Author's Note: I. Am. So. So. Sorry. Very sorry, that I haven't updated, that is. I've been…well, addicted to Skyrim, honestly. This has been sitting in my saved files for a while now, and though it isn't the best chapter, there will be more exciting things happening later! Like maybe an appearance by a certain talking darkspawn…and a certain sadistic elf and homicidal golem! Oh, but there is a cameo appearance, just to sate everyone's appetite.
Act VIII: Lothering
They had come to the main road a little after they began walking, and had enjoyed a day of relatively easy travel. Alistair had been eerily quiet, but Morrigan was talkative, and kept pestering Revan about her previous life, the life she had led before coming to Thedas. Rose, also curious, listened in. Judging by the sun, it was about noon when they finally reached Lothering. In front of them were mounds and mounds of carts, boxes, and wooden frames, abandoned by refugees. Images of refugees from Revan's past filled her mind, but she banished them as bandits emerged from the rubble. She scowled and wished that Rose would let her kill them, but the girl had too much compassion. She would wait to see what the bandits would do.
Rose stopped as the bandit leader stepped from the debris. She crossed her arms as he appraised her.
"Wake up, gentlemen!" he called to the rest of his band. "More travelers to attend to! I'll guess the pretty one is the leader." Rose scowled at the comment.
"Err…they don't look much like them others, you know," a large bandit leaned over to their charismatic leader. "Uh…maybe we should just let these ones pass…"
"Nonsense!" The bandit leader turned to Rose and smiled broadly. "Greetings, travelers!"
"Highwaymen," Alistair commented in a low voice. "Preying on those fleeing the darkspawn, I suppose."
"They are fools to get in our way. I say teach them a lesson," Morrigan suggested.
The bandit leader grinned at Morrigan. "Now, is that any way to greet someone? Tsk, tsk, tsk. A simple ten silvers and you're free to move on."
"How about you let us pass for free?" Rose suggested.
Revan stepped up to stand next to the girl and crossed her arms. "Your friend is right: we're not refugees."
"What did I tell you?" the simple bandit told the leader. "No wagons, and this one looks armed."
"The toll applies to everyone, Hanric," the leader explained. "That's why it's a toll and not, say, a refugee tax."
"Oh, right," Hanric nodded. "Even if you're no refugee, you still gotta pay."
The Jedi sighed, but waited for Rose to decide what to do. Rose smiled; she was going to toy with this man, much like a cat plays with a mouse before killing it.
"Oh, so you're toll collectors, then?" she asked.
"Indeed!" the leader proclaimed. "For the upkeep of the Imperial Highway! It's a bit of a mess, isn't it?"
"Perhaps you should charge more, then," Rose suggested.
The leader raised a brow. "You want to pay more? Well, we'll happily accept donations."
Revan heard the dull thud as Morrigan slapped her own forehead in exasperation. "I'm just saying it's a rough business for such a pittance," Rose continued.
"I could be mistaken, but that sounded threatening," the bandit leader commented.
"Sounded like a threat to me," Hanric agreed.
"That's because it was," Rose stared at the leader.
"Well I can't say I'm pleased to hear that. We have rules, you know," the leader told her.
"Right," Hanric added. "We get to ransack your corpses, then. Those are the rules."
Revan smiled sadistically. Rose grabbed the pommel of her sword in preparation. "You can certainly try," she told them.
"Well, this is getting nowhere. Let's finish them, gents!" the leader shouted before charging at Rose.
Revan drew her blades and proceeded to attack the large Hanric. For all his size, he relied too much on his strength to intimidate those he was attacking. Revan cut him down with ease after dodging his first blow that had been designed to crush in her skull. She then moved on to the nearby archers. They tried shooting at her, but she nimbly dodged their arrows, the Force alerting her seconds before they whizzed by her head. A loud surrender stopped the fighting as the leader held up his hands in parley, the point of Rose's sword held at his throat.
"All right! We surrender!" he conceded. "We—we were just trying to get by, before the darkspawn us all!"
Rose narrowed her eyes. "You picked the wrong target."
"Yes! Yes! Of—of course! We should've been more careful. I'm…sorry."
Rose didn't like this answer. She put the blade closer to his throat. "You should be saying sorry to all the people who you stole from, bastard." He gulped audibly, knowing that he probably wasn't going to survive the encounter. "Now, I have a few questions you're going to answer."
"What could I tell you? We aren't even from these parts—"
She put the edge of the blade across his jugular, causing his eyes to widen in fear. "Have you heard of any survivors from the battle at Ostagar?" she asked.
He took a moment before answering, a bead of sweat dripping from his temple. "Couple, maybe. A group of wounded ash warriors came by earlier…got right out of their way."
