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 decidedly darker than others I have written.
As always, thank you all for the reviews: mutive, Biff McLaughlin, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Windchime68, zevgirl, CCBug. 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 20
She felt scared. Frightened.
Weak.
Impotent.
And these were feelings that Anora, Queen of Fereldan was not used to experiencing.
Mostly, she felt grief. She missed her husband, and still had not been able to properly grieve his death, even months later.
Worrying, too, was her father's continued odd behavior. She flinched at that. Both she and Cailan had their suspicions and concerns. Although neither had been able to put their finger on what, exactly, was off with the Teyrn. Cailan had suggested that they ask Adela but when the queen had sent to the Alienage, she received a message that the young elf had been conscripted into the Grey Wardens. Anora turned her blue eyes to the open window, overlooking the gardens. Her blond head bowed; she had lost both husband and dearest friend at Ostagar. And she still had no true answers as to exactly what had happened there. Oh, certainly, both her father and Howe had given her fairly vague explanations of being overwhelmed by darkspawn and only managing to save the few forces they could - those forces being Loghain's and Maric's Shield. For some reason, Howe's men never arrived at Ostagar.
She began to pace, trying to pull the pieces together. Arl Eamon's troops never arrived either, and now there was no word of the wily old politician's whereabouts, just rumors of an illness.
Rumors.
Her feet stopped, and she almost snarled out a curse. All she was getting these days were rumors. Nothing factual, nothing concrete that she could take as fact and work with. With rumors, all one could do was keep a weather eye out and wait.
And wait.
That seemed to be all she was doing.
She knew for fact that the Bannorn was getting restless and rebellious under Loghain's iron fist.
She knew that Howe, who now somehow held the Arling of Denerim, had closed off the Alienage, and those few messages she and Cyrion had been able to pass along had been cut off.
Her eyes traveled up the wall to the ornate ceiling above, not seeing the gold gilding or elaborate chandelier. Pale lids closed over blue eyes. She sighed.
She knew she was afraid, and freely admitted it. At least, to herself.
Letting an exasperated sigh out, she turned and marched from her chambers, brushing past guards and stunned servants, seeking out her father. She wanted answers - not rumor, not innuendo. But true, hard facts. She needed to know what was going on. Regardless that Loghain was regent, she was still Queen. She was Cailan's Queen, and he had been a good King. She paused, glancing about. She missed Marcela. The new maid Loghain had procured for her, this elf, Erlina, was not as personable as her former maid had been. Anora admitted she didn't like the woman at all. Her frown deepened as she continued to the stairwell. And she was Orlesian, which made her appointment by Loghain that much stranger.
Another strange occurrence in a vast series of strange occurrences.
Her steps took her to the throne room, and she paused. The guards stationed at each end bowed respectfully to her, but she waved aside their offer to open the doors. Her thoughts were collected, as well as they could be in this situation, and she took a deep breath. With a nod, the guards opened the doors and the Queen stepped through.
Loghain sat upon the throne, a bored expression upon his hard face. Anora paused at that, noting that the expression was so foreign upon his features. Teyrn Howe stood before him, speaking. It sounded like reports of activity in the Bannorn. Straightening her shoulders, Anora marched forward, turning to look squarely at the man who was her father.
A slight smirk on his features, Howe turned and bowed gracefully to the queen. "Your Majesty," his oily voice purred out, "as always an honor and pleasure to see you." He rose, his dark eyes settling upon the queen's lovely face. She did well to hide her discomfort under his scrutiny and turned back to Loghain.
"Father," she began, keeping her voice steady. "What about the darkspawn?" She resisted the urge to pace. "Are they not our most pressing concern?"
Chilling blue eyes settled upon her face. "We need to get the nobles in line first, Anora," his voice was heavier, more gravely then she recalled. "Once they are put back in their place, we can see to the darkspawn incursion." Here he scoffed. "This is no true Blight, Anora. Only Cailan's vanity demanded it be so." Never had she heard him speak of her husband with such disdain.
A firm rein on her temper, she stepped forward. "Did not Cailan contact the Orlesians?" she dared ask. "With their help…"
"No!" Loghain shouted, slamming a fist to the throne arm and rising forcefully to his feet. "We do not need their assistance for this! We Fereldans can handle this incursion. Have no fear." He settled back onto the throne.
Her eyes narrowed. Taking a breath, she asked what she had been wanting to for months. "Did you kill Cailan?"
Her heart quickened, her breath was unsteady. Those icy blue orbs of her father's, eyes that had often as a child caused her to stop whatever she was doing, obeying their intensity, were fully upon her. His voice quiet, he responded. "Cailan's death was his own doing."
She stumbled back, gasping slightly. Blinking, fighting back the tears that stung, she spun away and quickly left the room. Loghain's eyes remained fixed to the spot she had been standing, but Howe's followed her retreat, his smirking grin widening.
