An unexpected encounter.
Duncan's eyes widened and he gasped like a trout pulled out of the water. "Did they really say so?"
Liv nodded, laughing.
Her face was wet, smeared by the dog's tongue and a little muddy, and he couldn't help but smile at her. "If so I'll have to keep the stick to use it on their heads once you have removed it!"
The disappointed and angry look that nearly killed her the night before was gone. She looked at him: the hard-won shine that had gone too soon had now returned to brighten his eyes, and she had no intention to let him return wallowing in his self-destructive stoicism. "This means that you're going to allow me take care of you and share the weight of the world with you?"
Duncan knew these were no questions, she would have never allowed him to distance her from his life, and he couldn't be more grateful to her.
She was forcing him to do something he actually wished to do with all his heart, but to which he had renounced, for her sake as well as the sake of Ferelden. But perhaps an exhausted commander with a broken heart was not what either of them needed. Duncan was not accustomed to approach the Maker in colloquial way and couldn't remember a single verse from the Chant of Light, but, for the first time in his life, he wished he could.
"The weight of the world? I already have the whole of Ferelden weighing on my back, and I assure you it's more than enough to take my sleep away." He sent her a grateful smile and held out his hands.
Liv climbed a few steps to clutch them into hers. She couldn't find the words to tell him but there was no need, he returned the gesture looking at her with a gaze that meant forgiveness, gratitude, and love... like the long, meaningful kiss that followed.
"Duncan I want you to know that I never meant to leave, nor break the promises I made to you."
He caressed her smudged cheeks with his thumbs, giving a hint of a smile."I never doubted about this, and I can only thank the Maker for having made you more stubborn than a mule," he said while tapping his forehead against hers with a slight thud.
"I think he just made me a shred more stubborn than the mule for whom I was created," she replied pushing her forehead against his.
"Last night I acted on impulse and I'm sorry!" She would have liked to be able to promise him that it would never happen again, but she wasn't that confident.
"Don't worry about it anymore. Now let's look forward, and move forward."
And so they did. They climbed up the stairs on top of the walls and then down the other side towards the Imperial Highway.
-o-o-o-
They climbed the mountain side for hours, in silence. The wind gusts that whipped their faces grew colder as they proceeded. After one of the countless turns, they saw the ruins of the imposing Tevinter fortress rise up above them. Conall stopped to look at the stone bridge which connected the plateau with the watchtower to the one where the King and his army were camped. Numerous were the signs of previous attacks on the bridge – many portions of the ramparts had collapsed under the blows of enemy catapults – but at the time of the First Blight, men knew how to build structures more solid than mountains, and the pass was secure. Past the Tower of Ishal, they crossed the bridge and reached the gates of the Ostagar fortress.
During the past few days many soldiers had arrived and were now camped in the huge grassy clearing. Conall and Logan came in riding their horses and saw many chantry sisters and mothers blessing the warriors gathered in prayer, the Mages from the Circle had already arrived and had been lodged in a secluded area from which came flashes of light of various shapes and colors.
The brothers made their way to the Grey Wardens camp site, set up between the outside walls and a large overhanging cliff that looked directly on the Korcari Wilds. They passed through the west gate and rode to the group of tents where their fellow Wardens were busy cooking, oiling their armor or sharpening their weapons, while others were simply lying on the grass, talking. Lots of laughter was heard and the relaxed atmosphere didn't portend an imminent battle of epic proportions.
A tall elven mage of indeterminable age ran to meet them.
"Amaury!" Logan greeted him warmly with a nod.
The elf didn't stop but went beyond them to look if someone else was coming, and an amazed expression crossed his angular face. "D-Duncan's not with you?"
"I'm glad to see you too Amaury. Duncan will arrive soon, he left Lothering when we did but on foot. This means that he'll arrive by tomorrow night, with the mage."
The semi-stuttering of Amaury was almost as famous as his clumsy spells that had cost him the nickname 'Sorry.' He didn't always stutter, but he was the emotional kind and the slightest disturbance was enough to trigger an excess of consonants when he talked.
"M-mage? F-foot? I thought he was headed to recruit Cousland's youngest at Highever!" replied Amaury even more astonished but still, the news seemed to make him very happy.
"I saw the mages have arrived from the Tower," said Conall while dismounting. "Duncan wants everything to be ready for the night after tomorrow. Time's running short, the King's on his way to Ostagar."
It was three days now since the Grey Wardens were awaiting the return of their Commander. When they had departed from Weisshaupt, Duncan had told his men they would meet again within a week, but things didn't go according to his plan.
-o-o-o-
The Imperial Highway wound to the south and, oddly, it was clear again. The refugees seemed to move in waves, and that's what was actually happening: every time a village was attacked by darkspawn, the people fled in droves pouring into that small mercantile town called Lothering, from which branched off the many trails and roads leading north.
