Chapter Text
"You're in one of your moods again."
Fergus bristled. "I am not."
It was just the two of them, holed up in this small one roomed hut. The hut they had been sharing for days, possibly weeks, and to Fergus' growing dread maybe even months. He wasn't certain. It had been so difficult for him to keep track of time. His injury and fever had made him unable to figure out the gap between when he left Ostagar to when he woke up with the Chasind.
Ostagar, the mention of the pending battle he departed left a cold coil of dread constricting his heart. What had happened? Had his father and the King prevailed against the darkspawn? He prayed for answers, but had received only silence.
The frustration of it all frothed and churned in his gut. His companion, Brosca did little to alleviate that said irritation. In fact, Fergus had come to realize that the dwarf went to some lengths to try to wind him up. He seemed to get some sort of amusement out of it.
Then there were times fleeting, but there when camaraderie blossomed between them, formed out of this unknowing fate which they shared. When they laughed together and told stories in those moments, Fergus was close to wanting to call him, a friend. He never did. He dismissed the term believing he wanted to use it more out of the loneliness and desperation that clung to him then any true feelings he felt for the rude dwarf.
The only solace he found was the wounds he suffered from the darkspawn attack were close to fully healed. Then when he had his strength the Chasind wouldn't be able to stop him. He'd leave this place and head back towards Ostagar and hopefully get the answers he thought.
You don't have your weapons or armor, He silently pointed out, poking through the flaws of his already flimsy plan.
I'll find a way, he vowed. He was determined to leave. To find out what happened at Ostagar and return to his family. Whatever, it takes, he thought. I will return to them.
"Yes, you are."
The dwarf's words broke Fergus out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Brosca was smirking.
"You're brooding."
"I am not brooding," Fergus protested. His thoughts constantly went towards his family who he missed terribly. His dreams plagued him at the worry that Oriana and Oren and the others would fear him dead. That was a pain that he would not want either to feel yet he was helpless to protect them from it.
It was that helplessness that gnawed at him like a mabari with a bone.
Brosca snorted, "Maybe you nobles have some fancy new name for it, but to me it's brooding and it's a waste of time."
So are your insults, Fergus wanted to snap back, but he restrained himself. He was better than that. He shouldn't allow himself to rise to such bait. He was a Cousland of Highever, he reminded himself, one of the proudest and strongest families in Ferelden. He would not let this dwarf goad him into some pointless, childish bickering.
Before Brosca could open his mouth to continue on what Fergus knew to be another long winded rant on nobility, the flap of their hut parted to show a grim looking Chasind female step inside.
She had eyes as hard and dark as obsidian. Her face was long. Ink splayed out across her face like the web of a spider in an intricate pattern. Her hair was dark and cut short, shorter then Fergus' except for the four long braids that fell just past her shoulders. Her eyes swept across the room before resting on them.
This was new, Fergus thought dryly. He hadn't seen her before, and she wasn't carrying their meals. That had been the only time that either he or Brosca had been in the company of the Chasind except when they tended to their wounds.
"Your presence is requested." Her words were rough and thick, "Both of you."
Fergus glanced to see Brosca looked as equally surprised as him. He recovered first at her unexpected presence, getting to his feet gingerly. He was determined to make no show of weakness or discomfort from the lingering pain that remained in his side.
Remembering the etiquette his mother had drilled into him and Edmund when they were children. He offered the Chasind warrior a respectful tilt of his head. The thought that he was using lessons that were meant for nobility on a Chasind was enough for him to crack a smile. He was certain Edmund would get a good laugh out of it and even mother would find it amusing. The reminder of them brought a small, but sharp pang in his heart.
The Chasind woman didn't seem impressed by his gesture. "Get moving." She insisted in her thick accent that made it sound as if the words sloshed through mud.
Fergus followed with Brosca behind him as they pushed back the flaps of their hut and stepped out for the first time. He heard Brosca's hitched breath and he couldn't fault the dwarf his reaction as they took in the sight of the bustling village.
Homes were etched into the tall trees, or supported by elaborately carved stilts, wooden pathways strewn through the village held up by rope and support pillars. Sunlight flickered in from between towering branches that loomed over them to form a canopy.
It was beautiful, Fergus thought. He couldn't help but marvel at the ingenuity needed to build such a place. A functioning village built within the trees. He knew from the beginning they were high up, remembering his window, but he had always been left to imagine how the rest of the village had been constructed.
Now, as he took it all in, he couldn't help but be impressed at what the Chasind had accomplished. And to think we consider them beneath us, Fergus thought reflecting on the lessons he learned when he was growing up.
Ever since he could remember, he had always been fascinated by architecture. When he was younger he'd spend hours looking at the pictures of the beautiful castles, palaces, chantries, and fortresses that were peppered throughout Thedas. How he longed to see the Sun Dome in Cumberland, the Grand Proving Arena in Minrathous, the Ambassadoria, and Weisshaupt Fortress just to name a few of the places that had enthralled him from the stories he read and the pictures he'd seen.
