Chapter 6
A/N: First, I want to thank everyone who reviewed this story and put it on his/her alert and favourite list. You are wonderful people who make my day!
Have I ever mentioned I do not own any of the original characters? No? I'm a bad person.
Please, review. I need to know do you want me to continue or I may have a break
And yes, I used one dialogue from the game, just because I thought it was suitable.
Sandwiches aren't almighty. That's a pity.
Damn it all. If it hadn't been raining, he would have already been on the way.
Alistair malignly kicked the nearest chair. Poor, already beaten by the time stick of furniture creaked pleadingly.
"Hey, champ, what's wrong?"
Alistair raised his head. A man was looking at him, surprised.
"Nothing," Alistair muttered.
The man just grinned.
"Oh, really? It's not in the nature of things that verjuice people, who've got sour at the whole world, knock chairs only for kicks."
"I've got sour not at the world, only at strangers who have an oar in every man's boat," Alistair didn't intend to say that but the words had themselves escaped from his lips. His regret must have registered on his face because the stranger smiled and sat down.
"I'm sorry," said Alistair in an apologetic tone.
"Never mind," the man replied. "Didn't see you here before. You don't belong here, do you?"
"No, I don't," Alistair said with thoughtfulness. Who knows, perhaps a conversation can amuse him from dark thoughts?
"I suspected as much. A person with such equipment isn't seen here too often."
Alistair toughened in a twinkle. Daveth's stories about fraudsters and their skills in wriggling into favour had printed in his mind. And although, as it turned out, Daveth himself wasn't brilliant at thievish art, he was a bit of a teller.
The stronger noticed his reaction and gave a laugh.
"You believe I want to rob you?"
"And you believe I want to be robbed?"
"I believe you want to forget something," replied the man calmly. In response to Alistair's curious look he added: "It's always obvious. You're not the first and won't be the last. They aren't worth it."
"Who – they?' Alistair shook his head.
"Women, of course," giggled his companion.
Alistair felt his cheeks becoming red with blush.
"Err… I… she's not…," the former templar stuttered confusedly, but his new familiar only smiled and held up his hands.
"There you are. I know what it is. One hellcat maddened me once… But, you know, you won't relax by sandwiches," he nodded his head in direction of the empty dishes that were quite close to become Alistair's wall; some breadcrumbs remained on them. "Here," the man added, fishing out a bottle of ale, "The best remedy."
"Er, thank you very much, but…" Alistair peered at the bottle. Oghren had confessed once that he drank in order to forget everything. And he, to say the truth, was always successful. "But I don't know who the man I'm joining for a drink is."
"My name is Lodan," he introduced.
Alistair shuddered.
"What?" he whispered, staring at his companion.
"Something is wrong?'
"No," Alistair shook his head, "I'm all right. Just called to mind someone. But it's not important anymore."
And he put out his hand for the bottle.
– –
She loves wind.
Aeris couldn't say when she had realized that first: the night when Duncan had taken her away from the Tower; or the evening when she and Jowan had been admiring the sunset at the top of it; or the wide winter morning, when the dark water of Lake Calenhad covered the body of her mentor.
She loves wind because it tears all masks. Because it doesn't ask to smile falsely and speak that everything is fine. And she loves rain because it wipes away tears and begs for nothing in return.
Going ahead across lack of roads, Aeris with pleasure leaves her face open for the sharp currents of cold prewintry air – or for painful kisses, or for soft blows. She can hear Oghren trying to draw Sten out, and Wynne talking to Shale about something. Just the usual run of things. The normal one. But without Alistair.
They left Denerim several hours ago and now the whole team was making their way towards the camp in order to take all their things and never return there anymore. Even at the moment Aeris still couldn't believe that everything would be over soon and there would be no more nights, gathering about the fire, no more of their either loud, either silent klatches. Over a year ago she just the same couldn't believe that her life in the Tower had reached its end, fatal and deciding.
The afternoon was, to the common joy, without rains and others weather surprises, and the party was moving as quickly as it was possible upon the softened from moisture earth.
"Dirt and slather," grunted Oghren out, displeasedly looking at his boots. "What a beauty."
"What's the matter, my spoony friend?" Zevran smirked with feint sympathy and, coming up with the dwarf, pressed his head against his mouth, as if he was disturbed to the very bottle of his soul. "What a misfortune," he pointed to the detestable slop that was covering Oghren's boots. "Did you fetch up? I'd warned you that the emptying of Arl's cellars would take its toll."
