The Names We're Given

Chapter 5: Hollow Triumphs

by Dreamer In Silico

Redcliffe

Alistair ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair for the fifth time in the past half hour, tense and pensive. He'd dreaded having to let the cat out of the bag about his royal parentage, and then he'd done so… and for all the volatile temper he'd seen Mei display since they met, the expected outrage about his omission had not come. At his look of surprised relief, she'd only noted dryly that she very much understood information on a need-to-know basis. And now they knew, and that was that.

Leliana had laughed and said that she had thought they were living in a fireside tale, and now she was certain of it. Morrigan had not said anything, but her customary glare had taken on a speculative edge that set him ill at ease. He brushed off the latter in favor of fretting about what Eamon would have to say.

And then they'd actually gotten to Redcliffe.

He had not been looking forward to the upcoming reunion – it would be awkward at best – but hearing that Eamon was deathly ill and corpses terrorized the night was jarring and awful enough that he was fairly certain not even his dreams could have concocted such a situation. Even though his wool gambeson was hot in the morning sun, he shivered at the memory of the previous night. Everything had been flames and cries and endless hacking at the undead… they'd come from the castle, but he could scarcely believe that they'd all been created there.

The initial wave of horror as they'd met the first assault was tempered into numbness as the night wore on. For all his reservations about Mei, he had quickly found himself grateful for the fact that she immediately took control of the battlefield, darting in and out of the melee to shore up weak points in their line as she coordinated the defenders. She was aggressive almost to the point of recklessness, but it had served them well enough – several undead who managed to break through the line of knights died on her blades well before they could reach Morrigan or Leliana, who were both trying to take out as many as possible before they reached the knights.

The first time there had been a break in the fighting, she had glanced at him and simply nodded. He had nodded back, for just a moment feeling comradeship as if they were a simple pair of warriors, rather than the tension of an apostate mage and an ex-templar.

And then another wave had come, and another, and…

He could scarcely believe he was still standing by dawn, when the last straggling corpses had been cut and bludgeoned and frozen and shot until they lay still once more. A grateful villager had offered them space in her loft to rest, and all of them – even the implacable Sten – collapsed almost immediately into an exhausted sleep for far too few hours before joining Bann Teagan in the square as he addressed the town.

Teagan had spoken optimistically enough, but as soon as the crowd dispersed, he pinched the bridge of his nose, his own exhaustion showing.

"Alistair, I tell you truly, everything has gone mad, all at once," he said, shaking his head. "We received word of the debacle at Ostagar right on the heels of the news about Highever, and now this… I am glad that you and your companion – " he nodded to Mei, who had turned to listen – "were able to escape."

Alistair blinked through the fuzz that seemed to be filling the space between his ears and covering his eyes, focusing with effort on the new detail in what Teagan had said. "Wait… Highever? What happened at Highever?"

"Ahh, Maker's balls, you wouldn't have heard, of course," Teagan swore. "The Couslands, to the best of anyone's knowledge, were completely wiped out by Rendon Howe's forces. The official line is that they were executed for treason, but… they were simply there, and then gone, in the space of a night. No trials on record, and no one even knows if the teyrn's young grandson survived."

Alistair felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. He knew of the venomous smiles and backroom maneuvering that went on in the dance of the powerful, but the boldness of such an overt offensive meant things were even more volatile than they'd guessed. "There's no way Bryce and Eleanor were traitors. None. I might not exactly be intimate with the politics, but…"

Teagan nodded grimly. "Oh, there is no question. And it doesn't help matters that Howe is now at the right hand of our new regent, who has his own rotten-smelling story of why he had 'no choice' but to retreat and leave our people – and our King – to die on the battlefield."

Tasting bitter bile at the memory of Duncan's futile death, Alistair muttered, "Right… about that…"

"We're not traitors to the Crown either, in case you were wondering," Mei added blandly.

Alistair truly did not know if she'd meant the statement to be funny – the elf was strange like that; some of her jokes seemed not quite like jokes at all – but whatever the intent, Teagan gave a weak laugh. "At this point, I do not think I'd much care if you were," the bann said. "Everything gets put into a bit sharper perspective when the undead are breaking down your door at night."

"So Loghain's consolidating power," she mused. "And fast. No good for us, since we're witnesses, and even less for our chances of ending the Blight."

