I hope everybody had a lovely Christmas! I need to thank WellspringCD, not just for her usual great job as a beta reader, but also for helping me with some of Zevran's dialogue in Chapter 26. I had fully intended to credit her when I published it, but was in such a rush to throw it out there that I forgot :( I felt very guilty to receive compliments on getting Zev's voice right! As ever, thank you to everyone who takes the time to read my story. Will you all be in a fit state to read the next chapter on Saturday?

After a restless night of tossing and turning, interspersed with bad dreams, Fearghal gave up trying to sleep and got dressed. The sun was starting to rise, so hopefully there would a realistic prospect of breakfast. He spotted his small pouch on the nightstand and opened it, drawing out the amulet he'd found in Arl Eamon's desk. He tucked it into his pocket, then left his room.

Moving quietly up the corridor, Fearghal paused outside the room Zevran had pointed out as Alistair's, the night before. He was about to move on when he heard someone moving about. Deciding to get his apology over and done with, Fearghal knocked softly on the door. The sound of footsteps, then the door cracked open and Alistair peered cautiously out.

"Oh, it's you." Alistair swung the door open wide. He was wearing just a pair of breeches; from the towel hung around his neck, it looked like he'd just been shaving.

"Do you mind if I come in?"

Alistair shrugged and turned back into his room, discarding the towel and picking up a shirt.

Fearghal fidgeted. "I…um… I want to apologise. For what I said… last night."

Alistair's face was red as it emerged through the top of his shirt. "You're entitled to say what you feel.," he mumbled. "I-I shouldn't have hit you."

"I shouldn't have said it… any of it," said Fearghal, frowning.

"What? You didn't mean it? It isn't what you think?" scoffed Alistair, his face stiff.

"No… I mean… " Fearghal sighed. "It was how I said it… why I said it. It had nothing to do with you, I was taking it out on you and I shouldn't have done that."

"So you do think I'm pathetic, you just think you shouldn't have said anything," retorted Alistair, sarcastically.

"Maker's cock, Alistair!" burst out Fearghal. He pinched the bridge of his nose, shoving down his irritation. "I think you feel far more beholden to the arl than you should, but the way I expressed that was… harsh and insensitive. Can we just leave it at that?"

"I would have done it, you know," said Alistair.

Fearghal frowned, momentarily confused, unable to follow Alistair's train of thought.

"Connor. If it had been necessary," explained Alistair.

"I was always taught that I shouldn't ask anyone to do something that I wasn't prepared to do myself." Fearghal's voice was flat. "If I couldn't have done it, I wouldn't have asked you to… you know."

Fearghal shrugged. "Anyway… " He turned towards the door.

Alistair nodded, tense and awkward.

"Oh, I nearly forgot," Fearghal turned, digging in his pocket. "I found this, I wondered if… " He held the amulet out to Alistair.

Frowning, Alistair took it from him, then his eyes went wide as he recognised it.

"My mother's amulet," he whispered. He stared at it, lost in memories, as he ran his fingers over the surface. When he looked up, Fearghal was gone.

Alistair shut the door quietly, then sat on the bed rubbing his fingers against the amulet. He slipped the chain over his head; the amulet was warm against his chest. With a sigh he flopped back on the bed. Fearghal always managed to wrong-foot him somehow. After last night he'd felt at the end of his tether with the man. This morning, Fearghal had appeared, offering his odd apology, which frankly didn't feel like much of an apology at all, then handed Alistair his mother's amulet. Alistair didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

'I think you feel far more beholden to the arl than you should, but the way I expressed that was… harsh and insensitive.'

Alistair frowned. Is that really what Fearghal thinks? There was a small, deeply buried part of Alistair that bitterly resented the arl. On the rare occasion he allowed himself to examine that resentment, he'd felt guilty; he told himself that he should be grateful that Arl Eamon had taken him at all and had endured the years of gossip about his relationship to Alistair for as long as he did. Did I deserve more? Wanting and deserving aren't the same thing. I know I always wanted more, but...

Alistair's stomach growled loudly. With a sigh, he pushed his thoughts aside and went in search of breakfast. A servant directed him to the dining room and he was surprised to see Teagan in there, alone.

"Good morning, Alistair."

Alistair nodded, "Good morning, Teagan. Where's Fearghal? I thought he was on his way down."

"He's taken his breakfast upstairs. He wanted to talk to Connor. He promised Isolde he would."

"Maker! I don't envy him that conversation."

Teagan shook his head. "I think telling Connor how she died is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I have no idea how I'm going to tell Eamon when... if he wakes up."

~o~O~o~

Fearghal balanced the tray on one arm and tapped at the door before pushing it open. Connor was sitting on the bed; he barely looked up as Fearghal entered.

"Hello, Connor, I'm Fearghal. I brought some breakfast."

The boy looked doubtfully at the heavily laden tray that Fearghal set down on the bed. "I-I don't feel very hungry, ser."

Fearghal smiled sympathetically. "No, I don't suppose you do, but you should try at least. Don't worry, most of that's for me."

