I am on fire, ladies and gentlemen!
That also probably means this chapter sucks, and it's not very long, but... whatever. I wrote it all today, so I'm bloody posting it today! Deal with it :P
Thank you, those who reviewed! I hope you keep on reviewing, so I keep up my writing fire!
Daylen
He could really give a shit about dwarven politics, he thinks grumpily. In Daylen's opinion, they're ridiculous. Democratic monarchy? It doesn't make sense. Which is why he doesn't care who becomes king, as long as there is one to give him his bloody troops.
Bhelen seems like an ambitious sort, the kind smart enough to handle power and efficiently handle threats. He would probably get the throne eventually; Daylen may as well lend his support.
He's not a dwarf, but he believes that the caste system is rather vain and unrewarding, as they lose much more then they gain as the darkspawn continue their assault. And if Bhelen wants to change that, then more power to him.
That's how he ended up running around as an errand boy.
The market is a lively place in Orzammar. The merchants are loud and cheerful, with beautiful weapons.
At one such merchant, a sparkle catches his eye. When he turns, he sees it is a mirror. A beautiful golden mirror with finely polished glass, adorned with gemstones. On the back is the scene of a deer with sparrows flying about it's head.
It tickles his memory.
"'Twas encrusted in gold and crystalline gemstones and I hugged it to my chest with delight as I sped back to the Wilds."
Morrigan, he remembers. She stole a mirror like this from a noble when she was a child. And Flemeth broke it to teach her a lesson.
Making sure not to smudge the glass, he picks up the hand mirror. "How much?" He quietly asks the merchant.
"Thirteen silvers, ser."
He hands the dwarf the silvers, making sure Morrigan doesn't see what he's buying. Then carefully, he puts the bauble into his pouch.
"I have heard much about the halls of the dwarven kings," Leliana comments. "But the stories do it no justice. It is so strange - harsh, yet beautiful."
"Personally, I don't like caves," Daylen replies. "Too many spiders, snakes, and bandits."
"The dwarves have lived here for thousands of years," Leliana points out. "I'm sure it is perfectly safe. And have you seen those tiny pig-like burrowing animals? They are adorable. I wish I could have one as a pet."
"Nugs?"
"Yes," she says. "But they must be hard to catch and... oh, just ignore me. I'm so silly sometimes."
"I dunno," Daylen says with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'm sure they don't eat too much; at least, not as much as that furry monster Avina has."
"Griffon is not a furry monster," Leliana protests. "I mean, he's strong, but he's also cute. He's a very good dog, very intelligent."
"I'm just saying that to be mean," Daylen waves her off. "I'd never say that to his face; he might rip mine off."
Leliana laughs.
When they return to the others, Morrigan is giving him a look. "What was so funny?"
Daylen shrugs again. "Just Avina's dog, with his face-ripping ability." Before she can reply, he pulls the mirror from his pouch and presents it to her. "I found something for you."
"What have you there? A mirror?" Then she recognizes it. "It is... just the same as the mirror Flemeth smashed on the ground, so long ago. It is incredible that you found one so like it. I am uncertain what to say. You must wish something in return, certainly."
He smiles, wrinkles forming at the corner of his eye. "It's a gift," he tells her. "A present for a beautiful woman."
Morrigan gently touches one of the gems, as if afraid they might break. "I have... never received a gift. Not one that did not also come with a price attached. But I would be a fool not to accept such a gesture with grace. Your gift is... most thoughtful. Thank you."
Alistair
Alistair isn't usually the grumpy type, but as he'd been knocked down almost a dozen times today, was forced to carry a limp elf back to camp, and has been chasing Avina through the woods for Maker knows how long.
If he sees one more evil tree, he's going to become a woodcutter when the Blight is over.
Avina is taking the time in the forest better. She's been like a little tornado, gathering everything and stuffing it into her already bulging back. She found ironbark, wolf pelts, and so much elfroot that surely they will never run out. The more important things she carries on herself; like Alistair's rose, which has yet to wilt, and Danyla's scarf.
