It seems tradition at this point that the relief of victory is short lived and fragile. While Connor sits and talks and eats and even laughs in the next room down the hall, Savreen stares at the still sleeping form of Arl Eamon, Talvinder and Alistair at her side. Wynne and Jowan both have just vacated the room, their faces equally dour, but Jowan's particularly pale as he shook his head in Savreen's direction. Both of them have no idea how to wake the Arl.
And Savreen has no idea what it is they're going to do next.
"Maybe he's just…sleeping, now. For real?" The hesitation in Alistair's suggestion—let alone his slightly ridiculous words—might make Savreen roll her eyes in another circumstance. But now, she's less inclined to judge him foolish when her own mind is racing interminably. This is what she was afraid of, this is the outcome she hadn't even dared to dwell on.
"Can we…can we sit down and think this out again, please?" When Tali speaks, she sounds small again, a little lost. The aura of leadership that had before settled relatively comfortably on her shoulders appears now to be an oppressive weight, something unknown and unwanted. But she has a point, even if the question comes from fear, anxiety, panic.
"Let's," Savreen says. She's aware of how tired she sounds. It would unsettle her normally. There's nothing for it, now. Rubbing her temples, she moves to sit on an armchair set by the bedroom's fireplace, scooting the ottoman out towards Tali with her foot.
When her cousin sits on it, Savreen thinks with detached amusement that her tall frame looks vaguely spiderlike, limbs folded sharply around her.
"Before, our plan was to appeal to Arl Eamon for help, and then use his support to convince the other nobles to forgo Loghain's leadership and assist us in fighting the Blight, and then to have them back the treaties. Am I missing anything?" Leaning against the wall, Alistair shakes his head.
"No, that was pretty much it."
"And now we have no Arl Eamon."
"We don't know that," Alistair interjects. "He might still wake up." With a sigh, Savreen concedes.
"You're right, we don't know for sure. But we have to operate as though his support isn't on the table."
"We've already informed the Circle, both Templars and Mages, of the treaty they signed." When Tali speaks, she rubs her jaw and chin with one hand, muffling and twisting her words. "But that's…not enough." Savreen frowns. Had they ever really looked through the treaties closely?
"What do the treaties say, specifically? Alistair? You said there were some pledging the support of Elves and Dwarves, but what do they say exactly?" He fumbles for a moment, pulling the aged parchment from the pocket at his hip, moving as gently as he can.
"There's ones here for nearly every major entity in Ferelden. The Wardens of each nation have their own treaties, which means we have to hope that the others sent out by—by Duncan are still alive. But there's one here with the Crown's seal—fat lot of good that does us with Loghain using Cailan's authority—pledging the forces of every noble in the Landsmeet. We knew that, so that doesn't change anything." He begins gingerly thumbing through the small scrolls, eyes scanning their words rapidly. "This is an old one, but it's a treaty pledging the support of the major Dalish clans in the Brecilian forest, signed by multiple representatives at one of their arlathvhens, one of their gatherings. That would hold weight still, more than I thought when Duncan mentioned a treaty with the Elves. And this one, from the Deshyr and the Crown of Orzammar, witnessed by some of their Paragons. They'd never go against the words of a Paragon, so as long as we can show them the treaty, we can pretty much assume they'll abide by it, no matter who else we have backing us."
He looks through several more, frowning slightly. "There's an old—I mean really old—one here for the dwarves of Ortan Thaig. That's out of the question, since the thaig fell during the Fourth Blight. Another one from—" here, he pauses, and looks up at Savreen and Tali with a sad expression on his face before he continues, holding this particular treaty out to them. "This one is signed by the House of Mac Auslan, independent representatives of—"
"The state of Hasmal," Savreen finishes for him, taking the parchment gingerly from his hand. She runs her fingers across the page wistfully, reading the handwriting, the names of her ancestors. Silence falls over the room as she stares at the shapes of ink, the swooping evidence of the hands, the presence, the lives of those who came before her.
"Back before we were called Cousland?" Tali asks, her voice filled with wonderment. "How old are these treaties, Alistair? How are they still…in one piece?"
"They must be enchanted," he says with a faint shrug. "Maybe lyrium in the parchment processing? I'm not sure. But that's…the oldest, I think." Savreen sighs, handing the parchment back to Alistair reluctantly.
"I suppose we can consider that treaty honored," she says, trying to smile wryly. It doesn't quite work—she's not as good at it as Tali, let alone Alistair. "But our only other options are the Dwarves and the Elves? There are no other treaties we can turn to, nothing we've forgotten?"
