Chapter 15: A Spiritual Interlude
The two Grey Wardens who had arrived in the wreckage of Haven, Carver Hawke and Darrian Tabris, were quite ready to address the problem. So was Felix Alexius.
"I apologize for waiting so long," Max said to Carver when he told them of his intentions. "We... got caught up in Orlesian affairs. It was beneath me..."
Carver waved a hand. "It's fine! Really! It's actually a good thing that you were delayed, because we've learned more about the problem since we came to the Inquisition." He glanced at Tabris.
"A Grey Warden of Montsimmard has contacted the Hero of Ferelden secretly, and she passed the letter on to us," he continued. "Her name is Sidona Andras. She wrote about Orlesian Wardens trying to escape their order after the Warden-Commander began collaborating with a magister of Tevinter."
Max's heart sank. Perhaps they had not had a lead until this Warden had written to Elissa Cousland, but he still felt inclined to blame himself and his Game-playing in Orlais for this. "This magister is Corypheus's agent, I presume. The Warden-Commander of Montsimmard is knowingly working with him?"
"She wouldn't commit anything more to paper. She says that she can tell us all about it if we visit the village where she is hiding. It's in the northwest of Ferelden and it's called Crestwood."
"That's not too far from here," Max considered. "We can do that soon."
Once he was inside Crestwood, he quickly reported to the mayor, a middle-aged, haggard, harried man named Gregory Dedrick. Dedrick was surrounded by soldiers bearing armor with a sigil of two laurel wreaths, which Max now recognized as belonging to House Cousland. Most of them were not heavily armed, which seemed peculiar to him. There were several covered wagons nearby, though. Perhaps they held the weaponry.
"Inquisitor Trevelyan!" the mayor greeted him. He eyed the small force. "I see you've brought only a handful with you. Good. We have trouble enough in this village at the moment without Inquisition troops quartering here and making it a target for Corypheus, no offense."
"The terms of our agreement with the Fereldan Crown stated that we couldn't quarter troops in Fereldan villages or set up fortifications nearby," Max said. "We honor our contracts. What's the trouble at the moment?"
He grimaced. "The walking dead, if you must know."
"Enough of them to cause a disturbance?" Max said, shocked. "Was there an attack here?"
A Cousland officer stepped up. "Not lately, Inquisitor. We think it dates back to the Blight. They're skeletal by now." The man glanced back at the wagons. "The Crown has given some equipment to our lord, Teyrn Cousland, to deal with the problem. It isn't easy to hit a skeleton with an arrow and it don't do much damage either. Same for swords. Blades just cut off a hand, an arm, what have you. You've got to smash them to bits, so the only kind of handheld weapon that really hurts them are war hammers."
Iron Bull hefted his pointedly. "I can do that."
"You're one man, ser. And we've got a better solution anyhow: black powder bombs and small trebuchets."
Varric whistled. "Like what Kirkwall started with."
"Aye. We've got black powder grenades too. All armaments from the Crown. Smashing them skeletons may be fun, but blowing them to smithereens from a safe distance is better. The priests hereabout don't like it, think it disrespects the dead, but as I see it, what happens to bodies twelve years dead don't signify. Their souls are with the Maker, right? And it isn't that different from putting them on a pyre anyway." He smirked. "We've got this under control, Inquisitor."
"There's nothing we can do to help?" Max asked. "Several of us are mages. We could cast firestorms for you..."
"With all due respect, this isn't your fight," the officer said bluntly.
"Thank you for the offer nonetheless, Inquisitor," the mayor said more politely. "But if you want to be useful, you could deal with an aggressive wyvern that's been attacking villagers."
Max hesitated about whether to ask this—the person, the Warden, he was seeking apparently was hiding from her Orlesian colleagues—but the Fereldan western border was rather heavily patrolled now, so she might feel safe enough here to reveal herself to the locals. "I'll look into it—but I was wondering. Have you heard about a Grey Warden taking up residence here? One from Orlais? She might be trying to keep it quiet, but I was looking for her."
"Haven't heard anything about that," Dedrick said, scowling at the words "Grey Warden," a fact that Max wondered about. "Are you sure, Inquisitor? The Crown's forces have been trying to keep Orlesians out." He shrugged. "And if they're the ones who are Fereldans now by law, let 'em stay on the land that used to be Orlesian. No need for the whole lot to migrate here."
"I don't know how she traveled here. She might have come by ship some of the way. I was just wondering. I'll find her, though—and I'll deal with the wyvern. Can you tell me more about it?"
"Its lair is past the Glenmorgan Mine. They like water, wyverns, so I expect it's lurking about the pond. I generally don't hold with slaying beasts for no purpose, or for trophies, but this one has been injuring and killing villagers."
"I agree with you," Max said. "We'll deal with it." He regretted not being permitted to deal with the undead, but at least he would have something to do that would make these people's lives better.
As Max and his party made their way through Crestwood, they got to observe the Highever militia. Max's only experience with the new explosives that were upending Thedas was in the Emprise du Lion, when the Fereldan military packed Suledin Keep with powder and blew it up. He had, of course, heard about Kirkwall's use of the powder—a more effective formulation of it than Ferelden currently had, according to Varric—to blow up enemy ships at harbor and then later to fuel their newfangled flying bombs that could strike targets a mile away. What he saw in Crestwood was a far smaller-scale and localized application of the explosive, but somehow it was just as disconcerting.
The Highever militia was ruthlessly effective. Captains and lieutenants gave orders for their soldiers to herd the undead—demon-animated skeletal bodies—almost bloodlessly into pits and ravines, then to use the small, relatively mobile traction trebuchets to launch bombs into the teeming hordes. They exploded with fiery blasts that sent bone fragments visibly into the air.
Max was not sure what to think of this. Something about this kind of fighting bothered him. They are not people, he tried to rationalize. They're demons that have taken over bodies of the deceased. This is just letting the bodies rest in peace and return to the earth. It's as the man said, their souls are with the Maker.
Yet something about this did feel disrespectful to the dead. He could see the point of view of the priests too. One Chantry official, a woman named Sister Vaughn, observed the violent proceedings with thin-lipped disapproval.
"I wish the Inquisition could have stopped this inappropriate, disrespectful sort of goings-on," she said to Max.
