Okay so it’s actually Camp plus Redcliffe2 PLUS Ostagar2 mashed together, but otherwise it would really be short. : P It was surprisingly difficult to actually write some of these parts; they just don’t need overly long indulgence. Next chapter should be long juicy though.

AND FINALLY THE MALE LEAD OF OUR STORY DEIGNS TO SHOW UP *sets off fireworks* IT’S ONLY BEEN SIX CHAPTERS

I am just stupidly happy he’s finally here though. I can hardly stop smiling about it. XD I’ll try not to let the story devolve into “Zevran Zevran zevran ZEVRAN zevranzevranzevran OMG ZEVRAN” but it might be tricky. Liz is oddly tsundere, isn’t she? More than I expected. I guess because she hasn’t realised she’s attracted to this guy yet. Also don’t ever pick the “You should not” option in-game when he flirts with you if you want him to keep flirting with you, because Zevran will take you completely seriously and abide by your wishes. The game can’t tell your intentions with the roleplaying, and so that option ENDS all possibility of romance. I’m pretty sure of it. I had to restart my game when I found that out, because I am stubborn. But I can put it in here because it’s my story now. :3

FYI, it takes about 6 hours for a human body to burn. I looked it up on Wikipedia. : P

I revamped the chapter divisions slightly so my estimation is down to 16 chapters. Which means I’m over 1/3 done instead of over 1/4 done. Nice, eh? We’ll see how I feel about that in a couple weeks.

Previous chapter: The Circle Tower; next chapter: The Brecilian Forest

 

Ostagar

The small group marched wearily but steadily southwest along the road to Redcliffe. They’d eaten, and it was growing dark, but they wanted to go on a bit farther before stopping for the night. It was still late autumn.

And that was well not only for them, but for others they met on the road, Elizabeth thought, as a frantic-looking woman burst into view, screaming something about bandits.

“Help! Help me!” she cried, running up to them before coming to a halt and bending over to lean on her knees and pant. “You look… like a reputable lot.”

“We do?” Morrigan said, amused.

“My caravan – bandits – they’re killing everyone! Please… save my family!”

“We’ll do everything we can,” Elizabeth said reassuringly. “Just up the road?”

The woman nodded, her head still bent low. “I’ll follow you in a moment, just… give me a moment… to catch my breath. Hurry! Every moment counts!”

“Let’s go,” Elizabeth said, and they began to jog tiredly up the road. Sten and Morrigan should be their main point of attack, she thought, since they had not had to fight through the Circle Tower and had probably been quite bored all afternoon.

She got the first inkling that things might not be as they seemed when she came across a ruined caravan… but there while there were some signs of a struggle, there were no dead bodies, and the bandits were waiting for them.

“It’s a trap,” Alistair cried.

“Noooo, really? I would never have guessed,” Morrigan said.

“Sten, take the right side; Alistair, take our left. Wynne, right, Morrigan, left.” Elizabeth rattled off placements as fast as she could, and raised her shield to guard against incoming arrows. The bandits were charging them now, and they counter-charged.

Elizabeth was going to go with Alistair but she had seen an elf in the back of the group, giving orders. Now he nocked an arrow to his bow and aimed it – at her.

Without their commander, the bandits would falter. The ones they were fighting were not very good; Elizabeth had become much more sure of herself even since they had met bandits in Lothering and any of these one-on-one would be no match for her. But their commander was very good; she could tell from his deft, precise movements and steady eyes.

She raised her shield and charged at him; the arrow struck the shield, and another, before another one grazed her shin – but she was moving too fast for him to get a good aim at her feet. She knocked a bandit aside with her sword and then she was upon him. She was already impressed he had managed to get three arrows off in the short time it took her to cover the ground between them.

He was very fast, faster than she was – he had already danced away, unsheathing a pair of wicked-looking daggers. The bandits scattered to give them room; they were as afraid of their leader as of their targets, it seemed, but now she had to worry slightly less about her back. But she was outmatched here, and they both knew it. She barely had any opportunity to attack; everything she did was defending and blocking with both sword and shield. His daggers were a dazzling blur, and she frowned in concentration. It was good that her father and brother had trained her so well in defense.

Somehow, she sensed it. He wasn’t fighting at his best. He was certainly trying to kill her, but he wasn’t fighting to his full ability.

Still defending, she began to advance again, pushing back against his onslaught, and he drew back to re-evaluate her. She gave him no time to do so, getting in a couple attacks of her own, forcing him on the defensive – a place she could already feel he was not comfortable. But he leapt aside and came back on the attack from a new angle, turning the flow of battle yet again.

“Leliana’s down!” came a cry from farther back, and Elizabeth felt her heart jump into her throat. But instead of jumping into a frenzy of counterattacks, she backed off a bit, and her opponent let her, watching her with curiosity.

She charged him again, apparently taking him by surprise – she wasn’t sure she truly believed she had, but she would take it. Her shield met his face, throwing him backwards and into a rocky cliffside. He fell to the ground, limp as a string.

She paused just long enough to make sure he was truly unconscious, and ran back to help deal with the rest of the bandits.

Those posed little to no trouble for the rest of them, and Wynne was helping Leliana recover from a slash in her side, so Elizabeth grabbed some rope from the caravan, told Alistair, Sten, and Huan to come with her, and went to tie up the bandit leader.

“Why?” Alistair said bluntly. “He’s a bandit. End of story. Just kill him.”

“I don’t think he is,” she said. “He fought far too well to simply be a bandit. I want to know exactly who he is before we kill him – if we must kill him.”

“You just think he’s pretty,” grunted her fellow Warden.

Elizabeth blinked and considered that. Perhaps her captive was rather handsome, with shoulder-length blond hair, an elegant nose, and high cheekbones. His skin was darkly tanned and he had several graceful looking tattoos that accented his left eye. But he was an elf. Most elves were rather handsome, and she’d never felt much interest for one before. She was a human, after all. She shrugged at Alistair. “It’s not important.”

Alistair grunted, unconvinced, as he helped her tie up the elf. She felt around his skull and decided he hadn’t been too badly damaged by her last attack. She hoped that she was right; she was no healer.

He hadn’t stirred while they manhandled them, so now she blew in his face and patted his cheeks, trying to wake him up.

He stirred; his eyes fluttered, and he groaned. His voice was lighter than she had expected. “Mm… what… I… oh.” He blinked again, looking around at them with vivid amber eyes.

She sat on the ground in front of him as he was propped up against the cliff he had bashed his head on, and the others came to crowd around behind her, forming an intimidating backdrop.

The elf smiled ruefully. “I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven’t killed me yet.” He spoke with a lilting Antivan accent. “Unless you are an angel.” He grinned at her.

“I was hoping you could answer some questions,” Elizabeth said firmly.

“Ah, so I am to be interrogated? Let me save you some time.” A bright smile. “My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, currently working in the Ferelden division. My mission was to slay any surviving Grey Wardens. Which I have failed at, sadly.” Another bright smile accompanied by a chuckle.

