Alistair points out the bridge that leads to the steep, winding path down to Redcliffe proper and they cross it, only to be stopped on the other side by a young man, flushed and out of breath.
"Travelers?" he says, hope painting the words bright. "I scarce believed it – are you here to help?"
Marian exchanges a wary glance with Alistair. "Do you mean Arl Eamon?" she asks. "We heard he's sick..." She trails off, at a loss for anything else. A sort of prickling unease starts to walk up her spine.
"No, I – " He's incredulous, almost sputtering with it. "You don't know? Doesn't anyone know?"
"Know what, man?" Alistair demands. "Out with it."
Marian turns and waves for the rest of their companions to join them. "Yes," she says when she turns back around. "What's going on?"
"We haven't heard from the castle in days," he says, the hope disappearing from his face. He sounds half-dead already. "We've been attacked every night by the undead – monsters out of the castle – we've no army, no arl, no king, and with half of us dead already – " He stops and swallows. "And those who die come back to fight the next night," he says, pale with horror.
"Animated corpses," Morrigan says, with detached, clinical interest. "Fascinating."
Marian hates that she agrees, but – necromancy. It's in many of the tales of abominations that litter the Circle library, but the templars would never allow anything about how it works, or even the most basic principles behind it. As usual, she wants to know everything about everything, but in this specific case it's also about how that knowledge might intersect with other knowledge in the library in her mind. Who could say what kind of medical advances they could come up with if only they'd trust a mage long enough to read a bloody book? How were they supposed to prevent or reverse those kinds of abominations if nobody would let them do their research?
And another thing: where are the bodies coming from? Chantry law sets the rules for disposing of bodies in stone. They are to be burned no longer than a day after death, in part to avoid the very situation that appears to be happening here, and to prevent revenants. The Nevarrans go their own way in this, and of course many accidents and other things can happen that mean there might be skeletons in the village, but Marian thinks it more likely that whatever force is behind this has swept up the old ashes of the funerary pyres and used them as raw fodder for an army of undead. They are fighting their own family and ancestors, ground to ashes and animated by magic.
The man in front of them is young, about her age, and his face is haggard. Marian does not want to imagine what his life has been like, these last few days, and of course her mind betrays her and does it anyway. "You've made it this far," Marian says encouragingly. "So you must be fighting back."
"Bann Teagan is all that's holding us together," he says, brighter. "He'll want to see you, I'm sure."
"Wait, Arl Eamon's brother is here?" Alistair asks, sounding surprised.
"He's in the Chantry," the man says. "Will you come with me? Will you help us?"
"We'll certainly come," Marian promises, "but I'm not sure what we can do."
He leads them down the precarious path that spills out into the village center, where a troop of unarmored villagers are practicing their archery. Casting an eye over her group, she separates Morrigan and Sten out with Cú and their bulky supplies to find them a campsite for the night; she cannot imagine two people who would enjoy visiting a Chantry less. Sten goes without argument, but Morrigan does not look pleased to be set aside; Marian points out that the Chantry is usually where the templars live, and that's enough to send Morrigan stalking off with ill grace. Cú romps after her as Marian sighs. Well, at least someone's happy.
"Look," Alistair says to her in an undertone as they follow the man through the fortified square to the Chantry. "You do the talking, all right?"
"But don't you know the bann?" Marian asks, inadvertently loud. She makes a face at herself as their guide looks over his shoulder, and continues in a softer voice. "You said you grew up here."
"I know, I did, but – " Alistair blows out his breath through his nose, and while it sounds irritated, he just looks... dismayed. "I'll explain later. I promise," Alistair says, when she just looks at him skeptically.
She agrees, glancing back to exchange a baffled look with Leliana, who clearly has no better idea of what's going on inside of Alistair's head than she does. Not that that's hard.
Alistair pushes open the heavy wooden doors leading inward. They cross into a dark room lit by candles; she pauses for a moment to let her eyes to adjust before following him in. There are a lot of children tucked into the corners of the giant hall, some with their mothers and some without, and quite a lot of the heavy wooden furniture favored in Ferelden.
