AN – Chapter 3 – Enjoy!
She had chosen. He wasn't happy about it, but he had sworn his loyalty to her until death would do them part. He saw the inner battle raging within her; recognized her hesitation to the peril that came with splitting up the group. He had taken her aside, meaning to tell her everything, but no words came to his smooth tongue. Squeezing her hand in a silent prayer that they were to see each other again, she had returned the gesture in reassurance. "We will fight together other again, friend."
Zevran turned on his heel and followed Alistair on his trek away from the female Warden. Alistair too, walked away with a heavy heart. They were to meet again on the Imperial Highway; Celia would lead her group west into the Deauvian Flats, then head northwest to Val Firmin to meet Sten's people, and then back east through the Imperial Highway. Alistair was to head to Redcliffe and amass Arl Eamon's forces and then head back west and muster soldiers from all villages along the Imperial Highway, until the two groups met up somewhere along the road. That was the best case scenario. Had something happened to either of the groups, they were to leave word with the traders along the Imperial Highway. This was not a fool proof plan, and Zevran's heart ached with discomfort. He knew that at least Oghren and the dog would not cross the Warden, but as for the hateful witch and the tenacious murderous giant – nothing was certain.
Suddenly stoic, Alistair also was uncomfortable in his shoes without the reassuring presence of his female counterpart. Celia's company was familiar and supportive – cutting off ties so quickly threw them all off balance. Zevran wondered if Alistair knew of this new weakness in their battle tactics, but in an effort to not confuse the warrior further, he chose to keep his thoughts to himself. Alistair was not a good leader; true, he was a good natured guy, easy to get along with – but being a leader wasn't his strong suit. Zevran would not choose any of the companions left to lead him into battle. Wynne and Leliana were supporting fighters, as was Zevran – a scout and assassin. Alistair engaged the enemy head-on, drew the most attention to himself from the first attack. Zevran wondered if Celia had thought of this when she decided to split them up. He was to watch Alistair's back to minimize the Warden's risk. So far their adjusted tactics worked on smaller groups of Dark Spawn that attacked them almost as soon as the two groups split from each other.
Leliana took up the entertainer role, hoping to console the party and relieve their worry. She walked and sang a song about the Tevinters and their dystopian ways. It was composed to be comedic, but the way Leliana's voice echoed in the tunnels made the party members feel more dejected.
Hours later, they finally emerged from the dim heart of the mountain. The cold air was refreshing on their faces, replenishing their strength. Alistair seemed to perk up. Clapping Zevran on the back, he asked him to scout a good place to set up the diminished ranks of their camp. Zevran obliged; Redcliffe was a full day's march away, and they all needed rest. The grueling and lengthy walk through the inner sanctums of the Frostback Mountains drained them more than the few scuffles with the Dark Spawn they had encountered along the way. They had talked of making a side trip to Orzammar, but decided against it. Fueled by anxiety and the collective need to quell their loneliness, they had chosen to go by the fastest route which also turned out to be more dangerous.
Zevran left the camp as soon as the others started unpacking. He wanted to run back through the entirety of the mountain with no abandon. Wandering through the woods to clear his head was not working so far. He knew this woman was strong enough to take care of herself, yet something in his chest would not rest.
He had wandered into a clearing without feeling out the vicinity first. This was not the Crow way, he told himself. A sudden disturbance alarmed him and he jumped back, hands on his weapons. A gorgeous Halla strode into his line of sight, legs lithe and toned – its' being perfect and unblemished. The Halla walked up to him and looked him straight in the eyes, unafraid. Zevran breathed a sigh of relief.
"I was not aware that I was being stalked," Zevran said to himself and to the Halla. It blinked and tossed its beautiful head, as though beckoning the elf to come forward. Being of Dalish origin but growing up in Antiva city, Zevran was never exposed to the Halla. Yet this was not a reflection of disinterest on his part. When they travelled with the Dalish Elves in the Brecilian Forest, the Halla took no interest in him. This time, it was different.
