A/N Still alive! Both me and this story. :D Big hug to my wonderful beta, ShebasDawn, who saved this chapter and the whole story, and my dear friend Bloodsong 13T for her encouragement when things looked black. :D
And a big THANK YOU to all my reviewers and readers who still follow this story, despite my terribly slow writing and update.
Warning: this chapter contains a depiction of hanging.
Crash and Burn
Leliana leaned back in her armchair, not even bothering to conceal her smug satisfaction at Airam's reaction. "Of course I will tell you everything. In fact, I've already told you a part of it, when I told you how I came to Ferelden. Do you remember I mentioned the Revered Mother Dorothea?"
"Um… yes…" Airam didn't sound convincing at all, and Leliana's smug grin slipped a little.
"She's the one who rescued you from the prison, when Commander Raleigh captured you," Zevran said nonchalantly before she could reply, earning himself an admiring glance from Airam.
"Indeed. She saved my life in more than one sense. She is a very special person. Unlike most other clerics, Dorothea wasn't promised to the Chantry as a baby. She joined as an adult, of her own free will, because she truly wished to serve the Maker and His people. At that time, she was full of ideals about the dedicated life. But the reality was nothing like her dreams. And she adjusted, one little compromise each day. Until Marjolaine seduced her to get important documents she needed for the mission. When Dorothea realized what she had done – how she had almost helped to start a war – it opened her eyes. She saw her own corruption and the corruption of those around her, and she wept for their sins and prayed to the Maker-"
"That's all very interesting, but what does that have to do with the letter from the Divine?" Airam asked impatiently.
"I was getting to that," Leliana said, unperturbed by the interruption. "You see, Dorothea didn't just pray. She decided to do something, to change some things, to put the Chantry on the right path again. And the Maker blessed her work. Her sermons… you cannot understand without hearing them, but they truly could reach your heart and make you wish to change your life. She quickly became very popular with the people, and it didn't go unnoticed. By the time I decided to join the Chantry as a lay sister, she was already a Grand Cleric. She was terribly scared of the new responsibility, but also excited, as it gave her new opportunities to improve things. We stayed in touch even after I came to Lothering. She was the first one I told about my mission – and she encouraged me to follow my heart. 'Do not hesitate to follow the Maker's sign,' was what she wrote back. 'For it is more important to serve Him the way He wants you to, than to follow human rules'. And then you came, and I knew it was the Maker's sign. Dorothea also thought so, when I wrote her-"
"You wrote about me to a Grand Cleric?" Airam shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "What did you tell her?"
Leliana giggled. "You don't need to look so scared. I only told her I met an interesting young Grey Warden, who went to great lengths to help poor refugees in Lothering, and that I thought I was meant to join him. Of course, after that our correspondence became somewhat irregular. But she would send me letters to Redcliffe or Erwin's house, and I would reply when I could. She wanted to hear more about you. And the more she heard about your heroic adventures, the more impressed she was. There aren't many people who have rediscovered the long lost temple of Andraste, or forced a dwarven king to allow a Chantry in Orzammar."
"And she showed those letters to the Divine?" Airam asked, his ears turning pinker with every word Leliana spoke.
"Not all of them. But the last time we were in Denerim, Erwin told us about your parents- he hinted at what happened, I mean," she quickly corrected herself, when Airam frowned. "He refused to tell us any details, insisted it was your private business. And he was right. I did not mean to pry, please believe me. But the little he said greatly upset me. I am a part of the Chantry, if only as a lay sister. I felt it was my duty to find out what happened – and who was responsible. It proved to be much easier than I expected. You may think it is a secret, but ten years isn't such a long time. A few visits to the Wonders of Thedas, a few friendly chats with scholars there, and I knew the whole story. I informed Dorothea about it, and she was just as upset as I was. In her next letter, she wrote that it illustrated all that was wrong with the Chantry today - how corrupted it had become, caring more for political games and power struggles than the lives of people, or spreading the Chant."
Airam blinked. "She really said that? A Grand Cleric admitted it?"
"And why not? She is not blind. She wants to reform the Chantry, including how the Chantry treats mages and non-humans. And now that she finally has the power to do it-"
"Oh?" Zevran interrupted. "I didn't know a single Grand Cleric could do things like that."
"A single Grand Cleric cannot hope to change much, you are right. But she is not alone in this. There are factions inside the Chantry, like any other organisation. The reformists faction supports her ideas. Thanks to that, she was chosen as one of the advisers to the Divine Beatrix."
"The Divine has advisers?" Airam asked, then blushed even more when Leliana gave him a surprised look. "I thought a Divine ruled by herself – well, you know, by the will of the Maker..." he admitted.
