"So who do you think is behind all this, then, Morrigan?" Alistair asked over his shoulder as the party left the camp.
To Zevran's right, the Warden gave a tiny sigh.
"Why do you ask me," the witch snapped, "when there are two mages here?"
"Oh, come on. Isn't it obvious? Rhodri's spent the last twelve years in the Circle, while you've been out and about your whole life."
"And you suppose all mages in Ferelden outside of that pestilential cage you call a Circle know each other?"
Alistair shrugged. "Your mother's the Witch of the Wilds. That must have attracted a certain type of… well…–"
"I would be very careful about the next words I chose were I you," Morrigan cut across him icily. "Especially if you believe I keep company with someone who has an army of undead."
Zevran stifled a snort as Alistair gulped.
"You know what? Never mind."
Rhodri hummed pensively. Zevran looked up at her; she was squinting and counting on her fingers. One, two… she shook her head. Three– slight pause… she shook her head again, smiling into the bargain. She gave a rather satisfied-sounding sigh and dropped her hands back down.
"Erm… Rhod?" Alistair broached uneasily from behind. "I don't suppose you'd know… anyone?"
She shook her head. "I did wonder for a moment, but it turns out I don't know many necromancers, even distantly. Most mages hate it because it has too much abstract mathematics, and necromancy has a bad reputation anyway. The ones I do know wouldn't do something like this. Well, I don't think so, anyway."
The Templar's eyes widened a little. "Oh. Right. Well, that's… good to know."
Silence fell, and the party descended the hill. The mid-morning sun, and the heat that would have offset the chill in the air, was shrouded behind a dense layer of wretched Fereldan cloud that Zevran cursed all the way down to the stretch by the Redcliffe windmill.
From further down the hill, Bann Teagan shouted out to the Wardens and waved. He jogged– that pace was enough to turn the man red– uphill and Rhodri guided the party to him until they met in front of the windmill.
"Bann Teagan, good morning again." She inclined her head politely. "I have gathered some of my party and we intend to enter the castle now to examine the source of the undead."
The Bann nodded, panting noisily.
"Yes," he gasped. "Yes, I– I'd planned to enter the castle myself. I can help you there." He pointed at the windmill behind him. "Inside the windmill is a secret passage into the castle that only my family knows about. I have a– Maker's breath!"
Zevran had already turned before the man's index finger could finish crudely extending (again) , and caught sight of a frazzled noblewoman running toward them all, accompanied by a handful of guards mired in various degrees of exhaustion.
"Teagan!" she hitched her skirts up and bolted the last way until she was close enough to touch the man. "Thank the Maker you're alive!"
The Bann pressed a hand to his heart. "Isolde, are you all right? What's happening?"
The woman named Isolde shook her head. "I do not have time to explain. I slipped out of the castle as soon as the battle was over, and I have to return now. You must come back with me, Teagan!" She glanced over at the rest of the party and then pointedly added, "Alone."
Rhodri clapped her hands delightedly and strode over to them. "Oh, this is most convenient! We were about to go into the castle as well to investigate. Shall we venture forth together?"
The noblewoman's eyes narrowed as they drifted over to the Magewarden.
"Who is this, Teagan?" Her voice was soft and dangerous, and in the absence of an immediate reply from the Bann, a noise of confusion issued from Rhodri.
"Wh-? Oh. Oh!" She gave a loud, jovial laugh. "There is no need to be jealous, Madam! Rest assured, I'm not trying to steal your husband." She smiled warmly and gestured at the astonished man in question. "Bann Teagan here is old enough to be my father!"
Zevran turned just in time to see Alistair clap a hand over his mouth, and a hushed silence fell over the group. The woman stared like Rhodri had slapped her- or, and it struck Zevran as the more likely case, like she was going to slap the Warden.
"Teagan is not my 'usband!" she hissed.
Zevran bit his lip as Rhodri's face fell into a pensive frown.
"Oh," she said blankly. "Really? My apologies, I thought because you were standing so close to him, but you must just be good friends or– well, never mind- agh!"
The Warden stumbled back, clutching a freshly-smacked left cheek and sporting eyes like saucers.
"Maker's tits," she exclaimed at the party, "she just hit me! Did you see that?" Rhodri gaped at the woman, who had slipped out of the Bann's grasp and appeared to be moving in for a second go until Alistair darted over and put himself in front of her.
"Don't you remember me, Lady Isolde?" Alistair said urgently. His enormous body made it impossible to see the woman's expression, but the contemptuous tone to her reply said quite enough.
" You?" she spat. "Alistair? Of all the… why are you here?"
Rhodri–carefully- moved Alistair to the side and stepped forward. "Madam, I ask you to mind your tone when addressing my party," she barked warningly.
The Templar looked at her with a pleading weariness.
"Rhod," he murmured to her. "Just… let me handle this one, all right?"
The Warden's face softened. She nodded once, firmly. "Of course. I'll be here if you change your mind. Please go ahead."
Rhodri went behind him and resumed her place beside Zevran, not speaking again while the Templar carried out short, quick talks with Isolde and the Bann.
Zevran caught mentions of yet more monsters (were they related to Lady Isolde?), and someone by the name of Connor who had supposedly gone mad but was, according to this woman, absolutely not responsible for the goings-on in the castle or its jurisdiction. What an unhappy coincidence.
