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[Esbatty]

Excellent... I've already re-read The Arrangement once already in the meantime. I founnd myself running the DAO soundtrack all the while, too.

[WeRtheBrox]

Addai67 wrote...

Heh, it's ok. Ah the days when I could read on the commute. Now I read Silicon Valley's obnoxious vanity plates on the freeway.

I know what you mean, Addai.  Do you also not believe it's not truly spring until the patches of flowers on the freeway embankments start to bloom? 

Modifié par WeRtheBrox, 28 mai 2011 - 01:05 .

[Addai]

Chapter 29

I apologize for a long delay in updating. Some chapters come with more struggle than others. In the meantime I picked up The Road by Cormac McCarthy, and I'd be lying if I said this chapter doesn't owe that fine, heartrending book a debt. Thanks always for your readership. -A.

***

6 August, 9:30 Dragon Age. Gwaren.

Elissa,
I write in haste and probably should not be telling you this at all. There are reports your brother is alive. If the reports are true, he's also been seen in the company of an Orlesian bard. If he contacts you, it is most important that you send him to me. It is just a rumor, Ellie.
There is much else I could say, but I am to the Bannorn at first light. You and Gareth are often in my thoughts. I have enclosed a few instructions for my seneschal. Remember what I told you about the boat.
L.M.T.

Ellie's hand shook as she lowered Loghain's letter. Trying to absorb her husband's news, she watched Gareth in his circuit around the stableyard of the Gwaren estate. He rode a coal-black, shaggy southern pony. Loghain had planned to get him a pony for Satinalia and himself to train the boy in Denerim, but events had overtaken that plan. The Gwaren stablemaster and Ellie were filling in.

"Lower your heels," she called, and nodded approval as Gareth complied. Her thoughts were far removed from horsemanship, however.

The letter changed nothing. Howe was still in the north, the Couslands still ghosts. It changed everything. Fergus was alive.

A week later, as Ellie strolled with Anya through the crowded market, the dwarven weapons merchant Hedar called her over to his stall. There was a group of Dalish elves trading their goods, and the dwarf turned to beckon one of them. The woman who stepped forward was a slight thing, dark hair tied up in loose braids, dressed in sweat-stained leathers patched many times over and marked with colorful elven symbols. On her forehead was an intricate tattoo worked in bright blue colored ink.

"This is the Teyrna," Hedar told the elf, gesturing.

The Dalish woman looked Ellie up and down, unimpressed. "I bring a letter for you, shemlen. I give it only to your hand." She produced a small leather roll from her pocket and handed it over. "My debt is now paid." Face still impassive, she turned to go.

Ellie frowned in puzzlement, took the roll and untied its laces. Her heart leapt as she recognized the script:

Ellie- I made it out of that blasted Wilds, went to Denerim looking for you but along the way heard you were in Gwaren. Good. H's men are everywhere up there. He's hanging anyone in Highever who ever knew us. What is Loghain thinking, working with him? Never mind, H is not the real danger anymore. I can't be sure, but I think this is really a Blight. Can you get out of Ferelden? You should go. I'm going to try to stop it if our allies will aid us. You'll know where I am by who brings this letter. Don't worry about me, I've got some help. I'll try to contact you again soon. Watch your back, Smelly. -Pup.

As she stared at the words, Ellie's sight blurred with tears. She stared some more. Through her haze she heard the dwarf speaking.

"Teyrna? Everything alright, Teyrna?"

Ellie looked up, a smile breaking through the wetness in her eyes. Seized with laughter, she leaned over, grabbed Hedar's shirt and planted a kiss on his hairy cheek, setting the dwarf to stammering. "Do you know, Hedar, that you have saved my life?" This drew a blank look from the merchant. She reached down to pull out her boot dagger and waved it at him. "This Gwaren toothpick. It killed a bandit in Denerim. It might have saved me again from some men who held me prisoner, but magic saved that day. Still, it felt good to have it with me."

"Oh, uh... that's good," Hedar answered skeptically. "You feeling well, Teyrna? Should I call a surgeon?"

"You are a fine man," Ellie declared, ignoring the questions. "You sold me a fine dagger. And this, this is a good day."
"Should've charged more," the dwarf mumbled as she turned away.

Ellie looked for the Dalish in the crowd, wanting to question them, but they had disappeared. She could not imagine why Fergus was with the Dalish, but since kept mostly to the Brecilian Forest, it meant he was close by. He might even be on his way to see her. The thought of him in that wood would normally have been alarming, since only the desperate braved its deep recesses. It was a relief for now. The Couslands qualified as desperate. Though Loghain's influence could protect Ellie from Howe, she did not know if it would extend to Fergus.

Home again, Ellie crossed the courtyard towards the house and noticed Alun in the stable doorway, leaning against the doorjamb with his back to her. Handing her parcels off to Anya, Ellie crossed to him. The guard gave her a silent nod, then gestured with his head towards some feed sacks. A set of small boots protruded into the air from their midst. Gareth had flopped down, feet in the air, and fallen asleep there. Two barn cats, a thick, woolly grey and a tabby, were curled up in circular mounds of fur on either side of the boy's head.

Ellie smiled sadly. She kept her voice low, though Gareth was oblivious to the noise of the stable. "He still has nightmares. Doesn't sleep well at night."

"Rarely so peaceful during the daytime, either," Alun observed softly.

"No." Ellie colored with embarrassment. "I know he's been difficult lately. It's not you he's angry with, it's me. He wants his father." She stared at the boy, regret roiling in her stomach like sour whiskey. "Blood and death and politics. He's too little for all this."

The guardsman cast a glance at her, face impassive. He was never easy to read. "It happens, m'lady. Boys become men. Sometimes better men for not having had it easy."

"You mean Loghain."

"King Maric, too," Alun nodded.

The royal guardsman had been fond of Maric, Ellie knew, and despondent over his loss. There had been no such agony for Cailan. "And you?" she asked him.

Alun shook his head. "I knew war as a boy, but only from a distance."

"Your father was a smith. I remember. Why did you not carry on his trade?"

The guardsman looked pained, then answered, "The Orlesians, they had their own armorers, but when the work got to be too much they came to us. My father took those contracts. I was errand boy." He stopped, glanced at her. "The helmets and swords I took up to the garrison, some of them maybe were used against Prince Maric, and against that boy's father. You feel there's a debt to be paid there, m'lady. As soon as I could, I left the smithy and joined the king's men."

The guardsman looked away and Ellie saw that the subject was closed. She nodded mutely. Remembering, she held up the leather pouch. "I got a letter from Fergus. My brother is alive."

Alun's face remained expressionless, but his dark eyes softened. "That's good news. Where is he?"

"With the Dalish, I think. He didn't say for sure." She hesitated, then went on, "So, you can tell Loghain that his suspicions were true. Some of them, at least. I don't know about the Orlesian."

There was a pause. Ellie had never let on that she knew Alun was watching her and reporting back to Loghain. He sent the letters through the militia, not with the usual post. She wondered if he would deny it, but the guardsman neither smiled nor flinched, merely answered with his usual gravity, "He'll be glad to hear it."

Ellie did smile, a little. She didn't like secrets, especially between her and Loghain, but both men had good intent and they both made terrible spies. It was amusing to see them try. "Go on, Alun. I'll watch over Gareth." She stepped over to the feed sacks and eased herself down on them. The tabby cat looked up and the grey cat cracked open one eye, but her son went on snoring softly. Ellie lay on her side, arm resting on her head, and watched him until she, too, dozed a little. When a cart came into the yard, she lifted her head to look. Alun was seated on a barrel in the yard, in line of sight of her and Gareth. He appeared to have been there the whole time.

As Ellie made to stand, Gareth suddenly started awake, eyes wide, struggling to rise against the pull of the sacks. Both cats scattered. Ellie laid a hand on the boy's arm. "You're alright, sweet. Everything's alright."

"Mamma." Gareth looked at her uncomprehendingly, then slumped. "I was dreaming."

"What did you dream about?"

"Nothin."

Ellie pursed her lips but didn't press. She was surprised when after a moment Gareth sidled across the sacks and rested his head in her lap. He began to play with the fabric of her dress, pinching it between two fingers. "Can we go home?"

"We are home." It was a comfortable lie. Gwaren was home after a fashion, but nowhere was really home any longer.
"When is da coming here?"

"You know he can't. He's fighting in the Bannorn right now. But I have wonderful news, Gareth. Uncle Fergus is alive. He sent me a letter." Gareth shifted, leaning on her lap and examining her face. Ellie could see that he wasn't sure whether to believe her. "Look," she said, unlacing the pouch and unrolling the letter again. The boy stared at it, then took it and sat up. Gareth could read a little, and Ellie helped him sound out the words he didn't know.

"Pup. And Smelly." Gareth giggled, then glanced back at his mother and asked worriedly, "Are we leaving Ferelden?"

Ellie thought a while before answering. Finally she replied, "No. Not now. But come on, I have something I want to show you."

They went out the back gate. Alun got up from his perch, trailing along behind them as Ellie took an eastward path out of the village and toward the sea. She and Gareth often went on walks here or along the forest edge. They were fun outings to the four year-old, but Ellie wanted him to be as familiar with the area around Gwaren as he was with the palace gardens in Denerim. Their experience hiding in the city's underbelly had taught her some lessons. "They know how to hide," Anya had said of the apostates that had helped them. Moving through alleys and rooftops, sewers and abandoned buildings, sometimes just steps ahead of Howe soldiers, Ellie had learned the virtue of knowing a place.

Gareth sometimes ran ahead or off the path, but never far. That was a habit he'd picked up during their days of hiding, too. He would always return and clasp her hand, showing her whatever treasure he had picked up.
As they began to hear waves crashing, he asked, "Are we going swimming?"

"Today? You'd turn into an ice block." The sun was still warm with summer, but the air was starting to turn misty with autumn's onset and southern seas were always cold.

For once Gareth didn't argue. After some minutes he spoke up again. "Da is fighting again? Fighting darkspawn?"

"No, he's fighting against some of the banns. He's trying to get their armies."

"And Uncle Fergus is trying to get an army, too?"

"So it seems." She guessed where this was going.

"Maybe they can fight together." At Ellie's silence, Gareth glanced up at her. "They can't, because of the bad men. Uncle Fergus is afraid of them, too. Why doesn't da just send those men away? Or... or kill them."

Tight-lipped, Ellie felt her bile rising. It had seemed important to still try to shelter Gareth from the truth as much as possible, but it obviously wasn't working. His fears were only being pushed deeper inside, coming out during the moments when he should feel the most secure. Stopping, Ellie knelt on the path and turned the boy to face her. One hand on his arm, she said gravely, "Gareth, Howe's men are keeping away from us because your father is working with them. He doesn't want to do it, but he thinks he has to because of the darkspawn and the Orlesians, and to keep us safe."

"But you're mad at him."

Ellie paused, struggling with the answer. "A little," she admitted, defeated. It was not as if the boy didn't already see it. She went on quickly. "I still love him. We love each other. We just don't agree about this, and we can't be together right now."

"Are you mad at me, too?"

"No. Why would you say that?"

Gareth shrugged. "You sound mad. A lot."

"Only when you misbehave or argue with me." Dismay seized her as Ellie recognized that her son was afraid of more than Howe's men and darkspawn. "Maker's breath, Gareth. None of this is your fault. I'm not mad at you, nor is your father. This is just a rough time."

"Then why won't da come to Gwaren?"

Expelling a sigh, Ellie searched for patience. "We're going to fix it all, Gareth, but we can't right now. You know this, that your father has to fight. Highever is still ours, and someday soon we're going to take it back so Uncle Fergus can go back there, and then your da and I..." She trailed off, unwilling to fill in that blank with an easy promise.

Gareth was frowning. "Highever is ours," he repeated doubtfully. "Da will fight the darkspawn and we'll get it back and then everything will be better."

"Yes. You're a Mac Tir and a Cousland, and we don't give up. We always do our duty."

The frown deepened. "You're going to fight, too, aren't you?"

"No. I'm just telling you how it's going to be. Fergus will fight for Highever, and maybe your father, too, once they've beaten the darkspawn. I'm going to stay with you."

"Always?"

"Always. Until you're old enough that you don't need me anymore. I'll only fight if someone tries to hurt you. I won't let anyone do that."

"You promise you won't go away?"

Ellie pulled him closer, cradling his back with one arm. "I won't. I'll not leave you."

Gareth remained stubborn in his worry, but finally the frown eased a little. "Okay." Ellie smiled and bent to kiss his forehead, then stood to her feet. As they began to walk again, hand in hand, he said, "I'll fight for Highever, too, mamma. When I'm older. If Howe's men are still there."

Smiling, Ellie squeezed his hand. "I hope you won't have to, but thank you, pet."

"It's okay," he answered, voice growing confident again. "I'm a Cousland, too. It's my duty."

When they reached a certain point in the path, Ellie stopped and looked around to make sure there was no one nearby. Then she led Gareth off the path into the scrub. Alun followed at a distance of a few paces. They came to what looked like an impassable rock face, but Ellie kept going, slipping into a narrow cleft that led to a tunnel in the rock. They had to duck to get through, and soon were sloshing in seawater. At high tide there was just a head's length of clearance. Now, at ebb, the water was just up to their ankles.

They emerged into a tiny cove. The sunlight was bright overhead, but an outcropping of rock meant it was no more visible from the sea than it was from the landward side. It was the perfect place to hide a boat, as Maric's rebels had discovered during the war. Loghain brought Ellie here first not long after they married. They made love on the sand, waves crashing against the sheltering rock. Her new husband was eager but still shy, always surprised when she initiated with him. Ellie stood a while, smiling sadly at the memory, but was shaken out of it by Gareth's voice.

"Mamma, there's a boat!"

It was still there, the little skiff moored here first by Loghain for emergencies. Ellie had visited it when she and Gareth arrived in Gwaren, had checked its soundness and packed out its bow and stern with oilcloth-wrapped provisions, food and skeins of fresh water and some weapons and sundries.

She followed after Gareth, gesturing for Alun to come closer. When all of them were gathered, she addressed her son. "Sweet, this is our boat. I want you to remember this place. If something ever goes wrong in the village, if there's trouble and we get separated, don't try to find me. You run here and wait for me. Can you do that? You won't forget the way?"

Gareth looked at her somberly. The discovery of the boat had seemed a great adventure and mystery, but he now understood that it was a different sort of place. "I won't forget," he promised.

Ellie glanced at Alun to make sure he understood as well, then looked back at her son and smiled. "You can swim here a little, if you're crazy enough to do it."

Gareth's mouth broke into a grin and he began shedding clothes. Ellie and Alun sat on the beach and watched while the boy splashed and squawked. "It's freezing!" he yelled back at his mother. "Come in, mamma!"

"Not a chance," she called back, laughing.

After a pause Alun gestured toward the boat with his shaved head and observed quietly, "This might not help with the nightmares."

Ellie kept her eyes trained on her son. "He's living a nightmare, Alun. Maybe instead of letting the monsters chase him in his sleep, we ought to teach him to turn and face them."

"Maybe." The guard sounded as though he wanted to agree.

In the following weeks, neither ship nor the greatly decreased post riders nor any more elves brought news of Fergus. The darkspawn were not retreating into the Deep Roads as Loghain had hoped they would, and their attacks seemed to concentrate on roads rather than settlements. Anxiety grew with rumor and fed more rumors. Loghain was still in the Bannorn and there was talk of a bloodless victory over Bann Bronach. This at least seemed creditable. No one was surprised that Loghain's armies had won with the regent himself commanding them.

Ellie was as hungry for news as anyone else, but had little time for scanning the horizon. The refugee problem had only grown. Tent cities ringed the village, and brought disease and unrest with them. Loghain's commanders scoured the camps, taking able-bodied men and some women away to fill out the militias. In the village Ellie helped train others, volunteers who were not fit for the militia but who could serve as last defense. They were mostly boys and soldier's wives. Some young girls also came out, saying they wanted to be a bowmaiden like the Teyrna. Gareth often accompanied her to their practices, and she had him fitted out with a small bow as well, and began teaching him the forms. When he was old enough to draw a real bow, they would already be second nature. Ellie thought Loghain would approve.

People in Gwaren favored Loghain's victories, nevertheless the mood was changing. Word came from Denerim that the queen wished to take the autumn tax levy early, before Satinalia, and that the rate was increasing in order to pay for the crown's war debts. The news did not sit well. Ellie was called out to help the seneschal deal with the many petitions for waivers. There was sad story after sad story, pleas and promises. Loghain's words to her, that she was like her father and would knuckle under to anyone, sat bitterly in Ellie's mind. It was all the more bitter for being true. She was indeed inclined to be lenient, but with Loghain's warning in mind, held a firm line. As she passed in the street, greetings grew less friendly.

The seneschal urged Ellie to cancel the public Satinalia celebration, but she decided it should go on as usual. The people needed a feast all the more for their troubles, she reasoned. They differed also on whether to limit the celebration to natives and exclude the refugees. "We are all Fereldans," Ellie argued. The sheriff pointed out that the men killing each other in the Bannorn were all Fereldans, too. Nevertheless the Teyrna won out.

On the night of the celebration, she returned from making rounds of preparations in time to change into a black underdress and burgundy velvet kirtle, then help Gareth get into the dark velvets Harel had laid out for him. "I had this made for you," she said, smiling and showing Gareth a golden brooch in the shape of a wyvern with tiny rubies for its eyes.

"Thank you, mamma. I like it," he said gravely as she knelt down to pin his cloak around his shoulders with it. The boy's expression was so serious, and the figure he cut so like a small version of his father, that Ellie's throat was tight as she rose again and took his hand.

The village green was thronged with people. The tension of recent weeks seemed to have dissipated before the music and laughter, and before the vast sums of ale provided by the Office of the Teyrn. Gareth begged to join a game of rounders and Ellie reluctantly agreed, unclasping his cloak and laying it over her arm as he skittered off. He was going to ruin the velvets, but that couldn't be helped. Unlike the stories Ellie had heard of Anora's childhood, Gareth liked the village children and most of them liked him in return, despite his occasional attempt to play lordling. He had always preferred the servants' children at the palace to nobles, too.

Ellie watched a time, then stepped over to a tapped cask to refill her mug. A man came up behind her and waited his turn, but as her mug was nearly full, he pressed in behind her, gripping Ellie's arm and letting his other hand rest on the curve of her buttock. She froze, and the man leaned in and spoke next to her ear.

"We're watching you, Teyrna. Not much time left for you."

Her heart was thumping, but Ellie found that her voice was even. "You'll want to step back, ser. Right now." She turned, dropping the ale and Gareth's cloak, and tried to jerk her arm away but the man held it fast. Ellie was gauging which knee could most efficiently rob the man of future heirs when another voice spoke up behind him, the voice of a very determined and outraged boy.

"You get your hands off my mother!" Both the man and Ellie looked around to see Gareth standing there with fists balled, his face still flushed from the rounders game but by then also with anger. He took a step forward and looked ready to launch himself at the man's knees. "Get your hands off her!"

"Gareth, no." Ellie held out a warning hand.

The man was smiling, about to reply, when Ellie saw a flash of metal and heard a sickening crunch. The man lurched forward, smile turning into a gasp of pain, and before he could react found his feet kicked out from under him. Alun stood over the now half-kneeling man, holding him by the tunic with mace poised for another blow. The man saw his situation and held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. Others were starting to notice and gather around them, including more guards.

"Terribly sorry, m'lady," Alun said, his eyes still on the man like hawk on prey. "You want this scoundrel arrested?"

"Yes. Take him in for questioning. He threatened me."

Just then there came shouts from the other side of the green. People ran past and the shouts grew louder, then a woman screamed. Alun only paused a moment before he shoved the man who had accosted Ellie towards the other guards. "Take him in," he barked. "Teyrna, Gareth. Come on. We're getting out of here."

They followed Alun as he pushed people away, bellowing at them to make room. Anya joined them and all of them ran back to the estate, leaving the din of the festival grounds behind them.  Gareth fought sleep, but after a bath and a cup of warm milk he started to droop. When he was in bed, Ellie joined Alun and Anya in the parlor to confer. She told them what the man had said to her.

"I'll double the household guard," Alun said.

Ellie shook her head. "There aren't enough. Most of the garrison has already been sent north to join Loghain's forces, and all the new conscripts too."

The guard was insistent. "We'll find the men. I'll write to the Teyrn if I have to."

"I haven't heard from him in weeks. I don't even know where he is."

Anya waved a hand. "Don't try to argue with Alun, m'lady. Not when he's set like this."

"Do you think this man is one of Howe's? He didn't have a northern accent." When no one answered, Ellie went on, "I don't like this. Alun, send the extra guard into the refugee camps and out to search the forest edge. If Howe has men nearby, I want to know about it. Question everybody."

"As you say, m'lady," Alun agreed.

That night Ellie moved a cot into Gareth's room and slept fitfully. In pre-dawn she awoke to find a solemn figure standing beside the cot looking at her.

"Were you scared, mamma? Is that why you came in here?"

"I just wanted to be near you."

"Oh." The boy climbed up into the cot and settled down next to her. Ellie made room, then settled the blanket around him and draped her arm over his side, cuddling him close.

"Go to sleep," she whispered. "Everything's alright." Soon they both did.

Ellie kept to the estate the next day, despite Gareth's protests that he wanted to go to the market fair in the village. Alun went out to see the seneschal and get the news. When he returned, he told Ellie that a fight had broken out, no one knew exactly who started it or why, but in the end two men were dead and the guard had taken a dozen into custody along with the usual drunks and pickpockets. There would be a trial, likely some hangings, after the fair had concluded. The man who had accosted Ellie had a broken shoulder and had taken a fever. Alun had tried to question him but had not gotten much out of him other than moans and groans.

On the following morning, before dawn, Ellie left a still sleeping Gareth in Anya's watch and went to archery practice at a meadow field on the slope above the estate. Alun and two other guards accompanied her. Ellie was retrieving her arrows on a second round when they heard the village Chantry ringing its bell. They had a good view from their vantage point, and could see two columns of smoke rising from the village. Ellie's stomach twisted as she recognized that one of them was coming from the estate.

