I have to admit, I've been dying to publish this chapter! I'd had it mind since I first started writing Fearghal's story and it wouldn't stop bothering me, so I wrote it down months ago. I hope you all like it too. My thanks to WellspringCD for being a wonderful beta and to everyone who continues to follow Fearghal's progress.
With the last of the riddles successfully answered, the door at the far end of the chamber swung open. A figure stood just beyond the threshold.
"Come on," said Alistair. "Let's go and find out what he wants."
As he drew closer, he took a good look at the man who stood waiting for them. The man was clearly middle-aged. He was a little shorter than Alistair and his stature suggested he had been a warrior in the past, although he was developing a bit of a paunch. He had the most striking eyes, deep blue and fringed with long, dark lashes. The stranger was staring past Alistair's shoulder, his face full of sorrow.
Puzzled, Alistair looked back. Fearghal was standing, rooted to the spot, his head shaking back and forth, his eyes wide and glassy as he stared at the man.
"Fearghal... " The man's voice was soft but carried through the large empty chamber.
"No. No!" Fearghal started backing away slowly.
"... my son... "
"No! You are... My father's dead!" Fearghal's voice was a howl of pain. He turned and bolted from the chamber, back the way they had come.
Alistair looked back towards the stranger and found the striking blue eyes now fixed on him. Fearghal's eyes... they're the same.
"Please. Help my son," implored the man. "He is hurting so badly; he doesn't know what do to. He can't do this alone."
Alistair gulped. What can I do? Fearghal's never confided in me! I'm the last person to... maybe if Zevran was here, he could... He looked into the man's clear blue eyes and nodded.
Alistair glanced at the others. "Wait here," he told them, then turned and ran after Fearghal.
By the time Alistair caught up with him, Fearghal had made it all the way back outside. The bright sunlight dazzled Alistair for a moment. He squinted, trying to reduce the glare.
Fearghal was standing, with his back to Alistair, by a massive boulder near the entrance to the temple. He stood hunched over, his arms folded tightly across his chest, almost as if he was trying to hold himself up.
'Or hold something in,' thought Alistair, remembering doing the same when he'd learned of their losses at Ostagar. He hesitated; he had no idea how to approach Fearghal or what he might say.
A strangled howl erupted from Fearghal and he smashed his fist into the rock. Alistair winced and when he saw Fearghal draw back his arm again, Alistair ran towards him. Fearghal's fist hit the rock again and again before Alistair reached him; at each blow the howling grew louder.
"Fearghal, stop!" cried Alistair dragging him back.
"I-I can't do it, Alistair," sobbed Fearghal. "I-I can't f-face him!" Alistair dropped his hands as Fearghal stopped struggling.
"But he loves you," said Alistair.
Fearghal hung his head. "I have shamed him. Bennet was right; my father was an honourable man and I... I am not." The words were so soft and Fearghal's breathing so ragged, Alistair had to strain to make out what he was saying. "I've let him down. I-I let them all down!"
Fearghal sank to his knees, arms clasped tightly against his middle, almost doubled over. "It hurts so much," he gasped. "I don't know what to do with it."
Alistair knelt at the side of him and tentatively rested his hand on Fearghal's back. "I don't know," he admitted. He thought for a moment. "Maybe you just have to let it all out," he said, his face creased with concern. He felt totally out of his depth. For all their differences, he wanted to help; there was no mistaking the grief and pain that Fearghal was feeling.
Fearghal's body was racked with sobbing as he rocked back and forth.
"It... f-feels... too... b-big!" gasped Fearghal between sobs. "Every...t-time I...think of it... them... I-I..."
Alistair, acting purely on an instinct to comfort, leaned over Fearghal and slipped his arm around his shoulders. "Maybe you need to talk about it; what happened that night." Alistair felt Fearghal stiffen at the suggestion.
"We were betrayed... Howe's men... he said they were delayed, so Fergus left as planned with our m-men. I heard a s-scream..." Fearghal sagged against Alistair, weeping afresh. He clamped his gauntleted hand against his mouth as if trying to hold the words in, but they poured out of him in an unstoppable torrent.