When they separated with a nod, the Bann approached the Warden and held out a ring to her. It looked remarkably similar to the trinkets the Antivan newly-rich bought by the fistful– in this case, like someone had welded a sovereign onto a wedding band. Perhaps the finery targeting that uncouth demographic was all the Fereldan nobles could afford.
"Here, Grey Warden," Teagan said. "This ring will unlock the secret tunnel into the castle. I must go with Isolde."
Well, at least it had a use. It certainly wasn't cut out for a career as an ornament.
"Not to be rude," Rhodri began, cautiously sidestepping away from the noblewoman as she spoke, "but safety is in numbers. Surely it would be better if we travelled together."
"Connor does not do well with new company at present," Isolde sniffed. "We should keep our numbers small where we can. You will be safe enough entering via the windmill."
The Warden waved a hand. "I'm not worried for us, Madam. My party is highly proficient and ready for anything. Unless you and the Bann are secretly mages, however, you do not appear well equipped to deal with unrest."
The noblewoman's fists clenched. Alistair waved– or rather, flailed his hands– to get their attention.
"They'll be fine," he said to Rhodri quickly. "Let's just get out of here and we'll meet them inside."
The Warden sighed. "This really seems very unwise, amicus, but you know them best. If you're sure, I will take us through the windmill."
He nodded fervently. "I'm very sure. Lead on."
§
"Well," the Warden said slowly, peering around the dingy, dripping tunnel. "This is certainly… an interesting place."
Zevran kept his mouth firmly shut. Especially as the party passed a cluster of cobwebs forming a silken lean-to against a broken crate. Could the troublemaking entity summon an army of spiders if it ran out of corpses? Surely it was better to let the nobility deal with insect woes on their own, especially when insects were so often filled with nasty fluids that stained brand new gloves. Like Zevran's spiffing leather additions, for example, boasting simple but wonderfully neat stitching, and lined with a toasty wool blend.
And, Rhodri had assured him as she paid Mr. Bodahn, acquired at a substantial discount.
Zevran ignored the glaring fact that he had nearly died from both laughter and shock at the mention of the original price.
In the tunnel, though, where the paid-for gloves were and Bodahn's exorbitant prices were not, Alistair hummed low under his breath. "It's been a while since anyone's had to use it. I only came here once, myself, back when I was small."
"A pity you had not simply stayed down here," Morrigan said off-handedly. "There was a dank, isolated spot a short way back that would have suited you very well."
"Ugh," Alistair groaned. "I'd pay good money to stuff you into that little gap and leave you there. Or in the prison cells up ahead… mmm, actually, if there's a spare cell, I might just–"
"You think I would not imprison you first–"
"If it's all the same to you both," Rhodri walked backwards, fixing them with a playfully pointed smile, "I'd rather we kept the cells free for any offenders we find. Assuming we don't kill them in self-defence first, anyway."
The matter settled– or rather, put on hold with a series of glares and eyerolls between the squabblers, Zevran looked to the front again. They had almost reached the end of the tunnel, and if his ears didn't deceive him, there was life in the room ahead. His flesh creeped; the sound of footsteps indicated it was people in motion, and the unnatural shamble-lurch gait was unique to the horde of undead from last night.
That explained the foetid stench, too . It was, at least, cooler underground than it was up on the surface, but nothing stayed pristine at this temperature for long. Or even halfway bearable, if the smell was anything to go by.
He chuckled weakly. "More of those creatures ahead, I think. This place is full of them, no?"
Rhodri spun back around, staff at the ready, and strode ahead of Zevran.
"Stay behind me, please. Carefully does it… Formator, but it smells like the morning after a Nevarran house party in here." From behind her, he could see the Warden waving a hand in front of her face. "This place would do well with a little soap and water, or at least some incense. My stars!"
They opened the door into the first room, and the stink in its fullness would have made the mabari weep. Even Alistair, whose body odour rivalled that of Jeppe's, had started to gag.
The sight wasn't much better, come to that. The corridor was a boulevard of prison cells, and square in the middle were some ten or more of the revolting corpses, who had become very aware of the intrusion. The polluted air filled with cries and whistling as flaps of grey skin whipped (and occasionally blew away entirely!) in the breeze that their veerings made.
Toward them, no less.
It was quick, at least. Between the five of them, the beasts were down to one within a minute flat. The last one lingered up in the front of the room, and by the sounds of it was giving the occupant of the farthest jail cell quite the fright. Suddenly the crying made much more sense.
A lightning bolt– Zevran wasn't sure which of the mages had summoned it– killed the beast dead, and he, being lightest on his feet, made it to the prisoner first.
Haggard as the fellow was, he couldn't have been much older than twenty, wearing what Zevran recognised to be apprentice mage robes. Filthy ones, caked in dirt, blood, and given the lack of facilities in the cell, substances that Zevran didn't care to identify.
"Dorian Ishal Pavus," Rhodri's voice rang down the hall behind him as she approached the cell, and a stream of Tevene followed which he knew to contain the words 'arse' and 'head,' and sounded rather threatening.
The relief on the man's face evaporated. He gasped like he had taken a knife to the chest, watching at the newly-arrived Warden with an open mouth.
"By all that is holy, Rhodri! I can't believe it! And-and you've-" His gleamless blue eyes didn't stop widening until the whites showed on all sides. "Maker, you're huge! Taller than me, now! And your shoulders... how-?"
