Chapter 11 - At the War Table

After Fergus took his leave, Arual dressed herself in the armor she'd worn into the Wilds. Someone had taken the time to clean it for her so that most of the gore was gone. Yet another thing for which to thank Duncan and Alistair...

Fergus had joked that he couldn't very well take two swords into battle, and had instead left Arual his longsword in exchange for their family's sword. Fergus's sword had been commissioned by their father as a birthday present to Fergus some years ago. It was not especially ornate, but it was well made—sturdy, balanced, and had served him well in his battles against the darkspawn thus far.

"I never named it," he had admitted, belting the Cousland blade to his hip.

"Then I'll just have to find one," Arual had teased. "All the best swords have names, after all. Haven't you ever read a story?"

Fergus had laughed without mirth. "Only the ones father used to tell." He put on a brave face then and said, "Goodbye, sweet sister."

"Not goodbye," Arual had insisted. "Until we meet again."

Fergus had nodded. "Until we meet again."

Now, as Arual belted Fergus's sword to her hip, felt the weight of it as it counter balanced the shield she carried in her other hand, she wondered what kind of name it might earn. What kind of a name might she earn for herself?

As she stepped out into the night, she saw Duncan, Alistair, and Bran waiting for her. More accurately, Duncan was waiting for her while Alistair amused himself by teasing Bran.

"I once heard a very old legend about how the Hound Warriors in the days of the old tribes would feed their Mabari the flesh of the vanquished," he said in a voice usually reserved for telling ghost stories around a campfire.

Bran whined, his ears flattening against his head in dismay.

"Well, that's what I heard anyway. It would sometimes be human flesh."

Bran made gagging sounds, as though the very idea made him sick and pawed at the ground. Arual hung back, biting her lip to keep from giggling. Duncan caught her eye, and for a moment they exchanged a knowing look. It was not unlike two parents sharing a moment as their children played together.

"Oh, like you can tell the difference," Alistair said, rolling his eyes. He hadn't seemed to notice Arual yet. "You may have already eaten something...someone."

Bran whimpered pathetically, backing away from Alistair toward Duncan. Arual couldn't hold back anymore. She walked up to Bran and took a knee at his side, scratching behind his pointed ears and under his chin.

"Don't worry, boy," she said in a voice reserved only for the absolute sweetest of dogs, "I'd never feed you another human!"

Alistair raised a brow at her, "It's not cannibalism if he's eating them, you know."

Bran chuffed noncommittally, and circled his mistress. Arual laughed.

"I trust everything with your brother went well?" Duncan asked.

Arual smiled sadly. "Yes. Thank you for that. Both of you."

Duncan nodded, and turned to Alistair. "Alistair, please inform the king we'll be there shortly."

Alistair's honey brown eyes flicked back and forth between Arual and Duncan. For a moment, Arual thought he might say something, but the only sound he made was a wordless affirmative and marched away.

The elder Grey Warden turned to Arual.

"How are you?" he asked at length. "A lot has happened in a very short amount of time, and there is only more ahead."

Arual nodded solemnly. "I'm...processing," she admitted. "You're right, a lot has happened. I'm still not sure how I feel about being a Grey Warden, about what that means for who I once was...who I am now. And my family..." her voice broke with emotion. Arual bit her lip as though it were a dam that could keep the tears at bay.

Duncan reached out as though to pat her shoulder, but thought better of it, and withdrew his touch. Instead, he offered her a nod.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry it had to be this way."

Arual looked at him, eyes glossy with tears that would not fall and nodded her thanks. There was more she would have said, but the words tangled in her throat before she could speak them. She was grateful, too, that Duncan seemed to understand. He nodded back, and allowed a moment of mutual affection to pass between them.

The warm, fatherly nature of him shifted then, and he was no longer Duncan the mentor, but Duncan the Warden Commander, ready for battle—ready to do his duty.

"With me, Warden," he said, and made for the war table. Arual followed with Bran at her side.

Arual stood to Duncan's left, Alistair on his right, and each a pace behind him. There was only so much room at the war table as it was.

The meeting took place in what must have once been a guard tower. Candles burned low in their holders, offering a warm glow to the dingy, moss-covered ruins.

They seemed, also, to offer an air of finality.

