A/N: Thanks to those who took the time to review the last chapter. And thanks for sticking with this story. Hearing from you guys keeps me motivated.

Recap from Chapter 41: Fergus, Brosca, and Ursa set off from the Chasind village and into the Korcari Wilds to hunt down the two ogres that are terrorizing the area.


War of the Laurels

By Spectre4hire

Fergus

They had made camp for the night, but the fading sunlight lingered basking them in an orange glow.

The Korcari Wilds was not a place Fergus wanted to ever visit again after this adventure.

He had set up his bedroll and checked on the fire they had started. They had picked a small clearing. All around them they were surrounded by tall, thick trees with branches that reached over them as if trying to stop the light from reaching them. The trees were so close together it was difficult to see much further into the forest besides darkness. He could not help but wonder if or what shadows could be lurking around them unseen, but poised to strike them when they least expected it.

Fergus pulled his eyes away from the forest in hopes to stem that thought from spreading. Some of the roots from the trees had slithered through the clearing resembling snakes twisting and turning, sinking into the soil only to then emerge from it here and there. There was a small rock formation that gave them some high ground, but the highest rock was just over Fergus' head. Each rock was about as big and wide as one of the tables at Cousland hall.

The reminder of home made him smile. He closed his eyes and he was no longer in the foreboding Korcari Wilds. He was back at Highever, at Cousland Castle. He could see Edmund in the yard sparring with a laughing Oren while Oriana watched on, trying and failing not to look concerned. The way she worried on her lip or the look in her eyes as she watched their son train.

Fergus wanted to reach out and touch her. Push aside some of her brown hair and run his finger down her cheek. He wanted to kiss her concern away. It'll be fine. He'd tell her trying not to laugh when she huffed in response. She'd always get annoyed when he tried this method to assuage her worries. Because it always works, she explained once with a teasing smile.

Is that why you're so worried all the time? He teased with a wink.

That's just the perils of marrying you, dear. She responded before kissing him.

Then they were in Cousland Hall. Oren, Edmund, and Oriana sitting at their family's table overlooking the rest of the cavernous hall. Oriana and Edmund were discussing something while Oren seemed more interested in giving his supper to Sarim then eating it himself.

He felt his chest ache seeing them before him. This was where he wanted to be right now. It wasn't hard to think that this was what was happening right this moment. How he wanted to take a seat beside his wife, ruffle his son's hair, kiss her cheek, and exchange jests and taunts with his brother which would then somehow turn into a drinking game between them.

"They're close," Brosca's words sliced through Fergus' thoughts. The image of Highever and his family dissolved before him and he was back at their camp in the Korcari Wilds.

Brosca walked past him without another look before taking a seat on the lowest part of the rock formation. There were dark rings beginning to show under his eyes that were not part of his casteless mark. He had rarely slept since they steadily picked up the ogres' trail.

"How close?" Fergus was just grateful his voice didn't squeak when he asked it aloud.

"Very," Brosca's dark eyes turned to him. "We're sure to bump into them tomorrow."

"Good," Fergus nodded, his hand touching the pommel of his sword before he turned away from the dwarf.

They had been following them a number of days since they found the ogres' dwellings. At first they thought and expected to face them soon but the monsters were large and quick. The ogres moved further and faster then them so the chase had continued. To think they were finally so close was both relieving and terrifying.

Once they're dealt with I can go home. He thought, if we survive.

He could not refute the risks they were facing. He had known that from the beginning when he agreed to this. Fergus still couldn't find the right footing between acceptance and confidence even while they went deeper and deeper into the Wilds in pursuit of their targets. He was never the soldier or swordsman like his brother was. Edmund's second bed chamber was the sparring yard, and Fergus was certain it would've been his first if Mother had allowed it. While Edmund trained, Fergus read up on ordinances and laws and listened to his father's counsel to better understand not just what he was inheriting, but how to properly rule it.

Fergus hardly complained then because he thought his sword craft was good enough for whatever bandit or criminal he'd likely come across as a Teyrn. He had never imagined or considered that he'd someday have to face a ferocious ogre.

