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Dragged into the Blight

Summary:

Aenor Mahariel really didn't want to be a Warden, and she's dead set on making Alistair know it.
Geralt Amell was captured and incarcerated at the Mage Tower, after helping his best friend and forever-crush Jowan escape the Circle.
Kallian Tabris got kidnapped and made a terrible deal with her captors to save the other girls, like the brave fighter her late mom taught her to be.
Elissa Cousland's world shattered in a night, and now she's looking for justice and allies.
Duran Aeducan was betrayed by his own brother, but that doesn't mean he's just gonna go die in the Deep Roads for a crime he didn't commit.
Natia Brosca is a duster, and money's her best friend. Leske too, but he's even more unreliable.
Somehow, they'll end up crossing their paths and become, if not close friends, at least allies in stopping the coming Blight and setting things right. On the way to save Ferelden, they'll find purpose, love and balance.

Notes:

Hello everyone!
First things first, English is not my native language. I've written this entire story in Italian and then decided to translate it using apps, patience and all my effort.
I hope the result will be satisfying, tho I'm sorry to say that I won't probably be able to express the differences in tone and register from a character to another.

I've started writing this because I wasn't satisfyed with the canon bioware offers us: what about all the other possible wardens, once you choose your origin?! They're resourceful people, surely they'd find a way to get out of danger and live on, right? Mahariel was the only one who had to be saved by a Warden.
Also, I really wanted to romance Jowan with my M!Amell, and since there aren't nearly enough stories with them, I had to do something about it.

Chapter 1: Brecilian Forest

Summary:

Aenor Mahariel is a young dalish hunter, and very proud to be one. She's soon (too soon, some think) gonna celebrate her Bonding with Tamlen, hates the shemlen and could not care less about the world outside her Clan.
Things are gonna blow up real fast.

Chapter Text

Tamlen shot her a questioning look, his bow pointed at the three humans who had made the mistake of getting too close to the Dalish camp.

"So? What do we do with them?"

Aenor shrugged. "If we let them go, more will come." She brought a hand behind her shoulders, gripping the hilt of the sword and advancing towards the three.

The companion grinned, satisfied with the answer. "Nothing different can be expected from the shems."

The first human didn't even have time to turn to flee, Tamlen's arrow stabbed right into his chest, at heart level.

The second tried to shield himself with his arms, but Aenor's sword cut through his forearms, thrusting into his collarbone.

The third managed to make about ten meters before being shot down by the elf's second arrow.

"Ah, the comforts of the bow: quickness, less blood spatter, being able to strike from a distance..." Tamlen sang jokingly, watching his companion pull the sword out of the man's body. A spray of blood rose from the corpse as it collapsed to the ground. Aenor didn't deign to reply as she cleaned the blade on the dead man's clothes and sheathed it easily.

"What do you think of the cave they say they found?" She asked, peering around. "It could be a lot of nonsense, as far as we know."

Tamlen turned the tablet with the inscriptions the three had given him over in his hands. “I don't know, this has to come from somewhere. And there are hidden ruins all over Ferelden, maybe we're about to find something big."

"We should talk to the Keeper about it." Aenor suggested, unconvinced.

"Don't tell me you believe those shems?" Tamlen asked her, bursting into incredulous laughter. "They probably just saw a bear rather than a demon."

"But what if it really was there?"

He eyed her in amusement, raising an eyebrow. "The great predator is afraid of a bear!" He mocked her, stroking the fletching of one of the arrows he carried in a quiver strapped to his shoulders. "Don't worry, luckily for you, I'm here." He patted her on the head, then walked in the direction the humans had pointed.

"That's what I'm worried about." Aenor muttered resentfully, following him.

They made their way through the trees, in silence, attentive to the sounds of the forest around them. They encountered fresh wolf tracks, a sign that one of the numerous packs of the Brecilian forest had gone hunting.

They reached the cave entrance strangely smoothly.

"Hey, I don't remember ever seeing this before." Tamlen commented in surprise, approaching what had once been a stone pillar, lying in pieces and covered in undergrowth. A path of moss-covered rocks led deep, while stalactites and vines hung from the ceiling.

"I still think it's a bad idea." Aenor could almost sense that something was wrong around here. “We can notify the Keeper and come back here with a few more people. You have no idea what could be down there! "

"We're hunters now, it'll take more than a few stories about a black-eyed demon to scare me... Although I can't say the same about you." He put a hand behind her back. "Besides, if we shake the whole clan for nothing, they'll take us for idiots!"

Aenor snorted. She knew that if she went back to the clan, he would go in there alone. And at least that way she could make sure he didn't get eaten by some giant spider. She shivered at the thought. "There are no caves without giant spiders."

They made their way through the brambles that grew clinging to the rocks, descending lower and lower, until the vegetation gave way to the bare rock.

They passed under an ancient stone arch, coming out into a room also made of stone, supported by large decorated columns. The huge forest roots had carved their way down there, causing part of the ceiling to collapse. A little light filtered in from above, which with the local dust spread ominously throughout the room.

Aenor, in spite of her mood, found herself admiring the architectural skill of those who had built that place: it seemed ancient for who knew how many centuries, yet it had survived all that time.

A sinister ticking immediately brought her back to attention. She drew her sword, signaling Tamlen to be on high alert. She was unable to take more than three steps before a black shape, a couple of times larger than herself, swooped down on her from the ceiling.

She dodged to the right, placing the sword between her and the thing, which turned out to be a giant spider, claws snapping hungry dripping with venom.

Without thinking twice, Aenor swung a powerful blow from below, slicing off one of the beast's hairy legs, which hissed and pulled back, ready to attack again, when a white fletched arrow stuck into one of its too many eyes. Enraged, the spider let out a high-pitched skreech, backing off and wriggling, losing blood.

Two more spiders, slightly smaller than the previous one, sprang up to help it.

"Fenedhis lasa!" She grunted, hitting one of the creatures and throwing it off balance. It fell on its side, legs flailing frantically. "I told you it wasn't a good idea!" She thrust the blade into the beast's head then quickly pulled it out, making sure the poison splashed from the wound didn't hit her.Than she turned to Tamlen, just in time to see him finish the other spider.

Together, they faced the last creature that was hissing and snapping its claws menacingly, and they knocked it down.

"Luckily for us you're here too." He smiled sardonically at her while going to retrieve the arrows.

"Ugh. Don't tell me you reuse them after they've been in those things. " Aenor commented, pointing to the greenish icor dripping from them along with blood and hairy flesh.

"Why waste it? It could be useful. "

She watched him pick up the arrows one by one, inspect them to see if they were still usable and put them back in the quiver.

They went further into the ruins, passing through an old wooden door now rotting. They encountered another couple of spiders, which didn't give too much trouble.

Walking through the corridors, they passed a skeleton covered with cobwebs, probably of some unfortunate adventurer. He still had parts of his armor on him, rusty and useless, the broken hilt of a dagger in his hand.

They turned down a long corridor, noticing other remains, but it was impossible to tell if they had been elves or humans.

At one point, Tamlen accelerated his pace, stopping in front of a statue which portrayed a slender figure with a spear in hand and wearing a long dress.

"It's not possible! Look, do you recognize it?"

"Maybe. It looks familiar."

“When our people still lived in Alrathan, these statues were carved to honor the Creators. After the shems enslaved us, most of them were lost... I don't understand, the whole structure looks like human work, but this statue is definitely elven. Could this place go back to Arlathan's time?" He explained, the excitement of the discovery palpable in his voice.

"Maybe you're right, but there's not much else that can help us down here." She commented laconically.

"Yes, you're right... In any case, there must still be something of value here!" The elf took one last look at the statue, before walking briskly down the corridor, impatient.

"How did you know about the statue?" She asked him, breaking the silence that was making her nervous.

“It was in one of those books that the Keeper doesn't let anyone touch. I think it was Falon'din, but he was a bit different from our usual representation."

"The Friend of the dead'?" Aenor snorted. "This is good luck..."

"He's not an evil god, not like Fen'Harel." Tamlen retorted. "That statue is in such a sinister place." He shrugged, leaving the sentence unfinished.

Aenor looked around. She understood perfectly well, that place gave her the chills. "Why would they leave it here?”

Tamlen shook his head. "I have no idea. This place looks human, but... maybe some of our ancestors lived underground, like dwarves. "

“No one would voluntarily live in such a place…”

“I don't know, Aenor, I have a weird feeling. As if we have... disturbed something by coming down here. " The elf looked around, frowning at the dim light that surrounded them. He the shook his head. "Either way, it'll take a lot more to scare a Dalish hunter."

"I'll remind you of that when we stand upside down in a cocoon of spider web, just waiting to be eaten alive."

“Well, if you didn't want to come, you could have gone back to the camp. By the way,” He turned to look at her, barely hiding an amused grin. "Weren't you supposed to help Master Ilen today?"

She curled a lock of raven hair around her finger and looked at him sideways. "Maybe... But I certainly couldn't let you get into trouble alone, could I?" She walked over to him, smiling. "I'd never miss the fun of being eaten alive by an overweight arachnid."

"Ah, so you followed me for the local wildlife and the thrill of adventure!" He grabbed her hips, pulling her to him. A hand went up to caress the back of her neck as their noses brushed.

"You know me, never a quiet day!" Aenor chuckled, narrowing her eyes and letting his scent inebriate her: it smelled of dry autumn leaves and pine resin, even down there.

When Tamlen's lips rested on her soft ones, Aenor seemed to forget where they were, only their breaths existed, his hands on her back, his tongue caressing hers. She ran a hand through his blond hair, ruffling it and drawing him closer to her.

After a moment, Tamlen pulled away from her, a happy grin his face. “I see that coming here had its benefits…”

“Next time, we can just sneak up behind one of the aravels, you know? There is no need to risk our skin. " She mocked him, brushing his cheek with the back of her hand.

"You have until this winter to reconsider, ma vhenan." He gently took her chin, following the Vallaslin's path with his thumb, which ran down her neck.

"Don't think it's so easy to make me give you up, Lethallin." She took his face, looking him in the eye. "It takes a lot more to break up this union."

"Ma serannas, Aenor Mahariel." He patted her forehead. "Now let's see what's at the bottom of these ruins and go warn Keeper Marethari, before we find ourselves like that guy over there." He pointed to what remained of a skeleton, sadly leaning against a giant root that protruded from the ground. He turned, taking the bow back in his hand and continuing down the dark corridor.

Aenor followed after a moment's hesitation. For a second, the place had seemed less terrible, but that moment was now over. She drew her sword again, facing the darkness.

They were proceeding swiftly when a clanging sound echoed through the stone corridors. They stopped immediately, trying to figure out where it was coming from. They heard shuffling footsteps, followed by a hoarse, inhuman cry which made the blood chill in their veins.

"Fenedhis lasa!" Tamlen exclaimed in horror as a skeleton advanced towards them, the hollow holes where the eyes should have been now glowing embers, pieces of armor hanging from the body and a two-handed sword raised high. The shock didn't last long and after a moment he nocked an arrow and aimed at the head. Unfortunately it hit the helmet, bouncing off.

"Time to go back being dead!" Aenor hissed, ignoring her racing heart and slashing to the corpse's chest. It parried with his sword, the old metal that rattled ominously with the impact, the bones rattling as they absorbed the blow.

Without giving it time to fight back, Aenor kicked it in the bones of his pelvis, causing him to stagger backwards. She grasped her sword firmly and with all her strength managed to kick off the creature's head, which swayed to the ground, the bones scattering across the floor.

"What was that thing?!" Tamlen exclaimed. "There must be dark magic to wake the dead."

"Well, good luck to this one if it wants to wake up again." She retorted, kicking the skeleton's head again and sending it rolling even farther. "Better and better, I'd say." She said sarcastically, slowly advancing towards a large wooden door topped by a stone arch, ready to attack whatever jumped out of the darkness.

The door was closed, but they managed to break it open with a well-aimed push.

Aenor entered first, taking a few tentative steps towards the center of the room. Something large and shiny caught her attention, but before she could figure out what it was, an aggressive roar took her by surprise.

Something big and hairy crashed into her, knocking her to the ground. She banged her head on the hard stone, her vision darkening for a few seconds, trying to free herself from what must have been a paw, bigger than her, pressed against her chest.

"Hey!" She heard Talmen scream, then the weight was gone.

Trying to catch her breath, she staggered to her feet. A yelp signaled that one of his companion's arrows had hit. Without wasting time, she recovered the sword that had slipped a little farther and launched into the attack with a lunge, surprising it from behind and leaving a gash in the side of the beast. She let out a shrill moan, then faced it again.

She took a moment to understand what that thing was: it was shaped like a large bear, its fur torn and bloody that gave way to bony spikes, and underneath them purple flesh, sick and nauseating. It gave off a stench of rottenness and putrefaction.

Another of Tamlen's arrows lodged in the beast's shoulder, giving her the opportunity to take another strike to the hind leg. The creature collapsed to the ground, trying to get up by shifting its weight to its other legs. The elf hit ot first on the shoulder, then in the eye, making itr growl in pain and giving her partner room to maneuver. She gathered all her energy in a last blow to the side of the beast, sticking the sword between its ribs and pushing with all her weight until it was in almost in to the hilt.

The creature fell on its side, flinching in spasms, then collapsed to the floor, a patch of black blood spreading beneath it.

Aenor fell to the ground, exhausted, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.. "I hate this place."

"Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. "I don't think so." She stretched out her legs, still shaking. "Creators, what was that thing?"

The other. “I don't know and I don't want to. I just hope there aren't any others. " His gaze fell to the center of the room and didn't blink, like mesmerized.

Aenor turned in the same direction, noting that the shimmering structure she had seen upon entering was actually made up of a reflective plate, adorned with two large stone statues that seemed to be guarding it.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" Tamlen said, approaching it.

The girl struggled to her feet, a bad feeling gripping her stomach.

"I wonder what the engravings mean..."

She looked at Tamlen while he climbed the three steps to the mirror, enraptured by it.

"Probably, 'don't touch me'." She warned him, hurrying to reach him and grabbing his hand before he could touch anything.

“Don't worry, we wouldn't be able to break it even if we tried, I think. See how clean the surface is? Not even a crack or a speck of dust, it's amazing! I would really like to know what the scriptures say- Hey!" He jumped, pulling his hand free from Aenor's. "Have you seen? Something moved!" He scanned the glass with a feverish look.

“Tamlen, please walk away. It may be dangerous." She begged him. That mirror had something wrong about it.

“Don't worry, I just want... Here! I saw it again! Did you ?!" He jumped excitedly, getting even closer to the glass, almost touching it.

It seemed to Aenor that she saw something like a glare on the surface. She took a step back, startled. "Tamlen, let's go away."

"Do you feel it? I think it knows we're here." He ignored her, concentrating solely on the glass. "I see something, it looks like a city but... underground?" He touched the mirror, which reacted with a series of concentric ripples, as if he had thrown a stone into a crystal-clear pool on a windless day. "And a great darkness-" He jumped, his eyes widening in an expression of terror. "It saw me! It saw me! I- I can't look away!”

Tamlen let out a horrified yelp. "Help!" He screamed as multiple ripples formed on the surface of the mirror.

"Tamlen!" Aenor shot forward to grab him, but before she could reach his armo she was thrown back, blinded by a bright white light that seemed to crack her head.



 



Aenor opened her eyes with difficulty, looking around. She was lying on a bedroll next to one of her clan's aravels. She sat up, her head spinning, her guts feeling like they were on fire. "Tamlen." An insistent ringing in her ears kept her from thinking straight, but finding Tamlen was important.

She staggered to her feet and stumbled to catch up with Fenarel, her friend, who was sitting under a tree not far from her.

"You're awake, you must have the Gods on your side, lethallan!" He greeted her warmly. "We were all worried about you, how are you feeling?"

"Tamlen. Where is he?" She interrupted him. Something was wrong. How had she returned to the camp?

The boy put on a worried face. "We do not know. The shem who brought you here said he didn't see him anywhere. "

"The shem?" She asked. "There were humans, but we got rid of them..." She remembered that, at least.

"No, I'm talking about the shem who brought you back here two days ago. You really don't remember?"

"Two days?!" Aenor exhaled, horrified. "Two days that you don't know where Talmen is, and no one has gone looking for him yet?!" A dizziness caught her off guard, making her stagger.

Fenarel tried to grab her, but she pulled away roughly. "Most of our hunters are out looking for him, but that shem hasn't told us where the cave is... He says he's a Gray Warden, that one."

Aenor ignored him, she didn't care about the shem, she just wanted to make sure Tamlen was alive.

“Anyway, the Keeper said she wanted to talk to you, as soon as you woke up, I'll go get her. Sit down." Fenarel said, hurrying off and returning with Keeper Marethari.

Aenor had paced back and forth the entire time, unable to sit down, anxious.

“I see you're feeling better, da'len. We were lucky Duncan found you. It was hard even for my magic to free you from whatever that darkness was, it seemed to suck your life out." Marethari greeted her with concern on her frowning face.

"So whatever it was, it might have taken Tamlen too?" Aenor asked, a lump in her throat.

“If he met the same entity, then yes. The Gray Warden says he found you outside a cave, already affected by evil. Duncan thinks there might have been darkspawn in those caves... is that true?" The woman asked.

Aenor shook her head. "I only remember the mirror."

"A mirror? Did a mirror do all this? I've never heard of it, in all my research." She sighed. “I was hoping to get some answers, but it seems it's the questions that are increasing. And Tamlen is still missing, his life is more important than any artifact. If he was infected in the same way you were, then he's in terrible danger. Duncan has returned to the cave to look forDarkspawn, but we can't rely on him alone to find one of our own. "

“I'll go. I know where the cave is, and Tamlen-” Aenor said, halting immediately. Just thinking that something may have happened to him was painful.

"Have you recovered enough, da'len?" Marethari asked her.

The girl tried to appear as resolute as possible. "I'm fine. And I'm the only one here who knows where the cave is. If something happened to Tamlen-” She took a deep breath, blinking back the tears. "I have to find him, Keeper."

Marethari smiled tiredly. After all, even if they had not yet participated in the Union ritual, the affection that bound Aenor and Tamlen was no secret to anyone in the clan. "Very well. I have given orders to the clan to pack their bags, we will leave soon to the North, it's time to move. Take Merrill with you, go to these ruins and find Tamlen, if you can."

Aenor nodded, then walked away without saying anything else in search of Merril, the First of the Keeper.

Fenarel ran after her. "Aenor!"

She didn't even stop. "Yeah?"

“Are you going to find Tamlen? I'll come with you." He was a hunter, and having another sword to rely on certainly suited her. Aenor thanked him as they went to retrieve Merrill.

On the way, they met Junar, also one of the hunters, and another elf that Aenor had never seen before. His face was clean, without a Vallaslin, yet he seemed to be about their age.

"I'm glad you're back!" Junar greeted her. "You weren't here when Pol arrived, were you?" He pointed to the boy beside him, who blushed slightly, greeting her in turn. "Pol is a Flat Ears, he arrived a few days ago from one of the human cities."

"Not now, I really don't care." Aenor cut him off rudely, continuing on her way. That a few Flat Ears had taken refuge from the Clan was nothing new, but most of them tended not to last long. They weren't hunters, lifelong trained and raised in the forest. Not like her, or Tamlen. Tamlen was strong, and smart, he would be fine.

They reached Merrill, who was already waiting for them at the edge of the camp.

“As the Keeper's apprentice, I may find something that has escaped your eye. In any case, the primary goal is to find Tamlen."

The forest looked darker and more hostile than usual as the three walked through it.

Suddenly, Aenor noticed something in the bush. She listened, gesturing to the others to be alert and ready their weapons. Merrill drew her magic staff as Fenarel drew his sword, gripping it in his left hand while holding a small wooden shield in his right.

Aenor crept up to the creature: shorter and stockier than her, it stil had a human form. Without wondering what it was, she charged, catching it by surprise and disarming it with a precise blow. Fenarel arrived shortly after, hitting the creature from behind and killing it.

They briefly stopped to examine it: apart from having two arms, two legs and a head, it looked like nothing they'd ever seen before. The head was misshapen, with pointed teeth protruding from the mouth and the face contorted into a malevolent grin, and the skin appeared to have been fused with pieces of metal nailed to the skull. A jumble of pieces of different materials and shapes made up the light armor, covered with spikes of sharp steel. The weapon, a jagged-looking sword, had been crudely assembled and looked more like a mad butcher's knife than an actual sword.

"What is this thing? Darkspawn?" Merrill asked, clearly upset.

"I have no idea. In any case, if there are others, we need to move. Tamlen could be in danger." Aenor answered abruptly, setting off again and hastening her pace. Giant spiders were one thing, but Darkspawn? They weren't trained to fight that stuff. They had to find Tamlen and get out of there as soon as possible.

Before reaching the ruin, they encountered two more of those creatures, which they managed to kill, albeit with some difficulty. Aenor realized that despite pretending to have recovered, her legs were heavy and the hands holding the sword were shaking slightly.

As they entered the cave, Merrill looked around in admiration. "Interesting."

Aenor ignored her.

“We need to find Tamlen. Or what's left of him, I doubt he's still alive, with those monsters around…” Said Merrill, her voice almost a whisper.

Aenor whirled around, facing her, furious. "Shut up. Youdon't know. " Sh growled, looking her straight in the eye.

The mage seemed to realize her error, because she bowed the head in apology. “I'm sorry, you're right. Ma serannas."

"Let's not waste any more time." Aenor spat, turning and starting to walk again, the sword held ad firmly as she could in front of her. She would find Tamlen, no matter if they had to face a dragon to do so.

They walked through the corridors, retracing the route Aenor and Tamlen had taken two days earlier. They encountered small groups of those monsters, but somehow managed to get away, also and above all thanks to Merrill's spells. Finally, they reached the room that contained the mirror. They entered, surprised to find that someone was already there.

Aenor felt her heart tighten, realizing that the figure was not Tamlen but a human.

“Ah, I felt someone fighting the Darkspawn. You're the girI found in the forest, aren't you? I'm surprised to find you already healed." He greeted her.

"I have no idea who you are, shem."

"Even if he didn't save your life, a Gray Warden deserves respect." Merrill scolded her.

Aenor felt another fit of annoyance at her friend. The man might as well have been the King of the Shems himself, she didn't care.

Before she could argue, the human cut her off, raising a hand. “You don't owe me anything. It was my duty to bring one of their wounded hunters back to the clan, the Gray Wardens and the Dalish have long been allies. "

"We're looking for Tamlen, our companion." Aenor said, with no intention of wasting time talking to a shem, Gray Warden or not. "I was here with him, he touched the mirror and then..." She fell silent, unsure of what had really happened.

“The mirror attracts Darkspawn. The Gray Wardens have found other mirrors before, believed to have been used in the Tevinter Imperium to communicate. Over time, some broke apart, becoming tainted with the same corruption as the Darkspawn's... If Tamlen touched the mirror, he must have brought it out. That's what infected you, and it sure infected him too." The man explained.

Aenor listened intently. Something was wrong with her, but this "corruption" would explain why she felt so weak, despite the care of their Keeper. "So, I contracted the Darkspawn infection."

Duncan nodded gravely. “I know you can feel it inside you. The cures are only temporary, I can feel how it is spreading. And as long as this mirror exists, it can infect others. "

The girl remained silent. Probably, what the man was saying was the truth.

"For now, we have to deal with the mirror." Duncan ruled, pulling out one of the two daggers he carried on his belt and turning to the artifact. He struck hard, shattering the glass, releasing an energy Aenor could not identify. "Let's go, I have to talk to the Keeper about a cure for you." the man said.

"And Tamlen?"

"There's nothing we can do for him."

"I'm not going anywhere without him!" Aenor screamed furiously. The shem could go back to wherever he came from, she didn't need him or care about him. "Fen'Harel ma halam, shemlen, you are free to go!" She stepped aside to allow him to get out of the way.

He remained impassive in front of her outburst. “I'll be clear: there's nothing you can do for him. It's been three days since he got infected, without him being cured. You survived thanks to the care of your Keeper. But Tamlen, there's no hope for him. You have to trust me."

Aenor definitely lost his temper. “Trust you?! A shemlen ?! I have no intention of abandoning him, should I face a hundred of those Darkspawn!" She took two steps towards the man, oblivious to the fact that he was much taller than her, stronger and certainly more skilled in fighting. “I don't give a fuck if I die within a few days, I won't leave him. And you can shove your trust up your- "

"Aenor!" Merrill screamed, silencing her.

"Stay out of it!" She snapped at her, turning to face her.

They were staring at her as if she had gone mad. She expected it from Merrill, she was always the odd one, and a shem was not to be trusted... but Fenarel?! She looked at him, almost begging him. “You can't agree with them. You can't abandon your best friend."

Fenarel escaped eye contact, looking down. “Lethallan… if it is indeed darkspawn corruption, I believe the Gray Warden is right. There's nothing we can do for him, it's too late."

The girl had to hold back the tears that stung her eyes. How could they betray her like this? How could they abandon Tamlen to such a hideous fate? She shook her head. "We should have at least found the body."

"The darkspawn will have taken him away." Duncan said. His tone was almost sweet, as if he were indulging a child's whims. Aenor felt her anger mounting even more, towards the shem, towards her so-called friends, especially towards herself. It was her fault.

The truth hit her like a hammer straight to her face: it was all her fault. She could have stopped Tamlen, told him to come back, plead with him, somehow persuade him. Instead, she believed they could face whatever was hiding in those ruins. She had let herself be persuaded by her partner, and now it was he who had paid the consequences, and she who was left alone.

Aenor clenched her fists, letting out a sob, her arms stiff along the body, shutting her eyes closed.

"Alright." She said looking down at the floor, the pieces of mirror glass scattered around the room, now harmless. The others preceded her towards the exit. Fenarel tried to approach her at one point, but something made him give up.

They reached the dalish camp without much problems, although Aenor refused to draw her sword to fight against the Darkspawn they encountered along the way.

"You're back, I'm relieved." Marethari welcomed them. "Duncan, I didn't expect to see you again so soon." The woman looked at them, a distraught expression on her face.

"I didn't even expect to be back any time soon, Keeper." Greeted Duncan.

"Have you any news of Tamlen?" Marethari asked.

Aenor did not answer, remaining silent and staring at the grass. If they went looking for him right away, if that shem hadn't kept the ruins hidden, perhaps some of the hunters would have found Tamlen before the Darkspawn.

"It's too late for him now, he is lost." The human replied.

Marethari sighed, distraught. “It's what I feared. Duncan, I need to speak with you for a moment. Da'len, we'll talk about your treatment later. And tell Hahren Paivel what happened, he'll have to prepare a service for the dead."

Dead

The word continued to ring in Aenor's ears hours after the Keeper had spoken it. Fenarel had gone to talk to the Haren, seeing the state his friend was in. He then tried to comfort her, but there was nothing he could do.

As the entire clan huddled around the bonfire to commemorate one of their hunters, Aenor watched them from afar. The Dalish did not mourn death, but accepted it as a natural event of life.

Bullshit. It was all bullshit.

It couldn't be natural, as the last of her loved ones had been ripped off. First his parents, now Tamlen. Vanished into thin air due to a magical disease brought by a cursed mirror. Where was the normality in all of this?!

Night came, and as fires were being lit throughout the camp, the elves gathered to give the boy the last farewell.

"Lethallan, it's time..."

Aenor looked up, recognizing Fenarel. She took the hand he offered her to get up, then approached the others. They were all gathered in a circle, around where the body should have been. Aenor advanced towards the center. The Keeper handed her a small, oval-shaped object. A seed from some tree, which the girl did not recognize. She didn't even care. There would be no one under the roots of that tree, it made no sense. She knelt down, placing her hands on the damp, barely moved earth, inhaling its smell.

“Ir abelas, ma vhenan. Falon'Din enasal enaste. " I mourn your loss, my heart. May Falon'Din guide you. She could feel tears running down her cheeks, but she did nothing to stop them. "May he find you soon, emma sa'lath." My only love, we will meet again soon. The only consolation of that corruption was that she wouldn't have to wait for long.

"Falon'Din enasal enaste." All the others recited in chorus.

One by one, slowly, each one went away until she was left alone, crouched on the damp earth. She didn't know how long it was, waiting for Corruption to take her too, but when the Keeper put a hand on her shoulder, the sky was now lit by the first light of dawn.

"I need to talk to you, Da'len."

Aenor followed her obediently, with no more strength left in her. Marethari led her to Duncan, who had remained aloof, respectful of the pain of the clan.

“Your Keeper and I have talked, and we have come to an agreement that concerns you. My Order needs help, and you need a cure. I'll be leaving in a few hours, and I hope you'll choose to come with me. You would be an excellent Gray Warden." The man seemed sincere. Aenor, tho, didn't care.

"Thanks, but no."

“Maybe you didn't understand your condition. Corruption cannot be cured, it will eventually kill you anyway. The treatment you received slowed down its spread, but within a few weeks, or less, it will kill you. Joining the Gray Wardens can prevent that."

"I do not care." She shook her head. They didn't understand, how could they?

“A Blight is coming, and we need capable fighters like you. Our Order is the only thing that can stand against the Darkspawn, don't you understand?" Duncan asked her. From the tone, he was beginning to get impatient. "I'm not doing it out of pity, but because I think you have potential."

"Oh, I don't doubt it, shemlen." Aenor interrupted him. “But I have the right to refuse. If I have to die, I'll die the way I like it. And I'll be grateful when the time comes, for I have no reason left to live."

"Da'len! It's not like you to speak like this!" Marethari exclaimed in surprise. “I understand that Tamlen's death was a big blow to you, I know you were really close, but he wouldn't have wanted to see you throw your life away! Not when you can dedicate it to something greater than all of us."

“We will never know what Tamlen wanted. He's dead, isn't he? " The girl retorted. “And I'm still here. No, Duncan of the Gray Wardens, I'm not going anywhere."

The man finally lost his patience. "Then you leave me no choice." He cleared his throat. "I invoke the Right of Conscription on this girl, Aenor Mahariel."

"And I allow it, Duncan of the Gray Wardens." The Keeper answered.

"I'm sorry it wasn't your decision, but the Darkspawn threat is too great to ignore." The man concluded, looking sternly at her.

Aenor's eyes widened. "He can't do it!" She gasped at Marethari. She had made up her mind, she was ready to die, why was the Keeper letting this shemlen take her away against her will?!

“Da'len, I'm doing this for your own good. Don't let yourself die, but fight for all of us." Marethari simply replied, looking at her with compassionate eyes.

Anger took hold of the girl again, who rushed at Duncan in a fit of blind fury. Had she had nothing but the small dagger she wore on her belt, she could even have been a minor threat to the man, but as small, tired, weakened and almost unarmed as she was, it was easy for him to stun her with a blow to the head.

Chapter 2: Circle Tower

Summary:

Geralt Amell passed his Harrowing, and now his best friend has asked him to join him and his girlfriend in trying to escape the Tower.
With Jowan suspected of being a blood mage and Geralt being secretly in love with him for ages, what could possibly go wrong?
Everything, of course.

Chapter Text

Geralt huffed, incinerating the last giant spider in that damned storage. He scratched his auburn beard, irritated. Not only that stupid Chantry initiate had dragged Jowan into that ridiculous plan, but he himself had gotten involved as well. What an idiot I am! The man thought, waving a hand and knocking over one of the shelves leaning against the wall with a spell, just for the heck of it. She's just using him to get away from her pathetic life in the Chantry.

He ignored the twinge of jealousy and headed confidently for the warehouse exit.

"Oh, back already?" Elder Enchantress Leorah asked him.

"Of course." Geralt retorted, holding out the request form for the fire rod. "Now, if you could just sign this for me..."

"Certainly, certainly." Muttered the Enchantress, scribbling her signature on the paper. "If you need anything from me, such a promising young man..." She handed the paper back to him.

"Don't hesitate to call me." He promptly replied, grabbing it and bowing his head slightly before walking away. You lazy bastard. He thought in disgust. The Enchantress hadn't even tried to dispose of a couple of spiders in the Tower's storerooms, how did they expect her to teach anything to the Apprentices, or moreover to the mages who had already passed the Harrowing!

On the way to Owain's stockroom, he came across one of the Templars who had witnessed his Harrowing, a tall young man with curly blond hair.

"Amell. I'm glad you made it through the Harrowing." He spoke, waving at him.

Geralt had no time to waste, especially with a man who the day before would not have hesitated to kill him in the name of some Maker.

"Yes, I imagine the loss of a promising prisoner would have been devastating to the Order." He sneered at him. He seemed to resent it, for he frowned and tried to retort.

"Not all Templars like to kill mages. And you are in the Tower also and above all to be protected."

Geralt didn't know if the idiot actually meant what he was saying or if he was trained to repeat the same sentence on command whenever the opportunity arose. If mages had been truly free, they wouldn't have needed any protection from the outside world, in fact, it would be quite the opposite. If only the Chantry hadn't so meticulously trained its little soldiers to hunt down any free mages outside the Circles...

"I serve the Maker, and as long as I am guided by Him, I cannot fail." Recited the Templar.

"I feel very reassured, thank you very much..." The mage retorted mockingly, trying to remember the name of the man in front of him.

"Cullen." Said the Templar, probably noticing it. "Honestly, I've never seen an Abomination, nor have I ever killed one."

"I'd have never guessed it."

Cullen went back on the defensive, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Gregoir would have helped me. And something has to happen before..." He hesitated a moment. "Although, in case nothing happens, could we not notice? Maybe right now one of the Abominations-"

"I knew the Templars were paranoid, but not to this extent." Geralt interrupted him. "If indeed the Tower were infested with Abominations, you would all be dead by now, or better, and us mages would be out of here enjoying this beautiful sunny day on the other side of the lake, sipping goblets of blood for our horrific human sacrifices."

The Templar widened his eyes, frightened for a moment. He recovered quickly, however, and gave him an angry look. "It's not funny. You could be taken seriously."

Geralt raised an eyebrow, looking at him sideways. "The only one here in danger of being taken seriously, and for a coward, is you. Have a good day, ser. And watch out for the Abominations, they have a preference for young blondes, or so I've heard."

He turned on his heels and walked away quickly, leaving the Templar to his worries. He had other things to think about. He quickly retraced his steps to the stockroom, retrieving the rod of fire with no further issues.

The Tranquil made him shudder. To think that it could happen to any of them as soon as they broke the code that the Templars and the Chantry imposed on the Tower was terrifying. To be stripped of one's magical powers as well as any emotion... If Jowan was really on such a risk, Geralt would do anything, anything, to not let it happen to him. Even let him escape with that insipid girl.

He hurried to the chapel, where his friend and the initiate were waiting for him.

"That was fast!" Jowan said enthusiastically.

"Yeah, well, since I have to do everything, at least I don't get lost in chatter." Geralt replied sourly.

"Uh-huh, funny."

"To the depot, then! Freedom awaits us." Said the initiate.

Geralt rolled his eyes. Her petulant voice unnerved him like nothing else.

"Jowan, can I have a word with you?" He asked his friend, but the latter shook his head, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him out of the chapel.

"We can talk about it when we're in the warehouse." He ignored him.

Geralt noticed with annoyance that the man seemed to have eyes only for the initiate, who was walking briskly in front of them. He snorted again, giving up.

They descended the stairs to the first floor, where there was access to the dungeon. The entrance to the storeroom was blocked by a large stone door, covered with runes and carvings.

"The Chantry calls this entrance the 'Victim's Door'. It consists of two hundred and seventy-seven tablets, one for each of the early Templars. It is a reminder of the dangers posed by those cursed with magic." Explained the initiate with a know-it-all tone.

"I don't recall asking for a lecture on the bigoted teachings of the Chantry." Geralt cut her short. "Let's just see if this rod of fire works." He pulled out the artifact, weighing it.

"First, the password." The girl stopped him again. "I obtained it from a Templar who recently accompanied a mage into the vault..."

"And you didn't suspect anything?" Geralt asked, sceptically.

"We have chatted on several occasions. I think he trusts me." The other replied.

The mage gave her a sour look. "Yes, I can imagine how you could have convinced one of those idiots."

"Geralt!" Jowan interjected. "Stop it, you're here to help us, remember? Stop it." He scolded him.

His words struck him like an ice spell. He lowered his gaze. "You're right." He said, swallowing his pride. He looked at the initiate, praying that neither of them could figure out what was buzzing in his head at that moment. "My apologies, Lily." He hoped that was enough. Just saying her name made him sick to his stomach.

The girl shook her head. "Don't worry. You just got over your Harrowing, and we got you into this... it's normal for you to be nervous. Thank you for agreeing to help us." She smiled at him, reassuringly.

I certainly didn't do it for you Geralt thought, but he bit his tongue to avoid answering her and infuriating Jowan again. This was all to get him out of there, and putting up with that idiot was a small price to pay for helping his friend.

"Sword of the Maker, Tears of the Fade." Pronounced the initiate as she approached the door. Something clicked, a sign that the password had worked. "Now, it must receive the touch of mana. Any spell will do, but hurry."

The two mages exchanged a glance and then cast their spells on the door. It swung open, letting them through. With the second lock, they were not so lucky.

"It doesn't work!" Complained Jowan, after the rod of fire proved useless.

Geralt gripped it firmly and tried again. The beam of fire hit the lock and vanished into thin air.

"Looks like we'll have to find another way to get to the phylacteries..."

"Hey." Jowan called to him. "Something's wrong. We can't cast spells here, did you notice?" He asked him, visibly concerned, showing his palm as if to prove what he had just said.

Geralt tried to throw a fireball at the door, but he could not transform the energy he felt flowing within him into something useful. "Seems you're right." He approached the door, examining the runes carved into the stone. He did not recognize them precisely, but it was easy to see where they came from. "These seals, they are definitely the work of the Templars. They nullify any kind of magic cast within their area of influence."

"That's why Irving and Gregoir use simple keys! The magic ones don't work!" Commented the girl. Geralt could detect a note of panic in her petulant voice.

"Keep calm. There's another door down there. Let's see where it leads." He pointed to the corridor to their right.

"It probably leads to another part of the basement.... What are the chances of there being another entrance?" Jowan whined.

Geralt shrugged. "We've come this far, haven't we? Might as well try." He preceded them to the other door. It was also locked, yet it was made of wood, and there were no visible runes or seals. He made another attempt with the fire rod, which finally proved useful, melting the lock. He opened the door with a kick.

A clank of metal jolted him, and he turned his head.

One of the armors guarding the corridor, broadsword and shield ready to strike, was advancing menacingly towards them.

"Oh, then they're not as dumb as I thought." Geralt grinned, readying a fireball in his right hand and taking aim. He waited for Jowan to unleash one of his ice spells, freezing the sentry's joints, before exploding it in a maelstrom of flames and molten iron. The initiate, who had hidden behind Jowan with a cry of fear, re-emerged from behind his back.

"Will there be more?" She asked, her voice cracking.

"Probably." Geralt replied, barely holding back a laugh. It would take more than that to stop him and Jowan when they were working together. He made his way down the corridor, ready to attack anything that moved.

"Don't worry Lily, we're here to protect you." Hearing Jowan reassure the girl, he felt again the now familiar twinge in his stomach.

Fortunately, he got distracted from the two lovebirds by other sentries in armour, who threw themselves at them as they turned the corner.

With a telekinesis spell, Geralt sent two of them away from him, causing one to drop his spear. The third was pinned to the ground by Jowan, his boots trapped in a block of ice. Wasting no time, Geralt summoned a glyph of paralysis, preventing the two on the ground from getting up and then finishing them off with a series of fireballs. Jowan disintegrated the last one with an arcane bolt. They stropped to catch their breath.

Jowan approached him, raising a hand and brushing his beard. Geralt's heart skipped a beat. The other chuckled, patting his chin as if to drive something out. "I keep telling you, sooner or later you'll get yourself on fire." Geralt paid no attention to the spark the other had pushed away, too busy avoiding blushing and turning the same colour of his own red hair.

"Ah. Thank you." He managed to say, hoping his friend wouldn't notice anything strange. Before he could add anything else, Jowan had already turned to the initiate, pulling her close in an embrace.

Swallowing the bile of jealousy at seeing them so close, Geralt forced himself to stay on the target.

"Let's move on." He hasted the two, preceding them.

They encountered other sentries, but quickly got rid of them.

"I can't wait to get out of here. These things... are not creatures of the Maker." Complained the initiate, looking away from the smoking remains of the armours.

"Some in the Chantry would say the same thing about mages." Geralt retorted acidly, not even giving the other two time to respond and finishing off the last remaining sentry with a spell.

Emerging into a room full of dusty shelves, they were attacked by a pack of small animals, who did not represent a challenge despite the tough, scaly hide that covered them and their sharp teeth. Before the leader of the pack could grab Geralt's leg, Jowan rushed to throw an arcane bolt at it, killing it on the spot.

"You're welcome." He then exclaimed, making a slight bow.

"Don't let it go to your head..." Geralt grinned, slightly amused.

They faced a few more sentries and then emerged into a large room filled with objects, books and other intriguing-looking artefacts. A large trunk with gold inserts caught Geralt's eye and he thoughtlessly went to open it.

"Now we're talking!" He exclaimed, pulling out a wizard's staff of dark wood and iron, twisted on itself. "Not bad." It was about time he found his own magic staff, one that wasn't one of the standard one the Circle gave out to its members. Besides, in the tower it was usually only senior mages and enchanters who carried their staffs on their shoulders, while the younger were not advised to carry weapons without a good reason. That's why he had to go down there without one, as he didn't want to arouse suspicion.

The shelves were full of books, and Geralt found himself studying the covers, enraptured. Who knew what secrets and spells forbidden by the Chantry they contained?

"Hey! This is no time to be a bookworm, is it?" Jowan called him back to reality. "Rather, this statue, doesn't it look odd to you?" He asked, pointing to a stone mabari facing the bookcase Geralt was examining.

"Why does the Circle keep so many Tevinter artefacts in its warehouse?" The initiate asked.

"They have an historical importance, Lily... and they are fascinating.” Jowan answered her.

Among the many things the two mages had in common was an interest in ancient spells and artefacts, especially those that would possibly be considered dangerous or illegal by the Chantry and its Templars. Often, sitting in front of the top floor window of the Tower, they had dreamed about what it would be like to escape from the Circle. Tevinter was obviously the first destination that had come to mind, the only nation in all of Thedas to be ruled entirely by mages. There, magic was not feared, but honoured, and everyone held the most powerful mages in high regard. There were no Templars or an Andrastian Chantry ready to condemn anyone with magical powers.

Anders, one of the Apprentices who sometimes spent time with them, retorted that Blood Magic was common in Tevinter, involving human sacrifice: the Magisters were known to sacrifice their slaves in large numbers to achieve their goals of power.

Niall, another of the Apprentices, had shuddered at the idea, stating that he preferred the peace and safety of the Circle.

"Sure, if you like being watched on day and night, not knowing when you're going to be killed." Geralt had said, noticing that Jowan had remained silent, frowning.

"I think this thing serves as an amplifier, I read that somewhere." Jowan's voice brought his focus back to the room. "Hey, give me a hand moving the bookcase, I have an idea."

Together, they managed to move the heavy antique wooden cabinet to one side, revealing a mouldy wall behind it.

"Let me guess, fire rod?" Gealdt joked, pointing at the mabari statue once they had moved the bookcase. "Couldn't have given it a dumber name..." he mumbled, after Jowan signalled for him to proceed.

The statue absorbed the energy of the rod, projecting a beam that shattered the wall in a deafening explosion.

"They must have heard that one for sure." Geralt commented, waiting for the cloud of smoke and debris to settle. The initiate was in the throes of a coughing fit.

"The phylactery room!" Jowan exclaimed in relief, hurrying through the gap in the wall. The other two followed a short distance behind him. "That shouldn't be hard, there aren't that many."

Before they could finish their sentences, they were attacked by new sentries, who met the same end as the previous ones. They climbed a flight of stairs, reaching the shelves containing the phylacteries.

They examined each shelf, with increasing impatience, until Geralt found what they were looking for.

It was on a low table, along with a couple of other phylacteries. "Strange that it's not on the shelves like the others..." Geralt thought. If Jowan's suspicions were correct, the First Enchanter had probably left it out in anticipation of performing the Ritual of Tranquility shortly.

He handed it to his friend.

"You found it!" Jowan exclaimed radiantly. "I can't believe this little vial stands between me and freedom." He caressed its surface with his fingers, gently. "So fragile..." He whispered rapturously, "so easy to shatter, to severe the hold it has on me..." He opened his hands, letting it fall to the ground, breaking and scattering its contents on the stone floor.

Geralt stared intensely at the patch of blood making its way through the cracks.

"At last, I am free!" Jowan said, a big smile on his face.

Geralt hadn't seen him this happy in a long time, and he couldn't help but smile in return. "How does it feel?"

"Ask me again when we get out of here." His friend replied. He rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. "Thank you, Geralt. We couldn't have done it without you." He told him, suddenly more serious.

The other had again to force himself to pull himself together. "Not at all, you're more than capable of taking care of yourself, you know." He replied. "It's just a pity that my phylactery has already been sent to Denerim."

Jowan tried to reassure him. "You're too powerful to worry about a couple of Templars. If they should find you-"

"When, you mean. There's no way to avoid them if they have my blood." Geralt interrupted him.

"Either way, you'd get rid of it no problem. I know you can do it." Jowan continued undaunted. He sounded so sure, the expression on his face serious and determined, that Geralt came to believe him. His friend's dark eyes glowed in the light of the bluish candles on the walls of the room, and he suddenly realised how close they were. He could almost hear Jowan's breathing, rapid and excited by the new feeling of freedom. He swallowed dryly, stepping back and turning to the side, hoping that the dim light and his beard would hide the blush on his cheeks.

"Let's move, we're running out of time." He said to break the silence.

"I don't want to stay here a moment longer." The initiate agreed.

Geralt snorted, for a moment he had forgotten about the girl's presence.

They headed for the main entrance door, which they found opened without difficulty from the inside. They hurried along the corridor leading to the exit.

"We did it!" Jowan whispered, barely containing his elation. "I almost can't believe it! Now, we just have to-"

"So, what you said was true, Irving."

Geralt felt the blood run cold in his veins. They turned, horrified, to see Commander Gregoir, accompanied by two other Templars, and First Enchanter Irving arrive. He could not hold back a cuss.

"An initiate conspiring with a blood mage. I'm very disappointed, Lily." Gregoir spoke. He approached, as if to examine her. Jowan automatically moved in front of the girl, shielding her with his own body. "She seems distraught, but in full possession of her mental faculties. Not the work of the blood mage, then." The Commander continued, not at all impressed, then turning back to Irving. "You were right. Irving, this initiate has betrayed us. The Chantry will not allow it to go unpunished." His gaze then fell on Geralt, who instinctively clenched his fists around his new magic staff, ready to defend himself. "And this one, newly an enchanter, already mocking the rules of the Circle."

"It's not his fault!" Jowan interjected. "It was my idea!"

"Jowan." Geralt shushed him in a firm voice. He was grateful to his friend for sticking up for him, but after all, all three of them were to blame. And if they had to fight their way out of there, they would face Gregoir and his Templars, Irving and everyone else, no matter if they died. It was still preferable to what awaited them both if they were to be captured alive.

"That's enough!" Gregoir interrupted them. "As Knight Commander of this Circle, I sentence this blood mage to death." He brought his left hand behind his shoulders, to grasp the hilt of the two-handed sword he carried on his back. "And this initiate has made a mockery of the Chantry and its vows. Take her to Aeonar." The Templars behind him obeyed, taking a few steps in the direction of the girl, who trembled as she clung to Jowan's arm.

"The... the mage' prison. No, please, no. Not down there!" She stammered in panic, backing away.

"No! I will not let you touch her!" Screamed Jowan, pulling something shiny from his robe.

It happened so quickly.

The blade fell nimbly to the skin, causing a splash of blood to spread across the carpet. A reddish cloud rose from it, its tentacles stretching out and swirling around the mage. Jowan gathered the energy and directed it at the Templars, who were struck full force with no time to defend themselves, knocking them to the ground and stunning them.

Geralt looked at his friend, shocked and speechless.

The initiate gave a cry of terror. "How could you?! You said you never..." She stepped back, her eyes wide and focused on Jowan.

"I admit, I... dabbled in blood magic! I thought it would make me a stronger mage!" He tried to explain, the tone of his voice pleading.

"Blood magic is evil, Jowan! It corrupts people, it changes them..." She stammered, risking tripping over the body of one of the unconscious Templars.

"I will give it up, all of my magic." He tried to calm her down. "I want to be with you, Lily. Please come with me..."

"I trusted you. I was ready to sacrifice everything for you... I..." The girl shook her head. "I don't know who you are, blood mage. Stay away from me!"

"Lily..." Jowan gasped. Geralt noticed that he was crying.

A sudden movement alerted him, one of the Templars was waking up.

"Jowan, we have to go." He called to his friend, trying to reason with him. "Jowan!" He shouted, getting no response.

The other was petrified, his gaze fixed on emptiness. The soft sobs of the initiate were the only sound in the room until one of the Templars turned on his side, his armour screeching against the stone floor.

"Jowan!" Geralt shouted again, grabbing the magic staff firmly and casting a rune of paralysis on the templar, preventing him from getting up. "We have to go!" He grabbed him by the arm, shaking him.

His friend seemed to recover, turning to look at him. "You're... aren't you...?" He stammered.

"I'm furious, but there's no time to slap you now!" Geralt shushed him, pushing him towards the exit door. They quickly slipped through the corridor, running at breakneck speed through the ground floor of the Tower. They encountered some Apprentices, who were quick to move out of the way. Catching one of the Templars by surprise, Geralt hit him from behind with a telekinesis spell, then cast a paralysis rune. Without even checking that it had taken effect, they scampered down the stairs. Fortunately, the entrance hall contained only two other Templars.

By now, however, they could no longer count on the element of surprise.

The two, among whom Geralt recognised the young blond man who had taken part in his Harrowing, Cullen, were waiting for them, weapons drawn.

The mages knew not to give them time to cast an anti-magic aura. Holding their staves, they were ready to fight.

Geralt threw a fireball in the direction of the two knights, forcing them to jump to the side to avoid it. One of them was hit by Jowan's ice spell, which caused him to fall to the ground.

Cullen recovered quickly, throwing his antimagic aura at Jowan, who was closest to the exit door. The mage staggered, giving the Templar the opportunity to attack.

Before he could strike, Geralt threw a Rock Armour at his friend, giving him temporary magical protection that allowed his companion to take the blow with almost no damage. The warrior did not lose heart, and with a grunt prepared to strike again, this time using his shield, knocking Jowan to the ground.

Geralt screamed his friend's name, fear gripping his guts.

"There they are!" He heard someone shouting behind them.

Gregoir. He recognised the voice. He's going to kill him.

He realised what he had to do. He looked at Jowan, who was trying to move away from the Templar towering above him, sword raised, ready to deliver the killing blow.

Geralt inhaled deeply, gathering the last remaining energy.

He cast a telekinesis spell on his friend, sending him across the room to the front door, hoping the stone armour would protect him from the impact.

The Templar looked at him with surprise, before preparing to cast his anti-magic aura again. Geralt clutched the magic staff spasmodically, raising it in front of him. Agitated shouts and the clanking of armour signalled that Gregoir and his Templars had reached them.

Before casting the spell, he met Jowan's horrified gaze. He saw his friend's lips move, but the energy he was gathering and the din in the hall prevented him from hearing any of his words. He smiled one last time before releasing a giant fireball against the ceiling, exploding the entire hall into an inferno of flame and debris.

 

 

 

 

When he regained consciousness, he noticed that something was preventing him from moving. It was dark, the air smelled musty and damp. His back was resting on what felt like rock, cold and slippery. He shook his arms, and from the clanking sound he knew he was chained. He tried to move his legs, to no avail. They had immobilized him. From the nausea that gripped him and the pounding in his head, they were probably chains engraved with runes that nullified magic. Something slimy dripped onto his eyelids, and he felt his beard and long hair, now disheveled, crusted with dirt. A particularly painful twinge in his chest made him notice that he was in bad shape, probably with numerous grazes, burns and various wounds scattered around his body.

To be perfectly honest, he was surprised to be still alive.

"That'll teach me to blow up ceilings." He croaked, his hoarse voice echoing off the bare walls of the cramped cell. His throat ached from thirst and he had no idea how much time had passed since their escape attempt.

Jowan. Had he made it? Had he managed to give him enough time to escape, or had he been caught after only a few meters outside the Tower? The terror of not knowing what had happened to his friend was even greater than the one for himself.

A blood mage. He'd had his suspects, of course, but if only he'd told him... They'd always told each other everything, hadn't they? Well, almost everything, he admitted reluctantly. Although he'd known for years that what he felt for Jowan wasn't simple brotherly affection, the other had never seemed interested, or inclined to that sort of relationship, so Geralt had never tried anything, afraid that his friend might reject him and even avoid him.

He rested the back of his head on the stone, feeling drained of any energy.

If he had not even managed to guarantee his escape... He felt himself sinking into despair.

 

 

 

 

He did not know how much time had passed, but at one point someone woke him up with a slap.

He looked up, his vision focusing on one of the Templars, his armour gleaming in the dark, sword at his side and a shield on the shoulders.

Not that it really mattered how he was equipped, in that condition Geralt doubted he would even be able to walk on his own two feet, attempting to stun the templar and make a run for it was out of the question, even if he wasn't nailed to the floor with those chains.

"You try anything, and I'll rip your head off, mage. Understand?" The man threatened him. Getting no response, he kicked him in the face. "I didn't hear that!"

"Understood." Cackled the mage, feeling the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

"Damien, he must be able to speak." A second voice, Gregoir.

The Templar Commander made his entrance, occupying most of his vision and forcing him to look up.

Geralt shuddered, afraid of what he knew they were going to do to him. They were going to turn him into a Tranquil, stripped of all emotion. No more excitement in using magic, or curiosity in flipping through a book, no more... whatever it was he felt when he thought of Jowan. For a moment, his friend's smile overlaid the expression of hatred in the Commander's slitted eyes.

"Irving." The templar called, making way for the First Enchanter.

The elderly mage looked even older and weaker than usual. He stared at the prisoner with disgust.

"I expected more from you, Amell." Irving spoke. “How could you help a blood mage escape? Help him destroy his phylactery, too. I'm so very disappointed." He shook his head, as if to reinforce his words.

"Should I care?" Geralt spat a lump of blood onto the ground, jolting the Templar who had hit him. "I helped my best friend escape from this damn prison. And I would do it again, a thousand times over, killing you all if I had to." He returned the pair's gaze, challenging them.

Gregoir burst into a mean laugh. "Ah! Do you think that by making us lose our temper we'll give you a quick death?" He taunted him, looking down on him. "No, it won't be that simple. First, you're going to tell us where that creep of a friend of yours ran off to, then, when everyone's back, we'll subject you to the Ritual of Tranquility. You'll end up cleaning latrines for the rest of your days, traitor."

Gregoir was definitely talking about all the mages who had left for Ostagar. He wanted him to be made Tranquil in front of the whole Circle, so that he could be made an example. In most cases the ritual was done quietly, to prevent the mages from getting spooked and starting to plot escape plans, or revolt... But Geralt and Jowan had gone too far, whatever the Templars did to them now, they would have the full support of the Circle, at least publicly.

"I have no idea where he is." Geralt said, and it was the truth. Jowan had planned his escape with the initiate, but that worthless traitor had abandoned him. Who knows where he had gone to take refuge, all alone in the outside world.

If Gregoir was there to interrogate him, however, one thing was certain: Jowan had managed to evade the Templars and get away from the Tower without them being able to stop him.

"We'll see, if you don't come up with something." The Commander threatened him. "In any case, in a few weeks it will be impossible for you to resist talking. After the Ritual, all we'll have to do is ask you where that blood mage is, and you'll provide us with all the information we need, without batting an eyelid." Having said this, he turned on his heel, leaving with quick steps.

Irving, who had not spoken since but had been looking at him the whole time with an expression somewhere between disgust and disappointment, nodded before following the Commander out of the cell.

He was left alone with the other Templar, who kicked him in the side before exiting the cell and locking it. He then sat down on a bench, exactly on opposite the entrance, without taking his eyes off him from under his helmet.

Geralt allowed himself a groan of pain, curling in on himself as far as the chains would allow to.

 

 

 

 

He remained in the darkness for days, mulling over what he could do to get out of there. The plan he and Jowan had devised wasn't perfect, of course, but if Irwin and Gregoir hadn't noticed their break-in so early, it might have worked.

He sighed, resentful.

Who knows if Jowan had made it. He wouldn't have been the first mage to escape from the Tower, only a few months Anders had finally managed to evade the Templars and go into hiding... and by all accounts they hadn't caught him yet.

Footsteps awakened him from his thoughts.

A familiar face appeared in front of the cell door, looking at him with concern.

"Geralt?" The man called, coming even closer until he touched the bars.

The prisoner tried as hard as he could to sit up, cracking an attempt at a smile at his friend. "Niall. I didn't think they'd let someone visit me."

"What were you thinking?!" The other scolded him, almost shouting. "And Jowan! How long has he been a blood mage?"

Geralt sighed. Niall would never understand the desire for freedom that had driven them to try to break out of the Tower. "Niall, you don't want to get involved in this, trust me."

"Trust you? How can you even say such a thing! First Anders, now you and Jowan! Is it possible that every friend I have decides to go crazy and try to get himself killed?"

Geralt kept at bay the irritation. "It's not our fault you're content to spend your life in a cage, Niall. Some of us would like to see what lies beyond Lake Calenhad, without having to wait to be called into the service of some Lord or King who would put a collar and chains on us." He retorted.

"You sound like Anders."

"Because he was right!" Geralt lost patience, raising his voice. "He was damn right, and we could have been out of here long ago if we hadn't been too afraid to face the Templars! And rightly so, he didn't wait for us, and now he's likely enjoying his freedom somewhere while I'm locked up in here waiting for the mighty Enchanters to come back and decide whether to kill me or make me a puppet, not even knowing if Jowan is alive!"

A long silence followed, disturbed only by the drops of water falling from the ceiling and ticking on the stone floor.

"They haven't caught him yet." Niall finally said. "Gregoir is furious, he's sending as many Templars as he can after him, but between those at Ostagar and those who have to stay here, there aren't many of them. Jowan is probably already on the other side of the Ferelden."

Geralt held his breath, delighted at the news and grateful to his friend.

"I'd worry about yourself, Geralt. They have every intention of making a big show out of this. Rumours of blood magic and rebellion have been circulating for months, and your attempt to escape has only reinforced Gregoir's notion that we must be kept under closer scrutiny." Niall continued. "They want to make an example of you, so as to discourage possible copycats. As soon as everyone returns from Ostagar..."

Geralt listened to his friend without batting an eyelid. What he had just said only confirmed what he already knew. Things were not gonna come out well for him, no matter what.

"At least I tried." He said simply. "And Jowan made it."

Niall looked at him, and in his gaze Geralt sensed that his friend noticed more than Geralt would have liked him to know. "I have to go now. They only gave me a few minutes." He said. "I wish you would have told me. Maybe I could have talked you out of it."

"You would have only gotten into trouble, and for nothing." Geralt retorted. "It's not your fault, there's nothing you could have done to stop us, and at worst you'd be chained up here next to me." Niall seemed to want to reply, but Geralt interrupted him before he could open his mouth. "You better get back upstairs before they start suspecting you, too."

Niall nodded. He greeted him with a wave of his hand, then turned and disappeared down the corridor.

Geralt leaned back against the wall again, unable to suppress a sad smile. At least two of his friends had succeeded, and one was blissfully unaware of how much his life in a golden cage sucked.

Chapter 3: Denerim Alienage

Summary:

Kallian Tabris' getting married. Not a dream come true, but one has to settle in a place like the Alienage, and her life will be good. Until some nobles crash her wedding day and decide to kidnap her along with her friends and cousin, and she ends up having to make a very difficult choice to save them.

Notes:

Vague description of non-consensual sex/rape/torture. I tried to be as less desctiptive as possible, but it could trigger someone. Vaughan and his accomplices are disgusting pieces of crap.

Chapter Text

Kallian yawned audibly, getting out of bed. Shianni, her cousin, had stirred her up, barging into her room and unceremoniously inviting her to get a move on.

She headed for the mirror, grabbing the brush and trying to make sense of the mass of brown hair shooting out in all directions. She combed it vigorously with her hands, gathering big strands into two braids on either side of her head and leaving the rest to fall over her shoulders.

That was the big day.

She had to admit that at first she was not enthusiastic about getting married to a total stranger, but when she asked about her future husband, he was described as a very good catch.

Apprentice at a blacksmith's forge, no less.

She opened the trunk containing the few clothes she owned and took out the dress for the ceremony. It consisted of a white dress with a boat neckline, decorated with coloured stones, with long sleeves and slightly wider at the bottom. She took one last look in the mirror before leaving: the white of the dress was almost blinding, contrasting with her ebony skin. At least, she thought it looked like ebony, she had never actually seen that tree, but a merchant had sung the praises of the almost black wood, comparing it to her beauty. Obviously it had been a tactic, not too hidden, to get her into his bed. The offer had been politely rejected, but the compliment had stuck in her mind. After all, she was the only one in the whole enclave who had skin so dark, like her late mother.

She straightened her skirt and went into the living room of the small house, where her father was waiting.

"Ah, my little girl." He greeted her. "That's the last time I can call you that..." He justified himself, seeing his daughter snort in annoyance. "You look gorgeous, sweetheart. I wish your mother could see you." He pulled her into a loving embrace, his eyes bright.

"Me too, father." Kallian returned the embrace. "It's almost time." He said, trying to hide the tension in his own voice.

"Go find Soris. The sooner the ceremony starts, the less chance you have of getting away." Ceylon said caressing her cheek before stepping aside, ponting at the door with a nod.

"Don't worry, we'll be behave." She tried to reassure him.

She was already opening the door when her father interrupted her again.

"Honey, one last thing."

She turned to look at him, questioningly.

"What your mother taught you, archery, knife handling.... Maybe it's best to leave your spouse in the dark for now."

"He's going to find out sooner or later, father." She replied with a shrug. "Anyway, it's not exactly the first topic of conversation that would have come to my mind." She waved at him, before opening the door and stepping out.

The din of the enclave greeted her like any other day. Busy elves walked under the weight of large sacks and crates, while wispy-looking dogs chased or watched from afar. A couple of drunken-looking elves were sitting on barrels in front of Alarith's shop, where they had probably spent their few coppers on bad wine. Some children were chasing each other through the mud, waving wooden sticks like swords.

She walked quickly towards the Vhenadahl, noticing that someone had added small decorations to the large tree growing in the middle of the square, probably in honour of that day's ceremony. A couple greeted her by waving their hands, smiling.

"Kallian?" Someone called her.

She looked around, not recognizing the voice. A pair of elves, probably her father's age, signaled for her to come closer.

"How you've grown!" The woman greeted her, a benevolent smile on her face. "Darling, it's such an important day today!"

Kallian smiled back, unsure of what to say and trying to hide her embarrassment.

"Don't worry." The other reassured her, putting an arm around her companion's shoulders. "Honey, she can't remember us." He said to his wife.

She clasped her hands together. "Oh, sure. Excuse us. My name is Dilwyn, and this is Gethon. We were friends of your mother's, you know." They introduced themselves. "We haven't seen you since she..."

"How do you do?" Kallian said, shaking the hand the woman was holding out to her.

"Adaia was beautiful, and so lively. And a little wild." The woman continued, looking at her sideways and not ceasing to smile. "I wonder if you took from her."

"It's so sad that she's not here, that she can't see you so grown up." Her husband agreed, sadly.

"They all say she was an extraordinary woman." Kallian didn't quite know what to say. Her mother had died when she was a child, almost ten years before. She remembered the fairy tales she told her at bedtime, of knights and mages and heroes, and when she had given her her first bow: her first lessons with it, when the arrow would go far, getting lost in the mud and scaring the cats that hid in the alleys of the Enclave.

"We wanted to see you today and wish you well." Explained the woman.

Her husband handed Kallian a small, swollen leather pouch. "We have put something aside, to help you start your new life."

Kallian accepted the gift, touched. "Thank you, but you shouldn't have..."

"It gives us great joy, dear." The woman interrupted her. "May the Maker watch over you. Now go, you don't want to be late for the ceremony!" She spurred her on, giving her an affectionate pat on the shoulder. "I hear the groom is quite the catch!"

She put the bag of money in her pocket, walking away as she looked for her cousin in the crowd.

"Soris!" She called to him, seeing the young red-haired elf leaning under a wooden scaffold. "I thought you had run away."

"Ah, there you are at last, my lucky cousin!" He exclaimed. "Ready to celebrate the end of our freedom?"

"Hey, there's still time to make a run for it." Kallian joked.

"Sure, we could look for the Dalish in the woods, I bet they'll be easy to find."

Kallian knew that although he was complaining so much about that marriage, Soris would never have the courage to go anywhere. The Enclave was their home after all.

Smelly, dangerous, generally unpleasant and often prey to humans who liked to prey on the weak, but home nonetheless.

"You make it easy. Your betrothed is a dream come true. My future wife, on the other hand, sounds like a rat screeching in agony when she opens her mouth." Her cousin continued, demoralized.

"Soris!" She cackled. "You're not exactly a prince yourself, you know."

He shrugged. "If you want, we can swap."

Kallian burst out laughing. "Sure, they'll be totally fine with it. Come on, let's go before I have to drag you down there." She spurred him on, leading the way to the wooden platform that had been set up to host the two weddings.

On the way, they were interrupted again by a blond elf, whom Kallian knew by sight.

"Ah, there's the man of the hour! How are you doing, Soris?" He exclaimed, patting his friend on the shoulder.

The other greeted him, unconvinced. "All is well. This is my cousin, the bride.... Well, the other bride, not my bride, of course!" He blushed violently, stuttering. Kallian couldn't hold back a laugh.

The elf greeted her courteously. "My best wishes to you both..." He seemed troubled by something. "Soris, my brothers are not coming. They have gone off to find the Dalish. Rumour has it there's a passing clan a few days' walk from the city." He huffed, unconvinced. "Alarith must have told one of his stories again and they apparently believed him."

Kallian knew that the owner of the only shop in the Enclave claimed to have been rescued by wood elves several years earlier during an ambush by a group of brigands. Some said he was a slave from Tevinter, and the Dalish saved him from being taken back to the Imperium.

"Don't worry, Taedor. Give them a couple of days and they'll be back home, ashamed and hungry." Soris reassured him.

His friend seemed not to count on it too much, but nodded. "Let's hope so. Best wishes to you both, again." He took his leave, leaving them to their own devices.

The group of children she had seen earlier playing with sticks darted out in front of them, chasing each other and slashing with their wooden weapons.

"They remind me of us." Soris commented with a smile.

"Oh, yeah. I always won." Retorted Kallian in amusement. "Hey, there's Shianni!" She pointed at her friend, but the smile froze on her face.

Three richly dressed humans made their way through the small crowd of elves, who recoiled in fear.

"It's a party, right?" She heard one of them, an unpleasant-looking young man, say "take a whore and have fun!" He burst out laughing, a sound that had nothing joyful about it. He looked at Shianni, squaring her up and down with a predatory look. "Enjoy the hunt, boys. Look at this one, so young and delicate..." He tried to grasp her arm, but she jumped back.

"Touch me and I'll cut your throat, you pig!" She shouted after him, not at all frightened.

"Please, my lord! We are celebrating weddings today." Pleaded another elf, bowing to the man.

"Shut up, you worm!" The one slapped him, sending him to the floor. Kallian felt herself stiffen instinctively.

"I know what you're thinking, but maybe we should stay out of it..." Soris tried to stop her, concerned.

Ignoring her cousin's advice, the girl took large steps to Shianni's side.

"And who is this?" Exclaimed the man. "Have you come to keep me company, sweetheart?" His slimy gaze lingered on her breasts.

Holding back the urge to slap him, Kallian decided to try the diplomatic approach. "This is not a good time to be in the Enclave, gentlemen." She said, trying to be as convincing as possible.

"Ah!" The man took offence. "How dare you! Do you have any idea who I am?!" He asked her angrily, raising his voice and advancing threateningly towards her.

Kallian did not flinch, sustaining his gaze even though she was a little afraid.

"It's very busy here today. And it's full of drunks and cutthroats, hardly the place to spend a pleasant morning." She tried to convince him, struggling to appear truthful.

The human burst out laughing, maliciously. "If you think beggars like that are going to be a problem for me, you have no idea who you're talking to. I'm-"

They could not hear who he was, because Shianni, who had bent down to pick up a glass bottle from the ground, hit him hard on the back of the head, knocking him unconscious on the spot.

"Are you crazy?! This is Vaughan Kendells, the son of the arl of Denerim!" Screamed one of his henchmen, rushing to check the man's condition.

"What?!" Shianni exclaimed, realising the situation. "Oh, by the Maker, what have I done?!"

Kallian suppressed an expletive. "Look, it was an accident." He tried to say, but the two, who had lifted their comrade's unconscious body from the ground, hurled insults and threats at them.

"You'll pay dearly for this, knifeears!" Screamed one of the two, before beating a retreat.

"I really screwed up this time." Groaned Shianni, watching them running away.

"Everything will be fine, he won't dare tell anyone he was knocked out by an elf!" Soris reassured her.

"Don't worry, Shianni. Sori's right." Kallian spoke, but without believing much of it herself. That was the heir of the Arl of Denerim, there was no way he was going to let such insubordination pass, especially from an elf.

A couple of elves walked towards them, confused.

"What happened?" She asked in a high-pitched voice. She was dressed elegantly, a brightly coloured dress and her hair neatly combed and braided.

Soris let out a nervous laugh. "Nothing, just the Arl's son who started drinking too early..." He hastened to change the subject. "Cousin, meet Valora, my future wife."

Kallian greeted her with a nod, for attention was all for the male elf, a good-looking young man with blond hair and a prominent chin.

"You must be Nelaros. Pleased to meet you." She introduced herself awkwardly. "I'm Kallian."

"Of course, I recognized you right away." He greeted her. He seemed much more confident than she was.

"I'm sure you'll have plenty to talk about..." Soris interjected, waving goodbye and leaving in a hurry, Valora in tow.

Kallian was left alone with her future husband. He had strong arms, no doubt from his work at the forge.

"Are you nervous?" He asked her, trying to break the awkwardness that had set in.

She nodded, "A little. It's weird getting married to someone you've never seen before, isn't it?"

The other smiled in turn. "I get it. I thought I would stay calm, but when I finally saw you..." He shook his head.

"How was the journey from Highever?" She asked him, as they waited for the Chantry Sister to arrive and for the others to complete their preparations for the ceremony.

"Uneventful, luckily. The caravan we were travelling with was so poor that it kept the brigands away."

They signaled for them to approach. Mother Boann, the only Sister to set foot in the Enclave, had finally arrived.

The two couples hurried into position, side by side. Kallian almost gasped when Nelaros touched her hand. "By the way, you look wonderful." He whispered to her.

She smiled at him, embarrassed, unsure of what to say. Of course, getting married wasn't her dream, but in a place like that you couldn't be too picky, or pursue unattainable wishes. Besides, he seemed like a nice guy. He was also quite handsome, which helped a lot. She hoped they would be happy. He'd get a job under one of the many blacksmiths in town, she'd continue working at the market, they'd be well enough off to rent a house with a a bedroom, and a living room where they'd invite Soris and Valora over for dinner...

Yes, such a life didn't seem so bad to her.

Valendrian recited the words, recalling Andraste's sacrifice and celebrating the bonds that united the elves of the Enclave, which were their strength.

Mother Boann then took the floor. "In the name of the Maker, who brought us into this world, and for whom we sing the Chant of Light-"

An uproar from the back of the crowd interrupted her.

Vaughan, the Arl's son, was striding towards them, his face contorted with rage. He was followed by his two henchmen and four city guards in armour, equipped with swords and shields.

"Milord?" Surprised the Sister exclaimed. "What an unexpected surprise!"

"Sorry to interrupt, Mother, but I'm planning a party and we're short on female guests!" Announced the man, bursting into laughter. He climbed up onto the platform without hesitation, approaching Valora and looking at her malevolently.

Mother Boann tried to intervene, pointing out that it was a wedding.

Vaughan pushed Valora aside, dropping her to the floor with a mocking laugh toward the Chantry sister. "If you want to dress up your pets, that's your business. But let's not pretend it's a real wedding." He mocked them. “Now, we came here to have fun, didn't we boys?" He asked his guards, who responded enthusiastically.

The three richly dressed men stared at the women around them, evaluating them like cattle.

"We'll take these two, the one in the tight dress and..." Vaughan said, searching the crowd. "Where's that bitch who hit me earlier?"

"Here, Lord Vaughan!" Screamed one of the other two, dragging Shianni by the arm.

"Get off me, you son of a bitch!" Shouted the elf, only to be silenced with a powerful backhand.

Vaughan seemed to find it all extremely funny. "Oh, this is going to be a blast." He then turned to Kallian, who had remained silent and horrified, blood boiling in her veins, not wanting to risk endangering anyone. She was, moreover, unarmed, and that dress, though she had made it fit her very well, was hardly suitable for a fight.

"Just look at the beautiful bride!" He exclaimed. "They rarely come in that colour!"

Kallian had to bite her lip, clutching Neralos' hand, which had gripped her protectively.

"Don't worry, I won't let them get you." He told her in a trembling voice, without letting her go of her hang despite his fear.

They could not escape, and even if they had managed to lose them, they had already taken Shianni. Resisting would only bring more trouble.

"Ah, yes, that's good." Vaughan commented, running the back of his hand over her neck and grabbing her arm hard, hurting her.

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her complain, Kallian resisted, trying to yank herself free. He didn't even seem to notice, a grin of amusement on his face. "I'm sure we all want to avoid further... complications." He said in a threatening tone, his eyes narrowed.

"Let me go!" Snarled Kallian trying again to break free of his grip, only to raise a mocking laugh.

"Oh, what a temper!" He squeezed her even tighter, causing her to let out a grunt of pain. "This is going to be fun!" Than he slapped her, hard.

Her vision suddenly went dark.

 

 

 

"Maker, protect us. Maker, help us. Maker, protect us. Maker, help us. Maker, protect us. Maker, help us..."

"Cut it out!" Shianni's voice rose. "You're driving me crazy!"

Kallian opened her eyes, pulling herself up. She felt a little dizzy. She met her friend's worried gaze. "By the Maker, you've finally woken up. We were getting worried..." Shianni told her. Kallian looked around: they were in a small room made of nice stone and wooden boards, a sign that they had been taken to one of the palaces of the nobles of Denerim. Given the fact that their captor was the Arl's son, they were probably in one of the most heavily guarded places in the entire city. Getting out of there seemed impossible.

"Are you allright?" Kalian asked, trying not to let the fear show in her voice.

The others nodded, while the young elf nearby, Nola, kept praying to the Maker, chanting the same words over and over again.

"We have to find a way out of here." Kallian affirmed.

"No, we'd never make it!" Retorted one of the others with a terrified expression. "We'll do... we'll give them what they want, then when we go home, we'll forget all about it."

Valora agreed, trying to escape was too risky. "It will be worse if we resist." She said bitterly.

"It's much worse not to!" Shianni became angry, determined. She was about to add something, but the praying elf was suddenly interrupted with a groan of terror.

"Someone's coming!" Nola squeaked fearfully.

The door swung open, revealing five guards in full armour. What must have been the captain allowed himself a grin at the sight of the five women recoiling in fear. "Hello girls, we are here to escort you to Lord Vaughan's little party." He announced.

Nola stood up abruptly, trying to get away from the men. "Stay away!"

Before Kallian could realise it, the girl fell to the ground in a pool of blood. Crimson splatter stained her face and soaked into her white dress. She stood there, petrified, watching the captain admire his handiwork with his unsheathed sword dripping blood.

One of the girls let out a gasp. "You killed her!"

"This is what happens when you try to teach whores some respect..." Said the captain, not at all impressed. He then turned to his men. "You two, take the little flower hiding back there. Horace and I will take care of the cute bride and the drunkard." He ordered. They promptly complied. "You," he turned to the last two "take the last one standing, but beware, she's a fighter." He pointed at Kallian with a nod, before turning on his heel and walking away.

"Oh, don't worry." Said one of the two, pretending to reassure her. "We'll be perfect gentlemen."

The other didn't even try. "Be good, or you'll end up like your friend there." He threatened, referring to the girl on the ground.

Kallian felt himself trembling with fear. "Don't hurt me." She stammered, raising her hands in surrender. The weaker she showed to be, she thought, the less they would feel the need to use force.

The two men grinned, one of them went to grab her arm, pulling her towards the exit, while the other slipped a hand behind her back, groping her bottom and making her jerk away with a cry. She instinctively tried to free herself, which resulted in a more violent tug that hurt her shoulder. They escorted her out, into a room that must have been four times the size of her house. They went then through a corridor and past other various rooms. All the way, the guard who had groped her continued to tease her, amused by the girl's attempts to rebel.

After what seemed an interminable time, they reached the rest of the guards. There was no trace of the other girls.

"Lord Vaughan said to bring her in." Said the captain, nodding towards the heavy door in front of them. "He's got a surprise for her."

Kallian could barely contain her terror, feeling her legs go limp and ready to give way. They dragged her in, throwing her to the floor and shutting the door behind them, snickering.

"Kallian!"

The girl looked up. Soris was held on his knees with his arms tied behind his back, Nelaros, next to him, was in the same situation.

"Now that's a party!" Vaughan exclaimed, clapping his hands and looking at her with malevolence. "We found these two sneaking into the kitchen, armed only with a knife." He was holding his own sword, which he rested menacingly on Soris' cheek, the tip cutting into the soft skin, letting a drop of blood flow. "Any suggestions, boys?" He then asked his two companions, who chuckled in satisfaction.

"Knife-ears are like rats." Commented one of them kicking Nelaros, who fell over.

Kallian remained petrified, still on the ground, unable to move. She heard the other girls sobbing.

Vaughan looked around, assessing the situation. After a few moments, he seemed to decide what to do, chuckling to himself.

"I'm feeling particularly magnanimous today. If they wanted to take part in our little party, I don't see why we should deprive them of this pleasure!" He announced, nodding to his two companions. "Gag them." He ordered. They hastened to comply. Vaughan, without even looking at them, bent down and grabbed Kallian by the arm, pulling her to her feet with a yank. "But look," he said, lasciviously stroking the girl's neck then reaching down and grabbing one of her breasts from under her dress, making her squeak in pain, "our guest got dirty." He ran his thumb over a patch of fresh blood, then he brought his hand up to her face and pressed his finger to her lips, leaving a reddish mark. "We can't have that!"

He grabbed both sides of the neckline of the dress, then violently tore them off. The fabric tore to pieces, the colored stones rolling on the floor.

Kallian begged him to stop, trying to cover her bare breasts with her arms. The other grabbed her wrists, forcing her arms to the sides of her body. "Don't play coy, bunny, we're gonna have fun." He brought his face closer to hers, kissing her forcefully. She reacted by tugging away, headbutting him on the chin.

Vaughan recoiled with a cry of pain, slapping her with the back of his hand and causing her to stagger. One of the rings he wore gave her a cut on the bottom lip, which started to bleed. "You bloody whore!" Snarled the lord. "Tie her up with the others, we'll deal with her friends first." He ordered picking up Shianni, who tried to crawl away from him. Her face was red and bruised, a sign that she had resisted.

"Damn" Vaughan hissed, grabbing her by the hair and making her scream in pain, "bitches!"

The other two humans approached Kallian, with ropes ready in hand.

Before they could reach her, the girl threw herself at one of them, knocking him to the ground. Taken by surprise, the man did not have time to react, allowing her to grab the knife he was carrying on his belt. Before she could do anything with it, though, the other man kicked her in the side, knocking the wind out of her. Kallian did not lose heart, gripping the handle of the weapon and driving it hard into the hand of the man who was still on the ground.

The other hit her again, but this time she managed to cushion the blow by parrying it with her shoulder. She jumped up again, facing him, the knife raised in the air and ready to attack.

A terrified cry startled her. She turned, petrified.

"Drop it, or I'll slit her throat like a pig!" Vaughan ordered, clutching Shianni to him, the blade of his sword pressed sharply against her throat, trapping her between it and the man. The girl was breathing hard, crying and sobbing.

"Help me..." Shianni begged.

She heard the muffled moans of the two bound elves, who struggled to free themselves without success.

Kallian's moment of hesitation cost her dearly. The man behind her struck her in the shoulder blades, grabbing her arm that held the dagger and twisting it behind her back, forcing her to drop it. He pinned her other one as well, hurting her until she begged him to stop.

"You will pay dearly for this." Vaughan spat, throwing Shianni to the ground and holding her down with one foot pressed to her back.

Kallian ended up bound and gagged beside Soris and Nelaros, forced to watch Vaughan and his men have their way on her friends.

The first to be stripped was Shianni. They hit her violently until she stopped struggling, trying to curl up on the ground in tears, her broken nose dripping blood that dampened her hair.

The injured man tied a piece of cloth around his hand, taking a hearty sip of wine from a bottle on the table. Refreshed, he ignored the pain and joined his accomplices, pinning the elf's arms to the floor as Vaughan moved over her forcefully.

When the lord had finished, they left her on the floor, turning their attention to the other two. The man who had disarmed Kallian pulled the girl who had said to be compliant, yanking her up. She groaned in fear, but offered no resistance as they lifted her skirt, throwing her onto the bed and pressing her head against the mattress.

Soris struggled against the ropes pinning his ankles and wrists, growling from under the gag and writhing in an attempt to free himself.

The man with the injured hand seemed to find this amusing, as he approached him with a wicked grin, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look him in the eye. "Oh, are you worried about your little wife?" He asked, kneeling in front of him and getting so close that their noses brushed. "Braden can be a little rough, but when I get your girl, I'll have her screaming for more." He taunted him, pressing a foot into the elf's groin. "And who knows, maybe once we're done with them, we can find a use for you two as well." He rubbed his heel against the fabric of Soris' pants, making him wince. "You knife-ears are all the same anyway, except for what you have down here. But that can always be corrected." He threatened. He shifted pressed hard between the elf's legs, and Soris cried out in pain.

A muffled scream signaled that Vaughan had begun having his way Valora. He handled her like a rag doll, tossing her onto the large bed beside her companion. "Jonaley, this one is ready for you already!" He called to his companion, who turned away from Soris with a grin, fumbling with the waistband of his pants.

Kallian meanwhile was desperately trying to cut the ropes at her wrists, scraping them against the edge of the rock she was leaning against. Her skin was tearing in several places, making her hands slippery with blood. Nelaros, beside her, tried to get her attention with a stifled grunt, pointing with a nod to the small wooden feet on which the bookcase rested. They crept silently toward it, rubbing the strings against the edge. The girl worked feverishly, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the moans and cries coming from the bed. Finally, after an interminable time, she felt the ropes give way.

She freed her hands, full of grazes, and began to untie the rope that was blocking her ankles.

After some time Nelaros managed to free himself as well.

When Vaughan moved away from Valora, leaving room for his accomplices, he turned to check on the prisoners.

Nelaros tried to hit him in the head with the bottle of wine left on the table, but he missed the target, hitting him in the back. The man, turning around, fell to the ground with a groan, cursing him and grabbing the hilt of his sword. The elf recoiled making way for Kallian, who threw herself at Vaughan with all her weight, crushing him to the ground and preventing him from drawing his weapon, the knife she had dropped earlier aimed at the man's throat.

"Back away or I'll kill him!" She screamed, the blade pressed into the lord's pale skin. The man, who had probably never had such a threat in his life, looked at her in astonishment.

Nelaros had meanwhile run to block the door, to prevent the guards from breaking in.

The other two humans turned to look at her, unsure of what to do.

"I said move away!" Kallian hissed again, reinforcing the concept by pressing the knife to lightly cut into the skin until a single drop of blood spilled.

"Do as he tells you!" Vaughan huffed, clearly panicking. The two immediately obeyed, raising their hands and moving a few steps away from the bed.

"What are you going to do, huh?" The lord then asked her, trying to mask his fear. "There are at least a dozen guards in here, and you only have one knife."

He was right, albeit partially. Kallian bent down to unsheathe his sword from the scabbard the man held at the belt. "I also have this." She pointed out.

"We can resolve this peacefully." He tried to convince her. "I'll let your friends go, and those two as well. You have my word."

Kallian didn't know what to do. She was certain the man was lying to save his own life, and the moment she'd remove the blade from his throat, he would order his men to break down the door and it would all have been for nothing.

On the other hand, killing the son of the arl of Denerim would have meant a catastrophe not so much for them as for the entire Enclave. She couldn't let them exterminate everyone in the neighborhood just to avenge him.

She swallowed dryly, there was only one solution that came to her mind, and she didn't like it at all.

"On your feet." She ordered the man, still keeping the blade in contact with his skin as she pulled away from him, allowing him to stand up. The man looked at her, bewildered.

"Now you'll open that door, and order the guards to take all of them back to the Enclave. Immediately." She pointed her sword at his back, pushing him towards the door but staying hidden behind the wall so they couldn't see her once it was open. "Know that no matter how many guards are outside, you'll be dead before they can take a step." She warned him, pressing the tip of the weapon between his shoulder blades to emphasize the point.

Nelaros meanwhile had freed Soris, who had ran to Valora. Shianni had struggled back to her feet. The girls struggled to get dressed, holding together the strips of cloth that had been torn. They walked battered toward the door.

"Now open it, and do as I say." Kallian ordered Vaughan.

"Kallian, wait." Nelaros froze. "What about you?"

Soris had also turned to look at her with wide eyes. “You'll come with us too, right cousin?”

She remained silent, looking at him with determination.

"No, I can't. I'll stay." Kallian shook her head. "If I go too, nothing will stop them from calling more guards to hunt us down.” Then, she prodded Vaughan with his sword. "Hurry, open the door."

The man obeyed, trembling with rage.

The door swung open, revealing only two guards who turned in surprise, jumping to attention.

"We're done with them." Announced the lord. "Take them back to the Enclave." Kallian pushed the blade even further against his back. "Immediately, I said. No detours. They're not to be touched."

The guards nodded, confused, yet they seemed to obey the man's orders.

Watching the elves parade past her, Kallian felt a lump in her throat. If only she had acted sooner... She met the gaze of Shianni, who bowed her head. There was no need to add anything else.

After a few minutes have passed, Vaughan turned to her. "So?" He asked annoyed. He had finally realized he was no longer in danger.

Kallian inhaled deeply, taking two steps back and dropping his sword to the ground, surrendering. “It was my idea. Punish me, not them.”

Vaughan turned to face her, a wide grin that promised vengeance across his face. “Dont' worry, that's exactly what I'm gonna do...”

 

 

 

Two weeks later, a large and bulky bag was dumped in the mud in front of the Enclave's gates.

Alarith, who was waiting around there for a crate of clandestine goods in the dark, ran to investigate. From the bag rolled out the seemingly lifeless body of a dark-skinned girl, completely naked and dirty with blood and other struff. The elf ran to get help, and along with a couple of others managed to get her to the Hahren.

Valendrian laid the girl down on a table, checking to see if she was still alive. She was barely breathing, the pulse on her wrist weak and irregular.

He began by washing and disinfecting her many wounds: she had cuts of different shapes and sizes all over her body, a large scar on her chest and what looked like a deep hole made with a very sharp object, on the side of her head shone three parallel cuts with frayed edges. The nose was broken and encrusted with blood, the lip was split, leaving a glimpse of the gum and teeth underneath. On her back she had numerous other cuts, thin and deep. Around her neck, ankles and wrists there were deep abrasions and rub marks. Her ankle was bent unnaturally, her knees were skinned and her legs were full of cuts. More recent bruises and contusions covered her almost entirely. A series of oddly shaped and almost white scars ran all over her body, as if she were covered in tangled brambles or had been struck by thunder. Her hair, formerly a very dark color, was now reduced to milk-white strands.

"Shall I call Ceylon?" Alarith asked Valendrian as the elf worked on the wounds.

"Let's wait and see if he survives the night." Decided the Hahren. "No father should have to see his daughter like this..."

Chapter 4: Highever

Summary:

Elissa Cousland won't be allowed to fight alongside her brother and father at Ostagar. Feeling left out and treated like a child, she has no idea what's to come shortly.
Also, her mabari is a very good boi and so brave.

Chapter Text

The castle of Highever was buzzing with activity: preparations for the soldiers' departure were almost complete, the last supplies were being loaded onto wagons, horses were being groomed and saddled, men were checking equipment, sharpening blades and replacing bowstrings, polishing armor and, most importantly, saying goodbye to the family they would be leaving behind.
Elissa watched them with envy as she walked briskly to the castle hall. Her older brother, Fergus, would be leaving that very evening along with her father, while she would stay home to look after the castle. It was unfair.

"Pup, I didn't see you there." Teyrn Bryce Cousland, her father, greeted her. "Howe, do you remember my daughter?" He asked the man next to him.

Arl Howe, a man with an elongated face and hooked nose, dressed in fine clothing, greeted her with a nod. "I see you've grown into a lovely young lady. Pleasure to see you again, my dear."

"The pleasure is mine, Arl Howe." Elissa replied courteously, though she didn't particularly like the man. He had a somewhat slimy manner, as if he thought one thing and always said the other. However, he was an old friend and comrade in arms of Teyrn Cousland and had never shown disloyalty to the Crown or to Highever. "My son Thomas has been asking for you." Howe said. "Perhaps I should bring him with me next time..." He left the sentence hanging. The girl replied with a smile. Howe's third son was seven years younger than she was, barely able to consider himself a squire. She was twenty-one, and the young boy had developed a certain adoration for her, which the Arl obviously wanted to exploit in view of a possible marriage that would unite the two houses. As if. "He can't wait to face you in a duel again." The Arle continued, a hint of disdain in her voice: it was clear that she did not approve of the training the Couslands had given her daughter.

"I would like that." She promptly replied.

"Anyway, my daughter, I had you summoned for a reason." Her father told her, taking her hand between his own and looking earnestly into her eyes. "While your brother and I are away, I entrust you with Highever." She was about to retort, but he stopped her before she could open her mouth and complain again. "I know you'd like to come too, and I'm not leaving you at home because I want to protect you, rather the opposite. We'll be taking the bulk of our army with us, leaving Highever largely unguarded and vulnerable: it's your job to defend the castle and our family, in case any of our enemies decide to take advantage of it to attack us or... or should the battle end up in a defeat."

"Father..." Elissa knew it was the wisest move, yet she felt abandoned. While her brother and father would risk their lives fighting a glorious battle to save the Ferelden once again, as the Couslan had done during King Maric's rebellion, she would be left on the sidelines, at home, tending to family and a half-empty castle. "I understand why you want me to stay home. And I will do my best." She assured him.

Her father allowed himself a smile, looking at her fondly. "That's what I wanted to hear. Now go, tell your brother to lead the troops to Ostagar without me and that I will join him tomorrow along with Arl Howe's men."

Elissa nodded, giving a small reverence and disappearing in search of her brother.

Before she could climb the stone ramp that led to the Cousland rooms on the top floor of the castle, she was stopped by one of her father's men, Ser Gilmore. The man was good-looking, his red hair worn long falling over his massive shoulders, accentuated by the metal armor he wore.

"There you are, my lady! Your mother had told me that the teryn had sent for you, so I didn't want to interrupt."

"Greetings to you as well, Ser Gilmore." Elissa said, surprised to find the knight still out and about and not overseeing preparations for his impending departure.

"Ah! Forgive my rudeness, my lady. It is only that I have been looking for you everywhere." He apologized.

"No need, Ser. I believe that having seen me soiled and exhausted after training in the courtyard, and having exchanged more than a few blows, makes the formalities superfluous." She reassured him. "So, what's the rush?"

"I'm afraid your mabari is wreaking havoc in the kitchen again." The other replied. "Nan is threatening to leave."

She let out a little laugh. "Nan's been threatening to leave since she was my nanny, and she's still here. Anyway, we'd better go get Cookie." She signaled for the knight to follow her as she made her way to the kitchens.
They heard the old cook's angry shouts way before they turned down the hall.

"When Nan is displeased, she makes sure the entire castles knows about it...” Ser Gilmore chuckled.

"I still remember her tantrums when I'd come back all muddy in time for dinner." Elissa shook her head, thinking back to how many times the poor woman had had to clean her up from head to toe in a hurry and just in time for dining with the family, after she had spent the day in swords and fights.

"You were a terrible child, according to her." Ser Gilmore confirmed, realizing soon after that he had spoken out loud and apologizing immediately.

She let it go with a wave of her hand. "Oh, please. You're probably right."

They reached the kitchen, where a very angry Nan was ranting at two poor servants.

"Get that damn flea dog out of the pantry!"

The two elves exchanged terrified glances. "But ma'am, he won't let us near him!"

The old woman seemed, if possible, to get even angrier. "If I can't get access to that pantry, I swear I'll skin you both, you useless elves!"

Ser Gilmore rushed in to the aid of the two. "Calm down, good woman, we are here to help you."

She turned around angrily, glaring at the newcomers with an angry frown. "You! Your cursed mongrel keeps sneaking into my pantry! That beast should be put down!" She snickered, pointing a gnarled index finger at Elissa's chest.

She sighed, used to the woman's temper. "I'm sorry Nan, you know Cookie can't keep away..."

The old woman seemed to calm down a little. "Make him go away! I have enough trouble dealing with a castle full of hungry soldiers!"

Elissa shrugged, opening the pantry door.

Cookie, a large Mabari with shaggy honey-colored fur, turned to her, barking a couple of times.

"You're bothering Nan again, you glutton." She rebuked him, crossing her arms over her chest.

The dog yowled loudly, then pointed something to her right and barked again, ears back and the little tail held upright, in an attack position.

Elissa was very surprised. "What, found something?"

The mabari turned to her briefly, then returned to pointing at some bags at the bottom of the pantry.

"There seems to be something..." Ser Gilmore said, drawing his sword.

She did the same. "Come on Cookie, get it!" She ordered the hound, who sprang forward with a leap, knocking the bags to the ground. A high-pitched whine signaled that he had bitten into something with his powerful jaws.

Half a dozen large rats ran off their hiding place, running in the direction of the two newcomers, who hurried to eliminate them.

Ser Gilmore turned one over with a foot, watching it closely. "These rats are from the Wilds. It's best not to tell Nan, she's angry enough as it is."

"Yeah, with Cookie." Elissa retorted. "At least then she'll know he was just doing his job as a watchdog. Right, buddy?" She bent down to pet the dog behind the ears, making him wag his tail happily.

Nan was not pleased to hear about the giant rats that had invaded her pantry, but at least she seemed to make temporary peace with the mabari, to whom she offered a cookie.

The dog, carrying honor to its name, swallowed it hole and then licked the old woman's hand affectionately, causing her to rail again.

They ran out of the kitchen before she could find anything else to accuse them of. In the doorway, they found the two elves the old woman had been grooming when they arrived.

"She's calmed down a bit. I'm sorry you have to put up with her every day..." Elissa told them.

The two of them looked at her in alarm, shaking their heads and bowing deeply, mouthing an agitated apology and thanking her for her concern, then fleeing back to the kitchens.

"Well, my lady, now that you have the mabari under control, I can go prepare for the arrival of the Arl's men." Ser Gilmore announced.

"Wait." Elissa stopped him. "You're leaving tomorrow with my father, aren't you?"

The other nodded. "Yes, the teyrn has requested me in his personal escort."

She caught her breath. "Keep an eye on my father, Ser. He can be reckless, and not-"

"I will, my lady." The man interrupted her, bringing his clenched fist up to heart level. "I will protect the teyrn with my own life, I promise you he will return safely."

"Thank you, Ser Gilmore. I know you are a man of your word, and your loyalty to my father is steadfast." Elissa shrugged her shoulders. "I only wish I could go with you."

"I know, my lady. And I am sure your strategic and military knowledge will be of great help in the future, yet the teyrn has given you a task as important as leading men into battle: it is not easy to rule, and he trusts you completely."

The girl knew this to be true: she had been trained to the best of her ability, she knew which noble houses were to be trusted and which ones to beware of, she studied the laws and the needs of the people of Highever and, if need be, she trusted that she could handle an attack on the castle. However, not being able to accompany her brother and father to Ostagar made her feel as if they were protecting her like she was really just a pup.

She said her goodbyes Ser Gilmore, wishing him a safe journey and good luck.

Walking up the ramp that led upstairs she passed her mother, Teyrna Eleanor Cousland. She was still a very beautiful woman for her age: a few wrinkles furrowed her austere face and her gray hair, once blonde like her daughter's, was tied in two chignons at the base of her nape.

"Ah, there is my beautiful daughter!" She greeted her. "From the presence of your troublesome mabari, I assume the situation in the kitchen has been resolved."

Cookie whined in response, trying to coax them with his most innocent face. The Teyrna gave no sign of relenting, staring disapprovingly at him.

Her guests, Lady Landra her son Dairren, and an elf who was to be the lady-in-waiting, cast amused glances at the mabari.

"Yes mother, Nan has already returned to work." Elissa replied. "Cookie was just a little hungry." She figured it was best not to talk about giant rats in front of their guests, especially when the evening's dinner would be prepared in that same kitchen.

"Hopefully he left something behind to feed our guests.... Darling, do you remember Lady Landra, Bann Loren's wife?"

"Of course, we met at the spring festival..." Elissa greeted her politely. The woman was completely drunk on that occasion, but that too was best to be overlooked. "It is a pleasure to see you again. I hope all is well at Caer Oswin."

"Oh, dear, you are too kind. If I remember correctly, I spent half the party trying to convince you to marry my son..." Lady Lndra chuckled, mentioning the young man beside her.

"And with very poor arguments, might I add." That one interjected, giving Elissa a wide smile. "It is a pleasure to see you again, my lady. You look more beautiful than ever."

"Dairren, welcome." The girl returned the smile. He was a pleasant and good looking man, about the same age as her, and their mothers were longtime friends.

"He also hasn't married yet!" Lady Landra added.

The young man, embarrassed, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Don't listen to my mother..."

"Maybe we can meet later in the library and talk a little?" Elissa asked him, already knowing he would agree.

"But of course. I'd be very happy to." He immediately assured her.

"Oh, wonderful!" Lady Landra commented radiantly. "Oh, this is my lady-in-waiting, Iona." He added, pointing to the elf behind them, a bit off to the side. "Say something, dear..."

The one, a very pretty blonde young woman, made a reverence towards Elissa. "It is a real pleasure, my lady. You are indeed as beautiful as your mother describes you."

"And she says this after watching you beat up padded men in the yard, sweating like a mule..." Eleanor interjected.

Elissa restrained herself from snorting. Her mother back in her days was said to have been able to take out a man before he knew there was a woman under the helmet, but she had never seen her fight. Teyrna Eleanor Cousland was a Lady through and through, and after the birth of her children she had hung up her bow, devoting herself to her family and public relations with the other Lords of Ferelden, as well as the administration of the castle of Highever.

"Your daughter's mastery with the blade is most impressive." Dairren concurred.

"In my day, I was quite a warrior myself." Admitted the teyrna. "But I believe it was the more delicate arts that allowed me to find a husband."

Elissa shrugged. "I believe the man I'll marry must be able to appreciate both my delicate arts and my skills with a sword and shield, mother." She shot a glance at Dairren, who nodded awkwardly in approval.

Eleanor Cousland blatantly rolled her eyes.

"Now excuse me, but I should go find my brother." Elissa said goodbye. "Dairren, see you later."

She gave a slight bow to the guests, then continued down the hallway.

She knocked on the door to her brother's room. "Fergus?"

Oriana, her brother's wife, came to open it. Her eyes were puffy and red, a sign that she had been crying. Elissa placed a hand on her forearm, knowing full well that any words of comfort would be useless against the anxiety the woman felt at seeing her husband go off to war. Little Oren didn't share the same fears and was excitedly prancing around the room.

"Elissa!" Fergus exclaimed, turning to look at her. He was wearing his armor, sword and shield strapped on the shoulders. "Did you come to say goodbye too?"

"I couldn't let you leave without it, could I?" She retorted. "And our father told me to look for you." "You''ll bring me a sword, won't you?" Oren asked his father, pulling him by the arm to get his attention.

Fergus knelt in front of the child, stroking his cheek. "Of course. The biggest one I can find. And I'll be right back, I promise."

"I wish victory was as certain as you make it sound..." Said his wife.

"Oh, don't frighten the child, my love. It is." He tried to reassure her, patting the Oren's head.

Fergus seemed confident, but Elissa knew he was good at hiding his true emotions. He certainly didn's want to worry his family, but the fight ahead of them would be dangerous, and no one was certain of the outcome. "No Darkspawn shall touch my brother!" She confirmed, patting him on the shoulder and making the steel ring. "I'll miss you, you know."

The other opened up in a jovial smile. "I wish you could come, too. It's going to be tiring killing all those Darkspawn by myself.... But someone has to do it."

His sister shook her head. "I wish I could have had your back."

"In Antiva, a woman on the battlefield would be seen as...unusual." Oriana commented, though she was now used to the idea that Elissa was as skilled in combat as Fergus.

"But if I've always heard that Antiva women are quite dangerous!" Her husband retorted, winking.

"Only with kindness and venom, dear husband..."

He burst out laughing. "This from the woman I have tea with every day!"

"Our father says there will be Grey Wardens there too, fighting with the king." Said Elissa. "And all the lords have been called to arms, the whole of Ferelden."

"Gray Wardens?!" Exclaimed the child, excited. "With griffins?"

"Oren, they only exist in stories now." His mother patiently explained.

"Yes, I know. An army this united hasn't been seen since.... Well, since the Orlesian invasion!" Fergus commented. "Which bodes well. The Darkspawn won't stand a chance."

"King Cailan's strategist is still Teyrn Loghain. He should be planning the war." Elissa had a sort of adoration for the man, having read all the material that could be found on the liberation war led by King Maric, father of the current ruler, and his trusted friend Loghain, now teyrn and father of the Queen. Tales of how Loghain's experience and insight, along with his quick wit and courage, had often turned the battles in favor of the rebels were her favorites. "I wish I could have met him..." Elissa complained.

"I'll make sure to convince our father to take you to the palace once the war is won, sis." Fergus assured her. "Then you can annoy him with all yout questions and get yourself kicked out as a disturber of the peace." He grinned.

Elissa didn't even pretend to be offended. Meeting her childhood hero was one of her dreams. And maybe, if she was lucky enough and the teyrn was in a particularly good mood (not that he was known for it, admittedly, he was described to be a little grumpy), she would even get to spar with him.
Envy returned to gnaw at her liver. If she had fought alongside her brother and father, she would have had some chance of being noticed by the Teyrn.
"Regarding our father." She said. "The men from Amaranthine are late, he said to leave without him and he'll follow you tomorrow along with Lord Howe."

"Ah! They may be walking backwards, given how much time it's taking!" Fergus laughed, a slight contempt in his voice. He didn't particularly like Howe either. "I'd better get going, then. Lots of Darkspawn to behead and time is running out!"

He leaned over to hug his son one last time, then gave his wife a kiss. "I'll be back soon, my love."

The teryn and teyrna also made their entrance. "I hope, my dear, that you wanted to wait for us before sneaking out?" Bryce Cousland asked, smiling.

"May the Maker protect you, my son. I will pray for your return every day." His mother added, hugging him tightly.

"Fergus won't have any problems, Mother." Elissa tried to reassure her.

"As I keep telling you, I won't get a scratch!"

"May the Maker protect us all. May he preserve our children, our husbands and fathers, and bring them back to us safely." Recited Oriana.

"And bring us some beer and wenches while we're at it!" Fergus added. "...For the men, of course." He rushed to add, after his mother and wife stared at him disapprovingly.

Elissa burst out laughing.

"What's a wences?" Oren asked in his innocence.

"They serve very good beer." Bryce Cousland promptly replied.

"Fergus!" Eleanor scolded him. "It's like living with two children. Fortunately, I have a daughter."

Elissa continued to laugh. "Which, you keep saying, is not so much better."

The teyrna shook her head, defeated.

"I'll miss you, mother. You'll keep an eye on her, won't you sis?" Fergus told her, holding Elissa close.

She elbowed him playfully. "I think she can take care of herself, big brother."

"Well, Fergus, I'd say it's time to get going, otherwise you'll never get out that door, your mother and wife will end up chaining you here." Commented the teryn. "I'll see you in a few days." The two men shook hands.

"I'll be off then. See you soon, family!" Fergus announced, before giving his son's hair one last caress and walking out the door. Elissa watched him walk away with a lump in her throat.

"Don't worry about him, pup." Her father reassured her. "Fergus's good."

She hunched her shoulders, uneasy. "I know, Father." She exchanged a worried look with her mother, quietly. Watching them both leave, and not being able to go with them, was frustrating for both of them.

"I'm leaving in a few days, too, dear." The teyrna informed her. "Lady Landra has invited me to her castle, and I think not having me around will only do your authority good."

"Mother!" Elissa exclaimed. "But there was no need. In fact, I should be very glad if you would stay, you know. There won't be much to do, after all, and you needn't leave just to make me feel more important."

"I know dear, but your father and I both feel the same way. Think of it as a test, it will be the first time you will be the one and only person in charge of Highever."

Elissa sighed. "I understand, mother. This castle will seem pretty empty without all of you."

"Oh, pup, we'll be back soon." Said the teyrn.

Oren pulled her by the arm. "So you'll be the one to look after me and mom, auntie?"

"That's right, little one. It'll be fun!" She replied, trying to sound convincing. It was going to be hard to distract the child from the absence of his father and grandparents.

"What if the castle is attacked? Will there be dragons?" The one asked her. He seemed tremendously excited at the mere idea of seeing a giant, flying, fire-breathing scale-covered blood-thirsty creature. Children... She secretly wished she could have seen one too, but from far away and possibly not crossing her path.

"Dragons are evil creatures, Oren. They eat people!" His mother scolded him, to no avail.

"Indeed! I want to see a dragon!" He continued undaunted.

"That's because you and Fergus keep telling him stories..." Oriana mumbled, looking sideways at Elissa. She shrugged.

Oren called for her attention again. "Will you teach me how to use a sword, auntie? Then I can fight the bad monsters too!"

The girl smiled at him. "Sure. Why not start tomorrow?" She humored him. "In a couple of years, you'll be so good that we'll be hunting dragons!"

The child squealed happily, hugging her tightly. "You're the best aunt in the world!"

She let him, ignoring the wrinkled looks from her mother and Oriana. After all, there was nothing wrong with training Oren in the use of weapons, it was about time too. She and Fergus had started around his age, if not before.

"Darling, shouldn't you have a date with someone in the library?" The Teyrna reminded her.

"Oh?" Bryce Cousland interjected, interested. "It wouldn't be with young Dairren, would it?"

Elissa blushed. "We're just...just exchanging a few words, Father. Nothing much."

"Of course, of course. I remember when your mother and I first met..."

Before the teyrn could dredge up the past Elissa slipped away, Cookie merrily trotting after her.

The young man was sitting at one of the wooden tables in the library, immersed in reading a heavy historical tome, with embroidery on the cover showing it came from Tevinter.

"Dairren?" She called to him. He lifted his gaze, surprised.

"You came!"

"Of course." She sat down beside him. "That was one of my grandfather's favorites, you know?" She said, pointing at the book. "This whole library was his private little world."

"It's very well stocked... This book, I think it was banned from Ferelden a few centuries ago!"

Elissa giggled. "Yes, he had it shipped directly from Tevinter. There's a whole section of books on magic, despite no one here ever having magical blood. And the whole wing to our right is about the history of Thedas, both facts and legends. Further along are texts on medicine, herbalism and some dictionaries. We also have a couple of volumes from Par Vollen."

She hoped it didn't sound like she was bragging. She loved that place and had very fond memories of spending time in there with her grandfather.

"It's fascinating!" Dairren said. "It's not every day you see such a vast collection. What's your favorite?" He asked her, closing the tome he was reading and setting it down beside him.

Elissa thought about it for a bit. She had several. "Dragons of Tevinter, perhaps. I've read it three times."

"Excellent choice!" Exclaimed the man, impressed. "Timious' theories on the nature of dragons and their connection to the Darkspawn are extremely interesting!"

"Yes, well, in a few weeks you'll have a chance to ask a Grey Warden for clarifications, won't you?" She told him. "Tomorrow you will ride with my father to Ostagar."

The other nodded. "I will be his second.... No more than a glorified squire, I'll keep his armor clean, saddle his horse and such... it's a great honor, though."

"And you will fight the Darkspawn."

"I hope so. I admit I'm a little anxious about it. But it is necessary to fight. And defeat them."

She gave him an encouraging smile. "I know you will stand out in battle."

"If I may... I'm surprised you're not coming with us, my lady."

Elissa sighed. "Believe me, if it were up to me, I would be at my brother's side on the front lines. However, my presence is required here in Highever. A Cousland must stay." She tried to hide the bitterness that pervaded her. They were all going to leave.

"If you want, I can try to write down everything that happens during the battle. I'm not much of a writer, but I'll do my best." He offered. "And I'll keep you constantly updated."

"I'd appreciate that." She thanked him. "I doubt Fergus or my father will remember to write anything. And they'll come home telling only the most useless things, like the beer the had after their victory."

The young man put a hand on hers, looking into her eyes. "It would be an honor." He realized the audacity, quickly withdrawing. "You know, it's my dream to write about such important historical events. One day, one of my books could end up in a library like this."

She reached out in turn, resting her hand on his and brushing his fingers. "I'm sure it will." She leaned a little further forward, toward him.

"My lady..." Dairren stammered.

Before he could stop her, Elissa put her lips on his in a chaste kiss, just for a moment. She drew back quickly, letting go of his hand.

"I shall look forward to your return." She said, before getting up and leaving quickly, embarassed.

She ran into her room, followed by Cookie.

"I know, maybe I was too bold. And out of place." She said to the dog, who looked at her with smart eyes that seemed to know what was buzzing in her head. "But he's cute, and everyone thinks he might be a good match and he likes books and..." She sighed, laying back on the bed and looking up at the ceiling. "And he might not come back."

Cookie jumped on the bed, licking her hand.

"All of them might not come back." She hugged the mabari, seeking comfort. Cookie whined sadly.

 

 

 

 

In the hell that broke loose a few hours later, Elissa screamed at the top of her lungs, kneeling in a pool of blood next to the lifeless bodies of her nephew and sister-in-law.

She barely felt her mother dragging her away.

"We have to find your father!" Eleanor screamed for the umpteenth time, her face also streaked with tears. "We will avenge them, my darling, I swear it."

They returned to the hallway, where Elissa cleanly severed the arm of one of Howe's men who tried to bar their way, then stabbed him in the chest. The Teyrna shot down the other assailants with arrows. They ran at breakneck speed toward the hall, where the din of combat was loudest.

"Ser Gilmore!" Shouted the girl, rushing to the man's aid and cutting of a man's head with a powerful side slash.

"You're alive!" He exclaimed, relieved. "The teyrn was terrified, he went after you..." He delivered a top-to-bottom blow to an enemy's shoulder, causing him to collapse to the ground screaming.

"Have you seen my father?" She asked him. A hatchet would have hit her in the side if Cookie hadn't bitten the arm of the man she was fighting with, unbalancing him and giving the animal's jaws access to the man's throat.

When all the enemies were down, they were able to catch their breath.

"Bar the doors! Keep those bastards out!" Ser Gilmore ordered his men, pressing on his wounded side. "Your grace. My lady. If you have a way out, use it. We won't be able to hold them off for long."

"We must find my husband first." Eleanor Cousland said. "Can you tell us where he went?"

The knight shook his head. "The last time I saw him, he was badly wounded. I suggested he not stray, but he was determined to find you.... he went toward the kitchens. I think he wants to use the service exit in the pantry."

"May the Maker watch over you, Ser Gilmore." Said the teyrna, before turning to her daughter. "Let's go."

Elissa looked at the man and the other five guards in the hall. She didn't know what to say, those men were headed to certain death. If only Fergus had waited to leave, they would have had enough men to be able to counter the attack....

"May the Maker watch over us all." Replied the knight, before bowing in a final salute and heading towards the gate to help his men keep it closed.

On the way to the kitchen, they encountered several more enemies, including a knight with a huge war hammer. Dodging one of his powerful blows, which would surely have shattered her even under her heavy armor, Elissa ended up on the ground, giving one of Howe's archers the opportunity to hit her in the thigh. Gritting her teeth in pain, she stuck her sword under the knight's armpit, taking advantage of the space between the plates of his armor to drop him to the ground and finish him off with another blow.

Cookie and his mother took care of the two remaining archers. Finally, they entered the kitchens.

Old Nan's body was lying on the ground, a stab wound along her back.

Unable to hold back her tears, Elissa sobbed past her. Cookie growled, ready to defend her and the teyrna from anyone.

The girl kicked open the pantry door, smashing it open.

"Father!" She screamed in horror, running toward the man on the ground.

Bryce Cousland looked up, misty-eyed, his face breaking into a pained smile. "You're alive" He panted.

"Bryce!" His wife exclaimed, kneeling down beside him. "You're wounded!"

"Howe's men...”

"We need to get you out of here." Said Elissa, trying to open the exit door to the pantry.

"I don't... I don't think I can make it, pup."

The girl punched the door, cursing. "Of course you can make it!"

"My darling child..." Teryn sighed. A spasm of pain made him groan loudly.

"When Howe's men get through the gate, that's the end of it. We have to get out of here." His wife told him, examining his wound.

"Someone needs to get to Fergus. Tell him what happened." The man wheezed.

"And get revenge." Hissed Elissa. "Howe won't get away with this."

"Revenge, yes..." The teyrn's voice grew fainter and fainter.

The teyrna called out to him again. "Bryce, the exit is next door. We'll find you a healer and-"

The husband shook his head, in pain. "The castle is surrounded. I won't make it."

"Father..."

Before he could say more, they heard movement coming from the hallway, at least half a dozen men. Cookie pulled his ears back, showing fangs and growling.

"Go." Bryce Cousland ordered. "Go, and make sure Howe gets what he deserves."

Elissa tried to retort, tears blocking her words.

Two men burst into the kitchen, weapons drawn.

"There they are!" They shouted to warn their comrades. An arrow struck one of them in the eye, killing him on the spot, while the other was thrown to the ground and mauled by the mabari.

However, it was too late. More heavy footsteps announced that the cry had been heard, and soon the kitchen would be overrun by enemies, too many for them to defeat them all.

Elissa turned desperately to her mother, who lowered her bow for a moment, looking solemny into her eyes.

"Go, honey." She said, pointing her weapon back at the doorway.

"Mother..."

"There's no time." She interrupted her. "I'll hold them off as long as I can."

The girl looked one last time at her parents, crying.

"May the Maker protect you, pup." Said Bryce Cousland, leaning his shoulders against the wall and closing his eyes.

"Go!" Eleanor Cousland yelled back at her, knocking down the first man who entered.

Elissa felt her legs move on their own.

She stepped into the narrow passage, Cookie behind her, watching her back. The air smelled of smoke and it was hard to breathe. The passage curved several times on itself, descending with steep stairs, the slippery walls making it impossible to grab a safe hold.

She didn't care if she was a sobbing mess, not even feeling the pain when her knees hit the floor violently, finding herself on the ground without realizing she had lost her balance. Her eyes were misty with tears, her leg felt like burning. She ignored the wound, struggling to get back on her feet: she felt her pants soaked with blood under the armor, but she moved on.

After what felt like an eternity, the long corridor ended.

The exit led to the back of the castle, where the horses were the hay to feed them were kept. A wave of heat and flames signaled that Howe's men had set fire to the stables. The neighing of pain from the horses and the desperate screams of those trapped within filled the air.

Elissa looked around in despair; there was no way out of that place.

She turned to Cookie, who despite everything did not flinch from the flames. The hound looked at her, waiting for an order.

It's over. It had all been for nothing, they would either burn to death or Howe's men would find them and slaughter them like they had done to the rest of her family. And Fergus would never know what had happened.

Fergus.

She had to warn her brother, before they could end his life as well.

Cookie sprang forward, leaping into the flames and through them.

Elissa's eyes widened, wiping her face. Not like this, I won't make it easy for them.

She covered her face with her arm and threw herself into the flames as well.

 

 

 

 

 

She felt something wet and slimy licking her face. She lifted her arms off the ground with a groan, trying to pull herself to her feet and slipping on the muddy ground. She opened her eyes.

Cookie whined loudly, trying again to lick her cheek. Elissa hugged him, relieved that they were both still alive. She looked around, discovering that she was on the bank of the river that ran under Highever. From a distance, she could see the castle, still shrouded in a thick cloud of black smoke. She forced herself to look away, feeling the tears roll down her cheeks and making no attempt to stop them.

"We need to get to Fergus." She said to the mabari, who was looking at her worriedly. "Howe will pay for what he did."

She staggered back to her feet, her determined gaze pointed south.

Chapter 5: Orzammar I

Summary:

Natia Brosca and Duran Aeducan could not be more different.
And yet, they end up face one another in the Proving Grounds.

Chapter Text

"If you're a cloudgazer in Orzammar to smuggle lyrium.... What's the first place you go to?"

Natia Brosca slammed open the Tapster's front door. The young woman inhaled the strong smell of beer and alcohol, licking her lips, ignoring the outraged comments of the other customers at the sight of two brands walking in. She ran a hand through her mass of hair, bright red like her sister's, but worn braided and short to not get in the way during fights, and proceded towards the bar.

The dwarf behind it looked in disgust at the tattoos on their faces. "We don't serve castless."

Natia exchanged an amused look with her companion, Leske, playing apparently mindlessly with one of the ugly, deadly looking knifes she always carried around hidden somewhere.
"Take a good look at us and try again." She said to the innkeeper.

That one widened his eyes, staring first at the knife, then at their tattoos and finally back to the weapons they carried. "Oh, sorry, are you...? But of course!" He stammered. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"You can tell us where to find someone named Oskias." Leske replied.

The other swallowed dryly. "Yes... he's here, been staring at same tankard for hours. But he paid good money, in advance. What did he do?"

Natia leaned against the counter, looking him straight in the eye, enjoying the innkeeper's fear. "To begin with, he didn't offer us a drink."

"Ah... Allow me to make it up to you!" The dwarf wiped the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand then turned around, fumbled with two tankards and set them down on the ounter filled to the brim. He pushed them towards the two castless, quickly withdrawing his hands and putting a safe distance between himself and them. "Well, do what you need to do, I'll be in the back doing my thing if you need me..." He stammered, walking away.

Natia and Leske calmly grabbed the mugs, tapping them on the stone of the counter and making a loud noise. The girl brought it to her lips, smelling the aroma, and then chugged it all down with a satisfied burp.

"Salroka! You might as well enjoy it..." The companion rebuked her, taking a sip and tasting it.

"And sulk for the rest of the year?" She retorted. "Best not to remember it too much, otherwise the lichen and mossy crap we usually drink will only taste worse."

The other grunted his disagreement. "I'd rather enjoy the good things in life." He took two long sips, squinting his eyes. "A good beer, a beautiful woman... by the way, how is your wonderful sister?"

Natia ignored the twinge of jealousy that clutched at her gut every time Leske or anyone else made an appreciation about Rica. She knew she wasn't as beautiful as she was, she certainly didn't have her grace and appearance, her clean, delicate hands and full red lips, her always perfectly painted face.... "Never better, if she doesn't get knocked up by some lord in a couple of weeks maybe you'll even have a chance with her." She replied sourly.

The tone of her voice, of course, did not escape her companion. "Salroka, you're not jealous, are you?" He patted her on the shoulder. "No one else can do magic with those knives. And you have golden hands with locks and bags. A little less so with anything else, but..."

Before he could finish his sentence, Natia returned the pat, putting a fair amount of strength into it. Ignoring his protests, she downed the rest of her beer. "Hurry up, we've got work to do."
Reluctantly, Leske did too.

The dwarf they were looking for, a surfacer who didn't even wear the brand of the casteless as it was customary to do, was sitting at a stone table, his gaze lost in the tankard. He seemed to be waiting for someone.

Natia took the chair straight in front of him, sitting down with a grin.

"That seat is taken!" He protested, startled.

Leske stood behind him, just putting a hand on his shoulders.

"Yes, by me." Natia retorted. "Now empty your pockets without making a scene."

Oskias shifted his gaze from her to Leske, visibly frightened. "You don't know who I'm working with!"

Natia unsheathed the knife with swiftness, planting the tip of it into one of the cracks in the table and holding it firmly upright. "Who do you think sent us, waker?" She nodded to his companion, who grabbed the bag the dwarf held next to him. That one yelped in fright, holding tightly to it.

"Listen... I've always been loyal to Beraht, me and my family owe him a lot..."

Leske snatched the bag from his hand, rummaging through the contents. "Ah! Looks like we found something." He said after a while, smiling in the girl's direction.

Oskias panicked. "All right! I have two lyrium nuggets, I was supposed to sell them to a contact of mine..." He whispered, almost crying. "Please, it's the first time."

"First and last." Natia sentenced. "Although we could gain something from this, Leske."

Her friend looked at her questioningly. "Behind Beraht's back?" He said in a very low voice.

Natia turned the hilt of the knife in her hands. "There'll be no witnesses."

Oskias sprang to his feet, grabbing the hilt of his own sword. Before he could even halfway pull it out, he jerked and slumped with a groan onto the table, one of Leske's daggers sticking out of his back, lodged in all the way to the hilt. He made a try to get back up, but Natia grabbed him by the hair, leaning over and lifting his face toward her.

"Nothing personal." She told him, before plunging her own knife into his eye socket. Oskias gasped one last time and collapsed on the ground.

"Nothing to see here, we're done!" Leske announced loudly, crossing the gazes of a few curious onlookers. The other patrons of the Tapster, who had understood from the beginning what was about to happen, hurried back to their own business, head down.

Natia retrieved her weapon, wiping the blade on the corpse's clothes. Leske did the same.

"So, what are we going to do with these?" He asked her in a low voice, pointing to the open bag but not pulling out the contents. After all, it was likely that Beraht had contacts there at the time as well.

"One we sell, the other we use as evidence that he was ripping him off." Natia decided.

"I know someone who'll buy it. Fifty-fifty?"
"Of course, like everything."

They walked out of the tavern, looking around and heading for one of the merchants' stalls in the Commons. Everyone they encountered looked at them in disgust, sometimes hurling insults at them. Two casteless people around the market, the gall they had!

As a child Natia would have blushed with shame, barely holding back her tears. But that time was long gone: she puffed out her chest and cut through the square with her head held high, ignoring the comments and grinning in amusement.

"You're in a good mood today." Leske said with a sneer.

“When I can make some side profit? Yeah.”

They approached a stall displaying various utility items. A good-looking woman greeted them cordially. "Leske! What are you doing here, trying to seduce me into getting more ribbons for your girlfriend?"

"Trying to talk you into being my girl, Olinda. You know my heart's breaking for you." The dwarf greeted her back, putting on his best face at the woman.

Natia looked up at the ceiling with a grimace.

"Don't you go saying that around my husband... Who's your friend?"

"I can't believe it, Leske never told you about his best friend?" Natia replied in a sarcastic tone, casting a venomous glance at her companion.

"Hey, when I'm with a lady, the last thing I bring up is you." He laughed heartily, slapping her shoulder. “And I hope you do the same thing when hooking up with someone...”

"Asshole."

"Well, I can give you a discount, since you're friends, but nothing's free." Said Olinda, looking at them in amusement.

"Actually, we wanted to sell." Natia announced, handing her the bag.

The woman quickly took it, hiding it from view behind the counter. "I don't know where you got it, nor I want to. Thirty silvers."

"Just that?!" Leske complained. It was obviously much less than it was worth.

"The market it's only on the surface, and it will take me some work to resell it. And I'll have to find someone who won't ask questions about where it came from." Explained the woman.

"Deal." Natia cut short. Thirty pieces of silver was about as much as she could scrape together in two months of working for Beraht. They took the money, hurrying away from the counter.

"Before we go to Beraht, let me hide the money at home." Said Natia. "I wouldn't want him going through our pockets..."

"Good idea." Nodded Leske. "That is, if your mother doesn't find it and it all ends up in a pool of vomit after one of her usual tantrums."

"She only has to try." Growled the girl, clenching her fists.

They quickly walked back to Dust Town, and Natia walked up to her house. Opening the front door, the familiar stench of cheap wine joined that of the perfume Natia's sister, Rica, used to make herself smell good for the nobles up in the Diamond Quarter.

"Who is it? What do you want? Rica, is that you?"

Natia snorted loudly. "I am the King of Orzamamar." She replied, slamming the door behind her. The thud made her mother jump, and she almost dropped the nearly empty bottle she was holding.

"Don't fuck with me, you ungrateful girl! I made you, and I can make another one just like you." Muttered Kalah. Her breath reeked of cheap wine and whatever else she'd been drinking.

"Then walk out and good luck in getting someone to knock you up reeking like that... I'm the only reason you're not dead in some alley." She retorted.

"Then let me die! What reason do I have to stay alive anyway?" Her mother took another sip from the bottle, shaking it in disappointment after discovering it was empty.

"That's what I ask myself every fucking day." She turned her back on her, going into the other room. A trunk, filled mostly with Rica's stuff, was laid in one corner. On the other side was an small stone alcove with a sort of ugly tub. She walked over to it, moving a couple of stones and hiding the leather pouch with the silver coins she had made from selling the lyrium nugget. She then walked back towards the door, where Kalah was mumbling something she couldn't quite catch. "I'm leaving. You can drown yourself in that shit for all I care."

"Don't you dare talk to me like that! It's still my house you live in! My house, you get it?!" Shouted her mother, stumbling over the words and waving the bottle in the air.

Natia lost it. She strode to the table, slamming both hands on the stone surface and making all the empty bottles fall off it. "Who the fuck you think is paying for this shack?” She yelled.

Her mother retreated back into her chair, eyes wide.

Natia snatched the bottle from her hands, waving it in front of her nose. "And whose fucking money you think you're spending to kill yourself with this stuff?!" She looked at the bottle, then threw it violently against the wall. It exploded into a thousand pieces, scattering shards everywhere. "If it wasn't for me, you'd be begging some asshole to buy the last three good teeth you have left in your useless mouth, ready to get down on your knees just for a sip of that crap!"

The woman stared at her with wide eyes. It wasn't the first time Natia had lost her temper like that, but it didn't happen often. Mostly because the girl did everything she could to spend as little time as possible in the house, and those few times she actually came home, her mother was often passed out in the chair or out getting more bottles.

"Choose a cheaper way to die, because I'm done with you." Natia growled, averting her gaze and waling out. Whatever Beraht's next assignment was for her and Leske, it would certainly be far better than all the shit she had to put up with at home.

 

 


 

 

Lord Duran Aeducan, second son of the King of Orzammar Endrin of House Aeducan, was carefully braiding his brown beard, making sure it didn't get tangled and that the strands were all the same thickness, which required no small amount of attention. He unfortunately got interrupted by his second, who burst into the room hardly without knocking.

"My lord." Gorim announced himself. "Your weapon has been polished and sharpened." He handed him the large waraxe, which Duran weighed for a few moments before settling it on his back.

"Thank you, Gorim." He inhaled deeply. "We can go."

The comrade-in-arms seemed to understand the Prince's reluctance. "The King expects your presence at the banquet, certainly, but there is no rush. All the noble families will spend hours making all kinds of requests and complaints to your father..."

"Believe me, my friend, I would rather find myself in the Deep Roads facing an army of Darkspawn than untangle myself from whiny, vindictive politicians." Commented Duran. Politics was in his blood, nine Aeducans had ascended to the throne, including his father, but even so the prince preferred the simple art of war over taking into account which deshyr was plotting what against whom in favor of which reform that would line the pockets of other castes and lineages.

A Hurlock could be a formidable opponent, but an axe planted between the eyes was always the best strategy. The same, unfortunately, could not be said about the daily plots of the Assembly deshyrs.

"That is precisely what this was about, my lord. Lord Harrowmont has called for Provings to test in duels the young men who will accompany you on your expedition into the Deep Roads tomorrow. Perhaps we should go and show them what fighting is really all about." He scratched his beard, thoughtfully. "Well, you should show them. I'll give you my support from the stands."

"What are we waiting for, then? It could turn the day around." Accepted Duran enthusiastically. Fighting in at least one confrontation would greatly boost his morale.

They walked toward the entrance, passing the room of Duran's younger brother, Bhelen. A flicker of red hair and a strong feminine scent, followed by a surprised gasp, caught their attention. He heard the door to his brother's room slam shut.


Duran sighed deeply before turning and retracing his steps. He knocked three times, only to enter without waiting for an answer.

"I deeply apologize your highness!" A girl exclaimed. The first thing that stood out was the tattoo she had on her right cheek, a sign that she belonged to the casteless. She had bright red hair tied up in a rather elaborate hairstyle and a dress that was too ornate and elegant for someone like her. "I thought you were Prince Bhelen and I..."

Duran shook his head, raising a hand to shush her. "No matter, don't worry. However, my brother will be at the banquet for the rest of the evening, so you should leave."

The girl bowed deeply, keeping her back straight, a sign that she had been well trained. Like her, many other girls, the prettiest and most prosperous, were embellished and educated to be pleasing and attract the attention of the nobles like him and his brothers. This was convenient both for the concubines, who were moved to the lodgings of the upper castes' family with all their close relatives, and for the noble and influential warrior caste families, as they would be given new sons to be trained to fight against the Darkspawn.

"Of course, my lord. Thank you..." Said the girl before running away. Duran noticed that she carried a nice necklace, which could only be a gift from her brother.

"He must really like her. Well, I'm not surprised, Bhelen is known to have a thing for redheads."

He heard Gorim chuckle. They walked out of the Palace, past the various stalls that the merchants had set up in the Diamond District, and headed for the door that led to the stairs to the lower floor, where the Proving Grounds were located. On their way, two promiscuous-looking girls called their attention, but Duran dismissed them with a wave oh his hand. He was definitely not in the mood.

A few of King Endrin's personal guards were waiting to escort them to the Arena.

 

 

 

They could hear the crowd screaming and shouting long before they looked out from the balcony overlooking the Grounds.

"Your Highness, it is an honor to have you here." The Proving Master greeted him. "Have you come to see these brave warriors fight in your honor?"

"Actually, the idea was to fight myself." The prince admitted.

"Your Highness, today's Provings are being fought in your honor..."

"Then honor them by doing what your prince commands." Gorim interrupted him.

Duran put a hand on his friend's shoulder, hushing him. There was no need to be so hard on the Master, his was a just observation. "My intention is to honor today's fighters by challenging them to a duel and testing their skills against me." He explained to the man. “I think they'd like that.”

