On the Losing End

Part 1 – The Death of a City

You don't know how large the arling of Amaranthine is until you have to go from Vigil's Keep, located near the center, to Amaranthine city on the northern coast, in the least time possible. Normally a few hours' walk, it felt like we trudged for weeks. The need to hurry was one thing; not knowing what to expect when we got there was worse; having an irate, rude dwarf nipping at my heels (no pun intended, honest) exacerbated an already tense situation.

Yes, I'd forgotten about Oghren in the dungeon. Sorry, Oghren, I was indisposed—strapped to the Architect's experimentation table, listening to him go on about killing my unborn baby, trying to keep up an act of bravado while inwardly terrified out of my wits. If it made me forget the little troublemaker in lockup, one would think I'd get a pass on that one, right? Wrong.

Here's an example of what I was subjected to on the way to the city: "What kind of 'commander' locks up one of her few warriors in the dungeon over a little tiff? I'll tell you what kind. The kind that doesn't know what they're doing and has no business leading. If a soldier can't have a few ales and unwind, he's not in the army. He's in a sodding prison." Then there was, "I wonder what kind of 'influence' the warden-commander used on ol' King Alistair to get her post? Does he know he's going to be a daddy?" And the best was, "Back in Orzammar, casteless women who had sex with their betters were given titles, too. But they weren't called 'commander'. They were called 'mistress'. Well, that was what the noble men called them. Noble women called them 'whore'. You know what the highest honor a mistress could reach? Getting pregnant with a noble's kid."

Nobody bothered to answer him. We saved our breath for the march. Going double-time took all my energy; keeping the pace while ignoring muscle fatigue took concentration. Then there was the emotional toll—hoping to reach the city while it still had survivors, praying it hadn't been overrun, worrying for the people we'd met on our visits to Amaranthine. Constable Aidan was a capable man, but he and his guards weren't equipped to deal with darkspawn. It wasn't that the physical act of fighting darkspawn differed from fighting other men. They fought as we did and used similar weapons. It was the shock of seeing the hideous creatures, hearing the scream of the shrieks and witnessing the strength of ogres, that made the battles unlike normal warfare. When one first saw darkspawn, no amount of prior information or description could adequately prepare a person for the horror. A soldier who froze in disbelief, while his brain struggled to accept the message his eyes were sending, gave the enemy enough time to overpower and kill him. That was what I feared had happened in Amaranthine.

The reality was much worse.

We saw Aiden's party when we were a few miles out from the city. They were fighting a band of darkspawn led by one of the talking creatures. Among the monsters was a kind of darkspawn I'd not seen before. They looked like large, multi-legged worms. Flesh-eating worms. They wielded no weapon; they had no hands to hold anything. They simply knocked down their opponent and commenced eating them alive. Less intelligent than the average genlock, they attacked their own as often as one of my wardens.

"What in oblivion are those?" Nathaniel voiced the question we were all asking ourselves.

The Architect would not create such creatures. His aim was to evolve darkspawn into a free, intelligent race. The worms were a leap backwards. They were eating machines, in a sense. Unthinking and indiscriminate, tending to one basic need: eating. Their hunger was insatiable. As they ate, they grew before our eyes.

"The Mother's new brood?" Garavel proffered. "This could be what the Architect meant when he spoke of her insanity and the need to kill her before she destroyed everything he'd worked to achieve."

"Maybe," I answered. Since I'd spent most of my captivity unconscious, I wasn't aware of much of the chatter between my captors. One thing I was sure of, though, was that the Architect created the talkers. Their grammar was primitive but they got their message across. The fact that they could talk at all was—and I hesitate to use this word—miraculous. If the Mother was insane, and if her purpose was to ruin the Architect's work and kill the Grey Wardens, then this kind of darkspawn was actually a brilliant invention. They were no-maintenance, efficient killers.

They had a stench about them, but not typical darkspawn "rotting corpse" stink. Since they were mixed with regular and talking darkspawn, which had the old familiar funk, it was hard to distinguish one odor from another. But my sensitive pregnant-woman's sense of smell picked up something foul and insectile, like bug droppings in inestimable quantity. The malodor combined with the idea of insects, worms, and piles of droppings made me queasy (another byproduct of the heightened senses I could have done without).

