The Horn Blows
You are reading the reports from your informants. The news is as you expected it. Messengers have departed the capital, and all through Ferelden armies are mobilising, supplies are being moved and all the affairs of war are finally in motion.
It is into this environment that a man in the livery of Teyrn Loghaine is escorted into your study.
"Lord Russandol?" He asks.
"I am he." You reply. "What do you wish of me?"
"I have here a message, for your eyes only." The messenger states, extending a leather satchel.
You take it from his hand and undo the coloured silk fastening. A small leather thong falls from the undone knot. Within the satchel is a fat envelope, sealed by the Teyrn's unbroken personal seal.
Within are a set of maps, incredibly detailed by the standards of this land. Along with it is two notes one in Teyrn Loghaine's own hand the other in writing you did not recognise signed by the king's seal.
The king's letter went thusly:
To all the lords of Ferelden.
As I have spoken of, the time is at hand. I command my lords to assemble their forces and march for Ostagar. There we shall assemble and take council that we might end this Blight once and for all!
I call upon all knights and lords according to the oaths they have each sworn. Fulfill them! March against the Blight! For Ferelden!
Cailan Therin
Kind of Ferelden…
Your eyes skim over the extensive list of other titles. Seeing no useful information, you turn to the second of the notes.
Lord Russandol.
I write this not as an order but a personal entreaty. You are under no obligation to join us at Ostagar, but we sorely need experienced voices in council and swords for battle.
Come to Ostagar, yourself at least if not with your soldiers.
Loghaine.
The messenger looks at you, awaiting a response.
With a deep breath and a heavy heart, you write your response. Three words should not have the weight these do.
I will come.
"Loghaine! Great to see you." Cailan greets him with a wide smile.
"Your majesty." Logaine says stiffly. "You wanted to discuss our plans for Ostagar?"
"Yes. I did, I've been talking to Duncan about what to do, and since he's gone and we're getting ready, I thought it was time to get your opinion on the plans." The king explains carelessly.
Loghaine clenches his teeth. Perhaps he has not been the most accommodating of this whole 'Blight' business, but he is still an experienced commander. He should have been brought in sooner.
"Let's have a look at it then." He says instead, keeping his annoyance to himself.
"Well, we're pretty sure that the Blight is going to hit Ostagar, hence why we're assembling there." Cailan begins.
"How sure are we of that? How do we know?" Loghaine interrupts.
Cailan shrugged. "It's what the scouts seem to think and I see no reason to disbelieve them. Ostagar controls the main northern road, and unless they want to wade through the swamps, climb mountains or risk Brecilian Forest it's the only way."
"The Korkari Wilds are already mostly swamp, and Fallowmire is wide open. Or they could attack into Stenhold." Loghaine observes harshly.
Cailan laughs freely. "That's why I wanted to bring you into this, I knew you'd catch this sort of thing. What do you think we should do?"
"What did the scouts actually say?" Loghaine asks tiredly.
Cailan shrugs. "I don't remember."
'Then why didn't you make them write it down?' Loghaine thinks. 'Mental note, have scribes available at all future briefings in case scouts are illiterate.'
"Fine. We assume that the information is correct for now. Send a message to have Neruda muster at those two keeps in the hills." Loghaine pauses, grasping for their names.
"Stenhold itself and Sothmere." Cailan reports from the table. "What about the stretch of forest on the east side?"
"If they dare Brecilian I suspect they will meet an unfortunate end." Loghaine remarks dryly. "Everything I have heard suggests the local Dalish are less than friendly."
"I suppose that particular gamble didn't pay off the way I was hoping." Cailan grimaces.
Now it is Loghaine's turn to shrug. "We lost little of value and may have gained a useful ally."
"Oh? Have you finally gone soft on the tall elf?" Cailan teases.
Loghaine chooses his next words very carefully. "Whatever other problems I may have with foreigners generally, he has proven a competent soldier. I would not say I have given him my full trust, but we will benefit if he proves true, and I have no reason to believe he will not."
Cailan rolls his eyes. "You could just say you like him."
Now the king frowns in concern and turns to look Loghaine in the eyes. "You could use more friends. Anora worries about you, spending all your time on work, never speaking to anyone unless it's on business. She thinks you could use a friend or two, I do too."
Loghaine allows a ghost of a smile to touch his face. It is nice to hear such honest concern from his daughter. She's usually more careful with words than that. Too much like him, not enough like her mother.
To distract from the lance of pain that thought causes, he turns back to the map. "Fallowmire will need to be watched. They don't contribute much to the muster and know the terrain best. They can spread out to watch for darkspawn and fall back to Hagrave keep if the attack comes."
Cailan sighs, and takes a while to say, "Fine. It seems like a sound plan. I'll send the messages out. Anything else you want to say?"
"What are we doing once we have mustered?" Loghaine asks immediately.
For some reason Cailan looks annoyed, but he explains without venom in his voice. "We will divide our forces into two, a smaller force centred on the keep itself, while the rest will flank them once they are committed. Details will have to wait until we're there with a better idea of how many we have and what the ground looks like."
"I don't like this." Loghaine growls.
"Yes." Cailan says shortly. "You've made that abundantly clear."
"We can't leave the north vulnerable while Orlais is on the move." Loghaine reiterates for what feels like the hundredth time.
"As you've said nearly a hundred times!" Cailan snaps at him. "The decision is made. We will defeat the Blight and then you can go back to worrying about an attack that is not coming. I have assurances from the Empress herself."
What worth were the assurances of Orlais? Or perhaps Cailan had a reason to trust them more than usual. An accusation that he'd heard floating around his circles regarding the safety of his daughter is on the tip of his tongue.
But he did not come here to pick yet another fight about Orlais. "Fine. Let's say you're right. You aren't, but that doesn't matter. I still don't like this plan."
"You just can't let an argument go, can you?" Cailan sighs. "Fine, what's the problem with the plan?"
"What if we're outnumbered?" Loghain asks. "Not two or three times, though that would be bad enough, what about five times? Ten times?"
Cailan pauses, clearly caught off guard by the response. "There's no evidence that the Blight has that many forces. After all, they were thoroughly crushed in the fourth Blight."
"Which was three hundred years ago." Loghaine reminds the king. "That elf you're so fond of pointed out that is a long time, more than enough for the darkspawn to reconstitute and reform."
Cailan grimaces. "Ok. So maybe there's more than we thought, but that doesn't change that the plan is solid. A sudden flanking attack by our heavy infantry would shatter most formations."
"Unless they have enough forces to simply absorb the casualties, or worse force the keep while the flanking force positions." Loghaine points out. "And that assumes that these darkspawn even care about morale. Do they?"
Cailan falls silent for a time. "I don't know. The Wardens might."
"I thought they departed already?" Loghaine asks.
Cailan shrugs. "Duncan did, and he took some with him but there are others around."
"Good." Loghaine grunts. "I am going to demand they turn over all records of previous Blights they possess. Then we can formulate a better plan."
"I still don't think we should abandon this one." Cailan says.
Loghaine snorts, walking out of the room. "A greater force cannot be encircled by a lesser. This is basic knowledge."
In the room behind him, he leaves the king alone. The king looks over the battle plan he has meticulously crafted himself sadly.
"But that's not entirely true, is it?" He whispers to himself.
His hand rests upon the book 'Greatest Military Victories of History'.