CHAPTER 6

..x..

Willow trees hung their arms over large pools of still water as the algae growing at the shores gave it a greenish tint. Alder and winterberry shrubs grew all around as cattail grasses sprouted along the waters, coloring everything in muted reds, browns, and greens. Nothing moved but the swaying branches and the brush, their shadows harboring hidden dangers threatening to strike at any unprepared traveler. They were the Korcari Wilds. A swampy wilderness filled with horrific legends that spoke of witches, barbarians, and from then on, darkspawn.

Only the bravest ever ventured this far south in Ferelden and rarely did they return alive. Those who did always carried with them horrific stories, giving rise to the rumors around it. The few people who could navigate the woods were the Dalish elves and the Chasind folk. Dalish elves were nomadic, pure-blooded in their own definition when compared to city elves. They sought the shelter of the forest and lived in harmony with their surroundings, which allowed them to tame the dangerous nature of the Wilds. The Chasind, however, were feared savages who prowled through the frigid swamp. They were said to massacre innocents without mercy, often to claim their wares or even resort to cannibalism. Anyone else risked getting lost in its traitorous trails, swallowed up alive by the beasts roaming behind the cover of their seemingly cursed forest.

The group of four pushed through the thicket blocking their path, their feet crunching over dried weeds and rock. Each of them warily glanced about, trying to see through the deceptive shapes as the musky smells of mud, wetness, and decay saturated their noses. The sound of creaking branches occasionally joined in their footsteps, adding to the unnerving sense of something unseen walking along with them.

"I can't believe Duncan sent us out here like this," Ser Jory muttered anxiously.

Daveth rolled his eyes at the knight's display of fear. "We're to become Grey Wardens—the very people who kill monsters for a living. Did you think they would coddle us instead?"

"No, but we don't know what's out there! There could be wilders… Beasts… Darkspawn could come out of the ground and eat us!"

"You are only making things worse on yourself. Just focus on the task at hand and we'll make it back in one piece," Everil instructed, walking ahead of the three men.

"How come we're following the woman now?" Daveth had an amused expression, his grin spreading as he watched her hips sway with each step she took. "Not that I'm complaining. The view from back here is quite nice."

"I was wondering that myself," Ser Jory said with a puzzled stare.

Alistair glanced over his shoulder, sending them a mildly annoyed look as he followed behind her. She hadn't brought up her former status, and it seemed she wasn't planning to. If they knew who she was they likely would not be spewing such nonsense. It didn't seem as if the remarks bothered her, however, instead continuing on in silence.

They walked for a mile or so until they began to see bloodstains on their path. The four looked up from the ground and to the carnage ahead, where cattle and men lay scattered over the dirt road. While guts and torn limbs hung from the surrounding vegetation, like macabre ornaments and decorations. Whatever had done the deed couldn't possibly be human. And even if they were, their cruelty could be deemed nothing but monstrous.

Maker… This is horrible… she thought, the stench of rot making her stomach curl.

"Help…" came the faint whimper of an injured man, who was currently crawling over the ground some distance away. The party approached him cautiously, carefully observing their woods in case of an incoming ambush. Stab wounds covered the soldier as he bled over the dirt, clinging desperately to life. He looked up as they drew nearer, his face showing clear relief upon seeing the griffons on Alistair's chest.

"Grey Wardens? Thank the Maker…" He released a quivering breath, wincing in pain. "Please help me. Darkspawn… They came out of the ground… Killed everyone in my scouting party. I…I have to get back to camp."

"We should help him." Everil turned to Alistair. "Do you have anything we can use?"

"I have bandages in my pack." He knelt over the wounded soldier, pulling out a roll of cloth before dressing the larger wounds he could see. It was nowhere near as good as what the man would receive from a healer, but it would do for now.

"Thank you…" The soldier stood weakly and limped past them. "Be careful out there…"

"Did you hear that?" Ser Jory's fearful eyes shifted among the group. "Darkspawn killed a whole group of seasoned soldiers. There could be hundreds of them waiting ahead!"

