What We Must
Chapter 10: Consequences of Influence
"Warden Lorelei, formerly of the Circle," Lorelei paused mid-step, then turned to face the calm and unhurried man who had once run the stock room with what she'd call 'unmatched efficiency' if she hadn't had as much experience as she had with the Tranquil.
"Greetings, Owain," she said gently— not with pity, simply gently, as the Rite of Tranquility took away much of the appreciation for emotions as well as the emotions themselves. "What is it that you need?"
"I was asked to pass along a message," there was something about him that hinted at displeasure, perhaps disappointment, but it was difficult to tell which. "The First Enchanter wishes to speak with you on a matter most urgent."
"You seem—" she gestured, not sure which words to use, "Uncomfortable about something— has something happened to upset you?"
"I lack the ability to feel truly 'upset', as you know," Owain answered, movements stiff instead of merely economical. "But you are correct: I am... uncomfortable. I am not a messenger. I wish to return to my stockroom. Things may become disordered without my oversight." Lorelei's mouth twitched slightly.
It was a common misconception that because the Tranquil were without emotions, that they were without free will and preference as well— that they were monotonous, people-shaped creatures that waited for an order like an empty glass awaits water. Anyone who spent significant chunks of time with them (and many didn't, unnerved by their manner— and in the case of mages, by the very nature of what they were) knew that this was, quite simply, false. There were Tranquil mages that preferred enchanting, crafts, building, animal husbandry (specifically Mabari breeding, if one was in Ferelden) and in Owain's case, making lists and organizing objects. Delivering messages was not something that Owain, in particular, enjoyed doing, and Lorelei wondered if the First Enchanter wasn't a bit off his head, dragging the storeroom administrator to Ostagar.
"Should I say something to the First Enchanter?" Owain shook his head.
"It is not necessary. I do not imagine that anything would come of it, and perhaps it will cause more fuss than it is worth." Lorelei nodded. "I do appreciate the offer, however; thank you." With a shallow bow— which she returned— Owain was gone, presumably to deliver other messages or to return to whatever post he had been given. Lorelei sighed, wondering if Irving had meant the unspoken— but still painfully clear— threat in sending a Tranquil mage with his message or if he had just assumed, as many often did, that the Tranquil were little more than mindless servants. It did not seem like the First Enchanter to be so thoughtless, and yet, she did not want to believe that he would threaten her, even after she had threatened him— and she had imagined that he would be more subtle.
It was in that moment that she realised that Owain had not said that Irving himself had sent the message, only that he had been asked to deliver it. Lorelei took a deep breath to steady herself. Yes, that particular ploy was a lot more in line with Uldred's methods than with Irving's, as was the supposition on the lack of a free will in a Tranquil mage. If the First Enchanter had told the ambitious Senior Enchanter of her blackmail, it would make sense for him to react this way, hoping to eliminate any threat that she posed to his plans.
She was halfway to the Circle's encampment when a large shape crashed through the trees, crushing them under its feet like they were twigs, and she was staring up into the eerily glowing eyes of the golem, Shale.
When she saw what the creature held in its massive stone hands, she was immediately screaming for Anders, Wynne— and Alistair, because there was no way that he would forgive anyone not telling him immediately that somehow, Duncan had managed to survive the carnage of Ostagar— and the camp became somewhat more chaotic around her.
She barely registered another form behind Shale, so absorbed as she was with calling for the healers, but before she could get more than an impression of blue, blue eyes, the shadow had disappeared back into the forest, and the odd feeling in her blood lessened by an almost imperceptible degree.
Lorelei pressed the heels of her hands against her temples, then tried again.
"Wynne, if you can't work with Anders, then I will take your place." The older woman's lips parted, apparently in shock, as she looked from Anders to Lorelei.
"I was just—"
"Being a nosy old biddy," Anders supplied, and Lorelei held her hand up in warning. She was having enough trouble keeping Alistair from tearing the tent down around them without having to mediate as the two healers bickered over who was in charge, especially since neither of them actually was.
"Whatever it is," Lorelei said, pausing to take a breath when her voice wavered, "It can be dealt with later. For now, if you could occupy yourself with the patient? The one who is currently dying?" The last two words were whispered so that Alistair, pacing anxiously outside, wouldn't overhear. Lorelei chanted softly and watched as her magic— faded and slightly blue, or perhaps violet— settled into the broken body of the Warden-Commander of Ferelden. His breathing was ragged, his face was pinched tight, and he jerked every now and again, pulling at injuries as he struggled against some unseen nightmare. Lorelei considered stepping into the Fade, but had decided— on the advice of Warren— to keep her ability as secret as possible. She hadn't even told Carver.
