Poring over some tattered documents that contained long-held secrets written in faded inky scratchings, the Orlesian Warden-Commander was disturbed by the entrance of his Second. Normally silent, there was a soft clatter as the elf misjudged the gap between door and doorframe. Swearing at himself, it took Torih a minute or two to find his balance again.
Argarth leant back in his chair, feet kicking out under the small table as he stretched the hours of study from his frame. The dwarf blinked a few times as he forced his eyes to refocus from squinting over the vellum to studying the elf. "Well?"
A faint stench of ale and vomit spread throughout the room. The elf's feet were planted squarely beneath him but his upper body swayed as though he was caught in a breeze. He had to clear his throat before he spoke and when he did, it was in a throaty growl that confirmed the elf had been diligent in his duty to scout out the noise-filled taverns. "There are many rumours. Fortunately I was able to track down the dwarf. It took some effort but I finally poured enough drink down his throat to free his tongue."
"A feat indeed, Torih," Argarth made no attempt to hide his smirk as the elf's lip curled ever so slightly at the memory of a drunken Oghren.
"Unfortunately the Antivan Crow found us before I could interrogate him on all the details," the sneer became more pronounced. "He was quick to intervene."
"If you had held your own tongue earlier then you may have had more success," Argarth took pity on his Second and gestured that the elf sit on the bed since there were no other chairs save the one he was sitting on. "What did you learn?"
"The rumours are exaggerated but grounded in truth. There was one thing of particular interest," Torih sat on the edge of the bed, a hand outstretched to one of the corner bedposts as he readjusted to the change in his centre of gravity. "The female did not travel with the army. The dwarf talked of Riordan and the bastard but not her."
"A tenuous detail, at best."
"No," the elf argued with a shake of his head before grasping at his stomach as the movement made him feel nauseous. He took a few breaths before continuing, "he did not mention her at all until I asked about the Archdemon. He confirmed that it was she who made the killing blow."
Argarth sat up, his legs moving back beneath the chair as he hunched over the table once more and rifled through some of the papers in front of him. Peering at one in particular, he skimmed the contents then looked up with a frown. "Are you certain, Torih?"
"Yes."
"That is unexpected."
Torih swallowed as he fought the urge to vomit in his Commander's bed. "What?"
"With Alistair's... history... I would have accepted his survival more readily. But her," the dwarf shook his head, "there is no precedent which would explain her survival."
"Hi...history?" the elf asked, interest piqued but noticeably paler than usual. He pushed himself off the bed and took a few uncertain steps so that he stood beside the window.
"Yes," Argarth offered no further details and Torih was forced to be satisfied with the scraps of the intriguing titbit his Commander had dangled in front of him.
The dwarf made to speak again but stopped as both he and Torih sensed the arrival of another tainted being close by. Torih made to move towards the door but Argarth waved him back to the window as he clambered to his feet. He hesitated in expectation of a knock but when none came, he moved to the wall which was shared with the adjacent room and absent-mindedly ran a hand across it. "He has returned to his room. Strange, I had expected more resistance."
"Perhaps he believes that he can distract us if he cooperates."
"Yes. And it is the woman he wishes to distract us from," Argarth dropped his hand from the wall and turned back to face the elf. "Everything would appear to focus on her."
"There is too much that is uncertain," Torih muttered, rubbing at his forehead. "There was more I wished to press the dwarf on."
"I doubt you will have the chance to loosen his tongue again," Argarth remarked with a snort. "The Antivan will be watching you too closely."
"There are others and the Crow cannot be everywhere at once," Torih frowned and the pressure of his fingers pushing against his temples increased as he attempted to grapple with his thoughts even through the ale-fuelled haze that was enveloping his mind. "The human will not expect that I attend his debriefing. It may be that I can gain access to the woman while you occupy him. At the very least, I should be able to search out more answers."
"Agreed," Argarth conceded. "Go rest, I imagine there is a little time before he will seek me out. When I summon Korgik to come and record the account, I will ask him to wake you."
