9:44 Anderfels
At least the qunari didn't stab them in the back right away. Cullen felt her ice blue eyes drifting over him and then back across the king while those two squabbled over the nitty gritty of their arrangement.
"So, you're not under the Qun?" Alistair jabbed at the woman towering above him, his head craned back. The man had a blush rising up the back of his neck brighter than the fading sunburn. Cullen had a good idea he knew why judging by the noticeable lack of clothing on this tal-vashoth scholar. She kept her shoulders back and her chest shoved out as if at constant attention. Good for one's posture, less so for the king's attempt at staring up into her eyes.
"I am not. I left many years ago for personal reasons," Aqun said. She bore a staff across her back, not of the mage variety. This was thinner with a spear tip on the end for reaching long distances to impale someone's chest. Cullen could already picture it embedding between one of their ribs.
"It's just, most of the not-qunari qunari I meet tend to be more..." Alistair waved his hand around.
"Mercenaries?"
"Stab people in the gut because someone told them to," he answered with and Cullen groaned. He didn't trust this Aqun but the king didn't need to wave his bare ass around and dare her to spear it. Maker, don't give him that idea. Cullen's hand drifted down to try and scratch Honor's head, but he felt a tuft of hair rising up. A line running her entire back rose, her ears pinned back as she didn't growl but beamed a tight focus on the qunari.
"Many who abandon the Qun never leave it," Aqun said. "I have watched my fellows fall to the vices of the south led by any and all who would guide them with a foolish hand, unable to find balance. It is sad."
"Right, very sad," Alistair continued to blather, "just one tiny question I'm wondering. If you're not under the Qun, and not here at the whim of some noble's coin to give a free knife massage to his enemies, who do you work for?"
Aqun paused for the king to catch up, and her taut lips twisted in a smile, "A perceptive question. I am in fact here on leave of the grey wardens." That caught Cullen's attention, and he whipped a question back at maybe not the only warden there - but Alistair shook his head no. Either sensing the argument between them, or anticipating it, Aqun continued, "The wardens often employ those beyond their ranks to assist in delicate matters."
"Delicate matters like letting some outsider break into their secret ancient fortress and ferret out all their secrets? Those same wardens just love sharing information with anyone who wanders by and asks. Or..." Alistair stumbled, "or so I've heard."
"Have you now?" Aqun's icy eyes lingered over him. "The wardens are not as tight eyed as you've been led to believe."
"Tight eyed?" Alistair puzzled through her mixed up idiom, then shook his head, "I suppose it is possible for the wardens to look into a merce- not-mercenary, not-qunari to finish a few tasks for them. Maybe-ish." The king turned his head fully around at Cullen and shrugged, unable to verify the woman's story. Not that it much mattered, if the ben-hassrath needed her background to check out they'd move mountains for it to happen.
"How did you know one of us is a templar?" Cullen spoke up, his voice flat from lack of use. The trip back towards the fortress felt five times as long as the one into town, his feet dragging in the grass.
Aqun turned from her pace ahead of them both and placed a hand upon her hip. "Simple, your gait."
"My gait?" Cullen asked, his feet pausing.
"Templars move with a soft shuffle upon the balls of your feet for fear that a mage could plant ice under you at any moment. It is rather easy to spot when one knows what to look for."
"I don't..." Cullen began when he glanced down at his boots, the ones where the soles always wore out first at the ball instead of the heel. "That was how you- You had not heard of us before?"
"Should I?" Aqun asked, tilting her head in surprise.
"No, nope, just two ordinary guys and a dog willing to team up with a random armed qunari woman to break into a warden fortress. Nothing strange about that at all," Alistair muttered, dragging out the awkwardness among them. Whatever she truly was she had to know something - whether it was of their full plans or only a hazarded guess - Cullen would bet his breeches that Aqun knew who the king of Ferelden was, perhaps recognized him as well. Which gave her leverage against them both while she was little more than a puff of smoke on the wind to them.
