Story note:

Dragon Age is property of Bioware. Original characters are mine, and are to be treated as such. If you want to adopt some of my AU changes then, please, do so.

Phew, I think I've never written a single chapter with this much dialogue. This chapter establishs a new recurring character (I hope I managed to portray her, at least, halfway decent), at least for the next few chapters, as well as return to two old ones. It'll deal with the aftermath of the rising dead at Redcliffe and Araris defence there. And there'll be a small revelation near the end. I'm sure you'll all spot it.

So, enjoy! And, as always, please leave a review and I shall be a very happy author.

EDIT: edited a bit of dialogue and corrected some typos and errors.

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In An Age Full Of Heroes

Chapter X

Prod and Pull

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Leliana blinked her eyes owlishly. Mon Dieu! Heat rose into her face, embarrassed that she'd obviously dozed off. Rubbing her eyes, she stood up. But, well, nothing had happened, from the looks of it. And, she was tired, after all. Life on the road didn't suit her as it had years ago. The Chantry of Lothering had made sure of that. Leliana, all soft edges, had to get in shape again for all this adventure and danger. Unaccustomed, she was.

She let her gaze wander towards the lone cot occupying the cramped, heated room. Leliana found herself to be fond of the privacy, if not the heat filling these four walls. Otherwise, sure and as inevitable as the passage of the wheel of time, somebody would call out her rude behaviour. Staring is, after all, rude, isn't it? Yes, it is, Leliana dear.

Notwithstanding the rudeness of her own actions, Leliana couldn't keep her eyes off the second occupant (when they're open, that is), keeping her company in these tense confines. Even though, up until now, he hadn't kept her very good company. Only a mere physical presence. More the strong, silent type. But that was to be expected. Lids shut, eyes moving franticly from time to time behind them, the tall man occupying the cot lay unconscious; Leliana couldn't expect of him to small-talk with her. But she had the inkling that he wouldn't be inclined to talk much, even if he'd be up and about. He didn't look much like the type to gossip and chatter.

Certainly, her rudeness could be forgiven, due to these unordinary circumstances. Leliana had been tasked to look out for him, after all. By Bann Teagan himself, nonetheless.

'Make sure he's alright. He's vital, if we want to restore Ferelden to a semblance of balance before all this is over,' the bann had said ominously and left to retake Castle Redcliffe, without answering all the questions ready to spew forth from her mind and lips. Always with your inquisitiveness, dear Leliana. You should stop that, it gets you in nothing but trouble. Something the Revered Mother in Lothering liked to say, her fair share of elderly wisdom and life experience.

Yet, she couldn't help it. So she'd indulged herself, answering all the question in her own mind, spinning and spanning marvellous tales and legends. That is, until Leliana arrived at a point where she felt abashed at her own actions. This man had been through death's door with one foot and she couldn't help but fawn over him and romanticise his deeds like a naïve maiden. Her past had taught her differently. Mind you, his deeds were worth to be romanticised, if only half the things people told about him were true. Nearly everyone who'd survived the latest night of horrors in the village of Redcliffe had paid him a short visit. Some touched him in veneration, others simply stood in the door staring before leaving again, without words.

Leliana herself had seen the heaps of slain walking dead at the steps of the local Chantry. They'd arrived just in time, the droves of creatures already lapping over the fallen man, scratching at the wooden doors and smashing in windows. That'd been before Edril, Alistair and all others of their merry gathering (as Leliana liked to call them) carved a bloody path through the undead and Leliana loosened arrow after arrow. Even Sten had seemed impressed at the dozens of bodies decorating the Chantry's stairs. But maybe that was just her, spinning a tale as bards and minstrels are wont to do. Could be, the hulking qunari had just grumbled something grumpy under his breath. Like he was wont to do.

Not a moment after the last of the creatures had lain at their feet, unmoving and torn flesh already cooling the doors creaked open. Bann Teagan stormed out, panic written all over his features, screaming at them to save this man. Wynne had done everything in her power, resorting to every trick, gimmick and ruse she knew about healing. And she possessed a considerable amount of them. Morrigan and Edril franticly applied every potion, salve and herb they knew of. But in the end, Wynne had to force-heal him. The rough way, she'd told them, because there existed no other. Bathing his entire body in sorcery and shutting all mortal wounds and healing all lacerated organs beneath in a few heartbeats. A miracle that the elderly healer managed to stay conscious after such an ordeal. Nonetheless, looking deathly pale, Wynne had to be carried inside just as hastily as the man she just force-healed.