A blast from a nearby pit rocked them, followed by the sounds of whooping and hooting from the soldiers.
Sister Vaughn glowered. "This is what I mean. Those were once the bodies of loved relatives and friends. Children of the Maker. Demons took them over, yes, but this... this is reveling in violent obliteration. The soldiers enjoy it."
What was there to say? The soldiers had just proved how much they enjoyed it. And someday this will be the face of warfare against the living, Max thought. It already has been for Tantervale. I've heard stories about what happened to people who were too close to the rockets' impact sites. There was nothing left but bits. Today this explosive is used against demons and the undead. Tomorrow it will be used against the living with the same results.
"War is a terrible thing," Rainier spoke up suddenly. "No matter what face it wears, it's ugly. Before this explosive, war meant shooting arrows and bolts into people, or cutting them up with swords. Or burning, freezing, or smashing them to death with magic. There's no way to make violent death in battle anything but ugly. At least this way it's quick. No suffering."
Max knew that he understood all too intimately of what he spoke. He gave his friend a nod of thanks for making this point.
"But it is dehumanizing," the sister said. "There is no suffering, but it is when people do suffer from their injuries and mortal wounds that lets us truly face what war means. When you strike someone with your blade, ser, you must watch them bleed to death—or, Maker forgive me, watch their head separate from their body, or whatever it may be. You must see what you have done to the body of a person. This"—she gestured at the smoking pit—"this will let soldiers forget that their targets are people. Their own behavior proves it. See how they whoop with each explosion."
"Some people whoop after beheading or dismembering a person," Rainier muttered darkly. Max raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly; that had all the markings of having been a personal observation. Perhaps some of his men had acted that way after slaying the women and children in their ambush, and that was what had made him realize the vileness of his order.
"Most do not," Sister Vaughn returned. "Most soldiers are decent people called upon to do a terrible task. Sometimes it is a necessary task in this fallen world, but it is still a terrible one, and good people know it. Unless they are using weapons that let them forget the reality of what they do."
"That may be true for some people, Sister, but it is not true for as many as you would like it to be," Rainier said. "And there are others still who react to bloody carnage not with revulsion and reflection, but become used to it. Jaded. Some even discover that they get a perverse thrill from seeing it. And if they get a thrill from seeing the violence of the sword, that's a lot worse than getting a thrill from an explosion where they can't really see the blood and gore."
"This is a good debate," Dorian interjected, "and you both make good points... but we should be moving on, I'm afraid."
Max squeezed Dorian's hand and gave him a silent look of gratitude. He had not particularly been enjoying the debate, because he also felt that the sister and Rainier were both making good points—but all of those good points were grim and unpleasant ones. And whether anyone liked it or not, warfare was forever changed. Anders had unleashed a new weapon, and it could not be suppressed. Even the Inquisition in all its growing power and arrogance couldn't do it, which perhaps was the reason why no one had even suggested trying. The smoking pits, rocket shells, and—Max had no doubt—eventual duplication and miniaturization of Qunari cannons were the new face of war. Thedas would have to learn to live with the consequences.
Finally, as they headed down the path, something occurred to Max—a thought that he did not delay voicing.
"I know that they said dealing with the attack is not our problem or our fight," he began, "and... whatever moral issues there are with it... their method is a lot more effective, and safe, than anything we could do. But I do wonder. If these skeletons are twelve years old, why are they attacking en masse now? What has caused this unrest? Why is there a surge of demons?"
Several of his companions instantly saw where he was going with this. "You think the demon surge may be tied to a rift," Dorian guessed.
"I think it's entirely likely. This village wouldn't have any inhabitants if this had been going on for twelve years. These bodies were resting in peace until something happened recently to cause a demonic surge, and what's our top suspect for that?" he concluded rhetorically.
"But wouldn't the officials have told us if there is a rift?" Cassandra asked.
"If they know about it, perhaps," said Carver Hawke. "But only perhaps."
"What would they gain by hiding it from us? They know full well that the Inquisitor is the only person who can easily close rifts."
Merrill, Carver's Dalish fiancee, then spoke up. "Easily, as you say. Sealing off weak places of the Fade is something many mages can do."
"You refer to mild tears," Cassandra said. "Mages can indeed seal those. But they are not as pronounced as the full-fledged rifts we have faced."
"I understand that most of the Free Mages are still in and around Kirkwall, but others are in Ferelden. The people here may think they can handle it even if they do know it is a true rift."
"But why would they want to do that when the Inquisitor, who can seal a rift with his hand, is in the vicinity?" Cassandra insisted. "No, if there is a rift, they have chosen not to tell us."
"Ferelden's authorities don't like the Inquisition," Varric said to her. "That seems explanatory enough."
Her lips thinned. "They imposed restrictions on our troop movements and fortifications within Fereldan borders, because of what we did to Haven when our military presence drew Corypheus and his forces there. That is an entirely different affair from the Inquisitor, with this small band, closing a rift. Ferelden has had no objections to our doing that in the Hinterlands."
"Hmm. Fair enough." Varric shrugged. "Don't know, then. Maybe they're just being overly paranoid."
"Speaking theoretically," Max began, organizing his thought, "if there was such an order—'don't tell the Inquisitor about the rift in Crestwood'—who would have given it?"
"Three possibilities," Varric answered. "The King and Queen... the local lord, which would be the Teyrn of Highever... or the mayor." He thought about it for a moment. "I'm inclined to say it's one of the latter, if there was such an order. The King and Queen did let us deal with the Red Templars at Therinfal. They can see when necessity outweighs whatever else. And I don't know Fergus Cousland, so I can't judge how paranoid he usually is, but that mayor did seem to me like he was hiding something."
"He definitely doesn't seem to like Grey Wardens," Carver supplied. "I just assumed he was hiding the fact that he did know where our contact was. But if he's also hiding the existence of a rift..."
"He could be on Corypheus's side," Max said. "Not wanting us to find this Warden and not wanting us to close a rift seems suspicious to me."
"I think you are jumping to conclusions, amatus," Dorian said uneasily. "Not everyone who obstructs us is with Corypheus. Most are not, in fact; they just have an agenda of their own that they see as more important for themselves than the war. Besides, we don't know that there is a rift, and our Warden is Orlesian. That may be what he distrusts."
"He scowled at the mention of Grey Wardens," Carver said.
