CHAPTER 9

..x..

Upon arriving in Lothering, Everil walked down the ramp from the highway, hands closing into fists as she witnessed the full extent of the situation in the south. An acrid scent of blood, dirt, and waste drifted towards them as the cold breeze blew over from the tents set up at one side of the village. Some people huddled in groups near their make-shift camp or by their wagons, praying to the Maker for protection. Others were frantically patching up the wounded who encountered darkspawn or bandits along the way. While Templars, clad in their silver plate armor, walked the streets, attempting to maintain order in the chaos. The depressing view definitely took away from what little scenery there was as the town's great windmills blended into a background of misery.

"Ah, there it is… Lothering. Pretty as a painting." Alistair spread his arms dramatically next to her, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"It seems the village already knows the darkspawn horde is approaching."

He released a troubled sigh. "Yes, I would say they have just a few days left. A week tops. Most of these people will likely keep moving north. The rest probably won't be able to travel or will be too stubborn to leave their lands behind."

They descended the rest of the way and trekked past the tents by the entrance, glancing about as grim faces looked their way. The cool weather and darkened skies didn't help lighten the mood, while the distant cries of children and the injured just made it worse. The town's Chantry soon came into view, its walls towering over the small buildings around it. More Templars stood guard near it while a single priest attached pieces of paper to a board by the gates.

"So… I'm wondering," Alistair began as they continued to walk. "How are we supposed to get any gear when we don't have the coin for it?"

Everil's brow creased. "I'm working on that… But first, I want to look for my brother, Fergus. He was not part of the king's main forces. So if he survived Ostagar, then I believe he may have made his way here too."

"It's possible..."

"I do not believe so," Morrigan said wryly, stopping in her tracks. "Mother told me in great detail how the darkspawn decimated your armies. Your brother is probably dead, just as all the other soldiers."

The two Wardens halted and turned to her, Everil's eyes wide at her bluntness.

"How very sensitive of you." Alistair shot the witch yet another irritated look. "What will we find out about you next? That you eat poor, defenseless puppies? Because that wouldn't surprise me at all at this point."

Bjorn whined, shrinking away at his comment.

She rolled her eyes. "I am simply stating the obvious. Seeking a lost cause will only further waste precious time."

"How can you even—"

"She's right."

They both faced Everil.

"There are bigger things to worry about at the moment." She spun on her heel and resumed her steps. "Now, come on. Let's go find a merchant."

Alistair frowned at the back of her head, knowing he would probably be wanting to do the same thing if he had any hope Duncan might still be alive. If there was even the slightest chance he would have fled the battle to save himself. But he fought alongside the king, so if Cailan perished, he was certain his mentor did too.

They kept moving further into the village, through the narrow streets, and by more wooden houses. Some villagers were leaning against walls or sitting on the ground beside their homes, watching them pass with little interest. A small bridge went over a rolling stream running through the village, which they crossed to reach the town square. Children ran past them from the side, joining another chasing an unlucky chicken by the pens in a corner, the road near them leading to the farmland beyond. All were dirty and with smiles on their faces, oblivious to the danger approaching day by day.

Soon they reached the only store they could find. It was a wooden hut, its outside walls worn and faded from exposure to Ferelden's often rainy and frigid weather. Everil opened the door and entered as the others followed, eyes glancing around at the rough build of the objects hanging on display. Wooden shields, iron swords, simple bows, and some miscellaneous gear. All made or bought by the rugged, middle-aged man behind the counter.

"New faces…" greeted the owner as he folded his arms over a broad chest. "And it seems you're better off than the sods that keep showing up in the village."

Ignoring his comment, Everil approached him, placing both hands on the wooden table. "We need camping gear and cooking tools. Do you have anything of the sort?"

"Hrm… Yes. I have a few tents and other things the folk outside haven't claimed yet. The damn Chantry forced me to give them my merchandise, saying some hogwash about helping the needy." He met her gaze, a glint in his eye as he ran a hand throughout a thick beard. "But you're clearly not the needy sort, so you'll have to pay extra… Bigger demand, you know…"

"Not the needy sort?" Alistair repeated with a humorless half-smile. "Don't let the fancy swords fool you, we're very much poor at the moment."

