Chapter 114: Dis-Unity

“There’s a group of soldiers at the south perimeter, your Majesty,” the scout reported. “They aren’t ours! At least, they weren’t fighting in the battle. They’ve just come from the Wilds, they said. They say ... they say they’re from Highever.”

With that announcement, the change that came over Aedan was patently obvious. He stiffened like he’d been shot, and then spun to make eye contact with me, a huge grin splitting his face. I don’t think he believed me that Fergus survived; at least, not completely. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. Cailan had been questioning the scout further while Aedan had already begun celebrating, but we both turned to hear the last of the conversation.

“ ... Cousland with them?” I heard Cailan asking.

“I don’t know, your Majesty. They didn’t say, but they had a couple of heavily wounded men. They all looked a bit worse for wear, to be honest. The healers have already been sent for.”

Aedan glanced my way with trepidation, and I shrugged. I thought he was better by the time he reached civilization, though the game didn’t mention any of his men.

“Thank you, Ruald. You may return to your duties.”

Cailan spoke to a few of the messengers and others nearby, leaving instructions, while Aedan dismissed the Grey Wardens gathered behind us; when that was all done, Alistair, Zev and I trailed in Aedan’s wake as he and Cailan led the way hurriedly through the massive army camp. I jogged ahead, catching Aedan’s arm to slow him down slightly.

“Aedan...” I began hesitantly, not knowing exactly why I was suddenly so nervous. “It might not be him. I don’t want you to get your hopes up. There may have been others from Highever that survived.”

“I know.” He winced. “But then again, it might be him. Would he still be injured?”

“Not according to the game. But we’ve seen the game isn’t always perfect.”

“Still, if it is him? Oh, Maker, I hope it is. I won’t say I’m looking forward to telling him about Howe, but ... Sierra, we won’t be alone anymore. We still have a family.”

It made my stomach flutter to think about that. “Even if it is him ... Aedan, it might not be the best time to tell him about me. He’s going to have enough to deal with without an unknown sister being dumped on him, don’t you think? Maybe we should wait to tell him.”

“He’s your brother too,” Aedan argued. “I won’t ask you to pretend not to be family in front of him. He’ll be happy to meet you. I know he will. If anything, it might help deal with what we’ve lost, to see something we have found.”

“Aedan...”

“Perhaps we should wait and see if he’s even there before you two start arguing about who tells him what?” Cailan was chuckling lightly at our expense.

I scowled at him. “Careful, your Majesty, or we’ll make you tell him.” He paled, and I laughed.

We finally reached the south perimeter of the camp, and I could see a small group of soldiers, some seated, some lying down; Wynne was there, with a Circle mage I didn’t recognise. The elder mage knelt beside someone, pouring healing magic into him, while the other one concentrated on closing up what looked to be a minor head wound on someone else.

I hung back, nervous, as Aedan bolted towards the group, clearly having recognised someone. Alistair wrapped one arm around my waist as we watched Aedan drop to one knee beside a large blond man. They spoke briefly, then Aedan half-smiled and clapped the man on the shoulder, oblivious to the poor thing’s wince. My brother stood and stepped around another soldier before finally sinking down beside the man Wynne was working on with a cry.

Anxiously, I shuffled forward to see Fergus, face streaked with mud and blood, eyes closed, a large gash through the shoulder of the ragged armour he wore, the skin torn and bleeding freely. Aedan leaned over, tucking a strand of matted dark hair off his forehead. Fergus had seen better days; he had a thick, unkempt beard, and his hair was longer than Cailan’s; he had a scar running from one ear, across his cheek to his mouth, making his lip pucker strangely. He was filthy and wearing what must have been scavenged armour, but he was unmistakable despite that. He looked a great deal older than he had in game, and I wondered what he had been through since Ostagar.

As Wynne worked, the gash in his shoulder stopped bleeding, then slowly closed; she rose carefully, obviously drained, and I hurried to her side to offer my support as she got her balance back. None of the small group of soldiers looked able to answer questions, and Aedan was clearly so torn between relief that Fergus was alive and fear – that he might still die, that he’d react poorly to the news out of Highever – that he was in no shape to make the necessary arrangements. Cailan came back to my side from where he’d been talking to the guards who’d initially spoken to the ragtag group.

“Apparently they were scouting in the Wilds when they were ambushed, just before Ostagar. These were all that survived, and the Chasind rescued them. Several were injured, including Fergus, who apparently had some sort of wound in his back. It’s taken all these months for him to be well enough to travel, but then as they approached here, they encountered a group of darkspawn fleeing the battle and had to fight. He was injured again.” Clearly the guards had had some time to figure out the story before we’d arrived.

“He’ll live,” Wynne told us. “He was the most badly injured of the lot. He’ll need some more time to heal, and I think Anders should look at the wound on his back – it isn’t totally healed yet, or it ripped open again, perhaps – but he’ll recover. After that healing, he probably won’t wake for another day or so, I suspect.”

Cailan stepped closer, pitching his voice low for only Alistair, Zev, Wynne, and I to hear. “Apparently he knows.” I gave him a puzzled frown. “About Highever,” he clarified. “The Chasind had heard the news from refugees heading to Gwaren. He took it ... poorly.”

Zev and I traded looks; he turned and went to sit by Aedan, one hand on my brother’s back, silently offering support.

“It’s probably better that Aedan didn’t have to tell him,” Alistair mused.

I nodded, slightly relieved both that I’d have another day to face Fergus as his long-lost sister, and that I wouldn’t have to watch Aedan break his heart.

