Redcliffe was a two day journey from Lothering along the West Road, and a good team-building experience for the Wardens' rapidly growing party. By the time they settled down for the night on the southern shore of Lake Calenhad's isthmus, there was steady conversation within the group, and only some of it was bickering.
Sten had exchanged a few concise lines with Morrigan on the treatment of mages; he was of the opinion that they should be leashed and muted, and she glowered at him while she countered with her preference for freedom, although there was a noticeable lack of her usual venom in her tone. Apparently, she could be cowed, and it took only an eight foot tall warrior with a new broadsword to do it.
Ahead of them in the procession, Alistair had exchanged stories of cloister life with Leliana; she had found the peace and quiet in the chantry perfect for reflection and worship, but Alistair had despised it, and found various ways to amuse himself growing up that resulted in most of his superiors greatly disliking him. He laughed wistfully as he recalled some of the pranks he had pulled on the affirmed Templars and priests, and Leliana had giggled in spite of herself at the stories. Derek only listened and smiled, glad for the brief distraction from the oppressive mission that ever loomed in his mind. He did not know what they would find when they reached Redcliffe, or if the town would even be there when they arrived. The rumors hinted at an unstoppable, strengthening horde of something that would swamp the settlement each night. It had been stressed to him by Danal the Barkeep that they were not darkspawn, and were much harder to kill. This he had learned from a Redcliffe warrior on his way to Ostagar. Derek was concerned, to say the least, and that was without even considering the Arl's condition. It was possible that the man was already dead. For Alistair's sake, and for the sake of Fereldan, he hoped not.
There was a wet nudge at his hand, and Derek looked down, roused from his brooding. Byron was staring up at him, plodding alongside his master. He seemed concerned by Derek's prolonged silence. The human patted the hound on the head, unsmiling. No matter how hard he tried to ignore them, his worries always slipped back into the forefront of his mind, constantly reminding him of his dues to the Maker, lest he forget for even a second. A sigh escaped him, and he turned to his fellow Grey Warden for further distraction.
"So you said this Arl Eamon raised you?" he asked quietly as Alistair came close by. Leliana had apparently dropped back to pester Morrigan about her religious beliefs, or lack thereof.
"Did I say that? I meant that dogs raised me. Giant, slobbering dogs from the Anderfels. A whole pack of them, in fact." Ah, the humor shield makes its appearance again. Derek did not mind. It was… diverting, in more way than one.
"That would explain the smell." To be fair, though, none of them smelled pleasant but Leliana, who, when asked about it, had smirked and said that she always kept fresh flowers in her brassiere to stay smelling fresh. Derek wasn't sure if she was serious or kidding. Alistair had pondered it for a moment, and then his ears went red. The witch had huffed at the discovery. Morrigan did no such thing; she smelled strongly of earth and sweat, and while it was not an entirely unpleasant smell, it was not incredibly enjoyable either.
"Well, it wasn't until I was eight that I discovered you didn't have to lick yourself clean. Old habits die hard, you know."
"That would explain the breath as well, then." Derek blamed the bad breath on all the cheese Alistair ate. Somehow, the man could procure it seemingly from thin air. Maybe he had a secret store of it in his armor or something, since the Cousland was almost certain he wasn't taking it from his pack.
"And my table manners, too. Though, come to think of it, they weren't all that different from the other templars. Or did I dream all of that? Funny the dreams you'll have when you sleep on the cold, hard ground, isn't it?" Still deflecting, then. And he had hoped to glean some useful information about the Arl from this conversation, too. Vaguely, he wondered why Alistair was so reluctant to talk about his childhood… Oh, well. It couldn't hurt to coax him a little.
"I'm going to hit you. Very soon, now."
"You would do violence? Upon me? I am shocked and dismayed. The dogs would never threaten me like this, you know." Alistair placed both hands over his heart, pouting and smirking simultaneously in the way only he could. Then, he seemed to sober up slightly, and his hands dropped to his sides as he walked. "Let's see. How do I explain this? I'm a bastard. And before you make any smart comments," he said, eying Derek's face sharply and stopping him just as he opened his mouth, "I mean the fatherless kind. My mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe Castle who died when I was very young. Arl Eamon wasn't my father, but he took me in anyhow and put a roof over my head. He was good to me, and he didn't have to be. I respect the man and I don't blame him any more for sending me off to the Chantry once I was old enough."
