Chapter Two

It was their second day on the road to Denerim and the heat was beginning to seem daunting. Wiping her brow for what seemed to be the millionth time, Sereda almost wished she were in the cold confines of the Circle Tower, hunting down abominations. Almost.

She wondered what Denerim would be like. The capital of Ferelden. The bard had told her Denerim was Ferelden's heart, with strong walls and beauty. Sereda's thoughts drifted to Orzammar. It did not truly have a singular heart, she decided, but ventricles that crossed and joined and overlapped, spanning the entire city, including the Deep Roads. Orzammar. She felt the familiar lurch within her stomach that she always did when she thought of Orzammar. So much pain had been brought upon her there, but when she remembered it, her first memories were of sitting on her father's knee as a child, play acting court procedures and conduct, eyes shining as her father laughed. She would puff out her cheeks—somehow her child logic had made her think it gave her a distinguished look—and pronounce decrees. From the very start, she had been most fond of rules that had as their core tenets mercy and progress. Her father had been much amused when one day she had taken it upon herself to write out mock histories in one of her little notebooks for those whose records were not present within the Shaperate.

"The Shaper will be furious, my daughter!" King Endrin had roared with his characteristic hearty laugh. With a great deal of interest, he read her histories. 'Trestor Malaer, casteless from birth, nevertheless has shown himself a great friend of nugs. Indeed, just the other day, he was seen feeding a nug a particularly delicious looking rat.' 'Lolly Ramane, casteless from marriage to such, has hair the color of embers as they are dying. It is at that moment they shine their brightest. Her interests include sitting in the sun and playing with her baby.' Sereda had filled the entire notebook with stories of people she had imagined and their tales and the king had sat with her and read them all carefully. After much grinning and merrymaking, he had sat her down in front of him and looked at her, face turning serious.

"My daughter," he had said, "you are young and kind. But you do understand that the casteless are not within the records for a reason, do you not? They are the sons and daughters of bad people—criminals—and are punished as such." Sereda had looked at her father, her blue eyes opening wide.

"But father, isn't it terrible to punish someone for being born? What if I had been born to a casteless?" King Endrin frowned, eyebrows knitting close together as he surveyed his progeny's earnest expression. He did not immediately speak and the grand hall echoed with Sereda's words. Sereda bit her lip, suddenly nervous, feeling that she had crossed some unspoken boundary but unsure of what it was. There was silence for a long moment. Then, making a silent decision, King Endrin broke out into a smile and shook his head, hugging his daughter to his chest.

"My beloved daughter, I should still love you," he said.

Sereda shook as she remembered that moment. The air did not seem quite so warm as before. Perhaps that was the solution to the heat. Continuing to remember things that chilled her to the bone.

"You know, Alistair, the hot weather is good to you. The disheveled hair, the discarding of the heavy armor, the vaguely angry facial expression. Women find that much more attractive than your usual…how shall we say…puppy dog motif," Zevran said. Sereda jerked out of her reverie to catch a mischievous smile on her companion's face. Next to him, Leliana stifled a giggle. Alistair was not pleased.

"Oh yeah? Well, I like my…motif…just fine, thank you."

"You can recreate this look, you know. It need not be merely heat induced. Waving the hair just so, a few drops of water strategically placed—"

"If you don't mind, I've told you to keep your glorious advice to yourself." Alistair glared at Zevran, who smiled innocently. Sereda felt the corners of her mouth twitch herself; she half expected Zevran to begin to whistle.

"You know, Zevran has a point. You do look quite handsome like this, Alistair," Leliana said, her eyes twinkling impishly.

"I…uh…oh. Ahem. Well, thanks...I think. Oh, must we all continue this conversation?" Just then, before he could receive an answer, a resounding crack came from beyond the edges of the road, within the forest. All four of them turned their heads, hands reaching for weapons and potions, their bodies assuming battle stances. A moment of silence followed; then a sharper crack.

