Chapter 11: The Road to Redcliffe
Author note:
I'm sorry these are getting kind of long, but I get a little carried away sometimes when I'm writing.
Disclaimer – I do not own Dragon Age or any of its characters
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In the days that it took to reach Redcliffe, I observed my companions carefully. Alistair seemed slightly less withdrawn after our talks, slowly returning to normal after the shock of the battle at Ostagar. Morrigan was still a bit grumpy at me for letting Leliana come along – the girl was constantly chattering and bubbling with excitement – and I tried not to agitate her too much. Maker knows, I didn't need my traveling companions to hate me if we were going to be fighting together.
I noticed that some nights in camp, when Leliana thought no one was watching, she had such a sad, lonely look in her eyes that it almost broke my heart to look at her, but I wasn't sure what to say to her – I hardly knew a thing about her. Sten was generally quiet; he spoke little, but sometimes I could hear him reciting words in his tongue, meditating as he sat alone, a little ways from the fire in camp.
We had bought clothing, armor, and weapons from Bodahn, who gave us a discount for acting as guards as we traveled. Leliana bought a simple, faded blue dress that made her eyes pop, her wild orange hair shining like red-gold against the material. Over that, when we were in battle, she wore a simple, hardened leather cuirass that fell down to her thighs; her dress fell just past her knees, with a wider skirt so her movements were not limited. She wore dark leggings underneath, with boots up to her thighs, a thin knife strapped to her right leg. She favored throwing knives and the bow, but said she could fight hand-to-hand if the need arose.
Sten wore heavy chain-mail when we fought, with a metal breastplate, bracers, and greaves, the steel glimmering blindingly when the sun hit it. He looked at the selection of blades and axes Bodahn had available with a hint of distaste, finally choosing a long, two-handed blade. I asked him what was wrong, but the Qunari ignored my pestering, instead sitting down and examining the blade with a practiced eye. I noticed that he carried an empty sheath on his back, but made no comment – I didn't want to bother him too much with my questions. Outside of battle, he wore a simple shirt and trousers, with thick, steel-toed boots up to his knees.
Alistair and I bought hooded cloaks, putting them on when we encountered soldiers along the road to cover our hair, and Alistair reluctantly agreed to paint over the sigil on his shield so it wouldn't be recognized. I also bought myself a simple cotton shirt and thick, black leggings, over which I wore a sturdy, hardened leather vest.
"Finally, pants," I exclaimed when I had seen the leggings, and Alistair had raised an eyebrow at me, wondering why I was getting so excited. "You have no idea how hard it is to fight in a dress," I remarked, and Alistair shrugged.
"You didn't seem to have much trouble to me," he replied, and I laughed.
"I'm talking more about the…uh…modesty aspect," I admitted, and it took him a moment to realize what I meant. He blushed scarlet as he remembered what had happened – back when we were fighting the bandits in Lothering, I had tripped when one of the bandits had gotten the skirt of my dress caught in his armor, tearing a long hole in the skirt – showing off a good portion of my thigh – and nearly ripping the dress off altogether. The only thing that had saved me from an extremely humiliating and pathetic death was that I had fallen forward just enough to catch the bandit leader's shield-bash on my shoulder, after which I had been thrown clear. After that, I swore that I would buy pants the first chance I got.
oooo
In the evenings, after long days of travel, I would sit by the fire, listening to Leliana play her lute as she sang songs softly in Orlesian. I sometimes sat in front of my tent, leaning against Olan and writing in a journal I kept. Secretly, I was also sketching, drawing pictures of my companions; it calmed me when I was stressed – I had done the same on my way from Orzammar to Ostagar, sketching Duncan when I thought he wasn't watching me.
I also watched Alistair practicing his sword and shield forms. I had noticed that he had a very…unusual way of fighting; I had seen guardsmen, and even other Templars fight with swords and shields, but the techniques were fairly basic – hold up the shield until you see an opening, and then attack. The way Alistair fought, though…I had never seen something like that; he used his shield as a weapon as much as he used his sword – it was as if they were synchronized, used both to attack and defend at the same time.
I was suddenly excited – I wanted to spar with him again. Back in Ostagar, when we had fought, I had gotten the sense that he was trying to manipulate my temper, which I had been all too happy to play along with. It backfired on him once I started taking things seriously, but I had still lost due to a rather spectacular display of reflexes – I had no idea that he could move so quickly until he had literally swept my feet out from under me with his shield.
Now that we knew each other a little better – and I knew not to underestimate him – I wanted to see how we held up against one another. I stood from where I was sitting, putting down my sketchbook and grabbing my blade, trotting over to Alistair and waiting for him to notice me so I could ask to spar; his eyes were shut, but his movements were slow and calculated as he practiced the different forms.
I grinned, thinking of something, and I slowly drew my saber, trying to make as little noise as possible. I watched him, waiting to catch the pattern, and I flowed into the movements, twirling my blade around his, barely missing it with each pass as I followed his motions. My bare feet were silent on the grass as we moved – I wondered if he would notice that I was even there. Sometimes, I even came so close that I swore he should have noticed me by now, but then again, he was concentrating very hard on his movements.
After a few minutes, I stepped quietly back as he continued with his eyes closed, smiling slightly and turning to head back to the fire. I nearly jumped out of my skin as I felt something poke me in the center of the back, glancing over my shoulder to see Alistair standing there, pressing his sword lightly against my shirt. "Never turn your back on an opponent while he's still standing," he teased, and I stared at him with wide eyes.
"You…noticed I was there?" I asked with surprise. "I thought I was being so quiet," I added, and Alistair smiled.
"It wasn't easy…and it wasn't sound. I smelled you," he remarked.
"You…smell…are you saying I smell?" I asked incredulously, and he held up a hand.
"Ah, not like that!" he grinned at my affronted look. "I'm surprised you hadn't noticed it – you smell like cinnamon," Alistair explained. I stared at him for a moment in confusion before narrowing my eyes slightly with suspicion.
"You're…having me on, aren't you?" I accused, and he shook his head.
"You're probably just used to it. Go ask Leliana if you don't believe me," Alistair replied, and I snorted, shaking my head.
"Alright, I believe you. It's just…weird that I wouldn't notice," I murmured. "You think it's my hair or something?" I asked curiously, and he shrugged.
"So…did you want to spar?" Alistair offered, and I smiled.
"That's why I came over in the first place. Before I got distracted," I admitted.
"Here, wait one moment – let me get something," Alistair said, and I nodded, watching him go. A few moments later he was back, and I raised an eyebrow when I saw him carrying a long, red-steel knife and scabbard.
"Decided to switch to dual-wielding?" I asked curiously, and Alistair shook his head.
"I remembered that you lost your knife at Ostagar," he explained, handing the knife to me, and I stared at him. "I thought you'd need a replacement."
For a few moments I stood there, not knowing what to say. I cleared my throat, nodding slightly and feeling my ears go red at the look of amusement in Alistair's eyes. "Um…thank you, Alistair. That was very thoughtful of you," I thanked him sincerely, once I had regained my voice, and he smiled gently at me.
"Think nothing of it," he replied, waiting for me to buckle the knife's sheath onto my belt.
We took up positions a few paces apart, and I grinned. "Don't go easy on me – I promise I won't take you lightly this time," I winked as I made a show of taking my saber in my left hand, and Alistair laughed.
