Chapter 10: Mountain
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Our journey was nearly through,
Old friendships again renewed.
We journeyed deep into wintry lands
To our next allies with helping hands.
The dwarven king had passed away,
Orzammar was in disarray.
Two potential successors they had
Harrowmont, a noble, and Bhelen, the King's lad.
And though prince Bhelen was the King's son,
In the name of Harrowmont, the Provings we won.
For we believed he was the King's choice
His chosen successor, who needed our voice.
To the deepest roads we journeyed where few had gone
In search of the anvil and the great Paragon.
In these roads we met our terrible foe
The Archdemon, intent on bringing terrible woe.
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Kallian slumped against a large boulder, feeling the full weight of these past weeks settle around her heart like an iron claw. Her skin was a pallid green in the dim light of the cavern, dark purplish circles marring the normally unblemished skin below her eyes. A faint sheen of sweat covered her skin, adding a sickly hue to Warden's demeanor.
Leliana, of course, could not say she was any better. She had lost weight – the seemingly endless days of traipsing through the Deep Roads left her armor dangling loosely from her form. Her own cheeks had sunken in, and in the back of her mind she could still hear Hespith's macabre ramblings.
First day they come and catch everyone.
The deeper they went into the Roads, the worse things seemed to get. It had been scarcely a day since they'd killed the Broodmother – Leliana still shuddered to think of that foul creature. And it had been nearly three days since they'd seen the Archdemon and its armies begin the long march to Ferelden's southern reaches.
Between the Archdemon and the Broodmother, it was a small wonder anyone had a small scrap of sanity left.
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"Did you see the size of that army?" Alistair's voice rose shrilly above the sound of armored feet marching. He glanced about wildly, his eyes hinting of madness as he spoke. "How are we supposed to defeat that…that thing?"
"I suppose we could catapult pieces of your armor into the enemy encampment," Morrigan sniped, her golden eyes flashing. "I wager the smell would drive any creature back underground."
Even Sten let out a curse in his native tongue, resting his hand lightly on the pommel of his sword, Asala. "Let us slay this foul beast here; before its troops can set foot on the surface," the Qunari's eyes flashed resolutely. "Let us end this, once and for all."
"I have a tendency to agree with Alistair," Zevran swiped the back of his hand across his sweaty brow. "We should plan a strategic retreat – to Nevarra, perhaps?"
"We can't," Leliana could not believe they were even having this conversation. The tips of Alistair's ears grew dark red in embarrassment. "If we don't defeat the Archdemon, who will?"
"We must press forward. We gave our word to Harrowmont, and we need his aid to defeat the Blight." Wynne leaned wearily on her staff for support. The older mage had been hard pressed to keep up the breakneck pace Kallian had set for the group. Several times, Leliana had seen the mage stumble, though someone was always there to lend a helping hand. Sometimes it was she, sometimes Alistair, sometimes even Zevran or Kallian. But they still pressed on.
"Sodding right you need the dwarves," Oghren responded gruffly, and Leliana pressed a hand against her nose as the pungent aroma that arose from their newest party member. Maker – surely his ale doesn't smell that bad? Or has he no sense of personal hygiene?
"And exactly are we supposed to beat it?" Alistair drew his arms across his chest. "And before you tell me you're going to dress me up and force me to dance the Remigold, can I mention that the Archdemon is not my type?"
Kallian rose abruptly, her hand instantly gripping the drawing hersword from her scabbard, an action that caused the remainder of her companions to form up in a tight circle, ready for an imminent attack. All eyes turned to their leader, ready for the steady stream of orders that was sure to follow.
"Let's move out. We have a long way to go before we reach Branka."
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There was little discussion about the Archdemon as the group moved deeper the tunnels. As the numbers of Darkspawn increased, so too did their exhaustion. Night blended into day – time held no meaning here under the surface. They would travel, rest for a few hours, then continue on. The pressure began to show itself in little ways. Commands were issued in short, irritated tones. Mistakes were made. Ambushes sprung that never should have happened.
They were so close now. They had battled a legion of Darkspawn at the entrance to the Dead Trenches. One trip across the bridge and through the last set of caves. The broodmother was dead – though the bard shuddered to think of how many more there must be to produce an army the size of the one they had seen.
The Anvil of the Void was not far away now.
