Notes: This chapter is the liberation of Highever, as promised, but at the beginning, there's a NSFW bathtub scene that I very much hope you enjoy!
Chapter 25: The North Remembers
"Well, I have drunk your Grey Warden poison, and here I am," Loghain had said coldly. "What do you want with me now?"
"I wanted to check on you," Elissa had said in full sincerity.
"Am I to believe that you felt any concern for me? Let us not pretend."
"I promised the Queen that I would endeavor to find a way to spare you, so as a daughter who lost her parents to violence, I'm glad she did not."
"Yet," he said darkly. "Only the Maker knows if we will emerge from the Blight alive. But I submitted to this, to following your command, and so I shall. I don't see that there is any more to it."
"I'm glad to hear that you intend to obey your commander," Elissa had said pointedly. "But as that commander, I have a responsibility to those who fight with me. I'm not going to flog the past or flog you for it. It's over. I will try to put it behind me if you will. We have a common enemy now."
"The past can never be set aside. It is always with us. It is in our blood, in our bones, in every beat of our hearts."
"If you mean that what happened to us shaped us into who we are, you're correct. But I hope you don't mean that you want to re-litigate or re-fight the civil war... because I don't."
He had merely grunted, which Elissa had taken to be the end of the discussion. In truth, she was glad. Let him stew in his own bile until he was ready to face this new reality. There was nothing to be gained from forcing her presence on him if he didn't wish to see her yet, and there were two people about who did have things to tell her. One was Riordan.
"I'm going to scout Ferelden for signs of the horde," he told her. "It seems that they disappeared underground after ravaging the south, and you say that you saw the Archdemon in Orzammar."
"I did. It was terrible to behold. The horde is thousands strong, too."
He shook his head. "I have been a Warden for longer than you, and it is possible I will sense the presence of the horde before it emerges at the surface. I know of most of the Deep Roads entrances, and I can check them out to see if they have been recently disturbed."
"You speak as if you mean to do this alone. Can't we go with you?"
"It would be better if we did not present a target for the Archdemon consisting of every Warden in Ferelden... save for Alistair," he said. "I will report back with what I have learned."
"So we're to stay in Denerim?" Elissa didn't like that. She was a Warden. She should be back on the road, fighting the monsters that threatened her country, not sitting idly in the city while waiting for others.
"Not necessarily. A trader, a merchant by the name of Dryden, came to me asking if I would have the time to look into the old Warden fortress at Soldier's Peak. It sits between Highever and Amaranthine. Since the North is now open to travel, there is no reason not to reclaim this site for the Order, though it will likely be years before it is ready for habitation again."
"Soldier's Peak," Elissa mused. "That's the site of the Warden rebellion against the King. And Dryden is the name of the Warden-Commander who led the rebellion."
"Yes." His voice was guarded. "This merchant Levi Dryden believes there may have been more to the story than the official version of history. That's of personal interest to him as family, of course, but for my part, what I think matters most is reclaiming an ancient Warden fortress for the order. If it is salvageable after two hundred years, it would be an important part of rebuilding the Wardens in Ferelden."
Elissa considered it, nodding. "You're right. And there might, perhaps, be old lore and artifacts there, if it hasn't been looted already. Though it probably has," she sighed. "But the fortress itself is important to own. A castle built for the Grey Wardens should belong to us, not some Amaranthine noble." She decided on her course. Far better to have a defined task to do, an important one, than to sit at leisure in the capital. "Soldier's Peak it is, then. It appears that I'll be accompanying Alfstanna and her force partway into the North."
"I will send word to you there if I find anything."
Elissa was not as enamored of luxury as Leliana was, but she had grown up as a noble, and she liked comfort as much as the next person. She was very much not looking forward to bathing in brooks and streams in winter. Wynne and Morrigan could heat the water with spells, but it was still an unpleasant prospect. Soldier's Peak would at least have a roof, but she did not have high hopes for the accommodations in a fortress that had been abandoned for two hundred years. This was her last chance in quite some time to have a real bath in a comfortable tub with heated water, and she meant to take full advantage.
Leliana noticed what she was doing as she gathered towels and dressing robes. The bard smiled slyly at her. "Mind if I join?" she said.
Elissa shot her an equally sly look. "I was hoping you would."
Leliana did not need telling twice. Elissa gazed at her in surprise as she quickly shimmied out of her clothes and sank into the warm, scented water. "Ahh," she purred, relaxing against the smooth damp stone wall of the tub. "This is lovely."
Elissa pulled her gaze away from her lover's very attractive body and tugged down her own smalls. The duel at the Landsmeet had left her sweaty, and she almost regretted exposing her body to Leliana in such a state... but, after all, that was what the bath was for. She sank into the water as well, undoing her braid, letting her hair down in long brown waves. She dunked underwater for a moment, holding her breath, in order to get her hair wet—then sat upright again. Water lapped around her breasts and upper arms. She closed her eyes momentarily, imagining that she could almost feel the sweat and grime floating off her body.
Leliana scooted over. "You are so tense," she said, half-scolding. "It's over! You won. We won. Relax, my beloved."
Elissa opened her eyes. "Maybe you could help me with that."
Leliana smirked. "I swore to serve you." In a moment, her nimble, skilled fingers were rubbing Elissa's shoulders, relaxing her muscles at the touch.
Those dexterous hands then found their way farther down. Elissa gave her a sideways smirk and a raised eyebrow. "A different kind of relaxation, then?"
"If you like." Leliana planted a kiss on the sensitive spot where Elissa's neck and left shoulder joined. Her hands rapidly brushed down Elissa's sides underwater. The scented soap and the water itself had made both women's skin very soft and smooth, as well as very sensitive, and Elissa involuntarily closed her eyes in bliss at the touch. Leliana rewarded her with another kiss on the opposite side of her neck.
Elissa turned around, facing Leliana, unable to resist. The intensity of the duel, her storm of emotions from the entire day, and, now, the fact that something so major and crucial was settled were threatening to overpower her—and all that pent-up energy needed an outlet. This, she thought, was the best possible one. She wrapped her legs around Leliana's waist, abruptly and rather aggressively pressing her core against Leliana's right thigh.
