Content warnings: Gore and mentions of torture

…...

We made our way down a small corridor to the lower dungeons at my word. We are closer to Howe, and with it, closer to freeing the shemlen queen.

We come to yet another plain door, and when I open it a burly looking shemlen guard squints his mud-colored eyes at me confusedly and asks, "Who goes there?" I chose to remain silent, to allow him to make the next move. He can tell I'm not human, and that my companions aren't either, for the most part.

"Hmm. You know, if you're not here on Howe's say so, we get to do with you what we like." He turns his head towards his companions, "I think we've finally got a bit of entertainment here, lads."

I snarl at him in instant anger, for he won't be getting to do anything that he wants! Not with me, and not with my companions! Not with a Dalish and a Grey Warden! We have fought and killed dragons! Howe's men will wish they begged for mercy!

"Ma emma harel!" I shout at him, and move to take my weapons in hand, just my companions do the same.

It is too cramped in the corridor for me to use my bow effectively, so I remove my wickedly curved daggers from their sheaths on my hips. Since befriending the flat-ear and the shemlen asha, Leliana, I have picked up their tricks during our time together on our journeys. I use their skills now to my advantage.

As I remove my right dagger, I simultaneously remove a small flask of acid that I had earlier strung to my hip. I toss the flask upwards, and hit it with the flat of my dagger to strike the shem that had just spoke to me. He screams in agony as he grasps wildly at his face, now embedded with glass and decaying rapidly with potent acid. I step forward slowly and deliberately to end his screams with a flash of my dagger, and a sharp gurgle and spray of his hot blood.

As I finish with the leader, I look and see that my companions have already dealt with the shem's friends. Oghren stands over two decapitated bodies, their blood pooling quickly at his feet, as the durgen'len smiles broadly with his crooked teeth in beserker rage-induced giddiness. I see Zevran delicately wiping the gore from his blades on a man with his shoulder bent at an odd angle, and his neck completely flayed open. His face is stoic, but I can see the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. Seeing his happiness at doing his job, at assassinating a moronic shem, I too find myself smirking. I feel an odd feeling come over me as I share in this strange, morose sort of pleasure. I look for my last companion, my fellow Warden, and see Alistair grimace as he attempts to clean his blade on the body of his fallen adversary without further disturbing the corpse. Occasionally I do find lethallin's facial expressions quite amusing. I attempt to hold in a chuckle.

As we make our way further into the dungeons we are met with more resistance. Apparently hearing the dying screams of their companions does not deter the shemlen from making war with our group. Evidently Howe is not in the habit of employing intelligent men. It is of no matter to me, for it makes our quest all the more easier to complete.

We enter a chamber with strange metal objections of various sizes and contortions lining the walls, even ropes and chains, and I hear Zevran breathe in deeply before he says sarcastically, "Ah. But I do love the smell of torture. Gets the blood pumping."

His words have alerted the torturers, and they attack us with small knives and pitiful attempts as soldiery. They are put down quickly.

We walk to the back of the room, as we still do not know where Howe is hiding, and I stop mid-step at hearing the desperate pleas of someone strung to a torturing devise, a rack, "Don't leave me here! Help me!"

I walk towards the man and peer down at him curiously. He has fair hair like Zevran, but no facial hair like most of the shemlen men I have met. He's completely bare, and his body is mottled with dark purple bruises, red marks of various sizes, and his wrists and ankles are raw and bloody where he's tied to the torturing devise. Such things sicken me. The Dalish do not delve into such practices. We kill our enemies. We do not play with them.

"Was this supposed to be some kind of lesson?" He looks up to me. His eyes are wide and fearful, "Did my father send you? Did he think it amusing to leave me here like this?"

I rub at my brow, and signal to Zevran and Alistair to loosen his bindings, for Oghren is guarding the doorway. I choose to be honest with the shem, "If your father is not Arl Eamon, then he did not send us to your rescue."

