She is entitled to speak!" she snapped. Facing the others, she asked, "Is this your concern?"
Slowly, they all nodded.
"If that is the case," Leliana went on, feeling sick at the very thought of such a betrayal, "Then we will simply go on without him."
Both Cullen and Aneiren suddenly looked ill; it was evident that they were grieving most of all, having been recruited by Alistair and Charlotte both when they worked together to restore order in the Circle. Charlotte may have been the leader, but Alistair had informed many of her decisions due to his knowledge as a trained templar. Their unity had brought Aneiren, Jowan and Cullen together as their first recruits.
"It won't be the same," Aneiren confessed quietly. Cullen nodded, now morose. "Jowan doesn't even need to see to the dragonlings, he's just hiding because we're all scared that Alistair is gone."
Tears threatened to crack Leliana's composure; with expert skill, she repressed them. "IF he is," she repeated calmly, "We will go on as best we can. We have no other choice, yes?"
"Certainly, I cannot imagine a scenario more perfect," Morrigan drawled. "We do not want the burden of a future king on our hands when attempting to execute a dangerous quest."
"The pike twirler," Oghren interrupted as he came out of the armory, "Is going to come with us."
All eyes swung onto Oghren, daring to hope. "Did Charlotte tell you that?" Leliana asked, surprised. Oghren shrugged.
"I just know my pike twirler," he grumbled sagely. Oghren faced down Petra, fingering a practice sword eagerly. "Care for another try, twinkle toes?"
Petra smiled, but it was weak. As she moved toward him with a half-hearted energy, Oghren groaned in frustration. "All of ya are as cheery as the Legion! Sodding worries won't do a damn thing for ya, but training will."
Oghren squared off with Petra again and this time she devoted herself to the practice, looking back at him with determination. Oghren laughed, "That's more like it!" This was followed by a belch.
"Oghren," Aneiren said carefully, sniffing the air with caution. "Are you drunk?"
"Eh?" Oghren asked, "Is that a question?"
Aneiren sighed, "Nevermind."
Leliana twinkled at Oghren, approving of his spirit. "His wisdom is no less for a few swigs of ale. Oghren is right; we must have faith!"
The wardens muttered a bit, looking at each other and wondering if they could just believe. After a few moments, Cullen stepped in with renewed energy.
"All right, men!" Cullen rallied, "Let's follow our comrade's example! Line up!"
The wardens complied; Morrigan, who had been enjoying Aneiren's courting of her talents, briefly sulked. Leliana saw and winked at her, prompting the witch to flounce indoors where she could seek the warmth of a fire.
The wardens practiced most of the afternoon; Aneiren swelled with pride when he saw the way Petra and Keili had grown in their confidence against the warriors, and nearly cackled with glee when he witnessed Anouk's clever use of a Fade-step to speed around Oghren and attack him from behind. As she exited the practice yard to fetch some water, Aneiren touched her shoulder. "Excellent, Anouk, really excellent – although I might try it again on someone not under the influence of so much drink…."
Anouk giggled and shook her head, "Oghren is always under the influence of drink and fights the same. But I'll be sure to try it again," she winked and went inside. Aneiren watched her go, his interest piqued, when he saw a pale face staring down from one of the windows. Even from here, he could sense the burning disapproval in her yellow eyes. Grinning to himself, he called out another joke to Anouk, who stopped to laugh over her shoulder and wave a dismissive hand in his direction. Aneiren turned back around towards the practice yard, counting down the seconds until Morrigan made another appearance.
"Such childish tactics are beneath you," her snotty tone made his heart skip a beat. Aneiren jumped as though surprised.
"Morrigan! I didn't think you were going to join us."
She sniffed imperiously, "I have considered your proposal and decided that I am bored of sitting indoors. I shall impart the knowledge my mother bestowed upon me, if it pleases you."
Aneiren beamed, "About bloody time! Mages, gather round!"
The wardens stopped in mid-spar to listen to Aneiren; he gestured for them all to get into a line and urged the mundane off the field. Cullen, who knew of Aneiren's intentions, remained in order to oversee their practice. Brick, Derick and Cora all went inside, glad of an opportunity to rest. Leliana, who knew Morrigan's secret, stayed by Cullen's side, arms crossed in a small sign of her censure for this practice.
"Could someone fetch Jowan?" Aneiren asked; Leliana smoothly uncoiled and replied, "I shall get him."
They all waited for Jowan and Anouk; Aneiren practically hopped from foot to foot in excitement, urging the other wardens to a part of the yard that was most out of sight. Once Anouk had returned and Leliana brought Jowan into their circle, Aneiren wasted no time.
"Alright! As some of you may know, Morrigan here is an apostate."
Morrigan snorted and rolled her eyes, as if such a title were meaningless to her. Aneiren went on.
"As such, she has talents and abilities none of us have had the opportunity to learn. Morrigan, care to demonstrate?"
"Certainly," Morrigan smirked; with a dramatic flourish, Morrigan bent over and reared back up transformed into a wolf, crashing down onto her paws to snarl and snap at the crowd. Keili shrieked in amazement, while the others all went slack-jawed and stared. A moment later, Morrigan was herself again, preening at their reaction.
