Vyrantium, 1 Haring, 9:42
"It's true. I was a Grey Warden. I was cured, and I know nothing of what ails the order."
Fiona's admission rang through the silence in her room at the inn. Aside from occasional scuffles and muted chatter in the hall, the location remained peaceful.
Dumbfounded, Nathaniel stared slack-jawed at the woman. He had anticipated her experience as a Warden; the pieces fit together as her knowledge of the order exceeded what any non-Warden could understand. But her curt reply to his question opposed the impression he had of the passive and agreeable mage.
Expression unchanged, bold in its neutrality, she questioned, "Did Philippa tell you?" Her wringing hands belied her confidence.
A wry laugh escaped him. "Philippa knew about this?" He said as he took a step further into her room and turned around to face her. Nathaniel's arms crossed again, frustrated by news of the women's collusion.
Fiona nodded, modest in her demeanor. "Only since the Plains. I insisted she kept my secret."
"Damn it, Fiona." The words slipped, but he kept his cursing to a loud whisper. "You didn't think this information could be helpful? You could have told me in private instead of Philippa."
"It's a past I'd rather forget, Commander."
"Yet here you are, a cured Warden, aiding us on a mission to rescue the entire Order. The letter Hawke found at Weisshaupt said your name; he suspected it was you they were looking for." He couldn't withhold the annoyance seeping through his tone.
"I do not understand most of the decisions Weisshaupt makes." Fiona sighed, sitting on the edge of her bed. "I have no special information for you or for them."
"That doesn't explain why they were looking for you."
As if he was not a guest in her room, she unlaced her boots with only intermittent eye contact. "Perhaps after 30 years, the secret of my cure has been revealed. I still don't understand how it happened." Fiona glanced up to Nathaniel. A frustrated edge to her voice lingered. "I had not been a Warden long, Commander. My departure from the Order had little impact on the bond."
The news disheartened him. Nathaniel had hoped with this revelation, a missing piece of information would connect the secrets of the Warden sickness, the impairments of the Grey Warden bond, taking them one step closer to repairing the Order and preparing them for what they would find in Weisshaupt.
"Nathaniel," he sighed, sitting at a chair near the desk in her room. His thumb and middle finger pinched the bridge of his nose. "You can call me Nathaniel. We're going to Weisshaupt blind. I need more information, Fiona. Tell me what happened to you."
Fiona inhaled. Her dark eyes locked with his. He recognized the look. She was considering her options. Whether to say anything and if so, how much. After a moment, she tucked her short black hair behind both ears, took another breath and spoke.
She wove a story of an initial interaction with the Architect, the same intelligent darkspawn Nathaniel had met when he was conscripted by Caoilainn. She mentioned the names of those she traveled with, glancing over details of betrayal and death. Nathaniel noticed a fondness in her tone when she mentioned Duncan and something else when she spoke of King Maric. Nathaniel couldn't place it.
When she discovered she was cured, free from the Calling, the Wardens were dismayed. She explained traveling to Weisshaupt where they conducted experiments that provided no explanations and failed attempts at her rejoining. Finally, she left and pursued her life in the Circle.
And now she was going back. In a few days, they would reach Weisshaupt. The heart of the Order of the Grey and source for their bond.
Solas, 15 Haring, 9:42
Nathaniel laid back on his cot, finally given a chance to reflect on their findings in Weisshaupt and what he feared they faced ahead. Two weeks had passed since Vyrantium, forcing them to backtrack from Weisshaupt, traveling southeast along the Imperial Highway until they reached the town of Solas, just north of the Silent Plains. They had camped along the highway most of the way, not traveling off course to find cities with inns. They moved faster but faced more challenges than they had the other direction. Thieves, far more advanced than the clumsy bandits in Ferelden, attempted to ransack their tents on multiple occasions.
Exhausted from the journey, even the simple cot felt an upgrade from the rocky earth of Tevinter. With his boots and outer armor removed, Nathaniel allowed himself to relax, a foreign feeling to his body after the hectic travels. A new sense of urgency had overtaken the group since they fled from Weisshaupt, but it left them with little time to convene about their findings in the fortress.
Weisshaupt, 6 Haring, 9:42
The fertile land had faded. Creeks dried, and the rocky land turned to dusty, cracking steppes. A few days from Vyrantium, they stayed in Val Dorma and woke early for their last leg of Tevinter. A not-so-easy day and a half ride carried them from the Imperium and into the Blight worn Anderfels.
