CHAPTER 20

..x..

The arl's chambers were already open when they arrived, the sound of quiet conversation drifting from within and into their ears. Alistair hesitated a few steps away, pausing stiffly. He hadn't seen the arl since childhood, and although he was worried about his condition, a part of him dreaded seeing him again. What if he resented him after all the angry words he spat at him? What if he wouldn't want to talk to him after all the times he'd thrown his kindness back at his face?

"It will be all right," Everil reassured him quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder before entering the room.

He released a breath, trying to calm his nerves while following her inside. What was important now was knowing if he was well again, for his sake and that of Ferelden's. His own worries were dead last in their list of priorities.

A sizable fireplace burned at a corner of the spacious bedroom, warming the area. Next to it, was a large window leading to a balcony outside, its crimson curtains flowing elegantly with the breeze. Furs were laid over the ground, while an expertly carved wooden wardrobe and a dresser were set against the walls. Some bookshelves and two chairs made up a sitting area off to the side. While in another corner was a cast iron bathtub, empty and nearly hidden by the wooden screen separating it from the rest of the chamber.

Teagan was standing grimly by his older brother's four-poster bed and Isolde sat at the edge, a hand gently stroking her husband's gray hair while the First Enchanter examined him.

"There is no longer magic involved, but the arl remains comatose," Irvin said with a shake of his head, turning to the Wardens. "I cannot do anything more for him. I am sorry."

"I see…" Everil sighed in disappointment. "Thank you for trying. Your help against the demon is still greatly appreciated."

Alistair closed his hands into fists, eyeing Eamon's still form from afar.

"It was our privilege to lend you aid." The old man gave them a subtle tilt of the head. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we should return to the Circle. We have much to rebuild before we face the Blight."

"Irvin… I have a request." Wynne stepped forth towards the sage. "I would like to remain with the Grey Wardens. I believe they may need my assistance during their travels."

Both Alistair and Everil sent them surprised stares.

Irvin gave her a conflicted look. "Wynne, the Circle needs you."

"The Circle will be fine without me. The Circle has you." She smiled gently, kindness in her blue eyes "And I can still help by battling the Blight from here. Why remain in the Circle, when I can be of better use elsewhere?"

"But this could prove too dangerous... Are you sure?"

She nodded. "I lived a good life. If I perish in battle next to the Grey Wardens, then my death would be an honorable one. I have no fear."

"Then if this is what you wish, you have my leave to stay and help the Grey Wardens." He gently placed a hand over her shoulder. "Just know the Circle will always be your home, should you ever decide to return."

Everil offered her a handshake. "Thank you, Wynne. We'll definitely appreciate the assistance of such an experienced mage."

She shook her hand. "Of course. I am happy to serve."

"What about Jowan?" Everil asked the First Enchanter, noticing his absence. "Will you be taking him with you?"

"While he was once one of ours, he is a criminal here. He has been returned to his cell by the bann and it is up to the arl and his family to decide his fate. If he is sent to us by him, then we will do what is necessary to ensure he is punished for his crimes."

She pressed her lips into a line. He had tried to seek repentance by helping them, but those he wronged may not be as forgiving as she was. "I understand... I wish you safe travels."

"Same to you. Be careful out there and do not hesitate to seek us out, should you need us again."

With their task done, the sage gathered left the arl's quarters, his mages trailing behind him. Wynne followed them to finish saying her goodbyes and to gather her things from their carriage.

Once the mages were gone, Teagan stepped around the bed, approaching them. "It appears we'll need to find another way to help my brother."

"But how?" asked Alistair, frowning in worry. "Whatever that demon did to him clearly can't be cured by conventional means."

"The Urn of Sacred Ashes…"

They all cast their eyes on Isolde, who remained sitting by her husband's side. "The Urn will surely help Eamon."

"Do you mean the urn that holds Andraste's ashes?" Everil inquired, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes," Isolde rose from the mattress, taking a piece of paper from her belt and handing it to her. "The ashes are said to hold miraculous healing properties. Surely they can heal my husband."

