Morrigan had been leading them through the Korcari wilds for about a day and half. They were headed towards Lothering, and the mood in the group was low. Alistair was not shy about hiding his distrust of the wild's witch, and Morrigan was not holding back on her contempt for the once-was-templar. Arran was depressed - her jokes were few and far between, and she kept disappearing off into the forest in search of solitude. Typically she came back with something useful; rabbits, wolf skin, interesting herbs. The pain of loosing Duncan was apparent in her every moment of the day, and Isla worried when she disappeared off without warning. She worried something would happen, and Arran wouldn't come back. Or worse, end up injured somewhere.
At the end of the day, however, she always came back. Her and Alistair seemed to find comfort with each other, reminiscing about Duncan, telling different stories, and laughing at how they both seemed to know the same, but different, man.
Isla found herself bonding, at least intellectually, with Morrigan. She was opinionated, bossy and stubborn. But Isla found her intelligence a welcome change in the conversation, and felt that there was a lot she could learn from her.
"So you're saying that if I channel the magic in spurts rather than..." Suddenly Isla's gaze was focused on the sky. It had a pink hue. For a second the stink of dog filled her senses, and the sky was blotted out by the hairy mass of dog as it bounded away from her. Every part of her that didn't ache since the tower of Ishal now did.
"Puppy!" Arran squealed, the dog barking excitedly and bounding over to her. "Oh look who is a clever boy, finding your way all the way out here by yourself!" Oh good encourage the feral hound, Isla thought
Alistair came into view and looked down at her, a wry grin playing across his lips as he outstretched a hand to help her to her feet. "Are you alright?" Isla took his hand and stood. She stretched and felt the bones in her back and shoulders crack in response, at least the problem of her sore back was now fixed. She sighed and nodded at Alistair before scowling at her sister's continual cooing over the now bouncing mabari. Even after Flemeth's extensive healing they were in no condition for a fight so when the hair's on the back of her neck rose she cursed colourfully and turned in the direction her darkspawn senses pointed in. The hound had brought the darkspawn straight to them.
Alistair and Arran both turned a moment later and the usual unsheathing of swords and blades sounded their preparation. Morrigan came to Isla's side and motioned her to step back as Arran, Alistair and the hound stepped forward to intercept the eight hurlocks and two alpha's. Isla quietly whispered an incantation and as a weak ball of blue lightning crackled into life she glanced at Morrigan who had began chanting a spell Isla was unfamiliar with. An orange glow imbued around her and she transformed into a bear before running off into the fray with the others. Isla was left behind gawping only to throw her pitiful lightning bolt at a stunned hurlock who had tried to take down Arran. Her powers were still weak and little of her previous strength had returned through their "walk" through the wilds, Isla was exhausted but somehow she kept coming across the strength to continue. Alistair, Arran and the dog seemed to make a good team, Arran danced in, slashing and stabbing, while Alistair laid the death blows, with the help of the dog, who was clearly a formidable war hound. As the darkspawn lay dead around them, Isla looked to each of her party and examined their faces, all of them were tired save Morrigan and the hound who panted happily in front of Arran.
She decided they make camp at the next possible rest spot, and since Morrigan was the expert in these parts she should know of one, hopefully nearby. She lead them to a clearing within walking distance of a stream. Alistair dragged over some logs as Arran knelt to build the fire, chatting away to the dog the entire time. She talked utter nonsense, but the hound seemed to hang on her every word with the typical adoration of all dogs for their masters.
"The dog seems to have picked you as it's new master." Alistair said with a grin, handing the elf a flint. She took it, and sparked the kindling into fire. "Naw," She said, her blue eyes glinting. "She's just got an ounce of sense. Hanging out with her fellow wardens."
Alistair frowned, "Fellow wardens?"
"Yea." Arran nodded, crouching down beside the fire and petting the dog's head as it rested in her lap. "Back at Ostagar, the kennel master asked me to find a flower in the wilds. She'd swallowed some darkspawn blood, and survived. So I guess she's as much a grey warden as any of us." Her eyes darted towards Morrigan. "Well, apart from Morrigan."