Max sighed. Perhaps Dorian was right and he was letting his experiences at the Winter Palace with Grand Duchess Florianne's treachery get the better of him. He resolved not to be so paranoid himself. "We'll keep looking for the wyvern we agreed to hunt and the Grey Warden we actually came here for. If there is a rift, we'll find it along the way. We can decide what to do then."
In the village itself, they found a wandering spirit of a type that Max had never heard of. It called itself a Spirit of Command and claimed that the only way it could be at peace was if a rage demon that was haunting the Crestwood caves was defeated, and then for the spirit itself to give a command. Max made a mental note to deal with the rage demon, but he wasn't sure about the latter.
"You don't have to follow it," Dorian told him in an undertone.
"I suppose you would be the expert," Max replied equally quietly. He gave a brief glance to Solas, who was—predictably—conversing with the spirit. "I think sometimes that he likes spirits better than mortals."
"I agree. Not that I blame him sometimes," Dorian sighed.
"Spirit," Max finally said loudly, addressing the being, "I will let you do this if you answer a question for me. Is there a Fade rift in this area? Is that how the rage demon got in?"
"Yes," it said. "It is in the old caves. You must drain the lake to gain access to them."
Max nodded. "I thought there might be one. Thank you."
They were actually closer to the site of the aggressive wyvern, so Max figured that they might as well deal with that along the way to the lake. He headed toward the area where the wyvern was said to be.
There was an entire band of wyverns, it turned out. He didn't want to kill them all, and wasn't even sure that his small party could.
"It's the big one," Rainier observed. "Look. It even bullies its own. And unless I am mistaken..." He grimaced. "I'm not. Don't look if it bothers you, but there's a human arm in the thing's nest."
"I can handle that," Max said, squinting his eyes as he indeed identified the grim token. "I wouldn't want to know what the person experienced in their last moments, however, so I hope Cole doesn't decide to tell us."
Rainier chuckled darkly. "That's how soldiers cope, Inquisitor. To return to the discussion the sister and I had about weapons. We just don't think about what the enemy actually experiences when we slay them."
Max gave him a grim look of understanding. "Makes sense."
Fortunately Cole did not give a personal account of the wyvern victim's final moments, so the party was able to draw it away from its pack. From there they acted as a cohesive unit, the mages protecting everyone from getting sprayed with the wyvern's potent venom while the non-magical fighters hacked and shot away with runed weapons.
At last the rogue wyvern was dead, and the Inquisition party stripped its corpse down for everything valuable or useful. Wyvern body parts often had interesting properties.
They sacked up the remains and continued along the path, Varric and Max consulting their map all along. "According to this, we're near a place called Three Trout Farm Camp. I haven't seen any sign of a Warden." He remembered that Grey Wardens could sense each other and raised a silent but inquiring brow at the ones in this party.
"I actually do pick something up," Carver said in response, frowning, "but we're not that close."
"Perhaps you four should lead, then," Max said. "Because I have no idea where I should go." He gestured in front of himself, smiling, as Carver, Rainier, Felix Alexius, and Darrian Tabris took their places.
Their pace was slower after that, as the Wardens apparently wanted to be sure that they were traveling in the right direction, but there were also no wrong turns or doubling back. As the group neared a cave, the three warriors and scholar exchanged glances, frowning. Max gazed into the mouth of the cave.
From inside, a fierce voice rang out. "Do not move. There's a crossbow pointed right at your fucking head, Warden."
Max nearly toppled over at the naked threat from this angry, frightened female voice, but he managed to stay on his feet. He held up his hand for everyone else to do the same.
The hostile voice called out again from the dark mouth of the cave. "If you take one false step, I will fill every one of you with bolts."
Max took a deep breath. "Warden Andras? I'm not a Grey Warden. I am the Inquisitor. There are four Grey Wardens with me. You're sensing them."
The speaker finally emerged into the light, revealing a trim, fit elven woman wielding a heavy crossbow. Her dark hair was streaked with silver, her dark eyes were fierce, and her face was unmarked, indicating that she had been a city elf before joining the Wardens.
Sidona Andras glared in mistrust even as her gaze flitted to Max's marked hand and recognition filled her face. "And you're here at their behest to bring me back to Montsimmard, I take it? Fuck that. I can't say I'm surprised that Corypheus managed to corrupt you too, but—"
"I'm not here on Montsimmard's behalf, and these Wardens are not from Orlais," he said. "Wardens Darrian Tabris and Carver Hawke"—he noted her eyes widen momentarily at Carver's name—"serve under the Hero of Ferelden. Wardens Felix Alexius and Thom Rainier are with the Inquisition for now and never served with the Montsimmard Wardens. We're here to find out what's been happening there." His voice was softer as he observed her face relaxing. "Corypheus hasn't corrupted me, Warden."
She paused for a moment before speaking again, and her voice was relaxed too. She lowered her crossbow. "I wrote to the Hero of Ferelden. She passed it along, then?"
"Yes," Carver interjected. "Tabris and I—and my fiancee, Merrill, who is not a Warden—were among the people to fight Corypheus the first time. Well, the first time in the Dragon Age," he added sheepishly.
Varric waved his free hand. "And so was I! If we could just get Hawke here, that'd be everyone from that group."
Carver rolled his eyes. "Good luck with that."
"Viscountess Hawke fought Corypheus?" Warden Andras said.
"She sure did."
"My sister has other things to worry about," Carver cut in. "Anyway, this is our business. Warden business—and Inquisition business. Not hers."
"Easy, Junior. I wasn't trying to take your glory and bestow it on her."
"Can we... postpone this for another time?" Max finally interrupted. He turned to Warden Andras. "Warden. We understood that you had information about what was happening in the Montsimmard Wardens. Could you share that with us?"
She glowered, but this time it was not directed at them, but rather the situation that she had fled. "Clarel de Chanson," she bit off. "That's the Warden-Commander of all Orlais, not just Montsimmard. She's summoned them all to a fortress in the ass-end of nowhere with some grandiose claim about ending the Sixth and Seventh Blights before they ever begin." She spat onto the cave floor in derision. "But she's up to no good, or her new pal is."
"The magister?"