She had heard of the Crows before, probably from her sister-in-law Oriana. They were a rightly-feared organization of assassins who well-nigh controlled the country. They always got the job done. Always. And their services were ridiculously expensive.

“Your fourth-rate goons were pathetic,” Morrigan said. “I thought Crows were supposed to be good.”

Zevran shrugged as well as he could while tied up. “My information was sadly out of date. I was told to watch for two warriors and a mabari. I made allowances for one extra companion. You are more popular than my employer realized.” The numbers made sense, Elizabeth agreed. If they had only been the group from Ostagar, they would have been overwhelmed.

“Who hired you to kill us?” she demanded.

“A rather bitter nobleman in the capital,” Zevran said. “Howe, I believe his name was. Arl of something and the other thing, and Teyrn of something else. On behalf of the Lord Regent, he said, but he described your beauty so well I feel there must be something personal between you.”

Elizabeth tried to keep her face from sinking into a glare and only partly succeeded. “That would be correct, yes.”

“Lord Regent?” Alistair said. “That would be Loghain?”

“I think so,” Zevran said. “I met him as well, returning from Ostagar while I was attempting to track you down. A dour, taciturn fellow. From what I know, he is acting as Lord Regent on behalf of his daughter the Queen. He didn’t seem terribly impressed with Howe’s idea, but he didn’t stop him either.”

Elizabeth fixed him with the most quelling stare she could manage. “Are you loyal to Howe or Loghain?”

“I have no idea what his issues are with you,” Zevran said cheerfully. “The usual, I imagine. You threaten his power, yes? Beyond that, no, I am not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service.”

“When were you to see him next?” Leliana asked, and Elizabeth agreed. If Howe should be able to track them…

“Why, never,” Zevran said. “I would deliver proof of my assassination to the Crow office, and they would pass it on to Howe.”

“How much were you paid?” Alistair broke in curiously.

Zevran chuckled again. “I was not paid anything. The Crows, however, were paid quite handsomely, or so they told me. Which does make me about as poor as a Chantry mouse, come to think of it. Being a Crow is not for the ambitious, to be perfectly honest.”

“Then why are you one?” Alistair asked, perplexed.

“Well, aside from a distinct lack of ambition, I wasn’t really given much of a choice. But it’s not so bad. They keep you well supplied with wine, women, men, whatever you happen to fancy.” He winked. “Though the whole severance package is garbage, let me tell you. If you were considering joining, I’d really think twice about it if I were you.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Elizabeth said drily. “What happens now that you have not killed us?”

“Why, that is between your Teyrn Howe and the Crows. And between the Crows and me.”

“I believe the punishment for failure is death,” Leliana murmured.

“That is true,” Zevran admitted. “If I had failed, I would be dead. Or I should be, at least as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to trouble Teyrn Howe then.”

“Don’t call him Teyrn Howe,” Elizabeth hissed.

“My apologies,” Zevran said easily, and she could see him calculating just how she might know Howe in his thoughts.

“If you had failed?” Morrigan asked with an eyebrow raised.

“What can I say? I’m an eternal optimist,” he said, laughing. “My chances at this point, however, seem a bit slim. No, I don’t suppose you’d find that funny, would you?”

Elizabeth looked closely at him. His manner was easy enough, his laughter seemed genuine, and she was more or less certain he was telling the truth. She was also impressed that he could find it in him to laugh about his circumstances. But… something about him still seemed…

“Why are you telling us this so easily?” she asked, and the elf seemed surprised.

“Why, you asked. I wasn’t paid for silence. Not that I offered it for sale, exactly.”

“You wouldn’t be loyal to the one who bought your services?”

Zevran put his head on one side. “Loyalty is an interesting concept. If you’re done interrogating me, we can discuss it further if you wish?”

“What do you mean?” Alistair asked warily.

“Here’s the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That’s how it works. If you don’t kill me, the Crows will. Here’s the other thing: I like living. And you are obviously the sort to give the Crows pause. So… let me serve you, instead.”

“Absolutely not!” Alistair exclaimed.

“Why not?” Morrigan countered, bored but amused. “It should keep you on your toes. Or are you just jealous?”

“I’m not jealous,” Alistair muttered. “Just don’t want to wake up with a knife in my back. Yours or his. What’s to stop him from finishing the job later?”

For the first time, Zevran looked down and away from them. “I was never given a choice when it came to joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. I was a very good bargain, or so I’m told. I think I’ve paid my worth back to them a hundredfold and then some. The only way out, however, is to join someone they can’t touch. And those people are rare.”

“Oh, you’re not going to believe his puppydog eyes, are you?” Alistair snorted.

Zevran looked straight at Elizabeth. She didn’t really see the puppydog eyes. “Even if I killed you later, they might just kill me on principle for failing the first time. I’d rather take my chances with you.”

“You don’t seem very loyal,” Morrigan said cheerfully, and Zevran smirked at her.

“I happen to be a very loyal person. Up to the point where someone expects me to die for failing, not a fan of that part. That’s not a fault, really, is it? Unless you happen to be the sort who expects the same thing. In which case… I… don’t come very well recommended, do I. But you don’t seem that sort.”

“No,” Elizabeth agreed in a low voice. “What if they come after you?”

“I know their ways, and I can protect myself, as well as you. Not that you would need it, I think – I was one of their best, and you defeated me.”

“You weren’t fighting at your best,” she said, without thinking, and saw surprise flash across his face.

“What?” Alistair said. “And you’re still considering taking him? What if this was his plan all along, to lose and then join us and then kill us?”

“I can’t say I approve of this course of action,” Wynne said. “I trust you know what you’re doing.”

Elizabeth raised her chin slightly. “Very well. What sort of skills do you offer us, and what do you wish from us in return?”

Zevran smiled. “I am highly skilled at fighting with daggers, swords, bows; I can move stealthily and pick locks; I can warn you if the Antivan Crows make any more attempts on all our lives. I can also tell a great many jokes, and I know six different massage techniques and twelve different card games. I do wonderful parties, no?” He chuckled at his own joke. “Let’s see. For my end… being allowed to live would be nice, and would make me marginally more useful to you. If, further down the line, you have no more use for me, then I shall go on my way and be of no more bother to you. Until then, however, I am yours to do with as you please. Is that fair?”

“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Alistair objected one more time. “We’re really taking the assassin with us? If there were a sign that we were desperate, I think it just knocked on the door and said hello.”

“Collecting cast-offs is what she does, isn’t it?” Morrigan said. “Hence your oh so charming, sophisticated presence.”

“Hey!”

“Just watch your food and drink from now on,” Morrigan told Elizabeth casually.

“That’s excellent advice for anyone,” Zevran said to Morrigan.

“I still cannot approve,” Wynne said. “But I will help him if I must.”

“I promise I shall be no burden to you, my dear… unless you wish me to be,” he said, and winked again.

