*** Elsewhere... ***
Ah, beautiful darkness. 'Tis embrace tranquil, 'tis touch soothing...
His exhausted mind wandered aimlessly, giving him something to concentrate on in the low-lit gloom that had surrounded him for... for... It was hard for him to keep track. If he could count the scant amounts of food and water they allowed him, it had to be close to a few weeks in the very least.
The only companions he had for company were a rat missing half its tail and Morrigan. He wondered which made for better company. At least, Morrigan hadn't tried to steal his hard bread. Not that she could, due to being bound up completely on top of a neutralization glyph. The only dim light was emitted off that glyph, giving her an eerie glow as she hung low within her confides.
Zevran was luckier, only his arms and legs had been tied back severely. He could still speak and draw breath when his nose suffered another blow in another round of questioning. Morrigan didn't get that luxury, her face covered with a large leather mask. It made the one-sided conversations a bit more literal in that sense.
He couldn't tell how bad Morrigan had endured at these soldiers' hands. These men were quite skilled in interrogation, Zevran had to admit. He wondered if they were affiliated with the Crows in some shape or form. Many of their techniques were developed within the Crows and were a closely guarded secret as few would ever survive long enough to anyone else. He didn't recognize any familiar faces amongst these soldiers when he managed to get a half-second glimpse before they blindfolded him to lead him elsewhere in their current dungeon.
Leaving my chances of surviving this escapade remarkably slimmer than usual.
Shifting his limbs as much as the chains would allow, Zevran tried to keep himself from becoming too stiff. The rattle of the chains helped gain Morrigan's attention, her head lulling up to gaze over in his direction.
"Good. You're still conscious, that's a definite plus." He tried to make conversation, more for his sake than hers likely.
The door opened with a loud whine, providing not nearly as much extra illumination that one would hope for. The guard clad red scale mail had brought them their second and final sip of water for the day. The helm obstructed any visible facial features, making it hard to try to form any sort of camaraderie.
The soldier dipped the wooden ladle into the bucket of water held at his side, holding it up to Zevran for him to consume. After three turns, he placed the ladle in the bucket, moving over to Morrigan. He touched the glyph by her, inspecting it carefully before daring to remove her gag.
Once removed, Morrigan coughed hoarsely, lurching forward with intensity. The man waited for her fit to stop, drawing the knife from his belt in absolute precaution. When she was able to suck in a few breathes without coughing, the ladle was offered to her without hesitation. It was clear the guard didn't want to be here any longer than necessary.
"Say, why don't you let this lady have five minutes to breath? The intoxicating air filled with the pungent scents of mold, rotting hay and... say, is that human waste?" Zevran tried to play it up, knowing full well this was likely to earn him a sharp kick in the gut. It gave him something to look forward to those lonely nights; just him and his many bruises to serenade him painfully.
The jailer did not make any indication of hearing his words, giving Morrigan the third ladle of water. Once she managed to only drink half of it while the remainder dribbled to the floor, she rested back against the stone wall. The glyph glowed with renewed light, allowing Zevran to watch as Morrigan shot daggers at their own personal waterboy.
"Five minutes." The guard spoke, his voice echoing from within his helmet.
Zevran blinked twice, unable to hide his surprise at the sudden gesture of good faith. The guard exited from the cell, the lock could be heard after closing the door. The shuffle of his heavy stride could be heard walking away from their door.
He didn't know what to make of this new situation. He did know he needed to find out how well Morrigan was holding up.
"Are you alright?" He spoke softly, not wanting to attract undue notice if any guards remained outside their cell.
Morrigan coughed shortly. "If you were strung up like I am, you would know I am definitely not feeling alright. I can manage if this is the worst they can inflict upon me."
"I have been strung up like that on a couple occasions. Those are stories for a different day, let me tell you!" He sighed at the sudden pang of nostalgia. "Have you answered any of their questions?"
"I can not answer what I do not know, yet they keep drilling me through the same questions every time they take me to that infernal room." Morrigan answered through a raspy voice.
Zevran lent back against the wall, his fingers never stopping from trying to find a way out of his shackles. "It mystifies me as to why they continue with these questions. They already took everything I had, told them my methods of infiltration and enlightened them that I only needed to deliver her remains to Haven. No one paid me to keep quiet about these things, you'd think they would pay the Crows more for silence. It doesn't cost that much more considering the rest paid for."
"Enough." Morrigan shifted against the leather and chains, trying to prop herself up against the cold, dank wall. "I have heard them speaking in quiet tones. It appears they are moving from this location, wherever we are now, to somewhere else. I believe I heard the word boat in there somewhere. Our time is short if we want to remain alive and somehow retrieve Aydalis' remains."
Zevran tried to laugh only to have it come out like muffled groan. "Easier said than done. I haven't had any luck with these. They must be dwarven-made; best cuffmakers in all of Thedas." He gulped loudly, trying to keep his throat from going dry. "I have no idea why they continue with these interrogations. Do they think I had time to have a Plan B? I could barely make it out alive and without my partner in crime. There was no time to take riches or mementos; her bones were all I was able to lift before the second wave of guards could arrive."
"Why tell me this? It will make little difference if I told them such..." Morrigan stopped mid-sentence as the door unlocked and swung open. Three guards in the same armor marched in to Morrigan. The first replaced her leather gag unceremoniously while the other two prepared to unlock her shackles.
Her turn. Zevran noted to himself, trying to commit it to the rest of his mental journal to keep some sense of time.
As the guards pulled Morrigan effortlessly from the cell, the light from the glyph snuffed out, leaving him in total pitch black once the door locked shut again.
In that cold dark, Zevran had to pride himself and silently thank his former tutors for teaching him to withstand pain and everything that came with being captured. It had taken every shred of those lessons to remain steadfast in this uncertain situation.
Nothing else mattered. His secret was safe. If it had to die with him, so be it.
*** Val Royeaux Harbor ***
She breathed deep of the briny sea air, exhaling while a slight smile curled on her painted lips. Thankfully, the ride on Isabella's fine sea vessel had been uneventful beyond the dinners she shared with the captain. Her old friend was still a riot to be around once the spirits got to her, making the nights more tolerable to deal with than sitting idly in the guest cabin.
Not that Isabella didn't try to entice her with her feminine wiles, it wasn't within Leliana's interests anymore. While those bygone days had been fun, she wasn't the trouble-free minstrel she had once been. Leliana had a lot to take care of more than ever and those sensual vices had become a fond, distant memory. Best they stay that way.
While she would've loved to dip her toes in Val Royeaux and its varied social gatherings, her affairs kept her at the docks. It was here that some of the best information could be traded and purchased. While it lacked the colors of the city further in, the people here were the true color. She knew she would find some kind of link leading to the recovery of Ayda's stolen remains in this old harbor.
