Chapter 11
"You know, I really need to plan ahead a little better with that good-luck kissing," Anders said, and shoved his fingers into his hair, putting on a bright fake smile as the first templar held up his hand for his men to slow, shooting a suspicious look at the farmer and his mules.
"Halt. We are looking for wanted fugitives," the first helmet informed them. "A dangerous apostate who is a former Grey Warden, and his companion, the Champion of Kirkwall."
"A Champion? In Amaranthine?" The farmer tried his best to find a way to look the templar in the eye and did not succeed. "What's a Champion look like?"
The man in the winged helmet nodded to one of the men behind him, who unrolled an artist's sketch. Marian cocked her head—she supposed it looked like her, but she wondered if these men had ever actually been in Kirkwall. Not that the people of Kirkwall seemed to know what she looked like either, considering the hideous statue they built. They got her hair color right, but it had been three years—she'd let it grow out and it was now long enough to swing between her shoulder blades. The smear of blood across her nose certainly made her look fearsome, but was clearly artistic license as it was the only bit of color on the drawing. And apparently there was something to be said for being part of the nobility—she was assumed to not have that bump from when she broke her nose falling down the stairs when she was seven, nor the tiny chip in her tooth she took from a dagger hilt to the face when the Red Iron met up with a Coterie cell after both were hired for the same job. If she didn't know her own face so well and that it was supposed to be her, it was just different enough to be entirely misleading.
"I ain't seen her, tho' she's a right pretty one," Ollie offered. The templar showed the poster to the three Wardens and the Champion, who all scrutinized the drawing but shook their heads.
The templar rolled up the drawing and stuck it back in his saddlebag. The one in charge pointed to Nathaniel. "You. That's the Warden sigil. You will take me to the Warden-Commander."
Anders wanted to kiss Nathaniel for the way he crossed his arms over his chest and only raised a brow at the templar on the horse. "I will do no such thing. The templars are not welcome at Vigil's Keep."
"I am Knight-Captain Leroux, in the service of the Divine's Seeker Marguerite Templeton. You will take me to the Warden-Commander."
"The Wardens do not answer to the Divine, Knight-Captain. The Wardens answer to the First Warden in Weisshaupt. If he decides that agents of the Divine are to be permitted access to the Warden-Commander, then I will not stand in the way."
The templar leaned forward slowly on his horse, the leather creaking as he spoke slowly and firmly, as though to an errant child. "The First Warden answers to the Divine, as all of Thedas answers to the Divine. The only entities not answerable to the Divine are the Maker and Andraste herself. You will take me to the Warden-Commander."
Bethany stepped closer to Nathaniel, who wasn't done staring down the templar.
"Warden Bethany, please go back to the Keep and inform the Warden-Commander that there are some templars here to speak with him," he said, keeping his eyes on the templar.
"Yes, ser," she squeezed his arm and turned and ran. Once she was far enough away that they might not sense her magic, she cast haste on herself to reach the Keep.
"Templars are not welcome in Vigil's Keep," Nathaniel reiterated, and the captain leaned back, reseating himself more comfortably on his horse.
Marian and Anders kept shooting looks at Nathaniel, but he did not even acknowledge them, and Ollie clucked to his mules and the wagon started to trundle away. His son peeked up over the edge of the bench at them, waggling his fingers in a little wave.
"And who are you?" The Knight-Captain's helmet turned to Anders and Marian.
"Peasants," Nathaniel said with a convincing sneer. "They work at the Keep."
The Knight-Captain acknowledged and dismissed them in a single glance. "Move on ahead," he instructed. "I will search the Keep for the maleficar when we arrive."
"You will do no such thing unless the Warden-Commander permits it," Nathaniel replied, unmoved. They locked gazes for a moment, until Anders shifted, arm going around Marian.
"Uh, Warden, ser, my wife's condition here..."
Nathaniel glanced at the bulge of Marian's belly and looked quickly away, lips twitching. "Very well. Let us go."
Marian held tight to Anders's hand, fighting the urge to look at the other templars who'd formed up behind them. Her daggers were frustratingly out of reach hidden under Anders's coat, but she prayed she wouldn't need to use them. It would be very awkward if she leapt upon Anders in the middle of the road and began tearing his clothes off. She glanced at him, but his face was hard to read. It was odd; not a few weeks back she would have been concerned that being near templars would have triggered Justice's out-of-control rampages. Now, she was simply worried that they would be discovered.
Before long, the thinning of the trees around the road announced that they'd reached Vigil's Keep. The lower-ranked templars behind them murmured at the sight of the fortress, which was impressive to someone who'd never seen it before. A guardsman at the front gate nodded coldly at the Knight-Captain. "You are permitted to go inside the courtyard, ser, but no further."
Leroux ignored the man and rode straight into the courtyard. Marian and Anders shuffled off to the side as unobtrusive as possible, feeling marginally safer once the templars weren't behind them any longer. Bethany emerged from a side door and went to stand at Nathaniel's side, whispering something in his ear.
