Revolution and Devastation

Part 1 – It Was the Best of Times…

My life was blessedly ordinary. No wars, no darkspawn, no battles, not even a bandit raid to mar the peaceful day-to-day joy of marriage and raising my son. Teagan's routine consisted of twice-weekly trips to Redcliffe. He would spend the night in the castle and return the following day by noon. Our pattern was so predictable others might have though it boring. Not us. We were happy, and ours was a life of sublime contentment.

Jaden was growing up too quickly for me. He'd just passed his sixth birthday. I wanted him to stay little and cuddly; he wanted to be big and strong like his papa and his "uncles"—Uncle Alistair, Uncle Aiden, Uncle Eamon ("except for the nasty beard," he said with a grimace), Uncle Garavel, Uncle Perth, Uncle Bryant. It was his idea to give them the title of uncle, and he expected something in return for that honor. They were required to teach him how to use weapons.

In his free time, Teagan fashioned child-sized wooden daggers, swords, bows, war axes, shields, battleaxes, and greatswords for him, overlaying the blunt edges with leather or cloth. Arrows had dull tips and only penetrated the straw-filled burlap targets we'd set up. Jaden had an impressive arsenal for a boy, and his dexterity was improving rapidly.

"It won't be long before he'll insist on metal-tipped arrows," Teagan remarked. "He's complained that the wooden ones are 'child's toys'." I worried he was too young for real weapons, but Teagan maintained that Jaden was a responsible lad. He added with paternal pride, "Our son is a prodigy, I do believe."

It was true. Jaden's vocabulary, reasoning, and motor skills were advanced for a child so young. Physically, he appeared completely average, if a little taller than the norm (and already quite handsome, with his black hair and cobalt blue eyes). Mentally and emotionally, he exhibited wisdom well beyond his years. He was intellectually above his peers, but I had yet to see so much as a suggestion of arrogance in his attitude and speech. For each year of his life he seemed to mature two years or more. Maternal pride, you say? You would be right.

As for the use of real weapons… "If you think he's ready for them, I trust your judgment," I said. "But he's to use the straw targets for now. I'll not have him practicing on anything else until he learns to hunt."

"Speaking of hunting…" Teagan had already planned to take him on a hunt when autumn set in. "He'll be ready by that time. It will be good practice for him, and if I don't take him soon he'll bedevil me to death with his insistence."

Every time he had to go to Redcliffe, Jaden wanted to tag along with him. Teagan told him it would be dreadfully boring, there wouldn't be time to play or hunt, he'd be going from one meeting to the next, from morning until bedtime. I found it boring just from hearing about it. Jaden would have been miserable and restless. I seconded Teagan's refusal and Jaden let it rest… until the next trip. And the next. It was an ongoing battle of wills between my men, one Jaden was determined to win and Teagan was equally determined not to let him win.

We had frequent visitors or went on holiday as often as Teagan's work allowed. Aiden, Alfstanna, and their brood were our most frequent guests. They had a child for each year of their marriage: the oldest were twin boys, followed by a petite, pixie-like daughter. Then there was the ten-month-old boy, and Alfstanna was pregnant again.

Aiden, like me, had retired from the wardens to be with his family. I pointed out, with a straight face but in jest, that he should consider another tour of duty in the wardens to give his poor wife a break from breeding. She stepped in and said, "Not a chance." They were a lovely couple, completely devoted to each other. The footloose Aiden had become a marvelous husband and father, much like the late Teyrn Bryce Cousland.

Jaden cornered Aiden and persuaded his uncle to show him some of his bow techniques. The lad is awfully young, he thought. Can he pull back a bowstring with enough force to send an arrow more than a few feet? With a nod from Teagan, he took Jaden aside and tried to school him with beginner moves.

"Uncle, I've known that since I was a baby," Jaden grumbled. A small exaggeration, but it wasn't too far from the truth. "Show me how you use a bow."

Never one to refuse a challenge, Aiden thought to teach my son a lesson in humility by showing off his formidable archery skills (ironic, right?). Jaden's toy bow was too crudely made for his purposes. He asked Teagan's permission to use real weapons—a scheme they cooked up without my knowledge while I was engaged in conversation with Alfstanna and helping her keep her children rounded up.

On their way to the lakeside where Teagan had set up the targets, Aiden confided to Jaden, "This is just between us men. Your mum will kill me if she finds out we're using real weapons."

Jaden found that hilarious. "My mum? Papa says she wouldn't hurt a bug."

Aiden chortled. "Right. She wouldn't hurt a bug. Not a small one, anyway." Varterrals and giant corrupted spiders, on the other hand… he thought.

Aiden made a point of exhibiting his finest tricks, using his best longbow—a gift from Winter—called the Sorrows of Arlathan. Jaden was enthralled. Uncle Aiden's arrows destroyed his targets. The pristine lakeshore was now a mess of straw and tattered burlap. Jaden demanded to try his hand at it. With no more targets to obliterate, they were stymied.

"The tree over there," Jaden suggested, pointing to a tree with a five to six-inch diameter trunk. "I'll shoot that one."

"Sure, go ahead and try," Aiden said, confident the boy would find it took a lot more strength than he possessed to launch an arrow with enough force to penetrate the bark of a tree of that size, much less the solid wood. He handed the lad his shortbow and an arrow from the quiver. "A shortbow doesn't have the power to—" His words were halted when he watched the arrow not only penetrate the tree bark but also the trunk, coming to rest with the shaft embedded fully into the trunk with the point sticking out one side of the tree and the fletching on the other.

"Andraste's big fat flaming… Maker's breath," he caught himself. "How did you do that with those skinny arms of yours? Let me try." He took the shortbow, loaded an arrow and pulled the string back fully before letting it fly. His perfect aim, coupled with his strength, split Jaden's arrow but his shot only penetrated the trunk to a depth of two inches.