Few templars had survived from those stationed at Ostagar, but this had made the new arrivals particularly jumpy about magic.
"Yes, perhaps you can put your attitude aside, young man."
"Wynne," Lorelei had rarely had any problems with the Senior Enchanter, mostly because she'd had the luxury of being able to ignore her more frustrating traits— one of which being a tendency to hover, lecture, and sometimes, gloat, to a degree that actually distinguished her from the other Enchanters of the Circle. "This is not the time or the place."
"Yes, I—"
"Heal, or leave." Wynne's mouth snapped shut, and Lorelei knew that the Senior Enchanter would likely have words for her later. She gestured to Duncan, who was wheezing, and to Anders, who was already sending a wash of gold-and-silver light into his body, and after one last glare, Wynne turned her back to Lorelei and added her own magic to his. Lorelei noticed that Wynne's magic had a yellow cast to it— not gold, yellow— not unlike sunlight, or the animal brightness that was present in Seeker's eyes and not in Morrigan's.
Lorelei was running her hand from her forehead to her chin when she exited the tent, and did not notice that Alistair was directly in her path. As he turned toward her, they collided, then went down in a tangle of limbs. As Alistair's half of the pile was encased in metal, it did not end terribly well for Lorelei, who had always bruised easily.
"I'm— so sorry, I— how is he?" Alistair lifted her to her feet, setting her down with exaggerated care.
"Wynne and Anders are finally working together," she explained, "I imagine that if they can't cure him, no one can." Lorelei cast a quick spell on herself and watched her own bruises fade away.
"Where is the healer?" The voice was thickly Orlesian, and its owner matched it, meaty enough that Lorelei was certain that his armour, melted down, could be made into three separate sets. "I require healing!"
"Perhaps I can help you," Lorelei used as temperate a voice as she could, noticing quickly that his complaint was rather minor, considering his demands— the was almost purely cosmetic. He had several thin scratches across his face, and from the state of his armour, he had dressed hastily. She wondered if he had scratches anywhere else, and immediately felt a little green at the thought.
"I demand the best," his mouth formed an admirable moue, and he decorated most of Lorelei's front with his spittle. "I require a mage's healing, not the attention of some low-born chit." He continued to mutter in Orlesian, and had almost made it into the tent before Lorelei spoke again, wondering why so many people missed the obvious— she was still clearly dressed in robes, though constant engagements with darkspawn and wildlife had left them decidedly less fine than when she'd first aquired them.
"Ser," Lorelei said sharply, and the man slowly turned— leer in place and hand upraised. "I would re-think that, were I you." His response was quick, curt, and in Orlesian, but his tone was clear, and Alistair's hand was already on the hilt of his sword. When the meaty hand came down, Lorelei wasn't waiting for it.
Her staff was off her back and in her hands, and she jabbed forward, burying the butt in the space just under his belt buckle. He doubled over, eyes wide with shock and pain, and she channeled spirit energy through the staff, flinging him away from her like a paper doll. He landed on his back in the mud, and it made sucking and slurping noises as he struggled. For good measure, she added a glyph of paralysis before approaching and leaning over him.
"For that, you can keep your scratches, you obnoxious, high-born ass," she snapped, then gestured for Alistair to guard the tent as she followed the chevalier's huge footprints, first towards his tent— and then, nursing a growing sense of dread, towards the separate encampment of the Dalish.
Lorelei had the distinct feeling that, Shale's miraculous return with Duncan aside, this was not going to be a day that she remembered with great fondness.
"Those are not men of honour, they are— they are pigs on horses!" At Lanaya's raised voice, Lorelei broke into a run, reaching the camp just as the King arrived, the visibly irate Teyrn standing just behind him. Lanaya noticed Lorelei, and re-aimed her appeal. "Grey Warden, surely you can do something."
"This is does not concern the Grey Wardens." The man's tone was dismissive, as most of the Orlesian Knights had been toward the Grey Wardens. Lanaya's knuckles were white as she gripped her staff, and if looks could kill, the Orlesian Captain would have fallen down dead, right there. "You will control your people, Keeper."
"You will control yours, or we will leave."
"You are bound by—"
"Teyrn Loghain, King Cailan," the tall man looked down at her like she was a child, and she fought the urge to stumble back, look down and apologise for interrupting an adult conversation. Cailan, to his credit, was as warm and welcoming as ever, though some of his shine had been diminished by the hard losses of Ostagar. When she stood her ground, he glanced briefly toward the Orlesian Captain before fixing Lorelei with an icy glare.
"If I can convince Lanaya, would it be possible for the Dalish to move their camp closer to your—" she winced, "—to where your remaining soldiers and the Ash Warriors have camped?" Loghain's brows shot up, and she hoped that she hadn't stepped too far out of line. Lanaya and the Captain were still bickering, their arguments punctuated by Orlesian and Elvish both.
