Chapter Six

Warden Bonding and the Guerrin Charm

"You're besieged by what?"

Azalia didn't mean to sound that…disbelieving when the scout told them what had been happening in Redcliffe. Truth be told, it wasn't inconceivable. They'd faced animated skeletons in the Brecilian Forest, hadn't they? It was just…bah! Did nothing ever go their way? Just once? No fuss, no something-wants-you-dead problem? Apparently not, considering Arl Eamon was apparently locked away with his family in the castle with no word and the arl's brother, Bann Teagan, was left in charge of the village that was completely convinced they were all going to die. Talk about a downer.

"Uh…Azalia?" Alistair's voice stopped her short, turning partly so she could face him. He had a very guilty hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar expression on his face and she mentally braced herself for the worst. Something was wrong. "I think I should talk to you before we…well, before we speak with Bann Teagan."

Looking down the side of the cliff to the village down below, she shrugged. "Might as well tell me what's on your mind now, then. The scout looks impatient."

"Right, well…you know how I said I was raised by Arl Eamon?" His voice was pitched low in a whisper so only she could hear a word he said. Lyna might be able to, but she was too busy looking around corners and expecting a skeleton to jump out at her to listen too closely. "That was true, but…"

Andraste's frilly knickers. "Spit it out, Alistair."

He shifted on his feet, obviously forcing himself to say the words. Surely whatever he had to say couldn't be that bad? "There was a reason for that, you see. My father…my father was King Maric."

Several things ran through her head as she tried to process this tidbit, most of which would've been too rude to say. Maric? As in King Maric Theirin, handsome king of Ferelden up until five years ago and the source of many female mage's wet dreams? She'd only been twelve at the time, but even Azalia had seen the appeal in the warrior king who'd ousted the Orlesians from Ferelden. The day he'd died the tower had nearly been flooded in the tears of half the female mages. For a month or so after, even speaking his name had been taboo lest it set off the younger apprentices.

Alistair was King Maric's son? Without thinking, she walked until they were nose to nose, eyes narrowed while her comrade made a high-pitched squeak and jumped at her proximity. The more Azalia looked, the more she supposed she could see it. She'd noticed a certain resemblance he'd had to King Cailan in Ostagar, though he'd made Alistair look downright serious in comparison with his flippant disregard for the darkspawn's threat.

After sufficiently startling him, she took several steps back (to his relief) and hummed thoughtfully. "So…does that mean you're the heir to Ferelden's throne now?"

His expression was priceless. "Maker's breath! I hope not!" The appalled look melted somewhat, transforming to his usual pensive confusion. "I don't think so, anyway. It was made very clear to me from early on that the throne would never be in my future…and that's fine by me."

Yeah, but Cailan wasn't dead at the hand of the Queen's common-born father at the time. There was a thought. Depose the queen and set Alistair on the throne. It would make her life as a Warden much easier, to put it mildly.

Azalia shoved that thought away for later. "Well that…huh. It explains the resemblance to King Cailan that I saw, at least." Whirling around, she shrugged as she continued down hill, smirking when she caught a quick glimpse of Alistair's shocked expression. "Good to know for the future."

It was his turn to narrow his eyes at her. "Why do I not like the sound of that?"

"I have no idea."

He relaxed after that, thankfully, and Azalia let her eyes drift over the resigned faces of the militia men that she passed as they walked through the town square towards the Chantry. Their armor was falling apart and every sword and axe was in desperate need of repair; each bow a shot or two away from snapping in half. The few who were practicing were doing so half-heartedly, at best.

"This is depressing," Lyna said, arms crossed and frowning. "These shemlen have no…what is the word? Hope. They will die in minutes if they battle like this."

"They do not expect to live," Morrigan concurred, shaking her head. "If you are to die, 'twould be simpler and far less painful to fall upon one's sword, no?"

Even Sten merely shook his head, though he offered no opinion on the state of Redcliffe's militia except a terse, "Unacceptable."

