Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel Comics, Dragon Age, Stephen King's Doctor Sleep, Hogwarts Legacy, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, "Redcap" Skyrim companion mod, or any of their related characters. Character Warrjen Zevonishki or "Zevon" is an homage to my favorite musician, long deceased, no disrespect intended, I included him because King dedicated the novel Doctor Sleep to his memory. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.
Rating: T
Spoilers: May contain spoilers for Doctor Sleep, Dragon Age Origins, Origins DLC, Awakening, and Dragon Age II, Dragon Age II DLC, Dragon Age Inquisition as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling. May also contain spoilers for Marvel movies, series, and/or comics, Harry Potter books, and WB Games' Hogwarts Legacy. Song lyrics included herein were used without permission.
Chapter Nineteen: Commander of the Grey
Loghain never once asked Wynne the questions in his mind about her amazing recovery from the terrible head injury she incurred during the final battle all the long way from the witch's hut to Lothering. But he thought about it a great deal. Morrigan said she was alive – and kicking, as she'd said – when she arrived there, but did that mean that Asha'Bellannar had not somehow resurrected her? No, it did not. But why would she have done? She had a use for him, if what she said about the Blight being her concern was true, as he was a Warden, but Wynne was no Warden. If she was dead when she fell, would the witch not have left her laying?
She did not like Morrigan, abhorred Jowan, and was apparently appalled by Redcap, although whether that was because he was rather savage or simply because he was at least ostensibly the captive of an apostate was hard to say. In all, Loghain almost wished she had died, although that was highly uncharitable, even for him. She was quite a useful sort, and she kept pace remarkably well. He just wished she'd stop glaring and spitting self-righteous words at everyone. She wasn't even happy with him any longer, since he had proven to be so accepting of apostates and maleficars.
They were still several miles outside of Lothering when they happened upon the merchant.
"Good day to ye, gentle people," the man said, bowing. "Felix de Groisboi, at yer service. The elf an' I were just traveling out Denerim way. I don't suppose you're headed that direction?"
Loghain shook his head. "Only as far as Lothering, for the time being. The army should be bivouacked there. I don't know how long we'll be staying, but probably for some time."
"Oh, well. That shoots the idea of traveling on together. I kind of liked the idea of having some rather powerful-looking traveling companions," Felix de Groisbois said. "Do you, perhaps, require any supplies? I have quite the array of goods for sale."
"Anything especially interesting? I don't have a great deal of coin on hand," Loghain said.
"I do have one thing that might pique your interest," Felix said, with his head tilted at a curious angle. He reached into his pack and withdrew a blue, cylindrical rod incised with runes and set with gems.
"I doubt I have enough coin for something like that, whatever it is."
"Honestly, I'll take whatever you're willing to give me. The idea of hauling it across all these open miles of bandit territory has me shakin' in me boots. It's not really worth much, but it looks rich, you know?"
"What is it?" Loghain asked, trying to be patient.
"Fella that sold it to me swore it was a genuine golem control rod. Only thing is, there's no golem to go with it. That's supposed to be down south somewhere, in a village called Honnleath. I don't even know where that is, and with the Darkspawn wanderin' about, I don't think I'll try my hand at findin' it. But… maybe that wouldn't be such a hardship fer the likes o' you lot?"
A golem control rod? Andraste's ass! There was a golem who fought alongside the army during the Rebellion, belonged to a mage named Wilhelm. Ferocious thing. Having one to fight against the Darkspawn seemed quite worth the extra miles, and of course Honnleath might need evacuating. It was very close to the Wilds, much closer than Lothering, though further from Ostagar as the crow flies. At the very least, the people there should be suitably warned.
"I'll take it," Loghain said, and emptied his coin pouch. He handed over the coin and Felix the Fat Boy handed over the control rod, with some evident relief. Even if the man was a charlatan, Loghain didn't begrudge the coin. He'd only carried about seven silvers in total. It was a lot if the thing was junk, but if it was real… Maker… the damned thing was priceless.
Elilia would laugh at him, and she wouldn't be the only one. He had to keep his expenditure quiet.
"Tell no one about this," he warned Redcap and the mages.
"Redcap. No. Tell," Redcap said.
