VIII: The Imperial Highway
"Do you have a moment, Morrigan?" The witch spun around, a curious expression on her face. She gazed at the Warden mage for a moment before looking away, unsettled by the way he was looking at her.
"What is it?" Morrigan asked, trying not to sound too snappy. She wondered when she became so conscious of her own behavior—especially around one Logan Amell. He led her on a slow walk, side by side, ever so gentle—not quite like the man who had been fighting in the inn.
"I just… wanted to know more about you," Logan's lips stretched into a roguish smile, as they eventually left Lothering and began wandering around the outskirts.
Morrigan averted her gaze with as much self-restraint she could manage, the wind in his disheveled brown hair making him look even more attractive than he was before. She quietly wondered what was wrong with herself—she had never felt so exposed in front of any man (rather, they should feel exposed in front of her)—as she felt his curious gaze still fixated upon her.
"Ask away, then," drawled Morrigan, pretending to look disinterested.
"How did you become a shapechanger?" he asked, though Morrigan suspected that he wasn't just interested in her magical prowess and skills.
"I was not born such," Morrigan began to explain, still refusing to meet his eye, "'Tis a skill of Flemeth's, taught over many years in the Wilds. The Chasind have tales of we witches, saying that we assume the forms of creatures to watch them from hiding. When a child is alone and separated from his tribe, that's when we strike, dragging the young boy kicking and screaming to our lair to be devoured." She paused and glanced at Logan, amused to find that his expression had not been that of terror, but rather of fascination. She hoped he didn't believe this useless Chasind bedtime story. "A most amusing legend."
"That does sound like something you'd do," Logan said, his attention unwavering like that of a puppy to its master. Morrigan wasn't sure whether she liked it or detested the effect it was having on her.
"Oh?" she wondered out loud, "I truly doubt that children would be worth the effort. They are filthy, smelly things full of tears and snot and trouble. That said, I cannot speak for the tastes of my mother. She has, after all, lived a very lengthy time in the Wilds and done many things I know nothing of." Morrigan scrutinized Logan with an irritated look on her face, clearly not in favor of casual conversation. "Why do you ask? Is there something specific you wish to know?"
"I've never heard of magic like that before," Logan admitted, not hiding his surprise. Despite those long hours and days spent in the vast library in the Circle tower, Logan had indeed never chanced upon a book about shapechangers or any other magic that Morrigan and Flemeth possess. It made him curious—more about her than the magic itself.
"No?" Morrigan questioned, although she had expected no less from the Circle of Magi. Ever so restrictive and confining of their kind, she thought bitterly, truly a prison more than a home—a necessity for ignorant, fearful fools. "'Tis not unheard of, in the remote corners of the world—there are traditions of magic outside the Circle of Magi, despite what those mages would have you believe.
"Some of these traditions are old indeed, passed down as carefully-guarded lore from one generation to the next. The zealots of the Chantry would uproot all such practitioners if they could, but as luck have it some still exist. My mother is such a one," she went on.
"That's good," Logan agreed, no trace of pretentiousness in his honest eyes—something Morrigan found to be highly baffling, "Such traditions need to be preserved."
"I am surprised you think so," Morrigan said, "Still, 'tis a pleasant thing to hear."
Logan smiled appreciatively at her. "Thank you," Logan said, "That was all I wanted to ask."
"Indeed?" Morrigan suddenly snapped, wondering why he was refusing to show more interest in her than he already was, "Have you an opinion on my abilities, then? Am I an unnatural abomination to be put to the torch?"
"Maybe tied to a flagpole and tickled," Logan laughed, unable to stop himself.
Morrigan felt her cheeks burn at the mental image. "Don't you dare," she hissed, much to his amusement. "If you value your life, of course."
"Fine," Logan said, covering his smile with his mouth for fear of Morrigan becoming even more agitated. "But they're useful, I'll give you that."
