The Keening Blade
Chapter 5: Meeting the Parents
"Have you ever wondered," Avernus began, "why the First Blight lasted over a hundred years? Why the great Tevinter Empire, with the mightiest army the world has ever known, could not put paid to one dragon, large though it might be?"
The girl was still perched on the mage's worktable, her face shining like a child's hearing a favorite old tale.
"I had wondered, yes," Loghain admitted. Deep inside him there had always been a nameless dread: the fear that the Grey Wardens really did have vital information. Anger, too: that they would hoard secrets to themselves for their own gain.
"Well," Avernus smiled, a little maliciously, "the short answer is that they did. They killed the Old God Dumat—now become the Archdemon Dumat- in the sixth year of the Blight." Seeing Loghain's puzzled frown and the girl's suspense, he gave them the punchline. "—But it didn't stay dead."
Satisfied at their rapt attention, he continued, like a schoolmaster with a pair of favorite pupils. "It was the taint, you see. The Archdemon's dragon body was slain, but its essence—its powerful spirit—sought out a new host. It followed the taint to the nearest darkspawn, and took up residence there, directing the Blight from a new command post, as it were. When that darkspawn was slain, the essence moved on—and on-and on. And so forth, you see, making the Archdemon essentially unfindable and unkillable. The Blight ultimately would have destroyed all life in Thedas, if a band of determined and desperate men and women had not sacrificed their lives in thousands of failed experiments to create a being capable of truly slaying an Archdemon."
"Oh." The girl said, in a very small voice. She had obviously reached the same conclusion as Loghain.
"I can see that the two of you are capable of simple logic. Admirable and unusual. However, to make it perfectly clear, I shall state it openly: The Grey Warden who strikes the killing blow, slaying the Archdemon, perishes in the act. The essence of the Archdemon is drawn to the taint in the Grey Warden; and as the Grey Warden is not an empty, soulless vessel like the darkspawn, the essence of the Archdemon and the soul of the Grey Warden collide, killing them both. It is the only way to permanently kill an Archdemon."
Loghain felt the bits and pieces of long-forgotten tales click into place in his mind. So much was now explained.
"I wish I'd known this from the first," the girl said, looking mutinous. "I needed to know this! I could have told you—" she said furiously to Loghain, "I could have told you and then you would have seen there was a place for us!"
"It is a central secret of our order," Avernus pointed out mildly. "It is believed that no one would voluntarily become a Grey Warden if it were known what was required."
"So?" she challenged. "That's what the Right of Conscription is for! If somebody is stupid enough to actually want to be a Grey Warden, they're probably not fit to be one!"
"Ah, my dear young lady," Avernus smirked. "You are of noble birth and no doubt had the world at your feet. I assure that I most ardently wanted to be a Grey Warden, as an alternative to a life imprisoned in the Circle of Magi!"
"Are you sure there isn't any other way?" She scowled. "There's always a loophole in these things."
He regarded her gravely. "There are ways to kill the dragon without killing the Grey Warden, yes; but they result in leaving the Archdemon itself alive and well."
"Oh." She struggled with that. "Well—" she said, her cheerful tone a little forced, "—it could be worse."
"Yes, it could," Loghain agreed.
It was really not so bad, in fact. Loghain had immediately decided, even before Avernus had completed his grim little speech, that he himself would be the sacrifice. So much of this was his own fault. He would give his life for Ferelden, and redeem his honor.
"Now, if you will excuse me," the old mage said, his voice a little hoarse. "I must prepare and rest for the adventure before us. I have not spoken to anyone other than demons and ghosts in over two hundred years, and find myself rather fatigued."
The girl slid down from the worktable. "Good night, Avernus! Thank you so much! Truth is best, after all!"
Loghain merely nodded at the mage, and pulled the girl along with him, when she seemed inclined to poke through a nearby chest.
The cold air on the bridge to the Keep was bracing, but the girl dawdled, thinking aloud.
"No, really—" the girl went on. "I was afraid it would be something impossible, and that I would have to go to Par Vollen or somewhere else ridiculous and obtain something like the ultra-secret Holy Oil of Wildervale mixed with the breath of the Black Divine. Or I'd have to try to sweet-talk yet another tribe of gormless nitwits into supporting us. It's really not so bad. All I have to do is kill the Archdemon."