Leliana laughed heartily at that. "What, did you think the Maker Himself comes to tell her what to do? No, I'm afraid that's not how it works. She has to follow the Maker's will, indeed – but she can only rely on herself. And that is not an easy task, as I am sure I don't have to explain to you. To make that burden easier, she takes several advisers. Dorothea is now one of them, and when she received my letter, she persuaded the Divine to start an investigation. And this is the result."
Airam sat silently for a moment, lost in thought. "Thank you. And please send my thanks to the Grand Cleric as well. She's pretty impressive, too." He grinned at Leliana and got up. "I still have many questions, but I won't bother you with them now. There's still a lot to do before we leave for this lost Warden Keep that Alistair promised to find. We'll talk later."
oOo
Mages. Templars. Nobles. People from Redcliffe. Soldiers. It seemed every damned human within twenty miles had come to watch the execution. And they didn't look happy. The air was full of tension and hostility. Zevran cursed inwardly. He should have never allowed this. He should have killed those fools, safely and secretly. This was too big a risk. The crowd occupied the large field around Gallows Hill – people from Redcliffe had even erected large spectator stands, where people could have a better view, for a fee. A wide corridor cutting through the masses to the top of the hill was guarded, but if anything happened, it would hardly be enough. They'd be trapped at the top of the hill, like a tiny fish thrown into a cat's bowl.
If the Crows wanted to get rid of them, this was the perfect chance. A few skilled archers, and they'd be dead before anyone knew what was happening. What an irony it would be, to bleed to death a few meters from the gallows. Zevran looked at the huge horizontal wooden triangle supported by three legs; this was hardly the first public hanging he had seen, but he had never seen a gallows large enough to hang a dozen people at once.
An excited murmur ran across the masses. The cart was coming. The three men in it seemed to be clasping their hands in prayer; it took Zevran a moment to realize their arms were, in fact, tied into that position. Another rope was tied around their neck and coiled around their bodies. The Revered Mother stood next to them, chanting about repentance and how the Maker shows His mercy to those who ask for it. It didn't seem the men heard a single word of it, though. They were looking around wildly, as if they weren't sure where they were and how they had gotten there.
The cart was backed under one of the beams, and three hangman's assistants climbed up. The hangman uncoiled the free ends of the ropes from their bodies, and threw them up to his assistants to tie them to the beam.
The Revered Mother began a prayer for their souls.
"Please," one of them sobbed. "I don't want to die!"
"It's not fair! They were only doing their holy duties as Templars!" someone shouted. A loud murmur arose once again, some voices agreeing, some opposing.
Zevran wished he had listened to his instincts and arranged a sudden, unexplainable but painful death for these three the night before. This execution might be just and noble, but it was also naive and dangerous. The Wardens had made many enemies today. Take Knight Captain Harrith, for example. When his relative was arrested, Harrith didn't mind. Now, however, he was staring in front of himself with poorly concealed rage. Zevran suspected Arl Eamon had a lot to do with Harrith's change of mind. Perhaps it was time to talk to the old man, yes?
Of course, he didn't say anything to Airam. How could he? After all the years of nightmares and suffering, Airam deserved an ending. And although he'd have chosen a different way, Zevran could understand why Airam wanted a public justice, in front of the Chantry and the nobles.
Ah well. It was too late to do anything about it now. He would simply watch his crazy kid's back more closely, no?
"Please!" the condemned wailed again. "I don't want to die! I had to do it! It's her fault! Hers and those like her!"
"Yes!" one of the other convicts joined in. "It's the Chantry's fault! They told us to be merciless, to kill everyone! They gave us lyrium, more than ever before. They knew we couldn't resist it! You can't blame just us! You can't kill us!"
The Revered Mother jerked and stopped the prayer. "Not even the Maker can help those who deliberately harden their hearts against His words," she said, before she retreated.
Another wave of murmuring ran through the crowd, but it died out quickly as Bann Teagan stepped forward. While the hangman pulled white linen hoods over the heads of trembling men, he calmly read the charges. It was, in fact, the letter from the Lord Seeker, carefully reworded to avoid mentioning the name Surana.
With the noise from the three now muffled, there was an eerie silence when he finished. The Revered Mother was supposed to chant a verse about the Maker being just and merciful, but then thought better of it. Good. Zevran didn't think he could stand it any longer. In a way, those three were right. They were just puppets in the Chantry's hands. If not them, the Chantry would have found some other desperate person to do the dirty work for them. His jaw hardened. If the Seekers tried to cover for the Grand Cleric again, he'd make them all pay.
Finally, the hangman declared that everything was ready. At Bann Teagan's sign, he whipped the horses, and the cart moved forward. The three men were pulled off. They writhed in agony and kicked with their legs in a futile fight for their lives, until, at last, they became still.
