Chapter 40: Reunion

"By the Maker, Fergus! I-I-this is indeed an honor, good ser," Teagan stammered his greeting and he was just about to kneel before the surviving Cousland when Fergus stopped him.

"No, please don't do this. Not when we've been friends for a long time, Teagan."

"And this is Loren? Why is he out of the Circle?"

"He rescued me from unruly bandits," Fergus said. It wasn't a lie and Loren should have known better than to expect his childhood friend to lie for him. Fergus' ingrained sense of nobility and chivalry also prevented him from lying, at least outright to close friends and strangers. However, that didn't prevent him from deliberately withholding information.

"It is by the Maker's grace that we have someone who can help us deal with…" Teagan paused, his eyes downcast for the moment before looking back at the pair. "A strange situation."

"Strange?" Fergus' head cocked to one side and Loren stayed silent, his quick mind already sifting through all possible, worst-case scenarios. Possession, blood mages present in the area…

"The village, there are strange things occurring at the Castle and there's the walking dead. Some of them were men I knew for a long time, bearing grave wounds that would have killed any normal man or woman."

The young Guerrin's hands were trembling as he told Fegus and Loren the rest of the news. Of Eamon falling ill, the strange occurrences like the Undead, the gray mist that would envelop the entirety of the village itself. It made Redcliffe's denizens extremely frightful. The whole of the village would have been abandoned were it not for the presence of their Bann. His figure provided them hope, but even he could fall so easily to the grips of paranoia and to the corpses that stalked their village at sunset.

By the end of the tale, Fergus' face had paled so much that Loren thought he was going to collapse. He was ready to administer healing energies when he remembered exactly where he was. The Chantry. Although there were practically no Templars, a strange occurrence in of itself, Loren couldn't be too careful and he merely stood closer to the trembling Cousland, to provide support if necessary.

Yet, Teagan gave him a knowing glance and Fergus' colour came back when rejuvenating energies pulsed gently into his being. Loren gave the young Guerrin a smirk. He should have known that he couldn't get anything by Teagan. Unlike his sister-in-law, Teagan was open-minded in regards to magic and it was rumoured that he greatly opposed the Circle, viewing it as little more than a glorified prison to the mages taking residence inside.

Also, the three of them plus Fergus' absent brother were all childhood friends and that friendship had endured all these years of separation and hardships.

"Loren, do not worry about Templars in this Chantry," Teagan's voice was reassuring. His eyes flickered to the guard that had first brought them here and Yevin, having seen the signal to approach them, did so. The blonde Captain stood a little to the left of Teagan, not close enough to intrude on the Bann's private space but close enough to push him back from danger if need be.

"Yevin, see to that Loren is not accosted by anyone of particular concern. I am sure there are many here who could use his healing abilities."

"Yes, messere." Yevin bowed his head respectfully before leading the dark-haired mage to one of the wings, where most of the villagers had convened.

Both Fergus and Teagan watched the pair get swallowed by the sick and the wounded before finally turning their attentions to each other.

"I heard," Teagan stopped. The redhead Bann was unsure on how to comfort the surviving Cousland. "I'm sorry, Fergus. Truly I am. If I had known about this, I would have marched unto Howe's lands myself and slaughter him where he stands."

"No," Fergus rebutted his old friend's suggestion. "He'll be expecting that, if not from me, then from either my brother or my closest supporters, meaning you and a few others."

"Your brother? All the Grey Wardens perished at Ostagar…" The sentence trailed off. Fergus knew what Teagan was trying not to say and he sighed heavily. His family's assassination still bore heavily in his mind. While he most desperately wanted to believe his Oriana's news of his brother's survival, he knew that the odds were indeed stacked against Hadrian. But still, he still had to hope.

There was an awkward silence between the two noblemen before Fergus finally smiled at Teagan. The young Bann returned it with one of his own and he squeezed the elder Cousland's shoulder in a supportive way.

"Come, enough of this. We both have much to do. I'm sure you would love to have a drink, hmm? I'll be here if you need me."

Fergus thanked his friend for being understanding. His eyes grew misty at reminder of his loss and he wanted to leave the place before he lost his composure.

He headed out of the door and, following Teagan's advice on getting a strong drink, started for the tavern.

By the time he got up the hillside, his legs ached from the climb. His body had yet to recover from having traveled so far from Lothering on his feet and by horse. By the Maker, he could really use two drinks let alone one!

He was just about to turn on the left fork of the road when someone had shouted out his name.