Alistair seems downtrodden as he shakes his head.
"Aside from those, our only options are to wait for reinforcements or to follow the original plan of heading straight for Loghain. And without Eamon, that…I don't think that will work out particularly well for us." Taking a moment to think, Savreen notices that her mind feels nearly blank. He's right, there are no other options. She sighs, again, and rubs a hand across her forehead. There's nothing for it, really. Not at this point. Standing, she glances once more, hopefully and fruitlessly, at the sleeping Arl. He doesn't move. Not that she expected him to, but she had hoped.
"Then we should ask the others whether they want to go next to Orzammar or to the Brecilian Forest, I suppose."
"Absolutely not, Talvinder." With a frown, Tali considers her options. She had anticipated Savreen's displeasure, of course, but not quite to this degree. "To travel with a blood mage—"
"He's done so much to help, to prove himself! He says it was a mistake, Sav. Can't we believe in the good in him?" With eager eyes, she watches the slope of her cousin's shoulders. They're tense, but pulled up just toward her ears, like they usually are before she concedes an argument. If only Tali could see her facial expression, she's sure she knows what it would look like: cheeks sucked in, lower lip scrunched up, the skin on her chin stretched. Like there's an unripe, sour mulberry in her mouth. Like she's about to give Tali exactly what the younger cousin wants.
"Ugh, fine!" Sav throws her hands up and turns away from the small dresser, away from her almost re-packed pack. "You're right. I just…"
"Yes?" Tali tries not to smile or show any hint of smugness. She was worried for a bit there, when Savreen seemed to actually be almost angry at the suggestion that they bring Jowan along.
"You know it scares me." The vulnerability in Savreen's voice chases any thoughts of smug victory away and out of Tali's mind, and she stands, pushing herself off of Sav's bed with a creaking noise.
"I wouldn't ask, wouldn't vouch for him, if he hadn't proven himself. He didn't use blood magic the whole time we were at the Circle, and he had plenty opportunity." She puts a hand on her cousin's shoulder and tries to think about what it is that Sav needs to hear, what will help her. "When we were being held hostage by that demon, I could see…his regrets, the things he wanted—the things he wanted the most. I know that he doesn't want to keep using blood magic, Sav. He wants…" Tali's voice trails off as she remembers Jowan's dream: the farmhouse, the family he likely never knew, a woman he seemed to know he would never see again. "He wants things that blood magic can never give him, and I think he knows that."
Sav watches Tali as she speaks, and there's a calculating look of comprehension on her face that comforts Tali, that says that Sav understands not just what it is that Tali is saying, but what she means, and what she can't figure out how to say. With a nod, Sav turns back to her pack, and, slowly, gingerly, Tali sits back down on the bed, situating herself between the two mabari that lounge on either side.
"If you really do trust him," Sav says, repositioning the small, wrapped parcel of heirlooms she saved from Highever Keep, "then I will too, for as long as he's with us." The two of them lapse into silence for a few moments, during which Tali reaches over to scratch Abarie's chin and Sav finishes packing everything together.
"There is something I've been meaning to ask you, though." Tali jerks her head back to Sav when she speaks, expectant and waiting. There's a frown on Savreen's face that makes Tali's stomach feel a bit unsettled, and she casts around for something that Sav could need to yell at her about. Well, not yell—Sav never yells. But a stern talking to. That's what Sav's words make her think, at least. She can't think of anything she's done to deserve it, and that makes it so much worse.
"What is it?"
"Are you…are you alright?" Concern hangs heavy on Sav's face as she stares at Tali, but all Tali can do is blink.
"What do you mean?" Gently, Savreen steps forward to take her hands.
"The Circle. You were…so surprised, so shocked when I said it had been three days. And it's almost as though—well it's clear that something happened that you can't talk about." There's a beat of silence as Tali stands there, a little dumbstruck, and then Sav clarifies. "Something you can't even talk with Alistair about?"
"I'm fine," Tali blurts out before she can think. Her face is hot again. It makes Sav raise her eyebrows.
"So, it isn't something bad that happened?" Tali tries her best not to grimace. She has no idea how to explain everything that happened in the Fade.