"I've read of golems," Jowan said, eying the control rod. "Do you really think it could be real?"
"I knew a golem, once," Loghain said. "I think, given our current circumstances, it's worth the pittance I paid to find out."
"The activation phrase is 'dulef gar,'" Felix said. "Or at least, that was the words on the paper the man who sold it to me gave me. You have to point the control rod at the golem while you say them. Other than that, I don't really know anything about the thing."
"That… doesn't sound like proper Dwarven," Jowan said, frowning. "Golems are Dwarven constructs, right? Of course, I'm not exactly fluent, but I understand Dwarven fairly well… enough to get by, at any rate. At least, if I ever had any opportunity to encounter Dwarves."
Felix the Fat Boy shrugged expansively. "Those were the words he gave me. Maybe it's a dialect? Dwarves live all over the world, you know, in secluded little underground strongholds. They've probably developed apart from each other in all types of ways, thanks to the Darkspawn keeping them so harried. There's even Dwarves livin' under the oceans, so I've heard, though the thought of all that water overhead gives me the creepin' willies."
"No one actually knows whether those thaigs have or have not been taken over by the Darkspawn, but they probably have, since the Darkspawn travel all over the world through the underwater Deep Roads," Jowan said, seemingly lost in thought. "I suppose it could well be a distant dialect, although why a golem from some far away thaig would be here, so close to Orzammar, where golem construction supposedly originated, is a funny sort of question."
"Someone from another continent could have come over with it by airship, and left it here," Loghain said. "Perhaps they died before they went back."
"I suppose," Jowan said, but he sounded a bit doubtful.
"Well, however it is, I think it's worth checking out, at the least, especially since the people of Honnleath may need to be evacuated. The village doesn't have its own Bann and I would venture to guess that the man who is in charge of it is more concerned with his main holdings and his own skin than that little distant village on the bloody edge of nowhere. There's a mayor or some sort of village Head Man, I expect, but mayors of small villages generally don't have resources, like… soldiers."
"Are you going now?" Jowan asked.
"Not straight away," Loghain said. "I have to check in with the Wardens and the army, and my little boy especially. The situation here needs to be set straight before I can run off after a golem."
"One decent night's sleep in a tent with a bedroll would be most welcome, also," Wynne said. He shot her a glance. She did look bushed. Small wonder, as none of them had really gotten any sleep at all over the past few days, what with rain and fear of attack and nothing to put between themselves and the cold hard ground. None of them but Morrigan, that is, who had her own tent and bedroll in her enchanted pack.
"It's not much further, is it?" Jowan said, as they started on again. "I have to admit, I'm a bit nervous. I know you said the Wardens will take me in, but… what if they don't? There's lots of templars in Lothering."
"Don't worry, lad," Loghain said. "I think you'll find that they'll appreciate a little magical talent."
Jowan cleared his throat. "Apart from the blood magic, er… 'a little magical talent' is about all I have to offer. I was such a poor prospect that I was slated for the Rite of Tranquility. That's why I had to escape."
Loghain was genuinely surprised. "Really? That ice storm you threw at the Darkspawn in that first battle was quite ferocious."
"Well, I guess when life and death is in the offing I'm a little more effective than I would normally be. But I was never expected to pass my Harrowing."
"What's a Harrowing?"
"A test of a mage's ability, particularly their ability to withstand demonic possession. They thought me too weak."
"You're a blood mage."
"Yes."
"Have you been possessed by a demon?"
"No."
"Harrowing passed, then."
"It's only a matter of time!" Wynne said, in her usual haughty manner.
"I don't believe that," Loghain said. "Listen to me, lad – I don't have many dealings with mages, not because I don't like you lot but just because I don't encounter your kind that often. Blame the Chantry for that, I suppose. But I have had dealings with a blood mage in the past. She saved my little boy's life. I wasn't entirely happy with the way she did it, but it did the trick, so I can't really fault her results. If there was another way to do it I definitely would have preferred it, but unfortunately there wasn't. So I am very grateful that she was able to do what she did, no matter what it cost us. I don't think that anything in this world is pure evil except maybe Daemons and the Darkspawn. Blood magic can work for good."
