37. A Good Old-Fashioned Tavern Brawl

Finian jumped as a tray laden with tankards landed heavily on the table in front of him. Garott was settling into the seat across from his.

"The bad news?" the dwarf said. "There's a Blight coming, no one can afford any food, and there's still no free rooms in the inn. The good news? There's still booze."

Finian chuckled, and stopped rubbing his sore leg to lift one tankard in toast. "To there always being booze." Garott grinned wryly and tapped his drink against Fin's. Both took a gulp, and Fin immediately coughed, then laughed.

"Yep," Garott said, wiping his mouth. "Awful swill. Makes me a little homesick, actually."

The mages both eyed the tray dubiously. Morrigan took a sniff of the air and wrinkled her nose disdainfully. Kazar, however, experimentally picked up one of the other tankards and studied it as one would a piece of jewelry of questionable authenticity.

The mage sipped it, and then jerked away as if burned and started spitting. "Demons' teeth! People willingly drink this?!" Garott and Finian both laughed.

Through a clever combination of intimidation, smooth-talking, and Morrigan transforming into a rat and nipping at some toes (mostly the last one), the group had managed to commandeer a table in the Dane's Refuge. It was along the wall under the balcony, making it crowded as well as small. There was enough room for one person on each side… which made it awkward, considering there were six of them.

Meila had showed no interest in the table, fortunately. She leaned against the nearby wall, stiff as a tree as her eyes darted around the room. Morrigan and Kazar milled next to the table, whispering to one another what were most likely snide comments on both their parts about the other customers in the tavern.

The Refuge was as packed as the rest of the village. Most tables were crowded with ragged refugees who were fortunate enough to be able to afford a table, though Fin did spot a couple armed figures, some priests, and even what appeared to be a Templar conversing with a knight.

At Kazar's exclamation, Percival roused, raising his head off the tabletop. He'd slunk into the tavern about two minutes after the rest of them, wordlessly slumping into the seat next to Finian. Now, he picked up a tankard and downed it all in a couple long gulps. Only as he set the empty tankard back down did he make a face in reaction.

"That is… truly awful."

"My cousin, Shianni, says that with drinks like this, getting drunk is a reward for getting it down."

Garott leaned back in his chair and arched a brow. "This cousin get kidnapped?"

Finian laughed and went in for another sip. "Actually, yes."

"Ah. I'd wondered."

"Drinks that aren't mostly dregs taste better," Percival informed Kazar, who was glaring at his tankard as if it had insulted him. "The best is a good wine. Something with a bit of sweetness, or, even better, spice, and a kick, but still subtle." His eyes went distant, and he fidgeted with his empty mug. "I used to help Fergus—my brother—sneak bottles up from the wine cellar, back when he was courting his wife. Oriana was Antivan and therefore foreign, so, of course, Father didn't approve. So Fergus made me, the baby brother of twelve, his accomplice, and favored me with a sip of what I'd brought as a reward." Percival twirled the tankard, smiling sadly. "He got me rather addicted to the stuff, I'm afraid. From those days on, I associated wine with illicit romantic entanglements, much to my father's simultaneous chagrin and amusement down the road."

It was more than Finian was used to hearing Percival say about the past. The pickpocket wondered if the noble even knew he was speaking aloud.

"I take it you must have had your own share of such… entanglements, then?" Morrigan said with an arched eyebrow. Finian sipped his mug, hiding a twinge of far more interest in Percy's answer than he really ought to have.

Percival chuckled darkly, setting the tankard down. "Let us just say that the Cousland castle wine cellar now has more blank spots than not." Then, any mirth dropped off his face, and he growled. "That is, if he hasn't made off with the entire stores by now."

The others looked on quizzically, but Finian had an idea of who Percival was referring. When they'd met King Cailan, Percy had spoken of an Arl Howe who had betrayed his family, and he'd injected such hatred and rage into that name that Finian felt an empathetic spark of anger for his sake.

Now, seeing the anger and grief churning in the noble's eyes, Fin reached over and patted his shoulder.

"Well, well, well. What have we here?" A low voice said nearby, and the Wardens looked up to see two armored men approaching their table.