"Any of you heard of tact?" Alistair wondered out loud, glaring at the three.

"They are doing all that they can," Leliana defended, "though their spirits are rather low."

Azalia turned, curious as to Elena's reaction. She was the only one not saying anything, though she would also be the one with the most to say, seeing as she would've been the one in command of Highever's militia. The teyrn would've been old enough that he'd be giving such duties to his children.

Her brow was furrowed, eyes narrowed as she stared at the men, and Azalia could practically see the gears turning in Elena's head. When she looked up and their gazes caught, her face reddened and she looked away in a huff, making Azalia laugh.

"Mind filling me in on the joke?"

Azalia whirled, nearly smacking her face into Bann Teagan's chest. Leaning back so she could stare up at him, she couldn't hold the grin off her face. "Bann Teagan."

"I remember you." Humor twinkled in his eyes that gazed over their group before his expression sobered when they fell on Elena. "Elena. I am relieved upon words to see you are safe. I was saddened to hear about the teyrn and teyrna when the news reached me in Rainesfere."

A look Azalia couldn't name, exactly, crossed her friend's face that suddenly seemed almost…redder. "Thank you, Bann Teagan."

I'm missing something. She looked between the bann and Elena, aware that Alistair was doing the same in ill-disguised curiosity. The tension was thick enough she could practically hear the electrified current crackling between them, Elena's booted feet shifting every so often in poorly concealed nervousness.

It was Alistair, of all people, who finally broke the very long and very pointed silence. "So! What's this undead trouble we're hearing about?"

I am a woman grown of eighteen, Elena told herself fiercely as Azalia and Morrigan went off to see about bolstering the militia's morale, while Alistair and Lyna saw to getting them some suitable equipment. Sten was off helping to fortify the town, once he'd been assured this wasn't just a waste of valuable time, and Leliana was wandering amongst the people in the Chantry, trying to help wherever she could.

Which left her, of course, discussing plans of action with Teagan.

As he detailed the attacks and estimated the number of enemies that came, they outlined the many ways they could attack them; Elena made herself focus on that. For six months, she'd had full control of Highever's militia and had seen to their training personally. The militia was Highever's first line of defense, comprised of men from the villages ruled over by them, and she'd personally seen to it that they were prepared for anything. It was the main reason her father had been willing to leave her in charge while he and Fergus marched south with the bulk of Highever's soldiers; their army itself hadn't even been needed thanks to the militia's training.

"I can set a wide array of traps and the like at some of the smaller entrances," she pointed out once he finished talking. "I've seen some supplies I can use around the village to make some effective ones if combined with the poisons we have on hand."

Teagan nodded, his finger shifting to the main entrance. "What about the main hill? There aren't many, but they do seem to have ogres in their numbers. They're what do most of the damage before any of the men can take them down and they usually come down from there."

"Azalia has a few area spells that'll do a lot of damage," Elena mused, recalling the talk they'd had concerning what her abilities were shortly after they'd left the tower. "She can heal as well, though, so I'm hoping she can concentrate on keeping us all upright and leave the area damage to Morrigan. Lyna, the Dalish hunter with us, can probably help us the most with the ogres. Just leave them to her."

Teagan arched a curious eyebrow at that and managed to effectively convey the level of his disbelief in one word. "Really?"

It made Elena smile. "It's rather difficult to explain. All I shall say is that she got pretty badly hit by an ogre when we fought during Ostagar and has since set out to assure she never gets overwhelmed by them again."

Curiosity turned to full blown horror and concern at that little insight. "You were at Ostagar?"

Oh. Right. No one knows that. She smiled halfheartedly at his frozen expression. "The former warden commander saved me when…" Elena took a long, albeit shaky, breath and forcefully reminded herself not to dwell. "He planned on making me a warden, but things happened and I didn't join. I was fighting in the front lines with Lyna and some of the men from South Reach. We went left, tried to flank the darkspawn on either side with the men from Oswin and pull some away from the main lines but…"

"I wish I could've helped you somehow," he lamented, shaking his head. "I can not imagine the horror of these past months for you and can only thank the Maker you survived."