They came out of nowhere from all directions. The first one—an Ogre Alpha—emerged from the trees where they had heard the noises and roared, thumping its chest. The sound emanated like wild drums beating to a precarious melody of death. Darkspawn rushed the group from all sides, a mass of thick bodies and disfigured flesh.

"Assume formation three!" Sereda yelled, running towards the Ogre Alpha. Behind her, Zevran faded into an invisible stealth mode; Sereda knew he would creep to directly behind the Ogre Alpha. Alistair swung his sword around and plunged it through a darkspawn flanking Sereda, then moved alongside her, clearing as many of the creatures as he could. Leliana, farther away, aimed her bow and picked off the darkspawn at the edges of their group, lessening their outer shields.

Sereda kicked out, then swung back in quickly to protect herself from the retaliatory attack she knew the ogre would follow with. The ogre bellowed and knocked her off her feet by slamming the ground, the shockwave from it leaving her reeling. Fast as she could, she pushed herself back on her feet and launched another attack on the ogre, battling it with all the sword techniques she knew, one after the other. Gorim would have been proud to see this, she thought. If he was here with me, he'd relish my improvement. Her mind drifted to the way they fought together; it had been a rather unique technique, comprised of everything from simple to complicated maneuvers. The best part had always been their almost mind reading synchronization, sensing the other's move before it was made, enabling them to defend and bolster each other's movements reflexively in split seconds. She may never feel that connected to anyone again, she realized, her strength ebbing. The sword seemed heavier and a dull pain stung her muscles. So tired. If only she could sleep for a few moments. Suddenly Sereda felt her waist ache. She looked down; a sharp gash had formed on her side. The ogre. Ancestors' blood, she had to focus on that ogre. It swung at her then, powerfully, and its hand came into contact with her waist. The beast lifted her up, its iron grip tightening around her like a vise. From behind the beast, Zevran made his move, attacking at lightning speed. Temporarily stunned, the beast howled, flailing its arms wildly. Ceasing her advantage, Sereda leapt up onto the ogre and sliced her sword through it. It fell.

The rest of the darkspawn were soon disposed of and the party sat down, breathing hard.

"It just never gets easier, does it?" Alistair sighed. Sereda didn't answer; she was trying not to mention the wounds the ogre had managed to land. It had come so close to destroying her. She winced. Too close for comfort. But this wasn't the time to dwell on it; it would only slow them down and time was of the essence. She tried to smile.

"Nope. And that's the way us Grey Wardens prefer it. Come on, Alistair, don't you remember when you were clamoring to be part of the fight, way back in Ostagar?" she finally said, keeping her tone deliberately light. Alistair smiled tightly, his lips turning a bit pale.

"Ostagar. So long ago. I wish I could forget all about it, like a dream when you awaken. Sometimes I think…Maker's breath! You're bleeding!" Sereda looked down at herself; indeed, the area above her armor had turned red and she knew that if removed, blood would be seen gushing from various areas on her body. Alistair rushed to where they had thrown their packs before the fight, scrambling for their injury kits. Zevran and Leliana moved to Sereda, helping her out of her armor and gauging her wounds and their severity.

"It's nothing really," she tried to protest. "We need to keep moving."

"Yes, because when you fall unconscious from the blood loss, we'll be sure to quicken our pace," Alistair said, his face grim. "Sereda, let us help you." Sereda sighed, but didn't object further. It was true that she was beginning to feel rather dizzy, even as they were speaking. As though there were a gentle rumbling earthquake beneath her feet, scrambling her mind.

"This isn't good, that ogre did quite a bit of damage," Leliana said, her thin eyebrows furrowed with worry. Zevran frowned, but said nothing, moving to the injury kits Alistair had lain out and extracting some herbs and gauze. Silently, he began to grind and mix the herbs.

"I wish Wynne were here. We really should bring her. I just worry, her being so…well, elderly, and all that. Sometimes I feel rather like she'd simply break in battle, like a worn branch or daisy stalk. But then again, she is a wonderful healer and at times like these…oh, but I'm rambling again. I'm sorry. I'm…concerned, that's all," Leliana finished nervously. Zevran's frown deepened and his hands worked quickly to fashion a poultice. Meanwhile, Alistair cleaned the wounds with water from their flask.

