Author's Note: GAH! I am sorry (again)! I've been pretty busy lately, with FBLA stuff and finals and Dr. Who…*shot* Anyway, here is the chapter! Apologies in advance for the lack of combat and profuse dialogue. This is more of a transition chapter for things…and I FINALLY GOT TO THE POINT I WANTED TO BE AT! YAY! Enjoy, review, and don't shoot me if you get some of the allusions that I added…
Act XII: The Circle of Magi
The darkspawn paced back and forth in his study. Revan, an incorporeal shade, recognized the study from her first trip to Thedas. Books upon books lined the crude shelves, and were piled on the ground, scattered on the desk, along with multitudes of scrolls. Not all were still readable, of course, since most had been salvaged from the Deep Roads. The darkspawn was different from the normal darkspawn that she opposed: he was tall and lank, and his grey flesh was stretched across his frame tautly. His face was almost human as well, despite the strange crests that protruded from it. He did not wear a mask, revealing his lopsided eyes, one being lower on his face than the other, as if he had suffered a debilitating stroke. The aforesaid mask, meanwhile, rested on the desk atop a pile of decaying books that looked like someone was attempting to save them, along with a silver, engraved, round object with a chain that she recognized as a pocket watch. The darkspawn had his long, clawed hands clasped behind his back. Then, he turned toward Revan. Startled, she realized he was not looking at her, but the darkspawn standing next to her. This darkspawn was shorter, a hurlock, but his wild eyes seemed tamer than a normal hurlock, almost intelligent.
"You are sure of this?" the tall darkspawn spoke. Revan recognized his deep voice, despite this being a dream and her mind being addled. It was the Architect, the only naturally intelligent darkspawn in existence. He was educated, smart, and possessed great magical talent. A wave of guilt spread through her.
"Yes, Architect," the other darkspawn responded meekly. Though she had not expected the other darkspawn could talk, she was not surprised at his granted intelligence.
"She is here? In Thedas?" the Architect clarified. The Jedi got the impression, by his tone of worry and fear and regret, that they were talking about her.
"Yes, Architect. She was seen with the elves in the forest, and then fighting at Ostagar," the other darkspawn replied.
The Architect stroked his chin. "Fighting on which side?"
"With the Grey Wardens, Architect. She smelled like one of them, too."
The Architect leaned over his desk, placing his palms on its surface. "She is a Grey Warden?"
"So it would seem, Architect."
"This is…disturbing," the tall darkspawn sighed. "I do not know what her plans are, but they cannot be good."
"Shall I have a team sent to kill her?" the hurlock asked.
The Architect paused before running his fingers over the pocket watch, then picking up another object off the desk. Revan immediately recognized it as her first lightsaber, the one she had first assembled as an apprentice at the age of ten. She remembered dropping it in the Deep Roads, but she had not known that the Architect had found it. The memory of the incident haunted her as he fingered the device. It seemed to haunt him as well, but he stroked it with an expression of both pain and wistfulness. The Architect seemed deep in thought.
"No," he finally said. "No, I do not believe she is our enemy. Not yet, at least. But I do not like the fact that she is here, at so opportune a time. I do not like the fact that she is here at all."
The Architect ran a finger along the side of the blade, and Revan had to wonder what the darkspawn was thinking. Or feeling. There was a long pause as the Architect weighed whatever plagued his mind. Revan had a flash of fear, not of the team of darkspawn that might be sent after her, but of what the Architect was thinking about doing to her. She got the impression that he would not kill her; he was not capable of killing her. He did not want to kill her. However, that would not stop him from binding her with magic or advancing the taint enough that she, too, became a darkspawn. And he was not above torturing her to discover her purpose on Thedas.
He looked back at his subordinate. "Send a team to observe her activities. I want information, not assassination. And if she goes anywhere near the location, I want her brought to me. Alive. And unharmed."
The hurlock thumped his arm against his chest and bowed in respect before leaving to carry out his orders. The Architect, once alone, sighed profoundly, as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. Revan felt horrible. This was her fault. The Architect had just been trying to help his people. And now he was faced with this. He looked into the distance in thought, still clutching the lightsaber with his long, gentle fingers. The hard expression of pain and anger faded to one of wistful regret and nostalgic worry. His expression made Revan indescribably sad.
"Ah, Revan," the Architect finally said aloud, "what are you up to now?"
There was a knock at the door, causing Revan's eye to flash open. It took her a moment to realize that she was in the Circle Tower, not in the Deep Roads, in the Architect's study. The guilty feelings caused her to look up at the ceiling for a moment and wonder if she should pray to the Dalish gods for forgiveness. But, the moment passed.
"Come in," she managed hoarsely.