Zevran glanced at Airam. Drops of sweat had formed on his brow and all the colour had drained from his face, but he looked determined.
"Make sure they're dead," he commanded. "If you have any doubts, finish them off."
Alistair, who stood next to him, gave him a brief disapproving glance, but he didn't say anything. His face was just as pale as Airam's, and Zevran was sure he would be sick afterwards. This was likely the first execution he had seen, and considering how idealistic and naive he was, it was natural that it affected him. But it would pass. As a future king, he would need to get a thicker skin.
The hangman was a bit annoyed with such mistrust of his professional skills, but he didn't dare protest. He cut the bodies down, and checked for pulses.
"Dead as a doornail," he confirmed, but only after all three bodies were in their coffins and the coffins were nailed shut, was Airam satisfied.
"It's finally over," he said softly, as they watched the cart with the coffins clatter away and the crowd crumble apart. "After all these years, they can finally rest in peace."
oOo
Airam curled his tiny fingers around Zevran's, his eyes crossed as he focused to see if it was perhaps something to eat. He must have concluded it wasn't, because he cried in disappointment, waving his arms. In the other crib, little Wilbur immediately started crying as well. Zevran gave an embarrassed chuckle, gently pulled his finger away, and walked to the armchair.
"What will you do if they're mages?" he asked Daria and Erwin, as he sat down. "Are you going to send them to the Circle?"
Daria snorted. "Of course not. My children will grow up as free people. I won't let them be imprisoned just because a few narrow-minded bigots are afraid of what they don't understand."
He arched his eyebrow at her. "You are not worried, after what happened here? Isolde tried to keep her mage son secret, and look what it caused."
"I'm not Isolde. And Erwin isn't Eamon." Daria shrugged. "The problem here wasn't that Connor was a mage with an inept tutor – Jowan is a dear, but I'd never entrust the education of my kids to him, except perhaps history and translations from old Arcane. The problem here is that Eamon was too much of a bigot, and his wife didn't dare to tell him that his heir is a mage. If he had been a real man, a man she could rely on, none of this would have happened."
"But I don't think you came to visit us this late to discuss the future of our children," Erwin cut in.
"Ah, you wound me! How could I not be worried about the fate of my Warden's godchildren? The boys were one of the two reasons I came here." It wasn't even a lie, he realized suddenly. "The other reason is Arl Eamon," he quickly continued, steering the conversation to a less awkward topic. "He's becoming a real nuisance."
Erwin shook his head. "I agree, but don't do anything. Without him, Alistair's claim to the throne would be shaken. You'd only be helping Loghain."
"Do you think me an amateur?" Zevran asked with a hint of impatience in his voice. "But we cannot let him do as he pleases. If he continues to contradict Airam at every opportunity-"
"He won't," Daria assured him. "He's just confused. And no wonder, with all that's happened – Loghain's betrayal, Jowan's poisoning, Connor's magic. His whole life falls apart, and then an elf comes along and promises to fix a big part of that mess, if he'd just trust him. But he's not a bad man."
The old Arl wasn't the only one who was confused, that was for sure. Zevran and Erwin both stared at Daria until she giggled. "Well, there are two lonely ladies in this castle whose husbands neglect them due to politics, and who both have mage children. Is it so strange they sometimes have a chat?"
Erwin opened his mouth to protest, but she didn't give him a chance. "Don't worry about it," she said softly. "I know you do what you must – I'd never forgive you if you didn't. But when you were all away, the lessons with Connor – and later, the chats with his mother – were the only thing that kept me from going crazy with worry. Isa actually isn't so horrid, once you get to know her. Did you know she went against her father's wishes, just to be with Eamon? Her father was the Orlesian governor of Redcliffe, and Eamon the rightful heir who joined the rebellion... Theirs was a great, romantic love, and they still do love each other, they just... became estranged over the years. He was too focused on politics and the restoration of the country after the occupation, while she was trying by all means – traditional, magical and plain crazy – to give him an heir. It was as if they were living in parallel worlds. Her words, that." She shook her head. "I can't even imagine that. Promise me it will never happen to us!"
"I swear," Erwin replied gravely. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and kissed her forehead. "We won't let that happen."
Zevran watched them, his face carefully schooled into a nonchalant expression. "That is nice and I am happy for you, but how does that help us with Eamon?" he asked lightly. "If they are so estranged?"
"They were," Daria corrected him. "But all this was a very rough wake up call for Eamon. He finally realized he can't take his family for granted. Isolde believes they can still go back, at least a little, to the way things used to be."