Morrigan glanced over at them, from setting up her own fire. "Well, you can tell it's a grey warden just by the smell."
Arran stuck her tongue out at her, before starting to skin a rabbit. "At least we work up a sweat, unlike some witches who just hide in the forest."
Morrigan huffed, and opened her mouth. One finger pointed in an accusatory way at the elf, while Alistair threw himself to the ground with a paniced cry of "Don't turn me into a toad!"
"Enough!" Isla growled, dropping some firewood to the ground, and planting her hands firmly on her hips. "Seriously, the toad thing? Where does that come from Alistair?"
"Well..." Alistair peeked up from behind Arran, having crawled on his belly to use her as a shield. "Just. You know. You hear things."
Isla and Morrigan exchanged a glance, with the witch shrugging. "Nevermind." Isla concluded with a sigh. "Shall I make dinner?"
The Next Day...
"Run toooo the Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiills!" Arran screeched, leading the way along the imperial highway toward Lothering. "Run for yoouuurrr liiiiiives!" The mabari, a great hulking hairy beast, mottled black and brown, with one blue eye and one dark brown howled along with her. She bounded happily around her new master, throwing her great maw back in happy barks and playful howls. Arran danced along to music only she could hear, although danced would be stretching the word. She skipped, hopped, spun, stopped to wriggle her hips back and forth and generally cavorted like a young filly let loose in the meadow the first time.
"Arran!" Isla shouted after her, "We're heading to a village filled with refugees, fleeing the darkspawn, emphasis on the fleeing, must you sing that racket?"
Arran ignored her, carrying on with her merry jig as the dog bounded onto it's back feet, paws on her chest. She spun it in a waltz, "We fought him hard, we fought him well, out on the plains we gave him hell!"
Morrigan eyed Isla cautiously, "Are you sure that's singing?" She asked, as Arran moved further ahead. "It sounds like a genlock being raped, and then hurled off a cliff sobbing for it's salvation."
Alistair brought up the rear, a little green around the edges. Isla's rabbit stew had not gone down very well. It hadn't come up very well either. But he didn't have the heart to tell her, she'd looked so pleased. Arran had fed her portion surreptitiously to the dog. At least the mabari had enjoyed it.
"What is she singing?" He asked, finally catching up with the mages as the elf disappeared around a bend in the road.
"It's a song our mother taught us, I think." Isla mused, a slight frown of recollection wandering across her features. "It's a Dalish song, about the humans invading our homeland. She sings a translation, since her dalish is pretty atrocious, if I remember. It's not exact, she's probably changed it quite a bit."
Arran stayed ahead of the group, giving them some peace and quiet for the next 20 minutes. It wasn't until they came around the final bend before Lothering that they were presented with a scene of carnage. Three or four bodies lay scattered over the road in front of a blockade of carts and boxes. In the middle of the road lay a whimpering man, one leg clearly broken, and the mabari sat squarely on his chest. She panted happily, but he made to move away and the slobbery big monster bent down to growl in his face.
As Isla stood gawping at the mess, a half smashed crate bounced in front of her, and fell to pieces. "Is this all you've managed to get?" Arran exclaimed, emerging from between two carts a pair of splint mail boots in one hand, and battered old hat in the other. "This is poor, really really poor! I mean, I know your stealing from refugees, but come on! Rich people are fleeing the darkspawn too you know!"
"Arran!" Alistair exclaimed, trotting forward to join her, "What are you doing?"
Arran dropped the boots and pointed at the stricken man, pinned by the dog, "He started it! I didn't have any money to pay his toll!"
"There isn't any toll on the imperial highway!"
"Just as well I didn't pay it then, eh handsome?" She gave him a wink, and walked back over to the thief, kneeling down beside him. He flinched.
"You don't have any money Arran," Isla said wearily, walking over to peer down at the poor fellow, who offered her a smile.
"Why do you get to keep the money purse?" Arran replied, raising an eyebrow at her sister.
"Because I wouldn't pay silly tolls on the the road."
