"If this plan of yours actually works, I will have to make sure to employ it next time that I plan on storming a Ferelden fortress."
Zevran's calm attitude about the whole affair was doing nothing to help Aedan's deteriorating composure. In fact, Zevran's calm glibness was more irritating than anything else. "You make a habit of storming Ferelden fortresses?"
"No. Well, at least, not the sort filled with angry guards." He chucked at his own innuendo and it took all of Aedan's self restraint not to groan. "It would have been good to know that if I wanted to assassinate one of your countrymen ever again, all I would have to do is bring a dog along." Falonfen whined and shot Zevran a baleful look from his spot at the front of their little group, giving a disappointed huff.
Aedan had only heard snippets of Zevran's involvement with the Wardens and how he came to be a companion. "Why exactly does Theron keep you around?"
"Because I am just that charming, yes?" Zevran winked but Aedan was not amused in the slightest. Realizing that he was intent on being no fun, Zevran sighed dramatically in a defeated sort of way. "At first, I was collateral, should the Crows ever come for the Wardens again. Eventually I convinced him that I was a poor bargaining chip, and he found that I was more useful in a fight than I was doing my best impression of a sack of potatoes. We have been the best of friends ever since."
"Best of friends?" Aedan's tone of disbelief was almost sharp enough to cut with. " I have a hard time believing that Theron is best of friends with much of anyone, honestly. Let alone someone who's tried to kill him."
"Ah, but that is because you do not know him." Zevran smiled in an I know something you don't know sort of way. "But, this conversation will have to pick up later. We've a fortress to infiltrate, yes?"
He was right of course. Fort Drakon loomed before them, a silent overseer of all of Denerim. It could be seen from anywhere in the city if one simply looked up at the sky, and its presence was an intimidating symbol of power of the ancient Magisters, now converted to a high security prison by the Arl of Denerim. Aedan, Zevran and the mabaris walked through the courtyard, earning curious stares from the soldiers patrolling the walls and the yard. They met no resistance however, until a door with two sentries blocked the way forward.
"Let me handle this." Aedan mumbled under his breath, and Zevran fell a step back, walking in a subordinate position behind Aedan.
One of the men straightened up a little, eyeing the two. "State your business." He sounded slightly irritated, but mostly bored. Good. They weren't on the look out for a prison break.
"Mabaris for the kennels." Aedan replied gruffly, just irritated enough to sound impatient.
"You're a mabari trainer?" The second guard asked, eyeing Zevran suspiciously.
Falonfen growled low in his throat, eyeing the guard. "Yes." Aedan replied, as if the man were wounding his honor with his idiotic question. "And these dogs are to go to the kennel master, unless you're wanting a demonstration first. These hounds are war-trained and seven kinds of mean. They can practice on your arse if you want." Keran wagged his tail as if this sounded like a perfect idea to him, then bared his teeth and barked several times, putting the fear of the Maker in the sentry.
"Alright, alright! I'll get the captain!" The man replied while his companion laughed, glad not to be on the receiving end of a mabari's wrath. "Just get them to calm down or something."
"Heel." Aedan gave the command in a quiet clipped tone and both the dogs ceased their barking, looking at him with wagging tails.
The display was enough for the harried sentry and he opened the door behind him, escorting the four inside the fort itself. When they got to an empty hallway, the man stopped briefly. "Wait here, I'll get the Captain." He left them there in the hall, walking further into the Fort.
"I figured that Howe would be incompetent, but this goes beyond all my expectations." Aedan grumbled under his breath, Keran butting his thigh with his head and whining gently.
Zevran cocked his eyebrow at that. "You did not expect this to work?"
For the first time since staring this quest, Aedan smiled. "Not so easily, at any rate."
That got a chuckle out of the Antivian. "I like your style. Let us see how exciting this gets."
The Captain strolled into the hallway shortly after, looking grumpy and slightly put out. "Alright, what's this all about?"
