The Queen's retinue was impressive, even from a distance. Two carriages, each drawn by four chargers, passed through the final gatehouse and came to a stop in the expansive courtyard of Castle Cousland. Queen Anora waited in her carriage, hands folded on her lap, as her honour guard descended from the carriage before her and formed ranks. The glint of their armour was marred by the rapidly advancing darkness of evening, but the banners they held aloft billowed proudly in the strong breeze.

Anora waited until her coachman held the door open for her. Then she waited a beat more. It was customary – and strategic – as the newly crowned, sole-ruler of Ferelden that she should visit her subjects. Break bread. Confirm and renew loyalties, agree to terms. And she had. She had visited the banns and arls. She had walked through Denerim, Gwaren, Redcliffe and Amaranthine to raucous applause and countless well-wishes. Even the elves of the alienages had been cordial.

That had been difficult. She had expected much worse after what her father had done to them. Logic did not explain away the wanton selling into slavery of loved ones. There was no sum of money large enough that she could allot as reparations to the elves.

It bothered her, being unable to appease a group. The elves cared little about promises. She owed it to the Warden for keeping Ferelden from coming undone at the seams, but it was her responsibility now. Her country. She had to set an example. Set a precedent. Knowing full well that the elves had no patience for rhetoric, she had responded with action – she had recognised the alienages as part of the Bannorn. Their new Bann, Soris, would be a representative in her court. Not much, she supposed, but definitely a start.

She hadn't looked forward to visiting the elves. A necessary step, but one drenched in shame and clouded in guilt. Wading through the misdeeds of her father, hoping to redress them, had made her feel helpless. Like a child. After ruling Ferelden for five years, albeit unofficially, it was a sobering slap in the face. She had hated it.

But if the alienage had been a trial, then Highever promised to be torture.

Not only was it the seat of one of Ferelden's teyrns, one of the most powerful, popular and beloved noble families in the country, but it was also the home of the Warden. The man who had saved her country. The man who had almost single-handedly raised an army and ended a Blight.

That home had been razed to the ground. The family slaughtered. All with the consent of her father.

The Queen took a chestful of the salty, northern air and alighted from her carriage. Erlina, her handmaiden, draped her furs over her shoulders and she nodded appreciatively. The elven woman had been loyal to her through everything – even when her own father had decided that locking her up was the best course of action. She bristled at the memory.

Then she gazed upon Castle Cousland and was instantly mollified.

Despite knowing that she would have to go through with this confrontation, she was not ready. Though the castle was imposing, it looked… incongruous. Anyone could tell at a glance. There were parts that were still under construction, some eight months after the Blight's end. Castles in Redcliffe and Denerim were ancient. They had personality. Castle Cousland was a mishmash of old and new, and those two parts weren't reconciled. It did not have a clear, defined personality.

No, that wasn't true. It had an aura. Not sinister, nothing to make her hackles rise in anticipation. But it was definitely foreboding. The blackened stones emitted a chill that she felt in her bones, and she knew that it had nothing to do with the northern sea breeze.

The castle was shrouded in grief. Grief so profound that it felt like a physical touch. Like the gentle embrace of a corpse. It made her queasy. Standing in the Cousland compound, surrounded as she was by her honour guard, sapped her will to move and for a single desperate moment, Anora considered returning to the safety of her carriage and going back to Denerim. She did not want to stay here any longer.

But then sense prevailed.

Pull yourself together, she chided herself. You've put this off long enough. You need this. You owe him this. Remember who you are.

Trouble was, while she would never forget who she was, she'd never forget who he was, either. She had known Fergus Cousland since she was a child. Nathaniel Howe, Fergus Cousland, she and Cailan all met and became friends at court. Though she became betrothed to Cailan and became his queen, she enjoyed good relations with the others. Nathaniel used to write to them from Starkhaven and Ostwick while he served as Ser Radolphe's squire. She was present at Fergus and Oriana's wedding and at the birth of their son.

The Couslands had been nothing but warm towards her, and that made her put off visiting Highever for a long time. Indeed, this was the last stop on her list before she returned to Denerim for good. She had hoped that this would give her the time to formulate a strategy on how to approach the now Teyrn Cousland – a title that she herself had conferred upon him – but she had come up with nothing. Anora had concluded on the ride up to Castle Cousland that no amount of time spent in preparation would truly do any good.

Not for this. She would just have to take it on the chin and hope for the best. That was all she could do, anyway. Hope for the best. She hated it, but there was no other choice.

Fergus Cousland had changed. He had smiled and they had spoken cordially enough at court eight months ago, but she had seen neither hide nor hair of him since. Her sources could only tell her that he didn't leave the castle much. Sometimes, he would go into town. Talk to the people. That was it. He was an unknown, a big one, and that added to her worries. How could she prepare for someone who gave her nothing?

"Your Majesty," began Erlina, her voice quiet and close to her ear. "Darkness is fast approaching. It might rain. We should go inside, if you're ready."

"Of course," she replied automatically, her eyes refusing to break away from the ramparts from which flew flags bearing the heraldry of the Couslands and of Highever. Anora cleared her throat and inhaled another chestful of air. Somehow, it had gotten colder. "Thank you, Erlina. Let us not keep the Teyrn Cousland waiting any longer."

"As you say, my Queen."

A tremulous bubble of unease settled into Anora's bosom as she started walking towards the main door of Castle Cousland, feeling her control over the situation bleeding away with every step.


The Queen of Fereldan's troupe was impressive. Four knights in shining armour bearing flags, flanking the Queen and her handmaiden on both sides. The knights were unremarkable. They wore full plate, longswords hanging at their hip. Torchlight from the posts dotting the courtyard shone brightly against the polished steel. If nothing else, the honour guard took the presentation seriously.

In the middle, the elven girl looked hither and thither. Her eyes took in her surroundings and her ears flexed at every sound. Her face was soft, but her posture was stiff. She wasn't comfortable. On the lookout for threats looming in the shadows. She followed at the heels of the Queen, who didn't look away from the castle as she made her way over.

Fergus noticed the elven lass's anxiety as he waited placidly at the open door. The gentle hall-light from within silhouetted his back and he leaned heavily on the blackthorn shillelagh he used as a walking stick. He had gotten the letter declaring the Queen's arrival last week. She had given him ample time to prepare, and he had done the best he could with his limited means.

Now, he was relieved to see that the entire party totalled eight. Four knights, the Queen, her handmaid, and the two coachmen. There were enough rooms cleaned up and ready to accommodate all of them. Thankfully, there was enough food as well.

"Clive," he called and a man appeared at his shoulder. "Take the horses to the stable and see to it that the coachmen are fed."

With a slight nod, the man started towards the kitchen. He would go around instead of cutting across the Queen's path. Fergus hummed and started to hobble down the stairs to meet her, choking the handle of his stick with every step.

"Your Majesty," he said with a slight incline of his head as he neared her. Her eyes had been fixed on him from the moment he'd moved from the doorframe. Now, she smiled. "The hour is late, but I bid you welcome to my humble abode, such as it is." He smiled back and jerked his head back slightly towards the castle. "If you will accompany me, it would be my honour to lead you inside and out of this biting wind."

"That would be most appreciated, your grace," she replied and held out her gloved hand. Following etiquette, Fergus offered his arm and the Queen held on to the crook of his elbow. "I hope our presence is not an imposition?"

