What We Must
Chapter 4: Sentiments and Sensibilities
"Lorelei," the woman's hair was impossibly red in the light of the fire, and she wore a thoughtful expression that made the owner of the name she murmured nervous.
"Can I help you with something, Leliana?" She asked, and the woman seemed to come back to herself suddenly, an apologetic smile flitting across her features.
"There is a song," the woman mused, "And a story, about a woman named Lorelei. Do you know it?"
"I— no, I don't know it." She looked away from the dreamy expression that the woman was wearing and into the flames.
"It's an old legend from the Anderfels," Leliana continued, "About a woman who was accused of being an enchantress and luring men to their deaths."
"...Charming," Lorelei found herself saying dryly.
"As the legend tells it, she was, in fact, a faithful maiden betrayed by her lover. Before she could be taken by the soldiers and tried as a witch, she threw herself from a cliff overlooking a great river. It is said that the waters still murmur her name as they crash against the rocks, and that men still find themselves drawn to that cliff by a sweet, soft voice." Lorelei shivered.
"That's—"
"It is romantic, no? Perhaps I will tell you the whole story sometime." Lorelei didn't have the heart to tell the woman what she truly felt about hearing a tragic story about a woman who shared her name. Leliana was wearing a dreamy, faraway look. It struck her as being a bit similar to the King's expression when he spoke of great battles and legends. Perhaps Cailan should have been a bard, and not a King.
Wait.
"Leliana, are you a bard?" The redhead's expression changed abruptly, from dreamy to guarded, and Lorelei cursed herself for being so clumsy. Usually she had some measure of tact, but she'd made this query with even less subtlety than Alistair would have used.
"Perhaps I simply love stories," Leliana said finally, "Orlesians love stories." Lorelei's mouth twitched.
"I thought you said that you were Fereldan?"
"I was born in Orlais, but my mother was Fereldan, and I consider myself to be as well," Leliana explained, edging around the truth like one would around a particularly nasty trap, "But that does not change the fact that I was raised to appreciate many things as Orlesians do, tales and music among them."
"Don't fret, Leliana," Lorelei said softly, "I am not going to hold where you were born against you." There were many who would, but Lorelei, even if she'd been enough of a hypocrite to do so, did not count herself among them. She preferred to form her opinions based on behaviour rather than by an accident of birth. "As for my question— I apologise. I did not mean to ask aloud. It is none of my business."
"It's understandable that you'd be curious," Leliana had brightened visibly, blue eyes sparkling in the firelight, and Lorelei looked away again. "I am certainly curious about you, and your handsome fellow Warden, and Sten— a Qunari, wild and proud, one of the giants at war with Tevinter." She had to hold back a groan— and she managed, just barely. A part of her already regretted accepting the chatty woman along, though she seemed to have a remarkable ability to draw Alistair out of his sulks.
"I am hardly fascinating," she said with a shrug.
"I disagree," Lorelei wondered if someone could sound bright enough to make her eyes water. "You are Fereldan, and yet..." Leliana tilted her head to one side, blue eyes making a quick study of her, "You seem different from the others. Ferelden is known as a nation of wild people, and even the most cultured seem to hold a bit of that spirit, that spark that helped Andraste bring down an entire empire." Lorelei forced her face to relax into a more neutral expression. The woman was a romantic, and seemed to mean well, but the statement— ridiculous as it was— struck hard. Her origins had always been a bit of a sore spot with her, and she'd had it prodded almost constantly before she'd learned how to become all but invisible.
"You see a spark in every Fereldan but me, do you?" She spoke carefully, knowing that it was silly to be angry with Leliana for something that had more to do with Lorelei's own insecurity than the— likely unintentional— implied insult.
"Oh, I didn't mean it like that—"
"Of course not."
"I just meant that— you seem more refined," for someone with a gilded tongue, Leliana was having trouble recovering from her own words. Lorelei sighed.
"Those who are raised to be meek," she said slowly, "Will be meek save for a few remarkable exceptions. I am not such an exception."
"Alistair differs to you." Lorelei waved her hand in dismissal.
"Alistair was raised to be meek," she said simply, "But I believe that he will prove to be one of those exceptions." She hoped he would— she certainly wouldn't. Besides, he was actually Fereldan, so surely this 'spark' or whatever it was would manifest and propel him to greatness. She almost snorted at how ludicrous that thought was.