"We…there was a demon, it trapped us in the Fade, in our dreams." She decides, ultimately, to tell half of the truth. There are still things that stick in her mind, unnerving. It would be good to share them. But not what happened with Alistair. That, she wants to keep private a little longer. "I was back at the Keep. Howe didn't—it never happened." Sav clicks her tongue, making Sher shift back on the bed so that she has space to sit beside Tali. "It was Oren's birthday, Sav." It startles her, the way she finds herself choking on the words. The memories are so fresh. "Everyone was there, everyone but you—you were with your husband. And I—I—"
Furiously, she blinks back tears. She's already cried for this dream. There's no need to cry anymore, truly. But next to her, Sav strokes the top of her hand.
"Oh Tali," she says, eyes wide with sorrow.
"I know there's nothing…nothing we could have done. For our parents. But Fergus, Sikander…we just. Left them. After Ostagar."
Sav's movements still, and she stays quiet for a moment before answering.
"Our brothers had their own men under their command. They had orders, a duty to perform. Just like we do." It feels hollow, and Tali realizes she hasn't stopped carrying a single ounce of the guilt that's come with her since Duncan carried her from Highever—even if she's no longer angry at Sav. "Tali, we don't know that they…they could still be alive."
Tali looks at her cousin in disbelief, eyes scanning her face for any indication that she doesn't actually believe her words, that she's simply saying something to make Tali feel better. But there's nothing, not a whit of dissembling.
"Do you really believe that?" Tali has to ask, because she doesn't want to hope as long as she knows it's foolish. If Sav really thinks there's a chance, though…
"Fergus, Sikander—as impetuous as they both may be, in their own ways—they're smart. They're well trained. They are capable. I—yes, Tali, I do believe it." The silence that follows Sav's words is so unbearably loud. Fergus and Sikander, alive—it's something Tali hasn't allowed herself to even consider, and it's as though Sav reads this in her face. "I have to believe it. It…helps. We have a duty to protect others, as Waheguru commands." With a gentle touch, Sav picks up a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Tali's ear. "It helps to think that perhaps we can still protect them. That they live to be protected."
The words are like a warm thing, lodged in Tali's sternum. Sav thinks they could be alive. They could be alive. They really could. She shakes her head, trying to dislodge the tears from the backs of her eyes.
"Thank you." It's all she can say. Sav nods. Tali stands, pulling her hand from her cousin's with a final squeeze. Sav shoulders her pack and clicks her tongue once more, calling Sher to her side. The mabari stretches as he jumps to the floor, paws forward. Perhaps Tali should say something more, but she's never been the best with words, and right now, she thinks Sav knows everything she might say. Instead, she holds the door to Sav's guest room open for her to walk out into the hallway.
They head to the great hall once more, for a final time, and Tali is struck by just how different the castle looks already. Even without Arl Eamon awake, there's a new aura of hope that has begun to seep through the place. The candles and braziers seem brighter. Somewhere, someone laughs. A far cry from listening for the sounds of shuddering corpses. Not for the first time, Tali thinks about what would happen if they didn't leave. They would be able to keep bathing in warm water, not river water, for starters. And to sleep in beds, and rooms with walls, not tents. More importantly, though, the Blight would rage unchecked. Loghain would maintain his control over the throne.
No, Tali knows they can't stay. Especially not after what Sav has said about Fergus, Sikander, and their duty. It doesn't mean she's able to stop thinking longingly of mattresses, though. She remains lost in thought as they arrive in the great hall, among their other companions. Only Sav's pointed stare and raised eyebrows, and the silence that suddenly falls, succeed in bringing her back to the moment.
"Sorry, did I miss something?" Alistair stifles a laugh by turning it into a cough, while Morrigan crosses her arms. Tali isn't certain of Sten or Leliana or Ranjit's reactions, mostly because she's concentrating on not feeling too ashamed by the faint tiredness that crosses over Sav's face.
"Jowan and Wynne are tending to the Arl. Wynne will remain here for the time being while Jowan comes with us and the other mages return to the tower. Did you hear me that time?"
"Ah, yes. Apologies."
"Your mind was wandering. It happ—"
"You are ready to excuse her foolish behavior?" Somewhat shocked, Tali turns to look at Morrigan. She thinks she feels her mouth fall open ever so slightly. To be prickly is in Morrigan's nature, Tali knows. But she's never yet called Tali a fool, nor come anywhere close to raising her voice in frustration. Savreen, too, looks quizzically at the witch, who fidgets under the attention of the group.
"Morrigan, is everything—"
"I am eager to be off. We waste daylight." She says nothing more, but her shoulders are still rigid. Something is hidden in the line of her posture. Were it simply regarding Connor and the energy and stress it took to keep him safe, Tali would expect more tiredness in her eyes. But instead, as Morrigan's gaze shifts, avoiding the others, she sees fear. She doesn't understand it, but she sees it nevertheless. Sav seems unsatisfied, but unsure how to get answers from Morrigan. At any rate, Jowan's return from the Arl's chambers ensures that it is a matter for another time.
