Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cullen had never seen anything so magnificent as the tower of Kinloch Hold.  Once an Avvar fortress, the ancient spire was now home to the Ferelden Circle of Magi… and for the next few years, it would be his duty station.  The young Templar straightened his curly blonde hair (cut short, in perfect obedience to regulations) and stepped through the doorway into the entry hall.

A tall man in Knight-Captain’s armor saw him and beckoned.  “Ah!  You must be young Cullen, Aileen’s squire.  She sent word for us to expect you.  I’m Hadley, second in command here.”

Cullen snapped to attention and saluted, thumping his fist against his chest.  “Reporting as ordered, sir.”  He glanced over his shoulder.  “I’ve left my armor and baggage at the dock; where should I take them?”

Hadley waved dismissively.  “Leave them, I’ll have a Tranquil take them to the barracks.  Just come along, I’ve got a task for you.”  He turned and headed down the curved hallway, with Cullen trotting after him.  “Don’t worry about getting lost, someone will show you around shortly.  I understand this is your first posting to a Circle?”

“Not only that, it’s also the first time I’ve left home.”  Cullen tried to look around while keeping up.  “I grew up in Honnleath; when I made my oblation, Knight-Lieutenant Aileen chose to train me herself, right in my home chantry.  It’s a small town in the south, only four templars at the chantry, and the rectory was tiny, so I’ve been staying in my parents’ house these last two years.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Hadley said.  “Aileen says you’re dutiful, hardworking, and pious, and that’s more important than where you’re from.”  He glanced over his shoulder as they reached the stairs, flanked by massive wooden doors.  “Did you have any trouble on the journey here?  There are rumors of darkspawn down in the Korcari Wilds.”

Cullen shook his head.  “I’ve heard the rumors too, mostly from wilder folk who come to trade.  Ser Aileen has had us standing watch with the town militia, but we haven’t seen anything.”

“Well, that’s good.”  Hadley nodded.  “I expect if it turns out to be anything serious, Arl Eamon or Teryn Loghain will ride south and deal with it.”  They emerged onto the landing.  “As to your task.  Mages need exercise, and they need some fun in their lives.  Now, they can’t leave the tower, so we had to come up with something they could do indoors.  We have tennis, bowling, even hurling, but today is the fencing club.”

“Fencing club?”  Cullen blinked.  “Ah, I see.  Sparring with mages is boring and easy, and you’d rather I get stuck with it.”

Hadley grinned.  “Exactly!  But I also want to see your skills.  As I said, this has a purpose; the mages need to get a workout and have some fun.  That means you have to fight hard enough to keep it competitive, not beat them straightaway but also not let them win.”

Cullen shrugged.  “Makes sense.  Foils or wooden swords?”

“Foils,” Hadley chuckled.  “Practice swords are too heavy for these scholar types.”

They passed a door that smelled like fresh bread, though he didn’t get a glimpse inside.  Then a large room full of long wooden tables, where people were sitting in small groups.  Finally, they arrived at the gymnasium.  The large, open space took up a quarter of the tower’s second floor.  It was lit by large windows with intricate wrought iron bars; they let in a breeze off the lake, and had heavy wooden shutters in case the weather turned foul.  The mages and templars inside were taking part in several activities.  One group was doing handsprings and other gymnastics on reed mats.  Another was using a ballet barre against one wall.  But most of the open floor was laid out with ropes dividing the space into sparring rings, each holding a pair of people fencing in padded jackets and wire masks.

Hadley pointed to a cabinet against the wall.  Cullen nodded and retrieved a set of equipment; Hadley helped him with the ties at the back of the jacket.  He pulled on the helmet, selected a foil, and took a few practice swings and thrusts.  The Knight-Captain clapped him on the shoulder and pointed him to a ring, where a mage was stretching to warm up.  They walked over.

“This is Ser Cullen,” Hadley said.  “He’s just been sent here from a town chantry; it’s his first big posting.”  He grinned.  “Go easy on him, all right?”

Cullen rolled his eyes and stepped into the ring.  The mage raised his blade in a salute, which Cullen returned.  He dropped into a ready stance; the mage did the same.  Cullen took a deep breath, then let it out.  “En garde.”

Let’s see what he can do.  He advanced a step, going for a straight thrust, easy to see and easy to stop.  The mage parried and countered with a thrust of his own, which Cullen duly stopped.  He thrust again, but stepped back to avoid the mage’s parry, leaving him overextended.  He went high, angling his blade down to score on the mage’s chest.  Touché.

The mage nodded respectfully and both men returned to their starting positions.  They squared off, then moved in again.  Now the mage took the offensive.  He sidestepped right, trying to get around Cullen’s guard.  Cullen moved to keep the mage in front of him, and they began slowly circling, exchanging thrusts and cuts.  The mage stepped in close.  He feinted high, then slashed low, striking Cullen’s leg and taking the point.

Now it was Cullen’s turn to nod as he returned to his corner.  Okay, he’s got some skill, so I can go a little harder.  Let’s give him a workout.  He moved in aggressively, throwing a series of quick slashes high and low.  The mage dodged instead of blocking and sliced at Cullen’s left shoulder.  Cullen began to raise his arm, then remembered he had no shield and reached awkwardly across his body to parry.  He had to backpedal and reset his feet; the mage went on the attack with a flurry of quick jabs.  Cullen hopped backwards, then drove off his back foot and lunged.  The mage spun out of the way and brought his sword around head-high.  Cullen ducked the swing, rolled to the side, and slashed for the mage’s knees.  The mage jumped clean over Cullen’s attack, then struck downward as he landed, landing a solid hit to Cullen’s shoulder.

Cullen stood back up, panting for breath.  The session had taken him to the limit, and he’d still lost.  He shook his head to clear it, and slowly realized that the room was full of laughter and applause.  He turned to see Hadley and several other Templars clapping, including a distinguished-looking man wearing the armor of a Knight-Commander.  That must be Ser Greagoir.  He raised his foil in another salute, then pulled off his helmet and smiled ruefully.

“Well fought, Ser Cullen.”  His opponent removed his helmet.  He looked to be several years older than Cullen; his hair was dark brown, cut short and plastered to his forehead with sweat.  He had an oblong face with a strong jaw, a thick chevron moustache, and amber eyes.  He took off his padded jacket to reveal a fit but not muscular frame, and held out a hand.  “I’m Daylen Amell.”

“Cullen Stanton Rutherford.”  Cullen shook hands.  “And you’re my new mentor.”

The Templars all chuckled; the Knight-Commander stepped forward.  “No, Cullen, Daylen is a mage here, recently promoted to Enchanter, in fact.  He instructs the apprentices.”  Greagoir smiled.  “He’s also the Tower fencing champion; he’s beaten every one of us.”

Cullen blinked and glanced back at Daylen, who smiled.  “It can be quite dull around here; Ser Greagoir asked me to help with his little joke.”

“It wasn’t just a piece of mischief, Cullen, it was a lesson,” Greagoir said, laying a hand on his shoulder.  “You’re here to watch over the mages.  Understand they are more than just bland scholars, or threats.  They’re people.  They can be swordsmen, musicians, artists… and friends, if you give them a chance.  And Templars don’t have to be stoic and humorless in our service to the Maker.  We can relax and enjoy life, at least when we’re off duty.”  He smiled.  “We can even have a little fun with the new lad.”

Daylen stepped up to Cullen and grinned.  “To make sure there’s no hard feelings, after we get changed, I’m going to give you a tour of the Tower, then buy you a drink.  Meet me at the second floor stairs in a little while.”

He headed upstairs; Greagoir led Cullen back to the templar barracks on the first floor.  The older man smiled.  “I have to get back to my office, but I like what I’ve seen from you so far.  You handled that very well, and you did as well in the ring as any of us.”

“Thank you, Knight-Commander.”  Cullen bobbed his head.  “I’ll try not to let you down.”

Fifteen minutes later, Cullen had scrubbed off, donned a fresh set of clothes, and was climbing the stairs to the second floor.  Daylen was leaning against the wall near the top, wearing blue and green robes, staff against his shoulder.  “Ah!  There you are.  Well, let’s get started.”

They headed around the corridor.  “You probably smelled the kitchens already, and the dining hall is right next door.  There are actually four meals a day, six hours around the clock, since a lot of us are up late now and then.  Between meals, it’s a common area, like the gym.”  Daylen had reached the stairs and started up.  “The only other room on this floor is the laundry, and then you’re back around to the beginning.  Third floor is the Tranquil quarters.  They can be a little unsettling, but treat them properly: They’re people too, and it’s mostly bad luck they’re like that.  Also, they cook your food, maintain your armor, and wash your clothes.”  He smiled.  “They also brew amazing beer.  The only other thing on this floor is the stockroom.  Right around, and up we go.”  They passed through the third floor quietly; Daylen called greetings to a few of the silent workers, who responded in a monotone.

“This is the first mage floor,” Daylen said, as they emerged onto the fourth floor landing.  “The apprentices and mages live here, bedrooms and a few small common rooms.  Unlike the gym and dining hall, these are private.  Templars are to stay in the hallways unless there’s a disturbance… which there will be.  Expect to get called up here a lot: the children live on this floor, and they’re, well, children.  At some point, you are going to get hit in the face by a ball of parchment, and if you’re very lucky, it won’t be soaked in ink.”

Cullen snorted.  “My sister Rosalie would fit right in.”

“The older apprentices help a lot with the children, and a few of the enchanters are really good teachers.”  Daylen smiled.  “Not me, though.  I tutor the older apprentices, thank the Maker.”  He jerked his head.  “Let’s keep going.”

The fifth floor was half taken up by a huge library, where apprentices were studying singly or in small groups.  The other half was divided into classrooms, where Enchanters were giving lessons, and a small chapel.  Daylen led the way past the stairs up and came back around to the library.  “There are two more floors, the Enchanter quarters and the Harrowing Chamber… but Enchanters are given a greater degree of privacy since we’ve proven we can be trusted.  Templars don’t go above the fifth floor without orders from the Knight-Commander, Knight-Captain, or an invitation from a senior Enchanter or the First Enchanter.”  Daylen smiled.  “There is one more thing to show you… but it’s outside the Tower.  I promised you a drink, so we’re headed to the Spoiled Princess, which is the inn on the lakeshore, where you boarded the boat to the Tower.”

“Ooh, lucky Daylen.”  The two men turned to see a pretty, dark-skinned elven woman about Cullen’s age, with long black hair and dark eyes.  “You show the new guy around, so you get a trip to the tavern?”

Daylen grinned.  “Apprentices can’t leave the island without a Templar escort, but Enchanters may travel for sanctioned research, and go to the Princess once a month.  Or twice, if they’re treating the new arrival.”  He gestured to the elf.  “Cullen Rutherford, meet Neria Surana, one of our most promising apprentices.  Neria, Cullen has just arrived for his rotation; he’ll be with us for the next few years.”

“Pleased to meet you.”  Neria flashed Cullen a smile that nearly killed him.  “Maybe you can escort me to the Princess one of these times.”

Cullen tried to stammer a reply, but Neria just giggled, waved, and walked off.  Daylen chuckled.  “Cullen, I think you could use a drink.”

“I need another drink.”  Cullen polished off his ale and glowered down at the table.  His white bishop was probably done for, but that wasn’t the problem on his mind.

Daylen waved for another round, then picked up his queen and tipped over the bishop.  “Make it your last one.  You need to be on duty in an hour or two.”

Cullen hooked his knight backwards and took the queen, eliciting a groan from the mage.  “Mate in five, friend.  I keep telling you to pay more attention to my knights.  Also, how are you so calm?  She’s your student, for Andraste’s sake.”

“That’s why I’m so calm.”  Daylen leaned back in his chair, cracking a walnut from a bowl on the table.  “Cullen, how long have we known each other?”

“Half a year?”  Cullen counted on his fingers.  “It’s Kingsway, so… eight months.”

Daylen nodded.  “And in all that time, Neria hasn’t lost control of her magic or miscast a spell.  Not a one.  She also excels in her academics, except history… which I teach…” He rolled his eyes.  “When we first met, she was showing a lot of promise.  Now, there’s no question; she’s the best apprentice in the Tower.”  A barmaid set down two more mugs of beer; Daylen lifted his and sipped.  “Of course I’m worried for her.  All the Enchanters are, for all the apprentices.  The Harrowing is something we all have to face, or be made Tranquil.  I know which I’d choose.”

Cullen drained half his beer in one pull, then frowned into the mug.  “If she fails… I’m the one who has to…”

“She won’t.”  Daylen packed the pieces away and closed the board.  “Cullen, Neria asked to be Harrowed.  She’s ready for this; if we thought she weren’t, we wouldn’t let her do it.  There isn’t any rush, you know.  I’m 26, and there are a few people my age who are still apprentices, like Jowan and Keili.  We’ve taught her all we can, and the rest is up to her.”  He took another swig and grimaced.  “I’m more worried about what’s going on outside the Tower, to be honest.  Have you heard anything from your family?”

“They’re all right, at least for now,” Cullen said.  “I received a letter from my father last week.  They’re getting lots of refugees, mostly Chasind and Avvar who’re running north.  There’s a family of four in my old bedroom, and a dozen more sleeping in the barn.  Ser Aileen is training volunteers to join Arl Eamon’s forces in Redcliffe.  They’re saying this is the biggest darkspawn raid in twenty years at least.”

Daylen crossed his arms and frowned.  “It might be much worse than a raid.  A Grey Warden arrived at the Tower this morning, and he’s been in talks with Irving and Greagoir all day.  If the Wardens are involved, it means they think this is the beginning of another Blight.”

Cullen jerked upright in his seat.  “A Blight?  I’ve got to warn my family; they need to get out of there!”

“Everyone does, the whole southern edge of the Bannorn,” Daylen agreed.  “But that’s dozens of towns and villages, tens of thousands of people, and that will take time.  From what I’ve heard, King Cailan is marching south with an army to try and hold them at the edge of the Wilds.  They want the Circle to send a force to join him there, probably some Enchanters leading a few dozen mages.”

“Are you going?” Cullen asked.

Daylen shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I’m a decent healer and fairly skilled with fire, but I can only produce basic ice spells, and no lightning at all.”

Cullen grinned.  “I don’t know, not many mages are champion duelists.  You’re even beating me with wooden swords now.”

“Oh, be serious.”  Daylen took another sip.  “If we fought for real, you’d kill me.  I’m not strong enough for heavy armor, don’t know how to use a shield, and I need a breather after five minutes in the ring.  More likely, some of the more experienced Enchanters will be going, and I’ll be covering their lectures.  Which is fine by me; I’m no warrior.”

“True, but you are a mage,” Cullen countered.  “When we spar, I don’t have to worry about you throwing fire at me.  I’ve got a shield, but you’ve got arcane barriers.  And I don’t know much about mages in war, but I doubt you’re expected to run around like the infantry.”

“I suppose that’s true.”  Daylen rubbed his chin.  “Actually, there will probably be some Templars going, too.  To keep an eye on the mages, for one, but darkspawn have spellcasters of their own.”  He raised his eyebrows.  “We might make a good team, you know.”

Cullen pursed his lips.  “Honestly, I’d rather not.  I’m going to send for my family, try to set them up with a room here at the inn, or maybe they can build a hut on the lakeshore.  Somewhere they can flee to the Tower for safety if need be.”  He shrugged.  “I’ll go if they send me, but I’d rather be here, where I can protect the people I care about.”  Daylen smiled slyly, and Cullen threw a walnut at him.  “Shut up.”

Daylen leaned forward.  “After the Harrowing, it’s traditional to bring the newly passed mage to the Princess for drinks.  You should take her.”

“It’s against the rules.”  Cullen shook his head.  “Mages and Templars aren’t supposed to…”

“The rules should be flexible from time to time,” Daylen countered.  “The prohibition’s there to stop abuse.  But you’re better than that.  Neria likes you, you like her, and you’re both adults.”  He rolled his eyes.  “Maker’s breath, I’m not saying have a secret tryst, take the girl for a drink!”

Cullen shrugged.  “Well, I’ll think about it.”  He blinked, then glared at Daylen.  “And this was all a scheme to distract me from being worried about her, wasn’t it?”

Daylen laughed.  “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” Cullen grumbled.  “And it sounds like we’ve got enough to worry about.”

“Neria will get through it, and so will we,” Daylen said.  “Now, let’s not keep her waiting.”  The pair clinked their beers together, then drained their mugs.

The boat ride back to the Tower took perhaps a quarter of an hour.  Cullen ducked into the barracks to change into his armor, then came back out, face now hidden by the heavy helm of the Order.  The afternoon sun was slanting in through the windows as Daylen led the way up to the library; Neria was in an armchair against the inner wall, reading a book and half dozing.

Daylen stopped a few paces away from her.  “Good afternoon, Neria.”

“Hello, Daylen.”  Neria leaned forward and tried to peer into the Templar’s eye slit.  “Is that Cullen in there?  What’s the occasion?”

“First Enchanter Irving has accepted your request.”  Daylen smiled encouragingly.  “He agrees, it’s time.”

The young elf practically shot out of her seat.  “Time… for my Harrowing?  Finally!  When?”

Daylen crossed his arms.  “About half an hour.  Until it’s over, you may not speak to any other member of the Circle.  Cullen will escort you to the chapel to pray before it begins.”

“Um, while I’m touched at the concern…”  Neria raised her eyebrows, then twitched her slender, pointed ears.  “Chapel doesn’t mean much to me.  No reason to wait.”

“They are still preparing the ritual, and you will be called once they’re ready for you.”  Daylen laid a hand on her shoulder.  “The chapel is still peaceful and quiet, and you should take the opportunity to meditate and center yourself.  You need to be sharp and steady for this challenge.”

Neria nodded.  “Absolutely.  Do you have any other advice for me?”

Daylen shook his head.  “I’m not permitted to tell you anything at all about the test itself.  But I can tell you that I am confident you’re ready for it.”

“I understand.”  She bowed her head.  “Enchanter Amell, it has been my honor to be your student.”  She grinned up at him.  “You’re the best.”

“I’m proud of you, Neria.”  Daylen gave her a quick kiss on the forehead.  “Off you go.”

She picked up her staff, then strode off around the hallway with Cullen following behind.  Daylen smiled.  Good luck, Neria.  Maker watch over you, or the Creators, I suppose.  He turned and headed for the stairs.

“She’s getting her Harrowing?  Neria’s not twenty yet!”  Daylen turned to see the pinched face of Jowan, another apprentice.  He and Daylen had arrived at the Tower in the same week, but that was where their similarities ended.  Daylen had passed his Harrowing at twenty-one, and been promoted to Enchanter three years later, but Jowan remained an apprentice.  He had a deep knowledge of magical theory and alchemy, but his magic was weak, and his control of it, poor.  He’d badly burned himself learning fire magic, and struggled with all but the simplest spellwork.  He’d finished his basic requirements for the Harrowing only in the previous summer, and the First Enchanter had yet to give him permission to face the final test.

And I know why-with his meager skill and self-doubt, he might not be able to resist demonic possession.  Or worse, he might let the demon in willingly.  Daylen folded his arms.  “She’s facing the Harrowing because she’s ready.  You aren’t, and there’s only one chance to pass.”

“And why not?  Power isn’t everything.  I have as much or more academic knowledge of magic than you do, and you’re an Enchanter.”  Jowan shook his head angrily.  “You know the real reason: there are rumors I’m a blood mage.  You know that’s completely ridiculous!”

“The First Enchanter knows better than to put stock in rumors.”  Daylen shrugged.  “If you want to face the Harrowing, avoid distractions, and spend more of your time practicing.”

Jowan set his jaw.  “Distractions.  This is about Lily.”  He paced back and forth.  “Why is it a problem that I’m in love, but you’re always trying to get Neria together with that Templar?”

Dalen locked eyes with Jowan.  “It’s different for two reasons.  First, Neria isn’t struggling, she’s excelling in her studies, and Cullen is by all accounts a fine Templar.  Second, Lily is a Chantry initiate.  She will be taking her vows in a year or two; if she does, she’ll either have to leave you, or live a lie.”  He held eye contact until Jowan blinked.  “So, yes, I think your relationship is a distraction for you, potential ruin for her, and cannot last in any case.  We’re friends, Jowan.  I’m telling you this because I want you to succeed.”

“I’ll… I’ll think about it.”  Jowan twitched.  “Oh, I had a message for you.  Irving and Greagoir want to talk to you; they’re waiting in the Senior Enchanters’ common room.”

“Perhaps you should have told me that first,” Daylen groaned.  “I need to get going.  Keep at it, Jowan.  You’ll get your chance.”  He clapped Jowan on the shoulder, hurried to the stairs, then made his way to the common room.

Chapter Text

First Enchanter Irving was waiting, as was Greagoir, but so were two others.  The first was Wynne, a senior Enchanter who wrote the curriculum for healing classes.  The second was a tall man in his fifties, wearing the blue and silver armor of the Grey Wardens.

“Ah, Daylen, come in,” Irving said pleasantly.  “Have you told Neria the good news?”

Daylen nodded.  “Yes.  She’s in contemplation now.”

Wynne chuckled.  “She really is something special… you must be proud.”

“I am,” Daylen replied.  He glanced at the Warden.  “But I’m guessing that’s not what you called me here for.”

“Correct.”  Irving indicated the stranger.  “This is Duncan, commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden.  He is interested in having you join the mages which will be fighting with the King’s army… and you are also a candidate to join the Wardens.”

Daylen flinched.  Oh, dear.  “I’m honored, of course.  To be completely honest, I don’t want to go, but I will if you send me.”  He extended a hand to Duncan.  “Good afternoon, sir.  I’m Daylen Amell.”

Duncan shook hands.  “Your attitude is entirely reasonable, Enchanter.  But the situation is dire.  The Grey Wardens were only recently allowed to return to Ferelden, and we are few.  The upcoming battle will be critical.”

Daylen nodded.  “And after?  If we’re successful, what happens then?”

“When you become a Warden, you remain so for life,” Duncan said.  “I can’t tell you much before you have joined, but I can say the Wardens are quite used to mages in our ranks.  After the Blight is ended, you would continue to serve.  Some Wardens patrol for darkspawn, others train new recruits, or rise to administrative positions.  We also perform magical research, and you might find your place there.  Moreover, as a member of the Order, you could travel freely, no longer confined to a Circle.”

“I understand,” Daylen replied, rubbing the back of his neck.  “And if the darkspawn aren’t stopped, I’ll end up in the fight sooner or later.”

Duncan smiled gently.  “I look forward to serving with you, Daylen.  I believe you have great potential as a Warden, perhaps more than you know.”  Duncan folded his arms.  “You will be traveling with the mages to Ostagar, where the army is gathering.  I must go north; I have duties to attend to before the battle begins.  I will meet you in Ostagar for the Joining about a month from now.  Until then, I suggest you practice healing and combat magic.”

“You can practice with me, Daylen,” Wynne said.  “Uldred and I will be leading the mage detachment.  We will be leaving in the morning, so you have until then to say your goodbyes.”

“I will see you off in the morning,” Irving said.  “We have a stock of necessities for Enchanters who are traveling on Circle business; I’ll tell Leorah to give you whatever you need.”  He clapped Daylen on the shoulder.  “You know how proud you felt when you told Neria she was ready?  You’ve made me feel like that for years.”

“I should go.”  Greagoir stood.  “The ritual should be prepared soon; I should be there when Neria arrives.”  He bowed his head to Daylen.  “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think Duncan chose the right mage.  Good luck, Enchanter.”

Daylen spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the tower, talking to his students, colleagues, and friends.  Some were concerned, others excited, but all wished him well.  With an hour to go before dinner, he went to his room to pack.  There wasn’t a lot to take, since mages didn’t have much to call their own.  Robes are too thin for the Wilds in autumn.  I’ll have to draw some heavier clothes from the stockroom, probably a cloak… I suppose the Wardens will issue me a uniform eventually.  He took his personal copy of the Chant of Light, along with a few other books that he thought might be useful.  Next stop was the stockroom.  He asked Enchanter Leorah to store the rest of his belongings until he could send for them, and requisitioned some basic clothes and supplies.  He was heading to dinner when Cullen and Neria came down the stairs.

“Wait.”  Daylen blinked.  “You can’t be finished.”

“She certainly is.”  Greagoir descended the stairs behind the pair, beaming.  “That was the fastest, smoothest Harrowing I’ve seen in twenty years.”

Daylen pulled Neria into a ferocious hug.  “Well done!  I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Neria replied.  “I’m glad it’s over.  It was much harder than I expected.”

Daylen shot Cullen a look; the Templar blinked, then cleared his throat.  “Neria, you should celebrate!  How about we go to the Princess and I buy you dinner?”

She shook her head.  “Not tonight.”  Cullen slumped, and she reached out and laid her hand on his arm.  “The Harrowing was, well, harrowing, and I’m exhausted.  But I’d love to, in a day or two.”

Cullen perked right back up.  “Oh!  Well… of course.  You did amazing, though.  Feel better, I’ll see you tomorrow I suppose.”  He turned and walked away; Greagoir chuckled and followed him.

Neria waited a moment, then reached out and grabbed Daylen’s wrist, tight.  “Jowan and Lily are in trouble, and he thinks it’s bad.  I know he’s a bit of a whiner, but will you at least listen to what they have to say?  They’re in the chapel.”

“All right, I suppose.”  Daylen frowned.  What is it now?

The two entered the chapel to find Jowan and Lily kneeling in a corner, by a shrine to one of Andraste’s companions.  The two mages knelt beside them.  Daylen glanced at Jowan.  “What’s going on?”

“I’m not going to get the chance to take my Harrowing!”  Jowan struggled to keep his voice low.  “They’re going to make me Tranquil.  They’ll take everything-my personality, my feelings, the love I have for Lily…”

Daylen frowned and shook his head.  “That doesn’t sound right.  You’re not great with magic, but they don’t make people Tranquil for that.  They’d let you try the Harrowing and fail.”

“They gave me a choice,” Neria began.  Daylen put his hand to her mouth, but she pushed it aside.  “I’m sworn not to tell what the ritual was, and I won’t.  But after I learned what I had to do, they told me I could willingly become Tranquil rather than face it.”

“And they wouldn’t make you Tranquil for rumors,” Daylen agreed.  “There’s always whispers about some mage or other.  When I was younger, we told stories about Uldred, and of course, you’ve heard the rumors about Anders.”

“Jowan’s not imagining things,” Lily said firmly.  “I saw the document on the First Enchanter’s desk myself.  The authorization for the Rite of Tranquility, signed by Irving and Greagoir.  To be carried out the day after tomorrow.”

“After the mages leave for the war,” Jowan said urgently.  “When everyone’s distracted, they’re going to put me through the Rite.  They can just tell everyone I chose to do it; I won’t be able to say otherwise.”  He rocked back on his heels.  “I won’t let them do this to me.  Lily and I are getting out of here… and I want you to help us.”

He’s crazy.  Bad enough Jowan’s got Lily spying on the First Enchanter… but planning to escape the Circle?  Daylen frowned.  “You’ll never make it.  Templars will track you down, they caught Anders five times.  You know that.”

Jowan shook his head.  “Not if I destroy my phylactery.  I need your help to do that, but if you won’t help… we’ll have to just run and hope for the best.”

He’d run even knowing the Templars could track him!  “You’re serious,” Daylen said dully.  Maybe I can get him to see it won’t work.  “Have you even got a plan?”

Lily nodded.  “Everyone’s headed to dinner right now.  They’ll take their time, all the mages who are going to war will want to spend time with the people staying.  And after dinner, there’s a special evening prayer for their safety.  The whole Tower will be upstairs for hours.  The phylactery storage is inside the secure repository, in the basement of the Tower; it’s locked by a Templar officer’s key and a spell that an Enchanter can break.”  She fished in her tunic and drew out a silverite key with glowing blue runes.  “I got Hadley’s key from his desk.  If it’s back before the prayer service is over, he’ll never know it was gone.  You can dispel the enchantment and we’re in.  Then, we blend in with the refugees fleeing the darkspawn, just two more people among thousands.”

“You’re going to be on the run, but what happens to me when you turn up missing?” Daylen asked.

“Daylen, you’re joining the Wardens.  The Templars can’t touch you there,” Jowan replied.  “But if you won’t help, we’ll just make a break for it.  I won’t let them do this to me.”

They’re really not going to be talked out of this.  Daylen sighed.  I’ve got no choice; I need to tell Irving.  Have to play along for now so they don’t bolt.  “All right.  I’ll help.”

“I’m coming too,” Neria said.  “There are books on restricted subjects in the repository, including a number on elven magic.  And I want a look at them.”  Daylen opened his mouth to object, and she cut him off.  “It’s not dangerous, it’s just that nearly everything my people wrote is restricted.”  She looked at Daylen desperately.  “I’m Dalish, you know that.  I was taken from my clan when I was nine, and I barely remember my parents’ faces.  I just want to know more about my heritage, that shouldn’t be locked away from me.”

Daylen hesitated, then nodded.  “We need to split up.  We shouldn’t be seen together, and we should wait a while for everyone to be sat down to dinner.  Let’s meet in the third floor hallway in fifteen minutes.”

Lily remained behind in the chapel, while Jowan made for the stairs down to the apprentice quarters.  Daylen caught Neria’s hand and headed to the library, sitting in one of the reading nooks.  “Are you sure about this?  There’s time for you to back out.”

Neria bit her lip.  “I couldn’t say in front of Jowan, but when I was in the Fade, the demon offered me knowledge.  Stories of my clan, secrets of my people’s magic, who I am and where I come from.  I knew it was too good to be true, but…”  She wiped away a tear.  “I need this.”

Daylen nodded slowly.  “Very well.  Stay here a while, then meet downstairs when it’s time.”

He headed up the stairs to the Enchanters’ quarters, then made a beeline for the First Enchanter’s office.  Irving looked up as he stepped inside.  “Yes, Daylen?  What do you need?”

“Jowan’s gone paranoid,” Daylen replied, closing the door behind him.  “He’s convinced there’s an order out to have him made Tranquil, which makes no sense, and he’s planning to break out with Lily.”

Irving smiled.  “Well, I wrote up an order, but it’s not real.  I just left it out for Jowan’s lady friend to see.”  His face darkened.  “I don’t much like having the Knight-Commander spying on me, so I arranged for her to reveal herself.  If Jowan is going to be punished, one of the Chantry’s people will be as well.”

Daylen waved his hand.  “Stop a moment.  Why does Jowan need to be punished at all?  He’s only running because he’s afraid of the Rite, and I can’t blame him.”

“Greagoir claims he has proof-eyewitness testimony-that Jowan has been practicing blood magic.”  Irving shrugged.  “He won’t tell me more than that.”

“I didn’t know if you would warn Jowan.”  Greagoir stepped through the door and closed it behind him.  “You need a better meeting place, Enchanter Amell.  First, the four of you had your backs to the door, and didn’t see one of my men coming in to pray.  Second, Neria never prays in the chapel, so when he saw her kneeling, it was obvious you were there to talk in secret.”  He put his hands on his hips.  “But you’re incorrect, Irving.  Lily is not my informant.  I had no idea she was going through your papers.”

Irving angled his head.  “But you do have an informant.”

Greagoir shrugged.  “Of course I do.  It’s my duty to monitor the mages here.  And if Lily is spying on you… I think perhaps I had reason to be suspicious.”

Daylen crossed his arms.  “I think you’re wrong about Jowan.  I doubt he could learn blood magic when he can barely manage the ordinary kind.”  He searched the Templar’s face.  “And I know you can’t be sure, either.  Blood magic is punishable by death.  If you have proof Jowan is a maleficar, then arrest him, try him, and convict him.  If you don’t have proof, what is this?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”  Irving smiled thinly.  “He has reason to suspect Jowan, but to bring him to trial, his informant would have to testify.  And he doesn’t want to reveal their identity, so he can continue to monitor the rest of us.”

Greagoir shuffled his feet awkwardly, and Daylen saw that Irving’s guess was right.  “I believe he’s just let his uncertainty and Lily distract him from his studies.  Why don’t we let this play out?  Let Jowan break his phylactery, then catch him on the way out of the basement.  They need to be separated, so send Lily to some other Chantry.  Offer Jowan the choice, Harrowing or Tranquility.  Demons are drawn to blood mages even more than the rest of us, so if he’s guilty the demon will take him in the Fade.  If he’s not, he’ll survive or he’ll fail.”  Daylen pursed his lips.  “To be honest, I don’t think he’ll be able to survive the Harrowing.  But he should be allowed to try if he wishes.  Every mage should.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Greagoir said.  “I think it’s an acceptable solution.  However, we also need to talk about Neria.”

Daylen made a face.  “I think she’s feeling her oats a little after the Harrowing.  But she’s also got a point.  Most of the Circle’s volumes on elven magic aren’t restricted for safety reasons, but religious ones.  And Neria is not Andrastian.  She wouldn’t be the first mage to try and sneak a look at prohibited archives, and I think we should treat her like any other: restrict her privileges for a while and see if she learns her lesson.”

“I agree,” Irving said.  “It’s all too common for new mages to become overconfident, even arrogant, after passing their Harrowing.”

Greagoir nodded.  “She’s young, she’ll learn.”

“Well.”  Daylen twisted his hands together.  “Not looking forward to this.  Wait half an hour, then get Templars around the basement door.”

“Daylen.”  Irving looked right into his eyes.  “You’re doing the right thing.”  Greagoir nodded agreement, and Daylen left the office.

For the next half hour, things seemed to both take forever and happen very, very fast.  Daylen met the plotters in the hall outside the Tranquil quarters, and they all made their way down to the basement stairs.  The caves below the Tower had been carved into a series of storage rooms.  They walked through the chilly hallways, passed the larder and cistern, the beer cellar with its rows of barrels.  Here was coal for warmth, lumber and nails for repairs, all manner of necessities for the hundreds of people living in the Tower.  At the end of the hall was a barred steel gate, etched with runes.  Daylen dispelled the magical barrier over the lock so Lily could insert the key, which turned smoothly.  The gate opened silently on well-oiled hinges, and the four stepped inside.

The repository was a small room, which looked mostly like a cluttered antique shop.  Heavy rugs covered the stone floor, and a jumble of tables, cabinets, and bookshelves held an assortment of items.  Most had a bit of embroidered ribbon tied on to identify them, but there was no apparent organization at all.  At the back of the room, a half-flight of stairs led up to a raised balcony.  A pair of suits of Templar armor flanked the staircase, like guards.

Neria wrinkled her nose.  “What a mess!  How are we supposed to find anything in here?”

Daylen rolled his eyes.  “If you have reason to be here, you know where things are.  If you don’t… you’ve no business being here.”  He glanced around at the group.  “The phylacteries are up those stairs.  Hopefully, that key will stop the sentinels from activating.  If not, we’ll need to take them out fast.  But we’ll find Neria’s books first.”

It didn’t take long, actually.  There might be relics and artifacts all over the place, but the books were all on shelves, and there weren’t many with Elvish script on the cover.  Neria took a quick look, lifted them carefully, then tucked two into her robes.  “I’ve got what I need.”

“Right, that just leaves my phylactery.”  Jowan moved toward the stairway, stopping just short of passing between the statues.  “Lily, give me the key, then stand back.”

Lily shook her head.  “No.  We’re going together.”

She stepped up beside him, holding up the key.  They took one step forward and the statues moved.  They drew their swords and clashed them against their shields, then stood still, weapons at the ready and empty helmets turned to face Jowan and Lily.

“That was a warning.”  Daylen worked his cheeks to moisten his dry mouth.  “Last chance to change your mind, you two.”

Jowan set his jaw.  “I won’t be made Tranquil.  If they won’t give me a fair chance, I’ll take my chances on the run.”

Daylen nodded and raised his staff.  Neria readied hers as well.  Lily swallowed hard, then reached out and squeezed Jowan’s hand.  The pair stepped forward and the sentinels attacked.  Jowan pushed Lily ahead of him up the stairs and struck one of the sentinels with fire.  It didn’t even flinch, advancing on him with sword raised.  Daylen loosed a firebolt of his own, staggering the sentinel.  It tripped over a cabinet and fell to the floor, but immediately started to get up.  The second sentinel headed for Daylen.  He threw another bolt, but it took the hit on its shield and kept coming.  Jowan’s second firebolt missed and splashed against the wall.  The sentinel chopped down with its sword; Jowan dodged the blade, but the sentinel rammed him with its shield, and he hit the floor hard.  Lily ran up and kicked it from behind, sending it into a bookcase.  Daylen used his staff to parry a swing from his opponent; it wasn’t as agile or skilled as a live swordsman, but it was stronger and much tougher.  The sentinel stabbed at him and Daylen blocked again, then stuck his staff in its face and gave it a strong fireball at point-blank range.  The blast knocked him to the ground, but the sentinel was blown apart; the pieces of now-inert armor crashed to the floor.

Jowan was peppering the remaining sentinel with weak flames, trying to drive it away from Lily.  Neria struck it with lighting; it staggered, then turned and started heading for her.  She backed up, sending bolt after bolt.  The shocks were slowing it down, but it kept coming.  Daylen sat up, ears ringing, and looked around for his staff.  He didn’t see it right away, so he grabbed the fallen sentinel’s sword.  He strode in and slashed at the sentinel, which blocked with its shield.  It responded with a slash of its own.  Daylen didn’t have a shield, so he parried and circled.  The sentinel swung again; Daylen parried and aimed a riposte at its head.  His blow struck home and the sentinel reeled.  Daylen threw a firebolt with his empty left hand.  The armor on the sentinel’s left shoulder melted and fused, crippling its shield arm.  Neria hit it with more lightning, leaving it twitching.  Daylen gripped his sword two-handed and chopped down, smashing the sentinel’s torso loose from its arms and legs.  It collapsed and stopped moving.

Daylen let out a heavy breath and dropped the sword.  “Is everyone all right?”  I should have asked Irving about the defenses; I guess he wanted it to look real… and it certainly did.

“I’m fine,” Neria called.  She handed Daylen his staff back.  “How about you two?”

Lily waved from the balcony.  “I’ve got a scraped elbow, and Jowan’s going to be black and blue tomorrow, but we’re all right.”

“I found them!”  Jowan called.  Everyone gathered around him.  The phylacteries were simple enough, crystal vials holding perhaps a tablespoon of blood.  They were held in steel racks, just like the ones an alchemist would use, each one labeled, all set in neat little rows.  Jowan lifted his, hand shaking slightly.  “I suppose I just… break it?”

“Wait,” said Daylen.  The others looked at him in confusion and he continued hurriedly.  “Give me and Neria some time to get back upstairs before you head for the door.  Hopefully, with all the hustle and bustle of the mages leaving for Ostagar, no one notices anything until I’ve left in the morning.”

Jowan nodded.  “We’ll give you a minute, no more.  Hurry.”

Daylen waved Neria ahead of him, back up the hallway and out the door.  Neria stopped short, seeing Irving waiting in the entry hall, along with Greagoir and two other Templars in full armor.  The front door to the Tower was sealed with a magical barrier, as was the hallway leading to the stairs.  Daylen put his hands on her shoulders and hustled her past them.  “Go, keep going, get out of their way.  Don’t make a sound, just keep moving.”

She turned to look at him, almost panicked.  Irving stepped up to them.  “I’m sorry you have to be here for this.  Do not interfere in any way, or I cannot guarantee your safety.”

Neria nodded, but said nothing; her eyes were brimming with tears.  Daylen took her hand and squeezed gently.  They both turned as the basement door creaked open.  Lily saw the Templars and screamed; Jowan’s face went white.

“An initiate, conspiring with a renegade mage.”  The Knight-Commander raised his right hand, fingers splayed.  “I don’t feel any blood compulsion.  Which means all you’ve done-spying on the First Enchanter, stealing from Ser Hadley, and aiding an escape attempt-was of your own free will.”  Greagoir closed his hand into a fist and pulled on the empty air, draining Jowan’s mana.  “I’m disappointed, Lily.  The Chantry will not let this go unpunished.”

She didn’t answer him, just stood on the spot, trembling.  Jowan glared at Daylen.  “You told them… you led us into a trap!”

“It was never going to work, Jowan,” Daylen said sadly.  “Look at you.  No food, no money, it’s Kingsway, raining all the time, and you don’t even have a coat!”  He shook his head.  “And if you didn’t freeze to death or starve, you’d have nowhere to go, with Templars chasing you and darkspawn spreading across the land.”  Daylen spread his hands.  “I want what’s best for you, Jowan.  And if you ran, you were going to get yourself killed, and maybe Lily, too.”

Irving took a step towards Jowan and rapped his staff on the stone floor.  “You have run yourself out of time, Jowan.  I do not believe you are ready, but you must choose Tranquility or face the Harrowing, now.”

Greagoir crossed his arms.  “I think not.  This mage will be made Tranquil immediately.”

Daylen’s jaw dropped; Irving rounded on Greagoir.  “That was not our agreement, Knight-Commander.”

“I have had time to consider the matter further,” Greagoir replied.  “Jowan’s actions demonstrate a complete lack of responsibility and discipline.  For years, he failed to master his abilities to the level required to face the Harrowing.  And now, he’s corrupted an initiate, and convinced her to aid him in breaking into the repository and plotting an escape.  Should Jowan be Harrowed, he would have access to even greater magic, yet he has shown he cannot be trusted with the power he wields now.  He will be subject to the Rite.”  He frowned at Lily.  “Initiate, the Chantry will decide your punishment, but for my part, you are no longer welcome in the Tower.”  He gestured to one of the other Templars.  “Get her out of my sight!”

Lily gasped; Jowan pushed her behind him.  “I won’t let you take her away from me!”  He pulled a small knife from his sleeve and sliced across his forearm, then threw his arms outward, releasing a wave of dark red energy.  Neria got her staff up in time and shielded herself and Daylen, but Irving and the Templars twitched and fell, paralyzed.  The barriers on the doors dissipated and Jowan started heading for the entrance.  Daylen bared his teeth, stepped forward, and threw a fireball.  Jowan raised a shield, and the blast didn’t even ruffle his hair.  He answered with a stream of fire that filled half the room.  Neria raised a much larger shield, protecting not only herself and Daylen but also the men on the floor.  And then, stalemate.  Daylen couldn’t attack while Neria’s shield was up, but she didn’t dare drop it.  For half a minute, the combatants stared at each other.

“Blood magic.”  Lily stared at Jowan in horror.  “By the Maker, they were right all along.  How could you?”

“I needed to be stronger, to get my Harrowing,” Jowan replied.  “I didn’t want any of this!  I just didn’t want to be made Tranquil.”

Lily shook her head sadly.  “Blood magic is evil, Jowan.  It corrupts people, no matter their intentions…”  She started backing up towards Daylen and Neria.  “It’s corrupted you.”

Daylen laid a hand on Neria’s shoulder.  She looked up at him, and nodded.  He gestured for her to wait, then edged toward the barrier.  Jowan raised his hands placatingly and took a step forward.  “I don’t need magic, I need you, Lily.  Come with me.  Once we leave here, I’ll never cast a spell again!”

“I trusted you… I was ready to give up everything for you.”  Lily’s face hardened.  “I don’t know you at all, maleficar.”

“Now!” Daylen called.  Neria dropped her barrier.  Daylen blasted a fireball at the floor in front of Jowan, then grabbed Lily’s habit and yanked her backwards.  Jowan blocked Daylen’s attack, but it distracted him long enough for Neria to raise the barrier again, with Lily safely inside.  Jowan stared at her for a moment, his lip trembling.  Then his face twisted, he turned and ran out the front door and into the night.

Daylen ran to Greagoir, his hands glowing with healing magic.  He poured energy into the Knight-Commander, who groaned.  Neria started working on Irving.  After a short while, Greagoir rolled to his knees and got up painfully.  He hobbled to a corner of the room, grabbed the bell rope hanging there, and started ringing the alarm.  A dozen or more Templars ran out of the barracks; he turned to face them.  “The tower is safe.  The apprentice Jowan is a maleficar; he escaped a few minutes ago, heading for the ferry boat.  Get after him!”

Six Templars ran out the door after Jowan.  By now, Irving was able to stand; he and Neria were healing the other two injured Templars.  Greagoir shook his head.  “My information was right; he was a blood mage.”

“I still can’t believe it,” Daylen said.  “I could never have imagined he could produce spells that powerful.”

“Neither could I, or I would have brought more Templars to confront him,” Greagoir grunted.  “I’ve been far too lax, and I need to take the security of this Circle more seriously.”  He frowned at Irving.  “I should have acted sooner, even with your objections.  I won’t hesitate again.”

Two Templars came in from outside; one removed his helmet, revealing himself to be Hayden.  “The boat is gone, already on the far side.  We signaled the shore with a lantern, but got no response.  I’ve got men pulling a spare boat out.”

The Knight-Commander swore.  “Then he’s gone.  We have a blood mage on the loose and no way to track him!”  He turned to Hayden.  “Get to the dovecote.  Send birds with Jowan’s description to every city in Ferelden.  He’s highly dangerous and wanted dead or alive.”

“This is all my fault.”  Lily walked over to Greagoir, head hanging low.  “I… I was accomplice to a blood mage.  I helped him escape.”  She knelt.  “I will accept any punishment you see fit.”

“You didn’t know he was a blood mage,” Greagoir said gruffly.  “And this isn’t all your fault, though you do have much to answer for.  You will travel to Denerim, to be judged by Grand Cleric Elemena.”  He crossed his arms.  “I can’t say for certain what she will decide, but I suspect that you will be forbidden from taking your vows.”  Lily sobbed, and he laid a hand on her shoulder.  “I believe that you are truly remorseful.  There are many ways to serve the Maker, and I am certain you will find one.”  He stood straight and rounded on Neria.  “And you…  You broke into a repository full of magics that are locked away for a reason!”

Neria set her jaw and pulled the elven tomes out of her robes.  “Here.  That’s all I took.”

Irving sighed heavily.  “I’m surprised at you, Neria.  You could have asked me, or Daylen, or any Enchanter, for permission to take those books.”

“Your people’s history is up in the library,” Neria said bitterly.  “Mine shouldn’t be under lock and key in the basement.”

“I cannot ignore your breaking into the repository, Neria.” Greagoir said.  “But I am grateful that you fought to defend my men.  I have no doubt we would have been killed without your barriers.”  He glanced at Irving.  “I’ll leave her to you.”  He walked off gingerly, holding his side.

Neria turned to Irving, who frowned.  “If you think those books belong in the library upstairs, I suppose you can find a place for them… while you’re checking the entire archive to ensure every book is in its proper place.  And since you’ll be so busy with that, I doubt you will have free time to go to the tavern until it is done.”  The elf’s face fell, and Irving gave her the tiniest of smiles.  “That was amazing shield work, especially for someone so young.  I think the last mage I saw do that at your age was Wynne.”

“With your permission, First Enchanter, I’d like to head up to the dining hall,” Daylen said.  “I need to grab some supper.”

Irving nodded tiredly and Daylen started for the stairs.  Neria trotted after him.  “So tell me, why’d you let me come along?  Why not just tell me no?”

“Because we do things the right way here,” Daylen said.  “I know what’s in those books isn’t dangerous, but you don’t, not really.  You do magical research carefully, safely, and patiently.  Stealing ancient lore and experimenting with it alone is a quick way to get badly hurt.”  He pursed his lips.  “Not to say that there aren’t spells that are restricted only because they offend the Chantry, there are.  But you don’t know which ones.”  He patted her on the head.  “Now, let’s get something to eat, and get to sleep early.  I have a long way to go in the morning, and you need your rest before you get into the library.”

Chapter Text

It was a magnificent fall day at Highever Castle.  Servants were dashing to and fro with supplies, rolling barrels, calling to each other.  Aedan Cousland rode through the gate into the castle courtyard.    He wore a gray cloak over a loose-fitting green shirt and faded brown trousers, with deerskin turnshoes and a simple dagger on his hip.  A short bow hung from his saddle along with a brace of rabbits, and there was a fine deer tied across the horse’s rump.  Drake trotted alongside, ears perked, occasionally running to sniff a tree or bush.  Two dozen horsemen rode in at his back, each one carrying a deer or boar along with smaller game.

Aedan grinned and waved, then leapt down from the saddle.  A stable hand ran up and took his reins; Aedan clapped him on the shoulder.  “Thanks, Hugh.  Get the horses stabled and watered, if you please, then get the game over to Nan in the kitchens.  Take a rabbit for yourself, and make sure each of the other hands get one, and a goose for the hostler.”

The boy bobbed his head.  “Thank you, milord!  I’ll see it done.  You father wants to see you.  He’s in the Great Hall with Arl Howe.  We’ve also some visitors.  Bann Loren’s wife and son are here, and a man I don’t know arrived while you were out, a knight, I think.”

“Interesting.”  Aedan rubbed his chin.  “I’ll get moving.  Don’t forget your rabbit!”

He crossed the bailey, heading for Elstan Tower on the western side of the castle.  It had once been the keep of a smaller, older castle, and now served as a tower in the outer wall, holding living quarters for the Cousland family and their guests.  His room was on the top floor, next to his parents’ and brother’s larger apartments.  Aedan briefly considered taking the time to change into fresh clothes, but thought better of it.  He glanced down at Drake.  “Take a nap, boy.  I’ll see you later.”

Drake curled up on his carpet in the corner.  Aedan hurried to the Great Hall.  The large banquet tables had been moved against the side walls, except for one, which was covered with maps and documents.  Teyrn Bryce Cousland stood over it, hands resting lightly on the tabletop, shoulder to shoulder with Arl Rendon Howe.  Aedan walked up to him and cleared his throat.  “You wanted to see me, Father?  I have my report when you’re ready for it.”

“It’s good you’re back, Pup.”  Bryce looked up and smiled.  Aedan was the spitting image of his father: an inch over six feet and well-muscled, with an oval face and light brown eyes.  Where the elder Cousland had short, neatly combed brown hair and a goatee, Aedan’s hair was shoulder-length, and the lower half of his face was covered with uniform heavy stubble.  The only other difference in their appearance was a faint scar on Aedan’s forehead.  Bryce turned to Arl Howe.  “Rendon, I don’t think you’ve seen Aedan in what, four years?”

“About that,” Howe agreed, smiling.  “And it would seem he’s grown into a fine young man.  My family send their best wishes, of course.  My daughter Delilah asked after you; perhaps I should bring her next time, once these troubles have passed.”

Aedan rolled his eyes.  “She’s quite a bit younger than me, sir.  Delilah is nineteen, yes?  So eight years.”

Howe spread his hands.  “As you get older, those years make less difference.”

“She’s not the woman for me, and I’m not the man for her,” Aedan replied.  And I’m not choosing my wife for the sake of your social status.

Bryce chuckled.  “My fierce boy has his own mind these days, bless his heart.”

“I certainly do,” Aedan said.

Howe snorted.  “I suppose we’d best leave the matchmaking until after the spawn are put down.”

“Indeed.  And I’ve asked you here for a reason, Pup.”  Bryce gestured to a footman.  “Please, show our guest in.”  Aedan looked around to see a tall man with dark hair and a full beard, wearing the blue and silver of the Grey Wardens.  “Aedan, Rendon, this is Duncan, Commander of the Wardens in Ferelden.”

“An honor, sir.”  Aedan bowed his head, but not his body: respect, but not fealty.

Duncan returned the bow, along with a deeper one to Bryce.  “The honor is mine.  It is a pleasure to be a guest in your hall, Teyrn Cousland.”

Howe blinked.  “Your Lordship, you didn’t mention a Grey Warden would be present.  I am at a disadvantage; a guest of such stature merits a gift, especially in these times.”

Bryce shrugged.  “The Commander arrived unannounced, Rendon.  Don’t concern yourself.”

Duncan nodded agreement.  “The forces you are contributing to the upcoming battle are gift enough, Arl Howe.”

“Yes.  My men.”  Howe’s head dropped.  “As I already told the Teyrn, many of my soldiers are scattered, patrolling the coast for raiders.  It has taken longer than expected to contact them all, and get them gathered and resupplied.  I expect them to arrive here late tonight, and be ready to move by morning.  I apologize for the delay.”

“This took us all by surprise.”  Bryce put his hands on his hips.  “Still, we should get men to Ostagar as quickly as possible.  I’ll send my eldest ahead with my troops this evening.  You and I will ride out with yours tomorrow, just like the old days!”

Howe snorted.  “Rather be fighting Orlesians than these foul monsters.”

“At least the smell will be the same,” Bryce laughed.

Aedan frowned.  “You’re sending the troops with Fergus, Father?  What about me?”

Bryce shook his head.  “You will remain here and take charge of the castle in my absence.”  He smiled faintly.  “I know you’re capable.  I also know what your mother would do if I took the both of you with me.”

It should be me going, not Fergus.  Now’s not the time to argue, though.  Aedan nodded.  “I understand.  Is there anything else you need?”

“Indeed there is,” Bryce replied.  “Your report.  Duncan is here looking for recruits, and I’m certain he’ll find it informative.”  He glanced over at the Warden.  “Aedan commands a battalion of the Highever soldiery, and he’s been training the men going to Ostagar.”

Aedan nodded and pulled a parchment from his pocket.  “I was using the hunt to test some of the more promising soldiers from my company of skirmishers, to scout ahead of the army.  They’re all excellent at moving quietly, sharp eyes and ears, and good with light weapons.  I would suggest Fletcher or Kerry to be their lieutenant, and these four as sergeants…”  He smiled at Howe.  “Of course, my first choice for lieutenant isn’t available, more’s the pity.”  Aedan met Duncan’s eyes.  “Either of them could lead our scouts, and the other would make a decent recruit, if that’s the type you’re looking for.  For a straight fighter, you couldn’t do better than Ser Roderick Gilmore.  He’s captain of the castle guard.  On horseback, you want Ser Dairren, my father’s second.  He’s Bann Loren’s son, and he commands a battalion, like I do.  He’s here as well, organizing the baggage train for the march south.”  He drummed his fingers on the table.  “All of these men are excellent soldiers… and none of them have wives or children.”

Duncan folded his arms.  “Ser Dairren I think we can exclude.  Mounted troops do not fare well against darkspawn; their smell frightens horses.  I will meet with Ser Gilmore, Kerry, and Fletcher… though I must say, young Cousland, you sound like you’d make an excellent Warden yourself.”

Aedan blinked; Bryce hurriedly stepped between him and the Warden.  “Is that really necessary?  I’d rather not send all my children to battle… unless you mean to invoke the Right of Conscription?”

“Not at this time,” Duncan replied.  “While we need to bolster our ranks with skilled warriors, the situation is not yet desperate enough for me to force the issue.  I have three candidates, and I can be satisfied with a single recruit.”  He frowned.  “However, the battle in the offing at Ostagar is not likely to end the crisis.  Blights are grueling, protracted conflicts, which play out over years or decades.  I’m afraid to say that you will likely find yourself facing the darkspawn, sooner or later.”

Aedan let out the breath he’d been holding.  “Well, I wish you the best of luck, Warden-Commander… and thank you, for what you’re doing for us.”  He turned back to Bryce.  “Father, is there anything else you need from me?”

The teyrn nodded.  “While your brother and I are away, you must take charge of this castle and the administration of the region.  The seneschal and courtiers will advise you, but the decisions will be yours.  Depending on how long we’re away, you may have to adjudicate disputes or punish criminals.  Your largest responsibility will be keeping the peace.  You know what they say about mice when the cat’s away, after all.”

“Understood.”  Aedan rubbed his chin.  “If Duncan is right, and he is the expert, we’re in for a very long fight.  We might want to levy more soldiers come spring.  You might also want to rotate troops-including yourself and Fergus-back from the front lines in a few months, let me take a turn and give you a rest.  I’ll get started on a plan for that.”

“Not a bad thought.”  Bryce clapped Aedan on the shoulder.  “For now, I want you to inspect the castle.  Talk to the courtiers and staff.  Once you’re finished with that, I want you to go to Fergus and tell him to march tonight, without me.  We’ll have a little family time, then he’ll ride out.”

“Very well,” Aedan said.  “With your permission, Father, I’ll get to work.”  Bryce waved his permission, and Aedan left the hall.

His first stop was the kitchens, just off the great hall.  The long, low room was full of steam, wood smoke, and the smells of good food.  Cooks and servants were working flat out.  Some were mixing dough, running trays in and out of the big stone ovens; others were chopping vegetables and measuring ingredients.  Aedan tried to edge down one side of the room, staying out of everyone’s way, when a shrill voice called his name.

“A fine time to go hunting, indeed!”  The head cook marched up to Aedan, her face set in a frown.  “Kitchen’s been going three shifts for a week.  We’ve still a dozen barrels of salt cabbage to finish, and five hundredweight of biscuit besides.”  She shook a wooden spoon at him.  “And here comes the young lord, bold as you please, with every bird and beast in the forest!”  Aedan opened his mouth to speak; she cut him off.  “When exactly do you think I can get this all butchered, eh?  The army’s riding tonight!”

Aedan spread his hands.  “There’s no rush, Nan.  Just soon enough the meat doesn’t spoil.  The troops headed south aren’t going to be able to hunt for their families before winter, so I’ve brought in as much game as I can.  Over the next week or two, I want you to get every morsel of food possible out of the carcasses.  The meat can be ground into sausage, salted, dried, or smoked; I’ll leave the method up to you, so long as it will keep.  Boil the bones for stock, then cook it down to portable soup.  Anything else from the animals, you may take and divide among the kitchen staff: skins, horn, featherdown, whatever you and your people can use or sell.”

“Taking care of the little people, eh?”  Nan grinned.  “Whoever raised you taught you right, boy.”

“Nan… you raised me,” Aedan said.

“Exactly,” she replied, eyes twinkling.  She tapped the wooden spoon into her hand as she thought.  “Hard dry sausages are the best option, but I can’t have that done in a fortnight.  It’s only a day or two of work, but once they’re in casings, they’ll have to hang to cure for about twenty days.  We’ll be less busy with so many leaving the castle, so if you go hunting again, we can keep making more, so long as you don’t plan on giving a feast.”  Aedan thanked her, gave her a peck on the cheek, then headed off on his inspection.

The rest of the afternoon went by in a blur as Aedan spoke to his father’s advisors.  He filled two sheets of parchment with notes on potential issues.  The chief magistrate was worried about an increase in banditry and theft over the winter, especially considering there would be fewer soldiers available. Aedan agreed, and spent a short while discussing options; he scheduled a longer meeting for the next day.  Next came Mother Mallol, the priest of the castle’s chapel.  Aedan had been planning to ask her to network with the other nearby chantries to find out who needed the meat he’d brought in.  It turned out, the Revered Mother in Highever city was anticipating a rush of refugees from the south.  She’d taken up a collection from the merchants and wealthy families in the region to buy food and other necessities.  He immediately pledged the sausage Nan was working on, and started planning to shelter the refugees, as well as put the fit ones to work.  There were several others to speak to: the seneschal, Ser Gilmore, the bookkeeper and butler, but eventually, Aedan made his way back to the Elstan Tower to meet Fergus.

Aedan’s older brother was somewhat mellower than he was.  Aedan found him in the family sitting room with his wife Orianna, reading to his son Oren.  They all looked up as Aedan came in.

“Uncle!”  Oren raced over to slam into Aedan, hugging him around the middle.  “Have you come to study, or do you need to talk to Papa?”

“Here for my big brother,” Aedan replied, reaching down to ruffle the nine-year-old’s hair.  “But I’ll be studying with you while he’s away.”

Fergus stood, and the two embraced.  “So, what’s the news, Aedan?  I hear there’s a Warden in the castle.”

Aedan nodded.  “There is indeed.  Ser Duncan is looking for recruits, and he’s probably going to poach one of my skirmisher trainees… or Ser Gilmore.”

“Oh,” Fergus replied, then smiled.  “If I were a Grey Warden, little brother, I’d think about recruiting you… though Father would never allow it and Mother would explode.”

“We’ve been over that already,” Aedan said smoothly.  “He’s agreed to pick from the three I mentioned.  But that’s not why I’m here.  Arl Howe’s men are still delayed.  Father wants you to take our troops and march south tonight, without him.”

Fergus nodded grimly.  “You’d think Howe’s men were walking backwards… Well, nothing for it.  I suppose we have a little while to say goodbye.”

“Will you bring me back a sward, Papa?” the boy asked.

“That’s ‘sword,’ Orin.”  Fergus crouched down in front of his son, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.  “You’re still a little young for swords.  How about a battle flag for your room?”

Orin’s eyes lit up.  “Yeah, a flag!”

“Come now, little one, it’s time for bed,” Orianna said gently.  “But let’s all say a prayer for Papa and your grandfather.”

Orin nodded and took his mother’s hand, then reached out for Fergus.  Aedan joined hands, closing the circle, and the four bowed their heads.  Orianna took a deep breath.  “The Maker sustain and preserve us all.  Watch over the brave souls now watching off to war, and give strength to we who stay behind, and in Your mercy, bring them safely back to us.”

