Let the long chapters begin! Seriously, I swear they just keep getting longer. Sorry (not sorry) for all this reading I will not put you through! Hahaha!
In other news, this is how much I love you: I just got back from work, have not eaten lunch, and here I am posting a new chapter for y'all!
Last chapter we had a bit of a slower time as Astlyr got to recover mentally from all the shit that keeps happening to her. In this chapter: more shit happens to her! Enjoy!
Part 18
The Wolf in the Wild
Three days hence saw Astlyr making travel preparations. Things in Skyhold had gone back into full swing, with the added tasks to repairing the mage tower and shoring up the wall. Visitors with any skill at all in those fields were encouraged to help out. Those with expertise were paid a respectable sum. The greatest loss in the tower may have been the library. Many rare tomes had been gathered there. Astlyr couldn't cross the courtyard past the structure without hearing some mage bemoaning the loss.
Skyhold's spies and scouts had been mobilized to try to locate the three mages who were responsible for the attack. Since that fateful night Astlyr had been very cautious of who came into her fortress. No new mages had arrived, but she was careful to have Cole with her whenever a new group of refugees came knocking. Everyone in the fortress was still slightly on edge. She could hear it in the silence at the tavern and see it in the furtive glances people cast at one another. They were a kicked dog, uncertain if another blow was coming.
Astlyr was in a good mood as she checked and double checked her supplies. This was going to be a proper trip. Days of travel. Sleeping out under the stars, even if they were cold, winter stars. Time spent doing what she loved best. Adventuring. Admittedly it had taken a good deal of convincing to persuade Cullen, Cassandra and Josephine that the trip was necessary. Another report of an emptied alienage had come in and Astlyr used that as leverage for her argument. Who knew what Mythal might be up to? Wouldn't it be nice to be one step ahead for once?
"You have the maps?" she asked Fen'Harel for the third time.
The elf chuckled, but still willingly pulled the carefully rolled parchments from his satchel to show her. She nodded with satisfaction, scrutinizing the things she had laid out on the table before her. Her party had gathered in the forge, as it was a warm location to muster from. Cassandra leaned around Astlyr's shoulder, her practiced eye gliding over the content of the inquisitor's pack. "It all looks good to me," she nodded. Everyone carried the same basic traveling supplies, though the qunari often filled her own bags with an excess.
Astlyr began putting each item carefully into her pack. Tools for fire lighting. A bedroll folded and tied so tightly it was hard to recognize. Extra water skins and bandages. A knife for skinning any small animals they hunted. Three packs of dried meat and a four hard traveling loaves wrapped in cloth. The rest of their food would be carried in the saddlebags, but once thieves had raided their camp and made off with several packs of food, leaving the party hungry for days. Now Astlyr always kept some on her person. She erred on the side of having too much than too little. She could carry a heavier load than the others after all. "Where is Varric?" she stood back on her heels, taking in the assemblage.
There were Fen'Harel and Myfanwy of course. Dorian was sitting to one side, checking his boots for signs of wear. Cole was seated by the forge fire, watching the flames dance with interest, occasionally pumping the bellows when the blacksmith needed. The blacksmith's apprentice sat nearby, seemingly enjoying the reprieve from his usual task. Astlyr's heart gave a sad twinge, feeling the absence of Iron Bull. He had protested that he was recovered enough from his wounds to join them, but she had requested he stay behind. If he felt up to it he and the Chargers would head out to hunt the rogue mages. She didn't fancy the three terrorist's chances against The Iron Bull and his people. He had once been Ben'Hasrath after all. She almost pitied the mages. Almost.
Cullen entered the forge, pausing to stamp slush from his boots before stepping inside. "It's still snowing a bit, but lightly," he reported, taking in the group, "the horses are almost ready."
"Thank you," Astlyr smiled at him. "I'm sorry you have to remain at Skyhold for this one," she said, and she meant it. She had been hoping, now that the world was supposedly saved, that the commander could join the party on more missions.
Cullen shook his head with a wan smile stretching the scar on his lip. "I understand why I cannot."
"With Skyhold still in some turmoil and people no longer confident of their absolute safety here, it is important to have a strong and respected military commander remaining behind to oversee things," Astlyr spoke as though she were reading from a manual. Cullen had said those very words to her the night before when she had asked if he might join the travelers.
"He's right you know," Cassandra said, suspecting that Astlyr's words were Cullen's not the Inquisitor's. She turned to the man, "I could remain. I have offered-"
Cullen raised a forestalling hand, "My remaining here is more sensible. You have far more field experience with this team, plain and simple. Who knows what you might face. It would be better if Astlyr had more people she knew how to work with."
"As soon as things settle down here you can come with us," Astlyr reassured the templar, resting a hand on his upper arm. Her thoughts flashed to the last time he had journeyed with them. Her mind's eyes could see the arrow jutting from the place she touched and she winced inwardly. Perhaps he had more than one reason for wishing to remain at Skyhold.
Varric burst into the room, making an entrance as always. Bianca was slung dramatically over his shoulder and he made certain to strike what Astlyr knew he imagined to be a heroic pose, framed as he was by the light in the doorway. Dorian laughed aloud. "Sorry I'm late. My special lady friend needed a little extra attention today." the dwarf announced.
"He means the crossbow," said Cole from where he stood beside the forge.