DA:O
Alistair's amber eyes followed the young boy as the child paced about the room. Every now and again the lad would toss an insult toward the ex-templar, but the young man did not acknowledge the verbal assaults in any fashion. Other than to continue watching.
Outside the door, the Sten, Leliana and Morrigan stood, in case Alistair needed help in restraining Connor. Wynne, still exhausted from the battles, rested quietly in a room directly opposite the boy's.
Alistair continued to watch, fighting down his concern for Adela. She and Roland were traveling light, which meant that they did not pack much for food and no camping supplies. Their plan being to run straight through the night to the Tower.
The young Warden was concerned about his being in charge. Adela had expressed complete confidence in him, but this was a life or death situation, and he found his old anxieties and fears creeping up on him.
Only once since the elf and knight left had the demon within Connor tried to assert itself forcefully, trying to animate nearby suits of armor. Alistair's templar abilities to cleanse magic disrupted that attempt, a smite sending the creature in boy's guise reeling back. With a snarl, the demon retreated its power, but still maintained its hold on the boy.
Now and again Connor would emerge to ask for food or something to drink. Or, as he had until just moments ago, to play with some of his toys. It was while the boy was building a castle out of blocks that the demon returned, and since then paced the room.
He shifted his gaze briefly to the window, reminding himself that Roland was with her, as was her faithful hound. For now, his eyes turned back to the boy, who had stopped pacing and was playing with his blocks again, he had a more pressing concern.
DA:O
Upon leaving Redcliffe Village the trio - elf, man, dog - jogged along the highway, heading back to the Tower. Adela grumbled about how she had tried so hard to save time by hitting the tower first. Roland laughed, reminding her that, in a sense, they were saving time by having gone to the tower first. Remembering what they found therein on their first trip, she giggled her embarrassed reply.
Roland found the jog quite pleasant. His muscles had toughened with the daily walks and then sparring at the end of each day. Wearing his silverite splint mail during those walks helped to build back his strength and stamina as well. The much lighter leather armor he now wore seemed an almost joy to carry, but he felt very vulnerable without all the metal. Add to that the absence of his shield, and he felt very much exposed.
He glanced over at the elf, who did not seem to notice the exertion she was putting forth in jogging. Of course, elves were lighter, with smaller bone structures and musculature, making them far more suited to such activities as long distance running. And, the Dalish armor she wore…well, there wasn't as much leather to that as other leather armor. The knight found himself admiring her slender figure, the expanse of toned midriff and leg exposed by the scant armor. Adela glanced over at him, and, flushing a bit at being caught ogling her, he offered her a wide smile, letting her know that he was fine.
Of course Hafter absolutely loved the run. Prancing, jumping, hopping - the pooch was in his element, and would race far ahead, only to stop, turn and run back to the side of his beloved mistress. Adela would then reach over and scratch at an ear or pat him on the head and along his broad back before the dog would resume his antics.
And the knight was finding his time alone with the elf quite pleasant as well. Although they were far from taking a leisurely stroll, and could barely spare the breath to talk as they continued their pace, just being with her, without the others - Leliana's girlish need for gossip; Morrigan trying to pull the elf into a debate over human and elven relations; Wynne's constant mothering of the small, childlike elf; or Alistair's near omnipresence - was a nice respite.
The day was cool, well suited for their increased pace. Roland noted that there were no bird songs. Although it was late autumn, in this part of Fereldan there were always birds, and so their absence seemed a bit strange. He could only assume that the unnatural occurrences at Redcliffe had affected the area, even as far away from the village as they were now.
DA:O
"You truly think you could stop me if I didn't wish it?" Connor - no, the demon demanded as the boy perched himself upon the settee by the window, glaring over at the Warden.
Frowning, the young man continued his vigilance over the child, choosing not to acknowledge the demon, not to give it any ammunition to use against him. The boy chuckled, a strange, sultry sound coming from one so young. He turned to stare out the window, and then a scream - filled with anguish and terror - raced up the corridor outside the door. He heard the Sten curse in his native tongue, and heard footsteps race away from the door. Sounds of battle resumed in the hallway, and he could hear Morrigan's voice chanting spells. Alistair stared at the door for a moment, and then turned back to the boy.
"Stop whatever you are doing!" he demanded, standing to tower over the small form of the child. A wicked smiled graced the boy's cherubic features, malice glittering in those brown eyes.
"Make me," came the childish reply.
Pulling all of his energy inward, the ex-templar shouted out, raising his arms as he cleansed the area of magic. Connor slumped forward, almost hitting the floor with his face, had Alistair not captured the lad in his arms. The sounds of battle outside of the door eased, and then ceased.
Holding the boy tensely, Alistair turned as the door to the chamber opened, revealing a disheveled Leliana. Her face was lined with concern.