"Of course, your highness, as is your right." The man bowed. He approached the balustrade, clearing his throat as Duran prepared to enter the Grounds.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Orzammar, we have a last minute entry into these Provings." The crowd rumbled, eagerly awaiting the mysterious candidate. "Behold, Lord Duran Aeducan himself!"

A roar rose from the stands. Hundreds of dwarves rose to their feet, shouting their approval loudly as they watched the king's second son make his entrance. In his exquisitely crafted armor and broad shoulders, glorious beard and authoritative yet pleasant face, it was hard not to like the prince.

"This is a glory Proving, fought under the watchful eyes of the Paragons of Orzammar, for the honor of House Aeducan!" Announced the Proving Master.

Duran raised an arm in salute to the screaming crowd, then faced his opponent.

"Lord Aeducan will fight Aller Bemot, the youngest son of Lord Bemot!" The crowd rumbled their encouragement.

"You honor me with this fight, your highness." Said Aller Bemot, bowing his head. “May the Stone show the boldest heart trough the strongest arm”

Both challengers lowered their helmets over their heads, readying their weapons.

"First warrior to fall, is vanquished. Fight!"

His challenger wasn't too bad, he had good technique and knew how to use the war hammer he carried, however he was no match for the prince. Duran made the fight last longer than necessary, performing some exaggerated blows just to show off while he carefully avoided Bemot's attempts to hit him making the fight believable. He did not want to bring dishonor to the other warrior.

After some time, he decided it was time to finish, landing a precise blow on the other's shoulder, unbalancing him and then aiming at his sternum with the flat of his weapon to send him to the ground. The crowd erupted in a roar of appreciation.

Duran rearranged his axe on his shoulders, taking off his helmet and holding it under his arm while he stretched out a hand towards his opponent.

Bemot, a little bruised and slightly bleeding, grabbed it without a second thought, scrambling back to his feet and smiling in the direction of the audience.

Duran's next opponent was Adal Helmi, a woman with a slender build and light armor that allowed her to move quickly and deadly. After a fierce fight, and a couple of hard bruises, Duran was once again the winner.

The last challenger was an almost elderly, bald, gray-bearded dwarf by the name of Ser Blackstone of the Warrior Caste, who was in charge of a legion in the Deep Roads. "This will be a lesson to you, boy. Try to learn something while you bleed." He grinned.

Duran had met him a few times on the battlefield and had never liked him much. He'd heard high praise of the man's military prowess, but also many complaints from the new recruits, who found him too harsh and prone to self-praise.

"Good luck to you, too." Duran retorted without flinching. There was no need to mock him with words, the old man would be out on his ass pretty soon. And this time, there was no need to hold back, given his opponent's fame.

 

 

 

Ser Blackstone returned to the fighters' waiting room carried by four dwarves, unconscious, with the audience shouting out at the top of their lungs their support for Prince Aeducan.

The prince went back to his seat with a satisfied grin on his face.

"A very good show, my lord." Gorim told him.

All that remained was to watch the other challengers face each other, to see who would fight against the prince in the final confrontation.

One warrior in particular caught Duran's attention.

He fought with two short swords, holding them in a really unconventional way, moving almost like a deepstalker, darting here and there and surprising his opponents by focusing more on speed than on actual technique. After being cornered, Duran could swear he saw him throw a handful of dirt into his opponent's eyes, eventually sending him to the ground with a kick to the nether regions and pointing one of the two blades in front of the helmet's eye slit.

"He is definitely not a conventional fighter, my lord, but he is effective." Gorim commented amused. The crowd seemed to share his views, for they had begun to shout the dwarf's name loudly. The one raised his arm in victory, tho never removing his helmet.

"Everd Bera." Repeated Duran. "How come I've never heard of him?"

"Because before now he was only known for being a great drinker capable of only defeating many barrels of ale and a few nugs in a fair duel." Gorim explained with a chuckle. "Today seems to be his good day, though."

"If he defeats another one, the audience will have something to enjoy." The prince said. He signaled to one of the servants nearby to fill his mug with honey beer, taking two long sips and eagerly watching Everd prepare for his next fight.

The new opponent was a novice of the Silent Sisters, Lenka. If she passed the Proving, she would officially join the Order, renowned for its deadly female warriors. Lenka also fought with two blades.

The Proving Master announced that, under the circumstances, the fight was to be considered to the death, as it was the final test the novice would face.

Everd did not flinch under his helmet, standing absolutely still in the center of the Grounds, weapons already drawn and ready to attack.

It was a bitter fight with an uncertain outcome.

The novice's skills were clearly superior, however Everd showed an extraordinary ability to adapt to the different fighting styles of his opponents, constantly changing techniques to the point that the prince ended up wondering if he actually had one. His lunges seemed completely random and yet they always went to cut the novice's armor where it was most vulnerable, jumping right back and dodging his opponent's blades without them being able to scratch him. Everd was fighting on pure instinct and viciousness, not hesitating to use everything at his disposal, and it all worked.

Duran almost jumped on his seat when the initiate managed to throw his opponent to the ground, hitting him in the side and drawing blood. But Lenka was too slow to deliver the killing blow: Everd, crawling on one side, kicked her from the ground, hitting her leg throwing her off. She fell on her knees, trying to get up, but Everd had already got back on his feet, jumping against her and throwing her down with his whole weight.

When the helmeted warrior stood up, one of his blades was stuck in the novice's neck.

The audience, after a moment of hesitation, exploded in a triumphant applause, paying homage to the warrior and buzzing with anticipation for the final clash between Prince Aeducan and the new unlikely opponent.

Duran rose to his feet, clapping his hands and letting out a roar of approval.

"Now that's going to be a worthy fight!" He shouted, finishing his ale and tucking his helmet under the arm, ready to enter the Grounds.

 

 

 


 

 

Natia Brosca's heart was beating like crazy.

Her right side, where that dumb bitch had hit her, hurt like a motherfucker, while the blood spilling from a wound on her forehead made it hard to keep her left eye open. That damn helmet was too heavy and too big for her, so when she'd been hit by a blow to the head, the metal inside had scratched her face. Her shoulders ached from the weight of the armor, she was almost out of air and could barely breathe under all that stuff.

The crowd, rich and nobles with scented beards and square stone asses from sitting around and getting lost in chatter all day long, were cheering for her.

"Technically, for Everd." She told herself, however underneath that armor it was her, not the clueless drunkard everyone thought she was. She had defeated the three warriors that stood between her and the final Proving, at it was her that the audience cheered loudly.

The Proving Master reappeared from the balcony above the Grounds, hushing the excited yells.

"Everd Bera will advance to the final fight, which will decide the true Proving Champion, against Prince Duran Aeducan!"

The prince in question made his entrance, a good-looking dwarf, his thick, braided brown beard falling over a massive suit of armor that probably cost as the sum total of all the armor of the warriors she had faced that day. The prince advanced boldly, holding the gigantic waraxe and showing it to the audience, who rose to their feet in an ovation that echoed in her ears, overpowering the frantic beating of her heart for a few moments.

She, a casteless, a brand, the worst scum of Orzammar, was about to challenge the beloved Prince Aeducan, the same one that everyone in the city spoke as favorite to the king's throne.

If she could beat him... She shook her head, there was no point in getting distracted.

"You fight well. It is an honor to have such a worthy opponent." The prince told her, slightly bowing his head.

Leske must be laughing is ass off. A prince bowing down to a duster!  She did her best to answer, careful not to misspell her words, then unsheathed the two short swords. They were longer and heavier than the knives she was used to, but the blade cut through the leather of the armor and the skin beneath it as if they were made of water. A delight.

The two challengers began to circle around each other, carefully studying one another. Brosca was almost painfully aware of the hundreds of eyes trained on her. She stared at the warrior, how confidently he moved, as if it was just a clash over the last mug of nice ale.

The Prince stopped suddenly, interrupting the semicircle they were walking in, as if to invite her to come forward. Natia could have bet that he was grinning proudly under his pretty armor. She decided not to fall for it, stopping and staying still at a safe distance. Bring it on, asshole.

The other accepted the challenge.

He lifted the waraxe, advancing toward her much faster and more gracefully than Natia had expected. In an instant he was onto her, and she had to quickly dodge to avoid having her side smashed in. She skew that her armor, however well made, would not have withstood such a blow: the prince was richly equipped, but he was no doll and she wasn't gonna underestimate him.

Without giving her a moment's thought, the prince swung his axe, raising it behind his head, and made to strike her from above, forcing her to jump again on the side. Seizing the opportunity, Natia threw herself forward, surpassing him and turning on herself, aiming under the shoulder straps, where the armor must have had a joint. The blade reached the shoulder but only nicked the metal, as the prince had turned slightly, immediately returning to raise his own weapon.

Natia, off-balance, had no choice but to throw herself on the ground to avoid the waraxe knocking in her chest. She rolled sideways in the dust, dodging another slash from above.

The axe blade momentarily slammed into the ground, giving her time to spring forward and strike her opponent in the arm. Once again, the armor cushioned the blow.

The prince released his weapon with a yank, making it rotate nimbly and forcing Brosca to jump away.

Natia had to take a few steps back, to catch her breath.

The prince seemed to be swinging that thing around like a knife, and that ton of metal he was wearing lef no visible spots except for a few inches at the joints, but with him dancing around like that she had no chance to close enough. She could only dodge.

The crowd clamored, for the heavy hits had yet to land.

Natia had completely lost the sight in her left eye, now encrusted with dried blood. Her arms felt like they were on fire and her side ached terribly, impeding her movements. She looked at the prince, but he seemed fresh and well rested. Indeed, she had fought three fights in a row before that, while he was probably drinking his ass off in a comfortable chair enjoying the show.

She gritted his teeth, taking two steps forward and preparing for another exchange.

The prince strode confidently towards her, holding tightly to the damn waraxe.

The crowd suddenly fell silent.

"Hey! That's my armor!" Someone mumbled aloud.

Brosca turned sharply: Everd, his shirt still stained with beer and vomit, staggered unsteadily toward the two fighters, arm pointed in her direction. Oh, fuck me.

"Who are you?!" Thundered the Proving Master. "And how dare you interrupt-"

"I know him! It's Everd!" Shouted someone.

The crowd rumbled in surprise.

"You!" The Master then howled, pointing at Natia. "Take off your helmet, and show yourself!"

Natia stepped back in fright. If they saw her... What was the punishment for such a thing?

"Your skills are impressive, but you are one man. Show yourself, lest I call the guards and have them do it for you!" At his signal, three more dwarves entered the Grounds, surrounding her.

The prince approached as well, his previously amused appearance now gone.
Feeling trapped, the girl gave in.

She dropped her weapons to the ground, lifting her hands and bringing them to the sides of her head. She inhaled sharply, before lifting the helmet and throwing it at her feet.

The crowd screamed in indignation, the guards were petrified. Even Prince Aeducan froze in surprise.

Natia Brosca forced herself to raise her chin in defiance.

"Casteless!" Screamed the Master in outrage. "You insult the very nature of these Provings!"

The girl held up her gaze in silence. Whatever she'd try to say would be ignored anyway. She allowed herself to be dragged away by the guards, offering no resistance. As they led her away, she saw the Prince remove his helmet, shocked and angered.

That's gonna sting for a long time... getting their ass handed to them by a duster!

If she was gonna be dead in a few hours, at least she'd die with a smile on her face: no casteless had ever dared to even think such a thing.

Then someone then hit her in the head, knocking her unconscious.

 

 

 

 

She woke up in pain, her head throbbing and her side hurting like it was on fire. The dried blood on her face stank almost as bad as the air around her. She was lying with her back against the stone, the ceiling was low and full of stalactites. She struggled to sit up, rubbing her eye.

"Natia! Are you awake?" Someone called to her in a whisper. "Can you hear me?"

"Leske?" She answered in a slurred voice, recognizing her friend. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd keep you company." He replied sarcastically. "As soon as they found out about you, everyone lost their shit. They started checking the caste of everyone in the Proving Grounds... when they found out about me, they immediately though I was working with you. They questioned me, but I think they already knew who was behind everything..."

"It's not one of the usual cells." Observed Natia. "Where are we?"

"Beraht must have paid someone off. These are definitely not the guards' prisons."

The girl cursed through her teeth. "What's the punishment for kicking the entire Warrior Caste's ass?" She asked, though she already had an idea.

"Public flogging. Cutting off your left hand for stealing armor, your right hand for soiling a blacksmith's work, flaying in public for impersonating a member of an upper caste..." Listed Leske. "And if you're not dead yet, execution for desecrating the Provings."

Natia snorted loudly, leaning her head against the wall behind her. "Well, at least they'll have something fun to remember me by.”

"That's for sure, salroka. You were awesome."

They got interrupted by footsteps. Jarvia, Beraht's right hand, emerged from the darkness.

"Good, you're awake." She said, grinning. "You caused a big mess and Beraht lost a hundred sovereigns. The Provings have been declared invalid and the Assembly has an investigation going on. You can't even imagine how Beraht was feeling when he told me to come get you." This seemed to amuse her terribly. "Enjoy your last night together. Too bad we put you in separate cells, or I would have wished you one last fuck." She left with a grin even larger than the one she had come in.

Natia fell silent for a moment, looking around. She caught sight of metal shards on the floor. "Leske, I don't know about you, but I'm not gonna sit here and wait for that creep to kill us like nugs." She announced, before getting to work on the cell lock. It was rusty, and those were definitely not her fine tools, but after a few tries the door creaked open. Exultant, she got out and hurried to do the same to her friend's cell door.


They found themselves wandering the corridors, retrieving weapons and avoiding the boss's henchmen so as not to alert the entire building. Twice Natia had to take out a couple of them blocking their way, but they got away with it without too much trouble, quickly getting to where the exit was supposed to be.

"If that freak of a sister of hers can't stay in her place, I don't have any use for precious Rica either." Someone said, their muffled voice coming from behind a door.

"Beraht." Natia recognized him immediately. She pressed herself against the door, listening.

"Rica?" Another dwarf commented. "I've been wanting to get my hands on that..."

She heard Beraht laugh.“She's all yours if you want to... and let me tell you, it tastes as good as it looks.”

Leske tried to pull her away, but Natia had no intention of leaving. Picking on her was one thing, but she wasn't going to let Beraht and his filthy henchmen touch her sister.

She kicked the door open, throwing herself at her boss and taking advantage on the element of surprise.

 

 

 

 

"We did great!" Leske exclaimed, patting her on the back. "You charged at him then threw him to the ground and-" He recalled the action with the knife in the air. "He didn't see that coming!"

Natia grinned proudly, wiping Beraht's blood from her face with the back of her hand. The asshole had a knife stuck in his throat and died in agony, a sight for their eyes. She looked at the dwarf's corpse on the ground, lying in a pool of dark blood. She then jingled the bag of coins they had retrieved by rummaging through the pockets of the three dead men, then tossed it to Leske, who caught it smiling.

"Let's move, if they've already put someone to take care of Rica..." Natia spat on Beraht's body. "This bastard should be skewered another couple times, for good measure."

They walked out the back door, which led to an alley in the Commons. They walked quickly toward Dust Town, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Natia walked slightly behind her friend, head down to avoid anyone from recognizing her. Several guards patrolled the marketplace, and five were posted to block the passageway to the lower levels.

Leske turned to her, stopping and looking at her questioningly. "What do we do?" He asked her. “We could take a back alley, but it's gonna take some time.”

Natia sighed. "Leske. Swear to me that you'll take care of my sister."

He widened his eyes. "Salroka, what's up with you?"

She shook her head. "I'm trusting you, alright?" She placed a hand on his shoulder, striding past him with her head held high, walking in the direction of the guards with a fierce grin on her face.
"Hey, you fancy-pants! You want to get your asses kicked a second time, or was it enough at the Provings?"

Chapter 6: Orzammar II

Summary:

Bhelen makes his move and Duran's forced to ally himself with the most unlikely companies.

Chapter Text

Duran Aeducan let himself fall back on the chair, closing his eyes. What a terrible day.

Not only that branded had to choose that very day to dishonor the Provings and draw the wrath of the entire city against her, but she had also come up against him in the finals. And she had even managed to give him a hard time. The Proving Master was furious, the entire Warrior Caste was in an uproar, the nobles demanded harsher punishment for the casteless and the Assembly had launched an investigation into the entire course and organization of the Provings.

Within a few hours, Orzammar had fallen into chaos, when the next day they would have to organize one of the most important expeditions of the last years down the Deep Roads.

The prince rubbed his temples, trying to get rid of the headache without much result.

The banquet organized in his honor had turned into a mess of nobles, all ready to suggest this or that solution to the branded problem, the betting on the Provings, the organization of the Castes and, probably, any other issue that ever existed.

Lord Dace glared at him from across the room. He had tried to convince him to rehabilitate the surfacers, but when the prince had pointed out that none of the noble houses were willing to settle debts that were not their own in the name of some cloudy-headed dwarf, Ronus Dace had admitted his own plot, taking refuge in his honeyed ale and giving him resentful looks from time to time.

Lady Helmi, on the other hand, had a look on her face as she gave a speech among another small group of nobles. Duran couldn't hear the words, but he was certain that she was plotting something else to enrich herself at the expense of others: among other rumors, she was said to be exploiting casteless orphans to make them work without having to pay them.

Lord Harrowmont approached him. "Lord Aeducan, I am sorry for what happened at the Provings, a truly outrageous business, if I may say so."

As if he needed to hear that. He nodded, mumbling an affirmative answer. The headache kept pounding in his ears, he just wanted to go to bed.

"Of course we'll take action, and give that brand an exemplary punishment!" Continued the elderly dwarf. "We can't go easy on her, otherwise we'll give the impression that we tolerate such things. And others will follow if we don't do something, we can be sure of that, those scum can't be trusted."

Duran nodded distractedly, sliding his gaze around the room to his father's throne. King Endrin was engaged in an animated conversation with two representatives of the dwarven city of Kal-Sharok.

"And of course we will await your return for the execution, as you were personally offended during the Provings in your honor, even struck during combat!"

The prince turned his attention back to the dwarf in front of him. "I could be gone a long time."

The other shook his head. "No matter, we will keep her locked up. It would be outrageous if you were not there to attend." He insisted.

"Very well, then." Duran sighed. As if executing a casteless woman imprisoned for days would do anything to restore his honor. Not to mention the warrior's, who had been defeated by said brand. The Silent Sisters had already sent irate letters to the Assembly, demanding compensation for their murdered novice.

When he was called by his father, he sighed in relief.

"Commander." King Endrin greeted him. "Find your brother Trian and send him to me. I want to speak with him."

Duran bowed slightly. "Certainly, father. Until tomorrow."

He hurried out of the hall, eager to get rid of all those nobles. Gorim followed close behind.

"Rough day, huh?" Commented his second.

"I don't think it could have been worse."

"Don't say that. You still haven't talked to your brother Trian!" He joked.

Duran shook his head. He was sadly right.

They found Trian in his chambers, along with the youngest of the princes, Bhelen.

"You are a Commander, then." His older brother greeted him. "Did they give you the title before or after you fought a brand, and woman at that?"

Duran decided to ignore him, as he did in most cases. His brother could be insufferable, but he was still his own flesh and blood, and more importantly, the heir to the throne.

"Our father wants to speak with you, Trian." He simply replied in a flat tone.

"Of course. We need to discuss strategy for tomorrow's expedition." Bragged the other, looking at him with superiority. "Bhelen, enjoy the new Commander's idle chat if you like, but go to bed early." He ordered his younger brother, and then trumpeted his way out of the room.

The other three stood in silence for a moment, waiting for him to leave.

"I really don't understand how you can stand him." Bhelen commented.

Duran sighed. "I just smile and nod and care to my own business." He admitted. "Best case scenario, he gives up on me and goes back to his beloved politics."

Bhelen shook his head. "There was a time when I would have agreed with you, but I'm starting to think otherwise." He lowered his voice until it was almost a whisper. "I never thought his much-vaunted honor would allow him to act on his jealousy..."

"Brother, what are you talking about?" Duran asked without understanding.

"Brother, Trian is trying to kill you." Bhelen replied in a gravelly voice.

Duran stood looking at him, astonished. "What are you even talking about?"

"I heard him talking to some of his men about it." The younger brother continued. "I was shocked at first, like you, but then it started to make sense. Trian has decided that you are in his way of getting the throne, and he may be right. He knows you are loved among the people and well liked by the Assembly. It would be unusual for the Assembly to go against the king's wishes, but it wouldn't be the first time."

"But I've never been interested in being king, you know it. Everybody does." Duran retorted. "I'm a warrior, nothing more."

"Just look at what you did today." Bhelen interrupted him. "You fought in the Provings in your honor, to gain glory and to give people a good show. If you succeed in tomorrow's expedition, you will only enhance your position as heir to the throne. Trian is afraid that our father will replace him as soon as we return. And if he doesn't, the Assembly will make you king as soon as our father dies. You know his pride will not allow him to simply step aside."

Duran refused to listen to any more of that nonsense. "I'm not going to discuss this, Bhelen. Trian is our brother, and I want to believe that I can at least trust my own family. I've never had any interest in the throne, and even if the Assembly were to appoint me, I would back out. Our brother must know this; he may be vain and proud, but he is no fool."

"It seems to me that this shows that even brothers cannot be trusted." Observed the other.

"I will not move against him. And I will prevent anyone from doing so." Duran ended the matter, raising a hand to silence further argument. "He is our brother, Bhelen."

 

 

 

Days later, kneeling beside Trian's lifeless corpse, those words continued to haunt him.

Our brother, how could he have done such a thing? Who could be so cunning as to set everything up so perfectly, framing him for a murder he hadn't committed and never even dare to consider?

He looked up, meeting his father's gaze, begging him to believe him.

"My son. Tell me this is not as it seems." King Endrin said, his voice shaking.

Duran swallowed hard, his eyes wide, shocked that his father could even think him guilty of such an act. "Father, I didn't do it." He managed to say, his voice choked.

"He killed Trian! Just like Trian said he would!" Bhelen interjected, stepping forward.

Duran turned to his brother, not understanding. "Bhelen?" He whispered.

"My lord is innocent!" Gorim retorted, facing the prince.

"Ser Gorim, your loyalty makes you an unusable witness. It is the duty of others to tell what happened." Lord Harrowmont declared. "You, scout. Tell us, what happened?"

Duran stood next to his brother's body, his gloved hand smeared with Darkspawn blood still resting on Trian's shoulder, unable to move as the two men who had accompanied him recounted how he had lashed out at his older brother, killing him mercilessly in an ambush. In his other hand, he still held the Aeducan signet ring that belonged to Trian. He stood silently watching his younger brother, Bhelen, nod in agreement as the two told their lies.

He was our brother.

He almost didn't notice Gorim, who lunged at the scout, and didn't move a muscle when two other warriors dragged him to his feet. His father looked at him as if he were a stranger, asking if he had anything else to add.

"How can you not see that this is all a scheme?" He replied, shaking his head. Bhelen had been planning everything in great detail, probably for months if not years. His only hope was to appeal to the Assembly, and hope that the Deshyrs would expose his brother's traitorous plans.

"I would like to believe you." Replied the King with a sad voice, turning his back on him.

As he was bound and escorted out of the Deeproads, he didn't let a single word escape his lips, just glaring at the man in charge.

It was Bhelen. Bhelen. Bhelen. Bhelen.

The shock of finding out what he was capable of soon gave way to anger.

A blind, burning fury that he could hardly control. He wanted nothing more than to make him pay, to rip that mocking smile from his face, to take away everything he had just won. He wanted to avenge his older brother, certainly, but what gnawed at him most fiercely was being so blatantly cheated. Not realizing what he was up to, not doing anything to prevent such a tragedy.

They locked him up in a cramped cell.

In the dark, all he could do was torture himself about how he could have prevented it all. After what could have been a couple or a dozen hours, a guard arrived to bring food to the prisoners, then left the torch hanging from its holder in the wall. Duran didn't give the dish even a glance, merely covering his eyes from the sudden light.

"Look at that, looks like I got company."

The prince turned in the direction of the voice, coming from the cell to his right.

"The prince himself. What an honor." Continued the voice, clearly female. "How is it that instead of slaughtering a few Darkspawn and the occasional duster at the Provings, you decided to kill your own brother?"

Duran finally recognized her.

Of all the people he could end up in a cell with, it was the very same brand who had humiliated everyone at the Provings a few days earlier. He leaned his back against the moss-covered wall, not even dignifying her with a response.

"You can ignore me all you want, but trust me, they'll kill you first." She went on with a chuckle. "If they thought it was bad what I did, a prince killing the heir to the throne will have driven them completely insane. Wish I could see their stone-faces now..."

Duran closed his eyes, trying to ignore her.

Was that what everyone was thinking? Had the word already been spread about how he had killed his own flesh and blood? If so, even his hopes for a hearing in front of the Assembly were slim.

"Are you going to eat that?" The casteless woman asked him, leaning over the bars to touch the plate placed in front of the prince's cell. When he didn't answer, the other one somehow managed to grab the plate and take it away. "Ah, I see they didn't give you better stuff than mine. Too bad, for a moment I had hoped for roasted nugs and honey sauce." She commented.

Her annoying voice was replaced by a loud chewing, which had nothing graceful about it.

 

 

 


 

 

 

Natia licked her fingers then scooped up the last remnant of food into the bowl. The soup was much better than what she was used to in Dust Town, but the prince seemed to be above the hunger of the common folks.

She clicked her tongue, enjoying the food, and then took a few sips from the glass next to her. They hadn't brought anything else to drink, so rationing was necessary. It wasn't as hot in those cells as in some parts of the underground levels of the city, but the ventilation system was not at its best.

She found herself staring at the mold stains on the wall for the umpteenth time.

She had been locked in there for days, mostly without light or food, but since her cell neighbor had arrived the guards had been showing up much more often, bringing food and water at regular intervals of a few hours, changing the torches hanging on the wall and, most importantly, no longer paying any attention to her. No more spitting, no more kicking, no more picking food off the ground after one of those bronto's asses had trashed her dinner with satisfied grin.

All in all, it could have been much worse for her.

No one had taken advantage of her, they hadn't beat her hard enough to break anything and they had even tended to the wounds she had sustained during the Provings. All this to, of course, keep her alive and able to put on a show at her execution, but that seemed to be a long way off.

Busy days, for the Assembly.

She snickered at the thought of all those scented-bearded lords squeaking furiously, the utter chaos in the Diamond District after the murder of the heir to the throne. Nobody would give a shit about her now...

Footsteps interrupted her thoughts.

Two people in armor were walking towards them. One was the utual guard, she recognized the dwarf by his shaky gait caused by all that booze he drank on his post.

"Ten minutes, ser. Orders are orders." Said the guard before walking away.

In front of her cell passed a dwarf in armor, equipped with a shield and a sword, who didn't even glare at her.

"Gorim!" She heard the prince exclaim.

"Ah, so you can speak!" Commented Natia loudly, not surprised when neither of them paid attention to her. The newcomer, Gorim, seemed to bring only bad news for the prince.

Among the talk of politics and other useless stuff, she managed to get the gist of it: apparently, the Assembly was no longer on the prince's side, and his younger brother couldn't wait to get rid of him. This Bhelen didn't sound like a prince at all, but the kind of person she wouldn't be surprised to find at the top of the Carta. Maybe Beraht already had a successor.

"You will be sent to the Deep Roads, stuck in there until the Darkspawn kills you." She heard the visitor say.

A moment of silence followed.

"What about my father?" The prince asked.

"Lord Harrowmont says the King has fallen ill. He could not bear the burden of losing two sons at once."

Again, the prince remained silent.

"I begged the Assembly to send me with you, but they wouldn't hear of it." Gorim continued. "It has been an honor to serve you, my lord. I am grieved by what has happened."

"I know, Gorim. I wish you the best on the surface, my friend." The prince replied.

Natia cleared her throat, loudly.

"All very touching, but what if there was a way to not get our prince killed, and for all of us go to the surface?" She leaned through the bars, showing her crooked teeth in a grin.

The visitor finally turned to her. "And how do you think you can do that, brand?"

Natia sneered, licking her dry lips. "How much money can you scrape together in a couple of hours?"

The other didn't seem to understand. "Are you proposing we bribe the guards? Are you that stupid?"

The girl shook her head. "Shut up and listen. The Carta has diggers, professionals at this kind of work, and there are secret tunnels scattered all over the city. I'll bet you that there's one right underneath us."

"Put us in league with the Carta!" Retorted the other, but the prince shut him up.

"Gorim, let her speak."

Natia clicked her tongue in amusement. "If you try to set foot in Dust Town, shouting that you want to see the Carta, you'll be gutted in no time." She looked into his eyes, making sure he was giving her his full attention. "At the market, there's a stall next to the Tapster. Someone named Olinda works there. Head there without curling your beard and ask for Leske. Tell her it's about more than a few rocks this time, she'll understand and put you in touch with a guy, bring all the money you can muster and do exactly as he says. Tell him Natia sent you, Natia Brosca, and that he needs to find some people who can get us out of here." She explained briefly.

The dwarf looked confused. He turned to the prince, not knowing what to do.

"Gorim, do as she says." The prince told him after a few moments of silence. "You know where to find the money, the key is in the desk drawer, under the false bottom."

"But... are you sure we can trust her?"

"Bhelen will surely have me killed. I have no other chance. Even if I have to crawl through the muck, I'll get out of here. And sooner or later I'll come back for revenge." Said the prince. "Now go, there's no time to waste."

Natia watched as the visitor bowed briefly and almost ran out of the dungeon.

"Are you sure we can trust this... friend of yours?" The prince asked her after some time.

The girl hesitated for a moment. "Leske?" She sighed soundly. "If the money is enough, he'll be able to get us out, yes."

 

 

 


It must have been just past bedtime when they heard noises coming from the wall behind them.

The guard had recently check up on them, and wouldn't be back for six or seven hours.

Natia leaned out of her cell, signaling the prince to wake up, and then grabbed the cup they'd been given and tapped it on the wall, hoping to guide the diggers in the right direction but careful not to make too much noise.

After a few long minutes, someone carefully removed one of the large stones.

"Natia?"

"Leske!" She answered, helping the diggers widen the hole in the wall. "You made it!"

They hastily removed three more boulders and his friend's head popped up on the other side. "Did you have any doubts, Salroka?" He asked her mockingly.

Natia restrained herself from hugging him. She almost couldn't believe it, the plan was actually working. They quickly removed the remaining stones, allowing Leske and two other dwarves to make their way into the cramped cell.

"Nice place." Commented the friend, looking around. "Better than your old one."

"Any place is better than my house, my mother's there."

Leske handed her a pair of burglary tools. "Work your magic."

The girl walked over to the lock on the door, opening it without any difficulty, and then stepped out. She glanced at the prince, who stared at her expectantly leaning against the bars. She pondered the option of ditching him there, it would be fun to see his face. She hesitated, fumbling with the lock.

"Hurry up, we have a long way to go." She told him eventually, throwing the door open with a creak.

He nodded, clearly relieved.

After all, if she had left him there, he would surely have called the guards, and they would not have taken three steps beyond the tunnel exit.

They quickly slipped through the gap in the wall, then found themselves in a cramped space where a newly dug tunnel led deep into the earth. Without a second thought, she lowered herself down.

"So, you waiting for the stone to melt?" She heard one of the two diggers call to the prince. A grunt of disgust followed, as he also descended into the darkness with them.

They crawled through the narrow passageway for what seemed like an eternity in utter darkness, following only their Stone Sense.

The air was thin and mouldy, making it difficult to breathe while the loose and crumbly ground risked collapsing and burying them all at every step. She heard someone panting heavily from the bottom; it could only be the prince, unaccustomed to such confined spaces.

The dusters, on the other hand, proceeded swiftly but with the necessary caution, with the confidence of those who had done this so many times Natia thanked the Stone that at least this one she was not carrying any large or delicate objects. Or explosives, Beraht be damned.

The digger in front of her stopped suddenly, and then pulled himself upwards.

The girl felt a shift of air and followed him up the shaft.

It was an old cistern, now rusted, full of dust, spiders, moss and lichen. The ladder that would take them upstairs was shaky and missed a few rungs. It was very hot, a sign that somewhere there must have been one of the tunnels that brought the hot air from the lava towards the city.

They went up in single line, careful where they put their feet, and finally came out in a tunnel that the girl knew well: it was one of the many unused conducts that brought to Dust Town. The dwarf in front of her led them into an alley, where two more hooded figures were waiting for them.

"My lord!" Exclaimed the one who had visited the prince a few hours earlier, clearly relieved. The prince, who had been looking tired during the walk, seemed to have recovered.
"Now what?" He asked, wiping remnants of dirt from his tangled beard.

"Now, you're going to have to get that royalness out of you." Natia replied, not giving a shit about the dirt that had stuck to her clothes and skin. The more unpleasant they'd look to eye and nose, the less the city guards would pay attention to them.

"You won't like it, my lord, but it's the only way to get you out of here." Gorim said, making a half bow in apology and pulling a small bottle of black liquid from his pockets.

Natia recognized it immediately, it was ink. The kind that was used for the non-permanent tattoos that the surfacers had to wear when they visited the city. She exchanged a smug look with Leske: it wasn't every day you saw a prince branded like the worst duster scum.

"It won't be some ink on my face that stops me, Gorim."

Meanwhile, Leske approached her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "The worst is yet to come, Salroka. Getting you out of the dungeon was the easy part. That Gorim guy assured me that he contacted a ride from Orzammar to the human capital, but you can't just walk up trough the front doors. You have to make yourself invisible and go through the exits that Beraht used for his smuggling. Then, when you've moved away from the city, you'll join the merchant caravan that guy contacted. There's no danger of him leaving you two down there, seeing how he seems to love sucking the prince's dick." He laughed, casting a dismissive glance at the two nobles.

"Leske, I don't know how I can ever repay you." Natia said, taking his hand between hers. The other, who was unaccustomed to such displays of affection, shook his head with a sneer.

"I made a little money off it, Salroka. Besides, you got me out of some bad shit in the past. You don't owe me a damn thing." He glared at her, as if to add something, but then stood silent.

Natia let go of his hand, uncomfortable. "Keep an eye on Rica, without Beraht the neighborhood will be a mess for quite some time. And you know how things go." She was sorry to leave without saying goodbye to her sister, much more than she was willing to admit.

"She'll be fine. She's already found someone to shower her with gifts, apparently, almost managed to distract her from your situation. She wanted to come here, but I told her it was too dangerous."
The girl nodded. "You did the right thing. I don't want her to get in trouble because of me." She hesitated, the fear of rising to the surface beginning to set in. "If I fall into the sky, drink one of the fine Tapster's beers for me, allright?"

Leske chuckled. "If you fall up, how will I know?"

 

 


 

 

 

Duran cast a glance at the two branded, confabulating not far from them.

"Let's move, before the guards realize we're gone." He said, covering his head with the hood of the filthy cloak they had given him to cover himself with. The shame of having his face branded, albeit temporarily, wasn't enough; he also had to walk around smelling like a pile of bronto dung. Bhelen would pay for that, too.

The casteless woman finally seemed to remember that they were in a hurry. She saw her caressing a pair of crude and lethal looking daggers, which the girl slipped into her belt without hesitation, and then pulled up her hood as well, to cover that mass of red tangled and dirty hair on her head.

"At the first crossroad to Denerim, just after Gherelen Pass." Gorim repeated for the third time. His second was clearly anxious at the idea of leaving him in the hands of the casteless, but there was no other way.

"Gorim, for the last time, I get it." He said to his friend, trying to appear more confident than he actually was. "In a few days we'll be far from here."

Gorim handed him two daggers, which the prince stowed under his cloak. They were certainly not like his trusty axe, but a casteless man with a weapon forged by a blacksmith would be executed on sight.

They crossed Dust Town unnoticed.

Small groups of dwarves, with tattoos on their faces and unkempt looks, wandered the filthy streets not caring what was around them. Many others were lying on street corners, drunk or too hungry to move, while some of them were begging for money.

A scantily clad woman called to him in a croaky voice, offering herself up for a few coppers. He continued walking without looking back, disgusted by the state in which those people lived.

They entered a deserted stone hovel, the girl leading the way with an air of confidence. She must have passed through that passageway before, for she clicked the mechanism in the wall without hesitation, revealing a tunnel wide enough for two dwarves to go through it side by side. Their only torch cast a flickering light around them as they silently made their way through countless tunnels that branched off in every direction.

Probably, Duran thought, those tunnels really did expand throughout the city and beyond. Stopping the trafficking of the Carta, in possession of those hidden passages, was clearly an impossible task.
After a few twists and turns the path began to climb up, at times interrupted by stairs carved into the stone, while at others they had to use their arms to hoist themselves up.

The air began to get cooler and cooler, and brought scents that Duran had never smelled before.

After a couple of hours, he caught a glimpse of a bright beam coming through the ceiling of the cave they were passing, as if cutting off the air around them.

The cavern narrowed again, leading to a steep flight of steps.

The girl stopped suddenly, looking up, without uttering a word.

Duran did the same, but aside from more light filtering through the ceiling in greater quantity, he saw nothing of note. They were very close to the surface, though, and all his Stone Sense was screaming at him to go back underground, where he wasn't in danger of falling through the sky without a ceiling on his head.

"I never made it past that stairway." The girl muttered.

Duran turned in surprise to her. Since they had left Dust Town, he had not heard her make a sound.
"We can't go back." He replied, not quite sure if to her or to convince himself. Nevertheless, he remained motionless, looking up at the ceiling above their heads.

"Whatever's up there, it can't be worse than what's down here." Declared the girl aloud, and then began to climb the steps with stubborness.

Duran, after a moment of indecision, followed her.

 

 

 

 

The stairway ended in front of an ancient-looking stone door. It was probably one of the secondary entrances the dwarves must have used in the days when the Deep Roads were the cradle of a thriving empire, not yet overrun by hordes of Darkspawn. It had been under constant maintenance, however, for the hinges seemed oiled and the lock functional.

As the girl fumbled with the lock he waited in silence, trying to ignore the growing panic that seemed to immobilize him. Once out the door, there would be no turning back. He would lose his name, his birthright, all his rights and obligations. He would be a nobody. A Surfacer. A Castless.

Bhelen had planned everything down to the smallest detail, to have the Assembly convict him of fratricide and exile him to the Deep Road, his name erased from every Memory by the Shaperate.

He thought of his father, who had fallen ill after losing both of his sons on the same day: was it really as Gorim had told, or had Bhelen fallen so low as to make an attempt on their own father's life? Trian's face, on the ground covered in blood, flashed in his mind, as clear as if he were still upon him.

Bhelen would stop at nothing, he wanted that throne so badly that he would eliminate anyone who stood between him and the crown.

He had to stop him and make him pay for it, no matter what.

He would ask for help to the human king in Denerim, reminding him of the help that the dwarves had given to his father in regaining the throne usurped by the Orlesians.

He would find a way to take back the Assembly, at the cost of calling in favors from surface dwarves and even allying himself with the Carta. He would have his brother's head, he swore to himself.

The lock clicked open.

The girl stood still for a moment, her hands resting on the stone surface, hesitant. Duran approached her, leaning against the door as well.

They took a deep breath and pushed.

They had to bring their hands to cover their faces, their eyes burning.

Light was everywhere, blinding, not allowing them to see anything. They remained stunned for a few minutes, trying to adjust their sight, leaning against the wall behind them as if seeking the protection of the Stone.

Duran focused with difficulty on his surroundings: a dazzling white thing spread out below them as far as eye could see. There were patches of green, brighter than the lichen growing underground and similar to that of emeralds. Tall brownish cylindrical structures rose up around them, crowned by branches, similar to veins of lyrium, that moved constantly and were decorated with what looked like pointed leaves. Everything was covered in white: the rocks around them, the ground...

The air came in cold through his nose, freezing his beard hairs and making him shiver. He sniffed, trying to recognize anything familiar in the scent, but other than the cold, he couldn't make out anything.

"What... what are those?" He heard her ask. The casteless woman stared at the landscape around her open-mouthed, for once without the usual aggressive expression on her face.

"I think they're trees." Duran replied after a moment. He had read about the surface world, but books had never been his thing.

They remained close to the rock wall while neither of them dared look up, terrified of finding that there was nothing hanging over their heads.

A gust of air made them shiver. It was cold, but Duran realized he was sweating. They exchanged a worried look, unsure of what to do next.

In all likelihood, word of their escape had already spread and soon the whole city would be looking for them. Who knows how many would have expected the prince to flee to the surface, rather than face exile in the Deep Roads?

Duran braced himself. None of the surfacers truly fell into the sky, or there would be no one left up there. He moved one step forward and then another, walking away from the wall. There were rocks and earth underneath him, albeit covered with that crumbly white sand, and that brought him a little confort.
He heard the girl mutter something extremely vulgar, and then follow him with heavy steps.

 

 

 

They slowly descended toward the valley, following what looked like a small path carved into the mountain, until they found themselves on a wider road. The trees were more numerous and dense, like a hall full of columns. Duran ignored the thought that, in a hall, there would be a secure vaulted ceiling to protect them from the absolute void.

Still without looking up, they followed the road.

Gorim had told them they would be three days' walk from the meeting point, so there was no time to lose. If Bhelen had alerted the guards manning the surface gates, they would soon be followed even up there. But even the dwarves guarding the entrance gate to the city did not have the courage to venture too far from there, and a two-day journey would likely be too much for them.

They walked for what must have been hours, noticing that the light around them was changing, fading. It slowly turned reddish and the shadows cast by the objects became longer and longer and more eerie, until it was finally dark. It wasn't total darkness, like when the torches went out in an underground tunnel, but there was a cold light coming from who knew where. The two dwarfs again refused, in tacit agreement, to lift their noses from the ground.

Soon, through the trees which until then had been quite silent, they began to hear many sounds that managed to startle them at every steps.

A high-pitched cry almost made Duran fall over in surprise, while a winged creature soared above them, disappearing into the vegetation. They continued onward. Shortly after, a prolonged howl made them draw their weapons, looking around and scanning their surroundings. Who knew what kind of creatures were roaming the wilds up there?

They heard noises around them, followed by more howls. They froze, back to back, and raised their daggers ready to defend themselves.

Duran scanned the half-light around them, watching for the slightest movement. Something began to growl, a low, menacing roar.

A shadow leapt out of the trees, hurling itself at them.

Duran, who had seen it first, managed to dodg, and the beast slammed into the girl, knocking her to the ground. The woman cursed, trying to put the knife between her and that thing.

The prince came to her aid without hesitation, but before he could even strike their assailant, it had already leapt away, its tawny fur soaked with blood that it stained the white ground. It growled again revealing sharp teeth, low ears and an arched back. He was much smaller than a bronto, but as tall as a dwarf.

Duran deeply regretted not having his axe.

He lunged at the animal, heedless that another of the beasts was already attacking him. He fell to the ground in a flurry of fangs, claws and fur, trying to slash at whatever came his way. The animal's snout snapped inches from his face, forcing him to hold it away from him with one arm. With his free hand he aimed at the beast's neck, plunging the dagger into its flesh and twisting the hilt.

The beast yelped in pain, then collapsed lifelessly to one side. Duran pushed the corpse away from him and ran in the direction of his companion, ready to help her.

He stopped suddenly, surprised.

The girl was lying on her back, her eyes averted, terrified. The lifeless body of the second animal was beside her. She didn't look injured.

After a few moments, Duran looked up.

An endless expanse of blue loomed above them, dotted with tiny lights. Thick, smoke-like stains floated over it while the tips of the trees, though so tall, could not even touch it.

He let himself fall to the ground, heedless of the cold, his gaze locked upward. He didn't even feel the water seeping frozen through his breeches, the biting cold that filled his beard, now reduced to a tangled mass of hair, with icicles.

He couldn't take his eyes off the terrible thing that seemed to have no end, as if hypnotized.

They stood staring at the sky, in silence, side by side, enraptured and terrified at the same time.

"Apparently, it's not so easy to fall into the sky." Said the girl.

Chapter 7: Ostagar I

Summary:

Aenor gets to Ostagar. Enters Alistair. Cailan's a dumbass.
Add tons of annoyed snorts and a very good boi.

Chapter Text

The journey from the Brecilian Forest to the ruined fortress of Ostagar had been quiet and without noteworthy events.

Aenor had hardly spoken to the Grey Warden who had conscripted her against her will, merely responding to Duncan's few attempts at conversation with icy stares and indifference. The man had thus soon stopped speaking to her, breaking the silence only when strictly necessary.

After more than two weeks of travel, the trees of the forest began to thin out, making way for a lush plain. As they traveled along the main road, they encountered a few caravans of people, most going in the same direction as them: wagons full of supplies for the army, people hoping to make some money by performing duties in the camp, soldiers marching in neat rows following their commanders. No one paid too much attention to two lone travelers.

"When we get to Ostagar, don't pick fights with anyone." He told her when the towers of the fortress were in sight. "Many have never even seen one of the People."

She had remained silent, not even turning around. Sure enough, the humans were used to flat ears, ready to serve them at any moment. All they had to do was try that with her, those shems, and they would find out what a Dalish Hunter was capable of.

The fortress was undeniably imposing, she to admit it. It was the largest structure she had ever seen, with crumbling yet massive walls, ruined towers touching the sky with great vines climbing the stones, banners and colored tents marking the different areas of the encampment.

A stream of busy shemlens ran here and there, and Aenor spotted a few flat ears in work clothes as well. She stood still for a moment observing all that bustle, nervous to find herself in the midst of so many people, strangers and humans in top of it all.

"Come on, the other two recruits will be waiting for us, we're the last to arrive." Duncan spurred her on, preceding her towards the fortress.

Aenor recoiled, trying to pull herself together and not let her nervousness show. If he had two more recruits, why had he come all the way to the Brecilian Forest to find new Wardens? She shook her head; there was no use thinking about it. She followed the shem past a stone archway and a huge doorway. They crossed a stone bridge that overlooked the entire valley below, allowing a spectacular view: the plain expanded below them, the trees becoming thicker as they looked further south towards the Korcari Wilds, where it was said that the fog was so thick that it did not allow passage to the most remote corners of the forest. Of course, the same thing was being said about the Brecilian Forest, so it might as well have been all nonsense.

"Duncan!" A voice called to them. Aenor turned, watching a shemlen in golden armor come towards them. He had long blond hair and a stupid smile on his face.

"King Cailan!" The Warden replied with a bow. "I did not expect-"

"A royal welcome?" The other interrupted him. "I was beginning to think you were going to miss all the fun!"

"Not if I can help it, Your Highness." Duncan replied.

"So, the great Duncan will fight by my side after all! The other Wardens have told me that you have found a promising recruit.... I take this is you?" The one who was apparently the king of he shems turned his attention to her, looking at her with a friendly air.

"Your Majesty, allow me to make introductions..." Duncan gave her a look that seemed to mean don't fuck up. Aenor struggled not to snort, annoyed.

The king nodded. "No need to be so formal, Duncan! Soon, we will bleed side by side in battle after all. May I know your name, friend?"

The elf stood staring at him. The shem looked at her, still smiling.

"Mahariel."


"Well, Mahariel, let me be the first to welcome you to Ostagar. I'm sure the Grey Wardens will benefit greatly from your addition to their ranks!"

Aenor merely bowed her head slightly to one side, blinking a few times, weighing him down. Was he really the king? Maybe it was all a plan to keep the real ruler from being torn apart by the Darkspawn, and that was some idiot taken from somewhere and dressed in the king's armor...

In the absence of a satisfactory answer, the shem seemed to give up. "Well, I'm sorry to cut this short, but I should get back to my tent," he said. “Loghain was eager to discuss strategies."

"Arl Eamon sends his greetings, and reminds you that his men may be here within a week." Duncan said.
"Ah! Aemon just wants to take some glory. We've already won three battles against those monsters, and tomorrow will be no different." The king said smugly.

He really is an idiot

From the way Duncan looked at him, it seemed that the Warden felt the same way as her, but neither of them gave voice to their thoughts. The king continued his babbling, without noticing anything. "I'm not even sure it's a real Blight. We've encountered plenty of Darkspawn, sure, but still no sign of the Archdemon."

"Disappointed, Your Majesty?" Duncan asked. The elf clearly sensed sarcasm, but it went unnoticed by the king.

"I was hoping for a war like in the stories! A king riding alongside the famous Grey Wardens to defeat a corrupt god!" His eyes almost sparkled. "Well, I guess I'll have to settle for that.I really must go now, before Loghain sends a team after me. See you soon!" He waved them off, then left followed by his men.

Duncan and Aenor stood and watched him leave in silence.

"Despite the victories, the Darkspawn horde grows larger with each passing day. They now outnumber us." The man told her as they walked into the camp, past colored tents and soldiers preparing for the next day's battle. "I know an Archdemon is behind this, but I can't ask the king to act on just a feeling I have. But back to us. Every recruit must undergo the Joining to become a Grey Warden. It's a short procedure, but it requires preparations."

"As if I had any other choice." The girl commented frostily, watching one of the soldiers wipe the blade of his sword with an oiled cloth.

"I hope you will soon understand the necessity of our Order, and the great opportunity of joining us. In any case, there is another Grey Warden in the camp, Alistair. Go find him and tell him it's time to gather the other recruits. Until then, I have business to attend to." Duncan walked away, leaving her wondering how to find a human in the midst of a herd of other shemlens that all looked the same.
She decided to go exploring.

The camp was buzzing with activity, all sorts of sounds and chatter coming to her ears. She saw a woman dressed in bright colors, her hands outstretched towards a group of kneeling soldiers reciting a chant that the elf did not recognize. She continued on, passing a blacksmith who was arranging pieces of armor. The metal rang under the precise blows of the hammer, and Aenor thought of Master Ilen, how she wished she could watch him carve bows from the forest's precious ironwood again. With a twinge of nostalgia, she passed by two towering men in heavy armor, decorated with a flaming sword.

Then, she almost jumped in surprise: a group of people armed with magic staves were casting spells in a circle, their expressions focused and confident. They were dressed in long robes, and they looked so different from Merrill and the Keeper....

She knew that human mages were locked up in a Tower, kept in check by the Chantry, so she was surprised to find them there. Clearly, when it came to having the help of someone who could summon a storm of fire at will, the humans temporarily let their prisoners out. How nice of them.

She glanced again at the two men in armor: they had to be Templars then, soldiers trained to hunt down and kill all mages outside of the Chantry's control. A few times it had happened that one of them hunted down the mages of the Dalish clans, but fortunately they had been rare episodes.

They looked like formidable opponents.

An elderly woman, wearing the same robe as the mages who were casting spells under Templar supervision, was sitting not far from her. Feeling observed, she looked up, waving at the girl. Aenor replied with a nod, ashamed of being caught staring, and slipped away.

A smell of roasting meat made her stomach mumble so she set out to find the source, which she discovered was a giant spit-roasting mutton. A man was cooking it over the fire. Someone called out to him, causing him to leave the bonfire unattended.

The elf didn't give it a second thought. She sneaked over, pulled out the small knife she carried on her belt, grabbed a bowl and cut herself a generous portion of meat, unnoticed. Satisfied, she climbed up a flight of stairs, nimbly climbing a wall a couple of feet high and sitting with her legs dangling to watch the goings-on below her, chewing on her prey and downing it with a few sips of water from her canteen.

"Oh, and here I thought we were getting along so well!" She heard someone say behind her. She turned to look, licking her grease-stained fingers: a human in light armor was arguing with another shem, dressed like the mages she had encountered before. It was clear that there was bad blood between the two. "I even decided to name one of my sons after you... the grumpy one."

Aenor snorted, slightly amused by the scene.

The mage seemed less than pleased, but nodded. He stomped away, muttering to himself.

The human in armor noticed the elf staring at him and waved at her. "One nice thing about the Blight, is how it brings people together!" He yelled at her, smiling, coming over to her side. "It's like a party. We could stand in a circle, holding hands... that would give the Darkspawn something to worry about!" He approached her, looking down at her chuckling. "Wait, we've never met, have we? You're not a mage, are you?" He asked her, looking at her apprehensively.

Aenor stared down at him for a long moment, weighing him. "No."

"Ah, good.” He immediately relaxed. “There would be no problem if you were, of course.... Ah, but you must be Duncan's new recruit, the Dalish girl! It's a pleasure, I'm Alistair." He said all at once, smiling at her.

Why do all the blonde shems I meet here smile for nothing? Aenor found herself thinking, without answering him.

"I see you're not a chatty one... Good for us, I talk enough for an entire army, or so they say! Well, as the youngest member of the Order, it is my job to accompany new recruits as they prepare for the Joining." Continued Alistair, who seemed not to mind that he was interrupting her meal. "I'm curious. Have you ever met any Darkspawn?" He asked her.

"A few." She replied dryly. She descended the wall with agility, landing almost soundlessly and getting back up with ease. "If we're going somewhere, we might as well move." She said, then shoved the last bit of meat into her mouth and preceded him towards Duncan's tent.

Alistair seemed to take no notice of her manner and followed her without commenting.

Unfortunately for Aenor, the human camp was too crowded and chaotic to maintain a sense of direction and she ended up near a high wooden fence, totally lost, from which came a series of growls and threatening howls. Nervously, she tried to find her way back, looking around to no avail.

She glanced resentfully at the shem, who seemed to have become distracted.

"Look, have you ever seen mabari?" He exclaimed ecstatically, approaching the stockade.

Aenor reluctantly followed him.

There were several hounds in the enclosure, some even larger than the wolves that lived in the forests. Some were cleaning themselves, sleeping, or eating. Some greeted them with threatening growls, as if daring them to enter their territory. The elf didn't even think about it, those things looked deadly, even though they were apparently tamed.

She was used to the hallas that the clans kept to pull the aravels, docile and with a graceful look and gentle soul, not to the furry mess of teeth and muscles that looked like they could take her arm off with a single bite.

Alistair, on the other hand, looked at them in adoration.

"Do you like them?" A man interrupted them, stepping out of a small enclosure separated from the others. "A pity that most of them will have to be put down tomorrow. You know, Darkspawn blood, if ingested it's fatal in most cases." He pointed to the mabari beside him, the only one in the small enclosure. "Like that one, I guess there's little we can do."

The animal yowled, moving away from him and staring at them from the back of the enclosure.

The man watched them more closely, then seemed to brighten up. "You are Grey Wardens, are you not?" He asked them.

Aenor and Alistair nodded.

"If you were to go into the Korcari Wilds, could you look for a flower? It has white petals and it grows on fallen logs near the water. It might save some of them from the Corruption”.

Aenor looked at the hound, noticing an infected-looking cut on the animal's snout, running from nose to the ear, which was badly severed. It was clear that it was in pain, and had lost that menacing, deadly air that its companions had.

“He won't let me near him, and I can't treat his wounds properly. Not that it does any good without that flower, but I'd like to at least try to ease his pain." Explained the man, meeting the elf's gaze. "If I could just get the collar on him, I could tie him up and tend to the wounds."

Going against all her better judgment, Aenor shook off Alistair and entered the enclosure.

The mabari growled for a moment, as a warning, but the elf continued forward, slowly, holding out one hand in front of her, palm facing up. With the other, she took the collar from the man's hands. She showed the object to the animal, who was drawn by her hands that still smelled of the meat she had eaten earlier.

The elf bent down in front of the hound, getting down on her knees and waiting for it to come to her.

After a few moments of hesitation, the animal came to her, rubbing its muzzle against her palm and paying no attention to the collar the girl was putting on him. Finishing her work, Aenor stood up. The man stared at her in admiration, while Alistair was smiling.

"We'll look for that flower, you see that he is fed and his wounds treated." She said to the man, and then walked out of the enclosure and away without waiting for a reply.

"Wow, how did you do that?" Alistair asked her as he led the way to Duncan's tent. "I didn't know the Dalish had mabari!"

"We don't."

They arrived at Duncan's. The other two new recruits were waiting for them: one of them carried a long two-handed sword on his back, while the other had a longbow and a quiver full of arrows. The Warden assigned them with two tasks: to retrieve three vials of Dark Prole's blood, which it seemed they would later need for the Ritual, and to find abandoned papers in a chest in the middle of the Korcari Wilds. Aenor wondered if they would fight in the vanguard with the rest of the Wardens the next day, or if they would send them to the rear to act as support.

In that case, it wouldn't be too difficult to sneak away, once she received the cure that would keep her from dying. She could then go back to her Clan. She would have to look for them, since they were surely already on their way, but she knew they were heading to the Free Marches, near Kirkwall, for there was some sort of ritual Merrill and the Keeper had to perform.

"So, is everything clear?" Duncan asked them, rousing her from her thoughts. The recruits nodded and then followed Alistair through the camp and out of the tall fence that had been erected around the fortress.

 

 

 

"They say there are werewolves in the Wilds." Said the archer as they made their way into the swamp.

"Daveth, right?" Alistair took the floor. "I haven't seen any werewolves, but for now I say let's focus on the Darkspawn."

The other shem, the warrior, sounded more confident. "Whatever it takes, I'm ready. I've been working hard to get Duncan to notice me, I'm not going to give up just yet."

So, he came here on his own will? Aenor wondered, but remained silent.

The archer then turned back to her. "What about you? How did you end up here?"

"Just ask Duncan. It's his fault." She replied avoiding his gaze. She didn't like the way he stared at her.

Daveth seemed not to mind. "What are you, fourteen? Younger? What kind of person would drag a little girl into this mess...? And that sword is almost bigger than you!"

She turned her head, enraged. That sword had been her father's and she knew damn well hot to wield it. "I'm sixteen. Old enough to take this sword and shove it up your-"

"Hey, hey!" Alistair interrupted them, stepping between them. "We're here for a reason, let's not forget that, shall we? And Daveth, leave her be, please."

The man raised his hands, taking two steps back. "I was just trying to get to know each other better. I'm sorry, didn't mean to offend her."

You'll get to know the dirt better, if you don't shut that mouth. Aenor thought, moving to the head of the line.

They continued towards the thick of the swamp, in silence, when a groan caught their attention: up ahead, a dozen men lay sprawled on the ground, covered in blood and clearly dead, an expression of terror etched on their faces. One of them was barely moving, groaning weakly for help.

"Well, he's not as dead as he looks." Alistair commented.

"He will be soon." Aenor replied, looking at the man's wounds. The flesh had already begun to putrefy, probably a sign of the Darkspawn's corruption. "Let's go, we don't have time." She turned around, but someone grabbed her arm.

"We don't have time? Do you have a date with someone?" Joked Alistair.

Aenor felt the rage buzzing in her chest. She raised her sword and before they could stop it, she lowered it hard on the man's chest, ending his moans. "He's already dead, see?"

"Are you crazy?!" Alistair yelled at her, shocked.

She returned his gaze, challenging him. "We would have lost at least an hour bringing him back, and he wouldn't have survived the night anyway." She released her arm from his grasp with a tug, continuing on without checking to make sure she was being followed.

"Remind me not to get hurt when I'm around you..."

She paid no attention to him, shrugging her shoulders. If the shem had a problem with her being there, let him go talk to his damn commander about it. She'd be happy to oblige and leave.

After a few hundred yards, they finally encountered some Darkspawn.

Alistair had apparently told the truth about being able to hear them: before the rest of the group could even realize anything was wrong, he had already drawn his sword, signaling the others to be on their guard. Three short Darkspawn armed with crooked knives came out of nowhere, while a taller one with an axe emerged from the hill above them, followed by three more of the same size.

The recruits and the Warden quickly disposed of the shorter creatures, though they were fast and able to evade the more powerful attacks. Aenor was freeing her sword from the corpse of the last one when one of the larger Darkspawn managed to knock the warrior recruit to the ground. She tried to go help him, but another of the creatures lunged at her, forcing her to dodge a mighty slash from above. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alistair charge the creature with his shield, freeing the warrior beneath it and allowing him to rise up and strike it from behind, driving the greatsword between its shoulder blades.

Aenor parried a blow from the creature again, only to slide her weapon to the side, shift and charge a blow from the bottom up, knocking its arm off. A splash of rancid black blood threatened to hit her, but as the beast screamed in pain and fell to its knees, the girl severed its head cleanly.

"Wow!" Daveth commented admiringly. "She wasn't kidding when she said she knew how to use a sword!"

The elf snorted, pulling the empty vial from her pocket and filling it with the blood of the Darkspasn. The other two did the same.

"Now, all we need to do is find the flower for the mabari and the treaties for Duncan." Alistair exclaimed, satisfied. "Following the directions, we should be heading northeast, towards the old Warden fortress.... assuming there's anything left standing."

They advanced further into the swamp, sometimes having to use tree trunks as bridges to cross the marshes. On one of them, Aenor picked up a white flower that looked similar to the one described by the man tending to the mabari.

From a distance, they spotted the remains of what must have once been a stone tower, probably belonging to the Warden's fortress. They headed in that direction, taking down a few Darspawn along the way.

The tower was in ruins and covered by vegetation, huge boulders lying on the ground almost entirely eaten up by the swamp. They walked through the remains of a stone arch, almost entirely collapsed, making their way with difficulty and looking around.

"There's something here!" The archer called to them at one point.

They approached him, looking at the remains of a wooden chest, now rotten and destroyed. On the ground in front of it lay a seal with a rampant griffin, the symbol of the Grey Wardens.

Alistair let out a disappointed groan. "Looks like someone beat us to it... probably by a few decades. The magic wards must have disappeared long ago." He commented, examining the seal.

"Well well, what have we here?" A female voice interrupted them, causing them to jolt.

The four immediately raised their weapons, ready to defend themselves as a female figure appeared from within the ruin.

"Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned?" The woman continued. She was flamboyantly dressed, and carried a twisted wooden staff over her shoulders, clearly magical. Her yellow eyes stood out in contrast to hair as black as the raven feathers that adorned her shoulder. "Or merely an intruder, come to these Darkspawn- filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?"

The four stood staring at her, unsure of her intentions.

"What say you? Scavenger or intruder?" The woman urged them.

"Neither." Aenor answered, as the others seemed to have no intention of opening their mouths. "This tower used to belong to the Grey Wardens."

"iTis a tower no longer." The woman replied. "The Wilds have obviously claimed its desiccated corpse. I've watched your progress for some time. Where do they go? I wondered... Why are they here? And now you disturd ashes that none have touched for so long. Why is that?"

"Don't answer that." Alistair interrupted her. "She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby.”
The woman laughed at him. "You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?”

Alistair cast her a glare. "Yes, swooping is bad."

"She's a witch of the Wilds, she is! She'll turn us into toads!" Exclaimed the archer, terrified.
The woman merely chuckled. "Witch of the Wilds? Such idle fantasies, these legends... Have you no minds of your own? You there, elven girl." She turned back to look at Aenor. "Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine."

Aenor hesitated for a moment, but decided to answer. "I'm Aenor."

The woman's eyes sparkled. "A predator's name. You may call me Morrigan, Aenor of the Dalish. Do I have to guess your intent? You were looking for something in that chest, something that is no longer here."

"It is no longer here?" Alistair repeated. "You stole it, didn't you? You're some kind of sneaky witch-thief!"
"How very eloquent." Morrigan sneered at him. "How does one steal from dead men?"
"Quite easily, it seems." Retorted the Warden. "Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them.”

"I will not, for it was not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer f you wish, I do not feel threatened."

Aenor interrupted them, having a feeling that they might go on for a long time. "So who took them, Morrigan?"

"Twas my mother, in fact."

"And can you take us to her?"

Morrigan seemed pleased. "Here's a reasonable request. I quite like you. Follow me, then."

"I would be careful. It starts with I like you and then.... zap! Frog time." Alistair interjected again.

Aenor snorted aloudly. "Just because you humans like to keep your mages in cages doesn't mean that every single one of them wants to turn you into toads. I, for one, would blow you straight up with a fireball."

"That's the longest speech you've given so far. And I only learned your name after you introduced yourself to a Witch of the Wilds. I guess you don't really like me, do you?" Continued the Warden in his usual playful tone.

"How insightful."

"She'll put us all in the pot, she will." Complained the archer as they walked through the mud. "Just you watch."

"If it's is warmer than this forest, it'd be a nice change." The warrior said.

Morrigan led them to a small hut near some ruins, facing a wide marsh. Standing in front of it was a woman, with gray hair and a face marked by small wrinkles. She watched them approach, scrutinizing them one by one as if to analyze them.

"Greetings, mother. I have brought you four Grey Wardens who..." Morrigan began.

The elder interrupted her. "I can see them, girl. Much as expected."

"Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?" Alistair asked.

"You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arm wide... either way, one's a fool!" Morrigan's mother replied. Aenor heard the other two recruits whispering animatedly. "Believe what you will. What about you?" She asked, looking Aenor straight in the eye. The elf felt herself shudder, there was something about that woman, something extremely strange. "Does belonging to the People give you a different point of view? Or do you feel the same way as the others?"

"I think it doesn't matter what you are." Aenor replied. "But you do have something we need."

The woman stood for a moment with her eyes fixed on her, inscrutable. "You came for the treaties, right? And before you start ranting, your precious seal wore out a long time ago. I protected them." She turned to pick up something leaning against a small wooden table behind her. "Here they are."

She handed Aenor a pack of scrolls. The elf looked at them, there were a bunch of marks on the surface, she recognized the symbol of the Wardens in one corner of the paper. After a moment of hesitation, she resolved to hand them to Alistair. "Is this what we were looking for?"

The other examined them for a moment, his eyes scrolling over the paper. "Yes, they are."

"Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realize!" Morrigan's mother warned them. "Now go, you have what you came for. Morrigan, these are your guests, escort them back out of the forest."

The daughter complained loudly, but bowed her head. "As you wish, mother. Follow me."

Thanks to Morrigan, the way back to Ostagar was much shorter and they encountered no danger.

After just a couple of hours, they were already close to the towers of the fortress.

Before they could thank her, the woman had already disappeared into thin air.

 

 

 

 

They signaled their arrival to the guards in front of the gate, who let them in. On their way to Duncan's, they passed by the kennel master to give him the flower for the injured mabari.

"Thank you so much! That should help him for sure. I wonder if he'll want to follow you once he's healed!" Exclaimed the man, immensely grateful.

Duncan was waiting for them in front of a large fire. "So, you are back. Were you successful?" He asked them. They nodded. "Very well. I have already had the mage prepare what we need. With the blood you have recovered, we can begin the Joining immediately. Alistair, take them to the old temple."

While the other two recruits whispered excitedly to each other, Aenor sat not far away, her legs dangling over the cliff. She had always liked heights.

When Duncan finally arrived, Aenor rose to join the others. The warrior looked increasingly worried, his hands shaking slightly.

"At last we come to the Joining." Duncan took the floor. No one breathed a word as the Warden recited the words of ritual. "The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the fist Grey Warden drank of darkspawn blood and mastered the taint."

One of the recruits, the warrior, interrupted him. "Must we... drink the blood of those creatures?"

Aenor could almost smell his fear. He had a point, though, intentionally getting infected with the stuff.... They all had to be crazy. Suits him well for volunteering, idiot shem!

"As the first Grey Wardens did before us, and as we did before you. This is the source of our power and our victory." Duncan replied.

"Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint. We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the Archdemon." Alistair explained.

Duncan ran his gaze over the three recruits, taking in their reaction to those words. "We speak only a few words prior to the joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?”

The young Warden cleared his throat. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you." He recited.

"Daveth, come forward." Duncan called, raising a silver chalice filled with blood.

The man took it with both hands, hesitating only a moment before taking a long sip.

A tense moment passed, then the man began to writhe and scream, finally falling to the ground lifeless, his eyes dead white.

Aenor stared down at him, motionless, her heart still pounding in her ears.

The other recruit drew his sword, backing away. "No! I have a wife and child. You ask too much, there is no glory in that!" He screamed in panic.

"There's no going back." Whispered Duncan, before drawing one of his two swords. The other tried to dodge the blow, but even before he saw the Warden move, the recruit had already collapsed to the ground, the hilt of Duncan's weapon lodged in his chest. “I am sorry.”
The man then turned back to the elf. "But the Joining is not yet complete."

Aenor huffed, "Quit making such a fuss." She shrugged, grabbed the goblet with both hands and brought it to her lips. What fun would it be if I died right here and he had to drag me all the way up here for shit? She let out a chuckle, then drank the horrible stuff in three long sips.

A tremendous twinge seemed to split her head as she felt her legs give way. Her vision blurred for a moment, a roar that made her blood boil like fire, burning her from the inside: she saw a dragon, jaws wide open toward the sky, roaring all its fury.

She snapped her eyes open. She was still alive. Yay me.

She was lying on the ground. Duncan and Alistair were staring her.

"Two more deaths. During my Joining, only one of us died, but...it was horrible. I'm glad at least one of you made it."

“You were just hoping it would not be me, uh?” She muttered in amusement, her head spinning.
"As of this moment, you're a Grey Warden. How are you feeling?" Duncan asked, ignoring her comment.
Aenor looked at him sideway, avoiding an answer. How could she be feeling?

"Have you had any dreams? I remember having terrible dreams, right after my Joining..." Alistair interjected, offering her a hand to stand up. She shook off his arm, struggling to get back on her own feet and trying not to give away how unstable she actually was.

"Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn, as they do to all of us. Over the next few months, we will explain this and many other things." Said Duncan.

"Before I forget, one last thing." Alistair took the floor again. "Let's take some of that blood and put it in a pendant. It will serve as a reminder of... Those who didn't make it this far." He explained, handing her a leather lace with a small sealed vial filled with a blackish liquid.

Aenor unconvincedly grabbed it, weighing it and then shoving it into her pocket. As if I needed something around my neck to remind me of how I ended up here...

"Take some time. When you're ready, I'd like you to accompany us to a meeting with the king." Duncan told her. "I'll meet you down the stairs to the east."

Aenor waited until they were gone before collapsing back to the ground. She grabbed her canteen, rinsing her mouth and drinking some water. Her throat burned and it felt like her insides were on fire. However, she had feared that she would find herself weak and feverish again, as she had been when she had been carried out of the ruins into the forest, but that had not happened. It was certainly possible that, having survived the taint once before, theforest, which, however, had not happened. It was certainly possible that, having survived the Corruption once before, the Joining had somehow been easier on her.

She inhaled the cold air coming from the south. During the battle, she just had to find the right time to leave without anyone noticing. After all, there were thousands of soldiers there, and several Grey Wardens: they wouldn't miss her.

After some time, she got up reluctantly, heading for the meeting with Duncan and the King of Idiots.

Chapter 8: Ostagar II

Summary:

The battle goes horribly, Flemeth appears and saves the day.
Aenor starts thinking she's going crazy, but maybe Alistair's even crazier.

Chapter Text

Aenor reached with no haste the meeting place.

 

"Your passion for glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan. We must deal with reality." She heard as she approached the large table where all the leaders were gathered.

 

Alistair, a short distance away from it, greeted her with a nod. They were the only two who had no idea why they were there. The man who had spoken scrutinized the king grimly: middle-aged, he had long black hair, an imposing nose, and an unfriendly gaze. He was equipped with a heavy suit of armor and looked like he perfectly knew what he was talking about. Just the opposite of their idiot king.

 

"Alright, walk me through the strategy. The Grey Wardens and I will lure the darkspawn, challenging them to charge our lines... and then what?" Asked the king, who looked tired of talking and impatient, like a child waiting to go play.

 

The man replied as if it were the umpteenth time he had repeated the same thing. "Then, you'll have the tower light the signal and my men will charge from their upper position-"

 

"To attack the darkspawn from the flanks, I remember now, yes!" The king interrupted him. "We're talking about the Tower of Ishal, aren't we? And who will light this signal fire?"

 

"I have some men stationed over there. It's not a dangerous assignment, but it's vital." Replied the other. He seemed confident in his plan, it was obviously not the first war he had fought and from the way the others looked at him, they all trusted his planning.

 

"Then we should send the best at our disposal." Said the king. "Send Alistair and the new Grey Warden to make sure all goes well."

 

Aenor felt the blood freeze in her veins. If she had been given such an assignment, it would have been impossible to leave before the battle. Although she had no affection for the humans, it was clear even to her that if they were to lose that battle, the entire Ferelden would be overrun by darkspawn. She exchanged a worried look with the other Warden. Moreover, we're not exactly the best at their disposal...

 

Suddenly half a dozen pairs of eyes were trained on her and Alistair.

 

"You rely too much on these Grey Wardens. Is that really wise?" Rebutted the older man.

 

"Enough of your suspicions, Loghain, you see conspiracies everywhere. The Grey Wardens fight the Blight, it's their job no matter where they come from." The king shushed him.

 

"Your Majesty, you must consider the possibility of an Archdemon appearing..." Duncan interrupted them, clearing his throat.

 

"There has been no sign of dragons in the Wilds." Said Loghain.

 

Another man, dressed in mage' robes, spoke up. "Your majesty, the tower and the signal fire are not necessary. The Circle of Magi..."

 

Before he could finish his sentence, an obnoxious-looking old woman interrupted him, looking at him crookedly. "We will not trust our lives to your spells, mage! Save them for the darkspawn!" She sneered. Taking a closer look at her, Aenor spotted the fiery eye of the shemlen Chantry on her robes and on the locket she wore hanging around the neck.

 

"That's enough now! This plan's going to work. The Grey Wardens will light the signal fire." Loghain interrupted them, silencing any possible response.

 

"Thank you, Loghain. I look forward to this glorious day! The Grey Wardens will fight alongside the King of Ferelden, and destroy the evil darkspawn horde!" King Cailan exclaimed, his voice almost shaking from excitement.

 

Loghain didn't look like he shared his optimism, nor enthusiasm. He turned his back to him, peering into the darkness of the night around them. "Yes, Cailan. It will be a glorious day..."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What king of glory there was in being devoured by a pair of drooling, putrescent jaws, Aenor didn't understand.

She looked around, trying to spot Alistair in the flames. The bridge had collapsed almost completely, struck by giant flaming boulders, forcing them to separate in order to get across. A soldier beside her screamed in pain, grabbing his mangled leg. The elf ignored him, charging headfirst at a hurlock - that's what the larger darkspawn were called - sending it to the ground and finishing it off with her sword. It was chaos.


They had slept for a couple of hours, uselessly trying to get some rest before the battle. Half of the troops had moved a few hours before dawn, descending to the plain with the king and all the Grey Wardens except her and Alistair, while the other half had hidden on the hill with Loghain, to catch the enemies from behind and crush them on two fronts.


The strategy might have worked, had the darkspawn horde not been so vast.


They had come out of the wilds, thousands of them, hurling themselves at the king's forces and putting them in immediate trouble. Alistair and Aenor had ran for Ishal's Tower, but the darkspawn had beaten them to it, attacking the bridge connecting the two parts of the fortress and blocking the way to the tower in an inferno of flames and corpses.


She dodged a shower of fiery debris with a leap, risking being caught off guard by a short, stocky, leathery genlock who attacked her from behind. She pirouetted, dodging one lunge and parrying the next with her sword. She kicked the creature, but it immediately regained its balance, ready to attack her again. The elf raised her sword to defend herself, but before the creature could reach her, she was swept away by a new fireball rained from the sky right next to her.


The shockwave knocked Aenor a few feet away, and she stood up in pain, struggling to focus on her surroundings. She checked to make sure she wasn't hurt, and then continued towards the tower.


"Aenor!" Hearing her name, she quickened her pace spotting Alistair just ahead, busy holding off two genlocks. She ran to his aid.


"They've taken over the tower!" He shouted at her to be heard over the chaos all around them once they had eliminated the creatures. "We need to get that signal up, at all costs!"


The elf nodded, dodging a lunge to the side from another newly sprung genlock and knocking its head clean off with a well-aimed blow.


"You can't enter the tower!" Shouted a shemlen, approaching them at a shaky pace. "They're everywhere!" He turned terrified behind them, pointing at the structure. "They came out of nowhere, there was nothing we could do! They slaughtered us!" He shivered, not even trying to hold steady the bow in his hand. A hurlock turned, drawn by his screams, and charged at him. "We're doomed!" Screamed the shemlen, giving no sign of wanting to defend himself.


Aenor, who was too far away to prevent him from getting killed, could only watch the scene as she ran forward, sure to see him torn to pieces in a few moments...


The creature suddenly froze, a thick layer of ice covering it, nailing it in place. The elf didn't hesitate to charge and hit the hurlock with full force, sending it shattering on the ground. She turned to see where the spell was coming from.


A mage in Circle robes waved his magic staff in wide circles above his head, sending flashes of ice around him. Two other genlocks fell to the ground, immobilized, and Alistair took the opportunity to eliminate them.


"No need to panic!" Commented the mage, reaching out to the elf and archer. "You are the Wardens who were supposed to give the signal to Loghain's troops?" He asked the girl, who nodded her head.


"How do we get in there?" She asked him, pointing to the tower.


That squared her first and then the other two men. "By selling our lives dearly."


Alistair sighed in pain. "And here I was hoping we could wait comfortably for the signal while eating a snack..." He said before patting the archer on the back, who was still trembling. "Hey, pull yourself together, we need all the help we can get.”


That one's eyes went wide, terrified to go back inside the tower. "N... no, please! Don't-" He interrupted abruptly, Aenor's sword pressed to his throat.

 

"Either you help us get to the top, or I'll kill you myself, you hear me?!" She snickered. "Fenedhis lasa, shemlen, grow a pair!"

 

"Aenor!" Alistair yelled at her, startled. "Don't-"

 

"What?!" Snarled the elf at the archer, ignoring the other warden.

 

The poor man found himself nodding, startled. "Alright... I'll follow you." He stammered, massaging his neck when the elf finally removed the blade from his skin.

 

Satisfied, Aenor preceded them towards Ishal's Tower.

 

The building had probably seen better days, some of it collapsed or was burning, but they managed to make their way to the top floor. The tower was swarming with genlocks, hurlocks, and even a few deformed, agile creatures that moved about on all fours, shrieking in a way that made her skin crawl.

 

"Shriek." Explained Alistair after they had managed to take out a couple of those monsters with great difficulty. "I hate those screams."

 

Aenor couldn't help but agree with him. She could hear the archer talking to himself, terrified, but for the moment the man had done a good job, hitting just about every target.

 

They flung open a door, finding themselves against a dozen or so darkspawn who hurled themselves at them in unison. Preparing for the impact, Aenor raised her sword, managing with difficulty to parry a blow from a particularly large hurlock who was swinging a giant mallet, clearly stolen from one of the army's armories.

 

She stumbled, jumping to the side to avoid another blow, without having time to counterattack. She thought she heard a howl from the next room, but was again distracted by the hurlock, which aimed at her head forcing her to back up further, until she ended up with her back to the wall. A genlock attacked her, but she managed to run her sword through it before it could hit her, leaving herself exposed against the larger darkspawn towering above her. She jumped to the side to mitigate the blow, but she didn't feel it coming. The hurlock let out a cry of pain that pierced her ears, struck by an arrow that shot out of its shoulder. Without giving it time to recover, Aenor gathered all her strength and pierced it from side to side, turning the hilt until it was almost completely embedded in the creature. She released the weapon with a yank, thanking the archer with a nod and then turning hier attention to the next monster.

 

The floor seemed to go up in flames.

 

She felt herself being thrown forward, away from the explosion, and nearly hit the stone wall in front of her. Trying to catch her breath, she leaned against the wall to get back on her feet. She turned to look at what had caused the explosion: a darkspawn unlike any they had encountered so far, tall and slender, was floating in the center of the room, a crude magical staff raised above it, ready to cast again.

 

She noticed the archer aiming at the creature, but the man was attacked by a genlock before he could fire his arrow. Alistair ran to his aid, while the mage tried to counterattack.

 

Aenor strained her ears, she thought she heard howling. She leaned against the door next to her and opened it with a shove: inside, there were cages with three mabari, howling and growling, waiting to be released. Limping slightly, the elf hurried to open the cages. The hounds immediately sprang into the adjacent room, ready to attack the darkspawn.

 

She allowed herself a moment to catch her breath, then rushed back to the aid of her companions. The dawkspawn who was casting spells seemed unable to cast spells, and Alistair was pushing it towards a chasm created in the outer wall of the tower. Aenor rushed to help him, hitting it in the side and making it stagger backwards. Alistair struck it in the head with his shield, stunning it, and then ducked down to give her the opportunity to charge it in the chest, piercing through the light fabric and putrid tissues below without much difficulty.

 

The creature sagged in on itself, and Aenor got rid of it by pushing it down the chasm.

 

"An Emissary." Alistair explained. "Let's hope it was the only one."

 

 

 

 

 

 

With difficulty, they managed to reach the top floor of the tower, where there was supposed to be a fireplace ready to light the signal. They kicked the door open, making their way inside.


A roar louder than anything they had ever heard pierced their eardrums.


They stood there, petrified in fear at the sight of a huge creature, perhaps four meters tall, with purple, putrid skin and two huge horns, pointing at them from across the room, jaws open to show arm-length fangs dripping blood and ooze.


Aenor didn't know what to do, trying to catch its weak points without success. She glanced at Alistair, hoping the elder warden would have some suggestions, but the boy looked as horrified as she was.

 

"Ogre. Don't get hit." She heard him whisper.


"Very helpful!" She gulped, throwing herself to the ground to one side to dodge the creature that had charged at them, horns forward and ready to tear them apart. The ogre stopped its run, shaking its big head and trying to spot them again. A thunderbolt struck it between the eyes, only infuriating it further.


"Nice move, now he's even more eager to tear us apart!" Alistair shouted, preparing to dodge the monster's charge again.


The mage had to take cover behind a pile of rubble to keep from being shoved away. “At least I didn't wait for it to give us a kiss!”


"Hey!" Shouted the archer, getting the monster's attention even though he was visibly trembling. He hit it with an arrow on its bare shoulder, but barely made a scratch.


The two warriors tried to flank it, but the monster's skin seemed impenetrable, and it kept parrying their blows with ease, forcing them to dodge most of the time.


"This isn't working." Alistair grunted, drawing breath. He was bleeding from a cut on his forehead. He ran his arm across his face, wiping the blood from his eyes. "We need a plan."


Aenor nodded. "Mage, keep it distracted. You, archer, aim for the legs. We need to somehow knock it down and keep it from charging at us." She ordered. “We're killing it.”


The mage threw a shower of sparks at the ogre, blinding it for a few moments as the archer fired. The monster roared, enraged, but Alistair and Aenor stepped in, attacking it from the sides and trying to make it fall to the ground. The creature's hide was really tough but with a lunge the elf managed to pierce its leg behind the knee. The ogre staggered forward with a cry of pain, trying to sweep her off with one arm. She threw herself backwards to dodge it, ending up on the ground. The creature, however, surged forward, closing its hand into a fist over her, to swat her to the ground like a fly. Too slow, Aenor stood staring at the incoming blow. A figure parried between her and the ogre, shielding her with his shield, which resounded with a metallic sound.


"Are you allright?!" Alistair shouted to her, collapsing to his knees and holding the shield with both hands, a wound in his side bleeding profusely. The elf nodded, surprised. She scrambled back to her feet, fending off the ogre with her raised sword and allowing Alistair to break free and roll to one side. The creature made to parry the blow by raising its arm, but Aenor was quicker, using all the strength she had to bring the sword down straight in front of her.


The intention was to sever its limb, but the monster's hide resisted: the blade was stuck deep inside, making it roar with pain and whirl its remaining arm in front of it to hit her. The girl had to use her weapon to leap over the creature's wounded arm, narrowly avoiding the huge jaws that snapped inches from her head. An arrow plunged into the monster's back, making it turn its head towards the archer. Surprisingly, the ogre sprang forward despite its injured leg, grabbing the man and throwing him to the ground. Aenor found herself clinging to one of the monster's horns, trying to hoist herself onto one of them to avoid its fangs. She heard a sound of shattered bones and a scream of pain that faded away, replaced by a sinister gurgling sound.

 

She found herself face to face with the monster, who threw away the archer's body and made to grab her and take her off. Aenor kicked it in panic, hitting the ogre on the snout to avoid being bitten. Her feet touched one of the metal spikes of the armor on the monster's chest, injuring her leg but managing to use the protrusion to give herself the momentum she needed to climb onto the huge shoulder strap the creature was wearing. She crouched down, trying to regain her balance by gripping one of the horns she was still hanging from, while the ogre got hit in the side by a thunderbolt. The distraction allowed her to cling better to its horns and climb on the creature's back.

 

Alistair struck at the beast, who parried the blow with its wounded arm. The warrior took cover behind the shield and lounged again, finally managed to sever the limb just below the elbow. A stream of black blood spilled on the ground between the roars of the ogre who, blinded by pain, charged stumbling and running over everything in front of it. Alistair managed to partially dodge it by rolling to the ground beside him, hitting hard the debris on the floor with a groan, but the mage was not so lucky: Aenor, still clutching the base of the ogre's horns with all her strength, saw him widen his eyes while lowering his gaze on one of the huge horns that pierced his chest from side to side. He spat out a bubble of blood, which landed on the monster and onto the girl, sliding backwards and falling to the floor with a thud.

 

Aenor was horrified. With a cry, the girl desperately pulled out her dagger, plunging it hard into the ogre's neck, where the skin was thinner, and twisting it deep inside. The ogre tried to get her off, but she managed to avoid a huge blow that threatened to throw her off. She pulled out the knife and hoisted herself further forward, gripping one of the horns and stabbing one of the ogre's eyes.

The giant shook its head, roaring madly, unseating her and sending her across the room. The elf hit the floor with a crash that took her breath away. Her vision darkened for a moment as she gasped for air. She crawled with difficulty over stones made slippery by blood to a pile of rubble. Breathing hard, she staggered back to her feet. All her bones ached. She spat a lump of blood on the ground, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. The ogre, now on the ground, roared at her, trying to get back on its feet.


Alistair lay sideways on the floor, trying to use his sword as a crutch to get up as he pressed his hand on his bleeding side, his shield lost somewhere in that chaos.


The creature's severed arm was only a few feet away from her, her sword still stuck in its dead flesh. With one last effort, the elf grabbed the hilt, freeing it with a yank, and walked towards the ogre who challenged her with a mighty roar.


"Dread Wolf take you!" She shouted in elven, before dodging the monster's claws by a breath and raising the sword above her, feeling it penetrate her flesh. She pushed as hard as she could, hearing the creature's roar turn into a hideous gurgle. The ogre fell backwards, allowing her to retract her sword, causing a spurt of blood that forced her to shield her face, then swinging the sword again and with all her remaining strength, plunging it between the creature's eyes.


The ogre twitched uncontrollably for a couple of seconds, then finally lay still in a pool of foul-smelling blood.


Exhausted, Aenor collapsed on her knees beside it, too tired to even think of retrieving the sword.


"We did it..." She heard Alstair say. She looked up to see him limping laboriously toward the large pile of lumber, a burning log in his hand. She had even forgot about the reason they were there...

 

In moments the wood caught fire, sending out the signal that should have saved the king's troops and the Grey Wardens. "Let's hope it's not too late." Alistair groaned, collapsing to the ground.


Aenor didn't know how long they remained there, panting painfully, eyes closed trying to ignore the burning ache in every inch of their bodies.


A sound of footsteps and grunts woke them from their stupor. The elf opened her eyes wide, meeting Alistair's gaze.


"How are we gonna..." She heard him groan.


Not even knowing how, she struggled back to her feet. She drew her sword from the ogre's corpse, struggling. The weapon seemed to weigh ten times more than usual, she thought as half a dozen darkspawn swarmed into the room. They stood there for a moment, their evil eyes flashing from the two warriors to the ogre's corpse on the ground, afraid and unsure of what to do. A couple of genlocks decided to attack, and were quickly followed by the others.

 

Aenor raised her sword in front of her, managing to catch the first one by surprise and killing it using her own charge. The other threw her to the ground, piercing her side. As she felt the blade cutting into her flesh, she screamed in pain, somehow gathering her might to free herself with a knee strike. She rolled to the side, one hand on the wound, feeling blood soaking her shirt. The genlock was immediately on her, forcing her to crawl for a weapon. Trying to protect herself with one arm, she searched the floor with her other hand, finding what she was looking for. The creature grabbed her throat, squeezing and knocking the breath out of her, but before it could strangle her, Aenor shot an arrow into her neck, driving it deep into her. The genlock groaned in pain, falling on top of her and crushing her with its weight. She struggled to get it off, crawling on all fours and looking up just in time to see Alistair get hit in the chest by a hurlock's kick. The warrior hit the stone wall behind him, collapsing. The three remaining darkspawn turned to face her, their gaping jaws dripping blood, ready to tear her apart.

 

"Bring it on, scum." The elf grinned at them, sputtering. If she had to die, she would take as smany as she could with her to meet Falon'din. The creatures sprang forward and she gripped her sword, ready to strike the nearest hurlock with a slash from below.

 

A deafening roar took her by surprise.

 

Something knocked her to the ground for the umpteenth time. She grunted in pain, trying to crawl away, hurting so much she was surprised to even be alive, blinded by dust and... flames?

 

She rolled onto her back, looking up.

 

A series of purple scales filled her vision. She turned, watching a huge paw smash a genlock to the ground and crush it under its weight. The giant creature above her roared, shaking the entire stone structure and spitting flames. Shrieks of pain signaled that the darkspawn that had just arrived upstairs had been caught in the fire.

 

"A dragon." The elf squinted. The Archdemon, probably. But then why was it attacking the darspawn and not the two wounded and helpless Wardens?

 

She tried to spot Alistair in the midst of flames and roars, bracing herself on her elbows to sit up, grinding her teeth in pain. The Warden was a few feet away from her, still unconscious, a patch of blood beneath him. She crawled toward him, to... Do what? It's going to roast us all.

 

Perfect timing, just her luck. It wasn't enough to have a horde of darkwpasn and an ogre, of course not, a dragon had to come along and join the party. She glanced at her sword, which was too far away for her to even think about reaching it, and she wouldn't have the strength to lift it anyway...

 

Sorry father, I've lost it.

 

She reached for Alistair with a grunt of pain. The warden's sword, it was lighter then hers and lay on the ground, still in his grip. Aenor picked it up, using it as a cutch to get to her feet.

 

The dragon's paw was not far from her.

 

She took two steps forward, staggering, her vision clouded by pain and smoke. The scorching air burned her face, making it almost impossible for her to breathe. She raised her sword, dropping it weakly on one of the beast's fingers, barely tingling it.

 

The dragon roared, sweeping the weapon away as if it was nothing, then trapping the elf under its paw. It turned to look at her, jaws gaping in a roar, hot breath searing her skin, white fangs gleaming menacingly in the light of the flames, inches from her face.

 

Beautiful. Aenor found herself thinking.

 

"Come on." She sputtered, a trickle of blood dripping from her lips. She smiled at the creature, her body shutting down.

 

The dragon stared at her for a moment, pupils as glowing embers while everything else plunged into darkness. Suddenly, she felt herself being lifted off the ground with a tug.

 

She opened her eyes again: the burning tower was below her, as the ground grew farther and farther away, the silhouettes smaller and smaller. The dragon's paw was locked firmly around her, preventing her from falling as she dangled in the void. She cast a glance to her right, and saw Alistair being carried in the same manner.

 

I'm going crazy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The furs on which she lay were soft and smelled of herbs and incense. She made to turn around, but a twinge in her side cut off her breath, immobilizing her.


"You're awake." A voice spoke. She knew it. "You took a big risk, ma vhenan."


"Tamlen?" She croaked, her voice hoarse and feeble. The boy smiled at her, gently stroking her cheek. "Are you... alive?" She stammered, incredulous.


"Of course, Lethallan. You're the one we have to worry about now." He answered her, still smiling. He looked relaxed, his blond hair falling softly over his eyes, partially covering the vallaslin painted on his face.


Aenor didn't understand. "But... I thought you were..."


The other gently took her face in his hands, looking into her eyes, reassuringly. She relaxed, almost forgetting about the pain that seemed to burn her entire body. When his soft lips touched hers, she let out a happy sigh.


Tamlen suddenly pulled away from her. Aenor made to pull herself up and grab his sleeve, but he had already puffed into thin air.


"No!"


She let out a groan of pain. Gasping, she looked around. She was not in one of her clan's aravels, but lying in a bed in a wooden room, next to a small table on which sat a brew that sent out a strong herbal smell and a bowl containing a greenish, spicy mixture. The door creaked open, letting in a woman who removed a purple hood from her head, letting small piles of snow fall to the floor and melt on the ground.


"Ah, I see you're awake." The newcomer greeted her. "Mother will be pleased."


Aenor blinked several times, incredulous. "Morrigan?"


The witch of the Wilds bowed her head with smirk. "Good, you haven't forgotten everything then. Tell me, can you remember how my mother saved you?" She asked her, approaching the bed. She pulled the covers off her, feeling her side and examining her bandages. She looked smug. She brushed her head, also covered in bandages, waiting for an answer.


"Mother?" She remembered being at the top of the tower. They'd killed the ogre, then managed to send the signal, but more monsters had come, and then... "A dragon!" She exclaimed. "There was a dragon, breathing fire and-" She stopped abruptly, the memory slowly resurfacing. "I tried to kill it. Then it wanted to eat me." How was she still alive? "I was flying...?" She mumbled, unsure of what happened next. Where was the dragon? How did she get away? What was she doing in the middle of the Wilds?


"That was, in fact, my mother." Said Morrigan. Meeting the elf's incredulous gaze, she let out a chuckle. "Did you think that all a witch of the Wilds could do was turn unwary travelers into toads and cook them for dinner?"


Aenor stood staring at her open-mouthed. Could it be that the old woman could actually turn herself into a huge, fire-breathing dragon?

 

"Don's stare slack-jawed." Morrigan laughed, touching her chin. "Now, hold still, I need to check the rest of your bandages." She turned her on her back, smearing some of the ointment oh her wounds, gently feeling her sternum and going down to apply slight pressure to her ribs below her breasts. The elf moaned in pain, but the woman ignored her. "It seems the wounds have healed. I wouldn't start running around for at least a couple of weeks if I were you, though, bones aren't that easy to put back together, and you had quite a few broken ones. For your back, dragon fire is a nuisance, but apparently you were asking for it...what were you thinking?" She spoke without expecting an answer, continuing to examine the various wounds and grazes that were healing. She handed her the brew. "Drink this, it quenches thirst and is great for internal injuries. I've had to give you a lot of it these days."


The elf took small sips, surprised at how bitter it was, recognizing a few of the herbs in it. She frowned, pushing the glass away. "How long has it been?"


Morrigan signaled for her to continue drinking. "A week or so. Drink it all up."


A week? "Did we win or lose? How did it end?" She asked, bringing the glass to her lips again and taking another sip.


"The battle, you mean? The man who was supposed to answer the signal walked away from the fight and the darkspawn won." The witch replied in a dry tone, her yellow eyes betraying no emotion. "Those who remained, were slaughtered. Your friend is not taking it well."


"Friend?"

"The suspicious-looking fool you were traveling with earlier, yes. He's out here by the fire." She replied. "Mother asked to see you when you woke up. Can you make it out of bed?"


Aenor nodded, hesitant. She set the empty glass down on the coffee table, gratefully accepting the wooden crutch Morrigan handed her to help her get up. She wrapped herself in the heavy wool shawl that the woman put on her shoulders.


With a tremendous effort, she limped to the front door, feeling pain everywhere. The cold air hit her face, snowflakes landing on her nose. She approached the fire, which was crackling in front of the hut. A figure was standing in front of it. Hearing the door open, he turned sharply.


"You're alive!" Alistair exclaimed incredulously. "I thought..."


"I'm fine. More or less." Aenor interrupted him. "You?"


The warden shook his head. "I don't... We lost the battle. They are all dead, Duncan, the King.... Loghain never responded to our signal." He clenched his fists, driving his nails into the palms. "Why would he do such a thing?"


Aenor stood motionlessly at him, not knowing what to answer. What did she know? From the way everyone had seemed to hang on the commander's every word, Loghain had to be an expert in battles. And he was definitely close to the king, otherwise he couldn't have contradicted him so often without repercussions... right? So why abandon them?


"Now that's a very good question." Morrigan's mother interrupted them, approaching them. "What lurks in the hearts of men is even darker than any darkspawn.... Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can overpower. Perhaps he fails to recognize that the evil behind it is the real threat."


"The Archdemon." Alistair said.


Aenor finally decided to ask what it was.


"It is said that long ago, the Maker locked the ancient gods of Tevinter in prisons deep within the earth. An archdemon is one of these ancient gods, awakened and corrupted by the darkspawn. The story goes that they are fearsome and immortal creatures." The old woman said.


"Well, whatever the reason for Loghain's madness, he clearly thinks the Blight is not a threat. We need to warn everyone." Alistair seemed to have already decided what to do.


Aenor glared at him. If the Warden was going to embark on such a venture, be her guest. She wasn't looking forward to facing another dragon in the near future. Speaking of dragons... "You saved us, thank you." She said to the woman. "And I'm sorry about..."

 

The old woman burst into an amused giggle. "For what, tickling me? I was surprised though, you didn't even look like you could stand up."

 

Aenor leaned against the hanger, lightly pressing her side that was starting to throb painfully again. "Well, thanks anyway..." She realized she still didn't know his name.

 

"You can call me Flemeth." She replied.

 

The elf widened her eyes. "Asha'bellanar?" She whispered, making to bow before the old woman.

 

She stopped her immediately, reassuring her. "No, just an old woman with the same name."

 

Aenor apologized, still staring at her from behind. A witch who could turn into a dragon, extremely powerful, who shared the name with the Woman of Many Years... What if the human wasn't telling the whole truth?

 

"I think we should go to Arl Eamon. He wasn't at Ostagar and all his are still in Redcliffe. And he was Cailan's uncle." Alistair explained. "I know him, he is a good man, respected by all the nobles. We'll go to Redcliffe and ask him for help!" He seemed sure of his plan. "Once he learns of Loghain's treachery, he will rally all the nobles to dethrone him."

 

"Such determination, young man!" Flemeth exclaimed. "Interesting."

 

Morrigan peeped through the door, announcing that dinner was ready. The three of them re-entered the hut, sitting around a wooden table. The soup simmering in the pot smelled delicious and Aenor felt her stomach mumble with hunger. Morrigan poured her a generous portion, which the elf brushed off with large spoonfuls, then took more.

 

"I don't know if Aemon's men will be enough." Broke the silence Alistair. "Redcliffe can't defeat a Blight alone."

 

Aenor remained silent, stirring the soup with her spoon. The idea of leaving as soon as she was better was still buzzing in her head.

 

"Of course!" The Warden exclaimed after a few minutes, brightening up and still talking to himself "The Treaties!"

 

The elf turned to look at him, confused.

 

"The Grey Wardens can ask elves, dwarves, mages and others for help during a Blight! All are obligated to lend them aid." He explained beaming. "We just have to..."

 

"Go all over Ferelden and gather an army, with just two people? Piece of cake, truly." Morrigan interjected.

 

Alistair ignored her, turning to look at Aenor. "We can do this, right?"

 

The girl swallowed a sip of soup, not knowing how to answer. She nodded, uncertain. "Maybe."

 

"A 'maybe' is better than nothing!" Rebutted the other. "We have to do something, we're the last remaining Grey Wardens! If we don't stop the Blight..." He let the sentence fall on deaf ears.

 

Silence fell again. Aenor looked intently at the empty plate. She grabbed some bread and munched on it, no longer hungry. There are others outside Ferelden, true Wardens, they could do it. Why does it have to be me?

 

"Before you go anywhere, I suggest you heal your wounds and get better. You will leave as soon as you are able to." Flemeth said, looking at her like she could read her mind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They stayed in the hut for another two weeks, under the care of Flemeth and Morrigan. The young witch changed their bandages regularly, applying concoctions and ointments, while occasionally her mother recited some healing spells.

 

Morrigan seemed to look forward to their guests leaving and did not get along at all with Alistair. The two of them were constantly pecking at each other, or barely speaking at all. Aenor hoped to get rid of both of them quickly, but wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of leaving Alistair to deal with all that mess on his own.

 

Finally, they were judged ready to leave. Morrigan had retrieved some weapons from the battlefield, which the two Wardens strapped to their belts. Aenor felt the lack of a good two-handed sword and missed dearly her father's, but weighing the shortsword in her hand she had to admit that it was better than nothing. Alistair secured a small round metal shield behind his back, slipping a shortsword into his empty scabbard with some difficulty.

 

"There's one last thing." Flemeth said to them, standing in the doorway of the hut.

 

"Mother, let them go or it will be so late that they will be forced to stay another night." Morrigan interjected, stepping out into the sunlight as well. The sky had cleared, and melted the thin layer of snow that had fallen in the previous days. Perfect weather for traveling, if one wasn't afraid of getting muddy.

 

"The Grey Wardens are leaving, girl. And you're going with them." Flemeth replied.

 

Morrigan widened her eyes in surprise. "What?!"

 

"You heard me just fine, girl. Last time I checked, you had a pair of ears."

 

Aenor stepped in for the young woman. "It's fine, there's no need to-”

 

"Oh, she's wanted to get out of the Wilds for years. And this is an excellent opportunity. As for you, Wardens, consider this your debt to me." Said the elder.

 

The elf shrugged her shoulders. "As you wish."

 

"Not to... look a gift witch in the mouth, but won't she cause us trouble? Outside the Wilds, she's an apostate." Alistair interjected, clearly not wanting the sorceress's company.

 

"If you didn't want the help of us hedge witches, young man, you could have stayed on that tower." Flemeth retorted with a grin, ending the talking.

Chapter 9: Lothering

Summary:

The Wardens get to Lothering.
Aenor thinks Leliana's crazy but doesn't flinch when she meets Sten, and Morrigan starts to wonder why everyone they pick up seem to be a nutjob.
Plus, a cameo of someone who lived in Lothering 'til the Blight came.

Chapter Text

It took them a few days to get out of the woods and reach the Imperial Highway. Morrigan had suggested they head to a nearby village, Lothering, whose trade was flourishing thanks to its strategic location at the meeting point of the roads leading to Denerim, the capital, Redcliffe and Orzammar, but also outside the borders of Ferelden, towards Orlais.

On the way, they had met the wounded mabari from Ostagar, who now looked healty and had supposedly followed Aenor's scent all the way to them.

"How strange. We have a dog now, yet Alistair remains the dumbest in the group." Morrigan had commented, chuckling in the direction of the Warden. Alistair had ignored her, sitting on the ground intent on petting the mabari on his belly. “Falon” Aenor had called him, friend in Elvish. And Falon had immediately proved to be a good friend, helping them fend off some darkspawn.

The closer they got to Lothering, tho, the more numerous the groups and caravans of people fleeing the Horde became. Wounded soldiers, civilians carrying what little they'd managed to save on their backs, ragamuffins who'd probably been in the army's retinue, all paraded headlong past abandoned farms, burning ruins and corpses left by the side of the road.

They came in sight of the village around noon: refugee tents were everywhere and smoke from small fires filled the air with the scent of food.

"Halt!" Shouted a man parading himself in the middle of the road, followed by half a dozen others like him. "There's a toll enter the village." He put a hand on the hilt of his sword, trying to intimidate the small group.

"Ah, it seems that foolishness is spreading faster than the Blight..." Morrigan commented, raising an eyebrow and looking at them in amusement.

Aenor drew her shortsword, taking a few steps towards the man and staring him straight in the eye. "Get out of my way." She intimated to him. It had been a rough few days, Morrigan and Alistair had done nothing but argue, while the constant caravan of wounded and the stench of corpses had drawn her in a particularly bad mood. She was looking forward to a hot meal and a few hours of rest without fear being ambushed, and a couple of idiot shemlens would not delay her.

The man swallowed hard, staring at her vallaslin and pointed ears. "No matter who you are, the rule is you have to pay." He repeated, though with less conviction, making to draw his own weapon.

Before he could even get it halfway out, he found the hilt of Aenor's sword between his ribs. He went down with a groan, spitting out a drop of blood.

His companions immediately threw themselves at the elf but were stunned by Morrigan's spell, which slowed them down enough for Alistair, Aenor, and the mabari to take them down without a problem.

The elf bent down to rummage through the corpses, retrieving a pouch filled with silver coins. The weapons the bandits were carrying weren't worth their weight, so they left them there with the rest of the confiscated items: surely in a few minutes one of the beggars around would have rushed to see what they could collect.

They entered the village, finding by a large number of people. Aenor looked around, dazed by all those shems. Falon followed her trotting along, his nose pointing upwards to follow the various scents. They passed the main square. Someone was screaming at the top of their lungs, drawing a small crowd.

"There's no hope! They will take us all, they will eat the hearts of your children, evil will descend upon us all!" The man shouted like a madman. The audience exchanged terrified looks, some cried, others whispered that the chasind was right, there was no escape.

Aenor stood for a moment looking at the scene, uncertain.

Alistair tapped her shoulder. "We should say something, shouldn't we?"

"And what is that?" She asked him. "He's probably right. These people have never picked up a sword and a whole army of well-trained soldiers, including the famous Grey Wardens, were wiped out within half a day." She shook her head, moving further and leaving the man to his screaming. "Within a few days, they'll all be dead too." She mumbled, but the other Warden seemed not to have heard her. She turned to look for him.

Alistair had remained in the small crowd, frowning.

"Looks like the idiot's having some trouble dealing with reality." Morrigan commented, clearly finding the whole situation immensely amusing.

They stood by as Alistair faced the Chasind, who had stopped screaming to look at him questioningly.

"Listen up!" Alistair raised his voice, making sure everyone could hear him. "You must not lose hope! The templars and soldiers here will protect you!"

A few of those present nodded, a couple shouted their approval.

The Chasind squinted, looking at him shocked. "I can feel the evil within you! The darkspawn will kill us all, I tell you! Just as they destroyed the king's army, they will wipe this place out!" He shouted, pointing at Alistair with a trembling hand.

The warden seemed in distress, looking around for help from his companions. Aenor looked at him in turn and crossing her arms in front of her chest. You're on your own...

Alistair shrugged, building up his courage. "The darkspawn is not unbeatable! I've killed a few myself, and there are dozens of men more capable than me here, fighting for the good people of Lohering!" He retorted. "And you, you're a big man, you should use that sword you carry on your shoulders to defend these people, not scare them to death! Or are you a coward?"

The other stood open-mouthed staring at him, embarrassed by his words. "No, I..."

"Yeah!" "Tell him!" Someone shouted. Alistair puffed out his chest, daring him to reply.

The big man backed away a few steps. "Well, you're probably right..."

The Warden nodded in conviction, then turned back to the crowd. "There's always hope!" He declared, and then reached out to Aenor and Morrigan, who had remained watching him on the sidelines.

"Strange, for someone who until a couple of days ago was crying over the deaths of his companions, you seem to have recovered well." Morrigan told him.

"I don't know how much good that will do." Said Aenor, who nevertheless admired the Warden's words. Throughout the trip Alistair had remained silent, frowning, but it seemed that the resolve that had gripped him in Flemeth's hut had only strengthened.

"Better than leaving them in fear." He retorted. "We're Grey Wardens, it's our job."

They entered the chantry, seeking information on the fate of the army and of Teyrn Loghain. They were greeted by a templar, who asked them if they needed anything.

"Information." Answered Alistair, who was the one in the group that drew the least attention. "We were in the army..."

The templar nodded, understanding. "Yes, there are many here who tell a story like yours. Unfortunately, there is no room for more refugees in Lothering, but you can take some supplies for the journey and camp nearby for a few days." He replied. "What do you want to know?"

"Thank you, we did not intend to stay long anyway. The king, we heard he died..." Alistair replied, growing gloomy.

"They say... they say that the Grey Wardens murdered him. That they are traitors, and have conspired to take the kingdom, wresting it from our beloved King Cailan." The templar replied, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I personally find it hard to believe, but it is Teyrn Loghain himself who has announced this, back from Ostagar, and the Teyrn is a man of honor." He shook his head, distraught. "The king trusted the Wardens.... The army has been wiped out, the darkspawn will be here in days and we don't have enough men to defend the city."

"Have faith, ser." Alistair tried to comfort him. His gaze settled on the templar's shoulders. Aenor saw him narrow his eyes, as if trying to recognize someone. He the walked towards the back of the chantry, approaching a knight who was flipping through some books on a shelf.

"Alistair?" The knight asked, almost dropping the book. "What are you doing here?"

The other greeted him in turn. "We were at Ostagar. We're trying to get to Arl Eamon."

The knight grimaced tensely. "Then I'm afraid I have bad news for you... the Arl is ill. And no one has found a cure, so all the knights of Redcliffe have been sent on a quest to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes. We're even relying on legends, how desperate we are."

"The Urn of Sacred Ashes?" Aenor asked, having never heard of it before.

"The Alr is sick?!" Alistair ignored her, visibly upset. "How is that possible? How long has it been?!"

The knight shrugged. "Two weeks or so. He suddenly collapsed and hasn't woken up since."

"That's terrible!" Alistair exclaimed. "We must get to Redcliffe immediately and find out what happened."

"I wish you luck, the roads are getting more and more dangerous." Waved the knight.

They walked out of the church, exchanging looks full of despondency.

"Arl Aemon is ill and Loghain wasted no time in blaming it all on the Grey Wardens... now everyone thinks we betrayed the kingdom and he can rule undisturbed in place of his daughter, the queen! And without Aemon, there is no one among the nobles who can stand up to him." Snarled Alistair, careful not to be overheard.

"From bad to worse..." Aenor commented, looking around. Her attention was caught by a small group of people, gathered around a wagon loaded with goods. She walked over to investigate. A woman dressed in chantry colors was arguing loudly with what was clearly the merchant who owned the wagon.

"These people can't afford to pay that much for basic necessities!" Said the woman, raising her voice. "Most of these things you bought cheaply from the same people you now want to sell them back to, at four times their original value!"

The merchant did not seem impressed. "It's business, sister, nothing personal. If they can't afford my stuff, then go buy from someone else." He noticed the three newcomers, and signaled for them to approach. "Hey, you! If you get these nuisances off my back, I'll give you a discount on the goods you buy!" He yelled.

Aenor approached, spotting a nice two-handed sword sticking out of the wagon. It was probably just the right size for her, looking sharp enough and well made. "How much for that?" She asked the merchant, pointing to the weapon.

The one lit up, his beady eyes gleaming with greed. "Fourty gold coins. It's a bargain, believe me, you won't find a better one around here! Of fine steel and splendid workmanship!"

He was evidently inflating the price. "I say you can give it to me as a gift. And avoid starving these people, who have more than enough problems as it is."

The shem burst out laughing in her face. "Are you crazy, knife-ears?" He made a gesture with his hand, as if to chase her away. "Go away, rabbit, I don't have time to waste!" He turned to cover the displayed goods, his back towards the elf.

Aenor drew her shortsword and before the merchant could even realize what was happening, she hit him with the pommel on the temple. He fell to the ground with a groan, unconscious, dragging part of the merchandise behind him, which scattered with a loud clatter. The chantry woman screamed, startled, but a couple of people around them let out shouts of approval. Aenor ignored them all, retrieving the two-handed sword from the wagon and testing its balance and blade, satisfied. She secured it to her shoulders, also taking a breastplate from the pile and measuring it to see if it was her size. It needed adjusting, but it would do.

She then turned to Alistair and Morrigan, who both seemed to approve for once. "See if you need anything. If not, these people will certainly know how to make use of it."

"You... You don't want anything in return?" stammered the chantry woman, unsure of what to do.

"You have nothing I need." Replied the elf, finishing strapping on the her armor. It wasn't nearly as good as the Warden's one she was given at Ostagar, but both hers and Alistair's were damaged beyond repair in the battle.

The woman hurried to examine the goods on the wagon, helped by the other three who accompanied her. Alistair found new boots to replace his own that were falling apart, and some armor that fit him well.

They then walked in the direction of the tavern, a rather large wooden building overlooking the small square that faced the river.

The interior was warm, crowded and loud. Men and women wandered around with mugs of beer and half-empty bags of provisions, while a man behind a large table was barking orders.

"We don't have any more rooms!" He yelled as soon as he saw the newcomers approaching. "And we don't offer beer to soldiers, I don't care where you're from or what you fought!"

Aenor placed a handful of silver coins in front of him, taken from the brigands they had faced earlier. "Give us all the dried meat, bread and cheese we can buy with these."

"And where would a knife-ear get all this money?" He asked her, nibbling at a coin suspiciously. He seemed satisfied, though, and disappeared out back.

"Good question." Said someone in an menacing tone.

They turned, watching five heavily armed men stand up and come towards them, threatening.

"Teyrn Loghain is looking for someone just like you, a tattooed knife-ear bitch and a dumb-looking boy. You are Grey Wardens, aren't you?" Said the man who had spoken earlier, drawing his sword. "He would rather have you alive, but I don't think he has any objection to us bringing you to him in small little pieces."

Aenor drew her weapon, pleased with how it felt in her hand. "You really think that's a good idea?"

"Hey, let's just take it easy..." Alistair tried to interject. "There's a lot of people here, and someone could get hurt if-"

"Make way!" Shouted Aenor abruptedly, before throwing herself at the leader, head down, clashing her swords with a loud clang. He responded to the blow but the elf was faster and more capable, even despite her recent wounds. She would have cut his head off with a well-aimed blow if it wasn't for a girl who stood in front of her with open arms, forcing her to stop inches from his throat.

"Are you crazy?!" She shouted at her, furious. The man took the opportunity to slip away, making to strike her in the side and catching her off guard.

The meddling girl, however, struck him in the head with a knife handle, causing him to stagger and giving Aenor the chance to kick him to the ground. Making sure the man stayed put by pointing her sword at his throat, she turned back to the other.

"What were you thinking?!"

The woman lift up her hands, holstering her weapon. She carried a bow and quiver full of arrows on her shoulders, and two knives strapped to her belt, which clashed with the Chantry Sister clothes she was wearing. Her auburn hair was cut into a bob, two braids hanging to the side. "There's no need to kill anyone, is there? These men must have realized they don't stand a chance..." She said, casting a glance toward Loghain's men, who exchanged a terrified look. One of them was being held by Alistair, who had disarmed him by hitting him straight in the face with his shield.

Aenor shook her head. "I don't think so." She growled, pressing the weapon against the leader's throat. The one sobbed in terror, feeling the blade spill blood.

"Stop!" The girl cried out, grabbing her arm. She had a surprisingly firm grip.

"I suggest you leave me, or you'll be next." The elf warned her in a threatening tone, not taking her eyes off the man on the ground.

"You are indeed Grey Wardens, are you not?" The girl continued, not letting her go. "I am here to help you, it is the task entrusted to me by the Maker."

Aenor burst out laughing, incredulous. "What the fuck?"

"The Maker has spoken to me. I am to come with you, to help you defeat the Blight."

"Oh, that's all right then." Aenor teased her, moving her sword slightly away from the man. "If the voices in your head are telling you so, please join us."

"Really?" The other asked her, surprised.

"No."

Aenor quickly turned back to the man, lifting the sword and driving it into his neck. She then stared at the others, pointing her blade at them. "You are next." She announced calmly, before charging at them and severing an arm of the nearest one, who fell to the ground with a deafening scream. Alistair slit the throat of the one he held captive, while Falon zeroed in on another's leg. In the end, only one remained.

"Mercy! Mercy, please!" He screamed in terror, holding his hands above his head, his weapons forgotten on the ground. "Don't kill me, I didn't even want to come here! I'm just following orders!"

Aenor pulled him up, grabbing him by the collar. "Then you should have been smart, and run."

"Please, just let me go! I won't say anything to anyone, I swear..."

"Surely he alone poses no danger." The girl dressed as a sister of the Chantry intruded again, blood on her clothes now and a disapproving look on her face.

"He will run to Loghain the moment we let him go." Aenor retorted, raising her sword to give him the killing blow. The other shouted at her again to stop, but the elf ignored her, severing the man's head with a clean stroke.

She wiped the blood from the blade with a rag taken from a table and then turned back to the innkeeper, pulling another five silver coins from the pouch on her belt. "For your trouble. And you can loot them as well, they're all yours!” She wiped the blood from the blade with a rag taken from a table, then turned to the innkeeper, pulling five more silver coins from the pouch she carried on her belt. "For your trouble." She said, tossing them onto the counter and grabbing the sack with the supplies the man had prepared for them, then exiting the tavern.

 

 

 

 

 

"Someone will talk." Alistair told her as they searched for a place to rest, just outside of town. "The news won't be long before it reaches Denerim."

"Good." Aenor retorted, throwing herself on the ground and rummaging through the bag for a piece of dried meat. "They'll also tell of how we slaughtered them and that will keep the next ones away."

"I wouldn't count on that." Commented the boy, sitting down as well and taking the pouch from her, then pulling out a piece of bread and one of cheese.

Falon whined, feeling ignored.

"Someone please feed the flea bag, at least he'll shut up." Said Morrigan, sitting not far away.

The elf handed the dog a bone with shreds of meat still attached, which the mabari happily munched on beside her.

"Have you seen the assignments on the Chantry's Notice Board?" Alistair asked her. "There's a reward of three gold coins for anyone who cleare the northern area of giant spiders."

At those words, Aenor shuddered, the memories of the cave she and Tamlen had explored still vivid. She hated spiders and always had, let alone after what had happened. "I'm not going anywhere near those things."

"Well, there was also a reward for taking out a few bandits, towards the road to Redcliffe."

"More bandits?" She asked with a grimace. "This place is always better."

"We could use the money..." He tried to convince.

"You're only doing this to protect the worthless inhabitants of this village, Alistair, let's not kid ourselves." Said Morrigan, intruding on the conversation.

"And what would be wrong in that?!" He retorted, offended. "Just because you've never felt emotions like pity or decency, it doesn't mean the rest of us have to be as cold-blooded as you!"

Before they could start bickering again, Aenor jumped to his feet. "Alright!" She blurted, silencing them both. "We'll take out these bandits and get the reward, at least we'll be able to buy more food."

They headed north, following the riverbank and coming up behind a field, barren of every edible thing that once grew there.

"Are they supposed to be around here...?" Alistair said, looking around and pointing to a hill in front of them. "Maybe they're hiding back there."

"Trust me, as soon as they see three adventurers, they'll pounce on us in a heartbeat." Aenor assured them with a half smile.

They found the bandits after not even an hour, when they were attacked in what the thugs believed to be a cunning ambush. After a heated confrontation the last of them, the leader probably, threw himself to the ground, begging for mercy.

"I don't think so." Morrigan said with an amused grin, twirling his magic staff and shooting a jet of sparks at the man who, already wounded, collapsed in spasms.

Aenor searched his pockets, retrieving even some gold coins and a key. The chest, which they found hidden behind a rock just ahead, contained a pair of expensive-looking jewels, which they could sell for a good profit, and a dagger with an ornate hilt.

"Nice." Commented the elf, putting it in her belt. "Well, I say we set off to get our reward..."

On the way back to the village, a large group of peasants cut them off.

"You are the Grey Wardens!" Said one of them, armed with a butcher knife.

Aenor raised an eyebrow. They were a dozen people, maybe a couple more, wearing everyday clothes and armed only with small everyday knives or tools for working the fields. She exchanged a look with Morrigan, amused. "And you're a bunch of extremely stupid humans, if you think this is a good idea.”

"We just took out some bandits just up the road and basically didn't get a scratch." Alistair chimed in. "Step aside, nothing they've promised as reward is worth dying for."

"It's nothing personal, ser!" Replied an elderly man, who could hardly stand. "The reward Teyrn Loghain offered will feed all our families..."

Five came forward, running towards them.

Aenor mowed down two of them with ease, spinning her sword around and cutting through their armorless flesh as if it were made of butter. Alistair had stunned one with his shield, hitting another with the back pf his sword: they both fell to the ground, unconscious but alive. The last one was attacked by the mabari, who threw himself on the man's leg with a ferocious growl, making him scream in pain and fall to the ground, trying to free himself from the powerful jaws of the hound.

At the sight of the scene, the others stopped, freezing.

"Last chance." She warned the elf menacingly, the tip of her sword held high towards them, dripping blood.

They exchanged some frightened looks. A couple of them ran off towards the village, but the older man who had spoken earlier let out a shout, limping towards them, his knife raised.

Aenor shook her head, twirling the weapon and aiming for his neck. A dull thud signaled that the head had gone rolling, but she had already lunged at the next one.

 

 

 

 

Within moments, it was over.

They looked around at each other in a pool of blood. Some groaned in pain, but most were dead or unconscious.

"You shouldn't have killed them!" Alistair said, looking at the old man's corpse.

"I warned them." The elf replied dryly. She spat a lump of blood on the ground, wiping her cut lip where one of the bandits from earlier had managed to center her with a headbutt. "Stupid shemlens chose their own fate."

“They were desperate!”

“Aren't we all...” Morrigan laughed, brushing a hand though her hair.

They sent Alistair to retrieve the bounty money on the bandits, while Morrigan and Aenor found a place to camp for the night.

The boy returned after a short time, sitting down next to his companions and tossing Aenor the bag of newly recovered coins. "Did you take a look at the Treaties?" He asked her. "We should decide where to go."

"I thought you wanted to go to Redcliffe."

"Yes, well, but there are others we could ask for help too. Elves, dwarves... Maybe there's something useful in there about how to actually use the Treaties."

"Then why didn't you look at them?" She retorted, taking a sip of water.

"You have them in your bag. I thought you kept them so you could look at them at your leisure."

"Oh, yeah." With everything that had happened since they'd found them, she'd forgotten she'd kept them in her purse and not even handed them to Duncan. She pulled them from her shoulder strap, they were a little crumpled but the leather case looked durable and waterproof.

"Here." She said, handing them to Alistair.

The other reached out his hand, flipping through them. "Hm, there's nothing useful in it, except that we're able to ask for soldiers from anyone during a Blight. We might as well invoke the Right of Conscription..."

"Forget it." Aenor interrupted him in a harsh voice. It still burned her to have been dragged away from her clan, she would not to the same thing to anyone.

"Sorry. I forgot..." Alistair scratched the back of his head, uncomfortable. "What was it like? Your clan, I mean."

Aenor shrugged. She didn't feel like talking about it, that wound was still too recent and painful. "I'll go fill the canteens." She said, signaling Falon to follow her. The hound stood up, following her wagging his tail toward the river.

They ended up going through the entire town, coming out the opposite way they had come. A cage caught her eye: it was large, enough to hold a man inside, but not allow him to sit. She approached it, curious.

From behind the bars, a man taller than any she had ever seen looked up, aiming a pair of purple eyes into hers. He was copper-skinned and wore his white hair styled in braids and tied behind the nape of his neck in a ponytail.

"You are not one of the humans of this village."The giant broke the silence. "Who are you?"

"Aenor." She replied. "I am an elf, not a human, and I'm a Dalish Hunter."

"And what are you doing here, Aenor of the Dalish?" The man asked her again. "Have you come to mock me and insult me like the others?"

The elf approached the cage further. "Why should I?" The mabari sniffed at the man, intrigued. "Why were you locked in here?"

"I killed some farmers." Replied the prisoner. "And I have been condemned to wait here for the arrival of the darkspawn."

Aenor weighed his answer. "Why did you kill them?"

The other sighed, as if he considered it all a great nuisance. "I panicked and those peasants were nearby."

"You seem to be more than capable of using a sword."

"I am. Why do you care?"

"I'm also a Grey Warden. My companions and I are trying to stop the Blight." She explained.

"I have heard of the Grey Wardens. I was sent here to investigate this Blight and my task was to return from the Arishok with answers."

Aenor had no idea who or what she was talking about. "Who?"

"The Arishok, he's the ruler of the Qunari army."

"Qunari?!" She had never met one, but they were renowned warriors of extraordinary strength, feared in all countries. Their war against the Tevinter had been going on for hundreds of years... She looked at the lock. There seemed to be no way to break it easily.

"Who has the keys?" She asked him.

"The old woman from the Chantry."

“Wait here.” Aenor said, then walked away in the direction of the building. She was going to ask the old woman to give her the keys, nicely or otherwise.

"What did you have to chat about with that Qunari?" A voice asked her.

She turned her head, instinctively bringing a hand behind her back, grabbing her sword. A man stood in front of her, his black hair and neatly trimmed beard kept short, his blue eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Hey, don't worry, I wasn't going to tell on you!" He hastened to say. "I'm not a big fan of the Chantry either."

"Oh yeah? Good for you." Cut the elf short, making to leave.

She's never gonna give you the keys, you know that, right?" He chased after her. "You'd better open the lock now, without anyone seeing you."

Aenor stopped, annoyed. "I can't pick a lock and unless you're offering to do it..." She clearly signaled for him to get out of her way.

The other flashed a grin. "There are other ways to open that cage." He said, winking at her. "Come on, let's see what we can do."

They returned to face the Qunari, who stared at them with a blank expression. "Yuoi changed your mind?"

Aenor crossed her arms, turning to face the nosy man. "Well? What now?"

The man smiled at her one more time, before extending both hands over the lock. Those glowed as if with their own light and a thick layer of ice appeared on the metal.

"Try to hit it, as hard as you can." He told her, ignoring the surprise on the elf's face.

"You're a mage!"

"And you're a Grey Warden." He giggled. "I saw you at the inn. You need all the help you can get, with the entire kingdom believing you to be traitors... even that of us apotates."

“I have no problem with that, but...” She shook her head, surprised. “I wasn't expecting this, that's it.”

"I won't say anything if you do the same." Continued the man. "Now, if you get a move on..."

Aenor bent down to pick up a stone from the ground, slamming it with all the force she had against the lock, which broke at the second blow. The Qunari, however, remained inside, scrutinizing the mage grimly.

"Look, you may as well come out." The one told him. "You're free."

"I got captured of my own free will." The Qunari retorted. "And I don't trust mages."

The man shrugged. "Now you'll make me cry."

"Instead of waiting to die inside a cage, you can help us stop the darkspawn, like you Arithing told you to do." Aenor said to the Qunari. "And if you really want to die, you can do it by fighting one of those monsters. Anyway, it's your choice, do as you wish."

That one seemed to think about it, but then bowed his head. "All right, Aenor of the Dalish and the Grey Wardens. I am Sten."

“Welcome aboard, Sten.” The elf nodded in turn. Then, she grabbed the hilt of her sword with a suspicious glare at him. “If you're gonna come with us, tho, you need to be fine with working with mages. That's mandatory.”

The Qunari took a few moments to answer. “If it is your wish, then we have bigger concerns than a mage. But they need to be kept in check.”

Good luck with that. Aenor thought, thinking about Morrigan. She can take care of herself...

"Well, looks like I've done my good deed for the day." Commented the mage beside them, scratching his beard. "I'll be on my way now. Good luck saving the world."

"Lothering will soon be overrun." Aenor stopped him. "You'd better leave while you still can." She advised him, though it was an obvious thing to say.

The other gestured as if to shoo a fly. "Don't worry, I'll be fine." He told her, turning and starting to walk away. "It's not that easy to kill a Hawke!"

The elf shook her head. What a strange shem... she thought, as she and the Qunari walked back to Alistair and Morrigan. "You'll need a sword." Aenor said to Sten, "And some armor."

"Yes." Replied the other laconically.

"We recovered a good sword earlier. You can take that one."

"My thanks."

Without another word they reached the others, only to find that there was someone new with them.

The girl from the tavern was sitting next to Alistair and they were engaged in a concitated conersation. They both looked up at their arrival, surprised at the presence of the Qunari giant.

"Who's he?" Alistair asked, snapping to his feet.

"This is Sten." Aenor replied. "Who invited the lunatic?"

"Don't look at me..." Morrigan interjected, looking at the red-haired girl with ill-concealed disgust.

"Hey!" The boy rebuked her. "If she wants to help us out, why refuse?"

"Because she talks to the voices in her head, Alistair." The elf replied sharply.

The red-haired coughed, clearing her throat. "I never said I was talking to voices." She objected. "The Maker has given me a task, and I intend to follow it. Let me come with you."

Aenor raised his voice. "Forget it."

"You're a Dalish, aren't you?" The woman asked her. "I know you don't believe in the Maker, but I could be useful to you. You've seen what I'm capable of, I can shoot arrows, use daggers, pick locks and things like that.... No one here has the same skills as I do. And it doesn't matter why I do it, the important thing is that I want to help you, right?"

"Come on, Aenor, Leliana's right!" Alistair chimed in, giving her a pleading look.

"Why do you care so much?" Blurted the elf.

"Because no one ever talks to me and maybe she'll teach me how to chat with the voices in my head, to chase away the loneliness." He replied, trying to be funny. "You recruited him too, didn't you?" He said, pointing to Sten, who had meanwhile been standing by, aloof and silent.

Aenor sighed. "All right. But I don't want to hear a single word about the Maker, divine tasks and whatnot. And once we get to Redcliffe..." She fell silent. She didn't know if she was still on the idea of leaving, but she certainly couldn't say it out loud. "Once we get to Redcliffe, we'll see what's next." She concluded, picking up her backpack and placing it over one shoulder. "We have to go, anyway. They'll be looking for us soon. We can camp a bit further away."

"Why, what else did you do?" Alistair asked her, alarmed.

"Nothing much. I just freed Sten, here, from a cage where the Chantry had locked him up."

Ignoring the boy's heated protests, she signaled Morrigan to put out the fire.

"I brought a mule." Leliana spoke up, pointing to an animal ruminating not far away. "I thought it was a good idea, given how many things we'd have to take with us on the journey..."

"Did the voices suggest that too?" Morrigan sneered at her, nevertheless approaching the animal to load it up with her things.

Soon, they were back on the Imperial Highway, turning left at the crossroad and heading for Redcliffe. Alistair tried to ask Sten what he was imprisoned for, but the qunari continued to ignore him bluntly, his face a blank stone mask.

Chapter 10: Redcliffe

Summary:

The party gets to Redcliffe, it's a big mess, Aenor and Alistair have a fight.
Elissa Cousland can't catch a break.

Chapter Text

After a couple of days of travel, they camped for the night near the village of Redcliffe, with the intention of reaching it the next morning. They had met no travelers and, from the hill on which they were standing, the village appeared silent. Lake Calenhad, behind it, stretched as far as the eye could see, barely reflecting the few dim lights of the village.

It was a dark night and the thick layer of clouds that had accompanied them all day showed no sign of clearing.

"Aenor, may I speak with you for a moment?" Alistair asked the elf once they had set up their bedrolls on the ground and Morrigan was tending to the soup.

The girl nodded, following him out of the light cast by the bonfire.

"What's going on?"

Alistair looked tense, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and staring beyond her. Clearly, he didn't know where to begin, but what he was about to tell her was important to him.

"You know I grew up in Redcliffe, right?" He finally decided to speak. "Arl Eamon raised me, until I was sent by the Chantry to become a Templar..."

Aenor nodded for him to continue, having no idea where he was going with this.

"So, what I didn't tell you is that Aemon knew very well who I was... and that's why he kept me around as long as he could. My father..." He paused again, taking a deep breath. "My father was King Maric." He revealed, lowering his gaze to the ground. After a few moments, receiving no acknowledgment from the girl, he glared at her. "Maric. You know. The king?"

The girl stood staring at him for a few moments, silent.