Celia and her party plodded through the mountain for what seemed like hours. The leader was lost in her thoughts and did not seem to notice as dwarven passageways turn to the rough mountainside. Possibly being responsible for the death of her companions put a damper on her mood. Ed was running circles around the group, happy to be free and out of the claustrophobic passages of the mountains. Ivralian kept up her steady flow of doomed dialogue, in which she berated the Warden for everything she had done wrong up to this point. This left the Warden with a dull headache. She walked by Sten's side, jaw clenched and gaze unblinking. Morrigan and Oghren followed suit.
The vegetation changed gradually from mountainous terrain to a lush rolling hillside, and then to a wild and overgrown plateau. They hiked until their feet were numb from walking, Celia still lost in her thoughts and memories.
Sten interrupted their slowing progress by throwing his hand out in front of the Warden. "It is time to rest, Warden."
She turned her eyes on him, then looked at the rest of her party members. Oghren looked sulky and exhausted; Morrigan was wearing a usual look of self pity; even her loyal dog now trotted in the rear of the party. "Yes, I think you're right."
A few brief moments later she lay on her bedroll, staring out through the green canopy into the vast starless sky. The view was different on this side of the mountains than what she came to be used to. The stars were alight with a faint otherworldly glow, and the moon seemed to have rolled on its side. In her hometown, Tallo – the moon was also different, she remembered. And in Weisshaupt, the fortress had somehow always blocked out the moon, only letting feeble rays of silver light only occasionally fall into the city.
Sten had volunteered to take up watch for the night, and she only agreed because she knew the rest were drop dead tired. Using the last remnants of her strength, Celia dragged her bedroll next to Sten's chosen post and laid down to rest. Of all the companions she had gathered, Sten still remained a mystery to her.
His emotionless eyes followed her movements. She flashed him a tired smile. "I hope you don't mind company, because at this point I don't think I have the strength to move back there," she pointed to where the rest of the group had settled in. Morrigan disappeared into her tent while Oghren was still struggling with his. Ed had fallen asleep the moment she agreed to set up camp, laying close to the fire to keep warm.
Sten regarded her with silence.
"Sten," she said. "Please tell me of Par Vollen."
"It is a place like any other."
"You mentioned it in passing."
"Yes."
There was a pause. The purple Qunari gaze zeroed in on Celia's face. "Why are you chatting with me while you should be replenishing your strength? As I understand humans need rest more than the Qunari do."
"I am a Grey Warden. I can replenish my strength and chat at the same time."
"Is that what your people call a 'joke'? The elf has told me that your sarcasm is often lost on me."
"No."
A pause. "Why do you do this?" he asked Celia.
"Do what, joke?"
"No, fight the Dark Spawn."
"Why? Because that is what Grey Wardens are meant to do."
"There is no other reason? You humans are tied down by your emotions."
"I fight because I was chosen to, a very long time ago. I was given a purpose and this power to achieve it. And if I don't fight the Dark Spawn, who will?"
He looked at her in silence. She shrugged and turned to her side and away from him, curling up into a ball. They were quiet for a full minute.
"Rainforests." His deep voice yanked her out of her reverie.
"What?"
"Par Vollen. It is full of rain forests."
He ran his hand down the sword she had previously recovered for him, his beloved Asala – the soul of the warrior. It reflected the moon brilliantly and cast flecks of bright silver light on the surrounding grass and armor. It was very beautiful.
"There are many wild beasts and creatures that live in the rainforests. Many inexperienced Qunari die in the forests, unable to find their way to the Qun, while they wander the forests. The creatures that live there are said to be even more ferocious than our women."
"And what of Seheron? What do you miss the most?"
He observed her again, taking in all details of the curiosity playing on her face. "The smell of it. It has yet to be corrupted by the filth of the dark spawn, and it smells pure and fresh, of the sea."
"Must be lovely. I miss the sea."
"Oh? Where do you come from, Warden?"