Cullen's gait slowed as he glowered towards the sun preparing to dip down under the horizon. Soon they'd be walking in the dark to this imaginary entrance courtesy of a potential foe while expecting a knife in the back. It was idiotic beyond measure. There had to be another way, a chance to... His fingers dipped into his pocket to brush against the phylactery. Lana, I...
"What is it?" Alistair whispered near him, closer than Cullen felt comfortable. He tried to rear back but the king's eyes darted to the qunari marching further towards the north. "Is it...dark again?"
"No, no, I can feel its life, except..." He gripped his fingers around the glass, thumb circling around to protect it, while Cullen tried to drain every secret and vision into him. "It's fading. I, I can't explain it, but the pull isn't as strong as it was and we're closer than ever."
A moan rattled in Alistair's throat and he rocked back and forth on his heels. Facing the north and the speck of a fortress on the horizon, he said, "Hang on, Lanny. Just a little more and we'll get there."
What if they didn't? What if she slipped through his fingers before they made it back? Before they could climb their way through this supposed secret entrance? What if the qunari turned on them both before they even found her? Cullen folded his hands together, one wrapped tight around the other as if to comfort it, and he pressed both against his forehead. We could fail you, Lana. So close, so damn close, and all gone in a heartbeat.
"Uh, look, I..." Alistair spoke up, his hands jangling in his own bottomless pockets, "I know carrying that thing isn't easy, at all. If it's not happy memories, it's the pit of despair when it switches from on to off. Either way, it's the opposite of fun, so..." He unearthed his hand and extended it towards Cullen.
A piece of paper sat inside of the king's palm, but it wasn't until Cullen picked it up to hold closer that realization struck him. Drawn across a tan linen in shadings of intricate ink lines was Lana. She was reclining across a divan, one hand brushing across her forehead while the other steadied her staff beside her. The sash on her robes was unknotted and even the two bottom buttons on her inside vest undone. She needed the freed space to curl her legs up under her in comfort. Beside her sat a cup of tea, filled to the brim, and he'd bet anything ice cold when the portrait was first created.
"After Denerim, they thought there should be an official portrait of the Hero to, I don't know, rub in Orlais' face or something. Everyone wanted a chance to paint her, so they brought in a dozen artists with plans to pick the best. I..." Alistair paused and smiled at a memory, "Lanny was not happy to keep standing still for hours, to put it mildly. Almost all of the final paintings were a fancied version of her stabbing a sword, a spear, or her own hand into the archdemon. They barely even looked like her, you know. They kept drawing her hair straight for some stupid reason. All were wrong except for that one. An old woman spotted Lanny when she was taking a break - her code for hiding in the library - and sat down alone beside her to draw this."
A sob rattled in Cullen's throat as he traced across her preserved face. How long it'd been since he last saw her, this her. Not the fearsome slayer of darkspawn every other painting of the Hero of Ferelden was, but the little mage lost in her enigmatic thoughts. Her lips were slightly pursed as an idea tripped across her mind, one her eyes puzzled out thousands of miles away. It was her, the woman he fell in love with, the woman who held his hand, who melted snow off his hair, who kissed him with such fervor it flipped his stomach.
Swallowing down his own emotions, the king continued to talk, "The others, those are paintings of the Hero of Ferelden, or Lady Amell, or Arlessa Amell - either way, scary lady in tight robes looking angry. This," he pointed at the small drawing, "this was Lanny, this is what her friends know." Alistair's finger drew across her tiny hand clinging to the staff. Blinking a few times, he lifted his face and smiled, "Keep it."
"What? No, I can't. It's far too..." Precious, perfect, painful. Cullen couldn't find an answer, his eyes lost in hers.
"If all works out, we should be seeing the original soon enough."
"I..." Cullen dipped his head down so the king wouldn't see his tears of gratitude. "Thank you."
Alistair's hand gently tapped against Cullen's shoulder. The two men, whose lives weaved countercurrent to each other yet were somehow bound together by this one woman shared a strange moment of solidarity. "Besides," the king shrugged, "I have the bigger version back at home anyway."