Just as he's finished cursing the cursed tree in this forest, the large tree before them splits, legs and arms forming.
Avina gives a cry of shock and skitters backward, raising her staff.
The tree doesn't attack.
"Hrrrrrm," it rumbles. "What manner of beast be thee,
that comes before this elder tree?"
Avina gapes. "You're... not going to attack?"
"Ah, thou speakest of the others, how filled they are with hate?
I apologize on their behalf, they cannot control their fate."
Though the tree itself might be a little frightening, it does seem to be peaceful.
"Allow me a moment to welcome thee,
I am called the Grand Oak, sometimes the Elder Tree.
And unless thou thinkst it far too soon,
might I ask of thee a boon?"
"What is this boon?" Avina asks.
"I have but one desire,
to solve a matter very dire;
ss I slept one early morn,
a thief did come and steal an acorn."
"Someone stole your acorn?" Avina's brow wrinkles with confusion. "So you want that I should find it for you, then?"
The great tree bows slightly. "All I have is my being, my seed.
Without it I am alone indeed.
I cannot go and seek it out;
Yet I shall die if left without."
"Do you know where the thief is?"
"Go to the east to find this man.
I will await. Do what thou can."
Daylen
The Deep Roads are officially Daylen's least favorite place.
Yes, he understands that he needed to fetch Lord Dace, it's important that his vote is changed, blah blah blah.
But seriously. The Deep Roads are dark, cold, and full of darkspawn and deep stalkers. Not his ideal vacation spot, to say the least.
They've just left the old man and his daughter at their estate when Morrigan catches his attention.
"I have something for you."
His brow furrows. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that I have a gift for you," she says irritably. She puts something small into his hand. "'Tis a ring. Now before you get any foolish notions, let me explain. Flemeth once gave me the ring because it allowed her to find me no matter where I went, in case I was ever captured by hunters. I disabled it's power as soon as we left the Wilds. Recently, however, I thought to change it. Now, I will be able to find whoever wears it instead."
Daylen smirks at her, curling his fingers around the ring. "That's a sweet gift, Morrigan. Thank you."
Her eyes narrow. "'Tis not given out of sentimentality! I believe you are too important to risk. If you were captured, the ring would allow the rest of us to find you quickly."
He arches a brow at her. "Does it do anything else?"
"Flemeth used to say that 'twas a link between us, one that I presumed worked both ways. I never tested it, but I doubt she would have lied over such a thing. So it would mean I am linked to you as much as you to I."
"Glad to see you care," he chuckles.
"Now you are mocking me." She shakes her head. "Do you wish the ring or not? I am tempted to simply keep it."
He nods, still chuckling, and slides the ring onto his finger. "Thank you for the gift."
"You... are welcome. Perhaps it will be useful one day."
Swiftrunner
Swiftrunner snarls in anger.
The forest did not protect their lair, and the intruders have made it deep into the ruins. The Lady sent the gatekeeper to parlay, and the elf has finally come.
He hates her, this tool of the Dalish. He wants her to die. She killed his brothers. She killed the forest. She should be punished; she should be killed!
As she approaches, he continues to roar in warning at her, telling her the only way he can. Beside him, his brothers and sisters echo him.
There's a soft touch on his shoulder, the scent of spring wind...
His anger calms and he falls to his knees.
"I bid you welcome, mortal. I am the Lady of the Forest."
As always, at the sound of his Lady's voice, he is filled with peace.
The elf nods her head, looking curiously at the beautiful being that stands before her. "I am willing to talk. What do you wish to speak about?"
"No doubt you have questions, mortal. There are things that Zathrian has not told you."
"What has he not told me?" The elf asks.
"It was Zathrian who created the curse that these creatures suffer, the same curse that Zathrian's own people now suffer. Centuries ago, when the Dalish came to this land, a tribe of humans lived close to this forest. They sought to drive the Dalish away. Zathrian was a young man then. He had a son and daughter he loved greatly, and while out hunting the human tribe captured them both."
