OHMYGOSH.
TheTasteofColors, you are a beast!
For those who don't know, she drew us another picture of Avina! If you haven't already, go check out her DeviantArt! Or else... I might kill your favorite character! MUAHAHAHAHA!
Probably not.
But this chapter is dedicated to her, for her mad art skillz! I stayed up way too late writing it, so there's probably a bunch of errors.
Another HUGE thank you to those who reviewed. I'm looking at you, Urazz, Judy, ImagineBagginsDragon, and Alkeni (A new reviewer! Yay!). You guys rock!
Anyway, ONTO THE CHAPTAH.
Avina
She's got to admit, it's good to see everyone again.
She missed them. Even Morrigan. Even Daylen.
Wynne and Leliana especially. Avina doesn't know if she ever had any family other than her mother that she has only faint memory of, but she thinks Leliana is like a sister to her. And Wynne is a comfort, as she grew up learning from Wynne. She considers Wynne to be like a mother to her.
So as soon as Daylen sets up camp with them, she hurries over to see her.
"You're quite taken with each other, aren't you?" Wynne asks her.
A slight blush heats her cheeks. "Oh... you know about Alistair and me?"
"It's hard not to notice the doe-eyed looks he gives you, especially when he thinks no one's watching. It's almost too sweet for my tastes, and I'm an old lady who should be making lace hearts and fuzzy blankets with animal motifs."
"You're hardly the average old lady," Avina points out.
Wynne smiles. "No, I won't be making socks with pom-poms for you anytime soon, but that's hardly my point. I've noticed your blossoming relationship, and I wanted to ask you where you thought it was going. Alistair is a fine lad, skilled in battle, but quite inexperienced when it comes to the affairs of the heart. I would hate to see him get hurt."
Avina takes half a step back, hurt coloring her features. "You think I'll hurt Alistair?"
"Not intentionally," Wynne amends. "No. But there is great potential for tragedy here, for one or both of you. You are both Grey Wardens, and he is the son of a king. You have responsibilities which supercede your personal desires. Love is ultimately selfish. It demands that one be devoted to a single person, who may fully occupy one's mind and heart, to the exclusion of all else. A Grey Warden cannot afford to be selfish. You may be forced to make a choice between saving your love and saving everyone else, and then what would you do?"
Tears start to sting her eyes. "I don't want to make that decision."
Wynne crosses her arms. "Nothing is certain, not in these times. You cannot take anything for granted. I want you to be aware of this."
"Are you telling me I should leave Alistair?" Avina chokes.
"You may have to, to save one or both of you unnecessary anguish later on."
"I am not giving up what Alistair and I have, no matter what you say," Avina insists.
"I have given my advice. Do with it what you will."
Giving her one last hurt look, Avina turns and bolts back to her tent.
Alistair is inside, sleeping peacefully, but when he hears her enter he wakes, sitting up. "What's wrong?"
Wordlessly, she throws herself into his arms, curling up in his lap as the tears started to flow.
Alistair rubs her back soothingly. "It's alright," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her crown. He holds her like that until she calms, and falls asleep in his arms.
It's scary, knowing they're so close to facing Loghain, so close to facing the Blight.
Avina hopes they're ready. They're certainly in a better mood when she rises in the morning.
Most of the group seems to be getting along, finally. Morrigan and Alistair know to avoid each other, and Zevran is much more sensitive to others' feelings. It's probably because of the gloves she gifted him, but she'll take improvement when she can get it.
Oghren is not as bad as he first seemed to her, she must admit. He's rather fun, actually. And the things that come out of his mouth...
For example, that morning Alistair exits their tent and goes over to ask Oghren about the berserker fighting technique, when the dwarf just chuckles.
"So," he rumbles. "With the boss, aye?"
Alistair's eyebrows shoot up. "Pardon?"
"You and the boss. Rolling your oats."
At that point, Avina pokes her head out of the tent, confused.
"I don't know-" Alistair protests.
"Polishing the footstones," Oghren says suggestively.
