With special thanks to WellspringCD, who having beta'd this once, got a revised version at the last minute and cleaned it up. She's the best beta reader ever! My thanks, as always, to all those who read and are so patient with Fearghal and Alistair (or not, as the case may be! You know who you are.)
Once everyone else had settled down for the night, Alistair and Fearghal separated to do a circuit of the camp and then met up at the camp fire.
"So," said Fearghal, with a sly grin, "is this usually the point that you get to discuss shoes and hair ribbons?"
"Don't," groaned Alistair. "Not even in jest!"
Fearghal sniggered. "All right, we'll talk about manly things." He dropped his voice a notch and intoned solemnly. "Swords, armour, ale, wenches. Well, not wenches; my experience is pretty limited."
"Not as limited as mine," grunted Alistair.
Fearghal winced. "Sorry, I didn't mean to rub it in." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Nice boots. Silverite?"
Alistair snorted with laughter. "The latest in templar accessories, don't you know." He grinned at Fearghal. "Actually, that was the only thing I liked about becoming a templar; the uniform. I'm a sucker for good tailoring. It's actually very good armour. I was surprised when Knight-Commander Greagoir offered it to me, seeing as how I was never a full templar."
"It was the least he could do after we pulled his balls out of the fire," argued Fearghal.
Alistair shook his head, trying to shake the mental image Fearghal's words conjured up.
"I feel a bit of a fraud, wearing it," confessed Alistair.
Fearghal shrugged. "It's actually quite a good disguise. Loghain and Howe are looking for a Grey Warden, not a templar. Besides, I would have thought the chantry owed you something for all those years you spent in a monastery. How long were you there exactly?"
"Almost eleven years. Eamon sent me there just after my tenth birthday. Duncan conscripted me on the twenty-third of Drakonis. A date that will forever be etched in my memory!" Alistair grinned so happily that Fearghal couldn't help but smile.
"What was it like, growing up in a monastery?" asked Fearghal curiously.
"Some of it was alright. I enjoyed the training and quite a lot of the studying, too. I think, if I hadn't been who I am, it might have been easier." Alistair looked away.
"How do you mean?"
Alistair sighed heavily. "The first time we all had to strip off on bath night, they all took one look at me and wanted to know whose son I was. It's not that unusual for younger sons of the nobility to be sent to the chantry, especially if there's already 'an heir and a spare'." Alistair's gaze flicked to Fearghal, who nodded.
"Well, they soon realised that I wasn't anyone's son... not a legitimate son anyway. The obvious conclusion for them to draw was that I was Arl Eamon's son; I'd already told them I was from Redcliffe."
"Would it have been so bad to let them think that?" asked Fearghal.
"With hindsight, probably not," conceded Alistair. "Although I'm not sure how he'd have felt about it. But I was so angry with him. It felt like he'd just dumped me there. I knew, even at that age, that I couldn't tell them who my father really was, but it infuriated me that they thought it was the Arl. I just used to say I had no idea who my real father was but, of course, they didn't believe me. They used to accuse me of putting on airs and graces and then they started calling me 'Lord Alistair'." He flushed, feeling the old resentment flaring up.
Fearghal watched Alistair staring into the flames, his face tight and closed.
"Boys can be cruel, especially when they gang up. I remember when R-Rory first came to Highever to squire... he took a lot of teasing... bullying, I suppose."
Alistair's head came up in surprise. The last thing he'd expected was Fearghal to start talking of his past.
"Why did they gang up on him?" he asked.
Fearghal snorted in disgust. "Because he had red hair. I don't know if it's something about that age, or whether it's just any big group of boys; it's like they have to single one out."
"They gave him a hard time?" asked Alistair.
"Some of it was just stupid name-calling, but some was spiteful, deliberately trying to get him into trouble. He was the youngest squire we had, but a year older than me. As a snot-nosed eleven year old, I was quite impressed with him. At that age I was still quite intimidated by some of the older squires and not very confident about challenging them in any way. I was just starting my own training in earnest and spending more time with them. In the end I spoke to my father about it. He gave me this long lecture about how we had a duty to care for all in our service."
