Chapter 8 - Justice is a Noble Trait

Fortunately, Rosalyn had little time to mope and feel sorry for herself in the weeks to come. There seemed to be no shortage of troubles, and she spent her time routing smugglers and keeping the trade routes safe from bandit attacks. They still didn't have nearly enough wardens to deal with everything. In particular, Rosalyn sorely missed having more warriors at her disposal. Velanna and Anders were able battlemages and Sigrun and Nathaniel were skilled rogues, whose sneak attacks had fatally surprised more than one foe. But sometimes only sheer brute force would win the day, and in Loghain's absence she had to rely solely on Oghren for brawn.

So when Seneschal Varel talked about an Orlesian warden who had gone missing on a routine patrol, she made it her priority to go looking for him. From what Varel told her, Kristoff had been an able fighter, and if he was still alive, he would be a valuable asset. It took them a while and a great amount of patience to track down his whereabouts, but Rosalyn could be persistent, and in the end she managed to decipher the clues in the journal he had left behind. The trail led them to the Blackmarsh.

The Blackmarsh.

Being a warden had led her to many less than agreeable places, but when they reached the deserted wetland, only a few days' travel from the Keep, Rosalyn was truly glad to have Anders and Nathaniel at her side. The marsh was a dreary, depressing place, cold and damp and unnaturally silent. No birds were singing, no squirrels were playing in the misshapen, stunted trees lining their path. Rosalyn shuddered when she recognized the vague humming in her blood. The Taint. Darkspawn.

The others felt it too, she could tell. Nathaniel's face hardened, but Anders flashed her a quick, nervous grin and a suggestive look.

"I'm scared. Hold me?"

Rosalyn almost smiled. For once she was glad for the mage's flippancy, but then he went on. "I've heard about this place. Didn't an entire village up and vanish, or something?"

Nathaniel nodded. "My old Nan used to tell me stories. This place used to be part of our family's lands, you know." He blushed and threw Rose an apologetic glance. "Anyway, the marsh is supposed to be haunted. Ghosts, you know, and marsh lights, luring travellers away from the paths and into the swamp. Nan claimed there was a village here once, many years ago."

Rosalyn shivered. The soggy, desolate landscape didn't look as if anyone could ever have made their home here. Yet a little later, they came upon a tent and the remnants of a camp fire. It didn't take them long to establish that it must have been Kristoff's, but there was no sign of their fellow warden, and Rosalyn's heart sank.

Just around the corner from the camp, something else caught their attention. A huge skull, the bone bare and white from exposure to what little sun there was, giant teeth and spiky ridges leaving no doubt what had died here.

"A dragon!" Nathaniel blanched. "So Nan's stories were true. This must be the Queen of the Blackmarsh."

Rosalyn threw him a sharp glance and shivered. "Let's make camp. You can tell us the tale once we have a proper fire going."


They set up their tents and gathered around the campfire. The flames were painting patterns on their faces, adding to the spooky atmosphere. Nathaniel's husky voice sounded eerie as he fell into the familiar rhythm of the story he had heard so many times.

"Many years ago, when the Orlesians still enslaved Ferelden, a queen among the dragon folk made her home in the Blackmarsh. The villagers were terrified of the beast, but helpless against it. During the day they saw the dragon pass over their huts and hovels, and at night they would hear it roar, putting fear in their hearts. In their desperation, they turned to the lady of the manor for help. The Baroness was a fine woman, but she was an Orlesian, one of the hated oppressors. She told the peasants they had done the right thing, that she'd been sent from Orlais not just to rule, but to protect. Within the week, she set out, all alone and at night. When she returned in the morning, the dragon was slain."

Rosalyn breathed in sharply, and Nathaniel couldn't quite hide a smile.

"The villagers celebrated the victory and thanked her profusely, but not long afterwards the rumours started. She was a witch, they said, a dark mage who would kill them all, one by one, to feed the demons she consorted with. One night, a few months after the dragon disappeared, they marched against the manor house and set fire to it. They say she cast one last spell before she died, taking them all with her, turning the Blackmarsh into a desolate waste forever."

Rosalyn raised an eyebrow. "That's it? They killed her? After all she had done for them?"

Nathaniel shrugged. "That's how the story goes. The people rose against the evil Orlesian witch and put her to death."

With an exasperated sigh, Rosalyn jumped up and paced to and fro in agitation. "But that doesn't make sense! The way I see it she took care of her people, as any good landowner should. Assuming she even existed, because I fail to see how she could have killed a dragon on her own. And for the record, I sincerely doubt she was a blood mage!"

Snorting contemptuously, she turned to face them. "There are always rumours and stories. Sounds to me like those ungrateful, ignorant peasants killed the very person who had their best interests at heart." Rosalyn sighed. "Poor lady. To have her subjects rebel against her! Those filthy lowlifes clearly didn't know their place."

