This chapter is dedicated to the bed at the Marriott at ReaderCon, where I am currently spending my weekend learning about fantasy and sci-fi reading and writing, when the panels aren't usurped by soapbox-y Issues. This bed is seriously wonderful.

Chapter 12: A King's Victory

Amaranthine Ocean

Aubrey had never been outside of Denerim, let alone on a ship. The ocean was more endless than anything she'd ever seen or experienced, vaster even than her own emptiness. She couldn't help but feel she'd abandoned her family. And for what? The request of the queen, whom she'd seen as her competition for Cailan's affections for so many years?

There were few people heading south; mostly soldiers sent by Teyrn Loghain. Aubrey kept a low profile, barely more than a stowaway. Only the formidable amount of gold Anora had given her, from the queen's personal coffers, was enough to keep questions at bay. All she had were endless miles of open green water that grew colder with each day that passed. The swells made her nauseous, and for one time in her life she was grateful there was nothing to eat.

She huddled in the hold of the ship, clutching her cloak around her and hoping Gwaren wasn't much further. As she'd done yesterday. And the day before. As she'd done every day since departing Denerim.


Outside the Brecilian Forest

"Soldiers, maybe a few hundred," Viviane said. She'd settled into the role of their scout, able to slide in and out of the bushes and bracken with no more sound than one of the little forest animals. Here on the western edge of the Brecilian forest, and near the south border of the aptly named Arling of Southreach, they faced the dangers of both Loghain's men and the Dalish elves that roamed the forest like ghosts. "I don't know that our disguises will hold against that many. They may conscript even refugees out of desperation."

Desperation was the word of the last few days for Cailan. "Can we wait them out?" he asked.

"I don't know if they'll be moving on," Viviane said. "They were camped, not moving. Could be there for a long time, or could move out by tomorrow morning." She matched Cailan's frown. "I am a healer. Not a war strategist." She turned, her long pale hair flying out behind her.

"I'll go talk to her," Fergus said when Cailan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He chased down the Chasind girl and caught her by the arm. Cailan couldn't overhear what they said, but he saw Viviane wrench her arm from Fergus's grasp and turn away from him.

"A distraction," Jowan said. Cailan turned to see the mage sitting next to the embers of their fire, a thoughtful expression on his face. They'd found lyrium vials next to the remains of the mages' encampment, and the dose or two he'd had since they'd started on the road again had perked him up. He was a far different man than they'd found in the Redcliffe dungeons. "I can conjure a mist that might mask our numbers and allow us to pass by."

"That could work," Cailan said. "Do it." Jowan jumped up, determination glinting in his eyes. "Thank you," he added.

Jowan blinked, and turned a little red. "You gave me a second chance," he said. "I'd either have been executed or sent back to the Tower and made Tranquil. Which is what started this mess in the first place," he added, a shadow passing over him. But he shook his head and forced a smile while Cailan approached Fergus and explained the plan.

"It's better than sitting here indefinitely," Viviane said. She seemed more irritable than Cailan had remembered. He wondered if being the scout offended her, or if she just plain regretted leaving her people. Or if she just didn't like him; either was possible. Weeks ago that might have bothered him. Now, all Cailan wanted was to get from one destination to another and stay alive in the process.

"Ryder, gather the men and finish breaking camp," Cailan ordered, snapping out of his muddled thoughts.

They brushed away their footsteps and scattered the stones of the fire pit, diminishing signs of their presence. They covered their armor with the simple tunics they'd found at Ostagar and hid the larger weapons and shields, including the two-handed massive greatsword from the quartermaster's stores at Ostagar. It wasn't Cailan's own sword, but it was the sort of weapon he was used to, and it felt more secure in his hand than the smaller counterpart he'd been wielding.

"Ready?" Jowan asked when their ragtag band, made all the more disheveled-looking by their rough clothing, gathered around him. At Cailan's nod the mage closed his eyes. His lips moved though no words came out. His arms floated above his head, palms turned upward as if begging from the clouds. He found himself wondering how a mage got his power, and what it was like for your own mind and body to be the weapon: and for everyone to fear you and misunderstand you as a result.