"A practical answer at last," Morrigan nodded, as she saw the mischievous look on the Warden's face, thinking becoming rationally difficult for a moment. "Well, let us return lest they deduce that we have been kidnapped and gather a search party."
In the morning, Logan awoke the earliest. There were only a few streaks of sunlight in the sky, giving the entire village of Lothering a sort of somber look. Remembering that Leliana was probably waiting at the inn, he quickly dressed and left the house silently, not wanting to wake anyone up before they were fully rested. The entire village was silent, save for some hardworking farmers who had risen early to make the best of their time and crops.
Logan watched stolidly as he passed them by. Despite his emotionless exterior, he knew that their future and happiness were now dependent on him and the rest of his friends. He knew that if they failed, Ferelden would be done for. The land would be ravaged by darkspawn, and soon, the Free Marches would soon follow Ferelden's fate. His heart lurched at the thought of losing this battle. It was almost too much responsibility to bear, and he began to feel the familiar fear returning to him.
He hated feeling this way—feeling as though he was the most unworthy choice for a Grey Warden—even though everyone around him—even Morrigan—had already undoubtedly put their faith in his leadership and given him all of their support.
He began to think of what came next, as he paused just outside the inn to see the sun rise. Logan wondered why it still rose—could there still be hope of finding a golden day of peace once more? He felt foolish for being angry at the sun for rising—it just didn't seem right to be greeted by a beautiful morning, knowing that he had a monumental task to accomplish—amass an army and kill the archdemon. Protect Ferelden at all costs and, in doing so, protect Thedas from the taint.
Logan desperately wished that he could find a way to send out a message to the other countries and have them send over their Grey Wardens to assist them. But he knew he had no time for that, which was why he was settling for all the help he could get—starting with Leliana.
The moment he entered the inn, Leliana ran up to him and wrapped her arms around him, her excitement apparently never having gone away since the previous night. "You came!" Leliana breathed, "I was beginning to think that you forgot."
"Leliana, did you even sleep?" Logan asked, noticing that she had even changed out of her chantry clothing into a new set of leather armor.
She giggled. "I tried to," she said sheepishly, as Logan shot her a look of disapproval.
"If you collapse halfway later on, I'm not carrying you!" Logan exclaimed, unable to restrain himself from smiling as she stretched and yawned, her energy obviously wearing out at a rapid rate. "Come on," he offered, "You can sleep with the rest, first. I'm sure they haven't woken up yet. You can take my bed."
The walk back to Leandra's house was interrupted when Logan spotted a caged man in the distance. Leliana noticed the prisoner too, and explained automatically, "He has been there for a long time—the Lothering chantry has put him there for some reason."
"Do you think he can be of help to us?" Logan asked her.
"Only one way to find out."
They walked over to the cage just situated at the edge of Lothering. The man was not human but in fact a Qunari, as Logan observed the prisoner. Suddenly, the Qunari, as though sensing their presence, opened his eyes and glared angrily at Logan.
"I will not amuse you more than I have every other human in this village," the Qunari growled, "Be gone, stranger."
Logan suspected that there would be no room for casual conversation or small talk. The caged Qunari didn't even seem sociable in the slightest, which might be a problem—a problem Logan was willing to overlook. "I was wondering if you'd like to offer your services to the Grey Wardens."
The Qunari frowned. "Grey Wardens?" he repeated, "You are sworn to fend off the Blight and the archdemon, yes? Why would you need my help?"
"I find myself in need of more able-bodied fighters," Logan replied, "In case you haven't heard of what happened at Ostagar, the Wardens are short on numbers."
"I have heard," the Qunari nodded solemnly, "But I will not be able to help you unless you find a way to free me from this cage. Perhaps you should talk to the Mother in the chantry—I believe she holds the key to my imprisonment and freedom."
Leliana shook her head. "I have spoken to the Mother about this," she said, "She will not relent." Logan sighed, knowing that the Qunari would definitely be of great use in their efforts against the Blight, once well-armed and ready for battle. He glanced at Leliana, "Isn't there anything you can do?"