"There were s-soldiers everywhere... Oriana's room and... Oren was dead... " Fearghal hunched over again, unable to continue for a moment. "... only five years old... and they'd... Oriana... raped her... "
Unthinkingly, Alistair patted Fearghal's shoulder as he struggled to make sense of the faltering story.
Fearghal's sobbing eased a little. "Mother... we started to fight our way out...w-we found some of the other women... rags stuffed in their mouths... couldn't scream..." Fearghal's breathing came in ragged gasps and he shut his eyes, trying to shut out the images. He suddenly lurched away from Alistair groaning, "Oh Maker, I think I'm going to be sick!"
Alistair watched helplessly as Fearghal, now on his hands and knees, retched and heaved violently but only succeeded in bringing up a thin stream of bile and phlegm. As the dry heaving slowed, Alistair fumbled at his belt for the small water skin fastened there and passed it over to Fearghal.
"Th-thanks." Fearghal shifted so that he was sitting and drank from the skin, his hands trembling so badly that much of the water ran down his beard. Wordlessly he handed the water skin back to Alistair and drew one of his knees up, hugging it. He rested his head on his knee, face turned towards Alistair but not looking at him. A little calmer, he resumed his story.
"There were fires starting all over the place. Everywhere we went, there were Howe's men. There were simply too many of them and they'd had the element of surprise," he explained, his voice tired, almost sleepy.
"We managed to get to the armoury. Mother insisted I take the family sword and shield; I think she didn't want Howe to get his hands on them. From there we made it to the hall; some of Howe's men had made it inside before Rory'd got the gates closed." Fearghal's voice hitched on Rory's name and he closed his eyes for a moment, struggling not to lose control again.
"We couldn't find Father anywhere. Rory said that he'd gone with Duncan to try and find us. That he'd said that we were to go to the servants' entrance off the kitchens; Howe didn't know about it." Tears welled in Fearghal's eyes again and he continued breathlessly, "M-Mother told... Rory to stay... to hold the gate for... as long as he could and... he did." Fearghal pulled both his knees up and rested his forehead on them, hiding his head under his arms, sobbing again.
Alistair squirmed, uncomfortable being a witness to such raw grief and unsure what to do. Awkwardly, he shuffled closer and put his arm around Fearghal's shoulders, as he had earlier; it had seemed to help, a little.
Fearghal's voice was muffled. "If only Duncan had arrived the day before... he would have tested Rory and they would have left with Fergus... Rory would have been safe."
Alistair briefly wondered how different things might have been if Duncan had brought Rory Gilmore to Ostagar; if it had been Rory Gilmore who had been plucked off the tower with him. If the only other surviving Warden had been someone eager to join the Wardens, how different would things have been since Ostagar? Then again, maybe Rory Gilmore wouldn't have survived his Joining and Alistair would have been left to do all this alone.
Fearghal slowly mastered himself again. He lowered his arms and lifted his head slightly. He sighed deeply. "We found Father on the floor in the larder. I don't know where Duncan was at that point." Fearghal's voice had steadied. "Father had been badly wounded; a belly wound. He was dying." He sniffed, trying to clear his nose. "Then Duncan joined us. Father begged him to help Mother and me escape; to take us to Ostagar with him so we could tell Fergus what had happened. Duncan said he would but..." Fearghal gulped, then continued, the words tumbling out in a rush, "onlyifIjoinedtheGreyWardens."
Alistair winced. Duncan had sometimes spoken of the hard decisions that had to be made as a Grey Warden. He could understand why Duncan had acted as he did, knew him well enough to know that he would have found it distasteful, but he felt a deep sympathy for Fearghal. He remembered Fearghal's fury at his Joining.
"You extracted a promise from my father as he lay dying! He thought he was saving me,"
"And your father agreed," he said softly.
Fearghal nodded his head. "But I refused." He sighed wearily. "So Duncan conscripted me. Mother refused to leave." Fearghal's head dropped. "She wouldn't leave my Father. She said...she said..." He tried and failed to blink back tears that slowly rolled down his face. "... she'd b-buy us time." His voice cracked as he fought the sobs rising in him again. "I wouldn't have left them... I couldn't abandon them... but Duncan... "
"I know...he told me after your Joining. He said he'd knocked you out to get you away."
