Happy October, my lovelies! Life has been very busy, of late: I was hired as surtitlist for a local opera production, which meant I had to translate the opera from Italian to English and then transcribe it onto slides, timed to the music... 434 slides in total. To thank me, the opera company gave me a full-page ad in the program to advertise my services, especially my opera coloring book. I had intended on publishing the new edition of the coloring book for my capstone/graduation project at university (another year or so away), but I couldn't pass up this opportunity...so I completed the book a year ahead of schedule. I'm pleased to announce that the new edition of 'Manga and Mozart' is now available on Amazon for purchase!

This chapter marks the beginning of the Battle of Starkhaven. YouTube link in the notes below, and Spotify playlist link here for the musical inspiration:

www. open. spotify. com (slash) playlist (slash) 0W6mUNumHki5OQ3qduG4P5

As always, a huge thank you to all of you for your support and for reading. And thank you to AnnaLucia, beta-reader extraordinaire. Sending hugs to you all...and for those who have midterm exams, best of luck! :) 3

CW for description of PTSD and anxiety symptoms halfway through the chapter


Crossing the Vimmark Mountains was far more arduous than Fenris had anticipated, despite sending the engineer corps ahead to clear a path. The winter snows were persistent, undoing the engineers' efforts overnight; their journey nearly doubled in length from it, eating into their supply train. It concerned Fenris.

"If we continue at this pace, we won't have enough provisions for the siege," he said that afternoon, drawing the blanket closer. "And frostbite is becoming a problem, the medics reported."

"Oh, never mind their bleating: I've led many armies in me day, and never had a problem," Rowdon said. "Besides, me scouts told me this morning we'd reach the border before nightfall."

"That's what you said two days ago," Fenris muttered to himself in Tevene, turning to the window, heart heavy from homesickness. He missed the sound of Leto's laughter, the warmth of Varania's smile…. but he practically ached for days stretched on into interminable nights without her, gray and dull.

He must have nodded off, though he didn't remember it. One moment, he was ignoring Rowdon's boastful war stories, the next, Sebastian was shaking his shoulder.

"Fen! Wake up, we've finally arrived at Fenton House," Sebastian said over the bray of hounds announcing their arrival. Fenris blinked the sleep away, orienting himself. It was already dark, the shouts of porters and servants echoing in the courtyard as the men unloaded luggage. It seemed they would be staying overnight.

"An actual bed. Thank the Maker," he said to himself. Fenris's eyes went wide once he alighted the carriage. To call Fenton House a 'house' was akin to calling the Chantry a tiny chapel; the castle rose above them in a singular tower several stories high, its ruddy stone almost crimson in the lantern light.

Fenris waved down a passing soldier. "You, there. Send the Prince's tasters to me; I wish to speak to them." He glanced over his shoulder. Sebastian was busy greeting their host, no doubt introducing Rowdon.

"I want every object the Prince, Rowdon, and I touch tested, do you understand?" Fenris began, once the detail of soldiers arrived. "Everything. Strip the beds, inspect pillows, taste food and drink—this is a critical time in the campaign, no mistakes will be tolerated. Report to me on your findings. Have I made myself clear?"

The men saluted, "Ser, yes, Ser!" He dismissed them, rejoining the others.

"There ye are, man! Where did ye go, I thought ye were just behind me," Sebastian said with a smile. "Carmichael, this is Ser El-Khoury of Kirkwall, me commander and best friend. Fen, this is Ser Carmichael, me Da's old confidant." The former Prince's confidant? When Sebastian spoke of Carmichael in the past, he had never mentioned that particular detail.

Fenris bowed in greeting. "Thank you for your gracious hospitality, messere," he replied. "It's highly appreciated."

Now was the moment of truth. Fenris instinctively stiffened as Carmichael's eyes flicked up and down his person… inevitably lingering on the tapered shell of Fenris's ear as it disappeared under his chaperon hat. Distaste ghosted across Carmichael's features, quickly hidden behind a congenial smile.

"Come upstairs, messeres; warm yerselves before the fire. The evening meal will be ready presently." He led the way up the stone spiral staircase, gait stiff.

Fenris sighed. "Venhedis, he'll make little more than small talk while I'm present."

The castle's great hall was richly decorated with silk tapestries and Antivan paintings, sporting high, vaulted ceilings and a mezzanine balcony overlooking the hall. The faint smell of honey wafted through the space from the numerous beeswax candles gracing the sconces.

Fenris sank deeper into his armchair before the fire, frowning into his goblet of mulled wine. Carmichael was a valuable ally at the Starkhavener court, yet all that was for naught if he disliked Fenris. He could even criticize or discredit Sebastian for befriending a Tevinter elf, if they weren't careful…

Something wet nudged his arm. Fenris startled, nearly spilling his wine. "Hello, what's your name?" he asked. A wolfhound blinked at him from under its shaggy gray brows, tail wagging in friendly greeting. Fenris chuckled, holding his hand out for the hound to smell.