The moment could have been shattered, but even from the king's flimsy brag, Cullen felt the rise of hope stirring in his heart. Maybe they could pull it off after all. Slipping Lana into his pocket to rest beside her phylactery, he followed after Aqun towards the warden fortress.
"Well, what's your plan?" Cullen asked the woman. He felt the phylactery slip away to its black state as they stomped up the hill, dousing the hopeful flame inside him. Now in an even more belligerent mood than before, nothing short of the qunari yanking open a secret hidden door in the wall would impress him.
"Templar, surely even you can sense it now," Aqun waved her hand not in the direction of the fortress looming a good dozen feet away but at something hidden in the ground. There was no camouflaged hatch to lift, or secret boulder to shove aside. Cullen shifted his foot over the dirt covered by errant weeds and grass, then he glared at the qunari. "For all the grains of sand, must I do everything?" She pulled her spear off her back, causing both Cullen and Alistair to rear back, but instead of plunging it into them, she dug it into the ground. The clank of metal striking metal rang through the stilling air.
"We have to dig to get at it, but I did not think it would be a problem. Perhaps I am mistaken," Aqun sighed. While the men continued to stare slack jawed, she followed the depth of her spear and dug into the dirt with her claws. Clumps of sod followed quickly, and Honor's tail began to wag at the fun new game.
Sighing, Cullen gestured towards the qunari knee deep in the mud. "Go ahead," barely left his mouth before Honor was beside her, front paws churning faster than anything the qunari or humans could manage. Still... Cullen waved his hand at the other side and said, "Shall we?"
He felt a bit of pride in the grim look on the king's face. It was one thing to plan to breach some ancient fortress' walls using gatlock or whatever he thought the qunari had in mind, but secret tunnels buried underground which required a templar for unspoken reasons, never ended well. As Alistair sunk to his knees, Cullen unearthed an old dagger and sliced deep into the ground. Sandier than he'd expected, the packed dirt scattered as he yanked up clumps of earth to throw aside.
"I'm thinking demons, probably traps, and spiders," Alistair whispered beside him.
Cullen nodded along, those seemed the most likely - particularly the spiders. "Is there anywhere in all of thedas that doesn't suffer from a giant spider problem?"
"Ah..." Alistair raised his muddied hand about to speak, then shut it and shuddered.
"What?" Cullen asked, not wanting the answer but more concerned about what his mind would conjure up.
"Just had the terrifying thought of spiders that could fly, or swim!"
"Please don't let it be a nightmare demon," Cullen begged to himself. "I fear what it would conjure from your brain."
"I'm guessing yours would be all of us arriving on test day in our smalls," Alistair answered, elbows deep into the increasing hole. While the men mostly putzed around, the two females dug a good foot down revealing the scrapings of something flat.
"Aqun?" Cullen asked to distract from how unnervingly right the king was, "How did you discover this supposed secret entrance?"
"How does anyone? Ancient literature, old runic wards carved into rocks to show the way, and listening to the crazy rumors passed down from someone's grandmother. The grandmother tales help the most."
A clang reverberated below them, followed by an "Ow." Alistair pulled up his hand and tried to inspect his dented fist. Mud was burrowed under his nails and across the pale knuckles, not that Cullen was in any better shape. He risked a look over at his dog, then sighed at the baths she would require to get even sort of clean. Even with her natural dark coating, Honor looked as if she'd run through a muddy avalanche then come out wagging her tail. Paws, muzzle, head, back - he wouldn't be surprised if she ate some of the dirt.
"I believe I can open it," Aqun said. Both men stood back, then Cullen waved for Honor to stop digging. She scampered over to his side, then dipped down to chew away at a clod of sod. Digging her spear through a thin seam, Aqun yanked downward on her weapon. The way her muscles bulged out from the effort reminded him of Hawke and the way she'd stomp around Skyhold trying to one-up the Iron Bull in every challenge the Champion thought of.
As if reading his mind, Alistair jerked his thumb over and whispered, "I am not asking her to an arm wresting contest."