"I shall take the final blow. So you should be saying 'all Loghain has to do is kill the Archdemon.'"
"Certainly not!" She shook her head. "I saw it first. It's my Archdemon and I'm going to kill it."
Loghain grunted, dismissing her protests. It was pointless to argue with her, since he had already decided what must be done. Besides, it was too cold and windy on the bridge to remain there talking. They returned to the comparative warmth of the keep, the shadows closing in around them.
"Oh, look," the girl whispered. "Morrigan's sleeping in Sophia's room. " She grinned at Loghain. "She has her fur cloak on."
Loghain looked over the girl's head into the room, and saw the wolf curled in front of a fire.
Maude tugged on his arm and said, "Let's go to that sitting room downstairs, Morrigan likes her privacy, and that's the one place that hasn't any bones in it."
They could even have a fire there on the dirty hearth, feeding it splintered old furniture. An impenetrably grimy portrait hung over the mantel. The dog sprawled out in front of the fire with a doggy sigh.
They began quietly unarming, packs and cloaks and helmets and gauntlets-and then each helping the other with the awkward bits. Loghain had not had to armor himself in years, and the girl seemed to know all about squiring. Taught by her father and brother from childhood, no doubt.
And of course she must have done this for Alistair. He glanced down at the girl's face, intent and serious, as she deftly unfastened a buckle. There was a pleasurable intimacy in feeling her hands on him.
They had not been so completely alone together since he became a Warden. Always a crowd of her followers: always the noise and the talk and laughter and the occasional acid words.
"Do you suppose they've burned down the inn yet?" he said, filling up the quiet.
The girl laughed. "I hope not. I was planning on having a bath there tomorrow." She moved to his other side. "Wynne will scold them for me. And Sten won't do anything so undisciplined as set the place on fire. Of course," she considered, "if he thinks his honor demands it, he might go on a rampage and kill everyone in sight, but that's very unlikely. He only did that the one time, as far as I know." She tugged at the armor, and it pulled away from Loghain like a snake shedding its skin. He grunted in relief. Maude knelt to unfasten his greaves.
They were quiet while she worked, until the last piece was neatly piled in a corner. Loghain considered leaving on his gambeson, but couldn't bear it. It too was discarded, and he was left in shirt and underbreeches, feeling very exposed.
"Now do me," the girl demanded, turning her buckled side to him.
Smirking ruefully at the offer, he kicked over a stool that looked likely to support his weight, and sat down on it, while he unraveled the mystery of her trappings. The cuirass was eased off and set aside, and Loghain focused on the straps at her outer thighs.
"I have got to take my hair down," she sighed, unpinning the messy braided coil at the back of her head. The long braid slipped from her hands and the end hit Loghain on the nose.
"That was like being whipped with a rope's end," he growled.
"Sorry. Perhaps I should bind the ends with gold beads in the ancient Alamarri style and whack the darkspawn senseless."
"There's an image. You need new straps on this side."
"No I don't. I shall need all new straps once I clean up my amazing new armor. My friends will hardly know me, and my enemies will tremble at the sight."
"You should save it for the Landsmeet and parades. This is a perfectly serviceable set of dragonbone despite its lack of griffons and blue enamel. It was made by Master Wade, was it not?"
"Indeed it was. His partner Herren has banned me from the shop for a full year. It seems I was monopolizing too much of Wade's time with experiments. Wade made the drakescale that Zevran and Leliana wear, too."
"That's good work."
She carefully gathered her hairpins and tucked them away in a pocket. "I can't afford to lose any of these. You'd be surprised how hard it can be to find hairpins."
"I wouldn't be surprised at all. I don't imagine they're to be found in the Deep Roads."
She laughed remembering. "Well—there was this poor, corrupted dwarf in the Ortan Thaig. He was living in a little cave there, hoarding what he could and living off darkspawn. He liked me, and when I left he said he would think about the smell of my hair. 'Such a nice memory,' he told me. He even had hairpins, though that was because a large dwarven clan had camped there not two years before. It was very handy, finding hairpins just as I was going into the Dead Trenches."
