Author's note: This tale is going to be fairly grim and disturbing, so consider yourselves warned. Don't complain later if you get freaked out by all the nasty stuff that happens! This is what makes blood magic evil, kids!
Chapter 1 of 4
Maythre paced restlessly through the upper halls of the partly renovated Warden's Keep. The air inside was chilly and damp, the few stoves they had lit seemed to give very little heat and they needed to save the firewood. There was no telling how long they would have to stay in this inhospitable place, far up in the Soldier's Peak. Maythre stopped for a moment, casting a glance at the landscape outside, pine branches heavy with snow against the backdrop of barren cliffs. And as usual, there was no sign of movement along the narrow road leading up to the fortress. I shouldn't expect them so soon, they might need more than a week to get here, she reminded herself.
It was a little over two years now since the armies loyal to Eamon had crushed Queen Anora's forces on the frozen plains near Gwaren. Anora had hoped that at the site that once ignited the spark of revolution led by Maric, Rowan and her own father, Loghain MacTir, somehow the spirits of ancient battles would tip the scales in her favour, but it was not to be. Between Cauthrien's tactical brilliance and Maythre's audacity and cunning, Anora's army was decisively routed. Even though Maythre had hoped to take Anora alive for a spectacular public execution that the citizens of Denerim were so fond of, the queen had refused to be captured, throwing herself on the tip of a sword when the outcome appeared inevitable.
The queen is dead. Long live the queen. Maythre thought. Long live the queen, indeed. She had twenty six or seven years left before the blighted blood in her veins killed her. For an elf, it might have as well been twenty six days. She hadn't married the old Arl and fought so hard to become the queen of this land, just to see her tenure be so laughably short. No, she was going to do something about it. That was why they had come here, back to Warden's Keep.
She flexed her fingers a few times before breathing on them, her warm breath bringing some measure of life back to the freezing limbs. She was nearly done with her own preparations, the discoveries of Avernus had been dissected and carefully studied dozens of times over, each and every pass yielding yet another idea, finding another small flaw that she knew could be corrected, expanding her own wild theories and giving them more solid credibility. There was not much she felt she could improve on now, they needed to get down to some real lab work, but for that she had to wait. In the meanwhile, all she could do was to study more and try not to freeze while doing so.
Maythre walked downstairs, through the poorly maintained halls, filled with broken furniture and collapsed pieces of plastering and other rubble. The Drydens had done good work with the second floor, but they had barely touched the main floor before Maythre had asked them to leave again. There was no need for witnesses of what was about to happen, and it was fortunate for the Dryden family that despite the unpleasant surprise that the request took them by, they chose not to argue against Maythre's wishes.
The creaking stairway leading down to the basement was dark and treacherous to navigate. Her hand grasped the wooden banister, cold and dusty, nearly making her recoil in disgust. But she kept holding on to it as she advanced downwards, where a sparse light greeted her arrival. The freezing chill here was even worse, and she supposed something would have to be done about it, if anything here was to survive for at least a week or two.
The basement probably should have been referred to as dungeon, Maythre remarked while staring ahead. Black metal bars of the many holding cells lined the corridor down all of its length. In the dim candlelight she saw a figure working, crouched on the floor, so deeply enthralled in their work that they didn't even sense her appearance. The smell of stale air and cold sweat assaulted her nostrils, as she watched Zevran slowly removing a loose metal rod from the ground and carefully setting it aside. Only then he took notion of her presence.
"Ah, did you finally get bored reading your old books?" he chuckled as she approached. "I wouldn't blame you if it were so!"
"Getting numb from the cold was more of a reason," she replied.
"Well, if you wanted to escape the cold then you came to the wrong place," Zevran said, then grinning mischievously. "Of course, I can think of several dozen ways how we could both work up some heat."
"I know you can," she allowed a small smile. "But I am concerned about this cold here, they might all freeze to death too soon."
"Don't worry. The stoves on the main floor actually extend partly into the basement," Zevran pointed at the end of the corridor. Maythre wasn't sure what she was supposed to see there, but she decided to trust Zevran. "We just need to light them, and they should give enough heat to sustain them for a while."
