A Game of Thorns – "She Be All Ashy and Shit"
Part 1
Cultists. Is there anything more detrimental to religion than fanatics with irrational beliefs and behavior? What we found at Haven was a cult of dragon worshippers. Dragons, of all things. Other than immeasurable strength and the ability to fly, breathe fire, and incinerate or stomp their victims, there wasn't anything special about them. But these simple village folk were crazy, and possessed by a ridiculous notion that a high dragon was the risen Andraste. Maker help us.
The village appeared normal on the surface, like one of the many small mountain settlements in the region. But the veneer was thin. This village had no children. It had men and women of breeding age, and some walked together with the air of a married couple. But no children at all? It was highly suspect. Then we found one—or so I thought. A lad in his early teen years stood by one of the houses, chanting a morbid little rhyme. When we drew closer, I realized the "lad" was actually a woman with a deep voice and a slim, boyish figure.
"How incredibly sexy," Zev observed. "It's like having both a man and a woman in one skin, yes?"
Alistair stopped walking and glared at him. "That is just sick. You… you're a sick man, you know that?"
"Sticks and stones, Alistair," Zevran shrugged.
"Save the debates for your down time," I interrupted. "We need to keep moving and stay alert."
"We've got a welcoming committee ahead," Aiden said. Eight or so villagers, plus a few guards, lined up to block the path leading up to the chantry. Four crossbows were aimed at us.
"I'm not feeling the love of Andraste here," I remarked. "How about you, Aldiun?"
Upon hearing his name, the hound sprang forward and tackled the nearest guard. His crossbow fired wildly. The sound of it, and the guard's cry of alarm, started the action.
The village guards were the worst shots I'd ever seen. Either they couldn't aim, or they were so unaccustomed to fighting that they didn't know how to work a crossbow. The greatest danger from their bolts was the possibility of being hit by a stray one. All of them were strays. The unarmed villagers attacked us with their fists—a suicidal run. We tried lightly wounding them, but they kept coming for us with murderous intent.
Aiden made the first kill. One of his arrows hit a woman squarely between the eyes. "Sorry, but they made the rules," he said, turning his bow on the next attacker. He was right.
"Finish it," I called over the din. We changed tactics and went for quick, merciful kills instead of trying to discourage them. Zev pulled his bow and helped take out the crossbowmen, and Alistair beheaded a mage before he could cast a single spell. Between the four of us, with Alduin's help, the fight lasted about a minute.
"Stupid," I spat, looking down at the body of a woman about my age.
"You can't fault a person for having different beliefs…" Alistair began. He didn't get far with that line of thought.
"I can when their beliefs involve trying to kill me," I hurled back. "You should try it and see if it changes your viewpoint."
"Okay, take it easy," he said. "I wasn't defending them. You could have let me finish. I agree with Aiden. They brought it on themselves."
Why was I so angry with Alistair? I'd never stopped anyone from expressing their opinion, as long as it wasn't abusive to another member of our group.
Because these cultists remind me of Sebastian, and how easily he ordered my death.
Nobody moved. I'd been sharp with them before, when there was a need to bark an order or correct an attitude, or to stop the bickering that frequently broke out in camp. This, though, was just plain wrong. I swallowed my pride and said, "I… I overreacted. I'm sorry, Alistair."
The words hung in the air for what seemed like minutes. Then Alistair, being his usual easygoing self, broke into a big, goofy grin. "No harm done. Come on, let's go find us a dragon to slay."
Before we would find a dragon, we first had to carve our way through its defenders. Locked in a hidden room of the chantry was an injured Genetivi. He'd been tortured by the fine religious men of Haven.
"There are more of them," he warned us. "Not here. They guard the temple further up the mountain. I'm certain that's where we'll find the Urn of Sacred Ashes."
"Not 'we', Brother Genetivi," I corrected him. "I'm pressed for time, and your wounds need tending." He protested, insisting that he'd come this far and wanted to finish his quest for the urn. It was in his best interest that I refused, and sent Aiden to help him reach Redcliffe, the closest town with a healer.
