-oo-

Chapter 29 – Amaranthine

"Excuse me, Your Grace…"

Alistair turned. "Varel…?"

The Amaranthine party had been about to leave. The rain, surprisingly and thankfully had ceased, but the ground was a quagmire. It would be hard going to the port city. Hopefully their group would be recognisable by the time they turned up to the city gate. Covered head to toe in mud might get them mistaken for Darkspawn themselves.

"Do you have any last instructions for me Your Grace?"

Alistair smiled his lopsided smile at the Seneschal. "Don't die," he told the older man.

Varel spread his arms wide. "That goes without saying…and I would ask you to do the same, Your Grace."

Alistair sighed. "You know, you can call me Alistair. Just once in a while…" He leant closer. "I promise I won't tell…"

The Seneschal appeared to look offended, but the hint of a smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Standards must be maintained…Your Grace."

I guess I'll just keep chipping away at this one then…Alistair thought.

"Oh, by the way, Bob" Alistair said casually, inspecting the buckles on his gauntlets. "I'm getting married."

Varel's silver caterpillar eyebrows had already risen at the shortening of his name to 'Bob'. Even his own mother – Maker rest her soul – had never called him that. They twitched higher on this piece of news.

"Married? Then allow me to congratulate you Your Grace. This is wonderful news."

The Warden Commander gave a small, boyish laugh. "Yeah…it is." Hah! I'm getting married…that's just brilliant…"Um…" He didn't quite know how to put it. All those years spent at the monastery learning Chantry rules and Chantry history and the Chant of Light and…other stuff and he had no idea how to go about real life things, like…how to buy a horse (if he was ever inclined to do so, which he doubted), or even better, how to sell one (which was even less likely considering he was never going to purchase one in the first place…)

"Do you wish me to make the necessary arrangements, Your Grace?" Varel asked, understanding the pause. He had to keep reminding himself how young the new Arl was. Despite how the Blight had appeared to have aged the man, he was still a boy in his eyes.

"You could do that?" Alistair asked, a trifle too hopefully.

"I am here to serve and assist, Your Grace," Varel assured him confidently

"Well, that's just dandy, Bobbin!" Alistair exclaimed in relief. "Can we do it for a week's time?"

"No," Varel told him, trying not to laugh at the younger man's crestfallen expression. "There are certain observances that must first be…"

"Observed." Alistair ran a gloved hand through his hair. "Yeah, I get it. So if not for a week's time, the week after?"

"Here I must disappoint you again, Your Grace. I can try for a month, at the earliest."

"A month…!"

"By law, the banns must be posted, a licence obtained and as Arl, both the Bannorn and the King must be advised."

"I don't have to seek his permission do I?" Alistair asked, horrified.

"No, Your Grace," Varel assured him. "This is merely part of the formal process required of a man of your position; a courtesy. I'm afraid…"

"Can't we just send around a note afterwards, or something?" Alistair interrupted, but Varel's expression remained implacable. "A month? Really…? A month…"

"Is there…? Are there circumstances requiring a hasty union…?" Varel asked as tactfully as could.

"Circumstances…?" Alistair repeated blankly.

Varel cleared his throat. Lowering his voice, he asked, "The…your betrothed is not…are there extenuating…How do I put this? She is not…expecting?"

"Expecting what?" Alistair began before the copper dropped and then every exposed bit of his skin turned as scarlet as the sunrise. "Oh…no, no, no! NO. We're…we're Grey Wardens, Robbie, we don't do that sort of thing!"

"I see…." Varel said, making his scepticism quite plain.

"Well, anyway," Alistair said quickly. "A month. That's great. That'll be just perfect. I'll just leave it to you then – and I'll – we'll just get going…Darkspawn to kill, the world to save. Again. You know how it is."

"Certainly, Your Grace."

"Right. Um. Have a nice day." Alistair wiggled his fingers at his Seneschal, keen to escape as far away as possible. Andraste's simmering stockings…I am so thick! Turning away quickly, the Warden Commander and Arl of Amaranthine made a hasty departure, moving so rapidly out of the Keep, he took the rest of the party by surprise; Kristoff, Nathaniel and the others having to snatch their gear and jog after him. After he had disappeared into the morning mist, Varel heard a soft chuckle behind him.

"After all this time, he still gets embarrassed by that," she laughed. "It's so cute."

Varel wondered whether he would spend the rest of his tenure at Vigils Keep permanently surprised. Cute? Hm…

"And may I offer my congratulations to you too, Warden Merran?" Varel said.