"One of the suits of armor here…" she began, her usual cheerful tones gone, replaced with weariness. "It…killed one of the maids that was bringing us our dinner." Her blue eyes focused on the boy still unconscious and in the Warden's arms. As she left, she murmured, "I hope Adela returns soon with the mages."
Bowing his head, Alistair slowly lifted the boy into his arms and settled him down on the bed.
He hoped so too.
DA:O
They had jogged for several hours and the sun was setting into the west. As dusk approached, Adela had suggested that they take a quick rest and eat something before continuing onward. Roland readily agreed, calling Hafter back to their sides.
They had packed their food light for two purposes: one was that they were traveling light; the other was that they could not travel quickly with overfull bellies. And so, they sat down, eating a cold supper of dried meat, fruit, and cheese, washing that most appetizing of meals down with cool water. Hafter actually turned his nose up at the rations (Adela broke into a twinkling peel of laughter at that), and went a-hunting instead.
Roland listened as the elf giggled at the scuffing and shuffling noises her hound made as he attempted to capture a hare that had bounded across his path. The knight found he enjoyed the sound immensely, and offered her a wide smile in compliment.
Both rose to their feet, hands to weapons, as a yelp erupted from the war hound, said yelp that immediately changed to a low growl. They turned toward the sounds, watching as the dog warily backed toward them, his haunches raised, teeth bared. An arrow whizzed by Adela's head, and she ducked, spinning about to the direction she gathered the arrow flew from. A ring of humans and elves leaped from the surrounding shadows. One, an elven man with golden hair and a tanned complexion, called out for the Warden's death.
Gritting her teeth, truly not liking the sound of that, Adela spun about, raising her daggers to skillfully turn aside the dagger that moved toward her face. She kicked out with one foot, connecting with a bent knee. The angle of the assassin's knee allowed him to absorb much of the blow, but his concentration had been compromised, and Adela took advantage as she spun under his blades, bringing her back up against his chest, and then stepped solidly on one foot, grinding his toes under her heel, elbowing him in the gut. The assassin cursed in a language she did not understand, and tried to back away, to pull his blades back. The elf proved quicker, and tucked down again, driving both blades deeply into his chest. She yanked them free in a spray of blood.
The long sword cut forward, slicing slightly to the side, tearing a bit at the peasant dress the mage wore. Each hit, every distraction prevented her from calling forth power, and Roland took advantage of her disadvantage. She tried to cast a healing spell upon herself to heal a nasty cut the knight had delivered across her forearm, but his sword cut in again, this time slicing neatly into her side. Gasping, the mage stumbled back, unable to find the breath to call forth another spell. The sword descended, and she died.
Frowning, the knight turned to sweep aside an oncoming sword thrust, turning it neatly away. A leather gloved fist lashed out, slamming into the face of the human assassin. Blood dripped from a broken nose, and Roland, bereft of shield, stepped forward, slamming his fist again into the other man's face, keeping him off balance. He then drove his sword deeply into the man's chest, tearing through his heart, the point protruding out the back. With a grunt, the knight pulled his blade free.
Hafter leaped and growled, howled and tore at the elven man he faced. The elf could not get his daggers to bear against the moving mass of muscle that threatened him. The dog smelled fear radiate from this one, this one who would harm his mistress, his lady, his elf. His posture screamed it, and the dog lunged, deftly knocking the blades free of the elf's hands, knocking the smaller being to the ground beneath his tremendous weight. With a growl, the beast's head snapped forward, strong jaws closing around the elf's slender neck. First he squeezed, and then snapped his jaws closed, breaking through skin and bones, tasting blood. Giving the elf a final shake, ensuring he was dead, the great war hound turned, seeking out new prey.
Her dagger snapped forward, and then the other followed closely behind. Thanking Leliana for her continued patience in training her with daggers, Adela flicked a blade, cutting through the light leather of the woman who she faced off against. The other dagger dug into the opening, driving deeply into the human's shoulder. She twisted the blade as she pulled it free, the other dagger following, digging into her breast. The human jumped back, snarling in anger and pain, her own daggers jabbing forward, seeking to cut into the elf. Her face tight with concentration, Adela nimbly waltzed to the side, out of the other woman's range. Ducking down, jabbing one blade low with the other high, she gave a satisfied nod as both blades entered into the human's body, one through her side and into her chest, the other into her unprotected neck. Convulsing, the human slumped to the ground to bleed out.
Breathing hard, she turned, finding only one assassin survived. The elf who had ordered the others to attack and who had not engaged in the battle. Their eyes met, sapphire hard eyes to tiger eyes. The male elf offered a flamboyant bow to the woman, and then turned to dart away. With a whistle, Adela called her hound. Pointing at the fleeing elf, she ordered "Fetch!" and watched as Hafter ran the elf down, leaping onto his back, his jaws closing over the back of his neck as his great weight pinned him there.