"Sexual innuendo is lost on you, eh Kid?" Varric sighed, still smiling none the less. He was clearly as excited about a bit of adventuring as Astlyr was. He had been one of the few friends who had not tried to talk her out of the expedition.
"Do you have everything packed Varric?" Astlyr questioned her friend, trying to contain her smile about as successfully as Cassandra, who had to turn her back to hide it.
"All gathered and already in Stumpy's saddle bags." Varric said, letting his shoulders relax from his heroic pose as he strode farther into the room. He let his eyes scan over the group. They had all become accustomed to looking out for one another, and they instinctively studied each each other routinely for loose armor, or a forgotten pack.
"Your horse's name is Juniper," Dorian pointed out. Varric even gave nick names to the animals.
"Stumpy fits better," the dwarf insisted, grinning as he finished his scrutiny of the gathering and seemed satisfied. "Coming with us, eh Puppy?" he gave Myfanwy a warm handshake, as though officially welcoming her to the group.
Astlyr gave the party one last practiced scrutiny, as was her habit as commander, then led the way out into the muted daylight. The snow Cullen had spoken of drifted down in fat, puffy flakes. They reminded Astlyr of the flakes of soap the washerwomen sometimes used for cleaning the laundry. A thick snowflake caught in her eyeslash and she blinked it away feeling alive and happy for the first time in a while. She knew she was coming to love Skyhold dearly, but some times she just needed to be away from it. Getting her feet muddy and her blade blood soaked.
The horses were led out into the yard by the stable hands. Astlyr checked Smoke's cinch, then swung her long leg up over the dapple grey's broad back. As she situated herself she was about to lean over to slip her foot into the stirrup when she found that someone else gently placing it there for her. She looked down to see Cullen, who acted as though this strangely intimate motion were perfectly normal. He straightened and patted Smoke's flank fondly. "Be certain to get your master back in one piece," he instructed the warhorse, almost as he would a soldier under his command.
"Smoke always takes good care of me," Astlyr said, giving the horse's neck and vigorous rub with her gloved hand. "Take good care of my fortress for me, Commander."
"I always do," he gave her a little smirk. Just a hint, quirking the scar on his lip.
Astlyr looked across the courtyard at her company. All were mounting up easily, save for Myfanwy who looked at her horse with some concern. "What's wrong?" Astlyr questioned the elf.
"I have never ridden one of your Shem- I'm sorry," she seemed to grit her teeth for a moment, then found the right words, "I have only ridden Halla. I am uncertain about this...horse."
"What concerns you about it?" Cullen asked, signaling with a hand motion that the others should remain mounted. "Did the stable hands not show you how to ask it to go where you want?"
"I was instructed," Myfanwy said, still scrutinizing the beast, "but I still do not understand all of this," she swatted a stirrup. Her mount, a gentle brown mare which had been chosen for her docile good nature, turned her head to see what had so upset her newest rider.
"The saddle?" Cullen raised an eyebrow. "You sit on it?"
"Why? The animal's back would be sufficient, and far more comfortable."
Cullen seemed at a loss, but Cassandra answered for him, "the saddle can hold packs which would be difficult to carry if the horse was bareback."
Myfanwy wrinkled her nose and sighed, but seemed to take this answer. Cullen moved to hold the stirrup for her, but instead of sliding her foot in the elf mounted with a nimble leap and swing of her leg. She took up the reins with a look of scorn still planted on her delicate features. "Halla have no need of bits and bridles," she said, perhaps a little haughtily. Astlyr raised an eyebrow. This was the first time she had seen this side of Myfanwy. "A halla responds to the gentlest touch of hand or leg."
"Horses can do that as well," Astlyr said, " but they must be trained and very obedient to their rider. Gossamer doesn't know you, and she can be a little lazy, so you'll need the reins. If you want to work with her so she will one day behave the way you would like, I am certain it will not go amiss."
Myfanwy gathered more rein clumsily. Gossamer was often used as a lesson horse, so she little minded when her mouth was pulled accidentally, but Astlyr still winced in sympathy.
"I think you will find horses not to be the dull creatures you might at first assume," Cassandra reassured the elf.
"I hope you are correct," Myfanwy muttered, though she did give Gossamer's neck a rub.
Once the party was mounted and ready Astlyr turned Smoke's nose towards the main gates and squeezed his sides with her legs. The horse surged forward at the pressure, tossing his head with the joy of being free of his stall and able to move again. In the summer the horses would be taken further down the mountain and pastured so they could stretch their legs and crop the fresh green. In the winter they went terribly stir crazy in their stalls. Cass's red mare bucked a few times to work out her kinks. The warrior woman road the motion easily. Dorian had a bit more trouble as his mount expressed its pleasure. He had to pull up too sharply on the reigns. Even Cole's little horse, Shadow, kicked up his heels as he trotted beside Smoke.
Astlyr cut one more glance over her shoulder at the fortress she called home. From outside the gate on the massive stone path which led down to the mountain road, Skyhold looked whole, hale and ready for anything. There was no outward sign of the inward strife. She felt her jaw clench, wishing she could be more like the fortress. She let her soft underbelly show (as Iron Bull would have put it) more otfen than she would like.
"It's good when you let them see," Cole was suddenly beside her, seated on Shadow. His hat was already decorated with a puffy accumulation of snow. "It makes them feel like you're them. Sometimes you seem too big. Too different. But they like it when they can see that you feel. Like they do."
