Thank you to my hard-working beta reader, WellspringCD, and to all who continue to read.
The party hadn't been ready to leave Denerim until mid-afternoon, but Fearghal had been keen to start out towards Redcliffe and so they had walked for a few miles before setting up camp. Fearghal looked up in surprise as Leliana came and sat next to him by the camp fire; he'd been staring into the flames, lost in thought. She held out the small bundle of Howe's letters that he'd found in Loghain's estate.
"What did you make of them?" he asked, stuffing them inside his armour.
"It's hard to say," said Leliana, shrugging. "The trade agreements Howe mentions; what do you know of them?"
"Not much; I was never involved, you understand. I do remember Father was anxious about them. He wasn't keen on the idea in the first place; it was Fergus who pushed for them, said Father was still stuck in the rebellion and it was time to move on. Father thought they were too good to be true, that the Orlesians gave too much away too easily. I know that he had Niven, our seneschal, go over them again and again. In the end, he couldn't find anything obviously wrong with them." He shrugged. "I don't know exactly what they were about, something to do with port fees."
Fearghal looked up and saw Zevran and Alistair listening closely. "For all they were... friends, there was a lot of competition between my father and Howe. If Father had turned down the terms, he knew that Howe would jump at the chance. Howe used to boast at every opportunity about the port at Amaranthine, how busy it is, how much revenue it raised. In the end, I think that decided him, more than anything else. I know that he and Fergus had plans to expand Highever's port, build new warehousing." Fearghal frowned. "I'm sorry, that's all I can tell you. Why, what are you thinking?"
"I'm not sure," admitted Leliana. "I would like to know who the letter that Howe intercepted was addressed to? Your father possibly?"
Fearghal snorted. "I don't think Howe would have scrupled to open a message intended for my father... although he may not have wanted Loghain to know that." He pulled out the letter and studied it again. "Besides, he says he should have brought it to my father's attention. If the letter was intended for him anyway, why would he think he should do that?"
Alistair peered over Fearghal's shoulder, re-reading it. "It was meant for the king." He blushed slightly as everyone stared at him. "Think about it. Howe implies that the letter was addressed to someone of a higher rank than himself. He's an arl, so that would be a teyrn... or the king."
"It still doesn't make any sense! Why send secret messages through Highever? If Howe's prisoner is to be believed, the trade agreements were set up specifically for the messages. Why not use the usual diplomatic channels?" Fearghal frowned; he still couldn't make any sense out of what they'd learned and was becoming frustrated.
"Maybe the intention all along was to implicate your father," suggested Leliana. "Howe's final letter hints that he believes that your father knew the reason behind the trade agreements. Whether this is his own conclusion or whether his prisoner suggested it, I know not. Maybe she was a bard, maybe her whole purpose was to put this thought in Howe's mind."
"Are you telling me that you think Orlais planned my father's murder?" exclaimed Fearghal incredulously.
Leliana shook her head. "I do not know, I do not think so. But they were in secret communication with the king; there is definitely more here than meets the eye. Their intention was surely to sow discord and mistrust. As to why... " Leliana shrugged.
"Loghain would say it's all an Orlesian plot, that they planned to invade Ferelden again," snorted Alistair. "Maybe the Blight's not such a bad thing after all. With a civil war going on, Ferelden's ripe for the picking."
"But would there be a civil war without the Blight?" Fearghal chuckled. "I don't think even Loghain could pin the Blight on Orlais."
Fearghal tucked the letters back into his armour. Leliana and Zevran moved away and Alistair went to wash the pots. Fearghal looked over at Morrigan's little fire and shook his head in wonder. Wynne was sat with her and pale blue and green flashes occasionally flared between their hands. Fearghal had been staggered when they had rejoined the others and found that Morrigan, prompted by boredom as she would have it, had asked Wynne to start teaching her some healing spells. Fearghal hadn't expected the two women to hit it off, but Morrigan's desire to learn and Wynne's love of teaching was apparently enough for the two to put their differences to one side.
