Maker Watch Over You
Chapter 9
A/N: Thank you to everyone that have read, reviewed, followed and favorited this story. I apologize for the long wait. I have been busy moving from one side of the country to the other, completing my masters and adjusting to a new job. As I am starting to get my life back in order, I believe I will be able to continue writing this story, as well as continue to write Divided Lineage. Thank you so much for your continued patience and support!
Everything stunk. The smell of rotten fish was so bad, the elf could taste it with every breath she took. The taste at the back of her throat she couldn't get rid of annoyed her. She drank the spiced mavash greedily to no avail. The taste remained at the back of her throat even if she coughed or spit.
"Fenedhis," she cursed, tucking the blonde hair behind her pointed ear in frustration.
Her companion, who seemed to be immune to the smell, continued to chew enthusiastically on the bronto steak kabob. Her eyebrows lowered, the Legion of the Dead tattoos crinkling before she turned her head towards the Marabi that laid at their feet panting. "It can't be that bad, Velanna. He could smell like darkspawn corpses."
Growling, Velanna glared at the overgrown mutt. "I can't comprehend why the Commander puts up with you. What made you think we needed rotten fish?"
The Marabi whined, pawing his nose, as if he were ashamed.
The dwarven woman shrugged, taking another bite. "You have complained that Dog hasn't put any effort in providing meals."
"That doesn't mean he should parade around this shit hole and roll in fish, Sigrun," grumbled the elf, taking another drink of the Dalish ale.
Sigrun smiled, waving the stick full of meat around. "We could go to the docks, give him a bath."
Cringing, Velanna turned her head from the table. "Stop waving that thing! You're going to make me sick."
Frowning, the dwarf took another bite, humming happily. "I don't understand your dislike of red meat, Vel. It's delicious compared to deep lurkers!" Sigrun continued to eat, oblivious to the Dalish Mage disdainful glare. "Geoffrey, the innkeeper, gave me a letter today."
"A letter?"
The three had left Amaranthine eight months ago to investigate the unusual darkspawn activity in the Free Marches. They had stayed in Kirkwall, a torn city that had collapsed on itself. The streets were nearly deserted. The once busy market in High Town had few vendors and stray nugs running through the abandoned streets. It was unnerving. Keeping to themselves in the once infamous Hanged Man, the Grey Wardens continued their work, all the while hoping to hear something from their leader.
Sigrun slide the document across the table. "I think it's from her. I couldn't read it...I think it's that code you were teaching her."
The Ferelden Warden-Commander, Ashiva had left in the spring with Nathaniel, looking for the cure to the taint. Information she had stumbled upon nearly eight years after the Blight, plus others she had collected from her journeys finally gave her the urge to move.
Opening the letter, Velanna scoffed at the ancient Eluvan text. "Her grammar is horrendous still, but it's her."
Silently, she read the ancient words of her people. Her friendship with the Commander had grown over the years. Although she didn't necessarily trust people outside of her tribe, Ashiva had earned hers. The tower Mage had little memory of her origins, retelling her earliest memory of lying in the grass tracing the constellations with her finger. Velanna had taken it as a sign of her Dalish heritage, teaching her what she knew.
"What does it say?"
Sigrun sat, kicking the large chair impatiently with her legs. Velanna twisted her index finger, the parchment instantly in flames. The elf glanced at the dwarf, calculating. Could it really be true?
"She found it," whispered Velanna.
Sigrun jumped up in her chair. "By the stone, seriously," she shouted. The dwarf laughed, jumping in her seat. She accidentally kicked the table, the ale spilling onto the rough wooden surface.
Velanna kept her composure, a thought unsettling her confirmation. While Ashiva's grammar had been choppy and irregular, unnecessary tweaks of letters confused the meaning behind words. She had corrected these mistakes before with the Commander. It had been years since the black-haired elf had made this mistake. Perhaps her time with the shemlen had made her forget the sacred language.
"Vel, you should be rejoicing," commented Sigrun, her smile broad. "A cure means you can go back and join the Dalish. You always talked about returning home."
Home. The word sounded odd to her sensitive ears. Velanna couldn't deny the urge to return to her elven heritage, but she had been a Grey Warden for a decade. Could she really return the the Dalish?
Lifting her mug, she forced a smile on her lips, the feeling foreign to her usual scowl. "I believe we are returning to Vigil faster than we expected. To a cure."
Sigrun classed her full mug against the elf's, the ale spilling over the edge of the wooden container. "To the Grey Wardens."
Hobbling with her makeshift brace and dull pole spear, the Warden-Commander of Ferelden knew she was nearing her limit. Her body was deteriorating rapidly with each encounter they had with the red templars. Not to mention the weight of the extra clothing and bulky armor made walking and fighting even more of a struggle. Her body crumbling with each step, but her spirit was wearing down at a faster, like aged limestone under extreme weather. The magic Ashiva was blessed and cursed with as a child was killing her from the inside. She clutched her chest, the burning sensation consuming her with every intake of air.
"The Red is consuming you," softly explained the boy next to her. She was beginning to understand that there was more to this white haired teen. His pretense was comforting and familiar like a warm blanket and fire in the middle of winter. She had once thought that Justice's I merging with the corpse of a Grey Warden had been a rare and unusual occurrence. Walking beside Cole, Ashiva began to think perhaps spirits and mortals were not as far apart as the circle once told her.
Painfully, she coughed, struggling in the Templar armor to cover her mouth. It was stiffer than the blue Grey Warden armor she commonly wore, but it was better than the thin shirt and pants she had woken in. Ashiva cursed silently, staring at the blood splattered on the metal gauntlets.