When the last of the enemy was dead, we took a minute catch our breath and look northward to the city. From this distance, we could make out the city walls, and saw dark smoke rising from that direction.

Justice observed, "These creatures were out here to slow us down. The city could already be full of them, and worse."

"We already know the creatures breeched the walls," Mhairi said. "I pray the civilians were able to get to the chantry and barricade themselves inside in time."

Bryant added his thoughts. "The people outside the walls, the ones the nobles complained about… what of them? They would have been the first ones hit. These things…" He trailed off, gesturing toward the wormlike beasts. He didn't have to finish the sentence. We knew what horrific fate could have befallen the homeless.

"There were children out there too," I groaned.

"I'm starving," Oghren put in, being his usual uncaring self. "How about we use this break for something besides jabbering and cook up some non-tainted meat?"

"Sorry, I'm fresh out of spirit bear," Anders answered. He was annoyed because he'd been pulled from a serious conversation with Justice. I wasn't aware the two had become close.

"That's alright," Oghren said. "But if you conjure something else, try conjuring it already cooked since we're in such a hurry to get to a sacked city."

"We don't know that it's been sacked, you heartless, selfish ass," Aiden snapped.

Another small war was brewing between my wardens. Sigrun was the only one who understood Oghren. Putting them on the same team might help him switch his anger from me to the darkspawn, if only to impress his lover. "Oghren, join Aiden's party. Justice, come with me. No bickering, no wasting time. Let's move," I urged them.

Anders and Justice were locked in conversation again. From what I overheard, Justice was asking Anders why mages didn't try to "throw off their oppressors", that is, templars. He didn't fully understand the role and necessity of templars, and Anders might have overstated his case against them, but what harm could come from their discussion? We had more urgent matters to tend to than the ongoing war between Anders and the Circle.

Constable Aidan and two of his officers met us at the city's entrance, in the area where the poor and homeless once camped. The only signs of life were darkspawn. Before we could ask what was going on inside the walls, we came under attack. There were more of the wormlike creatures; larger, mature ones with long, multiple arms that grasped their prey in an inescapable hold while the monsters devoured them alive.

The constable had taken up a crossbow, firing bolts and targeting the worms. Over the din, I heard him refer to them as either 'childers' or 'children'. If these things were children, the Mother must have been unspeakably grotesque in appearance and wholly evil in her intent. No "tits and tentacles" jokes from Oghren this day. The Mother might be similarly equipped, but she was more odious than the broodmother we'd killed in the Dead Trenches.

We'd almost won the battle outside the gates when we heard an ogre's roar. The beast came from within the city, and it was covered in armor. One of the talking darkspawn directed it to attack us.

An ogre in its natural state is a fearsome thing. It was an ogre that picked up King Cailan, as if he were a toy, and crushed the life out of him with one enormous hand. Add armor to its tough hide and you end up with a walking battering ram with opposable thumbs.

Its horns were covered by the metal helmet so it didn't charge at us. Instead, it was more inclined to crush, stomp, and hurl projectiles at us. We surrounded it and attacked from every angle, with blades and arrows and fire spells. The darkspawn leader sent a party of shrieks to distract us. Their cries had the ability to stun victims while they stabbed and slashed with those fearsome knifelike hands. Aiden's mabari Alduin had a less offensive-sounding howl that could also stun, but we'd unwittingly left him back at the Vigil in our rush to leave. We could have used him in this battle. Right now, Anders' cat would have been a welcome addition to the fight.

The ogre targeted Oghren. We shouted warnings to him but he was busy fighting shrieks, and there were too many for him to kill. The ogre reached for him. Justice, closest to him, leapt forward and shoved the dwarf out of the way. The ogre's hand closed around Justice instead.