With a look to each other to ensure the other was fine, the elf and knight walked over to the would-be assassin.
DA:O
The boy was sitting on his bed, unmoving, but smiling that damnable smile that told the ex-templar that it was not Connor who sat there, but the damned demon. He could feel the power building up and, again, sent forth his templar ability to cleanse the area of magic. The young man was tiring; the demon seemed to have tapped into Connor's innate magical ability and, coupled with its own, could regenerate its mana quicker than Alistair could regain his strength. Yet again, the sounds of battle rang through the hallway beyond the boy's bedroom door, and yet again, Alistair remained where he was, doing his best to tamp down the demon's power. The Sten, Leliana, Teagan, Morrigan and Wynne battled against whatever frightful thing the demon managed to conjure, and still Alistair sat, watching, building his own reserves, ready to cast it again.
A terrifying scream, and the door burst open, admitting Isolde and Jowan. The Warden rose, seeking to forestall the Arlessa's advance toward the boy. Connor, his eyes lit up with unnatural light, leaped from the bed, pulling his magical energy inward. A cry, a startled gasp, and Alistair turned, watching in horror as the boy's form melted, bent, and reformed into that of an abomination, its twisted form a cruel mockery of the humanity of the boy.
Crying out, Isolde rushed to Connor's side, sidestepping the startled Warden. With a snarl, the boy-turned-abomination struck out with one claw, catching the Arlessa across the face, tearing flesh from bone, piercing one eye, pulling it free. Horrified, Alistair pulled the screaming woman free of the demonic thing's grasp, tossing her toward the blood mage. Jowan caught hold of her, turning as Wynne entered. Handing her off, Jowan turned again, pulling a dagger, as Alistair faced off against the abomination.
"Get her out of here!" Alistair shouted, parrying a swing of a powerful arm. Wynne and Leliana took the unconscious, bleeding form of the horrendously wounded woman from the room.
Jowan cut deeply into his palm, feeling the power granted him by the darker arts. He sent forth a burst of dark power, slamming the abomination in the chest. Alistair jabbed at the creature, seeking to tire it out. He felt the build up of magic from the abomination, and cast out with a cleansing field. Then, he cast out with a smite, sending the abomination and Jowan both to the floor.
Sobbing, praying, Alistair stood over the stunned figure that had once been the Arl's little boy. The creature looked up with dazed eyes - Connor's eyes - and, using Connor's boyish voice, asked for help, pleaded for mercy. His lips trembling, nausea rising in his throat, the ex-Templar gripped his sword in both hands, and plunged it down into the thing's chest.
The massive shape shuddered once, and then stilled. A few moments passed, and the form of Connor reshaped from the molted mess of the abomination.
Slumping down beside the form, Alistair's large frame shook as he sobbed beside the boy's still and bloody form. Jowan stood, staring down at the body, blood dripping from the self inflicted wound.
Beyond the room, further down the hall, the Arlessa's screams of agony could be felt as well as heard.
DA:O
They stood over the prone form of the elf. Adela clucked her tongue at her dog, and he immediately obeyed, taking a stance by her side, guarding, ready to strike back at this other elf. The elven man flipped over, pushing himself up into a seated position, his tawny eyes taking in the forms of the small elven woman, huge war dog, and extremely angry human man. A slight smirk crossed the elf's handsome features as he turned his attention fully upon the lovely elven woman, allowing his eyes to roam over her form.
A blond brow rose, her eyes hard, the elf returned the other elf's appraisal, although with far less lascivious nature.
"Ah, so, this is one of the fabled Grey Wardens?" the elf spoke in a heavy accent. "I see that reputations are not exaggerated." He lifted his eyes from where they were roaming to settle upon Adela's very blue eyes. "And, since you have decided not to kill me, I suspect that you wish to interrogate the prisoner, correct?"
The elf nodded, Roland remaining at her side looking threatening. The assassin chortled, saying, "Then, let me save you some time, yes?" He glanced warily at the war hound as he brought a hand to his chest. "My name is Zevran…ah, Zev to my friends." he waved a hand to the woman. "A member of the Antivan Crows. We were hired to assassinate any surviving Wardens, which I have failed at, as you can no doubt see."
A brow quirked. "I'm rather pleased you failed," said Warden responded, ignoring the elf's invitation to introduce herself.
"As would I, in your shoes of course," the assassin purred.
"Who hired you?"
"Ah, yes," he purred, smiling. "That would be one Teyrn Howe, I do believe."
Roland's face darkened at the mention of the traitorous nobleman. Adela placed a calming hand on his arm. "And now that you failed at your assignment?"
"Well, that is between Teyrn Howe and the Crows, and the Crows and myself, unfortunately."
"And you and I," Adela reminded him.
Chuckling, the elf replied. "Is that not what we are establishing now, yes?"
Roland scowled and demanded, "Why are you telling us all this?"
