Chapter 42: Night of the Undead

"So, it's true then," Fergus' eyes became wet with tears, tears that did not fall down on his cheeks. "Did they-"

"I don't know," Hadrian replied rather brusquely. He didn't want to be reminded of that horrific night. Go, son. Avenge us. Let that traitorous Howe know of what happens when he crosses the Couslands. His mother's words rang as clearly as if she was standing right beside him. The smell of blood that stained his father's side still followed him and the younger brother looked at his hands, remembering how those very same hands tried to cover the wound, as if he could merely stop the bleeding with his bare hands.

Another pair of hands, broad and strong like their father's, covered his trembling ones and the grief that he ruthlessly quelled behind his mask of indifference to the outside world rose like a tidal wave, overwhelming and taking him by surprise.

He fell against his brother's chest, hot tears spilling forth and his body shook violently. Fergus, ever the strong one, held the both of them upright. His supporting embrace enveloped his younger brother tightly.

"It'll be ok," Fergus murmured gently to him. He made soothing strokes along the back, the movements calming Hadrian through his bout of grief. Fergus had time to handle his loss but his brother was charged with important tasks as soon as Howe's betrayal occurred. Hadrian never truly mourned his parents until now, in his brother's arms and being reminded of what he lost to get to his current position, as a Grey Warden and perhaps Ferelden's last hope for the Blight.

"So, I imagine you were forced into being a Grey Warden? Mother would be screaming in her grave right about now," Fergus tried to joke and it worked. Hadrian's sobs halted, only to change to weak, choked gasps of laughter. The younger brother withdrew himself from his brother's arms and rubbed his eyes with one forearm, all the way stifling his laughter but without success.

"Yeah," Hadrian said quietly, "I imagine she would be. Probably blaming Dad for telling us stories about them when we were young pups."

"That other man is also a Grey Warden, hmm?" Fergus knew this wasn't the time to ask but as the elder of the family, he had to protect the last of his clan, of his pack.

"You mean Alistair?" Hadrian's hand rubbed against the spot where Alistair had marked him on that feverish night. Then, sensing what he was doing, he quickly dropped his hand and hoped that Fergus didn't catch it. Unfortunately he did and Fergus stepped forward, softly growling as Hadrian flinched in response. With the Alpha of their pack dead, it left Fergus to fulfill that role and Hadrian groaned, more out of embarassment than anything else, when Fergus' hand gently pulled down the brown tunic.

"It's nothing, brother," Hadrian tersely replied as he tried to jerk away from Fergus. "Just a bruise."

"He's started to claim you," Fergus whispered in an angry tone. "He's barely known you and already thinks to mark you as his."

"I'm not fucking his! Besides, he didn't know what he was doing...so that doesn't count." Hadrian managed to walk away from the taller man and he hid his face from him, ashamed that a Cousland would so easily be claimed by another man. It took his own father some time to court his mother before they initiated their claiming.

"So, you're saying he did it out of instincts," Fergus smiled at how Hadrian's mouth opened and closed, like a gaping fish. He was really going to have give Hadrian a hard time about this. "That doesn't help your case, Hadrian."

"So what should I do? Just give him what he wants? That's not who I am." Hadrian's blue eyes lit up with a fiery passion and Fergus was gladly reminded of those younger, carefree days where he and Hadrian would spar or train other soldiers, of a time that didn't require traveling on the hard roads and avoiding monstrous beings of the night.

"Then, don't. If you wish to end this, you need to do it now before-" Fergus trailed off and he suddenly found a looming, brown mountain very interesting.

"What? Before what?"

"Before he mates with you,"

There was a sharp scream of helplessness and a large group of birds flew up in the air out of being startled by that unexpected scream. It was a good thing for Hadrian that they were far enough away from the village for his scream to not be overheard. A very good thing, given Fergus' smugness. A very good thing.

-o0o-

"Everybody, just calm down. No need to get all magicky, right?" Alistair said in a strained whisper. Despite the lack of Templars in the Redcliffe Chantry, the presence of the Chantry sisters still pressed on Alistair's mind that a magical display would not bode welll, at least not in self-defense. Even then, he was quite sure that there would be communication between the Sisters here and everywhere else through the use of sparrows.

"Alistair, this man is supposed to be dead! He could be a blood mage!," Wayne replied crossly, like an angry mother just wanting to punish a badly behaved child.

"Blood mage? You truly think of me as that? You of all people should know better, Senior Enchanter." Loren's eyes brightened with anger and he was just about to say something when the young Templar moaned pitifully, his head thrashing around against his chest. At the mention of his name, the stoney expression softened into that of concern and perhaps something else. Of what, Alistair couldn't really identify. Not yet anyways.

Even Wayne managed to set aside her grudge or whatever issues she may have had with this Loren character. She sat beside Cullen, across from Loren and placed a hand on his forehead. She made a sound of disapproval and stared at Loren.

