Chapter Five: Secrets of Redcliffe

Previously: Letters

 

"She's wintering at Soldier's Peak?" Alistair asked, blinking. He shivered. "I wish I could be there for her -- well, not there, exactly. I can only imagine the cold." He stabbed his fork into his mutton and began to cut it with a knife. "And don't get me started on the food."

 

Fergus Cousland offered a weak smile. These days, he took comfort in the oddly cheerful young Warden, even though he wasn't entirely sure what to make of him.

 

It was a ritual of theirs, dining together every evening in Fergus's room. As an honored guest, he was granted a suite of rooms. The Guerrin family was not as wealthy as the Couslands had been, and their castle was not as fine. But seeing as Fergus was cut off from his own resources, he was in no position to complain.

 

As autumn deepened at Redcliffe, the leaves changed colors and the winds grew chilly. The two men ate by the fireplace, enjoying the cozy warmth and soothing crackle of the hearth. The servants laid out dishes of braised mutton, bowls of vegetable stew, and freshly baked bread with butter and honey. They refilled the men's goblets once more before Fergus waved them away. 

 

"Has Arl Eamon said what he wants with you yet?" he asked Alistair, sipping from his goblet. It was warm, with spices and honey, reminding him of home. 

 

Alistair shook his head. "No, my lord, but I hope he does soon. I don't like my fellow Wardens thinking I've skipped out on them. Not to mention, your sister requires..." He trailed off, searching for the right word. "Adult supervision," he said finally.

 

Fergus laughed softly. "Her letters indicate otherwise. She seems to be leading her party well enough."

 

"Leading, yes," Alistair conceded with a nod. "But well? That's debatable. When we were treating with the Daelish, Elissa was ready to cut down an entire werewolf pack if it meant getting the Elves to cooperate. Eventually, fully grown werewolves fled at the mere sight of her."

 

Fergus humor faded from his eyes, even as he held his smile. "Sounds like she's become a rather... proficient killer, yes?"

 

Alistair nodded. "To put it lightly."

 

Fergus sipped his wine in silence. While he was happy his sister was living her dream of being a hero, he wasn't sure he liked what it was doing to her.

 

"Does she know love?" he asked, after a time.

 

Alistair shrugged, dipping a piece of bread into the meat juices. "Well, she certainly loves you. She wept when they told us you were lost. She wept even harder when they said you were found," he added with a chuckle. Blushing, he straightened up and corrected himself. "Well, er... you know what I mean."

 

"But has she known love?" Fergus pressed. "Does Elissa have a paramour? Has she ever spoken of a lover, past or present? Perhaps a desire to wed someday?"

 

Alistair blushed. "Well, no. Not to me, at least." He paused, choosing his words again. "Your sister... isn't the warm and cuddly type, my lord. She's more of a hack-and-bash type." The Warden even gestured with his knife and fork.

 

Fergus laughed again, despite his growing concern. He drank in silence for a time, listening to the sound of soldiers footsteps in the hall.

 

"When was the last time you were at Redcliffe?" he suddenly asked.

 

"Just before I went to Ostagar," Alistair told him. He cleared his throat, awkwardly shaking his head. "I, uh, sort of... lived here."

 

Fergus raised an eyebrow. "And your parents? Did they live here as well?"

 

"My parents are dead," Alistair replied uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact. "I, um, didn't grow up with them." He paused. "I suppose young Connor will soon know what that's like."

 

"Connor?"

 

"Eamon and Isolde's son," Alistair clarified. "A young boy. When Isolde found out he could do magic, she and the Arl sent him to the Circle immediately." His brow furrowed. "I wonder how he's doing."

 

He looked so innocent in the firelight, despite his age. Alistair was younger than Fergus, but older than Elissa. And yet, despite being an orphan and a Grey Warden, he'd somehow grown into a surprising gentle man. 

 

"You seem to know the Guerrins well," Fergus remarked.

 

The young Warden shrugged. "Old man taught me to read and write. His brother Teagan taught me to hunt and fish. But what about you?" he asked, somewhat hastily. "Any news about reclaiming Highever?"

 

"The politics is complicated," Fergus replied. "Loghain Mac Tir has supplanted his own daughter and declared himself King Regent. Many oppose, of course; they're threatening civil war. Arl Howe is among those who support his claim, and while he currently holds Highever, Loghain has yet to name him Teyrn."

 

Alistair raised an eyebrow. "Are we suspecting trouble in paradise?"

 

Fergus shook his head, brow furrowing. "I'm not sure. Eamon's contacts in Denerim haven't written in a while."

 

"I don't claim to understand politics," Alistair admitted, "but I doubt there's honor among traitors. Your father never would've tolerated Loghain's usurpation, so one could argue he exploited Howe's ambition to, you know... get him out of the way, so to speak. But now that your father's gone..." He deliberately let his words linger, letting the young teyrn figure out the rest.

 

"You think Arl Howe has outlived his usefulness," Fergus reasoned, raising an eyebrow. "A reasonable conclusion. You're better at this than Elissa, that's for sure. Whenever my family would discuss politics, it always gave her a headache." He smiled fondly. "My Oriana, on the other hand, thrived on such discourse."

 

"Oriana," Alistair echoed softly. "Such a beautiful name. Antivan?"

 

Fergus nodded, smiling more broadly now. "She was from a trading family in Bastion. Common, but wealthy. Her father paid my family an enormous dowry."

 

"Did your mother choose her for you?"

 

Fergus smiled even wider. "She did. My father protested at first, until he heard about her dowry." He chuckled.

 

"I should like to marry some day," Alistair admitted, resting his knife and fork as he frowned slightly. "But I suppose Arl Eamon will have to arrange my marriage."

 

Fergus paused. Alistair had been something of a riddle for weeks now, and he couldn't stand it any longer.

 

"Alistair," he began calmly, "which one of your parents was noble?"

 

Alistair blinked rapidly, panicking. "What? I mean... why do you--"

 

"You rarely speak of your parents," Fergus pointed out. "You say they're dead, but it appears you were raised in this castle and were Eamon's ward."

 

"I was his stable boy!" Alistair protested, nervously chuckling. "He sent me off to the Chantry, for Andraste's sake!"

 

"And yet, you're not treated like a guard or a servant," Fergus pointed out. "In fact, you have guards and servants. Not to mention, the old man packed his own son off the Circle of Magi without a second thought. But you? Ever since King Cailin died, it's like he's tried to keep you under lock and key."

 

Fergus paused again, eyes widening as he slowly realized. "No," he whispered, leaning foward. "Not noble. Royal."

 

Alistair set down his knife and fork, and reached a trembling hand out for his goblet. He took a long drink before finally confessing in a low voice, "Cailin was my brother."

 

Fergus's eyes widened further. "You're King Maric's son?"

 

Alistair nodded nervously. "My mother was a maid." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "I'm not supposed to talk about this with anyone, my lord. You understand."

 

"I do," Fergus said, slowly nodding. "I understand perfectly."

 

***

 

23rd of Harthmere, 9:30 Dragon

 

My dearest sister,

 

Consider this an official command from the rightful Teyrn of Highever: you must leave Soldier's Peak immediately before the snows set in. Travel alone and discreetly; avoid the King's Road. You are to winter at Castle Redcliffe instead.

 

I await your arrival.

 

Fergus Cousland

Next: Shadows of Highever