139. Battle Plans

The collective armies of the Fereldan nobility were a great deal larger than Zevran could comprehend. He came from a nation where wars were fought over dinner tables and in the bedroom, with poison both physical and metaphorical. His only previous experience with actual war were the stories of Tevinter and the Qunari clashing next door... but neither warring force ever dared take an antagonist step over the Antivan border.

And so, he was decidedly uncomfortable as he wound his way through the many camps that the armies had set up just outside Lothering. The force as about halfway to Redcliffe, and morale was high. These men were happy to finally no longer be fighting one another and actually focus on the darkspawn.

Or so Zevran assumed. He was honestly tiring of this entire thing.

He slipped between campfires with his hands full of his burden, occasionally greeted with a smile or shout as he was spotted. This was another uncomfortable sensation: he was recognized, now. Here, he was known as one of the Warden Companions, and treated with respect and comradery because of it. It was all quite strange.

Even so, he nodded back to each greeting, but did not slow. The crate he carried was heavy, but he was determined to reach his destination before his strength flagged.

They were deep in discussion by the time he arrived.

"...much chance of using our numbers against it in the Deep Roads," Felicity was saying. She had a number of maps spread out before her as she knelt by the fire. "Therefore, our best bet is to draw it out into the open."

"Where it has the advantage of flight," Percival said, standing opposite her. "And over half ourforces will be ineffective until it's grounded."

"It is better than the alternative," Sten said. He was a stolid presence at Felicity's shoulder. "In those tunnels, the armies will be no better than fodder. While it is true some may as well be anyway, even so it is a waste of resources. Far better to engage it across a wider battlefield to make full use of forces."

"As long as Finian refrains from jumping on its back," Zevran said, announcing his arrival, "I think we will make do."

The assorted Wardens and companions around the campfire turned to greet him with varying levels of welcome. Best was Finian, of course, who grinned warmly up at him, the golden hoop on his ear glittering in the firelight. The reformed Crow couldn't help but smile back at the sight.

"Is that...?" Alistair asked. "Zevran, what are those?"

"A gift. From Bann Sighard, in gratitude for freeing his son from the clutches of the poor departed Howe." Zevran dropped his burden in front of the fire, and backed away as the Wardens reached over to pluck out the contents. "The man cornered me this evening and was quite insistent. And, I am never one to turn down free crates of fine spirits, so..."

"A crate if healing potions would be more useful," Felicity said with a sigh.

Oghren chortled, popping the cork of the bottle he'd picked. "Then you haven't been using spirits the right way."

That drew a few chuckles, and the Wardens settled back with their gifted drinks, some imbibing with more gusto than others.

"Go on, Felicity," Percival said, settling down with an Orlesian wine.

Sten was the one to continue. He, apparently, had had a hand in the planning. Interesting. "Bringing it out of the air will not be a problem, if the forces are efficient with their given tasks. The elves will have archery, and the saara... magi... will also be present."

Felicity broke in, "My concern is that there will be no Warden near where it comes down. Given the potential size of the army and our small numbers, there is a good chance that the armies may physically cut it to pieces before a Warden can finish it." She exchanged a look with Riordan.

"And that's a problem?" Garott asked with an arched brow.

"A rather large one." Felicity glanced around, and Zevran couldn't help but notice that her eyes were counting off the non-Wardens present. "We will discuss it privately soon. For now, suffice to say that there is a reason Wardens are necessary to take down the archdemon." Kazar was nodding along thoughtfully, and Zevran could tell he was not the only one intrigued by this. "We will have to form a Warden prong whose sole task is to chase down the archdemon and slay it. It should be a small group, for heightened mobility."

Sten nodded. "There is another problem. We are currently amassing four separate armies, none of which have been trained to work together, nor from what I have seen will they make the attempt."

"The Dalish alone," Fin agreed, "will refuse to work under a human king." He shrugged at Alistair. "Nothing personal."

"Didn't want them anyway," Alistair mumbled gloomily. "You remember how difficult Meila was at the start? Can you imagine having more of her?" He shuddered.

"Dwarves aren't likely gonna listen to a bunch of topsiders, either," Garott added.

Felicity nodded. "For this reason, we think it reasonable to place a Warden with each army, to supplement the slaying party, just in case they find themselves on the opposite side of the battlefield with a weakened archdemon."

Percival nodded. "So Meila with the Dalish, Garott with the dwarves... that sort of thing?"

Felicity nodded. "There is one more thing. The Wardens tasked as dragon slayers must be melee."

"What?" Kazar snapped. He had been doubtfully sniffing his own beverage, but now sat upright, the bottle forgotten. "But I've actually fought it before!"

"And it wasn't enough. Trust me, Kazar, we need Wardens close to it."

Kazar sniffed scornfully, but settled down with a grumble.

"Also," Riordan added, "Alistair must not be near it when it dies."

"What?" The king-to-be stiffened and stared at Riordan. "Why?"

Felicity nodded, not looking up at him. "That was a given," she said softly.

"So..." Fin said, counting on his fingers briefly. "Me, Riordan, and Percy?"

"And myself, for healing."

"Why am I never in the battle?!" Alistair cried, throwing his arms in the air.

"Oh, you're gonna be in the battle," Garott rumbled with a smirk. "Who's gonna lead all the human armies, eh?"

That did not seem to help, as Alistair went stark white.

Zevran, meanwhile, sidled up behind his Warden, wrapping his arms around him and resting his chin on one narrow shoulder. "Do not expect to ride the dragon this time, amor," he warned, disguising with smooth calm the fact that he meant every word. "I will be there just to make sure you do not."

Felicity glanced up at him in alarm. "No, Zevran. We need only Wardens."

"Just try and stop me," he replied with velvet ice.

Felicity exchanged a glance with Riordan, and Zevran really wanted to know what secret they were keeping between them. Riordan nodded once, and Felicity bit her lip and dropped it.

"All right. So, the next order of business... how do we go about killing an archdemon?"