Dust storms roared at a lesser intensity than the Silent Plains but obligated their slower pace. When the dust settled, the glaring absence of resources forced gratitude for the cool temperatures. The group savored occasional sips from their waterskins, mindful of the consumption of their stores and the needs of their horses.
Intermittent sunlight shining between the steppes dwindled as the silhouette of the fortress appeared, protruding from a severed butte. Sharp spires of the stronghold mirrored the jagged edges of rock from which it emerged. Each stride closer to the Grey Warden headquarters defined more edges and pillars of the building, and the path carved into the rocks cleared.
Apprehensive but intent, the travelers pursued their destination. No signs of activity greeted them, no noise arose from the building aside from the whistling of wind around the steepled turrets. It continued as they ventured in. Thick layers of dust coated the walkways and walls, weighing down the tapestries hung to commemorate Warden victories.
"We should split up and search the grounds," Nathaniel said to the party, advising they divide to find clues of the events leading to Weisshaupt's current state. The information would indicate the group's next steps.
None argued, and they went separate ways, searching the ends of the dirty, disheveled corridors. With attention to each room, Nathaniel took his time. Trepidation led to heavy steps through a small courtyard in the center. Untrimmed and withering plants lined the walls by broken and toppled benches. The scent of burnt flesh barely masked the thick, rotting stench of death. Nate wrinkled his nose. Dimming light shadowed what he identified as the source of the smell in the corner of the courtyard. He stepped to a brazier in the center and lit the kindling with flint.
The meager refuse of tinder seethed, hissing in its reluctance to light. Nathaniel rolled his eyes and looked around for more kindling. He improvised, stepping over broken benches to reach the dying ornamental plants. He pulled them by the roots and tossed them into the brazier. Another strike of flint lit them. They blazed, smoky and fragrant but quick to fire. He added firewood from a nearby stack.
The fire illuminated the courtyard, shining light on the pile of charred bodies. He did not look away. A feeble attempt at a pyre failed to reduce the bodies to ash, and blue and silver remnants of Warden uniforms accented the soot and coal. His eyes scanned the pile. Wood rested on and between the bodies, the ground had not been cleared to make room for the pyre. It had been rushed, left to burn without an attendant.
A disapproving grunt caught Nathaniel's attention. He looked up to find Hale stop before entering an adjacent hallway to the courtyard. Her head shook, lips pulling to a frown, arms crossing over her body, hugging herself. For a second, he wondered if she disliked the sight of dead Wardens or if she was simply cold. As night fell, the temperature had grown cooler in the Anderfels than in Tevinter.
His efforts to ignore her, to focus on his work and keep his anger at bay waxed and waned. Sometimes he felt bad for her, other times he loathed even the thought of her presence. Unaccustomed to feeling jealous, he was frustrated with himself for the wasted energy. Worse, she always seemed to find her way back to the forefront of his mind.
He had discovered the end of her forays with Hawke when he noticed Hale's newfound politeness toward Philippa. Having developed the habit of keeping his tent removed from the rest, Nathaniel missed whatever late-night conversations or sound effects the other group members made with each other. He didn't ask for details, but he spotted Hale entering Philippa's tent the night after Val Dorma.
Hawke's behavior had become even more obnoxious. The overt flirting he once had with Hale had disappeared, he no longer made Philippa the target of his teasing, even his cockiness had darkened. He made more remarks about their likely doom rather than jabs at his companions.
Hale's eyes darted from the failed pyre to Nathaniel. Bright green irises marked by redness showed exhaustion, but the shrewd crease in her brow insisted on her resoluteness. She stared hard for a moment before hugging herself tighter, rolling her eyes, and turning to walk away.
Despite knowing her intimately for nearly a year, the woman still confused him. Her reticence opposed her notorious veracity, and he disliked not knowing what to make of it. He decided best to leave it alone. His brow wrinkled and his palm rose to his forehead, massaging his temples to allay the early signs of a tension headache.
After a moment, he walked on, searching other rooms for information about the Wardens' illness, their demise and the whereabouts of those remaining. Displays of weapons and armor were barren, stripped of their valuables whether by the Wardens themselves upon departure or by looters after the Wardens had left.
