Chapter 21 Soldier's Peak Reclaimed, On to Redcliffe.
AN: Outside the first bit, this is a dialogue heavy chapter. I wanted to flesh out relationships a bit more before I moved on to the next quest. Some of the conversations are canon, some are my own creation (With a healthy bit of help from my beta, of course! Thanks, RomanticVoltaire!) We have some bonding between characters and some conversations to establish a friendship or understanding between characters. I suppose it could be called filler, but it has its place. Oh, and before I forget, the new cover art was an idea I got from XenFeather on Deviantart. I have a link to the original picture on my profile. Check it out.
"Here is the source of the Veil's weakness," Avernus sighed. "I will unravel the summoning circles I drew so long ago, but you must defend me. Waves of spirits and demons may come through; dispatch them."
Swiftly, the nine of them took up position in front of Avernus, the old mage stepping over the corpse of the abomination to place himself at one of the summoning circles. "I feel them. They are coming!"
The air rippled and a ghastly shriek rang out as the latest onslaught of demonic forces poured forth. Avernus took his place by one of the summoning circles, shouting phrases in the language of magic. A shade came charging from the Fade straight at Conrí, its fists swinging towards his head, but Conrí ducked away and drove his sword, its blade shimmering with telekinetic energy thanks to Morrigan, into the spirit's heart; it gave a gibbering howl and guttered out of existence. The others also put down the shades facing them, Leliana and Alistair batting aside or dodging around scrabbling claws to split skulls or pierce hearts, while Morrigan settled for blasting the spectral creatures back to where they came from with lightning and fire.
The next wave of attackers were rage demons, howling and screaming for blood. By this point, two of the summoning circles had dissipated and Avernus was on the third. Tristan clicked his fingers and the energy enfolding his companions' weapons became ice. The group quickly went to work, hacking through the fiery creatures with ease due to their ensorcelled weapons
By the time the old Warden was on the last circle, only one creature managed to make it through the gap in the Veil; a desire demon. The creature stood little chance against nine prepared combatants and its twisted essence was banished back to the Fade barely seconds after it had entered the real world. As Tira drew her blade from the demon's chest in a spurt of black ichor, she saw that the air no longer rippled and shifted before her and the acrid, bitter taste in the back of her throat was gone. The others seemed to have come to a similar realization.
"It's over," Avernus sighed, wiping his wrinkled brow in relief. "The Veil is stronger now." Conrí looked briefly at Xolana, who nodded in confirmation of the old Warden's statement. Turning a humble but resolute expression to Conrí, Avernus stood before him, his hands clasped in front of him, awaiting his sentence.
"I said I would submit to judgment, and I shall. Can I be allowed to experiment in peace?"
Conrí gave Avernus his most lethal stare. He used the cloth covering the inside of his elbow joint to his clean the blood from his blade. "Your crimes were horrific, but they were somewhat mitigated by the fact you were trying to prevent even greater, and that you sacrificed so much of yourself to keep the demons caged here. I will not kill you, but I will insist you make amends. You will work on ways to assist the Grey Wardens, but you will do so in an ethical manner. No more sacrifices. If blood is required, you take mine and only mine."
Avernus's eyes widened in surprise; clearly he'd been expecting justice in the form of a sword against his neck. Still, he recovered himself quickly. "With what little time I have left, I will do this. It may take months or even years for this to reach fruition, but when it does, I will send for you. However, there is something I may be able to give you now to assist your efforts..." Avernus said, reaching into his robes and pulling out a small glass phial, sealed with a cork and full of a familiar reddish-black liquid.
"What is that?"
"The culmination of my research. The fruits of my labors; everything my experiments were meant to achieve. The contents of this vial will unlock the power of the taint that resides in your veins!"
"What was the purpose of your experiments?" Xolana enquired curiously.
"To stop the demonic tide. To counter the mistakes of the past. Blood magic comes from demons; they could counter every bit of lore I possess. But the darkspawn taint: that is alien to them… and it has power."
"What sort of power?" Morrigan pressed on, clearly intrigued now.
"The Wardens use it merely to sense darkspawn," Avernus replied. "A triviality, a minor cantrip. But my research has suggested so much more, hinted at even greater heights. This knowledge has not only saved Soldier's Peak; through it, the Grey Wardens could grow even more powerful! I leave it in your hands," the old mage finished as he gingerly placed the phial in Conrí's hands.
Conrí stared at the phial in his hands, uncertain what to do. It was the culmination of decades of horror and evil, but the power it might provide... Could it be of use in defeating the archdemon and the darkspawn? Alistair looked nonplussed about what to do, but Leliana looked aghast.
"Conrí, no! You can't mean to use… he obtained it through years of torturing and experimenting on his fellows! He's a monster; anything he created should be destroyed!"
"What he says makes sense," Morrigan interjected, shaking her head at the bard's, to her mind, foolish interjection. "If a single spell could win the battle, I would not question its source."
"Your charming companion is quite correct, Warden Cousland," Avernus added with an approving nod towards Morrigan. "You'd do well to heed her advice. If I may speak seriously, regardless of the methods I used to obtain it, this will help you. Even locked away as I am here, I know what is going on; a new Blight is upon us, and the power of the taint will be of great use against the darkspawn; to turn the power within their own blood against them would be quite poetic, I think," Avernus chortled softly. "More than that, I have heard of this Loghain Mac Tir who sits upon the throne. He has his weapons; with this, we shall have ours."
The notion of proving to Loghain the Grey Wardens still had power, that they were not as he seemed to think a relic of another time best forgotten or puppets of Ferelden's erstwhile conquerors, appealed to Conrí, as did the notion of having another weapon with which to battle the Blight with.
"Conrí," Xolana muttered. "Are you sure about this?"
Conrí was quiet for a long moment. "If I use it, what will I become?" he asked as he toyed with the cork sealing the phial.
