The Keening Blade
Chapter 9: An Awfully Big Adventure
Considering how eventful his night had been, Loghain had slept better than he ever had before going into battle.
He awakened (for the second time) to the sound of a door softly closing further down the hall. Faint grey light seeped through the lofty windows in the stone wall. Not yet dawn then, luckily.
Sliding out from under Maude, he moved to the door and cracked it open very slightly, catching a flash of red hair vanishing through the door to the other wing.
"Hmph," he grunted, searching for his clothes. "I knew it."
"Knew what?" the girl murmured, stirring lazily. Her hair was tumbled rather fetchingly on and around her shoulders and breasts. She was also waking up rapidly, and her eyes were starting to sparkle...again. He really must go while secrecy was still possible.
He laced his breeches, feeling triumphant for too many reasons for a man of his age. Why not tell her?
"I knew that Orlesian chit was a spy all along. I saw her creeping along the hall. She must have spent the night with that other Orlesian."
"Maybe they were just having depraved, meaningless Orlesian sex." Maude sat up, admiring him frankly. "Not like firm, upright, blissful, emotionally engaged Fereldan sex."
"They probably were. That doesn't mean they weren't exchanging information as well." He reached over and smoothed the silky hair. "You need to get up and have breakfast. We'll be moving out soon."
She was out of bed and flinging herself on him before he could escape. "I want to kiss you before you go."
"All right. Yes. Wonderful. That's enough. I'm leaving now. Yes, yes, I am." He held her at arms' length, studying her seriously. She looked very pretty at the moment, and not particularly crazed. "Clean yourself up and put on what you can. I'll do the same. Then bring your armor down to my room and we'll deal with it with the door open."
"The soul of discretion," she said wistfully.
"I am doing this to protect you, you silly girl."
He continued to make clear, when she came down to squire for him, that their enjoyable little fling was over. Luckily she had always been one to paw on him, so no one would see anything unusual in her behavior.
"Well, anyhow," she said, "I'm glad that Riordan got lucky. He's not a bad sort, other than being a dragon-stealer. Attempted dragon-stealer, actually, which is less serious. I hope he was nice to Leliana. I'll have to ask her."
"Nice to her in between trading state secrets," Loghain muttered.
Breakfast was entirely a blur, a hasty meal and a pandemonium of voices and clanking armor filling the Great Hall. The girl's presence was pleasant, but last night seemed unbelievable to Loghain. Morrigan glanced at him sourly over the table. That conversation had been real enough. He kept his countenance and only granted the witch a brief nod. Avernus sat next to her, serenely sipping tea. Leliana smiled brilliantly at Riordan when he arrived. He grinned at her, obviously thinking himself raffishly charming. Loghain sneered at his porridge.
The girl was called away by a group of heavily armed dwarves, evidently there to complain to her, by the grim looks on their hairy faces. She made soothing gestures at them, her words unintelligible at this distance, but her voice pitched to persuade. She left the hall with them, hard at work smoothing over something or other. Ranger followed, seemingly displeased by the dwarves' attitude.
The qunari was following the disorder in the hall with disdain. Loghain agreed heartily. No one seemed to have a clue who was in charge, except for Eamon Guerrin, who appeared to believe he was. Well, perhaps he was in charge, but he certainly was not in control.
The assassin was whispering to a young elven servant, showing an unnatural expanse of teeth. Wynne saw Loghain looking in her direction and immediately her face became starchily disapproving.
It was all too much. He shoveled in the last of the porridge and rose, needing to escape this place.
The confusion was even greater outside, but at least there was air. Loghain was meanly glad that he was not in charge of this shoddy spectacle as the armies prepared to depart, because he had never seen such a slovenly, amateur effort in his life. There was confusion: there was delay. Redcliffe's baggage train blocked the bridge from the castle, forcing the Legion of the Dead to edge along, single-file, trying to ease the congestion in the courtyard. Dwarves, elves, knights all swore with colorful diversity but equal force. Dogs barked, and were silenced by Ranger's alpha growls.
"Loghain!" Maude was calling to him, waving him over. With her were a pair of dwarven merchants. Or a merchant and his son. The younger dwarf must be very young indeed, from his lack of beard.
"Loghain!" she beamed. "Allow me to present to you my very favorite dwarven traders: Bodahn Feddic and his son Sandal. We've crossed paths and camped together scores of times. Anything you don't want to carry yourself you can stow in their wagon, since they'll be in the baggage train."
The elder dwarf eyed him warily and gave a neat little bow. "Always a privilege to serve the Wardens."
The younger dwarf stared at Loghain, eyes bright and bulging, and smiled broadly. "Enchantment!" he declared.