"I thought that was just a legend..." She read over the document. "What is this?"

"It is the address to Brother Genitivy's home, my contact in Denerim. He believed he was close to finding it so I sent a few of our knights to search for it when Eamon fell ill. Some of them didn't return, however. And those who did were searching through other paths that led nowhere." She clasped her hands together, giving her a hopeful look. "It has been weeks since I last heard from Genitivy, so he may have new information on its location."

"Is this the only option we have?" Everil asked, unsure about their odds.

"It is the only one I know of. I am aware that you have already done much for us, but Eamon—"

"We'll do it."

All heads turned to Alistair.

"We'll find the Urn and save Arl Eamon," he said with an unwavering tone.

"Really?" Isolde took a step, gazing between him and his fellow Warden.

Her question seemed to cause doubt in him, his expectant eyes going to his friend as if waiting for confirmation. Everil couldn't quite understand why he was always so hesitant to make decisions, but she would help him nonetheless. So she rested both hands on her hips and answered sternly, "If Alistair wishes to go searching for it, then that's what we'll do. We can travel to Denerim and start there."

That earned her a slightly surprised stare from him and a grateful smile from Isolde. "Oh, thank you!" she chimed with great relief. "Thank you both so much!"

"Then it is settled. We at least have some form of plan in place." Tegan solemnly regarded both Wardens. "Though, while I know Eamon needs the Urn as soon as possible, I suggest you spend the night here. We'll be holding a ceremony first thing tomorrow… For those we lost during this tragedy. I'm sure the remaining villagers would appreciate the presence of those who saved their lives."

"Yes," Everil agreed. "We are in need of rest anyway, so we appreciate your hospitality."

"Of course. You and your friends may sleep in the vacant rooms you saw on your way here," he approached her, gently patting her arm before gazing towards Alistair. "However, before you retire for the day, there is something I must speak with Alistair about. If you don't mind me borrowing him."

He browned in puzzlement. "Me? Why me?"

"It's important and I fear it must be in private. Can you come with me, please?"

Alistair glanced towards her with hesitation, unsure of what to do. But she put on an encouraging grin, urging him on. "Go on. It's all right."

He awkwardly rubbed the side of his neck. "Then I guess I'll see you later."

Everil watched him go with the bann into the hall, their footsteps steadily growing distant. She wondered why Teagan had chosen to leave her out of the conversation. But figured that if it was important enough for her to know, Alistair would tell her regardless. There were things she had to do anyway, though it would be strange not to have him with her this time.

"He has calmed down much," Isolde commented quietly.

The Warden shifted her attention to her. "Do you mean Alistair?"

She nodded, biting her lip guiltily. "He used to be so rebellious when he was a child. I do not blame him, however. It was my fault he acted that way. I made his life so difficult…"

"So I heard…" Everil sighed, folding her arms. "But he doesn't begrudge you for it. There's no need to dwell on it now."

"Yes. I suppose there is not much I can do for him at this point."

"No, there isn't."

"I… I can see the two of you are close, so at least he's no longer alone." Isolde smiled at her and headed for the door. "I must go check on my son. Please make yourselves at home. It's the least we can do for you."

"Thanks…" Everil watched her leave and a soft breath escaped her as she made to follow. A light sparkle caught the corner of her eyes and she halted mid-step, curiously gazing towards it. It was a piece of jewelry, sitting over the nightstand next to the bed as it glimmered with the light of the fireplace. She etched near it and carefully picked it up, observing it with a hint of surprise. "Could this be…"

The silver pendant had the symbol of Andraste engraved on it, with a medium-sized sapphire gem set upon its center. Both the gem and the delicate metal seemed to have cracks over them. As if they were broken in the past, but were somehow fused back together. She blinked and shifted her eyes to the arl. "You fixed it, didn't you? You fixed it and kept it safe for him."

As expected, there was no response from him, but his gesture spoke volumes about how much he had truly cared. Everil took the pendant and stashed it in her bag, a warm smile spreading over her lips. "I'll return it to him for you... And when you wake up, you can speak to him again. I promise," she swore and spun around to stride out of the room, leaving the arl alone in his deep slumber.

