They had moved up to the Imperial Highway after the road ended in a mushy bog from all the recent rain. The sun warmed them as the exercise loosened cold muscles. Despite the crisp day Raviathan felt dirtier than he had ever in his life. Even in winter when water was harder to obtain with the frozen pipes and clothing took days to dry, Raviathan had never worn the same clothes day in and out for a week. He felt rank. Could be that's why Venger didn't stink to him? Morrigan hadn't complained of his smell though. The wind that had felt wonderful before was now starting to chap his skin, and everything felt coated and irritating. After a mile Raviathan and Morrigan continued their discussion of wild animals. Her knowledge about them seemed endless and was a pleasant way to distract from his growing discomfort. They spoke in low voices while his fingers scratched Venger's neck. Alistair trudged behind the three, his moping back in full force. If a stranger saw them they were likely to assume the lone human was travelling separately.
Farmlands became more frequent though forest, fields, and wetlands remained common. Morrigan eventually slipped into silence. Considering she had never spoken so much with any one person besides her mother, Raviathan wasn't surprised that she tired of speech. She was growing more agitated the further they moved from the Wilds, which was understandable. She would probably open up again once the newness of the situation wore off, and he could wait a few days while she adjusted. With the humans quiet Raviathan began to contemplate the swift and fickle nature of change. Just a week ago he and Duncan had walked down this road. The one human he had trusted. If only Duncan had been willing to talk more about the Grey Wardens. It was something he could easily forgive Duncan now. The Joining had changed so much for him.
A few weeks ago he had been getting married. He had lived in that alienage filled with routine for years. He could see his future in the routine of others. Years were drawn out in the increasing slump of the dockworkers as they became more worn down. From that alone he had known how he would look at thirty, at forty, fifty, and so on. He had seen the future ghosts of his own children growing as he had watched all the other elves age. It was the same dance played out from one generation to the next.
Now that Duncan was gone Raviathan wondered how much had weighed on the man. He had kept eyes on all of Ferelden, nobles and commoners alike, and in many ways more than the king had. That had been striking and something Raviathan had not really appreciated until now. It was like when he went to work. His father had always gone to work every morning, just as the sun rose or seasons came and went. It was routine and to be expected. As he got older he appreciated more of what his father did, but it wasn't until he went to work himself that he saw the patience and care, and the burden, that his father carried effortlessly.
Raviathan had felt cheated out of his freedom when he heard he had to marry. That was nothing to feeling cheated out of his life. He had resented it when his father had withdrawn after his mother was killed. More than any other time he needed his father, but something inside his father's heart had shut down with the loss of his wife. Now that Ness was gone, Raviathan understood that pain a little better as well. He had seen his life with Ness, how it was going to grow deeper with time, could see the decades that lay before him as they grew old together. Losing her had cut deep after only a couple months together. Her death would have been devastating after two decades.
"Look lively, gentlemen. We have newcomers, led by an elf of all things." The dark man chuckled. Raviathan snapped out of his reverie to see a group of humans, all in leather armor and well armed, barricading the passage off of the Imperial Highway. The Highway fell away a wagon's length beyond the ramp. Stowed in the remains of the ancient road were broken crates along with a small wagon and chests. The other end of the Highway started again in a rubble strewn half wall miles beyond the village. The only other ramp was miles behind them, effectively cutting Lothering off unless they wanted to make a half day's journey around.
"Uhh," started a dimwitted thug with heavy brows, a thick jutting lower lip, and a scant bit of reddish fuzz clinging to his balding plate. "These don't look like regular refugees."
"The toll applies to everyone, Heinrick." The dark man filled his role as jovial highwayman with vigor. "That's why it's a toll and not a refugee tax."
"Oh right," said the dim thug as comprehension wormed its way into his dull if slightly more observant brain. "You pay, or we get to pick your corpse."
The dark man grinned. "Now then…"
An image of Nesiara crying shot into Raviathan's mind. Her terror because of men like this filled him with a sudden white hot wrath. How many people had they hurt because they could? How many deaths could be laid at their feet? How many rapes? The weak or innocent never have a chance in this world, and it was because of men like this. Bright red hair flashed in his mind's eye along with a smile that had been stolen. Shianni hurt because of humans with swords.
Not allowed to scream.
Before Morrigan or Alistair could react, the elf rushed the bandits, drawing his sword and dagger. Before the shocked bandits' weapons were half drawn, one bandit went down with a slashed throat opened to create a red macabre grin.
With a curse Alistair pulled his sword and shield, just getting his defenses up in time for a crossbow bolt to thud into the wooden shield and not the side of his face. Venger raced forward to catch the bowman's arm. Heavy jaws penetrated through the armor, his neck thrashing, pulling the man off balance and down to a knee. Once on the same level, the bandit's face and throat were ripped apart before he could scream. Alistair bashed his shield into the leader, dazing the man as he countered the dim bandit's thrust.
Snarling in rage, Raviathan took down a third bandit with ruthless force just as Morrigan froze another running back behind a wagon to ready his crossbow. The frozen bandit's brown eyes stared blindly forward, crystallized by the ice. Raviathan swung down his blade with as much force as he could muster. Instead of cracking through the ice to cut flesh, the man shattered. Icy chunks of flesh and bone lay scattered about. Disgust rose in Raviathan's throat. One part of his mind checked off bits of anatomy as he identified lungs, kidneys, liver, and so on at a glance. He shut away his revulsion at the icy chunks of human and turned to finish the job.