The other one sneered, "It looks like an armored elf, a shady-looking dwarf, and a man with a Highever shield on his back."

"Looks like we just need the man with the Templar shield and vacant eyes, and we'll have the complete set." Finian noticed the way their hands hovered over their weapons. Oh boy.

"Whoa, wait a second," Finian said, and they glanced down at him with the casual contempt many humans reserved for elves. That would make this harder. "Sers, sorry if we've offended, but is there a problem here?"

"I'd say there's a problem," the second man snapped. "You're Grey Wardens. The exact Grey Wardens Teyrn Loghain appointed us to watch the roads for."

"You have a problem with Grey Wardens?" Kazar snapped, eyes narrowing.

"You lured the king into a trap to die," the first man growled in a low bass. "You betrayed him, and now—"

"What?!" Percival roared, leaping to his feet. "How dare you accuse us of betraying Cailan! The real traitor is Loghain!"

"We were there! We saw what happened!"

"Then you are obviously blind. Or what else do you call quitting the field when the king was depending on his reinforcements?"

"Loghain recognized the trap for what it was. If he had sent us in, we would have all died too."

"Or we would have won, and the Blight would be over, instead of coming through the Wilds, nipping at our heels!"

The rest of the tavern had gone deathly silent but for the stand-off between the two. Even the minstrels on the second level had stopped playing.

"Percy…" Finian hissed, trying to get his friend's attention. But the human was out of his reach, and his leg throbbed too much for Fin to be able to stand and approach either man.

"You don't deny you're Grey Wardens, then," the second man said. He started to draw his mace, but Meila was then behind him, pressing her hunting knife against the back of his neck.

"We are all Grey Wardens," she said coldly. "And the human speaks true. We did not betray your king."

"I've have enough of these lies!" cried the first of Loghain's men. "Kill them all!"

With that, there was the hiss of steel as two tables on opposite sides of the tavern, with three armored men apiece, rose to their feet and armed themselves. Percival whipped his shield from his back and pulled out his longsword with a feral growl, and Finian saw Meila duck under a mace blow from the man she had been menacing.

Finian tried to stand up, but his leg throbbed sharply as soon as it touched the floor, and Morrigan had already taken up her staff (his makeshift walking stick) to wield it against one of the approaching trios. He hissed in pain, then noticed the fire crawling up Kazar's arms. The mage looked at the trio Morrigan wasn't attacking with a smirk of anticipation.

"No collateral damage," Finian thought it prudent to warn the other elf.

Kazar glanced sidelong at him with some annoyance. "But-"

"No collateral damage. This is the only eating establishment in town. Do you want to live off hard tack even here?"

Kazar growled, but nonetheless dispelled the fire in his hands. Instead, he swept his hands forward, conjuring a sheet of ice across the ground that crawled up the enemies' legs, freezing them in place. Garott emerged from the shadows underneath a table behind them, and promptly smacked one in the back of the neck with his hand-axe, laying him out.

On the other side, a giant spider was darting among the other trio, and it took Finian a moment to realize that spider was Morrigan. She jumped up on tables, and at one point climbed the wall, to dodge the soldiers' sweeping blades. One soldier's arm was stuck to the staircase banister by a clump of webbing.

All the while, Percival engaged the leader with sword whirling. He moved with the ease and precision of a dancer, even while his eyes were hot and clouded with that anger that sometimes overtook him.

Meila wasn't faring quite as well. She ducked and dodged to try to keep out of range of her opponent's mace, but he kept closing in. Knowing that Meila worked best when given some distance, Finian popped his daggers out of their wrist sheaths, and threw one into the side of the man's neck. He thanked all those nights spent sneaking out to practice that it actually connected, though it didn't sink in very far.

It served to distract the man, though. He turned toward Finian, ripping the dagger out of his neck and tossing it aside. In three steps, he had advanced on Finian and took a swipe at his head. The elf attempted to jump back, out of the chair, but his leg buckled as soon as he put weight on it. He tumbled to the tavern floor, and the man looming above him smirked in triumph.