The redheaded rogue smiled and approached the cage. "I thought you'd never ask." Within a few seconds of fiddling with the lock, the cage opened. The Qunari looked curiously at Leliana and Logan, before stepping out of the cage.
"Then you have my word," the Qunari said, "I will aid you against the Blight."
"Then it is good to have you with us," Logan said, stretching out his hand, "I am Logan Amell of the Grey Wardens."
The Qunari looked at Logan's outstretched hand for a moment before shaking it with a firm grip. "Sten of the Beresaad," he replied curtly.
Getting Leliana quietly into the house—Sten had refused to step foot in the house and instead posted himself outside, standing vigilant like a true guardsman—made Logan feel like he was smuggling in a pet his parents wouldn't let him keep. It was almost amusing to see her lay down and instantly falling asleep as Logan left the room, only to see a disgruntled Garrett standing at the doorway.
"You could've told me you wanted some fun," Garrett muttered, smiling tiredly, "I was so sure Morrigan was actually interested in you."
"Firstly, Leliana isn't a prostitute," Logan started, finding it almost hilarious how Garrett could still joke while half-asleep, "She's offered her help and she's joining us. And secondly," he paused for good measure, "How are you so sure Morrigan likes me?"
Garrett's smile turned into a coy one. "You're rather dense, aren't you?"
"Garrett." Logan raised his eyebrows and looked at his cousin expectantly, trying to hide his enthusiasm at this startling revelation. Morrigan, a woman who has never gone so far as to smile for more than two seconds, interested in him?
"I'm just going to go and get ready." Garrett quickly brushed past Logan and disappeared into the other room, which he was sharing with Bethany and Carver. Logan rolled his eyes and set his pack on the table and began to check his equipment and supplies, when Alistair emerged from the room looking rather horrified.
"There's a redheaded girl in our room, did you know that?"
"She's one of us now," Logan said, and began to explain the entire situation to him. Alistair's expression changed constantly throughout—from confusion to fascination and then lastly to shock, when he learned about her vision. "And, we have a Qunari on our side as well."
"What? How did you conjure up a Qunari out of nowhere? And aren't you scared she's actually just mad?" Alistair whispered, "You know, like completely bonkers?"
"I believe in her," Logan said, before adding for good measure, "I believe in her believing in her vision. And the Qunari—Sten—has promised his loyalty to us. I think we're lucky to have him around. What's wrong with another sword?"
Alistair looked utterly bamboozled. "Well… that's one way to put things into perspective," the Warden muttered, scratching his head perplexedly, "Fine, I trust you. But if he turns out to be some other crazy and she starts to see visions about my death—"
"Morrigan's already lectured me enough about that possibility, thank you very much," Logan groaned, as Morrigan came out of the room as if on cue.
"I was actually having a nice sleep," she grumbled moodily, "Until your prophet decided to roll off her mat and tangle her limbs with mine. I will be holding that one against you, Logan Amell—I am no bolster." She stalked off in frustration, choosing to isolate herself elsewhere for the moment.
"Garrett was right, she does like you," Alistair muttered.
Logan said nothing, but only grinned.
Sten and Leliana, much to Logan's surprise, were received with less suspicion and difficulty than he thought. Morrigan didn't seem to have a problem with the both of them, after Logan had persuaded her for what seemed like the third time in the morning. Alistair trusted Logan, and welcomed them easily, even though Logan knew he still had his reservations about the both of them. Even though Leandra and Carver were highly suspicious of Sten, Garrett and Bethany decided that they trusted Logan enough to trust the Qunari as well.
"Mother, relax," Garrett said, poking Sten casually with the non-lethal tip of his newly acquired Staff of Parlathan—a gift from Leandra the night before having belonged to his father before him, "He doesn't bite, look!"