Leliana sat on the edge of a broken pillar, eyes closed as she tried to catch her breath. It felt like they had been marching for days. Every muscle burned – every bone ached. Her eyes felt as if an ogre was trying to hold them shut. The bard slowly uncorked her canteen, taking a sip of the precious water inside. Their once plentiful rations were running low – they would have provisions for only a few more days, and then what? The only creatures down this deep were the Darkspawn and a few isolated nests of deepstalkers. Eating the former was not an option, and the Orlesian shuddered at the thought of having to ingest the latter.
A heavy weight settled next to her and the auburn-headed bard glanced upwards, surprised to see Alistair sitting beside her. The former Templar had dark circles under his eyes – clearly his nightmares had intensified too. This did not surprise Leliana – Kallian's nightmares had increased in intensity and frequency since their encounter with the Archdemon. The deeper they went into the Deep Roads, the worse the dreams became. Leliana had been forced to rouse Kallian twice already from night terrors.
Leliana smiled, briefly, holding out her canteen to the Templar, who accepted the offering gratefully. They had formed an uneasy truce after Alistair learned about her relationship with Kallian. Mostly, they avoided each other, tiptoeing around the matter. The bard wondered if he was still in love with her or if he had finally come to terms that Kallian's interests lay in other directions.
Alistair drank deeply of the precious liquid before handing it back to the bard and nodding his head in gratitude. He glanced with troubled eyes over the bridge that supposedly led to the Anvil.
"What do you think we'll find there?" Leliana asked, concerned over the Templar's worried expression.
"Oh, I imagine we'll find a few ogres, a Hurlock or two, and a Genlock Emissary baking cookies," Alistair quipped. "We'll have a big party and then make nice. Maybe we'll be invited to the wedding."
Leliana barely managed to suppress a grin. "Well I suppose if there is music and flowers and dancing," the bard sighed wistfully, fond memories of Orlesian masquerades flitting about in her mind. "Maker, how I miss the dancing."
"Uh...yeah," Alistair said, instantly remembering why he generally avoided the Orlesian. Kallian began to walk towards the pair, her expression grim.
"Be ready to move out in five," Kallian said, her gaze focused on the other Grey Warden. "We've got a lot of ground to cover." She spun around and left before the Templar could issue a protest.
"Maker," Alistair grumbled as Kallian. "You would think we're in a hurry or something. It's not like we are in the middle of a Blight."
Leliana pursed her lips together, regarding the rest of the group. Sten was crouched low, his hands wrapped around the massive hilt of his sword. He would never allow himself to openly display exhaustion. Still, Leliana could detect the faintest lines of strain around the giant's mouth. But he was a career soldier, and was used to keeping such a maddening pace. Wynne was standing a few feet away the bard, and Leliana could see the signs of overexertion evident in her face. Even Morrigan wore a perpetual scowl, her eyes flitting challengingly to various members of the party.
We cannot maintain this breakneck pace, or Kallian will have a revolt to worry about in addition to the Darkspawn. Andraste, please forgive me.
Leliana motioned for Wynne to join her. As the mage approached, the redhead immediately pushed to her feet, allowing her balance to falter. She let out what she hoped was a convincing cry as she fell against the older Mage. Alistair let out a surprised yelp, rising to help the bard.
Wynne's own eyes widened in surprise, catching the younger woman, though barely, and Leliana murmured in a low tone meant for the mage's ears only. "Play along, please."
Wynne's eyes met the bard's in understanding, making a point of lowering the bard back to the boulder, murmuring a swelling spell so quickly that she scarcely had time to hear it. Almost immediately the bard felt her ankle grow larger, grimacing at the unpleasant sensation.
"Wha...?" Alistair looked confused, kneeling down beside Leliana as he touched her ankle gingerly. The templar's touch was uncomfortable, but not necessarily painful. Leliana forced herself to cry out, however, drawing on her years of training in the art of deception. Evidently, she still had some talent, because Alistair jerked his hand back as if he'd been burned.
"Let me see," Kallian knelt beside her lover, touching the ankle gingerly. Leliana let out a low hiss, pursing her lips together, realizing that she had not thought this scenario through to its conclusion.
Kallian could simply order Wynne to heal her, for instance, and then they would immediately be at square one. Of course, the older mage could claim that she did not have the fortitude to do so, but Morrigan would surely never make such a claim. Perhaps the apostate would even call her on her deception. The bard's cheeks reddened, refusing to meet her lover's penetrating stare. The elf's fingers probed her ankle, and Leliana winced and whimpered appropriately.