"So... King Cailan was your brother?" She finally asked him.

"Half-brother, technically."

Silence again.

“So that's why you're such an idiot!"

"Hey!" Alistair exclaimed, wincing. "I'm sensible, don't be so mean!"

"So? Is that supposed to change anything?" She asked with a shrug.

The other seemed taken aback by the question. "Well, I didn't want to tell you because.... Usually as soon as someone finds out I'm the bastard son of a king, they start treating me differently. Even Duncan kept me out of the battle to protect me. I thought that-"

"Nah." Aenor interrupted him. "You were a dumb shem before and you're still a dumbass after knowing this, it doesn't change where you got it from."

"Thanks...I guess. I don't know if I should be offended or heartened."

"Anything else to tell me?" She asked. "I don't know... do you have a dragon as a pet, or a secret weapon to defeat the Archdemon? You know, something actually useful to know."

Alistair burst out laughing. "If I had a dragon, I think you would have noticed by now, right?" He shook his head, visibly relieved. "Anyway, I'll let you know if I find an epic weapon in our dinner stew."

Falon came wagging his tail, a bone in his mouth, probably given to him by Morrigan to get him off her back while she was cooking. The mabari set down to gnaw on it, glancing occasionally at the two Wardens, intent on staring at the village below them.

"It looks too quiet." Alistair commented. "I remember it being more... lively."

"And we haven't met anyone on the road all day."

They were silent for a while, each lost in their own thoughts.

"I'm sorry, that you got dragged into this, you know?" He said. "It must have been horrible to be taken away from your family.... I was happy when Duncan came to get me, chantry life wasn't really my thing. But I know how you feel."

"No you don't." She interrupted him. "You can't." She clenched her fists, her thoughts flying to the ruins where she had lost Tamlen. What could he possibly know?

Alistair blushed, panicking. "You're right, I'm sorry. It's just... Duncan saved your life, didn't he? He told me about temporarily stopping the Taint, and taking you with him to-"

"He didn't save my life. He forced me to go with him to Ostagar. And now that he's dead..." She bit her lip, falling silent once again.

"Now that he's dead, what...?" Alistair repeated. "What are you planning?"

"Now that he's dead, I might as well walk away." She barely whispered it, turning to the side.

"What?!" Blurted Alistair, almost screaming. "Do you even realize what you're saying?! We're the only ones left, the only ones who can stop the Blight! You can't leave!" He had stood up, facing her, red with anger. "How can you be so selfish?!"

"And isn't it selfish to drag me into this mess?!" She screamed back, eyes burning. "I didn't want anything to do with this!"

"You swore an oath!"

“I was forced to!” She stomped her feet to the ground, shouting. “You saw what happened to the other guy, it's not like we had any fucking choice!”

“But... you're one of us, now. That can't be changed, you must understand how important this is...”

“What if I don't, uh?” Aenor took a step towards him, staring at him from below, her temper flaring. “Who's gonna stop me, you?”

Falon had taken to yowling, alarmed, ears down and looking at them in discomfort.

Alistair stepped back, almost teary ayes, but Aenor didn't know if it was anger or if she had hurt his stupid feelings. "I wouldn't."

"The city!"

Leliana came running toward them, bow slung over her shoulder, eyes wide. She looked at both of them in disbelief. "What's going on with you two, why are you fighting?" Without waiting for an answer, she pointed to something behind them. "We don't have time, whatever this is. Look!"

They turned around: the village below them was on fire, clouds of smoke and sparks rising to set the night ablaze. The wind then changed direction, bringing desperate screams toward them.

Falon lowered his ears, growling.

They stood for a few more seconds facing each other, then Alistair shook his head, taking two steps back. "This isn't over." He said, before nodding to Leliana and running back to their camp to get his weapon.

Aenor stood staring at him for a few moments, then did the same.

"Alistair and the nutjob have already run down." Morrigan warned her once she got in front of the bonfire. "Too bad, dinner was almost ready." She pointed to the pot, bubbling invitingly.

"What are we waiting for?" Sten asked them, the large two-handed sword Aenor had procured for him already ready to mow someone down.

The elf nodded, checking the straps that held her own armor together. "Let's go, before they get themselves killed." She said, then motioned Falon to follow her.

“Do we really have to?" Morrigan commented, annoyed, but followed her anyway.

They ran down the hill. The sky was bright by the flames coming from Redcliffe, casting sinister shadows on the ground.

When they arrived at the village gates, a terrifying sight appeared before them.

At least three corpses, on fire, turned toward them. Their eye sockets were empty, their dead flesh ashen and falling apart to reveal the bone beneath. They were holding weapons in their rotting hands, and hurled themselves at the newcomers.

Taken by surprise, Aenor leapt back to avoid being burned by the flames. A bolt of electricity struck her attacker, knocking it back and giving her a chance to counterattack, hitting it in the side. She spun around, hitting the second one as well before she could get near Morrigan. She saw Sten cleanly decapitate the third.

A rasping sound beneath her startled her: one of the corpses was crawling on the ground, snapping its jaws, dragging itself on its arms, the torso cut off from the rest of the body, whose legs lay inert not far away, flames consuming it almost entirely. She leapt back, cursing.

Sten's blade dropped on the corpse's head, silencing it for good.

"What are these things doing here?!" Aenor yelled at Morrigan.

"Reanimated corpses." She replied, watching one closely. "There must be some powerful dark magic at work, to be able to get an entire army of them to attack the village. It's almost certainly the work of a demon."

"Mages..." Sten commented, disgusted. They both didn't look eager to continue walking towards the village.

"Falon." Aenor called, holding back the mabari. "Don't attack if you see fire. And don't bite." She ordered. She didn't want him to get burned, and she hoped the dog was smart enough not to ingest any of the walking corpses.

"You guys do whatever you like, stay or fight, but I'm going to go make sure Alistair doesn't get himself killed." She said to her companions, walking past them. She tried not to think about the last time she had faced corpses like that, focusing on the task at hand.

The other two, after a moment's hesitation, reluctantly followed her. It was too late to back out.

They made their way through flames and corpses. A dozen soldiers were fighting the creatures, trying to block access to the rest of the village.

"To the chantry!" Shouted Leliana, hitting the empty orbit of a corpse with an arrow. "They need reinforcements!"

Aenor saw Alistair ahead of them, knocking a couple of corpses to the ground using his shield and running on past them, letting her and Sten finish them off. They passed several makeshift barricades, some of them on fire, arriving at the main square. The bulk of the soldiers were placed to defend the church, but the enemies outnumbered them by far. They jumped into the fray, going to the aid the soldiers. Leliana showered the creatures with arrows while Morrigan cast supporting spells. Sten and Aenor charged, slashing their way through the corpses with powerful blows that broke the bones and sent the monsters tumbling to the ground. One of the corpses latched onto Aenor's leg, trying to bite into her calf but getting stuck on her heavy boots, which prevented any injury.

"Fenedhis lasa!" She snickered, pulling it off of her with a yank and a swing of her sword. Distracted, she did not see what was coming up behind her. She only felt a blow on her back, also protected by her armor, and saw Falon leap over her, snarling and knocking her attacker to the ground. Aenor spun around and ran to the animal's aid, severing the corpse's head.

She pressed a hand to her arm, where the enemy blade had managed to insinuate itself between the joints of her armor. She withdrew it, looking a her bloodstained hand.

She ignored it, running back into the fray and flanking with Sten, who despite being unarmored didn't even blink at the mass of enemies rushing at them.

Morrigan knocked a small group to the ground with a telekinesis spell, allowing the city's soldiers to quickly finish them off.

When they had pushed back the wave, they paused for a moment to catch their breath. Aenor tried to locate Alistair, but there was no sign of the Warden.

"We got here just in time." Panted Leliana, approaching them. "There weren't many of them still able to defend the village..."

"We thank you for your help, strangers." Said a middle-aged man to them, his thick beard sticking out from under his helmet, a longbow clenched in his fist. Aenor noticed he was running out of arrows.

"When did they get here?" The elf asked him.

"At sunset, as usual." Replied the other. "It is now the fourth night they have attacked us. Yesterday morning a woman arrived, she gave us a hand in organizing the defenses.... The fire was a good idea, although at first it is more difficult to hit them, after a while they burn completely and fall down." He explained, pointing to a pile of charred bodies stacked against the barricades.

"Every night?" Leliana asked. "And have you found out why?"

The other shook his head. "No, all we know is that they come from the castle. And we haven't heard from up there since it all started."

Before they could answer, a new wave of enemies appeared behind the houses, forcing them to postpone any talk until later.

 

 


 

 

Elissa Cousland removed her helmet with a groan, letting it fall to the ground. A blow had dented it beyond repair, scratching the back of her head. She pushed aside the braid of blonde hair, now soaked in blood, looking around as she caught her breath. Around her was a mass of corpses, including two soldiers who had been run over by the collapsed roof of a house.

At first the fires between the barricades had seemed like a good idea, but soon the fire had spread from the self-propelled corpses all over the city, starting smaller ones that had turned into violent blazes because of the houses built mostly of highly flammable wood. They had managed to repel the first waves at the foot of the hill, but then the corpses had forced them to retreat inside the village, and now they were fighting in every alley, in every corner, with everything they had to prevent those monsters from entering the chantry, where all the civilians had sought refuge.

Her mabari leapt down from a pile, shaking his wet fur.

"Cookie!" She greeted him relieved. "Stay close to me." She ordered the dog, seeing more enemies approaching. She raised her shield again, ready.

Behind her, Ser Perth came over, his two-handed sword clenched in his fist. "Lady Elissa, are you all right?"

Elissa nodded, taking down one of the corpses with her shield and finishing it off with a precise slash to the neck. "How is the situation in the main square?"

"They're still fighting." The knight replied, mowing down a couple of enemies by twirling his great weapon expertly. He turned, widening his eyes. "Damn." He cursed, gripping the hilt more tightly and gritting his teeth.

Elissa turned too, almost losing hope. At least a dozen bodies were running towards them, some of them engulfed in flames. She screamed, drawing their attention and signaling for the knight to follow her as they snuck down a narrow alleyway leading to the beach, pursued.

"There's no end to them!" She groaned, barely dodging a slash to the side, rolling to the ground on one side. Cookie ran to her aid, throwing the corpse into the water and pouncing on it, taking advantage of the fact that the flames surrounding it had died down.

Another corpse was immediately upon her: she kicked it, causing it to stagger. The boot caught fire, but she rubbed it into the sand, then got back on her feet and finished off the creature. Not far from her, Ser Perth was holding off four more corpses. She went to help him, hitting one of them with her shield, who was climbing on the knight's armor.

Another one hit her from behind, making her lose her balance.

She ended up in the water, struggling not to drown under the weight of the armor. Something grabbed her leg, pulling. She kicked in panic, trying to free herself and ending up underwater. A pain in her calf made her scream and she swallowed the lake water, falling deeper.

Suddenly, the grip on her leg weakened, allowing her to leverage her arms to pull herself out. She coughed violently, trying to breathe, crawling back to the shore.

Cookie was immediately at her side, helping her out of the water. Clinging to the mabari, she reached safe ground. All the bodies were on the ground, motionless.

Ser Perth lay not far away, his armor ripped from his chest, revealing a wide gash.

"Ser..." Elissa coughed, dragging herself toward him. She tried to press on the wound, to stop the blood flowing, but it was clear there was nothing she could do. The knight gasped, in spasms of pain.

"Burn me." He whispered to the girl. "Burn..." He spat out a red lump of blood, slumping to the ground. Two more spasms and he stopped moving.

Elissa slammed her fist on the ground, helpless.

Five more burning corpses emerged from behind a fence, running toward her.

Cookie remained at her side, growling despite limping a bit. Elissa realized she had lost her sword in the water and clutched her shield while standing up.

Ser Perth's great two-handed sword lay on the ground, but Elissa wasn't sure she could swing it. At that moment, she would not have enough strength for even a single slash.

She put the shield in front of her, hiding behind it, ready to face the first one.

It lunged at her, but she was ready. She shoved it back with a grunt, knocking it to the ground and hitting it in the head with the edge of the shield, slamming on it with both hands. The skull cracked with a snap as the wood and metal smashed the brains inside.

The second corpse was knocked down by Cookie, who pushed it to the ground yelping as the fire lapped at its fur. Before it could get back up, Elissa crushed it as she had done the other. The two nearest bodies rushed at her, giving her no time to guard herself.

She fell to the ground, hitting her head on the sand, raising her shield between herself and the monsters.

Cookie hurled himself against one of them, trying to free her, but he was grabbed by the monster and forced to retreat. He attacked again, trying to push it into the water.

Elissa in the meantime felt the skin burning under the armor made red-hot by the flames on the corpse. The one struggled, trying to bite her face and arms. The girl took cover behind the shield, raising her arms in front of her, crushed under the weight of the corpse. She felt the bracer give way and the creature's teeth clawing at her left forearm. She screamed, trying to free herself. No longer able to hold her shield, she was crushed under the still burning monster, few inches from its jaws.

Fire filled up her vision. She screamed again, closing her eyes in pain, feeling her face and arms on fire...

Suddenly she fell into the water, the cold going to soothe her burning wounds.

She gasped in terror, unable to breathe, but then something or someone lifted her up.

She tried to recognize her rescuer, but her vision was blurry.

"Don't worry, it's over." Someone told her, as Elissa lost consciousness.

 

 

 

 

She woke up surrounded by complete darkness. She couldn't feel her face or arms and moving caused her excruciating pain. She must have been lying on something soft, indoors. The night had probably passed, so if she was there it meant they had won. For the moment. She tried to speak, but no sound came out of her mouth.

With no other choice, she lay on her back and waited for someone to come.

After an interminable wait, she heard footsteps approaching.

"Are you awake?" A female voice asked, which Elissa did not recognize.

She managed to wiggle the fingers of her right hand, signaling that yes, she was awake.

"Good. Now drink, you need it." Said the voice. She felt something cool press against her mouth, a few drops of water that the girl swallowed greedily. They repeated the process a few times before her healer felt satisfied.

"You won't be able to talk for a couple days, I think." She continued. "The internal injuries were minor, however, you were very lucky. Alistair said your clothes were soaked with water, so the flames didn't do much damage."

Internal injuries? Flames? Alistair? Elissa wondered, but had no way to ask questions.

"I'm Morrigan, by the way, they asked me to stay here and fix you up." She felt the woman's fingers touch her arms. She gasped in pain. "I'll have to change your bandages and put ointments on you again. Unfortunately I don't know any healing spells, so you'll have to rely only on my knowledge of herbs. I've already saved your life, though, and you're not my first patient, so you can rest easy."

Rest easy?! Elissa would have cried, had she been able to do so.

"Now, I can continue the treatments without describing anything to you, or I can explain exactly what happened to you. Which would you prefer? Move your fingers twice if you want me to explain."

Elissa wiggled her fingers two times.

"Very well."

The girl heard her fumbling with various objects, then a twinge in her arm signaled that the woman was removing the bandages that wrapped it.

"You sustained severe burning woulds over most of your upper body, mostly on your forearms and on the right side of your face." She began to explain while working. "You will not feel much pain for the first few days, as most of the nerve endings on the surface have been touched by the fire. You'll need to be as still as possible, without talking, preferably.” She them moved to the other arm. “You will have to drink and keep yourself hydrated, and under no circumstances challenge my directions. I know what I'm doing, and I don't take complaints." She ran something over the skin, which Elissa could barely feel, covering her again with the bandages. "Now for the worst part."

Worse than this? Elissa wondered, anxious.

"The flames reached your face. And you were lucky that the wet hair kept them from making it worse, however..."

However...? The girl felt a lump in her throat. Why couldn't she move her eyes, or blink? Why had she covered her face?

"I had to give cast a small paralysis spell on you, to prevent you from stumbling around while recovering, but that's not everything. Yout right eyeball was partially fused, so I had to operate to remove it, to avoid causing internal bleeding and infection. The left one was left untouched, you got lucky, but as you may know you move both eyes when you turn them, so I had to prevent that. The spell helped. The ointments I'm applying are..."

As the woman continued to speak, Elissa lay in despair.

Blind.

She had lost an aye.

Sight was crucial to a warrior, it was what allowed her to avoid being hit, to spot the enemy's weak points.... How was she going to get her revenge, looking like that? She would have cried, if not for the witch's spell.

Magic.

The fact that she was in the hands of a mage, who could kill her at any moment with just with a snap of her fingers, did not put her at ease. However, the woman was healing her, so it had to mean that she had no ill intentions towards her for the moment....

Wait. There was no mage when she had arrived in the village.

Had the Circle heard about Redcliffe's situation and sent someone to help them? Then, why send someone who didn't know any healing spells?

She shuddered at the obvious conclusion.

That had to be one of the mages outside the Chantry's control, who had either escaped from the Circle or had never been inside it. A hedge-witch. An apostate.

She felt her heartbeat quicken as the witch hand moved on to unwind the bandages around her head, lifting her head gently but with a firm grip.

Through her closed eyelid, she felt a little dim light, but she could not open her eye.

"I recommend you don't try to move, because you'll only risk hurting yourself."

She felt her smear the ointment over most of her face, then wrap it in clean bandages. The witch then helped her get seated, holding her head up as she brought a glass to her lips.

"See if you can keep it down."

Elissa felt the cool water rush down her throat. Slowly, she finished the entire glass, stopping only a couple of times because of the coughing fits.

"Go to sleep if you can. I'll come to check back in a couple of hours."

 

 

 

Laying down, she fell asleep almost immediately, probably thanks to something the witch had put in the water.

She had chaotic dreams, full of faces, familiar and unfamiliar, dancing in the flames. She saw her father smiling, moving his lips and saying something Elissa couldn't hear. She tried to scream, but her voice came out in a hoarse gasp as her father disappeared into the fire.

She felt herself gasping for air, but her chest burned and she couldn't move, the heat was unbearable... A man lifted her off the ground, carrying her away from the flames. "It's over."

She felt herself fall into the darkness.

 

 

 


 

 

 

Bann Teagan was dancing.

Aenor, incredulously staring at a particularly poorly executed sequence of jumps and flips, exchanged a puzzled look with Sten. The Qunari shook his head, muttering a "magic" that the elf could not hear, but read clearly in his lips.

The child standing next to Isolde clapped his hands, delighted. The wicked grin he sported clashed with the delicate features of his face as he looked up at the newcomers.

"Mother?" He called in a cavernous voice that could in no way belong to a child of that age. "Are these the ones you told me about? The ones who stopped my army, sent to take back my village?"

Isolde paled further, barely turning away, as if she could not bear to look at him. "Yes, Connor, it is they..."

Aenor took two steps forward, keeping an eye on him, grasping her sword firmly. They had fought countless corpses to get there, she could smell the stench of those monsters on her and she was tired, aching everywhere, bleeding from a dozen small wounds.

"And now that thing is staring at me." Connor continued, returning the gaze. "What is it, mother?"

"She's an elf, Connor." Squeaked his mother. "We have some here at the castle, remember...?"

The little boy lit up in a wicked grimace. "Oh, yes! I remember! I had their ears cut off and fed them to the dogs! They chewed on them for hours!" He pointed at Aenor with a finger. "I should send her to the kennels!"

"Just try it, demon." Replied Aenor, taking another step forward.

"Aenor, stop!" Alistair shouted at her. "He's just a child!"

"A possessed child with an army of corpses at his will..." She mumbled, but stopped, merely looking at the little boy with rancor. How were they going to get rid of the demon? The Keeper would know it, but as far as she knew, the shems killed their mages even at the smallest hint of possession.

"Connor, please! Don't... Don't hurt anyone!" Isolde pleaded.

Connor brought a hand in front of his face, rubbing his eyes. "Mom? Mom, what... what's going on? Where am I?" He stammered in a feeble voice, looking at her, lost.

Isolde jumped to her knees, hugging her son. "Oh, praise the Maker! Connor, can you hear me?"

The child spasmed, pulling himself free with a yank. "Get away from me, you stupid woman! You're boring me!" He yelled imperiously, the voice not his anymore.

"It's mutual..." Aenor retorted.

"Grey Warden!" Isolde called her. "Please don't hurt my son! He's innocent, he doesn't realize what he's doing..."

"He's more to blame than those who were slaughtered because of him..." Said the elf in a dry tone.

"No! Please, he didn't do this! He didn't mean to do any of it! It was that mage, the one who poisoned Eamon.... he summoned the demon! Connor only wanted to help his father..." Isolde burst into tears, shaken by sobs.

"The deal was fair!" Connor thundered. "Father is still alive, as I intended. And now it's my turn to sit on the throne and send armies to conquer the world! No one can tell me what to do anymore!"

Aenor squared the little boy. Annoying. She never really love children, they were always so loud...

"No one tells him what to do, no one!" Bann Teagan sang in a silly voice, laughing.

"Be quiet, uncle!" Connor scolded him, looking at him threateningly. "I warned you to be quiet, didn't I?" He turned back to the newcomers, stretching his face in anger. "But let's be civil. This... elf, will receive the hearing she seeks. What do you want?"

"To stop you, of course." Aenor replied.

"Ah!" Connor exclaimed. "I'll be the one to destroy you instead! You ruined my fun by saving that stupid village, but now you're going to pay for it!" He made a hand gesture and Bann Teagan and his men, at least a dozen of them, suddenly stood up, facing Aenor and her companions.

"Teagan, step aside." Alistair tried to say, but the man seemed not to hear him. Still laughing like a madman, he drew his sword, clashing against the shield of the Warden, who tried to disarm him.

"Here we go again." Aenor commented, striking one of the knights in the chest and knocking him backwards, falling with a metallic clank.

"Don't kill them!" Alistair shouted.

I know, you softhearted fool! Aenor out of the corner of his eye spotted Connor sneaking out of the room. She made to chase him, but one of the possessed knights stepped in front of her, forcing her to give up.

After a heated confrontation, Teagan and his men lay unconscious on the floor. At least three were in serious condition, and one of them was clearly dead, Sten's sword having pierced his skull through and through. Aenor had done her best not to kill them tho, and Alistair looked pleased. Or at least less whiny than usual.

"Teagan! Teagan, are you all right?" Isolde called, rushing to the man's side. She sounded so concerned, Aenor wondered if there wasn't something going on between the two.

It took the man a few minutes to regain consciousness, but Alistair had managed not to seriously injure him. He blinked a few times. "Isolde?" He struggled to sit up, helped by the woman. "I'm...better. I feel like myself again."

"Andraste bless you!" The woman sighed. "I would never have forgiven myself if..." She hugged him for a moment, holding him close. She then broke away from the hug, returning her attention to the Grey Wardens. "Please, Connor is not to blame. There must be a way to save him."

Aenor shrugged. "I don't see how."

"I'm sorry, my lady. But Connor has become an abomination. He is no longer your son." A voice intruded. They turned around.

Jowan, the blood mage they had found in the dungeon as they entered the castle trough the secret passage, and whom Aenor had freed, was advancing toward them, a distraught expression on his face. The man had promised to find a way to undo the damage he had done, but the elf had expected him to run as soon as he was left alone. Evidently, that hadn't been the case.

"You!" Isolde snickered. "You did this to my son!"

"I did not!" The mage defended himself. "I didn't summon any demons, I told you! Please, you have to believe me, I'm here to help you..."

"Help us?!" Screamed the woman, losing her temper. "You betrayed me! I brought you here to help my son and you poisoned my husband in return!"

"This is the mage you told me about?" Teagan asked. "Wasn't he in the dungeon?"

"I freed him." Aenor cut in short. "He said he could help and he seemed honest." She challenged the two shems to talk back, the sword still in her hands. Blood mage or not, she didn't care, leaving someone to die inside a cell being mauled by those monsters was unacceptable. Sten would end up the same way hadn't she done something to prevent it, and Aenor had no remorse for freeing both of them from their cages.

"After all he did, he should be executed! Without him, none of this-" Isolde retorted, shouting.

"So what? You lied to us, too. And your son summoned a demon that exterminated more than half the village of Redcliffe." Hissed the elf. "Should I start chopping off everyone's heads?!" She raised her sword, as if to reinforce the concept.

The woman recoiled with a startled cry as Teagan stood in front of her protectively.

"Let's try to keep calm!" Alistair interjected, stepping between them. "Please."

"I know what you think of me, my lady. I took advantage of your fears, and.... I'm sorry. I didn't think it would come to this." Jowan told Isolde, bowing his head.

"Well, then, what help can you give us?" Teagan asked him, still with one arm in front of Isolde. "And if Connor really has become an Abomination..."

"You saw it too, he's not always under the control of that demon! My son is still in there!" The woman objected. "Please, I would do anything to save him..."

"Jowan." Aenor called. "We need a mage's knowledge. Suggestions?"

The man cleared his throat. "The easiest way to destroy the demon, would be to kill Connor. However... there is another option." He seemed reluctant to speak.

"Come on, we don't have time to waste." The elf urged him.

The other sighed. "A mage could confront the demon in the Fade, without killing Connor himself."

"What do you mean?" Aenor asked, not understanding.

"The demon is not physically inside the child. It approached him in the Fade while he was dreaming, and it's controlling him from there. We can use the connection between them to find it in the Fade and kill it there."

"So, you can go into the Fade and save my son?" Isolde asked him.

Jowan shook his head. "No, but I can allow another mage to do so. Normally, it would take several mages and a large amount of lyrium, but I... but I can use blood magic." He said, lowering his gaze to the floor.

"No, absolutely not. Bad idea!" Alistair exclaimed, butting in. "No way."

"But if he can save Connor..." Isolde whispered.

"That's not all." Jowan interrupted her. "For the ritual, I would need a person's life force. All of their life force. A sacrifice."

Silence fell for a few moments.

"Then, take me." Isolde said, looking him firmly in the eye, her voice steady. "If it will save my son, I will do anything."

"Isolde! Are you insane?" Teagan exclaimed. "Eamon would never allow that!"

"There are no other options. I've made my decision, Teagan." Her voice was firm.

"Blood magic! How can another evil thing fix this mess!" Alistair blurted, stomping a foot on the ground. "Two wrongs don't make a right!"

Aenor remained silent, pondering the right decision. The easiest choice would have been to climb the stairs upstairs and kill the little boy, getting rid of that demon.... She motioned the other Warden to follow her, going to a room adjacent to the hall.

"Don't tell me you're even considering his proposal!" He snickered angrily.

“Look, I don't know what kind of idea you have about me, I'm not eager to kill a child either. If there's another solution...” She spoke, crossing her arms. "Only a mage can enter the Fade.”

Alistair seemed to understand the problem. "Oh. Morrigan."

"Yeah. I was surprised to even see her fight last night. And she wasn't exactly thrilled when we asked her to stay and tend to the wounded in Redcliffe. There's no way we can convince her to enter the Fade and waste her time with this ritual when the easiest way would be to kill Connor right here and now."

"Easier?! We're talking about killing a child!"

"A possessed child in charge of an army of angry corpses!" Aenor almost shouted. "I know it's not the best option, but we don't have many of those!"

"There has to be another way!" He shouted back. "Besides, why do you care about the village or Connor, you were leaving anyway, right? Then leave!"

"May the Dread Wolf take you!" Aenor snickered in Elvish. "I'm trying to help, but maybe I should leave and see how well you do on your own!"

Alistair seemed to finally lose his patience. He shoved her back, his face red in anger. "Go ahead, no one's stopping you! You're not worthy of being a Grey Warden!"

"This from the guy who can't even find his socks in the morning!" She retorted. "You think life is easy, you bloody little prince! Everyone here has been through more than you, so wake up! Poor thing, the bastard abandoned and raised in a castle! Poor guy, the idiot who is happy to be a Grey Warden and die to save a country of filthy monsters who wouldn't hesitate to burn him at the stake when he's done!"

He widened his eyes, not knowing how to answer, livid. "How... That's not true..."

"You shemlens disgust me." Aenor spit. "You treat everyone like animals, you have killed, enslaved and betrayed my people, you're always at war with each other.... Even your Maker teaches you to lock your own mages in a tower or kill them for no good reason other than the simple fear that sooner or later they'll come out of the mind control you have over them and make you pay for everything! And you, Alistair, you're full whatever bullshit the Chantry has put in your head! What are you going to do if I leave, huh? You gonna cry? Yell at me, tell me how evil I am for minding my own business and not willing to die for a bunch of people that despise me?! Are you going to launch a new Exalted March?!"

They kept facing each other, Aenor catching her breath and Alistair trying to figure out how to retort.

Suddenly, the boy stiffened, gasping, eyes widening while all the anger left his body. "The mages!" He exclaimed.

Chapter 11: Kinloch Hold I

Summary:

Aenor and Alistair set out to seek the Circle's help, have to make difficoult choices and meet a couple other allies.

Chapter Text

Aenor stood staring at Alistair. She wanted to slap him, scream at him, throw him to the ground and leave forever. "Fenhedis lasa! What's with the mages?"

Alistair raised his hand to stop her from throwing another tantrum. "That blood mage said that normally you'd need several mages and a bunch of lyrium for the ritual, right?"

"Oh." She finally realized his point. "You want to go to the mages to ask for their help?"

The other nodded vigorously. "Yes, the tower is on the other side of the lake. We'd get there in a couple of days."

"And why would they help us?"

"We'll appeal to the Templar Commander and the First Enchanter! They'll have to help us once they know what's going on here. Besides, we should have gone to Kinloch Hold sooner or later to ask for the Cirlcle's support against the Blight... That is, if you're not leaving right now."

Aenor sighed, leaning against the wall behind her. "No, not for now." She finally said after a few moments. "Let's settle this demon business first, then I'll see what to do."

Alistair shook his head. "If that's the best I can get, I won't ask for more. Truce?" He held out his hand to her, uncertain.

She grasped it after a moment's hesitation, squeezing it with little conviction. "Truce."

They returned to the hall and explained their idea.

"It's too dangerous." Isolde objected. "Even if you found a way to get to the Tower, it would be days before you returned. And I dare not imagine what might happen."

"There are no boats to cross the lake." Teagan explained to them. "To avoid contact with the Circle, the Chantry strictly forbids going anywhere near Kinloch Hold."

"We'll have to ride there, then." Alistair retorted. "I trust you'll lend us a couple horses."

Bann Teagan sighed. "Are you sure this will work?"

Aenor cast a questioning glance at Jowan. "Will they participate in the ritual if no blood magic is involved?"
The mage scratched his beard, uncomfortably. "I... I think so." He finally answered.

"Then it is settled." Aenor concluded. "Within a few days, we'll be back with enough mages and lyrium to settle this without killing anyone."

"And what do we do if the demon decides to attack the village again?" Teagan asked.

Alistair and Aenor exchanged a look.

"Sten and Leliana will stay here to help out in case any corpses start walking again. Get your men to defend the castle gates so we don't let anything get out. We should have disposed of all the corpses in here, but you can never be sure." Aenor said.

"I'm not staying here to guard a door." Sten declared, with a wrinkled frown. Which was similar to his usual expression, to be honest.

"Would you rather follow us into a tower inhabited mostly by mages?" Aenor asked him, already knowing what the answer would be. The qunari cussed in his language, but ended up giving in. He took her aside though, pointing his purple eyes into the elf's green ones.

"Are you going to pass by the Lake Calenhad dock, the one for the Mages Tower?" He asked her.

Aenor nodded, "I think so, if that's the only way into the Tower."

The qunari didn't even blink. "My sword. I lost it over there." He said.

"If it's that important to you, I'll see if I can find it." She didn't understand Sten's obsession with her sword, but he had spoken to her about it as if it were a part of him, and since she was asking him to stay there and protect a village the qunari didn't care about, it only seemed right to spend a few moments looking for a sword to return the favor to her comrade. Sten briefly described the weapon to her, but it was obvious he wasn't optimistic about her chances to find it. He turned away, frowning and muttering in Qunlat.

They were preparing to leave, when Jowan slipped away from the two soldiers who had been watching him, running towards Aenor. The two made to draw their weapons at once, alarmed, but the elf raised her hand, signaling them to let him pass.

"Warden!" The mage pleaded, bowing his head. "I know I'm in no position to ask anything of you, but please hear me out." From the distressed tone, it clearly had to be important.

"Just make it quick... we don't have much time.”

"When I escaped from Kinloch Hold, I was not alone. I was helped by a close friend, and it was only because of him that I was able to evade the Templars." Explained Jowan. "I'm worried that they killed him, or worse, because of me. Could you... could you find out what happened to him?"

Aenor huffed. Of course, it was obvious that such a guy couldn't have escaped from the most heavily guarded tower in Ferelden without help from someone else. "What's his name?"

"Geralt. Geralt Amell." The mage replied, bowing even deeper. "I am in your debt."

 

 

 

 

 

They left the castle, heading back toward the village. Bann Teagan ordered one of his knights to give the two Wardens a pair of horses, saddled and ready for the journey.

"Wait, I want to stop by the chantry for a moment." Alistair told her. Aenor huffed, but reluctantly followed him inside the building.

The main aisle was filled with people, most of them injured and propped up on makeshift beds, placed under the care of the sisters of the Church. Alistair headed confidently toward one of the side rooms. The elf leaned over the door, peering in.

"How is she?" Alistair asked Morrigan, leaning over a patient. A honey-colored mabari beside her glared at him, but did nothing else to push him away.

"She'll live." The sorceress replied. "I take it the situation at the castle is resolved?"

"Not exactly." Aenor replied, entering the room. A girl was lying on a bedroll, almost entirely covered in clean bandages, which Morrigan had evidently just changed for her.

"We're on our way to get help from the Circle of Magi." Alistair explained.

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. "May I ask why?"

"We can't kill the person possessed by the demon, so we need mages and lyrium to cast a spell that will allow us to eliminate the demon without hurting its vessel." Aenor explained. "A mage at the castle told us it's possible to do that."

"Ah, of course. I see." Nodded Morrigan with a smirk. "Well, good luck with that then. I don't plan on following you into that birdcage, so I guess I'll just wait here."

"Who would have guessed it..." Alistair commented. "We're going to miss you terribly."

Before they could bicker again, the elf dragged him out of the room.

They climbed onto the saddle of the horses, Falon wagging his tail. He didn't like it there either.

They rode away from the village, up the hill pushing the horses at a trot, though Aenor had some difficulty staying in the saddle. The Dalish used the hallas mostly to pull their aravels through the forests but didn't usually ride on them. They rode on until darkness made it impossible to see the road ahead, forcing them to make camp. Shaken by sleep deprivation and tired from the fighting of the night before and the day just past, they simply made a small fire and ate some dried meat they had picked up in the village.

"We should take turns on guard duty." Alistair said, peering into the darkness around them.

Aenor nodded, lightly patting Falon's head, who had fallen asleep before he had even finished his dinner, snoring softly. "Go ahead and sleep, I'll wake you up if there's any trouble." She was dead tired, but her head was so full of thoughts that she wasn't sure she wanted to sleep. Plus, the boy looked about to collapse, so it seemed like the best choice.

Alistair mumbled his thanks and then laid down, his back towards her, covering up to his ears and curling in on himself. After a few minutes, the elf felt his breathing become regular and heavier. She looked up, at the cloud-filled sky. The air smelled like rain.

After a few hours, she woke up Alistair. Falon was still asleep, howling from time to time and clicking his paws, restless. Aenor lay down beside the animal, pulling the blanket over her head and trying to get to sleep, one arm around the mabari.

At dawn, they resumed their journey, groggy but determined to reach Lothering before nightfall. The dreary morning soon turned into a day of pouring rain, making the road a quagmire of slippery mud, slowing the horses and soaking them all to the bone.

Falon looked around nervously, staying close to the horses and shaking his fur from time to time, annoyed by the rain. Alistair and Aenor proceeded with the hoods of their cloaks pulled over their heads in a vain attempt not to get completely soaked. The horses were snorting and trotting nervously ahead.

Past noon, they laboriously descended a hill, leading the horses at pace down the slippery slope. An overturned wagon at the edge of the road brought them to attention, as the horses reared up rolling their eyes, neighing in fright.

"That looks like a problem..." Aenor began to say, narrowing her eyes in the rain. She didn't even finish the sentence when a man came out from behind the cart, screaming, chased by two howling hurlocks.

Alistair didn't waste time, spurring his horse and galloping to the man's aid, running over the two monsters and crushing one of them under the animal's hooves. The other fell with a blow of the Warden's sword to the head.

"What are you doing out here?!" Aenor asked the man they had rescued, who now lay on the ground, shaking and crying. "You should be safe, in Lothering!"

The man looked at her in terror, sobbing something the girl could not understand. Alistair stepped in, getting off his horse and kneeling in the mud beside the man.

"You're safe now, let's get you back to the village." He told him, placing a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to reassure him.

"No!" Shouted the other, his gaze mad. "They're all dead!" He wriggled out of the Warden's grasp, trying to get away from them and slipping, splashing all around. “They're all dead...”

The two had a moment's hesitation.

"The darkspawn?" Aenor whispered. "Did they...?"

The shem fell on all fours in the mud. He was crying hard, his eyes wide. "All of them! There's no hope, we're doomed! They're here, they're going to kill us!" He continued babbling, paying no more attention to the two, focused as he was on trying to get away from there.

The elf noticed a gaping wound on the man's thigh, it looked like something had bitten into his flesh. She signaled for Alistair to come closer, and together they managed to hold him down, putting a hand in front of his mouth to keep him from screaming, fearing they might attract unwanted attention. Peeling back the fabric of his pants, they found that the skin all around the wound was darkened and rotting. The Taint was already spreading.

Aenor sighed, drawing her dagger from his belt.

Alistair tried to stop her with his hand. "No, wait..."

The elf ignored him and, taking advantage of the fact that the shem offered almost no resistance, plunged the blade into his chest, right at the heart, when she knew it would kill him quick and almost painlessly. The man gasped, struggling no more and slumping to the ground.

"There was no other way." She said in a dry tone, getting up and walking back to the horse, that kept wiggling its ears and turning around, restless. "Let's take the long way around to avoid the village. If we ride trough the whole night, we can perhaps manage to put enough distance between us and the darkspawn."

"And abandon Lothering?" Alistair asked her, still on the ground beside the corpse. His gaze focused on the man's eyes, still wide with fear, his hands shaking with anger.

"We have a job to do, and that's to get to the mages, in order to save Connor and Redcliffe. If we go to Lothering, we probably won't survive the night." Aenor retorted. "We have a few chances of avoiding the horde, but we have to hurry."

"How can you be so sure?" Said Alistair, his voice reduced to a whisper, barely audible in the pouring rain. "So certain that letting all those people die is the right thing?"

Those words hit her like a punch to the gut, but she didn't let on. "They're all dead already, Alistair, or will be soon. There's only two of us, we wouldn't make a difference, we'd be just killed alongside them." She turned the horse north, toward the shores of the Lake. She heard the other get up and remount in turn. Without waiting for an answer, she spurred the horse into a gallop, Falon in tow.

They rode for the rest of the afternoon, avoiding the main road. They encountered a few lone darkspawn, sometimes in small groups of three or four, but they made it through without a hitch. They encountered no survivors.

As they climbed the hill that separated them from Lake Calenhad, they could see Lothering, or what was left of it: a cloud of black smoke rose from the horizon, where the village once stood.

The girl looked at Alistair out of the corner of her eye, seeing him clutching the reins tightly, his gaze focused on the carnage in the distance. She sighed, before pushing the horse down the hill. They had to get as far as they could before darkness fell.

The night forced them to slow their pace. They lead the horses on foot, hoping the animals would regain their strength a bit, relying only on a small lantern that cast a faint light around them, hoping it wouldn't be enough to attract dangerous attention.

They walked on, Falon by their side, exhausted, the horses snorted wearily.

They arrived at the lake as the sky began to clear. The rain didn't seem to stop,while the sun's rays struggled to break through the thick blanket of black clouds. They rode along the shore all the next day, sometimes on foot, sometimes on horseback, taking turns to doze off while riding to regain a bit of strenght. They stopped for a couple of hours to let the animals rest, their eyes darting with fear in response to every noise around them.

When evening fell again, they were too exhausted to continue any further. They made camp in a thicket, seeking shelter from the rain and not daring to make a fire. They ate a little more of the dried meat, chewing in silence. Neither of them felt like talking, silence all around.

Yet again, they had met no survivors from the village.

The next morning they set out before dawn, anxious to get to the Tower, dry off and have a hot meal. The day passed without any noteworthy events, under the constant freezing rain.

Late in the afternoon they saw a few lighted huts near the water, a sign that they had arrived at the small dock that was the only access to Kinloch Hold.

The stable boy, huddled under the thatched roof with a flask of wine in his hand to warm him, looked at them in surprise, widening his eyes as if he had seen two ghosts. They left him a silver coin, handing him the horses and entering the inn next door.

They slumped on the table closest to the fire, taking off their soaked clothes and leaning against the backs of the chairs, closing their eyes.

After a few minutes, the innkeeper arrived to ask what they wanted to eat, and brought them a delicious soup that warmed their insides as they downed it hungrily.

"Are you going to the Tower?" The innkeeper asked, bringing them another round.

Aenor nodded, grabbing the plate with both hands and slurping it. After those terrible days, it tasted like the best soup she had ever eaten.

"It's been three days since the Templars seized Kester's boat, and they won't let anyone near it," the man continued, "more than usual, I mean. They don't even want supplies."

Alistair grunted in despair. "Why can't anything go right?" He complained, leaning wearily against the back of the chair. "Don't we deserve a break?"

Aenor couldn't help but agree. She sighed, watching Falon munch on the ox bone under the table, content to be dry and oblivious to their next tasks.

"What do we do?" Alistair asked her with a sigh as soon as the man had moved away. "I don't think I have the strength to get into an argument with a Templar just tonight."

"I understand." Aenor agreed, taking another spoonful of soup. "Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow."

They took a room. The money bag was getting lighter and lighter, but the two were too tired to haggle over the price. There was a double bed, with two warm blankets and a burning fire. Alistair blushed violently, looking at the bed. Falon tried to jump on the mattress, but Aenor blocked him by the scruff of his neck, pointing to the floor. The mabari whined softly and then went to curl up in front of the fireplace, offended.

"I'll sleep on the floor." The boy exclaimed, pulling his own damp bedroll from his backpack and placing it on the floor, close enough to the fireplace.

"Don't be stupid." Aenor told him, pulling out her own bedroll and setting it to dry along the rest of the backpack, next to the fire. "There's a bed big enough for both of us. Turn around."

She ignored Alistair's protests, who turned to the wall babbling nonsense as was his wont. She stripped off her wet clothes, setting them on a chair and hoping they would be dry by the next morning, remaining only in her underwear, then slipped under the blankets, pulling them on to cover her pointed ears. "You can sleep on top of the blanket."

 

 

 

 

 

"You can't go to the Tower. No matter what urgency you have."

The two Wardens squared off the templar in front of them, looking like they wouldn't take no for an answer. He was a boy about Alistair's age, so it wouldn't be hard to intimidate him.

"That armor looks heavy." Aenor commented, pointing at him.

"So?"

She hunched her shoulders. "It's going to be hard to swim with that stuff on. Once we throw you in the lake, I mean."

The man paled. "What-"

"You'd better cooperate." Alistair suggested to him. "I've seen her do far worse."

The templar seemed to consider his options, as the elf, barely coming up behind him, looked at him with crossed arms, Falon growling menacingly, ready to pounce on the shem.

"I... I have orders, it's not my fault..." Stammered the templar, backing away a few steps.

"Look, save yourself a swim and take us to the Tower." Said Alistair. “We'll handle your superiors.”

The Templar capitulated. "All right. But you forced me, I'll tell Commander Gregoir."

Aenor snorted, "Sure. Now take the oars, shemlen, we've wasted enough time already." She pushed past him, going to sit in the small boat. Falon whined, hesitant to leave the safety of dry land, but with a small piece of beef jerky as incentive he went to sit at the feet of the two Wardens.

The crossing was slower than expected, even though there were two of them rowing, and the templar refused to tell them what had prompted the Order to completely close Kinloch Hold.

The Circle's tower stood ominously in the center of Lake Calenhad, a towering structure of massive stone that seemed to touch the sky. As they approached it, Aenor remembered how impressed she had been with the towers of Ostagar, which now seemed like nothing in comparison. The tip of the building disappeared into the low clouds, and the few illuminated windows sent sinister glows spreading through the surrounding fog.

How can they live in a place like this? The elf wondered. Locked up there, surrounded by stone and templars, she would surely choose to throw herself out a window rather than spend her life there.

She understood why mages like Jowan would do anything to escape the clutches of the Circle, and shuddered at the thought of Merrill ending up in a place like that.

They finally arrived at the dock built inside the tower. Waiting for them were two templars, who immediately escorted them to the Commander, a middle-aged man named Gregoir, towering in his huge armor, the flaming sword of the Order emblazoned on his breastplate. He was speaking to a sparse group of men, the agitation in the air palpable.

"I gave orders that no one should cross the lake." He spoke as he saw them coming. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"We are Grey Wardens." Alistair answered promptly.

"Ah. Word is you're traitors." Gregoir look down on them. "But I don't care, we have more important matters to attend to now. And it's none of your concern. Leave."

"We can't." Alistair retorted. "As Grey Wardens, we have the right to ask the Circle for help against this Blight. Also, Bann Teagan is asking for help in fighting a demon that threatens the village of Redcliffe."

"Ah, Teagan. Last time I checked, it was Eamon who was Arle of Redcliffe."

"The Arl fell ill. The Circle is our only chance to save the village."

Gregoir shook his head. "I'm sorry, but there is nothing we can do, neither for Redcliffe nor for the Blight. The situation in the Tower is critical, and until the Right of Annulment arrives..."

"The Right of Annulment?!" Alistair exclaimed, alarmed.

"What's that?" Aenor interrupted them. From their expressions, it sounded serious.

"It's what gives the Templars the authority to neutralize the Circle of Mages. Permanently." The Commander replied in a greedy tone. "This is not a decision taken lightly, there are many of my men still in there. But there's nothing more we can do now."

"So the solution is to burn this place to the ground?" Aenor asked, turning pale.

"The Tower is full of abominations and blood mages, we've already lost more than half of the Templars, I'm not about to lose any more!" Gregoir declared. "I have already sent the request to Denerim, within a couple of days we will resolve this matter in the only way possible."

"But we need the mages!" The elf objected. "And they can't all be dead or possesed!"

"How is it possible that you have lost control of the Tower?" Alistair asked him.

"A few weeks ago, a blood mage managed to escape aided by another, whom we locked in the dungeon awaiting trial, for when the mages and templars sent to Ostagar would come back. Unfortunately, with the chaos following the battle and the few who returned, the situation got out of hand." Explained the Templar. "There had been rumors of blood mages for some time, but we never expected such a large group. The First Enchanter called an assembly to discuss the outcome of the battle and the steps to be taken against the blood mage we locked up, but it had not even begun that we were overwhelmed by abominations, spells flying on both sides, me and my men right in the middle of the ruckus. We had no chance at stopping it. I barely managed to grab a handful of Templars and close the doors sealing them behind us, trapping all those creatures inside." He shook his head, distraught.

"Trapping the abominations, and with them innocent mages and templars." Alistair commented.

"By now, no one can have survived." Gregoir retorted. "We have only to wait for the Annulment." He turned to another templar, leaving the two Wardens to decide what to do.

"We need to get in there." Said Aenor. "Someone in there must still be alive."

"You heard him, right? It would be a miracle to find someone and they'd probably be either possessed or a blood mage." Alistair scratched the back of his head, sighing. "I don't know, if they asked for an Annulment..."

"Don't tell me you agree with that!"

The other looked at her surprised. "Since when do you care about other people?"

"It has nothing to do with what I do or don't care about, we need the mages." She replied, defensively. "And do you really think a bunch of people like Morrigan would have gotten themselves killed or possesed without trying to resist?"

"Do you really think there are survivors, or mages who didn't turn to blood magic?"

Aenor bit her lower lip, lowering her gaze to Falon who was watching them with his ears down. "I'm going inside to check it out." She declared. "Do as you please."

Alistair was surprised for a moment, then relented. "I guess we'll both go." He lowered himself to give the mabari a scratch on the neck. "I'm not letting you go in there alone, and while I'm not a Templar, I have a few skills that could come in handy."

"What if we don't make it out?"

The boy shrugged. "Maybe the Archdemon will go back to sleep. Or run to Orlais."

"Let me guess, your templar's secret weapons are bad jockes?"

"Come on, you almost laughed this time."

They returned to Gregoir. It was not easy to convince him to let them in.

Aenor grabbed the mabari, holding him by the scruff of the neck. "No, Falon, you stay here."

The animal whined, not wanting to be left behind.

"No fuss." She stroked him behind the ears. "Not this time." She patted his side, leaving him with one last piece of dried meat, then she signaled to the two templars in front of the large stone door, who opened the passage.

"I will not open this door unless I hear from the First Enchanter himself!" Gregoir reminded them, as the doors closed behind them, leaving them alone to face whatever lurked within.

 

 

 

 

The first thing that struck them was the stench of death.

They walked down a corridor littered with bodies and debris of various kinds, weapons in hand. They could hear sinister noises from upstairs, but the rooms around them were deserted. The corridor ended in front of a closed wooden door.

Aenor leaned her ear against it, sensing a lapping of water and agitated voices inside.

She signaled Alistair to stand by, then together they burst through the door with a shove.

"Hold it right there!"

An elderly woman was pointing her staff at them. The two Wardens clutched their weapons, ready to defend themselves. Behind the woman there was a handful of adult mages and a few children.

The mage squinted, slightly lowering her staff. "Wait. I know you. You were at Ostagar, weren't you?" She asked Aenor.

It took the elf a few seconds to remember her. The elder shem who was next to the other mages, just beyond the two templars at the camp. "Yes. We are the last remaining Grey Wardens."

"Are you blood mages?" Alistair asked, ready to attack.

Would they even tell you if they were? Aenor wanted to laugh.

“Young man. Do you think if we were we wouldn't have attacked you instantly?" The mage replied, relaxing and placing her staff back behind her back. "How come Gregoir let you in?"

Aenor lowered her weapon. "He asked Denerim for the Right of Annulment. We convinced him to let us pass, hoping to find survivors. We need your help."

"You're too late, I'm sorry to say so. It's very possible that we are the last ones left." The sparse group looked tired. She pointed to the door behind them, covered by a spell that extended across its surface, the source of the buzzing sound Aenor had heard before entering. "The barrier I have placed to protect this room is weakening despite my best efforts, and I fear it will fall before long."

"We must reach the First Enchanter. Only then can we convince Gregoir to reopen the front doors." Aenor explained. "Someone must still be alive up there."

"Alive, maybe, but probably possessed." The old woman said. "But you're right, we can't give up hope. Now that you've arrived we can try to find survivors, and in the meantime cleanse the tower of all the demons and abominations that infest it."

"What about them?" Alistair asked, pointing at the children. "If you drop the barrier to let us through, the abominations will have easy access to this place."

"That means we'll have to kill every threat we encounter so they can't get there." The mage sounded determined. "I'm Wynne, by the way."

The Wardens introduced themselves in turn.

Wynne turned to the barrier that kept the door sealed, waving her magic staff and exploding it in a cloud of blue smoke.

Weapons clenched in hand, they walked into the next room.

It was a huge library, with high shelves filled with books. I didn't think all these books could even exist in one place... Aenor thought as they made their way through the stacks of paper and overturned tables, careful not to make too much noise.

A snarling, drawling breath came from around the corner. The elf looked out cautiously: a humanoid creature, with a larger than normal head and shoulders, as if fused together, a misshapen and monstrous appearance, loomed above the silhouette of a dead templar.

The elf retreated behind the shelf. Alistair signaled for her to follow him, and the two of them charged. Wynne cast a couple of supporting spells, and as hideous and disgusting as the abomination was, they quickly disposed of it. Even demons, it seemed, died with a blade strongly planted in their chests. Immediately others sprang up, who met the same end. They were fast and tried to bite and scratch at them.

They passed more shelves, when a flaming monster came out of nowhere.

"Fenedhis lasa!" Aenor exclaimed, terrified. She leapt backwards to avoid a fireball thrown by the creature.
A barrier of ice stood between her and the demon, giving her time to recover. Wynne cast a spell and the two warriors felt their weapons grow colder as their blades were coated in ice. "Attack, now!" The sorceress spurred them on.

Without a second thought, they went around the barrier and struck the monster in the flanks, sinking their swords into the flames. The creature dissolved in a cloud of boiling steam, which forced them to back away quickly to avoid getting burned. Fortunately, Wynne had cast a protective barrier around them.

"When they die, they explode." Explained the mage. "You have to dodge in time."

"Fascinating." Alistair commented.

Aenor shuddered, but forced herself to gather her courage and continue on. There was no turning back now.

 

 

 

 

They faced other abominations and demons, most of them fortunately not proving too difficult to defeat. Whenever the two Wardens got injured, Wynne promptly rushed to put them back together with a healing spell. In doing so, they made it through the immense library.

They climbed the stairs to the upper floor and found themselves in a large, completely empty room.

They made their way to the back of it, when the elf noticed the presence of someone. Calm, steady breathing came from behind a column. She headed towards it, ready to strike, but found a mage sitting on the ground, his expression vacant.

That one, noticing their presence, stood up. "Please do not enter the warehouse. It is currently in a state not fit to be visited, and I have not yet been able to fix it."

"Owain!" Wynne recognized him. "What are you still doing here?"

"I tried to leave, but I ran into a barrier. So I came back here, tending the warehouse, as is my duty."

"You should have called us, I would have opened the door for you!" Retorted the elder.

The strange man remained impassive. "The warehouse is familiar to me. I would rather stay here. I would rather not die. I'd rather Niall succeed, and save us all."

"Who?" Aenor asked him. "And do what?"

"Niall. He and others have come to take the Litany of Adralla."

Wynne nodded. "To protect themselves from mind control. I see. This is all the work of the blood mages."

"Didn't you see what happened?" The elf asked her.

"I was not at the assembly. Few of those who attended made it out. Niall was among them. We need to find him."

"Blood magic..." She knew for a fact that Merrill used that kind of magic in some of her spells, but she had never been a danger to the rest of the Clan. In Tevinter, however, it was common knowledge that it was the predominant type of magic, and the Magisters used it to kill, enslave, and rule over the entire country. It was understandable that everyone was afraid of it, but she remembered Merrill saying that it wasn't the magic itself, but the will of those wielding it, to cause trouble.

In one of the rooms, they found three mages who used blood magic to attack them. Alistair stood in front of Aenor, interposing himself between her and the mages. They froze, looking at their now useless staves, which had suddenly stopped glowing. Without giving them time to recover, the boy knocked one down with his shield, wounding the second. Aenor stabbed the third one in the chest, finishing the one on the ground.

The last remaining mage, a girl who must have been only a few years older than them, begged them to spare her, holding her wounded side, her robes already drenched in blood.

"Why should we?" Aenor asked her, raising her sword, ready to deliver the killing blow.

"Please!" Groaned the other, in pain. "I know I have no right, but spare me. We didn't want this, we were just trying to be free!"

The elf stopped, stricken by those words. Had she been in their situation, she would have done the same, she realized. It didn't matter by what means.

She slowly lowered her blade. "Let's move on." She ordered the others, leaving the wounded mage on the ground, who was surprised that she had been spared, and ignoring her companion's protests.

 

 

 

 

 

They passed other rooms, being attacked by more demons, abominations and several corpses, and somehow managed to defeat them all.

They took a break to gather their strength, locking themselves in a room. A corpse lay sprawled on the floor. As Wynne tended to their wounds, Aenor noticed that the body on the floor had only one throat wound, precise but too small to have been made by one of the Templar swords. She walked over to examine it more closely. It was a mage, his eyes barred and his hands drenched in the same blood that stained his robes.

"Aenor?" Alistair called to her. "What are you doing?"

"This one wasn't killed by a Templar or a demon. Maybe a blood mage's-"

"No way!" A voice interrupted her. "Those skinny arses in robes wouldn't have done such a clean nice job!"

They turned sharply. From the closet, now open, emerged a figure. She was short and stocky, with a mass of dirty, disheveled red hair. Her nose must have been broken several times, and more than a few scars stood out on her pale skin, some more recent than others. She had a tattoo on her cheek.

The dwarf looked at them sneeringly, two daggers clutched in her hands. "Good thing there's someone else left other than those monsters. Though you must be crazy if you're still here."

"What's a dwarf doing in here!?" The other three exclaimed, alarmed.

She snorted, loudly. "Worst deal of my life, apparently. The Carta sent me here to smuggle lyrium to some templar addicts, but then this whole mess broke out and I had to hide in there to keep from being ripped apart by those things." She replied, pointing to the closet behind her. "You two, you don't look like mages."

Aenor shook her head. "We're only here to help."

"You must be dumber than you look, then."

"How did you get in here?" Wynne interrupted her. "No one can get this far without Commander Gregoir's permission..."

The dwarf burst out a laughter. "You definitely need to check your security. Those templars wouldn't notice a bronto in the dining hall even if it farted right in their faces." She tossed one of the two knives into the air, deftly catching it again. "So what are you going to do? Because it was pretty cramped in that closet."

"Funny, you don't even take up much room." Aenor commented.

The other grinned. "Oh, a height joke. How original. Are you hoping to take out all those monsters with lame insults?"

Alistair chuckled. "That's pretty much our plan for everything."

"Well, I got lyrium to sell and no one here wants to buy it anymore." The dwarf grunted, pointing to the backpack she carried. "You don't have ninety sovereigns on hand, do you?"

"Lyrium?" Aenor brightened. "We needed plenty of lyrium for Connor's ritual, didn't we?"

"Perfect!" The dwarf exlaimed, clapping a hand on her thigh. "Out with the money first."

"Do you really think we carry ninety sovereigns in our pouch?" Alistair asked her.

The dwarf shook her head, huffing. "No money, no lyrium. Gotta make a living, you know?"

"Help us solve this mess, accompany us all the way to Redcliffe and they'll pay you whatever you want." The elf offered her. "Or you can lock yourself back in the closet and hope for the best."

The other seemed to consider her options. "All right. But the price just doubled. For the trouble. And you better not be fucking with me." She twirled the knife in the air again, her grin wider. "I'm Natia, by the way."

Chapter 12: Kinloch Hold II

Summary:

Natia's back in action and she has no intention of staying trapped in the Fade, demons or not.
Someone else was trapped in the Tower, and he may take advantage of the situations he finds himself into.

Chapter Text

"Here's the money from Orzammar, boss."

Natia turned to the dwarf, who proceeded to head down towards her, crossing the great hall of the palace. "Business has been booming since you've been running the Carta, boss."

Boss. The girl savored those words as she took large sips from a mug of fine mead, sitting at an elegant stone table.

Leske peeped through the door, a tray of fragrant meat in his arms. "Your sister sends her greetings, and those of her nephew." He reached her, sitting down beside her.

"Don't you miss Orzammar?" Natia asked him, grabbing some food. "And my sister, you can't see her anymore here on the surface."

The other drank some of his beer, leaning back in the chair and sighing contentedly. "What do I care about your sister, when we have more money than we can count?" He rested a hand on her thigh. "Besides, you're here, Salroka. So much better than Rica."

"Yeah, right..." She drank the rest of the mead, ignoring him and bringing her attention back to the room. Something was wrong. Her drink was too sweet, the meat should have been better than this, instead it tasted like the usual slop. And the room looked like a mix between a wooden hovel in Denerim and Beraht's stone palace down in Orzammar. The decor was pompous and unnecessary, with all kinds of statues depicting the Ancestors alongside the dogs of the Ferelden, covered in gold and precious stones.

"What a waste." She thought grabbing a piece of meat, munching. It tasted like old nug.

"Lyrium smuggling to the Tower is on the rise, what with all those Templars. And business with The Free Marches is also booming." Continued the dwarf who had entered earlier. He had pulled out a scroll and started listing number after number, tributes from all the Carta's detachments in the various parts of Thedas.

"The Mage Tower... Hadn't something happened?" An image of a fire creature flashed through her mind, causing her to jerk up and spill some mead on herself.

"Salroka." Leske interrupted her, returning her hand to his leg and sliding it upward, lewdly. "How about we drop these boring money lists and get down to something more interesting...?"

She stood up sharply, moving away. Since when does Leske find money boring?

"Salroka, what's wrong with you?" He tried to calm her down. "I was just thinking how beautiful you look tonight."

Oh. The truth hit her in the face like a fist. None of this is real. She turned to the rock wall, resting her hand on it. Nothing. Her Stone sense confirmed that this was not real rock.

"Natia..."

"Shut up, Leske." She ordered. "How did I end up here?"

"By becoming the head of the Carta, of course!"

The girl drew her knives from her belt. They were her usual daggers, crude, sharp and scarred by countless fighs. "I think I'd remember if I'd made a ton of money. Instead, nothing." She launched herself at the thing pretending to be Leske, catching it off guard and stabbing it in the chest with both daggers. "And no one would ever call me beautiful."

The creature fell to the ground with a groan. The other dwarf threw himself at her, but it was a short fight.
"So how do I get out of here?" Natia wondered aloud, looking around and scratching her head.

A strange pedestal stood at the back of the room, next to a large archway of what was not stone. She walked over to it. It seemed to sizzle as she touched it.

She felt a tug at her waist as the room around her spun dizzily. She closed her eyes, straining not to vomit. In a moment, she was still again. She opened her eyelids.

The landscape around her was a blur; columns and trees stood without any logical sense on all sides, sometimes upside down, sometimes almost not resting on the ground. The floor was earthy, but it didn't give her the right feeling. Not far away, a figure dressed as a mage waved at her.

"Who are you?" He asked her once she had approached.

"Someone who wants to get out of here." She replied, knives still clutched in her hand in case that one decided to attack her. You never knew, with those sparkly cloudgazers...

"Ah. It's your first time in the Fade I guess. Dwarves don't dream, they don't possess any magical abilities. Maybe that's why you were able to break free before your companions."

"Nothing you just said makes any sense."

The magr shook his head. "Sorry. I'm Niall, by the way. You fell right into the trap of the Sloth Demon who controls this place, as did your companions and I. The Demon traps everyone he encounters so that they cannot, or will not want to, break free of the illusion he builds around them. You did well tho."

"It wasn't very realistic." Although I wish it was... Natia thought.

"I thought I got free as well, but I found myself wandering around this place, unable to leave."

"Well, I'm not going to sit here and do nothing." She retorted, resolute. "There has to be a way out of this place."

"We're in The Fade, the world beyond the Veil. The place inhabited by demons. It's almost impossible."

"The monsters I've encountered so far are as dead as anyone else who get with a blade in their neck." She clenched her knives. "And dwarves are resistant to all this magic crap."

"In that case, I'll tell you what I found out. See that pedestal, where you came from?"

Natia nodded.

"I studied the runes on it. Each one represents one of the islands in the world created by Sloth. It itself is on the island in the center, but you can't get there until you've removed the barrier that stands thanks to the islands all around it, you need to defeat its guardians. And there are countless obstacles that make it impossible to pass through, to the point of driving you crazy. Sometimes you'll need to go through portals like that to continue." He pointed to a purple, luminescent spot not far away.

The girl's head was spinning. "Islands, portals, guardians, barrier, demon. Well, if I can figure it out, I'll come back for you."

"One last thing!" Niall stopped her. "There are other dreamers, trapped on the islands. Some may be your companions, others believe themselves to be animals or different creatures. They might be able to help you out if you meet them."

"Sure, I was looking forward to talk to a nug." Muttered the dwarf, heading towards the portal and through it. Her vision darkened for a moment.

The landscape was the same as before. She walked for a while, wandering among the small hills that all looked the same. She encountered one of the flaming creatures but managed to get away.

One exploded in a cloud of smoke and sparks, revealing a small brown mouse, its snout raised toward her. "Thank you very much, but it's too late for me." Said the animal.

Natia jumped back, alarmed. "You talk?!"

"And I can help you. Kill Yevena, the demon who controls this place. Take my power, and save the others who were trapped..."

"What are you-?" Before she could ask for an explanation of the mouse's power, it scrambled to the ground. "Great." Muttered Natia, lightly tapping it with her foot to check if it was really dead. As soon as the tip of her boot touched the animal's fur, she felt a twinge in her stomach.

"By the Stone!" She let out a cry, shaking her head. A cloud of smoke had appeared out of nowhere, making her cough. She must have fallen to the ground, because.... She felt short. More than usual. She tried to stand up, but only managed to lift herself a few inches. She focused on a hairy nose, whiskers vibrating frantically. She felt her ears moving to pick up every noise, hair covering her whole body. She looked down at a pair of small pink paws, covered in reddish fur. She felt something move and tickle her back.

Oh, shit. Is that a tail?!

She moved a few uncertain steps, trying to look at herself. She was a fucking mouse. She wanted to scream, but only managed to emit a few irritated squeaks. I hate magic!

Next to her was a tunnel, just big enough for a small rodent to pass through.

 

 

 

 


It was getting worse and worse. She had just somehow managed to figure out how to turn into a mouse and get back to normal without too much difficulty, that another one of those crazy sparkling skynnyarses had set her on fire.

Literally.
She found herself running in circles, trying to put out the flames that enveloped her entirely, burning her, the pain that... Hey, wait. Why don't I feel anything?

She stopped her run, looking down at her hands. That guy was right. I'm losing it

She was completely on fire, but it didn't seem to hurt at all.

A hideous creature flung open the door beside her, jolting her. She raised her hands to defend herself, not finding her knives....

A fireball crashed into the monster, reducing it to ashes. Surprised, she looked at her hands again, pointing them in front of her as she had seen the mages do in the tower. Again, the flames that surrounded her curled up and swirled around her fingers. She made to push them away, causing a fireball to crash into the nearby wall, exploding.

Now we're talking... She thought with a grin.

 

 

 

 

 

The demon lay on the ground, half-burned and lifeless.

Natia ran a hand over her forehead, sweating. The whole island was on fire. It reminded her of some of the underground tunnels in Orzammar, the ones that ran near the lava flows.

She cracked her neck, moving her head left and right. All those transformations were tiring.

She looked at the body on the ground. Now all she had to do was find the others stuck on the smaller islands, represented by the small runes on either side of the pedestal, connected to the larger runes that corresponded to the islands whose last guardian she had just defeated.

She touched one at random, feeling the now-familiar tug in her gut, closing her eyes. She'd thrown up a couple of times. Then she hadn't exactly gotten used to it, but at least she'd learned to keep her stomach at bay. Or, more likely, she had nothing left to puke.

She focused on her surroundings.

It was full of trees, ominous and scary. Leaf-laden branches hung everywhere, the ground was covered in grass and roots, and whistles and buzzes rose from nowhere.

She swallowed, regretting the burning tower as she continued uncertainly through the forest.

She heard chuckling voices and followed where they came from to a small clearing. Four people were gathered around a bonfire. As she approached, she noticed they were elves.

"Hey, you, where did you come from?" One of them asked her, his blond hair framing a delicate face on which an elaborate tattoo stood out.

The girl who sat next to him, her head resting on his shoulder, opened her eyes.

Natia recognized her immediately. "Of course, you're the elf who has to take me to Redcliffe!"

The other looked at her as if she didn't understand. "Redcliffe? Why would I go back to Ferelden?"

"Don't listen to her, she's probably lost and rambling." The blond elf interjected.

"Yes, there is no reason to leave this wonderful forest." Another elf, who carried a magic staff on her shoulders, spoke up. "Ferelden was a horrible place, wasn't it Tamlen?"

The blond one nodded, holding her companion close.

Natia lost her temper. She walked towards them, frowning. "That's enough, this isn't real, can't you see that?" She grabbed the Warden by the shoulders, shaking her violently. "Let's get out of here!"

That one wriggled out with a yank, pushing her away. The elves stood up, facing Natia, drawing their weapons.

The dwarf shook her head. "You leave me no choice..."

She began to grow in size, her skin turning to stone, swelling and outgrowing the elves by at least a couple of feet. She slapped the mage in the face, sending her to the ground before she could cast a spell on her. She felt her bones crumble as she moved on to the next elf, who came at her with sword and shield. With hardly a scratch, she grabbed him by the arm, sending him flying over the bonfire and crashing into the edge of the clearing. The boy did not get up.

She turned to face the last one standing, ready to throw a mighty punch, when the Warden stepped in front of her, standing between them. "Don't!"

"Move." Natia intimated to her, her voice coming out cavernous and deep.

"Touch him and I'll kill you!" The other threatened her, her voice betraying her panic.

Natia huffed. She grabbed the sword the elf was pointing at her, snatching it from her hand and throwing it far away. Then she pushed her aside, lifting her up in the air and throwing her on the ground. The warden rolled onto her side with a groan, trying to get back on her feet.

Without giving her time to, Natia clenched her gigantic fists, striking the last elf and hitting him in the chest.

"No! Tamlen!" She heard the Warden shout, looking at her with hatred.

Natia turned, returning the glare, impassive. "You promised me a bunch of money, and if I have to smack you around to get you out of here, I have no problem doing that." Before she could reach her, however, the Warden disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

"Serves her right." Natia thought, returning to her normal dwarven form as a purplish portal appeared beside her. She went through it without hesitation, being transported next to another pedestal. She touched a new rune.

 

 

 

 

 

She found herself inside a building, lighten up only by candles, which hung from the ceiling in elaborate chandeliers or candlesticks. The rooms were almost entirely covered with shelves full of books, neatly stored. Some tomes lay open on top of small wooden tables, besides stacks of paper filled with neat annotations and drawings.

The air smelled of wax and other stuff that Natia couldn't identify. Her head was spinning.

She walked past two more rooms, looking the same as the previous ones, until she found herself in front of a closed door, made of nice golden wood. Huffed noises were coming from inside.

She leaned against it, pressing her ear to the wood.

Someone was panting heavily. She clearly heard two distinct, hoarse male voices. "Uh-oh. They're going at it."

She stood up on her toes, peering through the lock. The curiosity was too strong.

Despite the dim light of the candles, her eyesight accustomed to the underground darkness gave her a fairly detailed view of what was going on in there.

Two humans lay entwined on a bed. The taller one, with long braided red hair and a long unkempt beard, was pressing his companion against the pillows, holding him firmly underneath, one hand in his lover's dark hair and the other gripping his side.

Natia swallowed dryly, forcing herself away from the door.

Fuck. How long has it been since I've had some exercise?  She wondered, the temperature of the room seeming to have suddenly risen. She inhaled deeply. What was she supposed to do, break down the door and...? It seemed terribly selfish and rude. Besides, she had no idea who they were.

Maybe they're just demons who know how to have fun. She shook her head. One of them had clearly been trapped there by the Sloth Demon, as had the elf from earlier and herself.

Maybe I should have taken the fake Leske up on his offer. With a hint of envy, she went back to the other romm, grabbed a chair and perched on it with some difficulty. Two glasses of wine were laid on the small table in front of her, a carafe beside them.

In the other room, the two of them did not seem to stop.

She huffed, generously filling her glass. It was sweet, not like anything she had ever tasted before. She focused on the wine, trying to ignore the rest.

When the door suddenly opened, she was at the last sips of her third glass.

The red haired man was trying to fix his tunic, torn and bloodied. Noticing her, he stopped in surprise. "Oh. I didn't know there was anyone else."

Natia stared at him amused. "You mean besides the demon you were banging like an anvil?"

The man ignored the comment, taking the other glass and pouring himself some of wine, which he drank slowly. "We should get going."

"What about your dear demon?"

"I took care of it." He set the now empty glass down on the table. "I didn't know there were dwarves in the tower. How did you get in?"

"There's a small tunnel behind the warehouse. You can't see it unless you know where to look." She answered, bragging. "No need to use magic, it's a mechanical door that opens behind a bookcase through a gap in the wall. It leads directly to the dock under the tower."

"Interesting."
If the mage thought he'd get out of the tower that easily, she had some bad news for him. "Of course, you'd have to be small enough to get through the tunnel and squeeze into one of the supply crates, and be transported to the lake by the ferryman along with the rest of the weekly supplies..."

"I see. Well, I'll have to find another way to leave, then." The man said, unblinking. He finished buttoning up his robes.

Natia looked at him quizzically. "So, you knew from the beginning that he wasn't...?"

The mage nodded.

"And you didn't have a problem with it?"

The man raised an eyebrow. "To what extent did you enjoy the show, exactly?"

"Quite a bit. How did you end up in here?" She asked him, deflecting the conversation.

"Trapped like everyone else. I was in the tower when the chaos broke out." The mage pointed to a violet portal that had opened before them. "The exit."

"I've been through so many today that it's really not worth explaining, beanpole."

"Ah. So I guess you know all about the Fade and moving within a different dimension than we're used to, with magical laws and-"

"I can turn into a stone golem and punch you, you know?"

The mage chuckled. "Alright, lead the way then."

They crossed the portal, appearing alongside the pedestal from before.

"There, now we just have to pick one of the runes." Natia explained.

"I can see that. Each rune represents an island in the space created by the Sloth Demon. All the connections are now open..." He paused, looking at her in admiration. "Did you really defeat all the guardians?"
Natia puffed out her chest, twirling one of the knives in the air and grabbing it back on the fly. "Of course I did. If I had waited for people like you to finish minding their own business..."

"Congratulations. Though it must be due in part to your race's natural resistance to magic. A dwarf in the Fade... I wonder if it ever happened before."

Not bad for a duster... Natia thought, a smug grin plastered on her face.

"We need to free the others as well." The mage stopped her before she could touch the center rune. “Niall must be on one of the smaller islands..."

"Niall?" She remembered him, he was the mage she had met at the beginning! "I saw him, he explained to me how to move through the portals." She touched one of the runes, which instantly transported them.

"Geralt?!" Exclaimed Niall with surprise, seeing them appear. "I don't... How did you end up here?"

"Well, I was right in the middle of the slaughterhouse when Uldred and his people decided to go on a rampage. I managed to slip away after Surana hit one of the Templars with a fireball... that fucking elf, he's always been a bit crazy but... Well, I didn't stop until I found a room to barricade myself in. The idea was to take advantage of the situation to get out of the Tower, but Owain said that they had shut the outer doors." Explained the red-haired. "He also told me about your mission to stop everyone with the Litany of Adralla, so I tried to get to you before you did something stupid. I failed, clearly. As soon as I entered the hall the Sloth Demon knocked me out."

It's not the only one who knocked you out... Natia thought, holding back a laugh.

"Something stupid, me?! Like I was the one who started it all!" Shouted Niall, offended, facing the other mage.

"I see you still think the templars are right to keep us in here..."

"What happened is proof of that!"How many more people have to die because of us!"

"The tempars forced their hand." Geralt retorted coldly. "In any case, this is not the place or time to discuss this. We need to face Sloth and get out of here."

Niall turned even paler. "I don't think that's possible for me."

"Hey, whatever it is, you can talk about it later!" Natia interjected. "Niall, we can do this."

The mage stood silent, his gaze focused on Geralt.

The other sighed. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to know I can never reenter my body."

"Damn it!" Geralt blurted out, a magical spark emanating from his clenched fist. "Couldn't you have avoided playing the hero!?"

"Look who's talking..."

"I'm serious, Niall. First Anders, then Jowan... I'm tired of losing my friends." He looked up, toward the unnaturally greenish sky.

"I'm sorry. I thought I could fix everything. At least you have a chance to get out of here." Niall squeezed his friend's arm, forcing him to look into his eyes. "Hey. You still have to find Jowan, don't you? You can't just give up."

"He'll be in the Tevinter by now."

"Well then you find him, and tell him he was the worst fool I ever met."

"Worse than Surana?"

"Much worse. Now go, before it's too late for you too." He patted him on the shoulder, trying to smile despite looking like he was about to cry. "An elf came by earlier, she seemed furious. I explained to her how to move between the islands, and it seems she freed the other two trapped here..."

Natia was surprised. "Oh. That elf." Being smacked around must have done her some good.

Before walking away, Geralt turned one last time to Niall, hugging him close. Then, Natia and Geralt walked over to the pedestal.

 

 

 

 

They were transported in the middle of a fight.

"Took you long enough!" The elf growled at her, parrying with her sword a blow from a lumpy creature that had to be the Sloth Demon.

Look who's talking... Natia wanted to reply, but she was already shapeshifting.

The other four watched in amazement as the dwarf transformed into a huge stone golem, then charged at the demon. Combining their skills, they soon managed to overpower it.

With one last tug on their guts, they returned to the real world, to the great hall of the Tower.

"Ugh." Natia complained, sitting on the floor massaging her temples. "I've had enough of magic." The pungent smell of the demon was everywhere.

She spotted Geralt leaning over Niall's body. He held a scroll in his hand.

"Back away!" Shouted the elderly mage, her staff pointed at him. " Stop right there, blood mage!"

The other two immediately jumped to their feet, weapons raised.

"Stop!" Shouted Natia to them, struggling to get back to her feet.

"Stay out of this, smuggler, this is Circle's business!" The old woman intimated her, casting a spell at the other mage.

Geralt barely managed to avoid it, hiding behind a pillar while summoning a small luminescent barrier around himself. "Can't say I'm glad to see you, Wynne!"

The other wasted no time, swinging her staff above her head again.

Natia tried to stop her, throwing herself at her, but she was too far away. "Wait!"

"Wynne, no!" Exclaimed the elf, standing in front of the woman. "First, explain what's going on. He helped us against the demon, so why...?"

The mage did not lower her weapon, merely interrupting the spell. "This whole thing started because of him. He is a blood mage and he was supposed to be tried before an Assembly. But his companions unleashed an army of demons in the tower, allowing him to escape." She cast a furious glance at the column behind which Geralt was hidden. "But you won't get away this time, Amell!"

"I had nothing to do with Uldred and his people!" Geralt yelled, but the woman seemed to be having none of it. If it hadn't been for the elf and Natia, who had run to flank her, she would have torn the entire room apart just to hit the supposed blood mage.

"If he wanted to run, why didn't he?" The elf tried to reason with her. "He could have left but instead he chose to help us."

"Because he couldn't get rid of the demon on his own!" Wynne retorted, trying to move past her. "Step aside, you have no idea who you're defending! He took the Litany of Adralla so he could destroy it and subject us all to his will."

"Niall knew him." Natia interjected. "And he told him about the stuff himself. He trusted him!"

The old woman was having none of it. "Of course he trusted him, they were friends! He tricked Niall, just like the rest of us. He's dangerous, he's already helped a blood mage escape."

"You would have subjected him to the Ritual of Tranquility, if he hadn't escaped!" Geralt retorted, finally coming out of his shelter. He was holding a magic staff which was glowing menacingly.

"Ritual of what?!" The dwarf asked him, trying to buy time. She missed being able to transform into a rock giant. She could have kicked everyone's ass and made them reason.

"They would have ripped out all his emotions! He would have been a servant to those damn Templars, that's what they would have done to him if I hadn't helped him!" Screamed Geralt, throwing a shower of scorching flames all around him. "And you elders do nothing, you let the templars take advantage of us mages without being able to rebel to their abuses... Then when we finally have enough and lose our temper, you turn us into fucking puppets!" He pointed his staff at them, but suddenly the flames went out. He looked around, then pointed his alarmed gaze in Alistair's direction. "You're...?!"

The blond warrior, who had been silent and aloof the whole time, raised his hands. "Yeah, my bad. Now, if we're all going to calm down..."

"You fucking templar!" Geralt growled at him, breaking whatever the other had done to keep him from casting spells. The staff got covered in swirling flames once again.

"Alistair, get away from there!" Wynne warned him, taking advantage of Natia and the elf's moment of distraction to cast a protection spell towards the warrior.

"That's enough!" Screamed the elf at the top of her lungs. She elbowed the old woman between the ribs, making her bend over in pain and surprise and stealing her staff.

"Get a grip." Natia shot back, advancing fearlessly toward the other mage. "Geralt, don't fuck this up. And you-" She turned again to face the sorceress. "He's been helpful, just like you. And from what I understand there are a whole bunch of other skinnyarses with sparking hands upstairs, who can't wait to tear us apart."

"Nice summary." Alistair giggled. "But yes, I agree with her."

"So," Natia continued glaring at him "there's no point in slaughtering each other. And if he says he's not in league with the others, I believe him."

"Besides, to condemn him for preventing a friend from such brutality is insane." Said the elf "No one should be locked up in a place like this."

"You can't trust him..." Wynne tried to retort, but by then the decision had been made. Outvoted, she relaxed her shoulders, adjusting her robes and looking at them with a stern frown. "You will regret this, I guarantee it."

The elf approached Geralt. "Is your friend by any chance named Jowan?"

The man brightened. "How do you-?"

"We met him in Redcliffe. Although he admitted to being a blood mage, he seemed genuinely sorry about everything that happened there, so I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. We'll go back there once this is resolved. You can join us for the rest of the journey. Now, give me that thing." She extended a hand toward him, pointing to the parchment.

The other hesitated for a moment, but eventually handed the scroll to her. "I'm hoping this will grant me some trust.... And I guess there's no way out of here for me with the templars guarding the door. I'm glad Jowan's alive, though, can you tell him-?"

"Whatever it is, you can tell him yourself." The elf interrupted him. "I know exactly how to get you out of here, trust me. We are Grey Wardens, after all."

"Funny how you keep changing your mind about that, Aenor." The warrior poked her, then turned back to the mage, staring him straight in the eye. "Now, if you truly have no intention of subjugating us all, it's time to move on. That is, if your friends upstairs don't tear us to pieces."

Despite the two mages' reluctance to work together, and after some brief introductions, they headed for the stairs leading to the top floor of the Tower.

Before ascending, they came across another templar, who had been trapped in a magical cage.

"Again?! It won't work!" Screamed the prisoner, throwing himself on his knees and joining hands as if in prayer. "I will endure, demon!"

"This is what you have done, Amell. Are you proud of yourself?" Wynne said, turning to the other mage.

Geralt who frowned at her and approached the cage. "Cullen?"

The one looked up, alarmed, widening his eyes. "You! Demon, why do I have to see him again! It was him, he caused all this!" He screamed, holding his head.

"You've all made up your mind about my involvement in this, I can't even bring myself to feel sorry for your situation." Retorted Geralt dryly.

"Kill me! Just kill me, stop toying with ne." The templar slumped to the ground, head bowed low, pleading. "If there is anything human left in you, kill me, I beg you."

"I thought your Templars were formidable warriors... I'm not impressed." Natia commented, looking down at him. She had seen better among the dusters of Orzammar.

"Leave, demons! Leave me or kill me!" Shouted the prisoner, squeezing his eyes shut, nails scratching his tear-streaked cheeks. He opened his eyes again after a few moments, looking at them bewildered. "But... it's always worked 'til now..."

Geralt raised an eyebrow. "We're not demons, you idiot."

The other shook his head, his voice broken. "And to think I used to feel sorry for the Circle's mages. Now..." He clenched his fists, looking up at the man, eyes filled with hatred. "Now, I desire nothing more than for you all to disappear from the whole Thedas."

Geralt didn't move a muscle, returning the gaze. "In that case, you can go first."

"Are there any survivors?" Aenor asked, interrupting them.

Before the templar could answer, a chilling scream jolted them. They stood petrified, listening. It was coming from upstairs.

"We have our answer." Natia commented. "Now we might as well leave, go back to the ground floor, get out of here and put at least a couple of days' march between us and whatever is up there. That seems like the only sensible idea."

The elf, though pale as a rag, unsheathed the large two-handed sword she carried behind her back. "No way."

The other Warden nodded, drawing his weapon as well. "Yeah, it takes more than an army of abominations to make us run for our lives."

Wynne clutched the magic staff to herself, shooting a determined glance at the ceiling. "The First Enchanter is still up there, as are some of the Senior Enchanters. We have to do everything in our power to save them."

Natia cast a glance at Geralt, who of all those madmen seemed to her, unthinkable to say speaking about a human and a mage on top of it, the least foolish.

He shrugged his shoulders, though, pointing at the two guardians. "If the elf dies, there goes my only chance of getting out of here. I have no other options."

The dwarf shook her head, incredulous. "I knew that all that cloudgazing and windwas bad for your brain..." She drew her daggers from her belt, pointing one in the elf's direction. "After this, I want the equivalent of my weight in gold."

The other burst into a nervous giggle. "Then we're lucky you're not Qunari."

"You can't save them! They've been up there too long." The imprisoned Templar objected, shouting. "Surrounded by blood mages, who... They will now be abominations, controlled by demons. You must kill them all, no blood mage or abomination must leave the Tower. Starting with him!" He pointed at Geralt, who made an angry gesture with his staff, causing small flames to swirl around.

"Let's move on before this idiot gives me a reason to prove him right." The mage snarled.

"We need the maes and the First Enchanter. End of story." Aenor declared, turning her back on the templar and his useless protests as she began to climb the stairs.

"By the Stone, how did I get into this mess!" Natia thought. The screams coming from upstairs were terrible, booming in her ears, piercing her eardrums. If only she hadn't fought in those damn Provings...

They opened the door wide and were confronted with a gruesome scene.

A bald mage towered over another man lying on the ground, surrounded by monstrous creatures, torturing him with magical thunderbolts that made the man cry out in pain.

"Yield!" Screamed the mage, a loud crack f lightning hitting the man on the ground.

The screaming suddenly ceased.

With a sinister snap, the man's back arched so far as to break as he was lifted off the ground, floating a couple of feet from the stone floor, transforming. Within moments, what was left of him was a misshapen, monstrous creature that went obediently alongside the others.

The bald mage turned to the newcomers, spreading his arms wide in welcome. "Ah, intruders. Have you come to join us?" His voice was a mixture of overlapping tones, as if there were at least three or four people speaking at once. His gaze wandered over the group, then widened into a grin. "Ah, Amell. I was wondering what happened to you. Surana and Jowan have always spoken so highly of you.... But I'll tell you the truth, I think they were always jealous of your power. It doesn't matter, now you can fulfill your true potential and I'll help you do just that."

Natia cast a worried glance at the red-haired mage. He was clutching his staff so tightly that his knuckles whitened, gaze filled with hatred.

"Wynne." Continued the bald one, tuning toward the old woman. "I expected nothing less from a stubborn old crone like you. It will be my pleasure to break you."

"You won't get away with it, Uldred!" She replied.

"I see you are stubborn as usual... As you wish. It will only make my victory even sweeter." The mage smiled, a monstrous grin spreading across his face, distorting it.

He tilted his head back as a blinding light enveloped him, forcing the newcomers to cover their eyes.

Natia got blinded for a few moments, squinting her eyes.

A powerful roar, the likes of which she had never heard before, shook the room causing the floor beneath them to shake. She clutched her daggers spasmodically, cursing herself for ending up in that situation.

Why, why hadn't she stayed in Denerim and taken care of some casual burglary in the house of some filthy rich cloudgazer?!

Chapter 13: Kinloch Hold III

Summary:

Geralt Amell finds a way to escape the Templar' clutches, but freeing Jowan from Redcliffe is an entirely different matter.
Natia gets some money, but it's never enough.
The Wardens have yet another seemingly impossibile task ahead of them.

Chapter Text

Geralt cast yet another fireball at Uldred, dodging just in time one of the Abominations that had tried to strike him from behind.

He turned around, spinning his magic staff and hurling a rune of paralysis at the creature, which made it immobilize. A well-aimed slash cut it in two, causing it to collapse to the ground.

He beckoned to the elf, who passed him by without reciprocating, returning to face Uldred.

Natia, not far away, was fiddling with something in her backpack. She pulled out a small bottle that glowed sinisterly with a greenish light.

"Out of the way!" She then shouted in the direction of the two Wardens, who were just in time to back away, managing to avoid the toxic cloud that was released the very moment the glass shattered against the monster's skin.

Geralt promptly cast a series of fire spells at it, which reacted with the poisonous vapor exactly as he had hoped: Uldred's figure was enveloped in a storm of roaring flames, which rose up to the high ceiling of the tower.

It was not enough, however. "Damn you!" Geralt blurted out, gasping as he caught his breath. The creature, though on fire and screaming, would not die.

The elder mages behind them gasped, trapped in a beam of purplish light.

"The Litany!" He shouted, warning Wynne to use the scroll.

The other didn't dignify him with a glance as she was already reciting the words of the Litany of Adralla, which fought the influence Uldred had over the First Enchanter and the other captive mages. They were writhing on the ground, but seemed to be resisting.

The creature that had been Uldred screamed in rage as the flames around it extinguished. With one last effort, it cast a spell all around itself, which shook the entire room and threatened to send Geralt and the others to the ground.

Alistair took cover behind his shield, falling to one knee and gritting his teeth, blood soaking his leg. Aenor, beside him, was leaning on her sword, pale and wounded, but she wasn't giving up.

Although they were so young, Geralt admired their courage. They were risking their lives for a bunch of strangers, and mages on top of it.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing and gather the mana he needed to cast another set of spells. Beside him, Natia was panting heavily.

"Do you have any more bombs in that bag?" He asked her.

The dwarf shook her head. "I thought I was being too cautious even in bringing two... I didn't think I'd get into a mess like this."

He sneered, trying to hide his disappointment. He inscribed three fire runes on the floor around the creature, while Wynne cast a couple of healing spells on the group, obviously excluding him.

"Bloody crone..."

The two Wardens lashed out at Uldred again, and Brosca joined them as well, striking him from behind and piercing him with her poison-soaked daggers. They forced the abomination to step back until it ended up on one of the runes, which activated casting a blinding glow. As the three of them hurriedly pulled back, Wynne threw a barrier around them, again avoiding Geralt, who was forced to raise one of his own with the last strands of energy.

The monster exploded violently, triggering a chain reaction with the other two runes and threatening to bring down the entire room.

When the vortex of fire disappeared, nothing remained of Uldred but shreds of smoking ash.

The mage leaned against the wall behind him, exhausted, brushing a few sparks off his beard. They had done it. He looked at the remains of those who had been his colleagues until a few weeks before. Surana, he was sure, had become one of those Abominations. He sighed, remembering how many times the elf had studied with them. Niall, Surana, Anders, Jowan... because of the templars, every person he had ever cared about had been forced into extreme acts, even himself.

His eyes wandered in the direction of the First Enchanter, who was struggling to sit back down on the floor, shaking.

It would have been so easy to kill them all. Punish them for letting the Templars take advantage of the rest of the mages in the Tower for so long.... They were the real culprits. What else could the mages do to free themselves from thae Circle's yoke but resort to forbidden magic? Jowan and the others had succumbed to Uldred's blandishments, who had lured them with promises of freedom and unstoppable power. This is what was left of those promises: a pile of corpses. And what had happened in the Tower would have repercussions throughout Thedas, in every nation under the control of the Chantry. A failed attempt at a revolution, and the mages would be even more feared and subjugated than before.

He forced himself to look away from Irving, swallowing the anger that pervaded him. He had to get out of there, no matter what, and the Wardens was the only one who could help him. Killing Irving and Gregoir was not the priority.

"Are you all right?" He heard Alistair ask the mages on the ground.

"Yes... a little battered, but alive. And it's only because of you." Irving replied, accepting the boy's help and pulling himself to his feet with difficulty. He cast a glance in Geralt's direction. "Amell."

Trying hard to stifle his killer instinct, he replied with a nod.

"Irving, the two Wardens don't understand the danger of this blood mage, we can't leave him-" Wynne interjected, also rushing over to support the elderly mage.

"I'm too tired for that, Wynne." The other stopped her. "I'll let Gregoir and his Templars handle it." It seemed hard for him to even stand.

"A 'thank you for saving our asses' would be more appreciated." Natia interjected, wiping the ashes off her clothes. "Stupid old cloudgazing skinnyarses..." He heard her mumble before walking past them and preceding them to the door. "So are we moving or not?"

"Absolutely." Agreed Aenor, who hurried to catch up with her. She motioned for Geralt to follow them.
Why that elf had taken charge of his situation, he had no idea. Nor did she know what Jowan had told her to convince her it was a good idea to get him out of there and help an escaped blood mage from the tower, but this was hardly the time to look a gifted horse in the mouth. Or a Gray Warden.

They laboriously descended the stairs, clear of any danger. Cullen, freed from his prison, gave them a look of contempt mixed with terror, and followed them at a safe distance to the exit.

They reached the large sealed doorway without a hitch.

Aenor knocked hard on the door. From the other side, a burst of frightened cursing was heard.

"That's us, we have the First Enchanter!" Shouted the elf.

"Prove it!"

Alistair accompanied Irving to the door. The one leaned against the stone, confirming that he was truly himself.

Reluctantly, Gregoir resolved to open it. "Take one bad step and you're all dead!"

Geralt let the Wardens and the First Enchanter go ahead of him, but Wynne kept a close watch on him, not letting him get more than a couple of feet away from her.

A short, furry creature ran towards them, trying to pounce on the elf, who knelt on the ground to pet it. The black mabari licked her on the face, overjoyed.

"Unbelievable. You really did it!" Commented the Commander in surprise, watching the large group of people. The children and the few surviving mages they had recovered on the ground floor looked around in terror, while Cullen staggered to the safety of his companions. A couple of other templars rushed to his aid.

Gregoir's eyes then settled on Amell, squinting. "You!"

"Looks like no one's happy to see me lately." Geralt grinned, trying not to show his fear.

"You bloody... How dare you make fun of this, after all that's happened because of you!" Gregoir snickered, drawing his sword and making to launch himself at him. Geralt could feel the effect of at least three antimagic auras on him, causing him to stagger gasping for air. The Commander would have surely mowed him down had it not been for Aenor, who stood before him, her two-handed sword clenched tightly in her fist. The mabari, beside her, growled menacingly.

"Not so fast, Commander."

"Get out of my way, Grey Warden." Gregoir barked. "This blood mage will be executed."

Most people Geralt knew would have stepped aside in panic, but the elf merely took a single step back, her shoulders stiff, placing herself between the templar and the mage.

"No way. I need mages like him to fight this Blight And there aren't many left." She said. "I invoke the Right of Conscription."

Gregoir gasped for a moment, surprised. Soon, however, he clenched his jaw in a look of pure hatred. "No. Not him."

"And instead, I want him. Specifically." Aenor retorted. "We have the Treaties. The Grey Wardens can recruit anyone, and they're above the law. Perhaps we need to refresh your memory, Commander...?"

The other Warden glanced at her with concern, but confirmed what she had said.

Gregoir seemed to ponder what to do, without lowering his huge broadsword.

The elf was just standing there, armed, unflinching. "We just cleared the entire tower of Abominations and real blood mages, not to mention possessed templars. Do you really think a handful of scared and battered templars is going to be a problem for us?"

She's... threatening the Knight-Commander of the Ferelden's Templars?! She was crazy. Completely insane. That little girl was going to get herself killed, and with her his hopes of getting out of that place in one piece.

To his surprise, Gregoir lowered his weapon.

"All right, I don't want any more bloodshed. I cannot oppose the Treaties, but know that the Templars are not subject to them. You will get no help from us." He turned directly to Geralt, who was still unable to cast anything. "And you. If I see you again you're dead, Grey Warden or not."

"I have no intention of coming back to say hello." Geralt retorted. Was this really happening? Was he seriously free to get out of there? The word "Conscription" rumbled through his mind.

Oh. Fuck.

"First Enchanter Irving!" Wynne spoke up, advancing toward them. "Commander Gregoir. Allow me to join the Wardens as well. The Blight threatens all of Thedas and they will need a mage they can trust. Please."

"Wynne, but what about your duties to the Circle?" Irving asked her.

The other shrugged. "The Circle I knew is now destroyed. Perhaps it is time to do some good outside of it. I know Redcliffe needs experienced mages to stop a serious matter, and I want to help. Then, after we stop the Blight, I'll come back to help our home."

Irving and Gregoir exchanged a tense look. The old mage sighed. "If that's what you want... At least one representative of the Ferelden mages will live up to that name." He refused to look at Amell, even for a moment.

Geralt shot Geralt a venomous look, but remained silent.

"Will three mages be enough for the ritual?" Alistair asked Wynne.

"With the right amount of lyrium, yes." She assured.

For a few moments, the room fell into total silence.

"Well, I guess we can get the fuck out of here!"

Everyone turned to Brosca, who had remained, seemingly invisible, behind Alistair until that moment.

"What the hell are you-?!" Gregoir blurted out, but before he could finish his sentence, the dwarf had already walked past him.

"Next time I'll see if I can hide a bronto in plain sight, you probably won't notice that either." She laughed, twirling one of her knives in the air and catching it.

Geralt couldn't help but chuckle.

Aenor shook her head, then turned back to him. "Come on, we've wasted enough time already."

"I wholeheartedly agree." He found himself almost smiling. He walked the few steps that separated him from the exit of the tower. He passed the large stone arch, stepping outside the Tower for the first time in years.

He inhaled the damp air of the lake, trying to see the shore on the other side, hidden in the darkness of the night. Not a single light could cut through the fog that enveloped them.

"Well?" Natia called to him, tugging at his sleeve. "Are we going or not?"

Geralt grinned. "You're not one to enjoy the moment, are you?"

The other sneered in response. "When I left Orzammar, I must have stayed hours staring at that damned nothingness above our heads."

"You can understand how I feel, then."

She shook the mass of tangled hair, laughing. "Nah, I don't think so. I didn't have that stupid happy look on my face when I came up to the surface."

They proceeded to the boat. Geralt, many years before, had probably been carried on the same boat to the Tower. He couldn't even remember it, he'd been so young and scared...

They had to make two trips to ferry everyone across the lake.

He, Aenor and the mabari went up first, preceding the others.

 

 

 

 

 

The elf was silent, petting the animal apparently lost in thoughts, while the mage pondered the meaning of what had happened and what joining the Grey Wardens would entail. He had read about it, but had never been particularly interested. He did know, however, that they somehow binded themselves to the darkspawn and use the power of those monsters against them. He was aware that they were considered the only ones who could kill an Archdemon and thus stop a Blight, and that they were formidable warriors.

They spent the journey immersed in their own thoughts, the silence broken only by the sound of water lapping around them. The bitter cold made him shiver. He had forgotten that he was wearing only a tattered robe, clearly insufficient to protect himself from the autumn wind.

They got out of the boat and sat down on the shore to wait for the others, having lit a fire to keep warm. The mabari set about digging a small hole in the sand, then curled up at his mistress' feet.
"Don't worry, I won't force you to actually join us."

Geralt recoiled, turning to look at the elf in surprise. Her eyes glowed green in the darkness, reflecting the light around them as was characteristic of elves.

"What do you mean?"

Aenor sighed. "I never wanted to be a Warden. The man who recruited me dragged me away from my Clan, forcing me to undergo the Joining. I won't do the same thing to someone else." Geralt noticed that she was clutching a small vial in her hand.

"Then why did you get me out of the Tower?" He asked her.

He saw her put the vial back in her pocket, then pointed to the tower behind them. "I would never want to live in a place like that. No one should be forced to."

"I know the Dalish don't have Circles, and the Clans are led by someone with magical powers."

"Yes. The Keepers use their magic to protect the Clan, and choose a First as their second and train them to one day take over. They are the only mages in the Clan, usually. If more are born, they are sent by other Clans that may not have any. No one kills them or imprisons them for who they are."

"You don't... don't you fear their power?"

"You don't have that much time to fear your neighbor, when your kind is hunted on all sides." Replied the elf in a bitter tone. "We owe our safety to the Keepers and their Firsts, we would not survive without their magic. And it is what binds us most to what the People once were, we cherish their powers, for it is one of the few things that survived from the times of old."

Geralt nodded, not quite knowing what to say. He'd never met another Dalish before and all the elves in the Tower weren't all that different from him. Templars picked on the mages, human or elf, without much distinction. At least, in Kinloch Hold, though it was possible that in other Circles they fared worse.

"In any case, when we get to Redcliffe and once the ritual is done, you will no longer be my problem." She concluded. "I've had my fill of problems."

"I thought there was a Blight to stop."

The other remained silent, refusing to explain what she meant.

It seemed that between the last two Ferelden Wardens, things weren't exactly going well. Geralt at least hoped to be able to use them long enough to free Jowan from Redcliffe. As soon as they were both free, they would flee to the Tevinter, where no Templar could reach them. And they would put as much distance between themselves and that Blight as possible, which seemed to be a very good idea.

A clanking sound made them jolt. They turned their backs, alarmed.

An old man, dressed in rags and looking shabby, was trying to pick up some pieces of metal that had fallen from his hands.

The elf jumped up abruptly, waking the mabari who barked in the man's direction. The man dropped everything again, terrified, trying to get away and stumbling over his own feet, ending up on the ground with a thud, groaning in pain.

"Damn knife-ears, now you got dogs too!" He yelled, trying to crawl in the mud away from them.

"But you did it all by yourself!" Aenor retorted, trying to calm the mabari down.

"I wasn't doing anything! It was just lying there on the ground, it wasn't anyone's!" Screamed the other, hurriedly trying to gather as much junk as possible into his arms.

"What's all that stuff?" The elf asked him, stepping closer to look.

Geralt wondered why the heck she cared.

The man looked around, assessing his options. Half the stuff was still on the ground. "Faryn told me about this place. He said there might be some valuables there...and instead it was all shit! He'd been through there first, leaving me with only a few stray pieces of armor and strips of leather. If I see him again...!" He blurted out, shaking a fist in the air. He was missing a few teeth, and definitely more than one cog.

"And where did you find them?" Aenor insisted. "Because I'm looking for a Qunari sword, maybe your friend has seen it."

"Qu-what?"

"It was probably huge and impossible for anyone to wield." She explained hastily.

"Tell you what, knife-ears, I don't know anything about swords or qunstuff!" The man defended himself. "And if there were swords, Faryn took them away to sell them, he was going to Orzammar when I last spoke with him. It's been weeks, they'll be long since sold. That asshole."

The elf snorted. The man took that as a signal to ran away.

"Why are you looking for a Qunari sword?" Geralt asked her, unable to keep himself from laughing at the man stumbling up the small hill in front of them, slipping in the mud.

"One of our comrades left in Redcliffe, who is a Qunari, he lost his sword around here. He asked if I could look for it, but I guess it's not going to work..."

"Ah. Interesting company." What else was there to expect once they arrived in Redcliffe?

"If you're wondering, yes, we managed to get together a merry group of ragtags." She giggled. "And Sten isn't even the weirdest. There's a hedge-witch who's constantly bickering with Alistair and tried to hide the fact that she likes dogs, and madwoman who talks to herself believing it's her Maker."

"An apostate?" Now that was interesting. "And you don't have a problem with that?"

"She helped us a lot, she's quite talented. And she hasn't done anything wrong so far, so I don't see why we should."

"And that templar just lets her talk back to him?"

"Alistair, you say?" Aenor turned to him, her green eyes twinkling with amusement. "He's not a real templar. He doesn't like her much, it's true, but I think they'd hate each other even if she wasn't a mage." She raised his arm, waving to someone behind them. “And she can stand her own, trust me, he's the one scared of her.”

The others had arrived at the dock as well. Wynne gave him an icy stare. The mage shrugged. As long as everyone believed him to be a recruit of the Grey Wardens, he was untouchable.

"We managed to convince the Templars to give us a couple of extra horses, at least we'll get to Redcliffe in a couple of days." Alistair announced. "Let's hope won't run into too much darkspawn.”

All eyes instinctively settled on Natia.

The dwarf stared back, challenging them disdainully. "What the fuck are you looking at, uh?"

However, when they arrived in front of the stables and the four horses were brought out onto the grassy clearing, Brosca seemed to lose all her grit.

“I'm not... I'm not getting on those things."

Geralt chuckled. She was shorter than the horses' leg.

"I'll help you." Alistair offered, extending one hand to her.

The girl looked at him suspiciously, hesitating. "If I fall..."

"You won't. I'm pretty good at riding." He tried to reassure her.

"Yeah, sure, right." Natia grunted, but allowed herself to be hoisted onto the horse, nervously holding on to the saddle. The Warden looked like he knew what he was doing, for he gracefully hoisted himself up and took his place behind the dwarf, holding the reins firmly.

Geralt turned to the animal in front of him. Trying to repeat the boy's movements, he stuck his foot in the stirrup, climbing with some difficulty into the saddle. The horse snorted from its nostrils, but did not move.

Aenor and Wynne took some time as well, but they managed to get going.

 

 

 

 

 

The nearby village of Lothering had been destroyed and the Dark Spawn roamed the land, killing everything in their path. The Taint of those creatures, which Geralt had only seen illustrated in the books of the tower's library before, lay on everything like a patina, sticky like the skin of a snake, suffocating and rotting everything it touched. The land around them would take years to return to the way it was, even if they could actually stop that Blight. The first time a Hurlock had hurled itself at them, the mage had found himself staring in horror at its fearsome jaws, its rotting body covered in sharp pieces of metal, almost forgetting to cast a spell to defend himself.

However, those monsters were as vulnerable to magic as anyone else.

Due to their numbers and each one's abilities, they arrived at Arle Aemon's castle in the late afternoon of the third day they had left Kinlock Hold.

The man who introduced himself as Bann Teagan greeted them at the entrance to the castle.

"Did you make it?" He asked them, his gaze anxious.

Garalt was given a summary of what had happened at Redcliffe, and he wondered if Jowan knew what he was doing. The idea of sending a mage to fight the demon that possessed Connor directly into the Fade was a good one, but the ritual was complicated. And there were only four mages available, counting the apostate called Morrigan.

They were escorted to the main hall, a large stone room where a lit fireplace towered on one side. Stone mabari statues, typical of Fereldian architecture, were scattered throughout the palace.

"Bring in the blood mage." Ordered the Bann to two of his guards. Those disappeared for a few minutes, returning with a man in tattered, bloodstained robes.

"Jowan!"

The other looked up, eyes brightening. "Geralt...?"

The guards yanked him, forcing him to the ground. "Shut up!" One of them intimated to him.

Geralt could feel his anger mounting, but he forced himself to remain calm. He cautiously approached his friend. Clearly he had been locked in his cell for several days, suffering hunger and tortures.

"I'm sorry, I screwed up again..." Muttered the other, looking at him with guilt.

"We'll set things right. The Wardens told me about the ritual." He tried to reassure him

"I can't believe they sent you."

Geralt shrugged. "It's a long story..."

There's no time to waste on small talk." Bann Teagan interjected. "If we're all ready..." He nodded to Natia, but the dwarf clutched the heavy backpack she carried on her shoulders. Throughout the entire trip she had not parted with it even for a moment.

"I get a hundred and eighty Sovereigns for my trouble first. Or forget about my lyrium."

"You've already had ninety!" Retorted the Bann. "Far more than you could have expected, smuggler!"

"Ah, don't be like that." An amused grin spread across the dwarf's scarred face, "the Wardens here promised me one hundred and eighty. Not one less."

"Actually..." Alistair tried to say, but they were both interrupted by Aenor.

"How much do you value your grandson's life?" He asked Teagan. "A few Sovereigns won't be a problem, for someone living in a castle like this."

"Exactly." Natia chimed in. "Out with the money, fancypants."

Geralt found the situation completely absurd. The dwarf was a member of the Carta, and the Bann could have sent her to the dungeon in a heartbeat, but the man apparently didn't want to go against the wishes of the Grey Wardens.

Teagan glared at her. "A hundred and fifty. But if the ritual doesn't work, you'll make do with what you already got. And that will already be too much."

"Oh, I'm sure the mages here will do a great job!" Natia exclaimed cheerfully, turning to Geralt and Jowan. "Right?"

The two exchanged a look, then nodded in response.

“Who will enter the Fade?" Geralt asked, taking the lyrium Natia handed him. It was several vials enough to complete the ritual without a hitch. Their blue color glowed in the leather pouch, he could feel their great power. The idea of using them to cast spells powerful enough to stun or kill everyone in that room and allow him and Jowan to leave flashed through his mind for a moment, but he reluctantly dismissed it. Aenor had trusted him, after all. And in any case, he wasn't sure they would be able to escape, with all of Redcliffe's men and two Wardens standing in their way.

Wynne hurriedly snatched the backpack containing the lyrium from his hand, giving him a wary glare. "A mage we can trust should go. I volunteer."

"You're not specialized in offensive spells, that would be a mistake." He retorted, crossing his arms. "We have one chance, we can't afford to fail."

"I'm not going anywhere." Pointed Morrigan, the hedge-witch. "I've already agreed to lend my help in preparing the ritual, I'm not going to confront the conscience of a stupid child."

"Don't worry, you didn't fall under the list of 'mages who can be trusted'." Rebuked Alistair.

"Geralt?" Aenor called to him. "You can go, can't you?"

The mage hesitated for a moment before answering. "I'd rather not. Besides, it would be better if someone who already knows Connor went in. It will be easier to move around in the Fade, the demon will have recreated a space to lock him up by taking cues from the child's mind." He laid his gaze on Jowan.

"Me?!" He exclaimed. "I don't know if that's appropriate..."

"Absolutely not!" Roared a woman, blonde and with a pronounced Orlesian accent, who had remained silent until then. She stepped forward, a murderous look in her eyes. "We got into this mess because of him, I'm not going to let-"

"I already said I had nothing to do with Connor's possession!" Jowan tried to retort, but the woman wasn't listening.

Geralt instinctively stood between her and his friend, clutching his own magic staff. "That's enough. Jowan is best suited to settle this matter, like it or not. And he's a capable mage, I can assure you." He looked at Aenor for help. On his own he could not hope to convince the Bann and the others, but if the Warden had put in a good word.... Had Jowan saved the child with his own hands, that would considerably help his position. And perhaps he would have been able to convince them to send him back to the Circle with a minimal escort, so that he could free him and escape on his way there.

"Are you really capable of that?" The elf asked, addressing Jowan directly.

The other hesitated a moment. "Yes. Allow me to make it up to you."

Aenor exchanged a glance with the other Grey Warden, who nodded.

That was enough to convince Bann Teagan.

Geralt and the other mages arranged the lyrium, and he noticed Jowan was slightly shaking. "Hey. You can do this." He whispered to him, careful not to be heard by the others.

"I'm not so sure of it..." He tried to add something, but they were forced to shut up.

They began the ritual, chanting the words until they felt the energy of the spell release around them. The lyrium rose up into the air, shining bright, surrounding Jowan as he absorbed it. Geralt felt the magic flowing like a river through his veins, through him and towards his friend. He also felt the energy of the old crone, calm and determined, and that of Morrigan, impetuous and mysterious. He closed his eyes, letting the three streams join, swirling around them, merging until they became one.

Suddenly, he felt drained of all energy, his strength failing, forcing him to stagger and cling to his magic staff. He opened his eyes again. The other two were in the same situation as him, temporarily without powers.

Jowan, in their midst, lay unconscious on the ground.

He knelt beside him, pressing a hand to his wrist and feeling the pulse.

"Did it work?" Bann Teagan asked.

Geralt nodded, too tired to speak. There was nothing left for them to do but wait.

 

 

 

 

 

At least two hours passed, in which everyone became increasingly nervous.

"Can you stop that!" Snarled Aenor in the direction of Natia, who was meticulously counting her money, stacking the coins in neat rows of ten, jingling them. It was the sixth time she'd put them back in the bag and pulled them out to recount them.

The dwarf looked at her sideways, pausing for a moment. As soon as the elf had turned around, she set to count again, a wide grin on her face.

"What if it doesn't work?" Alistair whispered.

"That's the last thing we need right now..." Morrigan commented. She had had a cup of tea brought to her, which she now was wipping calmly, as if she didn't have a single worry in her life.

Geralt admired her mindlessness as he drank his bitter tea, double-checking that Jowan was still breathing. A couple of times his friend had gasped, alarming them, but for the last few minutes he had been absolutely still. Drops of cold sweat had formed on his pale face, mingling with the dried blood on his wounds. He stroked a lock of those brown hair. Open your eyes, damn it!

But the other didn't hint at moving. He squeezed his hand.

He finished the rest of the tea in long gulps, holding the cup with his free hand; it was now cold. He hated cold tea. Often, during the endless afternoons in the tower spent studying, he would forget to drink it, leaving the cup to cool on the table, overwhelmed by books and notes. Forced to heat it with a spell, he would then drink it complaining about it, arousing the hilarity of the others who would bet on how many times he would be forced to heat the teapot.

"You drink too much of it, that's why you never sleep at night!" Niall always told him, after the umpteenth time he found Geralt half asleep in the library in the morning. Usually, next to him was Jowan, who woke up mumbling, his voice slurred with sleep.

He didn't think he could miss his time in the Tower, but with a knot in his stomach he realized that he did, even if just a bit. Though caged, they had been truly happy at times.

Like when Anders had adopted a cat and for days every time he passed by him, Geralt would be seized by sneezes. Jowan claimed that he must have been allergic to the Anderfels, but it turned out that it was the cat's hair that was to blame.

A cat that, before being discovered by the Templars and kicked out, causing them all to end up in detention, had managed to scratch them all, to the point of raising suspicions of forbidden magic and forcing them to walk around with their sleeves covering up to their fingertips at all times.

He seemed to sense movement, which distracted him from the memories with a jolt.

He lowered his gaze to his friend as the one shook his hand, laboriously opening his eyes and blinking a few times.

"Hey..." Jowan mumbled, exhausted.

Geralt returned the squeeze, helping him sit up. "Did you make it?"

The other nodded, gently freeing himself from his friend's grasp. "It wasn't easy, but yes."

The Orlesian woman, Isolde, ran upstairs with a cry, going to retrieve her son from his chambers. Teagan and four of his men hurried after her, in the event that the ritual hadn't worked and Connor was still possessed by the demon.

"Looks like I owe you, Wardens." Said the Bann, returning after a few minutes. "Connor is himself again, though he has fuzzy memories of what happened."

"And Arle Eamon?" Alistair asked.

"Still alive." Teagan reassured him.

"Connor had made a deal to keep him alive. The demon stopped the poison from spreading, putting him in a magically induced coma." Jowan explained in a feeble voice. "He should remain stable for some time, but he will not heal. And eventually..."

"He will die, if we don't find the Ashes." Teagan growled. "Don't think that because you helped save my nephew, we can forget whose fault this is."

"Jowan did what he could to make it right." Geralt interjected. "That has to count for something."

"We haven't executed him yet."

“But-"

"That's enough. Take the blood mage back to his cell. If we succeed in waking Aemon up, he will decide his fate. And if we fail..." he paused, glaring at the mage, "he will meet his own end."

Geralt instinctively clutched his friend's arm, ready to disintegrate with a spell anyone who tried to get close. "Just try that..."

The guard's hands ran to their weapons.

"Geralt, don't."

As he met his gaze, Jowan shook his head. "Don't. Not again. It was all my fault, I deserve whatever punishment they decide."

"Jowan..."
"Please. I don't want you to get killed because of me." Jowan struggled to his feet, stretching his hands out in front of him and letting the guards lock his wrists with heavy metal cuffs filled with runes that prevented him from casting any spell.

Geralt pulled himself to his feet as well, facing Bann Teagan. "What ashes were you talking about?"

"The Urn of Sacred Ashes. It is said that it can cure any illness." The Bann answered.

Legend. The life of the man he loved depended on a damn myth about the ashes of a woman who had died centuries before.

"We'll find them." Someone interjected.

He turned, watching the Warden, Alistair, approach Bann Teagan. "I promise you."

"Well, it looks like we have our next destination..." Aenor commented, crossing her arms over her chest."After a demon-infested tower, a supposed deity will be an improvement."

Geralt hesitated for a moment. If that was the only way to get Jowan out of there....

"We'll get those ashes back. Jowan surrendered voluntarily, I ask that you keep that in mind while he's locked up." He said hoping they wouldn't be too hard on the prisoner, securing the magic staff over his shoulder. "We'll be back soon."

Chapter 14: Imperial Highway

Summary:

Elissa can't take no for an answer, Sten gets his sword back and a certain Antivan Crow fails at his job.

Chapter Text

"How are you?" The boy, Alistair, looked at her with worry 

Elissa didn't know what to answer.

They were sitting on the Chantry porch. Morrigan had said the fresh air could do her some good, so every day since she had been able to get up from her bedroll she had taken a walk around the village. Her limited sight was a constant hindrance, and for the first few days she had relied on Cookie to keep her from bumping into objects or people out of her vision. She hoped it would get easier with time. At least, she was alive.

She adjusted the leather bandage she wore to cover her empty eye socket. She had arranged her hair so that it fell over the burned part of her face, but she realized it was impossible to hide it completely.

"I have you to thank. You saved my life, Ser."

The boy scratched the back of his head, lowering his gaze. "It's nothing... and please, just call me Alistair. I just wish I'd gotten here sooner. I'm sorry."

"Don't say-" Elissa interrupted, biting her lower lip a little. "Don't say that. If you hadn't come at all, those creatures would have surely killed me. I owe you a lot."

The other remained silent.

She did not know what to say. She felt awkward talking to a complete stranger to whom she owed her life, and who moreover was wanted by Teyrn Loghain as a traitor to the kingdom.

How could such a kind, brave, good-hearted person be a turncoat assassin? If he was indeed a Grey Warden, he had abandoned the King in his time of need, leaving him to be devoured by darkspawn.

So what was he doing in Redcliffe?

"I heard you saved the village." She said. She was curious about the true intentions of the two Wardens. The elf, a surly young girl with a tattooed face who hadn't given her a second glance, had seemed very far from the figure of a legendary hero, as the Grey Wardens were told to be. At her side always walked a shaggy, black furred mabari, bigger than any others she had ever seen in the kennels of Highever, and it was as wild as his mistress. Cookie had tried to approach it, but the other had snarled at him. Elissa had made sure the two did not cross paths again without her supervision.

Her mabari followed her like a shadow and obeyed her commands, but the elf's sometimes wandered into the village by itself.

It had been two days since they had freed Redcliffe from the curse that hung over the castle. Apparently, a demon had possessed the Arle's only son and heir, and Alistair and the other Warden had gone to the Circle of Magi for help to save him. And they had succeeded.

It took a great deal of courage and nobility to risk their life by entering a tower of mages that had escaped the control of the Templars. Facing blood mages, Abominations and who knows what else.... Only a hero would have faced such a task.

"Yes, it wasn't easy. Unfortunately, healing the Arle will require more than that." Alistair replied, lost in thought. "We will leave tomorrow morning for Denerim. It is said that a pinch of Andraste's Ashes can heal any illness or injury..."

Elissa sighed. Now that sounded like an epic feat. One that someone, someday, would write books and ballads about. "Why Denerim of all places?"

"Bann Teagan heard from his knights that someone named Genitivi, a scholar of history and ancient artifacts, was investigating the Urn of the Sacred Ashes. Maybe he's discovered something useful."

The girl bit her lower lip. "Won't it be dangerous for you to travel to the capital?" After all, they were wanted by the regent himself, going to Denerim could not be a good idea.

She saw him clench his fists until his knuckles whitened. "Loghain... He'll have to pay for what he did. But for now, we can't face him, so we'll sneak into the city."

Elissa shook her head. "Do you really think he betrayed the King?" She tried to retort. "I mean, he was almost an uncle to him, and he's a renown war hero..."

"He's a traitor, that's what he is!" Alistair blurted out.

She jerked, instinctively backing away from him. Cookie, at her feet, sensed his mistress' fear for he raised his ears, pointing his muzzle at the boy, showing his fangs.

The Warden stepped back as well, raising his hands. "I'm sorry!" He exclaimed. "I didn't mean to scare you. It's just that... he told everyone we were traitors when he was the one who ignored the signal to charge at the darkspawn. He took his men away, leaving the King and all the Grey Wardens to be slaughtered."

Elissa didn't want to believe it. "Are you sure that's what happened?"

The other lowered his gaze. "I was right there, at the Tower of Ishal. We lit the signal, me and Aenor. He never answered."

"You were at Ostagar?" She asked him, surprised. She had thought that the two had saved themselves because they were far from the battle. How had they survived, when of those who had been at the fortress, so few had returned?

Her brother's face flashed in her mind, fueled by a faint hope.

"If I told you that we were saved by a dragon, who was actually a Witch of the Wilds, would you call me a fool?"

She widened her eyes. "Morrigan?"

"Her mother." Alistair frowned. It was clear that there was bad blood between him and the woman. "But yes, she was the one who got us out of there. The darkspawn was tearing us apart."

Elissa shook her head. "That doesn't make sense. Why would the Teyrn want to kill the King?"

"I have no idea. All I know is that I'm going to ask him the same thing, before I chop off his head." He replied, anger gushing from his words.

Teyrn Loghain. The hero who had driven out the Orlesians, the brilliant strategist and great warrior. There must be a mistake, a miscommunication. It can't be.

In the main square, meanwhile, a small crowd seemed to had gathered.

"I'm telling you, I know nothing about it!" Shouted a dwarf, swinging his axe menacingly.

The tattooed elf faced him swaggering, she too had unsheathed her great two-handed sword. "Then let us have a look at that trunk!"

"How the hell do you know about my trunk, you bloody knife-ear?!"

Another dwarf, a red-haired girl, approached them. "That'd be my bad."

"You!" He shouted, red with anger. "I knew I shouldn't have bedded a damned brand!"

Elissa flinched, uncomfortable. "Should we intervene?" She asked Alistair, who was observing the scene. The boy had an amused expression on his face.

"No, they're doing just fine on their own. Let's just enjoy the show."

"Give us the sword, Dwyn." The elven Warden said, as the dwarf twirled a knife in the air, which reflected sunlight off the metal.

"Come and get it." The dwarf beckoned to two men behind him, and lashed out at them.

The two were ready to defend themselves. Neither side aimed to kill, but it was the most ungraceful fight Elissa had ever seen. The dwarven woman used all sorts of tricks to blind and outflank her opponents, hitting them from behind or reaching for the weak points exposed by their armor, while the elf, though small in build like the rest of her race, used brute force and every other means at her disposal, such as kicks and the like.

Before long, the outcome of the clash came out obvious. Dwyn was on the ground, bruised and panting, the dwarf on top of him, one of the knives pressed to his throat. The elf meanwhile kept one foot firmly pressed against the chest of one of the two other men, sword pointed at his stomach.

The second lay unconscious in the dust.

"I see you really like being underneath." Laughed the dwarven woman.

The other let loose in a series of horrible cusses, some in Common and some in Dwarvish. "You bloody brand! Fine, take that fucking sword! I don't need it anyway, big as it is!"

The two stepped back with a satisfied grin, allowing the man and the dwarf to get up from the ground. The latter nodded to the former, who ran in the direction of the houses on the lake shore.

"I told you they'd be fine..." Alistair looked at her with a nod, then burst out laughing.

Elissa turned to look at him questioningly, realizing only later that she probably had a shocked expression on her face. How do you travel with people like that! "I beg your pardon, Warden, but-"

The boy raised a hand. "Please, Lady Cousland, just Alistair is fine. No need for formalities, with me, I'm just me. "

She interrupted again, embarrassed. "Sorry, again. I was saying... I wasn't expecting you to travel with such company.” She hoped she hadn't offended him.

The other chuckled again. "They're absolutely awful, aren't they? And you haven't seen anything. But you get used to them, I guess. At least I hope, sooner or later. Because I've got a long way to go with those, and not just them." He shook his head, standing up and extending a hand to help her.

She gladly accepted, even though it wasn't necessary.

His hands were calloused, despite being probably a bit younger than her, strong and large. Hands of someone who had been training for a lifetime. With a pang in her heart, she remembered how her mother had complained that hours of sword and shield training would make her daughter's hands look like those of "an old mercenary." She always forced her to soak them in scented oils to keep them soft, massaging them gently. Elissa had always found this a bit of a nuisance, but now she missed those moments of affection dearly.

Meanwhile, the dwarf and the other Warden had noticed them and were approaching.

"Enjoyed the show?" The dwarf asked them, putting the knives back in the sheath hanging from her belt. "That fool Dwyn is pretty good with that, but he's even better with his other blade, If you know what I mean...”

"Natia!" The elf hushed her as she pretended to be shocked.

"Ah!" The dwarf bowed deeply, an amused grin plastered on her face. "Sorry, Your Height, I got the manner of a drunken bronto."

"That's altright." Elissa replied through gritted teeth, trying to hide her annoyance. The two of them were treating her like a clueless little princess. "I don't think I've introduced myself. I'm Elissa Cousland, from Highever." She extended her hand to them.

The elf peered at it for a moment, then grasped it vigorously. "Aenor Mahariel." The tattoos on her face, which identified her as a Dalish, were a deep green, reminding Elissa of the thick of a forest. She had brilliant green eyes with strange pupils, as was common among elves.

"Natia Brosca, from Shit Town." The dwarf introduced herself, tossing back a strand of unruly red hair. She wore it loose, full of knots and shaggy. It would have been her mother's worst nightmare, Elissa thought. On her right cheek she had a tattoo, thick and black and loosely in the shape of an S, and her nose was crooked as if she had been punched many times. She had small scars on her forehead, one on her right cheek that extended almost from her ear to her lip, one on her eye, and several smaller ones on her nose and chin. The hand she was offering was dirty with soil and who knows whatever filth, her nails unkempt like the rest of her equipment. The only thing that shone were the knives she carried in sheaths strapped to her belt, which were thoroughly cleaned and sharp.

Elissa politely shook Natia's hand, surprised by how strong her grip was.

The dwarf who had been defeated, Dwyn, called out to her with a grunt, a sword larger than himself in his hands. "So, do you want this stuff or not?!"

"Ah, here it is at last!" Aenor exclaimed, taking it from his hand and twirling it laboriously in the air. "It sure weighs a lot."

"Sten will be thrilled." Commented Natia.

"Sure, he'll be jumping around in awe."

They all laughed. Elissa forced herself to smile, not understanding the reason for such hilarity.

"How did you know he had it?" Alistair asked.

Natia burst out laughing thunderously. "You want the detailed version? So, I felt an itch down there, and Dwyn's far more robust that he-"

"Nope, it desn't matter, I changed my mind! I don't need to know!" Alistair shouted, looking in Elissa's direction, his face red.

She puffed out her chest, annoyed. Like I'm really going to be upset over some vulgarity? “Go on.”

The dwarf took a deep breath. "Well, to cut things short, I ended up at his house and he showed me his entire blade collection. Of all shapes and sizes." She giggled again.

What could be so funny... Elissa thought, but let it go. Perhaps she just didn't understand the appeal of vulgar jokes.

"You'd better go to Sten and give him the sword, then." Alistair prodded her, in a clear attempt to get them off her back.

"Oh, sure, we'll leave you two alone." Replied the dwarf, sneering. "Get a move on here, blondie, we're leaving tomorrow. Last night!"

Without stopping giggling, they finally left.

"I apologize for them... I don't know what to say." He stammered, shaking his head.

How does he put up with them! She wondered, incredulous. "They're definitely... bizarre."

"If you want to call them that." The boy scratched the back of his head again, looking around. "I think it's about dinner time, I should go back to the castle and see if everything's ready..."

"Let me come with you to Denerim." Elissa exclaimed suddenly.

The other looked at her surprised, his eyes wide.

"I won't be in your way, I swear." She begged him.

"But it will be dangerous. And we're wanted all over the kingdom!" Alistair retorted. "I don't understand, why would you want to travel with us?"

The girl bit her lip. "The last time an opportunity like this came my way, I stayed home. And everything went downhill from there." How to explain to him that she wanted to make herself useful, to help them in their mission to save the entire kingdom? If indeed the Grey Wardens were the only ones who could defeat the Blight, it was her duty as a Cousland to do her part. "What you do will save the Ferelden. I want to help you. I need to."

The boy stood staring at her, as if trying to find for the right words. "Please, don't take this as an insult, but you have been severely injured. It's going to be a dangerous journey to even get to Denerim, and we're not enough to protect you."

"I don't need any protection!" Blurted Elissa. "I know you had to rescue me, but I assure you I am quite capable. And I'm not going to sit here and wait in idleness, I have to do something!" She looked him straight in the eye, trying to make him understand how important it was to her. "You won't have to treat me any differently than anyone else, I can take care of myself.”

The other lowered his gaze. "I can't, I'm sorry. You're the last of the Cousland line, it would be too dangerous to take you with us, you haven't recovered yet. If anything happened to you... You heard Bann Teagan, you need to stay here, you'll be safe in Redcliffe."

"But-"

"Please don't insist." He interrupted her without looking at her, then turned his back on her. "I'm very sorry, my lady."

Without giving her time to reply, he walked away quickly, leaving her there alone in the middle of the square, feeling like an idiot.

Cookie growled, rubbing his head against her leg. The girl leaned down to stroke him, his fur soft to the touch and fragrant after the bath she had given him that morning. She felt like crying.

The tears obviously flowed down one side of her face, while the right side remained largely numb.

This made her even more annoyed.

"This isn't over." She said to the mabari, who looked at her lifting an ear, not understanding what she had in mind. Elissa stood up sharply, striding toward the castle, Cookie trotting after her.

She avoided the Wardens and their companions, managing to sneak into the small room Bann Teagan had assigned her, taking advantage of the fact that most of the occupants of the palace were gathered in the hall for dinner.

She picked up her sword and sat down on the bed, pulling it from its scabbard. The blade was as sharp as her newfound resolution.

 

 

 


 

 

 

Aenor kicked a rock in her way, watching it bounce down the edge they were coasting.

"So how long are you gonna stay with us?" Alistair asked her for the third time in a couple of days, flashing an amused smirk. "I thought you couldn't wait to get away."

"Knock it off. And shut up, or I might change my mind again." She blurted, striding ahead.

The truth was she'd been having terrible nightmares, a massive dragon commanding a giant horde of darkspawn, roaring and spitting scorching fire across the land below.

She remembered that Duncan and Alistair had spoken of recurring dreams that each Grey Warden had, linked to the darkspawn blood they had ingested in the Joining.

She had believed she could control them, but as the days and weeks passed, she had began to fear that it was not possible. With a shiver, she pulled up the hood of her cloak, covering her ears. She rubbed her hands together. This damn cold!

Usually the Clan, as autumn arrived, moved to warmer lands.

Who knows where they were now. She thought about Keeper Marethari, and how she had allowed Duncan to take her away. "You fight for all of us," had been her last words to her. She had hated her, even more than the shem, for letting it happen. For not having gone to look for Tamlen straight away.

She shook her head. There was no use thinking about it, it was too late now.

She turned around, looking at the group of people they had gathered. They looked like a caravan of lunatics.
Alistair nodded in her direction, a goofy grin always on his face, just like his stupid royal half-brother. He went pestering Wynne and it looked like the woman was telling him one of her stories.

Leliana, not far away, was discussing something with Natia. The human was holding something in her hand, but Aenor couldn't see well enough to figure out what it was. Geralt, who in Redcliffe had found some warmer clothes suitable for the journey, walked silently beside Morrigan, who seemed to enjoy the company of another mage.

Sten, not far from her, proceeded in silence, the great sword they had found strapped on his shoulders. “Asala”, he called it.

"Does that mean something?" She asked him, stepping closer. "The name of your sword, I mean."

He turned to look at her for just a moment, impassive. "Asala. It means soul, in Qunlat."

