Chapter 38
Genitivi's Rescue

The night had deepened when Leliana returned from her perilous errand. Wynne gathered her into grateful arms, ushering her into the tent and helping her climb out of her armor. "I'm worried," Leliana told the mage as she scrubbed her face. "Whatever is going on with the Urn of Sacred Ashes, Lyra and Alistair may be walking into something bigger than we thought." Dipping up a last handful of water, she splashed her eyes, which stung from the coal dust.

When she'd finished, Wynne passed her a soft cloth, and then handed her a tiny vial. "Put these drops in your eyes. It will help with the stinging."

"Should we go after them?" Sten asked gruffly.

Leliana pursed her lips as she folded the towel in her hands, considering each angle. "Let's see if Bodahn is ready to leave Lake Calenhad in the morning, and maybe I can go ahead of the wagon to see if they ran into any trouble," she decided.

Wynne and Sten agreed, seeming glad to have someone making decisions. Leliana was grateful they weren't arguing with her about it. Wynne wasn't strong enough or fast enough to be able to travel quickly on foot, and it didn't make sense to leave the older woman alone to guard Bodahn's wagon.

The rest of the night passed with much tossing and turning, but Leliana managed to drop off a few hours before sunrise. She woke to the mouthwatering scent of newly baked bread. Wynne handed her a slice thick with butter, fresh from the inn.

Bodahn was indeed ready to leave, and as the wagon began to roll out, Leliana thought of something intriguing. "Wynne... how wide is Lake Calenhad? Do you think it's possible to row all the way to the other side?"

"I suppose so. Kinloch Hold is about halfway across, and it only takes half an hour or so to complete that trip." Suddenly Wynne caught the gist of Leliana's thoughts, and her eyes widened in understanding. "You plan on taking a boat across the lake, instead of the long road around! It's a brilliant idea, my girl. You will save much time. Go, child, and give them my love when you see them." She gripped Leliana's hand. Leliana pressed a kiss to Wynne's cheek, then took off running back toward the lake.

"Kester!" she called. "How do you feel about earning two sovereigns?"

A few hours later she was tracking through the forest on the other side of Lake Calenhad. Her shortcut had saved a full day of travel time, and she was soon scouting for signs of her companions. They'd done a fair job of covering their tracks, but Leliana had trained for years to pick up subtleties that most people missed.

She found their campsite early that afternoon. Nothing but a few ashes remained of their evening fire, but a faint boot print pointed the way toward Haven.

.oOo.

Alistair stalked into the secret room, his ears burning over Zevran's joke. He heard Lyra's wry chuckle and Morrigan's sassy comment, and between their laughter and his rapidly worsening cold he felt very sorry for himself indeed. He blew his nose again into the handkerchief as he looked around. Kestrel padded up beside him, keeping him quiet company.

The room was crammed with books and chests. Enormous, sparkling eggs were on display in every corner... he shuddered, wondering if they could possibly be the thing he suspected. True, not for nothing was the Age called 'Dragon', but even so.

A sneeze rocked his whole body forward. He groaned, his head stuffed with cotton.

Morrigan's voice sounded behind him. "Templar, chew on this." In her fingers was a gnarled piece of root. Fine white hairs grew from the surface, the flesh wrinkled and purple.

It looked horrid. Kestrel sniffed it with interest.

"What is it?" he hemmed, not certain he could actually put such a thing in his mouth.

"Yaren root. 'Twill relieve your symptoms. Chew it raw, and hold the pieces under your tongue to allow your body to absorb the juices."

"I thought you didn't know healing?" he said hesitantly as he took it.

"I said I do not know healing magic. I also said I am well versed in poultices and poisons, which, believe it or not, are usually distilled from plants. Take it or not, as you like." Morrigan wandered to one of the bookshelves, selected a tome and began paging through it.

Lyra and Zevran entered the room as he contemplated. The assassin gave a low whistle as he spotted the eggs.

Bracing himself, Alistair shut his eyes and popped the root into his mouth. To his surprise, it did not taste like the wrong end of a dog, so he chewed it to a pulp and held it under his tongue.