"Why did he send you off to the Chantry?" It seemed an odd thing to do. Why raise young Alistair himself, then? Surely it would be a wasted decade for the arl, if he did not intend to keep the child.
"Arl Eamon eventually married a young woman from Orlais, which caused all sorts of problems between him and the king because it was so soon after the war. But he loved her. Anyhow, the new arlessa resented the rumors which pegged me as his bastard. They weren't true, but of course they existed. The arl didn't care, but she did. So off I was packed to the nearest monastery at age ten," he said vehemently, flicking the fingers of his right hand in a shooing motion. "Just as well. The arlessa made sure the castle wasn't a home to me by that point. She despised me." An odd combination of emotion flitted across Alistair's face: tenderness, bitterness, and oddly enough, understanding.
"That's despicable," Derek found himself saying, frowning and furrowing his brow. Both the arl and the arlessa… he found their actions awful. Leading Alistair on for ten years only to trade him for a woman's confidence was just as bad as the arlessa's abuse of his emotions.
"Maybe," conceded Alistair with a small shrug. "She felt threatened by my presence, I can see that now. I can't say I blame her. She wondered if the rumors were true herself, I bet." They walked quietly together for a few seconds before Alistair spoke again, thinking aloud. "I remember I had an amulet with Andraste's holy symbol on it. The only thing I had of my mother's. I was so furious at being sent away I tore it off and threw it at the wall and it shattered. Stupid, stupid thing to do. The arl came by the monastery a few times to see how I was, but I was stubborn. I hated it there and blamed him for everything… and eventually he just stopped coming."
"You were young." And you had good reason to be angry. You were not sent to squire, like some noble-raised children. You were cast away into the Chantry, where you could never have the one thing you seem to want most- family.
"And raised by dogs. Or I may as well have been, the way I acted. But maybe all young bastards act like that, I don't know. All I know is that the arl is a good man and well-loved by the people. He also was King Cailan's uncle, so he has a personal motivation to see Loghain pay for what he did. Anyway… that's really all there is to the story."
The story left Derek unhappier than before. With each new shred of information about Alistair's upbringing, it became clearer why he turned out how he did. He had never had a stable mentor, and so he craved one, giving his all in return for scraps: a few seconds of attention, or a couple kind words… It was a tragedy and an outrage. Alistair deserved more than he had ever gotten.
When night fell and all were simply too tired to keep the pace, they established their camp near the water, hidden from the road in a small valley. Sten volunteered to go hunting, and Derek and Byron went with, leaving Leliana and Alistair to start the fire and pitch the tents. Morrigan continued to remove herself from the group, quickly readying her own campsite nearby.
After a long couple of hours following a game trail through the thin forest, the hunting party happened upon a healthy, bright-eyed doe. A well-aimed arrow from Derek pierced her flank, and she froze, pained and confused. Then she bolted, and after a short chase, collapsed. Sten hoisted the beast up onto his back, draping the legs over his shoulders how a shepherd carries a wandering sheep. Byron bounded happily at their heels as they returned to camp victorious.
Leliana was waiting there for them, eyes and ears peeled for unwanted company. When she heard them approaching, she drew both daggers, sheathing them again only when she made visual contact with them. She grinned at the sight of the deer. They hadn't eaten very well the night before- one turtle can only go so far- and the others were even hungrier, having been living on rations (or in the qunari's case, nothing) for weeks at a time. They made quick work of dressing the doe, slicing off good meat and throwing the rest back into the trees for carrion birds. Somewhere along the line, a haunch was tossed to Byron, who quickly snapped it up and wandered off to eat it in privacy. Soon enough, the rest of the venison was cooking on the blaze Leliana had built up, filling the air with its delicious, savory aroma.
"Ah, that smells wonderful," remarked Alistair, eyes closed as he inhaled deeply. He and the others (minus Morrigan, who was stirring something in a small pot at her own fire) were all holding spits over the flames, watching raw purple meat cook brown.