"But—"
"I am a healer," she continued, "Perhaps one day, a strategist, but my role is a supporting one. I am not a Queen, nor am I a valiant warrior at the head of an army. We all have our places; I have accepted mine."
"Have you?" Leliana's voice had fallen to a whisper, so low that she almost couldn't hear the words, and Lorelei met her eyes, almost glowing blue as the night descended like a shroud around them. "Perhaps your destiny is not so mundane as you believe." Her gaze was steady, and it was the mage who looked away first. Searching inside herself for an answer, Lorelei found instead a dark feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Terror.
"I'll take first watch," she said finally, "You'd best get some rest, Leliana."
"You slept well."
There was an odd note in Alistair's voice, and Lorelei frowned as she stepped away from the fire, her bowl filled with the mushy gruel flavoured with herbs and fruit. It was Leliana's recipe— Alistair's own cooking had proven abysmal, and Lorelei had little experience with preparing meals. Her request for Leliana to teach her had been a bit hesitant, but had been received with such enthusiasm that some of it had rubbed off and Lorelei was almost eager to learn more. Despite her more romantictendencies, the redhead was fairly gifted at instruction.
Alistair coughed, and Lorelei looked up as he sat beside her, balancing his own bowl in his hands.
"I can't read minds, Alistair," she said softly, hoping that the former templar would eventually feel comfortable sharing his thoughts with her without prompting. He shot her a sharp look that quickly desolved into a grin.
"It's a good thing, too," he said in an exaggerated whisper, tapping his temple with his spoon and leaving a spot of gruel behind, "I woudn't wish my thoughts on anyone. It's a jungle in there." She smiled back; when he wasn't sulking, his goofy charm was actually rather difficult to resist. He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders, as if he had some unpleasant news to depart. "I only mention it because— well, the nightmares." She raised her eyebrows in question, and he shifted. "It's part of being a Grey Warden— the archdemon talks to the horde, sort of, and we sense it like they do. It's especially bad when we sleep, especially for those who Join during a Blight."
"I have had some strange dreams," she admitted, "But I've been able to block them out, more or less." He seemed surprised, and she frowned.
"That's... rather quick," he replied, "I mean, it took me weeks."
"Perhaps it is because I'm a mage." Alistair frowned at her between mouthfuls as he processed this possibility. "I'm as familiar with nightmares and strange dreams as anyone, but they've always been—" she gestured with her hands, "It's hard to explain, but I rarely have trouble dealing with nightmares, by changing their course or blocking them outright." She frowned, "These— dreams of angry, blighted dragons are— new, and I admit that they are more difficult to block, but... perhaps my link to the Fade tips the scale in my favour, and eventually I will have some measure of control over even those... visitations." She couldn't stop the small shudder that travelled up her spine.
"You can control your dreams? I've never heard of anything like that," he admitted, looking far too awed for something that she'd always thought was a particularly mediocre ability, "I always assumed that mages had the same dreams as anyone. Perhaps that was— stupid of me." Lorelei was already shaking her head; she'd made the same assumption when she'd just figured that everyone experienced dreams as she did, after all.
"It's not stupid," she said slowly, "You might even be right. I've never really— spoken to anyone about my dreams, or my ability to— shift things in them. It just never occurred to me that it wasn't the same for everyone." She looked down at her gruel, which was all but cold already, and forced herself to focus on eating so that they could be on their way. The thought that she could be unique, extraordinary in any way, unnerved her greatly, and the harder she tried not to think about it, the more the thought pulled at her, reminded her of the times when she'd seen others in her dreams— and how, if she'd ever interacted with the dream-versions of her fellow apprentices, their real-world counterparts had treated her oddly and whispered about her in the halls.
She snorted— the only time she'd ever avoided being treated 'oddly' by the other apprentices was when they'd ignored her. She was being ridiculous and creating connections where there were none.
"They're real, you know," Alistair said finally, and she almost jumped as his voice intruded into her reverie.
"Huh?"
"At least, the dreams of the archdemon. Some of the older Wardens say that they can understand it, sometimes— I sure can't, but there it is." He shuddered. "Well, I guess you didn't need to talk about it, but I just thought— it was scary for me, at first, so I thought I'd mention it. Be reassuring, or something." He stood awkwardly, and she looked up at him, craning her head back so that he could see her smile.