"Gareth." She dropped her arrows and taking off at a run down the slope. Alun shouted after her, but Ellie didn't slow.
As she neared the village Ellie heard shouting and the clash of metal, sword on sword. The village bell kept tolling before cutting off abruptly. Black smoke poured out of the estate and covered the whole village. At the back gate of the estate, guards were fighting with other armed men, and servants were fleeing. Ellie looked about frantically, calling for Gareth, and didn't see a man charging at her with weapon drawn until he lay tackled at her feet. Alun had his boot on the man's chest. The guard kicked the axe out of the man's hands and brought his mace down in a swift blow. With a crunch the attacker's terror-stricken face crumpled in a mess of blood.

Ellie barely registered this before she pressed on into the estate yard, her own halfsword now in hand. The upper floors of the estate were burning, flames shooting out of the roof into the sky. Smoke was everywhere, stinging her eyes and making her cries for Gareth more strained. From the front of the estate came more sounds of armed struggle, more shouting. As Ellie rounded the house the black of the smoke crackled with light as in a summer storm. Streaks of white light began to shoot out towards the front gate.

"That's Anya," Alun said as he came up behind Ellie, and then they heard the mage.

"Come on, you ******! You sons of motherless wh*res!" Anya stood at the front step of the house, arcing bolts at one and then another of the men trying to pry their way through the broken metal gate. "That's right! You come on!" There was a lull in the fighting as sheer terror of the rain of lightning caused the attackers to fall back.

Ellie stumbled closer. "Anya! Where is Gareth?"

The mage turned to look, then pointed toward the stables. "Pony," she called back. With the word still on her lips, Anya's body jerked back and she cried out in pain. An arrow protruded from the mage's shoulder.

"Get her!" Ellie shouted to Alun. "I'm going to find Gareth."

Keeping low as more arrows whistled overhead, Ellie staggered into the stable to find more fire, the shouts of stable boys and the terrified screams of the horses. "Where is Gareth? Where is my son?" Before anyone could answer her, she heard him.

"Midnight, you have to go, you have to go," he was wailing, halter in hand. The terrified pony was pacing back and forth, not allowing Gareth to come near.

"Gareth!" Ellie called, sheathing her sword and kneeling to hug him. "Thank Andraste. Are you hurt?"

The boy shook his head. "Midnight won't leave," he cried. "He's scared."

"Leave him. Leave the stall door open and he'll go on his own. Come on, Gareth, we have to get out of here." She pulled him with her, cutting off further protest, and finally he followed, running with her to the back door. Ellie went cautiously then, trying to remain unseen. There were no attackers near the stable, but more shouts from the gates. They would not be able to get out that way. There was an empty barrel at the stable door. Ellie rolled it to the the estate's stone wall, climbed up and lifted Gareth up after her, then boosted him over to the other side. She followed herself, dropping down into the grass. There she crouched, listening.

"Is Anya okay?" Gareth whispered.

"Alun is helping her." Ellie's expression was grim. The mage had made herself a potent target for whoever those archers were. Panicked questions rushed around in Ellie's mind, but she pushed them all away. There was only one thing that mattered. Looking down at Gareth's soot-blackened face, she said, "We're going to make a run for it. Do you remember the boat? Run and don't look back. I'll be right behind you, but don't stop, not for anything."

"Anya..." he began.

"Anya knows the way. She and Alun will find us. Are you ready?" Gareth nodded. Smiling, Ellie took another quick look around, then, satisfied that they could make it to the tree line unseen. "Go," she urged Gareth. He went without hesitation, dashing for the trees. Casting nervous glances behind her, Ellie followed.

They made it to the trees, and to the seaward way, but after some minutes Ellie heard running footsteps behind them and pulled Gareth into the scrub at the side of the path. Her heart was pounding and she could feel Gareth's racing in his chest like that of a frightened bird. The footsteps halted. Ellie relaxed when she heard the voices, a man and a woman's, arguing.

"I need a minute, damn your eyes," Anya was grumbling. The mage doubled over, retching. The broken-off arrow was still lodged in her shoulder. Alun stood over her, cloak blackened with fire, sword drawn. Red burn splotches festered on his shaven head.

He whirled as Ellie and Gareth emerged from the trees, and heaved a sigh. "M'lady. Maker praised. I went to the stable but you were nowhere to be found."

"Are you alright?" Ellie bent to lay a hand on Anya's good shoulder, but the mage waved her off.

"We escaped through the house," Alun explained. "It's a loss, but the cellar was clear."

Ellie nodded and looked around nervously. "We have to move. The boat is nearby."

"Aye," Anya gasped, straightening. "We..." She cut off abruptly at the sound of men's voices nearby. Someone was shouting to another to search the trees.

"Run." Ellie gave the command, but no one needed to hear it. They ran. "Here!" she called when they reached the right spot for the cove. At the cliff escarpment Ellie paused, letting the others go first. When she emerged into their little cove, Anya was kneeling in the sand, braced against a rock. The mage's breathing was labored. Black streaks of blood covered the front of her homespun dress and she was very pale. Ellie knelt beside her.

"I just need a moment, m'lady. Just need to recover my strength a little. Then I can spell myself." Anya smiled weakly. "Don't fuss, m'lady. I'm just glad you're alright, you and the little master."

Ellie stood, pacing angrily. "Who did this?"

"I think you know," Alun answered from where he leaned against the cliff face. "Those are armed men, and organized. No rabble."

"Howe?" At Alun's nod, Ellie cursed softly.

Anya spoke up. "When they pushed in the gate, the men were yelling at each other to get the Teyrna. They said to take you alive." The mage glanced at Gareth, and though she said nothing more, Ellie guessed that they had not only been shouting about her.

"What do you want to do, ladyship?" Alun asked.

Ellie stopped, bracing hands on hips, and tried to order her thoughts. When she had pictured using this route of escape, it had always been with the intent to take the boat to Denerim. Yet if Howe had attacked here, that meant that he had likely already broken with Loghain, or intended to. Howe occupied the Denerim arling now, his men as numerous in the city as Loghain's. Her husband could not protect them any longer. That meant that nowhere in Ferelden was safe. Fergus' warning echoed in Ellie's mind. Safety had always been an illusion, and Ellie cursed herself the fool for believing in it at all.

There was only one thing to do. Even as clarity came to her, she fought it. There had to be some other way, and yet there wasn't. Loghain had always told her that in battle you planned for every eventuality, but in the end, if there was only one thing you could do, you had to commit to it completely. No reservations, no hesitation. Waver even a little and you would die.

Ellie heard her own voice as from a distance. "Take Gareth," she said quietly. "Take him and get him out of Ferelden." The silence that followed, filled only by the lap of the waves, was broken by the boy himself. He stood at Ellie's side, grasping her hand.

"Mamma? Where are we going?"

Kneeling down, she grasped her son's arms and met his eyes. "You're going to go with Anya and Alun in the boat, pet. You need to be brave now."

Alun stepped closer. "M'lady, I'm sorry, but I'm not leaving here without you."

"You have to and you will," Ellie retorted angrily. Her tone then softened, reasoning with the guardsman. "You will not make it without putting in at port somewhere in Ferelden, and Howe will be looking for us everywhere. Denerim is not safe. Nowhere is. I don't even know where Loghain is, and Anora can't protect us. Maybe if they have me, they'll stop looking. Let them think Gareth died in the fire. That's what I'll tell them."

"No." Gareth started to cry. "No, you come with us, mamma."

"Gareth..."

"You promised! You said you wouldn't leave! You promised!"

"I promised that I wouldn't let anyone hurt you." Tears sliding down her cheeks, Ellie stood to her feet and looked across to Alun. "Please. I'm begging you. I don't know where to tell you to go, but please get him out of Ferelden."
Anya stepped up behind him. "I know where to go. I have family in Kirkwall. That's where we'll be, m'lady, and may the Maker watch over us all."

Ellie hesitated. It was as good a place as any. She stepped forward, pulled off her gloves, and began removing her rings and handing them over. "Prise the stones and melt the metal down if you need money. I have no other coin, but there is a lockbox in the boat. The key is 8-9-24, the day of my and Loghain's marriage. Best not to show the signet ring to anyone unless you're sure of them," she murmured numbly. Lifting her eyes, Ellie looked from one to the other. Her voice lowered to a whisper. "Thank you."

"Don't worry about us, m'lady," Anya assured her. "I won't let anything happen to the boy."

Ellie turned and knelt before Gareth again. He was whimpering, his lower lip quivering as he tried to fight the tears. "No, mamma. No. I don't want to go. I'm going to stay with you. I'm not afraid."

"It will be alright, Gareth. Your father can ransom me back from the bad men, but it's too dangerous for you to stay here now. I'll be alright." That was a lie, but she had to tell it. Gareth needed something to hope for. Howe wanted her dead and there was obviously no coin, not gold or political, that could win him. If her life could buy her son a chance at safety, however, then she would pay the full sum gladly. "Remember what I told you. You're a Cousland and a Mac Tir. We always do our duty. This is my duty now, and yours is to be strong and to stay alive. Your father and I will find you, no matter where you are."

Gareth's tears fell more furiously. He fell around her neck, clutching at her. "I love you, mamma. Don't forget about me."

"I love you, Gareth, my own heart. My good boy. I could never forget about you. I'm not afraid, either." She kissed his hair and then leaned back, kissing his sooty cheeks and eyes, and finally forced herself to stand and to pull back from him. Gareth turned and buried his face in Alun's knee, not watching as Ellie replaced her gloves and stepped over to the rock tunnel.

She cast one glance back at them, back at her whole life, then turned and slipped through the rock.

Modifié par Addai67, 30 mai 2011 - 04:49 .

[Esbatty]

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!

[The-Rogue-Princess]

Poor Gareth! Wonderful writing as usual, it brought tears to my eyes.

[Addai]

Thanks all! I was a sodden mess this week, both in writing and reading.

[Addai]

Chapter 30

5 Firstfall, 9:30 Dragon Age. Denerim.

The new officer recruit kept leaving his middle exposed, so Loghain hit him, hard. So hard that the young man gasped and buckled, lowering his practice sword so as to leave his head exposed. Loghain hit him again, this time smacking his cheek with the flat of the blunted blade so that a red welt sprang up there, around a small line of blood that began to ooze. The recruit stumbled back, raising his arms protectively.

"You're dead." Loghain's tone was flat, matter of fact. There was no need to shame the man further. He would feel the pain of failure more keenly than the pain of his bruises, but remembering both would either drive him to work harder or to quit. Either way it might save his life.

Turning away, Loghain handed the floor back to the drill officer and went to find a more challenging opponent. Cauthrien always fit the bill if no one else was available, and eventually he found her.

An hour later and with a few bruises of his own, Loghain left the practice area and returned to his study. It was early and the palace was barely stirring. There was a pile of correspondence on his desk but he worked to ignore it, pacing off the latent energy of the sparring as he unlaced his practice armor. Among the other aches was a tightness in his groin. If his wife were nearby, he might ease that one with her. The study had served for more than one such assignation. Loghain let his mind rove to the memories, Ellie against the wall or straddling him in his chair. They had never used the desk, though. A smile touched his lips as he imagined her spread-eagled there, a sheen of perspiration from her own practice on her skin. The image skipped forward, his mind calling up the memory of how her hair smelled and felt, the sensation of burying his face in it while he lodged himself inside her.

Lifting a shaky hand to wipe at the sweat on his brow, he started at a knock on the study door. "What is it?" he bellowed, quickly sitting at the desk to conceal the evidence of his arousal.

A guard, unmoved by the cranky reception, opened the door and stepped inside. "Good morning, Regent. Beg to report that Teyrn Howe has returned from the Bannorn."

"Very well. Call a meeting of my war council in one hour, and inform the Queen. Now get out."

By the time the guard was gone, Loghain was in more practical frame of mind and resisted the urge to renew his fantasy as he set about washing himself. A steward entered with breakfast, and he stood at the desk with tea mug in hand, flipping through letters. In the time it took for a few swallows of the tea, other messengers arrived. It was always so much. There was too much to think about, track down, follow up on, plan for. It was only Loghain's stubbornness about its importance that allowed him time to continue training and practice with his men. The demands of running a country and an army were crushing and though he did not want to admit it, he was feeling the weariness more every day. Sleep came with difficulty. It had been the same during when Maric was absent or in the drink, but there had been no war then, and the years were catching up.

His thoughts returned to Ellie. There had been no letters from her since the few that were waiting when he himself returned to Denerim several weeks before. These had been practical, business-like, though she also wrote of Gareth's pony and of Harel's attentiveness to the little teyrn. There was no mention of her brother Fergus, who was still at large. Among these reports, Loghain had savored the small indications that she was thinking of him. Keep well, husband. Keep safe. Gareth misses you. Perhaps she missed him a little, too? This thought was an indulgence no less than lascivious fantasies of her, but like those, entertaining it helped to ease the loneliness of her absence. In the years after Celia's death he learned how to be alone, but it was harder now. He had gotten out of the habit.

At the war council, Howe was already seated across from Anora and her father's officers when he arrived. Loghain skipped the reunion greetings and did not even wait until he was seated to gesture to Howe. "Reports. Oswin first."

Howe was used to this abruptness and followed suit. "Oswin is ours, sire. As you suggested, we ignored Bann Matthus and instead took his frontier outposts one by one until he had no choice but to surrender. The bann remained defiant and I would have executed him, but you said to give him quarter, so we are holding him at his keep."

"You should have brought him to Denerim. I want to question him."

Rendon bristled. "He is secure, sire. We also have many of his prized 'Hunters' in custody. I've questioned them, but they deny knowing anything about a conspiracy against your family." The Hunters of Oswin were famed archer scouts that Bann Matthus maintained as his standing guard.

"Very well, what's done is done," Loghain replied. "And what about that maggot Cormac ap Feil?"

"He has abandoned the Stedburg and taken to the countryside, along with his sons. We have not yet tracked him down, but it's only a matter of time."

Loghain paced as he considered this. "His lands are forfeit, at least. Keep pressing these Hunters. I want to know what those two were planning. If Matthus and Cormac were really going to send men to Gwaren to harass my family, it would have been some of these. Even a lackwit like ap Feil would not trust a delicate mission to farmers."

"As you say, sire. I would not worry about it too much. The banns must all surely see by now that such gestures are futile. We..."  Howe was cut off by a commotion in the hallway, shouting and argument. The chamber doors then opened several men pushed their way through.

"What is the meaning of this?" Anora demanded, standing. "This is a royal council."

One of the men removed his hat and bowed. "Begging your pardon, Queen Anora, Teyrn Loghain. We're from Gwaren and bring urgent news."

It was then that Loghain saw a small, disheveled figure standing behind them. "Harel," he said, disbelieving his eyes. A cold claw of fear raked at his spine at the sight of his Gwaren valet.

The elf was supported by another man, dressed in ragged clothing with a seaman's cloak far too big for him thrown over his shoulders. A dirty bandage covered half his head and one rheumy eye. He tottered forward along with his helper and Loghain stepped over to meet them, but the man who had first spoken did not wait. "Your grace, my name is Ramsay, of the Gwaren Regulars. Captain Wedder sent me report. Four days ago there was a riot in Gwaren. Armed men stormed the gaol of the seneschal, the main garrison above the village, and your grace's private estate. The situation is under control but there were losses. The captain begs you send reinforcements."

There were gasps in the room at the news, and a flurry of conversation. Loghain had a hand on Harel's arm and looked at the old elf's face. Out of his one good eye, tears were streaming. Turning back to the soldier, Loghain asked the question that lay behind his dread. "And what of my family? Where is the teyrna?"

The flutter of conversation in the room fell silent. Ramsay wore a grave frown. "We can't be sure. There was a fire, your grace. The bodies in the estate are all burned to ash. A woman was seen fighting some of the attackers in the village near there. Witnesses swear that it was the teyrna. She was shouting, and her skill with the blade- not many women have that, so it's likely..." The guardsman trailed off, waiting.

"You haven't found a body."

"No, ser. There was so much confusion, the witnesses didn't see what became of the teyrna."

Loghain thought about this, then pushed the cold claw at his back even deeper by asking the question. "This woman, Elissa, what was she shouting? What did she say?"

Ramsay's jaw worked and he paused before replying. "She was shouting 'you killed my son.'"

Another gasp ran through the room. Behind him, Loghain heard Anora whisper, "Gareth. Maker's mercy, they killed Gareth."

Loghain's knees weakened under him but he fought the surge of panic by sheer refusal. It couldn't be true. It was a mistake. The eyes of the guardsman told differently, however, and so did Harel's. It was true, and hadn't he always known that it would end this way? It had been too good. Unaccountably his thoughts turned to the witch of Korcari. Keep him close and he will betray you, each time worse than the last. Maric was gone, but perhaps the words meant that anyone close to him would suffer.

"Go on," he said in a hoarse whisper. His hand gripped the elf's arm as though it was Harel who was holding Loghain up and not the other way around.

The soldier shook his head somberly. "There was so much confusion. They hit us all over the village. We think they retreated into the Brecilian Forest and gave chase, but it's a big place and our men too few. We need reinforcements, your grace."

For a long time no one spoke. Loghain stood unmoving. He knew that he needed to think, to make plans and give orders, but his mind and body were frozen. Eventually it was Rendon Howe who spoke up, addressing the Gwaren soldier. "Can you tell us anything about these attackers, guardsman? Did they bear any sigil?"

"No, ser, nothing like that. They were in poor kit mostly, rough leather armor or none at all. There were archers and axemen, a few swords."

"Archers and axemen," Howe repeated. Loghain turned, their eyes meeting, and even through the blackness there was some recognition. "What does that sound like to you, sire?"

"Bannorn," Loghain supplied.

Rendon nodded. "They did it. They really did it." After a pause he went on, "I can send some men to the Brecilian Forest. You should stay here in case a ransom demand comes in, sire. We'll find her, do not doubt it."

Despite his numbness, Loghain forced his thoughts to order, to plan. He shook his head. "No. I need you here."

Another man spoke up. "Dragon's Peak may be able to help, your grace. Bann Sighard's son is also missing. The rebels could be kidnapping family members to get to your allies. We are pressed, but I can go ask the bann to spare some of his personal guard."

After a moment's pause, Loghain gestured in helpless consent. He needed to go himself, but at that moment he could not even draw a breath. His eyes fell on Harel again. "Where is Gareth, Harel? What happened to him?"

The elf clutched at Loghain's arm, but only wheezing sounds came from his throat. Ramsay spoke up again. "I haven't gotten a word out of him except your name, Teyrn Loghain. We found him in the springhouse of your estate and I think his lungs must have gotten seared by smoke. Captain Wedder knew him so we brought him on our ship."

Behind him, he heard Anora's voice. "Our surgeon should see this man, Father. I'll take care of it." Loghain nodded, avoiding her eyes. The council seemed to realize that the meeting was over, standing from their places. They were forming quiet huddles of discussion as Loghain pushed past them and into the hallway.

He stumbled into his study and made it only as far as the sitting area before he fell to one knee, stomach lurching. There was noise in the hallway and then in the outer rooms, hushed but gathering. It would not be long before they intruded, asking questions, seeking orders. The only thought Loghain could form was to wonder how his son's life had ended, if they had slit his throat or if a Bannorn axe had crushed his skull before the fire took him. He must have been so afraid. Out of the corner of his eye, Loghain saw Ellie's portrait looking down at him. He had been entertaining juvenile fantasies of her at the same time she was being held by their enemies or burned to ash somewhere, having spent her last minutes grieving their son. His stomach lurched again and Loghain coughed, spitting the tea that had been his only breakfast. At the same time he forced himself to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. He stumbled to the washroom and hung over a basin. Nevertheless the retching was done.

The morning passed in a delirium. Loghain had thought that the press of questions and messages would be the worst, but when these dried up later in the day, it turned out that the quiet was the real torment. He was sitting with elbows on his desk, hands covering his mouth and staring into the space in front of him when Anora came in. She came to his side and put an arm around his shoulders, then leaned down and stiffly hugged him.

Neither of them were good at that sort of thing. After the brief attempt, Anora came around and took a seat across from the desk, folding her hands in her lap. "I spoke with this Ramsay further. He said some of the refugees also joined in the attack. They were angry about some men who were set to hang. Elissa did report that the mood in Gwaren was tense, didn't she?"

"Yes." Loghain replied dully. "There was trouble there. I didn't know it was... I didn't know..." His voice trailed off.

The queen's eyes dropped to her lap and she studied her hands. After a long silence she went on, "I know you want to go look for her, Father, but I beg you to wait. What happened in Gwaren could happen here in Denerim, too."

"What are you talking about?"

"The tax levy. We had to raise it sharply, but even so there does not seem to be enough. I don't understand it and I've asked Iain to re-check his figures, but we may need to levy again. If we do, there will be trouble. It will be a hard winter anyway. With the Bannorn in turmoil, this year's harvest will be thin. We are also seeing Blight sickness again. So far it's only cropped up in the alienage, but I'm concerned that it's going to spread to the rest of the city."

"Howe had the alienage locked down, I thought."

"Yes, but how long can that go on? The elves are starving. If we keep the alienage sealed off, we'll have to provide food and medicine out of the royal treasury. We can't afford that, but if we open the alienage so that the elves can return to work and trade for themselves, the sickness will spread."

"What do you want from me?" he asked bleakly. So tired. He could sleep for a week, but Loghain knew that there would be no sleep for him at all.

"Just wait. Don't rush off to look for Elissa. If we get a ransom demand, we'll know more about where to find her anyway."

"There won't be a ransom demand." Anora stared, and Loghain went on, punishing himself with the certainty of it. "They killed Gareth. There is nothing they want from me. This was about revenge, and if Ellie is not on a pyre, it's because they want to send me her head."

"Father," Anora gasped. "I don't... You can't know that. We cannot give up hope. Call back some of our troops from the border to look for her. The Orlesians have made no sign they intend to cross."

