Chapter 25: The Hand of a God
"I have just come to adore the south, it is so quaint here, so rustic with its swamp gas and swarms of flies and mosquitoes."
Dorian chuckled to himself.
"I just love it too little pieces, would you not agree, Milady Herald?"
Ana tried not to giggle, Dorian was not wrong in his assessment of this place. When she received the request from Lieutenant Harding to proceed as quickly as she could to the Falo Mire she had hoped for something a little better than the mountains of snow of Haven. A mission that would allow her to gage Dorian's abilities to work with the other members of what she was starting to consider her inner-circle, she knew what Solas could do, and Vivienne was now also a known commodity.
Now, it was Dorian's turn.
The scion of House Pavus had performed well in the dark future of 9:42 Dragon, but that had been life or death, she needed to see if he could handle being on a mission with her and the others. The group needed to see that they could depend on Dorian; she knew he could do it, now they had to see it. That was why she had brought him on this mission.
She had wanted a battle situation.
What she had gotten was a swamp.
The herald wrinkled her nose, the damp smell of rot and decay filled her nostrils, ruins of buildings slowly being reclaimed by the muck showed that there had been a settlement here…once, but now even that was gone, slowly being swallowed up by the bog and wildlife that called this lovely location home.
Varric riding behind her and Blackwall chuckled at the mage's response.
"Not the kind of place you usually travel in, serah?" he asked.
Dorian smirked at him.
"Tell me Master Tethras," he said, "What is a debt collector from Kirkwall's dwarven merchant's guild doing in the Inquisition?"
Varric smirked right back.
"I have my reasons," he replied, "what is a pampered Tevinter nobleman doing here?"
The mage looked aghast.
"Pampered? You think I'm pampered. I'll have you know I have gone three full weeks now with no one volunteering to peel my grapes for me; I would hardly call myself pampered in the face of that hardship.
Ana chuckled.
Dorian smiled at her.
"How about you my dear Lady Trevelyan, you are of noble blood too? Know any good grape peelers in Haven?"
"Can't say that I do Lord Pavus," she replied, "Not that I was ever used to such treatment, being the third born, I was not exposed often to that type of thing."
Blackwall snorted.
"I doubt that you would have availed yourself to such treatment even if you had the option Milady," the warden said, "I've seen you in combat, you are warrior born, such trivial pleasures would not please one such as you."
Ana blushed slightly. Anyone else, she might say the comment was just smoke, but coming from Blackwall, one of the most hardened warriors she had ever known…
…That meant something.
Dorian sniffed the air with distaste; clearly the Falo Mire was disturbing his noble sensibilities.
"What a lovely shade of muck," he murmured.
Varric chuckled.
"This is nothing, Sparkler," he said jovially, "You should see the Tellari Swamp in Antiva, now that is something. Three years ago a couple of friends and I had business in that place."
Varric shook his head at the mere memory of it.
"High dragons, witches of the wilds, undead Antivan noblemen that explode when you question them, that right there was something to talk about.
Ana gave Varric a strange look.
"You are kidding right," she asked.
He merely grinned at her.
"I'll tell you the story sometime, Kiddo, I promise."
She shook her head.
Sometimes she thought all of Varric's wild tales were just bullshit…
…Other times, she prayed that they were.
She had read Varric's the Tale of the Champion and he had let her read an early draft of his latest book the Hunt for King Maric. The things the dwarf had seen in his travels were quite fantastic, they were entertaining tales, but part of her that wanted the world to be sane, it tried denying the more fantastic things he described.
She wanted normal. So many amazing things had happened to her since the Conclave. She wanted to believe that those were all happenstance, if everything Varric wrote was true, that meant that the world was far crazier than she thought.
She did not like thinking about that. If all those tales were true, then that meant the world had been going nuts long before the conclave. That the insanity was likely too big even for the Inquisition to fix.
She did not want to believe that was so.
She had to believe that they could fix this mess, she had to.
She tried to push all thoughts of dragons, witches, and trips to the fade out of her mind. She tried to stay focused on the job at hand, finding Harding and helping her.
That was sane, that was normal.
Blackwall regarded the dank swamp that was slowly surrounding them, if being here bothered the warden he did not show it, at least not visibly anyway.
He merely took a deep breath of the air and snorted.
"I've been in worse places," he said to no one at all.
Ana smirked at the warden's remark, Blackwall had a gift of saying more with three words than most people could say with a hundred.
There was something about the warden, a cold competence that she was more than a little envious of truth be told. Blackwall did not have to put on a brave front. He was brave. People recognized him for what he was, and they listened. When they had first met, the warden had told her that a warden could inspire, make a person better than what he or she truly was.
He had not been wrong about that. Many a soldier in Haven saluted as he passed.
Blackwall would obey the orders of the various Inquisition commanders, no one doubted that, but when she gave an order, he jumped to respond. She was not sure when she had won his respect, but it was clear that she had it. When the warden bowed to her will, it only seemed to increase her standing in the Inquisition. If even a warden bent knee to the Herald, could they do any less?
She hated to admit it, but she was not above using that authority, not if it helped her get things done. The men respected Blackwall, and the women…
Ana smiled slightly.
The warden's arrival had not gone unmarked by the women of Haven either, she had heard several lay sisters talking about him in Flissa's Tavern whispering the tales they had heard about warden…stamina, and appetites beyond simple battle. More than a few would not have resisted if the barrel chested warrior asked for their company for the night, some would have eagerly accepted the challenge of trying to warm his bed. So far, he had not returned their attention but that only seemed to add to his mystique.
The dark mysterious lone warrior, Ana knew many girls back in Ostwick who ate that kind of thing up. Blackwall was the kind of man that got a maiden's young heart pounding. If he desired companionship, he would not have trouble finding willing volunteers. She was not among them of course, but that was because she had…other interests.