In one of those terrible instances where time slows to a frame-by-frame horror show, the ogre grabbed Justice—in Kristof's decomposing body—and pulled him apart, separating his top half from his bottom half at the waist. Bryant and Sigrun continued hacking at the ogre's heels and tendons. The creature flung the remains of Justice/Kristof away and tried to keep its balance. Dark, foul-smelling blood gushed from its lower legs. Unable to walk, it tottered and shook, staggering about. Oghren was still stunned, sitting on the ground where he'd fallen after Justice pushed him. The ogre was ultimately felled by a crossbow bolt to the face, the stout arrow boring into the opening beneath its helmet. The bolt drove it backward, and it fell on top of Oghren.

The dwarf wasn't lucky enough to have two narrow escapes in a single battle. The heavy ogre, made heavier still with its armor, crushed Oghren with a crunching, splattering sound—snapping bones, crumpling armor, mashing internal organs to paste. The beast tried to get up and we saw what was left of Oghren, unrecognizable in death. Sigrun screamed his name. Mhairi caught her by the arms to prevent her from running to her dead lover's side. The ogre fell to its back again, weakly grasping for the bolt in its head before it expired.

Andraste's blood, two wardens killed in seconds…

The leader, with the primary objective of its mission accomplished and its warriors dead, vanished into the ground like a mist. There were no survivors coming from the city. Behind those thick walls, nothing stirred. Or rather, nothing that was still human. Amaranthine was lost. Constable Aidan and one of his officers survived only because they were outside the city. The second officer had been skewered by shrieks and bled to death.

"What can we do now, Commander?" the constable asked. He'd just seen the whole population of his city killed, or tainted and dying a slow, painful death. The chantry, which was thought to be the safest place in Amaranthine, had its doors battered down and the nobles hiding within were slaughtered with no other exit for escape.

"Burn it," I answered. "There's nothing to save, so let's not leave it as a hideout for darkspawn. If any survive in there, burn them."

"No!" It was Justice's voice; I was sure of it. I looked around, but Justice was dead, lying in two pieces where the ogre had thrown him.

That's strange. I must be wishing I could hear him.

"Are you sure you're making the right decision?" Anders asked. His voice was deeper, probably from smoke inhalation. "There could be survivors in the city."

Constable Aidan said, "The attack started last night. Within hours, more than half the citizens were dead, and every one I saw still living had been tainted. I watched people being eaten alive by those… those childers. There is no one left to save."

"Even if there's one living person…"

"No, Anders. You heard the constable. He was here; we weren't. I trust his word." He wasn't convinced, but he was outvoted. I thought to let Garavel take care of it, but reconsidered. It was a nightmarish chore; no one should have to bear what was really my responsibility. I helped the constable and his officer fire flaming arrows into the city. Anyone who wanted to help could do so, but I wouldn't order anyone to fire on Amaranthine. Garavel, Aiden and Nathaniel helped without hesitation. Bryant, after a short prayer for the dead, picked up a bow from a fallen soldier and commenced firing. Mhairi and Anders wanted no part of it. Sigrun was in shock. She stood near the dead ogre, staring at the pool of blood that oozed from beneath its back.

The city was engulfed in flames when we left. The stone walls would stand, but they would be charred black for decades to come. Whatever the darkspawn hadn't burned became kindling for the destruction of a generations-old city, and the city itself a graveyard for her history and her people.

The mood at the Vigil was somber. The keep had suffered her own battle with darkspawn and lost all but a handful of her residents. The survivors knew how deadly the creatures could be. Amaranthine hadn't been able to throw off her attackers in time. We couldn't get there quickly enough. I felt I'd failed the arling. No one at the Vigil uttered a word of reproach—not when I was in earshot, anyway—and most voiced their support of my decisions.

Constable Aidan and his officer, Lieutenant Mayer, accompanied us to the Vigil. Both men, having lost everything, including their families, wanted to become wardens. I asked Varel to prepare for their joining. There was a feeling of disquiet in my gut, but I attributed it to the aftershock of losing a city and two of my wardens.

Sigrun asked to speak with me alone. I didn't like to hold meetings in my quarters, being a private person, so we went to a quiet room in the keep's basement area. She launched in with, "You never liked him. I guess you're glad he's dead."

"What? You brought me out here to throw guilt around? I don't need this, Sigrun." I started to walk out but she stopped me.

