..
The Imperial Highway
..
Fenris had seen long stretches of the Imperial Highway on his way out of Tevinter, through the plains of Nevarra to where he'd caught ship out of Val Chevin. Its head in Minrathous was marked by great stone arches inlaid with silver and gems and statuary, and it was a popular site for street merchants and festival parades. Through parts of the Silent Plains, it was marked by nothing more than the indent of cart wheels and footsteps, where the grass had long since ceased to grow.
As it advanced into Lothering, the Highway became an elevated platform of white marble. It was there the bandits waited. The bandits fought. The bandits fled.
"Weaklings," Morrigan scoffed, frost still streaming off her staff. "They were fools to get in our way."
Fenris continued to wipe the blood splatter off his lip, off his blade. He said nothing, lest he find himself in the position of agreeing with Morrigan.
Morrigan moved quickly to tormenting Alistair, which appeared to be a favourite hobby of hers. "I have a wonder, Alistair, if you will indulge me," she sing-songed, before she proceeded to call him dumb, blind, and whipped.
Fenris was concerned what might come out, during these conversations. But when he attempted to pull Morrigan aside and speak of it, she spouted some cryptic tripe. I must wonder who you take me for. I would never interfere with another spider trying to spin their web?
Whatever that was supposed to mean.
"What do you want to hear?" Alistair was demanding of her. "That I prefer to follow? I do." He caught up with Fenris, who was stowing his sword and preparing for the descent down into the village. "The road branches on the other side," he relayed. "I think it's about time we talk about where we intend to go."
Morrigan scoffed. "This should be good. And here I thought you intended to talk about your favourite variety of Mabari Crunch. Or mayhaps your navel. You've spent long enough contemplating it."
"Ha ha," Alistair laughed humourlessly, before turning back to Fenris. "I think what Flemeth suggested is the best idea. Those treaties… have you looked at them?"
Fenris had. Briefly. They were papers. With words on them.
"What do you mean?" he said, a little too stiffly to be natural.
Alistair, thankfully, breezed on. Seemingly missing the implication. "The treaties, the ones we got from Flemeth. There are three main groups we have these treaties for: the Dalish elves, the dwarves of Orzammar, and the Circle of Magi."
Fenris was aware of the Dalish. Insofar as he knew, they prattled pompously while cowering in the trees, grubbing in the dirt for whatever scraps the human kingdoms threw them. They had all the freedom of the world afforded to them, and they chose to live like frightened cattle.
He had little desire to search them out, and even less desire to go negotiate with mages, regardless of their utility in battle.
"I also still think that Arl Eamon is our best bet for help. We might even want to go to him first. He should be at Castle Redcliffe."
"I see," Fenris said. He realised this sounded abrupt, and coughed. "I appreciate your advice." The words felt awkward and stiff in his mouth.
The others did not seem to notice.
Morrigan huffed in annoyance.
Alistair smiled kindly. "I can give you directions, if you like."
Fenris looked away. When he began to walk into the village, Alistair and Morrigan and the dog all followed.
"You mentioned the road out of this town branches," Fenris offered. "Where does it go?"
"Well, the Imperial Highway runs west," Alistair said.
"It circles around the Waking Sea, through Orlais and into Nevarra," Fenris recited. He was eager to prove he was not entirely stupid.
"Ooh, very international~" Alistair whistled. "Yes, but, before it does any of that, it splits to circle the coasts of Lake Calenhad. On the southern side of the lake, through the mountain passes, you have Redcliffe. And at the northern end is Kinloch Hold, more commonly known as Ferelden's Circle Tower. We'd need to take the road that circles up the west side of Lake Calenhad to get to Redcliffe, and continue further up it into the Frostbacks to get to Orzammar."
"So the path around Lake Calenhad will take us to most of where we need to go," Fenris considered. "And what is to the East of here?"
"The West Road- Yes, I know we won't be travelling west on the West Road. Funny, isn't it?"
"You would find the moss on a stone amusing," Morrigan said blithely, from where she was following at five paces.
Alistair turned back to snap at her. "Oh, I get it. This is the part where we're shocked to discover how you've never had a friend your entire life?"
"The West Road," Fenris insisted.