Now they could only pray to the Maker for mercy.

O Maker, hear my cry:

Guide this battered soul through the blackest of nights

Steel his heart against the temptations of the wicked

Make him rest in the warmest of places

Once more at the side of kin.

Interrupting her prayer, not entirely unexpected, for he'd already done something alike a few times, the unconscious knight tossed his head from side to side, muttering incoherently. Leliana dutifully rose out of the cosy armchair she'd dozed off in and walked over to his cot, kneeling by his side.

Gently, she stroked the stray strands of damp hair out of his face. Pearls of sweat covered his brow. Leliana fished out a piece of cloth from a nearby water-filled metal bucket, winding it out. Carefully, the former lay-sister placed it onto his forehead, the sides touching his temples.

With ease, Leliana began a lullaby her foster mother, the dear Lady Cecile had often sung for her in times of nightmare and heartbreak.

Finished with the soothing song, something proved to be different this single time of tossing and turning, though. His muttering not incoherent for a few moments, Leliana bowed down, earlobe nearly touching his moving lips, she managed to make out a name.

Yavana. Now where had she heard that one before? She knew she had, but where, Leliana couldn't exactly place it right now.

Then, Leliana heard a deep rumble, her belly reverberating with the sound, grumbling.

And off she went in search for something to quench her stomach's desperate cries. All the while deep in thought. Which made her even hungrier in retrospect.

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In the small makeshift kitchen, set up right next to the Chantry larder, Leliana found not only food and drink, but also Wynne. Devouring a few slices of baked bread, stripes of dried bacon and a block of cheese. To wet her throat and ease the passage of dry food, the elderly sorcerers sipped on a cup of tea, a pot steaming nearby.

'Wynne!' Leliana nearly squealed. 'Already up and about, good! You're feeling better?'

The senior enchanter smiled at her. 'Alive, at least. Not so wobbly on my tired, old legs. But famished. Very famished, indeed.'

'I can see as much.' Grabbing a plate and packing it with as much as she could, Leliana joined Wynne. Quite similar to the mage before her, Leliana began to devour everything with terrifying efficiency.

'Tea?'

Leliana nodded eagerly. She'd been enchanted by the smell of it since she entered the makeshift kitchen. Yet, the ravaging need for food had won the battle.

Procuring a second cup, Wynne poured them both some tea, then handed Leliana hers. Somehow the bard managed to turn her attention away from food for a while and took a pondering sip of the warm beverage. It tickled her throat with the taste of sweet berries and fruits.

'Mm,' Leliana hummed, 'this is lovely.'

'I found some dried berries and pieces of skins of fruits. Couldn't let them go to waste. So tea it is, I said to myself.'

The rest of their meal they finished in silence rife with contemplation. Wynne broke it first, teacup in hand.

'Have you heard anything from Edril or Alistair?'

'Non, nothing new, at least. As far as I know, they're still trying to retake the castle with Bann Teagan. You think something's happened to them?'

Wynne put the cup down. 'Oh. Something dangerous surely has happened, otherwise there wouldn't have been all the undead. But nothing they can't handle, I'm sure.'

Leliana dipped her head. 'You're probably right and I worry needlessly.'

No, Leliana herself believed it too, if she'd be honest. Never had she witnessed anyone dance with two blades quite like Edril. And between their dalish woodland-folk leader, Alistair and his templar abilities, Fang the loyal war-hound, a towering qunari soldier and a Witch of the Wilds, Leliana was quite sure that nothing would manage to hold up for very long. Nonetheless, she couldn't but worry a bit.

'Has he already wakened once, the young man?'

Crawling out of her thoughts, she blinked at Wynne's question. The young man? Oh. Of course, the mysterious knight and saviour whom we still don't know the name of. Only Wynne would call him young man; for her everyone is young. Leliana had to control herself not to giggle, that wouldn't do.