Leliana glanced upward, making sure she had found the right tavern. How many years had it been since she came here? Eight? This trip, despite its importance, had been a trip down memory lane. Once she saw the familiar fish with an eyepatch on the faded wooden sign marked 'Gill's', she moved to press open the door, steeling herself for the usual stew of patrons.
The smoke, smell of heavy liquor and the smell of old sweat hit her senses, making her squint momentarily as she adjusted to the atmosphere. As she stepped into the drone of loud voices and drunken singing, Leliana hadn't forgotten where she needed to go to find the person she sought in this lovable hole in the wall.
It was a good thing Leliana had worn clothes tailored for the less reputable abilities of her life before the Chantry. A burgundy blouse with some room to move with a low neckline to still grab attention, tucked into a pair of faded black leather pants, comfortable and closer to dark grey in shade with a pair of old knee-high boots to match. Her garb gave her the ease of dodging incoming traffic and greedy hands, her hand comfortably resting against her belt where two knifes were sheathed at the small of her back. As she reached the bar, she managed to keep her coin purse and her dignity. Oh! I still got it.
The bartender sidled up to her, expecting to hear a drink order. The rotund, bald man did a double-take, a smile presenting his variety of missing teeth. "Me eyes be deceivin' me. 'Twas thinkin' ya might be lost in mine bread an' butter, but lo an' behold, here stands lil chick! Ya have blossomed into ta a beautiful lady, ya have!"
"Old Gill, you haven't aged a day!" Leliana launched into friendly chatter, leaning against the bar edge. "I bet you still can't keep the ladies off you. I think the line outside stretched around the fish market and beyond." It was good to see his lovable face, big black mustache and all.
Old Gill waved his hand, taking the rag off his shoulder to swab the old wooden countertop in front of her. "Now ye be pullin' me leg, little chick. Me thinks ya aren't here ta see lil ol' me." He leaned in close, whispering. "Ya here fo' Jakanis?"
Leliana gave a quick nod of her head, leaning upwards. "I'll take a Flaming Templar for the road."
"Ya still kno' how ta drink, I'll give ya tha'!" Old Gill prepared the drink effortlessly, sliding the pint glass in her direction before slinking off into the backrooms.
She always wondered why the drink was called the Flaming Templar, it certainly wasn't on fire. Perhaps it felt like fire on an untrained throat, she gave that thought merit as she took a healthy gulp. Another minor part of her old training was being able to outlast targets to be able to finish the job once they passed out. The underlying woody flavor always warmed her spirits. Wynne would've loved sampling this. Definitely for the flavor and a little humor at its title.
Leliana thought back on her old friend, wishing Wynne would've stayed longer in Denerim to have a few more drinks with her. She respected her endless dedication to both the Circle and Alistair, tirelessly working to improve matters and issues on both ends. It was a dear blessing that she would simply pass on to the Maker in her sleep, the Spirit's energy fading after ten years of holding on.
As she took a moment to thank the Maker in her heart, Old Gill shuffled back, tilting his head back to the backroom. "Ya free to see 'im now." He added with his usual toothy grin. "Good luck, lil chick. Don't be a stranga' now!"
She wore a smile filled with gratitude. "I'll try! I'll try!" With some careful maneuvering, she made it to the backroom with surprisingly little incident. With a nod from the tall man standing guard, she stepped into the elusive high-end gambling racket that the place was really known for. It was a meeting ground for high society and the underbelly to face-off and blow as many sovereigns as mortally possible. Back here, Jakanis was the unquestioned boss that most people knew better than tried to cross.
He was definitely the man that Leliana knew would have the answers. She only hoped that she had enough sovereigns to buy that information. His usual spot in the back with the red curtain drawn was dimly lit and the two men held guard close by meant he still lurked in that back corner.
Leliana approached that back corner, trying to avoid the gambling tables as much as possible. The two guards eyed her from head to toe, one holding a hand out for her weapons. With a quick unbuckle of her belt pouch, she slipped her sheathed weapons in the man's hand.
"That's all I have." She frowned as the man expected her to be more heavily-armed, lifting her arms so he could give her the necessary pat-down. At least, he was quite a gentleman, not lingering more than he honestly needed to. Once he gave the nod, the other parted the curtain for her.
"Keep an eye on my pouch, boys." She offered a small finger wave, stepping through to see the dimly-lit table covered in various scrolls, coin purses and scale with a dark-haired older man sitting behind it all, scrawling away at a piece of parchment with no reaction to her arrival.
"Sit." Jakanis' voice intoned deeply, his direct attention not leaving the work in front of him.
Leliana knew better than to question his word. Well, more than necessary. They had weathered many heated arguments during her training as a bard, yet he had never sent her away like he did with some of the students that were sent his way. He would always be one of her favorite teachers for his stern discipline and eye for detail, imparting that knowledge onto her when she had been ready.
Jakanis took his grey eyes off his work, placing the quill back in the inkwell. He wore a slim pair of reading glasses that perched on his long nose. "You certainly excited Old Gill something fierce, little chick. It has been quite some time since we last spoke. How are things working out with the Chantry? I trust Marjolaine didn't cause you too much trouble when she tracked you down?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle, sir." Leliana answered quickly, almost out of old force of habit. "While I would've preferred to not go through everything she put me through, it has put me on the path I am now and I wouldn't want to be any other place than I am now. So I'm grateful in a sense."
A slight grin appeared on his thin lips, stretching his back midway as he leaned against the cushioned booth. "That's what I wanted to hear. While Marjolaine never knew how to trust in any capacity, it does warm this black heart that you didn't forget how to show mercy." He took a quick sip from his cup of cold tea. "My ears have heard the reasons why one such as yourself would travel from Ferelden to these encrusted old docks. The answer isn't as simple with what few rumors have managed to spread."
"Am I even on the right track here? Time is of the essence in this matter, as I'm sure you well know, sir." Leliana wrung her hands in her lap nerviously, almost feeling like a small slip of a girl again in his presence. "She was a dear friend and paid the price for stopping the last Blight. She deserved to rest in peace and did for almost eleven years until this act of desecration has ripped her from it. Maker knows for what ill purpose..."
Jakanis listened quietly, his sharp eyes flickering over the supplies strewn about his table. "While many little tidbits eventually reach my ear, I can't answer upon who has taken your friend. I have heard of many different factions flocking to that region within the year. I'm sure the first you suspect is the Antivan Crows. Your guess is not too far off."
Leliana bit on her lower lip, stalling herself from blurting out any hasty emotions that wished to break free. "Is there any further information what their objective was?"