"You again. All-fired Mr. Pixy-Ears. If you utter one word, I'll force you to clean them with your tongue until they shine. Yap."
Zevran gave a loud laugh.
"Is that all you want me to do with my to…"
"Oh Maker, when will they quiet?" Aeris begged. Her mabari, Apollo, who was moving to his mistress's pace, wuffed softly and stared askance at Oghren
"Don't eyeball me as if I'm in hock to you," the dwarf turned to him. "Fetid… dog. You're not so clever, as they believe. If you were, I'd not have to pad the hoof in this mire, and you'd get respect and honour."
"What's the bunk you're talking now, dear Oghren?" inquired Zevran. "What are these respect and honour?" he struck off invisible letters in the air.
"It seems, the respect and honour of bearing Oghren," chuckled Leliana. "He wanted hitched a chariot to Apollo."
"A chariot? Why not a cradle?" Zevran clapped Oghren on the shoulder.
"A grave. For you."
"Calm down," sounded Wynne's tired voice. "What a childishness."
The enchanter's notice caused new whoops, and now contesting were five – Shale joined the stirring company and troubled Zevran again with her old question about the Crows, – but Aeris didn't listen to them any more, although the subject seemed to be explosive. She was looking for her companions which were silent.
Sten, as always, was walking with a steady prance gait, not even giving a glance to right and left and not listening to the others' chats. He was frowning, his eyes dark, the teeth locked together, and for a second Aeris mused if Sten was going to call her down again. But the qunari didn't even gave her a look, still making his way without saying a word to the cries of the fussy company, who had already been busy with a question who had sewed up Shmooplez with the whisky ageing twenty years (Leliana had found a bottle and produced it in evidence; Zevran and Oghren on a whim of consensus positively claimed that they would never give a nug such a treasure).
Aeris's sharp, hawkish gaze settled on Morrigan. The witch was wandering far from the others, her eyes fastened on the darkling sky. Wynne had healed her wounds, and there were no trails of blood, which had been cut on the thin skin by the fragments of glass, on her hands. Morrigan's movements were slight and confident in the falling twilight; she seemed to be surprisingly calm, as if she was absolutely certain that she was out of danger. Perhaps, it had been caused by Aeris's announcement, who had proclaimed that she would protect Morrigan from Flemeth.
Everybody had taken the idea in different ways, but there had been a consensus that it was necessary to kill Flemeth. Attempt on Morrigan, who had refused to explain what exactly had happened, only proved that. And although Aeris herself wasn't happy about the idea of killing someone who had saved her life, she agreed that it was the only way to rescue Morrigan.
The only one who had remained silent then at the meeting before their departure was Loghain, who was walking alone in the back of the group at the moment. Aeris had seen him narrowing his eyes skeptically during Wynne's speech, who had been stating that Flemeth in any event must pay for her crimes. Probably, his gloomy spirit had been caused by the fact that Wynne with her "pay for crimes" thing had meant him as well. But it had seemed to Aeris that he' wanted to tell her something, but changed his mind, as if he had thought nobody would listen to him.
She never told anyone about her and Loghain's promenade. There was no need for her friends to know that, though Morrigan, for a certainty, was wary of their shared tea. At that moment she must have supposed that the Grey Wardens both had fallen mad. Aeris couldn't help but smile when she imagined what would have happened then if instead of Morrigan the whole kit and boiling had come to the kitchen.
But her smile faded quickly. Surana was walking alone, only Apollo beside her, and his loyalty was unshakable and clear. The devoted mabari would never leave her whatever happened. But the others…
It mightn't safely be said when Aeris had started to estrange herself from them. The more successful she was in her mission, the oftener she asked herself: what next? What keeps these people alongside of the elvish mage who has neither home, nor family and nor even past?
Alistair had been with her, because they had been bound with general oaths. But even that hadn't stopped him. Even if a Grey Warden may get away from it all, imagine what may the others.
Take one sidestep, and everybody will be against you.
Aeris shuddered, felt somebody's stony gaze at herself. Loghain primmed and cast his eyes down immediately. He was dark as always. Aeris sighed.
– –
An eleven-year-old girl was quivering from cold, muffled by a templar in a fur cloak. She was looking around with fear on her face. Never being out of the Tower, Aeris didn't know where to go or hide: the grey sky over her head and howling wintry wind made her feel uncomfortable here, in this great, strange world.
