May the Maker Watch Over You
Chapter 3
A/N: Thank you to all of you who continue to follow/favorite this story and continuing to read. I don't know if I can promise updates to be this fast, but I am happy to get another chapter written so soon. Here is a shout out to xxxkris44, Kyla Baines, mateusoc, and dekicobee.
Also, I do not own Dragon Age. All credit remains to their wonderful creators at Bioware. I just like to play in the playground.
Edited: 3/2/16-fixed spelling and grammatical errors. Added subtitles to each character's POV. Added Oghren POV, added additional dialogue to help with backstories and plot flow.
Warden Oghren, The Beserker
"Put your sodding backs into it you nug-lickers," the dwarf shouted over the clashes of swords, his foot tapping to the staccato beat of the rain pelting onto their heads.
The weather was unusually warm throughout Drakonis, rain falling instead of the snow and ice that was common this time of year. Oghren didn't mind however, relieved to be able to breath in the surface air. He returned a month ago from Orzammar, searching for clues on the Warden-Commander's whereabouts and delivering the shipments of lyrium that had been ordered prior to Orlais taking control of the Ferelden Wardens.
He leaned on his axe solemnly, feeling the texture of the stone for the thousandth time since Ashiva's departure nearly a year ago. His friend had in a rush, with little explanation for her departure.
"It may be the one thing that we have been missing all along," she had spoke rapidly, packing the maps into her satchel. "I will not continue to stand by watching my wardens fall rapidly to the Calling and do nothing about it."
She had left few verbal directions, instead leaving him the small crystal. The Warden-Commander smiled. "I know your distaste for magic, but everything you need to know is here. Don't let anyone know you have this in your possession or by the giant stones of the Dwarfson, I will drown you in horse piss," she laughed aloud, shaking her head. "This is a memory crystal. It contains my directions if should anything happen in my absence. Keep it close. If the Maker is on my side, I shall return."
It remained the unusual greenish yellow, despite the grime, mud and blood that had fallen on the stone. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the magic humming around it, reminding him of the mage it once belonged to. He missed the glory day, when things seemed much simpler. All he had to do then was point his blade towards darkspawn and fight. Now responsibility lay on his shoulders. He could imagine the shock on Branka's face if she could see him. He swallowed the bile, his lip twitching at the thought; he preferred not to be reminded of those days.
He heard the clinking of metal, his sense kicking in to prepare for an attack. Lifting his axe from his holster, he turned slowly.
Seneschal Garevel loomed over him, the silverite armor glistening in the rain. On impulse, Oghren saluted, pressing his fist to his armored chest, before shouting for the men to disband from their training. The human warrior assessed the troops walking through the rain, his blue eyes calculating their worth.
"I see the old ball and chain isn't around," the dwarf commented, frankly. He had briefed upon his arrival that many of the Commander of the Grey's associates had been transferred to other warden branches, intentionally crippling the Ferelden Wardens, the fiery Dalish elf Velanna being one.
The seneschal rolled his eyes, ushering for them to move towards shelter. The rain began to drop faster than before, thunder roaring above them. They moved through the muddied streets of the keep. Merchants ran through the rain, covering their merchandise, while soldiers stood on the ramparts, eyes gazing over the horizon.
Inside, they moved through the great hall. The hearth roared at the center of the room, the dwarf melting in the sweltering heat above ground. The wood floors creaked under the weight of their combined armors. The banners that once hung the Howe family insignia now were the familiar warden blue and red Ferelden decorum. Moving through the Great Hall, they stepped aside into one of the small officers joined to the large congregational room.
Garevel moved around the large desk, sitting into the plush seat. "Things are getting worse," he stated bluntly, his elbow resting on the desk. "This morning I found the Warden-Commander's office propped open, and today I received an ordinance from the Orlesian Warden-Commander stating that we are concealing the whereabouts of Warden Alistair and Warden Ashiva deliberately. They plan to revoke the Ferelden order and siege Vigil's Keep."
The warden dwarf sat on the bench across from Garevel. "Those Orlesian pissboys need to get their heads out of their arses," he grunted
"It matters not what the Warden-Commander would want now," Garevel said, sitting rigidly. "These threats are no longer just a concern for wardens but for the Crown. I'm sending word to Teyrn Cousland and Queen Anora. They must know that we may be besieged."
"Hang on to your beard, boy. We can't get ahead of ourselves," the dwarf stepped in, raising a hand. "You said that the Warden-Commander's office was propped open?"
"I assumed you opened it, that is until this letter came to my door step."