"Eat your fill, and we'll save what we can afterwards," Derek said, also enjoying the bouquet. He was starving. As soon as his first piece of venison was cooked, he ate it straight off the spit, tearing into the meat eagerly. All the others did the same; Alistair and Sten eagerly, and Leliana a little more reserved. No doubt, the act of eating meat off of a stick struck her as undignified and unladylike, but her hunger prevailed. The giant positively gorged himself on the meat. This was his first proper, unrationed meal in a fortnight. When they had all eaten their fill, the leftover meat was cooked and wrapped up in prairie dock leaves. There was enough to sustain their group for half a week more, if Redcliffe revealed itself to be inhospitable and they could not restock on supplies.
The following dawn, they rose as a group, Alistair complaining of nightmares, and Derek feeling his pain. The archdemon and its horde in the ravine plagued his sleep. The dreams- realities?- left them both feeling very unrested. The others, however, had slept quite well after the drudgery of the day before, and between Sten's blunt urgings and Leliana's constant perkiness, they were both pulled out of bed, dressed up in their armor, and set back on the road.
So on they walked.
The next eight hours were tiresome, monotonous. At some point, it had begun to rain lightly, and they trudged along in the mud, cold and wet. All were miserable, except for Morrigan, who had cast some sort of clear magical barrier above herself when the drizzle began falling and managed to stay dry. She followed them smugly, a proud smile playing at her lips. None of the others noticed, however, as she traveled at the back of their group.
Gradually, the terrain changed from forest to foothills, and the road wound more, climbing slopes at a gentle angle rather than straight-on. Leafy trees gave way to conifers and tough barky shrubs. The air grew noticeably colder, but the breeze also died away, blocked by the mountainous topography of the area.
"There!" Alistair said at long last, that afternoon, breaking the silence. He pointed at a castle parapet peeking from behind the steep hill before them. "We're nearly there, it's just over this hill." He looked tense to Derek, both eager and reluctant to return to his childhood home.
When they got to the top of the hill and could look down on Redcliffe, Alistair touched Derek's arm, snagging his attention. Worry was plain as day on his face, but worry about what? The darker haired Warden waved to the others to carry on down the path without them, and turned to Alistair again, listening.
"Look, can we talk for a moment? I need to tell you something I, ah, should probably have told you earlier." He was wiping rain off his brow, and perhaps sweat as well.
"What's on your mind?"
"I told you before how Arl Eamon raised me, right? That my mother was a serving girl at the castle and he took me in? The reason he did that was because…. Well, because my father was King Maric. Which made Cailan my… half-brother, I suppose."
"Oh." Well… that explained why he resembled the late king, at any rate. Maric's blood must have run strong in both of them. The physical resemblance, similarities in demeanor… They even shared a love and fascination with Duncan and the Grey Wardens. Things Derek had only started to put together back at his Joining all suddenly fell into place. "So… you're not just a bastard, but a royal bastard?"
"Ha! Yes, I guess it does at that. I should use that line more often." His mirth quickly faded. "I would have told you, but… it never really meant anything to me. I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan's rule and so they kept me secret. I've never talked about it to anyone. Everyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me… even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I didn't want you to know, as long as possible. I'm sorry." That was why they had both been sent to light the beacon, then. Derek wondered if Cailan knew of their relation, and what he thought of his brother. He would be slightly jealous, of that Derek was sure- Cailan had loved being king, it seemed, but he loved the Wardens even more. That his own brother- albeit half brother- was a Warden must have fascinated him.
"I… I think I understand." How could he not? He hadn't told his companions of his own noble lineage, either, and had no plans to. Alistair sighed, relieved. His shoulders slumped, the tension falling away.
"Good. I'm glad. It's not like I got special treatment for it, anyhow. At any rate, that's it. That's what I had to tell you. I thought you should know about it."
"Are you sure? You're not hiding anything else?"
"Besides my unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair, no. That's it. Just the prince thing."
"So should I be calling you Prince Alistair?" It was said with a tiny smile, but it was also a serious question. It caught the senior Warden off guard, though, and he clutched at his chest reflexively.