"Fergus?" Another voice called out to him from behind and Fergus turned around, to see someone he had never thought he would see again.

There, standing with the sun at their backs, was a group of people, with someone very familiar leading at the forefront. The figure had grown taller since they last saw each other on that fateful night and there was a five o'clock shadow on those tanned cheeks. The most prominent feature was that familiar scent, of the wilds and something more.

His own inner wolf growled when he discovered what that additional scent was. It seemed to have come from that blonde man clad in chainmail armor, with a sword and shield strapped to his back. He successfully forced his bestial nature down, even when the blonde man glared back at him, a challenge clearly seen in those eyes and in his posture. What shocked him even more was that his inner wolf recognized the animal in the other man; it smelled wholly familiar and yet entirely foreign as well, as if this man was a distant cousin he hadn't met yet.

He is strong. Do not underestimate him. His inner wolf warned him and the human part nodded in agreement. His little brother always had a knack of getting into the worst of troubles and luckily getting out of them as well. However, Fergus had a feeling that Hadrian was not going to get away from Alistair so easily.

-o0o-

"Maker! It really is you, big brother!" The shorter Cousland practically threw himself into the older brother's arms and prompting several different reactions from his companions. The most amusing one was from the dark-haired Witch, who scoffed at the brotherly display and merely crossed her arms over her bare bosom. Wynne smiled in her motherly way while Zevran made some sort of offhand remark, in an accent that was horrifyingly familiar to Fergus.

"You seem to have a bad habit of throwing yourself at danger, no?" That lilt at the end of the sentence. The way the word 'habit' was said, a tiny emphasis on the "a." It sounded Antivan.

Fergus made a choked sound and Hadrian withdrew himself from his brother's arms, wondering if his brother was too shocked to say anything. The silver-haired younger brother noticed the extremely pale pallor of his brother's face and there was that haunted look in his eyes as they stared at his elven former assassin.

"Fergus, we…" Hadrian began to say but Fergus just brought him closer, wrapping him tightly within his arms. There was a shudder and then there was nothing else that needed to be said. The inner wolves mourned silently within their hosts' body, the reunion bittersweet for it meant that the stories were true. Denial was too strong for Fergus, even when he was visited by his deceased family in his dreams. However, the sight of his younger brother was a brutal confirmation. The only reason why Hadrian would be here is if he was forced to leave.

"You and I, we have a lot of catching up to do, don't we?" Fergus asked his brother.

Hadrian nodded his head and he turned to the others. He didn't comment on how Alistair's eyes bore into his, a question lingering behind those dark, intense brown orbs.

"Alistair, can you take the others to the Chantry? Fergus and I will be here."

"Hadrian," the blonde man started to protest and he took a few steps forward, to edge closer to the pair. Almost immediately, Fergus growled warningly at the approaching, potential danger and Alistair didn't respond verbally. His hand, on the other hand, hovered near the short sword that was buckled around his waist. Luckily Hadrian anticipated this awkward moment and he pushed Alistair back rather roughly, his hand pressing against the cold breastplate.

"Damn it, Alistair. Just do as I say for once! I'm just going to talk to my brother, alright?"

"You have a brother?" came a unison response, from Alistair and Zevran. Hadrian muttered a curse and he knew that he would probably have to explain why he didn't tell anyone of his family.

Alistair's posture suddenly shifted then and his amiable expression took Fergus by surprise.

"I'm Alistair," the blonde man introduced himself, his hand out in front of him. Fergus quirked an eyebrow but he nonetheless shook the man's hand. "Sorry about that…I thought…"

"You thought he was hitting on me," Hadrian made a snarky reply, "now, please, just leave us alone!"

The request came out a little harshly and Fergus saw how hurt Alistair was when the blonde man merely stepped away. The others followed him, including that elf, the one with the Antivan accent. He really wanted to avoid anyone Antivan but his inner wolf disagreed. One mate…for life…this one will be right for us…

Hadrian caught that heavy stare being focused on the disappearing elf's back and the younger brother sighed heavily, knowing that there was a lot to be relayed to Fergus.

-o0o-

He is ours…why are we leaving him? Alistair's inner wolf snarled and the blonde's steps faltered midway in the Chantry's entrance. He risked a backward glance and espied the two brothers walking to the top of the steep hillside. The smell of dirt, oiled armor, of him, could never be masked by the other less tantalizing odors. The village stank of human fear, of the stench emitting from those too frightened to go bathe alone in the river that surrounded the Castle of Redcliffe.

