Chapter Text
Fergus couldn't help but smile while watching Oren from the second floor balcony of Cousland Castle. His son was down below in the gardens playing with the servants' children. He cherished these moments of peace and happiness, knowing he'd need them during the long march to Ostagar.
He didn't want to leave his son, but he had to. In order to ensure Oren's future he knew the darkspawn threat in the south needed to be dealt with. It would be the longest time he'd be away from Oren and Oriana. He'd miss them both terribly.
"He's a good boy."
Pulled out of his musings at the sound of his wife's approach, Fergus turned to her. She smiled; she looked so beautiful in her gown, her honey brown hair framing her face, a few strands carefully braided. She kissed his cheek, moving to stand beside him where he put his arm around her. She leaned into his embrace.
"He is," Fergus agreed softly. Pleased and proud of their son and the young man he was becoming.
"He doesn't understand," she said sadly. Her eyes watching Oren's movement down below as he continued to pretend to be wielding a sword against a pair of servant's sons.
"I've talked to him."
"I know," she turned to him, "I'm worried about Ostagar."
"I'll be fine," They talked many nights about this ever since King Cailan called on his banners to report to Ostagar to face the darkspawn.
"You're going into battle, Fergus," Oriana chided, eyes shimmering with concern, "Against darkspawn, and you dismiss the dangers."
"I understand your concern," Fergus tried a different approach. "I'll be careful."
"You better," her voice cracked.
He pulled her closer, so her head rested against his chest. He kissed her hair. "Nothing will keep me away from you and Oren." He soothed her, "I don't want to be the hero," he continued. "I'm happy being the husband and the father."
Oriana turned to him, looking relieved."I love you."
"I love you too," he kissed her. "I'll be back before you can even miss me."
That got a small smile out of her. "I'm going to hold you to that."
"I'm sorry to interrupt."
Fergus and Oriana turned to see Edmund awkwardly standing in the doorway. "I can come back at another time."
"No," Oriana stopped him, "I was just leaving." She kissed Fergus' cheek. "I want to go to the Chantry for my prayers before dinner."
"I'm sorry," Edmund remained in the doorway even with Oriana's departure.
"Its fine," Fergus waved him to approach. It was difficult to see his younger brother so solemn. The tragedy of what his brother endured still lingered even after these past two years in Highever. A ghost, that's what Oriana thought he resembled since he returned from Orlais.
As his older brother, Fergus had always tried his best to protect Edmund growing up, but this was something he couldn't shield him from. This was a pain that Fergus couldn't fully comprehend, and he prayed he never had to. He wasn't sure what he would do if he lost Oriana.
Edmund rested his hands on the stone railing while his eyes drifted towards the playing children down below, "Knights and darkspawn?"
"Seems like it."
"He's a better kid then you," Edmund joked suddenly.
"Is that so?" asked an amused Fergus, silently pleased to see his brother in good spirits. It was a rare sight. "Says the little brother who use to follow me everywhere." He paused feigning to be in deep thought, "now what was it that I use to call you?"
"Your little shadow," Edmund admitted sheepishly, but the corners of his lips tugged upwards.
"That's right," Fergus happily agreed.
"You were always there for me," Edmund observed wistfully.
"Not always," Fergus corrected, his thoughts drifting towards the aftermath of the incident at the tournament. He had been so angry, so ashamed at what Edmund.
The incident had shattered their relationship. It remained broken despite Edmund's attempts to reach out to Fergus, each one he had rebuffed. It wasn't until the long absence from his brother during his exile that softened his stance. It was slow going, but he was pleased to mend the brotherly bond that had been so precious to them growing up.
"Still," Edmund said softly turning to face him, "I've always appreciated it."
"Why so glum, brother?" Fergus asked, "You don't actually think these darkspawn have a chance against me, do you?"
"I don't know I've seen you fight."
"Hah-hah," Fergus nudged him with his shoulder, pleased when he saw a full smile from his brother.
"He's growing up so fast."
"Too fast," Fergus agreed. It felt like just yesterday when he was holding Oren for the first time in his arms. That had been one of the happiest and proudest moments of his life. "He's eager to begin sword training."