"Yes. Been corresponding with the bastard for several years, but he just now put in an appearance in person. I ran for it. So did others, but I think I was the only one to make it." She scowled. "What I'm about to tell you is a secret, Inquisitor, and I'm only doing it because you're fighting Corypheus. But when Wardens have served for a couple or three decades, we start feeling something called the Calling."
Max decided not to tell her that he already knew about this from Carver and Darrian. She was prickly, and he did not know how she might react to the news that others of the Order had betrayed this information to an outsider.
But he didn't have to. Carver himself spoke up. "We told him about that."
"Oh, did you?" she said waspishly. "Well, I don't suppose I'll waste your precious time, then!" She got to her feet.
"Wait!" Max called out. "We came here because you know things that they don't. Please don't go."
She eyed him before continuing. "Fine. My point is, this 'Calling' they were feeling was bullshit. I shouldn't say 'they,' because I feel it too, but I don't believe it's real. What are the odds that Darkspawn Number One returns at the same time that every Warden in Orlais coincidentally feels the Calling? It's not a coincidence, so it's not real. He's doing it, and those bloody idiots in Orlais don't have the sense to realize it. I just don't know how he's doing it." She gave Carver and the other Wardens a glare. "So you feel it too, then?"
"We do. We think all the Fereldan Wardens do except those at Loghain's post in Gwaren. And King Alistair. You're correct, Warden Andras. It's not the real Calling, and we know that for a fact."
"Sounds like you actually do know more about it than I do. A fact?"
"Mages in the Fereldan Wardens have devised a potion to halt the Calling," Carver said in a low voice as her eyes widened. "The theory's logic is unassailable. It breaks our link to the voices of Archdemons. But because it doesn't take the Taint from us, we hear voices like those of Corypheus even louder. So yes—we felt it, whatever he's doing. We've found that willpower potions help us to resist it."
Max could see the hunger and longing in Andras's eyes. So did the others.
"The anti-Calling potion has a one hundred percent survival rate for those who are already Wardens," Tabris spoke up. "You are welcome to a dose if you join us at Skyhold."
"Fuck me, I'll join you in Amaranthine in exchange for that. If we survive this shit fest."
Carver chuckled. "The Wardens of Orlais may need... new leadership, from what you tell us. Leadership that was smarter and braver than the current one."
"I'm sitting on my ass in a cave across the border. Smarter, yes, I'll grant I was that, but this isn't brave."
"It was brave to defy the Warden-Commander of Orlais and leave," Tabris argued. "But this is all irrelevant for now. Wardens Felix and Rainier were actually Joined with a variant of the potion that also serves as a Joining potion. It has a higher survival rate than the old one. So none of us will have a Calling, and we've all taken the willpower potions too. You may have both."
She gathered up her supplies. "Looks like I'm with you, then."
"We wanted to find you," Max said, "so we're glad to have you. Anything you can tell us about this magister, Warden-Commander Clarel, the plan to 'stop the Sixth and Seventh Blights,' or the fake Calling might be useful."
Andras slung her pack over her shoulders. "I'll do that. It's a relief to be able to sense some people with this damn poison in their veins and still be able to trust them."
"I'm sure," Tabris agreed. "For the record, you can trust all the Fereldan Wardens, as well as the Ansburg Wardens under Jean-Marc Stroud."
"And the King," Carver added. "And Anders. Of Kirkwall. My brother-in-law," he added with a protective tone. That surprised Max for a moment, given how he had some sort of sibling rivalry with the Viscountess and Consort that occasionally flared, but then he realized that that was a minor, unimportant thing to Carver. The extended Hawke clan was a loving, loyal family. Max felt a pang of envy for Carver.
"You can trust him not to be working with Corypheus," Vivienne muttered. "Politically, though? That's another matter."
Varric, Dorian, their closest friends, and the Wardens gave her a sharp look. "And the opinion of some of us is that there's no reason why we shouldn't be able to trust him politically, if we actually treated Kirkwall as a full ally and not a geopolitical rival," Varric said sharply. "But let's keep this shit from the ears of the Grey Wardens. They are facing more important problems."
"I should imagine we are," Andras said. "I didn't spend years in this fucking Order only to watch the source of the fucking Taint in Thedas corrupt it like this! It's disgusting. So I'm sorry for doubting you at first, but given that the Wardens of Orlais got suckered by the very thing they're sworn to give their lives to defeat, I couldn't assume you wouldn't have had the same happen."
Sidona Andras's menacing ambush had initially offended Max and taken him aback, but as she opened up and became their comrade, he found that he rather liked her. She was crass and vulgar, but unimpeachably honorable. Max respected and just flat-out liked that a lot more than its opposite, perfect politeness masking—in the words of the Chant—wicked eyes and wicked hearts. He had had his fill of the latter in recent months.
Warden Andras spoke up abruptly as they left her hideout. "I suppose we all know Warden secrets here, even those who aren't Wardens," she said with a sharp look. But even as Max and Dorian stiffened, she shrugged and relaxed, chuckling. "Not that I give a shit about that. Warden secrecy is going to be the ruination of the Order. And I'll take all the help I can get. But I am curious about this potion you Fereldans have that stops the Calling. How does that work? You're obviously still Wardens."
Merrill spoke up eagerly, surprising Andras even more, since she was not a Warden. "Avernus, the old Warden who made the potions that saved Felix and prevent the Wardens from having a Calling, built on the work of a creature called the Architect," she said. "He was another Magister Sidereal like Corypheus. He had dealings with Fiona years ago..."
Max shook his head. "Wow. As Varric said once... small world."
"I did?" Varric asked. "I suppose I probably did."
Andras put up her hand. "Hold it. Fiona the Grand Enchanter?"
"Formerly," Merrill said, scowling. "She betrayed the Free Mages during the war—the other war, I mean, the mages' war—and sided with the Venatori. But she used to be a Grey Warden. When she fell into the Architect's hands many years ago, he accelerated the Taint in her, and instead of dying, she recovered from it like a regular disease. And as it is with illnesses like the measles, she couldn't get Tainted again after that." Merrill's elven eyes were wide with interest. "The Architect was breeding dragons, Tainting them, and accelerating the Taint in them too so that he could collect their blood after they were recovered. That was able to break the link with the Archdemons that causes the Calling. And Avernus's own work had already managed to slow the Taint down to almost nothing. So the Fereldan Wardens get the benefit of immunity without having to go through the infection of Taint."