Getting him to talk was a feat every time. "So, every Qunari has one?"

The other sighed deeply, annoyed by all those questions which he clearly considered a waste of time. "No. This sword was forged for me by order of the Arishok, before I was sent here to gather information about the Blight."

"I see. It is a fine sword, anyway. I've never seen steel like it."

Sten unsheathed the blade, which was one and a half time the size of Aenor's. "Blue steel. It's so rare because it falls from the sky, and very few can forge it into a weapon."

The elf looked at him in admiration. She would have loved to have such a weapon, worthy of a heroine like those in the stories told around the campfire by the Hahren.

For the moment, however, she had to make do with the one she had retrieved from Lothering. She had nothing to complain about it, though; it was a good blade, made of durable steel, and quite handy even for someone as petite as herself.

"Maybe someday I'll get one made." She said, without expecting an answer.

The Qunari remained silent, holstering his weapon without flinching.

After a few hours, they decided to camp for the night.

While Morrigan took care of dinner Natia buzzed around her, carefully observing every ingredient the woman put into the pot.

"If you keep bothering me, I'll end up treating you like that mongrel." The mage warned her, pointing with the ladle at Falon, who was gnawing contentedly on a bone.

"I just wanted to see what you were putting in it!" The dwarf defended herself, not moving.

"I'll make you a list, if that's enough to get you off my back."

Natia huffed audibly but got up from the ground and went to join Leliana, who was watching her and giggling not far away.

Aenor, who was on guard duty, went back to scanning the shadows around them.

They hadn't encountered too many darkspawn but the Highway was a desolate road. The trees were getting thicker, a sign that they would soon be skirting the Brecilian Forest.

She leaned her back against the tree trunk behind her, running an oiled cloth over the sword's blade, deep in thought. Alistair had said that the Treaties also included elves from the various Dalish clans.

She was pretty sure one of the clans was somewhere in the forest. If they'd have sought them out, they could prove themselves to be valuable allies.

However, she wasn't sure she wanted to drag more of her people into that madness.

"Aenor?"

Being called, she turned around. Morrigan handed her a bowl of hot soup, which gave off the most delicious smell. Her stomach mumbled with hunger.

"Thank you."

"You might as well come by the fire, you know."

The elf snorted in amusement. "Look who's talking. You always pitch your tent as far away from the others as possible."

"What do I have to do with it now?" Rebutted the witch, her yellow eyes gleaming with amusement.

"I'm certainly not the fearless commander of this motley crew of ragtags."

The Warden took a sip of the soup, without answering. It was good, spiced and flavorful.

"Suit yourself. I'm going to go make sure Alistair doesn't eat straight from the pot."

Watching her walk away, the elf wondered if indeed it was she to whom the others looked to lead them in that impossible task. She had never been a leader, always preferring to be on the sidelines and minding her own business, sneaking away to wander the forest with Tamlen in search of some quiet away from the prying eyes of the rest of the Clan.

She couldn't decide what to do with herself, let alone lead anyone.

Falon joined her, curling up at her feet as she finished her soup. The others grew gradually quieter as Leliana's voice stood out among the others, telling a story of hers.

She listened as the Magisters of Tevinter entered the Golden City of the Shem's Maker, tainting it and starting the First Blight.

The story went on and on, but after a while she ended up hearing only a hushed murmur as the sounds of the clearing around them took over. An owl whistled above their heads, causing Falon to raise his snout upwards and growl softly. Rodents chased each other through the underbrush not far away, snapping twigs and making the carpet of dry leaves crunch.

She inhaled deeply, trying to go back with her mind to the days when those noises meant safety.

 

 

 

 

 

The next day, they set out at dawn.

"Do you think we'd be able to find them?" Alistair asked her, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "You said there must be at least one Clan around here, right?"

Aenor nodded, "I think so. We always leave a few signs so that other Dalish can find us if they happen to be nearby. They shouldn't be hard to find."

"They'll help us, won't they?" The boy looked worried about something. "They're not all..."

"Like me, you mean?" She cast a small grimace. "Some Clans have more contacts with humans, trading with villages and things like that. Don't expect a warm welcome, though."

The other chuckled. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Hey, you two." Leliana called to them. "There are wagon tracks, and fresh ones, it must have been a couple of hours at most. Look." She pointed to a series of ruts at the corner of the muddy road.

The group immediately went on alert. They hadn't encountered anyone since leaving Redcliffe. A wagon of goods or refugees had certainly attracted some attention.

They continued on, careful to the slightest movement. Alistair was in the front line, while Aenor guarded the rear. She sensed no darkspawn tho, and even Alistair declared that there didn't seem to be any. However it was possible that, given their inexperience, they were not able to sense it as well as the veteran Grey Wardens. And also with the large amount of those creatures now roaming the surface, it was more difficult to spot their presence.

Suddenly, Alistair raised his clenched fist, signaling that there was something in the way.

He saw Leliana extending her bow, while Morrigan and Geralt held their magical staffs, beginning to channel energy and making them glow menacingly.

She drew her sword in turn, advancing, Sten at her side.

The tracks of the wagon's wheels were clearly visible on the ground, the road turning behind a small hill, blocking their view.

"Perfect place for an ambush." Brosca commented, appearing out of nowhere beside her.

"Leliana, Geralt, over there." Aenor ordered, pointing with a nod to the small hill beside. "Stay out of sight. If they attack us while we're stuck in there, throw everything you have at them. Morrigan, can you make it up the other side?"

"No one will see me." The Witch assured her, grinning.

As the other three scrambled up the steep slope, the rest of them continued slowly down the road.

"Help!"
A female shem emerged from around the bend, running towards them. She was unarmed, dressed only with a ragged tunic. She was out of breath, a look of terror on her face. "Help me, they attacked us! Brigands!" She clung to Alistair's arm, looking at him pleadingly. "Please, my children are there!"

The little group exchanged nod.

"Of course, dear." Wynne said, going along with the farce. "Don't worry."

They followed the woman over the knoll. An overturned wagon blocked the way.

The woman ran forward, disappearing behind the wagon.

Aenor looked up to her left. Leliana, crouched behind a rock, raised her hands, but the elf could not see all the way up there.

"Twelve." Sten grunted, spinning Asala menacingly, cleaving the air with a whistle.

The Warden nodded.

As expected, a few arrows hissed towards them but got deflected by a barrier Wynne had erected the moment they had begun to follow the woman.

Three figures in armor emerged from the wagon, weapons in their hands.

Aenor tackled one of them, making their blades clash with a loud clangor. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Natia coming up, sticking a knife in her assailant's leg, under his leather armor. The shem screamed in pain, allowing Aenor to swing her sword and plunge it into his chest. A deafening explosion, followed by screams of pain, signaled that the mages had also joined the fray. She ran to Alistair, who was holding off a shem in heavy armor and at the same time the woman from before, who had pulled out two knives lunging at the warrior, taking advantage of the fact that he was busy parrying the spiked club of the other one.

Before she could reach him, however, an arrow lodged between the woman's shoulder blades, causing her to collapse to the ground and giving Alistair a chance to focus on a single enemy.

Aenor then headed past the wagon.

"Look out!"

Before she could realize it, an explosion jolted her several feet away. She landed on sharp rocks, her breath cut short, vision blurred. "Fenedhis!" It hurt, but it didn't feel like anything was broken. She pulled herself to her feet with difficulty, noticing a luminescent aura around her. Wynne must have noticed the trap in time. I'm an idiot.

The sword had fallen from her hand. She spotted it not far away, but suddenly someone struck her from behind.

She felt the icy steel work its way into her flesh. With a groan, she spun around, helplessly facing her assailant.

A blond elf, two daggers in hand, made to strike her again.

"Adios, Warden" He said, aiming for her throat.

Aenor recoiled, panicking, but the blow never came.

The elf was thrown to one side, struck by a massive shield.

The figure who had saved her lifted the shield again, dropping it on the elf and leaving him unconscious. They turned back to her, checking if she was still breathing and then running off towards an archer who had tried to hit them the arrow merely bouncing off the pauldron.

Aenor pressed her hand against the wound, withdrawing it soaked in blood. She staggered, her head spinning, ending up on the ground.

The clamor of the fight ended abruptly, and someone ran toward her. She felt her head being put on something soft, then a cool sensation flew through her body, as if someone had dunked her in a pool of water. The wound no longer pulsed, now she felt only an insistent itch. Her head stopped spinning and she was able to refocus on her surroundings.

"Aenor. Aenor, are you allright?!"

Alistair's concerned face, leaning over her, occupied her vision.

She realized her head was resting on his legs. She tried to get up but a dizziness made her give up.

"Let the spell run its course." Wynne, kneeling beside her, warned the boy.

"Who was that" Aenor stammered, her voice slurred.

"We already know each other, Warden." Replied a familiar voice. The warrior who had rescued her removed their helmet, releasing a braid of long, blonde hair that partially covered her scarred face. "Good thing I got here in time."

"Cousland?!" Exclaimed the elf in surprise. She couldn't believe she owed her life to a shemlen posh lady, half-blind to boot.

"I told you I could handle myself."

"Lady Elissa, I must apologize for misjudging you.... I just wanted to-" Alistair began blabbering, but she interrupted him with a smile.

"I understand completely. However, having made that clear, I will come with you." She decreed.

Aenor resolved to a grunt of annoyance. This was the third time a shem had saved her from certain death. It was becoming an unpleasing habit.

"Thank you." She hissed between her teeth, managing to sit up and backing away from Alistair a little. The boy snapped to his feet, helping her up.

"Hey, this sucker's still alive." Brosca called to them.

The dwarf towered over the blond elf who had nearly killed Aenor, a knife pressed to his throat. "What are we doing with him?"

"I'm surprised you stopped to ask." Geralt commented, stepping closer to her. "He might have some information. They were too capable and well organized to be mere brigands."

"He knew I was a Grey Warden" Aenor confirmed.

"Could Loghain have sent him?" Alistair asked, peering grimly at him.

"Let's tie him up and find out."

They immobilized the wounded elf, before casting a small healing spell on him. He blinked a few times, looking surprised.

"I... didn't expect to wake up." He croaked. He had a strange accent.

"Answer the questions, or it will be the last time." Natia threatened him, twirling the knife.

"Sure. Ask away." The prisoner agreed.

"Who are you, and who sent you? How did you know we were Grey Wardens?"

"My name is Zevran Arainai, Zev to my friends, and I was sent here by the Antivan Crows to carry out a contract. A rodent-like looking man, unpleasant I would say, called us directly to the royal palace in Denerim. Howe, I think his name was."

"Rendon Howe?!" Elissa interrupted him. Aenor noticed he was clutching the hilt of her sword, her voice filled with hatred.

"That's the one. You two know each other?"

"I have a score to settle with him." The girl replied between her teeth, but fell silent.

"Go on." Natia prodded him, pressing the blade against his throat. "And don't forget anything."

“Ah, I see you're an impatient one... I have nothing to hide, there's no need to threaten me. My job was to slaughter every Grew Warden left, not keep a secret." Said the assassin, trying to smile.

Meeting total indifference though, he shrugged and continued. "As I was saying, I was called to Denerim by this Howe. He took me to talk to another gentleman, a sullen, taciturn, middle-aged fellow... He looked like someone important, Loghain I think? He said we had to kill the two Grey Wardens and dismissed me without further words."

"It was Loghain, definitely." Alistair commented gloomily.

"We can't be sure." Elissa retorted. "The Teyrn would never stoop to collaborating with Howe, or hiring antivan assassins!"

"Because so far he's proven to be so trustworthy and honorable." Aenor growled, looking at the elf beneath her. "Is that all you have to say?"

The prisoner smiled again. "Nothing concerning the present matter, no, though-"

"Then we better get on with it." She interrupted him, signaling for Natia to finish him off.

"Wait!" Shouted the elf, trying to crawl away from the dwarf. "I could still of some use to you!"

"Why don't they ever let you kill them quietly?" Natia blurted, stopping her hand though.

"The contract was to kill you. I failed, clearly, so I can't exactly go back to the Crows, they'd take me out before I even got to the gates of Antiva. And I have no strings attached to that Howe, or the other lord."

"Are you telling us you want to switch side?" Said Alistair, disgusted.

"I'm saying I could come in handy. I'm pretty good at fighting, I can build traps and create poisons. I think I've proven I'm capable enough to almost kill a Grey Warden, right?"

Aenor kicked him in the side, causing him to groan in pain. "If you think that goes in your favor..."

"We'd be fools to even give you the benefit of the doubt." Alistair chimed in. "We can see how easily you betray your comrades."

"Well, even loyalty has its limits!" Tried to retort the elf. "How can I agree to be killed by the Crows just for failing a mission?"

Natia huffed. "So, what should I do?"

"Kill him." Aenor replied.

"Wait." Leliana interjected. "He might be right, he sounds helpful."

"Will you stop trying to convince me to spare everyone!" Blurted the elf, tired of the other's constant nonsense. Since the first time they had met, she had done nothing but get on her nerves, over and over again. Maybe she secretly wants to get us killed.

"I assure you, if you spare my life, I will repay you." The Crow promised.

"We might as well." Geralt interjected, scratching his beard while looking down at the prisoner. "We'll keep an eye on him, just in case we need fresh blood to sacrifice in the next fight."

"Amell, if you even try to..." Wynne fumed.

"Relax, it was a joke."

"Too bad, you almost had me on your side." Chuckled Morrigan.

"That's enough, I'm tired of this." Aenor watched as Natia lifted the knife, bringing it down in the direction of the elf...

And planting it in the ground just a breath away from the prisoner's ear. "Free him or kill him, just get the fuck going." She growled, only to retrieve the knife and stand up. "I thought we were in a hurry, beanpoles."

Eventually, after a heated discussion between the parties, they decided to give the elf a single, small chance to make himself useful and make up to them for the assassination attempt.

Chapter 15: Outskirts of the Brecilian Forest

Summary:

While traveling through the Brecilian Forest, the group starts looking for the Dalish.
Natia is extremely unhappy about the woods, and things just keep getting better and better.

Chapter Text

Natia looked at the twig Leliana was handing her, trying to compare it to the other two she was holding.

"So, this is Deathroot" She said after a careful analysis, lifting the thin sprig in her right hand. "Purple flowers, it only bears fruit once a year, bright red in color, which can cause dizziness and hallucinations if ingested."

"Correct. It loses its flowers during the winter season, so it's important to know how to distinguish it from simple shrubs. There are two main variations of it: the first, which is the most common, is also called Arcanist Deathroot, it was discovered by the Archon Hadrianus, who observed how it grew on the bodies of dead slaves. The second, rarer, is the Lunatic's Deathroot, and it is named after courtesan Melusine, who took revenge on a Magister and his family by serving it at a lavish banquet, where they were all seized by terrible hallucinations and ended up dismembering each other in a frenzy."

"I like it already." Natia said with a grin, throwing away the useless twigs and keeping the Deathroot. "So it's only leaves and fruits that are useful?"

Leliana nodded, "Yes, the leaves are thick and rich in sap. The Chasind have always used it to create small hallucinations in their rituals, but in larger doses it can lead to madness and eventually death, if distilled. It is the basis of most poisons made on the surface."

"We usually use a moss, reddish in color, that grows around the ventilation ducts. It's important not to touch it with your bare hands, because it can cause itching and sometimes blisters all over your skin. I have no idea what it's called though, for us it's the Stinger."

"I've never been to Orzammar, it must be fascinating to be underground..." Said Leliana. "Though I admit I'd be a little uncomfortable knowing how many hundreds of feet of rock stand between me and the surface."

Natia huffed loudly. Cloudgazers. "I, on the other hand, still don't understand how can you stand outside all the time. From that sky of yours, it comes down water, ice, and who knows what else. Not to mention the freezing wind and the Sun, burning your eyes and skin... Much better to have a stone roof over your head, it's definitely safer. No matter how much nug dung is around you."

"The nugs!" Brightened the other. "I love those little pink creatures, aren't they adorable?"

"The nugs?" Natia didn't understand. That woman was weird. Underground, nugs were everywhere and sometimes the nobles, annoyed by their spreading, ordered a general pest control in the city, but the rodents reproduced so quickly that even if they saved just a handful, within a few years the alleys were swarmed one again. For the past few years, however, there had inexplicably been fewer.

Could that be the darkspawn's fault as well? She wondered.. "I only know how to cook them. They're tasty. In fact, anything tastes better than starving..."

"Oh. Sure, I understand." Leliana stuttered, uncomfortable. "Sorry, I didn't think..."

Natia shrugged. "Relax, it's not your fault... you just said you've never been to Orzammar, how could you know?"

They remained silent for a while, while the dwarf meticulously removed all the leaves from the Deathroot, slipping them one by one into the leather pouch she carried at her side.

A little further on, the two Wardens were busy arguing with Geralt and Elissa.

"But we have to go to Denerim!"

"It would only be a quick detour, Geralt, and we'd have to pass through at some point anyway."

"I doubt it'll just be a 'hey, we need your help, thanks so much for your time, see ya!'"

"Alistair, you're not helping."

"If they're all like you, we don't stand a chance."

"Shut up, princess."

Leliana sighed. "All they've been doing since this morning is yelling at each other."

Natia frowned. "I'm not setting foot in that forest." She decreed, scanning the trees to their right. The main road skirted the edge of the Brecilian Forest, the vegetation growing thicker and more intricate as they coasted it.

That morning, Aenor had suggested that they'd go in search of the Dalish elves, convinced that at least one of the Clans was currently camped around there.

Geralt had immediately dismissed it as a waste of time and Elissa didn't exactly seem eager to search for an entire clan of hostile elves either. Alistair was trying to get the two sides to agree, but he was failing spectacularly at his job.

"You know, they say there are quite a few abandoned ruins, in the forest." Said Leliana.

"If you're trying to convince me to get in there..."

"No, I would never! I'm just saying, think of all the treasures that might be hidden there."

The dwarf snorted loudly. "Yes, and also packs of wolves, darkspawn and who knows what."

"Oh, what do I hear? She's actually afraid of something!" Zevran, the elf who had tried to kill them, popped up cheerfully beside them, chuckling. Natia found his accent extremely annoying, as if that was on purpose to get on her nerves.

"I'm not afraid of a damn thing." She growled, one hand flying to the handle of the knife tucked into her belt. "I'm just saying I don't like camping around trees that smell like wet dog."

Falon, the Warden's war hound, whined sadly, feeling called out.

"You're absolutely right, fleabag." Retorted Morrigan, who nevertheless gave the animal a small strip of dried meat.

The mabari barked a couple of times, then grabbed the treat between its teeth, wagging its tail.

Exactly how smart are those things? Natia wondered, observing the animal. Both Falon and Cookie, despite being quite different, seemed to understand more or less everything that was said to them. However, the elf's mabari blatantly ignored any orders that didn't come from his mistress or Morrigan, while Elissa's was far better trained.

The argument up ahead was getting even more heated.

"We said we were going to get Genitivi in Denerim, so why take a detour, besides we don't even know exactly where the elves are!"

“As if he cared about ashes and whatnot, he just wants to be able to free his dear friend...” Natia grinned, emphasizing the last two words. "He's just a tad obsessed with him."

"Oh, it's so romantic!" Whispered Leliana, careful not to be overheard by said mage, who would try to set them on fire if he sensed they were talking about him.

"Bah. Sounds like bullshit to me."

"A heart as hard as stone!" Zevran interjected again, while continuing to observe the small group in front of them.

Natia didn't miss the look he reserved for one guy in particular.

"Forget it, dude, he'd never even look your way." She warned him, holding back a laugh. "You really don't stand a chance, he's already sold."

"I wouldn't be so sure. I don't see his friend anywhere, after all. And a long journey like ths can prove lonely to bear.... Not everyone can be as cold as you, my dear."

The dwarf grimaced in disgust. "Call me that again and I'll knock some teeth out of you. Then you'll have even less chance of getting into his pants."

Leliana giggled, "If he could hear us..."

"I've made my decision!"

They gasped, shushing immediately.

Aenor glared at the other three. "If you don't agree, fuck off on your own." Without adding anything else, she strode on. Falon barked once and trotted forward, flanking his mistress, ears perked up.

"As if I could..." They heard Geralt complain, but the decision was now made.

Alistair shook his head, while Elissa locked herself in a stubborn silence.

"Great." Muttered Natia. Of course they were entering the bloody forest. Why didn't I just stay in Denerim? She thought for the umpteenth time in those days.

Not that it had turned out to be a fruitless trip, as evidenced by the bag full of gold coins jingling in her backpack, safely at the bottom of it. It was so much money that her head was spinning just thinking about it.

Leske would faint on the spot seeing all this gold. She thought amused. During harsh times, they'd make a couple of silver coins last an entire week, despite doing odd jobs for Beraht. It hadn't been easy to stand out from all the other desperate people who needed to get into the Carta, they'd had to earn every single job fighting with nails and teeth, and it had taken them years. And in the end, Natia had slit Beraht's throat in his own palace. She could still feel the satisfaction she had felt at that moment. She now had in her backpack so much money that she could have filled the stomachs of everyone in Dust Town, for weeks!

And now she was in danger of losing it all by being eaten by some wolf in a Stonedamned forest. She considered continuing on her own to Denerim.

The journey from Orzammar to the capital of Ferelden had been difficult, although she and the Prince had been joined by Gorim and three other dwarves who were used to the surface. While on her way to Kinloch Hold, she had joined a caravan of merchants hired by the Carta to cover their shady business, who had then proceeded to Redcliffe and Orlais.

"Looks like you'll be going into that forest." Zevran commented, distracting her from her own thoughts. She gave him a mean look, which only had the effect of making him sneer even more.

"Stupid, pointy-eared beanpole."

Shortly after noon, they turned right into the dense woods.

 

 

 

 

 

The light turned greenish, filtered through the leaves of the large trees that loomed over them, menacing and oppressive. The ground became covered with roots, half-hidden in the soil.

Something darted past her ear, buzzing noisily and making her jerk up. Bugs! She thought angrily, cursing the whole place and kicking one of the roots. It felt like hitting rock. She cussed loudly.
Aenor, ahead of her, walked lightly across the carpet of dry leaves, her gait confident and silent.

Falon sniffed the air, not far from his mistress, intent on picking up all the scents around them.

Morrigan seemed at ease too as she looked around for herbs to add to her pouch. Alistair, Elissa and Leliana were looking at their feet, careful not to step on any dry branches, trying to make as little noise as possible. Sten, impassive as usual, proceeded at a brisk pace, heedless of the low branches that brushed against his head. Cookie trotted with his nose in the air, moving forward a few meters and then going back to his mistress.

Slowly, Natia ended up at the back of the group.

"It's hard to get used to it, isn't it?" Wynne asked her. The woman, despite her olg age, did not seem particularly fatigued by the hours of walking.

Natia shook her head. "I don't even wanna get used to it." She shooed away a bug that had landed on her shoulder. It rose into the air, buzzing, only to settle on her head again. "Fuck!" She blurted, slapping her forehead.

She heard a "splat." It hadn't been a great idea. She tried to wipe it off with her sleeve.

"Forget it, it's useless." Geralt told her. He too was stumbling laboriously through the undergrowth, sporting an exaggeratedly irritated and disgusted expression. "They're everywhere."

"You could always have stayed at the Tower, Amell." Wynne retorted between his teeth.

Last thing I need right now, yet another mage squabble.

"You could always set it on fire." Natia suggested.

Geralt grinned. "Don't tempt me."

"You two should try instead to appreciate this forest." Wynne spoke. "These trees, they can be hundreds of years old. Everything around us has its own energy, it is alive. The animals are storing away the last of their supplies to face the harsh cold of the coming months, they will hibernate all winter and only wake up in spring. Trees are losing their last leaves, while insects are making their last flights."

"They could do that somewhere else." Muttered Natia, not at all impressed.

"I understand it's very different from underground, but the surface has its beauties too." Rebutted the old woman. "Try looking around."

Natia, huffing, tried to follow the advice.

The logs were covered in moss, the air was damp and cold. A series of unidentifiable noises made her jolt each time. She exchanged a glance with Geralt. That one, distracted, tripped over a root and collapsed to the ground.

"Damn it!" The mage gritted his teeth, scrambling to his feet and trying to clean his dirty robes. He looked down at his hands, which were slightly scraped. "What were you saying?!" He hissed at Wynne, shooting her a venomous look.

Zevran stood beside him, extending a hand. "If you need help..."

"Get out of my way!" Geralt blorted pushing him aside and getting past in annoyance.

Natia shook her head, watching her steps.

They walked for hours. After the sun went down, the three mages shone their magic staffs. The shadows around them danced unnaturally, warped and creepy.

When Aenor finally allowed them to set up camp, Natia let herself fall to the ground, worn out.

"I'm going to keep going for a bit longer, I think I saw some tracks." She heard the elf say.

Alistair jumped to his feet in alarm. "I'll go with you."

The other flatly refused, signaling her mabari to follow. The two walked off into the darkness, quickly disappearing from view.

Natia could barely get to sleep, surrounded by the unfamiliar sounds of the forest. She saw the elf return just a couple of hours before dawn.

She turned away, cursing yet another distant howl, unable to fall back asleep.

At dawn, they set out again. It began to rain, which turned the ground into a muddy trap. Whatever trail they were following, Natia thought, it must have disappeared.

The bad weather accompanied them for three days, in which the group grew increasingly taciturn, discontent creeping in as deep as the water soaking their clothes.

She sneezed for the umpteenth time, shivering and trying to wrap herself further in her cloak. She sneaked up on Geralt, who held the magic staff tightly in his hands, a golden aura around him that radiated warmth and shielded him from most of the rain.

"When do you think we'll get there?" She asked him, sniffing.

"It'll never be soon enough." He mumbled, wrinkling his nose and pulling a strand of reddish hair back from his forehead.

"We'll set camp here, for today." Aenor decreed after some time, raising her voice.

She had heavy dark circles under the eyes, which seemed larger on her hollowed cheeks. As usual, she signaled Falon to follow her, moving away from the group while the others set up camp and lit a bonfire, taking advantage of the fact that it had momentarily stopped raining. Natia knew that the elf had barely slept those days, yet she didn't know why nor did she care. In fact, to be honest, she was secretly pleased. It was all her fault that they had been wandering soaked in that forest for days.

Alistair and Leliana were confabulating with each other, far enough away that Natia couldn't catch their words. They looked worried.

"You know, it's possible that the elves aren't there, and we're going around in circles to no avail."

She looked up at the mage, who was sitting on a rock next to her intent on reading a heavy-looking book, the cover made of black leather. "If after all this effort we don't meet a single elf, I'm gonna kill someone." She told him.

"I'll gladly give you a hand."

Wynne approached them with a wooden mug, handing it to the dwarf. "I've been hearing you sneeze all day, you should drink something warm." She told her, blatantly ignoring the other mage.

Natia reached out her hand, sniffing the concoction inside and yet not recognizing anything in it. She decided to sip it, enjoying the warmth. It tasted bitter.

"What do you think she's doing?" She asked pointing to where Aenor had gone into the woods.

The sorceress shook her head. "The path of a Grey Warden can be difficult." She said enigmatically.

"Sure. I would like it to be less wet, tho." She retorted, finishing her drink. A strand of hair had stuck to her forehead. She ran her fingers through the knots, trying to tame it.

Leliana approached her, casting one last glance at Alistair who was running an oiled cloth over his sword, looking around with an anxious face.

"Would you like a hand?" She asked Natia, sitting down next to her. "I'd be happy to help. I love doing hair, you know? In Orlais they experiment with the craziest hairstyles, every season all the ladies compete in the latest fashion."

Natia, her fingers stuck in a particularly stubborn knot, gave an annoyed tug. "It's just hair." She mumbled, giving up.

The result was probably a hank that sprouted just above the nape of her neck.

Leliana shook her head, smiling. She pulled a wooden brush out of her bag. "I think hair says a lot about each of us... Besides, it's bound to get in your eyes like that, isn't it?"

The dwarf gave a small nod of assent. "Whatever..."

Leliana, hving received the go-ahead, began to gently run her hands through Natia's hair, patiently separating the various strands and untangling them, using both her fingers and the brush.

"One spring, it was fashionable to wear small birds in the hair, chirping the sweetest melodies. All the most fashionable Orlesian ladies wore large cages on their heads, with their hair curled around them and adorned with flowers and fruits." She spoke as she worked the reddish locks with agile movements.

Natia let her do it, it was kinda nice. She burst out laughing, at the thought of a bunch of richly women dressed in gold with feathers in their hair. "You're serious?"

"Absolutely. It was short-lived as a trend, though: you can imagine the consequences of holding a couple of terrified birds on your head for several hours..."

"That's a crap idea."

They both laughed.

"You know, I could braid you hair, they'd be more handy and get less dirty, too." Leliana offered her. "If you want me to, of course."

"All right... just don't add any birds to it." Natia agreed, slightly uncomfortable. She'd never had time to think about hair or any other kind of vanity. When had been the last time someone had combed her hair? Her mother certainly hadn't, maybe Rica when they were little girls....

While the other worked, telling anecdotes about the follies of the Orlais nobility, Natia's thoughts wandered home. How was her sister doing? Had she then managed to snag any nobles? With Beraht out of the way, she didn't think anyone could have any reason to pick on Rica anymore, however, a beautiful woman like her was surely attracting attention in Dust Town, and without the protection offered by the Carta... she sincerely hoped Leske was keeping his promise to keep her safe, or else she'd beat the crap out of him. If and when she ever made it back to Orzammar, that was.

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to think about it. It was likely she'd never see either of them again, never walk through the dusty, dirt-filled streets of the slums, never drink cheap beer sitting with her back against the hot air ducts, the smell of moss and mold in her nostrils and her stomach growling with hunger, Leske's bad jokes filling the silence around them.

"Done!" Leliana exclaimed, showing her her reflection in a small, ornately framed mirror.

Natia looked at herself, some fine braids falling down the sides of her face in an almost orderly fashion. She pinned some behind one ear, continuing to look at herself.

"If you don't like it, I can untie them for you..."

She shook her head, still astonished. "No, they're..." Cute? She never thought she'd use such an adjective about herself. "Thank you. I like them a lot."

"You're welcome, it was my pleasure." Leliana smiled. "You can of course tie them in a ponytail, so they'll tangle a lot less."

Leske used the same system, Natia thought absentmindedly, running her fingers through the braids. Granted, her friend's were more like trunks of hair tangled in some way, but the ideas was similar.

"Dinner's ready, but if you want to go ahead and light scented candles and take a oil massage, we'll keep it warm for you." Morrigan called, flinching her eyes in amusement, one eyebrow raised.

Even dinner seemed watered down and bland, reflecting their gray mood. They ate in silence, keeping an ear to the noises coming from the woods around them.

Natia had noticed that the humans had become more and more tense as they went deeper into the forest, and even Sten seemed to be frowning more than usual.

"If we don't find anything tomorrow either, we'll continue straight on to Denerim, the main road from here is two days' march away. We're wasting too much time." Alistair finally broke the silence, resting the bowl on his lap, his gaze downcast.

"Do you think she'll let us drag her off?" Elissa asked him, obviously referring to Aenor.

The other shook his head. "No, but this quest is driving her crazy. She hasn't slept in days and we're getting nowhere."

"It's not like you to be so negative." Leliana commented. "Aenor says she's following fresh tracks."

Elissa looked around, frowning. "It's the other tracks we're finding that worry me."

They stood in silence for a few moments.

Natia didn't understand what they were talking about. "What do you mean?"

"You know those wolf prints we encountered two days ago?" Alistair asked her.

The dwarf nodded. How could she forget them, they were almost as long as one of her knives....

"No wolf has paws big like that."

She swallowed dryly. "So...?"

"A variety of wild creatures are said to exist in the Brecilian Forest, possessed by spirits or victim of ancient curses. It is possible that the wolves around here are magical in nature." Replied Morrigan who, however, didn't seem fazed by it. Of course, having a mother over a hundred years old who can turn into a dragon was bound to change one's view on a lot of things...

"And what the fuck are we still doing around here?" Brosca exclaimed, incredulous. "If the elves are dumb enough to live in a place like this, they can't be of much help."

"Maybe they've all already been killed and eaten by wolves, or worse, and that's why we're running around in circles." Geralt commented gloomily, sneezing. "We should be in Denerim by now."

Alistair stared worriedly into the trees, silent.

"Don't worry, she is smart and light on her feet. She can handle herself." Wynne tried to reassure him. It seemed that nothing could faze her. Except for blood mages.

The Warden nodded absentmindedly, unconvinced.

"Hush."
They turned sharply.

Sten, who had been silent and aloof all along, had sprung to his feet unsheathing his great sword, his gaze aimed at a half-fallen tree entirely covered in moss and foliage.

They all strained their ears. Natia could feel her heart rumble in her chest, but she couldn't make out any sound that was more threatening than others.

"On the right!" Alistair warned them, just moments before three creatures, extremely large and hairy, swooped down on them, growling.

Natia felt herself being thrown to the ground before she could even realize what her assailant was.

The impact took her breath away, and she tried to crawl away coughing, her side aching, wet dog smell filling the air. She heard Geralt and Morrigan shouting some incantation as a blue light surrounded her. She mentally thanked Wynne, managing to get back to her feet, the pain in her side fading. She squinted at one of the creatures, trying to figure out its weak points.

They were about six feet tall, covered in fur, seemed to move on all fours as well as two, and were far more humanoid in appearance than any wolf or dog she had seen since she had risen to the surface.
An arrow hissed past her ear lodging itself just below the nape of one of the beasts' neck, which growled in pain.

Without wasting any more time, she launched herself into the frey, aiming for the legs and severing the tendons, sending the creature reeling and giving Sten the chance to strike it in the chest. It fell to the ground with a thud, snarling, its great jaws drooling and full of sharp teeth closing inches from Natia's face, who had dodged it just in time. Sten raised the great sword above his head, pinning the creature to the ground and piercing it through, cracking its ribcage. It gasped spasmodically a couple of times, spitting blood, its eyes red and mad with rage, its claws cleaving through the air.

Natia and Sten exchanged nods of assent, turning to face the others: Alistair and Elissa had surrounded one of the beasts, which was trying in vain to pierce their heavy shields, its claws screeching on the metal. Morrigan hit it with a glowing dart, making it lose its balance for an instant while Alistair took the opportunity to hit the monster under the jaw, charging a powerful blow with his shield and then pulling back and letting Elissa finish it off, hitting it in the side and forcing it on the knees, helped by Cookie, and then striking a finishing blow to he head.

A flash of electricity lit up the clearing, followed by a furious growl as the last remaining creature struggled uselessly on the ground, where one of Geralt's paralysis runes glowed, an arrow from Leliana poking out of its eye, causing blood to spurt all around it. Sten planted his sword between its shoulder blades, twisting it with a yank and ending the confrontation.

"Is everyone okay?" Wynne asked, casting a healing spell all around.

"I'd be even better if I could rest my head on something soft..." Zevran replied allusively, struggling to get back to his feet after one of the monsters had swiped at him.

"What the heck were those things?!" Elissa blurted, her sword pointed at one of the creatures.

Morrigan approached as well, tapping the corpse with her own magic staff and looking at it with interest. "I would answer theyre werewolves." She turned to Elissa, her yellow eyes almost glowing. "You must have encountered them in your readings."

"I thought they were the ramblings of some fanciful writer, or at any rate extinct." She defended herself.

"And instead they're quite real, so what are we still doing here?" Natia blurted, almost screaming. She'd had enough of that damn shitty place, between trees, rain, mud, bugs and now also rabid and overgrown wolves straight out of some tale. "Let's go to Denerim and forget about the elves!"

"That's too bad."

They turned abruptly, alarmed.

Out of the thick of the forest came five elves, their eyes glowing sinisterly, armed with bows and arrows that they held pointed at them. As they approached the edge of the circle of light cast by the bonfire, Natia could make out their features.

Four of them bore a striking resemblance to Aenor and like her their faces were covered in intricate tattoos, but it was the fifth that caught the dwarf's eye most of all.

She wore dark clothing that blended in with the vegetation and her skin was also dark, making her eyes stand out even more, glowing an unnatural white, framed by a tuft of snow-white hair that fell back on one side of the head, while the other side was shaved, leaving a series of recent-looking scars on display. Scars were covering most of her exposed skin like a mass of whitish brambles.

"Apparently, these shems are more resilient than usual." Commented a blonde haired elf, casting them a dismissive look.

"We'll see." Replied another, who nevertheless seemed more concerned about the forest around them than the group of humans.

"We come in peace!" Alistair tried to explain, taking two steps forward, his hands raised in front of him. "I am a Grey Warden, we are here to seek an alliance with the Dalish-"

Before he could finish the sentence, an arrow planted itself where his foot would be a moment later.

"Not another step, human." Snarled the dark-skinned elf, notching another arrow.

Elissa and Geralt acted on instinct, the former bringing her hand to bear on the sword's hilt, the latter gathering energy and sending sparks all around him. Sten grunted something in Qunlat, while Cookie's growl filled the air.

Natia, ready for the fight, clutched the knives that still glistened with the werewolf's blood. She could swear she saw the white-haired elf wince, startled by something. Perhaps they had realized that attacking such a large, well-equipped group was not a great idea.

"Stop," Alistair begged them. "We have no hostile intentions, believe me."

"Humans in our forest, and mages too." The same elf replied. "We should kill them."

"Easy, Kallian. Killing humans never accomplishes anything good." Another elf said.

"They got too close, Athras."

"Mithra, we should take them to the Keeper. If he really is a Grey Warden..."

"They're a threat!" Blurted the dark-skinned elf, whose name was Kallian. She cast a glance of pure hatred at them that made Natia's hair stand up, though it wasn't directed at her in particular. "Let's just kill them and be done with it." She stretched the bowstring.

"Not so fast, flat.-ars."

Natia had never been more pleased to see Aenor.

The Warden, who had popped up from who knows where, was accompanied by Falon who growled in the direction of their assailants. Next to them was another elf with a tattooed face, carrying a mage staff in her hand.

"Lanaya?!" Kallian exclaimed in surprise. The others seemed to relax, lowering their weapons a little.
"The shem speaks true, they are Grey Wardens. And anyone who violates the treaty of friendship between the Dalish Clans and the Grey Wardens without a very good reason will be punished severely." Said the mage, glaring sternly at her companions despite her young age. "Put your weapons away, Kallian, they are not your enemies." She then told her in a gentler tone. She then turned to Natia and the others. "You are welcome to follow me. We shouldn't be out here."

There was nothing left for them to do but follow the elves through the woods.

"Did you really have to disappear into thin air?" She heard Alistair ask Aenor.

"You're fine, arent' you?" She retorted. “I'm not your wet nurse."

"I was worried. You've been disappearing for days, after getting attacked by werewolves and then pissed off elves... we were all worried about you."

"They weren't really going to attack you, they were clearly outnumbered."

"Tell that one." Natia interjected, pointing with her head at Kallian, who hadn't stopped watching them for a moment, still clearly angry. "I think she would gladly tear us apart with her bare hands."

Aenor snorted. "Let her try."

 

 

 

 

 

They followed the elves back to their camp, situated among some stone ruins. Weathered columns and remnants of what must have been walls poked out of the ground here and there. The Dalish had erected several sturdy-looking tents, workstations for cooking, tanning hides or forging weapons, while a large bonfire towered in the center of the camp, a few benches and logs placed beside it.

There were also large wooden structures, resembling the boats she had seen at the port of Denerim, only smaller and on dry land. What were elves doing with boats in the middle of a forest?

Although the place could have held a few dozen people, Natia noted, they were greeted by a small group of elves, their tattooed faces expressing surprise and concern.

"Andaran atish'an." An elf dressed in a long tunic and a magic staff on his shoulders greeted them. "I wish I could give you a better welcome."

"Ma serannas, Keeper." Replied Aenor, who to Natia's surprise, bowed hier head in respect to the older elf. Evidently, he was the Clan's leader.

"Luckily you found your companions before my impetuous hunters could push them back out of our territory..." He continued, then turning to look at Kallian and the others.

As the tattoed hunters made apologetic gestures, Kallian returned the Keeper's gaze without flinching. "They were intruders, and we have enough problems as it is."

The Keeper shook his head. "Problems that perhaps the Wardens can help us solve." He turned to the newcomers. "As I have already told your companion, for now it is not possible for us to keep our word to the Treaties. A serious curse has come upon our Clan, and if things don't change we won't even have enough hunters to defend ourselves."

Imagine if they didn't have some problems of their own. Natia thought, restraining herself from cursing out loud. It really did seem as if all the surface misfortunes had popped up with the approach of the Blight. Fuck this shit and fuck our luck.

"Let me guess, you're talking about werewolves?" Geralt asked sarcastically, looking at least as annoyed as she was.

The elf widened his eyes. "You've encountered them?"

"Just before your hunters found us, yes, such a pity they didn't get to us sooner to help us out."

The other did not seem the least bit touched by the mage's veiled accusations. "I have given strict orders to avoid any confrontation with the wolves, I have no intention of losing any more members of my Clan."

"Are things that bad?" Alistair asked, stepping forward a little.

The Keeper nodded, "Come and see for yourselves." He led them to a series of bedrolls, on which rested several wounded elves, all in more or less serious condition. Some were almost entirely covered in bandages.

"We arrived here a few months ago, but we didn't expect such an attack from the wolves. Most of my hunters were caught off guard as we had underestimated the beasts and their bloodlust." He pointed to an elf lying in a feverish sleep, lips moving as he mumbled words that Natia could not understand. "Even with all our knowledge and magic, we will be forced to take down our brothers, lest they turn on us."

"Is there no way to save them?" Elissa asked, her brow furrowed.

Leliana, beside her, seemed to share her concern.

The Guardian gave her a suspicious look. "There is a way, but it won't be easy."

"We're going to help, Keeper."

They all turned to look at Aenor.

"If there's a way to heal them, we cannot abandon them." The girl had a determined look on her face, and she seemed ready to challenge anyone who was about to contradict her.

There, I knew this was gonna screw us over. Natia thought. She couldn't wait to get out of there, as fast as she could. It wasn't her problem...

"Aenor, can we talk about this for a second?" Alistair asked the other Warden. He looked as concerned as the others.

The Keeper sighed. "Without you, my Clan doesn't stand a chance against those rabid beasts. But I cannot force you, Wardens." With that said, he bowed his head slightly, allowing them to back away and discuss what to do next.

Natia glared at her companions, arms crossed over her chest. "I'm not staying in this forest, even if I have to get the fuck outta here on my own."

Chapter 16: Brecilian Ruins

Summary:

Kallian and Aenor delve into the ruins looking for a way to break the curse that fell upon the Dalish, while the other half of the party reaches Denerim in search of Genitivi but get sidetracked.

Chapter Text

Kallian struggled to get back on her feet, throwing the remains of her now useless bow to the ground. The drake, who now lay on the ground in a lake of dark blood, had broken it with its weight.

"It could have been your back, you were lucky."

She gritted her teeth, meeting Aenor's gaze.

The Warden fought as if she had pure fire in her body, hardly caring if she got hurt, swinging the greatsword she carried as if it were weightless. In the alienage even owning a blunt and rusty sword was considered a crime, and no elf in their right mind would dare to challenge the city guards so blatantly. Her mother had taken a huge risk teaching her how to shoot a bow and she had paid dearly for it. Who knows what she would have said, seeing her daughter slay a drake alongside a Dalish hunter.

"Right, I should be thrilled that I was left basically unarmed." She retrieved the few arrows that were still usable from the encounter and placed them back in her quiver.

"Not necessarily..."

She turned around, watching the elf with the Antivan accent, Zevran, rummage through a pile of rubble, rusted steel and unidentifiable dirt.

"Ah!" He exclaimed triumphantly, moving with some difficulty a boulder obstructing a large chest. Kallian hurried over to it, noticing what had caught the elf's attention: the tip of what must have been a bow protruded from a crack in the wood. The lock had been broken by falling debris but the contents looked intact. They opened it, pulling out a large light-colored wooden bow which, though it had been down there since time immemorial, still appeared to be in perfect condition. She caressed the carved handle, admiring its workmanship. The string was now deteriorated, but luckily she had a spare.

"Falon'Din." The Witch of the Wilds appeared beside her, as if from nowhere, jolting her.

Kallian looked at her without understanding.

"Those carvings represent the god who leads the People after death." The woman explained, pointing to a stylized and elongated figure with a vaguely elven shape, holding a shepherd's staff with a curved end.

Kallian tried not show her discomfort being around the mage. " That explains how it's still in good condition after who knows how long..." She said with her head down, as with expert movements she quickly knotted the rope and gauged its efficiency. Thank the Maker... She thought contentedly: she had a weapon again.

"Let's move on."

She nodded, following Aenor as they made their way through the dark corridor, the elf's large black mabari never straying more than a couple of feet from her mistress. She had always feared those creatures, so beloved by the nobles who often set them on their servants or mere passersby unfortunate enough to cross their path. She had never seen them in battle, however, and she had to admit that Falon had been a great help.

She walked beside Sten, the quiet Qunari who accompanied them. How he had happened to travel with two Grey Wardens was a mystery, but then again, all that crazy group was.

She sighed.

At least, two out of three mages had continued their journey to Denerim, followed by the humans. It was yet another confirmation that they could not be trusted. After listening to the Keeper's entire account, they had decided to abandon the Clan to their fate, leaving only Aenor, the Qunari and Zevran to deal with the curse that threatened to destroy them. The witch had also remained, but Kallian was sure she was only there for her own personal gain. The strange tattooed dwarf had also seemed anxious to get out of the forest, but given her species' little affinity for the surface, that was understandable.

All in all, though, they were doing just fine.

Although they'd had to ask a hundred-year-old talking tree for help, killed a couple dozen werewolves, took care a crazy hermit living in the thick of the forest, encountered some darkspawn and crossed a wall of magical fog to reach the ruins, they hadn't encountered any insurmountable difficulties.

The white wolf that had attacked them was surely Witherfang, whose heart they had to recover in order to break the curse and save the Dalish who had been infected. With a shudder, she chased away the image of poor Danyla, who had preferred to die rather than survive as one of those rabid Maker-forsaken creatures.

They made their way through a maze of ruined corridors and tunnels.

When a ghost that looked like an elven child appeared in front of them they tried to chase after it, only to be attacked by a series of skeletons that made Kallian's hair stand on end. That place was surely full of spirits and curses of all kinds.

"Mamae?" The child asked for the umpteenth time, in tears.

She heard Aenor answer something in elven, but could not understand the meaning. The ghost disappeared in a cloud of smoke and in its place a deformed creature appeared, floating in the air, its gaze vacant and its jaws wide open in a high-pitched scream that pierced their ears.

"Nothing good ever happens in ruins like these." Aenor commented once they had managed to defeat the Arcane Horror (that's what the witch had called it).

"It can't be long now." Said Kallian, wiping the sweat from her brow. The place was sapping her resistance. Magical creatures, curses and ghosts lurked around every corner and she seemed to be the only one in there jerking at every single noise.

Finally, they came to a shallow pool of water, spotting a perilous-looking staircase on the other side descending into the depths.

They exchanged a glance. The stench of the werewolves could be smelled all the way up there; it was clear that this was one of the entrances to their lair.

They went down the stairs, careful not to make any noise.

Immediately they realized they were being watched. Falon lowered his ears in a defensive position to the right of Aenor, who was leading the group. Sten protected the left flank while Morrigan stood in the back, her staff raised and ready to cast one of her spells. Keeping an eye on the witch (she didn't like having her behind her), she notched an arrow. Zevran, beside her, had a tense expression, his blond hair sticking to his forehead due to blood dripping from a scratch on his forehead.

As expected, half a dozen wolves swooped upon them, soon forcing them to retreat to the stairs.

From there, with Aenor and Sten firmly holding their ground taking on one wolf at a time thanks to the confined space, Kallian was able to perfectly target the weak points of the beasts, who fell one by one under her arrows and Morrigan's spells. When the last one was cut down by Sten with a powerful blow, which severed the animal's head cleanly, they made their way into the narrow stone room. A wooden door, rotten and scratched, stood before them.

Unceremoniously, Aenor kicked it in. "We lost the element of surprise a long time ago, anyway." Snarled the Dalish, knuckles whitened from how tightly she was gripping her sword, ready to attack whatever was lurking back there.

Kallian heard Morrigan chuckle, but she was too tense to find anything funny about the situation.

They crossed the gap, finding themselves in a large circular room, lit by a dim light coming from above.

Four wolves stood in the center of it, but instead of attacking as Kallian would have expected, one of them came at them, teeth bared. Its companions were growling angrily, but it raised one of its front paws, silencing them.

"Halt, my brothers." He said, in a rough, beastly voice, and then addressed the newcomers directly.

“Intruders. We desire no more bloodshed. Are you willing to talk?"

"Talk!" Kallian blurted, clutching her bow and aiming for the creature's eye. "After attacking us, you dare ask to talk!"

"Give me a single reason why I should waste my breath, beast." Retorted Aenor, who did not hint at lowering her own weapon. Falon, beside her, growled in support of his mistress.

"I have been sent by the Lady of the Forest to request a meeting with you." The wolf insisted. "She believes the Dalish have not told you everything."

She saw Aenor advance a step. "And you expect us to fall into such an obvious trap?"

"The Lady of the Forest means you no harm, so long as you do not-"

It didn't manage to finish his sentence that one of Kallian's arrows lodged itself into its right eye, sticking all the way up to the feather.

With an angry howl the wolves lunged at them but got slowed down by one of Morrigan's spells, giving enough time to Aenor and Sten to get into an advantageous position. The Dalish plunged the hilt of her sword into the exposed throat of the wounded wolf, drawing it out in a stream of dark blood that spilled onto the breastplate of the light armor she wore. Undaunted, she stepped over the corpse, helping Sten kill another one.

Three more wolves arrived to help their comrades, but they were defeated and killed.

Between them and Witherfang stood just another wooden door. They went in.

"So you do not care about listening to reason." They were greeted by a woman's voice, which rumbled clear through the cavern like a drop in a still body of water.

Out of the darkness, a female figure emerged, naked except for the green vines that had tangled around her, a deep green over her pale, unnatural glowing skin.

"My lady!" Groaned a familiar growling voice, clearly in agony.

Kallian turned toward it, catching a satisfying glimpse of Swiftrunner, who lay dying in a pool of blood pouring out of a large gash on its hind leg, caused by Aenor in the confrontation prior to their entry into the ruins. If it had managed to get there, it was only thanks to the intervention of Witherfang, who had taken them by surprise.

They weren't going to let themselves be fooled again.

"Don't move, my friend. Your wounds are bad enough as they are." The woman admonished it, then turned to them again gesturing to the few remaining wolves who had huddled around her, protecting her. "You were sent here blind and ignorant, yet you fight with such fury."

"We are not here to waste time on small talk." Aenor interrupted her. "Tell us where Witherfang is, and let's get this over with."

The werewolves around the woman became even more agitated, ready to pounce on them. Their snarls made Kallian's skin crawl, but they were so close to their target that the elf hardly felt any fear anymore, replaced by a boiling rage that pervaded her.

"'This obvious that she's Witherfang..." Morrigan said, pointing at the woman.

"You're right mortal." Answered the Lady of the Forest. "And any one of them here would die in order to protect me."

The wolves growled their approval.

"However," Witherfang spoke again, raising a pale hand to quell the roars, "I do not wish to see more bloodshed. If you truly will not listen to my words, take my heart, mortals, but spare these poor cursed souls."

"My lady!" Swiftrunner objected, managing to crawl a few feet toward her. "Don't do this, please!"

"Swiftrunner, be quiet." She hushed him. "We have no choice, there are few of us left and it is clear that they can overpower us. I ask only for mercy for those who fight every day against their own nature, imposed on them by someone who knows no forgiveness."

"What do you mean?" Aenor asked.

Kallian gave her a surprised look. They were facing only five wolves besides Witherfang herself, victory was now theirs and she was choosing to talk to that monster? "What does it matter? Let's just kill them and take her heart, that's what we're here for."

The Lady looked at her with her black, expressionless eyes. "Your soul is full of hate and fear. Not unlike that of Zathrian himself. I can see why he found such a tenacious ally in you."

"Shut up." Kallian admonished her, her hands quivering to let go of the taut string of her bow.

"But can a life dictated by vengeance be considered truly lived?" Witherfang continued, undaunted. "Because of a crime committed generations ago, we are still cursed. Is that what you believe to be justice? That the sins of one group of men must belong to their entire species?"

"Shut up!" Kallian yelled, losing her patience and releasing the arrow, which went straight into the woman's stomach. The Lady collapsed with a groan, falling to her knees.

Immediately, the wolves attacked.

Kallian shot and shot without even aiming, caught up in a single thought: kill the creature. She almost didn't notice a paw graze her side, the large, curved claws closing to within a breath of her leg as she leapt to step on one of the corpses on the ground to reach Witherfang, who in the meantime was writhing in howl-like moans, shrouded in white light.

She looked at the Lady of the Forest, her body covered in white fur, her face stretched into a lupine muzzle, look up at her in an animalistic wail.

"No!"

She was struck from behind by something that fellon top of her, pinning her to the ground. She found herself crushed by Swiftrunner's massive body, the werewolf's blood soiling her robes, trying to keep the beast's jaws away from her. In a tangle of claws, fur and blood, she tried to free herself, but her bow had fallen away and the hunting knife she carried on her belt was unreachable. Teeth snapped a few millimeters from her nose as the weight of the wolf crushed against her chest took her breath away, blurring her vision.

Maker...

Suddenly, Swiftrunner's grip loosened, allowing her to gather her knees and push it away from her. The wolf slid to the ground without resistance.

She noticed a knife sticking in the wolf's jugular, which twitched a few last times, spitting blood in a gurgling growl.

She grabbed Zevran's hand, getting back to her feet. She gave him a nod before focusing her attention back on Witherfang.

The creature lay on the ground, an agonizing wolf beside it, its hand grasping the bloody fur of its last protector.

Aenor towered over them, soaked in the blood of her enemies, holding onto the sword that rested on the ground. "It's over."

Kallian reached her, drawing her knife.

"So Zathrian's revenge ends in blood." Whiterfang gasped, pressing a hand to her wound. "At least, we'll find some peace."

"You deserve all of it." Kallian retorted.

"Perhaps so." The woman closed her eyes, her face slowly relaxing. "So long..." She exhaled her last breath as the hand pressing against her belly slid to the ground, lifeless.

They stood in silence for a moment, but Zevran's voice filled the cavern. "What crime was she talking about, shall we ask the Keeper?"

"It doesn't matter. Whatever it was, the curse will no longer affect our people." Kallian answered decisively leaning over the corpse, the hunting knife clutched in her hand. She hesitated for a moment, not knowing how to start carving.

Aenor's hand rested on hers. She met the other's gaze, then stepped aside.

With expert gestures, the Dalish plunged the knife into the Lady of the Forest's flesh, carefully extracting the heart and wrapping it in some leather, which she stored in a pouch tied to her belt.

"Let's go."

 

 

 

 

 

They exited to the surface via a passage coiled around the roots of some large trees. Inhaling the moist forest breeze, Kallian closed her eyes.

Had they really done the right thing?

"Did you get the heart?"

They turned sharply, surprised to see Zathrian approaching them.

Aenor lifted the leather pouch, nodding. "You didn't trust us?"

"That spirit and its beasts were liars and manipulators." The Keeper answered. "I had to make sure you had not fallen into their snares." He took the pouch and checked the contents, hinting at a smirk. "This will save many lives."

They returned to the camp without mishap.

The Keeper disappeared into his tent to work on breaking the curse on the Dalish hunters, while the group was greeted by the other elves with gratitude.

They made them sit around the main campfire, tending to their wounds and sharing dinner.

Exhausted, Kallian pondered on what had happened, Witherfang's words echoing in her mind. She sighed, unable to shake off the discomfort they caused her.

"You fight well, for a flat ear."

She lifted her gaze. Aenor, who had cleaned herself up in the meantime, looked down at her over her new weapon, a large sword given to her by the elves, probably found in some ruin.

"It's lighter than it looks." The Warden said, intercepting her gaze and sitting down next to her.

"A weapon worthy of a Grey Warden."

She heard her sigh. "Yep. Looks like I just can't help it."

Kallian turned to look at her, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

Aenor looked around. It seemed that every single detail of the Dalish camp awakened something in her, which hiding tumultuously behind the girl's green eyes. She saw her hesitate a few moments, before pulling something out of her pocket.

On the palm of her hand, shone a glass vial, filled with a dark liquid. Blood?

"If it weren't for this, I wouldn't even be here." Aenor began to speak. "I had a clan, just like this one. I would never have left, if not for..." She interrupted abruptly, her voice broken, sniffing, her eyes almost teary. Suddenly, Kallian realized that the girl couldn't have been more than sixteen, or eighteen, and despite her being a Grey Warden, she was still so young.

"You don't have to tell me..."

"I'm telling you this because you need to understand." Aenor interrupted her, clenching her fist around the vial she held. "I didn't want to be a Warden, I was dragged away from my people by force, even the Keeper of my Clan betrayed me, letting a human throw me into the middle of all this mess. May the Dread Wolf take him, that one even kicked the bucket afterwards and left us to do all the work." She huffed, then looked her straight in the eye. "You knew it was Zathrian who created the curse, didn't you?"

After a moment's hesitation, Kallian nodded.

"I don't know exactly why you hate humans so much, but I can guess just by looking at you. And I can understand why you chose to kill them all instead of giving Witherfang a chance to explain herself. You could have broken the curse, but you just didn't want to."

"You disapprove of it?" Kallian asked her.

Aenor shook her head, not even looking at her. "Humans killed my parents and my little brother. And Zathrian's daughter, what happened to her.... I feel no pity for the descendants of such monsters."

She felt a weight lift from her stomach. "I should have told you but I was afraid that... You were traveling with humans when you got here. And Grey Wardens are usually..."

"...heroic?" The Dalish suggested, shaking her head. "Alistair would surely have sought a peaceful solution. He's one of those heroes that come straight out of a story, the kind that end up getting killed for their own stupidity."

They remained silent for some time, listening to the noises from the camp around them and the crackling of the embers in the bonfire.

Kallian mulled over what had happened during those weeks, since that unfortunate morning when she was supposed to get married. How she had struggled to recover from what Vaughan and his mage had done to her, the looks of pity, compassion and disgust in the eyes of her neighbors in the alienage, that had eventually forced her to flee the place in the middle of the night, without even saying goodbye to her family and hoping not to cross paths with anyone, in search of a myth. The Dalish, the free elves, those who would not be bowed down to anyone.

Yet, she had seen how overwhelmed they too could be, forced to flee from humans, fearing every single day that they would be attacked, moving constantly without ever finding a permanent home. They were so different from the stories her mother told her, they were....

In the background, someone began to sing a song about Arlathan's fall, the soft, melancholy notes filling the air. She watched out of the corner of her eye as the girl next to her stared into the fire, lost in her thoughts.

Fragile.

She had run there to take back her dignity, vowing never again to submit to humans. Yet, after the bloodbath that had occurred that day, she felt no better. The emptiness that had driven her to leave home was still there.

"Are you leaving tomorrow?" She asked Aenor.

The other nodded. "We are to meet with the rest of our group just outside Denerim in a week."

"I'll come with you."

Aenor turned, surprised. "I thought you enjoyed it here."

Kallian listened to another verse of the song, a bitter taste in her mouth. "They took me in, but I'm not one of them. And I'm not even an simple woman from the alienage anymore, working at the market hoping to get enough money to buy a decent house and get a good marriage." She clenched the bow she'd found in the ruins, stroking its polished wood. "I don't know what to do with myself, but if I can be of any help in stopping the Blight, I will do my part."

Aenor, who had stood listening in silence, smiled a bit. "You'll have to travel with quite a few humans. And mages too."

"I'll put up with it." She promised. "As long as they don't bother me."

"Oh, rest assured, the most annoying one here is the Antivan." The other giggled pointing to Zevran with a nod, who in the meantime was busy talking to a couple of young elves who seemed shocked by whatever he was telling them. “The others are... fine. A bit odd, but they're good people.”

 

Melava inan enasal

ir su aravel tu elvaral

u na emma abelas

in elgar sa vir mana

in tu setheneran din emma na

 

lath sulevin

lath aravel ena

arla ven tu vir mahvir

melana 'nehn

enasal ir sa lethalin”



Kallian listened to the song, unable to grasp the meaning of the elven words.

"Time was once a blessing but long journeys are made longer when alone within. Take spirit from the long ago but do not dwell in lands no longer yours. Be certain in need, and the path will emerge to a home tomorrow, and time will again be the joy it once was." She heard Aenor recite in a solemn voice.

Kallian thanked her with a nod, while the choir of elves went on in their litany, listening step by step to Aenor's translation.

At some point, she thought she saw something moving in the trees, but when tried to focus on the forest around them, beyond the area illuminated by the bonfire, there was no one. The feeling of being watched did not fade, however, but it remained like a buzzing insect poking at the back of her head.

The Clan's song faded into a vibrant note that seemed to echo throughout the Brecilian Forest, accompanying her on their journey for days to come.

 

 

 


 

 

 

Damn it! Geralt growled, barely avoiding one of the ogre's huge horns. The darkspawn had taken them by surprise as they emerged from the forest. The main road turned into a steep cliff and they hadn't been able to avoid a handful of Hurlocks and Genlocks, who had now flanked them.

Alistair and Elissa had done well enough to hold off their attackers in that confined space until an ogre had come over the cliff above them, jaws dripping with blood and claws ready to dismember anyone who came within reach. Unfortunately, that someone was currently him.

The mage sought refuge by flattening himself against the rock wall, the terror of slipping below almost as great as that of being torn apart by the monster.

"Get down!"

He was just in time to duck that a spell cast by Wynne crashed like a stone fist into the ogre, hitting it in the head and causing it to stagger. Alistair, taking advantage of that momentary weakness, launched himself again to the attack, aiming with a powerful blow of his shield at the monster's arm and then slashing at it with his sword in the lower abdomen. Purple, stinking blood spurted from the wound, covering the dented armor of the warrior.

The ogre growled angrily, charging the Warden with its horns. If it hadn't been for Natia's intervention, who threw one of her knives right in his eye cursing aloud, he would have surely been trampled to a pulp. Wounded again, the monster had free way toward the rest of the group, Alistair lying stunned on the ground.

Geralt promptly cast a series of paralysis runes, hoping to slow it down enough to allow Elissa, who was keeping up the rear guard along with Natia, to catch up to them.

It was not enough.

The ogre was slowed down but the genlocks following him spurred to charge and, regaining their vigor at the sight of the fallen Warden, pounced on them.

"Cookie, go to Alistair!" He heard Elissa shout. The mabari lunged at the nearest genlock, knocking it to the ground and then leaping over. He grabbed the Warden by the arm, teeth gripping his armor, dragging him to cover behind a small ledge. He then pounced on a genlock who had dared to come too close, throwing it off the cliff.

Gritting his teeth in exertion, gathering his last remaining energy and summoning a fireball that struck the three dark spawn in front of him, managing by a fluke to throw two of them off the cliff.

The third was almost upon him when an arrow from Leliana lodged in its throat, causing it to stagger forward and collapse at his feet with a hideous gurgle.

Finally, Elissa ran past him, charging the rising ogre with her shield and stunning it again, driving her sword into the back of the monster's head all the way to the hilt. The girl was covered in blood, the bandage she usually wore on her empty eye socket was dangling on the side of her head and her hair was reduced to a loose disheveled mass giving her the look of a mad fighter out of some storybooks. She turned to call out for her mabari and Cookie barked in response, throwing his weight against a genlock and knocking it to the ground and over the cliff.

"It looks like they're all-"

Leliana didn't have time to finish her sentence that a high-pitched, inhuman shriek pierced their eardrums. They turned only to see Wynne slump to the ground, a shriek coming out of nowhere behind her.

"No!" Leliana screamed, aiming at the creature and swiping at one of its hind legs. The creature screeched even further, throwing itself at the girl. Geralt only managed to send a thunderbolt at it, which barely burned her slowing it down by a bit but not enough to stop it from throwing Leliana to the ground.

He heard Elissa shout something, but the warrior was too far away, her sword still stuck in the ogre's corpse...

The shriek screamed again, this time in pain.

Stunned, Geralt saw the hilt of one of Leliana's daggers sticking out of its side. The monster rolled away from its prey, backing away wounded and snarling.

Cookie was on him, hurling it over the precipice.

Geralt spun around, checking for more darkspawn, almost drained of mana. He allowed himself a sigh of relief: they seemed to have defeated the last one.

"Wynne!"

"Wynne, wake up!"

Elissa and Leliana were bent over the old woman's motionless body.

The mage found himself hoping she'd be dead. At least, he would no longer have to endure her constantly disapproving glares.

To his amazement, but mostly disappointment to be honest, a flash of blue light spread around the old woman and with a gasp, she opened her eyes again, coughing.

Lucky as always... He huffed, leaning on the magic staff and merely casting a glare at the two girls, who were holding Wynne in a relieved embrace.

"I was sure that... but how is that possible?" The Cousland asked, pulling away and allowing Wynne to breathe.

The mage shook her head, looking as surprised as they were.

"I'm fine too, don't worry..." Cackled Alistair, reaching them slightly staggering and using his sword as a crutch.

Geralt saw Elissa blush violently, but maybe it was just the heat of the battle. The girl immediately ran to help the Warden, sheathing her sword and setting his arm over her shoulders. "Sit down, you're hurt!"

The other stared intently at his feet, avoiding putting all his weight on her. "Just a little bruised..."

Geralt rolled his eyes.

"They remind me of someone.”

He laid his gaze on Natia's amused grimace. "Don't be absurd."

"What do you have to do with it, I was obviously talking about someone else..." She laughed, starting to wipe off the blood on her knives and carefully sheathing them back in her belt, then going to retrieve the small throwing knife from the ogre's corpse.

 

They reached Denerim two days later, exhausted and wanting nothing more than to sleep on a bed worthy of that name. In an act of unexpected generosity, Natia had offered them rooms so they could regain their strength and heal from their wounds.

Geralt had never been to such a chaotic city and wondered what Val Royeaux or Minrathous, which were known to be far more populated than the capital of Ferelden, must have been. The marketplace was crowded and full of merchants shouting to advertise their wares, people milling about looking for bargains, beggars, drunks, haughty nobles and simple layabouts.

Without him even realizing it, a skinny, dirty little boy ran into him, almost sending him to the ground. Before he could even insult him, Natia had already grabbed the boy by the waistband of his pants, sending him to the cobblestones with a kick in the butt and blocking his movements by pressing her boot to his chest. Geralt noticed in dismay that she was holding his black grimoire in her hand.

"If you're doing this, don't be an amateur." Natia scolded him, snatching the book from his hand.

The poor guy was about to piss in his pants when she let him go. He got back up in a flash, taking off running and disappearing into one of the back alleys.

"They can't even be proper pickpockets..." He heard the dwarf comment, shaking her head.

Geralt merely chuckled, taking back his grimoire. "I only have a couple of books and three copper coins in my pocket, he definitely chose poorly."

"Ah, that's no problem, beanpole. Today's on me."

The mage arched an eyebrow. "To what do I owe all this generosity?"

Natia sneered, a grimace that further highlighted her crooked nose and the scars that furrowed her face. "You moved me to pity."

Without further explanation they passed the market district and reached a bridge, which took them to the other side of the Drakon River, the great waterway that bisected the city. They walked for several minutes along an enormous wooden palisade. Geralt noticed that it was full of guards checking the perimeter.

Without stopping to look, they continued along a series of intricate labyrinthine streets, squeezed between the wooden buildings that seemed to have sprung up in no particular order.

Finally, Natia stopped abruptly, hands resting on her hips and a triumphant expression on her face. "We're here!"

They were standing in front of a building that was kept in a fairly better state than the others, with a weathered but recently repainted wooden sign that read "The Pearl" in crooked lettering. As if to announce its business, a few men and women in skimpy clothing were calling the attention of potential customers.

"You-you brought me to a brothel."

"Not just any brothel, but the best one in all of Ferelden." Natia pointed out, striding (as far as her short legs would allow) past the entrance. Geralt had no choice but to follow after her, more puzzled and amused than actually offended.

"I hope you've come to settle your debts, Brosca." They were greeted by a pale woman, hair pulled back into a brown braid around her head and a low-cut dress that left little to the imagination.

"Sanga, Sanga... Did you have any doubt?" Natia pulled four gold coins out of her pocket, which she sat on the wooden counter, clinking them. The woman on the other side widened her eyes in surprise, but hurriedly grabbed the money, biting it with her teeth to test its authenticity.

She seemed satisfied. She signaled to someone behind her.

A dwarf with a thick dark beard approached them, winking at Natia.

"I trust you with my friend, Sanga, find him a handsome guy to have fun with."

Before Geralt could retort the dwarf slapped him on the ass, the pop echoing through the small room, walking away laughing towards one of the adjacent rooms.

"So, shall I introduce you to the boys?" The brothel owner asked him, a friendly smile on her face. "For that kind of money, you might as well pick a couple and keep them all day..."

The mage coughed, looking for an excuse to leave. What had that crazy woman dragged him into?

"For now, I'd rather just have something to drink." He replied, pointing to one of the many bottles that were on display on the shelf behind the counter. I can't run away like an idiot, I'm no shy virgin! 

The woman gave him a deep sigh but poured him a glass of something that was definitely not wine, judging by smell and color. Geralt sat down at a small table in the corner, sipping whatever they had offered him, uncertain about what to do.

Perhaps he should have followed the others.

They had found the scholar's apartment but the door was bolted, with a sign posted inviting visitors to come by after a few days. They had then asked the neighbors, and those had confirmed that Genitivi had not been seen for some time, however his assistant sometimes visited the apartment.

The group had then decided to split up, going in search of provisions and other utilities to face the journey ahead.

While he, taken by who knows what madness demon, had let himself be carried all the way there without even knowing.

He sighed, cursing the unmistakable noises that echoed in the hall despite the closed doors, drowning in alcohol the feeling of discomfort in his robes, which was becoming more and more pressing.

"Certainly you do not wish to sit here all by yourself..." A male voice, slightly hoarse, roused him.

He lifted his gaze from the glass, setting it on the man in front of him. He was certainly good looking, his dark hair worn just above his shoulders that matched the olive complexion, his toned physique highlighted by the tight clothes open on the chest. The mage swallowed his liquor, trying to keep himself as detached as possible without being able to avoid following with his eyes the thin trace of hair coming down from his abs. "Thank you, but I'm not that lonely."

"I see. Can I at least join you for a drink?" The man insisted, sitting down next to him without waiting for an answer, a glass of dark wine in his smooth hand, crossing his slender legs. He had a bit of beard, probably barely two days old.

Geralt couldn't help but curse Natia for the umpteenth time. He cast a glance at the front door, conflicted about what to do.

Well, compared to fornicating with a demon...

Chapter 17: Denerim

Summary:

Elissa accompanies Alistair to meet his sister and discovers his secret.
Later on, they find out about the village of Haven and decide to leave the city, accompanied by the latest addition to the group, someone who can recognize an opportunity when it falls right into his lap.
Elissa is torn between her thirst for adventure and her sense of duty.

Chapter Text

Elissa had never been to the capital.

She had to admit, despite herself, that she had expected something better. The dusty dirt streets were home to pickpockets, beggars, merchants, nobles, scantily clad women looking for customers and shady individuals armed to the teeth, lording it over everyone. The few guards they encountered must have been nothing more than spoiled and frightened boys, because none of them seemed to pay the slightest attention to the state of the city and people they were supposed to protect.

The voices of the vendors promoting their wares filled the air, along with the cries of a small group of children playing catch, sometimes dodging but more often running over distracted passers-by, drawing insults and threats of all kinds.

"Is this where your sister lives?" She asked Alistair who was walking beside her, his face partially covered by the hood of his cloak. He was still a wanted criminal, after all.

The boy nodded, scanning the row of wooden houses in front of them. "Wade's Emporium," read a sign in gold lettering, indicating that this was the famous smithy. Elissa sighed, thinking of the time when she could have afforded to go and buy the best weapons and armors. Now, despite the money Bann Teagan had given them, they barely had enough to buy the supplies they needed and get their weapons and armor fixed up. Buying a new one, especially in that place, was not in the picture.

They walked past the store and then stopped in front of a small house that bore the signs of time, two children playing on the front.

Alistair approached them, waving at them. "Does Goldanna live here?"

The little girl backed away, frightened, while the boy, who must have been a year older than her, puffed out his chest in a childish attempt to intimidate them. "What do you want with mommy?"

"We're friends, we just want..."

"Bran, Bree!" Shouted a female voice from inside the house. "If they're customers-"

The door swung open, revealing a tired-looking woman, her auburn hair framing a pale, wispy face, dark circles around her brown eyes. She ran her soapy hands up to her elbows over the stained apron she wore.

Alistair coughed, embarrassed. "Hello."

"Do you have anything to wash? It's three coppers per basket, and don't trust anything Natalya says, she's trying to rob you..." She glared at the visitors, realizing that they were probably not there to get their laundry done.

"Actually, we're not here to.... My name is Alistair and, I know this may sound crazy, but..." Stammered the boy, overcome with emotion. "I think I'm your brother."

The other frowned, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "My what?"

The Warden seemed to panic even more. "Yeah, I mean, you're Goldanna aren't you? I'm-"

"Look here, I don't know who the heck you are or what you've come here to do, but I don't have time to waste on these jokes. I have to work to do." The woman abruptly interrupted him, trying to get them off her back.

"Ma'am, please listen to him for a moment." Elissa tried to intercede, trying to appear as not intimidating as possible. They were, after all, two fully armed strangers entering her home. It was obvious for the woman to be wary.

Alistair seemed to take heart. "Look, our mother worked at Redcliffe Castle before she died, didn't she?"

"You!" The woman exclaimed, widening her eyes. "I knew it! They told me the baby died with my mother, but I knew they were lying!" She advanced a few steps toward Alistair, as if to get a better look at him.

"They had...? Who was it that told you that?"

"Thems from the castle! I told them whose baby it was, but they told me to shut up, gave me a gold coin and sent me on my way!"

"Whose...?" Elissa didn't understand. Alistair had told her about growing up in Redcliffe, never knowing his father, and how his mother had died, but she had no idea why his father's identity was so important to keep a secret.

The boy scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I didn't know.... The baby, he wasn't dead. I'm alive."

The other huffed, pulling back a strand of hair and squaring at him furiously. "And what good it does me?" She blurted, advancing another bit and pointing her finger at the breastplate of his armor, facing him. "You killed my mother, and I ended up in the streets! That coin didn't last long and when I came back, they kicked me out! They said there never was a baby, that they knew nothing of my mother!"

Alistair stepped back, surprised by his sister's anger. "I..." He stammered, panicking again.

Elissa tried to speak up. "Please calm down, it wasn't Alistair's fault if-"

"And who are you supposed to be?" Goldanna hurled at her. "A slut after his money?"

Elissa winced, not expecting such a reaction.

"With that face of yours, he must be a blind fool to keep you around!"

"Hey!" Alistair shouted in outrage, pushing his sister away and putting himself between her and Elissa, his arm raised to hold Goldanna back. "Don't talk to her like that, you don't know anything about her!"

Goldanna huffed, wrinkling her nose in a grimace. "Perhaps you are. Just like your father took advantage of my mother. And you took her from me, sending me to starve! I should have told everyone but I was an idiot!"

"Told everyone what?!" Elissa raised her voice. She was losing her patience, that woman was insufferable but, more importantly, there was clearly something Alistair had withheld from her about his parentage.

"That he's King Maric's son, that's what!" Goldanna huffed, slamming a foot down.

"… Excuse me, what?"

King Maric. Maric Theirin. Maric the Savior, Maric the man who had freed the Ferelden from Orlais' occupation decades before, Maric the hero everyone had heard of. Could it really be that Alistair was his son?

She turned, shocked, to the boy in question. The blond hair, the defined nose, the slightly squared jaw and broad forehead... Suddenly, the realization hit her like a slap in the face. He looked so much like the portraits of the late King Maric.

The other had lowered his gaze, red in the face, a wisp of blond hair covering his eyes.

"Elissa, I'm sorry, I should have..."

"They can't be trusted!" Goldanna went on, adding to the confusion. "As far as I'm concerned, I have nothing in common with you, I have no siblings!"

Alistair lifted his gaze again, pleadingly in the direction of Elissa and then his sister.

"I just wanted to..."

"If you really want to make yourself useful, you can pay me back for killing my mother! It's only your fault I'm in this place and if you can't help, then get lost. I have five mouths to feed." The woman's tone was so full of nastiness that Elissa awoke from surprise.

She squinted at the woman, inhaling sharply. "Alistair, let's go."

The other turned to her, looking for help. "Could we give her something?"

Elissa cast a look of disgust at Goldanna, whose eyes had lit up as soon as the boy had mentioned money. She opened the small leather pouch she carried at her hip, pulling out a handful of copper coins. She threw them on the ground at the woman's feet, then grabbed Alistair by the arm and walked out the door, dragging him behind without another word.

The Warden did not resist. They strode down the street, stopping only after several dozen yards.

"Elissa, let me explain." Alistair held her by the arm.

She turned sharply, facing him, her eyes stinging.

"I wanted to tell you, but-"

"But what, Alistair?" She faced him. "You didn't trust me? Were you ashamed?"

“No, I just didn't want you to-"

"Never mind, what's done is done." She cut it short, turning away. "The others will be waiting for us, we've wasted enough time already."

"Elissa, please, I'm sorry..."

Hurt, she stomped away, not even checking if he was following. She sniffed, trying to push back the tears. Why hadn't he trusted her enough to tell her who his father was? Did he think maybe she would betray him, sell him out to someone? To Teryn Loghain, perhaps? Did he really think her capable of such vileness?

Furious, she turned down a side alley, trying to make her way back to Brother Genitive's house, where they were supposed to meet with the others.

The other Warden probably knew everything. And Morrigan too, now she understood the meaning of some of the barbs the witch had directed at the boy. Did he really trust her so little that he would reveal the truth to a Witch of the Wilds but not to her?

She bit her lip, feeling tears come down one cheek.

She had told him everything about Fergus, about her parents and how Howe had slaughtered her family, she had confided in him and now she found that he had kept something so important from her all that time.

She was so lost in her own thoughts, she almost bumped into someone.

"Who do we have here?" A poorly groomed looking man asked, his mouth open in an amused grimace that gave a glimpse of rotten, wobbly teeth. He reeked of alcohol.

"Sorry, I didn't see you." She said, trying to avoid him and continue on her way.

Another man, coming out of nowhere, stood in front of her, a knife in his hand. "You shouldn't be walking around all alone, girl."

"Yeah, you might run into some bad guys." A third voice continued.

Elissa turned sharply, finding herself surrounded. Furious, she drew her own sword, pointing it at him. "Go away, I won't warn you a second time."

The three burst out laughing. "The bitch has guts!" One exclaimed, drawing a pair of knives, his gaze clouded by alcohol.

Without waiting any longer, the girl threw herself on him, disarming him with a shield blow and sending him to the ground unconscious, after hitting him on the head with the pommel of the sword.

The other two stood motionless in surprise but after a while they pounced on her, trying to reach the places not protected by her armor. She sent one of them to the ground with a kick, but someone shoved her to the ground.

She fell rolling to one side, cursing that she hadn't brought Cookie with her. She had entrusted him to Leliana and Wynne, fearing he might scare Alistair's sister and she didn't want to cause any accidents. She'd been an idiot. She noticed the pointed ears of the new assailant, a skinny elf flanked by four others. The man she had sent to the ground was getting back up.

"Elissa!"
Alistair rushed over, charging and sending him to the ground, his sword then pointed in the direction of the elves. One of them took aim with a bow forcing the warrior to raise his shield to parry the arrow.

Taking advantage of their surprise, the Warden came up to Elissa, extending a hand to her and helping her up.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded, pointing to their right. "There's two more in that alley. Archers, I think."

"Shit."

They stood back to back, facing their attackers.

"Give us everything you've got and after we're done with her, we'll let you go..." Sneered one of them, licking his lips obscenely, his eyes fixed on Elissa. "If she's good enough, that is."

She tried to stall as she thought of an escape route. "We fought darkspawn, do you really think you can take us on?" If they took care of the three barring the way behind them, they could make their way back towards the marketplace. She doubted they would follow.

She signaled to Alistair, who seemed to understand. "I've got your back."

The girl nodded and then ran in the direction of the three who stood between them and safety, Alistair moving backwards with his shield up, parrying the arrows that were being fired at them.

Fortunately, they weren't properly trained and their aim was quite bad.

Elissa mowed down a bald elf with her sword while parrying with her shield the blade of another man. That one pulled out another knife out of nowhere, which lashed the air a palm away from the girl's nose, taking advantage of her limited sight. Managing to dodge it by a whiff, she leapt to the side, warning Alistair to engage.

An arrow lodged in her shoulder strap. She raised her shield just in time to parry another, which ricocheted with a metallic clangor.

She heard a shuffling and clutched her sword, preparing for the worst, when a chilling scream startled her. A fountain of blood spurted from the corpse of one of the elves that were chasing them, who collapsed to the ground. Behind him, a giant waraxe raised above his head, stood a dwarf, his armor smeared with red. He swung his weapon, plunging it into the chest of another elf, knocking him away. With a yank, he freed the axe from his body, staring calmly at the remaining criminals who looked at him in horror.

"Now it'd be a good time to get out of the stones."

The remaining ones didn't need to be warned twice, dropping everything and fleeing without looking back.

Elissa stood stunned as she watched the dwarf carefully clean his own axe, running a cloth over the blood-soaked blade. "We thank you for your help."

He shrugged. "Someone has to keep up the name of the city guard of this awful place, right?" He replied, finishing the job and tossing the cloth to the ground, then securing his axe behind his back. "You're obviously not from here, or you would not have entered this neighborhood. Ever since they closed down the Alienage, it's been crawling with all kinds of scum around here. They usually pick on the elves, but apparently they're now stepping up their game on better equipped passersby." He introduced himself, right hand clenched into a fist against his chest. "My name is Duran. Allow me to ask where you are headed, I can accompany you and make sure it doesn't happen again."

Elissa gave him a small bow. "I'm Elissa and this is Ali. We're headed to Brother Genitive's house."

The dwarf shook his head, not at all surprised. "You're searching for the Urn as well?"

"Have any other knights from Redcliffe passed through here?" Alistair asked him, curious.

"Oh, yes. But Genitivi hasn't been back to town in a while, and those guys had nothing left to do but head somewhere else, chasing a legend." The dwarf replied, signaling them to follow him. They walked behind him trough some intricate side streets and came out just behind the scholar's house.

Cookie, seeing his mistress coming, ran towards her, wagging his tail happily. Leliana and Wynne greeted them, surprised to see the dwarf with them. There was no trace of Natia or Geralt. She hoped they hadn't gotten into any trouble.

"Nice mabari." Commented the dwarf, eyeing the animal. "You don't see many like that around, he must have been trained well."

"How did it go with Goldanna?" Leliana asked them, concerned.

Elissa and Alistair exchanged a look, unsure of what to answer.

The archer seemed to realize it was best not to inquire further as she hurried to change the subject. "We saw Genitivi's assistant come in here a few minutes ago, though he didn't notice us."

Alistair nodded, "Great, then let's go in and ask if he knows anything."

They all walked in together, Duran included.

The inside of the house was chock full of bookshelves covered in bulky, dusty tomes, a long wooden table was also covered in papers and three chairs were the only other furniture. It smelled like dust, incense, candles and even more dust.

"Who are you?!" A man exclaimed, surprised to see them enter. "This is the house of-"

"Brother Genitivi, we know." Wynne interrupted him. "We are looking for him, actually."

The man looked around. "He's not here."

"We know that too, but it's important." Elissa said, noting the amount of books in the room. It struck her as odd that the assistant hadn't taken the time to dust them carefully, some of them looked particularly old and valuable.

"If you're here for the Urn, it's just a legend." Replied the assistant, uncomfortably. "As I've already told everyone who's come through here looking for it, there's no evidence of its existence, Genitivi has gone off on a research and I have no idea where."

"Can we take a look at his notes?" Leliana asked. "Maybe we'll find something useful."

"Absolutely not!" Shouted the other, then lowering his tone of voice. "I'm sorry, but Genitivi's research is private, I can't leave you-" He paled, his gaze focused on Cookie who was barking and scratching at the wood of a closed door. "Stop this nonsense!"

The mabari turned to face his mistress, barking a couple of times then returning with his muzzle to sniff the door.

"I have to ask you to open that door." Elissa said. Cookie must have found something important, or he wouldn't have acted that way.

The assistant was in a cold sweat, but remained adamant.

At that point, Duran stepped in as well. "Let's open that door. Orders of the City Guard." He crossed the room and kicked open the door. It unhinged with a crash.

From inside, a sickening whiff hit them. It smelled like death.

Alistair acted immediately, punching the assistant and sending him to the floor before he could do anything, falling unconscious.

"I think this was the real assistant..." Said Leliana, re-emerging from the room with her sleeve pressed to her nose, pointing to the corpse behind her. "And he's been dead for quite a while, I'd say at least two weeks."

"Damn it." Duran sighed, scratching his beard. "We should have suspected something..."

"There has to be a clue somewhere." Elissa looked at the papers spread out on the table. The others did the same, flipping through the books and scrolls. Leliana closed the door again, hoping to contain the smell.

"Hey, look at this!"

Everyone huddled around Elissa, who held a worn-looking leather notebook in her hand. She flipped through it quickly until she found what she was looking for. "The village of Haven may be a good place to start." She read, turning the page where Genitivi had drawn a rudimentary map of the place mentioned. "I don't recall ever hearing of it..."

"And that makes it even more suspicious." Said Leliana, gently taking the journal from her. "It's definitely worth a look. Maybe our fake assistant can tell us something."

They grabbed up the impostor, tying him to a chair and bringing him to his senses with a slap. He widened his eyes, trying to free himself in vain. He tugged at the ropes, then gave them a mad look. "You'll never get there!" He shouted.

It was just a moment.

The prisoner's hands shone in a flash of light but Alistair, who had sensed the magic flow long before the others, had already acted. The mage didn't even have time to throw the fireball that the warrior's sword thrust into his sternum, making him wince.

"Good job." Congratulated the dwarf in a sarcastic tone. "Now he won't tell us anything."

"Better than letting him kill us all!" The Warden defended himself, releasing his sword with a testy grunt. "We already know we have to go to this Haven anyway, don't we?"

"First of all, let's get out of here, this smell is making me sick." Elissa interrupted them, hurrying out into the open air.

 

 

 

 

 


They decided to return to the inn where they were staying, waiting for Geralt and Natia to join them as well. At the counter they found three soldiers of the city guard, young boys who were not even twenty years old, intent on drinking and looking insistently at the backside of the waitresses.

Duran walked briskly toward them, the big axe strapped over his shoulders. Despite his short stature, Elissa thought the dwarf casted an aura of respect all around, one that put in awe anyone who came within his reach or had the misfortune to get in his way.

"Go to Sergeant Kylon and warn him that there has been a murder at Brother Genitive's house. The culprit is the corpse tied to the chair in front of the fireplace." He said to them.

The three looked at him with contempt. "Go tell him yourself, dwarf." One spoke.

Duran did not seem to mind the boy's tone. He stroked his beard, thoughtfully. "I'm going to count to three and then I'm going to send your skinny deadbeat asses back to your fathers and say that this town needs men, and not little girls wearing skirts and playing with pretty dolls. But I'd rather not." He glared at them one by one, voice icily cold. "It would be an insult to all the little girls in skirts, who would kick your arses without breaking a sweat or tangle a hair on their dolls' heads."

The three looked at each other, uncertain what to do. "But the sergeant told us to check the inn..." Tried to say one of them, while the others nodded emphatically.

"Ah, don't worry, I have the situation under control." Duran reassured them. "One."

"What if he asks us to move the bodies...?"

"You are three strong young men, you'll manage." Duran brought a hand to the great-axe. "Two."

"Alright, alright!" Screamed one of the three, before tossing his glass to the ground in a whiny manner and striding toward the exit. His companions hurried after him, one of them carrying his own half-full mug.

"Good thing I charged them in advance." The waitress spoke up, arms resting on her hips and an amused smile on her face as she turned to the dwarf and the others. "Duran, always on the job I see. The usual?" She gestured for them to take a seat.

Before long, they were all seated around a table, facing a pint of fine ale.

"So, you're on the search for the Urn, too. Quite a group, I must say." The dwarf spoke.

Elissa stared at him. There was something about the way he spoke and moved and related to the people around him that was different from most of the dwarves she had known so far. Not to mention the abysmal difference that ran between him and Natia.

"Yes, we need to save Arle Eamon and the Urn is his only chance." Alistair replied.

"And you think you'll find it in this... Haven?"

"At least it seems like a good place to start." Elissa took a sip of the ale, wrinkling her nose. It was bitter and made her throat itch. She coughed, reaching out and grabbing a piece of bread to wash it down. She heard the laughter of the dwarf, who was already more than halfway through his own.

“Edwina, brind us some mead please, I think the lady will like it more.” Duran raised his voice toward the waitress.

Elissa blushed slightly, thanking him with a nod.

"The Bannorn continues to resist." She heard a man sitting at the table behind them say. She stretched her ears, perhaps she could discover something interesting. "Bann Telmen refuses to submit to the Regent."

"We should join together to fight the real enemy, not kill each other." Rebutted another. "The darkspawn wanders around destroying our lands, and we fight over a crown."

"Teryn Loghain won't listen to our demands!" One woman raged. "Our bannorns are reduced to smoking rubble, but his only concern is fighting insurgents and patrolling the Orlesian borders!"

To Elissa, those rumors were not new. She sneakily turned around, careful not to be seen. She instantly recognized Leonas Bryland, an old friend of her father's. The faces of the other man and woman also looked familiar.

"This civil war has to end." Bryland continued. "Think about what happened to the Couslands..."

"Leonas!" The woman scolded him. "There are many ears here, it is not safe to speak about it."

Elissa quivered. She clutched the mug, trying hard to calm herself. The woman was right, this was not the time to reveal that any of the Couslands had survived the massacre. However, it wasn't right.

Howe had somehow hushed up everything that had happened, spreading rumors that the Couslands were planning a coup, taking advantage of the Blight and the weakness of the Crown to install one of their own on the throne. The girl wanted to believe that people hadn't believed such nonsense, but Teyrn Loghain himself had granted Howe control of Highever. Could it be that the Teryn didn't know what had really happened and had trusted Howe because he needed to have a strong ally by his side?

That still didn't excuse Loghain's total disregard for what had happened. Sure, he had other things to think about, like half the bannorn in revolt and the Blight, yet the Couslands were the second most important family in Ferelden after the Theirin.

That Alistair was right?

The thought that Loghain wasn't the hero she'd always believed had been buzzing in her mind for a while. Nothing she had found out was in the Teyrn's favor; in fact, the more time she spent with the Wardens and the more she heard about what was happening across the land, the more her convictions faded, leaving room for doubt.

Immediately after the massacre of her family, she had gone to Arl Eamon for help, for him to support her in her testimony against Howe once she'd go Loghain in Denerim to denounce the traitor. But the Arle had been poisoned by that blood mage, and if indeed the Teyrn of Gwaren had been the instigator....

Even Alistair however had lied to her, she thought, mulling over what she had discovered that day.

In her pocket, she still had the letter that that elf had given her at the inn in Redcliffe. It bore no signature, but the elf, when questioned, had finally revealed that he had been hired by someone in Howe's service, and in it there was orders to keep an eye on Eamon and the castle.

She sighed, uncertain what to do. However, her thoughts were interrupted by the door of the inn, which opened wide letting in two people who were having a heated discussion.

"I still gave them money for shit, beanpole!"

"No one asked you for anything, keg!"

"You're pathetic! You can't even get laid in a normal way!"

"And all you think about is money and fucking!"

Elissa intercepted Alistair's gaze, puzzled.

"I see your spirits were raised." Giggled Leliana, motioning for the newcomers to sit down. Natia and Geralt, who were glaring at each other, reluctantly approached.

“That's apparently all he can raise, without his dear friend.” The girl rebuked, taking a seat near Leliana. She then grabbed Elissa's half empy ale mug and chugged it all down.

"Brosca?!” Duran froze, his eyes wide with surprise, his mug in midair. "What are you doing here?"

Natia look at him, a flash of surprise hidden almost instantly. "Hey."

"You two know each other?" Leliana asked, intrigued.

"I could ask you the same thing." Duran retorted with a smile, finishing his ale. "To cut things short, we left Orzammar together, due to a series of unlikely coincidences."

Elissa could hardly believe it. The two couldn't be more different.

"So, did you find out anything?" Geralt asked them after ordering a glass of wine.

"We found Genitivi's journal, he believes the Urn is in Haven. There was a man posing as his assistant, and he seemed set on preventing anyone from going there." Elissa answered, taking the notebook out of her pocket and handing it to the mage. He flipped through it with interest, while Wynne glared at him from across the table.

"The others should get here today." Alistair said. He seemed worried. Ever since they had left Aenor, Morrigan, Sten and Zevran in the Brecilian Forest, the boy had been constantly on edge, as if he expected not to see them again. Of course, given the other Wardens's ability to pick fights and get into trouble, Elissa would have had the same thought, had she not been absolutely certain that the elf's bad temper matched her skill with a sword. Not to mention Morrigan and the Qunari. Those wolves wouldn't have been a problem.

"What are we waiting for, then?" Brosca urged them.

Everyone turned to look at her, astonished.

"Why, are you coming too?" Alistair asked her, stunned.

The other shrugged, reaching for another ale. She belched audibly. "We're looking for the ashes of some lass who's been dead for centuries, I bet we'll find tons of valuable stuff." She replied, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. "Besides, after failing miserably at smuggling that lyrium and keeping all of Teagan's money, I can't exactly go back to the Carta like nothing happened, can I?"

Elissa didn't know whether to be pleased or not. Sure, Natia proved to be a valuable ally in and out of combat, but she wasn't absolutely sure that the dwarf wasn't rejoining the group just to steal and resell the Ashes.

"You're an interesting company." Duran commented, stroking his beard.

Elissa glanced over to the table behind her, where the banns were still chattering in a low tone, complaining about the poor results of their hearings at Loghain's court and how they were unable to defend themselves against the darspawn on their own. Apparently, some of them were planning to return to their Bannorn.

Of course, saving Arl Eamon was a noble cause and Redcliffe's support would be crucial to fighting the Blight, yet... didn't she also have an obligation to the people, and to the Bannorns once allied with her family?

What would Bryce Cousland have done under those circumstances?

Elissa had often found herself asking that question, but so far had not found a convincing answer.

Her father had always seemed certain of his every decision, so sure of himself, dedicated to family, to the people, to the crown.... She sighed, pushing the mug away.

Stopping the Blight was important, but she couldn't put her family aside. Her parents, Oriana, Oren... and Fergus, who probably had died in Ostagar, possibly because of Loghain if he'd really left the battlefield leaving all those brave men to be slaughtered. Howe could not go unpunished, and she needed to know the truth about Loghain.

Perhaps by helping the banns who opposed the Regent, she would have enough power to be heard by the Teyrn, who would then have to condemn Howe for what had happened. And if she found confirmation of Loghain's guilt in the meantime....

 

 

 

 


She remained silent for the rest of the meal, absentmindedly listening to the chatter of the rest of the group who, after finishing their meal, headed for the city gates, leaving Denerim and reaching the crossroads, where they were to meet up with Aenor and the others.

Duran had followed them with the excuse that they would travel safer, and besides, he said to be curious to know what kind of people a person like Natia was hanging around with.

They arrived at their destination just before mid-afternoon, discovering that the others had already arrived. With dismay, Elissa noticed the aggressive elf with white hair they had encountered in the forest watching them approach grimly beside Aenor.

"Took you time." Aenor greeted them, raising a hand. Falon, next to her, barked a couple of times, then launched himself dead weight at Alistair, risking knocking him to the ground as he tried to lick his face.

The Warden burst out laughing, trying to push the mabari away. "So you did it!"

"Obviously. It takes more than a few hairballs to stop us." She replied, calling Falon back. She then turned to the other elf, who was staring at them uneasily, nodding to her.

The white-haired one clutched the long light wood bow she held in her hand. "I have decided to help you." She looked ready to challenge each of them to deny her that.

"Things keep getting more and more interesting..." Duran commented, breaking the tension. "Even for Grey Wardens."

Elissa felt the blood freeze in her veins, turning to look at the dwarf, appalled. Who else knew?

Aenor immediately snapped to grab her sword, which she pointed at him. "And who the fuck are you?" She growled, ready to attack.

The others had also moved, looking around to check they hadn't been followed. The only one who had remained motionless and was even looking at them in amusement, was Natia.

Duran, however, didn't seem fazed at all, stroking his beard and scrutinizing the angry elf in front of him as if she were a curious specimen. "Allow me to introduce myself properly, then." He pulled out a metal necklace from the collar of his vest, from which hung a solid gold ring that bore some sort of seal. "My full name is Duran Aeducan, second son of Endrin Aeducan, late King of Orzammar."

Elissa suddenly understood the reason behind the dwarf's manner, which had immediately intrigued and fascinated her. This was no mere city guard, but someone raised in nobility, trained for leadership.
"It's about time you told him, your heightness." Natia huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Always the showman.”

The other smiled back at her, amused. "I wanted to see what these Wardens were made of first."

"How did you figure it out?" Alistair asked, confused.

"I had my suspicions, you look a lot like the signs that are all over Denerim, I don't know if you've noticed but you're pretty famous. And when I saw the elf..." He replied, pointing to Aenor. "All I had to do was add two and two."

"So? What are your intentions?" Elissa asked him.

"I have no interest in turning you in, if that's what you fear..." Duran reassured them. "The Grey Wardens have always been held in high esteem in Orzammar. Actually, I think we could help each other."
"Help each other how?" Repeated Aenor, who had, however, lowered her weapon.

The dwarf smiled back. "You see, I am currently accused of fratricide of the rightful heir to the throne of Orzammar, by my traitorous brother Bhelen, who is now vying to become king. You understand that I cannot allow him to do that." He began to explain, turning the signet ring over in his hands. "You are the last remaining Wardens in the Ferelden, by all accounts, and the dwarves are the best ally you could ever find against the darkspawn. While you cloudgazers only fight them during the Blights, for us it's daily exercise, our army is specialized against those monsters."

"Alright, but how can you be of use to us if you are hunted?" Aenor retorted.

"Not everyone in Orzammar is convinced of my guilt. Moreover, several surface dwarves and the noble houses that trade with them are fed up with the constant harassment from the Assembly and whoever sits on the throne. I haven't stayed with stones in hand since I left, I've been looking for alliances with whomever might be useful to me. But I cannot return to Orzammar right now, otherwise I would likely be executed on the spot. However, if I was to return alongside some Grey Wardens.... Not even Bhelen would dare strike me down, not before giving me a fair trial in front of all the Deshyr. Besides," he continued, glancing at Alistair, "word has it that you are the bastard son of Maric Theirin. And his only blood heir now."

Alistair seemed to whiten. "I don't... Though I am his son, I have no claim to the throne."

Elissa wanted to burst out shouting. Am I the only one who didn't know about it?!

"In any case, the dwarves gave great help to Maric against the Orlesians. You could return the favor."
The Warden seemed to ponder on the idea.

"Sooner or later we'll have to go to Orzammar for help anyway." Aenor said.

"And risk angering the dwarves further by accompanying the wanted brother of the next king?" Rebutted Alistair, uncertain of what to do.

"What the Prince is saying is true, Alistair." Interjected Wynne, who had been silent all that time. "Without the dwarves' help, we would have lost the city of Gwaren."

"He's right." Elissa confirmed. "The Legion of the Dead fought valiantly by our side."

"And when King Maric was received in Orzammar by my father, he was given all the proper honors." Duran continued. "My father died knowing that he was wrong to believe that filth Bhelen had served him, and that I am innocent. I have proof of that. I just need safe passage into Orzammar, that's all I ask."

After a few moments of silence, Alistair nodded, "All right. But we can't promise you anything. And anyway, first we must find the Urn of Sacred Ashes, our priority is to heal Arle Eamon and unite the nobles against Loghain."

Duran bowed his head. "Knowing our politics, it is easy for the feud in Orzammar to go on for months. And I understand how important your mission is to you." He turned to look at Elissa. "Though I see that you have already convinced some of the nobles."

She winced.

"It isn't hard to see that you are no mere warrior, Lady Elissa...?"

"Cousland." Elissa found herself answering. After all, the dwarf had confided in them, why wouldn't she do the same?

"Cousland, Cousland... I heard what happened to your family, my condolences."

"You probably haven't heard the whole story, Rendon Howe put out a bunch of lies." Elissa replied between her teeth. The bann speeches at the tavern still buzzed in her mind. It was now clear what she had to do.

"So, shouldn't we go to Haven?" Geralt, who had been standing on the sidelines the whole time not caring at all about politics and alliances, interrupted them.

Elissa shot him a dirty look. She couldn't stand the mage's constant air of superiority.

"Geralt is right." Aenor said. "Let's just find the damn ashes and be done with it."

"Sound easy enough." Giggled Alistair.

Elissa felt a tightness in her stomach as she looked at the two Wardens, but she quickly recovered. It was now or never. "I must leave you, though." She announced.

They turned to look at her, surprised.

"Why?" Alistair asked. "What do you mean?"

Elissa forced herself to sound more assertive than she actually was. "I overheard some banns at the tavern talking about the civil war. We can't defeat the Blight if we don't stand up to it united, and to do that we need the full Ferelden's army. Howe and Loghain's actions have raised quite a few rebellions, but the banns can't survive against a joint attack by the royal forces, Gwaren and Highever." It pained her to admit that her family's castle, the territories adjacent to it and her entire army belonged to her worst enemy. "I'll go help out Bann Telmen, who was my father's ally."

"But... we must go find the Urn!" Alistair tried to change her mind. "Don't you care?"

The girl gave him a hurt look. How could he think she didn't care!? She would have rather accompanied them in their search for the Ashes, of course, but as she had learned over the years very often what she wanted did not coincide with her duties. And her allegiance went first and foremost to her duties as the last heir of the Cousland family. "I am sorry, I would like to accompany you, but I cannot. I have to go, I owe it to my family and my people."

Alistair bowed his head, hiding his face and turning his back on her. "I wish you good luck, then."

Elissa intercepted Aenor's gaze, indecipherable, her head bowed slightly to the side as if studying her. She raised her chin in defiance, but the elf remained impassive, than gave her a nod.

Without waiting for someone to follow her, Elissa signaled to Cookie that it was time to go, heading at a fast pace towards the stables where they had left the horses a few days before.

She pushed back the urge to cry. After all, none of them owed her anything, they had the Blight to think about, she couldn't expect them to help her. Still, for a single, brief moment, she had hoped so.

 

 

 

 

 



After two hours of riding at a brisk pace, she heard the sound of hooves behind her. She turned alarmed, hand already on her sword, then stopped with her eyes wide.

Alistair, the wisp of blond hair pressed to his forehead by the wind, came galloping up. He raised a hand to greet her, an embarrassed smile on his face. Sitting in the saddle behind him, his hands clutching spasmodically at the leather support, was Duran Aeducan, sweaty and grayish in color.

Morrigan followed them, riding gracefully with her hair floating behind her and her magic staff fixed firmly on her shoulders, not even bothering to hide it.

"Alistair, what are you doing?" Elissa asked, stuttering. Cookie wagged her tail happily beside her.

"Aenor and the others will find the Urn, they're very capable." The Warden answered her. "Helping the banns against Loghain, gathering an army to face the darkspawn.... it's equally important. You were right when you spoke of responsibility. I may not be a noble, but the Grey Wardens' job is to protect the populace and that's what I intend to do." He lowered his gaze, his cheeks suddenly flushed. "If you'll allow me to go with you, of course."

Elissa felt a dip in her stomach, certain she was blushing too. "Of course, I'm... grateful you decided to come with me." She managed to say, a smile on her lips. "Are you sure you want to give up the search for the Urn, though?"

"I'm sure Aenor will manage to find it, somehow. Worst case scenario, she can get so angry that she'll have Andraste herself come down again and give her some new ashes."

The girl shook her head, unable to hold back a laugh. "Leliana would be thrilled."

Chapter 18: Village of Haven

Summary:

Aenor and her group reach the village of Haven, only to find a bad surprise after another.
When everything seems lost, one of them has another trick up his sleeve...

Chapter Text

The path to Haven was covered in snow and ice, that made it slippery and difficult to climb.

Aenor huddled in her wolf fur hood, her hands cold despite the padded gloves she wore. They had met a fur trader on the road, who for a few coins had sold them everything they needed to keep themselves warm. Surprisingly, Kallian had sewn them comfortable cloaks in a few days, with Wynne's expert help, which insulated them from the cold but at the same time allowed them to move nimbly in combat.

The Warden had been given a gray wolf's fur, the only one whose head was still attached to act as a hood, its paws closing in front to protect her from the wind. It had reminded her of the stories that were told about Fen'Harel, the god of tricksters, He Who Hunts Alone, Bringer of Nightmares. As if she had to worry about having more nightmares.

Each night her sleep got worse and worse: the Archdemon roared, pouring flaming destruction upon the world ahead of its darspawn horde, causing her to wake up at night sweating, breathing heavily, her eyes darting to the edge of the camp.

Without Alistair, it was even more difficult to bear, she felt even more alone. Not that she'd ever admit it, though.

Even if she still thought him an idiot most of the time, having someone to share that curse with had to that point given her a modicum of comfort, knowing she wasn't alone in facing the threat of the Archdemon. She'd been a fool to believe she could leave, go back to the Clan wherever they were, and pretend nothing had ever happened.

She jumped a snow wedge, nimbly, checking that the slope beside them was free of sentries.

Everything was still, frozen by the cold in utter silence broken only by the muffled swearing of Natia and Geralt, who sometimes stumbled on the ice and risked ending up face on the ground.

Duncan hadn't said anything to her when he had taken her away from the Clan. It was only later, when she had a few words with Alistair, that she had understood the reality of things: the Taint in her blood had only temporarily slowed down, but it would eventually lead to her death. All the Grey Wardens at some point would go into the Deep Roads, underground, to gloriously end their days fighting the darkspawn. Quite a treat Duncan had gotten her into. The bloody shem had dragged her off telling her a bunch of bullshit and then allowed himself and his entire order to get killed off, leaving two kids to take care of everything.

She huffed, climbing the last few feet up the slope toward Falon, who seemed invigorated by the frigid weather. The mabari's thick black fur was covered in snowflakes but he didn't seem to be bothered by them; on the contrary, he trotted on the icy surface, his nose pointed at the ground, following the tracks of who knew what.

Leliana joined her, shaking her own woolen hood from the snow that had fallen on it. "We should almost be there."

Aenor nodded.

"Strange not to have run into anyone, don't you think?" The woman continued, looking around, her bow held firmly in her hand.

Kallian, who had been silent for most of the journey, shrank into her cloak, pointing to something ahead of them. "Look."

Gray smoke rose beyond the last staircase, a sign that there must be an inhabited house.

"Tell me that's the last one." Natia wheezed, wrapped almost completely in whatever could keep her warm, her crooked nose barely poking out between her hood and collar, pointing to the staircase.

Wynne, beside her, proceeded wearily. "A hot meal and some rest wouldn't hurt..."

Aenor was a bit worried about the elderly mage. They had told her how she had almost been killed by the darkspawn. Wynne had told them about the spirit who protected her and who, twice already, had brought her back to life. The Warden had feared that the journey would be too much for her, but Wynne had surprised them all, recovering as if nothing had happened, fighting with the same grit as when they had met her in the Tower.

Zevran and Geralt walked right behind Wynne, the elf telling some crazy story and the mage looking more attentive to the ground beneath his feet than to the other's chatter. Sten, who was at the rear, seemed to be the only one not giving caring at all about the cold or fatigue.

They climbed the last few steps almost at a run, anxious to take shelter from the snowfall that was getting stronger and stronger. Reaching the top, they saw a man running towards them, a bow in his hand ready to shoot.

"Halt!" He yelled at them.

Leliana raised a hand in greeting, never letting go of the grip on her bow. "A good day to you! We are travelers, seeking shelter in the village of Haven."

He just stared at them for a moment, the stiff posture ready for attack. "We are but a small village in the mountains, how do you know about us?"

"A traveler we met two days from here told us about you, saying we could find a hot meal and a roof over our heads." She tried to convince him.

The man did not seem satisfied, but lowered his weapon. "You can stay at the inn until tomorrow morning, there you will find food and provisions to buy. We have nothing of value to trade, strangers, and we do not appreciate visitors." He escorted them to a stone and wooden structure, the chimney above the roof letting out the thick smoke they had seen earlier.

They thanked him and headead toward it with a sense of being watched.

The owner of the inn was equally hospitable. He widened his eyes, almost risking dropping the mug he was wiping with a rag. "And who are you?"

"Simple travelers." Aenor replied, removing her frozen hood and enjoying the warmth coming from the crackling fireplace. "We were told you can shelter us here for the night."

The man was looking at them as if they had asked him some nonsense, but kept a demeanor. "If your money is good. But mind you don't walk around, we value our privacy."

"We guessed as much." Geralt commented coldly, looking around. "This is the first inn I've encountered where they're not happy to see customers..."

"Strangers are nothing but trouble." Rebutted the owner, slamming the empty mug down on the counter. Then, as if realizing he had gone too far, he strained into a half-grimace that must have been a smile. "What can I get you? We don't have any rooms, but the parlor is big enough to camp here by the fire."

"Any hot meal you have will be fine, and we'll make do with the benches to sleep on." Leliana reassured him in a diplomatic tone.

They took their seats on the uncomfortable wooden benches as the innkeeper served them steaming soup and hard bread, accompanied by some mugs of ale.

When Kallian asked him to bring them some water, he looked at them strangely but obeyed without objecting and then remained staring at them behind the counter, cleaning stuff and going back and forth from the kitchen.

Although it was a large enough room to accommodate about thirty people, the place was deserted.

Aenor saw Natia and Kallian looking around, clearly uncomfortable.

She didn't like that situation either. Surely they were hiding something about the Urn, but going around asking about it or Brother Genitivi could be a fatal mistake.

"We should go take a look at the rest of the village." Leliana whispered behind her mug, careful not to be overheard by the owner. "I don't like this place."

The Warden nodded, taking a spoonful of soup and enjoying the warmth. Falon, sitting at her feet, was munching on an ox bone.

They finished eating slowly, with no one entering the inn.

"How come it's so quiet?" Natia asked the owner at one point, who seemed to have recovered from the shock. "I've never seen an inn so empty."

The one shrugged his shoulders. "Father Eirik is officiating a service today, everyone is at the chantry."
"Father?" Leliana repeated, coughing. "Do you have a man in charge of the rituals?"

"It has always been so, here in Haven." Replied the other, defensively. "We have our own tradition here, not like you lowlanders."

Aenor did not understand why she was so curious. Women, men, what did it matter who prayed to an unresponsive god and a human who had died at the stake centuries before? She shrugged, scooping up the last remnants of soup with the bread, but intercepted the look Leliana and Kallian exchanged. Wynne seemed tense as well.

She stood up, putting her hood back over her head. "Falon, let's go." She said to the mabari, who promptly snapped to his feet.

"Where do you think you're going?" Jumped up the innkeeper. "It's still snowing, I mean..."

She pointed to the dog. "He needs to take a walk. That is, if you don't want him to do his business here..."

"For goodness sake! Alright, take it outside, but no snooping around!"

Aenor grinned a bit, striding to the door and out.

"I'll keep you company!" Kallian chades after her.

The cold wind made them shiver as they made their way through the piles of snow that were forming. A little boy, in the middle of the square, stared at them curiously, a wooden stick in his hand.
They greeted him with a warm smile, trying to look as unthreatening as possible. "Hi. Aren't you cold?"

The boy, who was reciting a chant, suddenly shut up. "What are you doing here? Lowlanders aren't supposed to be here." He stared at them with some intensity, squinting a bit. “You're elves.”

"Yeah." Aenor replied, uncovering a pointed ear.

"I've never met elves before." The child said. "But visitors have come before, lately. They must have left though, I haven't seen them since."

"Who were they?" Kallian asked.

"Some men in armor." His attention fell to the long hunting knife the elf carried at her hip. He pointed to it. "It is very beautiful. Perhaps Father Eirik will let me keep it."

Unexpectedly, the other slipped it from her belt, handing it to him. "Be careful not to hurt yourself." She warned him casting a worried glance at Aenor, who nodded.

That village was definitely hiding something.

Falon sniffed at the child who drew back, startled. "What does it want?"

"Just to make friends." The Warden tried to reassure him. "He probably smells food." She pointed to a leather pouch the child was carrying on his belt, which the mabari was sniffing at. Whatever was in there, however, was definitely not food. From the way Falon held his tail and ears, the contents of the pouch were enough to alarm him.

The boy shone them a mischievous grimace, opening the bag and sticking a hand in it. He took out something. "It's not like there's any meat on it anymore."

They stared in horror at what was, clearly, a human finger, the white bones cleaned and polished.

"Where... where did you find that?" Aenor managed to ask.

The child pointed to the mountain behind them. "There." He closed his hand again, shaking the finger in front of them. "It brings good luck. But don't tell anyone, it's a secret." He made to tuck the knife into his belt, but Aenor blocked him.

"That could hurt you." She told him, gripping the handle firmly but gently, not to scare him. "Father Eirik surely wouldn't want you to cut yourself. Let's ask him if you can hold it, shall we?"

The boy crossed his arms over his chest, offended. "But everyone's in the chantry now."

"Then let's wait until he's done, and then we'll go talk to them."

She seemed to convince him. "The chantry is that way."The child pointed toward yet another steep, ice-filled slope. "They'll be in there until evening, though." He turned his back on them and walked away toward an empty-looking house.

"Do you think that finger belongs to one of the Knights of Redcliffe?" Kallian asked her once they were alone again.

"Or it's Brother Genitivi's..." Aenor replied gloomily, looking around. Although there was no one in sight, she had the distinct feeling that she was being watched. "The only thing we know is that no one has returned from here yet. And somewhere under the mountain is a pile of bones."

“So, what do we do?"

"We wait for tonight." Aenor said. "At least, we try to get some nice sleep, then stun the innkeeper and make our way to the chantry. This Father Eirik will surely have the answers we seek."

They returned to the inn.

Geralt was reading his big heavy-looking book, the black leather cover worn and old. He seemed enraptured by the pages, his lips moving slightly. Natia, next to him, was polishing her knives, which she had placed on display on the table, taking a sip of beer from time to time. The innkeeper, seeing them coming, went to the back with the look of someone who had surely been peering through the window all that time.

"Found anything?" Leliana asked them in a whisper.

"We're pretty much certain they killed and hid the Redcliffe knights that made it this far." Kallian answered, sipping some water. She never drank alcohol.

Aenor, who was slowly getting used to the ale, wrinkled her nose, feeling the bubbles fizz in her throat. "We talked to a child, he told us that some men in armor passed by, who then disappeared into thin air. Also we found some human bones, and we think there are more." She decided to omit how they had found the remains, the matter was disturbing enough as it was.

"What's the plan?" Zevran asked, who, ignored by Geralt, had sat down next to Leliana.

"We wait until tonight and sneak into the church. We need to force this Father Eirik to tell us the truth, but now we'd find the whole village in there."

Wynne nodded, looking at the Warden. "And in the meantime, we can catch up on some sleep."

Aenor focused on the ale, uncomfortable. The mage was worrying too much. She'd brewed her a potion to try and get her to sleep better, despite the nightmares, but it had done no good. There was nothing to do but surrender to the evidence: she would never sleep a peaceful night again. And the Archdemon wasn't the only one that haunted her dreams: the ruins she had discovered with Tamlen were a labyrinth where she continued, night after night, to get lost into, shouting his name, finding cursed mirrors behind every corner, chasing a shadow she could never reach even though she ran until she was out of breath.

She finished drinking her ale, trying not to think about how bitter it was. That was the only thing that helped ease her nerves, that made the situation a little more bearable.

"I'm going to try to get some sleep." She announced, going to lie down on one of the benches in the corner of the hall, using her cloak as a pillow. She heard Falon snuggle underneath her, the dog's breathing getting heavier and heavier until it turned into a low snoring sound. She closed her eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

They knocked the innkeeper out with a hit to the head, tying and gagging him. Carrying him to the back, they made a macabre discovery: the armor of one of the knights of Redcliffe lay in a corner, the bloodstains still clearly visible on it. They then slit the innkeper's throat, rummaging through his belongings for money, provisions and anything else they could find useful. Even Leliana had not made her usual fuss about pity and charity.

Aenor found some leather boots in a trunk, but they weren't her size. Zevran, who was checking to make sure no one had noticed the commotion in the inn, leaned over to look at them. "They wouldn't happen to be my size, would they? I could use some new ones..."

The Warden tossed them to him. Catching them on the fly, the Antivan examined them carefully.

Aenor could swear she saw him sniff the leather, before slowly putting them on. "Ah, perfect. They remind me of home." Zevran sighed, taking a few steps and admiring his feet.

"You're an odd one." Commented Natia, who had been burglarizing anything that might come in handy, from money to food to the few weapons the innkeeper kept in the storeroom.

Zevran chuckled, turning back to the window. "Someday I'll tell you all about Antiva, my friend, and you'll feel nostalgic for it even though you've never been there."

“If it smells even half as bad as those boots, I guess it's not all that different from where I'm from..."

Geralt signaled them to be quiet. He and Wynne exchanged a glance, moving their staves in the direction of the three guards who were lurking in the dark of the small square, watching for them to come out. Evidently the villagers had decided not to challenge them head-on, in the hope that the visitors would leave once dawn arrived.

Wynne made a rune of paralysis appear beneath the guards, who didn't even have time to realize what was happening, that Geralt cast a sleeping spell on them, causing them to fall to the ground unconscious, the sound muffled by the piles of the heavy falling snow.

"All clear." Zevran announced, peeking out of the window to make sure no one else was around.

Taking advantage of the late hour and the snow that made it difficult to see, they made their way to the grove that bordered the village, climbing the steep slope next to the steps. They avoided four more guards, armed with bows and short swords.

Climbing with some difficulty, they slowly walked the road that separated them from the chantry on the top of the mountain. Two other guards were lurking at the entrance, but they were eliminated by a precise shot of the two archers.

As they opened the door, they were confronted by a man in his sixties, who turned around alarmed signaling to five others to protect him. Those hurried to unsheathe their weapons.

"What are you doing here?!" The man shouted, grabbing a mage staff.

Aenor regretted Alistair's absence; his Templar training always came in handy.

"We are looking for Brother Genitivi. We know you killed all the knights who passed through here, we found their remains."

"And what does an elf want to do with Andraste's Ashes?" Father Eirik asked.

That's a very good question, in fact. Thought the Warden, but without getting lost in further chatter she signaled the others to attack.

After a brief but heated confrontation, the enemies lay slain on the ground, the priest's corpse bearing a huge gash across his chest, a gift from Aenor's sword. Rifling through his pockets, she found an oddly shaped locket.

"Hey, there's something here!" Natia called to them, tapping the wall in front of him.

The warden approached, noticing a strange symbol carved into the stone, identical to the one on the locket. She leaned it against the wall, matching them up and hearing a mechanism inside click with a huffed clang.

The wall moved to the side, revealing a secret room. A man, bound on the floor, turned sharply toward them, muttering under a gag.

Leliana ran to free him, helping him to sit up. The man revealed that he was indeed Brother Genitivi and that he had arrived in the village of Haven a few weeks before, when he had been stunned and imprisoned by fanatics of a strange Andraste cult. After Wynne had treated his wounds, the man insisted on leading them immediately to the temple where, he was certain, the Ashes were kept.

 

 

 

 

 

"Piece of cake!"

Impressed, Aenor watched as Natia set to work on the locks. Even where Leliana could have done nothing, the dwarf seemed able to pick any door or chest.

"When you're used to locks forged by dwarves, your cloudgazers' are a joke." She bragged, clicking the mechanism inside and shoving the door open.

They made their way through the ice-covered burrow, the cold stinging in their bones. They had left Genitivi at the entrance for his own safety, and wandered through the corridors finding several fanatics of the strange Haven cult who seemed to live there, explaining in part why the village was so deserted. As if that weren't enough, they discovered the dungeons of the temple were teeming with medium and small drakes, which the fanatics seemed to train and revere in some sort of way.

A wrong turn led them to clash with three adult drakes, coming out of it bruised and exhausted.

Kallian gave Aenor a hand in skinning the bodies of those beasts, managing to pick up enough material to probably make a pair of armors, once they got out of there and found a blacksmith who could forge with that precious material.

Bandaging a few scratches and letting Wynne take care of the rest, they retraced their steps, walking down countless more corridors. Falon, at one point, pricked up his ears, sniffing the air, tail straight.

"Smelling fresh air?" Aenor asked him. The mabari barked once, affirmatively.

"About time." Groaned Geralt, holding on wearily to his magic staff. It always seemed like Wynne was barely healing his wounds. "If these Ashes are a bullshit, I swear I'll tear this damn temple down from the ground up."

"You wouldn't dare." The other mage threatened him with her gaze. "Urn or not, this place is rich in history, its value is priceless."

"Sure." Agreed Natia. "That's why we're securing all its riches..." She pointed to the increasingly heavy bag she carried on her shoulders.

Aenor shook her head. It seemed that the dwarf was determined to take away everything that wasn't nailed down or simply too bigger than she was.

"Someone's here." Leliana announced, leaning out to look over a wall of rock. "A large room, and at least fifteen people. Two mages, maybe three."

"Must be the last of them." Kallian commented, approaching her. "By the Maker, how many more fools can this place hold?"

Aenor held back a grimace of annoyance. To hear an elf address the god of humans, how absurd. They had taken everything from them, their language, their religion, their dignity. And I'm here risking my skin to save one of them.

Tamlen would have thought she was crazy. And maybe she was. Was she betraying everything she'd ever believed in, traveling with shem, sharing fatigue and rest with them, even beginning to consider them...comrades? Elgar'nan, what have I gotten myself into!

She lengthened her stride, eager to crack a few more skulls. At least she could do that without having to think about it too much.

She signaled Sten to follow her, while the others stayed slightly behind, so as not to allow the enemies to surround them. They were at a disadvantage in both position and number.

"Intruders!" A man in heavy armor, his thick brown beard full of icicles, shouted out to them. "You have desecrated a sacred place, and killed our brothers! Enough is enough! Tell me, what are you doing here?"

"We seek the Ashes and you are in our way." Aenor responded, ready to attack.

"You did all this for an old relic?" The man gritted his teeth. "Know this, intruders: the prophetess Andraste has defeated death itself, returning to her worshippers in an even more marvelous form than you can imagine! Not even the Tevinter Empire could stop her now, so what do you hope to achieve?"
Before she could respond in kind to that pile of nonsense, Kallian's voice filled the room.

"It's just slander!" She saw her advance, her outstretched bow pointed at the man. "Blasphemy and ravings of a madman."

Leliana, beside her, nodded. "Whatever he's talking about, it can't be Andraste."

"Who cares what or where Andraste is!" Geralt growled from the back of the room. "Let's get rid of them and go get those ashes, if they even exist."

"Of course they exist!" Raised his voice the leader of the fanatics. “But why bother with the ashes when we serve Andraste reborn in all her glory?"

"Andraste is dead." Leliana retorted. "And you are just fools." She shot one of her arrows, which lodged in the man's armpit where the armor left the plain cloth beneath uncovered. The man backed away, stumbling, but the others were on them in an instant.

The clash was violent.

One of the enemy mages quickly healed their boss, allowing him to swing the huge waraxe at Aenor, who rolled to the side putting the sword between herself and the enemy. She felt an arrow bounce off the man's massive armor and was forced to dodge another terrible blow. A metallic clangor signaled that Sten had run to help her, giving her time to jump back to her feet. One of the mages swiped at her with a spell, blurring her vision. She squinted, struggling to spot the warrior in front of her, armed with sword and shield. She stepped back, circling him, waiting for the spell to wear off. Falon lunged at him, keeping him occupied.

A burst of flame signaled that Geralt had eliminated the last enemy mage, ending the disorientation spell on Aenor who managed to defeat the man in front of her, aided by the mabari. She then turned back to Sten, noticing that the Qunari was wounded in the side, blood dripping from a gash in his armor. The Warden struck the fanatics leader in the back, forcing him to bring his attention to her instead and pulling him away from her companion.

"Wynne!" She called to the attention of the mage, who was already at work. A blue light enveloped the Qunari, who grunted in relief.

In the meantime, one of Natia's knives pierced the armor joints of the leader who, distracted, was unable to parry Aenor's sword blow, which almost completely severed his right arm. The axe fell to the ground while the man screamed in pain, now on his knees.

Aenor kicked away his weapon and went to help Kallian and Leliana, who had been engaged in the melee by the last two fanatics.

When they too were down, they all breathed a sigh of relief.

Unfortunately, it wasn't over.

The leader of the fanatics was still alive and managed to grab an ornate horn tied to his belt, blowing in it three times until he was out of breath and collapsed dying on the ground. When a magic thunderbolt reached him, it was too late.

A mighty roar filled the air, shaking the earth. Aenor met the horrified gaze of Natia, who seemed to have paled to the color of the ice around them. Falon whined in fear, tail between his legs and ears down. He looked at the Warden, seeking some sort of reassurance that didn't and couldn't come.

“Tell me we don't have to go out there." Zevran croaked, struggling to sit up, his face sweaty and pale.

Wynne, leaning over him, tried to adjust his leg which had taken on an unnatural position.

Aenor looked at Sten, who seemed to have recovered from his wound but was holding a hand to his side. The mage had treated them several times that day and she was now forced to preserve her mana. Whatever they faced out there, they could not rely on her alone to survive.

"We can wait it out." Natia suggested pointing to the exit, a long corridor ending in a couple of huge iron doors, behind which there was a clatter of claws on stone.

Suddenly, the door trembled, struck hard by something which caused a myriad of small stalactites to fall from the ceiling of the room they were in.

"I don't think it plans on leaving." Geralt commented gloomily. "And that thing is between us and the Ashes. You heard the madman, right? They do exist." He gripped his staff tightly, orb glowing menacingly and his knuckles white. "Let's fucking find that Urn."

Aenor nodded. She'd promised Alistair she'd take the Ashes to Redcliffe, and he had trusted her. They couldn't go back empty-handed.

At worst, they would all die and she would no longer have nightmares about the Archdemon.

She rested the great sword on one shoulder, staring at them one by one. "Zevran, are you fine enough?" She asked at him, who shook his head.

"Enough to take a walk, maybe. But not to face that thing." He replied.

"I could try again to fix it." Wynne sighed, laying her hands on him again. The antivan however flinched away from her, pushing her away. "It's no big deal, you should save the mana for later. I think you'll need it more than me. I'll put a healing poultice on it."

"Agreed. But we won't leave you in the cold." Said Geralt, before taking a few torches hanging in the hall and stacking them next to the Antivan. "If it goes out, it went poorly. And you'll have to find a way to get out of here and back to Redcliffe, to warn them that we found those damn Ashes." He ordered after lighting a magical fire, which crackled warmly. He stared intensely at hi, with a threatening air. "And don't you dare betray us."

Zevran hinted at a smile. "I wouldn't dare. But there's no guarantee I'll make it out of here."

"That won't be necessary." Leliana interjected. "We'll be back after we find the Urn, Zevran, just wait for us."

 

 

 

 

 

They walked down the hallway. The scratching at the door had temporarily ceased, but the roars had only intensified, followed by what were clearly jets of fire.

"Sten and I will keep it busy." Aenor explained, hoping to appear confident and that the others wouldn't notice how much she was shaking. "Leliana, I need you at Natia's side, hitting its blind spots. Kallian, Wynne, Geralt, throw everything you have at him."

Leliana nodded, stowing her bow behind her back and drawing her daggers.

Before they could get out, Aenor felt Sten's hand on her shoulder. She turned, meeting the Qunari's purple eyes. For a moment, it seemed to her that he wanted to say something, then the other returned his attention to the door in front of them, both hands clasping Asala.

May Andruil protect us. Aenor thought, before throwing the doors wide open.

A huge dragon, far larger than anything they had seen in the caves and maybe even bigger than how she remembered Asha'bellanar, loomed before them, jaws gaping and a blaze that rose several feet into the sky.

The Warden forced her legs to move forward, despite the fact that they were suddenly freezed and heavy as stone. She zigzagged toward the dragon, Sten at her side, hoping to distract it and allow the others to get a head start.

The creature tried to sweep them away with a paw but the two warriors managed to avoid it, jumping to the side and splitting up, placing one on the left and the other on the right.

The dragon roared, but seemed not to want to breathe fire yet, as it merely snapped its jaws, trying to bite its attackers. Distracted, it put a leg on a paralysis rune thrown by Geralt, which pinned it to the ground. It tried to break free, letting out a deafening cry that would have surely stunned them were it not for Wynne, who had wrapped them up just in time with a protection spell. Aenor aimed at the grounded leg, using all hier weight to bring the sword down on the beast's stone-hard scales.

The beast spun around, and before the Warden could realize what had happened, she found herself slamming her back into something hard, cutting off her breath.

She slumped to the ground, spitting out a dark lump. Trying to get back on her feet, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, looking at the bloodstain on the white snow. She touched her neck, feeling a slimy liquid run down her back. One of the dragon's claws must have grazed her.

Falon, who immediately ran to her side, growled protectively. She tried to move her shoulder, noting that it was a superficial wound, and got to her feet ignoring the throbbing burn and gripping her sword tightly. She signaled the mabari to follow her.

She saw Natia plunge one of her poison-soaked knives into one of the dragon's hind legs, then barely dodge the spiky tail that wanted to sweep her off her feet. A thunderbolt struck the beast's snout, drawing it away from the dwarf as it roared all its fury. An arrow pierced the thinnest scales of its throat, followed in quick succession by another, but it was lost in the void as the creature spun around.
Aenor dodged to the side as the dragon spewed a jet of fire in front of her, enveloping Sten and Leliana who hadn't had time to move. The Warden gathered her strength and threw herself at the previously injured foreleg of the beast, Falon distracting the dragon by leaping nimbly in front of him and keeping its head away from his mistress. With a groan, she managed to drive the sword deep into the flesh, turning the hilt and pulling it out again, a spill of boiling blood steaming out of the gash.

The dragon let out a piercing roar, letting go of the hound and turning around. Aenor found herself having to jump on one of the legs, clinging to the dragon's bone spikes. It tried to shake her off, but feeling the elf resisting, it spread the wings, breaking away from the ground.

Aenor saw the ground suddenly recede, and all she could do was hold on to the spikes of the dragon, which decided to rotate on itself. The world turned upside down a couple of times, as her fingers numbed by fatigue and cold caused her to let go.