Torih gave a very small bow and with a poorly concealed relief headed towards the door. Before he could leave however, Argarth called him back. "And Torih, make sure you use more discretion or I will skin you like the knife-eared nug you are."
The elf bristled but nodded and made his escape from the room he was finding increasingly suffocating.
Left alone once more, Argarth looked back to his small collection of antiquated documents and grunted to himself. Before leaving for Ferelden he had had the presence of mind to request the scant records that were kept regarding the defeat of the previous Blights but nothing in the papers provided any clue as to how he was to deal with this particular mess.
Darkspawn and politics; all in one Blight. Ancestors preserve him.
"One problem at a time," the dwarf muttered under his breath. He strode back to the table and threw himself back in the chair. Pushing aside the documents concerned with the Archdemon and the necessary sacrifice, Argarth turned his attention to a single sheet of vellum. Examining the near indistinguishable scrawl that was written across it for the countless time that night, the brevity of the contents emphasised the absolute nature of the oath it described. Its presence in the Warden-Commander's hands bode ill for the so-called Grey Warden King who was about to be educated as to what renouncing all claims actually meant.
Alistair moved around the room, muttering short curses under his breath. Eamon had given him the best room in the estate but it felt cold and unwelcoming. The still-burning pyres outside the city walls provided the acrid smell he was accustomed to from the camp fire but he missed the familiar crackle of the flames, the low hum of various voices around the campsite and the occasional bark from the Mabari which all told him he was home. Already he missed the ready company that came with travelling in a group, the sense of friendship that was forged through necessity rather than choice and the feeling of security that whatever else they were to one another, he was as much a part of it as any of them.
The murmuring presence of unfamiliar taints inside his skull only served to emphasise the change. As did the fact that he now had a wardrobe, even sparsely filled as it was. He had become used to having the full extent of his clothing being on his person especially towards the end when supplies were low and any resource had to be used. So now, changed into fresh clothing in the hope it would convince his body that he had actually slept, Alistair encountered the disorientating feeling of having no idea what to do with his dirty laundry. Balling it up, he threw it into a corner of the room and made a mental note to deal with it later. Then with a last lingering look towards the crisply made bed, the only thing which did look inviting, Alistair forced himself to turn his back on it and leave the room.
Pulling the door shut behind him, he cast an absent-minded look along the corridor and caught sight of the Orlesian elf vanishing into a room further down. Muttering empty threats as a means of trying to dispel the uneasy feeling the elf gave him, Alistair headed for the kitchens. He was determined that he would at least be well fed if not rested when he was interrogated by the Grey Wardens.
He made it as far as the main hall before a servant crossed his path. Initially intent on dodging past him, she pulled up short as she realised who it was she had almost brushed past. Dropping a curtsy, she began to address him. "Yo... your Maj..."
Alistair held up a hand, signalling that she gather her breath before continuing. With an obedient nod, she drew in a few gulps of air before brandishing a letter at him.
Unimpressed by the apparent innocuousness of a simple letter, he made to side-step her. "Take it to the Arl's study, I'll look at it later."
"It's for the Hero of Ferelden," the girl moved in step with him so he was unable to push past. "The messenger said it was urgent but the guards wouldn't let me give it to her."
"For Elissa?" That did catch his attention and Alistair came to a halt. He held out his hand and the girl passed him the dirty scrap of vellum. Hardly a letter, there was no seal and it was folded three times in a poor attempt to mask the contents. Mud and grime obscured much of its surface with only title and name written on one side. Yet he doubted that there would be much confusion over exactly which Grey Warden Elissa Cousland it was intended for. The curve of the letters, if somewhat shaky, suggested that the sender was educated.
Alistair glanced up at the girl as he turned the letter over in his hands. "What else did the messenger say?"
"That was all," the girl shrugged.
"Alright. I'll see she gets it."
She curtsied once more before returning to whatever duties that having custody of the letter had pulled her away from.
Torn between curiosity and hunger, Alistair contemplated over the growl of his stomach whether he should deliver the letter or continue in his search of food. But the use of the simple title of Grey Warden dated the contents as having probably been written before the Landsmeet and if it had waited a few weeks already then surely a few hours would not affect whatever information it contained.