Loghain brushed a hand over his eyes. The thought that there had never been a real threat at the western border at all was not one he could yet entertain, but others were. The Bannorn had spread dissent, and people were starting to speak differently about Ostagar, to pass the whispers that the Regent had deliberately left the king to die so that he might seize the throne himself. To those who did not know how little he had ever craved a throne, it was a reasonable assumption. If they wanted to believe it was true, he would ever be able to refute it.

The weight of it all pressed in on him. It was like being crushed beneath stones, one pebble at a time, one decision after another, until together they were squeezing the life out of him. He had thought himself strong enough to bear anything, but the knowledge that his son was no longer in the world had knocked the last breath out of him. Gareth, so trusting and sure that his father could do anything. The little boy they had named after Loghain's own father. He had failed all of them, again. An image of his mother's lifeless body flashed in his mind, but wearing Ellie's face. Loghain tried to fight back the sob that surged in his throat, but the pain gripped him so powerfully that his few remaining defenses could not bear up. Pressing the hand into his eyes, he felt the tears slide through his fingers as his shoulders shook. Some time later Anora laid a hand on his shoulder and he covered it with his own, then she was gone and he was alone again.

Rendon Howe found him the next morning, slumped over the desk, having finally succumbed to sleep there. Howe waited while he went to the washroom and cleaned himself up. For a time Loghain hung over the basin, sure he was going to vomit again. There was nothing to vomit and the sensation passed. Toweling his face, he returned to the study.

Howe was demure, respectful. "Sire, you said you needed me here but I did send some of my most trusted men back to Oswin. We will learn the truth of Matthus and his Hunters if I have to pry it from them bodily. I have also sent messengers to our other allies in the Bannorn, seeking information on Elissa's whereabouts."

"Did you do this?" Loghain asked the question matter-of-factly, so much so that he himself was surprised.

For his part, Rendon gaped. "Me? Do you mean to suggest...?" He hesitated, then laughed. "I should be flattered, I suppose. I've spent the past several weeks subduing our enemies in the Bannorn and making haste back to Denerim. That you think in the meantime I had time to organize an attack on Gwaren is quite a credit."

"Who else wants my wife dead more than you?"

The other teyrn's face changed several colors, white to red to purple. His voice was taut. "I realize you are grieving, sire, and your faculties must have abandoned you. I have worked tirelessly for you, put all my men at your disposal, risked my life next to you at Iachus Valley. I am still hoping you can convince the queen to accept my proposal that she take my son Nathaniel as consort. Why would I do anything to jeopardize that arrangement?"

Loghain said nothing in reply, weighing. The reassurance was convincing. He shrank gladly back from the doubt that still lingered. Tossing his towel aside, he went on as though they had merely been discussing the price of wheat and not murder and betrayal. "Did Anora tell you about more Blight sickness in the alienage?"

Howe expelled a breath, obviously relieved for the subject change.  After a pause he shook his head, his tone disgusted. "The alienage. We would all be better off if you let me raze the whole place to the ground."

"You've just about done that, from what I hear."

"Yes, well, I would like to see you do any better." Howe paused, then went on in milder tone. "I do have something to propose to you that may solve several of our problems at once. You are not going to like it, but I beg you to keep an open mind."

"I'm listening." Loghain gestured for a steward waiting at the door to come in. The man brought breakfast and a basin of hot water. Ignoring the breakfast, he instead prepared to shave himself.

Howe folded his hands placidly, waiting until the steward was gone before he continued. "Through the trade guilds in Amaranthine, I have had some dealings with Tevinter. The Imperium may be our old enemies and may not as powerful as they once were, but like the painted lords, some of their 'magisters' have more money than they know what to do with. They will pay top coin for certain commodities."

Loghain began spreading unguent on his face. "What commodities are we talking about here?"

"Elves."

"Are you mad?"

"I knew you would disapprove," Howe replied, his lip curling in a smile. "Think about this practically, however. Among their less savory talents, these magisters have healing magic. They will use it for us, but not out of Andrastian charity. If we agree to their terms, we can have our sick healed, clear the alienage of troublemakers, and gain an incredible windfall for the war treasury all at once."

"Slavery is illegal. How am I supposed to enforce the law on the one hand while breaking it myself?"

"You will not be changing the law. These are extraordinary circumstances, and you do have the authority. You are Regent and none can gainsay you." Loghain shook his head and was silent while he scraped a razor over his chin. When there was no reply, Rendon continued, reasoning. "Let us not be naive, my lord. This already happens under our noses. Try as I might, I have never been able to eradicate it out of Amaranthine. There is too much coin to be had and too many raider ships compared to our few. Better that the Tevinters pick off alienage miscreants than turn to our refugee ships going to the Free Marches, while pirates take the profit."

Loghain barely heard the man's words. He had numbed his thoughts so that he was aware of little else but the draw of the razor. Gareth. His son was dead. Ellie was gone. Little Gareth, dead. Dead. The razor slipped and a bright line of blood appeared on his cheek. Howe stopped mid-sentence and regarded him carefully. Loghain stared at the blood, then shifted his gaze. "I will consider it."

Sighing, Rendon turned. "Do not consider it too long, sire. The elves are already dying, more every day."

Alone again, Loghain turned back to the mirror. When he lifted the razor, he found that his hand was shaking too hard to continue. It was all falling apart. He was a strategist, but for the first time in a long time, he had no plan on how to make it all right again. He had been doing everything for Ellie and Gareth, and for Anora. Anora still needed him, but he did not know how to help her.

That evening Loghain went to see Harel. A fever had set in and the old elf was abed, drifting in and out of consciousness. He showed recognition at the teyrn's voice, but spoke no words. The nurse built up the fire and left them. Loghain sat talking, recalling their old night missions during the war, laughing quietly at his own stories. When Harel's breathing eased with sleep, Loghain fell silent and sat back, watching. In the night Loghain heard the elf take a few labored, rattling gasps, and then breathe no more. On the following day Loghain had a pyre prepared in the courtyard and called the Revered Mother to speak the requiem chant.

Two days later he was at the royal guard station when Howe entered. The look on the man's face set the fear in Loghain's spine again. "What is it?"

"A messenger just came, sire. He said he took a package from a man on the West Road who wouldn't give his name." Howe said no more, but took a pouch from under his arm and tossed it on the table in front of him.

Loghain's eyes fell on it, held a long moment. With sick dread, he leaned forward and slowly unrolled it. Small, perhaps a finger with her signet ring on it, he thought, trying to prepare himself for the worst. As the pouch was fully unrolled, he released the held breath. The dread receded, but only to make way for a building, icy rage.

Howe was watching him. "They want you to step down from the regency and present Queen Anora to a Landsmeet so that her claim to the throne can be confirmed. In addition they demand the release of Bann Matthus and all his men, and a promise of no further incursions into the Bannorn. The message said you have a week to call the Landsmeet."

Loghain's eyes did not lift. Only his cheek moved, before that, too, firmed once more. "You still have the Hunters in custody?"

"We do, sire."

"Hang them." Loghain raised his eyes to meet Howe's. His tone was quiet and steady. It was a tactic that had worked before in desperate cases. The Orlesians had cursed him, weeping as they betrayed their lords, but it had worked. "Hang them one by one in sight of their fellows, Bann Matthus last of all."

The room around them had fallen silent, the royal guard staring. "Ser?" one of the guard asked tentatively. Loghain ignored him.

A smile touched Howe's lips. "I am to hang them all? That is your verdict?"

"After the first man, tell them the hangings will stop as soon as one of them is forthcoming with the whereabouts of my wife. If she is found, alive and unharmed, quarter will be given to the rest so long as they swear allegiance to Anora and relinquish their arms.  Send word to the rest of the Bannorn that I am paying a ransom for
Elissa's safe return that is higher than any lice-eaten bann can pay. If she's dead, the ransom goes to the man who can bring me Cormac ap Feil's head."

"Very good, sire. It shall be as you command."

Howe was nearly out the door when Loghain called him back. "Send a message to those Tevinters you spoke about. I will draw up the papers. We are going to need more troops."

Rendon smiled again, looking flushed as a maiden. "Immediately, sire." He then fled as though afraid the regent would change his mind.

When Howe was gone, Loghain sank into a chair. He felt Cauthrien beside him. "What is it, my lord?" she asked, leaning in to turn the piece of fabric over. "A glove?"

"Ellie's glove."

"Oh. Yes, I see." The knight stepped back and said no more.

Loghain took the glove and smoothed the leather. It was torn and distorted with dried blood, but the engraving was still partially visible: A wyvern, surrounded by a laurel wreath.

Modifié par Addai67, 20 juin 2011 - 02:21 .

[Addai]

A delightfully broody commission from MaevesChild, expert in all things Loghain art. 

[Addai]

Chapter 31

Autumn, 12 Dragon Age. Highever.

"Are we gonna fight the Orlesians?"

"There are no Orlesians, dummy. Mum and da drove them out of here ages ago."

"We could pretend there are," Fergus offered.

Even an overconfident ten year-old Elissa could see the potential in that. Keeping low, they crept through the abandoned quarter of Highever's sprawling castle as though there were Orlesians waiting to jump out at them from every dark corner. One after another Elissa shot with her bow and Fergus cut down with his sword. Eventually, overwhelmed by the dastardly usurpers' numbers, the Cousland siblings were forced to flee into the old dovecote tower to make their heroic last stand.

The fact that the dovecote was one of the best places to climb helped ease the indignity of retreat.

Helpfully, the sides of the circular tower were terraced and there were notches in the walls for nests. Ellie climbed up towards the ceiling dome, calling down encouragement to her younger brother to keep him following. As she reached the two criss-cross center beams that braced the sides of the dome, she saw potential for a different sort of challenge. Dropping to hands and knees, she cat-walked slowly out onto the beam, then looked down. The stone floor loomed far below. Ellie giggled, a thrill chasing up her spine.

Slowly she raised to a crouch, preparing to stand. Glancing back, she saw that Fergus had made it to the beam, but stopped there, huffing from the effort. "Don't, Ellie. You're going to fall."

"Don't be a baby. Come on. We'll walk across and climb down the other side." Elissa turned back and positioned her feet, slowly rising, the blood rushing in her ears. On her feet then, arms out for balance, she looked back. "You're such a ninny. Come on!"

His expression dubious, the boy followed her out onto the crossbeam, clutching tightly to it with both arms and legs. He had made it several feet out when there was a sharp crack. The old beam shifted, sending Elissa teetering off balance.

"Ellie!" Fergus shouted. The girl managed to catch herself, dropping to her stomach on the beam. There was another crack, this one quieter but still threatening. Fergus was frozen in place. Ellie looked around frantically. Seeing a possibility of escape, she forced herself up to a crouch, braced, then jumped to the nearest terrace in the tower wall, scrabbling to gain a handhold. Loose pebbles skittered down the wall, but Ellie found her footing and remained on the ledge.

She turned behind her just in time to see the rotted center joint of the beams give way. One piece came out of its wall joint and crashed down to the floor below. The portion that Fergus clung to dropped a few feet, free of its center anchor but still connected to its joint in the tower wall. It was not going to stay that way for long. Both children were shouting, but as Ellie saw her brother was about to fall along with the beam, she reached out a hand towards him, holding on with the other to a depression in the wall.

"Jump, Fergus! I'll catch you."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I'll fall."

"You're going to fall anyway! Come on! I'll catch you, I promise."

"No!"

"You have to! Don't be afraid. I'll catch you." Elissa stretched her hand out, beckoning. "Hurry! Jump!"

Fergus looked at her, paralyzed with fear. "I can't."

Forcing herself not to look down, Ellie planted her foot and adjusted the grip of one hand firmly on a notch in the wall. Then she leaned out, stretching the other hand toward her brother. "Take my hand, Fergus. You can do it."

"I'll fall," he sobbed.

"No you won't." Their eyes met. Ellie smiled and moved the hand, beckoning. Though her own heart was pounding in her chest, she saw clearly how it would be. She would catch him and they would climb down, and later when they weren't scared any more, they would laugh. That was how it was. She was the eldest, and she was always getting into trouble, sometimes dragging Fergus into it like this. In the end, though, she always made it better. "Come on, Fergus. Jump to me."

Shakily the six year old lifted his hand, reaching out toward hers. "Don't let me fall, Ellie," he begged.

"I won't let anything happen to you, Fergus. It will be alright. I promise."

He jumped.

***
2 Firstfall, 9:30 Dragon Age. Brecilian Forest.

Ellie was shaken awake as tree branches scraped at her. She was slung over a man's shoulder, bouncing along narrow forest path. Pain throbbed in her arm. That was an axe gash, she remembered. The blood streaking the man's leathers could very well be her own. More bruises were added by the thud of branches against her back and legs.

The man stopped abruptly and knelt down, dropping his burden with an unceremonious thump. At Ellie's groan of pain, he started. "Good. You're awake. That means you can damn well run on your own."

Others came up behind them on the path. "We've got to get moving," one of them said. "The Gwareners will figure it out soon enough and be after us."

Ellie's minder was forced to agree. Hauling her to her feet, he pushed her ahead. "Don't try anything," he growled. "I'll kill you if you do, and don't care what Dunnet says."

She did her best to stay on her feet and keep up, despite the aches and the sting of smoke still in her lungs from the burning estate. It had seemed a good idea to be taken fighting and to shout loudly that Gareth was dead. If she had just given herself up to the attackers, they would be suspicious. In the end, rage and adrenaline had taken over. Once she had killed first one man and then another, Ellie forgot that she was only supposed to be captured. Gareth was not dead, but they had meant him harm and they were going to pay. When an axe cut to her arm forced her to drop her half-sword, she had charged the man attacking her, clawing at him and locking her teeth on his ear. The last memory she had was of the flesh tearing loose in her mouth. Someone must have struck her from behind, knocking her out.

Ellie's whole body hurt, but the back of her neck and the axe gash on her arm throbbed with particular ferocity. As she stumbled through the forest, her thoughts ran wildly ahead of her steps. Natural instinct made her want to panic, but she forced herself to remember that this was necessary. It was a good thing. The attackers were fleeing, not looking for her son. Going into the forest meant they were drawing further away from Gareth. Ellie ran more steadily then, though still off balance from the bindings on her hands. When she stumbled, her captors pushed and pulled at her, pressing deeper and deeper into the forest.

They were following a trail of rag markers on trees. When they reached the clearing that was obviously their camp, the men rested and one lashed Ellie's hand bindings to a tree. She was not the only one with injuries, and one of the men began a quick field dressing. Eventually he came around to her. He was rough. When he wrapped a rag around her shoulder and pulled it tight on the axe gash, Ellie bit down and her eyes swam. She came to some time later to the sensation of her forehead pressed against the bark of the tree. Others were coming into the camp, coughing from smoke and bleeding from their wounds. Eventually a tall man with a longbow in the clearing. He had the rag markers in his hands, apparently having taken them off the trail as he passed by.

"We're still missing some. What about the others?" one of the men asked.

"Leave them. We have what we came for." With that the big man strode purposefully towards Ellie. She had a moment to think that he had the coldest eyes she had ever seen before his blow fell, and all went black again.

When she woke, it was dark and the men had built a small fire. One of them was kneeling next to her, fumbling at her clothes. Ellie started up and tried to push at the man's hands. Even if she had willed her own capture, she would fight this part of it.

"N-no, no," the man said. This one was young and nervous. "I w-won't hu-hu-hurt you."

From near the fire, another man laughed. "No need to worry about Jo-jo there. His dick probably stutters worse than he does."

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience," another man said, prompting laughter from others, followed by an argument.

When the big man again stepped into the clearing, all talk was silenced simply by his presence. In the firelight, Ellie got a better look at him. He still had the longbow over one shoulder, and in the other hand held a brace of rabbits that he threw down in front of one of his men. With a gesture of one hand he ordered the man off to prepare them, then turned towards Ellie and the young one, who was still trying to work out how to loosen her shirt without untying her hands. The leader came over and briskly unloosed her. His shaggy blonde hair were tied back, and he had a medium beard and a bit of mustache. He wore leathers, of finer make than most of the others had.

"Finish cleaning her wounds, Jo-jo," he commanded, voice so low that it was almost gentle. "Use the poultice I gave you. I'll not lose our extra reward for a festering wound."

"Y-y-yes, Du-du... Dunnet." The boy turned back, and Ellie did not fight him this time. His fingers were deft, and when he was done, the pain in her shoulder had dulled. It was then that Ellie realized that her hair had been shorn, rough cut, likely by a dagger. Perhaps they meant for her not to be easily recognized should someone pass close to their camp.

The men cooked stew, but Ellie gagged when she tried to eat it. She had bit through her tongue sometime during the fight or after, had swallowed blood, and adrenaline knotted her stomach. The boy Jo-jo brought her a flask of whiskey and she took a few swallows, followed by a drink of water. That stayed down. Afterward someone threw a blanket at her and most of the men settled down to a long, cold night.

Ellie was shivering hard. No matter how hard she tried, she could not sleep. The pain of her injuries plagued her, and so did worry about Gareth. They would be up the coast by now. It was a dangerous time to sail, especially on a small vessel. Alun and Anya would have to put in somewhere and get passage on a larger ship to the Free Marches. Everywhere, Howe would be looking. Her thoughts turned to her captors. Ellie had assumed they were Howe men, but the accent sounded like Bannorn. If Rendon Howe had not sent them after all, if they were sent by banns looking to extort favor from Loghain, she had allowed herself to be captured for nothing.

She heard a footstep. Dunnet stood over her. With barely a glance at her, he tossed her a heavy fur. The covering was filthy, but layered with the blanket it kept out the cold a little. Exhaustion overtook worry, and Ellie slept.

In the morning, Jo-jo changed her dressings, and she was able to eat a little. Then they moved again. It was hard to tell where the sun was through the dense trees, and she could not gauge their direction. By afternoon she was so tired that she could think only of the step ahead. The day after that was worse. Her bruises had turned ugly, and two nights of little sleep in a cold camp had made everything else ache that wasn't already doing so. It was also apparent that they were headed north by west, and not north towards Denerim.

They made a camp and a few were sent out to try to find meat. When Dunnet came near, Ellie got to her feet and asked him, "Are you taking me to Rendon Howe? Does he know you have me?"

The bowman stopped, turned, and took one step towards her. Without preamble, he hit her hard across the mouth. His voice was toneless. "No talking."

Tears sprang into her eyes from the pain, but desperation turned to anger. Lifting her bound hands gingerly to her lip, she turned back towards him, and tried to keep her voice from wavering. "You know who I am? I want to see Rendon Howe, and he'll want to see me. Send for him."

She expected Dunnet to hit her again, but instead the big man had grabbed her hands, pushed them against a tree, and began pressing one of her fingers back at an unnatural angle. An animal whine escaped her throat right before Ellie heard the sickening crack of the bone breaking. She collapsed against the tree. Later Jo-jo came and set it with a hand-stripped branch as splint. The boy had healing skill, Ellie thought dully. She did not talk again.

Dunnet kept them at a hard pace the next day. Occasionally he would call for silence. There did not appear to be anyone pursuing them, but the Brecilian Forest had dangers of its own. Ellie wondered where Fergus was. The last she had known, he was with the Dalish in this very forest. She was glad for her captors' caution. There was still a chance that these were Howe's men, and if they were, she did not want rescue, by Fergus or anyone else. Gareth needed time. If Rendon's gaze was on her, it would be drawn away from her little boy.

That afternoon, Dunnet was behind her when he called one of his halts. After a moment he barked a sharp command for his men to get off the trail. Even as he did so, Ellie heard a crash in the trees behind them. "Down," Dunnet ordered her, and to make sure she complied, he pinned her himself, holding one hand over her mouth. The men fell silent. The sound of approach grew louder. Through the trees came guttural grunts and brays that sounded like no animal Ellie had ever heard. Her heart was pounding. Whatever it was, they were going to pass by close. Soon she smelled them. It was like the smell of a body if it had taken too long to be brought to its pyre. The stench grew until she might have gagged from it, had Dunnet's gloved hand not been clapped over her mouth. Eyes wide, Ellie watched as dark figures moved through the trees only a few paces from where they lay, hacking at tree limbs with crude swords and mallets, uttering liquid grunts. It came to Ellie what the creatures were. These were darkspawn.

When they had passed, Dunnet withdrew his hand but kept Ellie pinned for a long time, waiting. Finally he stood and drew her up. He made silent gestures to his men to move west. On the path they had just been traveling and on the trees nearby, there was a black, festering ooze that looked like decomposed flesh. No one had to be told not to touch it. They cut across the path and went into the trees. It was rough going, but Ellie did not need to be pushed. She wanted to get away as much as any of her captors. She feared that they were lost, but as night closed over what little light reached them through the canopy, they found another trail and Dunnet led them along until they found a space to stop.

The next day they crossed a wide, rut-scarred path that Ellie recognized as the Brecilian Passage. They saw no one on the road, and kept moving west. They were now crossing into the Bannorn. Dunnet kept them off the roads, though Ellie could see that they were passing near and sometimes across the pastures of farmsteads. On their second night in the Bannorn, Dunnet and one other man left the rest at camp and went off to buy food in a nearby village.

Jo-jo changed Ellie's bandages, as always. "A-al-almost healed," he said, giving her a little smile. It was far from true, and Ellie guessed it was meant to be an encouragement. She did not return his smile. This was obviously a farm boy, out of his element, but he still had come to her home and burnt it, seeking to kill her and her son. He still replaced her bonds every night after he had finished with her dressing.

She hadn't spoken a word since Dunnet broke her finger, but he was not in camp. For Gareth's sake she had to risk it. Watching Jo-jo as he finished up, she asked, "Are you with Rendon Howe? Does he know that you have me?" The boy's smile vanished. He shook his head mutely, warning her off, but Ellie pressed him. "He will want to know. If not him, then my husband. You want to get paid, yes? You should tell Dunnet. Tell him to send my glove. See here, it's got my sigil on it. That's the Cousland laurel and Mac Tir wyvern. Tell him." The glove on her injured hand had been cut away and discarded when the hand swelled, but the other remained and the engraving on it was still visible.  These had been Loghain's morning gift to her. She tried not to think of that.