And not just one, but two. That reminder gave him no comfort.

Ursa had rejoined them from her brief trip into the woods. She was sitting by the fire with a pot resting above it.

Fergus first thought it was supper since she was the one responsible for it tonight but as he got closer, he hoped he was wrong. The smell was terrible. He covered his nose, but the scent seemed ingrained into his mind and his stomach churned in protest. It was sour and rancid. He tried to think of what to compare it to, before giving up because he did not want his mind to further dwell on it.

The pot was bubbling. Leaning closer against his better judgment, he spied a black, viscous substance that was beginning to bubble. It was so dark it nearly looked blue.

"Deathroot soup," Ursa told him.

Fergus thought he might heave but then he saw that she was smiling. "So that's not our supper?" He failed to hide his relief.

She shook her head. "It's Concentrated Deathroot Extract," She had a few empty flasks and vials before her. "I'd not advise sprinkling it on our supper or your clothes."

With that casual warning, he asked. "What does it do exactly?" Fergus knew little of apothecary, but had learned some just by watching Ursa. She was a dabbler of poisons as well as a herbalist. Even though he trusted her, he still sometimes found himself poking at his food the nights she cooked to make sure nothing was oozing out of the stew or festering in the meat.

"It's a poison," Her eyes were on the pot. "I pray it'll help us against the ogres."

He wished her tone had more confidence then doubt, but he still nodded.

"Do not fret I have others to make as the night goes on," She assured him. "Surely, we'll find something that can slow or weaken these monsters."

A part of him wanted to ask if those who fought the ogres before them would have tried these poisons too, but he didn't. Fergus knew one of them had been her brother so the question died on his lips even though the curiosity remained.

"I trust you," He said instead.

"And I you," She replied, "And the dwarf."

Brosca snorted from where he sat. "Like you have a choice," He had climbed up to the highest rock. His feet were dangling off of it. "I'm the only one whose actually fought these monsters." He was using a whetstone to sharpen one of his daggers.

"That's why you're going to be my shield tomorrow," Fergus said lightly.

Ursa laughed while she tended to her pot of poison. Brosca looked down at them, grumbling, but he could not hide the amusement no matter how fleeting that passed over his face.

"Perhaps tonight I'll use you for target practice."

Fergus could only laugh at the dwarf's response. He knew it was more than a threat.

"If you both don't be quiet then I'll make you both try this," She held up a flask that was now filled with the Concentrated Deathroot Exact. It looked like thick ink in its glass container.

Brosca looked down at her and then at the flask in her hand, quietly considering his options. "Pah," he said with no real venom, but all his usual grumpiness. He went back to tending to his weapon.

Fergus found himself leaning on the rock formation. At this spot he was so close to Brosca's feet that he could study his armored boots which were very worn and muddy. He did see a brief insignia stamped on the shin of the metal. It was the symbol of his order-the Grey Wardens.

"You need something?" Brosca didn't look up.

"Just some comforting words."

Brosca snorted, "You're some pompous noble, but ya talk like a commoner." He held up his dagger to examine it in the dying sunlight. The reflection shimmered in the steel making it look for one flickering heartbeat that the blade was forged from the sun itself.

Fergus didn't respond. He knew talking about nobility whether human or dwarf was never an ideal conversational topic with the Grey Warden.

Satisfied, Brosca sheathed it, and tended to his sword. The dwarf was armed to the teeth and clearly wanted everything to be in its best condition before tomorrow.

He was confident that tomorrow would be the day. Tomorrow they'd fight the ogres.

"You're scared." It wasn't a joke. It wasn't an insult. There wasn't any judgment. Brosca stated it like an undisputed fact which it was.

Fergus looked up to see Brosca's sword resting on his lap, his whetstone in one hand, but his eyes were on him. "Yeah," He usually would have lied especially to Brosca, but something in the dwarf's gaze made him decide against it. "I am." Even still he prepared himself to be mocked by him but it never came.