The door opened, revealing First Enchanter Irving. He closed the door behind him and dragged a chair over to the bedside with the labored breathing of an old man. Revan watched him, unable to move much more than her fingers, toes, and facial muscles. She could not even lift her head. Irving, meanwhile, was slightly better off than she, but the battle had taken quite a toll on him. His eyes were bleary, and Revan could tell he was still recovering from the horrors he had witnessed and the images of the people he could not have saved. But, he was a strong soul, and he was pressing onward.
"So, they tell me you are Dragonheart," Irving said in his gravelly voice as he sat in the chair and rested his arms on his thighs.
"I am," she stated.
The First Enchanter grunted. "A Dalish human, apostate, and Grey Warden, risking her life for some insignificant mages in the Circle."
"I wouldn't call you or any other being 'insignificant'."
Irving chuckled at the comment. "The Circle may owe you and your companions a huge debt for saving it, but I personally owe you a debt for my life. I fear I will never be able to repay that debt. So, anything you require, I will try to help you as much as I can."
Revan managed a smile. "Well, there is something…"
He raised a brow.
"The mage that saved me, Daylen Amell…"
"Yes?" Irving encouraged her.
"He's a good man, and he saved me and the Tower. He told me about what he had done, but I think, considering, he should be pardoned," Revan explicated.
Irving smiled and laughed. "Already done. When Greagoir saw Daylen wasn't a Tranquil and demanded to know why I hadn't made him so, I explained what had happened, and Daylen spoke of how he helped you free the Tower. Greagoir already pardoned him, and I'm promoting him to Senior Enchanter."
"He's so young!" she exclaimed, elated that Daylen had been forgiven.
"Well, we lost so many in the revolt, and considering that Wynne is leaving us…"
"Wynne is leaving?"
"Why, yes, she is travelling with you and the other Grey Wardens," Irving explained. "She was never one to miss out on an adventure."
Revan thought about this. It would be good to have a true healer with them, considering that she and Morrigan focused more on battle magic. However, something had seemed off with Wynne when they met in the Circle…
"Well, then, I have another request. There is a boy in Redcliffe—"
"The Warden Rose already requested my help concerning the possessed boy," Irving dismissed her wish. "I will dispatch a team of mages as soon as the Tower has been thoroughly searched, which will be soon. You need not concern yourself with that matter."
Revan sighed, then smiled. "It would seem that everyone has already beaten me to the punch, as the saying goes."
The First Enchanter smiled back. "It would seem so."
"However…there is the matter of the mage at Redcliffe."
"Jowan? Daylen explained that you freed him…" Irving said.
"I freed him from the dungeon, but I leave his punishment up to the Arl when he awakes, and I wish you to do the same," Revan said seriously.
He stroked his grey beard as he thought her request over. "Normally," he began, "when we encounter blood mages, we must bring them back to the Templars for them to deal with. They are then either put to death or made Tranquil. And the Arl of Redcliffe will most likely choose one of the two."
"Or he will choose my third option," Revan stated.
"Which is?"
"That Jowan go through the Joining."
Irving reeled. "You want Jowan to be a Grey Warden?"
"Yes," the Jedi affirmed. "I have seen him fight: he is quite capable. He wants to repent. I think he would do fine, if he survives the Joining."
The First Enchanter regarded her with interest. "All right, I will leave his judgment up to Arl Eamon. I am curious as to his decision if he is facing such a formidable opponent such as you."
"Not very formidable right now," she observed. "I cannot even move my head."
Irving laughed. "Is there anything else I can do for you, my paralyzed friend?"
"Right now? Nothing realistic. I'm sure I will come up with something soon enough," Revan assured him.
Irving rose with a weary sigh. "Well, I will leave you to your rest. However, I believe our new Senior Enchanter wishes to speak with you. Should I let him in?"
Revan gave her consent, and Irving shuffled out of the room, and in trod a clean, fresh-shaven, joyous Daylen. His eyes twinkled mischievously and a broad grin was plastered across his face. The strange feeling of similarity come over her again, but Revan still could not place who he reminded her of.
"My dear Revan!" he declared, spreading his arms wide. "I could hug you right now if you weren't in excruciating agony!"
"Thank you, Daylen," Revan said in dry sarcasm. "I just love to be reminded of how helpless I am right now."
The mage laughed lightheartedly. "But you're alive! You saved the Circle! You're a hero!"
Revan grimaced. "A hero, eh?"
Daylen plopped in the First Enchanter's chair. "Of sorts. How are you doing?"
"How does it look like I am doing?" Revan commented.
"Better," Daylen observed. "Much better. Everyone is concerned about how you are doing, including that silent, brooding Qunari. He's taken to guarding the door from pesky mages and Templars."
"Well, that's…unexpected," she remarked. "How long was I unconscious?"
"A day. Wynne thinks you'll be ready to leave tomorrow morning," Daylen informed her.
"And Rose is still here!?"
Daylen was taken aback. "Well of course she is; she's your friend, is she not?"
