Chapter 3: The March
It was the morning after the Landsmeet. The world was surely ending, but somehow the sun had still risen. Somehow, the birds still sang their dawn prayers. Somehow, life went on.
Solona had returned to Arl Eamon's Denerim estate just before dawn to collect her companions. Her night had been spent aimlessly wandering the rural outskirts of the city. It was a foolish thing to do on the eve of a grand march. It was an idiotic thing to do alone, cloaked only in darkness.
Solona was an utter mess when she arrived at the estate. Dark circles hung below her red eyes. Her hair was matted; her clothes filthy. It did not matter anymore. She found her companions – all save him - waiting patiently in the dining hall, picking over their early morning meals. None would meet her eye.
"We have to get going," she muttered. They rose silently, collected their belongings, and set out.
The first rays of dawn were just breaking over the city's rooftops as they left the estate. A few merchants were already milling about, preparing themselves for their labours. It was strange to see the Market Quarter so quiet. As they reached the city gates, Solona turned back one last time to look upon Denerim. For all that it had its rotten corners, it really was a beautiful city. The buildings were grand, and its people were kind. Children were still free to laugh and play. Denerim was worth saving. Solona shook her head; no matter if the Blight ended well or not, she would likely never return.
The Warden and her companions arrived at their camp outside of Denerim as full light reached the lands. It seemed oddly peaceful - like nothing at all had changed. The various emissaries that had remained at the camp were gathered about the fire, chatting idly about the day. Bodahn puttered about, cleaning up after his breakfast. Sandal chased dragonflies nearby. There was a calm and simplicity to it that Solona missed already. Perhaps if she tried hard enough she could pretend that this was like any other morning. Perhaps she could imagine that she herself had just risen from her tent, ready to start a fresh, bright, new day, while stayed Alistair in her bedroll, relishing a few more minutes of rest.
She circled the camp once, trying to memorize it as it was. The high walls of Denerim framed the horizon. The smoke of a low fire wafted between the tents. Solona scowled as she wandered beyond them; Alistair was indeed still asleep. But instead of snoring merrily in her bedroll, he was slumped upon the log, dead asleep. She could not decide if she would rather run and beg for his forgiveness, or run and throttle him. Either way, she itched to run to him. Her plans were cut short as Leliana grabbed her arm and pulled her away to collapse the waiting tents.
Instead, it was Oghren who wandered over to the knight's sleeping form. "Oi! Wake up!" he shouted. His words were accented with a sharp kick to Alistair's shin.
Alistair groaned and rubbed his burning eyes. He was tired, depressed, and hung-over. The horizon spun as he lifted his head to stare blurredly at Oghren.
The dwarf kicked him again. "You awake yet?" Oghren demanded.
"Umm...yes. Doubly so, even," Alistair answered, letting his aching head drop back into his hands.
A shadow appeared as the Qunari came to stand over him. "Only a fool sleeps unguarded in the forest," Sten intoned. "You are unworthy."
Alistair sighed as he craned his neck up to meet the warrior's eyes. "Gee, thanks," he replied. "And what exactly am I so unworthy of?"
Sten glanced from Alistair, to Solona, and then back again. "Everything," was his only reply.
The future king let his own gaze flicker to where Solona was dutifully packing. She looked awful and beautiful all at once. He turned away; it was still too hard to see her. Instead, he stumbled to his feet as the world lurched mercilessly beneath him. Somehow, he managed to stagger over to where Wynne and Zevran were rolling up the coarse camp blankets.
"Wynne," he gasped. "I'm dying. Really - my head is about to explode. Do you have a potion? Or a guillotine? Anything..."
The Senior Enchanter gave him a sharp tut tut. "You should know that a hangover is the Maker's punishment for overindulgence."
"Oh?" asked Zevran. "I thought it was losing your rejected lover to an incredibly handsome and sensually talented elf."
Both Wynne and Alistair shot him a cold glare.
"No? Too soon? Very well then ..." Zevran sighed, and returned to his work.
Wynne gave Alistair a sharp scan from head to toe. Finally, she deepened her scowl and dug into her satchel, tossing him a small red vial. "You don't deserve this," she admonished.
"Yes, yes, I'm unworthy. I know," Alistair nodded as he downed the potion. Within a few seconds, his head began to clear. "Thank you," he added.
