Chapter 20: Twisted

Viviane was tending to her medicinal stores when Cailan poked his head in the door late that evening. "I've not seen you in many a day," he said. "I thought I'd stop by to see if there's anything I may do," he said.

"Nothing that I cannot do for myself," she said after a cursory glance upward. "You should rest for tomorrow's battle. I have some of the sleeping leaf if that will help."

"No thank you," Cailan said. He was certain he would dream of Ostagar, the last time he'd met the darkspawn forces head on, but he didn't want to run from it anymore. He'd made a mistake, and he understood why things had fallen out as they did. And not just because of what Loghain had done. Cailan had a measure of culpability himself, and he accepted that. "You've just been scarce is all. I think I should tell you how much I've appreciated your presence throughout everything."

"Thank you," she said, at last looking up. But her pale eyes did not meet his. "Have you seen Morrigan?" she asked finally. "The mage with the dark hair and golden eyes," she said, upon seeing Cailan's blank look. "Hm. She wouldn't have introduced herself to you I suppose."

"Should she have?"

"I don't think she was expecting you. Her mother is Flemeth."

The shocking news that the hoard was so close was as nothing compared to learning that one of Alistair's closest traveling companions was the daughter of the Witch who had saved him. "And do you know her?"

Viviane nodded. "I went to see Flemeth from time to time when I was younger, and grew acquainted with her daughter Morrigan."

"You're… friends with her," Cailan said slowly, uncertain of how this information affected everything.

But Viviane just shook her head, her long light hair falling over her shoulders. "No, Morrigan does not have friends. She does not view people as friends, but as means to ends. But she did teach me an even more valuable lesson than any Flemeth taught me." She paused. "I decided to help people rather than use them."

"So why have you been spending your time with her since we got here?" Cailan asked, perplexed.

"Because she reminds me of home," Viviane said. "I've been away for a long while and have seen many things that are interesting and different, but I still long for the simplicity of the Wilds. I will likely return there once this journey is over."

Cailan wasn't surprised at all. But he'd grown used to her pensive presence, even when she disappeared at times like recently. "Did she share anything interesting with you while you were with her?" he asked, trying to sound casual. "News of home?"

Viviane looked at him with those moonlight-pale eyes that saw so much more than she let on. "If you mean has the Blight settled over the Wilds, the answer is no; the darkspawn moved through quickly with a larger target in mind. If you mean of Flemeth, she said nothing. She actually avoided the question." There was more she seemed not to be telling him, but Cailan didn't ask.

Weariness was settling over him like a blanket. He wished Viviane well and left, feeling those pale eyes on his back. It made him shiver. He supposed he shouldn't take any of the news too seriously, but he had been curious about Flemeth. Anyone who could bring someone back from the brink of death had immense magic, and he had hoped to discover if she'd remained in the Wilds or joined the throngs of refugees.

Maybe Morrigan would know. He'd never formally met the mage, and the few times he'd been around her he'd felt uncomfortable with the way her golden eyes swept over him, appraising him like he was some sort of livestock. But then she'd always turn her attention more fully on Alistair. So when he thought about it again, he figured Alistair might know.

Though the hour was late he headed toward Alistair and Fianna's rooms, and jumped slightly when Jowan rounded a corner. "Maker's balls, you scared me!" he said, his heart pounding.

Jowan laughed. "I've never heard that one, and we cursed by a lot of the Maker's body parts in the Tower," he said. "How go your preparations?"

Cailan shrugged. "As well as can be expected. With something like this I don't suppose anyone could ever be fully prepared though. How is it being a Grey Warden?"

"Other than sensing the darkspawn movements on top of the demons in the Fade, it's not much different," Jowan said. "But then again I've always been an optimist." He offered a slight smile to Cailan. "It's like a regular tea party; the archdemon shows up and begins chatting with the demons, and sometimes they let me in on what they're saying."

"That sounds… awful," Cailan admitted.

It was Jowan's turn to shrug. "We mages are used to evading demons; now I just have to evade the biggest demon of them all. Like I said, I'm an optimist."

Cailan only nodded. "Have you seen Alistair?" he asked.

Jowan shook his head. "He and Fianna were talking in his room, but she left crying. I don't know where he went."

Cailan thanked the mage and changed his direction. What could he have done that would leave Fianna, feisty and strong, in tears? He knocked on her door. "Fianna?" he asked through the thick wood. No response. "It's Cailan," he said, more loudly. "Can I come in?" He pressed his ear against the wood, but still heard nothing. He tried the brass handle, and to his surprise it moved and the door creaked open. "Fianna, it's Cailan. Are you alright?"

"Go away," she called, her voice muffled by the pillow. "Shut the door behind you."

Cailan ignored her request and approached her in the darkness. He heard the bed creak. "I told you to go away," she said, her voice strangled and hoarse. "We have to fight tomorrow."

He sat on the edge of her mattress. "What happened?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"I've almost been killed, I've watched my friends die, my brother may die tomorrow, and my wife hates me. I think I'll understand," he said, sliding onto the bed and leaning back against some bolsters. She was silent but for her sniffles. He reached over and rested a hand on her shoulder and she shuddered. "You've been the rock everyone leans on. This may be a time you need to lean on someone."