Alistair had his back to a wagon and was defending against two men. Venger ran forward, sinking his teeth into the dim thug's thigh. He yelled, twisting his torso to cut down the dog. When his arm raised to level a strike, Raviathan's dagger penetrated the vulnerable underside of the man's armor. The thug almost dropped his claymore. When he tried to turn to face the two opponents, Venger pulled, forcing the man off balance. The dog went after the man's sword hand, and there was a satisfying crunch of bone followed by a scream.
"Look out!" Alistair yelled.
Raviathan spun and was just able to deflect the bandit leader's first sword strike. Despite being dazed earlier, this human was still stronger and they were trained in the same style of combat. Given that they might be equals in skill, stronger would always beat him. Going for the unexpected, Raviathan dropped to a knee, keeping his sword up for protection, struck with his dagger at the man's leg, and pushed off hard to roll to the side. Morrigan's chanting finished, encasing the man in a brownish aura. The leader staggered but was able to keep his feet and turned to face Raviathan. Finally able to get a killing blow on the bandit he had been fighting, Alistair turned and slammed his shield again into the bandit leader causing the man to stagger and fall to his knees.
"Wait, wait," the bandit started lowering his weapons. Raviathan sliced open his throat without hesitation.
There was a moment of stunned silence as the three looked about at the bodies. Alistair slumped on a crate as he looked about, bewildered at the speed at which the bandits were killed and mass of blood. He saw the frozen chunks of bandit and turned pale before looking away. "What happened to you?" he asked the elf.
Raviathan shrugged. "They were bandits. I should feel sorry for them?"
"No," Alistair said, watching him nervously. "Not that. You were just a lot more cautious in the Wilds."
Raviathan shrugged as he looked at the corpses. How much did Alistair know about him? If he explained about Nesiara, would that information get back to the templars? He can still turn me in. They could use Ness against me. His father knew how to be wary, but not Ness. "I'm not going to search that body," he said, indicating the frozen chunks that were starting to thaw as the spell wore off. "Morrigan, go through these," he said, waving a hand at the corpses, "while I take a look at the stockpile."
Raviathan scratched the dog's head as he pulled out his lock picks and began going through the bandits' stash. As a general rule, refugees didn't have much, but they must have been filched down to their clothes. Raviathan tied two purses of silver coins and a smaller pouch of gold to his belt. There was a small pile of jewelry, but the rest were odds and ends: clothing, a few vases, three carpets, a finely wrought lamp, some spectacles that looked to be made of gold, and whatever else the bandits thought worthy of keeping. At a soft bleating, Raviathan looked over the side of the Highway. In the crook of the L-shaped ramp was a little makeshift corral. Inside, a small rather sweet looking lamb and a few chickens ranged. An ox tied to a post grazed with no concern for the violence on the highway. With the bandits gone, the refugees could enjoy a fine supper.
"Find anything?" Raviathan asked when he turned around.
"Some coin," Morrigan called back with disinterest. "Not much beyond a bit of tack."
"We can sell the weapons then," Raviathan said. "Especially the crossbows." The close combat required by a sword intimidated most untrained people whereas a crossbow didn't need a lot of strength and could be deadly at a distance. It was a good weapon for farmers and refugees who weren't skilled in fighting but needed some defense. "Let's gather what we can."
With the work done, Raviathan got his first glimpse of Lothering as they turned to the village.
"So here we are. Lothering. Pretty as a painting," Alistair said, and for the first time it looked like he would do so without bursting into tears. Morrigan snarked at him and he replied with as much in return. Raviathan traded annoyed looks with Venger about the two then went back to reviewing the village from his vantage on the Highway. Tents strewn about the muddy hovel with a few stone buildings centered around the city proper just beyond a thin canal. A templar was guarding the entrance to the city. Thank the Maker that all templars wore that same uniform. It at least made them easy to spot and prepare for.
The refugees had probably more than tripled the population of the town. Well, Maker's bloody stubbed toe. Food would be at a premium, so there went his hopes for restocking. That little corral of farm animals the bandits had confiscated would help, but they needed more than meat. They needed tents and camping equipment. With their meager funds, inns wouldn't be common in the near future. There weren't any tents close by which meant the bandits probably had a safe house or camp far outside the city.
Raviathan glowered at the templar guarding the main entrance to the village. While that hateful moron stood there with his thumb up his ass, refugees had been frisked down to their knickers. Completely useless. Raviathan glanced at the dark clouds coming up from the south. Winter's snow, already late in the season, would soon be on them. Best bet was probably to get out of Lothering after they got whatever news they could. Supplies they would have to find elsewhere.
Silence. Raviathan realized he had probably been addressed and turned to regard the two who were watching him. "I'm sorry. What?"
Alistair was doing his best to stand tall and put some authority into his voice. "The treaties. Have you looked at them?" Raviathan stared at him. Had that templar been hit on the head? "We have treaties for…"
"I've read the bloody treaties," Raviathan snapped at him. "What in the Maker's name do you think I've been doing every morning for the last week? I could make copies from memory."
Morrigan smirked at the templar who flushed as all the authority leaked out of him. "Um," he stammered. "I still think Arl Eamon is our best bet. We may even want to go to him first."
It was a simple plan, but at least they were finally starting to talk about strategy. "What's your opinion on the matter Morrigan?"
"I think you should take this battle directly to your enemy," she chimed in, gratified to be asked. "Take out this Loghain like chopping the head off a snake."
"Oh," Alistair replied with contemptuous snark. "We'd only have to sneak into Palace past all the royal guards and the Teyrn's personal militia and…"
"I was asked my opinion and I gave it!" Morrigan shot back.
"Quiet!" Raviathan growled as Alistair was about to retort with some derisive comment judging by the look on his face. Was that really as far as either of them had thought? Alistair was in mourning, but he had expected more from Morrigan. She really knew nothing outside of the Wilds. He paused for a moment then said, "I think we should split up."