The man weaves through the crowd and stops in front of a middle-aged man in heavy noble's clothing. He's dictating to a messenger; when he's done the messenger leaves and the other man turns to them. "Tomas, isn't it?" He says to their guide. "You're stationed at the West Road approach?"
"Yes, my lord," Tomas says, bowing. "These people were looking for the arl."
"Thank you, Tomas," the other man says in a kind dismissal, and Tomas bows again and leaves. "Well, you're obviously not simple travelers," he says, his eyes drifting from Marian's Circle robes to her staff, to Leliana's well-worn daggers, and landing on Alistair's scruffy, ill-fitting armor. They'd looted it off one of the bandit corpses in Lothering, and Marian could still see the neat slit in the side where Alistair had driven through his guard. "My name is Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere. Eamon is my brother."
Alistair shifts his weight, causing his armor to creak. He's smiling, at least, a rueful thing that opens up his face. "I remember you, Bann Teagan, though the last time we met I was a lot younger and... covered in mud."
"Covered in – " Teagan peers at Alistair's face, and just when Marian opens her mouth to begin introductions he suddenly breaks out in a delighted grin. "Alistair? Maker, you're alive!" They clasp forearms and she's left to wonder what kind of mischief ended with one covered in mud. Whatever it was seems to have left a lasting impression. Maybe she'll be able to get the story out of Alistair one day.
Teagan sighs. "This is wonderful news. We heard of Ostagar, of course, but we were led to believe all died with Cailan."
"Well, we're still alive," Alistair says, gesturing to Marian and Leliana. "Not for long, though. Not if Loghain has anything to say about the matter."
"You are a Grey Warden?" Teagan asks Marian.
"Alistair and I are," Marian answers, distracted. "I'm Marian, from the Circle. And Leliana has very kindly agreed to help us." She regards Teagan thoughtfully for a moment. "Why don't you believe Loghain's story?"
He snorts. "That he pulled out his own men to save them? That Cailan risked everything in the name of glory?" His face, so mobile, drops in sadness and in grief. It's only then Marian remembers that Teagan had been Cailan's uncle.
"I'm very sorry for your loss," she says, awkward but heartfelt.
"Thank you," Teagan says, one of the corners of his mouth turning up in a slight smile. "He was a good lad. Loghain's accusations..." He exhales, bitterness written in his downturned brows and tight mouth. "They are an insult to Cailan's memory. He calls you traitor, and murderer, and I do not believe that either. They are a desperate man's accusations, and nothing more."
She blows out a relieved breath. "I can't deny that I'm heartily glad to hear you say that, my lord." He's not the Arl of Redcliffe, but a bann on their side is nothing to sneeze at, especially when that bann is Queen Rowan's brother.
Teagan tilts his head. "And may I then ask why you're here, Warden Marian?"
"We need to speak to Arl Eamon," Marian admits. "Most desperately. We need his help."
"My brother is gravely ill," Teagan says, looking from Marian to Alistair. "We have not heard from the castle in days. We've tried shouting over the walls, but no one responds."
"What is happening here?" Leliana asks, bewildered. "The man on the bridge was raving about animated corpses."
"The attacks started a few nights ago," Teagan says. He runs a hand over his face; he suddenly looks so, so tired. She can't help herself; she reaches out, touching his arm, and tries to remember the way a rejuvenation spell is supposed to work. He gives her the ghost of a smile as Marian drops her hand. "They come from the castle. We drive them back every night, but so many have died already..." He sighs. "I don't know how much longer we can hold out."
There is really no choice to make, not here. "Let us help," Marian says, appealing. "Please." Certain of her party members would not be pleased with this decision, but they are far away; Leliana makes a delighted noise and Marian can hear Alistair sighing in relief.
Teagan takes an abrupt step forward, startling her, and takes both her hands in his. "Thank you," he says, so grateful it almost makes her uncomfortable for what, after all, is basic empathy. "This means – I can't tell you what this means to me. Thank you."
