***** In the last chapter Astlyr awakened a god. Now it's time to face the music, and the deity. Plus naked Myfanwy. You heard me.*****
Part 31
Dragon
"What's he saying?" Astlyr scooted closed to Dirthamen, whose lips were moving rapidly as he spoke words she could not understand.
"Nonsense," Fen'Harel replied, moving so his face was in Dirthamen's line of sight. He gently gripped the man's shoulders, speaking in ancient elvish as well, though in a soothing tone.
Varric stuck his head in through the tent flap, "is he awake?"
"In a manner of speaking," Myfanwy answered him, hanging back from the group which had gathered around Dirthamen.
Cole teleported into the tent, though he did not rush to the god's side. "What are you getting from him?" Astlyr queried her Spirit Companion.
"It's muddled. Old. Cobwebs in need of dusting. The rust is falling away so the wheels can turn. Memories dance in memories and tangle. The bear wakes up and shakes her head. Looking at the sun...no, not the sun, not the moon. Where am I?"
Dirthamen blinked, his eyes finally moving from their locked position of gazing unseeing at the tent ceiling. He turned his head, looking around at the group with confusion evident on his borrowed features. It was strange to see the human man who had attacked them only hours before now looking on with baffled, deep brown eyes. It struck Astlyr that those must have been Dirthamen's eyes, just as Daveth's own brown were replaced with Fen'Harel's blue. Astlyr cleared her throat, "Hello. My name is Astlyr Adaar and you are safe. No one is going to harm you. We're here with Fen'Harel," she gestured to the man in question and was gratified when Dirthamen's eyes followed her motion. She had no idea if he could understand her, but she hoped the soothing tone in her voice would be enough to indicate friendship.
He spoke again, much more quietly. There was a little slur to his speech, evident even in the foreign tongue. He blinked a few more times, then raised a hand to delicately touch the wound on his chest. Astlyr's bandage was still there. She hadn't dared to try to remove it. Then the man's hands curled around the foci with a desperation that made his knuckles go white. Fen'Harel addressed him again in the same gentle tones, once again in the ancient elvhen tongue.
"I can see now, but everything hurts. Why does it hurt? I don't understand. Eyes I know in a face that isn't his own. Dragons and spirits watch me," Cole continued to read the newcomer, wringing his pale hands.
"Dragons?" Astlyr raised an eyebrow. Then she realized, "wait, does he mean me?"
"Dragon's daughter," Fen'Harel agreed. "We saw little of the qunari in our time, but Dirthamen has a special connection to the Fade and the spirits within that even I do not possess."
"He can hear them. Always hear them," Cole filled in. "They tell him the world's secrets. Always aware, always awake, so he sees without seeing."
"That sounds...alarming," Cullen said, sitting back. "Can he read our thoughts, like Cole?"
"I only hear the hurt," the spirit corrected.
"He cannot," Fen'Harel assured the group. "But he can see your history, or at least what parts the Fade will share with him. He has been absent for so long that I am certain he is being inundated with truths which have been waiting for him for Ages."
"That must be overwhelming," Cullen's voice held a hint of sympathy now, but he was not without caution. "When he's done gathering all this information, what could he do with it? Will be know the truth of everything that's happened while he's been asleep? He could be profoundly useful. We could know what truly caused the Blights. What happened during the Exalted March! All of it!"
"It is not so simple," Fen'Harel sighed. "What he hears will be clouded by the Fade. The spirits there are reflections of this world, and they reflect the inaccuracies, the beliefs, and the lies as well. He may know the truth, or he may find only a version long tainted by hatred and pain."
No one seemed to know how to react to that. They all looked at one another, uncertain. "This is why Dirthamen preferred to travel and speak with The People. To gain their stories himself," Fen'Harel went on, his voice quieter as he watched his fellow god. Dirthamen had settled somewhat, though he still looked from face to face, clearly unable to understand how he had found himself amongst such company. "He was a true friend to me and many others." Fen said, a fond tone in his words. "One day, Astlyr, I encourage you to dream with Dirthamen. To dream with him is to experience the Fade anew. To see the secrets of the world in a fresh light."
"Let's not go doing that right away," Cullen cautioned, shooting Fen'Harel a warning glance.
