With thanks to my beta reader, WellspringCD, and to all of you who continue to read and are so supportive of my efforts.
Alistair sighed and rolled onto his back. Sleeping in a bed was a luxury he'd not had for months. He'd been so looking forward to a good night's sleep, but instead found himself restless. The events of the last few days just went round and round in his head. More particularly, thoughts of Fearghal. His hand came up and he stroked his mother's amulet between his thumb and forefinger. He still didn't know where Fearghal had found it and to ask seemed ungracious. For all Fearghal's protestations, it still amazed Alistair that Fearghal had not only listened to what he said, but had remembered it weeks later.
I nearly kissed him! Alistair groaned softly to himself, feeling his face flush even though he was alone in the dark. The thought was both shameful, yet exhilarating at the same time. Thank the Maker, Fearghal didn't appear to notice...if the others had come in and seen... Alistair squirmed with embarrassment at the thought. But if they hadn't come in... Alistair indulged in a fantasy where he'd leaned in and kissed Fearghal, who had enthusiastically kissed him back. His breath hitched and he felt himself harden. He shook himself mentally. This is stupid! If I'd kissed him, he'd have hit me so hard, I'd have landed in the middle of next week.
Fearghal had made it quite clear that he wasn't interested in 'chantry virgins'. Besides, there's Rory. He clearly loved him... still loves him. Alistair sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. I must be mad! He's not interested in me. He'll never be interested in me. That thought was depressing; to have finally admitted just how attractive he found Fearghal, and know it was never going to amount to anything. I don't even like him very much! Why do I feel so drawn to him? But there had been glimpses of a different Fearghal. Just tonight, when Fearghal had got so angry, he'd reined his temper in and even made a joke when Alistair had bemoaned his own family background. Was he trying to cheer me up?
Alistair's stomach growled. He reached for his breeches and shirt; if he didn't get something to eat, he'd never sleep. The stone floors were cold under his feet as he crept down to the kitchen. The kitchen was dark, except for the dim glow cast by the fire, which had been banked down for the night. Alistair looked around for a lamp, his eyes passing over the cellar door. Fearghal's words came back to him. 'Who knows, maybe Teagan can lend us a tent.' Spying a lamp, he quickly lit it and headed down into the cellar.
~o~O~o~
Fearghal woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat. The nightmares were as vivid and as frequent as ever. He sighed and sat up. If he wasn't having nightmares about darkspawn, they were about what had happened that night at Castle Cousland. Occasionally, his dreams were happier, reliving moments of pleasure with his family or Rory, but then waking up and remembering was so much harder. His stomach gurgled loudly. Wearily, Fearghal got out of bed and pulled on some clothes.
Once in the kitchen, it took him a minute to find some lamps. Having lit one, he headed into the pantry. As he emerged he saw a lamp at the far end of the room and almost dropped the basket of eggs he was carrying, then relaxed as he recognised an equally startled Alistair.
"Maferath's balls, Alistair! What the hell were you doing down there?" Fearghal snapped.
"I... er... came down to get something to eat. I thought I heard a noise... and after... you know, I thought I'd better take a look."
Fearghal's eyebrows shot up. "You went to investigate what you thought might be more undead while unarmed and clad in only your breeches and a shirt?"
Alistair flushed and fidgeted. "Well, I was still half asleep... I didn't think," he mumbled.
Fearghal set the eggs and his lamp down, shaking his head at Alistair's folly. He beckoned Alistair over as he headed back into the pantry. "Come and hold a lamp up, while I see what else there is."
Fearghal re-emerged, bearing ham and cheese, then started preparing two huge omelettes while Alistair looked on in open admiration.
"I thought you told Leliana you couldn't cook."
"I can't cook... not proper meals, anyway. Just things I learned going out on patrol with the men. I can roast rabbits, fry things, make a basic stew, stuff like that." He looked up from the two frying pans he was watching. "Can you find a couple of plates?"
"I can do stew," said Alistair with a grin. "Throw everything into a pot, stir, and when it goes grey, it's done." Alistair set out a couple of plates and what looked to be two serving spoons. Catching Fearghal's look, he shrugged. "They were all I could find."
Fearghal tipped the omelettes out onto the plates and the two men ate in silence. The food didn't take half as long to eat as it did to cook; Alistair picked up the dirty dishes and stacked them in the sink. He stretched and yawned. As quietly as they were able, they headed back upstairs. As they reached the corridor there rooms were on, they were surprised to see Zevran coming from the direction of the private family quarters.