"Do you include Orlesian Chevaliers and Thalmor Justiciars in that assessment?" Morrigan said, with a quirk of amusement on her lips.
He growled. "Both of those are people, and any person is capable of great evil, but no… they are not pure evil in and of themselves. They are only bone-headed arrogant and believe that they should be allowed to do whatever they want to whomever they wish."
Loghain's eyes were able to pick out a faint dark line on the horizon that did not look quite like Lothering as he knew it. Of course, he hadn't actually been there in quite some time, but if he wasn't mistaken, what he was seeing was the fringes of an army encampment, with burning campfires and many tents. He felt his spirits rise. This long hard march was almost over. He could drop Wynne off with the templars and mages and hopefully Morrigan too would go her own way. Jowan was a trifle irritating but nothing like the two women. There was a chance he would die in the Joining but Loghain had a good feeling about him. He didn't know why, exactly, but he thought he would survive. He wouldn't have offered the boy the option of joining if he didn't think his chances were better than average. As for Redcap, well, if he wanted to go with his so-called mistress he was welcome to do so, but Loghain wasn't going to allow her to take him against his will.
They reached the Lothering turn-off in good time, where they saw an army scout fleeing to bring word of Loghain's arrival to whomever was in charge. The Wardens, apparently, didn't need to be told, as several of them were already walking up the ramp to greet them.
"We felt your approach, Warden Loghain," Warden Gregor said, smiling his too-white smile through his bushy black beard. "We are relieved to see you are alive."
"You felt my approach?" Loghain said. But now that they were close, he realized he could feel them, too, a feeling in his blood not exactly the same as sensing Darkspawn, less of an unpleasant buzz in his veins and more of an exuberant clapping of palms.
"We have much to speak of in private," Gregor said.
"Duncan isn't with you?" a younger Warden said. Blond-haired and hazel-eyed, he looked remarkably like Cailan. Loghain remembered him as the young man who had presided over his Joining. He sounded quite anxious.
Loghain shook his head slowly. "The last I saw the Warden Commander, he was covering your retreat. He did not make it out?"
Warden Temmarian grimaced. "It seems not. But then, we rather thought we had lost you, also."
"Senior Enchanter Wynne and I were rescued by this young lady and her mother," Loghain said, gesturing to Morrigan. "They are powerful apostate mages. Without their aid, I do not see how anyone could have made it out of that killing field alive past the point when everyone was gone. If he didn't make it by now, I doubt very much he's on the way."
The young Warden looked angry at his words, but the other Wardens just looked resigned. "We thought as much," Gregor said. "We count ourselves lucky. We lost three Wardens, counting Duncan. It could have been far, far worse."
"It would have been far, far worse," Loghain said, "had Lady Wynne not held the Darkspawn back at Ishal. Nevertheless, that was not what I would call a stunning victory."
Elilia came running up out of the sea of tents and threw herself at Loghain. Morrigan's yellow eyes narrowed at the sight of her. "Where have you been? Why didn't you call and let me know you were all right?" she demanded.
"I have been receiving healing for injuries received, and making my way back to you, dear heart," he said dryly. "And I couldn't call because I lost my kjalla in the battle. Couldn't Loki keep you informed as to my condition?"
"All he would say is that you were 'probably' just fine," Elilia said, scowling. "He's been frustratingly calm this whole time."
"Then you should have realized I was probably just fine."
Bryce Cousland, Arl Wulffe, and Arl Leonas Bryland came up the ramp, with a great deal more dignity than Elilia. Still, they looked grave and worried.
"Loghain," Bryce said. "I'm glad you're all right. And you have Senior Enchanter Wynne with you. That is excellent news. Cailan has taken ill with fever. The healers can do nothing for him. Perhaps…?"
"I will go to him at once," Wynne said, and she headed down the ramp with the nobles. "Just keep that Revered Mother away from me."
Loghain looked at the Wardens. "It's not Blight sickness, is it?" he said.
Warden Gregor shook his head. "Many men took ill from the Blight," he said. "When we have the privacy to do so, we are preparing a Joining for them. It is the only chance they have of surviving. But His Majesty does not have the Blight. He seems to have taken ill at the tail end of the battle, and several soldiers had to help him off the field and into a luggage wagon. He was carried to Lothering that way. No one knows what is wrong with him."