"What other news is there?" she inquired.
"Well, everyone's saying how the Grey Wardens betrayed the king during the darkspawn fight," he said quickly. "Got him and themselves killed. Teyrn Loghain pulled out just in time, it seems. First thing he's doing as regent is putting a bounty on Grey Wardens."
Rose, Revan, and Alistair exchanged a worried look. "Okay," Rose finally said.
"Well, then, let me go!" the leader demanded.
Rose smiled, calculating. "You'll follow my lead. I could use some soldiers."
"You're…you're joking, right?" the leader looked at her in horror. "I could never be a soldier!"
"You're a fool if you think I'm letting you leave here to go somewhere else and steal from more innocent people," Rose told him.
"I'm not going down without a fight!" the leader said bravely before trying to pull away and attack. Rose, however, swept her sword in an arc and decapitated him before he could move. Revan turned and finished off the remaining attackers with ease.
Rose wiped her blade off on the dead leader's cuirass before checking his belongings. They walked further down the highway and came to the steps down to Lothering. Alistair stopped at the railing and looked over the town, with its shanty buildings and sprawling refugee camp.
"Ah, Lothering. Pretty as a picture," he commented.
They looked at him strangely. Those were the first words he had said to them in days that hadn't sounded like he was about to burst into tears.
"So, you have finally decided to rejoin us, have you? Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble, I take it?" Morrigan mocked him.
"Is my being upset so hard to understand?" Alistair asked. "Have you never lost someone important to you? Just what would you do if your mother died?"
"Before or after I stopped laughing?"
Alistair stared at her, disturbed. "Right, very creepy. Forget I asked."
Rose looked concernedly at the young Warden. "You have been very quiet, you know."
"Yes, I know," he said seriously. "I was just…I was thinking."
"No wonder it took so long, then," Morrigan commented. Revan elbowed her in the ribs, silently telling her to shut up.
"Oh, I get it," Alistair responded. "This is the part where we're shocked to discover how you've never had a friend your entire life."
"I can be friendly when I desire to," Morrigan retaliated. "Alas, desiring to be more intelligent does not—"
"Enough!" Revan yelled, silencing both of them. "You two can kill each other after the Blight is over, okay? Now, Alistair, what is it you wanted to say?"
They looked at her oddly for a moment. Then, Alistair continued, "I was…just thinking that we should talk about where we intended to go first."
"All right," Rose said. "And what do you think?"
"This should be good," Morrigan remarked before quieting under Revan's withering glare.
"I think," Alistair ignored her, looking instead at Rose, "what Flemeth suggested is the best idea. These treaties…have you looked at them?"
Rose's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"The treaties that—"
"Yes, the ones that talk about the dwarves of Orzammar, the Dalish elves, and Circle of Magi, I remember," Rose interrupted. "But what about them?"
"Well, we could use them to get assistance, even raise an army," Alistair commented. "I also think that Arl Eamon is our best bet for help. We might even want to go to him first."
"Yes…and he still has his troops at his disposal," Revan pondered.
Rose looked at them all in distress, and Fuzzywuggins whined in response. "Why are you all leaving it up to me?"
Revan smiled at her. "You know more than I do about Thedas and its politics, yes? I'm just good at fighting and leading armies, but I've never been much good at raising armies. The soldiers were already there, or they joined out of conviction. And in terms of politics…I made a lot of bold, hasty choices, and most of them were less than appealing to most of the politicians, including my masters."
"And I don't know where we should go," Alistair added. "I'll do whatever you decide."
"Now that is unsurprising," Morrigan commented.
Studiously ignoring her, he continued, "Arl Eamon is a good man, but I don't know for sure he's where we should go. I'm not going to fight about it."
Rose looked like she wanted to say something, but she refrained. "And you, Morrigan? What do you think we should do?"
"Go after your enemy directly," Morrigan smiled as she told them her opinion in a clean, surgical way. "Find this man, Loghain, and kill him. The rest of this business with the treaties can then be done in safety."
"Yes, he certainly wouldn't see that coming!" the young Warden said sarcastically. "And it's not like he has the advantage of an army and experience and—"
"I was asked for my opinion and I gave it," Morrigan cut him off. "If your wish is to come up with reasons why something cannot be done, we will stand here until the darkspawn are upon us."
Rose scowled and turned to the Jedi, who was watching the banter with annoyance. "Revan? What is your opinion?"
Revan was startled that her opinion was wanted. "Well…right now, we need supplies and news. I can handle recruiting the Dalish, but the other groups…it might be useful to have the experience of someone who has dealt with them before. And it might be nice to have somewhere to fall back to, to recuperate, in case something…happens. However, I don't think we should go after Loghain quite yet. He will need to be taken care of, but I am curious as to what he will do. He might even make it easier for us, ultimately."
