116. How to Win Friends and Influence People

"Are you from my father? What took him so long? Hurry up and release me!"

Fin exchanged a look with Garott while they both drew even with the rack.

"Nobles," the dwarf said, yanking a lever that released the rack. "Same song no matter what race."

Finian sniggered.

"Or country, for that matter," Zev added. He watched the doors of the torture room, spinning his sword idly in his hand. He didn't seem capable of looking at Fin, and hadn't for days… ever since Fin had stupidly pressed him too far with that earring thing. He wished he could take it back.

They were in a torture chamber… the thought brought a sick churn to Finian's gut. What sort of noble had his own personal torture chamber? Had this been here before Howe took over, or had Howe repurposed a wine cellar or something? Either way, it was an unpleasant thought.

He and Garott made short work of the man's shackles, and the human sat up with a sigh. "It's about time! Was this supposed to be a lesson? Did my father think it funny to leave me for so long before sending you?"

"Settle down, kid," Garott said. "We ain't from your daddy."

"Though he is looking for you," Finian said, smoothing over the boy's outrage at being spoken to like that. The guy had just been taken off a rack… they could cut him a little slack. "You're Bann Sighard's son, I presume?"

He bobbed a nod, looking between the two of them suspiciously. "That is correct. If you are not from my father, then who are you? What are you doing down here?"

"We're Grey Wardens, my lord. We're here to settle a dispute involving the queen, and decided to take a tour through the dungeons while we were here."

"Oh, Maker have mercy. A funny elf." The nobleman carefully levered himself off the rack, obviously sore. Once on his feet, he turned to them and sketched a bow. "I am Oswyn, son of Bann Sighard of Dragon's Peak. You have my heartfelt gratitude, Wardens."

Finian was impressed by how diplomatic the man managed do be, despite being stripped to his skivvies and recently off the rack.

"We will need the support of Dragon's Peak during the Landsmeet." Finian decided to take the direct route. "Do you think you can provide?"

"A Landsmeet? So it's true. Howe was telling us that the Arl of Redcliffe was dead… that the Landsmeet was called off." His shoulders set. "Yes, if you can get me out of this horrid place, my father will have no choice but to support you. I will see to that."

"Thank you, my lord." Finian bowed.

At this point, Garott said, "So what did ya mean by 'us'? There more of you down here?"

"Yes. We're all being kept… for knowing too much, but too important to kill outright. Arl Howe is a sly bastard… he's been meaning to use us as leverage, I'm sure of it."

Finian couldn't stand the thought of anyone being locked up, especially by someone like Howe. "Lead on."

Oswyn nodded and padded past Zevran, out of the room. They followed closely behind.

Down the hallway, they could hear the sounds of a fight: swords, and a dog growling, and the occasional snap of an ice or lightning spell.

"Should we not help them?" Zevran asked, glancing down the corridor toward the battle.

"The captain's a big boy," Garott said. "If he wants to walk off and ignore the rest of us, then we gotta figure he can handle himself."

"Besides," Fin added, "Maybe if he distracts the guards enough, we can sneak the prisoners out. We can't leave them in here."

Zevran sighed. "Oh Warden. It is a good thing your hero complex is endearing."

Garott snorted a laugh. Finian glanced at the Antivan, but Zevran wasn't looking at him, so Finian couldn't quite read what he meant by that comment.

Oswyn led them to a line of cells, and Garott and Finian wasted no time in taking their lockpicks to them. The man inside the cell in front of Fin was curled up in a ball in the corner… he didn't even seem to realize Fin as there.

The lock was surprisingly easy to pick, and Fin was comforted by the fact that, were he ever taken prisoner by Arl Howe, he could probably pick these locks with a spoon.

The door creaked as he opened it, but the form inside didn't react.

"Sir?" Finian said. "Can you hear me?"

He muttered something into his arms. Finian moved a bit closer, and could pick up what he was mumbling. "…to retreat. They screamed and screamed…"

"Hello?" He tried again. He knelt in front of the man and ducked to catch a glimpse of his eyes. They were blank and distant. Finian reached out a hand to shake his shoulder, but as soon as he touched skin, the man struck out, hitting Finian across the face and sending him tumbling back.