Mists descended from the sky and the cool white tendrils wrapped around them, shrouding them as if they were ghosts of Ostagar moving eastward. The mist muffled their passing feet. Cailan led the column; Jowan took the middle, the mist emanating from him as they went. Fergus and Viviane took the rear in the donkey-drawn cart. Viviane drove, and Fergus sat hunched over in the back. Through the mists he looked like an old or ill refugee, but if they were attacked from the rear he was sitting atop a weapons stockpile and could take the first line of fighting.

In this way they passed first one mile and then another. Ser Ryder hung back off the side of the track that they were using as a road to be certain they weren't being followed and Jowan allowed the mists to dissipate. As the tendrils began to evaporate upward, he began to sink downward as if being pressed into the ground by an invisible hand. "I think… I might want to… ride…" he said, blinking and trying to sound casual and relaxed, but the strain was obvious in his voice and in his mien. He shook off offers of aid and shambled toward the cart, only to fall over in the dirt.

Viviane stopped the donkeys and jumped down at his side. "You let him spend himself," she accused, glaring up at Cailan.

"He offered!" Cailan snapped back, also kneeling at the mage's side. He went to feel for a pulse, as he'd learned to do during field training when he was younger, but Viviane slapped his hand away. "I'm doing my best here, same as everyone else," he said. "Same as him. Same as you. I'm not asking anyone to do anything that they physically and emotionally can't handle. If they choose to take it on themselves, then that's their choice, not mine," Cailan finished, leaving Viviane staring at him with wide pale eyes. "I'm grateful for all you've done for me and for Fergus," he said, standing. "But it's clear you feel you don't belong with us. If you want to return to your people, I wouldn't fault you for it."

He turned and walked away, avoiding the temptation to turn and see if she was looking at him. Probably not. Probably too busy cursing him for all their ills.

Just like everyone else in Ferelden before the Blight.

Maric had told him that he'd lose himself to the country; it was just part of being the king. No matter what he did, no matter how much it was in the country's best interest, the people would criticize and complain.

Cailan was tired of neither feeling like he could do anything right, nor do right by anyone. And as he stormed away from Viviane a realization hit him with the force of the rising sun. King Maric had only said that being king would steal his soul; not that it had to. Perhaps he was focusing on everything all wrong.

"What did you say to Viviane?" Fergus asked later, when Ser Ryder had rejoined them and they were crossing through the bleak, blighted lands of the south. Fergus was trying to keep his tone neutral, but Cailan sensed the tension there.

"Told her she had a choice, just like everyone here," he said as casually as he could muster. The last thing he wanted was to fight with Fergus. "Everyone thinks I'm telling them what to do just because I'm the king, but really, you all had a choice to come along," Cailan said.

"That's not true," Fergus said.

"You could have gone with Fianna and Alistair," Cailan said. "I wouldn't have stopped you. Viviane could have stayed with her people, or returned to them after we left Redcliffe and it was clear you and I were well enough to travel." Fergus's silence confirmed Cailan's suspicions. "I wish we could go with them too," he said at last. "They're off all over Ferelden invoking treaties and amassing an army to fight the Blight; we're masquerading as refugees, and I still have no idea what we're going to do once we hit Gwaren. But Fianna had a point, they'll continue to be a good distraction until we can formulate a plan and move out toward Denerim."

"No plan?" Fergus asked, one eyebrow raised and not even a hint of a smile. "We're heading into the heart of Loghain's Teyrnir without a plan?" Cailan nodded; no sense being dishonest. "Brilliant. Bloody fecking brilliant."

"Hey. You're the Teyrn of Highever; feel free to come up with a plan yourself," Cailan snapped. "One thing I've learned the hard way is that plans fail. I had a solid plan at Ostagar and I got most of Ferelden's army killed. I won't see that repeated."

Camp that night was tense and silent. Jowan offered to mask their presence again, but all it took was one look at the mage's pale face for Cailan to politely decline his offer. "You did well earlier," he said. "But you should save your strength. I think if we set watches and keep the fire low we'll be alright."

