A/N: Apologies this chapter has taken so long to emerge. My muse decided she'd like to turn hermit for a while.
-oo-
Chapter 5 – High and Low
"We leave him."
Diele backed away, turning away completely from her companion after a few steps. There were tasks to do; important tasks; her brow furrowing with impatience to get them done. The thought of returning to the Warden's headquarters in Soldier's Peak with no new information weighed heavily on her. Clearly, their failure in finding something – anything – meant more to her than to Denny. While she had not been officially appointed as the Warden in charge, Diele felt at least one of them should take this task seriously enough to want to continue, even if their lack of progress was disheartening to say the least. And the company of the two apostates were not helping them get anything useful done.
Reports had indicated large numbers of darkspawn around southern Ferelden near the uncharted wastelands for weeks before the Warden Commander had been in a position to send anyone to investigate. They were not the only ones searching, but Diele was concerned. Her family had fled the darkspawn during the Blight. Lothering was her birthplace, Amaranthine her family's sanctuary. Though she had been very young at the time, the terror of hurried escape; death all around them, bodies left by the roadside to rot...her parents' hushed, scared whispers in the night and the stain of the Blight creep always on the horizon…all of that still felt vivid and real.
Yet despite the supposedly reliable sources, she and Denny had as yet to encounter the kinds of numbers being reported. This meant either the reports were incorrect, or they were looking in the wrong places. If the latter was true, then what were the right places, if not those locations provided by trusted sources?
It was all very strange. Less than a dozen darkspawn near Lake Calenhad did not appear to match the reports. Still, if she and Denny had not come across those two apostates, they would have died. This stream of logic led her to thinking that it would be no inconvenience to let them succumb to a fate that the Maker had probably intended for them in the first place. If either man had meant to become Grey Wardens, surely they would have been infected closer to the Keep?
As Diele's brain sorted out the whys and ways to abandon Connor and Greagoir, she realised Denny had been jogging beside her, keeping pace with her long, angry strides with barely a puff.
"Diele…" Denny shook her head in disbelief. "'Leave' them here?" she repeated. "You can't be serious!"
The elven warden halted abruptly in her tracks. Folding her arms tightly across her chest, she glared sideways at her companion. "And how do you propose we transport him, Den?" Diele asked coolly. "I certainly don't intend to spring for a horse and cart. Haven't the two of them burdened us enough? We have to spend our precious coin on them as well?"
"But we can't just…" Denny started, her dainty mouth pursing in an unhappy pout. Leaning in closer, she lowered her voice deliberately so no passers by could hear. "They're mages…" she reminded the other woman. "You know what the Commander's stance is on those…"
"As long as they're whole, hearty and willing," Diele pointed out. "Those two," she added, her words dripping with scorn, "are none of the above. If anything they've been more trouble than they're worth…and you can stop that right now!" Diele waggled a warning finger at the dwarven warden, gritting her teeth against the wide, guileless eyes turned towards her; eyes armed with far too expressive, beseeching eyelashes. Diele rolled her own, practical, prosaic ones. "Honestly," she sighed. "You're as bad as they are!"
"Not true," Denny grinned, unapologetic. "I'm far cuter. And anyway-"
"There is no 'and anyway'," Diele cut her off sternly. "Even if they were worth recruiting, we can hardly drag the tainted one after us. There is no guarantee he'll even survive the journey back to Soldier's Peak."
"Soldier's Peak?" Denny repeated, bewildered. "What about-"
"No," Diele interrupted, knowing where Denny's thoughts headed. "Absolutely not. This is the perfect opportunity to rid ourselves of them. The reputation of Grey Wardens in Ferelden is by no means secure or perfect. Falling foul of the Chantry by protecting a couple of apostates is going to get us into hot water."
"Ohhh, hot water," Denny sighed. "Nug bumps, I could do with a tub full of hot water right now…" She peered keenly at the taller girl. "This is what it boils down to doesn't it? No pun intended on my previous comment about hot baths. You're going all Chantry-good-girl on me."
"That is not true!" Diele lifted her chin defiantly.