"Alright. But I'll try not to ruin that pretty face of yours," he teased.
"Flattery will get you everywhere, my good ser," I replied.
We circled around one another slowly, sizing up our opponent – Alistair was tall, with broad shoulders and arms corded with muscle. This is going to be tough, even if I know his fighting style. He's bigger than me, and fast – faster than I'd expect for someone of that size. He's used to wearing medium armor, too, so he's lighter on his feet than most Templars. He's also got more stamina than me…I thought, my eyes moving carefully over Alistair's body, looking for an opening. We weren't wearing armor – just our regular clothes – so he'd be even quicker now, without the weight of his splint-mail holding him back. I need to get the shield away from him. That's what gave me so much trouble the last time.
I lifted my feet slowly off the ground, and Alistair and I both stopped, returning to our original positions; it seemed he had gotten a pretty good feel of me, as I had of him, and now we were waiting for someone to make the first move. We both knew it would be me, even without him goading me into it. Our eyes met, and I smirked, leaping right at him – exactly what he had been waiting for. As he raised his sword to strike, I darted to his left, trying to get past his shield, and I started as I glanced up at him, seeing him grinning at me. Oh sod, I fell for it! I thought with surprise as he lashed out with his shield, catching me in the shoulder.
Wow! So his reaction back at Ostagar wasn't just luck – he's got very quick reflexes, I thought as I landed lightly in a roll, using my momentum to get quickly to my feet, leaping at him again. We exchanged a flurry of blows as I tried edging away from his shield – I'd need to get past the sword first, and then get close enough to unbuckle the shield from his arm, or move in close enough for a strike at his head and throat. I leapt back as he started making wide slashes with his sword to ward me off – I knew he would stop before any of them actually hit me, but I also knew that they were strong enough to give me a very deep wound. Probably fatal; I had seen him behead darkspawn with similar attacks.
I wasn't going easy on him, as promised – I tried to get behind him a few times, as I had in our first spar, but he was ready for me, keeping his eyes fixed on me and ignoring everything else around us. I narrowed my eyes as he managed to predict every movement that I made. Am I really that easy to read? I asked, slightly disturbed – I had always tried to change my combat tactics a little so that they couldn't be followed. Or…does he know me that well already? I thought. That would be a little easier to accept…and maybe I was hoping that was the case – at least then, we were on the same side.
I charged again, and as Alistair prepared for me to change directions at the last minute, expecting me to get behind him, I kept going straight at him, jumping and plowing into him, knocking him off balance. He let out a startled gasp as we fell to the ground, but he managed to grab my shoulders so that I lay pinned against his chest, arms stuck between our bodies so that I couldn't move. We lay there, gasping for breath, and I heard Alistair let out a laugh as he looked at me.
"Adeline, you can't just charge me like that," he said, tapping the back of my neck lightly with the flat of his sword. "I think this round's mine; what's that now, two for two?"
"Oh really?" I remarked, and I felt him shift slightly. "Do you know where my knife is?" I added sweetly, and he sat up, looking at me oddly.
"What do you…oh." He looked down – I was holding my knife at his pelvis, just at the right angle to unman him, had the attack connected.
"I think that the pain of that," I said, tapping his stomach with the pommel of my blade, "would have stopped you from chopping my head off." He crossed his arms, nodding as he thought about it. He grinned, grabbing my shoulders and pinning me against him, ruffling my hair with his free hand as I complained. I dropped my knife and push back against his chest so he would let me go, but he only pulled me in tighter.
"You sneaky little cat! And I thought you were going to go for my shield the whole time," Alistair grinned, and I laughed as I struggled to get away, finally managing to disentangle myself from him. I stood, brushing myself off and trying to flatten down my hair, which now looked like a bird's nest.
"That was the original plan. I'm good at improvising, though," I winked, helping him to his feet, and we returned to the campfire. I raised an eyebrow at the coy look Leliana was giving us, mouthing 'what?', and she returning an innocent 'oh nothing'. I bade the two goodnight, retreating to my tent and finding my brush, sitting down and brushing out my hair until it settled down.
Really, I probably should have been more annoyed with him for it, but I sort of liked Alistair's teasing, and how relaxed we were with one another. And it wasn't as if I wasn't teasing him back; I found that with a few choice words, I could make his face turn a surprising range of colors, all within a few seconds of each other. It probably wasn't good for his health, though, so I preferred to make him blush – he really was quite cute when he was flustered.
oooo
I woke up one morning from a terrible nightmare, trembling and breaking into a cold sweat; the archdemon had been singing in his strange, euphoric voice, when he had suddenly noticed me, letting out a horrible roar and spitting gouts of purple flame at me. I had jolted awake, lying frozen in terror with my heart pounding in my ears; I had almost started crying, I was so afraid. Olan lay curled up next to me, letting out a soft whine as he saw my frightened look, and I took a few slow, calming breaths, stroking the dog's back as he nuzzled me reassuringly.
"Bad dreams, huh?" Alistair asked, seeing my haunted look when I emerged from my tent, and I shrugged weakly, my movements a bit stiff as I walked over to him.
"I'm…I'm good," I replied quietly, my voice wavering slightly as I sat down next to him. Alistair handed me a bit of bread for breakfast, and I murmured a quiet 'thank you'.
"It's just that you were crying out in your sleep. Loud. And not in a good, this-is-private way, either," he explained, and I looked down with embarrassment.
"Um…sorry…" I mumbled awkwardly, chewing on the slightly stale bread. "I hope I didn't wake everyone up…"
"No, we were up already. And it's…normal, actually. The bad dreams, I mean," he said, and I glanced back at him in puzzlement. "You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That's what your dream was; hearing them. The archdemon, it…'talks' to the horde, and we feel it just as they do. That's why we know this is really a Blight," he explained.
"Are these dreams going to happen a lot?" I asked warily, and he gave me a sympathetic look.
"It takes a bit, but eventually you can block the dreams out. Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure can't," he replied. "Anyhow, when I heard you thrashing around, I thought I should tell you. It was scary at first for me, too," he added.
"Thank you Alistair. I appreciate it," I said, and he patted my back lightly.
"That's what I'm here for – to deliver unpleasant news and witty one-liners," he replied with a charming smile, and I chuckled quietly, cheered a bit by his words.
"So what changes about you after the Joining?" I asked curiously, and Alistair smirked, seeing that my fear from the dream had melted away.
"You mean other than becoming a Grey Warden?" he said, and I rolled my eyes.
"I mean what changes physically," I elaborated.
"Hmm. You know, I asked Duncan this, too, and all I got was, 'You'll see'," Alistair replied, and I scowled at him playfully, pointing at him with my piece of bread.
"Just try that line on me," I challenged, and he grinned.
"I can think of much better lines for you," he replied with a smirk, and I leaned in a bit.
"Really? Why don't you try them?" I teased, and his smirk deepened.
"I might, just you wait," he winked. Olan, who had been sitting nearby, suddenly inserted himself between us with a low, jealous growl, giving Alistair a threatening glare, and I laughed, ruffling the dog's ears.
"Olan," I chuckled, and the dog grumbled something in complaint as he nuzzled my shoulder. Alistair rolled his eyes at the hound as the mabari shot him another glare.
