Chapter 6: Awake and Alive

Korcari Wilds; Flemeth's hut south of Ostagar

Cailan had never been one to ease into things, and his return to the world of the living was no exception. He took in the wooden walls, the glow of the fire, and the most of all the pain that rolled off of him in waves.

"Wh…where am…" His voice scratched his throat and his lungs burned while febrile shaking wracked his body.

His voice and movements brought a woman in and his heart nearly stopped. Her hair was long, lank and gray and her face, hands, and body withered and old, but her shrewd amber eyes were so familiar that he wasn't sure if he felt relief or fear.

"Well. The prodigal son returns," she said in a raspy voice and he decided he felt fear at her familiarity. "Calm down, boy. You'll just hurt yourself more." She placed a cool cloth on his head, then got up and put another log on the fire and soon the temperature in the room was soaring. But Cailan felt a bit better. She peeled back the blanket and he wanted to cover what she exposed, which was silly. He'd been with women before and had never been ashamed of his nakedness. This was different; she regarded him not as a man, but as a specimen. As if she were examining him like one might examine a lamed horse.

"Do you remember anything?" she asked as she laid pungent smelling cloths over his aching torso.

"About what?" he asked through gritted teeth. The herbal scent was sharp at first, but the heat soothed his muscles and the scent faded to something sweet and relaxing. "I think… there was a battle. And I lost it." The realization was almost more painful than whatever was going on in his torso. And it hurt his pride far worse than an old woman draping herbed poultices over his naked body.

She drew the blankets over his body, trapping the poultices against him and sealing the heat against his skin. "Your memory is surprisingly good."

"How long…" The Fade was timeless, as limitless as the human mind, which was made it so dangerous. Cailan had no way of knowing just how much time had passed, either since Ostagar, or since his dream had ended and he'd regained consciousness.

"It's been nearly two weeks since you were found on the battlefield," she said.

He almost sat up, but the pain left him seeing stars. Two weeks: the Blight could have taken total hold of Ferelden. All could be lost even as he lay here wondering why he'd survived when so many else had died. He settled back and winced, as though contorting his face muscles could siphon the pain out of his midsection. "Two weeks. Did anyone else survive?"

At this the woman's smile disappeared and she stared out the one small, frosty window, and out across the wilds. "Two Wardens. Male and female." She turned back to him. "I found them as I found you."

There was pain in his chest, from more than the healing bones. "Only two? Duncan?"

"Unfortunately the Warden-Commander is dead," the woman said. "As I expect he expected. I can't be certain why, but the survivors were the youngest members of the order."

At that Cailan did sit up, disregarding the horrible pain that flamed up in him. "Alistair?"

"Yes, yes, that was his name," she said. "He has meaning to you?"

Cailan propped himself on his elbows, though the effort left him gasping and sweating. "I sent him to light the beacon. I hoped keeping him out of the battle would keep him safe. And it did." He smiled, almost indulgent, as he fell back. "Where…"

"North," she said, looking back out the window. "After that, I can't say. Wherever they've gone, they are beyond my reach." She poured hot water into a mug, and he smelled something sweet and pungent. "They have a difficult road ahead. But you may be able to assist them." She helped Cailan sit up enough to sip from the mug. He spluttered at first, but then got the hang of it. It coursed down his throat and into his stomach and the heat seemed to radiate through his body.

"Assist them?" he asked, voice sleepy and slurred.

"When your wounds have healed more," she said.

Darkness ebbed at his consciousness, but Cailan still had to know one thing. "How did I get wounded?"

The woman smiled. "My boy, this is what happens when you cross an ogre the wrong way."

Korcari Wilds, just north of the Uncharted Territories; Chasind lands

Standing didn't hurt so much anymore. Fergus leaned on the wall and looked out the window of Vivane's home, built into the large branches of the tall Korcari tree. The ground seemed so far down and he wondered how he would get there when he was ready to leave. Viviane said he was progressing well, which he appreciated, but felt uneasy about. It had only been two weeks, and he'd been in such horrid pain at first. He'd examined his injuries once when he'd woken and Viviane hadn't been around. The extent of the bruising was great, and several deep slashes had been sewn up. The stitches were close and tight, but there would be long puckering scars.

But the breaks in his bones were healing up more quickly than natural, and he suspected magic. Viviane didn't look like a mage, but then again, if she were an apostate, he'd never know if she was a mage or not. But magic of some sort, even herbal, had to be involved. He'd been thrown from a horse when he was younger: his first stallion. His father warned him that he needed to spend more time in the ring, but Fergus couldn't help but show off when King Maric came to visit once, and brought Cailan along. Cailan was an excellent horseman even as a teenager, and they'd gone riding on the trails out of the orchards. Fergus's horse spooked; to this day he didn't know why. But the stallion had reared up, catching Fergus off guard, and he'd fallen.