Then, a sword swung in low from one side, and Finian saw the knight he'd noticed earlier taking the soldier's legs out from under him. A moment later, there was a Dalish arrow in the back of his neck, and the soldier began coughing and wheezing, obviously choking on it.

Finian winced and scooted across the ground toward the soldier. He then used his remaining dagger to properly put the man out of his misery. Once that was done, a gauntleted hand reached down and helped Finian to his feet. He nodded his thanks to the knight, leaning on the stranger while his bad leg bucked and trembled under him.

The rest of the fight seemed to be proceeding in a similar fashion. The knight's Templar friend had joined the fight alongside Morrigan, facing off against two soldiers at once while the Morrigan-spider darted in to gnaw on their backs. Meanwhile, lightning streaked across the room as Kazar fought off two simultaneously, though Garott kept getting between the soldiers and the mage with his dagger and axe, never letting them get in sword range of the magical powerhouse. As Finian watched, an arrow sprouted from the chestplates of one of those enemies, telling Fin what Meila was up to.

Percival, however, stood against the leader alone, the pair cleaving out an empty spot in the crowded tavern as they fought wildly. As Finian watched, Percival smashed his shield into the other man, sending him stumbling back, then followed it with a stab that would have been lethal, had the soldier not deflected it off his own shield. The stab was returned, but Percival batted it aside with a growl.

Lightning streaked from Kazar, who had downed his opponents, to the one the Templar was fighting, and then Morrigan pounced upon the last of her group and bore him to the ground, shredding his armor to pieces with her mandibles.

Percival surged forward, smashing into his opponent once again and moving too quickly for the soldier to get his guard back up. Just like that, the leader was on his knees with the noble's sword at his throat.

"Okay, okay! You win!" the man gasped.

Finian's heart jumped in his throat when he saw the expression on Percival's face, and realized that the human had no intention of stopping there. "Percy, no! He's surrendering!"

Percival growled ferally, and for a moment, Finian thought he'd ignore the words and kill the man anyway. Finian tried to step forward, but could only groan and clutch onto the nameless knight as his leg gave out again.

But then, Percival tossed sword and shield on the floor with a clatter, and reached down to pick up the soldier by the front of his chestplate. He slammed the man into the nearest wall with such gusto that dust fell from the rafters.

"You take a message to Loghain," Percy growled, an inch from the other man's nose. The soldier could only nod, obviously terrified of what he was seeing in the noble's eyes. "You tell him that the Grey Wardens know what really happened. And we will not stand idly by while the debt of all those deaths at Ostagar remains uncollected. You tell him that we are coming for him. Is that clear?"

The man nodded again, wide-eyed. Percival held him to the wall for a couple seconds more. Then, he contemptuously dropped his prisoner and stooped to pick up his sword and shield. The leader and the two soldiers left alive scurried out of the Refuge without another word.

Fin bit back a shiver that wasn't entirely fear as Percy's darkened gaze swept past him. The noble certainly was… intense in the heat of battle. Dangerously so.

There was a clatter and a thump, and Garott climbed on a table and addressed the rest of the tavern. Unsurprisingly, everyone was staring, either fascinated by or afraid of the battle that had broken out in their midst.

"Anyone else have a problem with Grey Wardens?" Garott rumbled flatly to their silent audience. This prompted the staring faces to turn hurriedly back to their business, and sound slowly began to emerge in pockets around the tavern again.

The minstrels were starting to play again as the knight helped walk Finian back to his seat.

"Thank you, for that," Fin said. "I'd be two halves of an elf instead of a whole one, if not for you."

The knight smiled wryly. "They were obviously the aggressors, and it looked like you and your friends could use the help."

"We were doing just fine," Kazar said, moving to lean back against the wall with arms crossed. The rest of the Wardens were converging back on the original table as well.

"I'm sure you were," the Templar said, following now-human-Morrigan back to the group. His dark eyes narrowed under brown brows as his gaze darted between the two mages. "Am I to understand that both of you are Grey Wardens, and not just apostates using them for protection?"

"You can 'understand' whatever you like," Morrigan said dismissively. "You stepped in to help us, after all. We owe you no explanation."