"No! Maker's breath, just hearing that would give me a heart attack! It's not true, anyhow… I'm the son of a commoner. It was always made clear that the throne is not in my future. And that's fine by me. No, if there's an heir to be found, it's Arl Eamon himself. He's not of royal blood, but he is Cailan's uncle… and more importantly, very popular with the people. Though… if he's really as sick as we've heard…" Alistair blinked, and looked out over the city. "No, I don't want to think about that. I really don't. So there you have it. Now we can move on, and I'll just pretend you still think I'm some… nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens."
"As you command… my prince." Derek bowed, grinning at Alistair's dismay.
"Oh, lovely. I'm going to regret this. Somehow I just know it."
All in all, though, he seemed glad to have it off his chest. There was a bounce in his step as he descended the hill, Derek following. It was obvious why the topic had been brought up, now. If they did talk to Eamon, Derek suspected that Alistair might be suggested to take up the throne. Not that it was the best idea he had ever heard. Alistair did not want to be king; he made it clear that he preferred to follow, and was not eager to follow in his father and brother's footsteps. He was also a Grey Warden. Once Joined, the Warden loses his titles. Alistair may have Theirin blood, but his obligation was to the Wardens, not to Fereldan. And, of course… it was not known if he even had the makings of a good king.
Derek pondered the matter as he approached the rest of his party, who were waiting for him at the bottom of the hill. He thought Alistair had the mettle and heart to make a good ruler, but Alistair himself likely did not. He would defeat himself if he did not start appreciating his own worth.
"There is a man on the bridge," Leliana said, breaking his chain of thought. He followed her gaze. So there was. He was dressed in a tunic, but there was a dagger at his side and a bow hanging at his back. He was watching them carefully. A guard? A militiaman? His longbow was still at his back, and he didn't seem at all hostile.
"Let's not keep him, then" he said, squaring his jaw. "Alistair, Morrigan, and Leliana, come with me. Byron, stay here with Sten for now and guard our packs." Upon separating the party, he led his division over to the archer on the bridge.
"I... I thought I saw travelers coming down the road, though I scarcely believed it. Have you come to help us?" There was a glimmer of hope in the man's eyes, thinly veiling his anxiety.
"We're here on important business. We need to see Arl Eamon."
"The arl?" asked the militiaman- he was too antsy to be a regular guard. "Then… you don't know? Has nobody out there heard?"
"I've heard Arl Eamon is sick, if that's what you mean," Derek said. "And I've heard the Redcliffe is having problems with some sort of monster."
"Monsters, plural! The arl could be dead for all we know. Nobody's heard from the castle in days. The monsters- they come out there every night and attack us until dawn. Everyone's been fighting… and dying. We've no army to defend us, no arl and no king to send us help. So many are dead, and those left are terrified they're next…"
"Apparently," Morrigan drawled, putting a hand on her hip, "everybody seems to agree that a Blight is the perfect time to start killing each other. Marvelous, really." The militiaman stared at her, perhaps failing to sense her sardonic tone, or perhaps having just come to the realization that she was showing a lot of skin. Alistair scowled at Morrigan.
"What is this evil that's attacking you?" The archer blinked and looked to Alistair.
"I… I don't rightly know; I'm sorry. Nobody does. I should take you to Bann Teagan. He's all that's holding us together. He'll want to see you." Something like surprise and a hint of delight appeared on Alistair's face.
"Bann Teagan? Arl Eamon's brother? He's here?"
"Yes. It's not far, if you'll come with me."
"In a moment." Derek glanced back to the qunari and his hound, both obediently standing guard over the whole party's belongings. "I think we're going to need the rest of our group."
oooooooooo
Militiamen and civilians alike stared at them as they wandered through the outskirts of Redcliffe towards the Chantry, where the militia watchman Tomas told them Bann Teagan had made his base of operations. The likes of their motley crew had never been seen before.
Tomas led them down slopes, past a windmill and a line of archers. A drill sergeant was barking at them to get their form right. Melee fighters stood nearby, sharpening weapons and bludgeoning straw dummies with maces and clubs. The town was silent but for those sounds, and the swoosh of the lake gently lapping the docks. It felt very eerie, very wrong.
They were led into the Chantry. It had been modified and reinforced; now resembling a small keep more than a temple. The pews had all been stacked haphazardly in one side hallway, blocking it off entirely. The left hall was apparently being used to keep track of the children. Other villagers wandered throughout the small building, muttering and weeping.
