A big thank you to WellspringCD for imposing some order on my unruly commas, and for her ideas on this chapter; she inspires me. It's all her fault ;) Thank you to everyone who stops by to read.
It took ten days to reach Haven. Fearghal set a brutal pace; he had no patience with his own weariness, or anyone else's for that matter. The only upside of each day's exhausting march was that it left him so tired he barely dreamed at all, or if he did, he had no memory of it. As he slept better, so did the rest of the party and tempers improved all round. On the third day the terrain steepened and they found themselves rising higher and higher.
The higher they got, the lower the temperature dropped. By the fifth day, Fearghal's mood had improved enough that he mocked Zevran mercilessly when the warm-blooded Antivan emerged from his tent wearing a sturdy pair of woollen leggings under his leather skirt. Zevran took it all in good part, leering at Fearghal and telling him that if Fearghal wished to remove them, then Zevran wouldn't dream of trying to stop him.
The night time temperatures were viciously cold and they were all grateful for the woollen clothes and extra blankets Fearghal had purchased with the first instalment of the proceeds from the bullion robbery. The cold was easier to deal with in the day time as long as they kept moving. It seemed to Alistair that as they climbed higher, so everyone's spirits seemed to lift. Leliana told tales to entertain them, including a tale she knew of Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds. When Morrigan scoffed at Leliana's version, the bard persuaded her to tell her version. This then led to curious questions about Morrigan's childhood in the Wilds. Morrigan seemed flustered at all the attention, but was prevailed upon to tell them something of her unconventional upbringing. She had even cast an apologetic look at Alistair when she related how her mother had turned hunting templars into a game.
Zevran told outrageous stories about some of the assassinations he had performed for the Crows. To Alistair's mind they seemed to show more luck than judgement but then he was starting to realise that Zevran used flirtation and humour in much the same way that he did himself, or humour at any rate, and wondered how much Zevran embellished his tales just to increase their comedy value. While Fearghal didn't offer up any tales himself, Alistair noticed that he listened closely and he laughed as hard as any of them at Zevran's stories. The only person who remained aloof from it all was Sten.
As they neared Haven the dark-skinned giant seemed to retreat further and further into himself. Sten spoke only when addressed directly and refused to answer any questions about his past. Once or twice Alistair had caught the Qunari staring at Fearghal; the look in his eyes had been quite unnerving. Alistair waited until Sten and Morrigan had the first watch and then broached the subject with Fearghal as they settled down in their bedrolls.
"Fearghal, do you think Sten's all right?"
Fearghal rolled over to face him. "What do you mean?"
"Well, it's just he seems awfully quiet, even for Sten."
"Oh yeah, because he used to be the life and soul of the party," scoffed Fearghal, chuckling softly.
"I'm serious," hissed Alistair, feeling a flash of irritation. "I know he's never said much, but he seems particularly quiet, and... I know it might sound odd, but I've caught him looking at you strangely."
Fearghal snorted with laughter. "Maferath's balls, what's that supposed to mean? I'm beginning to think Zevran's a bad influence on you!"
"If you're not going to take it seriously, I'm going to sleep," announced Alistair sulkily.
On the tenth day they reached Haven. The village nestled in a hollow at the foot of the mountain. They were surprised to see a guard at the village gate; surely bandits weren't a problem this far from civilisation?
The guard seemed less than pleased by the arrival of visitors. He eyed them up and down, then demanded, "What are you doing in Haven? There is nothing for you here."
"So this is Haven?" asked Fearghal. There had been no sign post or anything else to announce the name of the village, but it was the first village they'd come across in almost a week.
"What do want?" asked the guard, glaring at him.
"We're looking for a chantry brother, Genitivi. He's a scholar and we believe he came here to... do some research," explained Fearghal.
"Who?" The guard scowled. "Perhaps Revered Father Eirik will know of him."
Fearghal's eyebrows shot up at the mention of a Revered Father; he'd never heard of such a thing before. For the moment, he let it go, instead asking. "May we speak to him, please?"
"Unfortunately, he's ministering to the villagers at the moment and can't be disturbed." The guard smirked with satisfaction.
"A Revered Father, huh? That's new," mused Alistair.
The guard's eyes flicked to Alistair. "It has always been so in Haven. We don't question tradition," he growled.
"Please, we're getting very low on supplies. It's taken a long time to get here," said Fearghal.
The guard's eyes narrowed, then he nodded. "You can trade for supplies if you wish, then I suggest you and your companions leave."
"Thank you," said Fearghal, leading the way up the path.
"Is it just me, or did it just get a lot colder?" muttered Alistair at his shoulder.
