Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

Rating: M (You'll know it when you get there.)

Spoilers: May contain spoilers for Origins, Awakening, and Dragon Age II as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling.

A/N: Alistair's conversation with Aveline was inspired in part by a PM conversation with Arsinoe de Blassenville, which was when it first really occurred to me that what always struck me as a ridiculously premature charge on the part of the main army at Ostagar MAY have been done with malicious aforethought by Cailan, who seemed a lot like a kid trying to rise up out of the shadow of a famous father and uncle-figure. Maybe he thought he could have everything mopped up even before the flanking charge arrived, and fling his success in Loghain's face?

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Snatches of An Evening

"Elder, why did you never tell any of us that you were with the army during the rebellion?"

Valendrian sighed. "I went from a latrine-digger to a soldier without ever quite knowing exactly how it came to pass. And then I went from soldier to common citizen of this alienage also without any easy transitional period. It was hard for me to understand how it happened, I thought it might well be impossible for anyone else."

"But you served. You were a hero of the rebellion, one of Loghain's Night Elves - a sergeant! How many elves ever actually received any sort of rank before, or since? All the tales we heard about the glories of the humans who fought - when we could have been hearing tales of the glory of the elves!"

Valendrian shook his head sadly. "War is not glorious, child, and any human who tells you otherwise is either recruiting or has not seen much of it himself. The best that can be said of it is that it is, at times, an unfortunate necessity. The glory comes not from the war but from the warrior, who serves as faithfully as he can, performs his duty to the best of his ability, and then tries his hardest to put the pieces of his life back together in the aftermath, if he is so lucky as to survive. It is…difficult to speak of one's own experiences with it. Did your mother ever speak of her service?"

"No, but she was…"

"She was lost, of course, when you were still quite young, I know."

"She was murdered, you mean," Loghain said, and his handsome face darkened dangerously.

Valendrian shook his head sadly but did not argue the terminology. "Do not let anger poison your soul, child. It is the worst thing you can do for the world, to live with a heart full of hate and fear. It nearly destroyed your namesake, and Ferelden along with him."

Loghain grimaced. "I…I try not to hate, Hahren, I truly do. It is…difficult."

"I know, my child. But for your sake, your daughter's sake, and the sake of all elves, you must try. The only way we can ever hope to change our stars is by changing the perceptions of those who have power over us."

"But how do we do that? Haven't we been trying for a thousand years? It was an elf that killed the Archdemon Zazikel, it was an elf who stood by Andraste and aided her in freeing the slaves of Tevinter, it was elves who kept Maric's army from being utterly destroyed in the early days of his rebellion. How much more must we do before they believe we are worth just as much as they?"

"It is not how much, Loghain, but how many. When all elves, rather than just a few, can rise above their oppression to show the strength and courage they have in their hearts, then the world will change. You may feel your contribution to that effort is but a drop in the ocean, but your fortitude will inspire others to follow the example you set. You are a born leader, Loghain, and our people look to you for courage in dark times. Shine a light for them."

"I…think I understand, Hahren. But…I am afraid."

"Of course you are, my child. Only a fool would not be, and you are many things, but never a fool." The old man smiled, a bit wolfishly. "You are oddly like your namesake, you know, as I remember him from the days of the rebellion. Headstrong and hard-driving. We had secret nicknames for him and His Majesty King Maric, you know - Thunder and Lightning. Maric we called Thunder, Loghain was Lightning."

"Why? Loghain strikes me as the more…thunderous…of the two."

"Ah, but my child, thunder is but a noise. Lightning does the work."

"I have spoken with the elf," the translator said. "It was…difficult. He speaks very quickly, he will not slow down. He seems oddly…simple-minded."

"Oddly?"

"Well, he is quite intelligent and rather well-educated, it seems, just very…childlike in his thinking. And it was quite difficult to get him to focus under questioning. He wanted to speak of everything and anything."

"That sounds about right. What could he tell you of any pertinence?"