If he tried harder, he could almost hear their soft murmurings amidst the din of the village. However, they walked too far up, too far away even for him to hear their voices. What was going on? Why can he suddenly hear their footsteps, smell their armor from such a great distance?

If the inner wolf had an answer, it kept quiet this time. Stupid fickle voice. Always voicing an unwanted opinion and yet never giving him an answer when he needed it.

"Oy there! You're letting in all that cold air!" A man shouted out in a hoarse voice, startling the blonde Warden out of his thoughts.

"Sorry, just admiring the view you know?" Alistair apologized by jesting. He didn't wait for a response and he fully stepped into the Chantry.

The Chantry, at all locations, looked remarkably the same. Even the wings of the Chantry bore the same books, the altar, and everything else. It made Alistair wonder if there was a letter of standardized features sent out to all the Chantry branches in Thedas, at least in Ferelden.

The Altar was predictably in the centre of the Chantry, the marble structure of Andraste surrounded by symmetrical sets of candles, all lit and emitting a sickly sweet aroma, something that made Alistair's stomach churn.

Apparently, he was the only one bothered by the fragrance. The others had already walked on ahead of him. Only Zevran stood slightly in front of him, as if waiting for him or something.

There was a quizzical look on the elf's bronze face, as if he too was bothered by this strange revelation of Hadrian having a brother.

"If I had known Hadrian had a brother, I would have chased after him instead. I wonder how good he looks when bound in rope?"

"Zevran, considering how shocked Hadrian was upon meeting with Fergus, I doubt he is in a mood to be chased," Wynne chided the libidinous elf. Her gray eyes looked at the assassin in motherly disapproval.

"Yes, he was shocked indeed. I didn't even know he had a brother," Leliana commented. The redhead archer gazed at the statue of Andraste, perhaps hoping that it would provide an answer or an explanation to this discovery.

"What do you think they're talking about? If they are both here, then don't you think their parents are missing them? Or…" Alistair's sentence trailed off when he suddenly remembered that snowy night. It would have been his mother's birthday…That's what Zarieth had said to him. Then that means…

"I think there's more to them than they let on," Alistair's reply was soft and gentle. Zevran's eyebrows lifted and then understanding alighted in those eyes. The mockery left them and Alistair found out that maybe there was something more to Zevran the Assassin than the elf let on as well.

"Perhaps. But aren't we all hiding from something?" Before Alistair could ask for an explanation to that cryptic message, the elf had already walked away, perhaps bugging the heck out of the older Mage. A smile grew on his face when Wynne turned him down on his offer of placing his head in her bosom.

His smile then was wiped off at a startled cry and he whipped around, his short sword already out and ready to defend himself.

There was Cullen, leaning against the doorway, beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. Despite the chilly air, the man was obviously sweating underneath his heavy clothes of fur and wool.

"Cullen! What are you doing here? Didn't Wynne tell you to stay at the camp, with Sten and the dwarves?"

Cullen's head shook and the sick Templar regretted his action. He let out a low moan and pitched forward. Alistair was ready to catch him but was shoved rather rudely to the side. The blonde Warden recovered quickly but his angry retort died when he saw a dark-haired stranger holding Cullen in his arms. There was a soft murmur of a name and Cullen smiled weakly at the stranger, his hand thumbing the man's cheek.

"I found you…Maker…I found you…" Cullen kept saying and the stranger put a finger on the downed man's lips, shushing him.

"Yes, you found me. I'm here now, Cullen, he won't hurt you anymore. I am real." The stranger's words appeared to comfort the exhausted Templar. "I am here…"

"Loren…" Cullen breathed out the man's name and Alistair's heart stuttered to a stop. Loren? He's here?

Apparently, he did voice his thoughts and it was echoed by an elderly one too. Wynne stood next to him and the two mages stared at each other. Loren's glare was hard as stone. The dark-haired mage was obviously displeased to see Wynne there and the feeling was mutual when she put her hands on her hips, an ugly scowl overtaking her face.

"I was told you were dead, as you should be."

"And you were told wrong, just like everybody else."

Alistair's head swiveled from side to side, from Wynne to Loren and then back to Wynne. What in Andraste's name is going on here?

-TBC-

A/N: Ok, to garner more interest…I've received an interesting suggestion from a reviewer of mine, who suggested something about mpreg and the Dalish having learned it to prevent their race from plummeting too fast into extinction. Who's for it? This will actually decide on a key character's fate as I'm still deciding on how to end this story. So please, vote in a review!