I own nothing save for Adela. Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.
I'm still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story. This chapter is a bit longer than anticipated, and that's after cutting some stuff out!
As always, thank you all for the reviews: mutive, Biff McLaughlin, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Windchime68 . And thanks to everyone who has been alerting and favoriting this as well. You have no idea how much this means! Reviews & even concrit *shudders* welcome (my feelings won't be too awfully hurt).
DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 19
It was still early when the final walking corpse had been slain, and the dead burned. The bright sunshine had difficulty piercing the smoke heavy air, and so the atmosphere had an almost surreal cast to it.
Adela and her party stood upon the steps of the Chantry, alongside Bann Teagan and the Revered Mother. The priest gave prayer, giving thanks to the Maker. And, truly, they had been fortunate. They had lost only a few knights and Dwyn's mercenaries (although the dwarf himself had survived). None of the militiamen had been killed, although several had endured severe injuries. Both mages were exhausted from both the battle and healing the wounded - those from the previous night's battles as well as those of prior nights. Once the prayers had been finalized, the villagers disbursed, some returning to their homes, others too exhausted or frightened to do so and so went back into the Chantry.
Teagan turned to the Wardens' party, gratitude radiating from his handsome, yet tired features. "Again, I must offer my thanks to you, my dear lady," he took one of Adela's small hands into his own. "The Maker smiled upon us when he sent you here."
Flushing slightly, the elf shook her head. "We were happy to be of assistance, Ba-Teagan," she quickly amended, grinning.
Smiling at her slip, the Bann replied, "We will still need to gain entrance to the castle," his gaze swept over the exhausted forms of the party, "however, I would suggest that you and your companions get some rest. Meet me at the mill," he pointed to where the knights and Roland's group had been stationed the night prior, "at mid-day. I have a plan for getting inside the castle."
With those words, the Bann walked off, seeking his own rest.
Adela watched as Morrigan, Wynne and Leliana headed back into the Chantry to find resting places. The Sten had moved off to lie beneath a nearby tree, resting his massive back against the trunk, closing his eyes. Roland was sitting on the steps quietly, his green eyes surveying the courtyard.
She turned to Alistair, who was by her side, and gave his arm a pat, asking him to find a spot to rest. He merely smiled at her and sat down on the stone rail of the chantry steps. Grinning at him, she turned to go over to where the red haired knight sat, missing the look that her fellow Warden gave her.
Adela's shadow fell upon the knight, and he looked up at her with a small smile. Taking a seat beside him, Adela reached over and patted his clasped hands. "Are you alright, Roland?" she asked, unable to hide the concern she felt from her voice.
Shifting his hands to enclose hers, he nodded. "I'll admit to being very tired this day," he responded, smiling at her. "But, as frightening as it was facing those monsters, it was also exhilarating." His smile widened into a full faced grin. "I had forgotten how good it felt to actually do something so worthwhile." His eyes skimmed over the village, a softening of his face made the elf think he was remembering the events back at Highever. "It felt good to save these people."
She watched his face for several moments, then leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. The knight turned his face to her, but she had already pulled away and was standing. "Go get some rest, Roland," she ordered. "We're going to have to get into the castle later on and find out how bad it is there." She gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, and then turned to go back to where Alistair sat. The knight watched her for a moment, taking in the smile the other man gave her as she approached. With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, and then went into the Chantry to find a bedroll.
"How is he?" Alistair asked, tamping down any jealousy he may have felt, knowing his friend had been concerned about the knight.
She shrugged her shoulders, moving to sit against the outer wall of the chantry. Alistair moved from his perch and settled beside her. "He says he is well, and honestly he looks fine," her gaze went to the doors. "I'm probably being a worry wart over nothing."
Chuckling, pulling her to him, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her head, he nodded. "Probably," he agreed. "You know," he said as he bent his head to the side, looking at her profile. "You keep telling us all to get some rest." she looked up into his eyes. "Are you planning on getting any?"
"Hmmm…" she nodded as she rested against him, enjoying the heat that he always seems to emanate. It felt nice in the cool autumn air. "I was planning on resting here, actually. The chantry is too full and rather stuffy." She closed her eyes, relaxing.
Alistair chuckled, and she felt it vibrate through her. "Okay, okay," he relaxed against the cool stone. "I guess I've been relegated to cushion, eh?"
Nodding, the elf dozed off, completely safe and warm in Alistair's arms.
Alistair sat, staring down at the elf that was sleeping so peacefully in his arm. He found himself wondering, and not for the first time, at just how easy it was for the two of them to be together. Whether they were talking, fighting, or simply sitting. The ex-templar, who was shy around women and had been for all of his life, found it so easy to reach over to her and pull her into a hug or, as now, sit with her snuggled on his lap. By all rights, she, too, should be uncomfortable in his presence, and yet, she seemed to have the same sense of ease as he did. He gently bent to kiss her lightly on the forehead, smiling as she twitched a little. Then, shifting and adjusting himself against the wall, Alistair allowed himself to fall into an easy doze, getting what rest he could until they had to face whatever lay within the castle that had been his childhood home.
DA:O
Teryn Rendon Howe was not pleased. He paced back and forth in Arawn's chambers, glaring at Ser Cauthrien, who looked on with mild irritation.
"Where is she?" he demanded to the ceiling. Cauthrien merely rolled her eyes, glancing at the door. She was wondering more along the lines of where was he?
The knight turned to watch the Teryn as he paced back and forth. "We should have word on her whereabouts soon," she tried to assure the man, if for no other reason than for him to stop his idiotic pacing. "The Cousland is nothing if not resourceful."
Howe stopped, giving his compatriot a hard look. Cauthrien met that look with a level stare. "Arawn would know if there was a problem concerning her," the knight remarked, not truly knowing why she was trying to calm the irritable man. Maybe his pacing was just getting to her.