At seeing the new man enter, the two hounds turned and started barking, stopping the man up short where he stood. "Dogs for the kennels." Aedan supplied to the man's startled look, secretly amused that bringing along the two dogs had provided the opportunity to let him see the city's best guards wet themselves with fright.
"Are those pure bred mabaris?" The Captain asked, keeping a respectful distance from the hounds with a small sense of admiration. "Take them on through. But when you get down there, tell Neville I want a word with him. Bloody houndmaster never tells me nothing…" Grumbling the man walked off, trusting the two to lead themselves to the kennels, obviously having better things to do than to oversee an unscheduled shipment of mabari hounds.
Once the Captain was out of earshot, Zevran chuckled. "Seems that you should have had more confidence in this scheme of yours."
Aedan rolled his eyes. "If we get out of this mess, I am petitioning whoever the next fool Arl takes control of this fort to have all of these morons court marshaled. Or fired. Or something."
Zevran chuckled again and followed Falonfen, who had his nose to the ground and was sniffing his way through the fort. "If all of the nobility were like you, people like me would have a much tougher job."
"I'm not quite sure that's a bad thing." Aedan replied dryly, following the two mabaris. They were led to a large room with a high ceiling, soldiers milling about seemingly aimlessly, the four corners of the room taken up by large ballista. Aedan stopped, gaping at the massive weapons. "I take it back. They should all be hanged. Who puts ballistae inside a fort? What are they using them for? Agility exercises? 'Today's training exercises will involve us shooting all the new recruits. Those who survive will get a pint at the Noble tonight!'" Aedan shook his head, obviously disgusted. "Andraste's tangled nose hairs, I should have killed Howe slower. This was probably his idea."
Zevran was only half listening as he looked over the string of opposition facing them. In particular he was contemplating the woman who seemed to be posted outside of a large door on the opposite side of the space, which seeing as it was the only door, was probably the way that they needed to go. That would pose a problem. He hadn't given up on searching out other options when he noticed a pair of guards that didn't seem to be guarding much of anything, instead quietly talking to each other, one of them eyeing the woman at the door when he thought the other wasn't looking. A grin crooked up the corner of his lips, knowing a target when he saw one. "I have an idea to get us past that door. Wait here a moment."
Aedan hadn't followed the assassin's train of thought, so watched with some confusion as the elf went up to the two armed men and started a conversation with them. He looked to Keran as if the dog could answer, but he only wagged his tail and panted, watching the goings on with mild amusement. Well, at least someone was enjoying this.
The conversation Zevran was having with the guards quickly dissolved into a shouting match, and before he knew what was going on the two soldiers were in a fistfight, trading punches and an impressive repertoire of curses. The other soldiers started gathering around the fight, cheering and jeering and the woman at the door was drawn away from her post, intent on breaking up the fight. Zevran gestured for Aedan to cross the room and he skirted the ring of soldiers that had gathered around the ring. The four of them were behind the door quickly, not wanting to get caught when the woman who had been guarding it managed to break the two up.
Once they were past the door and inside the fort, things were easier. The soldiers patrolling the halls appeared not to care about the mabaris leading the mismatch pair of Aedan and Zevran, the both of whom were doing their best to look like nothing at all was out of the ordinary. The barracks became the prison, and it was there that they met their first opposition. A soldier patrolling saw them and asked with a suspicions tone what they thought they were doing there, didn't they know the kennel was in the next hall over? His inquiries were quickly put to rest when Falonfen darted forward and took the man's legs right out from under him, Keran following in quick pursuit and put an end to the man's pained cries by ripping out his throat.
Their enemy vanquished, the two hounds split off in opposite directions, Falonfen barking happily with stubby tail wagging toward one of the prison cells while Keran went down the stairs to what appeared to be a torture and inquisition pit. Zevran followed the Warden's dog and Aedan followed his own, heading down into the pit. Above them he heard the quiet voice of Alistair exclaiming over his nudity and why Maker why did it have to be Zevran of all people to find him that way?