Carver and Tabris were scowling, but this was within Elissa Cousland's policy of letting Wardens' partners know secrets. Perhaps, Max supposed, they were only scowling because she understood it better than they did.
"So just to be clear," Andras said, "your anti-Calling potion contains the blood of dragons that are immune to the Taint because they survived the disease."
"The Architect had magical artifacts to make it possible, but yes."
"You Wardens," she said pointedly, glaring at Merrill, "have ingested large quantities of dragon's blood. Correct?"
Carver suddenly understood. "Maker's breath. Yes. We're all Reavers."
"That never occurred to me," Darrian Tabris said, eyes wide, "but it makes sense." He flexed his left fist. "I've had a kind of unnatural strength in me for years since I took that stuff."
"Me too," Carver said, awed. "I just attributed it to the stamina of being a Warden... but it isn't entirely."
Andras laughed. "I daresay your Commander thought about it."
"She's never mentioned it."
"She probably assumed she didn't have to, that you would realize it yourselves. Typical meathead men," she said with amused exasperation. "You think you're so tough and strong already..."
"Hey!" Rainier objected.
"Anders of Kirkwall took the potion too," Tabris said. "I don't know if there's such a thing as a Reaver mage..."
"Leliana tells me that there were Reaver mages in old Haven, when the dragon cult lived there," Cassandra said.
"And he's a man too, isn't he?" Andras said pointedly. "Honestly." But this was all in good fun now, the teasing and camaraderie of Wardens, including—finally—this one who had been lacking that for far too long.
Unfortunately, the good feeling left the group when they reached the lake. The dam that had allegedly been broken was actually in perfect working order, but it had not been repaired in the years since the Blight.
"How could there have been a flood if the dam didn't break?" Max wondered.
Dorian gave him a dark look. "As I see it, the only alternative possibility is that someone released the dam on purpose to flood the caves."
Max had realized it, but he hadn't wanted to say it. "Someone who took it upon themselves to do so—or someone who had lawful authority?"
They exchanged grim looks as Max activated the works to drain the lake.
With the caves now available, they headed down. These caves were an elaborate and rather beautiful—if hazardously slippery—landform that had once been a mine. They were packed with demons, not just the rage demon that the Spirit of Command had wanted dead, but also despair and fear demons.
"I heard from the Warden-Commander that dozens of Blight victims drowned in here," Carver said in an undertone as they made their way through the caves. "Apparently they filled with water when the dam at the lake broke."
Max glanced around, shuddering as he imagined people trapped in these caves while water rushed in. "That sounds absolutely horrifying."
"Death," Cole said in shockingly grim tones. "Doom drew near and they knew it, those who yet remained sane. Their minds slipping away, dissolving, decaying, doomed. They had all met the darkspawn. The ones who already heard the song were better off. The others knew doom was coming. Despair. They saw the dark waters. Then drowning."
Max shivered. "Thanks for that, Cole, but... no thanks." He really had not needed that image, especially since he knew Cole must have tapped into the actual last memories of these people. Suppressing his own horror for a moment, he decided to focus on making this a growth opportunity for Cole. "I think you upset a lot of us by describing that. Please don't do it again."
"I hurt you?"
"Yes. You did. And to no benefit. They're long gone. Knowing how they suffered and what they experienced doesn't help anyone now." He pulled his cloak around himself, shuddering still at the idea of drowning in these caves. All of a sudden he wanted to get to the surface again. The sooner they reached the rift and closed it, the better.
This particular rift was one of the toughest they had yet encountered, with many waves of enemies. Max gritted his teeth as pain shot through his arm. That was happening a lot more with his marked hand, the more he used it—and for bigger, more taxing tasks. He decided not to think about the implications just yet. He had too much yet to do.
But the party was large enough, with all of Max's usual companions and the addition of the Grey Wardens, that they were able to deal with the demons with only minor injuries. Grimly Max led the group back toward the village of Crestwood. He had some questions to ask Gregory Dedrick.
As they passed by the still-smoking pits where the skeletons had been blown up, Max noticed that several Fereldan officials were giving him sideways looks. A captain finally stopped him.
"The fight went out of them not too long ago," he said gruffly. "What'd you do? We said this wasn't your fight."
Max regarded the captain coolly. "It turns out that it was, though. There was a Fade rift in the caves and that's where the demons and wisps were coming from. Fade rifts are most definitely my fight. And I didn't interfere with your fights against the undead."
The captain scowled but could not dispute Max's point.
"In fact," Max continued, deciding to press his advantage, "I'm rather curious about why we weren't told about this rift. Your people must have suspected one, given that the dead hadn't been walking until recently."
"That," the soldier said curtly, "is something for you to take up with the mayor, Inquisitor, if you think he was lying to you. We're just Highever militia called here to do a job. We didn't make any such decisions."
"Oh, I'm definitely going to take it up with the mayor."
But when they reached the center of the village, Gregory Dedrick was nowhere to be found. Instead he had left a note.
.
Inquisitor:
It was not darkspawn that opened the dam and flooded Old Crestwood twelve years ago, nor was it an accident. I did, in secret, the night they attacked. The undead were people I killed with my own hands.
We'd taken in refugees from the Blight. Many were ill. We moved the sick to the lower part of Crestwood, and the refugees into the caves, to stop the disease from spreading. It didn't work. One confessed he'd seen blight sickness before. It was always fatal. When the darkspawn attacked, I knew the only way the village would survive is if the blight-sick drowned with the monsters.
You obviously found the dam mechanism. Let the record state that I think there might be a rift beneath the caves. Please understand that I would not have let the village be overrun, and I did not intend to conceal my suspicions from you indefinitely. Once the soldiers had dealt with the dead, I would have told you my suspicion and drained the lake for you myself. The army's new explosive has done well, and there have been no casualties among the living, but the remonstrances of these priests eat at my conscience. What they say is true. These were the bodies of villagers. Every blast feels like destroying the evidence of my act.
Inquisitor, my wife was among the blighted, and my daughter and I have been estranged for twelve years because of this. She is now a mercenary captain in the Free Marches. I cannot bear the sight of Old Crestwood now that the water is gone. I cannot stay. I will try to make my peace with my daughter.
I'm sorry.
Mayor Gregory Dedrick
.