"Your good friend, Zevran, seemed to be on a mission in the Anderfels. What I can't truly pinpoint if the Weisshaupt incident was for that very mission or another matter entirely. I was lucky to scrape that much information without someone affiliated coming in here and trying to 'have a word' about it with me. Smart fools."
She turned her eyes downward, trying to will back the anger and disappointment that threatened to overpower her better judgment. "What is known for certain?"
"The only certainty is that your friend is in someone's hands right now." Jakanis tapped his fingers together on top of his papers. "The Crows are the most likely suspects. However, there are reports of a new dragon cult restructuring that has an uncanny habit of staying just out of public notice when it's becoming a bigger threat with each passing day."
"Isabella told me of old rumors, though she dismissed them as folly." She informed, her voice remaining neutral despite how she felt. "If from what you've said is true, how are they able to keep this from spreading into daily rumor?"
Jakanis kept his cool stare levelled at her. "They have been quite efficient on tracking down those people who talk about the matter and those people are never seen again. It's also mixed with the rumor of people disappearing in general within the last two years, especially in Orlais and the Imperium, I know for sure. It keeps attention off the true matter: this unified cult is gaining new members to fuel its growth. I suspect that those who have gone missing have become a part of that force somehow. I have no absolute proof, but it's not the unskilled and poor that have gone missing. It's a soldier here, an archer there and perhaps a templar somewhere in the middle. These are trained men and women that are a part of the working society, yet very little word of these missing people are on the minds of the general masses. There must be people smoothing these matters on many levels, meaning that it's high-reaching and likely more widespread than I could've originally anticipated."
Leliana took his information with every detail, only adding on the sense of dread building in her heart. "Does this cult bear a name?"
"They do... Ah! I have heard the name: Blood of Andraste. It has come up more than once. That is all that I truly know. If they have their hands within the right channels, they are moving through several different people and not spreading their name. For a rising cult, this is a peculiar tactic when one would think they would want to spread word of their cause and intentions. I can only make presumptions about their plans, but if it requires this much silence, it's likely something they are close to accomplishing."
She didn't hide the distraught from her face, unable to wrap her head around everything at once. "This situation goes much deeper than I could've fathomed. And you think that the heist upon Weisshaupt is tied into all of this?"
"It's wise to never rule anything out until every side is known. If I had to go with gut instinct on this, as Old Gill would say to do, that assault on the Grey Warden tombs is a vital part in this secret agenda. Beyond that, there is little real evidence to go by. I apologize that I could only offer more questions instead of answers." Jakanis offered a rare apology, usually never in a position where he didn't have a definitive answer.
Leliana sat in silence for a good while, weighing her options. Jakanis adjusted his spectacles, returning to the light scrawling against a new parchment. The quiet was disturbed when he placed a small purse on the scale, jingling softly.
"Master Jakanis, would I be able to procure your services in getting a message sent from here with the utmost urgency?" She asked in a firm tone, her eyes set with the task before her.
Jakanis raised his eyebrows, turning his enigmatic attention back to her. "Procure? As much as I'd like to assist a former student, the coin needed for such a task is not light. Many hands have to be paid and repaid to have a message become nigh invisible."
"Could I request that your men return with my pack? I wish to negotiate a deal." She inquired.
Janakis gave a snap of his thin fingers. "Bring her pack to me, please." A guard stepped through, holding out the leather belt lined with pouches and weapons to the man in charge.
"I believe I can afford such a service, sir." Leliana gestured to the leftmost pocket, conveniently the one bulging more than the others. "I was told to spare no expense and this matter is one of those situations."
Jakanis let a slight smile slid onto his features, handing the belt back to his former student. It took her only a moment to pop open the sidepocket, letting the heavy purse fall into her hand.
"Now, I need to send a message."
***
Everything lurched against the very fabric of her sense of self. The most she could do was imagine herself curling into a fetal position, trying to weather this feeling of being dragged downward and sideways at the same time. She should try to break away. She had tried. The fire never returned and now the black gripped her. It wasn't the same cold grip that had purged her from the fold, it was the very touch of the Fade unformed, untouched and nothing.
Ayda tried to close herself off from it, unable to regain any balance in this freefall. Perhaps if she had been a mage in life instead of a soldier, she would've better prepared for this kind of situation. She was also thankful she had never been a mage, despite the enlightenment of Wynne's experiences had changed her perspective. Still, she wouldn't give up her family for anything and felt sorry for those gifted with such magic of being torn away and stuck in a tower.
Try to focus. Try to focus.
It was when she tried to converge her thoughts into a single point that she realized she held something warm protectively to her chest. That sensation brought everything to a standstill, feeling the soft glow of firelight against her closed eyelids.
Ayda dared to crack open her eyes, finding herself within a cramped tent with only the campfire outside providing any light in the distance. Once she had a moment to collect herself, it came to her like a soft whisper. This was her tent back when their party camped out in the wilderness constantly. How could she ever forget after it became a second home after her family fell to Arl Howe? It wasn't much, but it wouldn't be taken away so easy from her as many things had in that short span of time. A place of comfort and relative safety.
Home.
Her hands still held tight to the source of her recollection. With delicate care, she eased her fingers into a cupped position, catching sight of what she had been holding onto in that fathomless drop.
A single rose. A little worn around the edges, only starting to bloom. The flower Alistair had given her one random night by the campfire. The act of kindness had caught her off-guard.
Even after the events since Ostagar, the wound of her family's loss still struck deep, much more than she had ever let on. Everyone looked to her as the leader when it really wasn't her place to be one. She wasn't the most experienced nor the most capable, yet only Sten had ever challenged her leadership. Whatever answer she had found for him, there came a newfound respect in his stoic scrutiny. Maybe others saw in her something she didn't see herself.
Then, there was Alistair and the lightly bruised rose. His delivery had started so well, keeping eye contact and not completely dissolving into the joking side of his nature. By the end, it had surprised her to see him so bashful to the point he took first watch which he never volunteered for willingly. In hindsight, his cloistered life in the Chantry shaped him to that point. To see the blush infect his cheeks was a priceless treasure she carried along with the rose.
"Are you awake?" A familiar voice brought her back from her thoughts.
As the entrance flap was pushed aside, the faint scent of fresh soap caught her attention, her eyes wanting to believe in who knelt in front of her. Alistair.
His warm, crooked smile. Those light-brown eyes, dancing with his usual mirth. The naked adoration plain for her to bask in these rare private moments. It would be so easy to smooth her hand along his stubbled cheek. To return her affection with a fond kiss. To bring him into the shelter of her arms...
"Did I catch you at a bad time?" Alistair glanced left and right dramatically, perched at the opening of her tent in his usual green tunic, leather leggings and boots. His short hair combed back from a recent bathing, explaining the pleasant scent.
