CHAPTER 2

..x..

Denerim, the capital of Ferelden. It was the largest city in the country and where the royal palace sat at its center. All the nobles who ruled under the crown gathered here to make decisions each year, while common folk and merchants from all over Thedas traded goods and services within its ports. The citizens lived in areas sharply sectioned by social class, from the poorest elves in the alienage to the wealthiest politicians. Most commoners resided in homes made of a mixture of stone, wood, and clay, while the noblemen lived in mansions, sticking out from the rest like rocks over the sand.

The town's massive Chantry towered over the buildings lining the dirt roads, with its majestic spires and regal statues. But it was not nearly as grand and intimidating as Fort Drakon, the city guard's garrison, and Denerim's prison tower. Made centuries ago by the Tevinter Imperium as a symbol of its power, the fortress dwarfed even the royal palace, standing as a warning to those who dared defy Ferelden's king. Its angry peaks and sharp edges resembled a dragon's teeth as its intimidating shadow traveled over the city with the shifting sun.

Several gold sovereigns let out hollowed thumps over the inn's wooden counter, their surface glimmering under the flickering flame of a lantern. The old innkeeper took one of the coins, lifting it between two fingers before gazing towards the hooded brunette standing in front of him. She was keeping her head down, hiding her features from his curious eyes. "We will need three of your rooms with two beds, please," came her quiet request.

He paused and counted the coins with wrinkled, quivering hands, then spoke once his calculations were finished. "You'll find 'em on the second floor, to the right."

"Thank you." Everil nodded and spun about to her companions, who were still waiting by the door. She approached them, laying out her orders. "Morrigan and Leliana will accompany Alistair and I into the city. The rest of you will remain here and make sure to stay out of trouble."

Bjorn whined at her, walking up to her with sad eyes.

"I'm sorry, big guy." She knelt while apologetically petting his head. "You did a lot of walking on the way here today so I want you to rest and save your strength for tomorrow. Stay with Sten and Wynne. I'll be back before you know it." Bjorn sniffed and sloppily licked her cheek, drawing a smile from her and receiving a scratch behind the ear in return.

All four of them exited the inn as planned, leaving the others to wait for them inside. Already the roads bustled with activity as the townsfolk rushed from one corner to the next, too preoccupied with their daily lives. So much so, that none seemed concerned by the Blight or the civil war currently ravaging the lands outside the city walls. Yet the Grey Wardens still opted for caution, wearing their hoods to hide their faces, while the cloaks kept most of their armor out of sight. The last thing they needed was for someone to see who they were and attempt to claim the bounty Loghain placed upon their heads.

They crossed the streets to the Market District, going largely ignored by the citizens and only attracting the attention of merchants as they hollered at them from their shops. Morrigan observed everything around them in silent wonder, asking herself why so many would choose to live so close to each other. While at the same time, she found herself mystified by the sheer number of people frolicking in the streets.

Soon they arrived at the address given to them by the arlessa of Redcliffe, stopping before a house much larger than others around it. The owner probably earned more than most as a religious scholar, which was expected considering Denermin's Chantry was also the largest in the nation.

After stashing the document in her bag, Everil stepped up to the door and gave it a gentle knock. A middle-aged man opened it moments after, offering her a warm smile. "Yes? How can I help you?"

"I apologize for the intrusion. Are you perhaps Brother Genitivi?"

He paused, scrutinizing the party. "No, I'm his assistant, Waylon. Genitivi isn't here at the moment."

She put on a small smile of her own, trying to ease their way in by using her charm. "Then perhaps you can help us. We seek information on the Urn of Sacred Ashes and we were told that he was close to finding it."

He seemed to hesitate, looking around suspiciously before gesturing for them to step inside. Once in the house, he led them through a hallway as they eyed their surroundings, seeing nothing but shelves lined with books and religious artifacts that spoke of the scholar's successful background. Waylon stopped in the dining room before turning to face them. "I don't know what you've heard, but I must regretfully inform you that you seek a lost cause. The Urn doesn't exist."

Everil folded her arms. "Hm... How odd. Genitivi stated otherwise in letters to Redcliffe's arlessa."