The Warden looked every bit the disdainful noble, her shoulders back and head high as she looked down at him with unconcealed contempt. She held herself so stiffly Zevran could have sworn he heard the scrape of bone on bone as she twisted her head to look his way.
"Looks like I owe you a story, Zev," she muttered to him. The nervous urge to laugh was there, but Zevran couldn't force so much as a smile. He flicked his eyebrows and nodded; she turned back to the captive. "Explain yourself, and the magically-summoned undead."
"I didn't do it," he pleaded. "You have to believe me, Rhodri! I would never-"
She shook her head and held up a hand. "I'm not obliged to believe anything you say, Jowan. It's on you to give a compelling argument, and I would advise you to make this one truthful."
"I'm not behind any of this, I swear," he gasped. "I was hired by Teyrn Loghain to poison the Arl, and that's why he is sick, but I never started this! I was already imprisoned when all this began."
Zevran bit down on his lips. Some drama at last! It was all he could do to keep an 'ooh' from escaping him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rhodri squint exasperatedly, and a furious noise from Alistair drew his gaze back a little further.
"Listen," Jowan entreated quickly, "I think I know what's causing this." He seemed to take Rhodri's lack of an interruption as an invitation to push on:
"When Teyrn Loghain hired me, I was sent to the Arlessa under the guise of being a tutor for her son, Connor. He started showing… signs," (he said the word so meaningfully his head bobbed a little) "and she wanted a mage to teach him how to keep it all quiet."
Alistair let out a string of disbelieving noises. "Connor's a mage?" he exclaimed. "I can't believe it!"
"She was terrified the Circle was going to take him away- and they would have, of course. But Arl Eamon had no idea at the time, and she thought this way he'd never find out." Jowan sighed and shook his head. "I hadn't taught Connor much, but it's possible he did something to tear down the Veil and let spirits and demons get into the castle. They probably killed and possessed all these poor servants."
"These are servants?" Rhodri closed her eyes and shook her head. "Venhedis. I thought they were already dead. That poor child has been killing people he knows. Ae-ae-ae, Jowan…"
Zevran felt distinctly ill at ease as he cast an eye over one of the greying, rotten corpses by his feet. Its tattered clothing, with the dark red sash and darkwood buttons, resembled the garb he had seen Loghain's housekeepers in. Without thinking, he shuffled away from it and knocked into Rhodri, who had still been conversing with the prisoner.
He froze, still half-bent as Rhodri turned sharply in his direction. Her harsh expression melted away, and she gently put her hands on his shoulders.
"Easy there," she murmured, righting him with the carefulness one might have afforded a toddler. "Are you all right?"
Zevran ignored the strange pleasure of being regarded completely differently to Jowan and gave her a debonair smile. "Indeed I am. Forgive me, my Warden, I was not watching where I was moving."
Though Rhodri did not smile back, she gave his shoulder a small pat before turning back to Jowan. Zevran caught the prisoner looking at him in bewilderment, and he feigned nonchalance.
"The Arl is a decent man," Jowan continued after a moment. "But Teyrn Loghain told me he was a threat to Ferelden, and, well, I had no reason to doubt him. You know they don't tell us about anything that goes on out here in the Circle! And he promised me if I went ahead and poisoned him that he'd arrange for me to go back to the Circle, no questions asked. I never saw any sign that Arl Eamon was a danger, but I poisoned him anyway." He scrubbed his face with his hands. "I'm such a fool."
Rhodri heaved a sigh and folded her arms. Zevran knew that sympathetic look she sported now, having seen it in so many Crow recruits before it was either beaten out of them or they died of it. A quick glance at Jowan revealed that he had seen it, too.
"Listen, I never meant for it to end like this," he entreated. "I swear. Let me help you fix this."
Morrigan, who had been quiet for the entire exchange, surprised everyone when she spoke up.
"I say this boy could still be of use to us, Warden. But if not, then let him go." She shrugged. "Why keep him prisoner here?"
"I think I could at least help, if not completely fix things," Jowan said quickly, while Rhodri's silence permitted it.
Alistair rested a hand on the Warden's shoulder.
"He's your friend, Rhod," he murmured, "you know him best. Even if he is a blood mage, this is an unusual situation…"
"Jowan is not my friend," Rhodri answered, not unkindly (though Jowan winced in the background anyway). "But thank you Alistair, your opinion is noted."
The Warden turned to face Zevran. She spoke gently, "What do you think, then, Zev?"
"Oh." He chuckled uneasily. "I'm afraid my opinion will not help you much. I am no expert in such matters."
"You don't have to be," she replied. "You're a member of the team. Your opinion counts equally."
It took some effort for Zevran to contain his surprise, but with the aid of another chuckle, he stayed on track.
"As you like. Perhaps we need not be too hasty to kill him yet." He glanced at Jowan, who was staring at him intently. "If he truly meant us harm, I imagine he would have done something by now."
She nodded to the party and turned back to Jowan.
"This area is safe for now," she said. "You'll stay here until we've cleared out the rest of the castle. You may be able to assist later."
Jowan nodded miserably. "Then I'll wait. If you need anything… well, you know where to find me."
The Warden had already turned away, and as the man's face started to crumple, secondhand embarrassment forced Zevran to look away as well.
