Author's note:

Disclaimer: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age 2 and Dragon Age: Inquisition and all related characters and trademarks are property of EA/Bioware. Rated M for language, violence, suggestive, and explicit themes.

I want to thank Serithus and lupusadaquilonem for taking the time to review the last chapter, as well as all you others out there reading and, hopefully, enjoying my story!

On another note: let it be known that with this sentence I shamelessly promote the existence of my virgin tumblr blog (under the URL: fjunn . tumblr . com) where I ramble, muse, write, and generally do . . . stuff. I'll probably post bits and pieces which didn't make it into any of my fanfics there and I also thought about enriching my blog with some kind of codex entries for my stories. Let me know what you think of these ideas and if you have any ideas of your own, suggestions or wishes do not hesitate to share them with me.

Without further ado, enjoy the latest chapter of a book written in an age full of heroes.

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In An Age Full Of Heroes

Chapter XXI

Trust Easily Given

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The commotion carried over a remarkable portion of the rebel encampment. No wonder, since the gathered crowd of common soldiery, farmers, butchers, smiths, husbands, wives, daughters and children—all of them dirt-smeared and with heavy bags under their tired eyes—turned out to be quite large. The rest of the way news spread like wildfire via the quick and seldom considerate gossiping of wagging human tongues. Soon the muddy courtyard, still hardened by the low temperatures of night, and hidden behind the tapered palisades was packed so dense movement seemed impossible. Or, at least, improper.

Lim somehow managed to shoulder her way to a position on a nearby flat hill, overlooking the south-eastern gate, allowing her partial view of the events unfolding below.

In customary grey leathers over blackened chain, two scores of the infamous Mortal Swords, the élites of Highever alone held the onlookers back. Without so much as a raised eyebrow and without physical application of force, simply through mere presence of the well-known company the crowd was kept in check. The common folk, be they average soldier or civilian, kept their distance from the grim-faced veterans. Whether out of respect of fear, Lim couldn't decipher.

The pale-haired figure of Araris Cousland, skin covered in a criss-crossing web of slowly fading scars, patiently waited in the middle of the courtyard, towering over anyone nearby.

Someone bumped into Lim's shoulder, intentionally. 'Hey there, rude one.'

Lim looked down. Found the elven minstrel Anethayín from a few nights ago staring up at her with entrancing eyes. Not without effort, Lim broke her connection with the elf's depthless eyes, deciding to ignore the woman for now.

'Nothing's changed then,' said Anethayín, matter-of-fact. 'Once rude, always rude. So . . . what's got everyone so riled up?'

Lim crunched her teeth. 'Don't know. Just got here myself.'

Anethayín made a non-committal sound in her throat. 'Well, uh, how 'bout you describe it to me. It's not like I'm tall enough to see what's happening and, sadly, I've left my wooden box to step on behind.'

Lim would've loved to slap the woman into silence. And, maybe, do something more later on in the confines of her tent. She sorely needed the release. Lim shook her head, as if that'd clear her mind. Besides, slapping the elvish minstrel in open daylight, surrounded by a good portion of the entire rebel host didn't seem very clever. The beloved status of Anethayín among the peasantry had been one of the reasons why Lim had approached her in the first place to fish for any scrap of information.

For now, Lim confined herself to the physical release of her inner stress by sighing her current misgivings. 'It's our esteemed leader, Araris Cousland. He's just standing there, surrounded by a bunch of his personal bloodhounds. Appreciating the sunrise, is my guess, or just waiting. Could be either of them. Looks ready to make a speech, though.'

Anethayín chuckled beside her. The sound bespoke knowledge beyond the name. Lim scratched her brow.

'Do you know him?'

'Of course I do. Everybody here knows Araris Cousland,' said Anethayín.

Lim rolled her eyes. 'I'm aware of that. But do you know him beyond his name?'

Lim felt the elven travelling minstrel shrugging. 'Brushed shoulders with him on one or two occasions.'

Interesting. She'd have to pick Anethayín's brains about that. 'What's he like? Up close, I mean. As a person.'

'Not much different than he appears from a distance. Level-headed, is the best I can describe him. Why, dearest Lim?' Anethayín playfully elbowed her side, a goofy expression on her face. 'Fancy a romantic night with candles and wine with our lord and saviour?'