"You may, thank you…" Merran chuckled. "Bobbin."

Varel rolled his eyes, then turned, frowning in concern. "You don't…really need…There is no urgency, I hope?" Merran shook her head.

"No Varel. But I did want to speak to you about…some other things?"

"Oh?"

"I'd like to legally adopt Brogan…being a dwarf; are there certain things we need to do? Do we need to try and track down living relatives and ask for their permission or go to Orzammar…? I don't know…but…considering our current situation, that's probably a discussion for another day."

Varel smiled. "Certainly, Warden. I will make some enquiries. As for the current situation?"

She smiled. A slow smile that turned her eyes into curving half-moons and made dimples appear in her cheeks. "Hm…Yes. You see, I have this idea that just won't leave me alone…"

-oo-

The Amaranthine party arrived by lunchtime. They didn't need to be Grey Wardens to know there were Darkspawn already in the city. From the road several spirals of smoke ascended into the pale, rain-washed sky. A breeze from the Amaranthine Ocean blew inland, bringing along with it the smell of the ocean, but also the stench of burning flesh and scorched wood and stone and the rotting, foul odour of Darkspawn.

"Maker's breath, are we too late?" Nathaniel exclaimed, unslinging his longbow.

"Let's hope not," Alistair grunted, eyes scanning the city gate for Aidan's men. There were cries that carried on the sea breeze; human cries. "Right," he tossed over his shoulder. "You know the layout of the city. We make for the Chantry."

"Oh, must we?" Anders complained.

"It's the highest point in the city," Alistair glared at the Mage. If someone's going to make a last stand, it'll be there – and you can bet the others will be there defending it. Keep your eyes out for survivors through the town. If we can lead them to safety, all the better." He pinned Anders with an extra stern gaze. "Anders, if at all possible, I want you to save your magic for healing; people, us, whatever. If Wynne is still here, she'll need your help."

"Oh very well," Anders conceded with a sigh, "but Merran's better at healing on the run than I am – you should have persuaded her to come along."

"Really?" Alistair asked, surprised, before he could stop himself.

"Well, yes," Anders responded. "And by the way, I thought I remembered her from the Tower. 'Greagoir's Pet' we used to call her."

As chatting outside the city gate wasn't going to help anyone, Alistair had begun moving the party inside the city itself, following the trail of destruction and mayhem.

"Don't you mean 'Irving's Pet'?" Alistair threw over his shoulder. A handful of Hurlocks burst out at them. He sliced through two of them in one stroke, walking over their bodies for the next one, only to find Sigrun there before him, removing its kneecaps with her battle axe. "Irving is the First Enchanter, isn't he?"

"Hah!" Anders called from behind a barrel before sending a flame ball down the street, knocking over the wave of Darkspawn like a set of skittles. Through the ensuing fire came an Ogre, bristling with armour and swinging a massive claymore. Nathaniel sent two arrows accurately into its eye sockets in quick succession while Alistair launched himself at the beast, removing its head from its armoured shoulders as it clawed at its face.

"No." Anders appeared beside him. "I mean Greagoir. Apparently she was special in some way and needed supervision." The Mage shrugged. "She was a creepy little thing." Anders caught his Warden Commander's expression and waved his hands in defence. "I mean in a good way – a good way…Maker…she used to be able to explode chickens before she could talk properly…" He held up his hands again. "I mean in a good way. Chicken stew – mm-mm – yum."

"So…" Sigrun muscled her way between the two men, her axe perched on her shoulder. "This is a human city, huh? Smells like fish. They all like this?"

"How can you tell?" Anders yelled after her as she kept going, her axe spinning in the air knocking arrows out of it as she charged an Emissary. "All I can smell is Darkspawn!"

"Darkspawn…fish…It's all the same to me!" Sigrun told him cheerfully, skipping up to the Emissary. The air crackled around it and it staggered, hit by one of Alistair's Holy Smites. Taking advantage of this distraction, Sigrun carved it up, her axe blurring mid-air. Alistair inspected her handiwork as she moved on to a group of Genlocks.

"Wow…" Anders nodded his head, impressed. "She carved the letter 'S' into it. Now that's what I call style." He looked up and the two of them continued on, pausing briefly to stitch a deep slice across Kristoff's cheek and shield bash a Genlock respectively. "Of course, Greagoir wasn't Knight Commander then."