Max clenched his fist, crumpling the letter. "I knew it. I knew there was something not right. And that explains why he doesn't like Grey Wardens! He must've somehow blamed them for the fact that the villagers became Tainted."
Dorian just looked sad after reading the note. "It seems like a tragedy with no possible happy ending," he said quietly. "If he hadn't acted, the Blight victims would have become ghouls, joined forces with the darkspawn, and destroyed the entire town."
"So he destroyed it himself—to 'save it'?" Max said bitterly. Even as he spoke the angry words, something else hit him.
Haven. That is what I did. I destroyed the village to "save" it. But there is no such thing, is there? It's just destroying the village.
"There is a New Crestwood today," Varric pointed out.
Max shook his head. He could not get the sudden memories of boulders, avalanches, the confrontation with Corypheus, the attack on his faith, and the horrible, desolate, bone-chilling walk back to the Inquisition camp out of his head. The reason these Fereldans—other than that mayor, of course—distrust us is because of that order I gave at Haven. And they are right to distrust us. The Inquisition took the consequences of my decision. There should always be consequences of such decisions.
He then thought of the tragedy in Val Royeaux, the near annihilation of House Leandre for no reason other than the fact that the Inquisition had meddled in Orlesian politics for the furtherance of its own power. I did that too.
He unclenched his fist and flattened the letter. "Dedrick fled like a coward. I won't have it. He concealed his suspicions about a rift from us!"
"He says in his letter that he would have told you his suspicions once the Teyrn's people had dealt with the undead," Cassandra began.
"While demons continued to emerge!"
"They would have run out of bodies to possess," Varric said.
Max scowled. "Not if they could just keep killing people. I'm going to have Dedrick at Skyhold to explain himself."
"I think you're losing sight of the mission, Inquisitor," Cassandra said.
This was altogether too much. This, from anyone here? Anyone who is not a part of my personal group of friends and allies against corruption? What we did in Orlais was "losing sight of the mission." This is directly related. There was a rift here!
"We picked up Warden Andras," he managed instead, realizing that it was probably inadvisable to accuse half the party of gross hypocrisy, however true the charge might be. "That was the mission. We achieved our goal here. This is something extra."
"Amatus..." Dorian began.
Max almost stopped. The pleading from Dorian touched him like the words of the others did not. He gazed back in spite of himself.
"Please, do not take your own guilt about Haven and Val Royeaux out on someone else."
Max flinched, unable to accept that it could be that. "It isn't that," he said. "There was a Fade rift here and he tried to hide it from us."
"He has explained that in his letter. What more can he say? Do you think he is an agent of Corypheus still?"
Max shook his head. "No. No. I..." He broke off. "I want him at Skyhold to give an account of himself for all that he has done. We—I—destroyed Haven, yes... and I paid for it." Dorian looked to object again, but Max shook his head once more. "Please don't argue with me about this."
Back at Skyhold, Max explained his intentions to his advisors at the war table. When he had told them about Gregory Dedrick, his flight from Crestwood, and his own desire to bring the man to justice at Skyhold, Leliana gave him a look of concern—and warning. "Inquisitor, I strongly advise you against making anything of this."
"Why?" he said. "That man drowned his village. He herded people into those caves and flooded them!" He shuddered, recalling Cole's horrible little speech. "Can you imagine being there, trapped in those caves, as the water rushed in? They wouldn't have died immediately. They would have been trapped in small caverns as the water poured in, covering their heads. They would have been trying to find a way to swim out, lost in that dark labyrinth of caverns, underwater, knowing they had only minutes..." He shivered.
Leliana grimaced. "Drowning must be a terribly frightening way to die, yes... but I thought that you wanted to call him to account for the fact that he didn't tell you that he suspected there was a Fade rift."
"That is what I want to call him to account for... partly."
"He can't have known for a fact that there was one if it was underwater," she pointed out.
"But he suspected and he didn't tell us!"
"He wrote that he meant to, but you discovered it yourself first. And Mayor Dedrick did protect the village to the extent he could. He asked his Teyrn to send troops and they arrived very well equipped to handle the problem. It is entirely likely that your group could not have fought off that many undead without casualties, since the Inquisition was blocked from sending in soldiers due to Ferelden's restrictions."
Max had no rational reply. "What he did in the Blight was awful and he never faced any kind of justice for it."
Leliana sighed. "It was a terrible thing, Inquisitor. You are right. But there was nothing else the mayor could have done. The Taint is horribly infectious, which is why it spread so easily in Crestwood... its victims lose their minds... they often become violent... and unless they are saved by being made Grey Wardens—which does not always work—they always die, without exception. There were no cases of Taint in the Crestwood area after the flood, nor did it spread any further in the North. Dedrick likely saved countless lives." She sighed again. "I was in Ferelden during the Blight, with the only two Grey Wardens that the country had. I know how bad it was."
"But as you said, Grey Wardens can save Tainted people," he said. "They did for Felix... and Rainier."
"Elissa and Alistair did not yet know how to make the potion for that."
"Then the mayor could have asked for Wardens from elsewhere!"
"No, he couldn't have. Loghain was Regent then; he had closed the border with Orlais. He had also declared Grey Wardens traitors to Ferelden, so they couldn't have come from another country. Rendon Howe was in complete control of the entire North at that point. If a northern village mayor had invited Wardens into Ferelden, he would have been arrested as a traitor too."
"What you are arguing is that Dedrick put his own well-being ahead of the people in his town, and he was right to do so," Max said hotly.
"No," Leliana replied, her tone sharp now. "I am not arguing anything of the sort. I am arguing that there was no way for them to get into the country, and that it wasn't even clear that any Wardens would have responded to an invitation except for those from Orlais. Even King Cailan had no offers of support from the Order except its Orlesian branches. Dedrick inviting them would not have been a noble self-sacrifice for his village, because they wouldn't have made it in at all. It wouldn't have accomplished anything except getting himself arrested and executed, and some thug of Rendon Howe's being put in charge of Crestwood in his place."
Max scowled. "I still want to summon him here to answer for himself. If what you say is true, let him say it himself."
"Then on your own head be it," Leliana spat, exasperated. She gazed levelly at him, piercing sapphire eyes boring into his own as her lips thinned. Max was more than a little afraid of her perceptive abilities, and he knew that she was essentially "reading" him.