Not to be outdone by a little boy, he laid the shortbow aside and snatched up his longbow. He'd shot arrows through and through many a darkspawn's body with it. If anything could penetrate a tree, that bow could. But to make good and sure, he used a sturdier arrow. His second shot was better, but it wasn't nearly as good as Jaden's.

"You were lucky," he concluded. "Probably hit a soft spot in the trunk."

Jaden smiled up at him innocently. "Yes Uncle, you're right. Now would you please show me how to shoot two arrows at once?"

"Your hands aren't big enough yet, fella," Aiden muttered, still smarting from being bested on the tree-shooting competition. In the end, he gave in and showed Jaden how to hold two arrows and position them properly. It was too advanced for the boy but he showed promise. He'd likely be expert at it by the time he was seven. "That's enough for today. Let's quit before I lose all sense of manliness."

'Thank you, Uncle." Jaden's grateful hug erased any inkling of annoyance. He was a good lad. Smart, polite, obedient, and genuinely gifted. Not cocky like his mum, Aiden thought with amusement. He must have taken after Old Redbeard.

Alistair and little Duncan also came by regularly, spending as much time as the king's schedule would permit. I assumed he was taking the child to visit his mother in Orlais, but learned he hadn't set foot inside the country since he took custody of his son. He'd glossed over just how badly, and quickly, his marriage had deteriorated.

Out of Duncan's hearing, he said, "If you had the misfortune of meeting her, five minutes in her company would give you all the reasons I want nothing to do with her. More importantly, I don't want her anywhere near Duncan." He didn't elaborate but his declaration was troubling. It wasn't mere incompatibility or an unwillingness to accept each other's culture. I was curious as to exactly what happened, but pressing him for details would have been a giant step out of bounds. Teagan was right: Alistair's marriage was none of my concern.

Over the past few years, especially since Duncan's birth, we'd grown close again. We were all family in my mind—my household, with Alistair and Duncan. I'd all but forgotten Eamon, who rarely made the trip due to his declining health.

Late one evening, after we'd put the boys to bed and Teagan had retired because he'd be leaving for Redcliffe the next morning, Alistair and I stayed up and talked a while.

"I know you want to ask, so go ahead," Alistair said. "You want to know why the marriage failed."

I was speechless. He'd sensed my thoughts, and I flushed with embarrassment. "It's… No, I wouldn't ask of it. It's not my place."

"The Winter I remember would demand answers," he said, referring to how strict and tough I was on him when we were wardens, and evidently forgetting those were battle situations. "I hardly know how to act around you these days. You're too nice."

I scoffed at his remark. "Too nice indeed. I'm not in a position of leadership or combat, that's all."

"You would have been if I'd had my way. I wanted you to lead Ferelden's armies before I learned you were with child."

"Is that so? You had no qualms about sending me back to Amaranthine when I was pregnant."

"No qualms? I had plenty of qualms, I'll have you know. I was a walking mass of qualm."

I tittered. "I don't think there's such a thing as a 'walking qualm'."

"If there was, I was it," he insisted. His manner sobered. "Since you won't ask, I'll tell you. First off, I didn't want to marry the empress of Orlais. I wasn't ready to marry anyone yet, but Eamon kept insisting and pushing until I gave in, if for no reason other than to show him a marriage between Ferelden and Orlais wouldn't happen. Next thing I knew, I had a signed treaty and an Orlesian fiancée. You'll recall how 'fond' I am of Orlesians," he scowled.

"Celine seemed alright at first, before the wedding. There was something…off about her, but I thought it was merely that she was Orlesian. I didn't realize how much I disliked her until it was too late. To break off the engagement would have nullified the treaty, and that was the only thing I cared about at the time. So I went through with it for my country's sake.

"As it turned out, she was possibly the most vulgar woman I've seen outside the Pearl. And don't take that to mean I've been inside the Pearl except when we went there on missions. She was as loathsome to me as Morrigan."

It was a startling comparison. "I'm sorry," I said. I pitied him but political alliances were part of a monarch's duty. Still, I wished it had been a happy union for his sake, and told him so.

"That was too much to hope for," he mused. "I would have settled for a tolerable marriage. But it wasn't tolerable. She wasn't tolerable. Celine and her closest confidantes are evil in a way I can't quite grasp, but my templar training makes me think there was blood magic at work.

"One positive thing came out of it. I have my son, and he's the only reason I don't regret it."

Over the summer we went on holiday. First we traveled to Denerim to see Eamon. Teagan was concerned for his brother's health, and he was saddened to see how rapidly Eamon had aged in the past few years. He was sixty years but looked closer to seventy. His strong voice was growing weaker, and it had a noticeable tremor. Eamon's gait was slower and he appeared to be in discomfort all the time.

He made light of our concerns and invited us to use his Denerim manor for the duration of our stay. I hadn't been there in years, since I'd recovered from killing the archdemon. The home was well maintained but empty except for his live-in servants. Eamon lived at the palace. He said traveling back and forth every day was troublesome, but we knew it was due to physical pain.

Jaden thought the house was as grand as the palace, but his excitement was as short-lived as his attention span. Alistair allowed Duncan to stay with us while we were in Denerim, and the two boys were good companions, close as brothers but with less fighting than true siblings.

After a couple of weeks in Denerim, we went to Amaranthine. The city was still under repair but we went—of all places—to Vigil's Keep. Jaden was keen to see where his mum used to work, and I was anxious to see Garavel and the others again. Garavel and Bryant made a couple of trips to Rainesfere when Jaden was younger, but the duties of seneschal and warden-commander kept them confined to the Vigil most of the time.

