Heaps of thanks to my superstar beta, Suilven! Had, had, had... semicolon, semicolon, semicolon. You'll beat my bad habits out of me yet. I hope! :) You did an awesome beta job on, what, two hours of sleep? My bad... *giggles*
The tower shook from deep below, the distant roar of magical thunder accompanying the tremors as they rolled through the tower. Lhiannon, Anders, and Tallia found themselves being herded up the stairs, angry shouts in Orlesian close behind them. Fear gripped Lhiannon, twisting her stomach into knots as the moments passed. She and Tallia were rushing up the stairs with their robes hiked up to their knees so that they would not trip. Anders followed a step behind, using his body as a barrier between the girls and the swatting swords of the Orlesian templars rushing them up the stairs from behind. Lhiannon could hear Tallia breathing heavily from her side, the stress of climbing at such a pace taking a toll on her slight elven frame. Tallia slowed as they came to a landing between floors, pausing to cast a rejuvenation spell on herself. Before she could finish, one of the Orlesian templars rushed to where she stood, striking her with his armored hand in a vicious backhanded slap. Tallia fell forward, the sound of a rib cracking against the stone steps loud in the small space. She cried out in pain as Anders helped pull her to her feet.
"No spell casting, mage," the templar said, snarling at her from behind his metal mask.
Anders snarled back at the templar. "You daft bastard; she was trying to rejuvenate herself. She can't move that quickly up the stairs." Lhiannon gasped as the templar suddenly lashed out and struck Anders, cutting his face and lip with his armored hand. Anders stood nose to nose with the templar, glaring contemptuously at the eyes behind the armored mask. The templar raised his hand threateningly as if to strike him again. This time, Anders backed away, wiping the blood off his face before turning and gently helping Tallia to her feet. As Anders assisted Tallia up the stairs, the templar turned his derisive gaze onto Lhiannon.
"Are you next?"
A colorful curse came to Lhiannon's lips, but the templar saw the defiance in her eyes and raised his hand in warning. Seeing the implicit threat, Lhiannon shrank away from the templar, turning and hurrying up the stairs behind Anders and Tallia. After a few moments, they had caught up with a group of smaller children climbing the stairs. They were obviously tired, their young bodies unable to keep up with the pace of the templars behind them. Several were openly crying, their hoarse voices adding to the cacophony of sound coming from far below them.
"Move faster! Keep quiet," the templar behind them shouted.
As Lhiannon climbed the last few steps to the next landing, a boy several years younger stumbled on the hem of his robe, falling forward and catching himself on the rough steps before him. She reached down and quickly helped him to his feet as one of the templars snarled at them to keep moving.
"You okay?" Lhiannon asked, helping the boy climb the stairs once more. He had a mop of dark hair, disheveled yet matted to his head by sweat. His light eyes were wide, his mouth open slightly as he panted with exertion. After a moment, the boy nodded.
"Yeah. M'okay," he said, his voice a barely audible mumble over the pounding of footsteps on the stairs and the rumble from deep below in the tower. The floor shuddered again, causing the boy to gasp and shake in Lhiannon's hand.
"I'm Lhiannon. What's your name?"
"J… Jowan…"
Stay with us, Jowan." Lhiannon pointed to her friends ahead of her. "The elf? That's my friend Tallia. The boy with the long hair is Anders; he's my friend too."
"Uh…okay…"
Lhiannon looked up and saw that they were very close to the top of the tower. At the next landing, two Orlesian templars flanked a door set into the wall, herding the young mages through with looks of thinly veiled contempt. They were led down the hall and into a small common room there, and ordered to sit on the floor and keep quiet. Several templars remained in the small room, glaring at the youngsters before them.
"None of you are to attempt to use your magic," the templar in charge said, shoving an older enchanter into the room with them. Lhiannon recognized the mage as Enchanter Sari Trugill, a woman who taught classes on Fade theory. Sari stumbled briefly as she entered the room, then crumpled into a heap as the templar in charge smote her.
