What We Must
Chapter 3: Fitting In, Making Friends
Alistair glared at his pack as if it had bitten him, and huffed before throwing the thing over his shoulder roughly. Lorelei held her tongue, not quite understanding why he was so upset about being sent on a mission, especially considering its importance, but not wanting to provoke him. She shot a glance at Warren, who shook his head, and then at Theron, who simply looked disgusted. Any attempt to discuss his attitude would probably end with a display of temper. They'd all had enough of that the night before, and there was no Warden Commander on hand to silence the former templar's protests with a few words about duty and a disappointed frown.
"Let's go," Alistair said thickly, and he stormed ahead, pausing as he realised that he would have to slow down or end up waiting for her as she caught up to him. He decided on the former, but his mood remained the same, and they continued in stony silence until they had almost reached Lothering.
"Hold," Warren said smoothly, earning a glower from Alistair. Theron, apparently not all that impressed with the templar, matched his glare and gestured at the road ahead of them, which had been barricaded. Lorelei frowned, wondering what the reason was for the blockade— was it a layer of defence against Darkspawn, perhaps? She glanced over at Warren, who shook his head as if he'd read her mind, wearing a grim expression. He gestured for Alistair to take the lead while he and Theron flanked her. She was touched by the display of protectiveness— until it occurred to her that it could be to prevent her from running away in terror— and then she was touched by the display of protectiveness, having dismissed the thought forcibly. It was idiotic.
As they closed the distance between themselves and the barricade, Lorelei saw that it was guarded by armed men and made up of waggons, crates and the body of a man wearing Templar armour, half-propped up on grates as a gruesome sort of scarecrow, perhaps as a warning to passers-by. She shuddered. Alistair inhaled sharply— through his mouth, she noted— and she glanced at Theron, who held his bow at his side, arrow nocked but aimed (for now) at the stone road beneath their feet.
"Wake up, boys," a dark man said jovially, and five men rose to greet them, "There's more travellers to attend to— and an Elf, of all things. The lady is pretty, though." He leaned slightly to the side, apparently to get a better look at her, and Warren stepped in slightly to block his view. Lorelei wondered how many women he'd seen recently, and what condition they'd been in. Lorelei knew that she was far from ugly, but she could count on one hand how many times she'd been called pretty— and one of those had been a "pretty enough", as in "not revolting". Honestly, she would have called Alistair pretty before she'd have said it of herself.
"Uh, they don't look like them others, boss— maybe we should just let them pass," a large-headed (but obviously not large-brained) man said, and the leader hushed him quickly.
"Nonsense," he said smoothly, "We're collecting a toll. A simple ten silvers and you're free to pass."
"Highwaymen," Alistair explained unnecessarily, "No doubt taking advantage of people fleeing the darkspawn." Lorelei nodded, turning her full attention to the leader, and Warren took another step forward, his expression neutral except for his lips, pressed together in a thin, angry line. No one pointed out Alistair's hopefully-not-a-habit of pointing out the obvious, probably because it was preferable to sulking.
"You should listen to your friend," Warren's voice was nearly a growl, "We're not refugees."
"Duh, like I said, boss," the dim-witted one mumbled, and the leader shook his head and sighed in exasperation.
"Don't be ridiculous! That's why it's called a toll, and not a— refugee tax," he explained, still in his friendly tone.
"Oh, right! Even if you're no refugee, you still gotta pay!" The idiot actually looked pleased with himself, at least for a moment.
"And if we don't have ten silvers to spare?" Lorelei said finally, not liking the way their eyes felt on her as she caught their attention, stepping around to Alistair's other side, and away from Warren, as Theron stepped back, eyes narrowed. When he raised his bow, it would be quickly, and with a sure aim. The idea that the Dalish Elf found her life worth protecting was touching, especially now that she had spent enough time in his proximity to realise that it was a new and rare thing for him: the only other Elf Warden, an archer named Tarimel, had remarked upon it before they'd left Ostagar, and even though he'd declared it nonsense, he had looked decidedly too embarrassed for the senior Warden to have missed his mark entirely.
"If you don't pay, we ransack your corpses," the dim-witted bandit declared, and was hushed again, less gently.
"We're not completely unreasonable," the leader continued, "We'll take your possessions in place of payment."