Behind them, Leliana curiously walked the room, admiring the items on the shelves as they talked. The man picked up one of the books from the table, using his robe to dust it off and avoiding their gaze while cleaning up. "That was old speculation. We have long since given up on the search for the Urn. Perhaps you should do the same."

She observed his movements, noticing the slight tremor in his hands. "We can't... You see, there is a sick man who needs those ashes. He may never wake up unless we find them."

"Several knights came here stating the same thing and I was forced to tell them what I just told you." He sighed, shaking his head. "It's a hopeless task."

"Several knights?" Everil lifted an eyebrow. "How long ago was this?"

"Hm... About a month or so ago..." He glanced her way with shifting eyes, before continuing his work.

She gazed at her fellow Warden, who gave her a serious look. Alistair took a step towards the man, scrutinizing him. "Hey, by any chance, do you know what happened to those men? They never returned to Redcliffe."

"I-I don't know…" He smiled nervously. "Maybe they were attacked on their way back?"

Leliana wandered towards the back, admiring a bookcase behind Waylon when she caught a strange scent coming from a door beside it. She approached it, nose curling at the smell. "Ugh…"

Waylon whirled around upon hearing her. "Hey! Don't go near that door!"

She blinked at his outburst. "Why? What lies behind it?"

"N-Nothing that concerns you. Get away from there!"

"It reeks of rot," Leliana said and smirked at him. "Like a… very large rat… or maybe a dead man."

He swallowed at her veiled accusation. "I-It's just old parchment. Old books covered in mold."

"Then why so nervous?" Morrigan asked with an interested smile, arms crossed over her chest. "No moldy parchment reeks of decay. I would know, for my mother has a few in her possession. What have you back there, little man?"

Everil shot him a glare. "Tell us what you're hiding. Is it Genitivy's dead body you hold? Where's the Urn?"

He let out an elaborate sigh and set down the tome with slumped shoulders. "I told you to give up, yet you insist and persist. You leave me no choice."

Several men burst from nearby rooms, armed with knives and daggers while charging at them with blades raised. Everil, Leliana, and Alistair drew their weapons and blocked each hit while protecting their mage. Morrigan stood by, already prepared to cast a spell.

"Bastard…" Everil gritted her teeth and kicked one of them, shoving him off before her blade sunk into his chest, breaking through bone and flesh. She plucked her sword out of him and spun, slashing across another's torso. Meanwhile, Alistair parried his opponent's weapon and swung, cutting through cloth and the muscle beneath it. Another came at him from the flank with a dagger, and he struck at it, easily deflecting it before running them through. He pushed the man off him and slammed him to the wall, his body leaving angry, red smears as he slid to the floor. Leliana promptly dispatched the three men around her, weaving her way through them with both her dagger and deadly precision.

"H-How… H-How did you—" Waylon spluttered, moving away from them as his men now lay dead.

"Start talking." Everil closed the distance to him, her sword aimed at his throat. "Who are you and why are you killing all who ask about the Urn?"

He found himself pinned to the wall and a quivering hand began to reach for his knife.

"Don't do it," she warned, eyes narrowing dangerously. "I can slice your neck in an instant. Just stand down and answer my question."

"You are not worthy of witnessing Andraste's grace!" Waylon lashed out, but she dodged with ease, leaning sideways just as the edge of her blade cut his neck open. He sank to his knees and gargled, trying in vain to stop the blood pouring out of him. Then he fell face down with a thud, more red pooling beneath him.

She sadly shook her head before speaking to her companions. "Search that room and the rest of the house. We must find anything that can give us a clue as to Genitivi's whereabouts."

"Right," Leliana replied and went through the door from which the stench was coming from, while the others searched the rest. She emerged in a study, which contained a desk and more bookshelves, along with a dimming fireplace in a corner. She covered her mouth at the smell and her gaze landed on a body bundled on the floor. Narrowing her eyes, she approached it, kneeling over it to inspect it. It lay bloated and decomposing, which meant he'd been dead for a while. At first, she thought this might have been Genitivi himself, but the book he was holding stated differently. She rose while flipping through the pages, heading back out to the others. "I found something."

They gazed up from their search and went to her.