"It is an honour," he replied as he crossed the threshold with her, feeling the familiar ache return in his knee. It flared up every few steps. Fergus tried to keep the pain out of his voice. "To host the monarch is a privilege I accept heartily."

Now inside, he dropped his arm and the Queen let go of his elbow. Her handmaiden took her fur cloak from her shoulders and looked around for someone to hand it off to. The knights, who had left their banners outside, stepped into the passage leading up to the main hall, closing the door after them.

Fergus waited for the door to close and then inclined his head down the lighted passage. "I hope your journey was pleasant?"

The Queen, walking beside him, nodded. "Most pleasant. I forgot the chill of the northern winds, but that was very soon remedied."

He chuckled. "Quite! Well, here we are at the main hall. I have had a fire going, so you and your accompanists may warm up by it. We shall move on to your rooms once you've been served some refreshments."

Castle Cousland's main hall was expansive. It had a large fireplace with lush armchairs placed in front of it in a semi-circle around a mahogany table. It was the only room most visitors usually saw.

"I apologise for the lack of finery to please your eyes, ma'am," Fergus said as he motioned for the Queen and her entourage to sit. Other than the Queen, however, all of them refused. "I no longer have the need to hang fineries on the walls or in display cases."

"No, no. It is not worthy of an apology, my grace." With a nod, he sat down two seats to her left. "How you choose to decorate your home is completely your choice. I commend you on giving the interiors their own flavour." She looked around, her eyes lingering on the bare walls. "Simplistic."

"I am glad to have your approval." At this point, Clive walked into the hall, stopping to bow at the Queen. When she motioned for him to be at ease he looked at Fergus. "Are the horses and the coachmen settled in, Clive?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Wonderful. Could you show Her Majesty's handmaiden to their rooms, Clive?" He gestured towards the elf. "To see if our arrangements meet her expectations?"

"Very good, sir. If you will follow me, my lady?"

The elven woman glanced at the Queen, who nodded. Only then did she start walking towards Clive, who took the furs from her. Fergus waited until they were out of the room before turning towards the Queen, who smiled.

"I have ample faith in your hospitality, your grace."

"Be that as it may, I would be remiss in my duties as host if I did not allow you a chance to see for yourself whether our efforts are satisfactory." He drummed the handle of his shillelagh, which was shaped like a wolf's head, with his fingers and gazed into the fire. "I apologise, too, for the delay in your refreshments being brought to you. I gave my servants leave. Clive is the only staff in the castle at present. He, too, will go home after our meals."

"Is this the usual arrangement?"

He nodded. "I'd rather they be with their families as much as they can."

The Queen didn't respond immediately. In the silence, Fergus watched the crackling fire, the snapping of wood filling the entire hall with its death rattle. How easily it burns, he caught himself thinking. How simple.

Had it really been that simple? When everything had burnt down almost two years ago?

"I think it is admirable, your sentiment," the Queen said, recalling his attention back to her. "Does that mean you spend your nights by yourself? You and your guards?"

With a shake of his head, Fergus smiled. "I employ no guards, ma'am. There is no treasure of any sort left within these walls. There is nothing to protect or defend."

That left the Queen silent again, and as it stretched on, the elven woman returned. She looked satisfied and nodded to the Queen, who returned it. Moments later, Clive appeared with a tray carrying teacups and saucers, a teapot, milk and sugar. There was a separate plate of biscuits. He went around to everyone, starting with the Queen, handing out cups and saucers, and mixing the tea according to their tastes. He ended with Fergus, and he smiled.

"If you're done you can leave, Clive," he said, taking a sip. "Get home before it rains."

The man bowed at the waist. First, to him. Then, the Queen. Finally, he walked off towards the kitchen. The handmaiden watched him go, curious.

"I apologise for the interruption, ma'am," he told the Queen. "Clive lives in the town. He has two children, and he likes helping them with their studies. I usually let him go earlier, but tonight was a special occasion."

"Oh." The Queen lowered the teacup from her lips, frowning slightly. "If in any way I have caused-"

"He volunteered," Fergus cut her off with a small smile. "He was thrilled, though his face doesn't betray it. He wanted to tell his wife and children that he breathed the same air as Her Majesty, the Queen of Ferelden."

The elven handmaiden silently cleared her throat. He had interrupted the Queen. It was bad manners, and it would stand as a black mark against his record. Fergus laughed inwardly.

Bothering about such trifles was a thing of the past, as far as he was concerned.

By then, the Queen had finished her tea and Fergus motioned for her to set it down on the table. As she did, he invited the others to do so as well. Once they were all done, he finished his own tea, put it down on the table and pushed himself to his feet.

"You have all had a long journey and are tired, I'm sure." He looked around the room and his eyes came to rest on the Queen. He inclined his head slightly. "Might I suggest some rest, Your Majesty? Your handmaiden and you have rooms across the corridor from each other. She can show you, while I take your guards to their rooms. I shall call on you in an hour for supper. Would that suit you?"

The Queen gave him a long look. He waited patiently. Finally, after a few moments, she nodded. "That would be most acceptable, your grace." She, too, inclined her head. "I shall look forward to seeing you soon."

Then, turning to the elf, she nodded and the handmaiden bowed at the waist to him. She took her lady's arm and led her up to their rooms.

Fergus waited until their footsteps vanished before turning to the knights. "Well, gentlemen, shall we?"


"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary, Erlina?" Anora asked as they ascended the steps towards their rooms. "About our host?"

The girl tilted her head to the side. "His knee has not healed. It has been eight months."

"Other than that?"

"No, Your Majesty. Teyrn Fergus Cousland behaved as one would expect any noble of his standing to behave." She paused. "Except cutting you off at the end."

Anora waved it off. "Think nothing of it. I am glad for it. If not for that crack in his etiquette, I would have been suspicious. After knowing someone for close to two decades, some informality is to be expected, no matter if they are your monarch."

"That makes sense."

Their rooms, as Fergus had said, were opposite each other's. What he hadn't mentioned was they were right outside the master bedroom. Fergus had kept them rather close to him. It was a nice thought.

Inside, her room was homely. There was a small fire going, with a chair sitting in front of it. The headboard of her bed was placed against the wall and her trunk had been laid near the foot of it. Hugging the right-hand wall, there lay a bathtub, almost calling her to its embrace. Along the wall opposite the door was a shelf of books. Selected volumes, she noticed upon closer inspection. History, literature, folk tales. Eight books total. An entertaining assembly, hand-picked to suit her tastes. Her lips quirked upwards in a silent smile.

Anora changed out of her travelling clothes and picked out a more comfortable evening gown to change into. On inspection, she found that the bath tub had been filled with warm water. Now this impressed her. She knew she was the queen, but she hadn't even thought of taking a bath on account of the cold. Looking at the tub now, she gave in and decided to take a dip.

Instead of suggesting a bath, which may have been misconstrued in a thousand negative ways, Fergus had silently given her the choice. She liked that touch. It was clever. She hummed in appreciation as the bath salts started to effervesce. The warm smell of apricots filled the little chamber and she sighed to herself.

The reception Fergus had given them, though minimalistic, had gone well enough. He was the model teyrn. Well-mannered, jovial, earnest. Thoughtful, she added, lowering her chin into the lukewarm water, then going all the way down to her nose.