"Very little, I'm afraid. He was living in the alienage of Tremmes, manservant to a wealthy merchant of the city, when the disease struck and the alienage was quarantined. Some time ago, he seems a bit vague on when exactly, Men in plague masks came and took him and another elf he knew slightly - Marsellan, he says his name was. 'These will do, let's get out of here,' is all he can remember hearing them say. They were boarded up in wooden boxes and carried a good, bumpy distance, and he says he believes that they were loaded on a ship because the world began to rock and sway and stayed that way for a long while. He was fed only every now and then, bits of potato or the like and an occasional bowl of tepid water shoved through a narrow slot that was kept covered on the side of the box. It was very unpleasant and he was very sick, and Marsellan did not appear to have been loaded onto the same ship so he had no one to talk to. Then things became very vague indeed for him as his illness worsened, and he remembers very little before opening his eyes today and breathing deeply again."

"Well, I didn't really expect any more than that. Did he happen to mention how he came to speak both Orlesian and Tevinter?"

"He touched upon it. I gathered he was a native Orlesian who was…'taken into the service' of a Tevinter magister. He spent some years in Minrathous before his master brought him along on a holiday in Tremmes, thinking his command of the native tongue would be of use to him. He escaped, and hid amongst the elves of the alienage. He did not care to speak to any greater depth on the subject. It does seem that his experiences in Tevinter have disposed him quite favorably toward life in Ferelden. He mentioned in passing that while elves may not be equals, they are at least not typically treated as pretty pets, which experience seems to have carried over into his time in service of Orlesians."

"I am aware of how the Orlesians view elves, yes."

"He also spoke - at great length - of his gratitude towards you. He says that the Maker told him that he must serve you to the end of his days in exchange for the gift of his life."

"Just what I needed. Well, if you're finished with him, tell Sabine he can go back to the kitchens for more feeding if he's hungry again."

The translator looked puzzled. "Sabine? That was not the name he gave me."

"Well, he was awfully hard to understand. What is his name, then?"

"He said that it was…Chatterly."

Loghain stared at the nonplussed translator for a moment, then burst out laughing.

King Alistair walked into the empty throne room to find Ser Aveline sitting dejectedly on the end of the dais with her chin propped on the heel of her hand.

"Something bothering you, Ser Aveline?" he asked.

Startled, she fairly leapt to her feet. "Your Highness! My apologies, I am off-duty and…"

"Didn't quite feel up for the long walk to your quarters? Something has you down, it's easy to see. What is it?"

She gestured helplessly. "It's…nothing, Your Majesty. It's just…seeing him again, after all these years…in some ways I'm surprised I don't feel worse, actually. Perhaps it was the shock of the statue, and the anger I felt at the reaction of men who weren't even there that horrible night…in any event, its brought back a lot of memories I would have preferred remain dormant."

"Memories of Ostagar? Believe you me, I experienced something similar myself, seeing him again. I was in the tower that night, fighting through the darkspawn that broke up through the Deep Roads, trying to make it to the signal in time - at which I fear I failed spectacularly, though I'm not sure whether that made any difference to the way things worked out."

"I was in the vanguard, Your Majesty, and as far as I could tell…the issue was less that the signal was late than that the charge was bloody early. Even if you'd lit the thing on time and Loghain had charged, I don't know if he would have been on time to change the way it all transpired."

"What do you mean?"

She looked uncomfortable. "I was just a lieutenant, certainly not involved in the planning…but it's hard for me to imagine that our strategy that night was a single volley of arrows, release the hounds, and then charge. It just…didn't make sense. There was ample time for our archers to do more damage to the vanguard of the horde, even if the mages didn't have time to set their arrows alight. Flaming arrows are marvelously dramatic, I suppose, but they're really more effective against wooden structures like siege engines and ships anyway. I was…a bit stunned, actually, when the order to charge came so quickly. I remember thinking - " She blushed and closed her mouth tightly.

"By all means, speak your mind," Alistair prompted.