"There is a body in the room, but it seems to be that of the real Waylon. Genitivi isn't here. He left for a village near the Frostback Mountains to the west." She handed her find to Everil. "That's his journal, I believe. It says he was close to finding the Urn, and that this village called Haven was the key."

Everil nodded. "Good work."

"We should leave here before someone comes to investigate the commotion," Morrigan suggested, gazing towards the entrance to the house.

"Agreed."

They walked out the front door, leaving the corpses for the city guard to find and clean up later. Everil adjusted her cloak, thankful that they managed to avoid getting blood on them this time. After all, they'd just killed the entire household.

.x.x.x.x.

The elven alienage was the side of the Market District where elves lived in extreme poverty, hidden in the back and ignored by the rest of the city. Just outside, the poorest of humans weren't fairing much better however, despite the stark privilege they held over their kind. Small huts were set up along the road, with barely enough room for two, while families of four or five often lived within. Smaller stores were propped up nearby, offering services such as laundry and cleaning. Small stalls also sold cheaply made goods and grub, drawing the majority of the residents, which made the streets as busy as those in the market square.

"You have a sister?" came Leliana's surprised voice.

"Yes. But this is the first time I'll actually meet her," Alistair replied while they neared the house, anxious hands opening and closing.

Their companions were now generally aware of his past upon him having told them after leaving Redcliffe. He figured there wouldn't be any harm in them knowing, especially since they were bound to find out eventually anyway. It hadn't been as difficult to tell them as it was with Everil, however. He'd cared more about her perception of him as a leader and friend than that of the others, who were basically following them regardless.

And now, he was fearful of something very similar. Would Goldanna know of him? Would she push him away as others have? Alistair swallowed, hesitating before the door as his female companions waited a few steps behind him, giving him space while he prepared himself to enter the rickety home.

"Are you going inside or what?" Morrigan questioned impatiently.

"Don't rush me…" Alistair shot her an annoyed glare, then let out a breath and turned to his fellow Warden. "Everil, uhm… Could you…?"

She offered him a reassuring smile. "Do you want me to go in with you?"

He nodded timidly.

"It's all right. I'll help you." Everil gently smacked his shoulder and walked up to the door while Morrigan rolled her eyes behind her. She knocked as Alistair shifted nervously beside her.

"Bertha!" a female voice called from inside. "I already told you that your laundry ain't done until—" The door swung open and a worn-out woman glared at them for a moment before a hint of puzzlement fell over her hard stare. "What do you want?"

Everil paused, exchanging looks with a shaken Alistair before gazing back at her. "We apologize for the disruption but we came to speak with you about something important. Do you mind if we come in?"

She eyed them critically, seeing the metal and blue color of their armor through the small gaps in their cloaks. "'Course you can. You rich folk go about as if you own everything anyway." She grumpily spun about and stepped back in, leaving the door open.

The Wardens exchanged another glance and followed her as the others waited outside. The house was barely holding together, with patches of wood and holes on every wall. Two girls sat on the ground nearby, playing with dolls made out of worn cloth and straw. Clothes were piled in a dented iron basin in a corner, soaking in dirty water. And the smell of mildew and dirt filled the air around them. Alistair and Everil stiffly observed their surroundings, feeling slightly out of place and carrying pitying expressions at the conditions in which they lived.

"What do you want with me?" Goldanna crossed her arms, short, blond hair sticking to a pasty, sweat stricken face. "And be quick. I've a lot of work to do for a living, unlike you lot."

Feeling small under her stare, Alistair swallowed and spluttered awkwardly, "My name uh…. my name is Alistair. And I... know this might sound sort of strange to you... But are you Goldanna? If so... then I guess I'm your brother."

"My what?" She arched an eyebrow at his words. "I am Goldanna, yes... How do you know my name? And what is this about a brother? What sort of tomfoolery are you folk up to?"

Everil attempted to appease her. "He speaks the truth. Listen to him."

Alistair cleared his throat, thankful that she was with him as he made a fool out of himself before his long lost sister. He continued, trying to speak through the nerves. "I don't know if you knew of this, but... When our mother worked at the castle, she and the king… well… she had another child. That child was me. I'm—"

"You!" Goldanna's expression went from realization to outrage, her voice rising a few decibels. "It's you, ain't it! I knew it! Those lying arses... They told me you was dead! They told me the babe died!"