Still, she wished to see more of her old friend. Not this act he put on. If they were to talk about things, it would have to be done with complete honesty. She wasn't good at honesty. She was good at talking in jargon and rhetoric, leaving everyone scrambling for hints she may or may not have dropped. But could she do that with Fergus? Could she be both his friend and his queen?

Her father would say no. It was impossible. Tactically unsound. Statecraft was cruel, deliberately so. She was here, where Fergus's family had died by her father's plot, to ask him to stay loyal to her. She hadn't come here to apologise or break bread. Her target was acquiring and consolidating power. She had to stay true to that.

That feeling of unease returned like the rumbling of thunder. Unannounced. Uninvited. Emotions were like that. They heeded no commands.

It was unfair. Fergus deserved better than that. Before, she would have hugged him and they would go and skip stones together. Now, the burdens of responsibility made that an impossibility. They stood on opposite sides of a gorge, and she was too weak to make the leap. Their talk tonight would ruin their friendship in favour of a professional association. She would offer him condolences and a formal apology. He would accept… or not. Maybe he wouldn't. Probably wouldn't. But he would be courteous and decide to swear allegiance to her. Wouldn't he? It was the smart thing to do. What could Highever do without the crown? They didn't really have anything besides the weight of the Cousland name.

That's because your father took it all from them.

A scream, shrill and laced with helplessness, attempted to crawl out of her throat, but Anora plunged her face into the water and shut her eyes tightly, killing it prematurely.

Aedan Cousland was the Warden-Commander and arl of Amaranthine. Next door neighbours of Highever. An alliance was obvious. With the Teyrnir of Gwaren also being pledged to Aedan – just desserts – that meant that together, the Cousland brothers controlled both teyrnirs. Their combined might could challenge the crown. Couslands had helped the Wardens in revolt before. There was precedent. Could it not happen again?

Raising her head, Anora filled her lungs with air and rubbed her face. Her shoulders sagged under the mounting pressures of the crown. She had already antagonised Aedan Cousland in the past, as well as Cailan's half-brother Alistair. Of course, she'd tried her best to appease them afterwards – even giving Alistair King Maric's longsword – but still. Aedan Cousland was a proven hero. She had only ruled from Cailan's shadow. She had yet to do anything overt. Yet to win everyone's respect.

"Maker," she breathed. Why did her father have to make everything so difficult? If he had just… if Ostagar hadn't…

Clapping her forehead, Anora crawled out of the bath. She dried herself and dressed, mirthlessly, into her red and gold evening gown. As the hour neared to talk to Fergus about matters of State, that little bubble of anxiety expanded until it rattled against her ribs with every breath. Anora had to stop twice while getting dressed to calm herself.

Her future security as monarch depended on this meeting. Right now, Fergus Cousland was the third most powerful man in the country, right after herself and his brother. She needed him to be on his side. More than he needed to be on hers. And since she was not in Cailan's shadow anymore, the eyes of the nation were on her, at all times. Even now, in the privacy of her own room, she could scarcely escape the feeling of being intensely scrutinised. It was chilling.

When the call for dinner came, she hurriedly opened the door and found Fergus. He immediately nodded a bow and stepped back.

"Your dinner is served, ma'am," he announced with a slight smile. "I took the liberty of having your knights dine with the coachmen in the kitchen itself. Shall I fetch your handmaid? We can go to the dining room together."

Dumbly, she nodded her assent and Fergus complied. Together, the three of them made for the dining room. Anora could feel Erlina's eye on her, but chose not to look. She could no doubt sense the downward turn her mood had taken. Anora had no intention of expounding upon the reason why.

Whether curious or not, the walk back down seemed to her to be taking longer. Anora knew that, from a logical standpoint, her dour mood was partially to blame for the phenomenon. She was not taking it all in. Not being receptive to her environment. If she had, the walk would not feel as long. And yet… perhaps it was a kindness that she was miles away. Concentrating on her surroundings would only remind her how the soldiers of Rendon Howe had fought and killed their way up these very steps. Perhaps it was instinct, but she wished to shield herself from the oppressive shadows that lingered, clinging to the stone, in between the torches. She felt the need to walk around the shadows they cast, too, for some reason. Her skin crawled with a nameless dread whenever they fell upon her.

You're imagining things, she told herself. It's just your gloomy mood.

Her mood persisted through supper, which was rather good. The beef was rich, the soup sublime and the sweetmeats enchanting. They were simple, but had been prepared with much thought and care. It lifted her spirits a little bit, though she didn't talk much. Fergus made some small talk, asking about her journeys and the other nobles, and she gave him some of the gossip. As was proper. It was partially her duty to entertain her host as well, regardless of station.

After they were done, Fergus suggested a little stroll. "I usually walk a little up and down the atrium. It does me good. You could join me if you like, ma'am."

She had no reason to say no.

"Erlina, could you bring me a shawl?" she asked her handmaiden. "You may retire afterwards. Teyrn Cousland and I have some matters to discuss."

Anora knew that this was the best opportunity she had for making her case, and having Erlina present would only cause Fergus to keep up his façade. Erlina obeyed with a bow.

When she was gone, Anora sucked in a breath and turned to regard Fergus, who stood smiling to himself.

"We can actually talk now," she began, carefully assuming an informal tone and hoping he would respond in kind, "Fergus."

For a long moment, he didn't say anything. When his expression didn't change, a knot of worry formed in Anora's gut.

Say something. Did I misstep? Come on, Fergus!

He gave her nothing. Soon, Erlina arrived and wrapped the thick shawl around her shoulders and Anora heaved it tighter still.

"Thank you, Erlina," Anora muttered. "Good night."

"Good night, my Queen," replied the elf, and, with a lingering gaze shot her way, started off down the corridor towards her room.

When her footsteps faded away, Anora turned to Fergus again. Found him grinning.

"Always too impatient, Anora," he told her and held up a placating hand. "Come, now, don't glower. Your handmaiden has mighty good hearing and I don't want another black mark against my name."

The sigh of relief that Anora exhaled reverberated around the dining room. She didn't even care that it was not in line with her usual sense of propriety.

"Eejit."


Fergus allowed the word to linger in his ear for a bit. Though a mild remonstrance, it was extremely familiar. His mother used it frequently.

Eejit.

It was definitely the most Fereldan thing he'd heard in a while. Fergus widened his grin. "It's good to see you, Anora."

She was smiling now. "It's good to see you, too, Fergus."

Fergus said nothing more. He knew what she had come to discuss. Terms. Alliances and allegiances. He also knew that it was difficult to jump from an informal greeting straight to business. It was for her, anyway. When she let her hair down, Anora liked to talk. Even now, the expectant expression she wore indicated that tons of questions and statements bubbled underneath. She was waiting for him to respond. Say something. But he wouldn't.

He would not make it easy for her. Friends though they were, he would not let her ease into conversation. He would make her fight for it. Earn it. It was a petty sentiment, no doubt, but it gave him some modicum of power. It was a change.

To her credit, Anora didn't falter. She waited five seconds – long enough to realise he wasn't going to speak – before launching into it herself.

"How's your knee?" she asked, pointing.

Fergus looked down and tapped it with the haft of his cane. "It hurts. Especially when the weather changes. With winter on its way, it's just being itself." He shrugged good-naturedly. "It won't affect my ability to take a stroll, if you're worried." He motioned towards the door with his hand. "Shall we?"

"Please."

