It was difficult for Fiona to breathe in the damp air of the narrow hallway. Darkness surrounded her, external light growing sparser the deeper within the stronghold she went. But she persisted, assuming she could find her way to safety within Ansburg's Keep without catching the eye of any Wardens.
Someone could recognize me. She justified running, having realized the detail as the group awaited whoever emerged from the shadows. At that moment, she fled, trusting plans to unfold as needed, and praying to Andraste her deeds were forgivable.
The others had missed the small doorway to the hall beneath the rampart, hidden in the shadows of the platform where they unloaded. Despite its obvious disuse, the passage seemed mostly intact. Holes in the walls and floors were full of dirt; insects crawled from the cracks in the stones. But she ignored them, determined to find entry to the Keep and a place to hide.
Blue light glowed from her staff, illuminating her path, and she hurried forward until a voice reverberated from whatever was on the other side of the darkness ahead. I'm close to something. Fiona dimmed the magical light and held her breath, taking small, silent steps forward until she reached what must have been a door.
"Other Wardens have arrived." A woman's voice spoke dutifully. "The Constable Cohen directed them to the Revas wing." The sound of multiple pairs of shuffling feet halted.
Another voice groaned. "We're boarding them? Shouldn't we let the healers examine them first? They could carry whatever this illness is that everyone's been experiencing."
"I don't ask questions, Jonathan. I just follow orders. But they looked fine. Dirty, but healthy," the woman replied without humoring Jonathan's complaint. "The High Constable
has ordered informing Warden Commander Llewellyn, the Chamberlain Tierney, and Constable Bridgette of our guests' arrival. An assembly is in the courtyard in an hour."
"Fine." Jonathan sighed, defeated. The sound of feet walking faded as Fiona waited by the door.
I must get in. With a deep breath, Fiona nudged softly. The door didn't budge, stuck with time and weathering, swollen in the doorframe. She pushed again, harder but with an effort to control how quickly the door swung open. It creaked as if it wanted to open, the damp wood absorbing her impact. Pausing, she listened for any other voices, footsteps or the creaks of doors.
The silence confirmed a chance to try again. With another breath drawn, Fiona braced herself and slammed her shoulder into the door. It dislodged, groaning as it finally freed from the tight squeeze of the doorframe. She had to counter her movement, pulling the handle in to prevent the door from swinging open.
Regaining her breath, she remained silent and peered through the crack of the newly budged doorway, gathering as much information as possible on the contents of the space beyond the entry while listening for any signs of detection. A hallway with barren walls stretched in one direction, and an adjacent corridor ahead. A few footsteps in the distance did not come nearer, and no voices arose from the silence. At some point, she took another deep breath and opened the door wide enough to slip through.
Heart racing, she kept close to the wall, conscientious of the space she took up and the sounds of activity echoing from other ends of the Keep. As if every step threatened her detection, caution took her to the adjacent corridor.
When she neared, the sigil of a griffon mounted to the wall caught her eye. Embossed gold, the animal's wings spread, it held a banner in its talons that read, "Shrike." The name of the wing, she determined, hoping if she ventured further, she would find the hall named "Revas."
But the hope was cut short. The sound of voices from behind her disrupted the quiet, followed immediately by fast footsteps. Fiona knew her options were limited and the time to decide was fleeting.
She inhaled and sped forward, hooking the corner of the nearby hall. Afraid to stop, her hurried strides continued to find cover. Identical to the prior corridor, closed wooden-doors with identical levered handles dotted the walls, the contents of the rooms within unknown. And the footsteps continued, nearing the turn. I'll be found.
She held her breath and took a risk. Grasping a handle of a random door, she prayed to the Maker and the beloved Andraste for safety on the other side. She swiveled to close it behind her before surveying who or what was in the room.
"Grand Enchanter." An amused voice mirrored her entry. "If you wanted a secret rendezvous, you only had to ask."
Fiona's heart sank. She turned to find the speaker, Garret Hawke, shirtless. Teeth clenched in a grimace, Fiona could only give a wordless frown. The thought of returning to the hallway flickered in her mind.
"Oh, come on." Hawke's smirk vanished. "It looks like you need some help. What's with the vanishing act, anyway? Scared you'll run into someone you know?"
She sighed. He was right; she needed help, though Hawke was the person she'd ask for it. "In so many words, yes." Annoyed with her honesty and the predicament, Fiona crossed her arms. "I need time to gather my thoughts. That's all."
"A place to hide, then?" Gesturing to the room, he nodded his head. "I never took you as the sneaky type, Fiona. Nonetheless, my room is yours, and my lips are sealed."
Fiona's stomach tightened. "In exchange for what?"
