MISERICORDIA

A Dragon Age Novel

Vincit Qui Patitur*

(Ancient Tevinter Proverb)

Prologue

9:30 Dragon, early Kingsway, Outskirts of Lothering

The words Ferelden and summer went together as well as Orlesians and honesty, or so the old saying dating back to the Rebellion would have you believe. The summer of the thirtieth year of the Dragon Age was of particularly volatile nature being expressed in cold showers of rain followed by scorching heat and humidity. A putrid smell of marshlands clung to their surroundings, intertwined with the clamminess of a night time chill descending with ever growing shadows. Tints of orange streaked across the overcast sky between dark clouds and the constant drizzle that had been following them since Ostagar. Even the fire they had managed to set up provided very little warmth, never mind proper light, given that the only wood to be found was drenched in stale water. Even something as mundane as taking a breath felt tiring; it was as if nature itself had been affected by the sheer heaviness tugging both at their exhausted limbs and severely taxed minds. Distrust and hostility clashed in a quiet display of them seated as far apart as reason would permit, one shooting glares of annoyance at the other two huddled together by the larger of the two campfires. A spark of anger at Morrigan lanced through Rhiannon at the thought of the dark haired witch using her magic start a fire for herself instead of making herself useful by using her powers to provide for everyone present. Such petty dislikes were ill conceived at best and dangerous at worst, given the enormous task ahead of them.

But even that mattered little with her other companion swept up in his grief over losing his commander at Ostagar and showing no sign of snapping out of it any time soon. Perhaps she could have been more accommodating to his anguish if he had shown any concern for hers. The events at Highever still seethed through her blood like a venomous poison, she would know no peace until Howe had paid for his treachery. And yet, for all his irksome display of mourning a man she loathed above all others save Howe, there was camaraderie and peace to be found in sharing each other's loads of sorrow, guilt and regret. Leaning back into Gorion's warm body curled up against hers, she continued to comb her long raven tresses, knowing full well that washing her hair would be a luxury she could ill afford while travelling on the road. How did Morrigan keep her dark curls so impeccably clean anyway? Magic, she reasoned, not without a hint of resentment at the older woman's superior behaviour over the pampered nobleman's daughter complaining about having to sleep under the stars. It was not her fault that she was brought up a teyrn's daughter rather than an apostate. She was willing to learn but Morrigan turning up her nose at her wanting soap and her oil of lilacs to feel presentable had not helped things between them in the slightest. Laying down the comb in her lap, she closed her eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. Rhiannon Cousland had always been a social creature and thrived on both conversation and attention. Between the foul tempered witch and crestfallen almost-Templar now Grey Warden, Alistair definitely struck her as more approachable.

Leaning over Gorion who, eager for some attention himself, let loose a pleading whimper, she placed a gentle hand on Alistair's arm. He nearly dropped the pauldron he had been polishing at the unexpected gesture, eyes narrowed by both surprise and clear unease. Undeterred, she let her hand slide down his arm, capturing his hand in a firm, steadying grip.

"If you polish that thing any further, you will be blinded by it come sunup."

His upper body jerked in her direction, eyes dark pits of raging misery and something else she could not quite define. "Given the way I usually fall over my own feet, being blinded won't make that much of a difference."

Where she had hoped to lighten the oppressive mood between them, he continued to deepen the chasm separating them. A dark place harbouring hopes lying dead at Ostagar and Highever, each overwhelmingly final and irrevocable. What was done could not be undone, she knew, and dwelling on what could have been would gain them little save further despair. And despair was not a companion she wanted along for this journey.

"Or you could just put that down and talk to me instead. I know my conversation could not possibly match the fascination of scrubbing away nonexistent grime, but I would appreciate the courtesy just the same." Rhiannon grinned darkly, seemingly unfazed by his gloomy expression. "Look, I know you are not..." Lingering, she considered her words carefully. "You are not exactly in a good place right now. But misery loves company and, who knows, maybe talking about it will make it easier to bear."

If Rhiannon had ever wondered what poking a wounded bear might lead to, she need not look any further than the man sitting across from her now. Ripples of anger crashed into her with a vehemence she never would have expected from him and when he looked at her fully, eyes bloodshot and stormy with rage, she leaned back a little as if expecting a slap.

"Why do you even pretend you care?" He snarled, one hand tightening around her wrist while the other wiped across his eyes to banish the tears pooling against his will. "You've made it perfectly clear that the only thing you despise more than being a Warden was Duncan. He is dead now, so be happy about that and don't pretend feeling otherwise for my benefit. Even I am not stupid enough to fall for such a charade of sympathy." His breath came in quick, hot bursts now. "Duncan deserved better than that, even from someone he conscripted against their will to ensure their survival."

Hatred, unlike any she had every known, bubbled up her throat like bile at the accusation of playing him false, even that she could have suffered without losing her temper were it not for the memory of her conscription dragged back to the surface of her mind, grinning at her like a fanged fade beast about to strike.

"How dare you," she hissed, wrenching her wrist out of his grasp. Tears stung behind her eyes, her entire body wracked by the barely withheld need to kill. "How dare you speak of things you have not witnessed yourself?" Reason clamped down on emotion, her furious glare melted into a frighteningly blank stare.

"Look, I didn't mean..." He attempted, hands raised in a pacifying gesture.

