(Wow. Well, I guess it's a good sign that dramatic tension is successfully increased, that so many of you were genuinely scared by the close call. I promise, I'm not *trying* to kill Fin off... It's just Fin's natural flair for the dramatic seems to manifest the strongest during boss fights. He wouldn't get into these messes if he played it cautiously, like, say, Garott... but then he wouldn't be Finian, would he?)

96. Return to Ostagar

Ostagar was… a ruin. In every sense of the word.

A hundred years from now, when archeologists visited the site, they would no doubt note the tumbled walls and pillars where the darkspawn army had broken through. They would study the remains of the army camps, ransacked. They would see the dessicated bodies pinned on the walls and staked over the barricades as trophies and warnings. They would write about the Taint in the soil, how even then it would impede renewed growth.

For now, Felicity could not bear to write down any of it. Let the future historians, removed from the slaughter of that awful day, analyze the ashes of Ostagar. Felicity could not.

"This is it," Garott's voice rumbled. They stopped in the middle of what had once been the King's Camp, some of the Wardens still wiping darkspawn blood off their weapons. "The quartermaster was right here."

Felicity pursed her lips, noting the mess of tumbled crates in front of them. It could take hours to dig through that mess. Apparently, the others felt similarly. Oghren took a pull from his flask and Kazar muttered something under his breath.

Percival finished cleaning his blade of the hurlock he'd decapitated with it, and sheathed it smoothly on his back. "Better get started, Garott."

"You got it, captain." Garott stepped toward the mess.

"We're not here to loot, Garott," Percy continued, voice pitched with a tone of command that he'd taken up more and more often as of late. "If you see something useful, go ahead and take it, but I don't want to see you wasting time scavenging. That clear?"

Garott smirked and gave the nobleman a sarcastic salute, but nonetheless offered no argument.

That had surprised Felicity, to be honest. As soon as she and Garott had stepped off the boat at Lake Calenhad, Percival had torn into the both of them for running off without consulting the group—namely, Felicity's bringing Dagna and Garott's… whatever he'd been doing that had had him follow her into the Tower. She'd asked, but he'd refused to tell her.

Then, Percival had gathered them all up on the hill above the Spoiled Princess. He'd pointed out the Qunari bodies, explaining in no uncertain terms why they were going to Ostagar to retrieve, not only Sten's sword, but the swords of his fallen comrades as well. Then, he'd told them Morrigan's problem and asked them to accompany him to confront Flemeth, citing duty and loyalty to one's companions.

Not even Kazar—who obviously chafed under Percival's taking command—had protested to that part, much to Felicity's surprise. She wouldn't have predicted him to submit quietly to command... but then, she didn't really know him, did she? She'd never actually known him.

At least someone was stepping up. Ever since Marnan's death—Stone protect her—the Wardens had been unfocused. Percival kept them on task, albeit a bit more firmly than Marnan had.

For her own part, Felicity kept her opinions to herself. If the incident at the Anvil had done anything, it had made it entirely clear that her input was not appreciated. She was silently appalled by the actions of her fellow Wardens. Resurrecting the golems, killing Caridin, letting Bhelen take the throne... So many vital things lost, and the preservation of something that, upon further reflection, should never have existed. It had been naive to think that something like golems could exist without a cost.

She couldn't help but think that if Marnan had been alive, she never would have allowed any of it. Just the name sent fresh spikes of guilt through her. Felicity was the healer, wasn't she? She should have been able to do something. She should have been able to save the dwarf. It was all Felicity was good for, wasn't it, given that they didn't want her input in any other respect?

Truth was, she was a failure all around, wasn't she? Sometimes, she wondered why Duncan had taken her from the Tower at all. There were times when she wanted to just leave all this behind, climb into her own bed at Kinloch Hold, and curl around a book about distant travels or metaphysical theory. Books, she could handle with the scholarly detachment of theoretical understanding. Living it was... not like she'd expected at all.

Garott, Sten, and Hugo started digging through the pile of debris, Percival keeping a sharp eye out for danger as they did so, directing Oghren to take his drunken derriere somewhere it wouldn't get in the way. Where did the dwarf keep finding alcohol anyway? He couldn't possibly have brought this much out of Orzammar with him, and the last tavern standing for leagues was the Spoiled Princess at Kinloch Hold.

Kazar and Morrigan had already moved out of the way, deeper into the ruins. Felicity sought them out, worried about the pair alone in a darkspawn infested ruin.

At the spot where the tents of King Cailan and Loghain had once stood, she spotted them, up on the raised scaffold that overlooked the Wilds. Kazar was staring out, while Morrigan paced idly.

The witch noticed her first, nodding in acknowledgement. "This is as close as I dare get to my dear mother. I think I shall await you here."

"Is it really safe to be here all alone?" Felicity asked, drawing even with the witch.

Morrigan eyed her. "I have survived in these Wilds far longer than all of you combined. Do not fret; I have ways of passing unnoticed."

