Zevran Fan Community

New Story: "Is This What You Want?" - NSFW

elyssacousland — Sun, 12 Nov 2017 07:22:48 GMT

NSFW: Explicit descriptions of M/M and M/M/F consensual sex.

This one-shot came to me in the middle of Alistair Appreciation Week on Tumblr. My own prompt, which is as follows:

Duran Aeducan is the ideal Warden; he will do literally anything to end the Blight. He's aggressive, ruthless, and without a conscience. He has sided with the werewolves and killed an entire clan of Dalish elves; sided with Branka and allowed her to begin making golems; allowed blood mages and demons to go free if they had anything to offer in return; allowed Jowan to kill Arlessa Isolde to save her son. He tainted the Sacred Ashes - and had to kill two of his companions when they objected - and then lied to the rest of the group about what had happened. He put his equally ruthless brother on the throne in Orzammar, after securing a deal to be made Paragon. He had casual flings with both Leliana and Zevran, ending things with them both cruelly when he decided to pursue Morrigan instead. He made a deal with Anora to allow her to keep her throne in return for the power and influence Duran craves.

Pushed into an unexpected friendship - initially borne out of horror at the Warden's decisions (and you know you're in trouble when an Antivan Crow finds your means unpalatable) - Alistair and Zevran begin having deeper feelings for each other, not that either would admit it.

Then just before the Landsmeet, after defeating Taliesen, Duran informs Zevran that he should leave the party because he is now a political liability. Zevran disappears without even saying goodbye to Alistair. And then when Duran recruits Loghain and Alistair is banished, the exiled Warden decides to track down the assassin before leaving Ferelden permanently - only to find him partially undressed at the Pearl with one of Sanga's finest.

And that's the last straw.

********

“Lay down on the fucking bed, Zevran.” Alistair’s tone was hard, unflinching, demanding…there was simply no way the elf could decline the command.

Zevran had never seen the warrior like this, so serious, so intense. The loveable goof who’d gotten under the skin of even the hardened assassin was nowhere to be seen, replaced by this gorgeous, hard, ominous man – with one hand gripping the hair of a prostitute, holding her at an awkward angle just to clearly demonstrate who was in charge, the other on his hip, posture aggressive as hell.

The kiss Alistair had dropped on Zevran when he’d barged into the room – before he’d noticed the prostitute he was currently holding – had left the elf gasping. Alistair’s brows had furrowed, when he’d noticed the woman who’d straightened her dress and stood carefully, eyes down submissively, and then his eyes had flashed with outrage. Zevran had stepped forward, sure that the warrior wouldn’t hurt her, but unsettled by Alistair’s expression.

The larger man had stopped him with a gesture, before gently putting his hand on the whore’s shoulder, shifting her closer. Zevran shivered at the look in the larger man’s eyes, cock hardening unexpectedly, and scrambled to comply with his instruction. He climbed up onto the massive four-poster, his head propped up on a couple of pillows, arranging his limbs in the most alluring pose he could manage.

He shouldn’t have been surprised he’d been found, he supposed; Zevran’s flight to the Pearl and descent into debauchery was altogether predicable given his background. He’d had little idea what to do with himself, and settling into his old habit of fucking his feelings away, he’d spent more than he could comfortably afford on one of Sanya’s best whores and gotten himself a room. He’d put very little conscious thought into it, simply going on instinct, trying to keep from thinking about…

From thinking…

He was distracted from his thoughts by the former templar at the foot of the bed. A sudden movement bared the breasts of the woman Alistair was still holding, and the Antivan’s eyes widened as a broad, calloused hand reached up to grip one of them, fingers indenting the luscious flesh, thumb teasing across a taut nipple.

“Is this what you want?” The woman gasped as Alistair pinched her nipple, writhing prettily – but Alistair hadn’t taken his eyes off the assassin the entire time, despite having his hands on a partially naked woman for probably the first time. His gaze travelled down from Zevran’s face, flushed with arousal and alcohol, to his hairless chest and flat abdomen, just visible with his shirt unbuttoned casually, to the visible tent straining the front of his trousers. The former templar’s eyes darkened even further, and he released the woman who fell to her knees at his feet, reaching up to fondle him through the fabric of his clothes. “Is this what you were leaving for?”

Alistair allowed the whore to undress him, gaze never leaving the assassin who watched breathlessly, unable to fashion a response. In his wildest dreams, Zevran hadn’t ever imagined this day. He’d been physically attracted to Alistair from the start, of course – who wouldn’t be? – but the man’s innocence and naivety, while making him fun to tease, had been a shield that Zevran hadn’t truly planned to bypass, even as the two had grown closer. I’ve never had a particular fondness for virgins, he thought, but he couldn’t deny that he had developed feelings for the man, at first respect and understanding, and then admiration…and then perhaps something else, something more – not that he’d ever admit to it. He also couldn’t deny the flash of fierce possessiveness that shocked him when he contemplated being the templar’s first – something he’d never considered before the warrior had barged through his door.

As much as I fantasized about him, I didn’t want him corrupted even more, Zevran mused. Not that he’d had much choice in the matter, with Aeducan making most of the decisions – few of which would allow anyone travelling with them to remain naïve for long. Assuming they survive his company, he thought ruefully, remembering the day In Haven when four people had gone looking for the Urn of Sacred Ashes and only two had returned.

It was odd, Alistair reflected as he helped get himself undressed, that he had managed to develop a friendship with the elf; before the Blight, if someone had told him that he would end up counting an Antivan Crow who’d been contracted to kill him as one of the only friends he’d ever had, he’d have thought they’d been drinking too much. But faced with what they’d been through – not just the darkspawn and the undead and the countless other dangers they’d faced together over the last year, but also the ruthless behaviour and the fallout of the decisions made by the Warden – the two had developed an unlikely camaraderie. And, Alistair had finally admitted to himself only a few days prior, his feelings just might run deeper than companionship, if he was brave enough to embrace them.

Aeducan had forced his hand, though; Alistair was through with being railroaded, ignored, goaded, disregarded, and bullied. Duran had told him he needed to look out for himself more, and while almost everything else the dwarf had ever said had been complete crap, it was one piece of advice Alistair intended to take. And the last betrayal – Isolde dying had been bad; massacring a clan of defenseless elves had been worse; saving Branka after she’d allowed her relatives to be made into Broodmothers to supply more darkspawn for the gauntlet had nearly made him sick; but taking mercy on Loghain, and recruiting the man who’d left his king, his brother, to die, who’d hired assassins to kill them, who’d sold elves into slavery and poisoned Arl Eamon, was the final straw – had made it clear that he truly was the only one who would be looking out for his own well-being. And if that was true, if he was no longer to be a Warden, not a King, not a hero, then he might as well get started at taking what he wanted. And I’ll start with this. With him.

Alistair pushed the woman away once he stood completely nude; his body could have made the Maker jealous, Zevran decided, taking in the physique of the man who’d come to find him after the Warden had informed him his services would no longer be needed – that he was now a liability, a witness against Loghain, someone the queen would want removed before he could implicate her father further.

He shook his head, pushing aside his bitter thoughts about the warden he’d fought for, fallen for, only to be abandoned when he became inconvenient…. What mattered now was what came next, and given the naked man in his room, what came next was sure to be amply distracting.

His gaze triggered a deep flush in the man standing at the foot of the bed, but Alistair didn’t move, didn’t try to cover himself or hide; instead, his grin grew naughtier even as his cock hardened further.

“So, a woman, a prostitute – is that what piques your interest, then?” Alistair gestured the woman to the bed, and confused, she crawled onto it and began undressing the reclining elf as she had for the standing human. “Not even a goodbye – just a quick relocation to the nearest brothel, and a meaningless romp in the sheets?”

And then Zevran could see what was really happening – the insecurity, the vulnerability of the warrior who was suddenly uncertain whether Zevran’s incessant flirting had been misconstrued, whether it was just for fun or actually signalled some deeper connection.

“Ah, amico, only you prudish Fereldans care so much about the details of the body with whom you share pleasure,” Zevran scoffed. He wracked his mind to think of some way to reassure the human that his presence was more than welcome, but was interrupted from saying anything further by the prostitute who, finished with his clothes, licked his cock, her tongue travelling from base to tip, teasing into the slit at the end before repeating the same action again. The Antivan groaned; between the anticipation – what exactly did the stunning, naked human intend, anyway? – and the physical stimulation, he shuddered and thrust his hips involuntarily into the pretty mouth of the redhead currently servicing him. He pulled himself together to continue, “You could come over here and learn that for yourself, though, no? What do you want, Alistair?”

The human, eyes glued to where the prostitute he’d stumbled across in Zevran’s room was bobbing on and off of the elf’s erection, startled when he heard his name, and with a guilty expression, he met Zevran’s eyes. Their gaze was charged, both of them understanding that things between them would never be the same if they went any further.

Alistair licked his lips and took a step closer to the bed. “This. I want this…you. But I…” He hesitated, then took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried again. “I don’t know…”

Zevran smiled, not smug or amused, but understanding – and yet lascivious. “Then come here. Show me.” He held his breath as the warrior hesitated, finally letting it out with a pleased hum as the warrior took another step toward him.

“Some oil, Alistair, yes?” He gestured towards a small bedside table where a handful of small bottles waited. Alistair nodded dumbly, before approaching the table nervously and selecting a bottle more-or-less at random, having difficulty tearing his gaze away from the gorgeous elf who moaned again, weaving his fingers into the hair of the woman now devouring his cock, slowing her movements to his satisfaction.

Zevran patted the bed, and Alistair moved as though in a trance, climbing up to kneel beside the elf, bottle of oil still in hand. The elf, using one hand to guide the speed of the woman sucking him, held out the other hand expectantly.

“Care to do the honours?”

Alistair gulped, and then, using his teeth to uncork the bottle he held, poured a generous amount of sweet-smelling oil into Zevran’s open hand. And then he was the one to groan when those slick fingers closed around his length, smearing the oil and stroking him gently. And it felt nothing like his own hand, he thought, the assassin’s touch firm and yet gentle, so much more than when he touched himself.

Alistair cursed and thrust awkwardly into his hand, and Zevran had to close his eyes and concentrate to avoid spilling his seed then and there. Between the excellent work of the prostitute – who was an unsurprisingly skilled cock-sucker – and the fantasy coming true right beside him, he was precariously balanced on a knife’s edge…but he wanted more before he gave in to the rising pressure in his groin.

Opening his eyes once he’d managed to suppress the urge to rut into the woman’s mouth and end the fun before it got started, he reluctantly pulled said warm orifice off his cock, and, plucking the bottle of oil from out of Alistair’s insensate fingers, he handed it to her and then lifted his legs, making it clear what he wanted her to do next.

And then it was Alistair’s turn to close his eyes and frantically think about anything else to keep from coming prematurely as he watched the whore spread oil around Zevran’s rear passage and then proceed to insert first one, then two long manicured fingers into the puckered hole, spreading the oil further inside. The assassin, aroused by Alistair’s honest reaction and still stroking the warrior’s cock softly, was sure to moan and writhe against the intruding fingers, putting on a show for Alistair’s benefit.

Truthfully, Zevran didn’t need much help in being prepared – in his time as a Crow, he’d bedded enough men to be confident in his ability to take Alistair, regardless of how well-endowed the man was. But he was also aware enough to realise both that Alistair would enjoy watching – but also that if he was too worried about hurting him, they’d never get through this. So he allowed copious amounts of oil to be massaged into him, frankly enjoying the sensation – and watching as Alistair’s control eroded by the minute.

Finally sure they were both as ready as they could be, certain that Alistair’s arousal would overcome his nerves, he tugged on the warrior’s cock to coax him to shuffle down until he knelt between Zevran’s thighs. He was gorgeous, Zevran couldn’t help but admit, with his stubble and his perfectly mussed hair and his rippling muscles, and the assassin couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted someone so much. I might be the much more experienced of us, but the Chantry virgin’s got me all but begging him.

Alistair was practically panting – both from arousal and from panic – and he jumped when the prostitute’s hand took over for the rogue’s, then tugged forward.

Alistair leaned over the slighter elf, poised above him nervously. The elf looked divine from that angle, all bronze skin and hard planes, and Alistair’s cock twitched. “I…Are you…”

“Please, Alistair.” Zevran knew how to look irresistible, and he used it, tilting his head coyly and allowing himself to blush. He wiggled his hips, dragging the head of Alistair’s cock against his skin, and they both gasped at the contact.

Reassured, with the help of the skilled whore – and how had having her stay even happened? She was remarkably inobtrusive, really – he lined himself up, uttered a brief, probably blasphemous prayer, and then pressed forward.

Both men groaned, nearly overcome – Zevran from the pressure, being stretched and filled until pain blended with pleasure, and Alistair from the tight, slick heat around the head of his cock. And if he’d thought Zevran’s hand felt good, it was nothing compared to the grasping, fluttering sensation in Zevran’s ass as the elf adjusted to the invasion. He held still for a moment, at the prostitute’s urging – she stroked his hair soothingly, murmuring praise to help him stay in control.

Finally, the elf nodded, adjusting his legs to wrap around Alistair’s hips and using his heels to spur the bigger man on. Surprisingly gently, Alistair thrust forward, his eyes closed in bliss as he sank into the elf’s depths. It took a few moments, but eventually Alistair was fully inside him, and he opened his eyes, making eye contact with the slight elf underneath him even as he shuddered in pleasure.

“Oh, Maker, Zev—” He couldn’t help himself, leaning down to kiss the former Crow, more enthusiasm than skill involved, his lips devouring Zevran’s.

And enthusiasm had much to recommend it, Zevran reflected, teasing Alistair’s lips with his tongue and enjoying the inadvertent thrust of Alistair’s hips as he swept his tongue into the warden’s mouth. Alistair struggled to stay still and let the elf accommodate him, but Zevran – powerfully aroused and more than ready – bit the warrior’s lip sharply and pulled with his legs. And then they were moving together, instinct taking precedence over experience to establish a rhythm they both enjoyed. Alistair’s length speared into Zevran again and again, the head of his cock riding up against the elf’s prostate. The two were briefly able to forget everything but the sensations they created for each other – forget the cruel warden whose actions had driven them together, the queen who wanted them dead, the baggage from their pasts, and the prostitute who watched them couple with knowing eyes.

Alistair could feel his peak coming soon, his cock tingling, his abdominal muscles quivering as he tried to hold back. “Zev, I can’t…I’m gonna…”

The elf, gasping and trembling in desire but not yet close enough to orgasm, could see the torment on the human’s face – the pleasure was too much to bear, but he didn’t want to come and leave Zevran hanging. And there was nothing more destructive to a man’s ego than feeling like he hadn’t performed well in bed, Zevran knew – if he didn’t want to see that look on Alistair’s face, he was going to have to take matters into his own hands.

He pushed on Alistair’s shoulders until the man knelt upright, Zevran’s pelvis in his lap, watching his cock slide in and out through the assassin’s tight opening. “Not helping,” he growled, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to look away from the erotic sight.

Zevran chuckled, the sound as much moan as laugh. “Ah, my friend, you just lack imagination.” He reached out and put his hand on the back of the nearby prostitute’s head, pulling her closer; she licked her lips with a smile and dove in. Alistair’s groan was feral as he watched the whore swallow the elf’s cock, Zevran’s eyes rolling up and his back arching in pleasure.

Something about seeing Zevran that way – so unrestrained, so accidentally seductive – because even a skilled lover like Zevran couldn’t fake the flush of arousal or the sheen of sweat on his body – triggered something in Alistair, the same feeling he’d had when he’d boldly barged into Zevran’s room and manhandled the prostitute, something dominant and demanding. His control returned, his impending orgasm receding somewhat, and a smirk grew on his handsome face as he stilled his hips, leaving Zevran impaled on his length, and then reached down to capture the elf’s wrists in one large hand, the other hand twining into the whore’s hair and slowing her pace as she slobbered on the elf’s cock.

Zevran whined as his stimulation diminished – but his cock twitched when he opened his disappointed eyes to see Alistair’s smug, domineering expression back. Where the usually mild-mannered, nervous Chantry boy had learned that expression, the assassin couldn’t imagine – but it was hot, and it made the elf writhe, now desperate for a little more pressure, a little more pleasure.

Alistair waited until the assassin stilled, not having the leverage he needed to grind himself against the cock in his ass or the mouth that had gone still around his length. Just as he was prepared to beg, Alistair’s grip on the woman’s hair tightened, and he pressed down and then lifted her up, bobbing her head on the elf’s cock while Zevran panted. He stopped her after two thrusts.

“Is that what you want, Crow?” There was mischief on his face, no real cruelty, and Zevran relaxed, willing to play this game if it meant seeing that expression on Alistair’s face for longer. He didn’t respond, and the warrior moved his arm again, three slow bobs this time, stopping when Zevran whined with need. I may be playing the game, but he’s winning, the assassin realised with surprise. “Is it?”

“Yes,” hissed the elf, and he was rewarded by a few more sucks.

Then Alistair, pausing the prostitute’s fellatio once more, shifted his hips and thrust firmly into the assassin’s ass, once, twice, and again. Zevran cried out, his body rocking with the force of the thrusts – so good, but not enough, and he thought he might go mad if Alistair didn’t keep going.

“Or is this what you want?” He thrust again, and Zevran’s ass fluttered around him desperately. “Which is it, Zevran? Her mouth? Or me?” He alternated, then, one bob of the prostitute’s talented mouth, one thrust of his ample cock, neither enough to make the elf come, but both so much more than pleasurable.

Zevran’s first instinct was to lie – to claim he was equally as affected by the head in his lap and the cock in his ass, but as bursts of pleasure sizzled down his nerve endings and he glanced between the two people in question, he couldn’t deny the truth – and poised on the brink of the abyss, as he was, he couldn’t moderate what came pouring out of his mouth as he began to beg.

“You, Alistair, please more, yes…” He’d have been embarrassed at his own babbling, if he’d had enough presence of mind to notice, but with every ounce of attention focused on his ass and cock, he just continued, endearments alternating with cries for more.

Finally overcome, Alistair began thrusting more rhythmically, shuddering as his cock was clenched in the elf’s back passage. Showing the whore what he wanted, his fingers tangled in her hair, he synchronized her movements with the snap of his hips, and then released her to continue her own. He released Zevran’s wrists too, instead twining his fingers through the elf’s, holding on for dear life as the overwhelming sensations finally took over.

It was a close call, who came first, but in the end, the combined onslaught of mouth and cock pushed Zevran over the edge, and the fluttering of his ass combined with the erotic picture he painted as he laid there, back arched, face contorted with ecstasy, drove Alistair over immediately after. The two called out together, voices blending as they shuddered again and again. The whore rode it out, swallowing down Zevran’s seed before pulling back to get out of the way. Alistair collapsed, barely managing to roll to the side without crushing the elf underneath him, his cock shrinking and slipping out of the rogue’s ass. After a few minutes of catching his breath, Zevran stirred when the prostitute approached with a damp cloth, efficiently cleaning both men up as they rested.

Afterwards, she gave the two a saucy grin. “That was fun, boys. Feel free to ask for me again if you’d like to try something else.” She winked at them, adjusted her dress to cover her breasts, and sauntered out, closing the door behind her.

Zevran watched her go before returning his consideration to the enormous warrior who was now spooned around him, with Zevran almost cradled against his chest. It frightened Zevran how comfortable it was, how secure he felt, and he had to concentrate to keep his voice even when he finally spoke.

“Now that, I did not expect.”

Alistair snorted, the sound amused but also somehow insecure. When Zevran met his gaze, there were a million questions there that he knew he couldn’t answer – he wouldn’t – but he also couldn’t leave it like that, leave the Chantry boy hanging. “You have surprisingly hidden depths to you, amico. Not that I’m averse to trying again later, just to make sure it wasn’t an accident.”

Alistair’s breath caught. “Was that…I mean, you know I’ve never…I didn’t mean to…”

Zevran took pity on him with a grin. “You’re clearly a fast learner.”

Alistair’s chuckle was more genuine this time, though he still looked pensive – something that made the elf nervous. “Zevran?”

“Mmm?”

“What does ‘te amo’ mean?”

Zevran froze, and his breath abandoned him in a rush, leaving him feeling nauseous and disoriented. Te amo? How had Alistair ever come across that particular piece of Antivan? And then it came back to him – the babbling, the begging…the raw feelings he couldn’t deny as Alistair took him, ravaging both his body and his soul somehow. Surely I didn’t say such a thing, not I, the cold-hearted assassin who watched as someone I…cared for was murdered. I neither need nor deserve love, especially his love.

“I, uh…” He flushed, too torn by his own emotions to admit them to the larger man beside him. “Just something we say in Antiva during sex,” he finished lamely, chastising himself for the least convincing lie of his life.

“Oh. Really?” Alistair’s smile morphed into a skeptical smirk, and Zevran’s heart stuttered. “Fine, fine, don’t tell me – but keep in mind you’re not the only person in Thedas who speaks Antivan. I’ll figure it out eventually.”

The look of panic must have shown on Zevran’s face, because Alistair’s smile faded, and he reached down to run one finger along the tattoo on Zevran’s cheek before pulling his hand away and rolling onto his back. “I’m sorry,” he almost whispered. “I won’t pry.”

Disappointed in himself, and missing the warmth of the other man’s body against his, Zevran turned to plaster himself along Alistair’s side, leaning up on one elbow to look down at the human’s face. “One day,” he promised, while kicking himself for making a vow he didn’t deserve to keep – assuming he ever even saw the man again.

Alistair’s heart was pounding; he was pretty sure he knew exactly what ‘te amo’ meant, and as much as he wanted it, wanted to hear the assassin say it again, he couldn’t help but worry that the Antivan was telling the truth, and it meant less to those of his nationality or upbringing. “One day,” he echoed, and couldn’t help the smile that broke out on his face. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Uncertain what to say in response without making it worse – either saying something hurtful and driving the warrior away, or worse, admitting his feelings in a giant messy rush that would make everything even more awkward – Zevran sighed and laid back on the bed, close enough that he touched Alistair all along one side, shoulders and hips and legs resting against each other lightly, but far enough away to not be invading the larger man’s space.

The two of them stayed there, perfectly still, both minds reeling – with unspoken words, fears, and expectations swirling between them heavily. The silence grew, ominous and foreboding, as each man frantically considered and rejected overtures to breach the gap.

Finally, Alistair could take it no more. He rolled to his side so he could see the assassin.

“Zevran?”

“Yes, Alistair?”

“What are you going to do now? I don’t mean right now, obviously, I mean this is your room and I interrupted you, I assume you’ll want to sleep at some point…” He cleared his throat when he saw the assassin raise one amused eyebrow. “But I mean, big-picture-wise, what are you going to do?”

Zevran flushed at how much the awkward, nervous, insecure babbling of the former warden appealed to him. He’d always thought it cute and desirable, but if anything, it had gotten worse since he’d seen the man’s other side – the dominant, sexual, demanding side that had taken him with such confidence and reduced him to a whimpering pile of mush.

“I have not made any plans, as yet. I must leave Ferelden – the Warden’s orders – and I will probably have Crows looking for me before long, yes?”

Alistair nodded, thinking furiously, hoping he wasn’t about to make an enormous fool out of himself. “I’ve been exiled,” he admitted, “so I have to leave Ferelden too. I was thinking about going to Kirkwall – lots of refugees to lose myself in, no warden presence to speak of, and not especially close ties with Anora, in case she changes her mind and tries to have me killed.”

“Sound logic, my friend.”

Alistair cleared his throat nervously. “And I was thinking, well, there probably aren’t a lot of Crows in Kirkwall…”

“There are bound to be some, but not high ranking ones, I’ll grant you. None that would pose a threat to me.”

“So perhaps it would be a good place for you to hide out, too?”

The assassin met his eyes then, smile growing along with the warm feeling in his belly that he was determined to ignore. “And why would you want to travel with me, especially when I’m likely to be pursued? It strikes me that you’d be safer alone, no?”

Alistair blushed, the flush starting at his face before spreading down his neck, to his chest and then his abdomen, and Zevran followed it with his gaze – until he was distracted by something else, a different sign that Alistair’s mind wasn’t focusing much on safety at the moment.

“Well,” he paused, swallowing heavily before continuing, “you did say you wanted to try again later, just to be sure it wasn’t an accident.”

Zevran peeled his eyes from Alistair’s growing arousal to look the handsome enigma of a man – who could bumble through the worst proposition in history, immediately after having had a naughty threesome where he dominated both of his partners for his pleasure, and theirs – in the face. “So I did.” He shifted, leaning very slightly closer to the warrior, a bemused grin creeping its way onto his face when he considered that while he very much wanted to try again, apparently unlike the man in front of him, it was going to take a while longer before he would be able to try again.

Alistair’s face was nearly purple, but he continued on bravely. “And it would be rather,” hard, don’t say hard, “difficult to do so if we parted ways here, don’t you think?”

“You may have a point.” He suppressed his grin, though he could feel a smirk he couldn’t quite control lingering on his face. “And for the sake of research, I suppose, we may need to try a number of times to be certain it wasn’t a fluke, no?”

Zevran rolled toward the human, then, one hand reaching out to touch his chest, realising with a chuckle that perhaps it wouldn’t take quite as long as expected before he was ready to see that aroused, domineering expression again. Alistair gasped at the contact, body tense with renewed desire – and Maker, that had never happened so fast before, he was sure – but instead of shying away, he reached out with his own hand to trace the elegant lines of the tattoo that he was so familiar with, all the way from the elf’s cheek, to his shoulder, to his stomach, before disappearing just before reaching anywhere too sensitive.

“Research,” Alistair agreed. “Lots of research.” As he leaned in to kiss the elf, his hand closed around the evidence that the assassin’s interest was real – and he resolved to wait as long as needed, to do as much ‘research’ as required, until he learned whether ‘te amo’ meant what he thought it did and to show Zevran that the feeling was mutual.

There and Back - Chapter 126

elyssacousland — Mon, 06 Feb 2017 18:41:35 GMT

Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Six: Warden Weirdness

“I can’t sense Seranni.” Alim’s voice sounded confused.

Rolan was shaking his head, clearly in agreement with the inability to sense the elf. I restrained myself from making the same movement; Rolan and Alim weren’t supposed to know I could sense the taint at all. I was guessing by the slightly ill-looking expressions on my husband’s and brother’s faces that they couldn’t feel her either.

The blond elf continued to flop around, her seizure ongoing. A loud thump from her booted foot hitting the floor brought us all back, leaping into action.

“Alim, do what you can to heal Seranni. Rolan, take Sigrun up to an empty room to rest. Do not speak to anyone – not one person, you hear? – and stay with Sigrun until we send for you.” My brother started barking orders, and we all leapt to obey. “Sierra, can you get Anders? Quietly. And send a servant to Sigrun’s room with some food – she’ll need it when she wakes.”

I nodded and bolted out of the room, Rolan right behind me with the unconscious dwarf in his arms. I peeled off to the right to get Anders from the dining room while the former templar headed up the nearest stairs.

I found one of the Vigil’s servants laying out food in the dining room, and asked her to arrange to send up two Warden-sized meals, a pint of ale, and a skin of fresh water to Sigrun’s room, before weaving my way through the mass of Wardens and Legionnaires looking for Anders. Trevian caught my eye as I passed; I gave him a nod, and he smiled, confirming what I’d guessed – he knew not everyone survived becoming a Warden, and he had been worried. Given the mutual respect between Wardens and the Legion, it made sense he’d know, but still I was surprised.

I managed to avoid Velanna, who I spotted only for a moment, standing awkwardly in a corner brooding; I had no idea what to tell her, so I was glad to be able to put it off. I ran into Zevran, who’d been flirting outrageously with one of the Legionnaires, enjoying his blushing embarrassment; with a quick promise to tell him everything later, I asked the Antivan to go watch over Rolan and make sure no one else spoke to the former templar.

Finally I found Anders. He was in the middle of some story about a cat – probably the one possessed by a demon back at Kinloch, if the appreciative giggles were anything to go by – and I interrupted him, telling him I needed his help for something personal. Solona and Leli, standing nearby, giggled and raised their eyebrows at me; I returned their smiles automatically, but knew there was no chance I’d fooled Leliana, at least. Not explaining this later is going to be just a thrill.

The mage followed me out of the dining room, bemused smile on his face, until he got to the room where Alim was pouring magic into Seranni, while Aedan and Alistair watched helplessly. Her flopping had stopped while I was gone, and now she just looked pale – pale as death, her breaths shallow and rasping.

Anders dropped to his knees beside Alim without a word and began one of his glowy diagnostic scans.

Alim gasped and let his healing stop, panting. “I’ve no idea if anything I did helped.” He and the healer held a brief, whispered conversation I couldn’t follow, something to do with life force and energy, and then Anders was the one healing the elf.

“So this is what I looked like?” I whispered, tucking myself between Alistair and Aedan.

My husband wrapped his arm around my shoulder while Aedan gripped my hand hard, eyes wide. “Worse,” Alistair replied; I felt Aedan shudder. “You seized for longer, and when you were done, you were barely breathing at all.”

“So she should just wake up, and everything will be fine.”

“Except she’s not a Warden – not really. How do we even begin to explain this to the others? To her sister? What if you were just lucky, and she doesn’t wake up? A death we could explain to Velanna. She knew the risk. But this…is something else.” Aedan looked beyond freaked out. I squeezed his hand.

“I don’t understand. It made sense – sort of – for you, with the whole magic resistance, being from somewhere else thing. But this…” Alistair rubbed the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

I thought about it. What made Seranni different from anyone else? I couldn’t remember much about her from the game, other than that, as a ghoul, she actually kept her mind; I recalled thinking that was unusual for a ghoul, and blaming the Architect – after all, hadn’t he done something similar to Genevieve and her brother Bregan in ‘The Calling’?

The germ of an idea formed.

“What if…” I hesitated, thinking frantically. “I mean, the darkspawn don’t normally kidnap people, right? Unless they’re looking to make a new broodmother, which supposedly the Architect isn’t. It seemed strange he would keep her with him. Utha, it made sense – he could use her blood for research. Seranni wasn’t a Grey Warden – what would he need a random ghoul for? But, what if…what if there was something about her that was different? Maybe…the Architect targeted her for some reason? We know he can manipulate the taint…Perhaps she has some trait that makes her resist the taint? Maybe we both do? Maybe that’s why he wanted her, and that’s why no one can sense me. Maybe that’s why he sent me away.”

Aedan and Alistair were both staring at me, fear and horror written clearly across their faces as I talked my way through the random pieces of information that were slotting themselves into place in my mind. As I waited for a response, I suddenly realised it was much too quiet, and I could no longer feel Anders’ healing magic. I looked up to see the two mages staring at me, mouths agape. And of course, they heard that. Nicely done, Sierra. I could feel my face flushing under their scrutiny.

“You…you’re a Warden?” Anders was the first to recover, expression curious but guarded.

I sighed. “Yes. Sort of. I’m like her – I took the Joining, but no one can sense me.”

He stood, glancing critically between me and the elf, who now appeared to be resting easily. “But you have Warden abilities?” I hesitated, and he continued. “Of course you do. That’s why you can stand watch. It’s why you were on the list of those who could slay the Archdemon. And why you eat like the rest of us. I never put it all together, but it’s obvious, in retrospect. When did you Join? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I’ll explain everything later, I promise. But first – is she okay?” I gestured at the elf laying at his feet.

“I’ve no idea,” he replied, shrugging. “I’ll assume it’s a good thing the seizures stopped. I can’t find anything wrong to explain what’s happening, and healing made no difference. I think we’re just going to have to wait and see.”

Aedan sighed, tugging at his usually impeccable brown hair, which was becoming wilder by the minute. “What do we do next? The last thing we need is Weisshaupt learning we have Wardens who aren’t normal Wardens. Honestly, after our last meeting, they’ll say they have all the justification they need for kidnapping one of you. Both of you! And then they get two things they want – people to experiment on, and something to use as leverage to bring us back into the fold.”

Alim joined the conversation. “That’s why you didn’t tell anyone. You were afraid Weisshaupt would want you, to experiment on you.”

I nodded, glancing back and forth between Alim and Anders, suddenly afraid for my new, tenuous friendships. “You have to understand, it wasn’t that we didn’t trust you. We didn’t know we’d be separating from Weisshaupt. We had Riordan, Loghain, and Dougal to think about. We couldn’t know who would accidentally let things slip, and we didn’t want other people to have to lie for me.

“I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life as a lab rat in Weisshaupt like Fiona.” At their puzzled glances, I huffed in frustration. “Never mind. I just…”

Alistair interrupted me. “Fiona! Andraste’s flaming butt cheeks!” He slapped himself in the forehead dramatically.

“What?”

“I was just thinking…if there were two people who aren’t ‘normal’ Wardens, why aren’t there more? And then you said Fiona…”

I gasped. “Fiona’s taint is ‘gone’. What if it’s not? What if we’ve got it backward – he didn’t target us, he did something to us? We know he did something to Fiona that strangely accelerated her taint, leaving it ‘gone’ when it was over, and he did something to me too. It was his darkspawn that attacked Seranni.”

Aedan cleared his throat, looking at me and then pointedly at Alim. “We can speculate later – or better, catch the bastard and question him – but none of this helps us. What do we do with her? And there are a few too many people in on this secret for comfort now, not to mention too many who saw Seranni and know she was tainted.”

“I won’t tell anyone.” Anders smirked. “Who’d believe me anyway? And I have no desire to be ‘questioned’ by Weisshaupt. It’s Rolan you’ve got to worry about.”

“Fake her death?” Alim suggested. “Rolan isn’t here, and we can keep quiet – though I admit I have some questions.” He raised his eyebrow at me expectantly, and I sighed and nodded. “Send her off with her sister. I don’t know where; she can’t go back to her clan. But send her somewhere, and tell Rolan she didn’t make it.”

I looked at the elf anew in appreciation. “You’re crafty.” I looked back at Aedan. “We’d need to make a pyre, find a body to burn, and maybe fake Velanna having a fit and leaving. We could send her to Soldier’s Peak for now – I’m sure Avernus would be more than happy to meet someone else like me – and then send her on from there.”

“To where, though? She can’t stay at the Keep; we’re all going to relocate there eventually.” Alistair rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. “Too many people might recognise her. Maybe Lanaya? She owes us a favour.”

“I may have another idea for you,” came a voice I wasn’t expecting to hear. When I glanced down, Seranni’s eyes were open, and she had raised a shaky arm over her head to block out the light. “Oh, ugh. That was awful.”

I dropped to my knees beside the elf, taking her hand and leaning over to cast a shadow over her no-doubt-tender eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Terrible, I’m not going to lie. But given I couldn’t be sure I’d survive – and you all weren’t sure I’d ever wake – I’ll take it.”

I laughed. It was a sheer relief to see her awake and believe she would eventually recover. Holding her hand still, I pulled her to a sitting position; someone handed me a water skin, and she took it from me gratefully, chugging half the contents in one go.

“So you heard all that, then?” Aedan asked.

She nodded, still swishing the water through her mouth – trying to rinse out the taste, I guessed. I remember that foul flavour. “Think so. You guys can’t sense me, though you should be able to. She,” the elf gestured at me, “is the same, there might be a third, and something called the Architect is to blame? Weisshaupt will have a fit if they find out. Also, something something about another world, though I’ve no idea what that means.”

I laughed and pushed myself to my feet, and Aedan helped me pull Seranni to hers, allowing her to settle on the nearby couch.

“Don’t worry about it.” I sighed and ran my hand through my tangled, curly hair. “And the Architect is the first talking darkspawn – he created the others by perverting the Joining ritual and making darkspawn drink Grey Warden blood. So you said you had an idea?”

She nodded. “The problem, as I see it, is that Weisshaupt will want to examine anyone who’s ‘different’. Right?” She waited for all of us to nod our confirmation. “So let them. I can’t go home, I can’t stay here – why shouldn’t I go to Weisshaupt?”

Aedan, Alistair, Alim, and Anders all reacted to that loudly, taking over each other, declaring reasons why she shouldn’t go; I just watched her, eyes wide with shock.

Seranni held up her hand. “I don’t have to tell them I’m not the only one. I won’t even mention this Fiona. I don’t think they’ll kill me, will they?”

Everyone looked at me. I shrugged helplessly. “They didn’t kill Fiona. She’s an elf, a Warden who the Architect did something to and somehow, her taint went away. That’s not to say they couldn’t – but I don’t know why they would. They learn more if you’re alive. But you don’t have to do this. Not for me.”

She smiled at me shyly. “You all saved me – from the darkspawn, then from the taint. I am a Grey Warden now, right? So I might as well be of use. Here, I’m a danger to you. I can’t go home. So I might as well go and see if I can help in some other way. You just have to promise to look after my sister.”

A lot more discussion on the subject ensued, but nothing anyone said could dissuade the elf from her self-appointed path. I couldn’t decide whether to be frightened for her, impressed by her, or worried about the implications for myself and the Grey Wardens in general. What if they tried to keep her against her will? What if they decided that vivisection would provide more information than a live body? What if they went after Fiona, or she accidentally revealed my existence? I finally had to excuse myself, stepping outside and hyperventilating in the hallway.

Only to look up and see Velanna standing in the hallway, scowling; her face paled when she noted a few stray tears streaking down mine.

“No, Velanna – she’s fine. She survived,” I gasped.

The elf’s stiff posture relaxed the slightest bit, and her frown eased. “What is wrong, then?”

I hesitated, finally deciding we might as well get it over with. I wiped the tears away and gestured to Velanna to follow me. I could hear the group inside still talking before I opened the door, and banged loudly as I did to ensure they got the hint.

“Guys? Velanna is here.”

I stepped aside, and Velanna entered, immediately pulling Seranni into an embrace. They whispered to each other in elven for a few moments, before Velanna turned to face us.

“You have saved my sister. I know I have been less than pleasant, but despite that, you helped her. I thank you.” Aedan grimaced and Alistair looked down, avoiding eye contact; Seranni shifted at her side, and Velanna turned to me. “What are you not telling me?”

“May I have a moment with my sister? Please?” Seranni interrupted any response I could have given. We all agreed, reluctantly, nodding respectfully to our new sister as we left.

Out in the hall, Aedan pulled Alim and Anders aside. “Not a word about Sierra, either of you. Understand?”

Both mages nodded. “I promise.” Anders squeezed my hand. “I’m quite pleased to have another sister, and I wouldn’t jeopardise that.”

Alim smiled at me. “I’ve kept bigger secrets for you when I was still living at the Circle.”

I chuckled. Alim and Anders took their leave, heading back to the main hall for food. Alistair pulled me into a tight hug.

“You okay?”

I sniffed, pressing my nose into the crease of his neck, enjoying the comfort he offered. “Too many ‘what if’s’ for my liking.”

Aedan grunted in agreement. “Can’t do anything about it now. Seranni going to Weisshaupt will hopefully keep them occupied for a while. I had better go deal with Rolan, and then we need to explain to the rest of our Wardens what is happening. If she’s going to Weisshaupt, then at least everyone else can find out what happened.”

Aedan headed up to Sigrun’s room, and Alistair and I found an unoccupied nook inside a random nearby room to sit and cuddle for a bit until my emotions settled. Finally we joined the rest in the dining room; once everyone had eaten, Aedan ushered the Legion out, and brought in Seranni and Sigrun.

The Wardens cheered, welcoming the two new members; I watched faces to see who noticed the lack of taint palpable in Seranni. At first, no one seemed to, but then I noticed Conrad wrinkling his brow in confusion. Then I saw Wulf looking around, scratching one long, pointed ear absentmindedly. Before too many others caught on, Aedan cleared his throat and asked for everyone’s attention.

He explained to the baffled crowd that, for some reason we couldn’t explain – but were blaming on the Architect – something strange had happened at Seranni’s Joining, and that while we believed she was still a Grey Warden, we wouldn’t be able to feel her taint.

Then he told them she’d be leaving to head to Weisshaupt. The entire group started buzzing, talking amongst themselves in shock, until Aedan silenced them again. To my surprise, he announced she wouldn’t be leaving immediately, or alone.

“Until her sister has negotiated a deal to allow the Dalish safe ground and has Joined as well, she will remain and train with us. I want any of you with combat training in different techniques to work with Seranni and evaluate what style works best. I’ll not send someone on a journey that far unless they can protect themselves. Also, anyone who wishes to accompany Seranni and Velanna to Weisshaupt, please come talk to me.”

I gaped. It hadn’t occurred to me, but sending a single female elf across multiple countries probably wasn’t the safest thing. I wondered who, of our companions, might be leaving as well. I wonder if Weisshaupt will ever let them go, once they arrive.

After a brief celebration, involving yet more food and some ale, I headed to bed early. Alistair followed me, a concerned look on his handsome face.

“Sierra?” He sat on the sofa in front of the hearth, pulling me into his lap. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

I sighed. “Ripples. Ripples I can’t predict. I don’t know what’s going to happen, and it’s driving me crazy. Will Seranni be alright? If some of our Wardens go with her, will they release them? Will they figure out why you and Aedan were hiding me? Will they ever let Fiona go if they think there’s more to learn? She supposed to go back to the Circle and lead a vote to separate from the Chantry, like seven years from now. Not that I think it was a really smart plan, but what happens if she doesn’t? I’ve changed so much, and I don’t regret it, but…I know enough of what’s coming to be afraid, and yet I can’t predict it anymore.”

“Now you know how the rest of us feel.” He smiled at me to soften the comment.

“Yeah, but you haven’t seen what I have. The Chantry in Kirkwall blown up, the Grand Cleric dead and Meredith becoming Lyrium in the Gallows…The Templars ending the Nevarran Accord, the mages fighting for their lives at Andoral’s Reach. The next ten years are going to be terrifying, and now I know I’ve changed some of it, just enough to make it even scarier.” I shuddered.

He held me tighter and kissed the crown of my head. “Come. Let me make you forget, at least for a while.”

He carried me to bed and proceeded to make good on his promise.

In the morning, nothing was resolved, but unsurprisingly, I still felt better. Aedan and Alistair left to go for a ride out around the Vigil, and I was back to my training. I sparred with Seranni – guiltily pleased that she was as bad with daggers as I had been when I started – and then managed to get on my horse without getting more than a couple new bruises. Riding was another matter, and I bumped along, feeling my ass turn blue as Samuel urged the beast to do something horrible called trotting; by the end of the lesson, I’d at least learned that I was supposed to push up on the stirrups to keep from jarring myself, and though I didn’t have the rhythm down, I understood the concept.

Varel was too busy for protocol lessons, but I ran into Leliana at lunch, and wheedled her into eating with me, correcting my formal table manners – something she was more than capable of, and mistakes were punished by sharp pokes with her fork, to my dismay – but it also gave me the opportunity to corner her about a few matters.

“So…how’re things with you and Nate?”

She smiled brilliantly, and then her face fell and she avoided eye contact, studiously staring at her soup.

“You love him, don’t you?”

The agony on her face when she finally looked up and nodded was heart wrenching. “I do. I never planned this, but I do. And yet…I cannot stay here.”

“Why not, Leli?”

“You know why. I have responsibilities. And what would I even do if I stayed? I’m Orlesian, Sierra, or close enough for the Fereldan nobility to hate me regardless. Nathaniel’s got enough of a battle on his hands to recover his family name after his father…But with an Orlesian lover? Or worse, wife?”

I raised an eyebrow at her, fighting an ironic smile. “Do you remember what you said to me when I told you Alistair deserved more?”

Leli sniffled, shaking her head.

“You told me that what he deserved should be his choice. If Nate wants to fight the nobility for you, shouldn’t that be his choice? He’s hardly unaware of the issue, I’m sure. If Cailan can make a bastard and an off-worlder a prince and princess, Nate can marry an Orlesian. He obviously thinks you’re worth it, if he’s talking marriage.”

“And what sort of wife would I be? I’m a bard, not some pampered noble. What would I even do with myself?”

“You don’t think Amaranthine will need all the help it can get to recover from Nate’s father, Bann Esmerelle, and a darkspawn invasion? You would be an enormous help to him, not to mention you could work with the Chantry, open a school...just be a wife, be loved, maybe even be a mother. Would that be so terrible?”

A few more stray tears trickled down her cheek. “No, not terrible. It would be wonderful, no? But I still have responsibilities.”

“Do you really think Jus…I mean, Dorothea wouldn’t understand?”

“I’ve been told to report to Val Royeaux, and then I’m being sent to Haven with a bunch of Chantry scholars.”

I wracked my brain for a long-forgotten epilogue slide. “And nothing will be there. The temple will be inaccessible, and no one will know why – some sort of ancient magic, an act of the Maker, or something more nefarious? But more to the point – have you told her? Maybe for once you could be happy! If you tell her…I’m sure she’d let you go.”

I wasn’t sure if that was more reassuring, or less; her face crumpled, and scrubbing tears off her face angrily, she fled from the dining room.

The next few days continued along the same lines. Alistair and Aedan rode to Amaranthine for most of one day, returning late; they reported a good start on the walls of the city, and housing for the few elves remaining in Amaranthine – most of them had been sold to slavers, unsurprisingly – had begun construction; Nate arrested Esmerelle and installed Delilah as at least temporary Bann; they confirmed the tunnels under the city were still sealed, the entrances guarded, the smugglers out of business. To my chagrin, both men had no difficulty riding horses, and neither fell off nor bruised their butts from their travels. Show offs.

Voldrik, along with some of the Orzammar stone masons, had begun work on the Vigil’s walls; Cailan had ordered stone shipped from the quarries near Denerim, after the Alienage was finished, so we didn’t have to find a source of local granite after all.

I spent some time reconnecting with my friends – Zevran, Conrad, Anders, Solona, Wulf, Bel…even Oghren. I had barely seen them in Denerim, if at all, and things had been too busy since we’d arrived at the Vigil for much more than brief chats in the hallway. I got to know Sigrun and Seranni a bit better, and started learning some elvish swearwords surreptitiously from listening to Seranni and Velanna talk.

I ordered a set of non-descript leather armour from a grumbling Wade; he reluctantly admitted that the armour given to me in Orzammar was flawless, but I needed something less noticeable for if I was travelling. The whiny armourer cheered up considerably when he learned that he’d probably be making Archdemon hide armour for Aedan and a new set of Archdemon dragon bone plate for Alistair. Herren rolled his eyes, mostly tolerantly, and only sniped at me sarcastically a little bit.

I’d finally gotten to the point where I’d stopped needing healing after riding lessons when the schedule I’d gotten used to was suddenly completely disrupted. I was sitting in the dining room eating breakfast with Aedan, Zevran, and Alistair, half-listening as they discussed sending out patrols to keep an eye on the darkspawn activity along the Pilgrim’s Path and the Knotwood Hills, to check in on Kal’Hirol, and to scout the Dragon Bone Wastes for signs of the Mother’s army, when we were interrupted by a messenger.

It wasn’t Maverlies; the young man was clearly a new recruit in Cailan’s army, and by the shortness of breath, had ridden hard all the way from Denerim and hadn’t stopped running since he’d gotten off his horse. It immediately made me nervous when he was so intent on blurting out his message that he didn’t even stop to stumble over what titles to call Alistair or me, and didn’t awkwardly genuflect like almost every other commoner we’d met since the Landsmeet.

“Commanders, my Lords, my Lady… I have urgent news from His Majesty in Denerim. He wishes you to depart for the capital immediately.” He offered Aedan a thick envelope breathlessly.

Aedan gestured for the man to have a drink and take a moment to collect himself. “Take a breath, man. Now, what in Andraste’s name has happened?”

The messenger opened his mouth, and the next words out of it would send me reeling.

“The ship carrying Her Maj- er, I mean, Lady Anora, to Nevarra was scuttled. There were some survivors, but Lady Anora wasn’t among them.”

There and Back - Chapter 125 - Edited, non-explicit version

elyssacousland — Mon, 23 Jan 2017 19:04:10 GMT

This is the edited, SFW version without descriptive sex. If you prefer to read the naughty bits, please see the previous entry for the NSFW version.

Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Five: *Unexpected Results

“If you two don’t mind, could we talk?”

Seranni nodded, but Velanna sniffed derisively. “We need to speak with the Warden Commanders, as I understand it, Shemlen. We don’t have time for idle chatter.”

I stiffened, annoyed at her continuing rudeness. Not that it’s surprising, but…seriously?

Seranni barked something at her in Elvish, and Velanna blanched, softening her tone. “My sister sickens. These delays cannot be healthy. Please.”