Revan cursed in Mandalorian, the only language she could think of that adequately expressed her frustration that Rose had not completed their mission yet. "She might be my friend, and I appreciate the sentiment of 'no man left behind,' but there is a possessed child in Redcliffe that is a time bomb waiting to explode. We do not have time to wait for me to recover."
"Well, Rose thinks she does, so they are making time," Daylen claimed. "Relax; stress is bad for healing."
She tried her best to glare at him from the bed, but it failed horribly. Daylen merely ended up laughing.
After his laughs subsided, Revan cleared her throat. "Daylen, I have a favor to ask…"
"Anything, for a friend," he grinned. "Even destroying your imaginary phylactery."
Revan chuckled at the joke. "There is a man at Orzammar, a scavenger by the name of Faryn. He…he took something that belonged to my silent, brooding Qunari friend, a sword. I was going to go to Orzammar and get it back, but in my current condition…"
"Speak no more," Daylen insisted. "I have friends at Orzammar, I will have them find the whereabouts of this Qunari blade."
"Thank you," Revan said.
"Oh, I have something for you!" Daylen exclaimed unexpectedly. "I found these when I was working in the storage rooms, buried under a pile of scrolls. What they were doing under a pile of scrolls about the effects of lyrium poisoning on various animal species I'm not quite sure of, but I wanted you to have one."
Daylen pulled out a matching pair of lockets. Revan could immediately tell they were of elvish origins, considering that the amulets were made of ironbark. Daylen opened one and showed Revan that inside the locket was a dark, glossy mirror. Then he opened the other locket, and, holding the other up to his face, the image of his face appeared in the first. Revan let out a chuckle of surprise: scrying lockets. The elves had been very clever. Daylen smiled proudly.
"So, we can communicate, even if we're at opposite ends of Thedas!" he declared. "I want to know all about your adventures, so you better talk to me every week!"
"Of course," Revan assured him. "I would miss you too much otherwise!"
Daylen smiled brightly at her and questioned her about what she and the others were planning to do next. Revan explained the plan, embellishing it with her own concerns and hopes. They discussed strategies for the quest, talking about how to best utilize the mages and how Loghain could be neutralized. He questioned her about the Dalish, exclaiming loudly when she told him that she was Dragonheart. He seemed quite pleased to know a celebrity. After an hour of chatting, Daylen sighed and insisted that she needed her rest, and left, slipping the scrying locket in her pack next to the bed with a wink. Revan soon slipped back into her restful healing sleep. Luckily, she had no dreams this time.
She awoke next to a hesitant knock on the door. Sten's head popped in and announced, "You have a visitor, a Templar. Shall I let him in, Revan?"
"Yes," she croaked, and in came the nervous, distraught Templar from the cage near the Harrowing Chamber. He looked ready to bolt, like a rabbit facing a fox, but he took a deep breath and approached the bed.
"I…I came…to…apologize," the Templar managed to say. "I realize I was…in shock."
Revan could tell he was not being completely honest. The Templar still harbored a loathing of mages, as she could tell by the way he stood in her presence, hand resting near the hilt of his sword in case she tried something. His eyes were hard and spiteful, not apologetic or remorseful. This was a man who was still expecting blood mages to be lurking in every corner.
"Do not apologize to me if you do not mean it, Templar…" Revan waited for his name.
"Cullen. Knight-Captain Cullen."
"Well, Knight-Captain Cullen, I do not blame you for disliking mages, after what has transpired. If I were not a mage myself, and I had been tortured and almost broken by mages, I would naturally develop a loathing of them as well. I just wanted you to realize that not all mages are maleficarum in disguise. In fact, I should be the one apologizing to you. I overreacted. Will you forgive me?"
Cullen looked at her in something between shock and confusion. "You…want me, to forgive you?"
"Yes, that would be nice," Revan agreed.
The Templar shook his head. "All right. Um…thank you, Warden."
The Templar put his arm across his chest and bowed, his face composed into a look of absolute confusion as he tried to sort out what had just transpired. Revan smiled, pleased that she had perplexed Cullen long enough for him to forget his absolute hatred of mages. He left, and Revan fell back asleep and dreamt of the Deep Roads once again, but this time only of a legion of unintelligent darkspawn moving through the tunnels, then a flash of Urthemiel, laughing as he distributed orders to his massive armies.
When she awoke next, Sten had pulled the chair against the wall, and was sitting in it serenely. He noticed she was awake when she managed to move her head just the slightest.
"Good, you are awake," the Qunari greeted her in his normal curt manner. "Rose wished to depart as soon as you were conscious."
Revan tried moving her legs, but it seemed that even that was still beyond her. "You should. Go, tell her you are ready to depart. I will catch up with you as soon as I am able."
Sten looked at her curiously. With an intense gaze, he said, "We will not leave you behind, Jedi. We rely on you too much."