Felicity considered that. "I suppose that makes sense, given your shapeshifting. Although darkspawn are a great deal different from normal beasts. What if they can detect the artifice?"

"Then I will merely blast them into charred husks. Really, you make it sound as if I have not done it a thousand times over now."

A smile bubbled up unbidden. Morrigan arched a brow. "That is… certainly a good point, Morrigan. I suppose I needn't be worried about it."

Morrigan continued staring at her, those golden eyes of hers gleaming. "Tis in your nature, just as deception is in mine. Although I cannot decide whether your habit for intrusion is a facet of being a healer, or of simply being a busybody."

"It is likely they are related," Felicity said. "One can hardly heal correctly if one does not believe that one knows what's best for everyone."

"That is… most certainly true. A fair point, in fact." Morrigan looked amused.

"Except that you don't," snapped the third mage present, making Felicity jump a bit. Kazer looked over his shoulder at them, narrow-eyed. "You're just a know-it-all twit who thinks that being book-smart means a damn thing out in the real world."

"Kazar!" It didn't help that his words echoed all the things she'd been telling herself the past weeks.

"It seems rather odd to me," Morrigan said calmly, "that any of us should speak upon the subject of real world experience. I am given to understand you were both raised in that awful tower on the lake."

"Yeah, but I never claimed to be smart. I'm just useful." Kazar turned away again. Felicity covered a wince and drew up even with him, her breath catching at how very far down the ground was. Only then did Felicity see what he was looking at: the battlefield.

The stand of King Cailan was laid out before them, the lines blurred now. Felicity could see where the main line had laid in wait… where the archers and mages had perched on raised platforms behind the lines… where Marnan's auxiliary group had joined the battle, identifiable by the torn, scorched ground where Kazar had cast his spells. Where Loghain's men had turned around and marched away.

"If we'd been stronger…" Kazar whispered, his voice hoarse. "Just a little bit, could we have turned the tide?"

There was a lot of emotion buried under that plea. "I doubt it, Kazar. We were only four of us."

"Not just us," he snapped, turning blazing eyes back to her. "All of us. The Wardens, the other mages, even the king. We could have held this position… it's a good position! Even without Loghain, if we'd just had the guts to do what had to be done, like a Warden is supposed to, could we have won, right here?"

"Kazar, what are you talking about?" Felicity looked over the field again, seeing the corpses not dragged off for the darkspawn to feast upon. She could see how the men had fought—bravely and to the last—and couldn't see how much more they could have done. "We did everything we could. A man is only capable of so much."

"How true that is…" The elf gazed over the field, his eyes narrowed in thought.

He'd been doing this increasingly often of late: escaping into contemplation. Once, she might have considered that an improvement on his usual brash thoughtlessness, but now it gave her an inexplicable sense of foreboding. Sometimes, while he was thinking he would stand with his ear cocked, as if he was listening to a song that no one else could hear.

"My mother, on the other hand…" Morrigan sighed. "A pity she would never engage the archdemon herself. How delightful it would be if the two creatures wiped one another out."

"Unlikely, given the matter of her unnatural longevity."

"My dear Warden, I think I speak for many of your companions when I beg that you please obtain a sense of humor." That elicited a snort from the elf.

Felicity felt herself flush. "I have one. I simply find it difficult to find humor in the prospect of facing an ancient abomination. To be honest, I'm rather nervous."

"If anyone can succeed, it must be you."

"Well, you may say that…"

"I most certainly do not just say that!" The outrage in the witch's voice made Felicity turn around in shock. "Rest assured, I mean it when I say that I think you Wardens are the ones most capable of pulling off such a task. I would not have asked if I did not!"

Kazar snorted, still looking outward. "And I'm sure the fact you have Cousland wrapped around your little finger has nothing to do with it."

"That is in no way related, and I resent the implication."

"Wait, what?" Felicity's mind did a skip at that. "You and Percival?" She turned to Kazar. "Her and Percival?"

Kazar shook his head. "You're hopeless, Amell."

Felicity turned back to Morrigan. "When did that happen?"

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "I assure you, it is not in any way comparable to the sickeningly saccharine exchange of googoo eyes that you have with Alistair. It is a matter between he and I, and I will not coo over boys like a trite schoolgirl with you."

Felicity felt her face grow even hotter. "That is… fair enough. Even so… if Alistair were willing to fight an ancient abomination for me, I would find it incredibly romantic. Few people would risk that sort of danger unless it was for one they cared a great deal about."

That seemed to take her off guard. "…Indeed? I admit, I had not considered it in such a fashion…" She turned away, and Felicity wondered why something about that might upset her.

It certainly made Felicity miss Alistair keenly. She joined the other two mages in gazing out over the Wilds. But while they were lost in thought about Percival or… whatever Kazar was thinking about… Felicity was wondering how Alistair was doing with the Sacred Ashes. Had they truly any chance of finding the relic? Where was the search taking them? Had they met Brother Genitivi, and did any of them really appreciate the man's genius?

And most importantly, were they still all right?