Zevran was there in an instant. He hauled Fin to his feet and got between him and the prisoner, his face murderous.

"Zev, don't. He doesn't know what he's doing."

Zevran still glared at the man, but he didn't attack, at least. After a moment, he turned to Finian. "Are you all right?"

Finian wanted to laugh, but Zev just looked so concerned. He gave the Antivan a reassuring smile. "I'm fine. It barely even hurt."

Zev held his eyes for one more minute, peering in them as if trying to detect a lie. It warmed Fin, to see the care and concern still in the other man's eyes. Fin hadn't broken it… it was still there.

Finally satisfied, the assassin nodded and pulled away.

They turned back to the prisoner. Now he was mumbling something about witches and darkspawn, rocking back and forth as he did so.

"He's mad," Finian whispered. He swallowed, because there was no coming back from this kind of madness.

Zevran drew his dagger and looked a question at Finian.

He nodded. "Do it." Still, as Zevran stepped forward, he had to turn away. Yes, he'd killed plenty of times now, and yes it was doing the man a favor… but there was still something about this—about the slick sound of a dagger sliding home, and the gasping breaths of the dying—that made his stomach churn.

It was silly, after everything, that he still felt sickened by the deaths of innocents.

Arms slid around him from behind, and a familiar nose nuzzled into his ear. "It is nothing to be ashamed of, amor. I hope that you never become accustomed to the sight."

Finian leaned back into Zevran's grip, and the other man didn't pull away. Maker, he'd missed this. Zevran's arms tightened around him, and Finian ached with the need to say… something. That he was sorry he'd pushed. That it didn't matter if he couldn't say it. That he loved him, and he was pretty sure Zev loved him back.

But the words got stuck in his throat.

Then, Zevran pulled away, and the warmth went with it. Zevran slipped around him and back out into the hallway, and Finian trailed behind him.

Garott was at another cell, talking to a weeping man. The uncomfortable, frustrated look the dwarf sent their way made Fin want to laugh.

"Is everything all right?" the elf asked instead, biting back his amusement.

"Who…" the man said faintly, his voice warbling. "I'm sorry… I failed… Alfstanna, little sister?"

"I can't get squat outta him," Garott grumbled.

"Sir? Are you all right? Can you hear me?"

"I… yes. I can… I'm sorry. Are you… from the teyrn? No… that's not right."

There was something wrong with him, that much was clear, but at least he was reacting to them. "We're Grey Wardens, and we're getting you out of here. If I may ask, who are you?"

"Yes… I'm Irminric, Templar of the Denerim Chantry. But.. I failed… the blood mage… escaped. No, not escaped. Was taken by the teyrn's men… "

"He's the elder brother," Oswyn provided, "of Bann Alfstanna. He's been like this for days."

Finian nodded his thanks. "Don't worry. Irminric. We'll get you out."

He took the Templar's arm and guided him out of the cell. The man had a shuffling, stumbling pace. It would be detrimental to their escape, but Finian couldn't stand to leave him here.

By the time Fin had deposited Irminric next to Oswyn, Garott was already working on the last cell. The man inside leaned heavily against the wall, a large red scar in his side. Still, his eyes were clear, and that was better than the last two.

When the door opened, the man stepped out by his own power, and he actually cracked a weak smile. "This is either a fever dream or the best day of my life."

Finian matched his smile. "Let's just assume the latter. Always hope for the best, and all that."

The man limped slowly toward the rest of them. He was pale and weak, but seemed to be managing on his own. "I heard you speaking with the others. You're Grey Wardens, right?"

"That's us," Garott said. "Darkspawn smashing, Deep Road walking Wardens."

"Good." The man's eyes darkened. "It's good to know some of you survived Ostagar. If you get me out of here, I'll do what I can to make certain your order receives all the help it needs."

"And you might be…?" Garott prodded.

"I apologize… I've been down here so long, I'm afraid I've forgotten how to be civil." A self-deprecating smile flashed across his face, then faded. "My name is Fergus Cousland. Formerly of Highever, though to hear Howe tell it, there's nothing left of my line to make that claim."