"As your Majesty wishes," Jowan said, his tone disappointed, but there was definitely relief written all over his face as he headed back to his bedroll.

For his part, Cailan tossed and turned in his own bedroll under the open sky. No stars peeked through the dark clouds that coated the sky like a shroud woven of corruption. He wanted to swallow his pride and ask Viviane for some more leaves, but after what he'd told her about choices earlier, he decided to tough it out. Besides, if he still couldn't sleep, it was likely he was growing dependent upon them.

He got up and found Ser Ryder on watch. "Head to bed," he ordered. "I'll take the watch for now."

Ryder shook his head, his too-long reddish hair flopping into his eyes. "It's not right for you to take watch, King Cailan," he said.

"It's my place to take watch as much as anyone else in our group," Cailan said. "Besides, I can't sleep, and after all the scouting you did earlier you're probably tired. Go on." Ryder kept protesting until Cailan finally had to order the man to get to bed.

Part of what had made Maric so successful was that the people had seen him as a man, as well as a king. Maric had his failures, and yet people followed him and worshipped him. Everyone looked at Cailan like he was some sort of deity, and incapable of failing. And the fact that he had failed was as inconceivable to any of them as it was to him.

He stared out into the blackness and envied Alistair. As a Grey Warden he was capable of sensing the darkspawn enemy, something Cailan wished he could do now. He felt week and useless. Human.

Cailan let the darkness flow over him and planted his feet firmly on the ground and tried to let himself really feel the earth beneath him. The air was sickly as it washed over his face and neck with a nauseating reek. He knew that outside the ring of light that marked their small camp thousands of Fereldans were dying.

He still sat, staring out, when the first gray fingers of dawn prodded away the darkness. "You watched all night?" Jowan asked, sitting next to him with a wide yawn.

"Are you feeling better?" Cailan asked rather than answer. Jowan nodded. "We have a good deal of lyrium that should help keep you going. We might need you more as we get closer to Gwaren."

Jowan averted his eyes and looked down. "I'd like to try and avoid that route if possible, your Majesty," he mumbled. "Lyrium can be highly addictive, and I don't have much experience with it in large doses. I wasn't Harrowed," he admitted and his cheeks were a deep red in the dull dawn. "I ran away from the Tower because they weren't going to Harrow me; I was going to be made Tranquil. Cut off from the Fade," he explained to Cailan's blank look. "Emotionless." He stared out at the lightening east. "For most mages it's a fate worse than death. So I risked death. And now I'm here."

"So are we all," Cailan said. He stood and stretched, suddenly aware of how cold and stiff he was. "Let's get going; the sooner we start the better timing we might make."

The Brecilian forest was enough of a cover that they didn't have to worry about using Jowan's magic, though being amongst the wood and leaves seemed to make Viviane nervous. For Cailan, however, he was more relaxed. The woods were green still, as if the lingering magic of the elves kept the Blight at bay.

"Will we pass through safely?" Viviane asked, sliding up beside Cailan.

"We have the signet of the Wardens, who passed through here not long ago," Cailan told her, just glad she wasn't criticizing him. "They will let us through." His voice was confident, but he hoped he was telling the truth. Alistair had said the new Keeper, Lanaya, was on their side. "We're nearly out of the Southron Hills, and starting in through the Brecilian Passage; it's one of the narrowest parts of the forest, if my memory serves."

"And then to this Gwaren?"

"Yes."

Viviane didn't seem happy, but when did she? "Very well," she said after they'd walked a time in silence, the branches brushing past them and rustling sadly as they passed. Time stood still in the green twilight of the forest, and the further in they delved, the cleaner the air felt. Cailan felt more energized than he had since his return to Ostagar.

They took a small midday meal near a clear stream and slaked their thirst, then filled the dry water skins. For the first time since Ostagar they let their guard down and relaxed. Cailan even found that he could sleep. The heady fresh air gave him the feeling of having his head stuffed with fabric, and his eyelids were heavy.