She returned the stare, a battle of wills. However, Revan was still weak, so she could not resist for long. "I will only slow you down."
"I am to assist you until you can fight again," Sten assured her.
Revan sighed, but she did not argue further. Sten scooped her out of the bed and carried her back to the Tower entrance, where Rose, Alistair, Wynne, Daylen, Cullen, Irving, and Greagoir were waiting. Everyone was smiling with hope except for Cullen, even the broody Templar Knight-Commander. Cullen was anxious, probably waiting for the next maleficarum attack. Everyone said their goodbyes, and Daylen whispered to her that he had gotten word back from his sources at Orzammar, and that the sword had been sold to a particular collector named Dwyn. Revan smiled mischievously and thanked him, commenting on how she wished he was coming with them. He merely shrugged and gave her a sad smile. Then, the party boarded the boat, minus the recovering Templar Sten had half-drowned in the lake upon their arrival.
Fuzzywuggins was patiently waiting for them on the dock, and started barking and bounding around as soon as he caught his master's scent. Soon after, Revan saw Morrigan and Leliana come running to the dock, having been warned by the Mabari. As the boat docked, the two were shocked to see Revan so disabled that she had to be carried by the Qunari. Rose, Alistair, and Wynne disembarked first, then helped Sten carry the Jedi out. While shifting her about, Alistair commented facetiously on her weight, earning him yet another nasty glare from Revan. He just laughed at her expression.
The party then again set out for Redcliffe, going slower this time due to their weary status. Sten did not seem at all incapacitated by the extra weight of carrying her, but Revan still felt like baggage. They should have left her at the Tower. Gods knew lying in a bed would be more comfortable and less painful than being jostled about. But, then again, she knew they did not exactly have the luxury of waiting. And Sten was right: they relied on her too much, mostly for advice. She hoped the addition of the older and wiser Wynne would change that.
So, to distract her mind from the pain of recovery, she instead asked Sten, "Will you teach me your language?"
Sten pursed his lips in thought. It had been about an hour after they left the Tower before Revan had decided to ask. They were still another hour from where the two of them had caught up with the party before, indicating that they were definitely going slower than their previous mad dash.
"You wish to learn Qunlat?" Sten clarified.
"I have always loved languages," Revan answered. "I find they teach so much about the people who speak it. So, yes, I would like to learn Qunlat."
Sten took a breath. "It is not something easily learned."
"Try me. I'm a very fast learner."
Sten looked down at her, scrutinizing her, but he just sighed. Thus, he said a Qunlat word and translated it, then had Revan repeat it back. They practiced for a few hours, with Revan building a formidable vocabulary. By the time they set up camp, about half a day to a day away from Redcliffe at their current pace, Revan was speaking simple sentences, much to Sten's amazement. They set up camp a few minutes away from a small farming village. As the others set up the tents and began cooking, Wynne tended to Revan, administering another healing tonic. Revan knew that arguing against taking it would be pointless, so she drank the concoction and immediately fell asleep to the terrible Blight dreams.
Then, just before she fully woke up, she had a vision. She was viewing it as if she was there, but the edges of her sight were blurry. It was the same feeling as when she had been looking for the Star Maps with Bastila, when the Force had accessed the deepest corners of her mind to show her where to go. In the vision, she saw Rose, Alistair, Sten, and Leliana heading into the village for supplies. Along the way, they were stopped by a frantic woman, claiming that she needed help. Rose immediately sprang into action and followed the woman. However, upon arriving at the scene, the woman gave a nod to a leather-clad elven male, who in turn made a gesture with his fist. All of a sudden, a dozen or so armed men sprang up from their hiding positions and aimed at Rose. It was an ambush. The elf drew his daggers and yelled, "The Grey Wardens must die!" before the vision faded.
Revan bolted up in bed, sending a spasm of incredible pain down her spine. It was morning, and the camp was seemingly empty. They had indeed left for the village. Morrigan and Wynne were nowhere to be seen. Revan cursed in Qunlat (she had picked up those from when Sten swore during battle) and tried moving about. Her legs were stiff, but she could at least sit up. When she tried to rise, however, she fell to the ground. So, knowing that time was of the essence, Revan crawled over to a tree, pulled herself up the trunk, and, drawing her lightsaber, chopped off a lower-hanging branch. When it fell, Revan chopped off enough of it so that it could be used as a crutch. Then, she hobbled in the direction of the village, the glowing lightsaber still humming in her other hand. A raven circled overhead, soon joined by a flock of crows. Only after several minutes of limping dazedly did she realize how helpless she would be in battle. However, Revan pressed on, determined to try and help her friends.