"I may be making matters worse by saying this," she continued, her tone calmer and more compassionate than it had been seconds ago, "but I do not think this is really about Crestwood or Gregory Dedrick. I think this is about you, Inquisitor."
Max's heart skipped a beat. Dorian had said that too. Max still did not want to face the fact that he was right—that they were both right.
"I think you feel residual guilt about Haven, since you gave the order to bury it with the avalanche. And quite likely you also feel guilty about the tragedy in Val Royeaux with the Leandre family." She gazed sadly at him as his eyes widened. "You think that punishing the mayor for a similar act will somehow absolve you of your own deeds."
Max tried feebly to deny it. "No," he protested. "I know it doesn't work that way..."
"Intellectually, you know that, but I think subconsciously, you believe it will do this. But punishing others because of your own private guilt does not work—at least, for decent people, which you are. Far more decent than I am. But I too tried this once, and all it did was add even more guilt to my conscience. This won't help you with your own struggle, Inquisitor. Take the word of someone who knows," she said bitterly.
None of the advisors particularly approved of Max's order, but they carried it out. Mayor Dedrick was located before he had made it beyond the Free Marches and brought back to Ferelden quickly. Apparently he had met his daughter, and his abdication might have perhaps reconciled them after all this time, because he had been found in the midst of her company.
And soon after he was returned to his home country, a rather sharp letter arrived at Skyhold for the Inquisition.
.
To Inquisitor Trevelyan and the Inquisition:
As Teyrn of Highever, I have learned that your organization has issued a summons to Mayor Gregory Dedrick of Crestwood to appear at Skyhold to stand trial in the matter of the destruction of Old Crestwood during the Fifth Blight, Bloomingtide 9:30 Dragon.
It behooves me to inform you of several facts regarding this situation:
First, Crestwood is part of my teyrnir of Highever and is therefore under my jurisdiction. As Teyrn of Highever, I have sole authority to administer justice in affairs occurring within the teyrnir, with the exception of those that fall under the Crown of Ferelden's authority or relate to the ongoing War Against the Elder One—the latter of which the Crown has generously permitted the Inquisition to handle. An action that Mayor Dedrick may have taken during the Blight nearly twelve years ago—before the Inquisition existed and before Divine Justinia V, whose authority established the Inquisition, had even assumed the Sunburst Throne—is neither. The destruction of Old Crestwood has nothing whatever to do with the Inquisition's mission to defeat Corypheus. I am further informed that the mayor put in writing, before he fled, that he meant to tell you of his suspicions that there was a Fade rift in the old caves, but believed you would learn first whether that were true—as it apparently was.
Second, by the grace of our King and Queen, your Inquisition has been permitted to operate inside Fereldan territory. Their Majesties would have every right to expel your organization from this country after the destruction of Haven, but—due to the existential threat to Thedas posed by Corypheus—they instead chose to permit the Inquisition to exist inside Fereldan borders, subject to certain restrictions. Nonetheless, your organization is here on sufferance.
Third, the Cousland family, who I will remind you have authority over the north of Ferelden, are well aware of the circumstances behind the destruction of Old Crestwood. We have never had a confession from Mayor Dedrick, but an old friend of my honored sister deduced the truth and confided it to her in Dragon 9:31. As Teyrn of Highever, Arlessa of Amaranthine, and Warden-Commander of Ferelden, I and my sister long ago concluded that the destruction of Old Crestwood was not a matter that merited punishment—any more than the Inquisitor's decision to destroy Haven merits bringing him before a Fereldan court of law. In times of severe crisis, leaders must sometimes make terrible decisions.
If the Inquisition does persist with the trial and sentencing of Mayor Dedrick in this matter of Old Crestwood, I respectfully submit that you may not like the precedent this will have established. If Mayor Dedrick did destroy part of a Fereldan village to prevent a Blighted enemy force from taking it over, he is not the only man who committed this exact deed for this exact reason.
Cordially,
Teyrn Fergus Cousland of Highever
.
Nobody wanted to tell Max "I told you so," but as he trudged unhappily through the castle the day that the letter came, he felt the reproach in their eyes. The look in Dorian's was not reproachful so much as pitying and sympathetic, and that hurt most of all.
He tried to escape to his room, but he was not surprised when Dorian cornered him on the stairs with a magic shield that he walked right into. As he turned around, he saw Dorian approaching, an apologetic look on the Tevinter's face.
"I am sorry," Dorian said, reaching Max and putting his hands on the latter's waist, "but I couldn't let you storm off to your room alone again. Please. Don't keep it pent up inside. Talk to me. It's what I'm here for." A mild, wry smirk passed over his face. "Well, all right—it isn't all that I am here for, and if you would like me for that reason, I would be willing... if it will make you feel better—but—"
"Maker's breath, Dorian," Max exclaimed. "Do you think I would use you like that?"
"I don't think that is what sex is in an emotional relationship. It does make one feel better, especially when it's with a loved partner. And sometimes that's what we need to break the ice before talking about the problem." Dorian was completely serious, Max realized. "But I do think you should talk about the problem, either before or after. It's entirely up to you."
Max felt ashamed of himself. "Well—before, then. Don't take that as a rejection," he clarified. "I just... to me, it would feel like avoidance."
Dorian smiled mildly. "Well, then." He took down the magic shield and gestured toward the room at the top of the tower.
They walked silently up and did not speak until Max had closed and locked the door. He sank onto the sofa with a miserable, wretched sigh as Dorian sat down opposite him to observe compassionately.
"You were right," he said abruptly. "And so was Leliana, and Varric, and everyone. It wasn't about Crestwood; it was about Haven and Val Royeaux and me. My own guilt." He put his hands over his face. "I was taking my guilt out on Dedrick."
"I thought you might have been," Dorian said quietly. "I understand why you were."
"But it doesn't make it right, and now I've antagonized Ferelden even more." Max sighed. "What am I even doing? Why am I here, with this forced upon me?" He scowled at his marked hand. "If I actually believed that Andraste had selected me for this role, I could accept it. She would have her reasons for choosing me, even if I didn't know them. Or the Maker. I could accept this if I believed it was part of a greater plan. But it just seems like some freak accident, a mistake, as Corypheus said. And the fact that everything seems to be going to the Void looks like evidence in favor of that."
Dorian listened with silent empathy and compassion.