For one moment he was in the royal bedchambers in Denerim, on his feather mattress with the sunlight streaming in, and Anora hovering over him. She was wearing her hair loose for once, and it fell over her shoulders like a golden waterfall. He was content to drown in it, until Anora pulled back and slapped him, hard.

He sat up, shaking his head. Viviane sat across from him, her long white hair hanging over her shoulder. "Ryder returned. There are armed men following this track from the west."

Cailan rubbed at his eyes, still reeling with the dizziness of half-sleep. It reminded him vaguely of his time in the Fade, straddling two worlds and existing in a waking dream. "Can we fight?"

"They outnumber us."

"The men from South Reach?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't see them. But we must get up and keep moving along. We don't want to engage them if we don't have to."

Cailan got up; all around him the dozen Redcliffe men were getting ready to go, though now that they were under cover of the forest they set aside their peasant disguises. They moved on, their pace increased. The further east they got the more Cailan began to feel like he was being watched, that eyes were stabbing into him as hard as swords, and theirs wasn't the only rustling.

Voices grew nearer behind them, yelling and calling out as heavy booted feet tramped in the underbrush, not even bothering to attempt to hide their presence or numbers.

Cailan gave the hand signal for them to move more quickly. But it was hard with the cart and the unfamiliar terrain, and the nerves from the soldiers tramping behind them. He had the feeling that he was slogging through mud, even though the ground was hard and dry. "Fergus," he called. "Arm and turn about. We need to try and fight back; we're not going to outrun them."

Fergus nodded and Cailan took his greatsword from the back of the cart. "I don't know if we stand a chance," Cailan said, figuring it was best to be honest. "But if I have to die fighting, again, I'm glad it will be at your side, Teyrn Cousland of Highever." His words were honest and some of the most serious he'd ever spoken, and yet he still grinned at Fergus who was strapping on his buckler and checking his sword in its scabbard.

"And I will be honored to fight at your side, Your Majesty," Fergus said with a bow, but he was also grinning. "As I should have done at Ostagar."

The first soldier emerged from between two young trees. He was a burly man whose chest muscles strained against the mail hauberk he wore under a breastplate emblazoned with the heraldry of Gwaren. Cailan tried to remember that this was a man who may once have been loyal to him. At least, until the man came at him swinging a wicked mace in one hand, and a sword in the other. Mace and sword swung through the air with a whistle; Cailan wished he'd decided to keep up with the sword and shield. The mace clanged against his blade, driving it into the ground and throwing Cailan forward and in the path of the sword.

He pulled at the hilt, dislodging it from the ground, but not before the nicked blade of the Gwaren soldier was in his face. Behind his assailant, the woods were bursting with foot traffic and yelling as more soldiers came through, yelling and cursing.

For his part, Cailan was also cursing inwardly at having let Alistair take everything that marked him as a Theirin, for Cailan really had no proof that he was indeed the king returned from the dead. He didn't have much time to think it over before the mace came whistling at his face and he rolled out of the way, empty handed while his sword hilt clattered onto the ground.

When he came up, he saw that his band wasn't doing well. Ser Percy was backed into a copse of trees fending off two very able swordsmen. Fergus and Ryder were focused on Cailan's burly attacker, and the others were well outnumbered. The forest rang with weapons clashing and men yelling.

Cailan scrambled to his feet and lunged for his sword now that his assailant was occupied. He ran for Percy and wiped all thought from his mind, relying entirely on muscle memory from his early training years to get him through. His body easily remembered the endless exercises Loghain had drilled into him, and soon the odds had been evened up some for Percy. Cailan fought one of the attackers, his sword connected to his body as if it had been grafted on many years ago.

A strangled cry from Percy cut into Cailan's blank fighting mind frame, and he turned to see the young knight impaled against the tree by his attacker's sword through his gut. Blood soaked his chain mail, and his brown eyes were wide with horror when he took his hand away to see it covered with sticky red. The forest stood still for a long moment while Cailan tried to process what had happened. No, he silently begged the Maker. This was my second chance. No one is supposed to die because of me this time!