He knitted his brows at her. "They… told you that? Who did?"

"Thems at the castle!"

"Oh, uhm... Well, the babe didn't die." He forced a weak smile. "I'm him... I'm your brother."

"For all the good that does me," she scoffed, then gave him an accusing look, pointing at his chest. "You killed Mother, you did! I've been having to scrape by all this time 'cus of you! The coin they gave me to shut my mouth about your birth and the king's doings with my mother didn't last long and when I went back for more they ran me off! Those arseholes at the castle tricked me good! I should have told everyone about you!"

No words came to him as Alistair shrunk away under her cutting accusations, wincing each time she aimed her finger at him. While beside him, Everil watched and listened with fists closed, growing increasingly irritated by the way she was treating him. "Goldanna, it's not fair of you to blame him for everything," she reasoned, trying her best to maintain a calm tone and polite disposition. "He is not responsible for what happened and your mother's death is painful enough as it is. He doesn't need to hear you blame it on him."

"What?" Goldanna shot her a dirty look. "And who in the Maker's name are you? Some harlot going after his riches?"

"Hey!" Alistair cut in. "Don't speak to her that way! She's my friend and a Grey Warden, just like me!"

"Oh? A Grey Warden and a Prince. How high and mighty you are compared to me." She lifted her nose, acid in her voice. "I don't know you, boy. All I know is that your royal father forced himself upon my mother and I was left to fend for myself after she died thanks to you." She waved dismissively at the two. "Now, I have five mouths to feed. So unless you can help with that then I have less than no use for you."

He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, his earlier burst of indignation ebbing into uncertainty. "I... I'm sorry. I don't know what to say."

Everil blew out an annoyed breath. "Goldanna, Alistair just wanted to find his family."

"Well, he found it! And unless he can make sure his nieces and nephews live how they have a right to, then he's worthless to me."

"I... I suppose I could help somehow…" He helplessly looked to Everil, unsure of what to do to please his sister. "How about five sovereigns? Will you let me give her that? For my nieces and nephews."

A sigh escaped her and she hesitated, anger making her wish she could just slap the bitterness out of her. But if making this witch happy meant this much to him, then she would help him. Taking a deep breath, she reached for their bag of coin and opened it. "Very well… If that's what you want to do, then here."

"Thanks." He smiled, taking the coin from her, then offering it to Goldanna.

The woman gruffly grabbed it from his hand and glared down at the five golden coins as if they were crumbs. "This it? You've all that coin in that bag of yours and this is all you can spare?"

At that moment, if looks could kill, Everil would have accidentally murdered her. How dare she be this ungrateful when he was trying so hard to make her happy? How could she be this reproachful of him when she'd never even met him before? She simply couldn't hold back her temper anymore. "In case you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of a Blight! We cannot afford to—"

"I wasn't talking to you," Goldanna cut her off, pocketing the coin before casting a scathing stare upon Alistair. "So answer me, you so-called prince. Is your family worth just five miserable sovereigns?"

Alistair turned away from her, his heart twisting with embarrassment and shame. Most would have appreciated any help these days. Especially since that kind of money could actually feed her family for more than a month. He didn't know what to do or say, but he certainly regretted ever coming here.

"I'm sorry…" he uttered weakly. "That's all I can give you. I... wish I could do more, but—"

"Then you're nothing to me! Get out of my house!" Goldanna snapped, thrusting a finger at the door.

Everil clenched her teeth, itching to pounce on her. "Why, you—" But her words died mid-sentence when Alistair placed a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. She shut her mouth and willed herself to bite her tongue. If it weren't for him...

"All right. We're leaving now. Sorry to have bothered you," he said before gently leading the fuming Everil towards the entrance.

"Just don't come back unless it's with the coin we're owed!" she yelled after them, and just as soon as they stepped out, the door was slammed behind them.

