Author's Note: First of all, I am really sorry for the delay in updating. It's been a rough few months, and then I didn't really feel like writing. But then the muse hit me! So yay! Huge thanks to sagacious_rage for betaing this monster for me, and all my IRC girls for rooting for me to continue. Promise not to take so long with chapter 7. ~neaira
Redcliffe Village reeked of smoke, mixed with the sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh. Daveth watched as the townspeople tended to the dead and leaned against the wall of the Chantry. They piled the corpses together and set them on fire. There were no words for the fallen, no prayers said over their bodies. These were the dead that had risen the night before, attacking the village in their mindless rage. A man stepped forward and lit another pyre just as the wind picked up. Daveth gagged on the smoke - it was all he could do not to vomit.
Redcliffe had taken a heavy toll in the weeks prior to their arrival. There had been no sign of life in the castle, no word from the arl, and the village would be lost without help. Bann Teagan had begged them to stay. Daveth had wanted nothing more than to leave. If the village was lost, what was the point? But Natia…
Daveth heaved a sigh and scratched at a bandage on his arm. His body ached with fatigue, and wounds burned and itched from where the monsters had struck him. Morrigan had applied salves to the party's cuts, but without healing magic, the deeper wounds would still take time to mend.
Natia and Morrigan sat on the chantry's steps organizing the various herbs they had collected along the way. Daveth watched as Natia's face twisted into consternation as she studied the herb in her hand.
"It's not deathroot," Natia quirked her head to the side. Daveth watched her eyes narrow. "Elfroot?"
Morrigan glanced at her and allowed herself a smile. "It is, indeed. And how do we tell the difference between elfroot and deathroot?"
"Deathroot is more gnarled looking," Natia replied slowly. "And there are little spines on the roots." She glanced at the witch. Morrigan nodded, satisfied, and gestured for the herb to be placed in the appropriate pile.
Daveth smiled to himself and pushed away from the wall just as the heavy chantry door swung open behind him. Leliana stepped outside, offered a curt nod in his direction, and joined the other women on the steps. She was still angry about the key. Daveth chuckled to himself, and looked toward the lake. He saw the qunari, Sten, approaching with the mabari in tow, his face a permanent scowl.
Leliana cleared her throat. "Bann Teagan has asked to meet us at the windmill shortly. He says he has a plan to get into the castle."
Natia gathered up the unsorted herbs and tied them back up into a neat bundle. "I guess we'd better get going. What a minute…" She scanned the crowd and frowned. "Where's Alistair?"
Daveth realized sheepishly that he hadn't noticed the templar was missing.
Leliana smiled brightly and pushed herself to her feet. "I think I saw him walking toward the tavern. I could get him if you'd like."
Natia grimaced and shook her head. "Leliana, I think Alistair's had enough of you swooning over his being a prince… or bastard. You know what I mean." Daveth saw a faint blush creep to the former sister's cheeks, though she nodded slowly. Natia blew her breath out through pursed lips. "Daveth, could you check the tavern for Alistair?"
"Anything for you," Daveth said with a wink. "Don't miss me too much."
Natia rolled her eyes, though a smile played on her lips, and he made his way to the tavern. He passed an elderly woman sobbing quietly as she clutched a tattered rag doll to her breast. To his left he saw a mother and her two young children sitting on the ground, tears clearing paths on dirt strewn faces. He averted his gaze and quickened his pace, straining against the steep incline of the hill.
The tavern was perched atop yet another hill. Daveth chuckled to himself thinking about the various drunks who had undoubtedly rolled out of the tavern, quite literally, after a night of too much liquor.
Daveth entered the tavern and allowed his eyes to adjust to the light. He saw Alistair, brooding in the corner, with a pint sitting in front of him. A pretty woman with red hair emerged from behind the counter.
"Bella, sweetheart!" Daveth grinned at her, arms extended as if to embrace her. "Glad to see you're still around."
"Welcome back, darling," she smiled warmly, and came toward him. "Anything I can get you? Not much on the menu, I'm afraid, but I've still got some ale on tap."
"How about a kiss," he tried. Bella rolled her eyes. "No? Alright, I'll take a pint off the tap, then."
Bella disappeared into the backroom and Daveth walked over to where Alistair sat. He sat down and eyed the templar's untouched mug. Alistair barely acknowledged his presence, and the two sat in silence. Bella brought Daveth his ale and he brought the mug to his lips, taking a deep drink.
"You all right, your highness?" Daveth asked, his mug still at the ready.
Alistair rolled his eyes. "You know, if you could just keep on thinking of me as the same old useless idiot I was before, that would be great."
"My opinion probably isn't worth much, but I don't think you're either of those things." Daveth shrugged lazily. "But, if it makes you feel any better, I'll just call you 'Alistair.'" He took another drink. "So, you want to tell me what's bothering you?"
Alistair regarded him for a moment. "It's just, when people find out who I am, I'm not Alistair anymore. And now Arl Eamon is sick, and we don't even know if anyone is still alive. I mean, he's the closest thing I had to a father, I guess. I just needed some time alone."
Daveth nodded and drained the rest of his ale. "Look, Bann Teagan wants us to meet him at the windmill. He's got some sort of plan to get into the castle." He stood up and hesitated. "We'll find out what happened in there."
Daveth walked with Alistair, Natia and Morrigan to the windmill. Natia had thought it best to leave at least some of their party in the village, to give them villagers some sense of protection. Daveth wasn't sure how at ease the townspeople would feel with a hulking qunari nearby. They reached the crest of the hill, and Bann Teagan glanced over his shoulder at them for a moment.
"Odd how quiet the castle looks from here," Teagan said softly. He stood facing the castle, a sword and shield strapped to his back, though he still wore his brightly colored silks instead of armor. "You'd think there was nobody inside at all."
"There probably isn't," Daveth murmured, knowing the bann could not hear him. Natia jabbed him sharply with an elbow, and he winced.
The bann turned to face them, and Daveth saw the dark circles under the nobleman's eyes. He shifted uncomfortably and fiddled with the strap on his pack.
"I had a plan to get into the castle after the village was secure," Bann Teagan began, his expression solemn. "There is a secret passage here, in the mill, accessible only to my family."
"Convenient that you did not see fit to mention this before," Morrigan said, smirking. She folded her arms across her chest and eyed the bann suspiciously.
Teagan shot a look at the witch, and sighed. "I knew that you would choose to enter the castle instead of staying in the village, and we needed help defending ourselves against those monsters... Maker's breath!"
Daveth watched as Teagan's focus shifted suddenly to something behind the group. He turned and saw a young woman dressed in the fine clothes of a noble and a castle guard racing down the path. Her hair was pulled back into an intricate bun.
"Teagan!" the woman cried in an Orlesian accent once she had reached them. Daveth looked her over and realized that she was much older than he had guessed. "Thank the Maker you yet live!"
"Isolde! You're alive!" Teagan's face crumpled into a mixture of relief and confusion. "I don't understand, how... what happened?"
"I do not have time to explain," Isolde replied hastily, shaking her head. "I slipped away from the castle as soon as the battle was over, and I must return quickly." She hesitated for a moment. "And... I need you to return with me, Teagan. Alone."
"I think we're going to need a little more information," Natia cut in, a small frown playing on her lips.
"What!" Isolde gasped, suddenly aware of her audience, and snapped her head toward the dwarf, anger flashing across her face. "Who is this dwarf, Teagan?"
Daveth noticed the way Isolde sneered as she put emphasis on the word dwarf, and realized Natia hadn't missed it either. The color had quickly risen to her cheeks, and he could tell she was biting her tongue.
Alistair groaned to himself and stepped forward. "You remember me, Lady Isolde, don't you?"
"Alistair." Isolde said in a low voice as she narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"Isolde, they are Grey Wardens," Teagan cut in, placing a hand over his heart. "I owe them my life."
Isolde turned stiffly toward the group once more. "I apologize. I would exchange pleasantries, but considering the circumstances..."
"Please, Lady Isolde," Alistair pleaded sadly, and for a moment, Daveth thought he seemed like a little boy waiting to be acknowledged. "We didn't even know if anyone was alive in the castle. We need answers!"
The four listened as Isolde explained that some evil force had overtaken the castle. Many had died, and risen once more to attack the village each night. Her husband, Arl Eamon was alive, but unconscious, and whatever evil force that had been unleashed was threatening to kill their son.
"It was the mage," she nearly whispered, bringing a hand to her face. "He must have brought this evil on us!"
"What mage, Isolde?" Teagan asked, exasperated.
"Connor's tutor! This all began after he began working with him!"
"Wait, why are you having a mage tutor Connor?" Alistair cut in, raising an eyebrow.
"Connor was... showing signs," Isolde nearly whispered, and her face fell.
"Connor is a mage?" Teagan raised his voice, the shock written all over his face. "Does my brother know?"
"Of course not! If he knew, Connor would have already been sent to the tower! I couldn't let him take my baby from me. It's not his fault!" Isolde clutched her skirts and nearly bawled. "Teagan, please! We must return to the castle. They'll kill Connor!"
Teagan shook his head suddenly and squared his jaw. "Isolde, I will return to the castle with you. Give me a moment to speak with the Wardens."
"Bless you, Teagan! Please, hurry!"
Teagan turned back to the group and pulled a large ring from his finger. He held it out to Natia, and dropped it into her palm. "This ring is the key you will need to enter the tunnels. I am asking you to enter the castle from below, while I return with Isolde. Eamon is the priority. I leave this in your hands now."
With that, Teagan turned on his heel and ran up the hill back to the castle with Isolde and the castle guard.
Natia eyed the ring in her hand and looked up at the others. "I guess we're going into the castle."
They entered the mill and Daveth spied a dusty old chest in a corner. He moved swiftly toward it and tried to pop the lock open. It wouldn't budge. Natia fell in by his side looked over the lock, and nodded. "That's an easy one," she began. "If you have the right tools."
Daveth raised an eyebrow and watched as she placed a hand under her armor and between her breasts – and pulled out a metal pin. She grabbed his hand, placing the pin between his thumb and forefinger.
"Now, you ease it into the lock, gently, there you go," she said, guiding his hand as she spoke. "You feel those friction points? Just a quick turn of the wrist here, at just the right point, and you're done."
Daveth flicked his wrist and heard the satisfying click of the lock giving way, and suddenly aware of the fact that Natia still had hold of his hand. They locked eyes, and once again he felt himself appreciating the flecks of gold that sparkled in her irises, the subtle upward curve of her lips, the tattoos that graced her face…
"Are you two quite finished?" Morrigan said, clearing her throat. Alistair was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot next to the witch, focusing on everything but the two rogues. Natia pulled her hand away and pushed herself to her feet.
Alistair, moved awkwardly to the cellar door and pulled it open, and the four descended into the tunnels below.
"You know, I locked myself in a cage once," Alistair said as they walked through the tunnels. Noticing the looks the others gave him, he hurried on. "When I was a boy!" He added quickly. "Anyway, it was for a whole day. Good times."
The clang of metal on metal grabbed everyone's attention. Daveth heard a faint call of, "Help!" from the other side of a heavy door. They ran through the door and found a group of walking corpses gathered in front of some holding cells.
"Please! Help us!" a voice cried from one of the cells.
"Hey! Over here!" Daveth roared, diverting the corpses' attention to his well-armed party. The monsters hissed and ran toward them, clawing and slashing their weapons wildly. The corpses went down quickly, and a mournful sob echoed through the hall.
"Oh, Maker's breath, would you stop that?" the same voice snapped from a cell.
The four approached the cells and came first upon a mage, his robes torn and dirty. While Natia began talking to him, Daveth moved down to the next cell. A pitiful figure was curled into a ball on the dirty cell floor, rocking gently back and forth. A large, sad pair of eyes stared back at him, and after a moment, Daveth gasped.
He stood there, mouth agape, and after a moment, began shaking his head in disbelief. Natia shot him a quizzical look, and he began to laugh.
"Ser Knight!" he said finally, when he'd composed himself once more. "Fancy meeting you here."
Jory stared back at him, and he opened and closed his mouth several times before he was able to speak. "Oh, Maker, I thought you were dead!"
"Well, I'm not, no thanks to you." Daveth smirked, folding his arms across his chest. "So, Ser Knight, what did you do to end up in here? Dishonor some poor farmer's daughter?" When the color started rising to Jory's cheeks, he shook his head. "Oh, I know, you'd never do that. What are you doing here, Jory?"
"Loghain's army stopped outside here after Ostagar," Jory began in a shaky voice. "And… I decided to leave them so I could make for Highever, to see my wife." Daveth nodded, urging him to continue. "I ran into some knights from Redcliffe, but they must have joined after I left with Duncan, and they thought I was a deserter!"
"You are a deserter," Daveth replied, rubbing his eyes. "Oh, Ser Knight, what are we going to do with you?" He walked over to the others. "What's the story with this guy?"
"His name's Jowan, and he's a blood mage," Natia began, and relayed all of the information that Jowan had supplied. "He says he's not responsible for what happened here."
"I'm not, I swear it!" Jowan piped in, his hands wrapped tightly around the wrought iron bars that caged him. "I would do anything to make this right again, just give me a chance!"
"I don't know if we can trust him," Alistair said with a frown. "He seems honest enough, but… he's a maleficar…"
"So, instead we leave him imprisoned?" Morrigan cut in, nostrils flaring. "I say we let him go."
Daveth leaned heavily against the wall and cleared his throat. "We can't just let him go. He could be lying."
Natia bit her lip and thought for a moment. "We're going to have to leave you in there for now, Jowan."
Jowan's face fell, but he nodded. "I understand. I really just want to make things right. I'll wait here."
The four began walking through the dungeon when Jory cried out to them.
"What about me?" the knight whimpered, stumbling to his feet.
"Oh, I think we'll let you sit in here for awhile longer, Ser Knight," Daveth said after a pause. He watched as Jory fell back to the ground, defeated, and they made their way into the castle.
Corpses and demons stalked the halls of the castle, and it seemed as though no living souls remained. The corpses wore the clothing they had in life. They were the cooks, the servants, the scribe, the guards. Their skin was mottled and decaying, their eyes clouded over. They attacked blindly, and died with cries that were no longer human. The group cut their way through the castle, making sure to rid each room of the monsters.
Soon they found themselves in the courtyard, surrounded by corpses, and a voice called to them from outside the castle gates. It was Ser Perth, one of the knights they had met the day before, and he had brought with him reinforcements.
Daveth and Natia exchanged glances and Daveth took off running toward the gate. He was halfway there when he heard Natia scream his name.
The ground began to quake beneath him and he found himself encased in a tomb of gnarled roots. They pressed against him and he felt the air rush out of him. He was trapped, unable to move. The roots squeezed tighter and tighter, and he couldn't breathe. He gasped and struggled in vain. He knew he was going to die.
Suddenly the roots gave way and he fell to the ground, gasping for air. His chest ached from the pressure, and looked around him. Alistair had made it to the gate and Ser Perth and his knights had taken down the rest of the corpses. An armor-clad demon fell to ground, after a powerful burst of flame had exploded around it, and Natia was running toward him.
"Are you alright?" Natia asked him. Daveth nodded, and winced at the pain that coursed through his body. Morrigan jogged over to them, rifling through her pack.
"'Twas a revenant, if you are curious," the witch said as she uncorked a potion. "My dear mother told me many stories about them, though this was the first I've met." She handed him the potion and waited for him to finish. "We'll need to bandage your ribs, but you should live."
Daveth struggled to his feet and walked gingerly as they walked cautiously toward the castle door. The knights entered first, pushing open the heavy door and swords held out at the ready. The others followed and the heavy door creaked shut behind them. The castle was eerily quiet, and Daveth shuddered despite himself.
The sound of laughter broke through the silence and the group exchanged wary glances before heading into the main hall. Daveth saw a boy, probably no older than thirteen, surrounded by guards. Bann Teagan danced wildly before the child, and the boy clapped and hooted with glee. If it weren't for the fact that there were dead bodies strewn about the room, it would have seemed like harmless fun. There was something wrong.
"It's the boy," Natia whispered, and Daveth felt the dread building in the pit of his stomach.
Lady Isolde sobbed as the last of the guards fell to the ground. Connor – or the demon possessing him – had considerable power, and ordered an attack on the outsiders. The boy had disappeared during the fight.
"You cannot hurt my baby," the arlessa choked as she hugged herself. "My Connor is still in there! It's why he ran away. Fighting scares him."
"Isolde, this is your doing," Bann Teagan hissed. "If you had told Eamon about Connor's… condition, none of this would have happened. The boy is as good as dead."
"'Tis true," Morrigan agreed. "The easiest way to rid one of a demon is to kill the host."
"No!" Isolde cried, struggling to her feet. "The mage! Does he yet live? Maybe he can help us!"
Natia shifted uncomfortably and nodded. "Both of the prisoners are alive. We left them in the dungeon."
Alistair cleared his throat. "I don't know if we can trust the mage."
"That is not your decision to make, Alistair." Isolde narrowed her eyes at him and turned Teagan, pleading. "We must talk to the mage. Please, Teagan, I beg of you!"
Teagan regarded the arlessa with disgust, but nodded after a moment. "I will get him, Isolde, but if he makes any move against me, I will not hesitate to kill him." The bann left the main hall and returned shortly with Jowan and Jory in tow. Jory shuffled in behind Daveth and Teagan pushed Jowan to the center of the floor.
"There is a ritual," Jowan began, nervously shifting his weight from side to side. "I could send another mage into the Fade, and they would need to confront the demon directly. It's the only way to save Connor's life."
"Then we do it!" Isolde replied shrilly. "The Wardens have a mage with them!"
"Well…" Jowan hesitated, and looked to the floor. "The ritual takes a lot of power… it requires a blood sacrifice. A death. Someone else would have to give up their life to save Connor."
"Blood magic," Alistair spat, shaking his head in anger. "We can't possibly be considering this."
Daveth nodded in agreement. "I've had my fill of dark rituals, thank you very much. There's got to be a better way."
"If we had more mages and lyrium, we could send someone into the Fade," Morrigan offered, as she adjusted a ring on her finger. "However, we have neither. We would either have to travel to the Circle Tower and pray those fools will help us, do this ritual, or kill the boy."
"I won't let you hurt him!" Isolde said evenly. She seemed to have composed herself. "If someone has to die, it will be me. I will be the sacrifice."
"Are you ready to die, Lady Isolde?" Natia said quietly, her dark eyes staring intently at the arlessa.
"Wait a minute, you can't be serious!" Daveth waved his hands desperately. "Couldn't we go to the Tower and find other mages?"
"And what happens if we leave, Daveth? The boy goes crazy again and more people die?" Natia squared her jaw and drew herself up. "It's either this or we kill the boy. I don't want that blood on my hands."
Daveth choked in a breath and faltered. Alistair opened his mouth to speak, but remained silent. Natia stared at the two intently before turning back to Jowan. "Do the ritual, Jowan."
"I'll start the preparations," he said quietly, and began collecting candles from around the room. Soon he had created a circle and beckoned for the arlessa to stand in center. She walked shakily and fell to her knees, clutching at a medallion around her neck. The woman prayed as Jowan began chanting in a low, even tone.
Daveth watched as sparks began to shoot up from the floor, faster and faster and his heart thudded madly against his ribs. The light encased the arlessa and pulsed rhythmically like the blood through a vein.
Suddenly Jowan let out a roar and Lady Isolde screamed in pain. He roared once more and the arlessa's body flew into the air, blood pouring out of her chest and mouth. She hung suspended in the air as her life blood left her. And then the blood stopped pumping, and her body fell to the ground in a broken heap. Daveth heard a clatter of metal behind him and realized Jory had passed out from shock. Another thud in front of him caught his attention, and Morrigan fell to the ground.
"She's entering the Fade now," Jowan said thickly. "Maker watch over her."
They waited in silence, staring at Morrigan's limp form on the ground. Alistair drew his sword and waited nearby, ready to strike if the witch failed.
Eventually, Morrigan stirred and she opened her eyes. A hush fell over the room and she pushed herself to her feet.
"The boy is free," she said weakly.
Daveth found himself staring once more at the arlessa's body and swallowed hard. "Maker watch over us all."