"Oh, right." Alistair flushed and returned to his directives. "The West Road leads up to Denerim, the capital. You must have come down it on your way with…" he trailed off. "It runs up along the edge of the Brecilian Forest. It's a dead zone, so far as civilisation goes. We'll probably have to search the area to find the Dalish, but there's nothing else out east except Gwaren. But most only travel there by sea."
Fenris hummed in consideration. "And what accounts for the industry in these locales?"
Alistair seemed almost flabbergasted. "Well, Redcliffe is the administrative centre for much of the Bannorn, which Lothering itself is on the southern end of. It's mostly farming land – beets, peas, potatoes, livestock. Rice along the River Dane. And freshwater fishing out of Lake Calenhad. Up in the Frostbacks you have smaller settlements that get by on lumber and hunting – not that different from how the Avvars live. Some mining too, but the dwarves mostly have that covered. Though they trade through underground networks even now, so they don't always have to go through the same checkpoints the rest of us do… You know, I feel a little like I'm being quizzed?"
Fenris blinked up at him. "You are very knowledgeable," he said.
Morrigan made sounds like she might be ill. "The trials of travelling with two who are exceptionally dim. I suppose if you do not take turns patting one another on the back, nobody else will rush to do so for you."
This time, Alistair took no note of her.
"This is…" He looked like he'd tasted something bitter. "This is just what they expect you to know when you…" He scratched the back of his head. "I was always getting bored and running off in the middle of my lessons and causing a scene," he laughed.
"And yet you have retained what you needed to know," Fenris said simply.
"I-" Alistair blinked harshly. "I guess I have."
With only a little encouragement, he continued to tell Fenris of the lay of the land, the political structure of the Bannorn, and the various crafts exported out of the Coastlands. Fenris listened so as to memorise, repeating Alistair's words in his own head, knowing he would not be able to make sense of most of it until later. The rest of his attention was on those they passed as they descended into the refugee camp outside the town walls. They were heckled in turn by blight-ravaged refugees tired of bloodshed, local farmers tired of their fields being overtaken, elvhen beggars with no pride at all, and Morrigan, upon occasion. Although less and less often the more they continued to shun her.
When they reached the wall, a heavily armoured guard was shouting that they would find no shelter, and best move on. He said the word friend like a stranger, from the safety of a full plate of armour complete with a helmet to disguise his appearance. The Chantry did not have room for them, Fenris understood. And if it did, an elf dark and armed and foreign would not be allowed in.
"Highever is… it's famous for its laurel groves," Alistair was saying. "Or for the fact that it supplies linens to all of Ferelden and half of the Marches…" His voice dropped a little, like he was afraid of being heard. "Duncan was from Highever."
Fenris turned for a moment, to give Alistair his full attention. Too much. Looked away, back to the dirt path curving through Lothering. Ah, the subject that had Alistair silent and grief-ridden for days.
Fenris did not know what to say, but- "Did you… wish to speak of him?"
"You don't have to do that." Alistair waved him off half-heartedly. "I know you didn't know him as long as I did."
Fenris watched his feet for a moment. "He saved my life," he finally said. Because it was true. Duncan had saved Fenris's life, forced Fenris into his service, and then he'd died.
Alistair huffed. "Mine too, in a way… It feels like I abandoned him. It probably sounds stupid, but part of me wishes I was with him. In the battle."
"If you had been there, then you'd both be dead," Fenris said. Because this was also true. "Na via lerno victoria. Only the living know victory," he translated.
"They're also the only ones that know defeat," Alistair laughed humourlessly. "Like I said, it's stupid."
"It isn't," Fenris said.
Alistair sulked. "I should have handled it better. Duncan told me right from the beginning this could happen. Any of us could die in battle. I shouldn't have lost it, not when so much is riding on us… I'm sorry."
"There is no need to apologise."
Alistair seemed unsure, but after a moment he relaxed. "I'd like to go to Highever when this is all over, have a proper funeral for him. If we're still alive. I don't think he had any family to speak of."
And who would mourn Fenris when he was gone? There was nobody in the world that would care if he lived or died. Suddenly, he felt bursting with envy. Duncan at least had-
"He had you," Fenris said.
Any response Alistair might have had was cut off when Fenris caught a sudden movement in the corner of his eye. He turned to watch an elderly Chantry Sister stumble, but hold fast against the human men pressing her back.
The leader among them caught Fenris's eye, and seemed to mistake it for interest.