He passed a large mural of a griffon bearing an armor-clad Warden. Brown smears marked the artwork, he could not discern if made from blood or dirt. Beyond the mural, large arching doors opened to a massive library. Floor to ceiling shelves created long rows, filled with more books than he had seen in one place in his entire life. Stained glass windows stretched along the walls to the domed to roof. He had heard of the library when he joined the Wardens, known to be one of the most extensive and exclusive libraries in all Thedas.
Now it was in disarray. Books scattered the floors and loose sheets of paper littered around them. Dust covered all of it, and he discerned much of it was missing. A glass monument in the center lay broken. Nathaniel stepped forward, the bookshelves reaching up to the vaulted ceilings on either side. He approached the monument.
The cast of a body lay on the floor.Garahel, Nathaniel recalled the stories of the Warden who ended the Fourth Blight. A panel on the floor confirmed his assessment. The tomb of Garahel held a cast of the soldier's body, donned in the armor he wore when he ended the Blight. But the armor was missing from the cast, as well as the horns of the archdemon he had slain. Nathaniel knelt to examine pieces of the casket. The decorated glass coffin had shattered, stripped of some of its jewels.
A rustling behind him made Nate's head turn quickly. He held his breath, waiting to identify the source of the noise. Half expecting to find Hawke or Alistair fumbling into the hallway, his hand flexed when he saw a ghoul wander from between bookshelves.
Frayed and ripped Grey Warden attire draped from its gaunt body, metal clanking as it stepped. The creature shuffled its feet and groaned. Instinct incited muscle memory. Nathaniel reached for his quiver, pulling and nocking an arrow without a thought. But he waited, if the ghoul had any consciousness left it could give information, as the others had reported with their encounter with a ghoul on the way to Vigil's Keep.
The hope for any hints of the ghoul's intelligence disappeared when it turned to face Nathaniel and sprinted.
"I'm sorry," Nathaniel whispered, bending his bow and loosing the arrow through the once-Warden's skull.
It screeched and hit the floor from the force of the arrow. Nathaniel released another into its head without waiting to confirm its demise. The undead thing didn't move.
Nathaniel's tuned senses caught the sound of light footsteps running to the room. They preceded the entry of Hale, who gawked at the ghoul's body in the hallway before looking up at him. "Shite is this?" She questioned in shock, repulsion lining her face.
Nathaniel lowered his bow. "It was a Warden before it became a ghoul." He turned from her to continue scanning the displays within the library.
"Fuck all, Nate," Hale snorted and put her hands to her forehead, "there might be more of these fucking things. We should tell the rest."
The sound of his name escaped her lips and she didn't notice. Her accent's poignant imperfection shaped the nickname into a sharp and familiar sound. It made his skin crawl. He wanted to remind her of his title, to reinforce the consequential propriety of her decision to end their fling. For the briefest moment, she forgot they were apart, and he didn't wish to bring her attention to the fact.
He knelt to pick up the placard describing the tomb's contents. Without looking up at her, he muttered, "The others have seen ghouls before. They will be fine if there are any more."
Nathaniel changed the subject. "The stronghold has been raided, but some of the contents of the sarcophagus were removed before it was shattered." He pointed to the evidence, remnants of the tomb. "Garahel's cast was removed before the casket was broken. Someone took the horns and armor before the casket broke. Raiders would not be so careful with abandoned property."
"Who took it if wasn't them raiders?" She shifted uncomfortably, studying the wreckage. As her disgust at the ghoul reduced, he noticed her distance from him grow.
"The First Warden, I would assume. I hope he took it to preserve Warden history and not to sell it to the highest bidder."
Frowning, she glanced up to him. "The First Warden bloke's on his Calling."
"What?" He blurted, tone harsh with biting skepticism, doubting Hale understood the weight of the information she casually delivered. Hearing himself, he recognized his critical tone as his father's and reframed the question in softer words. "How do you know that?"
The quizzical brow of the young woman rose at his reaction. She side-eyed him as she stepped toward a row of books. "Said it in his journal."
"Are you sure that's what it said?" Looking to the ground, Nathaniel didn't notice the unconscious clenching of his teeth as he thought. Doubtful of the reliability of whatever Hale thought she read, he hoped the journal could reveal more. The First Warden must have made a plan. "Show me."
He gave the order to Hale, glancing past her to the doorway and directing her to lead him to the First Warden's office. As he followed her, he asked about her other findings, any drafted letters in progress, instructions for whoever found the state of Weisshaupt. Hale did little more than shrug.
"There's a lot of shite in there. I could only read some of it." Her cheeks tinged and she averted her eyes.