-Bitch… -Everil thought, shooting the house a withering glare. And here she'd been happy he'd at least found someone he could call family. To think that a man as sweet and selfless as Alistair was related to that monster… She just couldn't believe it. Her gaze went to him, seeing he was shamefully staring at his feet. She was about to ask him if he would be all right when a light laugh drew both of their attention.

"So your sister hated your guts," Morrigan mocked upon seeing them, a smirk spreading over her lips. "I am not surprised."

Her cutting words drew a hurt look from Alistair, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment. The pain swiftly turned to anger and he growled miserably, shoving past her and stalking into the passing crowd. There was nothing he wanted more right now than to be as far away as possible from that place and from her.

"Alistair, wait!" Everil called to him, then irritably addressed her other companion. "Damn it, Morrigan! You two go back to the inn… I'll go get him." The witch simply crossed her arms, unconcerned by the Warden's glare before she hurried after him, disappearing behind the townsfolk wandering the streets.

"That was uncalled for, Morrigan," Leliana chastised. "Why kick him while he's down? Alistair didn't do anything to deserve that."

"I've no sympathy for the likes of him. If he wishes respect, then he should stop behaving like a child and start acting like a man." She spun about and walked away on casual strides. The nun lightly shook her head at her and followed, sending a worried glance in the direction of the two Grey Wardens.

.x.x.x.x.

Those walking by appeared to completely ignore Everil's presence in their haste to keep moving, constantly bumping into her or blocking her advance. But she kept weaving her way through, focused on Alistair's retreating form as he headed for the nearest alley. A curse escaped her when a man accidentally knocked her to the side just as she was reaching the edge of the road, nearly making her trip.

After sending the crowd an exasperated glance, Everil sighed tiredly, relieved at finally being out of the mess. They all reminded her much of the common folk back in Highever, always too busy to see where they were going most of the time. She looked back to the alley, no longer able to see Alistair in the distance. Frustrated, she broke into a jog, hurrying through the empty back streets, searching for him. The alleys of the city were mostly used as rear entrances for some stores and homes but were also the gathering spots for less than virtuous individuals. Thankfully, however, the few ragged elves loitering about seemed to notice she was well-armed, for they kept their distance instead of trying to mug her—not that they would succeed in doing so anyway.

She stopped and released a breath of relief upon finally finding him sitting on some stairs leading up to a walkway, crestfallen and with elbows on his knees. Everil took a few steps, seeing him run a hand through his hair with a despondent sigh. "Alistair?"

His head shot up, his gaze somewhat lost at first, before an apologetic frown creased his brow. "I… I'm sorry…"

"It's all right…" She went to him, smiling up at him from the bottom of the short flight of stairs. "Goldanna said some painful things to you and Morrigan just made it worse. I don't blame you for walking away from that. I'm just glad I found you."

"I just..." He clasped his hands together, tired eyes over his laced fingers. "I thought she would be happy to meet me… That she would accept me without question and welcome me with open arms."

"I know…" Everil climbed the steps, then took a seat beside him. "I didn't expect she would react in such a way either. But people can surprise you with their cruelty."

"I just can't believe the sister I dreamed of meeting one day as a child turned out to be such a… Such a…"

"Gold-digging harridan?"

"Heh… Yes. That's accurate."

She observed his profile for a moment, seeing his uncertainty while recalling just how alone he'd felt in that demon-induced nightmare at the Circle of Magi. Loneliness was all he'd ever known, yet it seemed he'd never truly learned how to live without others in his life. Without the need to rely on those he latched onto for guidance and support. And truly, that's what was hurting him the most and why he was always so unsure of himself and of his own decisions. Because he was afraid to fail after having had others call all the shots for him or coddle him.

There were a hundred assurances she could offer him now. Perhaps start by telling him that she and their friends were the only family he needed. But considering what she'd learned of him thus far, that was not what was right for him. He didn't need her to save him this time. What he needed was to pick himself off the ground and keep moving forward, with or without someone to hold him up.

"I'm sorry this happened to you…" she began gently, directing a kind stare towards him. "...but perhaps this means that it's time for you to look out for yourself, rather than continue to seek others who would do it for you."