Ayda shook her head slowly, lowering the little rose to her side to rest on her folded blanket. "Just a bit surprised is all. Is there something I can do for you?" She asked in an official tone.
"Oh. Fine. Be that way. I thought you just might like the last slice of sweet cake I've seen you eyeing voraciously across the campfire." He mused, his hand bouncing a small wrapped bundle that had to be the cake mentioned.
Her brows shot up in challenge. "What? I was not! How could I not notice when half of the cake seemed stuck in crumb-form all around your lower face?"
"So you admit to blatantly ogling my handsome face instead of this delicious cake?" He baited, his sly smile and arched right eyebrow were charming in his unspoken triumph.
Ayda gaped for lack of a better answer then promptly closed her mouth. She huffed in mock indignation, crossing her arms as she veered her eyes to the left. The soft velvet under her fingertips... When had she put this on? She didn't own anything this nice anymore. Not since home.
Alistair chuckled heartily, placing the small gift of cake in front of her in offering. "Have mercy on this poor soul of a man. Please accept this humble gift in repentance of offending her ladyship."
"You're laying it on a bit thick, don't you think?" She slid her fingers through her loose hair, moving her long bangs from her eyes. It felt odd. When did she have time to wear her hair down like this?
"Me? Laying it on thick? How could you think such a thing?" Alistair decided to move in closer, letting the flap fall back into place behind him.
The light tapered off to a warm glow, bringing out the color in his eyes. Ayda stared boldly despite herself, mesmerized. In one swift motion, he gathered her into his arms, his hands cupping her lower back gently.
In natural response, her arms slid around his neck, pulling herself closer into his embrace. She pressed her face into the crook of his bare neck, letting the warmth and the musky scent of his clean skin overwhelm her senses. It felt good to be there.
Everything felt right. Yet it shouldn't. Something was off. He had never dared to venture into her tent uninvited, not once. There hadn't been a lot of time for them to truly explore their feelings, never feeling this at ease in each other's presence when alone. There had always been some imminent doom that always had a way of spoiling the mood. There should be the threat of darkspawn or the approach of the Blight, yet she felt no sense of urgency here.
Against her own desire, Ayda slid away from that comforting envelopment, placing the palm of her hands against his broad shoulders. "No."
Alistair rested his forehead against hers, pressing against her hands with unspoken insistence. "Yes." The hands on her back didn't slide away, his eyes catching hers one more. Again, she felt the sway of her hesitance try to buckle.
"I said no." Ayda managed to find the will to resist. "This isn't real." With another try, she started push Alistair away from her with more strength.
"What is wrong? Isn't this where you want to be?" His voice felt forbidding despite the smooth intonation.
She managed a weak smile. "Being in his arms would be my second heaven. You aren't Alistair, whoever you might be."
His demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. The fingers in Ayda's back started to dig into her flesh, his gentle smile turned into a cold, maniacal visage of what it had just been. "Interesting. Not a spirit or demon. Not a mortal. Oh, this will be fun. So very much fun."
"Get away from me." Ayda flinched as the nails started to draw blood. Gathering her strength, she shoved this fake man away from her, bringing up her feet to put more force into the second attempt. Her skin ripped as the nails were pulled away, feeling the warmth of her blood trickling from the crescent-shaped wounds.
The fake Alistair laughed raucously, flying back against the tent flap. "So that's how you want to play it, little one? So be it." The man licked the blood from one hand, snapping his fingers on his other blood-stained hand in unison.
Everything started to change. The tent gave way to stone walls. The flames of the campfire crawled along the broken wreckage lining the narrow walkway, the body of dead soldiers and familiar faces alike. The man that had been Alistair shifted right in front of her, taking the bloodied face of her brother, Fergus.
"My family! My wife and son died because of you! Everything came to ruin when that Grey Warden came looking to recruit! Oh no, not Ser Gilmore - you!" Her brother screamed at her, kicking a dead elf maid in the side.
The word flew directly at Ayda, trying to pierce her heart that had already come to terms with this massive loss in her previous life. Her family had been in the fold, happy, content. "Yes, I failed them, yet they saved me in return. If my brother had been there, he would've been lost as well. It's a small blessing that he might still be alive. Do you think you can break me with this?"
"Oh! Surely not. This is only a small appetizer. I'll savor the depths of your memories; one layer at a time." Fergus cackled as he snapped his fingers, his voice changing to a different pitch as everything lurched once again.
The world shifted. The fire and stone blurred to swampish greens and browns. They stood before the ramshackle hut within the Korcari Wilds. The stagnant stench of the bog did only reminded her of that one time after the fall of Ostagar. The besieged tower, the beacon, the onslaught...
Ayda gathered her senses, focusing on the shorter, older woman that now stood in front of her patiently.
"Ah, look. Another Grey Warden, up and about, safe and sound." Flemeth spoke nonchalantly, her hands held together in front of her loosely.
Her eyes roved from the old witch to the armored back of Alistair, staring out over the surrounding marshes. He turned upon hearing Flemeth quickly, his weary eyes sparking as they caught a glimpse of his fellow compatriot. She remembered that sudden transformation over his features; he had looked so utterly lost for a split second until he knew she was brought back from the brink.
"Why are we here, spirit?" She didn't want to tread through her memories. Whatever creature this was, she was at its mercy. So much for being anchored. Something must've gone wrong. Perhaps when I fell into that dream...
"That's not how you should speak to the one who pulled you both from that stone tower." Flemeth warned in a lilting rasp. "The question you should ask yourself: why did you fail?"
Ayda crossed her arms out of habit, watching the old woman intently. "We didn't fail here. We scaled the compromised tower. We lit that beacon. Where the rest of the Teyrn's forces went to after that is beyond our control."
She figured it might be best to play along to a point. Fighting it head-on would be pointless, learned from prior experience.
"You did fail. The beacon was not lit in time to save the king and your Grey Warden leader fighting in the ranks below. Perhaps this Loghain saw the futility into joining the battle at that point."
Alistair's shoulders visibly slumped at the crone's insight, taking in her words as if they were absolute truth.
"I can see your point, spirit. The tower had been overrun with darkspawn, the ascent had been slowed to clear a path up to the pyre at the top, awaiting us." Ayda managed a half-shrug, not letting her gaze move from Flemeth, not daring to succumb to the fake Alistair's despair.
Flemeth wore a faint smirk. "So be it, little one. You turn a blind eye to your failings, it's best not make a habit of it. Or is it best?" She snapped her bony fingers once. The transition started once more.
The insidious swamp changed to a torch-lit murk, surrounded by cold stone, iron shackles and wooden torture devices of a few varying kinds. Ayda remembered this depraved place more than she cared to; the dungeons of Arl Howe within his new estate in Denerim.