Arran just stuck her tongue out at her sister, before turning her attention back to man. She started to rifle through his pockets, heedless of his whimpering protests. "Oh be quiet." She said eventually, her fingers having found something. She stood up, the pendant catching the light as it dangled from the chain. Her blue eyes peered at it curiously.
"It's a templar emblem," Morrigan observed, interested in the shiny trinket. "I've seen it before."
Alistair looked down at the man, "Where did you get it?"
"Found it off a dead templar a little while ago. There was a dead templar by the road." The man spoke hurriedly, his eyes flickering between them but always lingering back to Arran. "There was a note too, it's in my pocket too, you can have it if you like. You can have everything."
"Aw, now that's very kind of you!" Arran said, rooting in his pocket. Her hand went to the dog's collar, and pulled the mabari off him. Instantly she turned back into a soppy, cheerful beast and had a scratch. "Now off you go." Arran waved him away, the poor thief struggling to his feet, "And don't let me catch you and your silly friends making up more tolls or stealing from them that has nothing."
Alistair narrowed his eyes at Arran, "Should we heal him or something? His leg looks broken."
Arran returned his look, and tilted her head at him. "He was stealing from refugees. Maybe, one day when he's thinking of pinching an old woman's coin purse, his leg'll twinge and he'll think of me." She offered him a smile and an apologetic shrug.
Isla had been reading the dead templar's note. "Here, I think this templar was looking for Andraste's Ashes."
"That's a legend, surely?" Morrigan remarked, "There's no such thing."
"The note mentions a Brother Genetivi, who has been searching for them. He was supposed to report to a Ser Donall in Lothering. We should probably let him know that one of his men has passed."
Alistair nodded, and with that the troupe headed into Lothering. The town was desolate, groups of broken, exhausted people crowded around small fires for warmth. Smoke drifted into the sky, and as the group advanced they drew stares. Arran's eyes roamed around the village curiously, taking it all in.
"I'll not be cheated!" A man's voice carried over to them.
"You profit from their misfortune!" A woman.
Arran's head turned and she headed in the direction of the ruckus, just in time to see a rather tall, burly man push a chantry sister. "Hey!" She shouted, upping her walk to a brisk trot, the dog lolling along beside her.
"Isn't it nice how everyone is getting along in a crisis?" Muttered Alistair, upping his own speed to catch up with her. Isla and Morrigan followed suit. Further investigation revealed that the merchant was in fact selling basic essentials at obscene prices. Isla stayed her sister's interruption. "It's not our place to interfere Arran, we can't help every dog find it's bone," whispered Isla. Arran grumbled but she gave the merchant a glare that meant she would find him later when her sister was otherwise preoccupied. Isla then looked over to the Chantry, "Right Ali you check out this Ser Donall and give him this." She passed him the note and amulet she had stashed in her robe pocket and continued to look around the sullen village. "I don't want to tread on the Templar's fine graces, being a mage and all. We don't want to attract attention to ourselves. That means you too Arran." Isla narrowed her eyes on her sister, giving her a look that meant 'please don't get into trouble'. "We need some information before we can move on, you can deal with that Arran while Morrigan and I get some supplies. I'm sure the tavern will have some inebriated lout that could tell you something."
"Fine" Arran muttered and she went off in search for the tavern while Alistair stalked off toward the chantry. Isla sighed, allowing herself a moment of peace before she turned to Morrigan, a weak smile on her lips, then gestured to the limited market "Shall we then?"
Sometime later...
The two magi browsed the meagre stalls in vain. The amount of refugees fleeing the south was huge, the old, the young and the sick were all crammed into the tiny village with its miserably ill equipped defences. They did manage to acquire two tents, some cooking and healing herbs and a number of other small utensils but the stalls offered little or no food. Isla sighed, they would have to somehow hunt for their own although she could kill for an apple or any piece of fruit for that matter. As Isla watched Morrigan barter with the merchants, out of the corner of her eye she saw Alistair exit the chantry and make his way towards them, his face set in a heavy frown. He told her that Arl Eamon was possibly dying and in a last attempt to heal him the Arlessa had sent the Redcliffe knights on a search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Isla was a little sceptical that such a relic existed but another thought was beginning to grow heavy in her mind. Where was Arran? She looked around for the tavern's customary overhanging sign and made her way towards the Dane's Refuge.
