Ready To Go

The first light of dawn crept over Redcliffe, painting the village in soft hues of gold and amber. The air was crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of the lake and the distant promise of rain. In the courtyard of the castle's hideout, Morrigan, Sten, and Wynne stood together, their belongings packed and ready.

Morrigan adjusted the straps of her satchel, her gaze flicking toward the horizon. "A week's travel through the Fallow Mire," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "Assuming the roads are not beset by fools or darkspawn."

"Unlikely," Sten replied, his voice even as he checked the edge of his newly reclaimed sword. "The fools are everywhere. As for the darkspawn... they are inevitable."

Wynne sighed softly, her staff in hand as she glanced between them. "We must remain focused. The journey will be long, but if we are prepared, it need not be more difficult than necessary."

Before they could leave, a figure hurried toward them—Sir Gilmore, his armor gleaming faintly in the morning light. He had been aiding the Grey Wardens, recruiting volunteers for the growing army against the Blight. His expression was grim but determined.

"You're leaving, then," Gilmore said, his tone more statement than question.

"We are," Morrigan replied curtly. "The Korcari Wilds await, and we cannot afford delay."

Gilmore nodded, though his brow furrowed slightly. "I'll ensure Duran and Alistair are informed of your departure, should they return before you do. The Wilds, you said?"

"Yes," Wynne interjected, her voice calm. "It is a matter of some urgency. Please let them know where we've gone."

"I will," Gilmore assured them. "Though... there's something you might want to know before you leave."

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what tidbit of gossip have you to offer us, Ser Knight?"

Gilmore frowned, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. "It's more than gossip, I assure you. Word is spreading through the village—Fergus Cousland is alive."

The name hung in the air like a bolt of lightning. Morrigan's expression remained unreadable, but Wynne's brow furrowed deeply.

"Fergus Cousland?" Wynne repeated. "The Teyrn's son? He was thought lost at Ostagar."

"So was everyone," Gilmore replied. "But the rumors say he's on his way here, and he's not alone. He's leading an army of Chasind warriors from the south."

Sten's golden eyes narrowed. "The Chasind?" he said, his voice laced with skepticism. "Barbarian tribes. Why would they follow a man of the north?"

"That's the question on everyone's lips," Gilmore admitted. "Some say he saved them from the darkspawn and earned their loyalty. Others think he's using them to reclaim his family's lands. Either way, if the rumors are true, Fergus Cousland and his army will arrive in Redcliffe within the week."

Morrigan let out a soft, mirthless laugh. "A nobleman with an army of Chasind at his back? How deliciously improbable. I wonder if he intends to charm Arl Eamon next."

"Whatever his intentions," Wynne said, her tone measured, "it seems his path may cross ours. Perhaps the Maker's hand is at work here, or perhaps it is simple coincidence."

"Coincidence," Sten muttered. "There is no order in coincidence."

Gilmore looked between them, then offered a small bow. "I thought you should know. Maker guide you on your journey."

As he turned to leave, Morrigan smirked faintly. "Maker guide us," she repeated under her breath, the words dripping with irony. "We'll see if the Maker's hand has anything to do with this."

Wynne gave her a reproachful look but said nothing. Instead, she tightened her grip on her staff and glanced toward the open road.

"Well," Wynne said softly, "shall we?"

Without another word, the group set off, their thoughts already turning to the road ahead. The Korcari Wilds were a week away, but the whispered name of Fergus Cousland lingered in the back of their minds.

Morrigan, her golden eyes fixed on the distant horizon, couldn't help but wonder: would they meet this nobleman with his Chasind army? And if they did, would he be friend or foe?

The thought was as fleeting as the wind that tugged at her cloak, but it stayed with her as they left Redcliffe behind and disappeared into the wilderness.