“And bring us some ale and wenches while you’re at it!”  Fergus chuckled, then stopped abruptly as his wife shot him a look.  “Er, for the men, of course.”

“What’s a wench?” Orin asked.  One look at Orianna’s face, and he burst into giggles.  “It’s naughty, isn’t it?  Papa’s in big trouble now!”

“A wench is a woman who serves ale in a tavern, Oren,” Bryce said, coming into the room.  “Or a woman who drinks a lot of ale.”

Aedan’s mother Eleanor stepped in behind him.  “Fergus Cousland, are you teaching my grandson bad words?”

Fergus’ mouth flapped open and shut.  “What?  No, I would never, it was Aedan, he’s the bad one!”

“No he’s not,” Oren crowed.  “Papa said…”

Orianna swept the boy up into her arms.  “Bed, now, and don’t you ever let me hear you say that, or you’ll be in big trouble, too!”  She trotted out, carrying the laughing child.

It was quiet for a moment, parents and children standing together.  Eleanor cleared her throat.  “It’s not the Maker’s ale, Fergus, but I brought drinks all the same.”  She lifted a dusty bottle of Antivan rum.  “Let’s toast your health and good fortune before you and Bryce go marching off.”

“It should be me going with you, not Fergus,” Aedan said firmly.  His mother and father both frowned and he bulled ahead.  “Hear me out at least.  He’s the heir, I’m the spare.  Fergus has a wife and child to think of, I do not.  We shouldn’t expose the teyrn and his heir to danger at the same time, you two should alternate.  And most importantly…” Aedan smiled slyly.  “We all know I’m a better fighter than he is.”

Fergus raised his eyebrows.  “Oh, really?”

He tacked Aedan around the waist, and the two crashed to the ground in a tussle.  They wrestled around for a few moments, then Fergus found himself in a headlock.  Aedan stood back up, keeping his arm clamped around Fergus’ neck.  “Sorry, big brother.  It’s been a few years since you could kick me around.”

Bryce stifled a chuckle.  “Let him go, Pup.”

“When he says ‘uncle,’ I will,” Aedan said.

“Aedan!” Eleanor snapped; he startled and released Fergus immediately.  “Maker’s breath, it’s like the pair of you never grew past twelve.”

“Fergus must go because he is the heir,” Bryce said calmly.  “He must stand with our troops and defend the land to earn the right to rule it one day.  Just as Eleanor and I did, once.”  He reached out and squeezed Aedan’s shoulder.  “This will be a long, hard war, perhaps harder than our fight against the Orlesians.  You’ll get your chance to prove yourself.”

Aedan nodded.  “I understand, Father.”

Bryce smiled.  “Good lad.  Fergus and I will return for First Day, just over two months from now.  You’ll ride south to take our place, and after that, we will alternate as you suggested, one with the army and two at home.”

“I will be leaving the castle in the morning, as well,” Eleanor said.  “You need a proper chance to administer the teyrnir, and I don’t want the courtiers coming to me for orders.  Landra is here with Dairren, and I’m going back to Caer Oswin with her for a few weeks.  I’ll return if I’m needed… but I don’t think I will be.”

“I’ve taken steps to feed the soldiers’ families while they’re away, and care for any refugees,” Aedan said.  “I’ll be working with the Chantry, along with some of the banns and merchants.”

“That’s a good idea,” Eleanor said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.  “What have you donated?”

“For now, just some of the kitchen staff’s time,” Aedan said.  “They’re expecting a lot of people up from the Bannorn; I intend to set them to work hunting and building shelters.  Probably something simple like log cabins or sod huts.”

Bryce stroked his beard.  “A decent start, but they’ll need better than that for the winter, and you can’t hunt enough game to feed so many without stripping the woods bare.  I’ll have my officers talk with the troops, see about boarding refugees in their homes.  The refugees will mostly be farmers from the southern Bannorn; they can work the land to pay for the lodging, and we’ll have enough labor to get the harvest in.”

Aedan was scribbling notes.  “Thank you, Father.  I’ll alter my plan for that, and meet with the Revered Mother.”

“Good lad.”  Bryce glanced out the window.  “It’s less than an hour to sundown.  Fergus, you need to be off.”  Fergus nodded, embraced his parents, then Aedan, and headed for the front gates.  Bryce turned back to his wife.  “Eleanor, I’ve promised Rendon a drink before we retire for the night… why don’t you see what Landra’s up to?”

Eleanor kissed her husband, then trotted off.  Aedan bobbed his head and took his leave as well.  He was crossing the courtyard when he ran into Duncan again.

The Warden waved.  “Ah, milord.  I was coming to find you.  Fletcher has volunteered himself as a recruit; he’s very excited to join.”  The older man smiled slightly.  “I must say, I was quite impressed when he demonstrated his skills.  Quiet steps, even in armor, and he’s excellent with a crossbow.  You did well training him.”

Aedan chuckled.  “Thank you, ser.  He worked very hard.”  He reached out to shake Duncan’s hand.  “Take care out there, and good luck.”

“I shall do my best,” Duncan said.  “I hope to see you again, young Cousland.”

Aedan dropped by the kitchen, loaded a tray with a small loaf of bread, cheese, pickles, and a tankard of small beer, then headed back to his bedroom.  Drake was asleep on the bed; Aedan rolled his eyes and cleared his throat.  The mabari grumbled, raised his head to glare at him, then curled back up.  Aedan snorted and sat down at the table to eat and go over his notes.  As evening settled over the castle, he changed into a nightshirt, shoved Drake far enough to make some room, and lay down to sleep.

Drake’s barking snapped Aedan awake.  He groaned and looked out the window-it was still dark, more “early” than “late.”  He sat up and looked around by the light of his one candle.  Drake was facing the door, his barks fading to a low growl.  Now Aedan could hear… something… from outside the room, muffled yelling.  He shook himself and quickly pulled on his trousers, still in his nightshirt.  The sounds outside were getting louder as he got his shoes on.  Aedan didn’t keep weapons in his room, so he grabbed the knife he’d used to eat his dinner and tucked it into his belt.  He was stepping to his door when it burst open.

A terrified servant stood there.  “Milord, quickly, the castle is…”  The man cried out in pain and crumpled, an arrow in his back.  Aedan ducked to the side of the door and whistled.  Drake stepped up beside him as footprints approached.  Aedan gripped his knife as a man in leather armor came through the door, sword raised.  Drake lunged, knocking the man backwards and off his feet.  Another arrow zipped just over the dog, its direction telling Aedan where the archer was.  He rushed through the door and charged before the archer could nock another.  The man reached for his dagger, but Aedan was too fast, stabbing him in the throat.  A scream told him that Drake had finished the first attacker, and he looked around for more.  Three men were coming up the hall, but then Eleanor ran past him and took them on, wielding a cutlass and a boarding axe.  Aedan took a moment to grab the dead swordsman’s weapon, then ran to join her, Drake at his back.  Eleanor dodged expertly and kicked low, tripping one of her opponents.  She parried a strike from the second and stabbed him, but her blade jammed in his armor.  She twisted the dying man around and shoved him into the third enemy, then finished the man she’d knocked down with an axe to the head.  Aedan ran up behind the third-and last-man, grabbed him from behind, and cut his throat.

“Darling, are you hurt?” Eleanor asked.  She had thrown a housecoat over her nightdress, but was still in slippers.

Aedan shook his head.  “Just surprised.  Where’s Father?  What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know,” his mother replied.  “Bryce never came to bed; I assume he stayed up with Rendon.  A scream woke me, and I heard fighting outside, so I barred the door.”  She hooked her axe to her belt, grabbed her old raider cutlass with both hands, and pulled it loose.  “I hung these up as a memento; thank goodness they were here and not in the armory.”

Aedan grabbed a shield; it wasn’t well-made, but it would do.  Then he saw the bear painted across it.  He frowned and looked closely at the dead men’s faces.  “These are Howe’s soldiers?  Why would they attack us?”

Eleanor frowned.  “Could they be disguised?  Mercenaries, Orlesians perhaps?”

“No, they’re Howe’s.”  Aedan pointed.  “I recognize this man.  He’s a sergeant in Howe’s forces; I’ve been on field exercises with him before.”

“They can’t be here on Rendon’s orders…”  She shook her head dazedly.  “This doesn’t make any sense; he has no reason to wish us harm.”

Aedan stood straight.  “Forget why this is happening, it’s clearly happening.  Our troops are gone, and Howe’s are here.”

“You don’t think his soldiers were ‘delayed’ on purpose?”  Eleanor set her jaw.  “That bastard.  How could he possibly think he’d get away with…?”  She trailed off, then gasped and dashed across the hall to Fergus’ apartment.

A chill ran up Aedan’s spine and he went after her.  Before he could reach her, she’d got the door open and let out an awful scream, then run inside.  Aedan got to the door and found his mother sobbing on her knees, holding Oren’s lifeless body.  Oriana was behind her, just as dead; she had tried to fend off the soldiers with a fireplace poker.

Aedan felt the bile rise in his throat; his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.  He reached down and tried to pull Eleanor to her feet, get her to let go of the dead child.  “Mother, please, we can’t stay here.”

Eleanor struggled to get her breathing under control.  “Howe is not even taking hostages… he means to kill all of us.”  Her eyes went wide.  “Bryce!  Rendon was with him when I went to bed, we have to get to him before he’s murdered too!”

“We’re not going to let him.”  Aedan set his jaw.  “We need to get out of here, find out the situation in the rest of the castle.  If Roderick and the guard are still fighting, we might be able to save Father, get some people out at least…”

“Right.”  Eleanor dashed around picking up daggers and sticking them in her belt.  “I’ll follow you.”

Chapter Text

Aedan led the way out of the family suite.  They found Lady Landra downstairs in the guest wing, also dead.  They could hear fighting throughout the building, especially around the sally-port in the rear of the castle.  The next problem was getting to the keep, where the castle residents would make a stand in case of a siege.  They emerged into the bailey to the sounds of battle.  Small fights were going on all over, people were running and shouting.  The stables were on fire and some servants were trying to fight it; the horses had broken loose and were galloping around the courtyard in a panic.  Aedan looked around quickly, then dashed off toward the nearest fight.  A pair of chambermaids were desperately trying to fend off three Howe soldiers with a broom and a kitchen knife.  One of the attackers slashed the broom in half, then cut down the woman as she tried to run.  Aedan whistled and pointed, then raised his shield and smashed into a soldier, driving him backwards away from the surviving servant.  Behind him, Drake leapt at the man who’d killed the maid, and Eleanor rushed the third.  Aedan angled his shield and slashed at his enemy.  The Howe soldier raised his shield to block… but his footwork was off.  Aedan kicked the shield, the soldier stumbled, and Aedan ran him through.  He turned to see Eleanor land a deep cut to her opponent’s leg.  Drake had the last man by the arm, and the maid was stabbing him furiously.  They seemed to have the situation handled, so Aedan backed up slightly, scanning for threats.

Off to his right, a pair of castle guardsmen were struggling against several invaders.  Aedan hesitated; the men were outmatched, but he didn’t want to separate from his mother.  Eleanor solved his dilemma by dashing past him, her enemy slain.  The chambermaid followed right after, brandishing a mace taken off one of the dead and shouting obscenities at the Howes.  Aedan whistled for Drake and ran to the fray.  Eleanor stopped a few yards short of the fight, drew a dagger from her belt and threw it, hitting one of Howe’s soldiers square in the back.  The man fell, stricken, and Eleanor stormed into the melee, laying about with cutlass and axe.  Aedan called a command and Drake zigzagged between the enemies’ legs, staggering them.  Aedan closed in, literally catching his foes off-balance.  The two guards were able to kill one invader and cripple another; the last few of Howe’s men ran off.

Aedan sheathed his sword and faced the guards.  “You two, what’s the situation?  Do you know where my father is?”

The shorter of the two guards shook his head.  “I’m sorry, milord, I haven’t seen him since I came on watch at sunset.  They attacked us at the north tower; we don’t know what’s happening in the rest of the castle.”

“Look out!”  Eleanor pointed.  A much larger force of Howe soldiers was advancing on the small group, too many to fight.

Aedan swore.  He started backing up, back toward the door they’d come out of.  If they could get back inside, they might be able to bottleneck the invaders at the door.  That assumed, of course, that they could make it back to the Elstan Tower, and the Howe soldiers were rushing after them.  It was clear pretty quickly they’d never get back to the building before the enemy caught them.  The two guardsmen nodded to each other, then dropped back to make a stand and buy the others time.  Which is when more soldiers appeared in front of them, coming the other way around the bailey.

Aedan groaned; out of options, the small group moved to put their backs to the wall.  The Howe troops spread out to encircle them and closed in, weapons raised.  Eleanor threw a pair of daggers and two of the enemy fell dead.  And then a third soldier fell… only Eleanor hadn’t hit him.  Then another, and this time, Aedan saw the arrow sticking out of his neck.  Three men on horseback galloped at the enemy from behind, peppering them with arrows.  The lead rider charged straight into the invaders, his horse rearing and kicking as he kept shooting.  More people rushed to help, a mix of guards and civilians.  The Howe soldiers broke and ran back towards Elstan Tower.

“Dairren, you absolute beauty!”  Aedan waved energetically.  “Thanks for the help.”

The red-haired knight trotted up to them.  “Your Ladyship, milord Aedan, it’s good to see you’re safe.”

“What’s the situation?”  Aedan asked.

“Ser Gilmore and I were in the gatehouse when the attack started,” Ser Dairren replied.  “We don’t have the full picture; the buildings are all cut off from each other.  I don’t know how the alarm was sounded, but we did manage to shut the doors and gates.  The bulk of Howe’s men are still outside the castle.  They didn’t bring siege equipment, just expected his men inside to open the gate for them.  Gilmore is holding the main gates for now.  He sent me to try and rally the guards from around the castle and get the civilians into the keep.  Fletcher’s inside already, taking command there, but there’s fighting within the building.  Not sure where the Teyrn is.”  He bit his lip and looked to Aedan.  “You came from Elstan, yes?  Is my mother…”

Aedan flinched; Eleanor stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm.  “I’m sorry, Dairren.  She’s gone.”

Dairren sagged.  “No.  Maker, no.”  He bit his lip.  “The others?”

“Oren and Oriana are dead, too,” Eleanor said sadly.  “And they slaughtered Landra’s maid Iona right in front of us.  She tried to fight them off with a broom, brave girl.”

“They won’t be the only ones,” Aedan said.  “We need to mount a defense.  If we can hold the entrances to the castle, we might be able to finish off Howe’s troops inside, or at least buy time for everyone to retreat to the keep.  He doesn’t have the resources for a siege; if we can hold out, we’ll win this, but the next hour or two will be critical.”  He looked around the crowd.  “I know you aren’t guards, but I need as many able-bodied fighters as I can get.  Who will volunteer?”

He got a roar in reply.  Eleanor nodded, looking over the mix of soldiers and castle staff.  “We should get to the armory, if we can.  These folk will need proper weapons if they’re to have a chance.”

“Dairren, I want you to cover the rear,” Aedan called.  “Let’s get moving!”

The group started off for the armory, in the base of the south tower.  They found other scattered people on the way; by the time they reached the armory, the group was about fifty strong, including a dozen guards and five of Dairren’s riders.  Howe’s men had tried to breach the armory, but two guards had managed to barricade themselves inside.  They were still holding out when Aedan rushed the attackers from behind.  The door opened, and a corporal started handing out weapons and armor.  There wasn’t time to buckle on a full set; Aedan pulled on a padded shirt and mail hauberk, along with a simple pointed skull cap.  He hooked a small steel buckler to his belt along with a dagger, and traded his Howe shield for a big, round wooden shield emblazoned with the Cousland arms.  When all was said and done, they had perhaps three dozen who could really fight.  The others would have to help however they could.

Aedan took a moment to think.  “All right.  We’ll split up.  Mother, take the civilians to the keep.  Get the people organized, make sure the building is clear, and be ready to seal the doors if you have to.  I’m going to the gatehouse to link up with Ser Gilmore, see if we can start pushing them back.”  He looked to the mounted knight.  “Dairren, I want you to take your riders and patrol the bailey behind the gatehouse, so we have a line of retreat in case we need to fall back to the keep.”

“Aedan,” Eleanor called.  “You are leading the people of Highever to battle.  You should wield the family blade.”

She held out the ancient sword of the Couslands.  It wasn’t blessed by the Maker, or enchanted with frost or flame, just a simple arming sword of fine steel.  But it had seen more than four hundred years of history.  It had slain every type of foe Highever had seen in that time, from bandits, to werewolves, to Orlesian chevaliers.  Aedan reached for the leather-wrapped hilt; he hesitated and his hand shook.

His mother smiled.  “Take it, Aedan.  Howe shouldn’t get his hands on it.  This is your fight to lead.”

He took the sword.  It was a bit shorter and lighter than the weapon he usually carried; centuries of sharpening had taken quite a bit of metal off, leaving a thin, narrow blade with a delicate point.  Still, the balance was perfect, meaning excellent control.  Aedan attached the scabbard to his belt, then looked around and grabbed a hunting horn, better than shouting orders.  He headed back to the door, where the castle defenders were gathered at the ready.  He took deep breath, then let it out and stepped through the door.

The sounds of battle were louder, especially from Elstan Tower.  Aedan pointed to Dairren, who nodded and waved to his riders.  The cavalry moved ahead, spreading out with bows at the ready.  Eleanor went next, leading the armed civilians.  The noncombatants came after them, carrying extra supplies or helping the wounded.  Aedan brought up the rear with the guards on foot.  The bailey was largely empty, but they could see some of Howe’s people running along the north wall.  They were making for the upper entrance to the gatehouse; the defenders were ready for them.  Two soldiers fell to arrows from the slit windows, and the others retreated to the north tower.  Up ahead, more of Howe’s men were clustered at the door to the keep, trying to hack at it with axes as the defenders poked spears out.  Aedan raised his horn and blew for a cavalry charge.  The riders loosed arrows, then spurred their horses and raced in.  They swept by the cluster of Howe’s men, slashing with their swords.  The attackers whirled to face the horsemen, who were by then riding away.  Dairren swung his riders around to charge again from the far side, and Eleanor advanced with her group.  Howe’s men found themselves under attack from two sides.  Their leader pointed, and they ran along the wall and around the corner.  Dairren called an order, and his riders pursued at a canter, shooting volley after volley.

There was a cheer from the gatehouse, and its lower doors opened.  Ser Gilmore strode out, smiling grimly, with a large force of guards behind him.  “Nice work, Aedan!  Your Ladyship, I’m glad you’re all right.”

Aedan returned the smile.  “Still work to be done!  Mother, into the keep.  Get archers in the windows to cover us.  Gilmore, leave a force to hold the gates, then take the rest of your men and sweep the castle on the south side; I’ll take the north with Dairren.  Meet you at Elstan Tower, and then we’ll clean it out room by room.”

The two men separated and took command of their forces.  They set out around both sides of the keep, moving quickly in tight formation.  Howe’s men tried to fight, but they were badly outnumbered; they fell back towards Elstan Tower.  They rounded the building and Aedan saw Gilmore across the way.  Their soldiers were headed for the old keep when archers started shooting at them; several men were killed or injured.  Howe soldiers came boiling out of Elstan Tower into the bailey.

Aedan swore so badly he was glad his mother was out of earshot.  “They’ve taken the building… Howe’s main force must be coming in through the sally-port.  We’ve got to get to the keep!”

He raised his horn and blew a retreat.  Gilmore nodded, and the guards started falling back.  Dairren brought up the rear, his riders galloping back and forth, harassing the enemy with arrows.  Howe’s men were spreading along the walls, sniping at the guards down below.  Archers opened up from the keep, picking off Howe’s men on the wall.  And that’s when the first fireball hit.  The streak of flame blasted an archer out one of the windows and started a room burning.  The second blast scattered Gilmore’s group like ninepins; a woman screamed and thrashed as her chainmail melted.

Aedan gaped.  “Howe’s got a damned mage!”

“On it!”  Dairren waved to his riders, then pointed.  They focused their arrows on the spot the magic had come from.  The mage threw fire at them but missed, blowing a crater into the ground.  He missed again, unable to concentrate while ducking arrows.  Howe’s archers hit one of the horses, which fell and rolled, crushing its rider.  Howe’s troops swarmed forward, cutting down the wounded from Gilmore’s detachment as they went.  Dairren ran out of arrows; he drew his sword and charged, and the other riders followed.  They formed a wedge and slammed into Howe’s forces, trampling their way towards the mage.  He leveled his staff and threw a massive bolt of lightning; it hit Dairren in the chest, then arced to each of his riders in turn.  They fell, men and horses all dead together.  The Highever guards started to run, shields high to protect from the archers on the wall as the mage pounded the keep.  Aedan rounded the corner, out of the mage’s line of fire.  He blew the retreat again to warn the men in the gatehouse to fall back, then made his stand with a guard to either side of him.  Across the bailey, Ser Gilmore was doing the same, both men backing up towards each other as the rest of their forces got inside.  The first of Howe’s men rounded the corner and came at Aedan.  He stopped the man’s mace with his shield and slashed at his elbow; the soldier dropped his weapon and clutched at the wound, leaving himself open.  Aedan smashed his shield into the man’s face, then moved on to another opponent.  The guards from the gatehouse ran behind him, calling to let him know they were the last.  Archers loosed a wave of arrows from inside the keep, killing several of Howe’s men and forcing the rest back.  Aedan turned and sprinted for the doors, getting through just ahead of Gilmore.  The guards slammed the great doors shut, then barred them with a heavy wooden beam.  Men with spears thrust them through slits in the doors, driving Howe’s men away.  The battle reached a lull, and for the moment, all was eerily quiet.

Aedan pulled his helmet off.  His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat.  He looked down at the sword in his hand-the tip was waving as his hands shook.  Don’t let the men see.  There’s still work to be done.  He sheathed the blade and slung his shield over his back.  “This isn’t over.  Ser Gilmore!”

The knight nodded.  “Yes, milord?  What are your orders?”

“Take charge here, get the men organized and make sure the keep is secure,” Aedan said.  “One bar won’t hold them long; get those doors wedged and spiked.  Grab some sergeants or corporals.  Send one to check the other entrances and reinforce them, have another get a count of the people in the keep, and the last is to take inventory of the food and water.  I need to plan a defense and set up our rationing.  Howe’s men have taken the bailey.  We’re trapped in here until Fergus can relieve us.”

“Don’t worry about food, young lord.”  Nan stepped out of the crowd, holding a cleaver and wearing a furious scowl.  “That last batch of rations is still in the kitchen, and all the game you brought in.  There’s a well in the cellar; we have supplies for weeks.”

Aedan smiled.  “There’s some luck, at least.  Has anyone seen my parents?”

Eleanor trotted into the great hall.  “I’m all right.  I still have no idea where Bryce is.  We have to find him!”  Her eyes went wide.  “What if he didn’t get inside?”

Aedan bit his lip.  “I’m sorry, Mother.  If he isn’t in here already, there’s nothing we can do.”

She shook her head.  “We can’t just abandon him!”  She looked around desperately.  “They’re clustered by the doors.  Get me a rope, I’ll go out a window, drop down behind them.”

“First, let’s get organized and search the building,” Aedan replied.  “Father might be in here, hurt, or possibly barricaded in a room like you were.”  He folded his arms.  “And none of this is going to matter if we can’t keep Howe’s troops out.”

“Yes, sir!”  Gilmore tapped several senior guards on the shoulders and pointed them to their duties.  They, in turn, started to organize the guards and civilians.

There was a muffled thump, then another, and dust rained down from the ceiling.  Fletcher came down the stairs from the second floor, crossbow slung across his back and a quiver at his belt.  “That mage is in the gatehouse, throwing spells from cover and keeping the archers pinned down.  I can probably pick him off, but someone would have to get his attention first, buy me a few moments to aim.”

As he said it, a jet of fire blasted in through one of the arrow slits.  Everyone scattered as the flame leapt upwards, igniting the ceiling timbers and planking of the second floor.  Some of the besieged survivors shouted in alarm, but most reacted according to their training.  Several people beat at the fire with cloaks or coats; others ran to fetch water.  In moments, they’d rolled in the fire barrel and were throwing buckets of water at the fire, wetting down the whole area.  Guards rushed to the slits, thrusting spears and shooting crossbows.

Aedan’s eyes went wide and he shoved his mother backwards.  A bolt of lightning flickered through an arrow slit and struck one of the guards, then chained to everyone standing in the water-drenched corner of the room.  When the flash and noise faded, at least eight people were dead, including Fletcher.  A fireball struck the doors; flames blasted in all around the edges.  Another blast, and a chunk of the wood doors blew into the room.

Ser Gilmore shook his head.  “That’s it, then.  They’ll be in, and soon.”  He looked to Eleanor.  “Your Ladyship, milord, if you have an escape route, you need to use it now.  We’ll buy you as much time as we can.”

Eleanor nodded.  “There’s an escape route for the family, a tunnel out of the keep.”

Aedan looked around at his soldiers, at the servants, some trembling, others grimly determined.  “I can’t just…”

“There’s no point arguing, and no time!” Gilmore snapped.  “Howe outnumbers us at least ten to one, probably more.  They will overrun the building once they breach the doors, and there’s no way we can keep the mage from blasting them in.  A few might slip away unnoticed, but if a large group goes, we’ll be spotted, and Howe will wipe us out.  It won’t matter much if a handful of guards or servants make it out.  You two need to survive.  Tell the King what Howe did here, and make sure he doesn’t get away with it.”

Aedan hesitated for what seemed a long time, but was probably mere seconds.  There really wasn’t any other option.  These people are all going to die.  His head drooped.  “You’re right.  Thank you, Roderick.”  He looked around.  “All of you.  I won’t ever forget this.”

The defenders reached out to grasp hands, pat Eleanor and Aedan on the arms and shoulders, to just wave as they passed.  Two guards went with them as far as the stairs to the basement, then stayed behind to guard the rear.  As they hurried through the vaulted stone halls, they heard the doors blow in above them, then the roar as Howe’s men began storming in.  Drake whined, butting into Aedan and shoving him ahead.  They rounded a corner to the keep’s wine cellar.

“Take another step, and I’ll cut you down!”  Aedan stopped short as an armored man stepped out of the shadows, a weapon in each hand.  He raised his shield, then recognized Duncan and stopped.  Duncan recognized them as well, and lowered his weapons.  “Young Cousland.  Your Ladyship, it’s good you’re here.”

“There you both are; I was wondering when you would get here.”  The voice was weak, but recognizable.  Duncan stood aside to reveal Bryce sitting on the floor, his back against the row of barrels.  He was bleeding from a deep wound to the side.

“Bryce!”  Eleanor ran to her husband, dropping to her knees at his side.  “Maker’s blood, you’re hurt!  What happened?”

Bryce grunted dully.  “Howe got me with a dagger while I was pouring the brandy.  His men murdered my guards, and they almost did me in right there.  They would have, but for Duncan.  He got me this far, but I haven’t the strength to walk any further.”

“Then we’ll carry you,” Aedan said firmly.  He grabbed the spigot on one of the large casks and twisted it; the cask end swung end open to reveal a hidden tunnel.  Aedan crouched to slip his arms under Bryce’s shoulders, but when he lifted, his father cried out.  Aedan set him back down as gently as he could.

“I won’t last as long as the tunnel, let alone the journey south to the King,” Bryce said grimly, wincing and holding his wound.  “Carrying me will slow you all down, and none of us will escape.  I won’t make it.”

Duncan sheathed his weapons.  “I’m afraid the teyrn is correct.  With the castle is surrounded, we will have to be fast and quiet to get past Howe’s men.”  He frowned.  “There is also another matter.  I came here for a recruit.  For the good of the world, I must leave with one.”

Aedan gaped and he shook his head.  “Now you want me for the Wardens?  My family needs me now more than ever!”

Eleanor’s mouth thinned.  “Aedan, you will go with him.”  She raised a shaking hand to silence her son’s reply.  “Our duty is to Ferelden, and with the darkspawn on the march, all of Thedas.  Go with Duncan.  You must tell Fergus what happened here.  Keep your brother safe, and see that justice is done.”

Bryce smiled.  “You’ve got your chance, now.  Take care of yourself, and those who fight beside you.”

“Yes, Father.”  Aedan bit his lip.  “I love you… I’ll make you proud.”

Bryce beamed.  “I’ve been proud of you a long time, Pup.  Maker watch over you.”

Duncan was watching the hallway behind them.  The sounds of fighting were getting louder and closer.  “You have a moment more to say your goodbyes, then we must flee if we are to have a chance.”

Eleanor leaned down and kissed her husband as if there were no one else in the world.  “I’m sorry, Bryce.”  She stood and embraced Aedan, tears running down her cheeks.  “I won’t leave him.”  She looked up at her son, eyes bright with tears.  “Go.  I’ll kill every bastard who comes through that door; that should buy you some time.”

Aedan shook his head again, dumbfounded.  “Mother, you can…”

“No, I can’t.”  She smiled.  “One day, you’ll understand.”  She let go of Aedan and turned back towards the cellar door, once more drawing her cutlass and axe.

Aedan made to grab her, but stopped.  A Highever guard fell backwards into the room, a sword jutting from his chest.  Duncan pulled on his shoulder, urging him into the tunnel.  Drake howled and tugged on Aedan’s sleeve.  He stepped inside, pulling the disguised door shut.  His last sight of his parents was Bryce still on the floor, and Eleanor charging at a pair of Howe soldiers as more piled into the room.  He barred the door from the inside, then quickly followed Duncan out of the castle.

Chapter Text

Aedan held himself together through the long walk down the escape tunnel.  He and Duncan stepped through another hidden door into a small cave, then emerged into the forest about a quarter mile from the castle, beyond the surrounding forces.  Howe had sent troops to watch the nearby towns and crossroads, but they were undisciplined; many had left their posts to drink in taverns (not paying, of course) or loot what they could from the locals.  Aedan couldn’t bring himself to anger at the mistreatment of his people.  He was too full of feeling already.  The shortest route to Ostagar was east along the North Road, but they didn’t dare travel that way, as it passed through Howe’s arling of Amaranthine.  Instead, they had to take the long way, west towards the northern tip of Lake Calenhad, then south along the shore.  They moved at night, hiding in forests during the day to rest and trusting to Drake to warn them if anyone approached.  Howe’s men had seized horses in every town they passed, but in three days, they crossed the border into the Bannorn, and Duncan was able to requisition a stagecoach.

Once they were safely out of Howe’s reach, the dam broke on Aedan’s grief.  He spent the first hour of the ride weeping; after that, he was brooding, lost in thought.  Duncan kept to himself, doing all the talking with the coachmen and otherwise leaving Aedan alone.  Drake sat on the floor of the coach and leaned against Aedan’s legs, his large head in Aedan’s lap.  Aedan rested his hands on the big dog’s head, but didn’t scratch like he was supposed to.  Drake, offended but understanding, lay down on the floor, planting his heavy hindquarters atop Aedan’s feet.  Aedan sighed, smiled, and reached down to give the dog a pat.  He leaned against the seat back and let the motion of the coach rock him to sleep.

He awoke hungry.  They had gone without food for the three days on foot, and he’d been too exhausted to eat after that.  Now, Aedan asked Duncan to stop longer at the next inn.  He got a proper meal, and despite his mood, the mutton stew and bread were welcome, even if he couldn’t taste them.  There wasn’t time for a hot bath, but he found a millpond to splash in, scrubbing with a handful of sand.  He got back into the coach feeling… not good, but at least feeling something.  He started making a mental list of what he’d need to fight the darkspawn.  They rode hard after that, only stopping to change horses and drivers, sleeping on the bench seats.  Going around the clock, it was another two days to Ostagar.

The last leg of their coach ride came to a stop just after dawn at the baggage train of the Fereldan army, just a few miles north of the old fortress.  The coachman dropped them off, then snapped the reins and drove off before anyone could conscript him or his horses.  Here was a hive of activity.  Crates and barrels of food, stacks of firewood and sacks of coal were heaped up in stockpiles the size of houses and covered with tarps against the rain.  Wagons rolled in from the camp with empty water barrels for refilling at a nearby spring.  A team of quartermasters oversaw all the activity, taking requisitions from the regiments, drawing supplies, and loading wagons headed south to the front.  Duncan and Aedan got a lift on a cart filled with laundry for the West Hill regiment.  Drake ran alongside, happy to be down from the coach after days.  They hopped off the cart once it stopped, then walked through rows and rows of tents toward the fortress itself.

Ostagar was a crumbling complex of towers and battlements on either side of a pass in the Southron Hills, which separated the Bannorn from the swamps of the Korcari Wilds.  The hills ran from the dense, trackless Brecilian Forest in the east to the Frostback Mountains in the west.  The pass was the only opening in the natural barrier, and it was thus the place where the army would make their stand.  The nobles and senior officers were all encamped on the grounds of the fortress proper, and that was where they headed first.  As they approached the bridge which spanned the pass, someone called out to them.

“Ho, there, Duncan!”  Aedan thought he recognized the voice; he turned to see His Majesty Cailan Theirin, King of Ferelden, striding up to them, trailed by a gaggle of retainers and guards.  The King was an inch taller than Aedan, with long blonde hair and pale blue eyes.  He was wearing a set of shining gold-plated armor, the chest piece etched with the leering skull of a dragon, in honor of the legend of Calenhad.

“King Cailan,” Duncan replied, bowing his head.  “I didn’t expect…”

Cailan smiled.  “A royal welcome?  Call it luck, I was inspecting the defenses just now.  Darkspawn scouts and raiding parties are already moving through the area.  The horde can’t be more than three days away; I was beginning to worry you would miss all the fun!”  He put his hands on his hips.  “The other Wardens said you had your eye on another promising recruit!  I assume this is…” He trailed off as he turned to Aedan.  “Wait.  Haven’t we met?  Yes… you’re Bryce’s youngest, aren’t you?  Aedan?  Fergus arrived two days ago with the Highever regiment; he told me Bryce was leaving you in charge at Highever.  Have plans changed?  When are your father and Rendon arriving with the men from Amaranthine?”

Aedan ground his teeth.  “Plans have most certainly changed, your Majesty.  My parents are either dead already or soon will be.  As for Rendon Howe and his men… At the moment, they’re too busy seizing control of Highever to help against the darkspawn.”

“Seizing Highever?  Bryce and Eleanor dead?”  Cailan frowned.  “What do you mean?  What in Andraste’s name are you talking about?”

Duncan’s mouth thinned.  “Your Majesty, Arl Howe has shown himself a traitor and overtaken Highever Castle.  When we last saw Teyrn Cousland, he was gravely wounded.  His wife bade us flee while she stood and fought.  His men have taken every town and crossroads in the region; we had to slip past them by night.  Had we not escaped, he would have killed us and told you any story he wished.”

The king gaped.  “I can scarcely believe it.  Why would he do this?  What could he possibly hope to gain, and how could he ever believe he would get away with such a betrayal?”

“I have no idea why Howe has done this, but why isn’t important; he has done it,” Aedan said.  “As for getting away with it… He intended to slaughter everyone, leave no witnesses.  Fergus’ wife and son were killed as well, along with Bann Loren’s wife Landra and his heir Dairren.  Oh, and dozens of good people whose names you wouldn’t know, but who had families and hopes and didn’t deserve to be murdered either.”

Cailan walked a few steps away, running a hand through his hair.  He looked around him at the war camp, then came back over to Aedan.  “You must understand, the darkspawn are a threat to the entire world; stopping them must be the priority.”

Aedan nodded.  “That’s fair enough.  For now… I should tell Fergus what’s happened.  I do not look forward to that.  Do you know where he is?”

“Not here, I’m afraid,” Cailan said.  “Fergus is out in the Wilds with your Lieutenant Kerry and his company of skirmishers, scouting for the darkspawn main force.  The rest of the Highever brigade is in reserve.  I expect Fergus back in a day or two, if he hasn’t spotted the horde before then.”  He thought a moment.  “Once the situation here is stable and Arl Eamon’s men arrive, I will leave Loghain in command and go north with you, Fergus, and his brigade.  The King’s Brigade of Pike is stationed at West Hill fortress, two days’ march from Highever.  Rendon only has a single regiment, even if all his men remain loyal when I confront him, so we will outnumber him about three to one.”

 “The Pike isn’t here?”  Aedan asked, frowning.  “Why are they up north with a battle coming?”

“Loghain,” Cailan explained, rolling his eyes.  “He’s convinced the Orlesians will take advantage of our army being so far from Denerim to invade again; he insisted I leave them to watch the border.  Of course, Empress Celene has now offered to help against the darkspawn.  The Orlesian Grey Wardens are sending a detachment, along with a force of chevaliers.  When they arrive at the border, the Pike will send a detachment to guide them to Ostagar, make sure there’s no incidents along the way.”

Aedan pursed his lips.  “A lot of people aren’t going to like that… but we could use the help.  And fighting together as allies might help close some old wounds.”

Cailan nodded.  “That is my hope.  Certainly, we can’t go on thinking of each other as enemies forever.”  He folded his arms.  “I assume you will fight with the Highever regiment in the mean time?”

“Actually, your Majesty, I have my new Warden duties to learn,” Aedan said.  “I don’t know where I’ll be serving yet.”

Cailan blinked.  “Duncan, you’ve recruited Aedan?  With all he’s been through?”

“I have,” Duncan said.  “Lord Cousland is the most promising recruit I have seen in twenty years.”

“But the circumstances…”  Cailan put his hands on his hips.  “Fergus’ wife and child are both deceased.  The Cousland line is in danger of dying out.  Duncan, it is your right to take him, but I would ask you to forego this conscription.  There are plenty of fine warriors in the army to take his place…”

“Absolutely not.”  Aedan shook his head firmly.  “Your Majesty, I’ve had too many people face danger in my place as it is.”

Cailan frowned.  “What of Howe?  As a Warden, you will likely be in battle against the darkspawn until the danger is past.  Don’t you want to see Howe pay?”

Aedan shrugged.  “I’m happy as long as he does pay.”  He drew his sword, letting the sun gleam off its edge.  “Certainly, I’d prefer to run him through myself.  Still, if Fergus is the one to end him, or the hangman, I’ll still be satisfied.”  He sheathed the blade.  “My duty is to Ferelden first, and that means stopping the darkspawn.  My mother and father’s last command to me was to join the Wardens, and I will honor their wishes.  As to our legacy…”  He shrugged.  “The legacy of the Couslands will never be forgotten in Highever.  If a new ruler takes our place, so long as they are worthy of the people they serve, my brother and I will not object.”

“Well said,” Cailan said, smiling.  He clasped his hands.  “Is there anything you need?  I know this can’t be easy.”

“To be honest, I need pretty much everything,” Aedan replied.  “I escaped Highever with the clothes on my back, the family sword, and a mail shirt.”

Cailan gestured to one of his retainers, who stepped forward.  “That’s easy enough.  The Wardens have several other recruits in camp, and they all need equipment of some kind.  Just add your needs to the Wardens’ requisition.  The quartermasters will provide equipment and provisions, though to be honest, we don’t have much to spare; you’ll probably get surplus equipment from the wounded, but it’ll do for a while at least.”  He beamed again.  “With warriors like you and the mighty Duncan, this battle will stop the darkspawn, and when the reinforcements arrive, we’ll push them back down into their holes!”

Aedan blinked.  He can’t think that we can stop the darkspawn in one battle, can he?  “You sound a little disappointed.”

“I’d hoped for a war like the old tales,” Cailan said, his voice brightening.  “A king riding with the Grey Wardens against a tainted god!”  His shoulders slumped.  “But I’m not completely sure this is a true Blight.  We’ve beaten the spawn back without difficulty every time they advance, and there’s been no sign of an Archdemon at all.”

Aedan raised his eyebrows.  “It would seem to me that’s a good thing.”

“A very good thing, your Majesty,” Duncan said.  “I assure you, this is a Blight.  Before this is over, we may all be grateful the darkspawn gave us time to prepare.”

“You are the expert, after all,” Cailan said.  “Now, I must go before Loghain sends out a search party.”  He smiled again.  “Aedan, I wish you success, and may the Maker watch over you.  Farewell, Grey Wardens!”

He strode off.  Aedan waited until the king was out of earshot, then shook his head.  “Well.  He sounds… very confident.”  He met Duncan’s eyes.  “It’s not going to be so easy, is it?”

Duncan scratched at his beard.  “No, it will not.  I would expect the best we can hope for is a long siege.  More likely, we will be forced to retreat at some point.  But at the least, we can buy time for the southern towns to evacuate, and the Bannorn to get in as much of the harvest as possible.”  He put a hand on Aedan’s shoulder.  “Now, it’s time for you to start on your new path, young Cousland.  I have a task for you.”

Aedan walked through the army camp.  His first assignment seemed simple enough: prepare for a foray into the Wilds.  That meant getting his equipment and gathering the other recruits.  His first stop was one of the quartermasters, where one of his fellow recruits was supposed to be picking up their requisition.  He was actually trying to chat up a pretty blonde soldier who was picking up bundles of arrows.  Aedan stepped up behind him just as the woman rolled her eyes and stalked off.  Aedan reached out and tapped the man’s shoulder.  “You’re the Warden recruit?”

“I am,” he replied, turning.  “Name’s Daveth.  I suppose you’re the recruit Duncan got up north.” The man had a thin face, heavy stubble, and black hair; he wore a stitched leather jerkin over a padded armor jacket and had a longbow across his back.  He grinned.  “If you’re here, guess it’s time to get going… unless there’s something you need?”

There wasn’t all that much gear to spare, certainly not a set of armor.  The quartermaster was able to find Aedan a pair of heavy leather gloves reinforced with mail, sturdy boots to replace his leather slippers, and heavy trousers and wool socks to keep him warm in the marshes.  He also provided some provisions and a satchel to carry them in, a light load but still enough for a day out in the field.  Daveth took the supplies back to the Warden camp, and Aedan went looking for the others, who were supposed to be at prayer.  Services for the army were held in the marshaling yard next to the field hospital; Aedan approached one of the lay brothers just as the service was ending.  The brother pointed him to a tall man in chainmail standing at the edge of the crowd.  Aedan walked up and the man introduced himself as Ser Jory.  He said that the last recruit was working in the hospital, and the Warden assigned to lead them was taking a message to the mages.  Jory started back to Duncan while Aedan headed for the hospital.

The hospital was in good order and running properly.  Aedan could tell by the smell; good hospitals smelled of vinegar and soap, while bad ones were all blood and rot.  The big white tents with red Chantry banners held rows of cots; brothers and sisters were moving to and fro, tending to the wounded.  There were fewer than a hundred injured so far, most only needing bandages or poultices.  Of course, there had only been skirmishes of yet.  Aedan was grimly sure that in a day or two, all the beds would be full.  A handful of mages were working on the seriously wounded.  Aedan waited until they finished with their patients, then quietly cleared his throat.

“Yes?”  An older, silver-haired woman turned to face Aedan, wiping sweat off her forehead.  “Can I help you, soldier?”

Aedan nodded curtly.  “I’m here to collect the Warden recruit from the Circle.”

“I’m here.”  A dark-haired man stood shakily, catching his breath.  “Give me a moment to recover, please.  I’ve been casting all morning.”

The woman handed him a vial of lyrium.  “Here, drink up.”  Her hands glowed as she waved them over his head and chest.

The mage straightened up and stood steady, then smiled.  “Thank you, Wynne.”

She pulled him in for a hug.  “Take care, Daylen.  Maker watch over you.”

He squeezed her back, then took his staff and pulled a hooded cloak over his tunic and trousers.  He followed Aedan out of the tent; they stepped out into the camp and Daylen stretched his arms.  “Right.  What do you want me to do, Warden?”

Aedan chuckled and shook his head.  “I’m not a Warden yet, I’m a recruit, just like you.”  He extended his hand.  “Aedan Cousland.”

The mage shook it.  “Daylen Amell.”  He thumped his staff on the ground.  “Where are we heading?”

“Into the Wilds, I’m told,” Aedan said.  “We have to pick up the Warden who will be leading our group, and then return to Duncan to get our instructions.”

The mage encampment was a short walk away.  They came upon a young blond man in splinted mail armor, with a wooden kite shield slung across his back and a sword at his side.  He was speaking with a bald man in upper middle age wearing the ornately embroidered robes of a Senior Enchanter.  The mage was frowning severely.  “What did you say?”

“Not me, the Revered Mother,” the warrior replied.  “She asked me to relay her concerns; she’s noticed that very few mages are attending services.”

“Services?” the bald mage spluttered.  “We’ve come here to help the Wardens and the army, by order of the King!  When we’re not standing watch on the battlements, we’re running our mana dry healing the injured.  Forgive us for getting a rest when we can, we’re exhausted!”

The warrior shrugged.  “As I said, the mother is worried about the mages’ spiritual well-being.  She requests one of the Senior Enchanters meet with her before the noon meal to discuss the issue.”

The mage stamped his foot.  “Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!”

“I’m just the messenger,” the warrior replied, raising his hands defensively.  “Should she have written a note?”

“Fine, I’ll speak with the bloody woman!”  The mage pushed past the warrior brusquely.  “Out of my way, fool!”

Aedan cleared his throat; the warrior turned, spotted him, and smiled cheekily.  “The Blight certainly does bring people together, doesn’t it?”

Daylen raised his eyebrows.  “Wouldn’t want to put our usual squabbles aside for something as trivial as an army of monsters, would we?”

“That’s the spirit,” laughed the blond man.  “Keep calm and carry on!”  He put his hands on his hips.  “I take it you’re two of the new recruits?  I’m Alistair; I’m the newest member of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, and I will be coming with you on your mission.”

Aedan and Daylen introduced themselves, then the trio returned to Duncan’s campfire, where the other recruits were waiting.  They warmed themselves around a fire, getting in an early lunch before heading out.  Drake patrolled around their feet, ever alert for scraps.  Duncan stepped in front of them, arms folded.

“The time has come for you all to prove yourselves worthy of joining the Order of the Grey Wardens.”  He eyed Alistair.  “Assuming you’re done irritating the mages, of course.”

Alistair shrugged sheepishly.  “The Revered Mother asked me after services.  Was I supposed to refuse her to her face?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Duncan replied sternly.  “The Grey Wardens are neutral; we do not involve ourselves in the politics and disagreements of Thedas.  We cannot afford for anyone to distrust us.  The Wardens have only recently been allowed to return to Ferelden, and the darkspawn are on the march.”

“You’re right, of course.”  Alistair dropped his gaze.  “I’m sorry.”

Duncan nodded brusquely.  “As to your mission.  You have two tasks in the Korcari Wilds.  The Wardens once maintained an outpost in the Wilds, abandoned when King Arland expelled our Order.  I have recently learned that it holds a magically sealed chest containing ancient scrolls, treaties promising support to the Wardens in case of a Blight.  You are to make your way to this outpost and retrieve these documents so that we can summon additional help.  I have maps to the location for you.  Next, each recruit must retrieve a vial of darkspawn blood, proof of your skill in battle.”  He faced Aedan.  “Your hound cannot go with you, lest he be infected with the Blight.  The Ash Warriors are brewing a potion which protects against infection, but your dog will have to wait in the kennels for treatment.”

Aedan nodded, chewing the last of his bread.  Drake groaned and rubbed his head against Aedan’s leg.  Aedan smiled and gave the big dog a scratch between the ears.  “Sorry, fella.  You get a rest, behave yourself with the kennel master, and I’ll see you tonight.”

Drake growled and nipped Aedan’s arm, then trotted away and lay down.  The other recruits laughed; Aedan groaned.  “Don’t be like that.”

The gate creaked open, and Alistair led the four recruits out into the Korcari Wilds.  Daylen had Aedan looked around; the swamp was a mix of shallow pools and low-lying grassy islands, broken up by the occasional larger hill.  The region was dotted with stone ruins from when Tevinter had ruled these lands. When they left, their works had crumbled, and the region was largely empty but for the Chasind peoples.

Daveth saw Aedan looking.  “Never been in the Wilds before?”

Aedan shook his head.  “Not really.  I’ve traveled to the southern Bannorn before, but never this side of the hills.  I spent most of my life in the Coastlands, up on the Waking Sea.  We’ve got some swamps there, but they’re salt marshes, very different plants and animals.”

“I grew up in a village not far from here,” Daveth said.  “It’s cold, so there aren’t any snakes.  But there are wolves.”

“You live down here?”  Jory said.  “What do the people do?  I don’t see any land you could farm…”

“We live a lot like the Chasind do, hunting and fishing, but I don’t live here anymore,” Daveth said.  He grinned slyly.  “I, er… didn’t always hunt on common land.  The guards in Stenhold were after me for poaching on the Arl’s estate, so I left for Denerim when I was fourteen.  Did pretty well there as a housebreaker and pickpocket… but the last pocket I picked was Duncan’s.  Let me tell you, he’s very fast for a man his age.  Guards were all for stringing me up, but Duncan decided to conscript me instead.”  He shrugged.  “He gave me a chance, and I’m glad of it.  How about you, Jory?”

Jory hefted his two-handed sword.  “I am from Redcliffe to the west.  My father is the castle blacksmith there; I was his assistant, and also served in the village militia.  Last year, Arl Eamon held a tourney, open to all comers.  The prize was a knighthood in his service.  And I won.”  He smiled.  “My father was so proud he forged this sword for me.  I married my Susan not long after.  She’s a wonderful woman, a weaver and dyer; we’re expecting our first child in the spring.  Redcliffe is fairly peaceful, so there isn’t much for a knight to do other than training, and the occasional patrol for bandits.  Not an exciting or glorious life, but I was happy.  But then… the darkspawn appeared in the south, and Duncan came looking for new Wardens.  So, here I am.”  He looked over to Daylen.  “You’re from the Circle, right?  The tower in the lake?  What’s that like?”

“Most of the time, it’s quite boring,” Daylen said.  “It’s a cross between a boarding school and prison.  Apprentices-the young mages-may not leave at all without special dispensation from the Templar Knight-Commander.  As a mage studies and increases their skill and control, they are given more freedoms.  We spend our days in the tower studying magic, along with other academic subjects-as an Enchanter, I’m tasked with teaching the apprentices history.  Outside of study hours, we entertain ourselves how we can.  There is a fantastic library, and we’re encouraged to participate in indoor sports and the arts.”  He pursed his lips.  “But not all Circles are so pleasant.  It depends a lot on the attitude of the Templar officers in charge.  Some permit horrible abuse of the mages in their care.  And neither side ever really trusts the other.  I don’t know if they ever really can.”  He shrugged.  “I’m very lucky.  My family has some influence, so I was sent here, to one of the nicer Circles.  I’m from the Free Marches, you see.”

Aedan blinked.  “Wait.  Daylen Amell?  As in the Kirkwall Amells?”

Daylen nodded.  “That’s right.  My mother is Revka Amell, daughter of Lord Fausten.”  He cocked his head to the side.  “But I think I’m not the biggest name here.”

Daveth eyed Aedan.  “I thought I smelled blue blood on you.  Arl’s son?”

“Not quite,” Aedan said.  “My father was Teyrn of Highever.”  He clenched his jaw.  “Until he was murdered three days ago.”

“What?” Jory asked.  “What happened?”

Aedan took a moment to explain the overthrow of Highever and Rendon Howe’s treachery.  “So, at least for the moment, there’s nothing I can do about Howe.  Perhaps in a while, my brother and I will be able to bring him to justice.  But for now, fighting the Blight is the most important thing.”

Jory bowed his head.  “It will be an honor to fight beside you, my lord.”

“None of that,” Aedan said, shaking his head.  “The four of us are equals here.  I left my title behind when I was recruited.”

“Well said,” Alistair chimed in.  “The Grey Wardens don’t care who you are or where you’ve come from.  Joining the Wardens is a fresh start.  It was for me, too.  I’m from Redcliffe, too, though I don’t remember much of life there.  I was a Chantry orphan, in training to be a Templar before Duncan recruited me about six months ago.”

They kept walking, following a makeshift path south into the swamp.  The air was cool, but the sun shone brightly, sparkling off the occasional small pond.  There was no sign of the darkspawn, so they kept their weapons stowed, where they would be less tiring to carry.  The outpost was several miles away, and they needed to move quickly to be there and back before dark.  As they got further from the fortress, the sounds of nature died away:  the birdsong, frog calls, the rustling of small animals in the reeds all faded.  Aedan felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck.

Everyone jumped when Daveth whistled and pointed.  “There’s a man there, he’s hurt!”

Alistair followed along Daveth’s arm, didn’t see anything, and then realized he was looking too close.  There was a small, dark dot on an island about a mile away.  He squinted, and recognized it as a man lying on the ground, crawling slowly towards them.  He nodded.  “Let’s get there, and quick!”

He set off across the swamp at a brisk trot; Jory and Daylen headed after him.  Daveth was about to follow when Aedan tapped him on the arm.  “Good eye.”

Daveth grinned, and the pair jogged after Alistair and the others.

Chapter Text

It took the group a short while to reach the stricken man, and by the time they arrived, he had fallen unconscious.  He was a soldier of some kind, lightly armored in a chainmail vest and leather cap, and carrying a pair of daggers.  His side was heavily bandaged, but blood was oozing through.  Daylen ran to the man and knelt to heal him.  Alistair pointed to the recruits.  “We’re about halfway to the outpost.  Take a moment to rest.”

The man’s tunic was bloody, torn, and spattered with mud, but Aedan still recognized the heraldry.  “Highever brigade.  That’s one of my brother’s men!”

He started forward.  Daylen stuck out his staff and blocked Aedan’s path.  “Give me some room, please.  This man needs healing, and badly.  His wounds were bad enough, but it looks like he tried to walk back to Ostagar with them.”  Aedan bit his lip, but nodded and stepped back and let Daylen work.  Daylen looked over at Alistair.  “It will take me about half an hour to treat him.  I could go faster if I take lyrium, but I only have a few potions.”

Alistair nodded and climbed up on a low rise.  “Everyone, take a moment to rest.  I’ll take the watch.”

Daveth nodded and found a tree to lean against; Jory sat down on a fallen log and started unfastening his boots.  Aedan laid a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.  “We might have to move suddenly,” he murmured.  “Don’t want to get caught unprepared.”

Jory blinked.  “Right.  Sorry, as I said, I’m used to garrison duty.  I didn’t think…”

Aedan smiled faintly.  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Daylen pressed his hands to the wound and concentrated, sending waves of magic into the torn flesh.  It took about five minutes to stop the bleeding, at which point, Daylen felt comfortable taking the bandages off so he could see what he was doing.  The man’s breathing grew less labored; the edges of the wound drew together as he accelerated the healing process.  With the main danger past, Daylen stopped to rest and recover his mana.  Being drained of magical energy felt a lot like ordinary fatigue, with the body seeming heavier and the senses dulled.  But it passed more quickly than physical fatigue did.  After a few minutes’ break, he went back to finish up.  The man was out of danger and Daylen didn’t want to leave him sore, so he slowed down his healing.  Another few minutes, and the soldier groaned and opened his eyes.

“Lie still, soldier,” Daylen said, placing a hand on his chest.  “You’re safe for now, but you need to take a short while to recover.”

“A mage, what…” the soldier’s looked around groggily and spotted Alistair.  “Grey Wardens?  Quickly, I need to…”  His eyes opened wide and he tried to stand.

He lost his balance immediately and fell into Daylen, who caught him and lowered him gently to the ground.  “Be still, I said.  I’ve repaired your wounds, but you need to get your strength back.  Just a minute or two, I promise.”

The man’s head dropped and he reached into his belt pouch.  “I’ve an urgent message for the King from Lord Fergus.”  He came up with a leather envelope.  “Please, one of you, take it back to the camp, quickly!”

“Is Fergus all right?” Aedan asked sharply.  “What’s happened?”

The man frowned, shook his head to clear it, and looked at Aedan again.  “Milord!  He was safe when I left.”  He sat up, more slowly his time, leaning against a rock.  “Corporal Gage, sir, of the Highever skirmishers.  Lord Fergus took the company a day’s march south into the swamps.  He had us split up into small detachments, just close enough to signal each other.  We spotted several small groups of darkspawn, but we were under orders not to engage until we saw the main horde.  What time is it?  Is it still the sixth of Harvestmere?”

“It is,” Alistair said.  “About two o’clock in the afternoon.”

“There’s still time, then.  I thought I’d been out longer than that.”  Gage took a breath.  “About eight this morning, the horde appeared to the south-southeast, maybe ten leagues away.  Just looked like a black shadow sweeping across the land.  Lord Fergus means to lay traps to delay the darkspawn, then retreat northwest to the hills, circle around, and rejoin the brigade behind Ostagar.  The spawn should reach the fortress just before dawn tomorrow.  He sent me with ten men to carry back word, but we were ambushed by a darkspawn patrol.”  He shook his head.  “I was the only one left when it was over.  Patched myself up as best I could, tried to get back to camp, and didn’t make it.  Maker must be watching over me, because you came along.”

Aedan squeezed his shoulder.  “You did well, soldier.”  He looked up at Alistair.  “We’ve got to go back.  The army needs this report.”

Alistair rubbed his cheek.  “We can’t.  We have our own mission, and it’s just as important.  We can deliver the news when we return.”

“But what about the horde?” Aedan asked, crossing his arms.  “Think about the timing.  Teyrn Loghain will need to make changes to the plan and deploy the troops, which will take several hours.  After this delay, our mission will have us back with the news around sundown, possibly later.  If Fergus’ traps don’t slow the spawn enough, they could arrive at Ostagar in the middle of the night and catch our forces unprepared.”

Daylen stood up, holding up his hands.  “I think we can accomplish both tasks.  Gage should be fully recovered now.  The area behind us is safe, yes?  He can make it back alone.  I’ll cast a charm of rejuvenation, so he can run without tiring.”  He looked down at the soldier.  “How are you feeling?  Think you can get back without us?”

Gage stood and stretched.  “I feel fine.  Quite good, actually.”  He tucked the report back into his pouch.  “Thank you, ser mage.”

“You’ll feel even better in a moment,” Daylen said.  He extended his hand towards Gage, moving his fingers forward and back in time with the scout’s breathing.

Gage startled slightly.  “Ah!  Maker, that’s amazing.”  He rolled his shoulders, then nodded his head.  “Thank you, Wardens.  Milord, take care.  I’m off!”

He headed north at a run.  Alistair nodded to Daylen.  “Well done.”

Jory shifted nervously.  “We shouldn’t be out here.  You heard Gage.  His patrol was caught and nearly wiped out, and he had ten men with him.  We’re only five.”

“Calm down, Ser Jory,” Alistair replied.  “If we’re careful, we’ll make it.”

“Those men were careful, and the spawn overran them!”  Jory countered.  “How many can we kill?  A dozen each?  Two dozen?  We’re headed right towards a whole bloody army of them!”

Alistair glanced around at the Wilds.  “There are darkspawn in the swamps, but we’re in no danger of running into the bulk of the horde.  The main group is still off to the south, hopefully running into Lord Fergus’ traps.”

Jory shook his head.  “How can you possibly know that?”

“Because all Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn,” Alistair said evenly.  “It’s why I’m here, to keep them from taking us by surprise.”

Daveth chuckled.  “You see, ser knight?  We might die, but we’ll be warned about it first.”

Jory laughed hollowly.  “I suppose.”

Aedan whistled.  “That’s handy.  We’ll be able to detect them as well?”

Alistair nodded.  “Yes, you will.  It varies from one Warden to the next, but in general, the larger the group of darkspawn, the farther away we can feel them.”

“How does that work?” Daylen asked, frowning.

“Those details are Warden secrets, and you may not know them before the Joining,” Alistair replied.  He smiled sheepishly.  “Sorry.  I know it’s difficult.”

“I suppose we’d better get a move on, then,” Daveth said.  “The sooner we finish this mission, the sooner we get to the Joining and all the juicy secrets.”

Alistair raised his eyebrows.  “You sound eager.”

Daveth nodded.  “Maybe I’ve never exactly been on the right side of the law.  But I was a damned good hunter, and I was a damned good thief.”  He set his jaw.  “And I’m going to be a damned good Warden.”

“Damned right, you will,” Jory chimed in, grinning.  Alistair snorted, smiled, and started off.  The four recruits fell in behind him, walking deeper into the Wilds.

It was perhaps an hour before Alistair slowed, then stopped and held up a hand.  “Darkspawn.  Only a small group, but they’re not too far ahead.  Get ready for a fight.”

Everyone’s attitude changed instantly.  The recruits all drew their weapons; Jory and Aedan spread out to either side of Alistair, while Daveth and Daylen stayed behind their line.  The group started moving again, cautiously.  The ground rose slightly, swamp giving way to a mix of forest and meadow.