"As much as I'd like to say nothing, that would be a lie." He smiled, stepping to his bed and digging through a bag. "But aside from an ally, I haven't decided what I need, just yet. We'll have to settle with an I-owe-you."
She didn't have an alternative, and they both knew it. Her shoulder loosened, letting her bag fall to the floor. "Thank you, Champion."
They would probably be there for a while, Alistair assumed as he unpacked his bag in the room the Ansburg Wardens had provided. This new collection of Wardens, some from across Thedas, had their observations of the Order's crisis. It seemed their chances of finding a solution were better now than they had ever been.
The good news didn't abate his frustration with Fiona. Her secrets were blaring, and her disappearance only made them louder. His trust in her had already diminished since that night in Tantervale. She had attempted to pretend they were fine, greeting him the following morning and making idle conversation. Alistair did not entertain it; he replied with short one-word answers until she stopped trying. Until now, he determined he needed time to regain the missing trust, unwilling to push himself for the sake of Fiona's comfort. But with her departure, it vanished— as did Fiona.
It stirred residual anger toward Caoilainn. When she had returned to Vigil's Keep without so much as a note explaining her actions; it destroyed him. He remembered his pain and resentment, excessive drinking and desperation. He had stooped to sending spies to Vigil's Keep to gather information about her, and he still wasn't proud. Every ounce of his forgiveness had been required to endure that hardship.
He refused to return to that place. Without drink, he wouldn't succumb to rage. He could see Fiona's actions reflected her true colors, and it confirmed she wasn't worth his time. Whatever kindness she had expressed must have arisen from residual shame around her actions on Redcliffe. He had shown patience, not condemning her beyond banishment from Ferelden. When this quest was over, the exile would stand.
He had more important concerns to busy himself, with an ultimate goal of returning to Caoilainn and their child. He let his mind wander back to them, collecting his thoughts before washing up before the meeting. When he returned, he planned to write to Caoilainn.
Nathaniel emerged from his room to find the others with the Warden called Shea. Waiting in the Revas hall, Shea spoke to them about features of the Keep and its peculiarities from the other Warden strongholds. Her hair pulled back in a tight bun matched her demeanor, she was professional, straight-laced, and loyal to the Order. He assumed she would direct them to the right location.
Few decorations marked the walls, aside from the gold sigil naming the corridor. It surprised Nathaniel, accustomed to Caoilainn's methods of decorating, honoring the regions the Fereldan Wardens protected, displaying loyalty to the throne, and embracing the history of the Grey. Banners and sigils for households across Ferelden lined the walls at Vigil's Keep.
"Has anyone heard from Fiona?" Nathaniel asked the group as he joined them, securing his braids together at the back of his head in the process. In such proximity to the group indoors, his height felt prominent.
They all shook their heads, glancing to one another to see if any had some information. Shea added, "The last I checked, there was no word of her downstairs, but High Constable Cohen sent a team to search the grounds. They'll find her if she's here."
"I doubt she got far," Philippa said, fixing the collar of her robes. "I'm sure she only has cold feet."
As they walked, Shea extended her arm, directing them down the Shrike hallway toward a stairwell to a lower floor.
Gazing over their heads, Nathaniel peered through the hall for any signs of the missing woman. "Her cold feet were poorly timed. We need everyone working together now more than ever."
The closer they came to their destination, the bleaker the deserted Keep appeared. Rooms designed for chores and training, study and sleep were empty. Dust had settled onto the table tops and chairs. Closed doors indicated rooms potentially occupied, and they were few and far between.
Unaware of the influence of the desolate hall, Hawke chuckled and patted Nathaniel on the back. "I bet we'll find she's been right under our noses this whole time."
Hale looked over her shoulder and chimed in, "Don't matter. If she's too chicken to show her face, we don't fuckin' need her slowin' us down."
"I couldn't agree more." The stern reply came from Alistair. A surprise to Nathaniel, as the man rarely agreed with Hale on much of anything, and especially not as strongly as he sounded in that moment.
But Alistair gave no further explanation before they reached their destination. Double doors opened to a large courtyard. High walls of aged stone covered in vines, green from moss and mold, enclosed the ground space. Benches sitting in overgrown grass— clearly unattended as the Warden numbers dwindled— formed a wide semicircle around a white emblem of the griffon and chalice set within the ground. Three Wardens sat with the High Constable, occupying seats on two of the benches. Shea gestured for the group to join before returning to the interior of the Keep.
Alistair and Nathaniel led the party, divided, and direct on their paths to separate benches. The others followed, Hale joining Nathaniel and Philippa beside Alistair; Hawke sat by himself.