"And perhaps some quality time with the lady," one of the other bandits, silent until this moment, chose to add his own demand, looking Lorelei up and down crudely. She stepped back in shock, and glanced at her companions— and was still surprised at the expressions worn by Warren and Theron, even though she'd half expected them. They looked positively murderous, while Alistair looked merely shocked, and perhaps a bit scandalised. She wanted nothing more than to run— to find a way to bypass the town, as Aveline and Carver had— but knew that this obstacle was only the first they were likely to come across, and shortly Warren and Theron would go their own way, leaving her and Alistair alone to face them. Lorelei leaned against her staff and watched the highwaymen carefully before she responded. Her voice came out miraculously neutral sounding, considering the panicked thudding of her heart in her chest.
"So if I understand correctly," the leader raised his eyebrows, looking amused, and she continued, "You take advantage of already frightened people, brutalising them and robbing them of their very last possessions... and the Templars of Lothering haven't driven you off their road yet? Or is that one of them?" She gestured to the broken body close by, "Are you murderers as well as bandits?"
"That was some other Templar," the large man answered, and Lorelei found that she was actually a bit grateful that he was so stupid, even when he tried to turn it into a threat, "He didn't wanna pay either."
"The Templars are too busy dealing with refugees and darkspawn to stop us," the leader answered cheerfully, shrugging, and Lorelei sighed.
"This is your last chance to leave," she said finally, hearing the note of weariness in her voice as she straightened, fingers curling around her staff, "I advise you to take it, to leave and never return."
"So you're not going to pay, then?" She shook her head, and the leader echoed her earlier sigh, "Well, I can't say that I'm happy to hear that. We have rules, you know—" Lorelei couldn't tell if he was finished speaking or not, because an arrow promptly pierced his throat and he fell to his knees, gurgling and clutching at the shaft while blood bubbled up and past his lips. His comrades rushed forward, but Alistair and Warren had already drawn their swords and were using blade and shield to great effect; Lorelei was busy weaving first one spell, then another.
It was over quickly; after facing wave after wave of darkspawn, a small group of bandits was hardly a challenge.
"Well that was messy," Alistair declared, looking down at what was left of the bandits with an odd sort of look on his face. For someone who had loudly protested being sent away from the fighting, he sure didn't seem to enjoy it.
"Perhaps we should have just paid them and alerted the town Templars when we got through," she said softly, and Alistair shook his head.
"They'd've robbed us whether we paid them or not," Warren said firmly. "If we'd given them ten silvers, they would have demanded twenty, and so on and so forth."
"And we probably would have ended up fighting anyway," Alistair added, "We— we did the right thing, even if it is a little sad that we had to kill them." Lorelei nodded, then stepped toward one of the crates as the light glinted off something, catching her attention. A locket lay on the crate, open, and a note that looked to have been folded within lay beside it. She frowned, flattening the note with her hands to read it, then folding it neatly and slipping it and the locket into her pocket.
"He was supposed to meet someone in Lothering," she explained to her companions, not wanting them to think her a petty thief— or any kind of thief at all, come to think of it, "Since he didn't make it, I'd like to deliver the note, if I can." When Alistair nodded, she relaxed, "Good; let's keep an ear out for someone named Ser Donall while we're here." Perhaps he could explain why they were seeking a Chantry scholar for information about a relic that many believed existed only in stories.
"Ser Donall? Ser Donall of Redcliffe?" Lorelei nodded, slightly confused, "Yes— the Templar— Ser Henrik— is from Redcliffe as well." Alistair glanced at the body, then winced and looked away.
"I'll keep an eye out— I grew up in Redcliffe, so I— knew Ser Donall, a little." Lorelei nodded, then turned, stepping over bodies and ignoring the assorted loot that the bandits had collected.
"We'll inform the Templars," she said evenly, "Perhaps some of this can be returned to those who were robbed." They murmured in agreement, then joined her as they moved down the stairs and turned towards the town.
"There it is," Alistair declared, "Lothering: pretty as a painting." There was still bitterness behind the words, but Lorelei was glad of even the pretense of a better mood, and she happily followed him towards the town while Theron and Warren followed, guarding from the rear.
It quickly became clear that the bandits had the right of it where Lothering was concerned: strife and misery greeted her eyes wherever they wandered. The city was crowded to its limits with refugees, with fights breaking out over food, supplies and space as some of the desperate even sleeping on the dirt without bedrolls.
"Excuse me," Lorelei turned toward the voice, and found a family of Elves standing at the edge of the road, matching the tired, despairing note in the voice perfectly. They had not so much as a blanket between the three of them. She glanced at Theron and found him holding himself stiffly, as if he wished the man addressing him would disappear. She frowned, and despite the fact that the query was clearly addressed to the only Elf in the party, she was unable to ignore the sharp tug of sympathy.