Keran ignored that, instead sniffing his way over to the base of a log rack with bodies piled on it. He sat down and stared, whining gently and looking over at Aedan following along behind curiously.
"What is it?" Aedan asked, looking over the corpses of people who had obviously been tortured before being allowed to die, his stomach churning uncomfortably at the sight. He was about to grab Keran's collar and take him out of the pit when a shock of bright orange hair caught his attention. He moved closer, a feeling of dread welling up into his throat until it was hard to breathe. Amongst the corpses was a face he knew, the shock of orange hair belonging to Roderick Gilmore. He was barely recognizable, his flesh discolored with bruises old and new, dark patches of blood and burns making an arrangement of pockmarks all over his body. His arm was laying over the rack at an awkward angle, obviously disjointed or broken. Aedan reached out and gently closed the young man's eyes, his hands trembling as he did so. This is how Rory had met his end? After successfully holding off Howe's men for just long enough that Aedan could make an escape despite his protests, this had been his reward?
At the top of the stairs Alistair had managed to find some pants and a shirt, and he along with Zevran and Falonfen were ready to beat a hasty retreat. "There is nothing you can do for them any longer." Zevran called from the top of the stairs, ignoring the fact that Aedan was shaking. "We must go now before we are found."
Aedan took Rory's arm and laid it over his chest, clamping down on his anger. "Thank you, old friend." He whispered to the corpse, stepping back just far enough to see another familiar face amongst the dead; Mother Mallol, a woman he'd known for the better part of his life, left in only her smalls and just as harshly treated as Rory had been. He turned deliberately from the sight, clenching his fists until his nails drew blood and wished desperately that he had a sword to impale somebody with. He wished that he could have drawn out Howe's death longer. It hadn't been nearly enough for this.
"Where is Solona?" He snapped with undue bitterness at Alistair who took a cautious step backwards, seeing clearly the murder in Aedan's eyes.
For all his cheeky pluck, Alistair did not want to answer Aedan's question. Not. At. All. He knew the answer wasn't one that the young noble was going to want to hear, and after having a lot of bad news already thrown on him, this just very well might have been the straw that broke the horse's back. Zevran arched an eyebrow at him and made gestures that were supposed to encourage him to speak, but it only made Alistair even more nervous. With a loud gulp and another step backward, Alistair prepared to run for his life. "I don't know."
"What?!" His voice bordered on a roar and if Aedan had his swords with him, he would have drawn them. "What do you mean you don't know?"
To his credit, Alistair didn't balk from Aedan's uncorked rage, but instead stood his ground. "Look, when that mage-thingy-woman had me down, I couldn't do a whole lot. She was a lot stronger than any other the other mages that we've faced, and I didn't even really become a Templar." He waited a handful of seconds for Aedan to get his composure back before continuing. "I don't think she's dead though. I think the scary lady took her."
At hearing that Aedan seemed to deflate and turned away from Alistair, pacing the top stair back and forth. "Maker's bloody bollocks!" He spat, continuing to pace.
"Well, look, we're not going to accomplish anything here." Alistair dared not try and stop Aedan from pacing, still keeping his distance lest he lash out unexpectedly. "Can we get out of the fort now and do the pacing thing later? You know, when there isn't a fort full of enemies waiting to skewer us or anything."
Keran was brave enough to try and stop Aedan from pacing, tugging on the hem of his shirt until he stopped mid-step and glared at the mabari who only gave a quiet growl in return. Heaving a frustrated sigh and desperately wanting to punch something, Aedan stalked away from the stairs. "Let's go."
•º•.•º•
Consciousness was a fleeting thing. It floated to her in waves, and she became aware of snippets of conversation and her surroundings, only to forget when she succumbed again to the spell that bound her.
Darkness. Her fingers tingled. Something was missing. A low buzz in the back of her head….