"I think I may have an idea," Loghain said.
"I must call in to Weisshaupt about our current situation," Gregor said. "We must receive orders from the First Warden, and he must hand down a promotion to someone so that we have a new Warden-Commander." He turned away and touched the kjalla on his ear.
"Hello. Yes, this is Senior Warden Gregor Samsa of Ferelden, calling in a report on the current situation on the Blight front. Yes, I know I sound like an Anders, that's where I'm from originally, but I'm stationed in Ferelden, you nitwit. Just… put me in connection with someone in charge, eh? This is important, our Warden-Commander is dead."
"Hello, is this the First Warden? Oh, you're his secretary. Well, tell him Ferelden's Warden-Commander is dead but we have recovered our copies of the ancient treaties with the Dwarves, the Dalish, and the Mages. We stand ready to move as soon as we have proper leadership and orders."
Gregor was clearly on hold for a time, he stood impatiently. Then he snapped to attention. "Yes? Yes… wait, he wants us to report where? Montsimmard? By the gods, man, why? The Blight is in Ferelden! He can't want us to just up and leave! What? No, no, now, listen -" He jerked back and removed the small device from his ear and handed it to Loghain. "Perhaps you should try to talk some sense into the man."
Loghain fitted the kjalla over his ear. "Hello?"
"Whot? Who eez zis?" the voice on the other end said. The fruity unctuousness of that accent could only be Orlesian.
"Loghain Mac Tir," he said, quite loudly, hoping it was a bit too loud for the connection. "Warden Loghain Mac Tir, of Ferelden. Perhaps you've heard my name, in passing? What is this I hear about the First Warden ordering us to Orlais?"
"Zat ees your orders, an' you weel follow dem!" the voice said.
Loghain smiled. That smile could have been considered wolfish beneath his cold gray-blue eyes, but it had an edge to it that made it look very much like the blade of a wicked knife. "Now you listen here, Jacques. The battle is here, and no tin-pot dictator ten thousand miles away is going to order me away from it. So you take your orders and shove them up the First Warden's backside, where I'm sure you've got your head stuffed anyway. Ferelden can do just fine without the two of you."
The Orlesian burst forth with a torrent of Orlesian invective, basically to the effect that he hoped the Archdemon would burn Loghain's pitiful province to the ground and him along with it, but Loghain didn't catch much of it because he ripped the kjalla off his ear, tossed it on the ground, and stomped it hard.
The three Wardens looked at him, the two elder in shock, the younger with something like awe. Jowan looked uncomfortable but slightly impressed. Morrigan looked quite happy. Redcap seemed unaffected. Grace was fine with anything her master did. Elilia looked at him a bit quizzically but that was all.
"They wanted you to go to Montsimmard? Really?" she said.
"Really," he said. He turned to Gregor. "My apologies for the destruction of your kjalla. That was rather uncalled-for on my part. Also for making it sound as though I command the Fereldan Wardens when I do not. If you all wish to follow orders and report to Montsimmard as directed, I will not stop you. I, however, am staying here. If that makes me a rogue of the Order, that is perfectly all right by me."
He gestured at Jowan. "This young man is a talented mage. He wishes to join the Order. Or perhaps he doesn't, now that you're running away with your tails between your legs. Up to him." And Loghain walked down the ramp toward the sea of army tents. Grace and Elilia followed. One cool, amused look at the Wardens later, and Morrigan sashayed after them. Redcap bounded down the ramp, and with some indecision, Jowan followed after. He wasn't really much of a fighter, but he would find his redemption, if such a thing existed, in Ferelden, not Orlais.
The two older Wardens looked at each other with mirroring gape-mouthed expressions, then burst out laughing. They shrugged at each other, turned, and led Alistair down the ramp and back to camp.
The three noblemen were gathered outside the King's grand yellow tent. Loghain and Elilia met them there. "Any word? Where's Urien, anyway?"
"Snuffed it, in the battle," Wulffe said gracelessly. "He was courting a heart attack anyway."