“Oh, Maker,” Wynne threw up her hands in exasperation and walked away.

Sten shrugged. Huan looked at them all curiously.

Elizabeth paused for a while, staring at him, trying to read him. He seemed to be telling the truth, and his mouth smiled but his eyes were devoid of hope. Resigned, perhaps. And it was that, more than anything else, that convinced her.

“I will accept your help,” she said at last, slowly. “I do not entirely trust you-”

“Finally, some sense,” Alistair muttered.

“I can’t tell if I’m more shocked that I agree with you, or that you think you are sensible,” Morrigan retorted.

Elizabeth ignored them. “But I believe you.” She took her knife and cut the elf free, then helped him stand up. He grinned a little as she offered him her hand, but it left his face as he stood at attention and looked her in the eye steadily and seriously. “I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man without reservation, this I swear.”

“I accept your oath,” she said as she would to a knight of Highever. As she had said, once upon a time…

“Sooo… who exactly are you and what are you doing?” he asked, the bright smile back on his face, the smile that she did not believe was entirely real.

“I’d like you to take point with Sten and Leliana,” she told him. They’d be able to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t try anything threatening. “Leliana can tell you everything.”

He shrugged agreeably and did as she asked.

 

They did not make camp very long after, but they wanted to put some distance between them and Zevran’s failed ambush site. Their meal was quiet – most of them were exhausted and in no mood for talking.

Elizabeth wanted badly to rest, but she also wanted to know more about their new companion. The more she knew, the sooner she could rely on him. As it was, it was probably going to be awkward for a few weeks since even she didn’t trust him yet. She believed it would come, since he had put his trust in them… or had he? She didn’t know but she wanted to. However, believing the best of this stranger without cause could be deadly.

And talking to him would put off any nightmares for a while. But that was a selfish reason.

“Can I ask you some more questions?” she said quietly to him as he, she, and Leliana sat at the campfire. Wynne and Alistair had already gone to bed; Morrigan had withdrawn to her own little corner of camp as was becoming her habit, and Huan was snoring slightly beside Elizabeth. Sten was on watch.

Zevran looked up at her with a smirk. “By all means; as long as I get to stare luridly at you while you do so.”

Elizabeth felt colour rush to her cheeks. The nerve he had! “Why you-” She almost rose, intending to go over to him and slap him, but then she noticed that his gaze was still steady on her eyes and he was laughing at her. Huan twitched, startled in his sleep by her sudden movement, but subsided again.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Leliana scolded Zevran, but she too was hiding a smile behind her hand.

Elizabeth felt flustered and turned her head away.

“What would you like to know, my lovely Grey Warden?” Zevran asked, a little more gently.

He wasn’t going to apologize, was he. Maybe assassin training did not include manners. “Well… my… sister-in-law was from Antiva. I wanted to know more about it.”

“It is a warm place, warmer than this cold, harsh Ferelden. It rains often, but the flowers are always in bloom, as they say. I myself hail from Antiva City, a glittering gem amidst the sand. But surely you know this much already. Why can you not ask your sister-in-law once you return home?”

Elizabeth stared into the fire. “I was the daughter of Teyrn Bryce Cousland. Arl Howe betrayed and murdered my parents, my family, my best friend, everyone who was in Castle Highever on that night. I and three others escaped only thanks to Duncan, a Grey Warden. My brother was not there, but he went into the Wilds at Ostagar and never returned. He never even knew of Howe’s betrayal.”

“I see,” Zevran said. “I think I begin to understand why you hate Howe so much – and why you deny him the title Loghain has given him.”

“I cannot hold the title,” Elizabeth said. “I gave up that right when I became a Grey Warden.” And a number of other things that made her want to cry, especially with her current state of exhaustion, but she choked that back and went on. “But I would rather die than see it bestowed on such a one as he.”

Zevran was silent a moment. “How did an Antivan woman meet your brother?”

If she could talk about it without crying, she would tell him. “My brother Fergus… no, I should not start there. Oriana’s father was a rich trader who came often to Ferelden, staying for months at a time. One time, he brought his daughter, who… while she did not like how cold and dreary Ferelden was compared to her homeland…”

“Something I’m sure everyone notices,” Zevran teased her.

“…She liked the company of Denerim’s nobles, and in particular, one rather uncouth, bumbling… twit, who liked her very much in return. I’m not entirely sure what she saw in my brother to stay with him, but in any case they were married within the year.”

“You are so flattering to your brother,” Zevran commented, and Leliana giggled a bit.

“He loved to tease me,” Elizabeth said ruefully. “I am very much a younger sibling, and he the older sibling. He helped me train with the sword, and he would pull pranks on me and generally be terrible. W-we did love each other, but sometimes it was not so apparent.” She swallowed hard.

“Did they have any children?” Leliana asked eagerly. “Did you spoil them as their aunt?”

“My nephew, Oren. He-he was only five…” She broke off, swallowing again, jaw clenched and head fiercely proud. She would not weep in front of her companions, especially not the new one.

“I’m sorry,” Leliana said softly.

“Have you ever had Antivan wine?” Zevran interrupted, and she seized on it gratefully.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Oriana might have obtained some, and we might have drunk some of it, but I do not remember.”

“I’ve had it many times,” Leliana said. “Although Orlesians prefer their own wine, Antivan wine does make it onto many tables at many fancy gatherings.”

“It is what Antiva is famous for,” Zevran said, “and you are certainly missing out if you don’t remember trying it. If we ever go to Denerim I shall try to get some for you. The only way to truly experience Antiva is to go there, but the wine… could be a substitute while you are fighting this Blight.”

“Very well,” Elizabeth said. “I suppose that is something to look forward to.”

He looked at her frankly. “I’m not actually going to poison you.”

“I mostly believe you,” she said. “I’m trying to decide whether or not I should try to trust you or whether I should try to distrust you. It is difficult to do either.”

“I know,” he said. “I find it amusing. I know that I will not lift a finger against you, but tough luck trying to convince you or your companions of that instantly, no? You cannot read my mind and perceive my intentions as I feel them.”

“No one would want to read your mind,” Leliana quipped. “You say entirely too much of it as it is.”

He grinned wickedly. “Can I help it, when surrounded by so many attractive people? My last group, the fourth-rate goons, as your sexy friend with the shining dark hair put it, was not nearly so beautiful – or interesting. Only one woman, and she was quite plain compared to the two of you, not to mention everyone else here…”

“That’s quite enough,” Leliana cried. “I am going to bed. Are you coming, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth thought she heard Zevran mutter something, something that sounded like “that’s what she said”, but she didn’t understand what that meant and ignored it. His private smirk told her all she needed to know, anyway. “I think I shall.” She stood and bowed to the elf. “Good night.”

“Good night, Grey Warden.”

 

The next day, it rained, and they came to Redcliffe with the mages, all completely sodden. Their coming had been seen from far off, and Isolde and Teagan were waiting for them.