"I told him to stay back at camp with the dwarves," She said in an exasperated tone. Loren emitted a soft chuckle and he brushed a few errant strands of hair from Cullen's pale forehead.

"He's always been stubborn," Loren replied. "Always."

"Well, he better be stubborn enough to get through this fever," Wayne bit back rather sharply. "He needs to be in bed, now."

"I will take him to bed and care for him. I do not yet trust you, Wayne Mcfernus," Loren's voice was soft but held a dangerous edge and it worried the watching Grey Warden.

Both Wayne and Alistair could only stare as the willowy mage lifted the Templar easily into his arms, as if he were a mere child, before walking away from them and exiting out of the Chantry. Stunned silence followed the mage and his charge in their wake; only the weak moans and soft cries of the sick, the desperate could be heard behind them.

"So, uh, how does someone come back from the dead?" Zevran asked in a cheeky tone but his hands had been fingering his daggers all throughout the confrontation between the mages. While his hands may have been conditioned to throw daggers at the closest threat, he restrained the will to kill the strange mage. Also, it was more amusing to see how the other Grey Warden would handle it and the blonde Warden handled it badly. It was only by good fortune that this mage decided to withdraw his intentions on physically dealing with Wayne.

"Easily enough, elf," Morrigan's topaz eyes narrowed at the sight of that mage's back, "but not without consequences."

"The Maker condones such actions," Leliana replied softly and the two ladies eye each other warily but stopped at the sound of that same door opening, revealing their absent leader and the tall, handsome brother. They had all seen Fergus outside, in the bright sun. In here, however, with the way the shadows played with the fine cheekbones and how the gentle candlelight made his dark brown eyes even darker, almost smoldering at least, it made even Morrigan flush at how magnificent this older Cousland was.

"We just saw Loren and Cullen," Hadrian started to say as he approached his group of companions. "What happened? Is everything alright?"

"Yes, we just saw the undead walk right out of this door and that's about it," Morrigan's snide remark made Fergus bristle with anger at how casually she treated the situation. Hadrian's eyebrows shot up with surprise and he turned to regard his brother, silently asking for an explanation.

"He was reported as dead when we found his body lying on his cot in the Circle," Wayne explained. "The corpse, it was so lifelike, so similar to him."

"With the way the Circle was, I'm surprised you don't see more bodies like that," Hadrian murmured quietly, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear him. Only Fergus heard the comment and he placed a hand on his brother's right shoulder, fully aware of how Alistair's nostrils flared with silent rage. "Come on, people. We have much to do before the night bears down on us."

As Hadrian's companions followed him, Fergus couldn't help but marvel at how great a leader his brother was. Five years ago, he wouldn't have believed this was possible. Of course, five years was a time of innocence and happiness for the both of them. Now though, with the Blight bearing down upon Ferelden, nothing was the same and Fergus wondered if it all would end happily. He could only hope.

-o0o-

The rest of the day, only a few candlelights left before dusk, was spent preparing the village for the future battle. At the entrances, pikes were arranged to face outwards so that incoming assailants would be impaled and thus add to the wooden fortifications. Barrels of oil that Hadrian discovered while rummaging through the village's storehouse lined up behind the pikes and archers stood patiently behind Hadrian and his group.

In case the undead would breach their defenses and somehow reach the cluster of houses further down the mountainside, Teagan ordered everyone who couldn't fight into the Chantry and locked them in there. Several lines of Redcliffe Knights guarded the perimeter of the Chantry while the bulk of the village's men and Teagan's guards were posted several yards away from the Chantry. Yevin and his squadron formed a protective circle around Fergus, despite his protests. The only response from the blonde Captain was that they were to guard his life at all times, on Teagan's orders.

"Ser Teagan would have all of our hides if we were to fail in our duties. The Maker Himself would shun us."

Even Dwyn had joined them, after a hard persuasion from Hadrian, who, if Alistair remembered correctly, convinced him to fight for the village under pain of death, with a longsword pointed at his throat. While Alistair would have much preferred a different tactic, sometimes, with characters like the hardened Dwyn, it takes more than a few words to convince them to agree with you. What's more surprising was to see Lloyd there as well, his red hair and roundness set him apart from the rest of the soldiers. Alistair's heart sank when he noticed how poorly armored some of the villagers were. Clad only in their basic tunics and light leather armor with crude wooden axes as their weapons, their chances of survival were slim, even with all the Knights of Redcliffe standing beside them. Even with the blacksmith working hard all day to craft more weapons and armor, he could only produce so much with mediocre quality.