"Good," Brosca said simply, "You'd be a fool if you weren't." He then regarded him, "Well, a bigger fool."

He felt his lips twitch. "I'm surprised the Wardens didn't use you as a recruiter instead of a warrior. You're better with words than swords."

Brosca threw back his head and laughed. His feet kicked air as he did. It was deep from the belly and loud. "Imagine that," His tone rich in amusement, "You hosting me in your lordy castle tending to my every whim with all your servants."

"I'm trying not to," Fergus put in dryly, but he found himself chuckling at the ridiculousness of what they were talking about. "I hope you'd know which fork to use with which course or which finger to raise when you drink and that all depends on the vintage." He added, "It would be quite the scandal and insult if you used the wrong spoon. Wars have been fought over less."

Brosca pretended to shudder in horror while he was still laughing, "Dressed in silk finery and my biggest concern being stuffy nobles like yourself instead of swarming darkspawn."

"Exactly," Fergus said in between his own laughter.

It was a release and a relief for them to talk about something so silly and frivolous, laughable and impossible as it was. They were just taken over by this mirthful madness.

His insides began to protest because of all this laughing.

"I'd still choose an ogre over some orlesian banquet."

"Sounds reasonable," Fergus lied, "Just like I'd take a darkspawn fight over a dwarf friend."

Brosca then did something Fergus wasn't expecting he reached down and clapped him on the shoulder. "Of course you would, you're a fool." There was no bite in the observation, and his tone was anything, but hurtful. As if to shield his true thoughts on the matter of their budding friendship, Brosca proceeded to forcefully nudge Fergus to get him to move.

"Go check on supper," Brosca said gruffly, "And try to make sure we're not gonna be poisoned," he added, "despite the temptation it poses since I'd rid myself of ya."

Fergus wasn't fooled, but he didn't say anything. He walked back to Ursa and the fire, smiling and he felt the dwarf watching him and he knew Brosca was smiling too.


I'm going to die.

Fergus rolled out of the way from a large fist that shook the earth as well as dented it.

The ogre was all malice and muscle. It towered over him. It was at least nine feet tall. It had thick skin the color of amethyst. Atop its head, it was crowned with horns that were large, black, and curved.

"We're nearly ready," Ursa called from the shadows.

Fergus' heart was frantically beating against his chest. "Wonderful."

He didn't have the time to add more as the ogre charged him. He stepped to the side feeling the rush of air go against his face as the darkspawn just missed him. It slammed into a tree that let out a large groan and a crack. The branches shook and some leaves scattered in the wind, raining down on them while the tree wobbled before it finally fell. Luckily for Fergus the tree fell in the other direction. The ogre didn't spare the tree another look. It shook its head and turned back to him.

How did I get to be the bait? He thought while meeting the ogre's ferocious stare.

"Don't tell me ya tired already," Brosca laughed from where he stood out of sight and out of mind for the ogre.

Fergus was winded, but he gritted his teeth trusting them with his life. His face slick with sweat while his hair was damp and messy.

And this was only one of them. That reminder didn't boost his mood. All I know is that I'm not the bait for the second one.

The ogre let out a loud, rumbling cry that reminded Fergus that he shouldn't overlook the towering menace still standing in front of him.

That was when Brosca appeared, emerging from the shadows as if he was slipping them off like a cloak. His sword and dagger coated with the Concentrated Deathroot Extract. The ogre didn't see the dwarf until he was already plunging his blades into its calves.

It made its annoyance known with another roar and tried to swat Brosca away, but he avoided it. He then used his dagger to get a purchase and began to slowly climb up the ogre's back. Each step, he pulled the blade out and then went upwards, each move was another thrust into the beast's skin. It jumped and roared, flailing its arms and trying desperately to pull Brosca off its back.

Brosca remained out of reach which only drove the ogre deeper into its frenzied rage.