There were seven of them in attendance: three Grey Wardens, King Cailan in his shimmering gold armor, a representative from the Circle of Magi, the Revered Mother of the Chantry, and Teyrn Loghain wearing his polished, if battle worn, grey armor. Arual had heard he'd taken it from a chevalier captain in the battle at River Dane where he'd earned his title as the Hero of River Dane shortly before being raised to Teyrn of Gwaren.

To see him standing before her in that armor, in all his glory, with his silver hair and ice blue eyes...Arual practically vibrated with glee. It was almost enough to rattle the braided crown from her hair. Even at nearly seventy, he still held himself with a rigid military posture and austere expression.

Arual had long wanted to meet the fabled hero she'd read about for years, but never imagined she'd ever have the chance—the man, after all, was older than her father had been, and was rarely seen at social events among the nobility. But to see him here and now was breathtaking.

Unfortunately, it seemed no one else shared her sentiment.

"Loghain, my decision is final," King Cailan snipped. "I will stand by the Grey Wardens on this assault."

"You risk too much, Cailan," growled the teyrn, his voice hard as gravel. "The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines."

"If that's the case, perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us after all," Cailan shot back. It was an empty threat, but a threat all the same. It had been Orlesians the teyrn had been fighting when he won his armor and honorific. He'd spent years fighting off their forces alongside King Cailan's father, King Maric, and many more helping to restore order after Ferelden had wrestled the crown away from them.

It had been years since then, decades even, but many Ferelden nobles still refused to trust Orlesians. Her father had been such a noble, and rumors had it that so was Teyrn Loghain.

"I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves," growled the teyrn.

"It is not a fool notion," said the king, sounding every bit like a naïve hero in a tale. "Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past. And you will remember who is king."

His final words came out in a tone that showed he was not accustomed to being challenged except, perhaps, by the teyrn. It were as though the man were a stubborn hair that refused to find it's place

The teyrn narrowed his ice blue eyes. "How fortunate Maric did not live to see his son hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century!" he spat, spittle like venom at the corners of his mouth, teeth straight and white as a horse's.

"Then our current forces will have to suffice, won't they?" Cailan said, his tone suddenly light-hearted, almost mocking. He turned to Duncan before the teyrn had time to issue a retort. "Duncan, are your recruits ready for battle?"

"They are, your Majesty," Duncan answered without hesitation.

"Good. Every Grey Warden is needed now more than ever."

"Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan," said Loghain. He sounded tired. Exasperated. "We must attend to reality."

"Fine. Speak your strategy."

Cailan leaned over a map. It covered a table where once guards had sat to eat from end to end, the edges weighed down with stones. It held a rough sketch of Ostagar as seen from above, and some of the surrounding forest. The map, Arual noted, looked to have been hastily drawn on a stretch of parchment with charcoal. Here and there, she could see smudges where the artist had tried to correct a mistake, or held the parchment too tightly. Other marks marred the surface as well—notes and numbers mostly but she could only guess their meaning.

"The Grey Wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our lines, and then..."

"You will signal the tower to light the beacon," Loghain sighed, "signaling my men to charge from cover—"

"To flank the darkspawn. I remember. This is the Tower of Ishal in the ruins, yes? Who shall light this beacon?" Cailan looked around to the others assembled there as though waiting for a volunteer.

"I have a few men stationed there," Loghain informed him. Arual's breath caught as she thought of the fabled Night Elves—a guerilla squad of elven archers led by Loghain during the Rebellion. Could they still be in his service? Would Arual get the chance to meet any? She had to stifle a squeal of delight just thinking about it.

"It is not a dangerous task, but it is vital," the teyrn concluded.

"Then we should send our best," Cailan said definitively as he straightened. "Send Alistair and Lady Cousland to make sure it is done."

"You rely on these Grey Wardens too much," Loghain shook his head. "Is that truly wise?"

Arual wasn't sure whether Teyrn Loghain referred to King Cailan's trust of the Grey Wardens, or his strategy of sending her and Alistair to light the beacon. Either way, he was probably right.

"Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain! Grey Wardens are sworn to fight the darkspawn no matter where they're from."

"Your Majesty," Duncan interjected. "We must consider the possibility of the archdemon appearing."

"There have been no signs of any dragons in the Wilds," said Teyrn Loghain with a wave of his hand, as if brushing the very idea of an archdemon off the table.

"Isn't that what your men are here for, Duncan?" Cailan said, as though that settled the matter entirely.

"I—" Duncan began as though he would argue the point, but stopped himself. "Yes, your Majesty," he sighed, defeated.

