With thanks to WellspringCD for being such a ruthless beta-reader and helping me get rid of the clutter.
Morrigan led them on for about a further twenty minutes, then stopped. Ahead of them lay a small rocky hill.
"Over there," she said pointing.
Fearghal nodded and started walking again.
"Wait!" commanded Morrigan.
Fearghal stopped and turned. "What?" he asked, puzzled. He was tired and hungry, he just wanted to get somewhere he could settle down and rest.
"I will go and ensure that the cave is unoccupied," said Morrigan. "'Twould be unwise to disturb a drowsy bear, preparing for his winter's sleep."
Fearghal looked at her warily. "Surely, if that's a possibility, we should all go."
Morrigan laughed. "Truly, 'tis not necessary," she assured him.
Fearghal and Alistair gaped as Morrigan shimmered in front of their eyes and then disappeared. In front of them stood a large black wolf. Tawny eyes regarded them calmly. Bane yelped and jumped back. The hound regarded the wolf warily, then crept in and sniffed its muzzle cautiously. Bane was encouraged when the wolf sniffed him back. His tail started to wag. Growing more bold he moved behind it and thrust his nose at the wolf's backside, sniffing enthusiastically. The wolf whirled, snapping and snarling. Confused, Bane retreated and sat down, leaning against Fearghal's legs.
With a last look at them, the wolf loped off in the direction of the cave. Bane gazed longingly after it, whining.
Fearghal looked down at him. "Don't even think about it, you randy bastard," he warned sternly.
"Oh, Maker!" groaned Alistair. "That's just... just... so, so wrong!" He grimaced in disgust.
Fearghal shrugged. "I don't want her to kill my dog when she turns back into Morrigan, and I fancy she would if he tried to... "
"Yes, yes! I get the picture!" interrupted Alistair. "Please, can we talk about something else?"
Fearghal shrugged. Maferath's balls! He's such a prude. He stared in the direction the wolf had gone in. "I didn't know mages could do that," he remarked. "Turn into animals, I mean."
Alistair scowled. "They can't. Or at least, it's not something taught by the Circle, which means it's probably banned by the Chantry, like blood magic." He groaned and rubbed his face. "It's not bad enough that she's an apostate, she practices forbidden magic too."
"Maker's breath, Alistair! You're not a templar anymore," snapped Fearghal.
Alistair glowered at him, but refrained from saying anything further. You might trust that witch, but I don't. Only a fool would.
Presently the wolf trotted back, shimmered briefly and then Morrigan stood in front of them once more.
"The cave is empty and quite safe," she told them. "It doesn't appear to have been used for a long time. It is a little... stale, but dry and we will be out of the wind."
"Let's go then." Fearghal swung his pack over his shoulder and headed off towards the cave.
The cave, when they reached it, was a little cramped but big enough to hold them. As Morrigan had promised, it was dry but had a fusty odour to it. They decided not to make a fire, partly because they were worried about attracting attention, partly because the ventilation in the cave was poor; Fearghal suspected their eyes would be smarting from the smoke all night if they lit a fire. Morrigan assured them that she could set wards in front of the entrance which would warn them in plenty of time if anything came near.
While Morrigan stepped outside, Fearghal and Alistair inspected their bundles. Each bundle was made up of a blanket tied around some food and a skin of water. The food consisted of dried meat, crackers and some very stale cheese. Alistair gazed disappointedly at the cheese. I'd rather not have cheese at all, than this pale, tasteless stuff pretending to be cheese. Bane plonked himself in front of Fearghal, slaver dripping from his chops and a hopeful look in his eye.
Fearghal regarded his dog steadily. "Not a chance," he muttered, tucking into his food hungrily. "Go and catch yourself some rabbits." Bane persisted, whining softly, until Fearghal nudge him away with his foot. "Go on," he said, pointing outside the cave. Bane cast a sorrowful look at him, then trotted out of the cave.
Fearghal ignored his dog and carried on eating. "How long did you say I was out for? Three days? It feels like I haven't eaten in a week." He was tempted to eat all the food they'd been given in one sitting, but decided he'd better save some for the morning.
Alistair smirked to himself, but said nothing, eating his food more slowly, trying to make it last. Morrigan returned and settled herself at the end of the small cave, as far away as from the two men as she could, and ate her own food quietly. As soon as she finished, she bade her companions good night, transformed into a wolf again and curled up to sleep.
Alistair and Fearghal both wrapped themselves up in their blankets and sat on the hard ground leaning against the wall. Presently, Bane returned and curled up between them. Both men were glad of the extra warmth he provided. As night fell, the cave was almost pitch black.