Her lover's blue eyes went wide. "That was quick," she remarked softly. But she was quite able to keep up with Elissa, and before the young ranger knew what was happening, Leliana had her own hands charting a quick, sensual course directly down Elissa's body to that very same heated spot.
Elissa was barely able to think clearly right now. She had needed this more than she had even realized, and it was a blessed relief. She was going to peak quickly, she could tell already. But she was just mistress of herself enough to remember that Leliana's needs could not be neglected either... and, while she was pressing herself against Leliana's right thigh, there was nothing blocking, no barrier, nothing in the world to prevent her from allowing her right hand to dart down Leliana's chest, between her shapely breasts, stopping briefly on the scar that a dagger of betrayal had left years ago... then down her toned abdominal muscles, her soft pelvic curve, finally settling between the petals of her delicate pink rose. Leliana shivered, though the bath was still hot.
Elissa found an angle that let her please her lover and herself and fell into rocking motions, breathing more and more rapidly. Gentle waves lapped at the sides of the bath; some flowed over the side, leaving puddles on the floor. She leaned forward as a wave of pleasure took her, burying her head beside Leliana's neck, kissing her shoulder hard enough that it would probably leave marks. Beside her, closer than close, Leliana was still in slightly better control of herself, but the building climax was affecting her too. She was gasping and her movements were jerkier and less rhythmic. The water began to slosh.
The two women came apart together, gasping out, falling into each other's arms, as a wave of water splashed several feet into the bedchamber.
"I needed that," Elissa confided to Leliana once they had actually cleaned themselves, washed each other's hair, and dressed again. She felt wonderful—refreshed, reinvigorated, clean, beautiful, and satisfied. From the glowing look on Leliana's face, she guessed that her lover felt much the same.
"I feel ready to take on the Archdemon itself," Leliana replied, smiling.
Elissa laughed. "Leave that one to me, if you please. You're welcome to any other Blighted monster you like, though."
"I wonder why a Grey Warden must be the one to slay the dragon?" Leliana mused. "It is a shame Riordan has left. We all forgot to ask him."
"It is," Elissa thought. Come to think of it, she rather wondered that herself. Perhaps there would be lore about it at Soldier's Peak. She had been dreading the prospect of going to the old run-down castle, but now, she looked forward.
The Korcari Wilds, four months earlier.
Fergus Cousland woke from a very deep sleep. He felt weak, shaky, almost as if he could not move.
He and his people had been scouting for darkspawn in the Wilds, hoping to get an indication of the composition of the horde, so that the King's forces would have a better idea of how to position their resources. He had already heard the rumor that there were monstrous horned darkspawn called ogres and darkspawn that could cast crude magic spells. It was important to guard against these types and to allocate forces such as the Circle mages and devices such as the ballistae in such a way that they would be well-placed.
Howe had wanted some of his men included in Fergus's group, and the heir of Highever had had no objection. The small team that he picked for this scouting mission included one of Howe's best, Lord Packton. He didn't know the man well, but his skill with a mace was legendary.
Legendary...
Fergus remembered, now, what had happened. Packton had ordered his own loyalists to attack Fergus's men. Fergus was shocked; there was no one wearing the bear of Amaranthine, and he never could have imagined being attacked by people wearing the sigil of Highever. He could not immediately figure out who was a friend and who was an enemy. In confused desperation, he targeted Packton himself—but it was too late. The traitor clubbed him in the head with his mace. If not for his dragonbone helmet, that would have been the end. As it was, he felt dizzy, lightheaded, aware that he'd received a concussion even through the dragonbone...
Then he felt the dagger stab. He saw the ground rushing up to meet him...
Fergus's thoughts returned to the present, accompanied by rage. He tried to sit up, but immediately felt lightheaded. His legs seemed almost immobile. Did that traitor break my spine? he thought furiously. He gazed around, trying to make sense of where he was. A tent. Someone found me, then, and carried me back to the camp. But... no... this is not an army tent...
His gaze then focused on an older man sitting in front of a small cauldron. He was definitely not garbed as a soldier, and although he carried a staff on his back, he was no Circle mage.
"You're... Chasind?" Fergus managed.
The man inclined his head. "I am Shaman Verush. You have been asleep for a long time, Fereldan."
"My name is Fergus Cousland," he said. He struggled to sit up. "How long? Why can't I sit up? And what happened to the traitor? Tell me he's dead; tell me that somebody killed the bastard."
The shaman regarded him. "The man who attacked you is dead, yes. You have been given soup and water, but your arms and legs are weak. They have not been used in four months."
"Four months?"
"The blow to your head and poison on the blade sent you into a deep sleep."
Maker's breath, I've been in a coma for four months. "What happened?" he exclaimed. "What about the battle? I appreciate your aid, but I need to get back to my people. We've got a Blight to fight."
"My people are aware of this Blight too." Fergus felt shamed at his instinctive supposition that they were too primitive and ignorant to know of the Blight. "Your people's great battle was a loss."
A loss? Maker, no! Father was in that battle!
"The remaining army of your country has left the area. Darkspawn hold all areas that my tribe no longer holds... and it is good that you awakened when you did, because we cannot hold the land any longer. It is poisoned. There is nothing for us anymore."
"I have to get back to my people," Fergus repeated. Maker, what if Packton's treason wasn't all? He had men supporting him, men wearing Highever livery. That required a plot. What if the treachery ran deeper than I know? I have to get word of Oriana and Oren... of Mother... of Elissa.
"You cannot fight a war yourself," the Chasind shaman said sharply. "Not yet. You must get back in shape to fight."
"I can fight," Fergus insisted. He placed his hands on either side, trying to push himself up. He wobbled on his weak knees, withholding gasps at how his legs were little more than skin and bone now. The Chasind had kept him alive, but he couldn't swallow rich food in a coma, and his muscles had wasted away from lack of nutrition and activity. He collapsed to the ground at once.