There was one man who was not retreating into misery. At the front of the chantry, standing where the priest would on any other occasion, was Bann Teagan. Derek was surprised to note that he was quite young; perhaps only fifteen years or so older than he. He knew the arl was getting on in years, and had expected the same of the bann. Of course, Derek had no way of knowing- his father had met the both of them, but he had met neither.
Teagan stepped forward to meet them when he saw them approaching.
"It's Tomas, yes? And who are these people with you? They're obviously not simple travelers." His wary eyes wandered from Tomas to Sten, lingered on Morrigan and Leliana each for a long second, and then flicked over the rest of the group.
"No, my lord. They just arrived, and I thought you would want to see them." Teagan nodded, and excused the militiaman.
"Well done, Tomas. Greetings, friends. My name is Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere, brother to the arl."
"I remember you, Bann Teagan," Alistair mentioned from the window between Derek and Leliana. "Though the last time we met I was a lot younger and… covered in mud."
"Covered in mud?" Teagan stared at Alistair for a moment, squinting, and then it dawned on him. "Alistair? It is you, isn't it? You're alive! This is wonderful news!" Alistair smiled, but it was slightly acerbic, and his eyes dropped to the brick floor.
"Still alive, yes, though I'm just as surprised about that as you are, believe me."
"Indeed," Teagan responded, expression darkening as he continued. "Loghain would have us believe all Grey Wardens died along with my nephew, amongst other things."
"What else has he said?" Derek asked, speaking up for the first time. The bann regarded him gravely.
"That Loghain pulled out his own men in order to save them. That Cailan risked the entire nation's safety in the name of glory. Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the king. I don't believe it. It is an act of a desperate man." He contemplated the issue a moment longer before addressing the junior Warden again. He was squinting at Derek this time, as if trying to match a name to his face. "So… you are a Grey Warden as well? Is it possible we've met? You seem very familiar." Of course. Teagan had met Teyrn Cousland. He had been told a thousand times growing up that he looked just like Bryce did… no, had. Just like he had. Past tense.
"You… must be mistaken. We've never met," he mumbled. His discomfort went unacknowledged except for the quirk of Teagan's brow.
"Ah, then forgive me for being presumptuous. You're here to see my brother? Unfortunately, that might be a problem. Eamon is gravely ill. No one has heard from the castle in days. No guards patrol the walls, and no one has responded to my shouts." The man sighed, and rubbed his forehead. "The attacks stared a few nights ago. Evil… things… surged from the castle. We drove them back, but many perished during the assault."
"What evil things are you talking about?" The ambiguity surrounding the attackers was most unhelpful.
"Some call them the walking dead; decomposing corpses returning to life with a hunger for human flesh…" Sten made a ritual warding sign with his hand, and muttered something in the Qun. Morrigan rolled her eyes. "They hit again the next night. Each night they come, with greater numbers. With Cailan dead and Loghain starting a war over the throne, no one responds to my urgent calls for help. I have a feeling tonight's assault will be the worst yet. Alistair-" he beseeched the Warden imploringly, "I hate to ask, but I desperately need the help of you and your friends." Conflicted, Alistair held up his hands, shaking his head.
"It isn't just up to me. Though the Grey Wardens don't stand much chance against Loghain without Arl Eamon." All eyes turned to Derek, who contemplated the situation. Alistair had a point. Even if they mustered an army of mages, dwarves, and Dalish elves, it wouldn't be enough. The people of Fereldan would be too cautious of the alien force, and if Loghain asked it of them, they would leap to fight the Warden's army. No, they needed Redcliffe soldiers, if only to keep Fereldan on their side. Also, if the arl and his family, locked in the castle with the source of the undead, were already deceased… Bann Teagan would become Arl Teagan. By refusing to help now, they might destroy any chances of receiving aid. What Teagan proposed was dangerous, and would set them back at least a day or two, but it was unfortunately necessary.
"We'll help." Morrigan immediately began complaining about the deed. Sten glowered at her, dimly wondering if the Warden would punish him for cutting her tongue out. Nobody else heard her, though. Teagan had lit up with hope and gratitude.