"Well, you see Your Majesty, I remember thinking that His Majesty King Cailan was in a dreadful rush to get out in front of Loghain, to strike down the horde before the flanking charge could be made. To take all the glory for himself. His Majesty seemed very keen on the idea of glory. He didn't even call up but half the bannorn, because he didn't seem to want to share credit for the victory with his uncles. It seemed to me at the time that he didn't want Loghain there, either, calling the strategies and horning in on his great war against evil. He seemed to me…very like a child playing with a line of tin soldiers, and not wanting to share them with the other lads at school."

Alistair frowned deeply, then sighed and shook his head. "I tried to make myself believe otherwise for a very long time afterward, but I had much the same thoughts myself. Since Cailan was so keen on the Wardens I perhaps had a better vantage point from which to view the lead-up to the battle. He and Loghain got into some knock-down drag-out fights over strategy, among other things. I remember Loghain yelling, screaming, and finally actually almost cajoling Cailan into leading the flanking charge instead of commanding the vanguard. 'Imagine the glory of coming to the rescue, Cailan - inspiring the men in the main army to greater valor, and taking the darkspawn completely by surprise.' Cailan wouldn't hear of it. He would stand at the vanguard, and he would stand by the Grey Wardens - Loghain didn't want them anywhere near the vanguard, and in that he was right even if he didn't know why. It was…all right, I'll admit it. It was a child playing soldier. Except the consequences were much much bigger than scraped elbows and skinned knees. Was he at least of any use up there in the front of the line?"

Aveline's green eyes widened and she pressed her lips together momentarily before at last she relented to speak. "He was…formidable, Your Majesty, but not entirely in a good way. It was awfully tight quarters for an armored knight wielding a two-handed sword, and he did not seem particularly…practiced at controlling his swings. I think more than a few of our men took injury from his backswing, and I saw for myself that Warden-Commander Duncan was one of them."

Alistair's eyes fairly popped. "Wh-what?"

She nodded. "It's true, Your Highness. He and King Cailan were fighting very closely, almost back-to-back. Duncan didn't seem to want to let him get too far away, to be honest, I believe he was trying to protect him. But Cailan gave a wild swing, his blade went back almost as high again as he'd swung it, and it sliced right across Warden Duncan's stomach, a dreadful wound. It was while Duncan was staggered from it that the ogre charged. If he hadn't been wounded, I don't think Duncan would have let that thing get a hand on King Cailan. It was terrible, Your Majesty. Duncan slew the beast after, but it was too late for His Majesty, and Duncan had not the strength to battle on after that, I think. It was only at about that time we saw that the signal had been lit. The lack of a responding charge was…disheartening, but I can't honestly say that we weren't already feeling defeated."

"Did Cailan charge too soon?" Alistair pondered. "Did he do it deliberately? I should certainly hate to think so, but…it sounds so very like the King I saw at Ostagar before the battle. And to learn that he was ultimately directly responsible for causing Duncan's death…Maker's breath, so much of the blame I've leveled at Loghain for all this time may not truly rest with him at all."

"Perhaps it is the same for me as well, Your Majesty."

"You require a lady's maid, of course," Anora said, laying out her plans for Elilia's life quite briskly. "Champion Hawke brought with her from Kirkwall quite a nice young woman, an elf named Orana - very quiet and proper and quite accomplished - who needed work. I thought she would do well for you, but it happens she has a remarkable facility with children - oh, very well, I shall admit it, she has a remarkable facility with Princess Anora - and I find I cannot spare her. She is the only nursemaid I have ever found who is able to make the child play quietly and go to bed on time! So I shall have to keep making inquiries. Sooner or later I shall find someone suitable.

"Your brother Teyrn Fergus has of course been invited to the annual Great Boar Hunt that takes place prior to Satinalia - have you ever participated? It's rather…dicey hunting, to say the least, it always seemed to me that the same thing could be accomplished with much less stress and danger to men and horses if they'd just shoot the bloody things full of arrows instead of riding up on them and poking them with sticks, but men are men, and boars are rather tough animals, and of course they are so very dangerous in the spring if their numbers are not kept down, and the meat provides food for many who might not otherwise eat so well at Satinalia. Father will grumble and curse when he learns we are having it this of all years, but I am counting on you to convince him to participate. The nobles of Ferelden are simply going to have to get used to seeing Loghain Mac Tir among their number once more.