"Calm down, Ser Jory," said Alistair, giving him a composed stare. "While there are darkspawn about, we are safe from the bulk of the horde. Besides, they won't be able to take us by surprise because Grey Wardens can feel them approach. That's why I'm here."

Daveth smiled wryly. "You see, Ser Knight? We might die, but at least we'll be warned about it first."

"Cowards..."

The two recruits shot Everil vexed looks. "Huh?"

She was looking at them with folded arms, her tone as cold as the swamp itself. "The way I see it, you have two choices. Continue with our task and help stop the Blight or go home to your mothers and cling to their skirts while the darkspawn kill everything in Ferelden."

Daveth chuckled. "Fair point..."

"But…" Ser Jory shifted under her stare. "I have a wife with a child on the way back home…"

"And that makes you special? Other soldiers here have families waiting for them too. Yet they are here, doing their duty and fighting for their country. Now you seek to cower behind them, hoping their sacrifice will be enough to shield your family. Utterly pathetic." She dismissively waved him off. "I don't know what Arl Eamon saw in you when he knighted you, but I must say, I am not impressed."

A laugh escaped Daveth at the astonished look that fell on Ser Jory's face.

"How dare you!" Ser Jory took a step, his face inches from hers. "I am a Knight of Redcliffe. I serve the king's uncle and the crown!"

"Then prove you are worthy of that title!" she retorted, unflinching. "That you are man enough to uphold your duty!"

His defiant glare was fixed on hers. "You just watch, lady."

"Oh, I plan to. And I fear I stand to be disappointed," she shot back and kept walking along the path, stepping through the blood and gore ahead of the three men.

Ser Jory huffed angrily and stalked after her, hands curled into fists.

"Woah..." Daveth said breathlessly, a wide grin on his face. "I think I'm in love."

Alistair was shocked too. The way she just used words to push a man into motion… It was impressive. No wonder the teyrn had so much faith in her ability to command his people.

They continued on, with Alistair eventually catching up to her and walking beside her. He glanced at her profile, seeing nothing but fearless focus as she kept her eyes set on the horizon. And after all she went through, it was clear to him Everil was much stronger than him in more ways than one.

"You know…" He leaned over so only she could hear him. "I don't believe I've ever met anyone like you before."

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Is that so?"

"I was just thinking you seriously put those two to shame. They've been cowering since before we left, but you haven't complained about any of this once."

"Some just handle fear differently, I suppose."

As if on cue, a noise in the bushes made Ser Jory jump and reach for his sword. "Blasted!"

"Don't worry, Ser Jory…" Everil paused in her steps and turned to send him a small smirk. "I'll protect you."

He simply glared at her, color rising to his face as he attempted to regain his composure. The group resumed their trek, with the knight grumbling under his breath and Daveth grinning at her back.

Alistair leaned closer to her once more, playfulness in his voice. "I know I'm relying on you to protect me..."

A soft chuckle escaped her. "Are you trying to charm me?"

He grinned. "Maybe..."

She shook her head, a smile still on her lips. Everil refused to show it, but she was just as afraid as they were. Having heard nothing but terrifying tales of the monsters they were bound to fight. But the Grey Warden's presence and sense of humor helped ease her anxiety. If only just a little.

It wasn't long before they ran into more death. And this time, the monsters appeared to have claimed a caravan of unfortunate travelers. Men, horses, and cattle lay scattered upon the ground everywhere they looked. All were dismembered and left to rot as their stench permeated the air around them. They gazed up as they walked, spotting three soldiers hanging from a tree above, bloated and with entrails dangling from gaping their guts. The scene sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, as it did the others with her.

"Poor slobs..." Alistair's nose curled in disgust. "That just seems so… excessive."

"No wonder people fear them so..." Everil murmured uncomfortably as they continued further. Daveth and Jory were fidgeting nervously, but this time she couldn't fault them for it. Darkspawn obviously enjoyed killing and exposing their work for all to see. But there was more to it than just a display of brutal violence. It was psychological warfare. Mess with your enemy's psyche enough, and you will drive away their will to fight.