The attack came from the left, towards Jory and Alistair.  A handful of humanoid shapes came out of the trees, snarling.  Some ran on two legs, others on all fours; they were as fast or faster than a person could run.  Daveth reacted the quickest, nocking and loosing an arrow before the darkspawn could close the distance.  He hit one of the attackers, which stumbled, but kept coming.  Daylen leveled his staff, hesitated as Jory crossed in front of him, then loosed a firebolt, which missed.  The first darkspawn reached the group, leaping at Alistair.  He raised his shield to stop the beast, knocked it down, and skewered it with his sword.  The spawn Daveth had injured went for Jory, heedless of its crippled arm.  The big man shouted and cut the darkspawn nearly in half with his greatsword.  Daveth shot again, this time killing his target.

Aedan shouted a warning: more spawn were coming from his side.  He glanced over his shoulder at Daylen and Daveth, then moved to the side to give them a clear shot.  Daveth, again, got his arrow off quickly and hit one of the creatures, but only wounded it in the leg.  Daylen took a little longer to aim this time, and his flame hit a darkspawn square in the face.  It screeched and dropped on the spot, still smoking.  The remaining darkspawn separated; one each went after Alistair and Aedan, while the wounded one lagged behind.  Alistair blocked an axe swing and countered with a high slash which the spawn simply ducked.  Alistair lashed out with his shield, hitting the spawn in the top of the head.  It staggered back, stunned, and Alistair cut it down.  Daylen and Daveth both shot the injured darkspawn; it fell dead.  The one coming for Aedan swung for his head with a club.  Aedan let the strike roll off his shield and drove his sword up under the spawn’s ribs, severing its spine.  He pulled his sword free and the body fell at his feet.  Aedan scanned for more threats, but the field was empty.

“Hah!” Daveth stamped his foot.  “We showed them, all right!”

Daylen looked around, gripping his staff tightly.  “Is that all of them?”

Alistair nodded.  “For now.  There are still more darkspawn further south, and it’s a larger group.”

Jory grunted and poked one of the dead spawn with his sword.  “Disgusting.”

“Aren’t they too small?” Daylen asked.  “I thought darkspawn were taller than a man.”

“There are four kinds of darkspawn,” Alistair said.  “These are genlocks, the most common type, and also the smallest.”  He went on to briefly explain the varieties of spawn.

Daveth laughed.  “These are my favorite kind of darkspawn… the dead kind.  We brought ‘em down, boys!  Time to fill our vials!”

Alistair handed each recruit a small, thick-walled glass vial.  The four went to the fallen darkspawn and scooped up some of the ink-black blood.  Alistair instructed them to stopper the vials with corks, seal them with wax, then wrap them in a few layers of cloth for protection.  With the blood collected, they got moving again.  They walked for a few more miles before reaching a small footbridge over a gully with a deep, fast-running creek.  On the far side was the spot where Gage’s detachment had been ambushed.

Ten soldiers lay dead within the space of thirty yards.  Half were riddled with arrows, the rest had been bludgeoned or slashed.  More than double that number of darkspawn were fallen around them.  Aedan ground his teeth and his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

“Did you know them?” Daylen asked softly.

Aedan shook his head sadly.  “I led too many soldiers to know them all.  But it’s a loss all the same.  These people had families, friends, people who counted on them, who they were fighting for.  Every one of the skirmishers was a volunteer.”

“Looks like they didn’t go quietly,” Daveth said, looking around at the dead darkspawn.  “Even caught by surprise, they took more than two dozen spawn with them.”

Alistair’s head snapped up.  “They’re coming again.  Many more this time!”

Jory unlimbered his two-hander and moved up alongside Alistair.  Aedan took his place, sword at the ready.  Daveth nocked another arrow, watching for the coming attack.  Daylen took a deep breath and raised his staff.  But no enemy appeared.  A minute passed, then two.  And then over a dozen darkspawn charged at them.

Jory set his feet and angled his sword.  Daveth shot an arrow at the hurlock in the lead.  It ducked, then roared.  Daylen hit it with a firebolt, and it staggered.  Aedan growled and rushed forward.  He knocked a genlock flying with his shield, then drove his sword right through the spawn Daveth had hit.  It gurgled and died, but his blade lodged in the body, with the genlock getting up and another closing in.  Aedan let go of his sword, blocked one of the beasts with his shield, then kicked the other, buying time to draw his dagger.  He sidestepped an axe swing, then stabbed it in the armpit, piercing through a lung into its heart.  The second darkspawn leapt at him with daggers; Aedan smashed it to the ground with his shield, then finished it off before it could get up.  He sheathed his dagger and retrieved his sword.  Another hurlock came at him, swinging its curved sword.  He sidestepped the blow, spun, and slashed the beast across its back.  It fell, twitching.  Aedan looked around for the next attack, and none came.

Jory and Alistair had come up to help, and killed five between them.  Daveth had dropped two and was still shooting at the survivors as they retreated.  Daylen had his staff at the ready, scanning the woods for threats.  Everyone relaxed visibly as the last darkspawn ran out of sight.

“Careful, everyone,” Alistair said quickly.  “We drove them back, but there’s still a decent-sized group out there.”  He pointed.  “See that patch of woods?  The outpost is just on the far side.”

Daveth nodded.  “Let’s get to the outpost quickly and then get back.  I’m all for killing more spawn, but I’d rather have a whole army with me when I do.”

“That’s a strategy I can get behind,” Jory said, chuckling.

They got moving again, but they’d only gone perhaps a quarter mile when they heard horrible, rasping laughter and dozens of arrows zipped out of the trees.

Aedan and Alistair raised their shields and moved together; Jory tried to shelter behind them, but they could barely cover themselves.  Daylen cast a barrier over the group.  It wasn’t very large, but all five of them could squeeze in behind it.  The darkspawn’s barbed arrows kept slamming into the shield, striking ripples of white light.

Daveth swore.  “I can’t see them!”  He leaned out and sent an arrow into the woods, then shook his head in frustration.  “Nothing.”

“Let me try,” Daylen said.  He stepped out of cover and blasted a fireball into the woods.  The blast threw rocks and debris into the air, and something screeched.  Daylen sent another fireball, and this time, a handful of darkspawn ran out of cover, beating at their smoldering armor.  Daveth shot one of them on the run, but then the enemy sent another wave of arrows.  Everyone hunkered down behind Daylen’s barrier, which started to fade.  He downed a vial of lyrium, and the shield brightened again, but the darkspawn archers kept shooting.  “Only a couple more potions.  I can’t keep us covered for long; what should we do?”

Aedan shook his head.  “This is how they got Gage’s patrol, caught them in the open.  We need to get out of here and find better ground to make a stand.”  He thought a moment.  “Alistair, how about we fall back across that creek, hold the crossing?”

“I like it,” Alistair replied.  “Let’s go.  Daylen, keep us covered.”

“I can’t move the barrier,” Daylen said.  “I can dispel it and then raise another in a new location, but I don’t know how we can get back across this meadow with the archers shooting.  They’ll get us before we can run out of range.”

Daveth fished in his pouches and pulled out what looked like a pair of large, thick candles.  “Borrowed these from one of the scouts.  Smoke bombs.  Mage, have you got a bit of fire?”

Daylen snapped his fingers and shot sparks to light the fuses.  Daveth licked his finger and held it up to judge the wind, then tossed the bombs, which sputtered and then began spewing dark-grey smoke.  In half a minute, they were screened by a thick cloud of the stuff, and the darkspawn began snarling in frustration.  The arrows started zipping through the smoke at random as the spawn tried for a lucky hit.

Aedan grinned.  “Good work, you two.”

He bent down and grabbed a short bow and quiver from one of the fallen skirmishers, then headed back for the creek.  Alistair motioned for Daveth and Jory to go with him.  Once they’d gotten some distance, he tapped Daylen on the shoulder.  The mage dropped his barrier, then started after the others.  He thought a moment, then picked up a skirmisher’s short sword and tucked it into his belt.  Alistair brought up the rear, keeping an eye out for spawn coming after them.  They were halfway to the creek when the first darkspawn burst through the smoke, growling and waving their weapons.  The darkspawn archers were still shooting blind, and managed to hit some of their own troops in the back.  A hurlock barked over its shoulder and the arrows ceased.  Then arrows began to hit the darkspawn from the front.  Aedan and Daveth had crossed to the far bank of the creek, and were shooting as fast as they could nock new arrows.  Jory was on the near side as a rear guard.

“Across, quickly!” Aedan called.  “Alistair, hold the bridge.  Daylen, find a spot behind him where you can hit as much of the field as possible.  I want you to aim for groups; hit them hard and keep them from attacking in a mass.  Daveth, you and I pick off stragglers and targets of opportunity.  They’ll be vulnerable when they try to cross the creek.  Jory, you’re in reserve.  Deal with any that make it across, help Alistair if he needs it, and keep them off Daylen.”

Alistair nodded briskly, walked to the end of the bridge, and set his feet.  Daylen moved to a spot about ten feet back and quickly downed a lyrium vial.  Jory stood next to him, sword at the ready.  Aedan and Daveth spread out to either side, where they could cover a fairly wide stretch of the bank.

The closest darkspawn were just arriving.  A dozen tried to rush across the bridge as a group, but there wasn’t enough space.  At most, three could cross at once, but they were jammed together and didn’t have room to fight.  Alistair stopped the front rank cold.  The rest of the spawn stacked up in the middle of the bridge, where Daveth and Aedan caught them in a crossfire.  Alistair bashed a hurlock with his shield, knocking it into the creek.  He stabbed a genlock, then parried a sword swing from another.  The hurlock tried to climb up out of the gully, and Jory took its head off.  A hurlock tried to leap from the bridge to the bank, hoping to get behind Alistair; Daveth shot it in midair and it plunged into the creek.

Alistair groaned, everyone looked up, and Aedan’s heart sank.  Daveth’s smokescreen had cleared… revealing the darkspawn main force, which had used the smoke to move in concealment.  There were at least three dozen archers in the rear, and twenty or more melee infantry.  Standing at the front was a hurlock.  A big hurlock, wearing head-to-toe spiky black armor and carrying a wicked-looking curved sword and oval shield.  It bared its teeth and rasped out the awful laugh again.

“Alpha,” Alistair said.  “It leads the rest, and they’re stronger and cleverer than most darkspawn.”

Daveth wavered, checking his quiver.  “Low on arrows here.”

The alpha roared, waving its sword overhead.  The darkspawn advanced, archers nocking arrows.  There was no cover at all along the bank.

“Daylen, hit them!” Aedan called.  “Archers first.”

The mage was already charging up a spell.  He leveled his staff… and this time, he could see his targets.  The archers got their first volley away, aiming for Alistair, who huddled behind his shield.  The arrows fell all around him, but the few that hit glanced off his shield or armor.  Daylen sent his fireball flying; the blast tossed nearby darkspawn into the air and flash-burned those further away.  He followed up with another fireball, and another, as quickly as he could cast the spell.  Nearly a third of the archers were out of the fight within a minute or two.  They spread out so Daylen’s fireballs couldn’t catch them all, but they also couldn’t concentrate their volleys.  The darkspawn warriors advanced, heading for the bridge and Alistair.  The archers shifted their aim to Daylen.  He avoided the arrows as best he could, answering back with firebolts.

Aedan ran over to Daveth and handed over his quiver, then drew his sword and shield and moved to help Alistair.  Jory sprinted in front of Daylen, shielded the smaller man with his body, and shouted for him to keep going.  Daylen took a moment to gulp down his last lyrium potion, then got back to throwing spells.  The spawn got to the bridge, then the first two went after Alistair while the others waited their turn.  Daveth started picking them off… and a flying ball of ice hurled him to the ground.

A tall, thin darkspawn stood at the edge of the creek, wielding a twisted magic staff.  The emissary had been hiding among the warriors, closing in while the other spawn served as a distraction.  It whirled its staff and unleashed a blast of frigid air.  Ice formed, building on itself until it arched across the gully.  Darkspawn warriors rushed across the improvised bridge, moving to attack the Warden recruits from the left flank.  There was no time for a new plan; Aedan moved back to back with Alistair as darkspawn closed in on them.  The others saw what needed to be done and did fairly well, even without orders.  Daylen sent a fireball straight into the ice bridge.  He blasted it to shards, but most of the spawn were already across.  The rest headed for the footbridge, trying to overrun Alistair and Aedan.  Daveth was running for his life, desperately dodging ice and lightning from the emissary.  Daylen cast a barrier for him to use as cover.  Daveth started zipping arrows into the advancing spawn as Jory moved to head them off.  The darkspawn archers tried to reform and rain arrows on Daveth and Jory.  Daylen finished the last of them with a pair of fireballs… and ran out of mana.  The emissary could sense it, and was taking aim even before the barrier fell.  He sent another ice spell towards Daveth.  The poacher dove and rolled, coming up on one knee with his bow fully drawn.  He loosed his arrow before the emissary could cast again.  Daveth’s shot caught the darkspawn mage right in the throat, and it toppled into the gully.  Daveth grinned at Daylen, then shifted his aim to the remaining darkspawn on the bridge.

The hurlock alpha snarled, then sprinted and leaped clear across the gully.  It landed at a run, headed after Daylen from the right.  Daveth saw it, swore, and yelled for help, but Aedan and Alistair were surrounded by a dozen spawn, and Jory was badly out of position fighting the last few on the left.  Daylen dropped his staff and drew his shortsword, but he had no shield, against a much larger, heavier opponent.  Daveth loosed arrows as fast as he could, but the alpha just angled its shield and kept coming.  Daylen picked up a big rock and threw it.  He hit the alpha in the chest, but it seemed more angered than injured.  Daylen set his feet and raised his sword.  The alpha slashed at him.  Daylen parried, but couldn’t counterattack; the alpha was taller and held a longer sword, and he simply couldn’t reach.  The alpha strode forward and attacked again.  Daylen stopped the blade, but not the shield bash.  The impact knocked him off his feet and the ground knocked the wind out of him.  The alpha chopped downwards and Daylen scrambled out of the way.  Daveth managed to land a hit on the alpha’s shoulder through a gap in the armor… with his last arrow.  He tossed his bow aside, drew his daggers, and ran in, shouting an unbroken stream of profanity.

The alpha turned to face Daveth and slashed at him.  Daveth ducked and rolled under the attack, then thrust his blades into the alpha’s belly.  The daggers drew blood, but didn’t cut deep enough to do serious damage.  The alpha roared and kicked Daveth in the ribs, sending him tumbling across the ground.  Daylen was back up and had recovered a little mana; he reached up and hit the alpha with a firebolt to the face from point-blank range.  The big hurlock howled in pain and flailed around, dropping its sword.  Daylen tried to follow up with a stab, but the alpha grabbed his arm.  It snarled at Daylen, then swung him around and threw him at Daveth, who was getting back to his feet.  They went down in a tangle as the alpha retrieved its sword.  It was slashing down to finish them when Jory parried the swing.

The big man knocked the alpha backwards and glared.  “Pick on someone your own size.”

He lashed out with a big two-handed swing.  The alpha stopped it with its shield, but the force of the blow sent it staggering.  Jory tried to follow up with a strong downward slash, but the alpha stepped aside and hacked at his shoulder.  He grunted in pain and swung wild.  The alpha stepped in and slammed him with its shield, but Jory stood firm.  He was in too close to get a swing in, so he popped the alpha in the head with the pommel of his greatsword.  It stumbled backwards, wavering.  Daveth was back up and stabbed the alpha from behind.  It roared and spun, bringing its sword around.  Daylen stepped in and deflected the swing upwards.  Jory landed a solid thrust to the torso, piercing through the alpha’s armor and into its vitals.  He grit his teeth, twisted the sword, then pulled his blade free, and the big spawn finally fell dead.

There was silence but for the sound of the creek.  Daylen let out a heavy sigh.  There seemed to be no darkspawn left, and he took a moment to look around.  Jory had a few bruises, but was basically fine.  Daveth had sunk to the ground, holding his side where the alpha had kicked him; Daylen crouched down to heal him as best he could.  Aedan and Alistair stood at the end of the bridge, in the center of a ring of darkspawn bodies.  And everyone was grinning as they met each other’s eyes.

Alistair looked across the battlefield and shook his head.  “My senses need more practice.  That group felt a little bigger than the first, not like a hundred of them!”

“And all of them dead,” Daveth crowed.  He winked at Jory.  “You wanted to know how many we can kill?  At least a hundred!”

Jory smiled ruefully.  “True enough.  Still, you were right.  Before we fight a hundred more, I think we should make sure to have the army around.”

Alistair crossed his arms.  “Nice work with that alpha, you three.  I think we’re in the clear; I don’t feel any more spawn nearby.  Is everyone all right?”

Daylen stood, the glow fading from his hands.  “Daveth had a cracked rib.  I fixed it, as much as I could, anyway.  He needs rest, but he should be fine.”

Aedan pointed.  “What about your arm?”

“My arm…” Daylen glanced down and realized he was cut in the left bicep.  “Oh.  Didn’t notice with everything going on.”  He laid his other hand on the wound and tried to heal it, but didn’t have the energy.  With the adrenaline fading, his arm was starting to throb.  “Damn.  Has anyone got a handkerchief?”

“Sit down a moment,” Aedan said.  He walked along the bank a short way, then picked a plant and a couple of smooth river rocks.  “Elfroot.  Quick wound treatment for us non-mages.”

Daylen rolled up his sleeve, and Aedan sat next to him.  He picked the smaller leaves off the vine and crushed them to a paste between the stones.  Next, he spread the paste on one of the larger leaves and stuck it to the wound, then tied it in place with the vine.

“There.  It’ll keep the wound clean, and numb the pain some.  You can heal it properly later, once your mana is restored.”  He shook a finger at Daylen.  “Mage or not, you should be wearing armor.  At least a padded coat.”

“I’ll let Duncan know when we get back,” Alistair agreed.

Daylen thanked Aedan, and the group got moving.  The hike through the patch of woods took perhaps half an hour, and then, at last, they came to the outpost.  It looked like an old Tevinter watchtower, probably built at the same time as Ostagar.  And like the larger fortress, it was in ruins.  What had once been a two-story stone structure was now crumbled to the ground, just a stairway leading to a small section of second-floor landing.  Alistair and the recruits walked in through an archway in the still-standing outer wall.  Alistair headed directly for a niche against the wall across from them.  There was a heavy wooden chest there… but the lid was hanging loose.  Alistair gasped and ran over to it, then started rooting around inside.  There were a few scraps of cloth which appeared to be wrappings of some kind, but…

“The treaties are gone, there’s nothing here!”  Alistair stood up, shaking his head.  “I don’t understand.  Duncan told me this chest was sealed and warded with magic when the Wardens left.”

Daylen stepped up.  “May I?”  Alistair nodded, and the mage knelt to examine the chest.  He frowned.  “I can feel that this was once enchanted, but the magic is gone from it now.”

“You mean the wards were removed?”  Alistair frowned.  “Why would anyone go to the trouble to take some old Warden documents?”

Aedan crossed his arms.  “Could be a collector, of course.  There are rich people out there who want any sort of historical artifact.  Or… the Wardens didn’t exactly leave Ferelden voluntarily, 200 years ago.  Could be the papers were seized.”

Everyone jumped as a new voice joined the conversation.  “Well, well… what have we here?”

Chapter Text

There was a woman at the top of the crumbling staircase.  She was strikingly beautiful, nearly as tall as Aedan and willowy, with pale skin and black hair pinned up.  Her outfit seemed to be cobbled together from scraps and rags, dark leggings and knee-high boots beneath a skirt of leather strips.  She wore almost nothing above the waist, mainly an odd wine-colored sash or shawl with a hood thrown back, along with half a dozen necklaces of various kinds.  A staff of twisted black wood hung across her back.  But most striking of all were her vivid yellow eyes, which moved from one man to another, measuring them all.  Alistair’s mouth flapped open and shut.  Daylen frowned slightly, but stayed silent; Jory looked at his feet, and Daveth stood frozen, his eyes wide as saucers.  Aedan simply looked on silently.

She started down the stairs.  “I have watched your progress for some time.  ‘Where do they go,’ I wondered.  ‘Why are they here?’  And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long.”  She reached the ground and stopped a handful of paces away.  “Why is that?”

“Don’t answer,” Alistair said sharply.  “She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby.”

“You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?” the woman asked scornfully, throwing her hands in the air.

“Yes, swooping is bad,” Alistair replied.

“So what if she is Chasind?” Aedan asked.  “So are the Ash Warriors fighting with the King’s army.  The Wilds are their home, and they have every right to know why armed outsiders are here.”

She cocked her head curiously.  “Are you vultures, I wonder?  Scavengers, poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned?  Or merely intruders, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?”  She focused on Alistair, staring the Warden down.  “What say you, hmm?  Scavenger or intruder?”

“She’s a Witch of the Wilds, she is!” Daveth blurted, backing away.  “She’ll turn us into toads!”

The woman scoffed.  “Witch of the Wilds?  Such idle fancies, those legends.  Have you no minds of your own?”  She looked over to Aedan.  “You there, handsome lad.  Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.  Let us be civilized.”

Aedan bobbed his head.  “I am Aedan Cousland, from Highever.”

She almost smiled, then simply nodded back.  “Now there is a proper civil greeting!  You may call me Morrigan, if you wish.  Shall I guess your purpose?  You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?”

Alistair took a step forward.  “You stole them, didn’t you?  You’re some kind of sneaky… witch-thief!”

“Alistair!” Daylen snapped.  “It costs nothing to be polite.”  He faced Morrigan.  “I’m Daylen Amell, formerly of the Ferelden Circle of Magi.”

“A tame mage,” Morrigan said snidely.  “Do you have to be home before sundown?”

Aedan raised his eyebrows.  “Politeness wouldn’t cost you anything either, you know.  And yes, we’re looking for some old documents.  The Grey Wardens once owned this tower, and we were sent to retrieve some of their property that was left behind.”

“Those documents belong to the Grey Wardens, and I suggest you return them,” Alistair said.

Aedan groaned and covered his face with one hand; Morrigan merely sniffed.  “I will not, for ‘twas not I who removed them.  Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened.”

“Those missing papers may be vitally important to the fight against the darkspawn,” Aedan said, stepping forward.  “Milady Morrigan, please.  The Blight threatens us all.  If you have any knowledge of where those papers are, or who took them, we would very much appreciate your help.”

Morrigan put her hands on her hips.  “Very well.  ‘Twas my mother who removed your treaties.  Some years ago, in fact.  If you wish, I will take you to her, and you may ask her for them back.”  She shot Alistair a look.  “I suggest you allow the handsome one to do the talking.”

Daveth shook his head.  “She’ll put us all in the pot, she will!  Just you watch.”

“If the pot’s warmer than this forest, it’d be a nice change,” Jory countered, rolling his eyes.

“Follow me, then, if it pleases you,” Morrigan said.

She led them to the east, following the creek.  It led into a little valley and emptied into a pond, next to which was a squat wattle-and-daub hut.  They’d never have found the place without Morrigan; the valley was surrounded by densely wooded hills.  Even the smoke from the chimney dissipated before it rose high enough to be seen.  And standing out front was a woman in her late sixties, wearing a simple peasant dress; her lined face told of a hard life.

Morrigan nodded to her as she crossed the front yard.  “Greetings, Mother.  These men are Grey Wardens who…”

“I see them, girl,” the old woman said.  She snorted.  “Much as I expected.”

Alistair chuckled.  “Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?”

“You are required to do nothing, least of all believe,” the old woman retorted, glaring at him.

“She’s a witch, I tell you.  We shouldn’t be talking to her.”  Daveth tried to stage-whisper, but was still plainly audible.

“Quiet, Daveth!” Jory snapped.  “If she’s really a witch, do you want to make her mad?”

“There is a smart lad,” Morrigan’s mother said dryly.  She looked Jory up and down.  “Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides.  Believe what you will.”

Aedan spoke up.  “I believe you have something we need, badly.  Will you help us, madam?”

The old woman walked up to them, glancing from one to the next.  “So much about you is uncertain, and yet, I believe.”  She passed over Jory and a petrified Daveth quickly.  “Do I?  Why, it seems I do!”  She gave Alistair a longer look, nodded to herself, then lingered over Daylen longer still.  Finally, she eyed Aedan, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.  “But the real question is, do you?”

Aedan shrugged.  “I’m not sure what to believe.”

“A statement that possesses more wisdom than it implies,” the old woman laughed, putting her hands on her hips.  “Be always aware… or is it oblivious?  I can never remember.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes.  “They did not come to listen to your platitudes, Mother.”

Her mother nodded.  “True, they came for their treaties, yes?”  Alistair opened his mouth but she cut him right off.  “And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago.”  She reached into her tunic and withdrew a bundle of scrolls.  “I have protected these.”

Alistair blinked.  “You… oh.  You protected them?”

“And why not?” she replied, handing them over.  “Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight’s threat is greater than they realize.”

Alistair accepted the scrolls dumbly, nodding his thanks.

“You have what you came for,” Morrigan said, crossing her arms.  “Time for you to go.”

Her mother laughed softly.  “Be polite, girl.  These are your guests.”

Morrigan made a disgusted noise.  “Very well.  I will show you out of the woods.  Follow me.”

She started off back up the creek.  Alistair and the recruits fell in behind her.  As they walked, Jory shook his head.  “She had the treaties on her when we arrived.  Somehow, she was expecting us.”

“Witch of the Wilds, they’re both Witches of the Wilds,” Daveth said fervently.

Aedan shrugged.  “Maybe, but she still saved the treaties when the magic failed.  Against the darkspawn, we’re all on the same side, even witches.”

“I couldn’t feel any magic on her at all,” Daylen said.  “That means either she isn’t a mage at all… or she’s one of the most skilled and powerful I’ve ever met.”

“I think, perhaps, it’s best we not find out which,” Aedan said.

 “You’re cleverer than you look,” chuckled Morrigan.  “I think I like you.”

“I’d be careful,” Alistair called from behind them.  “First it’s ‘I like you…’ but then ‘Zap!’  Frog time.”

Morrigan spun to face him.  “You need not worry about me changing you into anything.”

And then she was a bear.

In an instant, the woman grew and shifted, taking the shape of a huge, black-furred bear, growling right in Alistair’s face.  He startled and stumbled backwards, as did the others.  Morrigan tossed her head, then transformed back into her human form, smiling smugly.  “Come now, we should hurry.  ‘Tis best you are back at your fortress before dark; outsiders will find the Wilds quite dangerous at night.”

She strode off down the path as if nothing had happened; after a moment, Aedan followed.  The others trailed after, Daveth whimpering in the rear.

Morrigan led them as far as the island in the swamp where they’d found Gage.  From there, they could see the ramparts of Ostagar in the distance.  She bade them a brusque farewell then quickly disappeared into the reeds.  The group continued back into the army camp and found Duncan waiting for them by the gate.  He had a roaring bonfire waiting, with logs as makeshift benches and bowls of hot soup; they flopped down to rest and warm up.

“Corporal Gage made it back safely about two hours ago,” Duncan said.  “He tells me there were several darkspawn patrols in the area.  Did they give you trouble?”

Alistair nodded.  “We ran into a small group first, perhaps a dozen.  We dealt with them fairly easily, but they were just scouts.  There was a large raiding party further into the swamp, at least a hundred of them; that fight was a damned close thing.”  He wagged a finger at Aedan.  “We were lucky you were along.  Duncan, he’s amazing.”

Duncan looked to Aedan and raised his eyebrows.  The younger man shrugged.  “I suggested a good position to defend, but any properly trained military officer could have told you that.  But we wouldn’t have made it without all of us fighting together.”

Jory folded his arms.  “You’re selling yourself a bit short, milord.”

“I agree,” Daylen said.  Alistair and Daveth nodded.

“There seems to be a consensus among your comrades,” Duncan said, smiling faintly.  “And did you recover the treaties as well?”

Alistair nodded.  “They weren’t in the tower.  They’d been taken by a pair of apostates living out in the Wilds.”  He pulled the scrolls out of his satchel.  “It was an old woman and her daughter, very strange people.”

Duncan folded his arms.  “That they were in the hands of apostates is irrelevant.  Chantry business is not ours.  So long as the treaties were kept safe, we owe them our gratitude.”  Abruptly, his face grew serious.  “I’m sorry you cannot rest for long, but the darkspawn are upon us, and the time has come for the Joining ritual.  I will not lie to you; we Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are.  Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later.”

Daylen raised his eyebrows.  “Are you saying this ritual can kill us?”

Duncan nodded.  “So could the darkspawn you faced today, or those you will face in battle tomorrow.  However, the Wardens select their recruits with care.  I believe you have the best possible chance to survive.”

He didn’t say what the odds are, Aedan thought.  Either they’re not great, or he doesn’t know for sure.  He made eye contact with Daveth, and saw the clever archer had come to the same conclusion.

“Nothing for it now,” Daveth said flatly.  “When do we Join?”

“Finish your meal, then meet me at the north tower at sunset,” Duncan said.  He beckoned, and Alistair followed him away from the fire. 

Jory shook his head.  “The more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it.  My wife is in Redcliffe with a child on the way.  If they had warned me… it doesn’t seem fair.”

Daveth shrugged.  “Would you have come if they’d warned you?  Maybe that’s why they don’t.  The Wardens do what they must, right?”

“The First Blight lasted 190 years,” Daylen said.  “The Second lasted ninety, the Third fifteen, and the Fourth twelve.  Seems to me the Wardens have proven they know what’s best to defeat the darkspawn.”

“By sacrificing us?”  Jory asked.

“Not just us.”  Aedan gestured to the camp.  “There are fifteen thousand men and women down there, ready to stand and fight, and that’s just the first battle.”

Daveth nodded firmly.  “I’d sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end this Blight.  You saw those darkspawn, ser knight.  Wouldn’t you die to protect your pretty wife from them?”  He saw Jory nod, and continued.  “Maybe you’ll die.  Maybe we’ll all die.  If nobody stops the darkspawn, we’ll die for sure.”

Jory wavered, then his head dropped.  “I’ve just never faced a foe I could not engage with my blade… but you’re right.  I’d die for her.”

They finished their meal in silence, every man wondering if it would be their last.

The four recruits walked through the camp, to a tower platform at the rear of the fortress.  Duncan and Alistair were waiting on either side of a small stone altar, lighting torches as the last rays of the sun disappeared.  A large, marble chalice stood atop the altar, with a jet-black liquid inside.

“At last, we come to the Joining.”  Duncan clasped his hands.  “The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation.  When all hope seemed lost, the founders of the Order learned that by drinking a potion of darkspawn blood, they could master its taint, and gain the strength to defeat the Blight.”

“We’re going to drink the blood of those creatures?” Jory asked, eyes wide.

Duncan nodded.  “As the first Grey Wardens did before us.”  He gestured to himself and Alistair.  “As we did before you.  This is the source of our power and our victory.”  He looked from one recruit to the next, meeting each man’s eyes.  “Not all who drink the blood will survive, and those who do are forever changed.  This is why the Joining is a secret.”

“But it is sanctioned, correct?”  Daylen was frowning, hands on his hips.  “This is a form of blood magic.  The Chantry and the nations that signed the Treaty of Weisshaupt are aware of this?”

“I asked the same question at my Joining,” Alistair said.  “The Order approached the Chantry and the rulers of Thedas at the beginning of the Second Blight, in the early years of the Divine Age.  It was during the negotiations for what would be the Nevarran Accords, when the restrictions on mages were being hammered out.  We knew what needed to be done, and we had to be certain that the Chantry would not inadvertently doom the world by interfering.  They were rightly suspicious, but once fully informed, all agreed that the Joining was necessary.  All parties signed the Treaty with full knowledge of the Joining ritual.”

Aedan smiled thinly.  “But they found the whole thing distasteful, and it would make the Chantry look hypocritical.  Thus the secrecy.”

Duncan spread his hands.  “During the calm between Blights, we train and remain vigilant, but we also do research, as I told you before.  Over the centuries, Warden mages have improved on the Joining ritual, making it safer, more survivable.  But in a thousand years, we have discovered no other solution.  Creating Wardens, risking the Joining, is the only way to kill the archdemons and end the Blight.”

Daylen relaxed slightly.  “I can’t say I like it, but I can understand the necessity.”

“Might as well get on with it.”  Daveth stepped forward.  “I’ll go first.”

“We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but they have been said since the first.” Duncan gestured.  “Alistair, if you would?”

The younger Warden cleared his throat.  “Join us, brothers and sisters.  Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant.  Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn.  And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you.”

Duncan picked up the chalice.  “Daveth, step forward.”

The archer walked up, and Duncan put the cup to his lips, tilting it to give him a sip.  Daveth swallowed and made a face.  “Ugh.  Gonna need some ale to wash that…”

His head dropped, then he stumbled back.  Daveth’s eyes rolled back and he let out an inhuman moan, then gagged.  He went over backwards and hit the ground, twitched once, and was still.

“I am sorry, Daveth.”  Duncan bowed his head, then set his jaw.  “Jory, step forward.”

The knight shook his head.  “No.  You ask too much.  Unholy magic… it’s not our lives you want, it’s our bloody souls!”

Duncan set down the chalice and strode forward.  “There is no going back, Ser Jory.”

Jory unsheathed his longsword; Aedan pushed Daylen back, out of the way.  Duncan drew a sword and dagger as Jory rushed him.  He deflected the big man’s swing easily, then drove his dagger in beneath the ribs, angling up into the heart.  Jory’s eyes went wide; Duncan lowered him gently to the ground as he breathed his last.

“I am sorry, Jory.”  Duncan placed Jory’s hands on his chest, folded as in prayer.  He was still a moment, then stood, facing Aedan and Daylen.  “You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good.”

Daylen nodded.  “Do we need to drink from the chalice for the Joining to work?”

Duncan frowned.  “When necessary, the Joining can be performed with any vessel so long as the potion is made properly.  It is tradition, however.”

“But there’s only one chalice.”  Aedan smiled, catching on.  “Alistair, got a couple of those blood vials?”

Alistair pulled two empty vials out of a belt pouch.  “Here.”

Aedan held the vials while Duncan filled them from the chalice.  He handed one to Daylen, who nodded grimly.  “Good luck.”

“You too,” Daylen replied.  They clinked their vials together, then drank them down.

The potion was horribly bitter and incredibly salty.  Aedan grimaced as he swallowed the foul stuff.  It was halfway down his throat when the burning started.  For a second or two, it was like the worst indigestion he’d ever had.  Then the pain spread and multiplied.  His joints ached, his lungs and throat burned, his head was crushed under a band of steel.  Aedan groaned in pain, swaying on his feet.  He heard Daylen screaming, distantly, along with a strange and beautiful sound, an unearthly voice.  He tried to make out what it was saying, but the pain was too great for him to think.  He pitched forward and everything went black.

There was lightning and thunder.  The Voice faded in and out, along with the snarls of a beast.  There was no land, or sea, or sky, just a void of flickering green-yellow light.  And the dragon.  The massive dragon, wheeling overhead.  It was hard to see, blurring and shifting in the half light.  But it was easy to hear.  The dragon was the Voice.  And the Voice was growing louder.

“It is finished.  Welcome.”

Aedan opened his eyes.  He was lying on his back on a cot inside a tent, and Duncan and Alistair were looking down at him.  The pain had faded to a minor ache; he stretched and sat up.  “Daylen?”

“He lives,” Duncan said, gesturing to the cot next to Aedan’s, where the mage was starting to stir.  In a moment, he too was sitting up.  Duncan handed them each a steaming mug, which turned out to be strong, honeyed mint tea.  He sipped, inhaling the bracing scent as he came fully awake.  “Nine hours have passed; it is about five o’clock in the morning.  By tradition, new Wardens would gather with their brothers and sisters for a banquet, to celebrate the living and mourn the dead.  But with the darkspawn on the way, we decided to let you sleep.  You will be hungry now that you are Joined, and we have a meal ready, but a proper feast and meeting your fellows will have to wait until after the first day’s fighting.”

Alistair leaned forward.  “Did you dream?  I had terrible nightmares at my Joining.”

Daylen sipped his tea.  “I saw… something, I’m not really sure what.  A dragon?”

“It was the archdemon, wasn’t it?” Aedan asked.  “It was speaking to me.”

Duncan nodded grimly.  “It is the call of the Old God.  It’s what the darkspawn hear, what drives them.  With the taint in your blood, the archdemon will appear to you in dreams from time to time, and you will feel the spawn when they are near.”

Daylen put a hand to his mouth.  “That’s how you are sure this is a Blight.  You don’t need to see the archdemon to know it’s there.”

Aedan blew out a breath, then his stomach rumbled, loud.  Alistair grinned and pointed to a table at the other end of the tent, which was piled with savory pies.  The two new Wardens launched themselves at the food, which was half gone inside of fifteen minutes.

“Two more deaths,” Alistair said softly, shaking his head.  “At my Joining, only one of us died, but it was horrible.  I’m glad you two made it through.”

Aedan snorted.  “I’m rather glad of that myself.”

Daylen rubbed his chin.  “So, the increased appetite is a side effect of the Joining?”

“More like a side effect of being a Warden,” Alistair said.  “One of our abilities is enhanced endurance.  You will find that you have far deeper reserves of stamina than you did before, and I’m told, mana as well.  But those energy reserves need to come from somewhere.  Thus, you will need to eat far more to fuel yourself, two to three times as much food in a day as you used to.”

Aedan grinned.  “And we won’t get fat?  Excellent!”  He pursed his lips.  “What else should we know?  We’re all the way in, now.”

Duncan frowned.  “The taint reduces fertility.  It is rare for a Warden to have children, though it is not impossible.”

Alistair grimaced.  “Also, Wardens don’t have to worry about getting old.  You’ve got about thirty years to live, give or take.”  Aedan and Daylen both flinched, and he continued.  “We aren’t immune to the taint, just… resistant.  It will overtake us all, someday.”

“When a Warden nears their end, they begin to hear the song of the archdemon all the time, and louder,” Duncan said.  “Eventually, we can no longer resist the song, and the archdemon holds sway over us as it does the horde.  When a Warden hears the Calling, they seek out the darkspawn to meet their end in battle, usually by venturing into the Deep Roads.”  He smiled faintly.  “In my case, however… the darkspawn will be coming to me.”

Alistair blinked.  “Duncan…”

“It is all right, Alistair,” the older Warden replied soothingly.  “It’s been less than a month since it started.  I have time yet to make the necessary arrangements.  The Order will fight on when I am gone.”

Aedan leaned back in his chair.  “We’ve got more pressing matters than the Calling.  Do you have training or tasks for us?”

Duncan nodded.  “Lookouts have sighted the horde about an hour’s march away.  The King is holding his final war council, and he wishes to see us.”  He handed each of them a cloth bundle.  “I’m afraid we hadn’t time to have proper uniforms made, but you will at least go into battle wearing the Grey Warden colors.”

The two men blinked, then tore into the bundles like little boys.  Aedan got a solid blue surcoat to go over his mail, much like Alistair’s; Daylen received a calf-length dark grey gambeson with blue trim, along with a wide-brimmed kettle helmet.  Both threw on their new uniforms, grinning at each other.

“One more thing,” Alistair said.  He reached into his pouch and withdrew two tiny vials on leather strings.  “We take some of the Joining potion and put it in a pendant.  As a reminder.”  He handed a vial each to the two new Wardens, who hung them around their necks.  Aedan fingered the pendant briefly, looking pensive, then nodded his readiness.

They stepped out of their tent, which was not far from the tower where they’d taken the Joining, and crossed the camp to what had once been a great hall within the fortress, now open to the sky. King Cailan was standing at a large stone table, looking over a scattering of maps and documents.  Standing around the table were Arl Urien of Denerim, Arlessa Neruda of Stenhold, and Arl Bryland of South Reach, along with a Revered Mother of the Chantry and the bald Enchanter that Alistair had been arguing with earlier.  At the King’s side was a tall, pale man with long black hair, wearing heavy armor that had once belonged to an Orlesian nobleman.  A chill ran up Aedan’s spine at the sight of Loghain Mac Tir, Teyrn of Gwaren, General of the Ferelden army, and a living legend.

Loghain had been born a commoner, son of a freeholder in southern Ferelden.  As a teenager, he’d joined then-Prince Maric’s rebellion, and rapidly became the prince’s right hand.  Aedan had spent an entire year studying his campaign against the Orlesians.  It had culminated in the Battle of the River Dane, where the forces of the usurper had been routed and driven out of Ferelden entirely.  The site was a day’s ride from Highever, and Aedan had walked the ground himself, following the movements of various units in detail until he could look over the empty field and see the schiltrons of pikemen driving the chevaliers into the river.

Loghain glanced up at the new arrivals, frowned, then looked back down at the table.  Aedan realized the King was speaking, mentally shook himself, and tried to pay proper attention.

“Loghain, my decision is final,” Cailan was saying.  “I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault.”

“You risk too much, Cailan!”  Loghain retorted.  “The darkspawn are too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines.”

Cailan glanced up saw the new arrivals, and smiled at Aedan.  “The new Wardens!  Congratulations.  I’m grateful for your help.”  Aedan noted that he made no mention of the two missing men.  Cailan turned to Duncan.  “You heard the discussion.  What say you?  Is not my place in battle, with your Wardens and my men?”

“My place is not to command Your Majesty,” Duncan replied carefully.

Loghain shook his head.  “Ferelden needs its King safe.  If something happens to you, Cailan, who will hold the country together?”

“The same one who’s holding it together now,” Cailan replied wryly.  “Surely you know your daughter does most of the work.  Anora’s wiser than I am, always has been.  If I fall, I would trust my queen to rule Ferelden, without hesitation.”  He turned back to Duncan, looking serious.  “I would like your honest opinion.  Arl Eamon’s forces have not yet arrived, and it would seem Rendon Howe’s men aren’t coming.  I anticipated the Amaranthine and Redcliffe regiments would be here when we planned this engagement, or I wouldn’t have left the King’s Pike on the border.  This means our reserves will be short by nearly ten thousand men.”  He rubbed his chin.  “That being the case, should we retreat, and wait for the Orlesian forces to arrive?”

“They shouldn’t be coming at all!” Loghain snapped.  “Your father and I fought too long and too hard to drive those bastards out for you to just throw the door wide now.”  The other nobles around the table flinched, but said nothing.

The king crossed his arms.  “Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past… and you will remember who is King.”

“How fortunate Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century!”  Loghain looked to Aedan.  “What do you think, young Cousland?  I know your reputation, and your men patrol the border.  Can we trust the Orlesians these days?”

Aedan stammered, then pulled himself together.  “I w-would tend to agree with the King, at least in the short term.  It’s not so much a matter of trust as self-interest.  The Orlesians don’t want a flood of refugees into their territory, and they certainly don’t want a swarm of darkspawn following after them.”  Bryland and Urien nodded silently; Aedan took a breath, then let it out.  “The time we should be worried is once the threat is past.  After the archdemon Toth was slain at the end of the Third Blight, the Orlesians and Tevinter seized the parts of Nevarra and the Free Marches their armies controlled, and it took decades for them to be forced out.  I think we’ll need the help before this is over… but we should limit the number of Orlesian troops allowed on our soil.  Four legions of chevaliers aren’t enough men to take the country, but maybe that’s all we will allow.  And we should seek help from other nations who we’re on better terms with, like Antiva and the Marches.”

“Well said, Aedan.” Duncan stepped forward, putting his hands on the table.  “In any case, the Orlesians are weeks away, and battle is upon us now.  If we retreat, we lose the terrain advantage we have here, and the horde will be snapping at our heels.  At this point, we must stand and fight with what we have.”

“Very well,” Cailan said.  “Loghain, your strategy?”

Loghain began setting wooden markers on the map.  “The regiments from Denerim, South Reach, and Stenhold are in position on the main defensive line.  Urien holds the center, the pass itself, along with the Wardens and a battalion of Ash Warriors with their mabari.  The other two regiments are on the heights to either side.  It falls to them to stop the darkspawn and fix them in place.  Maric’s Shield-my brigade-is hidden in the forest on the right flank.”  He looked over at Aedan.  “Do you see it?”

Aedan whistled.  “You’re thinking a hammer and anvil, attack into the darkspawn flank once they’re stopped, and crush them between the Shield and the fortress defenses.  It could work, but it’s a risk.”  He tapped the map.  “It all depends on the enemy committing their entire force.  If they come in waves, you might end up surrounded yourself, trapped between the spawn you’re flanking and more coming out of the Wilds.”

“I find it difficult to believe a horde of slavering monsters will bring much in the way of tactics,” Loghain replied scornfully.

“Believe it,” Aedan said firmly.  “The raiding party we ran into pulled off a sophisticated ambush, as good as anything I trained my skirmishers to do.  They utilized concealment, misdirection, and supported their infantry with archers and a mage.”

“That’s where you come in,” Cailan said.  “Loghain, Duncan, and I will be in the pass and the forest, where we won’t be able to see the overall situation.”  He pointed to the main keep of the old fortress.  “I want you up there, the Tower of Ishal.  You’ll have a view of the whole field, and be in an ideal position to direct the archers and ballistae on the walls.  When the time is right, you will light a bonfire to signal Loghain to make his attack.  The Highever Brigade is in reserve behind the fortress, but it doesn’t appear that Fergus will return in time to lead them.  They will be waiting for your orders, either to reinforce the lines or join in the counterattack.”

The Enchanter spoke up greasily.  “Your Majesty, the Tower and its beacon are unnecessary.  We mages can…”

“Silence!” the Revered Mother snapped.  “We will not trust the course of the battle to mages.  Tend to the wounded, that is your place.”  The Enchanter looked furious, but stayed quiet.

Loghain frowned.  “I still think you’re taking an awful risk, Cailan.”

The king smiled.  “Come now, where would I possibly be safer than with Duncan and the Wardens?”

Aedan raised his eyebrows.  “Observing from the bridge?  With me, signaling orders from the Tower?  Back in Denerim, perhaps?”

“Cheek!”  Cailan roared with laughter, then grew serious.  “The troops need to know that I won’t send them into danger I wouldn’t face myself.  If I stand firm, so shall they.”

“Very well,” Duncan said.  “You three will go to the Tower.  Keep us informed, and make sure the signal is lit when the time is right.”

“What if the archdemon appears?” Aedan asked.

“We soil our trousers, that’s what,” Alistair quipped; Aedan kicked his shin.

Loghain shook his head.  “There have been no signs of any dragons in the Wilds.”

Duncan crossed his arms.  “If it does, leave it to the experienced Wardens.  I want no heroics from any of you.  Aedan, you’re directing the archers, so focus them on the archdemon and bring it to ground.  We will take it from there.”

Loghain looked sour, but nodded.  “Take care that you do not commit the Highever brigade too early-with two regiments missing, it is our only reserve.  We should get to our positions; the battle will begin soon.”

Chapter Text

Aedan, Alistair and Daylen followed Duncan away from the war council.  Once they were back in the main camp, Aedan slowed to a stop, frowning.  “Alistair, are you all right with this?  You’re senior, I don’t want to step on your toes.”

Alistair snorted.  “Aedan, I could care less who’s in charge.  Well, that’s not true, I care that it’s someone who knows what they’re doing, and I’m not particularly ambitious, either.  I’m a decent warrior, but I haven’t been trained to lead a battle.  After that fight in the Wilds, I’m comfortable following your lead.”

Duncan smiled faintly.  “As I told you, Aedan, I think you have great potential.  The soldiers here know you, at least somewhat, and that may prove useful, where they are unsure about the Order.”  He folded his arms.  “One more thing.  The Ash Warriors have treated your hound, and he may safely fight darkspawn.”

“Excellent,” Aedan replied.  “I’m a far better fighter with him around.  I’ll get moving.”

They headed back to the kennels near the front gate.  The other hounds had already joined their partners on the front line; Drake was asleep on a pile of straw in the empty pen.  Aedan whistled, and the dog sprang up with an excited flurry of legs, paws, and tail.  Daylen went to open the pen, but Drake simply hopped the fence and ran up to jump on Aedan, who laughed and ruffled his ears.

“Aedan Cousland, I heard you were here.”  The trio turned to see a black-haired woman half a head shorter than Aedan, wearing steel plate armor and a surcoat with the yellow wyvern of Gwaren.  She held a massive two-handed sword across her shoulders, and her face was set in a friendly grin.

Aedan smiled widely.  “Cauthrien, it’s good to see you.  It’s been a while.”

“Summer tourney in Denerim, wasn’t it?”  She grew serious.  “I heard about Highever.  How are you doing-really?”

Aedan lowered his head and sighed.  “I shed my tears on the ride here.  I want Howe dead, it’s burning me up inside, but I can’t afford grief or rage right now.  I have my duty, and that’s what my parents would want me to focus on.”

Cauthrien nodded.  “I’m told you’re a Grey Warden now.  That’s… unexpected.  Are you certain that’s what you want?”

“To be fair, a lot from this past week has been unexpected,” Aedan replied, with a strained smile.  “And I’m not certain, but I am committed.  I’ve gone through the Joining, and while I can’t tell you the details, there is no going back.  It’s just a different way to protect Ferelden.”

“And you’re sure the Wardens want that?” she asked.  “They want us to let in the Orlesians.”

Alistair rolled his eyes.  “We’re standing right here, you know.”

Aedan cleared his throat.  “Er, yes.  May I introduce Alistair of Redcliffe, the Warden leading my patrol, and Daylen Amell of Kinloch Hold, who went through the Joining with me.  Alistair, Daylen, this is Ser Cauthrien, Teyrn Loghain’s first.  We trained together when we were younger.”

Cauthrien reddened.  “I’m sorry, I’m just… My lord is worried, and I haven’t seen him be wrong yet.”

Alistair bobbed his head.  “I understand your concern.  The Wardens are secretive and misunderstood, but at the end of the day, the only thing we care about is the darkspawn.  Wardens are sworn to political neutrality, and that’s mostly true… outside the Anderfels, anyway.”

“Honestly, I’m no expert,” Aedan said.  “But based on all I know about past Blights, Ferelden probably cannot raise enough troops to stop the darkspawn alone.  We almost certainly cannot hold them at Ostagar; we are here to buy time for the evacuation.  Once the horde gets through the hills, they’ll be in the Bannorn.  That’s open, flat ground where the chevaliers will be far more effective than infantry.  They can hit and run, harass and delay the horde while we build up our defenses in the cities.  Besides…”  He smirked.  “We can let them do the dying while we train up more troops.”

Cauthrien chuckled, then looked up as a loud horn echoed across the camp.  “The spawn are here.  We need to get to our positions.”

Aedan nodded, then reached out and embraced Cauthrien.  “Take care, little sister.”

They separated, Cauthrien heading out the south gate, while the Wardens headed north for the bridge over the pass.  As they climbed the hill to the upper fortress, someone called out to them.

“Milord!”  Gage ran up to them.  “The company’s not back yet; I’d like to come with you, if you’ll have me.  I know flag signaling, and I’m a fair shot.”

Aedan glanced at Alistair, who nodded.  He clapped Gage on the shoulder.  “Come on, let’s go!”

They emerged onto the bridge to see the army arrayed below them.  The pass itself was held by over five thousand infantry with swords and shields, protected by a line of spiked obstacles.  Ash Warriors with their mabari were positioned on the flanks, ready to turn loose.  A thousand or more archers were up on the fortress platforms and the bridge, along with dozens of ballistae.  They couldn’t see Duncan, but he was probably somewhere near the blaze of golden armor that was King Cailan and his personal guard.

Facing them were the darkspawn… thousands of them, with more on the way.  The horde was a black stain on the landscape, stretching into the Wilds.  A mass of hurlocks and genlocks bore down on Ostagar, snarling and waving their weapons.  Alphas and emissaries were visible in the throng, head and shoulders above their minions.  At the back of the horde, more spawn pushed crude catapults into position.

Alistair smiled crookedly.  “Good news!  I don’t see any sign of the archdemon.”

The darkspawn roared and advanced.  A horn blared, and the archers loosed a massive volley into the horde.  A moment later, the ballistae threw their bolts, piercing through several ranks of the spawn.  The darkspawn archers replied with their barbed arrows, but couldn’t hit the upper fortress.  The Fereldans in the pass hunkered behind their shields, but screams told of several arrows finding their mark.  The darkspawn catapults hurled flaming boulders, aiming for the battlements.  Most struck the walls, but one smashed a chunk out of the bridge ten yards from the Wardens.  Another volley, and the darkspawn charged.  The Ash Warriors released their hounds, and the mabari raced in, growling furiously.  They leaped at the spawn, biting at arms and legs and throats.  The horde wavered, then stopped as the hounds threw their front rank into chaos.  The darkspawn rear continued to advance, forming a dense knot perhaps fifty yards from the defensive line.  The archers poured arrows down onto the massed enemy; they took a fearsome toll, but still more spawn marched out of the Wilds.  The catapults launched again, and this time, the blazing projectiles dropped several yards behind the ramparts.

Aedan sucked in a breath and ran to the nearest ballista crew.  “Change targets.  Those catapults are after you and the archers.  Pass the word, ballistae are to counter enemy catapults.  Hit them before they can find the range!”  The crew snapped to work, and the Wardens kept going.

Below them, the Ash Warriors called the mabari off.  The hounds had lost perhaps a tenth of their number, and the survivors retreated back to their handlers.  The furious spawn ran after them, without stopping to regroup.  The headlong assault crashed into the barricades, and dozens of spawn were impaled on the spikes as the back ranks pressed forward.  The Fereldan infantry went to work, cutting down darkspawn by the dozen.  The ballistae launched their bolts.  Most missed, some killed the weapon crews, and one smashed a catapult which was cocked to throw.  The flaming boulder went backwards and struck a pile of ammunition, which went up like a bonfire.  The darkspawn archers answered back, and this time, the defenders were too busy fighting to raise their shields.  A score of men were killed, and at least as many injured; the back ranks sprang into action, pulling the wounded clear and filling the gaps in the line.  Yet another volley of arrows pelted down on the horde, and two alphas fell dead.  The darkspawn wavered, then broke and ran.  A horn blew from the King’s war party, and the hounds were loosed to chase the fleeing enemy.  Another horn, and the Fereldans charged out of the pass.

“What the hell is he doing?”  Aedan shook his head angrily, then saw Daylen’s confused expression.  “Cailan must think he’s broken the assault and can counterattack.  Problem is, he hasn’t, that was just the first wave.”  He fingered the hilt of his sword nervously.  “We need to get up that tower double quick, they may need help sooner rather than later.”

The group headed away from the ramparts, back towards the tower looming over the fortress.  As they approached, they spotted several soldiers running away, calling out.  “Send for reinforcements, they’re behind us!”  One of the fleeing men spotted Aedan.  “You, you’re Grey Wardens, aren’t you?  We need help.  The Tower’s been taken, the spawn are in the fortress!”

“What are you talking about, man?” Alistair asked, frowning.  “Taken how?”

The soldier bent double, gasping for breath.  “The darkspawn came through the lower chambers.  They’ve overrun the Tower of Ishal.  Most of the guard force is dead.  Those that are left are outside the tower, scattered, with the spawn picking them off.”

Alistair’s jaw tightened.  “We have to get to the beacon, light it ourselves!”

Aedan swore.  “If the spawn are in the tower, they can attack the battlements from behind.  We have to stop them!”  He looked around the small party.  “We’ll make our way to the tower and rescue any troops who are still alive.  Then we get inside, fight to the top floor, and signal the Highever brigade to bolster the fortress.”  He tapped the soldier on the chest.  “You’re with us.”

Aedan and Alistair led the way toward the Tower of Ishal at a trot.  Before they got there, they could hear the guttural shouts of darkspawn and the yells of frightened troops.  They rounded a ruined wall and were met with a scene of chaos on the Tower grounds.  The door was open, and darkspawn were pushing out.  A sizeable group was already taking positions to hold off a counterattack, and others were chasing down several soldiers.  The nearest was not ten yards away, with two spawn chasing him.  Aedan whistled and Drake sprinted ahead, ramming into one of the creatures.  Gage killed the other with a well-placed arrow.  Aedan ran right by him, waving for him to follow.  A short while on, and they crashed into seven monsters surrounding a trio of desperate archers.  After thirty seconds of furious fighting, the spawn were all slain, one archer was dead, one was wounded in the leg, and one was still in fighting shape.  Aedan left Daylen behind to heal the injured woman and pressed on ahead.  To the right, two more troops were making a stand with their backs to a wall, and on the left, an archer had climbed a tree to get away from the spawn.  Aedan sent Alistair left with one of the soldiers and an archer, while he went right with Gage and the other soldier.  They managed to save all three, but the alpha at the base of the tower spotted them and roared.  Two dozen spawn charged them, brandishing their weapons.

Aedan was moving to regroup with Alistair when a streak of flame flew between them.  The fireball hit the cluster of spawn dead center.  Daylen strode up with the now-healthy archer following behind.  He threw another fireball, which ignited half a dozen hurlocks, then a third, which blew the alpha to bits.  The darkspawn fled into the tower, closing the door behind them.

“Nice shooting,” Aedan said, grinning.

Daylen shook his head.  “A crowd is kind of hard to miss; that alpha was just luck.”  He looked down at his hand.  “It’s amazing.  Normally I’d be pretty close to needing lyrium, but now, I’ve still got plenty of mana.”

“I have a feeling we’ll all be glad of it before this is over,” Alistair said.  “Aedan, what’s the plan?”

Aedan glanced around his impromptu detachment.  “We move in two groups.  Alistair, Daylen, you’re with me, along with the two of you.”  He pointed to a pair of soldiers.  “The other two will go with the archers; Corporal Gage will lead that group.”  Aedan turned to Gage.  “You know the drill.  Guard the flanks and rear, pick off targets when you can.”

Gage nodded curtly.  “Yes, milord.”

Aedan waved for them to follow, then ran up to the door.  He gestured to Daylen, then pulled the door open.  Daylen threw a fireball inside, and Alistair pushed in with the soldiers close behind him.

The bottom floor of the Tower of Ishal was a large open space in the center with smaller, wedge-shaped rooms all around the outer wall.  Daylen’s spell had wiped out all the darkspawn in the entry hall, so the warriors moved on to the center room, which had been set up as a dining hall, the tables and chairs overturned by the fighting.  A handful of spawn rushed them, but were stopped by a wall of men with shields.  Without an alpha, without numbers, they were cut down swiftly and the group pushed further in.  Gage’s section followed behind, watching for targets.  They made it through the room and found themselves in a wide, curved hall against the tower’s back wall, now used as a storage area.  The room was stacked with crates and barrels of supplies.  The whole place was littered with bodies, mostly supply runners and guards who’d been caught by surprise.  They followed the wall around, looking for the stairs.  Ahead, a door burst open, and more darkspawn attacked.

“My group, kneel!” Aedan called.  They all dropped to one knee.  Gage’s archers loosed a volley into the oncoming spawn, killing one and wounding two.  Aedan shouted a war cry and charged, leading with his shield.  Alistair and the others followed suit, and they crashed into the spawn, driving them back.  Aedan was up against an axe-wielding hurlock.  He cut low, under his shield, crippling his opponent’s leg.  A simple shove knocked the beast over, and a slash finished it.  A genlock had grabbed Alistair’s sword arm and was trying to wrestle him to the ground; Alistair beat its brains out with his shield.  The two soldiers were fighting three spawn, and winning.  Another hurlock came at Aedan, but Drake latched onto its arm, and he made quick work of it.  They’d reached the door, only wide enough for one; Alistair went first, but was driven back by at least four spawn.  Daylen stepped up behind him, tapped Alistair on the back, poked his staff over Alistair’s shoulder.  The pair moved forward carefully, stopping at the door.  Alistair sheathed his sword and opened the door.  The darkspawn inside tried to rush them, but Daylen hit them with a continuous stream of fire.  The flames killed one genlock and drove the rest of the spawn back, winning space for the rest of the group to get through the door.  Aedan and the other two soldiers moved up, forming a wedge with Alistair in the lead.  They advanced into the room, killing a dozen more darkspawn.

Suddenly, Aedan shouted a warning and stopped short.  A quarter of the floor was gone.  There was a large hole in the back corner of the room, stretching down into the dark.  Daylen shook his head.  “They tunneled in!”

“How?”  Alistair asked.  “They can’t have come from the Deep Roads, those are miles deep and these hills are solid granite.  It would have taken them years to dig that far.”

Aedan shook his head.  “They didn’t have to dig up from the Roads.  Just a few hundred yards from their rear area, and most of that would be dirt and clay, not rock.  I just got finished warning the King and Loghain that the spawn were fighting smart.”  He rubbed his chin agitatedly.  “We need to close this tunnel, or the horde will bypass the defenses and hit our troops from behind.”

“I could try to blast it shut, but my fireballs might not be powerful enough,” Daylen said.  “And I might just make the hole bigger.”

Alistair hooked a thumb over his shoulder.  “We can use all that stuff back there.  Set a couple tables over the hole, pile crates and barrels on top so it’s too heavy to move.  It’d at least slow them down until the sappers can seal it properly.”

Aedan grinned and gestured to Gage.  “Take your people and block the hole.  Rope the pile together so they can’t shift it bit by bit.  Then catch up with us.”