Fianna shook even more, trying to keep the sobs in, but failing. To Cailan's surprise Fianna scrambled up and leaned on him, and then he found himself holding the crying girl. He wrapped his arms around Fianna and she shook against him, sniffling and her tears dampening his shirt. "Alistair's going to hate me," she finally mumbled, muffling her voice in his shirt.

Cailan rubbed her upper arm and she adjusted herself so she was leaning on him, cradled in the crook of his arm like a child. "I can't imagine him hating you," he said. "I envy what you have with him. You both love each other very much. Whatever you've done can't be that bad." He meant it to be comforting, but Fianna tensed, shook, and then was sobbing again. What did I say? He wondered. True, he didn't have much experience comforting women. Anora was so cold and stoic, she didn't want anyone to see her emotions. And Aubrey rarely let on how she was feeling; she'd always been about what was bothering him. Even when he asked she wouldn't tell him anything, returning the attention to his worries.

"He's with Morrigan," she said at last in a small voice that made her sound a lot younger than she was. She'd taken on the role of saving the world for so long, showing wisdom and making choices beyond her years. And now she sounded so young and uncertain it pained Cailan. "One of us… one of us Wardens has to die tomorrow," she said. "Riordan told us. And Morrigan told me that… that if Alistair…"

She couldn't finish, but Cailan knew where she was going with it, and it chilled him. Alistair's faithfulness and Fianna's devotion to him had always made him feel envious. But what Fianna had told him made him wonder. "Why?"

She looked up at him, the tracks of her tears shining, and her teary hazel eyes shimmering in the dim light of the embers. "If you knew you would have to die… or someone you loved would have to die… wouldn't you do what you could to save them?" She closed her eyes and her face took on a pained expression. "I love him more than anything. More than my own life, so I would subject him to this if it saves him. Saves us."

He'd thought he didn't understand, but listening to her, he envied them all the more. Fianna was willing to subject the both of them to such intense pain, if it saved their lives and their love. "He'll have to understand what you've done," Cailan said, holding her more tightly. "You did what you thought best."

"I hope so," she whispered.

The embers slowly faded into darkness, and still Cailan held Fianna. Sometimes she sniffled, but as the minutes turned to hours, her breathing slowed and got deeper. Her breath hissed and whistled in and out of her nose and she sank against him. He stared into the dark taking comfort in the fact she was at least getting some rest. Now he knew what had been bothering her all week, and he felt even worse about the Grey Wardens, and for Alistair. He wondered what he'd sentenced Jowan to, as well.

Jowan wanted to join them, he thought. He had a choice, and agreed to join. And then he thought if he'd Joined, then perhaps he could have agreed to spend the night with Morrigan, saving Alistair and Fianna's relationship. His fidelity wasn't at stake, and he'd already irreparably ruined his relationship with Anora.

The door creaked and he started, but Fianna just nestled against him, breathing softly. Alistair's shadow filled the doorway. Cailan put his finger to his lips and Alistair tiptoed in. "She's sleeping," he whispered. He carefully disengaged Fianna from him and she stirred. He hoped she'd stay asleep and Alistair could just replace him, but she stretched and her eyes opened.

"Alistair?" she asked. Her voice was hoarse and it sounded as if she might start crying again.

"I'm here," he said, taking Cailan's place and smoothing her hair. He kissed her forehead lightly and she started to sniffle again, so Cailan left them alone. He went to his room, wrapped in his thoughts, ignoring the shadows thrown by the torches in the brackets lining the corridors. This world had become so twisted: to people in faithful love, driven to infidelity out of desperation to save one another's lives. And him, so used to infidelity that he would have done anything to help them, but unable to because he wasn't a Grey Warden.

Suddenly he hated the Blight and the darkspawn with everything he had. He hated how they corrupted his lands, killed his people, and drove his brother and Fianna to infidelity. He hated them so much he shook, and he slammed his palm against the doorframe. Of all the evil and corrupt things, that struck him as the worst of all.

Cailan shoved through the door and slammed it shut behind him. He hoped the timbers split. He wanted to destroy something, let his hatred out.

"Cailan?"

He spun around ready to strike out and saw Anora sitting on the bed in her dressing gown, her hair down and in one thick, simple braid over her shoulder. The sight of her sitting there, waiting for him, smashed against his rage like waves upon a cliff, leaving him confused. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "How did you get here?"

"I thought about what you'd said about safety, and when Fergus told me that an attack was imminent, I came immediately." She looked down at her lap, where her hands twisted the fabric of her dressing gown. "And… I lost you once and regretted that we didn't have one last night together. I'll not have that happen again."

He stood as if rooted to the spot, though he should have been thrilled by Anora's confession. And yet he didn't feel that thrill that came from being vindicated. He just felt tired. She got up and came to him, and Cailan folded her in his arms. She'd always seemed small and lithe to him, like a young willow sapling that might break if he held too tightly. But now he drew comfort from the feeling of Anora against him, her heart beating through the thin fabric of her gown and pulsing strength into him.