"Wait. I won't apologize for what I said because I know you didn't get along. Maybe you're not glad he's dead, but you didn't value him. It's not like you lost Aiden or Mhairi or any of the others. They matter to you." She calmed somewhat and admitted, "Oghren resented you, too. He was a good friend to me, but he wasn't a very good person. Still, I cared for him."

"For the record, we got along well enough before I became warden-commander," I told her. "He wasn't my favorite companion, it's true. We got on each other's nerves. But I respected his ability to swing a battleaxe, and his fearlessness."

"Fearless," she repeated. "Yes, he was. You know, when a Legionnaire senses his death coming, he feels joy because he's going to be returning to the stone with the highest honor. All I felt, the whole time we were in Amaranthine, was fear. I didn't fear for Oghren or anyone else. I was afraid of dying."

I wondered why they hadn't called themselves "Legion of the Demented". No one in his right mind looks forward to death, especially death by being devoured alive or poisoned with tainted blood.

"I saw his face when the ogre was falling toward him," she continued. "He wasn't afraid. He wasn't surprised. He just… accepted it, like it was expected." She thought on it. "I suppose I'm the one who's feeling guilty, and I wanted to project it onto you."

"There's nothing to feel guilty about," I said. "If there is, the guilt is mine. I gave the orders."

She countered, "I reminded you he was in the dungeon. If I hadn't, he would still be alive."

"Well, it's done, Sigrun. Rethinking everything won't undo what happened. Trust me, I have enough regret for the lot of us. Don't torment yourself with a list of what if's."

"I'm ready to become a warden," she announced. "In Oghren's memory."

I asked her if she were sure, then if she were really sure she wanted to go through the joining. She knew the risks. Varel had explained the whole process to her, she told me.

"If that's what you want, I'll have Varel prepare for three recruits."

"It's what Oghren would have wanted."

For her, that was reason enough. My own reasons for becoming a warden weren't the most noble. Back then, I was ready to die. If I'd known where I'd be nineteen months later, I might have done things differently. Not that I regretted it entirely, mind you. There was happiness along with the sorrow. I'd made good friends and met the man I loved. I wouldn't have had those opportunities if I'd stayed in the Free Marches, hadn't come to Ferelden, hadn't met Duncan, and hadn't become a Grey Warden.

"As you wish," I relented. "But do it for yourself, Sigrun. Become a Grey Warden because it's what you want to do, not what someone else may have wanted for you."

"My mind is made up, and my reasons are what they are," she said.

Her stubbornness could be what she needs to get through her grief. It was the same crutch I used, and it worked for me.

"Let's get back to the keep and I'll inform the seneschal to prepare for one more. Quickly, before we miss it."

She laughed. "The seneschal wouldn't hold a joining without you being present. You know he wouldn't."

She just needed to talk it out. Her cheerful disposition has returned.

Varel made ready for the three new recruits. My anxiousness continued while I waited for him to complete the preparations. He recited the joining prayer and handed the chalice to Lieutenant Mayer. The man drank. His eyes rolled to whites, he dropped the cup, raised a hand to his throat, and choked before collapsing face-first on the floor. He was the first recruit I'd lost in the joining.

"I'm sorry, Mayer," Varel said to the corpse. He refilled the chalice and passed to Constable Aidan. "From now on, Aidan, you are a Grey Warden." Aidan took the cup from him. Time slowed again. I feared what was coming and I wanted to swat the chalice from his hand to stop him from drinking, but I wasn't allowed to interfere during the joining for any reason. Like with Mayer, Aidan died from the poisoned blood.

Varel and I would mourn them later. There was still one more to go. "Sigrun, step forward," Varel said. My insides were in knots, and I imagined hers were too. I wasn't afraid during my joining but watching others go through it was torment.

Sigrun was composed. She'd made peace with herself and her fears. She took the chalice and drank. Her eyes rolled to whites, she coughed and choked, and then she passed out.

"She will live, Commander," Varel said. "Thank the Maker."