"Are those dragon eggs?" Zevran asked. They were impressive; sparkling orbs perched on carved pedestals, gleaming softly in the dull firelight which filtered through the open panel in the wall.

"If they are, they will never hatch," Morrigan murmured, her nose still buried in her book. "There is no spark of life within them. They are merely pretty things now. A bit morbid, if you ask me."

"How 'ong sood I keep i' undah mah tongue?" Alistair asked.

Morrigan turned a page. "A bit longer, templar. Do not swallow it, unless you fancy the loo. When I tell you to, spit it out."

"'Kay," Alistair said.

Kestrel began scratching at the floor, and Zevran went to investigate. "Bella flor, look here," Zevran called. He flipped back the edge of an ornate rug, revealing a trap door with a brass ring attached to it. When he pulled it open, a stairway was revealed, descending into the darkness below.

"Anyone have a light?" Lyra asked.

Morrigan gestured silently. A ball of green glow appeared, hovering in the air before the tunnel. Lyra began to descend the steps, but Zevran's voice stopped her.

"Wait, my flower. Allow me to go first, after I shut the door to this room. There may be traps." He moved to the panel and flipped a hidden latch. "It may buy us a bit of time. I don't know if Haven has their own version of soldiers or templars, but someone will undoubtedly discover Eirik sooner or later, and he will not be the only one who knows about this stairwell."

Lyra moved aside, and Zevran led them down the stairs into a dank tunnel carved into the stone of the mountain. It was frigid. Alistair pulled the trapdoor shut behind them. But for Morrigan's ethereal lamp, the darkness was complete.

The ball of light danced ahead of Zevran, casting weird shadows along the walls and throwing the shapes of the stones into stark relief. At Lyra's side, Kestrel whined. She hushed him, but the sound was tense. Alistair peered over Morrigan's shoulder, trying to see Lyra's form more clearly. The tunnel was narrow enough that it would have been difficult to shove past Morrigan to join Lyra.

After a few moments Morrigan told Alistair to rid himself of the yaren root. He did so with a loud *hrrrk*ing sound of phlegm being discharged.

Morrigan made a disgusted noise.

"Hey, my headache's better," Alistair said happily.

"Please do not make that noise again. 'Tis absolutely vile," Morrigan shivered.

"You told me to spit it out."

"Yes, but I assumed you would do so into your handkerchief."

"And you think I'm disgusting? Why would I spit that into a perfectly clean handkerchief?"

Lyra hushed them, the tension in her tone saying more than words. Alistair stood on tiptoe, frowning when he saw Lyra's fingers digging into Kestrel's scalp. The poor mabari voiced no protest, but whatever her issue was, she was taking it out on the poor dog.

.oOo.

Cold sweat drenched Lyra's palms as she watched the light weave over the walls. The rock wasn't closing in, was it?

No... her imagination was running wild. The cave was likely older than time, there was no reason why it should choose this moment to fall on top of them.

Breathe. In, then out. Chest expand, then contract. Again.

Of course, the secret room would have to lead to a tunnel. Caves had never been a fondness of hers, not since she'd gotten trapped in a cave-in as a girl. She'd been with her family, and it had been only seconds before hands had appeared to dig her out. But the phobia was still there, nonetheless.

Working her fingers into Kestrel's fur, Lyra drew a deep breath. "Zev, shouldn't we have encountered something by now? I'm getting very nervous about the lack of... anything."

"I admit, it is curious, my flower," he murmured. "Shall we keep going?"

"What choice do we have?" she said unhappily. They crept along in the darkness, following Morrigan's ball of green light.

The faint, golden illumination of a torch threw black shadows around a bend in the tunnel, and Morrigan extinguished her witch light. Zevran signaled them all to be very quiet, then motioned for Lyra and the others to remain where they were. The assassin skulked forward, leaving them frozen in the dark.

The damp air was icy and thin, the smell of rock all around them. Lyra's hand brushed the chill, rough wall at her back, the cold seeping into her very bones. She hitched a breath, her eyes darting. Close them, she told herself sternly. It's just like night time. Pretend you're somewhere else.