Rose listened intently to her opinion. "That sounds like a good idea."
"So, you have a plan?" Alistair asked hopefully.
"Not a very good one. I don't like this at all," Rose said, a new note of tiredness in her voice.
"I don't like any of this, either," he said sympathetically, "but we don't have a lot of choice in the matter."
"Of course you have a choice," Morrigan remarked. "You could run and forget about it all. Let the darkspawn do as they wish until other Grey Wardens come. If they come."
"You call that a choice?" he asked.
"It may not be a good choice, but it's a choice nevertheless. We all choose our path, even when it seems there is only one direction we should go," Morrigan sagely said.
"How…enlightening," Alistair taunted. "At any rate, I'll stay with you, Rose, whatever you decide."
Rose looked distressed, but nodded in understanding anyway. She headed down the ramp, into the depressing town of Lothering, followed by the rest of the party. She headed toward an idle farmer north of the refugees, but Revan was more interested in the poor souls that wandered the refugee camp. Children ran about in little more than rags, and sickly women attempted to hang what was left of their laundry on communal washing lines. Men wandered aimlessly, not knowing what to do or how to continue on. A small child sat in the dirt and cried, his tear-stained cheeks the cleanest part of his body. Revan walked over to him and picked a nearby weed, its small flower barely open. Revan crouched down in the dirt next to the child and, while showing him the tiny flower, used magic to make the flower grow larger into a magnificent bloom. The child immediately stopped crying to watch her magic. She handed the child the enchanted flower, but not before enchanting it to never wilt. The small child smiled with delight as he took it, and Revan returned to Rose feeling slightly better.
Rose gave her an odd look, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she walked more toward the center of town. A Templar stood in the path, looking for recently arrived refugees. He did not seem happy at all. Rose stopped, realizing that perhaps two apostates wouldn't be good to have this close to a hotbed of agitated Templars.
"Revan, Morrigan—perhaps you two should check out the rest of the town," she suggested. "Alistair and I have…some business in the Chantry."
"And how will you find us when you are done with this…business?" Morrigan asked.
Rose absently pat Fuzzywuggins' head. "Meet us in the tavern, I guess."
"'You guess'?" the Jedi repeated. "You are commanding everything now. Don't say 'I guess': that implies you are unsure. Your troops will lose faith in your abilities, and your subordinates will question your orders. Now, try again."
"Yes, sir," she heard Alistair mutter under his breath.
Rose was taken aback. "Okay; meet us at the tavern."
"Better," Revan told her. "Then we will meet you in the tavern."
Morrigan, with a surprised look on her face, followed Revan as they surreptitiously skirted the Templar as Rose and Alistair approached him. They had no problem avoiding him, and the other refugees that littered the town ignored them, too terrorized by their own problems to notice two women in strange clothes wandering among them. Revan wished she could have her swords, which were strapped to her back, in her hands. Their touch often reassured her.
They came to a bridge that crossed a small stream, with a small boy sitting at its base. He stood up at their approach, his face dirty but not as unclean as those of the refugees.
"Have you seen my mother?" the little boy asked them hopefully.
"Well, who is your mother?" Revan asked before Morrigan could make a snide comment.
"She's really tall…and she has red hair," he told them. "We live on a farm, all of us. Some mean men with swords came, and mother told me to run to the village as fast as I could, so I did! She said she would be right behind me, but I've been waiting and waiting and I can't see her!"
Revan exchanged a worried glance with Morrigan, who shrugged with a wild apathy. Of course, Morrigan had grown up seeing chicks who had fallen out of their nest die by one accidental mishap, so she had little sympathy for the forsaken boy.
"Do you know where your father is?" Revan asked, wishing for some happy solution.
The boy tilted his head in thought. "He went with William to the neighbor's yesterday, but he didn't come back."
Revan bit her lower lip, conflicted, before asking, "Do you want to come with us? We could help you look for your mother."
The child shook his head. "Mother said I wasn't to go with anyone. I'm supposed to wait for her here in the village."
"Good lad, doing what you're told," Revan gave him a pat on the shoulder. She unslung her pack and dug around for the few coins she had discovered in there. She took out a silver and handed it to the boy. "Take this. Go to the Chantry; someone will look after you. Until your mother comes."
"I will," the boy said, taking the coin. "But only if I don't find Mother first. You're a really nice lady. Kind of like Mother. I should go look for her." The boy stood up and walked away, looking for a tall woman with red hair. Revan straightened and watched him go.
"She's dead, you know," Morrigan said once he was gone.
"I know," Revan said wistfully. "I couldn't bring myself to tell him that."