"I have no objection," Loghain said finally, and Lorelei frowned, wondering if she imagined the hint of a smile at the edges of his mouth, "Your Majesty?"
"Hm? Yes, of course. I am excited for the opportunity to get to know my Dalish subjects better." Lorelei winced, and then noticed that Loghain had shared her expression. They stared at each other in surprise for a few moments.
"My people are bound by treaty to the Grey Wardens, and we agreed to aid against the Blight, not submit to abuse," Lanaya was saying, and her staff was beginning to spark. Lorelei felt that this was as good a cue as any to re-join the conversation; it would be better for this to be resolved before Lanaya's magic caught the attention of the ever-vigilant templars.
"Keeper Lanaya, Captain," Lorelei said, trying her most diplomatic smile, "Perhaps I can suggest a solution."
"You have no business here, recruit," the Captain said sternly, "The Grey Wardens do not involve themselves in petty disputes— and besides, my men have done nothing wrong," he finished, glaring at Lanaya.
"One of your men," Lorelei supplied helpfully, "Is currently immobilized by the healer's tent, with scratches so minor that it is a waste of any healer's time to treat them. Perhaps you should send for someone to collect him."
"What have you done, recruit?"
"I defended myself, Captain," Lorelei was quickly losing her patience, and she shared a sympathetic look with the Dalish Keeper, who— especially considering her experiences with humans— was showing the restraint of a saint. "The man insisted on interrupting Wynne and Anders, who are healing a critically injured man, even after I offered to take a look at his injuries." She glanced at Loghain and quickly understood that repeating the words that the man had used to describe her— perhaps especially in the language that he had spoken them— was not the best course of action, unless she wanted the situation to escalate into outright war. "He said several very impolite things and attacked me. My Brother Alistair will confirm it, as he was there." She paused, then turned pointedly to Lanaya. "Were any of your people injured?"
"Some, but we will tend to our own," was the careful answer, and Lorelei nodded. "Warden," and here, the Dalish Keeper pointedly ignored the Captain, who was not at all happy about it, "We wish to provide what help we can to end the Blight, but that does not include indulging the whims of lustful shemlen."
"Of course not." Lorelei had received a full report on this particular Dalish clan, and from Neria— on Lanaya in particular. She would no more suggest that the Elves submit than she would suggest that Loghain be sent as a diplomatic attache to Val Royeaux. "The King and the Teyrn have said that they won't object to the Dalish setting up their encampment closer to them, to the west, perhaps."
"That puts us uncomfortably close to your Chantry's camp, but— that is acceptable, for now." Lanaya shot a glare at the Captain, who was trying to stare holes in Lorelei's head, before bowing courteously and departing to prepare for the move.
"The Grey Wardens are not negotiators," the Captain said, distaste in his voice making evident what he thought of the Order. He seemed to forget his audience completely, and Lorelei did her best to do the same, knowing that Loghain, in particular, would be watching her very closely. "If you were one of my men, you would be put to the lash for insubordination, recruit."
"Then it is a good thing that I am not one of your men," Lorelei shot back, "As you know, a recruit is one who has not yet undertaken the Joining. It is an insult to refer to me as such, especially given that you yourself have yet to fight in any major battle against the darkspawn."
"You will respect my command—"
"It's not your command," she snapped, completely forgetting her audience, "This is not Orlais. You are not a Grey Warden, and until you have orders from the First Warden in Weisshaupt declaring you the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, I do not answer to you."
"Listen, you little chit—" His tirade was cut off with a strangled sound as he was shoved backward by an invisible force and found himself struggling to rise from the mud. Like the fat chevalier near the tent where Anders and Wynne alternated between healing Duncan and bickering over who was in charge and how it should be done, Lorelei cast a glyph of paralysis.
"You have done nothing to earn my respect. You have done nothing to earn the right to command. You have done nothing but belittle our efforts, make bad jokes about dog lords, barbarians, the character of the Grey Wardens, and the 'inferior' stature and status of Dwarves and Elves. You seem determined to make enemies of our allies. Allies that are here only because we asked them to help us, and they answered our need. Allies without whom the entire Ferelden army, its King, and its best general would all be dead." In some corner of her mind, Lorelei was remembering that two of the people of whom she spoke were a part of her audience, and the part of her that was capable of it was absolutely mortified at her display of temper. She was not accustomed to losing her temper. She was not accustomed to having a temper to lose. "You act like you and that fancy contingent of the Empress's Chevaliers are riding in to the rescue, but you are merely swooping in to claim a credit that is not yours to claim. You seem to be under the impression that everyone will simply stand by and let you sabotage the war for your own glory. I am telling you right now that I will not allow it."