Popping like an old cask, wind gushed from the opened seal - bitter and stale with the fetid stench of an infirmary. Cullen tried to waft it away, when he caught the qunari's unimpressed eye travel from him down to the barely dislodged hatch. Right. Dropping down, Cullen and then Alistair both grabbed onto the steel door and - pulling against the tug of time, dirt, and its own weight - they slammed it open. Darkness pervaded down the shaft, the eternal kind that could only be found in the dwarfless depths of thedas.
"I don't suppose anyone thought to bring a ladder," Alistair said.
Shaking her head, Aqun yanked out a white crystal he'd never seen before. She cracked it in half with her fingers and a bright light burst from the cleavage. Leaning over the exposed edge, the qunari tossed one end of the glowing crystal down into the depths. It skittered against the walls before splashing in inch thick water. "Not as deep as I feared," Aqun smiled. "Who shall go first?"
On top of bringing their only light source, the qunari also came prepared with ropes, and block and tackle to anchor to the ground above. The humans were able to easily rappel down, Alistair going first. When Cullen landed in the ankle deep water beside him, the king was reaching down to pick up the crystal. At first, he feared the man wanted to keep it as a souvenir, but he held it close to the walls.
"What shall we do about the dog?" Aqun called from above, interrupting Cullen's thoughts.
"Um..." He could tell her to wait. She'd probably do it willingly, her tail thumping in anticipation of his return. But... In the middle of his deciding, Honor took it upon herself to leap head first down the hole. "Oh shit!" Cullen cursed, diving forward to catch his seventy pound mabari hurtling towards him. Even the king turned from his wall inspection to reach out. Cullen took most of Honor's weight in his arms, the momentum crushing him to the ground. While water seeped across his armored back now screaming in pain, his dog lapped her tongue over his cheeks. He shoved her off and staggered to rise, Alistair offering a hand to help him.
Water poured out of the bottom of his backplate while Cullen glared down at his dog, "You were not told to do that. And licking my face will not make up for your disobedience." Honor sat ass down into the flooded cavern, her small tail bobbing below the surface like an excited fish. If she felt bad for nearly pancaking her master, she didn't seem to be capable of showing it.
While Aqun worked her way downward, the king returned to inspecting the walls, his fingers dragging across what looked like black stones. "All right, what is it?" Cullen asked.
"Hm, what? Oh, just...there's nothing here."
"It's an escape tunnel, people don't tend to pepper their underground tunnels in art."
Alistair waved the crystal a few more times, then stroked his bearded chin, "Maybe. Or, eh, it's nothing. Stupid thought. Here, you want to hold the torch?" He moved to pass the crystal to Cullen.
"Or what?" He folded his arms up when Aqun splashed down beside them, the last of their party complete.
She undid the rope around her midsection and craned up high to make certain it was still attached. "Down was easy, but up will be a challenge. Still, alive and onward." Digging out her second crystal, Aqun leaned deeper into the side tunnel that seemed to be in the direction of the fortress. At her great height, she had to stoop; even then the crests of her horns occasionally banged into the ceiling, sprinkling the fetid water with dust. Without bothering to wait for the men to catch up, she walked through the tunnel, her shadows dancing along the black walls.
Extending his own crystal for both of them to see, Alistair said, "I'll tell you later." Then he raised his voice to shout at their guide, "Hey, wait up!"
Built without comfort in mind, the tunnel's ground sagged unevenly, and hidden below dark water it was anyone's guess what would cause a stumble and what would break an ankle. They moved cautiously, their feet sliding over the surface while water crowded through boots, socks, and deep into skin. Cullen felt his toes pruning with every minute. The scenery rarely changed, even the tunnel itself didn't dip or turn to split off in numerous directions. He was thinking of sewage systems designed to connect various houses - but this was built for one purpose only. The question was what that purpose was.
"Aqun," Cullen spoke up, his soft voice echoing against the tight quarters. The qunari didn't turn around to look at him, but she paused in her lead. "Why do you need a templar?"