"That's the last," he said. Her greaves were set aside and she flexed her ankles. "What are the Dead Trenches?" he asked.
"A very bad place that I hope you never visit," she replied. "That's where we saw—" she broke off, a curiously blank look on her face. "No." she said, finally. "No, I don't want to talk or think about that. I've got some of those mutton pies in my pack. Aren't you hungry? I'm hungry."
The dog opened his eyes and gave a low whine at the smell of the food. The girl tossed him a pie, which he caught midair and swallowed in two bites. He cocked his head, gazing at her mournfully with wounded, innocent brown eyes until she tossed him another.
"That's all, you fraud! We get to eat, too!"
The pies were still good, even crumbled as they were. They shared Loghain's canteen of watered brandy, eating and drinking slowly to make it all last longer.
She spread out her cloak on the floor, leaning over in a way that caused the firelight to glow through her thin linen shirt. It revealed quite a bit he ought not to know about her figure. He hissed in discomfort and looked away, waiting icily for his body to leave him alone.
He tried to distract himself by adding more wood to the fire. The dog rolled over, got up, and lay down next to the girl.
Good. A chaperone, Loghain thought, intensely grateful. The dog was on the far side of the girl, but it was better than nothing.
"Silly Ranger," the girl murmured. "You're nice and warm, though."
Loghain looked into the fire, and finally said, "All right. I now officially admit that Grey Wardens are essential to the security of Thedas."
"I'm so glad," the girl said softly. "We don't have to fight about anything anymore, do we?"
"Well—we don't have to fight each other," he allowed, still not looking at her. "I'm sure we'll find plenty to disagree about."
"-And now we've got Avernus. I'm going to bombard him with questions all the way to Redcliffe. I've been a horrible Grey Warden mentor to you: almost as bad as Alistair was to me. A lot of that was because I simply don't know much, and I was rather ashamed of my ignorance. In retrospect, when I look back on the Landsmeet, I was being rather ridiculous, making claims of my own importance without much to support them—that I really knew of."
"I don't know," Loghain shrugged, adding another chair leg to the blaze. "If you had come to me as a complete stranger—a young mercenary with dragonslaying experience and a mob of allies for Ferelden—I would have been glad to have you. I would have enlisted you in a heartbeat and thought I'd done a good day's work."
"That's nice to know." The girl sighed. "I just wish we'd had a chance to talk before everything got all complicated and public and fraught with passion. I seriously considered slipping into your bedchamber and having it out with you in private."
"Holy Maker," Loghain groaned, trying to picture it. "I don't see how that could have ended without a great deal of blood on the floor."
"I don't know," the girl mused, "I can be very persuasive. I even figured out a route over the roofs and through your window. I was really, really thinking about it, but I couldn't find an opportunity to get away from my friends."
"If you're so persuasive," he said, finally turning to look at her, "You should have used some of that persuasion on our new king at the Landsmeet!"
She winced, and curled up smaller within her cloak. "Don't remind me! What a horrible miscalculation! It has to be the stupidest mistake I ever made. I didn't do—that—to Alistair because I thought he would understand! I've never killed anyone who surrendered. I thought he would have learned that. Sometimes he hasn't liked things I was about to do, but I would tell him it was going to be all right, and he'd back down, and then they were! Always! How could he not remember that I was always right and he was always wrong? Just once, I wanted him to the do the right thing on his own! Just once!"
"Well-" Loghain snorted, "—good luck with that!"
"And now he hates me," the girl whispered. "He feels I've betrayed him. Of course that's complete rubbish, because he's the one who's betrayed his oath and made an ass of himself, Still, that's the way he feels, and you have to consider people's feelings, even when they're being idiotic."
"It's simpler if you don't," he grunted.
She raised her brows at him, and he managed a bitter laugh.
"I take your point. Stupid people's feelings to be coddled, or they turn on you." He added, wanting to hurt her. "Like Alistair."
She looked so bereft that he instantly regretted his words. Rather than apologize, he told her, "We need to get some rest if we're to take your favorite ancient mage for his outing tomorrow."
He wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down beside her, a few feet away.
The fire crackled a little, but the girl's breathing did not settle down to the even rhythm of sleep.
"Loghain? " she murmured.
"What now?"