"No," the shaman said pointedly, "you cannot. You must remain with us and return to fighting form. This will take time."
Submitting to reality, Fergus sighed. "You're right," he admitted. He closed his eyes. What happened to my family? What happened to my country?
"We will move out in a matter of days," Verush said. "I hope you will then find the answers you seek."
Fergus looked at him with a start. His skin crawled. "Did you... read my mind?" he said, looking askance at the mage. Doesn't that mean blood magic?
"No," Verush said, "I did not." He gave Fergus a hard look. "I know what you fear. We do not traffic with demons and blood sacrifices, Fergus Cousland. But it is not hard to guess that you have many questions, given that you were asleep for so long."
Fergus nodded, relieved. "You're right. Sorry. I'm just a little paranoid now after being attacked by my own men."
Verush smiled wryly. "We will not attack you unprovoked. If we wanted you dead, you would be."
"True enough."
Fergus soon regretted asking those questions, even in his own thoughts.
The attack by Packton and his men was not an isolated event. It was indeed a conspiracy, just as Fergus had feared—and, worse yet, Rendon Howe himself had ordered it.
The Chasind first settled around the arling of West Hills. It was there that Fergus had to build back enough muscle tone to walk on his own. He was glad to do so; it was humiliating for a healthy warrior, who was not lamed by an incurable wound, to be carried around on a litter like an old man. Eating fresh meat, rather than having broth and pureed stew poured down his throat, helped rebuild muscle tone too—but unfortunately, before Fergus was in fighting form again, hunting dried up around West Hills. The Chasind were failing to bring down anything except Tainted game. Then one day the news reached the tribe that the arling had fallen to the darkspawn, and that Arl Wulff's two sons had been slain by the creatures. The arl himself had fled to Denerim, urging his people to get the Void out of the arling and seek safety.
Fergus had hoped to get a word with Arl Wulff. He wasn't a longtime Cousland ally, but he was still someone that Fergus knew, who might have information about the Coastlands. No one in the south said much about it. It was understandable; they had their own problems with the darkspawn destroying their home, but Fergus was hearing some absolutely ghastly unconfirmed rumors that... surely not... Howe had taken Highever for his own.
But before Fergus could prove his identity to Wulff and gain audience, the arl had told his people to evacuate the village. West Hills had fallen.
Shaman Verush and his clan shook their heads in regret. They could not have held back the tide, but the arling might have held out a little longer if the arl had trusted them to fight side by side with his people. But he didn't; he had lost a daughter to an elopement with an Avvar tribesman, and wanted nothing to do with "barbarians."
The Chasind decided to move on to Gwaren.
Loghain's people completely controlled the flow of information in Gwaren. However, the town was not directly under attack, protected as it was by the Brecilian Forest—which, rumor had it, harbored a conflict between a Dalish clan and a pack of werewolves, of all things. Since people were not discussing an imminent darkspawn attack, they could discuss politics. It was filtered through Loghain's propaganda, but at least Fergus could learn what had happened... much as he wished he hadn't.
I failed my wife and son, he thought miserably when he learned of the fate of Oriana and Oren. This, at least, the people of Gwaren did not approve of. Even if they did circulate the vile and false stories about Bryce and Eleanor Cousland—and the Grey Wardens—Howe's murder of an unarmed woman and small child in their own bedroom was a bridge too far. Fergus was relieved that these people had at least some capacity for independent thinking; if they had gloated over the deaths of his wife and son, he was not sure he could have restrained himself from a violent attack.
And he could have made one. He was getting back in shape. Hunting was still good in Gwaren, and more crucially, it was a fishing town. The Blight had not infested the sea, so day after day of tasty, nutritious whitefish, cod, mackerel, crab, shrimp—plus the game that his Chasind companions could shoot—made a difference in his fitness. His body craved the sustenance, his starved muscles craved the meat, and Shaman Verush was giving him healing potions all along to help the process of recovery.
His entire family wasn't dead, he learned. His sister had survived Howe's attack, and she had become a Grey Warden. The people of Gwaren did not speak of her with particularly sympathetic or approving words, but it was enough for Fergus to know that she was alive and a hero—even if these people did not see it.
As weeks passed, another rumor reached him: namely, that the other Grey Warden with whom Elissa traveled was, in fact, a natural son of King Maric, and that he was making a play for the throne. The people of Gwaren seemed to believe that he was going to marry Elissa. Fergus laughed to himself when he heard that tale.
"I am glad to see you laugh again," Verush told him that day. He was carrying a filled wineskin. "What have you found amusing?"
Fergus smiled sadly, his laughter fading at once. "It feels strange to laugh," he said. "Strange and... wrong."
"Your loved ones would not have you never enjoying life again, never laughing... never being happy."
"True," he said, sighing heavily. He stretched his legs, now reasonably muscled again. "I just heard a rumor that my sister was going to marry her fellow Grey Warden and become Queen."
"I do not understand. Why is this amusing?"
"Because it's not true," he said, chuckling again in spite of himself. "My sister doesn't fancy men, and... well, our father was considered for King five years ago. She didn't want to become a princess then, so there's no chance that she would want to be a queen now. It's just idle gossip."
The shaman sat beside him. "Would you care for a sip of Wildwine? I should warn you, though, it is not truly 'wine' as your people understand it. It is rather stronger."
Fergus took a heavy draught of the Wildwine. It was strong but surprisingly tasty. "Why did you save me?" he asked Shaman Verush suddenly. "You can't have any stake in whether Howe or I hold the Coastlands."
The Chasind gave him a strange look. "Of course we do not. We saved you because you are a person, living, untainted. The creatures are the enemy of life. They kill Chasind and Fereldan alike. While they threaten, what else matters?"
Fergus considered this. "I wish my people were that clear-headed about the Blight. Seems that we could learn some things from you."
The shaman smiled wryly. "Your people either hate us or imagine that we are perfect because they feel sorry for us. Chasind have foolish wars as well. We have dwindled in number because we do not always unite against a common enemy. It must be the way of people."