"It's not the most effusive welcome I've ever received," agreed Fearghal. He grinned at Alistair. "Then again, we're a pretty rum looking bunch, I suppose. I don't expect they see many outsiders."
Alistair sniggered. "It's like the start of a bad joke... a templar, a Qunari, a swamp witch and an elven assassin walk into a bar..."
They both burst out laughing. They were flabbergasted at a frustrated shout from Sten. They had no idea what his words meant, but the tone was less than complementary. The giant Qunari marched up to them, muttering under his breath.
"Tell me, Warden, do you intend to keep going north until it becomes south, and attack the Archdemon from the rear?" he demanded angrily.
The others stared as Fearghal eyed him warily, then smiled. "It'll never see this coming," he replied flippantly, stuffing down the sudden flare of anger.
"Truly," sneered Sten. "It would surprise me if my enemy counter-attacked by running away and climbing a mountain."
Fearghal's eyes narrowed at the accusation of cowardice. "We're not 'running away' from anything," he replied, his voice cold.
"The Archdemon is our goal and we're heading away from it, to find the charred remnants of a dead woman." He stepped forward and glared down at Fearghal. "I will not simply follow in your shadow as you run from battle."
Fearghal didn't flinch. "Well, there's nothing you can do about it. I'm in charge," he snarled.
"Not anymore. I'm taking command," declared Sten.
"Just try it," growled Fearghal, his face flat but his eyes blazing with anger.
"Defend yourself, Warden. We will settle this."
Fearghal pulled his shield off his back and drew his sword as Sten reached behind him for the huge two-handed sword he carried.
The Qunari was over-confident. He swung his sword high overhead and Fearghal screamed with rage and barrelled into him, slamming his shield against the Qunari's body as hard as he could. With his arms raised high over his head, Sten was easily knocked off-balance and staggered backwards. He recovered quickly and came at Fearghal again. Fearghal blocked Sten's blow with his shield, feeling the shockwaves reverberate up his arm; he brought his sword down on Sten's, trying to loosen the great sword from the Qunari's grasp. Fearghal felt the great sword give a little under his own and rushed in, swinging his shield. Sten tried vainly to swing his huge sword, but Fearghal's shield flew backwards and forwards, sending him staggering back. Fearghal punched forwards with his shield and put the giant Qunari on his backside. As he tried to get to his feet, Fearghal's blade whistled through the air and Sten's head flew off, hitting the ground with a dull thud.
Fearghal loomed over the Qunari's body. "Lead now, you bastard!" he snarled.
Alistair and Leliana looked on, open-mouthed with shock, while Morrigan frowned, her disapproval obvious. Zevran's face was impassive.
Leliana was the first to find her voice. "You killed him!"
"So I did," retorted Fearghal.
"But... but... " stammered Leliana.
"But nothing. He attacked me, Leliana. He was quite prepared to kill me. There's not an army in Thedas that wouldn't execute him for that kind of insubordination."
"He's right, Leliana," said Alistair. "It's one thing to disagree, but quite a different matter to attack. This wasn't a duel. Even if it had been, Sten was out of line. Fearghal's in charge and if anyone else doesn't like that, they're free to leave."
"So you would have let Sten leave?" asked Morrigan, her tone disbelieving.
Fearghal swung his head to look at her. "No. He was under sentence of death in Lothering, and rightly. Coming with us was his chance to redeem himself. As far as I'm concerned, his original sentence stands; however, if any of the rest of you are unhappy, you're free to leave."
Leliana and Morrigan shook their heads.
"So, that is settled," said Zevran. "Shall we clear up this mess? I don't think it would do to upset the locals." He bent and picked up Sten's head.
Fearghal was distracted by Bane running towards one of the houses. He scrabbled frantically at the door, growling. Fearghal frowned and approached the door. He laid his hand on the great dog's head and Bane quieted. Fearghal turned and caught Alistair's eye, jerking his head. Alistair wandered over.
"What is it?" asked Alistair quietly.
"I don't know, but Bane's really unhappy about something. Arm yourself, just in case." Fearghal looked round and kicked the door open. There was no-one in the small cottage. Bane scrambled past him and flew down to the far end of the large living room, barking furiously. Fearghal and Alistair both followed him, then stopped as the smell hit them simultaneously.
"Ugh! Is that blood?" groaned Alistair.
In front of them was... well, Fearghal didn't know if it was a butcher's block or an altar. The pool of clotting blood on the surface suggested the former; two candlesticks perched incongruously on the top suggested the latter.
"Used for food preparation, perhaps?" suggested Alistair, hopefully.
"Does meat bleed that much?" asked Fearghal.