When Revan arrived at the scene of the ambush several minutes later, however, she was greeted by a different scene than she had anticipated. Rose was standing threateningly, her sword extended, above a wounded elf, the same assassin from her vision. Alistair, Sten, and Leliana stood behind, shaken but mostly unharmed. The assassin was clutching his bleeding side, but he was speaking, telling Rose everything she wanted to know. Revan noticed that his accent was markedly not Ferelden, nor Orlesian, and instead sounded exotic. Then, the elf asked her to spare him in return for his service. Rose hesitated, unsure of what to do. Alistair made a comment about how taking an assassin with them was probably not the best of all ideas, and as Rose was turning to speak to him, she noticed the shaking, out-of-breath Revan, leaning heavily on her crutch, lightsaber hanging from her hand. Rose blinked, and immediately Revan could see that her presence had decided for the young Warden. She gave Alistair a silencing glare and returned to the assassin.
"Let me guess: Loghain will send more assassins after me, and since you know their ways, you will be able to protect me?"
"Naturally," the elf assured her.
Rose sighed and glanced over at Revan, as if trying to ascertain if she had Revan's approval. "Then yes, I accept your offer. Welcome, Zevran."
The elf noticed the Warden's gaze, and, following it, he noticed Revan at the edge of the clearing. Then, he took Rose's extended hand and pulled himself up. The blood gushed out of his wound, and he pressed his hand to it to stem the flow. Clearing his throat, the assassin pledged himself to Rose until such a time as she released him, then fainted from blood loss. Revan watched the scene with interest. Meanwhile, Sten sighed and picked up the limp assassin, knowing that, now that Rose had accepted him, they would have to take him back to camp to be treated and healed. Rose strode over to Revan with an angry glare.
"You're supposed to be back at camp, Dragonheart. You're still too weak," Rose chided her.
Revan gave the girl a sad smile. "I know, but I had a…premonition about you being attacked. I had to see if you were alright."
Rose sighed, knowing she could not argue. "Well, please, go back to camp with Sten and Zevran. See what you can do for him."
As she turned away, Revan called, "Why did you spare him?"
"Because you taught me that people should be given second chances," Rose responded over her shoulder, and she, Alistair, and Leliana continued on their way to the village. Sten joined her and glanced at her in concern.
"I do not think you should be up," he remarked in Qunlat.
"Yeah, well, I am," she responded in kind. "Let's go back to camp."
Sten walked slowly, both so Revan could keep up and so the assassin would not lose more blood from being jostled about. When they reached camp, Wynne and Morrigan were still gone, probably off collecting plants for poultices, so Revan had to prepare a cot for the wounded elf. Then, grabbing a few poultices from Wynne's pack, she set to work mending him, with Sten watching. She ended up having to use magic to close the wound, since it had been a deep slash from Rose's blade. Fortunately, it had not hit anything vital. Revan stopped the bleeding, sealed the wound as best she could, and almost collapsed. Sten saw her leaning and caught her before she fell. Leaving the assassin to sleep, Sten carried her back to her own tent and let her rest and recover from her expensive use of magic.
Sten left, but a half an hour later, Revan had the urge to check on the assassin again, just to make sure he was still breathing. She forced her weary, stiff limbs to move, and using her crutch, hobbled out to the cot. She checked the bandages, noticing that Wynne had changed them in the time she was resting, and that the bleeding had stopped. Then, the assassin groaned, and his eyelids flitted open. He tilted his head to where she was sitting.
"Am I dead? Because you must be an angel," the elf flattered her.
She smirked, replacing the bandage. "If I'm an angel, you must be a saint."
The elf laughed, then clutched his side from the pain. "Ooh, don't make me laugh; it hurts."
"Well, you will recover soon enough. I closed the wound enough that it should only take a few days to heal, if you anoint it often enough."
The elf examined her. He was a remarkable male, with long, straight blonde hair and tan skin that glowed a burnished almond. He had a tattoo on the right side of his face, and his eyes sparkled with seductive amusement. If Revan had not fallen in love with Carth, she would have found the assassin incredibly attractive. As it was, she knew that he knew he was sexually attractive and often took advantage of that fact. Assassins usually had short life spans, after all.
"I am Zevran Arainai, Zev to my friends. And who might you be, lovely angel?" the assassin flirted.
"They call me Dragonheart, but my friends call me Revan," she responded in kind. She watched as his eyes grew wide with surprise.
"No…not the Dragonheart, the Dalish human?" Zevran asked in awe.
"The very one," Revan assured him.
The elf laughed, then hissed as his wound flared again. "Remarkable what characters you meet when trying to kill someone, eh? Well, I was ordered to kill you, too, but I was not aware that you were Dragonheart, exactly."
"Uh huh. And would you have still taken the job if you knew I would be your target?"
Zevran pondered the question. "Perhaps not. Though, I do not get a lot of choice in choosing my contracts. That is mostly done for me, you see. But, that is in the past now, and obviously I have failed killing you and your…lovely Warden companions. No hard feelings?"
Revan gave him a sly smile. "No hard feelings, Zev."