Lowering his eyes, his mind wandered. Ashiva's office had been locked since she had left on her quest nearly a year ago. Under no circumstances was anyone to step foot in the room without Garevel or Oghren's permission. The dwarf shook his head, swearing aloud. "The damn nug-humper found the key, but how?"
"It wasn't a key. I've kept my keys close since the first time t damn pickpocketing began," the Seneschal replied, dangling his keys to make his point. "The lock was picked. Nearly smashed into pieces. Damn nonreparable. Whoever did it was not familiar lock picking."
"So we can add picking locks to the description of the nug-humper," Oghren mused. For weeks, things had begun to go missing. First, it had been the Seneschal's keys to the pantry. Then the merchants began to complain that herbal and weaponry merchandise had vanished from their inventories. "The gnawing thief will be caught, and when they are, I'll split them in half with a sodding blunt axe. Any idea of what they might've taken."
The man shook his head. "Nothing right now. I don't even really know what was kept in there that no one could see. I thought perhaps you knew."
The dwarf knitted his brows, scratching at his beard. "I'll check the office later. We need to find this damn perpetrator fast."
Sighing, Garevel slumped in his seat. "Despite how much I agree with your plan, it still doesn't solve the most pressing matter at hand," he remorse, waving the document in his hand. "Revoking Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine to the Orlesian Wardens is invoking war."
"All because they believe we are concealing information," Oghren snorted. "Let them come. Those pansies have nothing on Oghren."
The human glared, slamming his fist on the desk. "I don't think you understand the circumstances we are under. All of our Senior Wardens were relocated four months ago. The Silverite Order, although impressive in their skills, do not have the numbers to take on an army of Grey Wardens. Our only option is to request aid from Highever and Denerim."
A soft knocking at the door startled them. Short auburn hair peeked into the doorway. "Pardon me Sers...I'm Mistress Ana Argent. I was sent to replace Mistress Woolsey."
"Ahh, Mistress Argent, come in," Garevel sighed, allowing the woman to step into his office.
The woman was tall, auburn hair cropped short around her face. The accountant wore the corset dresses popular in Orlais, the bottom flaring slightly out to concealing her feet. She bowed lowly. "Pardon my intrusion ser, I heard your conversation from the Great Hall, and thought this matter was something that concerned me as well."
"You came from Weisshaupt," Oghren queried, checking out the human warden. Although dressed in the finery known to Orlais, he glimpsed the calluses on her hands from hours practicing the bow. Her eyes surveyed the office, as if she were familiar with seeking out intelligence and unusual escape route. A bard then, he mused, tilting his head.
"Well, yes and no," Mistress Argent answered, twisting her hands in front of her. "My orders came from Weisshaupt, but I am from the order in Jader."
"We were discussing a very small manner, Mistress Argent," Garevel said, his eyes focused passed the woman. "You need not be concerned."
The woman closed the door, her hands visibly shaking. Oghren squinted his eyes. He knew very little archers with jittery hands. She looked down at the floor boards, chewing at her lip aggressively. "I never really thought war of any kind was a small manner, but perhaps I am foreign to Ferelden customs."
The warden dwarf eyed the Seneschal warily. They had little evidence relating to the impetrator in the keep. From the little he knew and observed, this warden could easily be the spy sent from Orlais. Neither of them knew who could be trusted with sensitive information related to the two Warden veterans of the Fifth Blight. War however, even after a decade after the blight aftermath was something neither wanted (despite his love for a battle). The grey warden ranks were still small compared to the immense numbers in Weisshaupt or even Orlais.
The Amaranthine man groaned, rubbing the back of his head. "Of all the infernal-," he hissed as he opened the glass container of elfroot. Tension headaches had always been something the Seneschal endured. "I assume you are aware of the tensions Ferelden has with Orlais."
The lady pursed her lips, sitting on the far end of the bench, away from the dwarf. "Only that the tensions originate from the Orlesian invasion."
"Well, despite our neutrality in politics, those tensions have also developed between the Warden fractures. Before Warden Surana became the Warden-Commander, it was planned that an Orlesian would take over Amaranthine. Queen Anora appointed Warden Surana was Warden-Commander without the consent of the First Warden. The citizens of Amaranthine would not take kindly to an Orlesian Warden ruling over them," Garevel retold the tale, standing to face the large map of Amaranthine behind his desk. "Needless to say, this made selective groups very angry."
Oghren grunted. "That's putting it mildly."