"Good," Maythre nodded. "How is everything coming along?"
"The chains have all been fastened, I have tested every one of them," the elf replied with a sense of pride in his voice. "They are in perfect condition. The only thing left is to check and replace some of the bars. But it shouldn't take more than a couple of days."
Maythre smiled in acknowledgment. If you wanted to build a safe, secure prison that nobody could escape from, who was the best fit for the job? Surely it was a rogue, someone whose trade occasionally called them to escape from places like this. There was a reason why Maythre trusted Zevran implicitly that everything would be in perfect order once their guests arrived.
"How many was it again?" Zevran asked suddenly.
"Eighteen."
"I was remembering correctly then," he said with a nod. Then, after a longer pause, he went on. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"
"I thought we had this conversation already," she snapped back, irritated. "Do I want to? No, I don't want to. But I also don't want to die. So I do this because I have to."
"I don't want you to die either," he looked up at her, for a moment looking a little desperate, until his cheerful confidence crept back into that cheeky smile of his.
"Then let us talk no more of what we must do," she said flatly. He held her gaze, nodding. There was no going back, and they both knew it.
Three days passed slowly. One afternoon, after Zevran's caringly prepared dinner, admirably tasty considering their sparse resources, Maythre found herself sitting in the comfiest chair she had managed to find in the quarters of the former Grey Warden commander, Sophia Dryden. For once she was not freezing. Zevran had finished the last preparations of the dungeon the day before, and the morning was spent chopping up some of the old furniture to provide them more firewood. Well, of course Zevran had been doing all the work, while she had been sitting nearby and watching his impressive efforts. Considering that an axe generally wasn't his tool of choice, he had done very well.
Now the stoves on all floors roared happily, filling the ancient keep with soothing warmth that it hadn't felt for years. The old furniture burned far too quick and gave off less heat than proper pine firewood, but it was still a big relief, buying them several more days of stay here at Warden's Keep. And hopefully that would be enough.
The pleasant absence of cold was almost starting to make Maythre drowsy, when suddenly she heard sounds coming from outside. Clanking of armour and chains, heavy footsteps along the snowy trail indicated the arrival of the guests they had been waiting for, of that there could be no mistake. She quickly dove towards the window, peering outside. Indeed, there they were, she would recognize Cauthrien anywhere, her powerful frame in the matted bronzed plate, atop her black stallion. Row of people in plain clothes followed her slowly, their hands tied behind their backs, chained together in irons. Several guards on foot circled the grim looking caravan, threatening the stragglers to move faster.
"Zevran!" she shouted. "They're here!"
"Already?" he yelled from downstairs. "I guess we better go out and meet them!"
Maythre put on a heavy robe over her shoulders and rushed outside, almost stumbling on her way. Now that they had come this far, all of a sudden she felt horribly nervous, and no matter how hard she tried to suppress it, her heart kept skipping like a spring rabbit. But nervous or not, it was like she had told Zevran, there was no turning back now. She took a deep breath and stepped outside, in her best imperious stride, Zevran following closely behind her.
As soon as Cauthrien saw them, she increased her pace, breaking off from the caravan and riding up to them. "Greetings, my Lady," she bowed her head. "Zevran," she briefly acknowledged the Antivan's existence, but didn't spare so much as a glance.
"It is good to see you, Cauthrien," Maythre said warmly. "I trust you had no complications on your way?" The tall woman's face darkened, and Maythre immediately turned to look at the row of people approaching. It didn't take her long to realize. "What happened? Where are the rest?"
"We had some difficulties. Can we speak in private?" Cauthrien never minced words, no matter how uncomfortable the topic was.
"In a moment," Maythre said quickly, peering in the distance and counting. "Thirteen, I see thirteen... is that right?"
Cauthrien nodded slowly. "I'm afraid so."
"Will this be a problem?" Zevran asked, concerned look on his face.
"I hope not. I don't think it will be, I arranged for more trying to err on the safe side," Maythre shrugged. "It will just have to do."