We met Nathaniel in the courtyard. He had moved up in rank, but Bryant considered him too hot-headed for further advancement. If he got his temper and all-around bad attitude under control, he'd make a fine senior warden. Nathaniel told us he was leaving the Vigil for good, having given Bryant notice that he was going to the Free Marches. There were too many unpleasant memories in Amaranthine. Besides, his only living relatives were in or near Kirkwall, he said. He'd most likely join up with the wardens in the Marches, led by an Orlesian senior warden named Stroud—a firm but fair leader, from what I'd heard. He might be exactly the type to help Nathaniel put the past in its proper place and advance, as he deserved. I wished him the best and we shook hands. No hugging for this fellow. A tiny thread of animosity remained between us, on his side.

Bryant learned of our arrival and came out to greet us. Jaden caught sight of Bryant's greatsword. "Uncle Bryant, now that I'm grown, can you teach me to use a greatsword like yours?"

Bryant didn't know how to answer. Jaden was so young... "Son, I'm not sure your parents would allow it. Swords are quite dangerous."

My son wouldn't be denied. He ran to our quarters and came back with his child-size greatsword. When Bryant saw it, he gave in to my precocious boy and showed him some simple techniques. "First, you have to hold it like this," he said, demonstrating the proper hold. "Then, when you swing it…" he said, slowly bringing the heavy sword around in a long arc. "Like that. You'll have to put your weight behind it, but the sword will carry through when done correctly."

"Like this?" Jaden asked, clumsily swinging his wooden sword.

"That's not bad," Bryant said. It was pretty bad, but we didn't want to discourage him. He was a gangly boy—all limbs that were usually well coordinated, but the large greatsword was a new weapon for him. "Keep practicing."

Teagan and I talked to Bryant about the keep and the remaining wardens, and the newer ones I'd not met, while Jaden continued to swing his sword about. Then came the inevitable. Teagan, being male and wary of such accidents, saw it coming first.

"Bryant!" he called. There wasn't enough time to say more.

Jaden's sword smacked him squarely in the crotch. Bryant's eyes widened, he gasped, his hands flew to cover his assaulted crotch, and he slumped slowly to his knees, coughing and looking like he wanted to puke.

"Maker! Oh Bryant I'm so sorry. Jaden, you put that away right now," I babbled, embarrassed for him and upset with myself for being too preoccupied to catch Jaden before he'd done harm.

Teagan got on one knee beside Bryant. "Apologies, friend. It happened so quickly I didn't have the time to warn you."

Bryant nodded. When he caught his breath, he said, "I learned an important lesson. A templar's skirt does nothing for protection. I'm trading it in for some real armor today."

Later that week, fully armored and protected, Bryant gave Jaden a few more lessons with two-handed weapons. Garavel joined in the fun (after a warning from Teagan to make sure his male parts were well shielded). His expertise was sword and shield like Teagan, but he could wield a battleaxe quite well. By the time we left to return to Rainesfere, Jaden had picked up some new skills and managed to break every one of his toy weapons. I wondered if those breaks were done purposely when he asked his father if it wasn't about time for real weapons.

Autumn returned and the weather was glorious. I spent more time outdoors enjoying the cool breezes and the scents, sounds, and colors that accompanied the season. While I basked in the beauty of our bannorn, my two gentlemen planned their hunting trip. Not a day went by without Jaden asking Teagan, "Can we go today, Papa?" followed by a disappointed, "Why not?" and "Can we go tomorrow, then?"

While they were making their plans, Alistair rode up with Duncan. Normally the child's nanny traveled with them, but this time it was just the king and the prince. Duncan considered himself too old for a nanny at the ripe age of four, and Alistair allowed it this one time to see if the lad could get on without constant supervision. Possibly not his best judgment call, but who could blame him for falling for Duncan's innocent face and his earnest promise to behave?

When Alistair heard about the hunt, he said wistfully, "I envy you two. I haven't been hunting in years, it seems. If you don't count the foraging for food we had to do during the blight. Hardly a proper hunt."

"Come with us," Teagan said. "It will be fun."

"I can't," Alistair answered. "I can't bring Duncan. He's too young. I'd be so busy running after him I couldn't concentrate on game."

"Go with them and leave Duncan with me," I offered—the obvious solution. "It's just an overnight trip to the woods near Redcliffe. The break from duty and your stuffy court of old windbags and seahags might do you good."

He smiled at my assessment of his court. "It would, but… are you sure? Duncan is a handful."

"I'm positive. Go," I insisted. "Duncan and I will get on just fine." I picked up the boy and said, as if sharing a big secret, "You and I are going to have a sleepover party. Just us; with no grown-ups to tell us what to do. How does that sound?" Oblivious to the fact that I was also a grown-up, he was thrilled. First he ditched the nanny, now the other adults… This was total victory.

Duncan was a handful, but not in a bad way. He was a curious boy, asking hundreds of questions over the two days I had him to myself, most of them "why" queries to which there were no good answers. I made some up as we went along, aware that he was too young to remember much of what I told him.

I kept him occupied with all the activities I could think of but none held his attention for long. When I took him to see our stables, I hit upon his favorite thing. The boy loved horses and wanted to be able to ride like his papa. So we went for a ride together on my gentlest old mare, all the way through Rainesfere northward on the Imperial Highway until we reached the far end of the bannorn, then heading back before we ventured into the open plains.

When we reached the manor, I slid off the horse and let him sit in the saddle. Taking the reins, I led the horse on a slow walk, keeping an eye on Duncan's balance. He did well, clutching the horse's mane with both fists and trying to urge her to go faster by kicking his heels in her side like he'd seen Alistair do. His heels only reached right below the saddle, and the mare paid him no mind. This kept him occupied until it began to grow dark. He put up a fuss when I told him it was time to go inside, and I practically had to pry him off the horse.