Her face reddened again. He always did know how to make a woman blush to the roots of her hair; the charmer. "Teagan, you're making me blush!"

He flashed a grin that managed to be both boyish and downright devious in response. "You have always been a lady most fetching with a splash of color on your fair skin, Elena."

She groaned, head ducking until she felt like trying to burrow her head into the dirt. "See? This is why my mother entertained those ideas of hers." Elena shook an accusing finger at him. "And you fed them quite willingly with that…that Guerrin Charm!"

"Lady Eleanor adored matchmaking," he chuckled. It was not the first, nor last, time his natural charm would be called as such. Rumor had it that Eamon had been the same way until he met his wife and Elena doubted Teagan would be different. "Saw it as her duty or some such after my dear sister Rowan passed away to see me settled down with a nice woman. That she tried to sell me on the idea of taking you for a wife, Elena, was almost expected by then." Patting her hand, Teagan was obviously still amused, though he wasn't blatantly laughing anymore at the least. "So you can stop being so embarrassed and actually look me in the eye when you speak."

Elena grimaced despite herself. "Caught that, did you?" She forced herself to lift her head, sheer stubbornness making her meet his twinkling eyes from across the table where the map of Redcliffe Village was sprawled out. He was laughing at her with his eyes, she noted unhappily, but Elena persisted anyway.

"I think that is the most amusement I've had since this whole nightmare began," he sighed as his chuckles trailed off and he stared in frustration at the piece of vellum between them. "Hopefully if we can raise the morale of the men, bolster our defenses, and get some decent weapons and armor we might survive another night and I can sneak into the castle come morning to see how things are."

Elena thought back to the animated skeletons in the ruins, frowning as she recalled that evil mirror that had made Azalia so sick. Tainted, she mentally corrected. Just as if a darkspawn had bitten her. "That…may be wise. But not alone." She relayed a shortened version of her thoughts to him, watching as his worry and dread increased with each word.

Teagan was massaging his temple when she'd finished speaking and grimacing. "The situation just keeps getting better and better. Now more then ever, I must see what is happening at the palace. If Eamon is…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "If this is indeed the same, I would know if for nothing else then to end him quickly and without suffering. Rowan…I have seen one of my family die a slow, painful death already. I would not have my brother suffer the same."

Elena placed a comforting hand on his arm, gripping it slightly. Images of her father's pained expression flashed in her mind as he slowly bled out on the floor of the larder; hopefully her mother had gone quickly. It made things in her chest ache to think they had both suffered before death took them in its embrace. "I know." With a sigh, she turned back to the map and pointed towards the windmill where several templars and half of their group would wait to fight off the creatures from the castle. "Let's just survive tonight first."

"Did you have to break down the sodding door?"

"He was being foolish," Lyna said simply as the silly shemlen tossed his hands into the air, exasperated. "He agreed to fix the weapons and armor, didn't he?" Agreeing to find out if his only child was still alive in the castle seemed a small price to pay to get him to stop blathering at her.

"You do realize this is why most of Thedas still thinks your people are savages, right?" he pointed out, motioning to the wooden door that had broken in half.

Lyna's eyes narrowed as she looked over her shoulder at the blond shemlen. Azalia had made her swear not to kill him, but that didn't mean she had to like it. Foot in mouth syndrome, she'd said he had. Lyna had never heard that particular phrase for it, but she got the gist of it. He spoke before he thought, like Fenarel. "Really? I thought it was because of the tight leash your Chantry has wrapped around your country's collective necks."

His eyebrow did an amusing little twitch as he fought himself from saying something rude or even more foolish, making Lyna smirk slightly. Ah, but taunting this particular shemlen was kind of fun. The shemlen witch was right about that, at least.

