Bioware's party, I'm just crashing it.
Part 28
Moira glanced behind her to see Zevran bringing up the rear, glaring at the back of Alistair's head. She was getting really tired of the both of them being children. All right, they weren't being children, they were being possessive men. If she chose one, the other would continue his pursuit of her, despite Zevran's assertion that he'd leave. They'd proven it already by their actions in the past.
As she walked next to Fiona, she was glad the woman had finally fallen silent. She'd been giving Moira a guided tour of the parts of the keep as they passed them on the way to wherever it was they kept the Joining Draught. Jowan stumbled along behind her, Cullen keeping him from falling on his face every so often. It was hard to believe the man had lasted this long with that poison in him. Jowan was stronger than most gave him credit for, but then, she knew that. Growing up, he'd been her constant defender and best friend. He didn't care that she was an elf, he didn't care that she was powerful and very good at spells, he didn't care, he was always just there for her. And in return, she'd tried to be there for him. Up to and including breaking his phylactery so that he could have a chance at the freedom she never would. She was too powerful to be let off her leash, even if it chafed. Not for the first time, she wondered if she could break into the vault in Denerim and steal her own phylactery. Surely with Zevran's assistance, it wouldn't be too difficult.
She wouldn't destroy it, though. She'd give it to the one person she trusted to actually stop her if she went off the deep end, and let that thirst for power she often felt within her consume her. The one she knew could track her and stop her, unless, of course, she managed to drag him off the deep end with her. She glanced back at Alistair, caught a glare from Zevran and jerked her head around quickly to make sure she didn't run into anything. That shirt Alistair wore was little better than rags at this point and she still wanted to rip it the rest of the way off him. The interlude in the dream trap, or whatever it was, had not sated her at all. She glanced back again and this time, actually met his eyes. The corners of his mouth quirked upward and she knew he knew what she was thinking. She pulled her gaze away from his, reluctantly. She needed to pay attention to where she was going.
Fiona paused in front of a doorway, bringing Moira out of her thoughts. The door was a solid mass of wood, reinforced with dwarven-made steel , pitted and chipped, but smoothed by age. "The stores of the Joining Ritual are in here." Fiona put her hand on the thick wood. She looked at Cullen and Jowan, "There is no return when you enter this room, sers. You either join, or you die."
Moira watched as Jowan stood straighter and away from leaning on Cullen. "Thirty years is better than three days," he told her.
Cullen shrugged, "I have nothing else. And I've already sworn I would do this."
Fiona looked down at the dwarf woman, "And you? Will you be joining our brotherhood?"
Shale snorted, "By the Stone, no. If I want to slaughter darkspawn without hope of surviving, I'll go join the Legion of the Dead."
The older elf mage bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment, then looked at Zevran, "And what of you, lethallin?"
"Alas, no. I'm to remain an outsider to the Grey Wardens," Zevran replied, looking pointedly at Moira. Moira rolled her eyes in exasperation but didn't comment on Zevran's self-pitying remark. Moira thought the overly familiar form of address for Zevran odd, but she supposed he did look Dalish with the tattoo on his cheek.
Fiona nodded, "Then I will need the two of you to wait out here. You cannot witness this."
Zevran stared at Moira, waiting for her to disagree with the other mage. Grudgingly, Moira nodded, she wasn't happy about being separated either. With a glare in her direction, Zevran took up a post on one side of the door and Shale leaned against the wall on the other side. The Commander of the Grey looked at her elven friend, sadly. She knew it wasn't the Grey Warden-ship he wanted, though, it was the assurance that would come with the Joining that she or Alistair wouldn't send him away. Neither of them would do that, but it was difficult to convince the former Crow that he would always have a home with them. Even if he and Alistair currently wanted to pound each others' faces in. Shaking her head sadly, Moira followed Alistair and the two recruits into the room. The door shut behind them and she heard the unmistakable sound of a heavy wooden bar slamming down. She would have objected, but the words died on her lips as she noticed there were quite a few more people in the room than just herself and her three companions, one of whom was unarmed.