Fergus saw the look cloud over its face. The dim in its eyes, it stumbled, the poison was taking its toll on the creature. He saw his chance and ran forward, the ogre saw him and tried to attack, but it was flimsy and weak. Possessed by some crazy thought, he'd never in an Age consider if not for the madness of battle. Even still he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to properly capture not just what he was thinking, but what he was actually doing. It all became a blur.

He leapt onto the ogre's hand as it swung. He landed with a stumble onto its large hand, but before he or the ogre could react, let alone change his mind, Fergus jumped again.

The momentum made the sword puncture deep into the ogre's chest. Fergus found himself hanging onto the sword hilt for dear life. The ogre staggered, letting out a loud groan before it fell backwards. The earth rumbled and a puff of dust and earth came up to consume them both.

Stunned at what just happened, at what he did, Fergus found himself resting on the ogre's chest. He scrambled to his feet, finding it difficult to keep his balance.

The smell the darkspawn was omitting was death. A pungent, rotten smell that made him queasy, but he pulled his sword out of the ogre who did little more than complain with a guttural noise. Its hands were slowly moving, but Fergus moved faster. He plunged his sword into the ogre's head right between its black eyes.

He groaned from the exertion needed for the thrust to force the blade through muscle, bone, and flesh. He tried to ignore the wet, squelching noise. His sword was nearly hilt deep when the ogre finally stilled. It let out one loud, gasping breath that reeked and it hit Fergus right in the face. He nearly heaved right there, instead he rolled off of the ogre, his sword still in its skull. He collapsed to his knees and then promptly emptied his stomach.

The vomit burned when it crawled up its throat and his damp hair fell over his face. His hands were anchored into the ground, while the remaining droplets of bile dribbled out of his mouth and down his chin. He let out a shuddering breath while his reeling gut seemed to be deciding if it was content or if he needed to heave again.

Ursa's hand was on his back and she was handing him a waterskin which he drank greedily from.

"We have no time to rest," Her words were chiding, but her tone filled with relief and sympathy.

"I know," He mumbled, pushing his hair out of his eyes. He used the back of his arm to wipe up his face.

It was the smell, he knew no other cause for his sudden sickness. It was terrible, rancid meat left out in the sun, but it was worse, like it had been half chewed and then spat out. No, it was even worse, his stomach rumbled in protest.

He sighed when he finished after another lengthy gulp from the waterskin.

"You just had to make it land on its back," Brosca complained.

"So it didn't crush you I see."

"Nice to see your foolishness hasn't killed you too," He had his hands on his hips. "My sword and dagger are still in its back." He pointed to it. "How am I supposed to get them now?" He kicked the dead ogre's head, but it barely moved.

Fergus saw his point. Brosca's sword and dagger were now not only buried into the ground, but were below a dead and very heavy and smelly ogre. And that didn't even include if they were still usable or if they had broken from the fall.

"What about the poison?" He thought that was more important for the moment. They had used some of the poisons in the battle, but some of their flasks had missed and some of the toxins she created had proved ineffective. "How much do we have left?"

"The dwarf has the last flask of Concentrated Deathroot Extract," She admitted glumly.

He understood her tone because it had been the only thing that had truly slowed that ogre down. Fergus was about to comfort her that it wasn't a problem and they'd think of something when a loud roar followed by a crash caused all rational thought to leap out of his head. The ogre revealed itself by pulling out the tree that was blocking its path. It pulled it out like it was a dandelion.

Ursa let out a rather calm yelp before running away. Brosca scurried off, weaponless, and cursing.

The ogre was still holding onto the tree like it was a plucked flower when it saw its fallen companion. It bellowed, loud and furious. Its eyes were black and burning with hatred when they turned to Fergus.

Then the tree came, the ogre threw it effortlessly, like it was a child's wooden block. Fergus ducked and rolled while it soared over him.

The ogre let out a large growl that would've made even the fiercest mabari whimper and cower. Fergus looked to see the ogre was being hit by something. Not one to dawdle when death was so close, he pushed himself up, ignoring his tired muscles.

Brosca was yelling taunts and curses. And throwing whatever rocks he could find towards the ogre since he carried no bow. "NOW, YOU RUN!"