Ser Carmichael paused mid-sentence, "Argus! What are ye doing, lad? Leave the guests alone! Apologies, Ser El-Khoury, he's usually well-behaved."

Fenris waved his concern away, "he's fine, Ser Carmichael; I have a terrier at home named McTavish. You're a polite little gentleman to welcome me, aren't you, Argus? Yes, you are! Good boy." He scratched the dog behind his ear, smiling.

Their host blinked in surprise, "he…doesn't ever let folk pet him."

Sebastian chuckled, "Fenris has a way with dogs, Carmichael; me own little Tommy abandons me the moment he sees Fen. Jumps onto his lap and stares right at me to make me jealous, the wee bastard!"

Their host laughed out loud at that. Fenris nodded to Sebastian, grateful; Carmichael would likely speak of more pressing matters after this, rather than saving them solely for Sebastian's ears, in private.

"Wolfhounds are excellent judges of character; they ken a good, stout heart when they see one," Carmichael replied. "Seems Argus has given his blessing on our gathering tonight." Argus, meanwhile, had gone to Rowdon, tail thumping with glee as he received more petting.

The steward announced the evening meal in the dining room downstairs. Their host jumped to his feet, leading the way… right after Argus, who bounded downstairs, hopeful for tasty morsels. Fenris couldn't help but laugh, reminded of Tavvie and Tommy.

A throat cleared beside him; one of the tasters stepped from the shadows in the landing. He gave a quick nod, 'All is well,' it said. 'Don't worry.' Fenris nodded back in gratitude, joining the others with a considerably lighter heart.

Dinner was a roast capon with wine sauce and mashed parsnips: a delicious treat, compared to the bland military rations they'd been eating on campaign. It offset Carmichael's disappointing report on the political climate in Starkhaven.

"Lord Reid has essentially seized the city, since last I wrote ye," he said. "He's carving a bloody path to the throne."

Sebastian's grip on his fork went white-knuckled, "Lord… Reid? Ye mean the Lord High Chancellor? I thought he'd sworn fealty to us months ago, after the Harimann wedding—" His eyes widened; Fenris froze.

Brett Harimann had married Reid's daughter to strengthen the Harimann presence at the Starkhavener court, furthering Sebastian's claim to the throne. But once Ser Harimann had withdrawn his support from the campaign, his associates also left with him…and Fenris had a strong suspicion who was to blame.

"I assume Brett Harimann supports his father-in-law's efforts?" he asked.

Carmichael scoffed, "'supports?' He's practically footed the bill, now that he's inherited his Da's estate and title. His greed for power kens no bounds; his coin's stained with blood, for all the assassins he's hired."

Fenris's appetite fully left him at that, his gaze flicking to an equally troubled Sebastian. Brett's abrupt change of heart was no mystery. He was the sole survivor of his family, mostly due to Sebastian. And, by Seb's pallor, Fenris knew he had reached the same conclusion:

Brett Harimann wished to avenge his family, and would stop at nothing until Sebastian and Fenris were dead. Fenris drained his wine, magic stirring under his skin from apprehension.

If Carmichael noted their trepidation, he never said. He instead shifted the conversation to the recently completed trebuchets Sebastian had commissioned him to build. Fenris should have paid more attention, but Reid and Harimann preoccupied him. His disquiet only grew as the evening dragged on, hounding him until he had safely retired to his guest room. Fenris fell onto the mattress, utterly exhausted.

"If I never see another Harimann again, it'll be too soon," he muttered. "I knew they're more trouble than they're worth…" Fenris changed into his nightclothes, weighing out countermeasures and plans of action.

He almost expected the knock at the door. An alarmed Sebastian was waiting for him, sporting a dressing robe and the most ridiculous nightcap Fenris had seen. Its bright pompom bobbed and punctuated every move Sebastian made.

"Fen. Harimann—" he began.

"Not out here." Fenris pulled him over the threshold and closed the door.

"We cannae stay in Princeton; no doubt Reid and Harimann already ken we've crossed the border," Sebastian said, voice low and urgent.

"If they didn't, they certainly would now: Princeton suddenly gained two thousand soldiers overnight," Fenris replied. "That doesn't count all the mercenaries we hired."

At the physicians' insistence—as well as Fenris and Sebastian's—Rowdon had begrudgingly arranged quarters for their men in town, instead of setting up camp as he had wanted. While it spared their troops from frostbite, the choice came with a cost: Reid and Brett Harimann could have easily planted spies among the civilians. Princeton was an important border town—if there weren't enemy spies present, Fenris would have been highly surprised.