"Do you want me to come back when I've done with him?" Aiden asked.
I didn't want to have to send him off to begin with, but since he was going to Redcliffe, I asked him to wait for us at the castle. "Whether or not we find the ashes, we'll have to report back to Bann Teagan. Keep an eye on things in the castle." He dutifully agreed, and we went off on our separate paths.
"A good man, that warden," Zev remarked. "And very handsome. Surely you've noticed, yes?"
"Not nearly as much as you have," I smiled back at him. I'd noticed him eyeing Aiden with clear attraction. Aiden wasn't aware of it yet, but Zev wasn't shy about his longings. Before long he'd make his lust known to him. Alistair and I looked forward to seeing Aiden's horrified reaction.
Just as Genetivi had said, armed cultists guarded the temple. These were highly skilled fighters and mages, unlike the clumsy villagers. It came as no surprise that there were also demons in the ruins, considering the crackpot religion had nothing to do with the Maker.
During the excursion we found various treasures, one of which was a figurine that Alistair liked. I didn't collect anything that wasn't practical—saw no use for such things—so I gladly handed it over to him. He received it with such humble gratitude that I didn't mention I'd found it in a pile of dragon poop.
We finally came upon a group of men who spoke to us instead of attacking on sight. Their leader was a man named Kolgrim. He went on about how Andraste had risen and taken on "a new and glorious form"—that is, the afore-mentioned dragon. He scolded us for killing his faithful nuts in the ruins, but when I said I needed some of the ashes, his attitude changed and he became rather chummy. He wanted something. Naturally.
"What is it you want me to do, Father Kolgrim?" I asked, hiding my distrust with a childlike tone and wide eyes. My innocent act always worked on self-absorbed men like Kolgrim. Alistair, who had been observing our conversation with his arms folded and a suspicious gaze, had to hide his amusement by raising a hand and putting it over his mouth in a fake-thoughtful pose.
The unsuspecting Kolgrim explained that for Andraste to fully return, the ashes needed to be destroyed with some of her blood. Where he found a vial of Andraste's blood, considering she'd been burned to death, was a curiosity. Then he revealed it. It was dragon blood. I should have known. I was allowed to take a pinch of the ashes for Eamon, then I was to pour the blood into the urn. That, he claimed, would reunite Andraste (the dragon) with Andraste (the charred human), or… Oh hell, I didn't know what he was saying, but I agreed to destroy the ashes. I wasn't overly fond of Andraste in any form. I took the vial and we set off for the mountaintop temple.
The temple's Guardian was a virtually immortal being who had kept his vigil over the urn of sacred ashes for centuries. He was the first being we encountered when we entered the shrine known as the Gauntlet. Before he allowed us deeper into the gauntlet, he wanted to ask us some personal, invasive questions.
I was first up for his inquisition. "Lady Winter MacEwan, noblewoman and warden, you were imprisoned in Starkhaven by your betrothed. But your true fault lay in your denial of the Holy Andraste. Do you still disagree that you were a blasphemer?"
Alistair gaped at me. He knew nothing of my past, not even that I came from nobility, and now he'd heard from this spirit that I'd been betrothed, imprisoned, and that I was supposedly a blasphemer. Wonderful. I would be equal to the atheistic Morrigan in his eyes, and our friendship would come to an end.
"Only the Maker is worthy of such reverence. I committed no blasphemy," I answered. "The accusations were false and my imprisonment was contrived by a religious fanatic, not too different from the ones that try to invade your temple. Or from yourself, for that matter."
"Very well," the Guardian conceded. It seemed he was more curious than concerned, and was incapable of taking offense from a mere mortal blasphemer like me. He turned his attention to my party. I could almost hear Alistair's heart breaking at this spirit-bastard's reminder of Duncan's death. Zev wasn't spared either. His involved one of his marks, I assumed. His nosy probing done, the spirit vanished and the door behind him opened.
"Let's go," I said, before anyone else could start a conversation about what the spirit had revealed of our private thoughts and failures. "Put it out of your minds and let's finish this mission."