Erwin chuckled. "You worry about the trip ahead of you. Leave Eamon to our secret Lonely Wives commando," he said, earning himself a sharp nudge in the ribs. "See? Quite deadly."
oOo
Zevran took a deep breath, filling his lungs with crystal clear air smelling of snow. He never thought there would be a day he would enjoy walking for long hours through snowdrifts. In the castle, they all had their own duties, and besides Air, Alistair and Leliana, he had barely spoken to the others in the last few weeks. With surprise, he realized he missed the banter with the others, their camping, teasing Alistair and Sten about their cooking skills, trying to unnerve Wynne with naughty jokes… being with his friends.
Friends... He always used to tell himself he only liked them – tolerated them, really – because of Airam. Acquaintances, that was what they were supposed to be. Allies, even. Friends? Awesomely ridiculous. But perhaps it was time to admit the truth to himself. He cared about those fools.
He cared enough to be concerned about Wynne, who was quieter than ever, looking exhausted already, although they had left the castle only a few hours ago. He cared enough to be worried by Alistair's odd behaviour. Their current leader ignored everyone, especially him and Airam, and spent all the time discussing Duncan and the Wardens with Levi. He cared enough to miss Morrigan and her snarky comments. She'd know how to get under Alistair's skin, and make him talk... or yell. Ah well. Whatever it was that had offended their prince charming, it would pass soon.
At least his amore was still his old self. Zevran smiled as he watched his Warden, his arm wrapped around Faren's shoulders, as he was "consoling" the dwarf about Dagna, who had stayed in Redcliffe. Faren hit right back, naturally, teasing Airam mercilessly about his "lover".
"I don't think it'll come to that." Airam's voice suddenly rose so everyone could hear. "Look at the vain fool. Blue with the cold, but our fur caps are too unfashionable for his refined taste. Within two hours, his ears will freeze and fall off." He glanced over his shoulder at Zevran, grinning widely. "And then I'll have to dump him. I have to think of the Wardens' image. We can't date just any earless guy. Isn't that right, Al?"
Alistair barely looked at him. "From now on, I would appreciate if you didn't mix your personal matters with the Wardens'," he said dryly.
"From now on?" Airam stopped, frowning. "What do you mean?"
But Alistair had already returned to his conversation with Levi. Airam looked around at his friends. "What does he mean?" he repeated.
"Perhaps he is just unhappy you made him the leader for this mission," Faren suggested.
Zevran wasn't convinced, and judging by Airam's pursed lips, neither was he. They let it pass, though, unwilling to risk an argument.
oOo
Had he really thought the snow beautiful? Ridiculous. That had to be caused by a sudden mental disturbance. He was sick of the endless snowing that turned the barren farms and fields into a surreal wasteland, of being bundled in layer upon layer of clothes, and the icy winds that still managed to penetrate through it and chill his bones. More than once he deeply regretted he hadn't taken the fur cap. There was no one to care about his style or the Wardens' fashion faux pas, anyway. Not that he would ever admit it aloud. No - he might catch pneumonia and die, but he would at least keep his dignity. On the other hand, if he caught pneumonia, they would have to retreat to a cosy place, and Airam would take care of him and spoil him until he was better. Zevran could see it clearly in his mind: he was lying on a comfortable bed, under a thick, fluffy duvet, but he still couldn't get warm – not until Airam joined him to warm him up, their bodies pressed closely together...
As pleasant as those daydreams were, a few days in any dry, warm place would be a welcome change. Provided there were no monstrous spiders or darkspawn. It didn't seem likely. During their travel, they met only a few small groups – not more than fifty in total. All of them were heading south-east. Zevran didn't think much of it, but both Airam and Alistair were worried they were running out of time – dealing with Loghain and Howe would be much less fun with the Archdemon and its horde breathing down their necks, they claimed.
At any rate, there was nothing they could do about it now. The lost fort was not so far from Denerim, and there shouldn't be any reason to linger there. All they had to do was to see if there were any records that could shed some light on the Dryden's history; if things continued as smoothly as they had up until now, they'd be done with it in a few hours.
Indeed, this was a remarkably peaceful expedition. If not for Alistair's strange behaviour, it would have been one of their most pleasant travels. Despite their best efforts, neither Zevran nor Leliana could find out what exactly was wrong; all they got were a few vague remarks that 'he needed to think about everything that happened'. For a day or two, Airam did all he could think of to make his friend talk, but now he was just as reserved; any conversations between the two stubborn fools were limited to the inevitable minimum. Zevran hadn't seen them like this since they'd argued over Jowan. Ah well. Whatever the cause of this misunderstanding, it couldn't be worse than a blood mage trying to assassinate Alistair's uncle, no? They would overcome this. And in the meantime, this quiet sulking was highly preferable to all the yelling back then. Maybe once they found this Warden fortress, and helped Duncan's friend clear his family's name, Alistair would be his normal self again.