Sebastian paced before the fire, "I kenned we never should have listened to Rowdon and his 'make camp' nonsense. If we had done what we'd wished and quartered the men in the villages we passed en route, we would have avoided this. We were fine without Rowdon interfering…"

"The Teyrn explicitly stated we were to regard Rowdon's counsel as his own. Disobeying could cause you marital problems." Fenris sighed, "any spies would have already sent word of our arrival by now. We may as well take the opportunity to regain our strength and resupply before pressing on."

The words did little to assuage Sebastian. He stopped mid-step, trembling hands instinctively going to his throat. "They've come to finish what they started. I was a fool to think Brett Harimann didnae want me dead."

"…We knew going into this that we would face trouble, once we crossed the border," Fenris began. "Whether it's called 'Reid,' 'Harimann,' or the 'Queen of Antiva:' it makes no difference. Brett Harimann is a name out of the past, nothing more; he won't hurt you, I won't allow it."

Sebastian shivered, "how do ye ken? Me family had a veritable army of tasters and bodyguards, yet the Harimanns still slew them. I-I see their dead faces every night…" He turned away, blinking hard, "how can ye be so certain I shan't face the same end?"

"How can you be so certain you will?" Fenris crossed the room to him, "listen: we haven't come this far, just to come this far." A thought occurred to him. "In many ways, returning to Starkhaven and facing Brett is your Danarius. Do you remember what you told me that day at the Docks, when we faced mine?"

Sebastian paused, "'he's a man, Fenris, simply a man.'" Fenris nodded.

"And I'll be with you every step of the way when you face yours. You and I, together."

Sebastian blinked hard and nodded, throwing his arms around him in a fierce embrace. "What did I ever do to deserve such a friend as ye?" he asked, voice thick.

Fenris couldn't resist, "you put out an advert for assistance and paid me a sovereign just to deliver a package to someone. Your charming accent and lack of budgeting skills intrigued me."

His joke found its mark, Sebastian burst into laughter. "Best sovereign I ever spent," he concluded.

"I agree: a very wise investment. Your nightcap, however…" Fenris tugged the end and let it bounce back, pompom bopping Seb in the nose. "Crime against fashion, as Ran says." With that, he bid his friend goodnight with a laugh, blowing out the candle.

Fenris must have been more tired than he had realized, because he slept right through breakfast. He would have kept sleeping, too, if it wasn't for Sebastian summoning him.

"Fen, we're inspecting the trebuchets in ten minutes; ye'd best come downstairs," he called.

Fenris heaved a sigh and dressed, unwilling to leave the cozy room for yet another day outside. "On to calibrating trebuchets, then," he said to himself on his way down, "at least we can practice launching them; Leto will enjoy reading about that in my letter home."

They spent the remainder of their stay in Princeton writing reports and arranging supplies for the last leg of their march east. By the fourth day of their stay, the men were well-rested and eager to fight, their morale greatly improved.

"I've sent along as many of me men as I can spare," Carmichael said on the day of their departure. "They ken the moors and roads well; they'll be an asset to yer scouts and engineers."

"Thank ye for all yer help, Carmichael," Sebastian said, "I shan't forget it."

The man clapped Sebastian on the shoulder, "bring Reid to his knees for me; that'll be the finest thank-ye gift ye can give." He turned to Fenris and Rowdon, "may the Maker bless yer blades and grant ye victory. Long live Prince Vael and his honorable men!"

The war horns announced the campaign's departure. Fenris and the others climbed into the carriage, watching Fenton House recede into the morning mist, until it had completely disappeared behind its mantle, as though it had never been.

Transporting the trebuchets across the hills and moors proved a logistical challenge, even for their seasoned engineers. The slushy snow and ice made for slippery conditions, slowing their pace. Rowdon sighed.

"We'll eat through all our rations, at this rate," he grumbled. "We can leave a company with the trebuchets and let them catch up; they're slowing us too much."

Fenris bit back a sigh, "they're our advantage; we can't just leave them behind."

"They're cumbersome and unnecessary, especially transporting those Vint fire jars. Northern nonsense, the lot of it; a proper infantry and archers is all we need for those Starkhavener dogs. What say ye, Yer Highness: leave the trebuchets behind and spare the men, or waste our time on them?" 'Northern nonsense.' If Fenris heard that one more time during this damned campaign…

Sebastian gave no reply except knocking on the carriage roof, signaling a halt. He alighted before the carriage even rolled to a stop, borrowing a horse from a guard. Fenris stuck his head out the door.

"Where are you going? Seb?" He pursued his friend, riding down the row of soldiers marching. He reined in when Sebastian dismounted at the trebuchets.

"Here, I'll do that," Sebastian said to a soldier, taking his place at the end of a log. He and several of the men hauled it into position further down the road, to roll the trebuchet over the rutted, muddy road.

"Yer Highness! Ye can't risk harming yer royal person," the head engineer protested. Sebastian waved his concern away.