Finian froze. Fergus, Percival's brother? He was alive?

"Now that is curious." Zevran said. "I was under the impression that the good arl wanted the entire Cousland line dead. Why would he go through the effort to keep this one alive?"

"A trophy, maybe?" Garott said with a shrug.

"He's been mining me for secrets, for the most part," Fergus said. "You sound like you know something about all this. Tell me, did Howe tell me true? Is my family… gone?"

Fin exchanged a look with Garott. "Well…" Fin started. "There's good news, and there's bad news…"

A particularly large blast rocked the dungeons, cutting Fin off. In the distance, they heard someone shouting. "Forget it; you're on your own! I quit!"

Zevran, Finian, and Garott all drew their weapons, justified a moment later as running footsteps approached.

A robed man ran through the hallway past the cell block, clutching his arm, which appeared to have been cleaved straight through. A growl followed him, and the form of a blood-splattered mabari streaked past a moment later.

The trio ran into the hallway just in time to see Hugo barrel into the mage. The mage shrieked and let off a lightning bolt that went wild. Hugo tore out his throat, and Finian swept in and stabbed him in the eye a moment later, to put him out of his misery.

"Is that… Hugo?" Fergus' shocked voice asked. The mabari jumped off the corpse with a happy bark. He bounded up to Fergus and barked again, his tongue lolling. The noblemen fell to his knees in front of the dog, gingerly touching the hound's fur as if afraid it was a hallucination.

A scream echoed down the hallway, and there was another blast that shook the walls. Morrigan appeared a moment later, leaning heavily on her staff and clutching at her side, where a long red gash leaked blood liberally.

Behind her were more screams, but she didn't pay them any mind. She limped up to them. "There you are." She slumped against the wall beside them, then started digging through her bag. She pulled out a poultice and shoved it into Finian's hands. "I've got a cut on my back that I cannot reach. Apply that."

Fin rolled his eyes, but nonetheless ducked around her to see her back. What he saw made him pause.

There was an angry gash right along the top of her shoulderblades. Any deeper, and it would have gotten her spine. Any higher, and it would have cut off her head. Gingerly, he leaned forward and applied the poultice to the worst of it.

Simultaneously, she turned her attention to her side, and a small white glow enveloped her hand as she applied healing magic to the cut there.

"A…. apostate…!" Irminric said in alarm.

"Oh please." Morrigan rolled her eyes, but otherwise ignored him.

"What happened?" Finian asked. "They take you by surprise?"

"Hardly." She finished her healing spell, though it hadn't done much except slow the bleeding. Morrigan had never been much for healing magic. "If you must know, I suspect our fearless leader has somewhat lost the ability to differentiate friend from foe."

Horror filled him. "Percy did this?"

Garott snorted. "Well, what did you expect? 'Just let go' you said. You don't say 'just let go' to a sodding berserker."

"I thought that I could handle him if it came to that," she said defiantly. "Apparently, I underestimated his strength."

Garott laughed incredulously. There was another scream down the hall, suddenly silenced, and Fin winced. If the fighter came this way, they were all in danger.

"I'm going to try to talk him down."

Garott turned his incredulous look to Fin. "You lost your mind, elf? That's as good as an angry dragon, in there."

"Yes, but I jumped on a dragon, remember?"

"Ah right. You're crazy. Sometimes I forget that."

Finian cast the dwarf a tight smile and stepped toward the sounds of fighting.

A slender hand closed tight around his shoulder and spun him around, and Zevran caught his eyes grimly. "If he hurts you," the assassin whispered, "I will kill him."

Fin nodded, then pulled away and trotted toward the sounds of battle.

He paused as he rounded the corner… the next room was… a mess. There were at least three bodies in the room, though it was hard to tell as they had been cleaved into multiple pieces. Splatters of blood decorated the floors and walls. A trail of blood led out a door in the opposite direction, and Fin followed it.

Beyond that room was another corridor, where two more guard bodies were strewn around, blood and innards scattered across the hallway. Their killer had not been content to cut them and let them die… he'd chopped them into pieces, torn them apart, and had cut them open again and again and again.

