47. The Doomed Village
"Well… this is new."
Percival glanced behind him. Alistair had stopped to stare at the makeshift wooden barricade that had been erected across the road into town.
"It is a Blight," Percy said with a weary smile. "We should take it as a good sign that the people are at least setting up defenses."
"Right, that's how to defeat the archdemon… shoddy wooden barricades." The other man kicked at the low barrier, making it shudder. Still, he was smiling lopsidedly as he fell back into step with Percy. "Now if only we could find a way to cut off the dragon's wings, they'll be so much more effective."
Percy chuckled, adjusting his shield against his sweaty back. It was a warm day, and both men were perspiring enough to show it. Still, at least his sweat no longer stung the healing scratches in his back.
He didn't know what he'd been thinking, letting Morrigan mark him like that. No, he didn't know what he'd been thinking, period. Then again, perhaps lack of thought was the root of the problem. Really, Morrigan? Tangling up (both figuratively and literally) with that witch was bound to lead to disaster. And yet, if she approached him again, he didn't know whether he'd be able to deny her. Already, he was missing the earthy taste of her skin and her intoxicating scent, and that was just all kinds of wrong.
Still, at least Alistair was decidedly… dim about certain things. The first time the two had bathed while traveling together, Alistair had noticed the various nips and scratches on Percy's person. He'd promptly laughed and teased Percy that being thrown around by darkspawn was Finian's job.
Percy had done his best to smile and play it off like all the marks were battle wounds, but a mortifying part of him delighted in the sordid secrecy of a dangerous tryst. A hold-over from his previous life, of course. He'd always used to take his entertainment from such games. Except now he shouldn't be immersing himself in such distractions; he had a duty. Maker, what was wrong with him?
And, again, because the absolute horror of it could not be stressed enough… Morrigan?!
They wound their way down the hilly path to the town nestled on the lake below. Hugo bounded along the path beside them, marking every tree and lamppost he could find. Percy couldn't really say where the hound was getting all the water for it.
Further down the path, Bodahn and his son trundled their cart along the bumpy incline. The two Wardens figured they might as well see the dwarves safely into Redcliffe village before heading up to the castle.
"You know, for all the years I lived here, I never wondered why it was called 'Redcliffe'," Alistair said, gazing around. "Is it because the rocks are kind of reddish? Or is it something else? I bet Felicity would know."
"Feeling pensive, are you?"
The other man shrugged. "I just never really thought of it. But Felicity does. Wonder, I mean. All the time. You know, the first time I met her at Ostagar, she was staring at the ruins like they were a giant piece of cake that had just been put in front of her. Of course, then she asked me point blank if I was addicted to lyrium." He chuckled. "Lot of balls on that girl, considering how brainy she is."
Percival didn't bother hiding his grin. "Felicity is quite remarkable, isn't she?"
"I don't think I've ever met anyone so… flabbergasting. You know, I once asked her about the different kinds of insects that tended to swarm the camp at Ostagar… I was just venting really. And she went off and started naming every single kind. Like she had some sort of mental list previously constructed in case such a conversation ever… what's so funny?"
"Nothing, nothing." Percy stifled his laughter, because, really. The man was talking about the woman blathering on about bugs, and he still managed to sound like a mooning puppy. Pah, virgins.
Percy glanced down the trail, and only then did he realize that there was a commotion up ahead. The dwarves, it seemed, had run into their welcoming party… in the form of one harrowed-looking guardsman.
"…not here to help us? Have none of our messengers gotten through?"
The two Wardens picked up their pace as Bodahn cast a confused look back at them.
"What's this, now?" Alistair asked, the two of them stopping beside the merchant. "What's going on?"
"You really don't know?" the guardsman asked. He couldn't have been much older than Percy, but he looked wearied beyond his years. "Maker's breath, has no one heard?"
"Heard what?" Percy asked, his patience worn thin from the long journey.
"Redcliffe is under siege, sers. It's all we can do to keep our village standing."
"Under siege from what?" Alistair asked with an arched eyebrow. "As we were strolling casually in, I couldn't help but notice the lack of an invading army."
"They don't reveal themselves during the day, but they're still out there. Now that you're in, good luck getting out again. I'm so sorry."
"Damn it, specifics," Percival growled, though he did his best to rein in the completely inappropriate surge of anger that bubbled up from nowhere. "What is menacing you?"
The guardsman just shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me. I'll take you to Bann Teagan. He'll explain everything."