"Alistair, they'll be alright," Hadrian whispered next to him, standing strong with his head held high and sharp blue eyes fixed on something in the distance. It was too dark to see for any normal human but as Alistair also gazed ahead at him, he was startled to see silhouettes of something broken moving in jerky movements ahead of them. The outlines of bones and tattered flesh told Alistair that this wasn't a dream or a nightmare. The darkspawn were horrifying enough, but to see this shook him to the core. He was long used to seeing genlocks and their leaders rushing at him. He expected the quick battles but this slow-moving horde of the undead scared him.

However, he had to hold steady, to protect the villagers and most importantly, the man at his side. He stood poised, his shield out and held in front of him. The longsword, borrowed from Kaitlyn's little brother, protruded from the shield. He and Hadrian were on the frontline of their defense, along with soldiers who had excellent melee combat skills. Morrigan and Leliana were positioned at the small bridge, providing long-range fire to those who managed to pass the first line of defense. Zevran, thankfully, was placed with the other villagers, near Fergus Cousland. He had full confidence in the elf's skills but didn't trust him enough to fight alongside Hadrian. Apparently, Hadrian trusted Zevran enough to have put him in the same group as Fergus was in.

To provide support and healing, Wayne was with Fergus while Loren had accompanied the group at the top of the hill, where Alistair and Hadrian were. Loren's staff looked more like a wand than anything else and the blonde wondered how he was going to cast spells with that tiny thing.

"Archers!" Hadrian shouted, his voice loud and clear despite his silver helmet. The archers raised their bows and released their arrows, which were set aflame. The barrels of oil exploded and stalled the first wave of invaders. However, fire could only hold their enemies back for so long until they broke forth and Alistair focused on the horde that came upon them, his inner wolf howling for the upcoming battle. As he struck down the first undead, an older man by the grey hair, he watched his partner lope off a head, leaving his chest wide open to another attack. The only problem with wielding a greatsword is it leaves the wielder open and vulnerable for a few seconds. A few seconds could be the difference between life and death. In this case, Alistair watched as another man staggered close to him, its sword moving forward to the Hadrian's torso. It connected with the armor and slipped to the side as Hadrian realized what had happened. Alistair beat him to it though, having hewn off the offending arm and bashing it in the face. The enemy fell back, with Alistair's sword to the middle.

Hadrian stared at him for a few seconds before briefly turning his attentions to the fight happening before them. If he wondered at how closely Alistair guarded his flanks, he made no comment on it. Not until he was knocked backwards, an arrow in the shoulder pad where the armor was thinnest, did Hadrian say something. He cursed as the arrow bit deeply into his shoulder, causing tendrils of pain to reach to his spine and almost numbing his right hand. He switched his weapon to another hand and narrowly parried a glancing blow from another sword-wielding corpse. Before he could make a final blow, Alistair reached out to him and pulled him down just as an arrow zipped past him and harmlessly bounced off his shield.

"Alistair! Wha-" Hadrian's eyes were wide and held something that Alistair couldn't name yet. Alistair didn't know it then but he was told later, after the battle, that his eyes were amber with black slits for pupils. They were almost demonic and if Wayne had been there with them, she would have called him an abomination, despite him not being a mage. "Your eyes..."

The blonde Warden growled at Hadrian and dragged him to where Loren was at. The mage was busy summoning warding sigils around their allies, providing much needed support and protection for the fighting soldiers. He pushed Hadrian into the centre of the warding sigil a little rougher than he intended and turned his back on the pair. He ignored Hadrian's inquiring looks as he took a protective stance over the pair, hacking and slashing any who tried to get past him.

The battle had stopped for a few moments, giving the group time to catch their breaths, to reinforce their broken ranks. When the second wave had occurred, they were with Fergus and the others. Alistair was surprised to see the elven assassin covering the older Cousland's back, his daggers slicing through his assailants with terrifying ease. It made him wonder how he was able to knock Zevran out in their first fight if all he could see now were dark blurs and white flashes of steel.

He stayed close to Hadrian, who recovered quickly from his previous injury, and together, they held off the attackers, wave after wave, until no more came after them. It was a villager who struck down the last corpse, a younger man, when the soft hues of amber began to break through the dark clouds of night, signifying the end of that battle and revealed those who died defending the village.

"Aw shit, it's Lloyd, from the tavern," one of the Redcliffe villagers exclaimed, toeing the limp heap of the rotund bartender unto its back. Lloyd was clearly dead, a slash to the throat with a pool of blood growing even bigger underneath the neck. "Well, at least he died defending his tavern, if not the village."

All the villagers had known how lazy and cowardly their bartender was but it made his loss no easier to bear. He wasn't the only one who died and by the midmorne, they had sent off thirty men to their watery graves, giving silent thanks to those who gave their lives for the village.

Alistair had hoped for a day's rest before moving into the castle but Teagan wanted to see them now and he had an extremely bad feeling about this.

-TBC-

A/N: Hey everybody! I'm alive and updating, obviously. The next chapter is almost done. Tell me how I'm doing so far! Thanks!
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