There was this feeling of awe that filled him whenever he had a chance to see or study such spectacles built by the hands of man. They fascinated him. The limits that had been tested and broken when they built such marvels were inspiring. The feats of man in those moments seemed endless. And perhaps that's what encouraged him, what spoke to him whenever he looked at such accomplishments.
Focus, Fergus chastised himself, clamping down his memories and thoughts on his appreciation from what the Chasind had accomplished here. He needed to be alert. For all he knew this warrior was leading him and Brosca to be executed.
The Chasind villagers looked at them with curiosity as he and Brosca passed. Their eyes remained on the pair as they spoke to one another in their guttural language.
Fergus met their stares without hesitation. Taking in the grim looks, noticing how the men and women dressed themselves in furs fastened by animal teeth or bones. Their faces like the woman who was escorting Fergus and Brosca covered in dark ink, each face bearing its own unique tattoo.
As they passed the last group of curious Chasind, Fergus looked to see that their pathway had inclined leading them up a spiral stairwell that slithered up the tree and through the thick branches out of sight.
"I think I'm going to be sick," Brosca grumbled.
He couldn't fault the dwarf his reaction. Fergus knew Brosca's discomfort with heights, remembering how he tied a branch to his leg to ensure he never fell out of their hut. Or how he never looked out their window and always seemed to put as much distance between him and the window or the door as he possibly could.
Climbing the steps, Fergus could only wonder where they were leading. Had their time come to meet their fates? Were they walking to their own execution? Were they to be thrown from the top of this tree? Were they to be tortured because they were outsiders?
Enough, Fergus stamped out the morbid thoughts that wormed their way into his mind. He looked to see they reached the top of the pathway to see a large circular pavilion had been built. A stone hearth breathed fire and smoke anchored the middle of the pavilion. Behind it, hooded by branches and animal hide was what looked to be some sort of closed off room.
Flanking the flimsy flaps of the door were two grim faced warriors. One man, one woman, dressed in furs and both carrying large battleaxes. The pommel of the weapons was adorned with animal faces: one an eagle and the other a wolf. Bones hung loosely around the flap of the door, clanging and chiming when a gust of wind blew through.
On both sides of the hearth were two thin poles, the tip of each crowned with animal skulls. The left one was adorned by what Fergus guessed was a bear skull and the right looked to be a wolf skull. In front of the hearth were several rows of wooden benches that led Fergus to believe that this pavilion where he and Brosca now stood served some sort of communal purpose for the rest of the village. Judging by the number of benches and from the villagers he had seen, he was certain the entire Chasind village could fit up here.
The woman who had escorted them didn't spare them a look as she moved forward to converse with the two stoic Chasind warriors. They spoke in their rough, guttural language leaving Fergus and Brosca to stand silently and awkwardly unsure what to do or say while they waited. Finally, the conversation they had ended and the woman who escorted them stepped away while the female warrior slipped inside the small room.
It was while he waited did Fergus catch a gleam from the corner of his eye. Turning to see what caught his sight to his surprise and relief he spotted his armor carelessly strewn on the ground. He couldn't explain the feeling of comfort he got when his eyes rested on the Cousland laurels that were emblazoned on the breastplate. Beside his armor, he spotted his sword and shield.
"Well if I'll be a nug's uncle," Brosca breathed out beside him. The Grey Warden dwarf too had spotted what had gotten Fergus' attention and his eyes found his own shimmering armor that bore the Grey Warden insignia as well as his twin daggers, winking back at him from the glow of the hearth's flames.
Fergus made to step forward to get his armor but a sudden grunt stopped him. He turned to see the tall, broad shouldered Chasind Warrior staring at him. His hand was hovering near the handle of his battleaxe. His eyes went from Fergus' armor that was lying on the floor to Fergus before he shook his head. The silent message was clear.
Before Fergus could make any other attempt at retrieving his armor and weapons, the flaps of the room opened and the Chasind woman warrior stepped out, followed by an older woman. At the presence of the older woman, the other Chasind warriors bowed their heads in reverence.
She was leaning on a long, unassuming wooden staff. Though Fergus noted strange symbols carved into the wood and the top of the staff was crowned by a circle of animal teeth and what looked to be some sort of jewel as it shimmered when it caught the light's reflection.
The woman had short, graying hair. Resting on her head was an animal skull with three raven feathers protruding from it. Her face was tanned and wrinkled. Dark swirls of ink were painted onto her skin around her eyes. Those eyes which when they turned to Fergus he felt a slight chill upon seeing such pale blue eyes.
"I have been waiting to speak with you," she said, her voice was accented but not as bad as the other Chasind Warrior. Her eyes rested on Fergus. "It's good you're up and that your body is recovering."