"Ooh er, yes it is," Denny insisted. "We're Grey Wardens," she added with a prideful sniff. "We're supposed to be ruthless lawbreakers…all for the sake of saving the world and all of that."
"I can be ruthless, make no mistake." Diele angled herself at the waist, bringing her nose level with the shorter warden. "By leaving those two annoying brats to their own fates. I've had enough of playing den mother to a couple of useless idiots."
Denny pouted again. "But they're good looking idiots Diele!"
"Well then," Diele waved a hand airily. "Do whatever you want to do with them, then abandon them."
"Bu…bu…what if I wanted moooooore?" Denny whined, while Diele sunk her head into her hand again, frustrated even more by the other Warden's inability to remain serious for more than five minutes at a time. "And anyway," Denny added in a more normal tone of voice, though she grinned briefly at her companion's expression. "There's something…odd about the taller one, don't you think?"
"Oh?" Diele asked wryly, "besides being completely bonkers, you mean?"
"Yes, yes that as well." It was Denny's turn to show her impatience. "Have you not noticed anything?" she asked. "Anything at all?"
Diele shrugged. Then she began to look thoughtful. "Well actually there is, now that you mention it."
"Yes, see I knew I could count on y-"
"My head hurts whenever one of them talks. Just here." Diele pressed her forefinger to the permanently creased area between her eyes, causing a hand-over of her habitual eye-roll to the smaller Warden.
"Now you're just taking the piss," Denny muttered sourly.
"Piss yes," Diele agreed. "Those two…" She pointed towards their camp. "No. I'd rather not take them anywhere, thanks."
Mirroring the taller Warden's stance and expression, Denny took a deep breath. "Except to Ost-"
"No."
"…agar. A trip that would take us no more than a couple of days, maybe three depending on how fast the ghoul walks," Denny continued, as though she had not been interrupted at all. "The Senior Warden-"
"No."
"…could perform the Joining. If they don't survive, then you have your wish and we can carry on with our mission-"
"Absolutely not!" Diele hissed, clenching her fists.
"…if not then, we have a couple of mage Wardens to help us out," Denny smiled, unperturbed. "The bonus being our illustrious and beloved Warden Commander gets more mages to add to his little collection. Ancestors know he gets through them fast enough."
Diele stared, resentment written across every centimetre of her angular face. It took her several seconds more to compose her next sentence. "Has it ever occurred to you that as junior Wardens, we probably don't have the right to recruit Grey Wardens?" she asked. Denny merely shrugged. "Then you are fixed in this course?" Diele's scowl deepened. "To try to make them Grey Wardens? What if the Senior Warden doesn't want to put them through the Joining?"
"Then you get your wish anyway," Denny shrugged again. "As our two tagalongs then become the Senior Warden's problem."
Diele turned over Denny's words, carefully checking for irony. The suggestion from the outside appeared sound. If…if the tainted apostate could make it to Ostagar and the Senior Warden was still there and had supplies on hand to perform a Joining well…it would be lucky for them wouldn't it? If not…
She sighed. Regardless of her own feelings, she could not in good conscience leave the tainted mage near such a populated place as Lothering. Of course, the easy way out would be to just kill the man and burn his body…
"You are not to kill him Diele," Denny said with a sharp, knowing look. "As if I couldn't tell what you were thinking!"
At first startled at being called out on her very uncharitable thoughts, Diele began to warm to the idea of handing responsibility of the apostates to someone else. She half-turned; looking towards their distant camp situated safely outside the borders of Lothering Village. Ostagar was closer. She knew there were Grey Wardens there. Jader's Senior Warden went there every year about this time…for some sort of annual ritual to honour the Wardens lost there during the Blight. There was also some speculation he'd been scoping out the land to set up some kind of permanent Grey Warden outpost to watch over the Korcari Wilds.
"Do you have everything you need from here?" Denny prompted, still looking far too knowingly at Diele for her comfort. "If so we should take advantage of the remaining daylight for travel."
Diele smiled as best as her uncooperative face would allow. "Certainly," she replied, still hoping the tainted mage would expire by the time they got anywhere near Ostagar. "Let us by all means leave this place."