Following the corridor from the dining hall, they went straight. The atrium was to the left, but Fergus didn't want to go there. It was an open-air affair and the winds forever buffeting the castle had picked up during their meal. The study would be better suited to their discussions.

"What do you do all day?" Anora asked at his side. "I've hardly seen you at court. Does the teyrnir keep you occupied that much?"

There was a slight accusatory undertone to her words. Fergus considered his words. "It does, but my life is very routine nowadays. I wake up at dawn and oversee wrestling practice." He felt Anora's gaze flicker towards him. "I see to business in the mornings, after breakfast. I sleep in the afternoons. If it isn't raining, I go down to the town. There is an old elf in the alienage I play chess with. There are others who watch. We talk." He smiled at her. "Then I sleep. It's a quiet life. I can't complain."

"It does sound rather peaceful. But wrestling? I did not know you had taken it back up again." She glanced down at his knee. "I hope you're not being reckless."

Fergus laughed. "Perish the thought. I observe my wards and offer advice. I don't get onto the grass myself. Though, sometimes, I do miss being able to."

As a youth, he'd been rather good at wrestling. One of the best in northern Ferelden, to be sure. He'd competed in many tournaments and won a fair amount. It was what had captured the attention of Oriana's family in the first place.

"Cailan used to often bemoan losing to you," Anora said, a smile colouring her voice. "Did he ever manage to beat you? When we were young?"

"Not once." Fergus tilted his head. "Not for lack of trying. He challenged me every time he saw me."

"I remember. He did not stop even after ascending to the throne." She sighed and pulled her shawl tighter around herself. "He was spirited, but it was embarrassing."

Anora had always been the mature sort. True, she had a reputation for being a spitfire – a little wild and adventurous – but she knew to balance and temper it. Cailan, on the other hand, seemed to never have learned.

A crack of thunder came from overhead, masking the flash of anger Fergus felt. He hoped Anora was sufficiently distracted by the loud reverberations travelling down the walls to notice. He was angry. Angry at Cailan for never growing up. If he had grown a proper, level head, maybe Loghain wouldn't have revolted. Maybe Howe wouldn't have succeeded. Maybe his brother wouldn't be living his life waiting for demons to sing inside his head.

Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have had to mourn his son.

He bit it down. Swallowed it. This was neither the place nor the time for thoughts like this. Anora, other than getting Aedan captured and tortured, hadn't done anything to them. She was not responsible for the actions of her father, or her husband. She'd helped his brother. Stood against her father. And to stand against the Hero of River Dane was, in itself, mighty heroic.

"Sounds like a big storm," Anora muttered as he held the door of the library open for her. "You knew it would rain?"

"It's a safe bet. It always rains in Highever." He closed the door and moved past her. "The library is understocked. I'm trying to fill the shelves with books that I was asked to read but never got around to. I thought I might as well try now."

Humming, Anora walked between the rows of semi-empty shelves. Some books caught her attention, for she slowed her step as she passed them. Fergus tried to keep track of what those were.

The Physicality of Werewolves, Ser Reynault's Illustrated Primer on Grappling in Armour, War: What is it good for?

Fergus laughed inwardly. Always attracted to the strange and unknown. Anora always wanted to know more about, well, everything. She had said that it allowed her to make better arguments.

I don't doubt that, he told himself and opened the door to the study, ushering her in.

"Now, Your Majesty," he began after she had entered and he had closed the door after himself, "what is it that you wanted to discuss?"


Anora smiled to herself. Not only had he given her the opportunity to lead the discourse, but also the chance to revert back to being professional. It was up to her whether she wanted to go there. Or have a more informal discussion. It would set the tone for not only the conversation, but also their professional relationship going forward.

Well played.

She looked around, thinking how to respond. This was a smaller room attached to the library. While the smell of parchment and leather wasn't as present here, it was still suitably old smelling. Anora turned around.

Fergus Cousland, unlike Aedan, had attended Landsmeets with his father. He hadn't particularly impressed anyone – indeed, most of the Bannorn felt that the teyrnir would pass to Aedan – but he was always well liked. Always popular. Quick with a laugh and a joke. Save for the limp and the cane, he had changed little physically. He wore his hair the same way, remained clean shaven, and his smile was ready as ever.

The change was visible in his eyes. He wore the same eyes as his brother. A little glassy. A little hooded. It gave a new dimension to his smile. Less jovial and more amused in general. As if the happenings around him were some sort of curiosity he wasn't directly affected by. To her, it seemed like he was beyond it all.

Tragedy had forged Fergus Cousland into a politician worth his salt. Armed with all the knowledge of the Game, he simply kept it at arm's length.

Anora inclined her head. "No need for formalities among friends, Fergus. We've known each other too long for titles."

He chuckled and motioned towards a chair. "Friends, indeed," he said once she'd taken a seat, "It's good to know I have friends in the highest of places." He sat down across from her, stretching his leg out and leaning his cane against the armrest. Anora followed his every move. "Then let's speak as friends, Anora. No need for unsaid words. Let's speak plainly."

It was an invitation. The talks had commenced. Anora nodded and looked squarely at Fergus. "You know why I'm here."

A statement. Not a question. She would not insult his intelligence.

Fergus nodded. "I do. Rather, I have an idea. If you could state your object just so I know for a fact instead of surmising...?"

"Of course." Anora sat up straight. "As you know, Fergus, Fereldan politics isn't simple. The monarch is nothing without the people." He nodded. "I want your support. As teyrn of Highever, you are now among the most important freeholders in the country. I want to take Ferelden out of the slump we're in, I want to make it a haven for our people, but I can't do it alone." She steadied her gaze upon his face. "I can't do it without your help."

It was short, but it covered all the points without making her sound desperate. Vulnerable enough, but not desperate. She nodded inwardly. It was a good pitch. Whether it would work on him, though, she could not tell.

Fergus sat impassively, leaning back into his chair. With his elbows upon his thighs, his fingertips drummed against each other idly. He said nothing, but his gaze was attentive. He was listening.

"So, I've come to ask for your support, Fergus. You and I both know that I can do much good for our country." She leaned forward slightly. Just a bit. "I can! So much has gone wrong for us in so short a time…" She sighed. "But I can turn things around." She paused. "I just want… people I trust to stand with me."

It was the truth. Her own father had locked her in a tower. Her husband had been plotting to cast her aside and marry Empress Celene. The Game and the throne she'd clawed back, but who could she trust now? How could she trust now?

She listened to the crackling fire and looked down at her lap. Found that her fingers had curled into her skirt. A reflex. Talking about these things openly made her anxious. She didn't know how to deal with this new condition. It almost felt like a dozen voices were arguing in her head any time she had to make a decision. They were all so loud. So loud. Spewing the most unflattering things her way.

Why should he trust you?

He's going to say yes and betray you, just you watch.

The Cousland brothers are going to bleed you dry for what your father did to them.

I have to trust myself, she thought resolutely. I know what's best. If I lose faith in myself and fall to doubt, then this country is lost.

"I believe you," came Fergus's voice and she snapped her face up to look at him. He was smiling. That same smile. "I believe every word you said. You were a good Queen, and I think you've gotten better. Tell me this, though. Was the Kneefall a political move, or did you mean it?"

Anora stiffened. How many times had she been assailed by that question in the past few months? Every bann and arl she visited wanted to know the same thing. It was what they had taken to calling her actions in the Denerim Alienage.