It seemed to work, and Howe ceased his pacing and threw himself into a nearby chair. "And of course Loghain continues to be difficult." Cauthrien raised a brow at that. Of course he was, she thought bitterly. He was Loghain, not some trumped up nobleman whining he deserved more!
"What has happened?" she asked, more curious about the welfare of her former commander than any real reason to help Howe sort anything out, her eyes scanning over the opulent room while the Teryn gathered his thoughts.
"I think that he has figured out that his wine has been tainted," he responded, a scowl on his hawk like face. "He has been refusing to eat or drink lately." He rose. "If he continues in that manner, he will be of no further use to us!" He slammed a fist onto a nearby table, rocking the vase of flowers that stood upon it.
The door nearby swung open, admitting a familiar figure. Cauthrien's already ramrod straight posture straightened out a bit more, while Howe's countenance of superior frustration now held a hint of fear.
The man who entered stood tall, taller than Howe, taller than Cauthrien. A well muscled and well formed body - broad shoulders, narrow at the hip - covered with the attire of a nobleman, he moved with the grace of a warrior. Blond hair, cut to above his shoulders, the front locks braided, shone in the lamplight. His face was handsome and well proportioned, with a wide mouth, high cheekbones and strong nose. He seemed like any other nobleman save for one difference: his eyes were the color of blood.
Howe swallowed, uncomfortable as always in the presence of the blood mage. Cauthrien stifled a smirk at that. The Teryn had thought himself in charge of this, however, truly it was the mage who now stood in their midst.
The mage's red eyes settled upon a portrait on the opposite wall. Taking in the details of the handsome man portrayed therein, sword held point first to the ground, dressed most regally, those unsettling eyes narrowed in absolute hatred. He turned back to his fellows.
"Is there a problem, Howe?" the mage asked, his voice containing a low, predatory quality to it that always sent shivers up Cauthrien's spine.
"We must find other means to control Loghain," the Teryn complained. "And ways to find to feed him as well as he now knows that he has been being poisoned."
Arawn's eyes narrowed. Of course he would figure it out! The mage was tempted to let the old man die, let him starve himself. They had Anora after all. She could prove far more amiable…
His thoughts drifted slightly, and then he shook his head. No. He felt that the general was still needed. Anora alone would not instill the confidence in the nobles that he needed. He turned to the others.
"I have means to control our good Teryn," he replied smoothly, stepping to stand directly under the portrait he hated. "See to it that food it brought to the old fool," he did not turn his head as he gave the orders. "and let me know when it is delivered." Then he turned, his voice taking on an almost purring tone. "I am…certain that I can convince him that it would be in everyone's best interest for him to cooperate."
Bowing, the knight and Teryn left the room. Arawn continued to stare up at the portrait, into the face that was so very much like his own.
"Soon," he whispered to the man portrayed there, the one he hated above all else. "Soon I shall have what is rightfully mine."
DA:O
When he was thinking, he paced.
When he was irritated, he paced.
When he had nothing else he could do, he paced.
Loghain stared with baleful eyes at the food laden tray the servants brought in to him. Did they really think he would continue to poison himself at their demand?
He glanced around his room, taking note of the barred windows (as if he could really attempt an escape several stories above ground?) and the ever locked door.
He grumbled an obscenity at the door.
He resumed his pacing.
His thoughts were a jumble, and he had trouble forming coherent thoughts. He felt the poison he had been ingesting was leaving his system, but it still remained. Still made its tainted presence within his blood known. A familiar pressure brushed against his chest, and he brought a hand up to the ivory Halla figurine he wore on a chain around his neck. His fist closed around the charm and he bowed his head, willing himself to remember that she was dead.
A snarl escaped his lips, and he resumed his pacing. He wondered how his daughter fared in all of this.
The sound of his door unlocking brought him around, watching as the door opened and an unknown man walked in. The Teryn noticed first the fine cut of the garments the man wore, how well they fit his warrior's form. He could not be blamed for the startled gasp that almost escaped his lips as his eyes settled upon a face that was far too familiar for comfort. The blood red eyes peering over at him reminded him of the first time they were acquainted, an involuntary chill coursing through his veins.
The younger man watched him, his eyes revealing nothing; the only emotion on his face was one of mild amusement as he gazed upon the older man. Loghain returned that stare, allowing a hint of malice to shine therein, fully aware of the power his own gaze held. The other man - the mage - however, did not flinch, and he only seemed more amused with each passing moment.
"So," Loghain began, his voice calm, icy, "do we stand here staring at one another, or are you going to tell me, finally, what it is you want?"
A blond brow rose at that, another indication of amusement. "Want?" even his voice was frighteningly familiar, and it caused Loghain's heart to clench. Maric? What had you done? The man wearing Maric's face merely smiled, and even that was so like the dead king's. "I want you, my dear Teryn, to cooperate and retain your strength." He indicated the tray of food with a graceful hand. "It would not do well for you to allow yourself to become enfeebled, now, would it?"
Loghain snorted. "I suppose your concern for my health is clearly a genuine concern for my wellbeing." It was not a question, and sarcasm punctuated each word spoken.
That grin again, the grin that had been so charming and disarming upon Maric's face took on a different quality when graced beneath eyes the color of blood. Striding further into the room, the door shut tight behind him, the mage stepped closer to the older man. He moved as a warrior, and Loghain could not help but think of him as a mage in a warrior's body. They now stood, nearly nose to nose. The closer he was, the more Loghain could see Maric in the man. More so than even in Cailan. Or that other bastard, the one who had the sense to die at Ostagar. There was no doubt in his mind that this was a son of Maric, although it was difficult to tell the man's age, he guessed him to be only a year or so younger than Cailan. His voice had the accent of a Fereldan, but was highly educated. If he was a mage, perhaps he had been at the Tower….
The mage watched as the thoughts crossed Loghain's mind. Although Loghain was very good at concealing his emotions, the sheer shock of what he now faced allowed some of those thoughts to be revealed in his eyes, upon the stoic features of his face. "You wonder how it is that I have come about, now, do you not?" There was something about his sentence structure that struck the Teryn odd. Almost Orlesian in quality, but not quite. Riviani? No. The man before him was too fair to have a parent from that country.
"Allow me to introduce myself," he said, bowing with a flourish. "My name is Arawn Amell, formerly a mage from the Circle Tower here in Fereldan." His smile took on a decidedly less friendly twist. "My father, King Maric, met my mother here, at the palace." He turned away, not watching the other man's face as he spoke. "She was a diplomat from Navarra, of one of the noble houses. I believe that Queen Rowan was heavy with child at that time." He turned back, obviously pleased by the slight look of anger that was now upon Loghain's face. "One thing led to another, and, as they say, here I am." He now frowned. "My mother was bringing me here, to meet my dear father, when I was of age and had a resemblance to the young prince. Foolish Templars stopped us and the rest is history." He strode forward, eyes flashing. "I managed to escape the tower some years ago, and have managed to do quite well for myself."
"What do you want?" Loghain growled out.
Arawn turned, smiling. "Why, merely my birthright, of course."
"Mages cannot inherit," Loghain pointed out, a bit smugly.
The mage merely shrugged. "Oh, so true. So, very, very true. But, as you are well aware from your time battling the Orlesians," he stepped forward, raising a hand, "there are ways around everything."
Loghain's eyes narrowed. Howe obviously had some part in this. As did Cauthrien. "Where is my daughter?" he dared ask, concern for her well being rising in him.
"Ah," Arawn turned away, picking a grape from the food tray. "The beautiful queen is well," he looked up as he popped the fruit into his mouth. "For now. She has been proving difficult, and is only restrained with she receives visits from you." His eyes hardened, the smile was gone.
No memories of visiting Anora came to him, and Loghain knew a moment of despair at that. Arawn smiled at that. "Ah, no doubt you have no memories." he shrugged as though it was no matter. "That is of no consequence. Needless to say, if you do not keep your strength up, your visits to your daughter will cease. And, then," he stepped forward, purpose in every stride, "the more difficult she becomes, the less we have need of her."
His back straightened. "You cannot kill the queen of Fereldan!" he scoffed, not backing down and allowing this impudent upstart to unbalance him.
Arawn stepped forward, standing fully an inch taller than the warrior. "You and I both know that she is deeply in mourning for her husband," he said quietly, menace within each word. "That she could become so distraught that…things, unpleasant things, could well happen." He turned away, unafraid to turn his back to the man whose daughter he had just threatened. "How could we have known that, in her grief, she sought to join him beyond the Fade?"
Now standing beside the table, Arawn's chilling gaze held Loghain's eyes. "All you have to do is make certain you retain your strength," he indicted the food. Then, with a narrowing of red eyes, he stepped forward. "I have other means to make you comply, Loghain." he nearly spat the Teryn's name. "Far less pleasant means, which I am certain you are aware of." He stood, watching as the other man digested that information. By use of blood magic. The mage did not need to say it. The threat was clear.
Blue eyes settled on the food tray. He had suspected Howe and Cauthrien had been poisoning him, and that was why he had so few memories of what had happened since before Ostagar. Now, this bastard of Maric had all but said so. If Loghain complied, what harm was he doing to Fereldan? His gaze shifted away, to the barred window. If he did not comply, his daughter would be dead. Turning back to the blood mage, he knew there was no doubt of that. With Howe now installed as Teryn of Highever (his eyes closed at the thought of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland dead), he would well be the next option for the throne. He opened his eyes, fixing them upon the tray.
So, why did they need to keep Anora alive? Loghain needed time to figure it out. But, if he ate the tainted food, drank the poisoned wine, how long before his next bout of lucidity?
Many minutes of silence reigned. Heavy lids closed over icy eyes. He needed more time, but it was not in the offering at this moment. Perhaps later…patience, it would seem, would be the order for now.
Nodding once in resignation, the man stepped to the table, picked up the goblet of wine, and drank it down.
DA:O
Having been able to garner a couple hours of rest, a quick meal and even quicker sponge bath, Adela and her companions found themselves by the mill, facing the castle. Alistair stood oddly silent as Bann Teagan outlined what he had in mind.
"I most likely should have mentioned it earlier," he conceded after telling Adela of the tunnels the led under the lake to the lower basements of the castle. "However, I had been unsure at that time if you would still assist the village." He frowned, bowing deeply at the waist. "I apologize for judging so ill of you, my lady."
Her eyes on the castle, the elf merely nodded. "I can understand your decision, Teagan," she shifted her gaze to meet his. "Although personally I probably should be insulted," she said this with a grin, taking the sting from her words. "The village needed to be saved."
Rising from his bow, the Bann responded, "I thank you, dear lady. You are far more gracious than some would be." His eyes lifted, squinting. "Maker's Breath!" he exclaimed, pointing behind the group.
As one, the party turned, watching as a well dressed woman of mid-years skipped towards them, followed closely by one of Ser Perth's men. Adela noticed that Alistair's face tensed up and he looked away from the woman as she approached. Frowning, Adela watched the woman as she hurried to Teagan's side.
"Teagan!" the noblewoman exclaimed, her heavy Orlesian accent pitched in a high whine grating to the elf's ears. "Thank the Marker you yet live!"
"Isolde?" Teagan turned, taking her hands in his. "What? How is that you survived? Where is Eamon? How…?"
"We have no time for this, Teagan," the way she carried out the Bann's name was annoying as well. Where Leliana's Orlesian accent was rather sweet and delicate, this woman's was just grating. Shaking her head, Adela stepped forward.