"Garrett!" Bethany smacked her older brother on the arm, much to Sten's approval. No one else noticed the brief grin that flashed across the Qunari's face but Logan. "Honestly, if you could just give him a bit more respect—"
"I mean no harm, sister," Garrett quickly said, looking to Sten, "You know that, right?"
Sten merely grunted, with no indication of whether he actually agreed or disagreed with Garrett's notion. "Fine," the eldest Hawke said, "Be that way." Garrett looked from his family to the people that he would now be traveling with until the end of the Blight. "Are you sure you want to stay in Lothering, mother?"
"I've been asking myself the very same thing," Leandra said, as Garrett moved to her side, "I was thinking that we could go and live with your uncle Gamlen in Kirkwall." Logan's heart lurched. Kirkwall had been his home before he was forced into the Circle in Ferelden. If it had been many years ago, he would still perhaps regard it as home. Now, Ferelden was his. He wasn't even sure if the Amells were still as wealthy as he once remembered them to be. It was too painful a memory to delve into, anyway.
"Are you sure that's wise?" Garrett asked, as Carver stepped beside his mother almost defensively.
"She knows what she's doing," Carver told him, "And I agree with her. We should go to Kirkwall, unless we plan on getting overrun by the darkspawn. We heard about what happened at Ostagar, remember? And all of you came from Ostagar, too, so I reckon the darkspawn are headed this way inevitably."
Garrett groaned, knowing that what Carver said was right. He didn't want his mother and brother to be mauled to death by darkspawn any more than he wanted them to travel to Kirkwall on their own unless they had a solid plan up their sleeves. "And how exactly do you plan to get to Kirkwall?" he asked, tapping his foot impatiently. "You can't just waltz over to the Free Marches."
"I know," Leandra nodded, "A neighbor of ours is moving to the Free Marches as well—says he has some relatives in Starkhaven—and offered us transportation since we're going the same way." Garrett made a small noise of disapproval as he took his mother's hand, looking at her with worry.
"What if something happened to you?" he asked, frowning. "I'd never live it down."
"She has me," Carver voiced out indignantly, "I'm a good fighter—I can protect her just as well as you. So don't worry about us."
Garrett sighed, as Bethany spoke up, "Are you sure about this?" She looked to her twin brother to her mother, obviously harboring the same sentiments as her elder brother. When neither Carver nor Leandra changed their minds, she walked over to her twin and embraced him.
"Maker be with you, Carver," Bethany said sadly, tears welling up in her eyes, "We'll see each other again, right?"
Carver smiled for what seemed like the first time to Logan. Other times, the boy either had an irritable expression or one of indifference. "Of course we will," Carver promised his sister, "And you take care of yourself for me and mother."
Bethany nodded as Carver wiped a few tears from her cheeks. The youngest Hawke son glanced at his older brother, his face with no trace of any acknowledgement except in his eyes. "Brother," Carver said firmly, "Just because you're a Grey Warden doesn't mean you can run around looking for death. If you die then—"
"—then things wouldn't be fun if you couldn't try to beat me all the time," Garrett finished for him with a rueful smile. "I know, Carver."
"Garrett," Leandra said, before looking at Bethany and Logan, "All three of you. Please make it through this. As much as I don't like you being Grey Wardens, I know that you have no choice in the matter. But that doesn't mean you can—" She stopped for a moment, a wave of emotion threatening to escape in her tears, before continuing shakily, "It doesn't mean that you can leave us. You still have a home in Kirkwall, I'm sure of that."
Logan cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the choking feeling. "I'll remember that, Aunt Leandra. We all will," Logan said, and lowered his voice into a whisper so that only Leandra could hear, "And I'll take care of them. I'll make sure they get out of this safely."
"Not at your expense, I hope," Leandra caressed his face, "Revka wouldn't want that."
Logan could only smile as he returned to Alistair's side. "Are we set then?" Alistair asked, looking to Logan. Truthfully, he was never ready for this in the first place, and he knew Garrett and Bethany weren't either, from the way they were reluctantly parting with their mother and brother. As his cousins returned to his side, Logan cast one last look at Leandra and Carver as they went back inside and hoped that they would leave soon, if they were to leave at all.