"It's tough when you're the leader," Astlyr admitted.
"I must be strong and soft. Kind and Killing. I am a contradiction." Cole said, reading her again.
Astlyr shook her head at the boy's words, but she knew he had pulled them from her own pain, so she felt no need to comment. Instead she looked ahead at the snowy path and took a great, cleansing breath of mountain air.
The road to the Exalted Plains was quiet. The snow lying restfully over everything seemed to muffle the world. Even the tread of the horses was almost soundless in the white, undisturbed by anything but the tracks of animals. Myfanwy entertained city-boy Varric by pointing out and identifying all the tracks they saw.
"These are from a pair of foxes. Young, probably born this year. Possibly siblings," the elvish woman said, pointing out the small paw prints, almost concealed by the low branches of a pine and the dead summer grasses that still stuck out of the snow like skeletal fingers. Her power of observation was startling in the wild. Astlyr was impressed. The inquisitor had thought herself tuned in to the world around her, but Myfanwy made them all look like clueless children. She suspected Fen'Harel could do the same, at least to some extent, but he remained mostly silent, allowing Myfanwy to show off.
Astlyr herself was pleased that they saw no sign of shambling corpses. When she and her companions had first come to the Plains during the war against Corypheus there had been a bit of an undead problem. Now everything was still, even on the old ramparts they passed. The wooden fortifications seemed abandoned. The humans in the area had obviously retreated to more sheltered locals for the winter. Astlyr wondered about the nearby Dalish tribe. Were they wintering here on the Plains? She made no mention of it for the moment, not eager to bring the notion up to the two elves in her comapny. Neither would be popular with the Dalish, she suspected.
Camping at night was not unpleasant, in spite of the snow and cold. Though the chill could eat away at people's spirits, they kept each other entertained with the usual tales and jokes. Astlyr was pleased that Myfanwy and even Fen'Harel fell into the banter without much trouble.
Astlyr leaned back against her saddle, which sat on the ground near the fire they had built. The horses stood in a nearby stand of trees, sheltering from the gentle night breeze and communing in the quiet way of horses, with touched noses and a huff or two of air passed between them. Varric and Cassandra had gone to get firewood leaving the rest to pitch the camp. It had not taken long. The days of travel together had the group working as a well oiled machine once again. Myfanwy fit in easily, and soon they were roasting the rabbits she had shot during the day as they rode.
Myfanwy was turning the spit slowly now, the skinned and dressed rabbits browning nicely. Every now and again a drop of fat would fall into the fire and let out a hiss or pop. Astlyr took in the familiar camp sounds with a deep sense of belonging. By her estimation the next day they would reach the place where they would apparently locate a foci. This mission was going along more easily than she had hoped. Not even any bear sightings to ruin it. Though, if she was honest, she would not have minded a few good fights, just to keep herself in practice.
Cassandra began sharpening her blade with a whetstone. An unnecessary, but habitual gesture. The keen edge of her sword shone in the light of a full moon reflected on the snow. Astlyr took out her own whetstone and pulled the shield she had brought from where it lay with her sword at her side. She had still not requisitioned a replacement for the shield she had lost that day they had all almost met their grisly end. It never seemed a priority until she was wearing this other one and feeling it pinch against her arm. Still, she began whetting the bottom edge keen. A shield was as good as a blade in a pinch. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a motion and she raised her head to see.
Dorian and Fen'Harel were up and moving just outside of the firelight. They had taken off their armor and were down to their lightest tunics and leggings. Dorian's were, of course, much finer than what Fen'Harel wore. Neither mage held a staff (Fen had finally been allowed one of his own). The men stood side by side and began moving with slow, artful sweeps of arm and leg. Astlyr recognized these as the movements used in spell casting, but much slowed. She was impressed by the grace and muscle control both demonstrated as they almost seemed to dance. Now on one leg, arms extended, then down with a lithe twist of their backs and shoulders.
Astlyr could hear them speaking to one another as they moved. "I find that if I pull my hand downward like this, more centered to my chest, it directs the flow of my mana through my core more efficiently. Less wasteful," Dorian was saying as he demonstrated the motion. Astlyr had to admire his figure, in spite of herself. There was, after all, no harm in looking. The moonlight reflected beautifully off of his caramel skin as he shifted again to a new, and more difficult position.
Fen'Harel's own hands mimicked Dorian's movement, a look of consideration on his face. Astlyr was surprised. She had never seen the mage take advice from another when he had been in the form of Solas. "I will admit, normally I would disagree, but Daveth seemed to have some muscle memory of this motion," Fen said, trying it again with the same flawless grace as the first time.
Astlyr watched feeling as though anything she did after seeing this would appear to be the bumblings of an uncoordinated duck. Cole drew neared to the two mages, watching with great interest. He remained silent, which surprised Astlyr. Perhaps the mages were able to quiet their minds with this exercise.
"Muscle memory, eh?" Dorian asked, sweeping his right foot to the side, then following the motion with his poised hands. Astlyr caught a slight hitch in the man's artful movements. The delicate favoring of his side where she knew he bore a long, ugly scar to match the one on her own thigh.