"Thank you! Thank you, this… means more to me than you can guess. Tomas, please tell Murdock what has transpired. Then return to your post." Tomas saluted, and walked away. "Now then. There is much to do before night falls. I've put two men in charge of the defense outside. Murdock, the village mayor, is outside the chantry. Ser Perth, one of Eamon's knights, is just up the cliff at the windmill, watching the castle. You may discuss with them the preparations for the coming battle."
"Yes, my lord," Derek said, bowing slightly.
"Very well. Luck be with you, my friend."
oooooooooo
Murdock was easy to find; he was at the center of a cluster of reserve soldiers, reporting and receiving orders. When the crowd thinned, he waved them over. His gruff, gravely voice did not suit his mellow personality as he related to them what he knew. The militia was gathered, but morale was low, and there were couple problems he needed solved before nightfall.
One problem's name was Owen. The man was the town blacksmith, and his daughter was a serving girl for Lady Isolde in the castle. Unfortunately, she had been up there when all the trouble started, and Owen broke down. He refused to serve Redcliffe's militia unless Murdock and his men went on a suicide mission to rescue her. He needed to be convinced to open shop again, or Redcliffe didn't stand a chance.
Derek designated that task to Leliana. He figured that the blacksmith would be more open to talking to a young sister of the chantry than a Grey Warden. She set off immediately to knock on the smithy's door and try to wheedle her way in. Derek had other fish to fry.
The other problem was a dwarf by the name of Dwyn. He was a merchant, but he used to be a warrior in Orzammar, and even now he was skilled with a blade and had a pair of guards on retainer. His presence on the battlefield would raise the spirits of all those fighting However, Dwyn flat out refused to help fight, preferring to wait it out locked up in his house.
This, in Derek's opinion, would not do.
He took Sten, Alistair, and Byron with him to Dwyn's house. Morrigan had wandered off when he wasn't looking, but it was probably for the best that she did not come. He did not mind her as a person, but her constant complaining about his decisions grew annoying. Besides; the Wardens seemed more intimidating without the scantily clad mage.
Dwyn's house was on the lake shore, hidden behind some larger buildings. It took them a few minutes to find it, and when they knocked, there was no answer. Derek knocked a second time, and scowled as nobody answered, but somebody inside cleared his throat.
"Hello?" he called through the thick wood door. Alistair shifted his weight, impatient. There was no reply. "Open the door or I break it down," Derek warned, and counted silently to ten. When the time ran out and there wasn't so mucha s the sound of footsteps inside, he sighed, stepped back, and slammed one booted foot down over the lock. There was a splintering sound, and after a second kick, the door flung pen under the force, slivers of wood flying from the battered latch. The dwarf stood inside, flanked by his mercenaries.
"Wonderful. Intruders. I hope you've a good reason for breaking and entering into my home."
"Sorry about your door," Derek growled, already fed up with the dwarf, "but I did warn you."
"Apology accepted. The name's Dwyn, pleased to meet you. Now get out."
The pair glared at each other, both of their hands snaking for weapons. The two Chasind thugs warily eyed Derek's companions, eyes always returning to the big qunari in the rear.
"What are you doing shut up in here?" asked the Warden conversationally, as his fingers found his sword's hilt and rested there.
"Surviving," Dwyn grumbled in reply, his own stocky digits curling around the pommel of the sword on his belt. "We have supplies to last for quite some time, and my boys and I can swing a weapon better than any of those fools out there." Derek's blood positively boiled. This dwarf would leave his own neighbors to die without a qualm. His cavalier attitude grated on him.
"You will not fight for your home?"
"Home?" the dwarf laughed. "This isn't my home, it's where I live. And I plan to keep on living, not die with those dumb nugs. Now get out."
"They aren't just fighting for themselves. They're fighting for all of Redcliffe. Which includes you."
"Then they're bigger fools than I thought!" There was a heavy silence as Derek became visibly outraged, and then reigned himself in, eyes narrowing venomously. This dwarf was no better than the 'toll collectors' on the highway, or the war profiteer in Lothering. No- he was worse. Through his inaction, people would die. It was traitorous, to betray one's city that way. And there was nothing worse than a traitor.