"The Ferelden Wardens have been under close watch between the landsmeet and the Weishauppt since it had been reestablished. Many believe an elven mage is not suitable to be the Commander of the Grey nor any other title she possess, but they will not argue with the Queen's decision," the steward added tiredly. "It was only a matter of time before they constructed their plot to take over. Fortunate for them, it only took Alistair's quarrel with Warden-Commander Clorel and Warden Ashiva's desertion."
"Holy Andraste," Mistress Argent exhaled, pacing the small office space. "All this for two wardens. Do we possibly know where they might be. If we could forfeit-"
"Absolutely not," Oghren growled, standing upright. "They can kiss my arse before I tell them anything."
"So you do know where they are, the wardens they speak of," the Orlesian questioned, her eyes searching for clues.
The dwarf could feel his fingers twitch, his body humming for the need to raise his axe and fight. The woman had too many questions, wanting to know too much. It made him suspicious. He clenched his jaw, turning his head away from the interrogator.
Garevel sighed. "No, Mistress Argent," he answered. "The two went their separate ways nearly a year ago, and we have received no word from them."
The woman deflated, shoulders slumping. "I see," she whispered. "If there is anything that I can assist with this manner or any other, you will let me know Seneschal."
As the footsteps soften, Oghren raised his head, chuckling. "Good on ya, boss. I didn't think you had it in ya."
"Had what in me?"
"Surely you know," Oghren goaded. At the insistent stare, the dwarf groaned. "Of course you don't...while on my tour through Amaranthine, I found something."
He had stumbled across it during his patrols in Amaranthine. It was simple, a single document on the chantry board, one of their early communication systems. The black bird seal had caught his eye, reminding him of the nights at camp that Leliana would sing, her lyre in her lap. Warden Surana had loved the sound of the instrument and the singing. She would close her eyes, face relaxed. It would be the most relaxed he ever saw the elven mage to be.
"Leliana, you're like a bird when you sing," the mage sighed one night. It was only a few nights later that he noticed the bird etched into the lyre, black like the obsidian stones the wardens had collected the day before.
He had torn the parchment from the board, reading the contents carefully. The words were curved and twisted, delicately written with precision only the former bard could execute. It had been what he had expected; Alistair had been charged with treason against the wardens and was being hunted. After months with no communication and the constant threats Orlais placed on Vigil's Keep, Oghren assumed the worst. Lucky for the kid, Alistair had found help in places the wardens wouldn't be able to touch him.
Oghren leaned against the desk, lowering his voice. "The pike twirler is alive. He's with an old friend."
The Warden
The Frostback Mountains were magnificent to observe throughout the day. In the morning, the sun reflected off them, the snow glistening. In the day, storms would settle on the peaks, leaving more snow on the peaks. Then in the evening, the sun fell behind them, the grey and white landscape contrasting with reds and purples in the sky. If Alistair were an artist, he would sit in the battlements for weeks, painting the different phases. He knew his friend would have enjoyed this spectacle.
"Ash," he whispered, resting his head on the cold wall. The warden regretted his decision. He should've tried harder to convince her. They could have searched for a cure together. He could have kept her from this mess with the wardens. If push came to shove, at least they could have fallen together. Now though, he was left to figure out what happened next.
Alistair remembered many years ago his confessing his dislike of making hard decisions. During the Blight, he had left it to Ashiva. She didn't complain, taking on the leadership with grace. She led their misfit group to victory, uniting Ferelden and defeating Urthemiel, the archdemon of the Fifth Blight. Although they were all heros, she respectively held the title as the Hero of Ferelden. Since those days though, she had pushed more responsibility out of him, recruiting men around Thedas, and leading expeditions into the Deep Roads to find answers. Without him knowing, he had soon grown into the leader he once thought he couldn't be. Men looked up to him.
When he mention this to his elven friend she had only smiled, a smile he only thought for him, resting the pen on her desk. "Alistair, you've always been a leader of great potential. You just had to find it for yourself," she said softly, eyes twinkling in the candlelight. "Duncan would be proud of he man you have become, as am I."
He didn't feel proud of himself though. After finding evidence of the Warden corruption he had ran, dodging them at every turn. He had hid on the coastlines of Ferelden, and had sought help from the only person he could think of, Hawke.
He had meet Garrett Hawke in Kirkwall during the Qunari revolted in the city. It had been a short introduction, but the two became familiar as time went on. Alistair remembered the day Hawke stepped into Vigil's Keep, the red paint across his nose making him obvious to anyone that knew the stories.
Ashiva raised her eyebrows, startled by the warrior that parade into her base. "It seems we are now taking in refugees," she mused, her eyes following his every step.
Alistair looked past the many steps to the Great Hall, choking on his water when he spotted what the mage mentioned. "What is he doing here?"