Cailan stepped away again and made arrangements for a camp near the Grey Wardens to be set up for the handful of Highever men, and then two soldiers with a stretcher carefully carried Fergus up to Cailan’s tent, the rest of us following in their wake. Aedan clung to my hand, seemingly not able to talk about his feelings, but his relief and apprehension were communicated clearly through his clammy skin clutching mine. He refused to leave Fergus’ side once the new Teyrn was settled in Cailan’s tent, and Zevran collected a couple of camp chairs and an extra cot so Aedan could sleep right beside his – our – brother.

I spent a restless night wondering when Fergus would wake; Alistair making love to me distracted me for a while, but as he slipped into sleep, I laid awake, worrying. The next day, several of the men had recovered enough to describe their experiences in more detail. It sounded like it was a miracle Fergus had survived; Anders agreed after examining his back, and he, Wynne, and several others performed a combined heal like they’d done for my knee back at Redcliffe, apparently managing to break up some unfortunate scar tissue and reduce the impact it would have on his movement.

When he finally woke, I was in a conversation with Nathaniel, who’d stopped in to visit Leliana but was too embarrassed – or too polite – not to stop and say hello to me, too; we were discussing our future move to Amaranthine. Zevran came, pulling me aside and freeing Nathaniel to seek out Leliana.

“He’s awake.” Zevran frowned. “Aedan would like to see you. He has not yet told the Teyrn about you, yes? It has been an ... emotional reunion.”

I nodded mutely and reluctantly turned to head to Cailan’s tent. I truly didn’t know what to expect; Fergus didn’t know me. On the other hand, if Aedan was anything to go by, maybe he’d surprise me and welcome me with open arms. Aedan certainly seemed to think that would happen. I took a deep breath and ducked inside the tent.

My timing was impeccable – impeccably bad, of course. The two must just have talked about the night Howe had attacked, because Fergus was sobbing, and Aedan was holding him with a look of such abject guilt in his eyes it caused me physical pain. I couldn’t help it – I shot Aedan a sympathetic look, and then stepped back outside. I stood beside the tent flap, heart pounding, slightly short of breath, feeling nervous and ashamed all at once.

Who am I to go in there and be their sister? They lost everything. A bloodline doesn’t let me share their grief. I’m such a fraud.

I sank down onto the ground, arms wrapped around my knees, head down, shaking a little. I couldn’t decide if I was more worried about being rejected, or being accepted. I honestly hadn’t spent much time considering what it would be like with Fergus in our lives; now it occurred to me I’d been in denial, avoiding thinking about it.

I sat there for a while, torn between going back in, or walking away altogether, when I heard the two men start talking. I should have left – I knew that eavesdropping wasn’t going to get me anywhere good – but I felt paralysed, by guilt and fear, so I just sat there and listened.

Aedan was describing the night Highever fell; his voice broke as he described finding Oren and Oriana, defending Eleanor, saying goodbye to Rory, and then finding Bryce in the larder. Duncan had had to carry him out, not because he didn’t want to be a Grey Warden, but because he was so set on staying with his parents and defending them to his death. Aedan had opened up to me, as we’d travelled together over the past year, but I realised it must have hurt, not having someone who knew those people he’d left behind to grieve with. Aedan was begging forgiveness, and Fergus was sobbing again, choking out words of understanding, not censure, to my relief. Things went quiet again, as the two cried together, and I assumed, held each other while they mourned.

When they started talking again, Aedan began describing our adventures since that night, between being recruited, the Tower of Ishal, meeting us in Lothering, travelling to Redcliffe, then the Circle, Haven, the Brecilian Forest, Denerim, and finally Orzammar. He didn’t go into great detail about any point in the tale, just giving a rough overview of the challenges we faced at each place. He mentioned me several times, not explaining my background, to my surprise; he gave hints that there was something mysterious about me – describing how I’d warned them about Branka, for example – but never explained how I’d known. I could almost feel Fergus’ confusion mounting as the tale went on.

He was surprised at learning Cailan had a half-brother, and I noticed Aedan spent more time describing my wedding than he did describing Orzammar.

Finally they talked about killing Howe; Fergus was initially skeptical about Nathaniel’s innocence, immediately spewing vitriol about the Howes, but when he heard about his injuries – I hadn’t been aware that Anders had healed several horrific burns, bruises, and badly set fractures – he softened and accepted that Nate had been a victim of his father every bit as much as the Couslands had. He’d been friends with Nathaniel Howe for years before the archer’s exile; faced with overwhelming evidence, he couldn’t deny the obvious lack of complicity in his father’s actions.

They talked about the Landsmeet, then the army training in the field before the final battle. Aedan had avoided talking much about Zevran, but his resolve broke when he explained Zevran taking the killing blow, and I was sure that, unless Fergus was an idiot, he must have known how Aedan felt about the elf; despite that, they didn’t discuss it. I imagine they’ve spent their entire lives not talking about Aedan’s sexual preference and what it would mean for a nobleman not to wish to marry.

Instead, Fergus asked the question I’d expected from him earlier.

“You’ve mentioned this ... Sierra? ... multiple times, but Aedan ... who is she? Is she a mage? You talk about her like she knows the future.”

“I’m glad you asked.” I could picture Aedan’s smug grin. Ass. “She isn’t a mage, no. But she does, in a limited way, know things about the future.”

The explanation of where I came from was as unbelievable to Fergus as it had been to everyone else; he tried to poke holes in the story, speculating that I was a spy, or somehow in league with the darkspawn ... like everyone else, he failed to come up with any explanation that made sense given the breadth of my apparent knowledge. No one could possibly be in league with Loghain, Howe, the darkspawn, the dwarves, Uldred, the Dalish, werewolves, and all of the thugs in Denerim at the same time. In the end, it sounded like he was left questioning Aedan’s sanity.

Which I couldn’t blame him for, really, but apparently Aedan didn’t pick up on that, because instead of getting Cailan, or anyone, really, to confirm his story, he launched into the explanation that I’d been dreading.