She found himself plummeting the void, closing her eyes instinctively.

Her fall stopped abruptly. She opened her eyelids again, just in time to fall with a thud to the ground, a green light surrounding her. Startled, she saw Sten and Leliana, a little burned and bruised but still standing, and Natia pulling something out of her bag, which she threw at the creature as soon as it hit the ground again, yelling to keep back.

An explosion of purple smoke billowed all around, only to explode into giant flames once the dragon tried to blow fire again. It roared again, then spread its wings and leapt in the direction of the dwarf.

Natia threw herself to the side, slipping on the ice and getting hit by one of the rostrums on its tail.

She didn't get back up.

Aenor snapped to distract the dragon, who was aiming at Natia to finish the job. Falon at her side, she swung the sword at it, driving it away from the dwarf and forcing it back. The creature's jaws snapped shut on the sword, snatching it from her hand and throwing it far away.

The Warden stood there, unarmed in front of the dragon, terror paralyzing her.

Sten pushed her to the side, knocking her to the ground and narrowly avoiding the monster's jaws closing around her.

She looked at the Qunari with stupor and amazement: despite his deep wounds Sten seemed to be fighting with the same determination and strength as always.

"Healer!" He yelled, trying to keep the dragon occupied so the mage could cast.

Aenor turned to Natia, carried to safety by Kallian who was dragging her away. A faint turquoise light enveloped the dwarf but it wasn't enough to bring her to her senses, it only stopped the blood pouring from the wound in her side.

The Warden tried to find her sword, but found that it was now useless: the blade was split just above the hilt.

All that remained was the dagger she carried on her belt, but she doubted it would be of any use.

The dragon seemed more furious than ever. With a slash of its claws it sent Sten to the ground, where the Qunari collapsed with a grunt of pain. He tried to get up a few times, leaning on Asala, only to stand up shakily, the breastplate of his armor shredded to reveal a deep wound underneath.

The dragon would have surely killed him, had it not been for an arrow that went into one of its two flaming eyes.

It screamed in pain, hurling itself at the archer.

Kallian didn't have time to jump away and she got lifted up by one of the claws, which tore into her chest as the dragon shoke her a couple of times and then hurled her to the ground.

A pool of dark blood spread beneath her, smearing the snow.

Leliana stumbled over to the beast and in front of Kallian, cleaving the air between her and the dragon with her daggers in a vain attempt to push it away. Wynne shouted some spell, but it didn't have the profer effect.

Aenor was already running towards them. She jumped on the dragon's tail, as she had long ago done with the Ogre on Ishal's tower, dagger clutched in hand. She made her way to the creature's head, which was shaking furiously to get her off it, paralyzed to the ground by one of Geralt's runes. The Warden laboriously hoisted herself up to the base of its neck, lifting the dagger and jamming it into the base of the head. She heard the scales give way, the dragon's roar filling the air.

She smiled, triumphant.

A bump stronger than the others jolted her away. She landed on the frozen ground with a loud snap.

She rolled to the side, focusing on her left arm which remained inert though she tried to move it. Levering on her right, she tried to get to her feet, but collapsed again soon after, her legs unsteady, nausea stunning her as the excruciating pain of her broken arm hit her all at once.

Sten was on the ground not far from her. Falon, yowling, limped in her direction, wounded in one of his hind legs, fur soaked in blood and crimson snow. Leliana, Wynne and Geralt were the last ones standing. The healer was bent over Kallian, but she must have run out of mana because it wans't working.

Leliana, having recovered her bow, kept the dragon at a distance, helped by Geralt.

The man, exhausted, suddenly dropped his magic staff on the ground after casting a new rune of paralysis on the monster. He then moved his lips, saying something the elf could not understand.

She saw him pull out a dagger from his robes, then plunge it into the palm of his hand.

A bloody aura enveloped his figure, while countless crimson tentacles spread around him, heading in Wynne's direction.

Appalled, Aenor could do nothing but watch the elder mage get pierced and collapse to the ground.

Blood magic.

Chapter 19: Temple of Sacred Ashes

Summary:

After discovering the truth about Geralt, the group is split about what to do with him.
Ashes are found and decisions are made.

Chapter Text

The damn beast was going to kill them all.

Almost at his limit, Geralt cast another rune of paralysis at the dragon, hoping that Aenor would be able to kill it. He watched her climb up the beast's neck, then plunge the knife into the base of its neck.

For a moment it had seemed to work, but the dragon had turned more furious than ever, sending the elf to the ground.

He cried out, screaming at Wynne to do something. It was time for the old woman to ask her spirit friend for a hand, if she didn't want them all to end up dead. But the mage seemed to have run out of mana, because she couldn't even cast a single, small healing spell on the Warden. The Qunari wasn't moving anymore, Natia and Kallian were also out of the picture. Even the mabari was barely able to stand.

Geralt aimed at the dragon's snout, throwing a shower of sparks at it, gritting his teeth in exertion.

They weren't going to make it. Not this time, not without...

He couldn't.

Still, if they had died there, they none would recover the Ashes. And Jowan would be executed.

If they'd known the truth, however, Geralt would probably be dead anyway.

The dragon turned toward him, its eyes two burning embers, fiercely roaring. It advanced slowly toward him, as if savoring the moment when it would tear him apart.

The mage tried to slow it down throwing one last rune of paralysis in front of it, waiting for one of the large scaly legs to land on it before throwing his staff to the ground.

"If you want a piece of me, you'll have to do better than that." He bared his teeth in a grin pulling a small, sharp knife from his robes. Wynne stood a few feet away, staring at the dragon. "Maker's flaming testicles, crone, make yourself useful."

He almost didn't feel the knife sever the palm of his right hand as a wave of new, disruptive energy swept over him, obscuring his vision for a moment.

He arched his back clenching his jaw, forcing the power of the blood to obey his will. Tentacles of magic pervaded him, rising up around him, waiting for his command.

He focused on the old woman, the magic singing in his ears, the demons struggling to take control of his mind, to pass through the Veil that separated him from the Fade. He rejoiced when he felt Wynne's power add to his own, hurling all his bloodlust at a single target.

The dragon got suddenly torn apart by dozens and dozens of wounds, wrapped in a crimson tangle of magic blades that ripped and tore at its scales as if they were paper.

A dazzling light broke free from the old mage's body as the dragon roared in agony. Geralt drew on that new burst of energy, but absorbed only part of it, letting the rest flow towards his companions on the ground and then converging it on the dying dragon to give it the final blow.

With a deafening wail, the creature collapsed in spasms then split from the inside out in a snap of shattered bone and torn tissue, falling to the ground and raising a fountain of boiling blood, which poured to the ground steaming, melting the snow into a reddish sludge.

Geralt felt his legs give way, finding himself on his kneew with no strength left. He closed his eyes, shivering from cold and exhaustion, and sat down on the ground.

He had made it.

He could still feel the frenzy that had taken him, the claws of the demon scratching his sternum and appealing to his thirst for power but, for the moment, it was over.

"What did you do?!" Leliana shouted at him, forcing his eyelids open again despite his fatigue, her bow aimed at him even though she had no more arrows. Her face was red with anger, her eyes wide with fear. She swiped at him with the weapon, scratching his cheek. He felt the warm blood run to his chest, but he could feel no pain. He looked down at his own hand, the blood from the wound smearing the ground and his clothes.

He should have expected this. He had just saved everybody's ass, but this was what he'd get for it.

"Leliana, stop it."

They both turned around.

Aenor, holding up her arm, stared at him with fury in her eyes.

Geralt returned the stare. He had hoped that at least she would understand... You fool.

The elf knelt in front of him, until those brilliant green eyes were level with him, brows furrowed, nostrils quivering with anger.

He didn't even see the slap coming.

The pop still ringing in his ears, he brought his unharmed hand to his cheek, which was now throbbing painfully.

"You're an asshole." She said, gritting her teeth. She hit him again, on the other cheek this time. "And a fucking liar!"

Geralt just stood there, waiting for another blow. Instead, the Warden rose to her feet, growling something in Elvish. "You could have told me and done something sooner, before we got torn apart." She turned her back to him. "Leliana, let's check if everyone is alive."

The archer gave him one last look and then went to check on Kallian, who was still lying on the ground, motionless. He saw her lean over the elf with a sigh of relief.

"She is alive. Her wounds have healed but she is still unconscious."

Aenor meanwhile was checking on Wynne. For the first time, Geralt hoped the old woman had made it. His predicament was bad enough without him having to add her murder to the list as well.

To his relief, the crone sat up, holding onto the elf. "Amell, what have you done?" She croaked in a low voice.

He shrugged. "Looks like I just killed a High Dragon."

The old woman was probably about to retort, but was taken by a coughing fit. Geralt took the opportunity to stand up, wobbly, and go check on the others. He picked up his magic staff, passing Sten who was waking up, the mabari licking his face barking happily and wagging his tail. He reached Natia, finding her intent on staring at the sky, a dumb expression on her face.

"Hey, beanpole" She lazily waved at him from the ground.

"Hey, keg."

"Do I really have to get up? I don't think I can. I'm comfortable, though." She pointed to the clouds above them. "I still don't understand how we don't fall into the sky."

He couldn't hold back a tired smirk. "Brosca, you're being awfully melodramatic. Hurry up, you're freezing and the cold makes your brain spill a bunch of crap."

"I don't even know what that means, 'melmatic'. But it's not even that cold..."

Geralt rolled his eyes, bending down to grab her and pulling her up with a fatigued grunt. "For being so small, you weigh like a Qunari!" It was probably the damn backpack full of stuff she carried on her shoulders. "Come on, lean on me and don't fall again."

Natia clung to his healthy arm, blinking in a stupid grin. "What, you want to try something new?" She staggered forward, giggling to herself.

"The thought wouldn't cross my mind even in the worst hangover."

He didn't even listen to the answer, distracted by a familiar voice coming from the bottom of the slope. "You made it!"

Zevran limped toward them, holding on to a branch he was using as a crutch. "I thought you were dead, the fire had..." He paused to catch his breath, then started up again more quickly. "It had gone out. You said-"

"I had other things to think about, like killing a dragon." Geralt interrupted him, but despite everything he was glad to see him. “Besides, you were supposed to go back to Redcliffe.”

Zevran gave him a smile. “I had to be sure... The roaring was gone, so I had a little hope.”

Geralt nodded. “We made it.” Then he turned to Aenor, who avoided his gaze as she helped Wynne up the last few feet of slope that separated them from the other part of temple up the mountain.

"Let's take cover in there." He heard her say to Leliana and Sten, who were carrying Kallian.

 

 

 

 

It took them what seemed like an eternity but they finally passed through the heavy metal door of the temple, which closed behind them leaving out the icy wind.

The great hall in which they stood was lit by torches, magical in nature, giving off a soothing warmth. Eight large columns of carved stone supported a high vaulted ceiling.

"Welcome, pilgrims."

A human figure, wearing a shining metal armor and a winged helmet stepped toward them, spreading his arms and bowing his head slightly.

They froze, fearing another attack.

"Have no fear." The figure tried to reassure them. "I am the Guardian of this place, charged with protecting the Urn of Sacred Ashes." He looked at them one by one, smiling benevolently. "You have faced the dragon and proven your faith by killing it. I have waited many years for someone to visit this place, to give grace to the Bride of the Maker. But for now, rest, the trials to reach the Urn are still many."

"...Trials?" Groaned Geralt, unable to contain himself. "We defeated a dragon, isn't that enough?"

The Guardian gave him a stern look. "The dragon was a terrible creature and I thank you for ridding this place of its presence. But pilgrims are required to be worthy of standing in the presence of Andraste's mortal remains, and that has nothing to do with physical or magical prowess."

"Some of us are badly injured." Said Leliana, facing the Guardian. "Can you help us?"

He shook his head. "It is not my duty. But the Ashes possess great healing powers and only a pinch of them can save your companion." He pointed with a nod to Kallian, who lay motionless on the floor, Leliana's cloak wrapped around her body to keep her warmer. "She will die, without them."

"Then let us pass."

Geralt's eyes widened. Leliana clenched her fist in a spasmodic grip, hand holding the bow, her gaze focused on the Guardian. "Let us pass and allow us to take some of the Ashes."

"The Trials are difficult and you are tired." Retorted the Guardian.

Aenor stood alongside the woman, just a small dagger in her hand. "Leliana is right. We have no time to waste." She seemed to be holding herself up by sheer force of will, petite as she was in the presence of the imposing Guardian, almost unarmed and still shivering from the cold.

He went to join them, crossing his arms.

Sten joined them as well, impassive as ever. "Let us pass, thing."

The Spirit nodded solemnly, then set his gaze on Leliana. "You are as certain of your decisions as you are of your visions. You claim the Maker speaks to you, comparing yourself to Andraste herself. In Orlais you were someone, but in a small monastery in Ferelden you were just one of many initiates, so you decided to make yourself special, different, by telling yourself a lie. Even now, you show concern for your companion's life, is it perhaps a facade, made to show off? Do you enjoy so much being in the spotlight?"

Leliana winced hearing those words but, even if the Guardian's speech had touched her deeply, after a while she opened up in a kind smile. "No, not at all. I know what I believe, and I don't do it to show off. And I cherish my companions, with no ulterior motives."

The Spirit nodded, turning then to Geralt. "You are plagued with guilt for not being able to save the one you love." Luminescent eyes seemed to pierce his soul, and the mage looked away, interrupting the questioning.

"My problems do not concern you, Spirit, but know that I am willing to do anything to get what I want." That one seemed content, turning then to Sten.

"You came here with the task of observing, but you killed an entire family in your blind fury. Do you feel you have failed the Qun by allowing yourself to fall in such a state?"

The Qunari remained silent, then straightened his shoulders. "I have never denied that I have failed." He replied with his head held high.

"And finally, Grey Warden" He turned last to Aenor who returned the gaze, her arms rigidly crossed over her chest. "You still think about how you could have prevented what happened in those ruins, if you had done more..."

"If things had gone differently, we wouldn't be here talking about it." The elf but short, her voice trembling slightly. "I have no choice but to go through with it."

He seemed satisfied with their answers as he moved to the side, allowing passage to the next room, a large door swinging open in front of them.

They cast a glance at their companions left behind. Wynne, who was too weak to even walk anymore, gave them a tire nod while Brosca had dozed off, her back resting against a pillar. Falon ran next to his mistress, who patted him on the head before crossing the gate with him, followed by Leliana and Sten. Geralt set off last.

"Come back soon." He heard Zevran say, leaning over Kallian, before the doors closed behind them.

They found themselves in an even larger hall. Along the walls, eight ghostly figures stared into the void, oblivious to their presence. When they approached the first, a young girl with a cheerful face, she turned with a friendly smile. "The smallest lark could carry it, while a strong man might not. Of what do I speak?"

Geralt snorted in annoyance. Had they come all this way to answer stupid riddles?

Leliana stepped forward, the answer already on her lips. "A tune."

"That is correct!" Rejoiced the spirit. "I was Andraste's best friend growing up, and we sang all the time. She would celebrate the beauty of life and all who heard her would be filled with joy. It is said that the Maker himself was struck by Andraste's melody, and she had not sung about simple things since." The smile faded as the figure vanished in a puff of light, which went to the doorway at the back of the room.

"So, we have to answer riddles about Andraste's life to continue?" Aenor asked. The Dalish had every reason to be worried, Geralt thought, she probably had no idea what the Chant of Light was even about. Lucky her...

Luckily for them, the riddles were simple enough. When they met the spirit impersonating Shartan, the elf who had fought alongside the Prophetess to give his people a home, Aenor had snarled something in Elvish but hadn't bothered to give them an explanation. Leliana and Geralt were able to answer all questions and without difficulty they passed to the next room.

As soon as he passed the doorway, Geralt was struck by a burst of energy, which for a moment obscured his vision. He blinked in disbelief: Jowan was smiling in front of him, amused.

"Have you enjoyed the riddles?"

He had almost believed it to be true, for a moment. Clearly, this was another part of the Trials.

"Am I wrong or weren't you the one fond of the Chantry? More specifically to someone related to ir." He replied sharply, the petulant little bitch's voice still etched in his ears.

The spirit chuckled. "I am Jowan, as I'm part of the Trial and part of you. I know what you are thinking. You still haven't forgiven yourself for the way things turned out, you think you could have done more..." He moved closer to him, resting a hand on his cheek. "You risked your life and freedom for me, and you still do. I don't deserve it."

Geralt pushed his hand away with a slap, backing away. "Of course he does. But you're not real. You're only repeating what the Trial thinks I want to hear."

"The Trial reads within you, Geralt." Rebutted the spirit, who nevertheless did not try to approach again. "You're afraid I won't reciprocate your feelings, despite everything you do for me. That you've always done. And if I were to reject you..."

He felt a flush of magic bubble up inside him, ready to break free. He'd had enough. Whoever the spirit was that was toying with him, meddling in his affairs, it had to go.

Before he could reduce that thing to a puff of smoke, however, the fake Jowan vanished into thin air. In its place, Geralt felt something press into the palm of his right hand, clenched into a fist. A pendant, with a small mirror embedded inside. Looking closer, he seemed to catch a shadow of a smile on a face he knew well, but it lasted a moment.

With a huff of annoyance, he threw the object into his pocket and turned back to his companions: the other three seemed to have noticed nothing, lost in their own thoughts.

The Warden had her back turned to them. "Let's move." He heard her say after sniffing angrily, without turning around.

Who she had met to upset her like that, the mage did not know. He only hoped it hadn't distracted the elf from their goal.

His fears proved unfounded.

When they had to face visions of themselves, Aenor, despite being armed only with her ridiculous hunting knife, fought like a fury. It seemed that the ordeal had only strengthened her resolution.

They passed another riddle, which required everyone's cooperation in order to cross a magical bridge that appeared and disappeared depending on which switches were pressed. The elf had bravely ventured onto the suspended platforms, and didn't seem to blink the entire time Leliana and Geralt were discussing how to move. Sten just followed orders.

After passing the last test they reached the final room, illuminated by an imposing wall of flames that rose high to the ceiling, casting a heat that could be felt from the entrance.

In front of them stood an altar. Aenor bent down to look at it, pointing to a plaque with carvings on it. "Can anyone read it?" She asked, scanning the fire with a frown.

"It's in Common." Said Geralt after approaching. "Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar; be born anew in the Maker's sight." He turned to look at the rest of the group in disbelief. "It's asking us to strip, isn't it?"

"Are you crazy?!" Blurted the Warden "That doesn't make sense, you read it wrong."

He pointed to to the plaque. "If you can think of something else..."

She pouted, rigidly crossing her arms over her chest.

"Go on, we're listening..."

"I can't read, all right?!" She growled at him, making him flinch. She shrugged then unhooked her cloak from her shoulders. " Masal din'an , shemlen!"

Geralt felt a twist of guilt, again. The Warden had trusted him ever since they had met at the Tower and this was the second time that day that he had let her down. How was I supposed to know she couldn't read, though?! He thought annoyed, turning away as well and fiddling with the frogs of his robes. And if I had told anyone I was a blood mage, they would have killed me on the spot. There was still a good chance that once they took the Ashes they would have executed him without a second thought. And with his shitty temper he had once again angered one of the two people who might have voted against his execution. That is, if Natia hadn't allowed herself to be corrupted by the bounty on blood mages she could have collected from the Templars. He could easily imagine damn Gregoir gloating at his severed head on display in the Tower.

He let the last of his clothing fall to the floor, remaining only in his underwear.

He couldn't help but let his gaze flow to the others. Leliana had a slender, athletic yet graceful physique that revealed much of her past as an orlesian bard. Sten was a mountain of muscles, as it could easily be imagined, a web of scars old and recent proof to his countless fights.

But it was Aenor who was the most surprising, though he should have expected it given the skill with which the elf wielded her massive two-handed sword despite the weight of the weapon and her seemingly petite, but more muscular body than he gave her credit for under the armor she wore.

He looked away as quickly as he could, not wanting to cause further incidents.

"Let's get a move on." He heard her say before striding towards the flames and past them. She disappeared to the other side, followed by the mabari, seemingly unharmed.

If I end up roasted, that's the last straw. He thought before doing the same, closing his eyes and holding it's breath, ready to cast some protection spell.

The heat was comparable to that of a hot bath. He hurried to get out of it, in case Andraste suddenly changed her mind about him, or just noticed how he felt about her and her groom. Once all five of them had passed the fire, the Guardian made his appearance again.

"You have passed the Trials, walked the path of Andraste and, like her, have been purified. You have proved your worth, pilgrims." He announced in a solemn tone. "Approach the Sacred Ashes."

It was about damn time! The mage thought almost running up the stairs that led to the altar above them, from where a giant statue of Andraste looked down upon them, a magical flame crackling brightly in her left hand. At her feet, a richly decorated golden urn. The Warden, without hesitation, lifted the lid.

Geralt let out a small sigh, the tension easing at the sight of the ashes in the urn. “We just found the most important relic in the entire history of the Chantry, and we're in our underwear.”

Leliana shot him a disapproving look, but he could swear he saw one of the corners of her mouth lift slightly. She knelt on the ground, one hand resting on the hem of the statue's robes in a silent prayer.
"Let's hope they work." Aenor huffed before taking a small handful of them and stuffing it into a leather pouch, the only thing she'd held after removing her armor. She turned back to Leliana, still absorbed in prayers. "You done?"

The other nodded, standing up with dignity despite being almost naked. "I never thought I'd see the Ashes... But now we must return to the others, Kallian needs us."

The fire behind them was gone and they were able to put their clothes back on and then return to the entrance to a side door and trough a narrow corridor.

Leliana quickly ran to Kallian's side, the bag of Ashes in one hand, the elf's head resting on her lap.

"Will this work right?" Aenor asked her, doubtful.

"Of course." Leliana said. "After everything we've seen so far, you can't still have doubts..?" She put her hand into the pouch, pulling out a pinch of Ashes and passing them over the forehead of the elf on the ground, murmuring what Geralt recognized as a part of the Chant of Light. He saw Wynne, beside her, bow her head too, praying.

They waited for what seemed like an eternity when suddenly, with a suction of air, Kallian's eyes snapped open, alarmed. "The dragon!"

"Thanks the Maker... You're safe." Tried Leliana to reassure her. "The dragon is dead and we found the Ashes. You're alive, and we're safe."

The other blinked a few times, as if trying to figure out what was going on. "How... You used the Ashes on me?"

"You were badly hurt, there was no other way." The archer replied. "You'll recover quickly."

Suddenly realizing her position, Kallian tried to pull herself up, staggering and ending up on the ground one more time. Trying to hide her embarrassment, she whispered a few words of thanks.

"Don't overexert yourself, you need to preserve your energy." Wynne admonished her, helping her sit up and having her lean against the column behind her. "That was close."

"How did you manage to kill the dragon?" Kallian asked, looking around.

Geralt tried as hard as he could to look expressionless. There it was, the decisive moment. They were probably going to kill him. And many thanks for saving their lives. Everyone's eyes were on him. Wynne and Sten held nothing but contempt for him, but perhaps there was a hint of uncertainty in Leliana's gaze...

"Amell, you used blood magic." Wynne said, clutching her staff but not moving.

Geralt rolled his eyes. "You were always good at stating the obvious." He didn't have enough mana to overpower them all, he knew that. But at least they had to listen to him. "I never used my magic to hurt others and it was the only way to get us out of that alive. If I hadn't harnessed Wynne's spirit guardian, and the magic it can unleash, we wouldn't be standing here talking about it. And yes, I am a blood mage, as the old woman cleverly pointed out, how does it feel to be indebted to a Maleficar?"

"The fact that we were in mortal danger does not excuse you!" Wynne blurted out. "You were already a Maleficar, Irving should have listened to me and not made you undergo the Harrowing. Instead, you dragged everyone into your madness, destroying the circle along with your comrades!"

"Irving is an idiot, but don't mistake me with Uldred and his people!"

"Shouldn't I? What about your dear friend, Jowan? Did you show him how to consort with the demons, or was it the other way around?"

"Keep Jowan out of this!" Roared Geralt in disgust, a shower of sparks branching out around him. "Always at the leash of the Chantry, forced to submit to absurd and ridiculous laws! How much longer must they deprive us of our freedom, of our souls, before you all realize that it is time to say that enough is enough!"

"The Circle protects us, Amell, from ourselves and from the outside world!"

"And who was the Chantry protecting, when it sent your newborn son to Lydes?!"

Wynne suddenly fell silent. Geralt knew he had hit a nerve.

"That's enough."

He turned sharply to Aenor, who was advancing toward him, knife in hand and Sten at his side. He backed away a few steps. If even she wanted to execute him....

"Wait!" Natia interjected. "Are you guys nuts?! He saved our asses!"

If he really did...” Tried to say Zevran, but he got silenced with a stern glance from Sten.

"The Maleficars are dangerous, they must be eliminated." Kallian whispered glaring at him, still on the ground.

Aenor faced him, barely reaching his chin but he could feel the Warden's determination.

Geralt slammed his back against the wall. “Fuck it, just do it then.”

"Is there something else you're keeping from us?" Aenor asked, staring up into his eyes.

He merely shook his head.

"Good. Then I guess that settles it."

Incredulous, he watched her holster her weapon, turning back to her companions. "Natia is the only one who's making any sense: Geralt saved our lives. Wynne, I understand that his methods were quite drastic, but at least everyone of us is alive."

" Drastic ?" The old woman repeated. "Do you have any idea what danger you're putting yourself into, accompanying a Maleficar?!"

The elf burst out laughing. "One of my closest friends and the First of my Clan uses blood magic. And she has never harmed me, or anyone else of the Clan. So has Geralt. Your stupid Chantry has ordered countless slaughters of my people, so don't come telling me about what puts me in danger and don't tell me who to trust. Because if I have to choose, I'll always be on the side of the hunted."

"You saw what the blood mages did back in the Tower." Wynne tried to retort.

"I also saw Geralt fighting alongside us, and against them. And Jowan trying to make up for the mess he made with Connor." She stood by the Geralt's side, daring anyone else to go against her decision. "He stays. If you don't like it, once you're back in Redcliffe you're free to leave."

Sten stared at her, frowning more than usual. "We can't trust such a dangerous thing."

"Sten. I have made my decision."

The Qunari didn't hint at backing off. "You said you wanted to stop the Blight, but we've come this far wasting a lot of time and I still haven't seen anything that proves me you're capable of dealing with the Archdemon." To everyone's surprise, he drew out his dagger "And now you want to go against common sense by sparing an abomination. By the Qun, I cannot allow you to do that."

The Warden drew her weapon once again. "Don't." Falon, beside her, yowled in the Qunari's direction as if trying to dissuade him.

"Stay out of this, you." He said to the mabari.

"Sten. For the last time, back off." Aenor spoke, clearly getting angry.

"Aenor..." Geralt interjected, surprised by the Warden's actions. He'd never had hoped that for the second time she would stand between him and certain death, moreover after all she had discovered.

"Shut up. Don't even move a finger, all you'll do is give him yet another reason to want you dead." She clutched the knife with determination, despite the fact that he was almost half the size of the huge Qunari towering in front of her. "You decided to follow me, and so far I have led you with excellent results. We have the help of the mages and that of the Dalish, and thanks to this ' waste of time ', even Redcliffe will go to war on our side. If you think you can do better, bring it on, I'm right here Sten."

They stood staring at each other for a few moments, Sten's gaze indecipherable as usual.

Suddenly, the Qunari shook his head, sheathing his dagger. "You have courage and you stand firm in your decisions, even if the Qun thinks they are wrong." He said, extending a hand toward the girl. "I don't think it will be enough to stop the Blight, but you are worthy of being followed nonetheless. You're right, we have made some progress after all. And I will help you, even if I don't agree with every action you take."

The Warden seemed surprised. She then sheated the dagger into her belt, shaking the hand Sten held out to her. "Thank you for your trust, Sten."

The Qunari nodded solemnly, casting one last glance at Geralt. "If you use your spells on me, mage, I'll crush you like a gnat before you can even wave that staff again."

Geralt swallowed, trying not to look intimidated. "Understood."

"Aenor, are you sure?" Kallian asked the Warden, peering grimly at the mage. When the other nodded, she shrugged, submitting to the decision but making it clear that she didn't agree with it.

Leliana didn't seem thrilled either, but merely nodded.

"Well, you got away with it again." Natia told him, making a victory gesture.

"It would have indeed been a shame to lose such a capable ally." Zevran commented with a big smile, gently patting his arm. "Now, we just need to figure out how to get off this mountain, deliver the Ashes and get at least a week's sleep."

 

 

 

 

They spent the night camped in the temple and the next morning they descended, exhausted, to the entrance of the ruins. On the way, Aenor and Sten retrieved a couple swords that had belonged to the cultists. Wynne held herself in stubborn and furious silence, marching with newfound strength at the head of the group, clearly eager to leave. Kallian kept an even greater distance from him than usual, and Geralt could constantly feel her gaze on the back of his head, keeping an eye on him every step of the way.

"Did you find the Urn?" Genitivi asked them, seeing them arrive after two days of being separated. The scholar limped over to them, anxiously waiting to hear what had happened.

Aenor pointed to the leather pouch on his belt. "Yeah."

"Wonderful!" The man brightened up. "Maker, I am not worthy to look at them... What was it like, approaching the Urn?"

The Warden shrugged. "Nothing special."

Leaving aside the fact that we were all in our underwear in front of the magical ashes of a woman who's been dead for centuries. Geralt thought, restraining himself from bursting out laughing.

He definitely had something to be cheerful about. He was a survivor once again, despite everything.

And they were taking the Ashes to Redcliffe, so he would see Jowan again and ask the Arle to release him. Thinking about it, his stomach twisted a little from anxiety. What the fake Jowan had said in the Trial was true, after all. What if after all he had done, he'd rejected him? What if he'd push him away? It was foolish of him to think Jowan could reciprocate his feelings, of course, so perhaps it was best not to mention them at all. But if they really had the chance to travel together, he wasn't sure he could keep it a secret forever.

 

 

 

 


When they finally left the temple behind, avoiding the village of Haven for obvious reasons, the group seemed to regain a little good spirits. The snow was getting thinner as they descended into the valley, but the icy air signaled that the winter was not far off. He quickly did some calculations: the solstice was three weeks away. He looked around, memorizing the bare trees and evergreens with small sharp leaves, the moss-covered stones, the frozen ground. A bird somewhere was singing a melody, soon to be joined by other chirps.

After all, fresh air wasn't so bad, he thought breathing heavily.

A sneeze brought him back to reality. He looked at Natia, completely wrapped in layers of clothes and scarves.

"What are you looking at, beanpole?"

He shook his head, hinting at a smile. “Just happy to be here with you all, keg.”

"Someone's in a good mood." Zevran commented amused.

"Being spared from certain death gives you a new perspective on things. But you already knew that, didn't you?" The mage retorted, failing to sound as sour as usual.

"You're not wrong..."

"Hey, there's someone over there!"

They quickly reached Kallian, who was pointing to a small bonfire at the end of the road below them.

"How many?" Aenor asked her, hand already on her sword.

"Just one."

"It could be an ambush..." Leliana interjected, frowning. "Let's be careful."

They approached slowly, making their way unseen down the slope. When the man saw Sten and Aenor appear in front of him, he gasped in fear.

"Who are you?!" He squeaked in a thick Orlesian accent. "I have nothing of value, I swear to you!"

"Relax, we're not here to rob you." The Warden tried to reassure him. “We were worried it would be the other way around, in fact.”

"What's an Orlesian doing lost in the mountains with a broken wagon?" Geralt inquired, pointing to the wooden cart leaning against the side of the road, devoid of any beast of burden.

The man sighed. "That damn animal has escaped again and my assistant has gone look for it. I can't seem to get a break with this Blight business and everything else..."

"There are bigger problems than your purse, in times like these!" Leliana scolded him.

"Sure, ma'am, but I spent a pretty penny on Jader, for a control rod. You can command a golem with it, os so the dwarf who sold it to me said, but I could never find one..."

"Get to the point, shem." Aenor urged him.

If this idiot really has a control rod for a Golem... Could they be so lucky?

"Well, I'm not sure if it actually works, but the dwarf said he bought it from the golem's previous owner. And I'm willing to sell it to you at a bargain price!"

"A golem, huh?" Said Natia. She seemed particularly interested. After all, they were built by dwarves in ancient times. The technology had long since been lost, however. "And where would we find one to command with your thingie?"

The merchant smiled. "Well, the golem is supposed to be in a village south of here, Honnleath, but it was attacked by the darkspawn a few days ago. I wanted to drop in but I had to flee to the mountains before they noticed me... But you, you seem like a group that can handle it and you could certainly use a golem!" He looked at them hopefully.

Natia huffed, rummaging through her bag of coins, pulling out a couple Sovereigns.

"Oh, that's not necessary!" The man blurted, shoving the money in his pocket nontheless. "I would have thrown it away, but I paid far too much for it to simply throw it in a ditch... At least you'll make good use of it, and no bandit would mistake it for some jewelry and attack me for it." He pulled a small rod from his pocket, about six inches long and with a green gem sparkling gentry on top of it. Natia grabbed it, examining it carefully and then slipping it into her belt.

"If it really can control a golem, I got the best deal of my life." She commented as they walked away. “And if not, I could always sell it for triple the price!”

"Didn't you hear him speaking about the village being overrun by darkspawn?" Geralt asked her.

She sneered. "Hey, Warden! Sounds like a perfect little job for people like us, doesn't it?"

The elf burst out laughing, a genuine laugh, leaving everyone a little stunned. It rarely happened. "Aren't you getting too much of a kick out of this?"

The dwarf shrugged. "If it continues to be a good investment, why not..."

"How many in favor of ridding a village of darkspawn and, while we're at it, getting a golem to smash the horns out of the next Ogre we encounter?" Aenor asked, casting a glance at Geralt. "Just a short detour, are you with us?"

The mage nodded with a little smile. As much as he wanted to get to Redcliffe as quickly as possible, everyone seemed excited about the idea of reaching Honnleath, some to save the village and some for the golem. Either way, the idea of seeing one tickled him quite a bit. "What are we waiting for?"

Chapter 20: The Bannorn

Summary:

Elissa, Alistair, Duran and Morrigan reach the Bannorn and fight alongside the rebel banns who stands against Loghain's new rule.
Something's brewing between Lady Cousland and the young Warden, while Duran Aeducan reflects on his next moves.

Chapter Text

Elissa wiped the sweat from her forehead. The fight seemed to have ended in their favor. She turned to Alistair, who smiled at her despite his fatigue.

"Howe's men have fled like the cowards they are, Lady Cousland."

Arl Leonas Bryland was a formidable fighter. He had been an old comrade-in-arms of her father, and when he had seen Bryce Cousland's daughter rush to his aid against Amaranthine's men, he had almost not believed his eyes.

"It's only the beginning, I'm afraid." Bann Alfstanna Eremon came up behind them, polishing off the short daggers she used in combat. "Bann Ceorlic sent reinforcements to Howe, he's always been Loghain's loyal dog and ever since those two allied..." She shook her head. "I still can hardly believe what they did to Bann Grainne."

"That the Hero of River Dane could do such a thing..." Arl Bryland sighed. "Howe has become a monster and Loghain seems to have lost his mind. This Blight isn't the only thing that's destroying Ferelden."

Elissa nodded. Bann Grainne had refused to pay taxes to Loghain, calling him a usurper. In response, the Teyrn of Gwaren had her slaughtered by his troops, who had pillaged her castle and plundered her lands.

After Loghain had proclaimed himself Regent, the Bannorn had split into multiple fronts: some supported the new ruler, others opposed him, and still others took advantage of the civil war and the Blight to invade the territories of neighboring banns with whom they had been contending for decades a few pieces of land.

The result was clear: the darkspawn advanced unstopped, destroying everything it came across without the lords and ladies of Ferelden being able to come to an agreement to fight together.

Bann Telmen, in whose lands they were currently located, had asked for help against the darkspawn but Loghain's soldiers, after having repelled the invasion of those monsters, had turned against Telmen's men with the clear intent of punishing the Bann for having spoken against Loghain. Arl Bryland and Bann Eremon had rushed to Telmen's aid, but Arl Howe and Bann Ceorlic had sided with the regent. Of course, their enemies did not dare to fight in person, sending their soldiers forward and hiding safely in their palaces in Denerim, under Loghain's protection.

Elissa was now convinced that the Teyrn of Gwaren had gone mad, and that Alistair and Aenor had been telling the truth: if he was capable of splitting the country in two at such a time, it wasn't hard to believe that he had let King Cailan die to take the throne for himself.

Not that it was an easy thing to digest, with him being her childhood hero.

"Arl Bryland!" They turned. A messenger on horseback braked before them, hooves raising a cloud of dust. "My lord, a message from Teyrn Howe."

Elissa barely kept her composure hearing that assassin being called by the title he stole from Bryce Cousland. Bryland grabbed the parchment the messenger handed him, breaking the seal. He wrinkled his brow.

"Rendon Howe suggest us to cease hostilities and hand over the traitor Elissa Cousland, in return he will spare our lives." He spat on the ground. "Maker strike him down, that scum is just as bad as the darkspawn is."

Elissa made to take the parchment, but the man tried to recoil. "Lady Cousland, there is no need for you to read such obscenities..."

"It will hardly be his vulgar insults that will upset me, Arl Bryland, especially after what he did to my family." She insisted, reading Howe's tiny, pointed handwriting. "'When that whore's head decorates the walls of Highever, you may consider yourself forgiven for your betrayal...'"

"Elissa..."
Alistair placed a hand on her shoulder. His touch seemed to awaken her. She realized she was clenching the parchment in her fist. She laid her gaze on the messenger, who looked scared of her, his knees trembling. She advanced toward him.

"Bring a message from me to your lord. Tell him that the last of the Couslands will see him executed for his crimes, no matter how safe he thinks he's in my castle or in Denerim's walls, or how many guards he surrounds himself with, or how many assassins he sends to kill me. His days are numbered: let him spend them repenting for his sins, for he will have to answer for them to me and to the Maker."

The man made himself even smaller, nodding.

"And may he know that none of us here will ever side with a traitor." Arl Bryland added.

"The bannorns of the Waking Sea and the South stand with the Couslands." Bann Eremon confirmed.

The messenger had no choice but to get back on his horse and ride away.

They returned to the camp. While Bryland and Eremon went to talk to their officers, Elissa and Alistair went to sit in a quiet corner, a bowl of hot soup in their hands.

"We've had another rough day" The Warden said. "You were right, we had to do our part."

The girl brought the spoon to her lips, thinking back to the last few days.

They had been fighting relentlessly for a couple of weeks now, winning every fight. So far, the darkspawn had given them no trouble, but after the destruction of Lothering they roamed in small packs throughout the Bannorn. The Warden was formidable in combat, both against those monsters and the enemy soldiers, being endowed with more strength and endurance than anyone else on the battlefield.
She now understood how, years before, a handful of Wardens had almost succeeded in dethroning King Arland.

"Thank you, for following me." She told him for the umpteenth time. "On my own, I don't know if I could have done it."

Alistair burst out laughing. "Are you kidding? You're unstoppable, that's why Howe is holed up shivering in Denerim."

"Oh, maybe it's Morrigan's influence. If she turns into a spider again..."

The Warden let out a whimper of disgust. "Don't remind me of that! She scared the soul out of me, what was she even thinking...! I could have been killed."

"It worked, though." Elissa had to admit. "They were so shocked that they dropped their weapons and ran for their lives."

Alistair shook his head, shivering conspicuously. "I would have run, too, honestly, but the thought of her mocking me for it kept me in place."

"Even Prince Aeducan hesitated for a moment." She giggled, going back to eating. "Why do you think she followed us?" She asked him after a while. "Morrigan. She doesn't seem to be interested in the fate of the country, so..."

"I have no idea. I think it's because she immensely enjoys torturing me with her presence."

"That could be a reason."

Silence fell once again. By then the sunset was ending, the sky growing darker.

"Elissa?"
She turned to the young man, who had stood up. Despite the dim light, he seemed to be blushing.

"Can you forgive me for not revealing my identity to you right away?" Alistair finally asked, almost without breathing. "I didn't mean to offend you, or disrespect you.... I just wanted to-"

"Alistair."
"Yes?"
"I forgave you the moment you decided to come with me."

He brought a hand to his hair, mussing it over his eyes. "Really? Because I feel like a fool, I should have told you sooner..."

"Yes, you have been a bit foolish. And yes, you should have." Nodded Elissa. She had forgiven him, of course, but it still stung that she had been the last to know he was King Maric's son. "I don't understand why you kept it from me. Everyone knew but me."

The Warden let out a sigh. After a short pause, he finally replied. "I was afraid you would treat me differently. It's one thing with the others, but you're a Cousland and I'm..."

"Were you afraid I would use you to put you on the throne and take back Highever?"

He shook his head. "Quite the opposite, in truth. I'm not a king and never will be, no matter who my father was. Cailan was completely different, he could lead whole armies and rule like a Theirin. I'm not made to lead anyone: I'm just a Grey Warden and not even that good. After everything that happened, I stepped aside to let a new recruit lead the way. I'm a total mess and..." He swallowed, looking down at his shoes, red in the face. "I didn't want to disappoint you any further."

Elissa stood listening to him, incredulous. Was he really convinced he was such a failure? "Do you even listen to yourself when you speak?!" She said, the words rushing out of her, uncontrollable. "You are one of the last two Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden. You escaped the battle of Ostagar, defeating all the darkspawn in the Tower of Ishal and doing your duty, no matter what the odds were. You raced to save a perfect stranger from a dozen possessed corpses, fearlessly, just because it was the right thing to do, and then made your way into the haunted palace of the Arl and even cleared the entire Circle of the abominations that had taken over it. All this, traveling with a less than cooperative companion and an apostate who likes to harass you all the time for the sheer sake of annoying you, wanted by half the country and with a bounty of a few hundred Sovereigns. 'Just a Grey Warden'? Wardens are heroes, Alistair, and everything you've done so far confirms that."

She realized she had stood up, facing him. She bit her lip, embarrassed, but continued. "And you could be the son of the humblest of laborers as well as Andraste's, you will never, ever be a disappointment." A few inches separated them from each other. "Especially not to me."

Alistair seemed speechless.

Elissa, who later would have never thought she'd be able to, zeroed in between them, taking his hands between her own. "If you don't want to be a Theirin, then don't be one. Just be Alistair, the Grey Warden. But I won't let you belittle yourself like this."

"Elissa..."
She stood up on her toes, pulling him to her and placing her lips on his. It was just a moment, and they barely touched before she pulled away abruptly, red in the face. She turned to avoid his gaze, unsure whether to run away and hope to look the other way the next day. What had she been thinking? Kissing a man like that, and a Grey Warden! She would have buried herself in shame if she could have. What would he think of her now? Surely...

She felt Alistair's hand reach for hers again, his hand resting on her cheek, where the fire had left conspicuous scars. Elissa tried to pull away, she had done something crazy how could she think anything could happen between them? There were other things going on, much more important than a child's whim....

When his lips met hers, every thought was swept away.

There was only Alistair, holding her in his strong arms. The man who had bravely saved her life and with whom she had fought for weeks. For a moment, the Grey Warden and Lady Cousland ceased to exist, leaving only Alistair and Elissa.

The moment quickly passed.

Elissa reluctantly released herself from his grasp. "We can't. I'm sorry. You know we can't."

Alistair tried to stop her, but she was already far away, a painful grip tightening on her stomach.

 

 

 


 

 

 


Duran Aeducan had never been a particularly early riser, but being back on a battlefield after weeks spent in the pathetic city guard of Denerim, the fatigue of real combat, the blood gleaming on his axe and the rest after a long field day were a gift from the Stone.

If indeed Bann Ceorlic was sending reinforcements to Loghain's troops, however, the scattered army of the banns on their side would be in trouble. Then again, the darkspawn was rampaging everywhere on the surface and the humans were doing their best to contain it, despite having an ongoing civil war.

As the prince sipped the first of the many ales of the day, he couldn't help but think of all the times he'd fought those monsters in the Deep Roads, alongside the best soldiers Orzammar had ever had. Even his differences with Trian over strategy made him melancholic, though he would have gladly sent his older brother to the dust in those moments. An unpleasant tightness in his stomach made his mouth twist, as it did every time his thoughts wandered home.

He reread for the umpteenth time the letter he had received the week before from the matriarch of the Helmi family, one of the most important families in Orzammar. The woman seemed to have believed in his innocence and was inclined to support him against Bhelen, but only if Duran swore to take Lady Helmi's eldest daughter, Adal, as his wife.

The prince smiled, remembering how Adal had proven to be a formidable opponent during those disastrous Trials that Brosca had disgraced. He wouldn't have minded having her as his wife, they had often been side by side against the darkspawn in the Deep Roads: she was a witty, strong woman with an extraordinarily open mind toward change, despite bring from one of the oldest and most important noble houses. The fact that she was good-looking was also a bonus. Trian was supposed to marry Adal's younger sister, Jaylia, and it was understandable that Lady Helmi hadn't given up on the idea of putting one of her daughters on the throne, especially after what Bhelen was up to with a casteless woman.

By accompanying the Wardens to Orzammar, he would have enough protection to get past the guards at the entrance, probably in Bhelen's paw, and be able to sneak into lord Harrowmont's palace before his brother could arrange his capture. From there, he knew he had the support of Pyral Harrowmont, who had been his father's closest friend and had personally delivered the late King Endrin's letter to the messenger who had brought it all the way to Duran.

The Lord was convinced of Bhelen's guilt in the murder of Trian, and hinted in one of his letters that it was very probable that it was Bhelen who had poisoned the King all along, leaving him to believe that he had died of grief at the loss of his two eldest sons. If this was indeed the case, Duran had his father to avenge as well.

Lord Harrowmont had gathered a good part of the nobles under his own name, keeping from them the fact that he was in contact with the exiled Prince Aeducan. Only Lady Helmi and a few trusted ones were aware of the truth.

Duran, however, knew that he could not count on Harrowmont and House Helmi alone to get his rightful throne and, more importantly, his revenge.

He had contacted the richest families on the surface, such as the Tethras and the Davri, and he had also gathered favor among the noble families of Orzammar who had close contacts with the surface through the Merchants Guild, such as the Dace, the Bemot and the Meino. He was still waiting for a response from Kal-Sharok, but he doubted that after the way they had always been treated by the rulers of Orzammar they would pass up the opportunity to have an Aeducan on the throne who would be in favor of reopening trade between the two cities, treating them as equals.

He didn't believe that his father would have approved of making deals with those who demanded that Orzammar open up to the rest of the world and those who wanted more rights for the lower castes, but in recent years those who opposed the values that had been the cornerstone of Dwarven society for all those centuries, such as isolationism and the rigid caste system, had increased exponentially, although just for economic reasons. Then again, King Endrin had returned to the Stone, and Duran was hardly his father.

After spending months on the surface, it was clear to him that things had to change in Orzammar.

The empire that had once existed was lost, perhaps forever, and if it continued as it was the situation could only get worse: the darkspawn had to be driven back, the lost ancient Thaig regained, and to do that the Assembly had to be dragged to a new political line, one more favorable to the lower castes and to the surface.

He had never been interested in the alliances and betrayals within the Assembly of Deshyrs, rather keeping himself on the battlefield, a more honest and simpler profession where the enemy was not hidden behind a mask of words and coaxing, where clashes were not won in debates but with the hard blow of a well-sharpened blade.

Duran did not know if he would live up to the throne that had been his father's and so many Aeducans' before him, but he was certainly a better choice than Bhelen. And his brother had to pay for what he had done.

Morrigan, coming out of her tent at that moment, distracted him from his thoughts.

"Good morning." He greeted her, not expecting much of an answer. The witch always kept to herself, except when it came to teasing the Grey Warden: in those instances she gave her worst, or best, depending on the viewpoint.

"Good morning to you.." She replied. "I notice it's never too early to start drinking."

Duran smiled to himself, pouring another mug of ale to wash down his breakfast bread and butter. "Us dwarves have a strict diet."

"'Tis a wonder how you don't collapse on the floor at the first strike, with how much you drink."

He watched her walk toward him, almost floating on the ground, her yellow eyes focused on him. She reminded him of a spider, able to hypnotize its prey and lead them to her without them even noticing, pouncing on them when it was too late. He shook his head. We're close enough to the ground that we don't get unbalanced." Perhaps, the comparison to a spider had come to him because of the woman's transformations. He felt his beard itch, the image of the giant spider that had appeared on the battlefield in place of the mage firmly etched in his mind.

Morrigan merely smiled in amusement, looking more and more like a predator. She cast a glance in the direction of Alistair and Lady Cousland's tents, nodding her head. "Look who's coming..."

The Warden was still rubbing his eyes, dark circles around them.

"Did our lovebirds have a rough fly, tonight?" Morrigan asked him venomously.

Alistair merely gave her an angry look, clenching his fists and stepping ahead of them, barely greeting Duran with a nod and a few mumbled words.

The dwarf turned questioningly to the mage. "You know what happened between those two?"

"Oh, did you not notice the tension? Last night the valiant Warden was shot through the heart and is now licking his wounds, after surely crying all night hugging his pillow."

"You didn't eavesdrop on their conversations, I hope."

Morrigan shrugged. "'Tis not eavesdropping if one cannot take a walk at night without being disturbed by people's problems."

"Very true..." Duran sight, with no intention of getting involved in whatever the sorceress was up to. He had his beard already full of problems.

However, even he, who had never been interested in matters of his own or other people's hearts, couldn't help but notice a certain electricity between the two youngsters. Whatever had happened between Lady Cousland and the Warden could have ruined everything they were working for.

He shook his head, hoping they had enough common sense not to be distracted from the really important matters. He then headed to the main pavilion, where the various banns would decide on the strategy for the day.

"Prince Aeducan."

Arl Bryland looked like he hadn't slept a minute. Bad news.

"Have the reinforcements from Ceorlic arrived?" Duran asked, casting a glance at the map on the large wooden table, on which several miniatures marked the various troops.

"Yes, and Howe seems to have found new supplies." The man scratched his head, frowning, turning over a wooden marker in his hands.

Bann Eremon huffed, "We still have the numbers."

The other sighed. "Loghain is a master of military strategy and Howe, though a snake, is a war veteran. I know them well enough to know they'll have a few tricks up their sleeves, and they'll turn our numbers against us."

"We won't let them."

They all turned to greet Lady Cousland. Her one eye was slightly reddened and she looked paler than usual, the scar on most of her face even more prominent. "Our opponents are not the only ones who are experts in strategy, my lords. We have here veterans of the Liberation War, and a commander of Orzammar's army. I am sure we will find a way to win this fight." She stared at them, one by one, as if daring them to contradict her.

Bann Eremon slammed his hand down on the table, opening up in a determined smile. "Well said!"

Soon, they were all gathered around the table, trying to anticipate their enemies' moves and all possible ways to counterattack, outflank, trap and defeat them.

 

 

 

 

The battlefield was littered with bodies, for the most part enemies.

Duran, sitting on the ground, stared at the green leaves of the great trees above him, too tired to get up. Arl Bryland's cavalry had driven Loghain's men back to the gorge created by the Drakon River, where Bann Eremon's archers had targeted the enemy and forced them to retreat ever more precipitously to the forest east of South Reach. There, where the terrain had been filled with traps, they had been ambushed by the troops entrusted to Lady Cousland, which had marked the positive outcome of the battle. The few survivors had scattered through the woods in a vain attempt to escape the slaughter.

"Looks like we made it."

He turned to look at the Cousland, armor smeared with enemy blood, limping slightly. He nodded, too tired to engage in conversation.

"I think we can leave for Redcliffe again in a couple of days, just long enough to get our bearings. I doubt Loghain, Howe and Ceorlic can muster another army big enough to give us trouble." She continued, sitting down next to the prince.

"I'd say they've given us all they had to spare."

Elissa nodded. "The Hero of River Dane did the best he could, I think, given the meager resources he had. If we hadn't anticipated the arrival from the west of Howe's troops..."

"You did well, to react so promptly."

The girl smiled sadly. "I spent years studying the tactics used in the Liberation War. Teyrn Loghain is a military genius and considering his humble beginnings... it's amazing what he was able to do for King Maric." She fell silent for a moment. "I still can't believe..." She sighed.

"I understand you were quite the admirer of his..."

"My father used to tell my brother and me countless stories about the war, about how he and Howe escaped the White River massacre, about how they were honoured by King Maric when he gave them both a medal of valor for their bravery and loyalty..." She gritted her teeth. "Loyalty. My father risked his life for that scum, but that didn't stop Howe from slaughtering our entire family. How Teyrn Loghain could be allied with such a despicable being-" She was red in the face, furious. She shook her head, closing her eye. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bore you with my speeches. It's been a long day, and you must be as tired as I am."

Duran understood how she felt. No one around there could understand her better than he did. "I know how you feel. Betrayal by those we consider trusted is strikes the hardest.”

“And not being able to do anything about it, it's awful. I'd like to drag that scum to trial in front of the whole bannorn, make him pay for what he's done, but isntead I'm the one being branded a traitor and wanted all over the country, while that bastard sits in Denerim protected by his guards and the man who was supposed to be the Hero of Ferelden and turned out to be a-" Elissa huffed, stroking the head of the mabari, who was napping at her feet. "Nothing more than yet another traitor."

"You shall have your revenge, Lady Cousland. You are too stubborn not to." Duran told her. "As I shall have mine."

"What will you do, once you stand before your brother?"

I will watch him plead for his life, and then drive my axe into his skull so deep that not even our mother would recognize him. "I will execute him in front of the Assembly."

The girl nodded. The mabari meanwhile had turned on its stomach, sniffing the air, its paws moving in a mid-air race. She bent down to cuddle him, soothing him. "I wonder what he's dreaming about..."
"Do dogs dream?" He asked her, trying to imagine what it felt like. The dwarves were so far removed from the Fade that they didn't even know what it meant to dream. The few humans he had spoken to described it as a world of illusions where it was hard to wander, but they had fuzzy memories once they were awake. He knew that mages had to face demons in that place, but he had no idea what they were or how it happened. Who knew what Morrigan could see while sleeping..

"I hope so." She replied. "Maybe he's dreaming about emptying the pantry at home, and old Nan yelling at him and then giving him a piece of ham."

Duran smiled, watching the animal snoring blissfully. It would have been nice to be back home, before all that happened, if only for a few hours, if only an illusion.

He closed his eyes for a few moments, trying to recall the feeling of having hundreds of feet of solid rock above his head, the polished stones of his fathers' palace around him, a mug of ale in his hand and the smell of roasting meat coming from the great banquet hall. His brothers' laughs, Trian's boasting and Bhelen's complaints...

"Elissa?"
They turned, distracted from their own thoughts. Alistair, still covered in mud and blood, seemed to have important news. He held a crumpled piece of parchment in his hand, which seemed to disturb him deeply.

"They found a man who sais he belonged to King Cailan's personal guard." He exclaimed, showing what turned out to be a map of sorts, drawn hastily and with a trembling hand. "In Ostagar, the King had entrusted him with the keys to his private chest, containing important documents. They were never recovered."

"So? Do you think we'll need them against Teyrn Loghain?" Lady Cousland asked him, standing up.

"He mentioned something about letters from Orlais, but he died before we could learn more or try to rescue him. He was a prisoner in Bann Loren's dungeon, but when he learned that the army opposing Loghain was nearby, he managed to escape.... Unfortunately, he found himself in the middle of the battle."

"Letters from Orlais?" Duran asked. "They may explain why Loghain turned against your king."

"His hatred of Orlais is justified by nearly a century of occupation." Elissa said. "Many did not see eye to eye with the Orlesian Chevaliers entering our territory, even to fight a Blight. Loghain was only the most prominent spokesperson for that dissent; my father had many doubts about it as well."

"In any case, it might be worth going to check if those documents are still there." Alistair suggested.

The girl nodded, looking thoughtful.

"Explain to me why you should return to that place."

Morrigan, who had appeared out of nowhere, look at them with a judging expression, her head tilted slightly to the side, yellow eyes gleaming in the dim light of dusk.

"Were you eavesdropping as usual?" Alistair asked her acidly, crossing his arms.

"Believe me, you don't make such interesting speeches worth listening to. However, I was passing through and couldn't help myself. What use can some documents between a dead king and a distant empress be?"

"They may constitute another proof of Loghain's guilt. They would give another reason why he would want King Cailan dead." Lady Cousland replied.

"And how would we make use of them? Do you think the situation will be resolved simply by discussing it?"

Elissa clenched her fists. "There is a possibility. Fortunately, we are in Ferelden and not among savages who know no other way to resolve a conflict than by chopping off the heads of their opponents."
Although in most cases chopping off heads would be the quickest solution and would save tremendous headaches. Duran thought, but let it go. After all, it was the humans' business, how he would handle things didn't matter. To Orzammar, human politics would have seemed like child's play compared to the intricate plans of the Deshyrs. In any case, having hard evidence to discredit someone in front of the nobles was never a bad idea.

Morrigan seemed to find it all very amusing, but dropped the discussion. "So then, what are we waiting for?"

"We need to get back to Redcliffe, first." Alistair said. "If Aenor and the others were able to find the Ashes, we will heal Arl Eamon. His support is critical to ousting Loghain and raising an army against the darkspawn."

"Arl Bryland and Bann Eremon have assured us of their support." Lady Cousland confirmed. "And with them, other minor banns. They will keep those monsters at bay as much as they can for now, and they will stand with us when we face Loghain. All we have to do is heal Arl Eamon and put the rightful ruler of Orzammar back on the throne, then we'll stop this civil war and the darkspawn."

Rightful ruler? It sounded good, he had to admit. Perhaps he should have explained to them that even though the Assembly normally chose the successor to the throne from the heirs of the late King, there were no rightful rulers of anything in Orzammar, at least until they were crowned by the Deshyrs... But there was no rush.

"So, will you be returning to Redcliffe with us?" The Warden asked her, surprise in his voice. "I thought you wanted to stay with the banns."

Lady Cousland seemed to avoid the boy's gaze. "We've done our duty here, they'll do just fine without me. Your mission is of utmost importance, however. If we are to stop the darkspawn and reunify the country, your treaties are our only hope."

"Such a noble spirit!" Morrigan interjected with a grin. "I'm about to be moved by it."

Alistair turned a grimace on her. "You'd need a heart for that, or at least feelings."

"That woulds me deeply, Alistair."

Duran restrained himself from cursing the Ancestors. The two of them were bickering like children. They are just barely more than children, after all.

He shook his head. Generations of Orzammar's finest warriors had failed to contain the devastating advance of the darkspawn and now the future of the Ferelden, threatened by a Blight, lay in the hands of a pair of Grey Wardens barely sketched in Stone...

 

 

 

 


Grey Wardens who, despite their young age, could apparently handle themselves really well.

He didn't know if he was more impressed that the little girl had managed to retrieve the Ashes of their burned prophetess or that said Ashes actually existed and even had magical powers.

They were all gathered in the great hall of the Arl of Redcliffe, anxiously waiting for the relic to do its thing. Some were skeptical but most humans, like the gullible people they were, asserted that they had the utmost faith in their Maker and in Andraste.

Duran had his doubts about both but those who had returned from Haven had told incredible tales, including defeating a dragon, passing magical tests, eradicating a cult of fanatics and recovering the Ashes, with which they had cured the bad-tempered elf of the terrible wounds she had sustained during her confrontation with the dragon.

How they had managed to defeat the beast, however, they had made no mention.

"The Qunari scared the shits out of him," Brosca had said, the usual cocky grin onher face before going back to pestering the stone golem they had found on the road. Duran had been staring at it dumbfounded, until it had called him a "mushy little thing". He hadn't been happy about it. Shale, that was the name of that pile of stones and bitterness, must have been a particularly ill-tempered golem. And of course, it got along so well with Brosca. That pair was ridicolously amusing.

When the Gray Wardens returned to the hall to give them news, everyone stood silent.

"Arl Eamon is awake." Alistair announced. "He's still weak, but he will recover quickly."

Exclamations of joy erupted as the Redcliffe men exchanged victory gestures and congratulated the elf for saving their Arl. She dismissed them in a few words, calling the black mabari and walking away with it. The red-haired mage followed shortly after, avoiding the others' eyes.

Something had clearly happened on that mountain, that no one wanted to talk about.

Duran noticed the disdain painted on the older mage's face, and she recoiled defensively as the younger one passed her, clutching her staff.

The archer and the other elf seemed a bit worried as well, but not enough to interrupt the dense conversation they were having. Being brought back from the magical ashes of your god's wife had to have some effect, after all....

Chapter 21: Redcliffe

Summary:

The whole party is back at Redcliffe.
Natia's growing tired of everyone complaining about every single problem, and Kallian reflects on what it means to be saved by Andraste's power.
Plus, Geralt's an idiot and Alistair tries his best to make friends.

Chapter Text

It was hard to tell who felt more uncomfortable in there.

Shale, the imposing golem with the bad temper that they had retrieved not without much effort, particularly attracted the attention of passersby, setting up in the middle of the hall of Redcliffe Castle. Natia still couldn't digest the fact that the control rod had turned out to be a rip-off, but Shale had agreed to follow them anyway. Sure, she'd have liked to be carried on her back instead of getting a week and a half of sore feet, but the first time she'd seen the golem smash the skull of a darkspawn she'd decided it wasn't such a bad deal.

Kallian seemed to have made the decision to make every single servant in the castle weigh the fact that he was being bossed around by humans, and was shooting resentful glances at every human for even crossing her path, wandering restlessly through the village streets and doing everything she could to avoid the castle.

Geralt, who had done nothing but quiver with desire to see his dear mage-boy again all that time, now seemed to suddenly have legs of stone. It didn't help that the whole group knew he was a blood mage, which the humans apparently found so terrible that they would rather be killed by a dragon than owe their lives to such magic. Dumb as nug, they are...

Natia entered the crowded tavern, spotting Geralt sitting at a table. She sneaked over, startling him.

"What is it now?" He turned grimly, an empty wine glass in his hand.

"You've been putting it off for two days already, shouldn't you go talk to someone?"

"Shouldn't you mind your own business?"

Natia giggled, "And what would be the fun in that... Anyway, without me you wouldn't get anything done. I really don't know how you've been pounding the rocks so far, you're embarrassing." She sat down beside him, snatching the book he was reading from under his nose and waving it in front of him. "There's nothing in here that's going to help you conquer your dear magey, so get a move on."

Geralt tried to take the book back but she was quicker, stuffing it into the large pockets of her jacket. "It's going to stay here with me until you've gone talk to him."

"Why do you even care so much?!" Geralt blurted.

"Because you're being totally ridiculous. A nice fuck can only do you some good. And since he's been in a cell for weeks he probably won't refuse to be thrown up against the wall and-"

"Shut up!" The man slammed his fist on the table, snapping at her. "Don't you dare talk about him like that!"

Natia was taken aback for a moment, but didn't give it away. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to offend your great love... Just saying that if your last fuck was with a demon that looked like him, you've got some pretty big problems, beanpole."

"I'm warning you, Brosca..."

She raised her hands up, surrendering. "All right, I'll give it up. But don't come back crying because you itch all over." She drummed her fingers on the thick cover of the book she'd stolen from him, jumping down from the chair and gingerly walking away.

Turning the corner, she flattened herself against the wall, letting a few minutes pass before glancing around the tavern's hall. The mage had been staring at the empty glass, frowning more and more.

Could it be that he was shitting himself so much at the very idea of going to talk to his friend?

She decided, since she had absolutely nothing better to do, to keep an eye on him. She set up behind the woodshed, waiting for him to come out.

At least an hour passed, but she finally saw the man's red hair sticking out of the door. From his cheeks, he must have had at least a couple more drinks.

She followed him stealthily up to the castle, careful not to be noticed, all the way to the dungeons.

Without making a sound, after a few seconds she slipped through the door as well, crouching in the dim light and descending the stairs that led to the cells. The torches were almost all out and there were no guards around, a sign that no one was expecting any visitors.

She heard two male voices from down the corridor and flattened herself further against the stone wall, her breath catching as she walked the last few feet and ducked behind a series of crates.

Eavesdropping had always worked very well for her. It was a great way to uncover secrets of all sorts and in the slums it had often allowed her to scrape together a living, without for once having to crack some teeth to be revealed where Beraht's rivals kept the stuff they smuggled.

"...I will convince him to let you go, trust me. I brought those Ashes back for him, didn't I?"

"What if that's not enough? I was the one who poisoned him, I'm surprised he hasn't executed me already!"
She heard a metallic thump. She imagined Geralt was punching the cell's bars.

"I'm not gonna let him. Even if I have to tear down the whole fucking castle, Jowan, I'm going to get you out of here."

There was a few moments of silence. Natia leaned over the wooden barrel she was hiding behind.

Thanks to her eyes accustomed to the darkness, she could clearly see Geralt hunched over the bars of the cell, his hands gripping the metal.

"I'm sorry. I got tricked and ruined everything, as usual." Natia thought that really Jowan was doing nothing but whining. What was so special about him, she just didn't understand. "I don't want you to get in trouble for me, not again. If the Arl said he won't release me..."

"He'll change his mind. He has to."

"Geralt..."

“You don't understand!" Natia gasped, going back to hiding behind the barrel for a moment. "I... I can't go back now. I've already done so much, and the Warden trusts me. She'll help me convince Aemon and as soon as they release you, we'll escape to Tevinter."

"What about the Blight?"

"Blight be damned and Ferelden too!"

Great. Natia thought, bitterly. He's going to cut and run.

"Do you think we'd be able to cross the border? The two of us alone? With the Templars hunting us down, half of Redcliffe and two Grey Wardens?"

Geralt whispered something in response, but Natia couldn't quite catch the words. She leaned out from behind the barrel again. Just tell him already, beanpole!

"Don't you think we should do our part to stop this Blight?" Jowan asked.

Geralt seemed to think for a long time before giving an answer, his voice barely audible. "Not if it means risking our lives."

"You've saved me twice already, my friend, and I really don't think I deserve it... That time at the Tower, if only we'd escaped with Anders..." Jowan sighed. "I stayed, for Lily, but you could have left. Why didn't you?"

There, maybe this is it. Come on, you stubborn bronto!

Several moments passed. Natia imagined Geralt curling the little braids of his beard around his fingers, as he was wont to do when he was tense. "I didn't want to leave you alone." She finally heard him say.

Just tell him!

"But you could have been long gone, even before the Templars brought your phylactery to Denerim!" Say something! "Why not-"

"Because I care about you!" Geralt blurted out. Jowan fell silent. "And I would never have left you, even when you were after that stupid cow!"

"Don't talk about her like that!"

"She just used you, and you got swindled by her like an idiot!"

Oh no, why are they fighting now?!

"I don't- that's not true! She trusted me but I..."

"But you?! But you what, Jowan?!"Geralt was almost screaming now. "At the sight of a little blood magic, she took it all back. She would have stood by and watched Gregoir kill you, without batting an eye!"

"You don't know that!" The other retorted, shouting as well. "She ended up in Aeonar because of me!"
"Let her rot in Aeonar. Her and the whole Chantry, the Templars and everyone else!"

Jowan was clearly confused. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I fucking love you!"

Oh, shit.

Silence fell. A heavy, thick silence, like dust in a narrow tunnel.

After a few moments, Jowan seemed to recover a little from his surprise. "Geralt, I don't..."

Before he could finish the rest of the sentence, the other turned his back on him, leaving in a big hurry. Luckily he didn't notice Natia, passing within inches of the barrel but outrunning her.

She stood petrified, listening to Jowan call out to the other loudly, looking for an explanation.

Part of her wanted to go up to the prisoner and kick him for being the biggest, stupidest, nug-poop-headed jerk in the entire Ferelden, but the other part wanted to drag Geralt back with the same treatment and make him face that shit he put himself into.

So she was left to fret over the matter, until she bitterly decided that although she cared about her traveling companion, it was none of her business after all. Besides, he said he wanted to leave as soon as he'd freed his great love, didn't he? He can just dust off then, the both of them. She thought resentfully, making her way up the stairs quietly then out into the fresh air and back in the direction of the tavern, her throat dry and a lot of thoughts pounding in her head.

She really needed some ale.

 

 

 

 

When she entered the inn, she found Wynne and Aenor sitting at a table, engaged in a heated discussion in low voices. The old woman seemed furious and Natia didn't have to make an effort to imagine the cause. She considered leaving and hurrying off before she found herself in the middle of yet another fight, but there she was...

Before she could reach them the old woman stood up, grabbed her magic staff leaning against the wall and headed stiffly for the exit.

Natia nodded a greeting to her, but Wynne barely noticed her, slamming the door.

The dwarf met the Warden's gaze, who gave her a tired nod.

She huffed. Why couldn't they, just for once, keep their problems to themselves and not throw them at her?

She ordered a couple of large mugs of dark ale, taking a seat next to the elf.

"By the Stone, what a day..."

Aenor didn't even answer her, intent on digging a groove in the wooden table with her dagger.

“It'll get blunt if you do that."

Still no answer.

"I guess Wynne's still mad about the Geralt thing, huh?"

The elf finally looked up, pointing her bright green eyes at her. "Do you want something too or are you just here to annoy me?"

To the Stone with you too then! Natia wanted to shout, but she swallowed and tried to smile, hoping it looked like a friendly expression and not a snarl. At that moment, the waitress arrived. "Actually, I wanted to know how you were doing. I saw you two fighting and... I mean, I thought the matter was settled." She grabbed a mug, hoping the elf would do the same.

Aenor sighed, reaching out a hand and suspiciously sniffing the contents of the mug. She seemed to relent, tasting some of it.

"You get used to it, trust me, at least this is good stuff."

"I wish that was the problem..."

Natia took a good look at her. She looked distraught, her eyes circled in black and her face paler than usual. She remained silent, hoping the other would explain herself better, but the Warden seemed to have no intention of doing so. They sat for a while drinking in silence, Natia ordering another mug while the other wasn't even halfway through.

At one point, Aenor broke the silence. "Sometimes I think I should just let it go." She had a lost look on her face. "Everything is falling apart. I didn't even want to become a Warden and..." She took a long sip, wrinkling her nose. When she set the mug down on the table, it was empty. "I shouldn't have left my Clan. Duncan probably would have found someone else to recruit, someone better equipped for it, and all this mess wouldn't have happened. Alistair would have behaved, Leliana as well and Wynne would have had no reason to..." She fell silent again, her eyes almost teary. "Dirthara-ma, suits me well for traveling with all these shems."

"You're not doing so bad, you know. You said it yourself, to Sten."

"And what good does it do, if I have to fight for their trust every single step?"

Natia thought about it for a while, not knowing what to answer. "I don't know, I don't think anyone has ever trusted me enough to follow me without a fuss. Maybe it's because everyone has their own minds and you can't always convince them to do what you want. You're doing all right, though."

"Tell that to Wynne, who wants to leave. Or Alistair, who's furious that I let a blood mage travel with us. Or that snooty Elissa, all so noble and knowledgeable that she does nothing but-" She slammed the empty mug down on the table, signaling the waitress to refill it. "Fenedhis lasa, they want to go back to Ostagar."

"What? Why is that?"

"They say there may be important documents against Loghain. First they disappear into the Bannorn, and now they're wasting their time behind some papers."

"Maybe there might actually be something valuable."

Aenor turned a sour look on her. "Oh, right, I forgot you're just here tofill your pockets. Go ahead, tag along too, I'm sure they won't mind having someone to drive their Aravel while they snuggle-"

"Hey, get a grip!" Natia stopped her, annoyed. "You're not the only one with problems here, you know? And if you're not okay with leading, if you're so sure that leaving is better... Then leave. What's holding you here? Go back to your clan, wander the woods, get laid too, just stop feeling sorry for yourself!"

Natia grabbed the mug and stomped out of the inn, furious.

She reached Shale, who had settled in out of the birds' reach under a canopy, intent on staring at the village below them.

"I hate them all." The dwarf growled, sitting down on a wooden crate and taking a sip.

“Ah, I was just thinking the same thing." The golem said.

"You're not the only ones."

Natia jerked, startled, turning away just in time to see Morrigan appear in a puff of purplish smoke.

"Where the fuck did you come from?" She blurted, trying unsuccessfully to hide her surprise.

"I believe you have something that belongs to me."

She looked at her without understanding.

The witch pointed with a finger to her jacket, from which sprouted the big tome she had seized from Geralt a short while before. "'Tis that what I'm talking about."

Natia pulled it from her pocket, turning it over in her hand and taking a closer look. It was heavy, with a black old cover. "And why would it be yours?"

"Not exactly mine, but my mother's."

Something didn't add up. "Why didn't you notice it sooner?"

"First tell me, where did you find it?"

She shrugged, evasive. "Around somwhere."

"I thought you smugglers were good at lying. I was wrong, clearly." Morrigan took a step toward her, reaching for the book.

Natia recoiled instinctively, defensive. "It was at the Tower."

"And you obviously only just got hold of it, or I would have noticed it sooner." Morrigan commented. "Geralt had it, am I right? Somehow he must have managed to hide it from me, maybe a magical illusion or some ward, he's quite skilled... never mind, now give it to me."

"Fuck off. He'd take it out on me, and even though I'm resistant to magic I don't really want a fireball up my ass."

The witch rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, he's probably had it for weeks, that bookworm will have memorized every part of it by now. I just want to take a look at it, but if you really want to, I'll go ask him myself. I'm sure I won't bother him at all, after what happened with his friend..."

The dwarf repressed the instinct to plunge a knife into her leg. "You were eavesdropping?!"

The other didn't flinch in the slightest, in fact, she seemed to enjoy it. "You're not the only one capable of hiding, you know. And my methods are certainly more effective. No one pays attention to a little spider walking on the wall..."

Her pride hurt, she didn't know what to retort. "At least I don't risk getting squished by a boot."She mumbled angrily.

"So, are you going to give me that grimoire or do I have to go make his day even worse?"

Natia gave up, huffing and handing her the book.

"Thanks, you saved me another hassle." The woman's yellow eyes glowed with eagerness as she quickly flipped through the worn pages. "Hmm, interesting..." After giving her a satisfied nod, she quickly left, her nose glued to the pages.

The dwarf sat back down on the wooden crate. "He's going to kill me."

Shale, who had remained completely uninterested the entire time, made a vibrating sound, like stones rubbing. "It's not hard, killing you mushy little things."

She threw it a mean look. Was that a giggle?

"Look, a pigeon!" She yelled, pointing to a spot behind the golem.

Shale spun around, slamming its huge feet into the ground and causing the ground to shake, including the crate the other was sitting on. "Where?! Damn birds, I'll crush them all!"

Natia burst out laughing, throwing the beer mug at her head and hitting a rocky spike. "Right there, knucklehead."

 

 

 


 

 

 


"Kallian?"
The elf snorted looking down at the woman, legs dangling from the roof of the mill. She watched as Leliana nimbly climbed the wooden beams, quickly reaching her and sitting beside her, breathing a little heavy.

"I've been looking all over for you, you know."

She grunted an answer, shifting her gaze to Lake Calenhad, water reflecting the little sunlight that filtered through the dark clouds.

Leliana just stood there, enjoying the sight. After a few minutes, curiosity got the better of Kallian.

"Why were you looking for me?"

"Isn't it obvious? I was worried. I haven't seen you around since yesterday, and I thought..."

"That I had killed some snooty noble?"

The woman burst out in a controlled laugh. "Yes, something like that."

"I might as well, if we're here much longer."

"Personally, I'd like to take at least a couple more hot scented baths before I leave."

Kallian huffed again, not at all surprised. "There are more important things than taking baths right now, like stopping a Blight."

"Sure, but no one ever said we have to face the Archdemon smelling like goats."

The elf raised an eyebrow, looking her straight in the eye. "We're in Ferelden, haven't you noticed that we always smell like dogs?"

Leliana was taken aback for a moment then lifted the corner of her mouth. “Was that a joke I heard?”

"If that was the case, I would have said 'wet dogs'."

"Oh, a joke and a jab at Orlais. Typical Ferelden."

Kallian shrugged, letting a smirk escape. She stroked the back of her head, where a new scar stood out among the old ones, reminding her of the dragon that had nearly killed her. Overthinking, she ran her fingertips over the small bump, still in disbelief that she was alive.

"Does it hurt?"

She shook her head.

"I prayed it would work, I was so scared. But the Maker hasn't abandoned us, not completely. The Ashes-"
"Why?"
Leliana furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?"

"The Ashes. They brought me back to life." How to explain to her the feeling of inadequacy of being there at that moment, alive and able to move, speak...?

"The Creator saved you because he has a plan for you, Kallian." Leliana simply replied, as if it was the most natural thing in the world that the Maker himself, who cared nothing for the affairs of mortals, had bothered to save a nobody like her.

Kallian bit her lower lip, running her tongue over the scars. This was not the first time she had escaped certain death. Valendrian had told her how they had thought her dead, given the severity of the magical and physical injuries Vaughan and his mage had given her. And yet, she had woken up and slowly healed, thanks in part to Zathrian and his knowledge of healing spells too. But to be saved a second time after fighting a dragon, by the Ashes of the Prophetess herself...

It was just too much to think, even for a moment, that she was worthy of it.

She shook her head. "This is absurd. The Maker doesn't care about us, the Chant says so. And Andraste certainly wouldn't waste her time with..."

Leliana grabbed her hand, holding it between her own, soft and delicate. "I don't want to presume knowing what goes through the Maker's mind, but he clearly has something in store for you. Otherwise, he wouldn't have helped you heal after what happened to you, both before you came to the Dalish and in Haven. You are special, Kallian."

The elf made to retract her hand, but at the last she reconsidered. "Do you really have visions?"

The other nodded. "I know it all sounds like lies to get attention... but before I met the Wardens, the Maker sent me a sign." She stretched her legs out, lifting her gaze to the snow-carrying clouds above them, taking a deep breath. "I stood on the edge of a very high precipice, watching helplessly as the darkness encompassed everything. When even the last ray of light had vanished, I screamed, but could not make a sound. Then I felt myself being lifted up, and a mysterious but at the same time reassuring force pushed me to throw myself into the abyss."

"What if it was just a dream? Or a demon trying to trick you?"

Leliana shook her head, a confident smile on her face. "I woke up and I felt an urgent desire to go to the garden behind the cloister. There was a rose bush, that we all knew was long dead: it was gray, dried up and twisted on itself, the ugliest plant I had ever seen. And yet, that day, when I went to look at it... among the dried brambles, there was a single rose, beautiful and fragrant, its petals bright red, soft and perfect."

Kallian scratched the stump of her ear. "And you think it was the Maker, sending you visions of the Blight and a rose for having hope?"

"Who else could have told me so clearly that I needed to get out of there, leave the life of the cloister and go find those who would stop the Blight?"

"A dream and a rose, those don't seem like very clear directions to me."

"Everything happens for a reason."

"I almost died, twice. I could use a clearer explanation than a few flowers." Grunted the elf, looking down at her toes.

Leliana seemed unsure of what to do, but after a moment's pause, she ventured her question. "May I ask what happened to you? Not in detail, but..."

Kallian inhaled the icy breeze, uncertain whether or not to tell her what happened. She liked Leliana, for a human, she had never seen her treat others with malice or superiority. In fact, she was always the first one to help when needed. And the image of the woman, terrified, screaming her name at the top of the mountain at Haven after she had been struck down by the dragon... Leliana's face had been the last thing she had seen before she was lost in the darkness, and the first when she had opened her eyes again.

"I was about to get married." Kallian began to recount, almost a whisper. The events of that day imprinted indelibly in her mind, on her body, as if she relived them every day. "Nelaros, his name is, had come from Highever with my cousin's betrothed. He was a good match and my father had given me my mother's dress, I had re-purposed it, it was beautiful. And the whole Alienage was in celebration, the Vhenadahl decorated with dozens of bows and lanterns and flowers... Then they came." She gritted her teeth, the hatred for Vaughan and his people coming back, never dormant. "The son of the Arle of Denerim and some of his men. They dragged us away, me and my cousin and some other girls, unconscious, and no one did anything. Not one of the Alienage inhabitants lifted a finger to stop them. Not the Hahren, not my father, not even my neighbors or the boy who worked next to me at the market. No one except my cousin Soris and Nelaros risked their lives for us. I did what I had to, so Shianni and the others could get out alive..." She ended up losing her voice. She felt her eyes pinch, but she didn't know if it was anger, pain, or shame. She hadn't been strong enough. She could have killed Vaughan and his people if she had been strong like Aenor, like a true elf, and not a slave to the humans. She had done her best, sacrificing herself for others, but in the end they had not even given her the grace to kill her, leaving her to live with the shame of what she had endured.

If it was indeed the Maker who had saved her, he had a sadistic sense of humor.

She felt Leliana grow closer, leaning her shoulder against hers, her hands still intertwined.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

Kallian shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

They remained there, sitting on the roof of the mill, in silence.

Small snowflakes began to fall, resting on the ground and forming a thin white blanket. Kallian shivered, clutching her fur cloak. Perhaps it was time to go back inside, but...

“It's beautiful, isn't it?"

She turned to Leliana who had extended a hand upward, as if to grasp the snowflakes. She looked rapt, a wide smile on her face.

Kallian didn't answer, merely looking at the lake. She wondered if it would freeze over, to the point where they could walk on it. She had heard that could happen in winter.

A sneeze caught her by surprise, breaking the peace. "We'd better take cover before we freeze." She said, pulling her legs up and looking for the support she'd used to climb.

 

 

 

 

Before long, they reached the castle again. Kallian shot the walls a sour look, but went inside without a fuss. The cold was a good reason to swallow her wounded pride and hatred of human nobility for once. And the hot bath Leliana mentioned wasn't a bad idea...

"So, I'll see you later for dinner?" The woman asked her.

The elf nodded. She went up to the room and grabbed two large buckets to fill the tub in the room she shared with Aenor.

She went in the direction of the well, refusing to ask the castle servants for help. With some difficulty, she began to turn the crank to lower the bucket, which was already stiff from ice. She managed to lower it, putting all her strength into pulling it up. Her shoulders aching, she filled half of the first bucket. She huffed, returning it to the bottom. Halfway down, she was sweating and panting like after a run.

"Need some help?"

She jerked instinctively and nearly let her grip slip.

Alistair, the hood of the cloak full of snow, walked toward her and grabbed the crank, his hand right next to hers. She fought the instinct to flinch back.

"I can do it myself." She growled at the effort.

"Look, if you freeze, I'll have to break the ice." He chuckled to himself.

Kallian huffed, annoyed by the Warden' jokes. "If you want to help me, shut up and work, human."

Together, they quickly managed to fill both buckets.

"You may go now."

The boy stood staring at her. "There's a lot of stairs."

"That won't be a problem."

"I insist."

Kallian pondered the option of killing him and throwing the corpse into the well. Unfortunately, she doubted she could even hit him, given the terrible pain in her arms after all the exertion. "Alright, fine." She gave in, pulling one bucket up and letting Alistair take the other.

They crossed the courtyard, when metallic clashes caught their attention.

Aenor, heedless of the snow and cold, was swinging a large two-handed sword at Sten, who also seemed perfeclty at ease with the weather. The two were so absorbed in the fight they didn't notice they were being watched.

"She worries me sometimes, you know?"

Kallian did not answer, mesmerized by Dalish's movements. Although the Qunari was clearly better trained, the petite elf still managed to hold her own.

"I don't know what's going on in her head." Alistair continued, undaunted. "And I think it's getting worse."

She turned to the Warden, surprised. Coming back from Haven, Aenor had seemed in a much better mood than when they had first started traveling together. And the Ashes had worked, so...

"She's not sleeping, she's barely eating... And the worst part is, she won't let me help her. I know being a Grey Warden is hard between the dreams and everything else, so I try to get her to tell me what's bothering her but she keeps shutting me out." He stared at Aenor with a sad look. "If I could just figure out what's wrong, I could try to do something about it..."

Kallian shook her head, feeling a bit sorry for him. "I guess there's nothing you can do."

Alistair brought his attention back to her. "Maybe she can talk to you, right?"

"Because we're both elves?" She retorted. "It doesn't work that way."

The Warden blushed. "No, I didn't mean... Because she seems to have taken a liking to you. Or at least she doesn't ignore you or openly despise you. You're one of the few people she can stand.”

"Talk to Geralt and Morrigan as well, for that matter. Or Natia and Sten."

The boy scratched the back of his head, uncomfortable. "Yeah, well, it's not like I can go to Morrigan or the others to..." He sighed. "Just keep an eye on her, alright? I'm afraid she's going to hurt herself. Just that, please."

Kallian watched as Aenor parried a powerful slash to the head with the hilt of her sword, spinning around and trying to disarm Sten, causing him to lose his balance for a moment. "I think she can handle herself."

"That's exactly what worries me..."

They left Aenor to train, crossing the courtyard and climbing the stairs that led to the guest rooms.

Arriving in front of the room Kallian shared with the other elf, Alistair left the bucket of water on the floor, waving goodbyes.

She merely nodded, thinking about what the boy had said.

As she waited for the water to warm over the fireplace, she looked out into the courtyard, where the two were still practicing. The snow was now falling thickly, making it difficult for her to spot them.

After a while, she closed the shutters, enjoying the warmth of the room.

She slowly undressed, removing the various layers of fur, leather armor and clothing.

She took the two buckets and poured them into the tub, filling it and setting in. Steam enveloped her body while the warm water softened her skin. She leaned against the edge, closing her eyes. It was a wonderful feeling, taking a warm bath.

Very few times in her life had she been able to take one, and never since her mother's death.

She chased the memories away, trying to empty her mind. Despite her best efforts though, she found herself humming a lullaby that Adaia used to sing to her. The words came back to her, and she may not have even remembered them correctly, but the refrain was simple enough.

 

Sun sets, little one

Time to dream

Your mind journeys

But I will hold you here

 

The comb loosening the knots out of her hair, gently untangling the mass of curls.

 

Where will you go

Lost to me in sleep?

Seek truth in a forgotten land

Deep with in your heart

Mom's fragrant hands tasted of jasmine flowers with which she styled her hair, so similar to hers.

 

Never fear, little one

Wherever you shall go

Follow my voice

I will call you home

 

Her smile as she lifted her from the tub, hugging her and wrapping her in the towel.

 

I will call you home

 

She bit her lower lip, a lonely tear rolling down her cheek, unable to stop it. She sniffed.

Who knows what her mother would have thought if she had known her little girl had been brought back to life twice. Perhaps it was her mother who was watching over her. The dead resided at the Maker's side, even the elves some claimed, so it was possible she had begged him to heal her.

But in that case, couldn't He have simply prevented her from being one step away from death? In His infinite power, the Maker had turned His back on mortals, guilty of tainting the Golden City, unworthy of His protection. And could He really have chosen to save her, even though He had turned away from the mortal world?

She wished she had Leliana's faith.

She seemed so certain of her visions, Kallian almost believed them. How was it possible to lie with such passion, after all? Her words seemed true, what she had seen could truly be a warning and at the same time a way to encourage them to still have hope, despite everything that was happening.

And yet... Why me?

She dipped her head under the water, already knowing that she would never find an answer to her questions.

Chapter 22: Ostagar

Summary:

Part of the group head back to Ostagar to recover some important letters from the King's belongings.
Both Aenor and Alistair have to make peace with their loved ones.

Chapter Text

She ended up on the ground again, her bottom aching.

Sten, motionless in front of her, made no sign of giving her a hand.

Aenor struggled back up, every muscle in her body burning, clutching her sword and settling back into a guard position. "Again."

The Qunari slightly raised an eyebrow, lashing out at her without even a moment's notice. She was not caught unprepared though, and the blades returned to clash furiously.

The light was now reduced to the range of the torches and braziers placed around the courtyard. The elf's eyes, cat's like, gave her an advantage in the dark, putting her almost on a par with her opponent, who was undoubtedly more skilled in combat.

She managed, after an entire afternoon spent on defense, to finally send him to the ground.

"Well done." Commented the Qunari without flinching, getting up and brushing the snow from his breeches.

"Not good enough."

"You're making progress."

It was true, but would it be enough? She sighed, sheathing her sword. "We leave for Ostagar tomorrow morning, and I don't know what we'll find."

"It will be good training for the Archdemon."

The elf felt a chill run down her spine at the idea of facing the dragon of her nightmares. "I hope we can muster an army capable of taking on all those darkspawn, or we won't be able to reach the Archdemon by a long shot."

Returning to her own chambers, which she shared with Kallian, she rinsed quickly with barely warm water then changed into drier clothes. The servants had tried to leave them soft fur-lined cloth dresses, rich-looking and impractical, the sleeves and the necklines stupidly wide and decorated with trims and stuff. Both Aenor and Kallian had preferred to opt for soft leather pants, loose shirts, and heavy wool jackets, completely ignoring the dresses.

The commotion coming from the dining room was audible from across the courtyard. She grimaced in annoyance as she entered and sat down to Alistair's left. The boy was all intent on telling Elissa another of his hilarious stories.

"So, when Duncan came in, they were all drunk out of their minds and passed out, while he kept drinking like it was nothing!"

Cousland let out a soft laugh, her hand in front of her mouth like a proper princess or something.

Aenor rolled her eyes, approaching a tray of steaming meat and placing a generous portion on her plate. She had her reservations about that place, but the food was fantastic, especially compared to what they ate on the road despite Morrigan's best efforts.

Not that she would ever admit it in front of any of those bloody shems, of course.

"Aenor!" The other Warden exclaimed turning to look at her, finally noticing her presence. "We were afraid you were still out there with Sten, under the snow."

"Evidently not." She replied, mumbling with her mouth full.

"You guys are working out a lot." Elissa tried to make conversation, a forced smile on her face. The elf didn't respond, shrugging. The two humans exchanged a quick glance.

Alistair coughed, clearing his throat. "Aemon tells me you went to negotiate the release of the blood mage, Jowan."

"I didn't negotiate a damn thing. I told him we were the ones who saved his life, so he owes us a favor. Plus, without Geralt, we would have all died on that mountain."

"If he were to find out the truth..."

At that, Aenor lifted her gaze, narrowing her eyes. "And how would he find out?"

Alistair instinctively drew back, raising both hands. "I'm not a rat, and I don't want us to fight about him again... I've decided to step back and let you handle decisions, so now I have no right to tell you what to do. But if you force the Arl's hand too much, someone else might find out. And then we'd all be in trouble, especially Geralt, you know."

Aenor shot a venomous look at Elissa. "The others already know to keep their mouths shut."

Cousland sighed with an air of superiority. "That's not my intention, Warden, you can trust me."

Yeah, sure I can... The elf tought, but let the matter drop. Discussing it in front of everyone, with the Arl only a few feet away, was not a good idea. "In any case, he vowed to release Jowan once we returned from Orzammar." If he didn't honor the agreement, Aenor wouldn't bother to stop Geralt from sending the Arl back to sleep, only this time it would be permanent. One less shem to break his promises, at least.

Alistair scratched his ear, pointing to Aemon with a nod. "Bann Teagan claims you used rather colorful expressions, to convince the Arl."

"Well, excuse my savage manners, I grew up in the woods." Aenor almost hissed. "I thought we needed to be good at fighting, but you two can always try to get the Archdemon to go back to sleep with pretty words and frilly dresses."

The other Warden let out a chuckle, but remained tense. "We must be careful, that's what I'm sarying. We need Aemon, without him many of the nobles will not follow us. And diplomacy will be key in Orzammar."

"The way Duran talks about it, it sounds like an axe planted in the head is just as good a way to get the dwarves to cooperate."

Elissa sighed blatantly. "What Alistair is trying to say-"

Aenor stood up sharply, jolting everyone. "I know exactly what he means, thank you very much."

She said between her teeth, turning on her heel and striding away, anger mounting inside her.

The snow swirled furiously, making it difficult for her to cross the courtyard as she exited the castle.

Almost running, she set off towards the village tavern, her stomach still rumbling.

It was just typical of that fucking blondie princess, getting involved in stuff that didn't concern her just to show off. As if she still had something to show off, with that face.

The tavern was crowded as usual. Peeking through the window she caught sight of Kallian, Leliana, Zevran and the two dwarves sitting at a table by the fireplace. If she had gone inside, she would have been forced to sit down with them, and she didn't really feel like having any more conversation. She stoodin front of the entrance, unsure of what to do. In the end, she went in.

“Aenor? We thought you were at the castle." Leliana greeted her, making room for her.

The Waarden shook her head. "I'd rather stay away from all that snootiness."

"Ah, how I get you!" Natia laughed, signaling the innkeeper to bring another bowl of meat soup. "Sadly, it seems that nobility creeps up on us here as well."

"Brosca, I'll remind you that I'm right here."

Natia sneered, raising her mug in Duran's direction. "Just so."

Aenor tensely hinted at a smile, eating dinner in silence.

The next day they would leave for Ostagar, there was little to be cheerful about, the darkspawn had overrun the Wilds. They would travel in a small group to avoid attracting too much attention. Alistair had suggested they go without Aenor, so that if they were overrun by the darkspawn the only two Ferelden Wardens wouldn't both die. The idea wasn't bad, but if the alternative was to stay in Redcliffe and do nothing, she'd rather risk being impaled by an Ogre's horns.

"Aenor?" Zevran's voice roused her from her thoughts. "Morrigan was looking for you this afternoon. She asked that you join her at the mill, as soon as you have the time."

The elf nodded, "I imagine she really wanted to share why was that...?"

Leliana giggled, nodding. “That'd be just her style.”

"Well, I'll be off then." She finished drinking her own ale in long sips, feeling the alcohol fizz in her head. She walked out slightly unsteady on her legs, but the cold wind quickly brought her back to herself.
The road to the mill was steep and covered in ice, fortunately at least darkness was not a problem. She climbed up the hillside, then took cover against the wall of the building, waiting for Morrigan.

“It's about time. I've been here for at least an hour."

In a puff of smoke Morrigan appeared, an annoyed frown on her face and a book in her hand. Aenor recognized it immediately; it was the one Geralt had been reading so obsessively all that time.

"I need to ask you a favor." The woman began, opening the wooden door next to them and entering. They sat down on a stack of empty crates. With a spell, the sorceress lit the only flashlight hanging on the wall, casting a soft and warm light around them.

The elf gathered her legs against her chest, trying to warm herself. "You never ask for anything."

"Unfortunately, this time I'm forced to, as it is impossible for me to solve this particular problem on my own." She showed her the book, resting it on her lap. "I think you know who had it, but that's not what's important right now. It was not Circle's property, rather it had been taken from my mother some time ago. I've only been in possession of it for a couple of days, but I've had a chance to study it in detail."

“So?"
"So, what I found worries me." The witch's yellow eyes glowed in the half-light, the shadows cast by the flame dancing around them. "Apparently, this grimoire holds the secret to my mother's long life."

Aenor shifted on the crate, uncomfortable. Asha'bellanar, "the woman of many years", was feared and respected by her Clan and the other Dalish, known to be vengeful and capricious, as likely to kill as to help those who came to her for help. Uncovering the secrets of such a powerful person could do no good. However, it seemed to upset Morrigan quite a bit, so she decided to give her traveling companion a chance.

"In the stories, there has always been talk of many Witches of the Wilds, supposedly the daughters of Flemeth. However, I have never met one and now I understand why, it is related to the secret of her immortality: once her body is no longer able to house her soul, probably kept alive by a demon she bound herself to centuries ago, she takes over one of her daughters, trained in magic beforehand." Morrigan paused, anger on her face. "I am not going to wait helplessly for her to use me as a vessel."

The Warden did not know what to reply. That Asha'bellanar would use some strange magic to stay alive this long was obvious, but that she could go so far as to possess the bodies of her own daughters... it was a frightening thought. "You want me to kill her before she kills you."

Morrigan turned to her, nodding. "I have no choice but to ask you. You have already defeated a dragon, but my mother is far stronger than any High Dragon when she is in that form. I believe you are capable of beating her, but you will have to go in well prepared, and it will be a difficult fight."

Aenor sighed. "I know how this is going to sound but... Why should we risk so much for you?"

The witch's lips lifted in an amused grimace. "I expected such an answer. After all, I haven't made many friends."

"It's not that. Both Alistair and I owe Asha'bellanar our lives. Killing her doesn't seem like the best way to repay our debt."

Morrigan burst out laughing, a cold laugh that rang bleakly through the bare walls. "Do you really think she saved you without an ulterior motive?"

Aenor shook her head. "No, but that doesn't change the fact she did."

"I don't think you'd be able to kill her for good, anyway. What I want is to render her harmless long enough to get her real grimoire, which she keeps in a chest in our shack. I want to study its contents, and find a way to prevent her for possessing me."

Aenor bit at her lip, hesitant. "You're asking a lot of me. And even if you could convince me, I doubt the others would agree to risk their lives for you, without any reward on the plate."

"I could give the mage some pages copied from the grimoire, and teach him the art of shape-shifting. I have already refused twice to explain the basics to him when he asked. I consider that a more than adequate reward."

"Maybe then the bookworm will accept, but what about the others?"

"I'm sure you'll come up with something. Though I've heard that dragon scales and bones are great for making weapons and armor. With what you've already gathered from Haven's dragon, plus Flemeth's remains..."

Aenor grimaced. "Are you suggesting that I wear your mother's bones?"

“You could always sell them if you don't like the colour."

The elf almost laughed. "It would be pointless to ask you just to go talk to her, wouldn't it?"

"Funny it's you talking about using words instead of blades..." Morrigan arched an eyebrow. "What would you do in my situation?"

"I don't think I can imagine myself in such a situation..."

The woman jerked up from the wooden crate, dusting off her robes and putting the hood of her cloak over her head. "Well, I have asked you what I wanted. Now it's up to you to decide how to act. Have a good evening, Warden."

Aenor watched her walk out into the blizzard, closing the door behind her.

She couldn't kill Asha'bellanar. She had saved their lives, after all. Not to mention that she was a super-powerful, probably immortal witch who could turn into a huge, murderous dragon. And Aenor had no intention of facing another one so soon.

 

 

 

 

 

They left at dawn, heading for Ostagar. It took them days to sight the edge of the Korkari Wilds and the imposing ruined fortress on the horizon.

The light was fading, and the biting night air crept freezing under their clothes as they proceeded at a brisk pace.

Aenor was leading the group while Alistair was closing the line so that he could sense any attacks from the darkspawn in advance. Duran, the big axe on his shoulder, seemed to be looking forward to fighting those monsters while Geralt just walked with his head down, clearly in a bad mood.

Elissa, Cookie at her side, protected the left flank while Sten walked to their right.

It hadn't been hard to convince Natia, Zevran, and Shale to stay in Redcliffe, while Aenor had practically had to order Kallian to stay in the village, not knowing how much she had actually recovered from her injuries in Haven. Leliana had offered to keep an eye on her, and Morrigan had said goodbye without even flinching.

"Thank you for following us." Aenor said to Wynne, slowing her gait to walk alongside her.

The woman nodded, a stern frown on her face. "We may not think alike, but the task you have been given is too important and you will need my help to do it as well."

"I told Geralt never to use his magic against one of us again, so there's no need to worry." Tried to reassure the Warden. She liked Wynne, despite everything: she was fond of the Circle and had an absurd view of the Chantry and magic, yes, but she reminded her a little of Keeper Marethari. Aenor had never gotten along too well with her either, and she had often noticed the Keeper and Merrill arguing heatedly about the magic practices of the First.

Wynne's gaze thinned a little as she peered over the corner of her eye at Geralt, who didn't seem to be paying attention to what was going on. "Should he endanger us, Sten and Alistair will be able to render him harmless."

"They won't have to. I have faith in him." Aenor retorted firmly, ending the conversation. She didn't want to get into another fight about it.

Before Wynne could reply, Falon came running towards them, ears down. He rushed towards Aenor, protectively.

"You're back, boy." The elf greeted him, scratching the mabari behind one ear. "I'd say we can make camp for today."

"You sure?" Alistair asked. "We still have about an hour of light, I think."

Aenor shook her head. "We're almost into the Wilds now, it might be safer here..."

"She's right. Although you can sense the darkspawn more clearly than the rest of us, those monsters can move perfectly well even in the dark, there's no difference for them. Even more than me or Aenor. We're all too easy prey at night." Said Duran as he looked around, his hand caressing the blade of his axe. "That's why the Deep Roads are so dangerous."

"I hope I don't have to go in them too soon." Alistair retorted grimly.

They found shelter under the trees, digging through the snow and moving it to make room for bedding for the night. They didn't trust themselves to build a fire, but fished through the supplies in their backpacks.

Tired, they quickly settled in for the night.

Slowly, Aenor heard the others doze off. Duran snored softly, while Alistair talked in his sleep. Geralt was motionless, his back to the rest of the group. Something had been wrong with him for days, but the man had avoided any questions. Elissa was leaning against Cookie, his paws moving slightly as if he were digging. Even Wynne was fast asleep, worn out from days of marching.

Falon had settled at Aenor's feet, but he too seemed unable to get some sleep. The Warden scanned the darkness around them, restless. She turned: Sten, about fourty feet away, was standing guard, his gaze pointing in the opposite direction of hers. The Qunari seemed to notice he was being watched, as he turned his head, signaling to her that all was quiet.

The Wilds were still, an unnatural calm hovered over them: there rarely was a cry from any nocturnal birds of prey, while the buzzing of the insects had something sinister, as if distorted.

Trying to banish the uneasy feeling in her stomach, she wrapped herself further in her cloak, massaging her cold ears. The mabari lifted his head, pressing his muzzle to her arm.

She passed an arm around the animal's neck, stroking the rough fur with her fingers. She closed her eyes for a moment, exhaustion taking over....

A terrible roar rumbled in her ears. She opened her eyes again with a gasp, terrified, the image of the Archdemon vivid in front of her. She pulled herself to her feet in a rush, grabbing her sword. "What-"

A horrible screeching sound pierced her eardrums, and before the rest of the group could notice, five Shrieks appeared out of nowhere, lunging at them with fangs and sharp claws.

Aenor shove herself against the nearest one, giving Wynne time to get to her feet and grab the magic staff. The blade came down on the monster's head, slicing through the flesh and severing most of the neck. Ignoring the dark trickle of blood on the armor, she finished off the enemy with one last slash, tossing the body to the side and preparing to face the next one, going to the aid of Geralt and Sten, who were facing two.

She saw Duran tear a Shriek apart, while Wynne threw a protective barrier over the entire group.

Alistair and Elissa took out another.

"Damn, they came out of nowhere!" Theboy exclaimed, looking around. "Is anyone hurt?"

Aenor was about to answer when a movement behind him caught her attention. The creature retreated towards the dense forest.

Without even giving it a second thought, the elf launched herself in pursuit. She leapt nimbly over the large roots of a tree, covered in ice and snow, Falon running beside her.

"Get him!" She ordered dryly to the mabari, who leapt past her.

A thud and a groan of pain signaled that the hound had gotten to its prey.

When she reached them, she stood petrified.

"Vhenan..."

Her knees hit the frozen ground painfully, unable to hold her anymore. In front of her, held under the weight of the mabari's, a figure with unmistakable blue eyes stared at her imploringly. Though his skin was dark and blotchy, a sickly purple hue, Aenor would have recognized that voice anywhere.

"Tamlen..."
Falon seemed to understand, releasing his prey.

"Vhenan, don't look at me..." He spoke as if he was no longer used to it, the sound that came out was scraping, even the blue eyes had lost their light, but it was undoubtedly him.

Paralyzed, she felt tears roll down her face, unable to stop them. "How..." she babbled, reaching out a hand toward him.

Tamlen drew back, as if startled, crawling through the snow. "Don't... don't come any closer!"

Aenor didn't understand. She blinked, staggering forward, grabbing his hand. It was so skinny and almost skeletal, the scaly skin so similar to that of the darkspawn, but she didn't let go.

"No! No!" Tamlen tried to struggle away, but the Warden's grip was like iron. "Get off me, I'm a monster!" He threw an inhuman cry, panicked. "The song, it wants me to kill you!"

She tried to pin him down, but he was surprisingly strong.

"I can't shut it up! I can hear it in my head..."

"Tamlen, please, we can help you-"

"No! No, no help! It's too late!" With a tug, he knocked her off managing to free himself. He stepped back on all fours, but a jet of light instantly immobilized him.

"Aenor, be careful!"

She turned sharply. Geralt, his breathing labored from running, held the magic staff pointed at them.

"Stop, don't hurt him!" She screamed, terrified, stepping between Tamlen and the mage. "I know him, he's my friend!"

The human paused for a second, looking at her, hesitant. "Whoever he was, he's a ghoul now...” He slightly lowered his weapon. "I'm sorry but-"

"No, there must be something we can do..."

"It's too late." Alistair had joined them, casting a sad glance over Tamlen. "The Taint has now taken hold of him. The only thing to do is-"

Aenor found herself back on her feet. "Don't you dare!" She growled beside himself, hand at the hilt of her weapon, stepping toward him. "Don't! We can cure him, like Duncan did to me!"

"Aenor..."
"Shut up!"

The slap echoed all around. Alistair brought a hand to his cheek, where Aenor's steel glove had wounded him. His eyes fixed on hers, full of sadness. The girl lifted her other hand to strike him again but then stood still, clenching it into a fist. She bit her lip, tears flowing profusely. "There has to be a way. Please."

"Even with the Wardens' ritual, it's too late."

She turned to Geralt then, pleading. "Some magic, some... You can use blood magic, I'll give you my blood, you can take it all-"

The mage shook his head, staring at the ground. “It doesn't work like that... It's too late for him, Aenor. I'm sorry.”

"Vhenan."
Her teary gaze settled on Tamlen. Immobilized by Geralt's rune, he blinked. "Vhenan, I can't do this anymore. Help me."

She crawled toward him, grabbing his face with both hands, shaking. "Tell me what I can do."

She already knew the answer. Tamlen smiled, sadly, as he covered hers with his hand. "Ma ghilana mir din'an, ma vhenan. Let me go."

"It was all my fault." She sobbed. "If we hadn't found that mirror, if I had stopped you..."

"The fault is mine. Please help me while I'm still me."

"If only I had come back for you sooner-"

He squeezed her gently. "I'm just glad I got you out of those ruins, vhenan. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you."

Aenor leaned her forehead against his as she grasped the hunting dagger with her free hand and, trembling, rested the tip against his chest, at heart level. "Ar lath ma, vhenan. Ma serannas."

He slumped against her as blood dripped down both of them, soaking her robes and armor. She clutched him tightly until her arms ached, sobbing.

May Falon'Din lead me soon to you, my love.

She kept helding Tamlen's body. The gasps ceased, the cold seeping into her bones. She suddenly felt someone put a cloak around her shoulders.

"We can't stay here, it's dangerous."

Alistair.
She sniffed, her voice struggling to come out. "Then go. I don't care."

"I'm sorry. But it was the right thing to do, there was no other way..."

She didn't answer. How could it be right? Tamlen had been looking for her for all that time and she hadn't been able to do anything to help him. She was alive because of him, he got her out of those ruins and... She just wanted to get it over with; she had no strength left.

"Get up." Geralt said to her. "There's nothing more you can do for him except give him a decent burial. If we stay here we'll be torn apart, and you won't have a chance to kill that damned Archdemon."
The Archdemon. If she had killed him, she would have prevented many others suffer the same fate, being taken by the Taint. The mirror was now destroyed, if they had stopped the Blight...

"I don't have a tree seed." She stammered after a long pause. The maple tree was Tamlen's favorite. With its red leaves and the sweet nectar the boy loved so much to gather from the bark. "I can't leave him here, I have to..." She rose to her feet, lifting his body, so light, too light to have belonged to the elf she hunted in the woods with only a few months before. Sh stumbled forward and it was only thanks to Alistair that she didn't collapse to the ground.

Not far away they found a large tree with sloping branches, touching the frozen pond beneath it.

Aenor knelt next to it, sliding Tamlen's body gently between the roots. She closed his eyes, stroking his cheek one last time. She took the knife and cut off a strand of her own black hair, placing it between his icy hands. "May Falon'Din guide me to you, when it is my turn." She said in Elven, before nodding to Geralt.

The mage gently tapped his staff on the ground and Tamlen began to sink into the roots and into the ground beneath, which closed over his body in swirls of stone and wood until he disappeared completely, swallowed beneath the great willow tree.

Aenor crumbled to the ground. "Go back to the others. I... need a moment."

She felt Geralt brush a hand over her shoulder, whispering something that she didn't even get before walking away.

Alistair stood still for a few seconds beside her. "Someone would have to stay, if you were attacked..."

Aenor didn't even have the strength to retort. She let him sit down beside her, she couldn't even stop the tears. She felt Falon's wet muzzle press into her hand and she passed an arm around the mabari's back, hiding her face in his fur.

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn found them already on their way.

No one had slept a wink after what had happened, so they managed to arrive at the gates of Ostagar's fortress in a short time.

Aenor walked at the head of the group, ignoring the strong wind and the snow that had begun to fall again.

"The walls have collapsed." She heard Alistair comment. "It'll be easier to get in that way, we'll just have to hide in the trees."

"They don't have very developed eyesight, they rely mostly on their sense of smell and hearing." Confirmed Duran as they advanced circumspectly towards the place where the key should have been buried in the rubble. "We should be out of here by nightfall, though."

"That's it, that's the one." Whispered Wynne, pointing to a pile of fallen stones at the foot of a statue broken in half.

Retrieving the key, they looked around.

"I never thought I'd come back here." Wynne commented.

"I believed him, you know?" Said Alistair, bending down to grab something on the ground. "That we would defeat the enemy in a glorious battle..." He stared down at the thing in his hands.

Aenor turned back to him. It was part of a shattered shield, the crest with the two rampant griffins stained with dry blood.

"All is not lost, Alistair." She managed to whisper.

"Yes, but I wish Duncan was here with us."

Duncan. Hearing that name, Aenor could feel the rage mounting inside her. If only he had put more effort into finding Tamlen, maybe he would be there with them now, another Grey Warden.

Before she could retort, she sensed darkspawn approaching.

Alistair drew his weapon and everyone rushed to do the same.

The confrontation that followed was brief. Evidently, there were only small groups of darkspawn left to guard the fortress: the bulk of the Archdemon's forces were busy destroying the entire country, scattered across the land.

"Look."
She turned to Alistair, who was pointing to the corpse of a Hurlock. "It's King Cailan's armor."

The shoulder straps were bruised and the buckles now worn and frayed, the breastplate ripped open to the point that only part of the royal insignia was still visible, but there was no doubt of it.

"We need to find those letters, Alistair." Elissa tried to prod him.

The Warden nodded but did not move, his gaze focused on the ground. "It is wrong, that it's here. Spoiled and stolen by the darkspawn It was his."

"He was not the first king to fall in battle, and he will not be the last." Wynne interjected.

"I know but..."

Aenor watched as Elissa approached the boy, raising a hand as if to brush his arm. Suddenly, Cousland seemed to reconsider, stopping short of him, her arm falling back along her side.

Alistair seemed not to notice. "Let's go."

They found Cailan's chest among the remains of the royal pavilion. They retrieved the documents and didn't even have time to look at them when they were attacked again.

They pushed back the enemies until the bridge on the cliff that connected the camp to the tower of Ishal. Aenor's memory of that night was still fresh, as were probably Alistair's and Wynne's. The flames roaring high into the sky, the darkspawn coming out of nowhere overwhelming them, the stench of blood and burning corpses, the walls crumbling down, the screams, the smoke.

Now, the white blanket of snow covered everything and their muffled footsteps were the only audible sound, only rubble and remains bearing witness to that terrible battle.

The elf remembered how speechless she had been, looking at the valley below them, the first time she had crossed the bridge that connected the two parts of the fortress.

Now, however, it was a far more brutal sight that took everyone's breath away: on a crude cross made of rotting wood hung a man, naked, his body disfigured and deformed by the blows he had received, his chest ripped open and a feast for the crows, hideous black birds sickened by the Taint.

That was all that was left of King Cailan Theirin.

Just a fool, betrayed by his own family and dead because of a childish dream.

Aenor did not give him a second glance but chose to give Alistair some time. He was still his half-brother, even if they had barely known each other....

Out of the corner of her eye, he saw movement at the opposite end of the bridge.

A Genlock was waving a stick above his head.

The skeletons next to them began to gasp, scrambling to their feet and slinging themselves at them.

They pushed them back, trying to advance towards Ishal's Tower.

"There's too many of them!" Geralt yelled at one point, hitting a couple of them with a fireball and sending them shattering to ash. Behind them there were more. "We have to get rid of the necromancer!"
They ran to the tower, knocking down the door with a stone fist cast by Wynne.

They chased the Genlock throughout the dungeons, fighting off reanimated corpses just when it was strictly necessary, preferring to trap them between floors and drop them into the chasms in the floor, their bones shattering when they hit the ground.

Finally outside, they found themselves right on the battlefield where so many Grey Wardens and the King himself had died, along with most of his guard.

A huge corpse stood out among the others: what was left of an Ogre, the largest they had ever seen, a sword and dagger sticking out of his chest, embedded in his ribcage. The Genlock necromancer moved his staff again and the Ogre gasped, his huge claws slicing through the air.

"Oh no you don't!"

A rune of paralysis pinned the Genlock in place, preventing him from completing the spell.

Aenor charged at him, chopping off his head. Satisfied, she sheathed her sword, thanking Geralt with a nod.

"We have those documents, now let's go bury that foolish king."

She received bewildered looks in response.

"Actually, the Andrastians burn their dead..." Geralt managed to say.

The elf shrugged. "Same thing, you know what I meant..."

"Alistair?"
She watched Elissa look at Alistair with concern.

The boy had climbed with difficulty over the Ogre's corpse and pulled out the two blades sticking out of the beast. He jumped down, showing them to the rest of the group. "These were Duncan's."

"Do you think his body could be here, too?" Elissa asked hesitantly.

The other looked around, his eyes teary. "I don't think so. In any case, we can't linger too long, he wouldn't want us putting ourselves in danger over something like this."

Unexpectedly, it was Duran who approached him, nodding solemnly. "The Grey Wardens die alone, surrounded by the darkspawn. He fought and died honorably, killing an Ogre like that. Take his sword with you, it'll aid you in future battles."

Alistair lowered his head, stroking the red steel blade with his fingertips. He then removed his own from its scabbard, replacing it with Duncan's. After a moment's hesitation, he handed the dagger to Aenor. "I know you still haven't forgiven him for making you a Grey Warden, but it's a good weapon and he would have wanted to stay with the Wardens."

The elf was surprised. She was sure he'd cry, but instead there was only a firm determination in Alistair's eyes, and that was what made her accept the dagger, despite everything.

"Now let's return to the King."

Aenor nodded, following him.

Chapter 23: Korkari Wilds

Summary:

After having found some possibile reasons for Loghain's betrayal of the late King, Elissa has a talk with Wynne about feelings, responsabilities and regrets.
Aenor then heads to Flemeth's to retrieve Asha'Bellanar's true grimoire for Morrigan.

Chapter Text

They laid the King's body on the frozen ground.

"I'm sorry we can't prepare a pyre, as it would be proper." Alistair stared at his half-brother, his face in shadow. "On the other hand, if we lit a fire they'd be upon us in no time." He took a few steps away from the body as Wynne thumped her staff three times on the ground.

A series of concentric circles opened on the ground, engulfing King Cailan Theirin between the stones of the ancient fortress of Ostagar.

"When we'll have defeated the Archdemon, we'll come back and give him a funeral worthy of a King. For now, this will keep the darkspawn away." The mage said solemnly.

When will it be?

Elissa could barely contain the despondency that had pervaded her as soon as they had approached the fortress. An army of thousands had been blown away like leaves in the wind, how were they going to win with a country divided by civil war and so many dead soldiers?

Fergus.

Fergus too had been killed there and now he probably lay with the other corpses, or worse, he had been dragged into the tunnels underground by those monsters, an anonymous corpse among thousands of others. Her brother, the only family that she had thought still alive after escaping Highever. Now, looking down at the death-strewn valley below them, she was certain: she would never see him again.

Cookie rubbed his wet nose against her hand.

"I know. I miss him, too."

They hit the road again.

 

 

 

 

Before darkness fell, they had managed to get far enough away from Ostagar to set up camp. Mindful of the previous night, they established guard shifts of three at a time.

As they ate the supplies in their backpacks, Elissa pulled out the documents found in the King's chest. They were three letters, one of which appeared particularly crumpled.
"This is from Empress Celene Valmont of Orlais."

"The Empress?" Alistair exclaimed.

"According to this, her Chevaliers were to arrive accompanied by the orlesians Grey Wardens."

"Typical Orlesian, breaking promises!" He blurted. "I bet they'd gladly see Ferelden destroyed, just to try and grab at least a piece of it."

Elissa, as much as she too had her doubts, shook her head. "She seems sincerely intent on an alliance with King Cailan."

The Warden grabbed the letter, rereading it several times in disbelief. "You may be right..."

"There is more." She read, taking the second scroll. "This one is from Arl Eamon."

"The Arl never made it to Ostagar with his men, the King chose not to wait that long." Wynne interjected, approaching them. "Teyrn Loghain and all his advisors were against it, of course, but the King was as brave as he was foolhardy."

"He speaks not only of the battle but of his concern for the absence of an heir, should Ferelden be left without a King." Elissa handed the other two the papers. "He suggests setting Queen Anora aside and speaks of a discussion that has already taken place between him and the King on the subject."
"Loghain must have read this and decided to kill him to prevent that!"

"That's not all, Alistair." She handed him the last letter, another missive from Empress Celene, written in a suspiciously informal tone.

Silence fell, as the other two read the words written in golden ink, the lettering pompous and fluttering.
"I believe the Empress had a precise plan as to how to annex Ferelden to the Empire." Elissa commented, disgust clear in her tone. "Loghain must have gotten his hands on the letters, and decided to stop Cailan from destroying everything he and King Maric had fought for."
"By killing his nephew, his King!" Alistair hissed.

Elissa didn't flinch. "A man who was about to repudiate his daughter, in the name of an alliance with our country's worst enemy. An alliance that would place on King Maric Theirin's throne the fruit of a marriage to a Valmont of Orlais."

"Are you taking his side?!"

I'm most certainly not!" She lost her patience. "I'm just saying that I now understand why he betrayed the King! He couldn't have done it lightly, Alistair, he was still his best friend's son."

"Such a good friend he was! And you are defending him!"

The girl suppressed the instinct to slam her foot down, standing up in a huff, furious. "You don't understand a damn thing." She went to sit on the opposite side of the camp, her back to the Warden.

Duran said nothing to her, but handed her a flask.

She was surprised but accepted gladly, thanking him.

"No problem, I think we all need a bit."

She took a sip. The liquid ran hot down her throat, triggering a cough. "What is that?" She managed to mumble after struggling to catch her breath.

"Hirol's lava burst. Amazing how on the surface it can be found more easily than in Orzammar..."

Elissa hastened to return his flask, solemnly swearing to herself that she would never again accept a drink from a dwarf'.

"So, what's between you and the Warden?"

She cast a resentful glance over her shoulder. "I didn't want to argue."

"Sometimes it is necessary to raise one's voice, to be heard."

"It's not exactly my style."

"I noticed that." The dwarf took three long sips from his flask, unblinking. "Nonetheless, you have to break some rock to see the silver vein."

She looked at him, confused.

"What I mean is, the boy really needs to get his act together. He's only seeing what he wants to, and he's acting like a bronto, running straight ahead to his own conclusions, not listening to others."

"He's also under a tremendous amount of responsibility..."

"Sure. And the fact that our only Wardens don't agree on almost anything certainly doesn't make their lives any easier. But they should both blunt their positions, especially if they really want to lead an army against the Blight."

Elissa nodded. Duran was right, but after all who among them would be able to handle such a task? On their shoulders rested the weight of an entire nation, and they were both so young. She felt a tightening in her stomach, followed by guilt. Alistair already had so much on his plate and she had made it worse by putting herself in the middle of it, letting her feelings get the best of her.

Since she'd run off after kissing him, the boy's demeanor had been colder and more aloof in the first few days, but slowly he'd become his usual self again, even if something between them seemed irrevocably changed.

"I just wish..." She clutched at her cloak, searching for the right words, in vain.

Duran nodded as if he understood, without adding more. "Well, I guess I'll go close my eyes, we'll have another good march in the snow tomorrow." He announced, a look of disgust as he glanced around. It was clear how the outside weather did not make him comfortable.

Elissa stood alone contemplating the woods around them, lost in thoughts.

"Hot tea?"

She looked up at Wynne, a steaming mug in her hand. She nodded, grateful, as the mage sat down beside her.

"Your thoughts on Loghain are well-founded, you know. Alistair's hatred toward the regent doesn't make him see reason. He lost someone important to him in Ostagar, and the scars are too fresh."

"Duncan... what was he like?" Elissa asked, curious about the man who had made Alistair a Warden.

"I barely knew him, so I can't really say, but he was an honorable person. He tried to convince the King to go into battle with caution, to pay no heed to the old tales of heroes and griffins, but young men are reckless and unwise."

"Aenor mentioned how she was forcibly conscripted into the Grey Wardens."

"Yes, it is within a Warden's abilities to be able to conscript anyone into their ranks, from simple commoners to kings and queens. It's not a method they use often, as you can easily imagine, but when they find someone with special abilities that could greatly benefit the Order, they are able to override any other law and conscript even against the recruit's wishes."

"That sounds horrible." Replied the girl after a brief pause. To be forcibly taken from one's home, forced to face those monsters for the rest of one's life.... "Alistair told me that Duncan had used the Right of Conscription to take him away from the Templars, against the wishes of the Revered Mother and the Commander. He was glad to leave that life, though."

“Sometimes the Right serves its purpose... sometimes it does not, and it is just an excuse.” Wynne cast a resentful glance over Geralt, who was sitting beside Aenor in complete silence. “But most of the times it is used for good. Unfortunately, there's need for more heroes than there are volunteers these days, and commanders have to make some tough choices when needed." Said Wynne. "And a Warden, like a king and many others, don't have the luxury of giving in to feelings."

Elissa felt her cheeks flush. She hoped that in the dim light of the small bluish flames lit by the mage, she wouldn't notice. "I know."

"I was young once, too, though you wouldn't think so. I know how easy it is to fall in love with someone, even when our reason suggests otherwise. The heart is capricious but in many cases it is necessary to harness it." She spoke as if she was brooding over something which had happened long ago. Elissa knew that the relationships in the Circles were frowned upon, but she had never been interested enough to ask the mages directly, also because very few mages were allowed the freedom to roam around. They were dangerous if left out of the Templars' vigilant control, and the blood mage who traveled with them was proof of that, even if he was helping them.

"Have you ever fallen in love with someone to the point of imagining a different life for a moment? To want to escape, even for a little while, from reality?"

The elder woman smiled softly, a melancholy look in her eyes. "A long time ago, when I was young and reckless."

"You're still a little reckless, traveling with us."

Wynne chuckled, resuming the tale. "As you may know, relationships between mages are not encouraged, least of all marriage, because they would most likely produce children with magical abilities. And any children of mages residing in a Circle are raised by the Chantry and, if capable of using magic, sent to a different Circle that that of their parents."

Elissa finally realized what must have happened. "Did they take your child away?"

The mage simply nodded. "It was for his own good but his father tried to talk me out of it, raised a fuss about sending the child to his sister's family, at least for the first few years..."

"Was the father a mage?"

"No, he wasn't. And perhaps that made the years that followed even more difficult. After being removed from the Tower for a year, he came back a different, colder man. I don't think he ever forgave me for not fighting for our child, but I knew it was the right choice. I still do.”

Silence fell. Elissa couldn't even imagine how much willpower it took to let go of her own child, to never see him again knowing he was in the hands of strangers. "Have you not kept in touch?"

Wynne shook her head. "What good would that do? I would only bring him more pain, he is now a Senior Enchanter of a prestigious Circle as well, there is no need to reopen old wounds."

The girl bit her tongue. It wasn't fair, maybe her son would want to know something about his origins. To know that he had family somewhere. However, it was none of her business and Wynne seemed to be suffering enough without her prodding her.

"I know this sounds absurd and selfish of me."

Elissa shook her head. "It's not my place to judge you."

The mage chuckled. "You are so polite! In my day, I would have yelled and stomped my feet, being lectured by a nagging old woman."

“I would never call you that!"

They both giggled.

"I noticed the looks between you and Alistair." Continued the elderly woman. "And, if I may say so, I think you're doing the right thing. You both have too many responsibilities to allow yourselves to fall in love so light-heartedly."

Elissa looked away, drinking what was left of the tea. "What if I don't always want to do the right thing?" She thought back to Alistair's soft lips, his strong back, the muscular arms that had held her for a moment, his musky scent....

"I know this may sound ruthless of me, but love is a luxury none of you can afford. Love is selfish, and it dictates that you choose the other above all else. It takes over your mind and heart, preventing you from focusing on your duties. You may be faced with difficult choices and it will be much harder if one of you is personally involved."

Her words were harsh, but Elissa knew it was the truth. Wynne only wanted to protect them, while there was still time, from ending up in a situation similar to what had happened to her.

"That's just my advice, though." Wynne concluded bitterly. "The final say is up to you, but you seem mature enough to understand the dangers you face."

"No, you're right." Reluctantly admitted the girl. "If we had been two different people, perhaps in times of peace..." She shook her head. "No, what am I thinking. I always knew I would marry someone of noble birth, and a Grey Warden would never be considered, even if an illegitimate child of a King. And in my current situation, I am the last of the Couslands. It is up to me to carry on my family name and take back what is mine. Alistair has an important task, but the Archdemon is not the only thing threatening Ferelden, and the best way to establish an alliance between the noble houses has always been marriage. She realized with dismay how much she sounded like her mother. She had always dreamed of marrying for love with a son of some noble allied house, throwing a big party where her father would have given her to her future husband with a smile on his face, surrounded by their families.

Now, what probably awaited her was a marriage based on convenience while the man she loved, even if he'd survive the Blight, would have left for who knows where in the service of the Grey Wardens, never to see her again.

With a lump in her throat she turned back to Alistair, who obliviously had gone to sleep, buried under the blankets he'd wrapped himself in, snoring lightly. "It's the right thing to do." She repeated, more to herself than to Wynne.

"I've scolded you enough for tonight, I'm going to get some rest."

She watched the mage walk away. Soon, silence fell.

Across the field, she met Aenor's gaze, the elf's green eyes reflecting the light of the magical flames.

Sten, who was on guard with them, had his back to her, motionless.

A rustle jolted her, but from the treetops hovered a bird, skeletal and sickly looking.

She hoped the night would pass quickly; she couldn't wait to get away from the woods.

 

 

 

 

The next day, they set out at dawn, hoping by evening to reach the main road to Redcliffe.

Around noon, Aenor announced that she would be taking a detour.

"Are you crazy?" Alistair exclaimed.

"I have to take care of something." It was the only answer they could get out of her, and the elf was adamant. The other Warden's attempts to reason with her were useless; it seemed that the darkspawn-infested Wilds were of no concern to her at all. She only allowed Geralt and Sten to accompany her and, after announcing that she would shortly be joining them in Redcliffe, she walked away without saying goodbye.

"I should have stopped her."

"Alistair, for the umpteenth time, there was nothing you could have done."

"I could have picked her up and dragged her all the way to Redcliffe."

Elissa repressed the instinct to roll her eyes. "She probably would have ripped your arm off. With her teeth. Not to mention Falon would not have liked that."

The Warden let out a heartbroken groan. "She'll get into trouble. She always does. We won't see her again. She's probably planning to fight Archdemon head-on."

"Alistair, have a little faith. She did pretty well in Haven." Wynne tried to comfort him.

"So you're perfectly fine knowing she's traveling with a murderous Qunari a blood mage"

"As much as I hate to admit it, she seems to be getting along well with those two. Besides, you gave her the lead, don't you remember?" The mage reprimanded him.

"And even if she hadn't, I doubt Aenor would have let anyone boss her around..." Elissa mumbled, loud enough for her companions to hear her.

Duran chuckled. "From what I could see, the girl's tough. Stop worrying, she'll be fine."

"I just don't understand where she went! What could there be in the Wilds that's so important?"

"Maybe there's some elven ruins or something."

Alistair gave her a skeptical look. "Yeah, archaeology seems like a good reason to put the Blight on hold..."
Elissa shrugged. "Whatever it is, she's already gone after it. She'll come back, like before."

Alistair muttered something, grimly, but let the conversation drop.

 

 

 


 

 

 

"You're telling we're going to see a witch who's over a few hundreds years old and is potentially immortal, to politely ask her to drop her plans regarding her eternal life and also handing over her grimoire?" Geralt asked, dismayed.

Aenor snorted audibly. "Yeah."

"You do realize that's crazy, don't you?"

"Tell you what, no one asked you to come. I could have gone by myself, but you guys insisted on accompanying me. So if you've changed your mind, you can still join the others. Otherwise, take a cue from Sten and be quiet. We're in a forest full of darkspawn, not in Tower's the dining room." She replied sourly.

"I have no intentions of traveling alone with those..." Geralt mumbled. It was a crazy idea, though. Flemeth, that witch whom even he heard something about in old childish tales about the Wilds, would violently tear them apart without even letting them finish a greeting. And even in the best case scenario, if it were true that after the battle of Ostagar she had taken the trouble to save the two Wardens, she would have torn him and the Qunari to pieces anyway.

Not that he cared much for the silent and hostile brute, in fact in any other situation he would have welcomed its execution with relief and, why not, satisfaction, but in the midst of the Korkari Wilds surrounded by darkspawn, mythological witches, awful mud pools and overgrown rotting animals walking by, he had to admit that an extra sword could be of some use. Albeit held by a fanatically brainwashed Qunari who hated magic and all mages with even a modicum of personal initiative.

"And by the way, do it for the grimoire."

If it was possible for humans, he would have raised his ears. "You mean I can take a look at it?"

Aenor nodded, "Of course. Before Morrigan finds out, obviously, but since I don't really trust her that much I want you to find out what she's up to. Meanwhile, I'm also curious about Asha'Bellanar, but I don't think I'm gonna understand any of it..."

Flemeth's actual grimoire!? Just that little book alone that he'd been studying for weeks had been stunning, but getting his hands on her actual spellbook... Geralt's fingers tingled at the very thought. Who knew what ancient spells, feared and forbidden by the Chandry, he could have learned? He wouldn't even have to ask again Morrigan to teach him how to shape-shift. And maybe he'd find a way to improve his blood magic, or something to help him fend off the demons that annoyingly pestered him every night.

"Don't get too excited, bookworm."

"Books are useful." He retorted piqued. Even at the Tower, where everyone was more or less an avid scholar, they had often made fun of him for spending too many hours studying, even to the point of falling asleep on some large tome on the library tables. Niall sometimes called him that.

“Well, I wouldn't know about it, would I?"