Fearghal yawned and, grabbing his pack, crawled into the tent he shared with Alistair. He stripped off his armour and tucked the letters down into his pack, pulling out his bedding. He shuffled out of his breeches and folded them on top of his armour, then laid out his bedroll and crawled on to it and wrapped the blanket tightly around him, shivering slightly. He was starting to doze when Alistair crawled into the tent.
"Oh! I didn't think... I mean I was expecting... er... " blustered Alistair, unable to hide his surprise.
"Spit it out, Alistair," sighed Fearghal. "And closed the damned flap, you're letting the cold in."
"Well, I just thought that after... you know... that you might... with Zevran." Alistair fumbled with the ties on the tent flaps, suddenly all fingers and thumbs.
Fearghal snorted softly, then grinned to himself. "Would you like to repeat that with actual words, just so I'm absolutely sure I understand what you're trying to say."
Alistair grunted as he pulled off his armour. "You know what I mean," he huffed crossly. He heard Fearghal snigger.
"You think that because I spent the night with Zevran that I...what? Should... would start sharing his tent?"
"Well, I just thought... you know... " mumbled Alistair, crawling onto his bedroll and huddling under his blanket.
"No, I don't know because you don't actually seem to be able to say the words!" laughed Fearghal. "I spent one night with him, that's all."
"That's all?" echoed Alistair.
Fearghal turned on to his side and propped his head on his hand. "It was just one night, Alistair. A one-off, a one night stand, just a moment when it felt right and now the moment's gone."
"B-but don't you feel... I don't know... embarrassed or something?"
"Why would I?" Fearghal was startled at the suggestion.
"Well, because you... you...and he... " Alistair groaned.
"Had sex? Why would I be embarrassed? We both enjoyed it." Fearghal chuckled. "Maferath's balls, Alistair! What are you going to do when you finally lose the precious virginity of yours? Blush to death?"
"Oh, ha ha, very funny," muttered Alistair, glad that Fearghal couldn't see him blushing in the dark; his face felt like it was about to burst into flames. "So is that all it is to you? S-sex, I mean... a 'one-off'?"
Fearghal sighed and rolled on to his back. "No, not always," he replied softly after a long moment.
Alistair winced, cursing himself. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't think."
"I suppose Teagan told you... about Rory."
"What? Oh... no. You were... talking in your sleep, at Flemeth's hut. And there was what happened in the Fade, at the Mage tower," explained Alistair.
"Ah."
Alistair hesitated, then asked, "Do you mind if I ask you something about that? What happened in the Fade, I mean."
"You can ask, but I might not answer," said Fearghal.
"Well, it was just that I didn't know my dream wasn't real, not even when Morrigan turned up in it. I just got the impression that you did know it wasn't real. I suppose I just wondered why you hadn't tried to get away or something."
"I have dreams like that all the time," Fearghal told him, with a heavy sigh. "I always know that they're not real, that the people in them are already d-dead. I didn't realise that we were trapped in the fade by that... thing though."
Maker's breath! I'd rather have darkspawn nightmares! "That makes sense."
"What did you dream about in the Fade?" Fearghal asked idly.
Alistair tensed at the question. "I... um... "
"You don't have to tell me, if it's too personal."
"Oh no! Nothing like that. It was quite boring really. I dreamed I was at the Warden fortress in the Anderfels, Weisshaupt."
Fearghal snorted with laughter. "Bloody hell, Alistair. Is that the best thing those demons could find in your mind to keep you there?"
"Huh! Well, not all of us were as thoroughly debauched in our youth as you were!" huffed Alistair.
Fearghal grunted and turned on to his side, grumbling, "Huh! Debauched indeed. It's called normal." He curled up under his blanket. "Good night, Alistair."
"Good night, Fearghal." Alistair listened to the other man settling down. Maker, I don't know how he can bear to close his eyes at night!
~o~O~O~
Fearghal and Zevran completed their circuit of the camp and hunkered down by the fire.