Fergus did while the ogre chose to charge Brosca. The dwarf's small size let him slide out of its reach and past it before he took off for one of the trees. For someone who didn't know what one was a few months ago, he had surprisingly little trouble climbing one with low branches. He looked like a large, frightened squirrel as he moved from branch to branch and then out of sight.

While Brosca was in a tree, Fergus had moved into the forest, between two thick oaks to provide him with some cover. He was leaning against one of them while trying to catch his breath. He moved to grab his sword, but his hand only found air.

Fuck.

His eyes instinctively went to the fallen ogre to see his sword was still embedded into the skull. He wanted to groan. He wanted to shout. A growing part of him even wanted to cry, but after a few panicky thoughts he was able to wrestle those emotions back under control.

He saw a bright bauble shimmer in the air, orange and glinting. The ogre seemed entranced by it until it fell right in front of it where it then exploded with a sudden burst of flames that hissed and spat in all directions. The ogre jumped back, but it still had been seared across one of its legs and the burns had crawled up its side. The fire raged for only a few more seconds, but it was harmless now that the ogre was out of its reach before it flickered out.

The ogre's head was twisting and turning, its eyes glaring in all directions to try to find one of them. Its mouth was foaming and drool dribbled down its yellow jaws where flecks of flesh could still be seen. Its gaze lingered in Brosca's direction. The ogre tilted its head which made Fergus think of a mabari after it heard something, but there had been no sound, yet the ogre could still sense Brosca.

It took a step towards his position and that was when the first arrow hit its back. A second came just as quickly and then a third. By the time the ogre had spun around, two more had hit it. The ogre's burns had darkened its purple skin, and it appeared that it may actually be slowing down.

Fergus was certain that was not entirely from the burns, Ursa was using some of the other toxins she brewed. They weren't as lethal as their Deathroot Extract, but enough of them proved to be somewhat effective against the darkspawn. This only made the ogre more angry, spinning and growling trying to spot Ursa in the forest.

For a fleeting second of hope, Fergus thought they could defeat the ogre this way and stay safe and hidden and then his foot stepped on a branch.

-CRACK-

it was the loudest noise Fergus had ever heard. The ogre turned and ran in his direction without hesitation or thought. He darted between a few trees, half watching the roots on the ground and half watching behind him. The ogre was either pulling or smashing the trees that got in the way of its pursuit.

Fergus had nearly ran a full circle before he spilled out of the forest cursing the root that tripped him up.

If an ogre could smile, it was doing it when it saw him, exposed and vulnerable. He didn't need to speak darkspawn to know this ogre wanted to rip him in half and then promptly chew and eat him.

The ogre realized it had the advantage by being so close it could lash out in a few steps and grab Fergus before he had time to react.

Fergus withdrew the shield he had strapped to its back, knowing it was a poor choice, but it was his only choice. He was determined that the last thing he saw before he died would not be the dark gullet of an ogre.

An arrow rained down and hit the ogre on the shoulder, but it didn't even flinch. Another and another followed, hitting its back, but the ogre was either not feeling the pain or it didn't care. It seemed determined to stalk Fergus and that proved to be its singular focus for its primal, blight poisoned mind.

It lashed out with its hand, but Fergus ducked it. The ogre made a sound deep in its throat. It was a laugh.

Its playing with me. The realization sunk in his belly like a heavy stone.

The ogre then showed its yellow fangs proudly as if to tell him: this is how I'm going to kill you.

His eyes darted this way and that, trying to see an escape, a weapon, a chance, anything he could take before this ogre could grab, squeeze, and then devour him.

The ogre lunged again with its hand but Fergus swiped it with his shield. It laughed again. It sounded like a dagger's blade being dragged across a rock except louder and deeper.

I'm going to die as this ogre's play thing, he thought, and then its breakfast.

He heard a rustle from above him, a few leaves fell, but the ogre had eyes only for Fergus. They gleamed in sick triumph and as it reached out to grab a trapped Fergus that was when he saw it. That was when he saw him.