"See, Dwyn-" Derek wrapped his hand around the sword's grip and drew it an inch from its scabbard. "I don't like your attitude. But, I'm willing to make you a deal. You can go out and fight with the militia. Or, you can stay here and die at my blade." The dwarf snarled, and both he and the Warden drew their swords simultaneously, with all the companions and bodyguards close behind. Alistair seemed slightly… alarmed.
"I've had enough of you strutting around like you own the place. C'mon, boys. This ends now!" And then Dwyn charged Derek, who jumped aside, forgetting that Sten stood behind him. It didn't much matter; Dwyn's blade glanced off of the qunari's plate armor, leaving him open to a counter attack. A moment later, a dwarf was sailing across the room and into the wall.
Alistair and Byron were too busy to notice. They were tackling one of the mercenaries together. The Chasind was fast, and fought similarly to Derek. He could dodge Alistair's slower attacks and jab at him with his own dagger, biting into unarmored parts of his body. Blood ran from under his arm, and from his inner thigh. With the dog's help, though, he was taken down. The mabari took advantage of its massive power and dragged the man screaming to the floor.
"I surrender!" the mercenary wailed, wrestling free of the dog and running from the house. The other thug, who had been fighting Sten, saw him run, stood motionless in thought for a moment, and bolted after him. Alistair watched them go, glad that he wouldn't have to kill him, but he jerked to attention when he heard the distinct, sickening sound of metal scraping against bone. Derek had just plunged his blade through the fleshy gap behind Dwyn's collar bone, and down through his heart. The merchant sputtered and died, leaving Derek standing over him, grim satisfaction bringing a smile to his lips.
"What- you-" Alistair stuttered, shocked. The dwarf had been disarmed; he was no longer dangerous and could have been spared. But the Warden had just slaughtered him for no reason! "Why did you kill him? He didn't have to die!"
"He was a traitor," Derek spat, squatting down over the warm body and searching it for valuables. Finding a bronze key, he passed it to the silent qunari. "Here, find what this goes to. If there's anything valuable, or any weapons or armor the militia can use, take it." Sten took the key, and began searching the room, staying out of the argument.
"This is wrong, Derek," Alistair said. "The only reason he even fought us in the first place is because you kicked in his door and threatened his life!"
"He had to die! There was no other option! If he wasn't willing to fight for Redcliffe, then he clearly wouldn't have minded reporting us to Loghain after we've saved it! He would have sold him information and went on his merry way, and if Loghain finds us, it's all over. Fereldan will fall to the Blight." Derek surprised himself with his reasoning. He hadn't been thinking about it when he killed Dwyn… he had just done it. The dwarf was a traitor to Redcliffe, and that had been enough to send him over the edge. Now, looking back, he realized that this situation would have to be smoothed over, both with Alistair and with Murdock. He had been foolish to act on an impulse.
"I…" Alistair started, unable to argue with the logic. He frowned, and exhaled slowly, looking at anything but the other Warden. "I still don't like it. It doesn't feel right."
"Whatever it takes, Alistair." At the familiar phrase, Alistair looked up again, but Derek was staring at Sten, who had just emerged from a side room with a beautiful greatsword in hand, and a reverant, awed expression on his face.
"Asala," the giant breathed.
"Is that the sword you lost?" asked Derek, admiring it from a distance. "I wonder what it's doing here… no matter. I am glad you have it back. The sword is an extension of the warrior," he continued, touching the hilt of the Cousland family sword. "Without it, he is… incomplete." Sten looked up from his blade to stare at Derek, as if he had said something strange.
"Right," Alistair murmured, breaking the silence, and both the Cousland and the qunari turned their intense gazes on him. "Don't we still have to report back to Murdock? And talk to Ser Perth?"
"Could you go talk to the knight? I'll explain this to Murdock, and there's something else I need to do. Then I'll meet you by the windmill."
"Very well," the templar said, sending one last troubled glance Derek's way before he left the small house. His eyes were glued to his feet as he crossed Redcliffe by memory. That Derek had butchered Dwyn still bothered him… He swore he had seen a smile on the Warden's face as he did the deed. And if the dwarf was such a security risk, why allow the mercenaries to run? Something just wasn't right about it. Something wasn't right about Derek. Alistair had always kind of thought that he was just naturally quiet and gloomy, but maybe it was just another sign that he was a bit unhinged. Perhaps he shouldn't place so much trust in the man… But, then again, he was a lot better than Alistair at leading their group. Maybe he was an archdemon short of a Blight, but he was also charismatic, in spite of his reticent nature. With just a few words, he could coerce or intimidate a man into cooperating. He also spoke very carefully, choosing his words so that he could never be backed into a corner, but remaining diplomatic.