Folding the letter in half again and hiding it away securely in a pocket, Alistair carried on towards the kitchens.
His arrival caused a greater uproar than he had anticipated. With trade routes still disrupted and the supplies of the city limited, there was little the cook had to offer which she considered suitable to serve to the King. Biting back the argument that it was surely more inappropriate to allow him to starve, Alistair worked his good-natured charm on the woman until he finally succeeded in convincing her that bread and cheese, even if both were stale, was in fact a meal fit for a King.
Settling himself in a corner of the warm kitchen, Alistair savoured each bite from the plate he was handed. Hunger eventually sated, he leant back against the wall and watched as the cook and her kitchen maids busied themselves with their various chores. There was a sense that he should offer to help but as his eyelids grew heavier, the thought of speaking to make the offer let alone moving to act on it became less and less appealing.
It was only when a hand dug into his shoulder and shook him awake that he realised he had fallen asleep. Stifling a yelp at the pain in his neck gave as he jolted upright, Alistair peered up at the unfamiliar figure looming over him.
"The Warden-Commander wishes to speak with you," one of the human Grey Wardens informed him in a tone that barely hid the man's disdain.
Getting to his feet, Alistair massaged the knotted muscle in his neck with a groan. "What time is it?"
"Past eleven bells," the man growled.
Alistair smothered a groan and forced himself to straighten, ignoring the twinge that shot across his shoulders from the knot. "Where's the Commander?"
"In his room," the Warden stepped to one side in a clear indication that he intended to escort Alistair to the Commander whether he wished it or not.
Taking the hint, Alistair bid goodbye to the cook who was watching the exchange with obvious interest and strode out from the kitchen leaving the Warden in his wake. His outward show of confidence hid the rising desperation from the pit of his stomach as he retraced his earlier route through the estate. Pushing away the numbing effect of his sleep, he struggled to order his thoughts into a coherent flow. It was vital he walked the thin line between truth and denial. Aware that everything he said would be treated to the utmost scrutiny, the necessary evasion of certain facts would have to be consistent no matter how often or in what manner they were tackled.
All too soon he found himself outside Argarth's room. His escort leant forward and opened the door before Alistair could stall for more time. He got the distinct impression that if he did hesitate then the man was not above grasping him by the shoulders and shoving him into the room as though he was some small petulant child. Loathe to offer the man the opportunity, Alistair stepped across the threshold with a projected self-confidence that was as certain as Duncan's had ever been.
At the thud of the closing door behind him, the Warden-Commander turned from the small table that had been pulled closer to the window to take better advantage of the daylight. The second dwarven Grey Warden was already seated with a stack of vellum smoothed out in front of him and small bottle of ink set to one side. Both regarded him with a stern expression which mirrored the one that been etched on the face of his escort. Alistair moved to the centre of the room and drew himself up, eyes forward and arms at his side as he gave the impression of standing to attention. He had been disciplined often enough during his time in the Chantry to understand how to conduct himself in front of his superiors.
It seemed to offer some form of appeasement to Argarth and the expression on the dwarf's face evened into a more neutral one. He waved a hand towards Alistair to communicate that while the man should continue to stand, he should be more at ease. Obediently Alistair allowed some of the tension in his posture to ebb and he moved his gaze towards the second dwarf in silent question.
"Korgik was a noted Shaper within the Shaperate. He will record your account. I trust this is satisfactory?"
Alistair inclined his head in agreement. No pretence; all three knew which events he was required to give an account of.
"Excellent," the Warden-Commander cast a glance back to Korgik who raised the quill above the vellum in ready expectation. Argarth closed his eyes and took a deep breath before beginning to stride back and forth in between the table and Alistair. A measured step which betrayed no impatience or haste, Alistair recognised it as the calm before the storm. "Then let's begin with the events at Ostagar..."
Opening her eyes after a night of tortured dreams, Leliana was confronted by the source of those terrors dozing in the chair at her bedside. Her breathing quickened as she struggled to retain some form of composure while the onslaught of conflicting emotions ravaged her soul at the sight of the woman.