Gage nodded and headed back with his team; Aedan and the others headed up the stairs to the second floor.  They heard darkspawn snarls and… dogs barking?  Aedan reached the top of the stairs and understood why.  Several mabari were trapped in cages, their handlers dead and a handful of darkspawn poking at them with sticks.  Aedan let out an angry snarl of his own, then whistled.  Drake slammed into a hurlock so hard he cracked its skull on the floor, killing it instantly.  The hound immediately went after another, as the startled darkspawn tried to rally together.

Aedan pointed to the soldiers.  “Get those cages open!”

He whirled to face another spawn, but Daylen got it with a firebolt.  More spawn ran at them from the hallway, but Alistair and Aedan met them head-on.  They stood shoulder to shoulder, pushing down the hall, which was lined with bunkrooms.  Behind them, Drake howled, and the other hounds joined in gleefully.  The impromptu pack charged down the hall past the Wardens, bursting into the side rooms and shredding any darkspawn they could catch.  The fury of the assault sent the spawn running, and Aedan kept after them with the others following.  They rounded the corner and burst into the large open center room, which was full of spawn.  Ten or so hurlocks formed a shield wall, and more spawn were packed in behind them.  A fireball would have been devastating, but in such close quarters, it would have devastated friend and foe alike.  Daylen stayed behind the warriors, shooting firebolts when he could.  A genlock threw a firebomb, which shattered on one of the soldier’s shields and set him ablaze.  The man screamed and thrashed; Daylen hit him with a stream of frozen air and extinguished the flames.

“Cover us!”  Daylen dragged the injured man away from the fighting, then cast a barrier around them both as he started healing.  The rest of the group kept at it, tearing into the spawn.  The enemy defense was starting to crack; the mabari were in among the spawn, with the warriors pressing them back towards the stairs.  Aedan called a warning as four genlocks dashed around the edge of the room, headed for Daylen and his patient.  The mage killed one outright with a firebolt, then dropped his staff and drew his shortsword as the other spawn closed in.  Daylen fended off the trio of creatures as best he could, managed to stab one, then the wounded man cut two down with a flurry of slashes.  He gave Daylen a blistered smile, then the pair ran to join the others.  In a few minutes, the remaining darkspawn were dead, and they were ascending the stairs to the top floor.  They reached it, and stopped in their tracks.

There was a gigantic darkspawn at the top of the tower.  The beast was over ten feet tall, heavily muscled, with a pair of curving horns atop its head.  Alistair swallowed hard.  “Ogre.”

“Scatter!” Aedan called.  Giant-hunting tactics ought to work, maybe?  “Surround it and get in hits where you can.”

The ogre bellowed and stomped towards them, raising its huge fists.  Drake growled, and the hounds raced in, running around the ogre’s feet and snapping at it.  The big beast swung its arm in a vicious arc, but the agile mabari dodged.  They leapt up, latching onto the ogre’s arms and legs.  The warriors ran in, stabbing wherever they could reach.  The ogre shook itself, throwing the dogs off.  It kicked backward, catching one of the soldiers in the chest.  The man flew backwards, hit the wall, and didn’t get up.  Aedan lunged in and slashed the ogre’s leg.  The wound was deep, but not crippling, and Aedan hopped backward before the ogre could kick him.  Daylen aimed a fireball high, hitting the back of the ogre’s huge head.  It reeled, then turned and charged surprisingly quickly.  Daylen couldn’t get out of the way in time; the ogre slammed into him and his staff snapped like a twig.  He saw stars and felt the massive hand closing around his waist.  The ogre lifted him into the air, gaping its fanged mouth.  Daylen stuck out a hand and blasted flames into the monster’s face.  It didn’t let go, instead shaking Daylen like a rag doll.  Aedan attacked from behind and the ogre backhanded him across the room.  The injured soldier dashed in and hacked at the arm holding Daylen.  The ogre dropped Daylen and punched the soldier, knocking him down.  The monster smashed down with both fists and crushed him.

Daylen scrambled away on hands and knees as Aedan and Alistair ran in.  The pair spread out, keeping the beast between them and cutting at whatever they could reach.  Aedan clicked his tongue, and the hounds stopped jumping at the ogre, instead snapping at its ankles to trip it.  Alistair landed a solid slice to the ogre’s knee and it staggered away.  The ogre grabbed the edge of a window, tore out a chunk of the wall, and threw it.  Alistair dodged, but Aedan was knocked to the ground.  The ogre charged at him, leading with its horns.  Aedan got his shield up in time, but the impact smashed the shield to kindling.  The ogre reached down to grab him and four arrows hit it in the chest.  Gage and his team stood at the top of the steps, archers shooting as quick as they could as the soldiers ran to help.  Daylen downed a lyrium vial and kept throwing firebolts.  The ogre reeled under the renewed assault.

“Milord, we don’t have much time,” Gage called.  “The spawn are chopping up the barricade we built, they’ll be through any minute.”

Alistair groaned.  “One problem at a time, let’s kill this thing!”

The ogre picked up one of the dead soldiers and threw him.  The body hit one of the archers and knocked them down the stairs and out of sight.  The ogre turned and charged at Aedan, who rolled out of the way.  The ogre kept going and crashed into the wall, stunning itself.  Aedan shouted for Alistair, who ran in shield-first.  Aedan crouched down behind the ogre’s legs just as Alistair leapt and rammed into the ogre.  The big beast stumbled, bumped into Aedan, and fell over backwards, shaking the tower when it hit the floor.  Before the beast could rise, the Wardens pounced.  Aedan clambered up the massive body and stabbed it in the heart; Alistair ran further up and drove his sword through the ogre’s eye.  The massive darkspawn twitched, shuddered, and was still.

Daylen let out a deep breath.  “Maker’s mercy, I didn’t think that thing would ever go down.”

“We’re not done yet,” Alistair said.  “It must be time to light the signal by now.”

“Do it!”  Aedan ran to a window where he could see the larger battle, and his heart sank.  “The Denerim regiment is still out in front of the defense line.  The horde is trying to surround them; King Cailan and the Wardens are going to be cut off if they’re not careful!”  He stroked his chin.  “The darkspawn haven’t spotted Loghain.  If they move now, they can still catch a large portion of the enemy off guard.  It won’t be a victory, but it’d buy us some time at least.  Enough to get the King back to the fortress and close the gap in the line, and get troops in here to watch the tunnel.”

And then a mass of darkspawn streamed out of the base of the tower.  They charged the ramparts from behind, attacking the archers and ballista crews.

Aedan swore.  “They’ve got the tunnel open!”  He pointed to Gage.  “Other window.  Signal the Highever brigade to reinforce the fortress, most urgent.”

Gage pulled out a pair of signal flags and began waving them out the north window.  Alistair had the beacon lit; the pile of oil-soaked wood caught quickly and sent flames and smoke out the top of the tower.  Aedan turned back to the window, and his jaw dropped.  “What in the void are they doing?”

“What is it?” Alistair asked.

Aedan shook his head, dismayed.  “Maric’s Shield is retreating, Loghain’s abandoning the King!”

The darkspawn were spreading out from the tower, and the forces atop the fortress were starting to run.  This meant they weren’t supporting the King’s forces down below, and the main horde was surging forward.  There were several ogres visible in the mass of monsters, hurling boulders and tree trunks at the remaining defenders.  A log broke across the tower beneath them and the entire building shook.

One of the archers loosed an arrow down the stairs.  “They’re coming up!”

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Aedan said.  “This battle is lost, we need to retreat and regroup.  Warriors front, archers back, let’s punch our way through!”

A hurlock alpha charged up the stairs with dozens of spawn at its back.  Drake barked, and the mabari charged.  The dogs vanished into the swarm of darkspawn, which crashed into the trapped defenders.  A flash of fire blew in the window and everything went black.

Chapter Text

Aedan groaned, pulled the bedcovers close around him-and startled fully awake.  Where am I, what happened, and…  There was someone in the room with him.

“Ah, your eyes finally open.  Mother shall be pleased.”  Morrigan was leaning against the wall, regarding him with an expression of… well, not concern, but curiosity.

Aedan sat up slowly, hands on his knees.  “How did I get here?”

“You were injured, and Mother rescued you,” she replied.  “You have been asleep a day and a night while she treated your wounds.  What do you remember?”

“Last I remember is trying to fight my way out,” Aedan said, frowning.  “What about the others, are they safe?”

Morrigan shrugged.  “The two other Wardens are here.  Mother was able to save no more than that.”

Aedan’s head dropped.  Gage.  Drake, and the rest.  All gone.  “What of the battle?  The King?”

“The King is fallen, the army routed,” she said simply.  “I scouted the battlefield as a bird; the darkspawn slaughtered many, and those still alive have scattered into hiding.  We are safe, for the moment.  Mother’s magic keeps the darkspawn away, as it does other interlopers.  This valley is difficult for outsiders to find, unless we wish it.”

Aedan stretched experimentally and felt no pain, but it was best to be sure.  “Were my injuries severe?  What about the others?”

“I expect you will be fine,” Morrigan replied.  “The darkspawn did nothing Mother could not heal.  The others’ wounds were less serious than yours, and they are waiting outside.  Mother wishes to speak to you.”

“We need to figure out what to do next.”  He swung his feet down and stood.  He was only wearing his smalls, but there wasn’t time to be embarrassed.  “What of our gear?  Did any make it?”

Morrigan gestured to the door.  “Your companions have that which remains.  We mended your clothes, at least.”

Aedan nodded.  “Thank you for your help, Morrigan.”

Morrigan blinked and… blushed slightly?  “I… you are welcome, though Mother did most of the work.  I am no healer, I merely kept watch.”  She stood straight, folding your arms.  “You should speak with Mother, then be on your way.  You have an army of darkspawn to avoid, and ‘twould be best to get an early start.”

Aedan nodded, took his shirt and trousers from Morrigan (who did not avert her eyes), and dressed quickly.  He walked outside to find Alistair and Daylen sitting and warming themselves by the cooking fire.  A small collection of supplies and gear was set out next to them.  The old woman was standing nearby, and snorted when she saw him.  “See?  Here is your fellow Grey Warden.  You worry too much, young man.”

Alistair shot to his feet.  “You’re alive!  I thought you were dead for sure.”

Aedan shook his head dazedly.  “Not just you.  I thought I was dead for sure.”  He looked past Alistair.  “Daylen!  You all right?”

The mage nodded.  “Tired and sore, but I’m not complaining.  That was a close one.”

“This doesn’t seem real,” Alistair said softly.  “If it weren’t for Morrigan’s mother, we’d be dead on top of that tower.”

The old woman raised her eyebrows.  “Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad.”

Alistair stammered an apology.  “I didn’t mean… but what do we call you?  You never told us your name.”

“Names are pretty, but useless,” she replied.  “The Chasind folk call me Flemeth; I suppose it will do.”

“The Flemeth?”  Aedan asked, dumbfounded.  Alistair’s mouth fell open and Daylen’s eyes went wide.  “Daveth was right all along.  You are the Witch of the Wilds.”  He glanced at Morrigan, who wasn’t bothering to hide her smirk.

Daylen smiled bemusedly.  “I suppose that explains how you got us out of that tower.  You might be the greatest mage in the history of Ferelden.”

“Then why didn’t you save King Cailan?  Why didn’t you save Duncan?”  Alistair shot to his feet, hands balled into fists and eyes brimming with tears.  “Why us and not them?”

Flemeth’s mouth thinned.  “Because while my powers are great, taking on a few dozen darkspawn is not quite the same as a few thousand.”

Alistair got his breathing under control and wiped his eyes.  “I apologize.”

“I am sorry for your Duncan,” the old witch said.  “But your grief must come later… Duty must come now.”

Aedan folded his arms.  “With the army routed, we’re the only Wardens left in Ferelden.  We’re short on options.”

“I don’t understand it,” Alistair said, shaking his head.  “Why did Loghain do it, why did he abandon the King?”

“Probably because he couldn’t see what we could from the tower,” Aedan replied.  “From above, it was easy to tell that King Cailan was surrounded, but still fighting.  But down on the ground, all he could see was a mass of darkspawn sweeping across the battlefield, with thousands more on the way, including emissaries and ogres.  Getting Cailan out of there was going to cost the lives of most of Maric’s Shield, if it could be done at all.  I don’t know if I agree, but I can understand Loghain not being willing to trade most of his brigade for only a chance to rescue the king.  He may have even thought Cailan was dead already.”

Daylen stood.  “In any case, the battle was lost.  What do we do now?”

“I would say, get in contact with someone in the Fereldan army,” Aedan said.  “It looked like Loghain and his brigade were retreating in good order.  The rest routed, but the officers that made it out are probably trying to regroup and get organized.”

Alistair frowned.  “Will that be enough to stop the darkspawn?  The Blights have always been stopped by armies of all the nations combined.  I can’t imagine Ferelden can do this alone.”

“But we don’t need to end the Blight ourselves,” Aedan said.  “We just have to delay them long enough for reinforcements to arrive from elsewhere.  Then we can make a fight of it.”

“Reinforcements…” Daylen blinked.  “Alistair, do you still have the scrolls?”

“Of course, the treaties!” Alistair cried.  “We can demand aid from the dwarves of Orzammar, Dalish elves, and the mages.  And that’s on top of the remaining soldiers in Ferelden; Arl Eamon’s forces weren’t in the battle, and Redcliffe is fairly close.”

Flemeth raised her eyebrows.  “Dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon, and who knows what else… this sounds like an army to me.”

Aedan nodded.  “Then we can gather allies to assist Loghain, gather surviving soldiers from Ostagar, and train new troops.  But before that, we need to get to safety.”  He looked around the group.  “What’s left by way of gear and supplies?”

Alistair gestured to the pile.  “Your armor was damaged beyond repair, mine as well, and our helmets.  The underpadding is intact, though, along with Daylen’s gambeson and helmet.  My sword and shield are gone, but Flemeth saved your sword and buckler, as well as Daylen’s shortsword.”

“Which you can use, Alistair, until we find a proper replacement,” Daylen added.  “And I’ll need a new staff, but I can cast without one, just not as well.”

“Thank you,” Alistair said.  “But I think we’d better avoid running into darkspawn until we’re better prepared to fight them.”

Aedan smiled thinly.  “No arguments there.”  He turned to Flemeth and Morrigan.  “Can you point us to a nearby village, someplace we could get resupplied and maybe contact Loghain, the queen, or Eamon?”

“The nearest settlements are Stenhold, to the east, and Fisher’s End in the Fallow Mire,” Morrigan replied.  “But those would be slow travel through the forest or bog.  The closest proper town is Lothering, on the edge of the Bannorn, a little further north.”

Daylen perked up.  “Lothering?  I have family there.”

Alistair clapped his hands.  “Lothering it is!  Do you think your relatives could spare some cheese?”

“We haven’t any cheese, but I can give you some basic provisions,” Flemeth said.  “There isn’t much this far into fall, but there’s nuts, dried berries, a little salted fish.  Enough to get you to Lothering.”

Morrigan smiled slyly.  “So, our guests won’t be staying for dinner, then?”

Flemeth’s smile was slyer.  “No, they’re leaving shortly… and you will be joining them.”

Morrigan blinked.  “What?”

“You heard me, girl,” Flemeth laughed.  “The last time I looked, you had ears!  You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years.  Here is your chance.”  She turned back to Aedan.  “Her magic will be useful.  Even better, she knows the Wilds and can guide you past the horde.”

“And what about the rest of Ferelden?” Alistair asked.  “Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but out of the Wilds, she’s an apostate.”

Flemeth raised an eyebrow.  “If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower.”

Alistair flinched.  “Point taken.”

“He’s not wrong,” Daylen said, glancing at Morrigan.  “We’re very grateful for your help so far.  It would be poor repayment to bring you along only to get caught by the Templars.”

Morrigan scoffed.  “Those Chantry fools are no threat to me.”

“It shouldn’t come to that,” Aedan said.  “You’re assisting Grey Wardens during a Blight.  You will be under our protection.”

“I will hold you to that,” Flemeth said firmly.  “I give you that which I value above all in this world.  I do this because you must succeed.”

Aedan met Morrigan’s eyes.  “It’s your decision.  Do you want to come with us?”

She nodded.  “Allow me a moment to get my things.”

Morrigan headed back into the hut.  Flemeth eyed the trio of Wardens.  “You face greater challenges than you know, Wardens.  But you are also stronger than you know.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re confident, at any rate,” Alistair muttered.

Morrigan emerged from the hut.  She’d put on a dark grey hooded cloak and had magic staff in one hand; it was fashioned of dark wood, ornamented with rock crystals, feathers, and carvings.  Morrigan had a satchel slung over one shoulder, and handed another to Alistair.  “We should hurry.  The Wilds are cold this time of year, and we are not equipped to spend the night outdoors.”  She shot a look at Flemeth.  “Dear, sweet Mother, you are so kind to cast me out like this.”

“So dramatic,” Flemeth snorted.  “You get to go on an adventure with the legendary Grey Wardens, while I will spend the winter here in this chilly swamp.  I’d say you have the better end of the bargain.”

“Take care how large you build the fire, Mother.”  Morrigan rolled her eyes.  “I know those old bones get cold, but I would hate to return to a burned-down hut.”

Flemeth scoffed.  “I don’t think you need to worry about that.  ‘Tis far more likely to find this entire valley, hut and all, swallowed up by the Blight.”

Morrigan flinched.  “I… all I meant was…”

“I know.”  Flemeth smiled faintly.  “Do try to have fun, dear.”  She turned back to Aedan.  “The horde will be slowed moving through the wilderness, but I do not know how much time that will buy you.  Good luck-you will need it.”

The four walked north and west, headed out of the Wilds.  Morrigan had led them along a network of Chasind hunting trails which wound through the Southron Hills.  Somewhere ahead was the Imperial Highway, which would lead them to Lothering.  Aedan and Daylen were still getting used to feeling the darkspawn.  The best description, Daylen decided, is the burble of voices in the Circle dining hall, only it isn’t in your ears, it’s in your head.  The “sound” wasn’t particularly loud at the moment… which was fine, as far as the Wardens were concerned.  But Alistair was concerned that the constant rumble of the horde would keep him from noticing small numbers of spawn which were closer in.  So they kept their eyes and ears open, constantly on the alert.  The trail they were on forked; Morrigan went left, down the side of a ridge and along a wide, deep creek.  The day was unexpectedly clear, and the sun was pleasantly warm on their heads and shoulders.

Aedan eyed the creek.  “Let’s halt here and rest.  Get a drink while you can.”

Flemeth had only had one spare waterskin, so they’d had to ration carefully on the walk.  Everyone took the opportunity to drink deep and refill the skin.  Alistair glanced over to Morrigan.  “So, did you grow up in the Wilds?”

Morrigan shook her head.  “We moved frequently, to avoid those who would hunt us.  I know not precisely where I spent my earliest years, but at times, we have made our home in the Fallow Mire, the Hinterlands, and the Brecilian Forest, in addition to the Wilds.  We spent the last five years in that hidden valley, which is the longest I have ever been in one place.  No one ever discovered us there, not even the Chasind who know the Wilds best.  But I suspect Mother is even now planning to move again, now that outsiders know of our home.”

Aedan winced.  “I’m sorry.  We didn’t mean to disrupt your lives like that.”

“If you had not, the darkspawn would have,” she replied.  “And to be honest, moving would simply mean living in a different remote forest or swamp.  Mother clearly wishes for me to expand the horizon of my experience beyond the southern wilderness, and so do I.  I want to see mountains.  I wish to witness the ocean and step into its waters.  I want to experience a city rather than see it in my mind.”

“So, have you never left the wilderness?” Daylen asked.

She shrugged.  “I have visited a few small towns and villages at the edge of ‘civilization’ to trade.  I have been to Lothering before.  But always small, out-of-the-way villages and trading posts, nothing beyond that.”

“Well, you’ll definitely get to travel now,” Aedan said.  Then his head snapped up.  “What was that?”

Something was in the trees behind them and too the right, rustling in the leaves.  Aedan glanced over to Alistair.  “Anything?”

The younger man shook his head.  “I can’t tell.”

Morrigan unslung her staff, but Aedan held up a hand to stop her.  “Wait.  Don’t attack until we know what it is.”

“Do you think someone is out picking berries?” Morrigan asked snidely.

“Could be refugees, or escaping soldiers,” Aedan replied, but put a hand on the hilt of his sword all the same.  “Of course, it could also be wolves or a bear.”  He pursed his lips.  “Is anyone there?”

Whatever it was, it definitely heard him.  A cloud of birds startled into the air, and Aedan winced as whatever it was came crashing through the underbrush right at him.  He tensed as it burst into the open, and… “Drake!”

The big mabari yelped joyfully and didn’t slow down all the way in.  Aedan had a second or two to brace himself before well over a hundred pounds of overexcited dog knocked him clean off his feet; Aedan slammed to the ground with Drake on top of him.

“Don’t scare me like that, boy!  I thought I lost you.”  The mabari whimpered and licked his face, stubby tail wagging so hard his entire backside was moving.  Aedan petted Drake’s head and neck, then gave him a firmer pat on the ribs.  “Hey, fella.  Hi.  Glad to see you too, now let me up.”

Drake kept slobbering all over his face.  Aedan grimaced and shoved the broad muzzle away.  “Get.  Off.  Me!”

Aedan scrambled to his feet, wiping drool off his face.  He glared around at his companions, who were all snickering.  Drake kept bounding around the group, spinning in circles.  Aedan chuckled.  “Heel, boy.”

The big dog raced up to him and gazed up affectionately.  Aedan looked the mabari over, wrinkling his nose.  Drake’s coat was matted, stained with tree sap, mud, and in some places, dried blood.  Aedan rolled his eyes.  “You need a bath.”

Drake’s ears and tail drooped and he whined.  Aedan grinned.  “Don’t worry, no soap, but go get clean, you’re a mess.”

The dog barked once, then turned, ran, and jumped into the creek.  He ducked under once, then paddled around for a bit before climbing out.  Drake shook himself, throwing water everywhere, then trotted back up to Aedan, who laughed.  “That’s a good boy!  The darkspawn won’t smell you coming now.  Let’s go!”

The party headed off down the path.  In another hour, they reached the Imperial Highway.  The ancient stone road was raised up more than ten feet above ground level; they had to lean a fallen tree against it and clamber up.  Once they had, the going was fast, and being up high, they could see Lothering ahead in the distance.  They could also see the darkspawn horde, just a shadow on the southern horizon behind them.  Aedan estimated that they were half a day behind, but he couldn’t be sure on how fast they were moving, or how much the terrain would slow them down.  They reached Lothering shortly before noon to find someone waiting for them.

More than one someone, in fact.  A small group of men had blocked the highway with a wagon and some crates.  They wore peasant clothing and were armed with hatchets and crude wooden clubs.  Aedan frowned and approached them; the man in the center waved them to halt.  “Greetings, travelers!”

Alistair’s face darkened.  “Highwaymen.  Preying on those fleeing the darkspawn, I suppose.”

The lead bandit gave them a wide, false smile.  “Now, is that any way to greet someone?”  He tutted just as falsely.  “A simple ten silvers and you’re free to move on.”

“They are fools to get in our way,” Morrigan said coolly.  “I say teach them a lesson.”

Aedan nodded.  “I agree, but let’s give them a chance.”  He gave the highwaymen a look.  “Stand aside.  We are Grey Wardens, on urgent business.”

“Wardens,” one of the highwaymen said excitedly.  “Them’s the ones killed the King!”

“What?”  Alistair frowned.  “What are you talking about?”

“I’m afraid ten silvers won’t be enough,” the leader said, his smile turning unpleasant.  The thugs behind him started to spread out.  “You’re worth a sack of gold.  Come along quietly, now, and we’ll turn you in alive, and with no broken bones, even.”

Aedan shrugged.  “Your choice.”

He dropped into a crouch; Drake flew over top of him and crashed into the leader.  Before anyone else could move, Morrigan blasted the entire group with freezing wind and chunks of ice.  Two men were impaled with icicles and three others were blown clear off the highway and plunged to the ground below.  Their leader was the only one left alive, flat on his back with Drake pinning him down.

“Drake, hold.”  Aedan picked up the bandit’s hatchet and tucked it into his belt.  He roughly searched the man, taking a pouch of coin.  He then checked the wagon and found it full of valuables and supplies-loot taken off desperate refugees.  His face darkened and he walked back to the bandit.  “Drake, loose.”

The mabari released the man, who scrambled to his feet and held his hands out pleadingly.  “Look, please, wait.  We’re just trying to get by, make enough money to get away before the darkspawn get us all!”

Aedan’s lip curled.  “Don’t.  I’ve had a bad week.  Why exactly do you say Wardens killed the king?”

“That’s what everyone’s saying,” he replied.  “Honestly, I don’t care, but there’s supposed to be a reward.”

Alistair grinned.  “Fancy another try at collecting?”

“No, I think not,” the bandit said ruefully.  “I’d rather…”

He bolted suddenly, sprinting away from them.  Morrigan leveled her staff and hit him with a focused stream of icy air.  In less than a second, the bandit was frozen solid.  His momentum carried him forward, and he slammed into the roadblock and shattered into pieces.

“Maker’s breath!” Daylen went pale.  “I’ve never seen elemental spellwork that strong before.”

“Mother taught me well,” Morrigan said proudly.  “But her powers make me look like a novice.  I hope to hone my skills on our journey; I still have much to learn.”

“Much to learn?” Alistair said incredulously.  “He’s in a hundred pieces!”

Morrigan smiled, turned, and walked on.  Aedan and Alistair looked at each other; Aedan shrugged and followed the witch.

Lothering had once been a sleepy town, somewhere for the local farmers to bring their wares to market, for the Chasind to come and trade.  Now, the town was swarming with refugees.  Every building was packed to the rafters, from the Chantry and tavern to barns and sheds.  People who didn’t fit huddled into whatever shelter they could make for themselves, crude tents and lean-tos for the most part.  Aedan was surprised to see that what little order there was, was being maintained by a handful of Templars and a mixed group of soldiers wearing uniforms from different units.  He frowned and walked up to a Templar who was supervising the loading of a wagon.

The Templar spotted him and turned.  “You four!  If you’re looking for shelter, there’s none…” He trailed off as he saw Aedan’s sword.  “Are you troops from Ostagar?  Head for the Chantry, Ser Bryant will give you an assignment.”

“The Chantry?  Is a Templar in command here?”  Aedan frowned.  “What is…”

The Templar held up his hands.  “I don’t have bloody time to explain.  Chantry.  Move!”

Aedan shook his head, bewildered, and headed for the Chantry with the others following.  As in most places, it was the tallest building in the village, its peaked roof topped with the circular flame of the Andrastian faith.  The place was bustling with people going in and out, carrying packages and messages.  Most of the pews had been removed; people were praying down near the altar, while the area near the doors had been converted into a command post.  A trio of Templars was standing behind a table, issuing instructions to the people who approached them.

“Everyone who can walk will have to,” the one in the center was saying.  “We need the wagons for as many supplies as we can carry.  Only small children, wounded, and the very old can ride.”

Aedan stepped forward and cleared his throat.  “Are you Ser Bryant?  A Templar outside pointed me this way.”

The Templar nodded.  “I am.  You’re more survivors of the battle?”  He grabbed a quill and pulled a sheaf of parchment from the pile.  “Name, rank, and unit, and I’ll put you to work.”

Aedan folded his arms.  “Aedan Cousland, formerly the major commanding Second Battalion of the Highever Brigade.  Now of the Grey Wardens.  These others are with me.”

Bryant’s eyes widened.  He gestured, and the other Templars stepped away.  “Teyrn Loghain declared all Grey Wardens traitors, responsible for the King’s death.  Didn’t you know?”

“I’d heard, but thought it was just wild rumors,” Aedan said, his face darkening.  “The Wardens did no such thing.  Are you certain Loghain blames us?”

“We received a message from Denerim this morning,” Bryant replied, nodding grimly.  “Loghain claims the Wardens were conspiring with Orlesians to invade Ferelden, and lured King Cailan to his death.”  He rolled his eyes.  “I don’t know if there is any truth to the accusations, and I don’t care.  I have better things to do than argue over who is scheming against whom.  However, I think it best you leave as soon as you can.”

Aedan was stunned, but shook himself.  “Why are you handling this?  Where is the bann, the village militia?”

Bryant ground his teeth.  “Bann Ceorlic had his men grab half the wagons in town and load every painting and stick of furniture from his manor; he rode for Denerim yesterday, leaving no one in charge.  The Revered Mother and I have been doing what we can.  Refugees keep streaming in, and between the darkspawn and the damned bandits, most of them have nothing.”

“The bandits up at the highway?”  Aedan glanced at Morrigan and grinned.  “They won’t be causing any more trouble.”  He fished the pouch of coin out of his pocket.  “There’s even another wagon up there with the loot they took.”

“That’s a bit of good news, at least.”  Bryant pushed Aedan’s hand closed around the money.  “Keep the coin.  You’ll need it, and right now, there isn’t anything to spend it on, anyway.”  He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.  “I’m sorry.  I’d offer you more help, but our supplies are stretched thin, and my first priority must be these people.”

Daylen spoke up.  “I have relatives in town, ser.  Maybe they can help us.  Could you point us to the Hawke homestead?”

Bryant shook his head.  “I don’t know the name.  Must be one of the outer farms.  One of the sisters is over in the tavern; she knows most everyone around.”  He sighed.  “I need to get back to work.  I’m trying to send these refugees down the road by sunset.”

“Send them?” Alistair blinked.  “You aren’t going with them?”

“No, I’m not,” the Templar said.  “The soldiers will go with the caravan; my Templars and a few volunteers are staying behind.  The fields are already full of traps.  We’ll give the spawn a headache, at least.”

Alistair’s lower lip trembled.  “Maker bless you, ser.”

Bryant nodded grimly.  “And you.  Good luck, Wardens.”

Aedan shook the Templar’s hand, and the group left the Chantry.

Chapter Text

Aedan made it six steps out of the Chantry door before he staggered to a stop and bent over, hands on his knees.  Alistair stepped up beside him.  “Why would Loghain do this?  It doesn’t make sense.”

“Oh, it makes perfect sense, I just wasn’t paying attention,” Aedan said glumly, straightening up.  The other two joined them; Morrigan looked annoyed, Daylen concerned.  He took a breath and continued.  “At the war council, he wasn’t concerned with the Blight.  He was focused on how the darkspawn might give Orlais an opportunity.  At best, he’s got his priorities all wrong.  At worst… at worst he left King Cailan to die on purpose.”  Aedan looked up at the others, face stricken.  “This is bad.  If Loghain isn’t taking the Blight as the serious threat it is, I don’t know that the other nobles will, either.”

“Arl Eamon will,” Alistair said firmly.  “He was the first noble to support King Maric inviting the Order back into Ferelden.”  He folded his arms.  “If you ask me, Redcliffe is where we should be heading next.  Er, after checking on Daylen’s relatives, of course.”

Daylen put his hands on his hips.  “If I may, I think we should go to the Circle Tower first.  Two reasons: First, it’s the only place in Ferelden I can get a new staff.  Second, we’re much closer to the ferry to the Tower.  Once we’re at the Circle, we can take a boat down the lake to Redcliffe, which will be much faster than walking.”

Alistair nodded.  “That makes sense.”

“Let’s get to the tavern,” Aedan said.  “We can see if that sister can knows Daylen’s family, and for damned sure I need a drink.”

The group walked across the village square towards the tavern, passing the bann’s estate.  The manor house, servants’ quarters, and stables were all packed with refugees; Aedan tossed his head angrily at the thought of Ceorlic abandoning his people.  Refugees were streaming in from the fields, carrying sacks of hastily-harvested grain for the journey.  A pair of Templars was overseeing the loading of the few wagons still in the village.  Frightened families were huddled together, waiting for the word to move out.

“So, what relatives do you have here, Daylen?” Alistair asked.  “I thought you were from the Free Marches.”

Daylen smiled.  “As I said, my grandfather was Lord Fausten Amell.  His niece Leandra-my first cousin, once removed-fell in love with an apostate mage, Malcolm Hawke.  They eloped and fled to Ferelden, which was a huge scandal.  The Amell family elders cut Leandra off… but some of the younger relatives still wanted to keep in contact.  So, they send me letters, and I send them on to Leandra.  Malcolm has passed away, but they had three children: Garrett, the eldest, and the twins, Carver and Bethany.  I’m hoping the children will come with us; they could really be helpful.  Garrett and Carver are members of the town militia, and Bethany is a mage, though she keeps her powers hidden.  I sent her lessons to help her train after Malcolm died.”

“You didn’t inform on her?”  Morrigan put a hand to her mouth in feigned shock.  “I find myself surprised; I didn’t think that a Chantry-raised mage would want her dragged to a Circle for her own good… or did you make an exception for family?”

“Well, I didn’t want to make my close friends the Templars look bad,” Daylen replied dryly.  “Bethany’s been under their noses for ten years, she prays right there once a week.”  He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the Chantry.  “In all seriousness, I believe child mages need training and supervision; however, once they’re properly educated, mages should be allowed to live as anyone else does.”

Morrigan arched an eyebrow.  “There’s more to you than I thought.”

The tavern stood across the square from the Chantry.  Aedan and the others stepped inside, and a serving girl trotted up to them.  “Gentlemen, I’m going to have to ask you to give me your weapons.  They will be returned when you leave the premises.  Your dog will have to stay outside as well.”

Alistair nodded and handed over his shortsword.  Aedan reflexively placed his hand on the hilt of his family blade.  He hesitated a moment, then unclipped the scabbard from his belt.  “Here.  Take care of this for me, boy.”

Drake grunted, then took the sword in his jaws and trotted over to the stables, flopping down into a pile of straw.  Aedan chuckled and headed inside.

The tavern was fairly standard, with the dining room and kitchen on the ground floor, and rooms for rent upstairs.  And it was absolutely full to bursting.  There were at least two families in each of the rooms upstairs.  The dining room was packed as well… except for one corner in the back.  There, a half-dozen men were sitting around a table drinking ale, as everyone else gave them a wide berth.  They looked to be soldiers or mercenaries, they were loud and unruly-and their weapons and armor were piled against the wall behind them.  Aedan pursed his lips and headed in.

He'd gotten a few steps when one of the soldiers pointed.  “Well, look what we have here, men.  I think we’ve just been blessed.”

Aedan frowned, then spotted the yellow wyvern on one of the shields against the wall: they were Loghain’s troops.  The leader stood, pointing at Aedan and Alistair.  “Corporal, didn’t we spend all morning asking some fellows matching their description?  And everyone said they hadn’t seen them?”

“It appears we were lied to, Sergeant,” another of the soldiers said, draining his mug.

“Gentlemen, surely there is no need for trouble.”  The voice was feminine, pleasant-and had an Orlesian accent?  Aedan looked around to see a Chantry sister walking up to them.  She was petite and pretty, with blue eyes and red hair.  She gave Loghain’s men a friendly smile.  “These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge.”

“Stay out of our way, Sister,” the sergeant said angrily.  “You protect these traitors, and you’ll get the same as them.”

“We aren’t traitors!” Aedan said furiously.  “We were calling up reinforcements for the King when…”

The sergeant stepped forward, chest to chest with Aedan.  “You lot lured him to his death!”  His face was beet red; Aedan could smell the beer on his breath.  “If it weren’t for Loghain, we’d all be dead, and the fucking Orlesians would be marching right in!”

“She’s probably with them,” the corporal said.  “Don’t you hear her accent?”

The rest of the soldiers stood; Daylen pulled the sister behind him.  The sergeant crossed his arms over his chest.  “Enough talk.  Take the Wardens into custody.  Kill the sister and anyone else that gets in your way!”

Aedan caught the sergeant with a right cross to the jaw, sending him reeling into the table and knocking over all the ale.  Loghain’s troops ran to grab weapons… and crashed into an invisible wall.  Seeing the trouble coming, Daylen had surreptitiously raised a barrier between the soldiers and their gear.  Unable to properly arm themselves, they rushed at the Wardens barehanded.  Aedan and Alistair met them head-on.  Alistair grappled with a pair of Loghain’s thugs while Aedan traded punches with the sergeant.  Morrigan disappeared in the chaos; Daylen spotted a black mouse running off, and then one of the soldiers was coming at him, while the last one went after the sister.  The corporal picked up a chair and swung it at Alistair, who pulled one of the soldiers in front of him.  The chair broke across the soldier’s back, and he staggered.  Alistair grabbed the soldier and threw him through the window in a shower of glass, but the other one got him in a choke hold.  Daylen hit his opponent with two punches to the gut, then grabbed a pint mug and clubbed the man unconscious.  Aedan had a split lip, but he’d blacked his opponent’s eye and had him in a joint lock.  He tightened his hold, but the sergeant pushed off with his legs and wriggled out.

One of the soldiers had the sister by the throat, but she kneed him in the groin, then broke his grip and elbowed him in the solar plexus.  Daylen ran to help Alistair, but the corporal cut him off.  Alistair, struggling for air, drove backward and bashed the soldier into a wall.  The soldier loosened his hold, and Alistair slammed his elbow into the man’s gut.  The soldier grabbed him and threw him onto the table, which smashed to bits.  Daylen threw the mug and hit the soldier fighting Alistair in the shoulder.  It was only good for a distraction, but it was enough.  Alistair came up swinging a table leg and absolutely flattened the man.  He grinned and went to help Aedan with the sergeant.  Daylen turned to face the corporal and took a beer bottle to the side of the head.  He saw stars and fell, unable to keep his legs under him.  The corporal strode forward and stamped on his chest.  Daylen grunted in pain and tried to shove him off.  The sister ran at the corporal, jumped, and clamped her legs around his neck, then twisted, using her body weight to throw him across the room.  He hit the wall and fell to the floor, out cold.

The sergeant was the only one of Loghain’s men still standing; he held a broken bottle, glaring at Aedan and Alistair.  The sister ran in between them, holding her arms up.  “Good.  They’ve learned their lesson, and we can all stop fighting now.”

Aedan fixed the sergeant with a baleful stare.  “Drop it.”

The sergeant bared his teeth, then hesitated.  He eyed Alistair’s improvised club, then spat and tossed the bottle aside.  Aedan nodded.  “Good.  Now, you’re going to pick up your men, head back to Loghain, and tell him the Grey Wardens aren’t traitors.  The people of Ferelden will decide if he was right to abandon King Cailan, but that will come after we beat the darkspawn, and we expect him to do his part in that fight.”  He pointed to the door.  “Consider your weapons and armor requisitioned by the Wardens.  Now start running.”

Still scowling, the sergeant helped his men up.  Two were dazed and stumbling, and another was still outside after being thrown out the window.  They trudged out, still angry but not up for more fight.

The sister knelt to help Daylen sit up.  “Are you hurt?”

“I’ll be all right.”  Daylen grimaced, putting a hand to the bump on his head.  He pulsed healing magic through his head, and in a moment, the swelling was gone.  He gazed up at her in bemused shock.  “Where does a Chantry sister learn to fight like that?”

She smiled enigmatically.  “I wasn’t born in the Chantry, you know.  Some of us had more… colorful lives, before we joined.”  She helped him to his feet.  “That was quite clever of you, blocking off their weapons.  It kept things from getting out of hand.”  She turned to Aedan.  “Thank you for showing them mercy.”

Aedan shrugged.  “Killing each other won’t accomplish anything.  We’ll need every soldier we can get before this Blight is over.”

“I’m glad you think so,” she replied.  “Allow me to introduce myself.  I am Leliana, a lay sister here in Lothering.”

“Aedan Cousland.”  Aedan shook hands, then introduced the others-Morrigan had reappeared as suddenly as she left.  “We were actually looking for you.”

“I’m looking for the Hawke family, and Ser Bryant said you know where they live,” Daylen said.  “They’re my cousins, and I was hoping they might be able to help us.”

“I know the Hawkes, but I’m afraid you’ve missed them,” Leliana said.  “Garrett and Carver were with the army at Ostagar.  They made it back last night, and the whole family fled this morning on the road to Gwaren.  But they only took what they could carry, and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you took what you needed.  I can show you the way there…  And I’m coming along.  I can help.”

Daylen frowned.  “You want to come with us?  We’re Wardens, we’re going to be fighting the darkspawn, and you saw Loghain’s soldiers-we’re wanted men.”

“The Maker told me to,” Leliana said simply.

Alistair blinked.  “What?”

Leliana spread her hands.  “I know it sounds absolutely insane, but it’s true.  I had a dream, a vision!”

Aedan folded his arms.  “You are right, that does sound insane.”

“Look at the people here,” Leliana said, gesturing to the refugees around her.  “They are lost in their despair, and this darkness, this chaos, will spread.  The Maker doesn’t want this.”

“And you’re the only one who can stop it?” Aedan asked.

She shook her head.  “No.  You’re doing the Maker’s work, Warden.  I can help you, and I am certain that I am meant to.  You saw I can fight, and you just said you will need every soldier.”

“That’s true enough.”  Aedan considered, then nodded.  “We’re headed to the Circle at Kinloch Hold, and then on to Redcliffe.  If you want to stay, you may.  If not, you can leave us at Redcliffe, and help at the Chantry there.”

“Thank you,” Leliana said.  “I have little in the way of possessions, but let’s see what Loghain’s men so graciously donated.”

The “donations” turned out to be a fairly nice assortment of basic weapons and armor.  Alistair took a set of scale mail, a sword, and a wooden shield.  Aedan and Leliana got a chainmail shirt each; Aedan also took a shield and Leliana a bow and arrows.  The rest of the gear, they gave to a few soldiers who had survived Ostagar and would be protecting the refugees.  With Leliana leading the way, they left the tavern and headed for the Hawke farm.

Aedan looked around as the group made their way towards the edge of town.  The situation was dire, no doubt about that, but things didn’t seem as bad as he’d first feared.  The Templars and surviving soldiers were managing to keep some kind of order.  The wagons had been hitched up were lined up in the town square, being loaded with supplies.  The tents had all come down, and the refugees were packing their belongings.  It looks like they’ll be ready to leave before nightfall.  They’ll have a decent head start on the horde, at least.

They came to the last row of houses before the land opened up to farm fields.  There was a gibbet just outside the boundary wall-and there was a Qunari locked inside.  He was speaking softly to himself, what sounded like prayer.  Aedan frowned and walked over to him.  “Hello there!”

The Qunari regarded him dispassionately.  “You aren’t one of my captors.  I will not amuse you any more than I have the other humans.  Leave me in peace.”

Aedan had to crane his neck to look the Qunari in the eyes-the bronze-skinned man was at least seven feet tall, and had to hunch over slightly to avoid hitting his head on the top of the cage.  “What are you doing in there?”

“I am in a cage, am I not?” the Qunari snapped back.  “I’ve been placed here by the Chantry.”

“Who are you, and why are you imprisoned?”  Aedan asked.

The Qunari straightened up a tiny bit.  “I am Sten of the Beresaad-the vanguard-of the Qunari peoples.  As for my crime, I have been convicted of murder.”

“The town guard said he slaughtered an entire farmstead,” Leliana said softly.  “Eight people, including children.  But then, he simply waited for the guards to come for him and didn’t resist at all.”

Sten nodded.  “It is as she says.”

“Why did you do that?” Daylen asked.

“Do you ask why I killed the farmers, or why I surrendered afterwards?” Sten asked sharply.  He set his jaw.  “It matters little, now.  I suggest you leave me to my fate.  I have been here twenty days already; I will die soon enough.”

“Wait, if you’ve confessed, why are you still in a gibbet?” Alistair asked.  “Why haven’t they executed you, or sent you to prison?”

Aedan ground his teeth.  “You know damned well why.  It’s the same reason the Revered Mother put him there, and not the magistrate.  He’s not human and not Andrastian, so they’re making an example of him.  Nothing like a little petty cruelty to show the Chantry’s power.”

Alistair shook his head.  “Perhaps… perhaps she didn’t want him in with other prisoners.”

“This is a proud and powerful creature, left to starve, or as prey for the darkspawn,” Morrigan said.  “If you cannot see him freed and put to use, then for mercy’s sake end him now.”

“Mercy?”  Alistair raised his eyebrows.  “I wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

“I would also suggest that Alistair take his place in the cage,” Morrigan jabbed.

Alistair rolled his eyes. “Yes, that’s what I would have expected.”

Aedan blinked.  The Beresaad, that’s part of the Qunari military.  Scouts, I think.  It’s hard to imagine them attacking civilians for no reason; they’re supposed to be very disciplined, with all sorts of rules and traditions…  His eyes widened.  “Give me a few minutes alone with him, please.”

Alistair frowned, but stepped away, with the others following.  Sten eyed Aedan curiously, but said nothing.  Aedan rubbed his chin.  “What was your mission?  Where is the rest of your unit?”

“My mission was a failure, my men have all fallen.”  Sten’s mouth thinned.  “Our purpose is now irrelevant.”

Aedan stepped closer to the cage, lowering his voice.  “What happened to your sword?”

Sten flinched, then his eyes narrowed.  “How do you know of these things?  Who are you?”

“I am Aedan Cousland,” he replied.  “I am a noble from Highever, on the northern coast.  I was formerly an officer in the Ferelden army; now I am a Grey Warden, sworn to defeat the Blight.  My education included lessons on the other military forces in Thedas, including their customs.  I don’t know the specifics, of course, but I know a Qunari warrior’s sword is a prized possession.  Did one of the farmers steal it?”

Sten slumped.  “No.  They were innocent.  More than innocent, they saved my life.”  He hesitated, looking at Aedan for a long moment, then Aedan saw Sten’s eyes change as he made his decision.  “The Arishok asked, ‘What is the Blight?’  I was sent here with seven of the Beresaad to seek an answer.  We landed two months ago, and made our way across the countryside without incident.  We saw people fleeing north and west, but no sign of the threat we were sent to observe.  Until the night we made camp by a lake in the Hinterlands.”  Sten took a deep, steadying breath.  “They came from everywhere.  The ravine to the south, the trees to our back, darkspawn even rose from the lake to flank us.  My brothers and I fought back; even surprised, we slew dozens of them before we were overwhelmed.  I saw the last of the darkspawn cut down, but I was badly wounded.  I fell.  I do not know how long I lay among the dead, or how the farmers found me.  But they carried me to safety and tended my injuries.  When I awoke, I was no longer among my brothers, and my sword was gone from my hand.”

“And it’s considered shameful, to lose your weapon?” Aedan asked.  “It cannot be replaced?”

Sten gave him another long, measuring look.  “For the Beresaad, and others of the antaam, your sword is your life.  That sword was made for my hand alone.  I have carried it from the day I was set into the Beresaad.  I was to die wielding it for my people.  Even if I could cross Thedas alone and unarmed to bring my report to the Arishok, I would be slain on sight by the antaam.  They would know me as Tal-Vashoth, a deserter.  No soldier would cast aside his blade while he drew breath.”  He shook his head.  “I searched for it.  And when that failed, I asked my rescuers what had become of it.  They said they found me with nothing.”  Sten’s cheek twitched.  “I knew they didn’t have the blade.  They had no reason to lie to me.  I panicked.  Unthinking, I killed them all.  With my bare hands.  And so I caged myself.  A weak mind is a deadly foe.”

Aedan sighed.  “This is no way for a warrior to die.”

Sten grunted.  “That may be so.  But I lost my karataam to the darkspawn.  I lost my sword.  And I lost my self-discipline and killed the people who saved me.  I have lost the right to call myself a warrior.”

“I am gathering allies to fight the darkspawn, and I need anyone who can serve,” Aedan said.  “If I can arrange for you to be released, would you follow me?”

“I would,” Sten replied.  “I owe a debt to those I killed.  Defending their fellows is the least I can do… and it seems as likely to bring my death as waiting here.”

Aedan nodded.  “I will go speak with the Revered Mother.”

Aedan returned to the others, who all looked at him curiously.  He took a breath, then let it out.  “He’ll come with us.  I think we can trust him, and Qunari soldiers are justly famous for their fighting skill.”

Daylen blinked.  “It’s one thing to recruit a petty criminal like Daveth.  But after killing eight people, you would have him join us?”

“If he can help, absolutely,” Alistair said.  “The Wardens welcome anyone willing to fight the darkspawn, even maleficars and murderers.”  He smiled faintly.  “Murderers like Duncan; he was conscripted right from the gallows in Val Royeaux.”

“If you’re satisfied, so am I,” Daylen said, nodding.

The group headed back to the Chantry.  Leliana led the way down to the altar and off to the side, towards an open door.  She knocked on the frame, then entered, waving the others to follow.  Everyone stepped inside to find themselves in the secretarium, where the priests prepared for services.  A brother packed vestments into a chest, then lifted it and hurried past them.  The Revered Mother sat at a desk against the back wall, picking through a pile of books. 

Leliana folded her hands.  “Good afternoon, your reverence.  Might we speak with you for a moment?”

The older woman stood and turned; her eyes swept over Aedan and the others.  “Hello, Sister Leliana.  I do not recognize your companions.  Can I help you?”

“These men are Grey Wardens,” Leliana explained.  “They are gathering allies to fight the darkspawn, and I would like to join them.”

“Ah.  You’re the ones who slew those bandits.”  The priest nodded curtly.  “The goods they stole will be a great help in the days ahead.  If Leliana wishes to travel with you, she may.”  She looked to Leliana and smiled.  “I suppose this is goodbye, child, at least for now.  I am grateful the Maker steered you here.  You have been a blessing upon this community these past years.  I pray the Maker will watch over you in these dark times.”

Aedan cleared his throat.  “If you’re leaving tonight, what will happen to the Qunari prisoner?  You can’t take him with you.”

The Revered Mother blinked, then frowned.  “It might be kinder to execute him, but I leave his fate to the Maker.”

“I would like you to release him into my custody,” Aedan said.  “As Leliana says, we are gathering allies.  As things stand, we cannot afford to waste anyone who can fight.”

“That monster slew eight innocent people and you want him freed?” the priest asked incredulously.  “If I do that, his next victims might count you and me as their murderers.”

Aedan crossed his arms.  “Qunari are incredible warriors.  There are tens of thousands of darkspawn bearing down on the Bannorn, and precious few ready to fight them.  If he chooses to kill again, he’ll be just a drop in the ocean with the darkspawn swarming across the land.  But if he fights by our side, he may save more lives than he ever took.”  The priestess hesitated, and Aedan’s nostrils flared.  “He’s still quite likely to end up dead, if that makes you feel better.”

It was the wrong thing to say; the Revered Mother’s mouth set in a hard line.  Leliana spoke up quickly.  “Your Reverence, you say his fate is in the Maker’s hands.  These Wardens are fighting the darkspawn, the doom brought on by the Second Sin.  Is it merely chance that they happened by here, or is it something more?”

The Revered Mother’s face softened.  “Perhaps you are right.  However, I quite literally cannot release him.  To be honest, with all the chaos of the evacuation, I had forgotten about the Qunari.  I do not know where the keys to his cage are packed among all the baggage, and we absolutely don’t have time to search.  You have my permission to release him, if you can get the cage open.”

Alistair’s jaw dropped and Aedan looked ready to explode, but Leliana quickly thanked the Revered Mother and hustled them out the door.  Alistair shook his head.  “I can’t believe it.  There’s really no reason at all.  She just wants him to suffer.”

“We can’t let her get away with it!”  Aedan was shaking.  He reached up and scratched his stubble.  “We need to get that cage open.  Daylen, Morrigan, can you heat the bars, then chill them, make them brittle?”

Daylen chewed his lip.  “That’s wrought iron, not cast; we probably could break it eventually, but it would take hours, and I don’t know if we could do it without hurting Sten.”

“I will handle it,” Leliana said firmly.  “Give me a moment.”

She turned and walked into the gardens beside the Chantry, mostly empty in late fall.  The others followed her down a flagstone path between planting beds and leafless trees, until she stopped in the back corner by a large, withered rosebush.  Leliana knelt and dug at the base of the bush, coming up with a small, thin package wrapped in oilcloth.

“What’s that?” Daylen asked.

Leliana sighed.  “Something I had hoped to leave buried.”

She turned and headed back for Sten’s gibbet, with the others following.  The Qunari was just as stoic as he’d been when they left, not even watching for them.  Leliana unwrapped the bundle to reveal a curved dagger in a leather sheath.  She drew the blade, then unscrewed the pommel to reveal several lockpicks concealed in slots in the wooden handle.  She selected one, then set the tip of the dagger in the keyhole and probed the lock with the pick.

It clicked and turned almost immediately; Leliana put the pick away and removed the lock.  Aedan pulled open the cage, and Sten stepped out, straightening up to tower over him.

“You have my thanks, Grey Warden,” said Sten, bowing his head.  “I did not believe I would have the opportunity to die well.”

Aedan smiled wryly.  “Let’s hope it’s a while yet before it comes to that.  Now, let’s get moving.  Hopefully, we can make the Hawke farm by dark.  Alistair, take the lead.  I’ll bring up the rear.”

Leliana pointed to a dirt road leading north.  Alistair started off, with Leliana behind him, and the others trailing after.

Daylen shook his head.  “Where did you learn to pick locks like that, anyway?”

Leliana chuckled.   “I was born in Denerim, but grew up in Orlais.  I was a traveling minstrel; I entertained nobles and merchants with music and song.  They’re always throwing parties and fancy balls… and they all have such fine houses, full of valuables.”

“Ah,” Alistair said.  “You decided some of those valuables would be better in your pockets then theirs?”

“It went well for a while,” Leliana said.  “But I became reckless.  I enjoyed the challenge, the thrill… and eventually, I was caught and had to run.  I ended up returning to Ferelden, with no home and no friends.  I thought the Chantry would be a safe place to hide… and then found it was where I belonged.”

“And now you’re with us,” Daylen said.  “I suppose there are a few places where a clever thief might come in handy.”

They kept going, through rolling hills into the Bannorn proper.  As they traveled, Leliana dropped back until she was walking alongside Aedan.

“You know.” Leliana said quietly.

Aedan nodded.  “Yes.  But as far as I’m concerned, it’s none of our business.”

“This much is true,” Leliana said.  “I thought I’d left my old life behind.  And I believe the Maker wants me to help you.”

“Just so long as you haven’t left your old skills behind,” Aedan said.  “I think we might need them before this is over.”

Chapter Text

The group, now two members larger, traveled on into the afternoon.  Just north of Lothering, they took a ferry across the Drakon River.  According to Leliana, the Hawke home was about an hour’s walk further on.  Aedan hoped that meant they’d have time to get a proper meal and a good long sleep before pushing on to Kinloch Hold in the morning.  Morrigan and Sten walked along in silence.  Leliana more than made up for them, chatting animatedly with Daylen about his family.  Apparently, Leliana knew Bethany quite well; she often came to pray or work in the Chantry gardens.  Aedan sent Daylen to rearguard and moved to the front of the group to talk to Alistair.

“What are you thinking?” Alistair asked.

Aedan grunted.  “I’m thinking we might have a little luck yet.  The darkspawn are still fairly far south.  With the horde through the hills, the next major obstacle is the Drakon River.  As far as I know, the only actual bridge over the river is in Denerim.  It’s Harvestmere and already raining every other day.  They’ll cut the cables on the ferries, and the fords become unusable when the river swells.  That means the spawn will have to turn one way or the other.  Either east towards Redcliffe, passing through the Hinterlands, or west into the Brecilian Forest.  The forest is difficult terrain and full of dangerous creatures; they’ll have a job pushing through it, especially if there are Dalish camping there.  If the Redcliffe regiment can delay them for a week or two, the rain will intensify, and turn to snow in places.  If it isn’t freezing cold, the ground will turn to thick, sticky mud.  No army can go on the march in that weather, not even an army of monsters.  That will delay them until spring, give us a chance to catch up.”

Alistair frowned.  “What about Loghain?”

“To be honest, I don’t know,” Aedan replied.  “Politics is not my strong suit; that was always my father and Fergus’ job.  I’m hoping to hand that particular problem to Arl Eamon and concentrate on gathering allies.  At some point, we should be able to get messages to the Wardens in other nations, and get some advice and support.  Though that’ll be months yet.”

“Sounds sensible,” replied Alistair.  “Though, not much of the past few days has made much sense to me.”

Aedan clapped him on the shoulder, then dropped back to walk with Sten.  He pulled the bandit’s hatchet from his belt and offered it to the Qunari.  “Here.  Hopefully we’ll be able to get you some proper gear, but for now, this is all I’ve got.”

Sten took it, tested its edge, and hefted it briefly.  “This will do.”

He veered off the path as they passed through a clump of woods.  Sten picked out a straight oak sapling about as tall as he was, then chopped it down.  He stripped off the branches as he walked back to the group, then made several angled cuts, shaping the end to a sharp point.  Sten put the crude spear over his shoulder and handed the hatchet back to Aedan.  “That was most useful.  Thank you, Warden.”

Aedan grinned.  “Nicely done.  You’ll need to fire-harden the point, though.  Be time for that tonight.”

“Might need to use it sooner than that,” Alistair said, holding up a hand to stop the group.  “I sense darkspawn.  Small group, but they’re close.”

A cry echoed through the trees, a man’s voice, calling for help.  Everyone drew weapons; Aedan clicked his tongue and Drake ran ahead about five yards.  They emerged from the trees to see a handful of darkspawn attacking a wagon as two dwarves tried desperately to fend them off.  Drake snarled and sprinted towards the fray.

Daylen shook his head.  “They’re too close together.  Without a staff, I can’t shoot without risking innocents.”

“I can.”  Leliana drew the bow back to her jaw, closed one eye, and loosed.  Her shot took a darkspawn in the chest.

Aedan and Alistair charged, but Sten outran them both, long strides closing the distance quickly.  He leveled his spear and skewered a hurlock right through its chainmail, then pulled it free and went after another.  He ducked an arrow and turned, but Leliana got the archer.  Sten thrust at a second darkspawn, but the point had dulled and the spear wouldn’t pierce.  He changed grip, wielding the shaft like a quarterstaff, and cracked the genlock’s skull.  Alistair arrived and clashed with a big hurlock.  Aedan faced down a pair of spawn, then Sten stepped up beside him and they took one each.  Leliana killed a second archer before she and Daylen moved to guard the dwarves.  In another moment, they’d finished off the last of the spawn.

“Mighty timely arrival, friends,” said the older dwarf, stepping out from behind his wagon.  “I’m much obliged.”

Aedan nodded his head, noticing that the others waited for him to speak.  “It was nothing.  Are either of you hurt?”

The dwarf shook his head, making his braided beard sway.  “You were on them too fast for that.  I called for help when I saw them coming, and they were barely on us when your lovely archer…”  He beamed at Leliana, “Got the first one."  He held his hand out.  “The name’s Bodahn Feddic, merchant and entrepreneur.”  He indicated the young man next to him.  “This is my son, Sandal.  Say hello, my boy.”

“Hello,” Sandal said shyly.

“Road’s been mighty dangerous these days,” Bodahn said.  “Mind if I ask what brings you out here?  Perhaps we’re going the same way.”

Alistair chuckled.  “We’re Grey Wardens, gathering allies to face the horde.  You… might find our travels a bit exciting for your taste.”

“Maybe so,” Bodahn agreed.

Aedan hooked a thumb over his shoulder.  “A few miles south of here, this road meets the Imperial Highway at Lothering.  They’re gathering a caravan to take refugees to Redcliffe.  If you hurry, you can travel with them-and they certainly could use another wagon.”

Bodahn bobbed his head.  “Thanks for the tip, ser Warden.  If you don’t mind, my boy and I will get moving.  Allow me to bid you farewell and good fortune.”

The travelers went their separate ways.  The road rose into the last line of foothills before the Bannorn, and the sun was just touching the horizon when Leliana turned off to the Hawke farm.  The path led through fields of grain stubble, long since harvested and waiting for winter to pass.  The house was fairly large and rambling; it had begun life as a single-story stone building, with a timber-framed second story and wing additions built later.  The barn across from it was open, the animals turned loose.  The land sloped away from them to the south, and Lothering was visible in the distance.  Leliana tried the door, which wasn’t locked. 

They stepped into the house to find it neat and tidy.  There was a stack of firewood by the hearth, and plates and cups stacked on a shelf by the washbasin.  Right in the center of the kitchen table, a note was propped up against a candlestick:

To whoever may read this, our family has left to flee the Blight.  We do not know if we will ever return.  Please, feel free to shelter in our house, and take anything you need.  May the Maker be with you.

Best wishes,

Leandra Hawke

Aedan grinned.  “Your relatives are wonderful, Daylen.”

“Such a kind woman,” Leliana said ardently.  “I pray she’s safe.”

Daylen smiled and nodded.  “I do too…  I hope to actually meet them one day.  I’ve been corresponding with them for years and I don’t even really know what they look like.”

Aedan clapped his hands together.  “Let’s get settled in.  Drake, guard.  Alistair, please get a fire going.  Leliana, Daylen, Morrigan, please search the house, gather anything we might be able to use.  Sten, you and I will check the barn.  Let’s get this done, and then we can eat and get some rest.”

