Chapter 112: Down
Alim was in a foul mood as he led his group back down the mountain paths. Since the darkspawn ambush, none of the group had been sleeping well. They had lost all but a few of their supplies, their tents were burnt, and food supply scarce.
Bodahn had lost his horses to the shrieks, and his cart had been badly damaged during the battle. Now he and his son Sandal trudged along next to the others, what few supplies they had managed to scavenge either stuffed into back packs or abandoned as they made their way back down towards Redcliffe.
The dwarf spoke of the village he had visited at the foot of the mountains, if they could make it there, they would be able to resupply, maybe even gain an escort to accompany them back to the Arl's Castle.
It sounded good, provided they could make the journey. Alim did not doubt for a second that the darkspawn were done with them…
…That the Archdemon was done with them.
He pushed them hard that first day. He wanted to be as far away from the mountains as possible before darkness returned, but the various injuries of the group slowed them. Seri was still recovering, as were Sten, and Bandit. The dog had taken a blade in his side, Wynne had healed the damage, but the large warhound was still pained, whimpering after only an hour of moving over the hard terrain.
The wardens had it worse.
Alim's magic had healed him…mostly, lingering pains remained, but those were easily ignored in the face of likely darkspawn pursuit. Whenever he closed his eyes now, he could see the Archdemon, its pale baleful eyes, its tainted rotting scales…
It was impossible to deny now, the beast was aware of what they were doing, whether through the taint, or by some other means. The wardens had moved beyond being a nuisance, they had gathered strength, and with the means of curing Arl Eamon, they now had become a very real threat to the spread of the Blight…
The elf's eyes narrowed.
It was easy to think of the Archdemon and the darkspawn horde as simply monsters, as mindless animals with an appetite for mayhem and destruction. From the dreams, it was clear that that was not the case at all. What he felt when he closed his eyes now…it revealed that they were something more, something far, far worse?
They could deny it no longer.
This was definitely Blight, and they were being hunted.
The group dared not stop for long. A very long, very dark shadow had fallen over them. When they tried to camp for the night they encounter several random ghouls shuffling along the road. They slew them easily enough, but a growing sense of menace caused them to push on, everywhere they looked the shadows seemed to cover the peaks around them, shadows that could, and likely did, hide nightmares, more than eager to attack again.
Their wounds and the rough terrain slowed them even more, the trip up, which seemed to have taken no time at all, now seem to being taking forever.
Harsh winds battered them; Alim had tried to calm them with his power, only to be left exhausted and vulnerable, which perhaps…was what the Archdemon intended. He was still healing to, after all, Leliana cautioned him to be careful, not wishing to see him injure himself further.
He was grateful for her caring, but feared what those winds meant. In the distance they could see the dark clouds, the shadowed skies that seemed to follow the advance of the darkspawn horde.
Alim did not have time to be injured, none of them did.
Alistair and Theron were in little better shape. The former Templar had been badly wounded during the surprise attack. He had not yet recovered sufficiently to walk, but they still needed to move. No one wished to be caught up here in the mountains, not with so many caves around, caves that might hold hidden entrances to the deep roads…
Entrances that could herald another surprise attack.
Fergus and Zevran were able to build a travois for the wounded warden. Shayle grudgingly agreed to pull it, at least until Alistair was strong enough again to walk on his own. Morrigan stayed close to him, watching over him as they made their way back down into the valley. Occasionally the witch would grumble about the golem's lack of care in managing its charge, but she kept those words mostly to herself.
The group had no time for an argument between the golem and her.
Wynne and Leliana did what they could to make him comfortable. The senior mage knew more about healing herbs than anyone could have expected. Between her, and Morrigan's knowledge of wild plants, it was likely that Alistair would soon be back on his feet. Leliana chatted amiably with Alistair keeping his spirits up, though she learned to be careful not to make him laugh.
Laughter was a little painful for the former Templar right now.
As for Theron, the Dalish had no physical injuries, but it was clear that he was suffering. Why that was, no one could say.
They had found him after the battle, lying on the ground beside several dead ghouls. Fergus had suspected that he was wounded at first, but after a quick check, it was clear the young warden had none. Fergus had tried to rouse him, make sure he was all right.
Theron did not reply, his eyes remained fixed on one of the ghouls he had slain, it had been an elf once that much was certain, now it was…it had been something else.