"Well, it's not that Duncan wants to keep it a secret. It's just that the Grey Wardens don't discuss it much; I gather it's not a pleasant topic," Alistair continued, once Olan had trotted off. "The first change I noticed was an increase in appetite. I used to get up in the middle of the night and raid the castle larder; I thought I was starving. I'd slurp down every dinner like it was my last, my face all covered in gravy. When I'd look up, the other Grey Wardens would stare…then laugh themselves to tears," he recalled with a smile, and I pursed my lips. Ah, I realized, so that's why he has such a big appetite. And now that I think of it, the Wardens I met at Orzammar always had second helpings at dinner as well, I remembered.
"I haven't felt anything like that," I remarked, taking another bite of bread, and he grinned crookedly at me, raising an eyebrow.
"Really?" he asked. "Because I was watching you wolf down food the other day and I thought, 'Ooh, it's a good thing she gets a lot of exercise'," he added. Ah, right, I thought – I had gotten my appetite back after Lothering, but I thought my frantic eating habit was just my body trying to make up for the lost meals.
"What can I say? I'm a growing girl," I joked, and he laughed.
"I'll say! Uh…I didn't mean it like that. Heh. Don't hit me! I bruise easily!" he said, holding up his hands as I punched his arm lightly. "Oh…and then there were the nightmares. Duncan said it was part of how we sense the darkspawn. We tap into their…well, I don't know what you'd call it…their 'group mind'," Alistair continued. "And when we sleep, it's even worse. You learn to block it out after a while, but at first it's hard. It's supposed to be worse for those who Join during a Blight. How is it for you?" he asked, and I bit my lip.
"Well, you did say I was screaming, right?" I asked, and he nodded sympathetically.
"Some people never have much trouble, but that's rare. Others have trouble sleeping their entire life. They're just more sensitive, I suppose. Everyone ends up the same, though; once you reach a certain age, the real nightmares come. That's how a Grey Warden knows his time has come," he said, and I looked at him oddly, not liking the sound of that.
"His time has come? That sounds…ominous," I remarked.
"Oh, that's right. We never had time to tell you that part, did we?" Alistair recalled.
"Tell me what?" I asked, almost dreading the answer.
"Well, in addition to all the other wonderful things about being a Grey Warden, you don't need to worry about dying from old age. You've got thirty years to live. Give or take," Alistair explained, his voice falsely cheerful. His tone became more serious as he continued. "The taint…it's a death sentence. Ultimately your body won't be able to take it. When the time comes, most Grey Wardens go to Orzammar and die in battle rather than…waiting. It's tradition," he said.
"How cheery," I replied, my tone sarcastic.
"And you wondered why we kept the Joining a secret from the new recruits! There you have it," he finished, and I shrugged.
"I…suppose I understand the necessity of it," I murmured, folding my hands on my lap.
"You know, Duncan…he started having the nightmares again. He told me that – in private," Alistair remarked, his voice sad. "He said it wouldn't be long before he'd go to Orzammar himself. I guess he got what he wanted. I just wish it had been something worthy of him," he sighed.
"He will be remembered, Alistair. As will the others," I promised, and he nodded sadly.
"I know. Ending the Blight…should make this all worthwhile, right?"
oooo
That evening, once we had set up camp, I looked sadly at the sketch I had done of the Grey Warden; Duncan looked so calm…so noble. He would know what to do in this situation; I felt lost, and a little lonely. I knew Alistair was trying to help, and I was glad to listen to his opinions and advice whenever he had an idea…but he had been trained all his life to follow.
I was sure he had the qualities of a leader in him, somewhere, but they had never been given a chance to develop, so there was only so much he could do on his own. I'd need to set time aside to help him build up his confidence; if anything ever happened to me, he'd have to be ready to fight the Blight on his own. I hope it never comes to that, I thought, looking over our group. I wasn't exactly leader material myself, but I could put on a mask of confidence and leadership, even if I was really trembling in my boots at the gravity of our situation.
My priorities were to end the Blight, of course, but also to do that with as little death on our side as possible. That included keeping everyone in our little group alive…which I was beginning to worry about. Leliana and Alistair were pleasant enough together, but Morrigan seemed to be going out of her way to antagonize everyone. Well, except Sten, but he just ignored everyone, instead. Leliana took Morrigan's harsh words in stride – nothing seemed to phase the cheerful girl – but Alistair still wasn't happy with the prospect of having her along, and their near-constant bickering was beginning to wear on my patience.
We really are a bunch of circus freaks. The Maker must have a bizarre sense of humor if we're the ones who are supposed to save Ferelden…and all of Thedas, I thought as I looked down at the sketch of Duncan. Hah. I guess I got my wish, I added sadly, letting out a small sigh and rubbing my forehead tiredly. Leliana must have seen the look on my face, because she came over and sat nearby. I quickly closed my sketchbook, and she glanced at it curiously, but refrained from asking.
"Are you alright?" she asked, and I shrugged.
"Oh, yes. I mean, about as 'alright' as one could be, what with the darkspawn horde coming crashing down on our heads," I replied sarcastically. "Sorry. I shouldn't be so rough," I apologized, leaning against Olan as he whined, his ears flapping at the sound of my voice.
"Did you always live in an Alienage? Was it very terrible?" Leliana asked suddenly, and I raised an eyebrow at her question.
"I…yes. I was born in Denerim. I had my family, but…things weren't always pleasant there," I replied, absently scratching behind Olan's ear.
"I have never been to the Denerim Alienage, but I hear that life is hard and…there is so much squalor…" she murmured, looking at me with a hint of pity. I felt anger suddenly flare up in my chest at her look. I don't need some shem looking down at me like that, I thought reflexively, trying to keep my expression level. "In Orlais most Elven servants live in the homes of their masters, often in great wealth and luxury," she continued.
"And I bet some are treated cruelly, like dogs," I retorted. Olan cocked his head at my words, and I scratched the back of his neck.
"Yes, but some humans are treated cruelly too. It is not just Elves," Leliana replied carefully, noticing the hint of anger in my tone. "A well-trained Elven servant is highly valued in Orlais. They are nimble and dexterous and many people find them pleasing to look at," she explained.
I snorted derisively at her words, glaring at the fire as my mood darkened. "Like an exotic pet," I scoffed. "Should I offer myself to some Orlesian noble, then? Parade myself around like livestock?" I asked bitterly, my jaw tight, and her eyes widened as she realized what she had said.
"No, I did not mean it that way!" she said quickly, holding her hands up. "My words were clumsily chosen. I did not mean to offend. I – ugh…I am sorry," she murmured apologetically, her eyes guilty as she looked back at me. I sighed, my anger fading at her earnest apology.
"You may not be cruel, but you still see us differently," I remarked in a gentler tone, standing and brushing a bit of grass from my pants.
"I…I did not realize that. It is so strange, how long-held beliefs just seem natural and…right. Like there is no other way to feel," she replied, looking up at me, still apologetic. "Thank you. You have given me a lot to think about," she said. I nodded vaguely, saying it was alright as I walked over to where Morrigan was sitting. She had set up her own small fire a short ways from camp, and was sorting potion ingredients into piles.
"So is Flemeth really what she seems to be?" I asked, after I sat in silence for a while, and Morrigan glanced over, smiling slightly at my question, and not seeming to mind my pestering as much as the other day. I was the only one that she wasn't openly hostile towards, it seemed, though the reason why still evaded me.