This had been my worst day since the massacre at Ostagar. I'd lost two wardens, two recruits, and an unknown number of civilians. An entire city was in flames, and it would be uninhabitable for years. Worse, the Mother was still out there. No one knew where she was, but it was up to me to find her and kill her, along with any remaining talking darkspawn and those flesh-eating childers, as quickly as I could. She was more dangerous by far than the Architect.

The Architect's original goal wasn't a bad one. He wanted to elevate his race beyond their primal instincts. But despite his intelligence, he lacked something. All darkspawn lacked it. They had no souls. They could be taught to speak and to react in a programmed manner; they could evolve, but they wouldn't know what it was to feel. The Architect learned that Utha and Seranni had been killed, but he showed no reaction because he felt nothing for them. At best, he may have had a tickle of regret over losing his two assistants, but they weren't companions as my wardens were to me. He and his kind were incapable of grief, love, remorse, or any other emotion. For that reason, I believed, regardless of how 'evolved' they might have become, there was nothing to prevent them from reverting to their old ways.

News of the fall of Amaranthine reached Denerim. King Alistair was incensed that the wardens, especially the warden-commander, had allowed it to happen. He summoned Eamon to send a message to the Vigil, then thought better of it. He would go there personally and speak to Winter.

She had better have a good explanation, he thought. Those were my people. They counted on me to keep them safe. Her failure will be seen as my failure.

To those who didn't know the king, his thoughts may have seemed selfish. In reality, Alistair was the most selfless monarch Ferelden had ever known. He was raised to be humble and the lessons stayed with him even now, when he had the power to do as he pleased. What mattered to him were his country, its citizens, and the dignity of the Grey Wardens. The fall of Amaranthine was a devastating blow to all three of those concerns. A major trade city was gone, her people killed, and the wardens were being blamed for it. Winter was the Hero of Ferelden; she would weather the criticism better than the rest of the order. But, in Alistair's thinking, she was the leader and should have more blame than the others.

His duties kept him at the palace for another two weeks. He was anxious to go to the Vigil but first he had to deal with the nobles and their bannorns. Arl Teagan, Teyrn Fergus Cousland, and the banns to the west of Highever stayed away from Denerim and continued to care for their lands and people themselves, having received little damage from the war. The banns nearest the main battle were demanding more help from the palace with reconstruction, which was going slowly. Denerim and its surrounding lands were months from complete restoration.

During this time his anger at Winter subsided and he was left brooding. How had it come about? There was the darkspawn threat in the arling; he was aware of it, but how had it gotten so far out of hand that it cost Ferelden an important city? While Vigil's Keep was restored—in its present state it was nigh impregnable—a walled city was left defenseless. When he sent Winter there, it wasn't to take care of one at the expense of the other. She was more than the commander; she was the arlessa of Amaranthine. Its fate should have mattered to her.

Conversely, he had witnessed the arling's darkspawn problem firsthand. Seneschal Varel told of a new kind of darkspawn that talked. The creatures couldn't have acquired the power of speech on their own. He'd seen and slain hundreds of them, and they were all ignorant beasts with a single-minded purpose to destroy. Some sinister was going on in Amaranthine. There was a force behind the monsters, and Winter and her wardens had yet to eradicate the cause of the problem.

When his business with the banns was finally done, he told Eamon to prepare for a trip to the Vigil. "I expect we'll be there for a few days at the least. I want to know exactly what happened at Amaranthine, and why, and what can be done to help the survivors recover from their losses. If there are any survivors. We leave tomorrow at first light."

"As you wish, Your Majesty," Eamon said. The regent wasn't privy to the timing of his brother's affair with the warden-commander, but it had been some months. She might have more to explain to the king than the disaster of Amaranthine. In all likelihood, her pregnancy would be too evident for her to cover with loose clothing. Regardless of her feelings for the king, Alistair still pined for her. He would know she'd found someone else, but Maker help them all if he learned who she'd found.

Part 2 – Awkward Reunions

"What are you doing here again? I have enough to handle without being subjected to your preposterous demands." I didn't like Morrigan popping in on me at all, but her timing couldn't have been worse (or so I thought). I'd spent another sleepless night reliving the loss of my wardens, recruits, and Amaranthine. Time hadn't lessened the sorrow and I was in no mood to talk to anyone, much less a crazy swamp witch who thought she was an old god or a dragon or Maker-knows-what.