She shrugged, checking her left hip. Spellweaver vibrating with just the brush of her finger tips. He could feel the hair at the back of his neck stand on in. Closing his fingers tightly into a fist, he fought his natural instinct to cleanse the air around him. If the magic the sword possessed did that to him as he stood near her, how could she bear to wield it?
Hawke was nearly halfway up the stairs when archers came out of the shadows, arrows pointed at him. He waved his hands, indicating that he was unarmed. "I know I am a wanted man, but I have come to seek guidance in a matter I'd rather not mention to all of Thedas."
Chewing on her lip, Ashiva looked puzzled. The elf had become distant and distracted since she had returned from Kirkwall nearly a year ago. The things she witnessed there, followed by the tragic news that a Grey Warden, Anders, had destroyed the Chantry and started the mage and templar revolutions, she had slowly drifted into herself. She disappeared often, seeking ancient documents from various Circles of Magi. If she remained in the keep, Alistair often found her studying maps throughout the night. The map on the wall was marked with various locations of ancient thaigs and elven ruins throughout Thedas. Her obsession had started nearly two and a half years after the blight when she had found Morrigan. The witch had left her something before she had vanished again. Why Ashiva had left the apostate go was unclear to him. He knew they were close during the blight...but after, he remembered her haunted eyes as she pleaded with him.
"Please Ali, I can't watch you die," she had whispered, as if she had already been broken and defeated. "I can't imagine a world without you...do this for me. For us."
He had completed the ritual for them. Yet, in the end, he could never forgive her or himself for taking this road. Although nothing had happened that night, he feared what would happen years from now. Would peace continue or dissolve into hopelessness because of their choices?
Jarred from his brooding thoughts, Alistair rested his hand on Ashiva's right hand now on the pommel of her sword. "I think we should hear him out, Warden-Commander."
Narrowing her eyes, she raised her hand to disarm the Wardens surrounding the Champion of Kirkwall. Hawke grinned, making his way up the stairs until he stood in front of them. The petite elf looked up at the warrior in distrust. "You want to talk? Lets go to my office."
It was then that Garrett Hawke and he had become closer. The Champion had told his tale, concerning Red Lyrium and what it had done to the Knight-Commander. Ashiva had not been surprised, having already heard the story before in her travels, but the concern was apparent in the way she twisted her hands and paced the small space.
They had aided Hawke in his search; Alistair had sought out Dagna, an extraordinary Dwarf with interest in the Arcane. Ashiva left to seek assistance from Avernus in Soldier's Keep, one of their secrets they had kept from the First Warden. It wasn't until she had returned that he noticed lightness to her steps and brightness in her eyes that he hadn't seen in awhile.
Alistair knocked on the door twice before he stepped into her private quarters. The small hearth was burning brightly, flickering with the mage's excitement. Her smile was broad as she wrote frantically on the parchment.
"I see you are writing to our favorite templar. You should ask him to send some cheese from Kirkwall. I hear that it is full of flavors like mistrust and pride," he replied, sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed.
The elven woman blushed at the mention of the templar, stepping away from the small desk and sitting next to the warden on the bench, a scroll in her hand. Her hair was loose behind her back, wearing only a simple gown for bed. "I found something when I was with Avernus," she said, handing the ancient script to him.
The warrior unraveled the document, reading the note carefully. He read it a second and third time before he looked at her in bewilderment. "Is it possible?"
"Morrigan helped us both survive the Fifth Blight. I wouldn't have thought anything of it until I remember seeing her in the Dragonbone Waste. She gave me part of the answer...and I found the other in Soldier's Keep," she explained. "I think it is possible that there is a cure."
Alistair analyzed the woman next to him. The Calling was something they had both feared, and had promised each other to not let the other go alone when the time came. It had been almost ten years since they became Grey Wardens. They were nearly halfway through their lives, she a mere twenty-eight and he thirty years. During the Blight, she had accepted the fate, but now, he noticed how restless she had become. She was a respectable woman now, Arlessa to Amaranthine, Warden-Commander of Ferelden and the newly appointed Arcane Specialist for Queen Anora (since the blighted woman had to keep up with Orlais).
Although she never mentioned it with him, he also knew of her affections for Knight-Commander Cullen in Kirkwall. They had grown closer over the years. She once every two months would travel to the city-state on "business." He allowed her the little fib, only to keep his own heart from betraying his unacquainted affections for her. Her heart had been won over by the templar that had rejected her in the Circle of Magi. Alistair hated himself all the more, knowing at one time very long ago, he had her love and devotion and had thrown it away, because of her little request to keep them both alive.