They enojoyed each other's presence without feeling the need to talk. Liv knew those were the last days of their journey, and that once arrived at their destination her life would again have come to an abrupt turn, even before the Joining Ritual. They would have no longer walked together in the sunshine, nor in the rain, and at dusk they would have left the road to camp for the last time. Then, there would be no more unexpected apple-throwing, nor opportunities to talk quietly or to make love for Maker knew how long.
Just a week before, she would have stormed Duncan with any questions that came to her mind, but now the things needing to be said were too many and too important to be mentioned while walking.
The sun was disappearing beyond the Frostback mountains on their right, painting the sky with a brushwork of gold and red when, surprisingly, Duncan broke the silence. "Before your pretty head explodes, and that would be a shame, is there something you need to ask me?"
Liv gasped soundlessly. She looked at him, dumbfounded, wondering if it was she who was as transparent as a flask for potions, or if it was just him who could read her like an open book.
Duncan had a half-amused smile hidden beneath his mustache, which in those days had grown and was again too long. Just like his beard...
"Ok, why the beard?" she found herself asking him. It was a rather silly question, but it was something she had often wondered about.
He brought a hand to his chin, as if the contact could help him remember.
"I let it grow during a mission in which shaving was the least of my worries," he said appearing rather relieved by the question, then his smile took a mischievous turn. "Then I discovered that it appealed to women, so I left it there."
Liv squinted at him, pierced by a painful twinge of jealousy and locked herself into another long silence, but he didn't immediately come to her rescue.
To tell the truth he had discovered that the beard gave him a certain aura of authority, which had been useful in more than one occasion to sustain his position, but he wanted to enjoy the moment. Duncan broke the silence when he felt that one of those questions was about to come. "The truth is that I believe it makes me look wiser than I am," he told her with a wry smile.
She laughed. "Then, I guess it's of some support in the impossible task of convincing people as stubborn as the most stubborn of mules such as Fereldans of the impending Blight?"
Duncan suddenly felt his good mood abandon him, nothing was more grueling than having the knowledge of a mortal danger and be ignored, or worse, opposed. That thought had to be clearly legible on his face because he felt a hand stroke his cheek.
"Forgive me if I asked. I sometimes just can't help but wonder what's behind that thick black hairy forest."
What was supposed to be a lightweight question had turned into something quite different. Duncan looked at her in the twilight and halted seeing his own reflection in her eyes; he glimpsed a proud man who found a source of self-esteem in a career accomplished with great effort and sacrifice, as well as a starving orphan who had found his redemption in becoming a respected figure inside the Order.
He realized that behind that thick black beard there had been hiding for years a rejection of society, who had discovered a source of pride in being received with all honors in the palaces of nobility. As a result he had become a stiff looking and slightly pompous officer who basked in the aura of authority that had managed to create around himself over the years. Fact was that Liv somehow always forced him into profound reflections even when she didn't mean to, and she was now trying to do her best to put him back in a good mood.
"I'll always be by your side. I'd follow you in the most desperate of deeds, and I know that trying to persuade a Fereldan is indeed a desperate one!"
She managed to tear a smile out of him, but still Duncan reflected in her bright eyes couldn't help but see the image of a man who had been unhappy throughout all his life and had found the only reason for living in his mission. He felt a sudden desire to kiss her, but an unexpected voice was calling his name.
-o-o-o-
Devin and Hyram were now on horseback. Unfortunately they were not good riders, and share the saddle of a horse that was too big for their lythe frames made for a journey that wasn't exactly what you would call restful, but at least they no longer had to carry their supplies on shoulders. Since they had left, or maybe it was better say fled from Denerim, they had faced the entire journey on foot and that had been just too much for poor Hyram. After all to be born, grow up and spend his twenty-two years of life inside the Alienage had not prepared him for long marches.
Furthermore, he was injured.
Devin had decided to cut southwest along the paths, and it would have been a good idea if it wasn't for the incessant rains of the previous days. They had soon found themselves trudging through the mud and sleeping in makeshift shelters, chilled and soaked to the bone.
Luckily they had stumbled into that abandoned farm south of Lothering. It had been ransacked and the barren ground around gave off a disgusting smell, but there were some supplies in one of the handouts that were still edible, and most importantly, they had found Ike.
The poor horse was feeding himself with the leaves of the few surviving trees because the grass was now so brown and dry that it crumbled under their feet. The animal had been very happy with their arrival, and had run to meet them uttering a noise that sounded like a laugh.
Ike was old and had probably spent his entire life in that farm, and that was the reason why he hadn't left. At a closer look, Devin had noticed a thin white veil in his eyes and was till wondering if it was due to age or to the fact he had been eating tainted grass for a long time. "Blasted Boogeys and their nasty habit of corrupting the very essence of what they touch!" Exclaimed Devin, but Hyram was too tired to reply something.
-o-o-o-
They had grown up together enclosed in that ghetto called the Alienage. In their childhood they made a pact: one day Devin engraved the palm of his hand with the rusty blade of his small knife, which he passed to Hyram who did the same. They had joined their respective cuts, looking at each other straight in the eyes, and had sworn on the sacred Ashes of Andraste: the first of them who could manage to get out of that miserable place would one day have returned and rescue the other one.