Solona managed to open her eyes, her vision blurry and warped as if she looked through a jar of water that was constantly in motion. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the dizzy sensation to pass before opening her eyes again and found that she was in a dungeon of some sort. It was silent and dark in the stone cell, the flickering of a torch somewhere far along the hall outside of her prison the only light available. It smelled like damp and mold down here, and she became aware of her hands dangling above her head, accounting for the tingling of her fingers. The weight of her armor was gone too, leaving her in the thin cotton shirt and wool padding. Briefly she wondered who had undressed her and then decided that it didn't particularly matter. Her bigger concern was the wounds that she had accrued despite the armor. Not knowing how to wear it had made her particularly vulnerable in the chaotic scuffle and quite a number of blood stains had soaked through the shirt and her pants.
She tried to reach for her magic and test her manacles for their strength but found that the Fade eluded her. With a rising swell of panic she wondered if her captors had managed to tranquil her, but reassured herself that if she could worry about such things then there was no way she had been cut off from the Fade completely. Perhaps she had been drugged with magebane? Whatever the cause, she could only feel the barest flutter of the Fade against her consciousness, not enough to summon any spells or call on her Spirit to ask for help.
For a few minutes she did nothing but sit against the stone wall, collecting her thoughts. How had she arrived here? All she could remember was falling to the ground in Denerim estate…
The blood mage! For a wild second Solona tried to stand but was hampered by her chains. She collected herself again and tugged on the restraints, the metal pulling at her skin and rubbing it raw and then she knew that there was no way she was getting out without magic and surrendered to that reality. But why had she been spared? Solona thought for sure that the battle in the estate was going to be her last. If no one had slew her right there in the foyer, then there had been no doubt in her mind that she would have been taken by Templars to be executed. But this was an entirely unexpected outcome. Why had she been spared?
Time stretched on and the minutes rolled into each other. Solona continued trying to test her magic, but the magebane was not wearing off as quickly as she would have liked. It was perhaps an hour later when the silence was broken by the creaking of a door and the sound of footsteps. Solona stilled, knowing that there were probably only a handful of reasons that her captors would come down, and she didn't like the thought of any of them. Briefly she considered pretending that she was asleep, but decided against it. Better to face her captors head on then make herself unnecessarily vulnerable. With a great effort she hefted herself to her feet, pulling on the chains and using the wall behind her for support until she could stand on her own, the manacles giving her only a small amount of room to maneuver.
The torch light came closer until a man stood outside her cell, his face hidden behind an iron mask typical of the slavers that they had fought before. Her real captor appeared next, the magister rounding the corner and peered through the bars with mild interest. In the scant light of the torches the woman looked a fair deal older than she had before in the estate during the battle, as if she were only a couple of years away from becoming a corpse. The crow's feet around her eyes were deeply lined and her lips seemed to be turned down in a permanent frown. The woman seemed to be determined to counter her physical flaws with a determined application of heavy makeup. Her eyes were shadowed with a shine of bright silver and her lips almost the same iridescent turquoise of her robe, a vibrant turquoise color accented with a high collar of raven feathers that haloed her head. Perhaps it was a trending style in the Imperium, but to Solona she just looked like an overstuffed bird that Orlesians were known to keep in their walled gardens.
The magister had been looking over her prisoner as well, noting with interest the spark of determination in her eyes, the glint of anger. It came as something of a surprise that the girl wasn't trembling in fear, but then again it was entirely possible that this backwater low-class mage had no idea what she was up against. She was a pretty young thing and would probably fetch a good price if she could be kept healthy on the way back home, a good sign in the way of beginning to pay off her debts. "Tell me your name." Denailah commanded in an imperious tone that brooked no argument, the barest hint of power rolling through her words.
For a brief second Solona considered lying or outright refusing just on principle. The power in the woman's words alone convinced her otherwise though, reasoning that there was no point when she couldn't draw on her magic to defend herself from repercussions. "Solona."