"I'm twenty-three years old," he continued. "Why me? I'm so young for this. And... all right. The Hero of Ferelden was even younger. Hawke was not much older when she first got involved. But they're them, and I'm me, and..." He trailed off. "They're heroes who were exactly the right people needed for their tasks. I'm not."
"Do you think they believed they were chosen by the Maker for their tasks?" Dorian asked.
"I have no idea."
"Well, I doubt it. All of Cousland's family members except her brother were brutally slaughtered. That's why she became a Grey Warden—the Warden-Commander took advantage of that crisis to force her to become one. And Hawke got involved because the love of her life was taken from her and the child they had, and locked up for four years. If the Maker does shit like that to accomplish His goals, He's pretty foul."
Max sighed. "Their choices seemed to work out for them, though. Cousland defeated the Archdemon, restored the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, and had the wisdom and knowledge not to be taken in by Corypheus. Hawke won the war for mage freedom, acquired weaponry to prevent anyone from threatening it again anytime soon, and is trying to lead the Free Marches into a future of unity and power. Their decisions worked out. Mine aren't. I'm making a hash of things." He covered his face again. "I try to be independent when I think my advisors are advocating for things I find unethical or immoral, but half the time when I go against them, I make the wrong decision. Look at Val Royeaux. Look at what just happened here. I was right, perhaps, to go against them in Halamshiral. Ironically, considering how dirty the Game made me feel. But I was dead wrong to go against Leliana about Dedrick."
"You may have been wrong to want to summon him to Skyhold for a trial, and it may have been for the wrong reasons—your own regrets about Haven and the Leandres—but he had fled to the Free Marches of his own accord, and because you had people looking for him, he can be reinstated as mayor." Dorian got up and sat next to Max on the couch. "And when you spoke of Cousland and Hawke, you only mentioned their victories. Nothing about the decisions they made along the way. I doubt they were so confident of each and every one. I doubt they thought they always did the right thing. You haven't had your victory yet, amatus. It isn't a fair comparison."
"Perhaps you're right," Max grudgingly admitted.
"You are being too hard on yourself—and that's what your fixation on Dedrick was too, being hard on yourself—punishing yourself—with him as a proxy. You always felt terrible about Haven, and now you are feeling terrible about the Leandres."
"I should feel terrible about both. But," he said, "you're right."
"People make mistakes, beloved."
"And when people like me make mistakes, innocents die, or the organization I'm trying to lead makes enemies needlessly. Fairbanks said something like this. When he and his cousin quarreled, perhaps some wine was spilled, but when Celene and Gaspard did, a country was torn apart and thousands were slain. I never thought I'd see it from Celene and Gaspard's point of view," he said bitterly.
"And you shouldn't now. They chose to war. You did not choose to have that mark or this responsibility." Dorian's voice was sharp.
"True... but that doesn't change my main point. People make mistakes, but some people can better afford it than others."
Dorian did not know what to say to that. It was all too horribly true. "I don't mean to compare my past to the magnitude of the decisions that you must make," he began, "but in Tevinter, my decisions had serious repercussions at times too. When I made mistakes, a slave-owner might have made coin off the 'transaction.'"
Max grimaced at what Dorian was alluding to: the brothels of Tevinter. "Fair point," he said in a low voice.
"It is the nature of having power: Most of our decisions have far-reaching consequences. The more power we have, the farther-reaching they are. That can be for ill... or for good."
"You're right, of course," Max said, "but... it's still hard."
"Then may I return to what I said at first? Helping you through the hard times is what I'm here for."
Max laughed, a mix of sadness, relief, and affection. What else was there to say? Dorian was undoubtedly right about the Hero of Ferelden and Hawke, and they had had lovers to help them through the challenging times.
For a moment his heart twisted for Leliana, but he could not focus on anyone else for too long when Dorian was wrapping a strong arm around his waist and pulling him close for a spicy, heated kiss.
Max hoped that someday he would get to see Tevinter—or rather smell it. There was something about Dorian's heady scent of expensive cologne, scented soap, clean linen, and a masculine scent that was unique to him.
He had gathered that despite his frequent flirtation and innuendo, when it actually came to the act itself—or anything else physical—Dorian generally preferred to let his partner lead, but this time, it was the reverse. This time he needed that himself. He let Dorian take the lead this time, allowing the other man to unfasten his loose tunic and run his hands over his chest, spasms of magic pulsing in careful, precise intensity, just enough to titillate and excite without being too much. These were the hands of a practiced, careful, considerate lover.
Practiced, careful, and considerate—underneath the lighthearted surface, that was Dorian in every respect.
It was just what Max needed right now. He flexed his shoulders, letting Dorian slip the shirt off him and fling it aside, then taking Dorian's handsome face in his hands to return kisses and caresses.
They remained in the room for a full two hours.
Notes: Until now I've never come out and said exactly what my AU Calling cure is or how, specifically, it works. For a while it was because I hadn't given any thought to the details of "how." The Architect could silence the Archdemon's voice and Avernus could slow down the Taint to almost nothing, and the outcome was all I cared about. But then I did give it some thought, and I fixed upon the dragons and dragon eggs in the Architect's cavern (dragons that he could control). Why did he have them? He was breeding them for a reason, and I think this is the reason that makes the most sense, in conjunction with his past work in The Calling. It's clear that the blood of a Grey Warden alone could not silence the Call, since Wardens do hear it eventually—but a dragon that has post-infection immunity to Taint like Fiona? I could see that. And yes, this would imply that all Grey Wardens who take this potion have some Reaver capabilities. I never did anything with that for Anders, and Sanctification had ended by the time Avernus invented it, so no Elissa Cousland POV either, but I can work with it for warriors.
Readers of Sanctification know this, but IMO the judgment of Mayor Dedrick is one of the most outrageous, egregious overreaches the Inquisition commits—and an act of grotesque hypocrisy too, given Haven. Even if he had done anything wrong (which I don't think he did), they had no right to interfere. I hope my reasoning for having Max be the one to insist on this trial (until Fergus brings him up short) makes sense. Readers of my stories know that I do not endorse everything my protagonists do, and that includes him.
Finally, I used Andras because in my AU, Loghain never went to Orlais, and Stroud has been sealed off in Ansburg at the advice of Elissa Cousland.