"Indeed," Fen'Harel began a new motion. His muscles seemed at once taught and perfectly relaxed. "Each body I inhabit is a bit different. Each mage as a style. Solas had a unique one indeed. Brash, assertive and certain. I enjoyed it, and it fit easily into my own, but Daveth's... he's controlled without being rigid. Common amongst those trained by the Dalish, though he has adopted some of his own ideas. Here, you see," Fen demonstrated a movement this time. "If you keep your feet planted, then draw the earth power up through your core, your attack is much stronger. Many mages make the mistake of moving their feet too much when attempting earth magics. You must be rooted. Daveth realized this, it seems."
Astlyr heard a quiet sniffling sound across the fire from her. Myfanwy had stopped turning the spit and was watching the mages. To Astlyr's surprise a tear had found its way down the elvish woman's cheek. Cole responded as though she had shouted, teleporting to Myfanwy's side. She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. Cole obeyed, head hung low, but willing. Astlyr wondered if she should do something. Say something. But what? She hoped Cole would tell her.
Instead it was Cassandra who set aside her whetstone and addressed the elf in so quiet a voice that Astlyr could not hear what passed between them. Then both women stood. "We shall return shortly," was all the warrior said as she led Myfanwy out of the camp.
Astlyr felt mildly inadequate, but also suspected that Cassandra would do a better job comforting the elf than she would have. Varric moved silently over to take Myfanwy's place seeing to their dinner. He gave Astlyr a somber look. She knew the dwarf was fond of the elvish woman. Then again, Varric was fond of almost everyone.
Cole came and sat down beside Astlyr, crossing his legs and weaving strands of dried grass together with nimble fingers. His apparent calm made her feel better. Clearly he approved of Cas's decision to help. The mages finished their exercises and shrugged warm cloaks back onto their shoulders, blowing and stamping their feet as though they had not been perfectly serene moments before. Astlyr felt as though she should do some pushups or something so she didn't seem lazy lounging there by the fire.
"I could sit on your back to make them harder," Cole said without looking up from his weaving. It took her a moment to realize he had been privy to her thoughts.
She chuckled, "you don't weigh all that much, Cole."
"I can try to look heavy."
She could make out his mouth below the brim of his hat, and he was smiling. Cole joking was a rarity indeed, and she felt honored to be part of it. She thought of bumping his shoulder with hers, but decided it might ruin the moment.
"What are you making?" she asked instead, watching his slender hands move. His fingers were scarred and so pale that the skin under his nails was bluish. His were the hands of one who walked the line between life and death. Hands that should be gripping a blanket to a chest as their owner either survived some terrible illness, or didn't. Instead they wove dry grass with skill and ease.
"I'm making a new nest," the boy said, twisting a grass stem and braking off the unneeded end.
"A what?"
"The birds who lived in that tree," he gestured with a nod of his head and a flap of his hat, "they'll come back in the spring and find their old nest was ruined by the snow. They would have to build a new one before they could have babies, so I am building them one."
"Of course you are," she smiled fondly at the spirit boy.
Then Dorian began a song. An old marching tune that Astlyr had taught the group on one of their longer journeys. Everyone joined in, rough voices rousing a nearby deer who fled with the flash of a white tail.
"Over the stone we tramp tramp tramp,
'till our feet can't go no more.
We cry to the boss for camp camp camp,
but she says that there's more work in store.
Over the hills we tramp tramp tramp,
until our backs are bent and pained.
We're so soaked with damp damp damp,
and I'm so sorry that it rained.
Over the Dales we tramp tramp tramp
until our boots are all worn through,
and all our teeth do clamp clamp clamp,
Captain brave, we're trusting you.
Finally we can stop stop stop.
All of us fall down and sigh.
But at the dawn we'll hop hop hop,
up to our feet again to fly."
By the time the song finished Cassandra has rejoined the group and added her own pleasant, accented voice to the march. Myfanwy looked baffled, but enjoyed it none the less, stamping her foot along with the others at the 'tramp tramp tramp' lines.
The group settled in and dinner was served out as they passed the rest of the evening in good conversation and company.
Everyone was up with the sun the next morning. Horses were saddled and the mood was anticipatory. If they kept a good pace they would reach the location of the foci by noon. Dawn was birthed in a blanket of icy blue. The sun shone, but the air was still frigid and they saw all their breath ghosting out before them.
Astlyr was glad of having a warm horse to sit on, and wished that she did not have the barrier of the saddle keeping her from more of Smoke's heat. The horse himself sported a shaggy winter coat and seemed not the least bit bothered by the temperature.
"It should be up ahead here," Fen'Harel urged his mount to a trot as they came around a large rock formation and over a small hill. As Astlyr urged speed from Smoke she saw that Fen'Harel had reined up short and she almost rode past him. She scanned the area before them. It appeared that some kind of stone structure had once stood in the clearing beside a partially frozen stream. Whatever it had been it was now shattered to bits. The largest chunks were no bigger than a human head. The ruined object looked to have been larger than a horse and all around wreckage the snow was disturbed, indicating the destruction was likely recent. Astlyr was about to turn to Myfanwy to ask the skilled tracker what she might deduce when Fen'Harel made a strangled sound. It was somewhere between a cry and a sob.
Fen'Harel dismounted and rushed to the pile of scattered stones. He dropped to his knees amongst them, running his hands over the nearest pieces of rubble. He looked like a man in the ruins of his burned home. Shoulders slumped, head low. Astlyr found herself looking at Cole for answers.