“I must apologize for taking so long,” was the first thing Elizabeth said. “There was a crisis at the Circle Tower and it needed to be resolved before the mages could come.”

“I understand,” Teagan said. “We were worried for you, but Connor has locked himself in his room and has made not a sound since you left.”

“The demon has run out of resources in this world,” Irving said. “It is biding its time until we try to rescue the boy, at which time it will attempt to seize the mage who does the rescuing. It will be a delicate operation; if we fail, the demon will have a new victim and the boy will die.”

Isolde let out a loud sniffle.

“We shall not let that happen,” Irving said to her kindly. “Where is Jowan?”

“He is in a cell,” Isolde said. “The Warden said not to lock him up again, but I do not trust that man.”

Irving sighed. “Fair enough. I suppose Arl Eamon will wish to pass judgement on him when he recovers, and I cannot interfere with that, even though the only likely outcome will be execution.” Behind him, Elizabeth saw two of the younger mages look at each other with alarm. “Well, leave him there; we can start without him. I will speak to him later.”

“Who is the mage going into the Fade?” Teagan asked.

“Any senior mage here would be suitable,” Irving said. “I would even volunteer myself. Does anyone have any opinions on the matter?”

Elizabeth hesitated. “My friend Morrigan… is more than a match for anything in the Fade.”

Morrigan blinked. “I am flattered by your confidence, I suppose. Although this will be an enormous bother, you realize.”

“This woman is a mage?” one of the Templars demanded, his hand going to his weapon. “She’s an apostate, isn’t she!?”

Elizabeth took a quick, aggressive step forward. “She is from another Circle and she is with me.” Well, now she had lied for an ally – and so easily, too. How strange it felt.

The Templar, however, subsided, and no one else showed signs of giving them trouble.

“I will accept your volunteer,” Irving said. “Let us begin.”

Elizabeth wasn’t needed for the ritual, and so with Isolde’s permission went to explore the castle. It was still raining steadily, so she kept indoors. She was beginning to dry off and did not want to change that state. She was in Arl Eamon’s office, looking at the paintings and the books, when something on the desk caught her eye. She turned to it and picked it up.

It was a ceramic amulet with the symbol of Andraste’s Flame on it in silver. It was old and cracked, but it looked like it had been painstakingly reassembled from some shattered state.

“What’s that you’re looking at?” Alistair asked, peering over her shoulder, and she felt him go very still. “Oh. That’s-”

“What is it?” She turned to face him and handed it to him. He turned it over and over in his hands for a long time, studying the damage and the repair. His face was unreadable.

“I told you I lived here once, right?” he said quietly.

“Yes, I think so. But Isolde had you sent you to the chantry when you were still young.”

“Well… This was my treasure as a child. It belonged to my mother, you see. I was… so upset, so furious at being sent away that I threw it at the wall… Fancy finding it here, of all places. I suppose… Arl Eamon must have found it. And then repaired it and kept it. I don’t understand, why would he do that?”

“Maybe you meant more to him than you thought,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps he regretted… things.”

“Yes, things. …We never really talked, and then the way I left…” He was quiet for another moment. “Thank you. I mean it. I thought I’d lost this forever from my own stupidity.”

“I did nothing,” Elizabeth said. “I’m glad you have it now.”

He smiled shyly and tried to loop it around his neck, but the chain was too short, so he put it in his pocket with another sheepish smile. “I’ll need to talk to him if he- when he recovers. Thanks again.” Elizabeth smiled back at him, and he left the room.

She kept wandering, and eventually found her way to the armoury. There she found Zevran, with Sten watching him. Both men were looking at the racks of polished weapons, occasionally trying one out and putting it back. Oddly, they seemed to have been having a conversation. “It’s like talking to a water wheel,” Zevran complained under his breath as she approached them.

“See anything you like?” she asked.

“Besides you?” Zevran asked, and she gave him an unimpressed look. Unrepentant, he grinned and twirled a sword with a particularly decorated hilt. “The balance is off on this one. It is for display. But it is so pretty…”

“I am sure I could ask Bann Teagan to give us almost any weapon you please, as a gift,” she said. “Sten, did you not say that you use a sword? You could have one.”

“This is fine,” Sten said, referring to his maul. “No sword here can match the one that is mine.”

“Very well, but if you change your mind, only ask me.”

She herself was curious about the extent of the armoury, and was reminded that her armour badly needed repairing. She had been wearing it almost all this time and had almost forgotten about the damage she’d sustained in the Circle Tower. She announced her intention to go get that done, and Zevran volunteered to go with her. Sten made no sign of agreement or disagreement, but followed them as they went down to the courtyard to find Owen. He was much more pleasant than the last time they talked, and set to work on her battered armour right away. She also saw Bodhan Feddic and his son Sandal, and Feddic declared his intention of coming with them on their further adventures. She did not gainsay him.

The rain had stopped for the moment, so clad now only in her shirt and pants, she went up to the battlements and looked over the lake and the little village. The elf and the Qunari followed her, and they made a slightly odd group.

“What a lovely little fishing village!” Zevran exclaimed. And then he ruined it by adding “You can almost smell the desperation of the local gentry, no?”

“All I smell is fish,” she said disarmingly, and worked up the nerve to ask something she had been curious about since the day before. “Zevran, if you have been… an assassin all your life, you must have had some adventures, haven’t you?”

He chuckled. “I am hardly an old man returned from across the sea, am I? Should I shake my fist at nearby children while I talk about the good old days?” His golden hair blew across his face in the light, blustery wind and he brushed it back.

He was trying to fluster her again, and it wouldn’t work. She hoped. “You seem like you have had adventures.”

“I suppose it depends on what you call an adventure,” Zevran said, relenting. “Falling down a flight of stairs can be an adventure. Falling into someone’s bed? Also an adventure.” His accented words flowed forth like a gentle waterfall. “But I assume that you are referring to professional anecdotes. Well, let’s see. There are a few that you might find amusing… Ah! My second mission ever for the Crows was a bit intriguing. I was sent to kill a mage who had been meddling in politics. As it turned out, the mage in question was a delightful young woman. Long, divine legs, if I recall correctly. I caught her in her carriage as she attempted to escape to the provinces. After I killed her guards, she got down on her knees and begged for her life – very eloquently, I might add. So I joined her in the carriage for the night and left the next morning.”

A crease had appeared between Elizabeth’s eyebrows, listening to this. “She didn’t try to kill you at any point?”

“Oh yes, twice, actually. Then she decided to try to use me, instead. The woman actually convinced me to speak to the Crows on her behalf. What can I say? I was young and foolish at the time.”

“How young?” Elizabeth asked curiously.

“Hmm, I’m not entirely sure. Sixteen, perhaps?” Elizabeth’s eyes widened. She was only eighteen. How old was he now? And she had defeated him? “At any rate, when I was kissing her goodbye to return to Antiva City, she slipped on the threshold and fell backwards out of the carriage. Broke her neck. A shame, really, but at least it happened quickly.”

