May the Maker Watch Over You
Chapter 5
A/N: It's a shorter chapter before we get into the mess in Emprise du Lion. I struggled writing this one and I don't know if I am really pleased with the results in different spots. Thank you to ErsbethShadowSong, Music is my Muse, TheFoxesWife, lelumi, Winterlight89, ManlyMelon, and Thanatos Letus for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following. I hope you like this newest chapter.
I do not own Dragon Age, it all belongs to Bioware.
Inspiration: Dragon Age Inquisition soundtrack, Dragon Age Origins banter and Kinloch Hold, Dragon Age: Inquisition banter, Dragon Age Inquisition: Champions of the Just, Celtic wedding vows.
"Our enemies have surrendered unconditionally, you grace," The hooded messenger reported, handing the document to her with without delay.
Ashiva smiled, writing her signature on the document. Everything was going according to plan. The warden keep was restored. "Yes, I'm grateful the darkspawn have finally went back where they crawled out of."
"The Warden's strength has doubled in size. Our strength rivals any kingdom in Thedas. Even Queen Anora couldn't withstand your power," he replied.
Ashiva crinkled her nose. She knew her wardens were a powerful force. They had the best armor, weapons and training in Ferelden. The elf believed it was important to remain vigilant, to be prepared when the darkspawn returned. She would not let Amaranthine, or Ferelden for that matter be destroyed again by the foul creatures. Why would she be concern that they could withstand the Queen? It would be traitorous, marking the wardens again as enemies to the throne and kingdom.
Nathaniel stepped into the office, saluting her casually. "Commander, the mages are prepared to attack Denerim on your command."
"Wait, what" she shouted, stepping away from her desk as if the furniture was on fire. "Warden mages attack Denerim? Are you insane, Nathaniel?"
The rouge blinked, not alarmed by her outburst. "You issued the order three days ago. The mages have full control of the demons as you wished."
"Demons? I would never command that," She hissed, pushing past the archer into the great hall. She rushed through the large room, charging for her adviser, Seneschal Garvel. She found him on the top of the stairs, overlooking the keep. "Garvel, what is the meaning of this? Are we attacking Denerim? What are mages doing with demons? I never authorized this."
"You gave the command, your grace. Soon Ferelden will know the power of the Grey Wardens. They will know your power," Garvel answered. "The assassin was sent as well. Soon, the throne will be yours."
The elf was speechless. The throne will be mine? Who sent these orders? She turned from the seneschal, rushing through the great hall again. Grabbing the stack of papers, she went through them furiously, seeking answers. Had everyone in her keep gone mad? Was this some prank? Maker, she was beginning to hope it was. Then she would have everyone on latrine duty for a month.
It was then she found it, the seal, her seal-the griffon and shield- on the Crows contract. The words were clear, assassinate the queen and any who would dare beseech the throne. She was seeking the power, taking the kingdom for herself.
She dropped the paper, as if it burned her, wrapping her arms around herself. She would never kill the Queen. She couldn't deny that there was times she disagreed with the noblewoman, but she would never assassinate her. The woman had assisted her, giving the wardens a home in Amaranthine, giving them the necessary tools to rebuild Vigil's Keep after the Darkspawn attacked, gave her a name and a position unworthy of her.
Ashiva felt the chill, heard the whispered in her head. Traitor. Murder. Maleficarum. She shook her head, trying to get the murmurs out of her head. "This isn't real," she whispered hoarsely.
She remembered now. The doppelganger, Envy and the Elder One. The damn demon was getting to her, using the people and places closest to her to get inside her head. She wouldn't allow it. She stepped out of her office, not surprised to see the messenger, standing a few steps on the carpeted staircase, admiring the high back wooden seat. The hood was off, a reflection of herself.
"Our reach begins to match my ambition-but we will strive for more," the doppelganger announced smugly to the empty room, arms clasped around her back, eyes full of hunger and pride.
"Is imitating what you can't have your only pleasure, demon," spat the elf, grabbing the dagger she remembered she possessed from her earlier encounter, tucked into her hip.
"Accusing," the demon hissed. "Trying to find my weakness. Is that the woman you are?"
"You won't have me," Ashiva assured, preparing to strike.
She pressed forward, striking her laughing target. She only meet air, stumbling into her chair, the one she often sat in to dictate orders for the arling. Not taking any chances, Ashiva ran outside. Wardens marched through the gates, demons alongside them. The army was massive, chanting. The shouts pierced her ears.
"You are nothing," the demon whispered. "Why give the throne to Anora when you could have taken it with force? You had the power. You gained the power of blood in the Warden Keep. You should had taken it."
"I will have Ferelden fall at my feet. Ferelden will know what it means to have true power. For when I am you, the people will not forget what you do to them. They will know...you will see."