Alistair stood at the top of the stairs leading into the inner parts of the Keep and waited calmly as the group approached. He was wearing his full Warden-Commander armor. Nodding at Nathaniel, his eyes briefly passing over Marian and Anders, Alistair turned to the Knight-Captain.
"Knight-Captain, I am told you waylaid my Wardens on the way here. That you stand here at all, within my Keep, is a testament to my courtesy, but you will explain the meaning of this intrusion."
Leroux slid off his horse, apparently sensing that intimidation by height would not work on this man. "Warden-Commander Alistair, yes? I am Knight-Captain Leroux in service to the Divine's Seeker Marguerite Templeton. I have heard of you. You were a former brother in our order, so perhaps you will understand the gravity of my search. I come to Amaranthine in search of a dangerous maleficar—a known murderer of a grand cleric—whose evil influence has caused the disruption of every Circle of Magi in Maker-fearing countries. He is traveling with a woman by name of Hawke, the so-called Champion of Kirkwall. The only reason we have not come sooner was that his phylactery never indicated that he was here. However, that has now changed." The Knight-Captain clenched his fist. "Only yesterday in the middle of our search, the very phylacteries we were using were stolen."
Alistair raised an eyebrow. "I fail to see what that has to do with me or my Wardens. If you want to bring up Anders's history with the Wardens, that is less than nothing. He was cast out years ago."
"The phylacteries just happen to be destroyed in an arling known to have harbored this apostate in years past and you claim it is a coincidence?' The Knight-Captain's voice was incredulous. "Either you are a fool, a liar, or both."
Alistair tapped his finger against his chin, apparently deep in thought. "You know, I have an opening for you—you said your name was Leroux, yes? Well my hypothetical grumpy child is already named, but I do have an opening for the pompous ass."
A chuckle rose among the gathered Wardens watching the scene.
"I demand you let me search this keep for the apostate!" the Knight-Captain said angrily.
Alistair shook his head. "As you were already informed, ser, the Grey Wardens answer to the First Warden, not to the Divine. Should you wish to perform this search, you will have to apply to him."
"You would go against the Maker's instrument on Thedas?" the Knight-Captain's voice sounded amazed.
Alistair inclined his head. "I have a great deal of respect for Her Grace, and many of my Wardens are devout Andrastians, but the Divine has never held any authority over the Grey Wardens and I am not about to let that change."
Leroux seemed to think this over. "He is here then."
"The man you are looking for is not here, Knight-Captain, and I will not allow you to upset my servants and freeholders by thrashing around trying to search under every laundry basket for an answer I have already given."
"A man with nothing to hide has nothing to hide."
"Clever. However, the templars are not the only Order in Thedas with secrets. I am not going to risk exposing those secrets to you simply because you can't keep track of your own phylacteries."
"Warden-Commander, war is coming and you will not be exempt from it," Leroux began, trying a different angle of appeal.
"Are you threatening me, Knight-Captain?"
"Not at all. But that war could be avoided if only you would cooperate."
"I doubt my cooperation would be very helpful, Knight-Captain. If I were to cooperate and escort you throughout the Keep, I would have another team of tinheads on my front step in a month, maybe two, insisting that those who came before them were not given free reign, and I must still be hiding something. The Wardens will not stand by and be trampled by the templars. If the Divine wants to take it up with the First Warden, she is free to do so."
Alistair imagined that if he had removed his helmet, the way Leroux spoke, he had to be smiling. Bastard. "I need not go that far, Warden-Commander. I will simply appeal to the Grand Cleric of Ferelden."
Now it was his turn to smirk. "The Grand Cleric of Ferelden is rather fond of me, actually. The current political scheme suits her quite well, and would likely suit her much less were I to advertise my birthright. My father drove the Orlesians out of this country, Knight-Captain, and Ferelden is already less than pleased that the Divine sits in Orlais when Andraste herself was born here. I should think that a third Divine in Thedas would only upset Her Grace, so I do suggest you not tempt me."
Leroux was lost for words. "This is not over, Warden-Commander."
"No, I don't imagine it is," he replied cheerfully, watching Leroux swing himself over his horse and cluck his tongue, steering his men out of the courtyard. Alistair cupped his hands around his mouth to shout at their retreating backs. "Don't forget to tell Her Grace you lost your precious phylacteries! I'm sure that information would interest her a great deal! Perhaps I shall write to her myself!"
The large gates closed behind the retreating templars, and Alistair turned to Anders and Marian, who clutched each other looking like the perfect picture of frightened peasants.
"Well, I may just have started a war, but it's satisfying to see that the templars can still miss things that are literally under their very noses." He looked down pointedly at the lump that, in his alarm, Anders was pressing on a little too hard. He pulled his hand away with murmured 'sorry.' "Something I should know about?"
"She's not actually pregnant!" Anders blurted.
"Yes, we took them," Marian replied immediately after his obvious denial of her maternal state.
"'Them'? They had more than one for Anders and they were carrying them all at once? They really are idiots."
"No, one was... mine."
Alistair's face hardened. "You are telling me that the templars had a phylactery for a non-mage?" Marian and Anders nodded. "Oh I'm going to enjoy this conversation. Nothing like a worry that the templars are using blood magic to track ordinary folks."