"I was born in Tallo. A coastal city in the Anderfels." She was suddenly overwhelmed by waves of longing for her home. But the home that she remembered had long crumbled to dust. "It sits on the mouth of a river that pours into the sea. It is very beautiful." She allowed a note of regret fall from her lips. "I imagine the beaches are similar in Seheron. Full of small round stones?"
"Yes," replied Sten, closing his eyes.
"We had these small birds that would fly around and mimic the fishermen's voices."
"Yes – they were small white things, but louder than our Tamassrans."
"Really? Ours were black." Celia smiled. This was not surprising. The species could have mutated over a millennium.
"I have not visited your homeland."
"The Anderfels? It was a beautiful place, until the Blights came. But even then, it had a charm all of its own. Tallo in particular. But Weisshaupt also."
"The fortress of the Grey Wardens. I have heard many tales of it."
"I doubt it has changed much since the days of the old." Besides the extinction of the griffon army, the complete destruction of the secret regiment, and the deaths of thousands of Wardens – she thought sardonically. Incomprehensible was the number of Wardens who lost their lives since the founding of their order. Celia shook her head at the thought, wishing for it to go away.
"You speak as if you have been away a long time, Warden."
Celia caught herself. Being swept away with no abandon was not a good idea, Ivralian reminded her. "Sure feels that way."
There was a pause. "What will you do once the archdemon is dead?" she asked a silent Sten, who was lost in his own thoughts as well.
"The Arishok still needs an answer to his question. I will return to Seheron."
"I see."
Another pause.
"Warden, you are a soldier worthy to stand among the Beresaad. I did not think so when we first met."
Celia's head popped off her headrest. It was a drastic change. "Thank you Sten." She considered this change in her stoic companion. "I would like to visit Seheron someday. I could think of no better guide to introduce me to the intricacies of the Qun."
He regarded her with his steady gaze. "If that is your wish, kadan."
"What does 'kadan' mean?"
Sten pointed at his heart. Once again, Celia was touched. Aiming another mental kick at Ivralian, she touched her own heart, eyes bright with feeling. "May I ask a favor of you? I realize that it may not be your way, but I wish you to speak your mind from this point on."
The Qunari eyes seemed to flicker at her request. "Sleep, Warden. That is my wish."
Sleep overtook Celia; for once, Ivralian was dormant as well, wrapped up deep in the Fade. Celia dreamt of her first Grey Warden comrades and days long forgotten even by the pages of Thedan history. The days when the Grey Warden order was numerous and camaraderie between the Wardens was unbreakable. The days when she was young, and the world still seemed so big to her. The days when the city of Weisshaupt was alive with the sheer numbers of Wardens coming and going. They were stationed together across Blighted areas but would come to Weisshaupt every two months to report and recharge. This system worked – the order had enough warriors to keep cycling through the numbers in this manner. Spread evenly throughout the surrounding lands, the Wardens were a closely knit group of warriors – knowing every warrior by name was a big feat for an army such as theirs. The recruitment was successful, as so many had heard of them and wanted to join their ranks. Seen as heroes – ridding Thedas of the corruption the Tevinters had inflicted on the world – it was no wonder they had so many loyal admirers. The army of griffons that served as their steeds made them even more popular among the people everywhere. These were fierce and noble creatures, capable of complex thought and planning.
The Anderfels – as a country – was much different in those days. The Blights had sucked most life out of Celia's homeland, reducing the population to almost nothing. Those who had weathered the constant fighting, migrated to bigger cities such as Hossberg. Living in constant terror of never-ending attacks, the Anders turned to religion to help battle their fears. The Chantry was ever-popular in the Anderfels since that time. Yet the indomitable Weisshaupt was still the home of the Grey Wardens, located on the forefront of the Dark Spawn invasion – though it was much more subdued and prison-like.