"Have you a family name?" Denailah asked. "Or does your Chantry forbid such things?"
She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, biting down on the urge to give a sarcastic response in reply. "Amell. Why do you care?"
The magister smiled, leaning toward the bars. "For my records, of course." Her tone indicated that her response should have been obvious in the extreme. "Mages are a much more rare thing to come across in my line of business. It is always a good idea to keep a proper record of these sort of things. Now, Solona, tell me how you came to learn blood magic."
"Why does it matter?" She shot back, not even bothering to deny the fact that she knew some blood magic. The magister was obviously an experienced mage and had guessed right away at what Solona was. Even if the Magister hadn't figured it out with whatever mind powers she might have, then the scars on her palms would have been easy enough to discern if she knew what she was looking for.
Denailah narrowed her eyes, her fingers clenching her left palm as a warning: she had absolutely no qualms about using blood magic and would do so freely against Solona if she had to. "Do not be coy. I've no patience for it."
The desire to lie in rebellion swamped her again, and Solona nearly gave into it. Biting her lip, she tried to reach for her magic again but found only the same amount of success as before. Whatever drug had been used on her was still frustratingly in her system. She took a steadying breath and decided to find out how far she could stretch the truth in order to delay whatever the two had planned for her. "I was taught by a Pride demon. An extremely powerful one."
The magister looked skeptical. "Then you are an abomination?"
Solona made a disapproving noise in the back of her throat. "If I were, I would have simply melted through the bars and eaten you and your cronies for the fun of it. No, I killed my demon with the skills it taught me when the payments started getting annoying." She did her best to load her tone with as much contempt as possible, shooting for arrogance.
The declaration gave Denailah some pause as she considered the statement, then a slow smile curved the corner of her painted red lips. "You are a willful one, aren't you?" She purred, her voice taking on a distinctly musical quality. She held out her hand and the slaver standing next to her handed over a key. The door to her cell swung open on squealing hinges and Denailah took a step inside, her steps flowing and graceful as she walked. "Very pretty. And a decently powerful mage."
Solona was not amused nor enthralled by the woman, instead keeping a hawk's eye on her from her position chained to the wall. Underneath the calm visage however she was just barely reigning in on her panic. Her desperate bids to make contact with the Fade were coming to naught and she had the unfortunate notion that the magister knew it.
Denailah stopped barely a handbreadth away from where Solona stood, a cruel smile on her face. "Your little band has been doing a fantastic job of killing my apprentices. Perhaps you would like a chance at the glory of a magister?" Her fingers trailed along the length of Solona's thigh, leaving an unpleasant tingle against her bare skin where the material had been ripped earlier, teasing a long bloody slash from an arrow. Solona cringed and backed against the wall to escape the magister's touch. Denailah only smiled. "Come now, surely you are far too pretty to be unspoiled." She slammed a palm into Solona's shoulder, dipping her face close so that their lips nearly touched. "What do you say? Give up this dog-lord country and come to the Imperium. I could use a lovely, loyal servant. Some fresh blood, as the old adage goes."
She could barely breathe, choked by the magister's perfume this close. "Maker spit on you."
The coy look on Denailah's face slipped for just a second, then she smiled again and stood back, drawing a small knife from an elaborate pearl sheath at her hip. "Well, I didn't expect you to give in right away. The only remarkable thing about you dirty Fereldans is your tenacity and strange sense of honor. But I think that you'll come to see my side of it." Her blade cut a fine line in her palm, the red glow of blood magic seeping along her form like a lover. "Of course, I had hoped that this would be easy, but you've shown a certain amount of tenacity in resisting my magic. So this is how we're going to play."