I nodded. “I have my husband and brother’s leave to speak for them about your…situation. No more delays, I promise. Please, follow me.”

I turned and headed towards the small sitting room, trying to look confident, hoping the two would actually follow me. I heard a flurry of elvish from Seranni, obviously chastising her sister once again, and then breathed a sigh of relief as several sets of footsteps followed me out of the main hall.

I motioned to chairs inside the sitting room, seating myself on one after the two sat down; Wulf lingered behind me, foregoing a chair and leaning against the wall imposingly.

Velanna eyed me suspiciously. “Why are you the one we must talk to?”

“Didn’t jump back quickly enough when they asked for volunteers?” I joked. Velanna’s expression grew even more annoyed, and I sighed. “We thought it might be easier for you. Two large human men can be…intimidating. We were hoping this would be less uncomfortable.”

“So a flat-ear and a shem noblewoman were supposed to make us feel at home? I am not intimidated by two men.”

“Of course you aren’t,” I muttered, trying to avoid rolling my eyes. “I am not your typical noblewoman, and Wulf’s upbringing was…unique, but he isn’t from any Alienage. If you give us a chance, we may surprise you.”

Seranni and Velanna held a brief, acrimonious conversation in elvish; Velanna flushed, Seranni just looked frustrated, but eventually both nodded their agreement.

I took a deep breath.

“What I am going to tell you, you must promise to keep to yourselves. No one outside of the Grey Wardens knows, and the order is known for keeping their secrets. Those in Weisshaupt, the home of the original Grey Warden order, would not hesitate to have you killed for this knowledge. The Wardens here have separated themselves from Weisshaupt, but the risk remains. However,” I held up a hand to forestall Velanna’s obvious question, “we believe you deserve to know before you make your decisions.”

“What decision?” Velanna demanded. Seranni rolled her eyes at her sister, but the mage continued, “Just cure her. We do not desire any knowledge of your precious Wardens.”

“I know. But it isn’t that easy, unfortunately.”

Seranni squeezed Velanna’s arm in warning. “We will hear you out.”

“I need your word that you will not tell anyone the secrets you hear today. Not your friends or family, not your clan or Keeper.”

They nodded, Seranni looking curious, Velanna suspicious. “We give you our word.” Velanna said it out loud, for which I was grateful. Seranni’s agreement was apparent.

I sighed. “There is no cure for the darkspawn taint. No one who is infected will survive it.”

Velanna sputtered indignantly, while Seranni slumped, looking defeated.

I held up my hand again. “However, there is a way to slow down the progression.” Velanna lapsed into silence, while Seranni just stared at me with tear-filled eyes. “Normally an infected person would turn into a ghoul within a few days; there is a way to stretch that time out to years. Thirty, possibly even fifty years. Enough time to live a mostly normal life, assuming you are infected as an adult. However, there is a cost.”

I had both of their attention, and they stared at me as though transfixed. Neither even made a move to interrupt, which was so out of character for Velanna I nearly laughed.

“Grey Wardens have purposefully exposed themselves to the taint, in a special ritual that is responsible for the delay. That ritual makes a person into a Grey Warden, and it is the only way to slow the progression.

“It is not without risk. It is very unpleasant. Some who undergo the ritual will not survive – exposing yourself to the taint is not for the weak. And those who survive are…changed. They are stronger, more dexterous, have greater stamina, and can sense the darkspawn; darkspawn can also sense them. They see the darkspawn in their dreams. But they also must dedicate their lives to fighting darkspawn.

“If you stay, you may visit your clan, but you will never truly be one of them again. They will not understand the sacrifices you make to save them. You wouldn’t fit in, even if you tried. Even those who try to run away…they are still Grey Wardens. The taint is in their blood. One day, they will still become ghouls, unless they die first.

“So that is your choice, Seranni. Die now of the taint – either as a ghoul or during the Joining – or live a life very different from what you had planned, and die from the taint later.”

“I’m not much of a fighter.” Seranni worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “You said I’d have to fight darkspawn?”

“You’ll learn, if you choose to stay. We have many talented fighters in the Order. I couldn’t fight either, when I first met the Wardens. They’ll assess your skills and help you train in whatever style seems to fit. And I understand you’re skilled with plants and herbs? We could use that. You’ll be able to contribute.”

“What about my sister?” the blonde asked.

“We understand that Velanna has been exiled from your clan. It is possible that returning with a treaty of mutual aid negotiated with the Arl of Amaranthine would ameliorate that, and she could return home…but we would also be willing to offer the Joining to her.”

“Since Seranni is not an experienced fighter, I suppose this is your way of forcing me to become a Warden?” Velanna snapped. I could see hurt, resentment, but also fear in her eyes. She thinks we’ll let Seranni die if she refuses.

I sighed again. “It’s an offer, not a demand. Your skills would be useful, but you have the option to leave. We thought you might want to stay together. Arl Nathaniel,” I refused to call him Arl Howe, “would like the opportunity to make a treaty with your clan, with any nearby clans. Non-aggression, trade deals, that sort of thing. So you could go back to your clan. I’m sure they’d take you when you could guarantee them safe ground in Ferelden.”

“Why would you do that?” Velanna asked, looking unexpectedly vulnerable. “I…”

“We aren’t monsters, Velanna. I know you’ve had bad experiences. I’ve seen others with worse, believe me.” I felt Wulf twitch at my back, and I knew he understood I was thinking about Kallian. “Elves are treated worse than slaves, and the Dalish are treated like vermin to be exterminated. I don’t agree with it. I wasn’t raised to think like that. The King, the Arl…they’re trying to change it.

“But among the Wardens, everyone is equal. No one cares if you’re human, elf, or dwarf, male or female. All that matters is that you fight darkspawn. A lot of Wardens were outcasts of some sort – some were criminals, some just didn’t fit in, some acquired the taint and couldn’t survive any other way. No one asks, and no one cares. The Wardens are a family – dysfunctional, probably, but always there for each other. And if you wish to remain with your sister as a Warden, we would not say no. However, even if only one of you survives, we expect the other to remain with us, and that may be difficult to accept.”

I turned to Wulf. “Anything you’d like to add?”

He shook his head, unkempt mane of hair flying. “Just that what Sierra says is true. The Wardens treat me no differently than any of the humans or dwarves. I hadn’t expected that. It’s hard work, but it’s fulfilling, too.”

I turned back to the two women. “I’ll leave you to talk. Ask for me or Wulf if you have questions. But if you choose to stay, we should do the Joining no later than tomorrow morning.” I gestured at the black veins creeping up Seranni’s arms. “Wait too long, and the chances of success go down.”

I left them there with Wulf, and went in search of my husband. I found him with Aedan and Sigrun; the dwarf was smiling and nodding, and I gathered she’d agreed to become a Warden. They were telling her she would still be a member of the Legion of the Dead, and she assured them she would gladly give her loyalty to another group who fought darkspawn in any way they could, like the Legion.

She grinned at me, and I welcomed her warmly, but briefly, before excusing myself.

“I’m going to go take a nap,” I explained, pulling out of Alistair’s arms.

“It’s been a rough few days,” Aedan agreed. “Get some rest; we will see you at dinner.” He gestured to the door. “Why don’t you show me just how good you are with those daggers, Sigrun?” They left together, discussing weapons and sparring.

“Can I join you?” my husband asked, cupping my cheek with one big hand.

I looked up at him, his ridiculously handsome face bearing a slight smirk, eyes twinkling, and I shivered slightly at the promise I saw there. I nodded, and without a word, he took my hand and led me up the stairs.

Alistair’s lips were on mine the moment our door closed, his hands weaving into my curly hair, and I grabbed a handful of his tunic to hang on as I opened my mouth for him. His chest was hard and warm under my fingers, and his tongue stroked mine until I moaned, breathless.

“I thought we were going to be napping?” I panted.

“Oh, we will.” He stepped away, pulling his shirt up and over his head, revealing his perfect sculpted abs and shoulders. “After,” he continued, turning back and stalking towards me.

Afterwards, we lay there, boneless and tangled together, until we caught our breath and reluctantly disengaged.

He flopped onto his back, pulling me against him to rest my head on his shoulder, one of my legs thrown carelessly over his. I trailed my fingers mindlessly through his sparse chest hair, and he kissed my forehead softly.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured. “So beautiful.”

I flushed, embarrassed but secretly pleased. “That’s just the afterglow talking.”

“Don’t make me prove it to you. You said you wanted a nap, not another round.” He squeezed me, and I giggled. “I’ll do it.”

He moved as though to roll towards me, and I hurried to push against his chest, holding him down. “Okay, take it easy. Whatever you say, husband.” He snorted and settled back, and I snuggled back into his embrace. “Sleep, love.”

Taking my own advice, I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

I was woken a while later by a noise; I was alone on the bed, and Alistair, wearing nothing but his loose sleeping trousers, was peeking out the door, talking to someone. He closed the door softly, turning around and smiling when he saw I was awake.

“Aedan,” he told me, “has asked to meet with us before supper. We’re doing the Joining tonight.”

“For how many?” I held my breath, not sure if I was hoping for one, two, or three.

“Two, tonight. Seranni and Sigrun. Velanna has asked permission to return to her clan – once she’s confirmed Seranni survives – and negotiate a peace treaty of sorts, and then she may Join later.”

“And we can’t afford to wait for her, with Seranni.” He nodded. “I wonder if Velanna will come back after. She can be so unpleasant, though I know she’s a good person underneath all that. I don’t even know which I hope for.” I slipped out of the bed. “How long do we have?”

His eyes darkened as they raked down my naked form. “Long enough,” he replied, untying the string on his trousers. I gulped and backed up, and he smirked at me. “Now, about the proof you seemed to require…”

****
An hour later, after a hasty shower and shoving my wet hair into a pony tail, Alistair and I joined Aedan and the rest of the Wardens in the small sitting room. Zevran shot us knowing looks, and while I blushed, Alistair just grinned, squeezed my hand, and joined Aedan at the front of the crowd. I looked around, and noted Rolan standing alone, with Oghren and Bel between him and the rest of the Wardens; everyone was ignoring him, and I wondered what he’d done to earn himself their anger. Knowing what I did about him, it wasn’t hard to guess it was something to do with the mages. Probably accused Alim of blood magic again or something. I ignored it, hoping that Alistair and Aedan would be successful at dealing with him. I did know that they were strictly monitoring his access to Lyrium, and wondered if that was making him cranky.

When Seranni and Sigrun arrived, Aedan sent the other Wardens all out to go get dinner, except Alim and Rolan, the two most junior Wardens. The two stood as far apart as it was possible to be within the small room, making me chuckle. He sent a scowling Velanna away as well, which I thought was for the best – knowing your sister might die in the next hour was bad, but watching it would certainly be worse. Anders had made up the Joining potion with blood taken from one of the darkspawn in the basement, and I saw the chalice sitting on a table to Aedan’s left.

Seranni stepped up to me nervously, and I nodded encouragingly at her. She had to be afraid, and I felt the urge to hug her, but resisted. Even though she was much more pleasant than her sister, I wasn’t sure she’d welcome physical affection from a shemlen. “I’m glad you’re here,” I whispered. And I was; she might not survive the Joining, but dying of the taint or ending up a ghoul wasn’t a better outcome. And just maybe she’d survive.

Sigrun smiled at me, and I grinned in response.

“Welcome, Seranni and Sigrun,” Aedan began. “Tonight…”

I didn’t catch what he tried to say next, because Rolan interrupted him. “Commander, should we really be discussing this in front of a civilian?”

It took an embarrassingly long moment for me to realise he meant me. While I was technically a Grey Warden, very few people knew, due to my strange response to the taint – something we assumed was due to whatever the Architect had done to me as a baby. So Rolan had no way of knowing I was a Warden, but it still surprised me that he objected, given who my husband and brother were, and the fact I’d been present at his own Joining. I raised my eyebrows and turned back to Aedan and Alistair, waiting to see how they’d respond.

“Your concern is noted, Rolan. However, this civilian knows as much about the Order as you or I, and has been to multiple Joinings. She will be our host and landlord once the darkspawn threat here has been dealt with, and she is somewhat responsible for the recruitment of both of our new Sisters. I also feel it is appropriate for a woman to be present at a Joining when all the recruits are female, and all the Wardens male. She stays.”

“But-“ the former templar objected.

“Thank you, Rolan. If I may continue?”

Rolan finally nodded, refusing to look directly at me. I rolled my eyes and looked back at my brother again.

“Tonight, we will be adding two names to the ranks of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden. I know you must both be nervous, but we welcome you with open arms.” He talked through a spiel similar to Duncan’s – the one I remembered from the game, and from more recent Joinings, about the formation of the Order and its aims. It ended with the Grey Warden motto: “In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice. Here in Ferelden, having seen the unfortunate side to some of the politics involved, we have separated ourselves from Weisshaupt, with the hope that we can remain true to our goal – eradicating darkspawn and guarding against the next Blight. Our goals are the same, despite the schism.

“We speak only a few words before the Joining. Rolan, Alim, if you would?”

The two men, despite their differences, spoke in unison, the words heavy and evocative as always.

“Join us, sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you.”

Aedan lifted the chalice, disturbing the murky contents, and the smell of darkspawn blood, so familiar to me after a year of fighting them, wafted across the room. Sigrun’s eyes widened as she seemed to realise what was expected of her; Seranni just nodded to herself resignedly.

“Sigrun, you are called upon to submit yourself to the taint.”

The dwarf glanced at me, expression slightly panicked.

“It’s going to be fine,” I whispered reassuringly. “Go on.”

Aedan handed her the chalice. She frowned, shrugged, and then lifted it to her lips. I remembered the burn of that disgusting drink, and I winced sympathetically as she gagged at the taste. Aedan snatched the chalice back quickly as Rolan stepped forward smoothly. Sigrun coughed, grabbed her throat, and then screamed; her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped into Rolan’s arms.

I stepped forward, feeling her breath on my fingers at the same time I sensed the taint flowing through her veins – hers reminded me of the sensation of hugging a furry teddy bear. “She’s fine.”

Rolan settled her on the little couch, as Aedan turned to Seranni.

“Seranni, step forward. For the greater good,” he added, as she took the chalice.

She seemed almost eager, and I could see why; she’d lost some more hair, and the blackened veins were up past her elbow. Her skin was coated in a fine sheen of sweat, her complexion sallow, and her lips pale. It was clear to me she didn’t have long, and I wondered if she felt worse than she looked. The elf grimaced at the thick, smelly fluid, and took a breath. With one last look around, she smiled softly and drank.

I held my breath as she handed the cup back to Aedan; she went through the same set of actions as Sigrun: grabbing her throat, screaming; but as she fell, something different happened. Instead of going limp, she jerked against Alim, who cursed as he almost dropped her. Alistair jumped forward and the two men stabilised her and lowered her to the floor. She was flopping like a fish, mouth open in a silent scream, twitching; her back arched off the floor, her head rolling from side to side, her arms and legs thrashing, her breathing ragged and wet. Her head snapped back and made sickening contact with the floor; one arm knocked against a table leg. I’d never seen anything like it.

Aedan and Alistair traded startled looks that weren’t so much shocked as worried. Aedan grabbed a pillow off a nearby settee, propping the seizing woman’s head on it to keep her from banging it again. Alistair moved the nearby table. Their actions spoke of experience, like they’d done that before. Alim just stared at the seizing girl, as did Rolan from near Sigrun, unconscious on the couch.

“What?” I asked. “What is it? Why’s she doing that?”

Aedan looked over at me, a mask of careful neutrality coming over his features. “How many Wardens can you sense in this room, Alim?” he asked, never taking his eyes off me. It was clear the question wasn’t meant only for the mage. I shifted my attention to my senses and counted.

I could feel Alistair, my personal sunshine; Aedan and his crushing duty; Alim, agitated and angry; Rolan, suspicious and insecure; and Sigrun’s new fuzzy taint signature. From down the hall I could sense more, muted by distance, but in the room with me, I counted five.

I gasped. Aedan nodded. Alistair reached out for my hand, almost unconsciously pulling me close, just as Alim’s puzzled voice replied, “Four. Aedan, Alistair, Rolan, and Sigrun. With me that’s five. Only…only five. I can’t sense her.”

There and Back - Chapter 125 - Unedited, explicit version

elyssacousland — Mon, 23 Jan 2017 19:01:29 GMT

This is the unedited version with explicit, descriptive sex. If that isn't your thing, please see the next entry for the non-explicit version.

Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Five: *Unexpected Results

“If you two don’t mind, could we talk?”

Seranni nodded, but Velanna sniffed derisively. “We need to speak with the Warden Commanders, as I understand it, Shemlen. We don’t have time for idle chatter.”

I stiffened, annoyed at her continuing rudeness. Not that it’s surprising, but…seriously?

Seranni barked something at her in Elvish, and Velanna blanched, softening her tone. “My sister sickens. These delays cannot be healthy. Please.”

I nodded. “I have my husband and brother’s leave to speak for them about your…situation. No more delays, I promise. Please, follow me.”

I turned and headed towards the small sitting room, trying to look confident, hoping the two would actually follow me. I heard a flurry of elvish from Seranni, obviously chastising her sister once again, and then breathed a sigh of relief as several sets of footsteps followed me out of the main hall.

I motioned to chairs inside the sitting room, seating myself on one after the two sat down; Wulf lingered behind me, foregoing a chair and leaning against the wall imposingly.

Velanna eyed me suspiciously. “Why are you the one we must talk to?”

“Didn’t jump back quickly enough when they asked for volunteers?” I joked. Velanna’s expression grew even more annoyed, and I sighed. “We thought it might be easier for you. Two large human men can be…intimidating. We were hoping this would be less uncomfortable.”

“So a flat-ear and a shem noblewoman were supposed to make us feel at home? I am not intimidated by two men.”

“Of course you aren’t,” I muttered, trying to avoid rolling my eyes. “I am not your typical noblewoman, and Wulf’s upbringing was…unique, but he isn’t from any Alienage. If you give us a chance, we may surprise you.”

Seranni and Velanna held a brief, acrimonious conversation in elvish; Velanna flushed, Seranni just looked frustrated, but eventually both nodded their agreement.

I took a deep breath.

“What I am going to tell you, you must promise to keep to yourselves. No one outside of the Grey Wardens knows, and the order is known for keeping their secrets. Those in Weisshaupt, the home of the original Grey Warden order, would not hesitate to have you killed for this knowledge. The Wardens here have separated themselves from Weisshaupt, but the risk remains. However,” I held up a hand to forestall Velanna’s obvious question, “we believe you deserve to know before you make your decisions.”

“What decision?” Velanna demanded. Seranni rolled her eyes at her sister, but the mage continued, “Just cure her. We do not desire any knowledge of your precious Wardens.”

“I know. But it isn’t that easy, unfortunately.”

Seranni squeezed Velanna’s arm in warning. “We will hear you out.”

“I need your word that you will not tell anyone the secrets you hear today. Not your friends or family, not your clan or Keeper.”

They nodded, Seranni looking curious, Velanna suspicious. “We give you our word.” Velanna said it out loud, for which I was grateful. Seranni’s agreement was apparent.

I sighed. “There is no cure for the darkspawn taint. No one who is infected will survive it.”

Velanna sputtered indignantly, while Seranni slumped, looking defeated.

I held up my hand again. “However, there is a way to slow down the progression.” Velanna lapsed into silence, while Seranni just stared at me with tear-filled eyes. “Normally an infected person would turn into a ghoul within a few days; there is a way to stretch that time out to years. Thirty, possibly even fifty years. Enough time to live a mostly normal life, assuming you are infected as an adult. However, there is a cost.”

I had both of their attention, and they stared at me as though transfixed. Neither even made a move to interrupt, which was so out of character for Velanna I nearly laughed.

“Grey Wardens have purposefully exposed themselves to the taint, in a special ritual that is responsible for the delay. That ritual makes a person into a Grey Warden, and it is the only way to slow the progression.

“It is not without risk. It is very unpleasant. Some who undergo the ritual will not survive – exposing yourself to the taint is not for the weak. And those who survive are…changed. They are stronger, more dexterous, have greater stamina, and can sense the darkspawn; darkspawn can also sense them. They see the darkspawn in their dreams. But they also must dedicate their lives to fighting darkspawn.

“If you stay, you may visit your clan, but you will never truly be one of them again. They will not understand the sacrifices you make to save them. You wouldn’t fit in, even if you tried. Even those who try to run away…they are still Grey Wardens. The taint is in their blood. One day, they will still become ghouls, unless they die first.

“So that is your choice, Seranni. Die now of the taint – either as a ghoul or during the Joining – or live a life very different from what you had planned, and die from the taint later.”

“I’m not much of a fighter.” Seranni worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “You said I’d have to fight darkspawn?”

“You’ll learn, if you choose to stay. We have many talented fighters in the Order. I couldn’t fight either, when I first met the Wardens. They’ll assess your skills and help you train in whatever style seems to fit. And I understand you’re skilled with plants and herbs? We could use that. You’ll be able to contribute.”

“What about my sister?” the blonde asked.

“We understand that Velanna has been exiled from your clan. It is possible that returning with a treaty of mutual aid negotiated with the Arl of Amaranthine would ameliorate that, and she could return home…but we would also be willing to offer the Joining to her.”

“Since Seranni is not an experienced fighter, I suppose this is your way of forcing me to become a Warden?” Velanna snapped. I could see hurt, resentment, but also fear in her eyes. She thinks we’ll let Seranni die if she refuses.

I sighed again. “It’s an offer, not a demand. Your skills would be useful, but you have the option to leave. We thought you might want to stay together. Arl Nathaniel,” I refused to call him Arl Howe, “would like the opportunity to make a treaty with your clan, with any nearby clans. Non-aggression, trade deals, that sort of thing. So you could go back to your clan. I’m sure they’d take you when you could guarantee them safe ground in Ferelden.”

“Why would you do that?” Velanna asked, looking unexpectedly vulnerable. “I…”

“We aren’t monsters, Velanna. I know you’ve had bad experiences. I’ve seen others with worse, believe me.” I felt Wulf twitch at my back, and I knew he understood I was thinking about Kallian. “Elves are treated worse than slaves, and the Dalish are treated like vermin to be exterminated. I don’t agree with it. I wasn’t raised to think like that. The King, the Arl…they’re trying to change it.

“But among the Wardens, everyone is equal. No one cares if you’re human, elf, or dwarf, male or female. All that matters is that you fight darkspawn. A lot of Wardens were outcasts of some sort – some were criminals, some just didn’t fit in, some acquired the taint and couldn’t survive any other way. No one asks, and no one cares. The Wardens are a family – dysfunctional, probably, but always there for each other. And if you wish to remain with your sister as a Warden, we would not say no. However, even if only one of you survives, we expect the other to remain with us, and that may be difficult to accept.”

I turned to Wulf. “Anything you’d like to add?”

He shook his head, unkempt mane of hair flying. “Just that what Sierra says is true. The Wardens treat me no differently than any of the humans or dwarves. I hadn’t expected that. It’s hard work, but it’s fulfilling, too.”

I turned back to the two women. “I’ll leave you to talk. Ask for me or Wulf if you have questions. But if you choose to stay, we should do the Joining no later than tomorrow morning.” I gestured at the black veins creeping up Seranni’s arms. “Wait too long, and the chances of success go down.”

I left them there with Wulf, and went in search of my husband. I found him with Aedan and Sigrun; the dwarf was smiling and nodding, and I gathered she’d agreed to become a Warden. They were telling her she would still be a member of the Legion of the Dead, and she assured them she would gladly give her loyalty to another group who fought darkspawn in any way they could, like the Legion.

She grinned at me, and I welcomed her warmly, but briefly, before excusing myself.

“I’m going to go take a nap,” I explained, pulling out of Alistair’s arms.

“It’s been a rough few days,” Aedan agreed. “Get some rest; we will see you at dinner.” He gestured to the door. “Why don’t you show me just how good you are with those daggers, Sigrun?” They left together, discussing weapons and sparring.

“Can I join you?” my husband asked, cupping my cheek with one big hand.

I looked up at him, his ridiculously handsome face bearing a slight smirk, eyes twinkling, and I shivered slightly at the promise I saw there. I nodded, and without a word, he took my hand and led me up the stairs.

Alistair’s lips were on mine the moment our door closed, his hands weaving into my curly hair, and I grabbed a handful of his tunic to hang on as I opened my mouth for him. His chest was hard and warm under my fingers, and his tongue stroked mine until I moaned, breathless.

“I thought we were going to be napping?” I panted.

“Oh, we will.” He stepped away, pulling his shirt up and over his head, revealing his perfect sculpted abs and shoulders. “After,” he continued, turning back and stalking towards me.

I squealed as he scooped me up into his arms and practically threw me at the bed; I scrambled backwards towards the headboard as he prowled after me, crawling onto the bed with a predatory grin. He reached out and grabbed my ankle, my dress riding up my thighs as he pulled me towards him, and I giggled as his head burrowed down underneath the voluminous fabric of my skirts.

I stopped giggling when his fingers slipped my smalls aside and his tongue lapped into my folds, grazing my pearl before delving deeper to press into my entrance; he nudged my legs over his shoulders as he thrust into me, and I gasped and writhed under his ministrations. He’d taken me from drowsy and stressed to almost-orgasmic inferno in mere moments, and I fisted the blankets under me as he began plunging his tongue into me for real. He brought me to my peak quickly, fingers teasing my pearl, tongue inside me, and I screamed as I came, vision greying out around the edges.

Alistair licked me gently, prolonging my orgasm and carrying me through several aftershocks, finally pulling away to push up onto his knees, my legs still propped on his shoulders. He licked his lips in exaggerated fashion before pressing a kiss to one bony ankle.

“You taste so good,” he murmured, and I blushed – not that anyone would be able to tell with how flushed I was. My dress was puddled at my hips, and he grinned at me, suddenly almost shy. “I suppose now would be a good time to take this off?”

I laughed out loud, swinging my legs down to stand beside the bed, fingers going to the buttons down the front of my gown. Alistair helped me, and after much giggling and tickling, I finally stepped out of my now-wrinkled dress, tossing it into the hamper with a sigh. Alistair pulled me to him, and my breasts pressed up against his bare chest, his erection tenting his trousers between us.

I slipped off my smalls, then reached down to run my hands over the bulge, making him gasp. “Now, let’s see what we can do about this, shall we?”

I unlaced his trousers as he watched, eyes dark; snaking one hand inside as soon as they were loose, I grasped him gently, enjoying the velvet-over-steel feel of his impressive length in my palm. Growling slightly, he stepped off the bed to shuck his trousers completely before gently lifting me, bridal style, and climbing back on to the bed with me in his arms. He set me down softly, his bulky form leaning over top of me, and I spread my legs to allow him to settle against me, skin to skin. I sighed, enjoying the heaviness and pressure of him over me, and the feel of his hardness nestled against my slick folds.

He spent an eternity there, not moving, alternately kissing me deeply and nuzzling my neck, as we whispered words of love to each other; finally he rested his forehead against mine, staring deeply into my eyes as he entered me slowly. He shuddered at the heat and damp as I took him in, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

“So big,” I groaned, squeezing his length with my pelvic muscles. “So good. Please, Alistair.”

And then he was moving, slowly sliding in and out of me as I raised my hips, meeting him thrust for thrust. His piercing gaze never left mine, and I struggled to keep eye contact as he filled me so deliciously again and again. Still sensitive from my orgasm, I shuddered as he ground himself against me, stimulating my over-wrought nerves.

I could feel him trembling, trying to hold back; I used my legs to urge him on until he was almost pounding into me, and he groaned loudly.

“Come for me, Sierra. My love, my wife, please…”

The huskiness of his voice, the desperation, combined with the pressure building in my core, and I came apart in his arms, head thrown back and eyes closed against the onslaught of sensation. He collapsed against me, and I could feel the scalding heat as he released inside me. We lay there, boneless and tangled together, until we caught our breath and reluctantly disengaged.

He flopped onto his back, pulling me against him to rest my head on his shoulder, one of my legs thrown carelessly over his. I trailed my fingers mindlessly through his sparse chest hair, and he kissed my forehead softly.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured. “So beautiful.”

I flushed, embarrassed but secretly pleased. “That’s just the afterglow talking.”

“Don’t make me prove it to you. You said you wanted a nap, not another round.” He squeezed me, and I giggled. “I’ll do it.”

He moved as though to roll towards me, and I hurried to push against his chest, holding him down. “Okay, take it easy. Whatever you say, husband.” He snorted and settled back, and I snuggled back into his embrace. “Sleep, love.”

Taking my own advice, I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

I was woken a while later by a noise; I was alone on the bed, and Alistair, wearing nothing but his loose sleeping trousers, was peeking out the door, talking to someone. He closed the door softly, turning around and smiling when he saw I was awake.

“Aedan,” he told me, “has asked to meet with us before supper. We’re doing the Joining tonight.”

“For how many?” I held my breath, not sure if I was hoping for one, two, or three.

“Two, tonight. Seranni and Sigrun. Velanna has asked permission to return to her clan – once she’s confirmed Seranni survives – and negotiate a peace treaty of sorts, and then she may Join later.”

“And we can’t afford to wait for her, with Seranni.” He nodded. “I wonder if Velanna will come back after. She can be so unpleasant, though I know she’s a good person underneath all that. I don’t even know which I hope for.” I slipped out of the bed. “How long do we have?”

His eyes darkened as they raked down my naked form. “Long enough,” he replied, untying the string on his trousers. I gulped and backed up, and he smirked at me. “Now, about the proof you seemed to require…”

****
An hour later, after a hasty shower and shoving my wet hair into a pony tail, Alistair and I joined Aedan and the rest of the Wardens in the small sitting room. Zevran shot us knowing looks, and while I blushed, Alistair just grinned, squeezed my hand, and joined Aedan at the front of the crowd. I looked around, and noted Rolan standing alone, with Oghren and Bel between him and the rest of the Wardens; everyone was ignoring him, and I wondered what he’d done to earn himself their anger. Knowing what I did about him, it wasn’t hard to guess it was something to do with the mages. Probably accused Alim of blood magic again or something. I ignored it, hoping that Alistair and Aedan would be successful at dealing with him. I did know that they were strictly monitoring his access to Lyrium, and wondered if that was making him cranky.

When Seranni and Sigrun arrived, Aedan sent the other Wardens all out to go get dinner, except Alim and Rolan, the two most junior Wardens. The two stood as far apart as it was possible to be within the small room, making me chuckle. He sent a scowling Velanna away as well, which I thought was for the best – knowing your sister might die in the next hour was bad, but watching it would certainly be worse. Anders had made up the Joining potion with blood taken from one of the darkspawn in the basement, and I saw the chalice sitting on a table to Aedan’s left.

Seranni stepped up to me nervously, and I nodded encouragingly at her. She had to be afraid, and I felt the urge to hug her, but resisted. Even though she was much more pleasant than her sister, I wasn’t sure she’d welcome physical affection from a shemlen. “I’m glad you’re here,” I whispered. And I was; she might not survive the Joining, but dying of the taint or ending up a ghoul wasn’t a better outcome. And just maybe she’d survive.

Sigrun smiled at me, and I grinned in response.

“Welcome, Seranni and Sigrun,” Aedan began. “Tonight…”

I didn’t catch what he tried to say next, because Rolan interrupted him. “Commander, should we really be discussing this in front of a civilian?”

It took an embarrassingly long moment for me to realise he meant me. While I was technically a Grey Warden, very few people knew, due to my strange response to the taint – something we assumed was due to whatever the Architect had done to me as a baby. So Rolan had no way of knowing I was a Warden, but it still surprised me that he objected, given who my husband and brother were, and the fact I’d been present at his own Joining. I raised my eyebrows and turned back to Aedan and Alistair, waiting to see how they’d respond.

“Your concern is noted, Rolan. However, this civilian knows as much about the Order as you or I, and has been to multiple Joinings. She will be our host and landlord once the darkspawn threat here has been dealt with, and she is somewhat responsible for the recruitment of both of our new Sisters. I also feel it is appropriate for a woman to be present at a Joining when all the recruits are female, and all the Wardens male. She stays.”

“But-“ the former templar objected.

“Thank you, Rolan. If I may continue?”

Rolan finally nodded, refusing to look directly at me. I rolled my eyes and looked back at my brother again.

“Tonight, we will be adding two names to the ranks of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden. I know you must both be nervous, but we welcome you with open arms.” He talked through a spiel similar to Duncan’s – the one I remembered from the game, and from more recent Joinings, about the formation of the Order and its aims. It ended with the Grey Warden motto: “In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice. Here in Ferelden, having seen the unfortunate side to some of the politics involved, we have separated ourselves from Weisshaupt, with the hope that we can remain true to our goal – eradicating darkspawn and guarding against the next Blight. Our goals are the same, despite the schism.

“We speak only a few words before the Joining. Rolan, Alim, if you would?”

The two men, despite their differences, spoke in unison, the words heavy and evocative as always.

“Join us, sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you.”

Aedan lifted the chalice, disturbing the murky contents, and the smell of darkspawn blood, so familiar to me after a year of fighting them, wafted across the room. Sigrun’s eyes widened as she seemed to realise what was expected of her; Seranni just nodded to herself resignedly.

“Sigrun, you are called upon to submit yourself to the taint.”

The dwarf glanced at me, expression slightly panicked.

“It’s going to be fine,” I whispered reassuringly. “Go on.”

Aedan handed her the chalice. She frowned, shrugged, and then lifted it to her lips. I remembered the burn of that disgusting drink, and I winced sympathetically as she gagged at the taste. Aedan snatched the chalice back quickly as Rolan stepped forward smoothly. Sigrun coughed, grabbed her throat, and then screamed; her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped into Rolan’s arms.

I stepped forward, feeling her breath on my fingers at the same time I sensed the taint flowing through her veins – hers reminded me of the sensation of hugging a furry teddy bear. “She’s fine.”

Rolan settled her on the little couch, as Aedan turned to Seranni.

“Seranni, step forward. For the greater good,” he added, as she took the chalice.

She seemed almost eager, and I could see why; she’d lost some more hair, and the blackened veins were up past her elbow. Her skin was coated in a fine sheen of sweat, her complexion sallow, and her lips pale. It was clear to me she didn’t have long, and I wondered if she felt worse than she looked. The elf grimaced at the thick, smelly fluid, and took a breath. With one last look around, she smiled softly and drank.

I held my breath as she handed the cup back to Aedan; she went through the same set of actions as Sigrun: grabbing her throat, screaming; but as she fell, something different happened. Instead of going limp, she jerked against Alim, who cursed as he almost dropped her. Alistair jumped forward and the two men stabilised her and lowered her to the floor. She was flopping like a fish, mouth open in a silent scream, twitching; her back arched off the floor, her head rolling from side to side, her arms and legs thrashing, her breathing ragged and wet. Her head snapped back and made sickening contact with the floor; one arm knocked against a table leg. I’d never seen anything like it.

Aedan and Alistair traded startled looks that weren’t so much shocked as worried. Aedan grabbed a pillow off a nearby settee, propping the seizing woman’s head on it to keep her from banging it again. Alistair moved the nearby table. Their actions spoke of experience, like they’d done that before. Alim just stared at the seizing girl, as did Rolan from near Sigrun, unconscious on the couch.

“What?” I asked. “What is it? Why’s she doing that?”

Aedan looked over at me, a mask of careful neutrality coming over his features. “How many Wardens can you sense in this room, Alim?” he asked, never taking his eyes off me. It was clear the question wasn’t meant only for the mage. I shifted my attention to my senses and counted.

I could feel Alistair, my personal sunshine; Aedan and his crushing duty; Alim, agitated and angry; Rolan, suspicious and insecure; and Sigrun’s new fuzzy taint signature. From down the hall I could sense more, muted by distance, but in the room with me, I counted five.

I gasped. Aedan nodded. Alistair reached out for my hand, almost unconsciously pulling me close, just as Alim’s puzzled voice replied, “Four. Aedan, Alistair, Rolan, and Sigrun. With me that’s five. Only…only five. I can’t sense her.”

There and Back - Chapter 124

elyssacousland — Mon, 09 Jan 2017 22:34:14 GMT

Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Four: Ripples in Time

My reunion with Alistair was hampered by a massive bandage across his left shoulder. I found him sitting in a crowd of injured soldiers, patiently waiting his turn for Anders to take a look at him. His armour had been cut off, part of it dented; he’d need a new set eventually. Someone had wrapped a length of linen bandage around his upper arm and shoulder, and blood was slowly seeping through despite that.

I launched myself at him, slowing only slightly when I landed on my knees beside him so I didn’t jar his bad shoulder. I dropped my helmet beside him and wrapped my arms around his torso, pressing my nose into the crease in his neck opposite the bandages. I felt his fingers weave into my hair, holding me close, as he pressed kisses to the side of my head. Finally, cradled up to my husband’s chest, I let go and felt the tears rolling down my cheeks, soaking into his sweat-stained under-armour.

We held each other for a few moments, just revelling in the fact that we were both alive; finally I pushed away, cupping his face in my hands and kissing him softly.

“I love you, husband.”

“And I you, wife.” He untangled his hand from my hair and tried to settle me into his lap; he groaned softly as his injured shoulder protested.

“What happened here?” I pulled away from him and reached for the bandages; he slapped my hands away and tried to pull me closer again, ignoring the pain. “Maker, where’s Anders?” I turned to locate the healer, but Alistair clamped his hand over my mouth before I could call out.

“It’s fine. I lost my shield, and a hurlock got a lucky strike in. It will be fine. Anders has much worse to deal with first, love.”

I scowled at him; it wasn’t that I wanted Anders to stop dealing with life-threatening injuries, but Alistair couldn’t hide the pain in his eyes from me, and I hated seeing him like that. I wracked my brain for some reasonable excuse to have the healer see to him first, but was saved by Trevian.

“Commander? We need you over here.”

Anders nodded at the dwarf and immediately came over, tutting in frustration at the gash across his shoulder as he peeled back the bandages. I could barely look; instead I pressed my face up against his other arm and slipped my hand into his tightly.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Anders scolded Alistair. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, you great stubborn ox.”

Alistair snorted in amusement and I actually let out a half-hearted giggle as I felt the healing magic wash over him. When it was done, we both stood and Alistair wrapped both arms around me, kissing my forehead softly. “Talk later?” I nodded, somehow ashamed that he’d been able to sense my distress when he had other things he should be thinking about. He lifted my chin and rubbed my nose with his. I grinned reluctantly, and with one last squeeze, he went to talk to Trevian, Nathaniel, and Varel.

“Anders, need any help?”

I spent the next few hours scurrying around delivering healing potions, bandaging minor wounds that didn’t need magic to heal, and helping wounded soldiers back to the barracks. Solona was recruited to magically incinerate the darkspawn corpses; her skill with fire was only mediocre, so she was completely depleted by the time that was finished despite a couple of Lyrium potions. Exhausted, she finally went to bed.

Trevian, and a few other Legionnaires including Sigrun, used picks they produced from their belongings somewhere to dig trenches in the stone of the Deep Roads near the barrier door and then carefully buried the dwarves who’d died, also making a stone marker to honour Fargrim and the others who’d been lost beyond the door. They didn’t hold a funeral and declined Varel’s offer to include them in the ceremony that would eventually be held for the soldiers who had given their lives.

When Alistair was finished giving orders and talking to Nate, the last job that needed to be done was to carry the soldier’s bodies to the courtyard for funerals in the morning. Instead of helping, Alistair came over and scooped me into his arms, pulling me away from all of the death and horror of the battle. Initially I protested, between the embarrassment of being carried around, worry about his shoulder, and the desire to help, but Alistair ignored me and made his way carefully to our room. We had a long, hot bath together; I cried in his arms while he shuddered in mine. We made love slowly, and then collapsed together in bed to sleep.

The next day was difficult. Alistair made a speech about the sacrifices made by good men; I cried some more. And then pyres for the soldiers were lit; the dwarves excused themselves to their own drunken mourning, but the rest of us respectfully watched the pyres burn down.

Aedan returned halfway through the afternoon, horrified to learn what he had left for us when he went to Amaranthine, but relieved that we were alive. Leliana, who must have been even more worried than I had thought, went straight into Nathaniel’s arms for a very public kiss.

“What now?” Aedan finally asked, once the initial pleasantries had been finished and we’d been served dinner in the dining room. “Can they get through that door?”

I shook my head, just as Trevian entered, replying, “Not likely, Warden.” The Legion commander, smelling of ale but looking remarkably sober, exchanged respectful nods with Alistair and then turned his attention to my brother. “Orzammar’s been protected by one just like that for generations. They’d have to dig tons of rock to get around the mechanism – it’s sunk deep into the walls all the way around. They’ve never gotten through one before.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to set up some arcane traps down there as a warning, just in case,” Alistair replied. “I wonder if Anders knows how.”

“How did it go in Amaranthine?” I asked, changing the subject.

Aedan filled us in; he’d made contact with the city guard, cleared the smugglers out of the various dens and secret passages throughout Amaranthine, and then, with the aid of some of Dworkin’s explosives, collapsed the tunnels leading into the city so the Mother’s forces wouldn’t have easy access to the city later on.

Nathaniel sighed. “And Esmerelle really was working with them?”

Aedan nodded; Zevran handed over several sheets of parchment – detailing payments the smugglers had made to the local Bann – pilfered from the Bann’s own estate, evidently. Nate handed them to Varel, turning his attention back to Aedan.

“Did you speak with my sister?”

Aedan chuckled. “Yes. She still hasn’t forgiven me for that dress.” I giggled, and Nate grinned. “I don’t think she’ll be keen on it, but I’m sure you can convince her.”

I frowned. “Keen on what?”

Nathaniel replied, “Well, given Esmerelle’s illegal activities, and what you told me about her and the others forming a conspiracy to take over the Arling, I’ve been assuming I’ll need to replace her as Bann sooner rather than later. I’ve spoken to Fergus, and he agrees. I’ve been searching through my father’s papers and correspondence. So with this, I’ve assembled enough evidence; she’ll be arrested, and I plan to make Delilah the Bann of Amaranthine.”

“But isn’t she…I mean, forgive me, but she married a commoner. She’s pregnant! What will happen to Albert?”

Nathaniel wrinkled his brow at me, puzzled. “What do you mean? He’ll be with her, of course. He can’t be Bann without a royal decree raising him to the nobility, but nothing can stop her from claiming her noble blood. Her children will inherit.”

“If I can be a Prince, she can be a Bann.” Alistair’s expression was sour as he spoke his title.

“I just…” I looked around at the men staring at me in varying degrees of bemusement and confusion. “Never mind.”

Nate finally took pity on me. “It’s not exactly standard, I’ll give you that. But they are legally married, and to be honest, his skills as a merchant will aid Delilah running the Arling. She’s a pushover. Couldn’t bargain for something to save her life. And she’s happy with him. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise that.

“Besides,” he glanced at Leliana and blushed, “he isn’t the only commoner married to a noble.”

The bard paled and looked away, expression tortured.

“Teagan’s proposed to Kaitlyn, then?” Alistair asked, and Leliana sent him a grateful smile as the conversation turned to the likelihood of a winter wedding, or whether the newly-raised Arl would wait for spring. I made a mental note to talk to Leliana about whatever that was, later.

The following day, the dwarves were still drunk; the soldiers began the difficult work of cleaning out the basement, including the tainted sections. Nate and Varel had gone down with them, though I warned them about the possibility of undead Avvar and demons. Nate asked Varel to write a letter to the Circle later requesting a mage knowledgeable about the undead and the Avvar to be sent to the Vigil – it would be a permanent position, if things worked out.

Conrad arrived back at the Vigil with Rolan, Bel, and Wulf; he had two elven women in tow, though he seemed to be ignoring them as he looked wildly around the courtyard at the Vigil. The horses were practically foaming, and Samuel complained bitterly under his breath as he took the reins of the exhausted beasts and led them away. We’d felt him coming after breakfast, and so Alistair, Zev, Aedan, and I were waiting for him when he arrived.

“I thought there would be darkspawn? We saw smoke!”

It took a few minutes to reassure the senior Warden and his group that we were safe, though he was saddened like the rest of us about the loss of life. He ruffled my hair with a grin when he learned about my part in the battle, and I swatted at him with an indignant squawk. Trust Conrad to lighten the mood. Convinced that everything was fine and the Vigil wasn’t under attack, Rolan, Bel, and Wulf greeted us and then excused themselves to unpack.

As we spoke, the two Dalish elves stood behind Conrad, one watching with interest, her sandy blond hair short and reminiscent of Leliana’s style, the other with impatience she didn’t even bother to conceal, reminding me strongly of Morrigan. She had her arms crossed over her chest, an enormous scowl on her otherwise pretty face marring the intricate tattoo that swirled over her chin and forehead. Both women had the same tattoos, and while I didn’t recognise the patterns, I did recognise the women.

The angry one was Velanna, and the other was her sister Seranni.

I turned away quickly before my gaping could give me away; I knew Velanna’s response to a ‘shem’ staring at her was likely to be swift and acerbic. In the game, you were never given much of a chance to talk to Seranni, though I recalled hearing she was nicer and more sociable than her sister; I still didn’t want to make a bad first impression. Alistair noted my reaction and raised an eyebrow at me; I shook my head slightly, schooled my expression, and looked back at the two as Conrad introduced them and launched into an explanation of why they were at the Vigil.

“We got wind of the villagers planning to try to burn out the Dalish, like you warned us, but we got there too late.” Velanna scoffed, muttering under her breath; Conrad rolled his eyes and continued, “Fortunately no one was killed, but several of the clan’s Hunters were injured and some of the aravels,” he stumbled over the unfamiliar word, and Seranni nodded encouragingly, “were damaged. Keeper Ilshae informed us that these two, and a handful of others, had left without permission to go and exact revenge.”

Velanna harrumphed loudly, turning her nose up; Seranni shot her a dirty look and then turned to Aedan with a tentative smile. “Not all of us. Some of us were just trying to stop the others.”

Aedan nodded his understanding, and the petite elf relaxed slightly.

“So we went after them – we knew there were darkspawn about – and found the camp being attacked. One of them spoke! I know you warned us about that, but I still…” he trailed off, shuddered, and then shook his head as if to clear it. “Anyway, the creature is dead, as are several of the other elves. The survivors decided to go back to their clan; Seranni asked us to find Velanna, who’d been off on her own when they were attacked, so we did.”

Aedan gave Conrad a puzzled look. “And you brought them back with you, because…?”

The Warden flushed. “Right. Well, I was trying to assure them that their clan would be safe, and I thought it might help if they were able to talk with the Arl, you know, maybe make a formal alliance or something. And then, well…” He gestured at Seranni helplessly, an expression I couldn’t interpret on his face. He ran his fingers through his copper hair restlessly as we all turned our attention to the elf.

She said nothing, just looked down, embarrassed, face flushing under the scrutiny. I had no idea what point he was trying to get across, so I stared vaguely trying to figure it out. Something was bothering me, though I couldn’t pinpoint what. She was somewhat unkempt, smudges of dirt marring her pretty face, but I was more than used to that sort of thing – a year of sleeping in tents with limited facilities while fighting darkspawn will inure you to that fairly quickly. Her hair was somewhat dull, and strangely thin in places, her complexion much paler than her sister’s healthy tan.

Just as my observations caught up with me, Velanna snorted with disgust and, in a tone dripping with acid, said, “My sister has been tainted by the darkspawn. This shem,” Seranni practically growled at her, but she continued, unfazed, “tells us that the Grey Wardens have a cure.”

I took a deep breath, reeling from the news. I finally understood what had been bothering me; the sensation of the taint, different than what a Warden felt like, was emanating from the unfortunate elf. She wasn’t far gone yet, but obviously her hair had started falling out, and her ashen skin was the first phase in the transformation to the melted-wax look all darkspawn shared.

Seranni turned on her sister, hands on her hips, scowling. “Velanna, you know full well the Warden said they ‘might’ be able to help me. He didn’t promise anything. And with the way you’re acting, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were reluctant to help even if they could!”

Somewhat chastened, Velanna turned away, shoulders slumped. Her cheeks flushed and her chin quivered just slightly; it felt like possibly the first glimpse of the real person she was underneath all that excess anger. She’s just a person scared she’s going to lose her sister. I tried to think about how I’d feel if Aedan were the one dying, and suddenly had a lot more compassion.

