The two Grey Wardens manning the gate narrowed their eyes as they approached them.
Just a little closer. Clarissa thought, resisting the urge to look up and gauge the distance. She squinted when the fake blood crept past her eyelids, staining her cheeks and making her eyes sing with irritation. She tightened her arm around her companion, relying on her shoulders to support her weight. Her legs sagged and limped, as if from grievous exhaustion.
"Keep it up. They seem none the wiser." A voice whispered, addressing her yet directed ahead of her.
She felt warmth, fickle but present, begin to touch her skin, the warm, seeping firelight slowly chasing away the chill of the lakeside wind. As her limbs warmed, she felt light begin to hit her, making her divert her gaze further downwards. Her eyes needed time to adjust, and it would be problematic if the guards saw through her with the aid of the oil lamps.
Katja, however, required no pretense. Her fingers, featherlike to the touch but lean and strong to the eye, tightened round Clarissa's arm for a brief moment, as if signalling her to prepare herself.
"You're not due from patrol for at least a few more hours, knife-ears. Who's that with ya?" Judging by tone, Clarissa gathered one of the guards was less than happy to see Katja.
"Valance and I stumbled upon a group of travellers some ways down the path. It looked like they were ambushed by bandits." Katja responded, raising her voice.
"An' where might that cheeky bastard be?" The guard asked. Clarissa wondered at his suspicion. What would prompt the Wardens to be so... cautious?
I suppose we'll find out soon enough.
The bond in her mind flared, and almost immediately she felt a familiar sensation tug at her, beckoning to her from within the confines of the massive fort looming in front of her.
"She's in there!" Clarissa whispered as her heart beat with renewed frenzy, filling her with an anxiety she could only barely keep under control. She wanted to dispense with all the trickery and deceit, spurn the few moments of careful planning beforehand, behead the damned guards and tear down the whole damn fort until Bethany was safe and back in her arms; What she did in reality was faking a pained groan and sagging further downwards, something that did little to pacify the storm brewing within her.
Just a little bit more...
It didn't even sound convincing to her. She was, factually, fit to burst.
Katja must have felt her tense like a coiled spring, "Stick with it. We're almost there," she whispered.
To the guard, she hollered, "He volunteered to stay behind. Play hero."
The guards' laughter betrayed their presence to be merely a few feet away, but with her head bowed and her eyes squeezed to slits, she couldn't be sure.
"Well, I suppose we'd have room for our lady friend in the infirmary. Might even give her a visit from time to time." She heard the guard snicker as the other walked back towards the gate. After a moment, she felt a ripple of magic from the gate, the spells holding the stone doors shut being disarmed. The ground shook slightly as the gate opened and, for a two-feet thick slab of stone, they were nearly silent in their movement.
"Get ready." The words slithered into her ear barely before rough, calloused hands grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked her head upwards. Even through squinted eyes, she could tell he was less than attractive, and that was putting things lightly.
"Ooh, and this one's a looker, too. Gonna have some real fun with her..." The guard breathed squarely onto her face, smelling heavily of liquor. He didn't notice Clarissa's right hand reaching behind her back.
"Say, she does have some fine armor for a traveller 'round thes-"
He was cut short as Clarissa sprang into action, left hand looping around Katja and placing her palm directly over the dumbstruck Warden's mouth, while her right hand found the dagger she was looking for, and shoved the serrated edge right into his heart without missing a beat.
She watched as his eyes bulged, the makeshift gag silencing what appeared to be a scream. She pushed the dagger deeper as she felt his heart dash itself to pieces on her blade, smiling as her rage found a temporary release.
"Since you asked, I'm from way down south." She got it out just before the Warden went limp. A muffled exclamation next to her told her that Katja was finished with her preoccupation.
She looked up and saw Katja holding her guard in a tight embrace, gagging him with her shoulder as the man whimpered. She saw him sink into the dark-skinned elf's body as she extracted her dagger from him slowly, dropping the weapon as she cradled the back of his head, lowering him slowly onto the ground. It was done with such reverence, handled with such care that Clarissa could not help but wonder at the woman.
She averted her gaze when she heard whispering in the language of the elves, an ominous mantra delivered from the living to the dying. When the whispering ceased, she looked back and saw her running her fingers over his eyes, bidding them close ever so softly.
"I'm sorry if I forced you to take the lives of your kinsmen." Clarissa said, approaching her as she stood. She wiped the crimson ink from her face with the back of her gauntlet, wanting to better study Katja's expression with clearer eyes.