Gritting her teeth, Lyra sucked gouts of air through them, trying to think of anything but the fact that she could reach in any direction and touch stone. Trees. Trees were better. Higher, more open. Her feet could go anywhere in a tree, her hands reach and swing and climb and stretch...

Kestrel leaned on her leg, pushing her into the stone wall again.

Panic iced her veins as her breaths stuttered. There was nothing to be seen but rock, so Lyra kept her eyes screwed shut as she fought to control her breathing.

A scuffle at her back made her jump, but then she heard Alistair mutter and Morrigan's sarcastic response. Were they really going at it again?

Then she felt Alistair's comforting arms wrap around her. "Relax," he murmured. His lips brushed her neck. "I've got you."

"I'm fine," she muttered in return. But her relieved sigh only settled her more deeply into him as his breath warmed her neck. Loosing a tense breath, she snuggled close.

"Do you two never cease?"

Morrigan's snappish whisper brought a smile to Lyra's face.

"My friends, come quickly," Zevran's voice snaked back down the tunnel, warping with the beveled stone.

It was a short trip, only a few steps before they rounded the bend to see Zevran kneeling over a man who looked more dead than alive. His skin was waxy, his breathing shallow and labored. One leg twisted at an odd angle, and a few deep looking cuts were swollen and pussing. Kestrel sniffed him with concern, then whimpered at Lyra.

"I would wager that we have found Brother Genitivi," Zevran murmured.

"No matter who he is, he needs healing. We have to get him out of here," Lyra said.

The man groaned, his eyes dredging open. "Water," he whispered.

Lyra knelt and put her waterskin to his lips, helping him to drink. "If we help you, can you walk with us? We can take most of your weight."

"Leave him to die," Morrigan said derisively. "He is at the edge of death. That leg is gangrenous. Even Wynne cannot possibly bring him back."

"I won't leave him, Morrigan," Lyra flared.

The witch sniffed, and crossed her arms.

"I...can walk, if you...help me," the man said weakly. Alistair helped Lyra lift him to his feet.

Zevran was examining the flickering torch. "My friends, the passage continues in this direction. There is a breeze... I believe it lets out of the mountain," he said.

Angry voices echoed in the tunnel behind them.

"They found Eirik," Alistair said grimly.

"Let's move!" Lyra cried. With the man drooping beneath their shoulders, they hustled along the tunnel. Kestrel took off running as Zevran traipsed ahead of them, his daggers in his fists. Morrigan threw a blast of fire behind them, filling the tunnel with screams.

The man groaned, his head lolling. Lyra gritted her teeth, adjusted his weight on her shoulder and ran a bit faster.

The tunnel was brightening by degrees, and in a few moments they spilled out into the forest, the frosty air biting their tired lungs. Haven could be seen in the distance, the path a few hundred yards above them to the west.

Footsteps echoed from the passage. Lyra and Alistair eased the injured man onto the ground in an out-of-the-way place in preparation for a fight.

Morrigan sent another blast of fire shooting into the tunnel, drawing forth more sounds of agony. Lyra drew her weapons and waited near the mouth of the passage. Alistair stood opposite, his sword ready. Kestrel's muscles bunched as he prepared for a powerful lunge, accentuated with teeth and sharp claws.

The first man came tearing out of the tunnel. Lyra stuck her foot out to send him tumbling straight at Zevran. The elf wasted no movement, but sent the man on to Andraste with a sharp slice of his dagger. Alistair met the next with a sharp thrust. The poor soul collapsed, clutching his side and wailing. Numbers three and four came out swinging, and Lyra and Alistair met them head on, blades flashing in the dim afternoon sun. The men were quickly cut down, but more piled up behind them, and Lyra and Alistair found themselves bottlenecking a flow that would surely burst if not contained. Kestrel barked madly, jumping and dancing.

"Wardens, away!" Morrigan's voice called. Lyra and Alistair jumped back as a spume of ice engulfed the men. Lyra panted as she lowered her weapon, her heart racing with relief.

