The Dragon Age world, plot, and their characters aren't mine but belong to Bioware. Some characters may be my creations. I get no money for writing this. - THIS CHAPTER WAS ORIGINALLY PART OF GRIFFIN'S WALK, BUT SPLIT OUT FOR OTHER WARDENS LATER -
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Imperial Highway, near West Hill
Warden Trinna Cousland -
Our ship from Antiva docked just before winter set in. It had been easy to forget in sunny and hot Antiva that winter arrived so much sooner here at home. Satinalia would arrive before we could make the overland travel through the cold and snow back to Highever.
Fergus' children would be disappointed, but my responsibilities were not those of an aunt right now.
Alistair and I planned to visit the ports along the Waking Sea seeking rumors and contacting those I knew in the region. We didn't have enough winter gear with us to hunt for long. If we pushed hard, I should be able to visit in a month or so and get more gear
We could travel only a quarter of summer distances in the blowing snow on the highway's bed. The rising smoke from chimneys ahead promised us a warm place to sleep. If we were lucky, we'd have our own private room at the inn, instead of sleeping in the common room.
Night fell before we arrived, wet and cold. The barn was little more than a sagging shed, but enough for our hardy steeds. I didn't see an ostler or stable-girl, but we fed the horses before we staggered to the inn itself. Alistair broke the path through the snow and Mouser followed me. I was beginning to shiver as the winds picked up. The signboard waved and squeaked in the rising wind, but I couldn't read it in the dark.
The innkeeper tried to encourage us to sleep in the common room with the handful of others stranded. He seemed regretful we couldn't order a hot bath in our room, too. Alistair took one look at me, shivering, as the melting snow dripped on Mouser and the floor in the warmth. Alistair marched the innkeeper towards the worn steps until he admitted there was a small room tucked up under the roof.
I wanted out of my wet armor and padding. Just about any room would better than sleeping among the vermin I thought I saw in the straw on the floor. Not that watching the rarity of Alistair be intimidating wasn't entertaining, too.
The room was small and there was hoarfrost on the ceiling, but Alistair browbeat the man for fuel for the very small fireplace. Soon a smokey fire was burning away and I finished stripping off my wet padding and laying it over the locked and dusty chests around the room.
It was clear why they hadn't wanted to rent us the room; it was a rarely used room with dust and some cobwebs at the edges. Also clear in the firelight were Alistair's chest muscles as he tried to get his trews off over his boots. He was so entertaining when he was in a hurry. I never tired of the planes and curves of his skin in the firelight. We started that way.
Mouser barked quietly, warning me there was some subtle danger.
I patted his head. "Find it, boy."
Alistair froze, and looked at us suspiciously, kicking off his boots and I could hear stitches break as Mouser went over to the alcove.
I hoped he wasn't about to find any rats. Mouser's name came from my sense of humor and how fond he was of killing rats when he was a pup.
He nosed chests and crates aside a bit, seeking whatever he smelled.
I heard something fall and hit something metal.
That was not normal.
Alistair handed me a dagger, and he had one at hand as we waited for the rat to try to run out and away from that corner.
What rose from that corner was a rank odor, corrupted, and probably dead. I grabbed the wood bucket and dumped the wood out so I could retch. Not much as we hadn't eaten since mid-day.
Alistair had a stronger stomach and opened the tiny window.
I patted Mouser's head and scratched at his ears.
Before we went any further, we dressed in spare dirty clothing and bright armor that made hiding anywhere but a Grey Warden wake difficult. Armed again in perceived authority, we moved the chests, pausing only to gag.
Moving into the alcove, which was larger than it appeared. There was a metal bath with dried blood and other stains. The body seemed mostly dried out. What was once an arm had fallen beside the tub. Around, and partly under the desiccated arm was a set of extra nails or claws that looked like they were made of gold. One of the gold fingernails hadn't fallen off.
Mouser looked uneasy, though proud at what he'd found.
I was tired already and looked at Alistair. I don't know who was the Bann over this area and this was just another delay in hunting for the fugitives. I was both charged with vigilance as a Grey Warden and duty as an Arlessa sworn to the crown. This farm was not in my official duties for either. We were going to piss off the First Warden again, but I was not going to ignore this.
Whoever could afford false gold fingernails should not have disappeared, but the cloth and his or her appearance was almost impossible to identify. We had to investigate... even if this was not how I planned to spend the next few hours.
Alistair looked frustrated too and raked his fingers back from his forehead. "That's just not right."
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A/N: This story was inspired by the monthly prompt set: word=warmth, phrase='That's not just right,'Elements=motel room, set of false fingernails, and blood. Some were tweaked for setting. Thanks to my beta reader who has been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated.