Ah! This chapter was a bear! A real live grizzly at that! All snarling maw and sharp teeth! And those claws…It was actually supposed to have been uploaded, well, weeks ago. But, it just wouldn't behave. And, then I made the mistake of reading it before posting…and caught some inconsistencies. But, here it is!
Thanks, as always, to those who read on the sly, alert, and review! Wyl, Legionary Prime, Shakespira, Arsinoe de Blassenville
The Halla Reborn
Chapter 72
It was, perhaps, one of the simplest spells any mage could cast. The right charm and carefully worded spell, and the glamour would settle easily over his features, obscuring them just enough to make him unrecognizable to those who were not to see him. Thus, glamour in place, he watched as the elven assassin and red-haired bard made their cautious way around the chamber, searching, no doubt, for him.
Smirking, he brushed his hands down his simple yet finely made tunic, to then rest upon trouser clad hips as his eyes then skimmed over the heads and shoulders of the gathered nobles and their vassals, to settle upon where the elven warden continued to speak – to argue - with his puppet.
DA:O
"The Landsmeet is against you, Loghain," Adela's voice drifted beneath the whispers and mutterings of those gathered about them as she looked up into Loghain's glazed, blue eyes. "Just step back and let the process happen."
A sneer – one that the elf had seen many times upon the man's face, although never directed toward her – crossed his features as he glared down at the tiny woman. "Never!" Those ice eyes glared upwards as he turned, his gaze encompassing the entirety of the chambers. "You all are traitors! Traitors to Ferelden! To Maric! To everything we have ever fought and died for! None of you…" he stretched out his hand, pointing toward the crowd, face upturned and sneering. "have shed blood as I have! None of you," he turned now to face Adela and her companions, "have earned the right to challenge me!"
Taken aback, Adela stepped back, hands reflectively going to her sheathed blades. "A rightful vote has been presented, Loghain," the elf stressed her friend's name, fearful of the hatred that rose upon his face, the cold death in his eyes as he glared at the girl. "You lost!"
"It is my right to challenge you, Warden, to a duel," he hissed. "The winner shall lead the armies of Ferelden!"
"Nonsense!" Alistair stormed, pushing Adela back as he glared at the elder male. "You lost, Loghain. You have no right…"
"But he does," all eyes glanced upwards in disbelief as Eamon, frowning down from the balcony, called out. "Unfortunately, as the one who lost the debate, he is granted a…reprieve of sorts. The duel is his right."
Adela looked up, seeking to meet the Arl's eyes. However, they were hooded and shadowed, and she could not see clearly into their clear, gray depths. She glanced over to Fergus, who was scowling at the elder male beside him. Seeming to feel the weight of the elf's gaze, the young noble turned his scarred face. The expression thereupon – one of resignation – told Adela all she needed. The elf gave the younger noble a nod. Fergus had warned them all that Loghain could use this formal right of challenge. They had hoped that either Arawn would not have been made aware of it, or would not seek to harm his…puppet in such a fashion.
With a heavy sigh and frown, she turned back toward the Regent, who remained standing before her, resolute and calm.
"Very well," she muttered, "if that's how it's done, then who are we to go against the rules?"
"You can't seriously…?" Alistair began to argue, gripping the girl by her upper arm and turning her roughly about. "He's a powerhouse. He'll cut you in half…"
Nodding, she frowned as she looked over at the glowering form of the man who had been a friend of her family for years. "I know I have no chance in a fight against him," she admitted, turning to looking into Alistair's concerned eyes. "However, I can keep out of his way, keep him moving. He's innocent in this," she reminded the other Warden, who's scowl deepened as he realized her plan. "I'd rather him not get hurt or killed any more than I want to be. So," she took a breath, "I'll just keep out of his way as best as I can while you," she pointed a finger at Alistair and then turned it toward her other companions. "find that damned mage!"
Blinking at the intensity of her voice, Alistair nodded toward the others, but did not move from his position. Frowning up into his face, Adela opened her mouth to question him when he spoke, "I'm going to take your place in the duel," he insisted, his voice hard in the unusual finality of his tone; unyielding with the determination he felt and fully conveyed with rough hands and hard voice.
"Alistair…" Adela began but was cut off with a sharp shake.
"You're the Commander. Regardless of what Loghain or whomever is pulling his strings think, the armies we've gathered won't follow anyone else but you," he gave her another shake. "I'm your Second. This is what a second is supposed to do." He glanced over at Loghain, who stood, watching patiently, eyes yet again glazed over. "I'll try not to hurt him – too much," he ignored Adela's glare. "and will be certain to keep out of his way as much as possible."
"This is ridiculous…"
"No," came that firm voice again accompanied by a tightening of his grip upon her shoulders, "you fighting him would be ridiculous."
Then, releasing her, Alistair shifted his shoulders, right hand resting upon the hilt of his sword as he stepped forward. "I, Warden Alistair, Second to Commander Adela, hereby accept Regent Loghain Mac Tir's challenge." He bowed lowly toward the Teyrn, and then turned to bow toward the gathered nobility.
With a nod, Loghain stepped back, turning to lead the younger man toward the center of the chambers.
DA:O
Ser Ryan glanced over at his companion, dressed now in full Templar armor, a sharp contrast to the simpler attire from their previous endeavor. The young knight turned slightly, glancing over to where Erlina remained, standing with great caution beside the queen, blades naked in her hands as she carefully studied the room full of nobles and their servants.
The knight, fully in the service of Ser Landry, shook his blond head, against stealing a glance to the Templar beside him.
"Can't you just sense him?" the knight asked, frustration in his voice as the pair continued their slow rounds of the great hall.
Shaking his head, the Templar – Ser Cauldry – answered, just as frustrated as his companion, "It doesn't work that way," he carefully explained, dark eyes scanning the room. "Mages don't just radiate magic. We can only sense them when they open the Veil. And this one is smart," a scowl formed on his rugged face as he spared a glance to the younger male. "Just like the other night. I had no idea that Orlesian bitch had a leashed mage until he showed himself and began to cast."
"What good are you then?" Ryan teased his friend, enjoying the look of frustration that crossed those dark eyes. Instead of answering, knowing that the knight was only trying to get an emotional reaction out of him, the Templar continued to step around the chambers, senses open wide to any fluctuation to the Fade, eyes seeking out the face of the one they sought.
"The Wardens people are looking, too," Ryan muttered as he spotted the blond elven male skirt from shadow to shadow. Cauldry looked over, impressed. No one should have noticed the Crow, however Erlina's people and the Wardens had, with the assistance of the Lady Isolde and her pretty maid, Gail, coordinated their efforts to search out the blood mage that had caused such havoc.
"Her own mages are searching as well," Cauldry muttered, eyes settling upon the slim figure of the elderly mage, Wynne.
"Will that interfere with your own…ah…sensing?" the knight was uncertain how to call it, but knew Cauldry would understand regardless.
"Not really," the Templar assured the other. "A casting blood mage – even if he is not using blood magic – sends a different…signature along the Veil than a mage using the more…" here he frowned, struggling for a description that would best describe the differences between the magics and mages. "well, let's say more approved magics."
"Approved?" Ryan's eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh, you mean Chantry taught?"
Chuckling softly, giving a slight nod, Cauldry replied. "Yeah. Chantry taught."
Eyes following the path the elderly mage followed, Ryan nodded. "Well, at least their own use won't hurt our hunt."
"Shouldn't, anyway," Cauldry muttered quietly, ignoring the questioning glance of his friend. "Come on," he pushed his friend forward. "We've a blood mage to catch."
DA:O
Those within the chamber stepped back, forfeiting their stances within the Great Hall, offering up space upon the tiled floor for the pair of warriors. Excited voices rose, eager for the display of one of their greatest warriors against a Grey Warden. The word 'epic' had circulated from mouth to mouth. Others, fully aware of the significance of the duel, watched with anxious eyes, concern crinkling the corners of eyes and mouths, as the pair faced off against one another, offering up first a salute to the other, before bringing shields to bare and swords unsheathed.
It was difficult for the young Grey Warden to shut out the excited whispers and sounds surrounding him. He purposefully did not – would not, could not – look over at Adela, whom he knew would be standing, biting at her lips, anxiety written clearly upon her face. Just the thought of her caused his heart to skip and a sick feeling to erupt in his stomach. He had to focus, force everything else out…
He raised honey gold eyes to the cold blue orbs of his opponent. The anger and hatred that emanated from those otherwise blank eyes…the young man mentally shook himself. How could Loghain appear so aware and yet not? It was distressing. He knew he could not hurt the man irrevocably. However, there was no way he could allow himself to be sorely wounded, either.
Bracing himself, he gave a short nod, more to himself than to his opponent.
A snarl crossed the craggy features of the Regent as Loghain raised his shield and sword, rushing forward to slam his buttress against the griffon adorned shield held by the younger man. Alistair braced his feet, leaning forward, leading with his shield, sword held up and away, fully meeting the powerful rush of the veteran. With a slight heave, the Grey Warden pushed forward with his shoulders, elbows locked as he pushed back against the strength of the other man, taking one careful, slow step forward as he gathered strength in his legs. Then, with a shout, the Grey Warden jumped forward, his legs pressing forward, his arms pushing out in one quick, strong motion, to knock the shield of the older man aside. He continued his momentum, shield connecting with Loghain's chin and chest, forcing the man to stumble backwards, shield and sword swinging out in disarray against the surprisingly powerful move.
Blue eyes narrowed as Loghain pulled his shield back toward himself, sword held up and out, as he traced the path of his foe, who circled him, gold eyes wary and watching.
DA:O
Soft brown eyes scanned over the heads of the nobles, focusing upon the figure of the Queen. A frown crossed the scarred woman's face as she took in how Erlina remained by Anora, but took note that any guards were still too far from their monarch for her comfort.
"Gail," Isolde spoke in quiet tones, a slender hand reaching out to grasp her maid's forearm. Startled, with a jump, the elven servant turned to face her mistress.
Isolde did not face the elven girl, but continued to watch out over Anora and Erlina. Frowning, the red-haired elf's eyes followed her mistress's gaze, the frown deepening as she realized Isolde's concern. With a quick nod, the agile elf skipped though the crowds, pulling free a dagger from her boot as she neared the elven bard and royal. Sighing as she watched Erlina and Anora nod in acceptance of the younger elf's presence, Isolde turned her attention back to the duel.
DA:O
The jarring feeling ran up his arm as Loghain's sword connected – heavily – against his shield, the rattling feeling rushing to his face, settling into his teeth. Forcing himself to unclench his jaw, Alistair pushed outwards with his shield, gaining a couple of feet between the pair of combatants. Carefully placing a foot behind him, the young man lengthened the distance, bringing his shield up to once again deflect a ringing blow from the general.
Both men were breathing hard, neither having scored a hit upon the other while wearing each other down. Sweat dripped down into his eyes, and Alistair blinked rapidly, but managed to keep from bringing his sword hand to his face to wipe the fluid from his eyes.
Loghain appeared just as winded, however managed to maintain that cool, detached demeanor. Alistair scowled at that as he wondered if that was the man's usual fighting stance, or simply another aspect of the blood magic that controlled him.
Alistair honestly hoped to never find out. Loghain was far too skilled an opponent to want to engage more than once.
The sudden charge by the Regent brought the younger man out of his brief revelry. Chastising himself, he quickly brought up his shield to block the vicious swing of the man's long sword. The jarring feeling caused tingling in his hand. However, instead of backing away, Alistair braced his legs and shoulders, elbows locking as he gave a powerful shove forwards. Loghain's sword was braced firmly against Alistair's shield, the Regent's shield pinned close to his body, forced against him by the sheer weight and power of his foe. Hand still holding onto his own longsword, the Grey Warden punched out with his swordhand, connecting solidly with Loghain's now exposed shoulder. Cursing as he stumbled, Loghain tried to step backwards, away from the determined younger man. Alistair met him step for step, keeping their bodies close, preventing Loghain from being able to strike out with either sword or shield. Of course, their present positions prevented Alistair from utilizing his sword or shield; however, it made no difference. His purpose was to keep Loghain busy, with luck thereby keeping the blood mage focused upon the battle between the two. And allow those who searched the chamber for him to locate him.
All without causing harm to the furious man he was now pinned against.
DA:O
Zevran stood, back against the wall, as golden eyes scanned the room. The crowd within the Great Hall had converged closer to the center of the vast chamber, leaving only a few scattered around the perimeter, everyone eager for the outcome of the duel between the legend of the past and a member of the legendary order.
A small frown formed upon the elf's handsome face as he turned his attention away from the combatants. The damned mage had certainly made it difficult to locate him.