He regarded her with a puzzled expression. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you should stop searching for someone to care when the only one whose opinion truly matters is you. This is your life. The only one who can change it for the better is you. All you have to do is be more self-reliant… More confident and independent," Everil shifted forth, placing a gentle hand on his forearm. "Because although you have friends around you… Although you have me... In the end, you don't really need anyone else—" She pressed a gentle hand to his chest. "—but yourself."

Her words slowly dawned upon him, stunning him with the realization they brought. She's right… Of course, she's right… He'd been so focused on how unwanted he'd felt throughout the years that he was constantly trying to find a family who would accept him. Someone who would give him a sense of belonging, their love, and affection. And when he did find them, he would simply follow their lead because he lacked the confidence to create his own path in life. Because he was too scared to try and stand up on his own after having been beaten down so many times.

That had to change. He had to change.

I have to rely on myself and no one else. Make my own decisions… on my own. As the thoughts sunk in, a weight lifted from his shoulders and the shroud cleared from his mind. It was time to finish feeling sorry for himself and to stop using his past traumas as an anchor. It was time for him to move forward, with no one to stop him but himself. And today he would take the first step.

A corner of his mouth went up. "I have some growing up to do, don't I?"

"Everyone does at one point or another. And there is strength in admitting that."

"Then I will follow your advice. I'll stand up on my own… Create my own happiness," Alistair uttered quietly, then leaned in to lightly press his lips to hers. "Thank you..."

"You're welcome…" Everil smiled tenderly, the kiss filling her with warmth as she gently cupped his cheek. "Just don't forget you can still rely on me for help here and there."

He placed a hand over hers, leaning into her touch. "I know…"

"Help!" A woman's scream interrupted their moment, startling them and drawing their attention away from each other. Then another cry followed, bordering on a desperate shriek as it resonated throughout the alley. The two of them exchanged a quick glance, rose to their feet, and ran down the steps, making haste in the direction of the noise.

They rushed through the street, following the sound of more screams as they ran deeper into the city's more dangerous areas. Until they stumbled upon a redheaded woman standing past an iron gate, weeping uncontrollably with her back to them. The two jogged to a stop, scanning the area for whatever or whomever attacked her, but seeing no one nearby.

The woman continued to sob, hunching over and hugging herself, her black cloak wrapped tightly around a thin body. Concerned and confused, Everil got closer and placed a hand over her shoulder. "Hey, are you all right?" she ventured, but to her utter puzzlement, the figure began to chuckle, drawing odd stares from both Grey Wardens.

Everil backed away, now very much suspicious as the laughter grew louder and more unhinged.

"Surprise!" The woman spun, set off a bomb and green gas exploded around both her and Everil, a mask shielding her face from it as she disappeared behind the cover. The massive gate behind the Wardens dropped with a loud bang, trapping them inside the alley's section while several men appeared from behind walls and crates, all armed and clad in black leathers.

"Blast!" Everil coughed as the smoke filled her lungs, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grimacing at the bitter taste. "What in the—" Her head snapped up upon sensing movement above and eyes landing on a hooded figure with a slim, yet masculine frame. He stood atop a roof, observing them from his perch like a vulture, white teeth gleaming under the sunset. Whomever it was, he was bad news and so were his friends, who were quickly surrounding them. Jaw set, she drew her blade, while her companion also pulled out his sword.

"An ambush?" Alistair muttered, eyeing their opponents. "Just what we needed right now…"

A man cried out as, one after the other, they came charging with weapons raised. The first reached him in seconds, but Alistair was ready for him. He struck up, deflecting a dagger before slashing across his neck and collarbone. Then he spun, knocking away another weapon before impaling them through the chest. The third got too close, barely giving him enough time to avoid a stab. He cut upwards at the man's arm and he screamed, dropping his dagger. Alistair's sword found his gut and then he shoved him off with a foot, retrieving his blade and aiming it towards several more edging in. It was just him and Everil now, and they were outnumbered.

"Kill the Grey Wardens!" One pounced on her and she blocked with both weapons. He kept coming, striking like a madman in an attempt to find an opening. She deflected his blades, then kicked him on the knee, breaking his guard and cutting open the side of his throat. Blood gushed out from his jugular like red wine, pouring down as he fell in a gurgling mess.

