None of them expected to find what they did. Jowan's terror suddenly made sense, and his interrupted warning now echoed in Cailan's ears.
The Revenant seemed to be a distant memory to the soldiers. Not that the being before them was larger or poised to cause more physical harm than the dead behemoth. This was a different kind of terrifying, a different kind of dangerous. And it was only fit that such a threat would be housed within the body of a child.
Instead of hanging a few steps behind Cailan, Isobel stepped forward, a slender, well-armed barrier between the king and the abomination. The action itself she made without thinking. She could hardly remember the sound of Duncan's death throes. His whisper was faint now, a memory that felt almost fabricated. The meaning behind the words stood while the sound faded away. She took what was bid of her seriously, no matter the cost. To protect Cailan was more than just a duty. It was a privilege.
At first, the King was too shocked to notice the young woman step in front of him, but seconds ticked by and he soon found himself nudging her out of the way in order to move closer to the boy. She gave a quiet protest, but he could hardly hear her.
"Ah, cousin," the boy at the head of the room said in greeting. There was a distance to his voice, as if he were standing in the back of a cavern not mere feet away. Each word was followed by an almost feminine echo. Arryn shifted on her feet, the only physical reaction to the entire group's discomfort at the haunting sound.
Bann Teagan sat at the boy's feet, staring up at him with a wide grin on his face that rivaled Connor's manner of speech in eeriness. Isolde stood to her son's right, a look of utter defeat on her delicate features. The Bann laughed - a high pitched giggle that threatened to steal the mage's breath away. Connor shot his uncle an annoyed look, and the man silenced himself, turning away as if chastened.
"I can't say I expected to see you here," he said, taking a step down from in front of the fire. "I thought you were dead."
"Many assumed so," Cailan replied. He was really getting tired of hearing those words. He wasn't dead, and it was obvious by his appearing in the flesh that he was, in fact, very much alive. "Who are you, and what are you doing here, creature?"
Connor gave a rippling laugh, "That's not a very nice way to speak to your own flesh and blood, Cailan."
"Connor is my flesh and blood. You. You are not Connor."
The boy's face distorted in an expression that would normally rouse pity within the king. Dejected, upset, and maybe even a little afraid. He knew it was a ploy to keep his attention, to perhaps prey on some small sensitivity. It wasn't enough, and Cailan stood his ground, hand clasped around the grip of his long sword. When the boy took a step forward, Cailan sidestepped, his eyes narrowed into the seemingly empty blue ones of his own kin.
"But I am Connor. Ask my mother!" Tossing his head over his shoulder, he looked to Isolde, who stood wringing her hands and sobbing silently near the fire. "Mother!" Connor barked. Eyes wide, Arl Eamon's young wife snapped to attention, her hands going to her mouth to stifle a gasp. "Tell Cailan that I'm Connor. The fool can't recognize me."
Between her strangled sobs and the violent shaking of her head, the woman could hardly say a word. That monster was not her son. It was her little boy's body, but that was all. There were moments when her darling boy's personality would surface as if out of thin air, but those moments were few and far between.
"She's lying," Connor said simply. "I am her son." He sighed, looking from face to face of those gathered. "You brought quite an army with you, cousin." Sarcasm weighed heavily on each word, and a smirk teased the boy's mouth. He wasn't impressed. "I expected more from the King of Ferelden. You bore me."
"We have men outside," Cailan piped up. He wanted nothing more than to feel some reassurance from the four who followed him, but he couldn't take his eyes off of his young cousin. To look back to Isobel would be considered a weakness. He had to be strong. There was no other option. "Men from town, men who fought through the night and killed every single creature in your undead army. We may number only five, but we have strength where your brainless minions do not."
As he spoke, his presence seemed to grow, and soon it filled the long room. The heat from the massive fire at the end of the hall could hardly match the warm timbre of his voice. This was the voice of a king. This was a leader.
When Isobel found herself unable to look away from Connor only moments before, she looked to Cailan when he began to speak. Her heart filled itself up at the sound. She looked to Alistair and Godfrey only to see that they were experiencing something similar - a much needed lift in morale. While they'd all seen Cailan experience weakness first hand, his conviction in his words now shirked every poor opinion of him in a string of sentences. "You cannot fight with the undead, cousin, for they have nothing to fight for. Such an esteemed strategist like yourself would know that. I am not surprised that you were defeated, and that you will be defeated again."
Connor giggled in an attempt to seem nonchalant, but there was a tremor there that hadn't existed before. "I grow tired of your company," he smirked. "I am going to go check on my father." The boy took a step back, head tilted to look up into Cailan's face. "I would wait around to see how you all fare against live foes, but… I have a feeling that won't go very well. For you, at least." Before he let his ominous words sink in, he turned and ran from the room.
Connor's sudden retreat was punctuated by the entrance of nearly a dozen possessed soldiers through doorways on either side of the hall. They were armed to the teeth and wearing stronger armor than the others. Alistair and Godfrey were the first to be engaged, and Arryn took refuge near the back of the room.