Zevran beamed. Revan touched him arm and then his mind, immediately sending him into a deep sleep with the power of the Force. He did not resist her, which was fortunate, since Revan did not have the strength to fight him. She returned back to her tent.
Rose and the others returned an hour or so later, and though Revan was still very stiff, she was able to hobble along with them, with the help of Sten. He kept his arm supporting her and his eyes on the assassin, looking at him distrustfully. Zevran, meanwhile, had recovered enough to walk, though he still clutched his side in pain. Every once and a while, as they walked, he would glance back at her, as if to ask a question, but Sten's angry glares kept him at bay. It was almost humorous. In between glares, Sten continued to teach Revan Qunran. By evening, when they reached Redcliffe, she was semi-fluent. Sten seemed impressed.
Rose led them into the castle, where Bann Teagan and First Enchanter Irving were waiting. Obviously, the mages that had decided to help had taken the quicker route of travelling across the lake. Jowan also stood nearby, glancing uncomfortably between Irving and the trembling Lady Isolde. Irving told Rose that they were ready when she was, but Rose at least had the decency to ask for Revan and Zevran to be escorted to their rooms, to rest in view of their injuries. Revan cast Irving a sad smile as he looked between her and the new face of the assassin.
Bann Teagan gestured for the knight—Ser Perth, Revan recalled—to show them away. He took Revan from Sten, and helped her limp up the stairs to the guest bedrooms. Then, he left them, eager to see the mages' spectacle. Revan was left alone with Zevran; not that she minded. She had always been at ease with assassins, as her relationship with HK-47 proved. She instructed him to lie down before proceeding to tend to his bandages.
"So…" Zevran began. "You seem to have a…rather unique bond with that Qunari, Revan. May I call you that?"
"'Course," Revan examined the pink flesh. With another day or so, he should be back in fighting shape. She could not say the same for herself, however. "Sten, 'that Qunari,' is my friend. I saved him from the Chantry's cage in Lothering. Much like Rose saved you…from her blade."
"Or Alistair's, at that," the elf grumbled. "He might not have killed me, but I could see he wasn't too happy that I was being allowed to live, either." Revan grunted in agreement. "And besides, I saw the Warden's indecision. She only allowed me to live because she saw you there. Now, why is that, I wonder?"
Revan looked up at the questioning assassin. He was good at prying out secrets. "Zevran, I only just met you, do you really expect me to divulge my most intimate secrets to you so soon?"
"Why not?" Zevran asked lightly. "I'm an assassin: I live for the moment. And here we have a moment, without your suspicious Sten and the rest of them."
Revan reapplied the bandages and sighed. "I have done worse things than you, Zevran. Rose had a choice, earlier in our little adventure, of whether to trust me or not. Now, by all reasoning, she should not have trusted me, but she did. And I have worked very hard not to betray that trust. Now, if she finds someone willing to…repent, or serve, she cannot deny them because she did not deny me."
"You? Something worse than murder? I doubt it," Zevran pried.
"Tell me, Zevran, what do you know of the Blight?"
He turned his head to look at her in confusion. "What does that have to do with it?"
"I started it," she said honestly. He stared at her in shock, and she immediately cursed the gods for trusting him so easily. She should know better than to just go blabbing her secrets to the nearest attractive man.
"No…you must be kidding!" Zevran insisted.
Sighing, Revan took a seat on the edge of the bed, and Zevran sat up and hugged his knees. Then, she recounted her tale from the time she landed on Thedas to the time she left, explaining the same way she had explained it to Daylen. The elf listened, enraptured, to her tale, as she told how she returned to repent and make amends. When she was done, he did not seem horrified, or even aghast. Instead, he seemed astounded, perhaps even amused.
"You're telling me…" he asked in thought, "that you started the Blight for power, and then never even used that power!?"
"That bothers you more than the fact that I started the Blight?" Revan inquired, surprised at his apathy.
Zevran shrugged. "It was a choice of survival. Hell, if I hadn't known any better, I would have made the same deal. And besides, you're a Grey Warden now, and surely having part of the Archdemon's soul is an advantage, right?"
Revan let out a short laugh, then shook her head in wonder. "You are a strange person, Zevran."
"Not as strange as you, apparently, but strange enough."
Revan laughed, and they continued talking. Zevran had her tell of her adventures with the Dalish, fascinated with their ways. Upon questioning, he told her that his mother had been Dalish, but had ran away with an elven woodcutter. However, he had died from illness, and his mother had been forced into prostitution and had died giving birth to him. He spoke of growing up in the Antivan whorehouse, and then being sold to the Antivan Crows, an elite organization of assassins, at an early age. She was surprised how freely he told her everything. He even began telling her of his misadventures of being an assassin. By the time they were done, the moon was almost setting, and the false dawn had just started to show. Revan yawned and bid her new friend good night before lugging her weary limbs into the other room to sleep.