The group split up to their tasks.  Aedan and Sten crossed the yard to the barn and began searching.  There wasn’t much, but a few things would be of use.  There were several coils of rope and twine, and a pair of oilcloth tarps.  Aedan had been hoping for a full-sized felling axe, but didn’t find one.  What he did find was a pitchfork in the hayloft, with three steel prongs.  He held it out to Sten.  “Can you use this, until I can find you a proper weapon?”

Sten took the fork and hefted it.  “Absolutely.  My people use spears as our primary arms; this is a reasonable substitute.  And as we travel, I should be able to gather appropriate herbs to craft vitaar.”

“That’s the skin-hardening stuff you use for light armor, correct?” Aedan asked.  Sten nodded, and Aedan frowned.  “I don’t know if that’s wise.  We probably won’t find armor that will fit you, but we could have it made.”

“Vitaar is more familiar to me,” Sten replied.  “It allows for more freedom of movement.  The antaam are trained to avoid being hit, not to depend on our armor, at least in most situations.”

Aedan nodded.  “Yes, but you are fighting darkspawn now.  Their blood is lethally toxic; you must avoid contact with it.”

Sten nodded curtly.  “Thank you for informing me, Warden.  I was not aware of that hazard.  If that is so, you are correct, and I will need armor.  If possible, I would prefer a set which is relatively light and flexible, such as quilted fabric or mail.  That is all I require to be fully equipped-other than my sword, of course.”

“About that.”  Aedan rubbed his chin.  “Obviously, I can’t offer you any hope of recovering your sword.  But I think I can help you complete your mission.  If you prepare a written report, I will try to get it to Rivain through diplomatic channels, to be passed on to the Qunari settlement at Kont-aar.”

“If you could, Warden, you would have my gratitude,” Sten said gravely.  “My people have no knowledge of the darkspawn.  The Arishok sent the beresaad to determine if the Blight was a threat.  It is, and my people must be warned.”

Aedan folded his arms.  “We need to get back to friendly forces if we’re going to live long enough for you to report anything.  Let’s get back to the house, see what the others have going for supper.”

Dinner wasn’t exactly a royal feast, but it wasn’t thin gruel, either.  There was a root cellar beneath the kitchen; it was mostly empty, but there were a handful of potatoes and onions.  Alistair threw them into a pot with the salt fish, and in half an hour, they had a simple soup.  The soup was warm, and so was the fire, and that was enough to make them all feel just a little better.  Until Alistair looked out the window.

“The horde’s about to reach Lothering,” he said, then stood and left the house.

Aedan frowned and stood; Morrigan rolled her eyes.  “The battle is miles from here, across the river.  You waste time you should spend resting.”

Aedan shot her a look, then set his jaw and followed Alistar outside, with Daylen and Leliana trailing after.  Aedan stepped up next to Alistair, looking to the south.

Lothering was too distant for them to see the individual Templars and soldiers who had volunteered for the rear guard.  And it was too far to hear the sounds of fighting.  But they could see the horde.  Like in the Wilds, the mass of darkspawn appeared as a dark shadow sweeping over the land.  It advanced quickly, hesitated briefly perhaps a quarter mile short of the village, then moved in slowly. Just beyond the edge of town, the horde came to a stop.  And stayed stopped.

“How many remained to fight?”  Sten asked.

Alistair shook his head, shoulders slumped.  “Not enough.”

Sten folded his arms.  “On the contrary.  Every moment they delay the horde, is a moment the caravan gains on its way to safety.”

The darkness retreated, then surged forward, this time driving past the first row of houses.  Suddenly, two houses collapsed, then two more, dust and debris scattering the horde like stones splashing a pond.  The rubble piles formed a barricade, blocking the spawn’s progress.  The shadow spread to either side, into the fields around town, trying to press further in.  A series of small flashes indicated traps going off in the tall grass, and the entire front edge of the horde shredded like smoke in a breeze.

Aedan grinned.  “Nice one.”

All was still for a moment, then the spawn closed in again.  This time, they split and advanced around both sides of the rubble pile, pushing down parallel routes.  There was a blast of flame, then another, and then a dazzling blue-white light blew a hole in the swarm.

“Must have been an emissary,” Alistair said.  “That was a Templar smiting.”

The horde did not relent.  The dark stain spread wider, flowing along side streets, sweeping around the outside of the town in a pincer movement.  There were more flashes of flame and lightning, each time answered with smites.  Soon, several houses were on fire, the light making the horde seem even darker by comparison.  And then, the arms of the pincer closed, and the spawn fully enveloped Lothering.  The horde pressed in from all sides, burning more buildings as they passed, closing in on the town square.

Aedan grimaced.  “Not long, now.”

“My warriors were overrun in half the time, and there are far more darkspawn here,” Sten said quietly.  “The Templar karasten should be commended.”

The defenders held the horde at the edges of the square for quite a while, longer than Aedan expected.  The spawn finally broke into the square and surrounded the Chantry.  Most of the town was on fire, the blaze lighting up the landscape all around.  Smites were flashing all around the Chantry as waves of darkspawn crashed against the walls.  A hail of fireballs battered the Chantry, then the horde swarmed through the doors.  Moments later, flames started licking out the windows.

Daylen’s head dropped.  “It’s over.”

“Shadows fall, and hope has fled.”  Leliana’s voice floated strong and clear over the abandoned farm.  “Steel your heart, the dawn will come.”

She sang on, as the shadow moved on from the ruins of Lothering.  She sang as the Chantry burned and the spire fell, her voice never wavering.  And when she reached the end of her song, and the last liquid notes drifted into the night, Daylen felt a lightness in his chest, though he could not say why.

They went back inside to find Morrigan at the basin, washing the crockery.  “Having wasted more than an hour watching events you could not change; we should all turn in for the night.  ‘Tis a long walk yet to the mages’ tower, and the weather may turn against us.”

It was a long walk, but the weather stayed pleasant enough, cool and clear.  The Lake Road was an old Tevinter secondary road, which ran up the east shore of Lake Calenhad.  And it was crowded.  Refugees were fleeing the Bannorn in droves, and Aedan talked to as many as he could to gather news.  Even though the bulk of the horde was stopped south of the river, several raiding parties had already crossed, and small groups had emerged from mines and caves across Ferelden.  There were a few soldiers in the fleeing groups, some running, some trying to find a unit to join.  Information on the Fereldan army was mixed.  Apparently, some were trying to set up defenses at places where the spawn might still cross the river.  Others were retreating, or waiting for orders.  One bright spot was the Lake Calenhad fishing fleet.  The boats were running back and forth across the lake, picking up refugees from the Bannorn and carrying them to safety on the western shore.

They might have been able to commandeer one of the fishing boats to take them to Kinloch Hold, but Aedan decided against it.  They were large vessels, able to carry twenty or thirty people, and Aedan thought they were better used evacuating civilians.  They continued north, heading for the town of Wutherford and the official crossing point.  Daylen, of course, frequented the tavern there, and the regular ferry to the tower wouldn’t interrupt the rescue effort.  Daylen and Morrigan alternated casting rejuvenation spells on everyone, and they walked all day, eating nuts and dried fruit on the move.  With the magical assistance, they managed to reach Wutherford in late afternoon, just as the sun was sinking toward the mountains.  Daylen led the way to the Spoiled Princess Inn, where the ferryman usually waited for customers.

There was a happy shout, and a middle-aged man strode over, beaming.  “Daylen!  Welcome back, boy.”  He turned and called over his shoulder.  “Oh love, Daylen’s here!”

A woman dashed out from the kitchen behind the bar.  “Daylen, I’m so glad you’re home!  They said you were going to war; I was sure you’d been killed!”

Daylen hugged the both of them, and gave the innkeeper’s wife a peck on the cheek.  “Everyone, this is Douglas, and his wife Larana.  They run this place… and for some reason, they think they’re my parents.”

Leliana grinned and giggled; Aedan smiled and shook hands.  “Pleased to meet you, messere, milady.”

Larana smiled.  “A friend of Daylen’s is always welcome here.  What’ll you have for supper?  There’s a good roast on, or we’ve mutton stew and pork pies.”

Daylen shook his head.  “I’m sorry, but we need to get across to the Tower as soon as possible.  Where is Kester?”

Douglas shook his head.  “He’s at home, but he’s not running the ferry.  The Templars took it over, and they haven’t allowed any travel since the survivors got back from Ostagar.”

“That’s odd,” said Daylen, frowning.  “Maybe they’re worried about refugees trying to get to the island?”

Aedan rolled his eyes.  “More likely, they’re worried about a mage escaping in all the confusion.”  He sighed.  “Where are they?  We need to get to the Circle as soon as possible.”

The group stepped back outside, and Daylen led the way down to the boathouse, where a single Templar stood guard.  He held up his arms as they approached.  “Hold, travelers.  I have strict orders not to let anyone pass.”

“Carroll, it’s me,” Daylen said.

Carroll’s eyes widened, then he relaxed.  “Enchanter Amell.  I’m sorry, Kinloch Hold is closed until further notice, by order of the Knight-Commander.  I can take a message for you when I’m relieved in the morning.”

Aedan bristled; Daylen folded his arms.  “You know I’m with the Grey Wardens now.  We need to speak with Irving.  Alistair, do you have the treaty?”

Alistair held up the papers.  “These documents compel the Circle of Magi to provide aid to the Grey Wardens during a Blight.  We must meet with the Circle leadership.”

“I have my orders,” Carroll said lamely.  “I cannot make an exception without permission from one of my officers.  Go back to the inn, and I’ll take a message in the morning.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Aedan snapped.  “The Chantry is a party to this treaty, meaning it is part of Chantry law.  It outranks your boss’ orders.  If that doesn’t impress you, you can either let us pass now, or when we leave, I’ll invoke the Right of Conscription and take you with us.”

Carrol glared; Aeden stared him down, and the Templar blinked first.  “I’ll call the ferryman.”

Aedan waved him off.  “No need.  It’s a rowboat, not a Waking Sea brig.  Just stand aside.”

Carrol got out of the way, and Aedan got the boat into the water.  Everyone got aboard, and Aedan pushed off from shore.  He and Alistair each took an oar, and Sten took the second pair alone.  The lake was fairly calm, and they made good time to the old stone dock on the island’s eastern shore.  There were several helmeted Templars at the dock; they all advanced on the ship with weapons drawn.

“Stop right there!” one shouted.  “I don’t know how you got past the ferry guard, but for your sake he’d better be unharmed.  Now, drop your weapons and surrender in the name of the Chantry.”

Daylen stepped forward, hands held out placatingly.  “It’s Daylen Amell.  I’m here in my official capacity as a Grey Warden, and I have an urgent message to deliver to the First Enchanter.”

The Templar shook their head.  “Well, you can’t.  The Tower is sealed.  No one in or out.”

“What?  What happened?” Daylen asked, as the color drained from his face.

“What do you think happened?” the Templar snapped.  “One of you bloody mages fucked up and tore the Veil.”

Daylen’s mouth worked soundlessly; Aedan took over.  “Ser Templar, we need to speak to the Knight-Commander, and we need to do it now.”  He gestured to Alistair, who held up the treaties.  “This is the seal of the Divine.”

That gave the Templars pause.  A pair of them escorted the group to the tower, while the others remained at the dock.  They entered to what looked like the aftermath of a battle.  Wounded Templars were being tended to on one side of the entry hall, while the other was a makeshift kitchen.  The barracks was full of Templars sleeping in their armor, with weapons at their bedside.  They reached the stairs to the upper level to find the great doors barred from the outside, and Greagoir supervising the construction of a barricade on the other side of the room.

He saw Daylen and winced.  “Daylen.  I’m glad to see you alive, but I wish the circumstances were better.”

“Greagoir, what in the Maker’s name is going on here?” Daylen asked, his voice shaking.

“I don’t know how it started, but the Veil is torn somewhere in the upper levels,” the Knight-commander said.  “Demons and abominations came storming through the halls.  We had to seal the Tower, to prevent them escaping.”

Daylen gaped.  “And what about everyone inside?  They can’t all have been killed; we need to get in there and help them!”

Greagoir shook his head.  “I cannot take the risk.  I’ve sent to Denerim for reinforcements and permission to exercise the Right of Annulment.”

“You’re just going to kill them all?” Daylen nearly screamed.  “There are dozens of mages in there, people you’ve known for years.  There are children in the Tower, Greagoir!”

“And the Templars who were inside at the time,” Greagoir countered.  “Hadley’s up there, and Cullen.  But if I open those doors… if most or all of the mages are possessed, I don’t have enough Templars to hold them.  We’d be overrun, and demons would spread through the countryside.”

Aedan cleared his throat.  “Knight-Commander, you absolutely must try to save anyone who can be saved.”

Greagoir frowned.  “Daylen, who are these others?  More Wardens?”

Aedan introduced everyone.  “As I said, sir, it is vital that the mages are rescued.  I came to gather support against the Blight.  You must know the army at Ostagar was routed completely.  Without the mages’ help, the entire country may fall.”

“What do you want me to do?”  Greagoir put his hands on his hips.  “If the demons haven’t already taken the tower, they will soon.  Daylen, we both saw what one blood mage can do.  Abominations are worse.  Who could stand against such a threat?”

“Give the mages some credit,” Daylen retorted.  “We’re all trained to resist demons, and fight them off if we have to.  I find it extremely unlikely that Irving and the others would be overrun in a day.”

“If any mages live, they cannot be many,” Greagoir said.  “However, once the Annulment is completed, my Templars will no longer be needed here.  I am willing to offer our assistance to the Wardens during this crisis.”

Alistair ran a hand through his hair.  “That’s an idea.  The Templars are excellent warriors, and they will counter darkspawn emissaries nicely.”

“There’s another solution,” Aedan said.  “Let us go in and see if anyone can be saved.  Your message has to reach Denerim, and then the Templar reinforcements have to get back here.  That will take days, possibly weeks.  By then, either we’ll have secured the Tower, or we’ll be dead, and you can have your Annulment.”

Greagoir was silent for a full minute, then he nodded.  “I will allow that.  Understand, once you cross that threshold, there is no turning back.  I will not open the doors again until I have proof that it is safe.”

“And how, pray tell, are we to prove that?” Morrigan asked icily.

Greagoir focused on her for the first time, then his eyes went wide when he saw her staff.  “An apostate!”

Aedan quickly stepped in front of her.  “Yes, she is.  She is assisting the Grey Wardens, and is under my protection.  And the question stands.  How can we show you the Tower is secure?”

“There is an alarm bell system in the Tower,” Greagoir said.  “Ring the bell in the Harrowing Chamber at the topmost floor three times.  If I hear that, I will order the doors unlocked.”

Aedan nodded.  “Very well.  We should move quickly.”

The Knight-Commander gestured to a pair of Templars, who drew back the massive steel bolts.  Other Templars readied their weapons, just in case.  The great doors swung open, and Aedan led his people through.  As they closed again, Daylen looked back to see Greagoir give him a grim nod.

Chapter Text

Daylen climbed the stairs behind Aedan, almost numb.  This was the nightmare of every mage of every Circle.  The Veil torn, demons breaking through into the mortal world.  Mages studied to prevent it from their earliest lessons.  Templars trained to contain such outbreaks, at any cost.  How?  How could this happen here?  News of Ostagar, perhaps, spreading fear?  He was lost in thought, bumped into the wall, and almost tripped before righting himself.

“Daylen.”  Aedan was stopped about halfway up the stairs, low enough that his head was beneath the level of the floor above.  “I don’t know anything about magic or the Circle.  I’m going to need your advice for this.  Are you with me?”

He took a deep, shuddering breath, then let it out and nodded.  “Let’s go.”

“You could always ask my advice, Warden,” Morrigan said sharply.  “He is not the only mage here.”

Alistair shot her a venomous glare, but didn’t say anything.  Aedan raised an eyebrow.  “Certainly, you have a broad knowledge of the arcane.  But did you grow up here?  Do you know the layout of the building, and the people in it?”  He shook his head.  “Daylen knows this place like you know the Wilds.”

Morrigan thought it over, then nodded, mollified.  Aedan turned and continued up the stairs.  They reached the second floor to find the top was blocked with a pile of furniture.  It wasn’t much of a barricade, and Aedan shoved it out of the way easily.  That’s when the half-dozen clay mugs balanced at the top fell to the floor and shattered loudly.

Aedan winced.  “Well, someone knows we’re coming.  But that means you’re right, Daylen.  Someone was still alive to set that up.”

There was a scream from further around the tower; Daylen took the lead and made for the sound with the others following.  He passed the familiar rooms, not really noticing the people within, ignoring their shouts.  He reached the landing to the stairs up to the third floor, and stopped short at the monstrosity coming down.  It was a man-sized figure seemingly made of molten lava, sliding across the floor on a legless trunk, with long arms and yellow eyes burning brighter than its body.  The rage demon growled and moved forward.  Several mages fled before it, but one woman stood her ground, silhouetted against the flaming beast.  She waved her staff and blasted it with ice.  The demon howled and erupted in steam, slowing to a stop before disintegrating to ash and dust.  Another spell, and a barrier sealed the stairway.

The mage turned, and with the blaze of light gone, Daylen recognized Wynne.  And she recognized him.  “Daylen?  What are you doing here?  How did you get past the templars?”

Daylen smiled thinly.  “We came to ask for your help.”

He gestured to Aedan, who stepped forward and introduced himself.  “I convinced the Knight-Commander that he might as well let us try and save the Tower.  He plants to Annul the Circle, but it will be some time before the signed Right can arrive.”

Wynne lowered her head.  “So, Greagoir has sent for it?  Of course he has, what else could he do?”

Aedan raised an eyebrow.  “March his men in here and fight, perhaps?”

Wynne fixed him with a scathing look, then sighed.  “Do not make light of the decision he faces.  To order his remaining Templars in, and risk releasing demons and abominations if he fails…  He probably believes we are all dead.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Aedan said.  “However, after the rout at Ostagar, Ferelden will likely be overrun without the mages’ help.  Perhaps his training leads him to see a tear in the Veil as the greater worry, but I believe on balance, the darkspawn are the bigger problem.  So we must secure the tower.  What’s the situation, when did this start?”

“The Veil was torn yesterday afternoon, in the Harrowing Chamber at the tower top,” Wynne explained.  “We and the Templars with us fought to buy time, to get as many people as possible to safety on the lower floors.  We thought to seal off the demons with a barrier until Greagoir could bring in help.  But the great doors were sealed, and there were more demons, and more powerful, than we could handle.  We spent the night retreating down the tower, trying to hold them off as long as possible.  We had been driven out of the second floor just as you arrived.  We have enough mages to maintain the barrier, at least for a time, but I doubt Greagoir has enough men to retake the building.  By the time Templar reinforcements can arrive, the demons will have broken through and overrun us.  Even if we could hold the demons at bay, we will not be able to stand against an Annulment.”  She held her staff lightly, turning it in her hands.  “I am a skilled Enchanter, but I am no strategist.  If we are to survive, we need a plan.”

Aedan paced for a moment, then put his hands on his hips.  “First things first.  Have someone call the roll, as it were.  Find out how many survivors are in here.  Then inventory the supplies.  Kitchens are on this floor, correct?”

Daylen nodded.  “Yes, but the main storerooms are in the basement.  I don’t know how much food is kept up here.  The kitchen and laundry both have pumps connected to the cistern, so we will have enough water at least.”

“The kitchens served nearly a thousand meals a day,” Wynne said.  “And, unfortunately, many people did not survive the first hours of fighting.  If we ration, we’ll be all right for a while.”  She pointed to two other mages.  “Petra, Kinnon, do as the Warden suggests.  Make a list of everyone in here.  Then catalogue our supplies.  Not just food, we’ll need bandages, potion ingredients, lyrium… anything else you can think of.”

The pair nodded and got to work; Wynne turned back to the Wardens.  “That will allow us to hold out, but how will we clear the Tower?  There is a small army of demons and abominations above us, might be more coming through tears as we speak.”

“Well, it’d be easier if we had a few dozen Templars with us,” Aedan said.  “But I hope to avoid fighting them all at once.  The layout of each floor is roughly the same, yes?  Curving corridor with rooms coming off one side?”  Dalyen and Wynne both nodded, and Aedan continued.  “I will need the help of a few more mages.  We’ll move up the tower, casting multiple barriers in front of us.  This will subdivide each floor into manageable portions.  We drop one barrier at a time, so we can advance in stages, one room, one section of corridor at a time.”

Wynne nodded thoughtfully.  “A sensible plan.  I will come with you.”

“Me too!”  Daylen spun to see Neria beaming at him.  Before he could speak, she ran up and hugged him around the middle.  “We heard about Ostagar; I was so worried!”

Daylen embraced her tightly.  “You’re all right.  You’re all right…”

Neria’s smile faded.  “I’m all right for now, but if we want to keep it that way, we’ve got to get the Veil sealed.”

More mages were coming out of the dining hall and gymnasium, asking what was going on.   Wynne explained the situation.  “The Wardens need volunteers to help clear the tower.  We need anyone who can help fight, heal, or maintain the barriers.”

“I’ll come.”  A tall, bearded mage with dreadlocks stepped forward and nodded to Aedan.  “I’m Torrin, Senior Enchanter here.  I can perform whatever magics you have need of.”

A young elven man followed him.  “I’m Eadric.  Just an apprentice, but Wynne will tell you I’m a fair healer.”

A thirty-something elven woman was next.  “I am Enchanter Cera, Ser Warden.  My barrier skills aren’t as great as Wynne’s, but I hope they will be up to the task.”

“I can’t help with the spellwork, but I can handle a demon or two.”  A broad-shouldered man in a tunic and breeches walked up to the group.  “Knight-Templar Bran, at your service.”

Aedan nodded.  “Thank you all.  That should be enough; there isn’t a lot of room to fight in here.”  He scratched his chin-his stubble was a scraggly beard by now-and took a deep breath.  “All right.  We move down the hall in pairs…”

Ten minutes later, the group gathered at the base of the stairs to the third floor.  Ser Bran had been off-duty and didn’t have any of his equipment; he was making do with a padded fencing jacket and mask, along with a wooden exercise club.

Wynne turned to the mages staying behind.  “Leorah, Ines, you are in charge here.  Raise another barrier behind us.  Once Petra and Kinnon finish their inventory, draw up a plan to make the food last.  We’ll send a runner down if we have more instructions.”

Enchanter Ines nodded, biting her lip.  “Maker watch over you, Wynne.”

“Maker watch over you all,” Senior Enchanter Leorah added.

Aedan stepped up to the barrier at the base of the stairway.  “All right.  Just like we discussed.”

Neria raised her staff and cast a barrier blocking the top of the stairs.  Once it was up, Wynne dropped hers, and Aedan led the way up with Sten and Wynne close behind him.  When they reached the top, all seemed clear.  Wynne cast another shield, about twenty feet down the corridor.  Neria dropped hers, and the group moved up the stairs and on to the third floor landing.  Behind them, another barrier sealed the stairway.

“Daylen, where are we?” Aedan asked.

“Third floor is the Tranquil quarters,” Daylen replied.  “Half the floor is living quarters, the other half is crafting workshops.”

Aedan nodded.  “Alistair, let’s start checking rooms.”  He gave Drake a pat on the head.  “Guard the rear, boy.”

Wynne’s shield was far enough down the hall that the first door was inside it.  Alistair took position in front of the door, with Bran behind him.  Daylen grabbed the handle and waited for Alistair’s signal.  Alistair gave a nod, and Daylen pulled the door open, revealing a spartan bedroom.  Alistair tensed and raised his shield, but the room appeared empty but for one body, badly burned.  They did a quick search to make sure, then Neria cast another barrier further down the hall.  Wynne dropped hers, and they moved forward.  Alistair set up in front of the next door; it burst open and a long-limbed, wiry demon charged at him.

Alistair flinched and raised his shield, but Wynne beat him to it, and the slavering creature smashed into her barrier.  It reeled, stunned, and Wynne removed the barrier, clearing the way for Daylen to hit it with fire.  It shrieked and flailed, and Alistair slashed it across the chest, then hacked at it until it stopped moving.

Aedan looked down at the grey-purple corpse, which was slowly melting into a puddle.  “What in the fuck was that thing?”

“Hunger demon,” Daylen said.  “Fortunately, a fairly weak one.”

Alistair grinned at Wynne.  “Nice timing with the barrier, Enchanter.  They’d have been pulling that thing off me.”

“No need for the formality, young man,” Wynne said.

“Thank you,” said the man standing inside the room.

Aedan nearly jumped out of his skin.  He hadn’t noticed anyone was there.  The man was perfectly calm, seemingly unconcerned with the demon who’d been right in front of him a moment before.  Then Aedan saw the Chantry sunburst on his head and understood.

“Owain, is that you?” Wynne asked.  “What are you doing here?”

Owain nodded smoothly.  “It is me, Wynne.  I am trying to keep things organized.”

“There are demons in here!” Neria exclaimed.  “Why didn’t you come with us when we retreated from this floor?”

“I was working, and did not notice the commotion,” Owain replied.  “Later, I tried to descend the stairs, but found the way blocked by a magical shield.”

Wynne shook her head.  “Owain, you should have said something!  I would have let you in.”

Owain hefted a wooden crate back onto one of the shelves.  “I prefer it here.  The supply room is familiar.”

 “If that’s what you want, Owain, that’s what we’ll do,” Wynne said.  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“The demons have not attacked me,” he answered calmly.  “They seem to ignore me, even though they must know I am here.  However, there are many other Tranquil on this floor; you should ask them if they want to leave.  And of course, we will want to come down to the dining hall for supper.  In all the confusion, we missed breakfast and lunch.”

“Oh, no, on top of everything else you went hungry?”  Neria reached for Owain, then hesitated and pulled her hand back.

Owain looked at her.  “It’s all right if you want to hug me.  It feels nice, and it makes you happy.”

Neria pulled him in close and squeezed.  “I’m so sorry you have to go through this, Owain.  You’ve been so brave.”

The group continued around the third floor, leapfrogging forward, one team securing the hallway while others cleared rooms as they passed.  Aedan marveled at the craft shops in each one.  “The Tranquil do all this?”

“And more,” Daylen replied.  “In the Tower, we have equipment for weaving, enchanting, alchemy, and engraving.  There’s also a smithy, kiln, carpentry, and brewery in separate buildings on the island.  The Tranquil manufacture most of our staves and robes, along with furniture, soap, candles, ceramics, even most of the Templars’ armor.”

“They sound most industrious.”  Morrigan raised her eyebrows.  “And what, pray tell, are they paid for their services?”

Wynne glared at her, Aedan nodded, Daylen looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Neria hid a smirk.

Before anyone could argue, Alistair spoke up.  “Can we debate the morality of Circles some other time?  Say, when there isn’t a tower full of demons and abominations waiting to kill us?”

Aedan heaved a sigh.  “He’s right.”

They killed a few more rage demons and another hunger before encountering their first abomination.  It was well over six feet tall, ripped mage robes stretched taut over a mass of muscle.  It howled and charged.  Aedan was in the lead; he caught the first blow on his shield, but the shock staggered him backwards.  As it wound up for another strike, Sten thrust his pitchfork past Aedan’s ear and stabbed the hulking thing in the upper chest.  It bellowed in pain, thrashing around.  Sten braced his feet and held it still while Aedan finished it off with a sword through the throat.

“Nice work,” Aedan said, wiping off his sword.  Sten merely nodded silently.

Daylen looked down at the twisted mass of flesh that had once been a mage.  “Can’t tell who it was.  Probably for the best.”

An hour after they began clearing, the third floor was secure.  Besides Owain, there were 26 other Tranquil still alive.  The demons had largely ignored them, but a few had been killed by stray spells.  And they had been busy.  The Tranquil in the alchemy lab had taken stock of what supplies they had on hand and produced healing draughts, poultices, burn balm, and more.  Others had started the grim work of recovering the dead, even as demons roamed the halls.  Once Wynne explained the situation, about half of them chose to head downstairs and take over in the kitchen and laundry.  Almost none of the mages knew how to cook, and they couldn’t afford to waste a single crumb.  Aedan had the group stop to rest while the Tranquil packed healing supplies and gathered blankets and pillows from their beds.  Cera and Eadric led the Tranquil volunteers down to the second floor, carrying the bundles of supplies for the survivors below.

Daylen was able to get himself a new staff from the Formari enchanters.  It was a simple one, meant for new apprentices, but it would still let him cast more precisely than he could otherwise.  And the simple feel of a staff in his hands was immensely comforting in a way a sword could never be.  He spun the new weapon, feeling its heft (light) and balance (weighted toward the head, difficult to parry with) and conjured a simple flame.  He grinned at Aedan, leaned the staff against a wall, and flopped down into a chair for a quick rest.  Perhaps ten minutes later, Eadric and Cera returned to the group, bringing news that the Tranquil were preparing a meal, and would bring food up to those remaining in the workshops, as well as the Wardens and their allies.  Two of the Tranquil told Aedan they thought they’d heard fighting through the window from the floor above.

Alistair led the way this time, followed by Bran, Cera, and then the others.  As soon as they were on the fourth floor, they heard it too: the clash of weapons, muffled yelling, and something else, a series of guttural growls and groans.  Alistair slowed, brought up his shield, and glanced back at Aedan.

Aedan shook his head.  “Don’t rush.  We all want to get in there and help them.  We cannot afford to leave an enemy behind us.  They could attack the other survivors, or cut off our retreat.  Move quickly, but make sure you don’t miss any rooms.”

Alistair nodded and got moving.  Aedan was proven correct at the first door they opened, one of the bedrooms.  A man in tattered robes lunged at Alistair with a fireplace poker.  Alistair reacted entirely on instinct, blocked the attack, and countered with a thrust.  The mage completely ignored the blade through his heart and hit Alistair twice in the head, hard.  Alistair let go of his sword, staggered away, and fell, blood trickling down his face.  Bran shoved the man back as two more approached from the back of the bedroom.  He wound up and swung his club; Daylen heard bones snap as the blow landed.  The man snarled and kept fighting even as his left arm hung limp.  The room was too small for an explosion, so Daylen leveled his staff and snapped off a firebolt.  It burned a hole in the second man’s chest, but he kept coming, too.  Daylen took his right hand off the staff and drew his shortsword.

Eadric dashed forward and began dragging Alistair clear; he was semi-conscious and muttering.  Daylen and Bran stepped forward, between the fallen Warden and their attackers.  Bran knocked one back, and then Daylen slashed another across the throat.  The wound only yielded a trickle of black, old blood.

“They are undead!” Morrigan cried.  “Aim for the head.”

She put an icicle right through the corpse’s eye; it spasmed and fell lifeless.  Bran swung again, this time smashing his opponent’s skull.  The big Templar grinned and finished off the last corpse.

Daylen took a quick look around, then sheathed his sword.  “Alistair?”

“He will be all right,” Cera said.  She was kneeling over Alistair, healing the injury to his head.  “I I’ve healed his concussion, but he will need a night’s rest before he can fight again.”

“Nonsense,” Alistair groaned.  “I’m ready for more, just need to catch my bearings, I mean…”

“If the healer says you need rest, then you need rest,” Daylen said.

“Someone find me some strong tea and I’ll be right with you,” Alistair insisted.  He tried to stand and immediately pitched forward; Sten caught him and laid him back down.

“I did not think you had a brain to damage, Alistair, but the evidence is plain,” Morrigan snarked.  “Now, as all the sense has been knocked out of your head, pray listen to those of us who still have ours.  Rest.”

Alistair grumbled, but acquiesced.

Aedan nodded.  “All right.  Cera, Eadric, get Alistair into one of these beds.  We’ll clear the rest of this floor, then regroup and stop for the night.”

“Warden?  Warden Cousland?” Neria called from the corridor.  Aedan and Daylen headed out to find Wynne struggling to maintain her shield across the hallway, while more than two dozen undead battered against it.  All of them were bruised and bleeding; some had broken limbs or gaping wounds, but they kept throwing themselves against the rippling magic.

Aedan ground his teeth.  Alistair’s down, Bran is in fencing equipment, and Sten has no armor at all.

Neria shook her head.  “They broke through my barrier already.  They just don’t stop, no matter how hurt they are.”

“Then we will stop them.”  Bran stepped up alongside Aedan.  Sten took position between and behind them, where he could thrust his pitchfork over their shoulders.

Morrigan laid a hand on his arm.  “This is a task for mages.  If there are too many to strike each one in the head, burn the lot of them to ash.”

Aedan blinked.  “Won’t we set the building on fire?”

Daylen glanced at Neria and grinned.  “We teach children to use magic.  The entire place is warded against fire.”

Aedan motioned Sten to step back and Daylen took his place.  He called to Wynne, who dropped the barrier.  The undead surged forward, and Daylen sent a stream of flames into them, sweeping his staff side to side to hit the entire corridor.  The corpses were completely engulfed, but they kept coming, seemingly impervious to pain.  However, even if they didn’t feel the flames, they burned all the same.  A step or two, and they began to waver, then fall.  Daylen held the spell, sending more fire into the advancing undead.  It was still unfamiliar, having Warden mana reserves.  A month ago, he’d have drained his mana in less than ten seconds with a spell this intense.  Now, he could maintain the cone of fire for over half a minute.  When he felt himself weakening, he waved for Neria.  She opened up with flames of her own, and did pretty well for a new mage.  Five of the undead fell before she had to catch her breath.  Torrin took over and burned eight more.  When his mana ran dry, Morrigan stepped to the fore.  She didn’t have any fire, but ice worked too: she froze the last three completely solid, and Aedan and Bran smashed them to pieces.

“Well done, everyone.”  Aedan kept his sword at the ready, still hearing fighting from further down the hallway.  “Wynne, Neria, as soon as you have the mana, please get your barriers back up.”  He turned to Daylen.  “With Alistair hurt, I’ll need you fighting hand to hand.”

Daylen nodded, and the two Wardens advanced down the hall side by side.  Two doors down, they found the mage Godwin hiding in a wardrobe, alive and safe but scared out of his wits.  Aedan sent him to join the survivors on the second floor and continued on towards the sounds of fighting.  Sten and Bran kept clearing side rooms with help from Torrin and Leliana.  They found a scattering of undead and demons, which they dispatched quickly.  Within half an hour, they’d circled the floor and were approaching the ongoing battle.

A large group of undead, demons, and abominations had filled a section of hallway and were trying to force their way through two sets of doors.  A pair of Templars stood strong in each doorway, holding the monsters off.  They were slashing and smashing anything which came within reach… but their faces were drawn, their movements just a little sluggish.  Aedan recognized the signs-the warriors were exhausted and couldn’t last much longer.  There was no time to waste.

“Wynne, seal that hallway, right now!”  Aedan pointed with his sword.  “Daylen, let’s get in there.  Sten, Leliana, back us up.”

Wynne gestured sharply with her staff.  Her barrier sprang up so suddenly that it chopped an abomination in half.  More than half of the attacking creatures were walled off on the far side.  Neria raised a barrier of her own, further dividing the enemy force.  Aedan and Daylen waded into the fight.  Leliana shot past them, catching an undead right between the eyes.  Daylen skewered another, then blew its head off with a firebolt.  A hunger demon came at him.  Aedan stopped its slashing claws with his shield, then sliced low with his sword as Sten thrust high over him.  The demon fell, thrashing; Aedan waved his group of four to keep advancing, leaving it on the floor for Bran to finish off.  The Templars spotted them and shouted gladly, then advanced into the mob of monsters from the side.  The creatures were backed up against Wynne’s barrier, cornered, and cut to ribbons.

One of the Templars started to speak, but Aedan waved him off.  “Wait.  We’ll talk once we’ve dealt with that.”  He jerked his head at the barrier, and the horrors already pounding on it.

“Morrigan, I could use a hand.”  Daylen stepped forward, just a few yards from the barrier.  The witch joined him and stood at the ready.  Daylen set his jaw and unslung his staff.  “Take care of any that don’t burn.”

It took another five minutes of fight to finish the last of the enemy group.  When it was over, the hallway was ankle-deep with grey ash.  Torrin and Neria took over maintaining the barrier so Wynne could check on the survivors.  The Wardens and their companions followed the Templars into the bunkroom.

There were several more Templars inside, maybe a dozen in total.  Some were sitting down or leaning against the wall in full armor, weapons close at hand.  Others were lying in bed, armor removed, swathed in bandages.  Further in, behind a makeshift barricade of furniture, were children.  At least twenty of them, ranging in age from five or six to their early teens.  They were huddled on the beds in small groups, wrapped in blankets.  A few of the older ones were trying to comfort the little ones.

“What happened?  Are the demons gone?  How did you drive them back?”  Knight-Captain Hadley had a bandage around his head, and his eyes were both tired and wild.  He looked at the Warden group without really seeing them for a moment.  “Enchanter Wynne, you made it.  Wait… Daylen?  What are you doing here?  Not that I’m complaining.  Did Greagoir ask the army for help?”

Daylen smiled thinly.  “Not exactly.”

The Wardens explained the situation, and Hadley glowered.  “He wasn’t even trying to come back in.  I know it looked bad, but you’d think he would give us more of a chance!”  He crossed his arms.  “Most of us were in the library or on this floor when it started.  I grabbed as many Templars as I could and headed up.  We ran into a solid wall of demons on the Enchanters’ floor.  Wynne and some others were already fighting them, and then it was just about giving everyone time to retreat.  They got most of everyone out, but we realized some of the kids were missing.  We found them hiding in the bedrooms, and by the time we got them all together, the demons were on us.  Only thing for it was to get everyone in here, and try to hold out till help arrived.”  He gave Aedan a respectful nod.  “We did all right against the demons, but those damned undead… we cut them down and they get back up.  We’ve been holding all last night and through the day, working in shifts, four fighting while the others rested.  If it weren’t for young Blaine, we’d have been dead long ago.”

He pointed to one of the beds, where a boy of perhaps twelve lay, grey-faced.  He clung to an apprentice staff, and his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat.  He tried to sit up, but was too weak.  “I’ll be ready again soon, by the time you change fighters again.”

“Help is here, lad.  You just rest.”  Hayden looked over to Daylen.  “Blaine is the only apprentice here who knows any healing magic.  He’s been keeping my people going, cast till his mana ran dry.  We gave him all the lyrium we had, which wasn’t much.  I’m amazed he kept it up as long as he did.”

“Well, now he can get a nice long nap,” Wynne said.  She strode over to Blaine and stroked his brow.  “There, there.  You’ve done enough, you’ve done so well.  Just get your strength back.”  Wynne’s hand glowed blue, and Daylen recognized a more potent form of the rejuvenation spell.  Blaine’s breathing eased, and the boy drifted off to sleep.  Wynne turned to Aedan.  “I need Eadric here, there are more wounded than I can treat alone.”

Aedan nodded.  “Let’s get the children downstairs and safe, then stop for the night.  In the morning, we’ll push on to the second half of the tower.  See if they can make some more food, and add these survivors to the list.  We also ought to let Greagoir know what’s going on.”

Daylen raised his eyebrows.  “What are you going to do, slip a note under the door?”

Aedan smiled slyly.  “Not exactly.”

Greagoir sighed.  It had been hours since the Wardens had entered the Tower.  He didn’t think much of their chances, but the Cousland boy was right-there wasn’t much to lose trying.  He stood and walked the floor, checking on his men.  The wounded had been made comfortable, but some would die without better care-which they’d normally have gotten from the mages.  Kinloch Hold was too far from any major city to move them to a hospital.  And the prospects weren’t much better for the rest of his people.  By the time the Right of Annulment arrived, the darkspawn might well have overrun the lakeshore, leaving the Templars trapped between the demons and the Blight.  But if they abandoned their post, it was a matter of time before the horrors broke loose and a second evil began to spread.  He finished his circuit and returned to the entry hall.  Carroll was coming in, as the watch changed on the boat dock.

The younger man saw the look on his face.  “Is there any hope, sir?”

Greagoir sighed again.  “There is some hope, but not much.”

“There is, perhaps, more than you might think.”  Greagoir and Carroll both jumped as the wilder witch spoke up.  She was standing just inside the doors, arms crossed and a smirk on her face.

The Knight-Commander’s mouth flapped open and shut, then his face clouded.  “How in Andraste’s name did you get out of the tower?”

The witch-Morrigan, the Warden had called her-smiled.  “Your prison might hold mages who only know what you choose to teach them, but I am not so limited.”

Carroll’s hand flew to his sword, but Greagoir clamped his hand on the younger man’s forearm.  “What is the situation, then?”

“Several dozen mages yet live, as do a small number of Templars,” Morrigan replied.  “The Wardens and their allies have managed to clear the tower as far as the fourth floor, beneath the library.  The survivors have blocked the stairways with arcane barriers, and for the time being they are safe and secure.”  She reached into her robes and handed over a scroll.

Greagoir took it and began to read, as more Templars gathered around.  His face split into a grin.  “They found Hadley, he’s all right!”  The Templars cheered, and he continued.  “Bran’s okay, too… Otto got burned in the face, but he’s alive, they took care of him… Wynne, Torrin, and a few other Enchanters made it.  No sign of Irving yet.”

“Three of the surviving Templars are uninjured,” Morrigan said.  “Five more are wounded, but still able to fight, and four are too hurt to continue.  Warden Cousland and your Knight-Captain plan to rest for the night and press on in the morning.”  She put her hands on her hips.  “We have slain all the demons and abominations we encountered so far, but the enemy grows stronger the higher we climb.  They ask you to consider sending reinforcements.”

Carroll clenched his fists.  “Knight-Commander, we should help them.  If they got that far with only those few men…”

“We cannot take the risk,” Greagoir said gravely, shaking his head.  “The doors must remain sealed.  This is in the Maker’s hands now; all we can do is pray.”

Morrigan scoffed.  “With that attitude, I’m certain your prayers will be just as much use as these Templars.  I will return to the Wardens and tell them they stand alone.”

She turned on her heel and shifted into a raven.  As Greagoir and the others startled back, she slipped through the bars on the window and flew upward, out of sight.

Chapter Text

Daylen yawned, stretched, and opened his eyes.  Then he dealt with a wave of sudden and intense confusion.  Waking up in bed, back in the Circle Tower, was enough to briefly make him wonder if the events of the past month had all been a bizarre dream.  But this was a double bedroom in the mage quarters, not the smaller single room he’d had as an Enchanter.  And Aedan was already rising from the other bed.  Daylen grunted and stood up.  The laundry had fresh clothes in their size, which was a godsend as neither man had been able to change since Ostagar.  They dressed and headed out.  Sten and Bran emerged from the next room; the Qunari was wearing a set of mage robes which barely reached his knees, drawing a chuckle from Aedan.  The others appeared from further down the hall.  As they were on the mage and apprentice floor, Neria had actually slept in her own bed, a fact which made Daylen extremely envious.

A pair of Templars was guarding the barrier, now being maintained by several mages.  After some discussion, the survivors had spread out into the third and fourth floors, so they weren’t so crowded and could sleep in proper beds.  Daylen led the way down to the dining hall.  Breakfast was a bowl of porridge with dried fruit and honey.  Alistair sat down, smiling.

“You’re doing better?” Aedan asked.

Alistair beamed.  “I’m fine!  Not even a lump, though I had some proper strange dreams while they were healing me, and then I woke up at three in the morning, craving cheese.”

Daylen chuckled.  “Right as rain, then.”

Aedan sipped his tea, then blinked and looked at it.  “That’s good!  What is it?”

“Hummingbird sage and lemon beebrush tea with honey,” Daylen said, grinning.  “Very good for alertness and energy.”

“It’s one of Daylen’s blends,” Neria chimed in.  “He makes a batch every fall, when apprentices are studying for our examinations.”

Aedan raised his eyebrows.  “You blend tea?”

Daylen chuckled.  “We have a lot of free time here.  Good opportunity to pick up a hobby or two.”

Sten tasted his tea and nodded.  “The antaam does not consider the flavor of our meals to be a major concern, rather their nutrition and ease of supply in the field.  But when it is possible, we are provided with small luxuries, most commonly tea.  Sometimes it is a stimulant blend, to be taken at the morning meal, and at other times it is relaxing, meant to promote a restful sleep.”  He drank again, closing his eyes.  “I have never encountered anything like this blend before.  It is quite pleasant; if you are willing, I would like a copy of the formula.”

“Certainly,” Daylen replied.  “I keep a notebook of all my blend recipes; I’ll make you a copy when we’re finished here.”

“Speaking of that,” Aedan said.  He turned to Hadley, who was sitting across from him, with Bran and the other Templars further down the table.  “What are your thoughts on taking the rest of the tower?”

Hadley snorted.  “I think I’m going to do whatever you tell me to.”  The other Templars grunted assent.  “Your strategy worked well, and I see no reason to change it.”

Aedan frowned.  “Don’t you have an official plan for this?”

“The plan for dealing with a Veil tear was to seal the building, then Annul the circle.”  Hadley glowered.  “I thought the plan included evacuating as many people as possible first, but apparently Greagoir thought he couldn’t afford to wait.”  He crooked a finger at Aedan.  “I’ve also never fought alongside mages, and you seem to have that down pretty well.”

Daylen let out a bark of laughter.  “Would you believe we’ve only been doing this for a week or so?”

“Well, then.”  Aedan laid his hands flat on the table.  “Now that we’ve got a larger force, I think we should split into two groups.  My people, along with Wynne, Neria, and the three healthy Templars, will push up and clear the Tower, just as we did last night.  The five Templars who are wounded but can still fight will remain behind as a reserve, along with Torrin and Cera.  They will stay on the floor below us, blocking off the stairway and moving up every time we clear a floor.  If any of ours are injured, we’ll send them back and call up a replacement.  Eadric will remain with the reserve to tend to any wounded.”  He looked to Leorah.  “Please arrange to have a small stock of supplies placed at the stairs up to the library: some food, a cask of water, bandages, potions, and the like.  When the reserve group advances, they’ll bring the supplies along.”

Leorah and Hadley nodded.  Daylen drummed his fingers on the table.  “We have managed to scrape up some lyrium potions, but it’s still a very limited supply.  I think most of it should go to the Templars in the lead group.  We mages will rotate, some fighting while others recover their mana.”

Hadley nodded.  “My men have all had a standard dose this morning.  They can use their abilities, though if they use the more powerful ones, they will need more.  But I don’t expect that we will.  We can’t safely smite in close quarters like the hallways or bedrooms; the only places we could really set off blasts like that are the library, or the Harrowing chamber at the top floor.  And speaking of the top floor…” He glanced around, then turned to Wynne and lowered his voice.  “You were up there when this all started.  There wasn’t a Harrowing going on, so what happened?  How did the Veil tear in the first place?”

Wynne took a deep breath, then sighed it out.  “It was Uldred.”

“Uldred?!” Daylen and Hadley blurted in unison.

“Who’s that?” Aedan asked, somewhat more calmly.

“Uldred is a Senior Enchanter of the Circle,” Daylen said.  “You two saw him briefly when we first met; he was the bald mage Alistair was irritating.  He doesn’t do much classroom teaching, mostly research and some tutoring.  He’s a great help to the older mages who are doing their study projects to make Enchanter.”  He shook his head in confusion.  “Uldred’s the head of the Libertarian chapter here, wants mages to be separate from the Chantry.  But he’s never been aggressive about it, he gets along with pretty much everyone.”

“Well, except Anders,” Hadley said, “But Uldred just thinks he makes the mages look bad.”  He rolled his eyes.  “Anders got loose again, by the way.  Hid in a barrel, and got carried to the Princess in a boatload of the Tranquil’s beer.  With the Blight on, we haven’t bothered to go after him.”

Wynne cleared her throat, and the others fell silent.  “When the army was overrun, the mages and our Templar guards were scattered; I was the last one to make it back.  Irving had called for the Enchanters to meet and discuss the situation.  He expected to decide whether to remain here, or evacuate to other Circles.  Uldred claimed that if we supported Loghain, he would drive away the Templars and allow us to govern ourselves.  I confronted him, told everyone how Loghain betrayed the King.  Most of the Enchanters turned against Uldred.”  She shook her head.  “He must have had a prearranged signal.  A few Enchanters attacked the rest of us by surprise, along with several mages who burst into the room from outside.  I have seen blood magic before, dealt with the occasional apprentice or mage who dabbled in forbidden arts.  This… was something else.  We outnumbered the blood mage rebels at least two to one, but as soon as we started to inflict some damage, they tore the Veil.  Demons poured through and we had no choice but to retreat.  Sweeney managed to sound the alarm in the Harrowing chamber, right before a rage demon killed him.”

Hadley nodded.  “We got moving the moment the alarm bell rang.  I sounded a second alarm in the library, calling all on-duty Templars to rally there.  There were about two dozen of us; it took about five minutes to get organized, then we joined the fight, which was in the Enchanter’s quarters by that time.  The demons weren’t too much trouble as long as we could resist and dispel magic.  But eventually we ran short of lyrium.  And of course, there were the undead.”  He glanced at Morrigan.  “Why does hitting the head work, and nothing else?”

“Because the undead remain dead, even though they still walk,” Morrigan replied.  “Their hearts do not beat, their blood does not flow, and their breath is still.  They are animated by the magic of a demon which has possessed them.  Demons possess the dead in the same manner as the living, meaning they are located in the mind of the corpse-in its head.  Keep in mind that while striking the head may defeat the demon within, there is nothing stopping another demon from reanimating the corpse.  So the bodies must be destroyed, preferably burnt to ash.”  She held up a warning finger.  “Know also that the simple undead we have encountered were possessed by weak demons, usually those of rage or hunger.  The more powerful ones tend to prefer to possess living beings, as they are strong enough to overpower the mind.  But some do possess the dead, and when they do, the resulting undead is significantly more powerful.  They twist and enlarge the body in the same way as an abomination, creating a beast known as a revenant.  They are vastly stronger than the person they once were, and some can use simple magic, often moving objects.  If a strong demon possesses a dead mage, however, it will rise as an arcane horror.  This creature can cast stronger spells than the mage it used to be, and is also more resistant to injury and some kinds of magic.  However, all undead are vulnerable to fire.  If we encounter such foes, I strongly suggest the warriors remain defensive.  Focus on keeping the creatures off the mages, and let us strike them with our most potent spells.”

A burly Templar frowned.  “How do you know all this?”

“That’s enough, Sherman,” Hadley snapped.  “We aren’t prying into anything witch-which-isn’t important right now.  Without her expertise, we’d all be dead already, and you’d do well to remember that.”

Morrigan smiled smugly.  “While I have little need to fear you, I do appreciate the courtesy.”  She looked around the table, noting that everyone was paying rapt, if concerned, attention.  “Honestly!  How is one to defend against blood magic without having any knowledge of it?  I have studied such things extensively, but I choose not to use them, for very good reasons.  Casting blood magic draws the attention of demons far more than other spells, and also makes the mage vulnerable to possession.  Any mage choosing to use blood magic other than in the most desperate circumstances is a complete fool.  I would not be surprised if some of the rebel mages have been overcome and are abominations already.”

Alistair polished off his porridge and stretched in his chair.  “Well.  I’m ready to crack some heads.  Is there anything else to do before we move out?”

“Yeah, I need to find Drake,” Aedan said.  “He wasn’t with me when I woke up this morning.  He’s around here somewhere, though.”

“He is on the fourth floor, with the children,” Wynne said.

Aedan snorted and rolled his eyes.  “I’ll bet he is.”

The group headed upstairs.  Drake was curled up on a rug in one of the bunkrooms.  The children were snoozing in a pile all around him, the whole nested in pillows and wrapped in quilts.  One sleepily reached up and gave the mabari a pat on the neck.  Drake grumbled contentedly and bumped the little girl with his head.

“Guard duty, huh?”  Aedan asked.  “Keeping watch on the little ones?”

Drake whimpered, then panted hopefully.  Aedan sighed.  “Fine, I suppose you would have to wake them all to move.  You keep everyone out of trouble, understand?”

The mabari immediately dropped his head and snuggled deeper into the blankets.  Aedan headed on, with Alistair and Daylen both snickering at him.  The next bunkroom over had been converted into a field hospital; the actual Circle clinic was down in the Templar quarters.  Four Templars and several mages were resting in the beds, under the watchful eye of Enchanter Ines.  Blaine was assisting her, working on the less serious wounds.  Hadley gestured, and Ines stepped out into the hallway.

“How are they doing?” the Knight-Captain asked.

Ines spread her hands.  “Ser Otto is going to lose some of his sight; how much, I can’t say yet.  The two with broken limbs, I’ve set the bones and they will heal in time.  The others are bad cuts and burns.  Healing magic will keep them stable, for now, but they were in shock, and they need time to recover.  And I need to get into the research laboratory on the Enchanters’ floor for the more potent potion ingredients, amrita vein and royal elfroot especially.”

Hadley nodded.  “Once we clear the sixth floor, we’ll let you know it’s safe to come up and gather what you need.”

The herbalist nodded and returned to tending the wounded.  Aedan led the way back up to the barrier, with his reinforced team trailing behind.  Alistair stepped up alongside him, took a deep breath, and nodded.  Aedan took a quick look around his team.  Bran had borrowed a set of armor off one of the wounded Templars; he now carried a proper mace and a shield.  The other Templars in the lead group were big Sherman, shifting his weight nervously, and a wiry woman named Faber with a two-handed axe.  Hadley stood further back with the reserve group; Eadric would continue healing their lesser injuries until they were called to join the fight.  Everyone looked tense, but ready.

“Right, just like yesterday,” Aedan said smoothly.  “Wynne, you first.”

Wynne’s barrier sprang up at the top of the stairs, and Aedan motioned everyone to their places.  Neria ran up to the barrier to cast hers further in, and frowned.  “That’ll be a problem.”

She backed off, and Aedan stepped up to the top of the stairs, staying low, eyes not far above floor level.  He took a look and nodded glum agreement.  Unlike the two floors they’d cleared the previous day, the library was a large open space.  Bookshelves lined the walls, in places protruding to separate the floor into several bays.  The open floor was broken up by a mix of study tables and cozy chairs and sofas for relaxing reading.  But it was still an open floor… meaning there was no choke point to close off with a barrier.  There was no way to limit the number of enemies that could come at them from deeper in, and there were already plenty of undead and demons wandering the area.  So far, they hadn’t spotted Neria or Aedan, but that couldn’t last.  They hustled back down the stairs.

“How far does that library go before there’s an archway or a door?” Aedan asked.

Neria pursed her lips.  “About a third of the way around the tower.  Beyond that is the Chantry chapel and classrooms.”  She glanced at Wynne.  “I can’t cast a barrier that far away, can you?”

The older woman shook her head.  “No.  Too distant from the stairway, we’d need to be in the room.”

“What about going to the floor below?” Aedan asked.  “Stand directly underneath the spot you want to erect the barrier.”

Neria frowned.  “We need line of sight to cast with precision.  Without being able to see, we might not place the barrier where it needs to go.”

Alistair hesitated, then spoke.  “Doesn’t the library have windows?  We start attacking into the library, that would draw the undead and demons toward this end of the room.  Morrigan could turn into a bird again, slip in behind them, and block the door.  Then we finish off the remaining enemy.”

“You surprise me, Alistair,” Morrigan said, in faux shock.  “That is a very clever suggestion.”

Alistair rolled his eyes; Daylen frowned.  “It’s awfully dangerous for you, Morrigan.  You’d be on your own until we fight our way across the library.”

Morrigan pursed her lips.  “I am comfortable with the risk.  I could conceal myself in freezing fog.  Unfortunately, I am not particularly skilled with barriers.  I don’t know that I could keep one up long enough for you to destroy the demons and reach me.  I could seal the door with ice, but a rage demon would burn through it in moments.”

“But you could slip past them.”  Aedan rubbed his beard.  “We need to get a barrier mage far enough into the room to get a shield up.  Which means we have to push the demons back.”  He looked over at Hadley.  “We can’t just dig in and wait; sooner or later we have to clear the tower, and there isn’t any other way in.  I’m thinking we’ll have to mount a frontal assault.”

Hadley nodded grimly.  “My Templars will keep the demons busy, along with Torrin and Cera.  Your people escort Neria, get her to a point where she can cast her barrier.”

Aedan turned back to Morrigan.  “You’ll come in the window and hit them hard from the side.  Blow a hole for us to move through, then get out of there before you get swarmed.”

Hadley strode up to the barrier, with Sherman next to him and the rest of his Templars behind, two by two.  A hunger demon was the first to notice him.  It snarled and the creatures started to close in on the stairwell.  Hadley stamped his foot three times.  Wynne dropped the barrier, and Hadley and Sherman both brought down a smite.  They moved forward and another Templar stepped out to each side, hitting the mass of monsters with a second round of smites.  This bought time and space for the other four Templars to get up the stairs.  Aedan followed them up, with Alistair at his side.  He was astounded at the Templars’ combat skills.  Last night, they’d been exhausted, desperate, and hadn’t known how to destroy the undead.  After a night’s sleep and a quick lesson, they were taking on three times their number and easily smashing their way forward against the demon swarm.

More undead appeared from further in.  Some still carried Templar weapons, others were wielding mage staves as clubs, and still others came on with their bare hands and teeth.  Hadley called for the Templars to spread out, leaving room for mages to shoot between them.  Torrin and Cera joined in with fire and lightning, and Aedan’s group got fully into the room.  Leliana jumped up on a table and loosed arrow after arrow, keeping time by singing from the Chant of Light.  Morrigan flew into the room and alighted on a bookcase, then transformed and struck the swarm with ice.  Numerous undead slipped and fell or froze solid, but one jumped at Morrigan from behind and knocked her to the floor.  More undead piled on top of her, but she reared up as a bear, hurling them across the room.  Aedan and Alistair pressed on, with Daylen and Neria close behind, and Sten guarding the rear.  They hugged the outer wall until they reached Morrigan, who shifted back to human form.  An abomination charged at them; Daylen blew it apart with a fireball.  Neria took advantage of the momentary calm to cast her barrier and seal the room.  The Templars advanced at a walk, pushing all the way to the end of the room.

Neria caught her breath, then glared around her at the wrecked state of the room.  “I just finished organizing in here!”

Wynne and Daylen both chuckled.  So did Hadley, who sheathed his sword and glanced around.  “Any wounded?”

A few of the Templars had picked up cuts or scrapes, and Morrigan had a bruised shoulder from being knocked down, but everyone was still able to fight.  After a quick consultation with Hadley, the reserve chose to hold at the door to the rest of the floor, as there were too many people to fight effectively in the corridors beyond.

Sherman and Faber took the lead this time.  They cut down a handful of undead and pushed down the hallway, which held classrooms.  Alistair and Bran opened the first door and found a Templar barely alive; she’d taken out two abominations singlehandedly before passing out.  Wynne stabilized the unconscious woman, and Aedan had two of the reserve Templars carry her downstairs to the clinic.  The next room held a rage demon, which Morrigan froze solid before Aedan and Sten smashed it to pieces.  Then the passage opened out to reveal the chapel… which was a slaughterhouse.  Clearly mages, Chantry brothers and sisters, and Templars had fled here when the trouble started.  Something had stripped the flesh from the dead, and Some lay dead, and others had risen. Undead, demons, and abominations stood waiting amidst the carnage.

“How dare you.”  Daylen was shaking, his face white with fury.  “This is a sacred place.”  He took a few steps forward, getting clear of the others.  An undead Templar advanced on him, sword raised, while various others followed behind.  Daylen raised his staff and set them aflame.  They staggered as they burned, and Aedan and Sten finished them off.  A hunger demon came stomping at him, and Daylen hit it with a fireball.  The explosion barely staggered the big beast, so Daylen gathered his mana for a more powerful blast.  As he cast, the apprentice staff charred and splintered in his hands.  Daylen yelped in pain, dropped the useless staff, and reached for his sword… too slow.  The demon knocked him flat on his back, then wound up to finish him off.  Sherman leaped between them and caught the blow on his shield.  He stopped the strike, but there was an awful crack and the Templar’s arm went limp.  He howled in pain and hacked at the demon wildly, hitting it across the face.  As it reeled, Faber stepped in and split it in two with her big axe.  Bran and Alistair ran to help, with Wynne right behind them.  Sherman’s arm was broken, and he couldn’t drop his heavy shield; Wynne went to work as they retreated from the fight.  Faber helped Daylen to his feet, and they both caught their breath as the others finished off the last few undead.

Daylen clasped his hands together and quickly healed the minor burn he’d gotten from the staff bursting.  “Damn.  I didn’t realize how much I was tasking the staff.”

“As I told you, your mana pool has deepened since you became a Warden,” Morrigan said.  “I believe you have been unconsciously drawing more and more energy when you cast.  Formerly, a spell might require, say, a tenth part of your mana, but now that same amount of power is only a twentieth part, or twenty-fifth.  Ordinarily, a mage’s mana reserves grow as they age and hone their skills.  It happens over time, so that one doesn’t notice the decreasing proportion.  But your reserves have increased dramatically, and in a very short time.  You will need to practice and get a feel for your mana expenditure, so you don’t cast a more powerful spell than you intend to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Daylen replied.  “Thank you for the information.”

