CHAPTER 12
..x..
They shuffled across the empty hallway on the inn's second floor, passing by vacant bedrooms that beckoned them after the many days of sleeping on the ground. The voices of men working outside drifted in through the open window ahead as the townsfolk prepared for their upcoming battle. At least they had enough hands to ready themselves, for the three of them surely needed a breather.
"Seems we will have a great deal of excitement tonight," said Leliana, smiling hopelessly as the group paused and turned to each other. "At least we have an idea of what's about to happen. Unlike Lothering…"
"Yes…" Everil sighed, then offered her a lopsided smile. "It won't be an easy fight, but if we stick to the plan we should be able to make it through in one piece."
"I am certainly glad they listened to you…" The nun let out a huff, then gripped the handle of the door beside her. "I will go pray to the Maker now… Maybe he can grant us a little bit of luck."
"Sounds like a good idea to me…" Alistair muttered, also dreading the fight.
"See you soon…" She smiled a little at the two before walking in.
Both Grey Wardens then watched her door click shut before Everil let out a long, exhausted breath and shifted her gaze to the next room. "I suppose I could do the same thing…"
"Erm… Before you do…"
Her eyes turned to Alistair as he approached her, a somewhat grim expression on his face. "There's something I have to tell you… In private. May I?"
A quizzical look crossed her face at his request, but she nodded nonetheless. "Sure... Come on in."
"Thanks…" He anxiously followed her and the hound into her chosen chamber, his steps slow and hesitant.
The room was rather small, with a window letting in some of the remaining daylight, which bathed the few pieces of furniture inside. One bed sat against a wall, covered in furs, and with a nightstand sitting next to it. A modest dining table was set up in a corner, a vase of dried flowers and a candle resting on top, while a chair sat beside it. Worn wolf fur served as a carpet for decoration, along with a couple of plain paintings depicting lakeside landscapes.
As if he owned the place, Bjorn trotted past them to the bed and hopped onto it before lazily curling into a ball. He yawned loudly and lowered his head, gazing at the pair as his mistress approached.
"What's on your mind?" Everil plopped down at the edge of the mattress, still curiously regarding her companion.
"Uhm… All right, so…" Alistair pulled up the nearby chair to set it in front of her, releasing a breath while taking a seat. "Remember that secret I needed time to tell you?"
"Yes, I remember," she replied with a slight, puzzled frown.
"Well… I… I just want you to know about it now in case it becomes a problem for you later on. Especially here in Redcliffe. And… Well... after all we've been through together… I think you deserve to know anyway." He leaned over, resting an elbow on his knee while nervously scratching the back of his head. "I already told you I'm a bastard… and that I didn't know who my father was." He swallowed, his remorseful eyes set on the wooden floor. "I lied about that... The truth is that I do know who he is—or rather, who he was."
Everil tilted her head, hands clasped over her lap as she patiently waited for him to continue. Her expression held no judgment as she watched him struggle to speak. Whatever it was he was trying to say was clearly not easy for him, so she would let him take his time.
Taking in a deep breath, Alistair paused for a moment and mustered his courage. Then his troubled gaze met hers as the words that weighed him down finally came. "My father... was King Maric."
Her eyebrows slowly moved up and her jaw went slack. "Huh?"
"My mother was a maid in the royal palace," he elaborated in almost a whisper, gaze straying down once more. "The king grew infatuated with her and took her to his chambers. When they found out she was with child, she was sent away to Redcliffe Castle. It was here that my mother gave birth to me and where she died shortly after. So Arl Eamon took me in… And well... you already know the rest."
Still not quite believing her ears, Everil was finding it difficult to utter the right words in response. Of all the things she imagined his secret would be, it had certainly not been this. She actually thought it would be more along the lines of him having accidentally killed someone or done something he regretted. Things a bit more expected, considering the reputation some of the Grey Wardens once held. Which, she realized, actually added a bit of humor to the news. So in spite of the weight of the conversation, she chuckled and allowed a small grin to spread over her lips. "So... You're not only a bastard, but a royal bastard?"