-oo-
Greagoir tucked the blanket about Connor's shivering body more closely then settled his back against a tree trunk, stretching his legs and crossing them at the ankles as he continued to watch the abomina-Connor warily. He knew the demon was watching him, despite the older mage's condition and closed eyes. Greagoir might not count himself as good a mage as his parent, but he knew enough to be quite sure the demon did not need Connor's eyes to keep an eye on him.
If Connor's body was failing, it was inevitable that the demon would seek another, more able – and robust - vessel to occupy.
Knuckling his eyes tiredly, Greagoir also knew he could not stay awake forever. He needed to sleep. Eventually. Once fatigue overcame him, would he be able to resist possession?
How did Connor come to be possessed anyway? Without it being noticed at the Tower? Templars knew these sort of things. They took lyrium before a Harrowing to heighten their awareness of magic and the Fade.
"You wonder how this body came to me?"
Greagoir startled at the voice, blinking weary eyes in an attempt to keep himself alert. Meanwhile, Connor's own eyes opened slowly, revealing the demon's watchful gaze behind the pale blue. Greagoir squinted and continued to blink. "You mind-reading now?" he asked.
The demon snorted in Connor's voice. "I am a demon. I see everything and everyone from the Fade."
"Great, wonderful," Greagoir replied sourly. "In that case you can tell me how far away that contingent of lyrium-dosed Templars are and how fast we need to run to keep away from them."
The demon laughed a laugh that was unlike anything he'd ever heard from the Enchanter. Not that he'd heard Connor laugh before. The older mage was about as humourless and entertaining as a dead vole. In fact, given the choice between keeping company with the demon and Enchanter Connor, Greagoir found himself leaning towards the demon. Maker, if the Senior Enchanter ever heard me say that…
"It's a 'mess', isn't it?" the demon chuckled. Bending a perfect right angle at the waist, it sat up. To Greagoir, Connor's limbs might as well have been tied by strings and made to move like a puppet by some, unseen creature far, far above them. "Isn't that what you like to say?" The demon leant forward slightly. Greagoir resisted the impulse to scoot backwards, helped by the fact that there was a tree in the way. "I could make all of this go away," the demon suggested persuasively. "Return you to the Tower and make all as it was before you left…"
Greagoir stared, the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably, even as the words the demons spoke enveloped him, warm and caressing…inviting. It was…wouldn't it be nice…? This wasn't what he has signed up for, everything that had happened to him so far. Not what he was led to believe. He'd been dragged along, against his will…except…except. He could have left at any time, but he hadn't. So, what had compelled him to come along? Being branded an apostate anyway? Turned Tranquil because he'd 'escaped' once?
The demon chuckled again, the sound burbling along the surface of his skin a not unpleasant sensation. He didn't see Connor, but something else. Something far, far more appealing.
Without seeing it move at all, the demon had closed in on Greagoir; Connor's rather prominent nose barely millimetres from his own. It clucked its tongue in sympathy, warm breath tickling the finer hairs on his cheekbones. "Poor, poor Greagoir," it crooned. "So mean of us to put you through all this…inconvenience. So unfair, so cruel. You deserve better…you deserve much more…"
"I do…" Greagoir's lips moved. The sound emerged without his brain even willing it to. It just happened.
"Tell me what you want…" the demon whispered, its voice sinking below the layers of Greagoir's skin and muscle to bone…travelling through his veins, pumping through his heart. "Tell me what you need…"
What do I want…? There were so many things, so many ways his life could be made better. Immense power at his fingertips. All of this gone, his slate wiped clean…It was…his mind reeled with the possibilities, in dizzying heights of opportunity. His life stretched out before him in one endless, never-ending blank sheet, ready to be filled…the way he wanted.
"I want…"
"You want…"
"I…want…"
"Yes?"
"A pork pie, actually." Placing his hands on Abomina-Connor's shoulders, Greagoir gently but firmly pushed the creature away. "Because I'm dead starving and Maker knows I haven't had anything to eat that wasn't moving several seconds before it ended up in the communal pot. Bit of an inconvenience plucking the fur out of my teeth afterwards too. You know what I mean?"
