Bann Teagan was a brilliant man. He was kind to Edgar, Maker knew why, and because of that, Edgar's fondness of the other man only grew.
Now that they were all reunited, Teagan was filling Alistair and some of the other newcomers in on their battle tactics. The information wasn't anything new to Edgar and he could feel himself getting squirrely. He excused himself and made his way through the large, polished wood door of the Chantry.
Inside, villagers nailed planks of wood across the delicate stained glass windows and attended to other repairs. There was a nervousness, a panic and raw fear as they carried on their duties, but if Edgar closed his eyes, there was a soothing comfort. It still smelled of old paper and candle wax and made him think of earlier times, when his mother required he and his sister to memorize the Chant of Light back in Highever.
He knew he would find Silfee there, and sure enough, she was kneeling before a statue of Andraste. With her hands locked together and her eyes clenched shut, his sister wasn't praying, but muttering angrily.
Edgar didn't need to hear the words. He recognized the posture.
"To you, my second-born, I grant this gift," he said as he drew near to her. "In your heart shall burn an unquenchable flame-"
"-All-consuming, and never satisfied," she finished for him. "Yes, yes. What do you want, Edgar?"
"For you to look at me, for one." He jutted his lower lip out in an exaggerated pout.
Silfee just snarled at him. Edgar sat down on the floor beside her. He reached for her shoulder and she jerked away.
"I haven't seen you this agitated since all those ladies from West Hill and Harper's Ford declared you a whore and snubbed you," he said. "And that was many years ago."
Silfee's knuckles blanched beneath her grip and he noticed she was trembling. "But you fixed it, then."
"As best I could." He hadn't anticipated getting so furious with those vapid women and those vapid games they were playing, but games were supposed to be fun. They weren't supposed to leave his sixteen year old sister sobbing in the Highever Chantry.
Edgar still felt guilt over it. Mother would have been ashamed if she knew he willfully lured every single cruel woman to his bed, one at a time, only so that he could intentionally call them by the other one's name at a party the following weekend. It had caused quite the commotion when they realized they had just been momentary playthings and didn't stand a chance in becoming a Teyrna of Highever.
But it made Silfee smile again. And sometimes, that was worth it.
"Are you mad at me?" he asked.
She sighed. "No." Silfee dropped her hands and joined him on the stone floor. "But you left."
"I can't always be with you." He didn't like the long silence that was dragging on, so he added, "It looked like you had everything under control."
"Bad things always happen when we separate." Her voice was pitiful, small. They were children again, but their mother wasn't there to kiss it better.
"That doesn't always work," he told her. "We were at home together when Howe came."
"We were in separate rooms."
"Silfee."
"Hmm?"
"What happened in Orzammar?"
And so she told him. About the Broodmother. About how darkspawn were born. About how it used to be a woman. About how it could have been her.
Edgar felt like a buffoon. All he could do was rock her in his arms and kiss her forehead. His parents, with their education and wisdom would have known what to do, but the only thing he could think to say was, "It's not fair, is it?"
"And I noticed I cut myself and I was so convinced I'd been infected." Silfee rubbed at her nose. "I kept waiting to get sick; I kept waiting to die from the taint."
"That's awful."
It wasn't fair. He'd chased after his father and screamed it down the halls of the castle. It wasn't fair. There were so many stipulations tied into honor and expectation. Edgar wanted to play with musical instruments and swords, he wanted to recite poetry and roll around with his mabari in the mud.
It wasn't fair when his parents laughed at him for his boyish fancies and it wasn't fair when they took Silfee and locked her away for all those months. It wasn't fair when they expected him to continue his studies and pretend like everything was normal. And it wasn't fair that his parents knew just how awful it was and did it anyway.
So he'd followed his father down the hallway, and slapped at the tapestries and other wall hangings as he raged and tantrumed about just how unfair it was. It was the only time Edgar could remember his father backhanding him across the face. Perhaps it was a testament to just how shaken Bryce Cousland had been at the time. All his father said was, "Be a man," and then he stormed off.
Be a man. Edgar hadn't understood what that meant at the time. Even now, he had trouble grasping what his father meant. He hoped that his father would be proud of his actions, so far.
"And when I didn't get sick, I felt so stupid for assuming," Silfee continued. "But if I had just ignored it only to get sick, I would have been even stupider."
"I don't think you look stupid," he said.
"I feel stupid," she replied.
"Not at all." Edgar closed his eyes as he squeezed her. "You feel... like a heap of gelatinous goo, barely contained within a crust of armor."
Silfee shoved him away. "You're such a tit, sometimes."
"What's this?" He placed a hand over his mouth, partly to hide his grin. "Uncouth words from the prim and proper Silfee Cousland? Unthinkable! Besides, don't you usually prefer to call me a twat over tit when I upset you?"
"Both," she said with a laugh. "You are both in one at the same time."
Edgar nodded. "Good. Do you feel better?"
She nodded back at him. "Yes. Thank you."
"Oh, good!" He leaned back on his hands and beamed at her. "So, there's this lovely girl, here. Kaitlyn, I think her name is. She lost her brother on the first night of the attacks, so I of course had to venture out and find the boy, perfectly unharmed. I was a proper gentleman, I didn't demand money or reward, just a kiss."
"Oh, just a kiss?"
"Yes. Just the kiss. I was quite impressed with myself, actually."
"All my previous statements about you stand." Silfee snickered as she pushed herself up off the ground. "Father would be ever so cross with you if he knew how often you toyed with the affections of commoners."
Edgar crossed his arms and pouted. "Hey, you don't know. She could be the one."
"Oh, brother." She gave his head a pat. "You could never leave it at just the one." And with that, Silfee walked off.
Edgar snorted and turned to the statue of Andraste and thumbed its marble cheek. "Hello, old girl," he murmured. "You were my first love, I promise."
In the area just before the statue, the floor was slightly more worn than in the rest of the Chantry. Edgar settled his knees into those ancient impressions and began to pray.
"Maker, my enemies are abundant.
Many are those who rise up against me.
But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion,
Should they set themselves against me."
His father always told him to be a man. No explanation, no example. Just be a man. Maker knew, Edgar was trying. He wondered what his father would think of the current situation.
Outside, he could hear the battle horn of the gathering troops. Farmers, shopkeepers, frightened peasantry. They fought because they had no choice and had nothing left. He strove to strengthen their arms, to improve their odds.
"Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,
I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm.
I shall endure.
What you have created, no one can tear asunder."
Edgar kissed his fingertips and then pressed them against the statue's lips. An old habit that had got him the odd glance in the past, but he'd decided long ago that a kiss from a pretty girl always brought good luck. And with luck, they'd live to see the morning. Maker willing, they'd see the morning.