Evidently, it had.

"Your Majesty," the Circle mage said suddenly. Until then, he and the Revered Mother had been silent. Now, it seemed that silence was to be broken. "The tower and it's beacon are unnecessary. The Circle of Magi—"

"We will not trust any lives to your spells, mage!" sneered the Revered Mother. She looked at the Circle mage as though he were something disgusting to be squashed beneath her boot. "Save them for the darkspawn."

It was well known that the Chantry had no love for mages, but to see such vitriol from a priest rocked Arual onto her heels.

"Enough!" Teyrn Loghain called, the force of every battle ever won in his voice. "This plan will suffice. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon."

"Thank you, Loghain," the king sighed. Was it Loghain's approval and not his cooperation that he'd been after all along? Arual wondered...

"I cannot wait for that glorious moment...the Grey Wardens battle alongside the King of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!"

"Yes, Cailan," the teyrn said darkly as he turned away. "A glorious moment for us all."

The battle was fast approaching. Soldiers, mages, priests, dogs, and horses moved hither and thither preparing for what was to come. There were so many last minute preparations to be seen to, so many final meals, drinks, and farewells to be had. Arual could feel the tension in the air as she stood around the fire with her fellow Wardens back at their pavilion.

"You heard the plan," Duncan said. "The two of you will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit."

"But the battle—" Alistair began, but Duncan cut him off.

"This is by the king's personal request, Alistair. If the beacon is not lit, Teyrn Loghain's men won't know when the charge."

"So, he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch," Alistair grumbled, folding his arms over his chest. "Just in case, right?"

"I agree with Alistair," Arual said pragmatically. "If there are darkspawn on the field, we should be in the battle. We won't be much use at the tower."

"That is not your choice, nor is it mine," Duncan explained. "If King Cailan wishes Grey Wardens to ensure the beacon is lit, then Grey Wardens will be there."

"I thought the Grey Wardens didn't answer to any one king."

"Our reputation in Ferelden is delicate at best," Duncan shook his head in dismay. "We must be cooperative for as long as necessary to destroy the darkspawn…exciting or no."

"I get it, I get it," Alistair said, unfolding his arms to raise his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Just so you know, if Cailan ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no."

"Oh, I don't know," Arual tittered. "That could be a great distraction, and it's been so long since I've had a good dance partner."

"Well, maybe for you," Alistair said with a crooked grin, "but it would have to be a pretty dress."

The pair of them giggled, all nerves and frustration hidden behind walls of humor, while Duncan hefted a long-suffering sigh and shook his head.

"The tower is on the other side of the gorge from the king's camp," said Duncan, bringing them back to the subject at hand, his voice sounding tired and proud all at once. "You'll need to cross the gorge and head through the gate and up to the tower entrance. From the top, you'll overlook the entire valley. When the time is right, we will signal you on the battle field. Alistair, you know what to look for. Once I leave with the king, move quickly. You'll have less than an hour."

"What about afterwards?" asked Alistair.

"Stay with the teyrn's men and guard the tower. If you are needed, we will send word."

Arual licked her lips and gave voice to the question that had been on her mind since Duncan had me ruined it at the war table: "What if the archdemon appears…?"

"We soil our drawers, that's what," Alistair laughed without mirth.

"If it does, leave it to us. I want no heroics from either of you," Duncan looked at each of them pointedly. "Remember, you are both Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title. Do what you must to secure the tower and light the beacon. I trust you both."

"Just not enough to actually fight with the rest of you," Alistair said, pouting.

Duncan chuckled. "There will be plenty of battles, Alistair. Be patient."

A moment passed between the two men that ran deeper than Arual could understand. They'd known each other much longer than she had known either of them. They had a history together that she could only guess at, but she saw a glimmer of it in the look they shared. It was almost like the looks her father and Fergus would share.

Perhaps Arual did understand that look after all. Alistair, for all his posturing, wasn't worried about missing out on the battle. He was worried about fighting away from Duncan. Whether it was because he feared for his mentor's well-being or because he yearned for the protection of fighting alongside the seasoned warrior, Arual wasn't sure. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

Whatever the case may be, it seemed Alistair said whatever he needed to with that look, and Duncan understood, his dark eyes gleaming in the firelight.

"Duncan…" Alistair said finally, voice thick with emotion. "May the Maker watch over you."

"May he watch over us all."