"Agreed," the wolf god said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Now is hardly the time nor place."
Astlyr had partially stopped listening to her friends. Instead she found herself transfixed by Dirthamen's eyes. Dark drops of chocolate in milk. He'd settled his gaze on her at last, and seemed to be regarding her with a deep, searching admiration. Not dissimilar, she realized, to the looks Cullen sometimes shot her way. She swallowed, but found herself unable to tear her eyes away from his, as though they held a secret she desperately needed to know. Even Cole was silent. Perhaps the god had put up barriers in his mind, as Fen'Harel could, against the spirit's intrusion. "Gr...Gah..." Dirthamen spoke again, a look of concentration coming over his new, pock-scarred features. He paused, formed his lips a few times as though practicing, then, fixing his gaze on Astlyr again, made another attempt. "Greetings."
Astlyr sat back slightly, surprised, "he speaks common?"
"His host did," Fen'Harel explained.
Dirthamen focused again, his lips twitching as he formed the words silently at first. "I...am...free?"
"You are," Astlyr said, giving him a reassuring smile.
"How...long?"
Fen'Harel grimaced, "Ages, my friend. I am truly sorry I could not reach you sooner. It was my fault and my folly."
"Ages?" Dirthamen seemed to roll this around in his mind. "Humans...are here. The world is one...of men." This wasn't a question, but a statement of fact, however stumbling. "The old ways are...forgotten. No. Misunderstood."
"Often for the better, I have found," Fen smiled wryly. "You know our old ways as well as I do, friend. Perhaps it was time for a change."
"Change," he seemed to be trying the word. Tasting it. "And this one," he looked at Astlyr, eyes going wider with that same expression of wonder and admiration. "She is...what is she?"
"Qunari," Astlyr said, giving him a reassuring smile.
"Is that what they call dragons now?" Dirthamen stirred, trying to sit up.
"Go slowly, friend," Fen'Harel urged, aiding his fellow god to a sitting position. Dirthamen winced, hand straying to his chest to touch the stained bandage.
"The qunari have horns, but they're pretty far removed from dragons. Especially this one." Varric said, still watching from the doorway. A whole army of Venatori could have crept up on the camp and none of them would notice until they were being stabbed.
"Iron Bull, another qunari I know, once said that dragon blood might have been bred into the qun. Apparently they like to experiment. Who knows." Astlyr shrugged, one hand straying absently to her horns.
Dirthamen seemed about to say something more on the subject when he tore his eyes from Astlyr's and looked down at himself. He made an abrupt, snorting laugh that surprised Astlyr. "Human? Hah! Fitting I suppose,"
To her surprise the man was smiling as though he thought the situation rather humorous indeed. Astlyr didn't like to think how Fen'Harel would have reacted had he been forced into the body of a human. Dirthamen raised his arms slowly to look at them. Flexing his fingers, then his feet. "I'm sorry about the body," Astlyr felt compelled to say. "It was rather short notice."
Dirthamen laughed again, then, seemingly on a whim, flicked the wrist of one of his hands in a motion Astlyr vaguely recognized as casting. No magic sparked from his fingertips. "Hmmm. Not a mage. Ah well, beggars cannot be choosers," he lowered his hands.
Secretly Astlyr was glad that the body they had found for Dirthamen was no mage. She didn't relish the idea of another magically inclined elvhen god roaming around Skyhold. It was bothersome enough not knowing what kind of power Ghilan'nain possessed without adding to it.
"Do you have any idea who he used to be?" Varric asked, gesturing to Dirthamen's new host.
The man seemed to consider for a moment, an introspective expression on his homely features. "A swordsman. Not a very good one. Not well liked either. His memories are of jibes and cruel jokes from his fellows," he paused, thick brows coming together. "Though he could be cruel, especially to animals. He'd kick at anything he felt was lesser than himself."
"So all in all we did him, and the world, a favor," Varric concluded.
"If you like," Dirthamen said, still obviously puzzling over what thoughts from his host he could scrape together. "He had a family. Parents, two sisters. They'll never seen him again."