"Our salvation," Avernus replied. "And perhaps… our future."
Conrí nodded in acceptance of this explanation, and before anyone could say more to dissuade him, uncorked the phial and drank its contents in a single gulp.
"There will be pain. But with it comes knowledge," Avernus explained. "And knowledge..."
"Is power," Conrí completed the old maxim with a smile. Pain suddenly wracked his body, forcing him to one knee, the glass vial slipping from his grip to shatter on the floor.
"Conrí!" Erin cried, immediately dropping to her knees next to her brother, gasping in horror at what she saw. His veins had blackened and began showing through his skin. His eyes had turned pure white, emitting a familiar haze; the same haze as when the darkspawn were near. After several moments too long for Erin's taste, the color returned to his eyes and his veins faded back into his skin. "Conrí, that was very foolish," she whispered. "We can't do this without you… I can't do this…"
Conrí rose unsteadily to his feet and immediately took a long drink from his flask. "Don't worry, sister. I'm alright. It wasn't so bad… nowhere near as bad as the Joining, anyhow…"
Xolana swallowed hard. The pain brought him to his knees… and he says this was nothing compared to the actual Joining… As if I wasn't skittish enough about this.
"I still don't like the thought of you being a test subject for blood magic…" Erin murmured.
"Erin, don't be so naïve," Conrí muttered. The rebuke was gentle, but Erin still frowned slightly. "The Joining itself is the darkest of blood magic. You know this."
Erin sighed. "Yes, but that doesn't mean I like the thought of potentially losing the only blood I have left."
Conrí gripped his sister's shoulder and gave her a rare smile. "How do you feel?" Avernus asked.
Conrí thought for a moment. The pain was all but gone, leaving only a slight ache in his muscles. "I feel… different."
Avernus snorted. "Different? That is rather vague, Cousland. Different how?"
Conrí looked up at the ceiling, thinking. "It is an odd sensation… I feel like I'm about to drop but at the same time, I feel as if I could run the breadth of Fereldan. My mind is very clear… very alert... very sensitive to all impressions. I don't know if my vision is improved, or I'm just noticing things. My armor feels much lighter than it did before…" he drew his claymore and rolled his wrist, swinging the blade slowly. "My blade feels lighter too. I'd imagine my strength has increased a good deal."
Avernus nodded and scribbled Conrí's words onto a roll of parchment. "I imagine with the Peak secure, you will be continuing on soon?"
"Aye," Conrí nodded. "I think we could all use a nights rest."
"We need to take care of the bones first, Commander," Blair pointed out.
"Very true," Conrí sighed.
"Not to be disrespectful, Boss," Garik started. "But after we take care of burning or burying or what every it is you surfacers do to your dead… could we… count the gold?" Even Tristan and Tira looked at Conrí eagerly.
Conrí sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "In the morning, Brosca."
Later that night, the group was gathered around the fireplace, sitting in chairs they'd managed to bring up onto the second floor. Conrí sat staring into the flames as he smoked his pipe and sipped on Antivan brandy. Commander Dryden had fine taste in liquor it seemed. After a while of contemplation, Conrí spoke up. "Wardens. I need to speak to you about something. The rest of you should probably head to bed. We have an early morning."
Wynne's eyes widened in recognition and she nodded, ushering those who were not Warden's back downstairs to the bed chambers. Conrí grabbed Xolana's wrist as she passed.
"You might not be a Warden yet, but you still need to hear this," Conrí muttered. The mage swallowed hard and returned to her seat. Conrí tapped out his pipe before repacking and lighting it again. He also grabbed the bottle of Dragon's Peak bourbon that had been passed around and filled his tumbler. "Alright," he said after taking a pull and a drink and he was sure the others were out of earshot. "Most of you know this first part, but Xolana doesn't. Normally, you wouldn't be told this until just before your Joining, Xolana. How do you think Grey Wardens are able to sense darkspawn and remain free of the taint?"
Xolana frowned. "I'm… not sure. I assumed it had something to do with magic during the ritual but…"
"You're right. I'm not sure what the rest of the ingredients are besides Lyrium, but the main compound in the Joining Potion is Darkspawn blood," Conrí rumbled.
Xolana's eyes widened. "That… doesn't sound healthy…"
Conrí gave a dry humorless chuckle. "It isn't. Many die during the Joining. But those who survive are able to sense the Darkspawn and the Archdemon, and also gain an immunity to the taint. At least… for a time."
"For a time?" Serena asked, almost afraid to know the answer.
Conrí sighed and took a long drink. "Aye. The Taint… it's a death sentence. From the moment the blood touched your lips, you had thirty years… give or take."
The sound of a chair striking the floor echoed through the empty hall as Tristan surged to his feet, fury written all over his face. "Thirty years?! You're telling me, I'm only going to live to be fifty-three years old?!"
"Yes," Conrí rumbled wearily, deciding not to reprimand the mage. His own reaction hadn't been much more reserved. "Or you can take an arrow to the throat tomorrow or get torn in half by an ogre. Or you could have died in the tower during Uldred's little revolt. Thirty years can feel like an eternity in comparison. We take this burden so the rest of the world doesn't have to."
"It… seems like a high price to pay…" Serena mumbled.
"It is. But is any price too high to stop a blight?" Conrí asked.
"He's right, Tristan," Tira agreed, Tsume giving a low whine as she rubbed against her partner's leg. "I would have been dead or worse months ago if not for the Wardens." She scratched her faithful companion on the head.
Tristan scowled and stormed downstairs. When Xolana went to follow, she was again stopped by a Cousland.
"He has to sort this out for himself, Xolana," Erin rasped. "He'll understand. Eventually." Erin turned back to Conrí. "I see now why you didn't want me to join the Wardens, Brother."
"It's a little late for regrets, Sister," Conrí sighed before chugging the rest of his drink.
"Not regret," Erin shook her head. "Just… understanding. You had a look in your eyes during our Joining. Now I understand why that was."
"We do what we do because no one else will," Conrí told her. "We fight so others don't have to. We die so innocent blood isn't shed. We aren't heroes. This is our burden. Our calling. One way or another, this is what we were born to do. And I don't intend to let those who came before look upon us in disappointment. Do you?"
After a hearty breakfast and about a half hour of counting the thirty-odd bags of coins from the chest, Conrí announced the final tally. "Over three thousand sovereigns. I do believe this calls for a bonus," he chuckled. "How does twenty gold a piece sound?"
"Sounds like money well earned, Boss," Garik laughed as Conrí handed him a stack of gold coins. "Never had this much coin before. Actually, before we found the chest, I'd never seen this much coin."
After handing out his fellow's coin, Conrí turned to Levi, who had agreed to take over as acting seneschal for the Peak. "I'm sorry we couldn't find out more about your grandmother, Levi. I know coin won't mend that disappointment but consider this a thanks for leading us here."
Levi gave the Warden a dejected smile. "I could use some help cleaning up the Peak, Commander. Do you mind if I bring my family up here? We could fix the place up a bit. And my cousin Mikhael is the finest smith you'll see outside Orzammar."
"I see no problem with that," Conrí nodded. "I only ask you look after Oren and Oriana while Erin and I are not here. Oren is the curious type, but he'll listen to his mother, so don't worry about him being underfoot too much."
Levi grinned. "Oh, that'll be no trouble, Commander. One of my nephews has a little one about his age. Should be thick as thieves by the time you get back."
Conrí smiled slightly. "Your grandmother, I'm not sure about. But you're a good man, Levi," he said, before turning to head down the stairs. He found Xolana on the landing below the main floor, an old tome open in her hand. "What's got you so enthralled, Amell?"
"Huh?" Xolana looked up, flushing slightly at her rather simple expression. "Sorry, Conrí. I found this book in Avernus's office. It says something about a cache Commander Asturian left. Supposedly it's tied to this old portrait and the Warden's oath. But it doesn't work when I recite it so I think only a Warden could open the cache. And since I'm technically not a Warden yet… if you don't mind…" she gestured to the fireplace.
Conrí raised an eyebrow at the mage but shrugged and approached the old portrait. "In War, Victory," he rumbled. "In Peace, Vigilance… In Death…" Conrí's mind wandered to his fellows… they had taken his news relatively well, but… "Sacrifice."
The fire immediately snuffed itself, shocking both warrior and mage. Bricks in the fireplace and the wall above began to shift separate and move in ways that could only be the work of magic. When the wall settled again, one couldn't be sure if it had ever been there on the first place. Conrí strode inside, finding the 'cache' was more like an armory. Fine armor and weapons lined the walls; Avernus's spell must have kept them from falling into disrepair. There were all manner of arms and armor in the cache, from daggers to mauls and mage robes to heavy plate, each emblazoned with the twin headed griffon of the Warden Commander. All of them were polished drakeskin, shining silverite or the deep red of dragon bone…
Except for a small collection near the back. Three longswords lay on a unique stand. Two of the longswords, both in a design Conrí had never seen, lay crossed on the stand beneath the third. The blade on the right was the silver and blue of the grey wardens while its twin on the left was a unique crimson and gold. When Conrí went to pick one up, he pulled his hand back with a hiss. "Conrí?" Xolana asked, concerned.
"These blades aren't meant for me," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"I can't really explain it…" Conrí muttered. "I get the feeling… these blades don't… want me for some reason."
Xolana frowned and reached for the red and gold sword. Unlike Conrí, she was able to wrap her hand around the hilt and lift it from the stand. "Look at this," Xolana pointed to etching in the sides of the blade.
Conrí tilted his head but the word written in the metal wasn't familiar to him. "Looks like gibberish to me," he said with a chuckle.
Xolana rolled her eyes. "It's Arcanum, the native language of Tevinter. Most spells are in this language."
"Well, what does it say?"
"'The Phoenix.' It's an old Tevinter legend about a bird that, when it's time for it to die, sets itself on fire and is reborn from the ashes."
Conrí nodded, having heard of the creature in his childhood. "It still doesn't explain why you were able to touch the sword when I wasn't…"
"I don't know," Xolana sighed. "Maybe it only responds to mages?"
"Mages who use swords?" Conrí frowned. "Never heard of that before. Spears, I understand since they can be a disguised staff, but never swords."
"Neither have I, but I guess anything is possible," Xolana told him. She tilted her head to look at the sword's blue and silver twin. "Ah, the other has 'The Griffon' etched into the side. Fitting, I think."
Conrí grunted and let his eyes drift to the third sword. Unlike the twin swords, this one was in a sheath and Conrí was able to pick it up. "I think… I know this one," he breathed, pulling the blade from is sheath. The blade was black but gleamed like obsidian glass, even in the dull light streaming through the windows. "This is Commander Asturian's sword."
"So, what did you find?" Alistair's voice came from just behind them, almost making the pair drop the razor sharp weapons on their feet.
"Damnit, Alistair!" Conrí barked. "You pick the time we're holding weapons that could cut our limbs off to be sneaky?!"
"Dear Andraste, sorry!" Alistair cried. "What is that?"
"The fabled Asturian's Might," Conrí told him with a mild glare. After letting Alistair squirm for a moment, Conrí reversed the sword and held it out hilt first. "See how it feels."
Alistair blinked but took the blade and gave a few careful swings. "It feels like it was made for me," he said, awed.
"Then it's yours," Conrí said simply, handing Alistair the sheath. "It's bound to be better than the piece of scrap iron you've been toting around."