After her coronation, visiting the city elves had been her first course of action. She had expected it to be more of the same – shaking hands and kissing babies. She could not have been more wrong. Not a single living resident of the Alienage was interested in conversing with her. They went about their day in a daze, walking from one run-down building to another. The Blighted year had not been kind to them. Her father had not been kind to them.

Instead, she had walked the streets as they did. Potholed, muddy streets. Roofs with holes and collapsed walls. It was horrifying, but the elves didn't seem to notice. Only upon seeing that did she realise that the elves were drowned in apathy. Drowned, with no strength left to reach for air.

Head still reeling with that grim realisation, Anora had stumbled upon the vhenadahl – a giant oak situated in the centre of the alienage. It symbolised the elven empire of old Arlathan. Hope. The promise of something greater for the otherwise destitute elves.

Anora stood in the shade of the grand old oak and stared up at it. The shade it provided was as a shield. Some relief. Like a bastion. Like a champion. Like a hero.

Like what her father had been. His glory had faded with his misdeeds, but the tree – like the people it inspired – stood fast.

And Anora had knelt before it. She had knelt there and prayed. For the elves. For Ferelden. For her father. And for herself.

Some elves had watched. A few had joined her. Without even saying a word, she had connected with a people her father had wronged. A simple gesture, but it had given them – and her – peace.

Looking at Fergus now, Anora wondered whether every decision she took, every move she made, no matter how pure or earnest, would be perceived as having ulterior motives. She understood the reasoning, but it didn't stop her from bristling.

"Under the weight of recent history, I did what people do when words fail them." She looked right at him, unable to keep the edge out of her tone. "It was the only way I could commemorate the thousands of lives lost."

She regretted it immediately. Clicking her tongue, Anora sat back slightly in her chair. It would have been better had she kept the curtness out of her voice. She didn't want to sound defensive. Not of her actions. Neither did she want to be combative. It would only hurt her chances.

Then again, Fergus had asked for them to converse as friends. And friends have no need to hide their annoyances when with each other. She smiled to herself.

Fergus, however, looked thoughtful. "I think that's the best thing any monarch of Ferelden has ever done, and they've done many great things." He nodded to her. "As a Queen, you're worthy of respect. You've set the standard for your reign."

"Thank you," Anora replied gratefully. A bubble of pride burst in her chest at the praise. Childish though the reaction was, she savoured it. "You're very kind to say that."

"I think, however, that I have something that you may be interested in reading before I give you my decision." Fergus produced a folded piece of paper from his trouser pocket and held it out to her. "You'll find it stimulating, I think."

Anora raised an eyebrow. Was this a hidden ace up his sleeve? Some kind of leverage? She stopped her thoughts when she took it from him. She had no right to be offended at being considered deceitful when she herself doubted the actions of others.

Upon unfolding it, she saw that it was a letter. Written in a hand she recognised. The Hero of Ferelden.

Hiding the trepidation hammering away at her heart, Anora swallowed silently and read the letter.

My name is Aedan Cousland. I was born on the fourth of Wintermarch, 9:11 Dragon, to Teyrn Bryce Cousland and Teyrna Eleanor Cousland of Highever. I hereby bequeath the teyrnir of Gwaren, bestowed upon me by our fair Queen, Anora mac Tir, to my brother, Teyrn Fergus Cousland of Highever. I transfer my rights, power, property and subjects immediately and irrevocably.

I write this willingly, and in full possession of my senses and wits.

Aedan Cousland

Warden-Commander of Ferelden

Vigil's Keep

Witnesses:

Alistair Theirin, Warden-Constable of Ferelden

Solona Amell, Archivist of the Grey


To her credit, Anora didn't react. Fergus followed her eyes, fingertips steepled. She finished reading it once. Lingered on the seal of the Warden-Commander. Then she read it again. And again.

Anora's mind could be very machine-like. She was an analytical engine. To rule a nation, you have to be that, I suppose.

Instead of hanging on her every reaction, Fergus closed his eyes. The crackling fire lent a rather chirpy music to an otherwise dreary atmosphere. It had a tune to it. Both unpredictable and practiced at the same time. It was nice.

Outside, the raging winds were a fine accompaniment. He couldn't hear heavy rains, but a branch batted against the windowpane every few seconds. It was a heavy aspen that was outside. That branch in particular was thick and strong. It would have to be a strong wind indeed to move it, much less lash it so against the window.

He sat quietly, thumbing the wolf's head carved into his shillelagh. It had been hollowed out. Filled with lead. A good club for self-defence, doubling as a walking stick. More cudgel than a club, really, Fergus thought as he found the knots and ridges on the hitting end. It was a fine stick, but it wasn't just for show. Unfortunately, it had had to see use. Rather recently at that.

"When was this-"

"Six months ago," Fergus replied readily. "Right after your coronation. Aedan didn't want to hold onto it. He doesn't like being arl, either, but..." He hiked his shoulders and opened his eyes. Smiled. "It came with the job."

Wordlessly, Anora held out the letter. Fergus took it. The firelight hid the gathering clouds upon her countenance, but she couldn't mask her emotions entirely. The news had broken through the cordial façade. Now, they would talk business.

Going with the flow, Fergus allowed her some time to compose herself. It wouldn't do to press an advantage. They were, after all, friends. He wanted to preserve that, if able. If not… well. He had other pieces to gamble.

"Sorry to have sprung this upon you." Fergus waved the letter. "I wanted to do it face to face. And my travelling is limited." He tapped his left knee. "As you know."

"You'll have to get used to it." Anora looked at him. Nodded at the letter he held between his fingertips, "Gwaren is in the very south-west of Ferelden. You'll have to divide your time between both teyrnirs now."

Fergus chuckled. Gwaren was her father's teyrnir. Where she had grown up. True, she held the nation now, but he had usurped her home. She wouldn't take that lying down.

"Yes." He nodded. "Leave it to the little brother to keep creating problems for me."

"More political clout is hardly a problem, Fergus. This puts you right behind the crown in terms of influence."

She was being honest. So far.

"I never asked for it, Anora." He leant back into the chair, eyes fixed on the fire. "I wasn't even supposed to take Highever."

For a long moment, she was quiet. Calculating. He had gone in a direction she wasn't expecting. Fergus sighed.

"I don't want to be a problem, Anora. Maker knows I don't want that." He felt that sick, wretched part of him creep into his voice. He let it. "I'll give you Gwaren if you want. Right here right now." He sighed again. "In fact, it's better someone else has it than me. I don't want to have anything to do with it."

A long pause. Fergus heard nothing but the firewood crumbling and falling apart. Some embers flew rather close to his feet, but he didn't mind. There was no reason for him to mind.

"Are you… are you quite serious?" Anora asked quietly, with a little uncertainty. Not a tone her voice was used to. Not somewhere her mind went often. Fergus offered her a wan smile.

"I am. I told you, I can't travel a whole lot. And I don't want to."

"That is… very generous. And highly unusual. Then again, I've come to expect the extraordinary from the Cousland brothers." She laughed. Airy. Trying to be relieved. On the way to relaxation, but not fully there. The flushed tips of her ears gave her away. "But then why tell me all this?"

"Why not? We're friends, no?"