The elven male laughed. "Why not? I wasn't paid for silence," he replied smoothly.
Adela frowned at this. "Do you hold no loyalty for your employer?"
"Loyalty is an interesting concept," he waved aside the notion. "If you wish, and you are done interrogating me, we can discuss it further."
Chewing her lower lip, she waved for him to continue.
"Well, you see," the assassin quipped, "The Crows do not reward failure," he sighed dramatically. "I have failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit," a shrug of graceful shoulders. "The thing is, I like living; quite a lot, actually. And you, obviously, are the sort to give the Crows pause. So…" he paused and went on, "let me serve you instead."
Astounded by the other elf's audacity, Adela stood staring at him in silence for many moments. "You must think I'm royally stupid."
Zevran was not deterred, but immediately said, "I think you're royally hard to kill, and utterly gorgeous." Seeing her raised brows, he hurried on suavely, "Not that I think you'll respond to simple flattery, of course. But there are worse things in life than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess."
Roland took a threatening step forward, his sword gripped tightly in his hand at that remark. Zevran merely cast a lazy gaze toward the knight, seemingly unconcerned by the man's threatening stance.
A hand on his arm stilled the knight. "And what's to stop you from trying to finish the job if I let you live?"
Ah ha. "To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice about joining the Crows. I was bought on the slave market at a young age," he hung his head here, trying to elicit sympathy from the other elf. "Even if I were to kill you now, they might just kill me on principle. I'd rather take my chances with you."
"What do you think you have to offer?"
He grinned. "I could open pesky locks, give you warning should the Crows attempt more…sophisticated means of disposing of you." His eyes traveled along her form again. ""I could also stand and look pretty, if you prefer. Warm your bed? Fend off unwanted suitors? No?"
"No."
"No? Such a shame."
"And what would you want in return?"
His reply was instant. "Being allowed to live would be nice, and make me marginally more useful to you. And somewhere down the road, if you should decide you no longer need me, well then, I shall go my way. Until then, I am yours to command. Is that not fair?"
Those blue eyes continued to scrutinize the male elf, watching his facial expressions and body language. While she believed his story and his offer to join them, she did not trust him. Not at all. To do so would be suicidal, and one thing Adela was not, it was suicidal. A glance to Roland told her that the human had similar thoughts.
"No," she stated flatly, watching as the other elf's eyes widened slightly in surprise.
"I…I beg your pardon?" That did surprise him.
"No," she repeated. "I'll not kill you, Zevran; however I have no intention of allowing you to join us."
"Adela…" Roland started, but she shook her head.
"Roland, if you want to kill him, go ahead. I'll not think any less of you," she turned her eyes back to the elven man still sitting on the ground. "I will not do so." Her eyes narrowed. "I warn you, Zevran of the Antivan Crows," her voice was hard, a tone Roland had never heard before coming from her. "If you attempt to ambush or kill any of us again, I will not be so merciful."
Zevran watched the young woman, confused but at least alive. He pushed himself to his feet, and brushed himself off. Once that was completed, he offered the elven woman a deep, respectful bow, and then turned and melted into the shadows.
DA:O
He had been certain letting the assassin go had probably been one of the biggest and worst mistakes he had ever witnessed Adela make. He had tried to speak with the elven woman about it, but she clearly did not wish to discuss it, saying only that the decision had been made, and to let it go. Let. It. Go. Roland was having a hard time with that and so had kept a very careful eye on the surrounding darkness about them as they resumed their jog to the Tower.
And, despite the fact that they had arrived at the Tower without further delay or hindrance, he still felt it had been a monumental mistake that would later on come back to haunt them. He looked over at Adela as they awaited the ferryman to make his boat ready for the trip to the Tower. He just hoped he would be around to protect her when the Antivan Crows came back.
Adela was tired. That much was obvious. As soon as the ferryman, Kester, had the boat ready, she climbed in and slumped onto the seat, leaning against the side. Hafter bounded over to her, rocking the boat, to lay down at her feet. Roland sat beside her, glancing down at her weary features. Deciding to take the risk, the young knight reached over, put his arm across the elf's shoulders and pulled her against him. He felt her stiffen at the contact, and her eyes moved up to his face. His green eyes met hers and he offered a slight smile. "You look tired," he quietly said, hoping she would relax, praying he was not being too forward. With a sigh, the elf did relax, nestling under his arm, her eyes closed as she took a few moments to rest.