Fergus sighed. Isn't that the truth? he thought. And yet, he could not claim innocence in that matter himself. Rendon Howe, his family's murderer, was occupying their seat, and Fergus wanted his head for it even more than he wanted the end of the Blight.
"We have been given an order to leave," Verush told the clan and Fergus. He scowled. "The village mayor says that there have been... tensions."
"We've done nothing," complained a young warrior.
"Nonetheless, they feel threatened, and they wish us to move on. This is not our land, in any case." The shaman sighed.
"Our land was the Korcari Wilds!" the warrior burst out. "It's lost to the darkspawn now! We had a treaty with Ferelden's government permitting us to live there, but the Fereldans failed us! Our allies failed to protect us from the filthy creatures, and now we have lost everything!"
Fergus was uncomfortable. The Blight was overrunning the south of his country too. After the disaster at Ostagar, it was difficult to prevent that outcome. But he did understand the Chasind's plight and point of view in this. They had had the right to live in the Korcari Wilds and govern themselves as they saw fit, according to their own customs, provided that they did not violate Fereldan civil law. Now their lands were gone, lost to the Blight, and no one could say when they would be fit for habitation again. Everywhere else in Ferelden was the holding of some teyrn, arl, bann, or freeholder, who probably would not be inclined to cede territory to a tribe of "barbarian heathens," as they were often considered. After nearly four months of living with them—plus the four additional months that he had been in a coma—Fergus had developed a rather different opinion, but his fellow nobles largely disliked the Chasind.
Fergus was suddenly brought up short. My fellow nobles.
I'm a teyrn.
Father died. With Elissa in the Grey Wardens, that makes me the rightful Teyrn of Highever, and the outcome of the Landsmeet means my claim stands.
Word had reached Gwaren that, indeed, the natural son of Maric had been chosen as Prince, and betrothed to the Dowager Queen Anora. This respect for Anora had pacified the town, along with the news that Loghain himself had been spared and made to join the Grey Wardens as penance. Rendon Howe himself was dead, apparently by Elissa's hand.
Thank the Maker for that, Fergus had thought when he heard it. I wish it had been mine, but if it couldn't have been, good that it was hers.
But Howe's loyalists still held the North, some of them digging in even in the face of their lord's defeat and the fall of the Regent. In fact, Tommy Howe himself purportedly was setting himself up as "Teyrn of Highever" at the castle. As Fergus recalled that, rage built in him—and a plan.
"I have the rightful claim on the town and teyrnir of Highever, in the Coastlands," Fergus said to the Chasind. "It is mine by right of blood, though it is currently occupied by the son of the man who murdered most of my family." He gazed out at them. "As I see it, I need allies... and you need land."
Verush raised his eyebrows. "You would make a bargain with us?"
"You have taken care of me as if I were one of your own for eight months. I owe you a debt I cannot repay... and I admit I'm asking for yet more of you, to help me retake this town and oust the usurper. But if you will treat me as your ally and friend one more time, then you have my sworn word, you will have lands and protection in the north, lands unspoiled by Blight, under the same terms that you had in the Korcari Wilds. In return for the friendship you have shown me, I offer the hand of Cousland friendship to the Chasind for as long as we hold the North." He placed a hand over his heart.
"You may intend to keep your word, Fergus Cousland, but how can we know that your fellow Fereldans will?" spoke up a brash young hunter. "We have been chased out of the south as 'barbarians.'"
"My sister is friends with the man who will be Ferelden's new king, and our queen—and she has become a national hero. I will be the Teyrn of Highever, high lord over the entire Coastlands. The opinions of ignorant peasants don't matter compared to that. I can give you my assurance on this point. Come with me to the north, fight with me, and you will have your own lands once more, in the warm and fertile Coastlands this time."
The tribespeople murmured among themselves for several minutes, but Fergus was certain that they would agree quickly—and he was right.
Alfstanna regretted when Elissa led her team northeast at the crossroads, heading for Soldier's Peak. The two women had enjoyed the company... but the time had come to part. Elissa is retaking a fortress for the Grey Wardens, and I am retaking a fortress for... Alfstanna sighed. She hoped that Elissa would change her mind about holding the ancestral castle of her family, but she also understood why her friend wanted nothing to do with the place.
She saw her family die here. She saw it overrun by enemies... who were the men of someone she had thought a family friend. She saw thugs cutting down unarmed servants, blood seeping into the stonework... I understand perfectly well why she does not want to live there again. She has moved on with her life and enjoys being a Grey Warden. She enjoys the relationship with her lady.
Alfstanna rather liked Sister Leliana too. The three women had spent most of their waking hours together along the short journey before they had to part ways, and Alfstanna had learned that Leliana had similar views to those of her poor brother Irminric: that the Chantry was meant to be an institution of faith, service, and charity, rather than power, gold, and worldly influence. Leliana would have enjoyed talking with Irminric, Alfstanna thought sadly. But he was in the Grand Cleric's care now, and the priest was not at all confident that he would recover the full capacity of his mind.
Templars inevitably decline due to lyrium use unless they wean themselves off it gradually, Alfstanna thought, but he should not have declined so soon, at so young an age. This is the fault of Rendon Howe. If my brother does not recover, Rendon Howe will effectively have destroyed his life just as assuredly as he destroyed the lives of the Couslands.
I hope there is a Void. I am certain that most of us go to the Maker's side, but I really hope there is a place for the wicked too. A man like that deserves nothing less. Alfstanna momentarily felt guilt at the dark, vindictive thought, but she could not avoid it.
She tried to cool her thoughts nonetheless. Rendon Howe was not sitting in Highever. Instead the usurper was most probably his son Tommy. Alfstanna did not have particularly fond memories of that little spoiled brat either, but she hoped that, despite his illegal occupation of Highever, he was not a miniature version of his father. Elissa had given Alfstanna instructions about that.
"If he was not complicit in the murders of my family or his father's slaving plots, and is not guilty of capital crimes in his own right, give him the chance to walk away alive," Elissa had said. "Offer him the chance of honorable service in the army if he's 'only' occupying my father's seat. The darkspawn are the enemy of everyone, and I'm sick of death. And if I can spare Loghain, I can offer this to Tommy Howe too. If he takes it. So far as I know, his father is the only one who ordered the massacre, and he's dead by my hand now."