"Our talk was not concluded to my satisfaction," she answered, as if her lack of closure would persuade me to continue this tête-à-tête.

"You'll not be satisfied with my answer today either," I said. "If you've come to try to persuade me to hand over my child, you're wasting your time and mine."

"I must convince you somehow. You cannot know the urgency of my cause. This is bigger than you and your baby, Winter. Your decision affects—"

"I don't care, Morrigan. I don't want to hear any more of your nonsense. Go, take your end-of-the-world stories with you, and leave me alone. My final answer to you is no. I will not give you my child. I will not change my mind, not ever, and not under any circumstances."

"Winter, be rational. We were friends once. Based on that alone, I urge you to reconsider. If you do not, you will be forcing me to act in a way I would prefer not to."

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"Meaning that I will have the child, with or without your consent."

We eyeballed each other like two tomcats in a territory dispute. My voice came out as a low growl (not unlike a tomcat). "Don't think you can threaten me or my baby, witch. If I have to kill you over and over, in whatever form you take, you will not take my child from me."

She countered with, "Do not think yourself all-powerful, mortal. I have the will and the means to take what I require from you."

"Oh, so it's 'mortal' now, is it?" I scoffed. "Well, mighty Immortal One, we've had this argument before. If you could do something, you would have done it. You don't scare me. If anything, I pity you because you're mentally damaged. You believe your own lies. All your "save the world" crap is just that—crap. You want a child for something other than a fictitious dragon war. I can't fathom why it has to be my child, though. Why don't you go make your own baby? You're hardly above sleeping with any man who's available, as we both know."

My insult didn't faze her. She'd probably heard a lot worse in her lifetime. "Once again you miss the point because of your stubbornness. Deny the truth if you wish, but it will not alter it. I have no desire for a useless mortal child. It must be yours because of the soul—"

"The soul of the old god. Yes, I know. I've heard it enough, and I've had enough of you for one lifetime. Kindly get your annoying arse out of my quarters and out of my keep, and close the door when you leave. Unless you plan on flying out the window again."

My door opened and Aiden leaned in. "Heads up, Commander. King Alistair himself has graced us with a visit, and he's asking for you. 'Demanding' would be a better word for it." He noticed my visitor, but didn't recognize her. "Beg pardon, my lady."

"She's hardly a lady," I said. "Aiden, come in. Quickly, before Alistair gets here." He obliged me, looking surprised at the way I'd referred to my guest. "You may not recognize your old flame, Morrigan. Maybe her new face and her conservative style of dress threw you off."

A few beats of time passed while Aiden processed the information. Then he said in a flat tone, "Impossible. I saw her die."

"And you saw her turn into a bird," I reminded him. "She wasn't dead. It was a witch-trick, doubtless something she learned from her mum Flemeth. She's taken on this form. I'm not sure if she possessed some poor mage or fashioned the body herself."

"Hello Aiden," Morrigan said, as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired between them and like she hadn't heard anything I'd just said.

Aiden was more confused than before. She didn't look like Morrigan as he remembered her—and he'd seen a lot more of her than anyone else… except Alistair—but she sounded like her. It was her voice, no mistaking it. Instead of the beautiful brunette he remembered, this woman was pretty but not remarkably so, with brown hair and golden eyes. The eyes… Morrigan's eyes. Disbelief gave way to acceptance, then disgust. "Go to oblivion, whore," he said, then he dismissed her as if she weren't there. He said to me, "Alistair is in the throne room. You'd best hurry. He's in a temper today."

When Aiden had gone, I said to Morrigan, "It's your turn to leave. I have official warden business to tend to, and to which you are excluded." Before I could continue or she could respond, the door swung open again, and Alistair's voice came from the doorway.

"I need to have a talk with you, Warden-Commander." From his tone, I surmised it wasn't going to be a friendly chat. "About Amaranthine."

