Sergeant Kylon's face was unreadable as Daveth nervously regarded the lawman. Daveth thought the sergeant looked a little older than the last time he'd seen him. His hair was graying, and the wrinkles around his mouth were more pronounced. After a moment, Kylon released his grip from Daveth's shoulder and held his hands behind his back.
"You're looking well," Kylon said shortly, the corner of his mouth twitched downward. "Still with the Grey Wardens, I presume?"
"I am," Daveth swallowed hard. The Wardens were considered traitors, which meant he was still a wanted man. "You, er, planning on doing something about that, ser?"
Kylon snorted a laugh. "If I asked my men to apprehend you, they'd all run and cry big, sobby tears in their courtesan's bosoms and leave me all alone to be skewered." The sergeant smiled bitterly and sniffed.
Daveth blew out a breath and looked around nervously. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a blur of movement, and then there was a hand on his arm. Natia cocked her head at him questioningly. Daveth shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head toward the sergeant.
"Is there a problem here?" Natia asked casually, training her eyes on Kylon.
"Another Warden?" Kylon brought a hand up to his chin and the hint of a frown played on his face. "I knew Duncan for a long time. Long enough to know that he'd have never betrayed the king."
Natia put a hand on Daveth's arm, eying the sergeant suspiciously. "You mind getting to the point?"
"I've got work, if you're interested," Kylon said after a pause, shooting a glance at some of his guards standing watch behind him. "Maker knows I can't rely on those slobs to get anything done. They might get dirty, or stub their toes, and then they'll go crying to their noble daddies."
"What sort of work?" Natia asked. Daveth kept his eyes on the ground.
Kylon looked down at the dwarf and crossed his arms. "A group of mercenaries are causing some problems at a local… er, establishment. I need you to go in there and get them out, civilly. No bloodshed, do you hear me?"
"What's the pay?" Natia asked evenly, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I've got a bit of a fund I can tap in to," Kylon began, brow furrowed. "If you get the job done right, that is."
"We'll think about it," Natia sniffed. She cocked her head at Daveth. "Come on, let's get out of here."
Daveth turned to walk away and Kylon grabbed hold of his shoulder once more. Daveth felt the breath catch in his throat and his pulse quicken.
"Stay out of trouble, Daveth," Kylon said in a low voice. "If I so much as glimpse you with your eyes on someone else's purse, I will not hesitate to send you to the gallows, Grey Warden or no. Are we clear?"
"C-crystal, ser," Daveth choked out.
"Good," the sergeant said, shoving him away. Kylon turned on his heel and walked back through the market. He barked something unintelligible to a couple of his guardsmen, and they scrambled to fall into step with him.
Daveth swallowed back the lump in his throat as he watched them disappear into the crowd.
"Soddin' authorities," Natia muttered, glaring at Kylon's back until he was out of view. She turned back to Daveth after a moment and quirked an eyebrow. "Old friend?"
"You could say that," Daveth said, as they started making their way through the market. "You just happen to be in the company of Denerim's finest cutpurse, and that was one of Denerim's finest."
Natia gave him a crooked smile. "And now you're a soddin' Grey Warden."
"Takes all kinds, I guess," Daveth said, grinning back, and they headed back toward the tavern.
Daveth stretched out and yawned, straining to enjoy the comfort of the pillowed mattress he'd slept on the night before. He sat up in the bed and rubbed at his eyes before forcing himself to his feet. He used the washbasin and cloth to clean himself a bit and regarded himself in the mirror hanging on the wall. He almost didn't recognize the man staring back him.
Same eyes, same face. He needed a haircut and a shave… but there was something different about him somehow. He furrowed his brow and moved closer to the mirror, peering at his reflection.
"Well, now I can see why she likes you," a voice lilted from behind.
"Maker's blood," Daveth yelped, jumping backward in surprise and spinning around. "Leliana? What in the… oh, bloody hell." He looked down and realized he'd been standing in his smallclothes and little else.
"Relax, Daveth," Leliana giggled, averting her gaze. "It's nothing I haven't seen before. But Natia asked me to tell you that we're going to Brother Genitivi's. Alistair said you and he have some business to take care of, and Zevran and Sten are going out to the Pearl to do that job for Sergeant Kylon. We'll all meet back here later."
"Fine," Daveth said as he pulled up his pants and buckled them at the waist. "Next time, could you give a guy a little warning?"
"Oh, but this was so much more fun, don't you think?" Leliana said with a wink as she left the room.
Daveth strapped on the rest of his armor and buckled his boots and headed out to the lobby of the tavern. Alistair was leaning against the counter, watching as Leliana and Natia slipped outside. The templar's gaze lingered on the door for a moment, before shaking himself to attention.
"She's something else, that one," Daveth nudged Alistair's arm and grinned.
"Who, Leliana?" Alistair's cheeks flushed and he nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, she's… er, we should go find my sister's house. I think it's nearby."
They walked out into the market and Alistair pulled a slip of paper out of his pack. He studied it with a frown and looked around.
"Do you know where '16 Market Square' is?" Alistair squinted up at the building number on the tavern.
Daveth nodded. "It's over this way, near Wade's Emporium."
Daveth began to walk and Alistair scrambled to fall into step with him. The templar was nervous, that much was obvious. He kept glancing down at the address scribbled on his piece of paper and frowning. After a few minutes, they reached the house and Daveth tilted his head toward the door.
"This is it," Daveth said. "You want me to come in with you?"
Alistair nodded sheepishly. "If you wouldn't mind, I just… maybe this isn't even a good idea. What if she doesn't want to talk to me? What if she doesn't believe me? Oh, Maker, we should just leave." He turned to go.
"Or," Daveth began as he grabbed hold of Alistair's shoulders and pushed him toward the door. "You could go in and say what you need to say."
Alistair knocked on the door and turned the knob, and the pair entered the house. It was small and tidy, and the smell of laundry soap hung in the air.
"Er, hello?" Alistair called out nervously, shifting his weight from side to side. "G-Goldanna?"
"Did you just say 'Goldanna'?" Daveth did a double-take and felt a cold sweat beading on his brow, before allowing himself to relax. There had to be more than one Goldanna in Denerim.
"Eh, you have linens to wash?" a voice called out from the back. "I charge three bits to a bundle, and you won't find better!"
Daveth groaned inwardly. He knew that voice.
"And don't trust what the Natalia woman tells you either, she's for-" Goldanna stepped into the foyer and stopped, her eyes resting on Daveth. "You. You've got a lot of nerve showing your face in here!"
"Hello, Goldie," Daveth grinned nervously. "You're looking as lovely as ever."
"Wait, you two know each other?" Alistair looked back and forth between Daveth and Goldanna, eyebrows raised.
"Better than I'd like to admit," Goldanna laughed bitterly and folded her arms across her chest. "Hope you ate well with that money you took, you bastard. You've got a lot of nerve showing your face in my house."
"You robbed her?" Alistair raised his voice before covering his face with his hands.. "Bloody hell, this isn't going how I expected."
"You mind telling me why you're here?" Goldanna spat, beady eyes boring into him.
"Look," Alistair sighed and took a step forward. "My name is Alistair, and I'm... well, I'm your brother."
"My what?" Goldanna scoffed, snapping her head back to Alistair. "Did he put you up to this?" She pointed accusingly at Daveth.
"No!" Alistair frowned and shook his head. "Our mother worked at Redcliffe Castle a long time ago, before she died. Did you know about that? She-"
"They told me you was dead," Goldanna broke in quietly, her voice rising in volume with every word.. "They told me the babe was dead along with Mother, but I knew they was lying!"
Alistair's face twisted up in confusion. "They told you I was dead? Who?"
"Thems at the castle!" Goldanna answered shrilly. "I told them the babe was the king's but told me he was dead. Gave me a coin to shut me up, and sent me on my way."
"I'm sorry," Alistair said quietly. "I didn't know that. But... the babe didn't die. I'm him. Your brother."
"For all the good it does me!" Goldanna scoffed and advanced on the templar. "You killed Mother and I've had to scrape by all this time. That coin didn't last long, and when I went back they ran me off."
"Goldie, just calm down," Daveth tried to put a hand on her shoulder, but she smacked his hand away.
"Don't you call me that!" Goldanna shrieked at him, before turning back to Alistair. "You can't march in here with your fancy armor and him and expect a warm welcome. I've got five mouths to feed, and unless you are planning on helping out with that, I've got nothing to say to the likes of you."
"We're Grey Wardens, Goldanna," Daveth shrugged. "We've got no extra coin lying about."
"Surely we could spare something," Alistair dug into his coinpurse and held out some sovereigns to Goldanna. "Here, take this. I want to help if I can."
"You must think I'm very stupid," Goldanna said bitterly. "A prince and a Grey Warden, and you expect me to believe that's all you have to offer? Get out of my house, boy." She advanced on Daveth and slapped him across the face. "And you, if I ever see you again, I'll cut off that thing between your legs."
Alistair and Daveth hurried out of the door and stood in the market. Alistair's arms hung limply by his sides.
"That... didn't go like I expected," Alistair said sadly, glancing at the door. "I was expecting her to just accept me without question. Isn't that was family is supposed to do? And you robbed her? What were you thinking?"
"Look," Daveth hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "You were brought up in the Chantry. It's a different world out here, and people do what they got to do to survive. People are just out for themselves, Alistair. You've got to learn that."
Alistair was quiet for a long time, lost in the sea of people at the marketplace. Daveth kept an eye out for pickpockets. "Let's just go," Alistair said finally. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."
"So, how exactly did you get those mercenaries to leave the Pearl?" Alistair asked as they walked the road toward Lake Calenhad.
Zevran chuckled. "It turned out to be very easy. Our Qunari friend simply walked up to them and folded his arms, and they left rather quickly."
"They were fools," Sten rumbled. "We killed them anyway."
"Ah, yes, we did indeed," Zevran grinned. "They attacked us on the way back to the market, and we were forced to protect ourselves. The sergeant was most understanding."
Lake Calenhad's blue waters glittered in the sunlight. It had taken them four days to reach the lake, and the Circle Tower rose eerily from the middle of the lake in the distance. They'd met with relatively no resistance through their travels, save for a group of bandits.
"It's strange," Alistair said in a low voice. "We haven't really seen any darkspawn, other than a straggler here or there. Maybe this isn't really a Blight after all."
They walked on in silence and Alistair's expression changed. Daveth felt a strange buzzing in his head, an unintelligible whisper invaded his ears. Jory and Natia felt it, too, and the three novice Wardens clutched at this heads.
"We're not alone," Alistiar said through gritted teeth as he drew his sword. "Focus, all of you! You're hearing the darkspawn!"
The ground rumbled beneath their feet and a group of hurlocks climbed out from the dirt and charged. Alistair and Sten roared in unison and advanced on the creatures. Zevran sprinted on his toes to flank them, daggers drawn. Morrigan summoned fire, the energy around her crackling and hissing with raw power.
Daveth swallowed hard and willed himself to ignore the noise in his head. A sudden whistle of an arrow past his ear snapped him to attention. A genlock rogue appeared before him out of nothing and he lashed out quickly with a dagger, catching the beast in the throat. Jory felled another genlock, and pulled his greatsword out of its chest, and readied himself for another. Another wave of arrows flew past Daveth and he cursed.
And then, a cry broke through the sounds of battle. Daveth turned toward the sound and let out a cry of his own.
Leliana's chest was riddled with arrows that had broken through her leather armor. She looked down at the arrows and staggered, as if she was confused to see them there. The color began draining from her face, and she fell to the ground.
"Morrigan!" Daveth called out, as he ran toward the source of the arrows. "Leliana needs help!"
Finally, after the last of the darkspawn had fallen, they gathered around their fallen companion. Morrigan was applying salves to her wounds. Leliana mumbled incoherently and writhed in pain.
"I do not think the arrows were tainted, but there is nothing else I can do," the witch said quietly. "I am no healer. That is a skill I have not yet mastered."
"We can take her to the Circle," Alistair said in a strained voice. "Surely someone there can help us."
Sten moved silently and knelt down beside Leliana. He gently eased her into his arms, and began walking toward the lake.
"An-draste," Leliana whispered hoarsely, her body lay limply on the cold stone floor of the tower.. "And there I saw the Black City... it's towers for... for..." Morrigan held a wet cloth to her forehead.
"It's towers forever stain'd," Alistair began quietly, taking her hand in his own. "Its gates forever shut. Heaven has been filled with silence, I knew then, And cross'd my heart with shame."
Leliana's face twitched and she opened her eyes briefly. "Thank... you." She closed her eyes once more and her breath coming out in rasps.
"Blessed are they who stand before," Alistair continued again slowly. "The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."
Natia held her face in her hands and turned toward the knight-commander, Greagoir. "You have to let us in."
"I cannot risk having these abominations break out of the Tower," Greagoir snapped. "We don't even know if any of the mages still yet live."
"If someone is alive in there, we'll find them," Natia drew herself up and looked up at him defiantly. "Let. Us. In."
Greagoir regarded her for a moment before nodding slightly and stepping aside. "Just four of you, and if you don't return with the First Enchanter, you can rot in there."
"Daveth, Sten, Jory, let's get moving," Natia said evenly, before she turned back toward Alistair and Morrigan. "Take care of her."
The heavy doors groaned open and the four stepped through into the heart of the tower. The templar standing guard at the door, shook his head at them and closed the door shut with a slam. Daveth sucked in a breath, and they began walking through the hall, their footfalls providing the only sound to the deafening silence that surrounded them all.
A scream echoed through the halls and they began to sprint. They turned a corner and found survivors, both adults and children. A demon shrouded in flames clawed its way out from the floor, and lunged forward at an older mage he remembered from Ostagar. The mage lifted her staff above her head and shouted something in an ancient language and ice shot out of the staff, catching the demon in its chest, and it fell with a roar.
"Maker's blood!" Jory sputtered, and the mage turned around and narrowed her eyes at them.
"What are you doing here, Wardens?" she eyed them suspiciously, leaning slightly against her staff. "Are you here as friends?"
"We came to find a healer," Natia began, holding the mage's gaze. "Our friend is dying."
"And instead you found the Tower in disarray," the mage nodded. "My name is Wynne, and I am a healer, but I fear I can do your friend no good from behind these thick doors. If you help me save the Tower… find more survivors… I will help your friend if I can."
"Are we going to come up against more of those… things?" Daveth asked nervously.
"Are you afraid?" Natia looked up at him curiously.
"It's the Tower. I don't trust magic." Daveth rubbed the back of his neck, and glanced around the room. "Er, no offense."
"Child, no one trusts magic," Wynne smiled ruefully. "But I am more likely to knit you a scarf than I am to turn you into a toad."
"We are wasting time," Sten interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Sten's right," Natia agreed. "And someone needs to stay here to help in case something, or someone, else shows up." She glanced around at her companions. "Sten?"
"I will stay," Sten said with a nod.
Daveth took a breath and blew it out slowly. "Then I guess we're going in. You ready, Ser Knight?"
Jory gulped and nodded. "Y-yes."
What felt like hours had passed as they fought their way through the Tower. Abominations, demons, and other creatures stalked them at every turn. They'd even come across blood mages, and survivors were few and far between. The last blood mage they'd found was a pretty thing, and begged for mercy, for her life. Natia slit her throat.
Daveth fought blindly, slashing and cutting without thinking. Those abominations had been mages once, hadn't they? It was different than fighting through the undead, Daveth thought. He was sure the undead were nothing more than vessels, but the abominations… were there still people inside?
They came to a large door and Wynne faced them. "These doors will lead us to the next set of stairs. Are we ready?"
The three companions looked at each other and back to Wynne and nodded. The mage lifted her staff and the door creaked open. A demon stood before them, different from the others they had seen. It was overgrown, and had a human-face. Perhaps this is what would have become of Arl Eamon's son eventually?
The demon looked them over and smiled, a sickening smile. "Don't you tired of all this fighting? Can't we all just rest awhile?"
"We'll hear nothing you have to say, demon," Wynne spat, her staff beginning to flicker with building energy.
"Now, now," the demon chuckled. "You'll all feel better after a nice, long rest. And when you wake up, all will seem right again. Now, sleep."
"A nap does sound nice," Jory rubbed at his eyes, stumbling backward. "Maybe just a short one."
"No!" Wynne replied weakly. "We… must… fight. Oh…"
"I'm not feeling very well," Daveth yawned widely, and felt himself falling to the ground. He heard Natia's voice, calling weakly, and the clatter of armor against the stone floor, and slowly he slipped away as the Fade embraced him.