"So full of questions," she chuckled softly, shaking her head slightly. "Well that depends, does it not? What does she seem to be?" she added, and I bit my lip.
"A nutty old bat," I replied softly, and Morrigan laughed.
"Sometimes I do wonder the very same thing," she replied, her eyes filled with amusement. "Tell me; how much do you know of the tale? The one that the Chasind still tell of my mother, to frighten them into obedience?" she asked, and I shrugged.
"Only snatches of it, told by travelers," I replied.
"No doubt such a tale has mutated much over time and telling," Morrigan replied. "I can relay what Flemeth once told me, herself, and you can decide whether or not 'tis the truth. If you desire," she offered, and I nodded.
"Sounds interesting," I replied, and Morrigan cleared her throat, beginning.
"As the tale is sung by the bards, there was a time when Flemeth was young and beautiful. A fair lass in a land of barbarian men, the desire of any who saw her," she recalled the tale, and I couldn't help but interrupt.
"Wait. Just how long ago was this?" I asked, and the corner of her mouth curled in a smirk as she continued.
"Many centuries, before this land was even named Ferelden," she continued. "The tales say that Flemeth fell in love with Osen, the bard, and fled the castle of her husband, the dread Lord Conobar, and that he swore vengeance for her infidelity. In truth, my mother claims that 'twas Osen who was her husband, and Conobar the jealous lord who looked on from afar," she explained. "Lord Conobar approached young Osen and offered him wealth and power in exchange for his lovely wife. And Osen agreed."
"He…sold his wife?" I asked, surprised, and Morrigan shrugged.
"The life of a bard is a poor one, and love fades in the wake of hunger. 'Twas Flemeth who suggested the arrangement," she explained, and I nodded, listening as she continued the story. "All would have been well had Lord Conobar kept his end of the bargain. But he was a foul man who bargained with coin he did not possess," her tone became ominous, and I glanced out towards the woods. "Osen was led off to a field and slain, left for dead. Flemeth spoke to the spirits and learned of the deed, and swore revenge."
"She spoke to spirits? Or demons?" I asked.
"Spirits first, and 'twas they who slew Conobar. Flemeth did not turn to the demon until…much later," Morrigan replied. "Lord Conobar's allies chased Flemeth, you see. Chased her to the Wilds and there she hid. There she found the demon and he made her strong. The legends all speak of the great hero Cormac, he who defeated Flemeth and her great army when she invaded the lowlands centuries later. All lies," Morrigan said, and I raised an eyebrow.
"Which? She never invaded? Or he never defeated her?" I asked.
"The truth of the matter is that there was never an invasion. As Flemeth tells it, the Chasind never raised an army under her banner and she never fought with any warrior named Cormac," Morrigan replied. "Cormac led a brutal civil war against his own people, and later claimed it was to vanquish evil that had taken root amongst the lords. Thus was he hailed a hero. Flemeth was only attached to the legend much later. Perhaps 'twas due to the great war with the Chasind that eventually came, but Mother claims not to know how it began," she finished.
"How is it that Flemeth has survived for so long? Was it because of the demon?" I asked, fascinated with the idea; could a demon truly prolong a mortal's lifespan? Were they truly that powerful?
"The demon within her has transformed her into…something else. An abomination, perhaps some would say? I know not," Morrigan admitted. "I only know my mother is clever. And she is part of the Wilds as it is part of her… But she is no immortal. She bleeds. A blade in her heart would kill her like any other, were it lucky enough to find her," she murmured, lost in thought.
"That was quite a tale. Thank you," I smiled, and Morrigan shrugged.
"Flemeth tells it with far more embellishment than I. But you are welcome," she replied. "Dare I ask of your own mother? Few are abominations of legend, 'tis true, but I find myself curious nevertheless," she added, and I let out a soft breath.
"She…died when I was young. My martial training came from her, as does my temper, or so I'm told," I murmured, glancing over at the dark-haired woman, who was watching me quietly.
"You have my sympathies, for what it is worth," she said, surprising me.
"Thank you, Morrigan," I replied.
oOo
Sten observed the group of bas with his serious, violet eyes, moving slowly over every detail. The swamp witch – the bas saarebas; he did not trust her. She was a mage, a beast taking on the shape of man. This one truly could become a beast – he had watched her change her form at will, becoming a cat, a bird, and a wolf, that he had seen. She had eyes like a dragon, cold and predatory, that were deadly as fire when she was angry. The saarebas reminded him very much of the kasaanda…a flower from his homeland that caught and devoured insects.
The red-haired human bas, Leliana; a bard. She was always cheerful and merry, and while it could wear on one's nerves, Sten didn't disapprove of her music. Although he sometimes didn't understand the expressions used in the common tongue's songs, he could see that it took skill to play the lute, sing, and dance all at once – it took focus and practice, and Sten could also see the connection between this and the way that she fought. She preferred ranged weapons, but when she fought in close quarters, her movements were quick and practiced, her footwork perfect – she moved as if in dance, flowing with the motion of battle to where she could do the most damage. She is not what she seems, the Qunari concluded.
The Grey Wardens…the human man, Alistair, and the Elf woman, Adeline. Are they truly Grey Wardens? Sten had his doubts at times; both were young, and callow as newly-hatched birds. Alistair seemed the more disciplined of the two – he had been trained extensively, Sten could see – but he had no backbone, despite his skills. He also made jokes and inane remarks that seemed to amuse their leader, although Sten thought it was pointless nonsense and a waste of time. He supposed it could be what the humans called 'courting' – and although Sten wasn't exactly sure what that entailed, he assumed it was some elaborate pre-mating ritual that the humans had established. The human always seemed to be near the Elf, and acted like an imbecile around her, much to the woman's amusement. Strange creatures indeed, the Qunari thought.
The Elf, Adeline…she puzzled him more than any of the others. He didn't know what to make of women fighting to begin with – why would they want to be men? – but perhaps it was a quality of the Grey Wardens he had not heard of. She, like Leliana, had a dark past – Sten had a sense of these things; she carried herself like one who has killed, killed many, and enjoyed it. But not only darkspawn, Sten understood. She was dangerous in battle, but wild and unthinking – like a hurricane, destroying everything in her path. He could sense hatred in her, deep regret and bitterness…but it was reflected inward. It was almost unsettling, Sten thought, how much this woman despised herself.
And yet she wore a perfect mask of civility, and even the same mindless cheer that so naturally floated about Alistair. Sten knew that she wasn't entirely consumed by hatred – beneath the shadows in her eyes, he saw brightness, drawn out by the more cheerful of her traveling companions, and inquisitiveness. Adeline was very curious; the Elf reminded him of a small cat – he had even heard Alistair refer to her as 'kitten' once or twice – and he watched her as she slowly made her rounds about the camp, speaking to each of her companions and checking to see if they needed anything.
"Hello Sten," Adeline greeted the Qunari softly, and he nodded slightly. "Is there anything you need?" she asked, and Sten shook his head. She bade him goodnight, returning to her tent, and Sten looked out towards the woods, lost in thought as he contemplated the strange group of bas.
oOo
The next morning, as we walked along the path next to Bodahn's wagon, I could hear Alistair and Leliana chatting behind me. "So…let me get this straight. You were a cloistered sister?" Alistair asked, and Leliana smiled, nodding and folding her hands behind her as they walked.