Jo-jo glanced at the glove, then shook his head. "D-d-don't talk, lady," he said at a whisper, and moved off.

Lying back on her bedroll, Ellie's mind turned as exhaustion and despair pulled down on her. If she didn't hear from Howe soon, she was going to have to try to get free and go to Denerim herself. The traitor had to believe he had won, that she was taken and her son was dead. Loghain might already be dead if Howe had devised something for him, but Ellie doubted that. Loghain could take care of himself. Gareth was so little, so innocent. Storms, slavers, sickness, these thoughts she kept far at bay. He was beyond the darkspawn, away from Howe's henchmen. Her son might hate her, but he was going to live. I won't let them hurt you. I'm going to save you. Every blow on me is one directed away from you. Don't be afraid, Gareth. You're going to be alright. I'm going to save you. In her delirium, Ellie could almost believe it.

When Dunnet and the others returned to camp, she half-opened her eyes and saw the big man huddled with Jo-jo. Both glanced back at her. The following morning, Jo-jo stood guard as usual while Ellie relieved herself in the forest. When they returned to camp, Dunnet strode towards them. He could move remarkably fast for a man of his size. Out of instinct Ellie took a step back and lifted her hands defensively. Saying nothing, the man grabbed her wrists and held them fast while he pried at the archery glove. It had grown stiff with blood and sweat. In the end he had to slice at it with his dagger to get it off, nicking Ellie's wrist in the process. It was another wound for the boy to dress, but as Dunnet walked away with her glove in hand, she hid a relieved smile.

The group kept moving, stopping once at a farmstead where a sour-faced woman was set to watch while Ellie bathed. All her bruises and wounds came prickling to life as Ellie sat back in the small tub, but nothing had ever felt so good. When she was done, the water was foul with dried blood and grime. Ellie sat on a bench with Jo-jo fixing her wounds while the farm wife looked on.

"You done her yet? I see you're fit for it." The woman gestured towards Jo-jo's trousers front.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ellie saw the boy turn scarlet. She was dressed only in borrowed, loose trousers and her breast wraps. He had seen her in less than that, but had never seen her clean. Jo-jo shifted to hide the bulge. His hands trembled on her bandages. "N-n-n-no one touches her. Du-d-dunnet said."

The farmer's wife grunted as though she disapproved. Ellie cast her a baleful glance. Whoever this woman was, she was obviously sympathetic with the captors, but Ellie could not imagine wishing rape on another woman, no matter how she might hate them. It was only sheer hunger that made her accept stew from the woman's hands later that evening.

Dunnet was gone the next morning, and they spent two days at the farmstead, Ellie and most of the men sleeping in the hay loft with the animals. It was a luxury compared to sleeping open on the cold ground.

When the leader returned and they began to move again, always going north by west, Ellie got her first clue that indeed the men were working for Rendon Howe. One of them, impatient enough to risk his boss' ire, asked how long they were going to have to watch over the "little noble wh*re."

The archer was apparently in high spririts. His normally stone-like expression twitched in a brief smile. "As long as Lord Howl says we watch over her. She's a sweet piece and he won't stay away long. Whole, just like he wanted her."

Ellie had never heard the nickname before, but she had little trouble in imagining who "Lord Howl" was, and was beginning to understand how Rendon had earned it. This had been her father's liegeman, his friend. She had played with Delilah as a child. All along a monster had been living in their midst and no one was the wiser. Howe was emboldened now, and what he was could not remain hidden for long. Not even to Loghain.

After two days' march, they holed up at another farmstead, this one abandoned. There would be no hot baths here, though Ellie was given a basin of tepid water to wash. Though the axe gash had closed and was itchy with healing, her broken finger did not feel right. It shot sharp pains up her arm. She told Jo-jo, but he shrugged and just kept re-wrapping it.

Ellie was given a corner of the abandoned stable to herself. There was dusty straw to sleep on. Several days past, which turned into a week and then another. The men seemed to be waiting for something. Ellie guessed that it must be the arrival of "Lord Howl." She called up an image of the man as he apologized to her for the death of her parents. How it must have thrilled him to see her grief, Ellie realized now. In the agony and tedium of waiting, she turned such thoughts over and over, honing her hatred to a keen edge.

On one morning while the light filtering through gaps in the stable wall was still grey, Ellie was roused awake by shouts. The other men sleeping in the building jumped up as well. "Get the woman!" one of them ordered the other. That one came over to her and hauled her to her feet, pulling her towards the doorway, where he stopped to peek out. Ellie's hands and feet were both bound, and she could only manage a stumbling walk. Both of them turned to look as an arrow thunked against the side of the stable. Soon flame was licking at the gapped boards.

"Void and damnation," the man cursed, pulling Ellie after him through the doorway. He hauled her so hard that she stumbled over her bindings and fell forward on her elbows on the frost-hardened ground outside the stable. "Don't you run, you little ****. Don't you-" There was a soft thock, and the man's voice cut off abruptly. Ellie turned her head and saw him trying to stare stupidly, cross-eyed, at a small stone that was lodged in his forehead. As the man drifted gracefully to the ground, she whirled back. Across the courtyard she saw a hooded figure in dark wraps striding towards her, leather sling in hand. The figure stopped and a hand drew the hood back. Ellie stared up into a pair of wide-set, cat-like grey eyes. Blonde hair was pulled back from a weather-lined face. A woman's face.

"Now, young Cousland. You had better come with me."

"Who are you?"

"Don't ask questions. No time. Can you run?"

As the woman exchanged her sling for a dagger and bent down to cut Ellie's bonds, Shouts and the sound of fighting came from the other outbuildings. Whatever else happened, she was better off free and able to move on her own. "I can run," she confirmed.

They did. The woman was not slender, but she was as fleet as Ellie had been even when she had not spent two weeks bound and bruised. When they finally stopped, the woman took Ellie's arm. "I know you are injured, Elissa. But we have to get a little farther before we can stop. That big one, he is a tracker. My men will try to keep him busy, but he will come after you."

"Who are you? How do you know my name?"

The woman appeared reluctant, but after a pause answered, "I am Regan ap Feil. My husband, Bann Cormac, is the one that Rendon Howe hired to kidnap you." As Ellie drew back, the woman added quickly, "That is how I knew who you were, and how I was able to find out where they were holding you, but I do not share my husband's... priorities. I came to free you, not to lead you to other bonds. Now, can we get moving again? There is a place nearby we can hide and shelter, but we must get to it. Dunnet is faster than he looks."

"Those are your husband's men? Dunnet, Jo-jo, the rest?"

Regan's expression was solemn. "Most of them are our sworn men, yes. Dunnet and Jo-jo are my sons."

Ellie stared after her. It hadn't occured to her at first, but faint memories of Lady Regan from Landsmeets past came back to her. The woman was telling the truth about who she was, and had killed one of the captors, yet the last thing Ellie needed was to walk from one trap into another. She had to get to Denerim and confront Howe. Nevertheless she had no idea where she was. If she struck out on her own in the Bannorn, she might walk right into Cormac ap Feil or others of Loghain's enemies.

As Ellie was deliberating, Regan turned back and pulled something from the bag slung over her shoulders and held them out towards Ellie. "Dunnet had these in his pack. You'll be wanting them." It was a swordbelt and sword, and the Gwaren toothpick from Ellie's own boot sheath. She took them. When she had secured them again in their places, Ellie followed the other woman into the forest.

Regan led her to a cave hollowed out of a rock outcropping. It had obviously been prepared. There were food and weapons stowed in tarred barrels at its back. Working in half-darkness as easily as if it were daylight, Lady ap Feil took kindling from the stores and struck a fire. "We'll be safe here, I think. This is out of our home territory and Dunnet will not know this land well."

Ellie had been pacing, but finally dropped down onto the damp rock. "You fought your own men to free me? Your own sons?" she asked incredulously. "Why?"

"We don't see eye to eye." She glanced up and caught Ellie's skeptical look. "And I'm hoping you can help me."

"Help you how?"

"You've been in Gwaren, Lady Mac Tir, and after that in the hospitality of my sons, so I think you do not know what has been happening in this part of the country. People are dying, and more will. Loghain can stop it, but he has only made it worse. I am hoping you can do better."

"Loghain is alive?" Regan nodded at that, and hesitantly Ellie asked, "Is there news of my son?"

Lady ap Feil raised her eyes. "We had heard he died in the attack on Gwaren."

"Yes," Ellie agreed quickly, remembering her ruse. "Yes, Gareth is dead."

Regan sighed heavily. "I'm so sorry. I'm truly sorry, my lady Elissa. I should have acted sooner. You might understand, then, why I came to believe my husband was going too far. It's all getting out of hand."

Ellie sat back and, since the bann's wife was still watching her, fought to keep from smiling. Relief flooded her. Her ruse had worked. People believed Gareth dead. It occurred to her suddenly that Loghain would also think that, and may believe her dead, as well. She lifted her head. "Does Loghain know that all this was Howe's doing?"

Regan shook her head. "I should say not." There was a pause. "In the morning, if you are well enough and the way seems clear, we will move again. There is something you should see."

They ate dried fruit and jerky softened in herb broth, and Regan checked her wound dressings. "Well done," she pronounced softly after checking the axe gash, smiling. "My boys know their business." As she turned to looking at the broken finger, Ellie considered telling her that her boy had made this injury before the other sought to heal it, but she kept quiet. Regan's voice was sober. "This did not set properly. We may have to re-break it, I'm afraid. You need rest now. We'll do it when we get settled somewhere else."

"It's my bowstring hand," Ellie answered. She was surprised at how dull her own voice sounded, how matter-of-fact. "My sword hand. Break it again if you must. I'll need it."

Regan glanced at her thoughtfully. "That you will."

Ellie settled down to a fitful sleep. When she woke late into the night, the fire had burned down to embers and Regan was nowhere to be seen. Ellie heard her return towards dawn, but when she finally sat up, the bann was gone again. Stretching, Ellie tested her muscles one by one. Each of them complained fiercely in turn. She washed in a brackish pool at the back of the cave, and as she was attempting to re-light the fire, Lady ap Feil returned.

"No time for that. The paths are clear. Let's go." Regan briskly broke their camp, taking what provisions they could carry. The sun was not yet up when they set out. The day was grey and cold, but Ellie thought it must be near noon when finally Regan held a hand up to call halt. "Wait here," the bann whispered, and slipped forward.

After some minutes she returned, beckoning for Ellie to follow. On a small wooded slope, Regan paused again and took something from her pack, handing it to Ellie. It was a Qunari spyglass. Bryce Cousland had owned one, too, and the wealthier sea captains and hunters used them. Regan pointed through the trees. "Look over on that ridge past the clearning, and tell me what you see. Take care not to be seen yourself. Howe's men are all around these parts."

Ellie moved forward and braced herself between two trees, holding the spyglass in her uninjured hand. She brought it up. Through the branches and across an open field was a line of elms that were probably meant to mark a boundary. They had been turned to another purpose. Ellie counted a dozen bodies hanging from the trees, with several empty ropes where others must have already been cut down. The corpses' faces were grey and purpled, hair hoary from frost, eye sockets gaping where crows had picked. A few birds were at that job still. Her glass paused on one of them, smaller than the others. Though the face was too disfigured to be sure, she guessed the boy must have been no older than fourteen or fifteen.

"Howe did this?" Ellie asked as she heard Regan come up behind.

The other woman shook her head. "Loghain."

Ellie jerked her head around. "You said Howe's men were in the area."

"Howe's men tied the ropes. Teyrn Loghain gave the orders."

"So it was Howe."

"Is there a difference?" Regan regarded her steadily some moments, then turned away. "Come. It's not safe here. Most of those men's families dare not cut their own kin down for burning. Howe is murdering men, women, and children up and down these valleys on less cause than that."

Ellie took a last look through the glass, then turned and followed after Lady ap Feil. They walked west, moving swiftly and keeping to the woods. Ellie recognized the caution and silent movement of Dunnet ap Feil in his mother. A light snow fell, but as darkness overtook them, they made camp under a rock overhang. Regan had downed a pheasant earlier that evening with her sling, and quickly dressed and set it up on a spit.

As Regan sat turning the bird, Ellie spoke up. "You want me to go to Denerim and put an end to Howe. Nothing would please me more. Point me in the right direction and I'll leave first thing in the morning."

"Are you so eager to throw your life away?"

"Loghain has to hear what happened. I can get close to Howe and kill him. My brother is alive, and together we'll take the north back again. If Loghain knew Howe was behind the attack on Gwaren, he would slit Rendon's throat himself."

"And what proof do you have? Do you think he is going to believe my word?" Regan looked up from her work and held Ellie's gaze. "I don't want you to tell Loghain anything. I want you to show him. Show him that he cannot run a country by opening the throats of banns sleeping in their own beds, by hanging men while their families look on. Yes, Elissa. Howe made the families watch as he hung those men one by one. Why do you think they are so afraid of him now?"

Ellie pursed her lips. "Loghain was fighting the banns, but they opposed him. They spoke treason against Queen Anora. What was he supposed to do? I said I'd go to him."

"I don't want you to go to Denerim. I want you to stay here and fight. I can talk to people, but I am no warrior. You are."

"You want me to fight the banns? I don't..."

"Fight Loghain."

There was a silence, then Ellie burst into laughter. "You want me to take up arms against my husband. What, because apparently that sort of thing is sport in the Bannorn?"

Regan ignored the veiled insult and went on, reasoning, "I have been crossing the Bannorn ever since we had to abandon our keep, and I know the minds of these men and women. They will never follow Loghain now. Not against darkspawn and not against Orlesians. Many of them did not trust him to begin with, but he has gone too far. Word of what happened here at Oswin has spread like the wind."

"Those hangings, that was Howe. I'm sure it was just Rendon Howe. That is his sort of cruelty." The image of the teenage boy, thin legs rigid and dangling, came up unbidden.

"I ask you again, Lady Elissa: Is there a difference? Now, after what has gone on here and in the north under Loghain's regency and by his leave, is there any difference?" Regan hesitated, then asked, "Have you ever seen a darkspawn, Elissa?"

Ellie recalled the creatures in the Brecilian Forest, and the corruption they spread as they passed. "I believe so."
"Then you know. I ventured far enough south to see some myself, and to see what was left of a village they ravaged. The land itself is ruined, may forever be ruined. While our people tear themselves apart, that is what is upon us."

"When we have the north again, the Bannorn will have to follow us."

"You can't do that at Loghain's side. Howe could not bring them to their knees, and neither can you." The two women stared at each other, each implacable in her position, then Regan shook her head. "You might get your revenge, Elissa, but it will change nothing at all. Loghain thinks he's all but won here. He's blind to what Howe is and blind to what is going on here, too. People are quiet now, but they're not his. You know better than I do that Loghain Mac Tir is a stubborn man and he'll not back down, especially now that he believes our men killed his son. He'll never understand the danger we're all in unless someone bloodies his nose and makes him see it. Meanwhile the darkspawn threat grows. It's too late for your boy, maybe too late for mine, but think of the other sons and daughters, the other mothers. We have to stop this."

Ellie stood, pacing. "I will stop it. I'll put an end to Howe. My son... my brother is depending on me. Then I'll speak to Loghain, get him to step down from the regency. Won't that satisfy the banns? Talk to them. Tell them they have to follow Queen Anora, or we won't have a Ferelden to fight over any more."

"And who will lead them into battle? The man who gave the order to hang their brothers and sons?" Lady Regan sighed, eyes falling. After a moment she replied, "Alright. We'll try it your way, my lady. I've got no choice. It's likely you'll never reach Rendon Howe at all." The bann glanced over. "You had better let me re-set that finger for you."

Ellie tried not to cry out when Regan broke the half-set finger and then manipulated the bones into correct position. She managed it, but the water ran down her cheeks. Afterward Regan trimmed her hair. She had only a dagger and it was still rough cut, but it was less raggedy than the men had managed. Ap Feil produced a flask of whiskey that between the two women they mostly drained before the fire burned down. Ellie went to her bedroll, attempting to sleep while Regan took the first watch. The next morning at the end of her watch, Ellie at a cold breakfast, then woke Lady ap Feil up to say her farewells.

"I doubt you'll even make it to Denerim before Howe grabs you up again," the blonde woman said ruefully. "You could wait until I find some of my men to give you an escort."

"I've waited too long, you said so yourself. Are you going to be alright? Will Howe be after you now, too?"

Regan's mouth moved to a cold smile. "Let the vile little beast do his worst." Pointing north, she said, "The King's Road is about half a day's walk that way. You can follow it from the trees, but the road is not safe, nor are the inns. We're too close to Highever here and Howe is no doubt far more desperate to find you than you are to find him." She paused. "Remember what you saw here, Lady Elissa. I'll try to stay in this area for a time, should you run into any trouble."

"Thank you for freeing me, Lady ap Feil."

"Call me Regan."

"Regan." Ellie smiled a little. "You never told me, do you know if Jo-jo was hurt in the attack on the camp?" She pointedly did not ask about the elder brother.

"I don't know. My men knew to look out for the boys, but one way or another, I'll find out soon, I expect."

Ellie studied her, amazed that the woman could speak so calmly about attacking her own sons and going against her husband. "I could never do what you did," she said, drawing her borrowed cloak close around her as the winds of Haring picked up, blowing a sharp mist of snow against her face. "I wouldn't do what you're asking of me, even if I thought it was the only way. I could never turn against Loghain."

Regan regarded her a moment, then nodded once. "I understand." As Ellie turned to go, the bann called after her. "Let us hope, Lady Elissa, that your husband proves as loyal to you."

[Addai]

Sienna wrote...

I love it! I absolutely love it! Read the whole of it in just two days...... Ellie is adorable, and your story gives such a wonderful view on Loghain! It makes him seem so.... human.........

*sigh* Can't wait for more!

You're my new favorite person ever today. 

Imagine... Loghain being human.... who knew?!

[Addai]

Chapter 32

4 Haring, 9:30 Dragon Age. Northern Bannorn.

Ellie crouched at the stream's edge and pushed at the thin sheet of ice on its surface with her good hand, clutching the injured one against her chest. Bending down, she awkwardly scooped up some water into her mouth and re-filled her skin. As she was about to stand again, her reflection flickered on the remaining ice. Slowly she leaned forward to look. A gaunt face and two bruised-looking eyes stared back at her. The cowl had slipped back and her shorn hair stuck out at rude angles.

Early that morning she had left Regan ap Feil. The sun, wan though it was, stood above her now. It was only midday, but Ellie felt as though she had been walking for days. The sore, haunted face in the water was foreign to her. As she moved to lift her cowl up again, Ellie whirled to look behind her. There was no one there and the only sound was wind playing in dead branches. It was not the first time she had felt she was being followed.

Feeling exposed, Ellie pushed herself up and hurried onward, slipping on the rocks as she crossed the stream, splashing a boot through the ice and turning her ankle. She did not stop. Pain throbbed from her hand, up her arm and into her head. When she told Regan about her plans, she had felt staunch, but now Ellie began to wish she had taken the woman's advice to wait for some sort of escort. Howe's men and Cormac ap Feil would be looking for her. There may even be darkspawn parties about. Enemies ringed her, and with her sword hand useless, she would be like a fox in a snare if they found her.

She kept on another hour, then had to stop for rest and food. Clearing snow from a nest of boulders, Ellie sat on one and leaned back on the larger, and fished out a pack of nuts and salt beef Regan had given her. Thinking ahead, she began to worry where she might shelter for the night. Perhaps there would be a farmhold, a shed or stable she might slip into...

A stick cracked, the sound sharp in the cold air. Ellie froze, hand moving behind her shoulder for her sword.

"No need for that, my good lady," a voice spoke from the woods. It was a man, but no farmer or soldier, nor any sort of Fereldan at all. Ellie only hesitated for a moment before drawing the sword anyway and quickly moving off the boulder, crouching against it for cover. The man laughed. It was a melodic sound, though Ellie could hear a certain grimness in it, too. "If it came to that, you would be dead before your sword ever found a target. My arrow is poisoned, you see." She heard another footstep and, glancing around, saw the drawn bow. Behind it she got barely a glimpse of a lined brown face, full lips curled in a wry smile, blonde hair tied behind pointed ears.

Ellie pulled back behind the boulder once more, speaking over her shoulder. "You're Antivan."

"I am so glad you noticed," the man replied.

"What do you want? I have no coin, nothing for you to steal."

"Lady, you wound me. I am no common bandit."

"Murderer, then? Who is your master? Whoever he is, I'll pay more."

The arrow lowered now, and the voice had a harder edge. "I have no master, and did you not just say you had no coin? No matter. I carry only words this time, not death. I will not harm you."

"Words from whom?" There was no reply at first, and Ellie stole a quick glance to make sure the elf was not trying to flank her. He remained where he was, but had lowered the bow and was carefully replacing the arrow into its quiver.

"Now you find me at a bit of a loss, sweet lady. I do have a message, and I believe it to be for you, but first I must ask you a question."

"Ask then," Ellie urged impatiently. Whoever the elf was, he seemed to have nothing better to do than banter with her in the middle of a frozen wood.

There came some soft mumbling in Antivan, then the man replied, "My dilemma is this. I am not accustomed to speaking to beautiful women in such fashion, yet my friend insists. I am to give my message to a lady who is... smelly." Ellie's heart leapt into her throat. Standing, she held the sword out and advanced towards him, pinning him with her eyes as well as the point of her blade. The elf took a step back, but smiled broadly. "Ah, that sword brandishing, that might be for rudeness, but your face tells a different story. Lady Smelly, I think?"

Ellie remained wary. This could be a trick. She studied the elf, and after a long moment lowered the blade a little. "Go back to your friend. Tell him that I will hear no messages from a hired dog. I will speak only to the pup."

The elf's smile faded. He gave her a shrewd look. "As you wish, my good lady. South of here there is a ruin of some sort, with a monument looking like a huge c*ck. Such a thing, it makes me wish I had taken a greater interest in Fereldan history." The smile re-appeared, briefly. "Wait for our friend there."