No, definitely not a friendly chat. He wants answers I can't supply.

My back was to the door. When I turned round to give him the obligatory one-knee bow, he saw my bulging belly. I was in my sixth month and there was no hiding it any longer. Whatever words he had ready to blast at me caught in his throat. The only sound in the room was a faint snicker. It came from Morrigan, who found the situation amusing.

He recovered from his shock enough to extend a hand to help me up. "Winter," he said in a whispery wheeze. It was all he could say. His eyes were glued to my belly.

"Congratulations are in order, I suspect," Morrigan said.

Alistair glanced at her, not recognizing her nor comprehending her meaning. He assumed she referred to his rise to the throne. There is something familiar about the stranger, he thought. He gave her a curt nod to acknowledge her regards and turned his eyes to me. "We need to speak." He added, politely but firmly, "Alone."

"Don't mind me," she said in high humor. "We're practically all family, aren't we, Winter?"

Alistair became impatient with the woman's impertinence. "Who is this, and what is she going on about?" His comments were directed at me. "Please tell me this isn't another apostate you recruited." The stranger's voice had a familiar, demeaning tone. He peered at her more closely. The yellow eyes… Only two women had such wicked, soulless eyes, and this woman wasn't Flemeth. "Morrigan," he spat.

"Ah, so you do remember," she said.

"Actually I don't remember, and I thank the Maker every day for that," he retorted.

"Hmm, yes, I had assumed that since you were a templar, you were used to lyrium. I used a little too much. Here, let me restore your memory…"

"No!" Alistair said, but before his protest reached her ears, she made a small gesture and every moment of that regrettable night came back to him with full clarity. He flinched at the mental images. "Maker… I think I'm going to be sick."

His claim that there was no sex between him and Morrigan was a product of wishful thinking, selective memory, or lyrium hallucination. It would have been more merciful to him if Morrigan had left him oblivious to the reality of that night, but she wasn't known for her kindness, was she?

Morrigan clucked in mock disappointment. "That's not very kind, Majesty. And 'twould seem you recovered your strength quickly enough. Winter's expanding womb is proof of that."

Shut up shut up shut up!

Alistair looked at me, uncomprehending. "Do you know what she's talking about?"

I shrugged. "Who ever knows what she's talking about? Morrigan, it's time for you to go. Now."

The witch's eyes lit up with delighted revelation. "Of course. He's not the father! Two parents of the taint wouldn't have worked. The father is an untainted man. But the best part is this, dear hypocritical Winter: While you pretended to be indignant over Alistair bedding me, you went and found a replacement." At Alistair's still-confused scowl, she added, "Remember, Alistair, I told you the child had to be conceived that night, and at no other time. It was the only way the ritual would work. Winter's child absorbed the soul of the old god. Therefore, she could only have conceived the same night I did."

That I'd found a "replacement", as she put it, was obvious. But did the bitch have to tell him when I became involved with another man, practically pinpointing the act to the very hour? Hearing the words spoken aloud made it sound sordid and calculating, far different from the truth.

Alistair was hurt by the unkind fact. "You… the same night… just to get back at me… in Redcliffe?

"It wasn't like that. My actions had nothing to do with yours."

Almost nothing. Truth is, I wouldn't have discovered my feelings for Teagan at that time if I hadn't heard Alistair and Morrigan's discussion, and if I hadn't been out on the terrace. But eventually, I would have realized I loved him. Overhearing their conversation merely set in motion something that was inevitable.

"Who was it? Who else was there? Zevran? Was it Zevran?"

"No, it wasn't Zevran. I don't want to talk about it."

"Was it your old fiancé, that prince? Or… Damn, I should have known! It's Aiden! That arse wanted revenge because I was with his girlfriend, so he went for you."

"No Alistair, it wasn't Aiden. He was in Highever."

"That's right. " He recounted the evening. "Sebastian and Aiden weren't at Redcliffe that night. We were under lockdown. You couldn't have left the castle and no one was allowed entry. So it had to be one of the men there. It couldn't have been Sten, and you wouldn't let Oghren near you," he mused. "Maker's blood, Winter, did you go find a stranger, a random soldier in the castle, anyone to get back at me for what you perceived as my betrayal? Or was it… of course… you were always friendly with Ser Perth. It was him, wasn't it?"