"That's great news. I also have some things to go over with you," commented Alistair, scratching his nose. "Five more wardens left our ranks this week from the Calling."
Her happiness faded into dejection. He hated seeing it. "I see," she breathed, rubbing the creases out of her gown. "That would be ten this month. How young were they?"
"Three years. They aren't the only ones hearing it though. I have heard murmurs in the practice areas of the men hearing singing," he added. "I have also begun to hear it."
Eyes widen, she grabbed both of his hands in hers. "No, it's too soon."
"I wouldn't keep you to your promise Ash," Alistair lowered his voice, intimately resting his hand on her cheek. "You have so much to live for."
Ashiva chewed her lower lip in silence, eyebrows lowered in deep thought. He lowered his hand with a sigh, watching the flames settle into embers, crackling in the quiet room. "Honestly, I don't think this is real. As you mentioned, it is too soon. It can't be a coincidence that many recruits and young wardens are falling on their swords in the deep roads, because of the song. I think something else is happening."
She nodded her head, agreeing with him. "This is too important to ignore. I will have Oghren keep account of the men while I'm gone."
It was Alistair's turn to gape at her. "While you're gone?"
She looked sheepishly at him. "After finding this information, I booked voyage to Kirkwall. Although this news unsettles me, it only reminds me of how important it is to find the cure for our short lives. There must be a way for us to continue our duties without so much sacrifice," she answered, eyes burning in resolve. "Nathaniel and I leave tomorrow."
"Absolutely not. I'm coming with you," he raised his voice. "The last time you went somewhere with Nathaniel, you were nearly broken and reclusive for months. You didn't eat nor sleep. I had to beg Cera to create a sleeping draught to force you to rest."
The elven mage frowned, disagreement plainly written in her expression. "I've already made my decision. Nathaniel and I will be leaving tomorrow for Kirkwall," she declared stubbornly. "Alistair, since you have suspicion that the wardens disappearing is a false, I want you to look into it. Find out what is happening to my wardens and I shall seek out the cure we had hoped to find. I will leave Vigil's Keep in Oghren and Seneschal Garevel's hands. Hopefully they won't destroy the place while we're gone."
It had been eleven months and twenty-six days since that conversation. They had written each other little, mostly in code to keep curious eyes at bay. It had been three months since he left the Orlesian Wardens, and the last of their conversations ceased. He hadn't thought much of it, not until he arrived in Skyhold, Cullen breathing down his neck.
And now she's gone, He thought bitterly, glaring at the mountains. He slammed his fist against the railing.
"No matter how much you hit the wall, it isn't going to solve our problems."
Alistair tilted his head to the side, rolling his eyes as the warden archer descend the stairs behind him. The former nobleman stood slightly hunched over, crossing his arms across his chest. His left eye remained bruised, but his hair was finally groomed and pulled back from his face in its traditional braid. He wore a loose fitting white shirt and dark trousers tucked into leather boots. The armor remained to be a problem for the rogue, too tight around the injured ribs.
"Nathaniel, so nice of you to join the living again."
The archer raised a brow, squatting casually against the lumber. "Brooding in a far corner of this Maker forsaken fortress is not going to help us find Warden Surana nor solve the warden dilemma."
The rogue knew already about the Orlesian Wardens. He probably had heard something when he had been a prisoner. Alistair's lip twisted, relieved he wouldn't have to explain everything from the beginning again. Retelling the tale four times was already more than enough.
"If you think your witty remarks are going to phase me, you need to reconsider," Alistair said. "Everything is just falling apart around us. While I'm use to that, I'm not use to the problem being we. The Grey Wardens are throwing everything away for what, fear?"
Sighing, Nathaniel looked out at the view around them. "True, but that doesn't mean we can't stop fighting. In War…"
"Victory," Alistair joined. "In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice."
"We will find the Warden-Commander, stop this Corypheus and restore order to the Grey Wardens," Nathaniel assured, turning away from him. "But the only way we can is if we take action now. The longer we delay, the more time this magister's plans become palpable."
The nobleman grimaced getting up from his makeshift chair, his hawk like eyes scanning the peaceful garden setting. Men and women sat on the stone benches, discussing the latest news in Orlais and Ferelden while the chantry initiates walked deliberately through the gardens. If Alistair concentrated hard enough, he could hear the Mother Giselle teaching the chant of light to the children that lived in the village outside the elven fortress.
"What brought you here to the Inquistion? Last Ashiva and I had heard, you were convening with Warden Clarel," Nathaniel asked, his eyes continuing to scan the crowd.