"King Cailan!" Percy's strangled cry shook Cailan back to reality and he turned to see another Gwaren soldier bearing down on him with his own greatsword, which he must have dropped in his moment of shock.

Again he looked death in its snarling angry face, only this time he was not about to back down. Though he needn't have worried. A whistle sounded through the air and the man's eyes went wide and crossed as he tried to look at the arrow that had pierced his skull right between them.

More arrows whizzed through the air, like heavenly messengers of the Maker. The Gwaren men tried to run, but the raptor stare of the Dalish elves was far sharper than their clumsy footfalls, and it was only a few more moments before all of the Gwaren troops lay dead in the bracken.

Only when the forest had returned to its regular silence did the fleet-footed elves of the Brecilian forest show themselves. "I am Tavadon Mahariel," said one lithe archer, stepping forward. "And this is Merrill," he added and an elf with unique facial tattoos joined him. They bowed, and Cailan realized Merrill was staring at him. Tavadon nudged her and she straightened up again. "Who are you that bring such strife into our midst?" he asked.

Cailan could hardly begrudge him his wariness. "We are friends and kin of the Grey Wardens who passed here just a week or two ago. Please, one of my men is badly hurt; may our healer attend to him first?" he asked, glancing nervously at Ser Percy.

Tavadon nodded and Cailan called for Viviane, who melted out of the forest shadows. She gave Merrill a suspicious look, as if daring the shy elf to comment on their similar facial markings, but she stayed silent next to Tavadon, fiddling with her staff as if it were a toy.

"You'll be fine, Percy," Cailan said, standing next to the man. But his face was pale, almost bluish, and sweat drenched his face and hair. "Viviane is a talented healer and saved Teyrn Fergus after far worse," he added with a smile to Viviane, who forced a smile up at Percy, but shook her head to Cailan.

"I… served my king," Percy hissed through clenched teeth. "That's… all that… matters," he said. He tried to smile, but his eyes were glassy, his gaze on something else, somewhere else and not in this world. "I lived to see you return," he said, turning that glazed and dying gaze upon Cailan. Then something in him seemed to release. He did smile, and slumped, head pitching forward. The only thing holding him up was the sword through his gut, pinning him to the tree.

"Get him down," Cailan ordered, and as Fergus pulled the bloody blade from Percy's guts, Cailan caught the body before it could slump to the forest floor. He sank carefully and gently laid Percy out. The knight's dead eyes stared at the spaces between the leaves, looking up at the open sky. Cailan silently prayed to the Maker and closed the young man's eyes.

He sat there for a long while, unconscious of people around him. Why did people feel the need to die in service to him? What had he ever done to deserve that devotion?

"Sire?" It was Ser Ryder. His voice was tentative.

He ignored it.

"Cailan." This from Fergus. "We need to get up and get moving. There may be others, and we can't expect these elves to hold our position forever."

Cailan looked up in disbelief. For though Fergus's voice was soft and gentle, he spoke words that cut him as deeply as any sword. "This man died. We need to give him the proper rites." Rites no one would stop to give me when they thought I was dead, he thought. "He shouldn't have died," he said. He whipped his head around to Viviane. "You helped Fergus and you and your… witch mentor brought me back from the brink of death. Why didn't you do anything for him?" His voice shook and Viviane was taken aback. "He didn't have to die, not for me." His voice had dropped, and now he closed his eyes and sat in the middle of the Brecilian forest.

"King Cailan," Tavadon said. "We have archers in the trees. We can cover the clearing and help you burn your dead, but then your man is right: you need to move on, if just for your own safety."

"It's an acceptable compromise," Cailan said at last. He stared down at Percy's body. The young man was calm in his repose of death, in severe contrast to the turmoil inside of Cailan.

He made himself get up; made himself begin to collect dry tinder and sticks to build Ser Percy's pyre. A few times he heard Fergus clear his throat as if he were about to say something, but one sharp glare from Cailan silenced him each time. As they approached Ser Percy's body while the others built the pyre, Fergus stopped Cailan with a hand on his shoulder.

"You can't blame yourself for this," he said. "And you especially can't blame Viviane. She's done nothing but help us."