"I appreciate the kindness, Alistair," she said, and he smiled back, grin taking over his face.
"Anytime."
"Oh, and Alistair?" He frowned, and she gestured to his temple, where the spot of gruel had hardened in place. "There's gruel on your face," she frowned, "And I think in your hair, a bit, just—" At the mention of his hair, the former templar made a very undignified sound, approaching a squeak, and rushed off, presumably to wash. Lorelei stared after him for a few moments before she shook her head, rose, and began to clean up camp.
"Hold a moment, Sten," the giant obliged, his shoulders rising and then falling as he sighed in annoyance.
"Is this delay needful?" Lorelei ignored his prickly attitude as best she could, searching him for signs of weakness, strain or injury.
"Are you sure that you're alright? If Leliana is to be believed, you were in that cage for weeks." She purposely avoided glancing ahead at the woman in question, but she hoped that she wouldn't take the statement as a serious comment on her trustworthiness.
"You are concerned for my well-being," Sten's voice rumbled in his chest, and his mouth widened in what might have been a slight smile. Instead of reassuring, Lorelei found the expression mildly unsettling. "There is no need— I am fit to fight."
"I—" she paused, swallowed, then started again, "You will tell me if you require anything, right?"
"As you wish," he spoke with the manner of one humouring an idiot, "I require nothing at this moment. If that is all, shall we move on?"
"Of course."
Sten slowly moved his head from side to side, his eyes never leaving hers, then shrugged, huffed lightly, and returned to his brisk pace, long strides catching him up to Alistair in moments— at which point, he fell back again, shooting a telling look in her direction. Shaking her own head, Lorelei followed, jogging to catch up to the group.
"So... let me get this straight," Alistair was saying, "You were a cloistered sister?" It became clear that Sten had fallen back to watch the unbound mage, escape the banter, or both. Lorelei was betting on both.
"You must have been a brother before you became a templar, no?" She almost winced, remembering how bitter Alistair had been each time he'd mentioned his Chantry background. He hadn't told her the story, but she had become moderately skilled at noticing when someone had a past that they did not wish to discuss. To her immense relief, Alistair was in a good mood, and the worst that Leliana's question received in response was a drawn-out sigh.
"I never actually became a templar," he explained, in the tone of someone who has gone over the same thing many, many times, "I was recruited into the Grey Wardens before I took my final vows."
"Do you ever regret leaving the Chantry?"
"No, never. Do you?" Leliana sighed, too, but it was more of a reverent exhale than a sigh, and it answered the question better than her words did.
"Yes. You may not believe it, but I found peace there. The kind of peace I've never known."
"It used to get so quiet at the monastery that I would start screaming until one of the brothers came running. I would tell them that I was just checking. You never know, right?" Lorelei coughed, and quickly hid her smile behind her hand when Leliana glanced her way.
"I... no," Leliana answered, looking confused and a little affronted, "I never did anything like that. I enjoyed the quiet."
"Suit yourself," Alistair rolled his shoulders and shrugged, then glanced back at Lorelei, grinning, and added, "The looks on their faces were always priceless."
"So Lorelei," Alistair tossed the words carelessly over his shoulder, much like he would the contents of his pack once they'd set up camp for the night, "You've never said anything about your childhood."
"No, I haven't," Lorelei agreed, shading her eyes with her hand as she studied the landscape and discreetly checked to make sure that Sten and Leliana— Leliana, mostly— were out of hearing range. It wasn't really necessary, as that strange sensethat she'd noticed ever since Ostagar told her that they were still several yards ahead of her and Alistair, but she did not quite trust this new feeling. She knew from experience that it was better to be sure than to be surprised. "There's really nothing to say."
"I don't believe it," he said brightly, and she suppressed a groan as he warmed to the subject, "Where were you born? What were your parents like? Come on, surely there's something you can tell me." She was surprised to find herself blinking back tears, and not because of the bright light of day. She should have expected the question, really, with Alistair and Leliana both sharing stories from their early years, but she should be in control of the emotional reaction by now.
"I was born in Montsimmard, at the Orlesian Circle of Magi," she said finally, in the flattest tone of voice that she could manage, "Shortly after that I was sent to Jader, to be raised by the Chantry. When my magic manifested, I was sent to the Ferelden Circle of Magi to avoid... complications." Alistair wore a rather endearing expression of confusion, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry or give him a hug. Or ask for one herself. "My father was a mage, an apprentice of the Orlesian Circle."