Whatever reply he was about to give was halted as the mages came into view, conversing in tones that was the closest Lyna had ever heard them to fighting. Oddly enough, a pudgy faced shemlen and a rather morose looking flat-ear trailed behind them, as well as a durgen'len that was flanked by two mercenaries.

"Just leave the coercion to me next time," Azalia sighed, sounding agitated. The shemlen witch merely shrugged, unbothered and looking slightly annoyed. "You're as subtle as a brick to the head."

"A brick to the head 'twould get you answers quicker," the witch shot back, arms crossing over her shirt's gaping neckline.

The mage was not to be one-upped, however. "If they survived it," she snapped, head jerking towards the flat ear that, now that he was closer, Lyna could see was rubbing his head. "Dead men can't fight."

"Our enemies would prove otherwise," the witch smirked, and even the silly shemlen begrudgingly chuckled as Azalia made a face that looked as if she'd bitten on a particularly sour fruit.

"Weapons and armor are good," she interrupted once they were in earshot. Lyna glanced at the militia as the new soldiers joined them; there was a definite difference in mood compared to what they'd been like when they first arrived. Morale boost is a success as well.

"Sten finished fortifications," the silly shemlen added, motioning to where the qunari was sitting silently, frightening the shemlen nearby just by looking at them. It was rather amusing to see, actually, considering he wasn't even doing anything. Just looking…staring. He even had a bird perched on his shoulder at one point. "Elena's waiting inside with Bann Teagan to give us the rundown on what we're doing tonight."

As soon as they all entered the Chantry, Lyna could see why Sten had opted to wait outside. The head priest kept giving them the stink eye; it was a look Lyna blatantly returned until Azalia nudged her and made her stop.

"What in Andraste's name is that?"

Lyna rather concurred with the crazy shemlen's exclamation. The trap sitting in front of Elena was like nothing she'd ever seen before and was vaguely…sinister. And pointy. Even the shemlen lord was eyeing it like he wasn't quite sure it was safe to even be around.

"Trap of my own making," she said proudly, caressing the wooden structure like she often did Lethallin who was snoozing peacefully at her feet. "I've made several and set them up around the town square entrances except at the main hill. They should take out the enemy's first line quite effectively." She looked to the shemlen witch then. "I'm hoping you can cover the main hill entrance itself with some area of effect spells, take a few out before they even reach us in the square."

The witch nodded. "Doable, I suppose."

"Since we'll have Morrigan down here at the square, Teagan pointed out it might be best if you're at the windmill." She looked at Azalia as she said this, who nodded. "I'm having you up there with Leliana, Alistair, and Lethallin."

She did frown at that. "Why not Sten? Not that I don't want Lethallin with me or anything, but I thought he'd be with you."

Lyna nodded, however, seeing what she'd planned. "The qunari is a seasoned warrior like the silly shemlen here." She motioned to the blond who glowered at her. "It is wise to have at least one among each group. Presumably the square will be hit worse, as most of the men will be centered there, so it is best the more powerful of the two be positioned there." Glancing at Elena, she arched an eyebrow. "Am I correct in guessing I will be at the square as well?"

"Ogres," was all she said, and Lyna actually smiled at that. Tamlen had once described it as being both a peaceful and yet viciously predatory expression; a description that wasn't far off if the looks she was getting were any indication. "I'm told there are usually two or three mixed in amongst the darkspawn and animated dead who make up the enemy's numbers."

"I will handle them," she said with a pleased nod, the blood in her veins racing. Finally! Some good news.

Azalia quirked a curious eyebrow at her. "Can you explain the expression? You look…happy about that."

"Simple," Lyna said with a nod. "I really hate ogres."

Unsurprisingly, only Elena actually laughed at that.

Ah well, she thought with a shrug. They'll see.