There were five tests in the gauntlet. Riddles, a phantom bridge, a fight against invisible versions of ourselves, a spirit impersonating my father (my hatred of the Guardian soared), and lastly, we had to strip to our small clothes and walk through a fiery barrier. I wasn't keen on stripping for these two, and had less desire to see them in their small clothes, but if it meant reaching the ashes… We stripped.
No, this isn't uncomfortable in the least…
The flames were either an illusion or somehow cool enough to pass through unscathed. When I walked through to the other side, the Guardian put in another appearance and announced that I'd passed all the tests and was worthy to approach the urn.
(Oh happy day, I earned his approval.)
Alistair was in awe. I felt a sharp pang of guilt for what I was going to do. "They're only ashes, Alistair. The real Andraste died long ago. If these are truly her ashes, do you think she would have wanted them worshipped?"
"No, I suppose not," he agreed.
I removed the urn's lid. It contained maybe a double-handful of ashes, less than I was expecting to see in such a large container. A human body reduced to something to small… Instead of only a pinch, though, I took a scoop of them and placed them into a small pouch. If they had the power that some people believed they had—which I doubted—it would be a shame to destroy them all.
The vial of dragon blood was in my hand. I wavered, but only for a moment. Alistair watched, disbelieving, as I poured the blood into the urn, ruining the rest of the ashes.
The Guardian appeared immediately. "What have you done?" he boomed.
Well look at you! You're capable of emotion after all.
I felt a smug satisfaction at being able to offend him as he'd offended each of us. "Your services are no longer needed, spirit. You're fired." My cockiness was partly doused when two huge dust wraiths appeared. The Guardian wielded a massive war hammer, and the wraiths struck out at us with their razorlike claws. He was a tough foe, the strongest I'd battled thus far. It was no easy thing to kill a spirit with a heavy weapon, believe me. But eventually we inflicted enough wounds on him to make him fall to his knees. Alistair and I drove our blades into his chest, and the wraiths vanished when the being that had summoned them died.
When we paused to catch our breath, Alistair said to me, "It's a pity the world has been deprived of this relic, but you did the right thing. I fear many people would have died trying to reach it."
"That's why the ashes had to be destroyed," I answered.
Zev spoke up. "I do not see what the fuss is about. You merely poured refuse into a garbage bin." Ever the sensitive one, that Zevran.
One last bit of business needed to be concluded before we left the mountain. Once we were outside, Kolgrim greeted us. He was thrilled that his dragon-goddess was now complete, as if there were any change in the big flying lizard. It lay on the cliff overlooking the pass where we stood, probably deciding if there were enough of us to make a decent meal.
"Care to try your luck?" I teased Alistair, in reference to his earlier comment about slaying a dragon.
"I prefer to save myself for the archdemon," he answered. "I'm a one-dragon kind of guy."
Kolgrim offered me dragon blood to drink, claiming it would give me the strength and wisdom of the "risen lady". I'd drunk blood once, and that was enough for me, thanks.
"I don't want that worthless blood, and I don't think this world needs more crazy cultists," I said, drawing my swords.
I couldn't tell if he took more offense at my calling the blood worthless or at my threat. Regardless, we killed him and followers, relieved Kolgrim of his nice enchanted battleaxe, and made our way back through the ruins without provoking the high dragon. All in all, it was a good day's work.
With the village, ruins, and temple completely cleared of cultists (for the time being), we left the mountain and headed for Redcliffe with the ashes.
"So, you were in prison?" Alistair asked. He got no answer.
When we arrived at the castle courtyard, I asked Alistair and Zevran to go inside. I wanted to look into something that had been bothering me for a while. "I'll be along soon," I said. "Don't tell Teagan about the ashes yet, please."
"You have good reason for this delay, I take it?" Alistair questioned.
"I do. Please trust me, Alistair. This will only take a few minutes."
"I trust you," he replied. "But hurry. Every minutes the arl lies ill, his life is in danger."