They were halfway to the door, weapons at the ready, when Jowan called out again.
"Rhodri, one more thing. Please."
She looked over her shoulder. "Speak, then."
The pitiful man gripped the iron bars with his fingers. "What became of Lily? Did they hurt her?"
Zevran had already stepped away from the Warden before he'd fully noted the shift in the air. He ignored the disappointment blooming sick-cold through his guts as she spun around, nostrils flaring and hard eyes fixed on the cell she'd left behind.
The pang of sympathy for the rest of the party, though, he allowed to remain. The bloody fools stood there– right in front of her– like effigies, watching her inquisitively and being the perfect targets for the assault that would shift them out of her path.
Zevran smiled to himself with a grim sort of satisfaction as he reclaimed his knife from between the man's ribs. Since he had forced himself to stop fighting against the Crows and accept his lot, the voice in his head that screamed distractingly loudly on kill assignments had grown quieter. He couldn't tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing.
A good thing at this moment, perhaps. The other recruit he had been paired off with, a spring-loaded bundle of elbows with the worst timing known to man, was no help. The rooftop jump ended up with her landing on a pile of crates, knocking herself unconscious and alerting the mark and anyone near the alley. And, of course, only awakening now, after Zevran had done all the work covering for her, cornering the mark, and neutralising him.
Teacher Giuliana's voice from behind had Zevran standing upright and turning to watch her with a smooth grin. She was apt to reward a good kill, and this had been his best so far, especially given the circumstances. His thoughts drifted to a cask of wine, perhaps even a few silvers for supplies to mend his boots.
Zevran didn't move out of her way as she strode over with that snarl on her face. Why would he? She always strode, always frowned, always punished when someone did the job wrong. His partner was in for it, no question about it, but not him.
She was still like that by the time she got to Zevran, and he had barely finished inclining his head to her when her hard, scarworn hand belted him hard enough to send him sideways.
He peeled his back off the cobblestones and rubbed his cheek, watching after the teacher who, now that her path was unobstructed, was making for his partner. The shock stung more than the pain of the blow itself, and the anger that he hadn't expected it stung even worse than that.
Zevran forced looseness in his muscles on the party's behalf, a part of him wishing even Alistair would take the hint and relax before the fist– or spell– came. He watched the hand of Rhodri's he could see, scanning for the first twitch of motion.
… No?
Nothing at all?
Rhodri's face softened briefly as she redirected her gaze from Jowan to the listless blockade in front of her. Her hand hung unused at her side.
Zevran allowed himself one single moment to enjoy the relief when the Warden quietly, calmly said, "Excuse me, please. I need to pass through."
Oh, they got out of the way fast enough at that, but what entitlement! Not even Jowan was shrinking away! No hands brought up to protect themselves, no flinching. Built from head to toe with the expectation that she wouldn't harm a hair on their heads.
He realised his jaw hung slightly agape behind his sealed lips, and replaced it.
The Warden drew up in front of the prisoner with a curled lip and a good half a hand's height on him.
"Well, Jowan," she said silkily. "You did trick the poor Chantry sister into helping you destroy your phylactery. And then, upon being caught in the act by the First Enchanter, the Knight-Commander and several Templars, you proceeded to use the blood magic you swore you'd never dabbled in to crush everyone to the ground."
Her nose wrinkled in a snarl. "You selfish brute! What do you think has become of her after your behaviour? I hope you were lying to me when you said she has a weak constitution, because if she isn't in Aeonar, she is undoubtedly dead!"
Jowan's eyes, which had been looking watery for the entire confrontation, had now advanced to pouring. He clapped a hand over his mouth, shoulders crashing down into a mighty, heaving sob when Rhodri's loud 'AH-AH!' and insistent finger-snapping brought it all to a halt.
"Don't you weep," she growled. "Don't you dare weep. You swore to me, in front of her, that you loved her. That she was the one you'd marry and escape with to live… ugh…" she waved her hand dismissively, "some magic-free, bucolic fucking wet dream in the arse-end of the country.
"But when it came time to prove your devotion to her, or at least take responsibility for your actions, you left her– and others you had tricked into helping you," she added in a clenchjawed hiss, "to die like dogs! You have no right to cry for her. No right to think of her. Nothing."
Rhodri tipped her chin forward and spat at his feet. "Disgratia. You shame me."
Zevran was moving, somehow, back out of the way as the Warden turned on her heel and left the tear-streaked prisoner. To their credit, Alistair and Morrigan were far quicker at clearing a path this time. Not swift enough to avoid the wrath of the Crows, but standards were evidently lower on the outside.
Given the evidence of the last few minutes, it would likely have been perfectly all right to depart the room walking beside Rhodri. Optimal, even: the Warden liked sameness, and sameness was Zevran on her left.
At the same time, though, it made sense not to seek opportunities to be made into a punching bag, which could happen at the hands– or fists, rather– of even the most unlikely candidates. Perhaps that was why she had equipped him with healing potions galore.
When the indecision felt worse than choosing one way or the other, Zevran strode after her until he was walking at her side– with an extra step's distance between them. The other two– one smirking and the other wide-eyed– trailed after them without a word.
§
"I hope Redcliffe Castle isn't usually this full of such nasty things," Rhodri remarked as they made short work of yet another drove of enraged corpses.
