The Journey to Gwaren

The cart rattled a bit on the dirt roads that comprised the Brecilian Passage. "Maker, I hope this thing holds together. It's never been driven more than a few miles to a neighbor's house or into town." Alistair was having a hard time keeping the draft horse on the trail. He, Carver and Devon took turns at the reins. Devon was clearly the best of the three.

Alistair's comment made Devon laugh. He had been trying to sleep in the bed of the wagon in back. "Yeah, then we might have to actually carry all our stuff. Poor Dobby. She's also not accustomed to hauling us and our stuff around every day." He climbed up to sit next to Alistair.

"Sorry, didn't mean to keep you awake." Alistair grinned sheepishly.

The wardens were a curious bunch. Ariel came from the Dalish. The group found her to be completely representative of the harsh and brash Dalish of the rumors and tales … and yet, she was also very loyal to Devon and her fellow wardens. She already saved them from being raided by a Dalish clan ambush.

After showing the Dalish clan's Keeper the treaty signed by Dalish long dead, the Keeper made a promise to Devon: if the wardens could get Zathrian's clan to agree to such foolishness, then they would stay and fight with the wardens.

Ariel said she knew about Zathrian, and that knowledge didn't make her hopeful that the Dalish would aid the Grey Wardens against the Blight. Zathrian was an ancient, the only Dalish of late who had avoided the Quickening, avoided death. Consequently, his word carried a lot of weight with most of the clans.

So, they were on their way to find this Zathrian. Devon took a deep breath and stretched his back. "That's all right. There's something on your mind. I noticed it last night when we wardens were talking about what our plans were." Devon had become a friend. He was a noble who wasn't an ass … always a good first step. He'd also had a great deal of personal tragedy recently. The third night on the road, he told the story of his family's massacre at the hands of Arl Howe.

He was also damned perceptive.

"I've been feeling guilty about leaving Ferelden, Devon … and not because I just found out about my father. Ferelden is my home. I was raised here." Alistair chuckled. "I actually like the spirit and fierce independence of the people here."

Devon sighed. "Like it or not, you have royal blood, Alistair." He put up his hand to stop Alistair from commenting. "You have a duty to Ferelden that goes beyond even Loghain … and that duty is to stay alive." He slumped a bit. "My father always taught me and my brother Fergus that a Cousland always does his or her duty. My father failed in his duty to stay alive … ultimately, that meant he failed in all of his duties … to his family, to his vassals, to his country. My father was killed because he had a claim to the throne that Loghain and his progeny do not have." He sat up and put his hand on Alistair's shoulder. "Even as a mage, you have a claim to the throne that Loghain and his cronies don't have. Times change. There are more than a few who believe this country's continued independence will hinge on a Theirin sitting on the throne. Right now, Ferelden's undergoing a Blight. Only the Maker knows how this is going to end." He took a deep breath. "I hope you'll have a Ferelden to rule someday."

Ariel sighed. "The way you shems talk all the time it's a wonder you aren't all full of arrows. I keep oiling the wheels to keep them quiet. Maybe I need to tie your mouths shut, too." She pointed toward the right side of the road. "At some point, if their directions are still accurate, we're going to have to leave the road. You'll need to walk your beast then and hide the wagon."

Taosen, an elf mage originally from the Denerim alienage, chuckled. "Too bad there isn't any teleportation magic. Right, Alistair?"

"Right, like that wouldn't cause the Templars to throw a fit." Alistair sighed. He learned from his father that there was magic lost to the ages. The witch Morrigan, who was traveling with the wardens, could shapeshift. Alistair, Bethany and Taosen were all trying to learn it … much to Morrigan's frustration. Morrigan was sharp and abrupt … and very intelligent. Alistair had finally mastered shifting into an owl. No one was more surprised than Morrigan. Taosen was working on a shapeshifted mabari, but the ears always came out a bit too large and pointed. Devon's mabari, Dancer, was amused at the failures so far.

Bethany and Morrigan had become friends of a sort. Bethany's specialty was a falcon — very fast and very useful along these forest paths and trails. Morrigan's beast of choice was a bear, enhanced with the strength and cunning of a blighted bear. Morrigan wasn't a warden … had no desire to ever become a warden … but through her magic, she could "sniff out" the darkspawn as well as the new wardens could.