"You can say that again," Alistair snarled. "This is ridiculous. Get nearly all the Grey Wardens in Ferelden killed and… what? Sit on his arse in Denerim and wait for the darkspawn to swarm the place?"

The other man sighed tiredly. "He believes the primary threat is Orlais."

Alistair blinked. "You're not serious."

"I wish I wasn't."

"The Orlesians were in the process of sending support for the battle against the darkspawn when Loghain goaded Cailan into pushing in early!" He'd known Loghain was prejudiced, but of all the ridiculous, paranoid…

"Which the teyrn found easy to interpret as a gloved move of aggression," Mei pointed out.

The warrior growled through his teeth. Here they were, contemplating the total destruction of Ferelden and how they – a rag-tag band of wet-behind-the-ears Grey Wardens, apostates, and Chantry castoffs –had to stop it. Meanwhile, Loghain ignored the headsman's axe at the country's throat to guard against a tableknife that may or may not have been pointed at its back. "That's so…"

"I know, my friend," Teagan muttered.

"Well," Mei said, toying with the wrapped handle of her belt knife absently, "this just makes it all the more important to get Redcliffe set to rights. Whatever that ends up taking." The exhaustion in her eyes had been pushed aside for a flat determination that put Alistair's teeth on edge. While he harbored no doubts that the elf's ability to stow away inconvenient feelings was extremely useful, the way she did it was disturbingly deliberate and complete – he could mark the moment when the cabinet door was closed and the key turned in the lock.

"I cannot say how grateful I am for your aid. If you've still got some fight left in you, gather your companions and your gear, and meet me at the windmill up the path, by the stream as soon as you can. We'll plan our next step there." Teagan saluted Alistair, then Mei, fist over breast, and turned to leave the square.

"I think I may have misplaced my 'fight;' have you seen it?" Alistair quipped with a sigh. He didn't really expect an answer, but –

"Check your extra pair of pants. That's where mine likes to hide, anyway."

That had definitely been a joke. The warrior quirked a small, bemused smile. "I'll… do that."

…

"Oh, Connor, please -!" The aristocratic Orlesian voice was desperate and utterly ineffectual as the incredibly creepy child forced his uncle to caper about like a dog.

For the second time that day, Alistair caught himself lamenting that the Lady Isolde had not been among the castle's many casualties, and also for the second time, scolded himself for the unworthy thought. When she'd come running out of the castle to demand Teagan follow her back, he had known she was somehow in the middle of this mess, and he'd been right. He turned a sour gaze instead on the scruffy, sniveling blood mage Mei had released from the dungeons – the man was watching the boy a look of horror on his face that might have been comical in less dire circumstances. Apparently chatting with demons hadn't been part of the lesson plan. Fancy that.

Alistair gritted his teeth and faced Isolde again. "The boy is possessed, Arlessa. Even if he can hear you, it won't do any good."

Tears streamed down the fair woman's face, streaking the kohl from around her eyes across her cheeks in dark rivulets. "Ahh, my son… I was trying to protect him…"

"I hear you talking about me, Mother! You know I don't like that!" interrupted the strange, too-deep voice as a contingent of guardsmen entered the room with glazed eyes.

Leliana already had her daggers in-hand and called out a warning. "They're thralled!" Connor's laughter as he scurried from the room was almost completely drowned-out by the guards' charge.

The skirmish was much longer than it should have been due to their attempts not to kill even more of Arl Eamon's men, and left two guards bleeding out on the floor. In the end, they'd saved six, and Teagan, though the latter was not in good shape.

"Morrigan, help me?" Mei asked tersely as she moved to tend to any of the fallen men and women who might be in danger, digging out poultices and bandages from her pack. The witch surprised Alistair by only sniffing slightly at the other mage before lending her magic in care of the worst cases, Teagan included.

When the bann was on his feet again, looking dazed and shaken but no longer a blank-eyed thrall, Alistair let out a breath he felt like he'd been holding since they'd reached the room. "Good to have you back," he said as he clasped the other man's shoulder.

"That… " Teagan gasped. "That's not something I care to do again. Ever."

"Teagan!" Isolde had reappeared from wherever she had hidden during the fighting and wrapped her brother-in-law in a clutching embrace, which he endured for a handful of seconds before gently extricating himself. Alistair held back a groan. Here it came… "You must… help Connor. Please. There must be something we can do – " …and there it was.

"Isolde. What in the Black City do you think I can do? Or did you not see what that… thing… in him did to me, on a whim?" Teagan asked, exasperated.