Theron had snarled ferally when Fergus tried to lead him away. The human warrior had returned to the ruins of their camp, to report and let the others know what happened. He feared that the elf had suffered some magical attack, some enchantment that now affected his mind. Alim had promised to see to him, but that proved to be unnecessary.
Theron returned about twenty minutes after Fergus, in the distance a small pyre burned. The Dalish had chosen to burn the ghouls there, rather than drag them back to camp to be disposed of with the others.
He spoke little. The normal chatty elf had fallen silent. He looked guilty, like he had committed some horrible crime. When Leliana tried to get him to talk, he refused.
"I did what I had to," the Dalish said, "Let's…let's leave it at that.
Theron still followed them, but it was clear that something had changed. A distance had opened up between him and the group, and no one could even guess what to do next.
Alim had no choice, but let the matter run its course. His fellow warden was suffering, that much was clear, but until he decided to talk, there was nothing that they could do.
They just had to push on, and hoped that he came out of…wherever it was that had afflicted him.
The group paid homage to the late Brother Genitivi before proceeding on. They lit a small pyre for him, choosing not to burn him with the bodies of their enemies. Alim grasped the pouch of sacred ashes tied to his belt. It had come through the battle unspoiled, thank the Maker. Wynne had also recovered many of the scholar's writings. She did not believe that they be abandoned. What the man had discovered in the temple, what he had experienced in his search for the urn. That information needed to find its way into the right hands. People that could appreciate what the man had done.
It was the least they could do for him. It was the only monument that they could grant in the man's honor.
Alim did not dispute that, Genitivi had given them a chance to save Arl Eamon.
It was the least they could do to honor him.
On the fourth day they finally managed a stroke of good luck, a dwarven trade caravan travelling through the mountains on the way to Redcliffe. Its leader, a dwarf calling himself Old Tegrin agreed to let them accompany him. He was returning from a trip to Orlais, not an easy thing given the tension between the empire and Ferelden right now.
Like most dwarves Tegrin had respect for the Grey Wardens, especially ones who were being backed up by a Qunari warrior and a golem.
An extra set of blades between him and perils of the road, he saw that as a valuable commodity.
He offered them a fairly simple deal, they act as guards as far as Redcliffe, and he would see about resupplying them.
Alim sighed.
Given the state of their own supplies, they had little choice. Plus Tegrin's men would allow them all to get their first real rest in days. The Nightmares still haunted them, but the extra manpower, seemed to do the trick in keeping the beasts at bay…at least for now.
As darkness settled over their new camp, Alim went about checking on his companions. After the chaos of the last few days, he hoped to find them all settling in for some well-deserved rest.
The highest of the mountain peaks now lay in the distance, and with them the rocky caves likely hid long forgotten deep roads entrances.
The elf reached out with his warden senses, something that he found easier and easier to do as time went on.
He could sense the Blight, a low hum in the distance, a constant menace that never really left in peace, but as for the screaming warning of the ambush several nights ago, he felt nothing.
He smiled slightly.
Thank the Maker, for small favors.
He found himself drawn to the tent that they had purchased for Alistair, currently the former Templar was sleeping, his lingering injuries being tended to by Wynne.
Alim could feel the sensation of healing magic as the elder enchanter drew power from the fade to see to his friend's wounds. That…and something more…
The elf shivered.
Wynne remained a…puzzle. He could sometimes sense the spirit that sustained her. It was like a beacon in the dark, soft, warm, and inviting.
A spirit of faith that is what she had called it. Faith was a powerful thing, he knew that. It could keep you going when all else failed, but it was also a double edged blade.
The elf frowned.
Faith had driven the chantry to lead an army against his people. It had seen the destruction of the elven homelands. It could sustain, but it could also be used as an excuse.
How many people had died over the years because they were the enemies of one faith or another?
Too often faith could turn to arrogance; he had seen that often enough in the tower. Templars and priests both so full of their own righteousness that they could not see the harm they caused.
He shook his head.
They had enough enemies right now; they did not need another hidden in their ranks.
He respected the old woman, but that did not mean that he would not watch her, or that…thing inside her. He…
"You seem troubled my friend."
Alim smiled slightly.
"Merely thinking heavy thoughts, Morrigan," he answered, "We still have a long way to go."