There was no time to celebrate, however, because the same woman from before jumped in, swift feet like those of a cat. Gleaming daggers clashed with Everil's weapons as the Warden gritted her teeth, holding her ground against the impact. With a roar, she threw a kick at her stomach, only to hit air as the redhead slithered away and struck from the side. Everil blocked with her sword and slashed with the dagger, an attack the woman dodged as if she were made of rubber.

Although growing increasingly frustrated, Everil kept swinging, intent on defeating her. Each swing cut empty space for a few strikes, until she was finally able to read her pattern. "Gotcha!" she called, dodging a hit and bringing her sword around, forcing her to bring up her defenses and block.

Alistair deflected a hit, then sliced through another enemy as one more came at him. He locked blades with him. "How do they know who we are!"

"I don't know!" Everil yelled back while pushing the rogue off of her, then ducked from an attack, only to block her other dagger. "I think they—" A violent coughing fit overtook her, stripping her muscles of all feeling and weakening the grip on her weapons. The masked female struck then, hitting her blades and sending them flying out of her reach. Everil fell on her knees, too weak to fight back or stand and attempting to catch her breath through the coughs.

"W-What...?" she managed to croak before being thrown over someone's shoulder, limbs hanging limply in spite of her best efforts to struggle. Her captor tossed another bomb onto the ground, unleashing a curtain of smoke that hid their forms from view. And she was carried away from the battlefield, unable to fight back and leaving Alistair behind.

"Everil!" he cried out, taking several running steps towards the veil, only to stop in his tracks when something large dropped from above. Surprised eyes trailed up a hulking man now blocking his path, his face hidden behind the great helm he wore. Alistair's eyebrows met at the bridge of his nose as he tightened the grip on his weapon.- No… too large for a man. This is a qunari… -

It was like staring at an impenetrable fortress made out of pure muscle and covered from head to toe in iron plating. A small, but visibly heavy spiked iron ball slammed to the ground by his feet, tied to a chain he held with one hand. While in the other, he wielded a greatsword, worn and chipped at the edges from constant use and little maintenance.

Alistair's disadvantage in both size and strength was glaringly obvious to him, but he was far too desperate to care. His eyes darkened as he held his ground, blade aimed at the behemoth. "Get out of my way…"

The qunari chuckled and tauntingly shook a finger. "No. Can. Do."

"Thorpe!" shouted the hooded male still atop the roof. "Be a good boy and kill him for the Crows! I have a mess to clean up!" And then he vanished as quickly as he came. The Grey Warden was now alone with his next opponent and what remained of the men still lying injured and dying upon the ground.

Without warning, the brute rushed him, raising his greatsword and swinging at him. Alistair dodged and thrust in a diagonal, trying to stab through the chainmail between the plating armor on his arm, but failing. The qunari dragged his heavy weapon over the dirt, swinging upwards and forcing Alistair to use his shield. He clenched his jaw, the strike ramming him as if he'd been hit by a bull as the resounding clash of metal against metal rang inside his ears.

Thorpe roared and another of his attacks was blocked, the force causing Alistair's feet to slide back an inch. Greatswords were mostly used for both reach and power, whereas Alistair's blade was intended for faster, close-quarters combat. Which meant he had to somehow get closer without accidentally losing his head.

"Come on, puny man! I'm beginning to think you Grey Wardens aren't as great as you claim to be!" he taunted, bringing the weapon upon him once more. Alistair sidestepped, letting it hit the ground as the dirt exploded on impact. He darted forth, prepared to stab through his plated chest. His sword was grabbed by an armored hand, stopping it inches from reaching its target. Alistair's eyes went wide and a punch hit his gut, knocking the air out of him. He stumbled and saw another fist coming, giving him only enough time to bring an arm up to protect his face. It hit him on the shoulder, the sheer force sending him to the ground. And then he was grabbed by the front of his armor, spun and flung as if he were nothing but a bag of rocks. He tumbled roughly over the dirt, landing on his back a few feet away.

"Pathetic!" Thorpe laughed and took a leaden step, armor chiming with the movement.