Her eyes focused on the imposing figure the other elf mage had crossed to stand near. He was tall, perhaps taller than Alistair, and much older, but his shoulders were unbowed with whatever age he claimed. He must be close to his Calling, she thought. One eye lay white and useless under a heavy scar who's original wound had nearly split his head open. His iron grey hair hung long in a thick braid over his shoulder, and his similarly colored beard was braided dwarven-style.
"You must be the Commander of the Grey of Ferelden and the King of Ferelden, if I'm not mistaken," the large man said, his bass voice startling in the silence. He nodded to both Moira and Alistair. "I am Nikolai Koenig. I am the First of the Grey. And I'm afraid you are not going anywhere." Moira froze as a dagger was placed against her neck, the blade cutting slightly into her skin.
"What, exactly, do you think you're doing, Ser Keonig?" Moira demanded, holding very still. She felt someone bind her hands tightly behind her.
"I'm getting answers, Commander."
Moira saw Alistair's eyes flick toward her, then back to the First, "This is hardly the best way to ensure our cooperation, Ser Koenig."
The grey haired man grinned, predatorily. "I really think it is the best way to ensure your cooperation, your majesty." Moira felt her head pulled back tighter and the knife cut into her throat, causing her to cry out before she could silence herself. She didn't want Zevran and Shale rushing into this mess, too.
"It seems our little dream trap didn't work on you, King Alistair. Why is that?" He walked over to Jowan who leaned weakly on the table in the middle of the room. He sized the sickened mage up and almost faster than she could see, the bigger man drew his fist back and punched Jowan in the kidney. Cullen winced, but made no move to help his brother recruit. Jowan yelled and slumped onto the table, curling protectively around the injured side of his body.
Moira followed the older man with her eyes, warily. When he hit Jowan, she'd jerked against the knife again, hissing in pain. She could feel Alistair's eyes on her, looking for an opening in her captor's guard. "Tell me your questions then. I can't give you answers to questions I don't have."
"What happened to Riordan?" Fiona asked from where she perched in the corner, watching Alistair cautiously.
"I told you, he slew the Archdemon!" Alistair told her. From his tone, it must've been the hundredth time he'd given that answer.
"Why don't I believe you?" the First demanded.
Cullen interjected, "Hurt her, and so help me, Andraste wouldn't be able to save you."
The tough old warrior laughed at him then punched him in the jaw. Cullen collapsed over the table, spitting blood. "Are you fucking your commander, too? Is that a recruitment bonus, Moira? Join the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, fuck our Commander?"
"Why, you jealous, Koenig? I noticed your elf mage is getting a little long in the tooth. Looking for a replacement, are you?" Moira grated out. The hand holding her hair yanked tighter. The thuggish Warden holding on to her, pulled until her back arched as much as the plate mail would allow. The thug licked along the side of her face, keeping his eyes on Alistair the whole time. Moira shuddered as Alistair made a move toward her, but was halted by a glowing glyph of a paralysis rune cast by Fiona.
"And here you were claiming I was your son," Alistair grated out through his immobile jaw.
"No son of mine would compromise his duty over a woman," Fiona retorted.
Disappointment surged through Moira along with her terror and anger. So, these were the much revered Anderfels Wardens. The best of the best, supposedly. An order so used to ruling, they no longer policed themselves. They were supposed to stop a Blight at all costs, but they left Ferelden to rot in its Blight. If this is what the Ferelden Wardens would come to with her and Alistair ruling the country as they did, then she needed to resign as Chancellor the moment they were back in Denerim. And maybe Alistair should abdicate in favor of that racist, power hungry pustule Anora, too. Anything to keep their order from devolving into this morass of corruption and neglect.
"What duty? We ended the Blight with only three Wardens! You left us to fight an Archdemon with only three of us!" Moira shouted.