"Let's go," he said, and began to head in the direction of the Imperial Highway.
Little more than a minute after they reached the base of the steps to the Highway, a cry resounded. "Someone help us!" someone was yelling, but his pleas were soon drowned out by the familiar darkspawn hisses and snarls. As if on instinct, Logan charged forward first with his staff at the ready with the rest following behind him.
A hurlock charged at the two dwarves that were cowering behind their caravan, but was too slow to notice the ice spell that Logan had casted. It stumbled backwards from the impact, the spell having only hit its armor. Before it could retaliate properly, Leliana's dagger flew right into its forehead, stabbing it square between the eyes. "Good timing," Logan said appreciatively, as Leliana ran over to retrieve her weapon.
Beside Logan, Alistair and Sten were already lunging at the other two hurlocks as Logan and Morrigan took turns to take out the genlocks while Leliana and Bethany ran over to the dwarves to make sure that they weren't hurt.
Garrett had his hands full with an aggressive hurlock alpha, as he repeatedly attacked it with a barrage of fire spells and occasionally delivering swift and agile physical attacks that momentarily stunned the darkspawn warrior. The moment the hurlock lost his balance, Garrett seized the opening and twirled his staff around and stabbed the darkspawn in the head with the blade from his staff, ignoring the blood that spurted freely from the open wound as the darkspawn fell to the ground.
"I have this strange feeling that you like the blood," Alistair joked, grinning at Garrett.
"Don't worry, Alistair, there's plenty to go around," Garrett countered cleverly, as they gathered around the two dwarves.
"Are you alright?" Logan asked, watching the dwarves dust themselves off.
The older dwarf smiled brightly at them. "Mighty timely arrival, my friend," the dwarf said happily, "I'm much obliged!"
"It was no problem," Logan replied, "You're welcome." He flashed a brief smile at the dwarf before the younger one—perhaps his son—shuffled his feet and stumbled forward, waving at all of them.
"The name's Bodhan Feddic, merchant and entrepreneur!" Bodhan bowed as he introduced himself. He gestured to the younger dwarf beside him, who still had a wide grin plastered on his face. "This here's my son, Sandal. Say hello, my boy."
Sandal seemed to turn red as he waved meekly this time. "Hello," he said simply.
"Road's been mighty dangerous these days," Bodhan said sagely, as he walked over to pick up his fallen goods to place them back on his cart, "Mind if I ask what brings you out here? Perhaps we're going to same way."
Logan scratched the back of his head. "It's a bit complicated, but you're welcome to come along if you like," he offered. Bodhan burst into laughter as he shook his head, brushing off the minor warning.
"Complicated?" he said cheerily, "Something tells me that's just half of what your story is, stranger." Sandal began to heave crates back into the cart as Bodhan handed it to him, his eyes still fixed curiously on Logan and his company. "But thank you for offering me and my son a place with you! You're quite an interesting lot, to say the least."
"Just mind yourselves," Logan smiled kindly at them, "You're welcome to stay for as long as you like."
"Well then, that's settled!" Bodhan said contentedly, "I'll be right behind you—lead the way, good sir!"
"Call me Logan," the Warden said, as he led them along the Imperial Highway, en route to setting up their second camp. He checked his map as Alistair walked up beside him, with the rest following behind. He could hear the faint creaking of Bodhan's cart as they walked on in silence.
"We'll be heading to Redcliffe first then?" Alistair asked, peering at the map and spotting the course Logan had plotted for them. The first stop was Redcliffe, followed by the Circle Tower, then the camp of the Dalish elves and lastly Orzammar.
"Yes, it seems like the easiest for now," Logan told him, "Unless some complications arise, in which case we should just deal with it swiftly."
Alistair grinned. "I'm sure Eamon would be more than happy to oblige," he reassured Logan.