Alfstanna had to admire her friend for her magnanimity, especially considering a rather horrible tale Elissa had passed on to her about a certain incident five years ago in Denerim that had included Tommy Howe. But Vaughan Kendells had been the principal offender, Tommy acting the part of a coward tag-along. It was certainly no worse than Loghain's crimes, in any case. Alfstanna had every intention of carrying out the instruction—if Tommy Howe were indeed guilty of nothing worse than occupying Highever Castle.
The reports were that Howe's loyalists had dug in from Highever to Amaranthine. They consisted largely of the private militias and knights of his allies and lords, plus some Royal Army regulars who had deserted upon Howe's defeat and vowed to fight in Thomas Howe's name to the bitter end.
The Crown had given the order that soldiers who abandoned the unlawful rebellion in the North would be shown mercy and judged on their acts. Unless they were guilty of murder—and Anora made it clear that honorable combat that followed the laws of battle did not count—or rape, they would be permitted to live if they reported for duty in the war against the darkspawn. Alfstanna's force actually passed a large group of Amaranthine soldiers headed in the opposite direction. None of them wanted to look at her or her people; they all seemed ashamed. As they should be.
She was glad to see such a large group of soldiers. The majority of them likely were innocent of the worst crimes, and although she never wanted any of them in the North again, she was glad of the size of this force both because it would help against the darkspawn and it would make life easier for her with fewer rebels to fight.
On the other hand, she thought darkly, the ones who have dug in are likely to be the worst of the lot. Some are just stupidly dog-loyal to Howe, and actually imagine that they can force the issue, no doubt. They probably think that the army will be stretched thin against the darkspawn and will take serious harm, and that there won't be any appetite or capacity for another fight after the Blight. Anger towered in Alfstanna at this idea, though she grudgingly acknowledged it was rational, if repulsive. Others, though, are likely those very soldiers who did commit atrocities and know that their only chance is to fight beside the Howe loyalists.
It seemed that the pockets of resistance were located mainly at the holdings and manors of Howe's loyalists. Unfortunately, at the moment that included Highever Castle. Alfstanna had to begrudge his people one point, namely that the Royal Army couldn't spare that many people for this effort. The civil war had decimated Ferelden's population of soldiers. Ferelden simply could not afford a full-scale assault on every Howe loyalist holding in the North while also fighting the darkspawn. It would essentially be a resumption of the civil war, and the Howe soldiers would have the advantage, holding fortresses and manors. No, instead Alfstanna had formulated a different strategy.
Decapitate the leadership, she thought. With Rendon Howe dead, Delilah presumed dead, and Nathaniel missing in the Free Marches, they have rallied around this usurper who says he is Tommy Howe. I don't need to pick off every loyalist holding. All that will do is allow the survivors of each battle to amass at a central place, probably Highever itself, and fortify it, while meanwhile I will have whittled down my force and wasted time. I won't bother with that. The problem is this figurehead in Highever; therefore, I will take Highever and oust the bastard. She smiled grimly. And I know just how to do that.
The regalia of the Royal Army gave Alfstanna's unit of about seventy soldiers respect and unchallenged passage. However, she did not intend to mount a direct assault on Highever Castle—and certainly not on the town. She had to assume that Howe's loyalists were scattered throughout the city. Based on Elissa's reports, Alfstanna also suspected that Howe's forces included blood mages. No, the thing to do was take the castle by stealth, remove the usurper and his men, and when word inevitably and quickly reached the town, to then defend it from a position of strength instead of giving Howe's thugs stationed throughout the town the chance to escape to a highly defensible fortress.
Under cover of darkness, her team crept toward the lights. They would enter in small groups and take the castle once they were all within.
Alfstanna knew where the castle's kitchen exit was. Rendon Howe himself might have shored it up after Elissa and Duncan had escaped, but he was dead, and his younger son was famously... unintelligent, compared to his father. Alfstanna and her first group, composed of the stealthiest rogues and strongest knights, made their way down the passage—and into Highever Castle.
They did not want to kill servants, but they could not let anyone sound the alarm early. Alfstanna's soldiers easily took down and tied up the kitchen staff, crowding more and more into the close quarters of the kitchen, adjacent rooms, and corridor. The last group in would seal off the passage.
"Is that everyone?" Alfstanna asked the final soldier.
He nodded. "Indeed, m'lady. That's all of us."
"Then let's move out. Everyone, draw your weapons. We're about to need them."
A part of Alfstanna hated turning Elissa's home into a morgue yet again, with blood seeping into the stone and marring the new Howe furnishings. But this time, at least, it was not the blood of Couslands or their retainers. Wielding her poison-slicked daggers with savage artistry, Alfstanna sliced through the throats of one Howe man after another—and she noted, sourly, that they were indeed all men. She recalled Rendon's distaste for women in combat. And yet you lost your life to a woman in combat, and another one is about to get your toadies out of this castle, she thought.
The servants mostly did not even attempt to fight, instead screaming and trying feebly to lock and barricade themselves inside rooms. A handful did join the Howe soldiers, and Alfstanna strongly suspected that these had been trained as bards. They went down just as the soldiers did, however. Her force did not have strength of numbers, but they were Royal Army, well-trained, the elite of Ferelden, and they had far better weapons.
Her force chased the Howe defenders from room to room in the castle, her archers taking them down as they tried to flee the grounds, the blade-wielders engaging in combat those who attempted to fight. The Howe soldiers realized that it was death to try to barricade themselves into small spaces; soon they all started to make for one place: the grand dining hall.
Alfstanna knew it well. It had a balcony, a musicians' gallery, that was rather defensible. A force that could get archers and crossbowmen on the balcony and sturdy warriors to defend the stairs could likely hold the place by shooting down into the crowd. She understood the Howe forces' plan—and it had to be thwarted. "To the dining hall!" she exclaimed to her people. "Don't let them take the gallery!"
