A/N: Ooo, lookie! Finally a new chapter.
Dark chapter is dark. You have been warned. And a bit shorter than I would have liked, but considering the content...best not to drag it out.
Chapter Eleven
As Erlina, Queen Anora's handmaiden, left the room, Gráinne turned to Arl Eamon. "Are you sure we can trust Anora?" she asked him quietly. Erlina's tale was convincing enough, but Gráinne was not about to fall into one of Loghain's traps, not when they were so close to defeating him.
"Even if it is a trap, it is a risk we cannot afford to take," Eamon replied. "If Anora speaks out against Loghain, hers would indeed be one of the most powerful voices at the Landsmeet."
Despite her reservations, Gráinne nodded in agreement. The Wardens were already painted as traitors and, as Eamon had pointed out, he would be seen as an opportunist. If the Queen herself stood by them, then people would cease to believe Loghain's lies. "We must act quickly then. I'm sure by now Arl Howe knows of our arrival, and if he has plans to harm Anora, he won't waste any more time."
"Right, off we go again," Alistair said.
Eamon turned to Alistair. "You cannot go, Alistair."
Alistair stared at the Arl. "What?"
"Loghain knows of our intentions to place you on the throne," Eamon explained. "I would not put it past him to try and have you killed."
Alistair's gaze turned to Gráinne expectantly. She shook her head. "I'm afraid the Arl is right, Alistair," she said. "Going to rescue the Queen is risky enough as it is. We can't lose both of you."
"But—" He looked helplessly at Gráinne before recognizing by the look on her face that the decision was final. He nodded in compliance.
"Good luck, Warden," the Arl said.
Gráinne gave a bow and took her leave, grabbing the attention of the nearest servant as she made her way down the hall. "Please find two of my companions, Zevran and Leliana," she informed the servant. "Tell them I need to meet them in my room at once."
"It is necessary, Alistair," Eamon insisted.
"With all due respect, my lord, it isn't," Alistair retorted. "I've accepted the fact that I have to be king. I don't want to be—I never wanted it—but I'm doing it anyway for the good of Ferelden. But I will not do this." As he began to leave, Eamon grabbed his arm and pulled Alistair back to face him.
"Being king requires more responsibility than you realize, Alistair," he stated harshly. "Cailan did not leave an heir to rule in his place—a mistake you cannot make." As he spoke, he held Alistair's gaze. "Mages cannot inherit titles or estates, much less marry. There is a reason they are kept under the governance of the Chantry, and you know exactly why."
Alistair gritted his teeth. "She's not like that."
"It doesn't matter. The potential is there, no matter how young, old, or well-trained the mage may be. Look what—" Eamon hesitated as grief shadowed his face. "Look what happened with Connor."
"I still won't do it." Alistair pulled his arm from Eamon's grasp and strode out of the room. All his life he'd done whatever Eamon asked, all in order to please him. But not this time. The thought of losing Gráinne scared him far more than any threat Eamon could make.
He managed to get to her just as she came out of her room, fastening her cloak around her neck. At once he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly.
"Please be careful," he said. "I've got a bad feeling about this."
Gráinne kissed him lightly on the cheek. "I'll be fine." She smiled coyly. "And I expect you to wait up for me."
There was cold stone beneath her, and the world around her was dark and silent. She couldn't feel anything; her body was completely numb. Was she dead? As she opened her eyes and slowly raised her head, a fierce throbbing in her temples told her otherwise. She was still alive, though she barely felt it. With a groan, she struggled to sit up, scraping her palms against the stone, and glanced around.
A prison cell. The iron bars glistened in the dim torchlight. In the distance, she heard the echoes of screams.
Desperately, Gráinne tried to remember what happened. She, Zevran, and Leliana had managed to sneak into Arl Howe's estate. They'd found Queen Anora and attempted to smuggle her out, dressed as a soldier, but were stopped by Loghain's knights. She remembered telling Zevran to get Anora out, no matter what. Then she'd fought…
Templars. That was how they had taken her.
At that moment, she realized something was very wrong. It hadn't been noticeable at first, what with being half-frozen, but as she began to gradually warm up, it occurred to her.
Her magic was gone.
She tried to summon fire, water, lightning, but every attempt only failed and left her weaker. Something was blocking her magic. She managed to climb to her feet, using the cell bars to brace herself, and found the source. At several points around the room were some plaques of stone with runes engraved into the surface; they were magic wards, used by Templars to dispel all presence of magic and render any mage helpless.
They worked. For the first time in years, Gráinne felt helpless.
The loud creaking of an opening door sounded down the corridor, followed by footsteps. Three guards, followed by another man dressed in Templar armor, appeared before Gráinne's cell.
"This is the Warden bitch who killed Arl Howe," one of the guards gruffly informed the Templar.
The Templar stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Gráinne. In the dim torchlight Gráinne thought she recognized him, but could not quite remember.