The strange messenger left then, and Ellie let him go. First Fergus sent her a Dalish woman, and now an Antivan elf? The very oddness of it spoke of its truth. Nevertheless she knew better than to underestimate Howe's capacity for devilish cunning. He might know Fergus' nickname for her. It would no doubt give the man great pleasure to lure in the Cousland siblings using their hope of finding each other.

A half hour of walking led Ellie to the place, and to the standing stone the Antivan had so colorfully described. She marked the spot and then found a place on the slope above it from which to watch.

Night drew in. She made no fire, only ate a little from her pack. Weariness pressed on her, but the cold helped to keep her awake. With a clear moon above the ruin, she first heard them, then saw the three figures step from the woods. A very tall man, a woman, and... Fergus. It was him in truth. Rising, Ellie made her way down the slope. She paused again at the tree's edge, looking this way and that, and finally emerged.

"You're late," she said softly.

Fergus jerked his head around. A grin spread on his face. "You scold like Mother, Smelly. She'd be so proud."

They had closed the distance by then and embraced fiercely, Ellie ignoring the complaint of her injured hand. When she released him, Ellie leaned up to kiss her brother's cheek. She had to stand on her toes to do it. "Fergus. Maker's breath, I never thought I would see you again."

"Nor I you, sister. We were on the way to Redcliffe when we heard what happened in Gwaren. Is it true, Ellie? About Gareth?" She didn't reply, only looked around him to the other two figures. One was a giant of a man with a dusky complexion, the other a young woman, very beautiful, hood drawn up over her dark hair. Fergus followed Ellie's gaze. "They're my friends. This is Morrigan. It was she who found you. And that's Sten of the Beresad, a qunari warrior who's pledged to aid me against the blight."

"I spoke to an elf, an Antivan. I never saw this Morrigan."

The woman laughed at that and said, "You wouldn't have."

"That was Zevran," Fergus explained. "But it was Morrigan who first found you. You were with someone else, a blonde woman. Morrigan followed until you went off on your own, and for a while longer after that, then she came back and got me. I sent Zevran to make sure it was really you."

Ellie turned her gaze to the dark-haired woman. "You were following me all that time?"

"As the Warden says," she replied stiffly. Her accent was strange, a stilted sort of speech. Loghain had said Fergus was traveling with an Orlesian bard, but unless she was very well disguised, this was not her. "I wished to ensure that you were not in danger nor being led to a trap before I returned to him. You are welcome, by the way."

Another odd companion. Fergus obviously trusted these two, but Ellie would not. She turned back to him. "Gareth is gone, Fergus. It was Howe's doing. The banns wielded the axes, but Howe was behind it."

"I suspected," her brother answered, his shoulders sagging. "I can't believe it. Loghain coming after me, that's one thing, but I never thought he'd let Howe go this far. I should have warned you."

Ellie's brow knit. "What do you mean, 'Loghain coming after you'?"

Their eyes held but Fergus remained silent. This face, too, dear and familiar as it was, had altered considerably. There was a trace of beard on his cheeks, and healing wounds and older scars visible on him. He wore a rough suit of chain and looked taller, his shoulders broader than she remembered. "Let's go to our camp," he answered at last. "It's not far and we have food there. You look like you could use it."

Along the way Fergus told her that there was a bounty out for her in the Bannorn. Loghain was offering a great deal of coin for her safe return. "That was how I knew that you were alive. We were on our way to Redcliffe to see about getting Eamon's troops, but I had to come look for you. I'm sorry I couldn't find you sooner. They didn't...hurt you, did they?"

Ellie glanced across to him. "I'm fine," she answered quietly. "They were keeping me for Howe."

Fergus' face darkened, his mouth settling into a firm line. He said nothing more.

The campfire was being tended by another young woman, this one red-haired, and by a young warrior in splintmail. The Antivan elf was lounging against a tree and nodded a greeting. Ellie glanced at them, then started back as a large mabari hound leapt out at them from the shadows. The charge was a friendly one, however, the hound soon lathering Fergus' hand with kisses. He barked once happily.

Fergus turned, smiling. "I got him at Ostagar. Helped the kennelmaster tend his wounds and later, after the battle, this boy found me again in all that mess. I hope you don't mind, Ellie. I named him Cutha."

Cutha. The name tapped a well of emotion that rose from Ellie's stomach and stayed in her throat. It was a name from a time before her happiness was shattered, before she knew what fear was. Ellie bent down in front of this new hound, who sniffed at her suspiciously and then settled back on his haunches, satisfied, his tongue lolling out. "You are honored," she told the mabari, who cocked his head a little. "The hound you are named for was a great warrior, and my friend. He gave his life defending my son and me. If you guard my little brother, you deserve the honor."

Fergus' other companions were watching. The red-haired woman proved to be the Orlesian. She spoke sweetly, but Ellie gave short reply. She would have to talk Fergus privately about Loghain's suspicions that the woman was a bard. Fergus introduced the young man as Alistair.

"Alistair?" Ellie asked, studying him. After a moment she smiled. The resemblance was obvious when one knew to look for it. "Then you are..."

"Very pleased to meet you," he answered, cutting her off. "Assuming you're not about to turn us over to Loghain."

Ellie's smile vanished. Fergus stepped in between, taking her arm. "Come eat something, sister. Have I told you lately that you look like sh*t?"

There was a stew the Orlesian woman had made. Ellie must have looked at it suspiciously, since the Antivan laughed and made a joke about poison. She was not in the mood for laughter. While they ate, Ellie kept her eyes on Fergus. His manner with this little band was easy, and the others deferred to him, calling him "Warden." The mabari sat at his feet, licking stew out of his own bowl. She felt a pinprick of jealousy, though she reminded herself that at least her brother was alive and not alone.

After the food, a wine skin was passed. Ellie drank once, then stood. "Fergus. May we speak privately?" When they were away from the camp, she stopped him. "Now, tell me what you meant about Loghain coming after you."

His face was grave. "I meant just that. He's declared all Grey Wardens to be outlaws, and he sent an assassin to kill us."

"What?" Ellie shook her head. "That's ridiculous.  He wouldn't."

Fergus didn't answer, only walked back into the camp. Ellie trailed reluctantly and he met her, pushing a scroll into her hand. He held a lamp out for her. She stared at the broken seal, then clumsily unrolled the scroll and read. Loghain's mark and his signature were put to a contract for the Antivan Crows to kill two known Wardens, Alistair of Redcliffe and Fergus Cousland, and any companions who gave resistance. Ellie read it once and then again, and again.

Watching her, Fergus said quietly, "I'm sorry. I should have written to tell you, but I didn't want you to get mixed up in this. He used the Wardens as a scapegoat after Ostagar. This is just cleaning up the leftover mess."

Tears welled in her eyes and in the back of her throat, tasting like acid. "He may have traded you," she said hoarsely, lifting her eyes to meet Fergus' gaze. She handed the scroll back to him. "Traded you to buy my safety. He did want to blame the Wardens for Ostagar, but he was also trying to bargain with Howe for my safety and Gareth's. Selling you out would kill two birds with one stone. The only catch being that Howe had a stone in the other hand for me."

"Loghain has no intention of returning Highever to us, does he?" Fergus' voice was careful, but Ellie could see the anger in his eyes. "He thinks we can't hold it any longer."

Ellie wanted to deny it, but no words came to her. She heard Regan ap Feil's voice in her thoughts. Is there a difference? Intended or not, Loghain had chosen Howe. He had sold her brother out, her own blood, the last of her family. Loghain had given Howe so much power that the traitor was not content to leave her and Gareth alone. Ellie was so weary that it was hard to think clearly. Fergus put his lamp aside and caught her as she began to weave on her feet. She wrapped her arms around him. "I'm sorry, little brother. I'm so sorry. I was supposed to protect you, to protect Gareth, and I've been the greatest fool. I should have killed Howe in Denerim and not listened to Loghain."

"Shut up, Smelly," Fergus said softly against her hair. "You couldn't have known. What you did... I know you married Loghain for my sake, mine and Father's. I didn't figure it out for a while. I couldn't imagine why you did such a thing, thought you were just getting old and wanting babies or something."

Ellie pulled back. "It seems so long ago. A part of me did want it for myself, for the babies and all of that. None of it matters now." She glanced around to check that no one was near, then clasped his hand and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Fergus, tell no one what I am about to tell you, not even your friends. Gareth is alive. I sent him out of Ferelden with Anya and Alun Marwell. They were making for Kirkwall. Anya has family there, it seems. I am telling people he's dead so that Howe will not look for him."

"What?" His eyes lit up and he laughed in relief. "That's wonderful. I mean, poor sprout. He can't have taken that well."

"He didn't." Ellie smiled wryly, but hurt stung her, as it always did when she remembered the look of accusation in Gareth's eyes. She pushed the thought away and grasped Fergus' hand. "Listen. I'm going to Denerim, and I'm going to kill Howe and make Loghain... " Make him what? She had intended to persuade him to step down from the regency and make peace with the Bannorn, but that was before she knew he had sent assassins after her brother. There would be no way to both preserve Loghain's standing and protect Fergus at the same time. The thought of having to choose between them opened up a pit of despair in her gut, but Ellie moved back from its edge. Loghain acted coldly if there was something that needed to be done. She would have to learn to do the same. Returning her eyes to Fergus, she said, "I'm going to sort this out, somehow. If I die, though, when this is all done, you have to find Gareth."

"Of course I will, but Ellie, it's like I told you in my letter. Howe is not the real danger here. There's a blight coming. The blight is real."

Ellie thought back to her encounter with the darkspawn. That had been only a small band, a scout party, and yet they were terrifying, spreading disease with every step even apart from their blades. "I know," she answered, nodding. "We have to fight soon or who holds what teyrnir won't matter at all."

"That's what I'm trying to do. The Grey Wardens have treaties. We can call armies from Orzammar and the Dalish, and the Circle of Magi. With our own army, we won't need Howe and Loghain."

"You do need them. They've almost conquered the resistance here in the Bannorn. Eamon is ill. There is no one else to oppose them here, and you can't mount a Fereldan defense when the leader of Ferelden's armies wants you dead."

There was a silence as the two siblings regarded each other. Ellie had wanted to dodge the awful implications of where they stood, but in her own words she had just laid them bare. Regan ap Feil was right, though the woman had her own reasons for opposing Loghain. He had gone too far. There were reasons, Ellie knew, perhaps good ones, but it still called out for an answer. There was no way for her to avoid making an impossible choice. Lifting her hands to her head, Ellie bent double. Why, Loghain? Why, why. Why Fergus? Loghain had held her, comforted her, asked her to trust him, and perhaps even then he had known what he was planning to do. If he contacts you, he had written to her, it is most important that you send him to me. He was counting on Ellie's trust to bring Fergus to his door. It put her husband's decision to ally with Howe and give tacit acceptance to the accusations against her family in a new light, one that she liked not at all. For a brief moment, Ellie wished that Dunnet ap Feil's men had killed her. It would have been easier than this.

Fergus was bending over her, his arm on her shoulders. "It'll be alright, Ellie. I can do this. Don't go to Denerim, not yet. Come with me. When we have our army, we'll go get Rendon. I can't wait to slit his throat, either, but we should do it together. Once that's done, we can try to figure something out about Loghain. With Howe dead, he'll have to support us."

Slowly Ellie straightened and wiped her cheeks with her good hand. She avoided Fergus' eyes. "I need to rest," she replied bleakly. "I can't think."

His companions had put up some tents in the clearing, and when Ellie was shown to one, she collapsed into the furs. The pain in her hand kept sleep at bay for a time, but eventually she succumbed. She woke the next morning to a wet tongue licking her cheek. Blinking, Ellie looked up into a dripping maw. She laughed, sat up, and rubbed her hand across the hound's head, scratching at his ear. It was full light and the rest of the tents had already been struck. Fergus was sitting at the campfire and smiled over at her.

"You should have woken me," Ellie reproached him.

"I figured you needed the sleep."

He was right. Her body complained in multiple places, including a dull throb in her head, but it had been the most rest she had gotten in weeks. Limping a bit on her sore ankle, she went into the woods to relieve herself and then came back to the fire. After breakfast, she pulled Fergus aside again and told him her decision.

Frowning deeply, he said, "I don't agree with this. I think we should stick together. I don't want to lose you again, Ellie. Not after everything that's happened."

"This is my mess, Fergus. I helped to create it and I have to put it right. Go get your armies. I will do what I can to make sure you have backing here. People need to know that there is a Warden army coming, one that isn't Orlesian. It will give them hope. There is one more thing. You said you were on your way to Redcliffe. You know that Eamon is ill, yes?" She hesitated, then lowered her voice. "It may be better for us if he does not recover."

Fergus gaped at her. "You want Eamon to die? Whatever for?"

"I don't want him to die. If he has failed so long, however, best not to rest any hopes on him." Briefly she told Fergus of Eamon's attempts to force the heir of his choosing on the throne, and of her suspicions that he was influencing Cailan against Anora. She paused and asked, "Fergus, has Alistair told you about his upbringing?"

"He's from Redcliffe and was raised in the castle," he answered, puzzled. "Why?"

"So you don't know... anything else? Who his father is?"

"No, he only said that he's a nobleman's bastard. I thought maybe Eamon's or one of his liegemen, but I didn't want to pry."

Ellie fell silent, wavering. If Fergus trusted the man, then he had a right to know the truth. Yet if Alistair was a Grey Warden now, then it might not matter that he was a son of Maric. "Never mind," she said finally. "Just remember what I said about Eamon. You need his armies, but you don't need him."

"You think Bann Teagan could lead them instead?"

She nodded. "He is capable enough, I think. At the Landsmeet he said nothing about Howe, but spoke out against Loghain, so he can't be glad of that alliance. More importantly, I know he is not an ambitious man. Better the man who scowls in your face than the one who smiles but plots in secret. Howe taught us that, if nothing else."

"Alistair won't like this. He's eager to get to Redcliffe and he'll want us to help Eamon if we can."

"I don't think you can help him." Ellie met Fergus' gaze. She was crossing over a line now, she knew, betraying Loghain's confidence. If she followed through on what she intended, however, this was only the first of the much larger breach to come. She pressed on. "Loghain had agents in Redcliffe Castle. He was trying to prevent Eamon from forcing a decision about a royal heir. This ailment of Eamon's, I do not think it is natural illness. I'm not sure how, but I think Loghain did this."

Fergus was silent a time. When he spoke, his tone was heavy. "Well. This is no friendly dice game, is it?"

"No. It never was," Ellie replied soberly. "You said you have a treaty with Orzammar? Go there instead. Duncan always said they were the best darkspawn fighters. There was some princess that Loghain mentioned, a daughter of the dwarven king. If their king will not help you, approach her for support."

Fergus did not appear convinced, but said, "I was going to stop at Kinloch Hold first anyway. I'll decide what to do after that. Remember that day we were attacked by bandits? Anya shooting fireballs at them? I'm glad she's protecting the little sprout now, but I could use a fighter or two like that."

Ellie smiled sadly, missing Anya. "You could. If your treaty can move the templars, I wish you luck with it. Ask for a healer. Anya's fireballs are impressive, but when I bled after Gareth's birth it was her healing that kept me alive."

They left it there. The others were waiting. The party walked together most of the day, Ellie backtracking the way she had come the day before. It was midafternoon before they saw a line of smoke and came upon Regan ap Feil sitting at her fire. She did not seem surprised to see them.

Ellie made quick introductions, then addressed the bann. "About that request you made of me, to fight Howe's men here in the Bannorn. I am willing, but I have some conditions."

Regan nodded. "Speak them."

Ellie drew a breath and forced herself to go on. "If Loghain himself or if Gwaren men come to the Bannorn, I will treat with them. I'll not fight my own men unless attacked first. I'll not raise arms against my husband. I'm going to fight Howe, not him. I see now that that is what you were doing, too." Ellie could feel Fergus' eyes on her. He had doubts about what she was doing, but none so great as her own. She tamped them down. Fergus' other companions stood off at a distance, huddled against the cold. The mabari was digging in the snow.

Nodding again, Regan gestured at her. "If that is what you need to tell yourself, Lady Elissa, it shall be as you say. Go on."

"I want your support to re-take the north under a Cousland banner. If the darkspawn attack first we will not press it, but now or later, you will do all you can to see that our lands are returned to us. You will speak in the Landsmeet, and your men will fight for us. For my brother. He is the rightful heir of Highever."

The bann was silent a time, then replied, "I can only think that your father's men fight for Rendon Howe out of fear, not loyalty. Like as not, Howe has done to them as he has done for us. Hangings and threats do not a true army make. I will fight for you, Lady Cousland, not just because you help me now, but because I think it the best chance we have against these terrible creatures. Yes. I will do it. But what of my lands? I want the Stedburg back, when all is said and done."

Ellie hesitated. Cormac ap Feil had attacked Gwaren, had threatened her son and held her prisoner. Yet she could not ask Regan to go further than she herself was willing. "If your husband admits to his part in the attack on Gwaren and swears to Howe's involvement, if he pledges fealty to Queen Anora, I will not demand blood rights. I want an end to this, not revenge. At least not on him. Rendon Howe is a different matter."

"On that we agree," Regan affirmed. She turned to look at Fergus, scanning him up and down as though appraising a haunch of beef in a market stall. "What say you to this, young master?"

Fergus and Ellie exchanged glances. His jaw was set firm, and Ellie marveled again at how much her sibling had changed. There was yet some of the boyishness in him that she adored, but it only served as contrast to the weightiness. He was like their father now, though there was something else. She remembered Duncan saying that the taint changed a person. It was not a topic she well understood, but perhaps it was part of what she was seeing.

After a pause, Fergus answered, "My sister speaks for me. I speak only for the Wardens, for now, at least. My duty is to defeat the blight. Believe me when I say that none of this is likely to matter when the archdemon appears with his minions. Remember that." He turned his gaze on Ellie. "Be ready. Gather what armies you can and warn them to be ready, too. I'll send you help if I can."

Regan made no reply at first. Slowly the bann to her feet. Stepping forward, she patted Fergus' arm once and glanced between him and Ellie. "You are a credit to your parents, both of you. Let us hope you have the same mettle they did, and better judgement." After that, Regan turned and walked off towards Fergus' companions.

Ellie looked up at Fergus and gave him a grim smile. "It's decided, then."

"For better or worse."

"I don't think there's a 'better' anymore." The fact that they were about to be apart again cut through her thoughts, and she grabbed at her brother's shoulders, kissed him and embraced him tightly. "Don't do anything stupid, Fergus. Like die."

"Avoiding that seems to be my one talent," he answered, the words muffled in her hair.

They clung to one another a while, then separated. Ellie walked back with him to the waiting companions. Her gaze lingered on each of them one by one, weighing them. Her brother had put his life into their hands, and in turn all of Ferelden might depend on their promises. As motley a band as they appeared, it seemed the most absurd thing of all.

The Antivan elf Zevran sauntered into Ellie's view and smiled at her. "Do not fret, my dear lady. Your brother the Warden shall not be easily defeated by any foe. In this, I speak from experience."

"I know that," Ellie replied, willing it to be true. She watched Alistair hoisting a large pack onto Fergus' shoulders. "I helped to train him, after all."

"Then I am glad that you were not with him when I tried to kill him," the Antivan said cheerfully. "Two such marks in one ambush would surely have been the end of me."

Ellie's hint of smile disappeared. She turned from the elf to her brother, her tone sharp. "Fergus. This is the assassin Loghain sent after you? You took him into your company?"

The younger Cousland glanced over at them and smiled sheepishly. "Oh, did I not mention that? He offered. It was either that or have his throat cut by the other Crows. Zevran's been a very useful ally. You wouldn't believe what sort of poisons you can make from a few simple ingredients." When his sister only stood, silent and agape, Fergus' tone turned defensive. "It's because of Zevran we knew what Loghain intended."

"I met this Loghain," the elf interjected. "Handsome man. A bit tense. Could use a backrub, maybe."

Before his sister could react to this suggestion, Fergus blustered on, "Don't worry about us, Ellie. Alistair and I are both Grey Wardens. We're warriors, not boys just off the farm."

Alistair's expression had been a blank up to this point, his thoughts obviously elsewhere. He started at the mention of his name. "What? Oh, right. Wardens. No problem." The warrior's gloved hand gestured, smoothing the air in front of him.

Regan had come up at Ellie's elbow. Both women regarded the Wardens in dubious silence. Finally Ellie shook her head and stepped forward. It was not for her to say what Fergus should or shouldn't do. He had managed well enough without her help. She leaned up to kiss her brother again, then watched as the small group moved off into the trees, headed west.

When they were gone, Ellie sighed and spoke without looking at her companion. "What happens now?"

The bann's voice was firm. "Now, you rest. Now we plan. I have some ideas, but they will all be more difficult to carry out with your sword hand injured as it is. I do not think that Howe will press further attacks just now. They think they have won, and winter is drawing down on us. The best we can hope for is a few weeks' peace for you to rest and heal."

"You have a safe place we can go?"

"I do, but there is another problem. Loghain has offered a reward to the one who brings you in safely. Even my friends will be tempted by such a great sum of gold. Until it suits us otherwise, I think it best that you take another name, another title. A knight from Redcliffe, perhaps. My husband and sons will know who you are, but no one else in the Bannorn is likely to recognize you. We will simply have to stay out of Cormac's way."

"Fine. So be it." She was a ghost already. With both Howe and Loghain looking for her, it was safer to be a ghost in truth. Hugging herself close, Ellie glanced back in the direction her brother had gone. A yawning emptiness filled her. To her east in Denerim was her husband. To the west, her brother would be calling armies and dodging Loghain's agents. She was in the middle, and nothing was right any longer. There was only a choice of different wrongs. Somewhere her son waited and would have to live with whatever came of their decisions, hers and Fergus' and Loghain's. Even if he survived and there was a Ferelden for him to come back to, Gareth was not likely to thank them for any of it.

She turned to Regan, resigned. "Let's go then."

Modifié par Addai67, 02 août 2011 - 12:43 .

[Esbatty]

Awesome.