But first they had to find it. If there ever was a road to the fort, there was no trace of it now. The only way in was through the infamous tunnels that cut through the hills and forests; the bards at the inns in nearby villages told many stories about daredevils who had tried to travel through them. None had returned. Some said the tunnels were swarming with demons; others said they were haunted by the ghosts of the people who had fallen in battle there long ago; yet others spoke of unnamed horrors that crawled up from the depths of the world to feed on humans.
"It's all nonsense," Levi assured them. "I was there when I was but a kid, and I survived, didn't I? And I saw no demons or ghosts down there." His tone brooked no argument, and it might have fooled amateurs like Airam or Alistair. But for one who knew what to look for, it was obvious – Levi knew much more than he was telling them, and whatever he was keeping to himself was not pleasant.
Oh well. At least the tunnels would be dry and warm. And if this was a trap, if Levi tried to do something funny, he would become a ghost himself.
oOo
The first thing they noticed when they stepped into the cave was the silence. Unsettlingly deep, it enveloped their minds like a tight, wet blanket, quenching every sound from the world outside, every sound of their footsteps; when they tried to talk, the words died out almost before they were spoken. Only Levi, Shale and Oghren seemed unaffected, but as nobody replied to their jokes and comments, they soon fell silent as well.
In a sad, depressed file they followed after Levi, who held a roughly sketched map: Alistair at his side, failing miserably at looking confident; Leliana with Oghren, who looked almost sober; Airam and himself; and Shale and Sten, equally stone-faced, at the rear. Time seemed to drag on forever; one needed all one's strength of will to keep walking, put one foot in front of other, and again, and again. The corridors kept twisting and turning in all directions without any sense behind it, as if they were alive - huge underground snakes waiting to swallow them whole.
An hour or so later, they found the first skeleton. It sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. There were no traces of a fight, and its sword was still sheathed. It was as if the man had simply sat down to die. Soon, more skeletons followed. All unhurt, all with their weapons sheathed. The villagers who had tried to travel through the tunnels, Zevran guessed.
"So strong," Airam muttered with great effort. "Trying to... keep people away."
"Who?" Zevran asked.
Airam rubbed his brow. "No idea... presence... will... confuses..."
Zevran frowned. Levi was neither a golem nor a dwarf; he was supposed to be just an ordinary human, without any magical abilities. So how was it possible that this magic, whatever it was, didn't affect him at all? Something was fishy here.
"Kill him?" he asked Airam softly, glaring at the man's back.
Airam shook his head. "No! Besides... It wouldn't help… We'd end... like the villagers."
The idea that their lives depended on this stranger didn't sit well with him, but he had to comply. For now. There would be time to give Alistair a healthy spanking for putting them all in danger once they were safely in Denerim. In fact, he suspected that the almost-king was already aware that this mission was a mistake.
oOo
When they finally left the maze, it was noon; though it felt much longer, they had spent only five hours, at most, in that horrible place. They did not hurry forward, happy just to stand in the light and breathe. Not far ahead, the massive shape of a stronghold with many defensive towers loomed over the bulwark.
"Wow! You see that? Isn't she beautiful? I told ya you'd like it, didn't I?" Levi said, beaming. "And no demons in the tunnels either!"
Airam didn't return the smile, however. "Levi, where did you get that map from?" he asked sternly.
"I didn't get it from anywhere! I drew it myself! See, after I got out of there that first time, I started to dream about the place. Little by little, the whole map was revealed to me. Weird, isn't it? Perhaps I was destined to come here, to reveal the truth."
There was a brief moment of silence, broken by Sten's curse. "So we are following a child's dreams now?"
Levi sighed. "That's why I didn't mention it before," he admitted. "I didn't want you to think I was a lunatic."
"If you want us to trust you, you should trust us as well. Had you told us the truth, we would have believe you," Leliana reprimanded him.
"Speak for yourself," Shale said. "I would-"
"Yeah, whatever, we're here," Oghren cut in. "But who's that?"
They all turned in the direction he was looking. Four men were coming towards them, down a wide road Zevran would swear wasn't there a moment ago. They were wearing armour, old-fashioned but of high quality, and they were having a heated discussion.
"But, Commander! The fort has supplies for months! We can't hope to starve them out," one of them said.
"We can and we will, even if we have to wait for years!" the commander snapped. "I gave the Wardens the chance to save face and fight, but they chose to hole themselves up like rats. Alright then, we will treat them accordingly! Traitors such as they don't deserve anything else, anyway."