You idiot! Geralt scolded himself for accidentally insulting Aenor again about her illiteracy. “Reading it's not so difficult, you know, I could teach you the basics after we'll have solved this Blight mess...” He mumbled.

“Won't you be too busy flying off to Tevinter with your friend?” She asked, seemingly attempting a smile but failing.

"I don't think he... I mean, we'll see. There will be time for both things, I guess." Geralt mumbled. "But thank you for trusting me enough with that. Morrigan wouldn't like it."

"Well, I wouldn't trust you either if you were in her situation, but I've saved your ass several times and you still need me, so I think I'm pretty safe." Aenor explained candidly. "And no one in their right mind would blindly trust Morrigan, as much as I like her."

"You're loud." The Qunari reprimanded them, breaking his silence. "The darkspawn here must be deaf to not have heard your chatting yet.."

He was right.

They proceeded without a word for the rest of the afternoon, until the light went out. Geralt was now losing hope of getting some rest, when Aenor suddenly froze.

Falon, beside her, was pointing his nose up.

The mage moved a little closer, brightening a bit the light from his magic staff. There was a raven skull, two feathers attached to the base, dangling from the branch of a tree.

"Please tell me it's a savage way to give welcome to passerby's."

Yet another snort from the Warden. "It means we're almost there. Stay close to me, the trail goes into the swamps." Without further explaination, she confidently walked to the left of the tree, where the raven's beak pointed.

They continued on for a while, the elf making her way through the hanging skulls which were gradually becoming more and more disturbing. The last ones were clearly human. At one point, after a bend, they saw a light reflecting off the surface of the marsh.

"I don't know which is more ominous, the skulls or the cabin in the swamp..."

"For someone who couldn't wait to get out of his cage, you complain a lot.” Aenor cut him off. “Now, let me do the talking. I have no idea how she's going to react."

Badly. Geralt thought. Of course she was the one talking to the Witch, he had no death wish! "And here I was, hoping the Qunari was going to show off his singing skills and convince her to like us!" He whispered. Sten turned to shoot a glacial glance at him, narrowing his eyes.

The Witch of the Wilds had noticed the visitors' arrival, for a figure stood out in the mist, the silhouette dark from the light cast from the window behind her.

As they approached further, Geralt had to restrain himself from cursing. "Is that supposed to be Flemeth?!" He thought looking at the leather dress and light armor, the generous cleavage of a woman younger then she was supposed to be, the hair pulled back in four spikes on her head to resemble a dragon. He realized he was expecting another Wynne.

He saw Falon stiffen, ears pulled back in fear.

"Ah, I see the Warden returns to old Asha'bellanar." The witch greeted them, a fierce smile on her face. "Are you going to speak in a civil manner, or shall we dance with blades and fire?"

"Ara seranna-ma, Asha'bellanar. We come in peace, for I have no will to fight you. I have questions, and a favor to ask."

The corners of the woman's mouth bent even further, giving him goosebumps. "Then come in, Aenor of the Dalish. You and your companions are welcome, for the time being."

Once inside the hut, Geralt had to admit he had expected something more. It was a simple wooden cottage, with many herbs hanging to dry and a pot placed over crackling embers.

"Come on in, I had just set up for a few guests."

No one bothered to ask how she knew this. Perhaps, Geralt thought, she had followed them all that time, even when they were in Ostagar, taking the form of some animal just like her daughter would.

He sniffed the soup, circumspectly, but as soon as he saw Aenor tasting it he convinced himself that there was nothing to fear, at least from the dinner. It was in fact a simple concoction of vegetables, but it warmed his limbs and filled his stomach. He was actually happy to finally have something other than dried meat, bread and cheese.

He noticed that Sten, on the other hand, was not touching any of the food, refusing to fill his bowl with soup or even touch the water offered to them.

Falon, at Aenor's feet, was gnawing on a carcass of some animal.

"Morrigan says the secret to your long life is to possess the body of your daughters."

Geralt nearly choked on his soup. He coughed, trying to catch his breath, cursing the elf's total lack of tact and timing.

Flemeth burst out laughing, a sound that made his skin crawl. "Is that so? And how would she come to that conclusion?"

"We found some of your writings in the mage's Tower."

I found it. Geralt thought punctiliously. He had been the one to take advantage of thecommotion to sneak into the study of that obnoxious First Enchanter and snatch up anything that might be useful.

"Ah, so it was in Kinloch Hold? I suppose it was you then who found it. Curious, a blood mage from the Circle, I thought they'd killed them all off lately..."

He swallowed dryly, the witch's yellow eyes fixed in his. He nodded, not quite sure what to do. She didn't seem hostile, however, so much as amused. "Not all of them, just the idiots."

"That is to be seen... So, dear Morrigan got her hands on it, drew her own conclusions and found a goon to do the dirty work for her." Flemeth continued. "You are indeed here to kill me, Warden, yet you say you come in peace."

Aenor placed the spoon back into the now empty bowl, a determined expression on her face. "I owe you my life, as much as that bothers me. I have not come to kill you, as I said, only to talk."

"Ah, but does it bother you being in debt of your life, or being alive?" Giggled the witch. "You have a different look from the last time our paths met, Warden, but the shadow in your eyes is the same."

The elf did not reply.

Geralt watched her more closely, his stomach tightening. Was that worry he was feeling? What an odd sensation to feel toward a stranger...

"Well, you've come this far, ask what you need. But I do not guarantee the answers you seek."

A pause followed, during which the mage hurriedly drank the rest of the soup, fearing that they would soon be cast off or turned into creepy swamp signage.

"I don't know if you can actually take possession of Morrigan's body." Aenor began. "You knew perfectly well where your book was, and if it was so important to you or if it contained information so precious to maintain your eternal life, you'd found a way to retrieve it from the Tower. I also think you anticipated Morrigan learning about the ritual, you just wanted to know how she would react. In fact," she corrected himself, "maybe you were curious as to how I would react as well."

"Ah, you think yourself so important?" The witch sneered at her.

The elf shrugged. "Important enough to be one of the only two Grey Wardens you saved from the massacre. You needed us, or at least you needed some Wardens, and I'm what you got.”

"Maybe I only need one."

It was Aenor's turn to laugh. "Alistair? He couldn't find his own foot in a boot. You expect him to be able to raise an army and defeat the Blight all by himself?"

Flemeth looked pleased. "We seem to have reached a stalemate, then, Warden. Now, it's up to you. What are you going to do? Believe Morrigan and help your companion to get rid of her mother? Or make her think you killed me, take the grimoire and go on your way to fulfill your duty?"

"I can't leave until I have answers. And you cannot afford to kill me."

"Answers, is that what you want? There are a lot of answers for infinite questions in life, Warden."

"You will not confuse me with words. Let us speak plainly, or there can only be two outcomes: first, you kill me and your plan, whatever that is, is ruined; second, we kill you and you waste a lot of time coming back to life." Aenor looked her straight in the eyes. "Because I'm sure you have some other way to survive besides using Morrigan, you're Asha'Bellanar."

The witch bowed her head to one side, a slight smile curling her lips. "Bird of Prey, if the Dalish all had your spirit perhaps your old empire would still be yours. So be it, we will speak plainly." She turned to Geralt and Sten, her eyes narrowed to slits. "But our talk is not for everyone's ears. Come on, go get some fresh air and new wood for the fire and perhaps I'll allow you to stay the night.”

Geralt stood up sharply, nodding and forcing himself out of the hut though curiosity had taken hold of him like woodworms in some old bookcase. Who knows what they would discuss in there...

He could only hope that Aenor would relay at least a little of the conversation to him.

"Do you think she'll come out of it?" He asked Sten as they walked to the back of the hut.

The Qunari gave him an indecipherable look, not dignifying him with an answer.

"Excuse me if I'm a little worried about the Warden's safety and ours... after all, it's just a powerful and centuries old Witch of the Wilds' toes we're stepping on."

“It is ridiculous that she was allowed to exist all of this time." Sten retorted. "You southerners..." He didn't finish the sentence but the contempt in his voice said it all. Clearly, nothing about that situation sat well with him. He'd probably much rather have attacked the witch without even letting her speak, in the manner of those uncouth Qunari savages. Very similar to the Templars, in fact.

He shuddered at the thought of a Qunari Templar. Such levels of fanaticism and bigotry should never meet, that'd be the true abomination!

At least an hour passed by, in which Geralt lit a small fire to keep himself warm, trusting that no creature would ever approach that place, darkspawn or not. Then, the door to the hut opened again.

"Come in." Flemeth greeted them.

The mage approached quietly, afraid of what he would find inside. He let out a sigh of relief as he saw Aenor sitting by the fire, a large black leather book bound in gold on her lap. He had to curb his enthusiasm, forcing his eyes away from the heavy tome, so eager he was to jump in and read it.

"You may stay here for the night, but at dawn you will leave. This is our last meeting, Warden." Geralt had the horrible feeling that Flemeth's gaze had rested a moment too long on him, but he chased the foreboding away, pulling the bedroll for the night out of his backpack.

How he could have fallen asleep, with the idea of having that grimoire just a few steps away from him, was a mystery.

 

 

 


The next morning, Flemeth was nowhere to be found.

They hurriedly gathered their belongings, anxious to get out of there, and retraced their path through the swamp. It wasn't until they were a few hours away from the hut and the eerie signal skulls that Geralt dared to utter a word.

"So, what did you speak about?"

"Not much, and even less that concerns you personally. But you'd better hurry if you want to read this before we get to Redcliffe." Aenor pulled the grimoire out of her backpack, handing it to him. "It's Morrigan's when we get there, but there's plenty of time. Just let me know if you find anything worth my ear.”

Geralt nodded, quivering with excitement. He didn't even try to find out more about the conversation the two of them had had, putting off all the questions buzzing around in his head until after he read the book. He quickly flipped through the pages, his heart pounding with excitement seeing all those formulas and incantation written in the tiny, neat handwriting he had learned to read to perfection. It was clearly made to pass along a bit of Flemeth's knowledge to her daughter, but he had a feeling the Witch of the Wilds knew he would too take a peek.

He stumbled over a root, almost falling to the ground.

Aenor, grabbing him by the arm, looked frowning at him. "Don't get killed by a book, shemworm."

Reluctantly, Geralt stowed the grimoire in his backpack. He couldn't wait to set up camp for the night; perhaps he'd ask for more time, slowing their journey to Redcliffe...

A churning in his stomach reminded him of how ridiculous he'd made himself in front of Jowan, and of the possibility that his friend might never want to see him again. The fact that he was the only one who could get him out of the Arl's prison, and therefore Jowan needed him to survive, was a meager consolation.

He'd been a huge idiot. How could he have blurted it out like that, exposing himself so embarrassingly?

For years he'd mulled over the best way to reveal his feelings to his friend, but none of those included calling him an idiot and coming out with a 'I fucking love you!' and then running off like a little boy. I ruined everything.

He wondered what Jowan thought of that. Was he going to let it go, pretend nothing had happened and then go on his way as soon as he was free? Or would he have confronted him head on, calling him a bastard, perhaps believing that he had orchestrated a plan to get that Chantry cow sent to Aeonar and get her off his back, then have Jowan all to himself once they escaped the tower?

Maybe he was being paranoid.

If he knew him well, he would have asked for an explanation a couple of times and that would have been it, or better yet, he would have dropped the matter forever, being uncomfortable in his presence and taking the first opportunity to slip away...

He sighed sadly, risking stumbling for the umpteenth time.

Chapter 24: Orzammar - Diamond Quarter

Summary:

The entire party finally gets to Orzammar.
Duran Aeducan dives right into politics and planning of his revenge, while Natia looks way less eager to go back home.

Chapter Text

"We'll find the pass closed by snow if we keep going this slow."

"Come on, your haughtiness, stop being such an optimist!"

Duran frowned, realizing only later that Brosca, under the furry hood, would never, ever be able to see his scowl. He then decided to ignore her. His strength was all focused on not sinking into the piles of snow that reached almost to his waist, cursing the surface and its weather.

Once he had got his throne back and helped the Ferelden deal with the Blight, he would never set foot outside again, he swore to himself.

The road the wagons usually traveled had been closed, and a dwarven-managed checkpoint regulated passage to the main entrance of Orzammar. The city, as far as they had heard from the rumors on the road, was in chaos, Bhelen's supporters terrorizing and swarming the districts while Harrowmont's forces struggled to keep the peace.

They had decided to avoid the main road, leaving their horses in the last human village at the foothills of the mountains, making their way on foot over the smugglers' and shepherds' trails so that his brother would not be alerted in advance of his arrival by the lookouts posted on guard.

He would march through the main entrance and reach Harrowmont's estate, escorted by two Grey Wardens, and dare anyone to stop him. Not even that tezpadam Bhelen would be so foolishly hot-headed to openly attack Grew Wardens in the Diamond Quarter "And if he were stupid enough to try anyway, well, too bad for him."

Duran looked around with a grin, pleased with the company he was traveling with: in addition to the two Wardens, Lady Cousland was an accomplished warrior, not to mention the deadly Qunari, while Leliana's arrows never missed their target. Even Brosca was a formidable secret weapon: no one would have expected anything from a brand, but Duran remembered perfectly well how the dwarf had given him a hard time at the Provings, and since then Natia had only gotten better. On Zevran and Kallian, he still had no clear judgment. It was true that the assassin was good with knives and poisons, but his head seemed to have taken on too much air, while as for the elf with the strange scars he still didn't understand what was driving her to travel with them. The three mages, on the other hand, were an unknown variable: while the dwarves were generally resistant to magic, they knew almost nothing about it, so they could be easily taken by surprise.

"How far underground exactly is Orzammar?"

He almost burst out laughing at the sight of the elf's worried expression. "Enough to make all this snow seem like a bad dream, Warden."

Aenor didn't look please at all.

"Look, having solid rock above your head is a lot safer than not having it."

"Not in my experience."

Intrigued, he tried to glean a little more information. After all, they didn't have much else to do besides keep walking.

She frowned. "I don't like caves, especially when they're full with fanatics or giant spiders."

He burst out laughing. "I can guarantee you that at least in the city there won't be any spider bigger than my fist. About fanatics, though... Can't assure you anything."

"Do you also have some cult that worships dragons?"

"No, Warden, we don't worship gods or burned women like you do on the surface. The only thing that matters underground is the Stone."

She looked puzzled. "The Stone?"

How to explain that? How to make a surfaceer, with her head always in the clouds, understand the very essence of the earth, the living, beating heart of the world?

"The Stone is what protects us. It nourishes us and guides us, offers us precious gems and metals. We are born from the Stone, and to the Stone we return once we die, to guide new generations."

"Not all of them."

They both turned toward the newcomer.

"Brosca, there's no need to-"

The casteless woman gave one of her best sneers. "Oh, sure, let's sell Orzammar as the brightest of gems! There is absolutely nothing wrong with the caste system."

"It's called tradition, Brosca, there are some things you can't change with a swipe of a pickaxe." He restrained himself from adding more. Sure, Natia had proven to be a good ally and no one on the surface was paying attention to her tattoos, but brands like her down in Orzammar were barely tolerated. And more than often for very good reason.

"That's shit. And so is spitting on the surfacers despite the fact that trade in the capital lives on because of the dwarves who chose to live up here."

"Hey, hold your halla, I'm not following!" Blurted the Warden, raising her voice. "I don't get any of this, and if we're going to be stuck in Orzammar for some time, I need to know a bit about it."

Duran scratched his beard. To an outsider, the rigid caste system would have sounded like madness, especially for someone used to living in the woods with no fixed abode.

"I'll explain it to you, your haughtiness." Brosca offered. "In short, the nobles of the high castes stay in their golden palaces, the working caste live in the Commons and all of us who are born wrong can either crawl under a rock to starve, or churn out nugs to the slaughter to be sent to die in the Deep Roads. Such a charming place Orzammar is, isn't it?"

Aenor Mahariel of the Grey Wardens looked shocked.

“The situation is not exactly as she describes it..." Duran tried to retort, irritated by the description of his beloved city. "The Caste system works for most of its issues, it maintains control and gives everyone a role in society. If criminals are the way they are, it's not the system's fault."

"How can we not be criminals, if we are born already branded as such?"

"Brosca, I don't want to argue over-"

"That's terrible!" The Warden interrupted them. "How can you live in such a place! And why would you ever want to go back, then, Natia?"

Indeed, Duran realized, it made no sense for Brosca to want to return to Orzammar. She was still a wanted criminal, with nothing to gain and everything to lose.

He looked at the casteless woman, waiting for an answer.

"It's not so bad if you can make something out of it... You get by, if you're good enough." Natia muttered. "Besides, while I'm traveling with you I'll be able to check on my sister. I left her with that jerk Leske, but I don't trust him that much."

"Brosca, if you get caught you'll be mutilated and decapitated."

She gave him a defiant look. "You think I don't know that?"

"I'm just saying-"

"You make sure you get your ass on that throne, I've always done just fine on my own." She cut short, turning around and walking to the back of the group.

"Still sounds like a horrible place."

Duran sighed, not knowing what to reply to Aenor. "Described that way, Orzammar must sound like a nightmare to you. And she didn't say anything about the nobles' constant power plays and the rivalry between the castes.... But, Warden, Orzammar is more than a few assemblies of politicians and brawls in the streets. Our civilization dates back thousands of years, to the days of the greatest empire you can imagine. Our cities were rich and commerce was thriving, the Deep Roads ran from the far North to Ferelden, from Orlais to Free Marches, when all the surface was still under the rule of the Tevinters. We had one of the most powerful kingdoms in history."

"And now, it's just a city?"

Duran nodded, "More or less. The first Blight hit us first and we were forced to abandon most of our empire, and then shut down the Deep Roads for good. First up north, then... all over.”

"But aren't you formidable warriors, especially against darkspawn?"

The prince almost smiled at the naivety of that question. "I'd like to think that we are, very much so, but the truth is that there are few us left, too few to counterattack effectively. Our army doesn't have enough warriors and so does the Legion of the Dead. Fewer and fewer children are being born in Orzammar to train for combat, while the darkspawn seems to have no end."

"And can people like Natia join the army or the Legion?"

"Only the Legion. It is one of the few things allowed to them by law. But those who do so aren't many and usually because they have no other choice: people condemned to exile, or members of some ruined household, all those who generally have nothing left to lose. Even desperate people like the casteless aren't lining up to join the army of the dead."

"It doesn't make any sense. Why not make them work like everyone else, if you haven't many people like it was before?"

Duran scratched his beard. "It's complicated to explain, but it just can't be. There are laws that prevent casteless people from handling weapons or making them work alongside miners, or blacksmiths, or simple manual laborers. It would be degrading to those who take pride in their caste's work and place in society."

“So they join the Carta and start stealing and smuggling." Aenor retorted.

Duran shrugged. "That is the way thing are."

"You're going to do something about it, aren't you? Once you become King."

He peered into the elf's inquisitive eyes. He could almost feel the anger the girl had inside her, but he had no answers for her. "I will surely change some things, but Orzammar is like a stubborn old bronto, hard to be led out to pasture among tunnels he does not know."

"Then drag it, as any creature too stupid to understand the right way to do things."

He laughed, imagining the entire Deshyr Assembly being bound and prodded into accepting the casteless as citizens. "I think a little more diplomacy will be needed."

It was the Warden's turn to smile. "I thought you'd pick an axe over pretty words..."

"And that was true when I was just a warrior, a general in my father's army. But if I killed the entire Assembly I'd have a revolt on my hands. Nevertheless, rest assured that my axe will have its work cut out for it once I face my filthy traitor brother."

At the mere thought of cracking Bhelen's skull and seeing the blood run through the polished stones of the Royal Palace, his hands tingled.

He heard Aenor chuckle. "I'll be happy to help with that."

 

 

 


They walked for three more days, during which the snow showed no sign of letting up. Lady Cousland claimed that this was one of the coldest winters in years, certainly the snowiest.

"Such luck we have, really." Brosca had commented.

Once over Gherlen's Pass, they had continued on almost in a hurry, fearing they would get stuck in the snow and freeze. The mages had been a great help, Geralt's fire spells keeping them warm and Wynne preventing their limbs from going numb with some barriers and healing.

Shale seemed to have a great time, constantly stating that the mushy little things weren't meant for the elements, and admiring the ice crystals that had settled on the gems poking out of her body, creating multi-colored reflections on her rocky surface.

A couple of times, Alistair and Natia had yelled "bird!" at the top of their lungs, just for the sake of seeing her jerk and shake her huge fists toward the sky, as if daring the birds to strike her.

At last, when they came in sight of the great gates that marked the entrance to the city, they all breathed a sigh of relief. As they approached, they found a multitude of tents and wagons camped there.

"What's going on?" Alistair asked, looking around in puzzlement.

"Clearly, they are enjoying the so nice outdoors." Morrigan replied acidly. "The city gates are closed, remember?"

"These poor people may have come here to trade with the city but they've been snowed in, unable to enter Orzammar or return home." Leliana said, concern clear in her tone of voice. "How can they leave them out in such a cold weather?"

"Oh, it's surely not the worst thing the Assembly has ever done." Brosca retorted, and Duran could only agree with her.

"Brosca, it would be a good idea to disguise yourself somehow."

"At once!" She exclaimed, bending down and grabbing a handful of dirt near one of the campfires of the camps. She smeared it vigorously over her face and hair, then moved on to her clothing. Within a couple of minutes, she was unrecognizable from any other casteless dwarf.

"Are you sure that's enough?" Geralt asked her.

She grinned, crooked teeth peeking out from her dirt-stained lips. "Those stone-arses will not grant me with a second glance, especially next to our Prince."

"The city is closed until the Assembly elects a new King!" They heard someone shout. "And let this be the last time I tell you, humans!"

They headed towards the shouts, coming from a small group of people arguing in front of the doors.

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear, dwarf!" Shouted a man in armor, the insignia of Denerim clear on his cloak and armor. "King Loghain himself sent me!"

"You are rusting your time, stranger."

"King Loghain demands the alliance of the deshyrs, or lords, or whatever the heck you call those in the Assembly! And I am his messenger, so let me in!"

The dwarf guard made an annoyed gesture. "You may as well be your King's lady-in-waiting, for all I care, Orzammar will not let any other outsider in, not until we have settled the matter of succession to the throne!"

"I believe I can be of service, with that." Duran interrupted them, puffing out his chest and peering directly into the guard's eyes. "Atrast Vala. I am Prince Duran Aeducan, and these are my traveling companions, including two Grey Wardens. And a golem too."

The guard whitened underneath all the ice-encrusted beard, widening hi eyes, his jaw falling open and unable to make a sound.

"Yeah, right, and I'm the Empress of Orlais!" Loghain's messenger sneered at him. Then, he realised. "Wait, Gray Wardens? Golem?!"

"Here we are!" Alistair laughed at him, hand on his sword.

Shale raised its rocky hand. "Hello, puny flesh creature."

"They're the Wardens who killed King Cailan! They are sworn enemies of King Loghain!" The men yelled, drawing back.

"Silence!" The dwarven guard ordered, trying to compose himself as two more dwarves rushed to his side. "Prince Aeducan, you are still charged with fratricide, and having escaped from your cell months ago does not speak in your favor. No matter how many golems and Wardenss you bring in tow."

"I am aware of that." Duran retorted. "However, the Grey Wardens have an important task to perform, for which a King of Orzammar is needed. And I look forward to a word with my brother and the Assembly."

The guard thinned his gaze, resting it on each of them. Clearly he was calculating his slim chances of succeeding in arresting him and bringing him before the Deshyrs.

"In the name of Loghain, I demand that these traitors be killed this instant!" Muttered the human messenger, who did not take kindly to being ignored.

"Go ahead and try." Duran challenged them, smiling. "There are thirteen of us, not counting the two mabari here, who would rip your faces off before you could even draw your blades." He then turned to the guards. "I don't want any unnecessary bloodshed, enough has already been spilled. Let us pass."
"How do we know they are true Wardens?" One of them asked.

Alistair promptly pulled the Treaties from his backpack, handing them to the guards.

Orzammar's royal seal was enough to convince them of the documents' veracity. They gave in. "Only the Assembly can deal with them. All right, come in. But you'd better run to them, Prince, because the minute word gets out about your arrival, your head will be worth a fortune."

"I'm counting on it." Duran retorted with a grin.

"Not so fast!"

They turned as Loghain's messenger and his two companions unsheathed their weapons. Duran scratched his beard thoughtfully. “The cold must have frozen your heads, to be so stupid...”

The two Wardens beside him merely brought their hands to their weapons, but did not draw them. The elf's black mabari growled menacingly, a sound to make one's skin crawl.

"I will count to five and then you'll be dead." Aenor said.

"Don't think you'll get away with this!"

"One."
"...I am King Loghain's official messenger, if he knew what you were doing-"

"Two."
"You wouldn't dare!"

"Three..."
The two henchmen turned on their heels and fled hastily down the steps, leaving the messenger alone to face the entire group. Alone and paling further, he could do nothing but follow them, shouting empty threats towards the Wardens and the dwarves.

"Great, I guess we can go then!" Alistair exclaimed, smiling.

Leliana sighed. "I can't wait to take a hot bath after all this cold..."

"It's enough for me not having to look at Alistair's stupid face for a couple of hours." Morrigan said.

"I hear the dwarves have a library called the Shaperate, do you think they'll let us in?"

"Of course the shemworm would ran off to look at even more book..." Aenor laughed, patting the mage's arm while pushing him toward the entrance.

Shale look content. "At least there are no birds here."

The chatter of his companions became an indistinct hum as Duran entered the Hall of Heroes, where the Paragon's statues resided. He had always felt awe under the majesty of those statues, but that day he felt the weight of those stares even more. As if admonishing him to set things right, to not let the murder of his brother and father remain in the shadows of a liar.

The dwarves around them hushed as they crossed the room, their gazes focused on the newcomers.

At the sight of Shale, many surprised exclamations arose.

"Fratricide." He heard someone whisper, but a woman smiled at him, bowing slightly.

They went out into the Commons, where they were stopped by another city guard. This time, Duran recognized him: he was a middle-aged dwarf, more accustomed to turning away to get to the end-of-shift mug than doing his job of keeping the order.

"By the Stone!" The guard exclaimed, coming towards them. "The fratricide! And a golem!"

"Prince." He corrected him between his teeth. "And I suggest you step aside. There are two Grey Wardens with me and our companions are all valiant warriors, golem included."

"Sure, hide behind a mass of cloudgazers and a fake stone golem, but it doesn't change what you are: a murderer of your own blood!"

Duran had to appeal to all his better njudgement not to answer him in kind. He cast a glance in the direction of the road leading to the Diamond Quarter, from which a well-stocked group of soldiers was arriving, the insignia of Pyral Harrowmont in full view.

"Prince Duran Aeducan, we have come to escort you to the estate but I see you are already in good company." The leader of the newcomers greeted him.

"Dulin!" Duran exclaimed, delighted to see Lord Harromont's Second. The other was about his age and had only been in the Lord's service for three years, in which he had, however, proved to be of great help. "You arrive just in time."

"I would like to ask you tons of questions, my Prince, but for now my curiosity will have to wait: let us get out of the way before Bhelen sends all his forces to kill you."

Duran nodded, motioning the others to follow him.

They ascended to the Diamond Quarter, which dominated the entire city from above, the buildings of polished and decorated stone, the ceiling held up by columns and arches on which were placed hundreds of torches, which along with the lava channels lit up Orzammar night and day.

They made their way through the astonished nobles. Even the town criers, who never shut up, were silent.
"Way to make an entrance." Commented Alistair with a nervous chuckle.

"All these short little things in my way are annoying."

"Get used to it, Shale."

"Easy for you, you're a short little thing yourself."

“Hey! I am not!"

"Stop it you two!"

Kallian and Shale immediately fell silent under Wynne's stern gaze. Duran was grateful; this was hardly the time to bicker about foolish things. Beside him, Aenor was quiet, her nose pointed to the ground, ears quivering and hand on the hilt of the red iron dagger they had retrieved from Ostagar.

"No need to worry, we're almost there."

The other merely nodded, but did not look up. Duran understood her, he still remembered vividly how he and Brosca had stood for hours in terror looking up at the sky, the first time they had ascended to the surface.

"Brosca, stay close and-" He turned for the casteless woman, but couldn't find her. He stopped short, looking around.

"She said she had things to do and ran off when we were still in the room with the giant statues..." Explained Geralt, shrugging.

"And you didn't think to warn us?!" Wynne retorted, slamming her staff on the ground.

The other mage glared at her. "It was obvious she didn't want to be followed."

"Doesn't she risk getting in trouble?" Said Leliana. She was looking around, astonished.

"I think she can handle herself just fine." Zevran tried to reassure her. "After all, this is her home."

"But she's a wanted criminal!" Leliana whispered, clearly worried.

"There's nothing we can do for the moment." Lady Cousland commented. "If she wants to come back, she'll do so. Let's get to safety first." She was uncomfortable down there as well, but from the way she looked around she also seemed curious about exploring the city.

"Agreed. Let's get moving." Duran decided. If Brosca had disappeared on her own business, it meant she had something to do and being her, he imagined that having a bunch of tall strangers in shining armor would only get in her way.

Fortunately, Harrowmont's palace was one of the closest to the gate leading to the Commons, and it only took them a few minutes to enter the imposing building. Once the doors had closed behind them, Duran let out a sigh of relief . They were, for the moment, safe.

"Prince Duran!"

Lord Pyral Harrowmont looked older than he remembered him: his beard and hair were comletely white and he had a receding hairline, his eyes were circled and tired, but happy to see him.

"Lord Harowmont!" He greeted him, bowing his head slightly and walking over to him.

The embrace was vigorous, a sign that the old Deshyr was still made of solid stone.

"You come at the right time, Prince. The situation could not be worse for Orzammar, but it offers many opportunities for us.” He peered at his fellow travelers, widening his eyes. "That's a golem!"

"The golem has a name, and it's Shale." It replied.

"By the Stone, how did you get a functioning one?" Harrowmond said, his eyes wide.

"It was found in a human village, and the control rod no longer works. It agreed to follow us of its own free will." Explained Duran briefly. "And these are the two Wardens I told you about in my letters, Aenor Mahariel and Alistair, son of Maric Theirin."

"Ah, the resemblance is remarkable!" The other exclaimed, looking at Alistair with interest. "The blond hair, that prominent nose, the sculpted jaw... Yes, takes after his father!"

The boy coughed, in obvious discomfort. "Actually, I'm just an illegitimate child..."

"And the only child left, at any rate!" Harrowmont continued, undaunted. "But I can see you're tired, it must have been hard on the surface, they tell me it's cold this time of year... Orick, escort our guests to their rooms, please.

The butler rushed in, bowing deeply. "Prince Aeducan, we are all delighted to see you safe and sound. Please, honorable guests, follow me."

The others exchanged uncertain glances, but Duran nodded, motioning them to go. "I'll see you later for dinner."

"Are you sure you don't want to rest a little?" Lord Pyral asked him once the others were escorted to the guest wing.

Duran shook his head. "I'll rest when I get Bhelen's head. I've waited long enough, it's time to strike while the iron is hot."

The other nodded, signaling for him to follow. They passed the banquet hall, entering the Lord's study. A woman was already seated inside, a large axe by her side.

"You made it, I was beginning to think you had fallen into the sky."

Adal Helmi.

Her brown hair was a little longer than he remembered, but the confident expression it framed was the same as always. She wore her armor as usual, practical and inconspicuous by the standards of nobility, marked by numerous battles from which she had emerged victorious. "Lady Helmi, it is good to see you."

"Of course it is." She stood up, moving the axe from one hand to the other. "I've kept it sharp for you, you'll soon both have some great work to do."

Duran clutched the handle of the weapon, running his fingers down to the golden seal stamped on the back of the blade. The first Aeducan seemed to encourage him to restore their House to its former glory, taking the crown that was rightfully his. He broke into a smile. "Yes, we will."

They took their seats around the stone table.

"The situation is dire. The Assembly is more or less split in two, which means that Bhelen has already lost ground since you had to flee to the surface. If you had faced trial back in the day, you would surely have been condemned to the Deep Roads, but after your father's death, may the Ancestors welcome King Endrin in the Stone, many are convinced that your brother is guilty both of Prince Trian's murder and of using poison to get rid of the King." Harrowmont explained, his fingers rhythmically tapping on the stone. "We must exploit this political instability and put you on the throne, but first we must cleanse you of the accusations against you."

"Your arrival will have raised a great fuss, in all of Orzammar." Lady Helmi congratulated, clapping a hand on her thigh. "I'll bet Bhelen will be out of his stones, knowing you were safe and sound all along, alongside two Wardens and a golem."

Duran could almost see his brother losing his temper at the news. He smiled. "That was the idea. But now we must make public my father's will, I have his letters, and say the truth once and for all about what happened in the Deep Roads."

"Not so fast, my Prince." Harrowmont interrupted him. "The other half of the Assembly is still convinced of your guilt, and you need a near-unanimous vote to get the crown."

He snorted. “ A unanimous vote? I might as well become a Paragon!”

He saw the two exchange a meaningful look.

"You're not planning on making me a Paragon, are you...?"

Adal Helmi burst out laughing so loudly that she risked losing her balance on the chair.

Harrowmont chuckled as well, shaking his head. "No, my Prince, you will have to settle for being King for now."

"Although that would be something to see!" Lady Helmi exclaimed, tears in her eyes. "Imagine Bhelen's face as he loses the election to his brother, newly declared Paragon!"

Duran looked at them grimly. "So what's on your mind?"

The dwarf reached up to grab a mug, tapping some of the beer contained in a small barrel at the side of the room. "You know the expedition of Paragon Branka, two years ago?"

The prince nodded. Who wasn't aware of Branka, who had led her entire household into the Deep Roads in search of the Anvil of the Void? The same anvil forged by Caridin himself, said to be capable of forging an army of golems with which the dwarves would lead a new attack on the darkspawn, clear the Deep Roads and rebuild their once-great empire.

Of course, it was all tales that only fools and children believed in: the Anvil of the Void had been lost more than a thousand years before with its creator, and the Deep Roads were swarmed with darkspawn that prevented them from regaining their lost thaigs.

"Well, word on the street is that Branka had a solid lead. And we think she's on the right track."

He rose in turn to pour himself a drink. He sniffed the smell of honey rising from the dark ale, closing his eyes for a moment. I missed this . "Has any news come from Branka herself?"

Harrowmont shook his head. "No, but there have been rumors that she has reached Caridin's Cross."

"Explorers or mere rumors?"

Lady Helmi finished drinking her ale, taking her time to answer. "Both. But to have the support of the first Paragon in four generations...vnow, that would blow the entire Assembly over to our side."

Duran slammed his mug down on the table, annoyed. "Is your strategy that I go to the Deep Roads to get myself killed in search of a madwoman who disappeared two years ago after a legend?"

"That madwoman, as you call her, is respected and revered by the entire city." Harrowmont retorted.

"But if you would rather risk being found guilty and lose the election along with your head, go ahead, the choice is yours." Lady Helmi said with a shrug. “A damn shame it'll be, though.”

Duran stared at them for a long moment, as if to see if they were pulling his leg.

Harrowmont wouldn't appreciate finding out how he'd come to terms with the houses that traded on the surface, and he'd given each of them strict orders not to leak information. As well as the merchant families who lived topside, the casteless thanks to whom Orzammar could still count on a stable economy. Lord Pyral considered himself a good man but he was too old-fashioned, too bound to traditions, and would have withdrawn his support to him if he had found out about his progressive ideas.

And the prince needed the Deshyr's support too, if he was going to get a near-unanimous vote in the Assembly and get the justice he deserved.

He sighed. There was nothing to do for him but to agree.

"All right then, if I were to return with Branka, would I have the support of the entire Assembly?"

Both Harrowmont and Lady Helmi nodded.

"Assuming it's not all rumors and she's not long dead already."

"Lady Helmi, you are a true ray of sunshine."

The woman looked at him, confused. "Too long on the surface, my Prince?"

Duran chuckled. "They do use some charming expressions at times, I must admit."

"After all these months under the clouds, I hope your Stone Sense has remained the same as it once was, my Prince, for to venture into the Deep Roads you will need it." Commented Harrowmont gloomily, who found nothing amusing in that.

Months. It had been nearly six months since he had fled Orzammar. It felt like an eternity and a speck of dust at the same time.

"Finding Branka isn't the only thing you can do to earn the city's favor, though." Lady Helmi added.

Harrowmont gave her a wrinkled look. "We've been over this, it would be too dangerous."

"Not with the crew he's bringing along..."

"What are you two up to?"

Lord Pyral sighed. "There are other problems in the city, albeit minor ones compared to not having a king, being on the brink of civil war and losing our only Paragon in the Deep Roads..."

"Like the Carta." Adal Helmi interrupted him. "Those branded are going too far, and now they roam the commons as if they were home. They terrorize honest merchants, even going so far as to besmirch members of the higher castes."

Duran frowned, reaching for more ale. "I thought the head of the Carta had been dead and buried for months."

It was the other two's turn to be surprised. "Beraht? That creep was taken out in a power struggle and now there's someone far worse in charge. They took advantage of the confusion created by the King's death, and in a few short months they have expanded their influence by leaps and bounds." Lord Harrowmont lowered his voice to a whisper. "Rumor has it that they've made it as far as the Diamond Quarter."

"Aided by Bhelen of course!" Lady Helmi blurted out. "After all, a brand has just given birth to his child, I'd bet my blades he's in deep with the Carta."

Duran's heart lost a beat.

"What?" He managed to stammer, recovering from his stupor.

"Bhelen had a child with a casteless woman." Harrowmont explained. "Pretty nice thing, or so they say, she gave him a healthy, though prematurely born, baby boy last week."

Bhelen, his brother Bhelen, had a son.

That made him an uncle. His stomach clenched, an unpleasant feeling twisting in his insides.

"And he had the nerve to call him Endrin." Lady Helmi spat. "That bastard."

The tightness in his stomach suddenly disappeared, replaced by a blind fury, a searing rage that made every hair on his body stand on end. How dare that filthy, dirty, traitorous murderer give his son the name of their father, the king he had killed?

"I'd like to say I'm surprised, but I'd be lying." He growled after regaining some composure. “Typical Bhelen, exploiting something like this to ingratiate himself into the Deshyr's favor."

"And he says he wants to marry her!"

That actually left him surprised. "Are you sure?"

Harrowmont opened up in a grimace of disgust. "He wants to open a dialogue with the casteless. An unforgivable thing, he'll destroy all our traditions if we don't stop him first!"

Duran and Lady Helmi exchanged a fleeting glance, too quick for the other to notice. They nodded, pretending to agree.

"I'll take care of the Carta, too, then. My companions can be of great help, and having two Grey Wardens on my side, finally solving the problem of organized crime in the city, can only do good to my name." The prince decided. He finished his ale and then rubbed his neck, suddenly tired. "Now excuse me, but the long journey has exhausted me and I would like to rest a little before dinner, maybe get cleaned up."

Lady Helmi and Lord Harrowmont nodded, getting up and escorting him out of the study.

Before he turned the corner toward the guest rooms, Lady Helmi grabbed his elbow. "You know, I thought you were going to face Bhelen in a duel, to restore your honor. I must admit to being a tad disappointed."

Duran smiled, weighing the large axe, glad to have it in his hands again. "Not necessarily yet, Lady Helmi. That would perhaps be the quickest solution."

But I am glad you have gained some sense for politics in the recent months, my Prince." She then left without waiting for a reply.

Duran could not help but let his gaze wander for a moment over her hips. He smiled a bit.

Chapter 25: Orzammar - Dust Town

Summary:

Natia takes a trip down memory lane, returning to Dust Town and finding out that much has changed. And maybe it's not all bad.

Chapter Text

Natia strode on, the map of the city still perfectly etched in her mind, even after all those months away. Almost six months had passed since.

That was a long time, with all that she had done. She'd escaped a death sentence, faced a terrible journey to Denerim, found herself without a job or money in a foreign and hostile city. She had then reconnected with the Carta thanks to a smugglers family that had contacts all around, the Cadash, and after a few dull jobs had been sent to the mages' tower. From there, her monetary fortunes had increased quite a bit, as had her misfortunes in everything else. She couldn't understand how that bunch of fools attracted so much bad luck, from hordes of darkspawn to fanatical dragon worshippers to crazed mages summoning demons. Not to mention assassins from distant cities, werewolves and a king who accused them of treason and made them wanted all over the country.

They sure weren't company to lightly hang out with.

However, she had to admit they had been the most fun couple of months of her life. It didn't matter how much of a pain in the ass Aenor was, or how much of a bumbling bookworm Geralt continuously proved to be. Alistair was a fun fool and sometimes even the Qunari, even if he didn't intend to, turned out to be an enjoyable traveling companion. Morrigan's cooking was the best thing she'd eaten in her entire life, while Leliana's songs managed to brighten even the most tiring of days. And she had braided her hair to be almost cute, she thought while curling it on her finger. Zevran told amazing stories and was always ready to joke, and even Kallian was softening a bit.

Now, as Natia walked through the crowded streets of the commons market, with all those bastards looking at her as if she were nug's crap under their shoes, spitting venom and insults as she passed, she realized the surface wasn't all bad. Up there, at least, she was a dwarf like everyone else.

Down here, I'm nothing more than a duster.

She turned toward Dust Town passing the Tapster, the tavern where, when they were feeling rich, she and Leske would get the cheapest ale that place had so they could feel, if only for a few minutes, like regular patrons. Before returning to the dust and mud of the slums to slit someone's throat or extort money from someone else, that was.

I wonder how Leske's doing.

She'd thought about writing him a letter, but she couldn't write that well and wasn't even sure Leske could actually read more than a few simple words. Besides, getting in touch with him would only hurt him, getting him in trouble with the Carta. Surely, no one down there had forgotten how Beraht had been killed in his own palace.

Natia wondered who was the new head of the Carta.

For a moment, she imagined Leske sitting in Beraht's chair, but dismissed the ridiculous thought with a soft laugh. No, most likely it was some old henchman of Beraht's, someone who was already high up in the chain of command back in the day.

Firtag, or Bhesh. Or Durik. Maybe even Jarvia...

She checked to make sure no one was in sight and slipped into an alleyway, the stench from nearby houses hovering sickeningly. She took off her backpack, stuffing in pieces of armor she didn't think were essential. If she had entered the slums fully armed and with a full backpack, she wouldn't have even walked the first twenty feet.

She climbed an air hose and, with some difficulty, looked down the opening. There were no ladders, nor did it appear that it would be possible to reach the bottom and climb back up.

Satisfied, she wrapped the backpack in her own bedroll, so that nothing inside would break, and used a rope to gently drop it below, letting it go.

I'll ask Geralt to pull it up for me with some of his tricks... She thought as she walked away, checking that her cloak, boots and the rest of her clothes were dirty enough to be inconspicuous.

She walked down the bumpy stairs that led to Dust Town. Her mood dropped as she ventured through the dark smelly alleys, while her anxiety soared in.

What if she couldn't find Rica?

She might be dead.

The familiar alleys, the beggars skinny as skeletons who barely had the strength to look up, hoping for a coin or a loaf of bread, for the charity of those who were slightly less worse off than they were. An almost naked dwarf was standing outside a partially-collapsed house, showing off her undernourished body, her almost non-existent shape. Two drunks were snoring in their own vomit. Or was it just one sleeping? Natia didn't want to stop and check if he was still breathing. She turned the corner that led to the square with the fountain, that was really just a sad trickle of water but the only one that was clean, at least most days. A madman rambled on about demons and monsters coming to get him from the depths of the earth, while a mother cradled a pile of rags, her sobs barely audible, her eyes circled in black and her cheeks hollowed by hunger.

Or worse, she might still be here.

She continued on without laying eyes on any of them, if she crossed their eyes it would have been over, she would be once again surrounded by the misery of that place, dragged back into the dust and mud. Nothing but a duster. A brand. Nothing at all.

Her old house was not far away, past the ruins of the large building that had collapsed at least fifty years before. Most of the stones had been taken away and reused, but the foundations and something else too crumbly to be useful remained.

The hovel, from the outside, was exactly as she remembered it. A sad, dirty and smelly place, identical to all the other shacks that surrounded it.

Natia Brosca had never been known for her patience, but she knew when she had to wait. This was one of those moments.

She turned her back on the house, stepping into the adjacent alley. A series of empty crates of rotting wood were stacked haphazardly on top of each other. She moved a couple of them and sat behind them, keeping an eye on the house where she once had lived.

Surely, someone would come out of it.

Her mother looking for cheap booze, or Rica, beautiful and ready to see some nobleman.

 

 

 


Hours passed, but the door remained closed. From the obscured windows, no light came out. Had they both gone out? No, more likely Rica was somewhere and their useless mother had passed out on the floor, letting the only candle they had in the house go out.

A noise behind her jolted her, hands flying to the hilt of her daggers.

A white, balding rat squirted away from the wall of the house next door, getting lost in the drain below them.

Natia started breathing again. She decided to go for a closer look. She walked around to the back of the house and moved a stone that she knew was wobbly. She then managed to get her arm into the crack that had been created, quickly pulling out the rest of them and squeezing in. Thakfully, she was still thin enough to do so.

There didn't seem to be anyone in the house. She leaned back to check, before slipping completely inside and landing softly on the uneven floor.

She looked around. The ray of light coming through the window illuminated the clouds of dust that floated almost motionless in the air. The room smelled of moss and dust, as if someone hadn't opened the windows in weeks. Against the walls and throughout the room were scattered wooden crates locked with heavy padlocks.

Natia recognized the Carta symbol in an instant.

Had they turned her house into a warehouse? What had they done with Rica and her mother?

She went on impulse to check the recess in the wall, the one near the stone tub. She moved the two stones and... nothing, it was empty.

She clearly remembered putting in the thirty silver coins she and Leske had made from the sale of the lyrium nuggets. No one knew about that hiding place except Leske himself. Perhaps he had told Rica, who had spent them. Or her mother had developed a nose that could smell money as well as she did with alcohol.

She sat on the floor, suddenly very tired.

What am I doing here? She asked herself, closing her eyes. Her family hadn't been in there for a while, and she had no idea how to find them without getting caught by Carta. She leaned against the wall, wiping it in one spot with her jacket sleeve. Simple carvings were forming a pattern, two sisters holding hands wearing rich dresses and flashy jewelry. At least, that's what she remembered drawing when she was four, knife in hand and a whole afternoon spent locked in the house with her absent mother, hunger gripping her as she waited for Rica to return with some sort of food.

When her mother saw what she had done days later, she had slapped her, breaking three of her teeth.

Good thing they were still baby teeth back then. What a shitty childhood.

She pulled herself to her feet, already fed up with the place. She was about to go out again, when someone clicked the lock on the door.

Hiding behind a stack of crates, she peered into the dim light at the newcomer. He was alone, younger than her, his beard still patchy, typical of a young boy.

She waited for him to close the door, letting him approach.

When the boy crossed the threshold of the room, she came up behind him, putting one hand over his mouth and holding a knife to his throat with the other. The boy let out a cry, but it was muffled.

"Shut up or I'll kill you." She threatened, lightly cutting into his skin and dripping a few drops of blood to make it clear that she meant business.

The other nodded, then she removed her hand from his mouth.

"Where are the two women who lived here?"

"I dunno, they just told me to go get weapons!"

"Who told you that?”

"They'll kill me if I talk!"

Natia pushed further into the flesh. "I'll kill you here and now if you don't start squeaking."

The boy shivered like a rag. When she heard some tapping against the floor, Natia could hardly believe it: the rookie had pissed himself.

"When I was around, Carta thugs were tougher." She gritted her teeth, disgusted, dragging the idiot away from the smelling puddle. Her mother would have screamed and Rica would have wrinkled her nose, going for a rag.

She slammed him against the wall, causing his head to hit the stone. "Talk!"

"You..."
"Yes it's me, now answer me."

"...You, who are you?"

Her jaw dropped. "The fuck am I?!" She hissed furiously, kicking him in the knee and knocking him to the ground. "I'm the owner of this fucking place and the one who slit Beraht's throat like a fucking nug in his own palace!"

His eyes widened, finally realizing. “You're... Natia Brosca?"

"That's right, you nug-humper!"

The other looked at her blinking, a grimace of pain on his surprised face. "Jarvia thought you were on the surface. When she knows you're here, she'll kill you for sure!"

"Jarvia, is it so?" Jarvia. One of Beraht's best henchmen. She remembered vividly how she'd taunted her and Leske when they'd been caught and put in a cell awaiting punishment for ruining their illegal betting at the Provings. She was a dwarf ruthless enough to handle the Carta, and she'd been close enough to Beraht to have learned how to lead and inherit his contacts and men.

"Who do you think is in charge of the Carta now?" The boy squeaked, trembling like a nug about to have his throat slit. "There's still a bounty on your head, ten Sovereigns!"

"Only ten?!" Natia was offended. She could have paid herself six times that. "What about my sister? What happened to Rica?"

The other shook his head. "We didn't touch her, no one can! She's been living up since she got pregnant, and no one has seen her down here again!"

Confused, Natia frowned, jabbing him between the ribs with the handle of the knife. "What are you talking about? Did she manage to get knocked up by some nobleman?"

The dwarf widened his eyes. "You don't know? She's the concubine of Prince Bhelen, the future King of Orzammar! She gave him a boy last week!"

Natia blinked several times, trying to understand. Her sister. Rica. Her sister Rica a concubine of a Prince. It took her another second to realize the mess she was now in.

"Fuck!" She screamed hitting the wall.

Again, and again, the world around her a blurred vision. "Shit! Fuck! Arsehole! Fuck!"

She bumped into the sharp stone, hurting herself, then looked at her hands: they were soaked in blood. Natia lifted her gaze from the ground, noting with horror that she hadn't just hit the wall.

The corpse of Carta's henchman lay on the ground in a dark puddle, jerking in convulsions, a deep gash on his neck from which streams of blood spurted out.

"Shit!" She bent down to try and stop the blood, somehow pressing against the wound, soaking herself as well. "You can't die, you have to tell me-"

After a few last gasps, the body lay still.

"Bloody ancestors!" Natia growled, punching the sticky floor. “I didn't mean to... I'm-”

She gritted her teeth. Nice mess indeed. What was she supposed to do now? Go tell the others that her sister was safe and sound only thanks to Duran's brother, that Rica had given his brother's killer a son? She could hardly believe it would change anything. Duran wasn't going to give up his plans for revenge, and Natia couldn't betray Rica taking away the only good thing that had happened in her whole life.

Wait... six months?

As she rummaged through the unfortunate boy's pockets, she quickly did some math. How was it possible that Rica had already given birth to Bhelen's child, if when Natia had left six months earlier Beraht was still convinced that she hadn't found a suitor?

Six months was far too short a time to have a child.

She found three coppers, a piece of cloth stained with some design and a very small bone. She brought the latter closer to the light, recognizing a bone finger whose last phalanx had been carved to look like a key. The last part was attached to a small iron ring and there were red marks on it.

It had to open something, perhaps one of the entrances to the Carta hideout, if the boy had been sent to retrieve Jarvia some weapons.

Who knows if it had stayed the same or if someone had taken the trouble to close the passages known to her and open up new ones, with the new management.

She didn't think Jarvia had bothered to, it didn't seem her style to spend money on secrecy instead of investing it in more manpower and more cargo to smuggle.

She scratched her head, unsure of how to hide the body. It would start to smell after a while, but she couldn't drag it out of there without alarming the entire neighborhood within moments. Lifting him up and out the window was out of the question, and there was enough blood on the floor anyway to be mistaken for a slaughterhouse.

She decided, reluctantly, to leave him there. Maybe they'd have thought he had been attacked by another Carta member or, unlikely, that an outsider had broken in to steal from the warehouse and had been caught in the act, killing the only witness.

If the rookie had told the truth, Rica and her mother were in no danger from the Carta, even if Jarvia became suspicious about her.

She set about examining the crates, comparing the marks to the one on the piece of cloth she'd found, stopping in front of a heavy-looking trunk. It was one of the few locked, and with a good one. She fiddled with her thieves tools, triggering the mechanism after a few tries. The trunk opened revealing some nice grenades.

They were small, held in tiny flasks like it was custom for the Carta, the clay caps keeping them sealed. The symbols on them revealed their contents: fire, poison, simple smoke.

She returned to the corpse, picking up his backpack and discovering it was empty.

"This rookie would have blown himself up, and half the neighborhood with him." She huffed filling the bag with bombs, carefully placing them wrapped in a filthy blanket found on a shelf. Never, never run around with loose grenades in a backpack! Once she had put in the six firebombs, the ten bottles of poison, and the four smoke bombs, she turned her attention to the other crates.

She immediately discarded the rotten ones. Nothing good had been put in there, too dangerous: in case of a quick move, they would break open and the contents would roll away in the streets, if not explode. She checked the anonymous ones, her eyes slowly getting accustomed with the darkness. Months on the surface had ruined her sight.

She had to hurry. If Jarvia had sent the rookie to get something, not seeing him come back would make her suspicious. She quickly uncovered a crate of knives, hidden inside some pottery, a couple of shiny metal bars and...

Three suits of leather armor.

She smiled triumphantly. She hastily removed her own, putting it too in her backpack, and put on the pieces that fit her from the ones in the crates. Her chest fit a little tight and her gloves a little loose, but at least they weren't soaked in blood. She quickly resealed the crates, opened a couple at random discovering more useless junk, and headed for the exit. Before leaving, she turned for one last look.

What a pile of nug's crap. She thought with a hint of affection before slipping through the wall and out into the alley.

She wandered through the slums with no specific destination.

With the rest of the group in the Diamond Quartes, there was no way she could catch up with them. She huffed, her stomach growling. It had to be almost night by now.

A whiff of roasted nug made her hungry insides twist. She followed where it came from, finding herself in front of a small fire, three people sitting next to it, a nug in the middle.

"Hey, you got any money?" One of the three asked her, a little boy without three front teeth. He must have been no more than ten years old. The old man and the woman turned to look at her, defensively.

Natia nodded, showing ten coppers. "Is it enough for a bite?"

The battered woman sitting on the ground reached out a hand, taking the coins and biting into them. "Yes, seems there's food for everyone today." Natia couldn't recognize her, her eyesight was too dirty and too shadowy to make out who she was, but she looked familiar.

The nug was all skin and bones, but the other three gnawed at the gristle as well, sucking the marrow and even munching on the legs.

"How come you're here eating with us?" The old man asked her, interrupting the sucking on the little nug and spitting out saliva. He had a couple of rotten teeth scattered about, black and wobbly.

"Yeah, didn't Jarvia find something for you to do?" The woman added, turning to look at her.

Natia finally realized who she was. Nadezda, one of Beraht's Carta members who usually handled deliveries around the city. She'd been a fine courier when she'd left, how had she been reduced to this? She decided to investigate, the woman could have information on the Carta and maybe she knew where Leske was.

"What happened to your legs?" She asked, modulating her voice so that it was more hoarse. For the moment the others didn't seem to recognize her. Had she really changed that much, or had they already forgotten about her, despite the bounty on her head?

Nadezda spat on the ground. "Damned guards. I was making a delivery when we got caught. My partner had enough coins to make them turn a blind eye, so they took it out on me. They broke my knees and forced me to sit in the dirt until my wounds were so infected there was nothing they could do about it." She pointed to her legs, bent in an unnatural position, bumps poking out of the joints. "They never healed properly and the Carta dumped me. Jarvia has no use for cripples."

Typical Carta. A henchman no longer able to be useful was dumped instantly, given the large number of new recruits eager to prove themselves. "I'm sorry."

Nadezda shrugged. "Shit happens. At least I fared better than anyone you've met, eh?" She laughed, nodding to Natia's boots, smeared with dry blood, dirt and who knows what else. "Just another job, wasn't it?"

Natia flinched, uncomfortable but not giving it away. She pulled out one of her knives, setting about cleaning her nails, feigning indifference. "We all have to eat."

"True as the Stone is!" Nadezda agreed. "After all, with that face you couldn't even catch a cook, believe me."

The girl gave her a smug grin. "That was never my thing. Too many beatings growing up."

"Ah, we can't all be as lucky and pretty as Rica Brosca!"

She flinched as she'd just got punched in the guts. "Yes, she found a gold vein, that one..."

The woman nodded. "After what happened with her sister, I thought they were going to tear her apart but instead she moved up the next day, go figure! It didn't take her a moment to recover." She sniffed loudly, wiping her nose with a filthy hand, going to suck on the nug's jaw again, all teeth still attached to it. "At least we don't have to put up with her crazy mother's screams anymore, now she'll be guzzling mead and wine from the surface..."

"Lucky her." Natia commented. She was happy that, aside from the red hair, she hadn't taken much from her mother and that her sister was so different from her, having another father. Perhaps it was also due to the numerous scars and broken nose....

"Ah, but down here life goes on as usual, even better to tell the truth. Since the king died the guards are always busy somewhere else and we have become the terror of the merchants!" The little boy whispered, his eyes shining with pride.

Natia was actually impressed. Even Beraht had boundaries, but the new management was bold. "Of course, that's just some of us..." Nadezda scolded him, giving him a slap on the wrist. "You've already been caught stealing from the stalls twice, don't fuck up again."

"I have to go now." Natia cut short. She thanked them for the bite and, still hungry, walked away from the group. It seemed to her that the woman's eyes followed her for longer than necessary, feeling them on the back of her head the entire way before she turned the corner.

She walked out to the old air ducts, where she and Leske used to spend their free time drinking cheap alcohol and fantasizing about having tons of gold.

"Now that I have it, I can't find you." She mumbled, slipping into a fairly wide tube and climbing up a ladder, careful where she put her feet. She hoisted herself to the top, stepping out through a gash in the metal and sitting on top of a rock. She was practically in the dark, but she could see most of Dust Town from up there, an expanse of hovels and stone ruins dating back too many hundreds of years. She drank a little from the flask hanging on her belt, watching the lights of the houses go out as time passed, until only the light from the lava channels at the bottom of the caves remained.

She set her backpack down beside her, lying on the bare rock, her cloak rolled up like a pillow. There she was, practically invisible, no one would disturb her. It was one of their favorite places to seek some private time and recreation....

She closed her eyes, hoping she would get sleepy quickly. The hunger she felt was familiar.

 

 

 

 

She jolted awake, the screams coming from down the street up making her jump backto her feet, ready to defend herself. It took her a few seconds to realize that her life was not in danger.

Going back down there had awakened all her old survival instincts, which she had learned to keep at bay by traveling with a large group of companions.

She breathed deeply, trying to figure out what was going on. It was morning, for sure. There was more light, all the fires were lit.

She wandered her eyes in the direction of the square with the fountain. A large group of people were shouting, but it was too far away. She hurriedly picked up her backpack and covered herself with the cloak, being careful to get some dust on her face and hair. Satisfied, she slipped into the ventilation pipe, descending into the alley below.

"I'm going to find whoever stole our stuff, and they're going to pay for it!"

"Karshol," Natia recognized him. He was one of Beraht's henchmen and was now serving Jarvia.

"If anyone has information, come forward now! Twenty silvers to anyone who brings me a name, five if you have at least a description!"

"That fool who stole from the Carta will have a short life..." someone in the crowd whispered. Others nodded, some were already dreaming about the money.

" Blood or coin, the Carta always gets its cut. " A foul-reeking man recited, shaking his head. "I wish I hadn't been so drunk last night, maybe I'd see something and pay for some pretty girls tonight. Or better ale, at least."

Another spat at him. "Ten silvers wouldn't be enough to buy you a blowjob, with that stench!"

It was time to slip away. Natia took a closer look at the other Carta men who were with Karshol, imprinting their faces in her memory, then turned on her heel and slowly walked away.

She made her way to the commons, taking unnecessary turns and often turning back. By the time she reached the market, it was late morning. She cast a glance at the large clock, connected to the sand hourglass that towered in the center of the market square. Almost noon.

Clocks like that were the only way to count time underground and there were various in construct and sizes, but they all worked more or less in the same way: a sand hourglass counted the passing of the hour and when the sand passed all the way to the bottom, a mechanism turned it upside down again, triggering a rod that marked the various turns on a circular board. Such clocks were placed around the city and in some richer houses, although in smaller versions, and she had heard that in the Diamond Quarter they used gold dust and precious. She should have asked Duran if it was true.

She wandered around for a while, the weight of her packed backpack beginning to take its toll, when she finally spotted someone familiar.

"Hey, beanpole!" She whispered, sneaking closer and making the mage jump up. An electric shock snapped through the air, but she had already stepped back, unharmed.

"Are you crazy?!" Geralt blurted, dramatically bringing a hand to his chest. "I could have killed you. Don't do that again, ever."

"Yeah, as if you could actually hurt me." She sneered at him. "Look, you should do me a favor."

"You disappear into thin air, show up the next day and ask me to help you?"

"That's what friends do, right?"

She saw him sneer. "I hadn't got news that we were friends."

Natia clicked her tongue. "Since you don't exactly have a line of those waiting for you, I'll do.”

"Where have you been?" Leliana reached them with a smile. "We've been looking for you, you got us a bit worried."

Kallian, beside her, hinted a smile which twisted the scar on her lip. "She was the one actually worried, we knew better."

Zevran greeted her cheerfully, a shiny gem in his hand.

"I've been... around." Natia replied evasively, raising a hand. "How about a decent lunch? I know a pretty good place.”

"The Tapster?"

Natia looked at the mage, surprised. "You remembered that?"

He chuckled. "Friends pay attention, you know."

She did the same. "Then let's hurry up and get my stuff back, then I'll introduce you to the finest Tapster's brews. Oh, that reminds me, I hope you have room in your backpacks..."

"I'm not a pulley." Geralt complained as he magically lifted her backpack. "Don't get used to it."

She ignored him, forcing them to split up the loot she recovered from the storehouse between them so they wouldn't look conspicuous with overstuffed bags.

When they arrived at the tavern, the waitress stood in front of her, glancing at her with disgust.

"We don't serve casteless here."

"That's certainly no way to greet a customer!" Leliana rebuked her, crossing her arms and stepping to her side. Natia grinned in the other dwarf's direction, mocking her surprise.

"We're from the surface, but if our money stinks so much we'll go spend it somewhere else..." She placed ten gold coins in her hand.

The waitress almost had a stroke. She whitened, bowing her head and stammering some excuse. "Please, come this way sirs, follow me."

She led them to a table at the far end of the room, away from prying eyes. As they crossed the hall, it was clear that everyone knew exactly who they were. Then again a group of humans and elves, including a particularly flashy mage and scarred up elf, could not go unnoticed.

"They're the ones who entered with the Grey Wardens yesterday..."

"I heard the Wardens sided with Prince Duran Aeducan..."

"He's not a prince anymore!"

"He killed his brother!"

"Bullshit, he was framed by Bhelen!"

Natia giggled, taking a seat. "We're famous."

"And that's just the beginning..." Geralt mumbled, sitting beside her.

Following Natia's advice, they ordered a round of all the best beers in the place.

Kallian wrinkled her nose. "I'll have some water."

"Come on, just this once!"

The elf shook her head. "I don't like alcohol."

"You don't know what you're missing!" Natia exclaimed, sniffing one of the beers and downing at least half of it all in one go. She belched loudly, slamming the mug down on the table. "Ah, I've been wanting to do that since forever."

“Waiting to be absolutely revolting? You pretty much are every day, don't worry."

She was too happy to care about Geralt's comment, so she just ignored it, laughing. If Leske had known... she had the whole Tapster at her service and all she had to do was wave a few gold coins! The wonders of being rich! She thought, inhaling the ale and the smell of the tavern.

“Indeed, it is very good." Leliana agreed, graciously sipping from her mug. "Lightly fruity, a strong hint of earthenware cask and honey sweetening the aroma... maybe berries too, I'd say."

Zevran chuckled, lifting his mug. "We have a connoisseur!"

"I wouldn't call myself that... just a fine nose." The woman shook her head, her cheeks slightly pinker. "Kallian, are you sure you don't want a taste?"

The elf shook her head. "Sorry, I really don't like the taste of alcohol."

"A healthy choice." The bard sighed, smiling, giving up.

Natia guzzled her own mug, ordering another stout. "There'll be more for us!"

"Were you able to find your sister?" Geralt asked her, almost making her drink go sideways.

She coughed several times, trying to keep it out of her nose. "No, she doesn't live there anymore." She replied evasively.

The other just stared at her with intensity.

"I don't want to talk about it, alright?" She blurted defensively. "We're here to drink, not solve our family problems. Or I would have asked you why you didn't go talk to Jowan before we left.”

It was Geralt's turn to cough uncomfortably. He returned his gaze to the mug. "That has nothing to do with... anyway, you're right, we're here to drink."

They soon ordered another round as the others filled her in on what happened the day before at the Diamond Quarter.

"Harrowmont looks suspicious." Zevran judged. "Too busy getting others to do all the work and take all the credit."

"Get used to it, everyone here in Orzammar does that."

"It reminds me a lot of Orlais, all this political machinations sounds like the Game..."

"Or Antiva." Zeran chuckled. "Murder seems to be the order of the day."

"So, they want to go get Paragon Branka from the Deep Roads?" Natia asked, munching on some cheese the maid brought them, still hungry. She had no intention of going down there, her encounters with the darkspawn on the surface had taught her enough. "Sounds like suicide to me."

Geralt shrugged. “It does, but they're convinced it's the only way to get the Assembly on their side."

"Typical of those stone-arses, trying to solve their problems by going after some crazy woman who's been missing who knows where for years."

"They do have a huge library, though. If we didn't have to come looking for you, I'd be reading half of it right now."

"Beanpole, you really need to get laid." Natia grabbed another mug from the tray, setting it in front of him. "And drink some more. You won't get out of here able to read, that's for sure."

"Ah, this could be fun!" Zevran exclaimed lasciviously, casting a glance at the mage that left little to the imagination.

Geralt, oddly enough, didn't even try to retort, chugging down the ale.

"Whoah, easy, or you won't even walk out on your feet!"

They all laughed. Even Kallian had relaxed as she munched on some roasted nug. Leliana took some sauce from a small cup on the table and poured it over the elf's plate, who looked at her questioningly.

“Just trust me."

Kallian followed the advice, widening her eyes in surprise. "It's delicious!" She mumbled, chewing happily and taking some more.

The rest of them did the same, enjoying the food.

Natia found herself staring at them, slightly amused. Quite a change from the last time she had been at Tapster's.

She wondered again what Leske was doing.

Chapter 26: Orzammar - Commons

Summary:

Geralt and Zevran end up blowing off some steam, Natia tells the group about her sister and plans are made.
Love isn't an easy thing but friendship is not a walk in the park.

Slightly NSFW for a bit.

Chapter Text

"So every surface dwarf must wear tattoos when they come down here?" Zevran asked, pointing to the S-shaped mark Natia had on her right cheek, just below her eye.

The subject of casteless tattoos seemed to particularly interest him.

The dwarf nodded, drinking her beer. "So the stone-arses can better recognize who to spit on. We get branded at birth and it stays on forever, but the surface ones that come down here usually use washable ink, so they can go back up there to be like everyone else."

Geralt took another piece of roasted nug, adding a sweet sauce of dubious origin to it and accompanying it with yet another mug of ale. His head was spinning slightly, but he chose not to worry about it. "Sounds to me like this place sucks to live in."

Natia burst out laughing heartily. "Yeah, I guess that's how it looks to you beanpoles..."

Zevran chuckled as well. "Our mage has a point, though... how is it that you wanted to come back here so badly?"

"You would like to go back to Antiva, wouldn't you?"

Zevran brought a hand to his chest in an exasperated gesture of offense. "Surely you're not comparing the jewel of the Northern Sea to..." he pointed to their surroundings. "I mean, I don't doubt that living underground among darkspawn, dust and gems could be fascinating, and your way of dealing with rivals in politics reminds me a lot of ours, but come on..."

"Well, coming from an assassin who was bought as a slave and trained in the subtle art of murder and pretty words, excuse me if I don't believe you much." Natia retorted, piqued. "Besides, you have a fetish for smelly boots."

Geralt nearly choked at that, coughing to catch his breath and stop laughing. "What was that?"

"Ah, our friend is referring to my love for tanned leather!"

"Stinky boots."

"Leather? What's so special about leather?" The mage asked, intrigued.

The elf smiled, winking at him. "In Antiva, my room was right above a tannery. They made soft-looking, comfortable boots, embroidered jackets and pants of all kinds... the smell wafted up to my window carried by the sea breeze and it bade me good morning every day."

Geralt raised an eyebrow. "I can imagine the stench."

The other chuckled. "You get used to it, as in many other cases you learn to appreciate the strangest things..."
"Now you're going to tell me that you like the smell of rotten fish, just because it reminds you of the sea?"

"Oh, the sea isn't the only thing that comes to mind, thinking of my city. The air in Antiva smells of salt, skin, fish left to dry, but also of spices, blood and sex..."

The elf's lewd tone sent a series of shivers down his spine. Geralt took refuge in the alcohol again.

"Now I see why you miss it!" Natia exclaimed in amusement, raising her own mug and toasting in Zevran's direction. "You should teach him a few things, last time I took him out for a good time he ran away like a scared virgin."

She patted Geralt on the shoulder, who gave her an enraged look. "Just because I can control my instincts and keep my pants on doesn't mean I'm a 'scared virgin'."

Leliana giggled composedly while Kallian merely let her gaze wander elsewhere, clearly uninterested in their bickering.

"Controlling your instincts?" The dwarf sneered at him. "Do you know what he was doing the first time I saw him?"

"Brosca, I'm warning you...”

"He was hammering a demon!"

"NATIA!" He hurled an electric shock at her, loud enough to create a pop that echoed throughout the room, chair toppling to the floor and Natia laughing out in delight.

"All right, beanpole, I get it!" She raised her hands, still on the floor, in surrender.

The entire room had turned to stare at them, the looks of open disapproval and disgust aimed at them. Geralt swallowed hard, lowering his hand and cutting off the flow of energy, trying to regain his composure. He felt his cheeks burning.

That time with the demon had been a moment of weakness, but... he had to admit that, in the event that such a situation arose again without consequences of possession, he would have done the same. He remembered how the desire demon had taken the exact shape of Jowan, replicating his voice, his beard, the thin physique and the tapered hands more used to turn the pages of books than to handle heavy objects, the-

He shook his head, trying to hide in the mug.

Zevran's gaze aimed at him did not make it any easier.

 

 

 

 

They left the Tapster late at night.

Not that it was any different from when they entered it, being locked down there without sunlight, but they had spent the whole time chatting, letting lunch give way to dinner, drinking and eating.

Drinking, mostly, in his case.

His head was spinning and while Leliana and Kallian went to look at some shiny crystals displayed on a market stall, Natia was telling them hilarious stories about a Carta leader, a job that went particularly well or other anecdotes from her life. He let himself be persuaded to try some lichen paste, which when chewed on gave an effect similar to that of lyrium, probably because it grew next to its veins, from which it took the color.

The result was that, once they had finished wandering through the merchandise on display, he could hardly remember how to get upstairs to the nobles' district.

The guard posted at the entrance to the upper floor, where they were staying at Harrowmont Palace, stared at them with disgust.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"We are here with the Grey Wardens." Replied Kallian, who was the only one perfectly sober. Even Leliana's cheeks were flushed and she was constantly giggling.

The guard peered at them one by one, shaking his head. "Go straight there or I'll lock you all up.”
Natia passed him with a grimace, which distorted her entire face and drew yet another laugh from her companions. Geralt leaned against the wall as they climbed the stairs, his head spinning furiously.
"Are you alright?" Zevran asked him, his hand resting on the small of his back, gibbering a bit. He didn't remove his hand as Geralt climbed the next step, sliding it further down. His winking smile wobbled in the light of the torches.

They encountered a drunken dwarf, who upon seeing them coming emitted a mighty belch, passing out on the floor laughing out. They passed him, the stench of alcohol hovering over him, his reddish beard encrusted with beer foam, his hair tousled.

"I've never been here, you know?" Natia told them, leading them to admire the rest of the city from above. Below them, the commons and lower than that a few small lights scattered where the slums must have been.

With a grin, the dwarf spat from the balustrade.

"Stick it up your ass!" She burst out laughing heartily, infecting the others as well.

Geralt waved his hand, creating a series of small drops of water that fell into the void below them.

“Posh as usual, eh, beanpole?"

Two particularly undressed dwarven ladies who were leaning against a porch wall caught his attention. He pointed to them, muttering something to Natia.

"Those? They're looking for a nobleman to give a son to." She replied. "With a boy, they'd take their father's caste and live comfortably for the rest of their lives."

"This caste system is horrible." Said Leliana, infuriated. "Duran has to do something."

The bard's fingers, leaning against the balustrade, brushed against Kallian's who, however, did not seem bothered by it.

Geralt turned to look at Zevran, puzzled, but he didn't look so surprised. Evidently, something had been going on for a while.

They walked on to Harrowmont's palace, picking up sidelong glances and half-hearted comments from every dwarf they encountered.

"We're disturbing the peace." Zevran commented.

"Oh, what a shame!" Natia sneered.

The guards in front of Harrowmont Palace let them pass without a word, but they didn't even try to hide their annyoance.

When they arrived in front of the corridor that led to their rooms Natia performed a shaky bow, almost falling to the floor. She had drank a lot, even for her standards. "Well, it's been a pleasure."

Kallian gently grabbed her by the arm, keeping her from sliding down the wall. "Good night."

Leliana giggled, opening the door to the room she shared with Kallian and Natia and escorting them inside. "See you two tomorrow."

"I hope you're not too tired... I'd hate to end up all alone." Zevran mumbled once they were gone.

Geralt huffed. "We share the same room, I can't leave you alone if I want to get some sleep."

“Is that all you want to get? Sleep?" Zevran lasciviously stroked his beard leaning closer to him, immediately sending his blood downward.

Geralt's head spun. He regretted drinking so much. He jerked away, staggering a little but managing to reach the door to their room. "Come on, let's get inside."

He didn't even manage to finish his sentence that the elf closed the door behind them, leaning against it. "We could do so much more than sleeping, you know."

When the elf blinked and a hint of tongue licked his upper lip, Geralt had a clear image of how else he could make himself useful with that tongue. The room was shifting and his pants were terribly tight.
How long had it been since...?

Zevran was clearly aware of the effect he was having on him, and he took to opening his shirt, taking an exasperatingly long time.

"Maker's balls!"

Geralt grabbed him by the collar, pulling him closer. "You're pushing your luck."

The elf's scent hit him hard, intoxicating him.

"Then why don't you push me?" Zevran replied, sliding his hand down, caressing his chest and abs, resting on the bulge in his pants. "Maybe against the wall, hard and nice..."

Magical sparks vibrated in the air around them the instant the elf's fingers started massaging Geralt's groin, tearing a groan of frustration from him as the last of his resistances left him. Zevran chuckled.

Geralt grunted, pushing him against the wall and taking possession of his mouth, stifling the other's giggle by hastily removing his shirt.

The elf teased him, playing with his tongue and pushing him away from himself, inexplicably strong for being shorter than him. He led Geralt towards the bed, fumbling with his robes, leaving him shirtless.

A shiver of excitement shook him, the booze wearing down and lust taking control of him. He pushed the elf onto the bed, straddling him. Zevran made to get up, but Geralt released a spark from his fingers, sending him to the soft pillows with a lascivious groan.

The elf's brown eyes pointed into his own, so different from-

Geralt gritted his teeth, grabbing his hair and kissing him roughly. He felt Zevran fumbling with the laces of his clothing, then he got freed. His erection stood up, hard and already leaking.

As if from nowhere, the elf pulled a small bottle from a pocket, licking his lips, expectantly. The tattoo on the side of his face seemed to dance on his caramel skin, running down his side and wrapping around the thigh.

Zevran was lean built, almost hairless and smooth to the touch.

With a wave of his hand Geralt blew out the candles, trying to stop comparing him to someone else and turning Zevran onto his back.

His hair was thin, the color wrong and too long... Geralt ran his fingers between them, clenching his fist until he groaned in pleasure, pushing him against the pillows so he wouldn't hear his voice.

He quickly prepared him, pouring the oil on his hands and reaching his ring of muscles, sliding in a finger then soon another, Zevran guiding him with a hand, moaning.

“Fuck me already.”

Geralt adjusted himself to his entrance, trying to ignore how wrong he felt, pushing in with ease.

The elf wasn't too tight but he felt so good clenching around him. "Harder." Zevran moaned louder.

He shushed him with one hand, thrusting in hard and moaning, closing his eyes, another's face etched in his mind, his body, his scent, his voice...

Geralt was about to come. He brought a hand to his partner's erection, pumping and squeezing in rhythm with his thrusts. He felt the magical energy build up, but the feeling of doing it with someone who had none to share was odd.

A burst of sparks lit up the room for a moment, and Geralt bit down on the other's shoulder, making him cum soon after.

Jowan...
He abandoned himself on his partner, exhausted, rolling to one side.

 

 

 

 

He felt like shit.

Facing his third cup of black tea, hot and bitter as he liked it, an headache that seemed to split his brain in half and his stomach tangled with nausea and guilt, Geralt considered for a moment the idea of banging his head against the wall. At least there was a slim chance he would forget what had happened the night before.

He had ignored Zevran's good morning, who had gotten up as if nothing had happened, washing up, dressing himself and then leaving the room.

Geralt had stayed in bed, buried under the covers pretending to be asleep. Though the elf had most likely noticed he was not.

"Hey, are you alright?"

He looked up. Leliana was looking at him worriedly. Her hair perfectly fine, all that remained from the night before was a trickle of dark circles on her pale complexion.

He nodded, unconvincingly.

"If you have an headache, Wynne makes an exceptional brew. I could go ask her some..."

"I don't think his problem is an headache!" Natia made her entrance, patting him on the back and sitting in front of him. "So, have you guys scratched your itches with a bit too much enthusiasm?"

He gave her a sour look that had the only effect of making her laugh, as she helped herself from the breakfast tray.

"With that hair you wouldn't scare anyone, not even with your blood magic."

"Natia!" Leliana scolded her, looking around alarmed.

"Don't worry, no one here even knows what that means..."

"Lucky them." Kallian sat down next to Natia, yawning conspicuously. "I haven't slept a wink, all that food has been sitting on my stomach."

"Would you like some tea?" Geralt offered her.

The other nodded after a few moments of uncertainty, letting the mage take a mug of water, heat it up with a bit of magic and put the dry leaves in it.

Once it was ready, she stared circumspectly at the mug, sniffing its scent.

"It's not poison, I promise."

"Thank you." The elf replied dryly, taking a sip.

"Is there any for me as well?"

They turned. Aenor came in rubbing her eyes, hair still a mess and eyes circled in black. She slumped down on the bench, resting her head on the stone table.

"I'd ask you how you spent your evening, but I think the answer would be less fun than ours." Natia greeted her, handing her a mug full of beer.

The other didn't even sniff to check what it was, taking a sip and coughing in disgust. “Come on, so early in the morning?!"

"It's almost noon now, morning my ass..." Natia laughed. She took the mug back.

Geralt sighed, preparing a tea for the Warden as well. She puted, adding three tablespoons of lichen syrup. The mage almost felt offended that she was ruining the flavor with that sweet stuff, but he let it go. The girl seemed to have had a disastrous night, almost as bad as his own.

"Those fucking stone-asses have been arguing all night."

Natia laughed, amused by hearing her use her nicknames for the nobles. "So, what's up?"

"Apparently, we should go smash some heads in a stupid arena and then solve the crime problem in Dust Town." Muttered the elf. "And, if we're all still in one piece after all that, go even more underground to look for a crazy woman who disappeared looking for a way to make more golems."

"So they really want to go after Branka?" Leliana asked, munching on a sweetroll.

"Rather, his haughtiness thinks it's easy to take down the whole Carta?"

Geralt sighed. He just wanted to have a quiet morning, was that too much to ask?

"Tomorrow we'll fight in the arena, today they'll be announcing that the Grey Wardens will fight on behalf of Prince Duran Aeducan." Aenor didn't seem too convinced about that.

"Well, who's on the team?" Natia asked her, interested.

"Me, Alistair, Shale, and..."

"I'll be fighting too, of course."

They turned around in surprise. Duran, beard trimmed and wearing a new armor polished to perfection, greeted them with a nod. "Let it not be said that I do not fight my own battles."

"Won't that be dangerous?" Leliana asked. "After all, you'd be an easy target for your brother's assassins..."
The prince shook his head. "No, Bhelen cannot afford to kill me in front of the entire Provings. In fact, if he had any guts at all he'd fight me himselg, but I already know I won't be so lucky..."

Geralt frowned. "Weren't you awaiting trial? Have you settled that with the Assembly yet?"

Duran laughed. "No, not at all." He grabbed some ale as well, sitting down at the table. "Every trial and other matter has been postponed until after Orzammar has elected a king. And when Lord Harrowmont withdrew his own candidacy yesterday in favor of mine, turning his votes to me... Bhelen didn't even have enough seats to lock me in a cell, let alone sentence me to death." He broke into an amused smile. "You should have seen the look on his face when he declared that we would solve our brother's murder by winning the crown... I thought he'd wear out his teeth, the way he was grinding them."

Natia snorted. "There, we could have solved that little incident at the Provings the same way, I'd be in charge of the Carta now..."

"Brosca, that's just what I wanted to talk to you about."

The woman just stared at him, confused, a bit of food popping off her mouth.

"Someone should fix this Jarvia mess, and no one knows the Carta better than you here, their weaknesses and all the secret passages to get into their lair..."

"No way."

The prince immediately changed his expression. "It's not negotiable. You will have to do your part, and in return you will get a reward when I am elected King."

Natia, to everyone's astonishment, stood up. "I'm sorry, but I can't. I can't help you against Bhelen."

Geralt intercepted the anger coming from the prince and tried to chime in. "Natia, we came here with a purpose, didn't we?"

The other shook her head, a tense expression on her face. "I can't do that to her..."

"Brosca, by the Ancestors, may we know what you're blabbering about?" Blurted Duran. "I thought I had you on my side and now you decide to support my scumbag brother? What did he promise you, money? The Carta? A title?"

She too raised her voice. "It's not like that!"

"Then what, to give him a son too, like that casteless he brought along-"

"She's my sister!" Natia shouted, slamming a hand down on the table and sending the plate flying to the floor, crashing to smithereens. "Fuck!"

Silence descended. A chilled, horrible silence.

Geralt didn't know what to say. He met Kallian's gaze, who was staring at Natia with wide eyes.

Aenor was left with her cup of tea in midair, eyes fixed on the two.

Duran closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and then another.

"Natia, I'm sure no one here meant to turn you against your sister. The Prince simply wasn't aware of it..." Leliana, as usual, was trying to save the day.

"Well, he knows now. And I can't have her sent back to Dust Town, I can't." Natia grunted, her gaze pointed to the ground.

The prince seemed to have regained his use of words. "Brosca, you could have told me earlier."

"Would it have changed anything?"

Duran stepped closer to her, making her look him in the eye. "I thought you'd have figured out by now that you could trust at least one stone-ass, right?"

Natia tried to look away.

"Do you really think I can send my nephew and his family to the slums, or worse?" Duran continued, clenching a fist. "Ancestors, just answer my question!"

"I don't know, all right?!" Natia yelled, wriggling away and taking a few steps back. "Before you got to the surface you never gave a shit about the rest of us, we were just scum! I remember, you know, how you treated me in the cell. Or when you and your friend Gorim ignored me most of the way to Denerim!"

"I don't-"

"Your nephew?! He's probably nothing but a future soldier to you, just another fool to be sent to the Deep Roads to die, dressed in fine armor and trained to kill! The only way we can get you to notice us is to churn out males and you wonder why I don't trust you?"

Duran let a few moments pass. "Are you done?"

Natia stared back at him, furious. Geralt noticed that her eyes were glazed over. "No."

"Yell at me all you want, go ahead and accuse me of being born the son of kings, being a stone-ass, supporting the caste system and being privileged. Go ahead, by all means." He challenged her to continue. "But don't accuse me, ever, of being a murderer or wanting to hurt my family."

Natia pulled up her nose. "It's not your family."

"That child is my brother's. Blood of my blood."

"You hate your brother!"

"It doesn't change the fact that the child is innocent of his father's crimes. What kind of monster do you think I am?"

The woman lowered her gaze again, staring at her feet. "I couldn't have known."

"You could have asked. You could have trusted me."

Geralt understood her. To trust someone from such a high class that she felt she wasn't even worth looking at? Someone who represented the entire system of abuses? It was no wonder Natia hadn't confided in him about her sister.

"Once I get my throne, little Endrin will remain a prince and your sister will continue to live in the palace. He is an Aeducan and he will be treated as such, not as a common soldier or worse. He will have the same rights as any of my children, I swear it on the Stone."

"My sister, Rica, won't believe that."

"Go talk to her, then."

Natia lifted her gaze, grimacing. "Do you think they'll let me into the palace just like that?"

"She has to leave the palace, once in a while. We'll have a message delivered to her from a trusted man, someone Bhelen doesn't know, and you'll meet in the Commons."

After a few moments, Natia nodded. "What do you want in return?"

Duran sighed. "I'm not asking for anything in return of the safety of that child, I'm asking a favor from you. I need your help with the Carta, and no one can do it better than you. But I'm not forcing you to do anything, and I'll still help you talk with your sister. You have already earned that.”

"I'll do it." Natia sighed. "You're asking me to kill Jarvia, aren't you? I can do that. Shit, I've got a score to settle with that bitch."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"However," she continued, "if you're fucking with me, I'll kill you."

The prince smiled, nodding. "Seems right."

"Deal."

They shook hands.

"Now, I guess you guys have to come with me!"

Geralt shivered, Natias's eyes locked on him. She seemed to have fully recovered, the moment of weakness gone forever.

"Do we really have to?"

"You can't spend all your time in the Shaperate, beanpole."

"Andraste's flaming panties..." He mumbled with a sigh. "All right, keg."

"Great. So Natia, Geralt, Kallian, Leliana and Zevran will go take care of the Carta." Duran spoke again, clapping his hands one time.

Geralt's mood sank further upon hearing the elf being mentioned.

"Why not send Morrigan and Sten as well?" The Warden asked, concerned. "They might need an extra hand."

Natia shook her head. "Nah, we'll be fine. Besides, Sten wouldn't fit through half the tunnels and I honestly feel more comfortable without a giant spider witch by my side."

"Not to mention we might need support." Said Duran. "I don't think I need to fear anything from my brother in the Proving Grounds, but it's best to be forewarned..."

 

 

 

 

The rest of the afternoon Geralt chose to spend in the Modeling Room. He plunged into silence, ignoring the curious and sometimes hostile stares of the dwarves who came and went. He wandered through the shelves, flipping through pages of very old books covering the history of the lost empire, the runes they used to enchant weapons and armor, until he found what he was looking for: a dozen treatises, all about the Dark Prole and the Corruption it brought.

When the Shaper arrived to warn him it was time to close up, Geralt realized he hadn't touched food all afternoon. Reluctantly, he rose from his chair. He had gathered valuable information on the darkspawn, of course, but he hadn't found what he was looking for.

Heading toward the exit he met Shale, who was arguing with an assistant.

"There must be a way to get my memory back!"

"I'm sorry, but most of the texts about Golems are these you see here. If you haven't found anything, that means there's no way."

"Nonsense!" Thundered the creature, crossing its arms, the crystals on its back glowing ominously. "They created me here, I must have a past."

"That's why they invented control rods when they created golems..." He heard another dwarf whisper, richly dressed, his mustache intertwined with his long beard. He looked at Shale with a mixture of annoyance and scientific interest. "Golem, you should talk to your own kind, maybe they know something."

"Those dumb statues without a thought of their own! Do you want to be crushed like a pigeon, you tiny mushy, arrogant creature?"

Geralt had no intention of getting in the way, especially considering how much the Golem hated all mages, but the dwarves around them were starting to get impatient and he didn't want them to call the guards. "Shale, I don't think we should make a scene..."

"Better for the red mage to stay out of affairs that don't concern it!"

He sighed, the headache still gripping him. "If you're sent back to the surface, you'll be left alone, surrounded by feathered creatures with fickle intestines."

The golem seemed to ponder that for a moment. Without answering, it spun around, exiting the Shaperate with heavy sthuds.

"Thank you for taking care of this, stranger." The assistant turned to him. "There are very few golems left in Orzammar, but none are that problematic..."

Geralt shook his head. "It can be very useful at times, but it's a bit of a hothead. As hot as that stone head of its can get..."

The dwarf didn't seem amused by the joke, so the mage hurried off.

He found himself wandering the streets of the Diamond Quarter, returning to the balcony next to the stairs leading downstairs, admiring the view.

He missed the fresh air; the place reminded him too much of the tower. Oppressive, with no way out and guards everywhere ready to attack for any futile reason.

"Hey, beanpole, thinking of jumping off?"

Some had, back at the Tower. Then the Templars found a way to lock all windows and prevent even that way of escape. "No, keg, just waiting for a hole to open up in the ceiling."

"By the Stone, do you want them to all fall into the sky?"

He smiled. Natia removed her hood, freeing the thin braids. She had given herself a wash and looked almost presentable. "You still think you can fall into the sky?"

"I don't, but they do." She replied, pointing to the lights below them.

Geralt didn't know whether to ask her how it had gone with her sister. They remained silent for a while, each lost in their own thoughts.

"Rica told me I might as well stop thinking of her as my sister."

He turned to look at her. The tone of her voice was flat, her face contracted into a grimace.

"I'm sorry, Natia."

She shrugged. "I had to know that. But I also hoped for an hug, or even a little smile... Even before she knew I was on Duran's side, she looked at me like I was a ghoul."

"Wasn't she glad to know you were alive?"

"Maybe for a moment. Then she remembered how I dishonored the Provings and most likely freed the murderous brother of her beloved and perfect Prince Bhelen. I should have explained the situation to her before I left, but I have a feeling it would have been pointless." She huffed. "She was already pregnant, you know. She told me. She didn't want Beraht to know, so as not to leave him too disappointed in case it was a girl."

"Would that have been so bad?"

"Another mouth to feed, my sister useless and Beraht furious at not being able to get into the royal palace? Yeah, pretty bad." She scratched the back of her head, dangling a hand over the balustrade. "I was hoping she'd at least be a little grateful for killing that shit Beraht, but she wasn't even able to thank me, blaming me for the fact that she and our mother had to flee immediately, seeking Bhelen's protection."

"Does she really think he is a good person? Despite all the evidence against him?"

"He's brainwashed her. She thinks he's the best there is, a perfect prince just waiting to become king to save Orzammar and raise us from the dust." Natia spat into the void. "All bullshit."

"Maybe if you tried to explain it to her..."

"There's nothing I can do!" Growled the other. "She won't talk to me anymore. She made it clear that if I even tried to approach her, she'd call the guards. She'd rather put her own sister to death than see what a shit Bhelen is."

"If she loves him..."

"How stupid can you be?!"

Geralt closed his mouth, offended.

"There's no place for love down here. If you're a duster, you die a duster unless you manage to get knocked up by a stone-ass and, by fluke, give him a boy. And you'll only be the mother of a little runt anyway, underneath all the pretty clothes and jewelry you're still a brand ready to be replaced by someone else." She turned to look at him, her eyes red and swollen. "It must be nice to be able to dream of a love like in the songs, but down here you learn all too soon that it's nothing but bullshit."

The mage didn't know what to reply. Was it the bitter, harsh reality of the slums, or was Natia only repeating those words to convince herself that she couldn't expect anything better?

Love in the Circle wasn't a thing either, but that didn't prevent them to at least dream about it.

Before he could retort, Natia turned her back on him, walking away towards Harrowmont's estate. "Get some sleep, we have work to do tomorrow."

He stood there, dumbfounded like a moron.

"She gave you a good scolding..."

He rolled his eyes. Like he needed any more drama...

"You know, I've previously had someone avoid me after a night of hot passion, but never when I was forced to travel with them."

"I haven't avoided you-"

Zevran smiled, looking smug. "You think I can't tell when someone's heart belongs to another?"

Geralt leaned his back against the balustrade. "I've been an asshole. I'm sorry."

"Ah, my friend, let's not pretend I haven't been trying to seduce you for weeks... In truth, I had my eye on you since it was still my goal to kill you all." He chucled. "I remember thinking 'if he survives, I might even treat his wounds'..."

"Like that would have ever happened. You never stood a chance against all of us."

The elf blinked. "Maybe, but I've been known to attempt impossible feats."

Geralt sighed. "This can't go on. This thing. Between the two of us."

"I've noticed. Though we can hardly tell there's anything..."

He was about to retort, when the other lifted a hand.

"Let me finish. All I'm saying is that sex can be fun for its own sake, and that's how I like to think of it. However, since you're clearly uncomfortable with it and I have no intention of putting myself in competition with your beloved Jowan, as I know I've already lost in the beginning... All I'm saying is that it was a good tumble, and if it were up to me I'd do it again in a blink, but if you have a problem with that I'll stand aside and avoid even speaking to you."

"No need to be so extreme." Geralt said. "I just shouldn't have given in." Or at least avoided thinking about Jowan while in the middle of it...

"Ah, but at least I got it out of my system." Zevran laughed. "Can I then propose a simple friendship, putting this whole awkward business behind us?"

Geralt pondered for a few moments. He didn't dislike the elf, he was fun to listen to and he had a fascinating way to look at things. Sure, there was also his annoying accent and the constant sexual innuendos, but... "We can give it a try, I think I'd like to have a friend." He held out his hand.

The other blinked for a moment, grasping it. "To a fruitful friendship then! Also, it's not like we have much of those, is it?"

The mage chuckled. “I wonder why is that...”

"Now, let's gossip a bit, what do you think is going on between our dear Chantry sister and a certain angry elf...?"

Chapter 27: Orzammar - Provings Arena

Summary:

Prince Duran Aeducan enters the Provings to reagain some honor in front of the whole Orzammar, joined by the Wardens and Shale, but things don't exactly go as planned.

Chapter Text

"Are you sure?" Aenor asked him again.

The Prince nodded, looking as if he could not wait to enter the fray.

The Proving Arena was huge and packed to bursting. The crowd clamored excitedly in the stands as the last of them took their seats, the tension palpable. The news that Prince Duran Aeducan, accused of fratricide and now vying for his father's throne in place of Lord Harrowmont, would be attending the Provings had spread throughout the city attracting such a large number of audience that some had had to settle for improvised seats while many others had remained standing. No one wanted to miss what would could be a once in a lifetime event.

Aenor felt very uncomfortable in the midst of all those people.

As if the idea of being underground with hundreds of feet of rock above her head didn't make her nervous enough. Everywhere she turned there were busy dwarves walking quickly through the streets of the city, going on their business, gathering in small groups to listen to the crieres or discuss the latest news, checking out newcomers as intruders or greeting them curiously.

Aenor was unaccustomed to being in the midst of so many people. And now, from the balcony overlooking the Arena, she could feel the gaze of several hundred people on her. She shuddered.

"Piotin will be a tough nut to crack. I suggest you concentrate on his second and the other two. I'll take care of my cousin myself." Duran explained.

"Will you be able to deal with him on your own?" Elissa asked him, concerned.

The dwarf stroked his beard, gathered into three thick braids so that it would not get in his way. "Who do you take me for, Lady Cousland?" He retorted amused, a fierce smile on his face.

He had his eyes on the platform located on the opposite side of the arena, where Bhelen sat on a huge stone chair.

Duran raised his axe slightly in that direction, grinning widely. "Soon, brother."

"This is a glory Proving, fought under the watchful eyes of the Paragons of Orzammar, to honor the memory of King Endrin Aeducan!"

The prince descended the stairs that led to the Arena pit, slowly, all eyes on him. The crowd was noisy with excitement. Aenor, Alistair and Shale waited for their turn to join him

"Do you think Bhelen will try anything?" She heard Alistair ask Wynne.

"We'll keep an eye on him, don't worry." The mage replied, her hand steady on her magic staff. "Though I don't think he'll dare dishonor the Provings in front of the whole city."

"If he's even half of what Prince Duran told us, I'd expect anything." Retorted Elissa, gloomy.

“The first fight is between Seweryn, of the Warrior Caste, renown for defeating his father right here at the mere age of twelve, and Prince Duran Aeducan, accused of murdering his own brother and now vying for the throne of Orzammar!"

The crowd erupted, between those who supported one or the other Aeducan.

The confrontation was short and unsurprising. As good as Seweryn could be with sword and shield, the prince's two-pronged axe broke his shield in half after a few powerful blows, quickly disarming him and sending Seweryn to the ground with a dull thud.

Admiring shouts went up from the audience, but there were still many insults.

The second fight was a little more exciting: he had to fight two opponents, a warrior and a dwarf armed with two daggers, who seemed to corner him for a moment only to be defeated as well.

"Look at Bhelen." Alistair chuckled. "He looks like he just swallowed a whole lemon."

Aenor sharpened her gaze but could not see that well at that distance. His posture was stiff, however, and he had stopped drinking.

After a brief pause in which Duran merely placed his axe on the ground, his gaze focused on his brother, it was time for two more fights, which ended much the same as the previous ones.

"A sip of ale is all I need, thank you." Shrugged the Prince, refusing Wynne's care. "It's nothing more than a few dents."

"To face your cousin you should be at your best..." Elissa tried to convince him.

"Bhelen is watching us." Aenor interrupted her, pointing at him with a nod. "As is the entire arena. If they see him accepting any healing, furthermore from a mage, he'll lose credibility."

"Exactly." Nodded Duran. "I was a commander in Orzammar's army and soon I will be their king. Let it not be said that I cannot endure a few scratches."

"Few of you squishy creatures can." Shale commented.

"So now it's our turn."

Aenor turned to Alistair. "Let's watch our backs. We can't afford to get killed down here. Shale, you keep his second, the one in the red armor, busy. The two of us get rid of the crossbowman and the other warrior first."

"While I take care of Piotin." Duran said with a fierce look. "Let's move."

Aenor saw Elissa approach Alistair and whisper something to him, but she didn't really care enough to listen.

As she descended the stairs, the steps narrow and steep, the roar of the crowd made her ears ring. Aenor gritted her teeth, lowering the helmet over her head and trying to keep her breathing steady.
From what she had seen in previous confrontations, Piotin and his people were formidable warriors.

This made it all the more important that the throne passed to Duran, which would ensure the support of Orzammar's army against the Archdemon.

They had to win, because she doubted Bhelen would now give them his warriors, if he'd be elected.

"Only two mighty warriors remain!" Thundered the Master of Trials. "Fighting for his royal cousin Bhelen, Piotin Aeducan has won every encounter!"

A dwarf made his entrance, his hair and beard cut so short he was almost bald. He wore a mighty suit of armor, the coat of arms of the House of Aeducan prominently displayed despite the bloodstains that had stained it from previous battles. 'He holds the highest number of decapitations in the Arena', Duran had said. Aenor, as their opponent swung his greataxe in the air, had no trouble believing it.

"To challenge him to clear his name, Prince Duran Aeducan! Fighting with him are the two Grey Wardens, Aenor Mahariel and Alistair Theirin, and a Golem!"

They stepped forward. Aenor noticed that Alistair was nervous too: the boy kept flashing his gaze around them, to the stands. They were the center of attention, more so than they had been before.

"You fight well but the Ancestors won't forgive you for what you did to Trian. And neither will I." Piotin growled in his cousin's direction.

Duran lifted his chin. "We'll see."

Alistair stepped in front of Aenor, his shield raised to deflect a bolt aimed at her. The metal tip bounced off the shield with a snap.

The other warrior lunged at them, forcing the elf to parry the blow of one of the two short swords the dwarf wielded. The second whistled a breath away from her side, scratching the ledge of her armor. She charged against him, knocking him back.

A loud thud signaled that Shale's punch had landed.

Piotin's Second, a dwarf armed with an axe and shield, cartwheeled to the ground. To the surprise of the Wardens, and the audience who screamed in admiration, he staggered back up, shook his head and got back into position.

Shale grunted in amusement. "The flesh creature is going to get squished either way."

Aenor was about to remind the golem not to kill unless it was strictly necessary, but was interrupted by another bolt, that passed within an inch of her ear.

Fen'Harel ma halam! She hissed, deflecting a lunge with the hilt of her sword and, taking advantage of the momentary imbalance of the warrior in front of her, stepped to her own left, sliding the sword down and charging a blow under the dwarf's armpit.

The blade slid between the armor joints, leaving a red streak in the air.

The opponent grunted in pain losing one of his two weapons, his arm now useless. He unconsciously backed towards his companion, who in the meantime had abandoned his crossbow for two hatchets and was holding his own against the other Warden, using his speed and the difference in height to his advantage.

Aenor hurried to finish the fight, swinging her sword and disarming the warrior before moving to the side, leaving room for Alistair to charge him with his shield and send him to the ground unconscious.
She then charged forward, ducking and aiming for the warrior's head with a slash that got blocked by both of his opponent's blades.

The dwarf grinned in derision as she futilely tried to free her weapon.

"Grey Warden... you're just a little girl." He sneered at her.

Aenor cursed at him through gritted teeth, keeping her weapon engaged just enough for Alistair to strike him in the head.

The metallic thud was completely covered by the roar of the crowd.

That noise made her hair stand on end, her pointed ears quivering. She turned, freezing at the sight of Shale in the middle of the arena, the Second of Piotin held by the legs and arms above her head.

Her breath stopped.

"Shale don't-"

Alistair's shout was drowned out by the sound of breaking bones as the golem spread its arms wide and hurled the warrior's remains across the arena. The dwarf's legs flew over the first row of spectators, flooding them with blood, while the top half landed a few feet away from her.

"Weak." Shale commented, a fierce grin on its stone features, the blood that had smeared the crystals on its body now glowing even more sinisterly.

Aenor felt a bitter taste in his mouth, her wide eyes fixed on the dwarf's head, locked into a scream of pain.

The crowd roared, enraptured by such violence. The elf leaned for a second on her sword, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

She spat on the ground, backing away, slightly unsteady on her legs.

She wandered her gaze to Duran and Piotin, who didn't seem to notice anything.

The Prince had taken off his helmet, which lay useless in the middle of the arena, and was furiously returning the blows of his cousin, who was also struggling in his dented armor.

Neither hinted at giving ground to the other.

Piotin seemed to get the better of him for a moment, managing to unbalance Duran and make him lose his balance. The Prince fell to the ground, the greataxe slipping from his hands. His cousin's weapon dropped on him, aiming for his head.

 

 

 


 

 

 


Duran rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding his opponent's axe which thudded into the ground. The crowd screamed again, an indistinct buzz at the edge of his mind.

He heard his cousin fumbling to raise his weapon and used the moment to move further away, levering on his legs to rise back on his feet.

His axe had gone a few feet behind him. He looked around, frantic, sprinting to retrieve another weapon lying nearby.

He didn't have time to lift it that he had to leap to the side again, his opponent's axe whistling, the spectators cheering at the clash.

Duran felt one of his breastplate straps release as Piotin's blade scratched his flesh. He gritted his teeth.

Just a scratch. He forced himself not to give in, his legs aching. Perhaps he should have taken the mage up on her offer, at least to regain a bit of his strength...

He clasped his hands around Roschek's axe, Piotin's Second, shielding himself from the next blow and fighting back with the same ferocity. He forced his cousin to move back a few steps.

They exchanged a new series of attacks that left them both exhausted.

Piotin was out of breath, a trickle of blood flowing down his leg, which he dragged with force. He seemed to be standing by sheer force of will. Duran let him walk a few feet away.

His cousin removed the helmet, breathing heavily. "You have not lost your skills." He growled.

"Neither have you." Duran reciprocated, grateful for that brief pause.

Around them, the two Wardens and the Golem were the last ones standing.

Piotin pointed at them with a nod. "Why don't you order them to attack me?"

The Prince shook his head. "This fight is between you and me, no one else."

"Do you think you can convince me that there is a shred of honor left in you, cousin?"

"I don't need to convince anyone."

His opponent nodded, throwing his helmet to the ground and kicking it to roll away.

They clashed again.

Roscheck's weapon was no match for Piotin's, let alone for the one Adal Helmi had so carefully kept safe for Duran. Cornered once again, he raised it to deflect his opponent's blade from his head: the weapon broke in half, leaving him to counter the blows of the other one only with its handle.

Duran swung the metal staff with one hand, shifting his weight to give himself more momentum and strike his opponent in the knee of his offended leg. Piotin staggered backwards with a curse, losing his balance. Duran sprinted forward, lifting the end of the handle that ended in a small blade.

He felt himself fall forward, a stabbing pain in his side.

He slammed his chin into the ground, cutting off his breath. Gasping, he brought one hand toward the arrow's plume, which popped up right where Piotin had cut the breastplate straps.

He looked down at his blood-soaked hand while he tried to pull himself to his feet with the other.

Duran heard Alistair rushing to his side, his shield raised to protect him.

The crowd screamed in outrage as the Proving Master tried to call to order, but it was chaos.

He looked up, Aenor was shouting something from over his shoulder, her sword pointed at Piotin.

He tried to turn around, to say something, but his mouth was slurred, his head spinning. Poison?

It wasn't his cousin who had struck him, and he knew Piotin Aeducan would never stoop to such a dishonorable act.

Bhelen, then. He should have expected it from him, traitorous coward he was.

A blue glow suddenly enveloped him. Duran felt as if he had been thrown into a pool of chilling water as Wynne's healing spell took effect, slowly closing his wounds. He wanted to scream at her that it would only slow down the poison, but he didn't have enough strength...

Something exploded around them, followed by screams of panic as smoke billowed all around them, invading the Arena. He coughed, forcing himself to get back to his feet, crawling on the ground.

He grabbed something, recognizing it immediately by its hilt. It was his greataxe.

Using it to help support himself, he brought a hand to his mouth, trying to filter out the acidic smoke, his eyes burning.

Out of the corner of his eye, Duran spotted movement, the glint of a dagger aimed at his back. He turned to stop it but Alistair was quicker, sending his attacker to the ground with a slash that cut him from collarbone to the opposite side.

He didn't have time to thank him that he had to defend himself again from another dwarf that appeared out of nowhere, the knives cutting through the air with a whistle.

"Maker, who are these people?!" Alistari coughed, raising his shield to protect himself from another bolt, which ricocheted away. He was keeping his sword arm pressed to his face, covering his nose and mouth.

"Carta." Duran grunted, sending the dwarf in front of him into the dust and driving the axe deep into his chest. He pulled it away from the corpse, causing a fountain of blood to gush from it, trying to speak as little as possible not to breath in the smoke.

Another assassin came towards him, this time wielding a short sword and a rusty shield. He stepped back, coughing, feeling his arms go numb from the poison. With a gasp, he crashed into the shoulder of another dwarf. He instinctively swerved to the side as that one lunged at him, raising his weapon...

And driving it into the skull of his assailant.

"Looks like we've been interrupted."

"Piotin?!"
He coughed again, uncertain of his cousin's intentions. Together they disposed of three more enemies.
When the smoke had cleared, there were a dozen corpses on the ground. Guards had come down to the pit, but it was clear that they had been instructed to wait as long as possible before intervening.

"The Provings are over!" Announced the Master. "Those responsible will be punished harshly, for now you are all requested to leave in orderly fashion while the guards do their checks!"

Duran felt his legs give in. He would have fallen to the ground again were it not for his cousin, who caught him by an arm. "We're not done, you and I." Piotin said before walking away, headed for the exit of the Arena, an indecipherable expression on his face.

Alistair rushed over, helping Duran to stand. "Are you all right, Prince?"

Duran shook his head. "No, the arrow was poisoned."

The Warden paled, "Wynne will know what to do."

Duran nodded, too tired to speak. He looked in the direction of the royal balcony, from where Bhelen had been watching the fight. He thought he saw him hurl something at the ground, furious.

I'm still alive, little brother. For now, at least.

He struggled to keep himself conscious all the way to Lord Harrowmont's estate. Wynne's spells slowed the poison but they were unable to stop it completely.

When he finally lay down on the bed in his room, he allowed himself a groan of pain.

"Remove his armor." Ordered the mage as Alistair frantically fumbled with the straps.

Duran lowered his gaze to the wound left by the poisoned bolt. It was grayish, with dark veins branching out to the rest of his body.

"Tell me you know how to make antidote." He grunted forcing himself not to show any fear or pain.

Wynne's expression was enough to answer him no.

"Perhaps Natia might know what they used..."

Morrigan walked in the room. "In the event that she does come back alive, she would certainly not be able to tell us what the substance is.”

"Then you do something!" Blurted Alistair, clearly panicking. "Don't you have some magical herbs hidden in that bag?"

He heard Morrigan sneer. "There will be no need for that."

The woman bent down to pick something up off the ground, showing it to the others.

"Don't tell me it was you!" Jolted the boy, looking at the vial. The dark liquid inside glowed ominously.

"Believe me, fool, if I wanted to kill someone you would have been my first victim, and I certainly wouldn't have used poison." Morrigan retorted. "It fell to the ground when you undressed him.”

"How is it possible...?"

"Piotin." Duran coughed, his breathing labored. It had to have been his cousin, when he'd grabbed him before leaving. But if he was in league with Bhelen, why save his life?

"Morrigan, Wynne, can you create an antidote with that?"

"Yes, Alistair, it won't be difficult. As long as it's the same poison." Wynne replied.

"It's our only chance."

 

 

 


 

 

 

"Will he make it?" Aenor asked as she saw Alistair leave the room and come towards them.

The other Warden sighed. "I have no idea. Morrigan and Wynne are working on an antidote, and if it's not exceptional enough that those two are working together on it..."

"I'm sure he'll be fine." Elissa said with confidence. "He's in very good hands."

"We were stupid." Aenor blurted, sitting down on a stone bench in the hallway. "It was obvious that Bhelen would try something, but Duran was too full of himself to-"

"Watch your mouth, Warden."

They turned. Adal Helmi, wearing a leather armor with the symbol of her own House etched into the breastplate, came forward with her head held high. "How is he?"

"We're working on an antidote." Alistair replied.

The dwarf nodded. "Good."

"When the Assembly'll know about this-"

"They already know." Lady Helmi interrupted him. "The entire city is aware of the Carta's terrible plan to threaten the monarchy, seeking to eliminate one claimant to the throne and the other's best warrior."
"What?!" Aenor couldn't believe her ears. "How could they possibly buy into this crap?"

Helmi shrugged. "Bhelen didn't waste any time. He gave a long speech from the royal palace, declaring war on Jarvia and the rest of the Carta, blaming the deplorable conditions in the slums and condemning the desecration of the Provings and those who have disgraced its tradition.”

"And they really believed him?” Elissa asked, furious.

"Either they believed it or they were paid to repeat his tales. Either way it doesn't matter, we have no evidence that he was behind the attack."

"We may have a witness, though."

They all turned to Alistair.

"The Prince thinks his cousin slipped a vial of the poison used against him into his pocket."

"Why would Piotin betray Bhelen?" Lady Helmi asked, surprised, leaning her back against the wall. "It doesn't make sense, he was one of the first to side with him."

"Maybe he realized what a piece of shit he is..." Suggested Aenor.

"I'll try to get in touch with him, if that's the case. Either way, we need to make sure the antidote works first..." She cast a worried glance at the door. She looked sincere.

"You should go to him." Elissa told her, an encouraging smile on her face. "I'm sure he'd like that."

Helmi looked hesitant. "There are a lot of things I need to take care of and I wouldn't be any help in there..."
Alistair smiled as well. "Sometimes even simple company can go a long way."

The dwarf nodded and without adding anything else entered the room, closing the door behind her.

"If he doesn't survive, I doubt we can get Orzammar's support." Aenor broke the silence after a few minutes.
"Harrowmont might try again..." Tried to say Alistair, but sighed. All three of them knew how much their plan depended on Prince Duran.

"We don't have to worry. Morrigan and Wynne know what they're doing." Elissa reassured them, but concern was clearly evident in her voice.

If Duran had died, they would have to get back to the surface, and quickly too. If Bhelen had dared such a move, there was nothing to assure that he wouldn't try to kill the Wardens and their companions as well.

Aenor felt a twinge of worry in her stomach, thinking of the small group they had sent to the Carta's lair.. They were separated, vulnerable. If they didn't come back...

She huffed loudly, trying to chase away the thought from her head.

"I was thinking..." Alistair exclaimed after a while, clearing his throat. "Should he survive, we should go after Branka into the Deep Roads, right?"

"One thing at a time, Alistair."

"No, listen to me, Aenor. This is important. I need to ask you something."

The elf lifted her gaze, pointing it into the other's.

"I need to ask you to stay here."

The girl frowned. "This is not the time to tell jokes, Alistair."

"Listen to me!" He raised his voice. "The Deep Roads are swarming with darkspawn and stretch for thousands of miles in all directions, running under the entire Thedas, probably. This Branka could be anywhere."

"And your point is...?" She asked through gritted teeth.

"So," the boy continued, swallowing hard "we may never return. And we're the last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden, we can't afford to both be trapped down there."

"Are you asking me to stay safe here?" She scoffed. "I thought we were supposed to watch each other's back."

"It's not like that! We have responsibilities, without us the Archdemon will destroy Ferelden and who knows how many people will die."

"And how do you think I can stop that, just on my own?"

"You're a Grey Warden!" He stood up, impatient. "Everyone respects you and follows you as their leader. If I don't come back from the Deep Roads, you must go to Redcliffe. Arle Eamon and Elissa will help you raise an army against Loghain and the Archdemon."

Silence fell.

"Why should you go?" Replied Aenor in a hushed voice. "I am useless as a strategist and I am not the daughter of a king. Aemon would rather have you come back, not me. And you would be far more useful to Ferelden than I, both as a warrior and as a Wrden who..." She turned to Elissa looking for help, but the girl had her gaze focused on Alistair, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"Elissa, can you give us a moment?" Alistair asked feebly.

The other nodded, her face stern. She walked away.

Left alone, Alistair sat down next to her. "I get it, you know?"

Aenor avoided his gaze, drawing back. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The boy sighed. "I'm sorry Duncan dragged you into this whole thing, and believe me, I'm so sorry about what happened to your friend."

"What does this have to do with Tamlen?"

"Natia told me about the dream the Sloth Demon had trapped you in, in the Tower."

"It was none of her business!"

"Let me finish, please." He interrupted her, laying a hand on her arm. His grip was firm, but gentle at the same time. Aenor wanted to break free, but she let him talk. "I've seen the way you fight. Like you have nothing to lose, because you think you've already lost everyone. Yours isn't courage, it's... desperation."

The elf opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came of it.

"If you go in there, you won't come out. And I can't allow that. Your Keeper didn't let you die and Tamlen wouldn't have wanted you to get killed for no reason."

"Shut up. You don't know anything about Tamlen." She felt anger mounting in her, and anguish that he had understood how she felt. The pain of reopening a wound that had never healed, the shame of being exposed to the truth.

"Do you think he would have wanted you to die, too?" Alistair retorted, holding her even tighter. "He pulled you out of those ruins because he wanted you to live, Aenor!"

"We're going to die in a few years anyway, the Taint will kill us both, Alistair. Why get so upset if I die a bit sooner than that?"

Alistair took a few seconds to answer. "Because I can't do it alone. Without you, we wouldn't have had the elves on our side, and maybe not even the Circle. We wouldn't have gotten Andraste's Ashes and Aemon would have died. I may not agree with everything you've done, but we need to move forward together. Because if we don't, tens of thousands of people will die." He took a long pause. "There is no one else." He said simply. "You don't know how many times I've cursed myself for not going into battle with Duncan, for not dying in his place. A true Grey Warden would have been saved and not an idiot like me. But Duncan is dead and there's only the two of us, and he would have liked to see us fight to the very end."

Aenor would have liked to reveal to him what he had learned from Flemeth, why Asha'bellanar had saved them, but she remained silent. It was not for her to spill those secrets.

She merely lowered her gaze as a deep sigh escaped her lips. "All right. I'll stay here, but... you come back."

"Oh." He exclaimed surprised. "I didn't think it would be so easy."

She glared at him. "If you don't come back, just know that the Archdemon will raze everything, as I have no chance of making it on my own."

Alistair flashed a bright smile on her. "That's why I plan on coming back. I'm not so easy to get rid of, and I bet the darkspawn don't want me down there either."

Aenor chuckled, "They might get paid by Morrigan to get you out of her hair."

"Who would I have to pay, exactly?"

They turned sharply. Morrigan looked pleased, walking out of Duran's room. She walked over to them, picking up a jug of water and pouring herself a whole mug.

To their questioning looks, she replied with an affirmative nod. "We found the antidote. I've drained pretty much my entire herb supply, but that crone knows can be useful when it comes to healing concoctions. The dwarf is out of danger, at least for now."

They breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Morrigan."

The witch raised an eyebrow, amused. "If we hadn't found an antidote, that would have been quite the setback, wouldn't it?"

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Duran's head felt like it was about to explode and his guts were tangled upside down.

"The nausea will pass, the headache might take a couple of days. But soon you'll be back on your feet." Wynne assured him.

The mage looked tired but seemed satisfied. She and Morrigan had quickly found a way to create an antidote, and thanks to their skill Duran had quickly regained control of his limbs.

He had to admit that he had feared for a few moments that it was over, that Bhelen had won. He felt like an idiot for underestimating his brother.

"You were reckless." Lady Helmi said. "A reckless fool."

He couldn't help but agree with her. "I should have listened to you."

"I have no use for being right, you should have listened to me and Lord Harrowmont, and to your companions. If Bhelen had killed you-"

"Oh, are you about to confess your undying love to me?"

The woman shot him a furious look. "My lineage would have ended in dust! So would my chances of becoming queen, and I have no intention of letting you ruin that!"

Duran chuckled in amusement. "There, now I recognize you."

Lady Helmi's face softened a little. The woman had stood by his side for hours, waiting for the antidote to take effect, not uttering a word until Wynne and Morrigan had declared him out of danger. Duran could swear he'd seen genuine relief in her eyes, before it was quickly hidden beneath the political zest Adal Helmi usually sported. "You got lucky."

"You would have found a way to get by, I'm sure."

He saw her clench her fist around the covers of the bed. "No, I would have convinced the witch to turn herself into a bug, sneak into Bhelen's room and kill him in his sleep." She said it with such seriousness that it convinced him she wasn't joking at all.

"I missed your temper."

"Are you still planning to go into the Deep Roads?" She asked him after a while.

The Prince nodded, "I must. The Assembly needs a Paragon to elect me and clear me of those charges. And I'll be the one to find Branka myself, so there'll be no doubt about who's most deserving of that crown."

"You may not come back, you know that."

He smiled at her, trying to appear more confident than he was. "I'll have two Grey Wardens with me, and a Golem. Did you see what it did in the Arena? It can hold its own against an Ogre, all by itself."
Lady Helmi smiled. "I saw. I don't think even Piotin's most spectacular beheadings have ever elicited such an ovation. Speaking of Piotin, though..."

"I have no idea what his intentions are. He's always been an honorable warrior, but a hothead. Bhelen must have filled him with lies about how our brother died."

"He always had great respect for Prince Trian..." Lady Helmi agreed. "I remember he seemed devastated at the news. He was his Second, after all."

"'The horns of my army,' my brother called him. And few warriors can hold their ground against him, I admit it. He was a tough anvil to beat today, and I'm not sure if the fight had continued it would have ended in my favor." He admitted thoughtfully. "I want him on my side. If he really was the one who put the poison in my pocket, he saved my life."

Lady Helmi grimaced. "It is too little to assume he is on our side."

Duran nodded, still hopeful. "At least it's something. Would you be able to get in touch with him?"

"I'll send one of my most trusted men tonight, as soon as the ground has calmed."

"Casteless storming the Provings... I don't think anything like this has ever happened. It's even worse than when Brosca participated in disguise."

"That Brosca... do you really trust her?" She asked him, lowering her tone of voice even further. "Not only is she a brand, but she is also the sister of Bhelen's concubine. She would have every reason to betray you in favor of your brother."

The Prince weighed his answer. "I can't say I trust her blindly, but I do trust her enough to believe her words. She seemed sincere when she decided to help me, despite her sister."

"You really believe her?"

Duran sighed, sinking further into the soft pillows. "I have no other choice. I need someone who knows the Carta well, and Natia's perfect for that. If she decides to betray me.... well, there's nothing I can do to stop her, but I don't think she will. All our comrades are on my side, and she's more fond of them than she lets on."

Lady Helmi squared him incredulously. "You place a great deal of trust in your new friends."

"You are always very straightforward, that is something I have always respected about you, Lady Adal." Duran smiled. "But I ask you to trust me. I have traveled long enough with the Wardens to deem them worthy of their name, and having me on the throne is now their only chance of gaining Orzammar's support against the Blight that is destroying the surface." The woman didn't seem very convinced, however. "And as for Natia Brosca..." continued Duran, "it may seem strange to you to hear me say this, but she has some honor too, hidden beneath that ugly nose and bad temper."

"If you're wrong..."

"I'm sure they're taking care of the Carta right now, exactly as planned."

Chapter 28: Orzammar - Carta hideout

Summary:

Natia heads back to Dust Town to take care of Jarvia and the Carta, but an old friend's waiting for her.

Spicy stuff at the end, NSFW and all that, you're warned and welcome.
Leske's a sneaky backstabbing deepstalker but I like him a lot, and so does Natia. Even if she'd never admit that so openly.

Chapter Text

Kallian almost missed the Alienage.

As they walked through the dusty alleys, alongside huge ruins of buildings who knows how many centuries old, she couldn't help but compare Dust Town to her old home.

"Hey, tall ones!" Someone called to them from an alleyway, but they followed Natia's instructions continuing on without looking back, toward yet another ruined building.

The stale air carried a sickening stench and the gutters didn't improve the situation.

"Is it normal I feel like I can't breathe?" She asked, concerned. She felt her head heavy and her limbs fatigued, like the air itself wasn't air but just stench.

"The air ducts work poorly here and haven't been cleaned in decades." Explained Natia with a shrug. "It's normal to feel weaker at first, but you'll get used to it. Take small regular breaths, it helps."

"I'd rather not breathe at all, given the stench." The mage said, wrinkling his nose and being very careful where he stepped. He'd been complaining from the first moment they'd gone underground, and in the gutter his moods and comments had reached her tolerance limit.

Kallian shot him a mean look, huffing and passing him to stand beside the dwarf. "Where is this secondary entrance supposed to be?"

"Just up ahead. Sure, we could have used the main one because of this," Natia waved the bones of a small dwarven finger in the air, "but even knowing the password, I get the feeling our motley crew would have attracted some suspicion."

"We could have tried to convince them to let us pass..." Suggested Zevran, who didn't seem particularly impressed by the environment around them. Kallian found herself wondering what kind of adventures the other had been on, to always find an ironic note to whatever came his way.

"You know, I don't think your skills with that kind of sword will come in handy with Jarvia's men..." Natia commented allusively.

"Oh, you think so? And yet I'm famous for being able to convince the toughest guys..."

Leliana let out a giggle, but Kallian sensed that she was nervous, almost as nervous as herself.

"Are you alright?" She asked her in a whisper.

The woman nodded. "I'm just looking forward to getting back to the surface...”

“Yeah, me too.”

Leliana gave her a smile. "Tonight I'd like to try the scented oils I asked Wynne for, to put in the bathtub... It will surely take away the smell and bad memories."

Kallian turned her gaze away, scratching her ear stump in discomfort. "Is it worth it wasting all that water?" She felt like she was missing something, with all the attention Leliana was giving her.

"Oh, what are you supposed to use those oils for?" Zevran chimed in, winking.

Kallian felt her cheeks blush under the other's inquiring gaze. "For the skin, what else?"

"Zevran, we'll lend them to you too, if you want." Leliana replied. "I have a balm that will make your skin look like rose petals."

"That sounds wonderful..."

"Does this look like the time to be talking about stuff like that?" Geralt shushed them with a hiss.

"Sorry we're passionate about body care..." Zevran pouted, shrugging.

Leliana nodded. "You could use them too."

Kallian sighed. For once, she agreed with the mage. It didn't seem at all appropriate for them to chinch about which balm to use and what flower matched their hair, especially when the air was filled with the exact opposite of flowers and scented oils.

She turned away from Leliana, her hand still held on her bow, eyes on Natia.

After a couple more turns, they had to lower themselves into one of the old ventilation pipes, full of mold, bugs and rust.

"Are you sure I can fit in?" Geralt asked, concerned, leaning over to look down. Although he wasn't the size of Sten and Alistair, he was still tall and muscular enough to fear getting stuck.

"Well, if you get stuck, you can always blow whit up." Laughed the dwarf.

Before the mage could elaborate a response, Natia leaned over, grabbing onto an almost totally rusted ladder and lowering herself without hesitation.

"I'll never do that again!" Announced the mage, disgusted, once he too was out of the pipe. He was covered in dust, moss and who knows what else, on his face an air that promised vengeance.

"Shut up now." Natia ordered, pointing to a wall of solid rock a few steps away from them. She sat on the ground, moving stones with her hands until she seemed to find what she was looking for. "Ah!" She exclaimed triumphantly. "They didn't close the passage, apparently." She lifted what looked like a metal hook, which she then inserted into a slit in the wall. She pushed, but got no more than a few squeaks. "Give me a hand, damn it."

They hurried to reach it. With everyone's help, they managed to slide the wall inside the rock, revealing a secret passage.

"Clever." Zevran commented. "Tell me it leads to a secret treasure and you've made my day."

"Trust me, we'll have time to rob the entire lair as soon as we're done with Jarvia." Replied Natia, who was already slipping inside.

The air was even thinner, but at least it didn't smell so bad.

The dwarf walked ahead of the group, paying attention to every last detail looking for traps or anything else that might inform the Carta of their arrival.

The tunnel branched off into multiple tunnels, some too narrow for anyone but a crawling dwarf, others almost six feet in height. Natia seemed to orient herself with no problem and Kallian wondered if that was the Stone selse the dwarves prided themselves on so much. The ability to orient themselves anywhere underground, despite the absence of visible landmarks.

Suddenly, she saw her raise her fist, ordering them to stop.

"Leliana, I need some help."

The archer promptly approached, careful about where she put her feet. They fiddled for a few seconds with something hidden between the cracks in the ground.

A mechanism clicked with a dull thud and a lever popped out of the wall. They continued on.

They avoided other traps, some simple taut wires that Natia recognized instantly, others more complex, such as pressure traps which required a two-women job.

At yet another turn Leliana drew her bow, turning to Kallian, her index finger brought to her lips.

The elf nodded, her own weapon at the ready. Just ahead of them, leaning against a crate, stood a dwarf in light armor, little more than a few pieces of leather covering vital points.

Two arrows hissed through the darkness, piercing him without difficulty.

The dwarf collapsed to the ground with a groan, choking on his own blood.

Further on, two others met the same end.

Before long, they found themselves in front of a stone door. Natia walked over to take a closer look at the lock, shaking her head. "This is going to take me a while."

She fumbled with two lockpicks, her ear resting on the stone while the rest of the group looked around, hands on their weapons, nervous.

"Stand by." Whispered the dwarf, before opening the door.

A blast of frost caught them unprepared, as a thick layer of ice spread from the floor and froze them in place.

"Geralt!"
"I thought you knew how to deal with traps, keg!"

The mage twirled his staff and a shower of flames spread all around him and across the floor, going to melt the ice.

"I think the runes are beyond her capabilities..."

A hooded elf appeared from behind a wall, flanked by two Qunari and three dwarves.

"Who the fuck are you...?" Natia began, but was interrupted by another snowstorm, which froze the words in her throat.

"I hate magic." Imprecated Kallian as she instinctively threw himself behind a stack of crates, shielding herself from the wind. Shuddering, she leaned over for a moment and aimed for the knee of one of the Qunari.

The grunt of pain confirmed that she had hit the target. A burst of sparks snapped at the other, causing it to bounce back and clash against the stone wall.

She aimed again, this time at heart level.

Her arrow bounced off the Qunari's shoulder, but Leliana's hit the target. The qunari fell to the ground, without getting up.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted movement to her right. Alarmed, she jumped to the side, risking slipping on the ice. One of the dwarves had made his way through the crates, taking advantage of her distraction. He wielded two axes, expertly grinding them to within a breath of her.

She rolled again, miraculously avoiding the blades and taking cover behind a crate, trying to ready her bow. She let go of the string, smacking him in the side, then parried the next blow with the ironbark of the bow, grateful that it was so strong. The dwarf, despite his tiny frame, was stronger than she was. She dodged to her left, sliding her bow and backing away until she felt the rock behind her.

She then took advantage of the new round of attacks to shift out of the way and grab one of the arrows in her quiver, feeling one of the blades scrape against her armor and slam into the wall.

Kallian clutched the arrow in her hand then drove the tip hard into the assailant's neck. He screamed in pain as she levered the wall for more strength. She pushed him away, knocking him to the ground and leaving him in a pool of blood as she notched another arrow.

Leliana had abandoned her bow for the two daggers she carried on her belt. As she nimbly avoided the lunges of the dwarf in front of her, she looked like she was dancing.

Behind them, the elven mage had taken advantage of Geralt being distracted by the second Qunari to bring her staff over her head again, the air around her filling with ice crystals.

No you don't!

The arrow struck her right in the chest, piercing the light robe and breaking the spell. The mage lowered her gaze to the plumage sticking out of her, before falling backwards with a thud.

A rush of electricity and a strong burning smell announced that Geralt had gotten rid of the Qunari.

"And so goes our element of surprise..." Natia complained, cleaning her daggers from the blood of a dwarf on the ground. She ran back to the door, closing it with a snap. "Hey, beanpole, think you can do something about this one?"

Geralt nodded, pointing his magic staff at it and frowning. The lock melted completely as the molten metal went all the way to the wall, sealing off the entrance.

"That should hold." The mage declared, satisfied.

Kallian leaned against a crate, trying to catch her breath. She ran a hand over the thigh, discovering it slimy with blood. "Shit."

"Are you okay?" Leliana immediately worried, rushing over her.

The elf shrugged. "It's just a scratch. I'm sorry about the pants though, I'll have to sew a patch but the stain won't easily come off..."

The bard giggled, pulling a bandage from the small first aid bag she kept attached to her belt. "I think that's the least of our problems..." She started to hastily tend to the wound.

“Thank you.” After a few moments, Kallian was up again. "All right, let's go."

Natia scanned the hallway, suspiciously empty.

"Shouldn't they be onto us by now?" Zevran asked. He hadn't even bothered to clean the blood off his shortwords.

"It's not like Jarvia. She knows that we're looking for her, so she's just staying put where she is. We're heading straight for her trap, and there's nothing else we can do."

"Well, then, what are we waiting for?"

 

 

 


 

 


The door wasn't even locked.

Stuck-up bitch. Natia thought, kicking it in. There was no point in being stealthy anymore.

She was surprised they weren't trying to kill her on the spot. Instead, she walked unharmed into the hall of what had once been Beraht's lair. She cast a look at her surroundings.