Loghain was rather taken aback, but the girl patted the strange little fellow on the head. "That's right, Sandal," she said. "Enchantment just about covers it!"
Bodahn apologized. "It's his only word, my lor—Warden, but he's a dab hand at runes and such."
"Absolutely," the girl agreed, giving the young dwarf a very kind smile. "Sandal is brilliant. He enchanted your very own Keening Blade."
"Well done," Loghain told the young dwarf. "I thank you."
"Enchantment!" repeated Sandal, his delighted smile including Loghain, the girl, and all the world at once.
Loghain had very little with him to begin with, but he thought it over, and put together a little parcel of the maps the girl had given him. There was no reason for them to be destroyed. He dashed off a note, so it was clear that they were hers to enjoy after he was gone. He thought a moment more, and then simply signed his name. What else was there to say?
At a distance, he saw a big carriage, heavily armored, pulled by a team of six oxen. Anora's bright head caught a shaft of sunlight. Perhaps she felt his eyes on her. She turned his way, paused, and lifted a hand; perhaps in greeting, perhaps in farewell. Chantry Boy was with her, of course. He urged her into the vehicle and shut the door behind her. To Loghain's relief, he did not appear to see him.
Chantry Boy. He loved that name. If Oghren had no other value, Loghain owed him for that. It never failed to lighten his mood. A smile was on his face, he knew, and he worked hard to dispel it. Chantry Boy.
But Anora was gone, and he would not speak to her again in life. There was nothing to be done but commend her to the Maker's care, and turn away.
"There!" The girl was piling another parcel into the dwarves' wagon. "I'm just carrying what I need, other than some jewelry I can wear and my money belt."
"Wise of you."
The wagon was full of interesting things, including some shapes that suggested paintings. "That's a portrait of the Rebel Queen," Maude told Loghain. "I gave it to Sten." She blew out a breath, and looked at the pandemonium surrounding them, hands on hips.
"Let's round everybody up. We've got to get out of this mess. We'll join the Legion and some of the elves and just get moving. Why in the Maker's name is everything taking so long?"
He could have told her, but her question was clearly rhetorical.
The West Road was beyond foul. The darkspawn horde had made use of it, and now it was a track paved with their excreta and with human blood. Heads and body parts were impaled on poles at regular intervals, like milestones. Blighted vegetation drooped, crisp and black.
Their own company was in the vanguard, but flanked on either side by dwarves. Dalish elves spread out and slightly ahead, screening and scouting as they went, giving the first alarm as they encountered stragglers from the horde.
Quite a few stragglers there were. Despite all their attempts to move quickly, now and then they were forced to slow as they came across darkspawn who squawked and roared at the sight of them. The delays were not long, but they were numerous.
They moved through resistance like a hot knife through butter. The Dalish seemed as good as Wardens at spotting darkspawn. Their archers skewered them before half understood they were under attack. It was like the old days of the rebellion, when he had organized the Night Elves and terrorized the Orlesians. These elves, to do them credit, had organized themselves, and effectively, too.
A hurlock emissary with his hideous entourage was stunned and slain in short order. Loghain resolved never to say the words out loud, but Riordan was good at killing darkspawn: quite good. He was, Loghain supposed, the nominal leader of their party, but at this point, no one needed instruction or even orders. The party worked as a team, and the addition of Riordan simply gave more weight to their attack. Besides, Riordan had the sense not to presume upon his authority. Loghain and Maude might be obliged to obey him, but the other companions were here out of loyalty to Maude herself, and most would not react well to seeing her supplanted.
Having three mages, of course, was a luxury Loghain had never experienced before becoming a Warden. He imagined having Avernus, Morrigan, or even Wynne along during some of his youthful adventures. The thought of replacing that elven seductress Katriel with Wynne brought a smile to his lips. She would have been young then—or younger—but no doubt would have been a source of endless patronizing advice even then. Of course, not being an elf, Maric might not have made an ass of himself over her. There were yet more mages in the body of the army, following behind, but their forces still seemed thin compared to the sheer numbers of the horde.
"I suppose you think we'd have been better off if I'd let the Orlesians come through Gherlen's Pass," he growled, almost thinking it himself.
"Don't put words in my mouth that aren't there," Maude shot back. "If I'd wanted the chevaliers, I would have gone to the Empress and used my legendary charm. And at that, it might not have worked. When I met Riordan in Howe's dungeon, he made clear that the Orlesians-Wardens and Imperial forces both- weren't coming even if we asked nicely."
"He said," Loghain sneered, "That Orlais had resolved to respect Ferelden's sovereignty."