"Shut up, demon," she yelled, falling to her knees. She covered her ears, rocking herself back and forth. She could feel the darkness impending around her. Fighting for control, she murmured a silent prayer, praying for vigilance, for strength to make it through this nightmare.
Alistair groaned, covering his eyes from the sunlight glittering into the tavern. How Garrett Hawke had convinced him to play a game of Wicked Grace, he didn't know. "A moment of weakness, a way to get away from the weight of all Thedas from his shoulders," the Champion had reasoned, a knowing smiled looking over at the dwarf. He was doing great until the Qunari showed up, offering booze he couldn't resist. Something, something Lok. It tasted like dragon piss, burning down his throat, but he wasn't going to go down without a fight. He had plenty of Oghren's beverages and was able to walk away. Surely he could handle something from the Qunari.
He raised his head, looking around the tavern. The room had fewer people, the bartender away from the bar, probably resting from the busy night. He could hear the minstrel plucking softly on her lute, humming a tune. "By all that is holy, does she ever sleep."
"Apparently not."
"Andraste's tits," Alistair moaned, glaring at the intruder. Leliana sat next to him, her smile wicked and full of mischief. "Can't you talk quieter...or better yet, don't talk at all."
She laughed, raising her eyebrows. "I hear you had a wonderful night. I'm a little disappointed that I wasn't invited."
"You would have taken all my coin, just like that...short little man," Alistair muttered, trying to rub the headache away. "Did you come to chat or did you come here to complain about Ferelden stews?"
The spymaster's nose scrunched up in disgust. He remembered fondly how she often disapproved of his cooking, often volunteering to prepare the meals herself. She shifted on the bench, throwing the letter onto the table. "Oghren sends his greetings and hopes you plan to bring him back some ale."
Alistair peered at the tiny writing, the words blurring. "Great, Velanna wrote this...I'm going to need some spectacles, and another whatever it was I had," moaned the warden. He could already feel the Dalish elf's accusations with the sharp angles and curves of her handwriting. How COULD you lose the Warden-Commander? It screamed. "I'll read it later. Anything else?"
"Yes, I thought you'd like to know the Inquisitor will be leaving within the hour for Emprise du Lion. I believe you said you would be going."
His head felt heavy, falling against the table. That was today? He lamented his bad luck. "I'm going to blame this on Ash. If she didn't meddle into anything, I wouldn't be in this mess."
Leliana's eyes were unfocused; face grim as she pulled on her hood. "Yes, she does tend to meddle," she agreed, standing up. "I think I need to attend to my duties. I'll see if Helisma can create something to ease your...ailments. You'll also want to seek the Commander out to get the necessary supplies and a horse."
He mumbled his thanks as she walked away, leaving his head on the table. The room kept spinning and was there some way they could cover the windows. It wasn't long before a scout hesitantly walked over, handing him the concoction with shaky hands. It tasted sour and almost like despair, but he could feel the fogginess clearing. Before long, he was on his feet, the pounding at the back of his neck fading. He walked the battlements, waving the finger at Garrett as he walked past-the smug man laughing at him. He continued his trek, opening the wooden door to the commander's office.
"A note from Lady Cassandra Commander," The scout announced, resting the document on the table.
Cullen sighed, grabbing the enclosed message. "What is it this time?"
The scout chewed on her lip. "I...don't know. She sealed it in the envelope and glared. I didn't dare open it."
He opened the pouch tentatively, looking over the written words. "Of course she's upset," Cullen muttered, dismissing the messenger with a flick of his hand. He crumbled into his seat, paper still clutched in his hand. "Cassandra had sought out the assistance of the Hero of Ferelden and the Champion of Kirkwall nearly a year ago. She didn't find either of them. Now Hawke is here in the keep and she just learn of my deception, keeping Ashiva out of this. She'll be fuming for weeks."
Alistair smirked, shrugging his shoulders. "It can't be that bad. Things could be a lot worse. Just think, you could have a demon god baby lurking about somewhere."
"What," Cullen looked up, startled by the comment.
"Ah, nothing. Forget I said anything," Alistair rushed, feeling the heat on his face. "Leliana said I should see you about supplies for our trip."
"Oh, yes," Cullen started, standing, the paper forgotten on the desk. "I have a few things I need before we leave."
The walked around the keep was quiet, little banter between the two warriors. Alistair acquired for health poultices and cold resistance tonics, before stepping into the armory. Cullen examined the swords, balancing them in his right hand. "Looking for a new sword?"
"I was thinking about it," Cullen answered. "We don't know what we are getting ourselves into. I'd like to be prepared."
Dipping his head, Alistair couldn't agree more. "It seems your men do great work here, more than I expected. I wouldn't consider, but Master Wade would skin me alive if I came home with a sword not made by him."