"You should have," she argued. "He needs to learn the harsh realities of the world around him."
Revan waited before responding. "There will be plenty of time for him to learn that later. But there will be few opportunities for him to learn of kindness and compassion. Now, let's go; it is pointless arguing about this, yes?"
They continued into town, where even more refugees were gathering in groups, clustered around an old woman and the entrance to a lone, wooden structure, which Revan assumed was the tavern. The woman was ordering people about, and seemed generally flustered and overwhelmed. The refugees, it appeared, were not making her life any easier. She heard the woman cough as people began arguing.
"Would you be upset if we tried to help her?" the Jedi asked Morrigan, gesturing to the old woman.
"The village leader? And why would you want to help her?"
"She seems to need help with the refugees and whatnot," Revan pointed out.
Morrigan scowled. "And what good would that accomplish?"
"We might actually be helping people survive, if we help."
"They are all going to perish under the Blight, anyway," Morrigan growled, but otherwise did not complain.
They walked over to the village leader, the witch trailing behind Revan. The woman was giving orders to the others around her, trying to keep order. She noticed them, and a look of profound weariness crossed her face.
"You got a bed for the night?" she inquired. "You been taken care of?" She broke into a fit of coughing, which made Revan grimace in pity. This woman had driven herself to Death's door.
"I…we were actually wondering if we could help you," Revan offered.
The woman looked at them shrewdly. "Don't need blades right now. We need beds, food, and an end to all these sad sots. I don't suppose you know anything of tonics, medicines, or herbs?"
Revan smiled as she recounted all of her training from Marethari. "I do, in fact."
"Then you may be able to do us a lot of good," the woman looked relieved. "All manner of travelers come through, many injured or sick. We do our best, but we're out of supplies. There's medicinal herbs in the woods to the north. If you make a few poultices, I'll scrape together some sort of payment. Here, I'll write out everything we need."
The woman jotted down a few things on a note and handed them to Revan. They were basic poultices, ones that Morrigan said she knew, too, which would make the job easier. They agreed to split up and look for herbs outside the village and to meet back in an hour at that same spot. Morrigan headed north, and Revan northeast, more toward the farmland of the area. The area was dotted with many plants, some Revan recognized as useful, such as elfroot, but others were just bizarre weeds. She wished she had trained with Marethari for longer. She plucked the leaves from those that she knew, storing them in her pack. Luckily, the day was nice, and it was easy-going. The breeze lightly ruffled her long, bound raven hair and reminded her of how far she had come from her militaristic self of just a year ago, when her hair had been cropped short. How quickly she had changed when technology had been stripped away. In fact, Revan couldn't remember the last time she had looked in a mirror. Just how much had she changed, she wondered?
She was kneeling down, carving off the leaves of a rather tall elfroot plant in the middle of a field when she felt a light tap on her shoulder. She looked up to see a gray-haired woman, clad in simple garments with laugh lines carved around her eyes and mouth, but with contrasting worry lines creasing her forehead. Her icy blue eyes were strangely intelligent, like a hawk's. She seemed at most in her fifties, but she looked as if she had seen things that Revan could only guess at. She smiled in a motherly-like way at the startled Jedi.
"You do realize that this is my property?" she asked.
Revan felt the color rise in her cheeks. "I…I'm so sorry. I…I wasn't thinking. Please, let me…um…I have some silvers…I know it's not much, but—"
The woman broke out into a smile, cutting her off. "What did you want with the elfroot, dear?"
"Poultices," Revan answered honestly. "For the village leader in town."
She contemplated this. "So, you were gathering herbs for the purely selfless reason of helping those poor souls in town?"
"Uh…I want to say yes…" Revan replied.
"But?"
"I…I feel like I have to help them," Revan said, making her reason as honest as possible without blurting out that she started the Blight.
"Fair enough," the woman said. "Come with me."
"What?" Revan asked, startled.
"You need elfroot; we have plenty at our house," she said as she walked away. "My children have a…fascination with things that have special properties."
Her home was a quaint but neat farmhouse, square with two floors. Its wooden exterior was whitewashed, and it even had windows. Revan could tell a lot of love and time had gone into that house. The gardens and hedges surrounding it were well-tended and green, despite the season. A dog, a Mabari similar in coloring to Fuzzywuggins, lay outside, watching for visitors. He gave one sharp bark at their arrival, but lay back down once he realized it was his master.
They went in through a back door, which led to a small laundry room with a basin and baskets filling the corners. The woman walked through the doorway into the main house, which was filled with sunlight. Revan stopped at the door; she had never been in a place that was so…comforting. She had never actually had a home before.
"Garrett!" the woman called as she headed further in the house.
"Yes, Mother?" a strong, male voice called from somewhere.