"Friends?" Anora repeated the word idly and sank back into her chair. Her shoulders slumped. She placed an elbow on the armrest and put her cheek in her palm. "It would be nice to have one among all the two-faces at court. I haven't had many friends in years."

"We have always been friends, Anora." She smiled at that. "I hold no animosity towards you. You are my Queen and I support you. I think you're the best person to lead this country." Fergus paused. Anora's smile was warm. "I want to help you in every way I can. But I do have a problem."

Her smile froze, instantly losing all its warmth. "A problem? With me?"

"Not Anora, the person. Not Anora, my friend. But Anora, my Queen."

It was very subtle, but her posture stiffened. Her jaw locked into place. Her shoulders followed suit. Anora became the very picture of the dispassionate queen - cheek in hand, listening to a peasant she had no inclination of helping.

"State your complaint. Tell me how I can do better."

Fergus shook his head. "It's not my place. The problem I have with you is not something that is likely to change. However much I might want it to."

"And what is your problem?"

"That you are your father's daughter."

Anora didn't respond. She looked right at him, her blue eyes glimmering in the firelight like molten steel. Ready to bite. It was in her eyes that Fergus saw the flash, a cruel lick of lightning that forked across the sky. The first real sign of an imminent storm.

Though he braced for it, Fergus found himself unprepared for the thunder.

"You are correct," Anora spoke after the rumbling abated. "That is a complaint I can do nothing about." Her tone had lost its steel and lapsed back into apologetic charm. "I am sorry, Fergus. I am truly, deeply sorry for the things my father did. It is not unreasonable if you cannot trust me after all he did. After all you suffered."

She was trying to be kind, but Fergus raised his hand and stopped her from saying whatever it was she had planned on saying.

"Teyrn Loghain acted of his own free will. You were never his pawn. Whatever he did, he has suffered for it. I will never forgive him, but those feelings of mine don't bleed into you." Anora sighed out of her nose. Nodded. "What I mean is that…" He wet his lips. It would be tricky, this part. "What I mean is that you, Anora, are your father's daughter. There are many similarities you share, mentally, with him." He made sure to not blink as he went on. "And I will not give my allegiance to anyone who has even a faintest chance of repeating those mistakes."


The blow was blunt. He wasn't trying to sugar coat anything, though his mannerisms reeked of hesitance. Anora smiled at his discretion, though the words tasted bitter.

"A true friend is always honest, and I thank you for it." She dipped her chin. "I must repeat what I said earlier. I can do nothing about heritage. We do not choose our family. I can only hope that my choices as monarch will win your loyalty eventually."

"A fair argument, Anora. You have ruled Ferelden for many years with Cailan at your side, so I don't doubt your experience for a second." He paused. "But why do you feel so strongly that your calling is to be Queen? Who are you without the crown on your head? Who is it that I will be choosing to follow? Many people are willing to salute the title, but I'm not. We knew who Cailan was as a person. I can't say the same of you."

A familiar icy tenseness descended down her neck and settled between Anora's shoulder blades. It felt more and more like an interrogation, something she wasn't used to. She was compelled to give straight answers – out of friendship, out of obligation – and thus couldn't resort to political smack talk. Never, in any discussion, had Anora felt such an acute lack of agency.

It was difficult to come up with an answer. Fergus Cousland had a very bad habit of asking the questions she herself had no answer to. For as long as she could remember, she had been tied to the royal family, and then to the crown. Ever since her father had brought her to her first Landsmeet, that had been it. She had found her purpose. It almost felt like destiny. She had no cause to question it.

Until now.

"Let me put it another way," Fergus said after a while. "Can you, Anora, imagine a Ferelden where you are not Queen?"

"I wasn't Queen for the Blight year," she pointed out. "And we both know how that went."

"All the more reason for you to not lose your power again, yes?"

It was a trap. Anora chose to say nothing.

"That's my problem, Anora. You can't separate yourself from the country." With some effort, Fergus got to his feet. The exertion showed on his face. His knuckles went white on the cane as he pushed himself up. "You cannot conceive of a Ferelden where you aren't in charge. In other words, you think you are the key to Ferelden staying afloat. Am I wrong?"

"Are there any suitable alternatives you have to offer?" she snapped back. "Alistair? He chose against it. His uncle Teagan? Capable and wise, but not enough charisma to pull a country in his wake. I am in the best position to steer this country towards a better future."

"Spoken like Loghain's daughter."

That stung. With four words, Fergus Cousland had doused the fire in her soul. What hurt most was that he had turned away as he said it, presenting his back and walking away towards the fireplace.

Her father had done what he thought was best for the country. She understood the logic, but a nation demanded more tact than logical conclusions. He had acted like a general. Did people think she would do the same?

"That's the essence of my problem with you as Queen, Anora," Fergus spoke, the fire ghosting its fingers of golden light over his face. "Your idealism can easily lead to dogma. And then fanaticism. I don't want that for you, and I don't want that for Ferelden."

"I understand," she replied quietly. She had walked right into it. It had never occurred to her that her right to rule could be seen as problematic. Now, though, she could see why that was the case.

"I don't blame you for looking up to your father, Anora. I really don't." His voice was equally quiet when he spoke, a bare whisper above the crackling firewood. "There is nothing wrong in wanting to be more like your father. I try every day to do the same." He looked back at her over his shoulder. "But take care that you don't absorb the bad along with the good. What Loghain did as Regent is fresh in the mind of the people. They'll spot a despot a mile away."

Running a hand through her hair, Anora slumped back into her chair. "If you believe there is a strong chance in me turning into… my father, then I think that's a fear in the heart of many thousands more."

"Safe to assume that, yes." A pause. "But your actions at the Alienage are a good start."

Anora waved it away. "Token gestures mean nothing. I plan on doing more." She took a long, calming breath. "I want to do more, Fergus, but I can't do that unless I have absolute belief in myself as the Queen of my country. I have to believe that I can do the best job possible. If not, I'm nothing but a puppet in a farce."

"True, but you're acting alone. You have the Bannorn to check you, but there are ways around that. I'm sure Loghain's intentions were good, but those, more often than not, pave the way towards somewhere else."

It was frustrating, how he had an answer for everything. Infuriatingly so. There was wisdom in his words, no doubt, but all his points seemed tailored to erode her confidence.

It's unfair.

"Then what would you have me do, Fergus?" she asked, sighing and pinching her temples. "What do you want from me?"

Anora wasn't in the habit of posing that question. The words sounded alien. They way her mouth morphed to accommodate those sounds almost felt like they would crack her cheeks. Though she didn't regret posing the question, part of her was embarrassed by it. Direct admissions of weakness went against everything she had been taught. By the court, by her father. Everyone had taught her to be strong.

In this situation, she had no choice. She needed Fergus on her side, needed him to trust her. More so, she wanted to know if there was any way to put her people at ease. She did not want them to see a reflection of Loghain when they looked upon her.

Fergus Cousland had displayed a range of wisdom which had surprised her. He could be an invaluable addition to her court, if he would ever come around. After everything that happened, public sympathy was firmly in the Couslands' favour. Yet, Fergus had done nothing to capitalise on it.

Why was that, she wondered while waiting for his response. Both brothers seemed apathetic about governance. Bryce Cousnald had been similar in his unambitious nature, but he'd had a shrewdness that Aedan seemed to have inherited. Fergus was just… nice. He didn't have the edge that made his brother a force of nature.

Or so he wants you to think.