"What is happening at the castle?" she asked, not bothering with introductions. The less the Orlesian noblewoman spoke, the better.
"What?" the human turned, briefly looking Adela over and then dismissing her in one glance. She turned back to Teagan. "Who is this…woman?" she asked of the Bann.
It was Alistair who replied. "You remember me, Lady Isolde." The tired resignation that resounded from his voice almost broke Adela's heart.
Isolde turned, glaring at the young man. "Alistair? Of all the…what are you doing here?" her tone of voice was imperious, haughty, as though speaking with the young man was beneath her. Adela bristled; showing an elf disdain was one thing the young elven woman was used to; but to so dismiss Alistair? She decided she liked this Orlesian even less.
"Isolde," the Bann wisely drew the Arlessa's attention back to him, sparing Alistair any further disdain. "Alistair is now a Grey Warden, and this," he indicated Adela with a gentle wave of his hand, "is the Commander of the Grey within Fereldan."
The Arlessa turned her eyes back to the elf, obviously not impressed with what she saw. To Adela it did not matter; she had no intention of trying to impress an Orlesian noblewoman of anything. Meeting the human woman's eyes, Adela allowed her gaze to harden. The human woman seemed slightly nonplussed that an elf would look so boldly into her eyes. She broke the gaze first, bowing her head slightly. "I apologize," she said quietly, "I do not mean to be rude, but," here she turned back to Teagan, "I…I need you to return with me to the castle, Teagan." She paused. "Alone."
"No," Adela said in a clear, firm voice. Both human nobles turned to her. "That is out of the question."
"I beg your pardon!" Isolde sputtered, "Who are you to make such a decision?"
"I am the Commander of the Grey," Adela spoke up. "And we," she indicated her companions with a back sweep of her hand, "are the people who just saved your village from an onslaught of hungry undead." her blue eyes narrowed at this. "You have given no sign of concern whatsoever for the villagers and their fates. And, now you want us to just blithely let you take the Bann to the castle? The same castle that all of those monsters came from?" She shook her blond head, her arms crossing her chest. "Not without an explanation."
"I…I…" she turned to Teagan, who had been watching Adela with interest as she spoke. "I don't know what to say. There is an…evil within the castle, Teagan," she turned, pouting her full lips at him. "It keeps Eamon alive, allows Connor and myself to live, but I don't know why. I fear for Connor's safety." She wrung her delicate hands in front of her, obviously playing up being helpless and weak.
Adela found she couldn't listen. The Orlesian's accent was giving her a headache, and she could tell Alistair was greatly uncomfortable in the woman's presence. While Isolde and Teagan discussed his going to back to the castle, she turned, placing a hand on her fellow warden's arm. He managed a weak smile at her that did not reach his eyes. Frowning, she turned back at the lull in the conversation between the two nobles.
"Lady Isolde," Adela caught the human's attention. "What, exactly, is this evil you spoke of?"
The noblewoman shrugged slightly. "I do not know," she admitted. "A…presence? Something the mage unleashed!" she declared.
"Mage?" she hadn't mentioned that before. "What mage?"
"One of the staff, an…infiltrator. He apparently had poisoned Eamon."
"Eamon's been poisoned?" Teagan nearly shouted, "Why didn't you mention this before, Isolde?" he demanded, grasping her arms and turning her about.
The woman seemed on the verge of tears, "I am unsure of what is safe to say, Teagan! Please, I need your help! For Connor's sake! If the…thing in the castle thinks I am betraying it, it could harm Connor!" Now she was reduced to tears, her hands covering her face. "You must return with me alone." she whimpered.
Teagan, his patience clearly at an end with the woman, gently patted her shoulder, telling her that he would return with her and told her to wait by the gates for him. He turned to Adela's displeased expression.
"It may well be a trap, my friend," he conceded, "but this is my family we are talking about. However," he pulled a ring from his finger. "The tunnel I spoke of has its entrance here," he waved toward the mill, "in the cellar of the mill. This signet ring," he placed this into Adela's hands, "will open the door." He closed his hands over Adela's much smaller ones, tugging them gently. "Please, my friend. If there is anyway to save whoever is left at the castle, I fear it may well be only you who can do so."
Staring at their hands, feeling the warm metal clutched between her fingers, the elf nodded, raising her head. "Very well Teagan," she agreed. "We will get into the castle." She looked around to where Ser Perth and his knights stood. "Maybe once we are inside Ser Perth and his knights can get in as well."
"My thanks, dear Lady," he raised one hand and brushed her knuckles lightly to his lips, and then left to follow after the Arlessa.
Frowning heavily, not liking the possibility that they were all walking into a trap, the elf sighed, turning to look at her companions. With a heavy sigh and a shrug of her shoulders, she led them into the mill to search out the tunnel entrance.
DA:O
The mill, having long ago been abandoned of its purpose, smelled of old and dusty grain. Brushing aside loose bales of hay and dry grains, the group found the trap door that would lead to the cellars. Adela went down the ladder first, watching with careful eyes as her more heavily armored companions made their careful and cautious way down the ladder as well. Brushing aside cob webs, the elf led her band through the room, to a stone wall encasing a heavy door. The door unlocked once the signet ring was placed within the locking mechanism and twisted around once. It took Alistair and the Sten to push the door open, revealing a webbed and dusty corridor, leading out under the lake's waterbed.
The air in the corridor was humid and oppressive. It dipped down for many yards. The tunnel was well crafted; although there was a dampness to the walls, there was no trickling of water (which did much to ease the elf's nerves), no obvious structural flaws that would indicate that the lake above them would come rushing down, crushing them beneath its weight. Still, the walls felt too close for the elf, and she remembered her mother once telling her that the Elvhenan were not meant for enclosures, but were born and bred to run free without confines. There was obviously a great deal of truth to her mother's words.