Cullen chuckled. "I can imagine him doing that," he stated in amusement. "But he does create some of the best. Ashiva had the armor I wear commissioned by him. I don't know where the idea of a lion came, but she was insisted on it. Wade was happy for the challenge. Flexible enough to move freely, yet durable to a dragon's claw."
"Do you really think it is wise to go to Emprise du Lion? You are the Commander of the Inquisition," Alistair asked. "Surely there are plenty of men that would volunteer to go."
"Even if they were, I'd rather do this myself," he remarked. "I will be able to rest more easily, knowing I will be there when Ash needs me and not here, wondering otherwise."
"She wouldn't want you to beat yourself for her decisions."
"Funny you say that. Are you not doing the same?"
Alistair closed his mouth, eyes narrowing at the comment. "Well, if I am correct, I think your words for me before you left Amaranthine was to 'watch her or I will hunt you down, and kill you myself.' I'm just trying to do what you asked."
"Dreams. Black and screams. Clashes of swords, and whispers. It calls you. Haunts you."
Alistair raised his sword, pointing it at the air. "For all that is holy…"
"Alistair, its alright," Cullen reassured, signaling to lower the weapon. A young man, no older than twenty stood next to him, hat obscuring his eyes from his sight. "Cole, now is not the-"
The boy continued, eyes glazing over. "'By the power the Maker, mayst thou love me. As the sun follows its course, mayst thou follow me. As light to the eye, as bread to the hungry, as joy to the heart, May thy presence be with me, Oh one that I love, `til death comes to part us asunder.' She vows, eyes glistening, hands grasped in mine...I can't believe that she's mine."
Cullen froze. He couldn't think, pulling his sword swiftly from its rest place. He glared at the boy, metal glistening in the morning sunlight. "Get out of my head," he threatens, pointing his sword at the spirit. "Oh, Maker forgive me, I will run this sword through you."
"She wouldn't want you to hurt," Cole adds, seeming unaware of the sword pointed at him. "She knew one day she would have to part from you...sooner than she hoped. She only wanted your happiness."
"Kid, I think that's enough," Varric interrupted, stepping in front of Cole. "Remember what we talked about?"
Cole stood stiffly for a moment before he nodded his head solemnly. He stepped away, vanishing from view. Varric looked back, an uncertain look on his face. "Now Curly, I know the kid has some...twerks, but was that really necessary?"
The commander lowered his sword, not in the mood for conversation with the dwarf. He looked to Alistair, the warden standing there silently, face pinched in thought. "We were going to look at the horses, yes?"
She cried out, the ice water dripping from her face onto her soaked tunic. The room seemed brighter than she remembered, her amber eyes squinting in the red-lighted dungeon. A man in templar armor holding a bucket stared at her, head tilted, eyes red and cold, lifeless.
"You look well, Surana," said the sardonic templar. "Maybe even better than you did as an apprentice."
The eyes bothered her. Shouldn't they be blue or green perhaps, she thought. "Where am I," she questioned. She wasn't in the Western Approach any longer. Ashiva remembered traveling for days in a carriage. She remembered the blistering heat, not the bone chilling winds that howled in her cell.
"Not in Ferelden, that is all I can say," the man said with a smirk, squatting next to her. "The boss said you needed to eat. They're afraid you're going to croak before the Elder One can use you. That would make him very angry."
She remembered now. The face was older, hair longer. She scooted away, eyes wide. "Carroll? What have they done to you?"
"No time for that. The Commander says you need to eat, its the order," he ignores her, voice harsh. He dropped the platter on the floor next to her. "I was here visiting this operation and they told me you were here. I just wanted to see you for myself, the woman who destroyed Kinloch Hold. You know, many of my friends died that day."
"So did mine," she whispered, eyes downcast. The elf remembered the carnage as she treaded carefully through the corridors. She felt ill, hoping the nightmare would end. In the mage quarters, she had found Solona, her closest friend, body cold. She had nearly gave up then, before Wynne had steeled her. "If you give up now, then the tower is lost. You might as well tell Knight-Commander Greagoir to purge the tower," she had seethed. She looked up, watching the red templar in sympathy. Whatever had happened to him, it was unnatural. Although she couldn't feel the Fade around her, she felt something shift when the man stood near her. It made her skin itch, nose twitch as if she needed to sneeze. Stilling herself, she looked him directly in the eyes, fighting to the fear. "But there are more lives at stake now, Carroll. Let me go, and I can find some way to help you."
His laugh was rough and thick. "The only way you will help me is to remain here and to eat. The Elder One wants you at your best. He has plans for you."
The templar lifted himself from the ground, his amusement making her feel uneasy. "Sleep well, Surana."