Alistair blinked a few times, then released a soft, surprised laugh. "Hey, that's clever! Maybe I should use that line more often." He shook his head, smiling a little at her sense of humor. "But yes… I am the late King Maric's bastard son. Which also makes Cailan my half-brother, I suppose."
"Maker… That's really something," she uttered as he stared directly at her. And now that she looked at him, really looked at him, she could see the incredible resemblance to both his father and his brother. She had seen the same elegant nose on portraits at the royal palace, along with the same strong, square jaw and fair skin. And she could recall the same kind, warm eyes on Cailan's face during the times he visited Highever to spar or go on hunting trips with her brother. The three men even shared the same blond hair—although Alistair's was a shade darker. Everil did not know how she managed to miss all of that before. But it was now obvious to her from where his looks came from.
"Why…?" she voiced quietly, knitting her eyebrows. "Why did they keep it a secret?"
"Because I was an inconvenience… A possible threat to Cailan's rule. So they kept me hidden as far away from the throne as they possibly could. Which was fine by me, since I have no interest in becoming Ferelden's king. The very thought of that ever happening terrifies me." A sigh escaped him as he rose to his feet and he walked towards the open window, lifting an arm to lean against the frame. A brief pause came as Alistair gazed upon Redcliffe Castle in the distance, uncertainty coating his next words. "Arl Eamon would be better suited to rule… If he still lives, that is. Ugh, I hope he still lives. I can barely make decisions for myself, for Maker's sake, let alone an entire country."
Everil sympathetically gazed at his back, seeing the tension on his shoulders. She slowly stood and took a few steps towards him, trying to think of what to say to make him feel better. It sounded as if he didn't have much say in his own life, with others around him pulling at the strings since his birth. From having been rejected by his father, to being cast away and sent to the Chantry against his will. And what made things worse was that it all made sense to her. As a noble herself, she knew many of them favored appearances over all else. They would trample over others to maintain the perfect image before the masses and amongst themselves. Some would even destroy their perceived enemies in the name of power and prestige, something she herself lived through when her family was murdered, and what possibly killed his own brother back in Ostagar.
A troubling thought occurred to her. "Does Loghain know about this?"
"Most likely…" He sent her an apprehensive glance. "He was the king's best friend, after all."
"Then we will need to be more careful out there. He could try to kill you in order to secure the throne," she said worriedly, coming to stand beside him.
"Heh... Maybe. But I'm sure he would be plotting something against us anyway. Which means we both have to be careful." Alistair lowered his arm, turning to face her. "Anyhow, that's all I wanted to tell you."
She grinned teasingly. "Are you sure? There is no other secret somewhere out there I should know about?"
A light chortle left him and he found himself relieved to see she was taking things so well. "Aside from my unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair, no. That's it. Just the prince thing."
"You know…" Everil slowly stepped closer, smirking up at him while playfully walking two fingers along the griffon on his chest. "I find there is something very thrilling about royalty..."
"Oh?" His eyebrows shot up in mock surprise and he gazed upon those captivating eyes, her flirtatious action causing his heart to skip a beat. "Did I just find the one damn decent thing about my birthright? I think I did…"
She chuckled lightly before casually resting the same hand on her hip. "So… Why didn't you tell me before? I thought you trusted me. I almost feel bad you didn't tell me sooner."
He winced a little. "Aw, please don't feel bad. I didn't tell you because it just... wasn't something I thought was... important. Even in the Grey Wardens, Duncan was the only one who knew." He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, gaze downcast in embarrassment. "And… I guess the main reason I didn't say anything after Ostagar was... Well… Because I didn't want you to treat me differently."
"Treat you differently...?"
"Anyone who found out about my parentage would always see the bastard prince instead of just Alistair. They would either coddle me or resent me for it. Even Duncan often found ways to keep me out of the fight." He swallowed anxiously and brought his gaze back to hers. "I… I didn't want you to find out for as long as possible because I didn't want things to change between us. I'm… I'm sorry."
"Alistair…" she whispered sadly.
He offered her a small, pleading grin. "So… please pretend I'm still just some nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens."
She hopelessly shook her head and regarded him with a gentle smile. "You're not a nobody to me, silly man. I honestly can't imagine going through any of this without you. So I would say that... The lucky one here is me."