That made Alistair startle. "Wait, Teagan? He's here?" At Percy's sharp look, he explained, "He's Eamon's brother. I suppose if the arl's sick, it would make sense for Teagan to come." He turned back to the soldier. "But why is he down here in the village, and not up in the castle?"
The soldier eyed Alistair curiously, but answered, "We haven't let him. No one's heard from the castle in days. And with the creatures coming out of it… it would be far too dangerous to send him up there, too."
Alistair paled. "What do you mean, no one's heard from the castle in days?"
"Come on. The bann will explain everything."
The guardsman turned and hurried down the path.
Bodahn breathed out a sigh through his nose. "Well, seems my boy and me have stumbled out of the Deep Roads and into a Deepstalker pit."
"Come on," Percy said, putting a hand on Alistair's shoulder to nudge the shocked man forward. "We'll get you two safely settled in the village, then see what we can do about this mess."
And so they continued down the winding path in lower spirits, with Bodahn's cart trundling behind them. As they descended into the village proper, actual residents could be seen, scurrying about with the hurried steps of people afraid to be outside, lest a demon leap out of the bushes upon them. Those that stayed outside were armed with what seemed to be farming tools and old, barely-useable heirlooms. Wooden barricades similar to the ones they'd already passed crossed the main thoroughfares, making it hard to navigate the merchant's cart through the defenses, flimsy though they were.
Blood darkened the soil underfoot, and Percival could smell the faint scent of decay on the air. Dully, Percy noted that, if these people were, in fact, under siege, then a town this shoddily defended was doomed. He'd never been all that interested in Aldous' lessons on siege warfare, but he'd absorbed enough from his father's battle stories to know that much.
And yet, Percival couldn't much find it in himself to care. Sure, a part of him ached over the death that he knew was to come upon these people. But a greater part of him merely sighed at the inevitability of it all, already giving these souls up as lost. After all, anyone who came in contact with Percival Cousland died.
Listlessly, Percy helped Alistair get Bodahn's cart parked in a free spot behind the Chantry, where the defenses were strongest. The other Warden, in stark contrast to Percy's apathy, was thrumming with anxiety, obviously worried about his childhood home. Had Highever not already fallen into traitorous hands, Percy might have empathized.
The travelers followed the guardsman into the Chantry building. Once inside, the others continued forward, but Percy stopped in the doorway, a spike of anger shooting through him, just as it had back in Lothering's Chantry.
He had never been particularly pious in his previous life… no pristine Chantry brother in the making, for certain. Not with his habits. However, Mallol, the Cousland estate's Mother, had been a dear friend, always willing to lend a gentle ear when his parents' judgment would have been too harsh. One of the few women in his previous life who he hadn't attempted to bed.
In the end, he'd found Mallol in the chapel, pinned to the pulpit by a Howe soldier's sword through her bosom. Where was the Maker, then, while his kindest and most noble followers died? And yet Percival, sin incarnate, was allowed to keep on living and sinning?
The Maker had much to answer for, and thus Percy couldn't stand to listen to the Chanters spout about the Maker's wisdom and Andraste's compassion. If he did, he suspected he'd lose his tenuous hold on his sanity and kill every priest in the chapel.
A cold, wet nose nudged his hand, and Percival came back to himself with a start. He looked down at Hugo, who peered up at him anxiously.
"I'm doing it again, aren't I?"
The hound whined, and Percy sighed, scratching the dog behind his ears to comfort him. Then, step by step, he proceeded into the Chantry.
The similarity to the Lothering Chantry was striking. The Redcliffe Chantry, too, was packed from wall to wall with huddled forms and collections of junk. Women and children settled behind makeshift barricades, as if a couple stacked chairs would be an effective deterrent once the heavy chapel doors came down. It would be far easier for all of them to just wait to die.
Alistair and Bodahn were talking to a man in chain armor near where the front of the chapel had once been… it seemed a pillar had toppled at some point, smashing against the front wall. A cruel sort of poetry, that.
As Percival approached, the cheer in their voices grated his raw, weary nerves.
"…to see him standing there," the stranger was saying, "covered in mud and holding four chicken feathers!" All three men burst out laughing.
"In my defense," Alistair chuckled, his face red, "that horse always did have it out for me."
"According to you," the man said with a winning smile, "all the horses had it out for you."
"Why yes. Yes they did." Alistair glanced back and spotted Percy standing two steps behind the group. "Glad you finally joined us. Percy, this is Bann Teagan. Teagan, Percival Cousland."