"The Fereldan Landsmeet is growing thin," Leonas Bryland said. "Howe dead, his family disgraced, Urien dead, his heir dead and disgraced, and Cailan never called Eamon to the battle. I suppose that's a good thing. I don't see Eamon as such a great candidate for the battlefield, myself. Don't tell anyone I said that."
"Teagan probably would've done all right," Wulffe said. "And Cailan didn't call him up, either. We could've used the manpower. He didn't call up a lot of the Bannorn."
"A lot of the Bannorn didn't answer the call," Loghain said. "Or rather, they made excuses as to why they couldn't make it on time. But you're right, Cailan purposely didn't call up his uncles, and I think it's because he didn't want to share the so-called 'glory' with them. If he could have done away with me, he would've. In fact, he very nearly did."
He told them about Cailan's deliberate attempt to severely wound him. "If I hadn't been able to make my way to Lady Wynne, I most likely would have died on the field," he finished.
They were agog. "Why would he do something so bloody stupid and… and… reckless, and… and downright evil?" Bryce Cousland said at last.
"I haven't opened them, but I have letters from his lockbox that I think will show exactly what he's been planning. As soon as I can get this armor off I'll turn them over to you. Some Fereldan nobles may be implicated as well. I don't know how good the evidence is, but I also have a man – at least, I hope I still have a man – willing to testify that Cailan ordered him to stand down from his post the night of my wedding so that a man of his own could stand guard there. That man was the assassin who tried to kill me."
"Maker's balls!" Bryland swore.
"What Fereldan nobles do you think are implicated?" Wulffe said, more shrewdly.
"I have letters from Arl Eamon of Redcliffe and Bann Franderel of West Hill, as well as Bann Ceorlic, right here in Lothering. Not that he's ever actually in Lothering. Again, they may simply be letters, perfectly innocent, but I want them opened and read. They're mixed in with letters to and from Cailan and Celene Valmont the First."
"Why didn't you read them yourself?" Bryce asked. "If Cailan is playing around with 'Empress' Celene then that's a matter of Asgardian national security. That's your bailiwick entirely, General."
"I no longer hold any official rank or title."
The three men stared at him. Loghain drew himself up. "The night of the battle, just before the War Council, I joined the Wardens."
The men continued to stare in silence for a long moment, then Arl Wulffe said, "Dear gods, Loghain, I know exactly why you did it, but why in the name of the gods did you do it?"
Loghain crossed his arms over his chest. "My son will not grow up in a Blight-stricken Ferelden," he said. "I need all the proper tools available to ensure that doesn't happen. Now, if you'll excuse me, I haven't seen him in quite awhile. I want to reassure myself that he is all right."
He walked away, not even bothering to ask where the boy might be.
Somehow his feet led him directly through the sea of army tents to the small village tavern, where he found Zevon and Loki ensconced at the bar, both of them drinking epli juice. He leaned on the bar next to them. "Army rations not good enough for the two of you?" he said.
"Zevon fancies one of the serving girls," Loki said, with a bit of a smile. "We've been coming here for every meal since we got here, just so he can ogle her."
"She's very pretty!" Zevon said. "She's also very not interested. I can take a hint. Doesn't mean I have to stop enjoying the view, though, does it?"
"I don't think the reason she won't talk to you is because she's 'not interested,' necessarily," Loki said.
Zevon looked at him. "What do you know?"
"She's an apostate. She doesn't talk to anyone."
Zevon shot a glance at the pretty, dark-haired girl demurely wiping tables in the dining area. "Really?"
"Yup. Her younger sister, too. Her brother's in the army, he's the only sibling who's 'normal,' by standard definition. Their father was a Circle mage, he trained them well. They're no danger to anyone… you know, assuming no one attacks them. She really likes to talk. If you ask her name, I bet you could get her talking."
"Why don't you just tell me her name?" Zevon said.
"'Cause if you go up to her and call her by name, you'll weird her out. Just go and ask!"
Zevon got up from his barstool, a little reluctantly, and transferred to a chair in the dining area at a table the young woman was cleaning.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey yourself," she said.
"Might a gentleman ask a lady's name?"
"If there were any gentlemen or ladies in this pub, perhaps they might," she said, with a bit of a chuckle. "Anyway, my name's Hawke."