"You didn't even redecorate?"

She was greeted with a brief applause.

Jarvia, sitting on the stone chair that had belonged to her predecessor, stared at her like a spider, her eyes focused on the fly trapped in her web.

"Leske was right, what a turn up."

Those words hit her like a punch in the face. She opened her mouth to retort, but her brain refused to formulate a full response.

"You should give me more credit, boss. I told you no one else knew about the hiding place in the wall."
She closed her eyes for a second, her stomach twisting at the sound of that familiar voice. "Leske."

"Hey, salroka."

He hadn't changed a bit. The same unkempt beard, hair pulled back in thick braids attached to the scalp, the look of someone who had just finished drinking or fighting, maybe both.

She wasn't even angry. She huffed loudly, trying to find the right words. "'Fuck you."

"I expected something better, given your history, but clearly the surface air has made you dumber, Brosca." Jarvia commented, snickering. "So stupid that you came back and on top of that you dared to challenge me here, in my own home. Did you really think you could take my place?"

Natia almost burst out laughing. "Take your place?"

"But never mind, now that you're here I can thank you properly for getting Beraht out of my way." Jarvia continued, almost smiling. "And for giving me the chance to get to know Leske better, he's not only good with those knives, but you knew that already, don't you?"

Her hands itched. She cast a glance at the rest of the room. Ten, maybe twelve enemies. And what had to be her best friend, of course. She decided to keep them busy as she tried to signal Geralt and the others with a hand behind her back. "So it was you who took my silver."

Leske shrugged. "You weren't doing anything with it."

"I hope at least they were well spent."

"Oh, they wouldn't have even been nearly enough to buy him second chance with me. On the other hand though, he got straight to work... or did you think he found the diggers by himself?"

"You went to her for help?!" Natia exclaimed, surprised and disgusted at the same time.

"Thanks to your new friend I had a ton of money, who could I go to?!" Leske defended himself. "I did the only thing I could. And it worked, but you were stupid enough to come back down here."

"Oh, sure, and I guess among the only things you could do, you had to pull down your pants." She commented sourly. A slight magic tingle on her fingertips alerted her that Geralt was just waiting for her signal. She made a silent appeal to the Stone, hoping he understood.
Leske retreated defensively. "You ran away to the surface, but I have to live down here. Maybe you forgot, but there aren't many options."

"Give me a break!" Jarvia interrupted them again. "Like you weren't thrilled to follow my every order, just so you could be my Second!" She crossed Natia's sharp gaze, grinning widely. "Every single one of my orders. Chop off some hands, crack up some skulls, get on your knees and-"

Not wanting to hear another word, Natia gave the signal.

An explosion of flame flooded their right, roasting at least four dwarves on the spot, who were too slow to move.

Jarvia sprinted behind the chair, ordering her men to attack.

Half a dozen bolts planted themselves where Natia had been a moment before, but the dwarf had already sprinted forward taking refuge behind a stone pillar, daggers firmly in her hands, a single target in mind.

Mechanically, she slit the throat of the nearest henchman, jumping to one side to avoid an electric shock that sent another of Jarvia's men across the room. Taking advantage of the moment, she ran toward the other woman.

Two dwarves stood in front of her, but she hardly paid attention.

Lunging, tearing, dodging, striking again. She didn't even stop to make sure they were dead.

"That fine armor will be mine, once I'm done with you." Jarvia growled as they crossed blades. Her two hatchets were of good quality, but Natia knew that few things could rival the silverite her daggers were made of.

They exchanged a series of furious blows, oblivious to all that surrounded them, bloodlust pounding in her head. Natia managed to wound her opponent with a glancing blow, easily cutting through the leather that protected her arms just below the shoulder strap. She was about to plunge the blade under her armpit when she was hit from behind, losing her balance. Jarvia took advantage of this instantly, charging a blow straight to the chest.

Had it not been for the breastplate, which cushioned the impact and prevented the blade from entering her flesh, it would have been the end.

Instead, the red steel took most of the damage, denting and cutting off her breath. She found herself on the ground, unable to breathe.

In a panic, she yanked at the straps holding her waist, her vision blurring. With one last effort, she freed herself from the now useless armor, cutting the last two strips of leather with her dagger. She turned on her side, scrambling back to her feet. Jarvia was struggling to get back up too, a smoking crater a few feet away from her.

She mentally thanked Geralt, before throwing herself back into the fray toward her enemy.

Natia ran up to her, charging ahead and hitting her on the shoulder while Jarvia snapped to the side, avoiding a fatal wound, aiming for her head with the axe held in her healthy arm, forcing Natia to parry with both blades. The other axe, albeit with less force, crashed an inch from her head, shattering a wooden box that exploded into a thousand pieces.

Without giving her a break, Natia chased her again, slipping between the joints of her armor and wounding her in the side. With a grin of victory, she watched Jarvia's wounded arm spasm and drop one of the two hatchets to the ground.

"Filthy scum." Jarvia growled attacking again, but the poison Natia had applied to her daggers was beginning to work. And they both knew.

"As if you didn't do the same..." Natia replied with a grimace, sending her to the ground with a kick and causing her to lose her other weapon as well. She threw herself at her, piercing her leg and nailing one of the daggers to the hilt, reveling in Jarvia's screams of pain. She was about to strike the killing blow when someone charged at her, knocking her to the ground.

She ended up with her back against sharp shards and splinters. She felt the edges penetrate her back and gritted her teeth in pain.

"I can't let you do that, salroka."

"Fuck you, Leske, you fucking bronto!"

He had her pinned to the ground, his arms clutching her wrists above her head, preventing her from moving. He had always been stronger than her. She tried to wriggle free, to no avail.

"Stop struggling, salroka."

She met his gaze and could read absolutely nothing into it. In a fury, she picked up one leg and kneed him in the balls. The other collapsed to the ground with a grunt.

"Don't!"
She yanked herself to her feet, grabbing her remaining dagger.

"You dare!"

He was beneath her, helpless.

"Call me!"

Leske closed his eyes, turning slightly to the side, offering his throat.

"Salroka!"
She felt her cheeks burning, tears stinging her eyes. The knife struck inches from his face, wedged between the cracks on the floor, vibrating from the impact, still clenched in her fist.

Leske open his eyes again, shocked to be still alive. "Natia-"

She closed her free hand into a fist, charging with all the strength she had left.

She heard the crack of bone breaking and the cry of pain. She stood up again, furious, glancing at him from top to bottom. He was pathetic, he had betrayed her and he had bedded one of the worst people in all of Orzammar.

But down there, she knew, everyone got by as best they could.

The fight was over, and aside from Jarvia's screams of pain that sounded like a nug to the slaughter, the place was still and quiet.

She extended a hand toward the dwarf on the ground, who had stopped struggling and was now holding his bloody nose, cursing.

"Now we're even."

Leske grabbed her hand, staggering back to his feet. He looked at her confused, his face smeared with blood. "You sure?"

Natia sneered. "That was for hammering her."

"And what comes for almost killing you?"

She burst out laughing. "Come on. Do you really think this ridiculous ambush would have been able to stop us? I mean, did you see what kind of people I'm running around with?"

"I should have guessed..."

They approached Jarvia, who was being held in check by Kallian and Zevran.

"Leske, you filthy traitor...!" Screamed the dwarf on the ground, trying to fight back. She only managed to get that the gash on her thigh to open further, turning the rest of her insults into another scream of pain.

Natia knelt down beside her. "You know, Jarvia, you did a really good job." She was sincere. The Carta of Orzammar was doing fine, way better than under Beraht or the people before him. "Unfortunately, you fucked it up, but shit happens." She grabbed the handle of the dagger, twisting it fiercely and then ripping it away.

A stream of blood gushed from the wound, along with more screams and indecipherable insults.

"Yeah, the poison I'm using burns pretty bad, and if you add that to that nasty cut... I'd say you don't have much time left."

"Filthy... brand... scum!"

Natia widened her grin further, amused. "That's exactly what everyone says. You keep underestimating me, you pieces of shit, and this is what you get."

She opened another gash, across her throat, the same as the one she'd inflicted on Beraht months earlier.
Then Natia stood up again, pleased with herself. Geralt, beside her, watched the corpse with the same look he had when flipping through the pages of one of his books.

"Nice work. Almost a piece of art."

"Oh, shut up, beanpole." She turned to Leske. "Keys to the treasury. Now."

"You don't have to tell me twice, Salroka." He hurried on, stooping to rummage through Jarvia's pockets. He extracted a golden key from it. "This way..."

As they followed him toward the back of the room, Zevran cleared his throat. "Are we sure about him?”
Natia didn't even turn around. "He's not the first assassin we've spared, is he?" She retorted with an amused grin.

"Now, now, there's no need for that."

Opening the huge trunk, Natia let out a whistle of admiration. In addition to a pile of gold and silver coins, there were at least two dozen lyrium nuggets. She clicked her tongue, signaling the others to open their backpacks.

"Told you we'd find-" Her attention was caught by a pair of scrolls, carefully kept in a leather case.

What could have been so important to keep them locked in there? She grabbed them without hesitation. "For the sandy balls of the Ancestors..."

"What did you find?" Geralt asked immediately, intrigued. He leaned over to take a look.

"Apparently, we have evidence that Bhelen arranged the murder of his brother with Beraht." Announced Natia to the rest of the group. "And in the other one..."

It was Leske who anticipated her. "It instructs Jarvia to organize the attack on the Provings today."

It took her a moment to understand. "Attack on the Provings?!"

"Bhelen paid us some nice gold to take out his brother today." He hinted at a chuckle. "I guess I fucked up my chance to live with this one, huh..."

Natia barely restrained herself from hitting him again.

Leliana was the first to react. "We have to hurry. It must have been hours, if they managed to kill him... No, that can't be."

"But if they did," Kallian said, "we're left with only two options: run to the surface or hope that these documents are enough for Harowmont to discredit Bhelen in front of the Assembly."

"They'll say they're a forgery. You don't know enough about those stone-arses." Natia retorted. "No, that jerk can't die. All that effort for shit? I won't let him."

She opened her backpack, carefully tossing in the two scrolls and as many coins and nuggets as she could hold. Together, they quickly emptied the trunk.

"The nearest exit to the Diamond Quarter?" She asked Leske, who looked at her in surprise.

"So you're really staying with the Prince, huh?"

She didn't dignify him with an answer as they walked through a series of tunnels and stairs again.

After a while, Natia calculated that they must be at the height of the Commons. Leske stopped suddenly, the corridor they had followed a false dead end, a hidden mechanism opening the passage.

She recognized it after a few moments.

"They've changed management." She commented admiringly. The store that had once been one of Beraht's legal offices was now used to sell weapons and armor. The store owner, at the sight of the group, paled in terror.

"Don't worry, we just took out Jarvia but we won't do anything to you.” Natia quickly dismissed him, striding out of the store. She intercepted the gaze of a little red-haired girl, half-hidden on the other side of the counter. She waved at her.

The market square was even more hectic than usual, with a large bustle of people around the bridge leading to the Arena. This was not a good sign. She looked at the watch; it was nighttime. They had been down there an eternity.

"They say it was poison..."

"Bhelen would never..."

"He had it coming..."

"He was winning...”

"Did you see how that Golem-!"

She clenched her fists. "Let's go." They walked toward the Diamond Quarter, almost running.

"Stop right there!" The guards shouted at them. "We must search you."

"We don't have time to waste, we're with the Wardens." Leliana answered hastily. Even she was losing her patience.

The guards did not seem to listen to reason. They gave her and Leske a suspicious look and took a few steps towards them. Before Natia could knock the first one out with a headbutt, they were stopped by a voice.

"Stop, I'm with Prince Duran and the Wardens, I'll vouch for them."

Dulin Forender, Harromont's Second, seemed to have been waiting for them for a while. He ran to meet them, as the guards reluctantly stepped aside to let them pass.

"How is he?" Leliana asked immediately, as they proceeded expeditiously towards the palace.

"So you've heard... he's alive and out of danger." He looked around, circumspect. "You did it...?"

"Jarvia has been dealt with."

The other nodded, but Natia didn't miss the look he gave Leske. She couldn't blame him.

 

 

 

As they entered the Harrowmont building, the tension was palpable.

"You made it." Aenor greeted them, a tired smile on her face.

"Yeah, piece of cake." Natia replied.

"Friend of yours?" Alistair asked pointing to Leske, who was still holding one hand pressed against his bloody nose, clearly uncomfortable among all those tall people.

She just nodded. "How is he?"

"Wynne and Morrigan were able to stop the poison. He's resting now, but he should be back on his feet in a couple of days."

She breathed a sigh of relief, leaning back against the wall.

"Maybe your friend will like to be checked on by Wynne?" Elissa asked.

Always so nice to everyone... Natia wondered if she would still be, if she knew the whole story.

"Isn't she busy somewhere?"

Alistair shook his head. "She went to rest in her room a few hours ago..."

"Kallian, you should do something about your leg too." Leliana said. Natia giggled, seeing the elf snort sonorously and sit down in front of a tray of food.

"I'll fill my stomach first." She decreed, taking a bite of meat.

Natia took Leske by the arm and dragged him toward the guestrooms. Wynne's was down the hall, in the warmest part of the building. She knocked softly on the door. If she was asleep, there was no reason to wake her up, not for that asshole's benefit.

"Come in."

"I'm Natia, but I brought someone..." She looked in, not wishing to make her uncomfortable. The mage was sitting at the table, in her hands an object that glowed a bit. At their entrance, she slipped it into her pockets.

"Ah, it seems today you're all busy getting yourselves into trouble." She greeted them, standing up. "And who might you be, young man?"

The darf, upon hearing himself called 'young man', grinned uncomfortably. "Leske."

"Is there a reason why Natia broke your nose, Leske?"

She burst out laughing, admiring the mage's insight. "He had it coming."

"I see." Wynne smiled, warmly. She lifted her hand, placing it a few inches from his face. A blue light flashed all around, as with a snap the nose returned to normal, albeit a tad crooked. "See that you don't do that again, young man. Next time I don't think she'll go so lightly on you."

Leske touched his face, confused. He nodded unconvinced, his eyes focused on the woman's hands. "Thanks, I guess."

Natia elbowed him in the side. "Thank you, Wynne. Sorry we bothered you..."

"Oh, that's okay. I couldn't sleep anyway." She enigmatically replied.

"If there's anything I can do..."

The other shook her head. "I appreciate it, but there's no need to. Now go, I believe you have several loose ends to discuss, don't you?"

She winked at them, before ushering them to the door.

"Are all mages this creepy?" Leske asked once they were alone. He kept touching his nose.

Natia laughed. "These ones are all right. You should have seen the ones at the mage tower... they turned into big monsters, possessed by demons and killing people, and magically controlling everyone's heads... We fought one that bigger than an Ogre!"

"You saw an Ogre?!"

She laughed louder, surprising herself. "More than one. And we killed a dragon, wings, fangs and fire-breathing mouth and all that."

Leske shook his head. "Now I understand when you said Jarvia didn't have half a chance..."

Silence fell.

"I'm not mad at you, you know." Natia said, leaning against the wall. "I spent months worrying about how you were doing, but there was little I could do."

Leske smiled weakly. "And here I thought you'd forgotten about me as soon as you got to the surface... or fell into the sky."

"Guess you won't get to drink that ale at the Tapster."

"After today, I think I'd be fine with not drinking shit for... a month."

"Bullshit. You wouldn't pull three days, I know you."

They were left again not knowing what to say to each other.

"I thought you were going to kill me." Leske broke the silence a few minutes later. "I thought...I mean, I thought you'd take it harder than that. I was the one who discovered that dead kid in your house, then I saw you had moved the stones from the hiding place by the tub and I put two and two together."

"And you ran to tell Jarvia."

He shrugged. "I couldn't be sure, but with the Prince returning there was a slim chance..."

"You did what you had to."

"Natia..."
She huffed, pressing a hand over his mouth. "Let's call it a day. What's done is done and there's no point in digging around it." She moved even closer to him, zeroing in.

Leske's lips were chafed, dry, his unkempt beard stung. He tasted of sweat, blood and Dust Town. Of cheap ale and mold and home.

It was not a gentle kiss. She bit his lips, channeling in all the turmoil she felt, unable to express it otherwise, moaning and huffing in his mouth.

Natia dragged him to a small room she knew was empty, some kind of utility room, closing the door behind them with a kick and shoving a crate in front of it, pushing him against the wall.

Leske moved quickly to remove her shirt. Lifting her arms, Natia let out a groan of pain. The cuts on her back, she'd forgotten about them, they were itching and burning.

"Sorry for that, by the way." He chuckled gripping her hips, his fingers smeared with her blood.

"Just a scratch." She cut it short, releasing him from his armor with ease, the various parts falling to the ground, clanking. "See if you can make it up to me." She kissed him fiercely again, her back leaning against the smooth stone wall of the building, there in the middle of the Diamond Quarters, two dusters in the wrong place. She wondered how on earth they'd ended up there.

How everything had changed, but at the same time it wasn't so different.

Breathing heavily, she ran a hand through his hair, clutching the oh-so-familiar braids between her fingers.

"I missed you, salroka." She muttered. She felt him getting harder against her leg as Leske cupped her small breasts, lowering himself to lap her nipples. Natia moved her hand down, pressing her palm on his erection, rubbing at it with need.

“Wait, my turn first.” Leske grunted. He then got to his knees. “Gonna make it up to you real good”.

He grabbed her pants and pulled them down, making her shiver from the sudden air and anticipation. “That's new, you got posh.” He said with a chuckle, sliding a finger on the soft fabric, making her quiver, and soon her underwear were gone too.

Leske pushed past the reddish curls, fingers rubbing at her clit and around her entrance, teasing her, pressing a digit or two inside before pulling back out until she lost her patience.

“Get on with it, already.” Natia huffed, grabbing onto his hair and pulling him against her, biting down on her lip when she felt his tongue start working on her. Her sore back hurt against the wall but she didn't even care, it was too good.

Before long, she was soaking wet, Leske lapping at her core, fingers pounding in and out of her.

She came with a muffled moan, tasting blood on her lips, shaking.

He rose up to kiss her, making feel herself on his tongue while he freed his erection.

Natia pressed her body against his, grabbing him by the shirt and pushing him down on the floor, straddling him and rubbing her dripping cunt on his groin.

Leske was done waiting. He grabbed her ass tightly, lowering her down on his dick and letting out a moan that would surely be heard outside, but none of them gave a fuck about it anymore.

He pulled out and cast a her a grin. “Two dusters rutting amongst the diamonds...”

She shut him up with another kiss, rocking her hips forward so he would fill her again, clenching her walls around him, biting down on him, wanting to forget for a moment everything else that happened since the last time they had been together like that.

Leske laughed a little, fingers pressed into her skinny hips and arse, switching their positions so she was on her back, their clothes under her. He plunged back in, pounding her and making Natia almost scream with pleasure, riding their climax until he spilled inside her and she came again with a loud moan, filled with him.

He collapsed on top of her, exhausted, then rolled onto his back with a grunt.

After regaining her breath, she chuckled in amusement. “That was a good start, yeah.”

Leske shot her a smirk. “I always deliver, salroka.”

Chapter 29: The Deep Roads

Summary:

Duran needs to find Paragon Branka to win his election, so part of the group descends into the Deep Roads.
Elissa grews more and more uneasy and worried about Alistair as it gets harder to hide their feelings for each other.

Chapter Text

Their new traveling companion emitted a long and incredibly sonorous belch.

"Remind me why we're bringing this man with us..."

Elissa gave Alistair a disapproving look, while the dwarf scratched his backside feigning ignorance. "You tell us. Do I need to remind you that it was your idea?"

The Warden sighed. "I was wrong. I've made a terrible mistake."

"I'm glad you realized that."

He turned to her with a wink. "I'll make amend."

The girl couldn't help but smile in response, embarrassed. She shifted her gaze, glad that the other's presence could distract her a bit from her surroundings.

The Deep Roads were worse than she had imagined.

In the past they must have been magnificent, great tunnels of carved and polished stone connecting settlements underground, running through perhaps the entirety of Thedas. Now, all that remained of that great and proud dwarven empire were a few markings etched in stone, almost unrecognizable, broken statues and ruins.

"We are close." Prince Duran said, his voice steady. He seemed to have recovered perfectly from the poison and, despite Wynne's advice, had waited only three days before setting out in search of Branka. The ambush Blehen had set up at the Provings had made him even more determined to get revenge on his brother.

"Hmpf, it's about time... I was beginning to think we were going in circles." Oghren retorted. "I hoped Branka's maps were clearer..."

"You probably feel like you're spinning on yourself, given how drunk you are."

Alistair laughed. "I never though to say this, but I agree with the witch. Again."

Oghren didn't seem the least bit offended, but rather gave Morrigan a wink. "I know your feigned contempt hides much more than that..."

"A killer instinct?" She recoiled, gripping her staff more tightly. "Keep my warning in mind, dwarf, because if I catch you again looking where you should not..." a purplish aura spread ominously around her. There was no need to add more.

The other sneered but dropped the subject.

"Hey, look at that." Natia called, pointing to something in front of them.

As they got closer, they noticed it was a Hurlock corpse. Further ahead lay other bodies, almost all darkspawn's. Two were dwarves: they wore massive armor, on which a dwarven helmet symbol was engraved, standing out clearly against the dark gray steel.

"The Legion of the Dead." Duran explained pointing at them. "They must have come through here recently, a couple of days at most."

"Well they made our job easier." Oghren commented. "You know what a hassle those would have been otherwise-"

Natia shushed him with an elbow to his side, pointing to something moving in the shadows about fourty feet away from them.

Elissa squinted, unaccustomed to all that darkness. It looked like a humanoid figure.

Leliana drew her bow, ready to strike, but the dwarf shook her head. She approached the creature slowly, one hand outstretched to indicate she meant no harm. The other, behind her back, was firmly wrapped around one of her daggers.

"Hey, we don't want to hurt you."

The thing, whatever it was, ran away.

Natia sprinted after it, signaling the others to follow her.

They entered a series of labyrinthine tunnels and would have surely lost their way had it not been for the dwarves' ability to find their way around down there. Elissa was amazed at their "stone sense". They found themselves in a cavern with a low ceiling, signs of an abandoned camp within.

"No! You came to steal my stuff!"

The wail was hoarse, almost animalistic. It was reminiscent of some wounded creature. What had once been a dwarf stood on a rocky ledge, a small, chipped dagger in his hand. His face was pockmarked and purplish, covered in the Taint of the Darkspawn, as were his hands and what little could be seen of his arms and neck. He was hunched over and held his head tilted to one side, staring at them wide wide eyes.

"We don't want to steal anything from you." Natia retorted, trying to convince him, the dagger stil tightly clutched in her hand in case he decided to attack. "We just want to ask you a few questions."

"You came to steal! Find your own stuff!"

"That thing's gone, he's useless." Oghren commented, looking at him with a mixture of pity and disgust. "When they get lost down here, they go crazy. They live on scraps and end up eating whatever they find."

Duran nodded. "Like darkspawn Oghren, do you think this is Branka's camp?"

The other dwarf was looking around. "I recognize the markings on the stones, and it looks old enough to be theirs... He's not from the Legion of the Dead, that's for sure."

"Ruck found things, they're Ruck's!" Snarled the poor fool, waving his dagger in the air. "You will make the dark ones come back and they will gnaw your bones. You will not steal my glittering stones, you will not steal my worms!"

"Hey!" Alistair interjected. He pulled out a small copper coin, which he placed in the palm of his hand. "You want something sparkly, don't you? Let's trade then."

The crazy dwarf seemed to freeze, as if mesmerized by the coin. He lowered his weapon, leaning toward the Warden.

"Alistair..." Elissa called to him worriedly, but the other smiled at her.

"He won't do anything to me. Won't you, Ruck? That's your name, isn't it, Ruck?"

The dwarf nodded spasmodically, extending a hand toward him. Alistair handed him the coin.

"Ruck? Can you tell us how long you've been here?" The Warden continued, rummaging around for another copper coin which he placed in front of the other's nose.

"Five...no, six.... too long, Ruck doesn't remember. It hurts to remember. The light, once you've eaten, once you've got the dark inside..." He reached out to grab the other coin, when he suddenly widened his eyes. "You! You know it, Ruck sees it. He sees the darkness inside of you."

Elissa felt her skin crawl. "What do you mean...?"

"The Taint." Alistair replied in a flat tone. "It's part of the Wardens' ritual. I-I shouldn't even be saying this, but there's no point in hiding it, so I might as well."

She shifted her gaze to Ruck, chilling at the realization.

Was this what all Wardens ended up to be? Would Alistair one day find himself in that condition, his wits lost, reduced to a shell of the person he was?

"Where's the darkspawn now, Ruck?" The boy continued, his back to her. He held out a third glittering coin to the dwarf.

"Joy. Much joy when he woke up. Ruck wanted to go and see his beauty, but Ruck is a coward. South they went, he called them, all his children. Now he calls no more." He stammered something else unintelligible, grabbing the copper coin and shoving it into his pocket.

"Ruck, can we take a look at what you found here?" He asked cautiously, holding out another one.

The dwarf nodded circumspectly, taking that one as well and pointing to a pile of scattered items not far away. "Ruck finds. Lots of shiny stones. Nice man give coins for stones?"

Duran and Oghren approached the pile, beginning to analyze it. Inside a nearly destroyed trunk they found a journal, the pages eroded and barely legible.

"I recognize the handwriting, it's Branka's!" Oghren rejoiced. "I found out today that the Anvil of the Void was not created in Orthan Thaig. We will go West, beyond the Dead Trenches."

"Ancestors." The Prince grunted. "The Dead Trenches are swarming with darkspawn, we'll never get through. Even the Legion isn't crazy enough to try and take back the fortress."

"Hey, give me a shout and we'll be out of here in no time, heightness." Commented Natia gloomily. “It's not like we're here for you..."

"If Branka went that way, she must have found a way through." Oghren persisted.

"Or we'll find their bodies ourselves..."

"If the Anvil of the Void is beyond these Trenches, that's where we'll go."

They all turned toward Shale. So far, the golem had spoken very little, seeming more in a bad mood than usual.

"I want my memories back. And a few darkspawn won't be enough to stop me."

Elissa shrugged. They were already down there, no point going back empty-handed. If they made it back to Orzammar without Branka, it wouldn't be enough to get Duran elected and they wouldn't have the support of the dwarves against the Blight. They had no choice but to move on. She intercepted the gaze of Leliana, who seemed as resigned as she was.

"These Trenches... what exactly are they?" Alistair asked. He seemed afraid of the answer.

"The Bownammar Fortress. The Legion of the Dead fought over it against the darkspawn so many times it's lost count, but those monsters took it back for the last time seventeen years ago. There was something said about an incoming Blight, and it turns out they were right." Oghren replied, settling his axe between his broad shoulders.

"We'll find Branka, I'm sure of it." Elissa told him, trying to reassure him.

He scratched his ear. "Oh, that's not what I'm worried about, it's her reaction when she sees me. It wasn't exactly a happy marriage."

She sighed. "I figured that much. Otherwise, she wouldn't have dumped you in Orzammar taking everyone else with her..."

 

 

 

 


"No way."

"Elissa, please..."

She crossed her arms over her chest, squaring him firmly. "No, I'm not letting you go down there alone. You might need me."

"Ferelden needs you! What if I die-"

"Let's not fool ourselves. Ferelden needs you more than it needs me; I am neither a Grey Warden nor the son of Maric Theirin. If the country were to choose, I would not even be contemplated." She saw Alistair open his mouth to retort. She grabbed his hand, tightly. "You followed me when I went to fight alongside the Bann against Loghain, Howe and their men, risking your life for something that was not a Warden's concern. Let me do the same."

"It is not the same!"

"Yes it is." She persisted. "Putting Duran on the throne is important and it's the only way we can get dwarven support against the Blighte that threatens our country. And it is my duty, as Teyrna of Highever and as a citizen of Ferelden, to do everything in my power to stop the darkspawn."

"The Deep Roads are the most dangerous place in Thedas. Not only are they teeming with darkspawn, but also giant spiders, deepstalkers, the Taint and who knows what else we'll find, not to mention the fact that they stretch for miles and miles and we have no clear idea where to go! We may never come back."

She looked him straight in the hazel eyes. "We'll make sure we come back, then."

"Elissa..." He pleaded with her, but let the rest of the sentence fade into nothing.

"Alistair. I'm coming with you, and that's the last of it."

 

 

 

 

 


They stopped to look at Bownammar Fortress: what must have been a bulwark against the darkspawn who knows how many centuries before was now little more than a crumbling skeleton, the walls collapsed in several places, the watchtowers gutted and useless.

A terrible roar rose from the crevasse they had been skirting for most of the day.

They party to the ground, crawling to safety behind a rock a few feet from the overhang.

Elissa couldn't resist the curiosity. She dragged herself to the chasm, looking down.

The words died in her throat.

An endless army of darkspawn marched at the bottom of the gorge, a few hundred feet below them, so far away and in such great numbers that she could not tell what species they were. Above them, claws gripping the stone of the bridge....

The Archdemon.

Were they really going to face that monster? The huge dragon looming before them seemed impossible to defeat, even with an entire army at their back.

"Ancestors..."
"Compared to that, the one in Haven was a piece of cake."

She turned back to Alistair. The Warden didn't blink, his gaze fixed on the dragon. "We don't want to be seen. We'll wait for them to leave and then move on."

They drew back again, seeking some shelter behind a pile of rocks, glad that the darkspawn and Archdemon didn't seem to notice their presence.

The din of the army below them continued for hours on end, and even when they were finally gone, the roar continued to haunt them. Morale low, they reached the fortress approaching the bridge.

"Look there. The Legion!" Duran spoke, a smile on his face.

A large group of dwarves in heavy armor were camped not far from the walls.

They almost ran up to them, glad to see some friendly faces.

"Atrast Vala." Greeted them what must have been the commander. "What are you doing down here?"
"Atrast Vala, legionnaire. We are here to look for Paragon Branka." Duran replied.

"Ah! Might as well look for the Anvil of the Void and a vein of infinite Lyrium!" The other laughed.

"Let me guess, those stone arses in the Assembly can't make up their minds about anything, and now they're asking for help from someone higher up than them?"

"Sort of... King Endrin is dead and the Assembly can't decide on his successor."

Surprised comments rose up among the Legion. How long had they been down there with no news from the city?

"May the Stone be light to him. He had three sons, didn't he? I met one of those, Trian I think his name was.... We'd led an expedition together with the army to an abandoned Thaig a decade ago."

Duran slightly bowed his head down. "He's dead, too. Murdered by his younger brother. We're looking for Branka to help us put someone worthy on the throne. Someone who will actually do good for the kingdom."

"That's a good one. The last time a king cared about how all his subjects were doing, and not just a few polished stone arses, was maybe back in the days of the first Aeducan.... But come, let's put politics aside, it doesn't matter down here."

They shared supplies with those in the Legion. Nug meat, ingeniously preserved to last many months even underground in precarious conditions, and lumps of dehydrated lichen and moss were the only things to chew, accompanied by stale mead and water.

Elissa had been surprised by the presence of some small fountains located in the two Thaigs they had crossed, from which pure water came out thanks to some enchanted gems. They had thus managed to stock up enough to not have to worry about it for a while.

"We're trying to take back the bridge." Explained the Legion commander, Karol. "Those bastards have posted sentries everywhere, we've been camped here for days. You've seen the Archdemon, haven't you?"

They nodded.

"There, now that he's taken them away we should make it. If you're really headed the other way, you have to help us out."

"Together we have a better chance of making it." Duran agreed.

"Do we really?" Elissa heard Natia mumble. She was sitting next to Leliana, eating half-heartedly.

The archer was in no better mood. "According to Oghren's claims, we should be close."

"Are we really sure we want to trust that drunkard?" Morrigan commented acidly.

"We don't have many choices now."

"Elissa's right." Wynne interjected. The journey was tiring her out, but she hadn't complained yet, showing a rare fortitude and willpower. "There's no use worrying about it."

They went to sleep soon after, each lost in their own thoughts.

Elissa, curled up in her bedroll, but she couldn't get the Archdemon's roar out of her head.

 

 

 

 

 

After an agitated sleep, in which Alistair turned into Ruck and the Archdemon destroyed the great cathedral in Denerim, the fury of combat lightened her mind.

The Warden seemed to go out of his way to protect her, fighting shoulder to shoulder with her. By now they had established a fighting style that allowed both of them to give their best, striking enemies and coordinating each other's blows in almost perfect timing.

Of course, she missed having Cookie by her side.

She had left the mabari together with Falon at the Harrowmont Palace. "The Deep Roads aren't made for a war hound, no matter how well-trained he may be," Duran had said, and apparently he was right.

Fighting without him wasn't exactly easy, as Elissa's missing eye caused her to have a large blind spot that was usually covered by Cookie, but Alistair was used to it by now and always positioned himself where she didn't reach.

She spun around, hitting a Genlock with her shield and sending it to the ground while Alistair charged a Hurlock, finishing it off shortly after.

A shout of victory rose from the ranks of the dwarves just ahead of them.

She saw Karol and Oghren exchange nods as they stood shoulder to shoulder against the last remaining darkspawn. Duran was releasing the axe from the skull of the Ogre they had just killed, a tired but triumphant grin on his face.

As the fight was over, Wynne tended to their wounds. Fortunately no one had been killed, thanks in part to the sorceress' providential spells.

"It's been a long time since I haven't lost one of my men in battle." Karol said once they had cleaned themselves up. "We will accompany you to the other side of the Fortress."

Duran bowed his head. "We are grateful."

They made their way through endless corridors and halls. Their combined forces fought back every darkspawn they encountered without much difficulty, and within a couple of days they reached the west side of the Fortress. There, the Legion of the Dead remained to guard the bridge, while their small group continued on the other side.


The architecture became more modest. They passed several abandoned houses, most of them covered in a thick layer of Taint. The air grew heavier as they made their way through the tunnels.

"Hey, do you guys feel it too?"

Natia, walking to her right, had stopped short with a hand to her ear.

First day, they come and catch everyone.

Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat.”

"What the fuck..."

Elissa instinctively grabbed Alistair's arm. The voice was humanoid, but hoarse, unnatural.

Third day, the men are all gnawed on again.

Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate.”

The Warden squeezed her hand in a futile attempt to reassure her. The air stank terribly, the smell clinging to her throat, making it difficult to breathe.

Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn.

Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams.

Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew.”

They were getting closer to whoever was chanting that horror. The corridor they were following turned to the right, the floor made slippery by the Taint.

Eighth day, we hated as she is violated.

Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin.”

They opened a door, finding themselves in a hall.

The stench of corpses was awful, coupled with that of the darkspawn. A female dwarf was curled up in a pile of dirt, rummaging through what looked like bones. She turned toward them, her eyes veiled by a pale patina. Her features were misshapen and pockmarked. She opened her mouth, concluding her song.

 

Now she does feast, as she's become the beast.

Now you lay and wait, for their screams will haunt you in your dreams.”

They stood petrified, staring at her in utter silence.

The dwarf quickly lowered her gaze, hands clasped in her lap, turning away.

"What is this? Humans. No, impossible, feeding time brings only kin and clan. I am cruel to myself. You are a dream of stranger's faces and open doors."

Oghren let out a ragged breath. "Hespith?"

She didn't even look like she heard him.

"Did the Taint do this to her...?" Leliana stammered, taking a few steps toward her.

"The Taint!" The dwarf turned around, abruptly. "Men, they go mad, their wounds rotting, festering. They march ahead, the first to die... not us. Not Laryn. We fed. Friends, blood and..." She shook her head, curling in on herself. "I wished for Laryn to be first. So that they would spare me. But I had to watch, I had to see the change. How do you endure that? How did Branka endure?”

Oghren took a few steps closer to her. "Hespith, where is Branka?"

"Do not speak her name!" She hissed. "Her lover, and I could not turn her. Forgiver her, but no, she cannot be forgiven. Not for what she did. Not for what she has become."

"What did Branka do? Hespith, tell me what she did!" Oghren insisted, but she shook her head, crawling away, ranting.

Before he could reach her and force her to speak, Duran grabbed Oghren by the arm, shaking his head. "It's no use. Let's keep going, we'll find her."

"If something happened to her..."

"I'm more worried about what she did to the others." Natia commented gloomily, trying to keep her distance from the pile of bones. "Let's just go back."

Shale walked past them without looking back, opening the next door. "The Anvil is here somewhere. If you mushy little things don't have enough stones to proceed, go ahead and run back."

Duran sighed. "Shale's right, we're here."

Elissa exchanged a worried look with Alistair, but followed the rest of the group without retort. Natia hurried right after, clearly not wanting to be alone with Hespith.

After a few quick encounters with other darkspawn, they found themselves walking through some new tunnels in the rock. They went deep, with no sign of Branka. The coating of the Taint was growing thicker, blocking entire side passages. They turned one last time to the left.

The horror of what was waiting in there would haunt them for years.

A deformed creature, huge and repulsive, occupied most of the cave. On its body stood numerous swollen and putrescent breasts while its face had lost all its humanity, reduced to little more than a mouth bristling with sharp teeth and two small and hollow eyes. Numerous tentacles sprang from under its body, scattering across the ground.

Sensing their presence, the creature let out a high-pitched cry, hurling its tentacles at them as a few darkspawn rushed to its aid.

 

 

 

 

 

"It's over. We did it."

Elissa grabbed Alistair's outstretched hand, struggling to get to her feet. The creature's body finally lay still. She stretched out her leg, checking to make sure the healing wrap was in place under the bandage. It hurt but the armor prevented it from getting in touch with the Taint.

Wynne meanwhile was hunched over Oghren, who was gritting his teeth as the woman pulled the blade of a genlock from his side, casting another healing spell.

"A Broodmother" Grunted Duran, massaging his injured arm. "Damn..."

"You knew of that?" Natia asked, cleaning up her daggers. She was still shaking.

The Prince nodded. "It's very rare to encounter them, the army almost never does. We're lucky to be all alive.”

As soon as they were able to continue, they moved as fast as they could away from that place.

Elissa had lost count of how many days had passed since they left Orzammar. Two weeks, three? It all seemed like a blur of darkspawn, nightmare-infested nights, endless tunnels and foul creatures lurking around every corner.

They followed a path that seemed to have fewer traces of their corruption. The ground was almost clear of the viscous patina, which only settled in small patches on the walls.

Finally, they set up camp near an ancient ventilation shaft that seemed to work better than the others. She thanked the Maker for the almost fresh air, which in some places had been so scarce as to make breathing heavy, especially for the humans in the group.

Alistair sat down next to her, opening his backpack and pulling out some dried meat. "Elissa?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. If there's anything I can do..."

She shook her head, narrowing her eye. She couldn't give in. "No, I'm fine."

She felt his gentle touch on her shoulder. She instinctively leaned toward him, resting her cheek on his hand and inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself.

She could hear his heartbeat, regular and reassuring.

The Taint was in him, as it was in all Wardens, so how was it possible that he was so calm, knowing that sooner or later he would end up down there to die?

"I would never let anything like that happen to you, you know that right?" He told her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

Elissa bit her lower lip. "It's not me I'm afraid of."

Alistair seemed to stiffen, chuckling forcibly. "You mean... well, if you're afraid I'm going to turn out like that thing, I don't think I have the necessary attributes."

She didn't even pretend to smile. "You know what I mean."

The other sighed deeply, leaning against the wall behind them. "Wardens don't live long, the Corruption within us drives us insane after a while and we go to die in the Deep Roads before we lose our minds completely."

"I didn't think it was anything like that..."

"It takes years, though." He interrupted her. "Some people live over thirty years before they hear their Calling, especially those who had their Joining when they were young."

"But it's inevitable."

It took him a while to answer, but he finally nodded. "There is no cure. Our abilities make us the only ones who can fight them, but it's a death sentence."

"Then why do you do it?" She asked, her nails into the palms of her hands, clenched. “Knowing what's coming, how do you-"

"They don't tell us right away, that's why. At first you're told you're joining an order for heroes and when they reveal the details, well, it's a little too late to back out." He hinted at a sad smile. "And it still doesn't change who we are, or how much we're needed. Without Wardens, there would be no one able to stop the darkspawn. And most soldiers die before their time anyway, in battle or from disease, so in the end it changes little."

"It changes everything!" She objected, raising her voice. "It's not the same thing!"

"But it's necessary. We are necessary. Someone has to do it."

Elissa looked up to him. How could anyone devote their entire life to an endless war against those monsters, knowing that even in victory there was no way to escape death?

She felt like a coward. "I know, but..."

The truth was she didn't want to lose him. She'd tried to forget that kiss, to think of the myriad reasons why the two of them, together, weren't a good fit. It was selfish of her to put her feelings first, above their duties to Ferelden and the Blight.

She lost herself in his hazel eyes for a moment, hesitant.

When their lips touched, uncertain, she decided she wanted to be selfish for once.

Alistair pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her as if there was nothing else but them. It didn't matter that they were a Teyrna and a Grey Warden, a survivor and the King's bastard, two souls lost in the Deep Roads, two soldiers with the fate of a country on their shoulders.

She felt him back away a little.

"Are you sure?"

They could fight the Blight, save Ferelden and choose to love each other at the same time.

Elissa nodded with a smile, caressing his cheek. He had grown a beard. "We're making a terribly irresponsible choice."

"Are we?" He kissed her again, chuckling.

They stayed in each other's arms all night. For the first time since they'd gone down there, Elissa felt calm, safe. Curled up against his chest, she slept a dreamless night.

 

 

 

 

 

"So..."

Natia blinked in her direction as Leliana stifled a composed giggle, one hand in front of her lips.

Elissa shook her head, feeling her cheeks blush. "Stop it."

"I saw him get up in a hurry...I think he had to polish his sword early in the morning."

"Natia!"
"Heh, it happens to men all the time, what are you so shoked about?"

Leliana gave her a look of immense disapproval, which the dwarf blatantly ignored.

"Please shut up forever, I don't think my stomach can take much more." Morrigan commented in disgust. "I've heard more than enough."

The archer hinted at an amused smirk. "There are many stories about the Grey Wardens' prowess, you know, Morrigan?"

The witch emitted a disgusted cry, slamming her magic staff against the ground. "Enough!"

Elissa tried not to laugh, letting them pass her and reaching Wynne.

"I'm afraid I haven't kept my promises."

The old woman seemed to have softened since the last time they had spoken about matters of the heart. "Perhaps I was wrong about you two."

"What do you mean?"

"From what I see, you find strength in each other and you're both responsible enough to understand what you're getting into, the difficulties ahead." She pointed with a nod to Alistair, just ahead, who was talking to Duran and Oghren. "I haven't seen him this happy in a while. And in a place like this, to boot, that is an extraordinary thing."

"I've decided I don't want to give it up. For now, that's all I ask." Said Elissa, her voice steady. "If the time comes, if the situation calls for a choice, I am confident that we will both put the good of the country first."

Wynne seemed satisfied with the answer.

They walked through the rest of the day. The Taint seemed to have almost disappeared from the tunnels.

Elissa found herself admiring the lyrium veins zigzagging across the rock. The lichens growing next to them were also luminescent, with a slightly bluish color.

She saw Natia pick some of them up, cutting off the roots with a knife and carefully stuffing them into her bag.

"What are they for?" Leliana asked, pointing to them.

"Oh, they have various properties. Including getting you stoned, once distilled."

Morrigan cut some in turn, watching them closely. "So, they're hallucinogenic?"

The dwarf nodded. "If you chew them as is, they'll get you high. In a good way. They're worth a lot, if you can sell them to the right people." She picked up a few more.

"Brosca, I don't feel like wasting my time after-"

The Prince's reproaches were lost in the void when a trap sprung a few steps from them, planting a series of bolts into the ground.

"I warn you, after all this time my etiquette is somewhat limited."

A dwarf in heavy armor, scratched and patched in several places, loomed over them from above a low cliff. Her face was tired and scarred, but she seemed to bear no signs of the Taint.

Oghren brightened up. "Shave my back and call me an elf! Branka!"

Branka looked at her husband with ill-concealed disgust. "I knew you'd find your way here sooner or later... I hope you find your way back more easily." She then turned to the others. "And what about you? Mercenaries hired by some lowly lord, or are you simply the only ones who can stand Oghren's foul breath?"

"Show some respect, woman! You are speaking to a Grey Warden and an Aeducan!" Oghren said.

"Ah." Her gaze settled on Duran. "So Endrin must be dead. It wouldn't surprise me, he already had one foot in the grave when I left."

"My father was murdered." The Prince retorted coldly. "And Orzammar needs a king. There is a Blight to stop."

Branka did not seem impressed. "Orzammar does not need a King. A King won't do anything to stop the darkspawn. We've had kings for forty generations and look at all the good that's done us. I'll tell you what I've told everyone who has asked me to put them on the throne: I don't give a damn, they can give the crown to a drunk nug as far as I'm concerned. Our true savior and our only weapon is in the hands of the very darkspawn it is supposed to fight! The Anvil of the Void, the means of forging the golem army that was the envy of the world past, the thing that kept the first Archdemon from winning, is here somewhere. So close I can feel it!"

"Someone has lost their mind..." She heard Morrigan whisper. Elissa could not blame her.

"If the Anvil is close, why is the mushy little thing wasting time?" Shale asked, stepping forward.

Branka stared at the golem, surprised. It passed quickly. "The labyrinth built by Caridin himself. The Anvil lies on the other side. My people and I have tried to unlock its secrets, but we have failed. I have no one else left to send through the doors."

"You sacrificed your entire household for this madness?!" Oghren shouted at her, reaching for her.

Branka didn't even flinch. "You want my cooperation in this election, I suppose. Help me find the Anvil first."

"You're obsessed, Branka, the Anvil has changed you!"

The other didn't dignify him with a second glance, before stepping into the gallery in front of them. "I am your Paragon."

The party exchanged an uncertain look.

Oghren clenched his fists. "I will not let her go alone. There must be a way to reason with her."

Duran nodded. "We need her. And she may be right, the Anvil would be a powerful weapon against the Blight."

"To create more slaves?" Shale growled, the crystals on its back glowing ominously.

"No one said anything about slaves." Natia tried to calm her down. "Maybe it can create more golems like you, who can think and talk and bring birds to extinction."
"Yeah, with an army like that all those pigeons wouldn't stand a chance..." Morrigan commented, slightly amused. "Let us move on then, or we will lose her."

Chapter 30: Orzammar - Anvil of the Void

Summary:

The party discovers the truth about the Anvil and Duran has to make a decision on what kind of King he wants to be.
Bhelen gets justice served to him and Natia reflects on her accomplishments.

Chapter Text

The immense cavern into which they emerged was a sight to remember.

Streams of lava poured into the overhang around them, illuminating the room with a reddish light and making the whole place seem to be on fire. Six golems, three on each side, stood guarding the entrance, while two large polished black stone stelae towered to their left.

A huge golem, much larger than the others, seemed to be waiting for them.

"My name is Caridin." It spoke. "Many years ago, more than I care to remember, I was a Paragon of Orzammar."
"Caridin? The Smith Paragon? Alive?" Shale's voice trembled a little.

Duran blinked a few times, incredulous. How was this possible?

"Ah, there's a voice I recognize! Shayle, of the House of Cadash, step forward."

It did. "You...you know my name? Did you forge me? Was it you who assigned me my name?"

Caridin bowed its head slightly, sinking in the immense shoulders. "You have already forgotten. It's been so long..." It emitted what must have been a sigh, which came out in swirls of steam from its stone body. "I molded you into the golem you are now, Shayle, but before that you were a dwarf. Just like me. The finest warrior in King Valtor's service, and the only one who volunteered."

"The only one... a dwarf?!" Shale stammered, confused.

Caridin nodded "I laid you on the Anvil of the Void and gave you the form you now possess."

"The Anvil of the Void... is what we are looking for."

Duran struggled to process the information. If Shale had indeed been a dwarf before, if Caridin himself was now a golem... "Golems. They weren't constructs."

He realized he had said it out loud. The larger golem nodded again before continuing to talk.

"If you seek the Anvil, listen to my story or you will be doomed to relive it. I was made famous for creating the Anvil of the Void, which allowed me to forge a soldier of stone and steel, as flexible and intelligent as any other soldier. Assembled into an army, they were invincible. But I never revealed what the price was: no blacksmith, no matter how skilled, has the power to create life. To give it to my golems, I had to get it elsewhere."

"Let me guess. First you asked for volunteers, and then you started forcing people to submit to it." Natia interrupted him through gritted teeth.

Caridin bowed his head, nodding. "That's the way the king wanted it. He was not satisfied with the volunteers. Soon a river of blood began to flow from this place. Until I had enough. When I objected, though, Valtor put me on the Anvil as well."

"And now they want to start it up again... I wonder who will be the first to pay their price." Natia's gaze pierced Duran's like one of her razor-sharp daggers.

The Prince couldn't blame her. Should the Anvil of the Void be revealed to the world, a few might have offered to be put on it, but mostly it would be people with nothing to lose. Casteless, dwarves like Natia. And in case the branded didn't volunteer either, how long would it take the Assembly to decide for them, to impose on them a purpose finally useful to society?

"I have tried for centuries to destroy it, but I have not succeeded. A golem cannot touch it." Explained Caridin. "Think hard about what it would mean to bring it back to the capital."

Footsteps came running in. They turned, alarmed.

Branka, her face red with fatigue, had eyes that glowed with greed, madly. "No, the Anvil is mine! I will not allow you to destroy it!"

"Shayle. You already helped me protect it once from those who wanted to exploit it, help me destroy the Anvil of the Void once and for all."

Shale shook his head. "I don't remember any of that. You say we fought... did you use the control rod to force us to do so?"

"No! I destroyed all the rods, but perhaps my apprentices were able to create new ones, I don't know. But in any case, they lack only the Anvil to create all the slaves they need!" Voice reduced to a prayer, he shook a huge fist in front of him, pounding it into his metal chest. "Please, help me destroy it. Don't let it subdue any more souls!"

Duran was about to open his mouth, when Branka interrupted him by shouting. "Don't listen to him! He's been trapped down here for a thousand years simmering in his own madness, help me get the Anvil and you'll have an army like you've never seen!"

"But at what price?!" Natia snarled back, her weapons already in hand.

"Natia's right, we can't let that happen." Said Elissa, a hand to the sword, already rising her shield.

Alistair sighed, nodding. "As tremendously useful as a golem army could be to us against the darkspawn, it would be a monstrous thing to do. Nothing would be worth that price."

Wynne and Leliana agreed, while Morrigan huffed audibly but she complied as well.

Oghren tried to reason with his wife, taking a few steps towards her. "Branka, have you lost your mind? You're obsessed, but you have to snap out of it!"

But Branka didn't listen to him. Instead, she turned to Duran, spreading her arms wide. "Look around you. Is this what our empire should look like? Ruined tunnels full of darkspawn? The Anvil will restore us to our old glory! You could be the king of a new empire!"

She was crazy. Completely insane. Sure, an army of golems would have made taking back the lost ancient Thaigs easier, but not even that was worth enslaving such an amount of people.

The Prince shook his head. "I agree with Caridin. It must be destroyed. If I want to be king, I will have to do better than my predecessors."

Caridin bowed deeply. "Thank you. Your compassion fills me with shame."

"No! I won't let you!" Before they could stop her, Branka had already gone on the attack. Oghren tried to stop her, pleading to her that that wasn't worth dying for, but she was adamant

She pulled out a control rod, forcing three of the golems to attack Caridin.

The fight was fierce. The golems were difficult to take down and even one of their powerful blows could prove fatal.

He found himself side by side with Natia, while Branka tried to get past them to hit Caridin.

The Paragon was a very good fighter and managed for a while to get them in trouble, thanks in part to the fact that the two were not well coordinated. A lunge of her mace dropped in Natia's direction and Duran didn't think a second about getting between her and the weapon.

He felt the metal clash against his sturdy armor, which rang out, stunning him. He staggered backwards but managed to block the handle of his opponent's weapon with both hands, yanking her forward. The metal scratched his side, severing the leather joints as it wedged between the plates. Branka let go of the mace, preparing to strike him in the head with her shield.

Duran fell backwards with a thud, his vision obscured for a moment.

When he managed to get back up, in pain, Natia was fending off Branka's blows, now armed only with her shield.

He ran forward to help her, but another golem blocked his way. He narrowly avoided a rocky punch, dodged to the side and swung his axe at the elbow joint, breaking the stone. An icy ray covered half of the ice golem as Alistair hurriedly charged it with his shield, sending most of the stone shattering all around the floor.

A thunderous scream made them turn: Shale and Branka were fighting furiously at the edge of the gorge, a river of boiling lava beneath them.

Branka seemed to have the upper hand for a moment, hitting the golem in the legs with her shield and sending it to its knees, but Natia came up behind her, plunging one of the daggers into her shoulder.
The Paragon screamed in pain, turning to face her. Branka hit her with the shield, making her stagger backwards towards the precipice.

Duran saw her lose her balance.

"Natia!" They all screamed, terrified, sprinting forward as she disappeared over the precipice.

Shale growled in anger, ignoring the wounded leg and sprinting to lift Branka in the air. She grabbed her by the arm, lifting her above her head and throwing her below.

It was Oghren's turn to scream as he watched his wife plummet into the boiling lava, unable to save her.
"Alistair, give me a hand!"

Wynne's face was contracted with exertion, both hands clutching the staff spasmodically.

"Hey, beanpoles, pull me up!" A familiar voice exclaimed. Natia, unharmed but terrified, floated a few feet from the edge of the chasm.

Alistair reached out to grab her hand, helping the mage pull her back to safety.

"Never again. Never again." Natia stammered once she had crawled to safety. She was shaking like a grain of sand.

"You're hard to kill, Brosca." Duran smiled, reaching out his hand to her. He helped her to her feet.

She smiled back at him, uncertain, showing her crooked teeth.

He was genuinely relieved she was still alive.

He surprised himself. Who would have thought it, Prince Duran Aeducan and a casteless woman saving each other's lives, as equals.

Well, almost equals.

They turned to Caridin who had approached Oghren, on his knees.

"Another life lost because of my invention. I wish history had never known about it."

Oghren pounded his fists on the ground. "You fool! I always knew her obsession with the damn thing would kill her."

"How come she wasn't able to disable me like she did you?" Shale asked the other golem, who shook his head.

"I don't know. Have you undergone any changes, Shale? For starters, I remember you being bigger."

"I once had a mage as my master. His wife complained I was too big, so he shrinked me. He experimented on me before I killed him. Then I got paralyzed."

"The paralysis happened after the master died. But you've always been strong, Shale, I'm glad you've regained your free will. But now it's time to destroy the Anvil."

Duran stepped forward. "Wait."

"I'm not going to change my mind." Caridin said.

He shook his head. "And I don't want to stop you. But I need something to convince the Deshyr to elect me as king. To have the unanimity of the Assembly against my fratricidal brother."

"Ah. I see Orzammar hasn't changed in all these years." The golem sighed again. "Fine. For the help you have given me, I will bang my hammer on the Anvil one last time, to forge a crown that will rout all doubt of your ascension to the throne."

And so he did.

The crown the Paragon forged for him was beautifully crafted, the likes of which had not been seen in centuries. The metal was worked together with gems and gold, the shape was reminiscent of a dwarf helmet, while the top had decorations that replicated the towers of the city of Orzammar, a symbol of the dwarf empire. It was decorated with dozens of rubies, shining like lava pearls.

Duran hesitated for a moment before taking it in his hands, admiring the extraordinary craftsmanship. "Thank you. I swear I will be a better king than the one you have known."

Caridin nodded solemnly. "You have already proven that you are so."

It was their turn. Together with Alistair and Oghren, they lifted the Anvil of the Void carrying it to the edge of the precipice and letting it be swallowed by the lava.

"It's done." Caridin said in a solemn voice. "You have my eternal gratitude. Atrast nal tunsha."

The Paragon turned one last time towards them, before letting itself fall below.

"May you always find your way in the darkness." The Prince replied, heavily.

 

 

 

 


"Lords of the Assembly, I call you to order!" Shouted the Lord Senechal, again.

He had never seen the Deshyrs in such turmoil. Not even when he had returned from the surface to face them the first time had the tones been so heated.

"I am the only heir worthy of my father, I demand that this fratricide be put to death!" Thundered Bhelen, pointing at him.

"I am not the fratricide here, and we all know it." Retorted Duran, striving to maintain a calm tone. Losing his temper would prove counterproductive. "And I have proof of that, too."

He nodded to the Shaper, brought in specifically to refute the validity of the documents.

The dwarf cleared his throat, reading to everyone what Natia and the others had found in the Carta's hideout.

"The only thing that would imply my participation in both attacks, whether against my brother Trian or in the Provings, is the seal of House Aeducan!" Bhelen objected. "And Duran is in possesion of one just like it! Who's to say he didn't pretend to be ambushed in the Provings, only to accuse me of besmirching our traditions?"

"He's right!" Shouted someone on his side. Some nodded vigorously.

Duran stood his ground. "Then what about our father's letter? Is that a forgery as well? It bears the seal of the king himself!"

He saw him grit his teeth. "Our father was delirious with grief. That's nothing but ravings."

"'I saw who Bhelen really is. And when I found out, I realized I had been a fool. Because only a fool would rip his heart out of his chest, setting it on fire just to keep up appearances. I never believed in your guilt. I let them arrest you for fear that an investigation into Trian's murder would bring our house to ruin in a scandal in the eyes of the Deshyr, costing us our throne. But I saved nothing: I sent my last son to his death, forcing him to flee to the surface. Forgive me if you can.'" Duran recited his father's last words verbatim, learned by heart from all the times he had read that letter. "I have forgiven him. I have always loved and respected my father, even when he let you all condemn me for a crime I did not and would never commit. King Endrin realized what kind of person Bhelen was and he sent me this letter, hoping I would make things right. That I would not leave the crown and the future of our kingdom in the hands of a criminal, a murderer, a liar and a poisoner!"

The Assembly erupted again, forcing the Senechal to yell for silence.

"I proved my honor in the Arena, winning all the fights with honesty." Duran continued, raising his voice. "And Bhelen, too much a coward to face me head-on, preferred to plot with the Carta to get me out of the way, even if it meant killing one of his best men in the fray." He pointed to his cousin, Piotin, who sat composedly to Bhelen's left. He remained still, impassive.

"The Carta who lorded over the entire city, even going so far as to extend his influence here in the Diamond District! And still Bhelen refused to address the problem. But my men solved it."

"Among your men is the casteless one who dishonored the Provings!" Someone shouted.

Duran took the blow. "It is true. And without her, locked in the cell next to mine, I would never have escaped an unjust death, to which you all would have condemned me without even giving me a fair trial!"

"You are in league with the branded!"

"You are a surface dwarf!"

Duran did not feel intimidated. "That same castless saved my life a few weeks ago in the Deep Roads. Together with her and the Grey Wardens, we fought alongside the Legion of the Dead all the way to the West Walls of Bownammar, defeating hordes of darkspawn and finding the Anvil of the Void and the Paragon Caridin himself, who forged it a thousand years ago!"

Silence fell. The tension was palpable, the entire Assembly hung on his lips.

"King Valtor forced hundreds of dwarves to undergo the process of being turned into golems, stripping them of their will and their souls. I chose not to follow the folly of Paragon Branka, who left to find the Anvil: Branka sacrificed her entire House for that weapon, and I could not allow such a tragedy to happen again. I chose to destroy the Anvil of the Void, following the will of the one who had forged it. In return, Caridin himself gave me the crown of the next king of Orzammar."

He lifted the object so that all could see it, then passed it from hand to hand to the Lord Senechal.

"It bears the seal of the Ortan House and my name on it."

"Your choice has doomed us all!" Bhelen retorted. "With the Anvil and an army of golems, we could have taken back all that is ours, fought back the darkspawn!"

"Would you really want to enslave your subjects, brother? Do you think it's right to found the next empire in the blood of hundreds of dwarves?"

He knew by now that he had most of the Assembly on his side. It was time to use his political supporters.

"For years Orzammar has closed itself off into isolationism. It is right to maintain our traditions, but progress is advancing whether we want it to or not. I'm not asking you to change your entire way of living, but to make it better, for your and for everyone in our beloved city of Orzammar. All of us, highest to lowest citizens. I grew up as a soldier and I know the honesty of battle, the camaraderie between comrades, the trust each of us places in those with whom we take the field." He pointed his finger at his brother. "Bhelen has never distinguished himself in battle, and until the death of our brother Trian he has always moved in the shadows of politics, between deals and subterfuge. The time has come to choose." He spread his arms wide, theatrically, his gaze resting on each of the Deshyrs. "Who do you want on the throne of Orzammar? To whom will you entrust our future?"

Most of the Assembly rose to their feet in unison, calling out his name.

Pyral Harrowmont, Denek Helmi, Anwer Dace. Bemot, Meino, Vollney, Astyth, Ivo and many other Houses showed their support for Prince Duran Aeducan, rhythmically tapping their staves on the polished stone floor.

Bhelen had lost. Clearly outnumbered, Duran saw him flailing in his seat.

The Lord Seneschal then spoke again, grabbing the crown forged by Caridin and raising it above his head, signaling Duran to approach. "The Assembly has chosen."

The Prince knelt in front of him, his heart pounding in his chest. Father, I have done it.

"May the Ancestors judge you worthy, first among the Deshyrs, King of Orzammar." He placed the crown on his head, the weight of it a reminder of all he was taking on his shoulders. "King Duran of House Aeducan!"

Out of the din that followed, emerged a voice he knew well.

"No, I will not accept this!"

Bhelen, axe clutched in his hands, had come within a few paces of him, Piotin and Vartag Gavorn at his side.

"The decision is made." Replied the Seneschal.

Belen growled. "I am the best candidate, I am the king!"

Duran, who did not even have his weapon with him, did not back down. "Bhelen, accept your defeat with dignity. You 've lost, and you will pay for all that you have done."

"You killed our brother Trian, it was-!"

Before Bhelen could finish his sentence, he collapsed to the ground. Piotin, his axe raised above him, looked down on him with disgust. "You won't besmirch the name of Trian Aeducan, worm."

"You traitor!" Bhelen snickered, trying to get to his feet.

Duran overtook Gavorn, who had been displaced of, towering over his brother. "Confess."

The man spat on the ground. "That pile of nug shit would not have made a good king, boastful as a bronto and just as dumb. And you, you'll be no less. No, I would have been a good ruler, I would have brought the kingdom to its rightful splendor! But no one ever thinks of the youngest brother... I was just Trian's errand boy, the foolish little brother who was not worthy to go into battle with you two! I fooled everyone by framing you for his murder!"

"Not everyone. Not our father."

Bhelen looked at him full of hatred. "Our father was a fool, and he died as one."

Duran looked at who he had once called his little brother. Now, the dwarf in front of him had nothing of the child who stayed for hours listening to theis father's war stories, of the little boy who begged his brothers to take him to fight with them.

"We always had to protect you, Bhelen, because you were weak. But yes, you are right, we underestimated you. I didn't think you were capable of such cowardice."

"Don't you dare-"

"Silence." Duran intimated. "Bhelen Aeducan, you are guilty of the murder of Prince Trian Aeducan and that of King Endrin Aeducan. You have plotted with criminals and dishonored our traditions. I, Duran Aeducan, King of Orzammar, before the entire Assembly gathered here, sentence you to death."
Pyral Harrowmont handed him his axe.

As Bhelen spat and rambled hateful words and the Assembly fell silent, Duran raised his weapon, meeting his brother's gaze for the last time.

A dull thud and his bitter revenge was accomplished.

 

 

 

 


"We have a month to gather the largest army to rise to the surface in hundreds of years. Let's get a move on."

Lord Dace nodded vigorously. "We'll be ready, Your Highness." He spun on his heels and walked out of the room.

Duran shifted his legs, uneasy. His father's seat was more uncomfortable than he had thought. "Ruling is never easy and the throne must remind us of that," King Endrin always said.

"Piotin." He called to his cousin, who approached him with a nod. "You fought alongside my brother Trian for years and you are one of Orzammar's most valiant warriors. I owe you my life. Will you agree to be my Second?"

Piotin Aeducan knelt, bowing his head. "It will be an honor."

He gestured for him to stand up. "No, the honor is mine." He stepped down from the pew, squeezing his arm vigorously. At that moment, the door swung open again, letting the Grey Wardens in.

"King Duran." They greeted him, bowing their heads slightly and hinting at a smile.

He smiled back. "I must thank you, Wardens. With your support, I was able to get my father's crown."

"I think you would have succeeded even without our help..."

He accepted Alistair's compliment, but shook his head. "Nevertheless, you have earned Orzammar's trust and support. We will fight at your side with all our strength, save those that serve to keep the gates to the Deep Roads secured."

"We are grateful."

"What are your plans now?"

"We will return to Redcliffe, Arle Eamon will have gathered his men. We will then leave for Denerim, to face Loghain and end this farce once and for all."

The Warden seemed confident enough. Duran hoped to see them again, that the confrontation with Loghain would be resolved in the best way possible for the entire Ferelden. Alistair was out for revenge, just like he himself had been. “Well then, all that remains for me to do is to deal with the last matter of the day..."

Well, actually, not the last one. But dinner with Lady Adal was not, for once, of political nature.

 

 

 


 

 

 



"Natia Brosca, Rica Brosca, you may enter."

Natia glared at her sister, who had not spoken to her once. Rica stood aside, perched on one of the uncomfortable stone benches in the palace waiting room, little Endrin in her arms.

Tired of being ignored, she strode toward the throne room.

Duran sat with that stupidly large crown on his head, his new armor bore the symbol of House Aeducan on the breastplate and shoulder straps. Underneath the shiny and braided beard she saw him smiling, as opposed to the serious and vaguely disgusted expressions of the rest of the dwarves around them. To his right, on a smaller throne, sat Adal Helmi while standing to his left, the large two-handed axe firmly resting on the ground and looking impassive, was Piotin Aeducan.

"Your Heightness." She greeted him, hinting at a grimace and ignoring the others. "I see you remembered your promise..."

"I will do much more than that, Brosca." He motioned the two to come closer. "Rica, may I see the child?"

The elder of the two sisters instinctively clutched the little one to her chest. Natia had to force herself not to snort audibly. "Rica, get a move on."

She looked at her climbing the three steps that led to the desk, slightly shaking, stretching her arms just enough to reveal the little child's blonde head from under the blankets in which it was wrapped.

Duran barely leaned over, respecting Rica's required distance. "He looks like him."

Natia heard her sister wince. She was about to step forward when the king resumed speaking.

"He has the look of a prince and the blood of a long line of kings." Duran placed his hand on the child's head, who opened his eyes and blabbed something. "Until I have a son of my own, Endrin Aeducan will be considered my heir. If the Stone is generous enough to give other princes to my House, blood of my blood, my brother's son will be held in equal regard." The child, now awake, reached out a hand until it brushed the tip of his beard. The king's gaze softened further, then rested on his mother. "There will always be a place for you within these walls and in our family, Rica Brosca."

Rica fell to her knees, her head bowed. Natia knew she was crying. "Thank you, Your Majesty." At a nod from Duran, she stepped back again, heading toward the back of the room.

"As for you, Natia Brosca." The king called to her. "I think an acknowledgement of some sort is in order."

What? She just stared at him, confused. She hadn't expected anything else, that was the deal, wasn't it? Acknowledge Rica's son, nothing more....

"Come forward."

She obeyed, frowning.

"On your knees."

"Hei-"

She heard him huff. "For once, try not to be as stubborn as a bronto."

The floor was cold. All eyes were on her, as confused as she was.

"Natia Brosca, for saving my life in that cell by bringing me safely to the surface, for fighting valiantly both above and below ground and not least of all bravely facing the hardships of the Deep Roads and the challenges sustained to destroy the Anvil of the Void..."

Put like that, it sounded almost epic. In reality, she had done nothing more than follow the course of events, trying not to get buried under a landslide and gain something in the process.

"I elevate you, your family and all your descendants to Warrior Caste."

An indistinct murmur arose, but it took Natia a few seconds to understand. Me?! Is he for real?

"Rise, Natia of the Warrior House Brosca."

She found herself standing, bewildered, wondering how on stone that had happened.

"I don't... I don't know what to say."

Duran grabbed her forearm, pulling her close for a moment. "That would be a first." He grinned.

The looks on all the nobles expressed surprise mixed with disgust, but they hastened to disguise them as best they could: none opposed the King's word.

"Thank you." Natia finally answered.

He nodded. "You'll have to find a palace nearby, I suppose. I couldn't bear to see my nephew grow up away from his aunt. And perhaps, who knows, someday our children will learn to fight together...”

Children?! She merely stammered something that might have sounded like assent.

Duran burst out laughing. "For now, we have a war ahead of us. Let's focus on winning it."

They were dismissed with more curtseys and bows than she could bear in a lifetime. They slipped into one of the halls of the palace, where Natia had been housed with the rest of the party.

"Thank you."

She turned back to Rica. "Ah, so we're good now. You're talking to me."

She saw her bite her lip. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said those things to you. I was scared."

Natia crossed her arms over her chest, looking at her crookedly. "But now that it turns out I was right and your son's still a prince, so you can start talking to me again?"

"Natia..."
She raised a hand, interrupting her. "No, Rica. I would have never expected it from you. From Leske, maybe, surely from that shit Jarvia, not to mention from our mother who would have gladly sold me for two coppers and half a bottle if someone had ever offered to buy me, but not from you. You were my sister. The only one I had always trusted."

"I'm still your sister!" She tried to retort, but Natia shook her head.

"No, you're not. You said it yourself. You've been a bitch, that's it. So go ahead, move in here and take advantage of our new fancy caste, dress in as much jewelry and precious clothes as you can get your hands on but as far as I'm concerned, you're going to have to do better than a chat to win back my trust and affection. It's not so easy."

"How could I trust you?!" Rica almost yelled. "You got sentenced to death, you fled to the surface without even saying goodbye and then you come back, out of the sky, asking me to betray the only person who was protecting me in the name of a stranger accused of fratricide? How could you expect me to listen to you!?"

Natia knew underneath her skin and pride that her sister had had her own motives, and she herself hadn't trusted Duran at first either. Still... in the end she had believed in the Prince, despite the fact that there was no blood relation between them and all her moping instincts were screaming at her to the contrary.

"I've been protecting you for years, Rica. From Beraht, from all those good-for-nothings buzzing around you, forever! I almost got myself killed for you when I was only seven, and I would have done it a thousand times over! Just you and me, dusters surviving in spite of it all. But the minute you got up here you felt you could slam the door in my face and tell me we weren't sisters anymore." Rica's words that day still burned in her head.

"I'm sorry. I was afraid for me, for the baby."

"Fuck you, you just wanted to live in a pretty palace and be the mother of a prince."

"Natia-"

"I got nothing else to say."

Natia turned her back on her, leaving the room. She almost ran to the stairs leading to the Commons, cutting through the market square for once completely immune to insults and slipping into the Tapster's crowded interior.

She found the others seated at a large table at the far end of the room.

"Hey, I thought you were stil with your sister." Geralt greeted her, making room for her.

Natia sat down heavily, snatching up Alistair's mug and ignoring the Warden's protests, taking long sips. "So, when do we leave?"

They all stared at her in bewilderment.

"I thought you wanted to stay here." Leliana finally said. "You finally have a title and have found your family, why would you want to return to the surface?"

She shrugged, hoping they wouldn't see past her mask of indifference. "It's not that bad up there."

 

 

 

 


"So you're really leaving?"

Legs clasped to her chest, she avoided her friend's gaze, looking toward Dust Town below them. "Yeah."

"I thought you didn't like the surface."

"Well I can make a lot more money if-"

Leske burst out laughing, loudly. "Bullshit. Just admit you enjoy traveling with them. It's written all over your face, salroka."

Natia scrunched her nose, turning to face him. "Is it that obvious?"

"You've never been able to lie to me."

"You can come too, you know."

He laughed again. "Do you really want me to make you look bad in front of your new friends?"

She punched him in the arm, hard enough to make him curse. "You idiot."

"I'm dead serious. I don't think they'd enjoy my company."

"They put up with mine, I don't see why-"

"You're from a whole different vein, Natia. You've always been too shrewd and bright to be Beraht's minion. Deep down I always knew you'd get into some huge trouble. Of course, I didn't imagine you'd even become a stone ass..."

She threw another punch at him, harder. "Shut it!"

"Ouch!" He rubbed his arm, returning the blow. "Now what are you going to do, cut off my hand, Natia of House Brosca?"

"Fuck you!" She threw him to the ground, dragging him backwards and rolling in the dust. They both burst out laughing, brawling like old times.

Leske's hand came to rest on her cheek, on the tattoo that identified her as casteless, a reject of society, a nothing more than a duster.

"Geralt asked me if I wanted to take it off." She said, her voice little more than a whisper, looking down at him. She pulled a braid of nicely braided hair over her ear.

"Your mage friend?" The other asked, surprised. "Is it possibile?"

She nodded, "I told him no."

"Tsk, too much air blew your brains out." He rolled to his side, eyes on the stone ceiling, dirty and full of mold. "There are those who would pay all the gold in Orzammar to take it off and forget for even a little while that they were born a brand."

From his tone, it was clear he was talking about himself as well. Natia rose tup, pulling her knees to her chest. "I don't want to forget anything. I was born and raised here, it's part of me. Who I am now, who I will be later... it all started here."

"Sky made you mushy, salroka."

She huffed in amusement. "Maybe all that air scrambled my head a bit..."

She felt herself being pulled downward, Leske grabbing the collar of her soft leather jacket. He kissed her on the lips, strangely gentle. "No, I think you've even improved."

Jerk... She thought, but let him. She would leave the next day, and who knows when they would see each other again. If they would see each other again.

She ignored the lump in her throat, relaxing under his touch.

Chapter 31: Redcliffe Tavern

Summary:

Geralt finally gets to free Jowan, and they have a heart to heart about their feelings.
Spicy stuff ahead (but not so much), because Jowan needs all the love in the world and this fandom isn't giving him enough of it!

Chapter Text

“Nonsense. I can't believe anyone would want to get in the Circle of their own free will."

"You know, for many of us the Circle has always been a home and a refuge, not a prison."

Geralt bit his tongue, scowling toward the old woman. "Oh, sure, who wouldn't like to share a cozy home with murderous bigots..."

Wynne shook her head, sighing. "I guess this conversation isn't going to get us anywhere, as usual."

"On that we can agree."

“The fact remains that young Dagna has asked us to deliver this letter to the First Enchanter, and that is precisely what I intend to do."

He tossed his hair back, trying to free it from the snow that had gotten caught in it, thinking back to how excited the little girl had seemed to be about going to study at Kinloch Hold. He didn't think they'd turn her down, in the state the tower was in it would have been moronic, rather he was sure she would have regretted it immediately. What would a dwarf do in a mage tower anyway...?

"Are you hoping they'll put a leash around her neck just like they did to you, old woman?"

Geralt hoped his gasp of surprise had gone unnoticed, hidden under fake coughs. "Morrigan."

The Witch of the Wilds looked at him with one eyebrow raised and a large tome in her hands, which he recognized instantly: Flemeth's real grimoire.

"I'm not going to waste my time with you two." Wynne said before getting up and taking what was left of her dinner with her, going to join the others gathered around the bonfire and intent on listening to one of Leliana's melodies.

Morrigan sat down next to Geralt, tapping her fingers on the book's binding. "You finally decided to ask for help from someone who knows more than you."

He huffed. "Of course, how can I compete with you and your swamp training, I who grew up among magical texts from all over the South?"

He didn't even scratch her. Morrigan's amused smirk, if possible, got even wider. "As if you haven't savored every single line of this grimoire worse than a child with candy. By the way, congratulations on breaking the seal, not bad for a bookworm."

Geralt shrugged. "Breaking seals on books that I wasn't exactly allowed to read was my favorite pastime at the Tower."

"Who would have guessed... In any case," She resumed lowering her voice to a whisper, her expression growing more serious, "what you've asked me is simply not possible. There is a way to escape certain death, but as things currently stand I doubt it will be easy to convince them. And anyway, 'tis only a... temporary situation."

"I don't give a damn about that dumbass, we don't have to save both of them."

Morrigan turned to the rest of the group, her gaze wandering over each of them. "Do you really think she'd let that happen?"

He feared the witch was right. He fell silent.

"I'm afraid you're wasting your time. Unless you resort to some trick of your own... expertise."

He grabbed her wrist roughly, tightening his grip. "I wouldn't dare." He said in an icy tone.

The other easily broke free from his grasp, opening her hand slowly. "Not even if it meant saving her life?"

Before he could answer her, she stood up and left him alone to mull over his thoughts.

 

 

 

 

Redcliffe Castle was still covered in snow.

Although two months had passed since they left for Orzammar, nothing seemed to have changed. The courtyard remained half-destroyed, the inhabitants hadn't stopped mourning their dead and Jowan was still behind bars.

"I was hoping they'd at least given him decent accommodations." Geralt commented sourly, walking up the stairs that led to Arle's study.

Aenor, beside him, was silent.

"I mean, he's been locked in there for months. I didn't think they'd move him to the Empress of Orlais' apartments, but even a freaking broom closet would be better than those freezing cold dungeons..." He slammed the staff down on the next step, as if to reiterate what he had just said.

"If Aemon doesn't keep his end of the bargain, we'll shove that stick up his ass." Aenor said through gritted teeth, her hand clenched on the hunting knife she carried.

"With maybe a side of fireball?"

"Sure, why not."

He chuckled, imagining the scene. He quickly recomposed himself, however; they had arrived.

The Warden knocked once on the door, only to enter without waiting to be invited.

"Arle Aemon, we need to talk."

The Arle was probably waiting for them but hastily set aside some papers, putting down a pompous looking quill. "Ah, Warden. You're still convinced you want that blood mage released, I take it?"

The elf nodded. "We've returned from Orzammar with the dwarven army's allegiance. Now hand Jowan over."

The old man scrutinized them carefully, leaning back in his chair. "He is a maleficar who escaped from the Circle, and he even poisoned me trying to kill me for Loghain."

With a snap, the elf slammed her open hand down on the wooden table, making them both wince. "The keys to the cell. Now."

In the Arle's defense, if he was scared he hid it well. He merely stared at her as a teacher watches a child throw a tantrum. "No."

"You swore-"

"That I would release him, yes." Aemon interrupted her, raising a hand. "But not to you. He will be sent back to the Circle, and they will deal with him as they see fit."

"That's like sending him to the slaughter!" Geralt growled, feeling the magical flow on the verge of erupting. "You can't leave him in the hands of the Templars!"

"Geralt." Aenor admonished him, before turning her green eyes back to the Arle. "You have two options: either you send Jowan with an escort to the Circle, and my companions and I free him by killing every last of your men, or you stop this fucking bullshit and hand him over to us without any more fuss."

The Arle widened his eyes. "Are you threatening me in my own palace?"

The Warden shrugged. "I am. Dead sure of it."

If Geralt hadn't seen Aenor threaten people with far more power than her before, he would have been surprised himself. But after seeing her covered in the dragon's blood, ogre's remains and more darkspawn's gore than he could keep track of, Arle Aemon was the one who would have to worry.

"Alistair would not agree with that." The man replied, but he was withdrawing in his chair.

"I defeated a high dragon to find the Ashes that saved your life. And it is also because of me, as well as Jowan himself, that your son was not killed like the abomination he almost was. You owe me far more than one life, shemlen." She almost spat the last word, daring the other to speak back. “Moreover, do I look like I would give a fuck about Alistair's complains?”

Arle Eamon seemed to consider the various options, but finally capitulated. "So be it, take him. But our debts are paid." He opened a drawer from which he pulled out a single key, a magical rune carved on it.

Geralt hurried to take it, weighing it in the palm of his hand, his heart beating wildly. Finally!

Now it was to be seen how Jowan would react.

They walked down to the dungeon doors, when the elf suddenly stopped. "I think I'll let you go alone... just don't screw it up after all this work, all right?"

He could swear he saw her wink at him, before disappearing towards the courtyard.

He inhaled deeply. "Maker's balls, Geralt, get a fucking grip!"

 

 

 

 

The hallway smelled bad and was dimly lit, exactly as he'd left it last time. He wondered if bits of his dignity were still lying around, splattered on the floor along with rubble and rat feces.

"Hello?"

Geralt emerged into the light of the torches beside the bars, keys clenched in his fist. "Hey."

“Geralt! I heard the Wardens had arrived, I was hoping-" He interrupted abruptly. "Have the Warden...?"
He flashed him his best smile, waving the keys under his nose. "You can thank us once you're out of here." The lock made a click that echoed off the stone walls, the metal door creaking open. He stepped aside with a slight bow. "You're welcome."

Jowan didn't hesitate for a moment, an incredulous smile on his face as he finally crossed the threshold. To Geralt's amazement and embarrassment, he pulled him into a brief embrace. "Thank you, Geralt. I owe you my life. Again."

It only lasted a few moments but he wished he could hold him all day long.

The other coughed awkwardly after taking a few steps back, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "So..."

"So."

They both burst out laughing, uncomfortable.

I knew it. I blew it. Good fucking job you moron! "I think we'd better get us a room at the inn down at the village. At least you'll be able to get a bath and some good sleep." Geralt offered, only to shut up immediately realizing how equivocal it might sound. "I mean, get you a room. A room of your own, at the inn."

Jowan nodded, blushing. "Yes, a room and a bath sound like a splendid idea..."

They reached the courtyard. He noticed his friend limping a little as he brushed his hand over the snow that had settled on the destroyed walls, taking deep breaths. Jowan closed his eyes, a blissful smile appearing on his face. "I never thought I'd get out of there. Not alive, at least." A tremor shook his entire body. Geralt felt again like an idiot: it was the middle of winter and Jowan had only light, ragged dirty robes to protect himself from the cold.

He took off his own fur-lined cloak and held it out to him. "Put it on, or you'll freeze to death." He mumbled, trying to give himself a tone.

"But what about you?"

"I'll be all right..." He huffed in response.

The guards in front of the gate stared them down with hatred but let them pass unharmed. They spent the short walk to the village in complete silence, Jowan seeming to enjoy the view and Geralt wondering if one could die of shame.

The inn was crowded as usual. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Natia, Zevran, Leliana and Kallian sitting at a table at the far end of the room, giving him nods of encouragement.

"I'll... see you later then?" Jowan mumbled, after the innkeeper had handed him the keys to the room and motioned for him to follow her upstairs. Apparently, the rest of the group had booked them a room in advance.

Geralt nodded, blushing again. "Yes, of course... at dinner. If you're hungry. See you later."

He wanted to slap himself in the face. He dragged his feet to the table where the others were seated. Zevran made room for him with a heartbroken sigh. "You should have followed him." He told him, handing him a glass of wine.

"You're kidding I hope." He retorted sourly. "He would have thought-"

"That you were worried about him." Leliana interjected gently. "You shouldn't make such a big deal about it, you know. After all, you've been friends all your lives, right?"

"Friends my ass! I've ruined everything and now he's probably itching to find an excuse to get rid of a.... Of a..."

"If you're going to finish this sentence with an insult about your sexuality, know that you're going to get a knife in the leg and it will only be for your own good." Zevran warned him, serious. "Now, drink up and then go knock on that door."

Geralt guzzled the wine, his only hope of being able to endure that torment. "And what am I supposed to say to him? 'You know, I saved you but you don't have to pretend to reciprocate my feelings. On the contrary, about that, I was drunk and I was totally joking, please forget about the whole conversation'?

Zevran and Leliana exchanged a disapproving look.

Unexpectedly, however, it was Kallian who spoke up. "If you don't clear the air, you'll be left fretting forever."

"And you think it's easy to clear it up?"

She cast him an icy glare. "You killed a high dragon, mage, but now you're chickening out?"

Geralt sought Natia's help but she shook her head, raising her hands up. "Don't look at me, beanpole. I've been telling you the same thing for a while over and over, but you never listen to me, and If you don't, there's no use beating a dead bronto to the rock."

"I thoroughly despise you all." He mumbled as Zevran poured him a second glass.

 

 

 

 

Two glasses later and a large dose of encouragement from his companions, Geralt knocked at the door, a tray of food and a carafe of wine in hand. "Jowan?"

Jowan opened the door for him, clean clothes on (how had he gotten them?) and wet hair falling long over his shoulders. "Ah, you didn't have to... Thank you, you saved me from going down there with the whole world." He smiled gratefully at him, motioning to come in and sitting down on the bed. He was very thin, the marks of prolonged captivity making him look even more frail.

Geralt placed the tray on the only small table in the room then moved it over to the bed and sat down on a chair. "No problem, I've been there too. Sort of."

Jowan picked up a bowl of hot soup, tasting a generous portion. "Mhf, that's good... anyway, if it's a challenge, for once I think I'm the winner."

Geralt shook his head in amusement, taking some food as well. "I wouldn't bet on it."

He poured wine for both of them, eating quietly as Jowan looked like he wanted to swipe it all up before someone took it away from him.

He remained silent, waiting for Jowan to finish his food. This was an important speech, he couldn't risk him choking on the soup, could he? His gaze wandered around the room, lingering for a moment on the small tub. He noticed the water was slightly reddish. Blood. Either the wounds had never fully healed, which was quite unlikely, or the guards had enjoyed torturing him, taking advantage of the chains that prevented him from casting spells.

Once only the wine remained, he cleared his throat. "Jowan... About what I told you the last time we saw each other..."

"Geralt."

He lifted his gaze, hoping the long beard and hair would hide the blush on his cheeks.

"How long has it been?"

He took two more sips of wine. "At least since... I don't know exactly, I think I realized it when we were studying night and day on those stupid third era runes." He admitted in a whisper.

Jowan widened his eyes, doing the math. "But that was at least seven years ago! Couldn't you-"

"What was I supposed to do?!" Geralt then blurted out, defensively. "You didn't seem to notice anything, I thought you were too focused on studying to think about anything else and then you never spoke up in any conversations on the subject..."

"What are you talking about, no one ever- Wait, the others knew?"

He scratched his beard, uncomfortable. "Niall, for sure. Definitely Anders knew it too, but he was too busy smooching with Karl to-"

"Anders and Karl?!" Jowan interrupted him, increasingly shocked. "But wasn't Karl his study tutor?"

Geralt just stared at him. He couldn't tell if Jowan was bullshitting him or if he really had been, for all those years, completely oblivious to what was going on around him. "Jowan. Seriously. Did you think they were continuously disappearing to go dust books?"

It was the other's turn to blush violently. "I didn't think... I mean, I didn't think he was interested in..."

"..." How could anyone be so oblivious?! "Jowan. You had no idea that Anders and I liked men?" At that point, he wasn't the one who needed to be embarrassed. Maker's fiery balls, anyone with two working eyes would have noticed that!

"Well, I... you've always been popular, there's nothing weird about talking to someone and I couldn't know what exactly you've been doing with them...”

Geralt, watching his friend blush and stammer a bunch of nonsense, burst out laughing out until he felt tears in his eyes and an ache in his stomach, ignoring the other's offended protests. "This is absurd." He tried to calm himself, catching his breath, shaking his hair out of his eyes and tossing it over his shoulder. “Totally ridiculous."

"Are you done making fun of me?"

He glared at him, chuckling again. “No, I don't think so."

Jowan huffed, annoyed, setting down his glass and turning the other side. "Great. Let me know when you're done, I'll get comfortable in the meantime." He stretched out on the bed, his wet hair spread across the sheets.

Geralt allowed himself a brief moment to enjoy the view and then stretched his legs, rocking lightly in the chair as he did in the library what seemed like a lifetime ago.

"We didn't notice quite a few things, huh." He broke the silence after a while. "I'm sorry I pushed you into using blood magic."

Jowan didn't even move, staring up at the ceiling. "It wasn't your fault. I'm an idiot, I was jealous of you and the others. Surana seemed to have answers to everything, Anders planned an escape after another and he was always so reckless, while you..." he sighed deeply. "You were better at everything: magic, studying, making friends... if you hadn't talked to me the first day I got in the Tower, I think I would have thrown myself off."

Geralt remembered that very well. He had already been at the Tower for a year when Jowan had arrived escorted by a Templar, a trembling six-year-old with a head full of the nonsense his parents and the Chantry had fed him before sending him to that prison. At dinner, that very evening, Geralt had invited him to sit with him and Surana. In time Anders and Niall had joined them and the five of them had then become inseparable... at least until Uldred had arrived.

"Was it Uldred who put that idea in your head?" He asked him, thinking back to what the man had said at the Tower before completely turning into an abomination.

"No, I think I was feeling like that for a while now... And when you passed the Harrowing I began to wonder if they would ever let me try. But weeks went by and then months, and there were rumors that Uldred could teach spells that would allow you to survive the Harrowing. I was an idiot."

"But he was right, in a sense."

Jowan drew himself up, sitting up with a surprised look. "What do you mean?"

There's no point to keep lying to him, is there? Geralt pressed his thumb to the small knife on the table, letting out a few drops of blood. Power flowing within, he showed Jowan his hand as dozens reddish tentacles of blood magic raised up around him. "It is powerful."

His friend paled even further, widening his eyes, unable to tear them away from his hand. "Geralt, what have you done?" He stammered.

"Beat you to that too, I guess." He mumbled, closing his hand into a fist and interrupting the magic flow. "I was curious and ended up stealing some scrolls from that stupid Leorah's lab. Getting in touch with a demon who could answer my questions wasn't all that difficult."

The other didn't answer.

"Jowan..."

"So you do have flaws after all."

Geralt just blinked. "What?”

"You fall prey to demons like the rest of us." Jowan smirked. "I can't say if I'm disappointed or amused by that."

Oh, you have no idea how much I can fall prey to some demons... Geralt thought uneasily, a clear image of the desire demon that had tried to trap him at the tower etched forever in his mind. He shrugged. "I never said I was perfect."

"You never suggested otherwise, though." The other teased him. "Does the Warden know?"

"If I hadn't used Wynne's blood to save everyone's arse, we would have been eaten by a high dragon before we even reached those Ashes."

"Wynne?! And you're still alive to tell the tale?"

He chuckled. "Not by her concession."

"The Warden must be insane. I know the Dalish have different customs and the Chantry doesn't fill their head with fear and guilt, but deciding to spare the life of not one, but two blood mages..." Jowan shook his head, bewildered. He ran a hand through his hair, which was slowly drying. "I should cut it off."

"It looks good on you, you know." Geralt let slip. "Maybe just a trim. Beard too, while we're at it."

"If you say so. I trust the expert."

"Will just a couple of days be enough for you to travel?" He looked so fragile... the road to Denerim was not safe, they could be attacked at any moment, yet Geralt trusted that with such a large group he would be able to protect him.

Jowan nodded, massaging his sore wrists. "If I could get a couple of wraps... I've never been much of an healer, it's not my thing."

Geralt retrieved his bag, containing a few small vials of lyrium and three packets of processed elfroot. "Tell me about it... here you go."

He watched as Jowan smeared the ointment on his hands, then passed it over his wrists and around his neck. He unbuttoned his jacket then arched his back, trying to reach a spot between his shoulder blades. He grunted in pain, giving up. "Give me a hand?"

Praying he wasn't blushing like an idiot, he sat down next to him. The embarrassment disappeared immediately as soon as he saw his friend's back: it was scarred with several whip lacerations. He stroked him gently, trying to spread the poultice evenly without hurting him. "Some are recent."

He felt him stiffen. "It's not that bad."

"Jowan. One word and-"

"And what, Geralt, you're going to go burn alive every single asshole who ever took advantage of an incapacitated mage? You're going to leave a fifth of Ferelden's population alive, if they're lucky."


It wasn't fair. But he could see why he didn't want him to raise another fuss. "Maybe just the guards? They can do without a few of them."

"Please, don't do anything."

Geralt sighed, finishing spreading the ointment on him and reaching into his bag for some clean bandages. "As you wish. But it won't happen again, I promise." He had him lift his arms, passing the strips of cloth around his torso and securing them firmly.

He found himself inches from his face.

"Geralt?"
"..."
"Can I kiss you?"

The gulp of surprise died in his throat, overwhelmed by a series of feelings that ranged from confusion to elation to doubt that he was dreaming the whole thing. "What?" He managed to stammer, backing away a little and turning around pretending to fix a loose bandage.

Jowan swallowed noticeably, scratching the back of his hand. He was nervous. "I've been thinking about this for weeks. I mean if-"

"You don't have to do this." Geralt hurried to stop him, struggling to look him in the eyes. "You don't have to throw me a bone just because I got you out of there..."

"Hey! You really think I'm that much of an asshole?" Jowan shook his head, biting his already scarred lower lip. "It's just that I've been thinking about it since you... I mean, since that day. I've never thought about you like that, but you're still the person I care about the most and maybe... Yeah, you know, maybe that can work. Or not, but-"

Geralt stood absolutely still, not knowing what to do at all as his friend slowly approached, leaning forward until their lips brushed. Instinctively, he tilted his head slightly to the side, making it easier for him. Jowan placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently, rubbing his nose against his. "The beard. It tickles, it's weird..." he whispered before deepening the contact, bringing his hand to the back of his head and pulling him closer.

At this point, Geralt was almost certain it was another demon but he chose to not care either way, taking initiative. He parted his lips, caressing his with his tongue and urging Jowan to embrace it as he moved up to cup his cheek with a hand, running fingers through the damp hair.

Jowan drew back a little, breaking the contact and running his thumb over his lips.

Geralt felt his heart sink. It didn't work. He was almost about to rise to his feet when Jowan pulled him closer, whispering for him to continue.

He didn't need to tell him twice.

He kissed him again trying not to be too rough, then moving to his ear and down to his neck. Jowan tilted his head, a moan escaping his lips as his fingers tightened on the fabric of his robes. He stroked his chest, the other's hands fumbling with his vests, unable to pull them open.

Geralt then forced himself to pull away, looking into his eyes, Jowan's hair entwined between his fingers. "Are you sure?"

Jowan's breath was short and his flushed cheeks stood out against skin so pale and thin. He placed a hand on his cheek, tickling his beard and pressing his thumb to Geralt's lips. "How many more times are you going to ask me that?"

"Sorry, I just want to make sure-"

Jowan kissed him again, laying down on the soft bed and pulling him too, shutting down any more doubts that might be buzzing around in his head. Geralt felt a bulge press against his thigh, but nothing compared to how much his own pants felt tight. When Jowan instinctively lifted his groin up, sensitive to the attention Geralt was giving him, he felt a surge of magical energy pervade them both, releasing tiny sparks on contact.

Geralt dropped on his knees, opening Jowan's belt and lowering his pants to his ankles.

He was such an handsome sight. So exposed, his bare skin needing his every touch, head reclined on the pillow and face covered by an arm to hide his embarrassment, his half-open legs not even trying to hide his arousal.

Geralt wanted to do all kinds of things to him but he restrained himself, straining to keep in mind that this was probably the first time Jowan had found himself so exposed and likely not just with a man. He had no idea how far he'd gone with...

He shook his head, not wanting to think about that bitch, climbing back onto the bed to kiss his chest while he went to explore Jowan's crotch with a hand, stroking his length with gentle motions and lapping at a nipple, the other hand caressing his abdomen.

Jowan moaned again, getting harder in his grip.

Geralt could not resist. He lowered himself again, breathing onto his erection and admiring the sight of it twitching slightly, red and hard and in need of his tongue.

He complied hungrily, licking the tip and then his entire length, cupping his balls and taking it all in his mouth, letting out a satisfied grunt that reverberated on Jowan's dick. Then he set to work, determined to give him everything he had, savoring every bit of it, finally tasting the real him.

His own erection was hard as stone and almost hurting, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching down a hand to it, pumping himself in unison with his laps, already feeling it leaking precum.

When Jowan's hands grasped his hair, pushing inside his throat and meeting up with his movements, Geralt let out another moan, loudly.

After a few other thrusts he felt Jowan freeze, trying to pull him away a bit. “Geralt, I'm about to...”

He let him out with a lewd “pop”, staring up at him while massaging his balls, still pumping himself vigorously, cheeks flushed and raw breath.

Jowan was a mess as well, teary eyes and even more reddened than he was.

“I want to taste all of you.” Geralt groaned, lapping at his skin, engulfing his length again and finishing him off, Jowan's moans music to his ears. When the salty taste filled his mouth Geralt came too, almost gagging and having to let go of him to catch his breath, panting.

He closed his eyes, feeling the shame take over him again, but felt Jowan's hand lazily brushing his head then pull him up to the bed with him.

“I liked that...” Jowan whispered in his ears, barely audible, cheeks flushed. "A lot."

Geralt was still having trouble believing it wasn't some dream in the Fade but he smiled back at him, letting Jowan curl up against him and waiting for him to fall asleep, gently stroking his hair.

 

 

 

 

"So, how did it go?"

"From the look on his face, I imagine very well..."

Geralt couldn't help but smile as he took a seat on the wooden bench outside the inn. It had finally stopped snowing and despite the crisp air, it was almost pleasant to be sitting out there. Zevran, Natia and Aenor stared at him insistently, waiting to hear the report of his exploits. "It... went great."

“Better than a demon, I guess.” Natia muttered, teasing him and poking between his ribs. "Give us the spicy details, beanpole."

"Maybe not all of them..." Retorted the Warden with a grin. "But I'm glad you two worked it out."

"Ah, I've always loved introducing the many pleasures of sex to men who thought they were only interested in women." Zevran bragged, his gaze lost in memories. "When you first take them-"

"On that note, which of you...?" Natia interrupted him, placing herself cross-legged on the wooden crate she was sitting on, the air of someone who was genuinely interested.

Geralt felt his cheeks burning. "I didn't- I didn't want to overdo it. There was just a few kisses..."

"My friend, you have the face of someone who has given far more than a kiss."

He raised his eyebrows, winking. "I didn't say where I kissed him."

Natia and Zevran cheered loudly.

"Well, those clean clothes I told the maid to put in your room didn't get much use..."

"Thanks anyway, Zev. I hadn't even thought of that."

“That is because you could only think about him naked, just out of the bathtub, drops of water running down to his-"

"Whoah, that's a bit too much not requested info!" Aenor immediately stopped them with a laugh, pulling an old looking wooden pipe from her pockets. "Make yourself useful, mage, light up here."

He summoned a small flame. Geralt immediately recognized the smell, bursting out laughing.

"Dried elfroot! Ah, so many fun memories... I wonder if our old supplies are still hidden in those books up in the Tower!”

Aenor inhaled deeply, then handed it to him. "You have no idea how much effort I put into fixing it, it was really messed up. I carved it, sure, but there was some metal worked that required finesse."

"It turned out the old blacksmith can make himself useful not only by drinking all Redcliffe's booze." Giggled Natia, extending a hand in Geralt's direction.

The mage savored the smoke coming into his lungs, then threw it out in small concentric circles.

"Nice." The dwarf seemed to have some difficulty as she coughed violently, having inhaled too much. "Ugh, I must be doing something wrong."

"Don't overdo it, my little friend, you have to taste it on your tongue first and then let it gently slide down your throat..."

Natia laughed between coughs. "Zev, we're still talking about smoke, right?"

He threw her what should have seemed like an innocent look. "Of course."

Zevran found himself elbowed in the side. "I don't need lessons on that, pointy ears!"

She was about to take another shot when a shout from upstairs was quickly followed by a thud. They jumped up, recoiling as blood smeared the snow on the ground, the man's corpse thrown below a few feet from them.

"Fenedhis lasa!" He heard Aenor exclaim, her eyes focused on the windows.

After a few seconds, Kallian peeped out from the top floor, worriedly. "Is he dead?"

Geralt raised an eyebrow. "No, he's perfectly fine."

"He can't wait to do it again, he says being thrown from the third floor onto sharp rocks is good for tired limbs!" Zevran yelled right after, chuckling.

Kallian muttered something back, probably insults.

"He's dead all right." Natia said. As usual, she was not intimidated at all and went to examine the body. She rummaged in his pockets and pouches, grinning triumphantly. "Finders keepers."

"Can't get enough of it, huh..." Geralt sighed, shaking his head disapprovingly. "You're awful."

"Hey, who did that?!" Shouted a man drawn to the commotion, his gaze focused on the body.

"He did it all by himself..." Zevran promptly replied. "We saw him come out of one of the windows, probably drunk from the way he was swaying, decanting an ode to Andraste's tits, toasting the health of the Prophetess, losing his balance and falling downstairs. A tragedy, indeed, I'm sure he was a promising poet. He had lingered so elegantly on the rosy nipples of the blessed maiden, her voice like that of a nightingale as she discovered the pleasures of-"

"Blasphemies! By the Maker, knife-ears, do not sully the Prophetess's name!" The man blurted, spitting down on the corpse and going back the way he came, suggesting that the corpse be removed and left for the wolves.

"Such charitable people, these devouts..."

"Found anything useful?"

Kallian and Leliana, both visibly shaken but unharmed, rushed over to analyze the body. "He was their leader."

Natia, after a moment of hesitation, held out the corpse's pouch to them. "Leader of who?"

"He and three others tried to kill Leliana." Kallian cut whort, frantically rummaging through the contents and pulling out a paper. She handed it to Leliana after scanning it for a moment. "Denerim. It's a building in Denerim."

The woman frowned delicately, clutching the small parchment with a trembling hand. "It is her, there's no doubt about it. Who else would target me?"

"Do you mind bringing us up to speed on this new assassination attempt, or would you rather keep it a secret?" Aenor spoke up.

Leliana sighed, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear. "I suppose I should tell you, you're right. When I escaped from Orlais I was framed by my mentor, who accused me of a crime of high treason that she had actually committed. Apparently she has learned that I'm alive and she's trying to set things straight.”

Kallian pointed to the paper. "That must be where she is now."

"Well, we're going to Denerim anyway, aren't we?" Zevran said, smiling. "We can show her how real assassins behave, not pathetic imitators."

Geralt barely held back a laugh. "I hope you're not talking about yourself, Zev."

"You wound me right in the heart, my friend."

Chapter 32: Denerim

Summary:

The group gets to Denerim, this time without hiding. The Landsmeet is coming but there are still a few scores to settle.
Kallian gets to face her demons and thinks about who she wants to be and what to do with her life.

Notes:

I'm very sorry about the delay, the story is already finished and all but translating is hard and takes a lot of time, of which I do not have much at the moment. Life is a flaming dumpster lately but I'll try to post sooner!

Chapter Text

"How could she find out about you?" Kallian asked again as they prepared to set up camp, unfolding the bedroll and placing it next to a sturdy looking tree trunk.

Leliana sighed, unbuckling the saddlebag from the horse and checking to make sure the animal was properly tethered. "Marjolaine has always had a knack for tracking anyone..."

The elf was tired too, after hours of riding. Arle Eamon was traveling surrounded by his escort of heavily armed guards with the Redcliffe crest on their shiny armor, enough men to convince them to use the Imperial Highway without fear of being ambushed. A couple of times they'd run into a group of Darkspawn but they'd escaped without casualties, except for one of the soldiers who'd tripped on the ground to avoid an Ogre charge and broke a few bones, which Wynne had fixed.

The number of mages had increased too.

Kallian glanced over her shoulder at the latest arrival, the blood mage Aenor had freed from Redcliffe's cells: she could see from a mile away how uncomfortable he was there, surrounded by people who wanted him dead and by "the hostile nature" as he called the outside, but Jowan was still free to roam around. And cast spells, because despite being prevented from carrying a magic staff Kallian now knew too well that mages didn't need to have a weapon to kill or torture someone.

Fortunately, between the Arle men and their comrades, Kallian was fairly certain that he wouldn't get up to anything. At first she had thought that Geralt, having obtained his friend's release, would take the first opportunity to betray them and go their separate ways, but that had not been the case.

She had to admit that he had been a great help during those months, and in case Loghain hadn't capitulated at the Landsmeet, having another couple of mages on their side wasn't such a bad idea. Besides, he wasn't all that obnoxious, despite his blood magic. Maybe Jowan had a good side as well.

"What are you going to do once you have her in front of you?" Kallian asked Leliana.

The woman sighed again, fiddling with a lock of red hair. She twirled it between her tapered fingers, as she often did when pondering a thorny problem. "I don't know."

"If she sent assassins after you, she's dangerous."

"You're telling me I should kill her.”

Kallian didn't bother to deny it. "That would be the easiest solution. And a permanent one."

"I don't think she really wanted me dead."

The elf huffed. "I don't see how sending assassins after someone could not mean wanting them dead."
"She was the one who trained me. She knows what I'm capable of; four men wouldn't have been that hard for me to take care of, even on my own."

"So what do you suggest, knock on the door and see if she'll offer us tea and biscuits?" Retorted the elf in a sharp tone, casting a glance at the trees around them. "Even in case you were right and it was an invitation to go to her in Denerim... it wouldonly be to kill you herself. It's clearly a trap."

Kallian heard her chuckle. "You're much more worried about her than I am."

She gave her an incredulous look. "I'm surprised you're not."

"I know I can count on you. Marjolaine and her games don't scare me."

As long as you don't risk getting a knife in your ribcage Kallian thought, but she dropped the subject, setting up for the night. On the other side of the camp Morrigan and Natia were preparing dinner while the two Grey Wardens were talking excitedly with Arle Eamon and Elissa.

"Do you really think the nobles will support him? As king, I mean."

"Alistair?" She saw Leliana smile. "He'd make a good king, even if he doesn't realize it yet."

Kallian was skeptical. "Are you sure?"

"As a Warden he's proven himself to be honorable, Alistair's a good warrior and he's never had the snootiness of someone raised to lead while he's always earned what he has. And he seems to have his heart in the right place, which is a rare thing when it comes to rulers." She paused briefly, her gaze wandering to the boy. "Plus, I think with someone trained to be a teyrna by her side, he'll be able to make even the most difficult decisions."

The elf thought that Elissa might actually make a good queen. "She'll have the support of all the nobles who were allies to the Couslands."

"Loghain made a terrible mistake, trusting Howe. Leaving even one witness alive to what happened at Highever could turn most of the Bannorns against him."

“Sure, the only thing that can upset them is when some of their own are killed...” Kallian commented sourly. She sighed as Leliana's hand rested on her own. She met the other's blue eyes, fixed in hers.

"What was done to you by Vaughan is inexcusable and horrible, but not every noble is like that. You saw it, Elissa is a completely different person."

Kallian retracted his hand, avoiding her gaze. "I don't remember the Alienage of Highever having much of a good reputation." She reiterated frostily. "By some accounts, it was worse than in Denerim. Nelaros came from there."

"Your...?"
"Yeah. My not-husband." She replied in a flat tone. Funny how it almost didn't affect her to talk about that day anymore. There had been shame, anger, pain. But now, after months, she had relegated all the emotions to a remote corner of her mind.

"Will you go back and say hello to your family?"

She sighed. "I don't know. I left in the middle of the night without saying anything to anyone. My father will be devastated, losing me a second time... I'm afraid if I go back, he won't want to see me leave."

"Once you defeat the Blight, there's nothing stopping you from staying." It seemed that Leliana wanted to add something but she quickly shut up.

This time it was Kallian who turned to her. "I could never go back to living in the Alienage. Not after what I've seen, what I've done. I won't go back to being nothing, lowering my gaze when a human speaks to me, apologizing for mistakes I didn't make just because of what I am." She knew that her father, Shianni and Soris wouldn't understand. Kallian missed them though, she wished to see them again, let them know she was alive and she was fine, that she had recovered. That she was doing something with the life she had been given, something important. She wanted her father to know that his daughter wasn't just any elf, that she was like her mother. "I'd like to see them again."

"Would you like me to accompany you?"

She was surprised by the proposal. To come back, fully armed and so different, proud of her achievements even though everyone in the Alienage knew what had happened to her, and moreover accompanied by a human... She found herself nodding. "I'd like that."

Leliana smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "We'll be pretty busy in Denerim, then."

Kallian laid back against the bark of the tree, ignoring the humidity and closing her eyes. "Yeah. Do you have any idea what you're going to do next?"

Leliana took a few seconds to answer. "I've traveled far and wide since I left with the Wardens in Lothering... and to think that when I fled to Ferelden I thought my adventures were over. I'm glad I followed them. And that I've met you."

"Do you think it was all the Maker's plans?" Kallian asked, feeling herself redding.

"I believe He tests us every day, and that everything happens for a reason. I left Lothering and all our journeys united us toward a purpose greater than ourselves... so I'm glad I followed my vision."

It had to be comforting, believing in a divine plan that gave a reason for everything that was happening. Kallian was tempted to believe it too, after what she'd seen in the past months.

"I would like to keep traveling." Leliana continued.

She looked at the woman, who was smiling serenely. "I don't know if I want to face more death."

Leliana moved imperceptibly toward her, until they were shoulder to shoulder. That touch comforted her, much more that she could admit.

"You know, horror can be found anywhere if you look hard enough, but the same thing goes for beauty." She looked into her eyes, and the elf felt a lump in her throat. "There is so much more out there, a world of adventures and stories yet to be told. I want to be a part of it." Leliana squeezed her hand again. Her smile was warm, welcoming. "I'd love to see it together."

Kallian found herself returning the smile, nodding. "That does sound nice."

Leliana gently squeezed her hand, excited. "It's settled then. You and me, seeking adventures and fortunes around the world!"

"Not too many adventures, though." Kallian mumbled, embarrassed, intercepting the amused look of Natia and Zevran sitting not far from them. "We'll have enough of that for a while."

 

 

 


 

 

 

The human capital was awful.

Aenor, dazed by the amount of people wandering through the marketplace, struggled to follow the others toward Arle Eamon's estate.

They had passed through huge gates, passing by sturdy stone walls that surrounded the enture city and into the main street that led to the city center. There were stores everywhere, merchants shouting promoting their wares, children running between the legs of passers-by, pickpockets waiting for their next victim, weary travelers looking for rest and recreation, rich ladies in embroidered dresses peering critically at the stalls of the most fashionable merchants while beggars and ragamuffins of all kinds lurked at street corners, scraping for a copper or two that would allow them a decent meal. The buildings, mostly wooden, were multi-storied and jammed on top of each other in a distressing maze.

The dalish shuddered, missing the quiet and peace of the forests.

"I think we'll leave you to your castle and go to the tavern..."

She turned surprised toward Geralt, who had stood protectively beside Jowan the whole time. The Arle men had spent the travel casting murderous glances as their lord forcibly ignored them, but none had dared to challenge the mage and the Warden.

Aenor nodded, "All right, but stay alert."

Natia, standing next to the two mages, lightlyb jabbed Zevran with an elbow "We'll keep an eye on them, don't you worry about it."

The dalish watched them walk away until they blended into the crowd and disappeared from view. She envied them a little.

Arle Eamon's palace was not far from the market. After passing the gate manned by a couple of guards, she breathed a sigh of relief: the garden inside was quiet, a stone well and a few mabari statues the only presences.

She absent-mindedly stroked the head of Falon, who kept his ears down next to her, unnerved by the chaos of the place.

The front door of the palace swung open, revealing a group of men in armor. Aenor immediately recognized one of them, even though it had been months since she had last seen him.

"Loghain." Alistair growled, bringing a hand to the hilt of his sword.

Aemon signaled to them to remain calm. They were not there to shed blood but to rally the nobility to their side. And killing the regent in his palace would not help them.

"Howe!"
Aenor jerked up as Elissa stepped forward, visibly furious. At her side, Cookie growled menacingly, ready to snap at the first order from his mistress.

The man she had been pointing at, a slimy-looking middle-aged shem, gray hair kept short that framed a wrinkled face and hooked nose, twisted into a grimace.

"Lady Cousland, you will address me as Arle of Amaranthine, of Denerim and Teyrn of Highever." Even his voice was unpleasant, it reminded Aenor of a rat's.

At those words, Elissa's hands twitched in anger but she held her ground. "May the Maker strike me down before I acknowledge you my father's title, traitor."

"Grief must have driven you mad, Lady Cousland. What happened to your family was a terrible accident." Loghain retorted, stepping forward. "That would explain why you are taking the side of a agitator like Arle Eamon and a false claimant to my daughter's throne."

The Arle faced him impassively beside Elissa. "You speak of intrigue and machinations, Teyrn Loghain, when you are the very one to who's splitting Ferelden."

"I'm not the one who rallied the banns under the banners of a supposedly royal bastard, Eamon!" Loghain cast a scornful glance at Alistair. The boy, beside Aenor, seemed to be employing every effort not to charge at him and take his head off on the spot. "The Blight is the real threat, we should face it united, under the rightful Queen of Ferelden. Your own sister, Queen Rowan, fought with all her might to save this country and now you wish to destroy it?"

At the mention of his sister Aemon stiffened, crossing his arms over his chest. "I am not the one who's guilty of that, Loghain, and you know that."

Aenor felt herself pass through the regent's gaze. "Cailan had placed his trust in the Grey Wardens to save himself from the Darkspawn and look how much good it did to him." The regent continued. "It's time to think about facts and not put our trust in fairy tales."

The dalish knew that what the man had just said could not be further from the truth. Without at least one Grey Warden, they would have no hope of ending the Blight.

"I cannot forgive what you have done, Loghain. Perhaps the Maker can, but not me." Aemon replied icily. "Our people need a king of Theirin lineage. It will be Alistair who will lead us to safety."

Teyrn Loghain stared back, stiffening. "The Emperor of Orlais thought I couldn't defeat him, too. Look how it turned out. Expect the same compassion I had for him, because there's nothing I wouldn't do for my country."

He seemed to really believe that. While completely insane, it was clear even to Aenor that Loghain cared about Ferelden, even to the point of bringing it to ruin in order to follow his ideas of safety.

The regent then signaled his men to follow him out of the gates.

Aenor heard a thud, turning around in alarm.

Alistair, knuckles blooded against stone on the wall beside him, stared at the spot where they had disappeared with visceral hatred. "I'll have his head if it's the last thing I do."

She saw Elissa nod, even though they were referring to different people.

Out of the corner of her eye, Aenor saw a figure sneak inside the building. She signaled Falon to catch it.

"Stop! I'm looking for help!" The figure squeaked that once she was pinned down, her back against the wall. She had a thick Orlesian accent.

Aenor ripped the hood from her head, revealing two pointed ears and elven features. "Who are you?"
"My name is Erlina, I am Queen Anora's lady-in-waiting!" She squeaked, terrified.

"The queen's what...?"

"Aenor, let her talk."

Alistair put a hand on her shoulder, coaxing her to let go.

"I must deliver a message to Arle Eamon and the Grey Wardens." Erlina swallowed dryly, staring at them fearfully. "From the Queen."

Alistair held out a hand. "Follow us then, the Arle has already entered. We will speak safely from prying ears."

They climbed the stairs that led to the Arle's study, a large stone room that housed a huge wooden desk, a crackling fireplace and enough room to discuss quietly seated the matters that awaited them.

After brief introductions, Erlina made up her mind to explain why she was there.

"The queen, she is concerned. She loved her husband, didn't she? And she believed that her father, the regent, would protect him. But when he came back without the king, after all those rumors... She found herself in a difficult position. And every time she asked her father for an explanation she was told not to worry. So, the Queen begins to suspect that she can't trust her father. And Loghain is very... discreet, isn't he? But Arl Howe isn't so much."

Elissa stiffened at the mention of his name. "He's much worse."

The elf nodded vigorously. "My Queen then decides to go to him. A visit to the new Arle of Denerim is courtesy, does not rise suspicion.... She asks for explanations about what happened in Ostagar, but also about the events of Highever." She clasped her hands, anxiuosly. "He insulted her in every way, calling her a 'traitor' among other things, and locked her up in a guest room!"

"So? The royal guards should go and free her." Alistair retorted. "I don't see how it affects us."

"If they saw the palace men coming, they would kill her instantly!"

"Loghain wouldn't let Howe kill his daughter." Elissa commented confidently. "But it could all be a plan to pretend she's dead. Blame us until the Landsmeet for getting the Queen out of the way to put Alistair on the throne."

Erlina nodded again. "Loghain doesn't want his daughter dead, but Howe... I'm afraid he might kill her anyway and accuse you. That man, his ambition has no end."

"Believe me, I know what you're talking about. I've experienced it myself." Elissa then turned to Aemon and the two Wardens. "We need to get her out of there."

Aenor contracted his mouth into a grimace. "Do we really have to?"

"If we free her, she'll be in debt toward us..." Alistair interjected thoughtfully. "And her voice may convince many undecided at the Landsmeet."

"And if what we know from those letters is true... She wouldn't have many options." Elissa concluded, exchanging a quick glance with Aemon.

The dalish snorted. Of course, they hadn't even been here a couple of hours that they already had a problem to solve. "Fenedhis lasa... fine, what's the plan then?"

It was Elissa who answered her. "We're going to sneak into the building." She looked at Erlina for help. "Do you have any way to sneak us in?"

The servant nodded. "Howe has been hiring a lot of new guards lately, I can easily get you a couple of uniforms."

"Perfect, and once we're inside-"

"No Alistair, you will stay here." Elissa objected, shushing him. "We can't have you getting caught and killed. You're the only reason we were able to call a Landsmeet, without you we would have worked in vain for months."

The boy frowned. "No, no way. I'm going with you, it's dangerous."

"Tha'ts exactly why you'll do as she said." Aenor grunted, agreeing with Elissa.

Aemon also seemed to think it was a good plan. Alistair had no choice but to capitulate, although threatening to storm the palace all by himself if they got captured.

 

 

 


 

 

 


Kallian tried to put the helmet back on her head so that it wouldn't crush the tip of her still intact ear. They had been forged for a human so they fit large on her forehead and narrow on the sides. Aenor looked annoyed too, but she didn't voice it.

Geralt, his staff comfortably transformed into a twig, moved awkwardly in the armor, clearly not used to all that weight. Fortunately he was in better shape than most mages or he probably wouldn't have even been able to even take a few steps forward.

Elissa, behind them, proceeded in silence. The tension was palpable.

The palace had changed very little since the last time she'd been in there, and she remembered exactly where the Arle's chambers were.

The queen, locked in one of the guest rooms, had sent them off in search of the mage who had set the magig seal on the door and was probably at Howe's side somewhere in the castle. Geralt had futilely tried to break the seal, finally decreeing that the only way to open the door was to get hold of the key with the magical rune used to close it.

They found the Arle's rooms deserted, save for some documents that bore the Grey Wardens' seal.

"Figures." Aenor commented with a snort casting a glance at the door behind them, which led to a set of stairs to the lower floors. "Downstairs?"

Kallian swallowed dryly, nodding.

The door wasn't even locked. They descended steep, narrow steps, only partially lit by torches.

The first room they encountered some small cells, barely large enough to contain a man. The guard beside one of them turned in alarm as he heard them coming, but before he could make a sound a bare arm snapped out of the bars, grabbing him by the neck and yanking him backwards.

The sound of skull against metal echoed off the stone walls as the prisoner retrieved his cell keys, hanging from the corpse's belt, and got free in moments.

"I've been waiting for a chance like this for months." He commented, the guard's sword in hand, ready to attack. He sounded Orlesian from his accent, but Kallian wasn't sure. He wore only a ragged loincloth but the physique underneath, though tested by months of captivity, suggested he was well trained for combat.

"Take it easy, we're not with Howe." Aenor quickly stopped him, raising her hands in front of him and removing the helmet.

The man was taken aback for a moment, but nodded, lowering his weapon. "I am Riordan, of the Grey Wardens of Jader, but born and raised in Highever. Who do I have to thank...?"

"Aenor, of the Grey Wardens. And Elissa Cousland." The dalish answered dryly, leaving out on purpose both Kallian and Geralt. "How did Howe capture you?"

The other answered with a grimace. "Fake hospitality and a poisoned chalice... but I am pleased to meet one of the few remaining Wardens." He shifted his gaze to Elissa. "My condolences for what happened to your family, my lady. I fondly remember Highever and your family."

She slightly bowed her head. "The one responsible will be punished as he deserves, Warden, but thank you for your words. Are you able to fight?"

The man shook his head. "I fear that months of captivity have weakened me too much."

"Go to Arle Eamon's estate then, the other Grey Warden, Alistair, is there." Aenor said.

The man nodded before bending over the corpse of the guard and beginning to strip him of his armor. The dalish motioned the others to continue. They walked down another dark corridor, which came out into a larger, lighted room, four armed men standing guard.

They could not fool them, so they had to fight.

They made it through most of the corridors. Kallian was now really glad that the mage had come with them; alone it would have been difficult to defeat them all.

At one point, they heard cries for help coming from one of the side doors.

After getting rid of the guards, they found a man tied to a board, his hands and feet in traction thanks to two wheels that were turned.

"Help me! Don't leave me here, free me! That's an order!"

Clearly, he was a nobleman. Kallian approached him, staring at him from top to bottom in disgust. "That doesn't sound like the way to ask for help, human."

The other gave her what must have been a look of superiority, but from that position it looked like a pathetic attempt to regain at least a modicum of dignity. "Cut those strings, knife-ears! I can't believe my father kept me in here this long and then sent a rat to get me out..."

Kallian tapped lightly on the wood, considering leaving him there a little longer. "I really have no idea who your father is, but if he thought he was locking you down here so you could learn some manners, it seems he failed miserably."

Before he could respond with any more insults, Elissa came up behind her.

"Oswyn?"
The prisoner seemed to brighten. "Lady Elissa! Oh, thank goodness. Tell your servant to release me-"
"I see that months of captivity have taught you nothing." She interrupted him coldly, however cutting the ropes that bound him. "Without these two elves, you would have been left to rot in here forever. You are fortunate that your father, Bann Sighard, occupies a prominent position for our country but I suggest you learn how to speak properly to people who are helping you, before judging them for their ears."

Oswyn struggled to his feet, staggering. He scrutinized the two elves with suspicion before mouthing a thank you that sounded utterly false. He then bowed again to Elissa. "I will speak to my father as soon as I leave here. Dragon's Peak and our men are on your side, my lady. My father had no idea which snakes he had sided with."

"Can you make it to the exit? You'll find dead guards wearing armor that can allow you to blend in and attempt to exit through the service entrance."

The man nodded. "Thank you, Lady Cousland. And... my condolences."

Kallian gritted her teeth. Humans, why do most of them only care about themselves?

"If it weren't for his father, I would have left him up there quite happily." Elissa said. “He was always an unpleasant man.”

Aenor brushed her fingers over the crank of the torture mechanism. "He sounded like he deserved it..."

They continued through a door to their left, which led them to more cells. A chanting voice echoed through the stone walls, leading them to investigate.

“Maker have mercy on your faithful servant. Grant me a place at your side...”

"This spiel sounds Templar bullshit..." Geralt commented sourly, tapping his staff on the floor in an irritated manner. "I hope we don't have to free him, too."

And indeed, a Templar it was.

"Oh Andraste, bride of the Maker, have mercy on me!" He exclaimed as soon as he saw them. "Alfstanna, is that you, little sister?"

The mage burst out laughing, a cruel sound. "I don't think so, Templar."

"How can you tell he's one of them?" Kallian asked, intrigued.

She saw Geralt lift his shoulders. "I can sense the lyrum in him. Or rather, the absence of lyrium to be precise. He's been in withdrawal for quite some time, I can sort of smell it, along with all that other filth that surrounds him."

"I am Irminric Eremon, Knight of the Templar Order" The man introduced himself. He was shaking a bit. "You are not Howe's men."

"No, we are not."

"Eremon? You're Bann Alfstanna Eremon's brother?" Elissa interjected, approaching the bars. "Geralt, get him out of here."

The mage did not move, however. "Don't we want to ask how he ended up down here?"

"Who cares, his sister is-"

"I was assigned to hunt down a maleficar who had escaped from the Circle." The Templar replied, preceding them. "Maker, I failed and did not stop him from using his blood magic to commit heinous acts. I tracked him to Redcliffe but..."

Aenor huffed audibly. "Let me guess, he's talking about Jowan."

Geralt nodded. Kallian instinctively brought a hand towards his bow, just in case the mage decided to kill the helpless man.

"Yes, that was his name. He had managed to destroy his phylactery and thus make the pursuit more difficult. I was alone when the men of the Teyrn attacked me, imprisoning me."

"Should we therefore be sorry?" Geralt hissed, ominous sparks rising around his magic staff.

Aenor interposed herself with a swift movement between him and the prisoner. "Geralt. Jowan is safe now, this revenge is meaningless."

He glared at her and for a moment Kallian feared that the two would come to a confrontation. Eventually, however, the mage capitulated by lowering his staff.

"All right, Aenor."

The Templar did not look grateful, looking at them with a lost look. "You are real, then? Not demons from my dreams?"

"Your sister is looking for you. She has not resigned herself to the rumors of your death. We will free you and you can go to her." Elissa replied, trying to convince him.

He shook his head. "Only the Maker can free me from the shame of my failure." He lifted his right hand, where a small golden ring stood out on his middle finger, removing it and handing it to the girl. "Take it to Alfstanna. Tell her to pray for me..."

Before they could retort, he had already fallen to his knees, ranting disconnected pieces of the Chant of Light.

The four of them exchanged a puzzled look.

"If he does not wish to be released from his prison of guilt, I am happy to oblige." Geralt decreed before heading briskly down the hallway.

After another brief confrontation, they found themselves in a room larger than the others, with four cramped cells on each side. The acrid stench clung to their throats and the torches on the walls were almost all out.

A man with a long beard and hollow, ghostly eyes lay curled up in one of them. He seemed not even to notice them. Moving closer, Kallian heard him mutter something, his voice too low to make out all the words.

"...retreat, we ran, the screams..." he let out a terrified groan, covering his ears and staggering back and forth, his eyes crazy wide.

She hunched forward, whispering a few words that the man didn't seem to notice.

"You're wasting your breath, that fool doesn't even know you're there."

She jerked instinctively, terror chilling her limbs. That voice, she would have recognized it anywhere. She clutched the bow spasmodically in her hands, the ironwood seeming to shake as much as she did.

The others had also turned sharply and Elissa was already on her way to check on them. "Who's-?"

"Get away from that cell." Kallian stopped her, grabbing her by the arm. Sending a silent prayer to the Maker, she hoped not to give away the whirlwind of emotions that were flooding her.

She stepped into the cone of light cast by the nearby torch.

Vaughan Kendells, son of the late Arle of Denerim, returned her gaze with a surprised expression.

"I don't believe it. The knife-ear whore!" The cruel grin, despite the fact that his face was hollow and he sported an unkempt beard, was the same one that haunted her nightmares night after night. "Get me out of here, that's an order."

The man jerked as she grabbed one of the iron bars, feeling a blind fury take hold of her.

"Is that him?"

She didn't even turn around. She nodded in response to Aenor's question, not taking her eyes off the man.

The dalish approached, leaning against the stone wall.

"Release me immediately, you damned rats!" Vaughan barked, yanking on the bars of the cell. "I command you, I am the Arle of Denerim!"

Kallian wanted to kill him.

To see his blood run across the floor, to enjoy the moment when life would leave those cruel eyes not before making him suffer as she had suffered. She would have made him scream, beg for an end to that torment. But she would have been merciful, unlike him. She would have pleased him, eventually. She never wished someone's death with more hatred.

“Geralt."
The mage stepped forward, flanking her. He looked at the prisoner with a mixture of disgust and curiosity. "I know at least a dozen ways to make him suffer horribly, if it helps."

She shook her head. "He's mine." She pointed to the lock, which the magebroke with a simple spell just by touching it with his fingers. The door opened outward as Vaughan cowered against the wall, now terrified.

"You! You are human! I'll give you money, lots of money!" His gaze then lingered on Elissa, recognizing her after a while. "Cousland!"

Kallian turned sharply toward her, ready to kill the man instantly if the woman even suggested sparing him. It didn't matter how much help he could give them at the Landsmeet, Vaughan wasn't getting out of there alive, even if she had to challenge the Cousland for it.

Elissa, however, crossed her arms over her chest. "You have no idea how sorry I am to see you stil alive and well, Vaughan." She chalked up the name in disgust, spitting it out.

The man squinted uncomprehendingly, searching futilely for a way to save himself. "I'll testify against Howe! He locked me in here, blaming it on the elves and their damned rebellion! I-I can't die, I'm the Arle of Denerim!"

"Rebellion?" Those words made no sense. "What do you mean by rebellion?!" Kallian hissed, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him against the wall.

Vaughan twisted into another grin, spitting on the floor. "Some rats didn't like that you were such a needy whore. They tried to rebel, wanted to talk to the king himself..." He ran the tongue over his front teeth. "We killed dozens of them like dogs before we locked them up in there. I wonder if they finally set the Alienage on fire like I had suggested-"

It wasn't until she heard the pop that Kallian realized she had hit the man, fracturing his jaw.

Vaughan fell to the ground with a scream, spitting blood over the floor.

"Bitch, I will make you-"

They never knew what he would do to her.

Kallian raised the ironwood bow, lowering it onto Vaughan's head with all the force she had, causing him to slide further to the floor. She raised the weapon again, hitting him furiously over and over, until he stopped writhing and again, kicking at him, the sound of broken bones filling her ears.

Exhausted, she leaned one end of the bow against the ground, staring at the now unrecognizable corpse.

A hand came to gently rest on her shoulder.

"Hey. It's over."

The man who had tortured her, raped her, stripped her of her dignity, who had taken away every ounce of her will to live without even guaranteeing her a death that would give her freedom from those memories, lay dead at her feet, slaughtered like the beast he was.

Kallian felt as if a huge boulder had been removed from her soul.

She nodded, grabbing Aenor's hand and squeezing it. Her breath was ragged, her vision blurred.

She was free. Free to move on.

She turned her back on the corpse, wiping the blood from her face with a sleeve and clutching the bow to her again, the marking of Falon'Din carved on the handle pressing against her palm.

Chapter 33: Arl of Denerim's estate

Summary:

Elissa finally confronts Howe and gets her chance for revenge.
Later, a talk with Loghain makes her question some of her beliefs and strenghtens others.

Chapter Text

"Look who came to visit, a Warden and the last of the Couslands..." Rendon Howe said, a sneer on his face as his guards pointed their weapons at Elissa and Aenor.

Elissa struggled to keep her composure, shield raised in front of her, ready to defend herself. "Howe."

"I'm surprised that Aemon sent you into my palace to slaughter me and my guards, but you always were a stubborn bitch. Strange that you made it this far, your pathetic father must have taught you better than he himself knew."

She felt the blood rise to her temples. How dare he mention Bryce Cousland, the man who had called him a friend for so many years and whom he hadn't hesitated to slaughter in the night?

"But don't worry, you'll soon be reunited with your family."

"You'll pay for what you've done, Howe." She spat, ready to attack, almost heedless of the guards all around them.

Howe burst out laughing, the sound echoing around the room. "Your parents died on their knees, begging me to spare you and your brother, who is rotting in the dirt in Ostagar. Not to mention his whore and their brat, oh, how I enjoyed putting their head on the walls of my new castle..." He clicked his tongue, looking at her with derision. "And all that remains of the ancient and noble Cousland House is a pathetic little girl hiding behind a royal bastard. Two puppets in Aemon's hands."