She's kept up with her studies. He assumed she continued practicing her reading. Now that she's done fucking Garrett Hawke.
Clearing his throat, he gestured his hand for her to keep moving forward. "It's fine. Just show me."
The room was mostly bare, stripped of its valuables. Outlines of picture frames showed places where artwork had decorated the walls. Only papers and books remained, strewn across the desk and floor with a fresh layer of dust covering the upheaval. After stepping through the dusty rubble, Nathaniel crouched to look through the papers near the desk.
Nimble steps carried Hale through the debris on the other side. The desk chair had been upturned, a leg was broken, and fragments of wood scattered the floor. She reached for a hardbound book on the desk and returned to the last marked page. She handed it to him.
The entry was dated later than the letter Hawke had brought him. The letter that started this quest. Nathaniel's heavy eyes followed the lines.
"What's it say?" Hale's muffled words broke the silence.
"He killed the sick." Nathaniel uttered, disgust transforming into shocked disappointment. He stared at the words as he explained the contents of the journal entry.
The First Warden's letter explained the inability to continue sedating sick Wardens while too many of them turned to ghouls. Trust and morale were lacking, and the First Warden himself grew paranoid. The letter comprised of neurotic ramblings about the destruction of the Order as Wardens chose not to fulfill their Calling.
Nathaniel suspected it referred to Caoilainn and Alistair's cure, but the explanation was unclear. As the letter progressed it became unintelligible nonsense, incomplete sentences mentioned Garahel's belongings and Ansberg, the Grey Warden base in the Free Marches. The final lines of the letter announced his assumed duties as First Warden to end the conflict by ending the lives of those he blamed for the demise of the Order.
Nathaniel refrained from telling Hale about the parts that mentioned Fiona, consistent with the first letter Hawke had found. The First Warden held Fiona responsible for the weakness of the bond and reported a failed attempt to find her.
"He led the sick to the Deep Roads and killed them before embarking on his Calling. He'd already felt the Calling, then he had the draining nightmares too," Nathaniel grimaced, closing the journal and setting it back on the desk. "I doubt he made it far."
Hale crossed her arms. "Good riddance to the barmy whoreson."
"The disruption drove him mad," he reflected, gazing at the pile of similar books strewn across the floor. He glanced through the next one, dated a month ago filled from cover to cover with dogmatic preaching about the bond the Grey.
Hale pondered aloud. "Didn't Hawke say this place was empty. I know his head's up his arse, but wouldn't he see that pile of dead bodies?"
"That was almost two months ago. I'd estimate these Wardens have been dead for two weeks." Nathaniel pressed his lips together, thinking, unfolding the events that had occurred as they made sense with the timeline. "Hawke arrived here with the Orlesian faction from Skyhold. I would assume those are some of them outside." He looked out the door they had entered, desolate save for floating pages of books like tumbleweeds.
Nathaniel added, "Based on the First Warden's journals, the rest are on their way to the Free Marches."
With a contemplative hum, Hale put her hands on her hips. "Guess we better be on our way there then?"
She stayed near him as they went to find the others. Even in the arid land, void of timber and plant life, the young woman's scent of pine and wildflowers persisted. It tested him, memories and emotion associated with the sensory. He chose to put his cowl back over his head and pulled his kerchief over his nose and mouth to block them out.
The discoveries at Weisshaupt upturned their expedition. The group decided not to camp in the Warden stronghold that night, instead choosing to move as far from the fortress as possible before exhaustion caught up with them. They returned to Val Dorma, and after a night of good rest continued southeast along the Imperial Highway.
Nearly a week passed before they found another town. The group's unanimous decision to avoid repeating their mishaps in the Silent Plains brought them to a small settlement on the outskirts of the torrid desert. Levels of wide, stone steps descended into the center of the town from the platform where the travelers stood, and balustrades enclosed each stairway. Gradient windows reached the height of buildings, arched and pointed, and curved etching surrounded their frames. Arbors of similar shapes marked the entrances to different walkways.
The town had been built upon elven ruins, and unlike the rest of Tevinter, those who expanded on this settlement preserved the architecture. Newer buildings complemented what time had left, relics of the civilization that Tevinter had all but destroyed.
Nathaniel observed the civilians from their position at the city's gate and realized they were all elves. Unlike Vyrantium and Val Dorma with its tall buildings forcing individuals to divide into crowded streets, this city was open. Low-rising buildings and a centralized shopping district made it easy to observe what was ahead. The city's design left nowhere to hide.