Elizabeth gasped. “Did you push her?”

“I? No! It was purely an accident. Like I said, I was young and foolish and intended to do as she asked. Then I found out she had asked the driver to take her to Genellan instead. She planned to lose me in the provinces. I would have looked very foolish to the Crows. As it was, my master was very impressed that I had done such a fine job of making it look like an accident. The Circle of Magi was unaware of foul play, and everyone was happier all around.”

“Very… interesting,” Elizabeth said, trying to process it all.

“That was when I learned not to let a pretty face go to your head. Professionalism is key. My moral of the day.”

“I… see,” she said, wondering if she was supposed to take that to heart at all, in general, or in regards to him, or something else entirely. “You really do come from a very different world than I do.”

“I would imagine so. And Sten over here comes from a very different world from either of us.”

“That is very true,” she said.

At that moment the clouds grew dark suddenly and began to rain again, and she hurried to shelter, finding a door that led back into the castle. The others followed her. “Tell me another story,” she said as they walked down the narrow hall back to the main area of the castle.

He laughed. “Very well. Let me see… Ah! You will certainly like this one. It was a couple years later…”

 

It was an hour before the ritual was finished, but Connor was reunited with his mother and uncle safely. Morrigan tried to pretend to be annoyed by the whole thing, but Elizabeth didn’t quite believe her.

Connor had not had food or drink since he had fled from him in the demon’s clutches, so he was very weak and Isolde went to take care of him with broth and water. Teagan, meanwhile, laid out a feast for the mages and the companions, and they ate well for the first time Elizabeth could remember since she left Highever.

Afterwards, they were shown to guestrooms, but they briefly joined Elizabeth in hers to choose where they went next. It was pointed out that they were pretty much equally distant from both the Brecilian Forest and Orzammar, the homes of their remaining allies: the elves and the dwarves. In the end it was decided that they should go to the Forest to find the elves.

They set out early the next day, and the mages and Templars did as well. Two of the younger mages were late; a red-headed elf boy and a brown-haired human girl, but they showed up at the last moment and the group began the journey back to the Circle Tower. Elizabeth collected her mended armour, and then her group set out, taking the Imperial Highway south and then east around Lake Calenhad. When the highway turned north to aim for Denerim, they would leave it and continue east through the Southern Hills and into the Brecilian Forest.

She no longer asked Zevran to take point out of suspicion, and while she mostly walked with Leliana or Alistair, sometimes he would walk with her too. Sometimes he would walk with Morrigan and attempt to proposition her, an attempt that would inevitably end in failure, which Leliana found vastly amusing. Elizabeth tried not to be scandalized but it was difficult.

It was three days into their journey, over halfway back to Lothering, and he was walking with her again. She had heard so many tales of derring-do over the last few days that she was completely astonished that he was still alive. He must have the best luck in Thedas.

But now she was curious about something else. “You said that you didn’t have much choice in joining the Crows.”

He took the statement for the question it was and began readily enough. “Ah, to understand that you must understand that I was an orphan. My mother was a Dalish elf, and she fell in love with a city elf, a woodcutter, so she left her people to come to Antiva City. Not a good idea, it turned out, as there of course the woodcutter picked up some filthy disease and died before I was born. My mother was forced into prostitution to pay off his debts. Oldest tale in the book. But I never knew her; she died bearing me. My first victim, as it were.” His voice trailed off for a moment, but then picked up again. “So I was raised in an Antivan whorehouse along with various other children in the same situation. The whores were good to us, as much as they could be. One of them told my fortune once, and apparently it said I would have a long life. She was rather startled by that.” He chuckled, and she nodded with the shadow of a smile. From the stories he had, it was startling indeed.

“How did you know about your mother?”

“Why, the whores told me. And… I did have one thing of hers – a pair of gloves. Dalish gloves, I suppose. They were beautiful; fingerless, pale brown deer leather, with white and red embroidery on a pale blue panel on the back of the hand. I used to hide them under my bed and take them out to look at them every once in a while. We were not allowed personal possessions as Crow apprentices, but I managed to hide them for a couple years – until one day they were discovered, and never saw them again.” He shrugged. “It was a long time ago, though.”

“Anyway, when I was about seven – it was not easy to keep track of time in years – the Crows came and bought me. I believe they paid three sovereigns for me.”

“That’s rather awful,” she said.

“And why should it be? It was just the way it was. No use worrying about it now. My life may have had its ups and downs, but I like my job.”

“You… like killing people?”

“Indeed. To hold another’s life in my hand, it is so exciting. Don’t you agree? You are a warrior, you do things similarly.”

“I… enjoy the fight,” she said cautiously. “Killing monsters is fine. I can take some satisfaction from that. Killing men, even wicked men…”

“Ah, you are young and inexperienced. But you like to get the blood pumping, eh?”

“I suppose,” she acquiesced.

“You have become very tense,” said he, with a shrewd look at her. “It is all this rough walking we are doing, no? When we camp for the night, would you like a massage?”

“A… massage?” she said warily. Was this a proposition?

“Yes, something to help you relax. How about it?”

“Well…”

“I learned many advanced techniques that one only learns growing up in an Antivan whorehouse.” He was not leering at her, as she might have expected, only being matter-of-fact. It was disconcerting.

“I, ah, what are you suggesting?” She glared at him suspiciously.

He chuckled. “If you mean to ask if there might be more than a massage involved, let me just say you won’t be disappointed in any of the techniques I’ve picked up over the years.”

She decided that she needed somewhat more space between them and sidestepped a bit. “I… don’t…”

“What is there to fear, dear Liz? If you’re not of a mind, of course, it is no tragedy.”

She snapped her head around to look at him. “What did you call me!?”

“Is that not your name?” He was definitely teasing her, amber eyes dancing and white teeth flashing in his tanned face.

“My name is Elizabeth,” she said shortly. “And… I am not particularly interested in your offer. Why would you proposition me, anyway?”

He seemed surprised. “Why not? I fancy things that are dangerous and exciting.”

“W-well, I may be a little bit dangerous,” the trail of bodies she had built up in only the last few weeks spoke to that, “but I would think I am also incredibly boring. At least to someone like you.”

“Someone like me, is it?” He didn’t seem offended, only amused. “I tell you a few stories of my work, and you think I am too exciting for you?”

She raised her chin. She would not be mocked. “I’m not interested.”

He backed off. “As you wish, my dear. But let me know if you change your mind.”

She decided not to dignify that with an answer. Her heart was beating far too fast as it was and her armour was hot and heavy on her, despite the increasing coolness of the air the further south they went. She did not speak to him for the rest of the day.

 

That evening she gave Morrigan the black book she had picked up in the Circle Tower, and Morrigan’s golden eyes lit up as Elizabeth had never seen them before. The young witch tried to hide her delight, but she was not successful at all. She took the book hurriedly from Elizabeth and retreated to her private corner of camp, saying that she had a lot of reading to do.