"Hawke? That's a… fierce name for a lovely woman."
"'S my family name. First name's Felicity."
He smiled. "Well, felicitations, Felicity. I'm Zevon. That's my family name, too, but no one calls me by my first name, which is Warrjen."
She laughed and shook her head. "Not even my mother calls me Felicity. Of course, mostly she just calls me 'Your Sister,' because she's always telling my siblings how they don't quite measure up to me. I wouldn't be at all surprised if they hate my guts. I'm pretty sure my brother does. I don't even know what Mother is talking about because I haven't done anything for her to hold me up as a great, shining example of."
"I don't know, you're holding your own as a working woman in a town full of templars when you're hiding a big secret. I'd call that fairly admirable."
The smile fell off her face immediately. "What? What are you talking about?"
"It's all right. I'm from High Rock. We don't even have Circles there. No such thing as an apostate when basically everybody in the province is a mage. The Chantry isn't held in such terribly high esteem in Tamriel as it is on Thedas, anyway. Andraste made her biggest impression on her home continent, and the least mark on the far side of the world."
She looked at him with a dawning sort of wonder. "Really? No Circles at all? How do you get away with that?"
"There's a few provinces like that. High Elves are exempt from Chantry laws about mages, you know, no matter where they live. I don't see that as particularly fair, myself, but magic is in all of them, or very nearly all of them, so it would be pretty hard to lock them all up."
Her face closed down again. "Well, Bethany and I aren't Altmer, and we aren't in High Rock. We've got to keep ourselves safe, so if you don't mean us any harm, you won't say anything more."
He raised his hands, palm open. "Hey, I won't say a word. But that big guy over there leaning on the bar in the silverite armor? He's the Commander-in-Chief of the army and a Grey Warden, to boot. He could use mages to bolster his forces, I'm sure, and he's not at all afraid to piss off the Chantry, I'm sure. It might be a way for you and your sister to find a little freedom. It's a possibility, anyway."
"So you're a recruiter, is that it?" she said.
"Me? No. I'm actually just a horny guy who thinks you're kinda hot," he said, with a grin. "But this Blight thing is serious, we could use all the help we can get, whether you're healers, saboteurs, sappers, or elementalists."
She paused for a moment, thinking, and then said, "I'll consider it. And I'll ask Bethany to consider it. But I promise nothing. I'm sure my mother wouldn't be happy if we all ran off and joined the army like Carver did."
"All we can ask is that you think it over," Zevon said, and returned to the bar.
"Well?" Loghain said.
"No go on the girlfriend front, but I got her thinking about joining the army. Of course, I sort of promised her that you'd keep the Chantry off her back if she did."
"I will, if I'm able," Loghain said. "But I may not be around all that long."
"You're not going to die. I won't let you," Loki said, rather quietly.
Loghain looked down at him. "How are you going to stop it, Pup? Not saying you can't, honestly, just curious."
"I don't know. But I'll find a way."
"Hmph. You probably will, then."
The door burst open and a tiny whirlwind entered. Redcap, gibbering like a maniac, waving his arms and bouncing from one leg to another, ran into the tavern. The innkeeper grabbed a broom and came around the bar.
"Get out of my pub!" he shouted. "Someone get this animal out of here!"
Loghain reached out and grabbed the swinging broom before it could make contact with Redcap. "That animal… is my friend, and a person. I don't know why he's so wrought up, but let's all calm down and I'll ask him what's wrong. That all right by you?"
"Er, uh… fine, Your Grace. Whatever you say." The innkeeper scampered back behind the bar.
"Redcap, what bee crawled in your bonnet, eh?" Loghain said.
"Little. Witch. Gave. Redcap. Sweetroll! Sweetroll. Make. Redcap. Go. Fast!" Redcap said, and zoomed about the dining room.
Loghain chuckled. "So this is a sugar rush, eh?" He tapped Loki on the shoulder gently. "Redcap's as bad on sweets as you, Pup."
Redcap eventually slowed down, and Loki jumped down off his stool and introduced himself.
"Hello, Redcap. I'm Loki. It's very nice to meet you," he said.
"Loki. Friend?" Redcap said.
Loki nodded. "Yes, definitely. Loki friend."