"You... You didn't deserve the rank and honor over one such as... me." The voice labored from the floor. Arl Howe held his abdomen, holding in his innards from spilling from the long slash that had brought him down. His fevered eyes full of rage and bitter resentment, blood trickling down from the sides of his mouth.
Ayda shook her head, keeping an even stare with the man who destroyed her very foundation. She should be enraged at reliving this memory. Much to her chagrin, it only filled her with an odd numbness. "Does that matter now, after you've purged the Couslands from Highever? Does it matter now that your life is spilling over the floor as we speak?"
"How dare you...?" Howe spat at her feet. "I deserved more!"
She inhaled deeply, regretting it instantly as the stench of entails made her feel unsteady. "I have nothing more to give. My revenge was struck when my blade pierced through your armor and cut through your midsection. My family can find solace that you got what you ultimately deserved after your betrayal."
"Betrayal... Remember that word and keep it close." Howe slumped to the floor, his eyes staring steadily off to his right. In a faint gesture, the weak snap was heard against the ruined leather and his mortal wound.
As the scene changed, color returned in warm shades of gold, red and wood. Voices murmured all around, above and behind. The throne sat empty in the distance, the body of Loghain covered with his very own cloak. Anora and Alistair stood to her right, Riordan and Eamon to her left. The Landsmeet had come down to her recommendation.
"Who will lead Ferelden?"
Ayda watched all the people staring at her, watching them in return. Her focus returned to the people awaiting her answer. So much had ridden on her very shoulders at that moment. Was it time to be truly selfish? How could she be an unbiased mediator when her relations with Alistair were in plain as day? She already knew; she had already made this decision.
"Alistair will be king, and I'll rule beside him." The words were spoken once more.
Alistair blinked twice upon hearing those words, the panic shivering through his being seemed to dissipate. The confidence that lurked behind the sheep's facade started to peek out. "Really? You will?"
The voices of Arl Eamon and Alistair faded to mute, Anora staring her down with cold daggers in her eyes.
"How could you not support me? I've supported Ferelden with every fiber of my being these five years and this is what I get? Tossed aside? Locked in a tower? How is this acceptable?"
Her voice grew in volume, her vehemence bared.
Ayda watched the hazy form of Alistair. He continued to speak with Eamon, oblivious to the words of the former queen standing right next to him. "He was ready, even if he didn't believe it himself. I saw the strength, courage and ability to be a leader hidden behind his jests and quips. How could I not? He should've been leader of our group, yet he conceded that role to me. That only served to drive me to find the answer to the question: why?"
"Why?" Anora arched an eyebrow, her delicate hands held politely in front of her. "Why, you ask? Did you try to hand the reins back to him or did you greedily keep them for yourself?"
She remembered that she had tried a couple times at the beginning to hand the role of leader back to him, but she never pushed the subject very far after his initial resistance. It felt almost natural for her to be in the lead. Her upbringing had always forced her in some way to take charge that she didn't really give this line of reasoning much thought till now. "Yes. It's wise to think that I greedily kept it to myself. Leadership was something that had always been expected of me. When it was passed onto me, it simply fit like a comfortable pair of gloves. In the end, I didn't force him to be a leader, yet he could see the kind of leader I was and could learn from that." She wore a faint smile, adding after a short pause. "Ha. Easy answer and right in front of me, too."
"How do you know you were a good leader?" Anora stepped away from the group, kneeling down beside the covered body of her father. "Was it a good decision to let Alistair slay my father without any choice in the matter?"
Ayda glanced down at Loghain's fallen sword, noticing the dried blood encrusted to the blade. "This is what Alistair knew he would have to face if he wanted his vengeance for Ostagar. For Duncan. It was not my decision to make." She paused, considering her next words thoughtfully. "As for my leadership, I did what I thought was right. We saved the Circle, freed the werewolves from their curse, earned the throne for Harrowmont, freed the Alienage from Tevinter slavers and kept Redcliffe from complete ruin when Eamon was poisoned. If any member wanted to speak up about my given word, I gave them my full attention. The only thing I can't answer is how those actions affected the future. It seemed positive from what little Wynne could tell me."
"You have such perfect answers. Always perfection. Never a strand out of place." Anora smoothed a hand over the cloak slowly, a gesture oddly similar to petting. "Would you have been the same if things had been different?"
"Different?" Ayda started to ask before the Landsmeet vanished, the clicking sound of the snap resounded around her. All the warmth of color drained into the raging fire and ash started to come before her eyes. The ground littered with the many bodies of those fallen strewn in every haphazard pose possible, the sky hidden under the darkened clouds riding ahead of a Blight. Now she stood on the roof of Fort Drakon, the place of her final stand.
The Archdemon's massive form rested after its initial collapse from the direct onslaught of the combined Ferelden forces, the darkspawn still swarmed around it in vain to protect while their allies still pressed forth. Now, Ayda stood by the blurred forms of Leliana, Wynne and Alistair. They were picking themselves out of the rubble, their attention focusing on the corrupted dragon before them.
"So, you were truly the light that brightened our sky that night. Its brilliance was different from the four I had seen before. It had felt like..." The figure facing the Archdemon, sword in hand seemed at a loss for words, unable to truly describe something foreign to one such as it.
Ayda stared at the back of the form the denizen of the Fade had taken: herself. Clad in her bloodstained armor and without her battered helmet on, it would've been hard to tell them apart appearance-wise. It was disconcerting that her form had been borrowed, yet felt little surprise at all. "Light? Ah, when I dealt the final blow..."
The doppelganger turned to face the original, her eyes starting to glow purple instead of light-brown. "Now that the layers have been peeled away, how could you not choose to take Morrigan's option? You didn't need to die. To lose the ability to dream. To experience. To live." The voice held an odd tinge of melancholy and curiosity.
"You've seen my memories. What can I say that my actions didn't?" Ayda moved to stand next to her shadow, watching the war of expression cross its face.
Her other self stabbed the sword down into the stone, seeming bored with having fun and merriment in Ayda's dreams for the time being. "Your actions are logical. Duty and honor, fulfilled. Your king was saved and Thedas was freed of the Blight until the next. Does all this selflessness make you different? Does refusing the way out make all the difference?" Its tone seemed confused, desperately searching for an answer.
"I can't say. I only did what I thought was right. The third option would only avert one disaster to likely open the doors wide open for another. The birth of an Old God in the hands of someone who joined with dubious intentions from the start? That was something I couldn't allow, no matter what I could've had..." Ayda's voice trailed off. She didn't want to question her decisions, especially not with an equally dubious spirit.
Her mirror image smirked. "Ha! So you are not quite so flawless. So noble yet you stumble across the Fade with all the majesty of a person walking backwards. One moment, you're looking through a dream and the next you've invaded it with so little grace. So easy to pluck you out."