"I know you have every reason to be angry and resentful, and I know I've done terrible things to you, and I know you must hate me, but there is nothing more important than what we are doing. I'm so glad you're here with me. We're the ones who are going to save Ferelden, and nobody else. A thousand soldiers could not do what we shall do. Ferelden will be saved because we were here, and I don't think that's so bad, do you?"
"Even though a Grey Warden must be sacrificed?"
"We're not going to die. I'm sure Avernus believes it, but I've never faced a danger I couldn't fight my way out of, or talk my way out of, or cheat my way out of. I don't believe in the no-win scenario! There's always a way! We're not going to die. Avernus is basing his theory on only a handful of instances, anyway. Maybe those Wardens weren't as strong as we are! Besides, the Archdemon is only a dragon when all's said and done, and dragons are strong but stupid creatures. It's not like the Archdemon is some sort of military genius. All it does is throw a horde of screaming darkspawn straight at us. So—you know what? -I'm going to kill that stupid, ugly dragon and have a spiffy suit of armor made from it. You may have one, too. We could have matching armor. Maybe even matching Archdemon Grey Warden helmets! We're going to survive, and completely gut this castle and fix it up-because it's really pretty grim- and we're going to have heaps of adventures killing evil creatures—"
"—and taking their stuff," Loghain said, on the edge of sleep.
"Exactly," she murmured, tired out by her rant. "It's going to be brilliant…"
He is almost certain that they are together in the Fade. She is certainly behaving just like herself, only more so.
It is one of the usual dreams. He is sitting at breakfast with Father and Mother. Father is talking about harrowing the back five acres by Ticklespring Wood, and Mother is serving that oat-and-apple slumpy with cream that he likes so much and will never have anywhere else ever again. He is putting that first, perfect spoonful in his mouth…
There is a knock at the door.
Loghain shuts his eyes. Usually it is the Orlesians. More recently it has been the darkspawn. It is useless to hide. He opens his eyes and sees that now it is the girl, in her magnificent new armor, framed in the doorway, beaming at them all.
"Maker bless all in this house!" she says. "May Loghain come out to play?"
His parents look at each other, worried and confused. Mother tries manners first, as always.
"Good day to you, my lady. We were just setting down to breakfast. Would you do us the honor of joining us?"
"Thank you so much!" She immediately thumps herself down on the bench next to Loghain. "This looks wonderful!"
They are all eating, silent and comfortable. She asks his mother, "Do I detect a touch of nutmeg?"
Mother is so pleased. "Yes, my lady! That is my secret ingredient!"
"Nutmeg!" The girl enthuses. "I love nutmeg." She scrapes her bowl clean, and then raises her brows at him. "Nice armor, Loghain!" she remarks. "I like you in black leather."
"Father made this for me."
"It suits you." She tells his parents, "After I kill the Archdemon, Loghain and I are going to have matching armor made from it."
He can't let her get away with that. "She meant to say, 'after Loghain kills the Archdemon…'"
The girl makes a face at him.
"That sounds nice, dear," his mother says, stroking Loghain's hair back from his brow. "Don't forget to take a thick, warm cloak."
A draught whistles through the doorway, and the air changes. The walls of his house are blurring: changing into rough stone, and his parents are whirling away. Loghain reaches out for them, but they are already gone, their images shrinking down to a bright little circle that blinks out, leaving him in a dim, fetid cavern.
"Not this again," the girl mutters. "I hate this place. I shouldn't have mentioned the Dead Trenches to you. All things considered, I'd much rather be having breakfast with your parents."
"What it this?' Loghain asks. Underneath their feet is a repulsively soft red ooze that stinks of rotten meat. Ropes of it spread out like diseased vines. Ahead of them a woman's screaming shrills high above the grunts and chuckles of the darkspawn. The path turns around a rock ledge in front of them. If he just takes a few steps more, he will see…
The girl grabs his arm. "Don't go there, Loghain! The Archdemon just wants to hurt you. You don't need to see it. We'll go the other way this time. Branka can have the Anvil. The dwarves are dying, anyway. If they go on like this, they've got what? Two, maybe three generations before they're extinct…"
She tugs at him again. Another voice drifts through the cavern, the voice of a dwarf woman:
"First day they come and catch every one;
Second day they beat us and eat some for meat;
Third day the men are all gnawed on again;
Fourth day we wait, and fear for our fate;
Fifth day they return, and it's another girl's turn…"
The girl shouts, "We're going! We're going now! Take my hand, Loghain! Don't listen to that poor sad cow!"