"The Landsmeet will be held after Satinalia, of course, and your appointment to the teyrnir of Gwaren will be brought for a vote at that time. I do not expect much, if any, resistance. Your cache in this nation is just too high for the dissenters to risk speaking openly if they object. At worst I expect a few abstentions, mostly from those who will fear your placement puts the Crown in too advantageous a position. We will not announce your engagement until your title is officially ratified. We will not give the objectors ammunition with which to fire until it is too late for them to do so honorably.

"I require your cooperation in that, of course. An embrace in the public eye is one thing," Anora said, affixing Elilia with a severe glare, "but you should take pains that no one sees anything more…romantic than that. I will speak to your brother about the engagement when he arrives for the Hunt, of course, but all the arrangements for the wedding have already been made. I intend for the ceremony to take place on First Day, to tie in with the new year's celebrations. The fireworks over the harbor that night will make everything quite splendid, although I was rather worried about them. I asked King Bhelen if the sentinel statues would consider them an attack, and he grunted and said it would be best to deactivate the enchantments that night, just in case. Thankfully it is easily enough done. Their eyes are rather…bright…in any event, so cutting off the magic will make the display easier to see. We shall simply have the Fighting Ferelden near at hand, and keep a strong guard presence on the docks, to protect us from any attempted attacks.

"Now, that is all I really had for you at the moment. If you would be so kind as to collect my father and bring him to meet with me in the Little Audience Chamber at six o' the clock tomorrow morning, I shall have some things then to show you both."

"So this is the fabled cure for Bloody Lung?" Nathaniel asked. He peered into the little paper packet doubtfully. "It…just looks like dust, actually."

"It is dust, so whatever you do, don't sneeze. It works, and that's all that matters."

"And…all I have to do is sprinkle it in the elf's face?"

"That's all you have to do. But remember to wear gloves."

"Right. Of course." Nathaniel folded up the packet and stowed it carefully in a pocket of his leathers. He started to leave, and then hesitated and came back. "I…was wondering if perhaps you might help me with something. I was meaning to ask Elilia, but perhaps there's not so much difference in it, and it seems to me somehow that you might rather…get a 'bang' out of it."

"Speak."

"There is a family of surface dwarves who have worked with the Wardens at Vigil's Keep for a good many years now. The Glavonaks. One of them, Dworkin by name, is…I guess you would call him an inventor. He invented a new exploding powder based loosely upon the Qunari black powder. But he made the mistake of touting his invention too widely, as 'the equal to gaatlok.' The substance is not really the same, but you can imagine that the Qunari took exception to this. They sent a Death Squad after him at the Keep, and even though Elilia and the rest of us put it down without serious casualties and there haven't been any attempts since, Dworkin is still paranoid - and his family, as well. They don't wish to stay at the Keep any longer, and I thought that Dworkin's inventions might help fortify the army. Dworkin's brother, Voldrick, is a master stonemason who could make short work of any such projects here in the city, and Dworkin and his cousin Tammerin are excellent engineers. If you could take them on I know they could be of great service to you, and they would appreciate your protection very much."

"Ha. Well, I've got simple-minded elves and storytelling dwarves and every other sort of strange hangers-on you can imagine. A few more won't make much difference, I suppose, particularly those of the useful sort."

Nathaniel bowed. "I will tell them. They are currently bivouacked in one of the small…er…'inns' by the docks."

"Have them come to the palace, then. Easier to feel safe in a stone fortress than a wooden shack, I expect. I'm sure Their Majesties can be persuaded to find them room."

Elilia walked into the inner courtyard with no particular destination in mind, simply enjoying some of the last of the decent weather before the storm hit - figuratively and literally, for the sky grew more and more winter like with each passing day, temperatures were dropping, the rain that fell was beginning to ice, even as her life prepared to take her down a new path she had never expected to walk and still wasn't entirely certain she was ready for. She saw a short, stocky blond fellow, back-to, and was startled to recognize the outline.