She awoke several hours later, though the light had not seemed to have changed. But, then again, the room was windowless, so there was no way to tell the passage of time. She did, however, feel greatly improved after having slept in a real bed again. After stretching her muscles out, Revan slowly walked down stairs, her legs still shaky under her. Bann Teagan was in the throne room, talking with Ser Perth about the search for bodies in the castle. Apparently, after the demon had been defeated, the bodies had resumed human form. Now, they had to undertake the massive task of finding them all and discerning their identity.
Teagan looked up at her approach. "Ah, Dragonheart! Good to see you awake and about!"
"Good morning, Bann Teagan," Revan smiled at him. "So, I take it everything went according to plan?"
Teagan gave her a sly smile in return. "Yes, they did. In fact, your mage Jowan was the one to save Connor."
"Really?" she asked in surprise. "And where is he now?"
"First Enchanter Irving said to leave judgment to Eamon if…when he awakes," Teagan explained. Revan's eye glittered in approval. "So, we returned him to the dungeon, with better accommodations, of course."
"And I assume that the rest of my friends are still sound asleep?"
Bann Teagan allowed a small chuckle. "That they are, except for your large Qunari 'friend'," he made a small face. Sten tended to unnerve people. "He's in the dining hall, if you were wondering."
"Thank you," Revan bid him adieu, and began walking towards where she thought the dining hall was, according to her memory of their invasion of the castle. As she passed one of the servant's rooms, she spotted a small, shaggy dog —not a Mabari hound—observing her from a corner. It was strange to her, until she realized that the dog had yellow eyes.
"Good morning, Morrigan. I would have thought you would be sleeping," Revan said calmly, stopping.
There was a flash of light, and in place of the dog stood Morrigan, still dressed in her patchwork clothes, her staff strapped to her back. She gave Revan a glare that was partly amused and partly irritated.
"You are the one who should be sleeping, 'General'," Morrigan countered, mocking Alistair's nickname for her. "You took quite a blast, if what Rose says about the Circle Tower is true."
"I'm sure it is," Revan agreed as she resumed walking. Morrigan joined her as they headed to the dining hall. "I don't believe there is any way of understating blood magic."
Morrigan groaned in exasperation. "Oh, don't tell me you're one of those who thinks blood magic is 'evil' and 'abhorrent'!"
Revan chuckled. "I am sure it has its practicalities, but I do not like abominations that possess blood magic. And I certainly do not like mages who use blood magic heedlessly, like Uldred did. He was foolish, and his actions led to the needless deaths of innocents."
Morrigan paused at this, then conceded to her point. They finally found their way to the dining room, and observed Sten sitting at a lone table in the center of the room, with the other soldiers and servants that survived sitting at the other edges of the room. Revan jovially approached the giant and greeted him in Qunlat, to which he responded back. She and Morrigan took their seats across from him, and soon servants brought them breakfast.
Sten picked up a cracker from the plate and carefully examined it. Staring at it, he commented, "I was not aware that humans also ate vita."
Both Revan and Morrigan looked at him curiously. "Vita?" Morrigan finally asked. "I believe we call them 'crackers' here."
"Crackers…" Sten repeated, observing the object, then popping it in his mouth. "It even tastes the same as the ones in Par Vollen. Interesting."
Revan looked away. She had heard the word "vita" before, but in a different language. She lost focus as she tried to remember where she had heard the term before, when her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the Antivan assassin.
"Good morning, my jolly Qunari friend!" Zevran slapped Sten on the shoulder in greeting. "And to you two, lovely dames," he winked.
The servants soon brought him a plate, which he proceeded to stuff his face with hastily whilst gregariously chatting away. Revan had forgotten how uplifting the presence of an assassin could be. Gradually, Morrigan and Sten stopped glaring at him distastefully, and with continued flirting, Zevran managed to win a small smile from Morrigan. It appeared that Zevran was an expert at befriending people, in addition to killing them.
As Zevran finished eating, Revan rose slowly, still not having fully recovered. "All right, everyone, we have work to do."
"What do you mean?" Morrigan asked skeptically.
Revan met all of their eyes before continuing. "I have, with the help of an acquaintance of mine, located a certain possession belonging to Sten, right here in Redcliffe. And, considering my current state, I require all of your…assistance…in retrieving it."
Sten's eyes widened, and in Qunlat, he asked, "You found my sword?"
She gave him a confirming smile, before looking to Morrigan and Zevran. They both shrugged in acceptance, and they all rose and followed Revan out of the castle and into the village proper. They were given strange looks as they passed, but no one commented on the odd party, and no one dared stop them. In fact, some of the villagers recognized them from their defense of the village, and smiled at them as they passed. Revan smiled back absently, but her mind was focused on the route to the dwarf's hut.
