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Chapter 2 - Companions
It was late at night when Kallian first moved. Her head was wrapped in linen stripes reeking of health poultice, and her right arm was tightly laced to several wood splints to keep the bones in place. Every breath she took brought about jolts of dull pain, of the sort that half-healed ribs were due to cause. However used to pain and injury she'd become in the past year and a half, she'd also become quite accustomed to walk out of almost every battle with little or no damage at all, partly consequence to her swiftness, but more so owing to Wynne's spectacular healing skills that took no time to mend a broken bone or a gaping wound. One took quickly to the small comforts of life, it seemed. Kallian groaned and shifted to ease some of the pressure in her chest.
She could make little of her whereabouts, other than being laid on a bedroll a few paces away from the merry glittering of a small camp fire, somewhere in a clearing likely to belong within the hardwood forests on the banks of River Drakon. An untainted forest, at that, or that was what her senses were telling her – which meant she was on the northern bank. And, it seemed, Wynne was not within the distance of a late night's stroll, seeing that someone had taken the time and the trouble to mend her wounds with wood splints and healing poultices. Kallian groaned again.
It was after a while that she heard a sudden brush of wings, and somebody fidgeted around the fire.
"So, what news?"
"They're on their way to Highever indeed. They passed by Amaranthine without even stopping for supplies. I sighted seven royal guards, and five or six more Templars joined them at the crossroads with the Northern Highway. Too many to tackle by oneself. They must be well beyond our reach, by now. Three, perhaps four days ahead of us, should we travel on foot."
Who was going to Highever? What? Why? Kallian braced herself to rise, fumbling with the fur covers that were her makeshift bed. She was weaker than she'd thought, and the pain sharper, and she faltered, almost falling off her feet. She finally managed to straighten herself and headed to the fire.
"Ah, belissima. Glad I am to see you awake."
A hand was stretched, and Kallian grasped at it, using its support fully as she sat by the fire.
"Zevran? Morrigan? I thought you left us in Redcliffe? Good to see you, though."
Morrigan sneered gloomily.
"Not so good, I'm afraid, given the state of things. Though I took my leave in Redcliffe, I followed you to Denerim in the shape of a bird. I was curious as to how this story would end, after all. And good it is that I did."
"Tell me, my friend, how much do you remember from last night?" Zevran asked.
Kallian rubbed her temple thoughtfully.
"Not much. I was so happy that everything was over, so eager to see Leliana, after… I think she's not anywhere close, though?" Her voice broke off slightly, and she paused for a moment to regain composure before she spoke again. "It was all eerie, like a dream – I suppose I didn't much expect it to make sense - I do remember you, Zev, saying we were running out of the camp. So – why don't you two just tell me what happened?"
"Well, as I said, I followed you in bird shape. I didn't quite close in until you had the Archdemon slain, 'twas not safe for me to do so. But, as soon as it fell, I did, and I saw you and Loghain being carried from atop Fort Drakon to the yard, where the soldiers gathered to salute you. Then I saw Anora, with a handful of her personal guards, taking Wynne and Leliana aside. I wanted to take my leave, but then I followed – thought I'd show myself for a glimpse, so that you'd know I'd been there. Better I didn't get the time to do so. As soon as they were out of the crowd's sight, a lone Templar appeared, and hit Wynne with a Holy Smite, without any ado or introduction. Leliana drew blade, but Anora showed her some papers, and Leliana let the guards take her without a fight. By then, Wynne'd recovered from the Smite, unnaturally fast, and glowing, due to that spirit she's bound with, no doubt. The glowing on her was obvious enough for the Templar to see. Seeing that things didn't stand well at all, I thought that you too may be in grave danger, so I found Zevran at the gates and warned him of what I'd witnessed."
"Yes. So, I decided that when this kind of things happen it's better to be safe than sorry, as you people say. I turned to the shadows, and we went outside the gates to investigate. We saw a wagon surrounded by the Queen's men taking the Imperial Highway. Morrigan took a peek inside - and indeed there they were, bound and gagged, both. So, she went to the woods to find a spot for camp, and I came to rescue you, my friend. The rest is as you know it."
Kallian kept silent for a while, allowing the news to sink in. When she spoke, she probed the bits of information, mulling them over, like a sore tooth.
"So, Anora showed Leliana some papers?"
"Something from her past, no doubt."
"And Wynne, she got on her feet after the Smite, suddenly glowing?"
"There's no hiding her situation from the Templars now."
"No."
"Let me think" – Kallian turned to Zevran for answers this time – "nothing happened to Oghren and Sten, right?"
"I told Sten to leave the Queen's camp and join us with Con before your absence would be noticed. Oghren was beyond warning when I arrived last night."
"Sten is not here. If you think I'm wrong, pray, say so, but Anora had prepared before striking at Wynne and Leliana. Nothing was to happen to either Sten or Oghren, if my reckoning is right. Not in the open, not yet, not upfront. But Anora knows that I've gone missing for some time now. Something must have happened."
"You don't know that she'd have left them alone." Zevran scowled. "When I found you, dear Warden, no one had seen to your wounds, besides closing them with a spell or two. You were left in your tent if not to die, at least to remain crippled for the rest of your life."
"That'd be Wynne, not some royal healer. She'd sealed the wounds, but had no strength left to do more then. Leaving me in my tent to rot could have been accounted for, too, seeing that the Archdemon was this magical creature that no one could tell what harm could have done. Who would have dared say otherwise had the Queen herself declared me beyond healing?"
The taste of betrayal was bitter, more than any other before. Anora was her Queen. Anora had been her Queen, and she'd given up more than a lot to secure her well-being. She'd surrendered to Cauthrien and had gone willingly to Fort Drakon. She'd shown mercy to her father. She'd given her Alistair.