"Traitors?" Levi stepped into their path. "Excuse me for interruption, ser, but-"
The men didn't even slow down: they walked through Levi as if he wasn't there. Levi cried out in surprise, but before any of them could do anything else, the men were gone, together with the road.
"Well, it seems the ghosts part was true after all," Airam said, with a sigh. "I should've known – it was doomed to be infested by ghosts the moment we decided to come. When did we ever have it easy?"
"Now is not the time for jokes. We need to stay alert," Wynne warned them. "The Veil is thin here – thinner than I have ever seen. Even in the Tower, during Uldred's rebellion, the fibre of the world wasn't this distorted. There will be more than ghosts ahead."
"Right," Alistair said. "Let's go."
Airam pulled Zevran slightly aside. "I want to ask you for a favour. If there is any trouble ahead, stay close to Gran."
"You want me to protect a damsel in distress? How could I refuse such an offer?"
"I want you to act as a bodyguard for a... mature lady I respect as my grandmother," Airam corrected. "And before you ask, no, you can't lay your head on her bosom in return." They laughed, then Airam became serious again. "Look, I'm really worried about her. Just keep her safe."
oOo
As they approached the castle, they met more apparitions; they'd pop up from thin air, run by, or shout a battle cry, or exchange snatches of conversation, then evaporate again, never noticing their group at all. It was like watching random glimpses of a story that was being relived in the Fade. All they managed to piece from it was that the Wardens were fighting against the King of Ferelden. But why would they do such thing? None of it made any sense.
Oh well. As long as they don't attack us, I'm happy. He had barely finished that thought when they entered the courtyard. It had been the scene of a fierce battle, from the look of it. Hundreds of bodies lay scattered around, most of them wearing armour bearing the royal crest, though there were many with the Wardens' silver griffon, as well. The visions merged with reality. Everywhere they looked, the half-decayed bodies of soldiers and Wardens lay on the ground while their ghosts fought and fell and died again, faces twisted in agony.
Zevran pulled out his daggers. The others did the same. In front of him, Shale grumbled curses on magic and mages. They managed to cross the yard without incident, however, and Zevran saw Wynne's face brighten in relief. Then, they reached the main gate of the fortress. This was where the Wardens had put up the fiercest resistance, fighting atop their fallen comrades. Their eyes still shone with the same desperate determination not to let anyone in, as they slowly scrambled to their feet, their stiff joints crackling as they clutched their weapons.
"Allow me to introduce you. Grey Wardens - also Grey Wardens! No need to fight, yes?" Zevran said cheerfully. He didn't have any real hope for success, but one never knew with the undead.
The ancient Wardens drew their weapons. At the same time, there was a grumbling noise behind them. The corpses of the royal army had decided to join in.
Wasn't it wonderful how a battle brought corpses together?
oOo
Zevran huffed in annoyance as he spotted another group of ghosts, standing in the middle of the grand vestibule. This was quickly becoming old. Judging by their exhausted stances and anxious glances towards the main gate, the ghosts had retreated into the fortress from the madness outside, just like they had moments ago. Zevran didn't want to think about the way back, with all the monsters waiting outside.
The ghosts of the Wardens apparently felt similarly on the matter. Only one ghost didn't look defeated – a woman standing in the middle. Sturdy, muscular, with a determined jaw, she was hardly a beauty, at least by his standards. But she definitely had charisma. And she knew how to use it. Born leader, this one. Zevran watched with interest as the apparition of what he assumed was Levi's great-great-grandma rallied her men against the king's army.
"We are feared and respected; darkspawn flee when they see us! Archdemons die by our swords! Are we to bow down now to a mere human tyrant?! I say NO! We will stand against him and teach him he can't do whatever he pleases – not while there are Wardens standing guard!"
Judging by the small group encircling her, there weren't many Wardens left. Yet none of them hesitated, none of them stepped down. "We are with you, Commander Dryden!" they swore, before they evaporated into thin air again.
"Wow. My great-great-grandmother was pretty impressive, wasn't she?" Levi said proudly. "Standing against a tyrant! Did you see how loyal her men were? I bet she was an amazing leader!"
Airam frowned. "Yes, but... It sounded as if she was leading a rebellion. I wonder what happened here. Wardens should always stay neutral. Meddling into politics goes against what we stand for."
"How can you say that?" Alistair asked incredulously. "After all we did? Haven't we been fighting against a tyrant all this time?"
Airam looked at him in surprise. "No, we haven't. We're fighting to stop the Blight. Loghain is just one of the obstacles we have to overcome to defeat the Archdemon."
"So if it wasn't for the Blight, you'd let Loghain to get away with it? With killing our brothers?"