Fearghal smiled wryly. "I soon realised that all I had to do was show up and look disapproving for them to shut up; that as the Teyrn's son, they wouldn't dare torment me in the same way that they did Rory. So I became his shadow." Fearghal chuckled. "I think he was quite sick of me following him around everywhere, but after a time we became friends. In a way that could have gone against him, but it didn't. People started to accept him and it all settled down."
"Is that why you and he... " Alistair stumbled to a halt, blushing. "Sorry. That's none of my business."
Fearghal frowned, but Alistair was relieved that he didn't look angry, merely thoughtful.
"We were friends for a long time before we became lovers. It wasn't something either of us expected," Fearghal told him. He looked away, staring into the camp fire. In a way, it was a relief to finally speak of Rory to somebody, but he could feel the emptiness starting to gnaw at his insides. He ached to talk about how much he loved Rory, how much he missed him, but his throat closed at the thought of trying to say the words. Fearghal saw the flames blur and blinked away tears. He stood abruptly.
"Time to do another circuit," he grunted.
~o~O~o~
Fearghal struggled as Duncan held him, arms pinioned behind his back. Before him, his mother knelt on the floor, cradling his father's head and murmuring to him softly. His father's face was ashen, his breath coming in shallow gasps; he lay in a pool of blood, dark against the stone floor; more black than red. Fearghal heard heavy footsteps approaching and struggled fiercely in Duncan's iron grip.
"Please, we must help them!" he begged.
"You are needed elsewhere, Fearghal. You are a Grey Warden, you are sworn to fight the darkspawn." Duncan's voice was low, but firm. Slowly, Duncan started to drag him backwards turning him. Fearghal pushed backwards against Duncan as the man tried to propel him forwards, away from his parents.
"Fearghal! Fearghal!"
His mother's voice. Fearghal wrenched his upper body round. His mother stood in front of his father's body, facing the men who approached; Fearghal couldn't tell if his father still lived. Rendon Howe, his face twisted in a sneer, approached, flanked by several guards.
Howe's eyes flicked towards Fearghal's father. "Finish him!" he barked. Fearghal saw one of the men draw a great sword off his back as the others moved towards his mother, unsheathing their weapons.
Fearghal struggled to break free. "No!" he screamed.
~o~O~o~
Alistair almost lost his balance as Fearghal's eyes flew open and he shot up from the bedroll, grabbing the front of Alistair's shirt and pushing him backwards.
"We have to help her, we can't just leave her!" he yelled, his eyes wild.
Alistair grabbed Fearghal's arms to steady himself. "Help who, Fearghal?" he asked quietly.
Fearghal stared at him in confusion, then Alistair saw reality rush back in and Fearghal went limp, his hands falling away from Alistair's shirt. Alistair thought Fearghal might have fallen if Alistair hadn't already had hold of him. Fearghal trembled violently as he tried to pull himself together. After a long moment, he stiffened, then pulled away from Alistair.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Bad dream. You know what they're like." Fearghal's eyes flicked towards Alistair, then away again.
Alistair recognised the lie, but just shrugged. "Sure, I know." He watched Fearghal rub his hand over his face. "I'll bring you in some tea. Breakfast is almost ready."
Fearghal nodded and reached for his breeches, refusing to look at Alistair.
Alistair ducked out of the tent, ignoring the curious looks of the others. He made some tea for Fearghal and took it to him. Fearghal was sitting on the bedroll, hunched over his knees.
"Thanks," muttered Fearghal as Alistair handed him the mug of tea.
"Would it help to talk about it?" asked Alistair.
"No," growled Fearghal, glaring at him.
"Fair enough. Breakfast will be five minutes or so." Alistair backed out of the tent and left him to it.
Fearghal's hand trembled as he raised the mug to his mouth. He winced; the tea was scalding hot, but it distracted him slightly from the swirl of thoughts that made his hands shake. Not knowing exactly what happened to his mother was agonising; he had done his best to put it out of his mind, to put her out of his mind but talking to Leliana the previous day had recalled her so vividly. Imagining her death filled Fearghal with horror; the thought that she might have survived and be in Howe's hands was worse. The nightmare had filled him with a sense of desperation, of powerlessness that had scarcely abated now he was awake.