A warm feeling spread through his chest at her kindness, one Alistair found difficult to describe and which left him temporarily at a loss for words. He had just told her of his deception and of his cowardice. Revealed to her the history behind his dirty, tainted blood. And yet this beautiful woman—a high-born girl who could have otherwise pushed him away—still welcomed him when few ever had. His lips spread into a tender smile and his hand tentatively took hers, surprising her.
Everil looked up at him as he held it, her heart rate slightly quickening as he stared into her eyes.
"I can't believe I didn't tell you sooner…" he murmured while standing mere inches from her. "I feel very unworthy of those words."
A brief silence befell them as the two young Wardens searched each other's features, the breeze flowing from the window causing their cloaks to sway gently. Then upon realizing how close they truly were, Alistair slowly turned away from her, a blush creeping up his cheeks. "Uhm…" He cleared his throat. "At any rate... We should follow Teagan's advice and get some rest before tonight."
"Right... " She nervously licked her lips and gave him a slight nod. "Yes..."
His hand fell to his side. "I'll… Uh... See you later?"
"Yes. Later…" Everil waved meekly at him as he walked away.
Her door clicked to a close behind him and she was left alone with her hound in the mostly empty room. At that moment, she released a soft breath and placed a hand over her chest. She had no idea what was happening, but her heart was refusing to stop pounding. The only other person to ever cause such a reaction had been Ser Gilmore, but those times were brief and mostly forgotten by now.
This was different. While Gilmore was a close, childhood friend, she and Alistair were only comrades. Two people who have seen and lived through too much in the short time since they met. Even their flirting was playful in nature, though she could not deny her attraction towards his good looks. How she sometimes imagined him holding her tightly in his strong arms as they sat by the campfire. Or how his lips tempted her to sneak a kiss if only to see him blush. Or how much she enjoyed the sight of him without all the armor, her fingers often itching to touch those rippling muscles.
"Ugh…" She pinched the bridge of her nose, heat rising to her face. "At this rate, this blasted chastity of mine will be the end of me…"
.x.x.x.x.
Frigid darkness enveloped the streets of Redcliffe, shrouding them in ominous shadows. The flame of torches flickered with the wind, their light shifting over the worn and fearful faces of those standing protectively before the Chantry's doors. More men were posted on the cliff above, a short distance from the village gates, which were now largely blocked by wooden barricades. There were no words uttered, all too hesitant to speak as they waited with their feet fidgeting anxiously on the spot. While their attention kept going to the castle, its desolate bridge visible from afar.
The two Grey Wardens were at the front of the line of knights, weapons in hand as they too gazed towards that dreaded place. They fought darkspawn, which were terrifying all on their own. But these were walking corpses. Reanimated remains of fellow men felled by whatever monster lay in waiting within the castle walls. A being perhaps even more dangerous than the soulless creatures they sought to defeat.
Long moments that felt like hours passed them by until a single, faint moan was heard echoing through the stillness of the night. Slowly, one moan turned into hundreds, growing into a terrifying crescendo and filling their ears with their hungry cries. A thick, ominous fog then rolled into the overpass as if alife, crawling across as the sound of clanking armor joined the otherworldly calls of the dead. It was growing closer, heading for the path leading to them and to the town they were attempting to protect.
"They're coming…" Dwyn uttered nervously. He was a dwarven warrior, clad in iron scale armor and with a thick brown beard twisted into two large braids. One hand was holding a great axe, his grip on it tight as he slowly backed away. A hand on his shoulder stopped him, drawing his attention to the woman standing beside him.
"Those corpses are nothing but moving piles of flesh and bone. They fall just like any other enemy," Everil assured him, her sharp stare focused on the approaching threat.
"Right…" His gaze hardened at her words and he turned an obstinate glare toward the gates, both hands gripping his oversized axe. Two large men stood with him, also preparing their weapons and following their boss into the fight.
That same thick fog flowed in from around the corner past the entrance, the shuffling of feet growing louder as whatever lay behind the curtain came nearer. A nauseating stench of putrid meat wafted towards them, assaulting their noses. The hoarse moaning continued, driven by starvation as the creatures called for their meals.