Cole, who had appeared beside her on Shadow's back, seemed at a loss. "He's blocking me out. He doesn't want me to see his sadness. All I feel is the ancient pulling, tossing, binding. Twisted dagger in the soul. Lost. I've lost them all and...empty, bottomless. I'm going to die alone."
Astlyr slid from the saddle. The rest of her group remained uncertain. Myfanwy too dismounted, and she moved carefully around the perimeter of the wreckage, studying with a practiced eye, though frequently looking up to check on her god with concern evident on her face.
"Fen?" Astlyr approached the elf with caution.
Fen'Harel ignored her, his hands suddenly busy, searching with shaking, clumsy fingers. He turned over stone after shattered stone. Astlyr stepped closer and felt the air crackle with his magic. He hadn't reached for his new staff, but she could tell emotion was sending tendrils of the stuff snaking along the snow and over the rubble. She resisted the urge to retreat. "What happened? Is the foci gone?"
"Fen'Harel. Awake at last I see." A voice from above them atop the large boulder they had ridden around made everyone's head snap up.
"You," Astlyr breathed, cold recognition dawning on her face.
"Good to see you again, Inquisitor," the elf on the boulder said. Though he was silhouetted against the winter sun, Astlyr could make out his too-skinny frame. His black hair shone like fresh polish and he wore the same blade at his hip.
"Celwydd," Astlyr exhaled, her own sword already in her grip. She heard her friends drawing their weapons, but they awaited orders. Too well trained to attack without her say-so, though she knew many of them wanted to.
Fen'Harel raised his head and she saw a look of astonishment cross his face. Clearly he too recognized the man who had addressed him by name. He said nothing, but stood staring down the newcomer. Astlyr could feel rather than see Celwydd's sunken eyes boring into Fen'Harel's. Her muscles were still tensed, her lips parted to give the order...for what?
Then Celwydd jumped nimbly from the boulder, landing lightly in the snow. His feet were bare, like those of Fen'Harel and Myfanwy, but he wore armor he had not possessed the last time Astlyr had seen him. Light looking metal plates that fitted together with tight precision, keeping his movements unhampered. It was as though he wore no armor at all. Astlyr could move more skillfully in full plate than most, but she had to admire the exquisite craftsmanship of what the elf wore. In any other circumstance she might have inquired who his smith was. Instead she tensed, her shield on her arm; pinching.
She felt rather than saw her party moving in, sliding into a loose formation with Dorian, Varric and Myfanwy behind, in the pocket formed for mages and archers by Astlyr, Cole and Cassandra. It was sloppy, but she knew the formation could tighten quickly with only a word or hand signal from her. Still she hesitated as she watched the two elvish men stare each other down. "What did you do with my artifact?" she asked, her voice bold and loud. No use showing any fear.
Celwydd ripped his gaze from Fen'Harel and smiled at Astlyr. A thin, stretched smile that made his pale lips tighten into a slit. It was anything but friendly. She half expected a forked tongue to shoot out from between those lips. "You noticed that, did you? I needed your little toy. Or rather, my master did."
"Your master?"
"They're calling him The Scarred One. He's doing great things, even as we speak. I, on the other hand, am seeking what he says must be sought. What I believe you are also after, eh Wolf?"
Fen'Harel stiffened. Astlyr could see his lip curl in anger. "She woke you too?" he said, his words deliberate and taught as a bowstring.
"Indeed. She needed a helper, seeing as you were out of commission. I must say, I was dismayed to find how long I had been in hiding. The passage of time is so...limiting. I was shocked to discover that you had been awake for some time and ever bothered to waken the rest of us."
"I was protecting you," Fen'Harel said, still tense as a coiled spring. "I would have found you. In time,"
"No. I really don't think you would have. But now you must think you're going to find yourself some allies? You smell which way the wind as turned, don't you, old friend?"
"You're a fool if you can't smell it as well," Fen said, teeth still bared.
"Interesting company you're keeping these days. A dragon's daughter, a child of the stone, and humans. At least I spy one of The People. Unusual mark she wears. Is it yours? She's quite attractive, would you consider selling her?"
"Do not speak to her!" snarled Fen'Harel.
Celwydd tilted his head, a mockery of a sympathetic look on his face, "Oh Dread Wolf. Consorting with so many low types. What would She think if she could see you now?"
"She knows how how this world works," Fen'Harel said, "she was part of it too, or did you forget that she also failed to free you until now?"
Celwydd stepped closer to Fen'Harel and Astlyr heard Myfanwy's bowstring groan as she drew back an arrow. She did not fire, but Astlyr wondered how long the archer could hold. Celwydd grinned in his abstract, twisted way. "Fine body you found for yourself, Wolf." He spat the word as though he had called Fen'Harel 'filth'. "For mine they had to do some...convincing. He got a little hungry, you see, and then he was much easier to persuade."
It was obvious that Fen'Harel was trying to contain himself. His shoulders squared and Astlyr could see his hands balled into fists. Still, Fen'Harel pressed on, ignoring the obvious slight and harsh words. "I don't care what they had to do to the poor elf whose body you stole. You need to think of The People. About what all of this will mean for them. For this world."
"It's a new world, Fen'Harel," Celwydd said, spreading his arms as if to gesture to the world he spoke of. "You said it yourself. You're the one who still clings to the past. It's time for the future of us all. No more being locked away. No more hiding."
"Give me the foci, murderer!" Fen's voice was a deep snarl. The sound reverberated, rich and canine, from his chest.