"...Was a mage?"
"He's still a part of the Circle," she explained, "He's just... well, he was made Tranquil, and while they're often called 'Tranquil Mages', it's a bit of a misnomer since the Chantry actually considers them to be..." She stopped herself, realising that she was babbling, and worse— beginning to affect an accent that it had taken her years to lose.
"I... I had no idea." Alistair was nothing if not genuine, so if he looked wretched, chances were he felt that way. Lorelei summoned up a smile, though she imagined that it was unconvincing.
"Of course you didn't," she said with a shrug, "I never said."
"And I was raised by dogs!" He pointed out helpfully, and this time her smile was genuine.
"Now that you've asked, you must be so disappointed not to have found something suitable for playful gossip." She was trying to be lighthearted, but it was not her strong suit— no, her strong suit was quiet, meek, and where possible, completely invisible.
"Oh, we'll find the juicy bits somewhere else, don't worry," Alistair reassured her, and she rolled her eyes. "Wait— does that mean that you're Orlesian?" Even though there was no venom in the word, Lorelei winced. "I— did I say something wrong? I said something wrong, didn't I? Of course you did, Alistair, you always say something—"
"Alistair, it's fine," she said quickly, wanting to stop him before he managed to convince himself that he was responsible for the Blight itself, "It's just— I was very young when I came to Ferelden, and even then, it took a long time for me to learn to speak without an accent, and even longer for people to forget my— origins, even in the Tower." Lorelei congratulated herself on the massive understatement, and followed it with another, "I think it is hard enough for people to accept me as a mage, let alone as an Orlesian."
"I think I understand," he said finally, and oddly enough, something about the way he said it convinced her that he might. They continued their march to Redcliffe, falling into a silence that was rather more comfortable than she expected.
As they neared Redcliffe, Alistair's lighthearted banter lessened, and when the village came into view, the shadow of the castle behind it, he fell silent. Lorelei almost collided with him when he stopped abruptly, and Lorelei frowned at his half-hearted apology.
"Wait." He ran his hand through his hair, a gesture that she knew meant that he was nervous, "Before we go into Redcliffe, there's something that I probably should tell you." Lorelei twisted her staff, pushing it into the ground until it stayed in place, and crossed her arms over her chest. "I probably should have told you before, actually, but—"
"Is this about the 'personal connection' to Redcliffe that Duncan mentioned?" She asked softly, and Alistair nodded, his nose and the tips of his ears reddening.
"Well, ah— how do I put this..." Alistair ran his hand through his hair again, and Lorelei wondered if he kept it short to keep himself from pulling it out in clumps whenever he got nervous. "I'm a bastard," he said finally, and Lorelei tilted her head at him and waited for him to continue. "And before you make any smart remarks, I mean the fatherless kind. My mother was a serving girl at the castle, and—"
"Please tell me," Lorelei said softly, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, "Please tell me that the Arl of Redcliffe is not your father."
"He isn't," Lorelei was rather relieved to hear it, even if Alistair didn't look all that relieved, having said it, "Though he did raise me— sort of. You see, the reason he did that was because of who my father was—" he straightened, not out of pride, but out of a need to get the words out before he lost his nerve, "My father was King Maric." It felt like the ground had disappeared beneath her, and she reached out and grabbed her staff with both hands, sagging slightly as she leaned on it.
"Maker's blood," Lorelei said, when she was finally able to speak, "I wasn't expecting that."
"Well, there it is," Alistair shifted uncomfortably, "Now you know, so when it comes up, you don't have to be completely shocked."
"Is it really that likely to come up?" Lorelei asked finally, and Alistair shrugged again.
"I— I'm not really sure, but..." Alistair made a circular motion in the dirt with his boot, "We'll inevitably be dealing with the Arlessa to some extent, and she— really doesn't like me. My father wasn't Arl Eamon, but of course, this wasn't exactly advertised, and there were rumours..." His voice had turned distinctly bitter, and Lorelei suspected the truth before he finally said it. "She couldn't stand the rumours and insisted that I be sent to the Chantry. It was just as well, really— by then, she'd already made certain that the castle was no longer a home to me, but—" He shrugged helplessly.