They were approaching a small ravine when Alistair froze, his arm shooting out to stop them from moving.

Daveth raised a brow. "What's the hold-up?"

The Warden's eyes narrowed. "They're here..."

An arrow hit the ground by their feet, and their heads snapped up, gazes landing on a dwarf-sized creature currently preparing another from atop the hill overseeing their path.

"A genlock!" Alistair called, drawing his sword.

Then more enemies emerged from the trees, these the size of human men, charging at them as they released hungry growls and snarls.

"Aaand hurlocks too!"

They were as nightmarish as the tales described. Terrifying faces were the color of ash, with no lips, nose, or ears, jagged teeth stained with blood and dirt. Twisted iron and torn rags made their armor, their gear crafted in the pits of darkness by their own monstrous hands. Their weapons were warped and jagged, stained red from past kills. For a moment, Everil felt her resolve waver under their soulless stares, for she had never seen anything so sinister. So evil. There was nothing in those eyes. Nothing but the silent promise of a slow and painful death. Their deaths.

The sound of strings tensing filled her ears as the creatures prepared arrows, training them upon them. And reality came rushing back before she found her words again. "Scatter!"

Her command had them scrambling in opposite directions, arrows hitting the ground where they once stood. Still running, she gave the battlefield a frantic look, taking in the enemy's position. Her father's training told her to eliminate the foes with long-range weapons first. To take away their advantage and focus on the rest. Without hesitation, she went up the hill and rolled as an arrow came too close to hitting her. Everil pulled out her dagger, rushing the first enemy and stabbing it in the neck as it reached back to pull out its axe. Quickly, she took from it its bow and quiver, before drawing an arrow and taking aim.

Alistair ducked, avoiding a swinging hammer aimed at his head. Then he hit the hurlock with his shield, throwing it off balance and causing it to stagger. He took the opportunity, running it through with his blade. His eyes went to the genlock above him. It fired an arrow at him and he quickly raised his shield to block it. As he brought it back down, he saw another arrow hit the same creature, causing it to fall from its perch. He looked towards Everil as she sent him a nod from above, then gave her a quick nod in response, before turning to engage the hurlock rushing towards him from the side.

As Everil was preparing another arrow, she heard a growl behind her. She quickly whirled around, with just enough time to drop the bow and pull out Elethea to block an attack. She gritted her teeth as it tried to overpower her, its hoarse laughter chilling her. This one was fully armored, with steel pieces seeming to have been carelessly put together. The edges were jagged and sharp, giving the hurlock an angry appearance. A helmet covered its face, but she could still see the row of sharp teeth dripping with drool and stained with grime. Her heart raced as she set her jaw and parried its axe, driving it into the dirt. It growled loudly, angrily plucking its weapon from the ground as Everil ran at it, swinging her sword. It blocked with the hilt of its weapon and shoved against her, making her stumble back. She saw it swing, crouched to dodge, and propelled herself forward, burying her dagger into its side. It screeched in pain, swinging at her with its fist as she dodged. Then she cried out, lunging forth and driving her sword into its face.

Everil didn't have time to celebrate though, as the genlock she had been aiming at before the hurlock interrupted was still standing. She ran towards it, running low as an arrow zipped past her head. Her blade found its neck, coming in with enough momentum to sever its head. Immediately after, she spotted another on a tree branch preparing an arrow, aiming it towards Daveth, who was busy dispatching another hurlock. She rolled, took the dead genlock's bow, and while on one knee, quickly fired, hitting the mark. The archer dropped, landing in a heap on the ground below.

Daveth looked up in time to see the arrow hit and the genlock fall and turned his gaze towards the source. He watched as she stood, with blood splatters all over her, and instantly regretted all he said about her.

A hurlock rushed her, raising its hammer.

He took a step. "Look out!"

Everil was ready to turn and attack, but someone hit it first, sending it stumbling back. Ser Jory stood behind her, drawing back his fist before he brought his great sword down in one powerful swing. It cut right through the darkspawn, slicing its torso open as if it were made of warm butter.

She gave him a nod. "Thanks."