.x.x.x.x.

A great oak door to the study opened before Teagan walked in, Alistair entering after him. The bann picked up the flint from the small table nearby, then approached a half-melted candle sitting atop the desk in the center of the room. He lit it, the flame illuminating the study along with the vast collection of books and maps lining the walls. While Alistair wistfully scanned the place, memories flooding his mind while he gently shut the door.

"I had heard of the young Cousland's beauty and talent at social gatherings before, but now I find the rumors did not do her justice," Teagan commented with a chuckle while stepping around the desk, briefly glancing his way before searching for something along the shelves. "You are a fortunate man. Even I would gladly follow her to battle if she asked."

Alistair smiled sheepishly, nervously scratching the back of his head. "She's a good leader... Worthy of admiration."

Teagan sent him a knowing smile. "Yes. Of course."

"Are you…" He cleared his throat. "Are you interested in her, Bann Teagan?"

The bann paused in his search, staring at him with light surprise. He released an amused chuckle. "Would it bother you if I were?"

"I..." Alistair's jaw locked and his eyebrows knitted, his hesitant gaze dropping to the floor.

Teagan hopelessly shook his head at him. "My intentions towards her shouldn't matter to you, Alistair. If you like her... If you care for her. Then acknowledge it and act upon it." He returned to his search, still speaking to the young man. "You should know by now that time is fleeting... You mustn't waste it with your self-doubt."

Alistair sighed helplessly. This man hadn't seen him since he was ten. Was he that easy to read?

"Oh, here it is…" Teagan pulled a large scroll from one of the shelves and unrolled it over the desk, revealing a complete map of Ferelden. He pulled the candle closer and then rested his hands at either side of the paper, looking it over. "I brought you here to tell you that one of my messengers returned with news from Denerim—shortly after you and your friends left for the Circle of Magi. What he said was… troubling. Things are getting worse in the royal capital."

"What's happening?" He stepped closer.

"Loghain has declared himself Queen Anora's regent. He has been trying to unify us under his banner in order to fight what he claims is not a Blight, but only a 'large darkspawn raid'. But after what happened in Ostagar, the bannorn is enraged. They're demanding justice for my nephew and for Loghain to step down from the throne." Teagan grimaced as if he'd eaten something sour, his distaste for the former war hero showing in his tone. "Of course, he refuses to comply with our demands."

"Don't tell me a civil war is about to break out..."

"I'm afraid it already has," he said somberly.

"Great…" Alistair smiled wryly. "As if Ferelden didn't have enough problems with the Blight."

The bann pointed to locations on the map. "The battles are mostly taking place in the open fields to the north. Near here, and here... So you and Lady Everil will need to be mindful of this on your way to Denerim, to avoid running into the conflict." He gazed up at him with concern. "Another thing you need to be aware of is that Loghain knows you two are alive and has placed a bounty on your heads. You may want to avoid announcing yourselves as Grey Wardens while you're there."

"Good to know. Though I expected that." Alistair frowned, regarding him curiously. "Why is it that Everil couldn't join us? She sort of needs to know all this too, you know."

There was a pause. "Does she know about your parentage?"

"Uhm…" He nodded awkwardly at the question. "Yes... I told her. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Sooner or later... we will need to bring order to Ferelden's political turmoil. Which is truly what I wanted to speak with you about." Teagan breathed through his nose, tension over his shoulders. This wasn't an easy topic. "If—or when—Loghain is forced to step down, the throne will remain vacant and you—"

"No."

A stunned look fell over him.

Alistair nervously met his gaze. "Sorry, but I have no interest in the throne. Never have, never will."

"But, Alistair—"

"As a matter of fact, I think I would do a terrible job at it," he interrupted again, smiling anxiously. "Arl Eamon's the late queen's brother. He would be better qualified."

"What if Eamon never wakes up? What if the Landsmeet doesn't agree to his rule?" Teagan pressed further. "You must think of these things, even if you dislike the idea."