The girl cocked her head thoughtfully, and then shrugged. "It comes to the same thing. Another reason I'm ashamed I didn't come to you after Ostagar. I think it's clear where the Orlesians stand in all this. Why would they want to shed blood in our civil war, when they could get everything they wanted, simply by doing nothing?"
Riordan had overheard this, and walked along with them, looking like he wanted to say something. A moment passed, and then another, and Riordan did not voice any disagreement. He sighed deeply. Loghain felt a stab of anxiety. "What do you mean by that?" He asked Maude.
She shook her head, apparently finding him particularly dense. "It seems pretty logical to me. The Orlesians have everything to gain by the Blight doing its worst to Ferelden. If the Archdemon headed their way, they would defeat it and gain the glory for Orlais, and then there would be this large, uninhabited territory to their east, ripe for colonization."
Loghain stopped dead, and Oghren ran in to him, cursing. The truth—the real threat- had been staring him in the face, all this time, and he had been blind to it.
With an attempt at calm, he said, "And just when did you come to this conclusion?"
She regarded him blankly. "As soon as Riordan said that was what was happening. I didn't make it up by myself, if that's what you mean."
Riordan merely looked sad. "She is right. The Orlesian Wardens have written Ferelden off as an acceptable loss, and obtained the agreement of the Wardens in the Free Marches and. Nevarra as well. People tell themselves all sorts of things to justify terrible deeds. I was only permitted to come to Ferelden after I persuaded Peyrolle—the Orlesian Warden Commander—that I merely wanted to scout out the situation. I love Orlais—you must understand this—but I love Ferelden, too. It is the land of my birth. The thought of smugly watching its destruction was unbearable. If there was anything I could do to prevent it, it was clearly my duty, whether the Empress approved or no."
"Well, we're very glad you did," the girl said kindly. And then gave Loghain a look. He knew what she wanted, but would do no more than grunt noncommittally, imagining a past in which the girl actually had appeared before him in his bedchamber with her treaties and her charm and her terrifying logic.
They camped briefly, unwillingly. They must reach Denerim quickly, but they must be fit to fight when they crossed swords with the darkspawn. At the end of a long day, they reached a familiar name on a map, now deformed out of all recognition.
Lothering was gone, and in its place was a blackened mockery. What bodies remained were too corrupted for the very animals to scavenge. Some indeed, had tried, and were scattered across the landscape, withered and dead themselves. The door of the Chantry was in splinters, and vague shapes dangling from the ceiling hinted at horrors within. Ceorlic's manor was a jumble of stone and charred timber. The river itself ran black and greasy and foul, and no one dared drink from it.
The girl took the bard and the assassin along with her to check for traps throughout the village. They had keen eyes for such things, and from a distance Loghain could hear metal snapping and the three companions laughing and jeering at the incompetence of the darkspawn.
After a little while, Maude trotted back, eyes alight with mirth. "You should have seen it, Loghain! One of the genlocks actually caught himself in his own trap! He was still alive-sort of-but we put that right. These creatures are complete morons!"
"Dangerous morons," Loghain could not help pointing out. "Deadly morons."
"Disgusting, disturbing, and degenerate!" Maude laughed. "And we're only on the letter D. Oh, come on, Loghain. I found a house they haven't made into an abbatoir. We can get some sleep there!'
Rest might be necessary, but sleep seemed nearly impossible. The companions collapsed wearily in the ruined hovel. Dust trickled down from the rafters, and the light dimmed with the setting sun. A small fire crackled bravely against the encroaching dark. Elven servants, picking their way gingerly through the tainted rubble, served them food. A clean spring up in the hills had been located, and water was being brought into camp to slake the thirst of the army. Avernus, Morrigan, and Wynne examined the supply, conferred, and pronounced it safe.
"How nice to be Extra-Important and get first dibs on the water," Maude remarked, refilling her own canteen. "And how nice to have some else perform guard duty." None of their own party was called up for this: but rather a rota of men, elves, and dwarves. The Wardens and their party were for once comparatively fairly free of the daily tasks that had filled their lives: no guard duty, no cooking, no hewing of wood or drawing of water. It was just them, and the darkness, and the waiting horde.
"This is entirely too serious," the girl remarked, after the uncomfortable silence lasted a little too long. "I think we need some music. Come on, Leliana! Sing with me!"
"L'homme, l'homme, l'homme armé,
L'homme armé—"
She caught Loghain's eye, and laughed ruefully. "Perhaps not in Orlesian. What was the version in the King's Tongue?"
Leliana loyally began,
"Oh, the Man, the Man-at-arms
Fills the folk, fills the folk with dread alarms,
With dread alarms..."
"Yes! I remember!" the girl said, "but let's change it a bit. How's this?"
"Oh, the Man, the Man-at-arms
Fills the spawn, fills the spawn with dread alarms,
With dread alarms.
Everywhere I hear them wail,
So find a good strong coat of mail
Perhaps you'll then prevail.
Leliana quite approved. "You should have been a bard!" she laughed, and immediately mastered the revised lyrics.
Oh, the Man, the Man-at-arms
Fills the spawn, fills the spawn with dread alarms,
With dread alarms!"
The others joined it, one at a time: some loudly like Oghren, some more softly, like Wynne. Riordan, Loghain found to his immense disgust, could sing well, in a fine baritone. Bloody Orlesian ponce. The fellow could even hold his part when they began to sing it as an irresistible round. Maude began drumming out a catchy rhythm on Oghren's helmet, to the dwarf's great delight. Elven servants crowded around the ruined house to listen, and then some soldiers, human and dwarves alike.
They sang until Loghain finally surrendered to the girl's implicit demand, and sang in a low rumble along with her: until they were out of breath, and the separate voices of the round tumbled to the end and into general laughter. Then it was time for some toasts, drunk with ale sent by the Queen herself; and then it was time to yield to the night.
Ranger lapped eagerly at his silver bowl, leaning against Loghain, demanding his attention. They dozed, and dropped like stones into restless sleep: some sitting propped against the walls; some, like Wynne, lying carefully amidst destruction, robes primly arranged. Leliana lounged against a pile of sacks, and Riordan lay with his head her lap, smiling drowsily as she stroked his hair. Loghain scowled, sensing the girl's wistful eyes on him. As the shadows lengthened, he felt her hand slip into his, and he did not pull away. He leaned back and shut his eyes- for only a moment, he thought.
Instantly he was in the Fade, spinning down and down, the unspeakable racket of the darkspawn shaking him to his core. Rotting faces flashed before him, and a vision of indomitable marching monsters seemed to make every effort of his own pitiable, laughable and useless. The fouled stone and oppressive dark of the Deep Roads held him prisoner, suffocating him. A hissing voice rumbled through his skull, pitched almost too low for human hearing, and he looked, transfixed, into the vast, white, and opaque eyes of the Archdemon. The horror of its gaze, of its vile reek as bared its fangs in menace, nearly unmanned him.
But he was Loghain Mac Tir still, and in the Fade or in the world, he would not cower. Not even when alone, and certainly not when supported by other Wardens.
For around him he felt their presence simmering in his blood. Riordan was there, grim and vengeful; and Avernus, full of intellectual curiosity about the most extraordinary being in all Thedas. From far away, he seemed to feel hints of a multitude of comrades, living and dead. Beside him was Maude, reckless and unimpressed, considering the Archdemon indeed, but only for the purpose of considering how best to kill it. She laid her hand on Loghain's arm, and smirked at the Archdemon's garbled threats.
"Some God of Beauty you are!" she laughed. "I've seen dragons that looked better after I killed them and skinned their hides for armor! Oh, and by the way, that's what I'm going to do with you!" She glanced behind her to Riordan. "I think we can equip all the Wardens of Ferelden from this thing!"
Riordan blinked back at her, proud and horrified at once.
Purple fire bloomed from the creature's mouth, scalding forth to blast them, but the girl put up her hand to halt it. "This is the Fade, you idiot!" she shouted. "And it's just as much my Fade as yours! I won't let you use it to torture us ever again! We can shape it for ourselves, and make a better job of it than you. In my Fade, it's high summer on the Cliffs of Conobar!" The fabric of the Fade trembled, and the dark of the Deep Roads was pierced by yellow light.
"Very clever!" approved Avernus. "Quite mad, my dear girl, but clever all the same. Ordinarily only mages can alter the Fade, but I suppose that Wardens in this extremity might be able-"
"Come on!" interrupted Maude, shouting at the three other Wardens. "Think this with me! You've all seen it! High summer on the cliffs above the Waking Sea! The sun is on the water and birds are in the air!"
The world- the real world of light and shadow and fresh wind-shimmered into being in a corner of Loghain's mind. It was only a flicker in the midst of the Deep Roads of the Fade, but it was something to grasp and hold.
Relentlessly, the girl went on, "The grass and vines are green, and we've all gone to the shore for a picnic! So we don't need you!" she shouted at the Archdemon. "Go back to the shadows where you belong! I'm coming for you soon enough, you raddled gargoyle! You have no power here, unless we give it to you. If you try to ruin my picnic, I will fucking EAT you!"
The Fade broke apart, and the Archdemon vanished. Loghain was adrift in the random noise of the darkspawn, but the creatures were far away and harmless. And there was the faintest scent of a cool salt breeze...