The world flickered in front of her, and Lorelei realised that she had— albeit briefly— stepped into the Veil. She stepped back, and felt the soft squelching sound that heralded the return of her feet to the mud.
"How dare you—" The paralysis spell had worn off. Lorelei recast it.
"Instead of composing a proper speech of outrage, perhaps you should pay attention to what I am telling you: The Elves will not follow your orders. The Dwarves will not follow your orders. You may take your chances with the Circle, if you wish, but were I you, I would not count that as a sure thing. Should Warden-Commander Duncansee me as deserving of punishment, I will submit as is my duty, but that is his call to make, when he recovers. Either you will fall in line and do your part of what must be done to end the Blight or I assure you, I will make it extremely difficult for you to do anything else. Despite all your bluster, you hold no great authority here, and it is about time that you remembered that."
Lorelei took a deep breath, feeling her magic settle as her rage dissipated and her awareness of her surroundings— and subsequent mortification— grew.
When someone started clapping, she made a quick, undignified escape to go with her equally undignified squeak of embarrassment and surprise.
Lorelei would have prefered to spend some time alone to center herself, but before she could make it out of the camp and into the forest, she one of the very last people that she wanted to see appeared in her path.
She considered taking advantage of the fact that he wasn't facing her, but he had a firm grip on Jowan's arm, and was motioning towards one of the templars attached to the Circle. Lorelei straightened her shoulders and allowed herself the tiniest moment to indulge in the very uncharitable regret that Uldred had been one of the mages who had made it to the Dalish.
"Senior Enchanter," she spoke in her sharpest, firmest voice, and Uldred turned, acknowledging her with a sneer.
"Warden," he sad smoothly, "I am glad to see that you have returned this blood mage and apostate to the Circle to face justice."
"You know that I have done no such thing," she held out a hand to stay the helmetted templar with his sword already half-drawn. "Jowan is under the protection of the Grey Wardens."
"Is that so?" Uldred's eyes were narrowed, and his smirk made her feel ill, "I don't recall any talk of new recruits— or of any plans for a Joining."
"You are not a Grey Warden," Lorelei hated using the obvious to make her point, but when she couldn't think of something better to say, she used it to buy herself time.
"The Grey Wardens would recruit a blood mage?" The templar spoke in a low his, and Lorelei whirled, noticing that several more inches of his sword were free from its scabbard.
"Who the Grey Wardens recruit is not your concern," she tried to keep her eyes on both Uldred and the templar as she spoke, "Only that Jowan is one such and therefore— also not your concern."
"So the Grey Wardens encourage blood mages within their ranks."
"The Grey Wardens are not the Circle of Magi. Our purpose is to defeat the darkspawn, in case you've forgotten, Senior Enchanter."
"Still, surely you have retained some of the lessons of the Circle—"
"Uldred," the suddenly informal address was pointed, and she drew closer to the bald man, lowering her voice, "Unless you'd care to roll up your own sleeves, this conversation is over." The Senior Enchanter stepped back, then, staring at her with new eyes— and far too much cunning for her liking. If she hadn't already made an enemy of Uldred, his status as such was now certain.
"Very well, Grey Warden," he said finally, and Lorelei quickly took Jowan's hand and guided him towards the Grey Warden's camp.
"Thank you," Jowan whispered, and Lorelei silenced him with a sharp look.
"Jowan, from now on, make sure that you are never alone." His face fell, and Lorelei realised immediately that he'd missed her meaning.
"I— yes, of course. I understand."
"No, you don't," she checked for eavesdroppers, found none, and began again, "You know that Uldred is up to no good, and with the Chantry's reaction to even the suggestion of blood magic." She sighed, "You're a recruit, now. I figured that it would eventually be necessary, but I had hoped— well."
"You don't think I'll make a good Grey Warden." Lorelei rolled her eyes, and resisted the urge to slap him. Instead, she stared him straight in the face, and spoke slowly and carefully.
"Becoming a Grey Warden comes with substantial cost. I was hoping that you would not be asked to pay that price." He blinked, seemingly stunned at the idea that anyone would be protective of him. "Jowan. You have already proven yourself to me. I believe that you are capable of making an excellent Grey Warden, and I will do my best to ensure that you get that chance."
"I— don't know what to say."
"So don't say anything," she answered, allowing herself a small smile, "You talk too much, anyway."
Lorelei snuck a glance at Alistair, who had needed to be ordered away from Duncan's side to attend a meeting that had the Ferelden Grey Wardens feeling particularly mutinous, and for what she believed to be good reason.