With her bleeding palm extended, Denailah stepped forward and cupped Solona's cheek with both hands and kept her from flinching away. "I am going to break you." She whispered, obviously delighted. "Slowly." The magic flooded into her, pouring over her like being thrown in an icy cold river. Solona gasped at the strength of it, her body revolting at the mental invasion. She tried to scream, mustering the tatters of her willpower in a feeble defense against Denailah. "Yes, fight!" She laughed, pressing Solona against the wall, easily deflecting Solona's pitiful attempt. "Fight until you realize that it's useless, hopeless! Until you realize that you can't defeat me, that you are powerless and that your only choice is to give in."
Solona wrenched against her bindings, desperately trying to buck Denailah off of her but the magister would not budge. The magic continued to flow into her, searing her and Denailah's voice was in her head, whispering taunts and promises. "NO!" She screamed, struggling against her bindings, wearing her wrists raw. "I will not fall… to you!" The manacles dug into her wrists, tearing the skin and fresh blood welled from the ragged wound. With it came an explosion of magic that made the very stones of their cell tremble, the concussive blast almost deafening.
Denailah seemed stunned for a second, her eyes wide with surprise. Solona's magic beat at her, the desperation-tinged magic clawing at her consciousness for purchase. The two women's gazes met, then Denailah looked down at Solona's arms to see her wrists bloodied by her struggling against the manacles and smiled. "This is good. Even without the Fade to assist you, you know what the power of your blood can do. This is very good. I had expected less." She took her bloodied palm off of Solona and stepped back, the look of relief washing over the younger mage's face so profound that she looked on the verge of collapse. The assault ceased immediately on Denailah once the physical contact was broken, and she arched an eyebrow. "Is that all you can muster? Do you have no strength to continue?"
Solona was breathing heavily, the taxing effect of using blood magic without any assistance from Fade magic taking its toll on her. "Get back here and we'll find out." She hissed, leaning against the wall for support.
The magister felt her brow arch higher. "Attack me from there."
"What?" Solona got her breath, staring at the magister as if she were crazy. "I'm not doing anything you want."
"I said ATTACK!" Denailah mustered another wave of mental assault and threw it at Solona, bearing down on her and was more than happy to see the uppity mage squirm in torment, the blood on her wrists pooling under the metal and leaking off of her fingers, dripping on the ground. But there was no response, no flare of magic. She reached out and placed her palm on Solona's neck and the response was instantaneous, the furious magic hitting her like a horse at full gallop. She jerked back her hand and stared, rubbing her palm. "Interesting."
With a sweep of her skirts Denailah turned and passed a quick heal spell over the small cut in her palm. "Make sure to slip her more magebane, Rothair." The soldier at the door silently nodded, looking at Solona through the slots in his visor. "As for you…" The magister turned, a smile quirking her iridescent lips. "We will pick this up where we left off later."
The cell door clanged behind her with a squeal of metal on rusty metal and the two left, taking the light with them. Solona stood against the wall, gasping for air and simply stared at the door until the light disappeared all together, leaving her alone in complete darkness and dreading what the days following would hold for her. She could only slip down the wall into a sitting position and pray that Aedan and Kallian found her before the magister won and managed to break her. She was afraid. The first sob was a surprise to her, but she gave in a cried to the stone walls, taking some measure of comfort in feeling sorry for herself.
One of these days I'm going to do something the easy way, and you lot will riot. But I'm alive, drugged up, and ready to face Christmas. Speaking of which, merry holidays to you all, whatever you celebrate!
We're nearing chapter 50, 200,000 words, and 200 reviews, so I think I'm going to have another special chapter of fun planned here soon to celebrate. I want to thank everyone who's read, reviewed, watched and followed this story, I really do. Your support keeps me honest and wanting to push through writer's block. My special thanks goes out to you guys out there who have been on board since the beginning and weathered through the long hiatus. Thanks for sticking it out guys!
Mushy stuff aside, suggestions for a 200k celebration? We're getting perilously close to the Landsmeet, the final show down, and ultimately the end. Also, special internet cookies to the 200th reviewer!