But he cannot move, and the voice drones on,
"—Sixth day her screams we hear in our dreams;
Seventh day she grew as in her mouth they spew;
Eighth day we hated as she is violated;
Ninth day she grins, and devours her kin;
Now she does feast, as she's become the beast…"
The ledge in front of him is melting away, revealing something impossible: something immense and unthinkable; something legless and tentacled and many-breasted; something that surely cannot be.
The voice whispers, "Broodmother…"
"Take my hand, Loghain! We're leaving!" His hand is in hers, and the very air explodes outward, carrying them away...
Somehow, they were still hand in hand as he thrashed himself awake. The girl was sitting up, her breath coming in short, hard gasps. The fire had faded to embers, and the light was dim and red. The dog whimpered, blinked, and then subsided back into sleep with a soft snore.
The girl gave Loghain's hand a squeeze, and managed a half-smile. "That was a nasty one. I've become better at ignoring them. Sorry I let that one get through."
She had quite a nice hand: hard and slender, long-fingered and capable. He reluctantly let it go when she got up to prod the fire into life. He tossed another chair leg to her, and she added it to the brightening flame.
"What in the Holy Maker's name was that thing?" he managed.
She sat back down on her cloak, arm draped over her raised knee, as she studied the fire. "You heard the rhyme. That was a Broodmother." She glanced at Loghain and shrugged. "What did you think? That there were darkspawn mamas and papas, and the patter of little darkspawn feet? That crazy dwarf had another saying:
''That's where they come from,
That's why they need us,
That's why they hate us,
That's why they feed us.'"
She shook her head. "I mean, come on, Loghain! Haven't you ever wondered why all darkspawn appear to be male? Did you ever wonder what happened to the women who were taken at Ostagar?"
That hurt. "I presumed that everyone who did not escape was killed." A host of faces flashed through his memory, and he felt utterly desolate as the possibilities unfolded...
"That's what I would have thought, until I saw one of those things in the Dead Trenches. That crazy dwarf, Hespith, told me what happened. She even knew the woman's name! We don't think about the darkspawn raping women, because they don't do it right there on the battlefield. They have to take the women down below for the ritual, and they perform it where they want her to breed, because once she's changed, she's not ever going anywhere else. You don't need legs to breed, after all." She lay back down, with a sigh. "I try not to think about it, because there's absolutely nothing I can do about it, except make sure I'm never taken alive. With the kind of armor I've taken to wearing, I'm not even sure if the darkspawn can perceive I'm a woman, which is all to the good."
"Do you think those women remember who they are-or were?"
She turned on her side, her young face golden in the firelight. "I don't know. I hope not. That would be too awful. The one I met couldn't speak, and certainly put up a fight. I'm told the men's minds go very quickly in captivity, so I suppose the women's do too. It's for the best."
He shifted to his side, facing her, and took her hand again, running his thumb over the sword calluses on her palm. "Nothing like that will ever happen to you."
She smiled drowsily. "Certainly not! Once I kill the Archdemon, the darkspawn will all retreat below."
He shook his head slightly. "You mean, once I kill the Archdemon-"
"Oh, go to sleep..."
Loghain reluctantly opened his eyes in response to an annoying and persistent tapping.
It was the girl, of course, prancing about barelegged in her shirt. All very nice, of course, but distracting, especially when one was just waking in the morning.
"What in the Maker's name are you doing?" he growled, unable to express himself in any other way at the moment. "Are you all right?"
She gave him a startling sweet smile. "Yes I am. Wonderfully well, in fact. Thank you for being so nice to me last night. I was looking at the wall just now, and I saw that the proportions are off." She pressed her ear to the wall, hands tapping up and tapping down. "That invariably means—there we are. Watch this!" she said, eyes shining, and then gave the wall beside the mantel a hard blow with her fist.
A portion of the wall rolled up, revealing an iron chest.
"Ha!" she cried. "Oh, I do hope there's something nice in here!"