Lorelei and Warren had been pulled away in the middle of a strategy meeting. Carver had been speaking to Wesley Vallen about his deceased wife and Theron was trying to keep the Dalish from seeking vengeance against the Chevaliers. They had thought, at first, that if the Grey Wardens of Orlais— the more senior members of an order bound by darkspawn blood— were calling them to an urgent meeting, that it would be of vital importance.
Perhaps, to the Orlesians, it was, but Lorelei didn't find the experience of standing in a line while she and her comrades were given a thorough dressing down and threatened with the lash or re-assignment to Weisshaupt or some other faraway branch terribly necessary or appropriate. One glance at Warren's made-of-stone expression told her that he was equally displeased. Out of all of them, Carver and Alistair took the verbal assaults the hardest, especially when the Orlesian Warden-Commander implied that the former was responsible for Aveline's death and that the latter was a disappointment to Duncan, who even still frequently required the attention of Wynne or Anders.
It made Lorelei angry, just as the Chevalier-Captain's casual dismissal of his men's abuse of the Dalish Elves had. She bit the inside of her bottom lip to keep herself for losing her temper for the second time that day— and that would likely have disastrous results. There would be shouting and spells, and probably smiting.
Once they had finished going over everything that they done wrong, how much of an embarrassment they were to the order, and how much work the much more competent Orlesians would have to do to repair the damage, they let the junior Wardens stand there while they huddled together, speaking in very low, very rapid Orlesian. Lorelei inclined her head forward slightly, watching her superiors converse through her eyelashes.
She glanced to either side, noticing that the others had copied her, and then concentrated on the conversation that they were all being— quite pointedly— left out of.
The gesture was insulting, but that sting of irritation was nothing compared to the anger that was roused when their discussion continued and Lorelei learned more of their intent.
"I tried to save her," Carver was the first to speak, and he waved off any of their attempts to shush him. "I carried her back to Orzammar, from the Deep Roads. We had a funeral for her— a pyre, at Gherlen's pass."
"Carver—"
"I know it's my fault. She took a blow meant for me. I—" Lorelei lunged forward, pressing her palms against his breastplate and shoving him lightly.
"Carver!" He blinked, then stared down at her as if surprised to find her there. She withdrew immediately, somewhat shocked at her own boldness. "Carver, it wasn't your fault. You were in the Deep Roads facing darkspawn and golems without a healer and— it was not your fault."
"They said—"
"They said what they thought that they needed to say," Warren said evenly, levelling a long, meaningful look at Carver and Alistair both. "They are trying to sideline us, make us feel unworthy."
"And then swoop in and take all the credit!"
"No, it's more than that." Lorelei was shaking her head, fitting bits and pieces together in her head. "I think it's about more than the Blight."
"More than the Blight? But—"
"Idiots." Theron's upper lip curled upward in disgust, as if the one word and his tone of voice didn't make his opinion plain enough. "They scheme and plan while the darkspawn seek to destroy us all."
"Wait—" Carver made a face at her, "How do you know this?" Lorelei glanced at Warren, and then at Alistair, who promptly brought his gauntletted fist up to his forehead with painful force.
"Of course!" He exclaimed, sharing a wide grin of gratitude as she healed the darkening bruise on his forehead, "You understand Orlesian."
"So does Theron," Lorelei pointed out, and the Dalish Elf inclined his head slightly.
"I know enough to discern their point," he admitted, "Our clan did cross borders on occasion— though I've hardly a mastery of the language."
"What? Really?" Carver was visibly impressed, and she felt her face growing warm from the attention.
"I was born in Orlais, so it's hardly a huge accomplishment," she said dismissively, and she continued before the obvious questions could surface. "Let's go talk to Duncan. Anders told me, earlier, that he might wake up tonight." At this suggestion, Alistair brightened considerably, and the heavy mood seemed to lift, just a little— just enough for them all to share a moment of sneaky, underhanded glee.
"So— the darkspawn reproduce by—" Alistair was unable to continue, and Lorelei looked around, finding that the other faces were as pallid as his. "That's— it's too horrible to even—" Lorelei had a different concern.
"If Grey Wardens all succumb to the Taint eventually," she said, trying to keep the hitch in her breath under control as she thought of the patches of blight-rash on her skin, "Do the women become ghouls, or— I'm sorry." She had to push past Alistair slightly to get outside as she removed herself from the small circle of bodies crouched inside a small tent, hoarding the light of the small lantern inside. She used the full length of her legs to propel herself to the edge of the camp and into the trees where she relieved herself of the contents of her churning stomach.
When she made her way back to the tent, the massive stone creature standing guard shifted, and she forced herself still, lest she jump out of her skin.
"How fragile it is," Lorelei blinked at the low, gravelly voice, "One touch and its kind crumples, spilling liquid everywhere." She paused, considering the statement, and then laughed, just a little.