"A good commander doesnae ask his men to do anything he wouldnae do himself," he replied. "No one gets left behind on me watch." Fenris smiled to himself, nodding in approval.

"Or mine," he said, taking a place next to his friend. "Well put, Your Highness. Men, on the count of three: one, two… lift!" Sebastian beamed at him in gratitude as they worked; for the first time in a while, Fenris actually felt like a commander, rather than a chessmaster positioning pieces on a board, far removed from hardship.

Fenris and Sebastian took turns helping with the trebuchets, much to Rowdon's distaste. The middle-aged general begrudgingly left the warm carriage to lead the troops, no doubt to save face and not be outdone. The perfunctoriness of his actions wasn't lost on Fenris; he merely rolled his eyes at the half-hearted, hollow gesture.

When they at last left the foothills of the Vimmarks behind, Fenris rejoiced: they could finally make up for all the time they had lost crossing the mountains. But his cheer was short-lived; a day's ride outside Starkhaven, the scenery turned disturbing. Droves of cold, starving civilians lined the streets as they passed through a village. Fenris's grip tightened on the reins at the sight of a dirt-stained child hiding behind his mother. How easily that could be Varania and Leto, if they fail to reclaim Starkhaven; he shivered at that...

"What in the Maker's name happened?" Sebastian asked, eyes wide with concern. "Rowdon's scouts never mentioned this."

"Neither did Rowdon," Fenris replied, brows furrowed. "Not that it surprises me. They're 'Starkhavener dogs' according to him, after all."

Sebastian's mouth set in a thin line, gaze hardening in his anger. He reined in his horse and signaled a halt. "Commander, find me the village elder. And tell the quartermaster to set up camp outside the village; we're helping the civilians," he ordered. "…And mix some laxatives in Rowdon's rations, while ye're at it. I'll show him 'Starkhavener dogs,'" he added, voice low.

Fenris stifled a laugh, saluting. "Yes, Your Highness," he replied, grateful Sebastian was finally taking a stand against Rowdon and his pedantic methods.

Just as Fenris expected, Rowdon was highly displeased with Sebastian's decision when they broke the news, doubly so when they distributed provisions from the supply train to the populace. "We're wasting time," he said for the fortieth time that afternoon. "I understand ye pity the people, Yer Highness, but such are the ways for war. We must think of our own men's needs first: the siege—"

"Shan't happen," Sebastian finished for him. "The village elder told me Reid locked down the city and emptied the river port. The surrounding villages are now overrun with civilians: I cannae let them suffer unnecessarily."

Rowdon stared. "How else are we to conquer the city without besieging it?"

"A two-pronged attack: our infantry in the front, Fenris's plants among the Starkhavener guard in the rear. Once we break the defenses on the causeway, our plants open the city gate for us," Sebastian replied.

Rowdon narrowed his eyes in consideration, "it puts Reid and Harimann on the defensive. The ministers may have squabbled among themselves for power in the past, but they'll band together against ye now, Yer Highness. It's risky; we can't control the battlefield that way."

Sebastian nodded, "aye, but it's a risk I'm willing to take. The villages will starve long before spring, if we force them to endure these conditions all winter. Their reserves cannae last with the extra population."

Silence descended on the carriage. Fenris held his breath. They had to persuade Rowdon; it would spell disaster, otherwise: Sebastian could lose the Teyrn's favor and military support, not to mention jeopardize Cecily's position as the future Teyrna. The fate of two city-states currently hung in the balance…

Rowdon's face hardened, his hand curled into a tight fist. "So be it," he said with a frown, voice kept intentionally even. "It's clear we're at an impasse and someone must compromise…"

Sebastian ignored the provocation, "send yer scouts to the port, so we have a clear idea of what we're dealing with. The infantry can help the physicians distribute food and medicine while we wait. Fenris and I will handle the rest."

The general stifled his grumble, bowing stiffly before leaving. Fenris and Sebastian watched him go, sighing in relief.

"Maker, if ye didnae ken better, ye'd think he was the Prince," Sebastian muttered.

"And poor Cecily would be married to him," Fenris added, "I wouldn't wish that on my greatest enemy." They laughed, pleased to find some humor despite the tension. They alighted from the carriage and made their way to the makeshift kitchen the army cooks had prepared, passing out porridge and medicine to the civilians.

Fenris's heart ought to have felt proud, satisfied that he and Sebastian were doing all they could to help the people, yet the longer he spent among them, the heavier it felt. The stench of infection filled the alleys from gangrenous frostbite. The local Chantry had taken in all the patients and orphans they could, but it still wasn't enough. The Sisters tried their best to comfort the remaining civilians, sparing whatever moments to lead prayer services outside for them. But from the sorrow in their eyes, Fenris knew: these were not words for the living, but last rites for the dying.

