Chapter One Hundred Seventy-Two: *Travel Planning
Aedan took one look at the papers in my lap, growled something incomprehensible, and then punched his brother right in the face. The two men went down, fists flying, knocking into the desk and upending a pile of books and papers as they fell. A crash sounded as they knocked over the heavy chair.
After a brief, shocked moment, I jumped up off the couch where I sat, dropping the journal and letter onto the floor. I screamed, horrified by the sight of blood on the two men scrapping like feral dogs on the floor, and that got the other two men in the room moving at the same time. It took all three of us – me, Alistair, and Zev – to pry the brothers apart; in the end, Alistair held Fergus by the shoulders while Zev gripped Aedan from behind and I stood between the two, one hand on Aedan's chest and the other out in the universal 'stop' gesture towards Fergus.
"Aedan, what the fuck?" I didn't curse often, especially not words that I knew were used rarely in Ferelden, but couldn't think of any other way to articulate what I was feeling.
Aedan had the beginnings of what I knew would be an impressive shiner, and his shirt was torn; his knuckles were raw and bleeding. He scowled so hard at Fergus that I wouldn't have been surprised if his face got stuck like that. Fergus had gotten the worst of it – unsurprising, given his weak leg that Wynne and Anders hadn't ever completely been able to heal; blood trickled out of his nose and from a cut on his cheek, right next to the scar that pulled at the corner of his mouth. He didn't look like he was feeling the pain, however; his fists were clenched, and he strained against Alistair to get back into it with Aedan.
I pierced Aedan with my gaze, and he flushed, but I could tell he wasn't done yet; Zev obviously knew it too, as he readjusted his grip with a grim expression. "I mean it, Aedan. What was that about?"
"I told that bastard to leave it alone. He had no right—" He heaved in Zevran's grasp even as Fergus interrupted.
"You can't stop me from proving to you—"
"It doesn't matter!" Aedan's voice was a cry laced with an unimaginable amount of pain, and all of us stopped, staring at him in shock. He shrugged out of Zevran's hold, straightening up and readjusting his clothes. He wouldn't make eye contact with me, his gaze still glued to Fergus, his expression agonized.
"It doesn't matter. Why won't you understand? She didn't claim she was our sister. I said it, not her. She never used it for her own benefit. She helped us when she didn't have to. She put me back together when I fell apart. She risked her life for ours more times than I can count. She showed her loyalty and her compassion over, and over, and over, and she has nothing left to prove. She's my sister – by choice, Fergus. It doesn't matter if it's by blood. Why won't you see that? I know what you've been through in the last couple of years. I get it. But you don't get to take it out on her because you're angry with the world."
He held his arms out to me, and I stepped into them without thinking, holding my brother as he trembled, his breath hitching on suppressed sobs. He kissed my forehead, then turned back to Fergus. "She's not going. I can't stop you, but she doesn't have to go anywhere. I wanted us to all be a family – but you've been trying to force me to choose since you came back. Well, I've chosen. I choose Sierra. When you're old, lying on your deathbed, and you're alone with no one to hold your hand or listen to your final wishes, I hope you remember that you forced this, Fergus. You brought it on yourself."
Aedan kissed my forehead again, and then released me. He shoulders were slumped as though he carried the weight of the world on them, but he forced himself to stop, stand tall, and walk out of the room like he had no cares in the world. He paused at the doorway without looking back. "We will be leaving in the morning. Thanks for the hospitality." His tone was sarcastic, and even I flinched, though it wasn't aimed at me. "Goodbye, your Grace." And then he was gone.
I traded looks with Zevran, and the assassin slipped out silently to go after him. I was grateful, for the millionth time, for having that elf come into our lives.
When I turned, Alistair had released Fergus, standing between me and my liege lord with his arm out protectively towards me. Fergus wiped his face on his sleeve, righted his chair, and sat down holding his nose firmly to stop the bleeding.
"Well, that went well," Fergus muttered, and I almost laughed. Almost.
"What did he mean, when he talked about going somewhere?" Alistair's gaze on Fergus was far more hard than curious.
I walked over and picked up the journal and papers I'd dropped, placing them on the edge of the desk near where Alistair stood.
"His Grace found out what happened to me..." I gulped and continued, "to his and Aedan's sister. Bryce and Eleanor took her to some sort of...hospital, I think? On an island off the coast of Rivain. I'm assuming his Grace suggested we should all go there and find out what has become of her – and prove that I'm not her. And I'm guessing Aedan declined."
"Declined rather...vigourously, yes." Fergus winced as he probed the bridge of his nose carefully.
Alistair tensed, and I knew without asking that he was furious – as furious as Aedan had been. I walked up beside him, taking his outstretched arm and wrapping it around my shoulders, putting my own arms around his waist and squeezing till he relaxed. I was grateful for his silence – for letting me fight this battle on my own. I sighed.
Not that there's much fighting to be done.
I turned to Fergus, meeting his inscrutable gaze. "When do we leave?"
*****
Finding Aedan proved to be harder than I expected; not only did I have no idea where his room was, but I couldn't be sure that's where he'd be. As angry as he'd been, he was equally likely to be in the sparring ring, or could even have left the castle entirely. I wouldn't have put it past him to go on a late-night ride outside of town just to blow off steam.
So Alistair and I wandered the castle, hand-in-hand, looking around a bit aimlessly, our guards following us silently. I was surprised that my husband hadn't said anything to me about our impending trip, but he didn't seem to question it – just agreed to be ready to meet Fergus on board a ship he had chartered in two days time. I assumed we'd have some more discussion about it once we were alone, though I wondered if he was just waiting to let Aedan be the one to object.
I wondered what our guards thought of the people they were protecting getting into the middle of a fist fight and then wandering around a strange castle late at night. If they had thoughts, they'd kept them to themselves – and I knew better than to ask.
We checked the sparring ring and popped down into the stables; Aedan hadn't been there, and both were freezing cold and somewhat eery in the middle of the night. Practically running back inside – I hadn't thought to bring my coat, and I was shivering in just my silk dress – we set off to find a servant to direct us to Aedan's rooms.
Unsurprisingly there were few servants to be found; after the excitement of the celebration, everyone had gone to bed exhausted. In the end we got directions from one of the guards standing watch at the main doors into the castle. It still took a while to find – and to talk our way into the family quarters when an enthusiastic guard tried to stop us – but the rooms Aedan shared with Zevran were empty.