They stormed into the great hall and immediately began fighting bloodily and brutally for the stairs leading up to the gallery.
Her sharp gaze caught a figure she was sure she recognized. He was a bit older, but she knew the face of Thomas Howe—that look of a deer caught in front of a chariot, one who was in far over his head and suddenly realized it.
She drove her daggers into the back of one of his bodyguards, noting how useless it was for a bodyguard to expose his back to an attacker. The man fell to the ground with a thud.
The Howe boy scowled, standing his ground and surprising Alfstanna, as this was more courage than she had ever seen from him in his life.
"Your men have lost," Alfstanna told him in frigid tones, keeping her daggers at the ready just in case. She gestured around the dining hall. A few of her soldiers had fallen, but the bulk of the carnage was on the Howe side—and it was clear to Tommy's men, at least, that the battle was lost. Some of them were indeed throwing down their blades in front of their opponents and suing for mercy. "Surrender now and your life may be spared."
"'May' be spared," Tommy repeated scornfully. He clung to his sword. "Why should I die on my knees like a coward?"
"I come in the names of Queen Anora, Prince Alistair, and the Warden-Commander of Ferelden," Alfstanna said, staring at him. "I speak for them. If you surrender yourself to the Queen's Justice, and you truly were not involved with the slaughter of the Cousland family and did not commit any murders or rapes afterward, then you will be shown mercy and given the chance to atone for this... illegal occupation."
Tommy Howe sneered back. "Mercy," he spat. "That must mean being handed off to the army for a convenient 'death in battle.'"
"If you die at human hands, it won't be in a secret murder," Alfstanna retorted. "We're fighting a Blight. Do you think we want to waste soldiers in pointless acts of revenge? Teyrn Loghain has been conscripted into the Grey Wardens for that reason, and Elissa Cousland herself said that if you were not a part of the massacre of her family and hadn't done certain things, she wouldn't pursue a vendetta against you. Considering what you have done to her—that vile plot with Vaughan Kendells years ago—"
"How in the Void do you know about that?"
"She told me, of course; what do you think?" Alfstanna glared at him. "She is offering you a chance to live. So are the Queen and the Prince. I recommend that you take it."
He snarled. "I won't grovel before a bastard prince and a commoner queen," he said nastily. "That throne should have been mine! The Howes are the oldest noble blood in Ferelden, older than Guard-Captain Cousland's blood, much older than Farmer Mac Tir's, older than Shopkeeper Calenhad's. We owned our own land while the first Cousland was a servant of a bann! We are the ones who always should have been on the throne, and Father was going to make it happen."
"You are unbelievable," Alfstanna said. "You want to duel me? I will gladly oblige, but because I do not want to take advantage of a fool, I'll give you one last chance to think this through and surrender."
"I am the Teyrn of Highever now and I will not surrender!"
"The Queen says that you are not," she said coldly. "So what do you hope to accomplish if you defeat me? If I fall, my men will take you out."
"Your men haven't taken Highever Town itself. My father's people are all over town. You should expect to see them soon," he said snidely. "I can't imagine this attack is a secret from them anymore."
"Then the Queen's soldiers will come! Do you think you could defeat the Fereldan army, which threw off the greatest empire of the modern world?" She glared at him. "You are beaten. You can accept that and keep your life, or you can die—at my blades in a few minutes, or later, but you will die."
One of Tommy's soldiers attempted, idiotically, to attack a royal soldier by trickery after surrendering. The army veteran was wise to it and gutted him, a sickening squeal and groan escaping from the dying man.
Tommy swallowed. Glowering hatefully at Alfstanna, spite and resentment filling every corner of his face, he threw his sword angrily to the floor.
"We have to secure the castle," Alfstanna commanded as Tommy was taken captive and bound. "Prepare the ramparts. Don't let the servants out, either. Our own camp servants will do for now. We have to fortify this castle against the inevitable attack from Howe's forces in the town."
"My lady?" asked a lieutenant. "What if word of this reaches across the North and all of Howe's people mass here to attack us? Shouldn't we just kill the boy to demoralize them, deprive them of their figurehead to 'liberate'?"
Alfstanna sighed. It was logical, she had to admit... "I have my orders from Elissa Cousland on that point. He surrendered; we won't execute him unless he is guilty of certain crimes. Honor is what separates us from them." She considered. "We are going to use every war machine that is in good working order. Prepare boiling oil. If Howe's loyalists want to mass here, let them. We will make them break against the walls of Highever Castle."
In her heart, she hoped it would not come to that. Her words were bold, but she was not quite as confident of them as her tone suggested. "In the meantime," she added, "we'll send word to Denerim that we have taken the castle." Reinforcements, she thought. "Prepare a messenger and an escort."
She had barely made it to the doorway of the dining hall when her knights and the messenger returned to her.
"What's the meaning of this?" she demanded. "I gave you an order..."
"I'm sorry, my lady, but we can't get out," one of the knights burst out. "There's war in the streets."
Damn, she thought. They're already aware. "War?" she repeated. That choice of word seemed a bit extreme, surely...?
"It's Howe's thugs, of course, but... more," the messenger said. "Some Tevinter-looking mages, and I think they must have been doing blood magic! I saw one of them raise his hand and then this fellow just fell to the ground in a pool of his own blood, and it swirled around the mage..."
"That's blood magic, all right," Alfstanna said darkly.
"My father wasn't dealing with blood mages," spoke Tommy Howe, who was still present, although he was tied from head to toe. "It must've been some of you lot."
"Your father had a deal with Tevinter slavers," Alfstanna retorted, angry at the mere sound of his voice. "He most definitely was dealing with blood mages—and now they're attacking Highever!"
"And that's not all, my lady," the messenger continued. "There are also the barbarians..."
"Barbarians?"
"I don't rightly know if they are Avvar or Chasind, but they're fighting! No idea where they came from or why they went to Highever." The messenger shrugged. "They're fighting Howe's men, at least, and the blood mages."