"Yes?" She kept her voice even and noncommittal; she didn't want to promise help without knowing what it entailed, and whether it was something that she could offer.
"Yes, ah, my lady—" Theron's eyebrows rose, knitting together over a thunderous expression— anger brought out either by her interference, or by the way the Elf scraped and differed to her, "Might you spare some bread? My family was set upon by bandits and they— they took everything." She knew that her face softened, because the Elf flinched before he could control his expression. This man clearly abhorred begging, and he'd been forced to it.
She didn't hesitate: she was carrying the rations for herself and for Alistair, and she handed enough for one person's meal over, frowning at the stunned looks of her companions, and the absolute shock on the Elven family's faces. They looked like they'd been given a fortune having expected to be spit on. It highlighted the difference in how Elves were treated in Ferelden, and it made Lorelei particularly sad. If she hadn't been a mage, locked away in a Tower, would this even bother her? Would she consider this normal, perhaps even justified?
"It's coming out of my share," she told Alistair curtly, and he nodded, guilt flashing across his face. She held up her hand to silence the beggar before he made a show of thanking her. "Don't draw attention if you can help it— I'd hate for you to be robbed a second time." After a moment, he nodded.
"You are very kind," he said finally, and the unspoken for a human made her think of Theron, and she was surprised anew at his reluctance to help his own kind. Perhaps— he was Dalish, and perhaps they didn't look too kindly on those of their kind that lived under the yoke of human rule. Or perhaps he hadn't wanted to show any weakness to his human companions. Whatever the reason, this family would have as many meals as they could ration out of what she considered to be a rather generous portion for one person. She would have to ask Alistair if her increased appetite was a consequence of the Joining— all the Grey Wardens that she had seen had eaten enough at a sitting to raise eyebrows, and none of them had commented on her own table manners.
"We are grateful," the Elven woman added, "After those bandits..."
"The ones on the road?" Theron asked, and when the Elf man nodded, both men clearly uncomfortable with each other, he added, "We met those bandits, too."
"So you were robbed as well? But—" Theron was shaking his head at the Elf woman's disbelieving exclamation.
"No. They are dead." He said simply, his tone filled with disgust; Lorelei wasn't sure if it was directed towards bandits or beggars.
"Then perhaps some of our things are still there!" The woman's face lit up with hope and the family headed back towards the gates of Lothering. Lorelei watched Theron's face for a moment too long, and he scowled at her.
"Will you next be rescuing baby birds from trees?" He snapped, and she shrugged, "There is not time enough to help everyone, nor solve every petty grievance." His scowl deepened, "I hope that your heart does not bleed as freely as hers, Alistair." There was censure there, and Alistair bristled. Lorelei knew that she could not let this escalate into an argument, and she spoke quickly.
"Warren, you and Theron will be headed East to find the Dalish, right?" Warren nodded, his expression making it clear that he knew exactly what she was doing— not that she had been terribly subtle.
"Yes," he answered, gesturing to Theron. "We can cover a good bit of ground if we make haste." Theron's eyes were narrowed slits, grey as an approaching storm, but something in his face spoke of concern, rather than anger.
"Maker watch over you, Warren," she said gently, "And may your gods watch over you, Theron." Both of them nodded stiffly, Theron's expression softening in a rare gesture that Lorelei suspected she saw more of than any other human the Dalish-Hunter-turned-Grey-Warden interacted with.
"Maker watch over us all," Warren answered smoothly, and with a small smile.
Argument thwarted and participants headed in different directions, Lorelei followed Alistair towards the Chantry, catching Warren's wave and wry smile.
"I guess it couldn't be helped," Ser Bryant said, regret clear in his voice, "Still, it is sad that it had to come to that."
"I agree," she said softly, "The darkspawn are enough of a threat without us having to fight each other."
"So you are a Grey Warden, then?" She was tempted to ask what his first indication had been— she and Alistair were clearly wearing Grey Warden heraldry, she on her sash and he on the tunic he wore over his splint mail— but she forced herself to simply nod. "We've had some scattered attacks by darkspawn, and I was wondering if you had any advice about how to combat them, and how to— dispose of the bodies." Ah, this was a sensible question.
"The bodies must be burned, as must anything that becomes Tainted, or the Blight sickness will spread to anything they touch," she knew this much, though she hadn't had time to learn much more after her Joining. "You'll want to strengthen your fortifications as much as you can, recruit all who can fight and encourage as many as possible to seek refuge further north. You cannot effectively defend the numbers that you have here now." This was simple defensive strategy, and it was something that the Knight-Captain had surely already realised, but it bore repeating.