Alistair eyed the grey iron longsword at his hip. He'd been given the blade when he reached Ostagar. It was old when he'd received it and now was on its last legs. As much as he'd like to keep using the blade, practicality made him nod. "You're right," he grumbled. He handed the sword back to Conrí before un-belting his current weapon and replacing the simple leather sheath with the sturdier one made of wood and steel. When the scabbard was attached, Alistair once again took Asturian's Might and sheathed it. It was a comfortable weight on his hip, definitely designed for someone of his fighting style. "This is a Commander's weapon. Any particular reason you don't use it? You've said before you've been trained with a longsword."
"Be more weight to carry around," Conrí shrugged. "Might take it off your hands when the Blight is put down, but for now… it'll get more use in your hands than it would in mine."
Alistair nodded, seeing the sense in the de facto Commander's words. "We headed out soon?" he asked.
"Aye. Get the cart loaded and ready to go," Conrí commanded. "I want to be on the road before lunch."
"You got it," Alistair chuckled as he made his way out of the armory.
As the group finally got moving, with much grumbling from Garik and Blair, Conrí fell into step alongside Sten. "So, will you tell me now why you were in that cage?"
"I caged myself," Sten admitted. "A weak mind is a deadly foe, as you are no doubt aware."
"Are you saying you put yourself in that cage?"
"I know that my failures were my own. I told you before that I was sent here," Conrí nodded and motioned for Sten to continue. "I was not sent alone. I came to your lands with seven of the Beresaad—My brothers—to seek answers about the Blight. We made our way across the Fereldan country side without incident, seeing nothing of the threat we were sent to observe. Until the night we camped by lake Calenhad. They came from everywhere: the earth beneath our feet, the air above us, our own shadows harbored the darkspawn. I saw the last of the creatures cut down, too late. I fell."
"That sounds like what happened to Erin at Ostagar," Conrí said darkly, still ashamed and angered at the memory of that night.
"I heard the stories of Ostagar. Your kith stood their ground when others fled. No one can do more than that. I don't know how long I lay on the battle field among the dead, nor do I know how the farmers found me. I only know that when I awoke I was no longer among my brothers. And my sword was gone from my hand."
"You probably dropped it on the battlefield," Conrí told him.
"Perhaps. I searched for it. When that failed, I asked my rescuers what had become of it. They said they found me with nothing,"
"Did you believe them?"
"I did. They had no reason to lie to me," Sten sighed. "I panicked. Unthinking, I struck them down."
"You panicked over a lost blade?" Conrí asked, shocked. He was rather attached to his claymore, but not enough to cut down a family in cold blood.
"That sword was made for my hand alone," Sten told him, his violet eyes suddenly burning. "I have carried it from the day I was sent into the Beresaad, I was to die wielding it for my people. Even if I could cross Fereldan and Tevinter unarmed and alone to bring my report to the Arishok, I would be slain on sight by the antaam. They would know me as soulless, a deserter. No soldier would cast aside his blade while he still drew breath."
"Couldn't you search for it?" Conrí asked.
"If I knew where to look, it would be in my hand now."
"Where did you fight the darkspawn?"
"Near Lake Calenhad," Sten grumbled.
"Don't worry, we'll find it," Conrí told him. He was beginning to understand Sten a bit better. A Qunari must see in their weapon their very soul. If one lost his blade, he's lost his soul. If finding this blade brought the giant warrior peace, it was worth searching.
"Perhaps those words are empty," Sten rumbled. "But… Thank you all the same."
Conrí nodded and continued on. They were about two weeks from Redcliffe, even along the imperial Highway.
"So, you say Arl Eamon raised you?"
Alistair looked up as Serena addressed him. The question caught Alistair, who'd gotten used to the silence of the road, by surprise, not least because he wasn't quite sure how best to explain the story of his somewhat murky past to his companion, so Alistair decided to address it the way he usually did such things.
"Did I say that? I meant wild dogs raised me. Giant flying dogs from the Anderfels, a whole pack of them in fact!"
"That would explain the smell," Serena snarked. Truth be told, none of them smelled particularly pleasant; the pleasures of the hot bath in the peak camp were quite forgotten and the immediate lack of water sources at times when they made camp meant that the ability to attend to their hygiene was somewhat intermittent. The group had acquired various means to deal with the matter; Leliana always emitted the pleasant smell of those pale white wildflowers known as Andraste's Grace they'd discovered she had a fondness for. When asked about it, she had smirked and said that she always kept the blossoms in her brassiere to stay fresh. Alistair initially wasn't sure if she was joking or not, but when Conrí had put the question to her, Leliana had demonstrated with one after Conrí presented her with another flower. Morrigan never smelled any different, always projecting a faint air of pine needles, even though the great pine forests of the Korcari Wilds were far behind them; Alistair wondered if the witch would lower herself to use her magic for a simple cantrip as disguising an unpleasant scent. Sten, however, lathed his flesh with a strong smelling, though not unpleasant oil that certainly disguised any other scent. Koun, of course, smelled of wet, muddy dog.
Feeling they were drifting from the conversation, Alistair returned to the matter they had been discussing. "Well, it wasn't until I was eight that I discovered you didn't have to lick yourself clean. Old habits die hard, you know."
"So does a horde of darkspawn."
"Hmm. Point taken," Alistair agreed, his expression becoming much more sober. He gave a reluctant sigh and answered "Let's see. How do I explain this? I'm a bastard. And before you make any smart comments," he said, eying Serena's face sharply and pointing a warning finger at his companion, stopping her just as Serena opened her mouth, "I mean the fatherless kind. 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 was good to me, 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."
"Arl Eamon wasn't your father? Do you know who was?" Serena questioned, no doubt confused as to why a man as powerful and important as Eamon would go to so much effort to bring up a child who wasn't of his own blood. Uneasiness struck Alistair as he wondered Should I tell her the truth? before dismissing it; there'd be time enough for that later.
Still, Alistair couldn't suppress a rather sour grimace at the memory as he replied. "I know who I was told was my father. He died even before my mother did, but that's not important."