Now that he thought about it, though… Derek's speaking abilities suddenly seemed less like talent, and more like a skill learned through training. He didn't speak like a commoner; he usually had perfect grammar and diction. And the way he wielded words like they were weapons… Who was this man, to have been trained like that? Was he a bann or arl's son? That would explain why Teagan recognized him… but why hide it? Bastards aren't trained like that, heirs are. He couldn't be hiding anything shameful.
He brooded on that a minute longer until he finally climbed to the stop of the last hill and came upon a knot of knights standing under a tree. One of them saw him, and immediately came over.
"Greetings, Grey Warden. I am as relieved as Bann Teagan is to see you here." He spoke stiffly, awkwardly. "I must admit that I do not know quite how to address you. Is 'my lord' sufficient?" Alistair balked.
"No! No, please- just call me Alistair." Ser Perth was visibly relieved by his informality.
"As you wish, and thank you kindly. I am Ser Perth, until recently in direct service of Arl Eamon of Redcliffe. For now, my charge is defending the village from these evil assaults." He shook his head, sighing in despair. "Would that I had not chosen to seek out the Urn of Sacred Ashes, perhaps I would have fended off whatever evil befell the castle… or perhaps I would be dead," he thought again, with equal discontent, his eyebrows scrunched together. "Ah, well. With a Grey Warden aiding our defense, perhaps not all is lost."
"Ser Perth, if you don't mind me asking… How is Arl Eamon? What is he sick with?" The concern had been gnawing at him since he hat heard the news. The knight shrugged hopelessly.
"We were never certain. He thirsted for water, and then grew weaker and weaker. We brought in a mage but even that did nothing. The arlessa believed he was cursed and that we needed the power of Andraste herself, or he would surely perish."
"He is that ill?" Alistair breathed, distraught gaze drifting over Perth's shoulder to rest on the castle that loomed in the mist over the canyon.
"When I saw him last, he was unconscious, and had been for days. But that was a week ago… He may already be gone," he admitted. Then he noticed the sorrow etched into the young Warden's face, and regretted his words. "I- I am sorry. Do you know Arl Eamon well?" Of course he didn't know of Alistair's unique relationship with the man. He had arrived in Redcliffe years after Alistair had already been sent away, and the rumors had died down. Alistair searched for words, and repeatedly drew blanks. He was saved, however, by a familiar voice calling out from the path behind him. Ser Perth jumped to attention again.
"Alistair!" He peered over his shoulder to see Derek striding towards them, rubbing his freshly shaven face with satisfaction. His pressing business was to shave? "This is Ser Perth, I take it."
"Yes, my lord," Ser Perth said, but Derek waved away the formalities, as uncomfortable with the title as Alistair was, though less vocal about it.
"Ser Perth, have you considered using the oil in the village store? There's enough there to set many monsters aflame," Derek said, and began talking strategy with Ser Perth, who was now showing a spark of hope and enthusiasm. Alistair stood in their midst a moment longer, before wandering to the cliff's edge and staring wistfully at the castle he had once called home. Inside those walls, the Arl was either dead or dying. Even if they won the battle tonight, they would still have to face that dilemma, and Alistair knew he could never forgive himself if he let Eamon die. But what could he do? He knew nothing of medicine, and even those who did were apparently useless against his illness. Would he have to go chasing legends, too?
He sighed, and closed his eyes, swaying slightly where he stood. Whatever happened tonight, tomorrow would not be a good day.
oooooooooo
a/n: So, I had this whole chapter written out by the middle of last week, and then the worst happened- Word crashed, and corrupted my save file! I was left with only the autosave of the first five or so pages of the chapter D: The past week has been spent rewriting it. On the bright side, I feel like my rewrite reads more smoothly than the original. I hope you like it!
Please, review, and a big thank you to those that have! It really inspires me to write quicker and better!