"Perhaps I should…sit for a while," Sereda said, her voice sounding oddly distant to her. She tried to look cheery, but she felt faint. Her body was tumbling, though it wasn't, and wasn't that Bhelen in the distance? She shook her head. Her mind was blurring, regurgitating age old images. She felt pressure the sides of her waist and upper chest, where Zevran was no doubt dabbing his herbal mixtures and Leliana was softly singing something. A tune, a lovely tune, but somehow it seemed to be getting softer. Then it faded out and the sky turned black.

...

She woke hours later, to the strangest sensation of weightless movement. Tilting up her head, she saw Alistair and Zevran carrying her in what seemed to be thick cloth material. They had made a comfortable thing of it, each carrying one end and allowing her to sway gently as they moved. As she turned her head about, she could see that the trees had receded a bit and the path had grown wider than she last remembered.

"Ah, decided to join us, have you?" Zevran's voice streamed from near her feet. "Well, I can't say I'm not relieved." Leliana rushed to her side, the bard bending her head and examining Sereda carefully.

"You look a bit better. The bleeding has stopped at least. Is there anything I can get you? Water? Food? Perhaps something sweet, yes? Let me look." Sereda raised a hand weakly.

"No, that's fine," Sereda said slowly, her words slurring a bit.

"Ah yes, your voice will do that for a while. You, my friend, are not easy to knock out," Zevran said, the hint of a smile in his voice. Sereda let her head swing back, her forehead aching with guilt. She had broken the cardinal rule: Never let your personal issues compromise you or your team during battle.

"We should be reaching Denerim soon," Alistair said, looking over his shoulder. "Just another few hours now." Sereda tried to lift her head and nod, but it felt as though it were filled with rocks. Later. She would nod later. For the moment, sleep would be her peace.

...

Amid the sound of voices and laughter and chanting, Sereda stirred. Eyes still glazed, she rubbed them into clarity. Around her, sounds of life and bustle filled the air. Vendors, priests from the chantry, noblewomen perusing goods and chiding their maids. And colors! So many colors. Weapons carved from steel with hints of rubies encrusted on their hilts, scarves of the finest spun silk, even bottles of ale and violet wine.

"It is quite lovely," Leliana was saying. "Though not as ornate as Orlais, it has a certain rustic charm that is unmistakable." Alistair was surveying the marketplace, looking a bit nervous. Glancing at Sereda, he saw that she was awake and grinned.

"Ah! Our valiant leader awakens once more. Tell me you can walk now because quite frankly, all this hunching must be simply murderous for my figure." He chuckled. Sereda said nothing.

"Oh fine, you don't have to laugh. See if I ever laugh at your jokes. Unless it's really funny. You may break me then," Alistair said, mock pouting. Then his face turned serious. Sereda was looking off into the distance as though she had seen a ghost.

"Sereda…Sereda, are you alright?" he asked. Sereda barely heard the question. Her mind reeled and she felt as though she was floating, high above all that she saw. It couldn't be true. This was the beginning of the end; her mind was lost. Her burden of pain had finally claimed her sanity and her mind had brought her here, to the one image she could find solace in. For it couldn't be true. She felt herself lowering her body off the cloth Alistair and Zevran had been carrying her in, feet touching the ground but numb. Without saying a word, she began to walk in a brisk stride, then broke out into a run, pushing through the swarm of women, sellers, children, and animals. Her wounds still unhealed, she felt them ache and burn through her skin as she pushed her body, racing as fast as she could. Then finally, out of breath, with tears clutching the edges of her eyes, she stood motionless in front of a seller calling out, "Dwarven crafts! Fine dwarven crafts! Direct from Orzammar! You won't find better—" He halted, midway.

"My lady?" Sereda's heart stopped.

Gorim.

...