While they went to the castle doors, I ran back to the windmill, used Teagan's signet ring, and slipped unnoticed into the to the dungeon corridor. I crept down the hallway that led to Jowan's cell. The mage struck me as a man who badly wanted to unburden his conscience, and with a bit of prodding, he would spill all he knew about the goings-on in the castle. As it turned out, I didn't get a chance to question him. The door separating the first set of cells from the area where Jowan was being held was open. I ducked into the shadows when I heard voices.
"You fool, I could kill you for your failure," a female voice growled. I recognized the accent. It was Isolde. "You would have let me sacrifice my life for your blood ritual if that warden hadn't stopped you."
"No, Isolde! I love you! I wouldn't hurt you or Connor."
"Poor, pathetic little man," Isolde taunted him. "Do you really think I slept with you because I love you? I needed your cooperation."
"How can you say such a thing?" Jowan moaned. "I know you're angry at me, beloved, but it can still work out as we planned. The problem with Connor wasn't my doing and it was unexpected, but I could have fixed it."
"How?" she demanded. "How could you have rid him of the demon without my blood? You would have killed me!"
"I had plenty of blood at my disposal," he answered in a sinister tone. "The warden's blood. I intended to use hers. We would have been rid of two problems at once. The demon would have been driven out, and the meddlesome warden wouldn't have gone after the urn."
Isolde scoffed. "If the urn exists, those ashes are nothing but ancient dust. I sent them away to be rid of them, letting the cultists do their work and kill them before they made it to the temple. One of the Wardens has already returned, and Teagan is expecting the others any day. I have to placate them with the 'worried wife' act until your worthless poison does its job."
"The arl is a heartier man than I thought, but it will work, my love," Jowan assured her.
"Stop calling me that!" she hissed. "You were a tool, Jowan. You've served your purpose and I have no more need of you."
"Why… How can you say these things? I risked everything for you!"
"You only did it to save your own life," she answered. "The deal I made with Loghain was to have you poison Eamon. He would be rid of the main threat to his authority, and I would be rid of the disgusting old man I married to get out of Orlais. I would have been Ferelden's only female arl, and an Orlesian at that! What a slap in the face for these arrogant dog-breeders. You tutoring my son was a boon, but a small compensation for having to lie with you to gain your trust."
"But I love you!"
"You disgust me."
I stepped from the shadows. "What a touching love scene," I sneered. "If I hadn't heard it for myself… No, I can't say I wouldn't have believed it. I suspected you from the start, Isolde. But you are much more vile than I imagined. A murderess, an adulteress, and a traitor."
Her eyes were huge and horrified. "What… what do you intend to do to me?" she blubbered. She instinctively drew close to Jowan's cell. He backed away from her.
Ah, true love…
"Me? I'm not going to do anything to you. I'll leave that to your husband when he awakens."
"You found the urn? No. It is a myth."
"Is it? Are you so sure? Because if you were convinced it didn't exist, you wouldn't be shaking and trying to cling to your lover, who no longer wants anything to do with you."
"Jowan loves me!" she cried.
Jowan spoke up. "I don't know you. I thought I did, but you're as false as your promises."
Having heard all I needed to, I walked away from them. I half-expected a wild, flailing Isolde to try to assault me, but she stood still, letting her crocodile tears run down her cheeks. Her former lover and I were unimpressed with the act.
Teagan waited for me in the main hall. "Winter, you're safe!" he greeted me. "I worried when your companions arrived without you. Alistair said you have news. Have you found the urn?"
"I have, and I've brought some ashes."
"Quickly, let's go to Eamon."
A healer administered the ashes in a potion that was placed, drop by drop, on Eamon's tongue. Within moments he awoke, looking confused but in full health. "Teagan? What are you doing here? Where is Isolde? And Connor?"
"I am here, my husband," the sneaky bitch purred, slinking through the door as if she'd done nothing wrong. "Connor is well, and you are back with us." She laid her face on his hand in what would normally have been a loving gesture. Her eyes were fixed on mine, and I read a threat in them. She had me all wrong if she thought I feared her or her lover.
I called Teagan aside. "I'm sorry to pull you away from your brother at this time, but I urgently need to speak with you."