After a silly remark by Alistair about having locked himself in a cage as a young child (Roland laughed out loud at that one while Morrigan scoffed at his intelligence), the group passed through a second door, encountering several more of the walking dead. Morrigan cast a quick ice spell, freezing several of them in place as the Sten smashed one to pieces with his great sword. Alistair and Roland bashed two others, felling those without the need of their swords. Despite the corridor being narrow, Leliana and Adela were able to effectively shoot down several of them before they could make it to the rest of their party.
"Maker, I hate those things!" Adela ranted as she replaced her bow to her shoulder.
Chuckling, Alistair nudged her, "Yes, they're not really the cute and cuddly kinds of monsters, now, are they?"
Scowling at him, she led the group further down the corridor.
They passed through several doors, and fought off more of the undead. At the last door, they found a young man locked in a cell. After a discussion it was revealed that this young man was the mage that Isolde had mentioned. He admitted to being a blood mage and that Lady Isolde had hired him to help teach Connor magic in secrecy. Also revealed was that he had, upon a direct order of Loghain (Adela's heart almost stopped at this, for the young mage told of a meeting with the Teryn), poisoned the Arl, Adela made the decision to leave the mage caged in his cell for the time being. Morrigan disagreed wholeheartedly with that decision, but Adela made it clear that the decision had not been put to a vote. With a curt nod to the mage, the elf led the group from the cellars and up into the castle.
The stairwell opened into a small room in which were piled crates and sacks. An investigation of these produced mundane items such as parchments, cloth and other non-essentials.
Alistair pushed open the door, and found that it opened to a hallway. He frowned, as he could not recall where this hall led to. With a backward glance, the Warden stepped from the room, followed closely by his fellow Warden and their companions.
They had entered a great chamber that apparently was the castle's chantry. Pews lined both sides of the room, and a dais with podium stood at the front wall. Adela, leading the way, looked around, eyes settling upon the rear door. With a shrug, she turned to leave the chamber when a group of four shades - demon like creatures without true form or substance - materialized in their midst.
Adela's bow was useless with the shades so close. She unsheathed her daggers, and ducked beneath the sweeping claws of the demonic creatures. Dancing aside, she rounded behind one monster, sweeping out with both daggers, cutting into the smoke-like hide of the spirit. A low growl emitted from a non-existent mouth, and it spun quickly, swinging out and clubbing the elf on her shoulder. Grimacing, she skittered back, bringing a dagger up to block a blow while diving her other blade low and out, sinking into where its abdomen would be. Another growl, higher pitched this time, betrayed the pain she delivered it. Dancing around, ducking down, the elf spun and clipped her blades out, slicing into it, carving small bits of it away as she sought to drive it down. Another claw raked out, slicing a gash across her collarbone. Blood dripped from the wound, and she bit back a cry of pain as she stumbled away from it. The pain eased as she felt the warming power of Wynne's healing spell pour over her.
Alistair saw, from the corner of his eye, the shade swipe out and connect with Adela. Roland stepped forward, bashing his shield into the face of the shade he and Alistair had been battling. As Roland's sword dug into the main part of its form, Alistair turned, stepping behind Adela's adversary, swinging his blade, slicing through its neck. With a gurgling sigh, the shade dissipated into nothingness. With a small smile to the elf, the human Warden turned back to his original adversary.
The Sten's greatsword cleaved downward, slicing into his adversary's shoulder and through its chest. A chill went up his blade and through his gauntlets. With a war cry in his native tongue, the giant Qunari yanked his blade back and out from the misty form, giving a mighty swing to slice into its side, his great strength giving the swing momentum to continue through its side and chest, and out its other side. A crackling sound, like the crackling of a great glacial monument, resounded in the room and the shade vanished into an icy swirl.
Alistair and Roland continued to bash and slash at their opponent, a giant of a shade that would have towered over their Qunari companion. As one warrior bashed his shield into it, the other would swing his sword, cutting into its body. Neither found easy strikes, however, as icy tendrils of weakness would seep into their bodies whenever the shade garnered a strike upon one of them. A warm, tingling sensation flowed through their extremities, and both warriors knew that Wynne had cast a rejuvenating spell upon each of them. Revitalized, the pair continued to bash and hack at the monstrosity. Words of power spilled from Morrigan's lips, and she cast weakness spells and hexes at the beast, aware that any of her ice spells would most likely revitalize the demon rather than cause it any harm.
The Sten faced off against the fourth shade, this one crackling with lightening and standing as tall as the Qunari himself. The giant warrior growled out to his opponent, sweeping his great blade across, seeking to slice the thing's head from its broad shoulders. This one was more agile than its fellows, and swept backwards with ease. The giant's blade only cut through air.
Adela, noting the Sten's frustration with his adversary, stepped behind the monster, sweeping into the shadows from its own body. The spark of electricity coursed through her, and she gasped as it rushed through her blood. Gritting her teeth, she stepped forward, toward the electrically charged body, driving both blades point first in front of her. With a snarl, she penetrated the tough hide, twisting her grip, and then ripping the blades out its sides. The shade bucked backwards, knocking her from her feet and onto her back. The shade spun to lash out at the fallen elf; the Sten took advantage of its distraction, swinging his blade out and around, decapitating the fiend. Lightening crackled, and the form vanished.
As the Sten's foe fell, so, too did the shade Roland and Alistair battled. They bent at the waist, catching their breath, as the Sten bent down to lend a hand to Adela and offer her a hand up. Offering the giant a smile, she gratefully accepted his help, and stood upon unsteady feet. There was no sign of any of the shades they had just defeated.
They passed through a corridor, checking each room they passed for more undead or demonic creatures. Battling and prevailing against one particularly tough group in a small dining alcove, and then finding it necessary to put down several rabid mabari, the group came upon a frightened young woman who introduced herself as Valena. Adela recognized her as the smith's daughter. Frowning, she glanced back the way they came. She was certain they had eradicated all of the creatures on their way through, but she was not willing to entrust this young woman's life with that. With a sigh, she ordered the Sten and Morrigan to escort her back to the village, with orders that they then meet up with Ser Perth and his knights. Each bestowing the elf with a heavy scowl, the pair left with the frightened girl.