Lim snorted a laugh. I'd rather do you. Movement behind Araris Cousland pulled Lim back from the precipice of a daydream fantasy and the blossoming itch between her legs.

'Other worthies are gathering down there,' said Lim, more to herself than the woman beside her. What's this? Public spectacle? Marching orders? No, none of that sat quite right with her. Yet, in a way, all of it did.

The creak of metal hinges and the crunch of splintering wood alerted her to the opening gate, as a small section of the south-eastern palisade parted and granted entrance.

'No need to tell me what that was,' said Anethayín, still she tried to peek over the crowd by tiptoeing around like a drunk.

Astride a horse that shook its head in an annoyed fashion, nostrils flaring, a fat man rode in at the head of a small convoy, a faded heraldry of some kind emblazoned on his far too tight breastplate.

A shush overcame the gathering of people as the fat man—a clean-shaved noble—half dismounted and half fell out of his saddle. In the morning quiet his boots broke the thin-iced surface of mud and squelched as the dewed texture beneath sucked them up. He waddled up to Araris Cousland, managing a bow.

'What's happening?' Anethayín sounded positively desperate at the off-chance of missing a vital piece of contemporary gossip.

'Fat noble is talking to Araris Cousland. Came back with an escort of soldiers.'

'What're they doing?'

Lim grimaced. 'Talking. Fucking quietly, by the looks of it.' And all the strained ears around me.

The fat man seemed to receive a punch out of nowhere and staggered back, paling, lips quivering. Araris Cousland gestured at the Mortal Swords accompanying him. Then it hit Lim. The heraldry. She'd seen it, a few nights ago. Her eyes widened as realization slapped her in the face. Two of the Mortal Swords grabbed Bann Ackley under his armpits and dragged him away. The bann was still too overwhelmed by whatever he'd been accused of to respond in any way. Falsely accused of, Lim reminded herself. The cloaked figure exiting Bann Ackley's tent fresh in her mind.

Araris Cousland turned to the silent crowd, eager for clarification. And it seemed Araris Cousland was inclined to indulge them with a little display. Spectacle, after all.

He let his gaze wander. 'Evidence has been brought to my attention, good people. It seems our friend and ally, Bann Ackley, is in truth a puppet of the crown, taking not only their gold but also the assurance of a royal pardon on the day the traitor Loghain sees us all hanged by the neck!'

Outrage rushed up and the crowd began to seethe and shout, insults were hurled and, if anyone would've come prepared, then more than insults would sail through the air right now, aimed at the hapless bann.

Bann Ackley was a puppet alright. But who was the puppeteer guiding his movements? Loghain? Araris Cousland? Did a royal spy plant false evidence to frame Bann Ackley to escape a bind?

Thankfully, the crowd kept Lim upright as the immediate implications raced through her head, sank in.

He'll talk. He'll fucking talk.

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'This is bad.' Leonas Bryland looked up from the yellowed sheets of vellum in his hands.

Alfstanna silently agreed with him. Had voiced her misgivings aloud before, actually.

The midday sun barely brought any real measure of warmth with it. Alfstanna drew her wool shawl tighter around her neck. Leonas and Alfstanna sat outside on a fallen tree, overlooking the Iachus Plains sprawling north and east of them, Araris' command tent at their back on the plateau, which rose from a long, curving hill. At the northern tip of the plateau the decrepit ruin of a small flagstone watchtower rose, claimed by vegetation. A single lookout scanned the horizon, framed by the wind-stretched flag of the laurel wreath, resembling two white wings. The rebel host encampment was a seething mass of movement just over the opposite ridge of the plateau, spreading in a crescent from west to south.

'It's more than bad. It's incriminating.'

Leonas shook his head. 'Do you believe it? I mean, someone could've planted this.'

On the plain expanse stretching below and northward, a battalion-sized group of fishermen, bakers, weavers, gardeners, farmers—all of them peasants forcibly recruited into the militia—waited, equipped with military surplus gear. There was a great deal of shuffling around. Another day, another batch of recruits to be schooled in the art of warfare.

Captain Bars paced in front of them. The dozen or so Highever élites with him silent at his back.

First lesson! I'm gonna teach you wild-haired peasant lot how to stand like proper soldiers! He pointed. You there! That's a shield! So don't carry it like a basket!

'Does it really matter?'

Leonas threw her a surprised glance. 'Of course it matters.'

Alfstanna shrugged. 'It was found in his tent. It's his handwriting, alright. Believe me, I compared it.'