Swiftrunner can understand this anger. "Hrrrr. The humans... tortured the boy, killed him. The girl they raped and left for dead. The Dalish found her, but she learned later she was... with child. She... killed herself."
The elf looks saddened. "And Zathrian cursed them?"
Swiftrunner takes a few steps forward. "Zathrian came to this ruin and summoned a terrible spirit, binding it to the body of a great wolf. So Witherfang came to be. Witherfang hunted the humans of the tribe. Many were killed, but others were cursed by his blood, becoming twisted and savage creatures..."
"Twisted and savage just as Witherfang himself is."
"Deceit is the nature of men," the large warrior states.
"They were driven into the forest. When the human tribe finally left for good, their cursed brethren remained, pitiful and mindless animals."
Swiftrunner goes to a knee beside her. "Until I found you, my Lady. You gave me peace."
"I showed Swiftrunner that there was another side to his bestial nature. I soothed his rage, and his humanity emerged. And he brought others to me."
"Why did you ambush the Dalish, then?" the elf asks. "For revenge?"
"In part. We seek to end the curse. The crimes committed against Zathrian's children were grave, but they were committed centuries ago by those who are long dead. Word was sent to Zathrian every time the landships passed this way, asking him to come, but he has always ignored us. We will not longer be denied."
"Hrrr!" Swiftrunner growls. "We spread the curse to his people! So he must end the curse to save them!"
"Please, mortal... you must go to him. Bring him here. If he sees these creatures, hears their plight... surely he will agree to end the curse!"
"I will speak to him," the elf promises. "I will try to bring him here."
"Tell him if he refuses, I will ensure that Witherfang is never found. He will never cure his clan. Outside of this chamber, the passage leading back to the surface has been opened for you. Return with Zathrian as soon as you can."
Daylen
Daylen sighs. And back into the Deep Roads they go...
A red-haired dwarf with a braided mustache on either side of his mouth approaches them as they near the entrance. "Stranger," he says. "have you seen a Grey Warden hereabouts? I've been privy to the rumor that he... or was it she - you understand this was many mugs ago - was searching for Branka on Lord Bhelen's own command."
"I'm that Grey Warden," Daylen explains.
The dwarf looks him up and down. "Well, if you're the best they've got, then standards must have fallen way down. But I suppose that would account for a human being down here. Say, could I ask you a favor?"
"Why not?" Daylen replies. "Everyone else does."
"Name's Ohgren," he introduces. "And if you've ever heard of me before, it's probably all been about how I piss ale and kill little boys who look at me wrong." He chuckles. "And that's mostly true, but the part they never say is how I'm the only one who still trying to save our only Paragon. And if you're looking for Branka, I'm the only one who knows what she was looking for, which might be pretty sodding helpful in finding her."
So far, Daylen likes him. "Why haven't you gone after her yourself, then?"
"Believe me, I have. But where she was going, it's a lost thaig. No one's seen it in centuries. I searched as far as I could, but... It would take teams of warriors searching weeks on end to cover enough ground to hope to find it. Which, I assume, is what Bhelen's men have done. And they shared what they found with you. But they haven't found Branka herself, and that means whatever they've got, it's not enough if you don't know what she was looking for. If we pool our knowledge, we stand a chance of finding Branka. Otherwise, good sodding luck."
Daylen laughs. "Don't I have enough lunatics following me around?"
"Perfect," Oghren booms. "What's one more? Branka was looking for the Anvil of the Void. Might have been the most important invention in Orzammar's history. The smith Caridin built it, and with it, Orzammar had a hundred years of peace, while it was protected by the golems created on the Anvil. As far as anyone knows, the Anvil was built in the old Ortan Thaig. Branka planned to start looking there, if she could ever find it. All she knew was that it was past Caridin's Cross. No one's seen that thaig for five hundred years."
"I have a map to Caridin's Cross," Daylen tells him.
"If we're going, let's get moving. Branka's not going to sodding find herself."
Tel'abelas.
Next chapter: Ruin