Two short, the group entered the kitchen area. There they battled several undead, but the battle did not take long as these undead seemed weaker than others encountered. The door to the main hall was locked, and neither Leliana nor Adela could pick the lock. The women frowned at one another, offering to each a shrug. It wasn't often when they encountered a lock neither of them could penetrate.
Okay then…Adela stood, casting her eyes to the door she knew entered the kitchen itself. She then looked over her companions. Everyone was tired and sporting more than a few wounds from their previous encounters. Having to take the long way around to the main chamber just wasn't something she wanted to subject them all to. She glanced back at the offending lock. Telling everyone to be prepared, as she was certain they would encounter more undead, she went to the kitchen door and flung it open.
A steady stream of arrows erupted from Leliana's bow as the elf swung to the back of the advancing group, pulling down her own weapon and swiftly notching an arrow, sending forth her own stream of missiles.
Alistair raced to the center of the undead hoard that greeted them in the kitchens, deftly knocking aside any of the reaching claws with blade and shield. With his war cry "For the Grey Wardens!" he pulled back and then slammed his shield into the face of one near perfectly preserved corpse, sending it flying back and into the cold fire pit. He then swung out his sword, slicing fingers and arms from those undead reaching for him. He almost smiled as Wynne's rejuvenating spell swept over him, warming his joints and muscles.
Roland ducked the swipe of poisonous claws as a near skeletal corpse rounded on his, teeth gnashing and claws grasping. Pulling away, he spun low, swinging his sword out, cutting the creature's legs out from under it. As it toppled to the ground, he stood, sending his sword down like a pendulum, swiping the thing's head from its shoulders. Fully aware of where his fellow swordsman was (ahead of him) he straightened, swinging his sword out wide from him, keeping his shield close, as he spun, slicing easily into necks and chests of those creatures surrounding him. An arrow lodged into the eye of a corpse rising behind the young knight, staggering it back. With a quick jab to its heart, and a second and third arrow driving into its face, the thing fell over dead. The young man turned to give Adela an appreciative smile as she notched an arrow to dispatch the final standing dead.
The kitchen opened to a larder, and from there led to the pantry and cellars below. Alistair explained that the cellars would open up into the main courtyard and, there, they could open the main gates to allow Ser Perth and his men (hopefully, along with the Sten and Morrigan) entry. With a nod, the elf led the group from the larder, down into the pantry, and then out the cellar, into the courtyard.
The main gate was, indeed, closed. Adela could see Ser Perth and his knights - a half dozen - along with their errant witch and Qunari warrior. She rushed to the lever that would unlock the gates and allow the knights to push the portcullis upwards. Alistair and Roland were already engaged with skeletons that had seemingly sprung from the ground. Ser Perth's group rushed in and, as the elf turned, she spied from the corner of her eye a heavily armored, towering form of an undead warrior. A revenant. The warden's group had encountered one at the Circle Tower, and that one had been difficult to defeat. This one appeared taller, stronger, and wielding a heavy two handed sword. She heard a shout from the Sten as the huge warrior surged forward to engage his own heavy sword against the undead knight's. With spell and blade the revenant fought against the Qunari warrior. Adela, seeing that her companions and the knights were handling the other undead with ease, shot arrows enchanted with fire at the undead knight, sending it stumbling back when she hit a particular spot on its armor. The Sten's blade would then cut down, grinding across the blacked metal of its armor, catching along a seem and tearing it apart. A fire arrow would then find home in the rent, injuring the creature further.
Leliana's stream of arrows took out each of the half dozen skeletal archers from atop the stairway. The warriors efficiently took care of the shambling corpses and fast moving undead while the mages either healed, rejuvenated or otherwise provided magical back up to keep the warriors on their feet. The Orlesian turned and saw the monstrosity that the Sten and Adela were battling. Noting that the elven archer used her fire arrows, the Orlesian pulled hers free. Moving to a position nearer Adela, she carefully notched an arrow and let it fly.
Wynne sent healing and rejuvenating spells over the tiring, and heavily wounded, Qunari. Roland and Alistair rushed to add their blades to bringing the thing down. Morrigan stepped back, sending an icy covering over the revenant, slowing it down somewhat. Now, with the addition of more arrows, blades and spells, the undead knight fell in a clattering heap.
Regrouping with Ser Perth and his knights, the band wearily walked up the great stone steps and entered the castle.
The first thing they noticed upon re-entering the castle was that this part did not stink of death as much as the kitchen areas had, but had a stronger sense of wrongness to it. The main entry opened into the main hall, where the rulers of Redcliffe would meet dignitaries and other guests. Ahead, at the back of the room, stood a grand fireplace, in front of which, upon a small dais, stood a small throne like chair. And, seated upon that chair, flanked by a weeping Isolde and a ridiculously cavorting Teagan was a young boy, of perhaps ten winters, dirty, disheveled, and with a decidedly cat-that-ate-the-mouse look upon his too young face. Behind them stood several corpses dressed in house guard armor.
Adela and Ser Perth walked in, side by side. Alistair walked directly behind her, followed closely by their other companions. Ser Perth's knights took up positions along the walls, their weapons in hand. The young boy's brown eyes followed their progress before him, amusement sparkling in his eyes. Isolde's sobs quieted, and she looked upon the group with hope gleaming from her eyes. Teagan's demeanor reminded the elf of a court jester in both mannerism and speech. She turned her attention back to the child, who seemed to be the puppet master, if his superior smile held any clue.