"-what you're-"
"Tapping the midnight still, if you will." Oghren lets out a laugh.
Alistair looks almost horrified. "What are you going on about?"
"Forging the moaning statue. Bucking the forbidden horse. Donning the velvet hat. Eh?"
"Are you just making these up right now?"
Oghren shakes his head. "Nope. Been saving 'em." Then he looks around, as if checking to make sure no one's looking. "What do you do with her legs?"
"Whose legs?"
Oghren jerks his chin towards their tent. "Her legs. That's the thing about dwarven legs; they're worthless as an accessory."
"I didn't do anything with them," Alistair says, bewildered. "I don't know what-"
"Ah, say no more. Just got 'em outta the way and went about your business. Good on you, son." Oghren pats him on the back.
"Uhm. Thanks."
Avina ducks back into the tent then, her face so red she must resemble a tomato.
He's even more vulgar than Zevran.
When she reemerges, Daylen gives her a strange look. "What happened?"
She blinks. "What?"
"You spoke with Wynne last night, and seemed upset afterward," he tells her. "Ooh, I see what went on. Did she give you the relationship lecture, too?"
"She gave you one?"
"Oh, yes," he says. "About how I'm being selfish about being with Morrigan, and she's probably manipulating me for evil and things."
"Oh," Avina huffs. "Then... yes."
He pats her shoulder. "Don't worry too much about it. She's just worried about you two. She wants to protect you."
Avina sighs. "I guess I know that already, but... it still hurt."
He makes an exaggerated horrified expression. "Will you die?"
"Uh... no."
"Then suck it up."
She swats at him, even though she knows he's just messing with her. "You're such a prat!"
He ducks easily, avoiding the slaps aimed his way. "Hurry up, now. We'd best get a move on."
Strangely enough, Zevran seems to have taken a shine to Oghren. Avina had never seen an elf and a dwarf get along; she knew it was possible, of course, but... They get along quite well, and it's rather fun to watch them interact.
The two walk next to each other as they make their way over Lake Calenhad when Zevran cocks his head to the side. "I think I have a joke for you, my fine dwarven friend."
Oghren seems to be in one of his angry drunk moods. "Just don't expect me to laugh."
Zevran grins. "So, a human, an elf, and a dwarf are walking down a trail beside a stream, and they stop to take a piss."
This seems to brighten Oghren's spirits. "Alright. Things are looking up. Continue."
"After, the human takes out some soap and begins washing his hands. "We humans have learned how to be clean and hygienic," he says to the others. The elf begins picking some leaves off the trees and wipes his hands with them. "We elves do as tradition has taught us and use what nature has provided." The dwarf, meanwhile, has pulled up his trousers and is already on his way down the trail. "And our ancestors," he calls back, "taught us dwarves not to piss on our hands!"" And he lets out a loud guffaw.
Avina snorts with laughter, trying to cover it with a cough as Alistair gives her an odd look.
"He he he. Shows you what you know about dwarves," Oghren says approvingly.
It's quiet for a few moments, until they start quietly chatting amongst themselves.
Wynne catches up with Alistair, matching his stride. "Alistair, may I have a word?"
He flashes her a lopsided smile. "Of course, anything for my second favorite mage."
"It seems you and our fearless leader are inseparable these days," she notes. "Joined at the hip, almost."
"That's a bit of an overstatement, don't you think?"
"Well then, now that you're in an intimate relationship, you should learn about where babies really come from."
Alistair looks at her strangely. "Pardon?"
"I know the Chantry says you dream about your babies and the good Fade spirits take them out of the Fade and leave them in your arms... but that's not true. Actually what happens is that when a girl and a boy really love each other -"
"Andraste's flaming sword!" Alistair cuts her off. "I know where babies come from!"
"Do you? Do you really?" Wynne asks, feigning surprise.
"I certainly hope so," Alistair squeaks.
"Oh, all right then. Aww, look, you're all red and mottled. How cute."
Alistair's eyes narrow. "You did that on purpose!"