A wailing child clung to his deceased mother, begging her to wake. Fenris blinked hard, grip going white-knuckled on his pommel. How could the Maker watch small children suffer like this? Wasn't He the Almighty Father of All? Where was He, as that poor boy wept? What kind of father allowed this?

An all too familiar anger and grief bubbled inside Fenris, one he hadn't felt since his time as a slave. He saw that boy and saw himself, begging for mercy he never received as Danarius tortured him. Memories of Minrathous accosted him; Fenris's breath shallowed. Before he could stop himself, his feet carried him forward.

"Boy," he cried, "boy, wait! I—"

"He'll be alright," a voice said next to him. Fenris startled, reflexively unsheathing his sword. A gloved hand closed over his; Sebastian stood beside him.

"The lad will be alright," he repeated. "One of our cooks said he and his wife would adopt him. Nearly all the camp staff have offered to take in orphans; I'll write to Cecily tonight and ask her to arrange for good homes in Ostwick for those that remain. None of the children will suffer, Fen."

Fenris forced himself to take a deep breath as a distraction. "I-I'm glad. Thank you, Seb. What of the animals? We promised the girls we'd accommodate homeless pets as well as children. Ran and Cecily were adamant." The panic he had stuffed down scrabbled for purchase, distracting him as he spoke; nausea washed over him.

"Aye, I remember. It'll be the same as the children: those who can be reunited, go back to their families. The villagers have taken in the pets without homes."

Fenris nodded, heart still pounding. Despite his best efforts, magic strained and bucked against his skin. The memories of Minrathous thrust themselves upon him in violent, virulent waves, pulling him under until he could have drowned in them. The alley shifted into a corridor in Danarius's mansion; the stench of infection became hot, vile breath fogging on his neck—

He didn't remember thanking his friend or excusing himself. Before Sebastian could protest, Fenris rushed around the corner to an abandoned alley, eyes wide. The lute string behind his sternum yanked: slushy snow collected inside his gauntlets from his magic manifesting. Fenris fell against the wall, pounding his fist in frustration.

"Get a hold of yourself," he whispered, taking a swig of Merrill's tinctures. He placed his hand on his belly, sending his air to his palm just like Rana had taught him. "I am more than this; no matter how vivid they are, it's not real…"

Movement at the corner caught his eye. A woman stooped, darting between crates and barrels in search of something. She pulled a black, squirming shape from a crevice, stuffing it in her burlap sack.

"What are you doing?" Fenris shouted, accent peeking through from his emotion. The woman jumped when he closed the gap between them.

"M-Maker bless ye, messere," she replied, bobbing a curtesy. "General Rowdon said he'd pay well for ridding the town of vermin, to protect the supply train: I'm doin' me part as a proper citizen—" Her burlap sack wriggled and squirmed, mewing pitifully. Fenris narrowed his eyes at her.

"Kittens? They wouldn't harm the grain. How dare you deceive the Prince's men like this!"

Her eyes went wide, "b-but 'tis a black cat, messere; bad luck, they are, agents of darkness and evil. We cannae risk any more misfortune, with the war upon us; I'm doing the Maker's work, riddin' the village of it—"

Fenris shook his head, steeling his resolve against the newest onslaught of memories accosting him. "Never. Again," he vowed. Before he could stop himself, he had the woman by the collar, "harm a single hair on an innocent's head, and I'll hang you from the Chantry by your heels, understand?"

He cast her aside, memories receding into the darkness with a hiss. The woman yelped in terror, dropping her weighted sack before running.

"Good riddance," Fenris muttered. He knelt and emptied his gauntlets of snow, unknotting the sack with trembling, burning-cold hands.

Fenris had always scoffed at the idea of 'love at first sight.' It just was so… cringe-worthy, saccharine: a flimsy plot device in those cheesy romance novels Varania enjoyed reading. Yet his heart skipped a beat when he pulled out a little black ball of fluff… with the largest green eyes Fenris had ever seen, blinking up at him. He gasped, smile creeping across his face.

"Hello," he said in Tevene, cradling the cat gently. His throat went tight as the kitten cried, "shh, you're safe now, I've got you… They won't ever hurt you again, I promise."

Something shifted inside himself as the words left his lips. A part of him knew, deep down, that he spoke not only to the cat, but to himself: in rescuing her, so had he rescued himself from his past. He bowed his head, grateful none but the kitten saw his tears of relief and joy. He was safe, now, had made himself thus; Danarius and those horrific memories were merely phantoms, with no more power over him than the gathering evening shadows.

The Chantry bells announced the hour; Fenris wiped his face and got to his feet, drained. What, in the name of all that was holy, was he doing with a kitten during a war? Fenris considered logistics all the way to the village elder's house.

"I thought ye said ye were going for a walk?" Sebastian asked, meeting him at the door. "Where did ye go, all the way to Starkhaven?" His words trailed off when Fenris untied his cloak, revealing his new friend.