Morrigan sagged, then sank gracefully to the ground. Her dark head dropped between her knees, her staff inert upon the ground at her side. Kestrel padded up to her, then nudged her arm. "Desist, mongrel." Her voice was lost amidst her arms. Kestrel flopped to the ground beside her with an exasperated whuff.

"Are you alright, Morrigan?" Lyra asked. Only once before had she seen the witch so drained.

"Do not ask of me anything else today. I have nothing left," she mumbled.

Lyra nodded, recalling all of the magic Morrigan had used. Father Eirik, the witch light, the men in the tunnel - not to mention, her illusory cloak and her usual stamina-boosting tricks. "Thank you for saving us," she offered quietly, wishing she had more to offer than feeble words of thanks.

Alistair knelt beside the unknown man, giving him more water. He drank, then spoke weakly. "Thank you for your aid. I am Brother Genitivi."

"We thought you might be," Alistair said. "You're a popular fellow, you know. Half of Ferelden has been looking for you."

"I don't even know how long I was down there." Genitivi gave a hoarse cough.

Kneeling at his side, Lyra laid a hand upon his forehead. "He's burning up," she said. "We have to get him to Wynne."

Genitivi coughed again, then shook his head. "The Urn. It's close."

"If you die, none of us will find the Urn," Lyra said firmly. She looked around, then spotted several large downed branches on the forest floor. "Help me, Alistair."

He caught her idea quickly, and they began to construct a sledge of branches, rope from their packs, and blankets from their bedrolls.

"Bodahn and the others should be on their way to Orzammar by now," Lyra told him as they lashed branches together. "We should be able to find them before midnight."

"Are you sure your timing is right?" Alistair asked, concern in his eyes. "I think we might be a day ahead of them."

"No, I'm not sure..." Lyra sighed. "But what else can we do?"

"Think he'll live?" Alistair asked as he knotted the ropes.

"All we can do is hope and pray," she said. "He's lived so far."

When the sledge was ready, they helped Brother Genitivi onto it, settling his leg as comfortably as they could. Lyra tucked an extra blanket around him, being especially gentle with his wounds.

A dozen yards away, Morrigan still huddled upon the forest floor. Kestrel yipped, drawing their attention.

To Lyra's surprise, Alistair unfastened his cloak and walked toward the witch, then draped it around her shoulders.

The dark head snapped up, Morrigan's eyes flashing with suspicion, but Alistair was already walking back toward Lyra and did not see. The witch drew in on herself, then tugged the cloak a bit tighter around her.

Lyra felt a flush of annoyance, but tamped it down. It would do them little good if Morrigan weakened further. "Can you walk?" she called.

Morrigan lifted her head and nodded wearily before rising to her feet and leaning upon her staff.

"Then let's go." Lyra said. The party headed north, toward the pass above Lake Calenhad.

.oOo.

They stopped walking long after the moon had risen. Brother Genitivi had fallen into a deep sleep after drinking a bit more water and gnawing some bread and jerky. The rest of the party was dragging, muscles leaden with the strains of the past few days.

Lyra finally called a reluctant halt. Bodahn's wagon was nowhere in sight. They were simply farther ahead of schedule than she'd anticipated. A simple camp was all anyone had the energy for, a firepit cleared and bedrolls opened on the softest patches of ground they could find. Zevran offered to stand watch for a few hours so the others could sleep.

Lyra checked Brother Genitivi once more before she tucked herself into Alistair's blanket with him. As Genitivi had been wrapped in her bedroll, she was grateful to be able to share blankets and body heat with her fellow Warden.

Zevran woke Lyra near dawn, crawling into his own bedroll and falling asleep in minutes. Lyra checked on Genitivi, relieved to find the man still alive, if unchanged. The sun was cresting the horizon when a sudden noise in the brush brought Lyra to her feet and her sword from its scabbard. Ears pricked, she snuck in the direction of the noise.

The sight that met her eyes was... comical.

A tall blonde man wearing a mage's robes pushed his way through the underbrush, muttering to himself. His eyes were on the ground, and as he came closer Lyra heard him coo, "Come on, Ser Perceval. Don't stop now. Just a bit further, and then I'll carry you again."