"You must have been a brother before you became a Templar, no?" Leliana replied, and Alistair shrugged.
"I never actually became a Templar. I was recruited into the Grey Wardens before I took my final vows," he explained.
"Do you ever regret leaving the Chantry?" the girl asked, and Alistair made a face.
"No, never. Do you?" he replied.
"Yes. You may not believe it, but I found peace there. The kind of peace I've never known," she sighed, a bit nostalgic.
"It used to get so quiet at the monastery that I would start screaming until one of the brothers came running. I would tell them that I was just checking. You never know, right?" Alistair grinned, and Leliana looked at him with surprise.
"I…no, I never did anything like that. I enjoyed the quiet," she said.
"Suit yourself. The look on their face was always priceless," Alistair laughed at the memory.
I glanced ahead as the wagon rumbled to a stop, furrowing my brow; standing on the path, blocking our way, was a large group of refugees. They were armed with branches and farming equipment, and I watched them warily. "Is there a problem, gentlemen?" Bodahn asked, a bit wary as well – perhaps they were trying to rob his caravan, I thought.
"We don't have no issue with you, Dwarf. It's the Elf and that other fellow we want," a man said, stepping forward and pointing at Alistair and me.
"Um…what exactly do you need with us?" I asked cautiously; I had a bad feeling about this, sensing the answer before he gave it.
"You're the Grey Wardens. The ones that killed the king," the farmer said, and I scowled.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I denied, and the man crossed his arms.
"I don't know if you really killed the king, Warden, and Maker forgive me, I don't care. But that reward on your head will fill a lot of hungry bellies. Attack!" the man yelled, and the mob of refugees charged forward with a roar.
"Sod!" I gasped, leaping back as a man stabbed at me with a pitchfork. "Try not to kill them!" I called to the others, who nodded.
I grabbed the pitchfork as the man stabbed at me again, yanking it out of his hands and throwing him back, stabbing it into his shirt and pinning the cloth to the ground. I turned around, leaping into the fray barehanded. Refugees screamed and fled as we fought, dragging their unconscious companions along with them until there was no one left.
"The lengths people will go to…" Alistair sighed, crossing his arms.
"They are desperate; it makes them bold," Leliana remarked.
"Foolhardy is perhaps a more appropriate description," Morrigan replied.
"I hope this won't be too much of an issue; Redcliffe's still a long way, and I would prefer not to be constantly battling the people we're trying to save," I grumbled, tossing a discarded pitchfork to the side of the road as Bodahn urged the horses on. They gave soft, agitated snorts, still on edge from the fight, and they glanced around warily as we moved.
"So Leliana…this…vision of yours. Could you tell me about it?" I asked the red-haired girl as we walked side-by-side. She glanced over at me, nervously twirling a lock of hair around her index finger. "I won't make fun of you or anything, I promise," I assured her, and she nodded, seeing the honesty in my eyes.
"I knew this would come up sooner or later," she sighed, beginning. "I don't know how to explain, but I had a dream… In it there was an impenetrable darkness…it was so dense, so real," she described, her eyes distant as she remembered the dream. "And there was a noise, a terrible, ungodly noise… I stood on a peak and watched as the darkness consumed everything…and when the storm swallowed the last of the sun's light, I fell, and the darkness drew me in…" she murmured, her shoulders tensing slightly as she thought of the darkness.
"Maybe you dreamed of the Blight?" I suggested, and Leliana glanced back at me, nodding.
"I suppose I did. That was what the darkness was, no?" she replied, glancing up as some birds flew out of a tree as we passed by. "When I woke, I went to the Chantry's gardens, as I always do. But that day, the rosebush in the corner had flowered," she said, and I looked up at her inquisitively. "Everyone knew that bush was dead. It was grey and twisted and gnarled – the ugliest thing you ever saw…but there it was; a single, beautiful rose. It was as though the Maker stretched out His hand to say; 'Even in the midst of this darkness, there is hope and beauty. Have faith'." Leliana had a distant look in her eyes as she described it, and I waited for her to glance back before asking a question.
"Uh. Did you…hear voices?" I asked awkwardly, and she laughed, a high, melodic sound.
"No, not voices; it's not so simple. He spoke directly to my soul, in a language no human tongue can express. There are so many good things in the Maker's world – how can I sit by while the Blight devours…everything?" Leliana asked me, and I shrugged.
"I suppose I couldn't sit by either," I admitted, knitting my fingers together and resting them on the back of my head as we walked, relaxed.
"That is why you are a Grey Warden, is it not?" Leliana replied, and I smiled.
"Hm, true. I'm glad you're here with us, Leliana, and I'm sorry that I was being difficult back in Lothering," I apologized, and she nodded.
"You were right to be wary, what with the bounty on your and Alistair's heads," she replied. We were quiet for a while as we walked, and I watched Olan prancing about curiously by the side of the road, sniffing intently at the bushes and startling birds.
"Say…what would someone like you be doing in Lothering's Chantry?" I asked, glancing back at Leliana. She arched an eyebrow inquisitively, not sure what I was asking.
"What is meant by 'someone like me'?" she countered, and I shrugged, indicating the bow on her back, and the knives on her belt.
"They don't teach you how to fight in the cloister," I elaborated.
"Did you think I was always a cloistered sister? The Chantry provides succor and safe harbor to all who seek it. I chose to stay and become affirmed," she explained, and I looked at her curiously, not knowing what she meant.
"Affirmed?" I echoed, and she nodded.
"We affirm our belief in the Maker, in Andraste and the Chant, but other than that, there are no vows taken," she replied.
"What did you do before that?" I prodded.
"I was a traveling minstrel, in Orlais," she replied. "Tales and songs were my life; I performed, and they rewarded me with applause and coin. And my skill in battle…well, you pick up different skills when you travel, yes? Yes, of course. But…um…let's move on," Leliana said awkwardly, suddenly guarded. Huh. I wonder why that's a touchy topic. Did something happen to her in Orlais? I wondered, nodding and not pursuing the matter.
"What was life like in the Chantry cloister?" I asked, trying to change the subject, and she smiled at my curiosity, relaxing slightly.
"Quiet. It was a life suited for contemplation. In the cloister, away from the fuss and the flurry of the cities, I found peace; in that stillness, I could hear the Maker," she described, closing her eyes as we walked, remembering the quietness of the cloister. "But it was not perfect," she added, her brow furrowing slightly. "Some of my Chantry fellows were condescending. That is the nature of religious folk, I suppose," she shrugged.
"Yes, they tend to be self-righteous," I replied, a half-grin on my face.
"When I talked about my beliefs – that the Maker reveals Himself in the beauty of His world – they…treated me with disdain," Leliana said, letting out a small sigh. "They want to believe that He is gone, so that when He turns His gaze on them, it means they are special – chosen. He cannot possibly have love for all – the sick and weary, the beggars and the fools," she murmured, shaking her head.
"Don't forget the mages, and the Elves," I added sarcastically. "But…I prefer your ideas to the ideas of the Chantry," I said, and she smiled faintly at my words.