'All of which can be forged.'

'There's precise mentions of troop movements, strengths, details of meetings. Things only a member of the council could've known.'

Leonas gestured helplessly. 'Any single one of us could've known that. You and I included. Plus, there're always guards around who'd the opportunity to listen in.'

'Now you're reaching.'

Leonas sniffed. 'And you're not. Why so keen on believing, Alfstanna?'

'As I said, it doesn't matter if I believe or not. The evidence's there.'

'Don't feed me that crap. I mean, come on. Ackley? The man's as far from a spy as they get.'

Alfstanna crossed her legs, nodding. 'Which makes him the perfect spy.'

Leonas groaned. 'You're not making this easy.'

'That's not how this works. Besides, we're not the ones who'll judge Ackley.'

'So what?' Leona's voice heated. 'We should just shut our eyes and forget about it?'

'It's Araris' decision,' said Alfstanna, eyeing Captain Bars below as he stalked along the undisciplined line of soon-to-be militiamen, incessantly bellowing his misgivings about posture and stance, physically pushing and shoving the recruits into something resembling a straight line.

'You always were taken by him.'

Something snapped inside Alfstanna. 'What's that supposed to mean?' she growled.

'Ah, Maker give me strength.'

Alfstanna glared. 'The Maker isn't here, Leonas. Answer me.'

'Just that you're falling for his charm. Like you want to. Like everyone else.'

'So now he's at fault for this? That we have a traitor in our very midst. Just how has this anything to do with whatever you think I feel for him?' Or did you just expect something else from me, something better? Something you'd not do, like stand up to Araris?

Leonas lifted his hands in mock surrender. 'I'm sorry, Alfstanna. I didn't mean it like that.'

'Yes. You did.'

Leonas sighed. 'Maybe you're right. It's just . . . I don't get why and how everyone so easily accepts this.'

'There're spies in our midst. We knew that. One of them just happens to be Ackley. The world's a shitty place. Don't try to understand it, Leonas. It'll give you a headache,' said Alfstanna.

Leonas seemed content to mull it over in silence.

Now! Close ranks! Show me you're not the dim-witted fools I think you are! Rustle and clank of iron on the grass-tufted plain below. The militiamen formed a wall of shields.

The fuck is that?! You've more holes than a burnt down hovel some poor beggar uses as make-shift shelter during rain! Like a madmen, Captain Bars charged the laughable excuse for a battle-formation, flailing and screaming. The peasants in his immediate path shrunk back.

Stand your motherfucking ground, you mongrels! You there! Don't lean forward! Broad stance! Didn't you hear a word I said? Captain Bars stalked away, shaking his head in theatrical dismay. Stopped in front of the loosely arrayed Mortal Swords under his command.

Show them.

With drilled combat-smoothness the dozen or so Mortal Swords closed rank within a matter of a few heartbeats. Shields overlapping in a perfect line, shortswords hissed out of scabbards in unison, came to rest atop the rim of their shields. Captain Bars peered over his shoulder, grin on his scarred face. How many of you just pissed themselves in fear? Now . . .

The captain of the Mortal Swords of Highever studied his nails with court-mannered aplomb.

Close ranks! Charged the recruits again like a madman. They fared slightly better the second time. The process repeated itself over and over again, like a badly choreographed play.

'I'm sorry, Alfstanna,' murmured Leonas, again. Carried her out of the muck of her far-off thoughts.

'You already apologised.'

Leonas snorted a laugh. 'Not even the Maker could give me the strength to face a woman's anger.'

'That's not anger, Leonas. I'm just annoyed that you'd think my judgement impaired because of Araris.' Even though you're probably right. Doesn't mean I want to hear it from you. 'Without Araris we'd all be hopelessly in over our heads.'

Leonas' shoulders sagged. 'Certainly true on my account.'

Alfstanna jerked him out of his misery with a light slap on the backside of his head.

'Oi!'

'Let it rest, Leonas. None of us had a fucking clue how to actually command an army.'

Leonas rubbed his head. 'I wonder how Araris does.'

'Does what?' she asked.

'Know how to command.'

Alfstanna threw him a wry half-smile. 'Maybe it's his charm.'

'Har har. Now you're just poking the wound.'

Alfstanna shrugged, smile resting on her face for a few moments longer.

'By the way, have you talked to him already?'