"Where do you and Bethany put the elfroot?"
"Where we always put it; in the cellar." A strapping young man emerged from another room, a white powder dusting his simple clothes. He had a strong, angular jaw and sharp features, with the same piercing intellect shinning in his brown eyes. His black hair was combed neatly, with his bangs swept across his brow, and he had tidily trimmed facial hair. Upon seeing her, he smiled broadly, which made Revan unconsciously grin back. She caught herself, however, before she began beaming. Rarely had she come across a person that could so easily sway her mood.
The woman—his mother—went through another door and disappeared as the darkness of the cellar enveloped her. The young man turned to her, smiling with charisma.
"I'm—" he stuck out his hand in greeting before realizing it was covered in the white powder. He looked at it for a second, then wiped it on his pants awkwardly. "—Garrett Hawke."
This made Revan smile in genuine amusement. "A…pleasure, Sera Hawke, to make your acquaintance."
He chuckled to himself. "And a pleasure to make yours, miss…?"
"Revan," she said politely. It probably wasn't a good idea to go around now claiming she was the Grey Warden Dragonheart.
"Revan," he repeated. "Are you fleeing the darkspawn, then?"
"Not…not really," Revan managed. "It's complicated. But why aren't you and your family fleeing? The darkspawn are almost in Lothering."
"It's complicated," he responded. Frowning in concentration, which gave him the look of a puppy, he examined her clothes. "So you're…an adventurer? You certainly don't look like a refugee, or a warrior."
"You mean she doesn't look like Carver," a female voice joined the conversation. A young woman, with delicately curling black hair and bright blue eyes, said from her spot on a window sill as she looked out at the entrance. "But that doesn't mean she isn't a warrior."
"You're right, Bethany. But, I suppose not looking like Carver is a good thing," he joked.
"That's not funny," Bethany pointed out. "He hasn't come back yet, and it's been days! What if—"
"Carver's a survivor, sis," Garrett reassured her. "He'll be fine. Remember, he looks like a warrior. The darkspawn wouldn't dare attack him! He's too fashionable!"
Bethany cracked a small smile, but it quickly faded. "But all the survivors of the battle have already come through."
"The battle? You mean Ostagar?" Revan asked gravely.
Garrett tilted his head. "You were there?"
"Yes," she answered hesitantly. "I was there."
"Perhaps you met him, then," Garrett continued. "A small, buff fellow with no sense of humor and an equivalent sense of taste. I believe he was with the main force of the King's army."
"What do you mean, 'an equivalent sense of taste'?" Revan asked curiously.
"He—he doesn't like my cooking!" he answered indignantly, his voice rising in pitch slightly.
"Well, even if he doesn't like your cooking, brother dear," Bethany said sweetly, "I still do."
Garrett smiled fondly at her. Their mother returned and opened the cellar door again, bearing an armful of elfroot. She handed the bundle to Revan with a small smile.
"Here you go, dear. I hope this is enough," she said kindly.
"Thank you so much," Revan said. "I wish there was some way to repay you for your kindness."
Garrett's face brightened with sudden insight. "Stay for dinner!" he suggested. "I'm making an Orlesian soufflé for dessert!"
"Yes, you should stay," his mother agreed. "We don't get many visitors out here."
"That would be wonderful!" Bethany echoed her brother.
Revan gave them a sad smile. "Sadly, I believe my friends and I are…leaving soon. I probably need to get back to them."
Garrett pouted. "Well, that's depressing. You're going to miss out."
Revan opened her mouth to reply, but the dog beat her to it. Bethany twisted and looked out the window.
"Carver!" she exclaimed. "He's coming!"
Their mother straightened in surprise and, without another word, rushed to the front door to greet her son. Bethany was right behind her. Garrett followed them with his eyes, but did not move. He gave Revan a wistful look.
"Well, have a safe journey, wherever you're going," he told her. "And…may the Maker watch over your path. Isn't that what the Chantry says?"
Revan gave him another brief, sad smile. "And may Mythal…no, you know what? May the Force be with you, Sera Hawke."
He seemed a bit taken aback by this, unsure how to respond. "And…may the Force be with you, Revan?"
She crossed her arms and bowed slightly before leaving through the back door. Even as she exited the house, she could hear the joyous sounds as the Hawke family was reunited. Their mother seemed the most excited at the return of her son, but she could hear the indistinct, low sound of Garrett's voice as he welcomed his brother home. She peeked around the corner to catch a glimpse of them. They were surrounding a young man, who had shorter black hair and a baby-like face, but the family resemblance was quite clear. He was awkwardly smiling, happy but probably traumatized from his experience in Ostagar. She stopped and stared at the family, and a horrible sense of loneliness crept over her being. Revan, envious of their close ties, sentimentally recalled her days of camaraderie aboard the Ebon Hawk, but she knew that the feeling of family was far different from the ties of friendship. She would've given anything to have the closeness that the Hawke family shared.