"No matter what happens, stand your ground!" Everil shouted to those around her, raising her sword. "Take out as many as you can and don't let them reach the Chantry!"
"Aye!" they responded in unison, all of them preparing their weapons.
One walking corpse emerged from the mist, breathing it out through its open mouth and out its nose as if it were smoke. It dragged a sword with it, leaving a long trail over the dirt as it shambled forward. Iron scale armor barely held together over its emaciated body, the emblem of Redcliffe etched upon its chest. Then a powerful cry erupted from it, the shrill sound causing the warriors to flinch as the monster commanded its brethren into a charge. Shuffling turned to stomping as the undead came pouring from behind the white veil, running around the barricades and straight towards the only opening they could find.
"Halt their advance!" Everil shouted, aiming her blade at them.
The knights roared as they followed her order, rushing past her to clash against the incoming forces. Through sheer might, Arl Eamon's men destroyed several of them, swords and axes slicing through decomposing flesh. Torn body parts fell at their feet as the creatures relentlessly kept coming. Meanwhile, Leliana and other archers fired arrows upon them, easily hitting the mass of bodies behind the makeshift walls.
"Let's do this!" Everil cried out, running towards the battle.
"Right behind you!" Alistair and Bjorn followed her.
She went in swinging Elethea, cutting off the reaching arms of the first corpse. Then she swung across one's neck, easily lopping off its head. Not waiting for it to fall, she pushed it back and engaged the next, quickly dispatching it by stabbing it through the face. She pulled the sword out of it just as another grabbed her shoulder, trying to sink its rotten teeth into her. Everil promptly shoved it off and struck at its neck, partially decapitating it. Another took hold of her cloak, only to be tackled by her hound before its throat was viciously torn off.
A knight screamed as he was overwhelmed by several corpses, blood gushing out when one tore off a chunk of flesh from his neck. His friends came to help, quickly forcing the creatures off of him. But it was too late.
"Keep fighting!" she commanded as they engaged the next wave.
Knights, Wardens, and Dwyn and his men effectively blocked the enemy's advance as bodies began to pile up around them. Slowly, the numbers began to dwindle, with only stragglers coming. Not one managed to make it through them.
"They're pulling back!" Dwyn shouted before he took out another with his axe.
The sounds of battle soon quieted as no more bodies came. All panting for breath, they waited, eyes still over the fog as it lingered along the path, swirling and shifting menacingly.
"Something's not right…" Everil uttered uncomfortably, narrowing her gaze as she listened for more shuffling of feet. Instead, she heard more moans coming from the distance. Far away. From the direction of the bridge.
She spun about to the castle and took a few quick steps, stunned at what she saw. The dead were now a waterfall of corpses, dropping over the overpass and into the lake below. "Damn it!" she bit out as their unexpected move abruptly changed the layout of their battlefield.
"Help!" A panicking male sprinted up the cliffside from the village, screaming desperately. "They're coming from the lake! We can't hold them back!"
"Knights hold this position! Dwyn, you and your men are coming with me!" Everil was already moving, shouting to the men.
"Right!" the dwarf answered, hastily trailing her.
Leliana made to climb off her perch when Everil pointed a finger at her, making her freeze on the spot. "You stay put! I want you to shoot anything that comes through those gates!"
"Got it!" She nodded, watching as both Grey Wardens hurried down the path.
When they arrived at the battle, the enemy was close to overwhelming those trying to protect the Chantry. Several of the villagers were already dead, bleeding onto the ground after their faces and throats were eaten.
Breathing heavily, Teagan killed another with his blade and looked up as Alistair and Everil rushed in. They swung their weapons, slicing through several foes getting dangerously close to the temple doors. The dwarf and his men stepped in after them, quickly slashing at them while the remaining villagers continued to fight.
"Push them back!" she cried out, charging along with them.
They clashed against the wall of corpses in a single, mighty wave, forcing the undead back behind the barricades. The archers posted on the buildings surrounding the Chantry fired arrows upon their numbers, while the warriors continued to battle the rest. It was a long, drawn-out fight, but they held on until the sun's rays began to shine over the horizon.