Twelve years had now passed since that day, and Devin had kept his promise returning to the Alienage a year after his recruitment into the Grey Wardens. But even in Denerim things were much more complicated and tragic than expected, and they were forced to flee: Hyram had killed the son of Arl Urien.
Devin had arrived, by sheer coincidence, on his friend's wedding day.
It was an arranged marriage to which Hyram had opposed with all his strength until he had met his betrothed, a girl from Kirkwall named Nesiara. In that moment his perception had suddenly changed from prisoner of an unfortunate fate to luckiest man in the world.
It was the simplest of ceremonies, held on a wooden platform in the main square, under the benevolent shadow of the Tree of the People. Their clothes were poor and barely distinguishable from the everyday's ones, but Nesiara was nonetheless a luminous vision. The sun was bright and the breeze smelled of spring flowers, but just before the ceremony Bann Vaughan arrived to spoil the party.
Vaughan was the typical arrogant nobleman who treated commoners as if they were his slaves and Elves as if they were cattle. Taking advantage of his position of power, he kidnapped a group of attractive young girls, including Nesiara, to bring them to his castle and dispose of them as if they were his own property.
That evening Hyram managed to infiltrate the castle and set the girls free. One of them had already been murdered and his cousin Shianni was no longer a virgin, but at least she was safe. Hyram had exacted his revenge, coming out victorious but wounded, and Devin had saved him from execution by invoking the Right of Conscription.
They had left Denerim in a haste; Devin's horse was gone, probably taken by the Bann's henchmen out of spite, and Hyram could not even say goodbye to his bethroted.
-o-o-o-
The sun had just disappeared behind the Frostback Mountains when Devin narrowed his bright green eyes to focus on a figure silhouetted against the twilight walking on the road ahead of them.
It was far away, but unmistakable.
"If that isn't our Commander I am the Archdemon!" he cried to Hyram, who jerked his head as if he had suddenly woken up.
Devin gave two strong pats at the back of his horse and it strove in a swinging trot that made him regret his feet ache.
"Duncan!" he cried, leaping on the ground to join him.
-o-o-o-
Hyram listened in silence to Duncan's report of the events in Highever. His amber eyes, hidden under the long silvery hair, were trying in vain to fix the campfire's flickering flames, but kept falling upon Liv.
Then it was Devin who, in his turn, told what happened in Denerim, "When we left, the Alienage had just been militarized and the gates barred because of the riots."
After he finished telling the story to Duncan, he looked back to his feet covered with blisters. If only had he imagined he would have to walk all the way to Ostagar, he would never have worn those silverite boots. He threw a desirous glance to Liv's soft leather boots, and sighed.
Duncan was absently scraping the embers of the campfire, his forehead again furrowed by deep lines which adorned his worried look.
Liv, who barely held back her tears while listening to Duncan's telling of the escape from Highever, when she heard the story of Hyram she couldn't help but let them flow and laid a hand on his shoulder.
But the elf's reaction was not exactly what she was expecting. Disdainfully, he jumped to his feet and moved away from her, his eyes staring at her with contempt. "I don't want any kind of compassion from a shem, let alone a noble!"
Liv stood there as if someone had thrown a bucket of icy water on her head and Hyram clenched his fists to avoid saying was staring at them dumbfounded, unable to say a word.
Duncan did not intervene and remained silent waiting to see how she managed this, looking rather confident.
"Forgive him, Milady, he didn't mean... Hyram are you crazy?" stammered Devin in great embarrassment.
Hyram clenched his fists and hissed through his teeth, "I don't need any false pity from a shem who believes that Elves are only good at rubbing floors ... Milady!" The last word dripped with sarcasm.
But he was still not satisfied. He had been very silent throughout the whole journey but he seemed determined to give free rein to all his pent-up frustrations. "Am I supposed to feel sympathy for what happened to her? If there's one good thing about the shems it is that they free us from their nasty presence slaughtering each other for their dirty games of power. I'm looking forward to the day when we have finally gotten rid of their ominous existence!"
Liv gasped and had to use all of her willpower not punch Hyram in his teeth. She approached and faced him, lowering her head to stare straight into his eyes. She spoke with a strangely friendly tone. "To begin with, I want you to call me Liv since I am a recruit as much as you are, Hyram. But now I want to tell you a story, Hyram."
Her cheeks lit up with a pretty purplish crimson. "When I was twelve, my mother thought best to wash my mouth thoroughly with the most bitter soap of the whole Ferelden, and you wanna know why? Because in talking about her friend's lady-in-waiting, I had referred to her as an 'elf' rather than a woman, and she wanted to be quite sure that I would remember to consider people as such, prior to the race to which they belong. So, Hyram, don't judge me on the basis of my race, or my name, if you don't like others do the same with you!"
-o-o-o-
The cold wind of the night had reached the Ostagar plateau, and all around the campfire, among the Grey Wardens, there was great turmoil for the upcoming arrival of their Commander and the mysterious mage he had recruited.