"I have particular problems with that, I must admit."
"I feel very sorry for it." Lorelei stepped back, craning her neck as far back as she could so that she could get a good look at the golem's eerie bright eyes. It was hard not to consider the creature, especially after hearing about Caridin's description of the process of using a living Dwarf to create one. She did not have the words to do justice to that incredible sacrifice, so she said nothing of it, simply doing her best to honour Shale in her mind. "It is not solid, as I am, or immortal. No putrid liquids will ever squirt out of me, oh no." Shale shifted again, and Lorelei once again experienced the sensation of being watched intently. "It is a mage, is it not?"
"Yes."
"Does it wish it had my control rod?" Lorelei blinked several times, and stepped back in horror.
"No."
"No? Truly?" Lorelei was shaking her head violently. "Hm. Is it a fool? Does it not think a golem such as I is useful?"
"I have no desire to control anything that way, most especially— a thinking being. It is— absolutely abhorrent."
"Is it not a Grey Warden?" Shale shifted again, and the ground rumbled as the golem knelt, bringing its head closer to Lorelei's— though not very close, as Shale was still massive, and the little mage-girl was anything but. "Does it not— what is it that they say— do what it must?"
"Didn't you agree to come with Carver and fight the darkspawn?"
"Oh ho! It thinks that it is clever," Lorelei wondered if the strange grinding noise doubled for laughter, "Does it think this answers the question? I am willing to fight for it, so it does not need to consider the possibility of creating new a control rod?"
"Why did you save Duncan?"
"That is its leader, the flesh creature that I brought back?" Lorelei nodded. Shale's massive shoulders lifted in a gesture that she realised was a shrug. "The darkspawn wanted it, and the other like it." That, she found troubling, and she thought back to the observation that she'd made after that first, devastating battle about the lack of Grey Warden corpses left on the field. Why would the darkspawn specifically take the Grey Wardens from the battlefield? "The darkspawn wanted it, so I decided that it must have value of some kind. It is not as pretty as crystals, but it was also not as squishy as the little mage Warden, so perhaps I did well to retrieve it."
"Your name is Shale, right?"
"It is."
"My name is Lorelei."
"Does it think this matters?"
"No," Lorelei smiled, then, realising that conversing with Shale was not unlike conversing with Sten, "But knowing my name gives you the opportunity to use it, should you wish to."
"Why would I?"
"It is another choice that, like your reason for it, is your own." The ground shuddered as Shale returned to her full height.
"It is very strange."
"I've heard that before— if you don't mind, Shale, I must return to the others."
"Why would I care what it does? As long as it does not have a chisel, I am unconcerned." There was a story behind the comment, she was sure. Lorelei smiled to herself, glad for the short time away from Carver's story of the Deep Roads, doomed Dwarves, and what the Taint did to women. Just before she reached the tent, she paused, listening briefly as the golem muttered in her absence. "Lore-a-lie. It sounds like a historical falsehood."
That was how she managed to returned to the grim-faced group with a smile.
"Welcome to the War Council, Grey Wardens," Loghain didn't look up from his maps as he spoke, but he shifted slightly, nodding towards those who moved out of the way to allow them passage— Lorelei, Warren, Carver, Alistair— the last in a sudden display protectiveness for the first, which she found somewhat confusing.
"Where's the King? And the—" Alistair trailed off, realising at the last moment that asking after the Orlesians was probably not the best idea that he'd ever had.
"The King is currently entertaining our visitors," the Teyrn's voice was dry, and more than a little angry. Lorelei winced, but said nothing, not wanting to get into a discussion about politics.
"Why call us here, instead of—" Loghain snorted.
"Those Orlesian fools seem to be under the impression that they are in charge," he explained, and when Lorelei glanced briefly at Warren, he lifted his chin slightly to indicate the Teyrn, and she returned her gaze to the Hero of River Dane, "But interestingly enough, our other allies seem perfectly willing to talk tactics without them— provided you are included." Loghain straightened to his full height, and as the shadows shifted over his face, Lorelei realised that he was almost smiling. "It seems that it is to you specifically that they feel indebted, not to your legendary order as a whole, nor to our glorious King." If she could have arched one eyebrow, she would have done it at the way Loghain pronounced 'legendary order' and 'glorious'. As it was, the Teyrn's attention was heavy, and he aimed it at all of them in turn. It landed last and stayed longest on Lorelei.
"...Your grace?" She spoke only after realising that he seemed to be waiting for a response.
"I have been told that you fancy yourself a strategist," he said finally, gesturing for her to come closer— a daunting prospect, even with a large table between them.