He grunted, and reached for his gambeson and boots. "I'll be back shortly,"
She hummed an absent acknowledgment, busily at work on the lock. Ranger was up, tail wagging, mutely pleading with Loghain to take him out.
"Fine," he agreed. "We'll let her loot the place. You and I have better things to do."
Whatever they had done the day before had been effective. Outside the morning light was no longer eerily bright, but pleasantly normal. Ranger took care of his business and then galloped in the snow, tongue hanging out absurdly. And of course, he found a stick.
No—it was an ulna, actually, but after all—why not? The former owner hadn't used it in years. Loghain obliging threw the bone a few times and Ranger was very good indeed at running and jumping and catching in midair.
They came back to find Maude sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of a pile of weapons, arms, and considerable gold.
"Isn't this a nice sword, Loghain? These sovereigns are all Orlesian, but in very good condition—"
"The gold might be useful, but put the rest back."
"Put it back?" she said, horrified.
"Put it back. You don't need another sword. Everything will be perfectly safe here. Put it back for safekeeping. This belongs to the Wardens, doesn't it? When you come back to redecorate, it will all be here."
She frowned, dissatisfied. "You mean I've been spending my time looking at things that are already mine? That's sort of—disappointing."
He reached down, and hauled her to her feet. "Get dressed and help me with my armor. You found things of yours you didn't know you had, and that's still counts as a legitimate find, in my opinion."
"That's true," she granted, and worked on armoring him agreeably enough. "I'm still going to take that armor along, though, and clean it up at the inn. Oh—and let's not forget Avernus!"
"I'm not going to forget Avernus," he assured her. "Where's the marsh witch?"
"I wish you wouldn't call her that. Her name is Morrigan. She's getting ready. She already went out for a run this morning and caught herself some breakfast."
"Spare me the details." Quickly, he fastened the girl's buckles and gave the long braid a yank. "Do something with this rope of yours."
"It's such a mess. I'll have to comb it all out and rebraid it."
"Do that. I'll fetch the old mage." He headed to the tower, the dog trotting after, and saw the witch settling her cloak over her shoulders.
"You are going to the tower?" she asked. "I shall join you."
They found Avernus dressed and shod for travel, his pack already prepared.
"Ah, Loghain!" he greeted them. "I am quite ready, as you see. And a good morrow to you, Mistress Morrigan. But Loghain, where is your young woman?"
Morrigan threw Loghain a mocking smile, and he grimaced. Rather than waste time on lengthy disclaimers that Maude was hardly his "young woman," he let it pass.
"Doing something with her hair. She should be ready momentarily."
The old men cast a last look over his laboratory as they left, and uttered a soft sigh. "Strange. For so long I expected to spend the rest of my life there. Fate has a twisted sense of humor."
"So I have always thought."
Maude was ready by the time they arrived, her pack bulging with her new armor.
"Oh, good morning to you, Avernus! You're looking very chipper."
"I'm feeling quite well, thank you, and I've taken care that the feeling will last as long as I need it, despite my age."
"Most admirable," murmured Morrigan, eyeing Avernus with just the faintest hint of respect. "I shall take great pleasure in informing Wynne that Avernus is even older than she."
"I'm possibly the oldest person alive in Thedas," Avernus agreed.
Morrigan laughed sharply. "Not as old as my mother!"
They moved down the stairs and through the hall. Loghain could not imagine what the mage was feeling in bidding farewell to his home of centuries. The two young women were keep up a stream of chatter that might distract him.
He certainly seemed curious about Morrigan's claim. They paused in the entry hall, while Maude explained. "Morrigan is a 'daughter' of Flemeth. I don't think she's really her blood-relation at all, but she was raised by her."
"Indeed," Morrigan said proudly. "Flemeth taught me my magic."
"Impressive," "Avernus granted, very dryly. "Has your—'mother'—I suppose, though that hardly seems the correct word-told you the secret of her longevity?"
"I thought you killed Flemeth," Loghain said to Maude.
"I did! In her dragon form. Flemeth's a shapechanger and taught it to Morrigan—but she'll probably be back. That means, Avernus, that you probably do win the title of oldest actual person in Thedas. I killed her because of the secret of her longevity and the threat it posed to Morrigan."