After an alarmed second they both started in at once.
"But we're the only two Grey Wardens left. If something happened…"
"We'd have no way of contacting each other. What if…"
"This makes us more vulnerable. We're stronger as a team…"
"If one falls, how would the others find out? We'd lose any progress…"
Raviathan raised his hand for silence. "Hear me out. The Blight comes first. Loghain is secondary to that. If we split up, we can get more done, and time is vital. I've got the best chance of the three of us to meet with the Dalish. Besides, humans might make them hostile. The Brecillian Forrest is close, so I'll go there first. After that I'll head to Orzammar. With any luck the pass won't be snowed in. If not, I'll have to get a guide. Morrigan shouldn't go anywhere near the Mage's Tower. Alistair, as a templar, they'll be most receptive to you. I'd say go to the Circle before this Arl Eamon in case there are politics at play with Loghain. At least the treaty will be fulfilled if something happens to you. Morrigan should go to Orlais to contact the rest of the Grey Wardens. She can fly over the mountains quickly and borders won't be a problem for her. The other Wardens need to know what happened, and they'll have the tactical knowledge we need to fight the Blight." There. That seemed succinct enough.
The two stared at him for a long moment. Raviathan waited, wondering at their reaction. What he said couldn't have been that controversial. They both started again at once.
"Just fly across the border? And what should I do if some stray arrow or hawk…"
"But I'm a templar. The mages won't want to listen to me. They hate me."
"And I don't speak Orlesian. I'd be useless in this task."
"And a lot more can happen to an individual. It makes us more…"
"I don't even know where the Grey Wardens are. How am I supposed to find them?"
"How would we contact each other? Or send information? We'd be even more lost."
"Would they even listen to me? They might think me delusional or a spy."
"And if Loghain has involved the nobles, well, what am I supposed…"
"I'm no servant to be sent off for this or that. If you want my help…"
"Right now we need to stick together."
This? This is what the two could agree on? Even Venger had hopped forward on his haunches and pawed at his leg with a piteous whine. Raviathan started rubbing his forehead to ease a newly forming headache. Maker's puss spewing ass. This was a nightmare. Alistair he could sort of understand being needy, but Morrigan was a surprise. Why did she even care? She couldn't be that afraid of the world outside the Wilds. It's because she wants something, the little voice in his head told him. Not like he trusted the templar any more than she did.
"Fine. Fine!" he repeated to shut them up. He sighed. "Let's just head into Lothering. Get some news. We'll decide from there."
The path leading off the Imperial Highway lowered a wide slope to accommodate merchants and now scores upon scores of current indigents who swelled the village. The two humans followed the elf and his dog in morose silence. Raviathan pursed his lips, thinking they both pouted like children. He had a sudden urge to march the two back to Flemeth's hut and continue without them. He whispered to Venger, "I would have taken you with me, you know."
Venger's powerful jaws opened in a slobbery doggy grin and all was right in his world again. Raviathan scratched the dog's head, wishing it were as easy for him to find such peace.
Some of the refugees chatted freely enough. Most were put off by their armor and weapons thinking they were dangerous which was startling to say the least. Never in all his eighteen years had any shem thought he was dangerous, especially considering he was in ill fitted and mismatched armor appearing little better than a lucky scavenger. These were the shems who had always intimidated him as a child or condescended to him as an adult. He wasn't sure if it was that he represented something violent which made them fearful or if it was because they had fled their homes and were insecure. He suspected the latter was truer. If he had approached them at their farmsteads, he would have received hostile looks or threats, but like him, home and therefore security were gone. It had taken him a fortnight to start regaining his equilibrium. How long would it take them?
"Excuse me." Raviathan looked over to see a weathered elf approach. He had the look of a man whose face was prematurely lined making him appear ten years older than he probably was, and the broad shoulders that indicated a life of heavy farm labor. What must have been his wife and daughter stood near a hastily erected fence made for the refugee camp. The woman was lovely, just the type he would have gone for if she had been a widow in the alienage. The daughter was going to inherit a lot of her mother's beauty as she aged.
"Yes? How can I help you?" Raviathan asked, leaving Morrigan and Alistair to talk to some brothers who had been forced from their farm.
The older elf was ashamed of asking, clear when he couldn't meet Raviathan's gaze. "I beg your pardon. I don't supposed you could spare any change?"
Raviathan had met many beggars in the alienage and knew a professional from a true cripple. This man was neither. "Here," he said digging into one of the pouches lifted from a bandit. "Fifty silver. Will that do?"
The wife's eyes filled with such gratitude that it made Raviathan feel ashamed. The man stammered quietly, "Th-thank you. I… I thought another elf might understand."
The wife came forward then still holding her daughter's hand and hugged him. "Thank you."
"Are you from here?"
"No," the wife said. "My husband and I lived in a little village south of here. When the teyrn's army came through, they warned us that the darkspawn were heading north then confiscated most of the town's provisions for winter. We had no choice but to move with what we had left."
"And then those bandits." The husband spat. "We went to the Chantry, but no one cares about a few elves."
Raviathan leaned in and whispered, "The bandits are dead. Hurry to get what you can, but don't take your daughter up there."
"Dead?" asked the wife in astonishment.
"You… you killed them?" the husband asked, looking at the armor and weapons with renewed respect.
"Yes. Don't make it obvious. Likely you'll be mugged if any of the others see you."
"Oh, this is wonderful news," the wife said. "Maybe we can get Lyrra's lamb back."
"I'll be careful," the husband promised. "If we stay off the Highway as much as possible, we might be safe."