"There are many tales," Leliana said in her bright voice, and Lorelei realised that this was going to be an attempt to cheer Alistair up— one that would probably fail, "Many greattales of lost kings who return to their lands to reign in glory..."
"I'm not lost," Alistair said sharply, making a face, "Nor, for that matter, a king. I can't return to Ferelden— I've never left it!— and there is nothing glorious about me."
"But you are a prince—"
"I am the son of a star-struck maid and an indiscreet man who just happened to be King. Look, even if Cailan weren't the King— which he is, by the way, right down to the shiny golden armour— I couldn't be king, not ever." Leliana looked a bit hurt, and Alistair sighed, softening his voice and glancing in Lorelei's direction, as if asking for help, "Some days I have trouble figuring out which boot goes on which foot."
"Complete fools are made leaders of kingdoms all the time, and you're not a complete fool," Leliana pointed out, and Lorelei decided that now would be a good time to intervene.
"Leliana," she said slowly, in her most diplomatic tone of voice, "There is no point to this discussion. As long as King Cailan rules, any talk of anyone else being King could be considered treason." Leliana's fingers flew to her lips, and Lorelei smiled grimly, glad that the woman's romantic fancy didn't quite reach the level of idiocy that it could have. "Besides, Alistair is a Grey Warden, and they're not supposed to be kings even when they're not unacknowledged bastards." She tried to soften her voice when she said it, but Alistair flinched all the same. She sighed.
"Alistair," she said slowly, and she noticed that his cheeks were now as red as his nose and ears. He raised his eyes to hers— not a monumental effort, since he was significantly taller than she— and she continued, in the calm, measured voice that she used when dealing with extremely young apprentices on particularly difficult nights in the dorms. "Thank you for telling me. I'd hate to be completely blindsided by any problems with the Arlessa, where it is avoidable. If it helps— though I can see why you might not believe me when I make this claim— I won't hold your heritage against you."
"Really? So this doesn't change anything for you?" The mix of hope and skeptism in his voice said more about his upbringing than any words could have, "Even Duncan kept me out of the battle." As had she, effectively, though for completely different reasons.
"It changes some things," she answered with a shrug, "But mostly by explaining them." He frowned, almost to the point of a scowl, and she smiled slightly, "It's easier to understand why you didn't really want to come here, for one thing."
"I— I guess it would, wouldn't it? I'm sorry, I should have known that you'd understand." Lorelei prayed that he wouldn't expand upon the statement, especially with the way Leliana was glancing their way. When he said nothing else, she breathed a sigh of relief and recited a quick, but heartfelt, thanks to the Maker in her head.
He glanced toward the town, a wistful expression on his face— one that Lorelei found she understood. No matter the reason for leaving, home was still home. "Anyway, enough of this. Let's go."
His steps were heavy as he lead the way toward the town, and she followed, noticing that Leliana drifted behind them, lost in thought, and Sten muttered something about constant, needless delays.
Oddly enough, that last bit brought a faint smile to her lips. She hoped that she could depend on Sten to be consistent, because he was beginning to feel almost like a patch of stillness in the middle of the storm that was beginning to thicken and spin around her— and perhaps drag her away to an unpleasant end.
Her smile faded quickly at the direction of her thoughts.
"Alistair," Leliana wrinkled her pretty nose as she drew out Alistair's name dramatically, "This smell—"
"Redcliffe always smells of fish," there was an odd note in his voice as he answered, "But this—"
"It stinks of salt, rotten fish and burnt flesh," Sten interrupted sharply, and Leliana shut her mouth with a soft click of her teeth, "Do you always draw out your observations so? I am weary of your constant chatter."
"Don't you ever— you know, talk? Make polite conversation just to put people at ease?" Alistair snapped back, and Lorelei watched his face, seeing more signs of worry than anger, the realisation that something was very wrong at Redcliffe reaching them all at various speeds.
"You mean that I should remark upon the weather before I cut off a man's head?" Lorelei covered her mouth with both hands, and then as they grew close to the village, chose to cover her nose. Sten was right— it smelled of death. At least some of the smoke rising up ahead of them was part of a funeral pyre... or several.
"I... nevermind," Alistair said, distracted by a runner coming to meet them.