The First walked over to Moira, ignoring Cullen and Jowan where they stood nursing their injuries. Cullen tensed as if to take advantage of being underestimated, but Moira caught his eye and barely shook her head in the negative. They had no guards on them at the moment other than the archers sitting in the rafters above, it needed to stay that way. There was at least one other Warden behind Moira and her current captor. "The reports we received state that Riordan fell to his death from the back of the Archdemon during the Battle of Denerim. Exactly how could he have slain the Archdemon then?"
"Your reports are wrong! He was there on the top of Fort Drakon with us!" Moira's scalp was on fire from the grip the thug had on her hair. Everything rode on them buying this story. "The one who fell to his death was a qunari! His mission was just to wound the dragon to make it unable to fly and he succeeded!"
The First stood looming over her, "A qunari? Fight with the Grey? And you honestly expect me to believe this? What was his name?"
"The only 'name' he ever gave us was Sten, his rank," Moira put all the strain she was feeling in her voice, hoping it added truth to her story. "The Blight threatens the qunari as much as it does the other races! Or have you not yet seen an Ogre? Why shouldn't he help?"
She heard the door splinter under a heavy blow and the sound of two knives striking fleshy targets. The two archers in the rafters fell to the floor, a black handled throwing knife buried to the hilt in each of their necks. The hand of the thug suddenly released her hair and Cullen let out his will in a Cleansing burst that removed the Paralysis glyph around Alistair. Before Fiona could counter attack, Moira had her frozen in place with Winter's Grasp. Zevran held Starfang to the First's neck. Shale cut Moira's bonds and Alistair crossed to the First. The tall fair-haired man sneered at the older Grey Warden, "And they call you the First? Apparently there's no real skill to the job."
Zevran forced the Grey Warden to his knees at Moira's gesture. Leaning in as close as she could stand, she lowered her voice and demanded, "The Grey Wardens of Ferelden are now autonomous. They are not under your jurisdiction. You cannot call us to heel any more, Koenig. You refused to help us in our time of need and so we solved our problems ourselves. And now you want to pass judgment on how we ended a Blight before it spread to other nations? With only three Wardens? Two of us who were so green, we didn't even know how to kill an archdemon in the first place?"
The old man spit at her. "You want the Ferelden Wardens to be autonomous? Hah! Be my guest. The next Blight's all yours."
Moira pulled her lips back from her teeth, ferally. "And we've got the stockpile of Archdemon blood, and I can close down most of your lyrium supplies very quickly."
The old man blinked, "Now wait a minute."
"Ah, we have a bargaining position," Alistair said, his smile turning as deadly as Moira's.
"Alistair, please ask your supposed mother to get the Joining for Jowan and Cullen," Moira said. Alistair complied, Cullen dragging Jowan along to back him up.
"So, now that we have your chief by the short and curlies, mi amora," Zevran asked, nudging the First's chin with Starfang, "what do you really want?"
"Now, isn't that the question? The Wardens of Ferelden, all two of us," Alistair snorted from where he was watching over Fiona, "want to be left alone. We want to conduct ourselves as Grey Wardens and recruit our brethren and not be held to account for our actions from such as you."
The old man clenched his teeth at her, "What. Did. You. Do?"
"Send everyone out except Alistair and Zevran and I'll tell you." Moira looked down at her gauntleted hands, then over her shoulder at Alistair who met her eyes and shrugged. Koenig gestured his assent. "Cullen, take Jowan and the other Wardens out to the hall and close the door. Shale, go with them." Fortunately, there were only two captive Wardens and Shale and Cullen got them out into the hall quickly.
When it was just the First, Fiona, Zevran, Alistair and Moira in the room, the younger elf mage said, "I convinced the man that I loved to sleep with my best friend and impregnate her so that the archdemon's soul would inhabit her child. Because we only had three Wardens to stand against the Blight."