"Now, now Alistair, why would I do such a thing?"
"Because you're wicked," Alistair accuses. "That frail old lady act? I'm so not fooled. I'm on to you now."
"Shhhh!" Daylen hisses suddenly, and everyone shuts up. He waves them over to were he stands at the top of a hill, looking down on Bann Loren's lands.
Below them is a group of men, guards by the look of them, surrounding a man in fine garments.
His face tickles Avina's memory...
Before she can move, one of the guards stabs him right through the chest and marches off with the others, leaving him for dead.
Daylen sighs. "Alright, let's see what this is about."
Carefully, the group makes their way down to the injured man to get a better look at him. He's still breathing, Avina notes with relief. It would be horrible trying to get information from his corpse alone.
There is no mistaking it, however. He will die. A wound like that cannot be healed by magic, and bandages will not be enough to save him.
As Avina moves closer, the man's face is unmistakable. She knew she recognized him. Elric, she thinks his name was. He was one of Cailan's guards at Ostagar.
Elric sits up. "I didn't expect the Bann's men to notice my escape so quickly. I tried to hide here in the woods, but there wasn't time. And now I'm a dead man."
Daylen tilts his head. "There wasn't time?"
Elric looks closer at Daylen, recognition lighting in his eyes. "You were there at Ostagar," he realizes. "You know how things went. It was either this, or die in some darkspawn's belly, or... or be hung as a deserter.
"You deserted?" Avina asks.
"I daresay most people think the same of you and me, if not worse," Alistair points out.
"I fled the battlefield when Loghain betrayed us," Elric continues. "I abandoned my men, and they died, and Cailan with them. He was my king, my friend. Maker. All that time in Bann Loren's prison and I couldn't stop thinking about all they suffered that one dark night at Ostagar..."
"It's not your fault they died," Avina soothes.
"I know. Even had Loghain's men not turned their backs on us, the darkspawn were too many. Even Cailan, for all his bravado, knew there would be no victory at Ostagar. The king entrusted me with the key to the royal arms chest. If anything were to happen to him, he said, it was vital I deliver it to the Wardens."
"Then why didn't he just give the key to Duncan?" Daylen demands.
"He didn't get the chance. Duncan was so busy with the new recruits and keeping Loghain at bay. Whatever his reasoning, it's me Cailan entrusted it to."
"The royal arms chest," Alistair breathes. "It's where Cailan kept his father's sword, the one he always said he'd slay the archdemon with."
"Do you still have the key?" Daylen asks.
"The Maker has a sense of humor, doesn't he?" Elric muses. "I suppose it's for the best, however - had I kept it, it would be in Bann Loren's hands by now."
"But," Wynne interrupts, "you said Cailan entrusted it to you!"
"I was afraid. I thought I would lose it on the battlefield, so I stashed it in the camp. Please," Elric begs. "It's probably still there."
Daylen's brow furrowed. "Where?"
"The key's behind a loose stone in the base of a statue. I'll draw a map for you so you know where to search."
Avina offered him a parchment, and he shakily drew a rough sketch of the Ostagar camp with an X where the key was supposed to be.
"You'll be taking me along, won't you?" Alistair says. "Call me sentimental, but I left behind some darkspawn that really deserve a sword through the middle."
Avina nods gravely. "I would not deny you that opportunity."
"The events at Ostagar still haunt my thoughts, Wardens. If that is where we are headed, I would like to accompany you."
"It is vital that the king's documents do not fall into the wrong hands. As for Maric's sword, it's too powerful to be pawed at by those monsters. Same for the king's other arms and armor. And..." Elric's breath is becoming labored; he doesn't have much time. "And if you happen to find Cailan's body, see it off. He was our king. He shouldn't be left to rot amidst the darkspawn's filth."
He exhales, falling backward, eyes still open.
Avina closes his lids before she leaves, the group going back the way they came.
Elric was right. It is important that they retrieve this key and find Cailan's armor.
More than that, they need peace.
Tel'abelas.
Next Chapter: Secrets Kept