"I guess we'll be remaining here a little longer," Kallian said, slowly backing away from the bard and pushing to her feet. The Warden turned and faced the others. "Alistair, you and Oghren take the canteens and try to find a source of water." The two warriors nodded, gathering up the requested equipment.
"I know of a source of water," Oghren straightened his shoulders slightly. "There are deepstalkers in that area, too. Make for some fine eating."
Kallian nodded, turning and facing Sten. "Sten, follow them – and take some extra canteens." Kallian grimaced at the thought. "We'll need enough provisions for another week or so at least." If this task disturbed the tall Qunari, he gave no sign, merely nodding as he strode to join the other warriors heading towards the eastern spring.
"Morrigan, this seems as good as any time to replenish our Lyrium stores. Do you think you could…"
The witch's eyes narrowed. "I am capable of handling such trivial tasks," she said with warning. "Unlike Alistair, I do not require explicit instructions to find my own navel."
The apostate disappeared into the caverns. Kallian's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, trying to regain her composure, before turning to face the Mabari.
"Fynn, follow Morrigan. Keep her safe." Fynn let out a happy bark and trotted off to follow the mage. As soon as the witch departed, Kallian glanced between Wynne and Leliana. The bard swallowed thickly, wondering if her lover was going to call their bluff.
"Medical supplies?" Kallian asked, her gaze flitting to the older mage, who returned it with a sober look.
"I think it would be best if I tended Leliana's ankle," Wynne said, her voice unapologetic.
"I've learned a fair bit about healing," Kallian's voice brokered no argument. "You know which herbs will work best in the poultices, anyways. I believe I saw a patch of mushrooms a ways back. Would you mind fetching them? I'm sure Zevran would be happy to lend you support."
"Ah, but I can think of so many ways to offer my assistance," Zevran rose cheerfully to his feet. Wynne and Kallian studied each other for a long while before the mage canted her head, granting this round to the younger woman. She rose, quickly moving to gather a small satchel. The pair disappeared into the cavern.
Kallian watched them go, staring at the empty space in silence for a moment before she rose to her feet, collapsing on a boulder with a large sigh. The elf waited until the others were out of earshot, then turned and regarded the bard with a raised eyebrow.
Leliana returned her lover's stare evenly, offering no apology in her eyes. She had not expected Kallian believe the deception for long, but the bard had done what she thought necessary in the group's best interest.
The two pairs of eyes regarded each other in silent challenge, and after a moment, Kallian smirked, her expression softening as she regarded the bard with amusement. "I can't believe you managed to fool Alistair with that act – I could see Wynne's lips moving from clear across the cavern."
Leliana snorted, though she breathed an inward sigh of relief that her lover was not upset. "She was facing away from Alistair at the time – besides, he wouldn't believe Wynne could be that devious – he treats her like his grandmother."
The elf rolled her eyes, reaching upwards with gloved hands as she pulled her helmet off her sweaty forehead. "A simple 'Please, could you stop' would have sufficed."
"No it wouldn't have," the bard scowled. "We've been walking for days – with only a few hours respite. Even Sten is tired. We need a break. We can't continue at this pace."
Kallian let out a sigh, dropping her elbows onto her knees. "I know," the elf admitted. "But – you saw her. You saw the army. It's huge." The Warden glanced up at the Orlesian with worried eyes. "How are we supposed to win against that? Even with Harrowmont's support, they'll outnumber us thirty to one."
Leliana brushed her fingers against the back of the younger woman's cheek. "We'll find a way, love. But we will do it together, and on a full night's rest, I'm sure."
Kallian leaned into the touch, accepting the affections eagerly, brushing her lips against Leliana's fingertips before she withdrew. She grinned wickedly at the bard. "I suppose you're right. However, since you cannot help set up the tents in your condition," The elf's grin grew even wider, "I suppose you'll have to take charge of cooking whatever Sten brings us for dinner."
"What?"
You know, I still haven't forgiven you for making me handle those dreadful lizards Sten brought home for dinner. They smelled terrible, and even though he'd taken the heads off the wretched creatures, they twitched every time I touched them. Alistair and Oghren were positively rolling on the cavern floor in laughter every time I jumped in reaction.
They didn't laugh long, I suppose. The look on Morrigan's face when I handed her a bowl of the stew was positively priceless. Even Fynn looked a little disgusted at the treat.
Revenge is a dish best served cold, however. And the expression on your face when I handed you your portion of the stew – complete with floating eyeballs – made it all worthwhile, in the end.