"I will certainly be leery of any invitations I receive from this establishment in the future," Zevran quipped.
Rhodri's jovial laugh quickly turned to a loud yelp as she opened one of the doors off to the side and a blood-curdling scream came out. She recoiled violently enough to stagger a few steps, clutching her ears and grimacing like she was being flayed alive.
"Enough," she shouted, voice climbing with each syllable. "Enough-ENOUGH- ENOUGH!"
The source of the noise– a young human woman who, it seemed, was hiding in the room– fell silent immediately.
"Please, don't hurt me!" she begged. Already cowering, she sank to her knees as Zevran and the other companions stood peering over Rhodri's shoulder in intrigue.
Rhodri peeled her shaking hands off her ears and held one up. "Calm yourself, Ser, we're not going to hurt you," she said weakly.
"I'm s-sorry," she stammered wildly. "I-I'm just so scared! There are monsters everywhere!"
Rhodri nodded. "Well, you're safe here with us. We are two Grey Wardens," she indicated herself and Alistair, "and our fellow party members are also most formidable."
The woman let out a shuddering sigh and let Rhodri pull her to her feet. "Thank you. I'm Valena, the Arlessa's maid. Is she all right? Where is everyone?"
The companions' eyebrows raised collectively at the mention of her name.
"Valena? Ah! The blacksmith's daughter!"
Her eyes widened. "You know my father?"
Rhodri beamed and nodded. "This is very convenient. I promised him I'd find you! He'll be so pleased to know you're all right. We've cleared out everything up to this point, so you can safely escape through the dungeons. The Arlessa is in the castle, and we will speak to her directly, but for now you need to get to safety. She can come and find you when all this is over."
Valena nodded quickly. Gasping her thanks, she bolted away down the corridor. The companions (sans Morrigan) shared a satisfied nod as they proceeded into the hall.
Zevran wasn't sure where his eyes should stay when he was greeted with the sight of Bann Teagan gyrating and handwaving like a jubilant drunk in front of a small, surly-looking boy. Lady Isolde was standing behind the child, blanched and visibly trembling even from a distance.
When the child caught sight of them, Teagan's body went limp and he dropped to the floor, awake but lying still.
Rhodri raised an eyebrow, looking nowhere near as perturbed as Zevran felt.
"I… see," she said slowly. "So we've been re-murdering your staff while Bann Teagan thrills you both with a dance number."
The child looked less than impressed. "Are these our visitors, Mother? The ones you told me about?" His voice was harsh and menacing, and not at all natural for a person of his age or stature.
Isolde flinched a little. "Y-yes, Connor."
Connor? Oh, dear.
"What are they, Mother?" he hissed. "I can't see them well enough!"
"They are humans, Connor," she replied softly. "Like you and me." She glanced at Zevran and added, "And an elf. We have them here in the castle as well."
The boy gave a high, cruel laugh and clapped his hands.
"Oh, I remember elves," he crowed, "I had their ears cut off and fed to the dogs. The dogs chewed for hours! Shall I send it to the kennels, Mother?"
Zevran had heard similar threats before, but it was the first time he had been sure it would have occurred (and at the command of a child, no less), had the party not actually culled the poor, necrosed beasts on the way upstairs.
He almost jumped as Rhodri turned around and forced him behind her with one hand. Her four fingers wrapped tightly around his arm, and were all that kept him from stumbling altogether.
"Nobody and nothing will put a finger on him," the Warden barked the pronoun forcefully, "or any other member of my party, demon."
She reclaimed her hand, and a throb preceded the blood pumping back into the rest of his arm.
"Please stay behind me, Zev," she murmured to him. Easily done; it hadn't occurred to him to do anything but stand there, resisting the urge to check his ears were still attached.
At that moment, the child's head snapped back as though he had just been struck across the face. Isolde ran to him, and he watched up at her fearfully.
"Mother?" he gasped. "W-what's happening? Where am I?"
Isolde snatched the child into an embrace and looked pleadingly at Rhodri. "Grey Warden, I know how this must look, but he is not responsible for his actions!"
Zevran heard Rhodri tsk loudly.
"Wonders never cease," she snapped. "A young child who is possessed by a demon is not responsible for his actions. Were you a town crier before you became the Arlessa?"
She shook her head, not addressing Zevran and Morrigan's snorts of laughter or the reproachful "Rhodri!" from Alistair.
"How long have you been keeping this a secret, Lady Isolde?" the Warden demanded. "Your castle staff are dead twice over because of your negligence! The only survivor we found was your maid, Valena, hiding in a broom cupboard!"
"Connor didn't mean to do all this," Isolde insisted tearfully. "It-it was that mage, the one who poisoned Eamon! He started it! He summoned the demon! Connor was only trying to help his father!"
As Rhodri scoffed, the boy, newly enraged, growled and shoved his mother away. The assembly of guards in the room about-turned in synchrony, as if responding to an unspoken order, and made for the party, leading to a high-pressured scuffle that ended quickly when Rhodri and Morrigan both cast a spell that sent the guards to the floor in a deep, paralytic slumber and Zevran and Alistair finished them off.
Zevran looked around, frowning. "Where did the boy go?"
"He is hiding in his room," Isolde said quietly. "He is afraid."
