This chapter is rather uneventful; romantic and fluffy, as promised to ImagineBagginsDragon. Calm yourself, there won't be UST forever XP. I hope you keep reviewing, you make me smile!
And a big thank you to Judy for your continued support!
Denerim
"I bring word, sire," Howe begins as he makes his way over to Loghain. The dark-haired man doesn't respond, glaring at the chalice in his gauntleted hand. He often finds Loghain here of all places in the royal palace; perhaps it's because of the large fireplace that kept the harsh cold of Ferelden out. "There are demands from the bannorn that you step down from the regency. They are said to be gathering their forces. As are your allies. It appears it will be civil war after all, despite the darkspawn. Pity."
Loghain says nothing, doesn't turn away from the fire at Howe's announcement.
"I also have an interesting report," Howe continues. "There seem to be Grey Wardens who survived Ostagar. How I don't know, but they will act against you. I have arranged for a... solution, with your leave."
Loghain turns as Howe sweeps an arm backward, and a handsome, dark-skinned, tattooed elf in leather armor swaggers around the corner.
"The Antivan Crows send their regards," Zevran Arainai drawls.
Loghain scowls. "An assassin?"
"Against Grey Wardens we will need the very best, sire," Howe adds quickly.
Zevran chuckles. "And the most expensive."
"Just get it done," Loghain growls, taking a gulp from the chalice.
The pair behind him bows, and Zevran slowly backs out of the room.
He has three Grey Wardens to kill.
Alistair
The sun is starting to set when they reach the village to buy supplies. Daylen and Morrigan go into the pub to buy poultices while Avina and Alistair stand outside, where the air doesn't smell like liquor and smoke.
Griffon decides to go fishing, and leaves them alone on the hill.
Alistair worries it's going to be one of those awkward silences when she turns to him.
"Leliana had an interesting question the other night," she announces. "About templars and such."
Alistair scratches the back of his neck. "Oh?"
She nods. "Since you were raised in the Chantry, have you never...?" she trails off.
He raises his eyebrows innocently. "Never...? Never what? Had a good pair of shoes?"
"You know what I mean," she protests.
"I'm not sure I do," he continues. "Have I never seen a basilisk? Ate jellied ham? Have I never licked a lamppost in winter?"
She pretends to heave an annoyed sigh. "Now you're making fun of me."
"Make fun of you, dear lady?" He grins at her sideways. "Perish the thought. Well, tell me: have you ever licked a lamppost in winter?"
She laughs, shaking her head. "No, I've never licked a lamppost in winter."
His mouth dries; he doesn't know whether to be pleased by her answer, or worried. Is it bad that he's kind of both? "Good. I hear it's quite painful. I remember one of the younger initiates did it on a dare, once, and there was pointing and laughing... oh, the humanity," he says dramatically. "I, myself, have also never done it. That. Not that I haven't thought about it, of course, but... you know."
Her brow wrinkles. "You've never had the opportunity?"
"Well, living in the Chantry, is... not exactly a life for rambunctious boys," he explains. "They taught me to be a gentleman, especially in the presence of beautiful women such as yourself. That's not so bad, is it?"
"You think I'm beautiful?"
And her look of surprise makes him almost angry. Has no one told her how absolutely lovely she is? "Of course you are and you know it. You're ravishing, resourceful, and all those other things you'd probably hurt me for not saying."
"I would never hurt you," she promises.
"Nor I you," he replies seriously. "Let us be off, then, lest your risqué talk make my ears blush."
Avina
The camp is quiet with only Daylen, Morrigan, Avina, Alistair, and Griffon there. As always, Morrigan's camp is several feet away from everyone else's, and Daylen spends most of his time over there rather than with the others. Avina is preparing for the trip in the morning, making sure everything is ready, when she turns to see Alistair knelt over by Griffon. Curious, she wanders over.
"Ow!" Alistair yelps, flinching back. "Why you little..."
Avina puts on an offended face. "Are you... harassing my dog?"
"Me? Harassing your dog?" He repeats, incredulous as he regains his feet. "I should say it's the other way round. Your furry friend here took offense at me getting near his food. Snapped at me. Look..." He shows her his injured fingers.
"Good boy," Avina sniffs. "Teach that silly Alistair a lesson." She pats her mabari on the head affectionately as he growls menacingly at Alistair.
Alistair sighs. "Sometimes I forget he's a wardog. That'll teach me."
But before he can walk away, she pulls the amulet from her pocket and offers it to him. "Wait. I think... this is yours."
"This... this is my mother's amulet," he realizes, taking it and weighing the silver carefully in his hand. "It has to be. But why isn't it broken? Where did you find it?"
Griffon gets bored and wanders over to Morrigan's camp.
"I found it at Redcliffe Castle today, in the study," she explains.
"Oh. The arl's study? Then he must've... found the amulet after I threw it at the wall. And he repaired it and kept it? I don't understand, why would he do that?"
"Perhaps you mean more to him than you think."