The herald smiled slightly.
…Or perhaps…it was because her heart had simply already been spoken for.
Despite what others said she was simply grateful to have the warden with them. If Harding's people had run into trouble they would need a strong sword arm today.
Not that his loyalty to the cause was his only reason for being here of course.
Blackwall had volunteered to accompany them on this mission because he had heard rumors of warden artifacts that had been lost long ago in the ruins of Hargrave Keep, deep in the swamps of the Falo Mire, that and he felt he had been derelicting his duty lately by staying behind in Haven.
The herald did not see that as the case.
Blackwall had brought his warden treaties over to the Inquisition, using them wisely; Ambassador Montilyet had garnered great support for the Inquisition cause in both Ferelden and Orlais. Plus, Blackwall had saved her life several times during their brief visit to Valammar, even killing a hurlock alpha all but by himself.
He had nothing else to prove, not in her eyes.
The sound of voices pierced the misty veil ahead of them. Slowly the Inquisition camp came into view, a light rain fell on the scouts moving to and fro through the camp. Ana called out, letting them know that she had arrived.
Harding stepped up to meet her, the dwarf looked a mess from the miserable weather, but she seemed more than pleased to see the Herald and her companions.
She gave Ana a curt bow.
"Thank you for coming so quickly, Your Worship," the dwarf said.
"It is no problem lieutenant," she said, "You're missive said some of our people were in trouble."
"That is correct Your Worship. One of our patrols was captured by the Avvar. We think they are being held for ransom."
Ana blinked, cursing the fact that she had not spent more time in the Haven library during the snowstorm.
"Forgive me, lieutenant," she said, "I must confess. I'm not that knowledgeable of the people of Ferelden. What exactly are the Avvar?"
It was Blackwall that answered her.
"Barbarians from the Frostback Mountains, They have spent the last thousand years resisting civilized society in all its forms. Good fighters thought, knew more than a few good grey wardens that were born in those mountains."
Ana nodded.
So they had barbarians to deal with now.
How nice.
"What are they doing in a bog?"
"Apparently they have come down here to honor their gods," the dwarf replied.
Varric sighed.
"I don't suppose they have made any demands?" he asked.
Harding winced.
"Their leader has," she said.
"What does he want?" Ana asked.
"Your head, Your Worship," the scout said looking away from her.
Ana blinked.
What?
"Have…have I offended these Avvar in some way?"
Harding sighed.
"Apparently their leader wants you dead because you are the Herald of Andraste."
"What do these people have against Andraste?"
"The Avvar have a lot of gods, Your Worship. The sky has a god. The mountains have a god. The forests have a god. When people started saying that you have been sent by the Maker, this Avvar leader decided that your continued existence is an affront to their faith. They are willing to challenge our god with theirs, to prove their superiority."
Harding shook her head.
"Personally though, I think their leader is just a boastful little prick who wants to home and say he killed you."
Ana felt a little sick.
She wished she could say that she was surprised by all this, but she wasn't.
It was only a matter of time before something like this happened. She was kind of surprised the Qunari had not sent killers after her yet.
Iron Bull promised to keep an eye out for that order, so when it did come she would have time to prepare, provided he wasn't the one trusted to carry it out.
That last part might have been a joke, but she would keep an eye on bull anyway, just to be safe of course.
"I don't suppose that we could speak to these Avvar, negotiate with them?"
Blackwall chuckled.
"We could offer to sell them the Tevinter," he suggested, "The Avvar hate them more than any other lowlander."
He turned to the mage.
"How about it Dorian," he asked, "You ready to give your life for the cause?"
"I'll pass thanks," the mage replied, "And even if I did, I'm sure our herald would miss my rapier wit and stunning good looks."
Ana rolled her eyes.
"Let us not forget your boundless humility," she said.
"Of course not," he replied with a saucy grin.
"I don't think negotiating is going to work here, Your Worship," Harding continued, from what I learned from the survivors of the Avvar attack, they consider talking up right there with reading. It is for the weak. Nobles, scholars, Orlesian peasants, steel will likely serve you better than words here."
Ana shook her head. It seemed that she had little choice now.
If she wanted to save those men, she would have to meet these barbarians on their terms.
Again her title as herald was getting her into trouble, first with the Venatori now this…
Part of her wondered if it was even worth all this.
"Do we at least know where the Avvar are holding our men?"
"In the ruins of Hargrave Keep," the dwarf responded.
"A good location," Blackwall nodded, "Tough to get to, and easily defendable. Marching on that place would be quite difficult."
"It is worse than that warden," the scout said, "The Falo Mire…well…there is a problem."
Ana's brow furrowed…
…Today just kept getting better and better.
"What kind of problem Harding?"
"Well…to reach the keep, you…you will have to fight your way through an army of undead."
Varric coughed.
"Did…did you say undead?"
"Yes."
"As in shambling flesh eating corpses?" Ana added.
"We haven't seen them eat anyone yet," the dwarven scout said, "But walking corpses, yeah."
The herald paled slightly.
"You do not have a problem with undead, do you, Your Worship?"
She swallowed hard.
Barbarians and undead both…wonderful!
"They're not my favorite kind of monsters," she informed the scout.
"I would avoid the water then," Harding suggested, stepping through it just seems to stir them up."
Ana glanced through the mists, everywhere she looked ahead of her she saw pools of stagnant water. It would be difficult if not impossible to pass through the Mire without stepping through at least one.
Still…what choice did she have?
She would not abandon those men, not if she could help it.
She did not care what some boastful little prick of an Avvar said.
This was not about faith and who had which god's favor.
He had hurt soldiers of the Inquisition.
She would see him pay for that.