"I saved her; a woman wished to drown her in the mill pond because she's all black, but I couldn't—I-I couldn't just stand by and watch, Seb."

Sebastian nodded, "aye, ye did well. Will ye find a good home for her?"

Fenris shook his head, "I'm taking her."

Sebastian's eyes widened. "How, what—we're conquering Starkhaven the day after tomorrow, man. Ye cannae take a kitten to war!"

"No, but I can take her to the camp; I'm sure a cook won't mind looking after her for me." He destroyed the last shreds of his dignity and wore the most pathetic, wheedling expression he could muster, "who could say no to this little face?" As if on cue, the kitten mewed, green eyes plaintive.

Sebastian chuckled, "Maker, look at ye two, making Puppy Eyes. Alright, alright, ye've convinced me: what will ye name her, Papa Fen? 'Impulsive Decision?'"

"…Renata," Fenris said, after consideration. "'Reborn,' for her second chance at life. And after Ran's favorite opera singer, Renata Tebaldi; she'll love that."

Sebastian smiled, "that's a beautiful name; Rana will surely love her." He grinned, tapping the kitten on the nose. "Welcome to the family, Renata El-Khoury!"

After a bath at the wash basin and a meal, the kitten settled nicely. Fenris procured the necessary items for feline fatherhood: by the time he wrote home and made arrangements for Renata, he fell into bed, exhausted.

They set out at dawn the next morning, the villagers seeing them off with cheers and well wishes. Fenris etched it into his heart; the most difficult part of their journey was yet to come. Trepidation settled over the carriage once the village disappeared into the forest. It was one thing to plan a battle in a war room; to execute said plan—against Rowdon's wishes—was another matter entirely.

"We must make camp several miles from the river port, leave a garrison," Fenris said, "we can't risk Reid's men ambushing."

"Wouldn't have been a problem if we hadn't brought half an orphanage with us," Rowdon muttered. "Yer soft heart will be our undoing."

"I willnae suffer insubordination, Rowdon, mark me words," Sebastian chastised, "the Teyrn will hear of it."

"…Yes, Yer Highness, apologies," he replied. His response barely mollified Sebastian, who had already moved on to the scouts' report.

"A nighttime ambush would put Reid's archers at disadvantage and give our men a chance to cross the causeway. Send word to yer men in the city once we make camp, Fen: we attack at midnight."

Fenris nodded, setting the portable writing desk on his lap. Renata batted the quill as he wrote, fascinated by the moving feather. He chuckled.

"Are you my little secretary, milady?" he asked. "You're more interested in penmanship than your cousin, Leto." He rolled the note into a tiny tube for the messenger bird.

They arrived at the campsite Rowdon had selected on their second day of travel. Even if the man was a nuisance, Fenris still respected Rowdon's experience; the site was well-situated on the Minanter River, shielded from winter wind by dense forest, with easy access to water. It was the best they could hope for, given the circumstances.

"Send word that the men will rest until sundown. They'll wear dark-colored clothes over their armor, to blend into the shadows," Sebastian ordered a soldier, "and invite the head of engineers to me tent; I must speak with him. Fenris, attend me, please." With that, Sebastian departed, head high and stride long, a far cry from the modest Chantry Brother back in Kirkwall. Fenris nodded in approval, following.

It took most of the morning and some of the afternoon to finish preparations for that night's attack. Fenris's men in the Starkhavener Guard sent word they would specially arrange for one of their own to man the city gate and portcullis.

"Go and rest, man," Sebastian said to Fenris later on, "otherwise ye'll work straight through."

Fenris protested, "but—"

Sebastian bundled Renata into his arms and nudged Fenris out the tent. When Fenris arrived back in his quarters, there was a parcel waiting for him. He recognized the handwriting instantly.

'My dearest Fen,

Happiest of Birthdays, my love! I wish we could spend the day together; my note will have to suffice. I hope this arrives before the twelfth; I paid the messenger extra to reach you in time. Here is a part of your presents: I'll share the rest with you in person.

I'm so proud of you, Fen: no matter what happens in Starkhaven, know that I will always be proud to call you my husband. I can't wait to spend the rest of our birthdays (and lives) together.

Love always,

Rana'

A new volume of his favorite adventure novel series stared up at him, its leather cover tooled and gilded in filigree, but that wasn't what interested Fenris most. It was a miniature portrait of Rana, newly commissioned from the court painter at Ostwick. Fenris smiled, nostalgic; the pearls he had given her for a wedding gift graced her neck, framed by vivid crimson silk, to represent his imminent victory in battle. A pearl frame wrapped around it, gleaming.

He swallowed hard, fingers tracing the contour of her beloved face. "Do you see her, Renata? That's your beautiful mother," he said to the kitten. He dug in his satchel and unearthed a spare bookmark, looping it through the pendant hole on the frame. It was too short to wear as a pendant, as he would have liked—he carefully knotted the ribbon and pinned it to his gambeson, right over his heart.