His spine ran cold and he swallowed at the possibility, what remained of his courage shattering into a million pieces. "Then find someone else," he quickly insisted, stubbornly defiant. "Or better yet, why don't you take the crown? You're Cailan's uncle too. I'm sure no one would argue if you stepped up to it."

"Andraste's mercy…" Teagan huffed, shaking his head in disapproval. "I must say… I thought you had grown into a sensible man. I am relieved that my brother isn't here to hear you speak so shamefully. So cowardly."

"What..?" Alistair whispered, eyes wide in numb disbelief. "What did you say?"

The bann sternly folded his arms, as if scolding a child. "You heard what I said. I'm disappointed in you."

"Oh, but that is rich…" A humorless chuckle escaped him as he turned away, resting a hand on his hip. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he drew in a breath and released it, trying in vain to calm the indignation that quickly rose within him.

Teagan waited, silently watching him.

"How dare you…?" Alistair spun to face him, pinning him with a resentful glare. "How dare you try to shame me? You know I wasn't brought up to be king. The very notion of it was forcibly kept out of me along with any hope of ever having anything of my father's—not his love, not his affection, not even his regard for my pathetic existence." He slammed his hands against the desk, anger and pain in his eyes. "I was cast out, forgotten, and ignored by him and everyone else! You can't just expect me to forget everything I've been through, everything I was denied because of who my father was—how much I hate the way it shaped my entire life!"

Teagan eyed him with sympathy. He had been there when it happened. When Eamon was given a baby to raise and hide from the public eye. And he had heard years later of his brother's decision to send him away, practically at his young wife's behest. "I know, Alistair…" he said calmly, raising a hand while trying to appease him. "But regardless of your wants, you must understand that this is not something you can run away from. This is your burden to carry whether you like it or not, and you must be willing to make sacrifices."

"I'm a Grey Warden, Teagan. I lost the only family I had when my brothers died in Ostagar. And I'm prepared to die fighting for Ferelden and for the rest of humanity. So trust me, I know all about burden and sacrifice," Alistair replied bitterly, hands closed into fists. "And yes, I can't run away from my blood… but you also can't force me to accept it. No one can," he muttered, then whirled around, stalking to the door.

"Alistair—"

"We're done here." He slammed the door behind him, leaving a perplexed Teagan behind.

.x.x.x.x.

The village appeared to be in lighter spirits, in spite of the grim looks on their faces. They had already heard of their success against the demon that once occupied the castle. Now, they focused on dressing the dead for their funeral, laying the bodies in neat rows by the lakeshore as the fishermen built small boats to be used as their caskets. If the impending darkspawn invasion were not threatening the rest of Ferelden, Everil would be pleased to say they had nothing more to fear.

Sten and her hound followed her down the cliffside to the village below while she surveyed the damage caused by the last battle they held outside. Some villagers waved at her as they passed them by, others giving Sten fearful stared. She inwardly chuckled at their reaction. It was probably strange to them to see a qunari walking around. Most common folk didn't even know they existed or how they looked like.

The titanic man didn't make it any easier, however, his stoic expression and stiff posture were not exactly inviting. He hardly ever talked and often responded to queries with curt remarks, grunts, or groans. As if the action of involving himself in any kind of social interaction with her or anyone else were the very definition of torture. But one good thing she could say was that whenever she gave an order, he followed it without question. She figured perhaps it was the military training instilled in him. Or he probably felt he owed her for releasing him from the cage where he would have inevitably become darkspawn chow.

Regardless, Everil wanted to keep her promise to him. So she led them to where the villagers told her Dwyn's shack would be located.

She reached up and knocked.

No response.

She sighed, before knocking again. "Dwyn, are you in there? I'm the Grey Warden who helped in the fight against the undead. I have something to discuss with you."

"Scram Warden," he grumbled from within. "I did my good deed against those things. I ain't helping clean up any dead."

"We're not here for that. Now, please open the door."

The sound of a lock turning on the other side of the door reached her ears, seeing it open as Dwyn's grumpy face poked out from around it.