Raviathan said, "You might be better in numbers. I'm sure the town is going to have an official evacuation."
"He's right," the wife replied. "Take what will get us far but nothing bulky." The wife kissed Raviathan on the cheek. "Thank you again. I don't know how we can repay you." The husband hugged him in thanks and ambled over to the Highway's ramp with the invisibility of a good servant.
"Maker watch over you," Raviathan said as Alistair and Morrigan came forward. The wife shrank back at their approach, her daughter clutched close, so Raviathan led the two humans to another area of the refugee camps where they could speak in peace. "Find out anything?"
"Nothing new," Alistair said. "Just more nervous or scared people trying to outrun the darkspawn." Morrigan looked bored. Raviathan thought her outfit was a fantastic distraction for the elves as many of the refugees cast looks her way.
Noon had come and gone. Though he hadn't eaten more than a few bites of raw roots this morning, he wasn't feeling hungry even after all the walking they did. Maker's blood. He had walked more in the last three weeks than he had in all the years of his life, but the sight of the templar guarding the entrance to the village had robbed him of his insistent appetite.
Raviathan nibbled his lower lip as he glanced over at the templar. Perhaps now was as good a time as any for a test. "Alistair."
The templar looked up with a blank expression. "What?"
"Go talk to that templar by the town entrance. See what information he has, and if they're distracted enough not to notice Morrigan. We'll make lunch," he added to assuage the petulant man.
"Fine. Whatever."
Morrigan glowered as she watched his back. "How do you know he won't set them on me?"
"Because I'm going to follow and listen. It'll at least give me some clue as to how much to trust him."
Morrigan studied him. "You do not trust him? He is a fellow of your Order, is he not?"
Raviathan matched her look. "If all goes well, I'll let you know why soon enough. If there's an emergency, go east to South Reach. We can meet there. Venger, go help Morrigan find some wood." The dog barked and pranced away, blissfully unaware of Morrigan's wrinkled nose.
"Wonderful," she drawled. Though he liked Morrigan well enough for a human so far, he turned away so she wouldn't catch his smirk. The two shems could both be mightily annoying. Her competence in the Wilds and willingness to answer questions notwithstanding, neither were people he could trust. Having never felt lonely before, it had taken him the last week to understand the emotion. It seemed doubly strange considering he was never alone, but constantly with the two humans.
Settling on his task, Raviathan crouched behind a tent and some bushes in order to cloak in shadow. It was one of the skills he had picked up quickly from his mother's training much to her delight. While discipline was strict, and he was to never disobey one of her rules or cause too much trouble, she did love mischief. The two of them had fun sneaking about the alienage and occasionally into the world outside. Though she had made it a game, these were a spy and thief's skills he was learning. Only recently had he appreciated that as adult awareness opened up his child's world view. Her masters had trained her to be an infiltrator, by turns a pretty but harmless entertainer or spy, one who had been the product of generations of breeding to be a tool for the magisters' ambitions.
Cloaking in shadow was a skill that took years of training to accomplish. Everyone carried some spark of magic in them, some connection to the Fade. Only in mages did this spark take on a new awareness. To be a mage was an all or nothing shift in awareness. Though a mage might not have much more magical ability than the non mage next to them, some key difference Solyn had not been able to explain clearly allowed mages to tap into those energies as others could not. For all non mages, that connection to the Fade could be manipulated but only after years of intense training. For some thieves, that little spark of magic could be channeled into pulling Fade shadows around them.
Years of meditation and practice at grace needed to culminate into an understanding of shadow, of becoming part of the strange between state of existing yet insubstantial to light. Pulling shadows was hard to maintain and required constant concentration. Once learned, it only took a second or two to engage. It started with a brief meditation on the paradoxical state of shadows, vacant yet present, on the shifting of light that slid between the realms of conscious thought and dream. Movement was almost impossible when anyone first learned this skill. Each level had to be built with discipline and near endless hours of practice. Pulling shadows was like learning how to juggle daggers, then learning how to juggle daggers and walk a tightrope, then learning how to do both of those while dancing a jig on a wire, and, most importantly, never to fall no matter how the wire swung.
It was a skill that many more people could learn to do, as many people could learn juggling but rarely took the time necessary to learn. But that was just one aspect of training, and not everyone could walk a tightrope. Cloaking was a skill that was hard to learn, and one that could be easily defeated. Tacks on a floor would cause any but the most proficient to lose focus. Foul weather, such as rain, would leave an obvious outline along with a trail of mud or the squishing of grass. A squeaky floorboard was enough to break alert a vigilant guard. The wealthier the place, the better the guards, the more they know what to look for and have defenses in place. Given these limitations, his mother had said it was still a useful skill, but one slip, just one, and a person could wind up exposing themselves right in front of a legion of hostile combatants.
I am shadow, Raviathan chanted as he pushed out all other thoughts. His mind swirled in veils of grey and black. Invisible as only a single shifting shadow among many, Raviathan snuck close enough to overhear while staying behind a low fence as an extra precaution. Since Alistair had to go around the fence, they arrived at roughly the same time. At least he didn't have to worry about keeping his footfalls silent. There weren't any dry leaves or twigs, and the sounds of refugees and barking dogs were loud enough to cover the creaking of his ill fitting armor. From further in the town, Raviathan could hear the sounds of a woman sobbing, a child crying for a parent, the far off angry shouts of a man. The town was in crisis, and the refugees were adding to the panic.
Looking put upon, Alistair greeted the templar with a mild, "Ho there."
The templar guard was in full armor: the purple and gold robed skirting, a helm that showed only shadowed blue eyes and the suggestion of a mouth, and a torso encased in heavy plate with a stylized flaming sword etched on the front. It was hard enough being around Alistair, but Raviathan hadn't realized how much more intimidating templars were in full regalia. "Town's full to bursting. You'll find nothing here."