The frown faltered as his eyes settled upon a head of dark blond. Carefully, he moved forward, slipping easily from shadow to shadow, eyes fixed upon the head of dark blond as it slowly revealed broad shoulders adorned in the fine material of an expensive tunic. Shifting carefully, moving to take a stance to the side, the elf focused upon the young man just feet away as the youth moved a fine boned hand to brush aside unruly blond locks, his dark blue eyes fixed upon the pair circling one another in the chamber's center.
Disappointment flooded the elf's body as he realized the man before him was far too young to be the mage he sought. Scowling, he turned, grasping hold of the wall hanging, and easily pulled himself up to the balcony above.
Perhaps a better vantage point…
DA:O
Sword clanged against shield, the echoes of metal upon metal ringing throughout the vast chamber. Blood trickled down Loghain's face, forehead to chin, from the thin cut Alistair had managed to deliver during the battle. The younger male had not escaped the exchanged unharmed, as evidenced by the blood streaming from a gash in his cheek.
Deciding that watching her husband battle against her friend would serve no purpose, Adela had turned from the scene – reluctantly, fearfully – to add her own ears and eyes to the search for the wily mage. That none of them – not Zevran or Leliana, any of their own mages, nor any of Isolde's agents – had managed to locate the man caused a great deal of concern for the elf.
He was here. He had to be. The level of control over Loghain – especially in the heat of a battle…she hung her head briefly. At least, that is what she would assume. Despite her own flagging connection to the Fade, the young elf had very little knowledge on the workings of magic. She could only assume that he had to be present to exert the amount of control over his puppet as was obvious.
That was her hope. If Arawn did not need to be present to continue to control Loghain…she shuddered at that trail of thought, not liking the direction it took.
No. He had to be here. Everything else…after every other loss and betrayal, for each death and blood spilled…she could not bear the thought of adding yet another such loss to the every growing list of casualties.
Not one more. Frustration clearly etched upon her face, the elf glanced up, to where stood a statue of Andraste, the prophet's gentle face downwards turned, seeming to be looking directly at her. A small, determined smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she returned the gaze to the Maker's Bride. Not the most devote of Andrastians, she still felt inspired as she stared up into the gentle features of the long dead woman. Maker's Bride or not, she had accomplished much, against greater odds, and foes far deadlier than those she now faced. The Blight still raged within their borders, darkspawn had erupted like black, vile magma to the surface, tainting everything with their vile touch, killing indiscriminately. If she had any say in it, no more would be lost to these senseless political mechanisms. Not while the Archdemon and its minions continued to terrorize the very land her mother had shed blood for decades before.
She stepped away, pulling her bow free from her shoulder as she stalked away from the dueling pair. If she had any say, no more innocents would perish to those who sought power.
DA:O
The tiniest of smirks crossed Arawn's face as he watched the elven assassin back away and establish a new vantage point from above. The glamour was working perfectly. Turning, he refocused his attention to the battling pair, frowning as he took note of the stumble Loghain had suffered during the mage's brief distraction. Establishing a firmer connection, he allowed his face to relax as the elder warrior reengaged the Grey Warden, pushing the younger man back, feet dragging against the floor with a shrieking cry as his metal clad feet scraped backwards against the ancient stone.
DA:O
Cauldry stopped abruptly, causing his companion to stumble slightly at the loss of his presence at his side. Turning, Ryan twitched a brow at the look of utter concentration that crossed his Templar companion's face.
"There," the Templar turned, raising a hand ever so slightly in a direction at the perimeter of the crowd.
Stepping closer to the Chantry warrior, Ryan tilted his head closer, whispering. "That our mage?"
With a slight nod, the Templar turned to face the knight, giving the appearance that he had not detected anything. "Our blood mage just gave himself away with an increase of magic." There was a frown upon the young Templar's face. "He didn't open the Veil to the Fade wide, however, the stench of blood is within the flow itself."
At his friend's words, the knight scrunched up his brow, taking a sniff of the air. "I don't smell anything," he advised, turning his frown upon the Templar.
Chuckling at the expression upon his secular friend's face, Cauldry shook his head slightly. "It's not a thing you can sense with your nose, idiot," his chuckle earned him a glare. "It's still magic, still implementing the Fade, but it's enhanced with the vileness of blood magic. I can feel it, and smell it, using my Templar skills."