They both jumped at Zevran's voice. "I wonder... the Crows often made sacrifices of blood; it gave them uncanny abilities."
"Let's get out of here," growled Fearghal.
There was an undignified scramble at the door as three men and a large dog all tried to get through it at the same time. Fearghal almost jumped out of his skin as he practically fell over a small boy waiting just outside.
"Who are you? You shouldn't be here." The boy eyed them suspiciously.
Fearghal looked round. There was no sign of any villagers at all; no-one except the guard at the gate and the boy.
"Where is everyone?" he asked the child.
"In the Chantry. Mother wanted me to go to the Chant, but she doesn't get to tell me what do to anymore!" the boy replied, petulantly.
"Getting too old for that, eh?" grinned Fearghal.
The boy looked at him and smiled triumphantly. "Soon I'll be old enough to go up the mountain and... " he caught himself, as if he'd said too much.
"Go up the mountain?" asked Fearghal, as casually as he could.
The boy regarded him warily, then shrugged. "It's just nicer up there. You wouldn't understand." He glared at Fearghal, then added, "Lowlanders don't belong here." He turned and fled.
"What was all that about?" asked Alistair.
Fearghal stared after the boy. "I have no idea," he said, shaking his head. "Come on, let's find the shop. We might be able to find out more there."
They trooped up the hill. Only one house had a lamp lit; it didn't look obviously like a shop, just another house, but the light suggested that there was someone inside.
Fearghal pushed the door open and went in. At his side, Bane started to growl softly. The place looked more like a large storeroom than a shop, but it obviously wasn't a house. A tall, pale man inside looked at them with surprise.
"Who are you? You're not from Haven... " he said.
"We're just passing through," Fearghal told him with a grin. "We're looking for a man called Brother Genitivi. I don't suppose he's passed through here in the last few months?"
The man didn't even stop to think about it. "No... I've never heard that name."
"You didn't take long to think about it. Maybe you'd like to reconsider," he suggested, his voice cold.
The man swallowed nervously. "We haven't had any visitors in an age. Not brothers or knights or anyone."
Suddenly, Bane whimpered and ran through the small shop, into the back room. Fearghal started after him and was surprised when the man stepped forward and tried to stop him.
"Oi! You can't go back there, that's private!" he yelled.
Fearghal shook the man's hand off his arm and continued after Bane.
"No!" yelled the man. "You have no right!"
Fearghal ignored him and kept going.
"Fearghal!" Alistair's voice rang out in alarm.
Fearghal turned to see the man drop to the floor, a knife clattering to the floor as it fell out of his limp hand. Zevran bent and wiped his blade clean on the man's tunic, grinning up at him.
"Thanks," muttered Fearghal.
"Let's go and see what's worth hiding," said Fearghal grimly.
It soon became obvious what the shop keeper had been at such pains to hide. Bodies. Several of them, in fact. Fearghal and Alistair gagged at the smell; they were none too fresh. Zevran seemed undisturbed by the smell and bent to examine them. He picked a badge of rusting armour and showed it to Fearghal.
"Redcliffe?" he asked.
Fearghal glanced at it and nodded. "I guess we know what happened to the knights that never made it back to Redcliffe." He groaned. "Maker's cock, I need some fresh air! Let's get outside."
Leliana and Morrigan were waiting in the main room. Leliana was working at the lock of a large chest. She smiled with satisfaction and withdrew her lockpicks, pulling the lid up and peering inside.
"Anything interesting?" Fearghal asked.
"Just more stock, I think. Maybe he valued these goods more highly and sought to keep them secure," Leliana told him with a shrug.
Fearghal rummaged through the chest. Some bolts of silk, a few fancy-looking jars and... Fearghal grinned and drew the leather boots out of the chest. "Zevran!" he called and threw the boots to the elf as he turned to look at him.
Zevran caught the boots and his eyes widened. He raised them to his face and inhaled deeply, then sighed with satisfaction. "Hmmmmmm. That smell! These are made from Antivan leather; I would know that smell anywhere."
"So, what are you waiting for? Try them on!" ordered Fearghal, grinning.
"But I have not finished admiring them, yet!" protested Zevran. He sniffed deeply at one boot and thrust the other into Fearghal's face. "Can you smell that? Like rotting flesh! Just like home."
Fearghal swatted the boot away and Zevran sat on the chest, pulling his worn boots off. They fitted reasonably well and he left them on. He grinned up at Fearghal.
"Thank you, my friend! Now if only you could find me a prostitute or two, a bowl of fish chowder and a corrupt politician, I'd really feel like I was home!"
Fearghal headed for the door. "Come on, let's go and see what the Revered Father has to say."