"Maker's Breath!" Ser Perth swore, staring at the still corpses that lined the wall along the fire pit. "What happened here?" the question really did not beg an answer.
"Mother," the young boy - Connor - called to get his mother's attention, "who is it, Mother?" his eyes squinted at the group before him. "I can't see it very well."
"This," Isolde said, her voice weak, "this is an elf, Connor." she waved a hand in Adela's direction. "We have them here at the castle."
"An elf! An elf!" Teagan exclaimed, rolling his eyes at the Wardens, a stupid grin on his face. Adela winced, feeling pity for the noble man.
"Quiet, Uncle!" Connor scolded, leaping from his perch and slapping his uncle across the face. "I've warned you about shouting, now, haven't I?" Teagan cowered back, whispering "an elf".
The boy turned his attention back to the group. "Now, now," he peered forward, "I can see her clearly now." his smile widened, almost impossibly so. "Hmmm…a pretty thing, isn't she, Mother?" he turned his eyes to Isolde, "far prettier than you ever were." He looked back to Adela, who was watching him with great interest. "Perhaps you should order her flogged, eh, Mother. For being prettier, and younger, and probably even nicer than you," he jumped up and down, clapping. "Yes, yes! A good flogging would help to keep me entertained." Behind her, both Alistair and Roland stiffened; she kept her eyes on the boy. "What say you, elf?" he turned back to Adela. "Did you come here to keep me entertained?" he asked almost hopefully. "These," his wave encompassed his mother, uncle and the dead along the walls, "are just so boring."
"I'm here to see Arl Eamon," Adela replied in an even voice.
A downtrodden "Oh," answered that comment, and the boy hung his head as though truly upset, "but Father is so very ill." His smile brightened. "But She keeps him alive. All for just a small price, a small price indeed."
Here Morrigan stepped to Adela, "The boy has made a bargain with a demon," she advised, her yellow eyes firmly upon the boy before the. "'Twill not end well, certain of that I am," she looked at the elf briefly, allowing Adela to see how serious she was. The elf nodded.
"I think that perhaps we really should be speaking with Connor," Adela said, keeping her voice calm and level, although she really was not certain of the outcome here. Morrigan's very tone, remembering what happened at the Tower, all spoke that this child would soon be dead.
"No!" the demon in boy guise shouted, cutting the air with both hands. "I crave excitement! I want to experience the world! Rule as I should!" his eyes narrowed, and Adela was certain she saw a glow therein. "This woman ruined it all! You will pay!" With those words, the boy rushed off through a side door. The dead along the wall started to move toward them, their weapons and shields rising, Bann Teagan grasped his own sword and shield and, with a great cry, rushed toward the group.
Adela, noting that Isolde cowered on the floor, twisted away from the Bann as Roland's shield came forward to knock him down. With a "don't kill him" tossed to the knight, the elf rushed to the Arlessa's side.
Whatever her personal feelings for the woman - whether due to her treatment of Alistair as a child or because she was an Orlesian - the elf would not allow her to be harmed. Grasping the larger woman's upper arm, the elf pulled her away, pushing her into a nearby closet. "Remain here, Lady Isolde," she said as reassuringly as she could and shut the door, turning just in time to see the sword of one of the dead guard's descend toward her head. With a gasp, she ducked down, dropping to the floor and rolling away.
As she rose, she pulled her daggers from their sheaths at her hips, spinning around with her blades raised, crossed, to catch the longsword at the junction. Twisting her wrists, bringing the blades down, she managed to twist the blade free of the dead hand that wielded it. As the sword dropped to the ground, the elf pulled back, dipping low, then rising to drive both blades into the creature's chest. She twisted the blades, and yanked them back and out, stepping back. Disgust formed on her face at the sight of the black ichor that oozed from the wounds.
The undead guard stumbled, managing to swing its shield up, aiming for the elf's head. The edge of the shield grazed the top of her head as she ducked beneath, grimacing in pain. She ducked lower, driving a dagger into the back of a knee, skating backwards and away as the walking corpse fell to the floor. She rose unsteadily, staggering slightly. The dead man on the floor twisted and wobbled, rather like a turtle on its back. Kneeling, the elf drove her blades deeply into its skull, and its thrashing stilled.
Bann Teagan lay on the floor, unconscious. Seeing that her companions had the other undead nearly defeated, the elf rushed to the human's side, kneeling down, a dagger held at the ready. As the Sten's sword chopped the final undead handily in half, the Bann's eyes fluttered open. A frown on his face, he groaned, raising a hand to his eyes. Smirking slightly, hoping the man did not have memories of how like a puppet Connor had played him, she lent him a hand in rising.
Nodding his gratitude, the Bann's eyes scanned the area. Lady Isolde had left the security of the closet once she heard the sounds of battle had ceased.
Upon close questioning, Lady Isolde acknowledged that she had hired the blood mage currently held in the dungeons below to teach Connor magic in secrecy. When the Arl had fallen ill, that was when strange things had happened. "We thought the mage had summoned the demon and the undead," she sniffed, "but he would not do anything to stop it!"
"Where is this mage now, Isolde?" Teagan, his tone firm and disapproving asked.
"We left him in the dungeons," Adela offered, frowning deeply at the Arlessa, wondering how many people had died because of her fear for her son. How many other mothers' sons had died?
Teagan had volunteered to fetch the mage. Morrigan and Wynne had come closer to the group, and offered their advice on what needed to be done. The Sten stood silently as they all heard the mages advise that the only course of action they were aware of - and that could be accomplished with the group as it was - was to kill the boy. Adela blanched at that thought, and Alistair looked like he was going to be physically ill. Worrying her bottom lip with pearly teeth, the elf turned her attention to Teagan and the man he held firmly by the arm.
"Jowan," Isolde hissed at the mage. "This is all your fault!" she launched herself at the man, her hands extended like claws. Teagan caught hold of her and pulled her behind him.