Everyone fell into a somber quiet for a moment as they let this sink in. Of course everyone they were forced to kill had families. Some had wives, children. Some had whole clans depending on them to bring home bread. Yet when they faced the qunari Inquisitor in animosity, they inevitably came to cruel and grizzly ends. She wished the world could be another way, in the same moment knowing it could not. She peered at Dirthamen again. He looked troubled and pale. "Are you alright?" she questioned gently.
"This body isn't in the best shape, is it?" he said, attempting a smile and managing a grimace.
"And it lost a lot of blood," Astlyr pointed out as she and her friends unconsciously moved towards the newcomer, concern written on their faces. Myfanwy acted first, bringing Dirthamen as skin full of water.
"One of the people?" the god said, dark eyes widening as he took in Myfanwy as he accepted the offer drink. "I did not notice you before, young one." he looked genuinely pleased to see her. Ghilan'nain had appeared confused, even concerned about the elvish woman, but Dirthamen smiled widely at her. The face he now wore may have been scarred and unattractive, but his smile elevated it. Astlyr wondered if elements of the grin had come from the god rather than the man.
"My name is Myfanwy."
"It is my deepest pleasure to meet you, Myfanwy," Dirthamen said. Clearly he was getting a handle on the common tongue. Astlyr knew that his voice, if he was like Fen'Harel, was the original voice of the god himself. It bore the same lilting accent as Fen's, though his speech seemed less stilted, leaning towards the modern. A side effect of his host, she guessed. "To whom do you belong, Myfanwy?"
Astlyr flinched and Myfany bristled visibly. It was Fen'Harel who stepped in, and he did not sound pleased, "She belongs to herself. She is the slave of no god. The elves of this new world are, and must remain, free."
Dirthamen looked puzzled, but understanding slowly came over his features, "So you got your desire at last, my friend? I'm glad. Forcing The People to do our bidding was never a great love of mine either. It is good that they are free of our rule."
Astlyr bit back a comment she could sense was hovering on the tip of Myfanwy's tongue as well. That the Dalish, and some of the city elves, still clung to the old ways and the desperate hope that their ancient masters would return. They did not understand what the gods had been.
Dirthamen looked around at the group again, taking a careful sip of the water. "And one of you is Varric?"
"That would be me," the dwarf said, sticking his arm in through the tent flap to wave.
"Thank you for your secret, Child of the Stone."
"My secret? You heard that?"
"The spirits told me of your kind gesture when I wakened," Dirthamen explained. "I understand why you omitted the parts that you did."
Omitted parts? Astlyr was not surprised to hear that the dwarf had kept more back than the eventual fate of his adopted sister, but she wondered what else he had chosen not to tell them. He met her gaze briefly and his eyes sparkled with mischief.
Myfanwy was kneeling, changing the bandage on the man's chest. Fen'Harel infused the bandage with healing magics, though it was clear he had energy for little more.
"Forgive me-" Fen'Harel said, "my friend. I should have introduced our company sooner." Proper introductions were made. Dirthamen was gracious and pleasant to each of them in turn. When this was finished he looked deeply weary.
"I think we had best get some sleep," Astlyr urged the group. Her own bones were crying out for rest. She was not fully recovered from the battle with the Venatori the day before, and she knew her people fared the same as she. She watched the newest member of their motley band. Of the gods she had met he seemed the most pleasant by far. Of course, there was a good chance it was all an act. A way to lull her into a feeling of security before the manipulation began.
She heaved a sigh as she lay back down, relishing the feeling of Cullen's arms going around her again. His gentle breath against her neck. In the morning they would strike out for Carr's Way and make their journey back home. Back to Skyhold, cold snows and icy winds. As her mind fell into slumber she idly wondered what the people of Skyhold were up to. How the repairs on the tower were coming, and if they had run out of apples in the kitchens. And then she was asleep.
She had half expected to be visited by a bear as well as a wolf in her Fade dreams, but her sleep remained undisturbed. She was only wakened for her turn at watch, and it was uneventful. At dawn, with the sand still cool beneath their feet, the company took down their tent and saddled the dracs. Dirthamen rode with Fen'Harel, as his drac was unburdened and large enough to handle the weight of both.
The next days in the desert were unpleasant, but untroubled. No more Venatori were so much as spotted on the horizon. Even the wild animals seemed to keep their distance, though perhaps it was merely the increased vigilance of the dracolisks, which seemed even more high strung after the deadly events.