The water gently lapped against the sides of the boat in an almost hypnotic rhythm as the ferryman guided the craft across the waters and toward the Tower. Roland almost believed that Adela had fallen asleep as relaxed as she was. He was amazed at just how small she felt with his arm around her. Although there was no mistaking just how small the woman was when standing next to her, she always seemed larger when speaking with people, calming them, or giving orders. And when she stood in battle, her bow sure in her hands, she seemed almost titanic. But here, resting, worn, and worried about their friends and the Arl and his family, she seemed as tiny as a child. And as delicate. He picked up one tiny hand, noticing the beginnings of calluses developing on her otherwise soft hands. He frowned, recalling that this woman was an artisan, one condemned to a life as a warrior. Although he wished nothing more than to serve as a Grey Warden, even one who so idolized the order could see when someone was far more suited for something else. And, although she was brave and a natural leader, a life spent fighting did not seem quite suited to this young woman.
Brilliant blue eyes opened as they neared the Tower dock. As Kester tied the boat off, the elf leaped lightly from the small craft. Asking the ferryman to remain, Adela led Roland back into the tower.
The doors were guarded by two Templars - one the ridiculous Carroll who had guarded the docks during their first visit and another they did not recognize. Carroll indicated that the First Enchanter could be found in his offices upstairs, and called over a third templar to show them the way. They found both the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander standing in Irving's office, obviously discussing the rebuilding of the Tower. Both men seemed pleased to see Adela. The elf greeted the mage warmly, but her salutation to the templar was still a bit cool.
After Adela explained what was happening at Redcliffe, Irving all but jumped at the chance to give the plan a try. Muttering something about gathering lyrium and mages, the old man walked off. Gregoir turned to the elf and knight and offered them a room in which they could rest while Irving gathered all he would need. Tired and weary, Adela graciously accepted the Templar's offer.
The room the Knight-Commander offered up was small but contained two small beds. Sighing in relief, Adela removed her gloves and boots, leaving her armor on (she had no other clothing to change into) and lay down on the comfortable bed. She was asleep before Roland even removed his boots.
DA:O
Wynne's hands pressed down on the wailing woman's face. Morrigan, her face cast in a look of utter concentration, sent her spell flowing into Isolde's flailing body. Soon, the woman stilled as the witch's sleep spell took hold.
The elder mage ran her hands over the Arlessa's ruined face, clucking in sympathy, sending out tendrils of healing power through the wounds. Morrigan remained unusually silent as she turned back to her mortar and pestle, grinding herbs into a poultice.
Outside, Leliana stood, leaning against the door frame, ready to rush any errand the mages needed as they tended to the wounded noblewoman. Teagan had locked himself in a study, while Alistair had not come out of the boy's room. The Sten had removed the body and was having it prepared for a pyre.
DA:O
The mages were ready within two hours of Adela and Roland's arrival. Irving planned to accompany them back to the castle, and had enlisted Niall (who gave the elven woman a warm hug when he spotted her) and an elven male, Artemis Surana, to accompany them back to Redcliffe. Artemis nodded politely to Adela, his large hazel eyes settling appreciatively upon Roland's muscled form. The knight blanched under the scrutiny, placing a hand on Adela's shoulder. The elven mage merely shrugged, pouting his lips as he turned back to the First Enchanter.
"We'll need to move as quickly as we can," Adela was explaining to the mages. "I have no idea how long it will be before the demon reasserts itself." If it hasn't already done so, she amended silently.
Irving nodded to a nearby Templar, who stepped forward, carrying a large iron box etched with runes. This Templar, again one the elf did not recognize, would be accompanying them back to the Castle as well.
With a farewell to Gregoir, Irving led the group out of the tower, and to where Kester and the boat awaited.
DA:O
The light danced along the prism surface of the glass, casting tiny rainbows along the hand that held it. The glass tilted, and the thick, golden liquid contained therein coated the surface nicely, causing tiny golden sparkles to dance along the hand. The glass raised to dry lips, and the liquid was gulped down in one easy swallow. The hand holding the glass twisted it about, staring at it with coppery brown eyes that were heavy with sorrow and pain. With a profound sigh, Teagan set the glass carefully upon the side table, closing his eyes, and bowing his head.
How would he tell Eamon that not only was his son dead, but his wife horribly disfigured? The despair assaulted the Bann, causing a clear pain to rise in his chest. He was to have protected his brother's family; but instead, he had failed in a most solid manner. He brushed aside a tear that fell from his eye.
He had failed his family.
DA:O
Horses. That was what they needed. Horses. Adela thought it before, she thought it now. What was Fereldan's apprehension regarding horses? Oxen, oh sure those could be found anywhere. Ever try riding one? She shook her head, recalling her mother telling her stories of riding the majestic Halla in her childhood. There…that was what they needed. A whole herd of Halla.
It was a good thing she and Roland had made such excellent time in getting to the tower, assassin ambush aside. But, she could not blame the mages. Irving was, well, old. And had not Wynne's experience beyond the Tower nor her sprightliness. And as much as she liked her friend Niall, he really was not the most in shape person she had ever met. And Artemis? The elf was sprightly and flighty; too busy flirting with Roland or noticing every single plant, bird, bug or rock they passed by to make any real progress forward. The Templar was the only member from the Tower that could move in a good forward motion, nothing delaying or distracting him whatsoever. He was also the most unresponsive companion anyone had ever had the pleasure of walking with. She snorted. He made the Sten seem almost personable.