"I am sorry, Lady Isolde," the young mage apologized, looking contrite. "I am responsible for poisoning the Arl," he admitted, "but I had nothing to do with the demon and the undead."
"How can we be certain of that?" Adela asked, keeping her voice calm, ignoring the sobs that shuddered through the Orlesian noblewoman.
"I think that Connor may have had something to do with that," the blood mage offered, flinching at the look of utter hatred Isolde shot him. "If I had been the one to call upon it, it most likely would have taken hold of me, and not the boy."
A glance back to the mages, seeing them both nod in acknowledgment, Adela turned back to the others. "So, is killing the boy the only option we have of stopping all of this?" she asked, cringing at her own words.
"No," Jowan offered, slightly hopeful. "We can send a mage into the Fade to confront it."
"We don't have the mages or lyrium for that, Jowan," Wynne scolded, disappointed clearly evident in her voice. Jowan flinched; apparently he had known Wynne at the Tower.
"True, but I have…blood magic," he ducked his head down, expecting the verbal assault from his former tutor.
No one was thrilled with that idea, but Adela needed to know. "What, exactly, does that entail, Jowan?" she looked at him in the eye, watching as the young man turned to her.
"Lyrium can power a mage to enter the Fade. It takes quite a lot of it, but it can be done. Since we don't have lyrium, the only other power source would be blood." He frowned, his hands crossing behind his back. "Blood is actually a far more powerful source for magic. However," he stopped and turned, "in order to perform this particular ritual, it would take a lot of blood." He stopped here, frowning, an almost frightened look crossing his face. "Actually, all of it."
"You mean…" Teagan started, than stopped, trying to collect his thoughts. "You mean that someone must be sacrificed?"
Jowan nodded dejectedly. "I'm afraid so." He lifted his head. "It's not much of an option; I should not have said anything."
Adela shook her head. "No. It is not an option. We will not sacrifice anyone else."
Isolde, her sobs ceasing, stepped forward, more resolute than Adela had seen her yet. "If the mage needs blood to save my boy," she stated, her voice firm, "then it shall be my blood." she took a breath. "I shall be the sacrifice!"
"Isolde!" Teagan turned, pulling her back, "you can't do this! Eamon would never…"
"It is my boy, Teagan," Isolde turned and looked her brother-in-law in the eye. "I am his mother. I will do as I must to protect him."
"We do have a willing sacrifice," Morrigan began, frowning. "As distasteful as it may be, 'tis the most likely option."
"Blood magic?" Alistair rounded on the witch, anger in his eyes. "Blood magic is evil!"
"What is more evil, Alistair?" Adela's quiet voice broke in, and the ex-templar turned to watch her with disbelief in his eyes. "The use of blood magic to allow a mother to protect her child, or killing a child for something he had no control over?"
Alistair seemed ready to yell at the elf, decry the use of blood magic, but whatever he was going to say never reached his lips. The look of profound sorrow was etched upon the elf's face. And she was worrying that lip again.
"So it is decided," Isolde said, her voice firm, strong. "I shall be the sacrifice."
Adela shook her head. "No, Lady Isolde," she turned back. "We will not be sacrificing anyone else over this."
"But…" the Arlessa began, but the elf raised a hand to forestall any argument.
"The Tower has mages and lyrium," she advised, relief rushing through her as she spoke the plan as it formed in her mind. "Alone, and traveling lightly, I can reach the Tower within a day." She glanced at her friends, noticing both Roland and Alistair's frowning faces. "I'll leave my party here, to help contain Connor."
Teagan, Isolde and Jowan were in agreement with that plan, the blood mage obviously relieved he would not be called upon to perform the ritual he obviously detested. Most of the group agreed as well, save for the knight and warden.
"You cannot go on alone, Adela," Alistair admonished, pulling her aside and speaking low. Roland followed, his own words echoing Alistair's.
"Look," she turned to Alistair. "I need you here, Alistair. You are the one who will make the final decision in case…something goes wrong." She looked him in the eye, seeing the uncertainly there. She placed a small hand on his arm. "I trust only you to make this decision, Alistair. You have your templar abilities to call upon in case the demon tries to reassert itself." Understanding lit the young man's face, but he still did not want her to go alone.
"I'll take Hafter," she relented.
"And I will go," Roland advised. But Adela shook her head.
"You are still recovering…"
But the knight sputtered at that. "I'm recovered enough."
"Your armor is too heavy."
"I'll wear leather, and carry only my blade."
Adela's blue eyes met green eyes, shining with determination. She watched him for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. You can go too. But, remember, we're traveling fast and light." The knight nodded and stepped away to change his armor.
"Are you certain about this, Adela?" Alistair asked.
She nodded. "More than certain." She smiled into his face. "Alistair, I meant it. You are the only one I truly trust to make the right decision, to make certain that every other option had been pursued before needing to do anything…unpleasant." A small hand brushed against his cheek. "You have a vested interest in this family. And, you are kind hearted enough not to act first with a blade, but thoughtful enough to know when too much is enough."
Amber eyes stared into the blues of his fellow Warden. No, his commander. He wanted to go with her, not be left behind to watch over the boy, to possibly have to order his death if the demon shows itself again. He knew Roland would watch over her and protect her, but it did not help because to Alistair, only he could properly watch over her and protect her. He would not, however, argue with her. She had made a decision, and it was the right one. With a nod, he bent down and kissed her lightly on one smooth cheek. "Be careful," he whispered as he pulled away, and then went to gather the others to set up vigil.
Adela stepped into a nearby room and removed the studded armor she had acquired from Highever Castle and donned her mother's Dalish set. Roland, outfitted in light leather, carrying only his longsword, was already waiting for her by the main doors.
Calling her massive war hound to her side, the elf gave the knight a nod. With his answering gesture, the pair stepped through the heavy double doors and left the castle.