Percy flinched at the use of his full name, but he supposed it would be necessary, when dealing with nobles. Best to wave his connections around as much as possible, little as he liked such blatant flaunting.
Pride. Maker, he wasn't going to succumb to Pride too.
Percy sketched a bow appropriate to their stations and surroundings, just to get the point across. Teagan arched an eyebrow, still smiling. "Percival Cousland? I don't believe we've ever met, but I've certainly heard enough about you." He laughed, and Percy had to tamp down a flare of temper. "Your name is reportedly used as an insult in West Hills. Small surprise, considering the utterly scandalous things you were said to be doing with Arl Wulf's twin nieces." The older man arched a brow. "Out of curiosity, were any of the rumors true?"
Percival had no will to delve into past conquests, especially with Alistair staring at him with such shock. "Aren't you under siege or something?" he growled, and Alistair's shocked look morphed into a disapproving frown.
Teagan, too, seemed taken aback, but he recovered quickly. "Ah, yes. I suppose I should get right to the point."
Bann Teagan went on to outline a dire situation, involving undead coming out of the castle and the mysterious lack of any word from it—things that were obviously related, in Percy's opinion. He only paid half a mind to the man's report on the state of the village. Instead, he spent most of the explanation watching Hugo and Sandal play with a couple of the village children.
Maker, he felt so drained.
"Well, of course we'll help!" Alistair cried after explanations had been handed out, and Percy winced. The man was obviously not thinking clearly, though Percy could hardly blame him.
"Do we really have time?" Percy asked his companion sharply.
Alistair turned incredulous eyes to him. "What? Are you serious?"
"We have a duty, Alistair. Or had you forgotten that you're a Grey Warden? This was already a divergence from directly addressing the darkspawn horde when we left Lothering. We don't have the time to go around adding complications to it."
Alistair's brow furrowed, and his voice had some bite in it as he asked, "So you'd… what? Leave all these people to die?"
"These defenses won't stand up to a prolonged siege." Percy's voice was empty as he watched Sandal run around with a ball raised in the air, four children and a dog chasing him gaily. "They're doomed no matter what."
"Teagan, will you excuse us?" Alistair grabbed Percival's chestplate and dragged him into a semi-private corner behind a bookcase barricade. There, the senior Warden spun on him, eyes flashing. "What in Andraste's name is wrong with you?!"
"Alistair," Percival said flatly, "Redcliffe is, in the larger scheme of things, not vital to the Grey Warden cause. You're letting your personal attachments get in the way."
"Personal atta… By the Maker! You make having a past sound like a bad thing! But then I suppose you would, wouldn't you? What's wrong; embarrassed by what a hellion you used to be?"
Rage surged in him, and he struggled to keep the flames down. "Grey Wardens do what must be done to stop the-"
Alistair's fist came in too fast for him to react, and he stumbled back against the bookshelf, nearly toppling it. His face stung and throbbed, and he touched his nose gingerly as Alistair exploded.
"No! I'm calling this out right now! This isn't a Grey Warden thing; this is a Percival Cousland thing! You're pissed off because all these tragedies keep happening—and I'm with you there! I understand that part! But we actually have a chance to stop this one!" Alistair waved a hand wildly to indicate the chapel full of civilians. "Think of all these people! They might lose everything, just like you did! If you could, wouldn't you want to at least try?!"
It was an emotional plea… one that stole all the rage from him and left him with empty desolation. "Why invest such hope in a hopeless situation? I… I can't do it." Something in him broke, and he sank to the floor, feeling that awful pain in his chest resurfacing with all the buried memories this whole mess unearthed. "I can't care anymore, Alistair. If I care, and we fail… I'll break. I really will."
Alistair was silent for a moment, and Percy didn't have the strength to look up and read his expression. Then, slowly, Alistair said, "Then do it because we need Arl Eamon to combat Loghain."
Loghain. A name that stoked that fire back up. Howe was Loghain's man—everyone knew that—and Percy had little doubt that the double betrayals were connected somehow. Which one was pulling the strings, he couldn't say, but they were tied together in Percy's mind. They needed Eamon to fight Loghain. They needed Eamon to fight Howe.
Slowly, Percy looked up, and Alistair flinched back from something he saw in Percy's eyes. "Very well. We'll fight these undead. To take down Loghain Mac Tir."
Alistair nodded grimly, in complete accord with the motive, if not the sentiment. He held out a hand and pulled Percival to his feet. As one, the two Wardens returned to Teagan to start discussing how to save a doomed village.