"So why did Eamon send you to the Chantry?"
"Several years after he took me in, Arl Eamon married a young woman from Orlais; it caused all sorts of problems with the King because it was so soon after the war. But… he loved her." Serena nodded at this, as though she understood how love could make people willing to do things that went against all rational thought. Alistair wondered what such things were, but dismissed it as a matter for another time.
"Anyway, the new Arlessa was never too fond of me. I think she resented the rumors that 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 really. The Arlessa had made sure the castle wasn't a home to me by that point; she despised me."
"What a terrible thing to do to a child," Serena muttered, frowning and furrowing her brow. Alistair could understand his comrade's displeasure: she was a child of dwarven nobility, had probably never wanted for anything growing up. No doubt she thought it abominable that the arl had been willing to cast aside a child whom he'd spent ten years bringing up as an apparent act of charity, solely for the affections of a shrewish woman who'd made said child's life a living nightmare. Alistair, however, had had long years to come to terms with the matter.
"Maybe," Alistair replied to Serena's ire with a small shrug. "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." They walked on quietly for a few seconds before Alistair spoke again, thinking aloud. "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. 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."
"You were young," was Serena's sympathetic answer.
"And raised by dogs. Or I might as well have been, the way I acted. 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. Why did you want to know?"
"Well, since Redcliffe's our next stop, I was curious about what kind of welcome we're likely to expect," Serena replied, causing another slew of unease to pass through Alistair at the mention of Redcliffe; a good many people there knew of his history and that past was sure to be mentioned. It's probably going to better if they hear it from my mouth rather than some random villager... Alistair thought. But how does one just bring it up?
As the sun began to set beyond the horizon, Conrí called to stop for the night. They had made better progress than he had hoped, cutting the two weeks he had anticipated to about ten days if they could keep this pace.
After supper, Conrí announced he'd take first watch with Leliana quickly volunteering to sit beside him. She'd done this many times over the past number of months, spaced enough to avoid unneeded questions but often enough to keep a friendly conversation flowing. They'd chatted over their lives before the Blight and Conrí had joined the Wardens as a bid to find his place in the world.
This night however, was different. Leliana was unusually quiet. This caused Conrí some concern for the normally loquacious bard. Silence stretched until Leliana was sure the others were sound asleep.
"I lied to you. About why I left Orlais," she said finally as Conrí came back from a sweep of the campsite. The look of regret on Leliana's face told Conrí she'd clearly been holding this back for some time, a feeling that both intrigued and worried him.
"I had a feeling you weren't telling me everything," he said, sitting down beside her, remembering an earlier talk they'd had about the nature of the mysterious and dangerous Orlesian bards - actors, singers, tale-tellers and assassins - and her involvement with them in her youth. "So you didn't just get tired of the life?"
"In a way, I did," she replied. "But these events were influenced by thoughts and feelings I did not have. The truth is I came to Ferelden because I was being hunted."
"You're a criminal?" Conrí enquired, an eyebrow raised questioningly.
Leliana looked at him directly now, and he could see a mix of emotions in those emerald orbs; pain, regret, anger and loss. "I was framed. Betrayed, by somebody I knew, and thought I could trust. Marjolaine." The way she spat the name as though it were something foul in her mouth spoke to Conrí of great affection and respect, tainted irrevocably by the bitter memory of whatever had passed between them.
"She was my mentor, and my friend. She taught me the bardic arts, how to enchant with song, to carry myself like a high-born lady, to blend in as a servant. The skills I learnt, I used to serve her, because I enjoyed it… and I loved her."
"So, this Marjolaine… was a bard also?" Conrí questioned, wanting to get a better understanding of the circumstances and trying to suppress an infantile moment of jealousy at the mention of Leliana's affection for this woman.
"She claimed to have retired. She married an Orlesian nobleman, and inherited his wealth when he died. To many, she was just a rich widow." For a moment, Conrí had to wonder if this Marjolaine had had anything to do with her husband's demise. Considering what Leliana said, and what I know of Orlesian intrigues, it would not surprise me!
Leliana seemed to grasp his wagon train of thought as she continued, "My devotion to her blinded me to her… less than noble attributes."
"So you were dutiful, but she still betrayed you?"
Leliana gave a brief nod and continued her tale. "You could say it was my fault. Marjolaine decide we should have some fun in Denerim, causing general mayhem with the merchants, ruining the career of a guard. Light work for a bard, if I'm honest. Eventually, we were to break into the Arl of Denerim's estate for a client. After slipping past the guards I planted a number of documents as Marjolaine had instructed. My curiosity got the better of me. Something told me I had to know what was in those letters. Marjolaine... had been selling Orlesian information to Fereldan and other countries. Nevarra and Antiva among others. It was treason."
"Isn't that what bards do?" Conrí questioned, acquainted with the stories that bards were devious enough to do anything to achieve their goals. The question made Leliana wince, as though she disliked the accusation.
"Some. But I had assumed Marjolaine only operated within Orlais outside the occasional field trip to cause a little merry havoc. It was an unhappy surprise for me. My concern was not that she was a traitor, but that her life would be in danger if she was caught. Orlais has been at war with so many countries, that any information was vital. I soon learned all too well how vital."
"What do you mean?" Conrí asked, feeling an uneasy chill go through him. Leliana looked pained and stayed silent for so long, Conrí thought she wouldn't answer him. But before he could open his mouth to force an answer, she continued, though her voice was much softer and uncertain.
"I should have left well enough alone, but I didn't. I had to tell Marjolaine I feared for her life. She was angry with me for opening the letters, but brushed aside my concern, saying they were false documents. I wasn't so sure. Maybe her client had wanted to provoke the other nobles into renewing the war… I found out I was right… just not on what side was trying to provoke the other."
Conrí felt his blood run cold, especially as he knew what had likely come next. "What happened then?"