Fearghal pulled up a chair and sat by the bed. He picked up two thick slices of bread and put together a bacon and egg sandwich, which he handed to Connor. "Eat."

As Connor nibbled on his sandwich, he found himself fascinated, watching the big man eat. Fearghal's first sandwich and several sausages quickly disappeared and he tucked into a second and then a third. Fearghal picked up a napkin and wiped his hands and mouth, then picked up one of the large mugs of tea and sipped at it.

Connor put the sandwich down on the tray. Every mouthful he'd managed to swallow was like sawdust in his mouth. He looked at Fearghal uncertainly. "I can't manage any more."

Fearghal nodded and picked up the other mug, holding it out to Connor.

"You were with my mother? At the end?" asked Connor, quietly.

Fearghal nodded. "She didn't suffer, Connor. It was very quick."

"Truly?" asked Connor, sounding unconvinced. "Uncle Teagan said so, but I wasn't sure if he was trying to make me feel better."

"Truly. It was over in moments."

At Fearghal's words, Connor let out the breath he didn't even realise he'd been holding. "I... this is all my fault. If I hadn't... "

"No! It's not your fault! Things just got... out of control. Sometimes they do." Fearghal sighed. "Sometimes, no matter how much we want to... there's just nothing we can do to stop things happening."

Connor looked searchingly at Fearghal, hearing something in his voice.

"Uncle Teagan was angry with her, when he found out about Jowan."

Fearghal sipped his tea, choosing his words carefully. "Your mother made a bad decision, but for the right reasons. She loved you and was trying to be a good mother."

"Is that why she... ? She thought it was all her fault?"

"No. She sacrificed herself because she loved you. She would have done it, no matter what the circumstances." Fearghal took a deep breath. "My own m-mother did something similar."

Connor's eyes went wide. "She did?"

Fearghal nodded. His hand shook so badly, the tea slopped over the side of his mug, splashing onto the bedcover. Frowning, Fearghal set it down on the tray. He momentarily lifted his eyes to meet Connor's, then looked away.

"It... It's not an easy thing to live with. I-I try to look on it as a gift, s-something that she g-gave me." Fearghal cleared his throat. "I remember Mother Mallol saying that while it was better to give than to receive, sometimes it was harder to receive; to accept something in the spirit it was given, with good grace. I don't think I ever truly understood what she meant until now."

Fearghal looked back at Connor and smiled unsteadily. "You mother loved you, Connor, and she wanted you to know that she did what she did, gladly. She told me, 'I do this out of love for him and love is never a burden.' Do you understand, Connor?"

"I-I think so." Connor's voice was unsteady, his eyes brimming with tears.

Fearghal stood, briefly setting his hand on Connor's shoulder, then picked up the tray.

~o~O~o~

The people of Redcliffe gathered on the small dock by the lake following the service at the chantry. Several of the men moved forwards to the row of shrouded corpses and carefully loaded them into the prepared oil-soaked boats. The boats were flimsily made; not intended to last long. Two, sometimes three, bodies were loaded into each boat, except for the last one. Lady Isolde would sail into the Fade unaccompanied.

The men untied the boats and pushed them away from the dock. Slowly they drifted away, picked up by the current. As they cleared the dock, the men picked up their bows, dipping the prepared arrows into a brazier, and firing the flaming arrows into the boats.

The voice of the Revered Mother rang out as the boats burst into flames.

"Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls. From these emerald waters, doth life begin anew. Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you. In my arms lies eternity."

The mourners on the dock bowed their heads, some weeping. Teagan, standing with Connor, put an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. The boy turned his face into his uncle's side, his shoulders heaving.

Fearghal stood, every muscle tense, fighting to maintain his self-control. I wonder what Howe's men did with the dead? It wasn't something he'd allowed himself to think of before, but seeing this ceremony, so similar to the way things were done at Highever; it dominated his thoughts. He couldn't see Howe wasting much time and energy on decent funerals for the dead. For the murdered.

Alistair noticed Fearghal stiffen and watched him out of the corner of his eye. He'd been caught up in thoughts of his own dead. He'd heard it said in the past that funerals were important, but had never understood the need the bereaved seem to have for such a ritual. Now he did. Duncan and the others... lying out there, pawed over by darkspawn. I wish I could say goodbye.

As the boats moved towards the horizon, people started to drift away from the dock.

Teagan came over to Alistair and Fearghal. "Thank you both for coming. I appreciate it and I know that the people of Redcliffe do. We have so much to thank you for."

Fearghal dragged his eyes away from the burning boats and nodded stiffly. Alistair fidgeted, unsure what to say.

"Fearghal, I've asked Owen to provide you with some better armour. Alistair, there's a shield, it was my father's. No-one's used it in an age, nor likely to for the foreseeable future. Owen's checking it over to make sure it's serviceable. I'd like you to have it."

Teagan held up his hand as they started to protest. "You've both done so much for us here. It's not nearly enough, believe me. I'll see you both later."

Teagan collected Connor and headed back up the hill towards the castle.