"Henric," the knight said calmly, "we're not here for that." The knight turned back to the group. "I am Ser Donall of Redcliffe, and this is my travelling companion, Ser Henric. We've no quarrel with the Wardens."

The Templar nodded, lips still pressed together.

"I'm Finian," the elf said, gingerly lowering himself back into his vacated seat. "And these are Garott, Percival, Kazar, Morrigan, and Meila." He met Donall's eyes questioningly. "Is it true, then? Loghain has declared us traitors?"

"Yes."

"That bastard," Percy growled, slamming a fist on the table as he sat down. Finian laid a hand on his arm to calm him.

"We don't believe it, for what it's worth," Donall assured him. "Nor did my lord, before he took ill. Truth be told, one of my comrades was recruited into the Wardens not long ago."

"Ser Jory," Finian guessed.

Donall looked surprised, then smiled. "Yes. You know him?"

"He was recruited in the same wave we were." He paused, feeling his heart sink at the man's hopeful expression. "I'm sorry. He didn't make it."

Kazar made a disgusted noise, and Fin hoped he didn't mention the manner of Ser Jory's death.

Donall's face fell, but then turned wry. "We'd thought as much, when we heard what happened at Ostagar. Though, like I said, we have doubts about Teyrn Loghain's version."

"Good on you." Garott had slipped back into his original seat across from Fin. "Have a drink on us, since they'll go to waste otherwise."

Donall laughed lightly. "No, I made the mistake of drinking here the other day. Won't be doing that again."

Garott shrugged and took a swallow from his mug.

"Wow, looks like we missed a bit of excitement," a familiar voice said from the entrance, rising above the tavern's renewed noise. "And I thought we were having fun in the Chantry. Then again, I never do have much fun in the Chantry."

Finian smiled up at Alistair in greeting, which the blond man returned with a nod as he and the other Wardens wound through the tavern toward them. Finian noted that a red-headed Chantry sister seemed to be trailing behind the three. Both she and Felicity were staring at the bodies around the tavern with wide eyes.

"Alistair?" Ser Donall asked. "You're all right?"

"No thanks to Loghain," Alistair said dryly, then nodded in greeting. "Good to see you, Ser Donall. What are you doing in Lothering?"

"Oh dear… you hadn't heard?"

That was a phrase that was rarely followed by good news. Judging by the look on Alistair's face, he knew that too. "What is it?"

"Eamon is sick. Very sick. They've tried potions and magical healing, but all to no effect. Lady Isolde sent us out to search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes, in hopes that that may heal him."

"The Sacred Ashes? The remains of the prophet?" Felicity said, drawing even with the table. "It is said to merely be myth. If not, I can't imagine that an urn could have stayed intact for so long when there are so many factions that would seek to possess such a thing, even if only for its symbolic power."

"That's not true," said the priestess who had followed them in. Finian was surprised to hear that she was Orlesian. "It is said that Andraste's most faithful disciples secreted the Ashes away and hid it. Any true believers would have made certain such an important relic was well protected. I'm sure of it."

"Or they may have run away with it and gotten felled by a dragon," said Morrigan, "thus smashing said sacred artifact upon the rocks and scattering these holy ashes upon the four winds like so much dust. So sad, I'm sure."

"That… is one concern," Ser Donall hedged.

"Who's to say such ashes would be able to do anything, anyway?" Percival said, staring darkly at his hands. "Who says Andraste was special at all, and not just completely mad?"

The Templar and the priestess both gasped, and Alistair goggled. Finian was himself taken aback, to hear such things from Percival.

Kazar barked out a laugh. "I don't know about mad, but I always did say she was an unholy bitch for what she did to us mages."

"She was also the shemlen who freed our people from the Imperium," Meila said, staring stonily at Kazar.

"Yeah, and then condoned the domestication and imprisonment of every mage in Thedas. Forgive me for not praising her for putting me in one form of slavery instead of another."

"Guys, this is off topic" Finian broke in, seeing several people ready to verbally pounce on the mage (and, in Ser Henric's case, possibly physically). He turned to Marnan, who only stared back at him flatly. "How was the Chantry? Any luck?"