 

It was still early in the morning of the next day and they had just broken camp when Leliana returned from scouting. “There’s some sort of commotion up ahead on the road. Men are threatening a traveler.”

“Let us go see,” Elizabeth said, and set off with Leliana. Alistair, Huan, and Wynne were ready and came with them.

The road bent here, dipping into a little dell, and they had a good view of the road while being less noticeable to anyone farther down. There was indeed a man there, in tattered clothes and an unkempt beard, and surrounding him were a half-dozen men in uniform.

“Those are Loghain’s men!” cried Alistair. “Obviously they are up to no good.”

“I think I agree,” Leliana said. “One of them said ‘traitor’ just now. Shall we attack them?”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth, but even as she said so, the captain of the soldiers stabbed the traveler in the gut.

Elizabeth crashed down the slope and into their flank, and the soldiers yelled as they realized they were under attack. She and Alistair cleared a path for Wynne to get to the mortally injured man. Between the four of them, and the later back-up of Morrigan, Sten, and Zevran, they made short work of Loghain’s men.

Elizabeth knelt beside Wynne. “How is he?”

“Not good,” Wynne said. “I cannot do much for him and he will die here. Do you know who he is?” Elizabeth shook her head. “This is Elric Maraigne, a member of King Cailan’s honour guard and a close confidant of the king. I wonder what he is doing here?”

The man half-coughed and stirred. He groaned, and Elizabeth and Alistair helped him to partly sit up. “Th-thank you. I… wish I had met you before Loghain’s men did. I tried to escape them, but… now I’m a dead man.”

“I’m sorry for not getting here sooner,” Elizabeth said. “Why did they attack you?”

“I remember your face,” Maraigne said. “You were at Ostagar. You know what happened. It was either this, or die in some darkspawn’s belly, or… or be hanged as a deserter.”

Elizabeth blinked. “I don’t understand. Wynne said you were in King Cailan’s honour guard. Why would you desert?”

“I’m less of a deserter than Loghain is,” Maraigne bit out, and coughed wetly. “I fled after he did… I abandoned my men, and they all died, and Cailan was with them. He was my king, my friend…” He groaned again. “Maker. All that time hiding in the woods, biding my time until it was safe to travel to Redcliffe, and I couldn’t stop thinking about that one dark night… But… do you know the saddest part?”

“What is it?”

“Even if Loghain’s men not turned their backs on us… there were too many darkspawn. Even Cailan, for all his bravado, knew there would be no victory at Ostagar.”

Elizabeth traded glances with Wynne and Alistair. She certainly hadn’t received that impression from the king at the time. But was it her imagination, or were there times when she remembered the king looking subdued?

“The king entrusted me with the key to the royal arms chest,” Maraigne said, more weakly. “If anything were to happen to him, he said, it was vital that I deliver it to the Grey Wardens. I was going to Redcliffe to see if any survived, but you’ll do that for me, won’t you?”

“You are in luck,” Alistair said. “We’re Grey Wardens.”

Maraigne’s face cleared. “Oh, that’s right. You were at the last strategy meeting. Well… here’s the key.” He fumbled around his neck and Elizabeth helped him remove the small golden key on a silver ring, hanging from his neck on a string. “And… if you see Cailan’s body, would you give it honours? He was our king. He shouldn’t be left to rot among the darkspawn’s filth.”

“I will do that,” Elizabeth promised.

“I don’t know what’s in the chest,” Maraigne said. “But it’s important that you get it. You’ll do that, won’t you?”

“We will go there right away,” Elizabeth said. “Rest easy, Ser Maraigne.”

“Thank you,” he said, and let his head fall back. After a moment, he stopped breathing.

They buried him under a cairn near the road.

“So, to Ostagar, hmm?” Leliana said. “I expect it will be a dreadful place now, but I am curious about it.”

“We should go,” Alistair said. “It might be something as important as the Grey Warden treaties. We can at least see that he is not dishonoured in death.”

“We will go,” Elizabeth said. “I made a promise.”

 

Lothering was no more; a collection of burned foundations and charred bodies lying under the sky. They did not stop as they turned south along the highway.

There weren’t many darkspawn on the road, but there were some, and they had to be careful. Alistair’s sense of them helped, and Elizabeth tried to feel if she could sense them as well, but she wasn’t yet sure whether she was sensing anything or simply pretending to herself that she could. It was also getting colder yet, and a day out from Ostagar they woke in the morning to a thin layer of snow on the ground.

Ostagar itself was blanketed in whiteness. There were fresh darkspawn tracks everywhere, and they tried to stay hidden as much as they could. Feddic found a hollow to hide his cart in, and he and Sandal came with them – it was safer than leaving them behind. Elizabeth did not say much, but Wynne and Alistar spoke frequently in low voices, remembering.

“It makes me feel old.”

“And what exactly are you implying, Alistair?” Wynne said pertly.

“What? …What?” Alistair only slowly came out of his reverie and caught on. “No, I meant – I just thought-”

“You just thought I might be an expert on feeling old and could share some sage advice?”

“I just meant I was a different person, then. I believed in him, you know? That it would be this glorious battle that we’d win.”

“I did too,” Wynne said gently. “We were all a bit younger the last time we were here.”

Alistair shook himself. “Well, not you. You’ve always been old.”

Wynne shot him a sharp glance. “With lip like that, son, you’ll be lucky if you live to be half my age.”

“We have company,” Sten said, hefting his maul. “They have seen us.”

“We must not let them call allies,” Alistair said. “Let’s get them, quickly.”

“I’m on it,” said Morrigan, casting some sort of curse upon them that slowed their movements. Some of them, indeed, fell over. “They’ll only be asleep for so long, so move quickly.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said, and charged.

There was one tall darkspawn who had not fallen asleep, and he wielded a fearsome axe – but his armour appeared familiar. It was a Fereldan design. That shouldn’t be possible, unless…

“It’s wearing Cailan’s armour!” cried Alistair, outraged, and engaged it in combat. It was unusually tall and strong, and Alistair might have been in over his head despite his rage had Sten not stepped in and dealt a crushing blow to the creature’s legs.

Alistair fiercely stripped the golden breastplate from the now-headless hurlock. “I’m going to hold on to this. Bodhan, can I put it in your cart when we get back?”

“Certainly you can,” Feddic replied, still looking around nervously.

“What’s the matter, Alistair?” Wynne asked.

“I don’t know, it just feels wrong to find this here. Pawed over by darkspawn, and thick with their rot…” Alistair washed his hands in snow and wiped them on his pants. “It was his.”

“I know,” Wynne said. “But he is not the first king to ever fall in battle or ever the first to fall to the darkspawn.”

“Yes, but this wound cuts deeper.”

“And it will bleed longer. Did you know Cailan well?”

“Did I have any sort of relationship with him, you mean?” Alistair asked, hoisting the empty armour onto his shoulders with some sturdy string.

“Yes. I wonder what he thought of you.”