"Whenever you visit, this will be your horse," I said. His big amber eyes grew wider with delight. I hadn't noticed before how much he looked like Alistair, but those eyes were just like his father's.

After he'd had his dinner, I told him stories. It didn't take long for me to run out of tales that were appropriate for a young child. Luckily, we had plenty of storybooks. I wanted to tuck him into bed before I read to him. Being an affectionate little fellow, he wanted to sit on my lap. He won out. I read book after book until his eyes grew heavy and his head began to droop against my chest. His arms went around my neck and he snuggled against me. This little angel has had no mother, I thought with a pang of sadness. No matter how good his nanny may be, there's no substitute for a mother's love.

My heart went out to him, and I held him until I started to doze off as well. In the times he'd spent the night at our house, he and Jaden shared a room. I couldn't leave the child all alone even if he was familiar with our house. I worried he might wake during the night disoriented and afraid. So I brought him to my room and put him in my bed. He stayed right against me all night, holding onto my neck or arm or hand. If he woke and wasn't touching me, he would reach for me and cuddle closer. It brought back sweet memories of when Jaden was a toddler.

In the morning he was up early. His first question was, "Is my papa coming back today?" When I said yes, the next question was, "Can we ride my horse before he gets here? I want to show him I can ride as good as he can."

We were riding—rather, Duncan was riding while I walked the horse—when the hunters returned. Teagan's horse carried two full sacks of game they had killed. We would be well supplied with rabbit and quail for the winter. Alistair had a fine halla buck lashed to the back of his horse.

Before I could comment on their success, Duncan called out to Alistair. He was so proud of himself, riding like a big boy. Alistair praised him as if he'd just won a jumping competition. When Duncan told him the mare was his horse, Alistair started to correct him. I cleared my throat to get his attention and gave him "the look", like I used to do when we fought together, that told him not to say anything until I had a chance to explain. King or not, he still remembered his training, I noted (with a touch of satisfaction), and he went along with it.

Teagan bragged on our son's prowess with the bow. "It's like he can sense the prey before he sees them. Each time he made a kill, he had his arrow aimed at the exact spot the animal appeared. It was uncanny."

Alistair added, "Growing up, I heard Cailan was the finest archer in Ferelden. I never thought a boy so young could fire arrows with that kind of accuracy. It's almost…" He searched for the right word.

"You'd better not be thinking 'creepy'," I warned (smiling, but inwardly serious).

"Absolutely not! He's pretty incredible. It's like Teagan said. He seems to sense the animals…"

He and I were thinking the same thing, I believe. My son exhibited skills most grown men couldn't attain. There was something special about him. Something… supernatural? The more he grew and developed, the more reason there was to believe at least some of the things Morrigan had told me about him were true. Immortality? I didn't accept that. The ability to command dragons? Hog toss. But there was no denying his intelligence and rapid advancement set him apart from other children. If he did have the ability to sense the presence of animals, was it due to the soul he'd supposedly inherited?

"Well, your trip wasn't a total loss. You managed to bag a nice halla," I said to Alistair.

"Me? I wish I had! This is Jaden's kill. He had him in his sights before Teagan and I knew the buck was around." He looked at Teagan. "Did I kill anything?"

Teagan shrugged. "I don't know if I did either. This boy was firing off arrows faster than I could keep up with him, and it seemed I was only there to collect his kills."

"Show off," Alistair teased Jaden.

Instead of bragging on himself as I thought he might, he said, "You did fine, Uncle Alistair. I know of at least two rabbits you killed. Maybe three, and a quail."

"Oh great, that makes me feel better," Alistair said with mock exasperation. "I wonder how I got those few."

"I was busy tracking the halla," Jaden answered. He realized as soon as he'd said it that he sounded boastful. "I'm sorry, Uncle and Papa. I hope I didn't ruin your hunt."

Alistair ruffled Jaden's coal-black hair. "Not at all. I enjoyed being with you fellows. That was the best part."

He was right; being with family was the best part of life. The past six years, for me, had been more fulfilling than anything I could have hoped for. I had a devoted, sexy husband, a loving son, my dear friend Alistair, and his adorable boy Duncan. It truly was the best of times.

Part 2 – Coming Undone

In Denerim, Eamon waited for the king to return from his latest trip to Maker-knew-where. King Alistair had made a habit of running off without telling him. It was frustrating, and oftentimes embarrassing when nobles and officials came to call with the king on holiday and his chancellor hadn't a clue where the monarch was.

Eamon had received an urgent message from Orlais, sealed with the royal seal, for Alistair's eyes only. He knew the king's marriage to the empress was going badly. How could he not be aware? Whenever her name was mentioned, Alistair refused to discuss her. It wasn't something he could have anticipated after his many meetings with her chief advisor, and after obtaining the empress' agreement to the union.

Alistair strode into the throne room with Duncan riding on his shoulders. How regal, Eamon thought bitterly. He's behaving like a child himself.

The king had another bad habit of stopping whatever he was doing when the child was about. In the most recent episode, he'd interrupted a meeting with Viscount Dumar of Kirkwall when Duncan escaped his nanny, as the lad did with increasing frequency, and ran to his father. Rather than send the boy out or instruct a maidservant to remove him from the throne room, he sat the child on his lap and talked to him with the viscount waiting patiently for them to finish. Eamon was mortified. Alistair was oblivious. The viscount—thank the Maker—endured the sight with understanding and grace, himself being the widowed father of a grown lad.

Eamon ventured, "The prince's nanny has been waiting for him. She's concerned his absences are interfering with his lessons. And Sire, I've received an urgent missive from Val Royeaux."