Dirthamen fit in with the group amazingly well. He put everyone at ease at once, taking their questions in stride and answering as best he could. He had many questions for them as well. He was astounded and intrigued by the world in which he had found himself, and especially the people in it. He did not even balk when Myfanwy got up the nerve to ask him, "did you force your followers into battle?"
Dirthamen dipped his head to her in acknowledgment, "I am sorry to say that I did. I avoided it when I could, but I had many followers and they were willing, even foolishly eager to fight. I found no pleasure in it, as some did, but I was not as courageous as Fen'Harel, who refused outright to participate in the conflicts."
"Instead I retreated from the world," Fen muttered, "which was hardly preferable."
"When I came to understand that my time was at an end," Dirthamen went on, forestalling any further wallowing from Fen, "I gathered my remaining people and told them they were free. They had no need to remain loyal to me and might walk their own paths."
"What did they decide?" Myfanwy asked, from her position riding behind Varric on Ague's back.
"Most remained with me," Dirthamen gave a thin smile. "Those that remained at my side were killed."
"Killed?" Astlyr raised an eyebrow.
"Either by the blades of men, or their diseases, yes," he said, sounding deeply sorrowed. He still managed to meet her eyes for a moment. More than once in their travels Astlyr had caught Dirthamen watching her. If she didn't know better she might suspect he had a crush. She shook such absurd notions from her mind as they pressed on.
One night, when she has caught Dirthamen's eyes fixed on her again, she had asked Cole if he could get a read on the god. The boy had shook his head. "He shuts his thoughts away, deep were I cannot fathom. Little crannies I can't find. He's better at it than Fen'Harel."
Before they reached Carr's Way Astlyr and her team managed to scavenge together enough garb for Dirthamen to wear. As Cullen had wisely pointed out, riding into the village with a man attired as a Venatori would not endear them to the townsfolk. "I could pretend to be your prisoner," Dirthamen offered as he tried on Cullen's extra breeches. They were a bit tight around the man's ample midsection and long in the leg, but he did not complain.
"We want you to be well treated," Astlyr assured him.
When the village finally came into view, and with it the waters of the long river, Astlyr urged Thorn to a fast canter. The beast surged across the sands as though it were level terrain. Thorn tossed her head and let out a long trumpeting sound, which was mimicked by her companions. Even Astlyr could recognize this as a happy vocalization. She let the drac have a bit of rein, and was pleased when she was not rewarded for her gesture with a buck. The others had a bit more difficulty and their own mounts' frolicked and trying to keep up with Thorn.
Astlyr felt a rush of pleasure take her as she rode down the last hill, catching a glimpse of The Griffin's white sails and the sunburst flag flying high and proud. She hoped they had not been waiting in port too long. Her journey had taken more time than she intended.
Astlyr and her company road down the little town's main street, which ended at the wharf. She paid no heed to the startled looks and muttering that followed them. She was headed for the inn, food without sand in it, and perhaps even a bath.
Tethering the dracs outside she marched straight into the building and up to the bar. She plunked a satchel of gold onto the boards, "baths for me and my men if you please, and as quick as you like. I am not spending one moment longer than I have to encrusted with sand. Don't worry," she saw the eyes of the man behind the bar go very large and round as he took in the offered coin, "the Inquisition is footing the bill."
"Jammy! Get yer arse out here!" the man shouted towards the back.
"What is it, Da?" a youth asked, stepping out at his father's call.
"Fetch the best tubs upstairs to the rooms and see them filled with water, smartish! Our guests are in need of a soothing bath. NOW, lad!"
It was not long before Astlyr and Myfanwy were cordoned into one of the inn's two upstairs rooms. The men were in the other, already talking boisterously as they took turns to use the tub, which was dutifully emptied and refilled by the innkeeper's determined brood of children. A young girl stood waiting her task as Myfanwy finished her scrub. Astlyr was standing at the mirror, attempting to cope with her hair. "I don't know how you handle curls, Myfanwy," she said, glancing at her elvish friend in the mirror. She stifled a chuckle to see the stark tan-lines on Myfanwy's usually paper-pale skin. She checked herself in the mirror and found that her face and hands were shades darker than the rest of her. She did laugh then, startling the poor girl waiting in the corner.