Azalia's nerves were on edge by the time the sun began to set, though it wasn't the fighting that had her so antsy. She rather liked making darkspawn shatter into tiny pieces of collapse into burning heaps of groaning filth. It was the sadistic side of her, she mused, that she'd suppressed during her stay at the Circle Tower. It only really showed when she got competitive, truthfully. Mage competitiveness wasn't as well known as the rumored depravity, but it was just as bad. Everyone tried to outshine everyone else, usually to disastrous results. Like the first floor bathroom debacle that had ended with half of it being completely demolished. Needless to say, Gregoir had been less then impressed. Neither had the apprentices who'd ended up having to run all the way upstairs just to use the bathrooms.

But no, the battle was not why she was practically chomping at the bit to burn something to cinders. It was, actually, Alistair.

"You don't think…" he continued on, looking troubled. "Well, you saw it. I mean, he's my uncle in all the ways that count and…"

"In Orlais, it is not uncommon for women to be much younger then their husbands," Leliana mused not helping things at all and earning a pointed glare that she ignored. "The bann is very handsome and the brother of Queen Rowan; and I remember the Couslands from a book of Ferelden's history…they are second to the king in terms of power, yes?"

"Indeed," Azalia ground out, trying not to sound annoyed. "In theory, Loghain was just as powerful, but the fact that he was common-born always made the nobility instinctively hold him in lesser regard then Teyrn Cousland." And why am I adding to this conversation? Normally, she'd love to talk about it, but Alistair had been going on about it for the past five hours. Even she had her limits. "The fact that he ditched the army at the Battle of West Hills, even if it was to rescue King Maric, and Teyrn Cousland not only stayed but survived the equally as disastrous Battle of White River added to it." That thought made Azalia pause. If Arl Eamon was enough of a threat that Loghain presumably had him poisoned to get him out of the way then… It was like fitting another piece into a very large, very confusing puzzle, and she grimaced at the clarity in which that part of the picture began forming. "Sodding bastard; he probably helped Howe orchestrate Teyrn Cousland's death. With King Cailan dead and no heir, the Bannorn would likely have looked to Teyrn Cousland to take the throne."

Alistair seemed to have realized that too and shook his head. "You think she realizes?"

Azalia looked out as the sun fell beyond the horizon and a sickly mist began creeping across the ground. It finally starts. "No. You won't need to ask that when she figures it out."

Whatever thoughts they all had regarding that stopped as the last vestiges of light disappeared and a large cloud of dust began making its way quickly towards the village from the castle. It's heading for the town square. Elena had been right on the spot, though she hoped they had enough manpower. That looked like a lot for how few soldiers there were.

"Here they come!" one of the templars shouted. Azalia could see the first wave appearing through the mist. With a well placed fireball, the oil Sten had made the soldiers bring up from one of the stores in town exploded, setting the shambling dead on fire as they charged through it and came at them with weapons raised. Compared to darkspawn, they were easy, but the problem was that each attack did very little actual damage. Lethallin was the most effective, using his teeth to rip them apart bone by bone until they couldn't walk.

"The limbs!" she shouted as Leliana switched her bow out for a pair of daggers. "Aim for the legs!" With a well placed bolt of lightning at the joints, the dead stumbled and fell to the ground where Lethallin gleefully tore into them like a ham on Prayer Day, his massive head shaking and sending bones flying everywhere.

It took several minutes to finally realize when no more were coming, the tingle of darkspawn tugging at her mind. She'd only felt it recently, that pull to the vile creatures, and she knew there were a good number of them amongst the group attacking the square.

Almost as if on cue, the messenger from the bridge when they first arrived at the village came stumbling up the hill, bloodied and out of breath. "The militia is being over run! We need help!"

Lethallin was already running at the word 'militia'; all of them were darting down the steep dirt slopes by the time 'help' left his mouth.

The militia was being swarmed at least three to one and she could already see that Elena was down with a nasty gash running from her knee to almost her ankle. Even so, she was doing a commendable job, shooting down darkspawn who came in range with an accuracy that showed just how much she'd been training herself in her down time. Sten was currently tending to a swarm of the skeletons, frustrated when they didn't stay down and die, while Morrigan was being…well, Morrigan.