The elven mage was, yet again, flirting outrageously with the ginger haired knight. Adela bit down a grin, her eyes shining with amusement as she watched Roland trying desperately to just ignore the elf. She saw his green eyes turn to her, pleading with her to rescue him and all she did was offer him a sympathetic shrug of her lithe shoulders, and turn back to Irving.
Apparently, Irving and Niall had an interesting theory with regards to the Fade and a non-mage's ability to traverse it. Since Adela had been aware during her time in the Fade, and had also learned how to shape shift and otherwise control her environment within that environment, both mages had concluded that she - or someone with equal contact within the Fade - could be sent there by mages, in a similar fashion as what they were proposing to do in Connor's case. Adela seemed skeptical, but Niall especially was adamant that they should try it at some point, practically begging the young elf to volunteer. Adela rolled her eyes at the mage, who looked at her with a puppy dog expression in his brown eyes. Without promising a thing, the young Warden said she would think about it, but told both mages that she had not enjoyed her time in the Fade in such a manner and was really in no hurry to repeat the experience. Taking her decision at face value, both mages continued their discussion.
She turned at the sound of Roland sputtering a harsh "No!" at the elven mage and watched as he all but stomped over to her side. Biting her lip, she found it very humorous that the knight, who had already told her of his opinion of such same gender relations, was being so relentlessly pursued by the handsome elven mage. The knight did not find it as humorous and merely offered her a glare, which crumbled in the face of the sweet smile she turned on him.
DA:O
He sat, near where Connor had fallen, the blood stain having penetrated the wood of the floor, steeping in and staining it, always the reminder of what had happened herein.
Alistair turned his head, feeling shame at having cut down the child. He could not think that the child had been turned into an abomination, all semblances of humanity having been stripped from him by the demon he had bargained with. It had still been a child, one who did not understand the dangers of magic. One who now would never understand.
He knew that Jowan had been present, and that Teagan had ordered the blood mage returned to the dungeons. The mage had returned without a sound of protestation.
Adela had left him in charge. She had said she was confident he would make the right decision. He rose, his sword hanging loosely in his hand. He could not shake the feeling that he had failed her.
DA:O
It was late the following day when the castle came into view and nearly dusk when they arrived at the castle. Adela made a mental note that there were no new corpses lying about, and that the villagers seemed to be putting their lives back in order. It was a morbid thought, but one the elf found necessary to assure herself that all was as it should be.
It was a somber Ser Perth that greeted Adela and her group at the front steps of the castle. After quickly explaining what had happened, the elf gave out a cry, and then ran away from the group, into the castle, in search of Alistair.
DA:O
Leliana caught up to Adela first as she sped to Connor's room. Grasping the elf's arm, she gave a more thorough detail of events since her departure. She also explained that Alistair had not left Connor's room since he had to…stop the abomination, and that no one had been able to get through to the young man. The elf nodded, wiping away a tear as the Orlesian finished. Thanking Leliana, asking her to go and make sure that the mages were making Isolde as comfortable as possible, she turned to the door behind which sat her fellow Warden.
The door was unlocked; she was momentarily surprised by that. Turning the knob, she slipped into the darkened room. She could clearly see the outline of Alistair, kneeling upon the floor. Quietly, she closed the door and stepped beside the young man. Dropping to her knees, she embraced her friend, pulling him to her. With an anguished cry, Alistair dropped his sword, wrapping his strong arms around the slender elf, releasing the sorrow he had been trying to contain.
He kept apologizing, saying he had failed her, failed the Wardens, failed the Arl. Adela shushed him, wiping the tears from his face with a small hand. The young Warden tried to keep from weeping, tried to push his sorrow back. The elf could feel the effort he was putting into it. Pushing him back, she looked into his red eyes.
"Is there somewhere you wish to go, so that we can talk alone?" she asked quietly, recalling that this was his childhood home. He paused, then nodded his head. "The stables," he whispered, a sob clenching in his throat. Nodding, she stood, pulling him up as well. Opening the door, she led the man out of the castle, and then followed him to the stables.
Once upon a time, the stables had housed horses. However, the recent events had decimated the stables. Alistair led her to a stall in the furthest back. Then, pulling down a ladder, he led her up to the loft.
Strangely, the loft held a cot and open crate, in which lay old bedding and clothing. A knot formed in her stomach as she recalled Alistair telling her that the Arl had housed the then boy Alistair in the stables, at the insistence of his new Arlessa.