"Thank you," Aneiren said graciously. "Now, who wants to learn how to do that?"
Immediately, Kinnon's hand shot up; he was followed by Anouk and then Petra. Only Keili and Jowan hesitated.
"Are you sure I should learn a forbidden art?" Jowan asked. Morrigan glared at him.
"Do not compare your blood magic to shapeshifting!" she snapped. "No evil is involved in this magic whatsoever; your Chantry merely fears it because it would make detecting apostates all the more difficult." Crossing her arms definitively, she added, "I have outwitted countless templars as a bird flying right over their ignorant heads. That is why it is forbidden."
Jowan shifted nervously, still unconvinced. Aneiren reassured him; "Jowan, you're not going to go mad with power as a dog. You might not even be able to do it, right Morrigan?"
Morrigan nodded, "In fact, I would be very surprised," she said scathingly. Jowan narrowed his eyes at her, then looked at Aneiren and resolutely raised his hand; Morrigan saw his conviction and stuck her chin out, not entirely disapproving.
"Keili?" Aneiren appealed to his last mage, who stared between them all with trepidation.
"It's a sin," she whispered, casting her eyes downward with shame. To everyone's amazement, it was Petra who finally lost patience with her.
"Enough!" she said, exasperated. "Honestly, Keili, you're a healer! What sin can there be in preserving life? What if you can reach those who need you more swiftly as a hawk? What if transforming saves your own life to fight in other battles? Either you're going to be a Warden and commit to what helps us fight the darkspawn, or you're going to have to return to the Circle to spend the rest of your days ashamed of what you are. Which will it be?"
Keili, who was accustomed to Petra being the one most tolerant of her self-disgust, flushed from her rebuke. She turned to others as though pleading with them, but each face only showed their agreement with Petra. Truthfully, most of the wardens had questioned why she Joined in the first place, concluding only that Keili might have Joined out of admiration for Petra, who was older than her and had helped Keili through her Harrowing. For the first time, Petra was forcing Keili to act outside of the safety of her shadow and Keili was uncertain how to proceed.
"I don't know," Keili murmured, overcome. Before the others could tear into her again, Aneiren raised a staying hand.
"Then step out for now," he told her, not unkindly. "Those who wish to learn will need room for absolute concentration."
Keili fled inside, embarrassed of her otherness and feelings she could not name. They all watched her go, Petra with a measure of regret, but also with a sense that the time for this had come.
"Alright you lot," Aneiren declared, rubbing his hands together. "Let's get started, shall we?"
The road seemed long, and at its end danger awaited.
Fergus sat in his tent, huddled in furs to ward off the cold. When not riding his horse, he remained out of sight, fearful that the people of his Teyrnir who were also traveling would recognize him and rejoice too soon – or betray him to their new lord.
He had little to comfort him in this period of waiting; his thoughts were troubled, his sleep disturbed by dreams of lost battles and dead friends. He had woken more than once in a cold sweat, haunted by the images of his comrades gurgling on their own blood, reaching out for him as he failed to reward their trust with victory.
They had seen some darkspawn on the road; the beasts were terrifying, especially so when they attacked from the ground, which had been the method by which they had vanquished his scouting expedition in the Wilds. Fortunately, they were few and far between, appearing to dislike the cold. Fergus could only hope their attacks did not diminish their party's numbers, as they needed all the help they could get, considering they my have to fight for their lives in Highever.
Auden had expressed confidence that they would either discover Nathaniel to be an ally or that they would soundly thrash his forces with the element of surprise, but Fergus could not rest easy on speculation. Until he had accomplished his goal and knew himself and his friends to be, for the time being at least, out of danger he would be plagued by apprehension. Even Adam's soothing manner could not assuage him.
"It's colder out there than the Empress' heart," Auden declared, ducking into the tent with Fergus. They shared it together, with one cot on each side of the partition.
"Is it not warmer by the fire?" Fergus asked, not really interested. Auden shook his head, piling on more furs.
"Not really; there's a wicked wind and the flames keep guttering and losing strength."
They sat in silence for a few moments, both of them lost in their out thoughts, before Auden spoke again.
"Every time I feel fear, I review the plan in my mind, using it as a ward against the forces of evil that may block our path. I remind myself we have considered every possibility and are armed and armored with our knowledge as well as our blades, but it comforts me little." Looking at his old friend, Auden invited Fergus to unload himself in the best way he knew how. "I cannot imagine how difficult it is for you."
Fergus stared at the canvas, drawing upon it a mental image of his family and home, as well as a map of their scheme that could help to avenge them. "I am at once relieved and terrified," he confessed quietly. "Even if we see this done, more battles await us, each more perilous than the last."
"The Landsmeet will not stand by him, Fergus. You alone can rightfully claim the Teyrnir and our testimony will help to sway them."
Fergus wanted to believe him; he secretly clutched at Auden's words in his deepest heart, holding tight to them as a man might to the mast of his ship in a terrible storm. However, he could not ignore the lack of action against Howe since the death of the Couslands. How could the men who had claimed fealty to his father so readily accept his betrayal and execution? Fergus could not understand it, unless they too were included in the plot.
"We shall see," he replied, unwilling to commit himself to hope. "We shall see."