His eyes opened to a red and lowering dawn, and something wet on his cheek. Loghain grimaced at the girl's indiscretion, before he realized that it was the dog, licking him. Maude was deeply asleep, slumped against his other shoulder, and Zevran was slumped against her. Oghren's head was pillowed on their packs by their feet, and he was drooling on them. Loghain put out a booted foot, and with careful determination pushed Oghren's head away. Sten was already up and neatly arranging his bedroll. The two Orlesians were nowhere to be seen.
But he could hear them, a quick rhythm and a whimper in the loft above. Ugh. Loghain gave the girl an unromantic shove.
She stirred, murmuring, "I want Antivan wine and pink roses..."
Zevran had awakened too, and grinned, first at the girl and then at Loghain, raising his brows.
"I have heard that her birthday falls in the month of Kingsway. It is very nice to know the things she would like, yes? A wise man would go to the ends of the earth to obtain them for her."
Loghain grunted sourly, thinking of the girl moving on to celebrate her next birthday with another man. Useless to rail at what must be: he had had her first, and she would not forget him, even if it would be just as well for her if she did. He shoved at her again. "Maude, wake up."
Her dark eyes opened, and she smiled at him. "You should have stayed for my picnic," she murmured. "It was very nice."
Mad as a Templar, he decided. "Another time," he told her, "The darkspawn await."
She whispered, her eyes clearing of sleep. "You had best name your forfeit soon, Loghain." She smiled at him archly. "Or have you already claimed it?"
He frowned, but brushed her hair from her eyes. "I have not. A forfeit is not a forfeit if given willingly."
She made a face at him, and he smiled grimly. "I shall have my forfeit in my own time and place," he told her. "Never doubt it."
Riordan slid down the ladder from the loft in a shower of dust and splinters. He adjusted his breeches, and gave Loghain a quizzical glance.
"I had the most peculiar dream..." he ventured.
"As did I," Avernus said, emerging from behind a sagging wall. "Very curious. Very curious indeed." He peered at Maude with paternal amusement.
Leliana descended from the loft very gracefully, flushed and radiant. She caught Loghain's dour expression, and dimpled at him, unrepentant.
More confusion, more delay. Once more they took the lead with the best of their allies, and marched on. The sky was overcast and threatening: the more so the farther north they traveled. There was something amiss in the very air.
Maude was spending time with all her companions today, walking with each in turn. She smiled and nodded like a good child at Wynne's infernal prosings, laughed at Oghren's jokes, and listened to Zevran's ghastly anecdotes with quick interest. Then she was schooled by Sten about the Qun, and repeated words of his with deep pleasure.
"The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless," she murmured. "I love that. I believe that."
She moved on to exchange secrets with Leliana, and to gossip with her about the Orlesian Court. Not entirely to Loghain's surprise, she wanted to talk to Riordan about life in the Wardens. She answered Avernus' strange questions about her childhood and education, and if her parents ever been concerned about her showing signs of magical ability. The latter question Maude seemed to find very funny, though Avernus was not the least abashed by her laughter. He simply studied her as he would any interesting experimental subject.
She spent quite a long time with Morrigan, conversing in earnest low voices. The marsh witch was still somewhat put out with her, but did not seem hostile. Their exchange, indeed, seemed even affectionate in an odd way. Perhaps it was the whispers, reducing all the words to hissing sibilants, but Loghain was almost certain he heard the word "sister." It was particularly odd that he thought that it was Morrigan who had said it.
In the forenoon they came upon a large body of darkspawn, hurrying after the bulk of the horde. The Dalish swung wide, forming a line of archers on either flank. The baffled darkspawn rushed back and forth, not certain which way to press their attack. Then they sensed the Wardens, and rushed straight at them, through a gauntlet of clothyard shafts. Some spun around and fell, kicking up the blighted earth; some rushed on, heedless of their wounds. In the vanguard was a huge hurlock, bigger than any they had seen, bigger even than those Maude had seen in the Dead Trenches. It shouted defiance in a voice bordering on human, and knocked Oghren down with a mighty blow from its maul. Less than a second later, the hurlock was hit simultaneously by ice, by stone, and by lightning. It still took dragonbone and silverite blades to put it down for good. An unusually powerful emissary rushed along in the leader's wake. briefly catching Zevran in a crushing spell.
"Kill that bastard!" Maude screamed, veering off from the ruins of the Hurlock Vanguard to protect her comrade. She screamed again as the emissary cursed her, but she kept running: grabbing at the thing's bizarre headdress and stabbing down, cutting through its filthy robes to its heart. Darkspawn blood squirted onto her gorgeous armor, but she was oblivious, already yelling at the nearby Wynne.