Ayda tried to suppress her anger to little avail. "What? Was it your doing that I entered into his dream?"
The mimic started to cackle again, tossing its head back in uproar. "Blunder here. Blunder there. You tripped right in without a care. Watching you has been quite entertaining. From your rise above the City down to the interesting group of maleficar ripping you from the orchard."
That cold, sinking feeling returned. She had wondered why being near this ever-shifting spirit held a touch of familiarity. "You had a hand in that? It was you, wasn't it?"
Her other self arched an eyebrow, wearing a deranged smile. "A hand. A foot. A head. A part of me was in that glorious attempt at reaching for the heavens." Its hand reached up high towards the Black City above them. "A brilliant failure. I thought you had been lost after your descent, yet here I find you poking holes in dreams of the living. Shame on you!"
Ayda stepped in front of her former visage, facing the spirit eye-to-eye. "Why? Who would even want to rip me of all people from the fold? How were they even able to?" Despite her inner discipline, her heated emotions were as clear as day.
"Who? You have quite a number of mortals and spirits interested in you alike. All I did was act as one gateway of many." The spirit snapped its fingers, the scenery changing quickly to that of a dimly-lit room. Along the floor were many magical circles within each other, painted in blood with six red-hooded maleficar standing evenly around, their voices in harmony in their invocation.
Ayda found herself standing off to the side of the crammed stone room. From the creeping chill, it was likely an underground cellar. "Is this where I was being summoned?"
"Oh no, no, no! This was merely one circle of many connected at that precise moment. My expertise had been utilized by these foolish maleficar. They had the gall to think they would get their wish granted without giving so much as a sacrifice in return." Her shadow self waved a hand, causing the magi to crumble onto the circle lifelessly. "Much better."
Ayda stared at the fallen beings on the cold floor, their bodies having fallen perfectly in a circle against each other around their prior blood-forged circle. Their blood flowed into the middle, pooling in the center. "Who were these people?"
"Names, names. Their names are not important, yet only one name was held constant in every single of the blood rituals: Blood of Andraste." The being, still content to use Ayda's armored form, shrugged with little care, tossing out the tidbit of information without a shred of concern.
As Ayda tried to form questions in her mind to ask this nebulous being, she felt a warm touch on her shoulders. "Wait! I have questions I need to ask!"
"Ah. It seems you've been found. Pity." The apparition glanced back at her, noticing the glowing rift formed directly behind Ayda. "Tell your benefactors that I send my greetings and be a tad more mindful how you touch your little kingling's mindscape."
Ayda pursed her lips pensively. "Leave Alistair out of this. If you want to stalk me through the Fade, be my guest. Just leave him and everyone else out of this."
"The rest aren't my concern. For all your blundering, no one can touch the kingling's dreamscape now due to your intervention." The spirit pointed a lazy finger at her, lowering it to indicate Ayda's hand.
Upon looking at her hand, the rose had returned to her. She knew she had placed it down, yet here it was. She wasn't sure if this volatile being was telling the truth. When she held the flower close to her heart, Ayda knew that she held something quite precious. "I suppose I should thank you." She paused, clearly lacking a name. "Do you have a name you go by?"
In that moment, the portal grew stronger, starting to pull Ayda within with greater force. The being that continued to wear Ayda's face tilted its head, offering a small finger wave as the light grew brighter.
"It matters little. We are connected. We will meet again."
*** Denerim ***
He didn't know what was worse: waiting every waking minute for some kind of news or trying to avoid Anora's endless questioning about his apparent antsy nature. Maker forbid, he get a quiet moment to himself. He had to admit; quiet right now would be bad. Quite bad.
Alistair had found diving into the issues of his kingdom to help take his mind away from his own personal affairs. It wasn't a new development for him to be this dedicated; it was the same tactic that he had used after the Blight and his first years as king. However, in time, he had become quite proficient in wielding his influence with thanks to both Eamon's and Anora's tutelage.
His days were quite filled with all kind of matters, never giving him much more than a few minutes hear and there of any kind of personal time. He had to admit; he kind of liked it that way. The evenings would be spent with visiting dignitaries or with his family in supper and time to play or read his sons a story before their bedtime. It was the late evening he had come to dread these past few weeks. The castle fell into its own slumber in these later hours, everything coming to a standstill until the next dawn.
Alistair tapped his fingers on his armrest, staring blankly at the neatly-stacked pile of papers set before him. There was always work to be done, he never had to worry in that respect. At this time of night, he simply didn't feel like handling these matters. Not right now. Maybe later. It's later now, isn't it? Even time never cuts me a break.
Exhaling in a soft sigh, he stood out of his comfortable wooden chair, moving around his desk to reach the veiled window. Pushing aside the thick curtain, he took in the dark night sky and the tiny lights scattered in what he could see of Denerim from this angle. The fresh air helped calm him to an extent. He had never felt as caged in his position as he did now. The most he could truly do without attracting attention to his actions was keeping that news from spreading into the public rumor mill. He had some of his most trusted men keeping an ear open in every tavern, brothel and hole in the wall to make sure it stayed that way.
Releasing the burgundy curtain, his gaze caught on his sword and shield mounted behind his desk for show and convenience. It might be good to go waggle my sword around in a kingly fashion. I'll win against those practice dummies yet. Time to taste my justice, Ser Straw.
There came a gentle knock on his door.
Alistair rolled his eyes up in silence, figuring that once he had made a decision on what to do that he would get interrupted. "Enter." He took his place behind the desk in his personal study once again.
With the creak of the hinges, the heavy door opened and closed with little hesitation. He tried to make himself look interested in the paper pile in front of him, lifting his sight to meet his lady wife. Oh, I know where this is going. Time to brace the hatches; this is going to be a tremulous storm.
Anora stepped in front of his desk, her blue eyes silently considering the layout of his workspace. Her long hair was loosely braided, wearing a thick purple night robe that was tightly corded around her narrow waist. "Another long night, dear?"
"It appears that way." Alistair replied shortly, unprepared for the usual verbal word games his wife liked to play to string out his true intentions. He always wondered why she didn't just ask straight out from the beginning. It would save them both a lot of time.
She moved to sit in the left wooden chair, smoothing our the fabric of her robe as she settled. "I don't understand why. Nothing should be keeping you up this late and out of bed. Are you feeling well? It's not the...?"
"It's nothing to do with the taint." He reassured truthfully. "Though that does make me hungry for a medium-rare slab of meat with baby potatoes and a nice mug of the darkspawn taint on tap." When he caught sight of her disapproving frown, he let out an exaggerated huff. "Ha ha. It's a joke. Ha ha?"