"I... guess you could be right. We never really talked that much, and the way I left... Thank you. I mean it. I... thought I'd lost this to my own stupidity. I'll need to talk to him about this, if he recovers from his... when he recovers, that is. I wish I'd had this a long time ago. Did you remember me mentioning it? Wow," he marvels. "I'm more used to people not really listening when I go on about things."
"Of course I remembered," she assures him, touching his armored arm. "You're special to me."
He mirrors her warm smile goofily. "Is this the part where the music starts and we begin dancing? Because I'm game. Where's the minstrels?"
Morrigan
Morrigan scowls at the display of the two Wardens across the camp, shaking her head in disbelief. Romantic idiots.
Romances like that can only end in disappointment and heartbreak. As they will learn the hard way.
But it matters not. It is no concern of hers if they decide to engage in a disastrous love affair.
Beside her, Daylen watches the same exchange with a knowing smirk on his face. Morrigan raises an eyebrow.
"What?"
He shrugs. "Our little Alistair is growing up. They just makes me proud, sometimes."
At her strange look, he continues. "Those two are as pure as the driven snow, yet here they are. I wouldn't be surprised if they bedded each other by next Tuesday, by the looks they've been giving each other."
Morrigan sighs. "I suppose if it takes their mind off our current predicament... 'tis still rather sickening." She notices a rustle of the brush beside her tent, and wanders over.
The stench of dead meat meets her nostrils and she bares her teeth, shaking the dead rabbit out of her unmentionables. Oh, that stupid... "Damnable dog," she mutters.
Daylen laughs. "I think he means it as a sign of affection."
"Then I'd rather he hated me," she replies, tossing her undergarments into her tent. "Anyway... what do you wish of me?"
"I'd like to ask you a question," he tells her.
"If you must."
"How did you become a shapechanger?" he asks.
She's not surprised; if it were her, she knows she'd be insatiably curious as well.
"I was not born such. 'Tis a skill of Flemeth's, taught over many years in the Wilds. The Chasind have their tales of we witches, saying that we assume the forms of creatures to watch them from hiding. When a child is alone and separate from his tribe, that is when we strike, dragging the young boy kicking and screaming to our lair to be devoured." She smirks. "A most amusing legend."
"I take it your mother has been doing this for a long time, then?"
She nods. "Changing her form, certainly. Devouring lost children, I cannot say. She has not done it in my experience, though in truth my lifespan is but a fraction of her own. Why do you ask?" She wonders. "Is there something specific you wish to know?"
He seems to deliberate, as if deciding which question he wants to ask. "Can anyone become a shapechanger, then?"
Morrigan shrugs. "Anyone wit sufficient will. But the act of transformation is a magical one. 'Tis a spell, and thus requires a mage's talents." She pauses. "Indeed, you could learn the spells required. If I cared to teach you."
"Did you spend a lot of time as an animal?"
"There were nights when the Wilds called to me," she admits, "'tis true. You look upon the world around you and you think you know it all. I have smelled it as a wolf, listened as a cat, prowled shadows that you never dreamed existed. But my life is as a human. I am under no illusions to the contrary."
"I've never heard of magic like that before," he comments.
She does a mental eye roll. The Chantry of course keeps a tight leash on all the mages of the Circles, only allowing them to learn what they deem 'safe'. "'Tis not unheard of, in the remote corners of the world. There are traditions of magic outside the Circle of Magi, despite what those mages would have you believe. Some of these traditions are old, indeed, passed down as carefully-guarded lore from one generation to the next. The zealots of the Chantry would uproot all such practitioners if they could, but as luck have it some still exist. My mother is such a one."
"That's good," Daylen approves. "Such traditions need to be preserved."
"Oh? I'm shocked you think so, being a mage of the Circle as you were. But perhaps you felt a little like a caged bird, caught within that dark tower?"
He smiles wryly. "You could say that."
"I thought so."
"That's all I wanted to ask," he says.
"Indeed?" she asks. "Have you an opinion on my abilities, then? Am I an unnatural abomination to be put to the torch?"
He snorts. "Hardly. Your abilities have proven quite useful; I'm not as closed-minded as some of the other Circle mages."
Morrigan smiles. "My, you are simply full of surprises, aren't you? But enough of such talk. Let us proceed, lest the dust gather on us."
He is... pleasing, she admits to herself as he chuckles and walks off. Sharp and quick, reasonable and dangerous. When she looks into his midnight eyes, she knows what he is.
A survivor. Like her, he understands what needs to be done.
She likes to tell herself this is good, because it will make what she must do that much easier.
Avina
They rise at dawn and quickly pack up. They haven't got much time; they need to get the mages' assistance and get back to Redcliffe as quickly as possible.
Alistair is still kind of tired, Avina can tell, because he's yawning and stumbling over things until they've been walking for about half an hour.
Daylen and Morrigan walk several feet in front of them, having a conversation that Avina's sure she doesn't want to hear.
Alistair starts to look nervous, and he moves to pull out his canteen when suddenly a flower appears in his hands. As she watches, he holds the pink rose out to her, the delicate petals fluttering in the wind.
"Here, look at this. Do you know what this is?"
She takes it carefully and pretends to think about it. "Your new weapon of choice?"