He agreed to meet me in the arl's study. I whispered to Alistair to stay with the arl no matter what, and I slipped from the room. Teagan followed a few minutes later. While I waited for him, I looked through the arl's desk for any evidence of communication between Isolde and Loghain. Instead, I found a locket with an inscription that read, "To my son Alistair." I put it in my pocket.
Teagan came in, shut the door, and requested an explanation. "Isolde was the one behind Eamon's poisoning," I said, hating myself for causing this family more upset than it had already endured. "I heard her conferring with Jowan, and they revealed the plot against your brother. Loghain was in on it too." I related the whole conversation as I'd heard it.
"Maker," he groaned, putting his hands over his face. "How am I going to tell Eamon that his wife conspired to murder him?"
"I'm so sorry, Teagan. I didn't want to bring you such devastating news, but if Isolde is allowed to remain here with your brother, she will try to kill him again. The next time she tries, she won't fail. For Eamon's sake, you must tell him."
"Yes, he must be told, but I wish I weren't the one to have to do it," he said. "I don't even know if he will believe such charges against Isolde."
"Question the mage," I suggested. "He will probably confess everything, now that he no longer has reason to conceal it."
I tried to encourage him but there wasn't much I could say. Teagan left the study and headed for his brother's suite. I would have preferred to stay out of it altogether, but since I was the witness to Isolde and Jowan's conversation, they might need me to explain or confirm the story. I hoped they didn't. I was much more involved in their personal lives than I'd ever wanted to be.
Teagan asked everyone to leave the room so he could talk with Eamon. After a few minutes, he opened the door and called me inside. Eamon had me repeat the conversation I'd heard. When I was finished, he thanked me and asked me to join my companions in the main hall.
Isolde was there, watching, waiting, and worrying. She evoked no pity from me since she brought it all on herself. The things she'd said about the arl made me angry for his sake.
"Did you say something to them?" she snarled at me.
"Yes, I did. Shall I repeat it for everyone to hear?"
Eamon and Teagan came in, and conversation stopped. A low murmuring began when Jowan was brought in with his hands bound. Until now, he was jailed but unchained. This didn't bode well for the unhappy couple. Isolde looked like she was going to throw up.
"I've heard some disturbing things," Eamon began.
"They are lies!" Isolde interjected. "Believe nothing of what he says, Eamon. The mage and the warden…"
"Shut up, Isolde," Eamon ordered. "Not another word." She cowered at his stern tone—one that he had probably never used with her in the past. He motioned to Jowan. "Speak up, mage."
Jowan made a full confession, taking responsibility for making the poison and giving it to Isolde, who poured it into arl's wine. He revealed their tryst and said he agreed to help her rid herself of her husband, whom she claimed was cruel and physically abusive, and she feared for her life. "She said she loved me," he said, and his shame was evident in his tone, "and I believed her because I wanted to believe it. I was such a fool."
"You were indeed," Eamon said, "and you weren't the only one fooled by her. Nonetheless, you are guilty of attempted murder."
Jowan nodded. He knew his fate was sealed, and appeared ready to face it.
"Isolde," Eamon said, turning his attention to her, "you are also guilty of attempted murder. Tell me how Loghain is involved in your plot."
"Please, my husband, don't believe this mage's lies…"
Eamon interrupted her. "Answer my charges or don't speak at all. I have enough evidence against you to have you executed today. Denial will not change this."
She looked around miserably, searching for a sympathetic face, but there were none among us. Her actions were reprehensible. She was without excuse. Finally realizing she had no recourse but to confess, she told how Loghain had contacted her, sent the apostate Jowan, then imprisoned in Denerim, to help her, and told her to kill Eamon because he was "a threat to Ferelden." She didn't care about Ferelden politics; she only wanted to be free of her husband and to inherit the arling for her son.
I expected Eamon to launch into one of those "I-gave-you-everything-and-this-is-the-thanks-I-get" speeches, but he didn't say anything on those lines. What he did say was sobering. "Isolde and Jowan, you have both admitted to attempted murder. Isolde, you further admitted to violating the law by harboring two apostates—one of whom, thanks to you, is my own son—and to conspiring with the regent to murder a ranking noble of Ferelden. In accordance with Ferelden law, I hereby sentence you both to execution, to be carried out immediately."