"What can we get for this much coin?" Everil produced the pouch they'd taken from the bandits, placing it on the table before him.

The man opened it and dumped the coins onto the table, scowling upon seeing the meager amount. "You can get just half a tent! If you ain't willing to make an offer worth my time, you might as well walk out of my store, lass."

"Such a greedy little man…" Morrigan commented with an annoyed glare.

"Can't you be a bit more lenient?" Alistair gave him a pleading look. "We seriously need this stuff."

The shopkeeper huffed. "I'm here to make business, not for charity. The Chantry already robbed me of my earnings. So cough up something worth my while or get out."

Everil thoughtfully looked at the coin with knitted eyebrows. Their journey would be long and arduous. They required the tents for shelter and the cooking gear for their meals. She also needed a bow and some arrows for hunting. Just the trip from here to the next village would take close to a week on foot. And they could not risk getting ill from exposure to the elements, especially in Ferelden's often freezing nights.

"Very well…" Slowly, she reached up for the golden chain currently hanging from her neck along with the Joining pendant, sliding it up and over her head. She reluctantly placed it over the coins, releasing a heavy breath. "How much would you give me for this…?"

"Hrn…" He took the jeweled medallion between his calloused fingers, observing the detail of the two branches over its surface. "Ain't this Highever's coat of arms?"

Everil nodded and crossed her arms. "It's gold encrusted with diamonds. It used to belong to the teyrn and teyrna of Highever."

"Aye… Seems quite valuable," said the shopkeeper, biting onto the small medal as he tested her claim. "Where'd you get this, girl?"

"Does it matter?"

There was a pause.

"Nay… I hear the Couslands are all dead, anyways. I can make me a good sum of coin off this. Especially up in Denerim after I leave here this week." He shrugged and gave her a dismissive wave while stashing the necklace in his pocket. "Pick whatever you need. It's yours."

"Not so fast…" Everil's eyes hardened, her tone turning frigid. "That necklace is worth more than any of the rubbish you're selling. I want our gear, a bow, and coin to go along with it."

Morrigan and Alistair exchanged a brief glance before staring at her with raised brows.

"Now, that's a good joke," he laughed before his expression darkened. "I ain't giving you any coin. Just take the rest and leave my—"

A sword was thrust at his face, shocking him into a stupor as the point hovered inches from his nose.

The woman's eyes turned dangerously into slits. "Whoever said I was joking? Give me all the coin you have plus what we need and we may call it even."

He gulped, staring at that edge and at the intent behind her stare. It was true he would make whatever he was owed and a little extra as soon he sold the trinket, but he half expected she wouldn't have known better. That she would be foolish and desperate enough to leave him her treasure and walk out with the subpar merchandise. But it was obvious that was not going to be the case.

"Fine, fine…" Glowering at her, he slowly reached under the counter and produced a large pouch, letting it fall upon the table with a thump. "This be all of it."

She glanced towards Alistair. "Please inspect it."

"Got it…" He stepped forth and picked up the bag, opening it. "There's a handful of coppers… About ten or fifteen silvers… Oh, and three sovereigns?" He gave the man a curious look. "This is quite a bit of coin considering the size of this village. How in the Maker's name did you make this much here?"

"I'm willing to bet the Chantry stepped in because he was taking advantage of the refugees, just as he tried to take advantage of us," Everil answered for him, her glare still upon the shopkeeper. "Am I wrong?"

The man only scowled at her, silence his only answer.

"Why am I not surprised?" Alistair sighed and shook his head. During dire times like these, it was always the weak who received the short end of the stick. Their hardship made them easy prey for those looking to enrich themselves at the expense of their misery. And it didn't help that the majority of the common folk were illiterate, so while most had enough wits about them, many did not know what went on outside of their own little towns and settlements.

"All right…" She lowered her weapon. "Let's pick up what we came for and get the rest of what we need elsewhere."