Alistair snorted. “I don’t think he cared much about my existence. I didn’t mean anything to him. Anyway, to answer your original question, no, we never spoke. Well, maybe once. Maric and Cailan had come to Redcliffe to visit the arl. I was very young then. We were introduced. I believe I said, “Greetings, your Highness.” He said, “Ooh! Swords!” and ran off to the armory. So, yes, that was the extent of our relationship. We drifted apart after that. Very sad.”

“I see,” Wynne said, amused.

They entered the west end of what had once been the camp. Not much remained of it, but Elizabeth could still see where the tents had been, where the hospital had been, where the training grounds had been. There were darkspawn here, too, but they were defeated before they could raise an alarm, and the path to Cailan’s tent was clear.

They kept to the walls as they approached. Everything was so very quiet. Snow was not actively falling, but it was ankle-deep, and Wynne and Alistair’s quiet conversation sounded muffled.

Even the remains of the king’s tent were sumptuous, but the only thing Elizabeth was interested in was the large gilded chest at the back. It had been knocked around, and clearly someone had attempted to hack into it with a sharp object, but it had withstood the abuse. Now if only the key still worked in the lock…

It did, and Elizabeth opened the chest to reveal a beautiful sword in a red sheath, and a small pile of letters.

“That is a sexy sword, and I must have it,” Zevran commented.

“That is Maric’s blade,” Wynne chastised him. “It goes to Alistair by right.” Zevran shrugged cheerfully and stood back.

“I guess,” Alistair said without enthusiasm. “What are the letters?”

Elizabeth felt awkward about opening secret correspondence to her king, but apparently he had intended that she and Alistair receive it, so she obediently removed an envelope and pulled a letter from it. She read it silently, then passed it to Alistair.

Alistair apparently did not share her sense of discretion, because he began to read aloud: “To his Majesty, King Cailan of Ferelden: My Warden-Commander assures me that we face a Blight. This thing threatens us both, and we must work together to fight it, lest it devour all. Our two nations have not had a happy history, but that is all it is: history. It is the future that is at stake now. Let us put aside our fathers’ disagreements so that we may secure a future for both our countries. My Chevaliers stand ready and will accompany the Grey Wardens of Orlais to Ferelden. At your word the might of Orlais will march to reinforce the Ferelden forces. Sincerely, Empress Celene the First.”

“That much we knew already,” Wynne said. “Cailan and Loghain were at loggerheads all week, and probably since before that, over whether or not to involve the Orlesians.”

Elizabeth was already reading a second letter. “Alistair… this one… is from Arl Eamon.”

“By your face, it’s a disturbing one,” Alistair said, and took it from her, trading for the first one that he still carried. “Your Majesty, my men will arrive as soon as possible to bolster your forces. Maker willing, this Blight will be ended before it has begun. Cailan, I beseech you, as your uncle, not to join the Grey Wardens on the Field. You cannot afford to take this risk. Ferelden cannot afford it. Let me remind you again that you do not have an heir. Your death – and it pains me even to think of it – would plunge Ferelden into chaos.”

“And yes, perhaps when this is over you will allow me to bring up the subject of your heir. While a son from both the Theirin and Mac Tir lines would unite Ferelden like no other, we must accept that perhaps this can never be. The queen approaches her thirtieth year and her ability to give you a child lessens with each passing month. I submit to you again that it might be time to put Anora aside. We parted harshly the last time I spoke of this, but it has been a full year since then and nothing has changed. Please, nephew, consider my words, and Andraste’s grace be with you.” Alistair let his hands fall to his side with a grimace that said ‘I’m not touching that with a ten-foot pole’ as he handed the letter back to Elizabeth.

“That’s rather insulting to Queen Anora,” Leliana said. “It’s not true that women are infertile after thirty. I can imagine Cailan was upset with his uncle for saying such things.”

“My mother had me only shortly after she turned thirty,” Elizabeth said. “Is it not true? I thought it was.”

“No indeed,” Leliana said. “As many Orlesian noblewomen have discovered over the centuries to their chagrin.”

Elizabeth looked at the last letter, which appeared to have been crumpled and then uncrumpled at some point, and blushed before passing it to Alistair, who read: “Cailan; the visit to Ferelden will be postponed indefinitely, due to the darkspawn problem. You understand, of course? The darkspawn have odd timing, don’t they? Let us deal with them first. Once that is done we can further discuss a permanent alliance between Orlais and Ferelden.” He blinked. “I don’t get it. Was Cailan going to divorce Anora after all and marry Celene? How old is she? How well did they know each other, were they visiting before, or was it just letters, or what? Loghain would be especially angry to hear this. I wonder if he knew.”

“It’s a moot point now,” sighed Wynne. “She was only waiting for his response to assist us.”

“A response that will never come now,” Alistair said.

“Never is a long time, Alistair,” Wynne said. “Give it time and let cooler heads prevail. There will be peace between us yet.”

“I hope you live to see it, Wynne.”

“And I hope the darkspawn don’t.”

“We haven’t seen Cailan’s body yet, or the rest of his armour,” Elizabeth said. “We should continue.”

“I do see the body of a man,” Zevran said, pointing to the bridge. “Could that be him?”

They walked in that direction, and when they were close enough to see, Elizabeth covered her mouth in horror. King Cailan had been stripped naked and crucified with spears and arrows on a hideous darkspawn sculpture set up exactly halfway across the bridge. The dead king faced south, towards the enemy he had failed to conquer, and his head was slumped on his breast. Despite his wounds and the length of time he had been exposed to the elements, his body was surprisingly intact, and Elizabeth could see a resemblance to Alistair, now that she knew to look for it. She still remembered her brief meeting with him, how kindly he had spoken to her, how boyish and full of hope he had seemed, how he seemed to spread hope to everyone around him – when he wasn’t exasperating them, of course.

“Ugh, they left him here to rot! We need to do something,” Alistair said, but he was interrupted.

They heard the scream of darkspawn from the eastern side of the camp and the Tower of Ishal, and Alistair knelt quickly before his half-brother’s body. “Forgive us, my king. When we have driven the darkspawn from their holes and bought ourselves some time, we shall return to see you to the Maker.”

“My, my,” Morrigan said. “The darkspawn have been learning some tricks.” Elizabeth followed where she pointed to see a genlock waving its arms around. A moment later, corpses rose from the ground and came trudging towards them.

“Aren’t necromancers popular this month?” Alistair quipped before running off to fight.

“This month?” Zevran asked.

“We’ve faced several sets of undead since we began this journey,” Leliana told him. “I suppose there is no shortage of bodies, but it is distressing.”

“Hey!” Alistair cried. “That genlock has Cailan’s helmet!” But the necromancer genlock was already fleeing in the direction of the Tower of Ishal.

“We’d better recover it, then,” Wynne said.

“Yes, let’s recover some overly decorated pieces of metal because of sentiment,” Morrigan snarked, casting a lightning bolt that felled three zombies.

“I don’t suppose you’d understand,” Alistair sighed. “It has to be done!”