~o~O~o~
The group heaved a sigh of relief as they crested the hill and Redcliffe came into view. Once past Lothering, the stream of refugees had slowed to a trickle and they had been able to make up some of the time they had lost. The lighter mood that had overtaken Fearghal on their previous visit to Redcliffe and lasted all the way to Denerim was gone. They had all been awoken almost every night by his screaming and shouting. His mood was dark and sullen and the rest of them were growing fractious and short-tempered.
Fearghal felt as if he was being engulfed in a tidal wave of memories. It was almost as if once one escaped, he couldn't hold the rest back. No matter how hard he tried not to think about his family, his lover, his friends, they intruded upon his thoughts. His dreams were haunted by them; distorted representations of that awful night, almost worse than what had actually happened. His imagination filled in the gaps, his guilt coloured the events at Highever. Night after night, his mother screamed for help, his father reproached him for failing in his duty to protect Castle Cousland, Rory begged him to stay.
On a good day, he merely grunted; on a bad one, he snapped and snarled at everyone. Even Zevran was unable to lift his spirits. The only thing that did was dealing with the occasional band of darkspawn they encountered. Alistair was reminded of how Fearghal was when he arrived at Ostagar; the unbridled fury that had hovered so close to the surface and was unleashed when he was fighting. Afterwards there would be a fierce sense of satisfaction about him, then it would fade and Fearghal would stomp off up the road with his dog. It was as if he didn't care if the rest of them followed or not.
As they passed through the castle gates they were greeted by Ser Perth who seemed genuinely pleased to see them. Ser Perth was taken aback at the surly manner of Fearghal's response but pulled himself together quickly.
"Bann Teagan is down in the village, but I sent a squire down to fetch him as soon as I realised it was you coming down the hill," Ser Perth said. He turned and started to cross the courtyard. "Come, I'll organise some refreshments."
They had barely entered the great hall when Teagan hurried through the doors.
"Fearghal, Alistair! It's good to see you again! You have news?" Teagan asked, slightly breathless.
"Teagan." Fearghal nodded his head tersely, in acknowledgement. "We think we know where Genitivi was heading."
Teagan shot a questioning look at Alistair, who shrugged in reply. "Come, we'll go to my sitting room and you can tell me more," said Teagan. He looked round the rest of the group. "I believe Perth has organised some refreshment for you in the dining room." Teagan turned and led Fearghal and Alistair away.
~o~O~o~
At the knock on his door, Alistair scooped up his dirty clothes and crossed the room. Instead of the maid collecting his laundry, he found an anxious-looking Teagan.
"Oh, sorry! I thought you were the maid."
Teagan smiled. "Toss them out into the corridor. I passed her on the way up. This way we won't be disturbed."
Alistair frowned as he dumped the pile of laundry outside his door. What's going on?
"Is there a problem?" Alistair asked, closing the door behind him.
"I was about to ask you the same thing, actually," confessed Teagan. "Fearghal looks shocking and he seems so... so... depressed is the wrong word."
"This was what he was like at Ostagar," Alistair told him. "I don't know what set it off. He was fine in Denerim, then on the way back he started having nightmares. Not the usual... " Alistair stopped as he saw Teagan's eyebrows shoot up and sighed heavily.
"It's not widely known, so I'd appreciate it if you kept it to yourself; Grey Wardens dream of darkspawn, more so when they're very active during a Blight. Fearghal's nightmares seem to be more than the usual darkspawn nightmares, though. He wakes screaming and babbling; I assume he's dreaming about what happened at Highever. Several times, he's mentioned 'her', but he won't talk about it. I don't know if it's his mother or his sister-in-law or someone else entirely."
Teagan sank into the armchair by the window as Alistair perched on the bed.
"You know that Fearghal spoke to Connor, after Isolde... died?" asked Teagan.
Alistair nodded, wondering what all this had to do with Connor.
"Connor told me that Fearghal said that his own mother sacrificed her own life that he might live," Teagan told him.
Alistair's eyes went wide. "Maker's breath, that must have been awful!"
"Does he never talk of it at all?" Asked Teagan, frowning.
"No," sighed Alistair. "Occasionally he's mentioned his family in passing, usually his brother, but as soon as he realises he's done it he clams up."