"No?" Alistair asked, finishing off the Genlock by dividing it into two. He considered trying to slice it with the letter 'A', but it would have taken him too long with the strokes. Brogan would have laughed at him…Maker, I hope they're all right…

"Chantry child," Anders explained briefly, setting Nathaniel's arrows aflame. "Showed magic at a young age." A dozen Darkspawn came at them around the corner and he was forced to freeze half of them and paralyse the rest so their tiny party could deal with them. "Yeah, yeah, I know," Anders flexed his fingers. "'Save my magic for healing'…But she used to…I don't know…I'd been in the tower only a year when I found out about her. She had some kind of weird connection to the Fade. I never found out what it was though." He stepped behind Alistair as his Warden Commander brought his shield up to deflect a blow from yet another Ogre.

"Not…surprised…" Alistair grunted as his knees buckled under the force of the blow. "She was born Tainted!"

Anders gathered his magic for another fireball, hands spitting fire when Kristoff appeared out of seemingly nowhere, his greatsword finding a gap under the Ogre's armour and cracking it open like a clam shell. Alistair rolled just in time to avoid being flattened as the Ogre fell.

"Seems to be quite a few of these in the city," Kristoff frowned, before he continued his way down the main street.

"Tainted from birth?" Anders exclaimed. "I didn't know that could even happen. Well, that explains the spookiness…Oh look!" he pointed, distracted suddenly. "The Rose and Crown. Anyone feel like a bit of a tipple later?"

Alistair grabbed Anders by the back of his robes and dragged him backwards, annoyed by the 'spookiness' comment. Yes, it was true, but only he was allowed to call Merran 'spooky'. There were distinct areas of demarcation that needed to be upheld here…

He growled over Anders' protests, "Oh look, the Chantry of The Lady With The Burning Smallclothes. Anyone feel like a blessing or a tithe now?"

"I think I'll pass," Anders said holding up a hand. "Or…" he added as Alistair showed no signs of releasing him, or stop glowering at him. "I can find my place in this great, wide, wonderful universe by improving my relationship with the Maker and his oh so sexy, bowl-wielding prophet."

Alistair rolled his eyes. Nathaniel approached, leading a handful of exhausted-looking soldiers.

"Oh, you're the Warden Commander!" the lead soldier exclaimed.

"Where are the others?" Alistair demanded.

"The Chantry, Ser," the soldier replied shakily. "We still have some men up in the battlements…I think…They came out of nowhere, Ser – thousands of them…We weren't prepared…"

"Then we'll head up to the Chantry," Alistair cut the man off, though he did give the him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He turned to Kristoff. "Take Nate and Sigrun with you to the battlements. Round up as many soldiers as you can and we'll do another sweep through the city….Maker!"

They'd cleared the remains of the merchants' stalls and were able to have a clearer view of the Chantry approach. The entire terraced square was seething with Darkspawn.

Anders sidled up to his Warden Commander. "So…You still want me to save my magic for healing?"

"I…think…" Alistair grimaced. The Darkspawn had noticed them and had begun a stampede towards them. "...maybe later…" Where in Andraste's name are the others, he thought desperately. "Right, Wardens – to me! Form a circle – Anders! – in the middle and try not to scorch us too much…" he bellowed, the last of his words drowned in the tidal wave of Darkspawn as the surge of their charge broke upon the cluster of Grey Wardens.

The circle; unsurprisingly was the first to break; Alistair forced backwards by the sheer numbers of Darkspawn as they came at him multiples at a time. He spun, unable to see his Wardens for Hurlocks, Genlocks, Shrieks and more of the armoured Ogres.

"FOR THE GREY WARDENS!" he bellowed, trying to give his Wardens an audible point of reference. Digging in his heels - and by force of his own will – he inched forward, gathering momentum. A blast of fire razed the right side of his face, singeing his beard. Right…Anders is alive…for the moment…He swung around, Darkspawn ichor running down his arm, the blade of his longsword no longer silver, but black.

"This how you show a girl a good time?" a cheerful voice whizzed past him, perched on the top of an Ogre, steering it with the careful application of her battle axe to crush surrounding Darkspawn. Alistair followed in their wake, his longsword a blur. The three of them broke through to the other side, at the foot of the Chantry steps, Sigrun finishing off her ride by cleaving the beast's skull in two. She leapt down lightly as the thing went down in a loud clatter, and then the two of them turned and dove back into the horde; Sigrun spinning like a miniature, bladed windmill, Alistair's shield blocking blows from above, carving a path to the centre of the battle. He was barely aware of shouts from above, barely registering Darkspawn dropping from archery fire, until he realised he couldn't move from the centre of the fight, for the bodies that lay around him. Darkspawn flew left and right; the ground rumbled under heavy feet. A shadow fell across him and he looked up wearily, expecting to see yet another Ogre. Instead, he came face to chest with a gore-splattered, glowing-eyed golem.