"Is he now?" Edmund's eyes remained on his young nephew.
"He is," confirmed Fergus, "He's at the right age."
"Do you have anyone in mind?"
"I do," Fergus said casually. "I want it to be you."
"Me?" Edmund was incredulous.
"Who better?" Fergus challenged. After all, Edmund was considered to be one of the better swordsmen in Ferelden. He couldn't think of a better teacher in all of Thedas then his younger brother.
"And face the wrath of Oriana?" Edmund countered, his playful tone belayed his words. "No, thank you."
It was true that Oriana was still hesitant about the idea of Oren learning swordplay. Believing he was too young, but Fergus thought Oren was ready. He and Edmund were around Oren's age when they were given their first lessons.
"Do you know how happy Oren would be if it was you?" Fergus wanted Edmund to think less of Oriana's reaction and more of Oren's. The ploy worked since a small smile came to his lips. "And when better then when I'm away."
"You're right," Edmund seemed to be mulling it over. "By the time you return from Ostagar, I'd have trained Oren to be a better swordsman then his father ever was."
"Hey," Fergus playfully pushed him.
That just made Edmund laugh louder. It was infectious and Fergus too couldn't help but join in. He savored this carefree, happy moment between him and his brother. Sadly there had been too few moments such as this in the past few years.
"I will miss you brother," Edmund admitted, once the laughter subsided.
"Because I shield you from our nagging mother?"
"In part," Edmund smiled.
"Don't worry, brother," Fergus put a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. "With Lady Landra's arrival, Mother will be so busy with her; she'll have no time for you."
"I hope you're right."
"You know Mother means no harm in her requests," Fergus said delicately, knowing that they were a sore spot for his brother and a source of some tension between the family. Mother was trying to help Edmund move on the best way she knew how while Edmund remained stubbornly rooted in the past.
"I know," Edmund said softly, "I'm just not ready."
"And that's perfectly fine," Fergus was trying his best to reassure his brother. "Remember, Edmund, no one can tell you how or how long to grieve." Fergus squeezed his brother's shoulder. "Only you know."
He nodded, "I think I'm going to go in." Edmund let loose a tired breath. "You know how important this dinner is to Mother, seeing as it is our last time together as a family for sometime before Lord Howe and Lady Landra arrive in the morning."
Pain suddenly pierced his side. Fergus cried out, grabbing onto the railing to keep his balance. He looked over his shoulder in hopes of calling for his brother, but Edmund was gone. Castle Cousland was gone. He looked back to see Oren and the boys were gone too. Down below all he saw was a dark abyss.
The railing he had been holding onto disappeared. With nothing to keep his balance, he found himself falling into the waiting abyss...
Fergus Cousland opened his eyes.
He sighed in relief. Taking a few seconds to try to calm his still thundering heart. Satisfied, he then rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Not wanting to dwell on his particular discomfort of his dream, he turned his attention to the dying fire in the room. Orange embers glowed softly providing just enough light to show that the other person he shared his room with was awake.
"You're awake," the Grey Warden said bluntly.
Fergus tried to reposition himself in his makeshift bed, but the sharp pain in his abdomen stopped him. He put a hand to his wound, noticing his bandages had been changed.
"They came in while you were sleeping," Brosca sensed Fergus' unasked question.
The they, were the Chasind. He had expected to die with the rest of his scouting party against the darkspawn ambush when he drifted into unconsciousness due to his wounds. He never expected to wake up in a Chasind settlement. He could still remember their painted faces, hovering over him as they spoke in their guttural language.
After that he slipped in and out of reality fighting a fever. It wasn't until the fever subsided a few days later did he discover that he hadn't been the only survivor from the battle with the darkspawn. Brosca, the Grey Warden had surprisingly survived as well. When Fergus expressed his dismay at seeing him again; the dwarf just laughed and said that a few darkspawn couldn't kill him that easily.
"I suppose they think it's easier to change 'em when you're sleeping," Brosca continued, "You're less whiny."