"I am the son of Bann Sigard of the Dragon's Peak bannorn, not Arl Eamon." With his wrists and ankles now free, he moves to a sitting position carefully. He's silent for a moment, until he makes eye contact with me again, "I-if you're not one of our men, please tell me who should I be thanking for my rescue?"

I nod to him in acquiescence of his request. "I am Fala Mahariel of the Grey Wardens, and these are my companions."

He shakes his head sadly, "The Wardens have suffered more than anyone in this. You have my most heartfelt gratitude, Warden, and I assume, the gratitude of my father's entire bannorn. If my father truly has sent no one after me, then I can only assume he doesn't know the true nature of those he's allied with. I must speak to him." He looks down at his bared body and badly beaten form, "But I am afraid I am in no shape to travel alone."

I sigh, "We are here for Howe. If you would stay here, we will return for you before we leave once our business is finished."

He nods, "I am afraid I don't have much of a choice."

I turn to leave the torturing chambers with Zevran practically adhered to my side. I look at him quizzically with a brow raised, as he's less than a hand's reach from me. I know the sight of these devises, and the killing that we have done does not disturb him. He is not concerned about these things, so it must be something else. He takes my elbow into his palm, and bends down to whisper in my ear once he's noticed my silent question of his behavior.

"You were not quite short with that human, as you are with others, mi amor."

Both my brows raise over my ethereal, apricot-colored eyes. Zevran's jealous. I can't help the smirk that plays across my lips at this knowledge. "And how is that an explanation for your newfound affinity for my shoulder, emma lath?"

He frowns and covers his heart with his other palm, "Do not wound me so, my Warden, by questioning my proximity. I am simply looking out for our leader."

"Hmm," I smirk wider. "And not at all trying to show some shem what is yours." I see his eyes narrow and darken at my words, and I grin widely.

I hear Oghren groan from behind us, "Can 'er keep it in 'er pants 'til we're done with the killin'?"

We come across yet more guards. How many does Howe have? For it seems the snake is quite paranoid, as he should be. We are after his blood, and that of his mage.

There are more holding cells further in, and we find a mad soldier who dashes for his freedom as soon as the bars holding him are opened. We've silently decided to free the captives as another slight towards Howe and Loghain, by extension.

Further down the hall of cells that the madman was held in, we find one other prisoner alive, a fellow elf. A flat-ear with rust-colored hair and eyes the same color as the sky. I'm half tempted to tease Zevran further by acting... kindly to this flat-ear, but I do not want Zevran's jealously and ire to cause this stranger harm. Even if he is a seth'lin.

"Aneth ara falon. Are you well?" So perhaps I wasn't able to resist completely. I look to Zevran to see his eyes narrowed and a smirk firmly in place. He knows the game I am playing at, and he's sure to seek retribution.

"Ugh." The seth'lin groans as he attempts to stand. His left arm looks dislocated, and his skin is more scabs and bruises than not. Howe truly is a sick bastard, as Alistair would say. "W-what month is it?" He looks around quickly to all members of our group, "Are you all enemies of Arl Urien's?" He grasps the rusty lock on his holdings through the bars on the door, "Please. It feels like I've spent half my life stuck in here."

I nod to Zevran to pick the lock on his cell, and he does so with an exaggerated eye-roll and a bow.

"Arl Urien is dead. He's been dead for months," replies Alistair. I do not pay close enough attention to the business of the noble shemlen to care if this Arl Urien is alive or not.

"Dead?" The seth'lin looks truly confused. "Then, who's ruling the Arling? Vaughan, the Arl's son, he struck me down, and I woke up in here. In this cell. The guards were whispering that people were so angry, that they were thinking of petitioning the king for my release."

"The king died at Ostagar. Loghain has taken his place. Howe is ruling Denerim." This time I answer his question.

"There have been many changes since my capture..." His voice trails off, and he steps through the now opened door of his cell, "I thank you stranger, for setting me free."