"Silence!" She hissed, nostrils flaring with furious contempt. "You want honesty, you say? You shall have it." Licking her lips, she caught his gaze and held it. Eyes blank, her voice dripping with disdain and sadness both, it was as if speaking to someone possessed.

"I may not be anybody's first choice to soothe their grief or seek sustenance from. And it is true, I do not share your grief at losing Duncan or the Wardens. However," At that she tensed, turmoil overcoming her anger. "I will never take delight in another's suffering. Just in case it escaped your ever forgetful mind, my whole family was butchered in front of me only a few days ago. I-I..." Her breath hitched, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I did not want my survival to be ensured." Whatever it was he wanted to say to that, she waved it aside bleakly. "As for getting what we deserve in life, I doubt that matters anymore. Arl Howe took my family, everything I ever knew and loved away from me. Your Duncan finished what he started by taking all I had left, my freedom to choose my own path. He dragged me away from my parents after blackmailing my father that he would only save me and my mother if I...no, if Father agreed to sell me away as a bargaining chip. So you will have to forgive my lack of tears for a man who used another's evil to profit from it!"

"That..." Releasing a breath he was unaware of holding, he shook his head. "That sounds nothing like the Duncan I used to know." Seeing her tense up again, he was quick to add, "Which doesn't mean that it didn't happen of course. It's just...he must have had reasons beyond that. But either way, I am so sorry."

"His main reason, as I have come to understand after my Joining, must have been the Blight. You yourself have told me that the Grey Wardens must do anything it takes to defeat the Blight." The words tasted like ashes, yet they served their purpose as a peace offering. "For what little good it will do, I am sorry too. Duncan was like a father to you and losing someone like that is never easy. And on top of that we are left to our own devices when it comes to dealing with the Blight."

"And Loghain." Alistair added vehemently, his face a grimace of loathing at the man's name.

She hesitated, unsure just how to approach this particular topic without inciting another argument. The very idea of Teyrn Loghain wilfully betraying the army he himself had been in charge of for so long just did not make sense to her. She had known him almost all her life and while they had never been close, the very idea of him doing something so abhorrent struck her as highly unlikely. The irony of it all, apparent though it might have been, escaped her. She did not tell Alistair any of this however. Their new found acceptance of each other hung by a thread and defending the man Alistair deemed guilty of desertion and treason might sever that bond irrevocably.

"First we will have to gather an army to back us up. Otherwise he will laugh us out of Denerim when we get there. You, me, Gorion and our ill tempered apostate friend over there."

"You know, that's a pretty disturbing image. Thanks for putting that in my head by the way."

"Why? Because the very idea of Teyrn Loghain smiling, let alone laughing, is completely inconceivable?" She grinned, fully aware that he had meant something else entirely.

"You're impossible, you know that?"

"So my mother kept telling me when trying to marry me off to the man in question."

"You..." Sputtering, he covered his mouth to hide his laughter. "You're serious, aren't you?"

Folding her arms in front of her chest, she smirked knowingly. "Have I ever given you the impression of being anything else?"

"Well, even I know better than to answer that one."

"Good. Ah, look who has come to honour us mere mortals with her presence!"

All mirth drained from Alistair's face at the sight of Morrigan advancing on them, her face contorted by the ever present sneer she seemed to have reserved for him and, on occasion, Rhiannon.

"T'would seem your little discussion has finally ended. Kindly spare me your childish squabbles in the future. Especially around dusk when I am on hunting duty to keep you two and that domesticated sausage on legs from starving to death."

Gorion guffawed, clearly offended by her remarks.

"I believe you hurt his feelings there, Morrigan." Rhiannon eyed the witch with more than a little irritation despite her teasing remark. "You know, you could always teach us to hunt and spare yourself the bother in the future."

"And when the time comes that finds me eager to survive on frogs and poisonous berries, I might consider that." Morrigan sniffed icily before sauntering back to her campfire.

"Well, I suppose we are lucky that she has not poisoned us yet." Rhiannon deadpanned, evidently entertaining the thought of Morrigan being capable of doing just that.

"Hey, I was actually looking forward to dinner tonight, Grey Warden appetite and all!" Alistair groaned, his stomach grumbling loudly as if to confirm what he just said.

"Serves you right, since it is your turn to cook to tonight. Maker help us all!"

"T'is the most guaranteed way to ensure that we will all be poisoned tonight." Morrigan groused loudly as she readied her staff and hunting equipment.

Seeing Rhiannon laugh heartily at that, Alistair pouted, nudging her shoulder. "Are you going to let her get away with that?"

"Why so offended? As I recall, it was you who said that your cooking would kill us all. Should I just tell the Archdemon to leave us be since we will be destroyed from the inside before long?"

Despite himself, Alistair laughed at that last remark, a free and open laugh without even the slightest tinge of sorrow. The sound was music to Rhiannon's ears, knowing that, despite their deeply rooted differences, they had managed to connect on a level beyond the bond of the taint flowing through their veins. There was still so much to overcome, so many burdens to carry with the odds severely stacked in favour of the Blight. Unfamiliar with both the Joining and what it was the Grey Wardens actually had to do to make sure that the Blight was truly ended, they found themselves hurled into a world at war. Vae Victis, the old Tevinter saying went. Woe to the vanquished. Rhiannon vowed then and there that, no matter the cost, she would see to it that they would not be among those vanquished by the Blight. It was a vow she would not break in trials and tribulations of the year to come and beyond.

* He conquers who endures. Originally by Persius.