Revan stole back to the village, creeping through the fields. She desired no more meetings to inspire her sentimental regrets. However, coming back into the village from the north, she noticed a cage that contained a…person. Revan stopped and stared in confusion. The person, even at a distance, did not seem to be a normal person. Curious, Revan approached the cage. The person was not a normal person at all. He was far taller and larger than a human, and he had a chalky skin complexion. His hair was a grayish white, and his eyes were red, like an albino's. He looked strong enough to crush in a man's head with his huge hands the size of plates. However, despite his obvious ability to break free, the being stood docilely in the cage, as if he was ready to meet whatever fate doled out to him.
As she neared, he looked up and noticed her. He looked weakened, but he bore himself with dignity and scowled at her. "You are not one of my captors," he observed. "I will not amuse you any more than I have the other humans. Leave me in peace."
"Would you at least tell me who would put one such as yourself in a cage?" Revan inquired.
The being's frown deepened. "I've been placed here by the Chantry, if you must know.
"I am Sten of the Beresaad, the vanguard, of the Qunari peoples."
Revan crossed her arms and bowed. "And I am Revan. Pleased to meet you, Sten."
His frown deepened even more. "You mock me. Either that, or you show manners I have not come to expect in your lands."
Revan smiled sadly. "They are as much my lands as they are yours. I, too, am a stranger here."
Sten raised a brow. "However, such things matter little now. I will die soon enough. I suggest you leave me to my fate."
"Well, at least tell me how you came to be here."
"Here, in this cage?" Sten clarified. "I was convicted of murder. Have the villagers not spoken of this?"
"They are too concerned with the Blight to speak of such things," Revan answered. "Who did you murder?"
"The people of a farmhold. Eight humans, in addition to the children," he answered clinically. It was as if he had just decided that his actions had happened, and he would have to live with the consequences. She admired his directness. He did not care if she judged him or not.
"It must have been difficult capturing you, yes?" she asked, accepting his crime as an unchangeable fact, just how her party had accepted her crimes.
"There is no difficulty in capturing prey that surrenders," he answered. Regret tinged his voice, but whether it was from the crime or the surrender, she wasn't sure.
"So, you didn't resist?"
"I waited several days until the knights arrived."
"Why?" Revan asked, not curiously, but in an academic way. His answer would factor greatly in her thoughts.
"Because I wished to," he responded honestly.
She pouted. "How…odd."
"Either you have an enviable memory, or a pitiable life, to know nothing of regret," he responded.
Revan nodded as her mind worked. "I regret much. More than you, probably. But, I wanted to know."
"Why?" the Qunari asked.
Revan smiled. "Because I have a proposition for you. Are you interested in seeking atonement?"
"My death shall be my atonement," Sten said.
Revan frowned. "That is…romantically noble. And incredibly unpractical."
He bobbed his head in silent agreement. "Then what does your wisdom say is equal to my crime?"
"The punishment for my crime is to battle the Blight," she told him, ignoring his sarcastic nuance. "I would think that that would be sufficient."
"The Blight?" the Qunari questioned. "Are you a…Grey Warden, then?"
"Yes, in fact," she told him.
"Surprising," he commented. "My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens' strength and skill…though I suppose not every legend is true."
"You'd be surprised," Revan smiled. "So…do you think the reverend mother would let you free?"
"Perhaps if you told her the Grey Wardens need my assistance. It seems as likely to bring my death as waiting here."
Revan thought about this. "I'll see what I can do," she told him.
Revan returned to the meeting spot, where Morrigan was waiting impatiently. With a dissatisfied look at the Jedi, Morrigan began helping her mix the poultices. Soon, they had enough poultices for the village leader, who was very grateful for their assistance. Revan smiled in resignation as Morrigan pocketed the money she offered them. They then wordlessly headed to the tavern. Several men burst through the door, seemingly running for the lives. She recognized their armor as belonging to the imperial army, and thus to Loghain. Revan glared at them venomously, and they scurried away in haste and fear. Fuzzywuggins, who was standing by the door on guard duty, barked happily at their arrival before returning to his duties.
Inside the tavern, a small, two-story building filled with squalid bodies vainly trying to drown their worries in alcohol, they saw Rose, Alistair, and a small woman dressed in Chantry robes seated in the corner, a wide berth between them and the rest of the crowd. Revan noticed that there were a few blood splatters on the floor, and they looked fresh. Revan looked at Rose in exasperation.
"So, you noticed that we had a little brawl?" she asked upon seeing Revan's incriminating look.