"No," she said shortly. "It seems their hands are tied, what with our new status as outlaws. One you seem to have already discovered." She waved at the bodies that the tavern servers were now going about disposing.

"Nothing like an old-fashioned tavern brawl to say 'welcome to town'," Garott said with a chuckle.

Alistair, however, was still distracted by Ser Donall. "How long has Eamon been sick?"

"A couple weeks," Donall said with a sigh. "He just grew tired and stopped eating, and now no one can wake him."

"Is there anything we can do to help?"

Morrigan groaned. "We are not going to go all the way to Redcliffe on some personal quest of yours, are we?"

Alistair scowled at her. "Eamon is a good man, and one respected at the Landsmeet. Further, his forces never made it to Ostagar… though I suppose now we know why. If… when. When he recovers, he can help us."

"With more than just forces," Percival said thoughtfully. He glanced back at Alistair. "He's Cailan's uncle, King Maric's brother-in-law through his wife. I remember that. And further, King Maric always deferred to him in matters of state."

Alistair stared at Percival, and his voice wobbled a bit as he asked, "You knew King Maric?" Finian studied Alistair, wondering at the ex-Templar's strange tone of voice.

Percival shrugged. "I never met the man personally outside being introduced once as 'Bryce's second son'… but, yes, I've seen him meet with the other nobles, when my father could get me to sit still enough to watch the royal court in Denerim." He frowned thoughtfully. "Teyrn Loghain met with him often… and so did Arl Eamon. He can help us against Loghain."

"This Loghain man did us wrong," Meila said, "but he is not our primary enemy. The darkspawn are our enemy, and should remain our focus."

"We won't be able to focus if we're in hiding from common lawmen," Percy argued. "We need to take care of this business with Loghain. I take it he's running Ferelden through his daughter?" He looked at the knight for confirmation.

Donall nodded. "He's declared himself Anora's regent, and is currently ruling in her name."

"Wait, explain this to me," Marnan broke in, frowning. "What right does Loghain have to claim the throne? I was given to understand that the kingship up here was hereditary."

"It is… usually," Alistair said. "Thing is, Queen Anora was the king's wife, wasn't she? And her father just happens to be Teyrn Loghain."

"Had he no heirs?"

"Not as such, no."

Marnan made a noise of understanding. "Ah, so King Cailan's death not only paves a path to power for him to point the finger at us… but it also vacates a throne that has no clear successor." Marnan sighed. "If I know anything about politicians, this can only lead to civil war."

"And just why would a warrior," Kazar said with narrowed eyes, "know anything about politicians?"

Garott, for some reason, laughed. Hm.

"Eamon is respected and Cailan's uncle," Alistair repeated. "I know him; he's a good man. If anyone can speak for us, it will be him. Problem is, he needs to be able to speak. Which he can't do if he's unconscious."

"I hope you're not suggesting we track down this relic of yours," Morrigan said snidely.

"No… just that we keep him in mind. When we're making plans."

Percival nodded. "Agreed."

"Well, we'd be happy for the help," Donall said. "If you're staying for a couple days, Henric and I will be in the Chantry. Scouring the library in hopes of tracking down a relic no one has seen in a thousand years."

"I'll help, if you like," Felicity offered. "I'm quite good at scouring libraries."

Donall smiled. "If you've the time, we'll take all the help we can get." With that, he and Ser Henric excused themselves and left, although not without Henric casting suspicious looks back at Kazar and Morrigan.

The Wardens clustered around the table spent a moment in silence. Then, Marnan climbed into the spare spot at the table and picked up a tankard. "This anyone's?"

Finian shook his head.

Marnan gave the ale a taste and wrinkled her nose, but then tipped her head back for a hearty swallow. Setting the tankard solidly back on the table, she said, "We have our work cut out for us, it seems. We are the only Grey Wardens left within a hundred miles. It is up to us to stop the darkspawn, and now we've lawmen to dodge as well."

"Sounds like fun," Garott chuckled. "At least between the lot of us, we've got plenty of experience doing both."

Finian raised his tankard. "To taking impossible odds and rigging them into a win."

Garott chuckled, and both dwarves clinked their mugs with his in toast.