Sighing, the swordsman shook his head. "I was…had until Warden-Commander Clarel proposed blood magic and such to prevent further the blights before all the Grey Wardens died."
"And let me guess…you protested loudly and ended up arrested to be used later in their rituals," the archer insinuated.
"Something like that," replied the warden mildly, shifting on his feet. "My blood would have probably been another stain on their stone floors if Warden Hawke and her friend hadn't shown up to get me out."
The archer stiffened, his dark eyes narrowing on him. "Warden Hawke? Bethany was there?"
Alistair nodded, crossing his arms across his chest. "She was accompanying another Warden from Jader. We escaped, barely and went separate ways. Before she left, she gave me directions to a cave in Crestwood. Clarel sent guards and…well, here I am," he explained briefly. "And what about you? How did you end up in the Tevinter Ritual tower in the Western Approach?"
"We were in Kal-Sharok when Ashiva got the news about Haven," Nathaniel divulged, leaning against the stone ramparts. "Knowing that the Templar was here, we traveled to Montfort. There we heard more grievous news. The Orlesian Wardens deserting their post in Montsimmard and traveling to the Western Approach. Blood magic."
Nathaniel lowered his head, shoulders slumping. "She tried to get to Vigil's Keep. Hearing nothing, we trekked through the Nahashin Marshes and finally the Western Approach. Unfortunately for us, we had been followed and were ambushed in our camp and taken to Adamant Fortress. Ashiva tried to reason with Warden Clarel, but the mage wouldn't hear it."
"Ashiva was with you," Alistair choked.
Nathaniel looked up, his eyes tormented. "I don't know," he whispered, dismayed. "The damn Tevinter advisor had her taken somewhere. She wouldn't cooperate with the ritual when they insisted she killed me. They threw me in a cell, hoping to use me in their blood rituals soon."
"Damn it," the warden swore, slamming his fist on the stone. Pain throbbed in the hand, but it didn't matter. "That brings us back to square one."
Nathaniel opened his mouth, but quickly shut it, his head tilting his head towards the stairs. Alistair turned to look as well, hearing the shouts. A man rushed to them, the Inquisition logo painted on the leather armor. He pressed his fist to his chest, saluting before rambling his orders.
"Warden Alistair, the Inquisitor has requested your presence in the war room."
The Inquisitor
"Warden Alistair will be joining us," Evelyn said, leaning against the large wooden table. "I think his knowledge of the Grey Wardens would best benefit us in preparing our strategy for Adamant Keep."
Josephine wrote on her pad diligently. "Of course, Inquisitor," she answered, handing the parchment to the Herald. "I found some able-bodied workmen to mount the dragon head. It's rather...vulgar for my tastes, but the nobles have found it to be endlessly entertaining."
Evelyn smiled. "I hope you didn't put it in my bedroom Josie. I don't really want to remember that fight in the Hinterlands. My back still hurts just thinking of it."
The ambassador laughed quietly. "Not this time, your grace. Also, Orzammar pledged themselves to our cause. Lord Harrowmont has sent some of his most formidable warriors from the Legion of the Dead and is willing to offer his wealth."
"How generous," Leliana declared, moving to stand next to Josephine. "I am surprised he even noticed that something was happening on the surface. He was always so focused on traditions."
"And what goodies do you have for me today, spymaster," Evelyn asked, slidding her palms together.
The red-head pointed to the Ferelden side of the map near the bannorn. "We located the missing Seekers. We heard rumors of Bann Loren, who had not been heard from for months. I sent agents to investigate Caer Oswin, but they went silent. I believe it is connected somehow and the missing Seekers will be found there."
"Have you told Cassandra?"
"Yes, Inquisitor" Leliana answer as the door opened behind them.
The Inquisitor was startled to see the Commander late. He looked exhausted, eyes heavy and face unshaven. Although his armor was pristine and he walked in the hall as he normally did, she noticed his hands shaking and the perspiration on his forehead. "Lady Trevelyan, I'm sorry for my tardiness."
Evelyn smiled at the formal title. "Oh Ser Cullen, you're only fashionably late. We're still waiting for another before we get too much into business."
Cullen paused in his task of neatly stacking his paperwork looking up at her. "Another?"
The Inquisitor picked at her nails lazily. "Warden Alistair is a formidable warrior that knows strategy and tactics. He will be assisting us in strategizing our attack on Adamant Fortress."
"I...see," the Commander slowly stated. He nearly managed to hide his displeasure at the mention of the warden, as he handed the report to her. "We manage to clear the road near Fallow Mire. The soldiers are grateful for being spared to trek across the Frostbacks. I also have a request for patrols near the Sutherlands."