"No! Please stop this. I won't play this guessing game. Let it go. I didn't do anything to get back at you, and you know me well enough to know I would never sleep with someone just to get revenge."

"I thought I knew you." His callous comment may have been deserved, but it stung no less.

Morrigan interrupted us. "You two can hash this out later. The only important thing is the child. Alistair, you believed me when I told you about him, and that he would be born with the soul of an old god. That is the very reason the two of you are still able to stand here arguing who slept with whom. If not for my ritual, at least one of you would certainly be dead."

"You… " Alistair began, maybe starting another accusation, but if so he changed his course. "Of course. Your child, Winter. Now I understand why Morrigan attacked you on the rooftop. I realize why she said you had 'stolen the soul'. It was the soul she'd hoped to capture with her ritual. The soul of the old god."

"You too? Do you buy into her story about this soul-of-the-old-god?"

"I had to buy into it," he said. His voice was quiet. Sad. "It was the only thing that could make me… do what I did with her. She promised me it would save your life. There was no other way to guarantee you would survive killing the archdemon, and I would have done anything to make sure you lived."

No, don't put this on me. I didn't ask you to save my life. I didn't ask for this guilt.

Morrigan said, "I attacked you with the intent that when you died, the soul would be drawn to me. But when Alistair killed my body and destroyed my child, the soul had to remain with you or it would have perished, as you Grey Wardens originally intended."

So it was true. My baby did absorb the soul of a dragon. I recalled the searing pain I felt when I was thrown clear of the archdemon—the pain I had assumed was due to battle wounds. But it wasn't, because I had only bruises, and none to my midsection where the pain centered before it dissipated. It was too much to think about now.

My immediate concern was Alistair, the sacrifice he'd made for me, and the scathing accusations I'd made to him in return. I was ashamed at the way I'd treated him. I never wanted to cause him distress, but I'd ravaged his heart. Long before we went to Redcliffe on the eve of the final battle, I knew he loved me, and I suspected I didn't love him in the same way. I didn't have the sense or the heart to tell him, as kindly as I could, that a match between us would not happen. Because of my loneliness, I accepted his attentions but stopped short of a physical relationship with him. In my own way, I was as manipulative as Morrigan, wasn't I?

"Alistair, I'm sorry—"

"Save it," he snarled, and he stalked away in the direction of the throne room.

Morrigan laughed, "He took it well, don't you think?"

You black-hearted bitch! Does the suffering of us "mortals" bring you so much pleasure?

I snatched her by her arm and her hair and demanded, "Tell me about this child. I want to know exactly what you've done." She insisted she'd already explained it to me in detail. I shoved her through the doorway, which Alistair had left open. In my current rage, I could have pushed her through the solid wood door. "Get. Out. Don't come back."

"I will be back, Winter. I must—" The slamming door cut her words off.

I leaned my back against it, inwardly berating myself for an avalanche of wrongs. I'd left an impressive trail of damage in my wake—not that I'm boasting. The remainder of my day would be spent scrutinizing and second-guessing every major decision I'd made, from my affair with Sebastian to the destruction of a city.

My evening would be more difficult than indulging in self-reproach (and a side order of self-pity). What of my baby? He would be normal in every respect, Morrigan said, until he reached adulthood… then what? He wouldn't physically be a dragon, but he had the soul of a dragon. It sounded like something out of a fable, but it was actually happening. If I would try to deny it was possible, I'd also have to deny the things I'd seen—magic, darkspawn, abominations and demons, a broodmother, an archdemon, Flemeth turning into a dragon, Justice possessing the corpse of the Warden Kristof, the crystal dragon in Blackmarsh…

I had far more reason to believe Morrigan's story than to doubt it. And now I had to find the words to explain it all to Teagan and make him believe it.

Sleep didn't come easily. My last thought before fatigue pushed me into uneasy slumber was that I needed to find Alistair in the morning, if he hadn't left the keep, and make amends.