As they begin filing out, heading to meet Bann Teagan once more in the village before they depart, already having made their farewells to Isolde, Alistair hangs back. When Tali makes to follow the others, he touches her arm softly, a little bit hesitantly.
"Is it alright if I—can I say something?" She tries to keep her face blank as she stares at him, despite the way that her heart immediately begins racing. She's sure she looks like a spooked rabbit, eyes wide and alarmed, nose and mouth twitching quizzically and uncontrollably.
"Um—I—yes? Anything." He huffs a breath out, coughing awkwardly, not quite meeting her eyes as he decides on how to say what it is he wants to say.
"I just. I want to talk about how everything…what happened." The way he says it, for a moment Tali is afraid he'll be angry. Just as she had been afraid that Sav would be upset. Why is she afraid?
"Alistair, I'm so—"
"Thank you." She freezes when he looks at her at last, looking almost as though he's about to cry.
"What?"
"Thank you. For saving him. For saving Connor." Tali tries to figure out how to respond, but he isn't finished. "I think he was too young to understand, you know. When I went away. When I…was sent away." He clears his throat. This isn't what Tali expected, but what else did she expect? "But I remember." There's a far-off look in his eyes, a sad one. "I remember. He was one of the only ones in the castle who still smiled at me, near the end. He was just a baby, not much older than a year. I—I told you the sob story, already. As he got older, healthier, Isolde wanted me gone, like I said. And I know—I know he was just a baby. Babies smile at everything. But he smiled at me." Maybe it's that she feels guilty, still, not just for everything that's happened with her family, but for taking him from his dream, too.
"He was so small, Tali. And I—I just wanted to thank you. You went out of your way, to save him and Isolde both, even though it would have been—" he pauses here, looking as though he's remembering something, and that makes Tali think of everything that happened at the tower, makes her think again of her family, and Oren, little Oren— "it would have been easier not to. Probably would have been…I mean I know it would have been safer. You didn't say what happened with Sloth—"
"It doesn't matter," she blurts out. Again, Oren's face is in her mind. It has to be the guilt that's making her afraid, because she feels like she should be punished, like they should be angry at her—angry because she's abandoned her brother, her cousin; angry because she's taken a chance at happiness away from Alistair. A false chance, yes, a lie, a dream, but she took even that. And now it's only Oren in her mind, and all she can think is how much Connor looked like him for just a brief moment, and she knows it was selfish, her decision to save him—not selfless, not like Alistair wants to believe.
"It does, to me. There—there's been so much death and destruction. It just makes me feel good that at least we were able to save something, no matter how small." Every word he says makes the guilt dig in deeper, and Tali worries that she'll begin to cry, with the way that the sandy, gritty warmth is prickling behind her eyes.
"I-I'm glad, Alistair. But I…didn't do it to—I didn't—" For all her stuttering, though, Alistair seems only to grow more confident in his own words, to stand taller, straighter.
"I know there's a lot that you've lost, too. And I know you didn't do it just for me." This time, as he talks, he's the one who reaches out and takes her hand, like it's a tether. "I just wanted to tell you that I appreciated it. It needed to be said. I needed to say it."
There's a question, or maybe a request, or an offer, in his voice, couched behind his words, but Tali can't quite decipher it. Everything feels so heavy, and there's too much to carry.
"Thank you," is all she says, but she hopes he understands. She thinks he does—he nods, eyes still locked with hers, and lets the air hang around the two of them. Until, that is, he remembers that they have somewhere to be.
"Right. Good. Now that the warm, fuzzy part of the day is over and done with—" she tries not to think that maybe he's a little reluctant to let go of her hand as he turns away from her and toward the doors— "we can get back to the ritual dismemberments." When Tali snorts out a little laugh before she can stop herself, he looks back at her. There's a smile on his lips, too, and it dimples his cheek, right at the center of one of his many freckles that have cropped up since they've been on the road.
"What?" he asks, and Tali just shakes her head. "Oh, I forgot. It's not Tuesday, is it?"
When Teagan said that the village wanted to thank them before they went on their way, he meant it. Meeting him on the steps of the Chantry is hard work, with the square as crowded as it is. There is one open spot, though, a place they all avoid, where the stones are blackened and cracked, and the air still smells vaguely of burned flesh. Savreen thinks it might always.