The mage smirked. "You would know, right?" he said teasingly, "Considering the fact that Arl Eamon raised you when you were younger."
"Raised me? You must be mistaken," Alistair blinked, apparently confused, "He didn't raise me…"
"That right?" Logan glanced at his friend, chuckling, "That's not what I heard you telling Flemeth."
"No, no!" Alistair countered easily, though Logan could see right through his fellow Grey Warden, "I said I was raised by dogs—giant, slobbering dogs, mind you. You—you must have heard me say something else. I didn't say Arl Eamon… Maker…"
"Ah, that should explain the breath then," Logan said coolly, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Alistair seemed to pick up on it and played along, much to Logan's dismay. "Yes," Alistair agreed, grinning, "And not to mention the rude table manners and all—I'm really just being honest here—and sometimes I drool… you know?"
"I would not be surprised," came Morrigan's voice, thick with disgust.
"You're not actually very surprised at anything in particular, Morrigan," Alistair replied, glancing back at the witch, "I wonder why."
"Cynicism isn't all that bad," Logan defended, although from the way she was glaring at him he suspected that it had been the wrong thing to say. "Not that… I think you're cynical all the time—"
Alistair snorted. He pretended not to notice the steep drop in Logan's intelligence as Morrigan scowled in annoyance. "You would be wise to stop speaking," Morrigan warned Logan, who merely smiled at her and turned back to face the direction that they were walking in—much to her relief, for she had almost felt another foolish smile creep upon her when Logan became flustered. There were things she would love to do to the Warden, but this was neither the place nor the time. If she had a little more time to get closer to him, then perhaps—
"You're very beautiful, Morrigan," Leliana suddenly said, appearing by the witch's side.
"I'm not sure I asked for your opinion," Morrigan said coldly, "Tell me something I do not know."
"I mean it," Leliana said, "If you were in Orlais with me, I could take you shopping for clothes that would make you even more beautiful than you are now." The redhead smiled sweetly at Morrigan, who merely glanced in her direction uninterestedly. "They're much better than the rags you choose to dress in. It suits you I suppose—a little tear here, a little rip there to show some skin. I understand."
Logan tried not to glance back at the two women as he discreetly slowed in his pace, intent on listening in. Alistair shook his head and took the lead, amused.
"You understand I lived in a forest, I hope?" Morrigan reminded Leliana irritably, but not before casting a quick glance at her 'rags'. They were hardly so, Morrigan thought. They were perfectly fine!
Leliana gazed at Morrigan, smiling sweetly as she continued, "Maybe we could get you a nice dress one day. Silk—no, maybe velvet! Velvet is heavier, better to guard against the cold in Ferelden. Dark red velvet, yes," Leliana seemed to be undressing and dressing Morrigan in her mind as she went on almost dreamily—Logan wasn't sure whether she was interested in the clothes she had in mind for Morrigan or the witch herself, "With gold embroidery. It should also be cut low in the front, of course. We wouldn't want to hide your features!"
"Stop looking at my breasts!" Morrigan sighed in exasperation, "'Tis most disturbing."
Leliana giggled. "You don't think so?" she asked curiously, "And if it's cut low in the front we must put up your hair to show off that lovely neck!"
"You are insane," Morrigan said, shaking her head, "I would sooner let Alistair dress me."
"Really?" came a voice from the front. Logan suppressed a grin to know that Alistair had been listening in as well. "I'll take your word for it then, Morrigan. I'll even teach you the Remigold as a bonus."
Morrigan rolled her eyes. "I take that back," she said darkly.
Leliana seemed to be unaffected by Morrigan's constant refusal as she went on and on. "It'll be fun, I promise! We'll get some shoes too! Ah, shoes!" She clapped her hands together as her mind drifted off, perhaps already planning out an entirely new wardrobe for Morrigan.
If this was the group he was sticking with for the rest of his days until the end of the Blight, Logan though amusedly, then it probably wouldn't be such a bad thing after all.