Desperately swallowing the hatred that pervaded her, Elissa breathed deeply, sending a silent prayer to the Maker to guide her hand. "If you had an ounce of honor, Howe, you would fight me in a fair duel. Just you and me. No magic, no guards."

He laughed again, pointing to his men who scoffed at her too. "And why should I put myself in danger, when you've fallen right into my clutches? No, the only thing I want is your head; it will make a splendid decoration on the walls of this palace!"

He signaled his men to attack.

An arrow stuck right into the shield that Elissa had promptly raised. Aenor, next to her, had turned around and moved to the right. Through the gap that had been created came a blazing firebolt that struck one of Howe's archers in the chest. Geralt, from the corridor, let out a smug yell while he was preparing to cast another spell.

Elissa wasted no time. Shield high in front of her, she charged toward Howe, who had hidden behind one of his men. She promptly engaged the guard, armed with a broadsword almost as tall as she was. Taking advantage of the fact that she was faster than him, she managed to unbalance him after a few moments, hitting him in the side with her shield and lowering her weapon between the joints of his breastplate.

It pierced flesh from side to side. The guard fell to his knees and she didn't even bother to finish him off, focused as she was on reaching her target.

Howe was sweating and paling, the two short swords clutched in his hand, but he lost no ground. He threw himself at her furiously as a sliver of ice passed within a breath of her head, the cold freezing her breath for a moment.

The enemy mage had to be the same one who had locked Queen Anora behind the sealed door.

An arrow distracted him, giving her the opportunity to cross blades with Howe.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kallian swiftly strike again, hier face tense with anger.

Rendon Howe had never been a particularly strong fighter, but he was cunning and seemed to be able to reach all her weak points.

Elissa cursed her missing eye as she felt her opponent's blade sever her shoulder strap and penetrate beneath the light chain mail.

She pulled back with a groan as Aenor ran to her rescue, placing herself to her right and holding off two more men.

The wound burned, a likely sign that the blade had been soaked in poison, but it didn't feel lethal yet. She prayed it wasn't deadly, that it would give her enough time to defeat him. She rolled her shoulder, trying to figure out the extent of the damage: it could still function.

A scream of horror went up from across the room as the temperature dropped precipitously. She felt her hair stand on end as tentacles of dark magic rose from the four corpses on the floor. One of the two remaining guards standing by was seized by spasms as Geralt yelled for the three women to move away.

Elissa was just in time to protect her and Aenor with her shield, that the man exploded from within, a cascade of black blood and entrails going to smear everything within a few feet.

Howe cried out in surprise and terror, dodging most of it, but his mage and the last guard were not so lucky. Upon contact with their skin, the blood of their exploded comrade began to corrode them amidst screams of pain and pleas to spare them. The whole thing lasted only a few seconds.

Elissa, her stomach turned at the sight of that horror, forced herself not to look.

"So you associate with maleficar, as well as traitors." Howe croaked, trying to compose himself. "Once it's out in the open, how many will still want to support you, I wonder?"

She didn't flinch. "We'll see."

They clashed again, now the only ones left to fight.

The man was not equipped or trained to sustain a duel for so long, and soon age got the better of him. His lunges became less precise, weaker, while Elissa, who had aimed to wear him down, gritted her teeth desperately trying not to give in to the poison that made her arm tingle as if thousands of shards of glass were being planted in it.

The slightest distraction from Howe and one of the daggers slipped from his hand, getting lost. Elissa charged with all her remaining strength, pinning him to the wall with her shield.

"It's over, Howe, surrender."

He spat in her face. "Fuck you."

Before she could realize it, an arrow lodged in the man's hand, that was clutching a small throwing knife that came out of nowhere, which fell to the ground with a thud.

She looked at the man with disgust before headbutting him taking advantage of the metal helmet she wore, reveling in the sound produced.

Howe collapsed with a grunt of pain, holding his bleeding face. "You damn whore!" He growled, trying to crawl away, his gaze wandering desperately for help, in vain. The guards and the mage were now in a pool of slime that had almost nothing human about it.

Elissa shoved him to the ground, pressing him against the floor.

"Bryce Cousland." She kicked him in the ribs.

"Eleanor Cousland." She hit him again, in the side this time, as he was trying to crawl away, pathetic, weak.

"Oriana Cousland." Howe pulled himself up on all fours, scratching the stone with broken and bloody fingernails.

Elissa reached him in two strides, shoving him violently to the ground again. "Oren Cousland!" She turned the heel of her boots on his spine, shifting all her weight forward until she heard him scream in pain. "I want you to see their faces again, you filthy bastard. Keep them well in your mind, for the Maker will punish you for your crime, but I will be the first to judge you."

She heard him laugh, an gurgle coming from his swollen face. "So full of herself, like your whole family." He spat out a lump of blood and broken teeth, trying to look her in the face. "For years you've all looked down on me, but I slaughtered you like pigs."

"Almost all of us." She retorted furiously. “You could not kill me.”

"Then get it over with, girl. At least you show more guts than your father."

She raised her sword, the two laurels of her House shining on the hilt despite it being smeared with blood.
A man is judged by the deeds he does, pet, not by the name he bears.

Bryce Cousland's words suddenly rang in her mind, stopping her hand. Would he have wanted his daughter to kill a defeated foe, butchering him in his own house without getting proof of his crimes?

She bit her bottom lip, torn between her thirst for revenge and what she knew was right. They would use that murder against her, to discredit her in front of the banns, present her as a brute blinded by hatred.

Howe had to pay, but that wasn't the way.

Elissa lowered her sword, inhaling deeply the air that smelled of blood, death and forbidden magic.

Howe gurgled a laugh. "I was wrong, you are just the same."

She looked at the man on the ground. "And that is a compliment."

She turned back to Aenor and the others. "If we kill him here, we will only strengthen Loghain's position, who is presenting us as bloodthirsty traitors. We must take him prisoner."

The Warden frowned, the tattoo on her face barely visible under all the enemy blood. Seeing it at that moment, all the stories about the Dalish Elissa had grown up with flashed through her mind, painting them as savages who wanted nothing more than to kill every human who came within their reach. And yet, an understanding had formed between them, though neither had particularly sought it out.

Aenor lowered her head slightly, nodding. "All right. But how do we get him out of here? We have the Queen to free as well."

"Maker forgive me, but I think I have the solution to our problems."

Elissa didn't want to believe what she was about to do, but she turned to Geralt, who was twisting his beard between his fingers with indifference.

"Can you really control people's minds with your magic?"

The mage clicked his tongue in surprise, an attitude that reminded her of Natia for a moment. "Tsk tsk tsk... You're not really considering the help of a maleficar and his forbidden arts, are you? You of all people, so devoted to the Maker and his Bride?" His words were so loaded with sarcasm that she almost regretted speaking.

She braced herself, nodding. "And yet that's exactly what I'm asking."

The man's grin widened even more. "Such bad company will stray you away from bliss, Lady Cousland." He stepped closer to Howe.

Now, that seemed to terrify him: his eyes got wide as he started to shake, desperately crawling away. "No... just kill me, please, I'm begging-"

"Oh, this is going to be so fun." Geralt giggled, leaning over him. He ran his index finger over the man's cheek, smearing his hand with Howe's blood. Then, turning the staff over, he cut himself slightly on the blade that stood out at the lower end of it. "I've never done this before, I have to admit it's truly exciting."

Tentacles of dark magic coiled around his fingers, spreading all around him and going to wrap themselves around Howe's body, who struggled in panic trying to escape.

After a few seconds, they vanished as they had come, the man's gaze now blank. He had stopped struggling, or making any sound.

There was silence for a few moments.

It was Kallian who broke it first. Carefully avoiding looking in their direction, she waved a large key in front of them, on which a blue rune glowed faintly. "If you're done with... whatever that was, we have to leave."

Elissa nodded weakly, trying not to think about what she had just allowed. Blood magic was evil, the Maker forbid it and the Tevinter mages had unleashed the First Scourge because of it. Still, it was the only way she could get Howe out of there, keep him prisoner until they made him confess his crimes in front of the entire Landsmeet.

She felt so wrong she almost got sick.

 

 

 

 


The door opened with a snap, the magical seal on the lock now broken. A woman emerged from the room, more petite than she was, wearing a palace guard's light armor.

"I thank you." Queen Anora said, hinting at a reverence. Her gaze lingered on Howe, motionless as a puppet. "Is he...?"

"There's no time to explain, Your Highness, we need to get out of here as quickly as possible." Elissa cut short, anxious. At any moment they could be discovered.

The Queen nodded, but continued to cast suspicious glances at the man. Geralt had hidden the wizard's staff, but it was clear that something shady was going on.

They heard a commotion from the next room as several men shouted excitedly. Elissa flattened herself against the wall of the hallway, peering toward the main entrance.

A dozen heavily armed men appeared to have burst into the building. She recognized one in particular, who had accompanied Loghain to Aemon's palace.

"Ser Cauthrien."

She turned back to Anora. The Queen looked worried.

"They have come for us."

Elissa already knew what she had to do.

"Get the Queen and Howe out of here. Aenor..."

The Warden scoffed, not even bothering to draw her sword and muttering something in elvhen.

Kallian looked at her without understanding. "No, wait, what are you doing?"

"Kallian, you have to trust me." The Dalish interrupted her, her gaze pointed into the other girl's nearly white eyes. "The Landsmeet is more important. Aemon will know what to do."

"But-"
It was Geralt who stopped her, grabbing the sleeve of her jacket. She pulled free with a tug, glaring at him. "If they kill them-!"

"They won't. Now let's go."

Elissa noticed a glances the mage and the Warden exchanged, before they left in the opposite direction towards the back courtyard.

Elissa and Aenor walked toward the entrance instead, side to side, removing their helmets.

"Halt!"
Ser Cauthrien, sword pointed at them, signaled her men to surround them. "In the name of Teyrn Loghain, Regent of Ferelden, I command you to lay down your arms and surrender yourselves to justice!" She yelle. "You are accused of breaking into the palace of the Arle and killing him."

It wasn't true, but for the moment they would have to make them believe it. In any case, the bodies downstairs were so disfigured by Geralt's forbidden magic that they were unrecognizable. Howe could easily have been another of the victims they left there.

She brought a hand to her belt, unsheathing her sword and dropping the shield to the ground, unarmed in front of her enemies. The Warden, after a brief moment of hesitation, did the same.

"Take them."

She was yanked and tied up by a couple of men, carried out like a criminal.

She saw Aenor try to resist and be stunned with a blow to the head. She chose to meekly follow orders, trying to figure out where they were taking her.

 

 

 

 

 


Fort Drakon.

The most feared prison in Ferelden, and they were right in the most heavily guarded wing of the fortress. There was only one way the prisoners got out of there, they said, and that was in one of the carts that carried the corpses to the mass graves outside the walls.

They had stripped her, leaving her with only a tunic rough to the touch and too light to protect her from the cold. They had also called in a healer, who crudely bandaged the wound Howe had given her. Fortunately, the poison had turned out not to be lethal, giving her only constant itching and a sense of nausea for a few hours as the wounded limb slowly regained feeling.

The Warden, perhaps because she had initially tried to resist the guards who were trying to seize her, perhaps because she was accused of betraying and killing the late king or simply because she was an elf, had received much worse treatment: she sat in a corner, knees to her chest, face bruised and lips swollen from a particularly hard slap. Her torn robe revealed bruises all over her body, a few spots of dry blood here and there.

As a guard approached to bring them some water, the elf growled something in her language.

"What the fuck did you say, huh, knife-ears?!"

Elissa saw Aenor pull herself to her feet, gritting her teeth to ignore the pain, and approach the bars daring him to do the same.

"Nuva Fen'Harel pala masa sule'din." She gritted her teeth, spitting venom into each word. To the man, while not understanding what she was saying, the tone was enough.

"You want water, you savage? Take it!" He threw the pitcher he carried, spilling it all over the Warden. Before he could realize he'd gotten too close, however, the elf had already grabbed him by the wrist, yanking him toward her and causing him to slam his face into the metal, twisting his arm behind his back as he tried to wriggle out of the way until a snap of broken bones echoed in the cell.

The man's screams were quickly silenced as the elf fumbled through his pockets for his keys. After a few seconds, she cursed in elvhen and in common, punching the metal bars.

“There are no keys or weapons, are there?" Elissa sighed, hope fading.

Aenor sat back down on the ground, distraught. She kicked the man's body. "Damn it."

"What did you say to him? When he came in, I mean."

The girl grimaced. "Something that included his ass, Fen'harel the god of deception, and a horrible death."
"Ah." Elissa suddenly felt like laughing, but screams echoing from somewhere near quickly made her hilarity fade. She gazed silently at the chains above their heads, the wall smeared with blood splatter and an inscription, carved with a trembling hand on stone: 'Andraste have mercy'. It looked old. Who knows how many had passed there before them.

The heavy metal door swung open again with a creak, letting a small group of armed men into the room.

"Leave us."

She instantly recognized that voice. She stood up, trying to pull herself together. "Teyrn Loghain."

The man, a stern frown on his face, bowed his head imperceptibly. "Lady Elissa Cousland." His gaze then settled on Aenor and the corpse on the ground, narrowing his eyes with disdain. "I see the trail of blood you carry seems to have no end, Warden."

“I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't declared us traitors and locked us in here, Loghain."

"And what would you be, let's hear it." He was imposing, Elissa barely reaching his shoulders, the massive armor making him look even more menacing. Sword on his shoulders, a prominent nose and square jaw framed by two strands of dark hair barely streaked with white. Still, the regent looked tired. "You have torn Ferelden into a civil war, gathered an army to fight me and diverted attention from the real enemy, the Blight."

Elissa was stunned. "Do you really think we were the ones who're splitting the country in two?!" She retorted incredulously. "It was you who let King Cailan die without doing anything, blaming the Grey Wardens! And moreover, you supported a murderer who exterminated my family, attacked the banns who didn't stand up for you and kidnapped their children and tortured them for months! Not to mention you sent a blood mage to assassinate Arle Eamon!"

Loghain did not blink at the mention of his crimes.

"The Hero of the River Dane, the savior of Ferelden, the one who routed out the Orlais Empire." She couldn't believe she was looking at her childhood hero, the man she had always dreamed of meeting. "How disappointing."

"Don't talk to me like you know anything, girl." He retorted in a fit of rage, his face contracted. "Cailan had trusted the Wardens and their nonsense to the point of wanting to fight a battle he couldn't win! It was not treachery on my part, but the only way to save my men and what was left of Ferelden's army."

"Don't-"
"You weren't there, Lady Cousland; what can you know of it, then? The Wardens may have told you of a great and glorious battle, but it was nothing but a massacre."

Elissa turned to Aenor, looking for support, but the elf's green eyes were on Loghain.

The elf nodded. "It most certainly was."

Both humans were surprised by those words.

"Even Duncan didn't think Cailan would make it, but your stupid idiot king just could not listen to reason. Maybe with three times as many men he could have made it, but not like that. Someone, such as his most trusted advisor, could have told him." Aenor concluded venomously.

"Do you really think he would have listened to me? I loved Maric like a brother but Cailan was reckless, full of himself and ready to scoff at any warning. I begged him not to go to the front lines, to wait for a clear outcome of the battle before putting his life in danger."

"Like when you dissuaded him to call for the Orlesian Chevaliers's help?"

Loghain looked at her in disbelief.

"That's right, Teyrn, we know that Cailan was in contact with Empress Celene. And that the Orlesian troops were driven back from the border, without being able to help."

"Strange that it's a Cousland who speak so, when your father Bryce was among the first to stand against the Orlesian unjust occupation, risking his life in battle at the White River!" The man raged. "If I had allowed the Chevaliers to enter our territory, who would have guaranteed that they would not remain once the Darkspawn was defeated? Why would the Empress ever want to help us, except to take advantage of our momentary weakness to annex us as a province again!"

"You know very well why, Loghain."

"Let's hear it. What does a Dalish elf think, of the subtle political maneuvers of one of the greatest empires in history?"

Aenor shook her head. "It's true, I know nothing about politics. And you're right, a little savage girl who has always lived in the woods and can't even read or write can't have much to say about you shemlens' dealings with each other. But I don't need to assume anything. We have some of the letters between Cailan and the Empress."

Loghain mouth thinned, nostrils quivering in outrage.

"Your daughter, after five years of marriage, had yet to produce an heir to the throne and given the rumors about her inability to have one-"

"Lies!"
Elissa went to the Aenor's aid. "It's easy to see from those letters that King Cailan had a much closer relationship with the Empress than was necessary between two monarchs. You were afraid he would repudiate your daughter, believing the rumors that she was barren, in favor of Empress Celene."

She knew she had hit a sore spot. Loghain was furious, stung to the core.

"He would have turned Ferelden over to that snake, destroying the country Maric and I gave everything for. And my daughter would have been cast aside like old waste to be disposed of, she who was always the only one between them who could run this country!"

"So you killed him, you admit it!"

Loghain gazed right into her eyes. "I simply let his stupidity get the better of him. It brought me no joy to know he was dead, believe me. But what I did was for the good of my country."

He seemed genuinely convinced of what he was saying. Whether it was madness, paranoia or a demon speaking through him, Elissa had no idea, but what she faced was no longer a hero, brave and valiant, but a man like any other, prey to his own fears and ego to the point of not recognizing the mistakes and horrors he had committed.

"Put aside your pride, Teyrn Loghain, and surrender." She tried to convince him. "While we waste time and lives fighting each other, the Darkspawn advances. Let us unite against the true enemy."

"And do you really believe that, even if I decide to give in, Maric's bastard could ever spare me? No, it won't be enough for him to have a truce to fight the Darkspawn, you can see it in his eyes: he wants revenge and only blood will satisfy him." Loghain shook his head, moving closer to her until his forehead almost brushed against the metal bars of the cell. "We both know he's not fit for command; he'd make a terrible king. Maybe that's why you chose to support him, so you'd have a puppet in your hands, malleable and willing to follow your every order."

Elissa felt her stomach sink. Was that really the idea many people had of her relationship with Alistair? Did they really think she was such an exploiter?

"You know, we could have been allies, the two of us." Loghain continued, his voice now a low whisper. "Had you not chosen the wrong side, a brilliant mind like yours could have been a great tool against the Blight and Orlais."

The blood immediately rose to her head, boiling over. "Your most loyal ally exterminated my family in cold blood, and you speak of an alliance?!"

The Regent drew back sharply, casting them both an icy stare. "It doesn't matter what you believe, you'll never get out of here now." He turned on his heels, proceeding toward the closed door, hand hesitating on the metal for a moment. "For what it's worth, Lady Cousland, it wasn't under my orders what Howe did to your family."

Before Elissa could yell anything back at him, he opened the door just enough to get through and closed it behind him.

“Well, that didn't work well."

She turned back to Aenor, sliding back to the floor and leaning against the bars. "No, it didn't."

"Do you really think they're going to leave us in here to rot?"

She shook her head, uncertain. "The Landsmeet is in a week. I'm sure Alistair and Arle Eamon can win it even without us."

"You sure have a lot of faith in Alistair..."

Elissa raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you?" She knew that things had not always been good between the two Warden, quite the opposite in fact, but recently they seemed to have found an understanding and had come, if not exactly to a friendly relationship, at least to one of mutual esteem.

Aenor sat down as well, knees her chest, her battered robe barely covering her body, muscular for an elf and such a young girl. "Until a few months ago, he didn't want anyone to consider him royalty and he never said he wanted to be king."

"That does not mean he wouldn't make a good ruler, should the need arise. On the contrary."

"Would he really be capable of being a good king? Even without your help, or Aemon's?"

The elf's doubts were well-founded. All the nobles were wondering the same thing, and many had only decided to support their cause after learning of the relationship between Elissa and the Warden. While at first Elissa had believed she was doing her duties wrong, and that they would risk threatening everything they were fighting for, she had since realized that many looked to them as the future of the country, but especially to her. No one had much faith in Alistair, a bastard who had come out of nowhere and trained first as a Templar and then as a Grey Warden, but the Cousland name was respected throughout the country: Elissa came from an ancient family, dating back two ages before Theirin themselves, her father having fought bravely for King Maric years before, siding against Orlais' occupation. Bryce Cousland had been well-liked by all, among his subjects as well as the nobility, who now saw Elissa as an alternative to Queen Anora who, though Loghain was a war hero, was of humble beginnings.

"Alistair may not have received a proper education, but he is no fool. He does not have much confidence in himself and prefers to follow the lead of those he believes are more suited, but this only confirms his humility. Cailan was by many accounts a good king, but he was too full of himself to follow the advice of those who knew more than he did, too blinded by pride to admit he couldn't think of everything."

"He was a fucking idiot, on that we agree."

She smiled in amusement. Aenor was always so blunt. "Alistair doesn't have enough confidence to give himself a chance. He never assumes he's smart enough, talking about military strategy or handling a diplomatic situation, let alone discussing the eventuality of sitting on his father's throne. And perhaps that is why he has the potential to become an excellent ruler, attentive to his duties and the needs of his country without being blinded by fantasies of honors and glory. Even if most nobles still don't realize it, and neither does he."

Aenor huffed. "I'll grant you he's improved a bit since I met him..."

"I know you two don't get along, but-"

"It's not that we don't get along, it's that we hated each other's guts since the very beginning." The elf chuckled, gritting her teeth and pressing a hand on her side, trying to hide her pain. "He was so proud to be a Grey Warden, just waiting to get his shiny armor with griffins engraved and all that shit. And he couldn't understand how Duncan, his beloved Duncan, had recruited an angry bitch who was just waiting for a chance to sneak off into the woods and abandon them to their stupid fate."

"Did you really want to leave?"

"Alistair didn't tell you?"

She blushed, "He mentioned something like that, to be fair. But I didn't think you were serious about-"

Aenor quickly stopped her. "I did want to leave. Duncan dragged me to Ostagar threatening to tie me up like a stubborn mule, but as soon as he left me alone a moment after the Joining, I immediately thought I was going to disappear during the battle."

"But you didn't, did you?"

"I nearly died, so no, never got the chance. It was so bad even I could not...” Her cheek flushed a bit red under her green tattoes, but she quickly hid it. “Then when we got rescued by Morrigan's mother, I thought 'as soon as I'm better, I'll fuck off outta here!', but in the end I let myself be dragged to Lothering and then to Redcliffe... and once there, with reanimated corpses and possessed children, I couldn't leave stupid Alistair alone in the middle of all that mess, could I?" She tried to brush her hair away from her eyes, pulling it behind her pointy ears. "Then I finally realized there was no way out of it. The Archdemon kindly reminds me of that every single night."

Elissa shuddered imperceptibly. "Are the dreams that terrible?" Whenever she felt Alistair stirring in his sleep, she tried not to burden him, gently adjusting the covers or murmuring something to him in an attempt to calm him down. Inevitably, when he woke up, the boy avoided any mention of the nightmares and deflected the questions with his usual jokes.

Aenor nodded, silently, her gaze wandering around them.

Somewhere, a prisoner had started screaming again, the heartbreaking cries spreading through the Fort despite the thick walls. She shuddered, trying not to think about what lay ahead. Loghain had been an honorable man, he would never stoop to torture them... would he?

It was a different man she had just seen, not the hero the stories told her about, the brave and brilliant strategist who had put himself in danger for his country and his best friend despite being a simple peasant, challenging the Emperor of Orlais and all his Chevaliers without ever losing heart.

She thought back to what Alistair had told her about the battle at Ostagar. To the hatred that animated him when he spoke of Loghain, the murderous look he had given the man when he had stood before them the day before.

"Loghain is right about one thing."

Aenor looked at her curiously, her head reclining slightly to one side.

"Alistair is out for revenge. He won't be satisfied until he has Loghain's head, even if it means we'll lose allies."

"Why do you care?"

Elissa bit her lip, pondering what to do. "In the event we win the favor of the Landsmeet, Loghain will be forced to capitulate. And Alistair will demand his execution, if not to be the one to kill him himself."
“So let him do it. Maybe that will make him stop crying himself to sleep over Duncan..."

Elissa clenched her fists, ignoring the cruel joke. Was she really about to put in a good word for the man responsible for so many act of treason? "Many still consider Loghain a hero. And he was, though he doesn't look like one now. He has to pay for what he did, but I think he's firmly convinced that he acted in the best interests of our country. And he is a brilliant commander, a ruthless strategist and an excellent fighter. It would be a waste to kill him and we would lose the support of many nobles who still follow him and his daughter, the Queen. Not to mention the image we would give to the common people: the new king, not even crowned yet, summarily executing the people's hero, the general of humble beginnings who vanquished Orlais."

Aenor did not answer at once, instead she looked like she was actually pondering. "You admired him, didn't tyou?" She asked after a while.

Elissa felt herself sinking. "I, and many others, grew up with tales of the Liberation War. I remember with my brother and father, we often played at staging the great battles, chasing each other with wooden swords and fighting off the invaders." She felt her eyes tingle as she remembered those days spent outdoors with her family: Lady Eleanor hiding her smile behind a frown of disappointment, Fergus, older than her, teaching her how to fight, her father lifting her into the air, calling her a heroine of Ferelden after they had fought for hours against evil imaginary oppressors.

"You know Alistair would hate you forever if you asked to spare him." Aenor said.

Elissa nodded. She was well aware of that, and it made everything that much more difficult.

Even she, who thought of herself as an honorable person, had descended into doing despicable acts that she never thought she could approve of, much less commit. What happened in the Arle of Denerim's palace had to be considered wrong, Rendon Howe was at that very moment held as a puppet at the mercy of a maleficar. Elissa knew that she should have felt guilty, prayed to the Maker and blessed Andrasteto for their forgiveness, but it was not so: she had done what was necessary for a greater goal.

Teyrn Loghain had probably thought the same thing.

Chapter 34: Fort Drakon

Summary:

Kallian, Leliana and Zevran come up with a plan to rescue Aenor and Elissa out of Fort Drakon.

Plans for the Landsmeet get made and both Wardens get an invaluable and unexpected gift.

Notes:

I'm really sorry about the delay, translating is boring AF and life's kinda harsh at the moment.

Chapter Text

Kallian walked at a slow pace to the door pointed out to them by the guard, careful not to look up, her head down, trying not to betray her nervousness.

"Ah, reminds me of the old days."

She cast a reproachful glance at Zevran who looked absolutely at ease in those blood-stained and dusty clothes, a seraphic expression on his face. Noticing her staring, he gave her a wink

Together they pushed the wooden cart into the next room.

A man was hanging by his wrists from one of the many pairs of chains that hung from the ceiling, his eyes wide and empty, a trickle of blood running down the corner of his mouth.

Kallian realized she was staring at him too long when one of the guards slapped the back of her head, scolding her. "That one's still alive, knife-ears, none of your business!"

"Though not for long!" Another man laughed poking with a spear the hanging prisoner, who barely complained despite the fact that the blade had drawn some blood.

"Maker, guide these poor souls to you, through the Veil until you welcome them to your side..."

"Sister, these are the first of many today, try the short rite."

Leliana ignored them, she seemed to have every intention of reciting the entire Chant for the Departed. Kallian wondered how much of that skit was actually a true desire to send the souls of those poor dead people to a better place. She and Zevran loaded the two corpses onto the cart with quite an effort, while Leliana, wearing Chantry robes in which she was absolutely at ease, continued on with her prayer.

The two guards quickly stewed, prodding the hanging prisoner and wondering what they would serve for lunch in the barracks.

With the Chant concluded, Leliana signaled that it was time to move on.

They took the corpse cart into the next room, walking deeper and deeper into the Fort.

Kallian's every instinct was screaming at her to run from that place of death, but it was the only way to get Aenor and Elissa out of there. Arle Eamon didn't think Loghain would come to kill them, but they couldn't be sure, so they had devised a rescue plan.

An agonized woman gave her last cries of pain, begging her captors to kill her. Kallian tried to force herself not to look, but she couldn't help it: they had stripped her and tied her to a pole, taking turns whipping her back with a series of leather laces and who knows what else. The snaps grew louder and louder as the screams faded.

She clenched her fists, gritting her teeth.

Leliana, beside her, wore an impassive mask of calm but her posture was rigid. The place was stirring up unpleasant memories for her as well. She brushed a hand against her, as if by chance, fingers intertwining for a moment.

"This way."

They passed a few hanging cages, reaching a wooden table on which the corpse of an elf was tied legs and arms.

The features were almost unrecognizable, but Kallian could swear she'd seen him at the Enclave, perhaps he'd worked at the docks before ending up in there.

With a shaking hand, she began to cut the ropes.

Zevran quickly finished freeing his legs, going to help her with the arms. They then moved the body to the cart.

They made to walk on, when one of the jailers stopped them with a whistle.

"Hey, stay here a moment longer, we're almost done!" He gave another blow of the whip, stronger than the others. The woman was now unconscious, her back torn.

The other spat on the ground. "Just take her away, she's not fun anymore."

The poor girl was still breathing, albeit with difficulty. Kallian leaned over her, anger pervading her. This wasn't right. Animals. No, not even beasts could have found amusement in such cruelty. She cut the ties that bound the woman to the pole and she fell into her arms, drenching her robes in blood. She recoiled instinctively, her knife hand stuck in mid-air.

Zevran ran to her aid, taking her body in his arms and soiling himself as well, sticking the blade in woman's heart, his gaze betraying not the slightest uncertainty.

Kallian, as they continued their work, found herself envying his apparent lack of concern. It seemed that nothing could ever disturb him.

Leliana meanwhile recited the words of the Chant, looking the Maker even down there, where it seemed that even the Prophetess Andraste could not find the mercy to forgive those men.

They weren't even halfway through the prayer when the guards who had accompanied them there had already grown tired of acting as their watchdogs.

"Well, you know the drill, now clean out the other rooms and when you're full get the fuck out of here. We have better things to do."

Walking away, one of them slapped Kallian on the ass, bursting out laughing as he shot winking glances at his partner. "I wonder if we can go to the Pearl after lunch... this one is ugly as the plague but has a firm ass like an apple!"

The other laughed too. "Ah, you're making me hungry now!"

It took all her self-control to keep her cool and not cut their throats. It would take but a moment, but even one scream and their cover would be blown, causing the plan to fail and risk killing the Warden and Cousland.

She inhaled deeply, regretting it soon after when the stench that pervaded that place filled her nostrils, scratching her brain.

She again gritted her teeth.

Leliana continued to recite the Chant until even the two jailers with the whip had lost interest in them, turning to choose another prisoner to torture.

 

 

 

 

The cart was now almost full.

The stench of death, blood and everything else was terrible.

"And to think that two days ago Loghain himself came here!"

"Really? And what was the Regent doing here?"

They loaded the last body, ears straining to hear the two guards talking.

"You really need to pull your head out of your ass, Cowen, where have you been until now? He came for the Warden and that traitorous Cousland girl, who else?"

"I don't believe it!"

"I tell you I saw them with my own eyes! Mervis brought them water and the elf killed him by ripping his head straight off!"

"Nonsense, you really believe that-"

"I swear on Andraste's tits, she used one of her savage tricks, she turned into a beast, claws as long as a mabari fang, and ripped Mervis' head off without even giving him time to scream!"

The other spat on the ground. "You can swear on your whore mother's tits, too, I don't believe it. I've killed enough elves to know they don't have claws..."

"But she's a special elf, this one! A forest savage, and Grey Warden! You can see it in her eyes that she's a killing beast, if you don't believe it go there yourself! She'll tear you apart like Mervis...”

"Yeah, I really want to see this one... I think I'll go, just so I can knock you on the nose when I find out it's all bullshit!"

Kallian looked in Zevran's direction, exchanging a nod. They followed the man discreetly out into the hallway, pretending they had to fix one of the bodies protruding from the cart, until the guard opened the lock on the heavy metal door that separated them from the cells where Aenor and Elissa were being held.

Before he could close the door again Kallian slipped past him, coming up behind him and slashing his throat with the small, sharp knife she had hidden in her vests.

The man fell to the ground with a gurgling sound, gasping as he tried to close his wound. She didn't give him a second glance as she scanned the room for more guards. One, from the back, turned sharply toward her, alarmed.

He didn't have time to draw his sword, Zevran's dagger lodged just below his chin. They pushed the cart inside, just enough to close the door again.

"About damn time!" Aenor greeted them with a smile, leaning against the bars of the cell. She was wearing a ragged, bloodstained robe and it was clear from the bruises on her face and the rest of her body that she had been hit.

Elissa, on the other hand, seemed unharmed. "Thank the Maker, I was hoping you'd come up with something..."

"This isn't going to be pleasant." Kallian replied with a grimace, meanwhile Leliana fumbled with the lock on the cell. None of the guards seemed to have keys, a sign that the two prisoners were not supposed to get out of there under any circumstances.

The Warden snorted audibly. "Funny, it's been a piece of cake so far."

"I wish Natia was here..." Mumbled Leliana, but after a couple of unsuccessful attempts the mechanism finally clicked, breaking the latch inside.

Aenor limped slightly, though she tried not to give it away. On both of their faces was the same disgusted look as Zevran explained the plan to them.

"So, get under there. No one ever looks through a pile of corpses, and once we get out of here undisturbed we can throw these poor guys in some ditch and go back to the Arle and get a - if I may say so necessary - scented bath."

Elissa wrinkled her nose. "Is there really no other way...?"

Kallian, who was growing impatient, found herself raising her voice. "Anyone in the country knows your face by now, any other disguise would have been useless. Come on, let's move."

Cousland took courage first, approaching the cart with an air of someone who would rather walk back in her cell.

Leliana seemed to remember something at the last, placing a pair of tiny cloth wrappers in her hand. "Stick them in your nostrils, they're soaked in oils. They'll help against..." She hinted an unnecessary gesture of apology.

Aenor shook her head, stuffing the cloths up her nose and lifting a couple of bodies. Kallian and Zevran ran to help them, checking to make sure neither the Warden's tattoos nor the scar on Elissa's face were visible. Once they were satisfied, they waited for the nod from Leliana, who was watching the corridor.

The way back, with the cart full and their heart beating wildly, seemed even slower.

Seeing them struggling under all that weight, Leliana offered a couple of times to give them a hand, but both elves were adamant.

"If they saw a Chantry Sister helping two elven servants, they'd get suspicious right away."

The guards did not dignify them with a glance as they walked backwards through the corridors, the screams and cries of the prisoners now relegated to a corner of their minds as they proceeded to the service exit, a narrow passageway that led outside the fortress and followed a bumpy little road, large enough for a single wagon, that ran all the way along the western side of the city walls to the western gate.

Trying to move as quickly as possible, they passed the guard post in front of the walls without any problems, heading towards the mass graves located just outside of Denerim.

As soon as they were sure no one was watching them, they rolled three bodies off the cart, freeing the two runaways.

Elissa could barely stand on her legs. She staggered a few feet before throwing out the entire contents of her stomach on the street corner. "By the Maker, don't.... ever again!"

"Fenedhis lasa-"

The Warden would have fallen to the ground had Zevran not been there to support her. He gave her a few encouraging taps on the shoulders, waiting for her to get some air.

"An impecablemente successful plan, were it not for the aroma..."

 

 

 


 

 

 


"I have no intention of lending my support to Alistair, if that's what you're asking."

Anora, like almost every shem with some title of nobility, had turned out to be a huge bitch.

Aenor restrained herself from slapping the Shem-Queen in the face. The woman was getting on her nerves and she had known her for barely an hour. She found herself thinking that, just a few months earlier, she would have had no problem knocking her out and sending her to retrieve her crown in Fen'Harel's ass.

Now, in spite of her instincts, she sucked it up: they were trying to be diplomatic, and though they had failed for the moment, Aemon believed that Anora was not so impossible to convince.

"Be reasonable." Elissa insisted. "We have enough banns on our side to win this Landsmeet, even without your support. And at that point, you'll be left with nothing."

"Are you telling me I should give up the throne just because I'm in danger of losing it?" The Queen scowled. "I'm not giving up what's rightfully mine, especially in favor of a little boy who isn't even sure he wants to be in charge, let alone is able to."

"Funny, that you of all people talk about being able to do something or not... like, I don't know, being able to have children, actual heirs to the throne."

Aenor enjoyed with satisfaction Anora's frown turning into an expression of shock. Surely she was wondering how they were so certain of that accusation, how they could ever have proof of her infertility.

They didn't have it, in fact. The Warden had taken a risk in bringing up that rumor, but she seemed to have got it right.

The Queen tried to compose herself quickly, a slight blush appearing on her pale cheeks. "I... I don't know where you got this information, but I assure you-"

Elissa smiled. "Our healer, Wynne, is a Circle mage expert in many fields. All she had to do was stand next to you for a few minutes, while she checked on your health after you arrived here from Howe's palace, to realize that the rumors were true."

Anora gritted her teeth, her jaw contracted as she frantically tried to devise a speech that would return her to a position of power. Before she could succeed, Elissa interrupted her again.

"And if you're really worried about Ferelden, thinking that Alistair can't be a good ruler, know that he won't rule alone."

"Oh, of course, the Couslands have been itching to get their hands on the crown for centuries-"

"Need I remind you that your father has not a single ouce of nobility in his blood? You are from humble origins, Lady Anora, and as much as Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir may have distinguished himself in battle and acquired every honor, once you wrest his titles from him, you will end up in the dust."

The Queen stared at both of them for a long moment. "So, you are offering me a loophole?"

"A compromise." Elissa said. "You relinquish any claim to the throne and in return you keep your father's title and possessions. Teyrna of Gwaren, you would still be respected and held in high regard."

Anora seemed to consider the proposal. "If you are so certain that Alistair can win, why would you want my help as well? Against my own father.."

Elissa sighed. "You are a strong woman, Lady Anora, and strong women in positions of power are always frowned upon."

"Then support me as queen, I assure you I do not need a king by my side to best govern this country. Who do you think really ran the Ferelden, Cailan? He was a good man, but a fool. And as a fool he died."

Aenor kind of admired her. Sure, she wouldn't have admitted it even under torture, but that shem was tough enough to hold her own against all those people like Aemon and the other banns, and she was sneaky and pragmatic enough that she'd probably make a good queen too if there wasn't a better alternative for everyone right at hand.

"I don't doubt your abilities, and that's why we're here discussing an alliance and not out there sorting out the succession to the throne like a bunch of dogs at each other's throats." Elissa spoke, crossing her arms over her chest. "But you know full well that the consort of a deceased king is no match for the blood of Theirin."

"That is, if Alistair really is the bastard he claims to be..." Anora commented piqued.

Elissa didn't flinch, and if the comment had made her upset she gave no sign of it. "The Couslands are the second most powerful family in Ferelden, second only to the Theirin and even older than them. If the Calenhad line were to become extinct, my family would be favored for the throne in any case."

Anora lowered her shoulders, letting go of a sigh. "Let me think about it."

Cousland nodded. "The Landsmeet is in three days, I hope we will have reached a reasonable agreement by then." She made to turn and leave, when the queen spoke again.

"My father."

They all turned.

"He is a war hero. Beloved by his people. Will you spare him?"

They did not answer.

"Alistair will want his execution, I've seen how fiercely he hates him. If you want a compromise, this is one of the conditions."

Elissa walked away without giving an answer. Aenor intercepted the queen's gaze, bowing her head slightly.

 

 

 

Riordan had told them where to find the Grey Wardens' warehouse, not far from the large market square, beyond the inn where Geralt and the others were staying.

They had passed The Wonders of Thedas where a creepy, emotionless mage had asked them for outrageous amounts of money for every single item that had caught their eye.

"Good thing you distracted him long enough..."

They all turned to Natia, who grinned in satisfaction as she twirled a ruby almost as big as her fist in the air.

"What? Like you've never stolen anything before!" She defended herself, shrugging and ignoring their disapproving looks. "Besides, Shale loves this stuff. And if you've got a giant golem around, it pays to keep it in a good mood."

"Yeah, I'm sure you did that out of the goodness of your heart." Geralt commented amused.

Zevran chuckled, "Ah, if only her heart were half as big as her pockets..."

"Hey! Stop it!"

Sten expressed his disappointment by shaking his head slightly. "Risking getting caught, just to steal a measly piece of rock..."

"That guy was blinder than a Deepstalker, he wouldn't have seen me stealing a dancing Bronto right in the middle of the market square." Natia said, huffing while the others laughed amused.

Even Jowan, who seemed to feel constantly out of place (and he was a bit), let out a chuckle.

Aenor blatantly rolled her eyes, but the constant bickering put her in a good mood. "Come on, we should be almost there."

They stopped in front of a nondescript, disused building, the large rusty lock putting up a strenuous resistance as Natia set about picking it. Finally, with a sharp click and a squeak, the door swung open revealing a totally ordinary looking warehouse.

"Are you sure this is a secret hideout of the Wardens?" Natia said, visibly disappointed. "I was expecting..."

"Something better than a couple of moldy trunks and rusty weapons?" Zevran added.

Geralt leaned over to observe a worn suit of armor hanging from a mannequin. "I found a spider, does that count for anything?"

"I found three. Including a very big one."

"Jowan, why does it always have to be a competition with you?"

"I was just-"

"Hey, lovebirds, stop arguing about who has the longest dick and focus."

"On what, keg, eternal nothingness?"

The Warden ignored them, heading confidently to the shelves full of dusty bottles at the back of the room. "Natia, I beat you this time."

With her hand, she reached for the secret mechanism Riordan had mentioned earlier, pulling the lever and sliding the cabinet sideways on rails hidden in the floor, revealing a secret room. She turned to the others, improvising a bow. "Please, hold the applause."

As soon as she entered, Natia whistled loudly. "Not bad!"

An array of dusty armors, the symbol of the Grey Wardens prominently displayed on the shoulder straps and breastplates, stood proudly on several pedestals. On the other side of the room were a variety of swords, shields, a few axes and war hammers, all with the griffin on them.

Aenor approached the armors, admiring their quality. One in particular caught her attention: it was petite, about her size, the breastplate in silverite with just a small scratch at one of the two heads of the griffin stamped in the center. As a shoulder strap, another griffin, more detailed. The fabric of the blue jacket had a few small metal studs and, dust aside, looked untouched by time and moths. The scales that descended to protect the lower torso down to the knees were still shiny beneath the layer of dust, as were the overlapping plates that protected the hips and thighs from the belt. She brushed her fingers over it, wondering who it had belonged to before it ended up down there.

"Looks like your size."

She turned, meeting Zevran's smirk. "What are you waiting for to try it on?"

Aenor nodded, letting him give her a hand in closing the buckles on her breastplate and greaves. Finally, she looked into the dusty reflection of a shield.

Zevran patted her on the shoulder. "If I were the Archdemon, I'd be shitting myself."

She huffed. "We should have thought of that sooner. All it took was a wardrobe change..."

A clang of metal objects falling to the ground made her turn away, fearing an attack. In reality, it was only Geralt, who had knocked over an entire shelf of weapons in an attempt to reach his goal: a metal staff with a sharp point at the bottom, a series of ominous decorations on the shaft ending in a transparent sphere, held in place by a tangle of brambles. As soon as the wizard waved it, testing it, the sphere glowed a deep red, the temperature around them suddenly rising.

“You do know you have magic and could have gotten to it without knocking everything down, right?” Jowan teased him with a smile.

Geralt shrugged, cheeks turning slightly red. “Whatever, I quite like it.”

"Well, if this fake Warden can pick something, then I won't leave without one of these." Natia said, raising a pair of razor-sharp looking daggers.

Zevran widened his eyes greedily, picking up a pair himself and weighing them in his hand. "Silverite... good choice, my friend, they'll come in pretty handy."

Aenor signaled for them to proceed as they wished. "Go ahead and take anything we can use. If we had a Warden for every weapon in here, half our problems would be solved." She walked over to a set of swords, testing their edge and balance.

When she was about to pick one up, Sten approached her, shaking his head. "No, that is not up to the task you're facing.”

She huffed in annoyance, spreading her arms wide to point at all that stuff. "I know they're not like your Asala, Sten, but if that's what the aravel is offering. They'll do.”

The Qunari remained impassive, not hinting at letting go of his grip on her arm. He pointed to the other three with a nod. "Perhaps for them, yes. But you are a Commander, it takes more than just a common sword for your role."

"I don't-"

"I ask you to trust me as I have chosen to trust you, Warden."

The retort died in her throat. She nodded, though she had no idea why that sword thing was so important to Sten, nor how he planned to solve the problem of not having a proper weapon to deal with the Archdemon.

While the others filled a few bags with weapons and armor that might be of interest to the others in the group, Geralt quickly made a rough list of useful items to be delivered to Arle Eamon in order to supply the army they were gathering. There were no more Wardens, so they might as well use some good steel against the Darkspawn instead of leaving it there to gather dust.

They were about to leave when a large shield hanging on the wall caught Aenor's attention.

She walked over to look at it, having Sten help her pull it down.

"It is well crafted."

She turned back to the Qunari, surprised that he had admitted it. "Maybe it will come in handy for Alistair." She wrapped it in a sack as well, putting it over her shoulder.

 

 

 

 

They walked back toward the marketplace. The two mages browsed a stall selling antique books, while Natia hungrily hopped over to sample some grilled skewers that a middle-aged man was decanting in a loud voice, all the while keeping a flock of mouth-watering children with grubby hands at bay.

The mass of people still dazed her, but Aenor tried not to pay too much attention to them. Sten, at her side and stoic as usual, instilled some confidence in her. She lowered her hood further over her head, lest anyone recognize her, but no one seemed to take any notice of an elf in common clothes, mistaking her for one of the many servants who ran the masters' errands in the city. Leliana helped her cover her Vallaslin with some orlesian trickery thing that was making her whole face sweat and stink and itch, but she had to admit it had been a good idea. She felt kinda naked tho, and she hoped the Gods would understood that necessity.

They were on their way back to Aemon's palace when Sten laid a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. He nodded to the wooden sign above one of the stores they were passing, Wade's Emporium, the most famous blacksmith in Ferelden and known even beyond the borders.

Elissa had complained several times during those months that she couldn't afford a new suit of armor from that store, but she had finally stopped after Aemon had commissioned one for both her and Alistair.

Aenor had declined, not believing it was worth spending all that money on armor forged by some shem, however good he was.

Instead, Sten asked her to wait outside for a moment as he entered the store. He then came out a few minutes later, a sword in his arms.

Before she could ask anything, he held out the weapon to her, allowing her to admire the beauty of the scabbard, made of leather and metal, simply decorated with leaves twisting together.

The hilt of the sword was silverite, the rampant griffin of the Grey Wardens standing out in the center, while the pommel was shaped like a dragon skull.

It was clearly a beautifully crafted weapon, even without seeing the blade. Aenor was speechless. "Sten, I don't know how to thank you."

The other shook his head. "Asala. The sword I carry was forged specifically for my hands the moment I joined the Beresaad. You helped me find it and I am grateful." He slid the blade out of its scabbard a few inches, letting Aenor admire how the sun's rays reflected off the metal, a bluish gray like she'd never seen before, beside in the Qunari's weapon. "I had to reciprocate however I could."

The Warden picked it up, noting that it wasn't as heavy as she feared given its size. She unsheathed the sword completely, stunned. On the flat of the blade, a series of blue and white veins ran intertwining with each other, contrasting with the light gray of the rest.

"Sten... thank you. It's perfect."

The Qunari nodded, looking into her eyes with even more seriousness than usual. "The task before you is beyond the capabilities of anyone else here, but I believe you can do it, Warden. I never thought I'd find anyone worthy of my respect and admiration, especially an elf woman in warrior suit, but I'm glad I was wrong. You are basalit-an." He brought his gaze to the sword for a moment, then back to her. "It's metal that fell from the sky. I found some on the road to Orzammar when we camped near the pass. It's the same one used to make the swords of the Beresaad, like Asala."

The importance of that gesture struck her even though she did not understand the workings of Qunari society, or their complicated customs and hierarchies. By giving her that sword, he was not simply giving her a weapon, but much, much more.

"I'll do my best to deserve it, Sten." She managed to say, sheathing it again.

"When I return home, I will tell the Arishok of your valor, Aenor of the Dalish and the Grey Waredns. That way, when the Qunari go to war to conquer Ferelden, they will know what they are up against."

She smiled. "I would not wish to meet you again as an enemy in battle, Sten."

The Qunari seemed to frown. "After all this, I don't think we'll meet again, Kadan." He replied enigmatically, before walking ahead of her towards Arle Eamon's estate.

 

 

 

 

"Alistair?"

The boy answered her from behind the door, opening it after a few moments.

"Yes?" He was visibly uneasy, his eyes circled darkly and his beard unkempt by a few days. Aenor wondered why Elissa hadn't said something to him about it yet. Perhaps she liked men who were a little rough-looking...

"We went to check out the secret warehouse that Riordan pointed out to us. I found something." She took the pouch off her shoulders, pulling out the shield with the Grey Wardens symbol on it.

Alistair's eyes widened, grabbing it after a few moments of surprise and admiring it open-mouthed. "Do you know what this is?" He asked her, turning it on its back and insistently running his fingers over something, a smile appearing on his face.

"A shield from the Grey Wardens." She replied, shrugging. "I thought you might like it, though Aemon has probably provided you with at least a couple of them-"

"No, Aenor, it's not just a shield." He interrupted her, turning the object so that she could see the back of it, tapping on an inscription etched into the metal.

She was about to retort for the umpteenth time that she couldn't read for shit, when Alistair finally decided to explain himself.

"Duncan, Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden." He read aloud, his smile growing even wider despite his teary eyes. "He probably didn't do much with it given his fighting style, but it must have been a ceremonial gift for when he was promoted to Warden-Commander. He didn't even have it with him when-" he interrupted abruptly, gripping the edge of the shield until his knuckles were whitened "at Ostagar."

Aenor shrugged, uncomfortable. She didn't want him to cry again. "Well, so in addition to the sword, you also have his shield..."

"Thank you. Really." He sniffed, scratching the tip of his nose in embarrassment. "I know you hated him but... he was like a father to me. Much more so than the natural one I now seem to have to brag about far and wide." He looked like he wanted to add something, but closed his mouth.

"I still hate Duncan and I'll never stop to, but that doesn't mean you can't miss him. Or love him. And it is a good shield anyway." She cut him short, hoping she could sneak away quickly. She was uncomfortable alone with him, with everything she was keeping from him and the difficult task they both faced.

"Do you really think I can be a good king?" He asked her point blank.

Surprised, she took a step back, her gaze fixed on the tips of her toes. "What do I know about your shem politics? You sure can't be worse than your stupid half-brother, anyway."

She managed to wring a nervous chuckle out of him.

"And anyway, there'll be a crowd of people ready to advise you on what to do, where to go and how to behave, so I bet in a few months you'll be itching to do your own thing."

"Yeah, both Aemon and Elissa seem more than capable of-" he seemed to frown again. "We might not survive. With Riordan, we're only three Grey Wardens, and the Archdemon..."

Aenor forced herself to assume a mocking expression. "Three is always more than two, what's with all this whining? Wait a little more and then the biggest danger you'll face will be Orlais' diplomats and their frog soups."

He burst out laughing. "After Morrigan's cooking, nothing scares me anymore!"

"If she catches that, you'll end up in the next pot."

"Alistair's soup, sounds good."

"Sure. It'll taste like bad jokes and sweaty socks."

"Hey!"

They both laughed.

"To think that until not long ago, we seemed to be constantly on the verge of stabbing each other..."

The elf raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, I haven't entirely changed my mind."

Alistair turned serious again. "Thank you. For staying, I mean. I know it wasn't easy, after Tamlen and all..."

An iron grip crushed her stomach at hearing that name, but she struggled not to give in. "No, you don't, but thank you anyway. And, by the way, you would have been in pretty big trouble, I just couldn't turn the aravel and walk away."

"But you've repeatedly threatened to do so."

She grinned widely. "I enjoy torturing you, shemlen."

The boy smiled in turn. "Evil knife-ears." He seemed to notice only then the sword the girl carried on her shoulders. "New one?"

Aenor carefully unsheathed it, smugly showing it to him. "It is a gift from Sten. Metal that fell from the sky, like his Asala."

Alistair turned it over in his hands for a few moments, admiring it, before handing it back. "That must mean a lot, given how much he cared about his."

"Yeah."
"Once you defeat the Archdemon... what are you going to do?"

The question caught her completely unprepared. "I... I have no idea. Let's not get too lost in thinking about the future. For now, I want to get a couple of hours of sleep, eat dinner and then be able to get into the Alienage without being caught again, because I don't want to end up back in Fort Drakon." She tried not to show her nervousness as she sheathed the sword and walked to the door.

"See you later then. Good luck."

"Yeah, see ya."

Chapter 35: The Pearl

Summary:

Natia, Geralt and co have an interesting encounter at the Pearl but someone from Zevran's past make things difficoult for him.

Meanwhile, Kallian and Leliana go to meet Marjolaine.

Chapter Text

"And that, my friends, is the main attraction of Denerim!"

Natia sneered watching Oghren's jaw drop to the floor as they blatantly entered the Pearl. The brothel was crowded as usual, with a handful of people on heated discussion at the counter and a few customers examining the merchandise on display, while a couple of elves welcomed the newcomers.

"Heh, if I had known about this place, I would have left Orzammar much sooner!" The dwarf said, grinning from ear to ear, his gaze traveling over the prosperous breasts of the two elves.

Zevran nodded slyly. "The first round is on us, it's always a pleasure to let people discover new things." He turned back to the other two, who looked as out of place as they could possibly be. "So, you want to stand there in the doorway forever?"

Geralt frowned, taking a few steps toward them but remaining on the fence as if at any moment some whore might remove her bra and reveal a templar armor beneath it. "I just can't figure out how you managed to bring me here again..."

Jowan, even more bewildered than when they had visited the market, looked around as if he had never seen an undressed person before. Maybe, Natia thought with a giggle, he'd never seen a naked woman or men before, and Geralt had been the first ever to-

"Hey, I can literally hear your mental ramblings from here, keg."

She tried to assume the most offended expression she could muster. "I've no idea what you mean."

"Then stop grinning so much."

She stuck her tongue out at him, passing them both and sidling up to the counter, where a good-looking tall man was stacking a series of glasses just for show. "The strongest stuff you've got, no expense spared today!"

The man raised an elegant eyebrow, hinting at a smirk as the dwarf placed a small bag of coins on the counter, opening it. "I see." He turned to search the shelves full of bottles as he brushed over the plates with his long fingers. "Ah, there it is."

Without even asking, he filled five glasses with an almost blue liquor.

Jowan peered at them curiously. "What's that?"

Natia trimmed a pat on his backside, jolting him. "Just drink it, nug. It's better than anything you've ever been fed." She cast a quick glance to Geralt, trying not to laugh but failing miserably.

Zevran, who was already chatting amiably with the elves who had greeted them at the entrance, approached them winking in Geralt's direction. "Almost." He took the glass, sipping it slowly as he looked around.

The mage scoffed audibly, turning a bit red on the cheeks and hiding his nose in the glass.

"I just hope this is the first of many!" Oghren exclaimed, grabbing two glasses and emptying them in an instant.

Natia huffed, taking her own and tossing it down unceremoniously, extending the last one towards Jowan, who took it without even looking at it, too busy looking at the small group of men gathered around something. Or rather, someone.

"No more games, bitch, we want our money!"

There were five of them, wearing slightly rumpled clothing and leather armor. About the woman in the center, Natia could only see a mass of black hair and the hilts of short swords on her back.

A feminine laugh filled the air. "Perhaps you don't know who you're talking to... but I'll give you a chance to leave on your own feet."

The five didn't seem to like the answer, as they quickly brought their hands to their weapons.

"You slut, we'll teach you to break deals!"

Natia widened her eyes, following in fascination the fluid movements of the woman as she dodged the first lunge, performing a half-rotation to one side and sending one of the assailants crashing into his companion, while she drew her blades and struck the temple of the nearest man with the pommel. Two were already on the ground and a third followed shortly, a cut behind his knee preventing him from getting up, the woman rising nimbly after elegantly avoiding a slash to the head, spinning around and knocking down the fourth man as well, hitting him exactly on the sternum and cutting off his breath, sending him to the carpet gasping for air. The last man standing, a bald man with a blunt axe clutched in his hands, was in a cold sweat.

The woman stopped an inch away from his throat, the blade almost touching the delicate skin. "Now, if you were smart enough to get out of my way and not come back to bother me..."

She didn't have to repeat it twice. Helping each other, they crawled away in terror, whimpering insults but running away fast as scared nugs.

"And be thankful I only took your money, you fools!" She yelled after them. She didn't look like she had even broke a sweat. She then turned to her viewers, winking as she adjusted her white shirt with a generous neckline, the handkerchief that held her hair slightly down to one side and not a scratch on her brown skin.

Oghren, subtle as usual, gave her a whistle of approval.

She didn't seem to mind. "So, do you intend to at least buy me a drink after enjoying the show...?" Her gaze seemed to settle on one of them in particular.

"Ah, Isabela, what a coincidence!"

Natia turned to Zevran, surprised. "You know her?"

The woman, Isabela, approached them. "We do know each other. Do you remember my husband, Zev?"

The other sported one of his best smiles. "Oh, come on Isabela, you finally got lucky didn't you? Captain of a ship, I heard!"

"I'm not complaining." She pointed to the others with a nod, intrigued. "You travel with interesting companions..."
Zevran bowed slightly. "Allow me to introduce you to my new friends."

After a brief exchange of names, Natia pointed at Isabela's blades. "You're good."

Isabela stroked one of her short swords with a hand. "Yes, though the havoc you just saw wasn't much of a fight. Those brutes were far too predictable."

"You're quick to see other people's weak points and use them."

There was like a flicker in the woman's dark eyes. "Do we have a connoisseur?" She asked, eyeing the silverite knives Natia carried on her belt.

The dwarf shrugged. "Enough to keep me alive."

"Our friend is modest." Zevran interjected. "She fought a high dragon, you know."

"Hear hear... Sounds like an interesting story." She then aimed her eyes at Geralt, who through it all had been standing off to the side with Jowan, watching for any movement he made whenever one of the girls in the club ventured to even walk by his companion.

Natia could sense his jealousy from five feet away.

"Forget it, that one's taken and chained..." Oghren laughed, smoothing his mustache and looking at her like she was a honey-covered roasted nug.

A slight grimace was drawn on Isabelas's beautiful face but she decided to ignore him, going back to talking to Natia. "Why don't we make things interesting, fellow duelist?"

The idea was tempting. "What do you have in mind?"

"If you beat me at cards, we could improvise a duel and give our friends here something real pretty to look at... Ever heard of Wicked Grace?"

Maybe she'd heard of it in some surface tavern, but it certainly wasn't a well-known game down in Orzammar. "Actually, I don't really know how to play that..."

The woman pulled up a chair and sat down at a small round table, crossing her legs as she signaled the man behind the counter to bring her more drinks. "Too bad. I think there's no better way to get to know someone than a game of cards..."

"I can play for her."

They both turned to Geralt, surprised.

"What, there's not much you can do when you're locked in a tower!" He defended himself, taking a seat across from Isabela. "If I win, the offer stands. I really want to see you two fight. But don't kill each other, we already have more than a few nuisances.”

Isabela pulled a deck of worn-looking cards out of thin air. "If you win, pretty boy, you can have so much more than a fight as a private show..."

Zevran chuckled but added nothing more, taking a seat to enjoy the challenge.

Natia exchanged a look with Jowan, wondering if Geralt was really serious, but the other mage seemed perfectly calm, even smiling a bit.

The game lasted a little over ten turns, when Isabela drew an almost completely black card from the center deck. "Ah, the angel of death. Game over, let's show the cards!"

Geralt, who had been completely impassive the whole time, opened up in a triumphant grin, which widened even further at the other's surprise when he showed his cards.

"Looks like I've been defeated." Isabela admitted, pouting. "Well, no harm done, a little scuffle with our friend seems interesting." She finished her second glass as well, then got up and signaled Natia to follow her outside, preceding them to the door.

The dwarf, still confused about how the game worked, saw Jowan approach the other mage with a smirk on his face. "I see you haven't lost your tricks."

Geralt shrugged innocently. "I've absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

Zevran also seemed pleased. "Well, I already knew how skilled you were with those hands..."

Geralt violently blushed while Jowan, after a moment of bewilderment, widened his eyes at the antivan. "Did you two...?"

Natia bit her tongue, on the verge of telling him how the elf hadn't been Geralt's worst choice in bed, but decided to keep quiet. She didn't really want a fireball up her ass. So she just shook her head, trying to look completely oblivious and following Isabela out of the building.

 

 

 


She dodged to the right, taking advantage of the difference in height and cutting through the air, keeping her daggers almost level, aiming at the woman's legs. Isabela moved away just enough to throw her off balance but Natia recovered quickly, parrying with one of her knives and aiming the other at her opponent's belly, but Isabela spun around gracefully.

When Natia felt a sudden burning sensation in her cheek, she couldn't believe she had been hit. She recovered quickly, running the back of her hand over her face and waiting to be attacked again. Isabela came at her, feinting to her left, but Natia intercepted her move and went to hit her in the side. She only caught her slightly, injuring her arm as the other one pulled away in a cloud of raven hair.

"You're good!"

She grinned, blood dripping onto her lips. "You're not bad yourself."

They were about to collide again when an arrow hissed a few inches from their feet, followed by an alarmed scream. They turned sharply.

"What the fuck?"

"Zevran. Has it become so easy to catch you by surprise?"

A human in light armor, his physique lean and two short swords drawn, jumped down from one of the wooden buildings that lined the alley, peering at them from a canopy. "I'm disappointed, my friend."

Zevran took a step toward him, hands flying to his own weapons. "Taliesin."

The other smiled cruelly. "I had hoped to find you with your new companions, the Grey Wardens, but it seems I shall search for them later." He cast a glance at Natia and the others, sneering.

She felt herself quiver with anger. No one, no one could look at her like that anymore and continue to live in one piece.

"I thought you had better taste... even though you've always had a soft spot for red hair, you still couldn't get over Rinna, could you? Well, seems now you got two but one's the ugliest thing I've ever seen." He laughed ad Natia, but she didn't really care about the insult at her, she knew beauty wasn't her thing, she was more worried about her friend.

Upon hearing the name of the girl he loved and had been tricked into killing two years earlier, Zevran stiffened his jaw, squaring it with contempt. "Taliesin. I'm not going back to the Crows, if that's why you're here."

"Oh, but I wouldn't dream of giving you this gift without anything in return..." The man shook his head, pointing a sword at them. "Kill a couple of them and maybe I'll let you give me a hand in killing the Wardens, so we can split the reward."

"And here I thought the Crows were smart."

They all turned to Geralt, who was probably just waiting for the right moment to rain fire on the assassins. "Do you really think that you and what, six other jerks, can pose enough of a threat?" He exchanged a glance with Zevran, who shook his head.

"Taliesin, listen to him. It's not worth dying for an impossible task."

Crow twisted his mouth. "You've gone soft. All for a pretty face?"

It was Zevran's turn to show disappointment. "No, my friend. There are things just as important as a good fuck in life. I'm only sorry that you will die without knowing any of them."

It seemed that Geralt had waited the exact second the elf had finished speaking to hurl a storm of fire and flame at Taliesin and his men.

The man was quick enough to jump out and roll in the dust to avoid being roasted, but two of his companions were not so lucky. Their screams echoed through the alley as they were burned alive.

A blue light surrounded Natia and the others as Jowan also joined the fight.

"Now this is also fun!" Oghren exclaimed, battle axe already in hand as he charged one of the Crows unfortunate enough to have jumped down too close to the dwarf. He was mowed down before he even regained his balance, his torso split in half in a fountain of blood, the light leather armor useless against the finely sharpened red steel. Many things could be said about Oghren, but all the effort he didn't put on himself, he put into his weapon's care.

Natia lunged to the side, stabbing an elf in the thigh as he rappelled down from the roof, while Isabela finished him off by driving one of the swords into his throat. Shoulder to shoulder, they faced the last two. The first one lasted just a couple of lunges and the second one was hit by an electric shock that paralyzed him just enough to be pierced from side to side by both of them.

She exchanged a nod with Jowan as they turned to watch the fight between Zevran and Taliesin.

Geralt channeled energy again, the air around him sizzling, but the elf seemed to want to face his old friend alone.

"Don't interfere, please. We'll settle this on equal terms."

Both had impeccable style, dodging and striking in the air, the blades hissing at an inch from eachother yet failing to make a dent.

A couple of times Zevran managed to touch his opponent, but the short sword only cut through the leather armor or scratched the metal, Taliesin evading his blows at the last moment.

After a few minutes, both were out of breath but virtually unharmed. Their weapons were probably soaked in the same poison, so even a single scratch could have decided the winner of the fight.

If only Isabela hadn't interfered.

By the third time Taliesin passed her by, too focused on Zevran to notice her, the woman drove both swords into his shoulder blades, driving the shortswords through the opening of his armor and out the other side, piercing his lungs and sending him sprawling to the ground in a bloodcurdling gasp that littered the dirt road.

"That's for killing my husband before I did, Zev." She justified herself, drawing her swords and wiping the blood off them, ignoring the elf's protests.

"Isabela, you are cruel."

Natia couldn't help but chuckle in admiration.

The woman sheathed her swords, looking at the corpses on the ground. "I'd say we'd better get out of your way, all this commotion is sure to have drawn attention and I don't know about you, but I don't need the guards breathing down my neck."

"Oh, I wish I had her breath on my neck..." Oghren whispered, eyeing the swaying hips of the woman as she walked away in the opposite direction, waving for them to follow.

Natia cast a glance in Zev's direction, leaning over Taliesin's body. "Are you alright?" She knew what it felt like to be in the same situation, or at least almost. She had come close with Leske.

The elf nodded after a few seconds, "Yeah, I just..." He sighed, shaking his head. "There's no use mulling it over, is there?"

Geralt slowly approached him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with it.”

"It's just that... I wished I'd never met him again. Maybe if he'd gone straight to the Wardens, I wouldn't have had to kill him myself." He turned his head, trying not to look at the body on the ground. "He was a good friend once."

"You tried to save him, it's not your fault he didn't listen to you." The mage insisted, tightening his grip on his shoulder. "He kiled himself."

"I know. But it doesn't make it any easier."

Zevran slowly freed himself from the mage's grasp, backing away a few steps.

"Zev..."
The elf turned his back to them. "I'll catch up with you guys later, alright? I... Need some space."

They nodded, watching him disappear around a corner in the direction of the harbor.

Natia was the first to speak up. "Do you think...?"

Geralt sighed. "He'll be back when he feels like it."

Jowan, beside him, stepped closer to him. The dwarf did not miss how their hands intertwined for a moment, before following Isabela down the street and going back to the Pearl.

 

 

 


 

 

 

The building marked on the map they had found in the pocket of the assassins sent by Marjolaine overlooked one of the main streets, just behind the market square.

Kallian, Leliana and Wynne stood for a moment observing the area, fearing an ambush. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, and they were all the more suspicious because of it.

"If we don't go in, we'll be here forever." Leliana made up her mind. She knocked three times on the wooden door and, finding it open, crossed the threshold.

The other two hurried to follow her inside.

The small room was furnished with refined taste, with bouquets of flowers everywhere and curtains of fine fabric with gold thread embroidery. Two Qunari guards in shiny armor scowled at them from top to bottom, pointing their spears at them.

"Your lady is waiting for us." Leliana said, voice betraying no emotion, her relaxed posture only a sham. Kallian knew how much she had been mulling over that meeting, and now it was time for the showdown.
"Leliana..." The door in front of them swung open, letting out a woman and forcing the guards to move to the side, standing at attention. She wore a richly embroidered Orlesian-made gown that would have put many Fereldian nobles to shame. "You'll have to excuse the ambient and the terrible manners, I'm trying to do what I can but this place constantly smells like wet dog and three times already they've tried to break in, these elves are worse than the ones we have in Orlais..." Her eyes settled on the small group with surprise, focusing on Kallian who had instinctively brought her hand to the knife. "Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend."

"Marjolaine. I could say it's a pleasure to see you again but we both know all too well how to spot a lie." Leliana replied coldly.

"Will you please sit down, or shall we settle this like savages?"

Leliana remained motionless. "You mean like sending goons to kill me?"

Marjolaine let out a laugh that had nothing genuine about it. "My dear Leliana, if I had wanted to kill you, rest assured you would have died. No, I knew that against three or four men, you'd have no problem. After all, I was your mentor..." She signaled for them to follow her into the living room.

Reluctantly, they settled down on a small sofa with puffy, soft cushions. The Orlesian signaled an elven servant, almost invisible in the shadows with her dark clothes, to bring something for their guests. "Tea, maybe something to eat.... Leliana, you still enjoy lemon cupcakes, I guess."

They stood in silence waiting for the tea to be served.

Definitely, it wasn't what she had imagined.

Kallian had thought to settle the matter with an arrow firmly planted in Marjolaine's heart as thanks for her assassins, but apparently Leliana had different ideas.

The servant brought a tray with steaming cups and a teapot, accompanied by a series of dishes one on top of the other filled with treats. Marjolaine, her legs gracefully crossed, pointed to them with an elegant nod of her hand. "Please, don't be shy. They're made as they are in Orlais, in this place they can't do anything properly at all..." When the three guests remained perfectly still, however, she gave an amused smirk. "They are not poisoned, I assure you. You may as well ask your mage to check." As if to prove that she was telling the truth, she grabbed a pink and blue frosted cookie, bringing it to her plump lips and taking a bite. Kallian noticed that not a single crumb had gone to rest on her fine robes.

She swallowed, waiting for a motion from Leliana who, after another moment of hesitation, took a lemon cupcake.

Wynne, without even being asked, cast a small spell that shrouded the entire coffee table in front of them in a greenish light, frowning, her wrinkles even more visible. "Yes, there is no poison." She confirmed after a moment, grabbing a treat as the elven servant finished pouring them tea. She chewed slowly, a thoughtful expression on her face. "But I've tasted better."

Marjolaine gently took the cup between her fingers, ignoring her. She smiled. "Ah, it almost manages to bring me back to the old days..."

"The ones where you framed me for the betrayal you had committed?" Leliana replied sharply, crossing her legs and setting down the half-eaten lemon cupcake. "Let's speak plainly and simple for once, Marjolaine. What do you want?"

The other shook her head, sighing. "Blunt, too blunt, my Leliana.... Have you really forgotten my teachings?"

"Not at all. But they're not worth using on you."

The expression on Marjolaine's face changed dramatically, the mask of fake politeness cast aside in the blink of an eye. "Very well. I simply cannot let you live, you understand. You have too much information you could use against me."

Leliana thinned her gaze, though her posture still seemed relaxed Kallian knew that in an instant she could reach for the knife held in her bodice, invisible and deadly. "Do you really think you could kill me? You and the two big horned men out there?"

"I don't doubt that your companions are good, Leliana, but all those years in a convent have left their mark."

"Try me, Marjolaine, and you'll find out you're dead wrong."

"I've been watching you, you know." The woman ignored the threat, chewing another pastry. "Those coarse clothes, your hair unkept and frizzy like a country boy... I wondered, what is my Leliana doing in such a place, dull and far from civilization? I thought you were up to something, at first, but you weren't sending any letters, you were praying and working the land, barely talking to your fellow sisters... clever, very clever. I was almost under the illusion that you had lost your mind, when you left so suddenly."

Leliana let out a laugh. "You think I left because of you? That I still had some plan for revenge? Wake up, Marjolaine, the world does not revolve around your person!" She shook her head, curling her upper lip slightly, the same way she stared at her mud-encrusted shoes after a full day of walking, or at stale bread when they couldn't afford to build a fire for a decent meal. "You're ridiculous. And paranoid."

"Leliana has better things to think about." Kallian spilled, setting down the half-full cup of tea she'd been sipping while enjoying the confrontation. "There's a Blight, if you hadn't noticed."

Marjolaine thinned her gaze, pointing it at her. "Oh, is that what you think? Are you so naive as to trust every sweet little word that comes out of those delicate lips?"

Without really knowing why, Kallian felt herself blush.

"She's using you. You look at her and what do you see? An innocent girl, a friend, maybe something more..." She cast her a venomous smile. "Yes, I see the way she looks at you. She's playing with you, and once she gets fed up she'll abandon you as quick as she appeared."

"You're talking about yourself, Marjolaine, not me!" Leliana interjected, furious. "I am nothing like you and I'll never be. I left so I wouldn't end up like you."

Marjolaine laughed, cruelly. "Oh, but you are me, Leliana. You can't run from your true self. I know you so well, precisely because we are the same. Do you know why you were so good at the Game? It thrilled you, you enjoyed the power it gave you to manipulate others."

"So what?" Replied Kallian, interrupting her again, getting furious. "Even if it were, even if she really did miss Orlais' politics and subterfuge, you still wouldn't be a part of her life anymore. You missed that chance years ago when you betrayed her."

"And you think you can replace me in her heart?" Spat Marjolaine, squaring her with disgust, the same contempt she had seen in the eyes of countless humans, noble, wealthy men who thought themselves superior to all others and therefore justified in treating her like a dog. "You are nothing but a pathetic replacement and you know it. How could anyone, after all, become attached to a hostile and unpleasant creature like-"

Marjolaine lowered her gaze to the expensive dress, now drenched in red blood, bringing a hand to her throat. She looked at the soiled fingers, opening her mouth to speak, eyes focused on Leliana which had her hands clasped onto her knife.

Only a gasp came out of Marjolaine as she tried to close the wound with her hands, clutching her neck, begging for help.

Leliana, standing over her, looked at her coldly. "I want you out of my life, Marjolaine, and we both know this is the only way."

The other scrambled backwards onto the couch, staining the fine fabric, ceasing to move after a short while.

The guards burst in a few seconds later, but by then Kallian had gripped the ironwood bow, letting go of the already-hilted arrow that lodged in the knee of one of them. The other one was thrown to the ground by a stone-fist conjured by Wynne, that crushed his torso against the opposite wall with a sinister snap while the elf finished the first one with another arrow.

They turned to Leliana but she was still standing motionless over the other woman's body.

Kallian met Wynne's gaze, who seemed to tell her to approach her friend.

Not quite sure what to do, the elf walked up to Leliana. "I'm sorry."

"I've been in Lothering for years." She said, not taking her eyes off the couch. "And all that time, she still thought I was going to get revenge." She sighed, laying her gaze on the bloody knife. "She never really loved me. Maybe when I was useful to her, when she could use me as a pawn in her games..."

"She didn't deserve you."

Leliana finally looked up. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed. "What she told you...I'm sorry, I want you to know that none of it was true-" she shook her head, stepping back and away from her. "No, a shadow of truth was there. I..." she bit her lip, tightening her eyelids. "Since I left Lothering, I have found the old me again. I see no solution but violence. I get satisfaction from taking the lives of others. The heat of combat, the blood of my enemies on my hands, what if I was wrong, what if the Maker sent me no vision, what if I made it all up just to get everyone's attention like the Guardian of the Sacred Ashes said?"

Kallian grabbed her hand that was still holding the knife, gently removing it from her fingers. "This is not who you are."

The other tried to retreat, but the elf tightened her grip on her hand, not letting go. "But-"

"You are more than a murderer and a liar, Leliana. You are not Marjolaine. The Maker chose you for a reason, because He knows you're strong enough to do what needs to be done, even if it means killing, lying and manipulating. But I know you're a good person, you've proven that time and time again." She pointed to the Orlesian's body with a nod. "She was the one who sought you out. You know very well she wouldn't have let you out of here, it was only a matter of time. You acted first, that's all."

"Maybe I could have found another way. I lost it when..." She sighed. "I used you. I abused your friendship and-"

"Leliana."
Kallian looked right into her eyes, trying to make her understand the turmoil in her head. "If it weren't for you, I'd still be somewhere trying to get revenge on a ghost. You saved my life, and not just with the Ashes." She bit her lip, felt her cheeks burning, but continued on. "If I hadn't met you, I would have lost the best thing that ever happened to me."

Leliana opened up in a smile, sniffing lightly.

Kallian felt her cheeks on fire. “Let's go, before someone calls the guards."

Leliana nodded, holding her hand and allowing herself to be guided to the door, not deigning Marjolaine's body another glance, following Wynne who had already exited.

 

 

 


They wandered idly through the streets around the market, which was emptying as evening fell, looking around the stalls. Leliana was silent, deep in her own thoughts, Kallian and Wynne trying to give her space. When she stopped to look at an array of incense and scented candles, lifting one up and smelling its aroma, they saw her smile.

"Grace of Andraste." She inhaled again before handing it to the elf.

Kallian knew the scent well, it was a wild flower that grew in the bushes and therefore was cheap, being easy to find. The scent brought back to her mind whole days spent at the market, not far from there, weaving bouquets and wreaths of flowers at the requests of some customer.

"How much for this one?" She asked, addressing the middle-aged lady on the other side of the stall.

"Six coppers."

She rummaged through the small leather purse, placing the coins on the small wooden table. The lady thanked them and gave them a couple blue flowers.

Leliana, candle in hand, smiled at her again. "You shouldn't have..."

Kallian shook her head, taking one of the flowers and trying to tuck it into her hair, above her ear. "You're welcome." She looked around as the merchants began to gather their various goods and prepare for closing. "You know, I used to work not far from here. I sold flowers and medicinal herbs, mostly. Sometimes we'd get commissioned for big ceremonies, with extravagant bouquets of all sorts of flowers."

"It must have been nice..."

She nodded. "I could also make good money with that, enough to pay half the rent on the house." Her gaze flew in the direction of the Alienage, hidden from view behind a series of buildings.

Leliana sighed. "It's almost time."

She didn't want to leave her alone. "We can go tomorrow, if you need-"

"No. We need to know what's going on. Besides, I know how important it is to you."

"You're important to me, too." Kallian said. She wanted to add something but Leliana placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to reassure her.

"I'm fine, Kallian. There's no need for you to worry."

"But-"
"Marjolaine had it coming. I just need to make peace with myself and the Maker, but you've already done so much to help me. Thank you."

Kallian knew Leliana's face was just a mask, that she must be hurting more than she admitted. She nodded reluctantly.

The chantry bell rang the evening mass, calling tfor the last service of the day.

"Would you like to go in for just a moment?" Wynne proposed, pointing to the large building with the stained glass window, white walls standing out imposingly in contrast to all those buildings of wood and rough stone.

The interior of the chantry consisted of a large central nave and two smaller side aisles. Wooden benches were placed in many parallel rows and hundreds of candles were lit, smell filling the air.

The faithful entered bowing their heads in sign of respect, some even kneeling in front of the imposing statue of Andraste that welcomed those who crossed the threshold, standing on the opposite side of the entrance. The Prophetess wore her shining armor and beams of light adorned her crowned head, a sign of the Maker's protection. Her face was hard and austere, pointed upward. On the palm of her left hand, a candle of red wax dripped between her fingers as if it were blood in memory of the sacrifice made, while her right hand was held firmly around the hilt of the great flaming sword.

Kallian had always felt in awe looking at the statues of the Prophetess and only a few times had she been allowed to enter that place of worship, but after experiencing Her sacrifice on her own skin, being saved by the Ashes, She no longer seemed so far away.

The Revered Mother reached the altar, reciting the first words of the Chant of Light. The soft buzz that had filled the chantry instantly ceased, replaced by hundreds of voices joining her and becoming one.

"We are facing a difficult time." The woman spoke, worried. "The Blight poses a growing threat and the safety of our country is at risk. But do not despair, for the Bride of the Maker, Blessed Andraste, has not forsaken her faithful, but by immolating herself for them has given a new hope to this world. Thus, we can only pray that our valiant husbands, sons and brothers will fight this Evil, and with the light of His power in their hearts, their hand will stand firm in the face of death."

She turned to the large statue behind her, bowing deeply. Everyone did the same.

Kallian, her head bowed over clasped hands and knees numb on the cold stone floor, hoped that Andraste and the Maker were really listening to their prayers. She had seen a glimpse of what was coming and it terrified her.

 

 

 

 

I am not alone. Even

as I stumble on the path

With my eyes closed, yet I see

The Light is here.

Chapter 36: Denerim - Arle Eamon's Palace

Summary:

Elissa and Alistair share a long awaited moment of peace, while Kallian, Aenor and Zevran make their way into the closed off Alienage.

Notes:

I could say that I was kidnapped by pirates and taken to a desert island without power, but the hard truth is that translating a four-year-old story is far less entertaining that writing its sequel... Oh well, at least I'm back, and as slow as it takes I'm not leaving this unfinished.
Happy new year and may Bioware give us some juicy news soon!

Chapter Text

"Cookie, stop!"

The mabari, not at all willing to follow orders, darted like mad towards the kitchens, terrorizing the servants and knocking one of them off his feet. The elf, beating his back against the hard stone floor, let out a groan of pain that he immediately silenced once Elissa was close enough to be within earshot.

She held out a hand to him, trying to catch her breath. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

The elf immediately turned red,levering his arms to pull himself to his feet, shaking his head without daring to even look at her. "Lady Cousland, you needn't bother, I'm sorry for getting in your way..."

She tried to retort, but the elf was already bowing several times, begging her forgiveness for something she was actually the culprit of. Or rather, that rude mabari was.

Inhaling sharply through her nostrils, she turned again at Cookie, who was staring at her wagging his tail across the hall. "I'm sorry, I really am!" She shouted as she resumed running, intimating the dog to stop and face the consequences of his behavior like the honorable war hound he was supposed to be.

In the mad rush, she almost bumped into Shale, motionless in front of a window in the building's library, probably casting fiery glances at whatever bird wandered into the yard in search of food.

"The mushy little thing seems to be-"

She didn't even get to hear the entire comment, that Cookie came up behind her, taunting her by taking advantage of her blind spot to walk past her barking like mad down the hallway.
"Get back here-!"

She narrowly avoided stumbling down a set of steps that led to the dining room. To her horror, all she could do was watch the mabari throw himself onto the table, thankfully clear except for a few jugs and candlesticks, stride across the room and throw himself toward the back door. A tiny servant let out a scream of terror, throwing the basket she carried in her arms into the air: a shower of eggs, bread and cheese crashed to the ground, while the mabari happily grabbed a loaf of bread and started running again, ignoring the slip his mistress made because of the remains of the eggs.

She found herself tapping her bottom on the ground, letting out a very unladylike expletive.

"Maker's balls, Cookie, when I catch you, you're done!" She screamed at nothing, grabbing a piece of bread and throwing it after the dog who had lost her again.

"M'lady..."

The elf was in a pitiful condition. Two of the eggs had broken on her head and her dress was now stained to a mess.

Elissa was immensely ashamed. "It... was an accident. I'm sorry. That dog-"

The servant girl, to her surprise, burst out laughing. She stared at her bashfully, as the elf held a hand over her stomach, clapping the other on the floor. "It's such a mess!"

“I'm really sorry-"

The elf tried to compose herself, running her sleeve over her forehead, dripping egg-hair sticking to the face. "I'm afraid today's cake won't be baking..." She giggled again, shaking her head. "And here I thought all mabari were well behaved."

Elissa giggled in turn, more out of shame than anything else. What would Eleanor Cousland have said, seeing that debacle? "Let's just say that if he were as polite as he is fierce..."

"You'd better catch him quickly, m'lady. Before he destroys the entire palace."

As she struggled back up, giving a hand to the elf, Elissa wondered for a moment if the servant was secretly looking forward to seeing the entire building in utter chaos. Maybe she wouldn't be the one to clean it, or maybe she just enjoyed the idea that for once such a disaster was with no doubt at all a noble's fault.

After catching her breath and calming the twinges in her spleen, she ventured up the steps, more determined than ever to catch the beast.

She clutched a piece of cheese in her hand, the kind the dog liked, as she turned circumspectly towards the master bedrooms upstairs, careful not to make any noise.
She could clearly hear a howl coming from somewhere around there.
She crept forward until she heard a bark to her right. With a shout of victory, she slipped into the room to the right, the door wide open.

"Gotcha, you mangy-"

"Elissa?!"

Victory died in her throat, Alistair staring at her with a surprised and confused expression. "I..." She tried to compose herself, but it had gotten out of hand. She was probably sweaty, disheveled, with her clothes in disarray (and possibly bearing traces of eggs and cheese) and looking completely crazy. She fell silent with embarrassment.

The boy, hunched over a wagging Cookie, began to giggle at first, then burst into a roaring, incredulous laugh.

Elissa prayed with all her heart that she could sink to the floor and never resurface. Alistair however continued to laugh, to the point where she huffed in annoyance.

"Are you done?"

He tried to compose himself, inhaling deeply. He seemed to be done, but exploded into a giggle once again, trying to wipe the tears from his eyes without stopping to stare at her. "No."

"Well, let me know when you've had enough."

"It's just that..." He shook her head, taking a few breaths with his eyes closed. "Maker, what were you two up to?"

The girl brought her hands to her hips, looking at the mabari. "He," she explained, ignoring Cookie's falsely mortified whines, "refuses to take a well needed bath."

She saw Alistair wince, his cheeks filling with air as his face contorted into a ridiculous grimace in an unsuccessful attempt not to burst out laughing again.

The mabari rolled onto his back, staring down at his paws pleadingly.

Elissa, crossed arms over her chest, dared both of them to continue with their teasing “Very mature of you."

"Elissa. He's a dog, what did you expect?"

"That after four years, he'd learned to endure a bath at least every six months!"

Cookie hid his muzzle between his front paws, whining pitifully.
She bent down to touch the tip of his nose with her index finger. "You don't fool me, you know."

The mabari shifted one of his paws just enough to give her a pleading look with large, irresistible eyes. She gave up once again.

"All right, Stinkybutt, but know that this is not the end of it."

Cookie jumped up immediately barking his happiness, and after stealing the piece of cheese from her hands hopped away wagging his tail, leaving them alone.

Elissa watched him walk away with a sigh. "That... Ugh."

Alistair looked at her, amused. "You're quite the pair."

"He was a gift from my brother. When he arrived, our mother feared he would destroy the castle, and she was not wrong..."

"Oh, come on, he usually follows your commands to the letter. I'm surprised he stood up like that."

She smiled, lost in memories. "Every time we had to bathe him it was like a game. Fergus and I would chase him all over the castle, and often the servants and some of my father's men would join us in trying to lure him with treats and traps...one time he knocked old Nan down the stairs, we thought we'd lost her but she quickly got back up, railing against 'that damn fleabag'-" she suddenly quipped, the sight of the old wet nurse's corpse on the floor, soaked in blood, still fresh in her mind.

"Well, looks like Cookie's still in great shape." Alistair joked, trying to get her mind off the bad thoughts. "I don't think the two of us alone will be able to catch him, not for today at least."

"We'll have to put it off until tomorrow, then."

"What, you want to impress the Landsmeet with a clean, good-smelling mabari?"

Elissa sneered, "What better way to make Ferelden like you than with a nice mabari?"

"Makes sense." He agreed with her. "Although I personally like the Lady more." He leaned toward her a little, reaching out a hand to brush one of the many strands of hair that had flown out of place during that mad chase.

She tried to stop him, she was in a sorry state after all. "Alistair-"

Their noses touched for a moment as the Warden let out a giggle. "I've seen you in worse conditions. Besides, you're always gorgeous." He traced the outline of her jaw with his hand, gently lifting her chin.
Elissa parted her lips in reflex, welcoming him against hers and instantly forgetting about her much unladylike condition.

They explored each other's mouths, while with his hand he went to undo what remained of the chignon on her head, freeing her hair in a curly blond mass that reached her waist. She went to circle his shoulders, deepening the contact.

When Alistair reached down to unfasten the first two frog buttons of her jacket, Elissa instinctively stiffened. The Warden noticed it immediately, stopping and pulling away abruptly, reddening. "I-"

Elissa bit her lower lip, conflicted. If they had gone on... She took two steps toward the door, grabbing the handle and closing it with a dull snap.

She brought a hand to her collar, slowly unfastening the buttons one by one, Alistair's attempts at an apology quickly falling silent. Without daring to look at him, she slipped her jacket off the shoulders, letting it fall to the floor and remaining in her light linen shirt.

She then advanced toward the boy, resetting the distance between them and returning to kiss him, gently at first, then with more passion.

His jacket quickly end up the same, as Elissa explored that sculpted chest with her fingertips, her other hand firmly held against the back of his head as he fumbled with the laces of her shirt, freeing her breasts usually constricted in armor or masculine cut jackets. She could clearly feel a pressure against her thigh.

The boy suddenly interrupted the kiss to look at her embarrassed. "Elissa..."

She knew she was blushing as well. “Me neither."

Alistair looked very relieved. "I was hoping for that. You know, between training as a Templar and my time as a recruit among the Grey Wardens, I haven't exactly had time to-"

"Alistair?"

"Yes?"

She pressed a finger to his lips, smiling. "Shut up."

He nodded, hinting at an amused smirk. He held her close again, as she helped him pull off her shirt, slowly pushing him toward the bed. She found herself on top of him for a moment, her knees sinking between the furs, then willingly let him reverse positions, hair flowing over the pillows.

He bowed down to kiss her neck while his hands caressed her breasts, awkwardly. She realized she no longer had the leather eye patch on when his lips brushed her burned cheekbone. She tried to turn away, but he moved on to leave a trail of small, gentle kisses from her nose to her jaw, making her melt under his touch.

“You're beautiful."

A tear rolled down her healthy eye, opening into an embarrassed smile as he slowly, almost reverently, explored her.



 

They stayed cuddling under the covers, naked, listening to each other's breath.

Elissa, head resting against Alistair's chest, brushed the strand of beard on his chin. "What are you thinking about?"

He hugged her even tighter. "That, in all this mess, I never expected to find someone so special."

She giggled, patting the tuft of blonde hair that had fallen over his eyes. "Come on, it's not-"

He shook his head. "I'm serious. I..." He shut up biting the inside of his cheek, red in the face, his gaze pointed at the ceiling.

Elissa prodded him with a finger, urging him to continue. At his inability to finish the sentence, she giggled in amusement. "I love you too, Alistair."

They stood in silence for a while, embracing. She was just about to fall asleep when the boy let out a laugh.

"That should finally shut everyone up..."

She huffed audibly, turning to get more comfortable while still leaning against him. "Yeah, I really want to see who Zevran and Natia are going to pick on now that they've lost their favorite victims."

"Maybe Aenor."

“I don't think they have the guts for it.”







Aenor pulled her hood over the head, checking that the sword was well hidden under the cloak, the streets of the city now almost deserted except for a few figures slipping stealthily into the dim remaining lights.

The wall surrounding the Alienage was made of rough stone, crumbling in many places. They quickly found the right spot, hidden in darkness and with stones protruding enough to provide plenty of handholds: with confidence, the Dalish began to climb, quickly hoisting herself to the top without any effort, aided by her light clothing and years of experience climbing trees.

The Alienage looked uninhabited and almost completely surrounded by darkness.

She waited for Kallian and Zevran to catch up with her, then descended below through the grimy alleys, the heavy air making her nose itch and wrinkle in disgust. She already despised the rest of the capital, but the slums where the elves lived were far worse. And to think those flat ears had once had her same ancestors in Arlathan...

They followed Kallian to the main square, where a large tree towered with branches laden with ornaments of various kinds. Vhenadahl, as the Enclave's inhabitants called it. Aenor thought it was strange how, having forgotten their own elven culture, they had invented a new one. She snarled seeing a small cloth banner, bearing the insignia of the Andrastian Church, hanging from a branch.

Kallian didn't even glance at the People's tree, pointing to a side alley that turned behind a rotting wooden hovel. Screams jolted them and forced them to hide by flattening themselves against the moldy building: a pair of drunken elves passed them without noticing, staggering and holding each other wobbly. One of them stumbled, dragging his companion with him against a pile of stacked wooden crates and knocking most of them over, then they crawled away in the mud, swearing.

The Dalish saw Kallian shake her head disapprovingly, before emerging from her hiding place and resuming her walk.

Distracted, Aenor almost ran into her when she suddenly stopped in front of a building, the wooden door once painted blue and now peeling and dirty, a latch dangling off.

"Is this it?" She asked, trying not to let her disappointment show on how Kallian had lived in that depressing place.

Kallian nodded before resting one hand on the wood of the door, the other clasped around the knife she wore on the belt, unsheathing it slowly.

Aenor did the same, again admiring the lightness and maneuverability of the broadsword given to her by Sten. Zevran, behind them, was already ready to face whatever was inside the house.

The door slowly opened with a creak, the old boards of the floor shifting under their weight. With a hint of envy, she noticed that Zevran was the only one who seemed to float above the floor without making a sound.
Inside, it was pitch black; they had been making their way for a couple of feet when someone across the room threw himself at them in a pathetic attempt to catch them off guard.

Not even halfway across the room the Antivan already sprinted forward. A muffled groan and a thud followed as the elf pinned his assailant against the floor.

"Get off me, you bastard!"

"...I've been called worse, you know."

After a moment's hesitation, Kallian let out a cuss. Aenor heard her fumbling with something and after a few moments a light flashed across the room from a small glowing crystal, courtesy of Geralt.
Pressed to the ground, Zevran's weight preventing her from any movement and her arm still clutching a bottle split in half bent behind her back, was a red-haired elf, her furious gaze aimed at the Antivan and her face as red as her pointed ears as she struggled to free herself.

"Shianni?!"

Being called, the prisoner turned in surprise to Kallian, widening her eyes as if she had seen a demon. Kallian kneeled beside them, leaning over the girl and making Zevran let go. "Shianni, it's me."

The prisoner stammered something, before grabbing the hand Kallian let out to her and pulling herself to her feet, the bottle falling to the ground with a thud. Shianni hugged her tightly, hiding her face, shaking and sobbing.

They stayed like that for a few seconds, Kallian in obvious embarrassment as she held her, gently patting her shoulder.

Suddenly, Shianni pulled away from her with a shove, her face streaked with tears and an accusing look on her face. "Where were you?!"

Kallian tried to answer, but she shoved her again.

"Where the fuck were you! You disappeared just like that, in the middle of the night!"

"Let me explain-"

"We though you were dead!" She sniffed loudly, wiping herself with the back of her hand. "Cyrion was distraught, and Soris..." She shook her head, angrily.

"Shianni, where is my father?" Kallian urged her, a note of panic in her voice.

Aenor, approaching the two, noticed that the red-haired smelled of wine.

Shianni shook her head, avoiding the others' gaze. "They have not returned. Not him, not the hahren, not even Nelaros..."

Kallian grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look up. "What does that mean?"

"The Healers, that's what they call themselves, appeared shortly after the purge, as soon as the plague began to spread-"

"Purge? Plague?"

"There's so much you don't know, cousin... After you left, we tried protesting to the Regent and the new Arle. But Howe turned out to be worse than the Kendells, they sent a lot of guards and killed a bunch of innocent people. Then some of us started to get sick, coughs and fevers, and when the healers showed up we thought 'thankfully, the Maker's looking down on us' but soon..." she bit her bottom lip, sobbing. "None of the ones they quarantined ever came out again, and no one outside the Alienage cares, it seems only elves get sick, so they sealed the doors and left us here to die."

"These 'healers'... who are they?" Aenor spoke up, frowning. She'd seen enough mages at work, and that quarantine business was suspicious.

Shianni turned to her in surprise, her gaze wandering over the Vallaslin. "You're a Dalish, aren't you?" She asked her, pointing to the tattoo. "I thought you were some legends..."

Kallian shook her gently. "Shianni, get to the point, please. Who are these healers?"

That brought her attention back to her cousin. "They come from the Tevinter... I don't know much, they have magic staffs and strange robes, they talk about a plague but most of the people they locked up in quarantine seemed perfectly healthy. Nelaros and Cyrion had gone to investigate the disappearance of the hahren..."

"We need to get in there, then."

Shianni widened her eyes. "You might not get out! They might use blood magic, or-"

Aenor arched an eyebrow. "We've faced worse."

Kallian nodded, agreeing with her.

The frightened cousin stared at her intently. "What happened to you...?"

"There will be plenty of time to tell you everything, Shianni, but we don't have time right now. This is Aenor, she's one of only two Grey Wardens left. We'll figure it out."

"And I am Zevran, of the Antivan Crows. Or at least, I was." The elf interjected, feeling left out, gently grabbing the girl's hand and kissing it. "I apologize for before, but you'll have to admit that trying to hit someone with a bottle isn't the best way to start a-"

"Zev, stay focused please."

He gave her a shocked look. "Warden, I could get offended... You know I'm always focused."

Aenor rolled her eyes at the ceiling. "Come on, let's go find a way into this clinic."

The Antivan raised a hand. "Might I suggest a better approach than charging through the door with weapons drawn...?"

 



As they waited for dawn, Shianni and Kallian having retreated to a corner of the house to catch up on what had happened to both of them over the past few months, Aenor was left alone with Zevran.

The elf was running an oiled cloth over one of the blades, silent and lost in his own thoughts.

"Are you alright?"

The other merely hinted at a forced smile. "I'm always fine, aren't I?"

"You know what I mean. I'm not blind, I just noticed that you're a little..."

"Different than usual?" He smiled at her. "I'd try to be more cheery, but the place isn't the best for getting my good spirit back."

"If something happened..."

Zevran lifted a hand, interrupting her. "There's nothing stopping me from completing our mission here, if that's what you're worried about. You can rest easy."

Aenor felt a twinge of irritation rise in her. "Let Fen'Harel have it, the mission, I asked how you are, not if you are able to do your job. Those are two completely different things."

The Antivan arched his eyebrows. "Sorry. I didn't think you really cared."

"Do you think me that cold?"

"No, we just never really got along, that's all. It seems odd that you're suddenly asking me how I spent my day."

The Dalish shrugged. "If you don't want to tell me, fine. You seemed too quiet, and I thought something had happened. Even though we're not exactly best friends, I still worry about my companions, you know." She said defensively.

Zevran smiled, and this time it seemed genuine. "Then I apologize. Let's just say I... ran into an old friend. And it didn't go the way I would have liked."

Aenor had no idea what he was talking about, but she didn't want to be too intrusive. She let a few seconds pass, and it looked like the other had given up on the conversation, when he spoke again.

"The Crows never let someone betray them or leave. And when I failed to kill you and Alistair, the only option they had was to send someone to finish the job. They must have found out I was still alive and sent someone who knew me well." He leaned his head against the wall, gaze wandering around the room. "Taliesin, he... he was like a brother to me. We grew up together, trained together, often worked in pairs. Today he tried to convince me to go back to Antiva with him, after I finally killed you, saying it would have been just like before."

"But you turned him down?"

He nodded. "I realized I didn't want to go back to obeying their orders. Freedom is not bad at all, I've learned to appreciate it. Plus, I get along well with the lot of you." He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "Especially with some."

"Geralt in particular seems to enjoy your company."

He laughed again. "Though not enough! Ah, but never mind, it's nice to have a friend. And Natia isn't bad either, we have quite a few tastes in common... I'll miss them, once this is over, when we will all go our separate ways."

She looked at him with curiosity. "What are you going to do once we defeat the Archdemon?"

"We'll see... I'll travel for a while, I guess. I'll have to get used to being alone again..."

Aenor nodded, not quite knowing what to say. "Thank you, you know. We're lucky they sent you to kill us."

"Absolutely. If they'd sent someone less charming, you probably would not have spared him."

It was Aenor's turn to chuckle. "Obviously."

"You know, my mother was a Dalish."

She turned to look at him, surprised. "Really?"

"Do you think I would lie to you about my mother?"

"No, just that-" She shook her head. "Didn't you say she was a prostitute?"

"One thing doesn't necessarily exclude the other, dear Warden." He gave her an amused look. "She fell in love with a city elf, but he died a couple of years after they moved to Antiva..."

"She had left her Clan for him?"

Zevran nodded, "Love makes you do crazy things, doesn't it? Unfortunately, he left her with nothing but a mountain of debts and few choices on how to pay them off. She died a few months after giving birth to me, though, so I don't remember her much."

"I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about. I wouldn't change a thing, they made me the person I am. Just... I'm feeling a little melancholic today. I'll be fine soon and back to my usual snarky self, don't you worry."

The girl huffed audibly, smiling and pulling a bit closer to his shoulder. "And here I thought I'd get at least a couple of days of silence..."

 

 


With the morning, the Alienage began to wake up.

A few elves were bustling around, but mostly they were concentrated in the main square, where a small crowd of people was growing under the great branches of the Vhenadahl, some barely standing and others only occasionally coughing.

Aenor thought it was just a simple flu, as sometimes it happened within the Clan, but being all crammed into that small space and the particularly cold winter that had just ended must have increased the contagion rate.

Besides, she doubted there was anyone capable of practicing healing magic. She thought for a moment of Marethari, of how many times she had helped her recover from a variety of mishaps. Nostalgia clutched at her stomach, so she tried to focus on something else.

Kallian clutched the knife as if her life depended on it, while casting furious glances at the mages in front of the clinic.

Soris, Shianni's brother, tapped Aenor's shoulder. "Are you really a Dalish?"

Aenor huffed, "Yeah."

"And a Grey Warden, too!" Whispered the flat-ear, completely ignoring how inappropriate that conversation was at such a time. "I never thought a hero of legends would come to help us!"

She sighed again. She felt very unheroic, but it wasn't the time to tell him that. After all, she knew how many absurd stories flat-ears told themselves about the People, and it would take days to explain the true facts to him.
She studied the building in front of them: two mages, in flashy robes clearly from Tevinter, their hoods and wide sleeves decorated with intricate patterns and threads of gold, were analyzing the elves who were crowding into a line seeking treatment, choosing who to send in quarantine inside the clinic and who not.
Aenor noticed that some of those entering seemed perfectly healthy.

"They took advantage of the panic caused by this so-called outbreak, so as soon as one sneezes they run to the healers and those mages..." Kallian left the sentence hanging. Who knows what was going on inside.

"The back door is only manned by a couple of guards, no mages." Zevran, appearing out of nowhere behind them, pointed to a side alley.

"Then let's go find out where they're taking them." Kallian said, turning back to Shianni. "Do you think you can create a diversion for a while?"

The flat-ear answered with an amused grimace. "I've always been great at making a scene...” With that said, she walked confidently towards the center of the crowd, pointing an accusing finger at one of the two mages. "You! You're just tricking us, where are all the people you're supposed to have cured?"

The man frowned, slamming his staff on the ground. "You again?!"

Some of the elves in the queue snapped at her. "Yes, Shianni, go back to your bottles!"

"Are you trying to get us killed?!"

"Can't you see this is a trap!" She insisted, red in the face.

An elf holding a very small child who was whimpering softly, shoved her in an attempt to move up and get closer to the mage. "Just because it's taking time doesn't mean we're not being treated!"

"They got the hahren! And none of you fools suspect a thing..."

The child burst out crying as a buzz arose in the crowd that quickly turned into a large scuffle, the mages calling someoneinside the clinic to calm the tempers and restore order. No one paid any attention to Aenor and the other two as they slipped out the back.

"For once, I'm glad Shianni is such a brawler..." commented Soris scratching his ear.

The two guards were still where Zevran had said they would be. The Antivan bent over, feigning a powerful coughing fit, and stumbled over to one of the two, who grabbed him just in time.
"Hey, knife-ears, better get-” The shem couldn't even finish the sentence that he found himself with a knife between his ribs. Legs suddenly soft, he slumped to the ground. Aenor charged at the other, blades clashing violently, but shortly the fight ended in the girl's favor. She then searched his pockets, finding the key to the door and tossing them to Soris, who stared at them in shock.

"Open up and then hide immediately." Kallian warned him, nocking an arrow.

The door creaked open and the mage inside barely had time to turn around when an arrow sticked put of his throat, cutting off his shout of surprise.

Aenor threw herself on the nearest guard, armed with two short swords. She dodged a lunge by moving to the side, parrying the second blow to the head with the hilt. She turned on herself and rotated her wrist, managing to disarm her opponent. Soon after, the other shem met the same end under one of Zevran's daggers.

Two terrified elves, bound with a rope, screamed in pain as another mage used the sharp blade on his staff to slash their abdomens. The temperature of the room dropped precipitously as the blood-mage used their life to unleash a violent blizzard of ice.

"Kallian!" Aenor screamed, feeling the ice pinning her leg to the floor and her limbs going numb.

An arrow hissed past her ear in the direction of the mage, but bounced off the invisible barrier.

The Dalish was now frozen almost to the torso. Desperately, she clutched her right leg in a clumsy attempt to free himself. The mage raised his staff above the head, twirling it, then pointed it at the archer, the blizzard raging around them as it built up mana.

He threw a series of ice shards, a moment before a cloud of smoke exploded at him.

It all happened in a matter of moments.

The mage's incantation was interrupted by coughs as he gripped his throat trying to catch his breath.

Soris, who had stayed behind and therefore unharmed, slumped to the ground with a groan, snapping forward to protect his cousin. Kallian let out a muffled cry, running towards him.

Zevran, after throwing the smoke bomb, with the small knife in his hand aimed at the now defenseless mage, hitting him in the chest just below the heart.

Aenor felt the grip of ice loosen and shatter. Free at last, she hurried to lock the clinic's front door, afraid that others would break in after hearing the commotion. She strained her ears, but the excited shouting from outside had not yet ceased, and the Tevinters outside seemed oblivious to it all.

"You bloody fool!"

Kallian, leaning over Soris, was helping him back to his feet, injured but not severely.

Chapter 37: Denerim - Alienage

Summary:

Kallian, Aenor and Zevran enter the Alienage clinic. Kallian realizes how much she has changed since the beginning of her journey.

Notes:

I will finish this story, I promise. Life's a mess.

Thanks to who's still sticking with me.

Chapter Text

"You fool!"

Kallian squeezed her cousin, though she wanted to scold him more harshly for the scare he'd given her. When Soris had come between her and the spell and had fallen to the ground, for an horrible moment Kallian had thought him dead.

Soris' mouth twisted into a grimace, trying to smile at her reassuringly without much success. "I can't always leave it all up to you..."

"She's right, it was reckless."

They turned in surprise to Aenor, who was frowning at him from top to bottom.

"Still I-" he tried to retort, but was instantly silenced.

"Killing slavers is not a job for flat-ears."

Kallian cast her an offended glare. "There are 'flat-ears', as you call us, perfectly capable of handling themselves."

The other tilted her head slightly to one side. "So far, I've only met one."

"Only because you Dalish care only about yourselves and no one else." She blurted out, unable to hold in all that she had been thinking for months. "Soris was brave."

Aenor didn't seem impressed at all. "He almost got killed and he's not a trained fighter. Courage alone isn't enough, it becomes stupidity."

The city elf was about to talk back, when Zevran stepped in between them, hands raised. "As much as this discussion may lead to interesting conclusions for both sides, we don't have time. If he is unable to continue, let him stay here and guard the door, once we get rid of those out there we shouldn't have any more problems."

Kallian would have liked to add something, but she bit her tongue cast a furious glance at the Dalish. "If we kill the two mages out there, it'll cause a ruckus."

"Would you rather they go back in and attack us from behind?" Aenor challenged her. "If they're chicken enough to fall into a trap like that, trusting the care of Tevinter mages, I doubt the flat-ears could give us any trouble even if they attacked us for taking out their precious healers."

"We're not here to slaughter civilians!" Kallian growled, losing her patience and clutching the bow in her hands. "How can you think that about your own people!"

"They are not my people, I thought I made that quite clear." Said the Dalish, frostily. "They are cowards, dogs trained by their shemlen masters, who are throwing themselves into the arms of the slavers."

"Don't you dare-"

"What are you getting so upset about?!" Aenor interrupted her. "You think that, too, after all. You only left and came back here because you had to. And you're careful not to stay, horrified at the very thought of bowing down to the first shem that passes you by. You're no longer one of them, Kallian." She pointed to the closed door, from which came a hubbub of elves gathered in the square below the Vhenadahl.

Those words hit her like a cold shower.

There was a kernel of truth in them, but had she really changed so much in a matter of months?

"If you really despise us so much, no one is forcing you to stay, just leave. I'm sure you'll still win the bloody Landsmeet, none of those nobles give a damn about us anyway. And from what I've seen so far, you Dalish are no different!" Kallian saw Aenor grit her teeth but ignored it, the anger brooded for years against "the true elves" finally coming out. "You hide in the woods, constantly moving around in fear of humans and sticking to what little you have left from ancient times, not caring about the real problems of your fellow elves and pretending to be so superior, when in reality you are nothing but uptight cowards and idlers, too busy to-!"

The punch that landed right in her face didn't surprise her in the least.

Her cheekbone throbbing painfully, Kallian stared at Aenor with disdain, unmoving. "As I thought."

She then walked past her, heading toward the window and casting a glance at the square packed with elves. They were her people, she had grown up there, among them, and yet... why did they now looked like strangers to her?

"Now they're exposed." Zevran told her, silently coming up behind her and pointing to the two mages outside, who had their backs to them. He looked like he wanted to ignore the entire conversation that had just taken place as he tossed the small knife into the air, catching it back on the fly. "Unless you want to take the risk of us getting caught from behind, it's a good time to get rid of them."

He was speaking only to her. She was the one he was asking how to proceed, not the Warden. The task of deciding how to resolve that situation was hers, and hers alone.

Kallian nodded. They could not allow the mages to survive. She only hoped that the crowd would disperse in panic and would go hide in their homes, instead of deciding to gather their courage and attack the unknown assailants in the clinic.

She sent up a silent prayer to the Maker as she nocked an arrow and let it go, the stricken mage collapsing to the ground mortally wounded, the feathers poking out between his shoulder blades.

The other was barely noticed the attack, then Zevran's knife did the same to him, cutting off a scream in his throat.

After a very long moment of dismay, an uproar broke out in the square.

Scared cries, people running in all directions fearing to be under fire while two armed guards tried to find the culprits but ended up just like the mages.

Soon, the only one left under the great branches of the Vhenadahl, crouched between the roots and the trunk, was Shianni. She gave them a nod, though they knew she could not see them.

Kallian then turned to her cousin, who was meanwhile bandaging his wounds with strips of cloth torn from the curtains. "Soris, you stay here. If anyone tries to get in, hide and pretend you've been here since before the attack, like any other elf brought in here. We're going to go retrieve my father and the others."

He nodded, pale in the face. "I'm sorry I can't help much, Kallian.... I'm useless."

She shook her head. "If you hadn't gotten in the way, I might be dead. You've done more than enough, but rest for now. We'll be back in a bit."

Without waiting for Aenor, still angry with her, Kallian stepped into the hallway at the end of the west wall of the room. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that the Dalish, after a moment of hesitation, followed after.

They exited into a muddy courtyard, continuing in silence towards another building even more skeletal than those that surrounded it, the rotten wood creaking under their footsteps.

She knew that place, there were many tiny apartments for rent, often consisting of a single room shared by an entire family, dirty and cramped.

The hallway was deserted, except for a series of boisterous laughs coming from behind a half-opened wooden door.

She rested her ear on the surface, careful not to make a sound while peeking in: inside, five armed men with the city guard emblem on their chests were drunkenly toasting. "To easy money!"

She felt the blood pumping in her ears, and that rage didn't leave her even when their bodies were on the ground, agonizing, eyes wide with terror, dark beer spilled on the floor mixed with scarlet blood.

They took advantage of the elves, of their inability to rebel, exploiting how after centuries of submission her people no longer had the strength to oppose their oppressors.

They walked on in silence.

The trio passed through a series of cramped corridors, the unhealthy air clinging to their nostrils with a stench of mold and dust making it difficult to breathe. The only people they encountered were a small family of skinny elves, almost motionless except for small coughs, so pale they looked dead.

"We'll be back to help you." Kallian whispered, leaving them a small flask of clean water she carried at her side. The mother took it with a trembling hand, croaking a weak thanks.

They followed some blood trails to the dungeon, where thanks to Zevran's alertness they managed to disable a row of deadly traps.

"Amateurs.." sneered the Antivan “That couldn't even stop-"

"Well, these guys look way too sharp, guys, those Fereldians can't do shit after all."

Greeting them, clad in light armor and a large bow her hand, was an elf. Pointed ears clearly visible even beneath the well-crafted hood of Tevinter style. She shot them an inquisitive look, weighing them, before opening up in a grimace. "I recognize those tattoos... it'll be fun to put a woods savage in the service of some lucky Magister."

Kallian, her bow already ready and aimed at her, felt a clasp of rage. "You're an elf too, how can you do this?!"

The other's laughter covered her words, as the rest of the men joined in. "Give me a break. Do you really think I have anything in common with these ratti?" She sneered at her, the grin widening further, malevolent. "I am a loyal servant of Minrathous, that's all that matters. While these pathetic rejects can only be slaves, it is in their nature."

"You fucking traitor."

Kallian turned in surprise to Aenor, who added something in elven that she could not quite grasp, however the Dalish's bloodthirsty gaze was enough to interpret it.

The new sword already drawn, glowing sinisterly in the dim light of the flashlights hanging on the wall, Aenor stared her down with open disgust. "They may be cowards, but if there's anything worse than being a rabbit, it's a damn slaver."

The Tevinter elf was not intimidated. "I'm not a fool, I can see you might give me a run for my money. If you let me go-"

It was Kallian's turn to interrupt her. "If you think we'd let you walk away your own two feet, you're sadly mistaken." She let go of the arrow, but it bounced off the pauldron oh her armor, the Tev had moved just in time.

“I have to agree with my companions”, added Zevran, throwing a knife and hitting one of the slavers, who whimpered down to the ground, “the wise move would have been to scatter off a while ago.”

It was a violent clash, but in the end they managed to prevail over the slavers.

They continued along the long passage in front of them, without speaking to each other. Kallian was secretly glad that Aenor had stayed and that, in spite of everything, she stood up for the elves of the Alienage. She did not mention it, however, fearing that she would return to the discussion. It was not the right time.

From the distance they traveled, she imagined they must be somewhere beneath one of the port's warehouses, the perfect place to get loads of slaves out without anyone seeing or suspecting anything shady.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pressed against the warehouse's, wet cloths pressed to their noses and mouths, they exchanged a nod before throwing smoke bombs inside.

The explosion of non-toxic gas (they didn't know if there were also captive elves inside) took the enemy mage and his thugs by surprise as they tried to take cover shaking with cough.

By the time a spell managed to wipe out the smoke, two out of five guards were already lying dead on the ground.

"Damn wild dogs!" Ranted the mage, summoning a firestorm around him. One of his men was not quick enough to flinch and was burned alive amidst terrible screams, while the remaining two rushed to hurl themselves at Aenor and Zevran.

Kallian, hiding behind a stack of wooden crates above the stairs, safe from the flames, targeted the mage with her arrows, but they bounced off a protective barrier.

A fireball exploded against the crates, knocking her away.

She hit her head against the stone wall, her vision blurring for a few moments. She crawled to safety, feeling the back of her head and feeling blood running down her back. She gritted her teeth, trudging through the flames and debris, reaching for her bow.

The ironwood was heat resistant and fortunately didn't seem to have sustained any damage. The same could not be said for the arrows, the quiver lying on the ground not far away, half of the arrows now useless.

She cursed magic for the umpteenth time, nocking and aiming at one of the two men still standing. The arrow hit the target, who fell to the ground with a groan, wounded but alive.

In horror, she saw Zevran get hit by a spell and sent to the opposite side of the warehouse. The elf collapsed to the ground like a sack of potatoes, motionless, while the mage brought his attention to the wounded soldier on the ground.

He shouted something, but the mage lifted his staff and drove it hard into the soldier's chest, piercing him through.

Tentacles of blood magic rose up around them, dancing menacingly against Aenor.

The Dalish, busy with the last henchman, parried a magical blow with her broadsword, which seemed to glow for a moment on contact as the elf stepped back, pressed on two fronts.

"Maker, let her hold on a little longer!" Kallian pleaded, trying to creep silently behind the stair rail to get a better view of the mage while downstairs the Warden dodged the combined attacks of the two, but only just.

When the man's blade went past the elf's guard, Kallian held her breath, but the Dalish took advantage of the momentary imbalance to wedge the enemy's blade between her arm and her side, gritting her teeth in pain as the sword slashed through her flesh, knocking him off his feet and disarming him.

Aenor swung her greatsword, severing his head in one last effort, before she stumbled forward and nearly fell to the ground, hand pressed against her bleeding side.

The mage let out a cry of victory, raising his staff again to pin the Warden down. Kallian quivered, waiting for the right moment.

"Teyrn Loghain had mentioned what a nuisance you were..." He was panting hard as he approached Aenor, a malevolent grin on his face. He must have used a lot of energy, but he didn't seem to be giving in. "Of course, I expected more than just three pathetic elves, you're nothing more than a little girl." He licked his teeth in an obscene gesture. "You're quite a catch, I wonder how much the Magisters would pay to have you..."

He touched her with the tip of his magic staff, generating an electric shock that spread throughout the elf's body, making her scream in pain amidst spasms.

Kallian ignored the claws of terror that seemed to scratch her sternum, chasing away the memory, waiting – there it was – for the right time to strike. The barrier was lowered for a tiny moment.

From that distance, it was impossible for her to miss.

The arrow pierced the man's shoulderblades, sending a jolt through the arm that held the staff and making him fall to the ground interrupting the spell.

A second arrow pierced just beyond the center of his back, cutting off his creams of pain and making him slump to the floor.

Kallian ran down the stairs, making sure Aenor could stand and then facing the mage.

"Where is everyone?!"

He spat a lump of blood on the floor, without answering.

Kallian raised her bow and struck him in the jaw, hard, breaking a few teeth. "Speak!"

The man coughed violently, crawling away towards Aenor. "Warden!" He croaked in terror, his nails scratching at the wooden planks. "Grey Warden, I can help you. Spare me, I will make you powerful, very powerful! Allow me to sacrifice the slaves and-"

The Dalish, who was barely holding on by propping herself up on her broadsword, looked at him with disdain, snarling something in elvhen. "If I wanted to defeat the Blight by sacrificing innocents, I would have asked my own blood mage." She then shifted her gaze to Kallian, ignoring the man's gasps. "This one's all yours. I'll go make sure Zevran is breathing." She told her, limping away conspicuously, hand pressed to the side to slow the bleeding.

Alone in front of the slaver, Kallian bent over her knees, face facing his. "Was it Loghain who allowed you to do this?"

The Tev sneered. "Loghain, Howe, Minrathous... what difference does it make who sells and buys rats like you?"

She grabbed him by the lapel, yanking him until he screamed in pain. "Where did you bring them." She asked again, tightening her grip until he turned purple. She then dropped him to the floor, gasping for air. "Answer me!"

"Kirkwall, and from there Minrathous." He grinned one last time. "You'll never see your friends again."

Kallian plunged the knife into the back of his head, twisting the handle. His body was shaken by spasms, then became motionless.

It couldn't be. If only she'd gotten there sooner, his father....

"Kallian!"

She turned, alarmed, fearing another attack.

Aenor and Zevran, lweakly supporting each other, battered but both standing, pointed her to a closed door, behind which an excited clamor could now be heard.

She ran in that direction, kicking it open and breaking the rusty latch.

Her heart missed a beat when her gaze met the familiar one of his father.

Cyrion, held in a cage along with twenty or so other elves, leaned towards her, shouting something she couldn't understand, so excited was she to see him safe and sound.

She hurried to free them, then melting into a liberating cry once she found herself in his arms, hiding her face on his shoulder. "I missed you, dad..."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"They definitely needed a real healer..."

Kallian nodded, as the line of elves slowly advanced. Wynne and Morrigan had taken over fake clinic of the Alienage, handing out concoctions and healing spells to anyone who needed them.

"Arle Eamon was kind to force the reopening of the Alienage..."

She shot Leliana a skeptical look. "I don't think he cares much really, he's probably just trying to put himself, Alistair and Elissa in a good light. Once Loghain's deals with the Tevinter slavers are made public, they'll emerge as champions of justice and laws." She watched as two children chased a shaggy cat through the muddy alleys, the animal managing to get to safety on a shed, hissing like crazy as the two began to laugh. "All this without actually moving a finger."

"Tomorrow this whole thing will finally be over." Leliana tried to reassure her, gently tapping her arm with her fingers.

Kallian didn't think things would change much for the Alienage, but she hoped that Elissa and Alistair would prove to be better rulers than their predecessors, attentive to the problems of even the poorest of the capital.

Surely they would never stoop to such atrocities as slavery, but the servitude to which most of the elves living in Denerim were subjected was, by many accounts, almost as terrible.

She felt a few drops of rain fall on her nose. She looked up at the gray clouds that announced a storm.

"Kallian, Lady Leliana, will you come in?" Cyrion called to her from the doorway, smiling. "I've put the kettle on."

His daughter nodded, standing up and clutching her warm fur cloak.

"Just call me Leliana, please." Said the human as she entered, removing a damp lock of red hair from her forehead.

Kallian walked over to the kettle on the stove, taking some leaves and letting them steep in the water a few minutes, then pouring the tea into three cups, noticing that her father had brought out the good ones for the occasion.

Which actually consisted of the only three matching cups they had.

She ran her fingertip over the small chip on the rim, dating back many years.

Cyrion seemed to conjure up from nowhere a small box, closed with a blue bow, which he opened with a wide smile revealing the butter biscuits she loved so much.

"Alarith says hello and thanks you again by sending these." He told his daughter. She took one, tasting it with eyes closed and head filled with warm memories.

Leliana took one too, dipping it gracefully into the tea as she looked around. Kallian suddenly felt a little self-conscious, aware that, although by the Alianage standards their home was warm and welcoming, to the other woman's eyes it must have looked little more than a hovel. Still, Leliana didn't seem to mind, sipping tea at ease from the weathered cup.

At some point, her father stood up again, heading into the other room. She heard him rummaging around for something, then returning with a cloth-wrapped package in his arms.

"Before you leave again, Kallian, there's something I should have given you years ago," Cyrion spoke, handing her the package.

She leaned over, placing the cup on the wobbly wooden coffee table and grabbing it. She opened it gently, intrigued, pulling out a short dagger, the handle featuring intricate floral decorations. She freed the blade from its sheath, still sharp and shiny.

She recognized it immediately.

"Dad..." The words died in her throat, overcome with melancholy.

"Adaia wanted you to have it." He said caressing her hair, a sad smile on his face. "Maybe if I hadn't waited so long to give it to you, if I hadn't been afraid you might get in some kind of trouble, you could have..." He sighed, unable to finish his speech. "In any case, it's yours now. I owe you my life, and like me most of the Alienage. Besides, Fang was meant for braver people than me."

Kallian jumped up, hugging him awkwardly, holding him close. He was thinner than she remembered him, his gray hair now almost white despite the fact that it had only been a few months since they'd last seen each other. "Thanks, Dad." She wanted to add something, to tell him that it hadn't been his fault, in any way, that even with a whole amory couldn't have made things any different, that despite everything she was getting through it, that she was sorry she'd left in the night like a thief and made him worry, but the words refused to come out and so she tried to convey everything she felt in that hug. "I love you so much."

"I do too, my child." He whispered, placing a kiss on her hair. "I just wish Adaia could see you now..." He shook his head, smiling. "Now let's drink the tea, before it gets cold. And I would not wish for our guest to feel left out."

Leliana was watching the dagger, intensely. "Did you say... Adaia?"

Kallian realized only in that instant that she had never called her mother by her first name in front of her. She nodded.

"I met an Adaia, when I was in Denerim for the first time, six years ago..."

The elf widened her eyes, feeling a gnawing in her stomach.

"She had been locked up in the cells of the Arle-"

Cyrion shook his head. "That's not possible, my wife died ten years ago."

Leliana frowned, biting her lip. "I'm sorry, I thought- Yet now that I think about it she looked a lot like Kallian, and the name is not so common..."

Silence fell. The elf, pale as a rag, approached Leliana, looking her in the eyes. "Are you sure? Could she really still be alive, after four years...?"

"She'd said she'd been locked away for a long time, and... Oh Maker, they must have accused her of the murders I committed to escape-!"

Kallian jerked up, heart pounding in her chest, head spinning as a sense of nausea gripped her insides. She was gasping for air.

She ran outside.

Rain drenched her clothes as she approached the large tree in the center of the square. She clung to the bark of the Vhenadahl, afraid of falling, leaning against it. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. Slowly, the panic attack ceased as it had come.

She sat on the ground in the mud, legs too weak to stand, hair dripping with water in the pouring rain.

"Kallian?"

She looked up.

Leliana, as soaked as she was, her hair sticking to her face and her boots muddy, knelt beside her, brushing a shoulder against her. "Are you...?"

She was always so perfect, how was that possible?

Kallian nodded, "I'm sorry, I'm-" She shook her head sighing, unable to explain. "You're going to catch a cold because of me."

"I don't care. I wanted to... apologize."

The elf bit down her lip until it hurt. "There's nothing to apologize for. It wasn't your fault."

"I could have made sure she got out safely, or-"

She stood up sharply, suddenly wanting to get out of that place. Go back to wandering around Ferelden, leave all that damn pain behind. She had only found her father again to remember how her mother had been ripped from her so unfairly.

Leliana sighed. "I didn't know her for long, Adaia, but she was brave. Like you."

Kallian felt herself blush. She shook her head. "I don't remember her much. Just a few things, stupid things like her brushing my hair or eating biscuits together, the rest is lost forever. And now..."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged, shivering from the cold. "So am I. But it's not your fault, we thought she was long dead. I just wish..." I'd seen her one last time. To be able to apologize to her. She sniffed, wiping her tears now mixed with raindrops.

Leliana, unexpectedly, hugged her close, sheltering her under the cloak. "I know."

She understood her, they had both lost so much. She felt comfort in her arms, slowly returning to normal breathing, heartbeats getting slower.

She realized she was inches from Leliana's face. She could count the freckles on her nose as Leliana smiled faintly at her, smell her scent despite the mud surrounding them.

Kallian leaned toward her, resting her lips on the other's soft ones.

It was so different from kissing a man, more gentle yet sensual, intoxicating as she pulled her close, deepening the contact.

"I was afraid you'd never do that." Leliana whispered when they pulled away a little, each lost in the other's eyes, moving a strand of hair behind her intact ear. "I didn't mean to be insistent..."

The elf smiled, cheeks burning. "I wasn't sure either. I made you wait a long time."

Leliana kissed her again. "I would have waited until the next era, for you."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"So..."

"So."

They avoided looking at each other, unsure of what to say.

Kallian watched without interest as a cockroach climbed the wall of Alarith's commissary. They were sitting on a wooden barrel under the porch, in awkward silence.

Nelaros, for his part, seemed equally at a loss for words. "I owe you my life for the second time." He said at last. "Without you, I would already be on a ship bound for Tevinter."

"I only did my job." She spoke, uncomfortably. "I'm only sorry I was too late, the Hahren..."

"You did everything you could." He interrupted her. "If you hadn't shown up, no one else here would have lifted a finger."

"You tried."

"And look where I ended up." He shook his head, sighing. "I don't have it in me to handle weapons, I'm only good at forging them."

Kallian wanted to correct him, to tell him that surely there would be others to rise up, to fight their oppressors, but she stood silent. Deep down, she knew he was right. And she also had to acknowledge that as a warrior, Nelaros was quite useless. It wasn't even his fault, any elf found with a weapon drawn could be executed instantly by the guards, let alone if anyone would dare training.

Only she, who had had a mother from a Dalish Clan, had received some instruction on how to shoot a bow and know her way around a dagger. Adaia had always worried about her daughter being able to defend herself if necessary, which had led to her mother being locked up and killed in the dungeon of the Arle.

All for nothing, given how it had ended up later at their wedding... No, she corrected herself, in the end she was right. I learned from my mistakes and came out stronger.

She could take care of herself, and she walked proud among the humans. She was no longer an Alienage elf, too afraid and hopeless to stand up for herself.

"Will you stay here?" Nelaros asked her, distracting her from her thoughts.

She shook her head. "No, as soon as the Landsmeet is resolved and the Blight defeated, I will leave again."

"We could try again, you know?" He offered, blushing. "I know our marriage was never really done, and sure we've been through a lot, especially you, but... I'm not going to let you down, if you'll have me. You're a special person, Kallian, and I would really like having you around."

She smiled. "No, Nelaros. It couldn't work anymore."

He remained disappointed. "Is it because of what happened with Kendells?"

She bit her lip, thinking about it. "No, or at least, not just. I don't expect you to understand, but... I'm no longer the girl who was getting married, or the body with no will to live that they dug up in an alley after being tossed out of Vaughan's like garbage, or even the rage-filled creature who went looking for the heroes who lived in the woods to take revenge and kill all the humans." Nelaros looked at her confused. Kallian shrugged. "I've traveled with all kinds of people and... I've discovered a self I didn't think I could be, I've even met someone special. I can't give that up. I don't want to."

Nelaros scratched his forehead. "I didn't understand much about it, but... are you happy?"

She nodded.

"Then that's enough for me. I'm happy for you, really. Although..." he seemed uncertain whether or not to ask her anything. Finally, he seemed to make up his mind. "Is it true about you and the human woman, then?"

Kallian frowned for a moment, surprised. "How...?"

"I heard your father and Shianni gossiping. Shianni, mostly. She always talks loudly and-"

The elf burst out laughing. "Yes, I am aware of that. Anyway, yes, Leliana and I are very close." She stared into his eyes, curious. "Do you have a problem with that?"

The other smiled. "No, not at all." He leaned his back against the wall, his gaze wandering over the square. "I'm too boring a guy for someone as special as you. But I'm glad to know you."

"You're not boring at all, Nelaros. And I'm sure you'll find someone perfect for you." She realized how clichè those words sounded the moment she said them. "I mean it, for real."

He arched an eyebrow. "Thank you. Well, I wouldn't have enough money to go back to Highever anyway, even if I wanted to. I thing I'll just stay here and look for a job. With the Blight and everything, there's bound to be someone who needs an apprentice blacksmith, right? And who knows, maybe I'll find a good match, even if she'll never be as brave as you."

Kallian laughed again. "She'll definitely be prettier."

"I never thought you weren't, not for a moment."

She knew he was probably lying, but she didn't care. The scars on her were part of who she was now. What mattered was that they were healing, and with them so were the bad memories.

"I could put in a good word for you with the future king and queen of Ferelden." She offered, changing the subject. "They would pay you well, straight from the royal coffers."

"You really know them?"

She nodded, "They're good people."

Nelaros didn't sound too convinced. "In Highever, there wasn't much regard for the Couslands in the Alienage. They didn't care about us at all, and the city guards did theyr thing as much as they do here."

"Elissa is different." She caught herself surprised sticking up for the woman. "And Alistair will make a much better king than his half-brother, I'm sure."

"You have a lot of faith in them, for two humans."

Kallian shrugged. "My mother always said that not all humans were bad people. Just people, and everyone is different." She smiled at the memory, when as a child she huffed that she didn't believe it, that it couldn't be true. She turned out to be right.

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