Bloodied and with sweat upon his brow, Alistair downed one last enemy and gazed towards the sky. The sun's rays shot out, bathing the lake and their battlefield with its warm light. They burned through the remaining creatures, setting them ablaze like parchment paper before they started to crumble. A breeze scattered their ashes, spreading them as if it were dust while the Redcliffe armor and their weapons clanked upon hitting the ground.
An eruption of cheers filled the town as the survivors raised their weapons, celebrating their hard-earned victory. Some men hugged each other, screaming and laughing at being able to see another day. It was over. For now.
Dirty and tired, Everil huffed breathlessly as she took in the damage around them. Most were left standing, with only minor scratches. She didn't know how many actually perished, but considering what their odds were, they could claim this as a win. Her knees buckled, forcing her to take a seat at the temple steps as she released a deep breath of relief and exhaustion. Bjorn walked up to her, covered in blood and gore as he gently licked her hand. The corners of her lips curled up and she gently scratched the hound's ears.
"Good work."
Her head craned up to Alistair, who was smiling down at her while sheathing his sword. "I don't think these people would have made it without you."
She let out a weak chuckle. "We did this together… All of us. But it's not over yet, we still have to get rid of whatever is causing it."
"And that's something I may be able to help with."
They both turned their attention to Teagan as he approached them, a grim expression on his face.
.x.x.x.x.
Redcliffe Castle appeared deceptively peaceful, its majestic walls dominating the scenery. Not a soul could be seen walking by the open windows while the crimson flags and banners hung motionless in spite of the gentle wind drifting from the lake. One didn' t have to see inside to know something dangerous was lurking through those halls, waiting for another night to fall before sending more of its monsters to finish what it started.
The bann led them closer to the edge of the cliff, near an old windmill still spinning. He faced the party of four, speaking quietly. "There is a secret passage that leads to the castle beneath that mill. One only known by me and the rest of my family. You will need my signet ring to unlock it."
"What?" Everil raised a critical brow. "Why didn't you tell us about this before?"
"I am sorry, but I needed your aid. I feared that if I told you, you wouldn't have stayed to help the village." A sigh escaped him as he gazed at them guiltily. "Now, we don't have much time. We should—" His eyes went wide as he stared past the group at something behind them. "Maker's breath!"
They all spun around to see a woman running past the gates towards them, followed by soldiers wearing similar armor as the undead they had just defeated. She was young and beautiful, lavishly dressed in a purple silk dress. Her blond hair was tied into a neat bun, wisps of her bangs brushing against her pale skin.
"Isolde!" Teagan called in shock. "You're alive! I thought—"
"Teagan you must help me!" The arlessa threw herself at him, breathlessly reaching for his armor. "Eamon… and Connor… My family is in danger!"
He laid his hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her off of him. "W-Wait, Isolde… We didn't even know there were survivors in the castle. What is happening in there?"
Isolde shook her head, desperation in her blue orbs. "There's no time to explain... You must come alone with me. Please!"
"Alone?" Everil questioned, folding her arms while scrutinizing the woman. "Don't, Teagan. This could be a trap."
She turned an indignant glare towards her. "I beg your pardon? That's a rather impertinent accusation."
"Not if it's true."
"Who are you?" Isolde looked her over, a scowl forming on her features.
"Lady Isolde…" Alistair took a tentative step from behind his fellow Warden. "You remember me, don't you? We want to help, but we need more of an explanation."
The woman's expression darkened. "Alistair… I thought you were dead. Why have you shown your face now, of all times?"
"He's here because he wants to save the arl—your husband," Everil interjected coolly, drawing the woman's attention. "However, I currently lead this party, which means what I say goes. And I say that if you wish for our assistance in saving your family, then you might want to start changing that rude tone of yours."
The frantic woman's shaking fingers tucked a blonde strand of hair behind one ear. "I… I apologize…"
Alistair half-smiled, trying not to let her words affect him. "It's all right, my lady. Can you please tell us what's happening?"