A slow smile spread across Connor's face. Greagoir found himself shaking his head. Maker, the man looked pathetic. If the blotchy, pallid complexion and red-rimmed eyes did not give him away as someone deathly ill, the evidence of the taint in blackened, diseased patches on Connor's skin would have been the next hint. Chuckling again, the demon sat back on its haunches, regarding Greagoir with a hungry, speculative look.
"You are surprisingly resistant, mage…" it purred.
Yeah, that and the ability to cast a bloody good Mental Fortress, Greagoir grimaced to himself. Funny the things you pick up when there are not one but three Templars in the family. Four if you count…never mind.
"You should rest," Greagoir informed the demon. "I don't know what reason the Enchanter has for meeting with the Grey Wardens, but he won't get there unless you help him to do so."
The demon shrugged. "You care for this 'Enchanter'?" it asked.
Greagoir sighed. "Does it matter?" he countered.
"I like to know my chances."
Greagoir's grimace deepened. "I'll uh…no. Just…argh!" Rising swiftly to his feet, he ran his hand through his hair. "Just leave me alone, alright? I'm not interested in being possessed!"
The demon pouted at him. "Who said anything about 'possession'?"
"Argh!"
Retreat. Retreat was the best option and Greagoir decided to take it before he did anything…silly. As he stepped away, he felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned cautiously, snatching his hand from the Abomina-Connor when it attempted to claim it, running Connor's cracked and bleeding fingers over his own.
"Strange…" the demon frowned with Connor's face. "You seem so…normal. And yet I know what you are. I wonder…" It looked up with him with large, enquiring blue-red eyes.
"You wonder what?" Greagoir asked warily.
"Even if I wanted to…could I?"
"Could you what?" Greagoir asked, starting to back away again. The demon smiled in response, holding a bony finger to peeling, blackened lips.
"Ah…" the demon purred mysteriously. "That would be telling…wouldn't it?"
-oo-
Down here, she could feel a rhythmic pulse; like the heartbeat of the world reverberating through the stone. Coupled with the heat from the lava flowing deep in the ravine to the other side, she could imagine being curled up inside the womb of creation; protected, warm, tended to carefully before they could be thrust into the cold harshness of the outside world. Well at least, it would have felt like that if not for the steady ooze of tepid water through the cracks and fissures in the wall making everything slippery and the permanent stench of darkspawn overwhelming everything else.
She had been warned about what it would be like down here. Warned yes. Prepared? Not so much.
It still had to be done…curse you First Enchanter! When I get back, I'm going to demand a…demand a…"Well I'm going to demand something entirely impossible, but well-deserved, that's for certain!" she gritted, her foot slipping yet again on slime-slick rock. Why she was here specifically, Alyce could not say. Or remember. Too much of her Thinking Space was being taken up by the fact that she was here, looking for a woman she didn't like in order to locate a person she didn't know so that something that might or might not exist any more could be found.
Pausing for a moment to brush sweat-sticky hair from her forehead, Alyce leant up against the rock face; her ears open for the reassuring clink of armour. Letting the Legion get too far ahead of her was dangerous. It would be too easy to get lost down here. Maker…I get lost heading to the outside privy at home…Or maybe it worked in reverse down here? Because anyone was expected to get lost in the Deep Roads, a person who regularly found themselves geographically bewildered would know exactly where they were at all times…?
"Ho there, Mistress Mage!"
Alyce turned and squinted into the gloom. "Yessss?"
The dwarf that emerged into the murky red light glinted black-silver, a jewelled tooth sparkling the briefest moment as he grinned at her. "Took a wrong turn back there, Mistress," the dwarf informed her. "You'll want to come this way. The boys are setting up camp."
So much for that hypothesis…Alyce grimaced, setting after the Legion of the Dead soldier.
"So…" Alyce ventured, her voice echoing off the dripping walls. "Why are we stopping already?"