Her lips thinned into a straight line, considering her words for a moment before speaking. "Truly, what is wrong, dear? You've been out of sorts ever since that night..." She broke off, letting him fill in the blanks.
"Ever since what? Ever since I tossed our sons into that dirty haypile? Or when I forgot about the dinner with the Circle? Or that I lost that shirt you made with the odd buttons?" Alistair rattled off a couple of things he could recall in the past month.
It was Anora's turn for the audible sigh, clearly showing her agitation for his usual defensiveness. "Since that night you slept with me."
"I sleep with you every night." Alistair noted matter-of-factly. He knew he wasn't going to get away with that answer. Her blue eyes held that typical quiet rage she would never dare vent out loud, but had no qualms with piercing others with that icy stare. "Nothing is wrong. Is it wrong for the king to have a lot on his mind?"
Anora fell into complete silence, staring at him directly. She knew he would run her around in circles, never truly answering the question unless she directly knew exactly what it was that was at the source. "Does this have to do with Leliana's extended absence? She's been away from Denerim for a few weeks now."
"Her absence does trouble me, yes. She had urgent Chantry business in Orlais that she told me that she couldn't put off any longer. I'm still awaiting word from her in the next few days." He tried to gloss over the matter with a white lie. It saddened him on some level that he had to use this tactic a little more than he cared to. That level was likely so low that the Maker would have trouble finding it.
Anora arched a delicate eyebrow. "Oh? Is that right? Are you positive that she is only there for Chantry business?"
Ah, here we go. It wouldn't be my dear Anora if she didn't circle around it like a mabari hound circling a fallen pork chop. Mmm.. pork chop. Wait, that would make me the pork chop. Not a good idea, that.
His thoughts trailed off for a moment before trying to act as dismissively as possible. "That's what she said, yes. Do you think I should doubt one of my most trusted companions, my dear?"
"Of course not." Anora answered under her breath. "I'm just trying to say that perhaps it wasn't Chantry business she was away on."
Alistair chuckled, leaning back against the cushions of his wooden chair. His throne away from throne. "What are you implying, my dear?" His mood sobered instantly, switching to his serious face. "You had her followed again, didn't you?"
"Perhaps I did." Anora admitted with shockingly little aversion.
He curled his fingers into fists as they rested on each armrest, hidden from her view. "So, what exactly do you know, my dear wife?" He stretched out the last three words, knowing she didn't like it when he did that.
"It would be nice to hear the truth from you for a change." She kept her irritation at bay. "Since I know you'll spin this off into a silly anecdote, I mean your old friends that served by your side during the time of the Blight. How long did you expect me to let this slide until I had to take matters into my own hands?"
Alistair frowned deeply, casting his heated gaze in the direction of the window. "I apologize that never in your life you had a 'friend' that didn't serve you." He turned his gaze back to his queen. "There was never any deception behind stretching the truth. Some things are easier to deal when there are fewer people involved."
As Anora stood from her chair briskly, preparing to round the desk to give him a louder piece of her mind, there came a light rapping on the door.
He silently spoke a word of thanks to the Maker for at least postponing an argument waiting to happen. "Enter."
Ser Ciaran stepped through the doors, holding a small bundle under one arm. Upon noticing the queen, he dropped into a formal bow. "Excuse my interruption, your majesties. If I had known..."
"Don't worry, the queen was just wishing me a good night." Alistair smiled broadly, directed at the heated gaze Anora shot at him that only he could see.
Anora shook her head, her braid swishing back and forth like a pendulum. "That I was. What do you bring at this hour, Ser Ciaran?"
The young knight stepped forward to the side of the king's desk, bringing forth a small chest from under his arm. He held it forth with both hands, bowing his head. "This was delivered early this evening. It has been checked for any magical influence and traps. It checked out clean after the court mage removed the seal. Would you like me to open it first?"
Alistair examined the chest from his vantage point, noticing a small set of initials he always kept an eye out for . "No. I'll take it from here. I thank you for bringing this to my attention, Ciaran."
The young knight flushed with pride, his cheeks almost matching his short red hair. He gave a salute to the king first, queen second before stepping out as quietly as possible.
He placed the chest carefully down in front of him, pushing himself from his chair to stand over the object of interest. He caught sight of Anora, stopping himself from opening the latch. "I guess you want to see what's inside?"
Anora crossed her arms across her chest, walking slowly to join him by his side. "You have a choice in the matter, my dear. Either I get to see what this pertains to or I'll continue where I left off. Your choice."
He smirked, shrugging half-heartedly. "So be it. I doubt it'll be very exciting." He unlocked the latches on the front of the lid, slowly opening it to reveal the contents inside. All that sat in the box was a vintage bottle of Rivaini liquor in a stout, smoky obsidian bottle with a gold seal around the cork.
"See? A bottle of fancy spirits. Does this look like the stuff of conspiracies, my dear?" Alistair carefully lifted the bottle from the velvet stuffing, examining it against the nearby candlelight he had on his desk.
She didn't waste a moment removing the stuffing from the chest, trying to find if there was anything else tucked away in the parcel. When she came up with only a small note, her eyes focused intently on the bottle. "The note states: 'A gift for Ferelden's king. May he toast the coming of the new year.' There isn't any indication who it's from. I've only seen a bottle like that once before, it's quite an expensive gift to send to begin with. Even more so since it's from an anonymous source."
Alistair handed the bottle to her, letting her examine it at her own volition. "Maybe they're just shy? It's not the first time we've received something such as this. It's a bit early for the new year, but nothing truly out of the normal. If it bothers you so, you can always try to track down its sender."
Anora tilted the bottle in every direction she could, appraising it with a careful eye. "So, where's the hidden message? And don't play dumb with me."
Alistair considered his options for the problem he knew he wouldn't be able to avoid forever. He knew she was trustworthy, yet it had been so hard to open himself to her. Their marriage had been a strained one, mainly due to his standoffish nature at the beginning of their marriage. He had tried to make amends and they had been able to come to terms with each of their losses, learning to rely on each other with time. It took the birth of Bryce for them to find a plateau they could meet each other in love. Since that day, it had become easier to talk and even share time together in their rare moments of free time. It had become comfortable. Until this...
Without another word, he slipped his hand into the inside of his overcoat draped across his chair, pulling forth the deciphered message. "You will promise me that this stays between us. If this information manages to spread, I'll know exactly where it originated. I will not be lenient in that case." His words carried a tone he only used when he was absolutely serious, his light-brown eyes hard as steel with his resolve.
The surprised look on her face was priceless. Her mouth gaped open slightly at seeing this side of him as her eyes searched his, finding no flaw in his armor as the silence settled between them. "I... I see. I promise. I promise on the love of my father, our sons and Ferelden that anything between us will stay between us."