Loghain had not heard the story and waited for the girl to tell all.
"You don't mind if I tell them, do you Morrigan? It's quite interesting and horrible. Flemeth apparently steals little girls with magical gifts, trains them up, and when they seem just right to her, she takes their bodies as her own. She was planning that for Morrigan. She was going to steal her body and wear it like a new silk gown."
Even Avernus seemed taken aback at that. Loghain stared. "What happened to the souls of the girls?"
"I have no idea," Morrigan admitted. "Perhaps they were destroyed outright. Perhaps they were transferred to the worn-out old body. I had no desire to find out. Maude showed great generosity is slaying my mother in her dragon form. I dared not be anywhere nearby, lest Flemeth seize hold of my body as she perished."
"How did you discover this? It is—extraordinary magic," said Avernus.
"Maude happened upon a grimoire of my mother's at the Tower of the Circle of Magi."
"I nicked it from the First Enchanter's study," added Maude, without a hint of shame. "Flemeth's real grimoire was in her hut in the Wilds."
"-and you took that after you killed her," Loghain guessed.
"Of course! But—you know—I don't know if I told you this, Morrigan, but Flemeth offered to give it to me in exchange for leaving her alone. Don't look so horrified, Morrigan! She was very patronizing and you know that always irritates me. I thought you'd be safer—at least for a time—if she were dead. And you know what, Loghain? You know what I said about dragons being stupid? She thought herself so clever, but she fought just like a dragon, all the same. All I had to do was beat on her, throw bombs, wear her down. She was no cleverer than any other brute!"
"That is hardly surprising," Morrigan said, a little defensively. "She was in dragon form. I have explained to you the limitations of operating in another form. When I am a wolf, my physical reactions and desires are those of a wolf. I retain the capacity for thought, but in the stress of combat, it is very difficult to think like a human."
"Maybe it really will be the same for the Archdemon," Maude considered. "I certainly haven't seen any signs of any great intellect there! Sort of a noisy, bullying half-wit, really."
Morrigan huffed, and seemed oddly offended. They stepped outside into the sunlight. Loghain enjoyed the comparative silence as they made their way down the slope and back into the tunnels. Here at least, it was necessary to keep one's mind on the task at hand. Maude read the map rather than gossiping, and Avernus gave them a few more facts about the Peak itself.
"When Asturian came to build a base for the Wardens, he chose the Coast Mountains for their granite. The darkspawn can tunnel, certainly, but granite is difficult for them. They will go hundreds of miles out of their way to avoid it. It's made the Peak secure for centuries. Fortunately- or unfortunately as the case may be- one must travel many miles to find an entrance to the Deep Roads."
"Is there one closer than Orzammar?" Maude asked, very surprised.
"There is one not far from West Hill," Loghain said quietly, remembering his ghastly journey underground during the rebellion.
"You are well informed, Loghain," said Avernus approvingly. "There is that entrance, and then there are two entrances that I know of in Amaranthine alone. None in Highever, though."
"Well, that's something," Maude said under her breath.
In time, they emerged from the dark of the tunnels into the track that led to the Coast Road.
"Little changed from my time," Avernus commented, looking about him with great interest. He seemed quite vigorous and strong—which would have startled Loghain more had he not been feeling so extraordinarily healthy and energetic himself. Whatever Avernus had given him was truly amazing. The girl was practically dancing along, unfazed by the weight of the new armor in her pack.
They came down from the mountains, and the snow gave way to the greens and browns of the Knotwood Hills.
"One of the entrances is somewhere around here," Avernus told them, "but it was thoroughly sealed before my time. There is also an entrance below the dungeons of an old Tevinter fortress, Drake's Fall. We used that for our own Wardens' Callings."
"Drake's Fall!" Maude shouted. "That was going to be my dower house if I married Tommy Howe! I should have known! Rendon Howe was planning to send me straight to Darkspawn Central! What an utter swine!"
Morrigan burst out laughing. Loghain failed to suppress a dark chuckle. It was just so completely Howe.
Avernus was amused, but shook his head. "It is probable that he knew nothing of the entrance. We had a good relationship with the banns of Drake's Fall, and our entrance was well concealed and well fortified. With the end of the Grey Wardens at Soldier's Peak, it likely was completely forgotten. I daresay that the records of its existence are preserved in the library at Weisshaupt, but nowhere else."