Sleep eluded him—Fenris tossed and turned on his cot, staring up at the wool ceiling. What if his plans weren't enough, and their ambush failed? They had openly defied Rowdon's advice—by extension, the Teyrn's own counsel… victory was their only option, or else face ruin. Fenris heaved a sigh, donning his heavy plate armor, helmet, and sword. By the time he dropped off Renata to the cook, it was departure time.

Sebastian and Fenris rode with the vanguard, while Rowdon led the main army. The vanguard suited Fenris: his fighting style was aggressive, swift and relentless in attack, always on the offensive. Speed was his element of surprise; it served him well that night as he and Sebastian struck from the shadows, smashing through Reid's defenses at the river port.

Fenris knew that Starkhaven was situated on a rocky island in the middle of the Minanter, surrounded by a halo of waterfalls. He'd seen the city countless times on his maps, but nothing could prepare him for the majestic sight that was the Bride's Veil Falls, mist curling up from the river glittering in the moonlight like diamonds. Fenris would have loved to admire the view, but alas: dodging arrows and incoming swords took much higher precedence.

"Watch your flank," Fenris cried over the roar of the water, parrying an incoming blow. His sword cut down two infantrymen circling Sebastian, spinning to catch another on his flank. One, two, three strikes, and another fell. Sebastian nodded his thanks, dispatching a soldier with his short sword.

"Loose!" At Sebastian's signal, the war horns brayed. Longbowmen stepped forward from behind the shield wall. Their cloud of arrows blotted out the moonlight; the enemy nearly didn't raise their shields in time. Those who were too slow flew backwards from the force of the arrow lancing them.

Fenris's eyes widened. "Venhedis, that's—"

"A proper Starkhavener war bow is thrice as strong as a typical hunting bow," Sebastian said with a note of pride. "Our crossbows are even deadlier: can pierce plate armor, if ye're not careful." He parried an incoming soldier with the end of his bow. "Shield wall!" They ducked behind the front line, huddling under the shields while Reid's men returned fire. Bagpipes blared up the hill, their bright sound mixing with the roar of the falls while they announced a retreat. Reid's men heeded their call, slowly backing up the hill. The vanguard pursued, relentless.

Rowdon and his men finished off the stragglers, Fenris and Sebastian pressing onwards through the streets. The most difficult part of the battle was yet to come: the notorious bottleneck of a causeway, Starkhaven's sole entrance.

"Maker, let my plants do their work," Fenris whispered, adjusting his spectacles. Sebastian lit a signal arrow and let loose; the entire army, it seemed, held their breath as they waited for a response.

There, from the ramparts: a flaming arrow launched into a great arc before landing into the river below. Fenris and the men cheered as the gates opened with a clank.

"With me, men! Down with Reid and his corruption!" Sebastian cried, raising his bow high.

"Long live justice and Prince Vael!" Fenris shouted. The vanguard raised their battle cry, banging their pommels on their shields. They advanced at the sound of the war horns, Rowdon and archers covering them as they crossed without fear. The men Fenris had sent to Starkhaven months ago had taken care of the archers on the ramparts; what was once a death trap now became a runway, one Fenris and Sebastian flew down towards the garrison gathered at the city gates. Their wedge formation broke through the defense's lines, Reid's men scattering in terror.

A dull thud sounded behind them, the men gasping at the sight. Giant, flaming jars sailed above their heads, bursting and spraying the Starkhaven guardhouse with liquid fire. The chaos divided the Starkhavener troops, making them easy prey for Sebastian and the longbowmen to pick off.

Fenris grinned, "told you the trebuchets would be useful," he said. The smile fell from his lips. Where was Sebastian? He was just beside Fenris minutes ago, where in the Void—familiar white lacquered armor flashed in the torchlight, ducking around a corner. Fenris pelted across the square after it, heart in his throat.

"With me! Protect the Prince," he cried. Several soldiers followed, weaving and dodging through the chaos. Fenris had never run quite so fast in his life, praying against hope he wasn't too late.

"He knows better than to rush off on his own," he muttered, "what in the Void possessed him?" He skidded to a stop; they were in front of the guardhouse now, flaming rubble falling to the cobblestone square below. But this was an unnatural amount of smoke for such a small amount of rubble; it blanketed the square in a thick shroud. Fenris's eyes widened.

Ser Harimann had been impressed with Fenris's use of Tevinter weaponry in his initial siege plans. It seemed Brett Harimann had taken his suggestion and bought smoke grenades from Tevinter. A cough sounded to his left. Fenris could barely make out Sebastian hiding behind a corner, handkerchief tied around his face. An arrow was already nocked on his bowstring.

"Vael!" a familiar voice roared. Brett Harimann emerged from a doorway, expression nearly as black as the smoke filling the square. "Come and face me like a man, ye murderous bastard. Ye took everything I ever cared about!"