And then, at the end of that hallway, he came upon Howe's body, only identifiable by the Amaranthine shield still attached to his arm, laying two feet away.

Howe was… a pile of gore. He had been sliced apart in so many places that his innards pooled around him, the cuts tearing through cloth and metal alike. His face had been smashed in, the eyes cut out and nose left a shattered mushy mess.

Percy had done this?

A darker part of him—the one that got a thrill out of manipulating and argued about ends justifying means—crowed in approval. This here had been the man who had sold a third of the Alienage into slavery, where they even now were being parsed out in Tevinter. Even if Finian couldn't go after the slavers with a Blight going on, he could at least revel in vengeance enacted upon the man who had started it. It was shameful, how happy the sight of Howe utterly broken made him.

Then again, this was also the man who had hired Zevran, and didn't that warrant a modicum of gratitude, enough to offer him a clean death? Instead of... this?

The sounds of fighting had ceased, and now the dungeon was dominated by a heavy silence. The old Dalish ruin hadn't been this eerie.

Fin steadied himself and rounded the corner into the next room—a guard office of some sort. There was a table, and a row of cupboards, and more bodies strewn across the floor.

Percy—the only thing still moving—stood in the middle of the room, as coated in blood as the floors around him. He panted with exertion, his greatsword held out in one hand, as if waiting for another target to show itself. His head was down as Fin walked in.

He tried to approach quietly (which, being a rogue and an elf, was pretty damn quiet), but something about Percy's current state must have made him hyper-aware, because his head abruptly snapped up. Finian froze, affixed by mad, rage-filled eyes. No recognition, just unbridled hatred.

The berserker sprang into motion much more swiftly than a big man like him should have been able to, and Finian skittered back just to keep his head.. He ducked in time to avoid a sweep of that blood-coated sword, and felt the wind of it through the hair at the top of his head.

"Percy!" He gasped, skittering to the side, dodging another deadly slice. "Percy, it's me!"

Percival lunged with a guttural growl, stabbing for his midriff. Finian dodged back and slid under the table. He hopped up on the other side, putting it between them.

"Percival! Remember Ostagar? The Grey Wardens?"

That massive sword came down on the table-top, and the wood buckled and snapped in two. The berserker jumped over the broken halves and swiped at him again.

Finian ducked and rolled around behind the noble. This was bad. Words wouldn't work if they couldn't get through…he needed to wake Percy up, but how?

Percy spun and stabbed at the ground as Fin rolled, and the elf felt the blade slice apart the leather at his side. Too close.

He kicked upward, knocking the sword up and away, then flipped back up onto his feet. He needed to get away from that sword… he couldn't do anything if he was concentrating on staying alive!

Percival was quick to recover, shifting his grip with a growl and leaping at him again. This time, Fin stepped into the lunge. The sword sailed harmlessly behind his head, and Finian ducked under the swinging arm to get behind the swordsman. He grabbed Percival's arm and used it to swing up onto the human's back.

Percival made an angry animal sound and bucked, but Fin got a good grip. He wrapped his arms around the man's shoulders, and his legs tight around his waist. The human thrashed and swung his sword around, trying to hit him, but he couldn't get the right angle. Good. As long as the rage-maddened man didn't realize he could just switch his grip and stab backwards, he'd be all right.

Finian got his arms tight around the human's throat… then, he squeezed. This made the berserker even angrier, and he roared in rage. He thrashed and spun and spat, but Finian just kept tightening his grip, slowly choking him.

He could only hope that this would break Percy out of it. If not… what would happen if he did permanent damage? Could he choke the man to death? No, he shouldn't think of that now. Just keep squeezing.

The human's struggles were weakening. It probably didn't hurt that he was probably utterly exhausted under the rage... dismembering a half dozen people had to be pretty taxing. Percival dropped his sword and stumbled back, slamming Fin back into a wall. It knocked the breath out of him, but he held strong.

Percival coughed, his entire form trembling. He slammed Finian back again, but it was weaker this time. Then, Percival's legs buckled, and both of them sprawled onto the floor.

Finian rolled away, grabbing up the human's sword. It was a bit too heavy for him, as well as slippery with blood, but Fin didn't mean to use it… he just didn't want Percy to have it. Not until the crazy had left his friend's eyes anyway.

