-!-
Chapter Ten
The road to Ostagar is long but so very pretty. Solona spends the entire twelve day journey with her eyes tripping over just how green it is. The trees sing here, she realizes. The wind that whistles through the leaves and branches try to teach her the words to a song she was never supposed to learn. She does though. She sometimes sings along much to the amusement of the other mages with her. There's seven of them total, including Wynne, the enchanter who is still trying to teach her how to heal. Silas has joined and Solona is very relieved.
His once stifling presence is now comforting in this open environment. It reminds her that no matter what, she has control now. She can contain the fire that's been smoldering inside of her since she was a child. He tells her about his early days in the Circle, when she asks one night around the fire. She shouldn't be surprised to learn that he, too, had many troubles controlling himself when his magic first appeared. Silas reassures her; she has grown into the ability that she was born with.
She thinks this is what it means to be a real mage. This community and fellowship, all of them responsible for each other. Depending on others has always been a weak point but she soon comes to understand that the only way mages ever survive is through cohesion. After the little troop of mages and templars make it to the crumbling fortress of Ostagar she sticks close to her own kind at first.
For the first week she pours over the texts that she's brought. The Tevinter magic is complex, a longer arm of arcane that she's used to seeing in common usage. The simplicity of the protection spells is disturbing, however. She expects the Imperium to be the land of complex magic and insane ritual, given their part in the origination of the Darkspawn. But, she finds chants that last a line and lists of ingredients for potions that call for three items at the most. When she shares this information with Silas and Wynne, who then share it with Uldred and the other few mages camped in their clearing she has a hard time convincing everyone that she's done her research.
She has and she's got the page numbers to prove it. Hypothetically, she tells them: with the size of the army the King plans to build, they need five mages away from the main battle running constant interfacing with the Fade and a handful with the troops, spread among the soldiers on the field to disperse the effects. With this set up, they should prevent all enemy spell casters from any sort of effectiveness.
If the spells work. She has more research to do. A trip into the Wilds, at the least, with an armed escort to see if they can find a skirmish to test with.
As she researches during the day she tries to spend her evening visit the other camps in the area. The army slowly builds, new groups arriving every few days with interesting stories of far off places. She spends her second week collection these tales and carefully transcribing them onto parchment. When questioned about her night time activates (wouldn't she be better off sticking with the mages?) by Wynne, she asks the older woman to take the scrolls with her back to the Tower if she should die and give them to Keili. Keili will make sure the words are read by others, if only in the interest of research. Solona can tell Wynne wants to refuse, but she pleads with her eyes. The older mage agrees.
Her third week she learns how to dance. A collection of elven warriors, painted dark green, dances around a fire pit one night and she can hear the beat of eternity through their stomping feet. She's at the edge of the circle when a boy about her age catches sight of her. The musicians, drumming and playing a type of whistle, continue the music as the boy pulls her into the fray. She's spent time in this camp; they've come to like her silly questions and constantly teach her the words of their native language. This night they welcome her into their ritualistic movements and teach her other things.
Her robes are not conducive to the movements, not at all. She trips more than she can dance, it seems, but she's smiling when she collapses at the edge of the fire, breathing hard. She's pulled back up moments later and the boy pulls her in tight for a more . . . suggestive dance. The proximity to his hard body, and the thrill of the dance, are racing through her head and mixing with the memory of Cullen.
She is burning from the exertion. Mages don't get to be this physically active. The boy eyes her prettily and she has to back away, hands raised. Has to take a couple of calming breaths. The boy seems to understand and moves over to another girl, one of his own tribe. The two twine themselves in supplication and Solona feels like she's imposing now. Despite the thirty others engaged in the dance, these two make her warm. She leaves, her head swimming with visions of her and of Cullen and of his fingertips at her collarbone. The thoughts send her back to her bunk, shivering with the intensity. She tries to ease the ache within her but she can't and in the morning she lights the camp fire a little too emphatically. The templar about to cook breakfast loses an eyebrow and Solona runs away. She has to thank the elves . . . for their kindness in sharing with her . . . she avoids camp for the rest of the morning and vows that she'll stop thinking about Cullen.
The Grey Wardens appear during the third week at Ostagar. Thirty grave men who wear their occupation like a shield on their faces; initially she's scared of them. They are, after all, meant to save the world from this Blight. Something like that is a hefty resume and she feels so very inadequate around them. They grow on her though, or maybe she grows on them, when they start to answer her tentative questions. Her official reason for being at the fortress intrigues most of them and they share what knowledge they have of the Darkspawn. She keeps notes still and starts remember names.