To be honest, Azalia could admit to just staring rather dumbly for several moments. There was one ogre left, the ground shaking with every step it took, and there was Lyna, covered in blood from head to toe but looking otherwise unharmed. The elf was like a blur in motion at the ogre's feet, slicing into the creature's legs and disappearing before its large fists could swing down. It roared with each cut of its flesh, blood dripping from wounds that had been slashed at repeatedly, until it finally went to a knee, unable to remain on its feet. That was when she saw, Azalia mused, what had to be a prime example of why the Dalish were so feared in battle.

Her sword and dagger shined with an almost radiant glow in the moonlight before she charged and Lyna ran up the ogre's arm, her sword stabbing it in the shoulder deep enough that it roared in fury, flailing wildly to dislodge her and failing miserably. With a nimble swing behind him, she slammed her dagger into its back on the other side, using momentum to lift her up to the ogre's other shoulder where, with a purposeful tug and a very quick slash, she yanked her sword free and slit its throat, the spray of blood so large as it choked and collapsed that it was like a lake of red with nothing but the lone elf standing on it's back, reclaiming her dagger and staring at its corpse with the haughtiest expression Azalia had ever seen.

"Did she just take an ogre down BY HERSELF?" Alistair gawked outright, his eyes incredibly wide.

Lyna only turned towards them both, her expression that of complete and utter peace for all of five seconds before she went to help deal with the rest of the 'little things'. "Three," she corrected, glancing at the two other fallen corpses with similar injuries. "I really hate ogres."

Azalia was still laughing over it come sunrise, the last of the skeletons nothing but a pile of bones on the ground at her feet and the corpses of the darkspawn a nasty smelling pyre of flames. Her laughter was short-lived, however, as she walked into the Chantry to see the injured being tended, though that wasn't what killed her mood.

It was the Taint.

It rolled around a few in waves, the symptoms much more obvious in some rather then in others. Young, old, male, female…civilian or soldier – it didn't discriminate and she closed her eyes as she tried to discern exactly how many would essentially have to die because of rotten luck. Some who were bitten didn't seem to have it, while others who didn't have a scratch on them had it from exposure alone. There was no sense or reason to it, though the bitten were obviously much more likely to contract it.

"Seven," she whispered, shaking her head as she spoke to Bann Teagan and pointed them out, Alistair merely confirming it for her. "Seven are tainted."

Templars removed them on command despite much protest and the distraught screaming of mothers and wives; brothers and husbands. She didn't know and didn't want to know what they did…Azalia just hoped it was quick and painless. Would the Joining have saved them as it had her? Possibly, but neither she nor Alistair had any ideas as to what the Joining entailed other then darkspawn blood and lyrium, which was why only mages prepared it. There was definitely more to it, though neither of them had been in the order long enough to know.

"The nightmare is over, for now," Teagan sighed. "Maker willing, I will be able to enter the castle and see if my brother and his family yet live today."

From where she was on one of the stretchers being tended, Elena raised her head and glared at him pointedly. "Not alone," she said in that tone only nobles could possess. It was polite and yet made anything they said not a request.

"Alistair and I will head in with you," Azalia offered, glancing back and nodding when she saw Alistair was in agreement. "I am anxious to see if the Veil has been torn. It would explain those…things…but would require mages to fix. The sooner we see to it, the better."

"Bann Teagan!" Redcliffe's mayor, Murdock, ran inside the Chantry, nodding hastily when he saw them. "There is movement from the castle! Two people are making their way towards the village."

"Who?" both she and Teagan demanded in unison.

"It's a guard…and the arlessa!"

A/N: Have I mentioned how much I LOVE Teagan? Am I the only one who would've totally seduced him, had he been an option? Anyway, Redcliffe Castle is up next with the decidedly unpleasant Arlessa Isolde who I have no particular love for. Horrible woman. And Azalia gets to see Jowan again. Wonder how that reunion will be? Heh.

Go on then, you know what I'll say by now. Feedback. Please? *Insert wide, sparkly eyed smile here*

~SRD