Alistair had a maidservant take the boy to his nanny. When the child was gone, Eamon handed Alistair the letter. "As you can see, it bears the royal seal, Majesty."

Before Alistair read the message he said to Eamon, "Send the nanny away. I want her gone as soon as possible. Find a Fereldan nanny and tutor for him."

"I beg pardon, Sire, but if I may ask, what has the woman done? She may have spoken too boldly but is that cause enough to fire her? If she's offended or mistreated the prince or breached protocol—"

"I won't have my son raised by an Orlesian woman," Alistair cut him off. "Already his speech is marked with a foreign accent. I won't have it, Eamon. Duncan is Fereldan, no matter where his birth occurred. His mother rejected him and that's the best thing she could have done for him. He is my son, and I'll decide what's best for him."

"Of course, your Majesty," Eamon conceded, baffled by the sudden decision. Alistair had never shown dissatisfaction with the woman before. What could have happened?

What else? He's been to Rainesfere again. He's comparing Duncan to Jaden.

Alistair mentally dismissed Eamon, aware of his chancellor's fondness for Orlesias and irked by it, and broke the seal on the letter. It wasn't from Celine. It was from Duke Mark Zacherie, and it was… a threat? No, a warning not to come to Val Royeaux. It read:

"Your Majesty King Alistair,

"I have long suspected a plot against your life. I now have evidence of the far-reaching

conspiracy and the names of those involved. For your safety's sake, I implore you not to come to Val Royeaux until my associates and I deal with this threat. There will be a revolution in the coming days, for the good of Orlais as well as Ferelden.

I will message you as soon as the conspirators have been executed and order restored."

Duke Marc Zacherie"

He slouched in his throne, staring off at nothing in particular, and thinking over what he'd read. A plot against his life. From whom? Celine? Probably not from her personally, but she was involved somehow. Their hatred for each other was so strong it was damn near tangible. The creepy mage? Very likely. The royal court? Almost certainly.

Why was this duke so interested in his well-being? He must have something to gain, but what? Why would he warn him off when it would have been as easy to summon him into a trap, and after doing away with Celine, to kill Alistair, the paper emperor—the only one that stood between him and the throne, and take it for himself?

There was also Duncan to consider. As Celine's son (he cringed at the thought), the boy was the one (known) legitimate heir to the throne after Alistair. He'd not written to or heard from her in four years. She could have gone through several more husbands by now (Maker help them).

He didn't know what was going on and the letter raised a lot of questions. He wanted answers, and if it meant going into a fight to get those answers, so be it.

Having made his decision, he rose from his seat. "I'm leaving for Orlais in the morning. Duncan is coming with me. I don't know how long I'll be gone but it's best if you don't try to contact me."

"Understood, Majesty," Eamon said. The message must have been from Empress Celine. If he's taking their son along to see his mother, they're ready to put aside their differences and make the marriage work.

"Take my sword and wake the blacksmith if you must, but I want it sharpened before I go. And my heavy armor—have it repaired, and make sure he checks my shield for damage. I want everything ready as early as possible. It's a long two weeks to Val Royeaux. There's no time to waste." He started for his chambers when Eamon spoke up.

"Your… weapons and armor, Sire? I trust this is just a precaution." Alistair never went anywhere unarmed, but he'd not asked to have his weapons and armor checked and repaired since he took the throne.

"No," Alistair answered grimly. "It would seem I'm in for a fight." He turned from Eamon, unmindful of his chancellor's alarmed expression, too weary for explanations, going to his chambers to try to get some sleep. He had pressing business in the coming weeks. Deadly business by the sound of it.

"But Sire, you're taking Duncan?" Eamon called after him. Alistair gave no reply to Eamon's prying question. Instead, he stopped and added, "Hold off on sending the nanny back to Orlais, but I want her out of the castle first thing in the morning. Put her in the Gnawed Noble."

In his chambers, Alistair dropped his armor and fell across his bed. His body was tired but his mind was too active to allow for sleep. He was angry. He'd hardly spent enough time in Orlais, and none among the court, to have caused an uprising there. Whatever the reason behind it, he didn't take kindly to threats and he wouldn't back down or hide from Celine or her conspirators.

Teagan was ready to leave for Redcliffe when Jaden bounded down the stairs and started his twice-weekly "Papa-take-me-with-you" nagging. Today he was adamant. "I really should go with you, Papa. You might need me."

Teagan made his usual argument: His work required his full attention and he wouldn't have time for playing, sword lessons, and possibly not even the time to have meals together. He ended with, "Please son, let's not go through this again today. I have to get going. I need you here to help Ser Perth take care of your mum and the house while I'm gone. Now give your old man a hug."

Our boy was unusually stubborn this morning. He insisted on going, saying he'd be fine alone and he could wait while his papa worked. He could amuse himself. He didn't need constant attention. Teagan refused, as did I. Regardless of how mature he sometimes seemed to be, he was still a six-year-old.

"I wish you would listen to me," he said sadly. He hugged Teagan, kissed his papa on the cheek, and let him go, resigned that he'd lost the battle again. Then he returned to his room, walking slowly as if he were heartbroken. I'd never seen him behave this way. What in blazes was so interesting about Redcliffe?

My husband confided, when Jaden was well out of hearing range, "There have been reports of bandits on the road between here and Redcliffe. Not confirmed reports, but I'd not be foolhardy enough to bring him into what could be a frightening situation for him. I suspect he's heard the rumors, though I don't know who would have spoken to a child about such things."

"Bandits? I don't like the sound of that myself," I said. "How many knights are going with you?"

"Perth will be staying here to guard the house, along with two Redcliffe guards that returned with me on the last trip. The rest of the knights and a few more guards, will accompany me. There are eight of us in all. Don't worry, love; I'll be perfectly safe. I'll be back tomorrow at the usual time." He kissed me goodbye, asked me to check on Jaden, and left with his entourage.