The procession of mages and templars stood on the shore of Lake Calenhad. In this winter, sunless morning its water seemed to be paly black.
"Don't be afraid."
Aeris raised her head. The first enchanter Irving smiled warmly at her. She nodded uncertainly, unable to say a word.
"I don't think it was a good idea, Irving," noticed Greagoir, fixing his gimlet eyes on the girl. "Children are forbidden to leave the Tower. Especially by such reasons."
"You've read the will," the mage replied calmly. "Kenmair wanted her to attend."
The knight-commander just sighed loudly and turned to his subordinates' side; they were carrying the coffin.
Aeris's eyes hazed with tears, when the templars carefully set it by the very water.
On Greagoir's signal the coffin cover was taken off. The priestess began to declaim a long, monotonous speech, but Aeris didn't listen to her. She had her eyes glued on her deceased mentor's face. He seemed to be so peaceful at that moment: the wrinkles on his forehead had disappeared, a serene, soft smile played on his lips. It was only his skin, too white, too thin… There was an impression that if somebody had touched his face, it would turn to thousands of snowflakes. Aeris sobbed softly.
When the burial service was over, the templars made few backward steps from the shore. Greagoir took Aeris in his arms and stood beside the others.
The mages, headed by Irving, encircled the coffin. Four of them accurately pulled the body out. Irving muttered something and the smoke light glowed. All the mages moved slowly in the direction of the lake, cautiously bearing the body of their dead brother. They grazed against the water, as if it was the solid earth under their feet.
Aeris, who was still holding by Greagoir, saw how they reached the middle and threw the body into the water; icy steel waves rippled the lake.
The ceremony was complete.
The girl closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. The templars were standing with their heads bowed in their helmets; the priestess was watching the mages coming up.
He will never return. But he was smiling. So, all is as it must.
And Aeris lifted her red from tears eyes towards the cold sky, and the wind was playing with her hair…
– –
Aeris jumped. And how does he always manage to sneak up?
"And why we are so sad?"
"Just memories," she gave Zevran, who had already twined his arms around her waist, a faint, regretful smile; now they were walking nip and tuck. "So, who gave Shmooplez a drink?"
"Ah, the question of the day. Oghren just doesn't have brains for that," opened up the assassin. "You should have seen how the little beast ate some Arl's important papers first and then flung to dance the salsa on his writing desk… I have to confess that I was amazed by Leliana's vocal guns, when she saw that."
"And you didn't feel sorry for the whisky ageing twenty years?"
"Of course I didn't. I had drunken it off. Shmooplez went on with new beer."
The mage chuckled, her eyes, however, were still sad. Zevran, as if he had felt her mood, slowly released her.
"Well, I've gone to pick up."
"Whom?"
"Everyone," to Aeris's horror, he made a beeline for Loghain.
She waved her arm at him, but Zevran just gave her a conspiratorial wink and came up with Loghain.
"So, err… is it Lord Loghain?"
The former teyrn looked Zevran up and down and suspiciously strained his eyes
"I am no longer a teyrn, nor even a knight. Address me without a title, as you would any other Grey Warden."
"So just Loghain, then."
"Correct," he nodded. "What's on your mind?"
"You know who I am, yes? I was one of the Crows you hired to kill the Grey Wardens."
Loghain scrutinized him.
"I thought you looked familiar," he said slowly, slightly shaking his head.
Aeris held her breath. She was surprised to notice that absolutely all of her companions were listening to the conversation, being all ears.
"Well, I just wanted to report that I failed my mission, Loghain," Zevran informed him dolefully.
"You don't say," echoed Loghain in the same tone
"I am terribly broken up over it."
"Hmm. Well thank you kindly for informing me."
Aeris fell about and burst into laughter. Smiles spread over her companions' dark faces. Oghren, catching sight of it, gave a loud guffaw too.
"Hey, and why are we yocking?" he twitched Aeris by the sleeve, trying to speak as softly as possible.
A new gale of laughter went round.
"Oghren," Zevran hammered out some words with tears.
"What do you want, sharp-ears-instead-of-brains?"
"You're genial," Zevran folded up from, helpless with laughing, and nearly fell.
"What's the matter with him?" the dwarf nictitated.
"Oghren," Leliana dried her eyes.
"What's gone of you, damn you all with all your inwards?!"
"Don't force your genius," advised Aeris.
"Oh," Morrigan grinned, "tis difficult to force something that doesn't even exist."