Hadley walked into the chapel.  “Sherman’s out of the fight, at least for now.  Wynne’s working on him before he goes down to the clinic…  says she’ll be busy for a while, until she’s set the bone.  I’ll take Sherman’s place.”  He looked around at the carnage, and his jaw tightened.  “They were praying, weren’t they?”

Daylen nodded grimly.  “It feels wrong to leave them here, but we must continue.  There will be time to mourn the dead when everyone is safe.”

Hadley glanced over to Aedan.  “Do you want to rest, wait for Wynne?”

“There’s about a quarter of this floor left,” Aedan replied.  “Let’s get that clear, then move up the reserve, then we can stop.  If everyone’s ready, let’s get moving.”

They set off again, this time with Aedan and Hadley side by side.  There were another set of classrooms in this part of the tower, but the first one was empty.  No undead, no demons, and no bodies.  Also, no light-the torches were all out, and the shadows seemed to swallow much of the sunlight coming in from the windows, leaving shafts of grey dancing with dust motes.  As they moved on to the next room, Aedan raised his hand to stop everyone.  After a moment, Hadley nodded.  There were voices up ahead.  But they were unusual… or rather, given the circumstances, it was unusual how normal they sounded.  It was too far to hear what they were saying, but there were definitely two voices, having what sounded like a pleasant conversation.

They passed the final two classrooms, again finding them empty, though with signs of fighting.  As they emerged into the open landing in front of the stairs to the sixth floor, Aedan stopped so suddenly that Alistair almost bumped into him.  There was a Templar standing in the middle of the floor.  He was talking and laughing with… it was hard to say.  It had a woman’s voice, but the figure’s exact shape seemed to shift and shimmer like a mirage.

“Supper was delicious, love,” the Templar said.  His helmet was off, and his eyes looked unfocused.  “You really are a great cook; I knew I married you for a reason.”

“Ah, but you grow such wonderful things for me to make!”  Now that they could hear more closely, the woman’s voice was off, too.  It was distorted, layered, the devotion sounding hollow and false.  “Are the children washing up?”

The Templar laughed.  “Hands and faces.  I’ll go get them to bed.  Come tuck them in once you’ve cleared, and then I’ll help with the washing.”

“Ser Drass!”  Hadley took a step forward.  “Drass, can you hear me?  Get away from it!”

“Do you hear something, love?”  Drass didn’t acknowledge the other people in the room, even as more came in.

“There is someone at the door,” his ‘wife’ replied.  “Probably travelers, looking for a place to spend the night.  I’ll deal with them, you get the children to bed.”

She-it-turned to face them, and the façade dropped away.  The creature, at least as Daylen saw it, had smooth violet skin and breathtaking curves… but also coal-black eyes, curving horns, and a whiplike, barbed tail.  In place of hair, a plume of purple and black energy wafted from its head.  It wore nearly nothing, just an assortment of jewelry and gauzy fabric which fluttered and shifted without any wind, tempting with the possibility of an illicit view, but never actually revealing anything.

It frowned at the group.  “You are intruding on a loving, intimate moment and I dislike disruptions.”

Daylen took a deep breath.  “Desire demon.  Do not listen to it.”

“It’s got him bewitched!”  Neria waved her staff, and a barrier sprang up around Drass.  He cocked his head.  “Is everything all right, love?”

“Just some scruffy travelers who need somewhere to sleep.”  The demon smiled, flicked a hand and dissolved the barrier.  “Neria.  It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Neria took a step back, her eyes widening.  “How do you know my name?”

The demon’s smile broadened, its mouth stretching just a little too far.  “Don’t you remember?  It was only a month ago…”

“You tried to possess me at my Harrowing,” Neria breathed.

“My name is Longing,” it said pleasantly.  “And you all really should listen, I can give any of you what you truly need.”

“You can give us a fantasy, a dream, like you have for Drass, while you enslave him and drain him of life,” Daylen said furiously.

Longing cocked its head.  “I give him happiness.  I become whatever he needs me to be.  Is he my slave, or am I his?”  It spread its hands.  “We are partners.  I grant his deepest, most secret need, and in doing so, my wish is granted as well-to live as mortals to, if only for a while.”  It looked over the group.  “What he desires most is a life entirely different from the one he was forced to lead.  I have given him that, all in a moment.  Your needs are different, far greater… but it is still within my power to fulfill them.”

“All we need is to get to the top of the Tower,” Aedan said coolly.

Longing turned to face him.  “Oh, but you need so much more than that.  You need to stop the Blight.  You need to deal with Loghain.  And you need Howe, broken and bleeding, breathing his last at your feet.”  Its form shifted into a warrior woman in silvery plate armor, a winged helmet on her head and a shining sword in her hands.  “I can be the ally you need.  I will fight at your side, aid in your quest, and stand by you, until your fight is done.”

Aedan wavered.  In his mind’s eye, he charged a field of darkspawn with Longing at his side.  She wrapped him in a shield of light as he carved a path through the beasts.  The archdemon wheeled overhead, shrieking in rage, and dove at him.  Longing unleased fire and thunder, bringing the twisted dragon to the ground.  Aedan leapt at it, drove his sword through its eye, and the monster dissolved into dust and flame.  He turned, beaming, and saw Longing gazing up at him… alone.

He shook himself, then glanced around at Daylen and Alistair and the others.  He smiled.  “I have the allies I need, and I’ll find more before I’m done.”

“Neria, my offer stands,” Longing changed again, now appearing as a tall, bald elven man, face in shadow.  His voice deepened, becoming smooth and rich and even.  “You wish to know of your heritage, da’len?  I can lead you to the knowledge of old Arlathan.  There are only a few of the People left who remember this lore; you can carry that wisdom into the future.”

Neria flinched, her eyes briefly unfocused, then she slammed the butt of her staff on the ground.  “I told you no last time, demon.  I’ll find my own answers.”

Aedan drew his sword.  “Now, you can get out of our way, or we can go through you.”

Longing returned to its normal form, smirking.  “I would happily stand aside.  Allow my love and I to pass, and we will not trouble you.”  It raised its eyebrows.  “Of course, should you try to harm me, my love will protect me.  And I am not defenseless, myself.”

Something stirred in the shadows behind the demon.  Four undead Templars stepped forward into the half-light.  They raised their weapons, silently moving into fighting stances.  Longing stared the group down.  “It is your choice.  Do you desire this battle?”

“Release him.”  Leliana had an arrow nocked and bow at full draw, her eyes hard.  “Return to the Fade, foul thing, or we will strike you down.”

“Help!” Longing shrieked.  “There are bandits at the door, they’re after the children!”

“They will not get past me!” Drass roared.  He drew his sword and charged at Daylen.

Daylen hastily raised a barrier.  Drass slammed into it, bounced off, and immediately started trying to batter his way through.  Longing dissolved the barrier and Drass rushed in.  Hayden and Bran jumped in front of Daylen and shoved Drass backwards with their shields.  Longing let out a piercing shriek which left everyone’s ears ringing, then sent a blast of ice at Daylen.  He countered with fire, evaporating the demon’s spell and forcing it to raise a barrier of its own.  The undead Templars attacked; Alistair and Aedan met them head-on with Sten and Faber right behind.  Leliana hung back, trying to line up a shot.  Neria saw that Daylen was facing the demon alone, and ran to join him.  Longing cast another barrier to block her off, then advanced on Daylen, hands lengthening into razor-sharp claws.  Neria couldn’t dispel magic… but Morrigan could, and did, giving her a clear shot.  The demon felt the barrier drop and ducked in time to avoid Neria’s lightning, but not Daylen’s firebolt.  Longing hissed and clutched at the burn, then wreathed itself in mist.  Daylen flooded the area with fire, but Longing had vanished.

Aedan sidestepped an axe swing from the undead he was fighting.  He sliced at its head, but the corpse was still wearing its helmet, and his blade clanged off uselessly.  The undead wound up for another attack, but Aedan moved faster and found a gap in the Templar armor, inside the elbow.  The creature dropped its axe, right arm flopping uselessly.  A living man would have been screaming in pain, but the undead kept coming, now trying to club Aedan with its shield.  Aedan deflected the strike with his own shield, then lunged and stabbed through the helmet’s eye slit.  The undead twitched and fell; Aedan ran to help Daylen and Neria.  A barrier popped up a foot away and he smashed into it, bounced off, and hit the floor hard.  Before he could get up, Longing was on him, slashing with its claws.  Pain burned into Aedan’s chest and shoulder; the demon’s needlelike talons had pierced through his mail and the quilted shirt beneath.  Aedan snarled and hit Longing over the head with the pommel of his sword.  It reeled and he kicked it away, scrambling to his feet.

“I’m not the one you’re after, am I?”  Longing stood slowly, shifting into Rendon Howe.  “You won’t be satisfied until your family is avenged.  But you can’t win, not alone.”  He shifted again, into a cloaked and hooded figure carrying a staff.  “You saw what his mage did to the keep.  You know how much power you’re facing.”

Longing threw a ball of fire.  Aedan got his shield up in time, but the blast cracked and scorched it.  Aedan dropped the smoking remnants and pulled out his buckler… just as another spell landed.  Aedan’s legs gave out and he flopped to the ground; his whole body felt heavy and weak.  Longing threw off the cloak to reveal its normal form and smiled too widely again, showing sharp teeth.  “You have no chance against Howe, let alone against the darkspawn.  I can give you what you need… or you can die here.”

A bolt of lightning stunned the demon for a moment, and then a fireball blew it across the room.  Neria and Daylen rushed to help Aedan, who didn’t have the strength to stand.  Neria cast a barrier all around them while Daylen knelt to work on Aedan.  Longing hurled ice, which shattered against the barrier.  It conjured a handful of fire, then stopped, smiled at Neria, and threw it at the others, still fighting Drass and the undead.  Leliana saw it coming and shouted a warning as she dove to the floor.  Sten and Alistair weren’t so lucky and the flames washed over them.  Alistair was wearing fairly thick padding under his armor, and was able to roll and put himself out.  Morrigan blew freezing fog over Sten, who stumbled away, his clothing still smoldering.  Leliana ran up, grabbed one of his arms, and helped him to safety.  That left Alistair, Faber, and Leliana fighting three undead while Longing took on Morrigan.

As it turned out, this wasn’t so good for Longing.  Morrigan unleashed blast after blast of frost and lightning, hammering the demon.  Longing staggered backwards, raising a barrier to ward off the witch’s spells.  Morrigan immediately turned her magic on the undead, chilling them enough that the warriors were able to finish them off.  Alistair and Faber immediately moved to help the other Templars take on Drass.  The possessed Templar fought… well, like a man possessed.  He attacked furiously, using all the skill he’d gained over years of training.  And his comrades didn’t want to hurt him.  So while Drass was surrounded, the Templars weren’t pressing their advantage.  Alistair went high, slicing for the shoulder.  Drass parried with his sword, then knocked Alistair back with his shield.  This left an opening for Faber, who raised her axe… and hesitated.  Drass didn’t.  He stabbed low, piercing through a joint in her armor plates and into her thigh.  Faber cried out and fell; Hadley rushed Drass and unleashed a flurry of blows to drive him back.  Daylen ran over to drag Faber clear.  Leliana set Sten down on the floor next to her, and Daylen began working on them both.

And then, Morrigan ran out of mana.

Longing grinned and closed in on Morrigan slowly, flexing her sharp-tipped fingers, then charged.  Morrigan backpedaled, awkwardly fending off the demon’s slashes with her staff.  Longing pressed its attack, trying to back the witch into a corner.  Morrigan ducked a swipe, countered with her staff, and landed a solid hit to the face.  Longing snarled and struck her with the same weakness that had drained Aedan.  Morrigan held herself up a moment by leaning on her staff, then collapsed.  Immediately, Neria snapped off a bolt of lightning, then raised a barrier between Morrigan and the demon.  Longing rolled her eyes, then turned to face Neria.  The two exchanged firebolts, slowly closing the distance.  Neria had a problem: she had an even smaller mana pool than Morrigan, and had perhaps a handful of spells to cast before she, too, ran out.  And she had no chance in a hand to hand fight.  Leliana started harassing Drass with arrows and called for Alistair to help Neria.  He ran over, putting himself between Longing and Neria.  The demon pelted him with ice, then disappeared into mist once more.  Neria guessed the next move, and was waiting.  Longing attacked from behind her, and Neria spun and struck it dead-on with a bolt of lightning.  The demon twitched and fell to the ground.  Neria charged up another bolt… and Longing shifted into Cullen.  The elf froze for a split second, which was far too long; Longing pounced on Neria and clawed her deep in the ribs.  Neria cried out and kicked it off, clutching at the wound.  Alistair charged to the rescue, but ran smack into a barrier.  He hit hard enough to stun himself.  The demon advanced on Neria, licking her blood off its claws.  Neria pushed with her legs, scrambling away on her backside.

Alistair called for help, and Bran brought down a smite.  The blast threw Longing one way and Neria the other.  It saved the elf, but drained her mana, and Bran’s attention was off of his possessed brother.  Drass smashed his shield into Bran’s chest plate, then followed up with a sword blow so strong it dented his helm.  Bran went down, but this, in turn, gave Leliana the opening she needed.  She darted behind Drass, then drove her slender dagger through the gap at Drass’s armpit and into his heart.

“Forgive me,” Leliana whispered, then twisted the blade.  Drass dropped to his knees with a grunt, then fell face down and was still.

Across the room, Longing flinched and cried out, then Alistair slashed it across the back.  The demon ran to Drass, stumbling and falling at his side.  It shrieked, staggering everyone still on their feet, then melted into shadows, which flowed over Drass and into his helmet.  The dead Templar stood back up, somehow much taller than before, armor shifting and blackening, eyes glowing like coals through the slits of the helmet.  The revenant roared and slashed at Leliana.  The nimble archer flipped out of the way as Hadley charged in with a battle cry.  The revenant caught the attack on its shield and answered with a blow that knocked the Templar backwards.  Alistair joined the fight, circling to flank the monster.  The revenant stepped and spun back and forth to take them both at once; it was both faster and stronger than Drass had been in life.  Leliana loosed an arrow, aiming for the eye slit, but the revenant ducked at the last second.  It stretched out an arm, caught her in an invisible grip, and hurled her backwards.  Leliana hit the stone wall with a sickening crunch and fell to the floor; Neria limped over and half carried her to where Daylen was tending the other wounded.  The revenant knocked Hadley and Alistair back, then turned and headed after Neria.

Daylen leapt to his feet and threw a fireball, which hit the revenant right in the chest.  The powerful undead stumbled, but kept coming.  Then a brilliant smite knocked it to the floor.  Faber stepped up beside Daylen, standing stiffly on her injured leg.  She reached into a belt pouch, and handed Daylen her only lyrium vial.  “Maker watch over you, Enchanter.”

“And you as well, ser Templar.”  Daylen reached over and healed Faber as much as he could, then downed the vial, feeling his mana reserves fill to the brim.  He took a deep breath, then he and Faber moved to face the revenant.  Alistair and Hadley moved to join them; they were the only ones who could still fight.

Hadley started off with a low slash to the legs, followed by a thrust to the shoulder.  Alistair charged from the side, leading with his shield like a battering ram.  The revenant parried Hadley’s blade, but Alistair managed to knock it back a step.  It shoved Alistair away and sliced at his shoulder.  Daylen stayed back, casting firebolts when he had a clear shot.  He wasn’t doing much damage-none of them were-but he didn’t know what else to do.  Undead are vulnerable to fire, and to blows to the head.  But Templar armor is thickly padded, and comes with a nice heavy helm.  Need to get through it to bring this thing down.  He switched from fire to ice, hoping to make the monster’s armor brittle, so the warriors could shatter it.  The revenant caught him in its pull and dragged him closer.  Faber stepped in and delivered a crashing blow.  That got the revenant’s attention; it rounded on her and swung for her throat.  Faber stood her ground and blocked with the haft of her axe.  Alistair waded into the fray, landing several strikes to the upper chest and head.  He mostly irritated the thing, but the attack was a distraction.  Hadley thrust his blade into the revenant’s side, piercing through the mail between the front and back armor.  The revenant roared and swept its shield in an arc, knocking Hadley flat on his back.  It lifted him with magic until he was hanging in midair.  Daylen threw another fireball, and the big undead staggered this time.  Alistair grinned and bashed it with his shield, sending it crashing to the floor.  Hadley tried to stab through the eye slit, but the revenant released an explosion of arcane force, throwing everyone back.

Alistair called a warning: the revenant was heading for Daylen.  He threw a fireball as it closed in.  It didn’t even slow down, and Daylen was running out of room.  He tried to escape to the side, the revenant chopped down at him.  He managed to parry, but the blade of his shortsword snapped.  Daylen dropped the hilt and pelted the monster with firebolts.  The revenant gripped him and pulled him in.  Hadley struck them with a smite.  The revenant slammed into the wall, and Daylen went tumbling across the room.  Faber raced in and took a massive two-handed swing; her axe left a gash in the undead’s breastplate, but didn’t do any real damage.  The revenant bashed Faber with its shield, raised its sword, and cleaved down through steel and flesh and bone.  Hadley cried out in rage and sorrow as his comrade fell.

The revenant set its sword down next to what was left of Faber, and lifted her axe easily in one hand.  It went after Hadley first, whirling the axe overhead before chopping down.  Hadley blocked it, but the impact knocked him to the floor.  He rolled out of the way as another swing scored the floor next to his head.  Alistair approached cautiously, trying to get behind the monster.  It lashed out with its shield while still fending off Hadley with its axe.  Daylen got up slowly, shook his head to clear it, and realized the smite had only drained about half his mana.  He glanced around quickly and grabbed the sword the revenant had left by Faber’s body.  It was longer and heavier than he was used to, but he could use it fine two-handed.  He charged to help, throwing a firebolt ahead of him.  The revenant turned to block him, and Alistair started landing blows.  He hacked at the monster’s shoulder, trying to get through a joint between the plates.  The revenant brought its axe around but Alistair ducked it.  Daylen stepped in, stabbed low, and wounded the monster behind its right knee.  The revenant hit him with its shield, then blew him backwards, knocking the sword from his hands.  It wound up for another big axe swing and staggered off-balance.  Hadley saw it, as did Daylen, and a look of understanding passed between the two.

“Keep both its arms busy!”  Daylen circled the revenant, flinging firebolts, watching for his chance.  The revenant did it for him.  It caught him in a grip; Daylen ran towards it, letting the pull give him more speed.  Instantly, Alistair and Hadley grabbed both the undead’s arms.  Daylen pressed his hands to the monster’s armor and blasted fire in through the hole Faber had made.  The revenant howled as flames shot out the eye slits of its helmet.  Daylen kept up the stream of fire until he ran out of mana, and the revenant finally crashed to the ground.  Daylen sat down, breathing heavily, and rolled onto his back, completely spent.

Chapter Text

Aedan was exhausted.  Everyone was.  Once the revenant was defeated, Hadley had gone back to the reserve for help.  Wynne, Eadric, and the other mages had done as much healing as they could, but they couldn’t fix everything.  It was clear that they needed more magical punch, so Wynne, Torrin and Cera had joined them, and Eadric was along to help any wounded.  They’d rung for Leorah and Ines to move up to the fifth floor, and were forging ahead with everyone they had left.  Faber, of course, was dead.  Bran had a bad concussion and a dislocated shoulder, and was headed down to the field hospital to join Sherman.  The others could continue on, but many were still wounded-Leliana had cracked ribs, Sten was recovering from his burns, Neria a nasty cut in the side, and Hadley and the reserve Templars had lingering injuries from the day before.  Aedan and Morrigan had suffered only scrapes and bruises, but they were both shaking off the curse of weakness the desire demon had struck them with.  They were back on their feet, but they wouldn’t be fully recovered until they could rest.  And that was on top of the last week of fighting and forced marches all the way from Ostagar.  But there wasn’t any time to spare, so he fought to keep his head up, and put one foot in front of the other.

The sixth floor landing was clear.  Daylen followed Alistair out into the corridor, wincing at his sore muscles.  Drass’s sword still felt big and clumsy in his hands, but it was the only weapon Daylen had to hand.  The mages were so exhausted that their mana was slow to regenerate.  And the Templars wouldn’t be able to use any of their abilities until they had another dose.  The research laboratory is on this floor.  If we can reach it, Leorah will have her ingredients to treat the badly wounded, and brew stamina potions for us.  Maybe there’s even some lyrium there.

Aedan reached the first room, an empty office.  The next door burst open, and an abomination charged them.  Aedan couldn’t react quickly enough, but Sten skewered it with his pitchfork, then braced his feet and held it in place as it tried to close in.  Aedan took advantage of the situation and ran the immobilized creature through.  It fell, and Aedan nodded his thanks to Sten.

“You are tired and I am wounded,” the Qunari said quietly.  “Be cautious; everyone here is nearing their limit.”

Aedan sighed, and motioned Alistair to lead the way down the hall.  He fell in behind him, with the others trailing after.  They passed a fallen mage who Daylen recognized as Enchanter Gaius.  He looked around for the man’s staff; unfortunately, it was broken.  Daylen grunted and moved on, but Leliana knelt to search the body.  She came up with a single vial of lyrium.  Daylen offered it to Wynne, who shook her head, then to Neria.  The younger woman drank it down gratefully, then conjured a small flame and smiled.  They moved on, clearing a few more rooms, until the hallway opened into a sitting area with several cushy armchairs arranged around a pair of card tables.  There were a few sofas along the outer wall, where the windows provided a spectacular view of the lake.  A fireplace crackled merrily at one end of the room.  The whole place seemed wonderfully cozy and peaceful… except for the bodies on the floor.  A mage and two Templars lay on the plush carpet, with no signs of a struggle and no visible injuries.  Aedan frowned and walked closer, with Hadley by his side, then both men stopped short.

They’d just noticed the demon lying on a couch by the fire.

Aedan dropped into a guard stance as the rest of the group came in behind him.  The demon stirred, then got to its feet, showing itself to be a vaguely humanoid shape, a few inches shorter than Aedan.  “Oh look, visitors.  I’d entertain you, but… too much effort involved.”

“A demon of sloth,” Morrigan said.  “Be careful, it’s just as powerful as the last one.”

“Oh, I’m stronger than Longing,” the demon drawled.  “But you have no need to worry.  I won’t attack you.  Fighting is just so tiring… but you know that.  Wouldn’t you rather just lie down, get some rest?”

Aedan’s entire body felt heavy.  He shook himself, but his mouth opened in a yawn.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Alistair quipped.  “You’ll have me doing it… too.”

There was a metallic crash as one of the Templars hit the ground.  Daylen threw a fireball, but missed by a couple of feet; the spell flew harmlessly out the window.  He toppled forward and Leliana tried to catch him, but she was overcome, and they both fell to the floor.

“Resist, you must resist, or we are all lost,” Wynne called, her voice wavering.  “Mages!  Shield as many as you can, we must retreat!”

Neria grabbed Eadric and Hadley and pulled them close, as the other mages did much the same with the other people close by them.  They cast their spells around the small groups… but they didn’t have the mana to sustain them.  One by one, the barriers burst like soap bubbles, and the people inside collapsed, unconscious.  Only Neria managed to maintain her barrier, keeping Hadley and Eadric safe… but it was taking all her magic just to hold it.

“What do we do?”  Hadley asked.  Eadric just stood frozen.

Neria took a deep breath.  “There isn’t much we can do, not now.  If I drop this barrier, we’ll be overcome.  But the others… the demon is holding their minds in the Fade.  The mages at least will be fighting to get free.  They may not be strong enough to defeat the demon on their own, but if they can distract it, we might be able to rush it.  We’d only get a few moments, but be ready all the same.  If I feel that sleep spell waver, I’ll dissolve the barrier and we take our chances.”  She looked at the demon, which was staring right back at her.  “For now, all we can do is wait, and hope for a chance.”

Aedan groaned and grabbed at his head.  It felt like someone was hammering iron spikes into his temples.  He tried to squeeze the pain out, massaging with his fingers, to no avail.

“Aedan!  You’re awake!”  Daylen called.

“Don’t get up too quickly, Aedan.”  The voice was rough, yet kind, and vaguely familiar.  “You’ve been affected by mind-altering magic.  Do you know where you are?  Do you know who I am?”

“Ugh.” Aedan blinked; the sunlight was filtered through heavy tent cloth, but it still hurt his eyes.  Standing over him were Daylen and… “Duncan!  You’re alive, how?  The battle… the King… how did I get out of the Circle Tower?”

Duncan smiled faintly, shrugging one shoulder-the other arm was in a sling.  “The darkspawn did try, and it was quite a close thing.  As to the Circle Tower… I don’t know exactly what you remember, but you were never in it.”  He saw Aedan frown and held up a hand.  “You remember your Joining, when you dreamed of the Archdemon?  It appears to be able to exploit the connection.  At some point after King Cailan’s charge, it attacked the Wardens in our minds.  The effects were varied, but far worse on the younger Wardens; you and Alistair both collapsed partway up the Tower of Ishal.  You’ve been unconscious for a day and a night, and you’re back in my tent at Ostagar.”

“I saw things, for sure,” Aedan asked, sitting up slowly and wincing at a pain in his side.  Something felt off, like he wasn’t fully awake.  “How’d I get here?”

“I am trained to resist demon influence, and the Archdemon’s attack was much the same,” Daylen said.  “You and Alistair passed out, and a genlock stabbed you in the ribs.  Your man Gage took over while I got the two of you back to the hospital.  He lit the beacon and called in the Highever brigade.”  The mage smiled.  “Your people moved quickly and managed to get here just as the darkspawn broke through the barricade in the Tower.”

“When the beacon was lit, Teyrn Loghain charged,” Duncan continued.  “With his help, we managed to retreat to the defense line, and drove the horde back.  We held for the rest of the day without much issue, but when night came, the archdemon attacked.  We took heavy losses-nearly three dozen Wardens-but the ballistae injured its wing and it crashed to the ground.  It could barely crawl, but we didn’t have the troops to attack and finish it off.  The horde fled south into the Wilds, carrying the beast.  There have only been light, harassing attacks since.  Arl Eamon has sent word; he will arrive with his regiment in a fortnight.  I would call this battle a victory, but… King Cailan was wounded.”

Aedan felt a chill run up his spine.  “What happened?”

Duncan rubbed the back of his neck.  “At the height of the Archdemon’s charge, the King and his guard moved to close a gap in the lines.  He was clawed by hurlocks.  The healers have done what they can, but we don’t yet know if he is tainted.  Same for the other wounded, we won’t know for at least several hours, and possibly days.  If they are, their only chance is the Joining.”  He put his good hand on his hip.  “So, in the next week or so, we’re likely to have a dozen or more new Wardens.  As the newest members of our Order, it falls to you and Daylen to guide them, just as Alistair did for you.”

“You need us to take a patrol out for darkspawn blood?” Aedan asked, flipping back the blanket.

“No!” Daylen said sharply, holding up a hand.  “Aedan, you were out more than a day.  You had a hostile presence invade your mind.  You need rest, and you need a lot of it!”

“Injured soldiers cannot be expected to gather blood, and after the battle, we have all we need,” Duncan said.  “Daylen will oversee the Joining, which may have to be conducted in the hospital.  In a few days’ time, perhaps a week, you will train the new Wardens, teach them to fight as you do.  For now, you will get your strength back-there will be plenty of work to do when you’ve recovered.”

 Aedan nodded and lay back.  “I understand.”

“Take care, Aedan.”  Daylen stood straight.  “Alistair’s in the next tent.  I need to check on him, too, and then I have to return to the hospital.  They need every healer working; even Leliana and the other sisters had to come help.”

Aedan’s eyes went wide.  He scrambled out of bed and away from the others.  Duncan held out a hand.  “Steady, young Cousland.  I know you’re confused, but you need to lie down.”

“It was a nice try, I’ll give you that.”  Aedan’s head swung side to side, watching for an attack.  “I suppose you have some access to our thoughts and memories, but it’s not perfect, is it?  You mixed up the Chantry sisters ministering to the army at Ostagar with the one we met in Lothering.  Leliana was part of the journey you say was a dream from the Archdemon… which means you’re lying, and this is the dream.”

His clothes changed from a simple tunic and smalls to the clothing and mail he’d been wearing in the Circle Tower.  He drew his sword and buckler; not-Duncan raised his own blades.  Aedan took a breath, set his feet, and charged.  The false Duncan responded with the same move that the real Duncan had killed Jory with.  Aedan saw the dagger coming, parried it with his sword, then slammed his buckler into not-Duncan’s face.  He reeled backwards, and Aedan spun and took his head off.  The specter dissolved into black mist, and Aedan turned to face the false Daylen.

Not-Daylen’s form shifted from the Circle robes and staff he’d carried when they first met to the gambeson and longsword he’d been using when they encountered the demon.  Aedan flashed a predatory smile and advanced.  Not-Daylen took one hand off the sword to throw a spell and the weight pulled him off balance.  The firebolt missed high and Aedan lunged and ran him through.  The false Daylen, too, disappeared, and with him, so did the surroundings.  The tent, the camp, the towers of Ostagar and the wooded hills beyond… all were replaced by surroundings Aedan could scarcely comprehend.

He stood on a small island, with a stone ruin and a single tree.  Overhead-or perhaps below him-other rocky islands were seemingly floating in an endless void.  In the distance was a warped, twisted cluster of islands which drew his gaze.  Aedan’s jaw dropped and he forced his eyes away once he realized that he was staring into the Black City, even if from afar.

So.  I’m probably unconscious back in the Tower, and the demon’s gotten into my mind.  I need to find a way to wake up.  He quickly explored the island and found it empty.  But as he stepped to the edge, he found that the strange, disorienting sky seemed to part like water at low tide, leaving a strip of land leading to another island.  With nowhere else to go, Aedan set off.  As he approached the floating rock, he heard voices.

“Begone!  I am not deceived for a moment, and my time is valuable.”

Aedan perked up hearing Morrigan’s voice.  He quickened his step, then hesitated.  Might be another trick.  How does the fucking Fade work, anyway?  Can we even be in the same dream?

“I am your mother; do you not love me?”  Flemeth’s voice was almost sickeningly sweet, totally unlike the sharp-tongued wit of the woman he’d met.  Aedan’s eyes narrowed and he put a hand on his sword.  He reached the island to find a recreation of the witch’s hut by the pond in the Wilds.  What looked like Morrigan was glaring at what looked like her mother.

“You are as much my mother as my little finger, right here…” she waved a fist with her pinky extended, “…is the Queen of Ferelden!”

Flemeth definitely isn’t real.  Morrigan… might or might not be.  Aedan frowned, eyed the pair, then approached cautiously.  The witches didn’t see him at first, continuing to argue over whether or not Flemeth was real until she slapped the younger woman in the face.

“Well.”  Morrigan rubbed her stinging cheek.  “That is more like it, but your acting leaves something to be desired, and besides, I can feel what you truly are.”

She must have seen Aedan in the corner of her eye, because Morrigan suddenly whirled to face him.  Seeing her distracted, the false Flemeth attacked.  Aedan shouted a warning and Morrigan ducked just in time to avoid a bolt of electricity.  The demon followed up with a swipe from the vicious talons it’d just sprouted.  Morrigan almost evaded that, too, but took a slice to the upper arm.  She hissed in pain and responded with a blast of ice.  The demon recoiled, and Aedan raced in to stab it through the middle.  It slashed at him, but Aedan stopped the claws on his buckler.  He pulled his sword out and stabbed again, and Morrigan sent another stream of icy air and froze the demon around his blade.  Aedan twisted, and the demon shattered.  Aedan and Morrigan caught their breath and looked warily at each other.

“Here’s the problem,” Aedan said, keeping his voice calm.  “I assume you can sense whether or not I’m real.  But I’m not a mage, and I can’t tell whether you’re real, or if this is another trick and both of you were demons.”

Morrigan smiled smugly.  “I will simplify your problem.  Without the assistance of a mage, you will not be able to break free of the demon’s influence.  You will trust me, because the alternative is almost certainly that you are already doomed.”

Aedan puffed out his cheeks.  “You have a point there.  So, where should we go?”

“It does not truly matter,” she replied.  “The Fade is infinite but is altered by mortal minds.  We are trying to find the others, and the demon which has trapped us.  The others are likely thinking the same, unless the demon has managed to deceive them.  So long as we remain focused on our goal, we will be moving towards it.”

Aedan nodded, and the pair set off.  The Fade was strange, but more fascinating than frightening; it seemed like the real world had been cracked with a titanic chisel, and fragments scattered across the bizarre sky.  He couldn’t help but look around, dumbstruck by the view.  Morrigan just forged ahead, one hand pressing healing magic into her bruised cheek.  Aedan frowned.  “Did your mother really hit you?”

“The world is a harsh place for mages, and to survive, one must learn harsh lessons,” she replied.  “I spent the first several years of my life entirely within the Wilds.  The first time I was permitted to venture close to a settlement, I remained in animal form, and watched the strange people from afar.  And then I saw a noblewoman, travelling by carriage.  She was probably only a Bann, or perhaps an Arl’s daughter, but I was dazzled.  I had never seen such wealth and beauty.  I crept close and stole a hand mirror from her carriage.  It was a wondrous thing, worked in gold and gemstones.  I snatched it and ran into the Wilds, laughing with glee all the way back to our hut.”

“I bet Flemeth wasn’t laughing,” Aedan said, wincing.

Morrigan’s head dropped.  “She was not.  She slapped me so hard that I fell into the muck at the water’s edge.  She showed me my reflection-bruised, splattered with mud-and then shattered the mirror against a stone and threw it into the pond.”

Aedan’s jaw tightened.  “You were just a child.”

“Indeed, I was a child, and quite childish,” Morrigan said.  “I had not yet come into my full power, and I risked being discovered for a pretty bauble.  And there was the lesson: Beautiful possessions, petty distractions, they have no meaning.  Survival, and above all, freedom, that is what matters.”  She eyed him.  “Surely, even a rich noble like you had to learn not to take foolish risks, to be responsible.”

Aedan grinned, cocking his head as he remembered.  “Well, I did indeed need to learn, but my mother had a somewhat… different… way of teaching me.  Before she was Teyrna Cousland of Highever, my mother was Eleanor Mac Eanraig, the Seawolf.  She was one of the most feared raiders on the Waking Sea during the war, captured her first ship when she was fifteen.  Her old crew taught me sailing, and when I was twelve, I thought I could hand, reef, and steer as well as anyone, and I wanted to prove it.  We were in Highever city while my parents met with business leaders.  I was allowed to go around town on my own, so I went down to my mother’s old ship, the Mistral, and stole the captain’s pinnace to go sailing.  I’d been out alone before… of course, that was on Lake Calenhad, which is not the Waking Sea.  I got perhaps five leagues offshore and ran into the swirl of winds and currents that run along the coast.  And I could keep the boat steady just fine… but I couldn't control which way I was going.  In calmer waters, you can go back and forth between adjusting the sails and steering.  But in the Waking Sea, you need two people, doing both at the same time.  So there’s me, slowly drifting out to sea, only a day’s food and water and on course to wash up in Val Royeaux in a week.”  He chuckled.  “And then the Mistral hove into view behind me.  My mother had been following me the whole time, far enough back to be hull-down with only the mast tops above the horizon so she could watch me, but I couldn't see her.  She let me go until I got into trouble, then made sure I didn’t get into too much trouble.”

“That is it?”  Morrigan asked scornfully.  “Your dear mother sailed to your rescue and carried you home?”

“Not exactly,” Aedan laughed.  “She brought the Mistral into sight, and then dropped anchor and made me come to her.  I was several leagues away, directly downwind.  So, the only thing to do was put out the oars and row against the current.  A pinnace is fairly large for a boat, meant to be rowed by two to four people.  No one can row constantly for that distance; you must stop and rest, and when you do, the wind will blow you further away.”  He rubbed his shoulders, then reached down and massaged his thighs.  “It took me until nearly midnight to get back to the Mistral, and I was aching for days.  And while I was aching, I had to swab the pinnace, stow every rope and sail, and polish the brightwork.  And I ate nothing but biscuit and water until it was all done.  I learned my lesson, let me tell you.”

Morrigan nodded thoughtfully.  “I will admit, you are not what I expected from a highborn noble.”

“Neither are you.”  Aedan smirked.  “The stories all say Witches of the Wilds are terribly ugly.”

For the first time since they’d met, Morrigan was actually lost for words.  She spluttered for a moment, then spun on her heel and marched off.  Aedan chuckled and followed her, onward through the Fade.

Daylen walked down the path across a floating island, watching all around him.  He’d known he was in the Fade immediately and had quickly banished the minor demons which had tried to deceive him.  The others will be around here somewhere; that demon’s domain can’t be all that large.  Hopefully I can get through to them, make them understand what’s happened.  He heard music in the distance and headed towards it.  As he got closer, he recognized it as a Chantry hymn popular in Ferelden.  And the voice was familiar…  Daylen rounded a rocky outcrop to see the Lothering Chantry standing alone in the center of an island.  He walked up to it and opened the door.  Leliana stood before the altar, next to the Revered Mother.  The nave was full of wraiths, their legless shapes floating above the pews.  No doubt she sees them as the people of Lothering.

Leliana finished the hymn and bowed her head.  “Let us pray.”

Daylen had heard the words before, of course.  But as Leliana recited the prayer, they were special.  She spoke comfort and hope in troubled times.  She spoke the strength of Andraste against the darkness which she faced, so long ago.  For a moment, Daylen let himself bask in her voice.  Then he strode up the center aisle.  “Leliana!”

The Revered Mother frowned.  “Young man, we’re in the middle of services.  It is most discourteous to interrupt.”

“I don’t know how you know my name, traveler.”  Leliana smiled encouragingly.  “But I’m sure I can help you, if you’ll wait a short while.”

“No.” The Revered Mother shook her head sternly.  “You dare interrupt a Chantry service!  Leave, now, and don’t show your face here again!”

“Leliana, this is a dream.”  Daylen bit his lip.  “You aren’t in Lothering.  You came along to help us.  You’re in the Circle Tower.”

Leliana blinked; the Revered Mother glared.  “Sister Leliana is far too sensible to set foot in a nest of filthy mages!  Now, leave, or I’ll have the Templars throw you out.”

“Don’t!” Leliana cried.  “Revered Mother, this man is troubled, he needs help.”

“No, I need you to remember.”  Daylen looked into Leliana’s eyes.  “I know it hurts.  I know it’s easier to stay.  But you know better.  You told me the Maker wanted you to come with us.”

She blinked again, twice, and then began trembling.  The Revered Mother and the congregation vanished, and they stood alone in the empty Chantry.  And then they heard the growls.  Darkspawn were surrounding the building, pounding on the door.  Flames erupted all around.  Daylen snapped off a fireball at the spawn as they came, but more poured in behind them, with an alpha in the lead.  Daylen was charging up another spell when an arrow flew past him and hit the alpha right in the throat.  The monsters wavered, and Daylen threw his second fireball.  The blast killed several of the darkspawn, and the rest ran, melting into the shadows.

“Daylen, what… how…”  Leliana’s struggled to control her breathing.  “Are we in the Fade?”

“Our minds are,” Daylen replied.  “Our bodies are asleep on the floor, in the sitting room at the Tower.”

Leliana’s eyes never left his.  “The demon is killing us, isn’t it?”

Daylen glanced around.  “We still have a decent chance.  It’s draining us slower now that we aren’t caught in its illusions.  But we will have to defeat it to escape, and we probably aren’t strong enough alone.  We will need to find and rescue the others.  Hopefully, the other mages have gotten free as well.”

“Very well.”  Leliana took another look around the Chantry, which had stopped burning when the demons had fled.

Daylen angled his head.  “You never told me about the vision you had.”

She smiled.  “I don’t know how to explain, but… It was when the refugees started pouring into Lothering.  People were frightened.  The Chantry folk too, though the Revered Mother counseled us not to show it.  I had a dream.  I was on a mountain peak, I think.  There was an impenetrable darkness below me, like the night without stars.  And a noise, a terrible, ungodly noise.  And the darkness was rising, spreading across the sky above me.  Just as it swallowed the last rays of the sun, I fell… or perhaps I jumped, and awoke with a start.”  Leliana walked out of the dream Chantry and around the side of the building with Daylen following.  “I was in a cold sweat, but I went out to the gardens, as I always do.  And that day, the rosebush in the corner had flowered.  Everyone knew that bush was dead.  It was twisted and gnarled, hadn’t bloomed in years.  It was too thorny, too much trouble to dig out and replace, which is why I buried my tools among its roots.  At first, I’d intended to retrieve them when I wanted to move on; as time passed, I decided to stay for good.  But there it was, a single beautiful rose, right above my hiding place.”

“Well.”  Daylen smiled.  “You certainly have been helpful, so far.  And you happen to seek shelter in the Chantry, in the same village my relatives happen to live, only for our paths to cross years later?  If that’s coincidence, then the odds are staggering.  Shall we see what awaits us on that path?”

Leliana beamed and nodded, and the pair walked on together.

Chapter Text

Aedan sat down in an illusory chair and caught his breath.  Morrigan laid a hand on his left shoulder, healing the burn he’d gotten off a rage demon.  This particular bit of the Fade resembled the Circle library, which conveniently gave them a place to sit and rest.  Morrigan wasn’t particularly good at healing, but Aedan was glad of the help nonetheless.  They’d found a few other dreamers; one of the Templars had been killed by demons, and another had panicked and run off when he saw them.  Once he was back in fighting shape, Aedan intended to follow the path the Templar had taken… though whether direction made any difference in the Fade, he had no idea.

“That should be adequate,” Morrigan said.  “It may keep stinging, but you will be able to fight without any difficulty.”

“I’ll be fine once we wake up, correct?” Aedan asked.  “I’m only dreaming about a hurt arm.”

The witch nodded.  “We will probably be sore, but that is the least of our worries.”

Aedan stood and flexed his arm.  “Thank you, Morrigan.”

She snorted.  “Thank me when we escape this place.”

They walked from the false library down a corridor that twisted and stretched beyond what could possibly fit in the Tower, then up too many stairs, and then through a door which led to, of all things, a small house.  It was the sort of place a peasant might live in a city, a narrow building with combined kitchen and dining room on the ground floor, and stairs leading up in the back.  Nets of onions, bundles of sausages, and bunches of dried herbs hung from the rafters.  At least three young children were racing around the room, dancing, chanting, and generally being an adorable nuisance.  The smell of a hearty stew and fresh bread wafted through the air.  Standing between the stove and the table were Alistair and a blonde woman Aedan didn’t recognize.

“Aedan!”  Alistair smiled and waved.  “It’s great to see you again!  This is my sister, Goldanna, and these are her children… and there’s more around somewhere.”

“You’re friends of his?”  Alistair’s ‘sister’ beamed at them.  “Will you be staying for dinner?”

Alistair clasped his hands.  “Say you’ll stay!  Goldanna’s a wonderful cook.  And thank goodness, because I most assuredly am not.”

Aedan crossed his arms.  “Well, we certainly could use a good meal, with the fight we have in front of us.”

“Alistair is staying here,” ‘Goldanna’ said firmly.  “My little brother’s been through enough; I’ll never let him out of my sight again!”

Morrigan grunted in disgust.  “This is his deepest desire?  The simpleton would be satisfied, content to spend the rest of his life in a peasant’s hovel?”

“Where were you living when we met, again?” Aedan asked.  Morrigan made a face.

One of the ‘children’ ran over, standing between Aedan and Alistair.  “You can’t take Uncle Al away!  We need him, he’s family!”

Alistair shook his head.  “Aedan, their father’s gone.  Goldie can’t look after this many children by herself.  I have to stay.”

“What you have to do is keep fighting; your family won’t be safe unless we end the Blight,” Aedan said.  “Alistair, if we can’t stop the darkspawn… Duncan died for nothing.”

Alistair flinched as if struck, and Aedan saw something shift in his eyes.  The younger Warden turned his head, looking closely at his ‘sister.’  Goldanna met his gaze with a pleading expression for a moment, then snarled and grabbed at him as her hands formed claws.  Alistair instinctively raised his left arm, and immediately his shield was in his hand; he blocked and smashed her backwards, then ran her through.  Aedan drew his own sword as the demon children leapt at Alistair, but he threw a combination of shield strikes and sword slashes, finishing them all in less than half a minute.  He looked around at the house as it collapsed and dissolved into mist, his jaw tightening.

“Alistair.”  Aedan kept his distance, looking on with concern.  “Alistair, are you all right?”

“No I bloody am not.”  Alistair took a deep breath, then let it out.  “Let’s get out of here; I’ve had about enough of demons and illusions.”

Daylen led the way across yet another Fade island.  He and Leliana had managed to find one of the Templars, a man by the name of Dekker.  He’d been in a near panic and had come close to attacking them on sight; Leliana had been able to talk him down, and he was willing to stay with them, though he was still agitated.  To be fair, Leliana and I are pretty damned nervous, too.

Leliana glanced around at the twisted islands floating all around them.  “It’s… actually beautiful, in a way.  Like a Waking Sea coastline.”

Dekker scoffed.  “Oh, a rocky shore is beautiful, all right.  It’ll also chew up any fool who sails too close.”  The Templar looked around.  “Though, I will admit, I’m surprised how little I’ve been attacked.”

“This part of the fade is the domain of the sloth demon,” Daylen said.  “The lesser demons we’ve encountered serve it.  It wishes to feed on us, and to do that, it needs to evoke the proper mindset in us.  Restful, relaxed, not anxious or angry.  So far, they’ve only attacked us to try and keep us from escaping, once we were free of the dreams.  I don’t claim to be an expert on its strategy, mind you, but I expect that it doesn’t gain anything coming after us.  Fighting off demons makes us alert.”

“Once we find the others, how do we get out of here?” Leliana asked.

“We find the demon, and kill it,” Daylen replied.

“Oh, good.” Dekker grinned.  “I really didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”

In the distance, a building loomed on another island.  It was somehow familiar, but warped, broken… Daylen couldn’t quite place it.  Dekker drew his sword and angled his shield.  “I’m first through the door.  Sister Leliana, why don't you bring up the rear?”

Daylen nodded agreement, then moved up beside the door.  Daylen pulled on the handle, and the heavy wooden door creaked open.  Dekker went through as soon as it was wide enough.  Daylen heard the man gasp, then the clang of his sword hitting the floor.  He headed inside, charging up a spell, with Leliana close behind.  They fetched up short at the sight of Wynne on her knees, crying softly, surrounded by bodies.  Daylen recognized some of them as apprentices, others as mages or even some of his fellow Enchanters, and a few, he didn’t know at all.

Daylen took a deep breath.  “Wynne.  Wynne, are you all right?”

“I failed them all.”  The old woman’s voice was barely above a whisper.  “All dead, and I didn’t stop it.  Why was I spared?  What use is my life, if not to look after them?”

“Wynne, we have to keep fighting.”  Daylen looked closer, and saw several of the ‘dead’ apprentices were children they’d rescued the night before.  “The demon is deceiving you, it wants you to give up, be passive.”

Wynne dropped her head.  “Asleep or awake, death is coming for us.  Escape the demon, and we are trapped between Uldred and the Templars.  Secure the Tower, and soon enough, the Blight will be upon us.”

Leliana hesitated, then spoke up.  “There is still hope.  You see corpses around you, but many of these people yet live.  You helped us save them, try to remember.”  She took a step forward.  “When I first saw you, you were standing alone to protect children.  A blazing rage demon looming over you, and you didn’t even waver.”

“I thought I was doomed when the demons trapped us in the apprentice dormitory,” Dekker said.  “But we held them.  With help from only young Blaine, we held them all damned night.  And now, we have so much more help.  Daylen and the Wardens, you and the other Enchanters, even young Neria and Eadric.  We’ve taken more than half the Tower already; we can win this!”

Wynne looked at them.  Daylen met her eyes and nodded encouragingly.  She reached out, and her staff appeared in her hands.  She braced against it and stood up.  “You’re right.  This isn’t over yet.”

“Don’t leave us, Wynne.”  The pleading words came from one of the bodies on the floor.  The “dead” mages began standing up, reaching out for her with arms much too long.  “We don’t want to go alone, we’ll be lost.  Help us cross the Veil, journey to the Maker’s side.”

Wynne startled.  “No… stay back, foul creature!”

The corpses took flight, what had been mage robes shifting into long, tattered black cloaks, hoods obscuring horribly deformed faces with gigantic shrieking mouths.  The despair demons circled Wynne and the others, whipping frigid winds around them.  Leliana loosed an arrow, which tumbled uselessly in the blizzard.  One of the demons hurled spikes of ice at her; Dekker jumped in front of her and blocked them with his shield.  Daylen threw a fireball, which ignited one of the demons.  It screamed and flew off into the endless void, blazing like a comet.  The others swooped down at them, throwing more ice and reaching out with their bony fingers.  Wynne raised a barrier right in their path, and two demons slammed right into it.  One spun crazily, stunned, the other crashed to the ground.  Dekker charged the downed demon and finished it with a flurry of sword strikes.  Leliana zipped three arrows into the dazed demon, but just didn’t do enough damage.  It screamed to disorient her, then blasted her with ice and snow.  Leliana cried out and fell, clutching at her right arm.  Wynne immediately raised a barrier over them all, then ran to the younger woman.  The demons circled, battering the shield.

Wynne knelt at Leliana’s side, examining her injured arm.  The skin had blistered and cracked from the intense cold, and she was shivering, gritting her teeth in pain.  Wynne looked up.  “I can heal her, but I can’t maintain a barrier this large.  Keep them back!”

Dekker nodded, tapped Daylen on the shoulder, and pointed to a spot nearby.  As Wynne dropped the shield, the demons dove on them.  Daylen blew one to ragged shreds with another fireball.  Dekker stayed behind Daylen, keeping watch for attacks and growling in frustration as the demons stayed out of his reach.  By staying higher and farther away, the demons made it difficult for Daylen to hit them… but they couldn’t do more than shower the general area with ice, not doing much damage.  The impasse continued for a few minutes, and then three demons rushed Daylen together.  Daylen raised a barrier of his own, much weaker than what Wynne could manage.  The demons bored in, hurling jagged shards of ice.  Daylen held the barrier as best he could as freezing mist covered him.  The barrier shattered just as the demons reached it… but Daylen wasn’t standing behind it, Dekker was.  The Templar lashed out with sword and shield, slew one demon and injured the other two before they could take off.  Daylen threw firebolts and got another one.  Then Wynne’s barrier dropped.  Leliana drew back her bow and loosed, hitting the last demon right in its screaming maw.  Its scream hung in the air a moment after it burst into rags and mist.

Daylen ran over to Wynne, catching his breath.  “Are you all right?”

She nodded.  “I am better, at least.  I think ‘all right’ will have to wait until we escape this nightmare.  Thank you all.”  Wynne rapped her staff on the ground.  “Daylen, Ser Dekker, do either of you need healing?”

A few minutes later, they were heading off, following Wynne’s lead.  Her arcane senses were far sharper than Daylen’s, and she could feel other dreamers in the area.  But it was Leliana’s sharp eyes that picked out flickers of spellcasting on another island in the distance.  They set off across the Fade, hurrying towards the faraway lights, unsure who or what they would find.

Aedan led the way across yet another floating island.  This one emulated the Hinterlands, the forested, rolling hills of southwestern Ferelden.  Aedan had hunted bear here, years ago, with Fergus, Oriana, and some friends.  They crested a ridge to see a small lake, with a little round island in the middle.  On the shore across from the island was a campsite.  It was simple but functional, a cluster of one-person tents around a single fire.  The tents were painted to resemble boulders or logs; Aedan doubted if he’d have seen them without the smoke from the fire to draw his eye.  I wonder who is dreaming of this place.

Before long, Aedan got his answer.  The figures sitting around the fire were Qunari, huge and horned.  Sten was leaning against a tree at the edge of the camp.  Aedan almost didn’t recognize him-his body language was completely different than Aedan was used to.  Sten was relaxed, his shoulders loose, and a look of contentment on his face.  He was wearing  what for Aedan would be a greatsword, but for a Qunari was probably an ordinary longsword.  The leather on the grip was woven into beautiful geometric patterns, and the blade was of a blue-tinged metal Aedan was unfamiliar with.  Aedan motioned for the others to wait and walked up to Sten.  As he drew closer, he could hear their conversation.

“Isn’t it your turn to cook?” one asked.

“I hope not, Karasten,” another said, chuckling.  “When the Karashok cooks, it’s safer to go hungry.”

Karashok rolled his eyes.  “You are so entertaining, kadan.  You’re the Karasaad; isn’t scouting your job?  Next time, find me something better than marsh tubers.”

“Find what?” Karasaad said.  “There’s no game in this miserable, frozen country.”

Karasten filled his bowl from the pot, then took a spoonful.  “What is this, soup?”

“It’s stew,” Karashok replied.

“Can’t be,” Karasaad laughed.  “Stew’s thick.  This is hot water with some plants floating in it.”

“Parshaara, we have a guest,” Sten said, looking up at Aedan.  “Make room at the fire.”

Aedan walked up to him.  “Sten, this…”

“I know this is a dream,” Sten said curtly.  “But it is a good one.  I have enjoyed this chance to spend time with my men once more.”

“It’s nice to see this side of you,” Aedan said, smiling.  “It gives me hope you will be comfortable with us someday, let your guard down a little.”

Sten pursed his lips. “That may take some time.  But in any case, we have a task before us.  Do you have a plan to escape this place?”

Aedan nodded.  “Morrigan is leading us towards other lost dreamers.  The demon is hiding from us, hoping we exhaust ourselves against its lackeys.  However, as we clear these islands and gather allies, each fight is easier, and it has fewer places to hide.  We’ll find it sooner or later.  We slay it, and we should wake up safely in the Tower.”

“Very well.”  Sten stood straight, rolling his shoulders.  “I will follow your lead, Warden.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Karasaad asked.

Sten shook his head slowly.  “Our mission is not over.  I still need to observe the Blight and help stop it if I can.”  He looked from one of his old unit to the next.  “Brothers, it was an honor to serve with all of you.”

The other Qunari got up, reaching for their weapons.  “You aren’t leaving us to travel with this tiny bas?  You belong with the Beresaad.”

“We all know that I am all that remains of the Beresaad.”  Sten drew his sword, looked at it briefly, then set his feet.  “Stand aside.  I do not wish to see you all die again.”

The Qunari attacked, and for the first time, Aedan saw how Sten fought with a familiar weapon in his hands.  Three of the seven Qunari were cut down in half a minute.  By the time Aedan had joined the fight, Sten had killed a fourth.  Aedan clashed with one while Sten took on the last two simultaneously.  Aedan got inside of his opponent’s spear point and stabbed him in the belly.  The Qunari sent him flying with a backhand, then stomped after him with the sword hilt still stuck in his gut.  Aedan rolled out of the way before he got skewered, and then Morrigan’s spell froze the Qunari solid.  Aedan grabbed his sword and pulled it free, shattering the Qunari into pieces.  He looked around for another enemy; Sten had finished them both off.

“Maker’s breath!”  Alistair’s mouth was hanging open.  “You’re bloody amazing.”

“It was not so impressive a feat as it might appear,” Sten replied.  “The illusions of my comrades fought exactly as they once did, and I knew them well.  They could not deceive or surprise me.  And the demon provided me with the memory of my sword.”  He hefted the blade, examining it with just a trace of nostalgia.  “While we are in this foul dream, I suppose it’s real enough.”

“We should go, quickly,” Morrigan said.  “I feel a group of dreamers close by, all together.  And I think at least one is a mage.”

They set off together, moving at a fast walk to avoid tiring.  As they approached, they heard the clash of weapons, saw flashes of spells going off.  Once they were close enough to see what was going on, Aedan’s eyes widened in shock.  Torrin and a Templar were dead on the ground.  Cera was wounded, and a second Templar was desperately trying to protect her… from another Templar.  Aedan broke into a sprint, with the others behind him.  He shouted for the Templars to stop fighting.  One glanced up and waved, the other ignored him and kept attacking.  Aedan took note of this and kept running all the way in, then lowered his shoulder and knocked the aggressive Templar off his feet.  “Stop!  What’s going on here?”

“Thank the Maker you’re here.”  The defending Templar stayed between Cera and the fallen man.  “Knight-Templar Brenneis, Warden.  Ser Krug, here, he’s lost his mind.  Says we have to kill all the mages!  He attacked Cera, stabbed Ser Haberman when we tried to stop him, then killed Torrin.”

“We can’t let the mages wake up!”  Krug stood up, eyes wild.  “This isn’t just a tear in the Veil anymore, don’t you see?  A demon pulled our minds into the Fade.  If the mages go back, they’ll all be abominations!”

“You bloody fool.” Morrigan looked at Krug like he was something slimy from under a rock.  “You know nothing at all of what you’re saying.  We’ll only be possessed if the demons overpower our will.  We can leave safely if we defeat the sloth demon… which would have been easier if you hadn’t murdered one mage and injured another!”

Krug shook his head frantically.  “I won’t listen to you, witch!”  He backed away as Aedan, Alistair, and Sten all squared off against him.  “You can’t… why are you helping them?  This is all their fault to begin with!”

He staggered backwards.  Suddenly, the ground beneath his feet glowed green.  A pair of long arms with taloned fingers burst from the ground and dragged the screaming Templar down.  The scream grew louder, more piercing, as a tall, thin demon rose up in front of Aedan.  Its misshapen head was crowned with a pair of curving horns, and a sharp, whiplike tail lashed the air behind it.  Bright orange flames spurted up all around, and rage demons emerged, snarling.  Aedan backpedaled away from the big, horned demon and drew his sword.

“It is a terror!” Morrigan called.  “Brace yourself when it screams, it can disorient you!”

She raised her staff and gestured.  Instantly, all of the warriors’ weapons were coated in frost, a fine mist wafting off the chilled blades.  The rage demons howled as Alistair and Brenneis tore into them, while Sten moved to help Aedan with the terror.  The big demon turned on the spot, lashing out with its vicious claws and spiked tail.  Sten landed a solid cut to the terror’s midsection but didn’t do much to the demon’s bony hide.  It spun to attack the Qunari, and Aedan lunged.  He slipped the narrow tip of his sword into a gap between the demon’s scales.  The terror’s head snapped back and screeched, sending Aedan reeling.  The terror pounced on him; Sten dashed in to drive the demon off.  Brenneis had slain a rage demon and Alistair two, but four more blazed up from the ground, along with a half-dozen greenish wraiths.  The new arrivals bombarded the group with firebolts and blasts of arcane energy, closing in from all sides.

A fireball slammed into two of the wraiths, and an arcane barrier sprang up around them, isolating the terror with all four warriors.  Daylen called out to them from atop a rise a short distance away, with the others alongside.  Aedan broke into a grin, and he got to his feet to help finish off the terror, which was much less of a problem when badly outnumbered.  Wynne dropped the barrier, and the warriors burst out to take on the demons as Dekker ran to join them, and Leliana and the mages provided support.  It was over quickly.

“Daylen!  Andraste’s tits, I am glad to see you!”  Aedan gestured.  “Wynne, Cera’s hurt, please tend to her as soon as you can.  Who else is with you?”

The much larger group took an hour to rest, lick their wounds, and get organized.  Torrin, Habermann, and Krug were confirmed dead.  They’d seen no sign of Hadley, Eadric, Neria, or the mage or Templars who’d been lying on the floor when they encountered the sloth demon.  Even with ten of them, no one thought it was a good idea to split up and search.  So, they set off, not certain where they were going, watchful for ambushes or tricks.  At Morrigan’s urging, they There were demons waiting for them as they went from one island to the next, but they were much less of a threat to a large group with multiple mages.  When Cera felt another dreamer, they hurried ahead.  The island they crossed to was the largest yet, an expanse of forest interspersed with bits of carpet and stone floor, scattered about with mossy boulders and bookcases, a wooden ceiling visible between the branches overhead.  There was a young man seated in an armchair, reading, and the bodies of two Templars lay on the rug nearby.

Daylen walked up to him.  “Niall?  Is that you?”

He looked up listlessly.  “Daylen.  Wynne.  The demon trapped you, too?”

“Us, and about a dozen others,” Daylen replied.  “We were clearing the tower of demons when we were overcome.  But we managed to gather, and we’re going to break out of here.”

“I hope you can, but it’s so strong,” Niall said.  “I had a plan, too.  I went to the Enchanters’ research library and took the Litany of Adralla.”

“Oh, good thinking!” Wynne cried.  “We can use the Litany to counter any attempts at mind control.”

Niall nodded slowly.  “The sloth demon is near.  We fought it, but it killed those two.  We weren’t strong enough, but maybe you can destroy it.”  He looked up at Daylen.  “When you awake, remember to take the Litany from my body.”

Wynne put her hands to her mouth; Daylen blinked.  “Your body?”