"I'm assuming it was with those army blokes?" the Jedi gestured to the door.
"Yes," Rose said soberly. "Loghain is serious about this bounty. He really does want us dead. But I have to wonder, why? Does he see us as a threat?"
Revan shrugged, not willing to divulge secrets that were not hers. "So, you picked up a new…priestess?"
The ginger woman smiled at her. "I am Leliana, former Sister of the Chantry. I…want to help stop the Blight." Her accent was curious, because it was definitely not Ferelden. She drew out her words in a very sensual-sounding way, and her consonants were very soft, almost flowing.
"You are from…?"
"Orlais," the Sister said with a beaming, irritating smile.
Revan nodded, then turned back to Rose. "So, what's the plan?"
Rose thought for a second. "I have a bit more business to attend to, and then we can leave. You can come with me, if you want…"
"No," Revan said forcefully. "I, too, have other things to attend to."
Rose nodded and stood, along with Alistair. Leliana got up awkwardly, not sure what to do. Rose laid a few silvers on the table and headed for the door as the rest of the party, except Revan, followed her. Revan, however, grabbed Leliana's arm as she was leaving. The Orlesian girl stopped and grimaced in discomfort.
"What is it?" she demanded.
Revan glared at her in distaste. She already didn't like the girl. There was something…slimy about her. She reminded Revan of the Sith apprentices she had encountered on Korriban. "I need your…assistance. With a matter concerning the Chantry."
Leliana's brow rose. "What about the Chantry?"
"You know the Qunari prisoner on the northern outskirts of town?" Leliana nodded in assent. "I want to free him."
"What? That is madness! He is a murderer!" Leliana exclaimed.
"So am I," Revan growled. "And you will be soon enough, Sister. Fighting a Blight in the midst of a civil war will not be as glorified as the stories would make it sound."
Leliana scowled in displeasure and yanked her arm away. "Fine. I will help you. I just hope I don't regret this."
"You won't be the one paying the price," the Jedi hissed as she headed towards the door.
Lothering's chantry was easily the largest structure in the small town. It was enclosed in the front by a wooden wall, and many Templars and peasants were mingling outside, the Templars silent and staid. The peasants were whispering and some praying. Inside was not much better. Refugees lined the pews, and Templars were busily bustling about as they made preparations against the approaching horde. If it hadn't had an impending sense of doom settling inside it, the Chantry would have been a perfect refuge for any seeking salvation or peace or, as Revan assumed, some quiet. She followed Leliana towards the back of the Chantry, to a study hidden in the corner, near the shrine overshadowed by a statue in the supposed likeness of Andraste. A gray-haired woman, younger than the village leader by several years, was reading a book with an intense frown. A nearby Templar stood guard, protecting the Reverend Mother from any potential harm, though what harm could come to a priest in her own temple was beyond Revan's comprehension.
The Reverend Mother looked up at their approach. "Good day, Sister Leliana," she said serenely, as if a Blight were not occurring. "I'm surprised to see you're still in Lothering."
Leliana smiled uncomfortably. "It is good to see you as well, your Reverence."
She acknowledged the comment with a dip of her holy head before turning her attention to Revan, who was pouting with displeasure. "I do not recognize your companion, Sister. Greetings. Will you be making a donation to the Chantry today? Our need has never been greater."
Revan bit her lower lip in annoyance as she noticed the gold pendant hanging from the Reverend Mother's neck and the mounds of precious books piled haphazardly around the study. "I'm afraid I cannot. However, there is something that I wished to discuss with you, your Reverence."
"And what is it that you so desperately need to talk to me about?"
"Sten, the Qunari that you have imprisoned," Revan crossed her arms.
The Reverend Mother stood up from her chair and took a threatening step towards her. "It might have been kinder to execute him," she admitted, "but I leave his fate to the Maker. Why is he of interest to you? Surely one such as you has…other business?"
Revan's eyes narrowed. "I want him released."
The woman's eyes widened in response. "Released? Then his next victims might include you and me."
"He's not a monster," Revan defended him. "He made a mistake. A terrible one, but he regrets it. I thought the Chantry was supposed to forgive people for their sins, or something."
The priest didn't like this recrimination. "He has not accepted the Chant of Light; he still believes in his heathen ways."
"So, only those that convert to your religion can receive salvation? How convenient."
The Reverend Mother clenched her fists, but she managed to control herself. Calmly, she responded, "He is a murderer who has not repented for his crimes. Only the Maker can save him now. Unless you have a different alternative…"
"I do, in fact," Revan responded. "He can help end the Blight, instead of being killed by it."
The priest looked to Leliana. "Sister, you know your…acquaintance better than I do. What do you think? Can the Qunari really help end the Blight?"