"If this wasn't a Blight, he wouldn't be dealing with the Wardens in the first place," Leliana pointed out.
"Yes, but – you know what I mean!"
"I do, so please stop shouting," Airam said impatiently. "Loghain is an usurper to the throne; if there wasn't a Blight, the Wardens would – well, express support for the rightful heir to the throne. Somehow. I just can't see Duncan leading a rebellion. Can you? Being a Warden is above all. It's above race, it's above gender, it's above nationality. Such things are not important to us. All that matters is defeating the darkspawn. Duncan couldn't repeat it often enough, while we were travelling to Ostagar."
Alistair stared at him for a moment, then turned away. "We don't really know what happened here," he mumbled. "I'm sure the Wardens had their reasons to stand against the king. Let's keep searching."
oOo
Three hours and a dozen fights later, they found the answer on the top floor of the fortress. Despite the terrible state of the castle, they still found remnants of luxury in the quarters in the east wing – tapestries and pictures, and solid oak furniture. It wasn't difficult to guess these rooms had been the Commander's Quarters. And in the master bedroom, they found the Commander herself. Or what was left of her.
Zevran shivered in disgust. This - this creature had nothing to do with the proud, passionate woman whose ghost they had seen in the vestibule. This was a ghoul, with flesh rotting off its bones and loose bags of skin over it. Its eyes were dead, blind yet gleaming with an unnatural light that sent creeps down his spine. He had drawn his weapons, ready to kill it the moment Airam gave the command, when it spoke.
"Please wait. This one saw you kill many demons on the way here and knows your strength. This one does not want to fight you. If you would listen, this one would like to make a deal with you."
"No. We don't make deals with the likes of you," Alistair spat, ready to attack, but Airam waved at him to stop.
"We will listen to your proposal," he said, ignoring Alistair's furious glare, "but we'd like to talk to the real Sophia first."
The ghoul made a throaty noise. "This one has been in her body for a long time, and tasted her memories, her feelings. But she is no more herself; she is but food for this one."
"Wasn't that obvious?" Alistair said angrily. "Let's kill it now!"
"This man here," Airam continued, pointing to Levi, "is her great-great-grandson. He'd like to know what really happened here. What was his ancestor was like, and what she fought for. Tell him, and we'll listen to what you have to say."
"Another Dryden?" The ghoul licked its lips. "Your great-great-grandmother was delicious. So strong, so determined to do good and live well, yet so full of fear and frustration… and unfulfilled ambition. She was Arland's cousin, you know. Before he was crowned, she was his main competitor. Many people supported her, but in the end Arland won, through fear and poison. And then he forced her to become a Warden. She always believed he did it in hopes that she would die in the Joining. But she didn't. She became a strong Warden Commander, while he became a weak king. The country was crumbling apart, but whenever someone dared to oppose him, they'd die a painful death. Then the nobles remembered this woman, and asked for her help. And she jumped at the opportunity."
The ghoul laughed. "Ah, such marvelous conflicting emotions it stirred in her! She wanted to convince herself she was doing it for her country, but deep inside she knew the truth – she wanted to be the queen. For a moment, it seemed she would succeed. But she lost again and this time she lost everything. What happened here is the result of her pride."
"I – I won't believe that!" Levi jutted his chin out. "Drydens are better than that!"
"As you wish," the ghoul said indifferently, and turned to Airam. "But this one fulfilled your condition. Do we have a deal now?"
"And what is it you'd like me to do for you?" Airam asked.
"This one wants to be free! This one wants to see the world outside, visit places from Sophia's memories."
"And feed," Alistair cut in darkly.
"You also feed on creatures weaker than you. How are you different from this one?" the ghoul retorted. "But there is magic – a strong will that erected the barrier that imprisons my kind inside and keep humans outside. Remove that barrier, Warden, and this one will grant you gifts you cannot imagine."
"The one who created the barrier," Airam mumbled. "Yes. I definitely want to pay them a visit. But first things first." He turned to Alistair and smiled. "Now we can kill her."
oOo
"I thought I was the leader during this mission," Alistair spat the moment the ghoul was defeated.
"You are," Airam confirmed, surprised.
"Then perhaps you shouldn't contradict me in front of our enemies."
"I didn't- no, you're right." Airam sighed. "I shouldn't have done that. I just thought we could get some answers for Levi first... Sorry. I'll try not to interfere the next time." He turned to Levi, who stood apart from them, head bowed. "Don't trust its words completely, Levi," he said gently. "Some of it was undoubtedly true – like Sophia being the king's cousin. But it was still a demon. It would love to see you disappointed or humiliated – demons feed on negative emotions. Wait until we learn more."