It didn’t change the fact that what they were hoping for, a miracle cure, wasn’t what we had to offer. And I wasn’t even sure if putting Seranni through the Joining was a good idea. If she died, Velanna would blame us, and I had no idea if the younger elf even had any skills that would be of use. I didn’t think I’d ever be as pragmatic as some of the Wardens seemed to be, from what I’d read, but surely recruiting someone who couldn’t really help at all wasn’t all that good an idea.

As all those thoughts worked their way through my mind, I suddenly realised that Aedan, Alistair, Zev, and Conrad were all staring at me. Did I just use my outside voice to think all of that? But no, Seranni isn’t staring at me…0And then it occurred to me why. They were wondering if the game covered anything like this. I shrugged slightly and tilted my head, gesturing to Aedan that I thought we should talk privately.

Aedan cleared his throat and looked back at Seranni. “We can…uh, talk about that in a little while. It looks like Conrad had you all galloping the whole way here; you must be exhausted.” He turned and motioned to a nearby soldier, who happened to be Maverlies. “Could you please take these two ladies inside, find Varel and have them assigned quarters, and have baths drawn up?” She nodded, and he turned back to Seranni. “Ask one of the servants to bring you to the dining hall when you’re done, and we can talk.”

Velanna looked about to object, loudly, but Seranni thanked Aedan, then turned, grabbed her arm, and dragged the irate elf inside, resolutely following Maverlies. We all watched them go, before Zevran surreptitiously followed them after exchanging glances with Aedan. My brother herded Conrad, Alistair, and I inside, finding a small sitting room somewhere and closing the door. I sank into a chair, still shaken. I looked up to find the other three also seated, and back to staring at me.

I sighed. “I have no idea what will happen if you offer Seranni the Joining. In the game, she was kidnapped by the talking darkspawn and became a ghoul, following the Architect around. Maybe helping him, although she also aided the Wardens when we were captured. It wasn’t clear what became of her, but presumably she went down into the Deep Roads either with the Architect or on her own, depending.

“Velanna, on the other hand, would survive. In the game her sister was a ghoul, and she became a Warden. But you saw how she is to start with…she was unpleasant. She’s had bad experiences.”

Aedan turned to Conrad. “Did you happen to spend any time with Seranni? Can she even fight?”

Conrad winced. “She’s young,” he replied, which was pretty much answer enough in itself. “She might be useful though – she mentioned she’s a skilled herbalist. She might be able to help with potions and things.”

Aedan looked thoughtful. “That could be useful; Anders could use the help, and we know we will eventually lose him anyway.”

I’d forgotten that I’d told them about Anders needing to go to Kirkwall.

I hesitated, then said what I was sure was on everyone’s mind: “What if she doesn’t make it?”

No one answered, so I kept talking. “Velanna already hates humans. She got herself exiled just for the chance at revenge. If her sister dies, she’ll do something stupid.”

“Rock and a hard place,” Alistair muttered.

Aedan nodded. “If she thinks we might have a cure, and don’t give it to them, we’re in the same boat.”

“Next question,” Conrad added, “is do we offer the Joining to Velanna?”

Alistair looked startled. “Why would we do that? Why would she do that?”

“To stay with her sister. Besides, she may have nowhere else to go.” I thought about the game, remembering that Velanna disappeared into the Deep Roads one day looking for Seranni. “The bigger issue is what happens if we do and Seranni doesn’t survive. An angry Velanna who’s also a Warden doesn’t really appeal.”

“I suspect she will survive, though. If she can survive becoming a ghoul without losing her mind, the Joining seems like it would be less…harrowing,” Aedan postulated.

We all stared at each other silently for a while, thinking furiously. Finally Conrad stirred.

“What if…look, this is a weird idea for a Warden, I know, but what if we tell them the truth and let them choose? I don’t think they’d spill our secrets – Seranni is dying, and Velanna’s got bigger problems to deal with. Even if they say no, our risk is minimal. But if they make the choice, then we aren’t to blame if Seranni doesn’t make it.”

Aedan and Alistair exchanged glances, and then finally nodded.

“Can I tell them?” I requested. “Nathaniel’s been telling me I have to be prepared to give bad news, like talk to the families of soldiers who died, for example. It’ll be good practice. And maybe, girl-to-girl, it won’t be so intimidating.”

Aedan stared at me, eyebrows raised, as if doubting my sincerity. “Do you know something about them you haven’t told us?”

“What? No. I just think…maybe they’ll take it better from a woman, and someone who isn’t a Warden.”

“Take Wulf with you,” Conrad advised. “Velanna seemed to be less offended by him than the rest of us.”

Aedan nodded in agreement, and Alistair just squeezed my hand in sympathy.

“On another note…Sigrun?” Aedan turned to Alistair and me.

I shrugged. “You know how I feel.”

Alistair responded at exactly the same moment. “Take her.” He looked at me and grinned.

“So she’s good?”

“Not as good as you or Zev, but she’s talented with a blade. And keen, eager, has seemingly endless energy…takes orders well, but not blindly. She’ll speak up if she’s got a better idea or she’s ordered to do something stupid. She’d be a good counter to Velanna, from the sounds of things. The eternal optimist. And knowledgeable about poisons – she learned from that Legion nut.” He paused for a minute, grimacing. “…Maker keep him. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead.”

I suppressed a wry chuckle; that Legionnaire had been nuts, but we’d been lucky to have him. He hadn’t been in the shield wall, but had been killed by darkspawn during the fight none-the-less. I was sure he’d be missed by the Legion.

“Alright, so if that’s it, why don’t you go settle in, Conrad? And we’ll leave Velanna and Seranni to you, Sierra.”

I nodded. Alistair gave me a sweet kiss, and then I went in search of Wulf. I found the former werewolf eating his bodyweight in food in the dining room. I asked him to come with me, and with a nod, he finished the food on his plate and followed me.

I wondered briefly where Varel had put Velanna and Seranni, but was saved having to go on an extensive search by the arrival of both women in the main hall as Wulf and I wandered through.

“Andaran atish’an, Velanna and Seranni.” I carefully pronounced the Elven greeting, giving the two elves a formal Grey Warden-type bow.

Wulf bowed as well, though stayed characteristically silent two steps behind me and to my left. Seranni returned my greeting with a smile, but Velanna just raised one irritated eyebrow.

I sighed. “If you two don’t mind, could we talk?”

There and Back - Chapter 123

elyssacousland — Tue, 20 Dec 2016 06:00:25 GMT

Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Three: Closing Doors

I stared out into the distance for a few moments, trying to get a sense of how many darkspawn were out there; it was far too dark for me to tell, and as always in the Deep Roads, my Warden sense wasn’t working right. I cursed; I could do nothing – not about the door, or the horde.

I turned back the way I came and crept back through the darkspawn-infected hallways and caverns. Fortunately the ogre hadn’t moved, however most of the hurlocks and genlocks had pressed up closer to the corner nearest the makeshift barricade the soldiers had been building. The Withered was standing with a small clump of hurlocks, growling at them in what I could only assume was some sort of darkspawn language. He was out of my way, so I ignored him for the moment.

Sneaking through the throng to round the corner and reach the barrier must have cost me a decade of life expectancy; there were times I was close enough to feel the unnatural heat radiating off the creatures as I wended my way through. If one of them had moved at the wrong time, even just to swing an arm, I would have been caught. My only consolation was that the Wardens were nearby, and would be able to attack without delay if I had shouted. But I remained lucky; I could see a couple of genlocks sniffing around with confused expressions as the air near them stirred, but none of them touched me.

Past the darkspawn, there were a couple of corpses left lying on the ground; I gathered there must have been another skirmish between darkspawn and the forces of good.

I rounded the corner to discover that, in my absence, the Wardens and Legionnaires had set up a post on this side of the makeshift barricade. That must have been when the skirmish happened. Obviously they knew the darkspawn weren’t far, and the darkspawn clearly knew the Wardens’ location also; they were at an impasse as each side debated what to do. A flimsy shelter had been assembled, allowing the forces standing there to at least avoid arrows; Fargrim, most of the Legionnaires, more of Nate’s soldiers, and Solona and Anders were standing there when I walked up.

The two mages patted me on the shoulders as I passed them, and I shot them a tremulous smile; Fargrim, the rest of the dwarves, and the soldiers all stared at me, mouths open, speechless. I’d have giggled if I hadn’t been so terrified. The dour, pale-haired second-in-command left his fellows there and followed me as I ducked through the barricade.

I walked directly into Alistair’s arms when I straightened on the other side; he held me protectively, his handsome face going from relief to concern as he felt me shaking. Now relatively safe, the enormity of what we faced suddenly crashed down on me,. What are we going to do? I vaguely heard questions being asked by Fargrim and Trevian, and Leliana’s sweet lilt responding, but I couldn’t even understand the words as I just clung to Alistair and tried not to pass out. I was gasping great, big gulps of air, I realised, and I consciously tried to slow them down and pull myself together.

Finally my shuddering slowed to a halt, and Alistair put his hands on my shoulders, pushing us apart enough that he could see my face. He’d been talking to me, clearly, trying to calm me down, and only now did his voice filter through to my conscious mind.

“Love? Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

I shook my head, clearing it. “No. I’m not, and neither are you. None of us is safe.”

I prepared to tell him everything I knew: perhaps fifty or sixty darkspawn between us and the barrier door, including at least one disciple, and one ogre who appeared…smarter than the average; a completely broken barrier door that would take more than me to repair; hundreds of darkspawn just on the opposite side of the door.

I looked around, finally remembering that there were others around who perhaps shouldn’t be hearing what I had to say; Leliana had apparently shooed them all away while I had my meltdown, and was standing at a short distance, guarding us from eavesdroppers. I smiled gratefully at her, and she nodded back, uncharacteristically serious. She saw me lose it; she knows we’re in trouble. The only other people within range were the Legion of the Dead leaders Trevian and Fargrim, Nathaniel, and Varel.

Alistair blanched as I told my story; Nathaniel and Varel grew still, faces grey. Trevian swore loudly in dwarvish, his meaning obvious even without understanding the language. All the while I spoke, Fargrim stared at me, barely listening, from outward appearances, but instead looking at me – through me, it felt – as though what I looked like, who I was, was more important than what I was saying. His gaze never faltered, though his expression remained unreadable; I thought the derision he’d seemed to regard me with before was absent, but that could have been my imagination, or a trick of the dim light. I tried to ignore him and focus on Alistair.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do,” I finished. “We can’t fight that many, and we can’t repair the barrier door without a fight. I can get to the door, but it’s going to be obvious if I start tinkering with it, and honestly nothing I can do is going to make the difference.” I gulped a breath, closing my eyes in horror. “We’re going to be overrun. The Vigil is going to be overrun.”

There was a long moment of stunned silence as everyone let that sink in. After everything, we’re doomed. It was a close fight not to cry.

Finally Alistair spoke. “What if…maybe Dworkin? Bury them all under a ton of rock and debris. They’ll dig through eventually, but it buys us enough time to deal with them…”

Trevian replied, “Too risky. You should have seen that maniac’s explosion in Kal’Hirol. You’re not unlikely to lose the whole Keep to a sinkhole. No, better we hold this barricade for as long as possible while you send messengers to that king of yours. Maybe Queen Sereda could even be convinced to help?”

“That will take weeks. The army is fragmented by now; it will take time to mobilise any sizeable force. We’ll never hold that long with our current forces; everyone needs to eat and sleep sometime. And Amaranthine will pay the price if we can’t hold the Vigil.” Nathaniel’s voice was bleak, resigned. He thinks we’re going to die. He turned to Varel. “Send messages off to the king and Orzammar. Evacuate the civilian population at the Vigil and send letters to evacuate Amaranthine. We will hold as long as we can, and the last to fall will trigger every explosive Dworkin can rig up to buy the army time.”

“No.” The rough voice of Fargrim startled me, and I turned to look at him in surprise. “This is why the Legion exists. This is why the Ancestors allowed the Wardens to save us. We are not losing this fight.”

Trevian stirred. “’Grim…”

“No, Trev. We can do it.” He turned to Leliana and gestured. “Bring Voldrik over here.”

When the auburn-haired dwarf arrived, expression dour as always, Fargrim turned to me. “Describe the door.”

Taken aback, I described the state of the barrier door hesitantly, from the disconnected metal rods to the door itself hanging slightly askew.

Fargrim turned to Voldrik. “How long?” When the engineer blinked in confusion, he clarified, “How long to fix it?”

Voldrik considered. “With a bit of help and a lot of luck, half an hour. An hour without luck.”

Fargrim nodded. “We can do it. We can buy an hour.” He pointed at Nate. “Your soldiers are going to get their blades wet today.” He turned to me. “You’d better be right about this, Princess.”

Alistair bristled, but Fargrim ignored him and began laying out his plan.

***
Less than an hour later, every melee fighter that could be spared was assembled on the far side of the barricade, leaving only archers, led by Nathaniel, watching the gate. Leliana had been dispatched on the fastest horse in Nate’s stables to find Aedan; other messengers had been sent to Denerim, Amaranthine, and the Pilgrim’s Path for Conrad. Every shield that could be found or improvised was equipped; even I held a small, round, wooden shield on my left arm, the weight uncomfortable and yet somehow comforting.

I’d had only a moment to cling to Alistair, despair and hope warring with each other as I kissed him desperately. And then we were formed up and I could barely even see him.

He and a handful of the more experienced soldiers led the formation. Out to either side of him in a loose wedge, every soldier Nathaniel could spare stood shoulder-to-shoulder, several rows deep. Anders and Solona stood behind Alistair, ready to cast, with every Lyrium potion we could scrounge up in the backpacks they carried. And behind them came the Legion, with me and Voldrik sandwiched in the middle.

The plan was the best we had; the wedge would go in like an icebreaker, forcing the darkspawn to divide down the middle and make a gap. In their wake, the Legion of the Dead would charge through. I’d seen the tactic before, in reverse, down in Bownammar; the Legion were the ones making the hole for the Wardens, then, but the concept was the same.

The entire Legion shield wall, led by Fargrim, would go first through the gap to plow through any darkspawn that didn’t get sidelined by the soldiers; they wouldn’t stop until they’d passed the barrier door. The other Legionnaires – rogues and two-handed fighters, led by Trevian – would follow to defend from behind, staying on the near side of the door. Voldrik and I would be in the middle, him to repair the door, me as a last line of defense for him if all else failed.

The goal for the shield wall was to hold the narrow hallway beyond the barrier doors until Voldrik had the mechanism working, then retreat just as the door swung shut. The other Legionnaires would help fight the sixty-or-so darkspawn on the near side, keeping them off Voldrik. I’d be able to move more freely, dividing my time between aiding Voldrik, holding the hallway, and helping out the Wardens and soldiers as needed.

It was a terrible plan. A truly, dismally, horrible plan…but it was all we had. Dworkin had rigged the hallway near the barricade with explosives as a last resort, and a small group of soldiers would remain at the barricade to trigger them if everything went south.

We knew the casualties would be high. No one said it, but the grim determination in everyone’s eyes made it quite clear that no one was oblivious to the cost. I wondered if any of the shield wall would survive. The alternative, however, was unthinkable.

Courtesy of one of the Legion’s rogues, who was rather disturbingly obsessed with poisons, each woman and each Warden in the fight had a suicide capsule secreted in their armor somewhere. If captured, the poison would cause instantaneous death through massive hemorrhaging; we wouldn’t give the Architect more Warden blood to work with, nor the darkspawn more Broodmothers, if we could help it. The necessity of such a measure frightened everyone almost as much as the horde we would be facing.

I wondered if I’d ever see my husband or my brother alive again.

Once everyone was assembled, with a brief whispered prayer to any god that would listen, we began to march.

At first, things went to plan. At the entrance to the large chamber containing most of the darkspawn, the formation paused to allow Solona and Anders to rain down ice and destruction on the waiting ‘spawn. They weren’t able to do Storm of the Century – Solona’s lightning abilities weren’t that great, and there wasn’t enough time for the casting. Instead, while Anders alternately froze and boiled darkspawn where they stood, Solona cast mass paralysis to keep them all standing within the area of effect, and then dropped something called a death cloud. The screaming of darkspawn was deafening, and I breathed a slight sigh of relief. Maybe we can do this after all.

And then it all went to hell. As soon as the spells stopped, the left-hand side of the wedge charged prematurely, leaving the right-hand side following in their wake, confused and trying to catch up. These are not the seasoned fighters Kardol’s men were; their inexperience shows. Alistair, supposed to be on point leading the offensive line, ended up being pulled off centre by the slower troops on the right and stuck behind the soldiers as they hit the darkspawn. I lost sight of him entirely in the confusion. No gap was created, and the Legion had nowhere to go as the fighting swirled off into chaos.

With a shout, Fargrim and the shield wall drove into a group of darkspawn on the left, trying to make a path for themselves. It would have been successful, except the ogre I’d seen earlier took that opportunity to charge, scattering the dwarves like leaves in a strong wind. Voldrik and I dove out of the way, landing up against a slimy, taint-covered wall beside Trevian and Fargrim, who were frantically trying to reorganize.

Alistair, with Solona and Anders in tow, surfaced briefly; Anders slowed the ogre with ice, Solona locked it in some sort of nightmare, and as I was dragged away by Fargrim, I saw Alistair drop his shield and leap up to drive his sword into the monster’s neck.

Trevian was arguing with Fargrim, who held my arm in a vice grip. Finally nodding, the Legion commander turned and shouted out commands in dwarvish; the Legion slowly reformed into a wedge, Trevian and the others leading now while the shield dwarves snuck off to the side or followed in behind.

Fargrim shook my arm to get my attention. “Can you get Voldrik to the door?” he demanded. “You’re good at sneaking, right? Can you take him with you?”

I looked around the room, seeing clumps of men and darkspawn fighting, the ogre already down and my Wardens nowhere in sight. The edges of the room were largely unoccupied, and none of the darkspawn spared a glance at the three of us standing alone.

I nodded, unhooking the shield and pressing it into Voldrik’s hands, then drawing my second dagger. “I think so. They’ll see him, but I’ll see them first. We can creep around the edges of the fighting.”

Fargrim gave me a stoic smile. “Then we’ll meet you on the other side of this mess. The shield wall are going to split up and try to make our way there alone while the others draw attention. Don’t start on the door until at least one layer of shield is between you and the horde on the other side.”

I nodded, and gesturing to Voldrik, crept down the wall as Fargrim barreled into a nearby genlock and was swallowed by the fighting crowd.

Keeping Voldrik well behind me, I moved along the wall carefully, eyes scanning the writhing, shouting mass of darkspawn and soldiers. I’d catch a glimpse, every now and then, of someone I knew; once I thought I saw Alistair’s shiny helmet, but I lost it again just as quickly. Corpses were everywhere; there were more darkspawn than human or dwarven, but there was no shortage of either.

Every time a darkspawn strayed too close to where I was leading Voldrik, I’d motion for the dwarf to stop and sneak in behind, slitting throats and disabling with kidney shots like I’d been taught. When I was sure the creature was dead, I’d gesture to Voldrik and start creeping along again. It took much longer than it would have alone; every now and then a darkspawn would spy Voldrik and try for an easy kill. Even carrying my shield, the engineer looked like a helpless target. Each time, I’d divert, taking the ‘spawn by surprise and ending them before they reached him.

We finally reached the barrier door; a double-handful of dwarves had formed a thin shield wall, and when they saw us, they moved into position two deep just past the barrier door. Voldrik, looking pale but determined, dropped his bag of supplies and began frantically working on the door mechanism.

I stood nearby, darting in and disabling or killing darkspawn who strayed near us, but the worst of the fighting was at the opposite end of the chamber near where the disastrous wedge had fallen apart.

At first, the shield wall stood unmolested; there must have been some sort of signal the darkspawn were waiting for, because despite the noises Voldrik’s tools made, none of the horde approached. Legionnaires trickled in one-by-one; probably two-thirds of them had arrived when Fargrim finally showed up. The blond dwarf was bleeding from a nasty scalp wound, but waved me off when I offered to at least bandage it.

“The ladies like a scar, Princess. Leave it be.”

The other Legionnaires within hearing distance chuckled, but I could see despair in his eyes underneath the forced humour. He leaned in and whispered so I was the only one who could hear, “We’re all that are coming, I think. Lost a lot of good men trying to find our way here. We will hold that hallway with our last breaths, if need be – just get that door fixed.”

I nodded, and he stepped into place with the rest of the shield wall crew, ready for whatever came. Voldrik asked me to help him hold things a few times as he hammered, and the door mechanism was starting to look more like the functional one I had seen in Orzammar.

Trevian and some of the other Legionnaires had finally made it through the chamber and formed up to protect Voldrik as he worked; he and I exchanged grim nods briefly before he turned back to the fight.

Suddenly there was a shrill whistle of some sort, from the far end of the room – the darkspawn ranks had thinned out dramatically, and despite a staggering loss of life on both sides, it had become obvious that the darkspawn in the chamber were going to lose. The sound, an unearthly sort of scream I’d never heard before, cut off abruptly; I glanced up to see the Withered run through from behind by Alistair as the last echoes rang through the chamber.

The damage was done, though; from the hallway beyond us, howling and screeching echoed as the horde finally gathered itself for a push. I turned and watched the first ranks of darkspawn sprinted down the hallway, breaking themselves against the shield wall like waves against a cliff. They were defeated almost too easily, but I knew that wouldn’t last. Like the cliff, eventually the waves would break it down, and I didn’t think our shield wall had years before it crumbled. The one saving grace was the narrowness of the hallway, compared to the massive dimensions of the cavern beyond; it took only five dwarves to completely block the hallway, and the darkspawn couldn’t attack en masse or get around to flank the shield wall.

It was uncomfortably reminiscent of the Spartans defending the pass at Thermopylae, and I could only hope it would be enough.

“Hurry, Voldrik,” I muttered, more plea than demand; he grumbled something under his breath in return, but I didn’t miss the increasing urgency in his movements as he worked.

I heard the cry of the first dwarf to fall; I flinched, but the shield wall held, and the dwarf in the second rank stepped forward seamlessly into the hole to keep fighting. More darkspawn filled the hallway behind, almost trampling each other in their eagerness, but still the dwarves persevered.

“Voldrik…”

“Blast it, woman, do you think I’m taking my sweet time with this? Hold that spring in place, would you?”

My daggers already sheathed in anticipation, I jumped to the spot he indicated, still distracted by the fighting behind me. A quick glance showed most of the first rank of dwarves had been killed.

“Almost,” Voldrik mumbled, cursing briefly before, with a triumphant yell, he hammered something into place; the door, which had been leaning against the side wall, lurched upright with a metallic groan.

“Got it?” I asked. The ginger dwarf nodded, and I cheered. Turning around, I shouted back at the men behind me. “Fargrim! Retreat!”

I heard him acknowledge me, then shout out orders to his men; he counted to three, and they all took a step back in unison, some of the darkspawn falling forward onto the spears in surprise. He counted again, and the dwarves took another step.

One of the dwarves fell. The last one in his row stepped forward, but no one with a spear remained behind him. Two more steps, and three more dwarves cried out and disappeared from sight. They were ten feet from the door. Then eight.

When it was down to a single rank of dwarves between the door and the horde, Fargrim turned. His head wound was bleeding profusely, his visage frightening, but the bleak, resigned expression was even more so.

“We aren’t going to make it. Close the door.” Even over the din, I could hear him like he was right beside me.

I shook my head in denial. There has to be some way, some chance. Maybe if they collapsed the wall and sprinted? Voldrik fumbled at the door behind me as I shouted at Fargrim to hurry.

The dwarf beside Fargrim fell. The dour leader nodded at me once, seemingly trying to reassure me, and shouted one last time.

“Run, Princess. Run!”

Voldrik grabbed my arm and half-helped, half-dragged me over the threshold before slamming his fist against the mechanism that closed the door. With a grinding sound, the door began to swing shut. I looked back, helplessly, as Fargrim and the other dwarves were dragged down by a handful of genlocks; my last vision was his face, calm, almost serene as he was overcome.

And then the door clanged shut.

I resisted dropping to my knees or crying out; I’d seen so much death at the battle against the Archdemon that I thought I might have been hardened against it, but it felt like I had a ragged hole ripped in my guts anyway. Voldrik clapped me on the arm, and we stood together, stunned, for a brief moment of silence.

I finally turned to see the battle was over. While we’d worked on the door, the soldiers and Wardens had destroyed the last of the darkspawn inside. Groups of bloodstained, exhausted soldiers were circulating, slitting throats and ensuring all the darkspawn were dead; others dragged the corpses to opposite sides of the chamber – the darkspawn piled for burning, the humans and dwarves much more reverently laid out for funerals later.

The carnage had been incredible. Roughly sixty darkspawn corpses made a huge pile, and while the human and dwarven dead numbered less than a third of that, it was still a staggering loss of life. At the far end, I could see Anders and Solona working on the wounded, but I couldn’t see Alistair anywhere.

I instinctively eyed the growing number of bodies up against the wall before I could stop myself. No, he can’t be dead. Even I can’t believe life could be so cruel. I resolutely looked away and headed towards Anders, assuming that if anyone knew where my husband was, he would.

I worked my helmet off as I went, my curly brown hair clumped together by sweat and Maker-knew what else. I was stopped part way across by Trevian. “I saw,” he murmured, reaching out to pat my hand. “Don’t feel bad. He’d have wanted it that way.” He studied my face for a moment – I was scowling, brows furrowed, poised to speak – and chuckled sadly. “We’re already dead, remember? It was their choice. All of them. We gave them the option to stay on the inside if they wanted. They all knew they wouldn’t be coming back.”

I sighed, suppressing my tears for later. “Doesn’t make it better, I’m afraid.”

He smiled softly. “I know.” He looked a hundred years old in that moment; I wondered how many friends he’d lost in the Deep Roads. “Come on; your husband will be frantic, I’m sure.”

There and Back - Chapter 122

elyssacousland — Tue, 20 Dec 2016 05:58:36 GMT

Well, I messed up and forgot to post 2 weeks ago. So here's two in a row, just for fun!

Happy Holidays to anyone reading this!

Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Two: Basements are Bad

“The Wardens found more darkspawn than they expected inside the Keep’s basement,” Nate informed me. “There are apparently multiple camps within the tunnels, many on the inside of the barrier door. The Commander assumes that they were assembling there for the assault you warned us about. They were apparently not prepared to attack, but the first skirmish got them a lot of attention. He’s asked for reinforcements; he’s not sure they’ll be able to hold the tunnels.”

I gasped, and Nathaniel stepped over to me, gesturing at a chair like he thought I’d need to sit down. “Varel’s gone to mobilise the rest of the Legion and the remaining soldiers. It’s going to be okay. Maverlies said no one was badly injured.” He left the obvious ‘yet’ to his statement unspoken.

I shook my head at the proffered chair. “I need my armour. I’ll meet you in the courtyard. But Nate…don’t assume the darkspawn in the tunnels are the only ones. Leave some soldiers at the gates in case there’s more. They’ve surprised us before, and the Architect may know I’m here. We don’t really know what he’s capable of.”

Nathaniel nodded, but appeared to be opening his mouth to say something. I didn’t give him a chance to object, racing away to my room to gear up.

My armour had been cleaned and hung on its stand; briefly grateful for efficient servants, I scrambled into the set of blood-red leather, cursing at the time it took, strapping my daggers to my hips and patting my helmet into place. I left again at a run, and met a now-armed Nathaniel in the courtyard organising squads of soldiers.

He had closed the Vigil’s gates, I noticed; they’d only help so much in their sagging state, but archers had been placed on the walls, split between watching outside for more darkspawn, and watching the basement door. I wonder if those gates will keep more darkspawn out of the Vigil, or in? Soldiers were hastily erecting barricades around the basement door, and armed men seemed to be occupying every open spot in the courtyard.

Nate gestured to me to join him, and I headed over to see what was going on.

“What’s happening?”

“The Legion will be headed in as soon as they’re all gathered. I’m setting up rotations for the soldiers so we can ensure adequate coverage for as long as necessary. I’ll be sending down the first group in a few minutes. Would you care to take command of the gates? After the Blight, you’ve probably got as much experience as any of the captains.”

I shook my head. “I’m going down. For reasons I don’t have time to explain, the Wardens are going to need me.”

“You have to let your husband do his job, Sierra. I know you want to make sure he’s safe…”

I interrupted him. “This isn’t about that. Yes, I want him safe. But Nate, I have specific skills when it comes to the darkspawn. I can sense them. I’m going down. I just want to do a check at the gates and make sure there aren’t any coming over land.”

Without waiting for his response, I jogged up the slight incline and climbed a ladder leading up to the ramparts above the courtyard. I made my way to the section closest to the gates, closing my eyes and trying to listen to my internal taint sensation. I could feel vague tingling, though I couldn’t be sure whether it was wardens or darkspawn, but coming from below – nothing from outside the gates.

I made my way back down, signalling to Nate that I was going to go into the basement. He shook his head and beckoned, but I ignored him and slipped through the door with a group of Legionnaires heading down. I heard a shout as the door slammed behind me, but ignored it too. If he thinks anything is going to keep me from going to Alistair, he’s got another thing coming. I raced down a set of stairs, through an empty dungeon, and down a long winding corridor behind Trevian and a handful of Legionnaires, barely noticing my surroundings. What I did see didn’t line up particularly well with my recollection from the game, though there were multiple doorways and halls we didn’t enter, so I couldn’t be sure.

I hope someone found and re-killed the undead I suspect are down here somewhere.

It took several agonising minutes to wind through the tunnels in the labyrinthine basement; whoever had built the catacombs down there – the Avvar, if I remembered correctly – deserved to be slapped upside the head. We were well outside of the Vigil’s walls and the tunnels just kept on going, periodically descending deeper and deeper underground.

The sound of fighting was the first sign we were getting close, the clanging of metal against metal echoing down the corridor. I pushed my way through the clump of dwarves as they stopped to get their shields in place and draw their weapons; I’d seen the shield walls the Legion seemed to favour, and there was no question they were effective, but I wasn’t going to waste the time getting there. I didn’t need protection from the darkspawn; I just needed to find my husband.

One of the Legionnaires shouted as I pushed past them, and Fargrim, the arrogant one, reached out to grab my arm.

“Get behind us, you daft woman! Rushing in there is only going to get you killed.”

I shook him off and pressed forward to the sound of dwarven cursing and the clattering of shields rapidly snapping into position behind me. I ignored it, racing around the last couple of twists, eagerly looking for my husband and my friends ahead of me.

I hesitated only for a moment when I finally came upon them. Alistair and a couple of Legionnaires were holding off a large group of darkspawn, primarily hurlocks with a few genlocks scattered throughout, with the support of the two mages and Leliana with her bow. Anders froze darkspawn into grisly statues, which Solona smashed with magically hurled chunks of rock; Leliana picked off strays and stragglers with precision.

The other Legionnaires and soldiers, several of them looking somewhat worse for wear, worked frantically trying to move debris – rock, smashed furniture, whatever they could get their hands on – to block the main part of the passage, trying to limit how many of the tainted creatures could approach at once. When someone was hurt, another Legionnaire would trade out with him while Anders patched up the wounds as best he could without using up his mana reserves. Alistair looked uninjured, moving easily, spattered with black darkspawn blood but none of it the red colour of his own.

I fell onto the darkspawn on Alistair’s unprotected flank; he grunted in surprise, but saved his breath as we effortlessly fell back into our fighting pattern, instinctively moving together and slaughtering the darkspawn trapped by the temporary barrier swinging into place. The rest of the Legion weren’t far behind me, and the onslaught caused the rest of the creatures to fall back even further, giving the beleaguered group a bit of a breather.

I’d sort of forgotten how much I hated the Deep Roads; if for no other reason, I hated how it messed with my darkspawn senses. There could have been ten or a hundred darkspawn in the tunnel ahead; I concentrated on trying to feel them, but the corruption in the very stone stymied me. I sighed.

One of the wounded Legionnaires began piling darkspawn bodies for burning as I turned to examine my husband critically. I pulled a rag out of a pouch attached to my armour, offering it to Alistair to wipe ichor off his face. He used it and then pulled me in for a quick, chaste kiss.

“Whatever are you doing here?”

“You thought I’d let you keep all the fun to yourself?”

He groaned and squeezed me harder. I thought he was going to say something about me staying safe, and was prepared to pinch his ear in retaliation, but he surprised me. “Thanks,” he whispered, before we were interrupted by an irate dwarf – or rather, a couple of them.

“What in the name of the Ancestors do you think you were doing, pushing ahead alone?” Fargrim demanded.

At the same time, Sigrun, who’d been fighting on Alistair’s other side, turned to growl at my husband, “You should have traded out when it was your turn, Commander. Doesn’t do anyone any good if you’re too exhausted to fight later.”

I chuckled, and Alistair grinned beside me. He assured Fargrim that I was in no danger from darkspawn and didn’t need a babysitter, while I pulled Sigrun aside and quietly explained about Grey Warden stamina.

“Stamina or not, no one can fight for an hour straight without paying for it,” she whispered urgently. “Everyone else was rotating in and out to get a rest. He needs to pace himself or he’s going to get himself – or someone else - killed.”

“I’ll watch him, I promise.” I sighed. “Honestly, though, if he’d backed off you might not have been able to hold out. No one else who was down here uses a shield?”

We had a brief conversation about Legion tactics, which largely involved keeping the shield-wall members together. So when the group had to split, typically the rogues and two-handed weapon fighters went one way, while the shield warriors went the other. Sigrun’s group consisted of dual-wielders and two-handers exclusively. And we’d sent Bel and Rolan – the only two other shield-wielding Wardens – to patrol the Pilgrim’s Path.

After a discussion with Trevian and Fargrim, Alistair clapped his hands together to get everyone’s attention. He pointed to a group of four soldiers huddled together, looking frightened. I did too, my first time encountering darkspawn. The four of them were probably barely twenty, by their look.

“You, I need you to block this passageway completely. Use anything you can find; I’ll deal with the Arl later if he has a problem with it. Leave a gap just large enough to fit one human through at a time. Voldrik can help you. You four,” he pointed at another group of slightly more experienced-looking soldiers, “guard them and the gap. The rest of us are going in as soon as we’ve had a chance to catch our breath. There’s at least another forty or fifty darkspawn down there, and I’m not sure how far away that barrier door is. When the rest of the soldiers arrive, have them slip through the barricade and set up positions on the other side in case we miss any darkspawn. No darkspawn can be allowed to get into the Keep. Understood?”

It was sexy watching ‘Commanding Alistair’ tell everyone what to do. His confidence, so shaky in the original video game, was amazing to watch. I stared at him with hunger in my eyes; he smirked and winked at me when he caught my expression, and I knew it was a promise: later.

He looked around and everyone nodded. The soldiers he’d pointed out headed back down the hall behind me, opening side doors and looking for stuff to use as a barricade. Anders and Solona were already crouching down, checking out any remaining injuries. One of the fresh Legion scouts brought around water skins for those who’d been fighting for a while already, and Alistair drank almost an entire one, wiping his mouth with the back of his gauntlet when he’d gulped as much water as he could hold.

I turned my back to the crowd, lowering my voice so no one else could hear me. “Are you okay?” I rolled my eyes when he automatically nodded. “No, really. You’ve been fighting for a long time; you must be exhausted. Are you really going to be up for this?”

He sighed, rubbing his face. “Don’t have much choice. Besides, I’ve got this.” He reached under the belt I knew he stored small healing potions in, and drew out a tiny yellow vial to show me. “It’s not much, but it’ll keep me on my feet if I get too tired.”

“Alistair, don’t you remember Anders telling you how dangerous stamina potions can be?”

“Only if you use them too often, or take too much. Or if you use them to keep going when you’re injured. It’s just a little one. The only one, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” I sighed. I couldn’t say much; I had a similar vial tucked into my armour somewhere for emergencies too, along with a spare Lyrium potion and a couple of healing poultices and potions. “What’s the plan?”

My husband looked at me, reluctance warring with necessity clearly on his face. He echoed my sigh. “Do you think you can get past them and see what shape that barrier door is in? We need to close it before more of them start pouring through.”

I nodded, reaching up to touch his cheek softly with my gloved hand. “I’ll be in much less danger on my own than standing with you all.”

“Unless the Architect is there,” he muttered worriedly.

“He’s not there. He wants to kidnap Wardens alive, not kill them. Which isn’t particularly reassuring, I’ll grant you, but he wouldn’t be allowing this sort of an attack if he knew. Too much chance of killing the endless blood suppliers he’s hoping for.”

Alistair shuddered at the mental image, and I smiled wanly. “Get a tiny bit of rest, and get everyone ready. I’m going to go talk to Voldrik about that door. I don’t know what to expect as far as damage goes, but I want to be prepared to close the damn thing if possible.”

“No heroics, Sierra. I mean it. Get a look, and get the void out of there.”

I leaned in for another quick kiss. “I promise.”

I left him to make arrangements with the Legion and the rest of the soldiers, a group of whom had come streaming into the chamber; I had to search for a while before I spotted Voldrik. I hadn’t been introduced to him before, and at first looked vaguely among the Legion dwarves, before spotting the older brunette standing with a couple of the soldiers Alistair had assigned to create a barricade.

“Voldrik?”

He turned and gave me a once over, gaze hovering over my daggers – currently dripping darkspawn ichor – before he made eye contact.

“Aye? And who’re you, then?”

“I’m the…um, well, I’m going to be scouting ahead to see how far we are from that barrier door. I was hoping you could give me a quick lesson on how to close those things, or repair them if necessary. We believe the door was either not quite completed, or possibly damaged.”

“You’re going in there alone? Better you than me, I suppose. I’m not sure I’ll be able to tell you much about it, lass. I’ll have to see it to know what needs fixin’.”

“Alright, but at least tell me the basics? I know how to open one, but not close it.”

He spent a few minutes drawing in the dirt with a finger, showing me how to close a functional barrier door. It didn’t improve my confidence at all. At least I’ll be able to judge the numbers and see what’s waiting on the other side. I nodded my understanding to Voldrik, who clapped his hand on my shoulder sympathetically.

“You get me to the door, I’ll fix it.” He smiled and then turned back to the growing barricade.

I found Alistair talking to Trevian and Fargrim. He turned to me as I approached and forced a smile, eyes tight with stress. “You ready?”

I nodded and leaned in to him briefly, trying to absorb some confidence, before turning away and resolutely walking up to the barrier.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Trevian asked, but I ignored him and took a deep breath, making eye contact one last time with Alistair before ducking through the small gap remaining. I heard an exclamation from behind me in dwarvish, and assumed the Legion commander was swearing; Alistair was answering him, so I put it out of my mind and looked forward instead of back.

The hallway leading into the room we’d fought in continued to lead deeper underground, but to my relief stayed quite wide as far as I could see before curving out of sight. One side of the rough-hewn corridor had darkspawn standing against it at intervals, most of them watching the barricade; I wondered if I was imagining the hungry expressions on their ruined faces. Some of them waited listlessly, while others appeared to be attempting to sharpen weapons or repair their rough armour; all of them ignored me entirely.

I wonder what they’re waiting for?

I edged along the opposite side of the hall, stepping carefully to avoid drawing attention to myself, but it was probably unnecessary. The darkspawn shifted and grunted, the sounds echoing down the hall, and I doubted they’d have heard me if I had fallen, never mind the quiet whisper of a kicked pebble. I’m still not taking any chances. I wondered if the hoots and other vocalizations constituted communication, or if they were just random noise.

I counted twenty-five darkspawn in the corridor visible from the barricade, and slowly crept around the corner to the area previously hidden from sight. There were more darkspawn there, still largely waiting around aimlessly, in a much larger chamber than I’d seen up to that point. The creatures seemed to segregate themselves somewhat by race, to my grim amusement, and a number of hurlocks bunched together staring suspiciously at a slightly larger group of genlocks. A flicker of movement in a back corner informed me there were probably a couple of shrieks hiding there, and the opposite corner even held a massive ogre, currently crouched down on its haunches, disconsolately picking at its massive, pointy teeth with a clawed fingernail.

It was enormous from this close, and a stench, worse than the rest of the Deep Roads, emanated from where it stood. It was wearing scavenged bits of armour almost at random; it had a massive sheet of studded metal wrapped around one forearm, and I wondered, as I stared at it, if it had once been a leg plate from a set of plate armour. It had a leather belt around its waist, another strip of leather wrapped around one shoulder like a bandolier, and some bits of metal wrapped around its powerful bicep and calves. As with most darkspawn, it wore a tattered wrap of cloth around its middle, hiding whatever passed for private parts from view, for which I was grateful.

It took me a moment to note that, beside the ogre, there was a hurlock, and they appeared to be actually talking. I blinked and looked again. The hurlock wore a sheet of chain links over his head like a hood, a thick leather cloak around his shoulders, and a set of apparently well-made chainmail covered the rest of him. His voice was guttural, as he spoke to the enormous ogre, but I couldn’t mistake that the words were in English. Common.

“…the Father demanded. Be leaving the tainted ones to us. We will be sending the signal, and then, destroy all. Yes?”

The ogre grunted, and to my horror, nodded like a person would, before turning away and reaching a lazy hand into a pile of refuse behind him, pulling out a lump of flesh – darkspawn, by the blackened corruption – and beginning to chew on it noisily. At least it didn’t speak. I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have run away screaming in horror if it turned out the ogre was one of the Architect’s ‘Disciples’. Hopefully even that psychopath sees the problem with ‘liberating’ ogres. The hurlock, who I’d realised must have been ‘the Withered’ from the start of Awakenings, turned away with a look that would have been disgust if a person had worn it, and walked toward the clump of hurlocks I’d seen earlier, growling something unintelligible.

Startled from my horrified fascination with the talking darkspawn, I went the opposite way, hurrying to the back of the room and the next hallway beyond it. There were fewer darkspawn there, and these seemed less disciplined somehow; two of them fought each other over what looked like some damaged leather armour, while the others scratched themselves, laid on the floor apparently sleeping, or just stood around looking bored.

I froze. Beyond them, clearly visible, was a large ring of metal surrounding the corridor entirely. I almost cheered out loud. The door! I couldn’t see the mechanism from where I stood, so I inched closer to see if I could step through. There was a genlock lounging nearby, oblivious to the purpose of the enormous metal structure he was leaning against and to my presence; I held my breath and edged past him, so close he could have touched me without sitting up.

Nothing happened. I snuck through the door, and the darkspawn continued to ignore my presence. I breathed a sigh of relief when I reached the other side and could see the entire door mechanism. There were no more darkspawn in sight, so I spent a few minutes examining the huge apparatus.

I was no expert on dwarven machinery, but it didn’t look good. There were pieces that I was sure should have been attached together that weren’t, and bits of thick wire sticking out at odd angles. The entire door looked somewhat crooked. Whatever was wrong with it, I wasn’t going to be able to fix it.

I swore silently. I’d had visions of being able to close the door myself, cutting off the darkspawn on the other side from their reinforcements. Clenching my teeth in irritation at Rendon Howe – what sort of irresponsible ass left an open Deep Roads entrance in their basement? – I turned to go back, but changed my mind and instead went further in. I need to know how many more darkspawn are waiting down here.

The corridor where the barrier door sat was around a steep corner from whatever lay beyond, and I crept up to the edge, peering beyond. It was dark, more so than most of the Deep Roads, as no lava flowed through. I could tell, by the sound and the way the air felt, that I’d come across a vast chamber, no narrow hallway. The walls of the corridor had been smooth stone, but as far as I could see from where I stood, the cavern was rough-hewn and irregular. I wondered if it had been carved by dwarves or enlarged by darkspawn.

I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim light; there were specks of brighter light in the distance that, as my vision sharpened, became obvious as campfires. And there were at least a dozen of them spread out for hundreds of feet in front of me. I didn’t know how many darkspawn gathered by each fire, but even if there were only a handful, there were more darkspawn than the Vigil could manage to fight off. The sounds echoing around the cavern made it seem worse than it was, I assumed, but the cacophony made my blood freeze.

Maker’s breath, there could be hundreds of them.

There and Back - Chapter 121

elyssacousland — Tue, 22 Nov 2016 18:31:17 GMT

Chapter One Hundred Twenty-One: Noble Training

The group of Wardens and the Legion of the Dead ate an incredible amount of food over the late meal; too busy stuffing faces, the noise settled down to a dull roar while we all finished up. There was enough chaos for me to eat like the Warden I was without raising suspicion. Poor Nathaniel and Varel looked vaguely ill watching it; Leliana, used to us by that point, just laughed.

Afterwards, Alistair, Conrad, Aedan, Nathaniel, Varel, and a couple of Legion dwarves stepped out to talk, leaving the rest of us to mingle and chat with the remainder of the Legion. I overheard multiple stories about the rescue in Kal’Hirol, some people amused by the destruction Dworkin wreaked with his explosives, while some of the dwarves were incensed. It was interesting that even among the Legion, who were largely former Casteless or dishonoured warriors and nobles like Bhelen, there was discrimination against surface dwarves. Bel and Oghren defended the pyromaniac, reminding everyone of the massive nest of broodmothers they’d uncovered and destroyed, almost without any injuries.

I spent some time chatting with Sigrun. She was unsurprisingly confused by my interest in her, poorly veiled as it was; I’d never claimed to be a good actress.

“Never been on the surface before,” she was saying. “It’s sort of…bright, you know?”

The other dwarves around her nodded as though she’d just said something incredibly profound; I had to restrain a giggle. I tried not to talk too much, not wanting to make her uncomfortable by acting like I knew her. She was sweet and somehow adorably naïve; I thought she and Leli could be friends, if only Leliana wasn’t planning on leaving.

I wondered what would happen now; with her Legion unit still alive, was she going to become a Warden? I got distracted before I could ponder it too much by Conrad waving to get my attention from the door.

“What’s up, Conrad?”

He looked up briefly, confused, before shaking his head with a hint of a smile. “Commanders want you in the meeting.”

I followed him down a hallway and around a corner to a closed door; it led to a moderate-sized sitting room with my brother, my husband, and their guests. Alistair held his arm out, and I squished myself into a space on the couch between him and Aedan with a smile.

I was introduced to the two dwarves, Trevian, the head of the Legion detachment, and Fargrim, his second in command.

“Trevian’s suggested that we work together for a time, make a formal arrangement between the Legion and the Wardens.”

I raised an eyebrow at the dark-haired, bushy-bearded dwarf. He grimaced slightly. “We’d like to retake Kal’Hirol, and we’ll need to borrow your masons to do it after what that stone-blind dunce did to it. In return, we can help patrol the Deep Roads under the Keep while you find the dwarven door your Commander claims is down there. And the Keep can have whatever stone you manage to salvage while digging out the Thaig.”

I nodded. “Makes sense. I don’t have any authority here, though – what do you need from me?”

Aedan smirked at me. “I’ve recommended one of the Legion join the Wardens as a sort of…liaison, I suppose. I thought I’d see if you had an opinion on which dwarf would be best suited for the role, given your skills at reading people.”

I beamed. Yes! “Join, as in become a Warden?” At Aedan’s nod, I continued. “Sigrun,” I replied immediately. “She’d be perfect.”

Fargrim gave me a patronising smile. “In the ten minutes you’ve been in there, you can tell that already? Our least-experienced Legionnaire?” He turned back to Trevian to say something else, when Alistair interrupted him.

“If my wife says Sigrun is the one, she’s the one we’ll take,” he declared, and Aedan nodded. I was grateful; Avernus’ new Joining potion might be an improvement over the original, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I wasn’t prepared to watch another dwarf die needlessly to assuage the arrogant dwarf’s concerns. I wasn’t aware Sigrun was their junior member, but I knew she was loyal, brave, and good in a fight, and best yet, she’d survive the Joining.

Trevian’s brow furrowed slightly as he regarded me, but finally nodded. “Sigrun, then.” His voice was gravelly, like someone who’d smoked for a century; given the lack of regular tobacco that I’d seen in Thedas – the occasional pipe not-withstanding – I wondered if he’d been born that way, or somehow injured his vocal cords. “When will you perform the Joining?”

“I’d like to offer her the chance directly, if you don’t mind. If she refuses, I will take your suggestion on who to approach next. We can talk with her tomorrow, after everyone has had a chance to get to know each other.”

“You have accommodations?” I asked.

Seneschal Varel nodded. “The main barracks are full, but there’s an outbuilding that used to house surplus guards and Amaranthine soldiers on duty. The roof will need some work before winter, but it’s acceptable for now.”