"Thank the Maker, help at last—" the man began, wild hope draining away from his face as he took in the size of their party, "Is this is? Are you— all they sent?"
"Sent?" Alistair asked, clearly confused, and the man's eyes widened in disbelief. "What's happened?"
"You don't know? Doesn't anyone know?" His eyes were a bit wild, and he looked from Alistair to Leliana to Sten to Lorelei, who found herself stepping forward, summoning up her most calming voice. She wasn't sure if she was more surprised at her success or at how much she sounded like the priests who had soothed her as a child.
"Alistair and I are Grey Wardens," she said slowly, "We've been sent from Ostagar to seek reinforcements, and to deliver messages to the Arl."
"Best of luck with that," his voice was brittle, threatening to break under the sarcasm, "He may be dead for all we know. We've not seen anyone from the castle in weeks, and the village is under attack—" Lorelei took another step forward, and managed to brush her fingertips against his arm before he drew back sharply, "I'll take you to Bann Teagan. He'll explain everything, and perhaps— perhaps you can help us, after all."
Lorelei glanced at Alistair, and after a brief hesitation, he shook his head and gestured for her to take the lead. She nodded to the man, trying to smile reassuringly: it was a tricky thing, sometimes, smiling— if you were particularly unlucky, it caused a great deal of offense.
"Lead on," she said softly, each word feeling heavy as lead: she had a feeling that Arl Eamon would not be providing them with reinforcements any time soon.
As they were lead through the devastated village toward its chantry— it was modest as far as chantries went, but still the largest and most well-built object in the village— her hopes fell so far that she wondered if she'd have to seek the Dwarves to find them.
Then, of course, she wondered if there had ever been any Dwarves beneath them, or if they had ever dared tunnel so close to Lake Calenhad.
As Alistair brushed past her to greet Bann Teagan, and was greeted in turn, she reminded herself that she no longer had a life where she could allow herself to get lost in her thoughts, and turned her attention to the Bann, and his description of the ills befalling Redcliffe Village.
"Did you just say walking corpses?"
"Yes," the Bann answered cautiously, shooting a glance at Alistair, "Sometimes they're even— recognisable." Lorelei shuddered right along with him. "It's like nothing I've ever heard of." She blinked in surprise, and Teagan's eyes narrowed. "But that is not true for you, is it?"
"The Circle of Magi maintains an extensive library," she explained slowly, "With a rather large section dedicated to demons."
"You think a demon is responsible?" Lorelei held up her hands at Teagan's question, noting how Alistair leaned forward with interest. For someone trained to hate and distrust magic, he had a particular interest in it. What struck her about it wasn't that it didn't make sense, but that it reminded her of how rare it was in an Order that claimed to protect mages as well as hunt them. Perhaps the Chantry found that ignorance was more conducive to their goals than knowledge, and the thought was so disturbing that she stumbled, and had to pause before she was able to refocus on her explanation.
"Demons have been known to possess corpses, but on this scale... it would have to be a higher level demon, like Desire or Pride." Alistair alone lacked a confused expression, so she elaborated. "Spirits of the Fade are thought to borrow their identity, in some fashion, from the dreamers that visit their realm. Those known as demons draw power from the negative aspects of dreamers— rage, hunger, sloth, desire and pride. The more complex the emotion, the more intelligent— and more powerful— the demon." Lorelei paused, realising another complication. "Their influence is usually limited to the Fade, without some method of crossing the Veil." She frowned, turning in a full circle before meeting Teagan's eyes again, "But the Veil doesn't simply tear without warning, unless... Bann Teagan, is there a mage at the castle?"
"Not that I know of," he answered, "Though I haven't visited my brother in quite some time."
"It is good that you've been burning the bodies, but—" Lorelei winced at the indelicacy of what she was about to say, "Do you have some way to dispose of the ashes?"
"Dispose of the— Maker, what do you mean?" Teagan's eyes were wide, and a quick glance around told Lorelei that they'd gathered an audience, including the Revered Mother, judging from her robes. She suddenly found herself conscious of every speck of mud on her own grey robes and every hair pulled loose from her braid. She was sure that someone would have something to say about the shabby, unkept waif who dared represent both the Circle of Magi and the Order of the Grey, and if they did, she had nothing with which to counter. Perhaps she would try one of Daylen's cheeky shrugs.