Wynne only nodded. As he walked away, she made a mental note to hide the alcohol and the lyrium for the remainder of the journey.
The morning had come and gone, leaving the hot weight of the afternoon's sun to stare down upon the Warden's party. It had been decided that they would take the northern road to Red Cliff. Although it led them away from Denerim's armies, this route allowed them to stop at Soldier's Peak to resupply and later join the remaining Circle mages on their journey.
Unlike their travels in the past, this march was silent. There was no sharing of tales nor jokes. Wynne did not give walking lectures on the local floral and fauna. Leliana did not strum casual ditties on her lute. Most noticeable was the separation of the Wardens. Where once they walked side-by-side, or even hand-in-hand, whispering endlessly back and forth, today they stood far apart. Solona marched at the head of the group; Alistair drudged far behind.
The sun now hung high above them, heralding the midday. At Wynne's demand – and Sten's disdain - they had stopped to rest.
Solona collapsed next to Shale, grateful for the shade the massive golem produced. She was tired, dirty, and more than a little broken.
"Is it a bad day to be a mage?" Shale inquired.
Solona sniffed at the question. "Every day is a bad day to be a mage," she mumbled. She turned to look up at the golem. "Why do you ask?"
"It seems that It is most unhappy," Shale observed.
Solona furled her brow. 'Unhappy' was a gross understatement. "Yesterday was a long day," she summarized. "I'm tired."
"The Swamp Witch does little but moan and rub at It's squishy head," the golem observed. Solona nodded; it was true. Morrigan was acting strangely – if not uncharacteristically quiet.
"And the Elder Mage – the Fussy Mage," Shale continued, "is... elderly and fussy."
Solona shrugged, "She's probably just tired too; the marching is hard on her. Not all of us can be immortal."
"'Tis the birds," Morrigan spat darkly from her seat behind them. Solona and Shale turned to regard her. "Wynne is fussing because she must find an offering for the birds of the Circle Tower, else they will not let us enter."
"What?" Shale shouted.
"Oh yes, there are thousands – millions of them there" Morrigan seethed. "We must offer them something... stony, lest they bar our way."
"I most firmly object to this!" replied Shale and marched off to threaten Wynne with a firm crushing.
"That was unkind," Solona tried to scowl; she could not. "And maybe a little funny," she admitted.
Morrigan sighed and rubbed at her temples once more.
"Are you alright?" Solona asked finally.
"'Tis my head," moaned Morrigan. "It feels as though I have sat through a lifetime of Alistair's drivellings." After a moment's reconsideration she added, "And my stomach. The fat estate cook must have poisoned me..."
"Do you need anything?" queried Solona as she tried to ignore the mention of him.
"Lyrium would help," Morrigan replied, clenching her eyes closed once more.
Solona frowned. Her supply was low as it was; they would not have anymore lyrium until they reached the Circle Tower. For a moment she considered lying – claiming to have none. Surely she needed more than Morrigan. She promptly scolded herself for being so selfish. Solona reached into her pockets and produced a small bottle for her companion.
Morrigan drank the lyrium and returned to massaging her temples.
"Better?" Solona asked.
"No."
"My, my," began Zevran as he sat down next to Solona. "Headache? Nausea?" he turned and gave Solona a sorrowful shake of the head. "It seems our magical temptress has been unfaithful to me. Who is the father? … Sten? I can't say I blame you. He is so very...large." The elf lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. "Or perhaps it was one of your animal friends," he mused. "A bear perhaps? So very kinky, my witchy siren."
Morrigan hissed at him.
Solona actually laughed. It was a relief to be happy again, even for a just a moment.
Sten approached, his scowl deeper than usual.
"So very very large..." Zevran sighed beneath his breath. Solona gave a small snort of laughter.
"We're wasting time," Sten complained.
Solona nodded. It was time to get going.
As they rose once more to their feet, Zevran grasped Solona in an unexpected embrace. "You must laugh, my dear," he whispered into her ear. "When you would cry, you must laugh. For me." He placed a light kiss upon her cheek, before turning and continuing down the highway.
The following days were more of the same. The Wardens tried very hard to avoid one another, while their companions tried to pretend that they were not marching to their deaths.