He gave a small chuckle, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "Also, try not to let anyone else know I can be that stringent. I'll never get a moment's rest when they know they can get a straight answer from me." He lifted the bottle from her hands slowly, slipping the note into her grasp in return.
Her eyes flickered quickly across the small parchment. Her brow furrowed visibly, biting her lower lip in contemplation. "I can see why you didn't want to say anything about this. This is grave news indeed. Has she had any luck finding any further information?"
"The last time she visited me here, she had heard a vague rumor about a dragon cult forming further north, around fringes of the Imperium." He gave her what little information he had thus far, resting the bottle on his desk. "It's likely her next report is hidden in this package."
Anora peered over at the bottle in question. "Do you know what to look out for?"
"Leliana told me about various ways she knew how to send messages. Since she had it magically sealed, it must be of great importance. That and she isn't here herself, meaning she might've found something worth pursuing." Alistair considered the chest with the small marking that Leliana used, taking it up in his hands to give it a closer inspection. "Any ideas?"
Anora slipped the note back into his overcoat, moving to touch Alistair's hands on the box. "Destroy the box."
"What? What if she hid the means to translate the message somewhere on this chest?" He tried to reason, letting Anora take the container into her hands. She dropped the thick wooden chest to the floor, barely causing any damage to it.
"Great and I thought you were the non-hasty one." Alistair smirked lightly, moving away from the desk over to the fireplace. He picked up the small maul resting against in the stone nook housing other fireplace tools. He jogged back over, gathering strength into his arm before slamming the blunt weapon into the chest, shattering it into manageable pieces. Anora knelt down, sifting through the wooden remains until she came across a small tube.
Alistair lent the maul against the edge of his desk, taking the tube from Anora as she rose back to her feet. With deliberate care, he managed to peel the note from its confides, sliding it open to see the message. "Of course, I didn't expect it to be that easy, right?" Each letter was cut-off in various places, making it impossible to guess what each letter could be without extensive time trying to puzzle it out.
Anora grabbed the neck of the bottle, tapping her knuckles along the glass. Her eyes caught on the bottom, the glass seeming darker there with the liquid receded from it. Her fingertips searched the base, finding a small latch that allowed the bottom to be twisted off. The second part of the message was folded neatly in a square, pinned to the secret compartment.
"That would've taken me a while to figure out." He spoke drolly, accepting the second part to line up with the first. With both pieces intact, the message could finally be read. He held it close to the candlelight, the words becoming easier to read as the light shined through.
'The dragon cult uprising appears to be more fact than fiction. Their numbers grow due to forced initiation, it's unknown what methods might be used. Blood magic is likely at play here. This cult goes by the name Blood of Andraste. Upon further investigation, it appears that those forces are moving south, away from the Imperium. It is possible that Haven might be one of their destinations. I will continue to follow these rumors in that direction. Please tell my child that my love is with them always.'
Alistair licked his dry lips, letting the message sink in while plotting his next course of action. He handed the papers to Anora, watching her absorb it as well. "You know what this fool is going to do. I can't stand by now if this threat is extending into Ferelden."
Anora returned the message to him, her eyes watching the small dancing fire atop the candle. "I know I wouldn't win this argument, my dear. I think it's time we visited Haven since its renovation. I would very much like to see the church that was built to honor Andraste's final resting place."
"Wait. We?" Alistair started to argue until Anora leaned into his shoulder.
Anora smiled faintly as his arm looped around her shoulder, allowing her to lean into his side. "I have an idea what's flying through your head. Gathering the men and riding off to Haven will tip off anyone who might be watching. It's best to treat this as a royal excursion as we've visited many of the towns rebuilt after the Blight. This would seem more natural."
Alistair pressed his lips to the top of her head, smiling broadly. "Naturally, you're already two steps ahead of me. I would like to make our way towards Haven as soon as humanly possible, do you think you can make the arrangements? It makes more sense if you are in charge of this part since you have been for the others."
"True." Anora slipped away, kneeling once more to gather the remains of the chest into her hands. "Are there any other things I should know? Any other secrets that will come knocking upon our door?" With all wooden shards in hand, she shuffled towards the fireplace, adding a bit more fuel to the flames.
Alistair slipped the message into the same inner pocket on his overcoat. "Unless you care about my midnight raidings on the palace kitchens, there's not much else you aren't aware of. It's not that I wanted to keep you in the dark on this; I just wanted to have something more to go on than the original message entailed. It's been hard to sit here and do nothing. I should be out there, trying to set things right and put Ayda's remains back where they belong. That's why I called on Leliana's skills. She could go where I could not."
"That's quite a selfish request to make of a dear friend who has her own life and family now." Anora pointed out, brushing her hands off as she moved back towards him.
Alistair moved the bottle off his papers to a clear spot off to the right, preparing to sit back down to clear up these matters before directing his efforts to prepare for Haven. "I know, Anora, I know. Even if I didn't ask, she would've gone ahead with or without my consent. Ayda meant a great deal to her and she bore the loss harder than most of us. The least this king could do was give her the means of finding the answer to the question."
Anora started to speak, stopping before the words could tumble from her. There would be time for talk during the journey. Her concerns could wait till later. "Come. Lets try to get some sleep and we'll get started on the arrangements first thing in the morning."
"You can go on ahead. I want to finish up this paperwork before I turn in for the night." He spoke quietly, his fingers already sliding between the parchment to sort into a manageable order. He was silently grateful that she didn't press further into that lingering issue right now. It wasn't the time now to sort through his feelings, he'd have enough time during their travels to give it more thought.
Anora offered a feeble smile, her robes swishing softly as she approached the door. "Don't stay up too late."
"I will." Alistair couldn't find anything witty or sarcastic to reply with, his mind preoccupied with planning out the days ahead. He watched after his lady wife as she exited through the door, closing it quietly behind her.
His tired eyes focused on the work in front of him. As he returned with renewed vigor to finishing it up, Alistair felt a warm touch to his chest. He raised a hand to touch that spot, feeling a hint of soothing nostalgia. Despite the few weeks gone by, the dream still felt as fresh as if had just experienced it. Perhaps it was a sign that she was watching over him.
Don't worry, Ayda. We will right this wrong. I swear it.
Author's Note: I'm back after a small hiatus. Moving across state made it hard to get stable internet access, but I continued to type away at this tale. As a result, it's much bigger than I expected. Perhaps it's a bit bloated, but it helped get a lot of ground covered as well. Hopefully, I can get a chapter or two out each week from here on out. Again, this is more build-up that I love to get carried away on. It does start to introduce the way the story will start to head and that's where things will start to come together. Again, thanks for all the feedback! Feel free to send me thoughts on this latest chapter!