"Oh, um," Alistair fumbled. "Well, we're just travelling through. So, why are there so many refugees here?"
"Haven't you heard?" the templar asked indignantly. "Darkspawn have taken over the Wilds. The southern area is swarming with them. After the Grey Wardens got King Cailan killed at Ostagar…"
"The Grey Wardens did… what?" Alistair asked in shock.
Raviathan almost lost his concentration and had to calm himself to maintain the cloaking. He hoped Alistair had enough wits not to say anything stupid. The templar's muffled voice responded, "Surprised to hear that myself, but it's what Teyrn Loghain said. He and the arl have gone north to Denerim. Damn shame leaving everyone in the gulch like it is."
"Who-Who's in charge then?"
"The Chantry has been trying to organize the town to evacuate, but it's just us. You'd best be on your way as well." Alistair started to ask another question, but the templar waved him off becoming brusque. "Look, if you need something, go to the Chantry, but don't cause any trouble here. You understand?"
"Yeah, sure," Alistair said in a daze.
"Move along then."
Raviathan left back the way he came and uncloaked discreetly so as not to scare anyone. The air of panic was too high as it was. His mind whirled as he jogged over to the hillock at the edge of the refugee camp where Morrigan was setting a fire pit. Venger had already scrounged an old dead tree branch for a fire. Raviathan pulled a hatchet and began breaking it up just as he spied Alistair walking into the camp from the far side.
"Loghain is blaming the Grey Wardens for Ostagar," Raviathan said in a low voice to Morrigan.
"Considering he quit the field, that is not entirely unexpected is it?"
"He could have just said the darkspawn overwhelmed their forces. No need to blame us."
The witch snorted. "And have any survivors accuse with different tales then? Why let you cast doubt when this way he has you on the defensive, and," she said frowning at Alistair, "it would explain why he would turn away other Grey Wardens when the darkspawn so clearly are a danger."
Raviathan's estimation of Morrigan went up. She was clever to be sure considering how little she knew of people. Her earlier plan of going after Loghain directly could be done if they had any skills in assassination, but Loghain would just be replaced by another despot. Urien Kendells had been hard on elves, enough that there were some drunken grumblings that would never go anywhere, but his son was worse. Unless they could somehow control who took Loghain's place, make sure it was someone who would support the Wardens, there was no point. It was risk upon risk with no gain. So Morrigan wasn't a planner, but she was occasionally good at understanding motivation. Something she picked up from her mother?
That Loghain was using them as scapegoats shouldn't have been a surprise, not after he quit the field, but it did substantiate that the general did so as a malicious strike against the Wardens. What frustrated Raviathan was that there was no reason for it. There had to be something Duncan didn't tell him regarding Loghain and the Grey Wardens. The darkspawn were a threat, but if Loghain was willing to abandon Lothering, maybe he didn't take the darkspawn seriously. But he was a tactician. He had seen the darkspawn for himself. It just didn't make any sense.
"We'll be branded as traitors to the king," Raviathan said. "It's going to make getting around a lot more difficult." Morrigan was already as conspicuous as a naked man in a Chantry. Her yellow eyes marked her, which was bad enough, but her odd dress drew the eye from far away. She might as well be screaming, 'I'm an apostate', and it made Raviathan nervous. There was too much pride in the woman, too much defiance for her own good. She knew she was an outsider and was rebelling from anyone's judgment, which Raviathan could understand. As an elf among humans, he had done much the same at Ostagar, but it wasn't a crime to be an elf. As he looked at her, he realized how petulant he had been at the old fortress, rebelling because he finally could. The difference was that her rebellion brought too much attention to all of them and the outcome would be far worse.
They fell silent as Alistair came up. "The news isn't good."
He recounted the short conversation while Raviathan and Morrigan played ignorant. When finished Raviathan said, "We need more wood. Alistair?"
"What?" he asked, confused by the lack of outrage at the news.
"Go get more wood," Raviathan repeated with a harsher tone than he meant. Raviathan groaned inwardly, hoping the templar wouldn't make a big deal out of this. The cold and stress were taking their toll, and he just didn't care about being nice to the mage hunter. Just… just go away, Alistair.
Alistair watched the elf for a moment before leaving down the other side of the hillock where there were other refugees scrounging for whatever would get them through the cold night. As Alistair's grumbles died away Raviathan ventured, "If there is a commotion with the templars, you could turn into a bird and get away in time?"
"I have done so before. 'Twas one of the reasons I learned such a form to begin with."
"Is it hard to learn?"
The witch shrugged. "As is any magic or skill. It requires time and discipline. To change into an animal form requires a fundamental understanding of the animal one wishes to turn into. You must understand the soul of the creature."
"What can you turn into? Besides a bird."
"Creatures of the forest, naturally."
"So," began Raviathan, keeping his gaze on the task at hand but studying her in his periphery, "could you teach someone else?"
"Certainly, but not you."
"No?"
"It requires magical ability, of which, you are lacking."
Raviathan glanced around then knelt in front of the fire pit with his back to the rest of the camp, hiding the little pile of wood from view. He looked straight into Morrigan's yellow eyes until he was positive he had her full attention. She frowned at him then gasped when the wood ignited in a controlled blaze. He whispered, "I don't think Alistair knows about me. I'd like to keep it that way."
A small dark smile formed on the witch's full lips. After a moment of watching the fire she chuckled. "Well, you are full of surprises. Alright. When we leave this town, we shall start the lessons."