She turned, finding Alistair sitting on the cot that had once been his bed. He looked so despondent, so broken, her heart cried out for him. She helped him remove his splint mail, making him more comfortable in the cotton breeches and tunic he wore beneath. She then climbed onto the cot, and leaned her back against the wall. Reaching over, she pulled Alistair to her, tucking his head under her chin. He then cried out his sorrow, telling her everything that had happened, taking the blame for so much. She was glad Leliana had told her what had happened; this way she could dispute Alistair's self-condemnation with fact. How long he cried and talked, she had no idea. Not that it mattered. His words died out long before his tears. The elf twisted, pulled his head down, resting it lightly on her lap, his face turned toward her knees, her fingers brushing through his hair, along his cheeks, and over his ear as the tears still fell. Eventually, his eyes closed and the human was lulled into a fitful sleep. Closing her eyes, her fingers still stroking his hair and face, Adela relaxed against the wood, allowing her tense body to ease and doze.
DA:O
A few hours later, just past midnight, and Alistair found himself awake, his head resting comfortably in a soft lap, small hands resting lightly upon his forehead and neck. He shifted, looking up into Adela's restful face. Smiling, he gently pulled himself into a seated position, placing a hand on one slender shoulder. He barely applied any pressure but the elf's blue eyes opened, focusing upon his face. Smiling, she blinked a few times.
"How do you feel?" she asked as she bent forward slightly and stretched her arms out, rolling her shoulders, her eyes remaining on his face.
She noticed his eyes drooped somewhat, and an almost perpetual sadness etched his features. She reached over and placed a cool hand on his cheek. "I will be fine, eventually," he admitted softly, his voice harsh, ducking his head to press into her hand. "I just cannot shake the feeling that I've let everyone down."
The cot creaked loudly as she moved to sit directly in front of the human man. "Alistair," she moved her hand from his cheek to under his chin, raising his head slightly. "Do you know why I left you in charge?"
He snorted. "Because I'm your second."
She smiled at him. "True. But, mostly because if I had left anyone else - be it Sten or Morrigan, Leliana or Wynne - I knew that not every avenue would have been explored should a situation arise while I was gone."
"Roland would have made the right decision," the young man retorted glumly.
"Perhaps," she allowed, tilting her head slightly to him. "But he did not have all of the skills necessary for what needed to be done."
Her blue eyes turned piercing, and the young man found he could not look away from their intensity. "You, on the other hand, were able to counter most of the demon's magical attacks with your templar abilities; that bought us time and is not something any of the rest of us can do."
She began to tick off on her fingers.
"Your first reaction would not have been to simply kill the child, as would have been Sten's or Morrigan's." Her head tipped. "You would also be sympathetic to Isolde and Teagan. Again, something neither Sten or Morrigan are even remotely capable of doing. However," her eyes narrowed. "You also could have made the tough decision when and if necessary, and I doubt seriously either Leliana or Wynne would have been capable of that. And so more people would have died."
She began stroking his face gently, watching as his face relaxed. "You made the difficult decision, Alistair, because it was the only decision left to make."
A heavy sigh escaped from Alistair's lips and he raised his eyes once again to the elf's face. "It's not easy leading, is it?"
A bark of laughter and the elf replied, with a shake of her head, "No, no it's not. But," she smiled, placing her hands on both of his broad shoulders. "I will always have faith that you will make the right decision." Her mind wandered to the note Duncan left her. "Duncan had faith in you as well, if you recall."
"He always did," the young Warden admitted, remembering his talks with his mentor. "He used to tell me that I lacked confidence, but that he had faith that someday I would understand and accept the burdens of leadership." He frowned, looking at the elf. "I used to think he meant my being Maric's son, but, now…" he shrugged. "I'm thinking it just had more to do with me and not any plans anyone else may have had for me."
Her eyes traveled around the loft area of the stables, frowning at the hay and the cot and everything else that reminded her that Alistair had been relegated to the stables as a child because of an adult woman's jealousy and insecurities. Her frown deepened as she thought that same woman had inadvertently caused so many deaths, her own son included.
It was still quite dark outside and the elf found she was exhausted.
"Come here," she motioned to the man, opening her arms. Alistair settled against her, pulling her closer so that her head rested against his shoulder. "We need to get more rest."
She felt him nod in agreement. "I'd rather not go back to the castle just yet," he admitted, his voice soft and a bit quivery. She could understand.
"Okay, we've spent most of the night here anyway," she motioned to the cot. "go lay down. I'll make a nest here."
Glancing over at the cot and then down at the floor, Alistair shook his head. "There's room for two on the cot," he suggested quietly. Adela felt her cheeks flush warmly.
Her blue eyes shifted over to the cot. With a sigh, she motioned for him to get settled first, and then she slid next to him, fitting her small shape against his. With a contented sigh, Alistair draped an arm around her, pulling her against him slightly. He could feel her tense body relax against him, and then the gentle breathing as she fell asleep.
Smiling softly, nuzzling his face into her hair, the young man quickly followed her into the Fade.