"Arl Eamon, if I may speak," Alistair interjected.
"Go on," Eamon said. "But be brief."
"Wouldn't imprisonment be more humane, my lord? Their deaths would accomplish nothing."
Eamon regarded him for a minute, maybe recalling him as a boy, and remembering the affection he once held for him, before Isolde's jealousy convinced him to send the child away. "Alistair, I understand your concerns and I'm aware of your high regard for life. But is it truly more humane to lock someone in the dungeon for years, or even decades, without hope of freedom?"
Alistair answered quietly, "No, my lord. Forgive my interference."
Eamon motioned to the guards, who led the prisoners away. "Now, to the matter at hand," he said, dismissing the unpleasantness. "We still need to gather more warriors to combat the blight. There is also Loghain's treachery to consider." Considering the events of the past hour since he woke from his coma—learning that the king was killed at Ostagar and Ferelden was under the rule of Loghain's daughter, that Isolde had been untrue, had never loved him, had tried to kill him, that his son was a mage and would have to be sent to the tower for the rest of his life, that he'd ordered his wife and her lover executed, and the execution was even now taking place—he seemed unusually calm.
"Loghain is starting a civil war," Teagan said. "He has supporters, but many banns refuse to follow him after the events at Ostagar."
"It's beyond comprehension. Why would he want to divide the country when there's a horde of darkspawn at our doorstep?" Eamon asked, voicing the same question we all had. "Now, of all times, we need to be united against one foe, not fighting each other."
Zevran leaned to me and whispered, "This Loghain fellow, he would have made a good Crow. He revels in the deaths of others." I elbowed him in the ribs to silence him.
"Alistair, I assume you are in possession of the treaties?" Eamon said. Alistair answered in the affirmative, and Eamon continued, "Very well. You and your companion must take those treaties to the elves and the dwarves, and have them prepare their armies for battle. In the meantime, I will call for a landsmeet."
"A landsmeet?" Teagan queried. "For what purpose?"
"Anora is a capable administrator, but she isn't of royal blood and her only claim to the throne was through her marriage to Cailan. We need to put forth someone with a stronger claim to the throne."
Teagan understood. "You mean Alistair. I agree."
"Wait, what?" Alistair protested. "Don't I have a say in this?"
Eamon said, "No, son, you don't. You are the only person in the country who had a legitimate, blood claim to the throne. If you refuse, I will be forced to serve Loghain. Is that what you would have me do?"
Alistair struggled with his reluctance to be king and his abhorrence of Loghain. "No, my lord. We will not serve Loghain. I'll do whatever I must."
Eamon replied, "As I knew you would."
It was time for us to leave Redcliffe. We had much to do before the landsmeet—finding the Dalish elves and convincing them to fight with us, then going to the dwarven city of Orzamar and doing the same there. The Dalish settlement was far to our east, and Orzamar was in the northwest. It would require weeks to cover both places.
Eamon retired to his study and Teagan saw us out of the castle. "I want to thank you again for everything you and your companions have done for us," he said to me. "These have been trying weeks, to say the least, but without your assistance we could not have pulled through."
"You give us too much credit, Teagan. You held the village together alone before we arrived."
"Your most timely arrival," he stressed. "Well, I suppose this is our farewell, but it saddens me to part company."
"I've no doubt our paths will cross again soon," I said. We shook hands, and he held onto mine for a few seconds.
"If only things were different…" he began wistfully, then he assumed a stoic air. "Goodbye, my friends, and Maker watch over you."
As we walked down the castle steps, Alistair confided, "I don't know about you, but I'm ready for a break before we start on our troop-gathering mission. Maybe a day of rest at camp is in order?"
"Indeed it is," I said. The past days had been eventful and tiring. We were of no use to anyone in our current state of fatigue. "If Your Majesty wishes, we can even take two days," I added impishly.
"Don't start," he warned, but he was smiling.