Alistair wiped darkspawn blood and sweat off his cheek with the back of his hand, his eyes surveying his charges. Ser Jory seemed unhurt, Daveth appeared to be in one piece as well, while Everil was walking towards him, also unharmed. His shoulders relaxed. They'd survived their very first encounter.

"So those were darkspawn," she muttered.

"Aren't they lovely?" He smiled at her while putting away his sword. "I'm glad to have finally introduced them to you."

"Yes... I will remember this day for the rest of my life," she half-joked, running her fingers through her blood-stained hair and grimacing in disgust at the stench.

"I'm sure you will." Alistair pulled a few vials from his side pack. "Here. We should collect the darkspawn blood now."

"Right." She took a vial from his hand as the others approached them.

They arrived at the ruins of a tower, which seemed to have fallen apart over centuries of neglect. Roots and vines winded through nooks and crannies, forcing their way through the stone and creating wide cracks that ran up what was left of the walls. Silence was its only resident, disrupted only by their echoing footsteps as they carefully explored the crumbling remains.

"So this is the Grey Warden tower in the wilds? Don't look like one much anymore," Daveth commented, looking around at the rubble.

"It was abandoned centuries ago. Too remote and dangerous to maintain," Alistair said as he climbed up some broken steps, followed closely by the others before they entered an open room.

"Dangerous is a good word," Ser Jory added, promptly kicking a rock and turning it over.

Everil stepped closer to the Grey Warden, searching the area with her eyes. "What makes you think these scrolls are still here?"

"Duncan said they were magically sealed in a chest so only a Warden could open it. It should be close by…"

"I found it!" Jory raised a hand to them from a far corner in the ruins. They jogged towards him, stopping to cast their eyes down at a broken old trunk. It was cracked wide open and left easily accessible.

"So much for those seals…" Everil muttered while kneeling to search inside, and after a moment, a troubled look dawned upon her. "Uhm…"

"What's wrong?" Alistair asked as he knelt next to her, picking up parts of the chest and releasing a disappointed groan. "Oh, damn it… They were stolen!"

"Well, well... What have we here?"

All heads shot up in alert, their surprised stares landing on a woman who was casually standing on the floor above them. The strange girl cast cat-like, yellow eyes upon them, observing their every move with both curiosity and mistrust. Then she slowly made her way down the nearby steps, running delicate fingers along the stone railing as she went. "Intruders… Or perhaps scavengers?" she said in a sultry voice, reaching the lower level and taking two careful steps towards them. "Scurrying about these darkspawn filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey..."

Everil rose to her feet and turned to face her, gaze narrowing at the new arrival. She had an almost unnatural beauty about her. With pale, flawless skin and silky midnight hair, which was gathered into a bun. A single beauty mark lay upon her left cheek, resting just above full lips that were painted purple, the shade matching the magenta powder coloring her eyelids. Scraps of violet fabric hung over a delicate torso, barely covering her breasts and leaving close to nothing to the imagination. Long legs were clad in fitted trousers and a skirt, all made up of different straps of worn, black leather. A staff was also strapped to her back, a clear sign she also carried magical talents.

"What say you, hmm?" The mage folded her arms, regarding Everil and ignoring the rest. "Scavenger or intruder?"

"Neither." She cast a defiant glare on her. "We're Grey Wardens and this tower once belonged to us."

"'Tis a tower no longer. The Wilds have obviously claimed this desiccated corpse," said the woman before she began to walk past them, moving with the grace and elegance of a feline. "I have watched your progress for some time. 'Where do they go?' I wondered. 'Why are they here?' Now, you disturb ashes none have touched for so long..." She spun to face them, inquisitively tilting her head. "Why is that?"

"Don't answer her," Alistair said while cautiously eyeing the girl. "She looks Chasind and that means others may be nearby."

"Oh?" The mage shot him an annoyed look, regarding the Warden with disdain. "You fear barbarians would—" She waved her arms for emphasis. "—swoop down upon you?"

"Yes…" he muttered awkwardly. "Swooping is bad..."