"Tell me a little about Antiva, Zev," asked Fearghal, cold and bored.
"I thought you already knew something of Antiva. Your sister-in law was Antivan, was she not?"
Fearghal nodded. "She was... but your impressions must have been very different to hers. Her family was very well off. I'm sure you've seen places she would never have dreamed of going."
"The only way to truly appreciate it would be to go there. It's a warm place, not cold and harsh, like Ferelden. In Antiva it rains often, but the flowers are always in bloom... or so the saying goes." Zevran shivered and held his hands out to the fire.
"Do you want to go back?" asked Fearghal.
"It is not really a matter of wanting to go back. I cannot go. At least not yet." Zevran smiled and started to talk about the Antiva he knew, and obviously missed. It was a world away from Oriana's experience. Zevran had been brought up in the poorest part of Antiva City, surrounded by squalor and poverty. He professed to miss the stink of the tannery, although Fearghal found this hard to believe.
"Before I left, I was tempted to spend what little coin I possessed on leather boots I spotted in a store window. Finest Antivan leather, perfect craftsmanship... Ah, but I was a fool to leave them. I thought, 'Ah, Zevran, you can buy them when you return as a reward for a job well done!' More the fool I, no?"
"Your home is still there, Zev," said Fearghal softly, his thoughts drifting to Highever. As is mine... what's left of it.
"True, and it's a comforting thought. One simply never knows what is to come next." Zevran glanced at Fearghal, saw the sad look in his eyes. "How could I have suspected I would end up defeated by a handsome Grey Warden, a man who then spares my life? I could not." Zevran grinned slyly at Fearghal.
"Handsome?" Fearghal gaped at him, then snorted, his eyes narrowing.
"Hmm. Perhaps that was a poor choice of words, true though it is. Do you object?"
"Well, no, but... I've spent the last ten years looking in the mirror and seeing someone who looks like he just walked into a barn door." Fearghal grinned at Zevran. "I've been called a lot of things, but never handsome." He started to laugh as if Zevran had just told him a particularly funny joke.
Zevran frowned, unsure what was so funny. "You do not think you are handsome?"
"Hardly," Fearghal told him. "Now Alistair, he's handsome."
"You think your fellow-warden is handsome?" asked Zevran, with a sly grin.
"Don't you?" shot back Fearghal.
"Oh, undoubtedly," agreed Zevran. "Indeed, I am relieved that I do not have to share his tent or his bed. The temptation might be too much to resist. You must have more will power than I, my friend."
"Alistair made it very plain that his tastes are different to mine. Will power has nothing to do with it. I've never been interested in pressing my attentions where they're clearly not welcome." Fearghal laughed nervously.
Zevran gave the warden a long look. "And if his tastes were... more in keeping with your own?"
Fearghal glanced at the tent where Alistair lay sleeping. "Well, they're not; so there's no point even thinking about it. Anyway, I'm not... it's... " He stopped, frowning, then stood and stretched. "I'm getting stiff, I'm going to do another circuit.
Zevran thoughtfully watched him go.
~o~O~o~
Alistair lay on his bedroll, his blood pounding in his ears. Fearghal's laughter had woken him and he had lain quietly, feeling slightly irritated, listening to Zevran talk of leather and boots. Then, suddenly, they had been talking about him. Alistair almost groaned aloud as he remembered his stumbling assertion that he 'wasn't like that'. He'd held his breath at Zevran's question. 'And if his tastes were... more in keeping with your own?' His heart had hammered against his chest at Fearghal's reply.
Did it mean that if he thought Alistair was interested in men... in him, then... ? but then he'd heard Fearghal's breath hitch as he'd started to say something else. Rory. It wouldn't make any difference, even if he knew what I felt for him. Alistair pulled the blanket tight around him, wondering if Zevran knew about Rory; it obviously didn't bother him if he did. Zevran had a barefaced cheek that irritated Alistair, yet he couldn't help admire it at the same time.