They shared a conspiratorial smile then went back to work. Raviathan thought about Alistair as he continued to break up the log Venger had wrestled over. So the templar hadn't turned in Morrigan at first chance, and there was still the possibility that he didn't know about Raviathan's power. That didn't mean much yet. Alistair knew Morrigan could escape and could be waiting for a better opportunity.
Biting his lip at the thought, Raviathan doubted he would ever trust the templar. There had to be some way to get rid of him. Maybe once Alistair got over Ostagar he'd be willing to go to the Mage's Tower on his own. There was no way Raviathan was going to get near the place. If Alistair continued to be so needy, they could just ditch him at night while he slept. The templar was no good in the wilderness and wouldn't be able to track them. Between Morrigan's animal shifting and his own night vision, it would be easy to leave Alistair behind with no clue where to look for them. Raviathan didn't look up as Venger dropped another log in front of him then trotted off. Raviathan thought of Alistair waking, baffled when there was no one around and left on his own. It was a dirty trick, and he was ashamed for having thought it.
He reached absently for the new log and had his hatchet up to start chopping when he noticed the runes carved into the sides of what turned out to be a staff. "Morrigan. Have a look."
A dented tin pan was settled near their small fire and warming up more of those tough dried roots that were causing one of his problems. Raviathan was itching to get some less astringent fare. Together they looked over the staff running their fingers along the runes. Raviathan asked, "Can you read it?"
Neither he nor Solyn ever used staves as that would have been an obvious giveaway of their abilities, but he knew one when he saw one. Solyn had said it had been difficult to give up the use of a staff as she had trained with one, but he never knew the difference having gone without his whole life. Morrigan's staff was made of smooth, dark wood and well worn from handling. The krag, or 'top', of hers was charred from channeling energy. That happened when there was nothing but the natural wood to source the push of formed mana out, but Solyn said stone and metal, when worked correctly, made for more powerful and longer lasting staves. While the staff was not exactly damaged from focusing energy, charring did have a way of making the power channeled less focused. It was not much different than having a sword lose its edge and become scarred. The cheaper the metal, the quicker its wear.
The type of materials used in creating a staff not only determined its quality but also the type of damage it did. While a mage could use nearly any staff if they had the sufficient power a particular staff required, specialists of a school favored certain materials. Lead was good for entropic magic, silver for creative and healing. Iron was a favored metal for primal, but add gold and it supported fire magic while tin supported electricity. Yew was the tree of sorrows which made it well suited for entropy, and willow for creative. Most of his spells were in the spiritual school, so rowan, holly, and rosewood were best. That was the extent of Raviathan's knowledge on the subject as there had been little use to learn more. Solyn had once recounted what she knew of focus stones, precious or semi-precious stones set into the krag for focusing, but after an hour of hearing stone names he had no reference for, Raviathan's boggled mind shut down.
This one was gnarled, and though care had gone into the shaping of it, seemed more organic as if the wood had naturally grown this way. A slight pout played on Morrigan's lips as she cocked her head to examine a rune at a new angle. "I think this track is about nature. Mmm, possibly earth, but more than that I cannot say. I'm not even sure what language it is. Nothing common to this area. These three symbols," she said absently as she tried to place them. "I remember something of the like in one of mother's books."
"Do you know what kind of wood it is?"
Twisting the staff to get a better look at another line of rune inscription, Morrigan said, "I'm not as familiar with the woods beyond the Wilds. Hickory maybe? 'Tis hard for me to tell. If hickory, I'd presume it's a primal wood, but as far as the runes, it seems one of nature. Where did this come from?"
Raviathan shrugged. "Venger brought it."
"Humph. In that case he's already proven more useful than Alistair," Morrigan said.
Part of him wanted to admonish her, but what right did he have? He had been just as mean to the templar. The other part wanted to return her smirk. Aside from a few skirmishes, the templar had been useless so far. In the end Raviathan simply said, "Hang on to it then. It might prove useful."
"You don't want to sell it?"
"Who'd buy it?" Raviathan said. "To anyone but a mage, it's just a stick."
Her yellow eyes watched him, sized him up with new interest now that she knew he was a fellow apostate. "You don't use a staff then."
"Never have. Maybe in the Wilds where you don't need to pass off as normal it's fine, but not in cities."
Morrigan opened her mouth to say something, but Raviathan shushed her at Alistair's approach. Alistair frowned when he saw their conversation stop as he came near. "Here's more wood," he said, dumping it on the site.
"Hey," Raviathan admonished as the thin branches scattered about. "Watch it." The apostates shared a look of mutual annoyance before gathering the wood in a neat pile. Alistair sat with a heavy thump and snatched a root from the tin. His nose scrunched up in silent complaint at the taste, but he was more put off by their exclusion and made no secret of it. Take the hint, Raviathan thought bitterly.
Instead of snapping at the templar like he wanted to, Raviathan took a root to chew and gazed out at the refugee camp. The people here were desperate and already worn out. A few were marshaling themselves for the next push north, but many were becoming resigned to squatting for the foreseeable future. He had only a brief glimpse of the horde from the bridge as they raced across, and his mind still refused to fully believe that crawling mass on the field had all been darkspawn. It had to be a trick of his eyes. The smoke and heat off of those projectiles had to be what made the field waver. The whole valley had been moving. It… it couldn't have been that many. But if it was… No matter what, this village didn't stand a chance against a horde, and with the arl gone, there was nothing.
"It's just a guess, but I think everyone here knows the darkspawn are coming," Alistair observed with a lilt of sarcasm.
Morrigan huffed. "Listen to how they moan and wail and gnash their teeth. Pathetic."
Though irritated by her attitude, Raviathan spoke in a low voice. "They're tired. And scared. And have no resources. What do you expect of them?"
