It was odd, Ten thought, how a long journey seemed much shorter once you knew the road. And this time she did, though the burned farmsteads and piles of corpses that had served as landmarks on their way out seemed to have been dismantled - or devoured - and instead the ragged little band found themselves traveling through an almost pristine countryside, the dogged crops of corn and wheat the only sign that there had ever been people living there. There probably aren't even enough peasants left to rebel, thought Ten on their second day of travel. Going to be a lean few winters.
Most eerily, though, was that all the wildlife that she had come to expect on the journey west, was either gone, or being deathly silent - more so as they came within a dozen miles of Ostagar. The days dawned bright as they always had, appropriate for late summer, but did not carry with them the cacophony of birdsong. No chatter of squirrels, no snapping of branches under the hooves of deer or wild goats, no honking of geese flying overhead.
It was their fourth evening on the road when the landscape was beginning to soften from the razor peaks and broad valleys of the Hinterlands into the vast rolling moors of the Bannorn. She had, finally, noticed a handful of small birds in the trees as they roamed further and further from the site of that first great battle. Unlike her journey from East to West when Ten, Duncan, and Daveth had kept pace with the vast host of Teyrn Loghain's army for protection, the six of them made good time - but were, certainly, less protected. Though, she wondered, if something had happened on the road out here, would any among that army have even intervened?
They had made camp along the road before the sun set, and Ten was sitting in front of the fire putting a patch onto one of her frocks when Alistair finally broke the moody silence that had hung between them since leaving Redcliff.
"We need to talk," he said softly, sitting beside her.
"Maker's breath," Ten sighed, startled into poking herself with the sewing needle, "What now?"
"I've been kind of an ass to you," he said, "And I'm sorry."
"Whoa," Ten said, sticking her finger in her mouth, for once tasting blood in a non-worrying quantity, "What brought this on?"
"It wasn't fair of me to yell at you in front of everyone."
"Twice," she said, "You've done that twice."
"I know," he said, "But I realized sometime after two days of you not speaking to me that you just spent three days straight putting yourself on the line to save people that, despite myself, I care a great deal about. Even I was… I was about to kill Connor. And I'm glad you put a stop to it."
She nodded. "All right," she said, "Apology accepted."
"This is where you're supposed to say, 'I wasn't not speaking to you, I was really just thinking about this brilliant idea I had and here I'll tell you all about it.'"
"All right, I have this brilliant idea," she said, "It's that we all mind our respective business, sit quietly, don't draw attention to ourselves, and actually get a decent night's sleep."
Before he could respond, likely with something obnoxious, someone called her name from the edge of camp.
"Teneira!"
She closed her eyes and sighed in exasperation. A fifth day of peace was, apparently, too much to ask for. Steeling herself, she opened her eyes and stood up to see what the fuss was about, leaving her sewing in a heap. It was Wynne, who was walking up to the fire, her arm around a dirty young woman that Ten did not recognize. Pigeon, who had been snoozing by the fire, lept up and began growling.
"Hush, dog!" Wynne scolded.
"Relax, girl," Ten said, grabbing the hound by the collar. Pigeon sat at her feet and lowered the volume of the growls, but not the intensity.
"This poor dear was wandering the road up ahead in the dark," Wynne said.
"What's your name?" asked Ten, looking over her suspiciously. Her face was smudged with dirt, but there was something just… off about it, Ten realized it was because her hair was clean and groomed. She was making noises as though she were crying, but there were no tear tracks in the dust on her face. The dress she was wearing was too fine for traveling in, and exposed far too much of her bosom. Running her eyes down her, she could see the flow of her skirts interrupted above her right knee. She was armed.
"I need your help," the girl sobbed, striding right past Ten and putting both hands on Alistair's forearms, "Bandits attacked my wagon, up there, a quarter mile up. Please, my mum and dad, my wee brothers…"
"Well, that's awful," Alistair said, "It'll be all right. Ten, come on."
Use your brain for once, man, she thought, but said, "Lass, I don't doubt you've been through it, but we need to know. How did you escape?"
"My father sent me running at the first sign of trouble," she said, "For fear the highwaymen would rob me of my virtue." She caught her lower lip in her teeth after the last pronouncement, and it took all of Ten's willpower not to let out a snort of laughter.