"And what you all are talking about?"
"And is there any sense to explain?" smiled Wynne.
"Get off with ya," Oghren took amiss and marched off.
"Ho, Oghren, wait!" Zevran made after him. "Are you mad at us? Oh, get out, my stocky little friend!"
"Shove off!"
"Come on, stop taking the pet."
"I'm not an elven maiden to take the pet!"
"I hear you!" yelled Aeris. Well done, Zevran, you managed to amuse everyone. As if nothing had happened.
Suddenly Aeris met Loghain's eye. He was dark as before. Aeris wondered if the man could smile, not fleer.
But his expression changed. As did hers.
"Darkspawn!" exclaimed the Grey Wardens together.
The fun was over. Aeris was watching with a heavy heart how a big group of living dead ones, which was three times outnumbering than her own, was appearing from forest. Three emissaries were heading them.
– –
"First Enchanter, Knight-Commander," the priestess slightly shook her head.
"Revered Mother," Greagoir and Irving greeted her deferentially. Aeris, who was still being held by Greagoir, didn't say anything and was goggling at the woman in golden robes.
"Let me offer my condolences to you," she addressed to Irving. "The death of Senior Enchanter Kenmair is a great loss for the Circle."
"Thank you," said Irving in a dryish tone. Greagoir gave a cough and flashed an annoyed look at the mage.
"None the less, I'm a bit worried because of the child's presence," stated the woman, eyeing Aeris. The girl squirmed. "You know the rules…"
"Kenmair left a will, where had pointed out that he would like us to allow Aeris to say her last good-bye to him," informed her Irving coldly. "I regarded it as my duty to realize his last wish. Knight-Commander agreed with me."
"Is it true?" the priestess turned to Greagoir.
"Yes," the templar said shortly.
The revered mother pulled a face. She was away for a moment and then she spoke:
"Perhaps, the Chantry will take the child under a special care. Taking account of the stress she had endured…"
"I beg your pardon?" Irving asked, shocked.
"I've read the report, First Enchanter. The girl found the body. Her cries were heard all over the Tower. You cannot warrant that she will not…"
"… become an easy prey for demons?" Irving finished her phrase. Aeris just stared at the priestess.
The revered mother ignored him.
"It's only for the benefit of her."
"And what will you do with her? Send her to Aeonar only because she burst into tears due to her mentor's death?"
"Don't get me wrong, Irving. We can't risk."
"Wait," spoke Greagoir. "Revered Mother, Aeris is just a child. I don't think that…"
"Ser Greagoir, you are the head of the templars in Kinloch Hold. You should know the danger. The child…"
"Aeris," Irving corrected coldly. "She is here, the Reverend."
The woman gave him a deadly look.
"You can warrant nothing, ma… First Enchanter. The only one person I can trust and whose words are his bonds is Knight-Commander, and I'm sure, he will agree with me. What will you say, Ser Greagoir?"
The templar hesitated as if being between two fires. At last he opened his mouth.
"With all due deference to you, the Reverend, I have to agree with First Enchanter. The girl doesn't represent any danger, I give you my word."
There was an embarrassment silence. Aeris pillowed her head on Greagoir's shoulder.
"Very well," the priestess enounced slowly, "so be it. And who will take care of the girl?"
"I will," claimed Irving. "From here Aeris is my apprentice."
"And what will you tell me about the funeral? You know that corpses must be cremated, not thrown into the lake."
"This issue was accommodated on the highest level. I'm sorry if you aren't informed, the Reverend. Under Kenmair's merits the Chantry allowed to enact the ceremony as he had wished. Everything is pointed out in his will. If you want, you may have a glance at it."
"Wonderful. At this rate, I'd like to get onto another subject. The Chantry expresses its gratitude to the Circle for the Grand Cleric's cure. The senior enchanter Wynne seems even to exceed herself…"
Shortly the priestess left them. Greagoir sighed with relief.
"I've told you skillion of times not to ask for trouble," he started on Irving. "You're risking and putting me on the spot."
"Thank you. Without your help there would be nothing."
Greagoir's face softened a bit.
"I was just doing what was right in my opinion. Besides, Mother Eshlynna is well known for her sometimes absurd ideas. Let's go. It's time to return home."
And the mage with the templar, carrying the little girl, went to the Tower. Home.
– –
The Spellweaver cut freely into the decaying flesh till the very grip. The hurlock shook and made a rusty sound at conclusion. It was over.