Leliana looked from Revan to the mother and back, caught between their opposing convictions. "I…yes, he can help."
"And this…woman…is fighting the Blight as well?"
"Yes," Leliana admitted painfully. "She is."
The Reverend Mother frowned, but dug in the pockets of her robe and brought out a ring of iron keys. She handed the ring to Leliana. "Were things not so desperate…very well. Here: these will open the cage." Through gritted teeth, the priest added, "And may the Maker watch over you."
Revan bowed stiffly, not bothering to cross her arms and barely making an effort to conceal her distaste before turning on her heel and marching away with a stiff back. She disliked the Chantry, and she could tell that it would hate her, especially if it knew that she was both an apostate and a Dalish. As they left, Revan glanced back up at the likeness of Andraste and realized that the woman looking kindly down at them had been a battle-hardened warrior, mage, and elf-sympathizer. How had things changed so rapidly? Revan wondered what the prophetess would think about Thedas now, centuries after she had been killed.
The Jedi retrieved the keys from a silently compliant Leliana and returned to Sten's cage. He looked surprised.
"I did not expect you to return," he stated.
"I keep my promises," she said as she fitted the key into the padlock and twisted in violently until the tumblers clicked. "There; you are free."
Sten appeared baffled. "That is it?"
"Well, I mean, you can come with us," Revan shrugged, "but I can't really make you do anything. It is, ultimately, up to you."
The Qunari pondered this. "You did just set me free. I suppose I owe you some debt of gratitude."
Revan smiled sadly and shook her head. "No, the Sister Leliana is the one you should thank. Without her, the Reverend Mother would never have given me the keys."
"Do not place credit where it is not due," Sten stated. "But, whatever the case may be, the reason I was in Ferelden in the first place was to investigate the Blight. Apparently, it is much worse than I first anticipated. I am, I guess, obligated to help, since you seem…incapable of taking care of it yourself."
Revan chortled. "'Incapable'…I'm not 'incapable'. Or, at least, my other companions aren't. But, it will be nice to have someone else who has seen more combat than the average soldier. So, welcome aboard, Sten. Now, we have to find Rose."
"Rose?" he asked, stepping out of the cage hesitantly.
"She is the leader of our little party," Revan told him. She handed him a hunk of bread from her pack as she realized that he probably had not been given food in his imprisonment.
"I thought you were," he said.
Revan chuckled. "I've led enough hopeless missions against a vastly superior force and overwhelming odds to know that I don't want to do it again. I leave it to the youth now."
"Because you lost those campaigns?" Sten asked indignantly as they began walking toward where Revan assumed Rose would be.
"Because I won them," she replied. "I hate the attention that comes afterward. Everyone expects me to solve all their problems."
Sten lapsed into silence, apparently stunned by her rebuttal. However, what she had said was true. The public had adored her after the Mandalorian Wars, at least before she became Darth Revan. And, after she had redeemed herself in its eyes by defeating Malak and destroying the Star Forge, the public barely left her alone. Every other day, it had seemed, the Senate had called her up for her opinion on some paltry matter, or the Jedi Council reluctantly requested her presence at some ceremony or another.
Indeed, Rose and the rest of the party were waiting for them. Rose raised an eyebrow at the approach of the Qunari, but she didn't say anything. Revan assumed that Leliana had told her all about how Revan had manipulated her into convincing the Reverend Mother to release him. She stood nearby, at Rose's shoulder, frowning in agitation at Revan. The Jedi found her displeasure rather funny, especially since Morrigan was making a disgusted face at her behind her back. Alistair, meanwhile, seemed justly apprehensive.
"Are you sure releasing him was a good idea?" he asked Revan as he cast the intimidating Qunari a timid glance.
"Are you sure making me a Warden was a good idea?" she retorted. He drew back, reprimanded.
They departed for the Imperial Highway, their business in Lothering concluded. Revan felt bad that they could do nothing more for the villagers, such as defending the village, but they were too few in number. Rose fell back to where Revan was and gave the Jedi a stern look.
"What?" she asked.
Rose looked back at the sullen Qunari that was mere paces behind Revan. "Alistair has a good point: are you sure releasing him was a good idea? He did, after all, murder eight families."
"And I murdered many more than that," Revan pointed out.
"But you are human, and you feel regret," Rose's voice dropped lower.
Revan scowled. "He might not exactly be human, but he feels regret just like the rest of us. He told me as much."
"A trick?" the young girl suggested.
"No; I can tell when someone lies. He regrets. It is why he did not escape from his cage earlier."
Rose bit her lip in thought. "Do you trust him?"
"Yes," Revan told her.
"All right. I trust you, Revan. If you trust him, I will, too."