"All right," she said, "We'll go help. Can't have anyone's virtue compromised. Not at a time like this. I just need to get my gear. It's over there by the edge of camp. Don't go without me."
"There were four of them. Great brutes. But I'm sure you'll be able to help," the girl said, turning back to Alistair.
Ten went around to the tents. Morrigan was lounging, lying on her stomach and reading more tales of ribaldry by a light of her own invention. Ten had not really put together how exactly magic worked. Morrigan, while owning a staff of twisting juniper wood, only used it about half the time. Now, for example, she had managed to set aglow one end of a green twig and stuck the other end in her mouth. Wynne, on the other hand, perhaps due to the nature of her gifts, perhaps due to preference, always channeled whatever power she used through the end of an ironwood staff standing nearly as tall as she did.
"Not now," Morrigan hissed, her voice a bit garbled by the light-twig between her teeth. She transferred it from her mouth to one hand and looked up from the page reproachfully. In the unnatural light, her eyes glowed like an animal's, and Ten wondered if her gift for changing form would allow her to give herself only the parts of beasts as she needed them. "Lady Oslington and the Comtesse de Carrignac just confessed their love for one another," said Morrigan, "I think they're about to do unspeakable things in graphic detail for the next twelve pages or so."
"Twelve pages!" Ten exclaimed, chuckling, "Ugh, why couldn't I like women?"
"Whatever are you talking about?" asked Morrigan. She rolled over and regarded Ten skeptically.
"Most of the men I've been with, two paragraphs would be pushing it."
To her surprise, this actually got a bark of laughter out of the witch, "All right, what's going on?"
"I'm not quite sure, but it's fishy," said Ten, "Some lady wandered into camp, desperate for help with 'bandits' who attacked her wagon. She's laying it on real thick."
"Haven't seen bandits since that sorry lot outside of Lothering," said Morrigan, "If they stayed here, they wound up on the wrong end of darkspawn spears, same as everyone else."
"Exactly," said Ten, "It's definitely a trap, though by what or whom I have no idea. She says there are four men, so I imagine there's at least twelve."
"Lucky us," said Morrigan, "So what's your brilliant plan?"
"They're banking on a five foot tall elf, an elderly lady, and an idiot who still somehow does not realize when he's being played," said Ten, "They're not expecting a three hundred pound Qunari, a sniper in a habit, and whatever ghastly beast you're feeling like today to drop on them from the hills above."
"Sounds like a job for a giant spider," said Morrigan.
"I mean the scare factor alone…" said Ten, shuddering.
"Try not to piss yourself," the witch said, "I'll fetch the other two, you'd better get back there before our pet idiot gets led off into the den of thieves by the front of his breeches."
"Ugh," Ten sighed, "I'm going to have to get you some better reading materials before you start thinking life in civilization is just one big romp in the hay."
"Now now," Morrigan chided, "Sometimes it's a romp up against the wall of your enemy's castle. Or under the piers in the pirates' den. Or on your dead husband's grave if you're feeling particularly…aaaand that is probably a bad example for you isn't it. Sorry."
"Extremely bad," Ten agreed, "Right. I'll see you."
"No you won't," said Morrigan, "You won't hear me either." She rose and made a strange expression before slipping out of the tent.
"Did you just fucking wink at me?" Ten called after her.
"Is that not what a wink is for?" asked Morrigan.
"Well, it is, but… whether it's appropriate in any given situation is actually very context specific," said Ten, "I don't have time to explain it. But stop getting your social cues from dirty novels. They're not real and it'll get you in trouble."
She went back to her own tent, strapped her leathers on, didn't bother putting her largest frock over them this time, there was hardly a point pretending to be anything other than what she was. The skirts would make her clumsy and keep her from getting at the poisoned knife she kept on her thigh, the sleeves would get caught on things. She hung her largest hatchet from her belt, strapped her dagger over her right shoulder, and strode back to the fire where the girl was making pleading eyes first at Alistair, then at Wynne, in turn.