His pace slowed and the others did the same. He debated if they should continue until they found another town. Considering the tension between humans and elves in Tevinter, he doubted the town's welcome for their odd assortment.
Before he could ask the others for their thoughts, a biting tone spoke with a Tevene accent. "Magisters are not welcome here."
Nathaniel turned to face the speaker in unison with the rest of the group. An elven woman stood with a spear facing toward them. Behind her stood three more, all in matching blue and red armor, with their swords and other weapons drawn. Nathaniel assumed they were guards.
Alistair lifted his hands to show assent. "No magisters here, promise!"
The woman leading the group sneered at him. Her lip curled. "Not you, sleeper." She pointed her staff in Philippa and Hawke's direction. "Are these your slaves?" She gestured her hands to Fiona and Hale.
Philippa smiled and inhaled to speak but Hale stepped forward with her hands on her hips. "We ain't anybody's slaves. Not even from the fucking Imperium so put your bloody spear down."
They're liberati. Nathaniel understood the dynamic, the stronghold built within the elven ruins as a refuge for freed slaves of the Tevinter Imperium. Rather than live as a subclass within the city, they made the most of these ruins near the inhospitable Silent Plains.
The guardswoman's eyes narrowed at Hale and her sneer sharpened. "You're Dalish."
"I'm Hale," she lifted her chin and pointed to Fiona, "and that's Fiona."
Fiona nodded, her tone echoing Hale's. "The humans are helping us." She kept her hands at her sides with effort, as Nathaniel noticed. "We're looking for a place to rest and supplies to continue our journey into the Marches."
"And we can keep riding if you ain't gonna help us!" Hale added, curling her lip at the guardswoman this time.
The guard's assistants lowered their weapons, and after staring at Hale hard for a moment, the leader did the same. She nodded and waved her hand for the group to follow her.
Stepping through the market, Nathaniel noticed more details of the elven city. In much of his experiences traveling through elven village, he had rarely found ruins so intact and alive. Dalish colonies sometimes camped in worn down remnants of elven cities, but these people were not camping. They flourished, despite their proximity to the harsh land of the Silent Plains. The stone foundations and low-rise buildings made haven from the outer threads of dust storms.
Rather than bringing them to an inn or a house, the guardswoman brought the group to what appeared to be their townhall, a more elegant building with a larger entryway than the rest. Attendants stood at counters helping citizens. Rows of pillars lined the wall behind them. The guardswoman brought them directly to a clerk and spoke low enough that none of them could hear over the echoing commotion within the building. The clerk nodded and tilted her head down the hallway, as the guardswoman waved for them to follow.
She escorted them to another, large room on a separate wing of the townhall. The large room stretched the length of the wing, filled with rows of cots, each one holding clean, folded bedding. Beds that did not hold such amenities were occupied with resting elves.
"You can sleep here for the night." The woman nodded to a row of beds. "There are community washrooms on the side of the hall. You will find what you need to wash there."
The guardswoman's astute frown judged the individual members of the group. "In exchange for your bed," she pointed to the sleeping elves, "you will escort these refugees to Hamsel in the Free Marches. Your armor suggests you are more than capable. We have a large group arriving tomorrow morning and cannot escort them ourselves."
Hale's ears perked up, and her eyes widened as they flashed to his, questioning, seeking permission. She blinked in waiting. He did not respond, reciprocating her gaze with silent neutrality.
"I've played this game," Hawke laughed, wagging his finger toward the guardswoman. "That sounds like a recipe for disaster."
"We will restock your rations, including your lyrium." The woman shifted her weight on her feet and clasped her hands behind her back.
Alistair circled his hand to the group in uncertainty. "Maybe we should-"
"Done." Hale declared to the guard before any others could oppose and dropped her belongings to her chosen cot.
When Philippa and Fiona's eyes searched Nathaniel's for endorsement or disdain he shrugged. Even Alistair's eyes widened at him, demanding Nathaniel to take action with the young Warden. Nathaniel only extended his hand toward Hale. He mouthed the words, 'go ahead,' inviting Alistair to confront her.
The King gave a defeated sigh and chose his cot for the night.
The Solas mission was on their way to the Free Marches city of Tantervale. Without a good reason not to help the escaped slaves, he found no benefits in arguing with Hale. If no one else was willing to oppose, he would not stoke an unnecessary fire.