'Non, only tossing and turning and muttering.' The bard's voice betrayed nothing of her internal amusement.

'I feared as much.'

'What do you mean?'

'Force-healing is a nasty business, Leliana. Arduous, too. And the body may heal and recover, but the mind isn't always as quick as the flesh. He'll suffer a severe psychological trauma.' Wynne stopped herself shortly, breathing in and out, before continuing, 'He could still be crippled by it, mentally. Or even die.'

Leliana felt her skin starting to heat, heart pumping faster. 'How so?'

'Well you must know that pain is mostly perceived by the mind. When you cut yourself, your brain sends signals and you'll feel the wounding of the flesh. He,' the elderly healer gestured with her head towards the unconscious knight's room, 'hasn't felt any wounding nor healing of the flesh. Which can be equally painful. It'll all crash down on him at once.'

'Maker's mercy!' Leliana mouthed. A short chant in thought followed, for his sake.

'Indeed. That's why this was my last resort. If there'd been any other way . . . or more time, I could've . . . I would've-'

Leliana put a reassuring hand on Wynne's slumped shoulders, at the moment only a stricken-looking old woman eating herself up. She gazed at Leliana and pursed her lips, then managed a timid smile as thanks.

Remembering something that would surely pique both their interest and, more importantly, distract Wynne from sulking and second-guessing herself, Leliana asked, 'Have you ever heard of someone called Yavana.'

'Hm,' Wynne grumbled.

Leliana patiently waited, sipping a sip of her lovely tea as distraction.

'Oh! Of course, another Witch of the Wilds, if memory serves me correct.' Leliana mentally face-palmed. How could she have forgotten that? A daughter of Flemeth, that's it. Meanwhile, Wynne lectured on. 'The Circle libraries contain a few books about rumours of her, I believe. A wilder witch, I'm certain, but not here in Ferelden. Somewhere up north. Antiva, I think. You'd have to ask Morrigan, maybe she knows more.'

An intrigued look crossed Wynne's motherly features. 'Why're you asking?'

That was when a wrenching scream tore through the Chantry. Both Leliana and Wynne bolted up and ran.

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The scream loosened itself. His lungs felt ripped to shreds, his entire body aflame, as if molten iron poured out of every of his skin's cracks. His stomach as if forcefully removed, thrashed and put back in, in a very wrong way. Araris thrashed around, throwing off the thin, sweaty blanket. Without second thought, he ripped off the bandages covering his chest and torso in a frenzy, one after another. Angry and twisted red scar tissue revealed, he screamed again, clutching his head at the excruciating pain pulsing through it with every waking thought. His fingers felt out another bandage, along the side of his head. They'd cut off his hair on that side for better access to the wound. His golden mane, barbarically shaved on one side!

Curse the Maker and all other gods, past or future ones. They'll pay for this. Even death they deny me, those selfish bastards!

The door to his room banged open, a woman with short, reddish hair accompanied by an elderly woman leaning on a staff charged in.

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'What have you done?!' He roared, clawing at himself, ripping off bandages. Tearing off slough from minor wounds not yet fully cicatrised, leaking blood.

He looked up at them, bright eyes sharpened with fuming anger. 'What have you done to me?! How am I alive? How!'

Leliana had to take a step back, heart tearing for this poor man. Just like Wynne expected.

Loosening another soul-wrenching scream he made to get out of the cot, one hand stretched and reaching for a small knife nearby. Whatever his intentions, none appearing in Leliana's mind seemed beneficial for anyone in the room. Before the former bard could react and faster than Leliana had ever seen her move in the short time she'd come to know Wynne, the old woman zipped forward and smacked her staff against the hurting man's head. He went down like a limp sack of meat, unconscious once more, a bruise already dawning on his pale skin.

Too astonished to even so much as utter out a single coherent word, mouth agape, eyes opened wide, Leliana stared at Wynne in shock. She, who not a short time ago, expressed deep anxiety if he'd even survive, second-guessing herself for her decision. This impersonation of kindness and motherly goodwill just clubbed a recently mortally wounded man on his head like a brutish simpleton not caring for his healing.