"Oh," came the intelligent reply. "So, okay, then." Ryan lifted his eyes, scanning over the heads of those gathered within the chamber. "Can we please go and get the guy now? Just knowing he's free is really giving me the chills."
Shaking his head at his friend's over exaggerated shiver, Cauldry nodded. "We'll circumnavigate the crowd," he instructed as he resumed their prior path. "If he gets the idea I've got him targeted, he'll move or even shut down some of his power."
"And then we'll lose him," Ryan finished, the Templar nodded in affirmation. With a shrug of his broad shoulders, the young knight stepped to the Templar's side. "Okay, then. Let's go catch us a blood mage."
DA:O
Silverite screeched along the steel of the shield, sending a shiver up Alistair's spine as he pulled away from Loghain, cross-stepping backwards, Duncan's sword held outwards, the runes along the blade's length dancing with the flickering of the lamps that lined the walls and the overhanging candleabras.
Flamelight flickered within the dulled, cold eyes of his adversary. It was then that Alistair realized just how much control the blood mage have over the elder statesman.
His eyes should have blinked.
A cold dread flowed through his body as he continued to side step each assault from the older man. Raising his shield, he deflected one quick swipe of that deadly blade, tilting his shield downward the drive the blade toward the floor. Face remaining impassive, Loghain lunged backwards, dragging his sword with him before it could smash to the floor.
Panting heavily, Alistair stepped back, warily watching as his opponent circled the front of him. Was the mage simply tapping into Loghain's existing skill? He wondered. Or, was he perhaps giving the older warrior more power? A frown formed on his face as he tried to recall his lessons on blood magic. Nothing in his years of Templar training had prepared him for this type of adversary.
Taking a deep breath, he raised his sword and shield just in time to meet the sudden charge of Loghain and his blade. Sword clashed against sword, shield to shield as the two men stared into each other's eyes…one set honey gold filled with concern and dread, the other icy blue completely empty, void of emotion.
DA:O
Keen blue eyes narrowed down the length of the arrow, delicate fingers lightly holding the bowstring. Movement below had caught her eye, and she watched as the young knight and Templar made their way around the perimeter of the chamber.
Lifting her red head slightly, Leliana watched their body language, how their heads were bent toward one another, eyes sharp and alert, focused upon one area. She nodded her approval as they straightened, eyes once more scanning the area, still on the search for the renegade blood mage.
The bard knew the pair had located their quarry. Their very body language had screamed it to her. Once again she sighted down the arrow, moving slightly to follow the path the pair's eyes had traced mere moments ago.
A delicate red brow quirked upwards, and she pulled her bow down, eyes seeking upwards, scanning over the balconies and draperies. As her eyes settled upon one lithe form, it turned toward her. She gave the slightest of nods, chin tilting toward the pair of warriors on the floor below. The figure seemed to glance downwards and then gave an acknowledging tilt of his own head.
She watched as Zevran grasped hold of the drapes hanging to the side of the balcony he had perched upon and swung out onto it, gripping it tightly as he lowered himself quickly to the floor. The assassin blended into the surrounding shadows as the bard retook her prior position, making certain to appear as though she was still searching out their prey.
DA:O
Fully focused upon his puppet, Arawn barely took note of the chill that passed through, over and around him. Until his focus faltered and his magic failed, and Loghain fell to the floor at the chamber's center, a puppet with its strings cut.
Scowling, a tightness formed in his chest as he turned – slowly – taking note of the approaching knights. That scowl deepened as he took note of the downturned sword crest upon one of the knight's shield.
The Templar said something to the knight, and the pair advanced quickly upon the blood mage. A dark sneer crossed his handsome face as he pulled free a dagger, readying it to plunge into the flesh of his arm.
Shouting out to attract the attention of those surrounding the dangerous mage, Ser Cauldry stopped, a look of intense concentration forming upon his features as Ryan quickened his step toward the mage. A flash of white light burst forth from the Templar's tensed form, engulfing the blood mage in its brilliance.
Screaming in pain, the mage slumped forward, clasping his dagger tightly. A pair of arms wrapped around from behind, clamping his arms firmly to his sides. Struggling against the pain of the Smite as well as against the strong arms holding him, Arawn cursed at his unseen assailant, glaring at the approaching knight.