Taking the document, Evelyn read the neatly written report. She looked over the map, the markers placed sporadically around the large oak table. "Cullen, let the boy have some control on this. We'll assist them, as long as they repay us in gold."
Cullen nodded, jotting a quick note on the report.
The room grew quiet after that, the herald reading each document conscientiously. Every corner of Thedas dissected every decision she made. How a Templar initiate one day became the Inquisitor and held the lives of thousands in her hands was beyond her rationale. Reports were passed to one another, small chat over various matters followed in the room.
Leliana looked up from the map, concern in her voice. "How are you feeling?"
"A headache, nothing more," Cullen answered quickly, moving one of the targets on the map.
Evelyn had been aware of Cullen's decision to cease taking lyrium. While she admired the Commander for this decision, she still feared for his safety. She noticed how he unconsciously would rub his head in the meetings. He concealed his shaking hands by holding the pommel of his sword while his men trained in the courtyard. Working with Adan, they had created a recipe that relieved some of the lyrium withdrawal symptoms. Because of her travels through Orlais, Skyhold was filled with dried embrium, crystal grace, elf root and spindleweed to last them many months.
Hearing the door creek open, Evelyn peeked up from her reading, her lips twitching into a small smile. Alistair stepped into the room hesitantly, closing the door behind him. "Inquisitor, you sent for me."
"Good, we're all here," Evelyn clapped her hands together. She encouraged the warden to stand next to her.
The Fifth Blight had begun when she was only ten. Listening to the stories of the Hero of Ferelden, uniting Ferelden and defeating the archdemon, she had become fascinated with the Grey Wardens. On one of her many family trips, they had made their way to Denerim for Feast Day. She remembered standing in awe, looking at the infamous Fort Drakon, towering overhead, and shadows casted in the evening light. She wanted to evade her family and investigate the towering building to see the signs of the battle. She never expected to meet anyone that fought in the Battle of Denerim, much less one of the only two Grey Wardens that had been there. But here she was now, the Herald of Andraste, socializing with Leliana, a veteran and comrade of the Grey Wardens and the Alistair Theirin. She nearly grew faint at the thought.
Now wasn't the time though to demand stories from those present for the events from ten years ago. There were bigger problems to attend to. Evelyn cleared her throat. "I believe you are acquainted with our spymaster Leliana and Commander Cullen," she said, coyly. "This lovely lady here is the Inquisition Ambassador, Josephine Montilyet."
"A pleasure Warden Alistair. We are grateful to have an ally like yourself," the ambassador said, her voice smooth and controlled.
"Thank you, Ambassador," Alistair replied. "Adamant Fortress was built during the Second Blight in the Abysal Rift. It is stable and will take much to get through the stone gates, but luckily it is an older building and can be taken down with the right equipment."
"Perhaps if we had trebuchet," Josephine mused out loud.
"They were all destroyed at Haven," Cullen interrupted.
Humming, the Inquisitor scratched at her head. "I feared you would say that, Commander. Josephine, is it possible we could borrow one…or ten?"
"I have made some inquiries into the Imperial Court, but our resources are still limited," the Antivan woman relayed the news. "The political situation in the Empire is dangerously unstable and it is complicating matters."
The Commander snorted. "Everything in the Empire complicates matters," he smirked. "It's the Orlesian National Pastime."
"Turn your nose up at the Grand Game if you like, Commaner, but we play for the highest stakes, and to the death," Lelianna warned.
Josephine nodded. "The court's disapproval can be as great a threat as the Venatori. We must be vigilant, to avert disaster."
"Don't worry, Josephine. We'll protect the Empress, not matter what," Evelyn reassured.
The advisor leaned against the table, marking on her tablet. "I pray you're right," she said softly. "If you're vision of the future comes to pass…the death of the Empress hearlds the destruction of everything."
"You had visions of Empress Celene's death," Alistair grimaced, swearing under his breath. "Orlais and the Wardens…it seems Corypheus is busy."
"Celene is holding peace talks under the aupices of a Grand Masquerade. Every power in Orlais will be there," the Ambassador explained. "It's the perfect place for an assassin to hide."
"Does Celene know about the threats against her," Evelyn asked, stretching her neck side to side. "Can we send word?"
"I've sent messages to the Empress, but it's impossible to know if she's received them," Josephine sighed. "We don't have enough sway in the court to arrange an invitation. A few more alliances…"
"Or soldiers," Cullen interjected.