"You are charged with treason, murder, kidnapping, and conspiracy to commit murder against the Regent, Teryn Loghain Mac Tir," he announced. "If you admit your guilt to these charges and name your cohorts, your punishment will be merciful. If you refuse, you will be tortured until you provide the information we require, then hanged, drawn and quartered according to the law."
Gráinne stared defiantly back at the Templar and remained silent. After a moment, the Templar turned and nodded to the guards, who then proceeded to open the cell door. Two guards roughly grabbed Gráinne's arms and held them behind her, while another bound her hands with iron shackles. She was then led from her cell through several corridors and down a long stairwell. As they descended, the air grew warmer and the screams louder.
They brought her to a small enclosed chamber, sweltering from the heat of the fire. At the center of the room was a large wooden device, the height of a table and long enough to fit a man. A crank was on one end and at both ends were large cylinders, each fitted with ropes.
The presence of the Templar still made Gráinne unable to use her magic. She began to struggle against the two guards that held her. The Templar noticed and struck her across the face with his gloved hand. Her mouth filled with blood.
"Be still," he warned. "You were given your chance to freely confess."
As they forced her down and bound her hands and feet to the rack, she spat a mouthful of blood into the Templar's face. He delicately wiped the spittle away with a handkerchief.
"You'll regret that, Warden."
It was past nightfall when news came that Queen Anora had been successfully rescued. Alistair followed Arl Eamon and met them in the main hall. Anora was unharmed, dressed in a soldier's armor. Zevran and Leliana were both bruised and bloody; Leliana, who could barely stand from a wounded leg, was supported by an unfamiliar man with dark hair. Gráinne was not with them.
"Thank the Maker you are safe, your Majesty," Eamon said to the Queen.
"Thanks to the Maker and these brave souls," she replied.
"Where is she?" Alistair asked Zevran and Leliana, his voice hoarse.
Neither could meet Alistair's gaze.
"Where is she?" he yelled.
"Your fellow Warden has been captured by Loghain's men," the man with dark hair answered.
"We were ambushed just as we were escaping," Leliana continued. "We tried to fight our way out, but we were overwhelmed. Gráinne—she stayed behind and told us to get the Queen to safety."
"They must have taken her to Fort Drakon," Eamon said. "Howe turned the fortress into a dungeon for prisoners."
All the blood had drained from Alistair's face and it took all his strength to remain standing. "We have to get her out."
"It would be impossible to sneak into Fort Drakon," Eamon replied. "To even attempt it is a death sentence."
"We can't just leave her!"
"With all due respect, he is right," the man spoke. "We cannot leave her." He bowed his head to Arl Eamon. "I am Riordan, a Senior Grey Warden from Orlais. The Warden Gráinne rescued me from Arl Howe's dungeon, where I had been imprisoned and tortured. Not only do I owe it to her for saving my life, but if we are soon to battle the archdemon, we will need every Grey Warden possible. It will be months before any of the Orlesian Wardens can arrive here and by then it may be too late."
Arl Eamon nodded in assent. "Let us plan the rescue."
The Fade. She walked through the eerily silent dream realm, free from the excruciating pain her body suffered.
Her surroundings were a twisted echo of her childhood home. The estate was a barren wasteland; the house and fields burned. As she approached the entrance, she discovered the remains of two charred bodies.
"I can do what you never had the strength to do," a voice spoke. Its words were enticing, repeating themselves over and over, as if trying to persuade her that she wanted nothing else in the world…
She was jolted back from the Fade, sputtering and gagging on the bitter liquid being poured down her throat. The reviving potion awakened her once more to the fierce agony that radiated throughout her limbs.
"Enough for now," the Templar ordered. "Bring her back to her cell and give her a health poultice. Perhaps then she'll be more inclined to talk."
The guards untied her wrists and ankles, now bruised and torn from the pull of the ropes, then lifted her from the rack. She desperately bit back cries of pain as they lifted her and carried her back to the cell. They dropped her carelessly to the stone floor and poured the health poultice into her mouth. The liquid was weak and putrid, barely lessening the pain as it slowly mended the torn ligaments in her arms and legs.
Gráinne blearily watched as the guards left, slamming the cell door behind them. Her vision faded as she slipped into darkness, her last conscious thought being her wish to die.
"You don't want to die," a voice whispered back seductively. "If you die, how will you defeat the archdemon and the Blight? If you die, what will happen to your friends, to Alistair?"
She watched as fires enveloped the city of Denerim. Darkspawn destroyed everything, spreading across Ferelden like a plague. She watched in horror as her friends fought the overwhelming horde, but one by one were slain. Alistair was the last to survive before the archdemon brutally took his life, wrenching his body into pieces with its twisted claws. Gráinne wept, unable to turn away.
"Live," the voice told her. "Live, and they will be spared. Live, and I will help you…"