I admit there was a nagging fear in my gut, but seeing the party of armed, trained fighters was encouraging. Bandits traveled in small groups. They'd be outnumbered two to one at the least, and these men were the finest fighters in the arling. I shook off the silly fear and went to find Jaden. His behavior needed some firm correction.

He sat at his window watching the guards ride off with his papa at the head of the group.

"Jaden, we need to talk—"

"Please, mum, can I watch them go? I feel bad for upsetting Papa and I want to see him off."

What difference would a couple of minutes make? Maybe I was being too lenient, but I felt he was already aware of what he'd done wrong. I let him watch until the party of men rode past the hills and out of sight. "He wasn't upset with you, dear. He was running late and had to leave. Papa's not angry with you."

"I'm glad," he answered, watching the deserted road, not sounding too glad.

"Come on. I'm sure Ser Perth has some things he can show you about battleaxes." His spirits lifted and he tore off downstairs to pester Perth.

Sorry, Perth. He's in need of cheering, and you've been so gracious…

Minutes later I could hear them in the yard. I do believe Perth enjoyed the lessons as much as Jaden did, if not more. As first knight, he was duty-bound to remain single, devoting his life to service. What a loss for some single woman out there, I thought. He's a fine gentleman. He was patient with Jaden, showing him techniques he'd learned in years of battle.

I settled into my usual daily routine, confident all was well.

Alistair pushed his horse as hard as he dared, flying over the roads westward to Redcliffe, then north toward Rainesfere. Duncan shared his saddle, bounced along for a full day and half a night with few stops. His son was well past the point of fatigue and Alistair felt terrible for keeping him from his rest, but the business was too urgent to allow for anything but the necessities. He had to get Duncan to safety, then press on to Val Royeaux to deal with whatever chaos he'd find there. If what the Duke said was accurate, the city was in a full-scale revolution.

Orlais wasn't his problem. He didn't care if Celine were deposed. She didn't deserve to lead a village much less a powerful empire. What concerned him was who would take her place on the throne. Would her successor be willing to ally with Ferelden, or would his country face another war with the highly-trained chevaliers?

He arrived at Teagan and Winter's manor sometime between midnight and dawn. He dismounted carefully, and his sleeping son slid off into his arms. His arrival wasn't exactly quiet—the house steward opened the door for him, having seen it was the king come to call.

"I must speak with the arl," he said.

"Sire, the arl is in Redcliffe. The arlessa is home."

"Wake her and tell her I have urgent business. And for the Maker's sake, man, don't frighten her. Make sure she knows this isn't about the arl."

Winter was down in a few minutes, looking sleepy but, to his eyes, radiant. She hadn't wasted time dressing, and was barefoot, in a white gown, with her dark hair loose and tousled.

Maker's breath but she's beautiful. No wonder Teagan cherishes her. What man wouldn't?

Stop it, you fool! No time for that!

"Alistair," she greeted in a whisper, keeping her voice down so as not to wake the household. Her eyes lit on Duncan. "Oh my, look at him. He's exhausted." She reached for the sleeping lad.

Alistair handed Duncan to her. Duncan's arms went around her neck, he laid his head on her shoulder, and within seconds he was asleep again.

"The poor darling," she cooed, resting her cheek on his cornsilk hair and cuddling him as if he were her own son. The sight gave Alistair the confidence he needed to make his request.

"I need your promise, dear friend. I'm asking a lot of you but I desperately need your help."

She noted his agitated countenance. "You have it, whatever you ask. What's going on?

"I need you to take care of Duncan. I'm going into Orlais—"

"Of course I'll take care of him. What a silly worrier you are." Her relief lasted but a moment when he continued.

"—and I may not return. Winter, please, if anything happens to me, promise you'll raise him and care for him. There is no one else I trust."

"Alistair, what is going on?" she repeated. "Why would you not return? You're starting to frighten me, and you well know I don't scare easily."

"I've no time to explain. Things are dire in Val Royeaux and I have to get there quickly. Please, I need to hear your promise before I go."

"You're going to help the empress? Is there trouble?"

"I'm going to fight against the empress. Forgive me, but I have no more time for explanations."

"I promise I'll take care of him like he's my own son. Until you return."

He exhaled, ridding himself of his immediate anxiety. "Thank you. I can go with a clear head knowing he's in your hands."

"I wish I could go with you and help, but… the children…"

"You're needed here. Don't worry for me. I must leave now, before they realize I'm coming. Wish me luck?" He tried to give her a reassuring smile. She wasn't fooled.

"You come back alive, Alistair. I mean it. No excuses."

Her imperious demand brought a genuine smile to his face, calling to mind her early days as a warden. "I always liked you best when you were bossy." Without thinking, he cupped her chin and kissed her lightly on the lips. He excused himself with, "A little extra luck never hurt."

She was unfazed. "Be careful, Alistair. Please."

Before she could say anything more he dashed off into the night, full of purpose and deadly intent. He jumped on his horse and rode northwest. He went alone, without guards or helpers.

Part 3 - …It Was the Worst of Times

Noon came and went, and Teagan hadn't returned. It wasn't the first time the folks of Redcliffe had delayed him, wanting to talk to him directly about their concerns. He met mostly with nobles, the revered mother, and the mayor, but if the townsfolk saw him about, they stopped him. He would always be remembered as the one nobleman who risked his life to save their town from the walking dead monsters years earlier. He was more than their arl; he was their hero.

As the afternoon wore on, I started to grow uneasy. He'd never been this late, and if he saw he would be much delayed he would have sent word, wouldn't he? Teagan's first priority was his family—he made that clear to everyone. He wouldn't let me worry if it could be helped.