Zevran winked at Fearghal, who grinned at the realisation of where he'd been.
Alistair glared at Zevran suspiciously. "What are you doing creeping around in the middle of the night?"
"Why, I'm returning to my room," replied Zevran, with a bland smile at Alistair.
"Those are the family quarters," Alistair accused.
"Indeed they are, Alistair," Zevran agreed.
"Well, you shouldn't be in there! What were you doing?" Alistair glanced across at Fearghal and was surprised to see he merely looked amused.
"Let's just say that Bann Teagan wished to know more of... how things are done in Antiva." Zevran licked his lips and leered at Alistair.
Alistair frowned. "What things?" His eyes went wide and he flushed scarlet as he realised the answer to the question before Zevran could reply. "Oh, Maker! You mean you and... !"
It took all Zevran's self-control not to laugh outright at the shocked expression on Alistair's face. Without another word, a stunned Alistair bolted to his room.
Zevran looked across at Fearghal, who was also struggling not to laugh.
"Like I said, a chantry boy," said Fearghal, sniggering. "Good night, Zev." Chuckling softly, Fearghal headed to his room.
Fearghal was still grinning to himself as he stripped off his clothes and slid between the cool sheets. Alistair had been so shocked at the realisation that Zevran had been with Teagan; the look on his face had been priceless. Fearghal could barely remember a time when he had been so innocent. Thank the Maker I wasn't ever sent to live in a monastery; it would have been torture! Fearghal sniggered to himself, then frowned as he remembered the imprisoned templar in the Mage Tower; the man's reaction when he had seen Alistair. 'You! Always they show me you!' The man's words had implied feelings for Alistair.
Fearghal had been so busy staring at the templar, he hadn't noted Alistair's reaction. Not until the templar had flung that jibe at him. 'They used to call you... Lord Alistair.' Alistair was obviously hurt by it. It had been... unexpected? The source of the nickname had been apparent in the bathhouse. Unexpectedly, Fearghal felt a flare of sympathy for his fellow Warden. To have everyone jump to the obvious conclusion and be unable to tell the truth must have been hard, especially for a boy.
'It was always made plain to me that I was nothing, nobody. I was to have no... aspirations. I was to keep quiet and not draw attention to myself; just shut up and do what I was told.' It was no wonder Alistair was so reticent and self-effacing. But not when he fights... then he's a different man. Although Alistair's was a more defensive style than Fearghal's own, he was undeniably extremely good at it. More than that, he was confident and assured. Fearghal frowned in the dark. It was almost as if he was two different people. In battle he was a confident, able warrior yet the rest of the time he was a buffoon and, mostly, he was the butt of his own jokes. I wonder which one is the real Alistair?
Fearghal pushed away the tendril of shame that unfurled as he thought of his treatment of Alistair, of his unkind assessment to Teagan. And not just Alistair. I've been... unbearable. Bennet was right; my father would weep to see me now. I've turned into everything he despised. Fearghal turned over, blinking back the tears that threatened. He couldn't cry, he just couldn't. If he started, he'd never stop. But there was no anger to hold them back.
Fearghal growled and threw the covers back. He leaped out of bed and paced up and down. He could feel his muscles tensing. He needed to fight something... someone. He needed to keep the dam in place. He grabbed his breeches and thrust his legs into them, pulled his shirt over his head and then started to don his armour. Holding on to the spark of an idea, he shut out everything else.
The corridor led him to the door he sought. He hammered at it, then paced up and down the corridor.
Alistair's startled face appeared. "Fearghal, is something... "
"I can't sleep. I need to... I wondered if... were you asleep?"
"No." Alistair frowned, puzzled by his unexpected visitor. Fearghal prowled up and down the corridor, clad in his armour. Is there trouble? Has something happened?
"Do you want to spar?" demanded Fearghal.
Is he drunk? Alistair gaped at him.
"You were keen enough to fight yesterday." Fearghal's grin was both challenging and predatory at the same time.
"It's the middle of the night," stated Alistair, pointing out the obvious.
"So? I can't sleep; you can't sleep. I need to get used to fighting in this armour; you need to get used to that new shield of yours. It's not like the practice yard is going to be busy." Fearghal glared at Alistair, his head cocked to one side.
"I'll be down in five minutes," said Alistair, closing the door.
When Alistair arrived in the practice yard, Fearghal had already selected a blunted weapon from the rack and had his shield ready on his arm. He was roaming up and down the length of the yard, impatiently. Alistair watched him for a moment, noting the tension, the restlessness, then he descended the steps into the yard and made his way to the weapons rack. He took his time choosing a weapon, selecting first one then another, balancing them in his hand, until he found one that felt right. Alistair shrugged his shield off his back and slipped his arm through the enarmes; he turned to Fearghal.