And then, there was Daldain, the dwarf. At first, Daldain was quiet and moody. Then, one night, he unloaded his heart. Alistair found out Daldain was a kindred spirit, sort of. He was the son of King Endrin Aeducan in Orzammar. His younger brother orchestrated the death of the heir, Trian, as well as framing Daldain for the deed. He ended the sad tale with, "I was impressed at Bhelen's cunning, but I still want to kill him. Duncan said that wardens are always welcome in Orzammar. We'll see when we have to go there to convince my father to honor the treaty."

Alistair had hoped two things would occur on this journey. First, he hoped he and Leliana might get closer, but it seemed that "good friend" was as far as Leliana wanted to go. She had other priorities. Second, he hoped he and Carver might get along better. Alistair knew he could count on Carver in a pinch, but Carver's day-to-day rhetoric remained surly. Traveling with four mages probably had a lot to do with it.

When Ariel gave the word, they turned off the main road. They put the cart's contents into backpacks and headed into the forest. Within minutes of turning off the main trail, Bethany's falcon swooped down and reformed into Alistair's younger sister. "There's a large camp about a mile ahead. We'll run into the hunters in half that distance."

Ariel took the lead. She knew Mithra, the hunter who told the group to halt. When it was established that everyone was traveling with the Grey Wardens, the suspicious looks and harsh tone gave way to begrudged respect. Alistair thought to himself, I could get used to this.

However, the meeting with Zathrian didn't go so well. He showed everyone around the camp and gave the wardens an ultimatum: help his clan by bringing Zathrian the heart of some werewolf leader and he would agree to help the wardens.

Maybe traveling with the wardens wasn't all puppies and sunshine, Alistair amended to this earlier thought. These elves … and probably the mages, dwarves and Arl Eamon … are going to want the wardens to work for their help … treaties be damned. "How did you incur the wrath of a werewolf alpha?" Alistair had increasingly irritated the Keeper by interrupting with his questions.

Zathrian ignored Alistair. "Da'len, please tell your shem companions that this is not their discussion to interrupt."

"Just a min …" Alistair attempted to reply; however, a large shadow flew over the camp and landed nearby. It was a dragon. Was a dragon. It became a female in red scale armor. "Wow, I want to learn how to become a dragon."

The woman stepped up. "How do you know I'm not a dragon."

"Bullshit. I told you I wanted the truth." The Seeker wasn't amused.

"This is the story I was told, Seeker! I was told by Carver of all people. That boy never embellished anything." Varric took a sip of ale.

"Fine … but if you tell me they all flew to Kirkwall on a dragon …" She put her hands on her hips.

"Nothing quite so fanciful, I assure you."

"Continue…"

The dragonlady laughed … more like cackled. "Well, well, what have we here? Morrigan?"

In unison, everyone turned toward Morrigan. "Mother, you really should stop with these overly dramatic entrances. The wardens are simply trying to convince the Dalish to honor their treaty."

"Asha'bellanar!" Zathrian went to his knee in front of the old woman.

"The last time I saw you, you were a decrepit old woman. This is a different look for you, Flemeth." Devon had a frown on his face.

"Flemeth? The Flemeth?" Alistair had heard all the tales about the Witch of the Wilds.

"Names are pretty, but useless." Flemeth narrowed her eyes at Alistair. "You are he, are you not?"

"Yes, Mother, but Alistair won't be staying here in Ferelden … much to my relief." Morrigan looked more uncomfortable than … come to think of it, Alistair had never seen Morrigan uncomfortable. He couldn't blame her … with Flemeth for a mother.

"No." Flemeth took a step closer to Alistair and he really, really wanted to shift into an owl and fly away … but then, dragons probably ate owls. "No, you have a different path before you. Always remember, Alistair Theirin Hawke, no path is darker than when your eyes are shut. Remember that for yourself. Remind those around you."

Then the red-armored woman with her hair drawn up to look like dragon horns then turned her rather intense gaze toward Zathrian. "And, have you decided to honor your commitments?"

"We have a situation, Asha'bellanar, that needs resolution first." Zathrian's bluster fled in the face of Flemeth.