To his horrified shock, Leliana looked away, and he saw tears begin to fall from those brilliant green eyes. "Commander Harwen Raleigh and his men… they captured me… did terrible things to me," she blurted, struggling to get the words out as the horrors of whatever she had endured came back to her. "It was a spy's punishment, and at the end all that awaited me was eternity in an unmarked g-grave…" she finished sobbingly, her control finally shattering as the memories of her suffering overcame her, the thoughts of what had created the scars that marked her, both upon her flesh and the scars that couldn't be seen.
Without thinking, Conrí reached out and embraced her, pulling her close to his chest, just giving her what comfort he could. As the girl pressed her head against his chest, he could feel her willingness to take his comfort, but she then relinquished herself from his embrace, as though she did not think herself worthy of his compassion, and Conrí felt a great surge of hatred towards the woman whose callous, brutal actions had reduced the young woman who'd seemed so assured, so certain of the right path in Lothering to a sobbing wreck.
"Bitch." Conrí heard himself snarl, trying to picture this conniving churl, who would so casually cast aside as devoted and loyal a companion as Leliana to save her own worthless hide, in a voice that was a deadly hiss. "Did you seek her out, this… Marjolaine?"
The bard slowly regained her composure and lifted her head from Conrí's armor-clad chest, wiping away her tears and breathing steadily until her voice was steady again.
"No. I had the opportunity, but I didn't want to become her. I dealt with Raleigh and managed to retrieve the documents Marjolaine had stolen from a Mother in Orlais… but I let Marjolaine go. I refused to walk her path. So she left."
"And so you stayed in Ferelden." Conrí concluded. Leliana gave a weary sigh and nodded.
"I fled to Lothering, and the Chantry. Ferelden protected my person, and the Chantry saved my soul." She took a deep breath. "And that is the real reason I am here. No more lies between us. At least in this." A single tear rolled down her cheek.
Conrí reached out and brushed the tear aside, gently holding Leliana as she regained her composure again. She took a deep breath and looked up at him, a soft smile on her lips. Clearly, she hadn't expected him to be so compassionate or understanding about the confession of her past sins. She rarely saw the more human side of the warrior, but she rather liked when she did.
"I'm sorry for keeping this from you for so long, but I feared… if you knew the truth, you would think of me in a way that would… make you think less of me, or even despise me..."
"Why would I do that? You didn't come to me because I was a nobleman, but because I was a Grey Warden. You didn't care about what I might have been or done, or the lies you must have heard; you came to me because you believed I could help you. I won't cast you aside or judge you for matters in your past. I promise you this. If this Marjolaine ever thinks to attack you again, she'll be meeting my blade. She will never lay a hand on you again, or enable her pets to do so. Of that, you have my word. And a Cousland never breaks his word."
"It feels good to have this off my chest. Thank you for listening… and understanding," Leliana smiled wanly, the relief in her voice at his reaction clear. "Tug and Sketch would have liked you."
"Tug and Sketch?" Conrí questioned.
And so Leliana told of her companions in crime, a former Orzammar carta thug named Tug and a skittish elven apostate named Sketch. As per usual, Leliana did most of the talking while Conrí listened, his eyes only leaving her to scan the camp to insure nothing was sneaking up on them in the night. It was only when Tira and Erin emerged from their tents did the conversation stop and the bard and warrior parted, each going to bed with a lot to think about.
"Never thought I'd say this," Garik groaned as he stretched while following Serena down to the brook the next day. "But I'm getting used to that... what did they call it? The Sky? Yeah. I'm getting used to that."
Serena sighed from her place beside Garik. "I'm not scared of falling into it anymore, but I still don't like it."
"I hear ya." Garik nodded. "Still prefer sleeping in that tent than outside myself. How do these surfacers live their entire lives without a proper ceiling over their heads?"
"Stone take 'em all, I don't understand it myself," Serena shook her head. "Worse yet, they don't like it underground. What's NOT to like down in Orzammar!?"
"You're seriously asking a Duster that, Princess?" Garik smirked.
"Oh, don't even pretend you don't miss it, Duster or no," Serena snarked.
Garik just shrugged. "The city itself as it is right now, I could care less about. I miss being underground, miss getting into trouble with Leske, hell I miss Rica codling me."
"It's true…" said Serena thoughtfully. "I never thought I'd miss something so simple as a permanent roof over my head."
"Well, if it makes you feel any better," Garik chuckled dryly. "We have to head there at some point. Apparently we have a treaty."
Serena stayed silent for a while, her brows furrowed. "I'm not sure what to think about that. Surely I should have known about such a treaty but now... it's just appeared out of nowhere. I should remember something from the Memories, but Ancestors save me, I can't recall."
"Don't feel bad. I didn't find out about it until we were leaving for the wilds."
"That really doesn't make me feel any better, Duster," Serena snickered.
Garik rolled his eyes. "I will give the surface this, though. The food is a lot better and the ale doesn't taste like dirt."
"You only say that because you never had the good stuff," Serena sniffed. "The ale up here pales in comparison."
Garik snickered. He had in fact stolen a mug or two of Valenta's Red. "Oh, I'm sure. Food is better. Can't deny that. Don't get me wrong, I do occasionally find myself craving a rack of nug ribs but there's a lot more different kinds of meat up here." Serena grumbled a bit before finally disgruntedly agreeing. "Are you gonna be sour the whole way to the river or do I have to start making funny faces?"
"I'm not sour!" Serena protested. "...I just miss Orzammar, is all."
Garik sighed. "Look Princess, ya miss your home, I get that. But it can't distract you. You honestly think Boss Man and Big Red don't miss their home? You saw what happened there."
"It's not like this will stop me from killing darkspawn should they come at me," Serena said stubbornly. "Don't even worry."
"Serena, you keep dwelling on this and you'll end up going crazy."