"I mean that a Shade— that's a demon, usually Sloth, that possesses the ashes of the dead— can be every bit as devastating as a walking corpse," she said carefully, folding her arms over her chest to keep herself from fidgeting.
"Alistair—"
"She's the one who knows about demons," the affable ex-templar answered quickly, looking a bit green around the edges.
"I don't know overly much about defeating them, I'm afraid," she admitted, watching faces fall around her and trying to tell herself that she was going to have to get used to people being disappointed in her, now that she was— Maker help her— in the habit of being the object of expectations. She glanced up at the bright shaft of light coming in through one of the chantry's high windows, and then at Alistair, then back at Teagan.
"Will you help us?"
She heard Alistair straighten, the metal of his armour scraping together, and glanced up and back over her shoulder at a scowling Sten.
"This is a waste of time," the Qunari said matter-of-factly, "You came here for reinforcements against the Blight, and there are clearly none to be had. We should move on."
"Have you no heart?" Leliana's tone alone made her opinion clear.
"This— heart— that you describe," Sten rolled the word around in his mouth, looking distinctly confused, "This is what resides in the chest and moves blood through the body, yes? I possess one as you do. I do not understand what this has to do with anything." Leliana blinked, but was not dissuaded.
"I mean, have you no feelings? You would leave these people to be slaughtered?"
"You would save one village while the whole land is consumed by the darkspawn? Is it not more sensible to sacrifice the few for the many, rather than the reverse?"
"Illuminating as your argument is," Teagan interjected just before Lorelei could think of the right words to do so herself, "It does not answer my question. Forgive my rudeness, but these are desperate times." The last part was directed mostly at Lorelei, before he turned his attention on Alistair. "I know that I have no right to ask this of you, Alistair, but will you help us?" Alistair fidgeted, and when he glanced at Lorelei, he had a look like one of those dogs she'd seen at Ostagar, begging for table scraps.
"Well, I... you see, it's not just up to me," he said weakly, and she blinked. It was clear how much he wanted to help the village, and he was still hesitant to take charge? Lorelei took a deep breath, making a note to find out how much of Alistair's hesitation was because of the Chantry, and how much was due to his early life at Redcliffe. Even the meekest of Templars was trained to act when a mage or a demon— in this case, probably both— was involved.
"We will help," she said, knowing that despite Sten's objections, there really was no other decision that they she could live with making. She glanced at Alistair and flinched away from the expression of gratitude that he was wearing. It was akin to staring at the sun, only it hurt her heart, rather than her eyes. She held up a hand before Sten could voice his obvious displeasure. "Bann Teagan, tell us your plan."
"It is a foolish plan."
Lorelei was starting to think herself getting rather good at reading Sten's moods. At this moment, he was very annoyed, and with her. The fact that this seemed to be the rule, rather than the exception, was easily discarded.
"Do you mean the decision to help the village, or the plan to defend it?" She tried to keep her voice light, and blinked at Sten's expression.
"I have already voiced my opinion on that matter," he said simply, shifting in position, "If you do not want my input, I will hold my tongue." Lorelei bit the inside of her cheek to keep her amusement in check. It was inappropriate, yes, but she could not resist the thought that if Sten threatened silence, he meant it.
"I value your insight, Sten," she answered slowly, "Even when you do not agree with me. Maybe even especially then." He was looking at her like that again, and she shrugged her staff off her back so that she could lean on it. "I have read a great deal of books, but... I am not a warrior, or a general. There is much that I should know, and do not."
"You are not as callow as I thought," he said suddenly, and she blinked, then craned her head up and to the side to look at him, "That is... unexpected."
"I—"
"It is a word in your tongue," he added helpfully, "It means 'without feathers', as a newly hatched bird." She couldn't help it— the corners of her mouth lifted.
"I am aware of the word's meaning, Sten— as I said, I have read a great deal of books."
"Then I am unclear on the reason for your confusion." He towered over her, glowering, and she wondered at her own lack of fear. She should be afraid of Sten. He was massive and strange and intimidating and without apology— and yet, she felt more comfortable with him than with Leliana and her wild flights of fancy and Alistair with his nervous humour and raw, needy innocence.
"I am not accustomed to compliments," she said, looking away. Actually, she was beginning to get used to the you're not as stupid as I thought variety, but she had a feeling that coming from Sten, it was high praise indeed, and she wasn't used to that.
