Chapter 35: Taking Leave
Alistair / Alan Sellose
Ser Manning and his Templars awoke early and one particularly surly specimen of self-righteous idiocy collected Letha and I, removing us from our cell and shoving us down the hall. My head still ached, but the chills had subsided during the night. The weather had apparently bought us enough time for the tea to exert its full effect so that I could heal slightly and ease the fever. The brands were still painful and the way my tunic rubbed against them made me cringe every time I moved. Gritting my teeth, I allowed the Templar to herd us through the estate and into the courtyard.
We were brought to a rough-hewn cart that had been lined with straw; much like our cell had been, though it was not nearly as musty. Once were stood by the cart they clapped us in irons and looped the links through rings attached to the sides of the cart, locking them with a black key. We huddled in the cart, shivering slightly in the chill, Letha rested her head upon my shoulder. I patted her hand reassuringly, hoping her current lucidity would last. She had spent the past few days vacillating between nervousness and disconcerting calm.
"There are things prowling," she had said the previous night.
"What things, Letha," I asked, worried to discover the answer.
She looked at me for a long moment before answering, "Things that would be better to avoid, but we will travel on the morrow farther north where such things are gathering. Now there is something else calling to them, another set of dice is being rattled and hoping to take advantage of the game. Something else is trying to understand the riddles that the tears are akin to."
"Is this something human?" I questioned, remembering the Fade wolf I had stumbled across that had seemed very interested in me and what was happening.
"Mayhap once," she offered, brow furrowed, "but it is human no longer. It carries a different taint, mirroring one within you."
That caused me to start, "You know of my Warden taint?"
She shrugged, "I had no name for it, only that it was a shard of darkness wedged in your gut, though you are more light than darkness. This thing that wishes to enter the game, it carries more darkness than light and it has twisted it."
This did not bode well! What she spoke of sounded like a darkspawn, but the way she described it could not be possible. Darkspawn were beings driven by instinct, honed by the taint to search for the Old Gods buried in the Deep Roads. If there were a darkspawn trying to reason, trying to use the upheaval or drawing things from the Fade, it would imply that it was a darkspawn that could reason. An affinity with the Fade or magic would point to an emissary…but even then, such beings could perform simple magic and I had yet to hear of one able to reason.
The only thing that I knew of that might call to things was an archdemon, but I had not felt one in the vicinity. My nightmares and strange dreams had been puzzling, but they were nothing like the dreams that I had during the Blight. If it were possible that an archdemon was slumbering, making it impossible for me to detect at this time, but it was drawing more than just darkspawn, it might allow it to awaken sooner and cause another Blight. This thought terrified me, knowing that another Blight in Ferelden right on the heels of this past one could potentially wipe out the kingdom and make the land as barren as the Anderfels. Thoughts of the tainted and barren fields in Lothering haunted my mind, dogging my peace. It would be years before that land would fully recover; it could not withstand another blow.
With these thoughts, the words Rian had shared in my dream echoed through my troubled mind, "…It is all in ripples, Alistair, like in the face of a great pond when a stone is cast in to disturb the surface. They move outward. Whatever starts in the Cauldron will end in Denerim. You are in the place you need to be in order to address those resulting events and it starts now!"
I was both a King and a Grey Warden, though I had no ceremonial armor and had been robbed of my sword, I still had a responsibility. If there were darkspawn and potentially an archdemon amassing in the Cauldron, it would require decisive action. I was in a position where I could both send word easily to Orlais and find a way to send word to the Wardens in Vigil's Keep in Amaranthine. However, I needed to get out of this situation first.
"Good news, Letha," I whispered, "we are out of the cell and in the open air."
"Bad news, friend," she replied softly, without a pause, "we might have been safer in the cell."
Her answer had startled me, she was far more alert today than I had ever seen her, but at the same time she was distant, as if she heard something I could not. Refusing to be disparaged, I quipped, "Ah, but in a cell we had not the option to flee or fight the danger. Now, dear Letha, we can ride into its midst with full confidence and jingling irons."
"You jest?" she questioned, seeming confused, the lucidity fading slightly.
"Yes, I jest. If I must face the fire I may as well dare it with my laughter intact." I smirked with a squeeze of her hand.
She blinked at me a moment, but said nothing. I might have been tempted to tease her more to try and coax some kind of response. I found her words, even her fear, more comforting than her sudden spells of empty expression. It was like she was a cloak that has holes in it where the fabric has been hastily torn, leaving jagged bits. There were moments that I feared the lyrium poisoning had stolen fragments of her humanity and those gaps became apparent when she looked at me blankly.
There was a harsh bang as the large main doors into the hall crashed open, the Arl Crewe stepping into the morning dimness, flanked by Ser Manning and another man I did not know. This man was wiry and a hooked nose. He had carrot red hair that resembled some of the few darker strands in the Arl's mostly gray beard. He must be the other brother, Murchad had mentioned something about his eldest brother dying recently, but was prevented from going into detail by his limited time with us.
There was a smug cast in the arl's glance at me, before addressing the guards that stood by the cart, "The irons are secure, I trust?"
"Yes, Arl Crewe!"
"That pleases me, we would not want our two guests falling from their cart and injuring themselves," he chuckled as if he had made a joke and his son guffawed his toadying agreement.
Not long behind them came Svenya, her hand resting on Murchad's arm as he lead her down the stairs and into the courtyard. She seemed so different from the laughing woman I had come to know. Her eyes seemed slightly sunken, as if she had not slept well and she wore a dark black frock, a dark green cloak shielding her from the cold. There was no mask on her face and the pink tendrils of her scars sloped down her cheek which was pale, almost white. For a moment I caught her eye as she descended and her previously emotionless expression looked pained.
"Can no one here spare a blanket for them?" she queried in the direction of her father.