The cloud of troubling thoughts wouldn't lift. Outside, the weather mirrored her mood. The claps of thunder had grown fiercer and more frequent, and with the rain lending its voice to the medley, nature seemed to be a violent mood indeed. The constant pounding of the branch against the window pane seemed to be an effort on the tree's part to keep the rhythm.

Anora looked away from the window when she saw another finger of lightning rend the night sky and turned towards Fergus, who hadn't yet spoken a word. He stood facing the fire, his hands clasped behind his back. The shadow he cast was long, trailing up the opposite wall all the way up to the ceiling. Due to the flash of lightning, however, it seemed, just for a moment, that he had two shadows. Trickery of the light, Anora knew, but an interesting one nonetheless.

Yet, when he spoke, Anora felt every hair lining her spine stand up on end.

"You cannot give me what I want," came the man's voice, slow and clear and completely different to how it was a moment ago. It now felt cold. Hungry. But it was still Fergus's voice.

Wasn't it?

"Nobody can," he went on. "And yet, I want."

It was then that Anora realised what it was that had spooked her so. Yes, the words spoken were by Fergus. Definitely. She could recognise his voice any day, anywhere. The problem was that it wasn't just Fergus.

There was another voice. Deeper. Crueller. Much more malicious. It laced his every word, seemingly bouncing off the walls. It felt like she could hear it bubble up inside her ears.

"I want what was taken, I want what was lost." The second voice grew louder with every word, drowning out Fergus. The fire trembled with every note that seemed to be escaping the man now. Anora watched, transfixed, as the man's shadow pulsed and grew, both in length and width. "You don't know that loss. Your father still lives. You can visit him and write to him any day you want. Everything I had was burnt to a cinder."

The anger, the resentment, the sheer unforgiving malice… it seemed to amplify this new voice. Anora shot to her feet, beads of sweat dripping down her palm despite the storm raging outside. The fire seemed to be dimming with every second that passed, plunging the study more and more into shadows. She had to get out. She had to get out now. Anora didn't understand what was happening, but her body's self-preservation instincts were working faster than her mind was. Her body knew that she was in mortal peril.

Her legs wanted to run. Run faster than she ever had out of the door. Out of the castle. Out of Highever itself. She needed to find her guards. Find Erlina. Then-

Fergus turned to look at her. Inexplicable dread burst in her bosom immediately and a sense of utter powerlessness spread across her limbs with alarming speed. All he did was crane his neck, but the movement was entirely too smooth for it to be natural. It felt like his head was on a swivel. If it didn't stop turning, Anora was confident that it would complete a full turn without breaking his neck.

As if sensing her distress, Fergus smiled widely. "And it is all your fault."

Anora bolted. Without even turning back, she threw open the doors of the study and ran out into the library, stumbling into chairs and tables in her mad dash, never stopping lest the shadows catch up. For she knew she was being pursued. As she ran, the torches behind her were extinguished one by one. A drawn-out laughter rang in her ears, only a hair's breadth away from grasping her heels.

The castle seemed to morph around her as she ran, filling her with alien and unwanted sensations. She felt the sting of flames on her exposed skin, the fetid stench of burning flesh made her head spin and she clamped a hand over her mouth and nose to stop herself from inhaling all the smoke that suddenly appeared, clouding her vision. Blinking desperately, Anora sprinted on. Loud curses and cries of help assaulted her from all sides, coupled with mourning wails and clanging of steel on steel. Hounds bayed in the distance, somehow hidden by the smoke, but Anora didn't stop to investigate.

She ran straight and true, past the main hall. It was good fortune that she had retained the overall layout of the castle. The chapel was straight ahead. To the right. She had prayed there with Eleanor numerous times before. Right now, it seemed like the only refuge from this madness.

Not slowing down, Anora instead sped up as soon she turned the bend leading to the chapel. She could see the double doors and it gave her a second wind. Covering the distance in leaps and bounds, she rammed into the doors, using her shoulder to shove her way in. The doors didn't stop her. They gave way immediately after she made contact and she went barrelling in, arms flailing awkwardly as she tried to catch her balance.

But that wasn't to be.

The cold stone floor welcomed her knees as she went down unceremoniously, blood following freely from the wide gash covering her kneecaps. Anora cried out, but quickly caught herself and, for the first time in her flight, turned around.

Like a rapidly moving cloud of fog, the shadows were coming. Moving across the walls and the floor and the ceiling like locusts. Towards her. Surely.

The doors. I have to close the doors!

Ignoring her stinging knees as best as she could, Anora shot back to her feet. She grabbed one of the doors and swung it shut, then went for the other one. The shadows advanced hurriedly now, she could see it almost reaching for her when she shut the other door and braced it with her back.

The shove that came almost sent her flying.

Maker, don't let the door break, I'm begging you.

Another shove, this time heavier. Anora swore she could hear the wood splinter. She dug her heels in, but the smooth stone surface made her feet skid the more she tried to hold fast.

"Leave me alone!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, pushing her back into the door. "Go away, damn you!"

The response was a deep, low chuckle. It resembled the death rattle of an Antivan adder than anything else. Usually, hearing that would chill her blood, but Anora was too focused on staying alive to be distracted by fear.

Instead of waiting for the next attempt it would take at breaking the door down, Anora looked around for anything to bar the door with. To her left, she spotted a wooden crossbar, screwed into the door jamb. But to reach for it would mean leaving the door unguarded.

After this next one, she told herself. After this next one, I'm barring the door.

Plan made, Anora squeezed her eyes shut and grit her teeth. The next one was coming. She knew it. Could feel it. She waited. Held her breath for the effort.

But nothing came.

Anora didn't dare to ease the tension in her body. She held her breath and waited. One second. Two seconds. Five. Ten. Thirty. Nothing.

She filled her lungs with ragged breaths and wet her lips. Her heartbeat started to still and she wondered whether it was over. Whether it was gone, whatever it was. She hoped so. With all her will, she wanted it to be gone.

Still, she didn't let her guard down. Anora pressed her ear to the wood, listening for anything on the other side. The sound of silence greeted her. It was quiet. Completely and utterly quiet. Gone were the sounds of violence and death that had dogged her.

Anora muttered silently. A thanks to the Maker and His Bride for shielding her from evil. Her body, tired of being coiled like a spring, started complaining and she slowly eased her back off the door. Taking a short breath, she reached for the cross bar to her left.

That was when it came. A monstrous thump against the door. It felt like a full-grown mabari had flung itself at it. Though it took her by surprise, Anora threw her weight against the door as soon as she heard the initial impact. The creature, whatever it was, had forced the doors open, but she successfully slammed it in its face.

However, in her desperate attempt at tackling the door, Anora had taken her feet off the ground and now, she slid painfully down the door to her knees, and was reminded readily that they were in a bad way. She wanted to voice her pain, but the scream died in her throat when she heard a snarl from the other side.

It's coming again! And this time, I won't have the strength.

Feet scrambling for purchase on the slippery stone, Anora supported her weight on her palms and launched herself up, springing forward faster than she ever recollected doing. Her father had trained her in self-defence, and was a harsh taskmaster, but even he would've been surprised to see her agility now.

Hyperextending her body, like a cat trying to snatch a bird out of the air, Anora dug her nails into the thick wooden bar and, as her body fell, pulled it towards herself with all her might. And it came readily. The crossbar fell from its vertical position from the doorjamb into its holder on the other end of the double doors. A loud clatter rang out through the chapel interior, followed by silence.