"We are all indebted to you," Teagan says when they reach him, taking Savreen's hand firmly, clasping it tight before pressing a kiss to her knuckles. She tries not to think of the days when he numbered among her suitors, but it is difficult with Ranjit behind her. As soon as Teagan releases her hand, though, she clears her throat and turns, speaking half to him, and half to the villagers gathered there in the square.
"It is my companions together you should be thanking," she says, gesturing to the others stretched out in a semblance of a line behind her. Leliana, Savreen notices, plays the part of beatific savior well, leaning down to accept a flower from a little child who reaches out with chubby arms. "I am no more responsible alone than any of you yourselves." Jowan grins nervously, not meeting Savreen's eyes as she continues scanning the others of their party. "And, truthfully, all we did was to assist you in the defenses you had already put in place." There's a hint of a sparkle in Sten's eyes, though there is no smile on his face, and it makes him look both contemplative and content. She doesn't look at Ranjit. Turning back to Teagan, his bright smile catches her off guard.
"It is only a true leader who would say that." Something inside Savreen bristles—she doesn't say these things because of any expectation that she should, she says them because without everyone around her, she knows they would have failed. But she holds her tongue. It wouldn't do to argue with the man who is standing there thanking her, celebrating her, in front of the people of his Bannorn and his brother's Arling.
"You are too generous, Bann Teagan," is what she says instead, her face drawn into a practiced smile that she's sure none of the others would recognize as fake. Except Tali, of course, who struggles to modulate her own expression, standing on Teagan's other side. That makes Savreen smile for real, even as the frustration creeps through her.
"What say you, people of Redcliffe?" the Bann calls, turning out and looking over the crowd spread in front of them. The instant he finishes speaking, the people begin cheering, clapping. A few throw flowers up toward the Chantry stairs. When Savreen's eye catches Morrigan's, she notices that the witch's face is aggressively impassive, and that alone makes her smile more. The crowd slowly quiets. "The people know who to thank, my lady. We will remember the Wardens and their allies always."
"What will you do now, Uncle Teagan?" Alistair asks, leaning around Tali's shoulder. Teagan's smile falters a little, and as he glances up to the castle, up atop the red-rock cliffs, it's clear why. Eamon, still sleeping. But he recovers quickly, a man of the people.
"We will rebuild," he says, to a wave of applause. "We will weather what comes." It's not enough for Alistair.
"The Blight will come," he warns, his voice grim and urgent. "To rebuild is a fine goal, but don't neglect the notion of escape." Teagan's mask doesn't slip this time as he responds.
"The castle will hold, no matter what. It has stood the test of three Blights already. I and my brother will protect our people."
"Your brother—what will you do?" Tali's face is an open book, writ with her concern.
"With Wynne staying to watch over him, I have every confidence that his condition will improve. What's more, my sister intends to send out her knights to search for a cure." A cure. Savreen knows exactly what cure he means, the fabled urn containing Andraste's ashes.
"If that doesn't work—" Savreen begins speaking in a hushed tone, but Teagan shakes his head.
"It will work. It must." Savreen is acutely aware of the crowd looking on, watching them. Their exchange has gone on too long, they are growing restless.
"When our allies number enough," she begins again, changing tack, "we will still need to face the Landsmeet, with or without Arl Eamon. Can we count on your support, Bann Teagan?" This is more acceptable. The man smiles and inclines his head before speaking.
"You can always count on the support of the Guerrin family. But with any luck, it will be Eamon you return to find after your trip to Orzammar." The name of their destination makes Savreen's stomach clench, and now her smile falters. Teagan letting slip their destination in front of all of Redcliffe makes her wary. She doesn't know who to trust, or who could have heard him, and she's been hoping to keep their movements as secret as possible. But she clears her throat and straightens her expression, returning the smile to her face.
"No matter where we go," she says pointedly, speaking again to the crowd as much as Teagan, "we will be sure to return to Redcliffe." Another cheer rises up above them all, and finally, Teagan and the villagers bid the Wardens and their friends farewell.
The climb up out of the valley fills Savreen with a jittery kind of anxiety. She wants to be away, on the road, far from prying eyes. Acute awareness of the traitor—or traitors—among the Arl's staff follows her, and she cannot put it from her mind, no matter how hard she tries, not even when they leave the valley, not even as they continue to walk, not even as the sun begins sink in the sky. Not even when they pitch their tents that night, miles from the village. She's sure Loghain still dogs their steps, through whatever means he can muster.