Celwydd grinned. An ugly, cruel grimace on his wan, thin-boned face. "Oh, Dread Wolf. What a fool you still are." Then he drew his sword with such speed that Astlyr heard it more than she saw it. In the same motion he slashed the slender blade across Fen'Harel's chest. Fen gave a cry and fell to a knee, clutching the fresh wound.
"Loose!" Astlyr shouted. The formation tightened around her and arrows shot past either side of her head, so close one ruffled a few free strands of her hair. Celwydd moved gracefully. Myfanwy's arrow missed his throat by a fraction and Varric's bolt pinged harmlessly off of his armor.
"Cole!" Astlyr snapped, as one might order the release of war hounds. The boy vanished from her side and in less than a second appeared behind Celwydd, slashing with his twin daggers. This was a successful distraction if nothing else. "Cas, let's go," Astlyr ordered, surging forward with her companion, even as Dorian's magic hissed past her. Ice, then lightning, then purple death magic. The mage was holding nothing back.
Astlyr locked her shield with Cas's and the two women charged. An action that would have bowled over three men, let alone one elf. Myfanwy stayed back with Dorian. She kept a steady onslaught of arrows covering them while Varric stayed in the pocket behind the two warriors, doing his best to keep up.
As Astlyr expected, Celwydd saw the charge aimed for him and managed to dodge clear, even as he struggled to block Cole's rapid attacks. The spirit boy was in rare form, blinking all around his foe. He was never visible for longer than it took to strike a blow with his daggers. Astlyr could feel the cold wind of his teleportation even as Celwydd danced away from her shield wall. The wall had not been intended to strike the foe. It was meant to move up and envelope Fen'Harel. If they had managed to slam into their elvish enemy it would have been a happy bonus. Instead the women turned, their shields facing Celwydd, their backs to the wounded Fen'Harel, who found himself in Varric's capable hands.
"I am alright," Astlyr heard Fen'Harel say, and she risked a glance back over her shoulder to see healing magic coiling around its caster, mending his wound. She was uncertain how serious the injury had been, but there was a good deal of blood in the snow where the elf god huddled. "You must get the foci from him!" Fen gasped.
Astlyr's head shot up and she tracked her enemy with a practiced eye. Even with Cole attacking him, plus arrows and Magic flying his way, he was managing to move further from them. Escape was his obvious goal. Celwydd's armor was obviously something beyond even the best platemail that Astlyr owned. Arrows deflected harmlessly, and so did magic. Dorian's spells pinged off of the armor. One blast nearly stuck Cole, who had to dance nimbly out of the way, allowing Celwydd a free moment to begin sprinting.
"Cas," Astlyr said, her voice calm.
"Of course," Cassandra said, a thin smile playing on her lips. She reached for her belt and unbuckled the chain which hung there. Three deft arm motions sent the chain flicking out like the quick tongue of a frog. The chain was spiked at one end, intended to wrap around a limb and dig in. Though Celwydd's armor protected him from the worst the chain had to offer it still coiled about his right leg. Cas tensed, then gave a practiced jerk, using her whole upper body. Celwydd slammed to the snowy earth with a surprised cry.
Astlyr took hold of the taught chain and helped Cassandra haul the elf in like a landed fish. Dorian, who had stopped casting for fear of further endangering his own party, laughed aloud as Celwydd struggled, flailing around to reach for his leg and getting a handful of little punctures from the spikes, even through the leather gloves he wore.
"Be cautious," Fen'Harel warned. He was standing now, though leaning on Varric's strong shoulder. "He is never without a plan or trick."
"That's supposed to be you, Dread Wolf," Celwydd hissed as he grappled against the chain. "Do The People still spit when they say your name? Do they still hide from your steps and curse you? Oh yes, She told me all about what The People think of you these days," he grunted, twisting and writhing in ways Astlyr would never have been able to manage in so much armor.
Cole, who was following along as the enemy was dragged, daggers at the ready, gave Astlyr a meaningful glance. He was getting something from Celwydd, but did not speak it aloud. Astlyr was impressed. Lately Cole was growing better and better at not blurting out whatever pain he heard. She would have to congratulate him on his restraint later. "Cole, get his sword," Astllyr called, before she and Cas drew the struggling Celwydd too close.
Cole stepped down hard on the flat of the blade. There was a flash of green light and Cole fell back with a cry, falling clumsily to earth. He scooted away from Celwydd, clutching his leg.
Celwydd ceased struggling for a moment, even as Cas and Astlyr stopping pulling him nearer. They kept the chain taught as the elf studied Cole with his dark rimmed, sunken eyes, "I should have known. You've always had a fondness for creatures of the Fade, eh Wolf? And the boy moved so quickly. No ordinary human then. Getting greedy, are we Fen'Harel? One spirit not good enough for you?"
"Shut. Up." Fen'Harel spat so bitterly his words might have been an ice spell themselves.
"Cole, are you alright?" Astlyr asked, not taking her eyes from their foe.
"Yes," the boy answered. "His sword is special. It bit me, but I'm alright."
"Surrender the foci," Fen'Harel demanded, stepping past Astlyr, hands and staff poised for casting. The frozen earth around Celwydd began to churn.