When they did arrive at Red Cliff, they found the village deserted. After fighting their way through a small horde of besieging Darkspawn, they made their way into the castle to confer with Eamon.
"I have grave news," began the Arl.
They had gathered in the same hall where they had first met Connor, possessed and tortured by a demon. Solona scanned the stone arches about them. She had only the very worst of memories of this place. They had found demons and undead here. She had been cast into the Fade here, landing in a labyrinth of nightmares and chaos. She gazed back to a particular door, unnoteworthy from the rest; she had last seen Jowan here, repentant and ash grey, being led off by Templars to his fate.
"Riordan tells us that the Darkspawn horde is headed towards Denerim. They will be there in two days," Eamon explained.
Solona wanted to groan aloud. They had just come from Denerim! The Maker had an awful sense of humour.
"What? Are you sure?" questioned Alistair. "If that's true, then..."
"I ventured close enough to listen in, as it were. I am quite sure," Riordan confirmed.
Solona sighed. "Then we need to march at once," she admitted.
There was an awkward silence, as Eamon and Riordan decided who would bare the remaining bad news. Riordan finally spoke up, "There is even more grave news: the archdemon has appeared. It has taken its place at the head of the Darkspawn horde."
Eamon nodded. "We must begin a forced march to the capital immediately with what we have," he ordered. "Denerim must be defended at all costs."
Riordan appeared hesitant. "The horde must be defeated, but the archdemon is our target, and only a Grey Warden may defeat it." He turned to Solona, "We can only hope that the armies give us the chance we need."
Eamon made to depart. "I will give the ordered at once. I will notify you as soon as the armies are ready. I suggest you all get some rest," he said, before making his way down to the battlements.
Riordan placed a hand upon Solona's shoulder. He looked almost embarrassed – ashamed even. "If you and Alistair would have a word with me, we have Grey Warden business to discuss,"
Solona breathed her agreement with a faint sigh. It seemed more bad news was inevitable.
Solona walked quietly down a hall of Arl Eamon's castle. More secrets - another Harrowing awaited. She approached Riordan's chambers to find Alistair waiting outside. She could not even look at him.
"I..." he began. "Let's just see what Riordan has to say," he gasped finally.
Solona could only nod, and followed him into the room.
"Ah good. You're both here," Riordan said as he rose from his desk. He clenched his jaw for a moment, uncertain of how to continue. "You are both new to the Grey Wardens," he began. "You may not know how an archdemon is slain."
Solona's stomach rolled into an awful mass; this did not bode well.
Alistair looked puzzled. "So, there's more to it than just chopping off its head, say?"
Riordan shook his head. "So you do not know. I had just assumed that Duncan..." he paused to rub his forehead, searching for the right words to explain. "Tell me, have you ever wondered why the Grey Wardens are needed to defeat the Darkspawn?" he asked.
Anger was beginning to well up within Solona once more. She was ill with secrets. Why would Riordan not get to the blasted point? "I assume it has something to do with the taint in us," she muttered.
"That is exactly what it involves." Riordan answered. "The archdemon can be slain, just as any other Darkspawn. But, if it is slain by anyone but a Grey Warden, its essence travels along the Taint, and into the nearest Darkspawn – making it functionally immortal. But, if it is slain by Grey Warden, its essence travels into the Grey Warden instead."
This was it, the next awful secret for Solona to face. "And... what happens to the Grey Warden?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"A Darkspawn is an empty, soulless vessel – a Grey Warden is not. The essence and the Grey Warden are destroyed," Riordan explained.
Thick, suffocating silence filled the room.
"Meaning the Grey Warden that slays the archdemon dies?" Alistair breathed.
Riordan would only nod.
And the fury was lit within Solona. They both had had a chance to stop Loghain's death. Why hadn't Riordan pulled them aside and insisted they spare the Teyrn? He knew Solona had been a Warden for barely a day before Duncan died. And Alistair! Why had he not listened to reason? Why had he demanded that Loghain be executed before hearing the facts? … Why did he have to take the crown?
Solona shook herself. Now was not the time for such thoughts. "Why is this such a secret? Why doesn't everyone know this?" Solona demanded.
"We keep it a secret for the same reason we keep the Joining a secret. Who would join knowing they risk such an end?" the Orlesian Warden explained. He sighed, "And yet, there must be Grey Wardens. Without us, there is no hope."