"I'll show you crazy if you don't shut up soon," Serena growled.
Garik finally groaned and rubbed his face. "Fine Princess, have it your way."
Serena gave a slight huff. "And why do you still insist on calling me princess, anyway?" she asked
"Dunno," Garik shrugged. "Just seems natural to me."
"Well I'm not the princess anymore, nor will I ever be again," Serena told him. "You should stop. We're both just Grey Wardens now."
"You say that as if wasn't a step up," Garik pointed out. "Well, for me at least. Better dying a Grey Warden then starving to death as some thug in Dust Town."
Serena was taken aback. "That... was not what I meant. I apologize."
Garik waved her off dismissively. "No need. Didn't say it to be a guilt trip."
Serena looked more thoughtful. "Yet I should have chosen my words more wisely. What I meant to say was that regardless of what we were before, we are the same now. Dwarves on the surface. Outcasts of Orzammar. Grey Wardens."
"As I said, a step up. I'd rather be an outcast than someone who should have been drown at birth."
Serena shook her head sadly. "I don't know what to say to you, Garik. I have not lived through what you've experienced."
"All I'm saying is there are worse fates than walking the surface or being a Warden," Garik sighed. "It is what it is. And Cousland is a lot easier to work for than Beraht ever was. I have a purpose now, and so do you. Its fine to miss your home, but don't let it eat at you."
"You know... you're not half bad for a former Duster. And you have a good head on your shoulders."
"Hey, not all of us were the scum of Thedas," Garik chuckled. "Most of us, I'll grant you, but not all of us. And it wouldn't be that way if not for that stupid caste system, but that's a whole other issue. I will admit, I worry for my ma and sister, but Rica's a tough broad. I think they'll be alright until I see 'em next."
Serena was about to comment 'if we see them again' but bit it back. "I'm sure they'll be fine, from what you've told us," she said instead.
Before Garik could answer Erin called to them from further down the path. "If you two are quite done jawing, pick it up! We need to catch dinner before sundown."
The dwarves rolled their eyes and followed their much taller companion. "Those long legs of yours give you an unfair advantage, Big Red!" Garik snarked.
Erin turned as she came to the banks of the river, a sly smirk on her face. "These legs are good for more than walking, Brosca. Not that you'll ever find out."
Garik laughed. "That's what they all say! But I always prove them wrong."
Later that night, Xolana approached the witch carefully in a rare quiet moment. "...Morrigan?" she asked hesitantly. "Would you mind if I sat with you?"
Morrigan sighed quietly as her pestle pulverized an elfroot. So the other leashed mage wanted to talk. "If you wish. So long as you don't sit on my bag of components."
"Thanks for the warning; I can be a bit of a klutz sometimes," Xolana sat down near the apostate with an awkward smile, trying to brighten the mood but soon realizing she was clearly failing. "...Sorry. I feel like I'm acting a fool."
Morrigan smirked. "Well, at least you are not acting as bad as Alistair," she said with a snicker.
Xolana laughed genuinely this time. "Well, I think anyone would be hard-pressed to act quite that foolish... Oh, I'm glad you said that. I was starting to worry you had no sense of humor."
"I have a sense of humor," Morrigan snipped. "It is just quite different from what most consider acceptable. Not that I much care, but there it is."
"Ha, well if that doesn't put you and I in the same boat there, I don't know what does," Xolana smiled. "Not caring is a good attitude, though. Perhaps the most sane one."
"'Tis an odd thing to consider you the sanest of the group," Morrigan chuckled.
"We all have our quirks," Xolana smirked. "And sanity is just a matter of perspective anyway; make up your own mind, and consider me as you will."
"How very practical. I must say, I have slightly higher hopes for all the mages in the Tower if more are like you and Tristan."
Xolana fell into a somewhat more somber mood. "Yes, the tower... the blasted tower," Xolana muttered. "Did you know of its existence before meeting us? Did your mother teach you about how mages live in our world?"
"Of course she did," Morrigan snorted. "She also told me that mages are rounded up and imprisoned there merely for being what they are. I am somewhat amazed that you did not escape before the Wardens arrived."
Xolana gave a humor-less laugh. "You don't think I would have tried had I seen even the slightest opportunity? As it stands, I already bent the rules as much as I could possibly get away with, almost at the cost of my life."
"Then you are quite lucky the De Facto commander has a level head," Morrigan said simply.
"You're probably right there. Morrigan..." Xolana quieted for a long moment. "I was... wondering. What was it like to be... free? Don't get me wrong, I know you wanted more from life... It's the human condition, isn't it? Always wanting what you do not or even cannot have... perhaps we should be careful what we wish for. But I... Well. I just don't know what it's like anymore. Since joining the Wardens I have finally left the Tower and been able to make more of my life, this is true and for that I am incredibly grateful, but... I am still not exactly in charge of my life, my destiny. I was wondering..." Xolana shut herself up. "Urgh, forgive me. I shouldn't have asked. I am being too forward - forgive my rudeness. "
"There is nothing to forgive," Morrigan waved her hand dismissively. "Yes, Flemeth kept me free, but I was forced to live in a small shack in the middle of a cold wilderness. And Flemeth was no great company either. As I told the Wardens, what I want is to see the world. Before now, I had no true opportunity."
Xolana listened in silence and eventually nodded meekly. "Perhaps we are more alike than I was willing to believe after all."
Morrigan laughed evilly. "'Tis a frightening thought, no?"
Xolana laughed as well. "That was not the adjective I was going to use but... I suppose it is."
"I have a question of my own, if you will indulge me."
Xolana was a bit surprised but nodded. "Please, ask away."
"Was it just fear of reprisal that kept you from escaping?" the witched asked. "I vaguely remember Mother mentioning the Templars had some power to track Mages of the Circle, but I do not know how true it is."