Anora rolled away from the door. She waited for another ramming blow, lying on her back on the cold stone. This time, she counted her breaths, her heart beats and the seconds simultaneously. One minute passed. Two minutes passed. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty.

At the half hour mark, she sat up, faced the door and backed up until she had her back to the altar. Only then did she allow her shoulders to slacken. Only then did she push her legs out straight and lean her head back against the altar.

Only then did she allow herself to sob.


A powerful slap on the back woke him up. Fergus started, immediately on alert, but calmed his nerves when he heard muffled chuckling.

"Asleep on the saddle?" asked Rendon Howe, who had sidled up beside him. Despite his years, his face lit up with childish mirth every time he pulled a prank. "Though better now than when you're with your wife, I suppose."

He laughed at that. "Quite right! Oriana wouldn't let me live it down." He undid the clasp under his chin and removed his helmet. "But mostly, I'm saving up energy for my son. I have to re-enact killing an ogre a thousand times over the coming week."

"A burden unlike no other, I'm sure." Howe smirked. "My children are all much too old to be begging for stories now, but I do remember a time when they would cry if they didn't get a bedtime story. Simpler times, those."

"I can imagine. My father often said the same about us when me and my brother were growing up."

"It makes for rather amusing and cherished memories, I shan't lie." Howe paused. "Children give us a chance to be better than who we used to be."

"And thank the Maker for that."

Howe said nothing in reply, but nodded and trotted off to check up on some of his men. Fergus looked back and watched the soldiers for a while. All happy and smiling. Satisfied with having successfully held back the tide of darkness. Looking forward to returning home.

Ostagar couldn't really be called a battle. It was a hopeless routing for the darkspawn. The King's forces held the frontal assault while Teyrn Loghain flanked them. Then the heavy cavalry slammed in from the rear and boxed the darkspawn in, turning it into a slaughter.

The people thronged the streets to welcome back the returning soldiers. They excused themselves one by one as they met family members and friends. Fergus allowed them leave. They deserved to celebrate as well. Very soon, it was only him, Howe and their combined guards making their way to the castle.

Fergus smiled as he sighted the first gatehouse leading up the winding path to Castle Cousland. Yes, he thought to himself, the battle couldn't have gone better. It was the best outcome anyone could have hoped for. The King had retained his two teyrns to talk about building an alliance with Orlais, and his father had asked him to go home. Help Aedan out.

He hadn't minded. True, his mother was away, but that meant more time with his wife and son. It was all he wanted.

Of course, there would be no element of surprise. Fergus didn't mind that, either. The sight of his son sprinting towards him was a reward greater than a cheap surprise. Dismounting, Fergus quickly scooped the boy up. Oren started pelting him with questions immediately, but Fergus merely brushed his beard against his son's cheeks. The giggles were worth it. Having his son in his arms was worth it. Nothing would threaten his family ever again.

Please, Maker, make it so.

"You didn't drive your uncle batty, did you?" he asked, setting his son down.

Oren shook his head. "Uncle taught me swarding."

"Did he now?"

The boy nodded vehemently. "No jokes if he showed me swarding."

"And his Uncle is grateful for that," Aedan said as he approached, smiling thinly. He looked tired. Managing the estate was no easy matter. A learning experience. He would have to get used to it soon. "Good to have you back, brother."

"Aye, good to be back." Fergus grinned and put his arm around Aedan's neck. "Tell me, are you still seeing the, um," he looked down at Oren and lowered his voice, "elven lass? Lady Landra's handmaiden? I forgot her name."

"Lady Landra and mother left for Bann Loren's lands yesterday," Aedan replied diplomatically. "So, no. I am not seeing her at the moment."

"But you were until she left."

"Of course."

Barking out a laugh, Fergus held his brother in a headlock. "Well played!"

With a grunt of effort and a snort of laughter, Aedan wiggled out of the hold and smoothed his hair down. "I wouldn't get all sweaty now, if I were you."

"Oh? And why not?"

"Oriana's waiting." Aedan raised both eyebrows. "In your chambers. And it just so happens that I have to teach my dear nephew some more swarding." Oren raised his fists victoriously. "For maybe an hour or two. Maybe three, who knows?" He shrugged. "So, you'd better hurry along, Fergus. Don't keep the lady waiting."

It was very rare that Fergus was thankful for his highborn status. Very rare, indeed. Now was one of those times. Being a noble meant he had the luxury of having his plate armour neatly packed away and carried on another horse, leaving him with only minor undressing to do. A masterstroke of efficiency.

"Quite right," he muttered, walking towards the castle at double speed. "You two be careful, okay? Watch out for splinters in those wooden swords!"

Not that he needed to remind them. Aedan was at his most careful around Oren. Oren, too, was so intent on impressing his uncle that he would never stray from an instruction. It was adorable.

"Not now, Nan!" Fergus told the old cook as soon as she opened her mouth, though he never dropped his grin. "Special assignment, you see! Time to wife!"

He heard her snort as he rushed past. "Food'll be ready when you come down."

"I love you, Nan!"

"And don't I know it!"

He skirted past Mother Mallol and old man Aldous in a similar fashion. Now was not the time to be blessed, or reminded of the family's rich werewolf-slaying past. It was time for action!

Almost there, Fergus thought, taking the steps two and three at a time. He'd managed to undo the belt holding his gambeson and pulled it off over his head as he approached the landing. Now clad in only breeches and a tunic, he felt ready for the encounter. Draping the last layer of his armour over his left hand, he ran his right through his hair. Oriana liked looking good. Made sure he looked good as well. He could at least try to be presentable.

Finally, as he stood outside his bedroom door, Fergus wondered what he ought to say. In his mad rush, he'd forgotten that part. Then again, did it really matter?

Hardly.

"Hello, madam," he said as he pushed the doors open and entered. "Delivering one husband, as per request."

Not the best he'd done, but it worked in a pinch. Oriana, who was curled up on an armchair with a book, smiled at him and uncoiled herself from her post.

"You can do better," she teased, smirking coyly as she closed the distance between them, a slightly mischievous yet predatory glint in her eye. "Surely."

With a chuckle, Fergus dropped his gambeson and pulled his wife close, putting his arms around her waist. "Mind's gone blank, love. Couldn't think of anything more."

He closed the door with his feet and Oriana pushed him back up against it, her mouth on his instantly. Fergus didn't complain. What more could he want?

"You don't have to go anywhere right now, do you?" she asked him in between kisses, her palms sliding up and down his chest, fiddling with the lacing. "I had… plans. For us."

He knew what that meant. Though it pained him to do so, he raised his hands to cup Oriana's face. Pull her slightly away. Smiled.

She was beautiful. Extremely so. He had been smitten since the moment he'd laid eyes on her, though it had taken some work to make that feeling mutual. Even now, the shape of her lips, the scent of her hair, and the bright purple of her eyes mesmerised him. As they always had. He didn't want to wait anymore – the hunger in her eyes was a temptation not easily ignored – but he really had to say it.

"No, love, I don't." He smiled gently and lowered his lips to hers. "There's nowhere else I'd possibly want to be."


A/N: Does this story need more? YOU decide! Let me know if you'd like to see a continuation, or whether you're satisfied with this evil-ass ending.