Alistair closed his eyes briefly, preparing to say what he knew was necessary. This was not going to be pleasant. "He's right, there's… not much of anything we can do, short of… ending it quickly."

The woman turned to him in horror. "No! Not my son! You can't kill him – he's still there, I know it!"

"How many more people are you willing to let die for your attempts to protect him?" Alistair bit out, his exhaustion and the dregs of sympathy finally giving way to sparking anger. "A dozen? A hundred? This can't go on, Isolde."

There was a tentative noise from the back of the room, a hoarse clearing of a throat. Then the blood mage spoke. "One. It only has to be one."

Alistair stared at him with narrowed eyes, not liking the sound of that one bit. "What do you mean, maleficar?"

The wretched man wrung at his hands nervously as he answered. "If… another mage enters the Fade and kills Connor's demon there, he… should… be freed." He chewed at his lower lip for a moment, and Mei picked up his dropped train of thought in the pause.

"Sending someone into the Fade in a specific place, with conscious control… takes a lot of power, Jowan. And pure lyrium, neither of which we have. I don't think…"

He shook his head. "I can do it, with blood magic. It's a large enough undertaking, though… it would take a whole life's sacrifice to fuel it."

No, no, no, and NO. Not on my watch.

"Absolutely not," Alistair growled. "Your filthy magic isn't going to – "

"Take me," Isolde cut in.

"…Excuse me?"

The arlessa addressed Jowan, looking calmer than she had since they first had seen her. "As Alistair reminds me, I have… made this mess, by trying to hide him from the templars. Let me pay the price for it, instead of my boy." Damnit, that shouldn't have hurt, but Maker, it did. He'd only said what was true, hadn't he?

" 'Tis a sensible solution," Morrigan approved. "With no guarantee of the lord's recovery, saving his heir is the better course."

You can take your 'sensible' and shove it down some pit fouler even than the one you probably crawled out of, witch.

"I can't believe we're even discussing this!" Alistair said, half-shouting. "Blood magic is vile, unclean, and an offense against the Maker. And it wouldn't even be sure of working!"

"Oh, using it to send someone into the Fade will work, I'm quite sure of that. It's not a difficult spell, just a costly one, as Jowan said," Mei murmured.

Alistair wheeled around to face her, appalled. He'd thought she had at least some respect for the laws of magic, even if had gone apostate. "Not you, too. What of the demon? Is that such a trivial matter?"

"From the boy's behavior pattern, it's likely a desire demon," Jowan offered. "They're… well, they're not the worst, at least."

Alistair caught the moment when Mei's brows knitted in a slight frown, and had brief hope. Then she turned to share a complicated look with Morrigan, and the hope was shattered as the human witch spoke again.

"If the woman wishes to die for this, I shall walk the Fade and fight it. I fear no demon."

The tide was against him – ridiculously; he'd have expected at least the Chantry sister to speak up and agree with him that this abomination could not be allowed! – and he found himself grasping at the only straw he saw. "The Circle – if we could get their help, we could do it without blood magic."

Three incredulous, feminine pairs of eyes turned to regard him.

Mei's violet-blue ones flashed angrily. "You're insa –"

"Alistair…" Leliana began carefully, laying a hand on Mei's shoulder to halt her. The elf flinched violently at the touch, but fell silent. "I do not like this, either, but were you not saying but a moment ago how this could not go on? It is a fortnight's travel to the north end of Lake Calenhad in fair weather – even if we went there, and they agreed to send help, it would be far too long before it could be done. Too many innocents are already dead."

Defeat was bitter in his chest, rising to choke him. This was actually going to happen, in the arl's own home, and he was about to allow it. He bore no lost love for Isolde, but to see her die under a blood mage's knife was almost unthinkable.

Mei stepped forward, that flat absence of feeling again in her eyes, and at that moment, he truly hated her, that she could set aside decency to call for this and feel no remorse. Their fleeting camaraderie in battle seemed like a cruel joke, in hindsight.

"I'd condemn the boy to save lives, but not anyone's scruples. Let's get this over with. Jowan, how long do you need to prepare?" She asked, clipped, efficient. So businesslike, as she discussed preparations with a maleficar to kill a noblewoman.

The other mage's look of shock that his suggestion was being taken did nothing to inspire confidence. "A – an hour. No more."

"Morrigan?" Mei prompted.

"An hour is sufficient. I will need a room, alone."