He looks truly relieved, and I bow half-way at the waist. I'm no longer teasing Zevran. The atrocities thrust unto elves at the hands of shemlen, flat-ear or not, have always affected me. In one way or another. "I am no stranger to you any longer, falon. I am Fala, of the Grey Wardens. These," I turn to the others, "are my companions: Zevran, Alistair, and Oghren."

He too bows, or at least attempts to in his beaten, mangled state of malnutrition and dehydration. "How can I ever repay you for your kindness?"

My brow scrunches, and I look at him more critically, "There is a man in a torturing chamber not far from here. Fair hair. Shemlen. Seek him out, and aid him as best you can. We will return for you and he, once our business is done."

He bows again, "I will do as you say, Warden," and he hobbles away. Apparently he knows where the torturing chamber is, for he did not ask for any further instruction. The thought too sickens me.

This entire situation, these prisoners, torture, the smell of death and decay, it all reminds me of what I saw in Zevran's illusion in the Beyond, at the hands of that demon in the shemlen mage holdings. He had been tortured in preparation to be a Crow. He had been strung up in a similar contraption to the one the bond shemlen had been to, and he had accepted it, until I questioned it.

I had gone to him afterwards, once we set up camp after that whole ordeal, far away from the shemlen holdings and homes, where I felt most comfortable – the woods. I needed it after fighting those battles, just as I'm sure the others reveled in the feel of nature's embrace too. Zevran was new in our company, and we were not yet lovers. I was concerned, however, I had never seen such devices or heard of such training. It looked quite painful. It was revolting.

"Zevran?" I asked him tentatively. I was much more cautious around him at first. I did not know how dangerous he truly was, but he gained my trust quickly. He straightened before me, as he finished the final adjustments on his tent. I had just finished with mine moments before.

"Yes, Warden?" His eyes were hard, and I wondered if he still suffered from the experience. Or if his behavior was due to something else.

"May we speak?"

He nodded and gestured at me with his hand, "If that is what you wish."

"You..." My voice trailed off and I cleared my throat. Creators! I should have thought about this some, so I would know what to say! "The Beyond. That demon. I had never seen such a thing. The one you were bound to."

He shrugged, and knew of which 'thing' I was referring to, "It is called a rack. A common devise used by the Crows. As I am sure many noblemen here use too, no?"

I furrow my brow, "I don't follow."

"Ah, sí. You are Dalish. I take it your people do not torture?" At my silence he continues, "Men like to make their enemies suffer. And they like to use pain to make those weak more willing. It is a way of gathering information too. If you are desperate, you will do anything, correct?"

My hands clench into tight fists at my sides once I fully comprehend what he has told me. Shemlen do this. They are the 'men' he speaks of. "Len'alas lath'din!" I spit. "And the shemlen use these devices on elves? And then they teach seth'lin to torture their own kind? They play with people to make them weak? To break them like they do their beasts?"

I can't help it when I start to stomp and pace before him. I must truly be a sight to see, but the crimes of the humans have no bounds, especially in light of the mage holdings. Who would hide those honored with gifts by the Creators? Who would shame them? And who would play with another, such as Zevran told me?

"Warden," I snap my head towards Zevran. He does not say anything, but his eyes have lost their hardness.

"You may call me Fala, Zevran. And I swear by Andruil that you will not find yourself on such a device again!"

I look to Zevran again, this time we're in Howe's dungeons surrounded by torture and death. He smiles at me, and I return it. Howe will pay for his crimes. He will not be free to torture any longer.

…...

Note: Late-ish update! So, so sorry! This is also un-beta'd because I'm trying to get this chapter out to you as quick as I can! :D If you notice any major mistakes, or something that ought to be addressed, please let me know – and I'll fix it asap! All you readers are awesome! And we're close to Howe's demise!

Translations:

Ma emma harel: 'You should fear me'

Aneth ara: 'My safe place'. - a friendly greeting used most commonly used amongst the Dalish themselves

falon: 'friend'. - usually in reference to a non-Dalish

Len'alas lath'din: 'dirty child no one loves'