Meanwhile, Wynne tried to pick up the unconscious man and hoist him back onto the cot. Then she looked at Leliana for help. He might not be broad or heavily muscled, but still taller than most men, after all.

'Would you help me, dear?' Voice as kind and calm as it gets.

Still aghast, Leliana mouthed, voice a pitch higher than usual, 'Why did you do that?'

'What?' Wynne looked at Leliana searchingly. 'Oh. Smack him up the head you mean?'

'Yes!'

'I'd no power left for a halfway decent sleeping spell and he was bound to hurt himself badly. Or us. And he didn't die in the first few heartbeats. So, that's something, at least. Now, please be so kind, come over and help me.'

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Swirling shadows like curling shawls and twisting mists surrounded the small, hooded man as he sat upon a simple chair made of mottled black wood. He tapped his cane repeatedly on the onyx marble floor, trying to conceal his giggling, but failed miserably. The sound carried through the cavernous hall easily.

The radiant woman beside him frowned at his actions, then scoffed and stalked away. She huffed and muttered under her breath, livid.

Prod and pull.

Pull and prod.

The small figure giggled on, comforted by the gloom.

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Redcliffe Castle back under the control of the living and Teagan liberated of his nephew's demonic influence, thanks to the Grey Warden, the bann found himself back in familiar confines.

The Redcliffe Chantry.

Boats with the deceased had already been cast off, alight with fire. But, as sure as the dawn, another wave would follow, carrying those who'd fallen during the reclaiming of the castle to the Maker's shores. Just about to enter the room wherein Araris Cousland – his identity now revealed to Teagan, after he'd remembered him fighting in a tournament long ago – nurtured his broken body, the door creaked open.

Out came the red-haired woman, who arrived in the Grey Warden's company.

'Oh,' heavy with an Orlesian accent (though a soothing one) mouthed she, 'Bann Teagan!'

Immediately after she perked up and nailed him with question after question. Teagan answered vaguely, wanting to first speak with the last Cousland in person, but truthfully, nonetheless. Thankfully, the elderly healer interrupted at one point, just as the Orlesian woman took a breath, pausing her gust of questions.

'Leliana, dear, I'm sure Bann Teagan would like to speak with his, uh, guest, now that he's finally up again.'

Leliana, as was her name, looked embarrassed, cheeks flushed. She mischievously smiled up at him and muttered a quick apology, before both women filed out the door.

Teagan turned, and over his shoulder, 'Think nothing of it,' he placated.

Swiftly he scurried inside, locking the door behind him. Teagan procured a wooden stool and sat down upon it, elbows perched atop his knees. A hearth-fire cackled at his back, heating up the room. The moment the bann had entered, a battered and bruised Araris had sat up as much as he could, lying on the uncomfortable-looking cot. Pillow at his back, blanket down to his narrow waist.

Bandages had been recently removed, evident by the patches of lighter skin and the display of dozens of scars criss-crossing his body. Small and large, thick and thin, some from blades, others from nails or claws and yet again others from teeth.

A particularly nasty one travelled down from his left eye brow, over his temple, having chipped away a piece of his cheekbone. One side of his head shaven down to a golden stubble, an already paling scar blatant as the reason. The other side of his head, now shaven, too, obviously to uphold symmetry. Now only on top of his pate resided the former mane of hair, still flowing down long, though braided together in even intervals.

Gruesome he looked, like a hardened barbarian. Scars and haircut and all.

'You're alive. I can't believe it. The Maker must hold you in high regard, indeed.'

The last living member of the Cousland bloodline snorted. 'He'll regret that.'

Teagan furrowed his eye-brows at the younger man's words, but continued unperturbed, 'A heroic thing to do, but also foolish. You could've perished.'

'Nothing foolish about what I did.'

'It wouldn't do any Fereldan citizen any good if the last laurel withered and fell. How's that not foolish?'

'I wanted it to happen, Teagan. It wanted to . . . do you understand?'

Teagan had contemplated long and hard, if he should break Araris the news he surely hadn't heard. Long past news, after all. How should he have heard in his self-imposed exile? In reality the title as the last laurel couldn't be used. Not exactly. There were at least two, yet it seemed as if Teagan's decision to hold his tongue could prove useful, at least for Araris. He needed something to drive him, a goal for the good of Ferelden, not worry about a family he already thought dead.