"I— hardly," she choked out, and he arched a thin, black eyebrow, adding himself to her internal list of people that could do things that she wished she could.
"You planned the last major victory— the extraction of key forces from Ostagar— did you not?"
"And I mucked up my part of it," Alistair was choking, then, and Lorelei put her hand over her mouth, realising too late that 'mucking up' her plan had, in fact, been what had saved the Teyrn of Gwaren and what was left of his best soldiers— including his second, Cauthrien— from death by darkspawn.
"Your ability to navigate successfully among a throng of darkspawn aside," Loghain said finally, a muscle at his jaw twitching slightly as he spoke with surprising care, "It was an impressive effort, and it ultimately succeeded, mad as it was." Loghain gestured again for her to come forward, and this time, she did. She looked down at the map and forced herself to pay attention to the notations and small markers depicting their forces rather than the map itself— it was extremely well-made, and beautiful, in the way that maps could be considered beautiful. Lorelei blinked, sweeping her eyes from one end of the map to the other, trying to work out the formations and movement patterns in her head. They were familiar, and she had a feeling that she needed to discern why, and quickly.
"Well?" Loghain's voice was rough and impatient, and Lorelei glanced up— and up— into his very blue, very serious eyes. She frowned, realising where she'd seen these particular formations before— on a different map.
"Why are you showing us the Battle of West Hill?" There was a tiny movement at the edge of his lips, but other than that, his expression might as well have been carved of stone. She returned her gaze to the map, trying to fit the pieces together in her mind, then jumped as Loghain began to rearrange the figures, apparently satisfied with her question, even if he did not grace her with an answer. She felt distinctly like she had passed some sort of test, and as he began to explain his true plan, she felt every bit the novice strategist she was.
It was complex, it was risky, it would probably frustrate and confuse the King and enrage all the Orlesians in the camp— except perhaps Leliana and Lorelei herself.
And she was beginning to believe that it might actually work.
"A moment, Warden, if you please." Even before she turned around Lorelei knew— all four of them turned around, as 'Warden' applied equally to all of them— that the Teyrn was addressing her, specifically. This was confirmed when he waved the others off. Warren shrugged and walked out, followed by Carver. Alistair took a few steps, but stopped just short of exiting the tent.
"What can I do for you, your grace?"
"There is something that I wish to discuss with you privately," Loghain eyed Alistair with raised eyebrows, then made a shooing motion. The almost templar bristled visibly.
"I don't think that's—" Loghain snorted, as if he found Alistair's objection patently ridiculous.
"I'm not going to eat her, boy," he snapped, "She's perfectly safe, I assure you. I will even have an escort assigned to her when she returns to your camp."
"But I—"
"I did not ask for your opinion or your permission, Warden."
"Alistair, it's fine," she stepped forward, hand out, fingers slightly curled.
"It's not fine," he stepped toward her, and she frowned at the look on his face. He was concerned for her. "What about the Senior Grey Wardens? What about—"
"Alistair." He stopped, then, and she smiled in an attempt to reassure him. He glanced over her shoulder at the Teyrn, who she imagined was not terribly impressed by the spectacle. His face confirmed her suspicion neatly: annoyed, perhaps even amused, but not impressed in the slightest.
"All right," he sighed, and smiled— but there was something in his face that mutinied against his expression. "I'll wait for you at our camp." He glanced at Loghain again, and she nearly rolled her eyes at his attempt to glare menacingly at the tall man before he left the tent. It was, of course, far more intimidating than anything she could have managed, but it was hardly something that could be expected to cause Loghain Mac Tir to cower.
"That boy is enamoured with you," Lorelei laughed out loud before she could stop herself, but her amusement died as soon as she turned around and saw that Loghain's expression lacked any trace of humour. He leaned back, away from the chair that he'd pulled from the table and placed to the side, directly in front of another.
"Alistair is a brother and a comrade," she said, and his lips twitched. The eyebrow lifted again.
"I suppose you believe that," he said finally, briefly pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Never mind. It is no matter." He made a slicing motion with his hand, emphasized by the lamp-light flickering across the grooves and joints of his gauntlet.
"Yes, of course," she shrugged, then took the seat that he indicated for her before sitting himself. The chairs were close enough together that his knees brushed hers as he sat down. He leaned forward, and she fought the urge to lean back in response, instead doing her best to meet his intense gaze with a level one of her own. "What is it that you wished to discuss, your grace?"
"I wish to discuss your Order, Warden—" Loghain spoke very slowly, and she stiffened, sensing something distinctly dangerous about him as he leaned even closer, palms on his knees, "—and the distinct lack of interest displayed by its more senior members when it comes to actually defeating this Blight, and building a future for itself in Ferelden."