"Ah," she lifted her crystal higher, "I believe we have reached our first reason." Glittering along every surface of the walls were wards, the runes of magic almost the same as what Cullen knew but the edges were unreadable, the language altered over the centuries. Judging by the blue color probably ice based, but this was ancient magics; it was anyone's guess what they could do. A bone rattling power wafted off of them; these weren't some simple wards a mage placed down to protect themselves in battle. These hummed with the ability to freeze blood solid.
"Well, templar? I believe this is for you," Aqun waved her head in the direction of the wards.
Cullen told Honor to wait, then tried to slide around the qunari. It wasn't easy in the cramped tunnel, but he managed without accidentally touching her and stood before the magic. An easy matter for a young templar, especially one humming with lyrium, Cullen's eyes drifted over every etching flaring in the crystal's light. Did he have enough strength left inside of him? It'd been years since he touched any of those skills, never wanted to delve back into the life for any reason. Digging deep, Cullen closed his eyes tight and pulled on that thread of magic humming in the air. It whipped back at him, refusing to go quietly. In touching it, he tasted the centuries these wards crackled off the walls waiting for someone, anyone, to disturb them. Now, they had their opportunity and weren't about to go quietly. Sweat dripped off his brow and into his screwed up eyes, but he shook it off and kept on tugging against the ice, like undoing an entire sweater in one yank. The wards were more complex than any possible knitting pattern, chunks of magic dripping into the ground with each pull. He tried to scoop them away but he wasn't powerful enough. Ice sparked across the water, but didn't reach them. Instead, small floes bobbed along the water runoff, birthed as he gritted his teeth and by the vestiges of willpower, yanked off the last of the ward.
As his eyes popped open, he found his hands clutched together tight in prayer, the knuckles prodding through his gloves. Aqun touched his shoulder, "Not bad, took longer than expected, but we should keep moving." Without being as cautious as he'd been, she shoved him aside and continued the lead.
It was Alistair who snuck up beside him and whistled, "I can't believe you pulled that one off."
"It should not have been so difficult," Cullen blamed himself, snarling at his own incompetence. In his youth, he'd have stripped it bare in a wave of his hand.
Instead of agreeing with him, the king's eyes widened and he glanced from the empty wards back to Cullen, "That magic tasted bad, old, however you want to look at it. Scary. I'd go with scary, and..." he pursed his lips, something else on his mind.
"What? What concerns you?" Cullen tried again.
Alistair banged his hand into his sword's hilt, knocking it against the walls, "Just, the walls back there. If this was supposed to be an escape tunnel, why aren't there any indentations to lead up? Kinda hard to do any escaping without a ladder."
"That..." Cullen began to argue when Aqun whistled for them to catch up.
Past the broken runes, they found a door sealed tight - an intricate face carved into the wood. He expected to have to solve some ancient puzzle to open it, but the qunari grabbed onto the latch and popped it open without a second thought. If there was a trick to it, it bore no fruit in the face of that abject strength. "Or wrestling in general," Alistair continued, "I'm not challenging her to arm or any other variety."
Obviously overhearing him, Aqun shook her head and stepped through the doorway. Her small white light amplified back to them tenfold through the doorframe. Rendering Aqun and everything inside unseeable, the light must have reflected off the walls or something else inside polished to a blinding shine. A pinprick headache dug into Cullen's brain and he pinched the bridge of his nose to try and draw it forth. In shaking it off, he turned to spot Honor. Her entire back fur spiked high while her lips curled up, a growl trying to escape but nothing breaking free, as if someone or something silenced her.
Maker's breath! He unsheathed his sword and gripped onto the shield. What did they unleash?
Forgetting the king, and his mabari, Cullen dashed through the open door alone. White light burned across his eyes, the assault drawing forth even more pain in his brain. The headache bludgeoned against him, thumping hard like a hammer upon the backs of his eyes until he feared his skull would crack from the pressure. Cullen's knees buckled, dragging him towards the wet ground. He tried to blink against it, to pull his vision back from wherever it was banished, when the whiteness spun around and looked upon him. Unable to grip tight to this world, consciousness slipped through his fingers, and he tumbled into the water.