Daveth walked back to camp with a bundle of firewood in his arms, Leske weaving between his legs. He wasn't sure why the dog had followed him, but if there was one thing he'd learned about the mabari it was that you couldn't make the dog do anything it didn't want to do. Leske swerved out in front of him again, and it was all he could do not to topple over.
"You're not making this very easy for me, you know," Daveth grumbled. Leske snorted a response, nose firmly planted to the ground. "It'll be night soon. Why are you following me anyway?"
Leske looked up and barked once, wagging his stubby tail, before planting his nose to the ground once more.
"Well, alright, then," Daveth chuckled. "I guess I could have worse company. Like the elf. Or the witch." The hound snorted again. "Glad to see someone agrees with me. Have you noticed how she watches the sky at night?"
Leske barked once and cocked his head at Daveth.
"I can't believe I'm talking to a dog," Daveth muttered, shifting the wood in his arms.
Leske darted out in front of him again. The cutpurse tripped, the firewood went flying behind him, and he found himself careening through the air. He landed face first into a patch of mud, and groaned as he pushed himself to his knees.
"Was that really necessary?" Daveth snapped, wiping mud off of his face.
Leske barked happily and loped off through the trees. Daveth stood up with a groan and walked after the hound, stopping to pick up the fallen firewood along the way.
When he returned to camp, muddied and bruised, the last rays of sun were stretching across the horizon. And there sat Natia, waiting for the stars to appear. He watched her for awhile, before walking slowly over to where she sat, placing the firewood in a pile. She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling beautifully, and she smiled.
Two days later, they arrived in Denerim and rented rooms above Gnawed Noble tavern. When they had gone to shake out Genitivi's assistant, they'd found a corpse in the back room. The real Weylon was long dead, but it seemed he had documented Genitivi's travel plans thoroughly before his demise. They were going to a place called Haven.
That evening, Daveth sat nursing a pint of ale at the tavern, thinking. He'd never heard of Haven, and it wasn't marked on the map. Maybe that was why the urn, if it did exist, was hidden there, he thought. But that was crazy talk. The urn was nothing more than a fairytale, and Bann Teagan was a fool for even considering it a possibility.
And then, his thoughts turned to Natia, and he felt a flutter in his chest as he remembered that kiss she'd planted on him. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had made him feel like that, and cursed himself for playing games. Now that Zevran was around, who knew what her feelings were anymore.
"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Alistair's voice jolted him into reality.
Daveth looked up and grinned. "Have a seat, Your Highness."
"Oh, Ha ha," Alistair rolled his eyes, but grinned. "I've been thinking about what you said after that whole thing with Goldanna. About looking out for myself more, I mean."
"Oh?" Daveth took a swig from his mug.
"I think you're right," the templar began slowly. "And that's what I'm going to do. I'm not going to just lie down and let people walk all over me anymore."
Daveth studied his friend for a moment, and grinned. "As long as you keep listening to Natia, I think you'll be alright. You don't want to piss her off."
"Don't I know it." Alistair laughed, shaking his head. "I think I can handle that, at any rate."
The men fell silent for several minutes and Daveth watched as patrons milled around the tavern. Alistair shifted nervously in his seat and cleared his throat.
"So…" he hesitated, clearing his throat again. "I was wondering if you could give me some advice about … women."
Daveth cocked an eyebrow.
"Well, I mean, you've been with women, right? In the 'oh, hey, let's get struck down by lightning' sense, right? Goldanna said you were. What's it like? Wait, I don't mean with her, I don't need to know that. Oh, Maker, now I'm rambling. This is awkward."
Daveth choked back a laugh and held up a hand. "I'm going to take a stab in the dark here, Al. What you really want to know is how to get things moving with our Orlesian beauty."
"What, Leliana?" Alistair's cheeks flushed and he chuckled nervously. "I didn't say that, did I? But I mean, let's use her as an example, sure. If I were to… you know, woo her. What would I… er… do?"
"Well, for starters, you could never say 'woo' again," Daveth snorted, and sighed. "You could talk to her, I suppose."
"But what do I talk about?" Alistair furrowed his brow and frowned.
"She did almost die, you know," Daveth frowned back. "Ask her how she's feeling."
"So, I just need to talk to her?"
"You could start with the sex, if you want to." Daveth wiggled his eyebrows.
"Right." Alistair's cheeks flamed again. "Talking it is."
The Wonders of Thedas had been one of Daveth's favorite establishments before he had been conscripted. The customers usually had fat purses, and the trinkets inside were usually small enough to pocket without much fuss. He stood at the door to the shop and felt the familiar tingle of anticipation washing over him before shaking his head and walking inside. He wasn't really sure why he had wanted to go in, but he had some time to kill before meeting up with the rest of his companions.
The scent of freshly ground cinnamon hit his nose almost immediately, and Daveth felt himself relaxing. He inhaled deeply and nodded at the shopkeep standing stiffly at the counter. If the man recognized Daveth as a former cutpurse, he didn't let on. Then again, those strange mages – or tranquils, as he had learned - from the Circle Tower never let on about anything. The shopkeep simply looked at him with glassy eyes and welcomed him in a flat, emotionless voice.
Daveth walked around the shop in awe. He's never noticed just how much was crammed into the space. Then again, he'd never really been there as an actual customer. Some of the books were old and worn, while others looked as if they hadn't been handled since being placed on the shelves. Trinkets lined smaller shelves and tables – golems, crystals, candles, even decorative scrolls and daggers with intricately carved hilts.
He walked over to the glass case connected to the counter and felt the breath catch in his throat. There, in the midst of some of the more expensive gems and medallions, was a skyball.
"Excuse me," Daveth called to the shopkeep. "Could I see that?" he asked, pointing at the gleaming ball.
"Certainly," the tranquil replied evenly, unlocking the case and carefully placing the skyball in Daveth's palm.
It was painted on a perfectly round sphere of polished black stone, and felt cool in his hand. He held it up and admired the work. Each skyball was painted by hand, and most represented different parts of the sky and featured different constellations. This one, Daveth noted, featured Andraste herself, complete with the trail of tears that were only visible on exceptionally clear nights.
"Perfect," Daveth murmured, turning the ball in his hand. And it was perfect, in so many ways. "How much?" He asked a little louder.
The shopkeep consulted his ledger. "That one is normally five sovereigns, but we are running a special through Feast Day. We could let it go for three sovereigns."
"I'll give you one for it," Daveth countered, trying to read the other man's face.
"Two sovereigns," the shopkeep replied in that same, even voice.
"Done," Daveth said with a grin. "Pleasure doing business with you."
Daveth carefully wrapped the skyball in a scrap of cloth and tucked it into the hidden pocket he'd sewn into his armor. He walked back out to the streets of Denerim with a smile on his face, and thought about her.
Daveth and Alistair stood gaping at the bloody altar in the center of the little house in Haven, while Natia and Morrigan exchanged glances.
"'Tis human blood," Morrigan said finally, wrinkling her nose in distaste.
"And how, pray tell, do you know that?" Daveth blurted out, even though he really did not want to know.
Morrigan's eyes flashed at him and she held his gaze. "What does that matter? That's hardly the point."
"Is this the part where we leave?" Alistair broke in. "Because I'm all for it."
"Let's get out of here," Natia agreed with a nod. "The sooner we get out of this place, the better."
Daveth moved toward the door and listened. "I don't think we're alone anymore." He could hear the rumbling of voices outside of the house. Carefully, he pushed open the door, drawing a dagger out of its sheath, as a swarm of villagers descended upon him. "I could use a little help over here!"
Morrigan eyes glittered dangerously and her lips curved into a smile. "I suggest holding on to something."
The air around her seemed to vibrate, and swirls of dust began circling around her. She tipped her head backward and stretched her arms above her head, a ball of energy glowing at her fingertips. She walked quickly to the door and brought the ball down to the floor, yelling something in some foreign tongue Daveth didn't understand. A shock wave of power shook the little house and Daveth struggled to keep upright. He heard screams and groans from the other side of the door, and he knew that the mob was distracted for the moment, and pushed himself through the door.
"Just tell me how to use the key, old man," Natia crossed her arms and glared down at the man on the floor.