A wail of pure misery escaped Fearghal. Moved almost to tears himself by Fearghal's awful tale, Alistair pulled the sobbing man against him and held him as he wept.
Fearghal felt as if he would weep forever, but gradually it slowed. He slumped against Alistair for a moment, savouring the comfort of the other man's embrace; he felt exhausted and didn't want to move. Instead, he pulled away. Alistair let his arms drop and rummaged in the small pack at his waist, extracting a large handkerchief, which he held out to Fearghal.
"Thanks." Fearghal took the handkerchief and started pulling off his gauntlets. He winced as the right one came off. Although his fist had been protected by the armoured glove, his knuckles were bruised and bleeding. Fearghal wiped his face and blew his nose as best he could with his left hand.
Alistair pulled off his own gauntlets and delved in his pack again, drawing out a poultice and bandage. He motioned for Fearghal to hold out his battered hand and started smearing the poultice across the knuckles, studying Fearghal's hand as he did so. He realised that he'd never really noticed Fearghal's hands before. His own hands were large, but slim, the fingers long and tapering, but Fearghal's hands were broad and blunt, the fingers thick and stubby.
"Peasant's hands," said Fearghal.
Alistair blushed, embarrassed that he'd been so obvious. He glanced up at Fearghal warily, but Fearghal was looking at him with a small smile on his face.
"That's what my mother always used to say, anyway," said Fearghal with a shrug. "She had the same hands. Hands for doing, she always said."
"You have your father's eyes," observed Alistair, winding the bandage around Fearghal's hand.
Fearghal nodded and looked back towards the doorway that led to the gauntlet. His face clouded. "Do you think... is that really... my father?"
Alistair handed Fearghal his discarded gauntlet. "I don't know. It's part of the test, I think."
"So," sighed Fearghal, "if I don't go in there and face it... him, then we fail." He pulled his gauntlets on and got to his feet. Reluctantly, he started towards the doorway. Alistair picked up his own gauntlets and followed him. Alistair could see Fearghal's determination grow as they neared the others. He walked a little faster, drew himself up a little straighter, pulled his shoulders back.
Fearghal ignored Leliana and Morrigan, keeping his eyes on the familiar figure at the far end of the chamber. Alistair stopped when he rejoined the others, allowing Fearghal to continue alone.
Leliana's eyes followed Fearghal. "Is he all right?" she asked softly. "Maybe we should... " she started to move after Fearghal when Alistair stopped her.
"I think he needs to do this alone. We should give him some privacy," Alistair told her.
Leliana looked as if she was going to argue, then nodded.
It took all Fearghal's will to keep one foot moving in front of the other as he approached his father.
"My dearest child... " Bryce's eyes were full of love as he looked at his younger son.
"F-Father?" Fearghal could barely breathe as he gazed at his father.
"You know that I am gone, that all your prayers and wishes will not bring me back." Bryce smiled sadly.
"I-I ... I'm so sorry! I should never have left you... " Fearghal felt tears spilling down his face, but made no attempt to stop them. "I-I've shamed you and d-dishonoured our name."
Bryce Cousland opened his arms and Fearghal stepped into them. "No more must you grieve, my boy. Take the pain and the guilt, acknowledge it, and let it go. It is time. You have such a long road ahead of you, and you must be prepared." Bryce stepped back, holding Fearghal at arms' length, then he grasped Fearghal's hand and pressed something into it.
"I know that you will do great things. I'm so proud of you, my son." The figure of Bryce Cousland flickered and vanished, leaving Fearghal feeling bereft all over again.
Fearghal stared at his hand. A small amulet on a chain lay in it. It wasn't something he'd ever seen his father wear. It looked similar to the simple chantry amulets that were everywhere, although the symbol was slightly different, less stylised. He turned it over. The back was polished. He caught the reflection of his eyes in it and for a fleeting moment, thought he was looking at his father's face. He sighed and slipped the chain over his head, then turned and beckoned Alistair and the others forward.