"Is there anything else that I can help you with?" The question was mostly a courtesy— there was little that Lothering or Ser Bryant could offer. Luckily, all she really needed was information.
"I was told that there was a knight from Redcliffe here, named Ser Donall," Alistair straightened, and she realised that he must have been waiting for this topic. She fought a smile; Alistair was rather good at appearing to be paying attention— right up until he actually became interested and revealed the difference.
"Yes," Ser Bryant was uneasy, and this put Lorelei on her guard, "He's here seeking clues to the location of the Urn of Andraste's Ashes." He clearly didn't believe in its existence, but as Lorelei wasn't sure that she did either, she could hardly find fault with him for it. "He's just over there," she followed his gesture to a man leaned over a book and wearing that frown worn specifically by those who read sparingly when forced to study a particularly obscure tome, "You should ask him about it." There was disgust in his tone, and Lorelei understood— he was faced with defending an entire town against attacks that could come from anywhere, and at any time, and he had little patience for soldiers who read books instead of fighting. Alistair was already crossing the chantry floor to meet the Knight, and Lorelei quickly thanked the Templar and caught up to him in several steps.
"Ser Donall?"
"Who— Alistair? By the Maker, it is you! It is good to see you!" His arms were spread wide in greeting, though they fell to his sides as Lorelei made it to Alistair's side. "And who is this? A fellow Grey Warden, I suppose." She was beginning to wonder how many people, exactly, would find it necessary to state what should have been made obvious by the heraldry on her sash, as well as the deep grey colouring of her robes.
"I'm afraid that we bring bad news, Ser Donall," she said slowly, and watched Alistair's face fall. "I believe that your friend, Ser Henrik, is dead." She dug into her pocket and produced locket and note, holding them for him to take. He stared at her, then at her hands, as she continued, "We found these on the body of a templar slain on the road."
"Ser Henrik? Dead?" She knew that he was in shock, so she simply nodded, withdrawing her hands when he finally reached out and took the templar's note and keepsake from her. "This is his locket, and his writing." Lorelei looked away to give him a moment for his grief, and noticed that Alistair had done the same. When she looked back, Ser Donall had already collected himself. "Thank you for bringing me this," he said finally, pulling himself straighter and reminding her that warriors were big, "Who knows how many of us have met similar fates on this doomed quest. Well, I— it was good to see you, Alistair, and to meet you, my lady, but I really should head back to Redcliffe." Alistair looked like he was going to say something, but closed his mouth quickly when Lorelei shook her head, and offered a polite farewell to the knight, who gratefully retreated.
"Why?"
"He just lost his friend, Alistair," she explained in a careful voice, "We could pepper him with questions, and I have no doubt that he would answer out of politeness, but— do we really need to interrogate a grieving man when we will have all our answers soon enough? We are headed to Redcliffe, after all."
"I just thought it would be good to know what was waiting for us." He was right, of course, but Lorelei had let her feelings win with this one. She decided to admit as much.
"Sometimes," she said ruefully, "I am sentimental rather than practical." He seemed to understand, and after a moment, he grinned.
"Your secret is safe with me," he drawled, and she smiled back.
"We should pay a visit to the Revered Mother, just as a courtesy," she headed towards the small back room.
"Right," Alistair lengthened the vowel as he caught up to her, and she almost laughed at the conspiratorial whisper that followed, "I won't tell anyone about your religious devotion, either. I wouldn't want the rest of the mages to un-invite you to all the best parties."
"Maker forbid," she almost rolled her eyes, but remembered that she prefered the Alistair that made wise-cracks to the broody alternative. As they reached the doorway to the Revered Mother's office, they stopped just short of stepping through as they realised that the Revered Mother was in the midst of a conversation.
"He is obviously repentant." The speaker had a musical voice and an accent that was undeniably Orlesian.
"His fate is in the hands of the Maker," Lorelei froze just outside the door, recognising the hard edge to the woman's voice.
"To be left to starve, or to be taken by the darkspawn? No one deserves that— not even a murderer." Lorelei knew the sound of a voice that was trying to be persuasive, though she suspected that this speaker was far more adept at the art than any Apprentice trying to wriggle out of a punishment. She managed to avoid sounding condescending, needling, or judgemental— in fact, it reminded her distinctly of the First Enchanter, or even Duncan. She wasn't even in the room and she wanted to grant this stranger her wish!