"What do you—!" He quickly gazed up, craning his head up to the point he almost fell over, eyes widening as they met Sten's cold stare.

She pointed a thumb towards Sten. "You may have something my friend here needs. We're searching for a blade that is likely four times as tall as you are."

He scoffed. "Well, I don't have it."

"A man in Lake Calenhad says otherwise, Dwyn."

Dwyn gulped, brows meeting at the bridge of his plump nose. "I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"So you want to be difficult…" Everil turned to Sten and gestured to the dwarf with her head. "Sten, show him what a qunari can do."

Sten took a step, drew back his fist, and thrust forth, punching the door off the hinges and sending it flying back, nearly taking the dwarf out along with it. Dwyn's eyes trailed towards it in astonishment, fear slowly beginning to settle in.

"If you don't want him to do the same to your miserable mug, you might want to start telling us the truth," Everil said calmly, staring him down.

"Fine, fine!" He stiffly waved her off, turning away to walk back into his shack. "Yes, I did own an unusually large blade at one point. But I no longer have it."

She scowled at the news. "All right, where is it?"

"I sold it to a dwarf who also sells goods in Orzammar. He sounded like he was interested in keeping it, so he may still have it. You'll find him on the surface, by the city gates."

"Orzammar…" she repeated thoughtfully and craned her head up to Sten. "That's the dwarven kingdom, northwest from here. I can't tell you when exactly, but we will be traveling there to ask the dwarves for help against the Blight. Can you wait until then?"

"I would prefer to obtain my sword sooner, but I will do what you think is necessary," he replied stiffly.

"Thank you," she smiled up at him, then sent Dwyn a smug grin. "Thanks for telling us. Have a nice rest of your day."

"Yeah, yeah…" the dwarf huffed and watched them leave, relieved at not having to talk to her anymore. He grumbled obscenities as he reached down to pick up his door.

As they descended the wooden planks from Dwyn's house, Everil reached into her side pouch, pulling out a small bag that jingled with the sound of coins. She opened it and gave the contents a quick look. "While we're down here, we might as well stock up on supplies for the next trip. I need more arrows…"

"You make no sense to me."

"What?" She stopped and blinked at him.

"You make no sense. Women fighting is... wrong. Women are usually priests or cooks, they do not fight." He scrutinized her critically, his seemingly permanent scowl deepening.

Everil had heard things like this before about her gender, but the way he said it sounded as if her ability to fight was just not supposed to exist. She gave him a quizzical stare. "Is that how it is for your people?"

"Yes."

"Does that mean you don't choose your own paths in life?"

He grunted irritably. "There is no 'path'. One is born as one is. You cannot choose to be an elf, human, or... dwarf. You cannot choose the talents you receive upon your birth. As you stand now, I see it is impossible for you to be a woman."

She raised a brow. "What? I can't be a woman because I fight?"

"Yes. Which is what puzzles me. What are you?"

Everil released a stream of laughter that produced yet another confused look from her hulking companion. She wasn't trying to insult the man, but she imagined his point of view on things likely made Ferelden out to be some strange world he could never hope to comprehend.

"I'm still a woman, Sten. In Ferelden you have the choice to follow your own ambitions. For example…" Her hand gestured to one of the fishermen currently putting together a net. "That man can choose to serve the arl as a soldier if he wants to, or he can remain a fisherman. Just like I can choose to be a warrior even if I am a woman."

"No… Becoming a soldier would just make him a fisherman turned soldier," he replied, looking down at her as if she were stupid. "Why carry more weight upon your back as turtles carry their shells? You could fall over and never get back up, as they do."

She shrugged a shoulder. "The way I see it, the shell makes the turtle stronger. Without it, they are defenseless against life's many challenges. We are the same. We choose to do more because it's what makes us more successful as both individuals and a society. We carry our shells to protect ourselves and our families, as well as to help others carry theirs."

Her response made his brows go up. "Hmph… perhaps."

Everil chortled and continued walking. "Come on. We should hurry before night falls."

He released an agreeable grunt and they headed to one of the stores in the village, the sun hanging low in the sky.