Fergus ignored the dwarf's brusque comment. He knew that was just the warden's way. He also pitied him as Brosca was ill adjusting to their living arrangements of the chasind. The hut where they dwell was built into the trees, and more than fifteen feet off the ground. Fergus was sure that one night he saw Brosca tie one end of a rope to a branch that had slithered into their room and the other end of the rope around his ankle to keep himself from falling up into the sky.
Brosca always stayed by his wall, his back was always to it. He never once tried to look out the window to see the rest of the Chasind village. Fergus had. The small village was cobbled together connected by rope bridges and stilted paths. Fergus hadn't seen much of the village. Both he and Brosca were confined to their small one room hut. From the window, he could see enough to guess that there was probably around fifty or more inhabitants that lived in this particular village.
"Did they say anything?"
"Yeah," Brosca answered, "But nothing I could understand."
Fergus wasn't sure what to make of their saviors. They went through the effort of rescuing and healing both himself and Brosca, but showed little interest in them. Guards were always posted outside of their small hut to deter them from wandering the village. As Fergus and Brosca were mending, the visits became less frequent. Their food was given to them by the guards. His attempts to speak to them were met with stony silence.
He knew that he owed them his life, but there was something about them that made him a little anxious. He couldn't help but have his mind dwell on the old stories that Nan used to tell him and Edmund when they were children, about the Stalkers.
The Chasind wilders who under the cover of darkness would lead raiding parties into the southern portion of Ferelden attacking caravans and farms to feeding their insatiable blood lust. Some of the wilder Chasind Stalkers are said to prefer inflicting slow and painful deaths on their victims. It is even said that some consume the flesh of their victims…
"We need to get out of here," Fergus said abruptly.
Brosca snorted. "How do you propose we do that?" He looked over his shoulder, "I haven't sprouted wings so I guess we can't fly out of here."
Fergus ignored the sarcasm. "We'll climb down."
"In your condition?" Brosca looked at him as if he had grown a second head.
"I'll manage," Fergus replied tersely.
"And how do you reckon you'll manage against the darkspawn?" A pained look clouded over Brosca's countenance, "Because I can assure you they're down there."
"We need to get back."
"I hate to break it you," Brosca said in a tone that conveyed he had no problem breaking it to him, "but there's a horde of darkspawn between us and Ostagar."
"So what's your plan?" Fergus asked in exasperation. "Just sit here and wait while the darkspawn march north." He thought about Oriana and Oren in Highever. "I can't let that happen."
Brosca straightened up in his seat, "So what are you going to do?" The Grey Warden challenged, "limp out of here?" He shook his head in annoyance, "Can you even raise a sword?"
Fergus turned away, feeling his cheeks flush at the dwarf's honest berating. "At least I'll be doing something."
"You'll be dead," the dwarf corrected, "and that's if you're lucky." His dark eyes found Fergus, and refused to move away or blink, "and if you're not lucky, the darkspawn will keep you alive, to eat you while you're breathing."
Fergus' stomach rumbled. Bile burned his throat as his imagination gripped him with the horrendous images of that particular fate.
Brosca's curt voice broke through those nightmarish thoughts, "Or they'll drag you down into the Deep Roads turning you into one of their ghouls."
"Fine," Fergus realized he wasn't going to convince the Grey Warden of doing anything.
"Good," Brosca looked pleased. "I've had enough of your belly aching for one night."
"And you're such great company," Fergus mumbled, apparently he didn't say it soft enough since Brosca replied with a deep laugh.
"Get some sleep," Brosca told him, a drop of envy crept into the dwarf's tone at the mention of sleep. "And don't worry we'll get out of here soon enough," he moved his hands behind his head, "And return you to your big castle."
"Thanks," Fergus muttered.
"Where is it?" He asked unexpectedly, "The castle?"
Fergus was taken aback at the question. It was the first time the dwarf had shown any interest in getting to know him. It was usually one brusque or sarcastic comment after another. "It's in Highever," seeing Brosca's confused face, Fergus smiled a little, "in the Coastlands in northern Ferelden."
His mind drifting to Oriana and Oren as his thoughts lingered on Highever.
"Is it nice?"