'Who?'

'Araris,' clarified Leonas.

'No.'

'Shall we?'

Alfstanna scratched her temple. 'Sure.'

Leonas rose, evidence of Ackley's betrayal rolled up in his hand. Alfstanna lingered a few moments.

Oh, you want to rest? Tired already. Okay then. Take a break. Captain Bars kicked one of the militiamen to the wilted ground. Gonna ask the King's Blade for a short interlude as well!? You pathetic dogs!

He fixed the downed peasant with an officer's glare. Spittle flew. That's not how you fall, soldier! I'm gonna show you how to fall properly. Up! All of you. Time for the second lesson! How to not stab yourself with your own sword when you fall head-over-heel on your arse!

Alfstanna got up and followed Leonas who waited a short distance away, between her and the sun-bleached command tent. Iron braziers of glowing coal seeped the interior of the tent into drowsy warmth. It hit Alfstanna again. Araris, still looking oddly out of place, like an Avvar chieftain, handed a missive to a young errand boy. Sent him off with a wave.

Gaze seizing up both of them, Araris returned to his table. Grabbed hold of one of many feather quills, dipping it into a stained bottle of ink. Began writing, scratching a piece of paper with seamless motions.

'Leonas. Alfstanna.' They bowed. 'You are here because of Bann Ackley?' Araris' focus remained on writing.

Leonas came up a bit surprised, a frown crinkling his half-Orlesian features.

'We are, your lordship,' said Alfstanna.

Nothing given away behind the careful mask. 'He has already confessed his crimes to me.'

Leonas stuttered, 'He . . . he what?'

'Granted, some promise of harm befalling his family was necessary. But, in the end, he confessed to being a royal spy.' Araris looked up shortly, continued writing, wearing an avuncular smile of small satisfaction.

'Not only that. It seems Bann Ackley was placed in command of the spy-ring infiltrating our camp. He handed me names and locations of all royal spies at his disposal.'

Alfstanna pointedly eyed Leonas, brows raised. But, by the looks of it, he was preoccupied with utter disbelief puddling around his thoughts.

Leonas jerked his head in tiny increments. 'That's . . . that's . . .'

'I had a hard time believing it too, Leonas,' said Araris. 'I've already drawn up the paperwork and delivered it to Bann Ackley to be signed. In exchange the rest of his family will be pardoned and exiled.'

The errant boy.

'I'll personally execute him on charges of high treason tomorrow. His former status as bann grants him that much, at least.'

Araris put the quill to rest, scrutinised them with pale eyes. 'If there's nothing else?'

Leonas and Alfstanna retreated from the tent in dumbfounded silence.

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Lim had to get the fuck out of here.

No amount of money, no amount of loyalty to the crown could bind her to this place for a single moment any longer. What worth her loyalty and all the payment in Thedas if she didn't live to benefit from it.

Hastily, she stuffed what few belongings she possessed into a satchel, procured some provisions for the journey, and strapped it all to her horse. Breath plumed from black nostrils as the beast shook its elongated head.

Lim had lingered too long, dared too much. Still the terror shook through her bones at the knowing look Araris Cousland had pierced her with. His blade still wet with the blood of Bann Ackley. It made no difference to her if the late bann really had been reached by the crown first, his services secured with promises of a pardon, titles, and coin or if, as Lim suspected, he acted only as piece to be sacrificed on Cousland's board, drawing out the real spies infesting his rebellion like unwanted weed in a carefully tended-to vegetable garden.

Araris Cousland knew. His intense pale eyes told her as much. Somehow, he motherfucking knew her to be a spy in service to Loghain.

For good measure, Lim checked the slim blade, sheath hitched to the belt at her hip, for its sharpness. The cold piece of steel gave her some kind of comfort, assurance that she wasn't completely helpless. Lies, Lim knew, but comforting ones, at the very least. So she let them wash over her, soothe her frantically beating heart with false promises of security. Just like those the crown had promised her.

Lim saddled her horse, and swung herself astride, kicking her mount into a trot, out of the encampment.

It all came crashing down on her. Lim's head swam, her vision lurched and tilted with the blooming understanding that she'd always been merely a small cog of a much larger machine, a cog easily replaced. Neither loyalist nor rebel cared much for her life and at the news of her sudden passing either of them would nod, already pushing aside the fact, forgetting. Forgetting her deeds, good and bad, forgetting her service or disservice, forgetting her, forgetting Lim.