The witch sniffed.
"According to the dwarves we will be in Redcliffe again, sometime tomorrow."
The elf chuckled.
"I wasn't referring to the physical journey," he said, "I'm thinking about our journey as a whole."
"Ah," the witch said nodding, "Tis not as bad as you might think, soon you will have this Arl Eamon to aid you, after that you can deal with this Loghain person once and for all."
Morrigan smiled savagely.
"Then you can turn your attention to the Archdemon, tis about time that the lizard pay for our recent…tribulations."
Alim smirked.
"You do paint a pretty picture, Morrigan."
The witch merely shrugged. She stepped up beside him, her amber eyes never leaving Alistair's tent. Her face remained unreadable, but Alim had a good idea what was going on in that pretty head of hers.
His ears twitched with amusement.
"He would probably welcome your company right now."
She sniffed again.
"Tis why I must avoid going in there."
He turned to face her.
"Morrigan," he said.
"Yes."
"What is going on?"
The witch sighed heavily.
"Do you remember how we first met, Alim?"
"Sure, I…"
"I had been watching you for some time, travelling close by in animal form. As I watched you, I grew more and more curious. To see an elf with such potential, such power, traveling with humans who clearly did not even comprehend who it was they were journeying with."
Alim's ears twitched with embarrassment.
"You flatter me."
"I merely state a fact," she said flatly, "I resented it when my Mother asked me to travel with you. I saw little value in your quest, but as we have continued on these many months. I realize now how mistaken it was for me to think so."
She glanced down at him.
"I…know that I have little talent in forming…friendships. Yet when I told you Flemeth's plan you did not hesitate to aid me…"
Alim shrugged.
"You are useful to us, and you are also my friend…"
"And that is the part that troubles me most of all," the witch said shaking her head.
She once again glanced at Alistair's tent, her amber eyes troubled.
"I…I care for him, even though I know it is unwise. He is a fool, yet…he is my fool."
Alim chuckled.
"Love is like that sometimes, or so I have been told."
He smiled at her.
"It makes fools of us all."
"Indeed," the witch agreed, "I find it most sickening seeing how that…that girl has you wrapped around her little finger. Yet, I cannot say that I do not understand. Alistair…is…is…"
The witch snorted as her words failed her.
"Tis most disturbing."
"Yes it is," Alim smiled, "But…I don't think I would have it any other way."
Alim turned to walk away, the witch remained where she was, watching the tent.
"Alim?"
He paused.
"Yes Morrigan?"
He turned to face her. She looked pained.
"Tell me, if…if you had not fallen for her, would…was there any chance that you and I…that we… might have…"
Alim frowned.
Now there was a disturbing question.
He could not deny that he had been…attracted to Morrigan in the beginning. She was beautiful, clever, and strong, traits that he admired most in the opposite sex, but at the same time…
The elf's ears twitched.
He had never really given it much thought. Right from the beginning he sensed sparks between Alistair and the witch. Morrigan had become the night to Alistair's day; they fit together quite well, like a hand in a glove.
Even back then, even after that first meeting he had never doubted that, but now…if he was being perfectly honest.
Alim sighed.
"I was tempted," he confessed, "I won't deny that, but Alistair is my friend, my brother in arms. I would never betray him like that."
The witch pursed her lips.
"I see."
"I' happy that you have found comfort with him," he continued, "I'm…I'm grateful to call you both friends."
Morrigan smiled slightly.
"Friends, with a man," she chuckled, "Tis a most unusual thing, most of the men I met in the Wilds only looked at me with lust in their eyes, to be your friend…"
The witch paused, again her expression looked pained.
"I…I want you to know something, that…that I may not always seem worthy…worthy of you…and your friendship. I…I want you to know that I will always treasure it."
The witch turned to leave, heading for her newly constructed lean-to just outside of camp.
"Morrigan?"
She did not stop.
"Morrigan," he repeated.
She did not turn around.
"Good night, my friend," she said softly.
She shook her head as she passed the dwarves and their companions.
Alim watched her leave, his eyes never leaving her back.
What was that all about, he thought?
Finally, he shook his head in surrender.
Whatever was going on, he would find out eventually.
He smiled slightly.
"Goodnight Morrigan," he whispered.
"Goodnight…my friend."
A/N: Next chapter: Redcliffe