He turned to her, wide and blameless blue eyes as innocent as a newborn babe's. "Hallo."

"Sandal! How nice to see you! Is your father here with you?"

In response Sandal scratched his ass. She hadn't really expected more. For the longest time it had seemed his only word was, "Enchantment!"

"Ah! Hero!" She turned and saw the old dwarven merchant trotting up to greet her. "May I say how wonderful it is to see you again?" he said. "You have been keeping well, I hope?"

"Well enough, Bodahn. How have you been? I thought you left Ferelden long ago, seeking fortune and adventure."

"Well, I did, actually. Spent years in Kirkwall as the manservant of the Champion herself, as a matter of fact. Not particularly adventurous, I suppose, but then I am getting on in years. My boy and I were prepared to go to Orlais, at the invitation of the Empress, when the trouble broke out there, and the Champion had to leave the city in a hurry. I decided Sandal and I were better off staying with her for the time being, and later on I discovered that the Empress had set a bounty on your friend Loghain's head! That didn't sit quite right by me, so I decided I wanted my boy to have nothing to do with such a lady. And it worked out well enough in the end, for now here we are back home in Ferelden, and my boy is Enchanter to the King!"

"Enchantment?" Sandal inquired hopefully.

"Just so."

"I'm glad," Elilia said with a laugh. "Sandal's special talents are something we don't want the Orlesians to get hold of."

Sandal continued to scratch his ass with one hand, and with the other he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bright runestone. He handed it to Elilia. "Boom," he said simply, and wandered away.

"Elilia. Damned, I thought we'd never get a chance to ourselves tonight."

"I may have been avoiding you, just a little bit," Elilia said shyly. "Some things just don't want to be told, I fear."

He held up a hand. "First things first." He drew out the pouch of ashes and deposited it in her hand. She hefted it experimentally.

"Maker's breath, Loghain - you said you'd used the ashes to cure the alienage!"

"I did."

"But…that's impossible. It doesn't look like you used any at all!"

"I know."

She stared at the pouch for a long moment, and then slowly handed it back to him. "Keep that very safe, Loghain - it seems you've been handed a very special gift, and I don't think it would be wise to abuse it."

He tucked the ashes away again and gave her a look that clearly said, What, do you think I'm stupid?

"If we should ever pass through that region again, I think perhaps I would like to pay another visit to the temple on the mountain. I feel like I ought to, I don't know, ask forgiveness or something. For taking so much more than the allotted pinch."

"If you think you need to do that, then we'll look for an opportunity. It's an awfully long way away, though."

"Ha! If I know you, you'll get wind of a village of apostates in the area and you'll just have to go and check it out."

"Well now that you mention it, I did hear a rumor…"

He grinned, grabbed her by the shoulders, and kissed her. "Now…about this Captain Isabella…"

"Oh Maker…look, it's not what you think, it was just…well, she was a superlative fighter, and I wanted to know the secrets to her technique. She said she'd teach me if I beat her at Wicked Grace, and I'm terrible at card games, so we…came to an 'alternative agreement.'"

"That alternative agreement being that the two of you would do something nasty in the captain's cabin."

"Well when you put it that way it sounds very tawdry, but…yes, essentially."

He sighed and shook his head. "Maker's breath, Elilia, you will be the death of me yet, I guarantee it. Is there anything else about your checkered past I need to know about? I mean, my 'ol fella' isn't going to turn black and drop off or anything, is it?"

"Of course not! You dosed me with the ashes, remember?"

"Ah yes, how could I have forgotten."

She laughed and kissed him. "Don't worry. I tried being a little bit…adventurous, perhaps, but it really never was to my taste. Until you came to my bed, that is."

"Don't try buttering me up."

"Are you certain? Because I think that could be rather interesting, really."

He stared at her, and then laughed. "Harlot."

"You love it."

"I do, Maker save me. Just one thing I think we need to make very clear."

"And that is?"