"Is there a specific question that I can answer for you, your grace?" He did not blink; he simply stared at her and she stayed still until she was sure that she would drool all over herself if she didn't swallow.
"Yes; there are several— let's start with an easy one: why is it that only the most junior members of the Order seem interested in maintaining the alliances that you were specifically sent to make in order to end the Blight before it overwhelms Ferelden?" She blinked, finding that she no longer had the urge to swallow.
"The answer is simpler than your question: I don't know."
"You don't—" Loghain's eyes narrowed as they swept over her face, looking for any signs of deception. His frown deepened, leading her to assume that he couldn't find any. "You don't know," he mused, "Now that is interesting, isn't it?"
"I suppose that it is."
"So what did he want?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Lorelei studied the Dwarf, taking in the wild red hair and the wide, suggestive leer he wore as he leaned forward, using a huge axe for balance. He wiggled his eyebrows at her; she made a disgusted face, but it only seemed to encourage him. "That Loghain is one of the most uptight men I've ever met. Probably did him some good."
"I don't think—"
"Heh heh. So, you and the tall one. Rolling the oats?" Lorelei felt her chin drop, and her lower lip with it, at the man's presumption.
"What—" Alistair was looking from Lorelei to the Dwarf to Anders, who was obviously holding back laughter.
"Polishing the footstones? Bucking the forbidden horse? Tapping the midnight still?"
"Enough," Lorelei said finally, rubbing the space between her eyebrows, "I don't know if you have some large collection of disgusting euphemisms, but let's just pretend that you've already shared them all, and we're all suitably impressed. It has been a long day— and the Teyrn is not an easy man to satisfy." She closed her mouth with a snap when she realised what she'd just said, and Anders and the Dwarf both chortled.
"Oh, I like this one," he said, nodding, "If you ever want to trade in these nug-humpers for the Prize of Orzammar, I am just the right height to—" He clearly wasn't finished, but speaking was rather difficult when one was flying through the air and landing in a heap of drunken Dwarf. He laughed as he struggled to his feet. "You just let me know if you change your mind, ey? Ol' Oghren will do you right."
"You'll be the first to know," she said dryly, pulling her outstretched hands back to her body and brushing off her robes. "Alistair, where are the others? We need to have a meeting of the Ferelden Grey Wardens." Alistair blinked, then nodded, gesturing to the tent where they usually had their clandestine little talks. Lorelei crouched down and slipped into place, nodding to each of them in turn as Alistair came in behind her and took his place beside her.
"Things are getting— very complicated," she said quickly, and in her lowest voice. She had a feeling that the whole thing was far more complicated than even she knew.
Lorelei carefully closed the flap of the tent behind her, and when she turned around, she jumped, hand muffling her cry of surprise. The man sitting with Duncan turned to face her, amused grey eyes looking her over and taking in every detail. She watched him right back, kicking herself internally for not checking, not listening to the hum of the Taint telling her about the presence of a second Grey Warden in the tent with Duncan.
"You have a visitor, Duncan," the man said, lips curving into a warm smile. His accent was light, and his voice smooth— the voice of a man who was accustomed to talking, and perhaps to laying on the charm. "You are Lorelei, are you not? I have heard a great deal about you already." He rose to his feet, and she immediately noticed his casual, practiced grace. This was a man who moved quickly, and perhaps danced as well as he fought. He offered her a hand, and she took it. "I am Riordan."
"It's— a pleasure." His mouth twitched. "Forgive me—- Riordan." She glanced past him, to Duncan, who was smiling weakly. "I didn't know that I was interrupting."
"Riordan is a very old friend," Duncan explained, and she frowned, then cast a quick healing spell. He coughed, leaning forward slightly, then lay back again. "Thank you." He sounded better, and she inclined her head.
"Duncan and I took our Joinings together," Riordan continued, "I have been— keeping him informed of the latest developments." Lorelei stiffened, and she knew immediately that Riordan had noticed; he became suddenly more attentive. "Is there something wrong?"
"I— no," she glanced over at Duncan, who nodded.
"Lorelei has also been visiting me with updates, as has Alistair." Riordan's eyes widened by the tiniest fraction, though there were no other signs of alarm.
"In order for this to be true, you would have to be rather proficient in Orlesian," his accent blurred the words in a rather pleasant way.
"I am." She looked away from the two men who were watching her with a sudden intensity that made her somewhat uncomfortable. "I— it's actually my first language. I lived in Jader until I was taken to the Circle of Magi in Ferelden."
"Jader? Truly?" She nodded, and Riordan and Duncan shared a look before bursting into laughter. They laughed until the Warden-Commander could laugh no more, arms folded over his belly as he tried to catch his breath.
Lorelei was having some trouble understanding the reaction.