He remembered the crunch in his arm and shoulder. Remembered Cailan galloping off after his horse, and then returning. "Don't worry, Fergus. My father's a lousy rider, too," he'd said. "King of Ferelden can't stay on a horse." He laughed over that, but Fergus didn't find it too funny.

It had taken his arm well over a month to heal, and even then Fergus's muscles had atrophied and it took time to rebuild strength enough to bear his shield. And even longer to get back on his horse.

Fergus looked out over the marshes, partially obscured by the leaves that still clung to Viviane's tree. He didn't have his bearings; couldn't tell if he was looking south, toward the uncharted icy wastes, west to the southern reaches of the Frostback Mountains, or northeast toward home. The sky was a perpetual gray: not quite cloudy, but never blue and never sunny. It made figuring out his bearings difficult, which frustrated Fergus. It made him feel blind and even more disadvantaged than his physical injuries did.

The door creaked and Fergus turned to see Viviane carrying a wooden tray with solid food on it, as well as another steaming mug of tea. He suspected that whatever she was putting in the tea was helping him heal. Too bad his parents hadn't had any of that when he'd been thrown so many years ago. Sometimes he felt like his shoulder hadn't ever fully healed.

"You're up," Viviane said. She set the tray down. "How are you feeling?"

"Cooped up," he admitted. "Not to sound ungrateful," he added quickly.

She smiled and again he was struck by how it softened her features and even made her ritual face paint look beautiful. "I understand. Perhaps after you eat and if you're feeling well enough you can go down."

"I'd like that," he said and sat down to eat. His appetite had grown, and he barely noticed the aches that shot through him. It was progress. He downed the tea, and his suspicions of magic herbs began to feel more grounded when any pain he did feel ebbed until he hardly felt anything. "How are my men?" he asked around a mouthful of bread.

"Many have already marched north," Viviane said.

"They left without me?" Fergus asked, surprised. And if he were going to be completely honest, a bit hurt.

"There has been news out of your capital city. Those who were well enough felt it best to go where they would be needed and useful," Viviane said. Her face had fallen, and she seemed almost afraid to look at him.

Fergus tried to feel angry, but he just couldn't do it. They'd done the right thing. "What sort of news?" he asked, dropping what was left of his bread into the thick soup Viviane had brought him.

She shrugged. "I'm not sure, but they seemed to find it urgent." She searched his face, and though he tried to keep it expressionless and not show his displeasure, she could still read it there. "I don't know that this makes it better, but they did argue about whether to leave you behind or wait."

"So whatever is happening must be urgent," he said and tried to comfort himself with that thought. But it made him even more desperate to know what was going on outside these walls. "Do you at least know what happened at Ostagar?" he asked. "The ruined fortress," he added.

"Oh, that stone monstrosity built to keep my people trapped on the edge of the uncharted wilds," Viviane said with a hint of an ironic smile.

Fergus felt the heat of a blush creep into his cheeks.

"The battle did not go well," she said. "Nearly everyone was killed."

He blinked. "Everyone?" He'd left a large contingent of Highever men behind while he went out with the smaller scouting party. Guilt twisted his innards. How would he explain this loss to his father? "Does everyone also mean the king?" he asked in a voice that was hoarse in spite of the quantity of tea he'd had.

Viviane shrugged. "I don't know, but I'd assume so. The Wi—I mean, Flemeth told me it was disastrous."

"Flemeth?" Fergus asked, and it was Vivane's turn to blush. "Can you take me to her?"

Viviane seemed distinctly uncomfortable at this request, but Fergus kept his eyes trained on her. She tugged on a tendril of light hair and flicked her pale eyes out the window and fidgeted with the rough cloth napkin on the tray. "Please, Viviane. I need to know what's happening with my country. With my people," he said. "Wouldn't you want to know if it were Chasind?"

"No," she said, surprising him. "Because they wouldn't want to know what happened to me. And it is because of Flemeth that this is so."

"Then you've nothing to lose by taking me to her," Fergus reasoned.

"You're still weak," she protested, but her voice lacked conviction.

"Good thing you'll be with me," he said with a grin. "And maybe you could bring some more herbs with you. Just in case," he added.

"Are you always so persuasive?" Viviane snapped.

"I'm sorry Viviane. But I need to know just how and why everything went wrong."