Katja smiled softly. "Don't be. Had they been honest men, I would have thought twice before killing them. But after their induction into our ranks, they... changed." She gestured at the path from which they had come, signalling for Varric and Isabela to come forth.
"What do you mean, 'changed'?" Clarissa asked, hoping that the answer would shed some light on the secrecy surrounding this particular sect of Grey Wardens.
"I was brought into these Wardens some years ago, after a Darkspawn attack on my clan, the Sabrae, left me afflicted with the Taint and dying. It was also when I became..." she pointed at her blood-red eyes and gestured at her exposed, dark-grey skin, "this."
"In my time here, I've seen many a Warden come and go. For some reason, every one of our recruits survived the Joining, making our numbers far superior than those of Orlais and Ferelden despite our relative safety from the Darkspawn."
At that, Clarissa shifted her gaze to the dark interior of Falconsreach Hold, its enormous atrium occupied only by scant chairs and tables save for unmoving statues of figures clad in Grey Warden armor. As her eyes wandered, she spotted a variation in the statues' likeness at the end of the cavernous space.
In the place of an unyielding visage of steel the other statues bore on their heads, the lone statue at the end wore only a hood;
In the place of the broad, gleaming breastplate the Grey Wardens favoured was a simple, unassuming robe, sashed at the waist by a belt.
A cape flew free behind it, perpetually frozen in time and rock.
An unearthly light shone in its left hand, setting the surrounding emptiness awash with blue light.
An elegant staff, petrifying the very energy it gave off in stone, was clutched in its right hand.
"Who is that?" Clarissa asked, pointing towards the statue.
"That," Katja sighed, "is Aloysius Madred, Warden-Commander of the Free Marches and a bastard down to his very toes."
"Sounds interesting."
"Wait until you've heard this: Rumor has it that he's dabbled in blood magic. You know, the kind that gets into people's heads. There's a special chamber deep inside the fort that's neither his study nor open to us. Whenever a Warden stirs up trouble or objects to anything he's said or done, he or she gets put in there for a day." Katja said, eyes distant.
"After they come out. They become... different. The ones who complain go silent. The ones having problems with him start trying to make those problems go away."
Clarissa narrowed her eyes. That sounded suspicious. It this Madred character employed blood magic, she would have to be that much more careful.
"Have you ever been in there?" She asked.
Katja scoffed. "I got thrown in the second day." She caught Clarissa's suddenly guarded look. "Don't worry. I saw nothing in there. All I felt was my stomach threatening to implode all through the night."
Could she trust her? Maker knows she wanted to. From the scant hours she spent in this woman's company, Clarissa found her to be witty, cunning and an utterly silent menace. She would hate to have to turn on her, nor did she hold out hope that she could return from a confrontation with the archer unscathed.
"So, I guess we're in." Varric said, sounding to Clarissa as if he materialised out of nowhere and yanking her away from her doubts for a brief moment. He nudged at one of the dead guards with his boot while Isabela approached Clarissa.
"I can tell something's on your mind, and it's not your sister you're worried about." Isabela pressed her mouth to her ear and whispered, tickling her with her breath. "If she wanted to kill us, she would have put an arrow between those lovely eyes of yours the moment she saw you."
"It could be a trap." Clarissa hissed, eyes running the seemingly oblivious Warden through.
"Yeah, and she could be a Darkspawn in disguise waiting for you to clear out this nest of Grey Wardens for her. We're stuck with her for the moment, so stick with it, big girl." Isabela whispered, "Captain's orders."
She did know how to lighten the mood, at all the improper times. Clarissa took a deep breath and thanked Isabela with a paat on the pirate's shoulder, then approached Katja, who seemed to be surveying the interior of the fort.
"What's our next step?" Clarissa asked.
"Next up, we need to get the watchtower out of the way." Katja pointed at a particularly outstanding structure overlooking the atrium.
"Shouldn't we have taken care of it before we snuck through the front door?" Isabela asked.
"The tower faces inwards." Katja answered simply, shrugging when she caught the incredulous looks they threw at her. "It's a dictatorial thing."
"I'm liking this Madred character already." Isabela chuckled. "Go on, Hawke. I'll be up there keeping an eye on things."
At first glance, the wall encasing the watchtower seemed utterly vertical, with no discernible handholds.
"How are you going to get up there?" Clarissa wondered aloud.