Lyra's eyebrows furrowed, but then she saw a tiny grey cat mincing through the underbrush. The mage laughed as he scooped up the kitten and pressed his face into its fur. It batted at his nose. The mage fairly purred. "You are a very ferocious knight, Ser Perceval. Yes you are, and such a lovely knight, as well."

Lyra bit her lip, swallowing the giggles that threatened. Clearing her throat, she stepped out of the bushes.

The mage's head snapped up, and in a single fluid movement, he deposited the kitten within his robes and whipped a staff from his back. "Stay where you are!"

Lyra lifted her hands to show she meant no harm. "I will not hurt you, mage, or your very ferocious knightly companion."

"Oh... you heard that, did you?" Looking sheepish, he lifted the kitten from within his robes and set it gently on the ground. "Ser Perceval is new to me. I got him just yesterday from a woman whose cat had kittened."

The note of pride in his voice made Lyra smile. His robes looked as though he'd slept in them, though, and his eyes were shadowed as though from lack of sleep. "Who are you? What are you doing here? You have no packs, no supplies... you can't be out for a pleasure jaunt."

One of his eyebrows rose. "You tell me, first. All alone in the woods, and I see nothing on your back but a pretty pointy-looking sword."

She nodded, deciding there was no harm in introducing herself. "My name is Lyra, and I'm a Grey Warden. I'm not alone; there's a few more in my party just over there, still asleep. We're trying to get back to our caravan on the other side of Lake Calenhad." The mage really looked harmless, so she made a snap decision. "Would you like some breakfast?"

The man's eyes got bigger, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "You're really a Grey Warden? You're not traveling with any templars?"

"No templars. Well, Alistair was training as a templar before he was conscripted, but he's a Warden now, like myself," she said.

The mage considered, and then held out his hand. "My name is Anders. I'm from the Circle, as you probably guessed, and I'm... escaping. From the Tower. Been on the run since yesterday, actually. I'd be grateful for a meal, and if you need any healing I can oblige as a repayment."

"Healing?" Lyra's heart leapt. "We do have a man with us who's in a bad way! If you can heal him I would be so grateful! Come with me, please." Gesturing, she led Anders the few dozen yards through the brush back to their camp.

Alistair was sitting up in his bedroll, palming the sleep from his eyes. "Lyra, you were supposed to wake me - Who in Andraste's name-" Alistair leapt to his feet and scrabbled for his sword.

Lyra held out a calming hand. "It's alright, Alistair. This is Anders. He's a healer, and he's going to see to Brother Genitivi." Hoping this would be enough explanation, she led Anders to Genitivi's side and lifted his blanket. Anders examined him, then asked Lyra to cut up something to make bandages.

Alistair sidled up next to her as she was slicing up her old, threadbare knickers. His suspicious eyes were glued to Anders as he knelt to whisper in her ear. "I'm very confused at the moment, Lyra. It seems to me that you just... found a healer in the woods, and now you're trusting him to heal Genitivi? Doesn't that strike you as very weird, not to mention very convenient?"

"He's an apostate, Alistair," she whispered in return. "He's making an escape from the Circle. We're not far from the tower - it isn't that unlikely."

"An apostate?!" Alistair groaned. "What do we do after he's done? We can't spare the time to haul him back to the circle."

"Well... supposing we just let him go?" Lyra suggested.

"What? Lyra, we can't do that!"

"Why not? He seems nice enough. And he has the cutest little kitten."

Alistair sighed as he looked over at Anders. The mage's head was bent, and he had both hands centered over the scholar's leg. Pale blue radiance filtered from his fingers, the lines of pain on Genitivi's face easing.

"See?" Lyra whispered. "We'll feed him, he'll go on his way and Genitivi will live."

"I don't like it."

Lyra rolled her eyes as she stood, her bandages complete. "You're not a templar anymore, Alistair. Grey Wardens must do whatever is necessary to end the Blight. We need Genitivi to live, and I don't care who heals him." Ignoring whatever Alistair's response might have been, she marched over to Anders to give him the bandages.