They proceeded to stuff a travel bag with three tents, a pot, and utensils, all the while the shopkeeper merely watched, keeping his mouth shut the entire time. The three of them and the hound then made for the door, with Alistair carrying the bag over one shoulder. Everil stopped before exiting, turning to the merchant as she sheathed her sword, bow and quiver now strapped to her back.

"Don't forget that it was your own greed that got you into this mess. Good day," she muttered irritably, and without waiting for a reply, walked out and slammed the door shut.

"Damn it…" the merchant grumbled. "Who were those people?"

.x.x.x.x.

After leaving the town's only merchant they split up to trade with the traveling caravans for the rest of what they needed. Alistair was sent away to pick up food they could carry with them on the road while Morrigan fetched medicinal poultices and herbs they didn't already have. Everil tasked herself with the wine and furs, not wanting to risk any of them falling to water illness or sleep on the cold ground without covers to keep them warm.

The night was falling by the time she was done running her share of the errands and she approached the inn, a bag strapped to one shoulder and Bjorn tailing her. As they neared the door, her ears caught the banter of two men standing outside. They each seemed to be farmers, covered in dirt and grime while drinking after a long day's work. One of them was leaning against the inn's wall, a pint of ale in one hand. "I hear Teyrn Loghain is recruiting people for the war against the darkspawn."

"After what happened to the king?" the other man said with a scoff, scratching the scruff on his face. "I'm telling ya, I ain't joining no army unless they make me."

"Well, they say the teyrn was the one who killed the king. That it was over the crown," the farmer said quietly, yet not quietly enough for her not to hear.

"Really? I thought it was the Grey Wardens that did him in."

"Aye." He shrugged and took a drink before wiping his mouth. "But who knows what's what? You can't trust anyone these days."

Everil let out a dry chuckle, murmuring to herself. "You can say that again..."

Tired of eavesdropping on the topic, she opened the door to the building and stepped into the tavern. Music from a lone town bard greeted her, the melody of the lute instantly putting a little cheer in her chest. A fireplace burned at one corner of the room, illuminating the area while also providing it with its warmth. A bar was off at the far side, with an old, balding man standing behind it, polishing cups. The place was small, but full of drinking men in both armor and rags, all either travelers or villagers. They didn't look at her as she walked by them, too preoccupied with their own drinks to care.

She took a seat in an open table and set down the pack with the furs and the bottles of wine she managed to trade with one of the traveling wagons. It had been a bit more expensive than expected, but those people needed the coin more than her party did. And at least they had been more reasonable than the man who now kept her necklace in his pocket.

With a sigh, she hailed the waitress.

"Yes, how can I help you, my lady?"

Everil placed a few coins in her hand. "Wine, ham, and bread please."

The woman gave her an apologetic bow. "I-I'm afraid we only have ale and cheese, my lady. And the bread, of course."

"It's quite all right… Whatever you have is fine." She smiled, slightly ashamed. She had to remind herself things were not the same in such a tiny village, especially when compared to a large town like Highever. Not to mention food must be scarce right now, with so many refugees.

Once her meal was set over the table, Everil gave her thanks and pinched at the bread, bringing it to her mouth and chewing slowly. It was nowhere near as good as the bread Nan used to make for them, but it wasn't as bad as the other nobles made it out to be when they spoke of eating from local towns during their travels. Swallowing, she pinched another bit and took a piece from the cheese, eating in pleasant silence as she waited for her companions to join her as agreed.

But her quiet moment was rudely interrupted when a knife stabbed her table with a loud thunk. It was held by an armored hand, one she slowly followed up with her eyes, along the arm and up to its owner. He had intricate plated armor on his body. Expensive gear. Which meant that he was likely a knight serving under someone powerful or a powerful man himself.

"What's a beautiful woman such as yourself doing in a place like this? And all alone, no less..." The gruff man snickered down at her, dark skin and black hair clashing against the shining silver of his armor.

Bjorn growled from beneath the table, his whole body tensing with hostility. She reached under and scratched his ear, her way of telling him everything was fine. Her hound was still injured, and this man didn't look to be the compassionate type. He could surely kill her dog without a second thought.