"Hey!" Anders said, his voice an indignant shout. He moved to stand, but Lhiannon grabbed his arm to try and keep him sitting on the floor. Anders jerked his arm from Lhiannon's grasp, snarling at the templar in the doorway. "You didn't have to smite her, you self-righteous bastard!"
Lhiannon shrieked in fright as a second templar called a holy smite down upon Anders. He paled and groaned, his eyes rolling back into his head at the onslaught. He began to tremble and slumped to the side; Lhiannon pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around him to both keep him steady and comfort him. He shook in her arms and Lhiannon could feel the residual effects of the templar's smite surrounding him. Her stomach rolled uncomfortably; she glared at the templar, but knew what awaited her if she said anything.
The tower shook beneath them again. Jowan reached out and wrapped a hand around Lhiannon's arm, a small whimper escaping his lips. Lhiannon pulled one of her arms away from Anders, draping it around Jowan's shoulders and pulling him close.
"Enchanter Sari, what's happening?" Tallia asked once she had helped the older woman into a sitting position. The enchanter rubbed her temple with delicate fingertips as the color returned to her face.
Sari gave a wary glance to the templars near the door, keeping her voice low so as not to antagonize them any further. "First Enchanter Remille has imprisoned many of the senior mages, installing his Orlesian cronies into their places. The templars have been imprisoned and denied their lyrium; some are going mad." Sari paused as the tower trembled beneath them again, a peal of what sounded like thunder heard from far below. "Some of the mages and templars are fighting back."
"Report."
Teyrn Loghain handed the scout a flagon of water, waiting patiently as the man took a long draw. The scout had just arrived from a mission to the west of Lake Calenhad near Gherlen's Pass. He had been charged with watching the pass for activity from Orlais. The man looked like he had ridden hard from his post, which made the hair on the back of Loghain's neck stand up.
The Teyrn and a number of the Fereldan army were currently camped just outside West Hill, following what leads they had on King Maric's disappearance. It had been several since the Grey Wardens from Orlais had arrived; how convenient that when they had left, Maric had disappeared at the same time. Loghain cursed. He had offered to be the guide the damned Orlesians wanted to lead them into the Deep Roads, but it appeared the Orlesians had other motives. Apparently, Maric was a much more valuable hostage, despite the fact that Loghain was perhaps the most hated man in Orlais.
Another, more disturbing thought crossed Loghain's whirling mind. Maric would not have left with the Orlesians willingly, would he? Leave Cailan and the nation behind on some fool's errand? Loghain hoped Maric had not run out on his son or his country. A twinge of guilt cut across his heart before he crushed it; he had not run out on Celia and Anora. This was different.
Loghain's exhausted mind drifted back to the day he had discovered Maric missing.
The ambassador from Kirkwall was furious when he appeared in Loghain's office at the palace; he had been waiting all morning to meet with King Maric and he had said that if this was the way Fereldans conducted their business, then they could deal with the raiders off the coast themselves. Loghain had not seen Maric that morning, which was not all that unusual when there were no visitors in the palace. That Maric had not met with the ambassador as he had promised vexed Loghain greatly. Loghain was still in a foul mood from the meeting with the Orlesian Wardens the night before and hearing that Maric could not drag himself from wherever he was to meet with the ambassador only served to fuel his irritation. Loghain spoke with the ambassador, listening to the man's concerns about the raiders. As the general of Ferelden's army, Loghain promised the ambassador that he would increase patrols of both men along the coastline and have some of Ferelden's small navy patrol the waters along the shore. Ferelden's people were not sailors; Loghain did not trust the sea but he knew keeping and building a navy was a tactical move that could not be ignored. After all, that weakness had been exploited by the Orlesians in the past.