It was an awful excuse, but Solona held her tongue. Knights, mercenaries, templars and more volunteered for such battles every day. Some would happily die for the sake of honour. Sacrificing a single Grey Warden every half-millennia was hardly a sacrifice at all.
Silence reigned once more. Solona's mind reeled, searching for an answer. There were only three of them. Alistair would be king. Riordan would be needed to lead the new Wardens of Ferelden. That left only her. Her eyes fell closed as the truth became evident. It was best this way. If she survived the Blight, only stone towers awaited her – whether it was Weisshaupt, Soldier's Peak or the Circle, it mattered little.
"Then I will take the final blow myself," Solona said as she cast her gaze downwards.
"No! Absolutely not!" Alistair shouted. He took a sharp step forward, positioning himself between Riordan and Solona. "I forbid it."
Solona shouldered past him. "You are neither my King, nor my Commander," she spat at him. "You have no say in it."
"Burning Andraste I don't!" Alistair exclaimed. He turned to Riordan. "I'm the senior Ferelden Warden. It's my duty to be the one."
Solona scoffed. "You already know where you can shove your duty," she snapped.
Riordan gave the pair a sad smile as they bickered on; it was both tragic and beautiful to see young lovers fighting over who would save whom. "It warms my heart to see such courage," he interrupted them. "But do not rush towards your death. The deed should fall to me. I am eldest, and my body will not stand the Taint much longer. But, should I fail, it will fall to you." He took a deep breath before continuing, "But enough of this. We should get some rest."
Alistair nodded in temporary accord. "Yes. So this ends soon... one way or another."
"That it does my friend. That it does."
As they left Riordan's chambers, Alistair turned to Solona.
"Look, Sol..." he began.
She pushed past him before he could continue. "Go be king, Alistair," she snapped. With that, she trod into her chambers, and slammed the door behind her. In an afterthought, she bolted it; if Alistair followed her, she would fall to pieces all over again.
The heat of the room surrounded Solona in a suffocating burst. She looked up, and promptly flew back against the locked doors; a dark figure was outlined in the rolling flames of the hearth.
"Do not be alarmed," sighed Morrigan, stepping out of the flame's glow. "'Tis only I...".
A relieved gasp rushed forth from Solona's lips. She peeled herself from the heavy doors and made her way to across the room to collapse onto her bed. With a blind hand, Solona reached over to a side table to retrieve a tiny blue bottle. She drank its contents and tossed the bottle carelessly aside. After a moment, she sat up and shot Morrigan a quizzical eyebrow. "Don't you have your own bedroom?" she asked.
The witch wandered across the chamber to where a meager bookcase awaited; her normally graceful gate was stiff and uneven. She thumbed over the dusty spines before turning to regard Solona. "I decided it was time that we spoke," she announced. Morrigan turned to lean up against the shelves. The orange glow of the firelight danced across her pale skin. "I have a plan," she breathed. "A way out. A loop for your hole."
Solona sighed. Wonderful, she thought, more schemes...
Morrigan approached the bed. "I know that a Grey Warden must be sacrificed for the archdemon to die. And this sacrifice could be you," she said, punctuating her words by placing a gentle hand upon Solona's shoulder. She gave the Warden an appraising look, "This does not need to be..."
The bed creaked as Solona shot to her feet. "How do you know this?" she demanded. "And why the bloody hell did you never think to mention this before, oh say, we killed Loghain?"
With a firm hand, Morrigan grasped Solona's wrist and pulled her down to sit upon the bed once more. Leaning in, she ran the tip of her finger along Solona's jaw. "I know a great many things. How I know is not so important as what I know." She moved closer to whisper into Solona's ear. "I offer a way out for all Grey Wardens. A ritual. Performed in the dark of night. On the eve of battle."
Solona leaned back from the uncomfortable closeness. Morrigan was being … strange. "Nothing comes without a price," she answered.
A serpentine smile travelled along Morrigan's lips. "Perhaps that price need not be so unbearable, especially if there is much to gain. All that I ask is that you listen to what I have to say. Nothing more," she promised.
What else was there to lose? Solona carefully rose from the bed, and began to pace back and forth before the scorching hearth. She had already lost her only love, and she would not likely live to see the next moon. She sighed. "Very well," she conceded. "What is your plan?"