He held up a warning finger. "I sleep with you. I do not sleep with you-and, I do not sleep with other women, and I most assuredly do not sleep with other men. Just you. I don't care if it is the only thing that can save the bloody world, I will. Not. Sleep with. Anyone. But. You."

"All right, it's a deal."

"Good. Now…" He assumed a pained expression. "What exactly was the draw, if I might be so bold as to ask? Was it the tits? I'm afraid I can't compete with that."

She giggled. "It's not a competition…but if you must know, the simple truth is that women know what women want."

"And I don't know what you want?"

"Hmm, well…"

He grinned wolfishly at her, reached down and unlaced her leather breeches. "Let me know if I'm getting warm," he said, and slipped his hand inside and plunged a finger inside of her. She gasped, cackled, and nodded.

"Warm…yes, I suppose so."

"But still not on par with the raider, I suppose? Well, let's see if we can…raise the bar." With his other hand at the small of her back to steady her, he lifted her bodily off the ground with the hand that pleasured her.

"Oh dear sweet lady Andraste…yes yes, you're strong, now…oh MAeeAAeeAAker!"

He lowered her and she slumped limply against his chest. "Yes, that was…better than Isabella. By a fair margin," she said.

He picked her up, cradled in his arms like a child or a bride. "The bed's right over yonder - I want to make sure you're absolutely certain of that."

It was past dark, and no elf who wasn't utterly insane or a well-armed thug would be out of the alienage past dark if he wanted to live to see morning, but he needed to go before he lost his resolve so it simply couldn't wait until daybreak. He slipped through the streets, keeping to the shadows, hoping to avoid detection, and managed to avoid trouble all the way to the army barracks behind Fort Drakon. This wasn't what the Hahren had meant, he supposed, but it was what he felt he needed to do. His mother had given him a set of skills. He would put them to use for his country and his people, if he were allowed to do so.

He pushed back his hood, girded up his courage, and knocked on the door.

A soldier opened the door, and sighed irritably when he saw that it was an elf. "What do you want?" he asked.

"I'm here to enlist."

The soldier ogled him for a moment, then burst out laughing. He opened the door wide and gestured to a man who sat at a nearby table, holding a hand of cards. "Fredricks - get a load of this knife-ear. He says he's here to enlist!"

The other soldier, older, more worried than derisive, stood up and set down his hand of cards. "Young man, what on earth makes you think you want to be a soldier?" he asked.

"The Orlesians, Ser. They set plague among my people just because we're Ferelden. They would have seen us all dead just to hurt Ferelden's supply of labor. I have a wife, Ser, and a daughter. Adaia. She's seven. I want them to be safe, Ser. I want to fight."

"That is indeed a noble ideal, young man, but I do not think it would be wise to set an elf amongst our men. It would only cause…friction."

"Aw, let him join, Fredricks, why not?" the derisive soldier said, in a surprise turn-around. "The King gave that white-haired knife-ear a bloody knighthood, didn't he? A foreigner, to boot! He'd probably be right chuffed to have a native knife-ear in the soldiery."

"An elf…with a knighthood?"

The older soldier nodded. "It's true, young man. I do not know Ser Fenris, but I understand he is a formidable warrior with skills unlike anything seen in Ferelden before. He also has the voucher of the Champion of Kirkwall. But you…you are no warrior, young man, and there is no one to warrant you. Go home to your wife and child. There is nothing for you here."

"I can fight. My mother taught me."

The derisive soldier burst into another hearty gale of laughter. "Oh, mummy dearest!"

"She did. She was with Loghain's Night Elves." He clapped his bicep twice as he'd seen the Hahren do and said, "Night Elves watch the line."

The derisive soldier grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him into the barracks. "Come on, Fredricks - if you won't sign the lad then I will. We can always use more cavalry fodder, after all, and who knows? Maybe he's worth more than it will cost to feed him."

The older soldier shook his head sadly. "I fear no good can come of this, but…do as you will."

"Too right. Come on, knife-ear. I'll issue you your first weapon."

"What are you called, young man?" the older soldier asked.

"Call me Lightning, Ser."