Revelation Of Ostagar
Fergus sat by the fire in the center of the village, his recovery far enough along that he could move about without Nira's constant intervention. The night air was cool, the scent of damp earth mingling with the sharp tang of smoke. Around him, the Chasind villagers went about their nightly routines, some speaking in low tones, others tending to the great bonfires.
Nira sat across from him, idly twisting a strand of her dark hair between her fingers. She had grown more comfortable speaking with him in the days since his arrival, though her sharp tongue remained intact. Tonight, however, her expression was thoughtful, her usual fire tempered.
"You've been quiet," Fergus said, leaning back against a log. His tone was conversational, but there was an edge of curiosity to his words.
Nira glanced up, her dark eyes catching the firelight. "Scouts returned today," she said simply, her voice low.
Fergus straightened, catching the tension in her tone. "What did they say?"
She hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line before she spoke. "They went north, past the Wilds. Near Ostagar."
The name struck Fergus like a blow, and he frowned. "Ostagar? That's… where King Cailan was gathering his forces. What happened there?"
Nira's expression grew darker. She poked at the fire with a stick, her movements sharp and deliberate. "The scouts said the battlefield was a slaughterhouse. Thousands dead—your king among them. And the Grey Wardens, too."
Fergus felt the words like ice in his veins. He sat forward, his mind racing. "Cailan is dead? The Wardens…" He trailed off, his throat tightening. The last time he'd seen his sister, Aedan, she had been leaving for Ostagar.
Nira glanced up, her gaze softening when she saw the shock on his face. "They said it wasn't the Darkspawn that broke your forces," she added. "The survivors they spoke that a man pulled his men back. Left the king and the Wardens to die."
Fergus's mind spinned. A Man left the king and the Wardens to die? What happened there? His jaw clenched, anger rising to drown out the numbness. "A Man left them? That doesn't make any sense. Did your man get a look at him? Why would he do that?"
Nira shrugged, the gesture tinged with bitterness. "What does it matter? The result is the same. Your people are scattered, the horde was moving north, and the Darkspawn are everywhere."
Fergus leaned back, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process the news. He thought of his family, his father, and mother. Had his father made it there with his troops? Was he…dead?
"I didn't know," he said quietly. His voice was rough, tinged with guilt. "I've been here, recovering, while everything fell apart."
Nira watched him for a moment before speaking. "You couldn't have known. And you didn't choose to be here—you were dying. The Wilds have their way of deciding who lives and who doesn't."
"Not very comforting," Fergus muttered, though his tone was less biting than he'd intended.
Nira offered a faint smile. "It's not meant to be. The Wilds don't care if you're a king or a Chasind farmer. They only care if you survive."