The Legion soldier snorted. "Well, we been on the move nigh on most of the day," he reminded her. "Some of the boys are getting a bit stomach-growly."
"Ah…well then…" The circuitous tunnel opened out into a low, cavernous area. There was a stream and the remains of a stone bridge, with plenty of clear space to spread out a bedroll. One of the Legion was already preparing the campfire, arranging stones and a pile of those large pellets the dwarves used as fuel. There were no trees in the Deep Roads after all – mostly – and whatever was in those little black nuggets burned slow, hot and long, like charcoal but…not. They were also light enough to carry. She even carried her own share of them; the smell wafting from the parcel of in her pack smelling suspiciously of animal…dung.
Whatever they were composed of, Alyce had to admit that without them meal times would not be as happy, so she did not complain or comment. Not did she skimp on her share of tasks. This wasn't a holiday. She was here on Official Circle Business. Sort of. Which was to say 'official' Circle business that was not actually Circle business…
"Excuse me, Mistress Mage…could you?"
Alyce looked down into wide brown eyes, crushing very firmly the impulse to pinch the soldier's cheeks. Goylan…wasn't it? It took her a stupid second longer to realise what the dwarf was saying.
"Oh…sorry…" With little other thought, she directed a long, thin stream of fire at the circle of rock, until the fuel began to glow orange red…then blue-white. Goylan chuckled, shaking his head a little.
"I'll never stop being amazed by that, Mistress I don't mind saying."
Alyce shrugged. "Just let me know what else I can do and I'll do it," she told him. Goylan looked up at her in surprise.
"Eh?" he blinked. "You've healed our injuries, blew up a posse of darkspawn, brought down a bronto single-handed and you've been marching alongside us like a rock-wraith possessed. I dunno whether there is anything left for you to do for us, to be honest."
"Knit you a bobble hat, perhaps?" Alyce suggested. The young dwarf removed his iron helmet to reveal a thick head of black hair, braided in neat rows to keep the curl mostly tamed.
"Think I'm alright keeping my head warm Mistress, thanks for the offer," he replied with a smile. "You just wait, eh? We'll have supper fit for a Paragon in no time." With that Goylan returned to his fire, unfolding his metal pot stand and busying himself with the evening meal. With a sigh, Alyce turned away too, wandering over to the bridge to inspect the stream. The water looked inviting; so did the thought of a bath but she doubted the dwarves would appreciate her washing her filth off in their drinking water. If she could find something to use as a basin perhaps…?
She looked around, but there was only rock, rock and more rock; the monotony broken up by the odd bit of stone…some air…and of course the stream here as well. Along their journey they had come across a few ruined Thaigs; entire cities and towns long-abandoned to the darkspawn and then forgotten to history. The Legion of the Dead Commander, a cheery older dwarf by the name of Hirral had provided her with a potted history of some of these old 'lost Thaigs'. Alyce had soaked it up, eager to know more. Dwarven history at times felt older than time itself and…Hirral looked so darned adorable chatting away in that deep, booming authoritative voice of his that Alyce had been captivated.
She sighed again, feeling slightly homesick for fresh air, open sky and warm arms. She wondered what the others were doing at home…remembering that her restless husband had mentioned something about visiting his brother – oh, and Rory too – and figured the two men were probably getting completely, utterly, stonking drunk at the Spoiled Princess about now. Or…knowing Ryan, comparing the size of their swords.
"Snrk…men…!" she snickered, bending down to pick up a pebble. She hoped he'd arrived at the Tower in time to see Rory off. She wished she'd been able to visit as well. Right now, it felt as though she had been travelling forever. It was just…Raising her arm high; she took aim and hurled the pebble. It missed her intended mark completely and landed in the stream with a watery plunk. It's just…her mind wandered…This has to be done. Things are happening that should not be happening…and it needs to be stopped before they get out of hand.
Lowering her arm, Alyce rubbed tiredly at her eyes. As for everything else…? Yeah. That.
The dreams were back. The same ones she'd had during the Blight. Dreams of a dragon; but not just any dragon…A dragon capable of shape-changing into an immortal witch known as Flemeth.
-oo-