Finally clean, after several tubs of bath water which had been filled with enough sand to start their own river bank, Astlyr and company reconvened on the main floor of the tavern. Dirthamen, while still trapped in the body of what was likely a slovenly dullard, had managed to clean it up nicely at the very least. The shoulder length black hair was no longer greasy and was pulled back in a tidy tail. His face looked more pleasant freshly washed and lacking the scruffy stubble that had patched across it like moss.
Astlyr took a moment to appreciate Cullen, clean shaven and smelling wonderful. His hair was still a little disheveled from the wash, and it was decidedly more curly now that it was longer. She smiled and kissed him, even as the befuddled patrons watched with wide eyes. Once again the whole town had turned up in the tavern, once news got around that the Inquisitor was back.
The important job of hygiene out of the way Astlyr went outside and marched to the port. The Griffin dwarfed the little wharf it had cozied up to, which was normally intended for fishing vessels. Astlyr was in a good mood. She was clean, she was going home, and the mission had been a success (for the most part). "Ahoy The Griffin!" she shouted boisterously. "Is there anyone on board who will take some weary travelers east?"
A moment passed, then a few heads popped up over the rail. "Strap me, there she is!" Finna cried exuberantly. "Are ye ready to come aboard, Lady? The crew were just sleeping through the worst of the day below, but I can rouse their sorry arses quick as you like!"
"Get them stirring," Astlyr called up to the ship's first mate, "but don't rush. I have a bit of business to finish up in town before we get underway."
"Right you are, Inquisitor!" Finna called, then she vanished from the rail and Astlyr could already hear her cussing out the crew in her own special brand of leadership.
Astlyr and her company set about the business to separating what desert supplies remained to them, and what they intended to keep. They checked over the Dracs, as best they could, to ensure each beast was hale and sound. Two men from Carr's Way had been commissioned to return the creatures and remaining supplies to Professor Frederic.
Astlyr carefully tucked the bottle of wine she had claimed from the Venatori away in one of her packs, wrapped snugly in a blanket and cloak she seldom used. It was a miracle it hadn't broken yet and she wasn't about to let it now.
Once everything had been squared away the group rejoined the crew of The Griffin aboard their fine ship. The captain greeted them each with a hearty handshake as they came aboard. "Good to see you again, Master Tethras! Young Cullen, how was your adventure?" He raised an eyebrow when Dirthamen stepped onto the deck. "Who is this now? Picking up strays are we?" he cocked a bushy eyebrow at Astlyr.
"He was the objective of our mission," she explained. "This is...Dirth." She was glad there were no elves aboard The Griffin, or she suspected she might have gotten a few skeptical looks. As it was, Dirthamen himself was obviously struggling to contain a snort of laughter. This made her own lip twitch, but she managed to keep her serious tone. "We must return with him to Skyhold."
"Right enough," Kale said, turning to greet the rest of Astlyr's people.
"They all like and trust you," Dirthamen observed quietly to her. "The people of the village didn't, but these people do."
"I'm their Inquisitor, and for some, their Herald. I explained a bit of that to you as we rode." she answered the god as he stood a little uneasily beside her, arms folded, taking in the ship.
"But it's more than faith that keeps them loyal," Dirthamen pointed out, watching Astlyr's people interact with the crew like lifelong friends reuniting. "Your actions. The ones you told me of. Defeating that blighted magister claiming to be a god. Saving the world from a giant rip in the veil."
"Those things certainly helped," she nodded, unable to contain a smile.
The captain had given Finna an order and now the avvar was setting about kicking the crew into shape. They bustled to and fro, ready to make way. Sails were unfurled to their fullest to catch the hot wind coming off the desert. It would propel the vessel cleanly back towards the Waking Sea with no trouble.
"Perhaps there is something more as well," Dirthamen went on. "You seem have have earned the special trust of some who are rare gems indeed," He was watching Cole now. The boy was teleporting their gear below for storage. "Perhaps there is something more in you than Fade magic in your veins."
"Maybe," Astlyr shrugged off his words. "I do my best by my people. It's what a leader must do."