"Fix them! Fix them!" Meaning Zevran and Oghren, who were sick and disoriented from their injuries. Loghain hissed as he withdrew his sword from the hurlock's heart, hoping that there would not be too many of this monster's kind to deal with. Ranger sniffed at the thing and growled. It had seemed like something more than a darkspawn: more powerful, more aggressive, and not entirely mindless.
Maude found also that it had been in possession of a remarkably large and beautiful emerald, as well as an elaborate jeweled amulet, worn around its filthy neck.
"This is nice," she said, admiring it. "This is pretty. Do you like this, Leliana?"
"Oh, how dear of you!" cried the Orlesian, snatching at it.
Riordan had quick reflexes. Loghain was impressed and amused to see how quickly he intercepted the trinket. "You are not going to wear that without a thorough cleaning, Leliana! It is reeking with Taint!"
Wynne agreed, her opinion of Riordan rapidly improving. "How very sensible of you, Riordan. Here, my dear," she told Leliana. "I will keep that for you in this pouch until we have time to cast a very hot fire spell on it."
Leliana pouted, but Riordan was adamant. Maude grinned at Loghain, vastly entertained at the spectacle. "Isn't that sweet?" she whispered to him. "Riordan's all protective of her! Leliana told me that he's very satisfactory. Just the same, we mustn't let Wynne forget about the amulet. That's Leliana's property!"
"And the emerald is yours, I take it?" he guessed.
"Well, of course! Green is my very favorite color. It's lovely, isn't it?" She held it up to her eye, enjoying the green and blue sparkles. "It's like the sunlight through the leaves in the Brecilian Forest. I'll have to be careful with it, though. Emeralds are fragile. I think I may have it set right in the middle of my tiara. It would be safe there. Or maybe in a pendant. In a ring it would just get bashed and chipped when I'm killing things."
"-and taking their stuff," he added, with a snort.
She laughed and blew him a kiss. "Just so!"
They camped again at South Reach. The wardens found shelter at the ruins of the mill. The falls of the Drakon River were not far away, and they could hear the sound of the water as a low rushing in the distance. The town itself was mostly gone, though the remaining traces indicated that it had been evacuated more effectively than Lothering. Arl Bryland, of course, was not nearly the useless coward that Bann Ceorlic had proved to be. The foulness, became denser-thicker and reeking-as they drew closer to Denerim. The horde was concentrating: drawing in upon itself for a killing blow. The horror of the West Road must be taking its toll on the army behind them. Loghain was numb to it by now, not even flinching at the sight of babies skewered on tree branches like rotten fruit.
They were weary of evil and all its works, and ate together quietly, talking now and then amongst themselves. Perhaps the most cheerful of the adventurers was Avernus, who spoke nostalgically about his youthful exploits with Sophia during the rebellion: an escape on horseback with the two of them on the same steed, Avernus firing spells at their pursuers with his staff in one hand, while clinging to Sophia's waist with the other; a cold winter with little food, and only stories and chess to raise their spirits; and battle after battle, sword and staff in perfect alliance, the duty and heritage of the Grey Wardens.
"And this is the crown of my adventures," he sighed. "I only wish Sophia were here as well."
"Yes," Maude agreed frankly. "Her sword would have been welcome. It's a shame what happened to her."
Did any of the others understand that he was not speaking of the rebellion against the Orlesians, but the forgotten rebellion against King Arland? It did not seem to Loghain that they did. They knew nothing of 'Sophia,' apparently accepting her as a long-lost warrior-companion -perhaps a lost love-that the old mage fondly recalled in this dreadful hour. And that was exactly what she was, after all, so why stir the bitterness at the bottom of memory's cup with talk of betrayal and demons and lives wasted? Riordan, indeed, frowned briefly, and seemed to come to a startled conclusion, but in the end he too kept his peace.
The old man edged closer to the other Wardens, and glanced at Leliana, who had fallen asleep, her pretty, pouting mouth slightly open. He spoke quietly, for their ears alone.
"Once the Archdemon is destroyed, and order can be restored," Avernus said, thinking it over, "there will be a great many who will have been tainted by the darkspawn. Their only hope of survival would be to submit to the Joining. Not all-not many, surely-will be suitable, but it is a way to save some from certain death." He saw Riordan's concern and his coming objections, and merely remarked, "There will be sufficient blood from both Archdemon and darkspawn, surely. The formula is known to us, though Loghain and Maude need this information as well." In hushed tones, he told them how to mix the the proper proportions, explaining that it would be unsafe to commit the instructions to paper. They were each made to repeat the steps to his satisfaction, and then he sat back, satisfaction stretching his withered lips.