Xolana sighed wearily. "If I had tried hard enough, I could have probably found and destroyed my phylactery... they would not have been able to track me then. I suppose that answers your question about the tracking," Xolana was silent for a moment, then took deep breath. "No, it wasn't just fear of reprisal that stopped me. It was also the fear of the unknown. Fear of the outside world. You know, mages are locked up not just for the 'protection' of the rest of humanity... 'normal' people hate us enough to oftentimes be more dangerous to us than we are to them. And... well. I suppose you can imagine I may have had another reason, too."
"Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider… is chaos for the fly. Hm... I suppose you make a convincing point, however. But what is this Phylactery?" Morrigan asked.
"When they first take us, the templars will take a small amount of blood from us and contain them in small vessels, or phylacteries. Using these 'essences of our spirits', they can track us wherever we try to run."
"Wait..." Morrigan barked. "Are you telling me that the Templars, who quake in their boots at the mere mention of blood magic... use it themselves?
"Ironic, is it not?" Xolana snorted. "They try to keep this silent or else excuse this practice as 'a means to an end' whenever they can, yet they would judge and punish me for doing the same."
"Oh, I am quite prepared to hand Alistair his head for holding this templar thing over mine..." Morrigan growled.
Xolana chuckled. "I've thought about it, but ultimately, we're now all Wardens together. It's not worth the antagonism. Besides, so far I've only needed to use my Blood Magic once so far... I was hoping not to let Alistair know about it when we first met, but as the Maker wills it, it was a matter of life and death. I imagine I will have to call upon these powers again before our duty is done, but I don't make light play of them. At the end of the day, the Templars do have one thing right: Blood Magic is, indeed, dangerous."
"Indeed it is," Morrigan agreed. "From what I hear, 'twas an impressive display of magic, blood or no."
"Well..." to the witch's surprise, the blood mage was perhaps a bit embarrassed. "I just did what I could."
"Modesty," Morrigan chuckled. "Cannot say I expected that. I think you, Tristan and I shall work well together."
Xolana recovered a bit. "Well, modesty is not exactly what I'm known for, but... I don't speak much of my Blood Magic. Habit, I suppose."
"'Tis not something best bandied about, this is true. Would you mind terribly retrieving the Elfroot from my satchel?"
Xolana looked to the satchel and dug around carefully until she found the Elfroot. "Ah, here. What do you have in mind?" she asked as she handed the leaves to Morrigan.
"Conrí has requested I brew a number of health potions. 'Tis far less costly than purchasing them no?" Morrigan explained.
"That is true. Between the dangers of doing anything remotely related to magic, the few mages who are willing to interact with the outside world and the ridiculous taxes some templars try to enforce on potions... well. You might be able to imagine."
"'Tis quite ludicrous," Morrigan muttered. "The ingredients alone cost no more than a silver yet a potion will cost five. Do you have any experience with herbs? Perhaps you could assist me."
"I do not have as much talent as you, but I am willing to learn," Xolana nodded. "Surely the time will come where an extra pair of hands may save lives, if you will teach me."
"Gladly," Morrigan handed Xolana an extra mortar and pestle. "'Tis not very complicated after all. Be thankful I do not share my mother's delight in speaking in riddles, however."
Xolana chuckled. "Indeed, that would make this a lot more difficult. As it stands, however, I must agree with what you said earlier - I think we will work well together."
Several days passed as the group continued to get to know each other. Wynne had joined Morrigan and Xolana in making more potions. It was one of the few times the apostate and the Senior Enchanter could have a civilized conversation. Xolana learned much during those nights both of medicinal effects and growing patterns of certain plants.
Garik and Serena argued frequently, though they were friendly arguments, if such a thing could truly exist. Usually the argument would spawn from sparring, during which Garik would inevitably cheat. Quite unrepentantly in fact. It didn't always work, however, as just as often as not, Garik found himself flat on his back, looking up at the former princess.
Erin and Tira would spend hours at a time discussing their cultures, both eager to learn more about the others world. Tira explained the markings in her flesh; vallaslin or blood writing. Apparently it was a mark of adulthood. Erin chuckled when she pulled down the collar of her shirt to reveal a laurel wreath tattooed over her heart. Her family had a similar tradition, but it was mostly reserved for the sons. Eleanor had been horrified when she learned of Erin's addition.
Tristan's visits to Morrigan's tent at night seemed to get a bit more frequent lately, much to the camp's irritation. Well, most of the camp. Xolana thought it was hilarious and frequently commended the pair for their volume. Tristan would roll his eyes and shake his head while Morrigan laughed evilly. Wynne's words of caution to Tristan were met with a thanks but a firm denial of her need for involvement. Both mages were of age and in little danger of procreating with Morrigan's skill with herbs.
Blair was one of the first to really warm up to Zevran, speaking to the Crow at length about his adventure before coming to Fereldan. His flirty nature amused Blair, usually able to dodge his advances with a well timed quip aimed at his pride. Zevran took the barbs in stride, not in least deterred by Blair's refusals.
When their destination neared, everyone once again began getting quieter. Much as it had in Honnleath, the feeling in the air got tenser as the group neared Redcliffe Village. But, unlike Shale's old village, there were no Darkspawn in the area, at least not that Conrí could sense. But one thing was for sure.
Something evil had been unleashed in Redcliffe.
AN: Sorry about the delay everyone. I was struck by a rather nasty case of the flu which kinda kept me from doing anything besides laying in bed and watching videos on youtube. It was rather frustrating as i was half done and lost a week. But, here it is. Next up, the undead in Redcliffe, tentitively titled The Dead Should Stay Dead. As i'm sure you've noticed, i'm not a fan of Eamon, but he does prove useful. But, i never said anything about this being a smooth relationship. XD Thanks again for reading. If you wanna leave a review, I really appreciate hearing what you guys think. Even Grammer Nazis. *Sticks tongue out at my Beta* ~Sin