To their surprise Celwydd smiled again. His hand darted to reach for something at his waist. Fen'Harel stretched out a hand as if he could stay the motion. Instead a pile of dirt tufted uselessly into the air to Celwydd's right. Then Celwydd threw something onto the ground and the whole area exploded with a grey, thick smog. The stuff spread quickly and invaded Astlyr's lungs with only a few shallow breaths. Once inside her chest it clung there like gripping fingers, squeezing. She was gasping in seconds and she could hear the others doing the same. She tried to keep calm. To peer through the dimness created by the smog to see the elf. Then Cassandra's chain went slack. She wanted to curse, but she did not have enough air for breathing, let alone profanity.
Then she felt a cool rush she knew to be a magical barrier. She guessed Dorian must have thrown one over them like a blanket. She struggled to catch her breath, listening to the sound of her people choking around her. Her brain was getting oxygen deprived and her thoughts were fuzzy.
"Goodbye, Dread Wolf. I wish you nothing but the best as you watch helplessly while we change the world!" Celwydd apparently could not resist a good moment of gloating. He perched on the boulder again, above the smog cloud he had created. Astlyr blinked through the oily smoke to see him. Then an arrow flew and to her surprise the deadly shaft found a gap in the elf's armor. It was a shot worthy of Sera, though Astlyr knew it could not have been her. She recognized Myfanwy's fletching as the arrow buried itself in the armor-gap under Celwydd's arm. He had raised his hand to wave a scornful goodbye, or perhaps to make a rude gesture. Celwydd gasped, grabbing at the arrow, turning to flee in the same motion. And then Astlyr felt herself being pulled. Urged by someone's hands on her armor away from the elf and the boulder.
Astlyr knew Cas was coming with her, backing clumsily out of the poison cloud, because their shields were still interlocked, clanking together loudly, but reassuringly.
Once they were clear of the bank of smog Astlyr tried to blink it out of her eyes. It was as though the stuff clung to every membrane. It coated her throat and nasal passages. Everything smelled like days old death. To her relief she saw that Cassandra has grabbed a hold of Feb'Harel's tunic and half led, half dragged the elf from the cloud.
As soon as Astlyr tried to get a full breath of clear air she regretted it. It was as though the air made the smong in her lungs angry. Hot pain seared through her chest and up her throat. She pushed herself away from Cassandra and fell over, finding herself too dizzy to stand. The hands that had led her from the smog tried clumsily to support her, and failed. If someone her size was going to fall over, they were going to fall over, no matter what. Her body decided it was ready to be rid of the foul smoke. She coughed and retched, black slime splattering the grass before her.
All around Astlyr her team was in the same state. Some had collapsed as she had, while others managed to keep their feet, but bent double, hacking up brackish bile. Astlyr struggled to form words between fits of coughing, trying to take account of her team through watering eyes. "What –cough cough- was that?" she managed, her throat was fit to close up.
"It's called Breath-bane," Myfanwy was able to answer. She had been the farthest from the center of the smoke, and thus was more able than the others to breathe. "The Dalish use it, though I have never seen it myself," she gasped in a breath, slender hand to her chest. "It is often considered too cruel to use, even on our enemies."
"It is—aptly named," coughed Varric, who clearly could have been dying and still made a quip.
"How do we make it stop?" choked Cassandra between dry-heaves.
Astlyr fumbled with her belt for the water skin at her hip. She was suddenly, desperately thirsty. "No!" Myfanwy shouted, staggering over to Astlyr. "Water will make it worse. It reacts with the Breath-bane to become even more deadly!"
Astlyr dropped the water skin, her fingers were too clumsy to re-cap it. "What—cough- can we do?"
Myfanwy tried to straighten, her hand a claw against her breastbone. She searched around with streaming eyes, "there's an herb. A simple antidote if I can find it. Creators, where would I find it in the winter?!"
Astlyr's muddy mind grasped onto a thought. Her eyes had strayed to the small stream running cold and partially frozen beside them. She knew that stream and where it led, not far from here. "Would the Dalish have some of the herb?" she choked.
Myfanwy managed to nod before hunching over, coughing again. Astlyr fought down the fire in her lungs to look over her team. Cole was beside her. She suspected he had been the one to lead her and Cassandra out of the cloud. He too was on his hands and knees, having been unable to hold her upright he had collapsed with her. She could hear him fighting doggedly for each breath. Dorian had fared second best after Myfanwy. He leaned against a rock, struggling for air, but looking determined. Varric was kneeling in the snow with Cassandra. Both seemed to be in Astlyr's state. Able to speak, but barely. Fen'Harel was clearly in the worst shape. He was curled into a ball on the ground, racking coughing shuddering his slender frame. She could see that he had only partially healed the wound on his chest.
"I can teleport to the Dalish camp," Cole said in a hoarse voice before coughing up another mouthful of black bile. He moved to stand, almost achieving his feet before falling sideways and collapsing back to earth.
"No, Stay here, Cole. Watch over everyone," Astlyr said, fighting back the fire in her chest with sheer force of will. Her ribs felt as though they might burst as her lungs struggled valiantly with the Breath-bane. "Myfanwy and I will—will go," she massaged her side as a sharp pain erupted there. A stitch from all the coughing. She put her fingers to her lips and gave the weakest whistled she thought she had ever made. Luckily Smoke and the other horses were nearby. The warhorse was used to battles and knew to stay clear unless called upon, and not to let the other horses spook. The big grey horse turned at the sound of Astlyr's anemic whistle and trotted over to her.