Fearghal leaned his head back, trying to get comfortable. He could hear Alistair shuffling about slightly over Bane's soft snoring, obviously still awake and uncomfortable too.
"You know the Arl of Redcliffe well?" he asked softly.
"I grew up in Redcliffe, until I was sent to the Chantry anyway," replied Alistair.
"That doesn't mean you know him, never mind know him well," countered Fearghal.
Alistair sighed, Fearghal could sense his hesitation. "Let's see. How do I explain this?"
"Oh, just spit it out, Alistair," groaned Fearghal. What could be so bad?
"I'm a bastard," announced Alistair. "And before you make any smart comments, I mean the fatherless kind."
"I see," said Fearghal. Grudgingly, he admitted to himself that he could understand Alistair's reticence.
"My mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe Castle. She died when I was born. Arl Eamon wasn't my father, but he took me in anyhow and put a roof over my head," explained Alistair.
Fearghal was grateful for the darkness in the cave; that Alistair wouldn't see the scepticism he knew was on his face.
"He was good to me and he didn't have to be," Alistair went on. "I respect the man and I don't blame him anymore for sending me off to the Chantry once I was old enough."
"But you blamed him at the time?" asked Fearghal.
Haltingly Alistair explained about how the Arl's young Orlesian wife had resented him; resented the whispers that he was really the Arl's son. Almost talking to himself in the dark of the cave, he gave voice to the hurt and anger he'd felt when Arl Eamon had shipped him off to the Chantry. Fearghal had heard his mother speak of the Arlessa. The Teyrna hadn't had a very high opinion of the Arlessa, and it wasn't because she was Orlesian.
"So I was packed off to the nearest monastery at age ten," continued Alistair, matter-of-factly. "Just as well, really. The Arlessa had made sure the castle wasn't a home to me by that point. She despised me."
Fearghal wasn't sure how to respond. He couldn't imagine his own mother behaving so spitefully towards a child, no matter what his background or circumstances. He felt a tug of sympathy for the boy that Alistair must have been. On the other hand, the man he was now got right up his nose.
"You were probably luckier than most orphans," he grunted.
"I suppose you're right," conceded Alistair. "I wasn't raised as the Arl's son, or anything." He chuckled softly. "I slept in hay out in the stables, not on silk sheets."
Fearghal snorted. He'd never slept on silk sheets either, except in high-class brothels, his family's castle had always had crisp linen sheets.
Alistair's voice grew quiet and pensive. "I remember I had an amulet with Andraste's holy symbol on it. The only thing I had of my mother's..."
Fearghal felt a stab of pain. I have nothing of Mother's. Nothing to remember Father by, or Fergus. No little thing of Oren's. Nothing to hold that will conjure up the presence of my Rory. Nothing but memories, a shield and a blade. Fearghal pushed the thought away. Memories hurt too much; for now the shield and the blade were all he needed.
"... I was so furious at being sent away, I tore if off and threw it at the wall and it shattered." Alistair's voice was full of regret. "A stupid, stupid thing to do." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Anyway, the Arl came by the monastery a few times to see how I was, but I was stubborn. I hated it there and blamed him for everything... and eventually he stopped coming."
Fearghal squirmed uncomfortably. When he'd asked how well Alistair knew the Arl, he hadn't expected Alistair's life story. He didn't quite know what to say.
"So, do you think the Arl will help us?" he asked gruffly.
"All I know is that the Arl is a good man," replied Alistair, embarrassed that he'd told this strange man so much about himself and regretting it already. The words had just spilled out of him, the darkness creating an illusion of intimacy. "He's well-loved by the people. He was also King Cailan's uncle, so he has a personal motive to see Loghain pay for what he did."
"You know, I've been thinking about that," said Fearghal.
"Thinking about what?" asked Alistair, puzzled.
"Loghain," Fearghal replied.
"And... ?"
"We were late lighting the beacon," said Fearghal. He shrugged in the dark. "Maybe... maybe we were too late."
"What?" exploded Alistair. "You saw! He could have charged. It would have turned the battle."
From the back of the cave came an annoyed growl.
"It would have been close," said Fearghal, his voice low.
Alistair gave a snort of obvious disgust.
"It would have been," insisted Fearghal "And Loghain had a different viewpoint from us, it might have looked less... clear cut from where he was."
"Well, why didn't he charge sooner? Why wait for the damned beacon at all, if it looked so bad?"
Fearghal rubbed his face tiredly and sighed. "I don't know. I'm no general." He paused, to gather his thoughts. "But Loghain is a general, a great general, and all I'm trying to say is that maybe we shouldn't jump to conclusions. All the things you've said about Arl Eamon could all be said about Teyrn Loghain. He's popular with the people and also respected in the Landsmeet, or at least by those nobles that aren't still harping on about him being born a commoner."