“You haven’t been here as long as I have, haven’t been drained,” Niall said.  “I can’t stand up, even in this dream.  My body will have been wasting away in the real world.”

Wynne raced to the young man’s side and went to work; after a few moments, she looked up sadly and shook her head.  Niall nodded again and leaned back in the chair.  “I’ve had time to make my peace.  I’m just glad you know where the Litany is.  I was afraid no one would find it in my pocket until it was too late.”  He struggled to reach out; Daylen took one hand and Wynne the other.  “I shouldn’t have gone alone.  It was foolish; I’m no hero.”

“You say that, but when demons burst forth into the tower, you ran to find a way to stop them,” Aedan said quietly.  “It’s not succeeding that makes one heroic.  It’s being willing to stand and fight, even when it’s hard, or dangerous, even when victory is not certain.  You are a hero, Niall of Kinloch Hold.  I wish we had ten thousand more just like you.”

Niall smiled faintly.  “Well then, from one hero to another, good luck, and Maker watch over you.”

The group walked on, somber but determined.  They still hadn’t found everyone, but if the demon was close, all agreed they couldn’t wait to confront it.  Morrigan and Wynne were fairly certain that if they could defeat the demon, anyone else it had trapped would awaken as well. The landscape rose slightly, then they crested a ridge and found themselves looking down into a large, natural amphitheater.  And in the center stood the Sloth Demon.  It was vaguely humanoid, about as tall as Sten, with dark brown hooded robes over its skeletal frame.  It looked over the group with a blank expression.  “Now, what do we have here?  Some sort of uprising, perhaps?”

Daylen laughed hollowly.  “You will forgive us if we don’t sit around waiting to be drained of life.”

“On the contrary, that you didn’t sit still is nearly unforgivable,” the demon drawled.  “But I’m willing to overlook this defiance if you just go back to your places.  I promise I can make you all comfortable.”

“Going back to where we belong is exactly what we plan to do.”  Aedan set his jaw.  “I understand you’d rather take it easy, not expend too much effort, so I’ll make you a deal:  You get out of the way and let us wake up, and we won’t scatter bits of you from here to the Black City.  I think you’ll find that keeping us here is going to be a lot of work.”

“True enough.”  The demon hesitated for a moment, considering.  “But after that work, I’ll be able to relax a good long while, with a nice big meal.”

It hurled shards of ice at him.  Aedan dove out of the way, but he needn’t have bothered: Wynne raised a barrier and blocked the ice.  The warriors spread out and attacked Sloth from all sides.  It turned on the spot, parrying their weapons with its claws.  It shrugged off Morrigan’s frost magic, but hissed in pain when Daylen landed a firebolt.  Sten stepped in with a big swing and took a chunk out of the demon’s shoulder.  It screeched and bled smoke, then roared.  Wraiths manifested all around, taking the form of darkspawn, then attacked.  Aedan shouted orders frantically; Alistair and the two Templars kept after Sloth while Aedan and Sten moved to protect Leliana and the mages.  Fortunately, the false darkspawn weren’t as tough as real ones, and the pair held them off easily.  Morrigan and Leliana joined in to help while Daylen and Cera kept hammering the demon.  One by one, the wraiths fell.

“ENOUGH!”

The demon unleased a massive blizzard which filled the whole amphitheater.  Everyone was chilled to the bone, blinded by the driving winds, and battered by ice.  Aedan shielded his eyes from the storm, looking for the demon.  Off to his left, something knocked Alistair flat.  He yelled and swung blindly, only cutting air.  Daylen saw the shadowy shape retreat into the snow and threw a fireball.  The blast singed the demon, and more importantly, let everyone know where it was.  Leliana shot it in the side, and the warriors all charged.  Alistair and the Templars managed to wound it several times before it drove them back with focused blasts of ice.  The blizzard intensified until the wind was so strong that people struggled to stay on their feet.  The demon vanished into the storm; Aedan called a warning and everyone clustered together, the warriors facing outward.  Sloth charged, and Sten met it head-on.  In a moment, Alistair had moved to help him.  He stopped the demon’s claws with his shield, and Sten cleaved down through its shoulder.  The demon evaporated into green mist: a wraith had taken Sloth’s shape.

“It’s a feint!” Aedan called.  “Watch out behind…”

Too late.  Sloth burst out of the mist and tore Brenneis’ shield away.  A shard of jagged ice hit the Templar in the chest, then another, and half a dozen more.  Brenneis resembled nothing more than a pincushion as he toppled over.  Dekker roared with rage and hacked at Sloth, wounding it again.  Sloth staggered and tried to duck away into the blowing snow.  Two steps, and it slammed into a barrier.  Wynne had trapped the demon within a shield bubble, and Morrigan dispelled the blizzard.  Sloth blasted the barrier over and over, but couldn’t break out.  The entire group surrounded the trapped demon, and when Wynne dropped the shield, Daylen and Cera hit it with everything they had.  Sloth roared and thrashed, its leathery hide smoking.  Alistair bashed the demon in the head with his shield, and Aedan struck home with a slice to the shoulder.  Sten crippled the demon with a cut to the knee, and then Dekker stepped in and drove his sword clean through it.  It bellowed in its death throes, and everything went white.

Chapter Text

Aedan was expecting to startle awake, but coming back from the dream they’d been dragged into was much the same as any other.  He groaned and sat up; around him, the others were waking up as well.  Aedan stretched his sore muscles and stood.  “Looks like we’re back.  Is anyone injured?”

“You’re awake!”  Hadley ran over, with Eadric and Neria close behind.  “Is everyone all right?  What happened?”

“The demon scattered us across the Fade,” Daylen said, gesturing to where Sloth’s remains were dissolving into dust.  “We managed to find each other and defeat it… but we’re the lucky ones.”

Neria looked around the room, realizing that five Templars and two mages were still on the floor.  “Oh, no.”

“That was too damned close,” Alistair said.  “I’d have been in that dream until I withered if you hadn’t pulled me out.”

Aedan looked Hadley in the eye.  “I know we’re down almost half our force, but I don’t think we have a choice.  We’ve got to keep going.”

“I agree.”  Hadley nodded grimly.  “There’s a pack of blood mages around here somewhere, and the Veil is still torn up above, with more demons coming through all the time.  We can’t dig in and defend; they’ll just keep coming at us until we’re overrun.  We win or we die.”

“Right.”  Aedan looked around the room.  “I know it’s hard, but check the bodies.  Take anything that might help.”

“Make sure to find the Litany,” Wynne called.  “We’ll need it to deal with the maleficars, and it should protect us against demon influence as well.”

There was precious little they could use.  The fallen Templars had been carrying a small assortment of healing supplies, which the survivors distributed amongst themselves.  Daylen took Torrin’s staff, which was similar to the one he’d lost at Ostagar.  He offered the longsword he’d been using to Sten.  The Qunari hesitated, then took it.  The weapon which had been almost too large for Daylen seemed flimsy in the big man’s hand.  He considered a moment, then tucked it into his belt and hefted the pitchfork.

There was no opposition at all for the next few minutes.  Morrigan theorized that the demons in the area had been hunting easy prey in the sloth demon’s realm then scattered when it was defeated.  In any case, they were able to quickly clear several rooms and reach the research laboratory.  But as they approached, everyone heard voices and Aedan waved the group to a halt.

“What are you looking for?”  The speaker was a younger man, nervous and shaky.

“Caustic reagents,” a young woman replied.  “We need something that will eat through the bars on the windows.  There are plenty of bedsheets on this floor; we can make a rope and climb down, then just slip away.  The boat’s guarded, but we could make a raft from ice.”

Aedan glanced back at the others, then started to move forward.  Leliana raised her hand to stop him, then gestured towards herself.  Aedan nodded and waved her ahead.  Leliana edged towards the door, stepping softly.  Aedan and Hadley followed a few yards behind her.

“And how long will it take to deal with the bars?”  This voice was deep, rough, and angry.  “Then, if we don’t break our necks going down the side of the tower, we aren’t going to slip by anyone.  The templars are patrolling the whole island; I say we walk right down and take our chances head-on.”

Leliana dropped down on her belly and peeked into the room.  She extended her hand up and back, then held up three fingers.  Aedan nodded.

“We can’t go down by the stairs,” the female voice said nervously.  “There are mages down there, trapped like we are.  They’ll get caught in the fight.”

The angry mage grunted.  “That’s fine.  The Templars are their enemy too, and it’s not our fault they’re too stupid to see it.  Either the other mages help us, or we drain their blood and burn our way out of here.”

Aedan saw Hadley tense up out of the corner of his eye.  He looked over and saw the anger in the Templar’s face.  Leliana stood, held up a hand for them to wait, then quickly and silently crossed to the far side of the doorway.  The mages in the lab were too busy arguing to notice, and she readied her bow.  Aedan drew his sword slowly, to keep from making noise.

“You can’t mean that,” the scared mage said.  “I didn’t sign up to attack Templars.  There wasn’t supposed to be any fighting at all.  I did this to free the mages, not kill them!”

“Well I did this to get out of this fucking prison,” the angry mage snarled.  “And the Templars or mages or even you aren’t getting in my way!”

His voice rose to a primal roar, followed by the sound of ripping cloth and a flash of light out the door.  The other two mages screamed.  Aedan abandoned his careful preparation and charged.  Two mages, a man and a woman, were on the laboratory floor, scrambling away from an eight-foot-tall abomination, still smoking from the transformation.  Aedan slashed at the twisted creature, but his light blade only made a superficial cut in its rubbery hide.  The beast knocked him backwards into the room; Aedan tripped over a stool and fell to the floor.  The abomination picked up the stool and brought it crashing down at him.  The woman threw a pair of firebolts at the beast, buying Aedan time to roll out of the way.  Hadley rushed in and rammed with his shield, then followed up with a couple of swings.  His bigger, heavier longsword managed to take a chunk out of the abomination’s back; it bellowed and delivered a powerful blow which Hadley stopped on his shield.  Leliana zipped an arrow into its shoulder, but the abomination barely noticed.  The male mage readied lightning, then hesitated, looking between the twisted beast and the armored Templar.  The abomination swung the stool and knocked Hadley down, then grasped the mage and smashed him into the stone wall.  The woman cried out, then picked a flask from one of the lab tables and threw it.  The glass shattered, covering the abomination in a greenish fluid which hissed and sizzled.  The abomination howled in pain as its skin blistered and tore.  Aedan lunged, stabbing through the weakened hide.  The beast thrashed around, still dangerous, and Hadley took its head off.

Aedan pulled his sword free from the massive corpse, catching his breath.  The fight had been intense, but was over so fast that the rest of their group hadn’t had time to join in.  Leliana stepped into the lab, with the rest of the group following her.

Aedan rolled his shoulders.  “First things first.  Get the barriers cast; Sten, Cera, please stand watch.  Wynne, we’ve got a man hurt.”

“Not hurt, dead,” Hadley said, checking the man’s pulse.  “He hit the wall headfirst, he’s gone.”  He stood straight and looked over at the surviving rebel mage.

She dropped her staff and held out both hands.  “Please, please don’t kill me.”

“Oh, now you ask for quarter,” Dekker snarled.  “And of course, you were planning to spare us when you broke out.”

“We weren’t supposed to need to break out.”  She sank down to sit on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest.  “Uldred told us that the Circle would support Teyrn Loghain, and he would help us be free of the Chantry and Templars.  It was meant to be a decree from the Crown-I didn’t expect to fight at all.”

“Obviously, Uldred lied,” Wynne said, folding her arms.  She looked down, frowning.  “Nara Mac Lir, I’ve known you since you were eight.  Why would you do this?”

She looked up at Wynne, her face hardening.  “You know why.  You all do.”

Aedan glanced at Daylen and raised his eyebrows.  Daylen sighed.  “Five years ago, Knight-Templar Otto Alrik beat and raped Nara along with several other women here.  We know of three, but we suspect there were others who were too afraid to speak up.  He threatened to have them made Tranquil if they told anyone.”

“But we dealt with him,” Dekker protested.  “He was taken by the Seekers, thrown out of the Order!”

“And you think that’s justice?” Nara asked, leaping to her feet.  Dekker took a step forward; Hadley held out an arm to block his path.  “He violated three women, probably more, and all that happens is he loses his job?”

Aedan snorted derisively.  “Any man who committed such a crime in Highever even once, let alone three times or more, would spend the rest of their life at hard labor.  And that’s if the victim’s family didn’t beat the bastard to death themselves.”  He glared at Hadley.  “But I suppose it’s only mages, right?  It’s not like the bastard hurt real people.”

“It’s too late, now.”  Dekker looked at Hadley.  “You know we can’t allow a maleficar to live.”

Nara went pale, but Hadley shook his head.  “I didn’t see her cast blood magic, did you?  As far as we know, she’s just an apostate.  And she stopped that abomination from flattening me and the Warden.”  He looked over at Nara.  “What’s Uldred doing up there?  How many are with him?”

She shook her head.  “I swear I don’t know.  I didn’t even know he was teaching blood magic before Jowan escaped.  There are a few other members of his-coven, I suppose-they were the ones who ambushed the Senior Enchanters’ meeting.  The rest of us expected Loghain to arrive and order the Templars out.  When the fighting started, we were trapped like everyone else.  Some became abominations and attacked the lower floors.  Some tried to hide, or went up to ask Uldred for orders.  No one’s come down but demons, but they left us alone.  So we decided to try and escape, and that’s when you found us.”

Hadley nodded.  “Right, then.  You’re going to go downstairs, where the other survivors are.  You’re going to sit quietly and wait until this is over, then we’ll see.  And you’re not going to make me regret this.”

Nara bobbed her head.  “Thank you, ser.”  She left the room quietly, not looking at anyone.

Aedan took a deep breath, then let it out.  “Well, this is the laboratory, anyway.  Let’s get Leorah and Ines up here, with our supplies.  Ines can get what she needs to treat the wounded, and we can get a meal.  We’ll rest for a few hours, then we push on ahead.  Only half of one floor left, then we’ve made it to Uldred.”

The group split in two, half guarding the barrier at the laboratory while the rest headed back to the sitting area where they’d encountered the sloth demon.  They took turns standing watch, so everyone had a chance to lie down for an hour or two.  Daylen thought he’d have trouble sleeping, but his sheer exhaustion was far stronger than his anxiety, and he was out like a light the moment he lay down.  The nap helped, even though it was short; better yet, there was a stock of lyrium in the laboratory.  Even after Hadley and Dekker took a dose, there were a handful of potions for the fight ahead.  Ines headed downstairs to treat the injured Templars, and Leorah joined them for the last push, taking Torrin’s place.

Hadley took the lead this time, with Daylen just behind.  They made their way down the hall largely unopposed; the abominations and undead seemed to have all made their way to the lower levels and been dealt with.  The next few minutes were spent carefully clearing rooms which were empty and quiet, until they heard noises coming out an open door up ahead: paper shuffling and objects falling on the floor.

Daylen froze.  “That’s Irving’s office; someone’s ransacking it!”

“Go!” Wynne cast her barrier further ahead, cutting off the hall just beyond the door.  Hadley and Daylen rushed down the corridor, bypassing another room which Dekker and Alistair entered behind them.  Daylen ran in and skidded to a stop.  The shelves which took up most of the back wall had been rifled, with books, scrolls, and other items scattered across the floor.  The heavy cabinet beside Irving’s desk was broken open and a middle-aged, bearded mage was searching it.  He heard the men enter and spun to face them.

“Enchanter Prist.”  Daylen frowned, holding his staff at the ready.

“Daylen… how are you here?”  Prist’s eyes flicked to Hadley.  “Of course you’re with the damned Templars… shouldn’t surprise me after you sold out Jowan.”

Hadley set his feet and angled his shield.  “Drop your staff and surrender, Prist.  This uprising has failed, and enough people have been killed as it is.”

The rebel let out a guffaw.  “You know nothing, Hadley.  Uldred is almost ready to mount his attack.  When he does, he’ll blast the sealed door and cut through Greagoir and his lackeys.  You haven’t even delayed us, let alone defeated us.”  He rolled his shoulders.  “The Chantry imprisons mages because they are afraid of us.  They’d have no reason to be afraid if they’d ever treated us decently, but they’ve made their choice.”  He eyed Daylen.  "You can still choose the right side, you know.  There aren’t enough Templars to hold us.  Teyrn Loghain is prepared to make Ferelden a place where mages can be free.”

“Teyrn Loghain is a traitor and liar, and you’re the fool if you trust him,” Daylen said.  “Uldred-”

Prist cut him off with a massive wintry blast.  Instead of Morrigan’s sharp icicles, his spell launched large, heavy chunks of ice, driven by a howling gale.  Daylen got a barrier up in time, but Hadley was battered backwards.  The pounding ice shattered the barrier and Daylen sent a stream of fire at the rebel enchanter, who raised a shield of his own.  Aedan and Leliana ran into the room; Aedan joined Daylen in facing down Prist while Leliana got Hadley back on his feet.

Alistair came through the door with Cera right behind; Aedan waved them off.  “We don’t need any more, there isn’t room.  Keep the corridor secure, make sure our friend doesn’t get any reinforcements.”

“Oh, I can provide my own reinforcements.”  Prist slashed his own arm with a dagger, then stamped his staff on the floor.  A strong wind rushed through the room, spinning dust, frost, and loose papers into a pair of miniature whirlwinds.  They dissipated to reveal tall, dark, twisted creatures, overlong arms ending in taloned fingers, trunk and legs merged together and shrouded in jet-black mist.

“Shades!” Daylen called.  He and Prist exchanged spells while Aedan and Hadley each took on a shade, and Leliana hung back, shooting whenever she saw an opening.

Aedan dodged a swipe, then slashed diagonally upward, leaving a gruesome but bloodless cut from waist to shoulder.  The shade reeled backwards, screeching, then its form seemed to flow as the wound healed itself.  Aedan swore.

“Your weapons will seem not to harm them, but keep up the attacks,” Daylen said, throwing a firebolt.  “Every time they re-form, they use more power.  Exhaust them, and they will disperse.”

Hadley nodded, slammed his shade with his shield, and lopped one of its arms off.  The limb took a few moments to regrow, but the creature kept swinging at him with the other one.  But with an arm missing, it couldn’t block on one side, and Hadley split it in half with a downwards chop.  While the creature pulled itself together, he ran to attack the one Aedan was fighting, slashing at it from behind.  The shade was caught completely by surprise and took a couple of nasty hits before it could react.  Aedan seized the moment and thrust his blade right into the foul thing’s eye, then ripped it out and hacked its head off.  Aedan and Hadley struck a few more times each, to make sure it would take some time to recover.  They then turned and went after the shade that Hadley had been fighting, which had just finished re-forming.  Aedan let Hadley take the enemy head-on with his heavier armor and shield; that left him free to circle around and attack the shade from behind.  They cut it to ribbons, but Leliana called a warning as the other shade got back up.  Aedan snarled; he and Hadley moved to deal with it.

Daylen raised another barrier against Prist’s ice.  The rogue Enchanter had to drop his barrier to cast an offensive spell… but so did Daylen, leaving them at an impasse.  Neither of them was strong enough to get spells through the other’s defense.  Daylen eyed his opponent while he considered his options.  I’ve got a deep mana pool now I’m a Warden; I could try to wait him out.  But I don’t know how much longer he can go, and I don’t want to have too little left for Uldred and whatever else is up in the Harrowing Chamber.  Also, he’s a blood mage, and if Jowan’s anything to go on, he might be able to blow right through my barrier if he tries hard enough, and we definitely don’t need him summoning any more shades.  I need to find a way to hit him without getting hit myself.  That ice knocked Hadley down, and he’s in full plate armor.  Wait.  Ice…

Daylen blinked, then gathered his mana for a powerful attack; his borrowed staff creaked and vibrated but held together.  He took aim and dropped his barrier.  Prist blasted several fist-sized chunks of ice at him.  Daylen answered with a massive blast of fire, right at the rebel mage.  The fireball dwindled as it vaporized the ice, but a small flame got through.  Prist howled and grabbed at the burn, and Daylen rushed him while he was distracted.  He swung two-handed and knocked Prist’s staff out of his hands; Leliana dashed in and kicked it across the room.  Prist tried to cast more frost, but without a staff he got a spray of light hail which forced Leliana to take cover behind Irving’s desk.  Daylen took aim with his staff, hesitated, then shifted to a wide grip and checked Prist backwards into the bookcases.  “Enough!  It’s over, you’ve lost.”

Prist growled.  Behind Daylen, one of the shades shrieked and dissipated; Hadley and Aedan moved to finish off the other.  Prist jumped at Daylen, grabbing for his staff, and both men fell to the floor with Prist on top.  Daylen was a dozen years younger, and fitter, and easily kept hold of the staff.  Prist drew his dagger; Daylen shouted in alarm and grabbed his wrist to keep from getting stabbed.  Prist gave up on the staff and put both hands on the dagger, trying to force the blade down into Daylen’s ribs.  Leliana had her bow drawn and aimed but couldn’t get a clean shot at Prist with Daylen so close.  Prist shifted his hands and sliced into Daylen’s arm.  Daylen yelped in pain, Prist gestured, and a second pair of shades began to form.  Daylen dropped his staff altogether and punched Prist in the face.  He rolled on top and twisted the dagger around, driving it into Prist’s upper chest.  Prist’s eyes popped wide and he tried to shove Daylen off.  He coughed and gurgled, spittle bubbling at the corners of his mouth.  He managed to pull the dagger out, and blood welled from the wound.  Prist growled, and the blood vanished as he charged up a potent spell.  He reached for the staff where Daylen had dropped it.  Daylen pushed with his legs, reared up, and stabbed the blood mage again, this time in the throat.  He held his full body weight over the blade.  The shades dissipated as Prist twitched and went still.

Daylen staggered to his feet, clutching his cut arm as he healed the wound.  “Maker’s breath, that was too close.”

He looked down at his shaking hands and swayed on his feet.  Aedan took a step, but Leliana was faster, sprinting to Daylen’s side as he bent over and threw up.  She held out her canteen so he could wash his mouth out.  “Are you all right?”

“Not really, but I’m not badly hurt.”  Daylen wiped his mouth, then looked down at Prist.  “I’ve just… never killed anyone before.  Undead, abominations, they aren’t people anymore.  This is different.”

“He wasn’t very broken up about killing us,” Hadley said firmly.  “We gave him two chances to surrender, and he didn’t back down.”

“But why was he desperate enough to revolt in the first place?” Aedan asked.

Leliana laid a hand on Daylen’s shoulder.  “The fact that it troubles you just shows you’re a good person, but you didn’t have a choice.”

Alistair came in the door with Morrigan following.  “Demons attacked while you were fighting in here.  They managed to break the barriers, but we pushed them back.  No wounded.”

Hadley nodded.  “Good.  Only a few more rooms on this floor.”

The group made fast progress around the tower halls, Wynne and Neria alternating barriers as they went.  The last room was defended by a rage demon and a trio of Templars, two of them undead and the other ensorcelled, as Ser Drass had been.  However, the rage demon was not as clever as Longing, and vulnerable to Morrigan’s ice.  Hadley opened the door and stopped short.  Glowing pink-orange barriers formed a cage at the base of the final staircase; there was a Templar inside, alive but on his knees, weeping.

“Cullen!”  Neria shrieked and ran towards the magical cell.  Wynne called a warning, too late.  Neria tried to dissolve the barrier, but a flare of energy singed her hand.  She hissed and rubbed at the burn.

Daylen approached more cautiously.  “Cullen, hold on, we’re going to get you out of there.”

“This trick again?  It won’t work.  I will stay strong.”  Cullen looked up slowly, head lolling.  He was covered in bruises; his eyes were unfocused and darted from side to side before landing on Daylen.  “Haven’t shown me him before.  Yes.  My best friend, dead and gone now, but maybe it’s for the best.  Even if we can’t stop you monsters, you’ll be slain by the darkspawn.  One evil destroys another, maybe that’s the Maker’s plan.”  He bared his teeth.  “So all you’ve done, all you put me through, none of it will matter.  Enough visions.  If any part of you is human, kill me and end this cruel game.”

“He thinks we’re illusions.”  Neria stepped as close as she could to the barrier.  “It’s not a trick, Cullen.  Daylen came back with the Wardens, we’re here to help.”

Cullen turned, saw Neria, and started backwards.  “No… You broke the others, but you will not break me!  Sifting through my thoughts, tempting me with the girl I wanted but could never have!”  Neria’s eyes went wide, and she put her hands to her mouth.  “Is that the offer, then?  I side with you, and get her?  Never.  I won’t betray my oaths, not for Neria, not for anything.  Especially not after seeing what you bastards will do given half a chance!”  He spun away, shaking his head violently; after a few breaths, he turned back.  “Still here?  But that’s always worked before.  They always go away when I close my eyes…”

Aedan approached the shield, careful not to touch it.  “Ser Cullen, do you recognize me?”

Cullen searched Aedan’s face, then shook his head.  “No, I’ve never seen you before.”

“That’s because we’ve never met,” Aedan said.  “I’m a Warden who Joined with Daylen.  I can’t be an illusion from the demons going through your memories… because I’m not in your memories.  Which proves we’re real.”

Cullen hesitated for a breath or two, then slumped.  “You’re real.  I’m sorry, but I haven’t been able to believe my own eyes for days.”  He looked around properly.  “Knight-Captain!  Thank the Maker you’re alive.”

Hadley nodded grimly.  “It was a close thing, let me tell you.  We wouldn’t have made it without Daylen’s new friends.  Let’s get you out of there.”

“There’s no time,” Cullen said.  “Uldred is maintaining this barrier, and it won’t break while he lives.  Even if you could free me, I’m in no shape to fight.  But I’m the lucky one.  Uldred has taken the mages up to the Harrowing Chamber.  The sounds coming from up there…” He shook his head.  “You have to get up there and destroy them, before Uldred can attack the Tower.”

Neria’s jaw dropped.  “You want us to kill the captives?  We’re fighting to save them!”

Cullen slammed his fists into the barrier, heedless of the burn.  “You can’t help them!  They’ve been up there with Uldred for all this time, they’re either dead or broken by now.  And even if they weren’t, you can’t tell which ones were working with him!  Kill them all, it’s the only way to be sure!”

“Cullen!”  Daylen was almost in shock.  “We’re better than that.”

Aedan put his hands on his hips.  “Aside from it being, you know, the right thing to do, we need the mages to have any chance of stopping the darkspawn.”

Hadley nodded agreement.  “We save everyone we can.”

Cullen threw up his hands.  “You’re making a bad mistake, but there’s nothing I can do about it.  I hope you come to your senses once you see what’s up there.”

“Don’t forget the Litany,” Wynne said.  “It will disrupt any attempts to control anyone he hasn’t already overpowered… including all of us.”

“Let’s get up there,” Aedan said firmly.  He gathered the group at the base of the stairs.  “We came this far, fought this hard, and now there’s only one fight left.  Take care of each other, and we will get through this.”

Daylen met his eyes.  “Do you have a plan?”

Aedan shrugged.  “Just the bare bones of one; we don’t know exactly what we’re up against up there.  So for starters, we separate into teams…”

The stairs to the Harrowing Chamber were wide enough for two men to walk abreast.  Hadley led the way with Dekker beside him.  Next came Aedan and Alistair, then Daylen and Leliana, with the others following after.  The scene that confronted them was sickening.  The Harrowing Chamber had been cleared, the large room now an open, empty hall.  At least three dozen mages, men and women, young and old, were sitting or lying on the floor, held in place by barrier domes so small they couldn’t even stand.  And at the far side of the room, a shimmering, irregular shape seemed to hang in the air, glowing a vivid violet-or was it green?

“A Fade portal,” Daylen said.

Aedan recognized Uldred from the war council at Ostagar.  He was standing by the portal, with several other mages flanking him.  At his feet, an elderly mage was writhing in pain, and behind him, abominations, undead, and demons stood ranged along the far wall.  Uldred saw them coming in, smiled, and gestured.  The man at his feet stilled, only the slightest rise and fall of his chest showing he was still alive.

“Ah, you’ve arrived,” Uldred said.  He sounded firmer, more confident, than the servile, ingratiating tone Aedan remembered from Ostagar.  “I must confess I’m somewhat miffed.  I thought Longing, Sloth, and Prist couldn’t all fail to stop you, or would at least wear you down more.”

“Happy to disappoint you,” Hadley retorted.

Daylen’s fists tightened on his staff.  “Why, Uldred?  Why would you do this?”

Uldred sneered.  “You really don’t know?  I suppose you deserve an answer; you’re a fellow mage after all.”  He crossed his arms.  “I’ve had enough.  Enough of having to bow and scrape to the Templars and the Chantry.  Enough of being caged like an animal.  And enough of having to pretend that these pathetic people are equal to us!  Look at the powers we wield, could it be any more clear mages were meant to rule?”

 “Isn’t Loghain one of those ‘pathetic’ folk?” Aedan folded his arms.  “You were happy to place mages under his command.”

Uldred snorted derisively.  “Oh, the Teyrn would welcome the opportunity to use mages to his own ends, just like the Chantry.  And just like the Chantry, he’s a fool.  The Orlesians will not invade while the Blight sweeps up from the south; they will come to help, as will all Thedas.  And the mages will do their part, healing the wounded and supporting the Wardens and soldiers on the front lines.”  He smiled.  “And when the darkspawn are defeated and the Archdemon is dead, the armies of Thedas will be exhausted from years of war, perhaps decades.  They will be unable to deny us our rightful place.”

“I am disappointed in you, Uldred.”  Wynne’s voice was icy.  “I knew you didn’t care to teach, and had little regard for politics.  But I didn’t realize you were a madman.”  She shook her head.  “With Thedas facing the worst crisis in centuries, your first thought was to use the emergency to seize power.  You and Loghain have more in common than you think.”

As Wynne spoke, Aedan felt strange.  His skin tingled, gooseflesh spreading over his arms and the back of his neck.  It felt like being out in the hills of the Coastlands when a storm was rolling in off the Waking Sea.  And then he looked closer at Wynne.  Loose strands of her silver hair stood straight up from her head.  Aedan got his eyes closed in time, but even with them squeezed shut, his vision flashed red from the titanic bolt of lightning Wynne threw.

And then the battle was on.

Chapter Text

Neria followed Daylen and Sister Leliana into the Harrowing Chamber, with the rest of the mages behind.  She barely even heard the confrontation between Uldred and her allies.  The last three days had been overwhelming, with seeing Cullen broken being the final straw.  It was all she could do to remember the Aedan’s instructions for the upcoming fight.  She took a deep breath and looked around, shuddering at the sight of the imprisoned mages.  The warriors separated; Aedan and Alistair went left while Hadley and Dekker took the right.  Sten stayed back, in reserve.  Behind him were Leliana and the mages.  Wynne and Morrigan were supporting the Templars, while Daylen, Leliana, and Neria backed up the Wardens.  Cera, Leorah and Eadric were all the way in the rear; Cera to recite the Litany, and Leorah and Eadric to take care of any wounded.

The start of the fight took her by surprise; Neria had been trying to watch Uldred, the other blood mages, and the demons and undead all at once.  She’d felt Wynne gathering magic, but didn’t know she was casting lightning, and the flash temporarily blinded her.  She blinked the spots away, then gasped and dropped flat as a firebolt roared past her head.  She raised a barrier and scrambled to her feet.

The two pairs of warriors were pushing forward, down either side of the Harrowing Chamber.  They were outnumbered, but the slow and clumsy undead were dropping like flies.  The bigger, tougher abominations and hunger demons were more of a problem, but Daylen and Morrigan were hitting them with spells when they could.  They couldn’t provide constant support because they also had to deal with Uldred’s blood mages.  There were at least half a dozen of them, and they were dividing their time between casting an ominous-looking spell on the portal, and flinging fire and lightning at absolutely everyone in the room.  Neria joined Wynne in casting barriers to stop the incoming spells.  Behind her, Cera stood in place, face drawn in concentration, lips moving almost soundlessly as she recited the Litany.  Every time she paused for breath, the swirling energies around the portal billowed and the portal itself spread; when she began speaking again, the portal shrank.  The more blood mages added their power to the spell, the faster it widened.  But that meant they weren’t supporting the abominations in holding off the warriors.  The battle tilted back and forth, with neither side gaining the upper hand; unstable, but still a stalemate.

It was Leliana who upset the balance.  As the battle raged around her, she stood still and quiet.  She didn’t draw attention, but she did draw her bow, then watched and waited for her moment.  It came in a minute or two, when a trio of abominations and several undead attacked Hadley and Dekker and pushed them back.  This opened a gap between them and the Wardens, who were now too far forward.  The abominations forced the Templars to stand and fight, while the undead moved to surround Aedan and Alistair.  Two of the blood mages charged spells and stepped up behind the abominations; when they did, they gave Leliana a clear shot.  Her first arrow hit one of the mages in the eye and he dropped like a puppet with cut strings.  The second mage shrieked and dove to the side; he lived, but Leliana’s second shot pierced completely through his left arm just above the elbow.  He howled in pain and clutched at the wound.  One blood mage dead, one wounded, and for the moment, out of the fight.  Daylen and Neria threw fire, burning five undead to ash in less than a minute.  Aedan pointed Daylen to help the Templars, but Morrigan was quicker, freezing two of the abominations solid.  Hadley and Dekker shattered them, then took on the third together.  They fought their way forward until they retook the ground they’d lost, then both pairs of warriors began advancing.  Hunger and rage demons tried to stop them, but Daylen, Neria, and Morrigan pounded them with spells.  Everyone kept forging ahead, nearly halfway across the room.

The injured blood mage grit his teeth and snapped the arrow in his arm, pulled the shaft out, and threw it aside.  He began to aim his staff, but Leliana shot him again, this time in the upper chest.  He staggered backwards, then fell to one knee.  He raised his head, face twisted with rage, teeth bared with a mouthful of blood.  He reached out towards the dead mage on the floor and the body dissolved into dark red mist which swirled around him like a tornado.  Leliana’s eyes widened and she hit him with a third arrow.  The mage fell over dead, but the spell didn’t stop.  A despair demon soared overhead, then dissolved into icy mist, which flowed into the scarlet vortex and into the dead man’s mouth.  Leliana called a warning as the possessed corpse rose into the air, its hands, limbs and torso lengthening until it was skeletally thin and nearly nine feet tall, grey skin stretched taut over shrunken flesh and teeth protruding from bloodless lips.  The arcane horror let out a sound somewhere between a hiss and a snarl and floated forward, raising its long, taloned hands.  Every undead that hadn’t been shattered or burnt to ash stood back up and attacked.

Aedan’s head snapped around, taking in the new situation.  He didn’t have much time to think.  “Sten!  Reinforce the center.”

Sten had anticipated Aedan’s order; he strode forward and immediately skewered one undead through the face with his pitchfork.  He pulled it out and immediately slew another one, but half a dozen more swarmed in at him.  The big Qunari drew his longsword with his off hand and slashed a third undead in half.  The horror loomed behind the swarm of undead; it and the blood mages unleashed a barrage of spells.

Daylen raised a barrier to protect Sten.  “Neria, keep supporting the other Wardens!”

He sent a stream of fire at the horror and the undead surrounding it; two undead fell and the horror recoiled.  Sten stepped up beside Daylen, cocked his arm, and threw the pitchfork like a javelin.  The horror dodged it easily… and it flew on to hit another blood mage in the chest, who never saw it coming with the horror in the way.  As the mage fell, the spell swirling around the portal slowed and the portal itself shrank slightly.  The horror raised a wall of ice to cut Sten off from the others, then dove at him, slashing with its claws.  Sten sidestepped the first attack, grabbed the horror’s wrist, pulled its arm down, and hacked once, twice, three times with his longsword.  The horror’s head came apart, and its body fell to the floor, unmoving, along with all the undead it had raised.  Alistair let out a whoop and lunged forward.  He slammed his shield into an abomination and drove it back.  A hunger demon moved to flank him from the left while his shield was occupied.  Aedan was out of position to help, but Sten staggered the demon with a pommel strike.  Alistair stabbed the abomination in front of him and lashed out with his shield, knocking the demon flat; Sten finished it off and moved on.  Aedan gestured to Sten to stay with them and the three advanced shoulder to shoulder.

Across the room, Dekker dropped a smite on three demons which had made the mistake of standing too close together.  They were left reeling and unable to cast spells, and the Templars quickly finished them off.  There were three blood mages left, one on the Tempars’ side and two facing the Wardens; they all cut their arms and cast a potent spell.  Shades and rage demons began emerging through the portal, more than a dozen of them.  Wynne downed a lyrium potion and raised a huge barrier which split the Harrowing Chamber in two.  Most of the newly summoned creatures were stuck on the far side, and the blood mages were trapped with their backs to the shield.

“I cannot hold a barrier this large for long,” Wynne called.  “Work quickly!”

Alistair grinned and launched himself at a pair of shades; he kept them busy while Aedan and Sten ran past and went after the blood mages.  One started throwing fire to protect himself, but Neria raised a barrier to block it.  Sten sliced down at one of the mages, then staggered to a stop.  The veins in his head and neck bulged and throbbed and the big man shouted in pain, then fell over backwards.  Aedan saw the Qunari go down, called for help, and kept after his opponent.  The blood mage, low on mana, was forced to take him on in melee instead of casting a shield.  He deflected Aedan’s strike with a blade-tipped staff, feinted a cut to the face, then snapped the other end around to club him in the ribs.  Aedan kept his feet, but stumbled backwards, and the mage thrust again before Aedan could parry.  His armor saved his life, but the blade still pierced Aedan’s mail and the padding underneath, going perhaps an inch into his belly.  Aedan growled in pain, grabbed the staff with his off hand, and stabbed the mage in the throat.  The blood mage fell, mortally wounded.  Aedan sank carefully to the floor; the staff was still stuck in his stomach and he couldn’t risk trying to pull it out.  The second mage gathered electricity to finish him off, but Daylen singed her with a firebolt to the shoulder.  She spun and took him on, sending a barrage of ball lightning at him.  Daylen stopped the spell with a barrier, then replied with a stream of fire.  He strode forward, driving her away from the injured men, Alistair moving to join him.  Behind them, Leorah, Eadric, and Leliana ran in to help, and Neria cast a barrier for cover.

Aedan lay on his side, breathing shallowly and keeping as still as he could.  Eadric held the staff steady while Leorah examined the wound.  He winced as she tried to free the staff.

She tutted.  “The blade isn’t barbed, but it’s snagged on the mail and fabric.  No way to get it out without twisting it in your gut.  I need shears, tongs maybe… We need to get you to the Tranquil workshops.”

“No time for that,” Aedan said.  “You’ll never get me down all those stairs without hitting the staff on something.  And Sten needs help too.”  He pulled his dagger from its sheath at the small of his back, then looked up at Leorah.  “You’re going to have to jerk it out, hard, then staunch the bleeding.”

Leliana’s eyes widened, but Leorah nodded grimly.  Aedan put the dagger in his mouth, biting down on the leather-wrapped grip.  Eadric took a firm hold on the staff shaft, and Leliana drew her knife, pulling a tiny pair of pliers from the tool kit in the handle.  Leorah counted three, and Eadric hauled on the staff.  Leliana cut away the gambeson, then prised open the jammed rings of his mail.  The staff popped free and Leorah pressed a cloth to the wound, her hands glowing with healing energy.  Aedan groaned and clenched his fists, sweat running down his brow.  A minute passed, then another, and he started to relax.

Leorah glanced up at Eadric.  “He’ll be all right, but he needs more healing.  I need you to finish here, so I can start working on the Qunari.”

Aedan sat up gingerly, breathing deeper as the pain faded.  The tide had clearly turned; Daylen and Alistair had finished off their mage and Daylen was giving Alistar some healing.  Morrigan froze three rage demons for Dekker and Hadley to shatter, then they moved in and slew the last blood mage.  With the summoners all dead, the demons on the far side of Wynne’s barrier shrieked and dissolved, their essence pulled back through the Fade portal, which shrank to nothingness.

Uldred stood alone at the far end of the room.

With Aedan still down, the warriors hesitated.  Wynne leveled her staff.  “All this death, this pain, these lives destroyed… for nothing.”

“You think you’ve beaten me?” Uldred asked haughtily.  “You senile, boot-licking fool.  I won two days ago.”  He gestured to the people imprisoned all around the room.  “It is only a matter of time.  Once Greagoir begins the Annulment, the mages will have no choice but to join me.”

A firebolt hit him in the shoulder.  Neria strode forward, throwing spells as fast as she could.  “You think we’ll join you, after what you did to us?  We’re going to burn you to ash, and then if Greagoir doesn’t keep his promise, we’ll deal with the Templars too.”  She blinked, then glanced over at Hadley.  “No offense.”

Hadley chuckled dryly.  “None taken.”

He moved in, with Alistair and Dekker following.  Uldred raised a barrier against Neria’s attacks, then threw three firebolts at once; she dodged away from one, but into the path of the second.  The impact knocked her down and she yelped in pain.  Daylen stepped between her and Uldred and blasted a fireball towards him.  Uldred blew the flame out with a rush of ice and snow, then forced Daylen to cast a barrier himself or be frozen solid.  The warriors advanced, shoulder to shoulder.  Uldred smiled arrogantly and brandished his staff, showing a dagger blade on one end and a flanged mace around the crystal head.  He cast a spell which Daylen and Neria had never seen, surrounding himself in a pale white glow.  Hadley brought down a smite… and missed completely.  Uldred moved faster than any man should be able to, blurring toward the Templars.  Dekker was caught by surprise and took a solid blow to the right knee.  As he fell, Hadley flinched and instinctively started to angle his shield.  He was too slow, but the flinch meant that Uldred’s staff blade glanced off his helmet instead of piercing the eye slit.  Alistair kept his shield in front of him and sliced high, but Uldred dodged and he only cut air.  Dekker had gotten back to his feet and attacked again.  Uldred parried him, then caught him in a bubble-shaped barrier that collapsed inward rapidly.  Dekker was forced into a fetal position, using all his strength to keep from being crushed.  Hadley and Alistair tried to catch Uldred in a pincer, slashing at him from opposite sides.  Uldred launched a massive fireball which knocked both men off their feet.  Daylen dashed in, dropping his staff and grabbing up Dekker’s sword as he ran by.  Uldred released Dekker; he fell to the floor, hurt badly but breathing.  He turned to face Daylen and threw a firebolt.  Daylen shielded himself and answered with flames of his own.  Uldred dodged them, and Daylen’s stab, but then Neria’s shock sent him stumbling.

“Not faster than lightning, are you, bastard?”  Neria smiled insolently.

Uldred rushed at her… and crashed face-first into the barrier she cast.  Neria pointed the healers to help the injured, then set her feet and charged another spell.  Wynne, Leorah, and Eadric began pulling the wounded warriors to safety while Morrigan stood guard.  Uldred snarled and wiped at a bloody nose, then launched a fireball.  Neria cast her shield, but he wasn’t aiming at her, but the floor off to the side.  The blast tossed her into the air; she landed hard and tumbled across the stone floor.  Daylen swore and threw a quick firebolt at Uldred, just to keep him from attacking Neria while she was down.  Uldred sidestepped, but his magically-enhanced speed had worn off, and the bolt hit him in the side.

Uldred hissed in pain and enchanted himself again, then grinned cruelly at Daylen.  “I remember you as a fairly bright mage, Daylen… but you can’t cast lightning at all, can you?”

He sped in at Daylen, leading with his staff blade.  Daylen managed to parry the lunge, but when he countered, Uldred was already out of reach.  Hadley ran up beside him, and Alistair followed, visibly limping.  Uldred didn’t wait to get surrounded; he dashed to the side and bounced off another barrier.

“Let’s see you dodge around now,” Neria smirked.

She’d enclosed them all in a dome-shaped shield, giving Uldred little room to maneuver.  Hadley shot her a grin, then moved in on Uldred.  The maleficar rolled his eyes and slammed the butt of his staff on the ground, releasing a wave of force which threw everyone into the dome.  They rebounded, hit the floor, and Uldred threw lightning which hit Alistair, then jumped to the others.  Alistair and Daylen fell, twitching.  Hadley’s heavier armor protected him just enough to keep his feet, but he was left shuddering and shaking.  Even without enhanced speed, Uldred was able to land several heavy blows with his staff and send the Knight-Captain to the ground.  He turned and stalked toward Neria, swatting aside her firebolts.

“Foolish little brat!”  Neria swung her staff at him and Uldred blocked with his own.  “You’re barely Harrowed and you think you’re a match for me?”  He knocked her staff aside and backhanded her across the face, knocking her down.  Her barrier winked out.

Uldred raised his staff, then his eyes went wide and he cast a shield of his own a split second before a blast of lightning and ice hit him.  Wynne and Morrigan stood shoulder to shoulder, hurling spells one after another.  The barrage was so intense that Uldred was driven back, towards the far end of the Harrowing Chamber.  Alistair limped back towards the healers while Hadley followed, carrying Dekker across his shoulders.

Daylen knelt to check on Neria, downing a lyrium potion.  “Are you all right?”

Neria flexed her limbs, rubbed her bruised jaw, and nodded.  “I can fight.”  She looked past Daylen to the furious exchange of spells between Uldred, Morrigan, and Wynne, then turned back to him with a bemused smile.  “I need a lot more training.”

Uldred swung his staff in an arc, creating a wall of fire that raced across the room like an ocean wave.  Wynne once again raised a barrier the entire width of the Harrowing Chamber.  The huge flame front roared into the shield and splashed upward almost to the ceiling.  The massive blast was too much, and the barrier collapsed; Wynne stood glaring at Uldred, swaying and leaning heavily on her staff.

He smiled smugly.  “You’ve spent too much time knitting, Wynne.  You’ve let your powers fade, and you can’t beat me.”  His smile vanished.  “Wait.  Where is-”

The black mouse to his right grew into Morrigan; the witch blasted him with ice from close range.  Uldred staggered backwards, shielding his face with one hand.  He answered with fire, and their spells negated each other in a cloud of steam.  Both mages eyed each other and hesitated; Morrigan reached for a lyrium potion.  Uldred rushed her before she could drink it, thrusting with his staff blade… and Morrigan shifted into a bear.  She broke his staff with one swipe from her paw, then knocked Uldred flying into the wall.  He fell to the floor as Morrigan’s mana ran out and she shifted back into human form.

“Do you think you’ve won?”  Uldred pulled himself up on the wall, bleeding from the chest where Morrigan had clawed him.

“No one’s won here,” Hadley replied, stepping up alongside Wynne.  “You’ve lost now… We lost when we failed to stop you killing a lot of good people for nothing.”

Uldred threw his head back and laughed.  “You say I’ve killed many?  Every mage you Templars murdered in their Harrowing was for nothing.”  He stared Hadley down.  “The signs you've been taught to watch for are peasant superstitions and old wives’ tales.  A mage who resists a demon is transformed into an obvious abomination.  The ones you chose to kill weren’t possessed; they just needed a little longer to finish.  One who willingly accepts possession gets through the Harrowing quickly, and shows no sign at all…” He smiled again, and when he spoke his voice was wrong.  “…just as you never noticed the demon who chose to join me.”

He began to swell and distort in front of them.  Daylen threw a fireball, but a barrier snapped into place before the spell could hit.  Uldred’s eyes started to glow, more eyes appeared on his forehead, and twisted horns sprouted from the back of his skull.  His skin turned from pale to a sickly greyish purple, and reshaped into armored plates and spikes as he grew larger and taller.  His fingers lengthened, nails stretching into claws.  He laughed again, sounding like rocks grinding against each other.

Wynne put her hands to her mouth.  “Pride demon.”

“Get behind me!” Hadley barked.

Morrigan, Wynne, and Daylen all downed lyrium potions and took positions behind Hadley; after a moment, Neria joined them.  The barrier dropped, and the massive demon stomped towards them.  Hadley immediately hit it with a smite.  The blast made Uldred sway on his feet, but that was all.  He responded with a volley of firebolts.  Neria cast a shield in front of them.  It stood sturdy against the flames, but the demon shattered it with one powerful punch.  Hadley moved in as the mages blasted away with every kind of magic.  Uldred took a swing at him with a huge, clawed hand.  The Templar ducked low and took the hit on his shield.  He got in a blow of his own, but his longsword only managed a flesh wound.  Uldred kicked Hadley in the breastplate, sending him flying backwards.  Daylen moved to stand between the demon and the others, spraying Uldred with fire.  The monster laughed and lashed out with what looked like a whip made of lightning.  It wrapped around Morrigan and yanked her off her feet.  She transformed into a raven to escape and flew at Uldred’s face, slashing with her talons.  He roared and tried to swat her, but she wheeled and sped away.  Daylen took advantage of the distraction to hit the demon right in the mouth with a fireball.  It reeled backward, then bellowed and charged at him.  Daylen was bracing himself when Aedan ran past him and attacked.  He dropped low and rolled between Uldred’s legs, slashing one of his ankles as he went by.  Hadley waded back into the fight, and managed to get past the demon’s left arm and thrust for its ribs.  The blade went deep, drawing a howl of pain and a spray of purple-black blood.  The pride demon slammed downward with a fist; this time Hadley was able to dive out of the way, but he had to leave his longsword stuck in the demon’s side.

Daylen called to Hadley and tossed him the sword he’d borrowed from Dekker.  He chanced a quick look around.  Aedan and Hadley were circling Uldred, attacking when they could.  Morrigan was back in human form, spraying more ice at the demon’s head and shoulders.  Wynne was doing the same with fire, and Neria was casting barriers whenever Uldred threw spells at someone.  Behind them, Cera was still standing by the stairs, constantly reciting the Litany of Adralla.  Leorah and Eldric were still tending to Dekker and Sten, who were lying on the floor, semiconscious.  Leliana and Alistair had positioned themselves to guard the wounded, but Alistair was still favoring one leg and Leliana had perhaps half a dozen arrows left.

Daylen watched another firebolt hit Uldred right in the chest, to no visible effect.  “Magic isn’t getting through that hide.  Try spells with a physical impact!  Ice blasts seem to work, anything else?”

Uldred kicked at Aedan, but he dodged out of the way.  He tried to lunge in with his sword, but had to hop back to avoid a swipe from the demon’s claws.  This gave Hadley an opening, and he drove his sword into Uldred’s lower back.  The Templar slung his shield, grabbed the still-stuck longsword with his off hand, and held on as the demon roared and tried to shake him loose.  He braced his feet against Uldred’s side and pushed off, pulling both blades out.  Hadley backflipped and landed with a sword in each hand, then tossed the smaller one back to Daylen.  Uldred spun to swing at him, Leliana loosed an arrow which struck the demon right in one of its glowing eyes.  Aedan let out a whoop as Uldred howled and grabbed at his face.  The demon bellowed and stomped the ground, sending out a wave of what looked like violet fire in all directions.  Daylen got a shield up, but Hadley and Aedan were thrown off their feet.  Uldred snarled, blasted snow and ice ahead of him, and charged across the room.  Morrigan and Wynne were caught flat-footed as the massive pride demon went between them.  Leliana loosed an arrow that missed, then dove out of the way.  Alistair had no hope of stopping anything that size, but he braced himself; Uldred swept him aside with a backhand.  Leorah raised a barrier, but Uldred smashed through it without stopping.  The demon snatched her up in one huge fist, then threw her towards Cera.  The elven mage was knocked to the floor, and the Litany of Adralla rolled out of her hand.

The demon laughed like rocks rolling downhill and extended a claw.  Another Veil tear appeared in the center of the room, and shades began coming through one after another.  Aedan swore as they spread out and attacked, forcing the warriors to take them on, along with Daylen and Neria.  Leorah got to her feet, bleeding from a cut on the head, and began casting lightning at Uldred.  He snared her with a lightning whip and hurled her into the wall.  Leorah’s head struck the stone with an awful crack and she fell to the ground, limp as a rag doll.  Cera, Wynne, and Morrigan all pounded Uldred with ice, and Eadric dashed to grab the Litany and began reading it aloud.  The shades shrieked as the Veil tear closed up; Aedan, Daylen, and the others took full advantage of the disruption to go on the offensive.  Uldred raised his arms and brought down a massive energy barrage, then spun and lashed out with lightning from both hands.  Wynne managed to shield herself and Morrigan escaped as a mouse, but Uldred hit Eadric and Cera hard enough to knock them down.  Eadric saw Uldred bearing down on him, looked around frantically, and threw the Litany a moment before the demon crushed him.

Wynne cried out as Uldred tossed the apprentice’s body aside.  He began to open another Veil tear… and she raised a barrier right through his arm, severing it cleanly just above the wrist.  The demon’s scream of pain shook the entire room.  Hadley put everything he had into another smite and Uldred staggered away, into the center of the chamber.  Aedan dashed behind Uldred and stabbed deep into the back of his knee.  The demon went over backwards, hitting the floor with a boom.  Daylen ran in and leapt onto the huge beast, pulling himself up like Alistair had the ogre.  He raised his borrowed sword, then drove it through Uldred’s eye to the hilt.  The pride demon shrieked, spasmed, and went still.

“We get him?”  Aedan crawled out from beneath Uldred’s body, sword at the ready.

Daylen slid off of the dead demon, braced his hands on his knees, and caught his breath.  “We did it.”

“Maker, I’m getting too old for this.”  Irving stood up from where Uldred’s magic had held him trapped.  Around the room, the other imprisoned mages were getting up as well.

Hadley walked up to the First Enchanter.  “Are you all right, sir?”

Irving laughed drily.  “I’ve been better.  But I am thankful to be alive.”  He turned to Wynne.  “How fares the Circle?”

“Many have died,” Wynne said softly.  “But many live, thanks to our new friends.”

“And old ones, I see,” Irving said, smiling at Daylen.  “Welcome home, Warden Amell.  Are these others members of your Order?”

Aedan shrugged.  “Some of us, at least.  But we can handle introductions on the way down.  Get everyone checked and the wounded taken care of.”

Leliana smiled.  “And let’s let the rest of the Tower know that it’s over.”  She walked to the wall, where a lever connected to a cable running into the floor.  She pulled the handle, and far below, the bell began to ring.

Chapter Text

The walk down the Circle Tower felt surreal to Daylen.  It had taken two days to fight their way up to the Harrowing Chamber, but returning to the second floor took two minutes.  In a story, there’d be cheering, he thought.  But the mages were too exhausted, too emotionally drained.  A few people cried, but most were just quiet.  They gathered in the dining hall; now that there was no need to ration, the Tranquil began preparing a hearty meal.  Daylen, Aedan, and the others from the rescue party made their way to the door to the first floor.  Aedan raised a fist and pounded on the doors.  They could hear the bolts being pulled, and in a moment, the doors swung open to reveal the Knight-Commander, flanked by a pair of Templars.

“We heard the bell.  Is it over?” Greagoir asked.

“It is,” Irving said.  “The blood mages have been defeated, and the Veil restored.”

Hadley stepped up alongside him, waving to the Templars outside.  “We’ve got wounded upstairs.  They need help getting to the clinic.”

The Templars all visibly relaxed; they sheathed their weapons and got moving.  Cera led them off to Ines’ field hospital, carrying folding stretchers and other equipment.  Greagoir listened quietly as Hadley, Wynne, and Aedan recounted the events of the last few days.  When they told him Uldred had been leading the blood mage coven, he was shocked into silence.

“And he wasn’t possessed?” Greagoir asked.

Daylen shrugged.  “Yes and no.  Greagoir hadn’t been taken over by a demon… he was in willing partnership with one.  According to him, ever since his Harrowing.”

“Meaning there was a demon among us for more than twenty years, and we never even suspected,” Hadley said.

Greagoir shook his head.  “It cannot have been Uldred.”

“And why is that?”  Aedan asked harshly.  “Let me guess… Uldred was your informant, he tipped you off about Jowan?”

Irving put his hands on his hips.  “The leader of the Libertarians.  You would believe that any rebellious mage would confide in him… if you knew nothing besides fraternity affiliation.  None of the young mages liked Uldred; he was a strict and cold teacher and wouldn’t be anyone’s choice for a sympathetic ear.”

Aedan crossed his arms.  “You made a novice mistake, Knight-Commander.  You accepted information from a single source as true, with no corroboration.  Uldred could grow his coven in secret, and if anyone learned what he was doing, all he had to do was whisper in your ear, and you’d make them Tranquil or ship them off to Aeonar.”

Hadley nodded.  “He could even murder them himself, knowing you’d accept whatever story he made up.”

Greagoir was visibly shaken.  “I never even considered that Uldred was lying to me.”  He took a deep breath, then let it out.  “I can only thank the Maker that Circle didn’t fall because of it.”

“The Maker had nothing to do with it,” Aedan snapped.  “The people you trapped saved themselves.”

Irving raised his eyebrows.  “I think, perhaps, you don’t give yourself enough credit, Ser Warden.”

Aedan shook his head.  “I brought a handful of people, and any trained military officer could have come up with the tactics I used.  Wynne, Hadley, and their people acted swiftly and decisively from the first alarm; if they hadn’t, everyone would have been dead before we arrived.”

“But we could have done more,” Hadley said angrily.  “If there is a serious fire in the Tower, we have a plan for that, we run a drill every three months.  If there’s an outbreak of fever, or miasma, or pox, we have a plan for that, there’s a file in my desk.  We even have a plan if the weather turns foul or the lake freezes and cuts off our supply boats.  But for a tear in the Veil-something reasonably likely in a Circle-we didn’t have a plan in place.  Well, not besides locking the mages in and Annulling the Circle.”  He gestured to the massive doors which had sealed the Tower.  “We could have had barriers like that at the top and bottom of every stair.  The alarm rings, and they’re all closed-and whatever the problem is, it’s confined to only one floor.”

Aedan nodded vigorously.  “That’s a core principle of defending a building or fortification, you break it up into many secure spaces.  Force the enemy to break through the defenses one by one, and buy time for the defenders to get organized, or for help to arrive.”

“Which is what we ended up doing,” Hadley said.  “A dozen of my Templars held out that first night with only healing help from one mage child.”  He glanced over at Irving.  “Apprentice Blaine has passed his Harrowing, by the way.”  He clasped his hands.  “We need to learn from this.  If we had properly prepared, we could have stopped all this far earlier, and with far less loss of life.”

Everyone turned at a commotion behind them as the wounded were brought out.  Those who could walk led the way while Templars carried the rest on stretchers.  The last one down the stairs was Cullen; Templars were holding him still as he struggled and ranted.  “You don’t understand!  You can’t trust these mages.  Uldred had them alone for days, we don’t know how many of them have demons hiding inside.  Any of them could be secret blood mages themselves.”  He got one arm free, reached out, and grabbed Greagoir’s sleeve.  “You have to put them all down.”

“Are you mad?” Irving spluttered.  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Of course he would say that, he could be a blood mage himself!”  Cullen’s wild eyes bored into the Knight-Commander’s face.  “You saw what Jowan could do, and Uldred made him look like a boy apprentice.  You can’t take the risk, you know that.”

Greagoir visibly hesitated, looking towards the injured mages being helped down the stairs.  Daylen cleared his throat.  “I’m convinced that there are no blood mages left, and so is Miss Morrigan… and we were never under Uldred’s influence.”

“I…” The Knight-Commander looked from Cullen’s face to Daylen’s, and Hadley’s.  “I am satisfied that this emergency has been dealt with.”  Cullen began to object and Greagoir laid a hand on his shoulder.  “You’ve been through a lot, son.  You need to rest.”

Cullen drooped and allowed himself to be led away.  Greagoir took a deep breath, then turned to the First Enchanter.  “Irving, it is good to have you back.”

“I’m sure we’ll be at each other’s throats again in no time,” Irving chuckled wryly.  He glanced over at Aedan.  “And now that the Circle is no longer in crisis, we can provide you help against the Blight.  What do you need?”

“My party needs supplies, equipment, and transportation,” Aedan replied.  “On a larger scale, the mages need to prepare for war.”

Irving nodded.  “Uldred’s attack has made the situation considerably more difficult.  Nearly fifty Enchanters died in the fighting, and Wynne is the only surviving Senior Enchanter.”  He spread his hands.  “I can spare five dozen mages right away… but most of those will be healers, not fighting mages.”

Aedan shook his head.  “That will do for now, but you must understand we will need more than that.  I know it’s hard to hear, but the Circle itself needs to move to a war footing.  This is not going to be over quickly; the shortest of the Blights lasted twelve years.”  He met Irving’s eyes.  “You need to start training the apprentices for battle, so they’re ready when they come of age.  Any mages who don’t know either some form of combat magic or healing need to begin studying now.  I know how protective the Circle is of its members, but this is a matter of life and death for the entire world.”

“We wouldn’t ask for apprentices to be attached to fighting forces, but perhaps some of the older apprentices could be sent to healing centers safely behind the lines,” Daylen said.  “Hadley can tell you how much of an asset Blaine’s magic was.  There will be many wounded; the more and the quicker they can be returned to fighting shape, the better our chances will be.”