"Thank you. Maybe I am wrong, but it is the Maker's place to decide if I am worthy, not men. Not the Chantry," she said, gazing up at the sky with bright, blue eyes.
oooo
The following evening, I sat by the fire, sketching Sten. The Qunari was sitting in silence on a large stone nearby, looking out into the trees as he kept watch. Well technically it was Morrigan's watch, but while she patrolled the edge of camp, Sten was content to sit and…meditate, I guess. I carefully drew his face, sketching out his strong, regal features, and those dark, serious eyes.
"Oh, that's really good," Alistair said, coming up behind me. I jumped and let out a startled sound, fumbling with my pencil – it flew out of my hand and landed on the grass – and I shut my sketchbook quickly, my face reddening; I had been so intent in my drawing that I hadn't noticed his approach. Alistair smirked as he sat down next to me, handing me back the pencil and seeing that I was suddenly flustered. "I didn't know you could draw," he remarked, and I scowled.
"Tell the whole camp, why don't you?" I grumbled, nervously fingering the book.
"Why are you embarrassed?" Alistair chuckled, and I shrugged.
"It's…a guilty pleasure. And a frivolous one at that," I murmured. "I like to draw pictures of people around me. It's…calming," I added, and he nodded gently, understanding.
"You've been a bit tense lately – and I don't mean about Lothering," he remarked, and I cocked my head.
"You noticed?" I asked, and he nodded.
"Yes. Do you need to talk?" he tried, and I smiled.
"Not much to talk about; it's just stress over the whole Blight situation," I shrugged. I noticed him eyeing my sketchbook, and I handed it to him. "Here. Satisfy your curiosity," I said, and he looked at me with surprise.
"Are you sure? Isn't this private?" Alistair asked.
"Yes, it is," I replied, and he smiled faintly, opening the book. "This is my father, Cyrion," I said, pointing to his image, "and my cousins Shianni and Soris," I added as he flipped the page – I had drawn them from memory when I was in Orzammar, and feeling a bit homesick.
"You don't have any siblings?" Alistair asked softly, glancing at me as I moved a bit closer, looking at the pages in the firelight.
"No. My mother…died when I was still little – supposedly she wasn't supposed to be able to have children at all," I replied, giving a small shrug.
"Well…I'm glad she had you," Alistair said, and I glanced up at him, heat going through me at the warmth in his eyes. I smiled, glancing back down at the sketchbook as Alistair flipped the pages, finding sketches of Neria and Daveth.
"Ah, this one's Cailan. I spotted him gambling with some of the guards in camp," I chuckled, indicating the sketch of the king as Alistair turned the page. I looked at it in silence for a while, glancing up at Alistair and noticing something odd. The shape of his jaw…the strong chin and straight nose…they were exactly the same as Cailan's. That's…really strange, I thought with a frown, glancing back at the sketch. Alistair looked a bit uncomfortable, noticing my look of confusion, and he quickly turned the page, finding the sketch of Duncan. I left Alistair to leaf through the sketchbook and walked over towards Sten, still puzzled by how similar Alistair and Cailan looked.
I moved quietly, my bare feet making soft swishing sounds on the grass as I went over to Sten, standing nearby and glancing curiously at the silent Qunari. He gave no indication that he had heard me approach, but I could sense that he knew I was there. After a while, he looked at me, his eyes moving over me carefully, his brow furrowed slightly, as if he were confused about something.
"I don't understand. You look like a woman," he remarked, and my eyes widened in surprise at the sudden statement.
"What's not to understand about that?" I wondered, not sure where this was going.
"You are a Grey Warden. So it follows that you can't be a woman," he stated.
"That…doesn't make any sense, Sten," I replied.
"So you understand my confusion, then," he said.
"Well, I'm confused now, anyway," I admitted with a shrug; I really wasn't sure what he was getting at with this.
"Women are priests, artisans, shopkeepers, or farmers. They don't fight," Sten explained, and I raised an eyebrow.
"That's not a very comprehensive list," I remarked, but the Qunari ignored my sarcastic tone.
"The laborers, soldiers, and ashkaari are men. There is nothing else left," he said.
"None of this makes any sense, Sten," I replied.
"Exactly," he nodded.
"Well now we're just going around in circles," I observed with a small smile, making a circular motion with a finger.
"I don't know what to make of you. Perhaps this is a quality of Grey Wardens I had not heard about," he said, seeming troubled. "A person is born: Qunari, or human, or Elven, or Dwarf; he doesn't choose that. The size of his hands, whether he is clever or foolish, the land he comes from, the color of his hair – these are beyond his control. We do not choose, we simply are," the Qunari said, and I shrugged, glancing back towards the fire.
"But a person can choose what to do," I argued.
"Can they?" he asked. "We'll see." He returned his attention to the woods for a few minutes, and I stood in silence, observing him.
I knew what the Chantry had said, and what the farmers had said around Lothering, but I wondered what the whole story was; why had he killed the farmers? "What were you doing in that cage?" I asked quietly, and Sten turned slightly, his violet eyes pale in the firelight at our backs. He knew what I meant – the question within the question – but I could sense that he was going to be obstinate about this, even as the words left his lips.
"Sitting, as you observed," he replied simply.
"Cute. You're the silent type, I see," I observed, walking over and standing in front of him. Even when the Qunari was sitting, he was still taller than me, and I tried not to quail under his steady, almost predatory eyes.
"Your grasp of the obvious is remarkable," he said, and I crossed my arms, feeling my jaw tighten. I let out a small sigh, calming down – he had quite the talent for riling me up, no matter how hard I tried to keep my mask together. It helped that he probably knew it was there in the first place – I could tell as much, the way he was always watching me.
"You don't like me much, do you?" I murmured, and the Qunari let out a quiet breath at my words.
"Warden, if I truly disliked you, I would leave," he replied. "That I am still here, you may interpret however you choose," he added, and I gave a small snort.
"You're impossible!" I grinned, shaking my head at him.
"I know," Sten replied, and I thought I saw the tiniest hint of amusement in his eyes. "Parshaara. Was there anything else?" he added, and I shrugged.
"I had a question," I stated; this was the reason I had come over in the first place.
"I am hardly surprised," Sten replied, and I rolled my eyes.
"Why did you come to Ferelden?" I was trying to be more roundabout in my questions now – perhaps this could get me an answer about why he had been caged.
"To answer a question," he said, and I raised an eyebrow.
"You came all this way for that?" I asked, almost incredulous, and Sten looked at me levelly.
"For someone so dismissive of questions, you ask a great many," he observed coolly, and I sighed.
"Alright, I get the point. Sorry," I apologized. Sten was silent for a few moments, looking out into the dark woods, his eyes moving along the tree-line carefully.
"The arishok asked, 'What is the Blight?' By his curiosity, I am now here," he said. Arishok? I've never heard that word before. Is it a title of the Qunari?
"What's an arishok?" I asked.
"The one who commands the antaam – the body of the Qunari," Sten explained, and I nodded. Alright. He's like their leader, I suppose.
"So did you find the answer to his question?" I prodded.
"A portion of it," Sten replied. He saw my questioning look and let out a quiet breath. "Were you not at Ostagar when the army was overwhelmed? That is your answer," he added. Oh. Well, I suppose the Qunari would be just as concerned about the Blight as anyone else. It would reach Seheron and Par Vollen eventually, if it weren't stopped.
"Huh…so…don't you have to report back, then?" I wondered.
"Yes," Sten answered.