Flemeth looked around the camp. "So, the consequences of your ill-advised magic has come home to roost at last." She motioned around at the ill and dying Dalish elves. "Will you allow your own clan to die so you can live more years?"

Zathrian's assistant or apprentice or second-in-command spun to look at him in surprise. "What magic does she speak of, Keeper? You told us you avoided the quickening by staying clear of humans."

Flemeth cackled for a moment and glanced back at Alistair. "A pretty good example of what I told you." Then, she turned to the girl. "What is your name?"

"Lanaya, Asha'bellanar."

"Lanaya, your Keeper has lied to you and to your clan." Flemeth took a deep breath. "End this, Zathrian. End it now. There's a Blight in Ferelden. We don't have time for your grievances from a century ago. These wardens have other places to be."

"I don't know what you …" Zathrian was interrupted when a circle of werewolves emerged from the forest, led by a striking half-naked woman. She was lithe and beautiful … but the little flowers opening and closing on the vines holding up her breasts tended to draw Alistair's complete attention from some of the details of the conversation. He caught the main bits well enough.

The werewolves growled and snarled until the woman held up her hand. "Yes, Zathrian, it is time."

One of the werewolves walked up to an older elf. "Athras, it is me … Danyla … please make the pain stop."

Athras stormed up to Zathrian. "You told us that none of us had turned." He pointed back to the werewolf. "That is my wife, Keeper! That is Danyla! If you can save her, you must do it!"

Alistair could sense that Zathrian then realized he had been outplayed, but he wasn't going to give up easily. "I bound this spirit and cursed you humans for a good reason! You killed my son and raped my daughter! She killed herself rather than bear a mongrel child! I will not forgive you! I will not lift this curse!" He turned to Flemeth. "You speak of consequences? I have merely meted out the consequences to all humans for their actions."

The "mongrel child" comment made Alistair twitch a little. He could tell that Devon noticed.

"That … that was over a hundred years ago, Keeper." Lanaya looked at her Keeper with pity and sympathy … and revulsion.

For a moment it looked like Zathrian was going to turn on his First. Alistair stepped between them. "Wait!" A purplish gray translucent orb was circling Alistair's right hand.

"You human mages cannot stand against my magic!" Zathrian started some gestures indicating he was beginning a spell.

As Alistair's father taught him, most mages assumed an enemy without a blade would never touch them. That roles were always maintained in a battle. Enemies with weapons and armor would advance to harm you. Enemies with magic and bows would keep their distance. Zathrian, for all his years and experience obviously thought no differently.

Alistair grabbed Zathrian's free hand with his right hand. The orb left Alistair's hand and began to circle Zathrian's head. "No, maybe not, but this little spell will disorient you long enough if I trigger it." As if to punctuate what Alistair was saying, the werewolves started to growl and snarl while advancing a step or two. "Spirit, please keep your folk away. There are some things we need to know first."

Morrigan stepped up to Zathrian also. "This curse wouldn't end with your death, would it, old man."

The ancient elf couldn't help glancing up at the orb circling his head. "No, it would not. It would never end. Perhaps I should let them kill me! Perhaps I should end my life myself."

Alistair released Zathrian's arm and held his hands in a submissive stance. "The humans who did those horrible things are long dead. By extending your curse, you only cause more pain … you have become the monster you claim them to be."

"How dare you say this to me, shemlin! You cannot know what I went through …" Zathrian shook his staff in Alistair's face. "… what I go through every day thinking of what my children would have become!"

Alistair paused a moment and then said quietly. "I wonder. Would they have grown up with no mercy in their hearts? Would they have allowed the clan to die or turn into werewolves — something that seems to affect elf as well as human?" He turned his head to the side. "Would they be looking at you with the same horror as your clan does now?"

Devon whispered to Daldain, just loudly enough for Alistair to hear it, "That … is leadership."

One of the larger werewolves snarled, "We kill him now, Lady!"

The spirit stopped the werewolf. "Swiftrunner, if there is no room in our hearts for mercy, how can we ask it of him?"

Alistair's words or the spirit's words seemed to give Zathrian pause. "If I end the curse, spirit, you will die as well."