Stepping backwards suddenly, kicking out with his foot, he managed to take his captor by surprise, loosening the other's hold upon him. Yanking one arm up, he elbowed the other, connecting solidly with the man's face. Turning, still caught up in the other's arms, he was surprised to see he was held firmly by the elven assassin.
"Fool!" he spat out, twisting the dagger in his hand to try and strike out at the elf with.
"Ah, ah, ah…" Zevran breathed in the other's face, a strong, long fingered hand already capturing the mage's daggerhand. "Mustn't cut." Chuckling, Zevran bent nearer. "Look up, my dear man. You will see that escape is all but impossible."
Scowling, the mage's blue eyes sought upwards, taking in the form of the Orlesian girl, bow in hand, arrow notched, bowstring held taut. The girl gave the mage an insolent wink and flirty grin as she made it obvious the deadly missile was aimed upon him.
Tightening his grip, Zevran twisted the mage's hand painfully and then gave the taller man a yank, twisting him around just as Ryan and Cauldry made it to their side. Cauldry made quick work of binding the mage's hands – thumb to thumb, fingers to fingers – and then his wrists, carefully immobilizing them so that he could not make use of them. Pulling out a handkerchief, he then tightly bound the mage's mouth before stepping back and admiring his handiwork.
"Hmmm…" Zevran said as he circled the mage and then cast an appreciative gaze over at the tall Templar. "You know…." The elf purred at the taller male, "that technique of yours could come in handy in…so many other situations." He graced the human with a grin before adding, "Say now…are you free for parties?"
Flushing darkly, the Templar frowned at the playful elf as Ryan turned to assist Leliana, who had scampered down from her balcony, using the drapes in a similar fashion as Zevran had.
"I think perhaps we should rejoin our companions," Leliana said once she was at Zevran's side.
With a nod, the pair of rogues stepped away from the knights as Cauldry took Arawn in hand and led him toward the Warden and her fellows.
DA:O
Adela watched as the rogues and knights pushed their prisoner forward, the crowd of nobles and their retainers parting to offer the group passage. Whispers arose as the Chancellor of Ferelden passed by them, bound and gagged, held firmly by one of Ser Landry's knights and the Templar.
Zevran and Leliana walked closely behind, eyes keen upon the crowd, certain that Arawn could not have possibly have been alone within the Great Hall.
Riordan stepped from his place in the back, where he had watched the events unfold quietly but with great curiosity. Moving to Adela's side, his keen, dark eyes still fixed upon the bound mage, he murmured to the elven warden. "You must be aware, Commander," he said in his low, Orlesian tinged voice, "there is an opportunity here."
Brow furrowing in a fierce frown, she glanced up at the tall male. The scraping of metal upon stone caught her attention and she turned, watching as Alistair bent down to assist a dazed and unsteady Loghain to his feet.
"Opportunity?" she asked, her eyes never leaving the bent forms of her husband and friend.
"Arawn Amell is a powerful mage," the senior Grey Warden remarked, eyes once again upon the approaching group. "He would make an excellent Grey Warden."
Eyes flashing as she spun to face the human warden, Adela gritted her teeth. "What did you just say?" she demanded as she gripped her daggers tightly.
"We Grey Wardens take those into our ranks who would best be used to defeat the Blight," Riordan intone very calmly. "Mages are excellent weapons against the darkspawn. Blood mages even more so. We need his power."
By now, the bound mage and his captors were mere feet from the Grey Wardens; Alistair, supporting the bulk of Loghain's weight, nearing. It was obvious, however, by the displeased look upon the younger Warden's face that he had heard Riordan's words and was not happy about his suggestion.
Still holding her daggers in a white knuckled grip, Adela stepped forward, toward the bound mage, angry blue eyes fixed upon the face that was more like Maric's than Cailan or Alistair's were. But, within those eyes, upon that face that seemed so very familiar, she saw none of the warmth and openness that had been upon the deceased monarch's features. This man was cruel, cold, callous…did whatever he wanted to gain power. She still did not understand his motives, why he had worked so very hard to destroy Ferelden, but, at this moment, it didn't matter. He was caught, his evil put to an end. The repercussions of his actions would be felt…she shuddered as she stopped before the man, eyes searching that face for anything that spoke of remorse for what he had done.
She found nothing.