"You believe that I should set him free, to kill again? His next victims would count us among their murderers, Leliana!" There was a pause, then, "I will not discuss this further, especially not in front of visitors." Ah, they were caught. Lorelei forced her back straight and stepped through the doorway.
"My apologies, your Reverence," she hoped that her tone carried the right weight— as a Grey Warden, she could not appear too contrite any more than she could be rude, "We did not wish to interrupt."
"What can I do for you, Grey Wardens?" She gestured to the younger woman in dismissal and focused on Alistair, who shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. She had to frown— not because the Revered Mother obviously assumed that Alistair was in charge, but because of how he reacted to the idea. She hadn't thought that Alistair might dislike attention as much as she did. She had always assumed that ultimately, as the senior Grey Warden, he would take charge. Perhaps this was why Duncan had paired them together— not because she was a mage and he was conveniently a templar, but because they were both too willing to submit to another's leadership. It would make sense.
"You are truly Grey Wardens?" The woman had very red hair, and very blue eyes, and her voice sounded as if she'd been doing a great deal of running. Lorelei suppressed a wince— hero worship, and apparently a lack in the area of realising the obvious. "Of course you are. No one would pretend to be a Grey Warden." She smiled, and Lorelei felt her own eyes narrow as she saw something in the woman's face that she had learned to recognise and be wary of: cunning.
"We are," she answered slowly, inclining her head to the Revered Mother, who seemed suddenly as cautious as she was.
"Then perhaps—" she turned to the Revered Mother, an odd look in her eyes, "Perhaps with the Grey Wardens, the Qunari could do some good."
"Leliana—"
"Qunari?" Lorelei and the Revered Mother spoke at the same time, and Lorelei winced in apology. "My apologies, your Reverence." The older woman sighed, eyeing Leliana with the same look that she'd seen the First Enchanter give Daylen once— a mix of fondness, indulgence, and frustration.
"A giant from the North," the Revered Mother explained, "We found him in a farm hold among the bodies of the family that he slaughtered— children among them. He didn't even deny the charge."
"He is locked in a cage by the north entrance, without food or water." Leilana's horror seemed to match her own, and Lorelei found herself in agreement with the redhead's earlier statement. No one deserved that— not even a murderer. Even a blood mage could count on a quick death.
"You believe him to be repentant?" Lorelei asked, the tone of her voice probably too sharp, too disapproving. Duncan would grace her with one of his looks, were he here. Perhaps she would become as adept at annoying priests as Alistair was at annoying mages. "I— I am sorry, your Reverence," she said, hoping not to incite too much anger, "But perhaps the Sister's suggestion holds some merit. If he is willing to join the fight against the darkspawn—"
"You would recruit a murderer?" It was the priest who spoke, but it might as well have been Alistair, if she was reading his expression correctly. She fought the urge to shrink back from their combined censure, to beg forgiveness and offer all sorts of platitudes if only it meant that the whole world could go back to ignoring her. She did none of these things, remembering something that Duncan had told her.
"If he is willing and able to fight the darkspawn, then yes, I would have him join us rather than die," she was, no doubt, in for a lecture from Alistair, though he did not speak against her now, in front of witnesses, "The Grey Wardens are not in the habit of wasting resources." The Revered Mother snorted, when she looked at Leliana, her resolve seemed softened.
"Very well," she said finally, shocking both Wardens as she pressed a key into Lorelei's hand, "If the Qunari agrees to join you, and if you trust his word," she leaned on the word trust, likely to imply that they were idiotic to do so, "You may take him into your custody. I must ask, however, that should you do so, you leave Lothering immediately. The Bann has left me in charge, and I will not betray his trust. I have a sacred duty to the people in this town and I will not be responsible for harm coming to them." Lorelei nodded, closing her fingers tightly around the key that would free a man that she had never met— a man that had murdered an entire family, including children. The sister looked radiant in her triumph, and Lorelei turned away from her bright face and shining eyes. Maker, she hated hero worship. If this was how people looked at Teyrn Loghain on a regular basis, no wonder he was so cranky.
She let Alistair lead her out of the chantry with long, angry steps and barely noticed that the redheaded sister followed them.
"Are you really going to recruit him?" Lorelei stopped just short of slamming her face into Alistair's breastplate as he turned, staring down at her with obvious disapproval. She had to lift her chin as far as it would go just to see his chin, and take a few steps backward to actually meet his gaze. "This goes beyond sentimental; it's insane! And what was this 'not in the habit of wasting resources' bit? If Duncan were here—"
"If Duncan were here, he would have made the same decision— and you would not have challenged him." She didn't say the I think that she thought, trying very hard to keep her promise not to back down to pressure so easily. Alistair pouted, clearly hurt, and Lorelei bit the inside of her lip to keep herself from capitulating. It was like kicking a puppy, and Lorelei forced herself to continue before she lost the shredded scraps of her reserve. "We were sent out to get reinforcements."