Morrigan sat upon the edge of the now deserted bed. She spread her arms open and cocked her neck slightly to the side. Solona watched her carefully; it seemed as though Morrigan had become uncomfortable within her own skin.
"What I propose is this," began Morrigan, "Convince Alistair to lay with me here tonight. From this ritual a child will be conceived. When the archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon. At this early stage the child can absorb that essence and not perish. The archdemon is still destroyed, with no Grey Wardens dying in the process."
Solona's jaw fell as bile threatened to rise up into her throat. She wanted to laugh – surely Morrigan must be jesting. It was hardly a secret that Alistair would sooner lay with Oghren than with Morrigan. Solona stared hard into Morrigan's eyes. There was no mirth to be found. The witch was serious.
Still not truly believing the request, Solona asked, "So the child becomes a Darkspawn?"
Morrigan rose and made her way to where Solona stood. She ran a soft hand over Solona's hair like a mother comforting her child. "Not at all," she cooed. "It will become something different: a child born with the soul of an Old God." Her tone suddenly became sharp. "After this is done, you allow me to walk away, and you do not follow. Ever. The child will be mine to raise as I wish."
Solona choked at the news, "You actually think Alistair would agree to this?"
Morrigan raised an eyebrow. "If you care for him as you seem to? Consider the alternatives. Alistair will not fail to do his duty as king. He will die. Or, you will die and he will lose the woman he loves. I think you have many good reasons to tell him to save his own life. I think you should consider this carefully."
Taking a couple precautionary steps back, Solona shivered as her back made contact against a stone wall. If she asked him, she was unsure whether Alistair would agree to the ritual. He had rejected her, but when faced with the certainty of one of their deaths perhaps he would relent. Yet, that was only a very small portion of the problem. Solona considered Morrigan a friend, but could she trust her with a child? Perhaps. Could she trust her with an Old God? The answer was obvious. "No," Solona answered. "I won't agree to this."
Morrigan followed Solona to stand so again they almost touched. Her breath was ragged against Solona's cheek. "Do not let your foolish pride condemn you," the witch warned. "No Grey Warden asked for the sacrifice that is now demanded of them, and I offer all of you a way out. You never wanted this," she stressed. "Will you not reconsider?"
A small piece of Solona's heart burned to accept; Mages feared the Maker like no other. As a mage, she had flaunted her prideful magic in his face all her life. There would be no place for her in his golden city. She silenced it with a painful dismissal. "I will not reconsider," Solona stood firm. "The answer is no."
Morrigan was furious. "Then you are a fool! I will not standby and let you waste this opportunity. Die if you feel it is worthwhile. Or be overshadowed. I care not," she spat and marched towards the door.
Solona strode after her and called "Please, don't do this Morrigan." She placed a firm hand upon the door, barring its opening. "Don't go. I need you here," Solona begged. "I can't do this with out you. Please stay. As my friend, please stay."
A sigh fell from Morrigan's lips. "Would that I could have helped you," she frowned. "But this is your own doing." She pushed Solona's hand aside and pulled open the old oak doors.
"Farewell, my friend," were the last words Morrigan whispered before disappearing into the night.
Solona fell upon the bed and tucked her knees up against her chest. She was losing more pieces of herself. A soft footstep echoed through the room, forcing Solona's attention to a dark corner. Leliana stepped out of the shadows. Solona let her head fall back against the bed; how Leliana could hide herself in plain sight she would never know.
"How long have you been there?" Solona asked.
Leliana strode towards the bed. "Oh, mon petit chou…" she began. Long enough, obviously.
The bard climbed onto the mattress next to Solona, and took her hand.
"I'm going to die," Solona whispered. "I thought thirty years was too short, but now I may not last the week."
"Shh, do not say such things," Leliana soothed. "Riordan will succeed and you will live a long and happy life."
"In a tower," breathed Solona, as tears began to gather in her eyes.
Leliana frowned. Her bow was useless against sorrow. With no other weapons at her disposal, she wrapped her arms about Solona and hummed a quiet tune until they both floated down into sleep's embrace.
A/N: Righto, next chapter is the Final Battle, and then FINALLY something new. It really is coming. I promise.
Thanks to those that take the time to Review.