Distracted from her outrage, Maude asked, "Have you ever been to Weisshaupt yourself?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Awful place, that."
"That what Riordan says." She told Loghain, "He said that the Wardens in the Anderfels are pretty much complete arses who don't care about the rest of Thedas and are always mucking about in local politics."
Avernus snorted. "So nice to know that some things don't change."
"When you were in Weisshaupt, Avernus, " Maude said, a smile blooming as something else suddenly occurred to her, "did you see a griffon?"
"I saw some, yes. Only a few were in the paddocks. They had decided to limit the population between Blights."
"Well, they limited it into extinction." Loghain told him dryly.
Avernus shrugged. "Pity. No doubt it was a scandal of incompetence and sloth. Against stupidity, the Wardens themselves struggle in vain. Griffons were never introduced to Ferelden, anyway."
"That's a shame," Maude sighed. "We would have taken proper care of them. But it's not so bad, since we have mabari Grey Wardens instead. They're just as good as griffons!"
Ranger instantly barked his agreement.
Avernus threw a questioning glance at Loghain, who rolled his eyes.
"And there is the inn," Morrigan told Avernus, pointing at the sprawling structure in the distance. "Surprisingly intact."
"And exactly where it should be," Avernus agreed. Loghain was not surprised that the North Road Inn had stood in the spot for hundreds of years. He, too, was relieved not to see smoke billowing from burned-out wreckage.
As they approached, Maude gave Avernus a briefing about the Grey Warden allies. Qunaris he had met, dwarves he had met. The Antivan Crows he had heard of, so an elven assassin was not surprising to him. That they had a Circle mage numbered amongst them was only reasonable. He was, however, surprised-in the light of last night's revelations- to hear they had an Orlesian bard in their company, and he gave Loghain a look askance.
"She claims to be Fereldan," Loghain explained, "though that is mostly fantasy on her part. She's mad, but a good archer, I'll grant."
"Leliana is very nice," Maude told Avernus in a low voice. "And she's not all that mad."
"Ah."
The landlord had seen their approach, and came out to meet them, his wife following behind, frantically whispering. With many bows and a sickly, terrified smile, the man said to Loghain, "My lord! You've returned! Such a relief-perhaps you might-"
"Yes, I know," Loghain snapped. "I'll sort them out." He could hear the awful noise of Oghren singing even before the innkeeper swept the door open.
"Hello, everyone, we're back!" Maude called out cheerfully, as they walked into chaos. "Sten, please get Oghren down from the bar. Watch out, Morrigan! You almost stepped in...Oh, good morning, Zevran. What is that you're having? My, that looks good..."
Loghain raised his voice. "Private room, now! The innkeeper wants to clean up in here. Maude, tell the elf to round everyone up."
"Zevran!" Maude ordered, with a theatrically commanding gesture. "Round everyone up!"
"As you command, my princess!"
Within a few minutes the company was funnelled into the private room and everyone set about eating and drinking, while Maude made the introductions.
"...And this is Avernus, a Senior Grey Warden! We ran into him up at Soldier's Peak, and he has generously agreed to join the glad throng."
"A mage!" Wynne said warmly. " You are most welcome! Are you originally from the Orlesian Circle?"
"Not at all, Madam, " Avernus assured her. "I've never been to Orlais."
Wynne slid down the bench toward him, frowning in puzzlement. "You sound like a Fereldan."
"I am Fereldan. I was a mage of the Fereldan Circle before joining the Grey Wardens, in fact." He gave her a gracious nod. "And you are Senior Enchanter Wynne, as I understand."
"I am. But I'm afraid—I simply don't recall having met you."
"That is no surprise. I am rather older than I look, dear lady."
Thanks to my reviewers: Piceron, Persephone Chiara, Sarah1281, Shakespira, Lehni, Enaid Aderyn, Nithu, Annara Ren, mille libri, Alpha Cucumber, gaj620, Aoihand, Eva Galana, Amhran Comhrac, mutive, Reyavie, Jee Calcrie, Anon, and Jenna53. I appreciate all feedback!