"Joining the Grey Wardens is an honour," Alistair ground out, obviously unaware of the circumstances surrounding her own recruitment. She didn't exactly wish to have a discussion with Alistair about blood mages, so she took the conversation in the easiest direction.
"I did not intend to recruit him into the Grey Wardens," it was a truthful answer, even she'd given it to guide the conversation away from the whole 'honour' direction, "That is a decision that only Duncan could make, and I wouldn't dare presume such authority. The army needs soldiers too much to refuse anyone who is willing and capable, and I am sure that a warrior's death is preferable to starvation, wherever he is from." Whatever he is. He seemed to deflate, and she was glad to see the end of the argument.
"You intend to leave him if he refuses," he said flatly.
"Or kill him, if it comes to that," she couldn't keep the sadness from her voice. She didn't know if she could kill him, but she didn't know if she could bear the guilt if she left anyone to the mercy of the darkspawn— or to slowly starve to death, for that matter.
"So, what, we just free him and tell him to head to Ostagar?"
"No, he comes with us. We'll explain everything to Duncan when we return, and he will decide what to do." It was a long moment of Alistair staring at her before he cleared his throat.
"Well. I guess we should get to it." He was quite clearly still angry, and she sighed— it was going to be a long walk to Redcliffe.
"Leave me be, human; I will not entertain you any more than I have the others." The condemned man stood, towering over even Alistair and forcing her to step back— not because she was intimidated, but because she could not see beyond his chest otherwise.
"I understand that you are to be imprisoned until your death," she said slowly, and his upper lip curled in disgust.
"I am in a cage, am I not? Seek answers at your chantry; I am not here to satisfy your curiosity." He started to turn away until he noticed something behind Lorelei, and he shifted in place. "You already have a priest with you, it seems." Leliana stepped forward.
"Oh, no," she protested, "I am not a priest, but a lay sister of the Chantry. Or I was." Lorelei wondered what the furtive glance in her direction— never mind the 'I was'— meant.
"Am I promised some great treasure if I solve your banal riddle?"
"A lay sister lives and works in the Chantry but does not take any vows," Leliana explained, and the Qunari listened, though he didn't betray any great interest.
"So you... dabbled in priesthood, then?"
"Oh no, the lay sisters don't have the same sorts of duties as priests at all."
"So you are not a priest, do none of their duties, and took no vows, but you live among them?" Lorelei bit her cheek to keep from smiling; when he described it thus, the concept seemed particularly absurd.
"Yes!" Leliana was almost triumphant in her agreement, like a teacher finally able to get through to a particularly slow student.
"...You are a house guest of the Chantry?" Alistair made a strangled noise in his throat, and Leliana blinked several times.
"I— I guess, sort of..." she glanced over at Lorelei, and her face brightened. "But that isn't important— we have the key to your cage!" She didn't have time to ask the sister about her use of the word 'we', for the caged giant leaned forward, hands wrapping around the bars, and studied her intently. His eyes were bright violet, and the focussed stare was more than a bit unsettling.
"Really? I did not think that the priestess would part with it."
"She agreed to release you into our custody," she answered, tilting her head towards Alistair. "We are in need of fighters, should you agree to join us."
"To what end?"
"We are sworn to defend the land against the Blight." His eyebrows lifted, and he looked at her with that look of surprised appraisal that she was beginning to grow used to. She wondered if she'd miss it, were everyone to suddenly regain their senses and realise that she was no great mystery.
"Are you a Grey Warden, then?"
"Yes." He studied her again, as if he did not quite believe it. It reminded her a bit of the Tower, and the distainful looks of other apprentices who spread rumours about her secretly being a Tranquil. She felt an inexplicable twinge of homesickness at the memory.
"My people have heard legends about the Grey Wardens. They are said to be warriors with no equal in strength and skill... though I suppose not all legends are true." She felt the corners of her mouth tip up, and he seemed surprised. It was a bit unusual, perhaps, for an implied insult to be met with amusement, but Lorelei had been baited by the best. She found herself oddly in her element, far more at her ease when derided than when praised.