“I still think the dog is smarter than you are,” Morrigan muttered. Alistair didn’t hear her.

They fought through the undead and ran in the direction of the Tower of Ishal. The genlock was not too far ahead, but he was moving too fast for Leliana to get a fix on him with an arrow or for Morrigan to pinpoint him with a curse.

“Where’s he going?” Wynne wondered. “Surely not up the tower. He’ll be trapped up there. Unless he has reinforcements.”

But the genlock showed no interest in the stairs. Instead, he rounded a corner in the room before the stairs, and by the time they burst into that room, he appeared to have vanished.

There was a massive hole in the floor, a hole that led into a dark, foul-smelling tunnel.

“Ugh,” said Alistair. “I don’t even want to imagine where that leads. I hope it doesn’t go to the Deep Roads or we’ll be sunk.”

“Is that literally you’re meaning?” Morrigan asked tartly. “If you want that helmet, you’ll have to follow.”

“I know, and I’m going to. But… it looks so icky.”

Elizabeth did not linger. “Bodhan, you brought torches, did you not?”

“I have a couple, my lady. One moment, please.”

It was odd, Elizabeth thought, that none of them questioned her leadership. Here she was, diving into a hole in the ground that could lead into any number of traps, and she was leading them straight into it.

The tunnel was surprisingly large and clear, once they had skidded down the steep slope to the bottom. It continued to wind down and around, opening occasionally into a larger area. Huan began to growl in one of these areas, and his caution was rewarded with a number of giant spiders as tall as Elizabeth’s knee. They were horrifying, but once Sten had kicked a number to pieces and Morrigan set a few on fire, they continued.

To her surprise, the tunnel exited at the foot of the cliff that Ostagar was built on. A chill unrelated to the snow settled into her bones as she realized that she was now standing on the battlefield where Cailan had died. Where Duncan had died. Where everyone, really, had died.

The others were silent as well, as they picked their way over half-eaten decaying bodies of both humans and darkspawn. The wind blew through the narrow valley, whistling slightly. Elizabeth looked to the left to see the endless black trees of the Korcari Wilds. Somewhere out there, her brother lay, and she would never find him.

A pitter-patter of footsteps made them all tense and reach for their weapons, and they saw the genlock necromancer again, hurrying towards the remains of the battlefield.

“Leliana, stop him before he finishes casting his spell,” Elizabeth said.

“Not sure I can,” Leliana said, concentrating on her aim. He was standing still for once, but Leliana’s first arrow would only strike him by the time he finished his spell, and he had the helmet to protect him as well. He was out of range of Morrigan and Wynne’s spells, although Morrigan had already begun to run forward, Huan with her.

The genlock finished his spell, and a huge mass of snow in the middle of the field began to shift. Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide as it became apparent that a great ogre had been resurrected. There were many more human-sized undead as well, but this was a monster to be feared.

“That ogre,” Alistair said. “That’s- those are Duncan’s weapons embedded in it. Duncan killed that thing. He- his body must be around here somewhere!”

“Let’s focus on killing the ogre and the necromancer first, yes?” Zevran said, protecting Elizabeth’s flank from undead as they waded through the fray towards the necromancer. Leliana was filling the ogre full of arrows, but it didn’t seem to notice. It probably felt less pain than a living ogre, and those were already tough.

Morrigan was finally in a position to target the genlock necromancer, and she shot at him a bolt of ice that must have been even more effective than usual in the cold weather. Sten got to the necromancer before Elizabeth could, and with a mighty swing of his maul the necromancer was shattered.

She turned back to the ogre. It showed no signs of slowing down even though the one who raised it was dead. Huan had sprung onto its back and was worrying its head, but it didn’t even seem to notice. Pieces of it were falling off, or hacked off by their weapons, and it didn’t seem to notice. All it wanted to do was destroy everything around it, living or undead. Elizabeth bashed several shambling corpses into its range with her shield just to have it aid them unwittingly.

In this fight, the mages were probably their best allies, but even they were having trouble. Wynne’s rock projectiles barely caused it pause, and while Morrigan managed to freeze its feet to the ground, it ignored her lightning.

“Heh, watch this!” Zevran cried, and before she could react, bounded up, off Sten’s shoulder, and into the ogre’s face. Elizabeth gasped, but Zevran had stabbed it in the throat and eye, and it was overbalancing backwards. It collapsed with an earth-shaking thud, and reached up to crush the elf, but Zevran yanked his weapons free and stabbed again, and the ogre’s hand fell to the ground and it lay still.

Zevran pulled his daggers free and jumped backwards lightly off the massive corpse, smiling. He turned towards Elizabeth as if looking for recognition, but she glared at him. “Zevran, are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Were you afraid for me, my dear? I knew what I was doing.”

She huffed and wiped her sword before sheathing it. “I hope so.” She heard him chuckle as she went over to the corpse to tug at Duncan’s weapons.

Alistair picked up the golden helmet Cailan had worn to battle, banging the ice off of it, and nearby he found a stash that had the arm and leg pieces as well. “I think I found everything.” Elizabeth handed him Duncan’s sword and dagger, and he juggled a few things in order to accept them, which he did gratefully.

Wynne sighed heavily. “It has been a long day. By the lines around your eyes, I dare say that you look as old as I.”

Alistair smiled faintly, but it seemed that he was lighter of spirit now that he had accomplished his goal. “And if I may say so, milady, you appear to be getting younger by the day.”

Wynne turned a snort into a chuckle. “If only that were so. But come, we must see Cailan off. Will you dress him in his armour, or will you keep it?”

Alistair hesitated. “I think he should have it. He has nothing right now. And I already have my gear. He deserves what little honour we can afford to grant him.”

“I think that is a fine plan.” He looked around a few minutes more, but either Duncan’s body was not there, or it was disfigured beyond recognition, and he followed Elizabeth’s group shortly.

They returned to Cailan, not using the cave this time, and build a small support out of wood from the broken ballistas on the bridge so that Alistair could lift down his brother.

He had a queasy look on his face as he came down. “I think his back was broken.” Elizabeth came to help him and even though the body was stiff with frost, she could tell that things weren’t quite connected right.

The poor man, she thought. A broken back seemed a horrible way to go. Perhaps he had been crushed by the ogre.

Zevran, Leliana, and Wynne built a pyre out of more pieces of ballista, and Alistair and Elizabeth laid him gently on it and dressed him in his armour. “He was a good man who hoped too much and died too young,” Alistair said quietly. “Ferelden will miss him greatly. Already misses him greatly. He always thought he’d go out as a hero… wind in his hair, eyes blazing… I’m sure he did.”

“I’m sure he did,” Elizabeth echoed. They laid Cailan’s helmet beside him instead of placing it on his head and stood back. Alistair took one of their dying torches and lit the pyre.

The wood was cold and damp and did not want to burn, but eventually it got going.

Elizabeth did not stay long. She could not bear it.

 

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