Without so much as a word of warning, Bann Teagan rose from his place near the fire, drawing his sword from its sheath and lunging at Cailan. The king's eyes widened as he lifted his sword in a wide arc to parry the blow. "Uncle! What are you doing!?" Dread clung to every word. The man's eyes were muddy; emotionless. He, too, was possessed. Heaving the man backwards, Cailan watched as Teagan fell backwards, nearly smashing his head into the stone floors.
Isolde screamed, fingers clawing at her lips as she pressed herself to the wall. If she was able, she would've sunk into it. Anything to get away from this madness.
"Cailan, watch your back!" Godfrey hollered just quick enough for Cailan to whip around and dodge a blow from the soldier's mace. Ducking to the side, he took advantage of the soldier's uneven footing and pushed him backwards as he had Teagan. The soldier staggered before regaining his position and lunging at the king a second time. This time, Cailan was ready, and he thrust his sword forward, nearly missing the small slit of flesh between the soldier's armor and helmet.
Blood gushed out of the wound, spraying a fine mist onto Cailan's face. Wiping at his eyes, he was just quick enough to fall to one knee and avoid a slash from the blade of his uncle. He didn't want to hurt him. He wanted Teagan to wake from this thrall before he was forced to cut him.
Isobel kept her eyes on the king as she fought attacked one of the archers near the back of the room. As she slid the now limp figure from her blade, her eyes widened. Teagan. Teagan was going to kill him if he didn't kill him first. The man was possessed, it was no longer his uncle. It was clear to her that Cailan was not the sort of man to readily accept that knowledge. Hoisting herself up onto the long wooden dining table that led directly to the king, Isobel rushed forward, narrowly avoiding the clumsy swords of the crazed soldiers.
One soldier held out an arm, and before she saw it, she was toppling forward. She was able to catch herself from planting her face into the table, but just barely. "Cailan!"
The king tore his eyes from his uncle just long enough to see her face. Teagan reached forward and grabbed Cailan by his armor, yanking him up to his face, his sword poised to deliver a killing blow. Cailan could feel the cold metal against his throat, and he shut his eyes. He didn't want the last thing he saw to be his uncle possessed by a demon spirit.
He could see himself as a child, fair and full of energy, bouncing behind his mother and father wherever they went in the castle. He saw himself as a young boy, battling servants and tutors with his fine wooden sword, his mood blackened by the death of his mother. His teenaged years were very much a blur. Celebrations, his marriage to Anora, Loghain's small, aberrant smile of acceptance. Five years passed without much difference until the beginning of the Blight. Then there was the battle at Ostagar. He saw himself waking to find Isobel sitting, cross-legged, on the ground beside his bedroll. She didn't look like the gentle sort, but her touch spoke volumes to the contrary. The night outside of the Chantry. She'd pulled him so close he could feel the warmth emanating from her despite the frigid chill in the air. The feeling of accomplishment. Her smile.
Everything faded into blackness, and Cailan was roused from his reverie as he felt Teagan let go of his armor. He staggered backwards to see the hilt of Isobel's dagger sticking out of his uncle's calf. The man howled in pain, his pitching to and fro intensifying as she jerked the blade downwards.
Cailan turned around to see that the battle was finished. Godfrey sat collapsed against the table where Arryn tended to his wounds. Ser Perth and Alistair picked through the corpses, looking for any potential threat. And Bann Teagan lay on the floor, biting his tongue so hard it nearly bled as Isobel tried her hardest to remove the blade. "I-I'm so sorry," she stammered. "It… it. I had to do it. You were going to kill Cailan!"
"Hush, girl," he groaned. "I'm glad you did it, just please stop shaking and get that thing out of me so I can try to fix it."
Cailan felt woozy. He placed himself gently on the bench that ran along the dining table, his shoulders caving inward as much as his armor would allow. He'd felt it. He'd felt death. This was the second time in only a handful of days, and he didn't much care for it. But at Ostagar, when the ogre had him in its grasp, he'd seen something different. While his life had flashed before his eyes, as men and women often said it did when facing near certain death, it ended with that battle. It ended with the clashing of swords and the blood and the death.
Glancing up from his clasped hands, he watched as Isobel tenderly tried to remove her dagger. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, and he could see the end of her tongue poking out through her teeth. She leaned backwards to take a break from the task, running an arm across her forehead to dust her hair out of her eyes. "Arryn," she called to the mage. "When you are finished with Godfrey, I could use your help."
Just as everything settled down, there was a scuffle on the far end of the room and the door opened. Ser Perth and his men drew their swords, only to find that Jowan was standing there. His already pale skin blanched to the color of snow. "I-I'm not possessed, if that's what you're wondering," he said, feebly lifting his palms in submission. "I heard the fighting. And the arlessa's screams."
Isolde looked up from Bann Teagan at the sound of the mage's familiar voice. Her gentle demeanor was instantly changed. "What is he doing here!? Ser Perth - arrest this man! Again." She turned to look at Cailan. "Who let that foul man out of his cell? Do you know?"
"I -," Isobel began, but she was cut off by Cailan, who stood. "I do know who let him out of his cell. It was my decision. He said he could help us."