Alfstanna decided to worry about it later. Undoubtedly a band of Blight refugees from one of the southern tribes had migrated north and found itself at odds with Howe's men, for whatever reason. This surely was their own fight, not hers, but if they were picking off the Howe forces, then at the moment, the enemy of her enemy was a friend. "Prepare the castle and stand watch from a rampart. If the fighting approaches us—"
A terrible, ear-splitting crash interrupted her.
"The gates!" shrieked a soldier. "The mages sent a great stone that blasted the gates apart!" Sounds of boots, the clash of metal, and shrieks of agony filled the corridor of Highever Castle once again.
Alfstanna stepped out of the dining hall. Chaos was filling the passage once again. Her soldiers were fighting what appeared to be a blood mage and several Howe thugs. Some skin-clad and feather-adorned tribesmen were farther back, trying to get in but blocked by the mage's rockfall.
She reached for her bow and nocked an arrow. A crowd of her people were trying to defend the hallway, but the mage—Alfstanna got a look at him, and he was indeed in Tevinter robes—was using very powerful spells. She aimed an arrow at him—and missed.
The blood mage drained another royal soldier of his blood. Alfstanna felt sickened as the red cloud of vapor settled around the mage's body, vanishing. The maleficar seemed stronger than ever, and he laughed, raising his hands in the air and gathering magic for what looked to be a massive elemental spell.
"Let me out!" shrieked Tommy Howe, struggling against his bonds. "Let me go! I'll fight for you, I swear—don't leave me to die tied up like this!"
In a fraction of a second, Alfstanna made a decision. "Cut him loose," she ordered the soldier nearest him. "Cut him loose and give him a crossbow." She turned to Tommy. "If you betray me, you will not live to gloat about it."
She still eased aside as Tommy, armed with a bulky crossbow, scampered toward the doorway and took aim down the hall. His first bolt indeed hit one of his father's thugs—and, Alfstanna noted with surprise, that was where it had been aimed. Perhaps he didn't mean to betray them after all...
A barbarian warrior—no, he was also a mage—finally burst through the rocks and began to engage the blood mage. Alfstanna did not speak Chasind, but she recognized it, and she guessed that he was cursing fluently in his own language. The blood mage tried to attack him, but he had summoned a swarm of hornets, which promptly attacked the Tevinter mage. The blood mage fell to the ground, screaming as the insects stung him repeatedly.
You'd better have a spell to get them out of here, Alfstanna thought—but again, for now, the enemy of her enemy was her friend. She aimed another arrow—and this time hit a Howe thug.
The blood mage was bloated and purple from the stings. The Chasind mage looked disgusted at the sight. The insects vanished, startling Alfstanna. Were they even real hornets? The stings were real enough...
But letting herself be distracted by that cost her dearly. She realized her mistake in a flash as he fixed her with a dark smile, even dying on the ground from hornet stings. He still had magic. Blood mages could draw the very life from their enemies and heal themselves of grievous injuries with this stolen life force while mortally wounding their foes. Alfstanna had no idea what to do. How could a regular person protect herself from that? She saw no point in running; the spell would still reach her. Wincing, she nocked another arrow, hoping to at least take him down with her...
He cast the spell—and, to Alfstanna's horror, Tommy Howe keeled over, blood erupting from his mouth, his nose, the pores in his skin. He was dead as soon as he hit the ground—and the mage was healed of his stings.
"Maker take you!" Furious that her act of mercy had been nullified by this creature, Alfstanna ran forward, unsheathing her blades, hardly caring about the fact that she ran straight into the mage's snow spell and then a spell that felt like a punch of raw force. Her enemy laughed, sending her flying backward, gleeful with his presumed superiority over the foolish mundane.
Then his laughter was suddenly cut off. A crunchy thud was almost the final sound of combat. The Chasind mage turned aside from his fight, against a trio of Howe thugs who were in their death throes. At the end of the corridor, a red-haired Chasind warrior with an extremely good sword stepped over the bodies. He cleaned the blade before sheathing it. Alfstanna got up from where she had tumbled, looked around, and saw the head of the blood mage rolling on the floor. The warrior had decapitated him. There was no healing from that.
The swordsman was dressed as a Chasind too, but there was something familiar about him...
"Stand down!" he commanded. "Your allies in Highever Town are beaten! Lay down your arms and surrender this castle to the rightful Teyrn of Highever, and..." He broke off, gaping. "Alfstanna?"
"Fergus?" she burst out. She squinted at him. Her injuries from the mage's spells were plaguing her, but they were not interfering with her eyesight... and this sure did look like Fergus. It sounded like him, too.
"Wouldn't have thought you would fight on Howe's side," he scowled.
She put up her weapons. "I'm not. My lord Teyrn," she added. "I command this detachment of the Royal Army. We secured Highever Castle just before you arrived." She scowled at the destroyed gates. "Well, secured it until Rendon Howe's pet blood mage blasted it open."
Fergus wavered for a moment before deciding to trust her. He sheathed his blade. "Friends," he said to the Chasind, "it appears that our fighting is over."
I've got to send word to Elissa! Alfstanna thought, overjoyed. Her heart was thumping... and she knew that Elissa would be delighted to learn of his survival. Her friend had nearly given up hope, believing that it was better to accept a grim truth than cling to a false hope, but her brother was not dead after all. The sooner they could contact her at Soldier's Peak, the better.
But for now, much needed to be sorted out. Alfstanna beamed. "Welcome home, Teyrn Fergus." The smile on her face faded. "I'm sorry that it's under such terrible circumstances."
"Aren't we all?" he agreed sadly.
"Your... friends... are Chasind?"
"They saved my life," he said somberly. "I wouldn't be standing here if not for them." He walked over to where the body of Tommy Howe lay. "Damn. It's Howe's youngest."
Alfstanna remembered that, pangs of regret filling her. "He was squatting here and claiming your title, but he surrendered to me and then begged to fight. Actually did, too. I was surprised."