Alistair went over to Teagan. "This is a dire situation. The demon possessing Connor could easily lay waste to all of Redcliffe if we don't take action right now."
Isolde let out a cry. "You're going to kill my boy?"
He sighed heavily. "I don't see any way around it, Lady Isolde. He's an abomination, and a dangerous one at that."
"I would be inclined to disagree," Morrigan spoke up now. She smirked as all eyes went onto her.
"There is a way, but it will not be to your liking." She shrugged with one hand. "The prisoner is a blood mage, is he not? He would have the means to send someone–" she gave Rhodri a meaningful look– "into the Fade to kill the demon and free the boy.
"Such magic has a high price, however. The caster would require a significant amount of blood to carry the spell through." Morrigan turned to Isolde and ran her eyes up and down the woman. "By my estimate, one adult human would suffice."
"Then let Jowan do it," Bann Teagan said firmly. "His punishment was coming. Let the spilled blood have a use, for once."
"The prisoner will be casting the spell," the witch retorted, rolling her eyes. "How do you suppose he will keep the volunteer in the Fade once dead?"
As the Bann scowled, Isolde spoke up again.
"Then use my blood," she said resolutely. "There is no question. Kill me and save Connor."
"No, wait." The Warden raised a hand.
Morrigan's lip curled. "Warden, if the woman is willing to die–"
"She need not." Rhodri retrieved two flasks of lyrium from her satchel and held them up. "This is almost enough on its own to enter the Fade. I'm not sure how much blood would be needed when supplemented with this, but surely not enough to seriously harm anyone."
She waved to get the Bann's attention. "Have someone fetch Jowan, if you please."
Teagan waved a hand at one of the guards, who disappeared and returned several minutes later with a subdued Jowan. In the relatively bright room, his cheeks looked even more sunken than they had in their encounter downstairs, and his huge eyes floated in their sockets.
"Rhodri? Did you get me out of here?" Jowan asked as the guard shoved him toward her. The forcefulness made him stumble a little, and Rhodri reached out and steadied him with the tips of her fingers.
"I did," she replied curtly. "Your chance has come to put some of this right. I need to enter the Fade, and you're going to help me get there."
Without even waiting for Jowan's response, she turned to Zevran. He snapped-to.
"Bellissimo?" He smiled and nodded attentively.
"Zevran, if you would be so kind, please take Bann Teagan and Lady Isolde out to the terrace for a walk in the fresh air and wait for someone to come and bring you back inside," she requested, gesturing at the pair he was to escort.
"Why? What will you do?" Isolde asked at a near-shriek.
Rhodri raised an eyebrow at her.
"I will be doing what needs to be done to enter the Fade and kill the demon possessing your son," she said shortly. "It will be a confronting scene and the less likely we are to be interrupted by emotional outbursts from spectators, the better our chances are of succeeding. Please leave and let us do our work."
Isolde looked displeased, especially at the mention of 'emotional outbursts,' but made no motion to object. After a moment's silence, she nodded gingerly.
"Very well," she relented. "Please do what you can."
"I will, Madam," Rhodri replied with a nod. She looked over at Zevran. "I know the dogs are dead, but if you have any concerns for safety, amicus, come back indoors. Just… keep them away from this room unless it's an emergency. I doubt this will take more than half an hour."
He nodded smoothly, and couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of irritation as his curiosity built. Repellent as blood magic sounded, there was an undeniable intrigue to it. No doubt there was quite a spectacle to witness if he had to keep people away from it.
"Certainly," he said with a smile, turning to Teagan and Isolde. "Shall we, my Lord and Lady?" He gestured at the huge doors.
The nobles shared an uneasy look.
"Y-yes, I suppose so," Teagan accepted, offering his arm to Isolde and leading her out of the room.
Zevran turned back and saw Rhodri give him a wan but appreciative smile.
His eyes drifted down to the lyrium flasks in her hand, and the words came out before he could stop them.
"You… are sure you do not need anything, my Grey Warden?" He opened a small purse hanging off his hip and started digging into it. "Perhaps you might take some of the healing poultices in case the lyrium–"
He paused as a long, thin hand came into his periphery and hovered near his. He looked up and saw the Warden watching him with a rather firm smile.
"Thank you, Zev, but those are yours. And as I said before, my lyrium affliction is not for you to worry about. I mentioned it at the time to fully assure you that my staff was safe to touch. Nothing more."
It was hard to know if 'not for him to worry about' was one of those embarrassing attempts at martyrdom to avoid inconveniencing others, or if it was simply a polite way of saying it was none of Zevran's damned business. For the interim, it felt wise to at least presume the latter.
He nodded with the tiniest flourish. "Of course. Do please excuse my presumption. I shall wait for your signal to return, then."
She nodded back; the finality to her smile evaporated. "See you in a little while," she said with a wave.
"Count on it, my Grey Warden." He waved back, sauntered out behind the nobles, and closed the door behind him.
§
A part of Zevran wondered how anyone could stand to be rich when it meant they had to suffer the company of people like the Lady Isolde. A handful of minutes strolling around the terrace revealed her, and Bann Teagan to a lesser extent, to be a vapid pair, fixated on the counterintuitive social mores that allowed them to blend in among the rarefied few in their echelon.
But really, what a thought. How anyone could stand to be rich? Truly? The clever majority of Zevran scoffed at his own ponderings, all too readily recalling the life of deprivation that had been his only weeks prior.
