Chapter 34

The guard dropped first to his knees, then on his face, his throat ripped clean out. Aedan was on his way before he'd even stopped twitching. There was no point in wasting time. The cover of night would only last for so long.

As soon as he rounded the bend, he came face to face with what he hoped was the last of Howe's guards. The man, startled, fumbled with his sword belt and opened his mouth to shout something. Aedan stabbed the man in the throat. Instantly, instinctively. He buried the blade and jerked it left. Sever the windpipe. Keep him quiet. Not that it mattered. Clean house, he thought as he stepped aside to avoid the fountain of blood.

Eight guards. He'd counted. Over and over. All day. Now there were eight bodies. He would leave them there. No point in hiding them. It would serve as a message to Howe directly. I'm here, asshole. And you're next.

He dropped the knife on the rapidly dying man's body and moved on, strolling through the grounds of what was once Castle Cousland.

Home.

Or whatever remained of it. The damage from the siege hadn't been repaired. The windows were still broken. The guard's barracks, the servant's quarters, the Chantry, the kitchen – everything was covered in cobwebs, rat shit and ten months worth of dust.

Ten months. He'd kept count. In the beginning, he'd thought of it every day and night. Thought about every detail. Over and over. He refused to let himself forget. Then one day before going to bed, after six months, he'd realised that he'd not thought about it all day.

That was the first time he'd cried in many, many years. Morrigan had been sympathetic. As sympathetic as she can be, he thought. The witch had been good to him. He'd tried to be good to her, too. Evidently, he'd not been good enough.

Aedan walked up the cobbled path to the main hall. The double doors were gone now, but he couldn't make out much in the dark. He didn't want to light a torch. Having come alone and without arms and armour, he didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to himself. So he placed his hands on his hips and looked up at the keep, still pointing defiantly up at the sky.

Home, he thought again. All the guards, servants, staff, his family... they'd all been buried in a mass grave outside the small Chantry within the premises. Howe'd had the decency to do that, at least.

Uncle Rendon Howe. The one who'd given him his first taste of beer. The one who'd make him sit on his knee and tell him stories. The one who'd been godfather to him and his brother.

The same one who'd laid siege to his house, killed his family, branded them traitors and taken their land.

And the one who he would kill by choking him with his own guts.

Aedan took a deep breath. Avernus' potion had made him strangely irritable. The mage had said that it was to be expected, though he said it would pass soon.

He'd said many things.

Why do you think the Grey Warden who kills an Archdemon always dies?

He'd assumed that it was because of injuries. He'd been dead wrong.

Aedan took a good long look at his surroundings. It didn't fit with what he remembered, but this was the reality. And he wanted to burn it into the back of his mind.

Home is not a place, he'd told Morrigan. Home is people. If you go back there after the people are gone, all you'll find is what there isn't any more.

Simple words. He'd not thought about how true it was. So he closed his eyes, took a final, deep breath, and turned to leave.

There was a saying. Out of sight, out of mind. Aedan knew that to be true now. For four months, he'd thought about the events of that night at Highever less and less. He didn't even remember when he'd stopped feeling guilty. For a time, despite all the shit going on around him, he'd been happy. With Lucien and Morrigan. With Alistair and Leliana and Solona. With Wynne, Sten, Zevran, Oghren and Faren.

But then a fucking Guardian Spirit had reminded him. Levi Dryden, with his honest and earnest desire to clear his family name, had reminded him. And seeing Highever from the tower of Soldier's Peak had reminded him.

Out of sight, out of mind. Wise words.

He found three more horses beside his own when he made it out. Three cloaked figures, milling about and talking amongst themselves. They looked at him. Aedan stopped in his tracks, felt his muscles tense.

"You know, when I said I wanted to visit Highever, this wasn't what I meant."

He felt his muscles relax again. Alistair, Leliana and Zevran. No threats.

The detour had been nice while it lasted.

Why do you think the Grey Warden who kills an Archdemon also dies?

But there was still work to be done.

If killed by anyone other than a Grey Warden, its soul will escape to the nearest Darkspawn. If killed by a Warden, the soul will assail that Warden's taint, destroying both souls. So don't strike the killing blow if you want to live.

"I'll give you a guided tour after the Archdemon's dead," he told Alistair with a smirk as he mounted his horse.

Home is not a place. Home is people. If you go back there after the people are gone, all you'll find is what there isn't any more.

As Alistair and Zevran bickered, as Leliana laughed to herself, Aedan glanced over his shoulder at Castle Cousland. One last time.

Mum, Dad, Fergus, Oren, Orianna... wait for me.

He dug his heels into the horse's hindquarters and took off. The cover of night would only last so long.

I'll be home soon.