Her gaze shifted nervously as she attempted to explain the situation. "A… A mage infiltrated the castle some time ago... He poisoned Eamon and I think he summoned whatever it is that is haunting us and the village."
"Is Arl Eamon still alive?" Everil voiced everyone's question.
She nodded, brow creased into a deep frown. "That… thing is keeping him among the living, but he is bedridden and unresponsive. It has also allowed us to live, despite having killed everything else in the castle. I do not know its purpose, but it has now taken an interest in my son, Connor… He is not the same as he used to be." Isolde swallowed and sighed miserably. "He has seen so much death..."
Everil crossed her arms and pensively brought a hand to her chin. "It could be a demon then… The mage could have summoned it."
This made the arlessa's expression turn to panic. "A demon!" She looked to Teagan. "Oh, Maker…Teagan, you must help me, please! I don't have much time! Please, it could kill my Connor!"
The bann gently grasped her shoulder, trying in vain to calm her. He released a deep breath. "Very well... I will come with you."
Isolde clasped her hands together, smiling gratefully at him. "Oh, bless you, Teagan! Bless you!"
He nodded. "But first, allow me to talk to the Grey Wardens alone. I will join you shortly."
"All right, but please don't be long. I will be by the bridge." She anxiously headed the way she came, followed closely by her two escorts.
Everil's sharp eyes remained on her, narrowing with suspicion before taking a step to him. "I still don't think this is a good idea..."
"What choice do either of us have?" He shook his head with a breath, then determination settled over him. "Besides… I don't plan on handling this alone. You can use the secret entrance to the castle to go unnoticed. I will distract whatever lies inside until you arrive."
She closed her hands into fists. If that thing was evil enough to raise the dead, it would surely not think twice before killing him. "No, there has to be another way…" she sternly protested. "You'll get yourself killed!"
"Then so be it…" He averted his eyes from her, gazing towards his family's home with unwavering resolve. "Eamon is the one you must save no matter the cost. For the sake of all of Ferelden, my brother must live. Isolde, Connor, and I are expendable." He returned his firm stare to her while reaching into his collar, producing a ring laced with a thin golden chain. He pulled it over his head and took her hand, placing the piece of jewelry on her palm.
Everil examined it with knitted eyebrows. "Is this the signet ring you mentioned?"
"Yes… Use it to sneak in. But be careful… We don't know what that creature has in store for us." His troubled gaze held hers for a moment, then he pulled her into a gentle hug, surprising her.
"Uhm…" She stiffened, unsure of what to do as he rested his chin atop her head. "Bann… Bann Teagan?"
"I apologize..." He reluctantly pulled away, his hands coming to rest over her arms. "I may not live past today, so I might as well go knowing I had such a lovely lady in my arms. If only for just a moment."
Her chest tightened as she held the ring in a closed fist. Everything he was doing to save Redcliffe made it clear that he was a good man. Someone who was willing to risk his life for his brother's people when he could have walked away to save himself. She couldn't let him die. Nor anyone else. The town had already seen enough death.
She regarded him with unyielding confidence. "I will save all of you… I swear it."
A gentle smile spread over his lips. This girl barely knew him, yet she was making such a promise to him. And somehow, he truly believed her. "The Maker truly blessed me when he sent you to Redcliffe..."
Her eyes followed him as he stepped past her, lingering over his retreating back as he went to the other Warden. He walked closer to him, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. "Stay safe..."
"You too, Bann Teagan…" Alistair quietly replied, watching the older man as he continued on his way towards the village gates. He disappeared around the corner towards the bridge, possibly heading to his death as he went with the arl's wife to that cursed place. His heart filled with dread, hands closing tightly. From his childhood memories, he recalled the man used to be almost as an older brother or an uncle to him, having shown him kindness and warmth when others often gave him the cold shoulder. He didn't deserve to die. Not like this.
"Come. We must move quickly."
His head snapped in the direction of Everil's voice, seeing her make for the door to the windmill with purpose in her steps. They would save him. With her leading, they would save him. He drew in a breath, steeling himself before going after her, Bjorn and Leliana doing the same. The four of them entered the building and shut the door. Walking into the den of whatever dark creature awaited them.