“My men are rather pleased with the opportunity to sleep in actual beds.” Trevian snorted. “We’d better go get things settled before the boys find the rest of the ale.”

Back in the dining room, Aedan made a speech welcoming the Legion, and all the members of both groups announced their names in turn. A keg of ale was opened, with Varel reminding everyone that would be it for drink for the evening, so we could get to work in the morning. None of the Legionnaires seemed upset to learn they’d be working with the Wardens, and mugs of ale began being passed around. We all drank to the Legion and the Wardens – I passed my almost entirely full ale to Oghren after the toast – and then allowed myself to be pulled in Alistair’s lap to catch up with our former companions and get to know our new ones.

When I looked up a few minutes later, I realised I couldn’t see Rolan anywhere; I soon forgot about him to enjoy my evening. Tired as we were from the travel, Alistair and I went to bed early, made love tenderly, and then passed out in the first real bed since we’d left Denerim.

We were woken early by servants banging on the door; it wasn’t quite the crack of dawn, but we hadn’t been allowed to sleep in much. We climbed out of bed reluctantly, and I put on one of my new pant suits and sat brushing my hair while Alistair struggled into his armour. I finally took pity on him and began helping him with buckles and straps.

“Why do they make armour so needlessly complicated?” I grumbled.

He chuckled. “We don’t have Earth’s fancy machines to make it, that’s why!”

I pouted and finally closed the last buckle. “You’re all set. What are the plans for the day?”

“First we’re all going to meet with everyone in the main hall. I’m taking one group of Wardens and some of the Legion into the basement to close that Deep Roads exit before we’re attacked. Conrad will be taking a second group to patrol the Wending Wood – you mentioned the darkspawn playing off the humans against the Dalish? And I think Aedan will be leaving for Amaranthine to help the Arl’s troops clear out smugglers and collapse down any back entrances into the city. The stone masons will start with plans for the walls.”

“And me?” I sighed. It was going to take some getting used to, being away from Alistair most days for separate duties. As much as camping in the rain was unpleasant, at least during the Blight we were together.

Alistair, sensing my melancholy, pulled me into a gentle hug. “I think Nate and the seneschal have plans for you. Administrative…something or other.” He kissed my pouting lips softly. “I will miss having you with me, but I won’t miss worrying about your safety.”

“So I’m just supposed to be the good little wifey, staying safe while my big, strong husband goes off to fight?”

He tilted my chin up with a tender hand on my jaw. “Not because you’re a woman, or my wife. You know that, right? It’s because you’re the Steward of Soldier’s Peak. As much as your business experience will help, I suspect there’s going to be a lot to learn to run what’s essentially an Arling. I think that’s a much more worthwhile use of your time than fighting darkspawn, don’t you?”

I sighed again. “You’re right, of course. I just worry about you. At least when we’re together, I have some illusion of control; I can pretend that I can help keep you safe.”

He kissed me again before taking my hand and leading me out into the corridor. “I love you, Sierra. Control freak issues and all.”

He stuck his tongue out at me, turning my glower into a laugh. We strolled down the more direct route to the main hall – a passing servant had taken pity on us the night before and showed us a way back to our room – and found ourselves something to eat in the dining room. The Wardens were all there, uncharacteristically quiet in the early morning, and I wondered briefly if one keg was enough alcohol to make them all hungover.

The Legion were there too, Trevian and Fargrim nodding at Alistair as we entered. The rest of the dwarves were much livelier than the wardens – whether more used to the early hour or less hungover, I couldn’t say.

Aedan was already there, Zevran at his side, silently shoveling food into their mouths and watching the Legionnaires banter. Alistair and I joined my brother, talking quietly around mouthfuls of porridge, thin-sliced meats, cheese, and thick-sliced bread. What I wouldn’t give for a proper toaster.

After everyone had eaten, Aedan sent Conrad, Rolan, Bel, and Mornwulf off to patrol the Pilgrim’s Path, with strict instructions not to aggravate the elves or allow the humans settled in the area to attack, and under no circumstances to go inside the old Silverite mine; I hoped they’d be in time to prevent the murders of so many of Velanna’s clan, and perhaps even prevent Seranni from being taken by the Architect, but really had no solid way of knowing when those events had happened. Hopefully, at the least, if it’s already too late they can waylay Velanna before she attacks too many merchant caravans. Varel wasn’t yet aware of any problems along the Pilgrim’s Path, so I had hope, anyway.

Aedan planned to take Zevran, Oghren, Alim, and Prince with him to Amaranthine, along with a number of the army troops assigned to the Vigil by Cailan. They had multiple goals there: they’d promised Nathaniel to find his sister, Delilah, and invite her to visit the Vigil; they had to help the city guard root out the smugglers plaguing the city and then find a way to close the smuggler’s routes to the coast so the darkspawn wouldn’t be able to make use of them later; Aedan wanted to post notices recruiting for the Wardens in the city; and they wanted to get some of the dwarven stone masons working on Amaranthine’s walls. A number of the soldiers travelling with them would be staying in Amaranthine, with more coming later to defend against any darkspawn invasion. Aedan predicted they’d be away for a couple of days to accomplish everything; they were taking a number of Nathaniel’s soldiers with them, and hoped to have the help of the city guard as well.

The remaining Wardens – Alistair, Anders, and Solona – along with Leliana and about half of the Legionnaires were going to go on an expedition into the Deep Roads underneath Vigil’s Keep. Voldrik and a couple of the stone masons would be behind them, waiting to close off the tunnel. Aedan and Alistair had agreed to pair Sigrun up with the Wardens, so Alistair could evaluate her before formally offering her the Joining. I knew it was only for appearance’s sake; Trevian and Fargrim were still weirded out by the fact that I’d chosen a candidate without hesitation after knowing them only a short time.

Sergeant Maverlies was being sent as a messenger in case they needed to send someone back while they were fighting. The fact that they felt the need to take a messenger did not make me any happier about the plan to go essentially into the Deep Roads. Alistair squeezed me reassuringly when I stiffened up at that revelation, and I shot him a dirty look.

I went into the courtyard to watch Aedan leave, and Alistair assemble with the Legionnaires and remaining Wardens. The dwarves had obviously had some time to adjust to being on the surface; none of them spent time staring up at the sky the way Oghren, Faren, and Bel had when we’d first emerged from Orzammar, though a couple of them still looked distinctly pale. Sigrun alone seemed enthused, examining the way the sun glinted off their armour, and pointing out shapes in the clouds. I grinned until I realised Fargrim had noticed me watching her; the arrogant dwarf had his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at me, and I moved away uncomfortably.

Once Aedan was gone, Alistair blew me a last kiss and disappeared through the door into the dungeons, and I was left standing alone in the courtyard. I reluctantly went back inside, and a servant found me and directed me to Nate’s study.

I spent the morning discussing my ‘skills’ with Nathaniel; it became clear that running Soldier’s Peak wasn’t going to be the difficult part for me. The part I would likely struggle with was much more related to understanding Fereldan politics and laws than the details of employing large groups of people, making a budget and the like. I also lacked some of the basic skills every even vaguely educated Thedosian had, such as legible writing with a quill and ink – Nate pulled out my letter to him in the Free Marches, and Varel’s eyes just about popped out of his head at my appalling penmanship. Calligraphy is hard! I also had minimal understanding of the hierarchies and entitlements of the Fereldan nobility, including titles. And I had never ridden a horse.

With a sigh, Varel set me a schedule for the foreseeable future. My mornings would consist of a couple of hours of sparring and training with the soldiers to keep in fighting shape, followed by horse-back riding lessons with an elf I recognised – Samuel, the groundskeeper. Afterwards, I would spend my afternoons divided between practicing my writing, reading political histories as chosen for me by Nathaniel, and essentially etiquette lessons with Varel. I used the rest of that afternoon to have servants help rearrange the furniture in the spare bedroom in Alistair’s and my suite, turning it into a reading room, with two comfortable wing-back chairs and a desk re-purposed from somewhere else. The look of surprise on their faces when I asked them to remove the bed was almost comical. Nate approved a small renovation – a proper door with a lock between the bathing room and the office, so that the office could be accessed from the hallway without anyone getting in to our room – and I expected that to be done over a week or so.

When Alistair came back that evening, covered in dust and sweat, he found me curled up in one armchair, a stack of books beside me. I jumped up in surprise when he walked in, staring around himself in awe at the change in the small room.

“Love? Maker, you’re filthy.”

He grimaced. “I know. I like what you’ve done with this room, by the way.”

“What is going on in that basement? I thought you’d be fighting darkspawn, not rolling around in the dirt.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Spent most of the day helping the diggers shift debris. You said Dworkin was responsible for the damage to the Keep, but I don’t think that’s entirely true. He might even have helped, honestly. The passages are mostly blocked, some with stone, but most with dirt and roots and wood. If we want to prevent the darkspawn coming through there, we need to clear the passageway first. It’s going to take days. I’ve set up a watch schedule between us and the Legion; whoever’s on watch will end up helping with the digging.”

“Does that mean you’re done for the day? You look wasted.”

He rubbed his forehead, smearing around the dirt through the sweat tracks. “I hope so.”

I smiled. “Let me help you out in the shower. Let’s get you clean.”

His exhausted look of abject horror made me giggle.

“I said clean, dearest, not dirtier. Come.”

I allowed him to shower off alone, rinsing the worst of the dirt, and then had him sit in the tub while I scrubbed his back and lathered shampoo into his hair. He slumped back against the side of the tub; between sheer weariness and enjoyment of someone taking care of him, I couldn’t have guessed which was more powerful. He was half asleep by the time he was clean, and I helped him dry off quickly before pushing him onto the bed, tossing a clean pair of sleeping pants his way.

“I’ll go bring us a private supper. I’m sure everyone else is also spent; we can eat and call it an early night.”

I found a servant in the dining area, and explaining who I was, requested she show me to the kitchen. To my resigned dismay, she insisted on arranging to bring a meal to us, and wouldn’t hear of me raiding the larder for something on my own. I was shooed back to my room, where Alistair had actually fallen asleep angled across the bed, pants on but undone; I just had time to throw a sheet over him when there was a knock on the door. Three servants stood outside, holding covered dishes of divine-smelling food; I had them put them on a small table near the hearth, and then ushered them out.

True to Warden form, Alistair woke up when the smell of food reached his nostrils; we sat on the rug by the fire and ate quickly. When we were done, we snuggled for a while; Alistair made a half-hearted attempt at making out, but kept having to interrupt himself to yawn. Bemused, I finally tucked him in bed and returned to my new study to read for a couple more hours.

The next morning, Alistair left early, and I put on my armour before heading to the training yard. I selected a couple of wooden practice daggers before warming up with a sparring dummy. There were a handful of soldiers also sparring, and a small group of young teenagers, obviously soldiers in training. Most of Nate’s troops, however, had been deployed either with Conrad, with Aedan, or in the basement of the Keep, just like the Wardens. I sparred with a couple of soldiers all-too-briefly, and then it was time for my horseback riding lesson.

It didn’t go well.

I popped by the stables to let them know I needed to change; Samuel, the groundskeeper and now apparent stable master, shook his head when I mentioned it.

“I was specifically told you’d be most likely to ride armed, my Lady; makes sense – if you were wearin’ a fancy dress, you’d be in a carriage. Armed means riding astride; good thing, too – I’m no expert on sidesaddle.”

I stared at him like he was speaking in tongues. “I’m not riding sidesaddle. Don’t even think about it.”

He chuckled. “Put yer helmet on, and let’s get started. Maybe it’ll protect yer head if ya fall.”

With that encouraging statement, we began. Poor Samuel was amazed and somewhat horrified to learn I’d never even been close to a horse, never mind mounted on one. I admitted I was a bit terrified; the only horses I’d seen in Thedas up to that point were massive beasts, like the ones that pulled Eamon’s carriage from Redcliffe to Denerim.

When I asked about that, Samuel laughed. “Those aren’t for riding, my Lady. Too big, too slow. They’d only break into a trot if the Archdemon himself was chasing them.” He slapped his knee, enjoying his own joke. “No, you’ll be riding one ‘a these.”

It turned out the truth was even worse than my expectations. While the carriage horses were indeed enormous, they were completely placid – too stupid to get startled, according to the elderly elf. There were a variety of breeds used for riding in Thedas, but most of them seemed to share certain characteristics, including being exceedingly cranky and high-strung. Samuel walked me through the stable, a large, drafty building that smelled of hay and manure, pointing out animals in stalls to either side.

There were striders and coursers, forders and chargers…I couldn’t have recalled a single detail about any of them, if asked later. They seemed large enough to me, if not quite as burly as the carriage horses, but they all seemed just sort of…nervous. They neighed and whinnied and shifted as we passed, and the one Samuel pulled out for me was no exception. It was saddled already, dancing around on the end of the leash – reins, he informed me, not a leash – snorting and pawing at the ground.

Samuel handed me an apple and advised me to hold out my hand. Terrified, I almost couldn’t look, taking the apple and turning away as I thrust the fruit in the direction of the tall, brown beast. To my relief, it didn’t take a finger as it took the apple and ate it in two large bites, and I relaxed somewhat. Its lips were soft and pliable, and it tickled as it touched my hand. However, evidently one apple wasn’t enough, and it began snuffling at me, blowing air through its nose and mouthing at me looking for more.

I giggled, half amused, half hysterical, and jerked away from its questing muzzle. This was the wrong choice, evidently. With a whinny, it yanked its head away and reared back, pulling Samuel half off his feet before he managed to calm it down. The elf stepped to the side, slapping it on the neck and crooning to it softly, and it settled again.

“Careful, my Lady,” he said, turning to me once he had it under control. “You scared the poor girl. Slow movements, that’s the key. Sadie here wouldn’t hurt a fly on purpose, she just likes apples. Come, try again.”

“I startled her?” I grumbled, stepping forward with exaggerated motions. The elf took my hand and brought it to Sadie’s neck, urging me to stroke her short fur softly. She stood still, watching me with one eye, but I took a deep breath again as nothing bad happened.

Taking my hand, he pulled me closer, handing me a nearby brush. “I think you both need to get a bit used to each other,” he informed me. “Best way to get on a horse’s good side is to take off her saddle and give her a good grooming.”

I spent the rest of the morning brushing Sadie after learning the basics of a saddle. I was sure, being apparently a noblewoman, that I wouldn’t be saddling my own horse often, but it made sense to understand how – if we had a problem while out riding, I’d need to be able to troubleshoot it on my own. Samuel informed me we’d try actual riding the next day. I was slightly less nervous after watching Sadie almost purr with delight as I brushed under her saddle.

I spent my lunch hour and a couple of hours after that being grilled by Seneschal Varel on table manners and forms of address for fellow nobles as well as the various functionaries I’d be surrounded by. Dull but necessary, he assured me. I sighed, secretly vowing vengeance on Cailan for putting me into the position.

I used the rest of my afternoon practicing with a quill and ink; I’d gotten ahead in my reading, thanks to a very boring youth spent speed-reading as a form of escapism and an early night with an exhausted husband. By the end of the day I was covered in ink and smelled like a horse, and I ended up joining a grimy Alistair in the shower when he appeared from the basement.

“I think we’ll break through tomorrow,” he crowed, happy to be done with digging. “Then we can guard that barrier door while Voldrik fixes it, and be done down there.”

We ate in the dining room that evening, and even had just enough energy to make love before falling asleep intertwined in our room.

My horse riding the next day was a challenge; it seemed Sadie could sense my fear, and she’d move every time I tried to swing up into the saddle. I fell a couple of times, not injuring myself badly, but getting more than my share of bruises; once, when I managed to get my foot in the stirrup and heave myself up, she shifted a different way so I tumbled across her back and found myself on the ground on the opposite side. Samuel covered his mouth, trying to hide his laughter as I cursed a blue streak and climbed to my feet again.

I finally managed to mount once, and the elf led Sadie around a ring a couple of times so I could get used to the feel of sitting on horseback. It was a bit exhilarating, I had to admit, feeling the powerful animal move under me. I raced inside after, changing and cleaning up quickly, wishing someone was around for me to share my excitement with.

I’d just finished up a very quiet lunch alone in the dining room when I saw a filthy, blood-streaked Sergeant Maverlies run through the main hall screeching the seneschal’s name. I abandoned my plate and chased after her, arriving breathless at Nathaniel’s door just in time to see Varel run past me the other direction. Nate was even paler than normal, struggling to maintain a calm facade as he fired incomprehensible instructions at Maverlies, who was nodding frantically. She also ran off, leaving me with the shaken nobleman, and less than no idea what was happening.

“What is it?” Nate blanched, refusing to meet my eyes. “Nate?”

“They found more darkspawn than they expected. The tunnels are full of them.”

There and Back - Chapter 120 edited, SFW version

elyssacousland — Tue, 08 Nov 2016 21:16:18 GMT

This is the edited version of this chapter with no descriptive sex. If you like reading the naughty bits, please see the previous unedited entry.

Chapter One Hundred Twenty: *Vigilance

It was five, miserable days of walking through the early fall rain to reach Amaranthine, and by the time we did, every single thing I owned was soaked. The Vigil was as ugly as I remembered from Awakenings, and worse than I’d imagined it. The walls around it sort of…sagged, obviously in major need of maintenance, and the gate couldn’t even be closed, never mind barred, the wood warped and cracking. I didn’t care at that moment, however; the main building was more-or-less waterproof, I assumed somewhere inside there would be a bathtub I could use and a bed to collapse into.

I’d never been so happy to see a dilapidated stone monstrosity in my entire life.

I was thrilled to learn that Nathaniel had warned the staff we were coming; there were torches lit, and a massive brazier in the entry hall took the chill and dampness out of the air as we all shrugged off wet cloaks and dropped our sodden backpacks. We’d rated a couple of pack animals for the trip, given to us by Cailan; most of our gear was with them, and we carried only personal items. Most of us weren’t skilled enough horsemen to justify giving us horses. As we filtered into the main hall of the keep from the foyer, a bevy of servants swarmed the entry way, taking our things and disappearing down a side hallway.

An older, distinguished-looking man I recognised easily from Awakenings awaited us by the roaring hearth at one end of the room, and I had to stop myself from rushing forward to greet him. Nathaniel shook his hand, and then turned to us.

“This is-“

“Seneschal Varel,” I breathed, interrupting Nathaniel and earning myself a grin from the normally taciturn nobleman, and a confused frown from poor Varel.

“As ever, the lady is correct. Varel, these are the Wardens and their companions I mentioned.”

He introduced each of us in turn, and we all exchanged brief Warden greetings or handshakes – except for Alistair and me. Varel dropped to one knee in front of us, calling both of us ‘your Highness’ despite Nate’s introduction of us as Warden-Commander and Lady Theirin. Alistair stiffened, his expression dismayed; I just sighed. I’ve been getting this so much I’m almost used to it. How sick is that?

I stepped forward, taking Varel’s hand and pulling him to his feet. “Please, don’t. We don’t stand much on ceremony. I’m just Sierra, he’s Alistair. Definitely not ‘your Highness’, and preferably not ‘my Lady’. If you need a title for him,” I gesture over my shoulder at Alistair, “go for Commander, but I’m still just Sierra. Please?”

I was babbling, and the Seneschal blinked at me in bemusement. “So, if I have this straight, you’re trying to have me arrested?”

I stared at him for a moment with my mouth open, until finally Nathaniel laughed. “Varel, don’t give the Lady a hard time.” He turned to me and stage-whispered, “Some people say I’m the one with the dry sense of humour, but I learned it from him.”

I glanced back at Varel, and saw a hint of a smirk playing around his lips. Oh, he’s kidding. I’m an idiot. Aedan chuckled, and then I was giggling as I shook Varel’s hand.

“Sorry, your Highness.”

“Sierra,” I said firmly, insistently making eye contact.

“My Lady,” he tried, but I shook my head. He sighed. “Lady Sierra?”

I guessed that this was the most I could reasonably expect. I rolled my eyes, and finally nodded.

“I have quarters prepared for you all. I imagine you’d all like to get dry. Please follow me.”

Nathaniel followed behind as we all trooped after Varel, soggy and cold, up a couple flights of stairs and down a long hallway. There was a large sitting area at one end, holding a handful of servants and most of the group’s gear. Varel gestured to either side as he walked.

“These are your rooms. Wardens Conrad, Rolan, Bel, and Oghren,” he grimaced at the last entry in his list, and I giggled, “have already chosen rooms. The open doors are available, please choose whichever room you’d like.”

I glanced through one open door to see a small, plain room, with an armour stand, a large chest, a small wardrobe, and an oversized single bed. Nice, but plain. Perfect, actually – though I hope there’s a room with a bigger bed. I flushed, and Alistair looked at me with a smirk, apparently having the same thought. I slapped his shoulder, and he chuckled.

“There are two double-occupancy rooms around that corner, if you wish. Bathing rooms are down the hall - the first baths have been drawn, and the servants will help you settle in and draw the next baths when you’re ready. The dining room is off the main hall – a late supper will be served there in approximately one hour. The other Wardens will meet you there.” I had to admit to being surprised that Conrad and the others weren’t waiting for us when we arrived.

He turned to look at me, before letting his gaze travel to Alistair and Aedan. “Commanders, Lady Sierra, your quarters are this way.”

Oh, the double-occupancy rooms aren’t for us? Aedan put his hand on Zevran’s shoulder, pushing him to keep walking; Nathaniel tucked Leliana’s hand shyly under his arm, and I saw her beam him an ecstatic smile as he followed Varel further down the hall. I looked back, as Alistair led me forward, to see Solona and Anders disappearing around the corner, heading towards the larger rooms, and I smiled. They had begun sleeping together again sometime around the battle with the Archdemon – how Solona held out that long, I’ve no idea – but had tried to keep it a secret until we’d left Denerim, for some reason. Largely unsuccessfully; they aren’t used to rogues in the Tower, I think. I was pleased they’d finally decided to be together openly.

I was thoroughly lost by the time Varel paused in a long, dim hallway; between gawping around like a fish, and woolgathering about Solona and Anders, I hadn’t paid any attention to our route. I hoped Alistair had some idea how to get back to the main hall, or we were both going to be embarrassed – and hungry – before long.

Varel pointed at a closed door, and turned to Alistair and me. “This one is yours, Commander and Lady Sierra. The one opposite is for you.” He pointed at Aedan. He didn’t seem fazed by Zevran’s presence, and I smiled gratefully.

We opened the doors and peeked inside; I gasped when I found a beautifully furnished room larger than the one at the Palace in Denerim I’d shared with Alistair. There was an enormous bed, a four-poster with a canopy, a couch in front of the merrily burning hearth, a little nook to the side with what looked to be a makeup counter complete with a large mirror on a stand, and I assumed the curtained door off to the right led to a private bathroom. The rug and walls were deep brown, the fabric of the drapes, canopy, and couch a royal blue, and a large, beautiful painting of a beach and the ocean tied it together nicely. Aedan’s room was similar, though slightly smaller and decorated in shades of green, with no makeup nook.

I giggled. “I think you’ve got the rooms reversed, Seneschal. I have no idea what to do with that area, but I’m certain someone else could use it.” I winked at Zevran, and he growled good-naturedly at me; Varel’s ears reddened as he rubbed a hand over his face, trying to hide his smile. Aedan just laughed.

“Well, I’m certain you’ll find some use for the desk, Sierra.” Nathaniel’s tone was wry, and he smirked at me. “Anyway, my room’s there. Now, if you’ll excuse us…”

He took Leliana’s hand and led her through the doorway; three servants came bustling around the corner, each loaded down with soggy bags, and they dropped our things on the floor inside each of our rooms.

“Put all wet items, laundry, or armour to be cleaned in the hamper, and someone will see to them in the morning,” Varel instructed. “The servants should be here momentarily with hot water for the baths.”

“We won’t need any,” I volunteered, pointing at Alistair and me, flushing when Varel raised his eyebrow at me. “Queen Sereda gave me a dwarven water rune.”

“Very well. See you in the dining hall in an hour.” He nodded at us. “Commanders, Lady Sierra, Warden.” He followed the servants away, leaving us standing in the hallway.

I turned to Aedan. “We are in the family rooms, I’m assuming? I feel like that’s just…that’s not right.”

Aedan frowned at me. “Sort of, but not really. Pretty much every Keep, and every decent-sized estate for that matter, has rooms for honoured guests, near the family quarters. But I’m guessing the actual family rooms are being renovated – these aren’t where Nate lived when he was little, I’d bet. Knowing his father, the family rooms are probably in severe need of redecorating. I’d bet that’s technically a guest room too.” He pointed at Nate’s door. “The bigger issue is where any actual guests will sleep if we’re occupying the guest rooms. Guess we better hope Cailan and Fergus don’t come to visit over the next few months. You’re in their room.”

“We are? How can you tell?”

Aedan took a few steps into the room I was to share with Alistair and pointed at the curtained doorway. “That’s how.”

I shot him a confused look, and headed through the curtain, Alistair on my heels. There was a large bathroom, with two basins sunk into a large cabinet, a bathtub that could easily accommodate the four of us, and an unusual chamber pot, but what drew my attention was another doorway, also blocked by a curtain. Behind that door, there was a small corridor with three more doors. One led to a second, somewhat smaller bedroom that was still lavishly furnished and had a hearth of its own, also lit; one led back to the hallway; and the third to a tiny room holding bunkbeds. I turned back to Aedan, puzzled.

“Married quarters for a king or someone of status,” he said, as though that explained anything. I raised an eyebrow, and he chuckled. “Most married couples don’t sleep together, at least in arranged marriages. You don’t think Cailan and Anora shared a room, do you? This is the husband’s private chamber. He would…uh, ‘visit’ his wife in her room when they wanted to, uh…”

We all blushed, except Zevran, who cackled while we all avoided eye-contact awkwardly. My brother may approve of my husband, but he hasn’t gotten over his abject fear of talking about sex with me. I snorted. “Right. Got it.”

Aedan pointed at the other room and cleared his throat. “And that’s where your lady’s maid and manservant would stay.”

I sighed. “I’m not having servants. This is ridiculous. That space could be useful for something, but I guess it can just stay empty for now. We won’t be here forever, I suppose.” I looked into the bedroom again. “Maybe I can shove the bed against the wall and use this room as an office.”

“Anyhow,” Aedan muttered, and Zevran chuckled again. “We’ll just leave you…”

He and Zevran trooped out and across the hall; Zevran closed the door behind himself with a lascivious wink in my direction. I rolled my eyes. Once they were gone, I turned to find Alistair rifling through one of his bags, looking for something – my shower head, I hoped. I eyed him thoughtfully.

He glanced up at me self-consciously. “What?”

I bit my lip. “Do you…I mean, should I not turn that room into an office?”

He frowned and stood up, reaching out to cup my cheek. “I have no intention of sleeping in a bed you aren’t in, if that’s what you’re asking. Might as well save myself the walk when we want to ‘visit’,” he joked, smirking.

I laughed and slapped his chest lightly with the flat of my hand. He grabbed the hand and brought it to his lips, kissing my palm softly. Looking down at me, his grin slowly faded, and he cocked his head slightly. “Unless…do you want me to sleep in there?”

“Maker, no! If you’re sleeping in there, so am I.” I stepped closer, pressing myself up against his chest despite his clunky armour. “Married couples are mostly expected to share a bed, where I come from.” I smiled softly up at him. “I just don’t want to, you know, coerce you into something unnatural to you, or anything.”

“Unnatural?” He chuckled. “I never thought I’d be with anyone, Sierra. I never predicted I’d be married, so it’s not as though I spent hours imagining my married life. I was certainly never a noble son who expected an arranged marriage. I married you because I love you, and I want nothing more than to share a bed with you for the rest of my life. The only unnatural thing would be lying alone in a bed down the hall from you, instead of curled up with you.”

I reached up to put my hand on his shoulder, unbuckling the strap I knew rested there. “Speaking of… We have an hour. I think I’d like to show you just how much I enjoy your ‘visits’. Did you find my shower head yet?”

He held up his hand, the little shower head gripped in his palm, and I reached for the buckles of my own armour, flicking them open and dropping pieces behind me as I turned to head back into the bathroom.

“Coming?” I asked my husband, who was watching me with a rapidly darkening gaze.

He snorted and began the process of removing his armour; by the time he made it to the bathroom, I was naked and had done my business with the chamber pot. The unusual feature I hadn’t initially understood about the necessary piece of furniture was that, contrary to most of the chamber pots I’d seen since coming to Thedas, this one was actually anchored down to the floor, sort of the way toilets were on Earth. I’d inspected it briefly to discover that, surprisingly, the Vigil had been built with at least rudimentary plumbing. Instead of an actual pot, there was a tube, lined with what had to be thin sheets of metal, leading down into the floor, and underneath the sink there was a large bucket of cold, not entirely clean-looking water. I realised the water must be used to flush the makeshift toilet, and was probably used bathwater or something similar – to save a servant having to bring up buckets of extra water every day.

The tub also had a drain in the bottom, and another tube led underneath the stone floor. I grinned at Alistair as he came in. “I may not love living in Rendon Howe’s former home, but I won’t complain about the accommodations.” I showed him the plumbing, and he whistled, impressed.

“I’m so happy for you,” he murmured, wrapping his big hands around my waist and pulling me in to kiss my forehead.

“For me?” I cocked my head to the side, confused.

“I know how you feel about daily showers.” He grinned. “Not that I’m complaining – you in the shower is one of my favourite things.”

“Show me,” I whispered, reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck, raising my lips for a proper kiss.

He indulged me, deepening the kiss and invading my mouth with his tongue; I gasped as he reached down, tightened his grip, and lifted me like a child into the tub. We separated long enough to get clean, using the luxurious soaps and shampoo sitting on a little table next to the tub; Alistair finished first, his short hair taking less effort than my long curls, and he took the opportunity to run his soapy hands down my back, then over my shoulders while I lathered my hair. I hummed happily as he pressed his thumbs into a knot in my neck.

He stepped closer, his chest pressed to my back, and his hands started to wander; we made love enthusiastically in the tub as water from my little shower head sprayed everywhere when Alistair lost control.

When I came back to myself, we were kneeling in the half-full tub, water running down the walls and dripping from the ceiling; I was perched in Alistair’s lap, while he panted, his forehead pressed against my shoulder. He readjusted us so that he sat in the tub and held me sideways across his lap. His big hands stroked my arm and back soothingly.

“Blessed Andraste, that was…” He shook his head, apparently at a loss for words.

“Mmhmm,” I agreed, settling my head against his shoulder sleepily. “I love you, Alistair Theirin.”

“Oh, Sierra.” He tilted my head back and kissed me again. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of hearing you say that. Or of you, just in general,” he finished with an endearingly shy smile.

Suddenly he twitched, muscles jumping beneath my bottom. “Maker! We’re going to be late for dinner.”

A little bit over an hour after Varel had left us, clean and more-or-less dry, I followed Alistair back through the winding corridors of the Vigil towards the dining room. I was certain we couldn’t be going the quickest way – or else the place really was designed by a mad man – but we hadn’t had time to explore and find a shortcut. The other Wardens’ rooms were empty when we went past, and Alistair and I both blushed when we realised we were going to be probably conspicuously late.

Once we reached the main floor, we were able to follow our noses to the dining room. The noise echoing down the hallway as we approached was incredible; I could hear Oghren’s drunken laugh – heh heh heh – over the sounds of talking, laughter, and eating, and Alistair and I exchanged smiles before racing through the swinging door to see everyone.

There were multiple tables in the hall, currently set up in a large square configuration so everyone could see everyone else; food was piled atop more tables around the periphery, and servants circulated through with wine and ale. There were a lot more people present than I expected; our group had apparently been joined by a large number of dwarves, who were sitting along the far side of the square, eating and drinking while quietly watching the proceedings. I was distracted from figuring out who they were, however, when a strong pair of arms ripped me out of Alistair’s grasp and swung me in a circle.

I looked up to see Conrad grinning down at me; his green eyes sparkled, and his usually flawlessly coiffed ginger hair was a mess. He looked content, and I guessed he was happy to see me, if the smile was any indication. When he finally deposited me back on the ground, breathless and giggling, I almost fell as I was thumped enthusiastically on the back by another ginger – this one a dwarf.

“Toots!” Oghren roared, and I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out at the obviously inebriated dwarf. “Thought you’d never get here. You two spend any more time playing hide the sausage, and you’d have missed the grub altogether!”

Alistair smacked Oghren good-naturedly upside the head while I groaned and hid my face in my hands; finally Leliana rescued me and drew me into a conversation with Bel, whose stutter had continued to improve until it was barely noticeable now. I grasped his forearm warmly, and then tilted my head to the dozen or more unfamiliar dwarves across the room as I prepared myself a plate from the generous dishes on the sideboard.

“Who’re our guests?” I asked, as a servant delivered me a glass of wine, and I settled into a seat between Bel and Leli. Aedan and Alistair had been called to sit alongside Nathaniel and Varel, and the rest of the Wardens filled out the other two sides of the square. I noticed Rolan sitting at the end nearest the dwarves, eating quietly, alone. He hadn’t even glanced at the mages, as far as I could tell, and I wondered what Conrad had said to him over the past few months. Maybe he won’t be as big an ass as you think….yeah, right.

“Legion of the D-dead!” Bel’s enthused answer pulled me out of my daze. “Not Kardol’s, but one of the other companies. We hired local hunters to find the Deep Roads tunnel collapse you warned us about, and found an entire company of the Legion being attacked by darkspawn. Rescued them, and – with the help of Dworkin – killed a handful of broodmothers. Figured you’d want to m-meet them, so we dragged them back with us.”

I blinked as I processed that information. Kal’Hirol, already cleared? The Legion of the Dead – alive? I looked at the dwarves more closely, and there, in the middle, found a familiar face – Sigrun. She was talking to another dwarf, a broad smile on her pretty face, her hands gesturing animatedly as she spoke, while the recipient of her enthusiastic chatter grunted and avoided eye contact. I chuckled. Seems even her comrades can’t get used to her overwhelming cheerfulness. I remembered Sigrun from the game – at the end, going back into the Deep Roads to die, full of survivor’s guilt – and wondered when the unexpected consequences of my presence in Thedas would stop surprising me.

Something else struck me. “Wait – Dworkin? He’s here?”

Bel nodded. “He’s mad as a…actually, I don’t even know, but he’s here. Collapsed h-half of that Thaig on the broodmothers with some Lyrium bomb. Trevian was so angry! But we killed a lot of ‘spawn, and none of them were the talking kind.”

“Is Dworkin’s brother here too?”

“Voldrik. Yeah, somewhere. They’re n-not very sociable, those two. Dworkin’s too crazy, and Voldrik’s too gloomy.”

I smiled, relaxing. Not that I hadn’t trusted the stone masons Sereda had ‘loaned’ us, but I knew Voldrik was capable of fixing up the Vigil to withstand everything the Mother could throw at it. If they worked together, who knew what would happen! I’d just have to convince Nathaniel and Aedan to fund him – and find him some stone to work with.

“What about Wade and Herren?”

“Yes, they’re here too.”

“The basement?”

“Some of the tunnels have been collapsed for years – Varel’s had crews d-digging them out. They may be passable, but they aren’t safe. Lost a soldier in a collapse the first time we tried to get through. Found an Avvar tomb – left it alone. Figured Arl Howe can decide what to do with that. When the digging is done, we can clear out the t-tunnels and have Voldrik fix up the Dwarven door. He confirmed he knows how.”

I smiled broadly. “I’m so happy! Maybe this won’t be the unmitigated disaster it could have been.” I thought about all the things that could change, as things stood – Sigrun’s Legion company surviving was just the beginning. I imagined thwarting the major attack on the Vigil that gave the Architect more Warden Blood, preventing the Mother’s forces from destroying the city…

Thedas without Justice. Without Vengeance.

What would that even look like? Kristoff hadn’t come to Ferelden, so there would be no body for the spirit to inhabit, and no reason for the Wardens to go poking around in…what was that place called again? I spent a few distracted moments searching my brain for the name of the zone where Justice joined the Wardens in game, and drew a complete blank. But the Wardens would never go there, so we’d never have to see Anders being possessed, Kirkwall being blown up…

What would that mean for the mage-templar war? I couldn’t even start to wonder, but just had to hope that it could only be an improvement. Surely there was some other way to handle Meredith. Maybe my warning to Greagoir would make a difference…

It certainly couldn’t get any worse.

Right?

There and Back - Chapter 120 unedited, NSFW version

elyssacousland — Tue, 08 Nov 2016 21:09:58 GMT

This version of the chapter contains graphic sex scenes. If that isn't your thing, see the edited version in the next entry.

Chapter One Hundred Twenty: *Vigilance

It was five, miserable days of walking through the early fall rain to reach Amaranthine, and by the time we did, every single thing I owned was soaked. The Vigil was as ugly as I remembered from Awakenings, and worse than I’d imagined it. The walls around it sort of…sagged, obviously in major need of maintenance, and the gate couldn’t even be closed, never mind barred, the wood warped and cracking. I didn’t care at that moment, however; the main building was more-or-less waterproof, I assumed somewhere inside there would be a bathtub I could use and a bed to collapse into.

I’d never been so happy to see a dilapidated stone monstrosity in my entire life.

I was thrilled to learn that Nathaniel had warned the staff we were coming; there were torches lit, and a massive brazier in the entry hall took the chill and dampness out of the air as we all shrugged off wet cloaks and dropped our sodden backpacks. We’d rated a couple of pack animals for the trip, given to us by Cailan; most of our gear was with them, and we carried only personal items. Most of us weren’t skilled enough horsemen to justify giving us horses. As we filtered into the main hall of the keep from the foyer, a bevy of servants swarmed the entry way, taking our things and disappearing down a side hallway.

An older, distinguished-looking man I recognised easily from Awakenings awaited us by the roaring hearth at one end of the room, and I had to stop myself from rushing forward to greet him. Nathaniel shook his hand, and then turned to us.

“This is-“

“Seneschal Varel,” I breathed, interrupting Nathaniel and earning myself a grin from the normally taciturn nobleman, and a confused frown from poor Varel.

“As ever, the lady is correct. Varel, these are the Wardens and their companions I mentioned.”

He introduced each of us in turn, and we all exchanged brief Warden greetings or handshakes – except for Alistair and me. Varel dropped to one knee in front of us, calling both of us ‘your Highness’ despite Nate’s introduction of us as Warden-Commander and Lady Theirin. Alistair stiffened, his expression dismayed; I just sighed. I’ve been getting this so much I’m almost used to it. How sick is that?

I stepped forward, taking Varel’s hand and pulling him to his feet. “Please, don’t. We don’t stand much on ceremony. I’m just Sierra, he’s Alistair. Definitely not ‘your Highness’, and preferably not ‘my Lady’. If you need a title for him,” I gesture over my shoulder at Alistair, “go for Commander, but I’m still just Sierra. Please?”

I was babbling, and the Seneschal blinked at me in bemusement. “So, if I have this straight, you’re trying to have me arrested?”

I stared at him for a moment with my mouth open, until finally Nathaniel laughed. “Varel, don’t give the Lady a hard time.” He turned to me and stage-whispered, “Some people say I’m the one with the dry sense of humour, but I learned it from him.”

I glanced back at Varel, and saw a hint of a smirk playing around his lips. Oh, he’s kidding. I’m an idiot. Aedan chuckled, and then I was giggling as I shook Varel’s hand.

“Sorry, your Highness.”

“Sierra,” I said firmly, insistently making eye contact.

“My Lady,” he tried, but I shook my head. He sighed. “Lady Sierra?”

I guessed that this was the most I could reasonably expect. I rolled my eyes, and finally nodded.

“I have quarters prepared for you all. I imagine you’d all like to get dry. Please follow me.”

Nathaniel followed behind as we all trooped after Varel, soggy and cold, up a couple flights of stairs and down a long hallway. There was a large sitting area at one end, holding a handful of servants and most of the group’s gear. Varel gestured to either side as he walked.

“These are your rooms. Wardens Conrad, Rolan, Bel, and Oghren,” he grimaced at the last entry in his list, and I giggled, “have already chosen rooms. The open doors are available, please choose whichever room you’d like.”

I glanced through one open door to see a small, plain room, with an armour stand, a large chest, a small wardrobe, and an oversized single bed. Nice, but plain. Perfect, actually – though I hope there’s a room with a bigger bed. I flushed, and Alistair looked at me with a smirk, apparently having the same thought. I slapped his shoulder, and he chuckled.

“There are two double-occupancy rooms around that corner, if you wish. Bathing rooms are down the hall - the first baths have been drawn, and the servants will help you settle in and draw the next baths when you’re ready. The dining room is off the main hall – a late supper will be served there in approximately one hour. The other Wardens will meet you there.” I had to admit to being surprised that Conrad and the others weren’t waiting for us when we arrived.

He turned to look at me, before letting his gaze travel to Alistair and Aedan. “Commanders, Lady Sierra, your quarters are this way.”

Oh, the double-occupancy rooms aren’t for us? Aedan put his hand on Zevran’s shoulder, pushing him to keep walking; Nathaniel tucked Leliana’s hand shyly under his arm, and I saw her beam him an ecstatic smile as he followed Varel further down the hall. I looked back, as Alistair led me forward, to see Solona and Anders disappearing around the corner, heading towards the larger rooms, and I smiled. They had begun sleeping together again sometime around the battle with the Archdemon – how Solona held out that long, I’ve no idea – but had tried to keep it a secret until we’d left Denerim, for some reason. Largely unsuccessfully; they aren’t used to rogues in the Tower, I think. I was pleased they’d finally decided to be together openly.

I was thoroughly lost by the time Varel paused in a long, dim hallway; between gawping around like a fish, and woolgathering about Solona and Anders, I hadn’t paid any attention to our route. I hoped Alistair had some idea how to get back to the main hall, or we were both going to be embarrassed – and hungry – before long.

Varel pointed at a closed door, and turned to Alistair and me. “This one is yours, Commander and Lady Sierra. The one opposite is for you.” He pointed at Aedan. He didn’t seem fazed by Zevran’s presence, and I smiled gratefully.

We opened the doors and peeked inside; I gasped when I found a beautifully furnished room larger than the one at the Palace in Denerim I’d shared with Alistair. There was an enormous bed, a four-poster with a canopy, a couch in front of the merrily burning hearth, a little nook to the side with what looked to be a makeup counter complete with a large mirror on a stand, and I assumed the curtained door off to the right led to a private bathroom. The rug and walls were deep brown, the fabric of the drapes, canopy, and couch a royal blue, and a large, beautiful painting of a beach and the ocean tied it together nicely. Aedan’s room was similar, though slightly smaller and decorated in shades of green, with no makeup nook.

I giggled. “I think you’ve got the rooms reversed, Seneschal. I have no idea what to do with that area, but I’m certain someone else could use it.” I winked at Zevran, and he growled good-naturedly at me; Varel’s ears reddened as he rubbed a hand over his face, trying to hide his smile. Aedan just laughed.

“Well, I’m certain you’ll find some use for the desk, Sierra.” Nathaniel’s tone was wry, and he smirked at me. “Anyway, my room’s there. Now, if you’ll excuse us…”

He took Leliana’s hand and led her through the doorway; three servants came bustling around the corner, each loaded down with soggy bags, and they dropped our things on the floor inside each of our rooms.

“Put all wet items, laundry, or armour to be cleaned in the hamper, and someone will see to them in the morning,” Varel instructed. “The servants should be here momentarily with hot water for the baths.”

“We won’t need any,” I volunteered, pointing at Alistair and me, flushing when Varel raised his eyebrow at me. “Queen Sereda gave me a dwarven water rune.”

“Very well. See you in the dining hall in an hour.” He nodded at us. “Commanders, Lady Sierra, Warden.” He followed the servants away, leaving us standing in the hallway.

I turned to Aedan. “We are in the family rooms, I’m assuming? I feel like that’s just…that’s not right.”

Aedan frowned at me. “Sort of, but not really. Pretty much every Keep, and every decent-sized estate for that matter, has rooms for honoured guests, near the family quarters. But I’m guessing the actual family rooms are being renovated – these aren’t where Nate lived when he was little, I’d bet. Knowing his father, the family rooms are probably in severe need of redecorating. I’d bet that’s technically a guest room too.” He pointed at Nate’s door. “The bigger issue is where any actual guests will sleep if we’re occupying the guest rooms. Guess we better hope Cailan and Fergus don’t come to visit over the next few months. You’re in their room.”

“We are? How can you tell?”

Aedan took a few steps into the room I was to share with Alistair and pointed at the curtained doorway. “That’s how.”

I shot him a confused look, and headed through the curtain, Alistair on my heels. There was a large bathroom, with two basins sunk into a large cabinet, a bathtub that could easily accommodate the four of us, and an unusual chamber pot, but what drew my attention was another doorway, also blocked by a curtain. Behind that door, there was a small corridor with three more doors. One led to a second, somewhat smaller bedroom that was still lavishly furnished and had a hearth of its own, also lit; one led back to the hallway; and the third to a tiny room holding bunkbeds. I turned back to Aedan, puzzled.

“Married quarters for a king or someone of status,” he said, as though that explained anything. I raised an eyebrow, and he chuckled. “Most married couples don’t sleep together, at least in arranged marriages. You don’t think Cailan and Anora shared a room, do you? This is the husband’s private chamber. He would…uh, ‘visit’ his wife in her room when they wanted to, uh…”

We all blushed, except Zevran, who cackled while we all avoided eye-contact awkwardly. My brother may approve of my husband, but he hasn’t gotten over his abject fear of talking about sex with me. I snorted. “Right. Got it.”

Aedan pointed at the other room and cleared his throat. “And that’s where your lady’s maid and manservant would stay.”

I sighed. “I’m not having servants. This is ridiculous. That space could be useful for something, but I guess it can just stay empty for now. We won’t be here forever, I suppose.” I looked into the bedroom again. “Maybe I can shove the bed against the wall and use this room as an office.”

“Anyhow,” Aedan muttered, and Zevran chuckled again. “We’ll just leave you…”

He and Zevran trooped out and across the hall; Zevran closed the door behind himself with a lascivious wink in my direction. I rolled my eyes. Once they were gone, I turned to find Alistair rifling through one of his bags, looking for something – my shower head, I hoped. I eyed him thoughtfully.

He glanced up at me self-consciously. “What?”

I bit my lip. “Do you…I mean, should I not turn that room into an office?”

He frowned and stood up, reaching out to cup my cheek. “I have no intention of sleeping in a bed you aren’t in, if that’s what you’re asking. Might as well save myself the walk when we want to ‘visit’,” he joked, smirking.

I laughed and slapped his chest lightly with the flat of my hand. He grabbed the hand and brought it to his lips, kissing my palm softly. Looking down at me, his grin slowly faded, and he cocked his head slightly. “Unless…do you want me to sleep in there?”

“Maker, no! If you’re sleeping in there, so am I.” I stepped closer, pressing myself up against his chest despite his clunky armour. “Married couples are mostly expected to share a bed, where I come from.” I smiled softly up at him. “I just don’t want to, you know, coerce you into something unnatural to you, or anything.”

“Unnatural?” He chuckled. “I never thought I’d be with anyone, Sierra. I never predicted I’d be married, so it’s not as though I spent hours imagining my married life. I was certainly never a noble son who expected an arranged marriage. I married you because I love you, and I want nothing more than to share a bed with you for the rest of my life. The only unnatural thing would be lying alone in a bed down the hall from you, instead of curled up with you.”

I reached up to put my hand on his shoulder, unbuckling the strap I knew rested there. “Speaking of… We have an hour. I think I’d like to show you just how much I enjoy your ‘visits’. Did you find my shower head yet?”

He held up his hand, the little shower head gripped in his palm, and I reached for the buckles of my own armour, flicking them open and dropping pieces behind me as I turned to head back into the bathroom.

“Coming?” I asked my husband, who was watching me with a rapidly darkening gaze.

He snorted and began the process of removing his armour; by the time he made it to the bathroom, I was naked and had done my business with the chamber pot. The unusual feature I hadn’t initially understood about the necessary piece of furniture was that, contrary to most of the chamber pots I’d seen since coming to Thedas, this one was actually anchored down to the floor, sort of the way toilets were on Earth. I’d inspected it briefly to discover that, surprisingly, the Vigil had been built with at least rudimentary plumbing. Instead of an actual pot, there was a tube, lined with what had to be thin sheets of metal, leading down into the floor, and underneath the sink there was a large bucket of cold, not entirely clean-looking water. I realised the water must be used to flush the makeshift toilet, and was probably used bathwater or something similar – to save a servant having to bring up buckets of extra water every day.