After seeing the ambassador to his entourage, Loghain turned and stalked the halls of the palace in search of Maric. Were it not for the leather of his gauntlets, Loghain's fingernails would surely have left deep gouges in his skin from how tightly his hands were clenched. He felt his irritation grow with every step he took, every empty room he looked into. He was supposed to be preparing for his fool's errand with the Grey Wardens, not babysitting the King. Maker's breath, I swear he does these things on purpose when he just can't be bothered. Damned bloody idiot! When I find him...
"Teyrn Loghain?"
A small voice brought Loghain to a quick stop, the plates of his armor scraping lightly. Standing in a small adjoining hallway was young Cailan, his small hands wringing together and a look of worry on his face. Loghain felt a small hitch inside him; the look on Cailan's face was one he had seen on the face of the boy's mother many times in younger days. The place in his heart that would always belong to Rowan tugged at him. He pushed it aside, seeking to find the cause of the boy's distress.
"Cailan. What is it?"
"Have you seen my father? I've been looking for him everywhere and I don't know where he is. He always wants to hear how my lessons with Mother Ailis went... but I can't find him!"
The hairs on the back of Loghain's neck began to stand up. This was unusual; Maric always greeted Cailan after his schoolings with Mother Ailis, wanting to hear how his boy was progressing with his lessons. That Cailan stood here before him on the verge of tears set Loghain's instincts into action.
The first thing to do was settle Cailan; the perfect person for that would be Mother Ailis. After that, he could begin to look for Maric in earnest. Loghain shook off the gauntlet covering one of his hands, placing his hand on Cailan's shoulder. He tried to give the boy a comforting smile.
"Come, Cailan. I'll go look for your father. Let's get you to Mother Ailis; she'll look after you for the time being."
"Okay."
Loghain guided Cailan through the halls of the palace toward the small library that Rowan had established for both her voracious love of reading and Cailan's daily lessons. Mother Ailis was still there, replacing books on the shelves when Loghain and Cailan entered. She turned to them with a smile, which Loghain watched falter as she looked at his face. He had known Ailis a long time; she knew him almost better than anyone and she no doubt saw the fine lines of worry on his face. She had become a mother figure in the years he and his father had been on the run; in those dark years after his mother had been raped and murdered by the Orlesians who had taken their farm.
"Teyrn Loghain," Ailis said, her voice guarded. "Is there something I can help you with?"
"There is," Loghain said, trying to keep the irritation at Maric out of his voice so that Cailan would not be upset further. "Cailan is concerned that he can't find his father. I'm going to look for him. Please watch over Cailan while I do so."
Mother Ailis quickly put Cailan to work putting books back on the shelves before returning to Loghain's side. She gazed into the face of the middle-aged man, seeing beyond the troubled expression to find the boy she knew from years ago. Many considered Loghain to be a cold, taciturn man, but Ailis knew the reality. The Teyrn was a man who felt deeply, carrying a deep passion for those he cared for. He opened himself to only those he allowed to become close to him and sadly, those numbers were few. Judging by the worry lines on his face, Loghain was deeply concerned.
She broke out of her brief reverie. "What do you think has happened to King Maric?"
"I am unsure," Loghain said, his voice low so as not to alarm Cailan. "I intend to find out. When I find that idiot..." He paused briefly, his gaze falling on Cailan. "I'll return shortly."
After leaving Cailan in Mother Ailis' care, Loghain stalked through the halls of the palace toward Maric's private apartments. He pulled a small ring of keys from inside his armor, letting himself in.
As always, the first thing that caught Loghain's eye was the painting of Rowan that hung on the wall above the grand fireplace in the sitting room. Loghain's breath caught, seeing the image of Rowan captured on canvas. Maric had commissioned the painting just after their wedding and coronation. She looked radiant, both warrior maiden and benevolent queen, the golden crown on her head a shining contrast to her dark curls. Even now, Loghain could see the sadness beneath Rowan's serene expression; a credit to the artist.
That had been the day he had left for Gwaren.
Breaking from his musing, Loghain swept his gaze over the room. Nothing looked out of place. The door to Maric's bedchamber stood partly open. Loghain moved toward the door, his trepidation growing with each step closer. Placing his armored hand on heavy wood, Loghain pushed it open and peered inside.