"In order to acquire trebuchets and protect the Empress, we need a greater presence in Orlais, and soon." Josephine advised. "In the meantime, I received a missive from Edouard Desjardins from Emprise Du Lion. He speaks of red crystals growing in the fields and helmeted men around the village quarry. Sahrnia is known throughout Orlais for its quarry. It produces the finest azure granite in the South. Protecting Sahrnia would be a good step towards attaining Orlesian support."
"My agents also found evidence leading to Emprise du Lion," Leliana added.
The Commander tensed, eyes staring at the spymaster hard. "Evidence?"
"Here, you read it."
Cullen took the document carefully, trying to keep his hands from shaking so much as he read aloud the letter. "Benedict, Pull up stakes. All plans for the "Mine" in the Western Approach are off. The Inquisition's on the move and headed your way. Dump all the bodies and relocate to Emprise du Lion. Take the Warden with you. Corypheus has plans."
"Warden," Alistair whispered the word in question, face pale. "Could it be?"
"Please tell me there was something else," Cullen demanded.
Evelyn looked between the two men. Warden Alistair looked like he would collapse, shock written on his face. Commander Cullen looked as if he was ready to strangle the spymaster, jaw clenched, fist tight around the mangled parchment. She had only seen him once like this; throwing the lyrium across the room, fist punching the solid bookcase. Whoever this warden was, it must have been someone important. "What warden? We found Nathaniel in the Western Approach. There is another warden you know?"
"Ashiva Surana," Alistair named. "Nathaniel was traveling with her before they were captured. I had hoped I would have found her with him, but apparently they decided otherwise. She alone can easily influence the Grey Wardens left. I didn't know if it was something I should've informed you about, Inquisitor."
"I feel I'm missing something," the Inquisitor admitted, eyes downcast. "Is this Ashiva someone I should know."
"Only the most well known warden in all of Thedas. Warden-Commander Surana of Ferelden and Hero of Fifth Blight in Ferelden," Leliana informed lightly, a small smile on her lips. "If Nathaniel's information is correct and he had only been in the Western Approach, there is still a chance the she is alive."
"The Hero of Ferelden," Evelyn repeated in awe. This sounded more like one of Varric's cheesy adventure tales. The air felt heavier to breath in the enormous room. Tension was rising between two advisors; one chatting with Alistair while the other remained silent, brooding. "So, you're thinking that the Hero of Ferelden was taken to Emprise du Lion by the Red Templars."
"It makes sense," Josephine stated. "The Hero would be a strong influence on the Wardens. If she didn't agree with something, it would only make sense to remove her. But why would the Red Templars have her, I wonder."
The auburn haired woman turned at hearing the commander mutter under his breath incoherently. Was he swearing? "Commander Cullen, are you well."
"No...I mean yes," Cullen stuttered, before sighing. "I'm just alarmed by these current events. Whatever is happening it must be stopped soon. I'll send troops there immediately to clear a path. They should be there in two days."
"Cullen," Leliana lowered her voice, resting her hand on the man's broad shoulder. "We'll find her."
"Maker, I hope so."
Chewing on her lip, Lady Trevelyan studied the two. She rarely saw this side of the Spymaster. Was this how she was when she was a young bard? Cullen's shoulders were hunched, head lowered as if he was a broken man. "I know you mentioned the Circle before, Cullen and how she was one of your charges."
"She isn't just a charge your worship," Cullen muttered.
Alistair cleared his throat. "If you are to go to Emprise du Lion, Inquisitor, I would like to join you. Ashiva is a friend of mine, and I will not be able to rest until I know she is safe."
Evelyn smiled. "Good. If the Red Templars have a stake on this region as is referred in this letter, it would be best to have veterans fighting at my side."
"And I as well."
Shocked, blue eyes turned to gaze at the amber orbs. "Commander?"
His laughter did not ease her. It was harsh and bitter, like the blizzard she had nearly froze in nearly a month ago. She felt the chill run down her spine, her hands numb and lifeless. Cullen looked at her, mouth set in a firm frown. "You don't understand," he said exasperated, rubbing his forehead slowly. "The Ferelden Warden-Commander, The Hero of the Fifth Blight, Champion of Redcliffe, the slayer of the archdemon Urthemiel, Senior Enchanter of Kinloch Hold, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Chancellor of Ferelden, Ashiva Surana...even with all those titles, she has one that isn't known by many. She is my wife."
A/N: I tried to keep much of the conversations and reports in the war room similar with small twist since advisors are summarizing the events to the Inquisitor. I also took liberties in the note found in the Forgotten Mine in the Western Approach. No it doesn't mention the warden in the game, but I have to make it work for where the plot is going.