"They have been afforded a means of travel," her father answered without looking at her, "I feel satisfied in my provision."
"Might I be allowed to wear my mask and change into clothing more fitting for the journey, oh benevolent Father?" she requested further.
"It is fitting that you appear as a lady. To don breeches would be an insult to your breeding. As for your mask, there is no need of it now. All should know you as you are. Your visage speaks of a fine lineage and a Crewe will not rely on flimsy shields." His voice was airy, but bespoke a refusal of discussing it longer.
"Just so, Father," she agreed, before unhooking the green cloak from around her pale throat and marching directly to us in the cart. She carefully spread the fabric across Letha's lap, tucking a small flask of water between us without the guard seeing it. Her eyes caught mine again momentarily, and there was a stubborn set to her jaw. The spark of her still survived.
"Daughter," Crewe's voice held warning, but he seemed unsure of how to proceed.
She shrugged as she returned to where Murchad stood, chewing his lip nervously at Svenya's action, "As you said Father, to cover my dress would be an insult to my breeding. All should see me as I am, receiving full view of the endowments my line has afforded me." This last I assumed made reference to the low neckline and the tight fit of the bodice. Such fashion was currently rampant in Denerim, with many fine ladies distracting the male populace. As if to enunciate her point, she took a deep breath and the goose bumps rose across her pale skin. Even in the cold I could feel my face warm slightly.
"You will catch cold," Ser Manning hissed, though I doubt his concern was over the cold as he himself had visibly reddened as well.
"A true Crewe would not flinch from the cold any more than he would flinch from the flame. I am nothing if not a true Crewe. The world is a cold place and I have long been accustomed to it." She asserted, crossing her arms.
The other brother made a short clucking sound under his breath before stepping forward, removing his own cape, "Be that as it may, my dear sister, this still remains the Cauldron. We would not wish your assets to be frozen. Frostbite tends to diminish value." He tied this cape tightly around her neck with a smile, though his eyes said that he would have preferred to strangle her with the chords, "You are apparently not witty enough to remain warm after all. Would you not agree, Ser Manning?"
The Templar made no other response, but instead stalked sullenly to the horse that the groom brought for him, checking all the buckles and straps, ignoring everyone but the beast that would bear him before heavily climbing into the saddle. The other Templars followed suit, carefully mounting in their heavy armor. A dark mare was brought for Svenya with a side saddle so that she could ride while wearing her dress and Murchad was also brought a horse, which appeared to be an old gray charger that had probably very few winters left, but it still seemed a solid mount.
While climbing onto her horse's back, I could hear Svenya swearing under her breath at being forced to ride in such a fashion. This was the first time I had seen her in a dress and she was visibly disconcerted by it. Whenever I had seen her walk she had strode gracefully, though she had not lost her grace, she seemed to feel she was dressed in false plumes and it irked her. I wondered if all swans had such difficulties adjusting to changes in raiment.
Grateful for the sudden shield my friend had afforded us, I cuddled with Letha beneath its folds. It occurred to me that the cloak smelled vaguely of pressed flowers, smoke and even a little of simple soap. The aroma seemed to fit the wearer and it made me smile, in spite of the cold. There were things that were not going to change, though the outer trappings might be altered.
"She is…odd," Letha observed in a quiet whisper against my ear, wary lest she be heard by the guards.
"How so?" I questioned.
Letha shrugged, seeming unable to string together her thoughts coherently, "Her face does not fit. It seems she is unused to wearing it. Much like your heart does not seem to fit in your chest at times, threatening to fly. Is it so hard to keep hold of such things?"
There was a truth to the words that I could not escape and I felt a lump rise in my throat blocking any witty retort I could devise, so I nodded and turned my gaze back to Svenya.
The Arl clapped his hands impatiently, chafed by his daughter stealing the attention reserved for him and defying him in such a manner that he could not aptly repay, he barked, "I remit my daughter and these persons to your custody, Ser Manning. Guard her well, as she is the tie that binds my house with your order. My son will serve you as loyally as he would serve me or he shall smart for his laxity. Teach him well of your tenets so that he might be enlightened to the broader scope of this world. You have been charged. Bestow cordial greetings to my friend, Arl Boese, and inform him that I continue to work in chorus with him. May the Maker give you strength and succor."
"I accept the charge, Arl Crewe. Your daughter's life is precious to me, as is our pact. I will defend her honor with my life and will take the life of those that would defile her and dishonor you. The Maker bless you and multiply your holdings." Manning recited the words, though they sounded slightly hollow and rehearsed.
The brand over my heart twinged slightly, as if something had been exchanged that I had not caught. A glance at Letha confirmed my impression for she shivered, but not from the cold. There was more to all this than a transfer of people.
Arl Crewe returned to the hall, but his other son lingered a moment longer, slightly bowing to Manning. Manning returned the gesture from atop his steed, but said nothing. The man watched us as we rode through the portcullis and toward the road leading north, away from the estate. I kept sight of the man for a long time and he did not move from the foot of the courtyard stairs the entire time, as if memorizing the retreating figures of our party, calculating what lay ahead of us.
As we travelled, Svenya would cast glances to us to ascertain our comfort and if we were well. Manning, in turn, cast glances at Svenya, appraising her once every passing league. It was obvious he cared not for her well-being, but he was still interested in gauging her responses and humor. Murchad looked nervous the entire morning, glancing at everyone. Letha glanced at none, for she fell asleep in the warm crook of my left arm, though careful not her rest her head upon my branded chest. The soreness kept me from finding sleep myself and I took to recounting the tales Svenya had told me within my own mind, escaping from the stark, pre-winter landscape that surrounded us.
Svenya was right, this world was a cold place, but I doubted any of us were prepared for the storm we were riding into.