"It's beautiful," Fergus kept his eyes closed. It was easier for him to retain the images of his wife, his son, the rest of his family, and his home. He wished he could tell them how much he missed them. How he yearned to be reunited with Oriana, at how the thoughts of his beloved wife were the last ones he had before he went to sleep and the first thoughts he had when he woke up.
"The Castle is perched on top of Highever Hill allowing it to oversee the entire city," Fergus continued, "Highever is nestled beside the Waking Sea. The waves crashing onto the shores, the sound of gulls flying overhead, but the view," Fergus paused, "of seeing the stars shimmering reflections creeping over the horizon and over the Sea." He opened his eyes surprised to see Brosca was interested. "You'll never get use to it."
"Huh," Brosca scratched the stubble along his cheeks. "It sounds like home."
Fergus smiled, liking his choice of words. "Yeah, it is." He turned to the suddenly introspective dwarf, "I'll be honored to show it to you when this is all over."
Brosca covered up his surprise quickly enough with a poorly put on mask of indifference. "And see how you stuffy human nobles live?" There was no bite in his jest.
"And how we drink," Fergus pointed out.
Brosca laughed. "In that case how can I refuse?"
"Then it's settled," Fergus felt his spirits and mood lifting improving already. "My son would love to meet you."
"You have a son?"
"I do," Fergus couldn't help but smile, "He loves the old stories of Grey Wardens and their griffons."
"How old is he?"
"Eight," answered Fergus, a strong hint of pride in his voice. "He'll be nine next spring."
"Well, I can't promise your boy any griffons in any of my stories," a smile slipped past the dwarf's stoic expression.
It was enough to make Fergus laugh. Oh Maker, he thought. It felt so good to laugh again: An honest and carefree laugh that seemed to heal him in ways that none of the poultices that the Chasind had been giving him could.
"What about you?" Fergus thought it only fair to know little more about the Grey Warden. "Do you have any family?"
"My mother's a drunk," Brosca mentioned casually, "And I suppose I have a father somewhere, but he seemed to have the good sense to beat feet leaving soon after knocking my mother up."
Unsure how to properly reply to the rough childhood the Grey Warden had, Fergus remained quiet.
"What?" Brosca asked defensively. "Were you expecting me to come from a loving family?" The hardness in his tone overtook the sarcastic intent. "A hardworking father who does his best for us and a mother who loves us unconditionally and encourages us to rise above the waste they live in?" Brosca snorted.
"Life isn't a story. It's hard and unfair," the dwarf continued, "It's a struggle. Every day was a new challenge. A victory to me was when I was able to go to sleep with some food in my belly."
Brosca's words painted a grim and troubling life. It was easy for Fergus to sometimes forget that not everyone was blessed like him. Growing up in a loving family with wealth and privilege. Never knowing what it felt like to truly suffer due to starvation or poverty or any of the other ailments that preyed on the less fortunate. It also help to explain the hostility Brosca carried and his general indifference.
"I do have a sister," Brosca brightened at the mention of her. "She's a real diamond in the rough." It was amazing how quick his demeanor changed. It was clear Brosca cared strongly for her. "She can read, write, sing, recite poetry, and play the lute."
"She sounds quite accomplished," Fergus observed politely.
"Had to be," Brosca's smile waned. "That's the only way to catch a noble."
"Catch a noble?" Fergus wasn't sure he heard that right.
"Yeah," Brosca shrugged, "If my sister caught a noble's eye and got pregnant with his son then she'd be elevated into the noble household because her son would be of noble caste."
"Oh," The intricacy of dwarven politics and the caste system were lost on Fergus. "She sounds dear to you."
"She is," Brosca confirmed, "did all I could to protect her from some of the nastier elements of Dust Town."
"I'm sure she was grateful."
"Yeah," Brosca tentatively ran a hand over the caste mark that covered part of his face. He looked thoughtful, his eyes distant. "You should try to get some sleep," he moved to lie down. "G'night," He then rolled over to show Fergus his back.
"Night," Fergus nestled underneath his fur blanket, pillowing his head with his hands. Images of Oriana and Oren appeared before him, as well as his happy memories of Highever, awakened from his talk with Brosca. For the first time since arriving at the Chasind camp, sleep came to him quickly.