The tub also had a drain in the bottom, and another tube led underneath the stone floor. I grinned at Alistair as he came in. “I may not love living in Rendon Howe’s former home, but I won’t complain about the accommodations.” I showed him the plumbing, and he whistled, impressed.

“I’m so happy for you,” he murmured, wrapping his big hands around my waist and pulling me in to kiss my forehead.

“For me?” I cocked my head to the side, confused.

“I know how you feel about daily showers.” He grinned. “Not that I’m complaining – you in the shower is one of my favourite things.”

“Show me,” I whispered, reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck, raising my lips for a proper kiss.

He indulged me, deepening the kiss and invading my mouth with his tongue; I gasped as he reached down, tightened his grip, and lifted me like a child into the tub. We separated long enough to get clean, using the luxurious soaps and shampoo sitting on a little table next to the tub; Alistair finished first, his short hair taking less effort than my long curls, and he took the opportunity to run his soapy hands down my back, then over my shoulders while I lathered my hair. I hummed happily as he pressed his thumbs into a knot in my neck.

He stepped closer, his chest pressed to my back, and his hands wandered down my front to cup my breasts. One soapy thumb teased my nipple, the other held my shower head, playing the water across my breasts and down my front. His teeth found my neck, and I could feel his erection pressing against my lower back as I leaned into his embrace.

I moaned and pressed my ass back more firmly against him, hair forgotten as I reached out blindly for the wall in front of me, needing something to brace myself against. One of Alistair’s arms wrapped around my waist, tilting my pelvis, and I felt his length between my legs, searching for entrance. I spread my legs further and gasped as he entered me, stretching me deliciously and hilting himself in one swift plunge.

And then it was all sensation – his hands, one still teasing my hard nipple, the other now aiming my shower head at the apex of my thighs, the water tickling at my clit; his length inside me, filling me, just this side of too much; his lips and teeth on my neck and shoulder; the slickness of the wall my fingers scrabbled against for purchase. The little bathroom was starting to steam up, and my breath came in frantic bursts as I tried to hold back, keep myself in one piece as the feeling of him overwhelmed me.

I was vaguely aware that Alistair was probably less than comfortable, crouched as he was to accommodate my shorter legs, and that the water from my shower head was spraying across the room as he lost control of his aim; I was aware, but I didn’t care. Only we mattered, only that he didn’t stop, only that he held me as I shrieked into orgasm in his arms, shuddering and writhing as all thought fled.

When I came back to myself, we were kneeling in the half-full tub, water running down the walls and dripping from the ceiling; I was perched in Alistair’s lap, while his length softened inside me and he panted, his forehead pressed against my shoulder. I groaned softly as he slipped out of me, and he readjusted us so that he sat in the tub and held me sideways across his lap. His big hands stroked my arm and back soothingly, and I twisted to meld my mouth to his once I’d finally caught my breath.

“Andraste’s panties, that was…” He shook his head, apparently at a loss for words.

“Mmhmm,” I agreed, settling my head against his shoulder sleepily. “I love you, Alistair Theirin.”

“Oh, Sierra.” He tilted my head back and kissed me again. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of hearing you say that. Or of you, just in general,” he finished with an endearingly shy smile.

Suddenly he twitched, muscles jumping beneath my bottom. “Maker! We’re going to be late for dinner.”

A little bit over an hour after Varel had left us, clean and more-or-less dry, I followed Alistair back through the winding corridors of the Vigil towards the dining room. I was certain we couldn’t be going the quickest way – or else the place really was designed by a mad man – but we hadn’t had time to explore and find a shortcut. The other Wardens’ rooms were empty when we went past, and Alistair and I both blushed when we realised we were going to be probably conspicuously late.

Once we reached the main floor, we were able to follow our noses to the dining room. The noise echoing down the hallway as we approached was incredible; I could hear Oghren’s drunken laugh – heh heh heh – over the sounds of talking, laughter, and eating, and Alistair and I exchanged smiles before racing through the swinging door to see everyone.

There were multiple tables in the hall, currently set up in a large square configuration so everyone could see everyone else; food was piled atop more tables around the periphery, and servants circulated through with wine and ale. There were a lot more people present than I expected; our group had apparently been joined by a large number of dwarves, who were sitting along the far side of the square, eating and drinking while quietly watching the proceedings. I was distracted from figuring out who they were, however, when a strong pair of arms ripped me out of Alistair’s grasp and swung me in a circle.

I looked up to see Conrad grinning down at me; his green eyes sparkled, and his usually flawlessly coiffed ginger hair was a mess. He looked content, and I guessed he was happy to see me, if the smile was any indication. When he finally deposited me back on the ground, breathless and giggling, I almost fell as I was thumped enthusiastically on the back by another ginger – this one a dwarf.

“Toots!” Oghren roared, and I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out at the obviously inebriated dwarf. “Thought you’d never get here. You two spend any more time playing hide the sausage, and you’d have missed the grub altogether!”

Alistair smacked Oghren good-naturedly upside the head while I groaned and hid my face in my hands; finally Leliana rescued me and drew me into a conversation with Bel, whose stutter had continued to improve until it was barely noticeable now. I grasped his forearm warmly, and then tilted my head to the dozen or more unfamiliar dwarves across the room as I prepared myself a plate from the generous dishes on the sideboard.

“Who’re our guests?” I asked, as a servant delivered me a glass of wine, and I settled into a seat between Bel and Leli. Aedan and Alistair had been called to sit alongside Nathaniel and Varel, and the rest of the Wardens filled out the other two sides of the square. I noticed Rolan sitting at the end nearest the dwarves, eating quietly, alone. He hadn’t even glanced at the mages, as far as I could tell, and I wondered what Conrad had said to him over the past few months. Maybe he won’t be as big an ass as you think….yeah, right.

“Legion of the D-dead!” Bel’s enthused answer pulled me out of my daze. “Not Kardol’s, but one of the other companies. We hired local hunters to find the Deep Roads tunnel collapse you warned us about, and found an entire company of the Legion being attacked by darkspawn. Rescued them, and – with the help of Dworkin – killed a handful of broodmothers. Figured you’d want to m-meet them, so we dragged them back with us.”

I blinked as I processed that information. Kal’Hirol, already cleared? The Legion of the Dead – alive? I looked at the dwarves more closely, and there, in the middle, found a familiar face – Sigrun. She was talking to another dwarf, a broad smile on her pretty face, her hands gesturing animatedly as she spoke, while the recipient of her enthusiastic chatter grunted and avoided eye contact. I chuckled. Seems even her comrades can’t get used to her overwhelming cheerfulness. I remembered Sigrun from the game – at the end, going back into the Deep Roads to die, full of survivor’s guilt – and wondered when the unexpected consequences of my presence in Thedas would stop surprising me.

Something else struck me. “Wait – Dworkin? He’s here?”

Bel nodded. “He’s mad as a…actually, I don’t even know, but he’s here. Collapsed h-half of that Thaig on the broodmothers with some Lyrium bomb. Trevian was so angry! But we killed a lot of ‘spawn, and none of them were the talking kind.”

“Is Dworkin’s brother here too?”

“Voldrik. Yeah, somewhere. They’re n-not very sociable, those two. Dworkin’s too crazy, and Voldrik’s too gloomy.”

I smiled, relaxing. Not that I hadn’t trusted the stone masons Sereda had ‘loaned’ us, but I knew Voldrik was capable of fixing up the Vigil to withstand everything the Mother could throw at it. If they worked together, who knew what would happen! I’d just have to convince Nathaniel and Aedan to fund him – and find him some stone to work with.

“What about Wade and Herren?”

“Yes, they’re here too.”

“The basement?”

“Some of the tunnels have been collapsed for years – Varel’s had crews d-digging them out. They may be passable, but they aren’t safe. Lost a soldier in a collapse the first time we tried to get through. Found an Avvar tomb – left it alone. Figured Arl Howe can decide what to do with that. When the digging is done, we can clear out the t-tunnels and have Voldrik fix up the Dwarven door. He confirmed he knows how.”

I smiled broadly. “I’m so happy! Maybe this won’t be the unmitigated disaster it could have been.” I thought about all the things that could change, as things stood – Sigrun’s Legion company surviving was just the beginning. I imagined thwarting the major attack on the Vigil that gave the Architect more Warden Blood, preventing the Mother’s forces from destroying the city…

Thedas without Justice. Without Vengeance.

What would that even look like? Kristoff hadn’t come to Ferelden, so there would be no body for the spirit to inhabit, and no reason for the Wardens to go poking around in…what was that place called again? I spent a few distracted moments searching my brain for the name of the zone where Justice joined the Wardens in game, and drew a complete blank. But the Wardens would never go there, so we’d never have to see Anders being possessed, Kirkwall being blown up…

What would that mean for the mage-templar war? I couldn’t even start to wonder, but just had to hope that it could only be an improvement. Surely there was some other way to handle Meredith. Maybe my warning to Greagoir would make a difference…

It certainly couldn’t get any worse.

Right?

There and Back - Chapter 119

elyssacousland — Tue, 25 Oct 2016 05:30:52 GMT

Chapter One Hundred Nineteen: Goodbyes

The Landsmeet convened four days later; we’d all gotten over any hangovers we’d been left with – Anders had looked like death until he healed himself the next day – and Aedan had sent most of our group on to Amaranthine to wait for us. The Landsmeet was the last thing we needed to do before we followed them, and Riordan, Loghain, and Dougal would be leaving for Nevarra with Anora by boat from Denerim.

I was surprised to discover, as I entered the Landsmeet chamber, that I had an assigned place to stand. It was up on one of the daises, near Fergus but thankfully not right beside. Based on the few nobles I recognised and where they were standing, my rank was somewhere roughly equivalent to an Arl, and I saw more than a few scowls and speculative glances directed my way by the nobility who stood below. No one spoke to me, and everyone nearby left a small but obvious space around me. I had to admit to being slightly offended, but didn’t care enough to try and breach the gap with small talk.

I wore black trousers and a long jacket that hung below my rear end, similar in style to what Sereda had been wearing in Orzammar; Leliana, my personal fashion miracle worker, had found a tailor and had several similar outfits made for me before the Landsmeet. I had a thin, expensive chain shirt on under the jacket as protection, and the trousers were lined with some fabric she’d found that was almost as protective as leather. The style was distinctly feminine without being overly girly, and I noticed some of the looks I got from the noblewomen in attendance were more directed at my clothing than my station. I wonder if I’ve started a new trend, or just made myself the target of the court gossips. Not that I cared, but it could be amusing.

Cailan had the Wardens near the front in a place of honour, and I exchanged nods and winks with my husband and brother as they stood impassively in full armour. They weren’t the only ones, I noticed; Teyrn Wulff and Arl Bryland, among a few others, were also wearing plate mail. Even the nobles in fancy clothes, which was most of them, had swords sheathed at their sides, and the women had daggers tucked under belts and kirtles if you knew where to look. I saw the glint of metal under more than one shirt. But their demeanors weren’t aggressive towards each other, and it felt more like preparation against assassins or an attack from the outside than fear of fighting within the Landsmeet.

Riordan, Zevran, Wulf, Sten, and Dougal stood behind Aedan and Alistair, with Loghain half-hidden behind them. I was somewhat surprised to see him there, but supposed that Cailan could benefit by his tacit support. None of the nobility had openly declared opposition to Cailan’s rule, but it wasn’t too far a stretch to imagine that some of them might rally behind Loghain or Anora given any encouragement.

The Grand Cleric was conspicuously absent, as the Landsmeet began; there was an older woman in Chantry robes, a Revered Mother I assumed, standing quietly where she normally would have sat, and as Cailan welcomed everyone, I speculated on whether she’d be Elemena’s replacement. Anyone would be better than that old bat, but I hope at least Elemena doesn’t get to pick her own successor.

The initial part of the Landsmeet was interesting to me only in speculating which aging, overweight nobleman was going to expire of a heart attack as Cailan described the fire and rebuilding in the Alienage. Apparently half of the nobility weren’t even aware of what had happened – Maker forbid one of them look over the wall or speak to an elf! – and some of them were having complete fits over the expense. Cailan justified it, given the basically free labour – between the elves and the army – and the stonemasons, who’d already been paid.

The outrage increased even more when Cailan announced that he had revoked the law prohibiting elves from being armed. Now they were allowed to carry weapons within the Alienage, as well as join the city guard. Sergeant Kylon was called, and he strongly supported the measure, giving testimony that the elves he’d accepted were some of the hardest working and most effective of his guardsmen.

All of that was forgotten, however, when Cailan introduced Kallian as the Bann of the Alienage. Evidently Valendrian had been allowed to choose who would speak for the elves, and he and the other elders had unanimously chosen Kallian. She came in and stepped down onto the floor with several other Banns and lower nobility, purposefully placing herself at the bottom of the hierarchy, I noticed. There was a lot of muttering and staring; the nobles left enough room around her to avoid spreading a plague, but Kallian merely stood straight, looking directly ahead at Cailan, the very image of grace under pressure. After a few awkward moments, Alfstanna stepped forward, nodding at the petite elf and standing by her side, arms crossed imposingly. Cailan shot the young Bann a grateful look, but she didn’t look like she felt the need for his approval. The muttering stopped, people obviously not wanting to offend Bann Alfstanna, and the Landsmeet moved on.

The treaties Cailan had signed – with Sereda and Lanaya, as well as with Aedan and Alistair – were put on record, and I thought I saw a hint of surprised approval from many of the nobles present. He’d done a remarkable job to get the agreements, and was clever enough to word them in such a way that they were not only mutual non-aggression pacts, but required aid from both elves and dwarves if Ferelden were ever invaded – whether by darkspawn or Orlesians. And all he’d had to give up was some Blighted land near Ostagar, and recognise Orzammar’s sovereignty – which had never been up for debate, as far as I knew. We’d have to protect those new allies from invasion as well, but given their locations, if they were under attack, so was Ferelden. The treaties between Orzammar, the Dalish, and the Grey Wardens were mentioned only in passing – Warden matters, not Landsmeet, I supposed.

After a brief break for lunch – food was brought in by a small army of servants, and the nobles were served fresh bread, cheese, chilled meat, and watered wine - the Landsmeet approved a small increase in taxes from the lands unaffected by the Blight to help those with damaged lands rebuild, as well as support the Grey Wardens. Cailan spent some time explaining trade deals he’d worked out with various cities in the Free Marches, Nevarra, Orzammar, and Orlais to aid in the recovery. He announced the separation of our Grey Wardens from Weisshaupt, explaining we had requested a mutual-aid treaty in the case of another Blight. I wondered if Weisshaupt would accept; time would tell.

I was shocked when Cailan put Eamon’s name forward as the new Arl of Denerim. Given the degree of acrimony between the two men, I was amazed Cailan would want his uncle so close by, but I had to admit, Eamon had done surprisingly well working on the rebuilding of the Alienage, and Kallian was the first to throw her support in for the appointment. It was approved on a temporary basis, given his lack of eligible heirs; I wondered if he and Isolde would try again and end up with a little girl who was also a mage. Redcliffe was transferred to Teagan, who managed to look pleased and shocked, though I doubted anyone was actually surprised. Word of Teagan’s defense of Redcliffe and his leading a battalion against the darkspawn had spread among the nobility, and he was suddenly exceptionally popular with the young ladies.

I wondered how disappointed they’d all be when he married Kaitlyn.

The last order of business was the fate of Anora. To Cailan’s credit, his ex-wife was brought in for the discussion, and he told the Landsmeet she would be allowed to voice an opinion on the options available. He didn’t mention she’d already made her choice. He proceeded to explain the choices he’d approved:

She would be allowed to dedicate herself as a Chantry initiate, staying in Ferelden at an isolated Monastery on the eastern shore beyond the Brecilian Forest. She would have to give her oath not to become involved in Fereldan politics in any way, and not to leave the monastery for the rest of her life.

She would be allowed to join the Weisshaupt Grey Wardens, if they would take her, with the understanding that she would be kept out of Orlais and away from Ferelden.

The third option would be to travel to Nevarra, which was what I knew had been decided. Cailan explained the favourable marriage contract with an older nobleman, a duke named Rethnar Anaxas from Hunter’s Fell, in northern Nevarra. If he succeeded in his political bid, and she helped him, she’d be well set up in Nevarra when he died and his children inherited. He had the equivalent of an Arling, with several vassals, that she would administer while he was in Nevarra City, not to mention joining him there if he was successful.

Everyone seemed surprised to see Cailan had gone to so much effort to give her options that weren’t awful; he’d seemed so angry, before the prior Landsmeet, but all I could see in his eyes when he looked at her was regret. I was proud of him for not trying to make himself feel better by punishing her. Her expression was still somewhat startled, and I wondered if she had expected he’d change his mind and have her executed for treason.

The other nobles seemed to be waiting to see what Anora would say; she traded glances with her father, then examined Cailan’s impassive face for a moment before speaking.

“For one who has been put aside and all but charged with treason, I am gratified to be allowed the opportunity to have input on my own fate. I would apologise for my actions before and during the Blight if I thought those sentiments would be accepted, but I know they will not.

“While I respect the Chantry and the Grey Wardens, I have no wish to join them. I am neither sufficiently devout, nor do I have the martial prowess for either of those options to make sense. I will accept my exile to Nevarra, and my marriage to Duke Anaxas, if his Majesty will allow it, with gratitude.”

The look that passed between Cailan and Anora was heartbreaking, but also hopeful somehow. Perhaps it was the reality of their annulment setting in, but it seemed they both regretted how things had fallen apart between them, but also accepted that they were better off separate, not together; they had hope for their futures. Maybe they really just brought out the worst in each other. Had things been different… I was struck by a sobering thought, and I sought out Alistair on the floor near Cailan. He glanced at me at the same time, eyes drawn to mine, and he smiled – the type of smile that crinkled his eyes and lit up his face. No, that will never be us. I blew him a kiss, and he reddened slightly, rubbing at his neck with a silly grin.

The court approved Anora’s choice, and Cailan declared that Anora, escorted by the Orlesian Wardens and Loghain, would depart for Nevarra on the morning tide. With that settled, the Landsmeet was over – one of the fastest in recent history, according to a nobleman I overheard talking to Fergus.

“And that’s as it should be,” he declared, a bored-looking Fergus nodding. “We have enough problems waiting for all of us at home; it’s a waste of time for every noble in the country to be tied up here in meetings when we should be attending to the harvest and rebuilding.”

I hoped the rest of the nobility felt the same way, and would go home and work hard to ensure the entire country didn’t starve over the winter.

The remaining Wardens – except Loghain – and Cailan, Kallian, Teagan, Eamon, Fergus, Alfstanna Eremon, Leonas Bryland, and Gallagher Wulff, among a small number of other nobles, went to the Gnawed Noble for supper. I was famished; the lunch in the Landsmeet had been fine, but the portion was suitable for a normal skinny human girl, not the Grey Warden appetite I had. I ate as much as I could without being obvious, and Alistair promised to sneak into the palace kitchens when we got back for a snack.

It was a nice celebration, more personal and real than the massive gathering we’d been so visible at a few days prior. Kallian was accepted without question, to her apparent surprise, and was soon chatting with Bann Alfstanna and Teyrn Wulff about ways to improve the lives of the elves living in their Alienages. Cailan and the other nobles acted like normal people, much to the confusion of the wait staff who had to be convinced to stop bowing or curtseying every second minute and calling everyone by pretentious titles. It was amusing to watch them initially fall all over themselves, but they finally got back to normal, serving us without fuss.

By unspoken agreement, we didn’t discuss the Blight or the Landsmeet, the rebuilding, the darkspawn, or anything else awful or contentious. I got to know several of the nobles better, and felt like they were the sort of people who’d support the changes I hoped to see in Ferelden since Cailan’s reinstatement. None of them seemed racist, classist, sexist, or homophobic, and all of them avoided discussing the Chantry in a way that led me to believe they’d fix those problems too, given half a chance. And it was nice having a chance to talk to a female noble; there weren’t many that held titles, despite there being no rule against it, and Alfstanna was refreshingly direct about holding her own in a man’s world.

“You’ll be alright,” she asserted. “Don’t let them get away with anything, stand up for what’s right, and don’t let it matter what you have under your armour.

“I like that outfit, though – feminine without being…frilly. I’ve been accused of being too masculine, never taking off my armour. Can I have the name of your tailor?”

I had no idea, of course; I promised to find out from Leliana and send word.

Teagan admitted he had chickened out and had yet to propose; he promised he would be asking Kaitlyn to marry him on his return to Redcliffe, and was teased good-naturedly for a while about working on an heir. He avoided turning it back on Cailan, Fergus, Alfstanna, or Eamon, all currently without heirs of their own – for various reasons, many of them tragic – and I was grateful.

Fergus bowed out early, not that I was surprised; we were all trying to be happy, and he was still coming to terms with his losses. I held Aedan’s arm when he got up to chase after him; it was clear Fergus wanted to be alone. “In the morning,” I assured Aedan, and my brother sighed and nodded sadly.

We settled the bill between us and went back to the palace; I was almost dizzy with relief that the Landsmeet was over and no one had died. My Prince made love to me, as relieved as I to be done with the politics for a good long time.

The ship to Nevarra was set to sail on the mid-day tide; we found ourselves on the dock an hour before, trying to figure out how to say goodbye to someone we knew wouldn’t survive to see us again. I let Aedan and Alistair talk to Riordan and Dougal one last time, standing off to the side alone, while Cailan had words with the captain. Anora approached me while I was busy watching Cailan, clearing her throat to get my attention.

“I was doomed from the start, wasn’t I? You played the game well.” She sniffed, her superior attitude coming off as sour grapes, and I suppressed a smile.

“That’s the thing. I wasn’t playing a game. I mean, we lied, obviously, but none of us did anything to you, Anora. He’d have been prepared to forgive you, I think, to let you stay his queen – but you destroyed any chance of that when you betrayed us in the Landsmeet. Something you don’t truly understand about your former husband, I think, is his sense of justice.”

“Oh, and you know him so much better than I?”

I sighed, saddened by her pathetic insinuation. “Not carnally, if that’s what you’re asking.” I rolled my eyes. “But when was the last time you actually talked to him? Not telling him what to do, or blowing him off, not trying to shoo him out from underfoot…but actually had a conversation? Asked him what he thought about something? I’d wager I do know your husband better than you, to be honest. Cailan is many things, sheltered being one, and he’s had a lot of growing up to do over the past year, thanks not only to you and your father, but also to Maric…but he cares a lot about things being fair. And I don’t think you know the meaning of the word.”

“You could have been queen, you know. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. You chose the wrong brother. Too late now, of course; the Landsmeet would never accept you now, having been married to someone else.”

“That’s the difference between you and me, Anora. I don’t want to be queen; I never did. I chose my husband for love, not power or influence. I wouldn’t have cared if he was a peasant from the poorest farm in all of Ferelden, I’d still have married Alistair. As for Cailan, that look you mentioned is disbelief, not interest. He doesn’t know quite what to do with someone who tells him the truth, without hiding or sugar-coating it, and who isn’t helplessly waiting to fall into his bed. Was jealousy really what was driving you, all these years? That’s just…sad. I think I pity you, actually.”

Her eyes flashed, barely concealed rage on her face, but we were interrupted by the captain, who approached Anora with his hand out. “My Lady, may I escort you on board?”

“I wish you luck, Anora. I hope Nevarra agrees with you.”

She huffed indignantly, refusing to make eye contact, and stormed on board, not saying goodbye to Cailan or even making eye contact; not even waiting for the captain, who watched her go with an amused smirk. “This is going to be a long trip, isn’t it?”

I hummed an agreement, and after bowing politely to me, he turned and walked up the ramp, leaving me to approach the Grey Wardens with Cailan. Riordan turned to me with a subdued smile.

I had no words, so just stepped up and pulled the Orlesian into a hug. He patted my hair, reminding me of Duncan, and I turned away to hide my tear-filled eyes as the rest of the group said goodbye as well. Cailan and his guards left; it was just Wardens left on the docks as the sailors got ready to go.

I turned to Loghain, crossing my arms and bowing as Wardens seemed to like to do. “Good luck, Warden.” He searched my face, probably for some sign of irony or mocking, but I was truly sincere. Just because I’m happy you’re leaving doesn’t mean I’m hoping for you to be miserable. Not entirely, anyway.

He finally nodded, one corner of his lips turning up in an almost-smile. “Thank you, your Highness.”

I winced, rolling my eyes as he smirked. “Dare I ask – what for?”

“I know you were part of the reason I was recruited, and Anora was kept safe. Duncan told me, before… Anyway, thank you. And good luck.”

“Try not to kill any Orlesians when they call you a ‘dog lord’, alright?”

He chuckled, his gravelly voice tight as he looked around at Denerim one last time. He bowed to the rest of the group, took a last deep breath, and walked up the plank without looking back.

Dougal offered hugs all around, the stocky older man somewhat teary himself, and I took the opportunity to tease him into smiling. “Don’t worry,” I whispered. “Wynne’s going to travel, I just know it. Show her a good time, would you?”

He ruffled my hair, making me squawk in annoyance, and after finishing his goodbyes, he hoisted his bag and carried it carefully on board.

We all stood and saluted as the boat bearing three of the heroes of the Blight pulled away from the docks; Dougal and Riordan stood at the rails, and I waved until I couldn’t see them anymore in the afternoon glare. I pulled my husband, my brother, and my Antivan friend into a group hug with a strangled sob when they were gone, grateful beyond my ability to express it for the three of them.

“I love you guys. You know that, right?”

Aedan kissed my forehead, Zevran squeezed my hand, and Alistair wrapped his arm around my waist, holding me close as we turned to head back to the palace.

The following day, Fergus left again for Highever, and those of us remaining, including seven Wardens, Leliana, Prince and me, packed ourselves up to leave for Amaranthine at first light the day after that. Saying goodbye to Cailan was harder than I expected, for both Alistair and I; we knew we were leaving him with few supporters, fewer friends, and a lot of disgruntled Loghain cronies to deal with, not to mention the nightmare of trying to recover from the Blight.

I managed to wait until I was alone to shed a few tears; in such a short time, we’d lost so much – Duncan, Riordan, Dougal, Sten…even those who hadn’t died, we would likely never see again. And now walking away, leaving Cailan alone…it didn’t feel right. But I worried Alistair would misunderstand my sorrow, or feel insecure if he thought I would miss Cailan, so I held it in until I got the chance to slip back into our room alone to finish packing.

I shouldn’t have bothered – Alistair followed me within five minutes, scooping me up from the bed where I sat sniffling, holding me in his lap as he rested against the headboard.

“Duncan?” he asked.

I nodded, wiping my nose. “And Riordan. Even Cailan and Anora, Loghain…there’s been so much upheaval. I know it’s for the best, but…I miss them, and I worry about Cailan.”

“I know. Me too. But he has us now, and we’ll be back here often, I suspect. As weird as it is, we’re family now.”

“I’m so lucky,” I whispered. “I never dreamed I’d have any of this – a husband, brothers, in-laws, friends. But it’s inevitable that I’m going to lose some of them, and I never imagined that could hurt this much, either. I love you, Alistair.” I sniffled again as the tears started anew.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” He kissed my forehead, settling back on the pillows, cradling me against his chest. His heartbeat, that constant, soft susurration that, to me, meant ‘home’, soothed me to sleep as the tears – mixed grief and gratitude, now – finally stopped falling.

When we woke, it was after supper; we snuck into the dining room, hoping the staff hadn’t quite cleared the table yet, only to find Cailan, Kallian, Teagan, and the rest of the Wardens laughing and chatting over an open keg of ale, the table still covered in dishes of food. My irrational fit of melancholy behind me, I climbed into an open space between Kallian and Wynne, served myself an enormous helping of pheasant, potatoes, some unknown green vegetable that reminded me of asparagus, and dug in. Alistair sat between my brother and his, immediately engulfed in conversation.

We made it an early night, and my parting with dear Wynne, Kallian, Teagan, and Cailan was much more cheerful than I expected. Not having to see Eamon helped, though I’d softened towards him a fair bit since the Alienage rebuild. Having my cry early let me move past the grief and enjoy my last night.

I felt like it was likely I wouldn’t see Wynne again often; between her plans for a clinic in Denerim, her promise to help Caridin and Shale, and the politics I knew would eventually draw her to Cumberland and Val Royeaux, I felt like I was losing her. At the same time, as she pulled me in for a last, warm hug, I felt a little bit like a child moving away from her parents for the first time. Wynne had been my surrogate mother for a year, but perhaps I didn’t need a mother anymore. I’d miss her, but somehow I knew it would be okay.

I gave her a sealed envelope telling her everything I could remember about her son, the spirit boy, Cole, Evangeline the templar, and events at the White Spire that would lead to her death. I wasn’t sure she’d read them, but she’d have the option without having to track me down. I kissed her cheek and slipped out into the doorway to let her say goodbye to everyone else.

Watching Kallian bid Wulf goodbye brought a lump to my throat; I’d somehow assumed, given their apparent relationship, that she’d be staying in his room, though I suppose after what she’d been through, it shouldn’t have shocked me that things hadn’t progressed that far. But when I accidentally wandered out in the hallway to see their foreheads pressed together tenderly, his fingers stroking her cheek as she clenched both hands in the long hair at his nape, it was obvious they were in love, even if they hadn’t figured out how to get over the hurdle her abuse presented. I slipped back inside the dining room, undetected by either desolate elf in the hallway, blocking the door and making awkward small talk until I was certain they’d be done.

Wulf was gone when I finally caved to the strange looks my odd behaviour garnered and opened the door; Kallian wiped her cheeks surreptitiously as everyone spilled through, offering her goodbyes. The men, never sure how nervous they made her, shuffled past with a wave, but Leliana and I pulled the poor girl into a hug.

“Don’t worry. He’ll be back,” I promised, whispering. “I’m going to talk Aedan into assigning him to Denerim, once the Thaw is over.”

She nodded, voice raw. “Just keep him safe.”

With one final, reassuring squeeze, I bid her farewell, and went back to my room to make love to my husband before our early morning march.

Tomorrow, everything will be different.

There and Back - Chapter 118

elyssacousland — Wed, 12 Oct 2016 01:53:49 GMT

Chapter One Hundred Eighteen: Identity Crisis

“Sierra? Love?” Alistair’s voice, faint but audible, drifted in from outside the library where I’d been loitering all afternoon.

I stopped and stepped to the door, poking my head out to see my husband and brother come around a corner next to the library. “Here! I’m just looking at some books, and talking to…” I turned back to the elf, whose face looked slightly flushed for some reason. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

The elf opened his mouth to reply, just as Aedan gasped and Alistair interrupted. “Warden Constable Torpin.”

I felt Alistair’s hands settle at my waist from behind possessively.

I gaped. It hadn’t occurred to me to ask who the elf was, and with my unconscious, stupid human bias, it never occurred to me that an unimposing-looking elf would be anything other than a servant. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Sierra. Once I thought about it, I could feel the taint radiating off of the elf; I’d been working so hard at ignoring the feeling since the Weisshaupt delegates had arrived that I hadn’t noticed.

I spent a few seconds rethinking our conversation, trying to remember if I’d said anything to the man that I shouldn’t have. He had probably figured out that something was strange – I realised that much of what we’d discussed made little sense, now that I thought about it. An elf from the Alienage would likely be completely illiterate, never mind having read Genitivi’s histories. And he wasn’t as servile as the other city elves I’d met – I was so happy not to be seen as intimidating that I hadn’t noticed. He either thought I was an idiot, or he had figured out there was more going on with me than with some typical Thedosian noblewoman. I slapped myself on the forehead.

“You knew exactly who I was. You came looking for me.”

Torpin flushed again and nodded. “We were curious about you. It’s…unusual for Wardens to be married, more so for them to travel with their non-Warden spouses. We suspect you know far more about the Order than a non-Warden should. And the fact that they were so adamant against bringing you to the meetings made us wonder what they were hiding.”

Aedan stepped forward, face red with fury, as Alistair pulled me behind him protectively. “Listen to me, Warden-Constable. I’ll say this precisely one time. My sister has been through enough. And she is not a Warden – even if we were still part of your Order, she is not. You have no authority here. Speak to her again, try to reach her in any way, and I will send you back to Weisshaupt in a box.”

Aedan and Alistair shared a quick glance, and then with a nod, Alistair turned, wrapping his arm around my waist, and practically dragged me out of the library, leaving Aedan alone with the Weisshaupt Warden. I could hear the elf objecting as I was ushered away, but Aedan’s clipped response was too quiet to make out.

Alistair didn’t speak the entire way back to our room, and I just accompanied him meekly, wondering how much trouble I was in. I had to admit that not finding out who the elf was before chatting with him was rather stupid, but I didn’t think I’d said anything that would betray my excessive knowledge of Grey Warden secrets, or anything about myself he wasn’t supposed to know.

Once we got to our room, Alistair ushered me through the door, and I dejectedly walked inside a few steps. I heard Alistair lock the door behind us, and I sighed and reluctantly turned around.

He surprised me, then, by pulling me into a tight hug, burying his face in my hair and squeezing me to him like I would disappear.

“Are you alright?”

I snuggled into his shoulder, wrapping my arms around his waist. Not for comfort, but just because I enjoyed the intimacy. “I’m fine, Alistair. Nothing happened. I didn’t even know I had a problem until you showed up! I’m glad you found me before I said anything stupid.”

“You wouldn’t have.” He released me and climbed onto the bed, sitting with his back against the headboard. He patted the spot next to him, and I cuddled up beside him again. “Will you tell me what you did talk about?”

Trying to explain my insanely silly brain fart was extremely embarrassing. After I went through the conversation, as far as I could remember, I tried anxiously to justify myself.

He chuckled teasingly. “So you had a conversation about history books and Chantry scholars, with an unknown elf you somehow assumed was a servant – despite not acting or dressing like a servant, and being far too well educated.”

“I was distracted! I was too busy being impressed with myself for my prank on Anora. I think he was listening to my conversation with that elf, and knew he could get away with acting less formal with me. And why should I have to demand the name of every person I talk to anyway? How was I supposed to know I’d be ambushed by a Warden? You never told me their leader was an elf…”

I rambled to a stop as Alistair placed a finger over my lips with an amused smile. “I’m not angry – at least, not at you. It is sort of funny, though.” I groaned, and he laughed. “What’s all this about a prank on Anora?”

I told him about the selection of books I helped the actual elven servant to choose, and he laughed at my helpless giggles as I related sending the sex book to Anora. “That’s cruel!” He pulled me into his lap for a kiss, and my laughter quickly changed to moaning as his lips attacked my sensitive ear.

His voice changed, too, dropping into that husky, sexy timbre he reserved for me alone. “Do you suppose she’s done with that book?”

I gasped as his lips trailed down my neck, tilting my head to give him better access. “I…I don’t know, but there were more like that, where it came from,” I whispered. “I could go get one…”

“Maybe tomorrow, if you’re not too exhausted from what I plan to do to you tonight.” He shifted me to lay on my back on the bed, looming over me with a predatory smile, and I gulped.

“Bring it on, then.”

No one saw us for the rest of the night.

***
Apparently after we’d left, the Weisshaupt contingent insisted on holding a meeting with the rest of Ferelden’s Grey Wardens. They painted a bleak picture of being Wardens without the support of the order, and demanded that all of them leave Ferelden and report to another Grey Warden outpost – either in Orlais, Nevarra, the Free Marches, or Weisshaupt itself. All of our people declined, with the exception of Riordan, Dougal, and Loghain, who were instructed to report to Jader immediately. Riordan agreed to leave as soon as the celebration in Denerim was over – but they had to detour to Nevarra with Anora first. I bet Weisshaupt is none-too-pleased about that!

The Weisshaupt Wardens were gone the next day; Aedan refused to tell us what had transpired between him and Torpin after Alistair and I left, but my brother was tense and irritable for several days afterwards. Even Zevran had trouble pulling him out of his foul mood, and we all tiptoed around him until Fergus arrived in the capital. I avoided Fergus, not wanting to put a damper on Aedan’s renewed good humour by fighting with my liege lord, so I barely saw either Cousland before All Soul’s Day.

Sten left the day after that. With his Grey Warden status and some coin gifted to him by Aedan, he managed to purchase passage to Rivain on a merchant ship heading to Dairsmuid; from there it was a mere week’s walk to Kont-aar, the last Qunari stronghold on mainland Thedas. Rivain was largely peaceful, even with the Qunari presence, so he was at minimal risk.

He declined anyone walking him to the docks; I knew he would want to avoid emotional displays, and so we bid him farewell at the palace and let him go. I managed to finagle myself one last hug, plastering myself against his stony chest; to my shock, he patted my shoulder awkwardly instead of standing stiffly uncomfortable like normal. I’m actually going to miss him too…huh. It was strange to think that a Qunari had become a part of my family, but that’s what had happened.

I presented him with a large bag of cookies, as he left, as well as a card with a recipe for one of his favourites – oatmeal with raisins. The big softie really does have a sweet tooth. With a nod, he left us and headed to the docks.

I wondered what would happen to him when he got back to Seheron, and if we’d ever see him again. He’d signed an agreement with Aedan for mutual aid against the Blight, choosing to ally himself with us instead of Weisshaupt; Aedan had supplied him with enough Archdemon blood to recruit and keep a small number of Wardens in Seheron for a century, and a recipe for the Joining potion. I hope Qunari Grey Wardens aren’t something Thedas comes to fear, down the road…

Riordan had been excessively quiet since the battle had been won, and I finally cornered him after the Weisshaupt group left, convincing him to take a walk with me in the palace’s gardens. He looked gaunt, tired, even despite all the time we’d had to rest since returning to Denerim.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, before I had a chance to say anything.

I was touched by his concern, especially in light of his own significant issues. “I’m okay. I’m still mourning, I suppose, but I’m trying not to feel guilty about how Duncan died. I miss him, Riordan.”

He sighed. “As do I. You should not feel guilty, Sierra. Knowing what he would be facing, had he survived…well, I think I envy him, to be honest.”

I touched Riordan’s arm, shocked and saddened. “Riordan…”

“I was not meant to survive the battle. You said so yourself. Now, instead of a death that means something, trying to end the Blight, I will be forced to take my Calling and go alone into the Deep Roads. Once I take Anora to Nevarra and return to Jader with Loghain, I will be leaving for Orzammar almost immediately. My sanity will not last much longer, I am afraid. For some reason I fared better than Duncan, but I do not have long.”

“Why don’t you let Dougal take Anora and Loghain, at least? Spend the last of your time travelling, or with friends, or something. Stay here, if you like. Maybe Avernus could help you?” I fought back the tears at the idea of losing a connection to Duncan, not to mention the idea of him dying alone in those dank, tainted tunnels underground.

He shook his head sadly. “My entire adult life has been about duty, Sierra; I will not shirk it now. Besides, I’d like to go back to Jader anyway. I wish to say goodbye to my brothers and sisters, before my Calling. And as much as I understand Duncan’s choice to separate from Weisshaupt…I wish my name to be recorded in the archives, alongside all of the others who have come before me. I don’t disapprove of the split, but I am a Grey Warden, not a Fereldan Grey Warden.

“No, I look forward to going home, and the side-trip to Nevarra shouldn’t be much of a hardship. Though I do wish the king would tell us where in Nevarra we’re going…”

“You don’t know? He’d better tell you soon – you’ll be leaving in a week!”

“Perhaps he’s having second thoughts?”

“About putting her aside? I doubt it. She well and truly screwed herself on that one. If she’d respected his ‘memory’ at all in Denerim before the Landsmeet…if she hadn’t betrayed us, I think he could have forgiven her. But no, I imagine the hold-up is not wanting his enemies to know where she’ll be.”

Riordan smiled, looking exhausted despite his brief amusement.

“Are you going to be okay?” I reached out and touched his arm softly, and he patted my hand.

“I will. The nightmares are less since the Archdemon’s death. It won’t be long now. I’ll be fine.”

Nodding, throat constricted around all the things I didn’t know how to say, I hugged him briefly and then walked away in search of my husband, hoping for a distraction.

All of the Wardens near Denerim had been recalled from their patrols for the celebration on All Soul’s Day. Several of the elves who’d stayed in the Palace during the evacuation had been hired as servants, and Cailan had them cleaning our armour, and washing and repairing tabards; he even brought in some apparently famous hair stylist, who Leliana had recommended, to do touch-ups on everyone’s hair. By the day before the celebration, we were all outfitted appropriately, and acceptably groomed, ready for the festivities.

Like the Wardens, I was permitted to wear armour for the ceremony – Aedan was paranoid about the possibility of assassination attempts, so we were all fully armed as well – and I proudly donned my Grey Warden ‘companion’ tabard over my set of green leather. Alistair’s dragon bone shone in the sun, and the rest of our group also looked good. Loghain insisted on being left behind; I had barely seen or spoken to the taciturn Warden since we’d arrived in Denerim, and I wondered if he’d spent all his time commiserating with Anora. He maintained that he’d be a distraction – either hated by those who’d opposed him, or lauded by those who’d benefitted from him – and it would take the focus away from the purpose of the day. He’s probably not wrong.

A parade was to be the start of the celebration, and we all gathered anxiously at the palace gates. Several carts were brought out; they’d been decorated with flowers and fabric to look festive, and we were divided among three of them. Cailan’s went first, of course, surrounded by loyal guard members; Fergus, Nathaniel, Leonas Bryland, and Eamon, among others, sat behind him. We came next, Riordan, Alistair and I joining Aedan and Zevran on the first, the rest of our group divided between the other two as they wished. Several of the Circle mages sat with the Wardens. The rest of the nobility who’d been in the battle followed us on a few more carts, and a large number of soldiers brought up the rear.

We had to wait a few minutes until Kylon – who’d been promoted to the head of Denerim’s Guard – was happy with the security detail, and then we were travelling through Denerim. There were crowds on the streets, pressed up against the walls to allow the parade to go by; people screamed and cheered, throwing paper flowers and waving madly, and we all got into the spirit of the thing, waving back. Cailan had bags of coppers and wrapped candies to throw to the children – the larger proportion of which ended up in the Alienage, I noted – and it was fun watching the little ones scramble to grab the treasures.

The parade wended through the noble’s district, out to the docks, through the Alienage, and down to the market, ending up outside the city gates. The remains of the elves’ tent city had been dismantled, and a large field near the city gates had been cleared. There were pavilions set up offering food for free; the scouts Cailan had sent out hunting had obviously been working hard, because there was wild boar, bronto, deer, sheep, and several other animals I didn’t care to look at too closely roasting over several large spits. There was a tent selling ale, several others hawking pastries, sweets, and keepsakes, but no one would go hungry – one tent with free food had even been set aside for any elves who were too nervous to approach the larger pavilions.

There were musicians playing, story-tellers weaving wild tales, and magicians amazing the crowds with sleight of hand tricks; acrobats tumbled across maps, and puppeteers retold the story of the battle that ended the Blight, much to the Wardens’ embarrassment. They all had hats out to collect coppers, and it looked like they’d all make a decent amount of coin given the size of the crowd.

Kylon had the guards taking rotations, each having some time to eat and explore the fairgrounds between patrols; some of the army bolstered the guards’ numbers, and overall it seemed unlikely there would be any violence. We still kept our armour on, just in case.

A large seating area had been set aside for the nobility, and the Wardens were invited. Our carts rolled up to the edge of the grounds, and we were allowed to climb down and mingle with the crowds, getting ourselves food before resting on benches with the nobles.

Later there was dancing, two large flat areas covered with wooden planks, one with a maypole in the centre, and a group of musicians alternated between songs more suited to the formal dances of the nobility, and the more carefree, less structured dancing of the common folk. I danced with my husband, but also Cailan, my brother, Nathaniel, most of the Wardens, and several of the nobility. I didn’t know any of the steps to the formal dances, so I only agreed to go during the less structured ones; even in armour, it was a lot of fun twirling and laughing between various partners.

Needing a breather, I sat for a moment and watched my adorably clueless husband dance with some young noblewoman – it wasn’t Habren, but I hadn’t caught her name. The look she’d given him, the glare directed my way, left no question what she was hoping for; I couldn’t even blame her. My husband, whether dressed in armour or a suit, was the most handsome man in Thedas, after all, and now a prince. But as much as she tried to flirt, he was only concentrating on his feet, trying not to step on her as he shuffled her awkwardly around the dance floor. I’d have been jealous, if his obvious discomfort wasn’t so clearly written across his face.

While I watched, someone sat down beside me; I turned to see Fergus, a mug of ale in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. He held out the wine, and I took it with a grateful smile. I took a sip, and it was good – sweet, just how I liked it.

“You’ve been talking to Zevran, your Grace.”

He smiled. “Well, I felt I should get to know the man who won my brother’s heart.”

I was shocked, having expected Fergus to either be bothered by Aedan’s orientation, or possibly try to deny it. And he didn’t call me Princess. “He’s a wonderful person.”

Fergus chuckled. “You’re surprised that I know.”

I flushed. “I shouldn’t make assumptions, I suppose. Aedan never wanted to discuss his…interest, with your parents. He thought they wouldn’t approve, and I just assumed you would feel the same.”

He examined me, smile faltering. “My parents? Shouldn’t you be saying ‘our’ parents?”

I sighed. “I know you don’t believe me, and I won’t push myself where I’m not wanted, your Grace. Not to mention, even though I believe I am your sister, I wasn’t raised by the same people. I can’t claim to know anything about how they’d feel about…anything, really. A blood relationship isn’t the same as parentage.”

He sat silently considering that for a moment, and then nodded. “They weren’t upset that he likes men. But an heir would have been important, and it would eventually have caused problems. I know they’d been looking for a match with someone who would be…understanding. Not have expectations.

“But now…he’s a Grey Warden. He can’t hold a title, so his children wouldn’t be in line for the Teyrnir anyway. Even if Cailan reverses that rule for Ferelden…it just doesn’t feel like it matters anymore. After everything that happened, after all we’ve lost…” His voice cracked, and I suppressed the urge to touch him, to offer sympathy. “If he can have some measure of happiness, that’s all I want for him. I wouldn’t take that away from him.”

I looked away from the raw pain on his face, watching Alistair for a moment as he tried to spin the little harpy he was dancing with. “Thank you, your Grace. I know your approval will go a long way towards helping with Aedan’s happiness. And…I’m sorry. For your loss. I know it doesn’t mean much coming from me, but…”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Thank you, Princess.” I winced, and he looked away, face flushed. “I’ve danced with all of the rest of my vassals, and I told you I would treat you the same as the rest. So, will you do me the honour?”

I twitched, startled. “Y..your Grace?”

He reached out and took the wine glass from my hand, then held his hand out expectantly. “A dance, Sierra. Yes or no?”

I nodded dumbly, taking his hand and standing up to follow the Teyrn onto the dance floor in shock. Alistair caught my eye, a concerned look on his face, and I tried to give him a reassuring smile. He frowned, but didn’t come and make a scene, for which I was grateful. He abandoned the woman he’d been dancing with as he slowly moved off the dance floor, eyes never leaving me.

I followed Fergus closer to the centre of the floor, heart pounding with anxiety. The music changed, as we walked, to one of the more formal dances, and I grimaced, tugging on Fergus’ hand. “Stop. Your Grace, please stop. I don’t know how to dance to this.”

“Just follow my lead.” He pulled me into position, one of his hands firmly on my back, the other gripping my suddenly sweaty fingers. “Relax. I’m not going to try to make you look stupid. This isn’t a group dance. It’s like fighting: just move when I do.”

And then he stepped. I moved my foot to keep from being trod upon, and suddenly we were, sort of, dancing. To my relief, he didn’t try too many fancy moves, and for the most part we just swayed back and forth to the tempo of the music. After the first minute, I settled into the pattern of the steps, trying not to be caught staring at the feet of the people twirling around us.

I was relieved when the song was over; Fergus was a good dancer, and he hadn’t let me look like an idiot, which he could have, but between my discomfort around him and my discomfort with dancing, I couldn’t have escaped the dance floor fast enough. So when the last notes of the song sounded, I curtsied, carefully, and then hurried back to my seat where Alistair waited for me.

I spent the rest of the afternoon glued to my husband’s side, praying no one else would ask me to dance.