Understanding. Acceptance. Forgiveness.
These were the qualities which the Chantry had shown towards her. These were the qualities which the Chantry had taught her. And these were the qualities which would ensure the Chant of Light would be spread throughout Thedas. So Leliana could not understand that when she needed to grasp hold of those qualities more tightly than she ever had, she found only bitter resentment in her heart.
Judgement.
It was not for her to judge. None but the Maker himself was permitted to judge. Leliana repeated the thought to herself as though forming the mantra would expel the reality that while forgiveness was so far from her mind, angry judgement was all too near.
She had thought that she had known what someone without hope looked like. For many dark months after Marjolaine, the reflection in the small mirror she carried with her had shown her just such a person. Yet Elissa's face had betrayed none of the signs, so perfectly and so closely to her skin did the woman paint her mask. Leliana could not pretend; she had not known the woman's true intention until that last terrible look which had accompanied the command to stop.
And now, scarred as well as scared, it was for Leliana to practice what she had so often preached. With Marjolaine, it had been simpler. Forgiveness had been borne from a long and hard fought struggle that had eventually exhausted itself into a state of apathy towards her former mentor and the fate which had befallen her. But no such relief offered itself in terms of Elissa. A woman for whom Leliana had lain down her life even when Elissa did not value her own life as one worth defending, Leliana knew that she would gladly do it again. It was that understanding which made the hurt all the keener.
The sound of Elissa mumbling in her sleep distracted the Bard from her thoughts. The young woman had been slumped to one side but as her mumbles became mutters, she seemed to want to thrash about.
The mage rose from her seat and approached the Warden. Catching Leliana's eye, Liahn raised an eyebrow as though to ask whether such behaviour was normal. Before the Bard could answer, Elissa started up in her seat with a gasp. She shrank back from the outstretched hand of the mage and it took a few minutes for the disorientation on her face to fade in favour of acknowledgment of where she was and who she was with.
Blinking first at Leliana then the mage, Elissa's gaze was draw to the door.
"What is it?" Liahn murmured, her hand now resting on the back of the chair rather than risking upsetting the woman further by touching her.
"Taint," Elissa muttered. "Someone with the taint. A Grey Warden."
"The King?"
"No," the woman swallowed as she tried to master the panic that was already seeping out of her, "It's different."
There was a low murmur of voices from outside but aside from that, nothing that either Leliana or Liahn could understand as provoking such a response from the Warden. Sensing that her patient's well-being was being compromised however, Liahn turned and left the room to discover whether Elissa's fears were in any way justified.
Sensing the panicked confusion that was bubbling just below the surface of the woman, Leliana forced herself to speak. "Is there something to be worried about?"
"I don't think so," Elissa's face remained pale and her hands trembled in her lap, preventing her words having any conviction. "At least, not immediately."
Impulse and habit rather than active choice guided Leliana's arm. Her claw-like hand reached out and where once it would have provided a light and reassuring touch, the Bard's hand now rested clumsily against Elissa's knee. The initial thump against her leg made Elissa jump but glancing down to the outstretched hand, bandaged and injured as it was, she tenderly covered it in both of her own and found the confidence to give a weak smile towards the Bard.
Before either could say anything, the mage slipped back into the room. She looked towards both her patients with a reassuring smile.
"You were right, Warden. It was one of your brothers from Orlais. An elf. He sends his regards to the Hero of Ferelden and hopes that he may have the honour of speaking with you soon."
Elissa nodded in acknowledgment of the message, beginning to chew the corner of her lip in distraction. Liahn settled herself back in her chair and took up her reading once more, apparently satisfied that the immediate cause of concern to her patient's had been dealt with. But the small movement was one that Leliana could recognise, when given the opportunity to do so.
With a small jerk that was intended as a squeeze but misinterpreted by her body, Leliana offered the words she knew Elissa would not fully appreciate but which the Maker surely would. A spiritual balm to the burns that scorched her soul even as Liahn's salve worked to heal the physical, Leliana welcomed the first tentative sign of forgiveness.
"Do not fret, dear one. You are safe with me."