"Right," she said, "Show us the way, Miss…"
"Eldegaard," said the girl, confirming everything that Ten had suspected. She sprang up with an odd grace. She was muscular but lithe, not a physique a farm girl who carried around bales of hay and buckets of water all day would have.
I see Morrigan is not the only one who enjoys the novels of Devera Swayne, thought Ten, remembering where she had heard that name before.
Following a stranger into the dark went against every instinct in Ten's body, but Wynne whispered a few words, and a dim glow issued from the end of the ironwood staff she carried, just enough to light the road. Ten fell in behind the wizard, and sensed that Alistair had followed her. Miss Eldegaard walked ahead of them, swinging her hips far more than was necessary with each step, and moved at a pace faster than Ten, exhausted from a full ten hours on the road that day, was prepared to keep. The road itself did not descend in front of them, but the land did spring up, as the road had been cut or worn crosswise through a small ridge which ran perpendicular to it. She glanced nervously at the wooded hills above, knowing they likely hid something nasty, and put a warning hand on Alistair's elbow.
"What is it?" he asked.
"They're going to go for you first," said Ten, softly, "You're the only one of us that looks like a threat. Just keep your eyes open."
"I always do," he said, "Why are you suddenly concerned now?"
"Because the threat is likely larger than we think and may not be coming from where you think it is."
"What are you on about now, Tabris?" he asked in exasperation, "Always so damn cryptic."
"The girl," she said, "Did she keep touching you when she talked to you?"
"Yes…."
"Make some remark on how brave or important you must be?"
"That too."
"Use your brain, man. Who else have you seen act like that?"
"...you," he said, after thinking for a moment.
"And what was I really after when I was doing all that?"
"Trying to get some man to do something he wasn't supposed to… all right, fair enough, I'm an idiot."
"You said it, not me," said Ten.
"In my defense, until this time last month, I had spoken to a grand total of twenty women in my entire life, and most of them from before the age of ten."
"That actually explains quite a bit," said Ten, "In any case, our damsel in distress is most certainly armed. Hunting knife on her right thigh. Who knows what's in her boot or under her tits."
"Under her… I beg your pardon?"
"I won't explain the physics to you, but it's a convenient place to store small weaponry if you're adequately endowed. Alas, the Maker has not so blessed me. Anyway, Morrigan's taking the others around through the tree line."
"You just went about three different places just then and I don't understand any of them."
"You know what, don't even worry about it," she said, "Just… careful. And keep Wynne out of the thick of it."
"Out of the thick of what?" Wynne called from up ahead. She turned around, and Ten beckoned her over, "Surely you don't think four poor desperate fools turned to highway robbery are going to be a challenge!"
"It's a trap," whispered Ten, "That girl isn't who she says she is. Now I don't know who she actually is but… just keep your wits about you."
"My dear, I'm sure your skeptical nature has served you well where you're from, but times such as these, we could all do with extending a little kindness," Wynne chided her.
As though I needed a lesson in that, Ten thought, but didn't want to get into it with the old woman. The glimmer of a campfire further on up the road told her that they were almost at their destination, whatever that would bring.
"It wouldn't kill you to be a little… softer," Wynne said.
"With all respect due, Missus," said Ten, "It probably would."
She stopped short as she heard the rustling of leaves. At first she thought it was an animal moving through the underbrush. It was almost comforting, as she had not seen anything larger than a sparrow for days. But then it became louder, more aggressive, and she looked back to see a great tree by the side of the road, around ten yards behind them where the ridge through which the road was cut rose up abruptly by fifteen feet or more. It was swaying more than it should have in the still night air. With a crack, the trunk split, and the most convenient way back to their own camp was cut off.
"Well there goes the escape route," Alistair sighed.
"Speak for yourself," Ten said. There was plenty of room for her to slither under there if she'd truly wanted to.
"I'm guessing that tree did not just fall on its own," Wynne said.
A bolt hit the ground about a dozen feet ahead of them.
"And that wasn't a gift from the fairies," Ten sighed. She cast up and about. The speed that thing had been going at, the crossbowman was certainly above them on the ridge somewhere. Wynne extinguished the light on her staff to keep them from being an easy target, but it did leave them in the dark with nothing but the dim glow of the campfire about ten yards ahead and around a bend in the gorge they were walking through to indicate where trouble might be.