"When are you going to do that?" And if he was given such a task, why send him alone? He was captured – if he died, the arishok would never have an answer to his question.
"Never. I cannot go home," Sten said, and my eyes widened with surprise. What? Why? The look in his eyes told me he didn't want to talk about it, so I decided not to ask.
"Well, you can stay with us," I offered. Sten looked at me quietly for a moment, his normally stern expression softening a fraction at my words.
"…Thank you," he replied quietly.
I walked back to where Alistair was sitting; he had finished looking through my sketchbook, and was watching me quietly. "Something on your mind?" I asked, and Alistair shrugged, handing back my book. I placed it on my lap and glanced at him as I sat down beside him.
"Back at Ostagar, after the Joining…you were singing something. Was it in Elvish?" he asked quietly, and I nodded, slightly embarrassed that he had heard me.
"Yes. I learned it a long time ago, from my mother. It's a…prayer, meant to honor the dead," I explained.
"I thought as much," Alistair replied, looking like he wanted to ask me something else.
"I don't know how the Wardens honor their dead, if there's a ceremony or something…" I began softly, glancing at him, "but…I'd like to say the prayer for them," I murmured.
"I'm sure they would like that," Alistair agreed, watching as I stood. He followed me as I walked to the edge of camp, wanting to have a bit of privacy, and I closed my eyes, facing the woods and clearing my throat. I sang the prayer softly, my voice rising over the trees and echoing through the dark woodlands. Alistair clasped his hands before him, closing his eyes and bowing his head slightly as he let the song wash over him, his lips moving in silent prayer.
oooo
The week went by slowly as we made our way to Redcliffe, and we fell into a routine. In the mornings, we would pack up camp and eat breakfast as we walked. We would take a short break for lunch, waiting while the horses stopped for water, and then continue traveling until evening. Speaking to Bodahn, I learned that he used to live in Orzammar, and wasn't a surface-born Dwarf, like I had initially thought.
He had quite the fascinating story; he had been born Merchant caste, and ran a successful business buying goods from casteless Dwarves, who scavenged relics from the Deep Roads. One day, a noblewoman came into his shop and caused an uproar, claiming that he had stolen a pair of custom-made bracers from her brother, who had disappeared while on an expedition to the Deep Roads. Bodahn had been arrested, and the first chance he saw, he bribed a guard and fled Orzammar. He had found Sandal in the Deep Roads, and had treated the boy as his own son ever since.
"We left Orzammar," Sandal said, and Bodahn nodded, patting the boy's shoulder.
"That's right m'boy, and maybe one day we'll see it again," Bodahn replied.
"Wow. You're quite fortunate to have gotten away," I remarked, and the Dwarf nodded.
"I thank the Stone every day," he nodded, chuckling slightly.
I slowed my pace until I was walking in step with Alistair, who was glancing at the scenery absently. I wondered about my companion; I still knew so little about him, and I wanted to get to know him better. He noticed my curious look, glancing down at me. "Yeees?" he asked with a grin, and I smiled at his cheerful tone; he seemed in a good mood today.
"So you said the Chantry raised you?" I asked, and Alistair shrugged.
"Did I say that? I meant that dogs raised me. Giant, slobbering dogs from the Anderfels – a whole pack of them, in fact," he replied. Ah. Stalling. I wonder what's wrong; he seemed fine a moment ago, I thought, deciding to humor him until he was ready.
"Really? That must have been tough for them," I said, playing along.
"Well, they were flying dogs, you see. Surprisingly strict parents, too, and devout Andrastians, to boot," he recalled in a matter-of-fact tone.
"That is what they say about Anders," I replied, glancing ahead as Olan was bothering Sten, wagging his tail and trying to get the Qunari to throw a stick for him.
"That, and that they make a great deal of cheese," he added. "Funny, but the dogs never mentioned cheese. As a matter of fact, if you said cheese around them, they'd start growling. Isn't that odd?" Alistair asked. "Or maybe I dreamt all that? Strange what kinds of dreams you have, sleeping on the cold, hard ground," he shrugged. "Have you been having strange dreams?" he wondered, and I smirked.
"Only the ones where we're making mad love in my tent," I replied, and his face turned a violent shade of scarlet. He nearly tripped over a stone in the road, stumbling forward a few steps before he caught himself, clearing his throat and answering.
"I…uh…seem to have completely lost my chain of thought…" he stammered out nervously, and I grinned at his flustered expression as he glared at me, knowing I had done that on purpose.
"Devout, flying dogs," I reminded him, and he sighed, calming down enough to continue.
"Let's see. How do I explain this? I'm a bastard," Alistair began, "and before you make any smart comments, I mean the fatherless kind," he added, giving me a pointed look.
"Wouldn't dream of it, my dear," I replied, and he rolled his eyes, still blushing faintly.
"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 continued, but I interrupted him.
"Wait, wait. Arl Eamon? The Arl took you in?" I asked incredulously, and Alistair shrugged.
"I wasn't raised as the Arl's son, if you're picturing that. I was a stable boy; I slept in hay out with the horses and dogs, not on silk sheets," he replied. "He was good to me, though, 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."
"The Arl wasn't your father? So you know who is?" I prodded, and Alistair shrugged, suddenly a bit uncomfortable.
"I…know who I was told was my father. He died even before my mother did, anyhow. It isn't important," Alistair replied quickly, and I nodded, not wanting to pester him about it. "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," he continued, looking ahead absently, the wagon rumbling next to us and drowning out Leliana and Bodahn's voices as they spoke.
"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. Just as well; the Arlessa made sure the castle wasn't a home to me by that point. She despised me," Alistair said, his voice low.
"What an awful thing to do to a child," I murmured, and he glanced down at me, shrugging.
"Maybe. 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," he sighed, absently running a hand through his hair and looking up at the sky. "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," Alistair recalled, his voice filled with regret. "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," he finished with a small sigh, looking down at the path sadly.
"You were young," I tried, but he shook his head.
"And raised by dogs. Or I may as well have been, the way I acted," Alistair replied. "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," he said, and I smiled gently at him.
"So…" I said after a while, and he glanced back at me, "why have you remained a Templar, if you hate the Chantry?"
"Have you seen the uniform? It's not only stylish, but well-made. I'm a sucker for good tailoring," Alistair replied with a grin as he cheered up, and I raised an eyebrow.
"I thought Templars wore heavy plate, mostly," I replied, remembering the Templars I had seen back in Lothering, and near the cathedral in the Denerim Market District.
"That's just in public. In private we have these yellow and purple tunics, right? Much more comfortable, and you don't break the beds when you jump on them during a pillow fight," he joked, and I let out an amused breath.
"You had lots of these pillow fights, I take it?" I asked with a smile, and he winked.
"On confession day we could go all night. Being a Templar isn't all about chasing men in skirts and hiding behind priests, you know," he chuckled. "You don't really want to know about my being a Templar, do you? It's really quite boring," he added, and I looked up at him.
"You don't have to tell me, then. I was just curious. Sorry if I'm being nosy," I apologized, and he shrugged.
"I…suppose there's no harm in it, then. Sorry if I was being perverse, I'm just…not used to anyone asking me these things," he admitted, relenting. "The truth of the matter is that I did hate going to the monastery. The initiates from poor families thought I put on airs, while the noble ones called me a bastard and ignored me. I felt like Arl Eamon had cast me off, unwanted, and I was determined to be bitter. But I took some solace in the training itself, I guess. I was actually quite good at it," he recalled, and I listened intently.