"Considering the number of people coming into the village these days, I find that question rather foolish." Everil returned her attention to the food, completely unfazed by his attempt at intimidation. "I also fail to see how my purpose here is any of your concern."

"How dare you, woman?" he growled at her, clenching his jaw. "You will address me with respect, for I serve as knight to Teyrn Loghain. Your new king."

"Oh? I didn't realize he would be crowned king in such a short time. King Cailan's body is not even cold yet." She earned another angry look from him as she nonchalantly dipped some bread in ale and nibbled on it.

"You dare slander King Loghain's name?"

She swallowed and licked her lips before lifting her nose at him. "I believe the better question here is… Why are you bothering me?"

"Hmph… That tongue of yours will surely get you killed one day. Which may be today…" He leaned down, his face so close she could smell the ale he drank moments before. "You resemble one of the Grey Wardens I saw in Ostagar. The same ones my king ordered we execute on sight."

"I don't know what you speak of, ser. I only just arrived here."

"Sure you do…" He reached for her, gloved fingers brushing the soft waves of her locks. "I remember that beautiful girl… She was the last Grey Warden to arrive with Duncan."

Everil stiffened at the intrusion, her hold on the cup tightening. "I don't know who this Duncan is. Now, would you please—"

"Don't lie to me, woman!" He grabbed a fistful of hair and forcibly lifted her from the chair, drawing a cry. "I know it's you!"

Growling furiously, she slammed the iron pint against his face with all her might. It smashed his nose while splashing ale all over, forcing him to release his hold on her. He stumbled back, whimpering in pain while attempting to catch the blood now pouring freely down his chin and to the floor. At the same time, all noise stopped and the doors to the tavern opened as Alistair and Morrigan walked in, pausing at the scene that greeted them.

Their companion stood by a table, holding a dented ale mug in one hand while casting a murderous glare upon a man who was currently trying to put his face back together.

"What in the…?" Alistair blinked.

Morrigan sighed with a roll of her eyes. "My, but the fun never ends..."

"I don't know what your problem is, but I suggest you stand down if you wish to return to your Teyrn Loghain in one piece," Everil bit out as the rest of her party began to approach her from behind.

Other armored soldiers stood from their seats around the bar, walking towards the knight. They seemed lower in rank, however. Possibly guards accompanying him in his travels.

"Loghain…?"Alistair asked stiffly, scowling at them. "I take it they know who we are."

Her intense stare never left the men. "Yes… That one remembered me."

"Ah, so there's another Grey Warden still alive!" the knight bellowed, a smirk spreading over his bloodied features. "Even better… We'll kill them both in my lord's name!"

"Hah! Right... Says the fellow with the broken face," Alistair mocked with a smirk.

A redheaded woman dressed in red and white robes approached the bunch, the golden flaming sword upon her chest marking her as a sister from the Chantry. She stepped between the Wardens and the soldiers, hands clasped over her skirt. Her voice was soft as velvet. "Gentlemen, please. Many people here are scared and weary. You will only frighten them more."

"I don't care about any of them!" The knight regarded everyone around him angrily, waving a dismissive hand before pointing at them. "They are dead meat anyway. These bastards betrayed the king and now seek to slander my lord's name. I will not allow them to continue living." He glared directly at her. "Now, get out of the way sister. Or you will be cut down too!"

One of them reached for her and the sister swiftly responded, arms shooting out and grabbing his. She instantly disarmed him, twisting the limb behind his back. "Please, violence is not the answer to every problem..." The nun strained his arm further until a pop was heard. He cried out, trying to free himself from her as another soldier tried to help his friend.

Everil watched in stunned silence as the smaller woman easily forced her victim to his knees and spun to kick the other between the legs.

"Ooh…" Alistair winced.

The man squeaked breathlessly as he fell to the floor, hands covering his screaming groin. Another soldier cried out as he and his friends joined in.

With a determined stare, Everil quickly threw a punch, hitting one across the face before he could use his weapon. Then she ducked from an axe as she drew her dagger, deflected a hit before bringing her blade back around and hitting his head with the pommel. She kicked him in the gut, forcing all air out of him before punching him in the jaw. The man fell on his back, and another swung down with his blade, which she knocked away with an upwards hit.