'Your parents would be proud, Araris, you do know that, don't you?'

Araris Cousland's jaw muscles tensed. 'Are you deaf, Bann Teagan? Didn't you hear what I said?'

Slowly and menacingly, Araris hissed, 'I sought death. Nothing left for me here.'

A shiver crawled down Teagan's spine and settled somewhere deep inside a pit of his stomach. 'I heard you. Nonetheless, they'd be proud.'

Teagan could literally see, the Cousland heir surely losing his iron temper. His entire body coiled and ready to spring, he seethed with venom, 'the fuck you talking about?'

'They'd be proud, Araris, because you were ready to give your life in the defence of others. Dozens and dozens of innocent others. Do you even know how many lives you saved? All of us, an entire village. They'd be dead without you. And you made that possible, you fought for people you didn't even know, with no prospect of reward other than a painful end. Still, you fought. Granted, you might've come here out of a selfish calculation to form an alliance and gain Eamon's support to clear you name and retake Highever, not out of altruism. Yet, you only found death and destruction.'

Spit began to fly as Teagan's voice rose. 'And instead of turning your back on us, you were ready to die instead of us! That's worth something!'

'You know, maybe you're right: you wanted and were ready to die, but not because you couldn't stand the torment anymore or because you were at you wit's end. That'd be a coward's way out. And we both know you're anything but. What you were ready for, is to die because of a cause. And a noble one at that. So stop lying to yourself.'

Teagan rose. Araris entire frame tense, his jaw muslces working incessantly, the nobleman ostensibly swallowed a big lump. He kept his silence.

'Think about that, Araris. Think about my words closely, I knew your parents longer than you, you were gone for nearly a decade, after all. Left no word. So maybe you owe them the benefit of the doubt. And then some.'

With that, the bann turned and made for the door. Over his shoulder, he offered, 'Now rest, you've earned that much. We'll talk soon.'

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'I knew it,' Leliana muttered under her breath, taking the steps down into the Chantry's courtyard.

'Knew what?' Morrigan's voice drawled from behind and Leliana jumped in surprise.

'Oh, nothing really. The knight who defended the Chantry.'

Rolling her eyes, Morrigan urged, 'Yes?'

'He's actually a nobleman of high birth. A Teyrn's son, in fact. Araris Cousland.'

Morrigan snorted, one eyebrow arched. 'You mean to tell me that a pampered nobleman fought off all those droves of undead. What did he do? Throw his coins to distract them? Bore them to death with tales about his lavish taste in food and drink or all the audacity some foreign dignitary possessed while visiting his castle?

'I don't think so,' uttered Leliana.

The witch stalked down into the courtyard, looking up into the washed sky as if searching for answers or something peculiar only her eyes could make out in the distance.

'Do you know,' she said, 'that they call him Knight of the Maker. What misguided plebeian fools. As if their god cared one bit about their fates to send someone. He's probably laughing at them, right now.'

As parting words, Morrigan simply spat, 'Pathetic.' And off she went.

Flummoxed, Leliana stared after her. A woman of no faith. And seizing every chance to voice her opinion. Sounded lonely. Terrifying, maybe, at least for Leliana, it'd be.

Seems I'll have to ask about her alleged sister Yavana later, then. Well . . .

'Ignore her.' Edril smoothly came up to her. 'She's had a bad day. No matter how powerful a witch you are, a Revenant can still skewer you like a wild boar.'

The dalish shrugged.

'Nearly, that is.'

With a small smile on her lips, Leliana began to gossip about everything she managed to find out today. And, as ever since she'd known Edril, he soaked up every bit like a sponge, never offering anything in return.

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Author's note:

As always, please don't forget to review or send me a private message (whatever you prefer) containing you opinion on my latest chapter, I'd very much like to hear it. They keep me going or, at least make it easier. Furthermore, without comments, criticism and encouragement I can't better myself. And I'm sure I can. Especially now, after my long absence, I want to know if you guys think I'm still on the right path or not. So, if you've anything to say, at all, please do so. I'm eager to listen.