Notes--Some of the following dialogue has been taken from or modeled off of lines in DAO. Elan's line about a gift and a curse is borrowed from Monk with no insult or infringement intended.
Thanks to all the people who have added any of my stories as favorites or added me as a favorite author. Thanks to those few reviewers who have let me know they like my work. And a big thanks to those who have taken time to send me encouraging messages! If not for you, I probably wouldn't have gotten motivated enough to write and post this bit, so I hope you like it!
The chapter title is a reference to Deekin, a henchman from Neverwinter Nights SoU and HotU.
"Well, there it is." Alistair said with a sigh. "Lothering. Pretty as a painting."
"Ah, so you've finally decided to rejoin us then?" Morrigan demanded, her satisfaction at teaching the bandits a lesson apparently not enough to offset her ill-temper at having spent several hours answering Elan's questions. "Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble, I take it?"
"You have been quiet," Elan said, because she'd missed the sound of his voice, the way he made her smile through her fear and her grief, and immediately wanted to kick herself. She'd been just as quiet on the road with Duncan...and in the Wilds...until today. She knew his reasons. She even understood them.
"Yes," Alistair said wearily, "I know. I was just...thinking."
"No wonder it took so long, then," Morrigan sneered.
"Oh, I get it. This is the part where we're shocked to discover how you never had a friend your entire life," Alistair retorted.
Morrigan shrugged. "I can be friendly when I desire to. Alas, desiring to be more intelligent does not make it so."
"Anyway," Alistair said pointedly, turning very deliberately so that Morrigan was no longer in his line of sight, and Elan was. "I thought we should talk about where we intended to go first."
"We need to hear some news before we can decide," Elan reminded him. "But we should—"
"Come with me," an unfamiliar voice crisply interrupted.
Elan glanced over her shoulder and found herself nose-to...breastplate with...someone. The breastplate was emblazoned with a flaming sword. She tilted her head back to look the speaker in the eye...and ended up looking him in the visor instead. It was really rather disconcerting, all this shiny metal...which...come to think of it...should have made it easy to hear him coming.
She sincerely hoped she wasn't losing her touch. Of course, I probably am, seeing as how this would be the worst possible time for it...But maybe all the squabbling masked the noise...Yes, I'll just keep telling myself that. She sighed. "If you insist...uh...ser..." she said awkwardly. "But would you mind telling us where we're going...or why we would have the slightest interest in doing so?"
"We're going to tell Ser Bryant what you did," the man said.
"I see." Elan said, meaning, of course, that she didn't really. "And who is this Ser Bryant, exactly? Why should he care whether or not we defended ourselves when bandits decided to attack us?"
"Ser Bryant is the head of the Chantry's templars," the man said, inadvertently explaining his odd armor in the process. He didn't bother answering the rest of Elan's questions. Typical.
But I can hazard a guess as to why you think you think your Ser Bryant would be interested in us...if you happened to see Morrigan's little performance...and she did something...odd for a mage. At least she didn't turn into any odd animals. Thank the Maker for small blessings, I suppose.
Luckily, in spite of the scene he had apparently witnessed, the templar didn't seem that distrustful of any of them. He strode off ahead, not really keeping an eye on any of them.
Morrigan glanced at Elan, who dipped her head in the templar's direction. Morrigan raised her eyebrows, and followed after him, apparently just as unconcerned as he was.
Elan edged as close to Alistair as she dared, and nudged him with her elbow. "Psst. Alistair," she hissed from the corner of her mouth, trying not to move her lips. "Any idea how we can convince this templar there's nothing odd about Morrigan?"
"Does it matter?" he asked, when he finally managed to get his stifled laughter under control. "If they take her, our lives will be more pleasant...and we'll be free of whatever meddling Flemeth put her up to."
"Hmmm..." Elan grunted, a bit disturbed by how appealing this thought was...and how much sense it seemed to make. She knew there was some reason it wasn't that simple...
Oh. Right. "Alistair! She saved our lives! We can't just hand her over to the templars—they'll probably kill her out of hand!"
Alistair groaned. "You're right. Why do you have to be right?"
"It's a gift...and a curse," Elan said wryly. "So...?"
"No idea," Alistair replied. "They didn't exactly cover that sort of thing in templar training."
"Well, they should," Elan informed him.
"Oh, yes. I quite agree. One never knows when one might have a perfectly legitimate need to pull the wool over the eyes of one's entire order."
"Well...yes! I mean, no...that's not...that is...oh, nevermind! I suppose we'll just have to wing it," she concluded anxiously as the doors of the Chantry loomed into sight...nearly obscured by the crowd of people gathered in front of it.
A man—dressed in a manner Elan had never seen before and took to be Chasind—strode back and forth in front of them, waving his arms in a frenzy of gestures, shouting loudly. The crowd murmured amongst itself in a way that reminded Elan of the surging, whispering voices she'd heard in her Joining. The association made her stomach roil with fear and revulsion.
"It's just a guess," Alistair murmured, "but I think everyone in Lothering is aware of the approaching darkspawn horde."
"Let us through," the templar said impatiently. "Chantry business. Make way."
"There! One of their minions among us!" The man shouted, lunging toward Elan. "This woman bears their evil stench! Can you not feel the vile blackness that fills her?"
"Keep your voice down," Elan hissed at the man, adding, "how does he know? How can he tell? Please tell me that bit about the stench is metaphorical," in Alistair's direction.
Alistair shrugged. "Don't ask me. I think you smell delightful, but then, I also like the smell of a well-aged Stilton."
Elan sighed. "Seeing as how Stilton smells better than darkspawn, I'll take what I can get."
"I try to be of service," Alistair smirked.
The Chasind, of course, was not amused. "The legion of evil is on our doorstep!" he shouted.
Elan was not certain she was reassured to see how just literally that comment could be taken.
"I've seen them! They will destroy you!"
"Don't be a fool," Elan said loudly, trying to cast her voice to be heard at the edges of the crowd. She'd never thought that might be a skill she should practice. Well, live and learn. "Darkspawn can be defeated."
"But isn't he right?" Someone in the crowd wailed. "The bann left us! We're going to die!"
"You cannot run! You cannot fight!" the Chasind reiterated.
"Standing about and shouting won't save you," Elan snapped.
"Nothing will save us! There is no hope left!" the barbarian moaned.
"There is always hope! We Fereldans have fought off far worse in our past!" Elan shouted...and doubted the words even as she did. Barbarians, witches, werewolves...what were these to the corruption that devoured a person's soul, twisting and devouring all that made someone who he or she had been?
"Are you calling me a coward?" The Chasind demanded.
"I know dogs made of sterner stuff than you," Elan said with false bravado.
Woofus barked loudly, making several people in the crowd back up crowd began to disperse, still muttering amongst itself about doom, hope, and escape.
"I—I am shamed...." the barbarian said, wilting as if all the fight had suddenly gone out of him. "But...the monsters...the blackness will come..." He looked at Elan with dull and hollow eyes. "You know," he said flatly, "it will come."
The templar escorting them pulled off his helmet. He looked far less imposing...far more...trickable...or persuadable...or reasonable, or something... "Sorry about that, my lady," he said. "But maybe it was just as well...could have gotten ugly if the templars had to disperse that lot."
"Yes, well," Elan said, casting a look in Alistair's direction, "I live to serve."