Finally there was a ceremony; Cailan climbed up on a platform, and one of the Circle mages performed some spell that amplified his words. He made all of our group – companions and Wardens alike – stand beside him as he spoke.

“Fereldans!” he shouted, as everyone quietened down to listen. “We are gathered here today to rejoice at the end of the Blight that threatened our homeland. We have done what no other nation in Thedas has ever managed: we ended a Blight in less than a single year. We are here to remember and celebrate the lives of those we lost, and to give thanks to our soldiers, our mages, and our allies – including elves and dwarves; because of them, we defeated the horde of darkspawn that threatened not only our lives, but our way of life. But most of all, we must thank these people standing beside me.

“These Grey Wardens selflessly dedicate themselves to destroying darkspawn and defending against Blights; these Wardens, despite their numbers being decimated at Ostagar, without the support of their Order, and despite a civil war, gathered an army and defeated the Archdemon. And Duncan, their Commander, the Hero of Ferelden, gave his life to ensure we would all be safe.

“I give you your saviours: Ferelden’s Grey Wardens!”

The cheering was deafening, and not a one of us on the dais had managed to get through the speech without blushing – with the possible exception of Zevran, who I was pretty sure was genetically incapable of it. We waved, bowed to Cailan, waited politely for the clapping to die down, and then scampered away from the platform as fast as we could without being impolitic.

The rest of the evening was a riot of laughter, wine, dancing, singing, and spending the last of the time available to us together, before we would be separated. I missed Faren, Jowan, Bel, Oghren, and Conrad, though I drank enough wine to be rather silly, if not totally sloshed, and wasn’t entirely upset the dwarves would be missing my acute loss of control. I’d never hear the end of the teasing. Alistair, slightly less tipsy than me, helped me back to our room after the long, slow cart ride, and after downing a couple of glasses of water, we collapsed together on the bed and slept like drunken dwarves.

There and Back - Chapter 117

elyssacousland — Tue, 27 Sep 2016 02:47:16 GMT

Chapter One Hundred Seventeen: Burn It

“Alright, so…hear me out before you make a judgement, but…I want to burn down the Alienage,” Cailan said.

I choked – on what, I couldn’t say – and began coughing, while Alistair thumped me on the back. Aedan sputtered, face turning an unusual shade of crimson, but Kallian merely raised one eyebrow inquiringly.

Aedan finally managed to get out an entire sentence. “I think you’re a lot more sleep-deprived than we thought, Cailan,” he ventured.

“Or maybe you had a head injury you didn’t tell anyone about during the battle?” I wondered.

Cailan rolled his eyes. “I did ask you to hear me out before you judge,” he reminded us.

Alistair waved his arm in a ‘go on’ sort of gesture, and Cailan nodded at him before turning to Kallian.

“After Denerim was evacuated, it looks like there was a fire started in one of the homes in the Alienage. It burnt a large number of houses, and damaged more. No one was hurt, but it’s going to have to be rebuilt. And it gave me an idea.

“Look, I know it’s been your home, but the fact is, the Alienage is a mess. It’s impossible to keep clean, the houses are falling down, plagues keep spreading there…no one should live like that.”

“We’ve never exactly had much of a choice,” Kallian defended.

Cailan threw up his arms excitedly. “No, no, I’m not blaming you. You’ve done the best you could with what you have. But that’s the point, really. You didn’t have much to work with, and then once people were living there, it was very difficult to do anything about it, even if someone had tried. We couldn’t kick out dozens or hundreds of people while we renovated their homes, and doing it one building at a time was too expensive and time consuming, not to mention the nobility would not have approved the expenditure even if it were possible.”

Cailan continued, breathless and enthusiastic, not allowing anyone else to get a word in edgewise, “That’s why this is the perfect opportunity. The Alienage is empty, likely for a couple more weeks, and half of it is already destroyed. There’s no one to displace. We have a few trustworthy mages available to help us, and the nobility are busy doing other things. If the rest of the Alienage burned while everyone was evacuated, they wouldn’t have to approve a motion to rebuild, because I have sole discretion over the budget during an emergency – and then we could do it right, without a fight. Highever and Amaranthine won’t be ready for the stonemasons for a while yet, so those that came from Orzammar are going to be sitting on their thumbs anyway – and we’ve already paid for their services. There’s a lot of old stone quarries around Denerim that could be reopened.

“We could build multi-story stone buildings, give each family more space, and still have room to spare. We could expand the green space around the Vhenadahl, maybe build a school? It wouldn’t even cost that much, especially if the returning residents helped with the construction. The biggest problem will be housing people during the reconstruction, but fortunately it’s summer. We could set up temporary camps outside the gates, allow hunting nearby to supplement food stores…we have the army to build camps like we did in the Bannorn. As long as we can keep any rain off, it shouldn’t be unbearable until the first buildings are ready, and then people can crowd in and share until everything is finished.

“It gives us an excuse to arm the elves – they need to protect themselves while living outside of the city, and to hunt. It allows us to improve the Alienage, and even employ some of the elves temporarily as labourers during the building.”

He finally stopped, gulping breaths of air rather comically at the end of his hurried speech. He glanced back and forth between Aedan and Kallian, expecting – correctly – that the two of them would have the strongest opinions on the subject.

I didn’t know what to think. In some ways it made sense – the Alienage really was a travesty, and burning it to the ground seemed like one of the few ways to recover it, especially if it was as badly damaged as Cailan said – but where would all those people live during the construction? It would take a lot of time to build as much as he was suggesting, and the evacuees were expected back within weeks at the most. I was also concerned about the likelihood of backlash in the Landsmeet; most nobles’ opinions on the city elves seemed to consist of a ‘survival of the fittest’ mentality. I doubted there was any money left in the Arl of Denerim’s estate to cover it either, though it should have been the Arl’s responsibility – if only there was an Arl of Denerim right now – and not Vaughn or Howe, either.

Aedan shared my concern about the cost, and he and Cailan immediately began debating the viability of the plan from that perspective. Kallian was surprisingly quiet. I expected her to be either enthusiastic at the prospect of making the Alienage livable, or angry at the idea of burning down the rest of her former home, but she just kept her gaze fixed firmly in her lap while Cailan and Aedan brain-stormed the funding aspect. I was barely listening, mind awhirl with possibilities and risks, but it sounded like Aedan thought it was possible.

Finally, when Kallian still hadn’t said anything, Cailan addressed her directly. “What do you think?”

She looked up at him, tilting her head slightly. “I think nicer houses won’t fix the biggest problem Ferelden – and the rest of Thedas – faces with elves.” Cailan’s face fell, and she held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong – it would be nice not to worry that the next stiff breeze will blow down someone’s home, and to have somewhere for the homeless to go, but without jobs, and income, and the ability to defend ourselves from those who would do us harm, it’ll be just a differently-decorated slum. When most humans see us as less worthy of respect than the rodents we end up eating, why bother putting us in prettier houses?”

Cailan looked crestfallen. “I want to improve the elves’ lives. I want you to have safe places to sleep and not risk frostbite all winter. I want you to be seen as citizens. It’s not going to happen overnight, Maker knows, but can’t we at least try? I will do my best to change our culture, a little at a time, but this might be our only opportunity to really address the housing situation. Once everyone is back, as it stands, most of the elves will be homeless, and I think we all know the nobility as a rule will leave them to fend for themselves.”

Kallian examined Cailan’s earnest face for a long silent moment, and I could almost see the wheels spinning. I wonder what she’s looking for. Finally she nodded. “If you can manage the details – housing for my people during the renovations, funds for the construction – then I agree, and I will help you. Most people have taken their few valuables with them out of the Alienage, so it’s as good a time as we’re likely to get.”

Aedan nodded agreement, and Cailan turned to Alistair and I, sitting together, stunned. “Yes?” he asked. “I’d like as much support as I can get.”

Alistair squeezed my hand once, and it knocked me out of my reverie. “Yes, of course. If you think it can be done, we’re behind you.”

Aedan interjected, “Send messengers to Nathaniel and Fergus – I know they’ll back you too. Highever has always been better about elven rights, and Nathaniel’s no racist. I bet Leonas and Alfstanna would too – and the more obvious support you have, the less backlash. Lots of the nobility have gone home, but send messengers, and I’m sure at least some will agree.”

“Right.” Cailan ran his hand through his hair, rubbing his scalp thoughtfully. “If we’re going to do this, it’s got to be now – as soon as possible. We need the mages to burn the rest of the Alienage right away, before anyone thinks to look at the extent of the damage. I ‘borrowed’ a handful of mages from the Circle – in addition to the healers – to supplement the army and eventually reinforce Amaranthine, and there’s three I think would help us and keep their mouths shut. Do you suppose any of the Warden mages would help?”

I nodded. “I’ll go ask, but I wouldn’t be surprised. I’ll be right back.”

“Meet us by the east gate, instead – we’ll try to avoid too much notice, yes?” Cailan suggested.

I ran back to where our group had set up, finding Alim and Anders playing chess in the small dining room we’d borrowed. Solona was in her room – a room she was sharing with Anders, I was pleased to note – and quickly joined us when I called her. I avoided asking Wynne – who was probably too busy healing anyway – guessing that she’d be less than approving of our plan. Which should probably make me second guess the wisdom of the plan, but…Nah. It’s got to be done.

I explained the plan in hurried whispers as we headed to the east gate; all three mages were more than happy to lend their aid to the cause.

“I’m not much good with fire,” Anders declared, while I shushed him, looking around to see who could be listening. “I’m pretty good with ice, though, so I can help keep the fire from raging out of control,” he whispered.

“Protect the Vhenadahl at all costs,” I suggested. Alim nodded, but Anders just looked at me in confusion. “The big tree,” I elaborated, and he nodded. “The walls should keep the fire from spreading to the rest of the city.”

When we met up with Cailan, Aedan, Alistair, and Kallian, the four had three unfamiliar, elven mages with them, as well as Zevran, of course, and Wulf, who nodded at me when I arrived, but stayed firmly behind Kallian like a shadow. A number of soldiers also joined us, armed and armoured, though not wearing royal livery. The group of us left through the side gate, walking quickly but quietly across the city and through a large gate to the Alienage.

I stopped, shocked at the destruction the initial fire had caused; where Kallian’s father’s home had been, across a large square from the Vhenadahl, there was now nothing but a burnt out shell filled with rubble and mud. The fire had originated in the larger building next door, a run-down two-story affair that had barely looked inhabitable at the best of times, but it was now burned to the ground. All of the buildings around it – mostly dilapidated shacks – were damaged, and the fire had clearly spread across the roofs to the next few rows of houses as well. Several buildings were open to the sky, spears of charred wood no longer holding anything up standing all around.

It was depressing, but while I felt sad and slightly ill, Kallian looked remarkably unaffected, and then I remembered she’d already been to the Alienage to bring those who’d refused to evacuate to the Palace.

“It’s a miracle no one was hurt,” Alistair breathed, wrapping his arm around my waist as I stared somberly at the wreckage.

I was jolted from my shock when Cailan called out orders softly. “Spread out, search every remaining building – I don’t want any accidental deaths or injuries.”

We all nodded and went to work, Alistair and some of the soldiers breaking down locked doors while Aedan, Wulf, and Zevran picked locks; Kallian and I followed and checked inside once the doors were open. It was horrifying, actually, violently breaking in to what was someone’s home – especially seeing the pathetic state of many of those houses. They were barren, as I would expect of an area that had been evacuated, but more than that it was obvious even so the abject squalor many of the elves lived in. There were homes that Kallian said housed six or eight people, but with only one, lumpy straw mattress surrounded by spaces where people had slept huddled on scrounged wooden planks or other makeshift pallets. Most had one or two chairs, at most, and many had no other furniture at all.

There were odd, abandoned belongings that, without words, Kallian and I began gathering up as we went, making a pile on a scavenged wooden slab: small stuffed animals and dolls, hand-carved toys, wooden and ceramic plant pots, articles of clothing, and other small keepsakes were all saved and put aside, and I hoped Kallian would be able to find their owners once everyone returned.

We didn’t find anyone living there. Even squatters had found better places to stay, I supposed; the thought made me even sadder. Cailan looked horrified, and I wondered if it was his first time in the Alienage. Once the entire area was cleared, those of us without magic gathered near the Vhenadahl while the mages planned strategy. My spine tingled as Anders and two of the others started casting, laying down a thick layer of ice on the ground surrounding the tree, spreading it to the nearest walls facing onto the green space. Once that was done, Anders planted himself in front of the group of us as the other mages spread out throughout the Alienage.

The plan was to set small fires, and then use magic to encourage them to spread, rather than just blasting the entire place with magical flames; I held my breath as I felt the spells that started the fires. It didn’t take long before there was smoke pouring out of the buildings the mages occupied, and soon the mages themselves were standing outside, arms spread, spells periodically magnifying the heat or containing the blaze to prevent it from burning out of control. As the flames crept nearer the Vhenadahl, Anders went to work with controlled blasts of ice, keeping the heat from rolling over those of us standing nearby.

In the end it took a couple of hours for the mages to drive the fires to all corners of the Alienage, scorching some of the surrounding stone walls for appearance’s sake. As an observer, it was a frightening thing to see at times, with flames leaping from building to building and smoke pouring into the sky; evening fell, and it looked even more impressive, lighting up the night sky. As we finished, a large group of soldiers, following Eamon and a couple of other nobles I didn’t recognise, showed up carrying axes and buckets – obviously planning to fight the flames – but by the time they’d arrived, the fires were all but out.

Eamon sputtered as he approached. “Your Majesty! What are you doing here?”

Cailan turned calmly towards the older man. “We had reports of a fire, so I grabbed the nearest mages and brought them here to combat it. Thanks to these Wardens, and mages on loan from the Circle, the fires have been put out – but I’m afraid most of the Alienage is unsalvageable.”

I had to hide my smile at Cailan’s blatant lie, and I noticed several of the soldiers and mages suppressing smirks as well. Eamon began loudly bemoaning the destruction, and when the last of the mages gave us the nod, Cailan put his arm across the Arl’s shoulders, ushering the man back towards the Palace, with us, the mages, and the soldiers following behind.

“Uncle,” I heard Cailan say, “I had no idea you were so sensitive to the needs of city elves. I have an idea – what if I put you in charge of the reclamation and rebuilding? I’ve got a budget in mind…”

I almost giggled at poor Eamon’s surprised, reluctant agreement as the two began discussing stone work and unskilled labour as Cailan cleverly implied (without promising anything) that if Eamon performed well enough, he might be considered for the vaunted Royal Chancellor position I knew he’d been aiming for from the start.

The soldiers and mages returned to their quarters, but Kallian followed us back to our common area, laughing with us as we talked about poor Eamon’s new role. I wondered how he’d react to working side-by-side with Kallian during planning and construction.

*****
For the next several weeks there was a flurry of activity around the Palace. Cailan had the stonemasons, some of the nobles, Kallian, and Eamon in meetings, drawing up plans for the reconstruction, and had tasked some of the army with building temporary housing for the elves outside of the gates of Denerim. They erected the wooden platforms the army had used to keep water and mud out of the tents, and built a few communal, covered wooden structures for cooking and dining. Some of the scouts were sent hunting, hoping to provide food not only for the elves, but for the returning peasants until the harvest could be brought in and the markets returned to normal.

Some of the soldiers had been miners or farmers before joining the battle, and those that could be spared were sent to help bring in harvest and re-open the stone quarries near Denerim, and stone blocks began slowly moving into the city for the construction. There wasn’t much for the Wardens to do in Denerim, once all the returning soldiers had been declared free of the taint, so Aedan organised patrols for the roads between the quarries and the city to protect the caravans of stone.

Evacuees began slowly filtering back into the city; the families and staff of many of the nobles had been sent by boat to the Free Marches, and they were some of the first to return – including Isolde and Connor. Commoners and elves started to return, and it wasn’t long before the market district was again full of loud, boisterous activity.

Food was at a premium, but between the harvest coming in from nearby farmlands and the smoked meat brought in by the army, no one went hungry, though soldiers had to guard the carts that distributed the supplies to anxious residents to ensure everyone got only their fair share. There was grumbling when people realised elves were being fed exactly the same as the humans, but when the extent of the damage to the Alienage became obvious, most of the complaining was silenced.

It was going to be a lean winter, I knew, but with the extreme organization that Cailan had instituted, not to mention the messages being sent around Thedas hoping for disaster relief or at least favourable trade agreements, I had hope that Denerim would come out of the Blight relatively unscathed.

It became obvious, before long, that a fairly large number of the urban population had settled in the Free Marches, or wherever they had fled when Denerim was evacuated, and once it was clear that certain businesses would not reopen, Cailan cautiously gave permission for some of the elves to open booths in the market. They sold clothing, baskets, crafts, and whatever else they could make from what raw materials they could find or buy; there were those who refused to purchase items from the ‘knife-ears’, but it was reasonably well-received when it became clear that it would keep the prices low for necessary items.

As the camp outside the gate filled with elves, Kallian began working with some of the soldiers to teach a few of the elves basic combat techniques and hunting; a small militia was formed, with the goal of defending the camp from wildlife, bandits and the like, and they aided the guards with patrolling around the camp. Tensions flared at first, but began to relax as armed elves did not attack the human guards tasked with teaching or defending them, and the groups started working together.

I heard Anora had returned to the city, under guard; I didn’t see her, and Cailan seemed to be doing well keeping her out of his thoughts. I didn’t want to bring her up, not when he was doing so well, so I kept my curiosity to myself. I’ll find out eventually, anyway.

During all of this activity, the Wardens remaining in Denerim and I ended up extremely bored. We couldn’t go anywhere until the delegation from Weisshaupt arrived, and the celebration of the end of the Blight took place – Cailan had planned it to coincide with All Soul’s Day, a summer holiday celebration that would happen in a little under two months. There’s only so much training even the Wardens can do.

Aedan received a letter from Fergus, saying they had taken back Castle Cousland without any difficulty, and that Nathaniel had tracked down Thomas Howe in some brothel in Highever – named the Dewy Petal, of all the ridiculous things – high out of his mind on opium. I didn’t even know opium was a thing, in Thedas. Huh. Apparently Thomas had left the castle after news of his father’s death and loss of titles had reached him, and after he assaulted a prostitute, some enterprising madam had hooked him on the addictive opium as a way of keeping him less aggressive. Nathaniel was going to take Thomas to Amaranthine and see what he was like once the drug withdrawal was over; Fergus had begun the recovery process in Highever, but promised to be in Denerim for the celebration.

At first it was nice, having nothing to do; Alistair and I spent days in bed together, barely rising to talk to our friends, see the returning patrols, and spend time with my brother – we made love, talked about our future, and caught up on a year’s worth of missed sleep. But eventually we were well-rested, well-loved, and though our nights would remain passionate for the foreseeable future, we were looking for other things to do.

I began working with Kallian, trying to think of what things would be needed in the Alienage before the building was completed; Aedan, Alistair, and the other Wardens still in Denerim began working with the Palace Guards, the City Guards, the new elven militia, and the remaining soldiers who needed combat training.

Plans for the Alienage were coming along; there were going to be more than enough apartment-style homes for all of the elves, with plenty extra left over for population growth, and Cailan had agreed to allow some official stores to open, instead of the unofficial, illegal ones that had existed before. One large building was going to be used as a school, a meeting place, and chapel for Chantry services; Mother Boann had somehow gotten clearance to begin holding services weekly, and hoped that between the Chantry and my donation, she’d be able to begin teaching the children reading, writing, and numbers once the Alienage was restored.

Building began within three weeks, and with many of the returning elves helping out as unskilled labour, and the dwarven stone masons – who didn’t discriminate against ‘knife ears’ – plus surplus army soldiers with some experience, construction wasn’t going to take long. Cailan heard from Nathaniel, who’d arrived in Amaranthine unscathed, and he promised to send the stonemasons to the Vigil as soon as they could be spared in Denerim.

I received my first messages from Soldier’s Peak; Levi reported that some parts of the fortress had been ‘satisfactorily’ reclaimed, whatever that meant, and that Avernus had not caused any problems. He confirmed he had more than enough coin to continue cleaning up and furnishing the rooms, and he had hired some maids, cooks, and other staff to assist and make the place livable once we moved in. Faren had scrawled a quick note praising the soldiers that had been assigned there; apparently there had been a few more undead rise periodically, and they had fared well defeating them. Jowan added that he’d been helping Avernus as he was able, and hadn’t seen any sign of worrisome blood magic or shady research.

By the time the Weisshaupt delegation arrived in Denerim – by boat from Cumberland – seven weeks after we arrived in the city, the temporary camps outside the city gates had been abandoned, half of the planned housing had been built, and the elves had retained their rights to carry arms within the Alienage – and join the city guard. To my surprise, Eamon had worked exceptionally well with Kallian, and even seemed to hold a grudging respect for the petite brunette, who combined common sense and a desire for equality for her people in a way that impressed everyone, no matter how much above her in station they were. And the dwarves had left for Amaranthine, satisfied that the Alienage would be finished appropriately without their help. Most of the army, which had not been officially disbanded, were also sent to Amaranthine, to defend against the eventual darkspawn attack I knew would come.

The group from Weisshaupt included six Wardens, more than I expected to travel all the way to Ferelden; out of sheer paranoia, Aedan and Alistair kept me well away from them at all times, and as such I didn’t even know what they looked like. Cailan, Aedan, Alistair, and Riordan met the group at the docks once word of their arrival reached us, and they came to the Palace, immediately sequestering themselves in meetings.

In bed, late that night after not seeing my husband for almost the entire day, Alistair told me that so far there had just been a lot of bluster, the representatives angry that Duncan had broken them away, but it seemed we were right – there wasn’t much they could do about it. They had raised several concerns, none of which worried Aedan or Alistair much.

They implied that there were secrets of the Order that they were unaware of, and Aedan’s response was that, if Duncan, in the middle of a Blight, hadn’t needed to know, we didn’t need to either.

They had asked whether Aedan and Alistair had really been the leaders, assuming that Duncan and Riordan had done everything, but everyone had insisted that the two current Warden-Commanders had been the ones to collect most of the treaties, and had worked with Lanaya, Greagoir, Irving, and Sereda to sign new ones.

They tried implying Aedan and Alistair were too young, too green for command, but Cailan and Riordan both backed them up, and when asked which of the delegates had experience in gathering an army to combat the Blight or in fighting an Archdemon, the silence was response enough. They might have been young, but my husband and brother were probably the most experienced Wardens in Thedas.

The delegates were expected to stay for several more days, and I promised Alistair to stay away, continuing my work with Kallian and Eamon, until they were gone. Eamon seemed much happier with Isolde and Connor back; I didn’t see the Arlessa or their son much, but their impact on Eamon’s state of mind was huge. He was almost polite, even to me. The problem for me was there wasn’t much left to do. The plans had been finalised, the construction almost complete, and Kallian was spending her days in the Alienage organising the work and supervising the construction itself. And all the strange Wardens around had my skin itching from the taint, and it took far too much concentration to ignore the sensation. Somehow it bothered me less when I knew the Wardens responsible.

So I found myself wandering the Palace halls, admiring the tapestries, getting lost and having to work my way back, until I found myself in a library I hadn’t known existed. It was dusty, obviously long-unused, a large chamber with enormous bay windows covered by thick curtains. I opened the drapes, but despite that, only weak light shone through the dirty windows; it was enough that I didn’t need to light a lantern, and I spent a while browsing titles. Most of them were familiar – histories of Thedas, treatises on the evils of the Tevinter Imperium, old political dissertations. Many of the same books graced the shelves in Redcliffe’s library, and I imagined most of the castles around Ferelden would be similar.

There was one section full of fiction, which I perused with more interest; I blushed and quickly put back one book I picked up, titled “Antivan Nights”; I had thought it might be a Thedosian “Arabian Nights”, but the salacious images I accidentally flipped past had me stuttering at my silly mistake. I was looking for something less racy when I heard footsteps, and an unfamiliar head poked through the door into the dusty room.

“Hello,” I called out.

A dark-haired, slender elf in an immaculate uniform stepped hesitantly into the room. “I apologise, your Highness. I don’t mean to disturb you.”

“It’s no problem. I’m surprised to see anyone else in this ridiculously dusty library, I admit, but it’s no bother. And please, call me Sierra.”

The elf took a few more steps inside, seemingly encouraged by my lack of angry outburst. “The Lady Anora requested something to read. She didn’t give me a particular title, though, so I’m somewhat anxious about choosing a book.” He wrung his hands together nervously.

“Well, let me see. She’s probably read all of those before,” I gestured at the two walls covered in histories and politics. “How about we grab a couple of these story books, one thick dry political history, and…here.” I picked up “Antivan Nights” and set it on the pile. “Be sure to let her know I chose this one for her. Tell her you chose the rest, but don’t take credit for this one, okay?”

The elf nodded vigourously, clearly still nervous. “Of course, my Lady.” I winced at the honourific, but at least it wasn’t ‘your Highness’. “Thank you. I’ll just take these to her right away.”

I was still giggling at my own prank when someone else slowly approached, and I turned to see who else was joining me in the room that probably hadn’t seen so much activity in years. “Who’s there?”

A thin, red-headed man, another elf, stepped through the door, and smiled awkwardly. He had long hair held back by a simple leather thong, and was wearing a wrinkled pair of trousers and a brown, loose tunic. He had a smooth, well-healed scar from the corner of his lips down to his chin, which slightly distorted his mouth when he spoke.

“Pardon me, m’Lady. Just looking for something to read.” His accent was different, something I didn’t recognise. I wondered if he was one of the elves Kallian had hired from the Alienage to help out until everything at the Palace had settled down. Perhaps his scar affects his voice too? He clearly didn’t recognise me, and it was a bit of a relief.

“No problem; help yourself.” I gestured at the shelves, and he stepped inside softly.

“Find something to read for yourself?”

“Oh, I wasn’t even looking that hard. I’m just bored, but reading Thedosian history or some naughty romance novel doesn’t appeal to me.”

He ignored the comment about the erotica, and raised an eyebrow at me. “Bored?”

“Well, my husband and my brother and all our friends are busy, but I’m not supposed to leave the Palace…so yeah, bored.”

“Your husband?”

I was distracted by sneezing, having stirred up some dust as I flipped through a children’s short story collection. “Hmm? Oh, yes. Sorry. I’m Sierra Theirin – my husband is Alistair Theirin.”

“Oh, your Highness, I apologise…”

I waved my hand dismissively. “Please, just Sierra. It’s fine, really. What sort of book are you looking for?”

We chatted for a few minutes about the pros and cons of Brother Genitivi’s writing, which I hadn’t actually read, but having met the man I felt like he’d be a pretty decent writer.

“You’ve met Brother Genitivi?”

“Well, yes, in Haven with the Wardens…he was captured by a dragon cult and my husband and brother rescued him…”

“Sierra? Love?” Alistair’s voice, faint but audible, drifted in from outside.

I stopped and stepped to the door, poking my head out to see my husband and brother come around a corner next to the library. “Here! I’m just looking at some books, and talking to…” I turned back to the elf, whose face looked slightly flushed for some reason. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

The elf opened his mouth to reply, just as Aedan gasped and Alistair interrupted. “Warden Constable Torpin.”

There and Back - Chapter 116 Edited

elyssacousland — Tue, 13 Sep 2016 04:44:52 GMT

This is the edited version of this chapter with no explicit sex. If you prefer to read the naughty bits, please see my previous post.

Chapter One Hundred Sixteen: *Three Campfires

The Joining that night went about as well as expected. While three mages and three templars had survived until the potion was ready, most of them were ravaged by the taint, barely able to stay upright, skin blackening, hair falling out, fever running rampant through their ruined bodies. Alim and Rolan were the exceptions; the mage looked pale, but otherwise well, and Rolan had black veins visible only under the skin of his hands and arms. Unsurprisingly, they were the only two who survived, and in Rolan’s case, it was a close thing – he convulsed and stopped breathing for a handful of agonising seconds before he seemed to stabilise.

It was interesting, feeling the taint alter in the bodies of the two who survived – overshadowed, of course, by the horror of losing four more recruits, not to mention all of those Aedan and Alistair must have had to put out of their misery earlier. I’d warned Zevran that Aedan would need some extra support later; no matter how necessary, wielding the sword of mercy was still an execution. Aedan would never admit that it bothered him – stubborn ass – but having Zevran prepared to handle the emotional storm could only be a good thing. And I’d be ready for Alistair, whatever he needed.

Anders sighed sadly, eyeing Rolan’s unconscious form; it would be worse, I knew, if he had known what I did about the future, instead of just generally knowing that the man was an ass. Alistair and I shared a lingering glance, both resolved not to allow bigotry to impact our friends who just happened to be mages.

Pyres had been prepared for those who didn’t make it, and we all had a moment of silence – a disgruntled, irritated, depressed silence – as Aedan and Alistair lit them. Alim and Rolan woke within the hour, and after being fed a Warden-sized snack, were ushered to tents to get some much-needed rest.

Cailan had been informed of the Grand Cleric’s disgusting decision to hide tainted mages and templars from the Grey Wardens, and from the thunderous expression on his face, I guessed that when he confronted the old hag, the fight would be epic. I was too tired and too sad, however, to find out, and I dragged Alistair back to our tent immediately after the new surviving Grey Wardens recovered.

My husband had been too quiet since they’d returned from the Chantry’s hidden camp; I hadn’t counted how many people had been tainted, but given only six left to take the Joining, I was guessing Alistair and Aedan both had probably granted merciful deaths to a dozen or more. I knew Alistair wouldn’t want to talk about it with me – he seemed to remain convinced that if I was forced to confront some of the more brutal truths about life in Thedas and the acts he had no choice but to participate in, I’d lose respect for him, or lose the desire to stay in Thedas altogether.

Instead of discussing the details, I helped him take off his dragonbone armour, undressed myself, and pulled him down into our combined bedroll, allowing him to bury his face in my belly while I held him and stroked my fingers through his scruffy hair.

“I love you, you know that, right?”

He shuddered, and I dug my fingers in harder, kneading his scalp. The noise outside slowly settled as the camp went to sleep, and he continued to hold me, pressing his face into my skin. I’d almost have thought he’d fallen asleep except for the periodic spasms that passed through him; finally, after what might have been a half hour, I felt the telling wetness of the tears he’d probably been trying to deny since morning spilling onto my stomach.

He looked up, then, but his expression, instead of the regret or sadness I expected, was furious.

“How dare she? That…that…bitch!” He was almost stuttering in his anger.

I nodded. What else could I add? He’s not wrong, and I’d like to say worse things about her.

He lowered his eyes, whispering so softly I could barely hear him. “Being a leader is even worse than I expected.”

I couldn’t deny it; he was right. It was often easier to follow, to let someone else make the hard decisions and live with the consequences. I stroked his cheek with one finger. “What do you need?”

His eyes darkened as we made eye contact again and he saw the truth in mine – whatever he needed, I’d give, and give gladly.

“You,” he replied, his voice a plea that sent a shiver of pleasure down my spine.

I nodded, and with one massive push, reversed our positions quickly, pressing him down on his back as I leaned over him, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. He tried to chase me as I pulled away, but I held him down with one hand in the centre of his chest. After all the times he’d held me, distracted me, kept me sane through the Deep Roads and everything with Duncan…the least I could do was return the favour, and I planned to make it count.

I started sensually; I left him on the bedroll and dug through my things until I found a clean cloth, and my little stone shower head. With a cautious movement, I dampened the cloth with warm water, and then turned to carefully wipe his face with the warm, wet fabric. I slowly removed sweat and dirt as I dragged the cloth down his neck, his bulging, muscular arms, and his lean, sculpted abdomen. He laid quietly, his eyes never leaving me as I worked, and while I blushed periodically as I reached across him, I didn’t stop until his entire upper body had been cleansed.

It was his turn to blush as I washed the rest of him, and then spent the next while making sure he was thoroughly distracted from the events of the day.

We collapsed together onto our bedroll, and I curled up in his arms, pulling the covers over us both. He kissed my temple, and we fell asleep together, sated and smiling.

*****

The next morning, it became obvious the Wardens were going to have a few more challenges than we’d even anticipated. With so many Grey Wardens, as well as the rest of our companions, our group had become large and somewhat unwieldy – and then there were the politics.

At breakfast, Alim and Jowan immediately began acting like feral cats, backs up and hissing at each other. I wasn’t surprised; Alim was the reason Jowan had been threatened with Tranquility, after all – whether justified or not, I still wasn’t sure – but given the large group, we decided two campfires were perhaps a good idea, and we separated the two mages with alacrity. At the same time, Anders and Alim both bristled around Rolan, who refused to call any of the mages by their names, instead calling them ‘Mage’ or ‘Warden’ in mocking tones. Aedan and Alistair both tried to intervene, with little success – proving a ‘tone’ was difficult, after all, and he was careful to do nothing that technically crossed the line, though he was rebuked strongly until he desisted – and the two campfire plan changed to three.

Conrad and Dougal had a falling out over the Dark Ritual and Conrad’s choice to stay in Ferelden, and Oghren and Faren were suddenly not on speaking terms, for no reason I was able to ascertain.

In the end, Loghain and Sten joined Rolan at one campfire, Conrad and Faren joined Anders, Solona, and Jowan at another, and Alim, Dougal, and Oghren sat sullenly at a third. The rest of us – Alistair and I, as well as Aedan, Zevran, Bel, Riordan, Leliana, and Mornwulf – rotated through all three, trying to bridge the gaps and keep everyone calm.

The following day, Nathaniel, Fergus, and a portion of the Ferelden Army were going to be leaving for Highever; Aedan took the opportunity to solve some of the problems we were having.

“I want to send some of the Wardens with Nathaniel. They can help out around Highever, then go with the Arl to Amaranthine and begin preparing for the darkspawn assaults we know will be coming,” Aedan muttered to Alistair and I.

“Good idea. And if we plan it right, maybe fewer problems with those left behind?” I hope.

“Exactly,” Aedan agreed. “I also think we should send a smaller group to Soldier’s Peak – they can work with Avernus, and help out the Drydens with getting everything ready.”

“I’d send Jowan to Soldier’s Peak,” I suggested. “Avernus will work better with a mage, and our other options are less likely to be open to working with an ancient blood mage. Anders and Alim both would probably prefer to kill him.”

“What if we send Conrad with Oghren, Bel, and Rolan to Amaranthine? No conflict there, and Conrad can handle any trouble Rolan tries to make.” Alistair looked at us, briefly surprised when neither of us disagreed with his suggestion. “We obviously need Sten, Loghain, Riordan, Dougal, and the three of us in Denerim, for a while at least.”

“So that leaves Jowan and…Wulf? For Soldier’s Peak?” Aedan suggested.

“Not Wulf,” I interjected, thinking of Kallian. “Take him to Denerim.”

Aedan gave me a knowing look, but didn’t ask. “What about Faren? He’s pretty practical - pragmatic, even – and doesn’t seem bothered by mages.”

“They’ll need an escort,” Alistair agreed. “I’ll ask Cailan.”

“He promised to provide the Peak with a guard anyway, until I could hire my own people. I’m sure he’ll agree.”

I was right, and it was decided, with Cailan’s approval, to send a group of soldiers with the two Wardens to Soldier’s Peak, but not before he made the group officially swear fealty to me. I was extremely uncomfortable with the entire thing, but he insisted it was the only way to ensure the loyalty of the men I would have directly under my command.

He asked for volunteers, and apparently ended up having to refuse dozens when he picked fifteen soldiers to transfer. Apparently the Wardens’ reputation had earned admirers, and there was no shortage of people willing to work with us. Some of them even offered to join the Wardens, but Aedan declined, saying that he wanted to get the current Wardens settled before he accepted any more, but that he would keep them in mind. There were a few that seemed disappointed, but Aedan’s sincerity was obvious, and I knew that, down the road, he would truly consider those who proved themselves and were still interested.

With the exception of one. Among the group of knights who’d volunteered to go to the Peak was one familiar face that I doubted I’d ever forget, nor would I allow her to go through the Joining. There were few women among the group, and that made Ser Mhairi stand out even more from her peers. When she volunteered to Join the Wardens, I caught Aedan’s eye, and very subtly shook my head ‘no’. I admired Mhairi’s eagerness and desire to serve, but no one would benefit from her death, least of all her. While Avernus may have updated the Joining Potion, I wasn’t ready to trust it and use the poor woman as a guinea pig.

What I did, instead, was accept the fealty of the fifteen knights, including Mhairi, and then promote her to be the leader of the group – the Lieutenant, Alistair whispered in my ear when it became obvious I had no idea what rank to call her. Maybe if she sees advancement in her future outside the Wardens, she won’t be so keen to join and we won’t have to refuse. She seemed surprised at being singled out, but stepped forward confidently and agreed to take command of the small platoon of men assigned to me.

I wondered if some of them would balk at being placed under the command of a woman – either Mhairi or myself – but none of them even blinked. There were a few surprised glances at Mhairi’s sudden promotion, but my guess was that she lacked seniority over some of the people she’d just been put in charge of. I’ll ask Faren to keep an eye on her and see if she’s competent.

I made it clear to the knights that, in my absence, they would follow directions from Faren and Levi Dryden, my seneschal. They were to secure the fortress, aid in repairs and renovations as needed, begin patrols, and mark the route through the maze leading up to the Peak to make it more accessible. Aedan gave Faren a map, which he’d copied from the one he made for himself on their way there the first time.

And then it was time for goodbyes. The two groups leaving – for Highever and for Soldier’s Peak – were planning to march at dawn, so there’d be no time for talk in the morning. Fergus shook hands with Cailan and Alistair, pulled an agitated Aedan in for a tight hug, and with a glance in my direction that I couldn’t interpret, he excused himself to get the Highever troops ready. Cailan bid those leaving good luck. The rest of us went back to the Warden camp and spent the evening talking and laughing together. Faren and Oghren seemed to have called a truce, and the two started a drinking contest that soon had them unconscious together, and for once not only Conrad, but Dougal joined in.

Perhaps there hadn’t been time for complete forgiveness, but the upcoming parting had made everyone rethink their hostilities, it seemed. Rolan, Alim, Sten, and Loghain retired early to their tents. I got the opportunity to hug everyone leaving us, though it wasn’t a terribly sad farewell since I knew we’d be seeing them again before too long.

Finally, everyone settled into tents. I woke early, hearing the packing of the Wardens leaving, and slipped out of the tent I shared with Alistair just in time to see Nathaniel sneak out of Leliana’s tent, face sombre. I hugged Jowan, Conrad, and the dwarves one last time and then slipped into Leli’s tent.

The bard was laying listlessly on her bedroll, naked, though with a blanket covering her; she startled and tried to cover herself better when I entered, but relaxed when I reassured her it was just me.

“You okay?” I asked her, concerned for the hopeless expression on her face.

She attempted to smile at me, but it fell flat. “I will be fine, my friend.” I frowned, and she sighed. “I have an obligation. I cannot stay, any more than he can go.”

“Dorothea?” She nodded. “But, Leli…she doesn’t own you. The Chantry doesn’t. You need to do what’s right for you, too. In the game, the next one?” She nodded again. “You’re the Left Hand of the Divine. You end up trying to improve the situation in Kirkwall. But Leli…you didn’t look happy. You were up to your eyeballs in conspiracies and intrigue, but you never smiled. You were involved with a Seeker doing some rather shady things. That isn’t who you have to be!”

“She saved me!”

“And if she knew that what she had planned for you would make you miserable, do you think she’d still insist on going forward with that?”

The bard looked at me, a single tear sliding down her cheek, then turned away, burying her face in her pillow. I rubbed her back, silently offering support, until she relaxed again.

“Perhaps there is a way to aid Dorothea, and still remain yourself. To stay with Nathaniel. Just…think about it, okay?”

She squeezed my hand gratefully. “Dorothea really becomes the Divine?”

I nodded. “In the game, anyway. I suppose things might have changed since then. Justinia, I think. That’s the name she takes. You say, in the game, that she’s a good person who thinks mages deserve to be treated fairly, who wants to reform the Circles and help people. She sounds…good.”

“She is.”

“I’m glad. We could use some of that.” I slapped her hip with a smile. “Now put on some clothes, lazy girl. You can’t just lay around naked all day!”

She laughed and I grinned as I climbed out of her tent. The six Wardens were gone, and Aedan had just started breakfast. With fewer of us – and the troublemakers temporarily separated – we kept just two campfires; while Aedan worked over a pot at one, I started a pot of porridge at the other. Soon the smell of food had Wardens tumbling out of their tents, and we all settled in to eat.

Afterwards, Aedan informed us that we would be leaving for Denerim in two days. “The wagons to transport the injured have arrived, and they’ll follow behind, but we will be accompanying Cailan back to Denerim to await the Weisshaupt delegation, Cailan’s formal re-coronation, and the celebrations planned for the end of the Blight. Afterwards, Loghain, Riordan, and Dougal will be leaving for Jader, Sten for Seheron, and the rest of us will travel to Amaranthine.

“What about you, Leliana? The Blight is over. What will you do next?”

Leliana wiped her mouth daintily and smiled. “I’d like to come with you to Denerim, if you don’t mind, and perhaps to Amaranthine after that for a short time. I have some obligations to a friend in Orlais to fulfill after that, but,” she glanced at me with a sly smile, “I think I can delay those for a little while.”

“Excellent!” Leliana actually looked surprised at Aedan’s enthusiasm. “What? I could use a good archer to train any new recruits. And you tell the best stories.”

The bard giggled happily and blushed, and Aedan turned to Wynne, who had joined us for the first time in what felt like months. “And you, Wynne? I know you’ve been helping out with the wounded. Will you be travelling with us?”

The mage nodded, looking pleased. “I will. His Majesty has asked me to remain at court for a time as a healer, and will allow me to continue working with the soldiers there. After his confrontation with the Grand Cleric, I feel I may be able to recruit some of the other healers and possibly gain crown support to open a free clinic in Denerim. I won’t stay there forever – I have some research of my own to do, and Shale and Caridin have requested my help in discovering the key to golem sentience – but I’d like to get things established, perhaps aid in the transition to having more free mages outside the Circle.”

I looked at the healer in shock. “I thought it might be nasty, but I never heard what happened with Cailan and the Grand Cleric. I assumed they hadn’t talked yet. What did happen?”

Aedan laughed. “It was marvellous, Sierra. I wish you’d been there. Cailan was furious, and he had most of the nobility standing with him, looking supportive even if they didn’t all totally understand what he was up to, or agree. He called her a ‘self-serving, shrivelled-up, power-hungry hag,’ wasn’t it?”

He looked at Zevran for confirmation, the elf blushed slightly and nodded. “Exactly so, amore mio. I wasn’t aware you knew of my…presence.”

I raised my eyebrow – Zevran had snuck in, and been caught? Hysterical – but Aedan just laughed. “I know you, Zevran. Anyway, Cailan accused the old bitch of murder, and told her he was going to make a plea to the Divine to have her replaced.”

Leliana interjected. “The Divine will have little to do with it, no? Most Holy is getting on in years, and will likely have forgotten that Orlais no longer rules over Ferelden.”

Aedan nodded. “Her advisors, the most senior Grand Clerics, will have to deal with it – it will be interesting to see what happens there. Anyway, Cailan told Elemena she may remain in Denerim for now, but that he would consider exiling her completely if she did anything to undermine him or the Wardens again. And he demanded that she grant the Circle some independence – he didn’t threaten it, exactly, but the implication that he’d place the Circle under secular control if she didn’t agree was certainly obvious. Greagoir didn’t say a word, but it was clear even he approved. So now the Circle is going to train mages, but they’ll be permitted family visitors when they’re young, and will be allowed to leave the Circle more permanently after they’re Harrowed if they apply for permission. They’ll have to check in at the local Chantry wherever they go, and it only applies in Ferelden, obviously, but they’ll be able to live outside direct templar supervision.”

I snuck a look at Wynne, surprised at her beatific smile. She’d always seemed so fanatically religious before, and I thought she might have been worried about allowing mages too much freedom.

She returned my look with a wink. “What? Some very wise person I know convinced me that I have to look at what the Circle is attempting to accomplish, and decide if the current status quo is achieving that. It is not. I saw what desperation drove some mages to in Uldred’s uprising. He may have been possessed, but the rest were just…desperate. I’m an Equitarian, Sierra – we need the Circles, but not as prisons. You were right.”

I blushed. “I distinctly don’t remember saying that.”

She chuckled. “I may have paraphrased a little.”

Anders looked absolutely astonished, and I giggled at the open-mouthed expression on his face. “The Circle is independent?”

“Well, not totally. But more than it was, yes. There’ll still be Chantry oversight, and not all applications to leave the Circle will be approved if the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander don’t think the applicant is stable, but some mages will be allowed to live on their own.” Aedan looked pleased, proud even, and I knew he was as impressed with Cailan as I was. Taking away the Circle entirely was a recipe for disaster – mages did need somewhere to go and learn to control their powers, and those who’d been living in Circles shouldn’t be dumped out unceremoniously with nowhere to go – but the way things were just wasn’t going to be sustainable.

Over the next two days, we ended up spending some time with Sereda – who was engaged to a Deshyr’s son, one of Harrowmont’s supporters, not the former casteless she’d taken on as her second – and heard about how the changes had been going in Orzammar. They’d recovered Aeducan Thaig, as a result of the war games they’d used as training exercises for the Warrior and Military Castes, and hoped that by the time they returned to Orzammar, most of the Thaig would have been cleared of the taint and habitable. She’d found some stone masons willing to train some of the former casteless as labourers, and had rebuilt Dust Town, settling it with labourers, military, and servants who needed accommodations. She planned to populate much of the Aeducan Thaig with the former Casteless, who would be allowed to set up businesses and provide services to the few upper Caste families who chose to resettle there – for generous tax advantages, of course.

Gorim joined us, as he was no longer needed on the war council as a liaison, and would be returning to his family in Denerim. He and Sereda exchanged some tortured glances, but he seemed almost relieved to be going home, once she’d left at least.

Dariel came to visit as well, confirming he would be staying with Lanaya’s clan. He and Mithra, his new bond-mate, had been acting as messengers between Lanaya and Cailan, but would be heading out to Ostagar with the rest of the clan. He thanked us, again, for sparing his life in the ambush where we’d met, and for introducing him to his new clan. He even shook my hand, despite his fear of templars, and I wished him well. I knew Lanaya would help him with his magic and with proving himself to the clan.

Bodahn, who’d evidently made a fortune selling supplies to the army over the previous few months camped in the Bannorn, was heading out – I knew he’d make it to Amaranthine and a boat to Kirkwall eventually.

“I hear the Free Marches will have lots of opportunities for a merchant such as myself, and my boy’s never been on a ship before,” he declared.

“Ocean, crossing the ocean,” Sandal sang to himself, using a small rune he held as a pretend boat floating over invisible waves.

“The Waking Sea,” Bodahn corrected almost automatically.

I sat down beside the simple dwarf boy, putting one hand on his shoulder gently. “Sandal? You know the runes that go boom?”

“Boom!” he cried, smiling broadly. “Enchantment!”

I nodded. “Exactly. If you end up going into the Deep Roads, you keep some of those with you, you hear?”

He grinned and pressed the rune he was holding into my hand. On closer inspection, it was smoother and shinier than the usual runes we used; I wasn’t sure if it was just a pretty rock, or if Sandal had somehow enchanted it. “Pretty lady.”

I pocketed the stone, ruffling the boy’s hair and then giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. I turned to Bodahn, giving him a quick hug and making him stutter with a kiss too.

“You meet someone named Hawke, you stick with her, okay?”

“My Lady?”

I was never sure how much Bodahn knew about me; he’d have been able to eavesdrop a few times over the year travelling together, I was sure, but he might have been too polite – and he was too clever to admit it in any case. “You take care up there, okay? I’ll miss you.” And it was true; at the very least, Sandal’s enthusiasm and Bodahn’s unending optimism had been worth their weight in gold when things had been difficult during the Blight.

Shale and Caridin were returning to Orzammar with Sereda and the dwarves; they planned another expedition into the Deep Roads to find inactivated golems, and then Caridin wanted to really begin his research into how to make the golems sentient like Shale. And they wanted to go to Cadash Thaig, as well – evidently they’d never made it there before the final battle.

“Thank you, my Lady,” Caridin said after he’d said goodbye to Aedan. He held his enormous stone hand out towards me, and I carefully laid my hand on his. “Your foreknowledge has given me a new purpose, and a chance to atone for my terrible mistake. I wish you well.”