"I'm sure Arran has found out something by now..." Isla said, pushing open the tavern door.
"YEA! WELL, " Arran yelled, "SO'S YOUR FACE!" Isla watched aghast as Arran threw a wild punch in the face of the gentleman who had been arguing with the priestess.
Stumbling the man cupped his now bleeding nose. "You little knife-eared bitch!"
And within seconds several of his friends were jumping upon Arran, who went down under the sheer weight of several of them.
"Arran!" Isla yelled, hurling a lightening bolt at them without thinking.
Everyone paused, Arran pushing off one of her now unconscious and scorched attackers. "That's what you get for messing with Grey Wardens!" She growled.
"Grey Wardens?" A red headed chantry sister approached them.
Four men then stood up from their seat nearby and slowly surrounded the four travellers and the Chantry sister.
"Didn't we ask about a pair of women by this description and no-one said they had seem them?" one said to his commander.
"Aye and there was a third one and look, there he is." The commander pointed to Alistair. Teryn Loghain wants a word with you," Alistair gulped, "I've never been good at tavern brawls," he whispered in Isla's ear.
Isla ignored him and cupped a ball of electricity behind her back while with her other hand pulled her sister to her side. "We're not going anywhere. We have a task to complete."
"Gentlemen, these are surely just weary travellers fleeing the darkspawn and seeking refuge." The chantry sister answered, taking a further step towards the commander.
"If it's a fight he wants then I'm happy to oblige!" hissed Arran who crouched into a fighting stance. Before Isla could stop her Arran pounced and slashed the commander on the cheek while Alistair took out the closest one with a clean left hook and the Chantry sister had entered the fray too. Within seconds the tavern was thrown into chaos and Isla summond a mind blast which propelled the Teryn's men away leaving the commander the only one standing. He didn't remain standing for long, Arran, ever the opportunist knocked him to the ground with a sweeping kick to the back of his knees, before leaping onto his back, grasping the man by his hair and raised her fist to land a blow to the back of his head.
"ARRAN!" Isla exclaimed. "Control yourself!"
Arran hesitated, glancing up at her sister, and to Alistair who seized the moment and kicked a man who looked like he was going to get back up.
"Isla?" Arran queried, tilting her head but keeping the commander pinned to the ground.
Isla groped for words, and it was Morrigan who spoke first. "So much for keeping a low profile." Isla then rubbed the bridge of her nose and shook her head before looking down at the commander. "Please, enough!" he pleaded.
Isla didn't speak but turned as the sister moved forward sheathing her hidden dagger.
"Good," she smiled, "Now we can all stop fighting."
Arran scowled and tightened her hold over the commander, "Stop fighting! He meant to butcher us!"
"Arran!" Isla growled, "Shut up!"
Arran said nothing, but fell into a stony silence.
"Yes, well." The chantry sister said. "They've stopped now, so how about you let them go?"
"They're some of Loghain's men." Alistair said, stepping over to the commander, offering Arran a hand up to her feet, before dragging the man to his feet. His eyes widened as Alistair's narrowed. "You should report back to him." He said softly, "Tell him that the Grey Warden's know what he did."
Arran stepped up beside Alistair, her own hands clenching into fists. "And tell him that we're coming for him."
The man nodded mutely, before slinking off to gather his men and exit the tavern. Alistair and Arran exchanged a long glance.
"We should get going." Morrigan said softly, "Before anyone else decides to try and kill us."
"Agreed." Isla sighed, running a hand through her hair.
"Wait!" The dirty fighting chantry sister stepped up to Isla, placing her hand on her shoulder. "I should come with you."
"What?" Alistair said.
"It is my fate." The Chantry sister smiled. "My name is Leilana."
That evening, at camp...
"Whose idea was it to bring the big stoic one?" Alistair grumbled around the camp fire later.
"I like him," Arran said cheerfully, surreptitiously feeding the dog her portion of bacon that Isla had cooked.