With effort, Alistair rolled onto his stomach, pushed himself to a knee, and slowly rose, abs burning from the abuse. He drew in a few, deep breaths, trying to clear the dizziness in his head. Then his sword went up again and he charged, releasing an angry cry.

Sneering behind the helmet, Thorpe saw him coming and unleashed the chain upon his legs, quickly dropping him mid-run. He cackled triumphantly and pulled, dragging him as if he were but a prized hog on its way to slaughter.

Shit….! Alistair struggled to break free, kicking and grabbing at the chain until he found himself at the qunari's feet.

"Die insect!" he roared, drawing back his giant blade and bringing it upon him without mercy. Alistair rolled at the last second, barely managing to avoid it as it stabbed the ground next to him, jagged edge scraping his plates.

"Damn it!" he bit out, scrambling to pull on the chain still wrapped around his ankles. But Thorpe plucked the sword from the dirt, lifted it, and thrust before he could free himself.

The Warden tried to use his shield but wasn't fast enough. The sword's tip scraped past the edge and pierced the plates on his shoulder, penetrating flesh as Alistair grunted through clenched teeth. A laughing Thorpe plucked it out of him, granting him a brief window to frantically reach for the chain and violently kick it off. Now freed, he was left with just enough room to twist away from another thrust that grazed the metal at his hip.

"Stop moving, little mouse!" Thorpe taunted, lifting his weapon once more.

The Warden hurried to his feet as the sword scratched his pauldron, barely missing his head. Cursing under his breath, he retreated several steps and rolled, attempting to put distance between them as the giant's weapon swooshed over him. Alistair got to his feet, panting heavily and with his pulse ramming in his ears. That was too close… Too damn close…

A growing bloodstain soaked the blue of his armor as his shoulder bled, but adrenaline and the sheer will to win numbed the pain. His eyes quickly searched for vulnerabilities, something he would've done from the start, had he not been so intent on running after Everil. He carries the chain in his left hand, which leaves him open on that side... He's armed with the great sword on the right... Still need to get past the armor…

"No more games, Warden!" Thorpe roared, stomping towards him while spinning the chain.

Alistair clicked his tongue and moved out of the way, letting the iron ball slam against the earth. The qunari then came at him with the blade, striking his shield and making him grunt under its weight. If I could somehow go around that sword and hit his open side…

Another battle cry came as the brute swung in a wide, downward arch, pouring all of his strength onto the attack. The Warden narrowly dodged and the blade buried itself into the soil. It took Thorpe two seconds to pluck it out, but seeing him struggle gave Alistair an idea that brought a smirk to his face.

He took a step back and jumped out of the way of another attack. Then dodged another. Then another. Until he saw Thorpe lift his blade up high, ready for another massive downswing. This time, Alistair stood his ground, bringing his shield up at a slightly slanted angle when the greatsword connected, the edge scraping over the polished surface. Sparks flew as he diverted the hit and the sword struck sideways, stabbing the dirt at an angle.

Without pause, Alistair used the weapon as a stepping stone, springing off of it and leading with his shield in a sideways swing. It slammed squarely against the enemy's head, denting his helmet and sending him stumbling backward. The Warden then struck with his sword, slamming it against the side of his head, further stunning him. He then brought the pommel of his blade onto the side of his kneecap, robbing him of what little balance he had left.

Thorpe fell on a knee, still in a daze from the trauma to his head. And before he could recover, Alistair thrust his blade with all his might, driving it into the chainmail beneath the great helm. The sickening sound of tearing muscle and metal scraping bone was joined by gurgles as blood poured from beneath the helmet. Trembling hands grabbed the sword piercing the thick, qunari neck, but it was a feeble effort.

"Just so you know before you die…" Alistair uttered in quiet anger, eyes boring into his through the narrow slots. "Grey Wardens don't just make claims... We simply are the best there is." And he plucked his weapon from him, letting his heavy body slam onto the ground as his last breath was drawn.

Breathing heavily, Alistair sheathed his blade and looked towards where Everil's weapons lay. He went to them and picked up her sword, wincing from his injury. His gaze then trailed up to the other side of the road, seeing nothing but emptiness ahead. There was no way for him to tell which way they went. He clenched his jaw, suddenly feeling powerless.