"I suspect that none of them are true," she answered honestly, and he blinked— it seemed like a triumph, somehow, to catch the man off-guard— and the corner of his mouth twitched, just the smallest amount. It was like she had solved a particularly difficult riddle; she felt almost giddy.
"It seems as likely to cause my death as remaining here," he said gravely, "Very well: release me and I will follow you against the Blight. Perhaps in battle I will find my atonement." Lorelei handed the key to Leliana, who was closer, and stepped back as the door swung open, and the giant stepped out. He seemed a bit unsteady, and Lorelei motioned to Alistair. The templar glanced at her as he stepped forward, struggling under the weight as he helped the Qunari steady himself.
"Welcome," she said gently, "I am Lorelei, and this is Alistair." He nodded.
"I am Sten of the Beresad, the Vanguard of the Qunari Peoples."
"And I am Leliana." Lorelei turned to the red-haired woman, "You will need all the help that you can get to defeat the Blight. That's why I am coming with you."
"I am not sure that is wise, sister," she did not want to insult the woman, "We seek aid, this is true, but we seek warriors, not priests," she glanced at Sten before she added, "Or lay-sisters."
"I can fight," she argued stubbornly, "I can do more than fight. I was not always a lay-sister, and though I put those skills aside, I would take them up again."
"I disagree," Sten said suddenly, "Women are priests, artisans, farmers or shopkeepers. None of them have any place in fighting." Leliana frowned, attention diverted from her plea.
"Are there no female warriors among your people?" Lorelei asked, and Sten made a face.
"Of course not. Why would our women wish to be men?"
"I— that is ridiculous. They don't wish to be men," Leliana's voice seemed undecided between surprise and confusion.
"I agree," Sten said evenly, "They shouldn't; that can only lead to frustration." Leliana looked at Alistair, then at Lorelei, as if pleading for some sort of support. Alistair made it clear with his silence that he was leaving the decision to her, and she wondered how he would react if she refused the pretty sister after having gone out of her way to recruit a murderer.
"Cultural differences aside," Lorelei said finally, feeling suddenly tired, "You are right, Leliana. We cannot afford to turn down help when it is offered. However," she held up a hand when both the woman and the Qunari started to speak, likely one to thank her profusely and one to argue, "I will not promise anything other than that you may accompany us, should you insist on it. We are headed to Redcliffe, and then to the Circle Tower, and then— when we return to Ostagar, our Commander will decide how you can help us."
"We do not go directly to battle? Is it wise to delay?" Lorelei looked to Alistair, but he shook his head— she was on her own. She did her best to answer Sten, hoping that the templar wouldn't continue to remove himself from her when they disagreed. She didn't know his age, but she was sure that he was too old for that, at least.
"We were sent out for reinforcements from two armies," she explained. She wasn't sure that the Circle could really be referred to as an army, but she did not want to start another conversation about the nuances of human-versus-Qunari culture. Interesting as it would be to learn about a race that she'd only read about, they didn't have the time. "I doubt that we would meet with approval if we returned with only the two of you." Sten considered her for a moment, as she imagined he might examine a mouse that breathed fire, then nodded.
"That is fair enough," he said finally, "Shall we be off, then? I am eager to be elsewhere." Lorelei gestured for Alistair to lead the way, and followed behind him, a little surprised at how quickly their new companions fell into step on either side of her, Sten just in front and Leliana just behind.
The bandits seemed to think Alistair the only threat, which was a mistake that cost them as Lorelei sent one man sprawling into his own sword and tripped another by freezing his legs. It kept them from flanking Alistair, but two broke off to attack her instead, and she had to try to parry with her staff as one enthusiastic bandit tried to sever her head from her body and the other came close to cutting her legs out from under her.
The force of the blow against her staff knocked her off of her feet and sent her staff flying away from her, and she crawled backwards until the point of a dagger appeared in the throat of the man advancing on her. He fell to reveal Leliana, her Chantry robe covered in blood, standing behind him. The red-haired woman spun and ducked and almost danced through the bandits, one attack leading smoothly into the next. She hadn't lied when she'd told them that she could fight, and Lorelei was awed— until she sensed movement behind her and turned, just as Sten snapped the neck of a bandit that had slipped behind her. How they could not realise that the giant was a threat, she didn't know, but she was grateful for the mistake as Sten, muttering something about women on the battlefield, picked up the fallen bandit's greatsword and waded into the fray.
It was over quickly after that, and she was relieved to find that Alistair and Leliana had escaped major injury— their cuts and bruises were set right with a few flicks of her fingers. She turned, looking for Sten, and her relief disintegrated.