"Little excited there, are you."
The voice came from the top of the cliff, almost directly above them. The three of them froze. The voice was male, the language fluent, but with a stiff Antivan accent.
"This doesn't usually happen to me," a second voice came. Also male. Smoker. Foreign, maybe Antivan, maybe Nevarran, but definitely spent a long time in Denerim in the intervening, "I'm sorry, I-"
There was a great sigh, followed closely by a gurgle, and Ten all but jumped out of her skin as a corpse landed with a thud and a splash on the road ahead of them.
"I apologize for the inelegance of my compañero," the Antivan voice announced, "He always did lack… self-control. But now I know where you are, you know where we are, and despite the shortcomings of poor Thiago there, I think we are in the superior position. So, what say we bargain?" Ten craned her neck upwards, searched for figures amid the darkened trees.
"Young man," called Wynne, "We carry nothing of value!"
"Ah, but I think you do. We are not here for your purses. We seek Teneira Tabris of the Denerim Alienage," the Antivan voice announced, "Don't bother lying, we know she is here. Send her up the road, alone, into the firelight, and the rest of you may walk away unharmed."
"So, do I get to say I told you so?" Ten whispered.
"Don't be childish," Wynne said, "What do we do?"
"The others are coming," said Ten, "They shouldn't be too long."
"So keep the man talking!" Wynne exclaimed, "I have a few tricks up my sleeve."
"And if they fill her with arrows the minute she steps into the light?" Alistair countered, "Also, why is everyone so obsessed with you? I've got a price on my head as well."
"Yes, well, a renowned ax murderer from a marginalized ethnic group is far more fun to torture to death in the public square," Ten said, "And also I'm fairly sure they think you're dead already."
"They'd think you were dead as well if you didn't go around picking fights and sending threats," Alistair said, "You know what she did, Wynne? She makes us travel three days in disguise, then the very night we find civilization, she gets into a bar fight with five soldiers, kills four of them, and sends the last one to go taunt the man who sent them out in the first place."
"I am not here to arbitrate your squabbles, young man," said Wynne wearily.
"There's a chance they'd prefer me alive," said Ten, "Drawing and quartering is much more entertaining on a living body."
"Anything is better than cowering here," said Wynne, "I've spent enough time cowering."
"What the fuck do you want with me?" Ten called.
"You've managed to make an impression on a certain Teyrn who would be king," the Antivan called from the top of the cliff, "I believe you sent him a message, some weeks back. The exact words escape me, but I believe they contained the phrase 'he will be lucky if an ax is all he gets.'"
"Ah, so little Thom made it back to Denerim in one piece," Ten called back.
"He sends his regards from the dungeon, I would imagine."
"And what will you do with me if I hand myself over?"
"I will grant you a quick death," he said, "On my honor. He did request that we return you alive, but I don't believe anybody deserves what is planned for you when we surrender you to his tender mercies."
There was a small shriek from behind him, on the other side from the great tree that now blocked the road. A rustle above. Whoever had screamed was on their way up the hill, and not bothering to be stealthy.
"What the hell do you want, Dionis, you know I hate being addressed by my surname," the speaker scolded whomever had come upon him.
"No, boss, there was…" the voice lowered to a mumble and Ten could not make out the rest of the sentence.
"You're coming to me because you were scared by a fucking spider?! I don't know why I bother with you cowards…. How big could it have possibly been?"
"Well, there's our witch," said Ten, smiling brightly, "Meaning the nun and the three hundred pound Qunari must at least be on their way, though likely moving a bit slower and more noisily."
"Noisily," said Wynne, "That's not good news for them."
"It'll be fine," said Ten, "I'll just give those cutrate mercenaries something else to point their arrows at."
"Ten, how is it every time I turn around you're trying a new and different way to run off and get yourself killed?" Alistair asked, grabbing her arm before she could waltz off to do something stupid.
"Have any of them killed me yet?" she countered.
"Last one came far closer than I'm comfortable with," he insisted.
"Good thing we're not here for your comfort," she said, shaking his arm loose, "I'll keep them distracted as long as I can."