The spirit turned to Zathrian. "You are my maker, Zathrian. You gave me life. I have loved and sorrowed … felt pain and joy. I have lived long enough. I am ready to go."

Several long minutes passed while Zathrian stood stock still and thought. The only sounds were from the birds, the nearby halla and the horribly ill elves. Alistair readied a spell to incapacitate the old elf, but he didn't need it. "You shame me spirit. Perhaps it is time to end this."

Alistair watched as Zathrian went through a complicated ritual. He marked the ground at eight equidistant points. Then, he carried artifacts from his aravel and placed them at each point. In the middle of the construction, Alistair glanced at Flemeth. She was watching Zathrian with equal scrutiny. She caught Alistair looking at her. She simply nodded at him once. He assumed she meant that Zathrian wasn't about to kill them all. This ritual was completely unfamiliar to him. Elvhen magic. Alistair made a mental note to learn more about it.

As the sun was going down, Zathrian faced north and began chanting. It was a long ritual. It was dark by the time he was finished. Campfires and torches had been lit. With his final words, he drew the spirit inside the octagon and she began to chant along with him. There was no burst of light or sound. It ended in silence. As the song of the night forest began, both Zathrian and the spirit simply died. The elf crumbled to a pile of bone and ash. The spirit transformed into a beam of light that faded in a few moments.

The silence was broken by crying. Danyla had reformed into an elf. She, Athras and their daughter fell together with tears of joy. All around the camp, the werewolves transformed into humans. They quickly left, wanting nothing more to do with the elves. Alistair took a step to help them if he could, but was constrained by the hand of his mother. "They need to find their own way, son. They are free. The last thing they want is charity from you or any of the Dalish."

"She's right, Alistair." Devon and Lanaya walked up. "If they want help, they'll ask for it."

"And, if they ask, our clan with do whatever we can." Lanaya sighed. "He was a good Keeper, despite what you've just seen." She turned to Devon. "As for the treaty, we will honor it. Tomorrow, our scouts will go out and notify the other clans still here in the Brecilian that the Dalish will fight beside the Grey Wardens to end the Blight."

"Keeper Lanaya, do you know where the Sabre Clan is?" Ariel asked.

Oddly, Lanaya glanced toward Flemeth. "They have already gone north, da'len. I am sorry. I believe they're headed to Sundermount outside Kirkwall."

Ariel looked at Alistair. "You're going to Kirkwall. Will you take a letter to Keeper Marethari for me?"

"Of course." Alistair turned to Devon. "Can we leave in the morning?"

"Actually, the wardens cannot. It's a three-day journey to Gwaren and three-days back." Flemeth was standing right behind Alistair. Her voice made him jump. She walked in front of Devon. "You will need to go through the Bannorn to get to the mages or the dwarves since Lothering and the Imperial Highway are overrun." She smiled at Alistair. "I will see to it that they safely make it to Gwaren."

Devon frowned. "She's right, Alistair. We really should be about the business of ending the Blight."

"We understand. Thank you for your help … and friendship." Alistair grinned. "I expect to receive a letter from time to time. I guess just send it to Kirkwall, the Amell estate."

And, so, they parted ways with the Grey Wardens. The Hawkes gave the wagon and Dobby to the wardens — to use or sell or give to the werewolf/humans if they came across them — and went on foot for the rest of the journey. The wardens headed to recruit the mages, the dwarves and Arl Eamon.

The Hawkes began to make their way to Gwaren, with Flemeth's help.

However, it wasn't an easy three days. Flemeth pretty much left them alone, but they caught her dragon's shadow flying around from time to time. In the middle of the second day, they came upon a man and woman battling a group of darkspawn in an open meadow. The woman was a soldier. The man was a Templar. Without Bethany's and Alistair's magic, the pair would have died.

"Hold, apostate!" the Templar said when the battle was over.

"Well, the Maker does have a sense of humor." Bethany just shook her head and sighed.

"Wesley, they saved us," the woman said quietly.

Wesley stood his ground a moment longer and then took a deep breath. "You're right, Aveline. Until we get out of all this, you and I have an accord."

Carver narrowed his eyes. "I know you. You're Lieutenant Aveline Vallen. You helped us get away when Loghain deserted."