"Indeed it is," Dirthamen was managing to achieve a sage smile, even on the round, scarred face he had been given.
The next few days of sailing brought The Griffin back out onto the Waking Sea. The nights on deck were punctuated with wrestling matches, songs and dancing. Varric's games of Wicked Grace were as popular as ever, and he handily earned himself more coin than he could possibly need. Astlyr suspected he was finding ways to disseminate it back to the crew. Otherwise they would be too broke to continue their gaming.
The sea sickness was not as bad this time, though Myfanwy and Cullen were still afflicted. Astlyr, gained her sea legs quickly, remaining on deck as much as she could. For a few short days the weather was perfect. A happy blend between desert heat and the winter chill of the east. Nights sleeping under the sails were the most pleasant. Cullen joined her often to stargaze and chat.
Dirthamen, while shy at first, settled in with the crew quickly. He seemed to relish conversation and could often be seen engaged in some deep debate with one crewman or another. He even managed to convince Six to utter more than a few syllables. Astlyr had to admit she was impressed, but then, it did make sense. A god of secrets had to be well liked. No one would tell you their secrets if they didn't trust you. Astlyr still regarded the god with caution, however. She'd been manipulated enough by self proclaimed deities to suit her for a lifetime.
Dirthamen did display a marked liking for her. He spent time with her when he could. Sometimes he asked questions, others he was silent. She answered him as best she could. The world he had found himself in still baffled him. "I was most saddened to hear of the Children of the Stone. Their culture is fading. In my time they were never seen above the surface. We knew they were there, of course, but elvhen had no desire to delve into the earth and the dwarves, for their part, seemed contented to remain there. I asked Varric, but he tells me he has no idea if the Children of the Stone even knew of the elvhen living above them."
"If there is one lesson I am taking away from all this-" Astlyr said, her hands busy coiling some lengths of rope (she had asked Finna to put her to work and the woman had obliged), "It is that cultures and peoples come and go. Nothing seems to last forever. Who knows how long my own race will walk the world. They don't seem overly concerned with it, from what I have seen."
"I am intrigued that there are so many different peoples now," Dirthamen said, the wind ruffling his straight, pitch black hair. "In my time we had only the elvhen, and I was given little opportunity to know humans. Fen'Harel assures me that they are, in general, a good people."
"Most of them," Astlyr agreed, setting down the heavy coil she had created and selecting another massive pile of rope to work.
Dirthamen leaned against a barrel, contemplative. "What saddens me the most is the loss of the Fade. The distance which is now placed between that world and this."
"Was the Fade less demon-filled in your time?"
"Oh no. Those spirits which you call demons were prevalent. Especially once the conflicts amongst ourselves began. But the good, kind spirits still pushed through the veil. Still sought us and gathered around us. Here the only spirit I have seen is Compassion. I'm sorry," he corrected himself, "you call him Cole. He is your Spirit Companion, yes?"
"Yes," Astlyr say forward, her hands ceasing their work on the rope for a moment. "You have memories of that time. What are Spirit Companions? Were they common?"
"Not common, no. Many spirits walked in our world, but only a few would linger. Those who bound themselves to one of The People they deemed especially worthy. You are blessed indeed to have drawn Compassion to you. You must have a singular desire to help those around you."
"I suppose if I hadn't I would have said 'fuck you' to the Inquisition long ago. Something made me stay besides all the swords pointed at me." Astlyr shurgged.
"Something compelled you to be their leader," Dirthamen agreed. "This was what drew Compassion to you. This is why he chose to bind himself to you forever."
"But what is the point of it?" Astlyr asked.
"Friendship," Dirthamen answered simply. "What more is needed?"
Astlyr sat back, pondering this. Perhaps that really was all there was to it. The desire for a spirit, something so far from human, or elven, to be like them. To remain with them. She caught sight of Cole across the deck. He was sitting with some of the sailors, allowing them to see him. While some had forgotten that he had traveled with them on the trip out, he wasted no time in reminding them. The Cole she had first met had been afraid, cautious. Did her influence have anything to do with his willingness to let others see and remember him? Was he truly less afraid?
She was about to open her mouth to ask Dirthamen another question when a shout rattled across the deck. "DRAGON!"