Maric's bed was neatly made. Loghain's cool eyes traveled the room, looking for anything out of place, any clues...
His eyes landed on the two armor stands in the room. Maric's golden ceremonial armor adorned one of the stands—the other was empty. Loghain frowned. The stand that held Maric's silverite armor was the empty one, and the rack that held his enchanted blade was likewise empty. The hairs stood up on the back of Loghain's neck once more. Maric only donned his silverite armor and enchanted blade when he was leaving the palace; more often than not in recent years, Loghain saw him in either finery or the ceremonial armor.
Andraste's blood... where the bloody Void have you disappeared to? The Grey Wardens...
Moving at a clip, Loghain left Maric's apartments in search of the captain of the palace guard. His anger grew as he neared the man's office. Knowing the whereabouts of his King was the captain's duty and if he was failing at it he would face Loghain's wrath.
Without knocking, Loghain burst through the door to the captain's office, startling the man into spilling his small inkwell. The captain stood quickly, his chair crashing to the ground behind him as he tried to protect his vellum from the spreading ink.
"Tell me, where is your King?" Loghain asked, his voice curt.
The guard captain looked up at Loghain for a moment before returning his attention to the spreading mess on his desk. "I saw him with the Grey Wardens in the back corridor last evening. His Majesty ordered me off, saying that he would be speaking with the Grey Wardens alone."
The hair on Loghain's neck began to stand up again, his irritation and dread growing stronger. What the bloody Void was Maric doing in the back corridor with those damned Orlesians? "And you did not think to report this to me?"
"The King ordered me not to; said I wasn't to bother you, Your Grace," the guard captain said, his voice stammering under the intense glare the Teyrn gave him.
Loghain swore, barely holding his anger and concern in check. Maker damn it to the Black City! It took all of Loghain's willpower to not grab the guard captain by the scruff of his neck and throw him into the nearest cell. The Grey Wardens were Orlesian; there had been more than one attempt on both his and Maric's lives in the years after Ferelden had regained its independence from Orlais. What if the story they had told regarding this missing Grey Warden was a ruse? What if these people were not Grey Wardens at all but more assassins sent to Ferelden in their name? Not only had this man not stopped Maric from speaking with the damned Orlesians alone, but he had then not told him about the odd order.
Loghain pointed an accusatory finger at the guard captain. "Where is your second in command?"
The guard captain called out for his second, a young lieutenant who appeared in the doorway from an adjoining room. Loghain looked pointedly at the lieutenant, a man named Logge. "You are in command of the palace guard now."
"Y—yes, Your Grace."
Loghain pointed to the now former guard captain. "You. Out. Now," Loghain said, his voice a sharp bark in the small room. The former captain paled and quickly scampered out of the room. Turning his attention to the new guard captain, Loghain nodded curtly.
"Captain Logge, mobilize your men. I want you to search the palace and grounds for the King, but do it quietly. I will search the inner sanctum of the palace, and you and your men will search the other areas. Report to my office in one hour with your findings." Dread settled into a lump in Loghain's stomach; the more time that passed without sign of Maric, the more he thought it ominous. Had he—and Maric's men—somehow allowed Orlesian agents under the guise of Grey Wardens into the palace? Had they snatched the King from right under their noses?
As Loghain had feared, Maric was nowhere to be found within the palace or the adjoining grounds. He sent guardsmen to the gates of the city as well as the harbor in search of Maric. A report finally came in from one of the side gates of the city that the Grey Wardens had been spotted leaving wearing heavy cloaks… with one extra person than they had arrived with. Loghain cursed; Maric had left the city with the Wardens. Now, the question was whether he had left with them willingly. It was beginning to appear that Maric had left with them of his own free will, but Loghain needed certainty.