"You're going to blackmail the Divine?"
"Oh no, I'm going to write a note to a friend," Alistair replied, rubbing his hand across his mouth. "And hope that there's still some sense left in her."
"I... could really use a drink," Anders said, leaning over, hands on his knees.
"That makes two of us," Marian said. Her legs felt a little more wobbly than she cared to admit and the back of her borrowed dress was sticky with sweat. Speaking of... She turned to Nathaniel, standing off to the side. "Delilah sends her love. I also will need to give you a few items of clothing to return to her when you get the chance."
Nathaniel's brow furrowed. "You... visited my sister?" His eyes darted to Anders.
"You can't expect phylactery stealing to go on without any problems, can you? We needed a place to stay rather desperately last night, and she was kind enough to let us in."
As Anders explained quickly what had transpired the night before to the other Warden, Bethany walked up to Marian and poked her fake baby belly, which was beginning to sag. "I have to admit, for a split second I actually thought I might be an auntie in a few months," she grinned.
"Yes, well, you actually need to have sex in order to get pregnant." Marian said with a laugh. She patted her sister's head. "I thought you knew the facts of life, little sister?"
Bethany rolled her eyes. "I'm glad you're safe. When we got that message, I was afraid... but Nathaniel said you wouldn't be stupid enough to expose yourselves to the templars." She grinned. "Guess he was wrong."
"For the record," Anders huffed, coming into the conversation, "we were perfectly stealthy thieves!"
"Except for when we barged out of that door and fell all over the templars to steal the keys to the lockbox," Marian pointed out.
"Hey, it worked didn't it?"
Marian tried not to smile and failed. "Don't forget to wash your hair out," she said instead with a ghost of a pout.
"Henna's a bit, um, permanent," he said, grinning sheepishly.
"What do you mean 'permanent'?""
"Well, it's a dye," he said defensively. "Dyes are meant to last. It'll wash out eventually, but it'll take awhile." He turned on his puppy eyes again. "Don't be mad. Please?"
Bethany snickered behind her hands. Marian sighed. "I'm not mad." She scratched at the neck of her dress. "Maker, I can't wait to get out of this dress!" She walked toward door leading to inside the Keep, fingers already fiddling with the top button on her back. "Come get me when the drinking starts!"
Anders scurried up behind her. "Need some help getting out of that dress?"
She snorted and walked into their room—which would be her room if they'd stayed long enough for someone to actually find him his own bed to sleep in. As it was, the bed had been made and his and her packs were neatly stacked under the windowsill on top of a trunk.
"You never give up, do you?"
"Ha! If I did, I'd never accomplish a damn thing!"
"Well, that much remains the same," she muttered and lifted her hair out of the way of the buttons, waiting.
His fingers were nimble, flicking the buttons apart down to the small of her back, where they stopped. The chemise she wore underneath covered any skin that might've been exposed by the dress parting under his hands. He only hesitated a moment before slipping his hands around her, dislodging the lump of clothing. He took a chance and pressed his lips against the side of her neck.
"Anders," her voice was a warning, but not a firm one.
"What?" he whispered, tugging the clothing out and kissing the other side of her neck.
She shivered and moved away from him, clutching the dress to her waist. "I want to. I really do. But what happens afterwards?"
"Well," he shrugged a shoulder, "I've always been fairly dependable for repeat performances."
She sighed, but it was at least with a smile she couldn't hide. "After that."
"I don't know. Do you always need to plan it out?"
"Right now? Now I do. There's too much going on for me not to." She seemed to plead with him with her gaze, and he hated to admit she was right in any measure, but perhaps now was not the time. He closed the distance between them and took her face in his hands and kissed her before she had a chance to object to that too. She stiffened and resisted at first, but persistence was a virtue where he was concerned.
"Kiss me, Marian," he said against her lips, and felt her hands on his waist as she gave in and opened beneath him, letting him taste her.
She had missed him. So much. He kissed her like he used to—like he enjoyed it, but without the hard edge of desperation like it would be the last time. He kissed her like a man who was comfortable, who had all the time in the world. She had to squeeze her eyes tightly shut to keep the sting of tears from betraying her. Maker knows how she would explain that one away. When he parted from her, he didn't go far, still holding her close and resting his forehead against hers.
"Needed a lot of luck, did you?" she asked quietly.
"It's been that sort of day," he murmured, and she could see his eyes were still shut and there was a smile on his face. Her own mouth mimicked it without sparing her a thought.
"I need to get undressed."
He opened his eyes at that, grinning. "I can support that idea."
She pushed him away and clutched the dress to her chest. "I want to put trousers back on and go downstairs and get drunk," she said, laughing.
He looked down and plucked at his tunic. "Well if you want to get drunk, we'll have to make sure you get some of Oghren's special brew."
"What's so special about it?"
He laughed. "You don't want to ask. Believe me."
A/N: we have FANART of this last bit by the incredibly talented The Silver Feathered Raven. Yay! Go to her deviantArt page (minus the spaces) to see: h t t p : / / b i t . l y / i J 1 y d 2