“That makes sense,” Irving said.  “I will have the teaching staff evaluate the apprentices and see which ones are ready for upper-level studies.  Those who were approaching their Harrowing, I imagine, might be a possibility.”

“Thank you,” Aedan said.  He glanced at Greagoir.  “Knight-Commander, while the Grey Wardens don’t have a treaty with the Order, I could certainly use any Templars you can send to help.”

Bran stepped up, head still bandaged.  “Count me in.”

“Me too,” Sherman said, coming down the stairs with his arm in a sling.  “Soon as we’ve recovered.”

Greagoir rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head.  “I will help as much as I can, but without a treaty, I am bound by the Nevarran Accord.  I cannot place my Templars under anyone else’s command, nor order them on any mission other than securing Circles or Chantries.”

“Now, hold on a minute,” Hadley said.  “We’re sending mages out to set up healing centers, and to fight on the front lines.  Templars have to go with them, to make sure they don’t run off.  We can’t allow apostates to roam free, after all.”  He grinned slyly.  “And if those Templars should happen to see people in danger, it’s our duty to help them, as knights of the Maker.”

“I suppose that’s true.”  Greagoir smiled faintly.  “There are some other things I can do to support you.  Every Chantry has a dormitory for its Templars, and those traveling on Chantry business.  I can make those facilities available to you; they should be easy to convert into clinics.  Additionally, the Circle has a large smithy operated by the Tranquil, which produces and maintains all the equipment for every Templar in Ferelden.  If you can arrange to supply us with the appropriate materials, they can start producing weapons and armor for the soldiers you raise.  It won’t be as good as Templar armor, but you’ll need to equip a lot of people.”

Daylen frowned.  “I understand the situation is dire, but you will not mistreat the Tranquil.  They need time to eat and rest, and you will give them that time.”

“Actually…” Aedan scratched his beard.  “There will be plenty of smiths among the refugees.  If we can get some of them here, they could take shifts with the Tranquil.  The forge runs around the clock, and the workers have time to rest.”

Greagoir nodded.  “That is something I can agree to; however, I cannot accommodate civilians within the Tower.  For now, they’ll have to live in Wutherford and take the boat back and forth, until we can construct sleeping quarters on the island.”

“Speaking of boats,” Alistair interjected.  “We need to get to Redcliffe.  I don’t think the ferry we took can reach that far.  Do you know where we can hire something larger?”

“Our supply boat will do,” Greagoir replied.  “We have an arrangement with a local captain to bring in supplies and take the goods we produce to market.  I’ll have a signal sent, and it will take him a day or two to arrive.”

Aedan took a deep breath, then let it out.  “Excellent.  Thank you for your help.”

The first thing they did was eat.  More than eat, sit down and have a meal that was not rushed or rationed or scraped together from what they could find.  There was plenty of time, and plenty of food, even for Wardens.  All around them the mages were talking, some excited, some fearful.  After eating, everyone went to bed early and slept long, catching up on some of the rest they’d missed.  Aedan woke the next morning to find a familiar weight pinning him to an unfamiliar bed.  He grunted, shoved Drake off, and got up.  The kitchens had sent up hot water, so Aedan had his first proper bath since his last morning in Highever.  He shaved his beard to a neat goatee, tied his hair back with a strip of leather, and headed downstairs.  Daylen and some of the others were already eating at one of the long tables; Aedan sat down next to Leliana and piled his plate with bread, cheese, and fresh fruit.

Alistair handed him a mug of tea.  “Good morning!  Do you have a plan for today?”

“I plan to get some rest,” Aedan replied.  “We’ve been traveling or fighting every day for more than a week; it’s good to have a moment to catch our breath.”

Morrigan sat down across from him, sighing contentedly.  “I may have to reconsider my views on ‘civilization.’  I have never had a bath like that before.”

Leliana giggled.  “Once we’ve stopped the Blight, I’ll take you to a real Orlesian spa.  They’re more relaxing than you can imagine!”

“There is that small bit of business to attend to first.”  Alistair quipped.  “Greagoir asked us to meet him in the Tranquil workshops after breakfast but said there was no rush.”

Aedan decided it was still best not to keep the Knight-Commander waiting too long.  Twenty minutes later, Daylen led the group upstairs.  Greagoir was waiting, along with a muscular woman in her fifties, the Tranquil brand prominent on her forehead.  “Good morning, Wardens.  This is Molly Hesslan, our master armorer.  I’ve explained to her that you’re a little short on equipment.”

Molly took a step forward.  “Ordinarily, Templar armor is bespoke made and carefully fitted to each wearer, but that process can take up to six months.  We have several sets of armor from Templars who fell in the fighting, as well as less sophisticated armor used by oblates in training; it is my hope to alter or adjust them for your use.  I need to take your measurements, and I need to know what type of armor you are used to using.”

“We’re very grateful for your help,” Aedan said.  “Given the limited time, our most critical need is gear for Sten.  Most of us already have some armor, but not only does he have none, he only has one set of clothes.  And there’s nowhere we can buy or borrow stuff which will fit him-he’s too big.”

“The beresaad are used to enduring hardships in the field,” Sten said.  “I can manage with what I have, and time is short.”

“I anticipated that,” Molly said evenly.  “Ser Aedan and Sister Leliana each have mail shirts.  I intend to break some rings and separate them into strips or rectangular panels of mail, then reassemble them into a single, larger hauberk.  But that means you will need replacement armor, hence resizing other equipment.”

“Oh, that’s clever,” Daylen said.  “Even so, I’m comfortable with my gambeson, for now.  It’s already heavier than what I’m used to, and I’m not in as much close fighting as some of the others.”

Alistair brightened.  “Before Duncan recruited me to the Wardens, I was a Templar oblate.  I’ve used the standard heavy plate before.”

“I prefer something that balances protection and mobility,” Aedan said.  “My personal armor was brigandine, but I’m comfortable in mail or scale, as well.”

Leliana grinned sheepishly and shrugged.  “I hadn’t ever used soldiers’ armor before the last week.  All I wore as a thief was some padding hidden under my clothes.  That most certainly would not be enough now… but I’d still prefer lighter armor because I need to move.”

Molly nodded.  “I believe we can manage that.  And once I have Messere Sten’s measurements, I will pass them on to our weavers and clothiers.  Garments are far easier to make than armor; I believe they can create a few simple garments before you leave.”

Aedan and his group spent the next few hours being expertly measured by Molly and her apprentices, then broke for lunch.  Afterwards, the Wardens met with Greagoir, Irving, Molly, Ines, and Owain to discuss the Circle’s production facilities.  The smithy would be the easiest; supplying other necessities would be more complicated.  The alchemy lab couldn’t produce potions and poultices on a larger scale without the right ingredients.  The basic stuff like elfroot, spindleweed, or arbor blessing were common garden herbs, and grew wild in the countryside.  Unfortunately, several of the more potent reagents required a warmer climate than could be found in Ferelden and needed skilled tending outside their natural habitat.  It was quickly agreed that in addition to living quarters for the smiths, they’d also build several new greenhouses; Ines would train civilian market gardeners to assist the mages and Tranquil.  There would have to be more work done to arrange for raw materials to be delivered and finished supplies to be shipped out, but with nearly every boat still evacuating refugees, that would have to wait.  And hanging over all of their war plans was Loghain and Howe’s treachery.

Aedan folded his arms.  “Once we reach Redcliffe, we should be able to get a proper handle on the situation.  Arl Eamon can do much more than I can politically.  Hopefully he can either talk Loghain down, or appeal to the Queen.”

“Well, whatever the plan turns out to be, the Circle will stand ready to support you,” Irving said.

Greagoir nodded.  “We will indeed.”  He took a breath.  “Senior Enchanter Wynne has asked to accompany you on your travels.  After some consideration, Irving and I have decided to allow it.  You need a proper healer, after all.”

Daylen smiled.  “That is excellent.”

They ate dinner, then got another good night’s sleep, waking to feel fully refreshed for the first time since Ostagar.  At breakfast, Wynne joined them and informed them that the boat had been sighted and would be arriving in the afternoon.  They got to work packing supplies, but the Circle didn’t have the sort of rucksacks Aedan was used to, and they had to make do with small satchels.  Aedan held out hope that Redcliffe would be able to provide them with horses, maybe even a coach.  They stopped to eat, then there was little but relax and wait for the ship to arrive.  An hour or two later, a Tranquil smith called them upstairs to try on their new gear.  Molly handed out bundles to the four who were getting new armor, and they stepped into adjacent rooms to get dressed.  Daylen, Wynne, and Morrigan waited in the workshop for them to come back.

Aedan was the first to come in.  The Tranquil had given him a set of splinted mail, like Alistair had worn at Ostagar.  The chainmail was reinforced with a layer of small steel plates covering the torso, along with mail chausses to protect his legs.  He’d declined the offer of a Templar great helm, preferring an oblate’s sallet which would let him see better.  Likewise, Templar shields were too big and heavy for his fighting style, so Aedan chose to press on with his buckler and get a new shield from the Redcliffe armory.  Finally, he had a new surcoat; the blue and silver silk brocade was normally used for mage robes, but it worked well as Grey Warden colors.

Sten was next; he had a mail shirt over a knee-length brown gambeson, which would also help keep him warm for the winter.  The Tranquil had also found him a sword belt and scabbard to match his borrowed longsword.

“How is the fit?” Molly asked.

Sten flexed his arms and went through a few moves.  “This is fine work.  Your artisans are truly skilled to produce it so quickly; you have my thanks.”

Alistair stepped into the room, wearing a full set of Templar heavy plate with a great helm under his arm.  The sash and skirt had been replaced with the same brocade as Aedan’s surcoat.  He grinned.  “Now this is more like it.”

That left Leliana, who came in wearing a set of Templar archer armor.  She had a scale vest over a scarlet short-sleeved arming shirt and leather shoulder protectors, with a fabric Templar insignia on the chest.  Unlike Alistair, her sash and skirt were in the original scarlet and gold and stopped at the knee.  A leather arming cap and knee-length boots completed the outfit.  She smiled and curtsied.  “I am honored to wear your colors, Knight-Commander.”

“As you are a Chantry sister, I thought it was appropriate.”  Greagoir cleared his throat and glanced over to Daylen.  “Irving and I have a few things for you, to show our appreciation.  Irving is waiting for us in the repository.”  He arched his eyebrows.  “You do remember where the repository is, right?  You were there last month…”

Daylen chuckled and led the way to the basement entrance.  As they walked, Morrigan tapped Aedan’s shoulder, then murmured into his ear as he leaned close.  He blinked, then nodded, and they continued in silence.  They reached the repository to find the door open; Irving was standing inside, along with Wynne.  “Good afternoon, Daylen.  We thought it would be somewhat crass of us to provide so many of your companions with new equipment, and send you away empty-handed, especially after you helped save the Circle… and are working to save us all.”

“I’d like to be gracious and say it’s not necessary, but honestly I need all the help I can get,” Daylen said dryly.

“Hadley told us you’re using a sword as well as your magic,” Greagoir said.  “But he suggested that you might do better with something a little more agile.  This is my dress sword; it’s meant for duels and formal occasions.”  He rolled his eyes.  “I think it would be more useful in your hands.”

He reached into one of the cabinets, then held out a long, thin bundle wrapped in red silk.  Daylen took it carefully and removed the cloth wrap.  It was a finely made side sword, with a swept hilt and a double-edged thrust and cut blade about twenty-eight inches long.  Daylen drew it from its sheath.  The weight was close to the hilt, making the blade feel lighter and quicker to wield.  The steel had been heat-treated and acid-etched, leaving the appearance of faint flames on the blade.  Daylen buckled on his new sword and beamed.  “Thank you.  I will use it well.”

“I hope it will pair well with this,” Irving said.  He pulled an odd-looking staff from a rack in a corner of the room.  “This is a war staff of Dalish make, fashioned from an ironbark sapling.  It belonged to a Warden mage who fell during the Long Night of the Second Blight, more than eight hundred years ago.”

Daylen accepted the staff.  It was shorter than he was used to, about four feet long, with a large circular handguard-a buckler, really-at its midpoint.  A pale violet crystal was set in the head, with the shaft seeming to have grown around it.  The butt was reinforced with a steel cap.  He had never seen anything like it before, but he understood the design well enough: it could be used two-handed as a staff or for parrying in the off hand.  Daylen hefted it, feeling it channel his mana.  “This is outstanding.  I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

“Not as grateful as we are,” Greagoir said.  “Now, I think we’ve resupplied you as best we can, but is there anything else you need, before the boat arrives?”

Aedan cleared his throat.  “You’ve given us all a token of your appreciation… except for Morrigan.  And she tells me that you have something belonging to her family, which may prove useful.”

Irving looked confused and Greagoir frowned.  Morrigan smiled faintly.  “Some years ago-before I was born-Templars hunted my mother through the forests near Ferncot.  She escaped them, but was forced to flee her home, and her possessions were seized.  Among them was her grimoire.  ‘Tis a small book, leather-bound, and adorned with the symbol of a leafless tree.  I believe it contains spells which will prove useful in the battles to come.”

“Your mother was an apostate too, I take it?”  Wynne asked sharply.

“If the book was taken decades ago, it was most likely destroyed,” Greagoir added.

“Not this book,” Morrigan replied.  “Anyone seeing it would have brought it to a Circle to be examined, much like that elven staff.  It is warded against most forms of damage… and I can feel it.  The grimoire is in this room.”  Her smile widened.  “Of course, you could always wait for her to come and ask for it back, but I would not recommend it.  You see, my mother is Flemeth.”

Irving gaped.  “You can’t be serious.”  He looked over to Daylen.  “She’s joking, she must be.”

Daylen shrugged.  “I obviously can’t tell you if she’s the legendary Witch of the Wilds.  But I can tell you she’s powerful enough that I’d worry even if she isn’t.  The first time we met, I stood within ten feet of her and could not detect her mana at all.  Then, when the darkspawn overwhelmed the army, she rescued us.  Alone.  She broke through to where we were trapped at the top of the Tower of Ishal and somehow carried three full-grown men to safety in the Wilds, ten miles away at least, through countryside swarming with darkspawn.”

Irving blanched, and Greagoir was clearly wavering.  Aedan spread his hands.  “Let me make it easier on you.  As a Grey Warden, I hereby requisition the grimoire as aid against the Blight.”

That did it.  Greagoir was still visibly uncomfortable, but he nodded.  Morrigan crossed the room and plucked the book from a shelf.  “You have my thanks, Knight-Commander.  And for what it’s worth, you have my word that I will never use this knowledge against a Templar or mage of the Circle… except in self-defense, of course.”

Aedan turned and headed back upstairs, with Morrigan behind him.  One by one, the others followed; Wynne brought up the rear with a sour look on her face.

There was a small crowd in the entry hall to see them off, including most of the survivors from the fight up the Tower.  Apprentices and Tranquil were stacking wooden crates and burlap sacks in the entry hall when Aedan got upstairs.  The boat would likely be arriving in Redcliffe about the same time as the refugee column from Lothering; the Circle was sending as many supplies as they could spare.  Aedan grinned, slung his new satchel over his shoulder, and grabbed a crate to carry down to the dock.  Alistair did likewise, as the Circle members called good wishes.

Neria stepped up to Daylen, smiling slightly.  He shook his head firmly.  “No.  Absolutely not.  You said yourself you needed more training.”

“Oh, I know,” Neria said.  “I just wanted to tell you to take of yourself… when the time comes, I want to help you finish this.”

“Keep working, and you’ll get there,” Daylen said.

“She should,” Irving said, walking up beside Neria.  “She’ll be learning directly from me.”  He grinned evilly as Neria’s mouth fell open.  “I think you’ll find my regimen… challenging, but not beyond your abilities.  Daylen here certainly did.”

The boat was a small crayer, single-masted and squat-hulled, with a crew of four.  The hold was less than half full, so there was plenty of space for six travelers.  It was cold on the lake, so they headed belowdecks straightaway.  The crew had provided a barrel filled with sand, atop which they could build a fire, and folded sails on top of crates served as seating.  The Circle kitchens had sent along some meat pies, bread, cheese, and other provisions.  Aedan told everyone that they were lucky to be on a short trip-food on longer voyages wasn’t so appetizing.

As they sat and ate, Wynne couldn’t keep her eyes off Morrigan.  “All right, Miss Morrigan.  You’ve gotten your book… do you actually expect us to believe that your mother is the Flemeth?  That the Witch of the Wilds is something more than a story to make children behave?”

Morrigan shrugged.  “I have no way of knowing for certain if what she has told me is true.  Naturally, I did not witness events which took place long before I was born.  But I do know that she has arcane powers and knowledge both far greater and very different from a Chantry mage, Chasind shaman, or Avvar augur.  And she does not seek attention or acclaim, so I cannot think of a reason she would make such a claim falsely.  Based on that, I believe what she has told me is largely true, though it differs from the tales.”

“And what has she told you?”  Daylen asked eagerly, leaning forward.

Morrigan blinked.  “You wish to hear her stories?  Whatever for?”

“Because it’s Flemeth,” Leliana replied.  “Flemeth the Devourer of Men, the Mother of Vengeance, Flemeth Demon-Touched, Who Dwells in Mists!  It’s not every day one gets the chance to learn the truth about a living legend.”

“I’m a historian by training,” Daylen said.  “And I believed the Witch of the Wilds to be either completely apocryphal, or an amalgamation of several real people… until I met her face to face.  The stories of Flemeth are woven through much of Fereldan folklore.  She is said to have offered help to Calenhad in uniting the Alamarri.  She appears in the tales of Dane.  And there are even whispers that she aided Maric and Loghain in the fight against the Orlesians.”

“I have no doubt that a historical Flemeth existed in the early Towers Age,” Aedan added.  “But her being still alive, tremendously powerful and seemingly immortal… I’d like to hear more.”

Morrigan shifted uncomfortably.  “I am no storyteller, I doubt I could do the tale justice.”

“Well, I am a storyteller,” Leliana said, smiling.  “Why don’t I tell the tale as I know it, and then you can correct me where needed?”

“I…” Morrigan glanced around the hold and saw everyone watching her expectantly.  “All right.  You start, and I’ll fill in my mother’s version.”

Leliana tossed another log on the fire.  “As Aedan says, our story begins about four hundred years ago.  Flemeth was born somewhere on the Waking Sea coastlands, and as she grew into a young woman, she was known for her beauty.  Hair like unto a moonless night, skin as pale as winter’s first snow, and eyes as beautiful and perilous as the sea.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes.  “The flowery language aside, that is fairly accurate.  My mother says that I resemble her in her youth.”  She pointed to her golden eyes.  “This is a mark of the shapeshifter’s art; before Flemeth taught me that magic, my eyes were blue-grey.”

Leliana nodded.  “When she came of age, she caught the eye of the lord of Highever, Conobar, and he took her for his wife.”  Several eyes flicked to Aedan, who smiled, but said nothing.  “Conobar soon learned that his young bride had the gift of magic.  He kept this a secret, for he knew that if it became known, the Templars would take her away.  Flemeth lived with Conobar for some years, and with his blessing, she practiced her art, unknown to anyone outside the castle.  And then one day, a young poet named Osen came to the castle.  Flemeth was captivated by Osen’s voice, and he by her beauty, and they fell in love.”  Now it was Morrigan who smiled-and rolled her eyes-but kept silent.  “Flemeth longed to be with her true love, and she and Osen fled from Conobar’s lands, seeking refuge in the Korcari Wilds with the Chasind tribes.  They lived there, happily, for many a year, till the day Flemeth received news that Conobar was dying and longed to see her face one last time.  Flemeth’s heart swelled with pity for the man who once was her husband, and begged Osen to return to Conobar’s side with her.  But when Flemeth and Osen entered Highever, they were captured by Conobar’s men and Osen was slain in front of Flemeth’s eyes.  Flemeth was imprisoned in the highest tower of the castle, there to await Conobar’s judgment on her.  Distraught at the loss of her love, Flemeth plotted revenge against her husband.  She summoned a demon from the Fade, intending for it to wreak vengeance on Conobar, but her spell went awry, and the demon possessed Flemeth, turning her into an abomination.  The halls of the castle ran red with blood as Flemeth slaughtered Conobar and all of his men before she fled back to the Wilds.”  Leliana eyed Morrigan.  “They say she took to her side many Chasind men, and they begat her daughter-witches who even now prowl the dark places of the Korcari Wilds.”

“Well, that is certainly an excellent story.”  Morrigan chuckled and leaned back in her seat.  “It has everything: drama, passion, forbidden love, betrayal, and revenge.  I must say that Flemeth’s version of her story isn’t quite as… titillating, but I think you’ll still find it interesting.  Firstly, my mother claims that ‘twas Osen who was her husband, and Conobar a jealous lord who looked on from afar.  She and her love lived together for many years before Lord Conobar approached young Osen and offered him wealth and power in exchange for his lovely wife.  And Osen agreed.”

Daylen blinked.  “He sold his wife to another man?”

Morrigan shrugged.  “Such an arrangement was not uncommon in days past, especially among the Alamarri.  The life of a bard is a poor one, and love fades in the wake of hunger.  And besides riches for Osen, Lord Conobar offered my mother safety, for in addition to being his wife, she would serve as court mage.  Far from practicing in secret, this meant Flemeth could live openly as a mage, and the Templars could not touch her.  All would have been well had Lord Conobar kept his end of the bargain.  But he was a foul man who bargained with coin he did not possess.  Osen was led off to a field and slain, left for dead.  Flemeth spoke to the spirits and learned of the deed, and swore revenge.”

Wynne raised her eyebrows.  “Spoke to the spirits?  Or demons?”

“I meant what I said,” Morrigan replied crisply.  “You must remember that this was the early Towers Age.  The Chantry was not as dominant as it is now, and people did not fear the Fade as most do today.  You know full well that the Fade reflects the dreams and beliefs of this world.  And so, a skilled mage of those days was far safer dealing with spirits than anyone is today.”  She took a breath, let it out, and continued.  “With aid from the spirits, Flemeth slew Conobar and fought her way free from his castle, but his vassals and allies sought her for the deed.  She went into hiding, but Conobar’s men continued to chase her for years, perhaps decades.  She ran south to the marshes in hopes that they would not follow into Chasind territory.  It was there that she found the demon; by then, she was desperate to be free of her pursuers.  Flemeth lay in wait for Conobar’s allies, and the hunters became the hunted.  ‘Twas then that men began to tell tales of the Witch of the Wilds.”  She looked around the room.  “But not all those tales were true.  The legends all speak of the great hero Cormac, who defeated Flemeth and her great army when she invaded the lowlands centuries later.  All lies.”

“Which is a lie?” Daylen asked.  “That Cormac was a great hero, that she invaded, or that he defeated her?”

Morrigan folded her arms.  “All of it.  There was never an invasion.  As Flemeth tells it, the Chasind never raised an army under her banner, and she never fought with any warrior named Cormac.  Cormac did exist; he led a brutal civil war against his own people, slaughtering those who yet chose to worship the Avvar pantheon, rather than the Maker.  He later claimed it was to vanquish evil that had taken root amongst the lords.  Thus was he hailed a hero.  Flemeth was only attached to the legend much later.  Perhaps ‘twas due to the great war with the Chasind that eventually came, but Mother claims not to know how it began.”

“And her life since then?”  Leliana asked.  “What of her later consorts, and children?”

“You ask if I have sisters?”  Morrigan said.  “I have asked of this, myself.  The stories tell of many Witches of the Wilds, after all.  Not just the one.  And these tales existed long before I did.  Flemeth refuses to speak of other daughters, if they existed.  So, should I believe I am her first?  I doubt that, too.  The Chasind tell of a falling out between Flemeth and her ‘daughters.’  They say that one day she hunted them all through the Wilds and ate their hearts.  It may be true.  I have never seen another witch or heard of one.  But I believe the truth to be much simpler.  I do not know what my mother is, but I am not like her.  I am a skilled mage, but I am no immortal creature.  If Flemeth has indeed been wandering the wilds of Ferelden for nearly six hundred years, she could easily have had daughters who lived their entire lives before I was born.”  She held up the grimoire.  “That is one of the reasons I sought this tome.  It is a chance to learn things about my mother and her craft she would never have taught me willingly.  But it is encrypted, written in many languages.  If I am to gain my mother’s secrets, I will have to work for them.  She’d have it no other way.”

Daylen nodded.  “Indeed an interesting tale, thank you for telling it.”

“But it has one more wrinkle,” Aedan said.  “Highever back then was a small fishing village, between the larger ports of Jader and Amaranthine.  As Morrigan said, the man Flemeth slew was its ruler, Bann Conobar Elstan.  He was the last of his line, and so the title of Bann passed to his Captain of the Guard, Sarim Cousland.”  He drew his sword, showing everyone the laurel wreath etched into the hilt.  “This was his sword, and it’s been carried by a member of the family ever since.”  He smiled at Morrigan.  “In the Exalted Age, the Couslands rebuilt Highever Castle, but the old keep is still there, now part of the outer wall and called Elstan Tower.  It’s now the family apartments-I lived my whole life in the tower Flemeth escaped from.”

Leliana laughed.  “How about that.  A fascinating coincidence, no?”

The sun had set, and it was getting cold.  Aedan showed the others how to sling their hammocks, and most of the group bedded down for the night.  Aedan headed up on deck to check on their progress with the sailor on watch.  The moon was rising, the wind was up, and the boat was making good time; they’d be pulling into Redcliffe shortly after dawn the day after tomorrow.  Aedan stepped to the rail, eyeing the eastern shoreline for signs of darkspawn, but saw none.  He was turning away when Morrigan walked up beside him.

“You did not seem troubled by my tale,” she said.  “Even though it is intertwined with your family’s history.”

Aedan shrugged.  “I don’t see any reason to be offended by the truth, if that’s what it is.  The legend would have it that Conobar and Flemeth each did the other wrong, but that’s the sort of thing that nobles would add, to make themselves look better.  My parents taught me not to be that kind of noble.  The people deserve better.”

Morrigan nodded.  “Judging from your actions at the Tower, it would seem that you learned that lesson well.”

“Thank you,” Aedan said warmly.  “Let’s get below and rest.  I have a feeling we’ll be busy again when we reach Redcliffe.”

Chapter Text

The trip down the lake was uneventful, though it was too chilly for them to fully relax.  They spent much of the next morning bundled up and sipping Daylen’s tea.  After lunch, the sun came out and warmed things up somewhat.  Aedan took the opportunity to head up on the deck and see if the crew had any fishing gear on board.  He found the off-watch crew already had lines in the water, and they happily let him tend a few rods.  By the time the sun slid behind the Frostbacks, they were frying a mess of perch in a skillet over the fire and had a dozen big pike and trout in a barrel to give to the refugees.  Breakfast was a quick meal of bread and cheese, as the crew prepared the ship to dock.

As they ate, Alistair squirmed in his seat.  “Look, before we get to Redcliffe, there’s something I ought to tell you… I probably should have told you earlier.”

“Did you leave some trouble behind, like Daveth did?”  Daylen asked.

“Er, no… that’s not it.”  Alistair ran a hand through his hair.

Leliana smirked.  “Did you leave a woman behind, perhaps?”

Alistair went beet red.  “No, of course not!  I was in the Chantry.”

“So was I,” Leliana laughed.  “And I know what Templars get up to before they take their vows.”

“I’m a bastard!” Alistair blurted out, then pulled himself together.  “And before any funny jokes, I mean the fatherless kind.  My mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe Castle; she died giving birth to me.”

Wynne raised her eyebrows.  “You’re Eamon’s son?”

Alistair shook his head.  “No.  He raised me, at least for a while.  I think he planned to make me his ward before he got married.  There were rumors that I was his, of course, and Arlessa Isolde hated me for it; even if they weren’t true, they were bad for her reputation, both here and in Orlais.  She was the one who insisted I live as a servant, and then had me sent to the Chantry.  But Eamon raised me…”  He took a breath and looked at his feet, then back up at everyone.  “Because my father was King Maric.  Which made Cailan my half-brother, I suppose.” 

Daylen’s jaw dropped, as did Wynne’s.  Morrigan cocked her head curiously.  Leliana smiled faintly.  “So, you’re not just a bastard, but a royal bastard?”

Alistair chuckled ruefully.  “I suppose I am, at that.”  He saw Aedan’s eyes narrow and hurriedly continued.  “I would have told you, but it never meant anything to me.  I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan’s rule, and so they kept me secret.  I’ve never talked about it to anyone.”

Aedan stood, his face dark.  “Does Loghain know?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”  Alistair shrugged.  “He was King Maric’s best friend.  I don’t see how it could be important, though.  I’m the son of a commoner and a Grey Warden to boot.  It was made very clear to me early on that there was no room for me raising any rebellions or such nonsense.”

 Aedan looked at Daylen, then shook his head.  “It may not have been important to you, but it certainly appears to be important to Loghain.  Declaring the Wardens traitors makes you a wanted man, and removes you as a possible challenge, makes him more secure seizing power.”  His eyes narrowed.  “And so does overthrowing my parents.  We need to talk to Eamon, and quickly.”

Alistair hunched his shoulders.  “Look, everyone.  I never… never wanted anyone to know any of this.  If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather we just pretend I’m just some nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Wardens.”

Morrigan bowed low with a hand flourish.  “As you command, my prince.”

Leliana giggled; Alistair covered his face with both hands.  Aedan took a breath, let it out, and checked his gear before heading up on deck.  One by one, the others followed.  The rising sun was lighting up the landscape, and Aedan pointed out their destination.

Redcliffe was often treated as a single city, but it was really three separate areas.  Redcliffe proper was a mid-sized but prosperous fishing village and trade hub at the water’s edge, in the shadow of the red sandstone cliffs which gave the arling its name.  Atop the bluff was the town of Rainesfere, seat of the bannorn of the same name, which extended southwest towards the Hinterlands and was dotted with farms, orchards, and small villages.  Redcliffe Castle, home of Arl Eamon, was built on a rocky island a few hundred yards from shore, connected to the mainland by a causeway and drawbridge.

Something was wrong.  Aedan was the first to notice, as the boat coasted in towards the dock.  A moment later, Sten stepped up beside him.  “I see it too.”

“What is the matter?” Daylen asked.

“The village is too quiet,” Aedan said.  “The docks are empty because every decent-sized boat is out on the lake moving refugees.  But there should be smoke from chimneys, people coming and going, especially in the market just behind the waterfront.  No one’s moving, except up the hill by the Chantry.  And I think I see barricades in the streets.  There’s been fighting here, but I thought the Redcliffe regiment was holding the line a week’s march east of town.”

The boat came in to dock with sails furled and the crew pulling on two pairs of oars.    There was no one at the dock to help bring the ship in, so Aedan took a running jump to the pier.  The crew threw him a line, and he tied it off.  The crew began unloading supplies onto the pier while Aedan led the group into the village.

They’d made it past the first row of buildings when a man ran up to them.  He wore no armor, but had a bow and arrows slung across his back.  “What are you doing?  You need to get out of here!”  He spotted their weapons and stopped.  “Oh!  Have you come to help us?”

“Help you with what?” Alistair asked.  “Have the darkspawn broken through?  Where is Arl Eamon?”

The man shook his head.  “He could be dead, for all we know.  Nobody’s heard from the castle in days!”

“Slow down a moment,” Aedan said.  “Start from the beginning.  Who are you, and what has been happening here?”

“Tomas, ser,” he replied, catching his breath.  “I’m a fisherman, and one of the village militia.  Perhaps a week ago, the village came under attack.  Monsters come out of the castle every night, and the attacks stop at dawn.  We’ve lost at least fifty people.”  He looked up at the group and saw their weapons.  “You’re soldiers?  If you aren’t here to help us, why aren’t you out fighting the spawn?”

“Take us to whoever is in charge, quickly,” Aedan said.

Tomas led them through the village toward the Chantry, which was at the top of the sloping shore, backed against the bluff.  Now they could see closer, the damage was much more evident.  There was evidence of fires in some of the buildings.  Windows were broken, doors had been smashed in.  Some houses had been torn apart and their lumber used to blockade the streets leading to the main square by the Chantry, but many of those barricades had been battered in.  Groups of exhausted-looking people were at work repairing them.  The Chantry was a large building, built of the same grey stone as the castle.  Much like the one in Lothering, it was packed with refugees.  Unlike Lothering, these were people from the very village the Chantry was in.  The old, young, and injured sat or lay on the pews or the floor.  Some were trying to comfort the children or keep them distracted.  Others just sat there and wept or prayed.

A well-dressed man stood near the pulpit, speaking quietly with the Revered Mother and a few others.  He turned as Tomas called out.  “Greetings, friends.  My name is Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere, brother to the Arl.  Do I know you?  Some of your faces are familiar, but I’m afraid I don’t have names to go with them.”

“Aedan Cousland, of Highever,” Aedan said, with a polite smile.  “We have met before, though that was some years ago.”

Alistair nodded.  “We’ve met too, Bann Teagan, though I was a lot younger and covered in mud.”

“Covered in mud…”  Teagan frowned, then his eyes popped wide.  “Alistair?  It is you, isn’t it?  You’re alive!  This is wonderful news!”

“It sounds like all the news isn’t good here,” Aedan said.  “What’s the situation?”

Teagan nodded.  “I assume you were here to see my brother, recruit troops for the Blight.  I’m afraid that’s impossible for the moment.  Eamon has been gravely ill since before the Battle of Ostagar.”  Aedan and Alistair flinched as if struck; Teagan continued.  “But that is not the immediate concern.  A little over a week ago, the drawbridge went up and all communication with the castle ceased.  No guards patrol the walls, and no one has responded to my shouts.  That night, the attacks started.  Unholy… things… surged from the castle.  Walking corpses, some carrying weapons, others charging us with their bare hands and teeth.  Some, we recognized as courtiers, guards, and servants from the castle.  Others were too rotted to identify, and a few were nothing but dry bones.  We strike them down, and they rise again, and so do our own when slain by the monsters.  Every night, our numbers dwindle, and I don’t know how much longer we can hold out.”

Aedan looked at Daylen, who smiled faintly and nodded.  He turned back to Teagan.  “We can help.  It’s a long story, but we’ve fought undead before, just recently, in fact, and we can teach your people how to kill them so they stay dead.”

Teagan brightened.  “That’s some good luck at last.  I definitely need your help.  If I remember correctly, you train soldiers, yes?”

“I trained Highever’s levy militia, not the professional soldiers, the city and castle guard forces,” Aedan said.  Then he grinned.  “But I’m fairly confident in my skill as a trainer.  About ten percent of my militia choose to join the guard full time.”

“That’s exactly what I need,” Teagan replied.  “Redcliffe had a standing regiment, like every arling, but they’re in the field holding back the spawn.  We were raising reserves, but then Eamon fell ill. I know how to fight, of course, but I’m an administrator and diplomat by training.  Eamon and Rowan were the warriors in the family.”  He met Aedan’s eyes.  “I’ve done the best I can, but not nearly enough.  Every night, we lose a few more.”

Alistair put his hands on his hips.  “There is help on the way.  A caravan is on its way from Lothering.  It’s mostly refugees, but there are some soldiers who escaped Ostagar with them.  And between this and the Blight, we need everyone who can hold a sword.”  He ran a hand through his hair.  “If there are swords for them to hold.  Have you any weapons to spare?”

“The militia have a few swords, but most are armed with clubs or hatchets,” Teagan said, stroking his beard.  “There are plenty of boatwrights in town, and they fashioned enough wooden shields for everyone, at least.  There would be spare weapons in the castle armory, but we can’t get at them, and they’re probably not enough for more than a few dozen in any case.  Most of our arms were issued when we called up the regiment.”  He extended his hand to Aedan.  “You’re the highest-ranking officer in Redcliffe at the moment.  If you know how to stop these damned things, by all means, take command.”

Aedan hesitated, then took the bann’s hand.  “Who’s in charge at the barricades?”

“Murdock, the mayor of Redcliffe, is leading the militia holding the town,” Teagan replied.  “Ser Perth is in command of my retinue; I have a score of knights to supplement the militia.”

Aedan nodded.  “I’ll get to work.”

The party stepped out of the Chantry into the town square, which was surrounded by two-story flat-roofed buildings, mostly shops with living space upstairs.  Barricades blocked the streets in several places.  Aedan assessed them quickly and nodded: whoever had built them knew their business.  They’d set up two rings of defenses and blocked off enough cross streets that one breach in the perimeter wouldn’t compromise the entire line.  But there were still improvements to make, and he began making mental notes.  He was much less confident in what he saw of the people manning the defenses.  There were perhaps two dozen, and not a man of them younger than sixty.  Watching over it all was Mayor Murdock, a burly man an inch taller than Aedan with a close-cropped reddish beard and truly magnificent moustache.

He saw Aedan and waved him over.  “You’re the Warden, yes?  You’re taking over here?”

“I am,” Aedan said, shaking hands.  “Aedan Cousland, formerly of the Highever Brigade.”

“Saw you looking around,” Murdock said.  “Don’t fret, it’s not quite as bad as it seems.  The bulk of the militia is getting some rest.  The men you see here are all veterans of the last war with Orlais.  They’re on duty now so the others can be fresh for tonight.”

He jerked his head at one of the men standing watch, who stepped over.  “I’m Bleicher, milord.  Sergeant of the… we don’t have a name.  The old bastards.  I fought under Queen Rowan back then.  You’re a Cousland?  I was in the northern campaign myself.”  He grinned.  “Every time those poncy chevaliers tried to come at us, your parents raided their flank from the coast, and we’d slip into the woods.  They’d bring in ships to go after your mother, and when they moored to take on water, we’d ambush their shore parties.  We drove those poor Orlesians mad.”

Aedan chuckled.  “Once this is over, I’ll have to buy a few rounds while you tell me some stories.”  He grew serious.  “You’re the ones who fortified the square?  It’s good work.”

“Some of us were in the siege of Gwaren,” Bleicher replied.  “Do you have orders for us, additions to the defenses here?”

“You’ve got a fine start here, but there are a few things I think could be added,” Aedan said.  “And I have another task for you.  There’s a column of refugees coming from Lothering.  Some will be able to help with the fight, and they all need food and shelter.  But they are going to need arms and supplies.  Mayor, I want you to leave four men standing watch; the rest are to split into groups with any of the civilians in the Chantry who can help.  Some will be adding to the defenses.  Others will go through the village and the outlying farms and gather everything that we can use for weapons-polearms in particular.  Also food, blankets, anything you can bring that the refugees might need-the boat that brought us here has a hold full of supplies, you can start there.  Make sure anyone who heads into the countryside is back by, say, four in the afternoon.  You, sergeant, I want to stay in Redcliffe, in case I have more orders for you.”

The old veteran came to attention.  “Yes, milord!”

He and Murdock started passing Aedan’s orders to the others.  Aedan and his party followed a dirt road which zig-zagged its way up the bluffs behind the town until it met the old Imperial Highway that ran down the west shore of the lake.  At the top was the causeway connecting the castle to the mainland.  There was a gristmill atop the bluff, just off the road, where it could catch the wind off the lake.  Ser Perth and the other knights were sleeping there by day and manning the fortifications at night.  Two of the ‘old bastards’ were standing watch; Aedan spoke to one, who quickly woke Ser Perth, and together, they walked the ground as Perth brought Aedan up to speed.  The situation here was better in some ways, worse in others.  Perth had begun the siege with two dozen men but only lost four in a week of fighting.  The knights of Redcliffe were far better equipped and trained than the village militia, but there were only twenty of them, and they faced the toughest challenge.  The causeway was flat and open and perhaps ten yards wide, unlike the narrow streets of the village.  The point where the causeway met the mainland was fortified; the townspeople had dug a V-shaped ditch and piled the earth into a rampart behind it, studded with sharpened stakes.

“I lost three men the first night, when we didn’t have the earthworks,” Ser Perth told Aedan.  “Then we got it built and stopped them cold the second night.  On the third night, the dead started coming from the water, attacking the town from all sides.  That was when Ser Vincent was killed, the corpses came at us from behind.  And those of us who fall… I’ve seen Vincent again every night.  It was hard enough to stop the ordinary dead; you have to burn them or hack them to pieces.  Even if you break their arms and legs, they keep crawling at you.  And Vincent is in full armor, as are a few of the castle guard.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Daylen said, thinking of the undead Templars at the Circle Tower.  He gave Morrigan a respectful nod.  “And as to the common undead, attack the head, and they will fall.”

Aedan appraised the earthwork, then turned to look over the village defenses from above.  “As a rough figure, how many undead have been attacking each night?”

Perth folded his arms, drumming the fingers of one hand on the opposite bicep.  “We were outnumbered, but not by much, three to one at the most.  I’d say somewhere between five and six hundred?”

“Good,” Aedan said.  “I think you’re in fairly good shape here.  I will try to get you some reinforcements, but I don’t yet know exactly what I have to work with.  For now, you and your knights get as much rest as you can.  An hour before sunset, I want you in the Chantry to go over the plan for tonight.  Your men are to be ready to stand-to at sunset.”

Aedan and the others started back down to the village.  From the top of the bluff, Aedan saw that the refugees had arrived.  Something was off; there was a knot of people gathered in front of the inn, a two-story stone building sitting halfway up the road from the town square.  Aedan had expected the refugees to be agitated and upset, but the crowd was clearly angry about something.  A heavyset man with dirty-blonde hair stood in the doorway, facing the crowd with a heavy cudgel held crosswise in front of him.  As they approached, three men tried to push their way in; the big man shoved one backwards, then clubbed another to the ground and everyone started shouting.

“What is going on here?!”  Aedan raised his voice to get everyone’s attention.  Daylen crouched to heal the injured man.

“Bloody robbery is what it is,” the man with the cudgel replied.  He made a short bow towards Aedan.  “The name’s Lloyd, Warden.  This is my inn, and this lot wants room and board without paying for it.”

One of the refugees lunged at Lloyd.  “You say we’re robbing you?  Warden, he’s charging three silver a week, five if you want meals!”

Daylen ground his teeth: the Spoiled Princess charged five copper a night, meals included.  The innkeeper, seeing how desperate the people were, was taking full advantage.  “And where are these people supposed to get that kind of money?  They escaped Lothering with only what they could carry!”

“He knows that.”  A young woman wearing peasant clothes and an apron emerged from inside the inn.  She folded her arms.  “I’m Bella, Warden, the serving girl here.  But I spent most of last month packing the cellar.  When Lloyd heard about the Blight, he bought up as much food as he could from the farmers around here.  Healing herbs, too.”

There was a commotion from behind them; Aedan turned to see Murdock emerge from the crowd with a grim look on his face.  Lloyd pursed his lips.  “Warden, I’m a reasonable man.  I just want to raise enough to get out of here, start over somewhere else.  Twenty sovereigns.  From the people here, from the Chantry, from the Arl or the bann, I don’t care.  Twenty sovereigns gets you the inn, the stables, and all the supplies I’ve stored.  But I want coin or goods in trade, no promissory notes.”

Aedan glanced at Murdock and raised his eyebrows.  The mayor shrugged and Aedan turned back to Lloyd.  “I’m going to give you two choices.  You can shelter and feed the refugees at fair rates, and the arling will repay you when they can.  These people aren’t picky, they’ll be fine sleeping on the floor; you’ll be able to squeeze dozens of them in, and charge for all of them.  Or, as a Warden, I can requisition your property for the war effort, and you get nothing.”

Lloyd’s face twisted and he tried to swing at Aedan.  Aedan was ready for it; he ducked the cudgel, grabbed the big man’s wrist, and threw him over his shoulder.  “I think the militia could use a stout fellow like yourself.  Get down to the town square and take your swagger stick with you.”

Lloyd stood sullenly, then headed down the road without a word.  Aedan turned to the crowd.  “I need your help as well.  We need every able-bodied person either fighting with the militia tonight or helping to prepare defenses now.”  He saw the distress in their faces and tried to find some reason for them not to simply collapse.  “I know you’re frightened, I know some of you would rather flee into the countryside.  But this is your best chance.  If you scatter, either the dead or the darkspawn will be able to pick you off one by one.  If we make a stand here, we have defenses, safety in numbers.  I won’t lie, it’s going to be perilous, and we won’t all make it.  But we have a chance, a real chance, to win this fight.”

The refugees were weary, and wavering, but none of them balked.  The old, young, and sick filed into the inn while the fit adults followed Murdock down towards the town square.  Aedan jerked his head towards the tavern on the inn’s lower level.  “Come on, I need to sit and think for a bit.”

They stepped inside and made their way to one of the long tables in the center of the room.  Bella walked over.  “Water, cider or ale?”

“Cider for me!”  Wynne glanced around the group.  “If any of you haven’t had Redcliffe cider before, you should.  They are deservedly famous for their apples.”

“I’ll take a mug,” Leliana said.  Daylen bobbed his head in agreement.

“I have not yet encountered this ‘cider’ in my travels,” Sten said.  “Is it intoxicating?”

Aedan nodded.  “It’s fermented apple juice.  About the same as ale, usually; it would take a lot to make a man your size drunk.”  He smiled at Bella.  “Cider for all of us, then, and something to eat.”

“We’re famous for our pigs, too,” Bella grinned.  “I’ve a pot of pork stew bubbling, I’ll have it out to you straightaway.”

She headed for the kitchen.  In a minute, she was back, pushing a small cart loaded with foaming pint mugs, a loaf of bread and steaming bowls of stew.  Daylen took a spoonful and groaned.  It was a savory broth, loaded with cabbage, onion, apple, and fennel, thin-sliced and cooked until soft along with tender chunks of pork and discs of smoky sausage.  It was the tastiest meal he’d had since the last feast day, and he dug in with a will.  Across from him, Aedan produced a wooden writing case and a blank scroll from his pack.  Between bites of bread and stew, he began to sketch with pencil and ruler.  Daylen looked at Alistair, then they both leaned in and watched as lines and curves became buildings and streets.  Aedan finished the map of Redcliffe and kept going, adding additional lines with symbols Daylen had never seen before.  By the time the food was gone, Aedan had finished working and sat back, sipping the last of his cider.  He eyed the map and huffed out a sigh.

“It looks sound,” Sten said evenly.

Aedan raised an eyebrow.  “You can read Fereldan military map symbols?”

The Qunari shook his head.  “No.  But I can guess, based on where you’ve drawn them.  It looks like what I would do.  However, much depends on how many soldiers we will have to man the defenses.”

“Ser Perth has twenty knights,” Aedan replied.  “And it sounds like we have about a hundred village militia, not counting the old bastards who won’t be fighting.  So long as we can raise a hundred or so more, we should be in decent shape-and there are several hundred refugees.”

“Farmers and fishermen,” Sten said dismissively.  “Our best hope is that there are survivors from the battle at Ostagar among them.”

Aedan smiled.  “They were mostly farmers, too.  Ferelden is a small country, and we have a somewhat unusual military structure.  Ferelden’s army is divided into ten major units, each drawn from the territory of one of the high nobles.  There are three brigades, one each for the crown and the teyrnirs, and seven regiments from the arlings.  Only one-the King’s Brigade of Pike-is made up entirely of professional soldiers.  The rest of the units have professional officers, sergeants, and corporals, commanding a force of conscripts.  Every able-bodied man in Ferelden must serve for two years at some point between the ages of 18 and 25; exactly when is chosen by lot.  Women may volunteer if they choose.  After their service is over, they are subject to be called to arms in an emergency until the age of fifty for men, forty for women.”  He met Sten’s eyes.  “They may spend their days plowing fields and tending pigs, but nearly every man has at least minimal training.  I grant you they won’t be as effective as knights or antaam in a field battle or assault, but Ferelden peasant militia have a proven history of being quite effective on the defense, especially when manning a fortified position.”

Sten grunted skeptically, but said nothing more.

They headed down the road to the town square, where a much larger crowd was milling about.  The refugees were clustered at the side of the square farthest from the Chantry.  A handful of townspeople were talking to the refugees, scribbling on quill and parchment, and pointing them in different directions.  Another group of people were boarding up the windows of the buildings around the square.  Murdock and Teagan were talking quietly at the door to the Chantry.

As Aedan approached, Murdock waved him over.  “Warden!  We’re trying to get the refugees organized for you.”  He pointed to the townspeople taking notes.  “I’ve grabbed some clerks from the shops and warehouses and they’re getting a count.  The soldiers who made it out of Ostagar are gathering in that corner of the square, and the other people who can fight are over there.”  He glanced over his shoulder, then back to Aedan.  “There aren’t as many as I’d hoped.  The refugees walked here from Lothering on short rations and they’re exhausted.  Still, several dozen should be ready once they’ve gotten a solid meal and a few hours’ rest.  If we can hold out the night, there’ll be another hundred or so by sunset tomorrow.”

Aedan nodded.  “I’ve got the basics of a plan together.  I’m going to spend the rest of the afternoon checking over the fortifications and working on the details.  An hour before sundown, I’ll meet you and Ser Perth in the Chantry for a strategy session while the men eat dinner.  Then we’ll instruct the militia and man the barricades at sunset.”

Leliana coughed quietly to get Daylen’s attention, then flicked her eyes to the side.  He looked where she was indicating and saw a young woman watching them.  She was one of the people gathering information, but she’d stopped what she was doing and was twisting the parchment in her hands.  Her agitated expression was one he was familiar with from his teaching days at the Tower.  She was badly worried about something but didn’t want to interrupt.

Daylen walked over to her and smiled gently.  “Hello there, miss.  What’s wrong?”

She startled when he spoke, then sagged.  “I’m sorry, Ser Warden.  I’ll get back to work.”

“No, wait,” Leliana said, laying a hand on her shoulder.  “We will help if we can.”

“Take a breath, then tell us what’s the matter,” Daylen said.  Aedan nodded agreement.

She hesitated, then spoke.  “My name is Kaitlyn.  I’m a clerk at the chandlery.  It’s my little brother Bevin, he’s missing.  I know those monsters didn’t get him, he was with me for breakfast at the Chantry but I haven’t seen him since.  I want to go find him, but we’ve got to get all these people sorted out, they’re in terrible shape, and…”

“I’m here!”  A sandy-haired boy of perhaps thirteen ran out of a side street, carrying a long, thin bundle wrapped in canvas.  “I’m sorry, Kait, I was in the attic looking for Grandfather’s sword.”  He unwrapped the cloth to reveal, of all things, a curved elven sword in a green leather sheath. “Our grandfather was a dragon hunter; he got this as thanks for killing a Fereldan Frostback which was going after a Dalish clan’s halla.  He taught me to use it a little, before he died.  The mayor said you needed everyone who can fight.”

“You can’t be serious!”  Kaitlyn looked at Aedan, stricken.

Aedan nodded thoughtfully.  “I’m going to put you in the Chantry with Bann Teagan and the old veterans.  If the dead get past us, I’ll need you to help them protect the civilians.”

Bevin nodded and trotted off towards the Chantry.  Kaitlyn smiled at Aedan.  “Thank you.”

He shook his head.  “Don’t thank me.  I hope to keep Bevin out of this fight, but if the undead make it through those doors… you might be glad he has that sword.”

Kaitlyn nodded.  “I’ll get back to counting.  And still, thank you, Warden.”

Aedan and the others went back to inspecting the defenses when someone called out.  He turned to see Bleicher jogging up.  “We’ve runners come back from the gatherers in the countryside.  It looks promising, more than I expected, actually.  But now we’ve a new problem.”

“What can I do for you?”  Aedan asked.

The old soldier crossed his arms.  “It’s Owyn, the blacksmith, milord.  He’s the only properly skilled metalworker in town-his apprentices are all out with the regiment, holding off the spawn, and the castle smith, well…”  He shrugged.  “Owyn’s daughter Valena is a maid at the castle, and he hasn’t heard from her since everything started.  When he saw all the new people coming in and arming up, he demanded we attack the castle and find her.  When I told him that was impossible, he locked himself in the smithy and refused to make any repairs.”  Bleicher spread his hands.  “These folk can sharpen their tools, of course.  But any proper repairs, he’s the only man who can do them.”

Aedan’s face darkened.  “I’ll take care of it.”

He strode across the square to the smithy, easily spotted by its overlarge chimney.  He tried the door, which wouldn’t open, as expected.  He banged his fist on the weathered wood, and a muffled voice told him to go away.  Aedan beckoned to Leliana, who took a quick look.

“I’m sorry, there’s nothing for me to pick,” she said.  “The door isn’t locked, it’s barred from the inside.”

“Okay,” Aedan said smoothly.  He snapped his fingers.  “Sten?”

The big Qunari stepped up and broke the door in with a single kick.  Aedan went inside, with the rest following.

The smithy was a large room which took up the entire ground floor of the building, with the forge against the back wall and various workbenches down both sides.  Tools of all sorts hung from hooks on the walls and ceiling.  Despite the locked door, the forge was lit and the room was sweltering hot.  Owyn was a man in late middle age, tall and powerfully muscled, with blonde hair and a full beard.  His eyes were bloodshot, with dark circles beneath them.  He leaned against the back wall, scooped water from a barrel with a tin cup, and added something strong-smelling from a bottle on one of the benches.

“Well, here you are,” he said unevenly.  “I suppose you’d like to talk.”

“Someone’s been drinking,” Alistair quipped.

Owyn shot him a look.  “And so what if I have?  Drunk or sober, I’m better with hammer and tongs than any man in the village.”  He took a swig from his cup and met Aedan’s eyes.  “You aren’t from around here.  Tell me who you are.”

Aedan’s lips thinned.  “I’m Aedan Cousland, a Grey Warden.”

“Huh.  Takes all kinds, I guess.”  Owyn crossed his arms.  “You obviously want my help.  Tell me something.  Why should I help a pack of cowards who won’t lift a finger for my daughter?”

“They can’t,” Aedan began, but Owyn cut him off.

“Don’t tell me what they can’t do!  Getting into the castle isn’t like a siege, it’s dead quiet during the day, not a single guard.  And you’ve a hundred more men now.”  He took another swig and spat at Aedan’s feet.  “I’m not going to so much as sharpen an axe until someone does something for my Valena.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Aedan growled.  “And you need to sober up.”

Daylen barely saw him move.  In a flash, Aedan lunged across the room and drove his fist into the bigger man’s gut.  Owyn’s breath whooshed out and he bent double; Aedan grabbed him by the hair and forced his head into the water barrel.  He held him there, struggling, for half a minute before letting him up.  The big blacksmith coughed and spluttered as Aedan shouted in his face.

“You know what will happen if the militia tries to break into that castle?”  Owyn tried to claw for Aedan’s eyes and he shoved him back into the water, then pulled him out again.  “We’d spend all day building ladders tall enough to get over the wall.  Then a boat out to the castle, since the drawbridge is up.  And while we were trying to find a piece of ground level enough to set them up, we’d be caught in the open at night and butchered by the dead.”

Owyn tried to kick Aedan before being forced into the barrel yet again.  He braced both hands on the rim and pushed himself out, then elbowed Aedan in the ribs.  Aedan released him; he staggered away, hands on his knees as he caught his breath.  “She needs me!”

“The Chantry is full of girls who need their fathers,” Aedan said.  “You know what will happen if you don’t help now?  The dead will come again tonight.  The militia will fight them with dull blades and cracked clubs.  They’ll lose some more people.  And the next night, those dead will come back to kill more.  Until eventually they smash their way inside.”

Owyn stood straight and wiped his face, but his eyes were still wet.  “You will go to the castle, you will find her, once there’s a way?”

Aedan nodded.  “We have to find out what happened to Arl Eamon.  But we can’t leave the village undefended.  The militia didn’t know how to destroy the undead, but I do… and as you said, now there’s more men.”

The blacksmith rolled his shoulders, then bent over the barrel and splashed some cold water on his face.  He shook himself, droplets flying from his hair and beard, then started pumping the bellows.  “I’ll get started here.  And Warden… I’m sorry.”

One by one, the search teams returned to Redcliffe, and Aedan started feeling better.  There were wagonloads of supplies and useful gear.  They’d brought wheels of cheese, sacks of flour, root vegetables, dried fruit, and even some ropes of sausage.  And then there were the weapons.  None of it was ideal, but all would do in a pinch.  Felling axes and pitchforks were the most common, but there were also boar spears, hog splitters, and billhooks, along with bows and crossbows.  The woods and hills of the Hinterlands were full of wolves and bears, and the farmers had brought dozens of steel jaw traps; they wouldn’t slay the undead, but they would slow them down.  Aedan put the people to work placing the traps on the approaches to the barricades, along with ropes and fishing nets strung horizontally at ankle height to trip and tangle the enemy.  They’d erected the scaffolding normally used to clean the Chantry and removed the stained glass from the front windows to provide shooting positions for archers.

And then there were the people.  There were about sixty militia, joined by about seventy more local civilians and refugees.  They were mostly in their thirties and forties, the sons and daughters of those who’d served in the last war.  Unfortunately, that meant it had been a decade or two since they’d done their conscript service.  Still, they were fit enough and knew how to work hard and work together.  There were about two dozen soldiers who’d survived Ostagar, and many of them still had their weapons and armor.  They were better skilled and equipped… but they were from three different regiments and none of them had actually served with each other.  Aedan looked them over on his way to the Chantry: Not a lot, but enough.  Then he looked closer.  Standing among the militia was a girl even smaller than Bevin.  He shook his head and strode over.

“What’s that child doing here?” he asked crossly.

They turned and Aedan blinked.  What he’d thought was a ten-year-old girl was in fact a dwarf, perhaps sixteen, with red hair tied back from a freckled face.  She wore a sheepskin coat over a woolen tunic and trousers.  She smiled eagerly.  “Good afternoon, ser.  I’m ready to help.”

Murdock stepped up beside Aedan.  “Don’t be fooled, Warden.  Lace might be small, but she’s the best archer in the village.”

“Don’t call me Lace!”  She snapped.  “It’s Harding, Warden.  Also, I’m the best archer in the entire arling, but my parents wouldn’t let me have the day off to shoot in the tourney and prove it.”

“Oh, I like her,” Leliana giggled.

“I… stand corrected,” Aedan chuckled.  “I’m about to go over the plan with Bann Teagan; I’ll make sure to pick out a good spot for you.”  He raised his voice.  “Sergeant Bleicher!”

“Yes milord!”  The old soldier ran up and came to attention.

Aedan folded his arms.  “Get arms issued to everyone, and then I want the old bastards in the Chantry getting some rest.  Sleep with weapons by your sides, but you will sleep, that’s an order.”

Bleicher hid a smile, bobbed his head, and turned to start barking orders to the other veterans.  Aedan headed into the Chantry with the others, and found Teagan, Murdock, and Ser Perth waiting for him.  He pulled out his map and unrolled it on the altar as everyone gathered round.

“All right,” Aedan said.  “To be honest, things are looking better than I’d expected.  Not as many troops as I hoped, but Bleicher and his people did fine work with the defenses.  So.  We have two sites to hold: the causeway from the castle, and the town square.”  He looked over at Ser Perth.  “To my mind, the causeway rampart is by far the easier position to defend, so I am going to need you to hold it without much more support.  The militia down below need most of the help.”

“I understand,” Perth said, nodding.  “If you can spare a dozen archers, that would be helpful.  Otherwise, we can stand with what we have.”

“I can give you that, and more.”  Aedan turned to his group.  “Alistair, Daylen, I want you up there tonight.  Daylen, I know you’re itching to test out your new sword, but stay out of the melee as much as you can.  Get up on that wall and burn the undead as they come, like when we fought the spawn at that bridge.  Alistair, help out the knights when possible, but your priority is to keep them off Daylen so he’s free to cast.”

Alistair and Daylen bobbed their heads.  Aedan gestured back to the map.  “The rest of us will be supporting the militia in the village.”  He looked up at Murdock.  “There are three layers of defenses.  The first line a series of traps and obstacles dispersed through the town, along with simple barricades.  I don’t expect to hold the enemy there for long; it’s designed to slow them down, and once they break through, to limit the number of dead who can assault the second line at once.  That second line is a solid ring around the town square, with barricades blocking every street and alley.  We’ll put militia at the barricades, and more in the buildings, archers on the upper floors and polearms down below, and the Ostagar soldiers in reserve.  The dead will be funneled into killing grounds, with barricades in front and fortified buildings to either side.  That’s where we do most of the damage.  If they break through there, things will get bad.  The militia should try to fall back to the Chantry; if they get cut off, they’ll have to get into the outer buildings and try to hold out until relieved.”  Aedan turned to his people.  “Leliana, we’ll find you a spot with a nice view.  Keep me informed of how the battle is going all along the line.  Morrigan, you’ll be hitting wherever you can do the most damage.  Wynne, I want you caring for the injured, but you’re also responding to a breach.  If the undead manage to open a hole in the second line, you seal it with barriers so we can either counterattack or retreat.  And Sten…” He faced the big Qunari.  “You’re with me.  We go wherever the fighting is heaviest, and we bolster the militia there.  Any questions?”

He looked around the table, and the others shook their heads.  Aedan nodded.  “All right.  Time to talk to the men, then everyone to their positions.”  They headed out to the town square as the sun sank towards the Frostbacks.