He was standing over one of the bodies, arm dangling loosely, a deep gash snaking down from just below the shoulder to the elbow. He was holding a greatsword loosely in his hand, and blood ran from his wound and coated his arm, hand, and the sword from hilt to tip before making a dark puddle in the dirt. He swayed, and she shouted for Alistair. The templar was at Sten's side in moments, attempting to steady him and struggling for balance under the Qunari's taller, heavier frame.
"Sit him down," she ordered, hating how her voice cracked, and she knelt beside the giant as he set the sword flat on the ground between them. She studied the wound and found that he had been cut to the bone, and was losing far too much blood. She called up her magic and he flinched, breaking her concentration as the wound shifted and tore where she had begun to mend it.
"Hold still," she said sharply, and at his glare, she raised an eyebrow and added, "Please." Sten grunted, turning his strange eyes away from her as she healed the gash on his arm, one hand resting at the wrist and the other guiding the magic from elbow to shoulder as it knit skin and flesh together. He managed to keep his arm still, though the rest of his body was turned away from her as if he wished that he could flee. When she was satisfied that the wound was closed, she stepped back. He straightened, still eyeing her warily, inspected his arm carefully, and thanked her in a flat tone of voice that suggested that he was not thankful at all.
"Did I miss something?" He looked at her like she was an idiot, and she qualified, "Your arm— was my healing inadequate?"
"It is— as it was," he said slowly, "I am unaccustomed to magic being used so freely."
"That was far from a trivial injury, Sten."
"You do not understand."
"No, I do not." He seemed a bit surprised at her response, and she smiled slightly, "I believe it is to be expected, as I am not of your people. If it helps, I have no intention of harming you."
"I do not fear harm to myself," he said finally, and when she gestured for him to explain, he continued, "An unbound mage is like a wildfire. As prone to consume itself as to devour all that surrounds it."
"You are wrong," she said simply, "I do understand." The disbelief was clear on his face, and she tilted her head. "While I do not know your people's practices regarding mages, being a mage, I have lived in close familiarity with the danger that magic poses, to myself and to others. I have been raised by the Circle, surrounded by experienced mages and priests and templars, all uniquely qualified to teach me about such matters." She shifted, wiping her hands of blood and staring straight into his face, which was much easier to do when he was seated, and she was half-standing. "It is like fire— if uncontrolled, its destructive power is incredible, but it can be controlled and used to great effect. It is a resource, and a valuable one." He blinked, and she smiled, and gestured to his arm. "I was recruited into the Grey Wardens because my magic— which is a part of me— is too valuable to waste."
Something that may have been, unbelievable as it was, approval flickered across his face before he turned away and began painstakingly cleaning his sword. Willing to take whatever victory available to her, Lorelei met Alistair's eyes and they rose together and approached the two cowering dwarves, just emerging from behind their waggon.
"That was a mighty timely arrival, my friends," the older dwarf said, looking around at the scattered bodies of the bandits. "Many thanks for your help."
"You're welcome," Lorelei said, somewhat uncomfortable. The bandits may have meant to rob these two, but they had merely stumbled in to the confrontation. "Are you both all right?"
"We are, thanks to you," he answered, "Bodhan Feddic at your service— Merchant and Entrepreneur— and this is my son, Sandal," he addressed the other dwarf, young enough not to have a beard, "Well, my boy, thank the kind lady."
"Thank you kind lady!" There was something off about Sandal, and Lorelei studied him for a moment, wondering what, exactly, it was. It wasn't just the way that he spoke, or even his childlike manner— there was something else, something that she felt like she should recognise.
"The roads are mighty dangerous these days. Mind if I ask what brings you out here? Perhaps we're going the same way."
"It's probably better if you weren't," Alistair spoke up, "Not that you're not welcome to come along if you really want to, but Grey Wardens tend to run into more trouble than most travellers." At Lorelei's look, he mouthed 'darkspawn', and she nodded, making a note to ask him about that later.
"Grey Wardens? Ah, I— I think that's more excitement than my boy and I can handle," the dwarf admitted, "But before you go on your way, perhaps you'd be interested in some of my merchandise." Lorelei blinked, glancing over at Leliana and Sten, then locking eyes with Alistair. "Your friends look like they could use some more equipment," Bodhan continued, a sly look on his face, "I think that I might have just the thing... and for saving me and my boy, I'm prepared to offer you a fine discount."
Lorelei waved for Sten and Leliana to approach, fumbled for her coin purse, and reconsidered her stance on divine intervention.