"That's not good," said Teagan, shaking his head. "For someone to have lost so much, yet try to continue as if nothing had happened. It's asking for trouble; something's got to give, sooner or later."
"I don't know what to do, Teagan," confessed Alistair.
"I don't think there's much you can do, except maybe try and take some of the pressure off him," Teagan admitted. He gave Alistair a long look, then asked, "Do you know about Rory?"
Alistair felt his face grow hot as he nodded. "You knew him?"
Alistair saw the faraway look in Teagan's eyes as he smiled sadly and replied, "Yes, I knew him. We were... close at one time." Teagan came to himself again and cleared his throat. "It was a long time ago but we remained friends and kept in touch."
"What was he like?" asked Alistair.
Teagan looked thoughtful. "Very different to Fearghal. Not shy, but he could be very reserved until he got to know people. He preferred to be on the sidelines, content to watch people and get their measure. " Teagan chuckled. "Rory told me that they have a saying in the North; 'Hear all, see all, say nowt'. It was something he very much lived by. He took everything in, there wasn't a lot he missed, but he didn't give much away. Nothing ever seemed to faze him and, for all he had the reddest hair you ever saw, he didn't have the temper that's usually said to go with it." Teagan sighed sadly.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. It sounds as if he was a good friend," said Alistair.
"Not at all," said Teagan. "It's good to remember him. For all I miss him, I know that Fearghal must feel his loss much more deeply. They weren't just lovers, they had been friends since they were boys. Rory had been sent to Highever to squire when he was just a boy; they'd grown up together."
"Fearghal told me a little about that. Duncan had gone to Highever to test him for the Grey Wardens," Alistair told him.
Teagan nodded. "Fearghal mentioned it." He sighed heavily. "Maybe, if Duncan could have brought Rory out too... Oh, what's the point? He didn't."
"How are you and Fearghal getting on?" asked Teagan, changing the subject.
"Oh, much better. Or at least we were. Things seemed to be getting better when we left here but since he started having these nightmares, well, not even Zevran can cheer him up and if anyone can, it's usually Zevran."
"He's going to need you, I think, Alistair," said Teagan solemnly. Teagan saw the confusion in Alistair's face. "He can't keep on like this. At some point, it's all going to come crashing down around him. He's going to need someone he can trust."
"I-I understand." Alistair felt a chill run through him at the thought of possibly having to take over from Fearghal. He resolved to do everything he could to make things easier for Fearghal. Maybe, if he could share some of the burden, the crisis that Teagan seemed to think was inevitable could be avoided.
~o~O~o~
Wynne joined them at the dinner table just as everyone started to eat.
"How do you find my brother, Wynne?" asked Teagan.
"Not good, my lord." replied Wynne. "This long period of stasis is starting to take its toll on his body. I fear that if we can't revive him soon, well, ... "
"If only we could have found the damned antidote!" burst out Fearghal.
"You did your best, Fearghal. How long do you think it will take to find Genitivi?" asked Teagan, trying to soothe the young man who looked dangerously close to losing his temper.
"It's hard to say. It depends on the weather, how hard the going is in the mountains. Possibly up to two weeks to reach Haven. Even assuming this Haven is where the Sacred Ashes are, it could take up to a month to get there and back," Fearghal replied.
Wynne shook her head. "I don't think the arl has a month."
"Well, what other choice to we have?" demanded Fearghal, his voice rising.
"What about if Wynne stayed here?" suggested Alistair.
Fearghal stared at him in surprise, then looked back at Wynne. "Can you keep Arl Eamon alive for a month?"
"I think so, but won't I be needed with you? What if something happens, if one of you is wounded?" Wynne didn't seem convinced it was a good idea.
Alistair looked across at Morrigan.
"I don't have the same level of skill as Wynne, 'tis true, but I can do the basics adequately enough. I'll do my best to keep you all alive, even you, Alistair." Morrigan smirked at Alistair and he bit his tongue against the retort that begged to be spoken, mindful of his determination to make things as easy as possible for Fearghal.
Alistair turned to Fearghal and grinned. "So, that's all sorted then."
"So it would seem," murmured Fearghal. He pushed back his chair, wiping his mouth on his napkin. "I want to be away at first light tomorrow. I'll see you all in the morning."