But Aeris had no time to relax: two more were approaching here from the right. She latched onto the sword grip, but it didn't yield: the blade had bogged down into the soft tissue of the dead darkspawn. The Warden gave a tug at the sword hilt again, but unsuccessfully. The hurlocks rushed for her. There was no time or possibility to cast spells.
Aeris managed to dodge the first blow (Zevran had showed her some tricks), she wandered from her enemy and pulled a stylet out of the bootleg.
A dull howl sounded behind her. Aeris immediately wheeled around and stabbed her rival between the eyes. The darkspawn hissed, its arm with a maul fell to its side. Aeris, not letting go the stylet, exhaled the words of the spell, and flame ran down the steel blade. The hurlock screamed. The elf only drove the stylet deeper.
Another enemy, meanwhile, didn't wait. Aeris felt an ache in her shoulder and cried out: an arrow went through the leather armor. The hurlock took new aim for her head.
But the next second the darkspawn fell dead: another archer had been too fast. Leliana was shooting so quickly that even before her arrows could reach their targets, new ones had been already in the flight.
Aeris nodded the bard gratefully and rushed for the body of the defeated foe with her sword in the chest. She drew her weapon and looked around the battlefield.
Zevran and Oghren were beside Wynne, not letting the darkspawn to get round to the healer, surrounded by white mist. On a small hill Morrigan was raining magic blows on her enemies, her face ablaze with anger; Leliana was standing besides her with her bow, killing everyone who dared to come up to them. Shale was fighting alone with six foes, smashing skulls and breaking spines with great pleasure. On the other side Apollo was chasing darkspawn, helping Sten. The ranks of the blessed were thinning. All her friends were doing well, there was nothing to worry about… or was?
Aeris looked round, searching for Loghain, the mage scared. She sighed with relief when saw that he, standing detached, beheaded the last one of his opponents. But the sight of Loghain fighting in a single combat, without any help from her companions, made her feel bad.
Suddenly he heart sank: three emissaries, who had disappeared at the start of the battle, showed from thickened dusk mist, aiming their staffs, which were shining with glaring magic light, at Loghain…
She skived forward, wind howling in her ears, the pain in her shoulder cut her with icy fire, and because of the scamper she thought that if she took another breathe, she would choke…
The mage dashed between Loghain and the emissaries at the very nonce when three fireballs flew aside the Grey Wardens. Aeris screamed something in the language of ancient elves and raised her arms, ignoring pain. The fireballs banged into a flaring shield, the surface of which became crazed.
Even the ancient magic of arcane warriors couldn't hold the attack of the dark sorcery of those who had been forever and ever cursed by the Maker.
Aeris's magic couldn't suppress the emissaries' fiery blow. But it could change that.
Everybody on the glade was frozen with fear and admiration, watching a devastating sight.
The shield soaked up the flame and broke into thousands watery blue fragments of magic, like a mirror. But the power of the emissaries' sorcery remained, and a storm threw Aeris and Loghain away. Both of the Grey Wardens fell to the ground with a terrible crash. Loghain an Aeris didn't show any signs of life.
That sobered the others. Apollo overturned one of the emissaries. Morrigan and Wynne together raised their staffs, aiming at the second. Sten beheaded the third. The battle was over.
– –
Aeris felt frost had covered her. She didn't understand why it was so cold. Screams were outbreaking from somewhere. She didn't want to awake.
Somebody's arms hung on her body and turned her over.
"Warden?"
She opened her eyes. Loghain bent over her. He was quivering, a severe abrasion on his head, in his eyes… anger?
Aeris coughed. Loghain boosted her. The elf reeled, and he caught her carefully, clasping her waist.
"Aeris! How are you?"
All the company gathered around the Wardens. Apollo yelped joyfully and rushed for his mistress.
"Fine," Surana wheezed, all over dirt and blood, and patted cheerful Apollo on the back. She caught Zevran's alarmed glance. She didn't realize that Loghain was still "embracing" her.
"In Andraste's name, girl, you gave us quite a turn," Wynne whispered.
Suddenly everything became clear. Aeris felt how anger and hurt overlaid her.
"Ha, ha, what hilarity twas!" exclaimed Oghren, smiling gladly.
"Can somebody explain to me what happened?" Aeris whispered and drew herself up to her full height. Loghain released her.
Leliana and Wynne exchanged glances.