"DRAGON!" the cry was echoed by anyone who heard until the entire vessel rang with it.
Captain Kale flew onto the deck with surprising speed for a man of his years. "Where away?!" he asked, pulling on his long coat and squinting towards the Tevinter mountains.
"Three points to starboard!" a crewman shouted.
The captain raised a spyglass to his eye as Finna came to stand at his shoulder, a look of tough determination on her rough features.
Astlyr abandoned her ropes, rising to stand and peering in the direction that had been indicated. At first she saw nothing, but the crew of The Griffin had fallen into a terrified silence. She could hear each wave of the choppy Waking Sea assaulting the vessel as even the ship seemed to hold her breath.
"There!" Kale snapped his glass shut. "Good eyes, Ren! Well spotted." he turned to his waiting crew, everyone having frozen in place, no matter what they were doing. Someone had been pouring a bucket of slop over the deck and now stood still, slop poised to tumble into the waters. "Alright, crew, you know the drill! Take in the sails! Pull down the flags! I want us unobtrusive. I don't want that beastie so much as giving us a second glance!"
Everyone exploded into action. The sails were shipped faster than Astlyr had ever seen them. The sunburst flags were pulled from their places on the mast and tucked away. Anything bright or flashy was removed from the deck. Shining metal or glass. Things that might catch the attention of the dragon. Astlyr's people moved to gather around her. Uneasy, awaiting her order. "Just stay out of the way and do as the captain commands," Astlyr instructed them. She had fought dragons many times before. More than most, she suspected, but never at sea. Never from the rocking deck of a smallish ship. She swallowed. The Griffin had no mages save Fen, and he would be little help with his earth magics.
"Archers on deck," the captain ordered, this time more quietly. Now that the dragon had hove its way closer the crew fell into a hushed, subdued state. They moved slowly, carefully as though they tread on eggshells. Bows were brought from below and Finna took a place in the line of archers, awaiting orders with slack bowstrings. Myfanwy went to join them without being bidden. They nodded to her, allowing her into their ranks.
The arrows would do little against an adult dragon, Astlyr knew, but they might harass the beast off it it was not determined to have the ship.
The dragon flew nearer and nearer, though it did not seem to dip lower. It was ignoring The Griffin. An insignificant speck on the water. Still, the wind changed as the creature flew over. Only marginally, but Astlyr could feel it, and could smell the stink of dragon on the breeze. Had the flags been flying they might have changed direction as the great beast passed over the ship.
The crew watched it go with wary eyes. No one dared speak for a long moment. Then someone pointed and a panicked whisper rippled across the deck. "Another!"
All eyes turned to see a second dragon, smaller than the first, flying towards them, following the sky trail of its brethren. This dragon flew a bit lower and Astlyr squinted. "Is it...carrying something?"
"What was that?" Captain Kale asked, glancing at Astlyr before locking his eyes back on the flier.
"May I have your glass, captain?' Astlyr questioned in a hushed voice.
Kale passed her the spyglass and she unfurled it, lifting it to her eye. Once she had found the dragon, flapping doggedly against the wintery blue of the sky, she wondered aloud, "it does look as though this one is carrying something. Did the last one have anything in its claws?"
"It was too far away to tell," Cullen answered.
"Can you see what is carries?" Fen'Harel's voice was laced with concern.
"No," Astlyr admitted. "It looks like a chunk of wood. A large one. A plank of some kind, maybe. Do dragons build nests? Could it be nesting material."
"I didn't think they did," Cullen admitted, watching the creature steadily make its way over their heads.
"Where's old Frederic when you need him?" griped Varric.
"If I remember I'll send him a letter on the subject when we get home," Astlyr said, removing the glass from her eyes and telescoping it shut. "Odd behavior, but the dragon doesn't seem to have noticed us. I think we're in the clear."
"Looks as though they are heading towards Fereldan," Cullen pointed out.
"Well, we know there is good dragon habitat there," Astlyr countered. "I personally cleared a few good nesting sites of their old occupants. Perhaps this is a mated pair looking for a place to raise young."
"Goodie," Varric snarked, folding his arms. He was never one for dragon hunting. If someone was going to get hurt in such skirmishes it was almost always the rogue.