He was well versed in desperation. Too many times he had seen his own kin give up before they even started. As a child he had wondered, then been frustrated by the injustice of it. If only they would move! Do something. Not just bow their head and take it all. Not let their ears get pulled. But it was never that simple. From his periphery he could see Alistair watching him again as he had that morning. Raviathan clenched his jaw, trying to ignore him. Watch someone else, you creepy templar.
"So they should throw up their hands in defeat?" She replied, her tone raised an octave. "Lay down and let the darkspawn take them? This foolishness is because they trusted another with their safety rather than trust in themselves. Now that this arl is gone, they are less than helpless."
Even with an arl, there was never any guarantee for their safety, Raviathan thought. Had Loghain coerced the arl into leaving? It seemed unconscionably irresponsible to leave all these people, people whose care the arl was charged with, left to wallow like a deer trapped in a sink hole. Struggle as they might, it made no difference, but Morrigan knew nothing of the kinds of dangers that existed among men. She was such an odd combination of cynical and naïve. "Why they're in this situation is irrelevant," Raviathan said. "What matters is what they do next."
If Duncan's stories were true, they should burn the village. Better to burn it to keep it out of darkspawn hands. Though some villagers might be injured by that, it would also force them out and north. If they left the village as is, more would die and all the resources left here would only make the darkspawn stronger. Don't give an inch. Burn everything so they have to travel through a wasteland and deplete their resources.
There had been a lot of controversy among the soldiers whether darkspawn took captives. It seemed unlikely, and the lieutenants had said those were only rumors, but if they were true, then every villager left here had a lot more than a holding or some furniture at stake. If it was true, what did the darkspawn do with them? Leaving aside that uncomfortable question, Raviathan knew that the pragmatic, if brutal, thing to do was set fire to the place. The Wardens do what they must.
"So. What's next?" Alistair asked.
Burn the village? The Grey Wardens were already being blamed for the death of the king. Burn the village on top of that? It wasn't like their name was going to be any more tarnished, but something like that, the last two Grey Wardens terrorizing a hapless village, would kill any support they might still have. There must still be some who would hold the reputation of the Grey Wardens over Loghain's word. When news would inevitably get out, they would not only have a price on their heads but every farmer from here to Highever itching to turn them in.
In any case the point was moot. There was no way Raviathan was going to be able to burn the village. It was an act that required a lot more mettle than he had. It was like the treaties, or the Archdemon, or the Blight, or that blighted king. It was too big to be real. He tried to imagine going about with a torch. If the villagers and refugees didn't immediately pounce on him, the templars would string him up within the hour. If he did it on the sly at night, it would only cause panic and hurt people. Like it wouldn't do that during the day. Those stories Duncan told him- they happened to heroes, men and women who stood fifteen feet tall, decorated in metal armor of purest white, and wore a coronet of fire that blazed bright as justice. He wasn't a hero. He was just some little elf, a dock worker for Andraste's sake, in way over his head. The actual reality of trying to do something like that was overwhelming.
"Try the inn and Chantry," Raviathan said. "They'll have more information than the refugees." At the witch's scowl, Raviathan added, "Morrigan, why don't you stay here. We'll make this our base camp." That seemed to mollify her.
They were just finishing their meager lunch when the merry mabari trotted up with a rag hanging from his mouth. He presented the odd article to his master with the pleased air of a fat noble at banquet.
"Pantaloons?" Raviathan raised his eyebrows in surprise at Venger's next gift. His first worry that his dog was a thief, and Maker knew they didn't need any further complications, was assuaged as he gingerly examined the article. They were dirty as if they had been left outdoors for a month, not dirty as if taken from a close line or basket and dragged on the ground. "Um… well." Venger's little stub of a tail started wagging hopefully, so Raviathan injected a bit more warmth into his voice. "And who doesn't need a good pair of pantaloons? Thanks, Venger."
Morrigan rolled her eyes, but Alistair seemed more enchanted by the dog.
The striped gold and red fabric was good quality, finer than anything Raviathan had ever owned, but only foolish nobles wore the articles anymore. He didn't know anything about the Arl of Lothering. Maybe the man was a fop. By the size of the thing, the previous owner must have had a giant ass.
"We could sell it," Alistair offered as the dog bounded away to relieve himself on a tent. Raviathan wanted to yell at him to quit it, but that would only attract negative attention when no one seemed to notice. Maker, please don't let this dog be a mistake.
Raviathan held up the article with two fingers stretching out the waist. "Morrigan and I could each fit into one of the legs. I'll admit refugees can't be choosy, but the fabric it too fine for anything but a woman's dress, and what woman wants to have something that's been this close to a man's ass as her bodice?"
"It's almost large enough to make a tent out of," Alistair said, with a little grin.
"Seems most fitting a tent for you then," Morrigan sneered. "An ass…"
"Morrigan!" Raviathan snapped. He didn't like the templar, but enough already. "Come on, Alistair," Raviathan said getting up. "Looks like most of the town in on the other side of the bridge."
They made their way in relative silence, Raviathan listening to snatches of conversation from the refugees. Alistair was behind him, probably still watching him. Raviathan felt like he had a hulking black cloud tailing him. He held his breath as he passed the templar guarding the entrance to the city. Aside from a casual glance, he kept his attention forward, praying over and over that the man wouldn't notice him. How sensitive were templars? Could they feel the magic in him? Should they have found another way into the town? Alistair hadn't been able to tell. Had he?