"Ho! You there! You look able! Would you care to make a tiny profit helping a beleaguered businessman?"
Fenris approached, scowling. Mabari growling at his heels. "And what make you think I would want to help you?"
The man blinked, like he'd been knocked back himself, but recovered swiftly enough. "Did I mention 'profit'?"
The Sister turned to appeal to him as well. "He is charging outlandish prices for things people desperately need. Their blood is filling his pockets!"
"I have limited supplies," the man protested. "The people decide what those supplies are worth to them."
"You bought most of your supplies from these very people last week!" The Sister's cries were shrill. "Now they flee for their lives, and you want to talk business?!"
Morrigan decided that this moment was the best to cut back in. "'Tis only survival of the fittest," she said smugly. "All of these cretins would do the same in his shoes, given the chance."
Morrigan was, of course, correct. But Fenris felt his lips purse, and he glared at her out of the corner of his eye.
Just because the world worked that way didn't mean Fenris had to go out of his way to be a part of it.
"I would suggest lowering your prices, if you intend to keep your goods." Fenris wondered if he needed to draw his sword to make his point. If he even needed to lift his hand to the pommel.
He hadn't.
"Maker's breath!" the merchant cursed. "Sometimes it's truly not worth operating this far south!" But he capitulated, and began hashing out terms with the Sister, under the protective watch of Fenris and the others.
"So we have come to solve every squabble in the village, personally?" Morrigan whistled. "My, but the darkspawn will be impressed."
Fenris scowled. He did not need this. "We will gather more information if we split up," he announced.
"There is a tavern on the other side of the village," Morrigan said, the faithful guide in this.
"Then we'll meet there before sundown," Fenris agreed. He pulled his pack off his back – heavy with silver ornamentation looted from the tower and weaponry pulled from the darkspawn – and shoved it at Alistair. Ignored the wheeze the man made as it hit his chest. "You know what supplies we need. No doubt you'll do better to barter for them than me."
Alistair seemed unsure of this prospect, but unwilling to argue.
Fenris bent down, and spoke softly to the dog. "Will you watch after him for me?" he asked, petting the soft felt of the Mabari's ear. "Make sure the merchant doesn't give him any trouble? Come track me down if there are any problems."
The Mabari barked happily, and wagged his stubby tail.
"And the dog is assigned his keeper," Morrigan tisked. "So, if I have it correct, the hierarchy of the Grey Wardens is new recruits, their pets… and then you, Alistair."
Alistair was already digging through the packs for items to barter, but he took a moment to mutter at Morrigan. "Couldn't you crawl into a bush somewhere and die?"
Fenris left before he could be party to more of this. Oddly, the Chantry Sister walked into step beside him. He was not sure who was following whom, as they made their way over to the entrance of the Chantry and, as Fenris's steps flagged just outside the walls, the Sister too stopped and nodded her head to him.
"Thank you for your generous assistance. May the Maker watch over your path." And she crossed the threshold into the Chantry courtyard, and left him behind.
He was next to the job board, and the Chanter called loudly. "For a foundation of stone, marble, or any precious metal is worthless if faith in the Maker is absent!"
Fenris flinched involuntarily. He didn't know about the Maker itself, but he felt it true that those without anything to believe in were weak.
But- Faith or no, weak or strong, valued or unwanted or worthless – the Chantry would pay anyone to do its dirty work.
The Chanter's boy approached him. "I haven't seen you before. You look strange," he said. "So many strangers are about now."
Fenris looked down at him, at the reddish fuzz covering his shaved head, and was met with a look of intense curiosity.
"Do you know about the Chant of Light?" the boy said.
"I do."
"Do you know what a Chanter is?" the boy asked. And then answered before Fenris could say either way. "It's one of them that can only say the Chant of Light. His board has letters of good deeds to be doing."
Fenris was familiar. They discomforted him slightly, reminded him of those prisoners of war given qamek and brainwashed by the Ben-Hassrath.
The boy continued eagerly. "My father fixed Widow Allison's roof once and the Chanter paid him, he did."
"A learned child is a blessing upon his parents and onto the Maker," the Chanter praised.
Fenris tried not to grimace.
And those unlearned? A blessing on no one.
He fished a copper from his belt, and presented it to the boy, who grabbed for it with wide eyes and grubby hands.
"Read the board aloud for me," Fenris said. "Anything you think suited for a mercenary."
..