"I'm ready when you are," he told Fearghal.
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Fearghal charged at him, roaring. Alistair barely got his shield up in time to block Fearghal's blow. Alistair emptied his mind, as he'd been taught, and focused on what was happening in front of him. He was thankful that this was just a sparring bout and that there were no others to worry about; Fearghal was easily one warrior's work on his own.
Fearghal let the anger take him, sword and shield, the only reminders of his family that he had, were an extension of himself, of his anger. The dam was safely reinforced, the tears, the memories held at bay. He threw himself at Alistair, both sword and shield trying to get past the other warden's defences. Alistair didn't attack; however, he didn't give an inch. No matter how fiercely Fearghal battered at him, his shield, his sword were there to block and parry. Fearghal's anger grew, fuelled by frustration, then, gradually, it dissipated; chewed away at the edges by weariness. His swings were less precise, his blows with his shield had less power behind them. Yet still, Alistair didn't falter, didn't let his guard down.
Fearghal attacked once more, and once more he was rebuffed, pushed back. He paused, his chest heaving, gulping air into his burning lungs. His arms felt heavy; his sword and shield might have been made of lead. He regarded Alistair carefully; heard the rasping of his breath, saw him sway slightly.
"Call it a draw?" rasped Fearghal.
Alistair grunted and nodded. Fearghal was so exhausted, he almost staggered over to the weapon rack and stowed the practice sword away. Alistair appeared at his side and placed his own sword in the rack.
'It was just that Alistair... well, he looked like he didn't know whether to hit you or kiss you.' Zevran's words popped into Fearghal's mind. He found himself looking at Alistair with new eyes. When he'd told the assassin he wasn't his type, he'd meant it, but Alistair was his type. He shook his head. Alistair had made it quite plain that he 'wasn't like that'. The last thing he needed right now was a lover. I have nothing left to give. And yet...
"I reckon we'll both sleep now," mumbled Fearghal.
Alistair smiled and looked up at the sky. "It'll be light soon."
"Best get to it, then," chuckled Fearghal. He headed back into the castle. His legs ached as he climbed the stairs and he grinned as he heard Alistair huffing behind him.
"Good night, Alistair. And... thanks." Fearghal carried on down the corridor to his own room without a backward glance. Once inside his own room, he stripped off his armour and underclothes and sank gratefully into his bed, into oblivion.
~o~O~o~
The following morning, the courtyard was a hive of activity as the wardens and their group gathered their things.
Teagan beckoned Alistair and Fearghal to one side. "I'd intended to offer you the use of Eamon's estate in Denerim; however, I can't be certain it will be safe; Loghain may well be having it watched, too."
"We can camp outside the city, or take rooms at an Inn, if we need too," Fearghal assured him. Teagan had already given him a purse of money; affording rooms wouldn't be a problem.
"I have a small town house of my own. I think it would be too small to accommodate you all; however, feel free to make use of it if you need to," offered Teagan.
"Really, you've been more than generous already, Teagan." argued Fearghal. Indeed, Fearghal wore a set of good plate armour, Alistair had a new shield, almost as good as Fearghal's own, and Teagan had even arranged for the smith to do something about Sten's armour, which had fitted very badly, all in addition to the purse he had given Fearghal.
"Nonsense. It may not be safe for you to rent rooms. Anyway, here's the address; there's a spare key above the lintel inside the outhouse, round the back." Teagan slipped a small piece of paper to Fearghal, who looked at it, memorising the address, then tucked it into his pouch.
"Excuse me, My Lord." Ser Perth looked flushed and slightly embarrassed.
"Yes, Perth. Did you find a tent for the Warden?" Teagan turned to the knight, smiling.
"Um... not exactly, My Lord. There were some tents down in the store, but they are all damaged. I was sure there were some good ones down there but the only ones I can find have been down there so long they've gone mouldy or have been torn almost to shreds. The work of those foul creatures, I suppose."
Teagan turned to Fearghal, frowning. "I'm sorry, Fearghal. I'd hoped to be able to provide the one thing you did ask for."
"Really, it's not important, Teagan," replied Fearghal, with a tight smile.
Fearghal headed over to the packs piled up in the courtyard and picked his out, slinging it across one shoulder. After a round of farewells, he led his party out of the castle and towards the road to Denerim.