There was no reply, save the song of Sebastian's bow as he unleashed a hail of arrows; Fenris's men followed suit, pursuing Brett's bodyguards. Fenris, meanwhile, darted across the square to his friend.

"Are you insane, rushing off like that?" he hissed, pressing himself against the wall behind him. He dug a handkerchief from his belt pouch, tying it around his mouth. "He's lured us into a trap!"

Sebastian choked on the smoke, "There was no time! If I'd waited to tell ye, he'd have been gone—" a crossbow bolt lodged itself deep into the stone beside them, its needle-like head akin to a blade. Fenris stepped in front of Sebastian, sword at the ready as he peered into the smoke and flames.

"Get reinforcements," he said, parrying a bolt with his sword, "I'll distract him."

Sebastian shook his head, "together or nothing, we promised each other." He shot an arrow into the smoke, striking down another of Brett's men. Another fell to him, then another…

Then eerie silence. Fenris turned to Sebastian, signaling him to follow. They crept forward into the square, weapons at ready—

A signal arrow whistled in the dark, the sound of battle descending around them. Brett's reinforcements had arrived, attacking from the shadows and smoke. The vanguard rushed forward, disappearing into the disorienting labyrinth. Fenris dispatched a Starkhavener infantryman foolish enough to attack, flanking another.

The grind of metal and snap of wood sounded in the smoke ahead, much closer than before. Two bolts whizzed past Fenris's head in rapid succession, nearly grazing his cheek. He parried a third, fighting off an incoming sword. The clang of steel against steel rang in his ears; blood spattered his spectacles, blurring his vision—

A black blur slammed into Fenris's chest, sending him flying backwards. His eyes widened: a crossbow bolt bloomed from his chest, a grotesque flower. The air knocked out of him; no matter what Fenris did, he couldn't breathe—

"Fenris! NOOO!" Sebastian shouted.

The last thing Fenris saw was Sebastian leaning over him, begging him to stay awake… and Brett Harimann emerging from the smoke, crossbow aimed squarely at Sebastian's head. Then darkness consumed him, and Fenris knew no more.


Renata kitty…

"Oh mio babbino caro," from Gianni Schicchi, sung by Renata Tebaldi

Tebaldi is a legend for her gorgeously golden tone, beautiful lyricism, and sweetness. Floated high notes, gossamer-like pianissimi (quiet notes), and elegant musical phrasing are all hallmarks of a Tebaldi performance. Here, she sings the most famous aria in all operadom.

In this aria, Lauretta is begging her father to let her marry the man she loves. When asking nicely isn't getting her anywhere, she throws a temper tantrum. 'If you don't let me marry him, Daddy, I'll go to the Ponte Vecchio, throw myself into the River Arno, and drown!' she says. Talk about a drama queen!

I once sang this piece at my city's Italian festival, considered the second largest in the US. I pulled my own father onstage from the audience to sing to. The entire street was lined with speakers, so the whole festival could hear the music. After the aria, I said, 'well? Can I marry my boyfriend, Daddy?'

He said, 'no! You can't marry him! You don't have a boyfriend!' Right. Into. The. Microphone!

…My face went as red as my lipstick, that day. But all of us were laughing, it was true: opera scores and lessons had even taken precedent over boys.

www. youtube. com (slash) watch? v = yUaEoBY8kyY

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Note: I based Fenton House on Fenton Tower, in Kingston, Scotland. While the current tower dates back to the 16th century, there has been a fortified tower on the site since the 11th century. In 1591, James VI of Scotland (Mary, Queen of Scots's, son) was surrounded by a rebel army; he retreated to Fenton Tower. The Scottish ambassador, Lord John Carmichael, took him in. James went on to become King James I of England and Scotland, never forgetting Carmichael and his kindness. He visited Fenton Tower several times before Carmichael's death in 1600.

Note: our little rescue dog, Oscar, will also stare at you until you verbally make a fuss over him getting love and attention from someone.

Note: Pompoms on hats can be traced back to Viking-age Scandinavia, 800-1066. A statue of the Norse god Freyr sported a helmet with a pompom!

Note: Late medieval and renaissance war bows and crossbows have been known to have 150-200+ lb draw weight (crossbows with cranks, windlasses, etc. could have immense power, 1200+ lbs!). For comparison, a typical deer bow uses 50-70+ lbs draw weight!

Note: Bodkin-style arrowheads were specifically designed to pierce textile armor and chainmail, just like thin, extremely sharp stiletto blades (the visual inspiration for stiletto heel shoes). Thicker versions were developed to deal with heavier armor types.

Note: Grenades are an ancient form of weapon, their use going back centuries. Smoke grenades, however, date back to medieval China and Japan; they were used especially during the Mongol invasions. Modern Western smoke grenades are traced back to the mid-19th century.