He was forgetting it already, it seemed, if this was the line of thinking he had. Oh, that wasn't good. Weak Crow, fed fat on a salary and gentle touches. What would he do when they found him again? Use his tears to clean the festering wounds after a month or two in the oubliette? Or would he simply pine away in there before the first day's end, his soft little heart crushed to bits because nobody had made him tea that morning?
He swallowed hard, shaking his head to unstick the thoughts, and turned his focus to the outside world. Teagan and Isolde were neck-deep in conversation- or perhaps it was an argument; it was hard to tell with these Fereldans at times.
"We will not have any choice now, Isolde," Teagan said wearily. "If Connor even survives-"
"Do not say that, Teagan!"
The Bann held his hands up in a peacemaking gesture. "Very well. But he will still need to go to the Circle. It will not be so awful as you think, I am sure." He quickly turned to Zevran.
"You… ah…" Teagan whiffled a hand in that way people did when they were trying to summon information out of thin air. Zevran chuckled inwardly.
"Zevran, my Lord," he supplied helpfully.
"Yes– Zevran," the nobleman butchered the pronunciation with his flat vowels and flaccid tongue, but Zevran overlooked it almost reflexively. One could expect nothing better from these cultureless people. "You travel with the Magewarden, do you not?"
"I do indeed."
"Perhaps you would tell us a little of what you know about her life at the Circle? It is not often we hear things from the side of the people living there."
Zevran nodded, a reflex built on decades of never saying no to a master, and he fished around for some snippets to feed these people. Ideally the truth, if he could manage it, but he hadn't known Rhodri for long, and it seemed things could be rather… hostile in there for children at the best of times.
"My Grey Warden is a mysterious one, but what I know I will gladly share. While she was there, the mages would ease into their early starts with a cup of sweet tea."
The beginnings of tentative ease appeared in their faces; he pressed on. "They walked the halls in soft, warm robes" (hardly a lie given how sweaty the Warden could get) "and devoted themselves to study." He raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I do not suppose they were coddled or blessed with a light workload, but the clever children did well enough for themselves. I take it Connor is a bright boy?"
Isolde and Teagan both nodded fervently.
"Oh, very much so," Isolde near-exclaimed. Of course she did; all the nobles with an inch of fondness for their children were convinced these little people were nothing short of prodigious.
Zevran smiled in spite of himself. "Then I imagine your son will cope very well."
The way Isolde and Teagan hung off his words was remarkably gratifying. It was very comfortable, if foreign, to have such an effect on human nobles, and with any luck, being in their good books might keep him out of the firing line should anything go wrong.
After a moment's silence, Isolde nodded. "Mmm. Perhaps, then."
The untalkativeness they slipped back into was comfortable enough, with Zevran being called on occasionally to answer questions about the situation in the castle. Though the answers undoubtedly troubled Teagan and Isolde, they seemed reassured by his calm, easy reminders of the attending members' excellent qualifications.
Some time later– how long precisely was a mystery– a guard appeared and ushered them back into the castle. Or at least she would have, had Isolde not scrambled inside ahead of her. Teagan gave Zevran an embarrassed look that Zevran returned with an untroubled smile.
"Perhaps we should follow her, no?" he suggested, motioning to fall into a jog. Teagan nodded vigorously, seeming pleased Zevran had said it, and they hurried in after her.
In the hall, Rhodri and Alistair stood patting the back of the boy, who looked rattled but remarkably whole, and certainly not any more demonic than most children his age. Morrigan had her back turned to the whole scene, fiddling away with some of the trinkets she had tied to her staff, and Jowan stood off to one side with one tattered sleeve rolled up, and was nursing the exposed arm with his other hand.
The only sign anything untoward might have happened were two sprays of congealed blood on the floor, one in deep red and the other almost black. Beside the latter of these lay the two lyrium flasks, and as the sound of the Warden coughing drew his attention, he caught a little of the same dark blood sitting in the corner of her mouth.
Zevran decided then and there, as per Rhodri's own request, to put it out of his mind. Why his stomach continued to plummet despite this verdict was beyond him, but before he could redouble his efforts to distract himself, Isolde let out a nerve-peeling shriek (which in turn had Rhodri yelping) and ran over to her son.
It was almost funny, the way both Wardens (though especially the Tevinter of these) caught sight of this stampeding woman and immediately fled from the boy's side to give her a comically wide berth. Maker's breath, she was a short, dainty Orlesian, not a bear. Her ancestors were the people who cried exhaustion when their arms tired from flogging their servants, and no doubt half her energy had been spent on the one slap she delivered to the Magewarden earlier.
Rhodri ended up orbiting out and around until she was standing beside Zevran. Accompanying her was a curious smell; more odour than fragrance, and metallic enough that it settled on his tongue. Lightning-struck earth, iron, and singed flesh, if he had to pin it down to something in particular.
He glanced at the Warden's face; her mouth had been wiped clean. He shelved all thoughts of lyrium and its related afflictions as best he could and breathed through his mouth.
"How was it for you, Zev?" she asked after a moment. Her voice had a soft rasp to it. "Were you safe out there? No trouble?"
Zevran gave her a broad, smooth smile. "Not a hint of a problem, my dear Grey Warden. I was the very picture of the charming host, and our charges were kept entertained for many a minute."