"So who am I to blame, then?" Cailan asked, meeting his eyes. His heart was torn, because he knew Fergus was correct, but it didn't seem so easy. There had to be someone to blame. To say it was the fault of fate or chance didn't feel right.

"Blame Loghain," Fergus said. He sighed. "I'm lucky in that I can blame one man for everything that's befallen my family. And if I don't get to Howe, I know Fianna will. I think if you need to blame anyone for this, it would be Loghain. Turn your rage on him," Fergus suggested, but his tone was much gentler and in his eyes Cailan saw a tumultuous sadness that mirrored his own.

He knelt and took Ser Percy under the shoulders. "I suppose you'll next say I should apologize to Viviane?" Fergus nodded and took Percy's feet. "She won't accept, you know," he said. "She hates me."

"I think she hates what you represent," Fergus said. "You're the King of Ferelden; you rule a country that views her people with fear and misunderstanding. And you haven't made an effort to get to know her."

"Because she won't let me get close enough to her," Cailan said. "And there's a lot about this country I don't understand, but I want to, now more than ever. Once Loghain's out of the way… what?"

Fergus was smiling even as they carried their sad burden. "You just voiced that you do, indeed, blame Loghain for all this. You're learning."

They laid Percy on the pyre and rested his sword down the length of his body, then crossed his limp arms over his chest as if he was clutching the sword to him. The whole time the Dalish elves had milled around, stealthy sentinels of their makeshift funeral site. Now Tavadon and Merrill approached, bearing a torch.

Merrill stood at Percy's head and began a chant that dissolved into a song. Her voice soared through the tree tops while the torch popped and hissed. The words were alien to Cailan's ears, but the song was so hauntingly beautiful that it made him ache, especially when he looked at Percy's calm face. He swallowed against the lump in his throat and tried to focus instead on Loghain, and just how much he wanted to see his father-in-law suffer.

Tavadon handed the torch to Cailan. "Send him to your Maker," he said. Cailan took the torch and touched it to the dry underbrush of the pyre. Smoke curled like ghosts up into the branches, and as the fire caught, it spread and then the flames began to lick up at Percy's body. The pop and crackle and roar of the fire filled the air and Cailan stepped away from the heat.

Another voice rose over the crackle and at first Cailan thought it was Merrill, but then realized the tone was higher and lighter. He looked around and saw Viviane, and realized she was the one singing. Tavadon and Merrill looked tense, but respected Viviane's tribute to the young soldier. Her song finished and they all stood in silence while the flames consumed Ser Percy.

"Thank you for doing that for him," Cailan said to her later when the sun had set and the pyre had burned down. It was hard for him to swallow his pride, but tonight it wasn't about him. It was about Ser Percy, and remembering what the young man had done for them all today. "And I'm sorry for blaming you earlier," he added without looking at her. "I was angry and didn't know how else to react."

Viviane trained her pale eyes on him for a long, silent moment. He tried not to squirm under her scrutiny, but it took a great effort. "You don't seem to understand a lot about this world," she said. "Which is puzzling, because you are the king, and one would expect the king to be educated."

"I had the best tutors Ferelden could offer," he retorted, instantly defensive, even though he was trying to make amends with Viviane.

Her sly smile was infuriating. "You have been educated with books, but not experience," she said. "It shows in your innocence and ignorance." Her words left Cailan unable to speak, even though he was growing more confused and angry at her by the moment. But she bowed her head, her hair spilling over her shoulders, and she fiddled with the long locks. "I too have shown my ignorance and innocence. I wanted to believe that, because you were a king, you would know better about many things, and when you didn't, it confused and irritated me."

Her admission left Cailan even more confused than when she was a mystery to him. "Are we even then? Truce?" He asked at last.

It took her some time, and he guessed that maybe she was swallowing her pride. It had to be as difficult for her to admit she was in the wrong, as it had been for him to do the same.

But she did look up at him and nod slowly. "Truce," she told him.

It was a small thing, especially after the death and funeral of Ser Percy; but for Cailan, it was a small victory, and he would take it.