"Thank you for traveling so far." The High Constable said, ending the conversation between the other leaders and bringing their attention to the entire group. He nodded to each of them.
Grim-faced, Nathaniel's lips pressed as he shook his head. "It was our duty; thanks are unnecessary. The Order's fate depends on our cooperation."
A scoffing sound from Hawke's bench echoed; Nathaniel ignored it.
The High Constable gave an approving nod. "Let's not waste time then. As you know, I am High Constable Cohen." He directed his gaze to the woman next to him. "This is Constable Bridgette from Orlais."
"Bonjour." The woman smiled. Strands of her wild and curly hair sprung from the loose tie at the back of her head. She must have been near Nathaniel's age. Freckles marked her sun-kissed skin across the bridge of her nose.
"Bonjour," he mumbled back.
High Constable Cohen continued. "Chamberlain Tierney from Ansburg." The mustached man at the neighboring bench hummed agreement. His chest and belly suggested he enjoyed a pint of beer more often than he met the training yard, but his posture minimized the extent. Either he sucked in his gut, or he wore underclothes to contain his fat. "And finally, Warden Commander Llewellyn, also from Ansburg." The last man looked wiry. Tall and thin, with a hooked nose over a constant frown, exacerbated by drooping jowls. The man vaguely resembled Nathaniel's father. He gave no greeting at his introduction.
After introducing the other leaders, the High Constable quickly named the members of the travel party. Each gave a wave or a nod at the sound of their name.
Llewellyn grumbled after Hawke's name was called. "If we are done, more pressing matters are at stake than the triviality of our names. We are crumbling into ghouls, Cohen."
Clearing her throat, Bridgette furrowed her brow in concern. Her accent rang through every word. "From my research, nothing like this has happened to the Wardens before. Those lost in the past were due to Blights, darkspawn, and the inevitable Calling."
Tierney said, exasperated. "We can't identify a cause."
Alistair. Knowing the culprit of the source of the ailment they all faced sat among them, Nathaniel raised his hand to his mouth and made a poignant hem.
The King sighed and adjusted in his seat. "Right, I suppose that would be my cue to explain." Visibly reluctant, Alistair paused to find his words and then spoke. "Caoilainn and I found a cure for the Calling, or rather, the mages found it." He leaned his head to Philippa beside him, all but pointing his finger at her. "But they used it on us, and it worked. Since the former Warden Commander and I's cure, it seems to have evoked this… problem."
"You did what?" Llewellyn yelled; his already flushed cheeks turned darker.
Bridgette's hand waived away Llewellyn's outrage. "Tell us, how is this possible?"
Cohen sat in silence, somber, staring at the ground. A bird flew into the courtyard and sat on the rim of a birdbath in the corner. Dipping its wings in the water, it shed tiny droplets as it gave itself a sporadic bath.
"I take responsibility." Proud, an unashamed, Philippa raised her hand. "Morrigan found guidance from the Arbor Wilds and with me and the mage Fiona, we combined our efforts to brew the cure." She explained the bath, the ritual, and a vague enough list of the ingredients to satisfy the others' curiosity. "I cannot be sure if the cure would work again on another Warden."
Llewellyn spat his reply at the end of Philippa's explanation. "How could you possibly think that is a good idea? Are you ill?"
Snickering from his lone bench, Hawke muttered, "Well, yes, technically."
Oblivious to their conflict, the bird sang a pleasant tune as it dried its wings from its bath. Nathaniel noticed the padding of tall grass beneath his feet and the abundance of life within this desolate stronghold.
"I did what I thought was best for our country," Philippa replied, voice strong with conviction. "The throne needed an heir, and their majesties stood no chance of maintaining the livelihood of their reign."
The argument Nathaniel had with Caoilainn upon her request for him to assume the role of Warden Commander tiptoed around the selfish nature of her choice to pursue the cure. But Nathaniel's feelings of betrayal and the twisted sense of jealousy he held toward Alistair prevented him from stating the decision as foolhardy. I was the fool. Anger had won over reason and clouded his judgment.
"Typical Fereldans." Warden Commander Llewellyn said, shaking his head in disdain. "You may have doomed us all, and the rest of Thedas when the next Blight occurs. All for the sake of your throne." Tierney harrumphed his agreement.
"I will not have that here." Cohen's hand on his lap formed a fist. He watched the bird fluttering its wings before he looked to Tierney. "What's done is done, and now we must find a cure. Soon, preferably, as our fates are waiting."
Tierney and Llewellyn bickered amongst themselves but kept their voices low so none could hear.
"How many do you have left?" Philippa questioned, changing the subject in a hurry.