"Like I said: you are not as callow as I thought."
"What was it you were saying— about Bann Teagan's plan?" He nodded, looking oddly satisfied, then leaned toward her, just a little, as he began to explain.
"To wait for nightfall and attempt to endure the siege— it leaves too much to chance, and depends on numbers that we do not have. We should attack— retake the castle and destroy the evil within. It is still foolish, but it is significantly more likely to succeed— especially if it is as you say, with one creature responsible." He was about as animated as she'd ever seen him, face set in determined lines. "You know that I speak truth, and yet you let this nobleman—" She raised a hand, and he fell silent as she rubbed her temples.
Sten was right. They'd agreed to help only to be sent on various minor errands while the Arl's younger brother planned a battle for which he didn't have the resources to fight properly. There was something else, too— when she'd asked if there was a way into the castle, his gaze had slid away from her as he mentioned another small thing that needed doing. Even now, Alistair and Leliana were attempting to recruit a dwarf to fight with the militia. This Bann Teagan was charming, but he was bad a liar as Jowan— poor, doomed Jowan. Lorelei flinched so violently that she almost lost her footing. Somehow she doubted that Sten's newly expressed, sort-of respectfor her would survive her tumbling head over heels down the hill and into the creek.
"I will speak to Bann Teagan again," she said softly, and turned, leaving him staring after her as she picked her way down the hill, then up the dirt path into the chantry.
"Bann Teagan," she tried to keep her voice even as she approached, noting how the space directly around her target cleared to give them at least the appearance of privacy.
"Warden, is there something that you needed?" Lorelei swallowed a sigh; Teagan had a quick smile and a natural kind of charm that made him inconveniently likable, at least for someone that she was about to accuse of lying.
"You do have a way into the castle, don't you?" Teagan flinched, confirming her suspicion neatly. "Bann Teagan, it is not my plan to abandon the village to the undead simply to get to the Arl." She paused to study him, knowing all the ways that that she had no right to his trust— commoner, Warden, mage, and though he didn't yet know it, Orlesian— but requiring it all the same.
"And yet you wish to enter the castle instead of defending the village." There was no accusation in his tone to match his words, only weariness and a sort of resignation.
"Not instead, my Lord. The force that is attacking your people is coming from within the castle. Even with our help— all four of us— you do not have the resources to defend the people from another night of this," she tried to make her voice sound matter-of-fact, like Sten's, but instead it came out forced and brittle and just a little bit pleading. It was a good thing that she'd sent Leliana on any of the errands that involved convincing people to help the militia— she'd've been pants at it. She winced at her own ineptitude, but continued, "We have done what we can to prepare the militia, but our best bet is to deal with the threat before it attacks the village."
"And if you were to fail?"
"If we fail, the result will be the same as if we failed out here." She gestured, sweeping her arms wide to indicate the village. "Only with less waiting." She crossed her arms over her chest, hoping that a well-thought out, reasoned argument would work on Teagan. If he required charm to convince, she'd never get through to him.
"There is something else, isn't there?" Teagan peered at her closely, and she blinked, then nodded.
"I'm not really sure, but— well, I read it in a book, as you might have guessed," she managed a quick smile, which Teagan returned, "It was a story about a mage that was possessed by a demon, a demon that took full control most easily when he slept. If this situation is similar, than daylight is more than a reprieve for the village. It is a valuable opportunity to find the mage responsible and put an end to this whole affair."
"You'll have to kill the mage," Teagan sounded almost sad, and Lorelei found herself liking him all the more for it.
"I really don't know," Lorelei admitted, "But there is precious little daylight left, and waiting for nightfall— Bann Teagan, you are only buying time."
"And I am paying for it with these people's lives," his voice was heavy with guilt, and his eyes slid away from hers, "And perhaps my own." She didn't think that she had to mention that there were also the people in the castle to consider— if they still lived. That was a heavy weight in the air around them— very present, if unsaid.
It was a long moment before he looked at her again, and she found that getting her way didn't feel as good as people had lead her to believe it would. Bann Teagan was tired, and sad, and worried and horribly guilt-ridden, and she liked him.
"Very well," he said finally, twisting a heavy signet ring around his finger before he removed it and placed it in her hand, "There is a secret passage, from inside the mill to inside the castle..."