...

This was sooooooo good. I needed a good read tonight. This story is a rollercoaster, hell, this chapter alone had me sad... then cackling like a madman... then got me all sad again. Ahh, especially the parting bits with Zevran's backrub suggestion and Alistair "no problem" lol

Ahhh, good times.

[phaonica]

Fantastic chapter yet again. Warden Fergus is wonderful. And you continue to perfectly capture the politicking that seems to drive everyone. I'm always excited to see your next chapter released. Thank you for writing this story

[The-Rogue-Princess]

Wonderful chapter again! Oh man, I can't wait to see wait happens when Ellie and Loghain meet up.

[Addai]

Thanks guys. I can't believe anyone's still reading this, but I'm happy they are.

[alschemid]

We are still reading and eager for more!!

[Addai]

Chapter 33

A programming note: I will be traveling at the end of this month and will likely not be able to update again until September. Thanks as always to my fanfic healing mage, SurelyForth, to my faithful readers and precious reviewers, and to BioWare for not writing that cease and desist! -A.

10 Haring, 9:30 Dragon Age. Amaranthine Sea.

Anya came up to vomit, and that was all that occupied her while she hung over the rail of the ship. As soon as she lifted her head, however, she saw that something was wrong.

The mage had learned to be wary long before she had been given charge of a little boy that a pack of grown fools wanted dead. For one cursed with magic, there was no rest from vigilance even in sleep, where demons hunted rather than templars. There was a ship on the horizon, and the crew were nervous at its approach. The little cog was only a few hours out of Denerim and had passed by several other ships braving the winter seas. They didn't like the look of this one, however.

When it got close enough for her to see the banner on its mast, Anya recognized what worried them, and a pit of dread opened up in her. The other refugees who braved the pitching deck didn't seem to notice anything amiss, but they had not spent years locked in a tower where the only windows were the books in the library, among them books about heraldry.  She knew this banner.  A few moments Anya stood rooted, then she whirled and hurried down the steps into the hold.

Gareth was lying on his side on his straw pallet, eyes listless. He had looked like that for most of their several weeks hiding out in Denerim. The journey up the coast was hard on all of them. Amaranthine had seemed to risky, and Highever was too far, so they went to Denerim. Then the waiting started, and that was harder. Few ships were crossing the Waking Sea at the height of winter, fewer still who would take refugees. She had not wanted to risk even her apostate friends, so they rented a room in a flophouse. The hardest part was to keep Alun out of sight. He had lived his whole life in the city, but paced their small room like a caged animal. They dared only to go out at night and well shrouded. Finally they found passage on a merchant vessel. Anya had been forced to pay out far more of the mistress' coin than she had expected before even getting to Kirkwall.

For the first few days of their flight, Gareth had sometimes cried and begged for them to go back, asking for his mother and then for his father. It was worse when he stopped asking. Anya feared he was taking sick, but there was no fever, and his appetite was scant but normal. He had simply stopped caring.

There was no time to coddle him then, however. Alun was sitting on his pallet, knees drawn up and his big arms resting on them. He looked up as Anya approached. "Come on, both of you," she hissed at them. "Get our things."

Alun was confused, but he was a soldier and knew how to take an order. He jumped to his feet and reached down to shake Gareth's shoulder. "On your feet, Gil. Hurry." They had had to give the boy a new name, and had settled on Gilean, using Hawke as surname. It was the name of a relative of Anya's from Lothering, not likely to be known outside that village. After weeks of hiding, they had finally gotten used to the changes.

By the time they got back to the deck, the crew had sounded an alarm and were standing tensely at their posts, watching the ship bear down on them as the first mate tried desperately to steer out of the way. The other refugees were looking now, too, and muttering amongst themselves. More came up from below. The approaching ship was a large galley, painted black. Its captain stood at his post, gazing back at them through a spyglass.

"Who are they, Anya?" Alun whispered tensely. "Slavers?"

She nodded once, eyes fixed on the ship. "Now listen to me. We're going to jump."

"How's that?" The guardsman stared at her a moment, then leaned in, a futile attempt to prevent Gareth from hearing. "We'll never make it to land, woman. This water is freezing cold."

"You'd rather go with them?" She jerked her head towards the ship. Anya could feel her face hot, her heart racing like a bird's. "I won't be a slave. Not again."

Alun grimaced at this and gave no reply. His reluctance made Anya pause. She was afraid, as afraid as she'd ever been of the templars, but Alun was right. They had both promised Lady Elissa to keep her little boy alive. Come what may, that was what she would have to do. The deck pitched and they all stumbled. Righting himself, Alun reached down to scoop Gareth up in his arms. Anya clung with one hand to the guardsman's sleeve as they watched and waited.

The galley was a large ship, but had the headwind and appeared lightly laden, so that the cog was still not able to turn out of its way. Anya could see men moving on its deck. The captain still with his glass fixed on them. As the two vessels drew closer, he lowered his spyglass and turned his head, shouting over his shoulder. The galley tacked away. It cut the waters in a wide swath, bouncing them as it passed.

Anya let out her breath. Her eyes followed the ship as it left them behind, heading in towards Denerim. On its banner, she could still see the golden sun of Tevinter fluttering in the winter wind as though shivering from cold.

***
14 Guardian, 9:31 Dragon Age. Denerim.

The voices were like the whine of buzzing flies. Loghain sat, face propped on one hand. As his eyes roved around the table of the war room, he had a sudden longing to remove the droning heads in one swipe of his sword. It might take two or three. Anora excepted, naturally. The image of bodies sitting at attention with blood shooting out of empty necks entertained him for a moment. Then the captain who had been speaking last, some grasping little sh*t from Amaranthine, caught Loghain smiling.

"Do you know something we don't, regent?" he asked. "We have just been telling you that our supply lines to the west have been completely cut off. It's the dead of winter. Riven and his men will have to start raiding the mountain folk, or breaking off to go to Redcliffe, if they are to eat."

"A problem," Loghain agreed, sitting back and lacing his fingers across his chest. "One about which I hear endless complaints. The Bannorn are turning against us once again, that I've heard all about, too. What I never hear are suggestions on how we may turn the tide back in our favor."

There was a cacophony as several spoke up at once.

"We need you to ride out with your men," one of the louder voices insisted. "You and Lord Howe. It was the two of you together who subdued the Bannorn the first time. Only the sight of your banners can make these upstart farmers shake in their squirrel skins."

Loghain exchanged a look with Anora. They had discussed this very thing several times, and at Anora's begging he had remained in Denerim. She was afraid to stay in the city alone with Howe and his men all around. Howe made no more move to ride out, and so Loghain could not. The three of them were frozen into place as firmly as if the ice had filled in around them.

Still there was no sign of Elissa, and no further word from her kidnappers. Naturally he had not been able to give in to their demands to subject Anora to a Landsmeet. His only hope had been to find them and free Ellie by force, or that one of those who held her were persuaded by the ransom amount to turn her over. Neither had happened. As weeks went on, Loghain had been forced to accept that she was dead. The fact had ceased to move him. It was a mental calculation like any other, a subtraction from his life and future. He did not mourn her, or Gareth, any longer. He had made his mind too empty and still, too dark, for grief to take hold there. Behind that open door of grief was a wash of guilt that would overwhelm him. Better to make his mind a deep, silent crypt.

Now all the military gains of the previous summer and autumn were overturning one by one. Grannis Falls had turned, then Iachus Valley. The people of Oswin were too terrorized to openly speak against him, but they were stalling and thwarting in other ways. Meanwhile pockets of resistance were decimating their supply trains and messenger routes. There had been no word from Riven, his commander on the western border, since Yearsend.

"What do we know of these raids?" he asked, cutting off the further chatter at the council table. His tone was dull, bored. "Who is organizing them? Have we taken any prisoners?"

"A few, my lord," Rendon Howe answered. "It appears they are using Dalish elves as scouts and thieves. It is hard to say because so few messengers are getting through, but we certainly lost several shipments of arms and food."

"Elves?" Loghain asked, with a flicker of interest.

"Yes, sire. And attacking mostly at night." Rendon gave an amused little smile. "It appears someone is flattering you by imitation." He referred to the Night Elves, Loghain's raiders who had helped to turn the tide against the Orlesians in the rebellion. It had been Loghain's idea to exploit the night vision and innate quickness of elves. Why the Dalish would involve themselves in a war in the Bannorn, that Loghain could not comprehend. He tried to push this fact through a mental analysis, but his thoughts would not move. The crypt swallowed them before they could come out the other side. It had been several days since he had last slept.

"It appears that Redcliffe may have entered this fray, m'lord," another soldier was saying. "You should have forced the arlessa to demonstrate her loyalty by committing troops."

"Explain," Loghain said impatiently, and added with a note of warning, "Leave out the part where you lecture me on what I ought to have done."

"It's just rumor, but one of the leaders of these band of raiders, they say she is a knight from Redcliffe. They call her the Red Fox, because of the red plume on her helm. Some of our men have gotten a glimpse of her in these raids. If Redcliffe comes out against us in force..."

A brief memory stirred, of seeing another woman in battle with a plumed helmet. Loghain pushed that thought away. "I know of no female knight from Redcliffe." He addressed this to Howe, then turned look at Cauthrien and Anora. All of them shook their heads.

"She may have been elevated recently," Rendon suggested. "In the arlessa's mad attempts to find the remains of Andraste. I wouldn't worry about it, sire. A deserter, most likely. If one of their knights decided she would rather fight a real war than run after Isolde's lunatic notions, who could blame her."

The conversation dragged on then, Loghain's mind drifting away once more. Anora was saying something about asking Isolde to come to Denerim to affirm her fealty. There had been no word from his agents in Redcliffe, neither the maid nor the blood mage, but with the land in chaos this was not a surprise. None of it mattered any longer. He had had Eamon poisoned to protect a son who no longer lived.

Without another word, Loghain rose up from his chair and made for the door, not even bothering to dismiss the others. The droning cut off and Anora called "Father," but Loghain ignored all of them and let the door fall closed behind him with a wooden echo.

Anora found him later standing in half-dark, a whiskey in his hand. He was in front of Ellie's portrait but not looking at it, instead watching the flickering of the one lit lamp. When his daughter stepped to his side, he could not have said what he had done the past hours, or how much time had passed since the council session. He did not remember pouring the whiskey. It must be night, as there was only one guard outside the door and a steward hovering in the study's corner. Anora sent a bevy of servants to watch over him day and night. Loghain did not protest. He barely saw them there.

Anora looked upset. "Father, there is news. The servants just found Iain Tallard in his room, dead. He hanged himself, apparently." She waited to see his reaction, but Loghain made none. Tallard was an old hand in the palace. He had been Maric's treasurer for years. Lately there had been rumor that the shortfalls in the royal treasury were not from low tax revenues, but from theft. Tallard himself had suggested this. Finally Anora went on, "It seems Rendon might have been right about him after all. I just can't believe he would steal from us, after all these years. Perhaps he meant to leave Ferelden." She waited again, then made to leave. "At any rate, I thought you should know."

Loghain gave no acknowledgement that he had heard. He felt his daughter's eyes on him, and then she was gone. Before him stretched another night.

***
14 Guardian, 9:31 Dragon Age. Iachus Valley, Central Bannorn.

Ellie stood in the bailey of a half-burned-out keep, turning bow staves in their rack and inspecting them for weak points that would have to be repaired. Behind her, servants and soldiers moved between the keep and outbuildings. Bann Matthus died in the fighting with Loghain months earlier, but his son Maldon now fought with her rebels and had turned his keep over to her. Eyes grim with concentration, Ellie marked the bad bows with chalk. There were quite a few marks when she was done. Their weapons and men had seen a lot of use in the previous month, and so had she. Her right hand still ached at night. She had returned to practice and fighting sooner than Regan ap Feil had wanted her to. It was likely that the hand would always give her trouble.

She lifted her head at the sound of hails. A few riders and around thirty men entered the bailey. Ellie had been expecting them. She crossed over to where Regan was dismounting. "So many? Have you examined all of them? Can we trust them?"

"Hello to you, too, Lady Fox," Regan answered wryly. "Do you ever trust anyone? These are Highever men. Deserters. They heard that someone was going up against Rendon Howe and decided they'd rather be doing that than fighting for him."

"Highever men," Ellie repeated, glancing over to where the raggedy soldiers were being directed off to barracks.

"That's right. Your very own, though they don't know who you are. And I brought you some presents." Regan gestured behind her towards a tall young woman with a bow across her shoulder. That woman in turn herded five boys in their direction. "This is my daughter Roslyn. You've heard about her. And here are your captives. Give the Fox your names, lads."

The young men each rattled off a name and the bann to whom they belonged. They were sons and nephews, one a younger brother, of banns who had pledged to fight against Howe. Ellie started this practice as one of her conditions to helping them fight. The shifting loyalties of the Bannorn were well known to her. She had counted on this quicksand allegiance in order to win back those who had pledged support to Howe and Loghain, in fact. To ensure that cloaks once turned would not turn against her, however, she had required hostages of all her allies.

Ellie looked them over and nodded once, approving. "You are our guests, but all here are expected to work. If you wish to fight, present yourself to the arms master and get your kit. If not, you'll be put to work in the stables or forges. Understood?" The boys shuffled, exchanged looks with one another, but nodded. Ellie could read the doubt on their faces. The Red Fox was not nearly as impressive as they'd heard, and mucking her stables didn't sound very heroic. As Loghain and Maric's generation once had done, this new one was beginning to learn that real war wasn't much like the legends. "Good. Now go get yourself some soup."

The tall girl, Roslyn, lingered back, a wide grin on her face. She resembled her mother closely. Ellie could see how fair Regan must have been in her youth. "My lady, I'm so glad to finally meet you. Is it true that your brother is a Grey Warden? Will he be coming back soon?"

There was blatant hopefulness in the question. Ellie and Regan exchanged an amused glance, then Ellie replied, "I think not. He got word to his Dalish allies and their hunters found us, but I have not heard from him in some time."

Roslyn's face fell. "Bollocks."

"You're surrounded by men, girl," Regan reproved her. "Surely one of them will do to warm your bedroll."

"But, a Grey Warden! They tell stories about the Wardens, Mother..."

"Off with you." Regan turned, dismissing her. Ellie smirked at her and watched as Roslyn loped away. She was slender as a sapling, but her leathers hugged a shapely, rounded bottom. If Fergus had known what he was missing, the disappointment would no doubt have been mutual.

Regan gestured behind her to another young woman and man who were tending to the mounts. Their fair hair marked them out. "Those are my other children, Ethnay and Corwin. I was glad to get back to them before Cormac found where I'd sent them. If only I could find Josath, too, I am sure he would join us."

"You mean Jo-jo?" Ellie asked, her tone careful.

She nodded and sighed heavily. "Still no sign of those two. They made their way back to Cormac, I suppose. Ah well. It is good to see you in one piece, Lady Fox. You have been busy."

"And you. We have a great deal to talk about."

There was no time for that until late that evening, when the rebel camp had mostly settled in for the night. The great hall of the bann's keep served as general gathering place and dining hall during the day. At night the trestle tables were taken down and exchanged for bedrolls. Most slept out in the open, though some put up blankets for partial privacy. As Ellie made her way up the hall, stepping over sleeping forms, she heard a man's groan. Through a hole in a propped blanket she caught a glimpse of Roslyn ap Feil, blonde hair free of its braids and falling away from her face as her neck arched back. It seemed she had found company after all, Grey Warden or not.

Ellie turned quickly away. There was little privacy in a war camp, only the kind that people afforded by courtesy. She finally made here way to the fire pit at the center of the hall, and found Regan there. Smoke was rising up from the fire to an escape hole in the ceiling. The great hall had not burned during Loghain's attack, but embers had partially destroyed its timber roof. The bann's men had thatched it over as best they could, leaving one of the gaps as a mostly ineffectual smoke hole. By the time the spring rains were upon them, they would have to cover it, and even so the roof was certain to leak. For now, the hall served them in a crude fashion. Ellie knew that it was more comfortable than many had it during this hard winter.

Regan was using the last of the firelight to sew something. As Ellie got closer, she saw that it was a black banner. The bann was sewing a red fox sigil on it.

"Aren't you taking this Red Fox thing a little far?" Ellie asked as she pulled up a stool.

"The men need something to rally around. Something to make them forget that they don't much like each other."
Ellie lowered her voice. "I'd rather wear the laurel or the wyvern."

Regan regarded her levelly. "If you do, you will bring down all of Rendon Howe's and Loghain Mac Tir's combined force upon us, each one trampling the banns in a rush to get to you. Is that what you want?" It was a rhetorical question and Ellie let it go. Regan put her sewing aside and reached out for Ellie's injured hand. "Let me see it. Off with that glove now." She worked the fingers and watched as Ellie's mouth tensed from pain.

"It's fine," Ellie said defensively, pulling her hand back and clasping it with the other. "A little stiff, that's all."

Taking up the banner again, Regan pulled a few stitches silently. Finally she said, "Cormac did that to Dunnet when he was a boy. About seven years old, as I recall. It was meant to teach him to obey orders without question."

Ellie stared at her. It was the first time Regan had given any indication she knew that her son had broken the finger. "He did that to his own son?"

Regan nodded, her eyes fixed on her sewing and face impassive. "Dunnet was our firstborn. I let Cormac have him to raise as he pleased. The others were left mostly to a nursemaid, since I had a keep to run and not much help in those early days. Jo-jo was the last and I kept him close. Folks blame his softness on it. Being dandled too long on a mother's knee is a curse, the old gammers say. Maybe they are right."

Ellie found nothing to say to this. At last she asked, "How did you and Cormac ap Feil come to marry?"

"I chose him," Regan answered flatly. "He was handsome and had a castle. I was young and foolish enough to think that such things mattered. Do not mistake me, my lady. In my own way I love the old cur. After all this, if we survive, Cormac and I will come together again, I'm sure. If the Maker allows it, we'll die in our bed, still arguing but holding each other all the same."

Ellie's thoughts turned to Loghain and she bit down the ache that his absence had hollowed out inside her. She did not allow herself to dwell on this empty, hurt place for long, nor too long on Gareth, but thoughts of them were never far. Turning her head, she said, "I don't recall where you came from. Before your marriage, I mean. Were your parents nobility?"

"Of a mean sort. We had an old bann, but too humble to come to the attention of the Couslands." She smiled and went on,"When my brother died and my sister was married to a southern lord, the bann fell to me and was taken into Cormac's holdings. If I have my way, it will return to Roslyn one day and regain its own charter. Otherwise my mother will haunt me from the grave, though I did what she wanted and married a lord."

"My mother wanted the same." Ellie answered, smiling sadly. "She didn't like that I was to inherit Father's title. Thought it would keep me from marrying. Then, when I had given it up and chosen a husband after all, she didn't want that, either. She thought that if I married an older man in a political marriage, it would mean I might not have children."

"A mother's hopes are complicated things," Regan answered. Her smile was shadowed. "I don't fault my mother her ambition. Even as wife of a minor bann, she still was higher than where she started. Her family were mountain folk."

"Is that why some of the mountain men have come down to fight for us? They said you sent them."

Regan nodded. "They are my kin. It's mostly because they want to get Loghain's troops out of their mountains. Otherwise they would never involve themselves in flatlanders' affairs."

"How did your mother come to marry one? A 'flatlander,' I mean."

Lady ap Feil was silent a while, sewing. Then she drew a long breath and answered, "When Mother was a little girl, she came down out of the mountains with her father. He was a trapper and would go into the lowland villages to sell his skins. He got a taste for Fereldan whiskey and began to spend more time in taverns than he did at market. One night when he had lost all his gold at the dice tables but didn't want to quit, he offered his little daughter up as bond. He lost the bet."

Regan's face had gone very still, and her voice lowered, so that it was hard to hear her over the sound of snores and murmuring in the hall. "The winner was blacksmith to a bann and took Mother back to his lord's hold. Eventually the little fair haired girl caught the bann's eye and he took her into his bed. She became his favorite, and after his wife died, he married her. There was rumor my mother had 'witched the bann and helped his first wife along on her journey to the Maker's side. The other women hated her, but Mother had her own keys and never starved. So she always told me, that if you had your own keys and kept your land, you could hold your head up no matter what anyone said about you."

Ellie had leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees while she listened. When Regan finished, Ellie straightened slowly. "I wish I had known her."

The bann looked up, surprised, then dropped her eyes again. After a pause she cleared her throat and said, "It is not a pretty tale. I don't keep ties with my kin in the mountains, but some of them still feel they owe me a certain debt. I'm not above using that if the need is dire." She paused and added, "And when I question the blood that runs in my veins, I consider what sort of man would take such a bet. Then I count myself better off than some."

The women sat together a while longer. Someone passed them a wineskin. Finally Ellie succumbed to her weariness and said goodnight. She had a small bower to herself, a little space under the sloping roof of a side tower. There was not even enough room to stand, but it was quiet and private. When she had run through all her worries about the fighting, she came at last to thinking of Gareth. Uselessly she worried that he might be cold somewhere, and that he was missing months of lessons, unless Anya thought to resume them. The idea that she was helpless either to protect or comfort him pierced her with a pain like no other. Maybe he would find other children to play with and not miss her much. That would not be so bad. She held to that idea, to the picture of Gareth playing somewhere, and to the sound of his laughter.

Her mind turned to Loghain. So little news came out of Denerim. All that anyone knew was that the regent was holding. He had neither sent his troops out from the capital nor withdrawn the army on the western border. Ellie pictured Loghain bent over his Fereldan map, marking losses in the Bannorn that he had counted as victories only months before. That was a different kind of pain. If he knew that these setbacks were partly his wife's doing, he would hate her. She had tried to hate him. The knowledge that he had sent assassins after her brother had certainly helped. And yet when she tried to nurse the bitterness, alongside it came an ache of loneliness for him. She could almost feel him, pressed up against her back, arm lain over her side, his mouth against her ear. Ellie recalled the sounds she had overheard from Roslyn's bed, and stirred, drawing the blanket closer around her. She was too weary even to cry. At last, she slept.