She grasped his reins and tugged. Smoke took his cue, doing as he had been trained. Carefully he folded his thick legs to lay down at Astlyr's side. She scrambled into the saddle, slouching over his neck. Myfanwy, still able to stand, managed to climb onto her own horse, with a little help from Dorian. Before Astlyr could urge Smoke to stand again she felt Cole's hand on her leg. She looked down into his wan face. There was bile and a little blood smeared on his lips and her heart panged. There was nothing in the world she hated more than seeing her people in danger.
Cole managed to speak before another wave of coughing, "Astlyr, you're Qunari. You're strong. Push through it. Push past it." He fell back, giving Smoke space to stand.
Astlyr bit down on her lip as her chest spasmed, but she felt somehow bolstered. Cole had known exactly what to say, but of course he would. She felt her energy surge. Of course she was stronger. She could withstand what others could not. She gritted her teeth, addressing her friends in the strongest voice she could muster, which surprised even her with its resonance. "I will return as quickly as I can with the antidote. Take care of one another and hold on."
"Yes ma'am," choked Cassandra, her steely eyes meeting Astyr's.
Astlyr clicked her tongue and Smoke jerked to his hooves. She struggled to sit straight in the saddle, to cut an encouraging figure. Fire still roiled up her chest into her throat. As she and Myfanwy urged speed from their mounts each motion of the horse send a shard of pain through her chest. She turned to the elf beside her managing to choke out words. "Will this kill us, if untreated?"
It took Myfanwy a long time to answer. Her face was ashy and she too was barely able to stand the jarring of the horse's canter, though Gossamer's gait was smoother than most. "Some of us, it very well may." she managed before hunching forward over the saddle, her hands loose and useless on the reins. Luckily Gossamer was following Smoke and needed little guidance from her rider.
Astlyr squinted up the narrow stream. In other circumstances it would have beautiful. Unbroken snow glittering in the sun, the water flowing just fast enough so as to not freeze over completely. The ice that formed on the edges was like perfect crystal with the clear water rushing beneath making it shimmer. All this was lost on the riders as Astlyr pointed, "the camp should be just up there!"
The two women urged their horses across the stream to a small valley beside a great boulder which Astlyr knew hid a cave where the halla were kept. She expected to see the high, red sails of the aravels standing out against the winter skyline. There was nothing. Astlyr's heart turned to stone in her already aching chest. She asked Smoke for more speed none the less. She knew the Dalish were nomadic, but had thought they would not leave in the winter, surely.
The place where the camp had stood was deserted. A fresh snow had covered any tracks of their retreat. "No," Astlyr breathed, her lungs hitching with each gulp of cold air. "No no no. Myfanwy?"
The elvish woman looked at Astlyr, her face grey. Her lips were going blue. Astlyr felt icy panic join the fire in her throat. "I'm...sorry," Myfanwy choked before passing out. She slumped over Gossamer's neck, and the mare shifted to compensate, not wanted her rider to fall.
Astlyr swung clumsily down from Smoke's broad back and leaned against the horse. There was nothing. No sign of anything left behind, not a single track or twig. She cursed, reaching for the saddle horn. She had to ride back to her people. What else could she do? She tried to put her foot in the stirrup and missed. The world has started to swim before her eyes and she tried to take a full breath. This failed she settled for several short ones as she slumped again against Smoke's side. She just needed a moment, just a moment to gather her breath and...and what? What could she do? She was qunari. She was strong. But what good was any of that now?
A shadow moved in the cave beneath the massive boulder. Astlyr tensed, her hand reaching for her sword with instinct and muscle memory. She drew the blade, knowing that she would not have enough strength or dexterity to grapple her shield from her back. She wished she had strapped it to Smoke's saddle, but she knew that would have been almost as impossible as she was finding it to stand without support from the horse. She was still getting air, but only in small doses. Her head was starting to hurt but she ground her teeth together fiercely, sword aimed in the vague direction of the movement. Cole's words swirled in her mind as she struggled to look intimidating to whatever might have been holed up in the old halla enclosure. I am qunari. I am strong. Push through it. Push past it. The shadowy figure moved out into the bright winter sunlight.
**** Loads to talk about this time! And dat cliffhanger! Nails bitten clean off over here! But for reals, next time I promise a few answers. Just a few...if you're good.
Now before you all start shouting that the Breath-bane shouldn't bother Cole, I have in-game proof that smoke/poison gas does affect him. In the game if you travel to the western approach when you go into the poison gas area one of your party members (or the inquisitor) will cough. Cole will have a coughing fit (which btw is the most heart wrenching thing ever) just like the others if you go into the smoke. Case closed *slams gavel* Ahem...anyway.
I got the idea for the mage tai chi from a random piece of art on DA where the arist speculated that mages must practice those movements they do while casting. Thus awesome Dorian and Fen'Harel tai chi was born. You're welcome.
In other, other news: one of my favorite authors growing up was Brian Jacques and you can often still see his influence in my style. One of the things he liked to do was make up songs for his books. He was, of course, much better than me, but I like to include a song or two if I can had homage to him. I hope it was not too terrible!
Alright, that's enough chatter from me. I'll see you all next week. Don't forget to comment (Cole would want you to!) Is anyone playing the new DLC (Jaws of Hakkon)? If so, what do you think? Discuss!
Next Chapter 4/9/15