Fergus sighed, shaking his head at the bloodied body. "He was a spoiled brat, and he squatted on my father's seat, but if he wasn't complicit with his father's schemes... I know personally that losing a child is unbearable. But this is even worse. What greater reproof and condemnation can there be of a parent than to lose a child because of his own vile schemes?" He scowled. "I just hope Rendon Howe sees from the Void what his actions wrought—for his own family." He turned to Alfstanna's men. "Take his body away to be burned. We treat the dead better than he did."
"You've... heard?"
He needed no clarification. He bowed his head. "I have. I saw the mass grave myself... if you can call it that."
"I'm so sorry."
"We'll give them what dignity we can. What matters now is purging Howe's filth from this place and reestablishing order and justice here. I'm glad you're here," he added. "It's good to see you again. Truly, it is."
"Not as good as it is for me to see you alive," she said quietly.
Once she had the chance to reflect on it, Alfstanna thought it odd that the blood mage had killed Tommy Howe to—briefly—heal himself. Weren't they fighting in his name, to retain him as lord? Did the mage not know who he was? Why would he have done it?
As Fergus's Chasind and the Royal Army finally secured both the castle and the town, she and Fergus inspected Howe's personal rooms. He had not stayed here very long after taking the castle, but he had come back from time to time during his illegal occupation. One locked drawer in his desk—rightfully a Cousland desk—held an explanation of sorts.
They gaped at the documents, appalled. Alfstanna was not altogether surprised; Elissa had told her about Howe's dealings in Denerim, in which he had even involved Loghain. But Fergus had had no idea of it.
"He sold the entire Highever Alienage population to Tevinter!" Fergus exclaimed, revolted. He shook his head. "That's why that mage didn't give a damn about Tommy. He was never loyal to Tommy. He just wanted to make his own getaway to his homeland!"
"As you said," Alfstanna said quietly, "what greater reproof and condemnation can there be of a parent than to get their own child killed by consorting with vile people like this?"
Fergus shook his head. "Look at this sum! This is disgusting!" He squinted. "It says he kept it here, didn't even report it to the Royal Treasury. In the family vault, apparently, locked up." His visage darkened. "I don't want it. It's blood money."
Alfstanna saw it differently. "The elves are gone," she said sadly. "We can't bring them back. The coin is here, and... well... Highever needs to be rebuilt. I think you might as well put it toward that. I understand perfectly why you wouldn't want to spend it on yourself, but to ease the suffering of your people..."
"Only human and dwarven people," Fergus said miserably. He gazed at her, his eyes hollow with grief. "There are no elves left in Highever, Alfstanna. That depraved bastard got rid of all of them."
Alfstanna wanted to hug him, to comfort him, but it was presumptuous. He was a recent widower, and they had never had anything beyond friendship. She swallowed hard, restraining herself. "We'll rebuild it," she said, using the plural first person even without thinking of it. Fergus did not notice either. "We'll rebuild the Alienage better than before and offer incentives for elves to settle here again. Good work, good pay, respect..."
He choked out a sob. "Highever will never be the same. You and I will never be the same. And we both know it."
Alfstanna had no reply to that.
Fergus sighed. "You're right about the gold. Better that it go toward rebuilding Highever than enriching Rendon fucking Howe. Oh... sorry, my lady."
Alfstanna actually laughed. "Say whatever you like, Fergus. Speak your mind. If anyone has the right to do that in this place, it's a Cousland."
He smiled mirthlessly, then it faded again. "I should send word to my sister. She probably thinks I'm dead."
"She does. She will be delighted to hear you are alive. She was on the way to the old Warden fortress of Soldier's Peak. It shouldn't take long."
Fergus slept in his parents' bed that night. Remarkably, their chamber had not burned down. It was always where the Teyrn of Highever slept, and in any case, it was far more palatable than trying to sleep in the room that had once been his. The room where Oriana and Oren were murdered, he thought. No, that was impossible. It probably always would be.
He sent a messenger to Soldier's Peak as soon as the village was deemed secure, expecting to receive a joyful response from Elissa in a couple of days. The messenger was given a good horse, so it shouldn't take long.
He and Alfstanna were deeply disappointed when, instead, the messenger returned to Highever to report that Elissa and her party had already reclaimed Soldier's Peak—and left it—when he arrived. The only occupant there was an old Grey Warden mage who was apparently well past fighting in combat, and he had informed the messenger that Elissa and her party were en route to, of all places, Ostagar.
Fergus was disappointed. "It sounds like she's chasing the darkspawn horde. I know my sister is good, but... after what happened to my family... I can't help but worry anyway. I want her to know I survived. I hope..."
"We'll send couriers to Ostagar, then," Alfstanna said at once. "And... Maker forbid... but if the horde has appeared again, we'll hear word of it soon enough and will join your sister on the battlefield."
Notes: This is all wholly AU, of course, but I wanted to account for Fergus's whereabouts and what would have to happen in the North. I also wanted the Chasind to survive rather than being nearly wiped out in the Blight. "Noble makes a bargain with a barbarian horde, enlisting them as allies to regain lands/title" is... well, a trope, I admit it, and it certainly can be done in a way that is focused on the noble and doesn't give a convincing reason why the tribe would care about joining their cause. It's done repeatedly in A Song of Ice and Fire and, in my view, most of the time it falls into precisely that trap—a cheap and easy way to make it semi-plausible that someone can win an otherwise impossible battle. But the Chasind lost their land to the Blight, so Fergus actually has something to offer them in exchange for their help. I wanted to emphasize that.
I had originally thought to have Elissa kill Tommy Howe, but she has to work with Nathaniel later and I think it would be too much for him if she personally killed his father and brother. I'm also accounting for what somebody says in the Gnawed Noble that Tommy wasn't directly involved in Rendon's treason or slaving business. One can be a complete piece of crap without being a villain to that extent.
Don't worry, there'll be a Soldier's Peak chapter. I'm jumping around the timeline because of the viewpoint shifts, that's all. By the time the fight at Highever is done, Elissa & company have already wrapped up Soldier's Peak and have Returned to Ostagar. But I'm not going to skip it, not after how much I referenced it with respect to Loghain and all the allusions to "curing Warden problems." In fact, that's next.