The climb down the tree was nearly enough to convince Fergus that maybe he should put the notion of seeing this Flemeth behind him. Limbs that could support him well enough while standing felt weak and stretched to the brink. He stood at the base of the tree feeling shaky while cold sweat ran down between his shoulder blades and coated his forehead. He glanced over at Viviane, who almost looked amused.

He couldn't fault her for it, especially since he'd been the one to insist on this. It was like the horse incident. He had to deal with the fall out of his actions, plain and simple.

They made their way slowly through the Chasind village. Not all houses were in trees, but some were built on stilts driven deep into the swamps, leaving what precious dry land was left to serve as pathways. Some had rickety staircases, while others simply had rope ladders that could be dropped down or pulled up.

They passed a hunting party coming back empty-handed. Fergus felt the weight of their stares on him. He dared a sidelong glance and was surprised at the open resentment he saw written there.

"They think you take food from the people, when you are not of the people," Viviane murmured as the party passed out of earshot.

"You shouldn't have saved and fed me at the expense of your people," Fergus murmured back, embarrassed.

"I didn't," Viviane said. "My supplies came from Flemeth, who said it was most important that you survive, and gave me the means to care for you."

"But they don't know that," Fergus said, glancing over his shoulder at the departed party.

Viviane shrugged. "Like I said, I don't get along with them very well."

The walk to Flemeth's was longer than Fergus expected, and he gritted his teeth against the growing pain and the fatigue that tried to wrap itself around him like a blanket. It was cold out here in the marshy Wilds, and the ground was soft underfoot. He wondered if it would be soft to lie down on.

"Silly boy," said a voice, not quite Viviane's, but still female. "And sillier girl, bringing him here."

"He insisted, Flemeth," Viviane said. "His men have left; which makes the tribe suspicious of him. I don't know I can keep him on much longer."

"And why did his men move?" this Flemeth asked, and Fergus was aware of moving again.

"News out of the north," Viviane said. There was the creak of a door and then Fergus was seated in front of a fire with another mug of something hot thrust into his hands.

"Out of the north, eh. Then things are progressing."

"Progressing?"

"Moving onward. I did teach you the common tongue, didn't I?" Flemeth asked.

As Fergus regained his senses he looked over at Flemeth. She was an old woman, and Viviane deferred to her, even accepting criticism and thinly veiled insults. But when he caught the predatory, knowing gleam in Flemeth's eyes, he realized that perhaps it wasn't wise to argue with the woman.

Flemeth stood between him and the fire now, looking down at him. "Are you healed, boy?"

"Not as much as I thought," he said, too tired to feel embarrassed.

Flemeth surprised him by laughing. "You're wise to be honest, rather than resort to bravado," she said. Finally she met his eyes. Her own eyes were a flashing, captivating amber that he couldn't look away from. She saw into him, taking in who he was, where he'd been, where he was going. And then she smiled, not a comforting smile, nor a pleasant grin. The smile that said she knew something more than he did and no matter what he said or did, he wouldn't be able to escape her ploys. "Important indeed," she said, but didn't explain. Of course; that would have been expecting too much. "You have much in common with your sister," she said, and that made him snap out of his stupor.

"My sister? When did you meet Fianna?"

"She left here two weeks ago with the king's brother," she said. And she laughed. "Who would have thought that saving your precious Ferelden would become a family affair!"

Fergus's head was spinning. First with the news that Fianna had been in the Korcari Wilds, and second, that the king had a brother. He'd known Cailan for many years; Cailan was as much an only child as Oren was. But more importantly, Fianna was supposed to be overseeing Highever with their mother. Why had she come so far south?

"Stranger things have happened, boy. Don't look so surprised that this is turning out differently than you'd thought or hoped," Flemeth said, still smiling. Fergus resisted the urge to slap that grin off her face. He didn't know why, but he had the feeling that if he tried to strike out at her, Flemeth would easily reduce him to nothing, old woman or not.

He stared into the fire, running down the list of things he had to do: find Fianna, get a letter to Highever, see if any Highever troops had survived the rout at Ostagar, and if his father had been among them. Find out what was going to happen with the king dead.

"Fergus?"

He turned. Supported by the doorway, wearing not much more than a long chemise that came to his bruised knees, stood Cailan. He looked thin and pale, and sweat beaded his brow and upper lip. He needed a shave and his long blond hair was tangled, but his sharp blue eyes marked him as King Cailan. "Fergus, it is you," he said. And though his voice was still raspy, he sounded overjoyed to see his friend.

He should have fallen to one knee, or at least bowed his head. But at that moment Fergus was so happy to see another familiar face that all he could do was break out into a smile and get up to shake Cailan's hand. "Your Majesty," he said with a grin.