Beside them, Daveth fidgeted anxiously on his feet. "She's… She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is. She'll turn us all into toads!"

"Witch of the Wilds..." echoed the mage as an amused smirk spread upon her face. "Such idle fancies those legends. Have you no minds of your own?" She shifted her attention back to the only girl in their group. "You there. Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."

Everil's gaze met hers once more while she remained unafraid and unintimidated by the woman's stare. If she had what they sought, it would do them no good to be rude. "My name is Everil. A pleasure to meet you."

"Now, that is a proper civil greeting. Even here in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan." She smiled at her, crossing both arms. "Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest? Something that is here no longer?"

"Here no longer? You took them didn't you?" Alistair accused, glaring at her. "You're some kind of… sneaky… witch-thief!"

Morrigan lifted a pointed nose at him. "How very eloquent… How does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily it seems..." His eyes turned to slits. "Those documents are Grey Warden property and I suggest you return them."

That earned him a dirty look. "I will not for 'twas not I who removed them! Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer, if you wish. I am not threatened."

"Our apologies," Everil interjected softly. "We're weary and wish to leave the Wilds. It's possible those scrolls can help us fight the Blight, so we need to recover them at any cost. Do you know who took them?"

Morrigan paused for a moment, relaxing her posture. "'Twas my mother, in fact…"

"Can you please take us to her?"

"Now, there is a sensible request." She chuckled lightly, then gave her an approving smile. "I like you…"

"I'd be careful…" warned Alistair. "First it's 'I like you', but then 'zap!' Frog time."

Morrigan ignored him, still regarding her as a sinister grin spread over her lips. "I shall take you to my home then. But first, a word of caution to your cowering companions... Try anything foolish, and you risk being turned into a pile of burning corpses." She spun around and began to walk. Everil followed, gaze trained upon her back as the men cautiously trailed behind her.

They were led deeper into the Wilds, through the brush, and over swampy pools as cattail grasses swayed in the light, musky breeze. Silence once again hung over them as the mage trekked quietly ahead of them, her steps confident and sure as if she knew the woods like the back of her hand. It seemed she even belonged in this place, her appearance matching perfectly with the untamed nature surrounding her. They walked for an hour or so, the light from the low-hanging sun slowly fading, blocked by the thickening canopy. Feeling eyes upon them, Everil craned her head up to the bony branches hovering over them, their fingers reaching down to them from above. With a subtle frown, she returned her gaze to the strange girl, the uncomfortable sensation lingering in the back of her mind.

A rickety, old hut eventually emerged from behind the foliage, the shadows cast upon it by the trees giving it an eerie, sinister feel. The temperature around them seemed to drop as they grew nearer while not a single noise could be heard from the woods around them. An old hag with short, gray hair and dressed in rags was cooking over a fire just outside the hut, kneeling beside the flames while churning a bubbling stew. Sensing their approach, she gazed up from her task and stood, scrutinizing the group of strangers through cat-like eyes that mirrored those of their guide.

"Mother," Morrigan called, stepping towards her. "I bring before you four Grey Wardens who—"

"I see them, girl," she interrupted, voice withered by age. Her chapped lips curled into an unsettling smile when she regarded Everil, the foremost member of the party. "I take it you came to the Wilds in search of the old scrolls. Your Warden Commander is wise to seek them out. They may yet prove useful in the coming days."

"How do you know all this? We haven't even mentioned what we're here for," Alistair questioned with suspicion, standing just a step behind their female companion.

And she laughed, releasing a frightening cackle that sent shivers down their spines. "What else could it be, boy?" she said with a dark smile. "I doubt you were sent out here to fight the darkspawn horde on your own."

"Fair point..." he muttered stiffly.

Pale from fear, Daveth spoke quietly to Jory, yet not quietly enough. "She's the dreaded Witch of the Wilds, she is… We shouldn't be talking to her!"

"Quiet Daveth!" Ser Jory shot back at the man, visibly nervous himself. "If she really is the Witch of the Wilds, do you want to make her mad?"