"He left the king to die, he abandoned him," muttered Alistair stubbornly.
"The king should never have been down there in the first place!" hissed Fearghal. He groaned softly. "Look, all I'm saying is that we should keep an open mind. Let's get to this village and see if we can find out more."
There was a flicker at the end of the cave and Morrigan's voice cut through the darkness. "Would you two be quiet!" she snapped furiously.
Fearghal and Alistair muttered their apologies and the air shimmered again. They briefly heard the skittering of claws on the floor of the cave as she settled herself back down. The two Wardens pulled their blankets tight around them and settled into an uneasy sleep.
~o~O~o~
Alistair and Fearghal trudged after Morrigan and Bane, both men left tired and irritable after a restless night of little more than cat-naps in the uncomfortable cave. Fearghal mentally made a list of supplies they would need from Lothering. Mostly they would need camping equipment, but also proper packs and various paraphernalia for looking after their armour and weapons. He patted the purse he could feel tucked into his armour and silently thanked his mother for her foresight. At least they weren't completely destitute.
The cave had been nearer to the old Imperial Highway than Fearghal had realised and the going was certainly easier once they reached it. There were fewer travellers around than Fearghal expected. He'd anticipated more refugees fleeing the darkspawn; possibly other survivors from Ostagar. I suppose most people must have already started to move while we were at Flemeth's hut in the Wilds.
The Highway crested a hill and below them lay Lothering, at the side of the great stone viaduct that bore the Highway to the far side of the dale. Lothering itself wasn't very big but it was surrounded by a substantial makeshift camp of tents, wagons and temporary, hastily built lean-tos.
Alistair whistled softly. "Maker's breath! Look at all those people," he marvelled.
"Let's hope they haven't bought up all the supplies. I bet prices have gone through the roof," groaned Fearghal.
"Oh, very sympathetic!" sneered Alistair. "You're all heart. I supposed I shouldn't have expected anything else from you."
Fearghal scowled at him. "I'm just trying to be practical," he snapped. "We have little more than what we stand up in and we could be on the road for months. Unless you know of some secret Warden cache where we can supply, we're going to have to buy what we need down there." He jerked his head towards the village. "Just how much money do you have, Alistair?"
Alistair flushed. "About forty silver," he mumbled.
"I bet you'll be lucky if that gets you much more than a bowl of stew and a pint of ale at the tavern," scoffed Fearghal. He sighed, struggling to regain control of his temper. "I have about twenty sovereigns. Hopefully, it will be enough to get the things we need. Maker knows what we'll do when it's gone." He shook his head and started down the hill. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it.
As they walked along the viaduct, they were accosted by 'toll collectors'.
'Parasites,' thought Fearghal in disgust, 'preying on the weak and scared.' Alistair's words up on the hill had stung him more than he cared to admit. His parents had brought him up to take responsibility for their people; to oversee, to organise; to care. He wondered what was happening in Highever; were the people running scared, driven from their homes by Howe?
When the bandit leader brazenly demanded the ten-silver toll, Fearghal smashed a gauntleted fist into his face. He didn't notice when the other bandits drew their weapons or when Alistair, Bane and Morrigan leaped to his defence. All Fearghal could see was the bandit leader's sneering face dissolving into a satisfyingly, bloody pulpy mess as he drove his fist into it again and again. When the man fell over, Fearghal hauled him up and knocked him down again. Once, twice, three times. Fearghal, hauled the bandit up again and drew his fist back. Strong hands grasped his arms, a furious voice shouting in his ear, "Maker's breath! Stop! He's dead. He's dead!"
Fearghal struggled furiously, howling incoherently, as the man fell out of his grasp and he was dragged back.
Alistair wrestled Fearghal away from the bloodied corpse of the bandit leader, throwing a desperate glance at Morrigan. Morrigan gestured at Fearghal and he was coated from head to toe in a thin layer of frost. Not enough to freeze him, by any means, but enough to bring him sharply back to reality. Alistair felt Fearghal stiffen in shock, then sag slightly in his arms. Horrified by what he had just witnessed, Alistair let go of the other man and stepped away. There was a long uncomfortable silence, then Fearghal headed down the ramp towards the village, Bane at his heel. Morrigan cast an amused look at Alistair and followed. Alistair stared after the pair of them; he was tempted to just head across the viaduct and keep on going. A maniac Warden and a witch who seems think it's amusing when he beats a man to death. Reluctantly he headed down the ramp.