Brother Genitivi glared up at her and struggled to push himself to his feet. "You cannot deny me this! I have come too far to leave home without knowing if the ashes exist." He tried again to stand, and cried out in pain.
"Brother," Alistair began gently, frowning emphatically. "You can't even stand. Let us help you get well enough to at least make it back to Denerim. We can't know what's in store for us on the mountain."
"Wynne will do a fine job fixing you up, that's for sure," Daveth nodded, glancing at Morrigan from the corner of his eyes. The witch rolled her eyes and looked away. "She brought one of our own back from near death, she did."
Genitivi covered his face with his hands. "I do not care what happens to me. Please, I must see it."
"I've got too much blood on my hands," Natia replied, her voice strained. "I'm not adding yours to it."
Alistair dropped to one knee and rubbed the back of his neck. "Please, brother, just tell us how to use the key. After we've assessed the ruins, we'll send word to you in Denerim. You can bring a party. It's just too dangerous."
Genitivi looked up at the group, his eyes screaming a silent plea. When no one relented, he shook his head and sighed. "Let me see it. Ah, yes. Just hit this button here and it should… yes, there it goes. There should be a locking mechanism that will fit this nicely."
"Thank you," Alistair said, inclining his head. He stood up slowly and turned to Natia. "I'll go get Wynne."
"Do you really think we should trust the angry man who worships a dragon?" Daveth murmured into Natia's ear, glancing nervously at the cultists that surrounded them. Their leader, Kolgrim, stared back at them.
"Probably not, but I'm not going to soddin' die in this cave," Natia murmured back. "Take them out to the open."
Kolgrim stepped forward, furrowing his brow. "What are you whispering about? You must make your decision. Help us allow our lady Andraste to rise again!" He lifted his hands to the ceiling, his voice echoed madly against the walls. "Or you will die!"
Natia glanced around at her companions and her face faltered for a moment. Then, she turned back to Kolgrim and stood as tall as her frame would allow. "We will help you."
"This is madness," Alistair said in a low voice, frowning. "You can't be serious."
Morrigan leaned in beside him and smirked. "Perhaps you are the one who is mad, my dear templar." Alistair's face crumbled into disgust.
The cultists began to cheer, and Kolgrim lead them to the top of the mountain. The doorway opened up to a windy pass, high above Ferelden. Daveth felt a chill run down his spine as the cold air hit him. And then a sound, unlike anything he had heard before, echoed along the mountaintop and a dragon flew overhead.
Kolgrim ran toward it, praising Andraste's name as he ran, and the dragon spotted them. It roared again and came soaring down to the ground, teeth dripping saliva and smoke billowing wildly from its nostrils.
Daveth felt his jaw drop as he stared at the beast before him. The size of it was unbelievable, and he could feel the heat radiated from its body. He watched with sick fascination as Kolgrim approached the dragon, bowing to it. Speaking to it.
He heard nothing over the din of blood thumping behind his ears. He was sure they were all going to die, to become a snack for the magnificent creature before them.
And then, the dragon roared and flew into the air. Daveth and the others staggered backward as the wind generated by its wings hit them, and they watched as the beast perched itself onto a crag of rocks overlooking them.
"The Prophetess Andraste has given you her blessing!" Kolgrim cried, raising his arms to the sky, before reaching into his pack and pulling out a vial of blood. "Take this, and pour the blood on Andraste's ashes. It is up to you to help her reclaim her true form. We will wait for you here."
Natia looked shaken and looked away from the madman. "Right, well, we'll get right on that." She quickly began to walk across the pathway, toward a door built into the wall on the other side of the mountain.
"Such a majestic creature," Morrigan breathed, her eyes shining, as they followed her.
"Or, you know, terrifying," Alistair chuckled nervously.
Daveth looked warily over his shoulder at the cultists behind him and followed them. They reached the door and Natia slowly pushed it open, and they crossed the threshold.
Author's note: You know who rocks? sagacious_rage, for being my beta and for listening to me whine about how little time I have to write anymore. Seriously, this working two jobs gig? Kind of lame. Thanks to those who are sticking with the story despite the long gaps!