Percival was on his hands and knees, coughing and gasping. One hand reached up to rub his throat, and his coughing slowly subsided.

Finian watched carefully, ready for the human to lunge at him. He cradled the greatsword, not sure what he'd do if Percy went for it. .

But then, when Percy lifted his head, his eyes were clear. Confused, dazed… but clear.

"Welcome back," Finian said, forcing a light smile onto his features. Best not let the human know just how disturbed he was by this whole business.

"Fin?" Percy's voice was rough, and he coughed again. "What…" His voice trailed off as he sat up and looked around. His eyes widened. "Did I… do this?"

"On the plus side, Howe's dead. Very, very dead."

Percy breathed out harshly, then pushed himself to his feet. Fin relaxed with him and held out the man's sword. The human made a face at the state of the blade, but sheathed it. "Did I hurt anyone?"

"Just knocked Morrigan around a bit." The human's eyes shot to his, wide with panic. "Don't worry. She was more miffed about it than actually hurt."

He sighed. "Thank the Maker." He headed out of the room, pausing over what was left of Arl Howe's body. He started at it blankly, one hand moving up to rub at his chest. "If he's dead, why does it still burn?"

Fin just laid a hand on Percival's shoulder and gently pulled him away from the sight. They couldn't let him dwell. If he did, he'd just fall back into the funk he'd been in when they'd first been recruited.

Garott's laugh from the other end of the hallway was a nice distraction, as the others dared to venture into the mess. "Sodding Stone, captain. Remind me never to piss you off."

"Very funny, Garott," Percival sighed. He glanced up, and Fin knew the moment he spotted Fergus, because he froze like someone had cast an ice spell on him.

"Percy?" Fergus said, his voice shaking. "Is that really you, little brother?"

Percival didn't seem capable of responding. Even as Fergus swept up to him and embraced him, Percival stared blankly ahead, frozen in shock.

Finian caught his eye and mimed hugging, and Percival haltingly brought his hands up to his brother's shoulders, but his eyes showed he still wasn't processing it.

"I can't believe it," Fergus whispered, pulling away. Tears glistened in his eyes. "Howe told me you were dead, but here you are."

"Fergus?" Percy croaked. "You're… alive? How are you alive?"

"Howe. His assassins caught me out on patrol at Ostagar. They brought me back here." Percival just stared. Fergus' face fell. "Little brother, are you all right?"

"I keep expecting you to change into a demon," Percival looked around. "This doesn't look like the Fade, but..."

"It ain't," Garott said. "This is the real deal."

Percy glanced down at Hugo, at Fergus's feet, and there was some silent communication between them. Hugo barked, and Percival nodded, some of the heaviness leaving his expression.

Still, the blond man stepped back. "Fergus, I'm not the same person I was-"

"I... I think I understand." Fergus looked around at the gore around them, then back at the blood-splattered form of his little brother. "Perhaps not all of it, but I understand. I'm not the same either." His eyes darkened. "Losing one's entire family does things to a man… more when he's held prisoner by the one who did it."

"I'm sorry. If I'd known you were here…"

"It doesn't matter. He's dead now." Fergus cast a glance over at the arl's body. "Very dead." Humor glinted in his eyes as he turned back to his brother. "A berserker, is it? Well, you always have been very passionate when you wanted to be, little brother."

Percy groaned, but it seemed to be what he needed. "Yes, yes. I was an awful rake. Why does everyone keep bringing that up?" He turned to the rest of the prisoners, his eyes falling on Oswyn. "Wait, you're… Bann Sighard's son, are you not?"

Oswyn nodded. "That I am."

Garott waved at the Templar "And this here's big brother to Bann Alfstanna. Whoever that is."

Percival looked between them. "No doubt kept here to keep your families in line during the Landsmeet."

"We will see to it that Loghain does not profit from this," Oswyn said.

Percival nodded slowly. "That may just do it, yes. The Wardens would value your support."

"You have it."

"Now that we got that settled," Garott broke in. "I believe we got a royal in distress to rescue." He clapped his hands together. "Shall we?"