Riordan agreed in the end. "As you say, not many will be suitable, and most will die, but it is at least a chance."
"Well, good," Maude said. "I hope lots of them survive. We'll need heaps of Wardens when we march to kill the rest of the Old Gods." She got up, dusting off her hands, and stepped away to chat with Morrigan.
Riordan just looked at Loghain, who shrugged. Avernus' dry chuckle was like the rattle of old bones.
Loghain rose, wanting a look at the camp's dispositions. Old habits died hard, and he wanted to know what had been done, even though he had no power to command change or improvement. It had been ordered somewhat more efficiently than at Lothering, though that was faint praise indeed. He leaned against the wall, trying not to wish for impossible things, watching the soldiers at their errands and their rest, watching the girl's allies greet her and be greeted in return.
She was still talking with Morrigan, her voice a silvery thread of comfort. The witch was brooding again, adrift from the certainties drilled into her by that abomination who had raised her. Maude was considerably taller than the witch, and bent her head to listen to her friend, concerned and calming.
"-and now you will die," Morrigan said harshly.
"Maybe," the girl agreed, at her most reasonable. "Maybe we'll all die. Thought about that? We might all die and not even get to the Archdemon, but I don't think so. Avernus has given Loghain and me this amazing potion, and I have been fighting like I'm extra-invincible ever since. I have a good feeling about this battle, and you've known me long enough to know that my good feelings are never wrong. Don't make that face-you know it's true. Anyway, I'm glad you were warned about your mother's other evil plot against you. I can't believe you were going to go through with it."
"Were you jealous? You could not bear that your prize should lie with another?"
Loghain scowled, torn between fury and elation to hear himself described as a prize: most especially as a prize to be lain with.
"Maybe. A little."
"You never intended to kill Loghain at all, did you?"
The girl looked away, very amused. She turned back to Morrigan and said, "You must have me confused with Alistair: you know, the 'tall, dim-witted one' as you once called him. It was Alistair's plan-or what passed for a plan-to kill Loghain, never mine. Aren't you glad I got Loghain for us? If I hadn't, you would have been coming to me, asking to have sex with Alistair! That would have been pretty funny, at least for me."
The witch raised her black brows. "Oh, yes, tremendously diverting. Would you have been more pliable then?"
The girl laughed, but shook her head. "I think it would have been particularly cruel, since the two of you dislike one another so much. Poor Alistair would have been warped by having his first sexual experience being essentially forced, and you-" She looked with real fondness at the witch, something that puzzled Loghain. "Have you ever had sex with someone you really liked and found attractive, Morrigan? It seems to me that pickings might have been pretty slim, out there in the Wilds."
"Does it seem so indeed?" Morrigan asked bitterly. "My mother had no trouble arranging such things for me-not from the time I was thirteen."
A silence. Maude said, with simmering anger. "I'm glad I killed her, that foul old demon. You know the things she did to you were horrible and unconscionable. If she ever tries to come back, I'll kill her again, and I'll keep killing her until she has the sense to stay dead. I want the best for you Morrigan. You're my friend. Yes-you're my sister, if it comes to that. I want you to find someone wonderful-and no, I'm not going to annoy you by talking about love, since you've been persuaded that it is imaginary-"
"-it is a weakness. You yourself have been weakened by your desire for that man-"
"Not of bit of it!" The girl said stoutly. "I'm not feeling weak at all, but full of life and hope! And that's what I want for you. I want you to meet someone clever and splendid and amusing and companionable: someone you can respect and enjoy talking to, someone who makes your heart beat faster and who makes you feel better about yourself because he is wonderful and remarkable and it proves what exquisite taste you have-"
"Don't talk such errant nonsense to me!" Morrigan said, laughing a little.
"Yes! He'll be lovely to you, and give you presents and extravagant but nicely-judged praise. Your life will be enriched by him and not diminished. He'll find the same things amusing and enjoy doing what you do..."
Morrigan laughed aloud at this. "What? 'Killing people and taking their stuff?'"
"Come on," smirked the girl. "You know you love it. You're a true battlemage, Morrigan! The very best."
Disarmed by such praise, the witch sighed and then said, once again, "You know you really could die."
Still smiling, the girl put an affectionate hand on the witch's shoulder. "I think," she said, "that to die would be an awfully big adventure."
A moment of exasperation. "Don't speak so to me!" The witch blew out another breath and looked at Maude very seriously. "Let Loghain take the final blow, all the same."
"Not a chance. The Archdemon is mine."
This caused the witch to go on about Maude's utter absence of sanity, and the girl laughed. Loghain gave them both a burning look, and slipped back into the mill. Oghren was loudly proclaiming that he wished to share the last of his 'special brew,' and Loghain knew the girl would never miss that.