In the morning there was another newcomer to the keep, this one causing a great stir, especially among the men. "We caught her in the picket, m'lady," a guard reported. "Said your brother sent her."

"Thank you," Ellie told the man, waving him off and turning her attention to the young woman before her. She was small and slim, dressed in a fine cloak, her fingers glittering with rings. When she drew back the hood, Ellie saw the tips of elven ears protruding through locks of straight, dark hair. The soldiers loitering in the bailey were gaping openly.

"Lady Elissa," the woman said, smiling. "I bring greetings from your brother the Warden. My name is Neria Surana, lately of the Circle of Magi, though they would not like to claim me now, I think."

"You're a mage?" Ellie asked, brow raised. The fact that the woman knew her real name was suspicious, but that she had come from Kinloch Hold made some sense. That had been Fergus' destination when he left Ellie, and this might be more of his promised help.

"Yes," the woman replied, laughing lightly. "And happier to be out of that Tower than I can say. It took me a long time to find you. I must look a fright."

She was beautiful, in fact, though the mud on her hem and boots did bear witness to the travel. There were thaws in some parts of the country already. "How did you find me?" Ellie asked warily.

"Scrying magic. It's not my specialty, and I only had your brother's blood rather than your own, so..." Neria stopped, frowning. "Oh dear. I know that look. You might as well know it, my lady, if I am to fight for you. I do dabble in a bit of blood magic. And... a few other things. I'm also wanted by the templars, for helping a friend escape. That's why the Warden secreted me out of the Tower, though he was only supposed to take that harpy Wynne. She wasn't happy when she found out about it. No doubt she will make trouble for me, after all is said and done. I'm hoping you'll be able to help me with that."

Ellie was having trouble following, but understood the most important part. "So my brother is well?"

Neria brightened. "He is. I am to tell you that he has taken your advice, about Orzammar. I did so want to go with them. I long to see the dwarves' underground city. Deliciously barbaric, I imagine. But, the Warden said his sister needed help fighting, so here I am. Just tell me what to blow up."

Suppressing a smile, Ellie replied, "Scrying magic, you say. I hope my enemies don't think of that."

"Not likely, my lady. The Chantry keeps such things secret. They wouldn't want to be too useful to anyone, now would they? Oh!" The elven woman reached into a cloak pocket and drew forth a silver amulet, holding it out to Ellie. Its surface was graven with runes that glowed with the deep, vital blue of lyrium. "I was also to give you this. It's enchanted for long endurance. The Warden says you are to do as Zavi taught you. He said, 'our day will come.' I suppose you know what that means."

Ellie took the amulet, regarding it silently. She did indeed know. Zavi Agoste had been their Antivan sword trainer. He often said that the first rule of striking at an enemy was to be patient enough to wait for the right time. Each small victory Ellie had won had felt empty, since nothing in Denerim or Highever had changed. Fergus had read her thoughts well. Ellie's hand closed over the amulet and she looked up. "Well, Neria Surana, welcome. You had best not call me by my true name. Here I am known as the Fox."

"A secret name?" Neria seemed delighted at the idea. Ellie gestured at one of the men loitering nearby. There were any number of ready volunteers, eager to see to the elven woman's every need.

Regan ap Feil stayed at Iachus Valley two days and then prepared once again to leave. Neither woman stayed in any one place too long, though for the sake of organizing their men, Ellie was more often at their safe houses.

She found Regan outside the stables, securing her saddle bags. "You go south?" Ellie asked, picking up a pack and handing it to the other woman.

"To my sister's, yes. It seems the darkspawn don't like Fereldan winters more than anyone else, but I don't trust that they've really retreated. I'd like to see for myself what they are doing."

"The Highever men you brought me," Ellie began. "I am sending them back."

Regan looked up sharply. "Back? To Highever?"

Ellie nodded, her expression grim. "I told them my true name, and who my brother was. They have promised to go back and spread the word, to raise others in the north to fight for us when the time comes."

The women held each other's eyes a long moment. "You risk much," Regan said finally.

"I know. I must try. The north will not be won with outsiders, with a few Bannorn farmers. If my father's men know there are Couslands alive and fighting, they will turn.  They'll have heard of my victories here and know that I'm not beholden to Loghain any longer."

"So you hope." Regan rested a hand on her mount's neck. "If word spreads in the north that you are alive and raising armies, it will get back to Denerim. Howe and Loghain will know. You might undo everything we have done here."

"By that time, I expect my brother to have returned. When he does so, we are going to go together to take back Highever Castle. Then Howe can come and get me, if he dares." Ellie's voice was adamant, though her stomach churned. It was just as Regan said, she knew well. She was risking far more than her own life by revealing herself.

"And if the darkspawn attack?"

"If they attack, we'll deal with it then. You said yourself that our best chance is with a northern army led by Couslands, not by Howe."

"I did say that," Regan allowed reluctantly. "Very well, my lady. Now excuse me. I must get the rest of our supplies."

"There is one more thing." The bann stopped and turned back. "I want you to leave one of your children here. One of the girls, perhaps. Both are better archers than me and I could use them."

"You need archers, you say." Regan's tone was careful, but the look she exchanged with Ellie was a shrewd one. Both of them knew that this was not a question of arms. Every bann who had pledged to fight for the Red Fox had sent a hostage. Only the house of ap Feil had given none. Regan's voice was sober, but she gave a little smile. "Roslyn will be happy to serve. Do let her know if any Grey Wardens happen by. We are at your command, Lady Fox."

As Ellie watched the bann walk off towards the keep, she reached up a hand and touched the amulet at her throat. Zavi Agoste had taught her and Fergus to be patient, to wait for the right time to strike. He had also said that if the swordsman could choose the place of battle, then when that time came, the strike could not fail. Ellie's hand trembled, but not from cold. She hoped that Zavi was right, and that Fergus would forgive her if she was not.

Modifié par Addai67, 17 août 2011 - 03:58 .

[The-Rogue-Princess]

Wonderful job! I love different view points in this chapter and the refrences to DA2. I can't wait till September!

[Addai]

The-Rogue-Princess wrote...

Wonderful job! I love different view points in this chapter and the refrences to DA2. I can't wait till September!

Thank you!  With any luck I'll have some time to write and will be able to publish soon after getting back.  I'm eager to finish. 

[Addai]

Chapter 34

18 Cloudreach, 9:31 Dragon Age. Elban Cross, Northern Bannorn.

Ellie rode in at dawn, exhausted from night raiding, but allowed herself neither bed nor meat until she had made rounds of all the watchposts. The news was the same. It had been a month since Regan rode out for the south. There was no sign either of the bann or of Fergus. Her brother had meant only a quick journey to Orzammar and back. Ellie worried over Loghain's army that held the passes against Orlesians. Fergus would have had to pass them on his way.

With her brother or alone, Ellie would have to strike at Highever soon. Already they had taken several of the southern garrisons and word was spreading north that the Couslands were alive and claiming their own. Howe's men fought with little spirit. Some openly cheered when Ellie liberated their outposts. Rendon would not long endure this, surely, especially when he heard that it was Elissa herself who was alive and attacking his men. They had taken enough in their raids for her to feed her men and pay them a little, but that too would not hold out.

Ellie had taken an arrow in the thigh, partially piercing her leathers, and for the next several days could not ride out. Instead she limped around the camp and listened to the men's talk. As of yet they were in good spirits. If it came to hard fighting in Highever, that would not last, she knew. With every day Ellie expected Loghain to appear. He stayed away. She did not know how to feel about that.

At last a messenger arrived saying that a party of Grey Wardens was on the North Road and were asking after her. Ellie sent horses out to them and was waiting on the road when they came up. She and Fergus fell on each other, embracing.

"You're late," she said, laughing as she made the familiar complaint.

"Had a bit more trouble with the dwarves than I had hoped, but we sorted it all out." Fergus' smile did not hold long. His hair was longer and he had a little beard now, his mail battered and stained black as though it had been burned. He had seen harder fighting than she.

"What in Andraste's name were you doing down there? Did Loghain's troops hold you up?"

"It's a long story," he replied, sighing. "Suffice to say, we'll get our armies."

"When? I was making ready to march on Highever when you came."

Fergus shook his head. "You can't go to Highever, Ellie. Not yet."

"Brother, it is ripe for our taking. Father's men are turning to us. You would be proud of them."

Fergus shook his head again. He was fierce now, Ellie thought, wondering. He looked like their father, only more haggard, as though worn down to nothing but points and edges. There was something else in Fergus' eyes that unsettled her.

"The archdemon is gathering his minions. I saw him. He looked right at me, knew me, and yet let us go. He is not afraid. There are enough darkspawn in the Dead Trenches now to overwhelm half the world, not just Ferelden. We have to go to Denerim, warn Loghain and settle this once and for all."

Ellie's stomach turned over. Briefly she wondered which would be worse to face, the archdemon or the husband she had betrayed. There was no doubt that Fergus was sure of what he had seen. Dismayed, Ellie realized that what she had seen in her brother's eyes was fear. Still, doubt held her. She had wanted to go to Denerim with a prize, with the upper hand, and force Loghain to recognize her rights. Fergus would be occupying his rightful teyrnir then, not a Warden outlaw whose life might still be in jeopardy if Loghain persisted in his madness. Fergus and his companions were all drooping from exhaustion and some were wounded, so she let the matter slide.

Two days later, early in the morning, there was a great commotion in the camp. Battered men started pouring in, and a few riders. Among them Ellie saw Ethnay ap Feil, her brother Corwin not far behind, but Regan was nowhere to be seen. Roslyn ap Feil came up from behind running and caught Ethnay as the girl dropped from her lathered horse. When she heard Roslyn's wail of dismay, Ellie knew that Regan was not going to follow.

As Ellie approached them, Ethnay broke off and stepped towards her. "My lady," she gasped, cheeks hot with tears. "Darkspawn attacked us, a great mass of them. Southern has fallen. My mother..." Ethnay shook her head, blonde curls heavy with sweat falling into her eyes.

Ellie moved closer and put an arm around the girl, hugging her tightly. Ethnay sagged in her arms and Ellie let two of the men take her. Fergus stepped to Ellie's side.

"You should let me see them before you let them into the camp," he whispered. Ellie looked at him uncomprehendingly, but Fergus already had a hand on the ap Feil girl's back. He seemed to sniff the air, then moved off to the others, calling orders to keep all the newcomers together in the muddy yard. As he walked among them, Fergus was herding off a few to the side. Corwin ap Feil was among these. When Fergus came back, his face was grim. "Those people are sick. They have the taint."

Ellie gaped at her brother, stupid with shock. "No. You can't be serious. Fergus, their mother is dead."

He kept his voice low, tone bitter. "It's already done, Ellie. I have to get them away from the others or more will die."

"This is the gift the Wardens gave you?"

Fergus gave her a bleak look. "It's a curse. I swear it."

He turned and gestured to Alistair and their Qunari mercenary, who were standing nearby. The two Wardens spoke to the sick. Some of these slumped as they were told, knowing already. Several fought, trying to flee, and Roslyn ap Feil stood between Fergus and her brother, pushing on the Warden's chest and shouting at him. Corwin himself laid a hand on Roslyn's shoulder, drawing her off. He spoke calmly to his sisters, not touching them, then went off with Alistair and the others.

That night Ellie went to look for Roslyn. She found the girl sitting by a fire, staring into the flames. A dagger rested on the bench next to her. As Ellie approached, Roslyn said numbly, intoning, "It is wicked to kill one's own blood. Mother said I wasn't to do it if Papa attacked our camp, because it's a great sin and the Maker would never forgive a kinslayer. That's what I am, now."

Ellie crouched next to her and reached out a hand. As soon as the hand touched her shoulder, Roslyn's eyes erupted in tears. She cried, not loudly but freely and unabashed, now and again keening softly like a child. Men passing by the fire turned to look and then moved away, faces grim. Ellie moved the dagger aside and sat next to the young woman, silent. Dully she thought that she had never been able to mourn her own family with such pure, honest grief. Howe had always been there, lurking, poisoning even that. Loghain had comforted her with one arm while the other reached around to strike at her brother. The darkspawn at least were a mindless enemy, easy to hate. They did not ally with someone you loved. Yet Regan's death and Corwin's were no less meaningless.

Roslyn laid her head on Ellie's shoulder and they sat like that a while. Ellie's thoughts turned to Regan, and a lump sat in her throat. Theirs had been an uneasy alliance from the beginning, but she had come to think of the bann as her friend. There had been few of those in her life. Now Regan was dead, and her son as well. Ellie felt somehow responsible.

The next morning, the ap Feil sisters stood stone-faced, leaning against one another, as their retainers made a pyre for Corwin and others who had died in the night. Afterward Ethnay, leading several squires, approached Ellie. Their hands were full with pieces of a fine set of mail, red steel, light and supple. There was also a black surcoat emblazoned with Ellie's fox sigil. The fox was wearing a wreath of laurel around its neck, delicately stitched in green and gold.

"Mother went to Southern to get this for you," the girl said, her voice thick with unshed tears. "She said the Red Fox is a true warrior and should look like one."

Ellie lifted the cuirass and turned it over. The metal shone dully, deep red and black. Blood colors. Death colors. She looked at Ethnay and nodded once, accepting the gifts wordlessly. Anything she thought to say rang hollow.

Fergus was waiting at the door of her tent. She had already given orders and the camp was in an uproar, the army making ready to move. "Where are we going, Ellie?" he asked.

"Denerim." She was about to push past him into the tent when Fergus caught her shoulder. A roughened hand brushed her cheek. He was looking at her intently, some of the old softness returned. She nodded once, clasped his hand, then moved on to pack up her things.

The majority of her Bannorn men Ellie was sending south to scout and defend their own lands, with a promise that she would return with reinforcements. Roslyn ap Feil insisted on accompanying the Couslands. Ellie was relieved at this. In most of their recent raids, Roslyn had been at her side, and Ellie had come to think of the young woman as her second.

As Ellie and Fergus readied their horses, he told her that he had met Commander Riven from Denerim in the Frostback Mountains, on their way to Orzammar, and had sent him to Redcliffe.

"Loghain's man is taking orders from you now?" Ellie asked, surprised.

"No, and I had trouble to convince him we were on our way to see dwarves and not Orlesians. Still, his men had no food and he'd had no orders or pay from Loghain in some time, so he was going to have to break off anyway. Dropping your name helped."

"Even though I'm the reason he's not been paid?"

Fergus grinned. "I may have forgotten to mention that. He promised to rally Redcliffe's forces and send Bann Teagan to us in Denerim for parley. I expect he'll be waiting for us."

"Is that what you want to do in Denerim, Fergus? You're going there to talk?"

Fergus pulled at his saddle cinch, the smile gone from his face. "We're going after Howe. Don't think you're going to cut his head off before I get there, Smelly, because that prize is mine."

Ellie needed to hear nothing else.

They kept to the road for speed. Dark clouds moved overhead, broken occasionally by sun that turned the clouds golden-green but did not warm them. Rain spattered them. Ellie rode along numbly, thinking of Regan and of Loghain. She was distracted, but someone else called warning. Ellie reined up and saw a rider to their right, cresting a ridge and coming on towards them fast. As the horse reached the bottom of the slope, it slid and spilled its rider. The man scrambled up and started running, waving his arms. Ellie could hear him shouting. She turned her horse into the field and past her guards, then stopped and drew her sword, waiting.

The man's shouts were unintelligible, but in the moment Ellie recognized him, some two dozen other riders broke the crest of the ridge. Their shouts were clearly war whoops. Josath ap Feil stopped running, glanced over his shoulder at the riders, and froze as he realized that he was about to be flattened between two sets of charging horses. Ellie saw it, too. She spurred her mount forward. Reaching down, she gave Jo-jo a hand and he swung behind her on the saddle. Ellie whirled the gelding and rode back to her guards and the Warden party, who were fanning out to meet the attack. Fire crackled out from Neria, scorching some of the riders and causing their terrified mounts to rear, but the others still came on.

For a long minute there was utter confusion as the two groups clashed into each other. Among the shouts, one voice rose higher than the others. "Cousland b*tch! Come and face me. Cousland!" One of the riders was trying to flank to get to Ellie. She saw it, but then her mount screamed and reared as an arrow struck his shoulder. Fighting to keep her seat, she was nevertheless pulled off as Jo-jo lost his. They both fell into a heap and clambered up. The gelding bucked away, and one hoof caught Ellie painfully in her shin.

"Papa, no!" From her left, she heard Roslyn's scream. The man who had been calling for her was Cormac ap Feil, then.

He, too, had dismounted and was stalking towards her. Ellie braced to meet him, bringing her shield up and scuttling backwards to get a better footing. Jo-jo stood tensed at her side. The bann wore a shaggy beard and torn cloak, his eyes wild as a berserker. Abruptly he pulled an axe from his belt, stopped and threw. Ellie brought her shield up and sidestepped, but Jo-jo lunged in between. The axe caught the young man across the neck and shoulder, then bounced harmlessly against Ellie's shield. Roslyn screamed once more, running up to catch Jo-jo as he was falling.

"Look what you've done!" Roslyn shouted. Cormac was still moving, seemingly unaware that his children stood between him and his prey. "Papa, stop! Stop! It's me, Roslyn. Don't you know me? Oh, Andraste." She bent over the boy's body, holding his shoulders.

When the bann reached them, he looked down at Jo-jo and his eyes widened. Ellie was close enough to see that he shook violently. Around them, the fighting died down as Cormac's men realized the two chiefs were going to fight this one themselves. The bann lifted a finger, pointing. "You. You killed my wife. You murdered my son. I found the pyre still smoldering. Did you think you could hide what you've done?"

Roslyn was sobbing. "No, Papa, no. I killed Corwin. It was me."

Neria Surana pushed through the crowd of riders and shouldered Roslyn aside, too, kneeling down in the mud beside the injured man. Fergus moved up behind Cormac, ready to spring on him, but held back. From the other side, Ellie saw Dunnet ap Feil approach, similarly ready to enter the fray. The air was fraught, men cursing each other and calling threats.

"The darkspawn killed your wife and son," Ellie called out to Cormac. "My hands are free of their blood, but yours are stained with my son's. A little boy who had done no harm to you. If you will join us and take your revenge on the darkspawn, yet maybe I will let you live."

"Join you so you could destroy the last of what I have left to me?" Cormac spat with derision. "Loghain Mac Tir is cursed, and so are you. He was nothing and had nothing but still wanted to lord over other men, and brought thousands to their deaths. And so he still does. Yet you stand here speaking of blood guilt, you arrogant c*nt."

Roslyn was ignoring her father, but she cried out with relief as her younger brother, now propped in Neria's lap, opened his eyes.

"He will live," the elven woman pronounced, "but not if we stand here in this muddy field. If you will permit me...?" She glanced from Ellie to Cormac ap Feil and back.

Ellie knew that Neria was only being polite. If one of the Couslands had given a sign, Cormac ap Feil would have been standing before them paralyzed and in agony, the blood in his veins boiling. Ellie had seen the mage control men in that way, and it was fearsome. They had agreed that such magic was only for dire need. "Take him away from here," Ellie told her. "Do your best for him, Neria. The boy tried to warn us."

Roslyn stood up and rounded on her father. "You're the one who destroyed us! Mother told you we had to fight the darkspawn, but you wouldn't listen. Ransoms and titles, what good is all that to us now? Stop this, Papa." Her gaze turned to Dunnet. "Brother. Please."

Cormac's eyes were on his daughter's face. He seemed to lose a hand breadth of his height. Men began to melt away, and finally the bann turned, muttering darkly. Ellie let out a held breath and looked around, dazed.

Fergus came up and put an arm around her shoulder, staring off after Cormac ap Feil with a murderous look. "So Regan's husband was the one who attacked Gwaren? And you chastise me for working with assassins?"

"Yes," Ellie replied heavily. "Leave it now, Fergus."

The Wardens and the ap Feils made separate camps on the field, Neria and Fergus' other companion mages crossing between them to attend to the wounded. Neither side trusted the other and sentries kept a firm check on movement. From her bedroll, Ellie saw Fergus walking with the mage Morrigan towards a tent. She thought she saw him reach up to touch the woman's cheek. Afterward Ellie slept, but only fitfully. Whenever she woke, she saw that the Qunari from Fergus' company was standing near her bedroll, rooted like a massive statue.

In the morning, Roslyn ap Feil was gone from the Warden camp. As Ellie and Fergus crouched at the fire drinking tea, Roslyn came walking up with her father at her side.

Cormac cast Roslyn a resentful glance before he spoke. "My daughter has some strange notion that I owe you service for a thrown axe that wounded her own brother. Here it is, for her sake. I sent men to Rendon Howe to ask if he still wanted your bony ass badly enough to pay for it." Roslyn elbowed him, but Cormac ignored her and went on. "He does, and I am minded to truss it for him. Be that as it may, my men heard something else in Denerim. Howe has changed almost all the royal guard with men loyal to him. He's got plans for Loghain's other get."

"You mean Anora?" Ellie asked, incredulous. "What sort of plans?"

"A noose. Or something more fine, for lady necks. Yours slip out so easily."

Her skepticism deepened. "Howe wants to kill Anora? Does he dare?"

Cormac gave her a withering look. "Don't strain yourself wondering. He'll do it, if she doesn't give him what he wants." No one said anything, so he explained impatiently, "Her cunny and a crown of his own to wear, what do you think? The man never intended to stop at Highever. One way or another, he wants the throne."

"Sweet holy Maker." Ellie gaped, turning to her brother.

Fergus returned the look and lifted his shoulder in a resigned shrug. "We keep forgetting, sister. Howe is not ambitious. He's stark raving mad."

Loghain and Anora were making that same mistake, Ellie realized. She returned her gaze to the bann, who was eyeing her like an eagle does a rat. "What have you decided? I can't let you go free. You can either come with us to Denerim as an ally or as my prisoner."

"You think you can hold me?"

"I know I can." Her tone was confident, not least because of Neria and the other two mages in their party. She watched tensely while Cormac and Roslyn exchanged glances.