Brosca jumped from his branch, letting out a war cry he hit the ogre right in the shoulder as if he was a boulder thrown by a catapult. The ogre roared and stumbled, but before Brosca could fall to the ground, the ogre showed its deathly quickness by seizing the dwarf.

Fergus charged without thinking, shield first as if he was a one man battering ram. He hit a wall of solid muscle. His arms thrummed in pain, but he dared not stop, hitting and swiping the ogre's leg using the shield's sharp edge as a makeshift weapon. He heard arrows whistling around him, Ursa too was trying desperately to help.

"Fergus!"

The sudden sound of his name was like a sword cutting through the haze of battle that was filling his head. He looked up to see it was Brosca. He had never said his name before. "RUN!"

"No," Fergus shouted, the ogre made a swipe at Fergus, but its attention remained on its prize. It began to squeeze. Brosca groaned and cried. The sound of metal being crushed proved to be just as loud and terrible.

One of Brosca's arms remained free despite the ogre's powerful grip. He was holding something in his hand. The ogre moved in for a bite, but that was when Brosca threw it right when its face was drawing near. The flask shattered on impact, glass fragments rained down catching the light as they fell.

Fergus stumbled backwards in horror upon realizing what Brosca had done. He watched the dark cloud bloom between dwarf and ogre, coughing and gagging erupted from them both. The ogre's grip relaxed causing Brosca to tumble to the earth. He hit the ground with a soft thud, groaning and coughing.

The ogre was coughing violently. The black poison could be seen streaking across its amethyst skin like rivers of death spreading itself down its arms, legs, and pooling around the chest. The ogre was howling and thrashing, stamping its feet and clawing at its face and throat as if trying to grab the released poison and pull it from its body.

Fergus moved to where Brosca was and pulled him away to safety from the ogre's frenzied rampage.

The ogre's head looked upwards towards the sky and tried to let out a bellow, but it came out as a gag, spitting black blood like a corrupted fountain. It then let out a groan that sounded more human than it should've and toppled over. Its feet kicked once, twice, and then stilled.

Brosca's cough pulled Fergus back to his friend. He moved the dwarf's head so it was cradling in his lap.

"And you say I'm the fool!"

He laughed, and then groaned and then winced. "D-don't get close," he stuttered. "P-poison may still be potent."

Fergus didn't listen. "Ursa, the antidote!"

"T-too late," Brosca wheezed, "w-won't help."

He was about to protest, but his eyes moved downwards and he saw his friend's crumpled chest. The indentations from the ogre's massive fingers showing the fatal damage.

"Even in death you're too stubborn," Fergus found himself smiling, because he couldn't think of what else to say to his dying friend.

Brosca chuckled, but it came out more like a strangled cry. His body spasmed and for a dreadful second Fergus thought he was dead. "And you're too foolish to accept." His breathing was haggard, and wet. Black tendrils were creeping down his face like dark roots from the poison.

From behind he could hear Ursa sniffling as well as her frantic whispering. She was praying for Brosca, but it wasn't for a recovery, it was for the afterlife.

"Go back to your huge castle," it sounded as if every word was agony for him, but he persisted in his bloody stuttering, "to your wife and son." His eyes were glassy and his smile was red.

And just like that the Grey Warden Brosca was dead.

Fergus moved to close Brosca's eyes. His hands were shaking. He felt the tears in his own eyes.

I'm mourning this annoyingly stubborn dwarf. He let out a wet chuckle, amused at this strange but wonderful friendship he had forged with him.

"Find peace," He told his fallen friend.

Fergus did not know much about dwarf rites or their beliefs for their dead, but Fergus thought if there was justice then Brosca would go where the fallen kings and paragons of old dwell.

You will be welcomed as a brother.


A/N: Liberties are taken with the combat for drama sake, so I hope ya don't mind. That being said I also hope the fight scenes weren't too poorly done. They're not a strength of mine so sorry you had to endure those.

Thanks for the support,

-Spectre4hire