"I have you to thank for that?"
"You do."
"Why?" He knew he should have thanked her first but he couldn't help himself. His curiosity and his treatment as their guests overruled his ingrained manners and instinctive politeness.
The woman didn't answer. Instead she shuffled towards the fires of the hearth. She placed her staff down and brought her hands to the hearth. The flames reacted immediately rising up, burning brightly as the fire followed her movement.
Magic, Fergus thought, feeling a cold claw of fear clenched around his heart.
Reacting as if she could hear his thought, she pinned him with a firm gaze. "It was not your destiny to die that day." Her pale blue eyes moved over towards the still quiet Brosca. "Not then."
"I am what your people would call a Shaman for this village," she announced.
Fergus perked up at the mention of Shaman. He remembered his lessons with Aldous to know that Shamans were the elders of the Chasind village and its leaders. Being saved by a Shaman and being brought to her, Fergus wasn't certain whether to consider it a good sign or bad.
"Brosca," the dwarf grumbled in his introduction.
Her thin lips curved upwards before she inclined her head towards him. "You're marked."
Brosca bristled at the mention of his tattoo. His hands instinctively brushed along the brand over his eye. His countenance darkened and he stiffened, his other hand clenching into a fist.
"It's a sign of honor and maturity to bear such a mark," she revealed.
Brosca snorted. "Well, where I come from it's a sign that I'm no real dwarf."
The Shaman tilted her head, surprise flickered across her face. Her lips pursed together as if she wanted to address it, but she seemed to decide against it. "I brought you here to collect on your debt."
"Our what?" Fergus asked incredulously.
"When we saved you, a blood debt was formed between you and our village," She explained. "There is nothing more sacred or powerful as an oath sealed in blood." Her pale blue eyes remained transfixed on him. "When my hands treated your wounds, coated in your blood a debt was made." She pointed a long finger at him. "You are now in a position to repay this debt." She turned to Brosca, "Both of you."
"And if we refuse?" Fergus found himself asking.
Her eyes hardened resembling two chips of ice. Her fingers snapped and the flames hissed. "You won't be allowed to leave."
Fergus flinched at the power that seemed to be radiating off of her. Visible ripples crinkling in the air around her. He had seen the same display of power from the mages of the Circle during his brief time at Ostagar.
Her eyes were on the flames. "However, if you were to fulfill your debt then I would have my people guide you out of the Wilds and back to your civilization."
He couldn't help but react to that revelation. His fear at the power she displayed dissipated and was replaced with hope that burned brighter then the flames in front of him at the thought of leaving this place and being reunited with his family.
"What would you have us do?" If this is what it took to return to his family then he would complete this supposed blood debt.
"You are a warrior?" She snapped her fingers and the same tall, hulking Chasind male that had sent him a silent warning when Fergus tried to retrieve his gear, went towards his armor.
I'm a father, husband, brother, and son, he wanted to say. Those were the roles that defined him. He was no warrior. His brother had always had more interest with a sword then Fergus. He didn't have time to doubt or to dwell. This was his chance to reunite with his family. He would not squander it.
"I am."
"Those skills will be needed," she replied, "And tested."
The Chasind woman who had escorted them, stepped forward carrying a rolled up animal hide. She presented it towards them before unfurling it; revealing a crude but accurate drawing.
Fergus felt a chill go up his spine when his eyes took in the depiction drawn onto the dried up skin.
He looked to see two menacing, towering ogres had been drawn. Their dark eyes gleamed with malevolence even on the picture, heads crowned in horns, muscled, hulking bodies, large hands that could crush a man's body with only the slightest squeeze.
Brosca cursed beside him.
Fergus tore his eyes away from the darkspawn and towards the Shaman whose eyes were watching him closely.
"They've been skulking about. Scaring off our prey and killing some of our people," She revealed, "You two must find them and kill them." She said as simply as if she was asking them to share a meal with her.
Ogres, their image alone was terrifying. Now, they wanted him to kill these monstrous beasts. He remembered the tales of past Blights of how these darkspawn could take out dozens of men before falling in battle. And these Chasind were asking him and Brosca to kill two of them.
Maker, Fergus wasn't sure whether he should curse or pray or both.
A grunt cleared him from his thoughts to see the burly Chasind warrior presenting Fergus with his armor. He took the breastplate hesitantly. His eyes went to the Cousland laurels. Images of a smiling Oriana flickered across his mind, Oren's laughter rang in his ears. The memories of the wife and son he left behind quelled the fear that had been bubbling in his stomach.
Fergus took a deep, calming breath. He found his fingers tracing the laurels on his armor. He knew what he had to do. He knew what he was willing to do if it meant he could go home again. He raised his head and met her pale blue eyes.
"Then it will be done."