Elilia walked in. She nodded to the innkeeper and came to stand beside Loghain. "Hello, you."
"How'd you figure I was here?" Loghain said.
"I actually wasn't looking for you," Elilia said. "I followed the little… person… wondering what devilry he'd get up to while he was high on that sweetroll. Stopped to talk to a healer outside who needs poultices for injured refugees. I set your apostate friend to help her. Hope you don't mind."
"Which one?"
"The one in the dress."
"That doesn't actually narrow it down, really."
She laughed. "The female one, actually. She claims to be a talented herbalist, and doesn't seem at all afraid of drawing templar attention. Which cannot be said of your other apostate friend, by the way. He's scared to death to be left to his own devices. You'd probably better get back out there and cast your pall of protection back over him."
"In a bit," he said, not sounding much like he meant it. "For now, allow me a moment more to enjoy the feeling of a roof over my head, high enough even so that I may stand up straight. It is a luxury I feel sure I shall not be afforded often in the days to come."
"So, that is where we are," Warden Temmarian said as he addressed the other Wardens. Gregor stood at his shoulder. Alistair stood a few feet behind them. "The First Warden has ordered us to abandon Ferelden and report to Montsimmard. Warden Loghain, of course, says that he refuses to comply."
The elven Warden looked around at the other Wardens, some of whom he'd served with for years, others he'd only just met. He saw anger on some faces, confusion on others, and on some, perhaps, relief?
"Warden Gregor and I have decided that we, also, will remain here, and fight the Blight, as Wardens are meant to do. We know this makes us rogues of the Order, but we do not care. We do not ask that any of you follow us in this endeavor, but we do ask that you consider just what kind of orders are they that send Grey Wardens away from the Archdemon when it has made its attack on the surface!"
"Sodding nug-humpers want Ferelden to burn!" Laz Brosca shouted, waving her right-hand waraxe.
"Of course they do, it'll make it so much easier for the Orlesians to re-conquer it," an older Warden, with a Fereldan accent, said.
"Gregor and I intend to place ourselves under the command of Warden Loghain Mac Tir," Temmarian continued. "We realize he is a Junior Warden, but he has millennia of experience in warfare and his tactical genius is world-renowned. We can think of no better successor to Warden-Commander Duncan in Ferelden than he, especially if we are to be an order of rogues. If any of you wish to stay here with us you will be most welcome, but no one will be made to disobey the orders of the First Warden. The choice is yours, my brothers and sisters."
Laz Brosca did not hesitate, she immediately ran up and stood with the older Wardens, then stood at her intimidating three feet, two inches of height and glared daggers at everyone else, but in truth, no one showed much hesitation. Soon, every remaining Warden in Ferelden stood together, united under one banner… except for one.
Warden Gregor glanced at Warden Alistair, still lingering in the background.
"Are you staying or going, Alistair?" he asked.
Alistair shuffled toward the group of Wardens as if he really didn't want to join them. "I'm staying, no question about that," he said. "It's just… he's only been a Warden for, like… four days… and just like that, he's promoted to Warden-Commander? I mean, I would understand it if all that was left were green recruits, but…"
"The length of time the man has been tainted is, I feel, less important than the experience and skill the man has shown on the battlefield," Gregor said.
"Yeah, I suppose," Alistair said, not sounding altogether sure.
"We are the Wardens of Ferelden," Gregor said, his deep Anders voice resonating. "No matter what stands before us, we will stand true. We will face the Archdemon, and we will end this Blight. Because we are Wardens, and we have sworn."
A/N: About what Jowan said, that "golem construction originated in Orzammar," I know it's not true, and so does he, but the fact is it originated in the area close to Orzammar and Orzammar is the only remaining thaig in the area. So when he says that, he's just stating a generality, not a fact. Also, in case I haven't made this clear in the story so far, Orlais is trying to make itself over into an independent empire, which is why anyone, even the High King of a province, caught colluding with them in their political games of gobbling up other provinces for territory would be seen as guilty of the Highest Treason, not simply against Ferelden on its own but against Asgard itself. The only reason Odin hasn't brought the thunder down on them heretofore is because he is balls-draggingly old and getting rather doddery, by Nord standards.