It was late in the evening when Loghain was able to gather the new captain of the guard, Maric's chancellor, and several army officers from Fort Drakon within the walls of the palace to begin planning the search for the King. By this time, Loghain estimated that Maric and the Grey Wardens had a day's head start on them. Being on horseback, they would be able to cover significant ground if the woman Genevieve had her way. Looking over a map of Ferelden while he waited for the others to arrive, Loghain began to formulate a search plan.
There were only two entrances to the Deep Roads that he and Maric had been through: one in the northwest of the country near Kinloch Hold and the other in Gwaren. Loghain doubted that Maric would take the Grey Wardens to the entrance in Gwaren; that entrance was likely still flooded and besides, Loghain had commissioned a company of dwarves to repair and reseal the entrance years ago.
The most logical entrance was the one near Kinloch Hold, especially since that lickspittle Remille was with them. No doubt the Orlesian fool would wish to be escorted back to his tower in the middle of Lake Calenhad by his Orlesian countrymen. The North Road was the fastest route to Kinloch Hold—there were few roads crossing the Bannorn that could provide a more direct route—but if Maric and the Grey Wardens did not wish to be found, they likely would not travel along the main roads. Loghain looked out the window, watching as the nearly full moon cleared the horizon, casting strong light over the darkened landscape. The moonlight was bright, but sending men off on a search for the King in the dark of night was something Loghain was loath to do. However, these were not normal circumstances so sending them off during the night had to be considered.
When the others arrived, Loghain began to assign duties. The army was to be dispatched throughout Ferelden, with groups of men to march to Gwaren, Redcliffe, the central Bannorn, and Amaranthine. Loghain himself would take a company of men along the North Road toward Highever and eventually Kinloch Hold. In his gut, he believed Maric and the Grey Wardens would search for the Deep Roads entrance in western Ferelden. He also planned on paying a visit to Remille at Kinloch Hold to demand that the man either tell him where Maric and the Grey Wardens were or be thrown into the vast waters of Lake Calenhad. To say Loghain did not trust Remille was an understatement. Not only was he Orlesian—which automatically caused Loghain to be suspicious—but the man was as slippery as a snake. With the King missing, it was the perfect situation for an opportunist like Remille to take advantage of.
When he did arrive at the tower to confront Remille, Loghain meant for it to be in force. With that in mind, he planned to send several scouts ahead on horseback to West Hill, asking the Bann to send several ships up the river that connected the Waking Sea to Lake Calenhad. The ships would be waiting along the northern shore of the lake by the time Loghain and his men arrived.
It was at first light that Loghain and his company of men left Denerim, heading west on the North Road. Since there were nowhere near enough horses for all the men, Loghain had the army moving at a forced pace on foot. They would march west and canvas the countryside until the sun neared the horizon, set camp, then be off again by the time the sun cleared the horizon in the morning. They were hardened men and women, accustomed to rigorous training. Loghain had no doubt that they would be able to make the journey west in excellent time.
Loghain's men fanned out along and near the North Road, small parties sent into the landholdings, small villages, and boarding houses near the road to see if anyone had spotted a number of heavily armored men and women heading west. By the third day on the road, Loghain was becoming discouraged and angry; clearly, the Orlesians were clever enough to avoid the main road. Finally, as they neared the roadway that split off toward the north and where Highever lay, a scout came back with the news that Loghain was waiting for.
The Grey Wardens and Maric had indeed traveled this way.
The scout had been sent ahead the day before, fanning south along one of the narrow roads that led into the northern Bannorn. He had stopped in the second small hamlet he came to, Birchwall, and had discovered that a group of people headed by an imposing woman warrior with white hair and a mage with a waxed beard and mustache had stopped at the small market for provisions. While a group of travelers passing through was nothing unusual, the merchant had clearly remembered that the mage spoke with a foreign accent and that the white haired woman had seemed to be in a great hurry, not wanting to tarry within the village. The scout had pressed for information on the woman and mage's companions and had soon realized that it was the group they were looking for. Loghain felt both a sense of relief and a renewed sense of irritation at the situation; however, they were on the right track.