Josef is her fellow historian; he's younger than most and although he's not a mage he seems to understand. When she tries to explain her views on the Maker most cut her off and tell her that she's blaspheming; Josef listens patiently and adds his own thoughts. They become friends very quickly, she thinks. He reminds her of Shuul, especially with the way he approaches problems head on. He passes her off to others to instruct her in areas he thinks she's lacking in: Eric teaches her how to hold a sword. Their leader gives her a few talks about self control.
Solona wonders if Silas hadn't talked to the Gray Warden leader, a grave fellow by the name of Duncan, about instructing her. The two seemed to know each other from another time. She doesn't get a chance to ask either. After a few weeks at Ostagar she learns what it's like to face down Darkspawn and she throws herself into research, if only to keep from having to go out in the field again. The smell of their blood makes her want to vomit after she washes that one time.
Reading suits her just fine. She has a quiet place set aside outside the main circle of tents that she stays in with the other mages. With her back leaning against the stone that makes the outer wall of the fortress she can still keep an eye on what goes on in the main clearing.
Solona doesn't think about Cullen. She can't. Despite the rather dismal outlook on the rest of her life, how many days until they really start fighting, she won't allow herself to dwell. Making friends in this camp means that she learns about others. She gains incentive to protect lives. Save those that can be saved. Even the templars that came with them; she could save everyone. If she only reads more. Studies harder. Stops thinking about him. She'll never make it back; thinking about him is useless.
One of the Wardens was almost a templar, Josef tells her. They share a meal, quick as they can because they can both feel the oncoming storm and the drive to learn as much as they can, and he nods over to a light haired man who polishes armor on the other side of the camp. She slides her eyes sideways to him and asks him why she should care. His smile is sly in return.
"Heard some rumors, is all. Why you're here."
Solona's lunch turns to ash in her mouth. It's not that she's really all that ashamed of how she feels about Cullen. She just . . . doesn't like thinking about that information passing around and used against her. "Doesn't matter. I've got a job to do; that's all there is, now." She wonders when she'd gotten so bitter and . . . final. When she stands she glances over at the almost-templar. His face is honest; he looks a bit like Cullen. If she's have thought about the Grey Wardens while she'd been at the Circle, seriously, she could have suggested the two of them run off and join together.
She doesn't eat with Josef any more. She sits at her spot and reads. She watches as people come and go. Usually Duncan, every few days. He brings back someone new each time and she thinks (hopes) that perhaps it might be Cullen one of these days.
She doesn't think about Cullen. She doesn't. Especially not that look of finality when Greagoir had walked in on the two of them. For sure she doesn't think about the way he smiles when she asks him questions about the outside world and the tangents he could go on with the smallest opportunity. She certainly doesn't lie in bed at night with her face burning and her hands buried between her legs remembering the soft sounds of pleasure he'd made when she'd bitten his lip while kissing him.
Three weeks after she arrives she knows that the time is finally coming. Silas pulls her aside and tells her to start making potions; she's going to need them. He gives her directives, how to coordinate with the soldiers she'll be stationed with. She has an entire troop of three hundred men to watch over. If she hadn't tested out this magical barrier idea herself she'd have balked. Three hundred lives to keep safe. At least until the enemy made her their number one target. Darkspawn tactics are almost nonexistent but only fools leave an enemy spell caster alone. Josef had explained that one during her only real foray into the Wilds.
There's an urgency building in her body and she stops sleeping for longer than a few hours at a time. She waits. Unable to even train, she sits. And waits. She wonders if this isn't what a mother feels like before giving birth. Or perhaps she's more the nervous father, unable to really do anything but hope for the best.
After four weeks, Duncan returns to Ostagar for the last time.
He has two women with him.
Solona can't even begin to control the shout of happiness when she realizes that the one carrying a staff, the mage, is Neria. The two fall into one another's arms with laughter and tears of relief and Solona can forget, for a few minutes at least, that they're all about to die. Duncan and the other woman don't even pause as they walk on by. Solona does not care; she is no longer alone.
"What are you doing here? And with Duncan?"
Silence, heavy with a serious intent, falls over her normally chatty friend and Neria looks away. She surveys the camp and only a small poke from Solona brings her mind back. "A lot happened after you left." There's foreboding in her tone and before she even speaks again Solona knows that it's Jowan. That he's been found out; him and that stupid lay sister.