"There's a smart lad..." the hag told the men, yellow teeth showing through a wicked grin. Then she brought a curious gaze back to Everil. "And what of you? Does your woman's mind give you a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as these boys do?"

"I am no fool if that's what you're asking..." Everil answered, folding her arms with a cautious stare. There was obviously more to her than just a frail, old lady. She could feel it in the air around them and deep inside her gut. Whoever this was, she wasn't someone to be trifled with.

"Well, if you must protest so quickly, then perhaps I need not ask." The old bat cackled again, throwing her head back in mirth before her penetrating stare again met hers. A smirk spread upon her wrinkled face, her tone carrying an ominous tune. "But who knows…? Am I perhaps that which you fear? I may even be something more. Your minds will wonder even as you leave this place."

The daughter rolled her eyes, weary of her antics. "They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother. We should give them what they came for so they can be on their way."

"Oh yes, the treaties... The old treaties." The old woman moved to the hut and stepped in. They could hear her muttering to herself as she shuffled about the house before emerging with a small bundle of scrolls in her quivering hands—all wrapped neatly in a clean cloth.

"Here." She handed them to Everil, who gingerly took them. "Your precious seal wore out long ago. I have protected these."

"Thank you for returning them," she said, offering her a grateful smile.

The hag chuckled at this. "Such manners… Always in the last place you look. Like stockings!"

Everil didn't respond, giving her an odd look.

"Oh, do not mind me…" Another cackle escaped her. "You have what you came for."

"Yes." Morrigan gave a dismissive smile. "'Tis time for you to go now."

Her mother gazed sternly at her. "Do not be ridiculous, girl. These are your guests. We must see them to the door, as any good hosts would."

She sighed before speaking in a dry tone. "Very well… I shall see you out of the woods. Follow me."

Still unsure, Everil glanced at the old woman one last time, then she and the men once again followed Morrigan as she let them away. They headed for the edge of the woods, leaving the hag behind as the old woman watched their retreating forms disappear behind the foliage. And none of them witnessed the glint in her eyes nor the wicked smirk dawning upon her withered face.

With a tired breath, King Cailan leaned back against his chair, eyes tracing the elegant words on the paper in his hand. It was a letter from the Empress of Orlais, agreeing to work together to defeat the Blight. To say Loghain disliked the idea was a monumental understatement and the man had more than one valid reason for going against the decision. It had been over thirty years since his father took Ferelden back from Orlais. Too short a time when compared to the hundred years of suffering their people had to endure under their rule. Still, seeking the opportunity to make peace and gain allies was important. And they needed help now, regardless of the past.

The flap to his tent flew open, revealing the aforementioned man. Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir stalked towards him on confident steps, blue eyes as hard as the steel plates he wore. Long, black hair was braided in places, framing his pale, battle-worn features. A sword and shield were strapped to his back, weapons he'd already used to down several darkspawn in the field.

"The scouts say the horde is on its way here," Loghain announced in a stern voice, coming to stand before his desk. "They will arrive on schedule."

"Good… Lothering is not far from here. It's imperative we stop those creatures here, or it will be the first village to fall against them." Cailan stood, walking towards the bottle of wine sitting on a small table beside his desk.

"Agreed. Teyrn Cousland's men have helped thin their numbers, but they are returning with many casualties. I still doubt this is a true Blight, but we mustn't underestimate them."

The king nodded, taking a drink and looking over his shoulder at his father in law. "A shame he's not here to see his lineage help win the war."

"Yes… Most unfortunate."

"Once we're done here, I want us to look at what's left of our forces and turn them against Howe for his actions." Cailan set down his cup while moving to face him.

"Should we not let the Landsmeet handle these matters, Your Highness?" Loghain's stare followed him as he sat back down.

"I had called upon his forces for aid, and instead of complying, he takes it upon himself to use them against one of my teyrns. I would say that goes beyond the nobility's justice, at this point." He leaned forth, resting his chin in one hand while giving him a humorless smile. "Besides, I made a promise to Bryce's daughter. And regardless of your opinion of me, I take my promises seriously."