Why was I worried anyway? Because he was three or four hours late? Or was it five? I was being doltish, I told myself.

My anxiety wasn't lost on Perth. "My Lady, would you have me go toward Redcliffe and see that all is well?"

"No, Ser Perth, but thank you for your offer. I'm sure everything is fine. He's just been delayed."

"As you wish," Perth answered.

"Ser Perth, what have you heard about bandits along the road to Redcliffe?"

"Not much, my Lady. Small bands, unskilled and ill-equipped. They could rob civilians, but not a large, armed party such as the arl's. There's no need for alarm on that account."

Night fell without word or sign from Teagan. Now I was getting worried. Maybe the bandits had become organized. Maybe there was a larger camp of the brutes in the hilly country waiting to ambush a nobleman on a little-traveled stretch of highway.

Enough of this nonsense! If he's not home by morning, he'll probably be leaving Redcliffe a day later than usual. Nothing to get upset over.

I slept fitfully, waking over and over and reaching across his side of the bed. It was empty. Did I expect him to travel the roads at night? No one in their right mind would do so.

The following day, I waited for noon with an anxious heart. He'd get a proper talking-to from me for making me worry! But he didn't arrive by noon. There was no messenger from Redcliffe to deliver word that my husband was staying longer for business. Not a word, not a sighting of a traveler coming from the south.

Perth saw my nervous pacing and again offered to ride toward Redcliffe. Again, I refused his offer. I felt foolish, worrying so, and would feel a lot more foolish when Teagan returned home with a perfectly logical explanation for his lateness.

Another night passed. I kept a brave face on for the boys. Jaden was quieter than normal, but Duncan was his usual chattery-happy self. He kept me occupied and quieted my fears. We spent the third day of Teagan's absence having a picnic by the lake—the last one we'd be able to hold before the cold weather arrived and kept us indoors. After we ate, Duncan wanted to practice riding. A stableboy saddled the mare and lifted him onto the horse's back.

The boy had improved greatly. His balance was better and he'd learned how to make the horse turn, stop, and go on command and with the reins. "You've been practicing," I commented. "Did your papa get a riding teacher?"

"Papa taught me," he answered proudly. "Papa doesn't need a teacher." I laughed at our little miscommunication. Still, he answered my question. No riding teacher. Alistair had taken time to teach the boy himself. I don't know where he found the time, but when it came to Duncan, he put his son first and other things just had to wait.

When midafternoon came, I could stand the wait no longer. I approached Perth, embarrassed at my fears, which I knew would soon be proven groundless, and asked him to ride to Redcliffe. He took off immediately. Until he returned, with Teagan and his guards or with word of his delay, I had to wait. The damned waiting was the worst of it.

We had dinner. Duncan ate heartily, reminding me again of his father and having inherited Alistair's appetite. Jaden ate little. I pushed my food around my plate and ate nothing.

At length, I heard the sound of a horse. Two horses. Only two horses, of the nine total that left the stable. I asked Jaden to take Duncan to his room and I went outside. It wasn't yet fully dark, but dark enough to prevent me from clearly making out the riders' faces.

When the horses got closer, I saw there was only a single rider. The other horse carried a burden over its back. Was that… Was it Perth? The armor looked like his. Heavy, broad armor. Teagan's was light armor. The rider wasn't Teagan.

I had all the porch lanterns lit so I could see more clearly when the horseman approached. Perth must have found out why Teagan was delayed and had come back to tell me.

So soon? It's an eight-hour ride round trip to Redcliffe and back. He hasn't been gone long enough to reach Redcliffe.

It was Perth. His face was set in a grim mask. He rode up to the porch and stopped, leaving the other horse a short distance behind.

My words came out in a weak whisper. "What did you find, Ser Perth? Where is my husband?"

I could feel the blood pounding, rushing past my ears, hearing and feeling my pulse with a heavy, dreadful beat. Before he spoke the words, I felt them in the pit of my stomach.

"My Lady, forgive me. There was nothing I could do. I was too late," he said.

The truth hit me like a lightning bolt. The burden laid across the horse's back was my husband's body. Teagan was dead.

Perth found the bodies halfway between Redcliffe and Rainesfere. The guards and knights had been burned, their corpses blackened beyond recognition. He could tell by their armor if it were a guard or a knight, but couldn't identify any of them. It was impossible to see if they'd sustained other injuries, if they were dead before they were burned or, Maker help them, if they'd been burned alive.

The arl lay a short distance from the others, in a wide pool of blood. His blood. His body hadn't been burned. It looked like he'd been ripped nearly in half, but what kind of beast could rend a man so? Nothing he knew of. He did know this wasn't done by a man, or even a whole company of bandits. The wound to the arl's abdomen wasn't clean-edged like one made by a sword or axe. It was jagged, as though it were made by foot-long teeth crushing and tearing through his leather armor and flesh effortlessly. This injury was made by some kind of creature. A very large one.

The horses they'd been riding were dead too. Burned like the guards and knights. He looked about for something to cover the bodies, but his horse had only two blankets. He used one to wrap the arl's body so it wouldn't fall apart on the ride back to the manor. The second he used to drape over he corpse. He had to pry his sword from his hand. Arl Teagan had died fighting.

He rode slowly, fearful the body would break in two in the jostling. The news he was bringing the arlessa was bad enough without the added horror of seeing her husband's body in such a state. It was dark when he approached the house. The arlessa was on the front porch waiting for him.

"Maker, tell me what to say to her," he prayed under his breath.

I felt sick. Faint. But I wasn't lucky enough to faint and escape the pain that filled me as water fills a cup to overflowing. Filled with pain, but also with a keening, gnawing emptiness.