"Jowan is a blood mage." The way the elf's voice drops indicates that she's had some time, not a lot but some, to think everything through, and she's come to accept this negative aspect about their friend. Solona wants to be surprised, she really does. But she can't. These days nothing is positive; there's no way it could be. "He disappeared from the tower. And I helped him. Helped him destroy his phylactery." Neria looks away again, swallowing hard. "Greagoir wanted to kill us both. Lucky for me Duncan was there and he conscripted me."
The elf laughs now and her mood lightens at the thought of the Knight-Commander. "You should have seen his face, Lona! It was priceless." She screws her eye brows together and frowns. "You can't take her! She needs to be punished!" Neria's impersonation of Greagoir is actually pretty good and Solona laughs along with her. "Oh Maker, what a riot. I mean, it's not okay that Jowan misled me like that, and all for a lay sister, but I guess its okay. Grey Warden Neria! Has a great ring to it! And . . . speaking of the lay sister, you knew! How could you not tell me?"
Solona is about to answer when Duncan calls for Neria. "I better go. I think I need to go meet someone. I don't remember his name. I'm so tired though; I need sleep. Never mind, I'll talk to you tomorrow." The elf brushes a kiss across her cheek and is gone. Solona is glad to see that Neria is just as easily derailed as always. She doesn't particularly want to answer her friend's line of questioning.
In the elf's absence, Solona wanders back over to the first to get ready for the evening meal. The sense of building urgency is screaming in her head. She feels sick to her stomach. Food is not really an option for her, not tonight.
-!-
She cannot sleep, not tonight. So, she is reading. The hour is not particularly late but most have retired to their own camps, preparing for the battle tomorrow. She prepares as well, ensuring that the spells she has memorized will be enough. Nothing will ever be enough. The steady footsteps of a fully armored man walking through camp brings her head up from the page she's reading, Darkspawn have no known origins: suspicions point to advanced blood magic, and for a moment Solona doesn't know what she's seeing.
A hand is hanging limply from the body the man carries. That almost-templar; he's got a woman in his arms and a tragic look on his face. Solona almost ignores him to go back to her text. This passage could be important. Tomorrow she goes to war, real war. There's something about the way the woman's long brown hair flows across the metal arms that carry her though, loose and beautiful. The color; it's too perfect.
She is on her feet; the ground she crosses is littered with stones and sticks that might trip her and she's not wearing any shoes but she doesn't care. The almost-templar hears her coming and tries to turn, tries to block the body he carries from her outstretched reach.
Her hand catches the tips of the woman's fingers and Solona's first thought is that the skin is cold. The almost-templar tells her to step back. This is Warden business. Solona's hand travels up the arm, brushes back the hair from the woman's face.
Blood. Everywhere. Dried around Neria's mouth and nose. It's splattered down the front of her robes and encrusted in the necklace her friend always wears. And Solona can tell. She can see.
Neria is not breathing. Dead.
One of the Wardens pulls her off of the almost-templar and the dead elf he carries. They drag her away and their unforgiving metal hands pinch her skin; Solona kicks and screams NO! NOT HER! but no one is listening. No one is caring. She is the one that's supposed to die in this place. She's the one; not Neria. Never her friend. Never.
She thinks that the men and women camped in the valley below must be able to hear her cries of anguish. The Warden holding her shifts his grip and she's free, running back. She can fix this! Wynne . . . Wynne taught her how to revive someone just yesterday; so long as there was still a spirit left to be brought back she can do it. If anyone could hold on, wait for help, it would be Neria.
She has no staff and does not care. Her magic is building as she moves closer. Her hands, pumping at her sides, start to glow blue. She can save-
The dispel the almost-templar throws at her when she enters his range throws her off her feet. And backwards. And away. She has to save-
Another blast drives any remaining energy from her body as she's swarmed by templars. Real ones, big shining men with swords drawn. The damp skin of her face, traced with the tears of her sadness, is cold in the wind of this night. Duncan appears at the edge of the circle of shining men. The other woman who came in with Neria stands behind him. She does not look at Solona, instead watches the almost-templar disappear into the Warden Camp. Solona hates this woman at that moment. Whatever happened . . . this one had survived where Neria had not. The other two recruits are also absent.
"You could not have saved her. I'm sorry; she wasn't strong enough." Duncan's words . . . he sounds full of regret. "Sleep. We will need you tomorrow."
If there was any love in her heart for a Grey Warden ever, it is obliterated when he turns and speaks to the other woman. Duncan turns to the woman and reassures her; tells her that she did well, and that they have to go meet with the King.
Templar hands drag her to her feet.
Solona cannot stop crying.
-!-