Riordan's words flowed over her, suggesting that this mage – this man – be allowed to take the Joining. To become a Grey Warden.
"His powers are impressive," Riordan persisted as Adela continued to scrutinize the blond man before her.
Blue eyes narrowed as a smirk crossed the handsome features beneath the as he calmly met her gaze.
Shaking her head, Adela never turned to address the senior warden, her eyes remaining upon the captive. "He is a blood mage, Riordan," her voice was strangely flat as she spoke. "He cannot be trusted."
"He will have no other options, Commander," Riordan continued, taking a step passed Zevran, who scowled at the human's back.
By this time Alistair had pushed his way to Adela's side - Roland having stepped forward to take the burden of Loghain from his shoulders - glaring at the senior Warden. "Absolutely not!" he spat, armored hand cutting the air between the two male wardens. "Riordan, this man gained control of Ferelden's highest general," he pointed at a silent Loghain, "arranged for the deaths of our brothers and sisters at Ostagar." Here the young man turned vehement eyes upon the blood mage, who watched with interest in his blue eyes as his youngest brother spat hatred and anger. "Allowed Cailan – our king! – to die at the hands of the enemy as well as killed every noble powerful enough to stand against him!" He did not need to look up to know of the stricken expression upon Fergus' features. "He arranged for Ferelden citizens to be carted off by blood mages for the slave markets in Tevinter," he cast a sorrowful glance at Adela, whose gaze had turned to the stiff form of Loghain. "And yet you think he's Warden material!"
"We need every Warden we can get to stop the Blight," Riordan persisted, dark eyes glancing from the silent elf to the irate man before him.
"No," Adela said, her gaze breaking free of Loghain's broken form to turn to stare at the senior warden. Holding up a hand to his further protests, she shook her head. "I am well aware of the Warden practice of taking just anyone into their ranks – honorable nobles and warriors as well as thieves, murderers and such," she ignored the pained look that crossed the older man's face as she continued. "However, I will not abide them in my contingency."
Her blue eyes lifted to take in where Niall stood at the back of their group then shifted to where Roland continued to support Loghain's weary form. "The Wardens I managed to recruit – although few in number – are honorable, willing to fight and defend our borders. Willing to die if necessary to stop the Blight. This one," she turned a gaze now hardened upon the still smirking form of the elder son of Maric. "Cares for nothing but his own goals. We will not be able to trust him. And I will not have a Warden at my back or the backs of my brothers and sisters, my friends and allies, simply to," here she turned back to Riordan, who was now watching her with understand and no small amount of respect in his eyes, "fill in the ranks."
"Commander…"
"No, Riordan," she shook her head, and then turned to give Alistair a meaningful look. "I respect your experience. You have more knowledge in how the Wardens are run than I do. However, I am the Commander here, and my word is what will pass as law amongst my fellows."
She then nodded to Alistair, who moved away from his fellow wardens, pulling Duncan's blade free of its sheath as he neared Arawn. "Ser Cauldry!" the young Warden called out to the nearby Templar. With a nod, the holy warrior stepped clear of his companions, moving with firm intent as he pulled his own blade free of its sheath.
"Warden Alistair," Cauldry replied with respect.
"We hereby relinquish custody of this blood mage into your care," the Warden replied, blade still held in his hand.
"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just." The Templar intoned. "You have the thanks of the Chantry and Grand Cleric, Warden Alistair," Cauldry replied in formal tones before turning to the blood mage.
"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond."
Arawn's eyes narrowed with hatred, but he could not do anything with both Cauldry's and Alistair's cleansing powers still working upon his limbs. He could only watch as the Templar raised his blade and then brought it down quickly. There were gasps within the chambers as blood exploded outwards in a great spray as the now headless body of the blood mage slumped to the ancient floor.
"Thank you for your duty, Ser Cauldry," Adela called out from where she remained by Riordan. She could feel Riordan's disappointment, but she found she did not care. Arawn needed to die. To have allowed him within the ranks of the Grey Wardens would have been an insult to all of those who died at Ostagar.
The sudden silence of the room was broken as an anguished scream reverberated through the ancient chamber. A collective gasp escaped those gathered within as the body of the Queen fell lifelessly to the floor as Gail reached out to Anora's falling form and Erlina launched herself upwards into the air, grasping hold of the balcony above them, to engage the tall, broad shouldered form thereupon.