Isolde spoke up shakily. "Come. I'll show you to one without any corpses, and then I will be in the family chambers." He watched her go, jaw rigid and fists clenched inside his gauntlets, hard enough to hurt.

"We need a guard on those rooms; the boy's still dangerous," Mei pointed out. "Sten, Alistair, would you –"

Right, Alistair, let's get ready to defile your foster-father's home by murdering his wife to fuel blood magic. What are you waiting for? Go along now, and do your part. Was he more disgusted with her for asking, or himself for obeying?

Alistair turned without a word to stalk toward the family wing, where once, in another life, it seemed, he'd had his own small chamber. Sten followed, a bulwark at his back. The qunari wouldn't comment on the situation, of course; his sort was said to hold life cheaply, and his lack of reaction to these proceedings seemed to confirm it.

Behind him, Alistair could hear Mei speaking again, softly. "Bann Teagan, may I have a word with you?"

…

The room already smelled of blood and sour flesh, like most of the castle, making Alistair's gorge rise. Somehow the smell seemed stronger, now, and the pure white lines of chalk across the flagstone floor had his eyes trying to cross and his teeth grinding together at the wrongness of it all.

Isolde was pale as snow, but composed as she waited for the end. Teagan stood by her, too haggard from the trials of the past few days to be truly comforting.

The blood mage shuffled his feet, plainly nervous. Had Alistair not known what he was, he might even have pitied the mousy, frightened man. As things stood, however, it was all he could do not to draw his sword and strike the mage down before he could complete the blasphemous spell.

"My lady…" Jowan addressed the arlessa hesitantly. "You will need to stand in the center of the pattern. When you're ready, I mean."

"I am ready," she whispered tensely, picking her way across the pattern as if the lines would burn her. She sent an imploring look at Morrigan and seemed about to speak, but hesitated at the witch's bland indifference and turned to Mei, instead. The elf's eyes were no gentler than Morrigan's, but Isolde must have seen something in them nonetheless, for it was she the noblewoman stayed focused upon.

As Jowan unsheathed the knife, Mei's face twitched slightly, and she spoke, quietly, almost gently. "Isolde... whatever else came of this… I've been there, lived in the Circle. You did right by your son."

All this death, and yet it's still just about templars and mages to her, isn't it?

The dark, limpid eyes widened gratefully, fear fleeing for only a heartbeat, and it was at that instant that Mei spoke a strange word in a voice that was almost a shout – and Isolde crumpled to the ground, as yet unharmed, but senseless.

He was speaking before he realized his mouth was open. "This is what one mage's freedom is worth to you?" he challenged, voice hoarse with the strain of not screaming at her. "All this?"

The look the elf gave him then could have brought frost to an Antivan summer. "Freedom? You don't even know what that word means, Alistair. And you cannot fathom what it is worth to me," she said, low and fierce. She closed her eyes briefly, and opened them again, passion and venom once more under lock and key. It only made him angrier. "Do it," she finished, turning to the other mages, voice emotionless and authoritative as she retreated to a safe distance beyond the spell circle.

At her order, Morrigan nodded briskly and sank to a cross-legged position on the floor just beyond the chalked runes, and Jowan began to cut.

Alistair knew he should be grateful that the arlessa did not seem to feel it when first her wrists, then her throat were opened, spraying ruby blood to hiss and steam unnaturally across the pattern. He knew, but it was almost worse, somehow, to see her sprawled there like a broken doll, not fighting or even noticing as her last moments of life slipped away. Something bitter and vindictive twisted about in his breast, and for once, he could not find a good reason not to listen to it.

The apostates he traveled with were always so interested in pragmatism, after all.

And so as Morrigan's consciousness winged out of her body and into the Fade, he drew his still-bloodstained sword and crossed the room to stand in bowstring-taut readiness at her shoulder. He had never actually stood guard at a Harrowing, but all initiates knew the ritual. It was only fitting that he do a templar's duty here, was it not?

He almost welcomed the sudden, scorching antipathy that radiated from the little elf as she realized what he was doing – that her rage was silent, at least, felt like some sort of victory.

A/N: Huge thanks to kalenel for her help on this one - my subconscious self apparently finds Alistair's brain about as uncomfortable and icky to be in as my conscious self does, and my first draft of this chapter fell somewhat flat because of it.

For those of you who began reading this for a Zevran fic, his entrance is set for two chapters from now. ;)