Isabela, for her part, simply laughed and approached Clarissa, leaning in close as if to kiss her. Then, just before their lips met, Isabela averted her own and instead whispered into Clarissa's ear, voice haughty and teasing.
"Watch me."
Clarissa flinched involuntarily when a halo of smoke coalesced and enveloped her, making her blink and step backwards. When the dense smoke cleared mere moments later, the Pirate Queen was nowhere to be found.
Katja chuckled. "Now there's a nice trick."
She turned to Varric, eyes distant for a moment, as if in recollection. "Varric, the armories are over to the left, down a hallway that passes the barracks." She handed him a brass key, "this key will get you in. Any reinforcing guards will have to go through you to get to their weapons."
Varric chuckled, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. "Might do an inventory check while I'm at it. You never know what legendary hoarders like the Grey Wardens might find in the Deep Roads."
Katja turned to her after Varric departed, branching off to the left. "It's the safest place for him. The armory has a door forged out of ironwood. Even a mage would have difficulty in tearing it down."
"He always was a sucker for treasure." Clarissa observed, wiping the last remnants of the red dye off of her armor and wringing it out of her hair. The link in her mind pulsed again. She's close, much closer than before.
"You lead quite the collection of unlikely heroes." Katja mused, fitting an arrow to string and straining the bowstring experimentally.
"It's not like I have any say in the matter, yes?" Clarissa said.
"Quite right." Katja said, amusement colouring her words once more. "Come, the chamber I mentioned is in the main building. We should hurry. From hearsay, what lies within that room is less than pleasant."
Without another word, they started towards the hulking stone structure.
"Would Bethany still be in there?" It's been over a day since her arrival. If the rumors proved to be true, what horrors could Bethany have been subjected to? The thought made Clarissa shudder, but at the same time renewed the determination in her.
"I don't know," Katja said simply, "we'll find out soon enough."
"What do you mean, you don't-"
Then she felt it. Rather, she heard it, echoing in her ears as a sound only she could hear, and one only she could recognize.
The beatings of another heart, kindred and dear to her own;
The pulse of another soul, twined and inseparable to hers.
She heard footsteps ringing from the other end of the hall, the sounds of Fereldan leather boots, high, lean and distinct, clashing with stone.
But more than anything else, she felt her presence, mere meters away, empty air the only obstacle between them.
Bethany.
A lone figure emerged from behind the statue of Aloysius Madred. A young woman, by the sway of her hips and the cast of her silhouette as she walked into the embrace of moonlight. Her face was downcast, and a hood was draped overhead.
She held a staff behind her, pointing diagonally at the ground with a rigid grip. Clarissa, with a start, recognized the golden, spreadeagled sculpture of Andraste mounted at the staff's tip.
"Bethany!" Clarissa hissed, relief flooding her, overwhelming her sense of danger. Immediately, she started forward-
Only to have Katja bar her way, raising her arm and blocking Clarissa.
"What're you-"
"Something's not right." Katja shot her a sideways glance, before returning to burning a hole through the approaching woman's forehead with her intense scrutiny.
Clarissa. She called to her, making her eyes go wide.
But then, she felt it. The slight difference in its tone, the way she called her name.
Something's not right. She thought.
She was not a second too late.
The woman looked up. The hood fell back. Jet-black hair hung to her shoulders, hugging a face Clarissa would've recognized among a thousand others. But something was different. Clarissa saw it, her heart stopped, her body stiffened and her blood froze over.
Gone were the lucid, honey-brown eyes she knew and loved. In its place, she saw, without doubt or question, demonic, purple light.
Still, she approached.
/Not too long, not too short. Just right. Right?
RIGHT?
Anyway, depending on tomorrow, I will either have a lot of time for writing next week or very little. *SAVING GAME, PLEASE DO NOT TURN OFF WHATEVER IT IS YOU'RE PLAYING ON*
Night: This is so much better than a massacre, right? *Runs for cover*
Spike: I wish I could. Computer agrees with me. I tried strangling it to death, but it didn't work. Oh yeah, and there's one particular badass within their ranks. Take a guess.
Artman: The hardest fight is the fight within. I'm seriously considering it, but I don't want to write a fix-it despite EA screwing over what could've been the best five minutes of my life.
And to all of you out there: Drop by and say hello! I appreciate those who've stuck with my at-times-god-awful chapters, and I appreciate even more those who fuel my all-consuming urge to write even more!/