“You too, Caridin. I hope you and Shale find what you’re looking for.” I leaned in to whisper, “Take care of Shale for me, okay? She may be made of stone, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be hurt.”

He nodded sagely, then turned and walked away without looking back.

“I find myself wondering if I shall miss It and Its friends.” Shale approached me, and I turned to face her with a smile. “It is, perhaps, less feeble than I believed when we met, which was a relief.”

“Thanks, Shale. I will miss you. But you can come visit – Soldier’s Peak will be in much better shape before long – and I’ll probably end up in Orzammar at some point. I’ll see you again, I’m sure of it.”

“Tell the Silly Warden to take care of It, or I shall find him and squish him.”

I giggled, hugged the golem – not that she’d have cared, I was sure, but it made me feel better – and watched her stomp away towards the dwarves. I actually will miss her, stubborn acerbic pain-in-the-ass that she is. Huh.

Teagan was going to Redcliffe to run things in his brother’s absence – Eamon was going back to Denerim to meet up with Isolde and Connor, and then I hoped Cailan would find something for him to do elsewhere. I knew Teagan would be much better for Redcliffe than Eamon ever was. The redhead came to bid us goodbye, and I spent a few minutes teasing him about Kaitlyn – until he showed me the ring he planned to give her. “I like your Earth tradition,” he whispered as he put the ring away. “Do you think…are you sure…”

I rolled my eyes. “She’s going to say yes. Don’t be ridiculous. I know you two will be very happy, Teagan. And probably have lots and lots of babies!”

He blushed, and I laughed. He sat with us for the rest of the evening, laughing and carousing, and then he set out at dawn with the Redcliffe forces.

We finally got underway for Denerim much later in the day than we planned. I’d already discovered travelling with nobles was irritating, and though I’d blamed it entirely on Isolde before, it became obvious that pretty much the entire nobility was just as bad. Some of them rode horses which had to be saddled for them, several insisted on carriages, and none of them were willing to wake a few minutes early so their things could be packed. Many of them had carried ridiculous amounts of stuff – I saw two full-sized mattresses being loaded onto a cart, as an example – and no one wanted to carry or pack anything of their own. The few servants were being run off their feet, so some of the soldiers were having to help out which made them cranky, and the whole thing was complete chaos.

Aedan and Alistair decided the Wardens would scout ahead, and so we split into teams of two, slowly meandering through the wilderness of the Southern Bannorn, aiming for the main highway leading to Denerim. A group of soldiers had been assigned to clear the way for the carts and carriages, cutting down inconvenient trees and creating a passable path, so we all kept an eye on them to ensure they weren’t accosted by any darkspawn stragglers or local wildlife.

It had taken two weeks for us to get from Denerim to the Bannorn – travelling only with Wardens was a huge advantage – but it looked like it would probably take close to four to get back, between late starts and slow-moving carts. Things went a little better on the highway, with the carts able to travel more efficiently than on uneven ground, but summer was almost upon us by the time we made it to the city.

Denerim was still all but abandoned when we returned. Messages had been sent out to those evacuated before the battle, but it took time for people to return, and the city was like a ghost town. Walking through the market, only a handful of people – those too stubborn or too sick to leave – stared suspiciously at us, giving it a surreal feel. The market stalls were vacant, some of them sagging, with torn awnings swaying in the slight breeze. The stalls look almost depressed, or…lonely. Strange thought.

The only redeeming feature of the creepy, empty streets was the smell; for once, Denerim didn’t smell like human waste and rotting corpses. There was a lingering, unpleasant odour when the air stagnated, but the light wind kept it moving, and for once I wasn’t forced to breathe through my mouth to avoid nausea.

We marched straight through the city, the fastest trip across I’ve ever made, to be sure, and finally arrived at the gates to the Palace. There were a handful of servants with us, and another handful who’d either managed to return faster than the rest of the evacuated residents, or who had stayed put when everyone else left. There weren’t going to be enough though – not for Cailan, and all the other nobles, never mind the wounded. As a group, we watched the chaos as Cailan tried to organise the few servants they had to getting everyone settled; to avoid making it worse, we decided to take care of ourselves. We helped ourselves to the rooms we’d held previously, putting away our things before meeting for a supper of leftover trail rations in the little dining room we’d used before.

Anders and Wynne excused themselves to help with setting up an infirmary, and after bidding everyone goodnight, I decided to have a long hot bath. Grateful to Sereda for about the millionth time since leaving Orzammar, I filled the tub and slid in, submerging fully before almost falling asleep in the warmth. I didn’t stir until Alistair joined me, and after spending far too much time ensuring we were completely, squeaky clean, we both collapsed onto the bed and fell straight asleep.

We were all surprised to wake up and find elven servants bringing us breakfast and offering to run baths for anyone who needed them. The confusion only lasted a few minutes, until Kallian arrived, and the elves all jumped to attention before rushing away breathlessly to start hauling water.

“Kallian?” Wulf stood immediately, staring at the beautiful elf with dark, uncertain eyes.

Ignoring his obvious discomfort, or perhaps nervousness, she pulled the former werewolf into a hug, pressing her forehead against his sweetly, and the battle-hardened Grey Warden practically melted.

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on a boat, or in the Free Marches.” Wulf shook her slightly, and she chuckled.

“What can I say? I’ve never been good at following orders.” Wulf growled, and she winced. “Look, a bunch of families from the Alienage wouldn’t leave. They were afraid being loaded onto carts and forced to leave together was an excuse to sell them to Tevinter or kill them outright. So they stayed. But there were looters, and then a fire, and they were in danger. When I realised I couldn’t convince them all to go, I stayed too, and brought them here. The guards recognised me and let us in. There was food, beds, and plenty of places to hide if the darkspawn had come. And together, we helped the guards keep the looters out of the Palace.

“In return for being safe in the Palace, I convinced them that if I was right, and that the King wasn’t selling the rest of the elves or hurting them, they’d all help out here until the servants came back.”

“You could have been killed!” Wulf was squeezing her waist now, angry and worried and completely exasperated, and she kissed his cheek as she slipped out of his grasp somehow.

“But I wasn’t. I’m fine, Wulf. And now we have people to help out until everyone gets back.”

Leliana approached the elf, who looked much less haunted than she had when we’d left, and claimed a hug as well. “Nicely done, Kallian.” We all agreed, sending her smiles and nods of approval.

“So anyway, I’m here to inform you that his Majesty would like to meet with the Warden Commanders and Lady Theirin at your earliest convenience.”

Aedan and Alistair exchanged pouts, and I laughed. “Come on, boys. Let’s not keep the King waiting.”

Kallian escorted us to another wing of the Palace, where the furniture had largely been moved out of two adjacent ballrooms, and instead pallets had been built for the wounded soldiers. Cailan paced through the makeshift infirmary, calling out orders and stopping to hold a hand or wipe the brow of an injured person as he passed by. Waving acknowledgement when he saw us, he spoke briefly to a couple of people who appeared to be more-or-less in charge, then rushed over to us.

His skin was slightly sallow, dark circles ringed both of his eyes, and he was wearing the same clothes from the evening before. His expression was one of grim determination overriding complete exhaustion, and Alistair and I exchanged worried glances before following him down a hallway to a nearby sitting room.

He slumped into a chair, sighing heavily, and we all did the same as he gestured to chairs. “Kallian? Would you join us?”

The elf, surprised, settled into a chair gracefully, and it was nice to see she didn’t appear nervous in a relatively small room with three human men. We all turned our attention to the exhausted king.

“Cailan?” I ventured. “When was the last time you slept?”

He twitched slightly, and I scowled – he was preparing to lie to me, and I wasn’t going to have any of that. “The truth, if you please.”

He sighed. “On the road. There’s been too much to do since we arrived.”

“Cailan…” Aedan’s tone was almost motherly, and I stifled the urge to giggle.

“Tonight, okay? I promise. But that’s not why I asked you here, so could you all quit pretending to be my parents for a second or two?”

I did laugh at that, and we all flushed slightly. “Yes your Majesty,” I teased, and even Kallian giggled as Cailan stuck his tongue out at me. “How may we assist the Crown?”

“Alright, so…hear me out before you make a judgement, but…I want to burn down the Alienage.”

There and Back - Chapter 116 Unedited (NSFW)

elyssacousland — Tue, 13 Sep 2016 04:37:51 GMT

This is the original, unedited version of this chapter including graphic descriptions of sex. If you prefer the non-smut version, please see my next post.

Chapter One Hundred Sixteen: *Three Campfires

The Joining that night went about as well as expected. While three mages and three templars had survived until the potion was ready, most of them were ravaged by the taint, barely able to stay upright, skin blackening, hair falling out, fever running rampant through their ruined bodies. Alim and Rolan were the exceptions; the mage looked pale, but otherwise well, and Rolan had black veins visible only under the skin of his hands and arms. Unsurprisingly, they were the only two who survived, and in Rolan’s case, it was a close thing – he convulsed and stopped breathing for a handful of agonising seconds before he seemed to stabilise.

It was interesting, feeling the taint alter in the bodies of the two who survived – overshadowed, of course, by the horror of losing four more recruits, not to mention all of those Aedan and Alistair must have had to put out of their misery earlier. I’d warned Zevran that Aedan would need some extra support later; no matter how necessary, wielding the sword of mercy was still an execution. Aedan would never admit that it bothered him – stubborn ass – but having Zevran prepared to handle the emotional storm could only be a good thing. And I’d be ready for Alistair, whatever he needed.

Anders sighed sadly, eyeing Rolan’s unconscious form; it would be worse, I knew, if he had known what I did about the future, instead of just generally knowing that the man was an ass. Alistair and I shared a lingering glance, both resolved not to allow bigotry to impact our friends who just happened to be mages.

Pyres had been prepared for those who didn’t make it, and we all had a moment of silence – a disgruntled, irritated, depressed silence – as Aedan and Alistair lit them. Alim and Rolan woke within the hour, and after being fed a Warden-sized snack, were ushered to tents to get some much-needed rest.

Cailan had been informed of the Grand Cleric’s disgusting decision to hide tainted mages and templars from the Grey Wardens, and from the thunderous expression on his face, I guessed that when he confronted the old hag, the fight would be epic. I was too tired and too sad, however, to find out, and I dragged Alistair back to our tent immediately after the new surviving Grey Wardens recovered.

My husband had been too quiet since they’d returned from the Chantry’s hidden camp; I hadn’t counted how many people had been tainted, but given only six left to take the Joining, I was guessing Alistair and Aedan both had probably granted merciful deaths to a dozen or more. I knew Alistair wouldn’t want to talk about it with me – he seemed to remain convinced that if I was forced to confront some of the more brutal truths about life in Thedas and the acts he had no choice but to participate in, I’d lose respect for him, or lose the desire to stay in Thedas altogether.

Instead of discussing the details, I helped him take off his dragonbone armour, undressed myself, and pulled him down into our combined bedroll, allowing him to bury his face in my belly while I held him and stroked my fingers through his scruffy hair.

“I love you, you know that, right?”

He shuddered, and I dug my fingers in harder, kneading his scalp. The noise outside slowly settled as the camp went to sleep, and he continued to hold me, pressing his face into my skin. I’d almost have thought he’d fallen asleep except for the periodic spasms that passed through him; finally, after what might have been a half hour, I felt the telling wetness of the tears he’d probably been trying to deny since morning spilling onto my stomach.

He looked up, then, but his expression, instead of the regret or sadness I expected, was furious.

“How dare she? That…that…bitch!” He was almost stuttering in his anger.

I nodded. What else could I add? He’s not wrong, and I’d like to say worse things about her.

He lowered his eyes, whispering so softly I could barely hear him. “Being a leader is even worse than I expected.”

I couldn’t deny it; he was right. It was often easier to follow, to let someone else make the hard decisions and live with the consequences. I stroked his cheek with one finger. “What do you need?”

His eyes darkened as we made eye contact again and he saw the truth in mine – whatever he needed, I’d give, and give gladly.

“You,” he replied, his voice a plea that sent a shiver of pleasure down my spine, pooling warmth between my legs.

I nodded, and with one massive push, reversed our positions quickly, pressing his naked form down onto his back as I leaned over him, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. He tried to chase me as I pulled away, but I held him down with one hand in the centre of his chest. After all the times he’d held me, distracted me, kept me sane through the Deep Roads and everything with Duncan…the least I could do was return the favour, and I planned to make it count.

I started sensually; I left him on the bedroll and dug through my things until I found a clean cloth, and my little stone shower head. With a cautious movement, I dampened the cloth with warm water, and then turned to carefully wipe his face with the warm, wet fabric. I slowly removed sweat and dirt as I dragged the cloth down his neck, his bulging, muscular arms, and his lean, sculpted abdomen. He laid quietly, his eyes never leaving me as I worked, and while I blushed periodically as I reached across him, dangling my breasts in his face or brushing against him, I didn’t stop until his entire upper body had been cleansed.

It was his turn to blush as I washed his legs, and then carefully, softly stroked the damp cloth across his growing erection; I lingered there longer than strictly necessary, licking my lips as he swelled in my hand, and I giggled as he let out a frustrated groan.

Tossing the cloth aside, I leaned over him again, kissing him briefly before using my lips, tongue, and hands to trace the path the cloth had followed. I sucked hard over his pulse point, marking him, before soothing the irritated skin with a kiss; he grunted, and I had to push his hands down as he reached for me. I softly drew my hands across the hard planes of his chest, running them through his sparse golden chest hair, scattering kisses across his shoulders, and down his chest until I reached his tiny, pebbled nipples.

He hissed as I laved my flattened tongue across one little bud, then switched and sucked the other gently. His hands fisted in the blankets below him as I continued lavishing attention across his chest, and he growled out my name in a voice so hoarse with lust that I shivered deliciously.

I sat back, reaching up to stroke his cheek, and he nuzzled into my palm. “I’ve got you, love.” I brushed my other thumb softly over a nipple again, and his growl turned into a needy whine. I smirked and leaned down to capture the intoxicating sound with my lips. “I’ll make you forget your own name, never mind all the rest.”

I kissed him again, and then returned to my ministrations across his chest and torso. I started running my hands across his muscular abs as I kissed my way down from his chest, stopping to dip my tongue into the deep indent of his belly button, eliciting a gasp and a whispered prayer. I climbed over one of his legs, encouraging him to move until I knelt between his strong thighs. Avoiding his large, very prominent length, I pressed more kisses down over his hip, running my hands over his legs, until I reached the crease where his hip met his leg, and I sucked at that tender spot briefly, listening to Alistair groan.

When I began softly licking the length of him, providing pleasure but no pressure, he arched up under me, and I looked up at the sweat-slick body of my husband. He was completely gorgeous like that – his entire body tense, flexed muscles standing out in firm relief under his skin, his face red, eyes squeezed tightly shut, his entire body bowed, as he strained towards the relief I wasn’t quite ready to allow him. Seeing him like that affected me, however, and I rubbed my legs together in agitation as a wave of arousal washed over me.

I gave in. Capturing his length between my lips, I swirled my tongue around the purple head and then sucked hard, one hand cupping his sac while the other crept down between my own legs, gathering some of the copious moisture there and going to work immediately, urgently, on my aching clit.

It took only moments for his release, after the thorough build-up I’d given him; I drank him down gladly, listening to his hoarse shout as he came. I hadn’t quite finished myself, however, and with an unfulfilled groan, I sat up, hand still active at my centre, needing more. I assumed he’d be distracted by his own aftermath, but to my surprise, he sat up, his fingers replacing mine in my damp folds, latching his mouth onto my sensitive neck and tweaking a nipple with his other hand. When two thick fingers pressed inside me, his thumb massaging frantically across my pearl, I gasped and shuddered and came in his arms, my hands gripping his hair as I rode out my climax.

We collapsed together onto our bedroll, and I curled up in his arms, pulling the covers over us both. He kissed my temple, and we fell asleep together, sated and smiling.

*****

The next morning, it became obvious the Wardens were going to have a few more challenges than we’d even anticipated. With so many Grey Wardens, as well as the rest of our companions, our group had become large and somewhat unwieldy – and then there were the politics.

At breakfast, Alim and Jowan immediately began acting like feral cats, backs up and hissing at each other. I wasn’t surprised; Alim was the reason Jowan had been threatened with Tranquility, after all – whether justified or not, I still wasn’t sure – but given the large group, we decided two campfires were perhaps a good idea, and we separated the two mages with alacrity. At the same time, Anders and Alim both bristled around Rolan, who refused to call any of the mages by their names, instead calling them ‘Mage’ or ‘Warden’ in mocking tones. Aedan and Alistair both tried to intervene, with little success – proving a ‘tone’ was difficult, after all, and he was careful to do nothing that technically crossed the line, though he was rebuked strongly until he desisted – and the two campfire plan changed to three.

Conrad and Dougal had a falling out over the Dark Ritual and Conrad’s choice to stay in Ferelden, and Oghren and Faren were suddenly not on speaking terms, for no reason I was able to ascertain.

In the end, Loghain and Sten joined Rolan at one campfire, Conrad and Faren joined Anders, Solona, and Jowan at another, and Alim, Dougal, and Oghren sat sullenly at a third. The rest of us – Alistair and I, as well as Aedan, Zevran, Bel, Riordan, Leliana, and Mornwulf – rotated through all three, trying to bridge the gaps and keep everyone calm.

The following day, Nathaniel, Fergus, and a portion of the Ferelden Army were going to be leaving for Highever; Aedan took the opportunity to solve some of the problems we were having.

“I want to send some of the Wardens with Nathaniel. They can help out around Highever, then go with the Arl to Amaranthine and begin preparing for the darkspawn assaults we know will be coming,” Aedan muttered to Alistair and I.

“Good idea. And if we plan it right, maybe fewer problems with those left behind?” I hope.

“Exactly,” Aedan agreed. “I also think we should send a smaller group to Soldier’s Peak – they can work with Avernus, and help out the Drydens with getting everything ready.”

“I’d send Jowan to Soldier’s Peak,” I suggested. “Avernus will work better with a mage, and our other options are less likely to be open to working with an ancient blood mage. Anders and Alim both would probably prefer to kill him.”

“What if we send Conrad with Oghren, Bel, and Rolan to Amaranthine? No conflict there, and Conrad can handle any trouble Rolan tries to make.” Alistair looked at us, briefly surprised when neither of us disagreed with his suggestion. “We obviously need Sten, Loghain, Riordan, Dougal, and the three of us in Denerim, for a while at least.”

“So that leaves Jowan and…Wulf? For Soldier’s Peak?” Aedan suggested.

“Not Wulf,” I interjected, thinking of Kallian. “Take him to Denerim.”

Aedan gave me a knowing look, but didn’t ask. “What about Faren? He’s pretty practical - pragmatic, even – and doesn’t seem bothered by mages.”

“They’ll need an escort,” Alistair agreed. “I’ll ask Cailan.”

“He promised to provide the Peak with a guard anyway, until I could hire my own people. I’m sure he’ll agree.”

I was right, and it was decided, with Cailan’s approval, to send a group of soldiers with the two Wardens to Soldier’s Peak, but not before he made the group officially swear fealty to me. I was extremely uncomfortable with the entire thing, but he insisted it was the only way to ensure the loyalty of the men I would have directly under my command.

He asked for volunteers, and apparently ended up having to refuse dozens when he picked fifteen soldiers to transfer. Apparently the Wardens’ reputation had earned admirers, and there was no shortage of people willing to work with us. Some of them even offered to join the Wardens, but Aedan declined, saying that he wanted to get the current Wardens settled before he accepted any more, but that he would keep them in mind. There were a few that seemed disappointed, but Aedan’s sincerity was obvious, and I knew that, down the road, he would truly consider those who proved themselves and were still interested.

With the exception of one. Among the group of knights who’d volunteered to go to the Peak was one familiar face that I doubted I’d ever forget, nor would I allow her to go through the Joining. There were few women among the group, and that made Ser Mhairi stand out even more from her peers. When she volunteered to Join the Wardens, I caught Aedan’s eye, and very subtly shook my head ‘no’. I admired Mhairi’s eagerness and desire to serve, but no one would benefit from her death, least of all her. While Avernus may have updated the Joining Potion, I wasn’t ready to trust it and use the poor woman as a guinea pig.

What I did, instead, was accept the fealty of the fifteen knights, including Mhairi, and then promote her to be the leader of the group – the Lieutenant, Alistair whispered in my ear when it became obvious I had no idea what rank to call her. Maybe if she sees advancement in her future outside the Wardens, she won’t be so keen to join and we won’t have to refuse. She seemed surprised at being singled out, but stepped forward confidently and agreed to take command of the small platoon of men assigned to me.

I wondered if some of them would balk at being placed under the command of a woman – either Mhairi or myself – but none of them even blinked. There were a few surprised glances at Mhairi’s sudden promotion, but my guess was that she lacked seniority over some of the people she’d just been put in charge of. I’ll ask Faren to keep an eye on her and see if she’s competent.

I made it clear to the knights that, in my absence, they would follow directions from Faren and Levi Dryden, my seneschal. They were to secure the fortress, aid in repairs and renovations as needed, begin patrols, and mark the route through the maze leading up to the Peak to make it more accessible. Aedan gave Faren a map, which he’d copied from the one he made for himself on their way there the first time.

And then it was time for goodbyes. The two groups leaving – for Highever and for Soldier’s Peak – were planning to march at dawn, so there’d be no time for talk in the morning. Fergus shook hands with Cailan and Alistair, pulled an agitated Aedan in for a tight hug, and with a glance in my direction that I couldn’t interpret, he excused himself to get the Highever troops ready. Cailan bid those leaving good luck. The rest of us went back to the Warden camp and spent the evening talking and laughing together. Faren and Oghren seemed to have called a truce, and the two started a drinking contest that soon had them unconscious together, and for once not only Conrad, but Dougal joined in.

Perhaps there hadn’t been time for complete forgiveness, but the upcoming parting had made everyone rethink their hostilities, it seemed. Rolan, Alim, Sten, and Loghain retired early to their tents. I got the opportunity to hug everyone leaving us, though it wasn’t a terribly sad farewell since I knew we’d be seeing them again before too long.

Finally, everyone settled into tents. I woke early, hearing the packing of the Wardens leaving, and slipped out of the tent I shared with Alistair just in time to see Nathaniel sneak out of Leliana’s tent, face sombre. I hugged Jowan, Conrad, and the dwarves one last time and then slipped into Leli’s tent.

The bard was laying listlessly on her bedroll, naked, though with a blanket covering her; she startled and tried to cover herself better when I entered, but relaxed when I reassured her it was just me.

“You okay?” I asked her, concerned for the hopeless expression on her face.

She attempted to smile at me, but it fell flat. “I will be fine, my friend.” I frowned, and she sighed. “I have an obligation. I cannot stay, any more than he can go.”

“Dorothea?” She nodded. “But, Leli…she doesn’t own you. The Chantry doesn’t. You need to do what’s right for you, too. In the game, the next one?” She nodded again. “You’re the Left Hand of the Divine. You end up trying to improve the situation in Kirkwall. But Leli…you didn’t look happy. You were up to your eyeballs in conspiracies and intrigue, but you never smiled. You were involved with a Seeker doing some rather shady things. That isn’t who you have to be!”

“She saved me!”

“And if she knew that what she had planned for you would make you miserable, do you think she’d still insist on going forward with that?”

The bard looked at me, a single tear sliding down her cheek, then turned away, burying her face in her pillow. I rubbed her back, silently offering support, until she relaxed again.

“Perhaps there is a way to aid Dorothea, and still remain yourself. To stay with Nathaniel. Just…think about it, okay?”

She squeezed my hand gratefully. “Dorothea really becomes the Divine?”

I nodded. “In the game, anyway. I suppose things might have changed since then. Justinia, I think. That’s the name she takes. You say, in the game, that she’s a good person who thinks mages deserve to be treated fairly, who wants to reform the Circles and help people. She sounds…good.”

“She is.”

“I’m glad. We could use some of that.” I slapped her hip with a smile. “Now put on some clothes, lazy girl. You can’t just lay around naked all day!”

She laughed and I grinned as I climbed out of her tent. The six Wardens were gone, and Aedan had just started breakfast. With fewer of us – and the troublemakers temporarily separated – we kept just two campfires; while Aedan worked over a pot at one, I started a pot of porridge at the other. Soon the smell of food had Wardens tumbling out of their tents, and we all settled in to eat.

Afterwards, Aedan informed us that we would be leaving for Denerim in two days. “The wagons to transport the injured have arrived, and they’ll follow behind, but we will be accompanying Cailan back to Denerim to await the Weisshaupt delegation, Cailan’s formal re-coronation, and the celebrations planned for the end of the Blight. Afterwards, Loghain, Riordan, and Dougal will be leaving for Jader, Sten for Seheron, and the rest of us will travel to Amaranthine.

“What about you, Leliana? The Blight is over. What will you do next?”

Leliana wiped her mouth daintily and smiled. “I’d like to come with you to Denerim, if you don’t mind, and perhaps to Amaranthine after that for a short time. I have some obligations to a friend in Orlais to fulfill after that, but,” she glanced at me with a sly smile, “I think I can delay those for a little while.”

“Excellent!” Leliana actually looked surprised at Aedan’s enthusiasm. “What? I could use a good archer to train any new recruits. And you tell the best stories.”

The bard giggled happily and blushed, and Aedan turned to Wynne, who had joined us for the first time in what felt like months. “And you, Wynne? I know you’ve been helping out with the wounded. Will you be travelling with us?”

The mage nodded, looking pleased. “I will. His Majesty has asked me to remain at court for a time as a healer, and will allow me to continue working with the soldiers there. After his confrontation with the Grand Cleric, I feel I may be able to recruit some of the other healers and possibly gain crown support to open a free clinic in Denerim. I won’t stay there forever – I have some research of my own to do, and Shale and Caridin have requested my help in discovering the key to golem sentience – but I’d like to get things established, perhaps aid in the transition to having more free mages outside the Circle.”

I looked at the healer in shock. “I thought it might be nasty, but I never heard what happened with Cailan and the Grand Cleric. I assumed they hadn’t talked yet. What did happen?”

Aedan laughed. “It was marvellous, Sierra. I wish you’d been there. Cailan was furious, and he had most of the nobility standing with him, looking supportive even if they didn’t all totally understand what he was up to, or agree. He called her a ‘self-serving, shrivelled-up, power-hungry hag,’ wasn’t it?”

He looked at Zevran for confirmation, the elf blushed slightly and nodded. “Exactly so, amore mio. I wasn’t aware you knew of my…presence.”

I raised my eyebrow – Zevran had snuck in, and been caught? Hysterical – but Aedan just laughed. “I know you, Zevran. Anyway, Cailan accused the old bitch of murder, and told her he was going to make a plea to the Divine to have her replaced.”

Leliana interjected. “The Divine will have little to do with it, no? Most Holy is getting on in years, and will likely have forgotten that Orlais no longer rules over Ferelden.”

Aedan nodded. “Her advisors, the most senior Grand Clerics, will have to deal with it – it will be interesting to see what happens there. Anyway, Cailan told Elemena she may remain in Denerim for now, but that he would consider exiling her completely if she did anything to undermine him or the Wardens again. And he demanded that she grant the Circle some independence – he didn’t threaten it, exactly, but the implication that he’d place the Circle under secular control if she didn’t agree was certainly obvious. Greagoir didn’t say a word, but it was clear even he approved. So now the Circle is going to train mages, but they’ll be permitted family visitors when they’re young, and will be allowed to leave the Circle more permanently after they’re Harrowed if they apply for permission. They’ll have to check in at the local Chantry wherever they go, and it only applies in Ferelden, obviously, but they’ll be able to live outside direct templar supervision.”

I snuck a look at Wynne, surprised at her beatific smile. She’d always seemed so fanatically religious before, and I thought she might have been worried about allowing mages too much freedom.

She returned my look with a wink. “What? Some very wise person I know convinced me that I have to look at what the Circle is attempting to accomplish, and decide if the current status quo is achieving that. It is not. I saw what desperation drove some mages to in Uldred’s uprising. He may have been possessed, but the rest were just…desperate. I’m an Equitarian, Sierra – we need the Circles, but not as prisons. You were right.”

I blushed. “I distinctly don’t remember saying that.”

She chuckled. “I may have paraphrased a little.”

Anders looked absolutely astonished, and I giggled at the open-mouthed expression on his face. “The Circle is independent?”

“Well, not totally. But more than it was, yes. There’ll still be Chantry oversight, and not all applications to leave the Circle will be approved if the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander don’t think the applicant is stable, but some mages will be allowed to live on their own.” Aedan looked pleased, proud even, and I knew he was as impressed with Cailan as I was. Taking away the Circle entirely was a recipe for disaster – mages did need somewhere to go and learn to control their powers, and those who’d been living in Circles shouldn’t be dumped out unceremoniously with nowhere to go – but the way things were just wasn’t going to be sustainable.

Over the next two days, we ended up spending some time with Sereda – who was engaged to a Deshyr’s son, one of Harrowmont’s supporters, not the former casteless she’d taken on as her second – and heard about how the changes had been going in Orzammar. They’d recovered Aeducan Thaig, as a result of the war games they’d used as training exercises for the Warrior and Military Castes, and hoped that by the time they returned to Orzammar, most of the Thaig would have been cleared of the taint and habitable. She’d found some stone masons willing to train some of the former casteless as labourers, and had rebuilt Dust Town, settling it with labourers, military, and servants who needed accommodations. She planned to populate much of the Aeducan Thaig with the former Casteless, who would be allowed to set up businesses and provide services to the few upper Caste families who chose to resettle there – for generous tax advantages, of course.

Gorim joined us, as he was no longer needed on the war council as a liaison, and would be returning to his family in Denerim. He and Sereda exchanged some tortured glances, but he seemed almost relieved to be going home, once she’d left at least.

Dariel came to visit as well, confirming he would be staying with Lanaya’s clan. He and Mithra, his new bond-mate, had been acting as messengers between Lanaya and Cailan, but would be heading out to Ostagar with the rest of the clan. He thanked us, again, for sparing his life in the ambush where we’d met, and for introducing him to his new clan. He even shook my hand, despite his fear of templars, and I wished him well. I knew Lanaya would help him with his magic and with proving himself to the clan.

Bodahn, who’d evidently made a fortune selling supplies to the army over the previous few months camped in the Bannorn, was heading out – I knew he’d make it to Amaranthine and a boat to Kirkwall eventually.

“I hear the Free Marches will have lots of opportunities for a merchant such as myself, and my boy’s never been on a ship before,” he declared.

“Ocean, crossing the ocean,” Sandal sang to himself, using a small rune he held as a pretend boat floating over invisible waves.

“The Waking Sea,” Bodahn corrected almost automatically.

I sat down beside the simple dwarf boy, putting one hand on his shoulder gently. “Sandal? You know the runes that go boom?”

“Boom!” he cried, smiling broadly. “Enchantment!”

I nodded. “Exactly. If you end up going into the Deep Roads, you keep some of those with you, you hear?”

He grinned and pressed the rune he was holding into my hand. On closer inspection, it was smoother and shinier than the usual runes we used; I wasn’t sure if it was just a pretty rock, or if Sandal had somehow enchanted it. “Pretty lady.”

I pocketed the stone, ruffling the boy’s hair and then giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. I turned to Bodahn, giving him a quick hug and making him stutter with a kiss too.

“You meet someone named Hawke, you stick with her, okay?”

“My Lady?”

I was never sure how much Bodahn knew about me; he’d have been able to eavesdrop a few times over the year travelling together, I was sure, but he might have been too polite – and he was too clever to admit it in any case. “You take care up there, okay? I’ll miss you.” And it was true; at the very least, Sandal’s enthusiasm and Bodahn’s unending optimism had been worth their weight in gold when things had been difficult during the Blight.

Shale and Caridin were returning to Orzammar with Sereda and the dwarves; they planned another expedition into the Deep Roads to find inactivated golems, and then Caridin wanted to really begin his research into how to make the golems sentient like Shale. And they wanted to go to Cadash Thaig, as well – evidently they’d never made it there before the final battle.

“Thank you, my Lady,” Caridin said after he’d said goodbye to Aedan. He held his enormous stone hand out towards me, and I carefully laid my hand on his. “Your foreknowledge has given me a new purpose, and a chance to atone for my terrible mistake. I wish you well.”

“You too, Caridin. I hope you and Shale find what you’re looking for.” I leaned in to whisper, “Take care of Shale for me, okay? She may be made of stone, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be hurt.”

He nodded sagely, then turned and walked away without looking back.

“I find myself wondering if I shall miss It and Its friends.” Shale approached me, and I turned to face her with a smile. “It is, perhaps, less feeble than I believed when we met, which was a relief.”

“Thanks, Shale. I will miss you. But you can come visit – Soldier’s Peak will be in much better shape before long – and I’ll probably end up in Orzammar at some point. I’ll see you again, I’m sure of it.”

“Tell the Silly Warden to take care of It, or I shall find him and squish him.”

I giggled, hugged the golem – not that she’d have cared, I was sure, but it made me feel better – and watched her stomp away towards the dwarves. I actually will miss her, stubborn acerbic pain-in-the-ass that she is. Huh.

Teagan was going to Redcliffe to run things in his brother’s absence – Eamon was going back to Denerim to meet up with Isolde and Connor, and then I hoped Cailan would find something for him to do elsewhere. I knew Teagan would be much better for Redcliffe than Eamon ever was. The redhead came to bid us goodbye, and I spent a few minutes teasing him about Kaitlyn – until he showed me the ring he planned to give her. “I like your Earth tradition,” he whispered as he put the ring away. “Do you think…are you sure…”

I rolled my eyes. “She’s going to say yes. Don’t be ridiculous. I know you two will be very happy, Teagan. And probably have lots and lots of babies!”

He blushed, and I laughed. He sat with us for the rest of the evening, laughing and carousing, and then he set out at dawn with the Redcliffe forces.

We finally got underway for Denerim much later in the day than we planned. I’d already discovered travelling with nobles was irritating, and though I’d blamed it entirely on Isolde before, it became obvious that pretty much the entire nobility was just as bad. Some of them rode horses which had to be saddled for them, several insisted on carriages, and none of them were willing to wake a few minutes early so their things could be packed. Many of them had carried ridiculous amounts of stuff – I saw two full-sized mattresses being loaded onto a cart, as an example – and no one wanted to carry or pack anything of their own. The few servants were being run off their feet, so some of the soldiers were having to help out which made them cranky, and the whole thing was complete chaos.

Aedan and Alistair decided the Wardens would scout ahead, and so we split into teams of two, slowly meandering through the wilderness of the Southern Bannorn, aiming for the main highway leading to Denerim. A group of soldiers had been assigned to clear the way for the carts and carriages, cutting down inconvenient trees and creating a passable path, so we all kept an eye on them to ensure they weren’t accosted by any darkspawn stragglers or local wildlife.

It had taken two weeks for us to get from Denerim to the Bannorn – travelling only with Wardens was a huge advantage – but it looked like it would probably take close to four to get back, between late starts and slow-moving carts. Things went a little better on the highway, with the carts able to travel more efficiently than on uneven ground, but summer was almost upon us by the time we made it to the city.

Denerim was still all but abandoned when we returned. Messages had been sent out to those evacuated before the battle, but it took time for people to return, and the city was like a ghost town. Walking through the market, only a handful of people – those too stubborn or too sick to leave – stared suspiciously at us, giving it a surreal feel. The market stalls were vacant, some of them sagging, with torn awnings swaying in the slight breeze. The stalls look almost depressed, or…lonely. Strange thought.

The only redeeming feature of the creepy, empty streets was the smell; for once, Denerim didn’t smell like human waste and rotting corpses. There was a lingering, unpleasant odour when the air stagnated, but the light wind kept it moving, and for once I wasn’t forced to breathe through my mouth to avoid nausea.

We marched straight through the city, the fastest trip across I’ve ever made, to be sure, and finally arrived at the gates to the Palace. There were a handful of servants with us, and another handful who’d either managed to return faster than the rest of the evacuated residents, or who had stayed put when everyone else left. There weren’t going to be enough though – not for Cailan, and all the other nobles, never mind the wounded. As a group, we watched the chaos as Cailan tried to organise the few servants they had to getting everyone settled; to avoid making it worse, we decided to take care of ourselves. We helped ourselves to the rooms we’d held previously, putting away our things before meeting for a supper of leftover trail rations in the little dining room we’d used before.

Anders and Wynne excused themselves to help with setting up an infirmary, and after bidding everyone goodnight, I decided to have a long hot bath. Grateful to Sereda for about the millionth time since leaving Orzammar, I filled the tub and slid in, submerging fully before almost falling asleep in the warmth. I didn’t stir until Alistair joined me, and after spending far too much time ensuring we were completely, squeaky clean, we both collapsed onto the bed and fell straight asleep.

We were all surprised to wake up and find elven servants bringing us breakfast and offering to run baths for anyone who needed them. The confusion only lasted a few minutes, until Kallian arrived, and the elves all jumped to attention before rushing away breathlessly to start hauling water.

“Kallian?” Wulf stood immediately, staring at the beautiful elf with dark, uncertain eyes.

Ignoring his obvious discomfort, or perhaps nervousness, she pulled the former werewolf into a hug, pressing her forehead against his sweetly, and the battle-hardened Grey Warden practically melted.

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on a boat, or in the Free Marches.” Wulf shook her slightly, and she chuckled.

“What can I say? I’ve never been good at following orders.” Wulf growled, and she winced. “Look, a bunch of families from the Alienage wouldn’t leave. They were afraid being loaded onto carts and forced to leave together was an excuse to sell them to Tevinter or kill them outright. So they stayed. But there were looters, and then a fire, and they were in danger. When I realised I couldn’t convince them all to go, I stayed too, and brought them here. The guards recognised me and let us in. There was food, beds, and plenty of places to hide if the darkspawn had come. And together, we helped the guards keep the looters out of the Palace.

“In return for being safe in the Palace, I convinced them that if I was right, and that the King wasn’t selling the rest of the elves or hurting them, they’d all help out here until the servants came back.”

“You could have been killed!” Wulf was squeezing her waist now, angry and worried and completely exasperated, and she kissed his cheek as she slipped out of his grasp somehow.

“But I wasn’t. I’m fine, Wulf. And now we have people to help out until everyone gets back.”

Leliana approached the elf, who looked much less haunted than she had when we’d left, and claimed a hug as well. “Nicely done, Kallian.” We all agreed, sending her smiles and nods of approval.

“So anyway, I’m here to inform you that his Majesty would like to meet with the Warden Commanders and Lady Theirin at your earliest convenience.”

Aedan and Alistair exchanged pouts, and I laughed. “Come on, boys. Let’s not keep the King waiting.”

Kallian escorted us to another wing of the Palace, where the furniture had largely been moved out of two adjacent ballrooms, and instead pallets had been built for the wounded soldiers. Cailan paced through the makeshift infirmary, calling out orders and stopping to hold a hand or wipe the brow of an injured person as he passed by. Waving acknowledgement when he saw us, he spoke briefly to a couple of people who appeared to be more-or-less in charge, then rushed over to us.

His skin was slightly sallow, dark circles ringed both of his eyes, and he was wearing the same clothes from the evening before. His expression was one of grim determination overriding complete exhaustion, and Alistair and I exchanged worried glances before following him down a hallway to a nearby sitting room.

He slumped into a chair, sighing heavily, and we all did the same as he gestured to chairs. “Kallian? Would you join us?”

The elf, surprised, settled into a chair gracefully, and it was nice to see she didn’t appear nervous in a relatively small room with three human men. We all turned our attention to the exhausted king.

“Cailan?” I ventured. “When was the last time you slept?”

He twitched slightly, and I scowled – he was preparing to lie to me, and I wasn’t going to have any of that. “The truth, if you please.”

He sighed. “On the road. There’s been too much to do since we arrived.”

“Cailan…” Aedan’s tone was almost motherly, and I stifled the urge to giggle.

“Tonight, okay? I promise. But that’s not why I asked you here, so could you all quit pretending to be my parents for a second or two?”

I did laugh at that, and we all flushed slightly. “Yes your Majesty,” I teased, and even Kallian giggled as Cailan stuck his tongue out at me. “How may we assist the Crown?”

“Alright, so…hear me out before you make a judgement, but…I want to burn down the Alienage.”

There and Back - Chapter 115

elyssacousland — Tue, 30 Aug 2016 02:25:58 GMT

Chapter One Hundred Fifteen: DisenChanted

I slipped out of the tent, leaving my brother and my husband to ‘important’ discussions with the new Teyrn. Honestly, the meeting had gone about as well as I could expect, and I was just happy we could hopefully work together as needed, even if we’d never have a familial relationship.

I was trying really hard not to take it personally.

I finally caught Leliana alone when I got back to the Wardens’ camp; with a grin for a fantastic distraction, I dragged the bard into my tent, made her undo the braid she’d put in my hair, and demanded she tell me everything about her and Nathaniel.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Leli?”

She giggled. “I didn’t want to...what’s that word you use? Jinx? I didn’t want to jinx it. He’s kind, yes? And shy. I didn’t want to embarrass him either. And when things are new…”

“I know. Sometimes you just want to keep it for yourself, right?”

“Exactly, my friend. But he is wonderful, Sierra.”

“Sort of broody, isn’t he?”

“Only on the surface. He’s been through so much…but he has a sense of humour, underneath it.”

“So is it serious?” I teased.

She flushed. “It hasn’t been very long…”

“So that’s a yes, then?”

She smiled. “It’s not a no.” Her smile faded. “Is that…do you think people will be upset? I sound Orlesian, after all.”

“Leli…I know that you have ties to the Chantry. I know you’re going to end up working as some sort of agent for the Divine. I know about Dorothea. But I also know that you’re one of the kindest, sweetest, most devout people I know. If someone really has a problem with you because of your accent, then that’s their issue. I think you deserve whatever happiness you can find, and I hope it keeps you from losing yourself too much to the Chantry. Does he make you happy?”

Her answering smile was radiant, but also mischievous. “I’ll tell you one thing. He’s a sinfully good kisser.”

I snickered, and we spent the next couple of hours in girly giggles, comparing our love lives and sharing our dreams of the future. It was a nice change of pace from the fighting and fear we’d been living with for a year, and it was a good distraction from my issues with Fergus. Zev joined us, and the talk turned to comparing their experiences, bard and Crow trying to outdo each other with outrageous seductions and dangerous liaisons. I had nothing to offer that could compare – I’d been sheltered, despite my less-than-ideal upbringing – but it was amusing to relax and just listen, without worrying about politics, or being ambushed, or an upcoming battle with darkspawn.

Aedan and Alistair finally returned from their discussion with Fergus and Cailan; Nathaniel had apparently joined them and been reunited with Fergus, and he returned to our camp with the two new Warden-Commanders. Leli, Zev and I tumbled out of my tent, me blushing crimson from the stories they’d been telling, to get a strange look from the three men; giggling, I snuggled up to Alistair and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Tell you later.”

“Mmm.” He kissed me again. “You okay?”

Everyone looked interested in my answer, so the six of us settled around the fire companionably.

“I’m fine.” Aedan scoffed, and I grinned at him. “No, really. I don’t blame Fergus. He has no reason to believe me, and he’s been through too much to be really willing to trust in anything right now. I wouldn’t be willing to accept me either.”

“You’re far more forgiving than I am.” Alistair scowled, and I pushed his cheeks up into a smile with my fingers.

“You’re allowed to be upset on my behalf, but I don’t want it affecting your relationship with him.” I turned to Aedan. “You especially. He needs all the support he can get right now. I can’t even imagine what he’s going through. I’m fine; I want you to promise me you’ll take care of him. I’ll just stay out of his way for a while.”

“That should be easy,” Nathaniel declared. “He is leaving in three days to take back Highever. I’m going with him. I didn’t expect him to accept me either, but if he can forgive me, I’ll offer any support I can. King Cailan is sending us with a company of soldiers, and he’ll send stonemasons and other craftsmen once Denerim’s population settles. We don’t know what is happening at the castle, but we’ll find out, retake it if necessary, and start the recovery before I leave for Amaranthine.”

“We’re not going?” I looked at Aedan in surprise. “You’re okay with that?”

He winced. “As much as I’d like to help Fergus, I have to admit, I’m not sure I could stomach fighting my way back through those halls again. We’ll need to go eventually, but not right away. And Fergus isn’t willing to wait. Besides, Cailan’s asked for us – all of us – in Denerim for a celebration of the end of the Blight. I’m guessing he wants us there when he tells the Landsmeet he gave Ostagar to the Dalish. And I think he’s got some sort of plans for the Alienage – he spent an awful lot of time talking to Kallian, recently.”

“We’ll also announce that Ferelden’s Grey Wardens have seceded from the Order at Weisshaupt. I imagine we’ll receive a delegation from the Anderfels fairly soon; Duncan sent a messenger before the battle. Might as well be there to receive them.”

After that, the rest of our companions started filtering back into camp, and we separated to go to bed. Alistair pulled me into his lap once we were alone in our tent, his shirt off, weak firelight glinting off his toned abs and broad shoulders.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked.

“Hmm?” I was far more interested in running my fingers over his impressive muscles and nuzzling into his neck than I was in discussing my liege-lord.

“Love,” he chided, pushing me away slightly.

I sighed. “I won’t say it doesn’t hurt. I didn’t expect him to come running with open arms, but I wasn’t quite prepared for the degree of hostility. I was telling the truth though – I’m not surprised he isn’t totally trusting, and I don’t blame him. He’s been through too much – I think I was just one thing too many.”

“With time, maybe he’ll come around?”

“I doubt it. He wouldn’t give himself the chance. That would involve getting to know me, and he doesn’t want to. But he said he will work with me; if we can tolerate each other, that’s enough. I have you, and Aedan. Fergus has no one, and I won’t be the thing that gets in the middle between him and Aedan.”

I snuggled in again, burying my nose in the crease between his neck and shoulder. “I don’t really want to talk about Fergus right now.” I punctuated my statement with a gentle bite on his neck making him gasp as I started stroking my fingers across his bare chest again. “Do you?”

“Not in the slightest.” Alistair’s tone was husky as he bore me down to my bedroll, divesting me of my clothes in record time and distracting me rather admirably from thinking about anything, never mind about my brothers.

Over the next several days, many things happened. The mages completed their work scouring the land with fire, and the sensation of the darkspawn taint around the site of the battle began lessening slightly. Sten and Irving finished their work of preserving the Archdemon’s blood, hide, and much of the bone, and it was all crated for travel to Denerim. The wounded largely either died or rallied, and each day, the small pyres got smaller until they stopped.

Aedan performed several Joinings for soldiers who’d been tainted by the darkspawn; none of them survived, though I wasn’t that surprised given how quickly they’d become ill after the battle – most of them looked barely better than ghouls by the time it was even attempted.

Leliana, who’d been helping out with the wounded, came to me one day asking me to get Alistair, Aedan, and Anders, and then follow her. We scoured the camp until we found the two Warden-Commanders in a meeting with Cailan, and pulled Anders away from the makeshift infirmary where he’d been working with Wynne and the other Circle healers. Anders grumbled as we followed Leliana almost outside of the army’s encampment; Aedan and Alistair raised their eyebrows at me, but I just shrugged. Don’t ask me! She was wearing the same Chantry garb she wore back in Lothering; I’d gotten so used to seeing her in armour, I’d forgotten what it looked like.

A ways beyond the rest of the tents, around the edge of a large outcropping, we finally came upon a camp. There was a small earthworks ringing the area, with make-shift fences planted in the mud; it was guarded, strangely, and the templar armour on the two guards was a clear indication of who camped there. I hadn’t paid attention to where the templars and mages were set up, but given how much I’d seen of Irving and Greagoir, they had to have been sleeping somewhere more central. And this camp was far too small for the entire contingent from Kinloch, not to mention it seemed strange they’d be so isolated, almost vulnerably so on the edge of the army encampment.

The two templars on guard, neither of whom were wearing helmets, initially seemed excited to see Leliana, and watching her smile coyly at them, I could see why; however, they stiffened when they noticed us following her, and immediately moved to block entrance.

“Sister-“ one of them began, obviously planning to turn us away.

Leliana gave the one speaking a look that every Catholic school child, and from what I’d seen, everyone who’d ever set foot in a Chantry, was intimately familiar with. It was the glare of a woman in control, one who could see right through you and know without checking that you hadn’t washed behind your ears. One who knew your innermost thoughts, and wasn’t totally averse to using them against you. The poor man visibly withered, glancing desperately at his partner for help, and finding no aid there, he muttered something that sounded whiny and discontented, and stepped aside.