Celia's heart pined for her old companions constantly. Her superiors, the people that changed her life forever by invoking the uniting rite with the demon Ivralian, were her not her friends – after all, they had infected her with this demon, doomed her to wander all of Thedas until the last of the heathen gods had been returned to the Fade. But her companions – her real friends – the people who fought and died one by one by her side with unfailing consistency had inflicted more heartache and pain on her than anyone could fathom. Over the centuries, the unfailing repetition of losing the ones she called 'friends' had driven her to become distant and cold, like the demon within her. Being her only weakness, this word friend had manifested as a horrible twisted pain in her. Ivralian's solution was to lock her away from the world and make her heart cold to all living creatures. But this was not Celia's way. She was much more careful now, recognizing the fleeting moments for what they were – seconds of happiness within the endlessly flowing sands of time. They were sweet and distracting seconds, instantly taken away from her, lost within the infinite desert that had become her past. Celia armed herself against this; she was stronger now, less likely to be hurt again.
Ivralian had become her only constant. The elemental demon had tortured and manipulated thousands of people before being tied down this unlucky vessel; Ivralian was the only potential consolation to Celia. But she knew that it was foolish to expect anything from the fire demon. So they had to learn to coexist effectively in one body. For awhile, Celia would let the demon take control of her body while she would be dormant. But this had proved problematic for the both of them. So Ivralian had to find other ways to get her kicks.
There were others like her. Created by the mages of old, this idea of binding a demon to a live human Warden-host came at a great price. Many recruits to the Wardens barely survived the initial joining – the drinking of Dark Spawn blood. The binding of a demon to a human had decimated their ranks even further. A more reliable way was created to guarantee the Wardens' survival, but it came with a heavy price, cursing the subjects in the process. The souls were ripped before they were given the tainted blood. This ensured the dominancy of the human soul over the demon and overall survival of the Warden hybrid. The tainted blood, taken after the ripping process put a time limit on their collective lifespan, ensuring against the possibility of the Warden going rogue. After this regimen was perfected, the mages and superiors kept a wary eye on their ripped Wardens. To make it easier and to avoid discrimination, an oath was taken from every hybrid Warden to keep the source of their powers quiet. The stigma of becoming an abomination was spread over the rest of the order to keep the warriors in line and quiet about their function. Thus, the secret regiment remained hidden from the rest of the Wardens.
But Celia herself was an anomaly. Her commander and friend – Rukshan of the Spark – had failed to pass the taint on to her. This was done out of love and foolishness of youth; it had cost her everything. She was cursed with life until the end of the age. And even then, it was not certain that she would gain the eternal sleep she so desperately desired. The guardians of her secret had all but died out; she knew this for certain. There was no one left to dispatch her and to grant her peace. But she was not immortal; her spark could be extinguished any second. The problem lay in the immortal bond between her human soul and the demon. They would be forever tied – even in death, they would not be able to achieve peace – until a guardian could dispel this bond. So she fought for the both of them; for freedom.
She cursed Rukshan. Her memory had not dimmed; he appeared in her dreams as handsome as he was the day they first met. The sight of the man who had loved her many centuries ago was forever unchanging.
It was the same now – he stood in front of her as he always did, not saying a word. She would ask him questions, try to touch him – but nothing ever moved this vision. His eyes held a magnetic force stronger than a black hole; it was his eyes that drew her to him in the beginning. They pierced her to the bone and her breath caught in her throat, the same way it did the first time they met.
He wanted them to live forever. It was a shame he died.
The blade he was holding had suddenly disappeared from sight. Looking around for it, the breath caught in her chest alerted her of the foreign object planted deep within. Time was lost for the both of them, as the blue of his eyes consumed her whole. The pain in her chest overtook all of her senses. To prevent herself from suffocating, she was forced to rip herself from the dream, as she had done so many times before. Gasping for breath, she wrenched up from her bedroll. The sun was still low on the horizon and Sten was keeping watch a few steps away from her. He did not react to Celia's sudden awakening, so she turned away from him and pretended to be asleep.
AN - Well? I hope this explains things a bit better for you guys. Don't forget to let me know what you think – I aim to please =]