"I do not question your ability to keep your word, sire… Only your judgment." Loghain held an irritated expression on his face. "Especially when it comes to my daughter."

His eyebrows furrowed. "Huh?"

"Anora has told me of your… problems." He reached down, picking up his quilt and twirling it between his fingers as he spoke. "She believes you are unable to produce an heir. Which is why you've yet to have children after so long. And so she is concerned over her future and that of the throne."

"Great… I do everything she wants, and still, she comes to you with such nonsense." Cailan released a heavy sigh, then met the teyrn's hard gaze.

"Nonsense? Without an heir, Ferelden may have no ruler after you. Perhaps you should consider other options."

"I should consider...? How can you be so sure I'm the problem here?" Cailan arched a brow. "My wife has already taken other men to her chambers behind my back and has produced none either."

Loghain slammed a hand down. "How dare you accuse her of such a thing!"

"Not a mere accusation! Not when the entire castle staff whispers of it every time they think I'm not listening." He sighed in irritation, shaking his head. "Look, I'm not about to discuss this issue with you, Loghain. The problems between Anora and myself are ours and ours alone. So I suggest you stay out of them."

He remained silent, sharp eyes still upon him.

"Now, if you have nothing else…" Cailan gestured to the tent's door. "I have business to attend to."

"Yes, Your Majesty." He bowed stiffly, glancing over the desk. His scowl deepened upon seeing the letters over it, but he said nothing, turning to walk away. Another man walked in just as he was leaving. This time it was Elric Maraigne, Cailan's confidant and one of the men in charge of guarding him. He gave the passing Loghain a curt bow, one that went ignored as the teyrn reached the doorway and roughly opened the flap.

"Did I interrupt, my liege?" He turned to Cailan. "I am terribly—"

"Nothing of the sort." The king's face lit up with a smile. "Loghain's just doing what he does best. Argue with me." He stood and walked to the door, lifting the flap just enough to say something to his guard before securing it. Then he motioned for him to follow. "Elric, what do you think of the war so far? Have you heard anything we don't already know?" he asked quietly, gesturing to a wooden chair nearby.

The old man sat as instructed. "I… Overheard the Grey Wardens were concerned about the sheer number of darkspawn coming our way. They don't have high hopes for tomorrow's battle."

"I see…" He didn't seem surprised. "Elric, you are the one person I trust most. And there's something I must ask of you… Something very important."

The servant regarded his young king with concern. "Of course, Your Majesty."

Cailan reached into his collar, producing a thin chain out from under his armor and pulling it over his head. Elric watched quietly as he took the letters he'd been reading and folded them neatly, only to put them in a large steel trunk nearby. He reached for the sword at his hip, unsheathing it and placing it inside before closing the chest and locking it with the key.

"Your Majesty?" Elric's grey brows formed a frown as the king stepped to his desk and took a seat.

"This may sound odd to you…" He smiled at the older man while offering the key. "But I want you to keep this."

Elric took it with a confused expression. "What do you need me to do with it, Your Highness?"

The king's smile slowly faded into a somber look. "Keep it hidden from everyone for now. No one but you should know of it. If… If we fail to defeat the darkspawn tomorrow, I want you to seek out Grey Warden Alistair and deliver it to him directly."

"Grey Warden Alistair…" Elric echoed softly while slowly sliding on the chain. He couldn't quite understand what was happening, but the conversation made his chest feel heavy with dread.

"If I die, the contents of that chest may help save Ferelden," Cailan uttered as he looked down at his hands, lacing his fingers together. "And he… He will be the best man suited to undertake that responsibility."

"But, King Cailan… I thought you said victory was certain." Elric clutched the key, his knuckles turning white. He had known the young prince since he was but a child, their relationship being more than that of a servant and his lord. He dared say he was even like a son to him, especially after King Maric passed away.

Cailan simply smiled once more. "Go see how the soldiers are doing. I want to make sure they're prepared."

"Yes, my liege…" Elric rose to his feet and bowed to him with a troubled stare. Heart heavy in his chest, he turned on his heel and walked to the door, one hand covering the spot where the key now lay hidden under his armor.