"What did you enjoy about the training?" I asked curiously.
"The education, mostly, but also the discipline. You need to have a disciplined mind in order to use the abilities we have; it was difficult, but rewarding," he explained. "I never really felt at home anywhere, though, until I joined the Grey Wardens. And Duncan felt my Templar abilities might be useful for when we encountered darkspawn magic, so I kept it up," he said. "What about you? Do you have anywhere you consider home?" Alistair asked, and I shrugged.
"Well…I grew up in Denerim, but I doubt I'd be welcomed back there after what happened. I guess my home is with the Grey Wardens now. With you," I replied, glancing up at him.
"Really? I…I guess I like the sound of that," Alistair said, his eyes softening as he looked at me. "We won't always be traveling like this, you know. Once the war is over, once the Blight is… Well, a time will come when we'll have to think about having a real home again. Though that seems like a far ways off…and I suppose the Grey Wardens are gone for good, either way," he sighed, a hint of sadness in his tone. I stepped a bit closer, taking his hand in mine and trying to comfort him.
"They can be rebuilt," I assured him.
"I suppose you're right. We can create new Grey Wardens, but we'll never get back those we lost. I wonder if it would ever feel the same?" he murmured, twining his fingers with mine as we walked, and I glanced up at him.
"Maybe not…but they'll always be remembered," I promised. Alistair seemed heartened by my words, and smiled faintly at me, the sadness leaving his eyes.
"Indeed, they will," he replied, strength returning to his voice.
oOo
"So, what did you mean before, when you said you wouldn't be welcomed in Denerim?" Alistair asked after a while, and Adeline glanced up at him, giving a small shrug.
"Well, you know, Daveth and I got up to a lot of trouble there," she replied, and he frowned. Alright. Something big must have happened for her to try and brush it off like this, he concluded.
"I doubt it's as simple as that – the way you speak, you have quite the colorful past," Alistair replied, and Adeline smiled faintly.
"Oh?" she asked curiously. "So tell me, what do you think I did," she added, and he grinned.
"I don't know. Did you…break into the Royal Palace at some point?" he guessed, and she snorted.
"I doubt any of the fences I know would risk trying to sell something from the palace, even if I could get in," she replied. "Try again," she added.
"Can't you give me a hint?" Alistair asked, and the Elf smiled slightly.
"Sure. It involves nobles," she replied, and he scowled.
"Oh, no, really?" he retorted, and she grinned.
"Specifically the Arl of Denerim. Or his son, rather," she explained. Alistair cocked his head, puzzled now. He suddenly thought back to Daveth's words in the Wilds – he had asked Adeline if she had killed someone. "I killed him." The words hung in the air for a few moments, and Alistair looked at her doubtfully. "I'm not joking, Alistair. I killed the Arl of Denerim's son, and most of the guards in his estate," Adeline added, and his eyes widened, seeing that she was completely serious.
"What? Why?" he asked, and she sighed, seeming to brace herself for something.
"My cousin, Shianni, a few girls from the Alienage and I were…um…kidnapped…on my other cousin, Soris', wedding day," Adeline murmured, folding her hands behind her back as they walked. Alistair's shoulders had stiffened, and his jaw was clenched tight; he could sense where the story was going, and he was fighting back the sudden wave of anger that washed through him. "The Arl's son, Vaughan, and a few of his friends got drunk that day, and came down to the Alienage to kick around the Elves," Adeline continued. "They grabbed a few of the bridesmaids and Soris' bride, and when I tried to stop them, they knocked me out and brought me along too. I woke up in a storage room in the Arl's estate. Some guards came in and dragged the girls to Vaughan's room – they tried to tie me up because I threatened them earlier."
"Tried to?" Alistair asked, and she nodded, a sad smile on her lips.
"Yes. Before they could do anything, Soris came around the corner and threw me a sword. You've seen how I fight; any guards that stood in my way were killed. But…when we got to Vaughan's room…Shianni…" Adeline's voice hitched a bit, and she swallowed, remembering something unpleasant, no doubt.
"There was nothing you could have done," Alistair murmured, seeing the pained look in her eyes.
"It doesn't make it okay," she sighed. "Shianni was…hurt by Vaughan. I killed him, and anyone who stood in my way. By the time we tried to leave, though, the garrison was on their way there. I…stayed behind to block the way while the others escaped. The guards arrested me and threw me in the dungeon," Adeline continued, smiling slightly. "The guard on watch fell asleep at his post, and I managed to pick the lock on the cell door and escape the city."
"So that's when you went to Orzammar, I take it?" Alistair concluded, and Adeline nodded.
"I spent some time there, and when Duncan found me again, he told me that everyone back in the Alienage thought the guards had killed me. The garrison said I had been executed to save face, I suppose," she shrugged.
"Right, you said you met Duncan in Denerim before that, yes?" Alistair recalled.
"Yes. He knew my mother, and had wanted to meet me. When he saw what had happened – when he heard that I had been captured by the guards – he went to the estate's dungeon. He told me that he intended to invoke the Right of Conscription, so that I'd be in his custody," she explained. "I suppose I ended up a Grey Warden either way; takes a monster to kill monsters, hmm?" Adeline finished telling her tale, and Alistair stared at her.
"Mon…Adeline, you're not a monster," he said sternly, and she scoffed, not meeting his eyes.
"Alistair, when I killed those guards…I liked it. I liked hearing them scream as they died. It made me feel…powerful…" she shuddered at the memory, her eyes holding mixed excitement and disgust. "What kind of lunatic revels in death like that?" she whispered, and Alistair looked at her sadly; he wasn't sure what to say. He could see guilt and hurt in her eyes, but beneath it was the blaze of fire he only saw when she was fighting darkspawn; bloodlust. He gingerly reached out an arm, lightly placing it on her shoulder, and Adeline jumped slightly in surprise – she stared up at him with watery eyes, as if she were on the brink of tears.
"You've been through a lot, Adeline," he said gently, and the Elf shrugged weakly, managing to blink away the moisture from her eyes as she took a deep breath.
Alistair saw it, then; he had never noticed before, but now that it happened before him, it all made sense – she had created a mask for herself to block out her emotions. That was how she seemed to be holding up so well despite everything that had happened so far – he had never actually seen her cry, he recalled; this must have been why. He worried for her – burying her emotions like that might cause more harm than good in the long run. He would have to find a way to help her, although he wasn't sure how yet; he needed to help her release her pent-up anger and grief before it consumed her.
"We all have, Alistair; my past may be troubled, but I know I'm not the only one. Wallowing in self-pity will get us nowhere – we need to move forward, and stop the Blight no matter what. I couldn't protect the ones I love back in Denerim, but I'll try my hardest to protect them from now on," Adeline said firmly, and Alistair nodded slightly, smiling at the determination in her voice and admiring her strength.
"Just know that you're not alone in this, Adeline," Alistair added, and she smiled back up at him, her grip tightening on his fingers as he took her hand.
"Of course; I've got you by my side," Adeline said. She looked up at him with those bright, green eyes, and Alistair felt his heartbeat speed up.
"Always," he promised, looking at her warmly.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