He brushed loose locks of hair out of her face and tilted her chin up so he could meet her lovely blue eyes. "I can't stand the thought of losing you again," he said, and brushed his lips over hers. Anora inhaled sharply and pulled back, as if afraid of his tenderness. "Everything went wrong; and there's still so much that is wrong, but I can handle it if I know we're going to be alright."

"Cailan. I… I want to, but it will take time. After the Landsmeet…" her voice trailed off.

"No," Cailan said. It was curious how his heart did not sink at her protests. "We will be alright. We have to be. For the kingdom, and for ourselves. Please, Anora." He pressed his lips to hers again, pressed his body to her and forced her to the bed. She sat down, disengaging herself from him. "This world has become twisted enough," he said, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She turned to look at him, her blue eyes large and unblinking. "The last thing we should be doing is helping it along."

Alistair was up before the sun, nibbling on a biscuit from the larder. "I'm starving, but have no appetite," he explained when Cailan found him. "Though I suppose going to battle on an empty stomach is a bad idea."

Cailan nodded, having little appetite himself. He'd spent the eve of battle in the same bed with Anora, but there was little of the intimacy he'd hoped to share. Maybe when the country had healed from the Blight they could heal their relationship. He picked up a biscuit as well, and raised it in salute to Alistair. "To full stomachs on the battlefield, even when we don't feel like eating," he said. "Where will we start?"

Alistair shrugged. "I suppose at the front gate... keep them out of the city as long as possible. Stall and wait for the archdemon?"

Cailan shrugged as well. "Sounds as good as any strategy, I suppose." Then he laughed. "This isn't my strategy this time, so maybe it will work."

"The other one would have worked," Alistair said. "If not for... you know."

"I know." The ghost of Loghain momentarily drifted between them. "But we were so outnumbered and that valley was a deathtrap. Maybe this is all for the best." It was hard to admit that he was wrong, but knowing he had a chance to make up for it helped a little bit.

Dawn came dully, under a heavy cover of cloudy corruption. The party assembled in the entry foyer of the estate, all clad in their best armor, weapons sharpened and polished to gleaming lethality. Fianna had dark circles smudged under her eyes, and Cailan couldn't miss the distance she and Alistair put between themselves and Morrigan. Morrigan herself avoided looking in their direction, instead fiddling with her staff or staring at the stone floors.

Slowly the other members of their group joined them: Oghren the dwarf, looking grim and even a bit sober; Zevran the Antivan Assassin, smiling and bowing to both Fianna and Alistair, then to Cailan as he entered; Leliana, their Orlesian Bard, who gave a low bow to Cailan; Wynne of the Circle of Magi, who looked between Fianna and Morrigan with narrowed eyes, as if she knew something had happened; and then Sten, then massive Qunari warrior; finally, Riordan and Jowan.

Eamon joined them all. He looked at the motley group. "Well, Wardens," he said to Fianna and Alistair, "you have assembled an army to replace the one lost at Ostagar. I hope it will be enough."

"You're not the only one," Fianna grumbled.

They exited to the courtyard, where the captains of the armies waited; beyond them, their regiments of soldiers could be seen extending far into the Market District, and the sight of so many willing to fight filled Cailan with hope that he'd not thought possible. He looked to Fianna and Alistair, who both nodded. He stood at the top of the staircase, looking out over the soldiers: loyal Fereldans who trusted Fianna and Alistair enough to honor the treaties and come to the aid of the country. It was humbling to realize that he'd had no part of this; only through the efforts of his brother and Fianna had the people been inspired enough to rally and fight, rather than leave, or sit back, complacent.

"People of Ferelden!" Cailan called out, and almost immediately the crowd quieted down. There was a dull roar from outside the gates: the darkspawn armies come to attack. "Before us stands the might of the horde. Gaze on them now, and fear not!" His voice echoed out across the ranks. He saw some of them look at one another, faces pale in the sallow dawn. He understood their fear, more than most of them did themselves. This was the second time he was facing the darkspawn horde.

"These two beside me: Alistair and Fianna of Highever, are both natives of Ferelden, risen to the ranks of the Grey Wardens. They are proof that glory is within us all!" The cheers deafened him. A surge of pride swelled inside of him, because they were cheering for his brother. Which brought him to one more thing. "This man, the Warden Alistair, holds another place of honor that he has ignored in favor of serving his country. I proclaim Alistair a true Theirin in blood as well as in name, a legitimate son of Maric the Savior, and my brother. He and Fianna Cousland of Highever will lead you." The cheers had turned to murmurs, and next to him Alistair was blushing furiously while Fianna grinned.

"Today we save Denerim, and Ferelden. Today we show the Grey Wardens that we remember their sacrifice. For Ferelden! And the Grey Wardens!"

Cailan's own shout was overwhelmed by the massive swell of cheering that erupted from the crowd assembled before him. He could imagine Eamon's red face and clenched fist, but he didn't care. This could be the last day any of them were alive, and he was determined to set at least this much right.