Anders' head snapped up, his expressive face full of disgust. The mage opened his mouth, but failed to come up with one of his usual sarcastic comments. Nathaniel gave her a sharp look.

"You're not serious, are you, Commander? You sound almost like my father."

Rosalyn's face darkened. "For all his faults, Nate, your father was a Howe. He, at least, knew better than to mess with the proper order of things."

Nathaniel flinched at her not-so-subtle dig at his affair with Velanna, but decided to let it rest. No use squabbling while they were on a mission. Besides, he knew Rosalyn's opinions were in no way unusual for a lady of her class. He himself had shared them, until he had lost it all and come to understand there were more important things than noble blood.


When Rosalyn woke the next morning, the atmosphere was tense. Anders kept looking at her sideways and Nathaniel's face gave nothing of his thoughts away. Her mouth set in a stubborn line. Let them think what they like. I don't care.

A little further into the marsh, they found their worst fears confirmed. Kristoff's dead body was lying sprawled on the ground, already showing signs of decay. Rosalyn swallowed back the bile in her throat. Turning him over, she tried to find a possible cause of death, when she suddenly swayed on her feet. The vague tingling she had felt ever since they had entered the marsh exploded into a sudden inferno. Her eyes widened in shock as she looked up and realized they were surrounded by darkspawn. Then one of them started to talk. She could only listen in impotent fury to its ramblings about a mother and a father, about gifts and traps.

The last thing she saw was a blinding light, then everything became a blur. She drew her daggers, and for a while nothing existed but the fight, a strange, desperate struggle against a seemingly unending number of darkspawn. When the last one had been slain, she looked around and cursed violently.

"The Fade." Anders had appeared at her side, an uneasy look on his face.

Rosalyn nodded. She, too, had recognized the surreal landscape, home of dreams and demons. Her memories of it were unpleasant, to say the least, but she fought back her rising panic and looked around, trying to make some sort of sense of their surroundings.

They were still in the Blackmarsh, albeit a strange, twisted version of it. The demons attacking them came as no surprise, and neither did the hordes of undead they found and fought a little later. When they finally reached the village square and were greeted by yet another spirit, Rosalyn nearly attacked it on sight, but Anders stayed her hand.

"Wait, Commander." His eyes were narrowed in concentration. "This is no demon."

"No, I'm not." The booming voice sent shivers down her spine. "I am a spirit of Justice."

"Explain." Rosalyn lowered her blades, but signalled for Nathaniel to keep his bow ready. She listened with increasing dismay to the tale the spirit told her. It seemed the Baroness had been a blood mage after all, or worse. A possessed monster, trying to preserve her youthful beauty by feeding on the life force of pretty young girls. A parasite, sucking out the souls of innocent villagers to preserve her existence. Rosalyn shuddered with revulsion, and she felt a pang of remorse, remembering her reaction to Nathaniel's story the night before. Without hesitation, she agreed to help Justice in his fight against the sorceress.

When they finally faced her, the talking darkspawn was at her side, and Rosalyn cursed inwardly at the thought of the battle they would have to face. To her surprise, the Baroness smiled at her graciously, almost kindly.

"There's no need for us to fight, my sweet girl." Her voice was sickly sweet. "You understand me, don't you? You've got the bearing of an aristocrat yourself. You know that they are nothing, peasants, while I am a Baroness of Orlais!"

Rosalyn felt a sudden urge to throw up. "Is that what you think? You know nothing about true nobility, nothing at all. Get away from me, abomination!"

Justice gave an approving nod and the fight began. It was a fierce struggle against opponents they would never have faced, given a choice. But they prevailed and forced the Baroness out of the Fade, into the real world, only to have her turn into a demon. They couldn't have defeated her without Justice's help. Rosalyn had to fight back her revulsion when she realized he had taken possession of Kristoff's dead body to fight at their side, but she was grateful nevertheless.

When it was over, Rosalyn slumped to the marshy ground with a groan of pain. Anders was at her side immediately to take care of a nasty bruise on her ribs and she gratefully leaned into his touch.

"Anders. I'm sorry." She realized tears were forming in her eyes and she blinked them off, embarrassed.

"What for?" He looked at her in genuine surprise, and she shook her head. She couldn't explain, not yet.

The ingratiating whispers of the Baroness had shaken her to the core. They are nothing. Peasants... You understand me. Rosalyn flinched as she recalled her own earlier words. Filthy lowlifes... didn't know their place. Had she really said and meant that? Was she just as bad as the Orlesian witch? Anders had saved her life so many times, was always there to cheer her up with a smile and a joke. Had she really considered him worth less than her fellow nobles? She swallowed hard and let him hold her, listening to his soothing words as she cried in shame and relief.

"Commander?" Anders sounded deeply worried, but she shook her head.

"Call me Rose, Anders. We are friends, aren't we?"


Many thanks to ShebasDawn for turning this into readable English.