He sends them back out of the Chantry to the village mayor, Murdock, who has a grocery list of tasks that need done; she portions them out to her companions, sending Alistair back up the cliff to the knights, Sten to the dwarf, and Leliana and Morrigan together to the inn, where most of the militia wait for nightfall. And drink.
For herself she keeps the most essential, speaking to the village drunk, who also happens to be the only one who can repair the militia's equipment before nightfall. A simple promise to find his daughter is enough to spur him back to work, and it's the easiest promise she ever made; she is planning on going into the castle, after all. It's not exactly out of her way.
Her companions come trickling back one by one, each with news or new developments: Sten has accomplished his mission, but he's not interested in talking about how, which she should have expected from him by now. Alistair is in and out of the Chantry for the knights on the hill, only stopping by for a quick update; Leliana and Morrigan come back with a militia recruit each, one the greasy tavern owner and one Loghain's spy, who has a very interesting letter from Arl Howe, who the spy claims is Loghain's right hand. It's far more than she expected.
Marian goes back in to report to the bann, but she gets sidetracked by a crying girl, and then the girl's brother; she depletes their tiny purse even further to give Kaitlyn the money they need to leave, but at least no one sees her doing it. Though she's not sure what she'll tell Alistair when he asks her where all their money went...
When she's finished, Marian goes in search of their camp, which is on the edge of the lake on a kind of platform. It stinks of fish, and it makes her want a bath, or perhaps she'll just throw herself in the lake and roll around, the way Cú does in tall grass... Marian sighs. Sadly, there is no time for bathing. She sits on the edge and looks out over the lake toward the castle.
"Maybe I'll repel the undead with my stench," she says to no one in particular.
"Thank you for that mental image," Leliana says behind her; Marian tips her head back and smiles ruefully. "May I?"
"Of course," Marian says. "Welcome to my parlor." She regards Leliana thoughtfully while she sits, dangling her feet off the edge of the platform and kicking at the water with the toe of her boot. "I'm sorry we haven't had a chance to talk before," Marian says eventually.
Leliana smiles. "It's all right," she says. "You have been quite distracted since we met."
Marian sighs. "I also wanted to apologize," she says, her mouth twisting. "I think I said something very unkind the night we met."
"I don't blame you!" Leliana says at once, turning to look squarely at Marian. "Not at all." She laughs. "I must have sounded mad."
"And I believe I said so," Marian says, still upset with herself. "Right out loud."
"It's not important that you believe," Leliana says. "Only that you serve the Maker in the end." She is so sincere, so serene, that for a moment Marian envies her. What must it feel like to walk a path like that? To believe so strongly that your god has a plan for you? She knows herself too well; such a life would not suit her in the slightest, and even so she still envies Leliana her certainty.
"How do you know what the Maker wants you to do?" Marian asks curiously.
Leliana hesitates, turning to look back over the lake. Marian thinks seriously about taking back her question, but before she gets around to it, Leliana begins to speak quietly. "I don't know to explain it," she says. "I had a dream, and in it there was an impenetrable darkness... it was so dense, so real." She shakes her head, like she's trying to shake off a troublesome thought. "And there was a noise, a terrible, ungodly noise... I stood on a peak and watched as the darkness consumed everything. And when the storm swallowed the last of the sun's light, I... I fell, and the darkness drew me in..." Leliana trails off and sighs.
Marian chews on her lip, choosing her words carefully. "And you believe that this was the Blight?"
Leliana nods. "What else could it be? And then when I woke, I went to the chantry's gardens, as I always do. But that day, the rosebush in the corner had flowered..." She laughs. "Everyone knew that bush was dead. It was grey and twisted and gnarled – the ugliest thing you ever saw, but there it was – a single, beautiful rose. It was as though the Maker stretched out His hand to say: 'Even in the midst of this darkness, there is hope and beauty. Have faith.'"
She doesn't sound crazy. And how can Marian throw stones at someone else's dreams? Hers have not been so sanguine lately, even without counting the taint-fuelled horror. She wouldn't want anyone judging her for what her brain mulls over in the middle of the night.
Marian smiles at Leliana, and for the first time in a while she really feels it. "I'm really glad you're here."
Leliana smiles back. "Me, too."