Aveline smiled. "I was glad to help. Loghain should hang for what he did."

Before she could say more, the ground started rumbling and Flemeth landed, reforming into her red armored self. "An ogre is on the way." She noticed Wesley begin to do something — probably a smite. She laughed. Wesley was petrified before he could do anything else. "Keep your man under control. We're going to need everyone." She turned back to Alistair. "I'll try to keep the hundred or so darkspawn with the ogre busy, but you'll need to handle the ogre. It's coming your way."

Alistair nodded and looked around. "Form a circle around Mother and Bethany. Carver?" He waited a moment until Carver nodded. "You're going to need to keep it off us along with Aveline and Wesley."

"Got it." Carver turned to Flemeth. "Let him go." Then, he grinned at Aveline. "She'll make sure he behaves."

Just before she shapeshifted, she dropped the spell on Wesley. His recovery was long enough for her to shift into her dragon and fly far enough away.

The battle was upon them before any more could be said or done. The ogre was huge. Carver even said it seemed to be larger than the ones at Ostagar. As much as they heard Flemeth's roars and saw her flames burn countless darkspawn, some still got through. It seemed like hours, but it was maybe thirty minutes. All the darkspawn lay dead. All the Hawke's survived as well as Aveline and Wesley … but Wesley had a dark secret.

Flemeth landed as Wesley fell. In some people, the Blight took days or weeks to appear. In some, it took much less time. Wesley was the second kind of person. He groaned as Flemeth said, "Before we move on, there is something we need to take care of."

Aveline resisted until Wesley asked her to end his life … better than a slow, painful death from the Blight. They performed a small, short funeral. Flemeth's flames made for a quick pyre. Her frost breath cooled the ashes instantly. Alistair helped Aveline gather the ashes in a small tin Leandra found in their things. "Would you like to come with us, Aveline?"

The woman hadn't shed a tear the entire time, but when Alistair asked that question, she began to weep. She nodded and simply motioned for them to move on.

By the middle of the third day, they crested a rise and could see the port town of Gwaren ahead. It seemed so serene … pretty as a picture. "I shall be leaving you here." Flemeth laughed. "Cities and I don't get along well." She reached into a side pocket and pulled out an amulet. "You have a letter to take to Keeper Marethari. In return for my help, I would like you to get this to Marethari as well."

Alistair took the amulet. It was warm to the touch and it hummed with magic. He drew his eyebrows together. "A phylactery?"

Flemeth allowed him to witness a moment of surprise. "I should have known you would sense what it was." She moved closer and looked deeply into Alistair's eyes. Finally, she quietly said, "Hurdled into the chaos, you fight …" She whispered the rest. "… and the world will shake before you."

No one else heard her comment. Alistair wanted to ask her what she meant, but she quickly reformed into the dragon and flew away. They left that evening on a ship called Wavecrest and a two-week trip to Kirkwall.

Alistair would have a long time to ponder the meaning of Flemeth's parting words.

"Flemeth. I should have guessed she would involve herself." Cassandra paced in front. "But it all seems so incredible."

Varric shrugged. "You've heard the tale of the warden. I always wondered if maybe she was orchestrating all this shit … but Flemeth seemed to think that Alistair would be the one responsible." Varric sat back in his chair. "Maybe she was right."

AN: Thank you for all reviews, favorites and follows! I've always thought that Zathrian knocking his staff on stone was a bit too easy to end such a pervasive curse. ;) Also, no dead Carver/Bethany based on the choice of rogue/warrior/mage. Next week, we delve into the DAII story; however, the order will be different from the game. :)

The Invisible Pretender, ah yes, the vaunted throne of Ferelden. LOL … what a horrible, horrible job that would be with those wackos in the Bannorn! But, on the other hand, one never knows what the future holds. ;)

Judy, thanks for your kind words for Alistair Hawke, for What Could Go Wrong and for What Have We Here. I liked writing those stories. We'll have to see if I have it in me to put a hard stop on What Have We Here, after I get done with this one. :)

Superstar Kid, welcome! Thank you for the words of encouragement! They really help. It's fun to play around in this world, skirting canon with freedom from game mechanics. I hope you continue to enjoy it. :)