"Hah. And here I was getting ready to apologise for giving you the worst job." She gave him a skewed grin and shifted her weight from foot to foot like a duck.
He chuckled softly. "It made for an interesting change from my daily tasks with the Crows. Far easier work, too. I am in no hurry to complain."
"Mmm, I can imagine. Well, hopefully they'll let us go now. There's nothing more to do, and I'd trample the First Enchanter for a bath." The Warden paused and added, "Not really, of course. Just a figure of speech, you understand."
Surprising as it was to be notified of such a thing, it seemed less so given the person who had issued it. Zevran nodded. "But of course."
She looked relieved (she often looked that way when he made it clear he had understood her), and had opened her mouth to say something else when Bann Teagan spoke up again.
And of course, in keeping with the insatiable need nobles had for ordering people around, he had barely gotten his thanks out before putting the Warden on the spot with another request: to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes (surely that was a myth?) and take a pinch of said ashes in a last-ditch attempt to drag the Arl back from death's door. 'Nothing more to do,' indeed.
Morrigan rolled her eyes so hard at the Bann's entreaty that it was almost audible, and Alistair was hardly looking very confident about the whole thing either.
Rhodri, however, gave a shrug and nodded.
"We can keep an eye out for an urn as we travel through the country to rally troops to fight the Darkspawn, certainly. I don't suppose you could give us any more information on where we might find it, or what it looks like?" She tapped her thigh. "I hate to put too fine a point on it, but urns are everywhere, especially now."
The Bann proceeded, once he had gotten hold of a pen and paper, to write out the contact details for one Brother Genitivi, based in Denerim, whom Teagan guaranteed would have plenty of insights (never a good term when discussing a concrete need) on where the mysterious urn might be.
With their next moves made clear, they were almost ready to leave, until-
"Bann Teagan." Rhodri glanced at Jowan and then to the nobleman.
"Warden?"
"I am invoking the Right of Conscription against Jowan."
Alistair gaped at her. "What?"
Rhodri raised an eyebrow at him. "He's a blood mage, Alistair," she replied flatly. "Grey Wardens need non-Warden blood mages for certain tasks, and if they can't find one, they will often take a regular mage and make them practice it against their will." She pursed her lips. "You'll recall my Aunt Leandra mentioning that my Uncle Malcolm was one such victim. Jowan, however, has already chosen his path. He will be of use to us."
"I-I see," Teagan said with a stiff nod. "There is nothing I can say to that, but I do not imagine my brother will be pleased to be deprived of the chance to deal his punishment."
A wide-eyed Jowan turned to the Warden and began walking over to her. "Am I going with you, Rhodri?" he asked softly, hopefully almost.
Rhodri looked around sharply at him, and he immediately scuttled back again.
"No. You will remain here for now. You aren't going anywhere without speaking to Arl Eamon first."
She abruptly turned away from him again and faced the Bann. "We may have need of his skills at any time, and at very short notice. Please do not kill him, torture him, or deprive him."
Teagan's astonished look grew disapproving; apparently there was a limit to his upper-crust politeness, and no doubt the nature of the request itself was an unwelcome one.
Rhodri held up her hands in a calming gesture. "He need not be pampered, but he must be at his best. I would ask that you look past your anger for now, and if you're not motivated by the treaties to comply, you might recall that we helped you when we need not have, and are about to do so again." She gave him a pointed look. "It would be very well received if you did not make our task any harder than it already is."
When the Bann replied with one of the most begrudging nods in recorded history, Rhodri inclined her head appreciatively, and her attention went back to Jowan. She eyed him gravely. "This is your second chance. Don't even think of breaking my trust again."
"N-no, I promise-" he began to stutter, but Rhodri held up a hand to silence him, shaking her head.
"Your promises mean nothing now. Prove it."
Without another word, she beckoned to the party. As Zevran and the others followed her out, he caught a glimpse of weariness on her face that shuttered into that familiar harshness as he drew up beside her.
Was it better to pity her, or simply be pleased that her attachment to the mage swayed her? Weakness was likely the only thing that had stayed her hand when Zevran had tried to kill her himself. No, if ever there was a time to withhold the scorn usually due such things, it was now.
The party left.
Author's note for anyone who is curious: Rhodri shouts at the prisoner, "Dorian Ishal Pavus, if it's you in that cell I'm going to send you home with your arse glued to your head!"
Language notes
"Formator"- The name of the Maker in Tevene, lit. 'one who makes (by hand)'
"Disgratia!"- "(You are a) disgrace!" – Said to denounce or humiliate someone who has done something extremely shameful, inappropriate, or morally reprehensible, and it is rarely used because it often implies the misdeed has personally affected the one saying it, which Tevinters are loath to admit. This adds weight and believability to the words, however, and tends to leave a permanent stain on the accused's reputation.
Cultural notes
One of the most offensive things a Tevinter can do or have done to them is spitting. Owing to the heat in the country, Tevinters are fastidiously clean. Bodily fluids on the whole (including saliva and, depending on the context, sweat) are considered excreta once they are visible. To spit at someone's feet shows deep hatred or disgust and invariably changes the relationship, if it doesn't sever ties entirely. Spitting on their person is dehumanising (more for asserting dominance) and will often result in a brawl, at the very least.