Levi gave him a weak smile. "Thank you, Warden. It is very kind of you to say so. I hope you are right. Shall we go on?" he asked, turning to Alistair. But Wynne spoke first.
"I think we should stop here," she said, leaning on her staff. "It is getting dark. The wisps will be hardly enough if we have to fight again."
Airam frowned in concern. "Alright, we will stop – eh, I mean, Al will decide that," he corrected himself, when he saw the dark look on his friend's face.
"We should have a rest," Alistair agreed, "but I'd prefer not to sleep next to that thing," he said, waving his head towards the ghoul. "Let's check a few more rooms – we'll camp in the first empty one."
oOo
When they opened the next door, they stepped right into a battle. The Wardens' last stand, from what it seemed. There weren't more than six left, including Sophia, against at least thirty enemies.
"Now, Avernus! Cast the spell!" Sophia commanded.
The mage started chanting, and the air in the room buzzed with an ominous aura and tension.
"Demonology," Wynne gasped, as the air erupted and dozens of demons materialized in the room, attacking both soldiers and Wardens, ripping them apart.
"No! No! I command you, fight Arland's army!" the mage screamed, but the demons laughed. The strongest one glided over to him.
"No mortal can command us now! The Veil is torn. Look at all the delicious blood and suffering you caused. Look and despair, Avernus! Your soul is mine!"
"Retreat!" the mage screamed, immediately obeying his own command. Three men turned to follow him, but the rest were left to the demons. The vision mercifully ended as they started feasting.
oOo
They stood rooted in place long after the screams had faded away. Levi was the first one to recover. "I can't believe it! They used blood magic!" he burst out. "I thought the Wardens were better than that! I thought they were heroes – but it seems they were all traitors and maleficars!"
"He wasn't a maleficar, he was a blood mage," Airam corrected. "Wardens allow all kinds of magic - anything to win, in fact. 'In war, victory'. That's the Warden motto. And here they were, fighting for survival. They were desperate - you saw how few of them were left. I'm sure the mage thought he could control the demons… So they decided to use this spell as their trump card to turn the tables. Don't be so quick to judge, if you've never been in that kind of situation."
"Of course you would say that. You always defend your own, don't you, Air?" Alistair snapped, then turned to Levi. "But not all Wardens are like that. Some of us still have honour, and would never tolerate a blood mage among us, let alone allow him to use his foul magic. I can't believe Sophia didn't realize that it can never lead to anything good."
Zevran tensed. Had Alistair somehow found out Airam was a blood mage? Was that behind his unfriendly behaviour? Brasca. This was bad. He put his hand on Airam's shoulder, trying to calm him down, but Airam brushed it off and crossed his arms. "Alright, this ends now. I'm tired of this game, Al. If you have something you want to tell me, go ahead."
"Did I hit the nerve?" Alistair snapped, crossing his arms, too. "But as you wish. I'm tired of it, too." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I think you let your personal biases and prejudices cloud your judgement and decision making," he said slowly, carefully, as if declaiming a speech he had prepared long ago. "You will always defend mages, no matter what they do. You forgive a maleficar who cause deaths of hundreds of villagers; you let go the Witch of the Wilds, who may have played a part in the betrayal at Ostagar; you defend another maleficar who summoned demons that devoured people and tore the Veil. They all deserve the benefit of the doubt, a second chance. But you're never so lenient towards Grey Wardens. And you never bothered to give a second chance to those Templars. After all, Templars deserve no mercy, right? If it's a Templar, it's okay to hang him, or even torture him during an interrogation – and don't try to deny it. Being a king has some perks, you know."
Airam stood in silence, watching his friend's face. "I see," he said finally, swallowing hard. "Zev. Will you come with me?" he asked calmly, then turned to Wynne. "I need to be alone for a moment. But don't worry, I'm not going far - I'll be right in the next room."
"Is that it?" Alistair burst out. "You're always quick to criticize everyone, but when someone criticizes you, you run away?"
Airam slowly turned to him. "I am not running away, Your Majesty. I just do not wish to force presence of a biased, evil blood mage upon my liege," he said, bowing deeply. "Come on, Zev."
In the shocked silence, their boots echoed through the whole fortress, as they stormed out without looking back.
A/N
A few notes on hanging: I know that the 'standard' hanging in movies looks different. But this is what hanging looked like in the 16th century, which is my head-canon period for Failed to Fail - the gallows with the trapdoor, and the so-called 'long drop', weren't invented until the 19th century, as a more "humane" method. Every detail - the white linen hoods, the shape of the gallows, driving the convicts to the gallows in their carts, arms tied so they could 'pray' - is based on reality. The gallows is based on the Tyburn Tree gallows in London, though it is half the size. At Tyburn Tree, you could hang 24 people at once.