After a moment the bann shook his head in disgust. "I won't lick anyone's boots, but I know when I'm beaten." As he turned he said to Roslyn, "Wherever your mother is, she's got a damn smug look on her face."

They left the wounded behind with guards from both of their parties, and set off at speed towards Denerim. Towards evening they slackened the pace for the sake of the horses, but did not stop.

On the road, one of Cormac's men pulled his horse alongside Ellie's and regarded her with bald skepticism. He wore a ragged beard and clothes to match it. "You're Loghain Mac Tir's uppity little piece, then?"

"I think you mean to ask if I am his lady wife," Ellie answered tersely, her eyes trained ahead.

The man snorted. "Lady, she says." He regarded her a moment longer and concluded, "He ought to beat you more often."

She spurred her horse forward, calling over her shoulder, "I'll be sure to tell him."

***
23 Cloudreach, 9:31 Dragon Age. Denerim.

"It's her. She has betrayed you." The note of triumph in Rendon Howe's voice was unmistakeable.

Loghain stared at the map of the coastlands, set up with markers to indicate the garrisons that had fallen to the Bannorn enemies. The south of Highever was dotted with black. "How do you know?" In contrast to Howe, his tone was dull. A vein throbbed in his forehead. Impossible. It was impossible.

"I have eyewitness reports."

"I want to hear them myself."

Howe's mouth worked, and after a moment he narrowed his eyes. "You simply can't accept the truth. If you will not meet Elissa in battle, then I will. Your men will follow me now, they want to. Give them to me."

Loghain said nothing. It was as if there was no breath in his chest. All the air had been sucked out of it. Howe was waiting. Finally he said, "We'll speak of it tomorrow."

The teyrn's face was a mask of disgust. "You can do nothing. You and Anora, neither of you will lift a damn finger. I am the one running this kingdom now. Let me do what needs to be done, before it is too late. I'm going to finish her."

A moment later Howe was pinned to the wall, Loghain's forearm against his throat. His arm had acted of its own accord, but as Loghain glared at the other man in the narrow space between their noses, he pressed harder. "Your time of telling me what to do, brief as it has been, is at an end. You will do as I say, and nothing more, or you will die."

Out of the corner of his eye, Loghain saw the guards that stood around the walls and at the door moving uneasily towards him, hands on their sword hilts. He turned an eye on them, and they stopped. So this was how it was. Howe was right. The men around him were taking orders from Howe now, and Loghain himself had allowed this to pass. Loghain's hand itched. There was an easy solution to this problem.

Nevertheless Loghain loosened his grip and let his arm fall. He had to find out the truth about Elissa, secure Anora, and then he could act. Before Howe could recover, Loghain turned and stalked out of the room. On the way through the corridors, he stopped at his study door, but did not go in. Ellie's portrait waited there. For months it had been his consolation, then after the attack in Gwaren it had been the ghost looking reproachfully down on him. Now the thought of her little smile took on a different meaning entirely. He kept walking.

Loghain made rounds of the guard posts in the city every few days, and without thinking that is where his steps took him. This time as he listened to the officers' reports, what had happened with the guards in the palace ran through his mind. His eyes bored into the guard captains, wondering which of them was still loyal to him.

At Fort Drakon, the watch captain sounded bored. "All quiet, your grace. Had some prisoners from the north in earlier in the week, but nothing..." He stopped at Loghain's sharp look.

"Prisoners from the north?" Loghain asked, mind working.

The captain shifted nervously. "Aye. Nobody important." Loghain was already walking further into the fortress, and the man's tone became more urgent. "Maker's word, there's nothing. Surely your grace has more important matters..."

Loghain ignored him, boots echoing as he strode across the large hall past the foyer. Sentries saluted him, and the officer at the other end of the hall admitted him without question, but the front captain was dogging his steps. Loghain looked around him, searching. Something was here, he knew it now. Something he had to see. The sweat on the guard captain's brow told him that, if nothing else.

At the inner dungeons, the sentries were startled to see him. The regent had not visited interrogations in a long while, not since the templar they had arrested in Redcliffe, back before there were any darkspawn. Back when his son still lived and his wife was still loyal to him.

Loghain came to a door where the sentry did not move aside to admit him. He could hear screams from within. "Let me pass," he demanded, with quiet warning.

The sentry's eyes moved like an animal caught in a snare and he looked from Loghain to the guard captain. The captain was pale as a ghost, but eventually waved an arm. "Let him pass, man. He's the regent."

As the door swung open, Loghain's eyes fell on a naked woman hanging from chains on the far wall. Her torturer was about to lift the hot iron to her skin again, but whirled, angry at the interruption. When he saw Loghain, his eyes widened. Loghain stood in the doorway, looking around the long hall. The racks and iron crow cages of the Orlesians had been pulled out of storage. They were red-stained, blood both old and fresh soaking into the wood. The room smelled of sh*t and burning flesh.

For a long moment, no one spoke or moved, then the guard captain began shakily, "Your grace, we had authorization. Teyrn Howe's orders."

Loghain's eyes fell on a row of cells. There were men in them who looked to be newly taken prisoners. Rendon would put those here so that they could see what awaited them, Loghain thought, his mind moving mechanically. Prisoners with information he wanted. In this way, he might get answers from them without having to lift a finger. It was smart. Howe was good at this.

As Loghain passed by their cells, the men looked up at him with a mixture of terror and hope. There were whispers of "Loghain" and "the regent."

"Please, m'lord," one of them whispered hoarsely. "We surrendered. We were promised quarter."

Loghain regarded him, then waved a hand at the guard captain behind him. "Get this man some water." The captain jumped to obey. Loghain waited until the prisoner had sucked down some water from the offered cup, then asked, "Whose man are you?"

The prisoner looked frightened, then his expression firmed as he steeled himself. "We served the Red Fox, m'lord. Your wife. We're Cousland men. What Rendon Howe did to our lord, that wasn't right. It didn't ever feel right, fighting for him."

Loghain's mouth was dry. The hand resting on his sword pommel shook. "You've seen... my wife? You spoke to her?"

"Aye, I said my oaths to the Fox herself. She fights like a man, and bleeds like one. If I have to die here for her, I'll do, gladly. But I don't know where she is now. She moves around."

"What does she want? What were your orders?"

The prisoner was silent, indecisive. From the wall behind him, the tortured woman moaned. Loghain turned, bellowing to the torturer, "Take that woman down from there and bring the surgeon! If she dies, I'll take your head for it." The torturer gaped at him, but scrambled to do as he was bid.

When Loghain turned back, the prisoner swallowed once, and reluctantly answered, "We was to take garrisons and call as many as would to turn back to the Cousland banner and... and to fight for the Grey Wardens. The other Cousland, the boy, he's alive too, they say. He's raising an army to fight the darkspawn."

"Does she intend to unseat Queen Anora? Did she call you to treason?" Loghain's mind clenched in fear at the answer, but he had to hear it. A vision of having to watch a headman's sword fall on Ellie's neck weakened his knees under him. He pushed the image away and insisted, "Tell me now, man. I will honor the promises made to you. You'll have your quarter, but tell me now if this 'fox' is a traitor."

The man scowled. "I took my oath to the Fox and to the Queen. I don't know if you call that treason, m'lord. The high lords decide what's treason and what's not, and they've been known to change their minds."

Loghain liked this answer. The terror that had held him rigid eased a little, and he realized that his heart was beating faster. Something like hope touched his mind. It was foreign and tantalizing. Right now, it was also dangerous to dwell upon. He had to act quickly.

Turning to the guard captain, he waved at the line of cells and said, "Take all these men out of here and move them to quarters in the regular dungeon until I can decide what to do with them. See that they're treated like Fereldans. Does anyone still remember what that means?"

Loghain feared the man might refuse, but the guard captain nodded and began flipping through keys. Returning to the main hall, Loghain looked around until he saw a young page, and grabbed the boy by the arm. Leaning over to whisper, he said, "Boy, I want you to run to the Black Garrison and find Ser Cauthrien. You know who that is, don't you? Good. Find her and tell her to bring men to Fort Drakon. Gwaren men. She'll know what I mean. Give her this." Loghain pulled off his signet ring and handed it to the boy, then fished in his purse and followed it by a gold sovereign. "That's for you. There's another if you're quick."

The boy took off like a crossbow shot. Loghain watched him go, then looked around him. If he left this place, he was afraid that it would be closed to him forever. The illusion of command was everything, and if that was all he had left, he was going to use it. He began to walk around giving orders. They were mostly meaningless, but what mattered was that they were followed, and that the soldiers saw their officers following them.

When his second finally arrived, it was in force. A small army filed in behind her. Relieved, Loghain strode toward her. "Cauthrien. I want you to place some men at posts around the fortress..."

"My lord, I have been looking for you. The queen is missing."

Loghain stopped mid-stride. "Explain."

"Queen Anora is gone from the palace, and no one knows where she went. Lord Howe has also disappeared from the palace, with most of his men. I think..."

"He's taken her." Loghain felt his heart race again, this time with fear. He had been a damn fool, yet again. Yet again Howe was one step ahead of him. That he would dare lay a hand on the queen, that was something that Loghain had not wanted to comprehend. He did not let the shock hold him for long. "Alright. Leave ten men here to secure this place. Send others to close the city gates and the harbor. No one goes in or out. They cannot have gotten far."

Loghain kept Cauthrien and twenty men with him. Dusk had fallen. At the first gate they reached, there was more news. "Grey Wardens, m'lord," the gate guard reported. "Armed to the teeth. I tried to arrest 'em, but Sergeant Kylon said I was to let 'em in."

The gate guard did not know where the Wardens were going, and had not seen the queen nor Howe. As Loghain was questioning him further, a messenger ran up and reported that there was a riot at the Arl of Denerim's estate.
Loghain and Cauthrien exchanged a pointed look, then both took off at a run, their men behind them. Loghain had not prayed in a long time, but as he ran he breathed something wordless and desperate. The thought of someone laying hands on his little girl made him wild. His stride quickened. Cauthrien picked up her own pace to meet it, though they had to pause at times to find their way in the dark streets.

There were men in front of the arl's estate, shouting and waving pieces of wood and craftsman's axes. There was a scuffle as Cauthrien's men met them, but her voice rang out. "Make way for the regent! Fall back, you louts, by order of the regent!" They grumbled and pushed, but they stepped aside.

At the door, there were two very frightened looking guards. One of them put a hand on Loghain's chest to stop him. "I am sorry, your grace. We have orders..." Loghain hit him hard in the face with a gauntleted hand, feeling the man's nose crack under the blow. As the guard fell, Loghain wrenched his shield away from him and kept it. The other door guard stepped back, hands up. Loghain left some of his men to hold the door and moved on.

Inside, the foyer and entrance halls were eerily quiet. There was no sign of guards or servants. Loghain opened every door, and began calling for Anora. They found some bodies, then some servants cowering. There were bodies on the stair leading down into the cellars, most of them in chain mail, Howe men. Someone was cutting a swath through the estate. In the cellars Loghain heard more fighting and ran toward the sound.

He came around a corner, and there she was, blood dripping from her sword, a red-plumed helmet tucked under one arm. She had removed it to get her breath and stood panting, staring at Loghain, hair plastered with sweat to her forehead. Neither spoke for a long moment. Finally she lifted her sword and shoved it wearily at him, taking a step back. "I won't let you touch Fergus."

"Ellie." Loghain struggled to believe it was really her, that they were really talking. Her voice was not the same. It sounded rougher, older, and her hair was cut short, yet here she was. It had been as they said. "Howe did it, didn't he, Ellie? Gwaren." He paused, then forced himself to say the name. "Gareth."

She sucked for a breath. It sounded like a sob. Reading Ellie's silence as confirmation, Loghain pressed his eyes closed a moment. The grief and guilt came back in a rush, stinging him alive. He forced himself to focus. Opening his eyes, he asked, "Have you seen Anora? I think Howe took her."

"She's here. I talked to her, but I can't get to her. Howe has mages and they enchanted the door. We have to find the mages to open it." Before Loghain could answer, a cluster of fighters ran up the corridor behind Ellie, calling for her. They held up when they saw Loghain and Cauthrien's men.

One of them, Fergus Cousland, stepped forward. "Loghain," he said, voice even. "Don't make me fight you."

"I'm not here for you, Cousland. I'm here for Anora."

Fergus' brow knit. He glanced at Ellie and then back at Loghain. "I'm going to kill Howe when I find him."

"I won't stop you."

That surprised them both. Loghain could feel Ellie's eyes turn toward him, but Fergus spoke. "Alright then. Come on, Ellie. I found a master key, let's go see what this opens." He turned down a side hallway. The rest of their company followed. Ellie stood rooted a moment, her eyes on Loghain. She appeared about to say something, but finally turned and was gone.

Loghain forced himself to move. The knowledge that Anora was nearby and held prisoner drove him. They ran through the labyrinthine cellars, finding more guards. Some fought, most surrendered when they recognized Loghain. An officer agreed to show him to where Howe was holed up. The door guards fought, so when Loghain finally got the door open, Rendon stood waiting, arms folded across his chest. Two men in mage robes and a few other guards flanked him.

"So. It comes to this," Howe began. "I should have cut your throat long ago."

Loghain smiled a little. "I was just thinking the same thing of you."

Howe laughed and paced a few steps. "Surrender. If you do not, these mages will cook you and your men where you stand. I might spare Cauthrien, there. I could have a little fun with her. When I catch Elissa, I'll make the two of them dance. If you'd promise to be a good boy, I could let you live long enough to watch."

"You're a madman."

"And you're a fool," Howe answered angrily. "You've been dancing for my tune for a long time. I was surprised at how easy it was. You so wanted to believe that you were still the great hero. As long as I simpered and bowed to you, I could do as I please. The bowing, as you may have noticed, is over."

The truth of it was bitter, but Loghain did not let it in. That was for later. He took a few steps towards Howe, senses alert to any movement from the mages. "Enough talk. Call off your men and let's settle this, you and me."

Howe smiled in a snarl and waved his hand in signal. As soon as Loghain saw it, he lunged, crashing into Rendon and throwing him to the floor. Behind him, Cauthrien and his men shouted, engaging the guards. Howe was pinned beneath his shield, and Loghain struck at his face with the hilt of his sword. Howe shifted and caught only a glancing blow on his cheek, then brought his axe around, trying to gash at Loghain's side. Loghain had to scramble back to avoid it. The two men were up then, Howe's face bleeding, his eyes glaring in feral hatred.

Then the room exploded into flame. Loghain brought his arms up, shielding his face and striking at flames as though at swarming bees. They licked at his skin and Loghain smelled burning hair. He went to one knee, dimly realizing that the screams he heard were his own. Along the floor, the flames were less. Loghain saw a gap in the wall and crawled in that direction. The mages, he realized, helpless. There was no defense against those who could set the very air on fire. Even as he thought this, there was a gust like wind, and the flames receded in a wave. Through the smoke Loghain saw a man standing in the doorway with his arms held out, murmuring an incantation. With a shock he saw Maric's face. It was not Maric. This man was younger, his hair short and sandy colored. This was Maric's son, the bastard. He had been a templar before he was a Warden, Loghain remembered.

There was no time for amazement. Loghain scrambled to his feet and saw Howe across the room, batting at flames that had caught on his tunic. Loghain strode forward, went to one knee and brought his shield up while he swung his sword around in an arc toward Howe's legs. Rendon tried to jump out of the way but the blade caught him across the shin. He screamed, buckling, and struck out at Loghain as he fell. The axe blade hit Loghain's shoulder, denting his armor but not penetrating it. Loghain brought his sword up again, then sliced downward. Howe's axe clattered to the floor along with half of the arm that had been holding it. On his back, Howe turned his head to gawk stupidly at the blood gushing from his empty arm stump. He looked back at Loghain, eyes wide with shock and outrage.

Howe sputtered, trying to speak. Loghain might have allowed him, but the memory of Gareth's face swam before his eyes. He brought his sword down, point first, through Rendon Howe's neck and into the floorboards beneath it. Blood leapt from Howe's mouth and his eyes rolled back. The body trembled, arms clenching as if to embrace Loghain, then fell slack.

Some time later, Loghain did not know how long, Cauthrien was at his shoulder. "My lord, are you injured?"

Shakily Loghain pushed himself up from Rendon's corpse, bent to wrench his sword free, and stood, regarding Cauthrien. "I'm fine," he said, looking around. The remainder of his men were limping around, helping others. The mages were dead.

Others ran in, Ellie and Fergus among them. The siblings stood together, staring down at Howe's body. Ellie raised her eyes to him and said, disbelieving, "You killed him?"

Loghain made no reply, only reached for a cloth from his pocket and began wiping the blood from his sword blade. Ellie stepped forward. "Loghain, we got Anora out. She's coming with us. My men are taking her now, somewhere where she'll be safe."

He jerked his head up. "You're seizing her?"

"Anora is coming with us by her own will. She's afraid to return to the palace." Ellie paused, then added, "She's afraid of you."

Loghain regarded his wife dully. He found that he was not surprised, and shifted his gaze away. "It's a good idea. I have to put the palace guard in order again, get rid of those loyal to Howe." He thought Ellie would leave, but she still hesitated.

"Loghain, Gareth is alive."

His eyes lifted, went wide. "What did you say?"

"After the attack in Gwaren, I sent him to the Free Marches with Anya and Alun."

Loghain's mind worked over this information. Finally he said, "You let me think he was dead..."

"Because I needed Howe to think he was." They both glanced at the body that lay between them, blood pooling out beneath him.

"And today, you wanted to make sure that I would kill Howe if I found him first."

Ellie met his eyes and nodded. Voice pained, she said, "You tried to kill Fergus. Why, Loghain? Why?"

"I never tried to kill him," he answered wearily, sheathing his sword. "I had to talk to him, to find out what the Orlesians were trying to do with the Wardens. I told you this in my letter."

"You sent an assassin! The Antivan elf. We have him here, he's working for us now."

Loghain looked at her sharply, eyes narrowing. "I sent no assassin, Ellie."

"He has orders with your seal on them. He told us you refused at first, but later Howe came to him and gave him..." Ellie's voice trailed off as the realization came. She looked down at the body, gasped, and took a step back from Loghain, raising her hand to her head. "It was a forgery."

"So it seems." Loghain wondered how many other orders had been sent out in his name. It was his responsibility nonetheless. Ellie's betrayal now made sense to him, and even that was his fault. The smell of cooked blood in the room made him want to retch. He stepped back from Ellie, half-turning.

He heard Fergus and Ellie conferring quietly. Finally she said, "We have to go, Loghain. I'll find you at the palace."

He lifted a hand in a vague acknowledgement.

The next days were a blur of activity. One by one, Loghain and Cauthrien went through the guard rosters, interviewed the men, examined the officers' log books. There were arrests. Now that Howe was dead, most of his men willingly submitted to Loghain's leadership.

Loghain called the city guard commander, Kylon, to his study and accused him of conspiring with the Wardens. The sergeant did not deny it. With Ellie's portrait looking on, Loghain berated the guardsman, then made him provisional Arl of Denerim in Howe's place. "Someone has to do it,' Loghain growled, dismissing the sergeant.

Ellie found him in his study late the next night. His guard had let her through without so much as a by-your-leave, Loghain noted. They had always liked Ellie more than him. He sat at his desk, shadowed in gloom. He had not bothered to light the lamps. She stood stiffly, casting furtive glances around the room.

"You look well," he said lamely. It wasn't really true. She was thin, dark circles lined her eyes. A scar traced one cheek.

She was not in a mood for niceties. "There's to be a Landsmeet. Teagan is in Denerim, and Anora has agreed to his demands. Eamon still lies ill, and there was some sort of revolt in Redcliffe, but your men put it down and restored order. Eamon's son died in the fighting." She paused, then went on, "Loghain, Teagan has witnesses now. They know that you poisoned Eamon. The banns also want you to answer for the hangings at Oswin."

Loghain sat still, absorbing this. At last he replied, "Perhaps it is best. For Anora."

"I think so." Ellie's face was a mask, her body rigid. She watched him, then her eyes shifted, catching the portrait. She appeared startled by it. After a moment she turned back. "We had an agreement, Loghain. An arrangement you entered into willingly, by your honor, then you broke it. He killed my family and you rewarded him for it."

Loghain lifted his eyes, angry. "I was trying to protect you and Gareth. Howe was going to try you for treason, Ellie. I don't give a p*ss about honor. I couldn't let him hurt you."

"He did."

"I know." Loghain's head bowed. "All of this can rightly be called my fault. I know that, Elissa."

"I don't want your guilt. I need to know if you are going to honor the agreement you made."

Loghain could not look at her. She was so close. She was still his wife, despite the soldier's stance, despite her glare. Pieces of memory drifted through his mind, of a different time. The winter had been stone cold, and it had seemed to last forever. He ached for some softness, a moment's ease, yet Ellie was further away from him than when he had thought she was dead. The last pieces of him that could feel anything, these were being ground as though under heavy stones. "I will," he answered. "At the Landsmeet, I'll do whatever you ask, you and Anora."

She drew a taut breath, perhaps of relief. "Good. Then I'll say farewell for now. Fergus will be in touch with you again, or Anora, before the Landsmeet."

"Where are you going?"

"The south has fallen to darkspawn, Loghain. We need armies. I'm going to go get Highever."

Loghain lifted his eyes then, surprised not at this news but at the tone of her voice. She spoke with none of the halting he remembered of her. Her voice was confident, and there was a hard edge in her eyes. The corner of his lip curled in a smile. As matters had turned out, it would be his head under the executioner's sword, not Ellie's. Nevertheless, she would make her way. With the clarity of hindsight, he saw that this was how it should have been all along, that he should have spoken these words to her months before.

"Go get it," he told her, his mind at ease.

Modifié par Addai67, 19 septembre 2011 - 03:24 .

[Esbatty]

*claps*

I am most pleased that much is coming to a head. I'm scared though for Loghain (never thought I'd typed/say/think that like EVER).

As always, Solid work Addai, this is sooooo good!

[phaonica]

Nice. As exciting as always. Thank you so much for continuing to write this