Because her life was worth so little to them.

A cause was only worth as much as its followers. But if the cause itself did not honour its followers accordingly, then the followers wouldn't honour it either when push came to shove.

And, Lim finally decided, the cause of Loghain Mac Tir, the usurper on the throne—for usurper he was—wasn't worth honouring. Neither was that of Araris Cousland and his rebel host. All of them they scurried and cried like little, red-nosed children about what rightfully belonged to them, meanwhile men and women died in droves at their behest.

Lim would never again follow. She would not be manipulated into being a puppet to be controlled and discarded when it's outlived its usefulness. She'd be her own woman, choosing her own path, spitting on everyone else in disgust at the adoration displayed to those who'd leash them like slaves to their cause, dragging the carcasses of the fallen like a bloody mantle trailing behind them.

Lim would be her own woman.

Urging her horse to a gallop, Lim rode past an outer picket, sleepy guards leaning onto their halberds crying out in faint surprise. Ducking, to present a smaller target to the air, Lim made for the nearest treeline. She cared not for the direction she travelled in, such trivialities could be decided later. For, finally, she had the freedom to decide such things for herself.

The slave collar torn and left behind in the slowly freezing mud of the Iachus Plain, Lim entered the anonymising gloom projected by the light forest she'd aimed for.

At last, free! Lim exhilarated in the newfound emotions, putting a smile on her lips, as she slowed her horse.

Flash of silver under the cloud-dulled moonlight. Her view tilted curiously. The sensation of falling, toppling off her horse. The sparsely populated, treed canopy above moved in tune to the wind, the rustle of stirred leaves sounding like the ocean. What Lim wouldn't give to see the ocean right now and the endless opportunities it presented.

Lim's mount rode past her, spattered in blood, her headless body astride.

Then absolution.

Of all things.

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Their elevated pulse, panicked breathing rhythm, and rigid body language had given them away easily enough. Just a simple matter to mark each of them with sorcery so that he'd be able to sniff them out later on.

Sending Ackley away to scout out the Plains and plant the incriminating pieces of forged evidence in his tent had been a necessity. The sacrifice of a pawn. A minor move compared to the entirety of the board. One pawn traded for identifying a score of royal spies.

A bargain well struck.

The white, specked horse grazed in the distance. Headless corpse of the woman he'd just decapitated still astride, slumped forward.

Araris cleaned off the thin trails of blood marring his sword, swiping the blade on the dead woman's matted hair. Kicked the cut-off head into a nearby ditch and clapped the riderless horse on the backside, spurring it into a gallop.

Right about now the Mortal Swords would come down hard on the real royal spies. Those that didn't possess the sensibility to flee like this one had.

Araris only needed to break a few bones, crack a few skulls, and find out what those loyal to Cauthrien and Loghain had managed to report to the King's Blade in time.

Spring in his step, Araris trekked back to the camp.

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Already dark outside, hood drawn up, he'd entered his tent. Shook off his thick cloak and threw it over a chair.

Araris had graced her with a rarity, a smile. A genuine one, she believed. Anna, it's good we finally have time to talk. Really talk.

To heated wine and good-hearted laughter, they talked time away. Shoved the blatant issue of Bann Ackley's betrayal aside.

When she looked at him, he seemed radiant in a way. The halo of preternatural intelligence and understanding casting him in a light she remembered from her childhood with him. The feeling of belonging, being part of something greater, witnessing the world through the frame of his mind, the colour and taste of his words guiding her into uncharted territory, territory her mind might otherwise never touch.

Oh, the delight resurfaced, warmed her chest, made her dizzy.

Alfstanna might not always understand, but she could follow nonetheless.

Anna.

She'd missed that, hearing him speak her name like that.

Yet, when he started to talk about the sister he'd never known, his radiance subsided and a gloom took its place, a sinister vibe which drove a pang in her heart. To her great shame, she'd known about Elissa for some time, as did others, but none, bar Captain Bars actually possessed the courage to approach Araris and share with him the news.

'Will you go in search of her?' Alfstanna wanted him to say yes. So that the siblings, who'd lost so much, who shared so much pain without knowing each other, might find solace in their shared company. They deserved whatever happiness might await at the fated day of their meeting.