"I don't think we should worry about it now," Astlyr said, handing the captain back his glass. "Once everything is settled again I'll ride out and deal with the creatures. Cas and Bull have been itching for a good dragon slaying, I can tell."
"Suits me," Varric remarked, still watching the sky where the two dragons were now twin specks against the blue. "I'll write about the heroic slaying later. From your first hand accounts, of course."
"Looks like the danger is passed," the captain said, pulling off his hat and running a hand through his salt and pepper hair. "Back to business men. Well done."
Astlyr's people dispersed again, talking with the crew about dragons, and how often they could be expected to encounter them at sea. Only Cole remained standing beside Asrtlyr. His head was tilted back so that his hat nearly fell off. His eyes matched the sky in pale hue as he wrung his hands. Astlyr knew simply by the way he held himself that he was getting something. Some pain or negative emotion that he couldn't place. "Talk to me, Cole," she urged him. She hadn't thought the day would come when she would need to request his words.
"Old pain. So deep, so sad. Weeping for the children lost. Wish to right was was wronged. Mistakes all pile together like logs, and then they burn. Burn up. Scorches my soul and I cannot bleed for the what was taken..." he staggered back, having leaned back so far looking at the sky that he almost fell over.
Astlyr steadied her friend. "What do you mean, Cole? The dragon? Or are you reading someone else?"
"I d- I don't know. It's gone all muddy," he wrung his hands so hard that Astlyr was compelled to take them in her own. The icy coolness of them was something she thought she might never get used to. "Curtains hide what shouldn't be spied." he muttered, his hands trying to wriggle free of hers. "So deep. So sad. So much."
"Whose? Fen's? Dirthamen? Did you break through his barrier?"
"I c- I can't...I can't, I don't know," Cole seemed more distressed than she had seen in some time.
"Alright. It's alright. We'll find a way to help, but you must be calm," she soothed. She drew him to her, expecting this to settle him, but he wriggled in her arms and she let him pull away. "Cole?"
"It's too much, Astlyr," he moaned. "We can't help. How can we rise against what we can't help?"
"Sweet one, what's wrong? Tell me please," she begged. His distress was reaching into her like icy fingers. Agitation was better avoided if you were qunari. Could he cause her to blood rage with too much anxiety?
Cole hugged himself, rocking slightly. She noticed that some of the crew who had been staring at the scene they were making, had moved on as though there was nothing amiss. Cole was making them forget. Making them look past him like an uninteresting object on the deck. Astlyr had a sudden thought. She grabbed a dagger from her belt. She pulled up a sleeve of her heavy tunic and sliced her forearm. Cole's eyes were on her in an instant, as though she had cut him.
He was at her side, soothing the sting with his touch, and staunching the blood with a bit of bandage from his belt pack. He looked up at her, shame written on his features. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "You should not have needed to do that."
"It's alright, Cole," she said as he sopped up the blood from the shallow cut. "I won't do it again unless I really have to." She didn't dare ask him more about what he had been feeling. She hoped whatever it was would either make itself obvious, or sort itself out. She looked to the sky as Cole neatly bandaged the wound. No sign of dragons now, but she decided it was an ill omen none the less.
***** I'm not completely in love with this chapter, but then again I usually feel that way about travel chapters. But Dirthamen guys. Seems like a nice fella, actually. Is he really? Who knows *shifty eyes*
What's with the dragons? Is that a thing?
Oh man, kids, I have SOOO many feels right now because I am getting so close to the end (writing wise). You know that feeling you get when you have almost finished a novel you love? Double that and you have how a writer feels. Ugh. I keep finding lame excuses not to write it. "Oh look...that cat needs washing!" "Huh, a loose thread on my shirt. Better pick at it foreeeeeeever". Definitely not writing the end of my book...*glances around* Nope. No ends here.
Y'all can keep me determined with your comments! I love to hear from you! Any time I see a comment it literally makes my day (am I sad or what?)
My feels also sometimes become art. Like this: art/My-Choice-aka-The-Dread-Wolf-Colored-543567557
Next chapter: 7/9/15
Keep up to date here: pages/Emily-Luebke-Author/283743888311991