"My magic is killing me," it was neither a statement nor a question. She halted from her march towards the tallest tower in Suledin Keep. The elf didn't need to see Cole's hat tilt downward, but she did anyway. Ashiva could feel the Fade around her, crushing her. Chuckling, she lowered herself to the snow covered stone path. "And I had always thought it would be the taint that killed me."
"The taint makes it sing. Magic makes it stronger," murmured the spirit boy, continuing his trek. He moved away from her, taking the cobbled staircase.
Nathaniel crouched next to her. With remorse, she grasped her comrade's hand in hers, fighting back her fears. They had been through so much together in the past decade. Though their friendship had begun with him trying to assassinate her, she had set him free. In her youth, she had pitied him, alone trying desperately to regain his family's honor. He had later found her along the countryside and insisted on joining their cause. Since then, she had relied on his hunting and subterfuge skills. Out of all her wardens, she trusted him the most to lead the Fereldan wardens in her stead.
She wistfully looked at her friend, his brown eyes unreadable and lips curled in determination. "You know you're my first choice as my predecessor, right," she humorlessly commented. "Alistair is compelled through emotion, Oghren has family commitments, Velanna would burn Vigil and Sigrun runs at the word politics."
"Stop babbling," grumbled the marksman, pulling her up and wrapping her arm around his shoulders. He took most of her weight, marching them forward again. "You're not leaving me now Commander with your damn messes."
She chuckled, flinching at the pressure on her injured leg. The brace wasn't going to hold much longer. "Believe me, I wouldn't dare dream leaving you with my messes. Your such a clean freak," breathlessly she replied. Somberly, she looked up at the tower. It seemed so far away. She wanted to rest. She needed to rest. "Also do me a favor, if I don't make it out of this, tell Cullen I died honorably in some battle, not by my own magic. Maker knows he doesn't need to hear that now after everything he's been through."
Her love had been through enough, she thought. First he had been imprisoned by blood magic, tempted by a desire demon. It had changed him forever, his trust for mages ceasing. She remembered his words clearly to her as she had tried to console him. After the Blight, she had returned to the Circle, hoping to see him. She had learned later he had been transferred to Kirkwall after his short recovery. Kirkwall had not been kind either. Conflict between mages and templars escalated in the streets and finally destroyed the refugee town. The chantry had fallen and war between the two sects had been brutal with many casualties on both sides as well as the innocents that happened to unlucky.
Nathaniel grunted. "Are you done now," he asked dryly. She silently nodded, too spent to talk any more about the issue. He sighed. "Good, now keep moving, we're almost to the top. And no more magic, even if we encounter more enemies. Let me handle it."
After traveling from Denerim yesterday and patrolling Vigil's battlements throughout the night, Oghren cursed aloud when he was disturbed from his slumber by a young page. The boy was no older than twelve. The lantern he held flickered rapidly in the boy's shaking hands.
"Well, go on boy. What'd ya need," he grumbled, scratching his red beard.
"Uh...ser," stuttered the boy, anxiously looking for an escape. "The seneschal said it was urgent. He said he needed you at the pinnacle at once."
With a grunt, the dwarf righted himself on the hard bed. After spending a week with his wife, Felsi and their son, Ash, he had missed the musky smell and company of the Warden barracks. As much as he loved his family, home was here where there were battles and fights on a whims notice.
The page had excused himself in a hurry, leaving the door open. Bright afternoon light flooded into his room. With another silent curse, the warrior pulled on his breeches, boots, shirt and armor before making his way through the courtyard. People from the Silver Order and Grey Wardens were running each way, yelling nonsensical things. Oghren continued his trek to the keep, taking the steps to the top, feeling winded from the endless stairs.
Seneschal Garvel leaned against the walls, focused on using the field glass in his possession while Mistress Argent paced back and forth behind him. She noticed the dwarf first, looking relieved after seeing the him. "Warden Oghren, thank the Maker you're awake."
"Let me guess, more rebel mages," speculated Oghren, moving to stand next to the swordsman.
"Worse," Garvel replied.
Mistress Argent sighed, squinting out in the distance. "They have armor, is that...templars?"
Shaking his head, Oghren fought to say something to the woman. She had recently been assigned to Vigil's by the First Warden after Mistress Woolsey had retired. She was young and book-smart but not a person made in the heat of battle. Argent chewed on her bottom lip nervously, returning to her insistent pacing.
Garvel lowered the field glass, handing it to the dwarf. "If I'm not mistaken, its Wardens."
"Wardens," squeaked the Mistress.
Oghren peered into the glass, focusing on the marching forces. The banners were blue, a silver griffon glistening in the light. The armor was familiar, the standard issued warden armor. At the back of his mind though, something bothered him. Beside the supposed wardens, globs of black and greenish grey lingered beside them. There were few warriors among them as well. Mages walked with their heads low, their feet dragging on the ground.
"Wardens," he agreed, looking at the two of them. "Have we heard anything from Weisshault?"
"No," Argent said, licking her lips. "I haven't heard from Weisshault since I arrived."
Seneschal Garvel shook his head. "What could this mean?"
Oghren tried to imagine what Warden-Commander Surana would do in this situation. Unannounced visits from Wardens were commonplace, but army marching towards them was something else. He had heard rumors of the Orlais Wardens falling to dark measures, but knew not what that entailed. Alistair had left before the first snow to speak to the Orlais Warden-Commander, but he had heard nothing except that a warden had been hunted in Crestwood. It made him suspicious of this visit.
"I'd say prepare for the worst. We'll know soon enough what the bloody nug-lickers want," he directed. "Mistress Argent, sound the bells. Garvel, prepare the troops. I want the men ready to play with fire."
A/N: Personally, I loved Awakening. Although short, you got interesting characters, new terrain to explore and a story-line that left you questioning. Since The Warden-Commander is in this story, the other Wardens at Vigil's keep story will be seen as well.