Predominantly, though, Alfstanna wanted him to say no. To keep him here, his leadership with the rebellion in order for them to stand a chance, in order for Ferelden to stand a chance at survival, at justice, and then recovery from the grave wounds inflicted by Loghain. In order to keep Araris at her side, however distant he might be to Alfstanna's presence.

But his answer came swift and decisive. 'No.'

The blunt answer reeled her in to a stop. 'Why not?'

'I cannot abandon the rebellion. And with Howe still out there, Elissa's life is in danger as much as mine. If she is still alive, that is.'

Alfstanna frowned. 'Why shouldn't she be?'

With his fingers, Araris traced the rim of his empty goblet. 'Even without his coffers packed full with Highever gold, Howe managed to send assassins after me in Antiva.'

Alfstanna had not heard this story. She'd not heard much of what Araris did over the last decade or so, come to think of it.

'Elissa is in Orlais, is she not? At the University, by invitation of the Empress herself.'

Araris nodded. 'That does not make her unreachable. But, you speak true, it grants her more safety than if she were at my side. Maybe Howe does not even know of her absence and simply presumes her another victim of his coup d'état. Running like the overprotective brother to her side might, in the end, be the very action which alerts him to her whereabouts. And that I will not risk.'

Araris shook his head slowly. 'I will not let my actions be dictated by Howe or fear of what might happen. Not even to my own flesh and blood. It would be irresponsible.'

He fixed her with a vehement gaze. 'I do not reap what I sow, Anna. I sow what I want to reap. And the seeds have already been planted. There is no stopping the will of nature. Not for Howe. Not for Cauthrien or Loghain. Not for Elissa.'

Something restrained snapped inside Alfstanna. 'You compare yourself to nature now, Araris?'

'Merely an analogy.'

She narrowed her eyes. 'Of course. Tell me then what you would reap in the days to come?'

Outwardly, he didn't even react. 'You know exactly what.'

Alfstanna drove deeper. 'Howe's head on a spike, while satisfying, isn't the only thing you must worry about. What about all of them out there. They've, each and every last one of them, wholeheartedly put their faith in you, Araris. Would you leave them behind, just to get your revenge?'

Unlike Araris, his voice grew louder. 'Just? Just! Just my revenge, Anna? He. Butchered. My Family.'

'And in turn you would lead your people to the slaughterhouse? Or leave them like meat to be collected. All to pay back death with death? Have you no care for them?'

The flat of his hand thumped on the table, rattled goblets, ink-filled flasks, maps, and figurines out of their slumber like an earthquake. 'Of course, I have! And if they follow, most of them will survive the winter. But I will not let them slow me down.'

'You'd feed them with words of hope and then take hope from them?'

'If they need me to hope, then they're doomed already. I am not a knight sent by the Maker, nor his bride. I am not a demon come to pervert the cause of this rebellion. I am simply a man, driven by the burning desire which fills my heart, Anna. I am not a shining example to be venerated. I am just a man.'

'Then you are blind to what you stir to life in your people. Do you not see it in their eyes when they look upon you?' Do you not see it in my eyes?

'Your hatred for Howe blinds you, Araris. And while deeds of passion might burn the brightest, they also devour the quickest. They leave you emptied out in the end.'

Then Araris did something so innocent, something Alfstanna had never seen him do. He averted his gaze.

Alfstanna leaned closer. 'Araris. I am so sorry about what happened to your family. Everyone is. But if you substitute grief with hatred . . . I dare not think of it.'

Araris looked back up, composed. 'There is no need for you to apologise, Anna. Not on your behalf nor that of others.'

He swiped the topic away with a careless gesture. 'But you need not fear for the people. I shall lead them to safety. To a place where nothing will be able to touch them. Neither winter, nor men-drawn steel.'

A flickering lash in his eyes, shoving Alfstanna straight back up in her chair, shoulders tense. 'After that, if it is to be that way, I shall even crack open the firmament and thrust my blade in the Maker's chest if that's what it takes to get Howe in a room with me.'

Alfstanna gulped. 'What's this place you speak of, Araris?'

He smiled. It chilled her to the core. 'We're going to retake Highever, Anna.'

One battle not even finished and already planning the next one.

Something dislodged. Alfstanna identified it as doubt. Always there, hidden behind murky excuses, now it began to fester like a badly treated wound.

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What did you think about the way I handled Captain Bars' interaction with the militia? Too much italics? Also: what say you about the rest of the chapter?