This time, instead of having Sten bust down the door, she politely knocked. She heard some grumbling inside, but one of Dwyn's men grudgingly opened the door a crack to ascertain the identity of the visitors. Seeing as it was her, he immediately opened the door. With a quick thanks, she entered the cottage proper, to find it all in order, furniture back in place, weapons and armor neatly stored. Dwyn was sitting at a desk, working, but he stood as he noticed their entrance.
"Ah, Warden! You decided not to break down my door this time!" Dwyn greeted her.
"Yes, well, I felt a bit bad about last time."
"That was some fight. Reminds me why I left Orzammar in the first place."
"Oh? Why is that?" she asked curiously, ignoring Sten's obvious impatience from behind her.
"Constant fighting," Dwyn responded. "A warrior's life there is blood, ash, and dust. Though, I'm not sure who's dirtier: those creatures or the darkspawn."
"Well, thank you for helping with the battle," Revan bowed her head.
"Hey, anything for Redcliffe, right? Whatever. Go…celebrate, or whatever it is you're going to do. You won, right? You're a hero. Or something," Dwyn rambled, turning back to his desk.
"Actually…" Revan took a step towards him, "I am looking for the Qunari sword you bought."
Dwyn stopped, and turned back to face her. "Now, why would you be interested in that?"
"It's mine," Sten growled, sending a chill down Revan's spine. The color immediately drained out of the veteran dwarf's face at the fury concealed in his voice.
"You know, Faryn didn't mention the giant he took it from was alive," Dwyn shook.
"Now, what do you want for it?" Revan asked, trying to appear unshaken from Sten's ferocity.
"Six sovereigns."
"You couldn't have paid that much. Two sovereigns, take it or leave it."
Dwyn gave a nervous glance at the glaring Qunari. "Good enough. It's in the back room, here's the key," he handed her a small brass key. "Now, if that's all…"
"Of course," Revan took the key and proceeded to the back room. In it, piled with all of Dwyn's other weapons, was a large blade, intricately designed, sharp and gleaming. Qunlat symbols decorated the flat of the blade. Revan lifted it gingerly, surprised at its great weight, and carried it out. The others were already outside, waiting. As soon as she emerged, Sten's eyes fixated on it reverently. She held it out to him, and he gripped the hilt with his large hands, feeling its weight and balance, as if disbelieving it was really his sword.
"Strange…I had almost forgotten it. Completion," Sten ran a hand along the blade. Then, he fixed his eyes on Revan, his eyes softer than she had ever seen them. "Are you sure you are a Grey Warden? I think you must be an ashkaari to find a single lost blade in a country at war."
Revan smiled at him. "Well…I'm not just a Grey Warden, am I?"
"No, you are not. I would thank you for this, if I knew how," Sten continued. "And I could deliver a much more satisfying answer to the Arishok's question if the Blight were ended, do you not agree?"
"So you will be staying, then?" she asked.
"I am one of the Beresaad. I have never abandoned the field with the battle unmet," Sten gave her a sort of smile.
"I am glad to have you by my side, Sten," she returned.
"Yes, it isn't every Grey Warden who has her own Beresaad. I will see you reach the Archdemon. Now, let us return to the castle, yes, Kadan?"
It was late afternoon. The sun was just beginning to set over the castle, and Revan was sitting under a tree in the courtyard, with Fuzzywuggins curled up near her. She had spent the rest of the morning chatting with her friends about what was to come next. The plan, now that the demon was gone, was to revive Arl Eamon. However, the only way to do that was to seek out a legend: the Urn of Sacred Ashes, the remains of the prophet Andraste. So, they were off to Denerim, the capital of Ferelden, to find a Brother Genitivi, who had been researching the supposed location of the Ashes. On the way, they would also try to locate a Dalish clan in the Brecilian Forest. Revan had been designated this task, since she was Dalish, technically. Surprisingly, she had been eager to accept the task; she missed her clan and her friends, despite the pain of having lost Tamlen and Lyna.
She had also managed to chat with Jowan, who had been thoroughly surprised to hear of Daylen's fate. She could tell he felt guilty about involving his friend in his escape from the Circle. He was also shocked to learn of her plans for him, but when she described the alternatives, he stopped protesting. A chance at life was better than being made Tranquil, at any cost.
Now, having concluded her business, she had retrieved the book she had found in the Circle Tower, the one belonging to Flemeth. She began reading, thumbing the pages as her enhanced mind absorbed the information easily. And, what she read disturbed her. The book was a description of the rituals involved in prolonging her life: entering a new host, usually that of one of her daughters. From what she read, Revan was able to conclude that Flemeth was no longer entirely human. And neither was she partly Archdemon, as she had led Revan to believe. She was something else, far more powerful than she had anticipated. Revan needed to deliver the book to Morrigan; she had a right to know her mother's plans for her.
But that made Revan wonder: what were Flemeth's plans for her?