Teagan had never really striven for more than the Maker had set in his path. It was only by virtue of timing and birth that had placed him where he was. He knew to be thankful for the time he had served the bannorn, that the people of Rainesfere were loyal to him - more loyal at times than he thought he had any right for them to be. The few dark fields that no one had returned to farm, sat barren - ever a reminder of a pointless war. It had worked out in the end; the Wardens had come to settle both Loghain and the Blight, and in the end, he had been on the right side.
It had brought him fallow fields, a starving bannorn and little else. It brought him work and nightmares, and heartache until Ser Cauthrien came to Rainesfere. For her, he might have to give it all away, not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t know that the bannorn would stand with him, if he stood with her. She had burned those fields, her army had fought against them, intimidated them. When he had stood against her, his people had stood and fought with him.
That was the trouble with love, he supposed. Sometimes it gave you tough choices, not the kind of earth-shattering decisions that saw generations changed at the outcome, but smaller ones that still found men like Teagan awake when the sun rose, wondering if love was worth the possibilities.