Meanwhile, Alistair blocked a sword with an armored arm and swung with the other, his closed fist connecting with the man's mouth. He punched again, this time knocking him to the floor. Another soldier came, trying to run him through with a blade. The Warden dodged and grabbed his sword arm before striking him in the gut.

A disinterested Morrigan stood back, arms crossed while watching the others brawl. Until one of the men got too close, trying to grab her. She dodged and pulled her staff from her back and swung, striking his face and sending him falling onto a nearby table.

Loghain's knight rushed in, reaching for Everil as he drew his sword. But before he could grab her, the sister drew a dagger and blocked his attack. The knight snarled, the bleeding nose giving him a savage look as he put all strength into his sword, making her struggle against the blade.

"Move sister!" Everil commanded from the rear as she dashed towards them.

The nun did, breaking the stalemate as he stumbled forward. Everil moved in low, the blade missing her head as she sliced through his exposed elbow, severing muscle and tendons. He dropped his sword, wailing and falling on a knee while cradling the arm.

In a blink, Everil was pointing her sword at him, casting a cold look upon him.

"Stop!" He swallowed, looking to the floor in defeat. "We yield…"

Around them, his men were slowly rising, all groaning, bleeding, and with bruises of their own.

The sister walked up to her. "They have surrendered. There is no need for further bloodshed. Please, spare them."

Everil gave her a sideward glance, and after a long pause, slowly lowered her weapon. "Very well…" she uttered with a scowl before suddenly grabbing the knight by his breastplate and looking him in the eye. "Send a message to Loghain for us. Tell him the Grey Wardens know what really happened."

"Y-Yes, of course! Right away!" He nodded frantically, pushing himself up and ushering his men out. The group watched them leave as she sheathed her weapon.

"Thank you for sparing them. You are kind." The sister bowed her head lightly. "My name is Leliana. I am a lay sister of the Chantry… or I was."

"My name is Everil, and these are Alistair and Morrigan." She gestured towards them. Her dog emerged from under the table, sitting beside her as he gave the nun a bark in greeting. "And this is my hound, Bjorn."

"Well met." Leliana nodded at them.

Everil raised an inquisitive brow, eyeing the dagger strapped to the woman's back. "So… where does a sister learn to fight like that?"

The nun chuckled, her laughter as light and alluring as silk. "We aren't all born in the Chantry, you know. Some of us come from… more colorful pasts."

"I see... Well, thank you for—"

"Oh, this must be what my dream meant!" Leliana suddenly took her hand in both of hers, making her tense. Then her blue eyes turned steely as they stared straight at hers. "I would like to come with you on your journey. To help battle the Blight."

"What?" the three party members voiced in unison.

"W-Why so eager to help?" Everil questioned, feeling a little uncomfortable under the woman's beautiful eyes.

Leliana slowly let go of her, looking at the floor nervously as she fumbled with her fingers. "This is going to sound completely insane…. But I had a dream. A vision! The Maker told me to help you!"

"Oh, great… More crazy. I thought we were all full up," Alistair muttered from behind Everil.

"I-I don't know what to say..." Everil grinned awkwardly. It wasn't every day someone walked up and claimed to see visions and premonitions. And it certainly was unusual for a nun to just offer up her help to fight monsters. "We do need the help, yes, but I'm not sure it's a good idea."

Leliana's smile didn't waver. "I'm quite skilled in combat, as you saw. That would be useful, no? Please think about it, at least." They watched as she made for the door, waving sweetly at them. "I will be at the Chantry. Seek me out once you have made your decision." And she was gone just as the music picked back up and those in the tavern returned to their drinks and chats as if nothing happened.

Alistair cautiously regarded his fellow Warden. "You're not going to let her join us, are you?"

"I don't know… She was odd, but also impressive to watch."

"I suppose so…"

"Come on." She started towards the bar counter. "Let's see if we can still get a room after all the mess we caused…"