He doesn't miss a beat. "Yes, that's right. Watch as I thrash our enemies with the mighty power of floral arrangements! Feel my thorns, darkspawn! I will overpower you with my rosy scent." He takes a deep sniff and sighs as if smelling something good. "Or, you know, it could just be a rose. I know that's pretty dull in comparison."
She giggles and looks at the petals of the bloom. "You've been thumbing that flower for a while now."
"I picked it in Lothering," he tells her. "I remember thinking, 'how could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?' I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't. The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So I've had it ever since."
Her lips quirk up. "That's a nice sentiment."
He swallows. "I thought that I might... give it to you, actually. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you."
She looks stunned for a moment, butterflies assaulting her stomach. Then she grins, and raises an eyebrow in a suggestive manner. "Feeling a little thorny, are we?"
Alistair flushes and chuckles. "Wow, 'she'll never see through that,' I told myself. Boy was I wrong."
"Thank you, Alistair," she says seriously, running her fingers over the soft petals of the rose as she holds it close to her chest. "That's a lovely thought."
"I'm glad you like it. I was just thinking... here I am doing all this complaining, and you haven't exactly been having a good time of it yourself. You've had none of the good experiences of being a Grey Warden since your Joining, not a word of thanks or congratulations. It's all been death and fighting and tragedy. I thought maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this... darkness."
"I... feel the same way about you," she says quietly.
"I'm glad you like it. Now... if we could move right on past this awkward, embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits, I'd appreciate it."
"Sounds good," she agrees, tucking the rose behind her ear and putting her fists on her hips. "Off with the armor, then!"
He nearly chokes on his tongue. "Ha... ha... bluff called! Damn! She saw right through me."
"You're so cute when you're bashful," she teases.
"I'll be..." he laughs nervously. "I'll be standing over here. Until the blushing stops. Just to be, uh, safe. You know how it is."
He shuffles a few feet away awkwardly, folding his arms behind his back and whistling inconspicuously.
Warmth floods her face, but not from embarrassment.
She thinks... she might love him.
Daylen
By around noon they've made it almost halfway there, so Daylen thinks they'll probably reach the tower by nightfall. Or at least he hopes they will.
A man's voice cursing ahead catches him off guard, but he immediately falls back with Morrigan as they ready their weapons. But when they see the owner of the voice, he is alone and unarmed with a merchant's cart.
Hmm. Daylen lowers his staff as he approaches, but the gray-haired man still seems uneasy.
"Er... you'll have to forgive me if I seem a bit nervous," the man starts. "Not many people traveling in this part of Ferelden. Of course that's part of my problem, isn't it? Mule got spooked by a wisp and ran off into the woods. Now what do I do?"
Daylen crosses his arms. "'Part' of your problem?"
"Well, yes," the man sighs. "It's been quite the month... Allow me to introduce myself. Felix de Grosbois, merchant and entrepreneur, at your service."
And under normal circumstances, Daylen might have been friendly and introduced himself as well. But as they are not, and Daylen doesn't trust this stranger (as there is a possibility that he could be a Loghain supporter), he narrows his eyes. "A merchant? Out here?"
Felix shrugs sadly. "I don't normally take this route, but with the war I was hoping for a bit of luck and good weather in the mountains. Sadly, I've had neither. This trip has been one miserable disaster after another. I don't suppose you'd... consider helping a fellow out?"
Daylen spares a glance backwards at Avina and Alistair, but the two don't seem to have an opinion.
Or they're too busy ogling each other.
He gives a mental sigh and scratches the beginning of a beard on his chin. (He still hasn't gotten the hang of shaving with these bloody daggers...) "Help a fellow out... how?"
"Of all the other things that went wrong, the worst is this artifact I bought in Jader. It's a 'control rod', I'm told. For a golem. No point in me keeping it, however, as I'll never get to use it," Felix laments. "But maybe you could?"
"Why is it that you'll never be able to use it?" Daylen asks.
The merchant wipes a hand over his eyes. "Well... the golem didn't come with the rod. It's supposed to be down in a village to the south, waiting to be activated. But even if I could get down there, which I can't, I understand the place has been overrun by darkspawn. I thought you didn't look like that would be such an issue with you and your group. Or I'm hoping that's so, at least."
Daylen purses his lips. A golem is definitely nothing to turn up one's nose at. A nearly immortal soldier made of stone or metal? Invaluable, especially to people as desperate as they are. "We could definitely use it," he agrees finally.
Felix nods. "Just as well." He hands Daylen the control rod, which looks rather like a rod of fire he once saw at the Circle. "As I mentioned before, you'll find the golem down south, in a town called Honnleath. I'll mark it on your map, if you like."
He shows their map to Felix, who makes a circle to the south of Redcliffe.
"Just hold up the rod and say 'dulef gar'," Felix instructs. "That will wake the golem up, or so I'm told. I hope it works."
"Well, I do, too." He shakes the merchant's hand. "We'd best be off, then."
"Best of luck to you, then," the merchant wishes them. "Now, I guess it's up to me to find that mule myself..."
Tel'abelas.
Next chapter: Alone in the Fade