"You like everybody." Alistair retorted, spooning his potatoes onto the ground which the dog proceeded to hoover up.
"I didn't like the quarter master at Ostagar."
"Nobody liked the Quartermaster, he was a prick."
"I didn't like Ser Jory either."
"Ser Jory was..." Alistair hunted for le mote juste.
"A simpleton?" Isla offered, joining them by the fire. Alistair quickly hid his plate.
"Whew, I'm stuffed." He lied. Arran eyed him sidelong, a grin dancing across her lips.
"Alistair," Isla offered. "Did you know that Arran brought a mass murderer with us?"
Alistair's eyes swirled to Arran, who had suddenly filled her mouth with half cooked potatoes, and was munching them down with all the relish of a starving man. "Who'd he kill?"
"A family." She replied, mostly incoherently through potato.
The warden glanced over to the quanri who sat by the fire, seemingly staring at nothing with a frown. "Why'd he do that?"
"Lost his sword." Arran swallowed, picking up her canteen and taking a long swallow to wash away the taste of the food.
"He...killed a family...because he lost his sword..." Alistair rolled the words around in his mouth. "And you brought him with us?"
"It was clearly important to him!" Arran defended the quanri.
"The Quanri believe that their swords are their souls." Leliana, the chantry sister they had picked up, joined them. She smelt faintly of expensive perfume, of roses and flowers. Isla surreptitiously shifted a little way away from her, closer to her sister. The dog padded over and started investigating her hands for food, as other sources had now been exhausted.
Arran raised an eyebrow. "Fair enough, that would explain why he was so upset. I'd be mighty murderous if someone took my soul."
"You said he lost it?" Alistair sometimes was a devil for the details.
"Well, he has. The family took it, but they didn't have it once he killed them so it's lost." Arran shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck.
"We're not travelling across Ferelden to help the quanri find his damned sword." Isla remarked, idly stroking the top of the dog's head.
"No..." Arran replied. "But I did say to him we would make enquiries as we wandered. So he agreed to come with us. A guy like him is always useful in a fight."
"Yea, to hide behind." Alistair grumbled.
"Or to reach the top shelves!" Leilana teased.
"Hey!" Isla protested. "We're not that short!"
"You might be, I'm not." Arran teased. For a second it took the joke a little while to sink in, but Arran had already moved to conversation towards travel to Redcliffe. After some discussion about the route, in which Isla had no say on account of her "Having lived in the tower too long."
"There's...one other thing about Redcliffe that you need to know." Alistair said, looking awkward.
"Hmm?" Arran was engrossed in cleaning her nails with a dagger.
"It's about Eamon," He began.
"You were his ward, we know." Arran replied.
"No, it's not that, it's about my parents..."
"You're Cailin's brother?" Isla blurted out. For a second everyone was quiet, and Arran frowned at her sister.
"You said that out loud, Isla."
Isla said nothing, her eyes avoiding Alistair's. His mouth hung open a little. "How'd you know?"
"Just a hunch?" She offered, her eyebrows knotting together, a blush starting on her cheeks. "I mean, you *are* the total spit of him. And Maric. At least, the picture's I've seen of King Maric, anyway..." She babbled, before trailing off into silence.
Arran grinned. It was a filthy grin. She elbowed her sister. "You had a crush on King Maric, didn't you?"
"I did not!" Isla protested, her cheeks burning redder.
"The mage doth protest too much..." Leliana chuckled.
Isla hunched over her small mug of tea, letting out a long sigh. "And back to Alistair being heir to the throne perhaps?"
A silence gathered around the fire. Arran frowned, and then shrugged. "What does it really matter? He wasn't raised in the castle, he was raised by Arl Eamon. He's still our Alistair, still Alistair the Grey Warden. We head to Redcliffe, see if there's anything we can do for the Arl and get the aid we need." Isla hummed in agreement. "Yea, you might be a price, Alistair, but you're still our boy who takes an hour in the morning to sort out his hair. Any other sordid secrets we should know about?"
Alistair smiled, and nodded. Our Alistair... suddenly facing Isolde didn't seem so horrible after all. "Well, I have an unholy obsession with cheese?"