The last day was the worst of all. It was as if the sun hardly dared to rise at all, and what light there was glowed red as fresh blood. Word came from the rear that the Queen required the attendance of the Grey Warden Maude. The girl was quite chipper at the summons, hastily polishing her splendid plate for the occasion.
"I daresay she wishes to address the troops-or at least the humans," Maude remarked, much amused. "Very nice and proper. Wynne spoke to the mages last night, and no doubt scolded them into stout hearts and mighty spells. Lanaya's got the elves in hand, and nobody messes with Kardol, bless him. I should go have a quick word with both of them before the Queen's ready to see me."
She strode off, looking every inch the hero that she really was. Loghain watched her, heart aching with tenderness, wishing he could go to see both her and Anora stand before the soldiers of Ferelden. It would not do. He would distract and detract from their moment, and he contented himself with climbing up into the mill to watch the scene from a distance. A platform had been hastily erected, and Anora-it must be Anora-was there: bright head a gleam of gold, her dragonbone armor turned red by the reluctant sun.
Others were climbing into the upper floor of the mill to join him. Leliana gave him a smile, and a pat on the arm. Riordan too was looking pleased as he gazed at the drama unfolding, the figures small as puppets.
The faraway bellow of hundreds of voices, and Maude was bounding up the steps to join his daughter, the light that reflected from her winged helmet and her plate a little brighter, more pellucid. She stood with tall dignity beside Anora, who was gesturing vigorously and effectively, from the shout that resounded across the plain. He had been there once himself, just as they were, and knew everything that those two girls were feeling and seeing. Anora's arm swept out, and she pointed north to the hills above Denerim.
As the lurid light brightened, they could see smoke, and the Archdemon soaring lazily over the city. The very sky appeared to be on fire. A final shout, and the army began to move. Maude gave Anora a jaunty bow, and backed away gracefully. In a moment, Loghain smiled very slightly as he saw her jogging back to her comrades...and to him.
They were ready, of course: far more ready than the shouting, posturing crowd behind them. They were leaving behind everything but the barest essentials. Today they would meet the horde, and there was no longer any need to concern themselves with tents or blankets or cooking pans. Loghain wondered where Chantry Boy was. Why had he not made an appearance? Was he sulking in his tent, like some worthless champion of old? Or perhaps Anora had found actual work for him that he could do, and he was about it. That was a much more satisfactory possibility. He might dislike Alistair, but he did not dislike him so much that he wanted him to be a bad thing for Anora, or for Ferelden.
Maude was trotting through the throngs of cheering soldiers, a hand up in salute. Her first smile was for Loghain, and he was warmed by it.
"Time to go!" she called. "Those noble idiots are running toward the city, but they wont last three miles at that pace. We'll pass them long before they reach the walls."
The ten companions-no-eleven counting the dog-fell into step together, marching undaunted to face the Archdemon and its horde.
Maude grinned back at Leliana, and to Loghain's amazement, actually began singing. After only a moment, Leliana joined in. One by one, so did they all, and Loghain hardly knew whether to smirk or shake his head when Avernus sang too, with unabashed vigor in his reedy, old man's voice:
"Oh, the Man, the Man-at-arms
Fills the spawn, fills the spawn with dread alarms,
With dread alarms.
Everywhere I hear them wail,
So find a good strong coat of mail
Perhaps you'll then prevail.
Oh, the Man, the Man-at-arms
Fills the spawn, fills the spawn with dread alarms,
With dread alarms!"
They were still singing, as they passed the winded nobles, as they joined ranks with the Legion of the Dead, as they swept the mages and the Dalish elves up in their wake. Others sang with them, right up until they reached the gates of Denerim, and saw what the darkspawn had done.
Note: Thanks for your patience while I'm suffering the just torments of the damned at work. The chapter is finally done, and I'm at work on the next. I intended to put the entire final battle in this chapter, but it was just taking too long, and I thought you'd rather have something than nothing!
Special thanks to my noble reviewers: Shakespira, Icey Cold, Nithu, Sarah1281, Mutive, Jewel Song, Piceron, Prisoner 24601, Eva Galana, Amhran Comhrac, MoralityOduality, Guile, Persephone Chiara, Lehni, Thorn of the Dead Gods, mieuwings, Chatoyant Tiger, Alpha Cucumber, Windchime68, Costin, Aoihand, ArtemysFayr, WellspringCD, Enaid Aderyn, Evalyne,Angurvddel, wisecracknmama, mille libri, Cobar713, and JackOfBladesX.
Yes, "To die would be an awfully big adventure" is shamelessly stolen from Barrie's Peter Pan.