Once they were past the guard, a closed in feeling pressed into Raviathan. That was stupid. Aside from two weeks, his whole life had been spent in a city, but here he was feeling trapped. Too many templars milled about. Morrigan might be able to fly away, but what were his exits? He scanned the area, fantasizing briefly about climbing up the side of the Highway in escape. They didn't notice. Just don't do magic. They'll never know. He took a deep breath, held it, and slowly let it go. The templars won't know. They're busy, and we're not staying.
"Mooother!" By the bridge a young boy in dirty clothes blubbered. He had shaggy brown hair and there were wide tear tracks mudding up his cheeks. Raviathan hesitated. If the child were an elf, it wouldn't be a problem, but as he approached he half expected a large human to come barreling at him yelling, 'get away from my son, knife ears!' The ends of the boy's full mouth were turned down in the cutest little pout though.
"Hey," Raviathan said. "You're looking for your mother?" The child took three quick gulps of air and wiped a hand across his cheek only managing to smudge the mud around. "Well now. She probably can't find you underneath all that dirt." Raviathan took out a rag and dipping it in the small canal. He wiped the child's brow, careful around his eyes and down his cheeks. "Just imagine. She's looking everywhere and can't tell you apart from a hill. What's your name?"
"R-robby."
Maker's mercy. There was even dirt on the back of the boy's neck. What did shems do, roll in the stuff? "Yep. That's probably it. She walking around yelling out 'Rooobbyyy' wondering where you are." At least that got the boy to stop crying. Raviathan took the boy's hands to clean before he tackled the runny nose. "She looks over at that hill and this hill and the hill over there and wonders where you are. And where did that new hill come from?" Robby hiccupped a little laugh and Raviathan finished cleaning the child's jaw, chin, neck, and finally nose. "She might be able to find you now. Here. You keep this." Raviathan handed the child the rag. "Now. What does she look like?"
"Um. She's tall and has really bright red hair."
Red hair was very unusual among shems but rather common with elves. Human women with red hair were sometimes considered loose, which Raviathan thought terribly unfair. People can't help what they look like. In any case, that would make her easy to find. "What about your father?"
"He went with William to another farm hold, but they should be back by tomorrow."
So the boy wasn't a refugee then. If his father was a farmer, and likely a strong man, he might have left to keep from being pressed into the arl's service. "You've no brothers or sisters? Where's the rest of your family?"
"It's… it was just me and mother," Robby said looking all the more frail for being alone. "Everyone was gathered because of a big Q and then there was pushing and I lost her hand and I haven't been able to find her since."
A big Q? "What's a Q?"
The child looked like he was going to start crying again, so Raviathan knelt down to hold his hand.
"He's just outside the village. In a cage."
What in the Maker's name was a Q? An animal? Raviathan scoured his brain for any animal that sounded remotely like 'Q' and could only come up with quail, but that didn't make any sense. Porcupine? That wouldn't draw a crowd. A blighted porcupine? Later, he thought. "And you've been on your own since?"
Robby nodded, and his face crumpled. "I don't like be-ing h-home by my-myself."
"Shh, shh." Raviathan coaxed and squeezed his hand. "There now," he said, taking the rag and folding it so he could wiped the boy's face with a clean section. "It's going to be alright. We'll find your mom. And your dad's going to be back tomorrow. You just have to be brave until tomorrow. You can do that, can't you? You can make your father real proud by being brave."
It took a minute to calm the boy down. It sounded like Robby had been on his own for at least a day. That didn't bode well, and Raviathan always felt uncomfortable lying to children when it was something serious. If the boy's mother was well, she should have gone back home. In truth, this boy would likely never see his mother again, but right now he just needed a little comfort until his father returned. "Are you hungry?" At a solemn nod, Raviathan opened up one of the pouches he had taken from the bandits. A few coppers were usually enough to buy a meal, but considering the inflated food prices, Raviathan decided to give the boy a silver. "Here. Get a meal and then go to the Chantry. One of the mothers will take care of you until your father returns. Okay?"
The little eyes went round. "A whole silver!" He turned the scarred coin around looking at the seals then gave Raviathan a skeptical narrowing of eyes. "Are you really an elf?"
Where had that come from? "Did my ears give me away?"
A little confused frown puckered the boy's face, and he looked back down at the coin. "My father says elves aren't very nice, but you're nicer than anyone else here."
"Thanks?" Ah well. He was a child. "Go on now." The boy scampered away, and Raviathan started for the bridge. Only then did he remember Alistair. He had a brief second of panic. Had he left to turn them in? No. Alistair was leaning against a nearby house watching him. For love of the bloody Maker! Watch someone else. Raviathan turned away feeling a knot of tension in his shoulders. He flexed his shoulders back trying to ease it and crossed the bridge. Why was he embarrassed? So the mage hunter had seen him comfort a child. There was nothing to be embarrassed about.
Once they moved further into the village, Alistair started talking to Venger who responded with happy barks. Raviathan put aside his uncomfortable feelings and was glad Alistair had broken out of his constant mope. Maybe he could finally get some answers. Had Alistair always wanted a dog? He tuned them out and listened instead to the rumor mongers by the inn. Loghain was blaming the Grey Wardens. The two had some details wrong, well, a lot of details wrong, but it did confirm Raviathan's worry that they were going to have to keep low while they were in Ferelden.
What did that mean for the treaties? The elves were already solitary, so that might be the place to start. So were the dwarves, but travel to Orzammar might be difficult if the Bannorn was hostile. Would they care about Fereldan politics? Would they be more willing to listen to Loghain? Surly the man would send an emissary to the dwarves. What about the mages? Raviathan didn't know much about them other than the Chantry was heavily involved and the Circles throughout Thedas were prisons. If the party did remain together, he would have to convince Alistair to go to the Tower alone.
Worse and worse.