I approached the horse slowly, with jerky steps, forcing myself to go forward when I wanted to turn and run, far enough and fast enough to make time go backwards, three days back, and stop him from leaving the house.

My thoughts were as jerky as my movements. Disjointed thoughts. Where were the boys? Were they sleeping? I didn't want them to know…

Teagan is dead

…about this yet. More than that, I didn't want them to see the blanket covering his body, soaked with red. Stained with his life's blood.

Memories and words and laughter and arguments melded together into a blur that couldn't drown out the terrible truth…

Teagan is dead

…and numbing shock of loss. I'd lost both my parents in a single night, but what I felt then couldn't compare to this aching grief.

Tentatively, I touched the blanket. Why? Would it make me feel closer to my beloved, who had left this wretched world with its cruelty and wickedness and violence? My gaze fell upon a pale hand that hung lifeless below the edge of the blanket. Dried blood traced a dark path on his skin.

"His men?" I asked Perth. My eyes were riveted on the bloody hand.

"All were lost, my Lady."

"All were lost," I repeated. "Bandits?"

"No, my Lady."

Jaden came out of the house, roused from sleep. How? We'd been quiet. Had he not been asleep after all?

I turned to him and embraced him. "Darling, go back inside. We'll talk in the morning."

"Papa, no," he whispered, his tragic expression mirroring my own. "You should have taken me with you, Papa."

"Don't say that! I couldn't bear to lose you both," I said. Tears were beginning to stream down my cheeks. I battled for control of myself, not wanting to fall apart in front of him.

"Lusacan," he whispered.

I'd never heard of a "Lusacan". Was it a person? A weapon? Before I could ask him what he meant by it, he raised his face to the sky and roared with all his strength. "LUSACAN!" The strange word was followed by a string of words in an unfamiliar tongue.

It was Jaden's voice, but multiple times stronger. Forceful in a way no child could speak. Not the cry of a boy, but the shout of a man, a battle cry or a thundering threat one would bellow to an enemy. I knew the type of cry, but not the words themselves.

Was he hysterical? It appeared not. He looked more composed than I felt, and it was worrisome. This was too much for a child to handle. I needed to get him inside, away from his father's body, before he ran past me and saw what I couldn't bring myself to look at. I'd seen thousands of corpses in every condition, but I would not let my last memory of Teagan be the sight of his broken, tortured body.

The sobs broke free and I sunk to my knees, face in my hands. I fought against the hysteria that teased along the edges of my sanity. "Teagan," I groaned through the tears. "No… No… No."

My son put his arms around me and we mourned together. Jaden had no tears. He grieved as I did, but didn't cry. He remained strong in my time of absolute weakness and vulnerability.

Perth led the horse away from the house. There would have to be arrangements made soon. Not now. I couldn't think. I couldn't accept that Teagan was gone.

Eamon! He could not learn of this from strangers' gossip. While I still had my wits about me, I called for the steward and instructed him to dispatch a messenger to Denerim at first light. I wrote a note with little detail other than Teagan had perished in an accident. That was enough.

"Mum, you should go lie down," Jaden said. "Papa told me to take care of you."

I regained enough composure to ask, "Darling, what was that word you said? What is Lusacan?"

His eyes grew distant. "It's a name. It's… Night." He didn't elaborate, and I got the impression he didn't know any more than that.

At my son's gentle urging, I went to bed. He offered to sit with me but I sent him to his room so I could be alone, and when he was gone I released the tears, sobs, groans and anguish and rage and sorrow. It would be long before my emotions were healed, if one ever truly heals from the death of a spouse. For now, with the news too fresh and the grief so deep, all I could do was cry.

I slept at last, physically and emotionally wrung out. When I woke at midmorning, Duncan had come to my suite and crawled into my bed. He snuggled close to me with an arm around my neck and his head against my shoulder. His presence, innocence, and warmth were comforting.

"I'm scared, Aunt Winter," he whimpered. I hadn't realized he was awake and crying.

"Scared? What are you afraid of, dearest?"

"Dragons. Jaden told me a dragon killed his papa."

"Shh, there are no dragons here. Jaden and I will keep you safe," I said.

Where did Jaden get such a wild idea? Nothing was said about a dragon…

Morrigan's ritual. Her stories. They were true. My son did have the soul of an old god, and in their life, they were dragons.

My mind was racing. Dragons. A high dragon—the only creature I knew besides an ogre that was large and strong enough to tear an adult apart. I'd killed a high dragon at the temple south of Haven. But there were eggs. Maybe hundreds of them. We hadn't been looking for dragon eggs, only the cursed ashes. We carelessly overlooked the eggs and let them hatch. Haven, not so far from Redcliffe and Rainesfere.

Flemeth took the form of a high dragon too. We'd killed her daughter. Was she the "Lusacan" that Jaden spoke of? I'd killed her once in her dragon form, but from what Morrigan said, that wasn't her true dragon form in all its power. It was a dim shadow of what she could become.

Anger and grief competed in me. Both were powerful emotions, but grief was debilitating, whereas anger was my motivator. I would find out who or what killed my husband, and they, or it, would forfeit their lives for this murder.

In her dingy hut in the swamp, Flemeth heard her name from many miles away. Her true name, followed by a threat. She recognized Urthemiel's voice, a sound she'd not heard in many years, before he became corrupted by darkspawn filth. She had gotten his attention.

Good, she thought. He is becoming aware of who he truly is. Soon, in another twenty years or so, he'll learn his purpose. Our purpose.

The death of Razikale—"Morrigan" as they knew him—was a negligible loss. His powers were weak and his loyalty questionable. In killing him, they had unwittingly saved the world from the sixth blight.

The final blight, led by the Lusacan herself, the Dragon of Night, was still to come. By then, there would be no Grey Wardens to get in her way. She would see to that personally.