Loghain broke from his reverie, looking at the winded scout before him. The man finished drinking from the flagon, handing it back to Loghain with an appreciative nod. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the man spoke his piece.
"Your Grace, a number of templars have been seen on Gherlen's pass, heading into Ferelden from Orlais."
Loghain's expression darkened, contemplating this news. Why are templars coming from Orlais? The Chantry in Denerim has not mentioned requisitioning more templars. Ailis would have heard if they had. "Have you heard from the patrol at the border?"
The scout nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. The templars are headed for Kinloch Hold at the request of the First Enchanter. They're definitely Orlesian, Your Grace; their helmets are very distinct."
"The First Enchanter?" Loghain asked, his brow furrowing deeply. "Normally it is the Knight Commander making such requests for templars. The last thing we need is more Orlesian lickspittles underfoot."
The scout grunted his approval. "They were all on horseback, moving at a clip toward the Circle. As soon as they passed, I followed them as far as the northern end of Lake Calenhad. They broke off toward the south while I continued here."
Possible scenarios came to Loghain's mind, none of them good. The templars could be joining the Orlesian Wardens in whatever scheme they had planned. They could be taking Maric to Orlais... to either be ransomed or killed. It was possible that the Circle needed more templars, but then why did the call come from the First Enchanter and not the Knight Commander? And why did the call go to Orlais rather than Denerim?
Loghain called out for the lieutenant stationed outside his tent. The man quickly appeared, giving Loghain a crisp, practiced salute.
"Take a squadron of men and leave for the border crossing with Orlais along the Imperial Highway immediately. Spread out in groups along the border, keeping within spyglass sight of each other. Stop all travelers going into Orlais that fit the description of the Grey Wardens. Stop anyone traveling with carriages or carts and search them. I do not want the Orlesians trying to slip back into Orlais with the King. Report back to me if—"
Shouts were heard just outside the tent. Hearing the commotion, Loghain pushed past the two men in his tent, hurriedly throwing the flaps back in time to see a second scout running toward him, followed by a woman in heavy armor and a young man in a long cloak. As they drew closer, Loghain could see that both the man and woman were bloodied, but seemingly uninjured. The woman wore a templar's plate and skirt; the man wore torn and singed robes rather than a cloak.
"Your Grace," the scout called out, coming to a stop just before Loghain's tent. The man and woman drew closer, out of breath as they came to a stop behind the scout.
"What is it?" Loghain asked, looking past the scout to the man and woman behind him. Definitely a templar and mage… but why are they here? "Who are these people?"
"This is templar Almonda and mage Godfrey from Kinloch Hold," the scout said, his voice still breathless from his run. "I found them at the Lake Calenhad docks after they rowed a small boat to shore from Kinloch Hold."
Loghain took a step forward, examining the templar and mage closely. His eyes narrowed as his gaze moved between the two of them. "You both look like you've seen some fighting."
"Truer words were never spoken," the mage Godfrey said as he tried to brush dirt and dried blood from his robes.
Templar Almonda nodded grimly at Loghain. "We barely escaped with our lives. Godfrey and I just happened to be in the docking area underneath the tower when the fighting began…"
"Fighting?" Loghain asked, his brows furrowing at the templar. "What fighting?"
Almonda's face became grave. "First Enchanter Remille and his supporters have taken control of Kinloch Hold."
I've taken a break from Skyrim to post this chapter. I've decided that I'll keep working on the fan fiction between breaks (or when it crashes to my desktop... bummer). I'm hoping to have the next chapter of "Retribution" posted in about a week or so. It's outlined and just needs to be fleshed out. That is, of course, if my muse isn't kidnapped by my Imperial battlemage Khorrine Snowraven.
Big thanks to reviewers Suilven, Arsinoe, Wyl, Dante Alighieri, cloud1004, and Tyanilth. I appreciate all your support! Now, you are excused to go play Skyrim until you start nodding off in exhaustion. ;)
Thanks to all you quiet readers as well!