After a few minutes, the slow procession finally marched into the yard of the Warden's Keep. There was an immediate murmur among the guards and their quarry alike, as soon as they recognized the identity of their hostess. Whispered words, full of fear and piety towards the queen reached her ears, restoring her slightly ruffled confidence. In the time since she had been crowned, she hadn't been sitting idly and playing some kind of doe-like exotic trophy wife, she had been in the middle of each and every issue that arose in Ferelden, earning a reputation of someone fair, but also very ruthless and uncompromising, now being feared yet respected by the majority of her subjects.
"My Queen! I ask you, what is the meaning of this?" suddenly one of the chained prisoners shouted. "Why have we been dragged all the way here from Denerim? Something is clearly wrong here and we demand-" here he was stopped by a guard's sword pommel striking him square in the face, knocking out a few teeth and forcing a spurt of blood from the man's nose.
"Zevran, you will go help the guards. Together, I want you to take the prisoners to the dungeons, and make sure they are locked up tight." Maythre ordered without hesitation. "These men are the most dangerous criminals ever imprisoned in Fort Drakon, and we want to make sure they can't escape."
Zevran nodded and lead the way inside. One after another the guards ushered the confused looking prisoners after him, and a few minutes later Cauthrien and Maythre remained alone on the porch outside.
"We can go upstairs," the queen said. "Nobody will disturb us there." Her general simply nodded in quiet acceptance.
Once they were back inside, Maythre could no longer quell her anger and curiosity. "Enough stalling, I want to know what happened!" she urged the tall warrior.
"The guards, they got sloppy. One night, someone wasn't tied up tight enough, worked himself free of his bonds and nearly freed everyone else as well," Cauthrien explained. "We had to chase nine of them all through the dark of the night, and when we finally caught up with them, they decided to put up a fight. They wouldn't let themselves be captured, three were killed outright, one we had to leave behind because his injuries were too severe, another died day later from his wounds."
"Most disappointing," Maythre said. Her voice was calm again, but Cauthrien knew by now that only meant the queen was particularly angry.
"If Your Majesty says that it was my duty to personally check the bonds of all eighteen prisoners each night, then I will accept it as my fault and will face any punishment you deem fit," Cauthrien said without flinching. "I confess doing so for the first three days, and as I found nothing wrong, I decided to put at least as much trust into the guards. A decision I regret deeply."
"I'm not blaming you one bit, Cauthrien," Maythre said earnestly. The look on the general's face however told her that despite her words she was clearly blaming herself. "In fact, I am sure you did more than anyone else could have in tracking down the escapees. It is the guards that I am most displeased with."
"I would humbly suggest that this is taken out of their salary, but..."
"But we both know they are not getting paid," Maythre smiled coldly. "They don't suspect anything?"
"Not a thing. They expect payment back in Denerim."
"I'm wondering if we could use them instead of the escaped prisoners..." Maythre appeared thoughtful. "They are no longer of any use to us. What do you think?"
Cauthrien shook her head. "The nature of this task has left them very... on edge. Now that they have learned their employer was the Queen herself, they will be even more careful. Taking them by surprise would be very difficult, I would not risk it unless absolutely necessary."
"Very well, I will trust you on this, Cauthrien. We stick with our initial plan. You won't have any trouble going through with it, yes?" Maythre asked. "There must be no witnesses, you know it."
"It is as good as done. The way their mistake brought shame on me will only make it easier for me," the brunette said resolutely. "I only hope that I have not endangered your mission."
"We will be fine," Maythre smiled. "Now go and take care of the guards."
Cauthrien bowed deeply. "My Queen, if you are not back in Denerim within three weeks, I am coming to retrieve you from this damp, stinking hole," she said before leaving. "That is a promise."
"Don't worry, Cauthrien," the queen walked up to her and warmly shook the warrior's hand. "You will see me back in Denerim soon. Just take care of the guards, and we'll take care of... what we must do."
What we must do, Maythre kept thinking, long after Cauthrien had left. Even I recognize the evil of the actions I am about to take. But it is that or a lonely death in Deep Roads. The ones who put me through the Joining are just as responsible for what is about to happen. And I will free myself of the taint... no matter the cost!