With Vaughan, as gruesome as all had been, things had been easy – he'd been easy to hate, easy to judge, easy to kill, like a rabid dog. At Ostagar, it hadn't been her fight. That, and, if she had been to choose between losing half an army or all of it, she knew that she would have had made the dreaded choice herself. When she'd fought Howe she'd done it for others – for the Queen, for a Bann's son, for a delirious Templar, for an Ostagar survivor, for a Grey brother she'd never met before. The closest to this she'd ever felt had been in the Alienage, when she'd found Tevinter slavers trading her people, but then her blood thirst had been quenched in slaying them all, in having run Howe through already, so when she had arrived finally in front of the Landsmeet she'd been fed up with all the manslaughter, ripe to eagerly embrace the first opportunity at mercy, to let Loghain live. She hadn't seen it then, how her forbearance had broken Alistair's heart, but it was becoming clear in the light of the recent events, she thought, as her own bitterness bottled up.
"You've been quiet for some time, Kallian. What is it you think we should do?" Morrigan's words broke her from her musings.
"This – this is all my doing. Had I not mistaken Anora for her father, had I not trusted her with the kingdom, none of this would have happened. This is my wrong to set straight."
"Ah, my friend, since when does a City Elf such as yourself favor misled honor over reason? We are here to help."
"The Blight is over. I can ask of you no more to put your lives at stake. Morrigan, you took your leave before the battle."
"There's more to me – and Mother – than I could possibly describe to you. I could not fight the Archdemon at your side without some sort of protection, not entirely unlike yourself – protection that was denied to me by your choice. That said, however, I have not called you my sister for naught. This fight of yours is my own, and I will see it through before going on my own path."
"As for me, I think we got through this before – I'm staying for the treasure. You didn't think that you could plunder Highever and keep everything to yourself, I hope?"
"Humph." Kalian offered a small smirk at Zevran's words. "So, there's no way I can talk you two out of this? Seeing that it is pure madness and we are most likely to fail?"
"I'm afraid not, my friend."
"Then, I suppose that we should head to Highever as soon as we can…"
Kallian's sentence remained unfinished, though, as all three of them froze in place, listening to the sounds of the forest. Something, or someone, was disturbing the night birds within a distance, it seemed, seeing that they were chirping and fidgeting more than usually. They conveyed wordlessly and rose from the fire in silence. Morrigan took the shape of a fox and lost herself among the trees. Zevran cloaked himself and crept behind the nearest shrub. Kallian put the fire out quietly, and stood still in the dark, with her good hand on the hilt of Fang, Adaia's dagger, which had never left Kallian's boot since she had received it. She waited, feeling the air.
Soon enough the disturbance had drawn close enough for Kallian to get a clear sense of what was coming. One, or maybe two bodies, big enough and not making use of stealth, judging by the fuss they'd caused with the night birds. Not a lone hunter, and definitely not a search party, either. Kallian was quick to reject unlikely prospects; the presence she felt held no menace. About the time she could fathom the what and the who exactly, the shrubs at the end of the clearing started to weaver with the commotion of the approaching beast.
"Con!" Kallian called cheerily, moments before finding herself on the flat of her back, tangled under the huge and very friendly paws of her own, and very sorely missed, war hound. Merry as the reunion was, the weight of one full-fledged mabari was a bit too much for her not-exactly-healed ribs and she found, among the tears of pain that it brought, that she could barely make the shape of the other visitor, who was now entering the small camp – one very big, human shape, with white braided hair that glittered in the dim light, and a huge sword strapped bare on his back. Seemingly, Con sensed some of his mistress's distress, as he tongued her cheek perceptively, twice.
"Down, boy."
She rose to welcome the Sten of the Beressad, along with Zevran and Morrigan; Con in toe. It felt like the old times were coming back, at least a little. But Sten had not brought good news.
He hadn't left in the morning, as it had been suggested by Zevran. He'd taken his time, and had listened to the soldiers' talk. By noon, the Queen's camp was steaming with the most unlikely rumors: Senior Enchanter Wynne had vanished in the plain sight of three fully trained Templars; the elven assassin had lost his trace among the Darkspawn at the gate; the Warden had traded the lives of four of her companions, including General Loghain, to the Archdemon for one hundred years of peace; the companions had turned against the Warden in the end on behest of the King, and had almost killed her, had it not been for General Loghain, who had run them through and had killed the Archdemon by himself. It had become such a hassle in the end that he'd decided to do something about it, and, by late afternoon he'd entered the Warden's tent with Con, who, as expected, wailed at the absence of his mistress. He'd gathered her torn armor and helmet in a somewhat convincing shape, stuffed with furs and whatnot, he'd hung her weapons on the armor's back as a warrior would carry them and placed all of it on the Elite Redcliffe shield. When he'd gotten out of the tent carrying this ensemble on his arms nobody dared stop him, and he hadn't been required to speak one word. The Queen had been in front of her tent, also. Only after he'd properly buried Master Wade's Superior Dragonscale Armor in the forest he'd given up the ruse and hurried pace, soon to notice that he'd been followed by some of the Queen's men – whom he'd run through.
"I brought you your sword, Kadan."
The hilt of the Topsider's Honour felt warm to Kallian's hand as she touched it, and it moved her a little, the fact that Sten had brought her the sword that had become her most natural extension since the Deep Roads. Odd that he'd be the one to retrieve it, still the most natural thing in the world.
They were even now. Debts were paid, the Blight was over, and the Sten was ready to take leave. He welcomed Kallian to Seheron whenever she pleased, and she thanked him, and promised to bring an entire box of cookies when she came.
"Travel safely, my friend."
She'd never called Sten a friend, before.
Something had just ended. Something else was about to begin.