"Chick, ya took a rap on your head?" Oghren, as ever, was very gallant. "Battle. Fray. Butchery. Massacre. Choose what ya like the most. The result is only one: it's rough luck on someone today. Epic fail."
"I don't mean this, Oghren. I ask, why you left him," she nodded towards Loghain, "alone to the darkspawn."
The former teyrn just frowned and turned his back on them.
"My dear…" Wynne started, but Aeris interrupted her.
"I need an explanation."
"And who is he? A friend? A convive? " Oghren decided to speak plainly. "I owe him not a bloody rap!"
At this particular moment Aeris had finally beheld the truth. That entire laugh, jokes, making a show of being well, – everything was a lie. Actually, they still were at the Landsmeet.
"It seems to me, you owe Alistair nothing as well," noticed the Warden softly.
"Alistair was one of us," Wynne objected.
"You said a right thing, Wynne. He was," Zevran stepped away from the others and stood behind Aeris's back at Loghain's side.
"Fortunately for everyone," Morrigan grinned and joined Zevran.
Loghain was standing with unreadable look on his face, as if it was none of his doing.
"Alistair," Aeris didn't let Leliana finish:
"Left."
"Because of you," Oghren grunted.
Suddenly Aeris realized that they had divided into two groups: herself, Apollo, Zevran, Loghain and Morrigan at one side; Wynne, Sten, Leliana, Oghren and Shale – at another.
"A revolt?" the Warden asked loudly, stepping back.
There was a silence.
A familiar feeling.
"Darkspawn are coming! Near the hill!" exclaimed Loghain.
– –
Leliana flung to the top of the hill. She returned in a minute. The bard looked breathless and feared.
"There're too much of them. We can't win. Need to draw off."
Aeris didn't listen to her. She looked at Morrigan. The witch closed her eyes in silent agreement.
"Aeris, we have to leave," there were overtones of panic in Wynne's voice.
The Warden didn't reply. She spanned Morrigan's wrist, and they both went off, not listening to the screams, and ran to the hill. And there was no fear, no doubt, only a feeling of freedom and strange lightness. Morrigan laughed.
In a few seconds they were at the top. A huge group of darkspawn was seen over here. They were marching under the guidance of an emissary.
Aeris outstretched her arms to the sky and cried out:
"Air!"
Streams of wind worked round and round the mages, obeying Aeris. The elf clapped her hands, and the winds gathered into one whole gale.
Morrigan smiled.
"Fire!" exclaimed the witch of the wild.
She "inflamed" Aeris's storm, and it changed into a flammeous swirl. Both mages made a movement of their hands toward the incoming enemies.
The fire storm broke their rows, getting down everybody, not sparing. The combined power of the feral magic of the Korcari Wilds and the ordered wizardry of the Circle of Magi was impossible to resist.
In three minutes thirty four darkspawn were turned to dust and ash.
Just Aeris loved wind, and Morrigan loved freedom. Often and often these things are identical.
– –
But there was no time to relax, even after the victory. When Aeris and Morrigan came back, being escorted by gapes and quiet murmurs, the Warden faced her companions.
"I don't ask anybody to follow me," Aeris declared confidently, although under the mask of calmness the heart of the arcane warrior was full of fear. "Never asked. You owe me nothing. The Blight is a duty of the Grey Wardens, not yours. For me there is no returning. For you – is and has always been. If you want to leave only because I refuse to be a murderer and do the thing you want me to, leave. If you want to fight with me – fight. But I will not fight with you."
The shoulder was as if burning with poison, but Aeris forgot about the pain. She unsheathed her sword, her eyes for a moment lingered on the shiny blade where blood trails were still seen. The Warden threw the Spellweaver before Sten saying:
"For me a sword is just a weapon, not a goal."
She didn't see that a ghost of a smile played on Loghain's lips.
Sten lifted the Spellweaver off the ground. He kept the beaut weapon for a moment, and then the qunari in complete silence handed it back to the rightful owner:
"It is yours, Kadan."
Aeris looked around her friends. The pain of the physical wound was nothing to compare with the heartache.
"Aeris…" Leliana whispered.
"We are with you till the end," Wynne finished.
Shale nodded. Oghren smiled darkly. Morrigan, looking at them, just sniffed in a deprecating way and exchanged knowing glances with Zevran.
The Grey Warden pushed her hair back.
"Take care of your wounds," she ordered, sheathing her sword, "search the bodies. The halt for an hour. Then we are keeping on. The Archdemon won't be waiting."
And she walk away from them, into darkness.