"Wardens? Intact?" Cohen's fingers twitched as he counted while speaking. "Many are safely sedated, but more are still standing. I would say around a hundred total, including us. We lost most before we knew what to do. Orlais is no more, aside from Constable Bridgette."
"We had close to that when we left Vigil's Keep," Nathaniel replied, looking up as he pictured the size of their forces before he left Ferelden. "I am not sure what the numbers are like now. Our magical strength is strong, fortunately. The mages who remain know to tend for those who have fallen ill."
"We didn't give in to the false Calling," Hale added, explaining the theory she had pieced together with Philippa since the night she fell from the tree in the Emerald Graves.
"Oui," Bridgette replied, frowning. Sadness lined her words. "When the Inquisitor slew Livius Erimond, our Wardens were free from the false Calling. But our chapter was already divided by deceit and lies. Some were still slaves to Corypheus."
Nathaniel understood Caoilainn's efforts better now than ever. "With Warden Commander Cousland's guidance, we managed to resist the false Calling. Our bond remained strong."
"And in doing so, you neglected your brethren." Teary-eyed, Bridgette frowned at Nathaniel. "Had you joined us sooner, you may have strengthened our bond. We could have escaped Erimond's grasp."
Nathaniel's face burned, as he realized he had managed to offend her without even trying. He wasn't sure why her watery green glare unsettled him.
"I am sorry, Constable Bridgette, but I'm not sure how much help we would have been. We could have lost more Wardens, or worse provided additional forces to Corypheus." He defended, resisting the urge to hold up his hands by gripping the edges of the bench around him. The stone rubbed on the insides of his palms. "Caoilainn did only as the First ordered."
"Well now we know he was a daft wanker," Hale's matter-of-fact comment was followed with hums of agreement from the others in the group.
Cohen sighed; the man had served as the First Warden's right-hand and likely knew more of his instability than any of them. His eyes seemed blank, vacant, lost in a memory. "This illness runs deep. It seems the division of the Order is killing us from within."
"Does that mean we're too late?" Nathaniel asked, brow furrowed as he studied Cohen's somber demeanor. The man did not seem optimistic.
The faintest sense of irritation lined Philippa's announcement, "A cure."
"What?" Cohen's grimace suggested he did not agree, let alone understand.
"The cure is the cure," Philippa repeated as if the short addition somehow explained her entire philosophy.
"You'll have to say more," Alistair spoke lowly to the sorceress beside him.
"Must I spell it out for all of you?" The sorceress huffed and leaned forward. "As of today, three Wardens have now been cured of the Calling. The cure has been in front of you the entire time. If we cure the entire order, the bond will be erased, and we can begin anew. The Wardens may rejoin."
"Fiona was unable to rejoin." The High Constable replied stone-faced. "She didn't even know how her cure happened, and something about the process prevented her from returning to the bond. Your plan threatens to eradicate the Order of the Grey." Nathaniel thought he was certain he saw Cohen glancing to Alistair. Hawke snickered nearby.
"Be logical." The sorceress sneered, crossing her arms over her chest. One hand lifted as she spoke. "At worst, it saves us all from turning into ghouls. At best, it revives the Grey Wardens."
"But will they all choose to rejoin?" Nathaniel pondered aloud, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees. "Now that they all know their fates, the choice to live without an early demise could be appealing. How many would choose to stay?"
"I'd stay." Crossing her legs, Hale answered with a tone of vehemence toward anyone considering she might leave. "Fuck going back." Her top leg continued to bounce in visible irritation.
Nathaniel knew Hale had little outside of the Grey Wardens. A life of thieving led to her conscription, and now her only friends served at her side. He imagined her frustration stemmed from the idea they might choose to leave. Does she care if I stay?
"If only all were as loyal as you." Cohen gave a sad smile to the young woman.
Twirling his mustache, Tierney grumbled. "And that's the problem. We've lied to too many to get them here. If they resent the Wardens, they won't rejoin."
"And if they stay, it fosters the divide." Llewellyn continued Tierney's pessimism.
Hale's fidgeting finally erupted, bringing her to her feet. The bird at the distant birdbath flew away with a screech. Hands placed firmly on her hips, Hale chastised the rest of them. "You bastards are talkin' like you ain't sodding Wardens yerselves. Would you rejoin?" She glared around the circle. A few feeble nods answered her question. Nathaniel's face remained neutral. "You're loyal, yeah? Maybe the rest of us might be too?"
Fingers laced, Cohen leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He rested his chin on his hands. "How will you do this, Philippa?" Lines of worry marked his forehead, but his tone sounded hopeful for the first time since the assembly began.
Her crossed arms unfurled, and she also stood up. Her gaze traveled to Alistair. "I have some ideas."