"Help us?" Isolde gasped, obviously scandalized by such a prospect. "How would you help us?"
"I… I know how to save Connor."
Isolde's face seemed to freeze. Her lips parted, eyes wide and unblinking, hand hovering in midair. This man had broken her trust before. He'd poisoned her husband, and for all she knew, he'd let those demons loose in Castle Redcliffe. Why did he sound so… genuine? Why did she feel like he was telling the truth? "You… you could help Connor?" she asked, her voice meek in comparison to the one that still rung in Jowan's ears.
He took a step forward, avoiding the piercing eyes of Ser Perth's men. "Yes," he said, "I can help him." He gulped, looking to Arryn and then to Cailan. "I have a feeling you won't agree with the only way I know to help, though."
"Tell me," Isolde pleaded, rushing to the man she'd regarded with such hate moments before. "Please, tell me how you can save my Connor."
"There must be a…" Jowan took a deep breath, looking nervously from face to face. "A sacrifice. And a mage willing to enter the Fade."
"A sacrifice!?" Cailan shouted. "Are you mad? We won't have you using blood magic right before our very eyes! Who is to say that you won't betray us again? Do we look like fools to you?" Jowan's eyes fell to the floor before him, and he shook his head. Cailan nodded, "I didn't think so. What are the other options? There must be other options."
What Jowan said brought another wave of tears to Isolde's eyes. "You must kill the boy."
"No!" the arlessa shrieked, running to grasp Jowan's hands in her own. The mage shrunk away from her touch, but she did not let go. "You must go through with the sacrifice. I cannot let you kill my little boy. This is the only way!"
"But it's not, Isolde," Teagan reminded her as he struggled to stand with the help of Isobel. Arryn pressed her hand to the wound once more for good measure, and he nodded his thanks to her. "Eamon would not agree with you. He would want to keep you safe; he loves you."
Isolde shook her head. "He would not want to see his only son murdered, not for anything." She glanced over her shoulder at her husband's brother, her eyes gleaming with tears. "I have to do this. It is a mother's duty to protect her children."
Isobel felt a lump rise in her throat, and she looked away from Isolde's pained expression as her eyes watered. She could see her mother. That memory had a clarity that others did not. It was as if someone carved it into her mind. Her mother bent over her dying father, urging her to leave their home with Duncan, reminding her that she was loved. Isobel cursed herself for her sentimentality. When she looked back to Isolde, she saw Cailan was looking at her, his brow creased in concern. She could hardly meet his eyes. She blinked her tears away with the reminder that there was no room in this moment for her own grief.
"The ritual must be done," Isolde murmured. There was a surety in her voice, a finality. Everyone knew that she wouldn't be swayed. This was her decision.
Jowan nodded solemnly. "I will need a mage to go forth into the Fade and kill the demon," he said softly, looking to Arryn. "You seem to be the only one here… Will you go?" Arryn nodded, looking to Godfrey and then Cailan. There was regret in her features, but also a resolve that filled those who looked upon her with faith. All of this had happened by chance. Her venturing into the Fade would prove her worth to these men if she hadn't already.
As they readied for the ritual, Isobel watched Isolde as she spoke quietly with Jowan. The mage's gentle nature smoothed over any doubts or anger that remained in the young woman, and she was beginning to feel safe in his hands. Arryn was ready, already standing in the center of the room, her conversation with Godfrey summed up in glances and gazes alone. Alistair, upset by Isolde's decision to go through with the ritual, had left the room, flanked by a few of Ser Perth's men.
Cailan was standing near the fire, arms crossed over his chest with his back to the flames.
Isobel steadied herself as she watched Isolde move into the center of the room. She was all determination, from her eyes to her set jaw. I can't stay here, Isolde thought. I can't see this. Her stomach churned as she pulled her shoulders back and tried to root herself to the ground. No matter how young the arlessa was, all she could see was her mother. She couldn't stay. She had to leave.
Without bothering to say a word to anyone, Isobel left the hall. She couldn't even garner the courage to look at Cailan, and she shut the door harder behind her than she'd expected. Pressing her back to the door, she let herself slowly slide to the floor, her legs splayed out before her and her hands lifted to her face.
The moment she was alone, tears began to run down her cheeks. It'd been nearly three weeks since she'd left Highever. In those three weeks, she'd not shed more than a stray tear here and there for her mother and father. Now they flowed, unabated, pooling in the palms of her hands.
So immersed was she in her own feelings, she did not hear Alistair approach, concerned at hearing her sobs and curious to see who it was crying. He stopped in his tracks the moment he recognized her. In his short time knowing her, she'd proven herself to be almost impassive when it concerned her emotions. It was odd to see her like this, and yet he could relate. He'd often wished he had enough alone time to grieve properly for Duncan, but it was impossible when surrounded by men. Any show of weakness would be met with merciless mocking.
A part of him yearned to go to her, to show her some compassion in hopes that she might show some in return, but he stopped himself. It was clear that she wanted to be alone. With that thought in mind, he turned around and departed the way he came.