"Pa…thetic…" Shale drawled. "They don't make Darkspawn like they used to…" she added conversationally. "So breakable…Not that I'm complaining as such…"

"Commander…" Kristoff waded through the ocean of dead bodies towards him, greatsword held aloft, unless he met with movement at his feet and then the greatsword plunged downwards, despatching still-alive Darkspawn to whatever god they worshipped. It was only then that Alistair gave himself the luxury of looking around. He spotted Nathaniel – perched on top of the roof of the Crown and Lion, picking off the last of the Darkspawn. Most had started to flee, having realised the bulk of their comrades were no more. At the edge of the mound of bodies, Anders was escorting a young female soldier, his arm around her waist as he helped her across the sea of carnage.

"That was impressive."

Zevran didn't try navigating between bodies. He merely tripped over the top of them, bouncing lightly from carcass to carcass like a golden grasshopper. He spotted Sigrun and sketched a courtly bow.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Zevran, 'Zev' to my friends, and might I say what an elegant way you have of wielding a battle axe."

"Oh, you may, all you like," Sigrun said with a wide grin. "Nice tattoos by the way."

"I have quite a collection," Zevran oozed charm. Only he could manage to be suave surrounded by stinking Darkspawn bodies. "Perhaps I could show you sometime."

"I suppose you have a collection of etchings you'd like me to have a look at too?" Sigrun beamed, enjoying herself immensely.

"Not…yet…" Zevran purred. "But it can be arranged…"

Shaking his head at the two of them, Alistair turned towards the Chantry. He thumped Shale affectionately on her shoulder. "Is Wynne in the Chantry? Is she all right?"

"Oh yes," Shale replied. "And enjoying ordering the other squishies about."

He exhaled a breath of relief. Kristoff close behind him, Alistair began his way up the long stone stairs to the Chantry. Before he was half way up, the doors opened and a familiar white-haired figure appeared on the front step. Alistair raced upwards, vaulting three steps at a time. Heedless of her protests, he scooped the elderly Mage in blood-smeared arms, spinning her around.

"For the Maker's sake, Alistair…put me down…!"

Alistair ignored her, hugging the older woman tightly. "I'm getting married, Wynne! Me! Married! I asked her – and she said yes – YES!"

He finally placed her back on the ground. The City Guard were emerging from the battlements and hidey holes, along with the citizens of Amaranthine. A cheer started – hesitant at first because folk were still taking in the inordinately large pile of bodies in the Chantry square and trying to understand what it meant – small applause, building into an enthusiastic chorus of huzzahs! that travelled all around the city's perimeter.

Chuckling, Wynne patted his cheek. "Oh, you are a mess, young man…but I am happy for you." She looked past him and around the square. "But where is she? Did she not accompany you?"

"She's…she stayed behind to defend the Keep, Wynne. They expected to be attacked too, but I had to come here, and now we have to go elsewhere, to slay an even bigger foe…Wynne – what if I made a bad choice? What if I've deserted her to her death? After I've just found her again?"

Wynne's eyebrows rose. The lad had survived a massacre, led an army against the Archdemon and survived. On top of all that he had just defeated another horde of Darkspawn and saved a city and yet all it took was one, diminutive Mage to undo him…

"Oh, my son…" she murmured. "What does your heart tell you?"

Alistair looked into her earnest blue eyes. He heard the cheers; it was background noise, as people left the Chantry and other places, clapping him on the back and attempting to shake his hand.

I've given her the rose. After all these years, I've given her the rose. "Urthemiel said it was a gift…" she had told him, but what was the gift? She had released the Old God from its chains of slavery. How grateful would an Old God be? Sending her back to perform one more task before taking her life away again?

"Alistair?" Wynne called his name softly.

"To believe…" he told her. The Old God did something to the Taint within them. Both of them…Merran was still alive when she should be dead. She was hale and hearty when she should be dying. She no longer had her magic enhanced by the Taint passed on to her by an unknown parent. It could have been Duncan – it could even have been Riordan – anyone. He liked to think it was Duncan – for Duncan's sake as well as his own. Duncan should have family surviving him; and to be with the daughter of his most beloved mentor and friend, that was worth preserving. That was worth believing in…

"You know Wynne, have I told you about my dream…?" he asked her. It would come true. He would make sure it would come true. Because life without his scary Mage…that wasn't living…

-oo-