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Daylen
Strangely enough, after meeting Griffon the trip up to Lothering is rather uneventful. Until now.
Just outside of Lothering, there's a group of five well-armed men waiting for them.
"Wake up, gentlemen! More travelers to attend to," the man with dark hair and skin, the leader Daylen supposes, calls to his men, eyeing their group. "I'd guess that fellow is the leader." He gestures to Daylen, who crosses his arms.
"Err," the bald one, a rather stupid looking man, mumbles. "they don't look much like them others, you know. Uh... maybe we should just let these ones pass."
"Nonsense!" the leader booms. "Greetings, travelers!"
Beside Daylen, Alistair frowns in disgust. "Highwaymen. Preying on those fleeing the darkspawn, I suppose."
"They are fools to get in our way," Morrigan comments. "I say teach them a lesson."
"Now," the leader of the bandits chides. "Is that any way to greet someone? Tsk, tsk, tsk. A simple ten silvers and you're free to move on."
"We're not paying," Daylen insists, reaching for his staff. Avina does the same, and Griffon starts growling.
"Well, I can't say I'm pleased to hear that. We have rules, you know," the bandit says arrogantly.
The dumb one nods. "Right. We get to ransack your corpses then. Those are the rules."
Daylen's eyes narrow dangerously. "You really want to fight Grey Wardens?"
"Did he say he's a Grey Warden?" the dumb one stutters. "Them ones killed the king!"
"Traitors to Ferelden, I hear," the leader says. "Teyrn Loghain put quite the bounty on any who are found."
"But... aren't them Grey Wardens good? I mean, really good? Good enough to kill a king?"
"You have a point. Well, let's forget about the toll. We'll just leave you to your darkspawn-fighting, king-killing ways."
"You know, the Grey Wardens could use a donation," Daylen says, his voice dripping with sweetness.
"You don't say."
"They is really good, boss. Remember," the idiot cautions.
"Well, yes. Twenty silver? That's all we've... collected today." He hands Daylen a pouch of coins, which he immediately tosses to Alistair. Alistair fumbles to catch it, almost dropping it before stuffing it into his pack.
Daylen sighs, mock-sadly. "Not enough, I'm afraid." He pulls his staff off his back.
"And just when we had things settled..." The bandit motions to his friends.
It all happens very fast.
Before he can even blink, Daylen has cast a winter's grasp spell on the bandit leader just as Avina casts stonefist. Griffon leaps at the nearest bandit, catching the man's throat in his powerful jaws.
Half of them are dead by the time the leader thaws.
"All right!" he cries, sheathing his weapons and holding up his defenseless hands. "We surrender. We're just trying to get by, before the darkspawn get us all!"
"Get by?!" Avina snaps, her staff bumping the ground. "You're a criminal!"
The leader bows his head slightly. "Yes, I'm a criminal. I admit it. I apologize."
"Hand over everything you've stolen," Daylen commands.
"Yes!" the leader, accepts eagerly. "Yes, of course." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out another coinpurse, significantly larger than the last one, and hands it to Daylen. "The coins we have collected are right here... just over a hundred silver. The rest is in the chests we brought! I swear!"
Daylen sneers. "Start running. And don't come back."
"Bless you!" the leader gushes. "The darkspawn can have this place!"
And with that, he and his men take off onto the Imperial Highway.
Avina sighs, but Daylen ignores her, heading over into the village.
They stop at a ledge which overlooks Lothering, the small muddy town between Ostagar and the rest of Ferelden.
"Well, there it is," Alistair states, gesturing before him. "Lothering. Pretty as a painting."
Hmm. Daylen's first impression is that it's a miserable shithole, filled to the brim with desperate people fleeing darkspawn. Not a good mix.
"Ah, so you have finally decided to rejoin us, have you? Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble, I take it?" Morrigan taunts.
"Is my being upset so hard to understand?" Alistair snaps back. "Just what would you do if your mother died?"
"Before or after I stopped laughing?" Morrigan snarks.
"Right. Very creepy. Forget I asked."
"You have been very quiet, Alistair," Avina murmurs, looking up at him.
"Yes, I know. I was just... thinking," he tells her.
"No wonder it took so long, then," Morrigan mocks.
"Oh, I get it, this is the part where we're shocked to discover how you've never had a friend your entire life."
"I can be friendly when I desire to," the Witch spits. "Alas, desiring to be more intelligent does not make it so."
"Anyway," he grinds out. "I thought we should talk about where we intend to go first."
"You have some thoughts on that point, Alistair?" Daylen asks.
"This should be good."
"I think what Flemeth suggested is the best idea," Alistair states. "These treaties... have you looked at them?"
"No, not yet," Daylen admits.
"There are three main groups that we have treaties for: the Dalish, the dwarves of Orzammar, and the Circle of Magi. I also still think that Arl Eamon is our best bet for help. We might even want to go to him first."
"I'm ready to get going," Daylen informs them, cracking his neck to the side.
"I can give you directions, if you like."
"No need," Daylen dismisses. "We have a map."
"Then you have a plan?"
"That I do," Daylen confirms, grinning as he strides down the steps, leaving the others to follow. Morrigan catches up first, choosing to walk beside him and Alistair, Avina and Griffon take up the rear.
It's astounding how many people are here, set up in makeshift tents and bedrolls in the mud. They must be truly desperate. He can hear a babe crying in the distance, as well as a few women screaming. Daylen sighs, sneering as he passes a templar.
"You there," the templar says. "If you're looking for safe shelter, I'll warn you. There's none to be found."
Daylen ignores him.
"So, uh," Alistair starts. "What was life like, in the tower I mean?"
Daylen knows this question is not directed at him. He continues walking towards the tavern in the distance.
Avina contemplates this. "Well, I assume it isn't much different than life outside."
At this, Daylen and Morrigan snort. He could almost swear he feels her gaze burning into the back of his head as she continues.
"I had friends. I went to lessons almost every day, I had chores, and I read in the library. You do those things too, right?"
"Well, yes, but, what about when you weren't doing any of those things? How did you pass the time?" Alistair asks.
"We practice blood magic while plotting the demise of the templars," Daylen adds.
Alistair's eyebrows pull together, and Avina groans and says, "Personally, I either played games with the other apprentices or sang."
Alistair looks like he wants to hear more, but he stops when they reach the bridge, seeing a small red-headed boy.
As Daylen approaches, he looks up and asks, "Have you seen my mother?"
Daylen sighs, scowling. "Beat it." Perhaps it is cruel, but he is no good with children, and he'll likely die in the next few days anyway.
Then he stumbles. Avina has pushed him out of the way, crouching before the boy. "You poor thing! Did you and your mother get separated?" she asks him quietly.
The boy seems a bit confused, but he answers her. "Some mean men with swords came, and mother told me to run to the village as fast as I could, so I did. She said she'd be right behind me, but I've been waiting and waiting and I can't see her!"
"What about your father? Do you know where he is?"
"He went with William to the neighbor's yesterday," he explained. "But he didn't come back."
Slowly, she stands, looking around her. Then she turns back to the child. "Come with me," she tells him. "I'll help you look for your mother."
The child shakes his head. "Mother said I wasn't to go with anyone. I'm supposed to wait for her here, in the village."
Avina purses her lips, then reaches into the pocket of her robes. Daylen can hear the clink of metal as she pulls out something shiny; a silver piece. She puts it in the boy's hands. "Here. Take this silver. Buy something to eat. If your mother doesn't come soon, go to the Chantry."
His eyes go wide as saucers. "A whole silver! Wow! Thank you!" He pauses, peeking at her pointed ears. "So... um... are you really an elf?"
She grins down at him. "Did the ears give me away?"
He giggles, nodding. "Father says elves aren't very nice, but you're a really nice lady. Kind of like mother. Thank you for helping me." And with silver in hand, he runs off.
Alistair
She's calming down the doomsayer when he sees it.
There's a dead-looking rose bush beside the steps of the Chantry, all brown and black. But pale pink stands out. A single rose stands proud in the center, alive against all odds, beautiful and pure.
He glances over his shoulder at Avina and Daylen, who are busy trying to shut up the screaming man. Alistair hesitates. He knows he should leave it alone, but... the Blight was coming. It was dead either way.
Before anyone else notices, his fingers close around the stem, and he picks the rose out of the bush, uncaring of thorns, and carefully puts it in the top of his pack so it won't be crushed.
He's saved it; at least for now.
Tel'abelas.
Next chapter: Leliana, Sten, and the Perils of Lampposts.