The four of us followed her past the small entrance, and the reason for the camp’s isolation became immediately obvious. There were injured men and women there, being tended by a small number of harried-looking mages; strangely, those writhing on their pallets on the ground looked superficially whole – there were no missing limbs, no bleeding wounds. But the sensation was the kicker; the taint was everywhere here, much stronger than the rest of the camp. A closer glance showed several templars with blackening skin, dark blotches and black veins marring their pale Fereldan complexions; two had eyes white with rheum, like Duncan in the Deep Roads. Two others were being restrained as they struggled, hairless, gnashing their teeth and snarling like animals – or darkspawn.

Those that weren’t so obviously tainted weren’t far behind, sweating and grey, moaning in pain and delirium. A number of mages were also affected, huddled together in one corner of the enclosure.

I glanced up at Alistair to see him returning my hopeless gaze; very few of these people would be healthy enough to undergo the Joining, given how much time had passed since the battle. It was a minor miracle any of them had avoided becoming ghouls already, and I assumed that the mages healing them had been the only reason they hadn’t all turned. My gaze slid over to Aedan, to see raging fury instead of the helpless sadness Alistair and I had shared.

“Why have these people not been brought to the Grey Wardens before now?” he asked, his tone dangerously calm.

The templar guard, an incredibly young-looking redhead with a bit of a nervous tic in his eye, twitched, which was probably the most sensible response to the unspoken threat. I hadn’t even noticed he’d followed us inside the makeshift gate. I’d be scared of Aedan if he used that tone on me too. “I do not know, my Lo-, uh, Warden Commander.” He was eyeing Aedan’s tabard, which he’d insisted all Wardens now wear. “The Knight Commander and the Grand Cleric told us to stay here and be on guard, so we did.”

“I suggest you send a runner for the Knight Commander now, then.” It was strange to think that Aedan, with all his twenty-four years, was considerably older than the young man trying not to cringe under my brother’s gaze.

The poor kid nodded, and left us to head over to another young, untainted looking templar; the blond saluted smartly, smashed his helmet onto his head, and left at a jog. Anders knelt down next to a mage writhing on a thin blanket, and I felt the aura of his magic as blue healing poured forth; the elf slumped into what looked like a deep sleep – a kindness, I was sure. Anders looked less relieved than I expected, moving to kneel beside the next mage he saw. Looking around, I realised why; the healers circulating through trying to do what they could were focusing mainly on templars. The mages had been left largely to themselves, and I guessed the only thing that would prevent the healers from helping other mages was the threat of violence from their templar guards.

One of the tainted mages appeared to be the only one helping his fellows; from the pallet on which he sat, I could see him reaching out towards his neighbours, magic streaming from his fingers. While obviously sick, he appeared much healthier than the others; his hair had not fallen out, his skin showed black veins only up one arm, and his eyes were clear, though dark circles underneath them betrayed his exhaustion. With a start, I recognised him as a mage I’d met before: Alim. I was willing to bet anything his last name was Surana.

I stepped over to him just as Anders took over his healing; the elf collapsed back, panting slightly. As I got closer, I could tell he was completely drained; he’d used every last scrap of his mana trying to keep his fellows alive, when he was dying too.

I knelt beside him, gently touching his hand. “Alim?”

He turned his head slowly, his eyes focusing on my face, his expression bleak until he recognised me. “Sierra?” I nodded, and he flipped his hand to grip my fingers with surprising strength. “Thank the Maker. I’ve been asking for the Wardens since we were dragged here, but I didn’t know if you were still with them, and I doubt any of my messages would have gotten through anyway.” He squeezed my hand until it ached, but I held his just as tight. “Please, Sierra, you must recruit us.” He gestured with his free hand, a vague wave that seemed to encompass the entire camp. “All of us.”

I ignored that for a moment, unwilling to be the one to shatter the hope he’d clearly been clinging to since he’d become tainted. “What happened here?”

Alistair and Aedan approached behind me, and I heard the two crouch to hear his response.

“The Grand Cleric.” Alim’s response was bitter, venomous – a remarkable change from the man who’d ratted out Jowan in the tower. “When she found out a group of mages and templars had become ill, she forced the Knight-Commander to isolate us. Didn’t want to allow the Wardens access to too many mages – it put too many of us outside of Chantry control, she said. She was angry that Greagoir let Solona and Anders slip through their grasp, and wouldn’t allow any more of us to be conscripted.”

He coughed, blackish blood flecks on his hand where he covered his mouth. “Greagoir tried to argue with her, tried to convince her that templars were being harmed by the same decision, but she said she wouldn’t allow them to become Wardens either. She forced some healers into trying to ‘cure’ the templars, threatened them with Tranquility if they wasted mana on healing the mages, and left us here to die. I was the only one well enough to try to heal the others. I only had a small cut – just a stupid nick on a finger when I was grazed by a piece of broken sword that flew by. I’ve been trying to keep the others alive as long as I could, hoping someone would find us.”

I squeezed Alim’s hand, trying desperately not to cry. It was so typical, so stupid; I didn’t even know why I was surprised. The old prune of a Grand Cleric was a zealot of the worst sort, using Chantry law to achieve her own ends, as I’d clearly seen in the Landsmeet. It shouldn’t have come as a shock that she’d be threatened by the power wielded by the Wardens, though I was appalled at the deaths she was willing to countenance just to keep the Wardens from gaining a precious few recruits. And it was even worse than that – soldiers from the army had died for the lack of healers, soldiers who could have been saved if the handful of healers keeping the afflicted templars alive had been available to aid in the effort.

I couldn’t decide whether to throw up, or find the Grand Cleric and beat her silly.

I took a deep breath, murmuring some sort of reassuring nonsense to Alim before standing to talk to my brother and my husband.

“Aedan…”

“I know.” He looked over the group of sick mages and templars with barely concealed rage. “There’s maybe four of them who will even live until I can get Jowan to make the potion, never mind how many will survive the ritual. If we had only found them sooner…”

Leliana spoke, startling me; the bard had approached unheard as we talked. “I am sorry I didn’t find out sooner. I thought it was strange, that several healers were nowhere to be found near the infirmary tents, and started searching for them; I only discovered this place this morning, by accident. I had never imagined…”

I turned and hugged her. Her voice sounded so lost, so defeated, and I couldn’t stand hearing my friend sound that way. Growing up without religion, I could only imagine that seeing the result of your closely held beliefs being abused must be horrifying.

“Not your fault, Leli,” I assured her, and Aedan and Alistair murmured agreement. “I’m glad you found them at all, and I just hope that Cailan can use this to make sure that old hag never lives it down.”

She choked out a dismayed laugh, torn between amusement at my irreverence and despair at the tragedy that her faith had propagated.

Just then the Knight-Commander arrived. The four of us – Anders was still busy soothing tortured mages – turned as one to glare at him; he just sighed, gesturing for us to step to the side where we couldn’t be heard.

“I’m not supposed to say this, but I’m glad you’ve found our little secret, Wardens.” Aedan looked to be nearing apoplexy, and Greagoir waved his hand defensively. “This was not my idea, believe me. Think of me what you will, assume the worst about the mages in my care, but you have to believe at least that I would not allow so many of my own men to perish for politics.”

He has a point. I don’t know whether he’d have been happy with more mages being recruited, regardless of the circumstances, but I can’t believe he’d let the templars die with them.

“I…you…they’re all going to die, Knight-Commander. At your order.”

“And what was my alternative?” He just sounded tired. “I can’t ignore the Grand Cleric of Ferelden when she gives me a direct order. I argued with her until she threatened to have me excommunicated. And if I’d kept on without regard for myself until she did that, she’d just promote someone less likely to even try.”

The reality of the situation was sinking in, leaving me numb. If not for one, stupid, hateful, narrow-minded woman, some of these people might have survived. I sighed. It was too late – most of them were already dead, even if they didn’t know it.

Aedan appeared to be trying to swallow his rancor to do what needed to be done. Finally he spoke, his voice tight, the only thing that betrayed his dismay. “I hereby conscript every man and woman in this camp who survives until,” he paused and checked the position of the sun, “sundown. I will leave my healer here to keep the most likely survivors as healthy as possible. Those who have already turned, Knight-Commander, I will personally put out of their misery – immediately. You should have your men prepare a pyre; I’d be somewhat surprised if even one or two survive the night.”

Greagoir nodded and stepped away to start giving orders; I was actually impressed with how little he fought. He truly didn’t want this for these people, did he? It was sad that so much death would come at the hands of one pruney hag with an attitude problem.

Anders had completed a circle around the templars while we spoke, examining some, expending a little bit of healing on others. He approached us as the Knight-Commander stepped away. “When can we do the Joining?”

I was pleased to note he didn’t even ask if, but only when.

Aedan winced. “I’ll get Jowan started. We’re going to need some fresh darkspawn blood. I’d guess nightfall.”

Anders grimaced. “I’m not sure any of them will be in their right minds by then.” He’d had more than enough experience with the taint’s progression over the last few days to be able to say that with some confidence. “Maybe Alim, and one of the templars. And I know it’s beneath me, but I hope I’m wrong about that particular templar.”

Aedan’s brow furrowed. “Oh?”

Anders flushed slightly. I suddenly had a very bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Who?”

The mage sighed. “His name is Rolan. He-“

He would have continued, but I gasped. Anders shot me a strange look, but I held up one finger to ask him to wait, and grabbed Aedan’s arm, pulling him a few steps away, Alistair at my heels.

“You can’t recruit Rolan,” I whispered furiously.

“Why?” Aedan looked sincerely puzzled.

“He’s one of the bad kind of templars – thinks every mage is a hair’s breadth away from becoming an abomination. Regardless of being conscripted, he’ll never let go of the Chantry. He’ll come after Warden mages, set up ambushes when he thinks he can isolate one and invite his templar buddies to help. And capture isn’t what he’ll have in mind. He’s a danger to every mage in the Order.”

Aedan frowned. “Surely he can be…re-educated.”

I wrung my hands, agitated. “I don’t think so. Aedan, please. Please don’t conscript him.” I didn’t want to tell him about Anders and Justice, but I would if I had to.

Aedan examined my face, looking apologetic. “I already did. If he survives until tonight…Sierra, I won’t have a choice. But in the game, did he have the taint when he Joined?”

I shook my head, distraught.

“Well, then let’s just hope he doesn’t make it until the potion is ready...or that he doesn’t survive the Joining itself.” Aedan stepped back to Anders, ending the conversation.

I huffed, debating what to do, when Alistair wrapped his arm around my waist. “We’ll watch him. We won’t let him get away with anything. I promise.”

“Okay.” I relaxed in his arms, turning to nuzzle my husband’s neck. “All these people…”

“I know.” He kissed my temple. “Maybe you should go back to camp, get Jowan ready, and send out a group to find some darkspawn. I don’t think you should watch this.” I leaned back, shooting him a dirty look, but he just stroked my cheek softly. “Please. Let me protect that empathetic heart of yours just a little, okay? Just go.”

The sadness in his eyes as we both gazed at the ghouls who used to be templars and mages was clear, and I finally nodded. It’ll only hurt him more to know I’m watching. I kissed him once, chastely but tenderly, then pulled away.

I hugged Anders, whispering in his ear my plea that he keep as many mages alive as possible, even at the risk of losing a particular templar; he squeezed me once in acknowledgement and then let me go. I wrapped my arms around Aedan as he stood, stiff with tension, almost shuddering in my embrace.

“I’ll go talk to Jowan, and send Sten and the dwarves to get darkspawn blood.” He nodded woodenly. “I’m sorry. I love you.” I kissed his cheek, then somehow both reluctant and eager at the same time, slowly walked back to camp with Leliana, the bard as somber and quiet as I felt.

There and Back - Chapter 114

elyssacousland — Tue, 16 Aug 2016 05:00:02 GMT

Chapter One Hundred Fourteen: Dis-Unity

“There’s a group of soldiers at the south perimeter, your Majesty,” the scout reported. “They aren’t ours! At least, they weren’t fighting in the battle. They’ve just come from the Wilds, they said. They say…they say they’re from Highever.”

With that announcement, the change that came over Aedan was patently obvious. He stiffened like he’d been shot, and then spun to make eye contact with me, a huge grin splitting his face. I don’t think he believed me that Fergus survived; at least, not completely. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. Cailan had been questioning the scout further while Aedan had already begun celebrating, but we both turned to hear the last of the conversation.

“…Cousland with them?” I heard Cailan asking.

“I don’t know, your Majesty. They didn’t say, but they had a couple of heavily wounded men. They all looked a bit worse for wear, to be honest. The healers have already been sent for.”

Aedan glanced my way with trepidation, and I shrugged. I thought he was better by the time he reached civilization, though the game didn’t mention any of his men.

“Thank you, Ruald. You may return to your duties.”

Cailan spoke to a few of the messengers and others nearby, leaving instructions, while Aedan dismissed the Grey Wardens gathered behind us; when that was all done, Alistair, Zev and I trailed in Aedan’s wake as he and Cailan led the way hurriedly through the massive army camp. I jogged ahead, catching Aedan’s arm to slow him down slightly.

“Aedan…” I began hesitantly, not knowing exactly why I was suddenly so nervous. “It might not be him. I don’t want you to get your hopes up. There may have been others from Highever that survived.”

“I know.” He winced. “But then again, it might be him. Would he still be injured?”

“Not according to the game. But we’ve seen the game isn’t always perfect.”

“Still, if it is him? Oh, Maker, I hope it is. I won’t say I’m looking forward to telling him about Howe, but…Sierra, we won’t be alone anymore. We still have a family.”

It made my stomach flutter to think about that. “Even if it is him...Aedan, it might not be the best time to tell him about me. He’s going to have enough to deal with without an unknown sister being dumped on him, don’t you think? Maybe we should wait to tell him.”

“He’s your brother too,” Aedan argued. “I won’t ask you to pretend not to be family in front of him. He’ll be happy to meet you. I know he will. If anything, it might help deal with what we’ve lost, to see something we have found.”

“Aedan…”

“Perhaps we should wait and see if he’s even there before you two start arguing about who tells him what?” Cailan was chuckling lightly at our expense.

I scowled at him. “Careful, your Majesty, or we’ll make you tell him.” He paled, and I laughed.

We finally reached the south perimeter of the camp, and I could see a small group of soldiers, some seated, some lying down; Wynne was there, with a Circle mage I didn’t recognise. The elder mage knelt beside someone, pouring healing magic into him, while the other one concentrated on closing up what looked to be a minor head wound on someone else.

I hung back, nervous, as Aedan bolted towards the group, clearly having recognised someone. Alistair wrapped one arm around my waist as we watched Aedan drop to one knee beside a large blond man. They spoke briefly, then Aedan half-smiled and clapped the man on the shoulder, oblivious to the poor thing’s wince. My brother stood and stepped around another soldier before finally sinking down beside the man Wynne was working on with a cry.

Anxiously, I shuffled forward to see Fergus, face streaked with mud and blood, eyes closed, a large gash through the shoulder of the ragged armour he wore, the skin torn and bleeding freely. Aedan leaned over, tucking a strand of matted dark hair off his forehead. Fergus had seen better days; he had a thick, unkempt beard, and his hair was longer than Cailan’s; he had a scar running from one ear, across his cheek to his mouth, making his lip pucker strangely. He was filthy and wearing what must have been scavenged armour, but he was unmistakable despite that. He looked a great deal older than he had in game, and I wondered what he had been through since Ostagar.

As Wynne worked, the gash in his shoulder stopped bleeding, then slowly closed; she rose carefully, obviously drained, and I hurried to her side to offer my support as she got her balance back. None of the small group of soldiers looked able to answer questions, and Aedan was clearly so torn between relief that Fergus was alive and fear – that he might still die, that he’d react poorly to the news out of Highever – that he was in no shape to make the necessary arrangements. Cailan came back to my side from where he’d been talking to the guards who’d initially spoken to the ragtag group.

“Apparently they were scouting in the Wilds when they were ambushed, just before Ostagar. These were all that survived, and the Chasind rescued them. Several were injured, including Fergus, who apparently had some sort of wound in his back. It’s taken all these months for him to be well enough to travel, but then as they approached here, they encountered a group of darkspawn fleeing the battle and had to fight. He was injured again.” Clearly the guards had had some time to figure out the story before we’d arrived.

“He’ll live,” Wynne told us. “He was the most badly injured of the lot. He’ll need some more time to heal, and I think Anders should look at the wound on his back – it isn’t totally healed yet, or it ripped open again, perhaps – but he’ll recover. After that healing, he probably won’t wake for another day or so, I suspect.”

Cailan stepped closer, pitching his voice low for only Alistair, Zev, Wynne, and I to hear. “Apparently he knows.” I gave him a puzzled frown. “About Highever,” he clarified. “The Chasind had heard the news from refugees heading to Gwaren. He took it…poorly.”

Zev and I traded looks; he turned and went to sit by Aedan, one hand on my brother’s back, silently offering support.

“It’s probably better that Aedan didn’t have to tell him,” Alistair mused.

I nodded, slightly relieved both that I’d have another day to face Fergus as his long-lost sister, and that I wouldn’t have to watch Aedan break his heart.

Cailan stepped away again and made arrangements for a camp near the Grey Wardens to be set up for the handful of Highever men, and then two soldiers with a stretcher carefully carried Fergus up to Cailan’s tent, the rest of us following in their wake. Aedan clung to my hand, seemingly not able to talk about his feelings, but his relief and apprehension were communicated clearly through his clammy skin clutching mine. He refused to leave Fergus’ side once the new Teyrn was settled in Cailan’s tent, and Zevran collected a couple of camp chairs and an extra cot so Aedan could sleep right beside his – our – brother.

I spent a restless night wondering when Fergus would wake; Alistair making love to me distracted me for a while, but as he slipped into sleep, I laid awake, worrying. The next day, several of the men had recovered enough to describe their experiences in more detail. It sounded like it was a miracle Fergus had survived; Anders agreed after examining his back, and he, Wynne, and several others performed a combined heal like they’d done for my knee back at Redcliffe, apparently managing to break up some unfortunate scar tissue and reduce the impact it would have on his movement.

When he finally woke, I was in a conversation with Nathaniel, who’d stopped in to visit Leliana but was too embarrassed – or too polite – not to stop and say hello to me, too; we were discussing our future move to Amaranthine. Zevran came, pulling me aside and freeing Nathaniel to seek out Leliana.

“He’s awake.” Zevran frowned. “Aedan would like to see you. He has not yet told the Teyrn about you, yes? It has been an...emotional reunion.”

I nodded mutely and reluctantly turned to head to Cailan’s tent. I truly didn’t know what to expect; Fergus didn’t know me. On the other hand, if Aedan was anything to go by, maybe he’d surprise me and welcome me with open arms. Aedan certainly seemed to think that would happen. I took a deep breath and ducked inside the tent.

My timing was impeccable – impeccably bad, of course. The two must just have talked about the night Howe had attacked, because Fergus was sobbing, and Aedan was holding him with a look of such abject guilt in his eyes it caused me physical pain. I couldn’t help it – I shot Aedan a sympathetic look, and then stepped back outside. I stood beside the tent flap, heart pounding, slightly short of breath, feeling nervous and ashamed all at once.

Who am I to go in there and be their sister? They lost everything. A bloodline doesn’t let me share their grief. I’m such a fraud.

I sank down onto the ground, arms wrapped around my knees, head down, shaking a little. I couldn’t decide if I was more worried about being rejected, or being accepted. I honestly hadn’t spent much time considering what it would be like with Fergus in our lives; now it occurred to me I’d been in denial, avoiding thinking about it.

I sat there for a while, torn between going back in, or walking away altogether, when I heard the two men start talking. I should have left – I knew that eavesdropping wasn’t going to get me anywhere good – but I felt paralysed, by guilt and fear, so I just sat there and listened.

Aedan was describing the night Highever fell; his voice broke as he described finding Oren and Oriana, defending Eleanor, saying goodbye to Rory, and then finding Bryce in the larder. Duncan had had to carry him out, not because he didn’t want to be a Grey Warden, but because he was so set on staying with his parents and defending them to his death. Aedan had opened up to me, as we’d travelled together over the past year, but I realised it must have hurt, not having someone who knew those people he’d left behind to grieve with. Aedan was begging forgiveness, and Fergus was sobbing again, choking out words of understanding, not censure, to my relief. Things went quiet again, as the two cried together, and I assumed, held each other while they mourned.

When they started talking again, Aedan began describing our adventures since that night, between being recruited, the Tower of Ishal, meeting us in Lothering, travelling to Redcliffe, then the Circle, Haven, the Brecilian Forest, Denerim, and finally Orzammar. He didn’t go into great detail about any point in the tale, just giving a rough overview of the challenges we faced at each place. He mentioned me several times, not explaining my background, to my surprise; he gave hints that there was something mysterious about me – describing how I’d warned them about Branka, for example – but never explained how I’d known. I could almost feel Fergus’ confusion mounting as the tale went on.

He was surprised at learning Cailan had a half-brother, and I noticed Aedan spent more time describing my wedding than he did describing Orzammar.

Finally they talked about killing Howe; Fergus was initially skeptical about Nathaniel’s innocence, immediately spewing vitriol about the Howes, but when he heard about his injuries – I hadn’t been aware that Anders had healed several horrific burns, bruises, and badly set fractures – he softened and accepted that Nate had been a victim of his father every bit as much as the Couslands had. He’d been friends with Nathaniel Howe for years before the archer’s exile; faced with overwhelming evidence, he couldn’t deny the obvious lack of complicity in his father’s actions.

They talked about the Landsmeet, then the army training in the field before the final battle. Aedan had avoided talking much about Zevran, but his resolve broke when he explained Zevran taking the killing blow, and I was sure that, unless Fergus was an idiot, he must have known how Aedan felt about the elf; despite that, they didn’t discuss it. I imagine they’ve spent their entire lives not talking about Aedan’s sexual preference and what it would mean for a nobleman not to wish to marry.

Instead, Fergus asked the question I’d expected from him earlier.

“You’ve mentioned this…Sierra?...multiple times, but Aedan…who is she? Is she a mage? You talk about her like she knows the future.”

“I’m glad you asked.” I could picture Aedan’s smug grin. Ass. “She isn’t a mage, no. But she does, in a limited way, know things about the future.”

The explanation of where I came from was as unbelievable to Fergus as it had been to everyone else; he tried to poke holes in the story, speculating that I was a spy, or somehow in league with the darkspawn…like everyone else, he failed to come up with any explanation that made sense given the breadth of my apparent knowledge. No one could possibly be in league with Loghain, Howe, the darkspawn, the dwarves, Uldred, the Dalish, werewolves, and all of the thugs in Denerim at the same time. In the end, it sounded like he was left questioning Aedan’s sanity.

Which I couldn’t blame him for, really, but apparently Aedan didn’t pick up on that, because instead of getting Cailan, or anyone, really, to confirm his story, he launched into the explanation that I’d been dreading.

“’Gus…did you know I was a twin?”

There was shocked silence for a moment, before Fergus replied, “How did you find out about that, pup?”

“I knew it! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Mother and Father I could understand, but why didn’t you ever say anything?” There was no response, and my mind supplied an image of Fergus shrugging helplessly in the face of Aedan’s enthusiasm. “Anyway. Sierra…Fergus, Sierra is our sister. My twin. We don’t know how or why, exactly, but the reason she didn’t wake up when she was born was because somehow her mind was sent over there.”

“Aedan…” I could practically hear the disbelief in Fergus’ voice. Apparently Aedan did too.

“Hear me out! Listen, how else would she have come back? How could she know so much? You might be the only person alive who knew we even had a sister. How could she find out, if she was just some charlatan? Maybe it was fate, I don’t know. I do know we needed her. She looks just like mother in that painting in father’s study.” That’s news to me. “Her birthday is the same as mine. And in Haven…I told you about the gauntlet in the Temple of Sacred Ashes? We saw Father’s spirit, Fergus. He’s the one who told us I was a twin. He told me about Sierra not waking up. She didn’t believe him either, at first. But I swear it’s true. She’s our sister.”

“Aedan, look, I don’t know what’s been done to you, but we will get through this-“

“Fergus, I’m not losing my mind. I haven’t been manipulated by blood magic. She really is our sister.”

“Pup…I’m sorry about this, but you’ve been deceived. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but something has happened. Our sister’s dead. She’s gone, Aedan. This Sierra…she’s got some agenda, some hidden ability…I will get to the bottom of this, but there’s something. Maybe she’s just using your grief and loneliness against you. But you have to see her for what she is!”

“You’ve been back for all of five minutes, and you’re already treating me like a stupid child? What is wrong with you? Fergus, I’m not an idiot. I am capable of seeing the truth myself. Why are you being like this? What happened to you out there?”

“What happened to me? Aedan, I spent almost a year recovering from a severe injury, dreaming every night of seeing my wife and son again, only to finally make it back and learn that they are all dead. I didn’t even know you’d survived – I thought I was the last one! And now I find out some woman with a vague resemblance to my mother is flitting about masquerading as my sister? I don’t think my reaction is unreasonable.”

“I hear you, but brother, I swear to you, she is our sister. Besides, what possible motive could she have?”

“What motive? Why would anyone want the power and prestige of being from one of the oldest noble families in Ferelden? Don’t be naïve. Maybe she just wants a family of her own. I’m willing to believe that’s possible. But have you thought she could be using you to get to the Crown? She married a Prince, for the Maker’s sake.”

Aedan laughed, a harsh bark lacking real mirth. “Fergus, she could have had the Crown. Cailan offered it to her. Maker’s sake, Eamon tried to force her into it.” There was a pause; I pictured Fergus raising an eyebrow. “He thought having the ‘long-lost Cousland’ as queen could stabilise Cailan’s reign. He was completely against Alistair being made a prince. And, by the way, she didn’t know Alistair was to be a prince when they married. She expected him to remain just a Grey Warden. Cailan told them later.”

“Aedan-“ Fergus’ tone was almost desperate now.

“I understand; you haven’t seen what I have, ‘Gus. You haven’t been here. You’ve never seen her disappear into thin air, leaving all her clothing behind in a pile, only to reappear later somewhere else. She hasn’t saved your life a dozen times by knowing in advance what would happen. The only reason this battle wasn’t in Denerim, with massive loss of life, was because she knew where the darkspawn would be, and we’ve already discussed it isn’t possible for her to have been in league with them.

“Would you just…just give her a chance? It doesn’t make up for losing mother and father, or Oriana and Oren, Maker knows it doesn’t, but if you let it, she might be the one small point of light in everything terrible that’s happened.”

“I can’t, pup. She is your friend, I understand that, but Rendon was father’s friend too. Our sister is dead. I won’t risk anything more happening to my family.”

It was quiet then, and I felt completely drained. I’d been right; nothing good came from eavesdropping. I wished I could have unheard the conversation. I clambered to my feet, suddenly wanting nothing more than to find my husband and make him hold me until the rejection stopped hurting.

It wasn’t like I didn’t understand Fergus’ point of view; my story sounded insane, and that was for people who’d seen my strange earth gadgets and clothes, who had witnessed my inexplicable advance knowledge first hand. Fergus had none of that. Hadn’t met me, hadn’t seen my things, so impossible to exist in Thedas. He’d lost everything, and now someone was trying to fill the gap with an impossibility. Even though every word Aedan had spoken had been true, I’d never be big enough to fill that sort of hole, especially for someone who didn’t believe me.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Aedan had accepted me so easily; we had been through so much together, it just seemed natural. I had hoped, somehow, that maybe the circle of people who believed me, who took me as I was, weird foreknowledge and absolute inability to care for myself in Thedas included, would get just one larger. That the little family I had forged for myself could include a wise older brother who would love me just for being me. But with the way he had spoken, I didn’t think there was any way I was going to have a relationship with that brother, not now. I worried it would impact Aedan’s relationship with me; I didn’t want to be what came between the two brothers who had been close friends, before. I vowed to stay out of Fergus’ way, and tried to steel my heart to let Aedan go, if I had to, so he could keep what family he had left.

When Aedan found me, quite a while later, I was curled into a ball in Alistair’s lap, refusing to talk or do anything except cling to Alistair and rock. I didn’t even look up as Aedan sank to the ground beside us, sighing heavily.

“I suppose you heard all that, then?”

He must have taken my silence as agreement, but he turned to explain things to my very confused husband. “Fergus doesn’t believe me. That’s she’s our sister. He thinks she’s either using blood magic to confuse me, or just preying on my loneliness to get close to the crown.”

Alistair’s arms stiffened, and I suddenly worried he’d feel the need to defend my honour to the new Teyrn of Highever. Ironic, considering what he thought of me after learning about the game. I squeezed his arm tighter, and he relaxed again, rubbing my back.

“Look, sis, give him time. Cailan is talking to him now. And Riordan said he would as well. I’m going to ask Greagoir and Irving to assure him you aren’t a mage. He’ll come around.”

“No, he won’t.” I finally looked up, eyes probably red-rimmed with suppressed tears. “Aedan, you and I have been through so much…it wouldn’t matter if I was truly a Cousland or not. You’d still be my brother in our hearts. But I can’t even blame Fergus – I wouldn’t accept me either, if I were him. Just…leave it alone. I’ll avoid him, we can both act like liege-lord and vassal in public, and that’s all. I won’t be the thing that gets in between you two.”

Aedan sighed again. “He’s asked to see you after supper.” Alistair stirred, and Aedan held up a hand. “Both of you. Cailan will be there, and I’ll come, too. We’ll bring your things and show him. We can bring him around. I know you’re the first to think you don’t deserve something, but you will have another brother, Sierra. We’ll find a way.”

I shrugged noncommittally. I certainly wasn’t in the position to decline a summons from a Teyrn, especially my future liege-lord, but I held no illusions it would go any way but badly.

Despite that, I tried my best to get cleaned up; Cailan’s command tent had been turned into his personal tent, so we no longer had space for a shower. Instead I sponged off in a bucket, Leliana braided my hair in some ornate fashion, and I put on the only fancy dress I’d brought with me – the now-faded green velvet I’d originally brought from Earth. I had my boots, my jeans, my iPhone, my flashlight, and my zippo with me ready to show off, and I still felt like vomiting from anxiety.

Alistair had dressed in clothes as well – his were more functional, linen trousers and a tunic, as we had packed for a battle, not a ball – but his body felt warm against my side, his hand firmly settled on my hip possessively. He’d stayed with me the entire afternoon, not pushing me to talk, but just being there. My rock, as always. Aedan met me outside Fergus appropriated tent and held my hand as we entered together.

Fergus and Cailan had clearly been arguing before we’d arrived; Cailan’s jaw was clenched, his eyes bright with anger, while Fergus looked more serene, but his ire was betrayed by a prominent vein on his forehead, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. Fergus rose somewhat shakily from the small stool he’d been sitting on when we entered, while Cailan just stood to the side, arms crossed and expression irritated.

Alistair bowed, and I dropped into a curtsy, not perfect, but acceptable after hours of training with Leliana. “Your Majesty,” I murmured, and Cailan smirked slightly. “Your Grace.”

I stayed in the curtsy, head bowed, as was expected, until given permission to rise – permission which never came. After an awkward minute, where I balanced precariously and Fergus just stared at the top of my head, Cailan broke the silence with a disgusted huff, hurrying over to me and offering his hand for me to hold as I rose. I saw the king and Aedan shooting disbelieving looks at Fergus, while Alistair wrapped his arm protectively around me again. I had to stop myself from cuddling into his embrace, and instead turned back to Fergus with what I hoped was my best impassive expression.

“You asked to see us, your Grace?” I tried to keep my voice steady, though I was sure it betrayed my nerves.

Fergus examined me for a couple of awkward minutes. “I’ve heard a rather unbelievable tale about you, your Highness.”

I cringed at the title. “You could call me Sierra, if you wanted.”

He stared at me. “No, I don’t think I shall, Princess.” He shot a sideways glance at Aedan. “I think it’s best if we don’t try to pretend you didn’t come from nowhere, only to marry into royalty.”

I felt Alistair stiffen, and Cailan snorted – whether in disgust or something else, I couldn’t have said; I held my hand out to forestall the stream of objections I knew would come. “As you wish, your Grace. Though the only title I claim is Steward, and I entirely blame his Majesty for that as well. I hope my business experience will be of use as one of your vassals.”

“Business you conducted back on this…Earth?” I nodded. “My brother tells me you have proof.” I nodded again, lifting the bag I carried. He waved a hand dismissively. “I’m not interested at the moment. My brother and my king tell me you aren’t from here; I can’t exactly disagree.” Cailan shifted, and Fergus coloured slightly, without breaking eye contact.

He stared at me for another awkward minute. “I may have to accept that you’re not from Thedas. I may have to accept you as Steward of Soldier’s Peak, and my vassal.”

“And indeed you will, Teyrn Cousland.” Cailan’s tone was firm and final, and Fergus acknowledged it with a nod.

“But no one can force me to accept you as my sister, when you are not. Maybe you truly believe you are. I hope that’s the case. Either way, you’ve convinced Aedan of it, and nothing I say will change his mind; the same for his Majesty, clearly. So let me just say this right now, with witnesses. I will accept your oath of fealty, and I will treat you the same as any other vassal. I will ignore my personal feelings on the matter. But if I find out you knowingly manipulated Aedan, or anyone else here…if you had any involvement in the attack on Highever…if I believe you to be a threat to my country, my brother, or myself, I will end you.”

“Fergus-“ I assumed Cailan was about to reprimand the Teyrn for being rude; I interrupted him. His rudeness was the least of my worries; if he would work with me, I could live with that.

“Thank you, your Grace. I am sorry if my presence has caused you distress.”

“The rest of us have things to discuss. You may go, Princess, unless his Majesty objects?”

Cailan waved apologetically, and Alistair kissed my temple; Aedan squeezed my hand, and then I slipped out of the tent, exhausted.

There and Back - Chapter 113

elyssacousland — Tue, 02 Aug 2016 02:58:02 GMT

Chapter One Hundred Thirteen: Mourning

After a night spent reassuring ourselves with sight, taste, and touch that we were both alive and unharmed, I rose the next morning, tired but feeling better than I’d felt in months. Knowing that battle was hanging over our heads was a heavier weight than I’d thought. Alistair was still asleep, his golden hair slightly scruffy and spread about him like a short, spiky lion’s mane, and after a few minutes watching him sleep, I was restless. I eased out of his arms, threw on a pair of smalls and a linen dress, and slipped out of the tent in the early morning light.

My brother and his love were sitting around the fire, and I snuggled up between them without a word, leeching heat and enjoying the fact of their continued existence. Aedan put his arm around me, and Zevran squeezed my hand as I sighed in contentment.

Both men were clean, and I assumed they’d made good use of my shower head. I hoped that they’d passed it on, after, and that I’d get it back eventually, but for now, I couldn’t even bring myself to care. We sat that way as Aedan made the morning porridge, serving all of us Warden-sized bowls, and we ate together companionably. Leliana, clean but looking somewhat rumpled, came into the camp, blushing slightly as she saw the three of us looking at her. She hurried into her tent, as I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.

“Where do you suppose she slept last night?” I asked.

Zevran smirked. “Unfortunate you don’t know any ridiculously awesome, talented rogues who could tell you that information.”

I looked at him in surprise. “You know?” A slight widening of his smug smile was his only response. “Who?” He continued to grin without answering. “Come on, share, mio fratello. No fair keeping gossip this good to yourself!”

He didn’t answer. Aedan was laughing at my irritation, and I knew I had even less chance of getting him to tell me if he thought it was funnier to keep it from me.

“Don’t make me go wake Alistair. I’ll make him hold you down while I tickle you.”

Zevran paled slightly, even as he objected, “But I am not ticklish, cara. It won’t work.”

I examined his face, carefully neutral expression poorly hiding his concern. “Uh huh, sure you’re not.” I crooked my fingers in his direction, threatening his ribs, and he shifted uncomfortably.

“You’re wasting your time. A Crow does not crack under torture. A Crow-“

I darted my hand in, finding his vulnerable waist through the thin cloth of his tunic, and squeezed; he squealed in a less-than-manly fashion, and Aedan and I cracked up completely.

“Fine, fine. I shall give you a hint and see if you can guess. Fereldan, noble, attractive in a broody sort of way.”

I considered, but then shook my head, gesturing for him to tell me more.

“Dark hair. Strong arms.”

I thought about it for a few minutes, and realised I needed one other piece of information. “Male or female?” Please don’t let it be Cauthrien…please don’t let it be Cauthrien…

“Male.”

It couldn’t have been, but… “Nate?” I whispered.

“Got it on the first guess, sis.” Aedan chuckled. “She’s spent a lot of time with our tormented, noble archer.”

Thinking about it, I realised in game, the two never would have met. I had no way of knowing if they’d hit it off. “Really? How didn’t I know this?”

“Well, she wasn’t exactly advertising it, but you’ve also been a bit…distracted, I suppose, with your own romantic issues.” Aedan stuck his tongue out at me.

“I’m not having romantic issues, for possibly the first time since I’ve been in Thedas.”

“What your dearest brother means to say, mia sorella, is that you’ve perhaps been more focused on your rather…enthusiastic response to wedded bliss.”

“Are you saying I’ve been having too much sex to notice?”

Aedan put his hands over his ears and started singing to himself to prevent hearing me talk about sex, and I elbowed him in the side as I rolled my eyes.

Zevran just laughed. “Well, cara mia, you know now you’ve missed out on one budding relationship, but have you noticed who else hasn’t been alone in his tent lately?”

“Conrad, obviously.”

“Well, yes, but no one knew about that, bella donna, even me. No, I mean the other Orlesian Warden.”

“Riordan?” I was startled; in game he’d seemed so…focused. Single-minded, almost.

“No, no. The more distinguished looking gentleman with the two-handed hammer.”

“Dougal?” I was stunned. “Dougal’s got a girl – wait, is it a girl? – in his tent?”

“It’s a girl, alright.” Aedan’s scowl transformed to a smirk.

“I object - I’d have to call her a woman, yes? No mere girl has a magical bosom like hers.” Zevran outlined a curvy female shape with his hands, and Aedan choked.

I stared at him, open-mouthed in shock. “Wynne?” I was shouting, until Aedan gestured to keep quiet. “Wynne and Dougal?” I whispered. “But that’s so…”

“Perfect?” Aedan suggested. “At least, I think it is. She said it isn’t serious, just two people who’ve been through a lot giving the other companionship. He’s still going back to Orlais when we’re done with the clean-up.”

“So she’s having a…fling? I’m sorry, I think you broke my brain.”

“Cara,” Zevran chided. “You should not be so close-minded. They are both adults, yes? And they may have grey hair, but that does not mean they can’t enjoy a little physical pleasure to keep the loneliness at bay. I’d think you would be pleased they found any happiness.”

The more I thought about it, the less weird it seemed, somehow. Zevran was right. “I am. I’m happy for them, if they’re happy with it. I was just shocked, is all. In the game…well, Wynne wasn’t receptive to any of that sort of thing. I’m just surprised.” I wonder if Greagoir knows?

“You’ve changed lots of things, sister.” Aedan kissed my hair as he squeezed me slightly. “All of them for the better.”

I winced as an image flashed through my mind: Duncan, blood pooling around him as Cailan wrenched an axe out of his side. Guessing why I flinched, Aedan hugged me even closer.

“He had a much better end than at Ostagar. I know he wouldn’t regret it – you have to stop blaming yourself.”

“I know, I just…”

“Just nothing.” I hadn’t noticed my husband come out of our tent while we’d talked.

Aedan vacated his spot in favour of sitting by Zev, and Alistair lifted me effortlessly onto his lap as he sat down. “I know no one else will be able to convince you, but personally, I’m quite sure Duncan is at the Maker’s side right now, pleased with how everything worked out, smiling down on all of us.”

Riordan’s voice joined the conversation from somewhere behind me. “I agree.” He stepped around Alistair and settled across from us. “Mourn him, grieve, miss him like I will, but don’t take the heroism out of how he died by taking credit for his choices.”

I flushed, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

Alistair pulled me to him, and I turned my head and let a tear fall that I’d been holding in since the subject had changed. I felt ridiculous, but saw only honest concern when I glanced up at everyone watching me.

Riordan smiled. “No more apologies.”

I nodded, overcome by the support of everyone around me. I briefly wondered where I’d have been had I never come to Thedas, and the image of myself sitting alone in front of a computer screen rolled past. I put it out of my mind gladly. No time for that. I am not going back.

Just then, the others started filtering out of their tents, and we all got busy serving breakfast to those who hadn’t eaten yet. Leliana avoided eye contact, and somehow Wynne managed to emerge from Dougal’s tent without drawing a comment. Or everyone but me already knew, and no comment is needed…We knew a summons would be forthcoming for the pyres, and began getting ready as soon as everyone had eaten.

I wanted to talk to Leli – and Wynne, for that matter – but in the bustle, there was no opportunity. I resolved to find the both of them after the service. Instead, I quickly dressed in the set of armour not currently soaked in darkspawn blood before rejoining the group. Everyone, it seemed, had had a chance to get cleaned up; even Oghren had at least rinsed off the worst of the gore. It seemed his good hygiene had become a bit more voluntary – requiring a lot less drunken force-bathing – since visiting Felsi, and I smiled. Everyone’s armour had been cleaned and polished courtesy of some of Cailan’s servants, except those of us who wore leather; we wore our spare sets. At least for Leli and me, someone had come to take our dirty sets and see if they could be salvaged. We all wore our tabards, Wardens and companions alike, and it made me sad thinking of when Duncan had presented them to us back in Orzammar.

Bel returned my showerhead to me, and I tucked it into my bag before we left.

Once everyone was ready, we went together to Cailan’s command tent, where he was giving out instructions to the various battalion captains. We waited until he was done, and he turned to us finally, clasping forearms with most of our group in the strange handshake apparently common in Thedas, kissed hands of the few women ostentatiously, and then he accompanied us to where the pyres had been laid.

There were actually several pyres, and I didn’t even want to count them; each had dozens of bodies, covered in blankets, sheets, cloaks, or whatever other shroud could be scrounged up to serve. There was simply no way to have individual pyres for that number of people, and the bodies were too badly tainted to allow the families to claim them for private pyres. I felt sorry for the families left behind without so much as a chance to say goodbye.

There was a separate pyre for the handful of nobles who’d perished when the darkspawn ambushed our camp. I didn’t know any of them, fortunately, but that didn’t make it any less tragic.

There was one pyre with only a single body – Duncan’s. As befitted the hero who (supposedly) ended the Blight, he was laid out, his armour repaired, his body cleaned, his beard and hair trimmed, looking much as he had in life. His weapons were at his sides, his arms crossed over his chest in a sick parody of his usual greeting bow.

I wanted to look away; I couldn’t separate the mental image of him dead in my arms from his life-like corpse waiting for a pyre to be lit. But I wouldn’t disrespect him by avoiding the reality of his death. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and forced myself to stand straight and hold still. Alistair squeezed my hand on one side, Cailan on the other, and I tried to remind myself that it wasn’t my fault, and that I wasn’t alone to deal with my grief.

There were hundreds assembled for the service, all the nobility spread out around our group, the common soldiers, dwarves, mages, and templars behind them; a small dais had been erected so everyone would be able to see. Irving had offered the services of a small group of mages who could amplify what was said, and to the Grand Cleric’s dismay, Cailan had graciously accepted before she’d had any chance to decline; as a result, everyone would be able to hear the service as well.

The Revered Mother giving the service, old and wizened even for her senior position, slowly climbed the dais, and the murmuring and shifting around me died off as everyone gave her their attention. I was surprised it wasn’t the Grand Cleric, but as she began to speak in a strong, clear voice, I decided I was glad; this was much preferable to listening to the whiny, superior tone of that old hag.

She began with several verses from the Chant of Light, listing off their sources with each verse; a few of them I recognised from their game codex, but some I couldn’t recall. Most of what she said washed over me without even registering, as I let my eyes travel over the bodies of so many who’d died to keep Ferelden safe. She spoke of the horrors of the Blight, through the dogma of the Canticle of Threnodies, and I couldn’t listen.

A few verses, however, stood out, and I felt my grief pour out through my tears as I tried to remain stoic.
Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.
From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.
Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.
In my arms lies Eternity.
-Andraste 14:11
The Light shall lead her safely
Through the paths of this world, and into the next.
For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.
As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,
She should see fire and go towards Light.
The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,
And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker
Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword.
-Transfigurations 10:1
My Maker, know my heart
Take from me a life of sorrow
Lift me from a world of pain
Judge me worthy of Your endless pride

My Creator, judge me whole:
Find me well within Your grace
Touch me with fire that I be cleansed
Tell me I have sung to Your approval

O Maker, hear my cry:
Seat me by Your side in death
Make me one within Your glory
And let the world once more see Your favor

For You are the fire at the heart of the world
And comfort is only Yours to give.
-Transfigurations 12:3-12:6
Draw your last breath, my friends,
Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky.
Rest at the Maker's right hand,
And be Forgiven.
-Trials 1:16
I listened as she spoke, and wished I knew if she was right. Was it possible? Was there a Maker, and was he merciful, like she said? Supposedly he’d turned his back on the world, but somehow, were Duncan and the hundreds of others sitting at the Maker’s side, drinking heavenly wine, never again to know suffering? I wished I could believe, wished it with all my heart, and decided that my wish would have to serve in place of the faith I’d never known, hadn’t been raised to understand. I hoped my prayers, such as they were, would reach Duncan, my parents, and the Maker himself, and that those I loved, those I owed for my life, were out of the reach of the grief I felt.

Half-way through I gave up, turning to Alistair and pressing myself against his unforgiving dragonbone armour as I cried; he held me, several of his own tears joining mine cascading down to mix into the mud at our feet.

Finally she finished, and sniffling, I pulled myself together and turned to watch as Cailan deliberately climbed the steps, bowing low to the Revered Mother as she stepped aside. He looked out at the crowd for several silent moments, and I wondered if his nerves had gotten to him, or if he was frozen up there, unable to speak.

Finally he cleared his throat. “Fereldans,” he started, “dwarves of Orzammar, elves of the Dales: we are gathered here today not to grieve the loss of so many dedicated, incredible fighters, though we do, indeed grieve; not to mourn our losses and lick our wounds, though we do those things as well. No, we are here not in sorrow, but in celebration. Today we celebrate the lives of every man and woman here who stood up and said ‘I will not go quietly,’ and instead chose to fight. We celebrate the strength, the determination, the will and the prowess that make us who we are: fighters. Warriors. Allies.

“Today, we celebrate that mages, templars, elves, dwarves, and humans, for the first time in hundreds of years, if ever, learned to work together, to build trust, to accept each other’s strengths and protect weaknesses. We celebrate the first alliances that may actually last the test of time and stand us in good stead when next the world needs them.

“We celebrate our differences, and our ability to overcome them in the face of a common cause. We celebrate breaking the horde, stopping the Blight, and ending a dire threat to all of Thedas, without outside intervention.

“We celebrate the lives of those we lost – those brave souls who are now resting at the Maker’s side – and their families, who will need our help to survive those losses and face the future.

“We celebrate the Grey Wardens, who dedicate their lives, and take these same risks day in and day out, to protect Thedas from evil. We celebrate the Warden-Commander, Duncan, my friend and mentor, who gave his life to ensure that others may live. We celebrate their duty, and ours, so that none might be forgotten.

“Today, though we do so through tear-filled eyes and heavy hearts, we celebrate victory. And today we show the world that we will not, we will never be broken; not by darkspawn, not by politics and civil war, not by foreign despots or our own, dangerous doubts. Today, Ferelden extends the hand of friendship to the Dalish and to Orzammar, and we ask them to stand beside us as we celebrate the future they fought with us to procure.

“For Victory. For Ferelden!”

The roar of the crowd behind us, repeating Cailan’s last words, was ear-splitting, the enthusiasm hard to shake. His speech was intensely emotional, for me and for the rest of us who’d fought so hard, for so long; caught between laughing and crying, I was passed around from person to person and embraced by equally overcome friends. Leliana sniffled and offered me a handkerchief, which I took gratefully. I even ended up hugging Oghren, who pinched my ass and earned himself a head slap from an irritated yet bemused Aedan.

When Cailan returned to stand with us, I launched myself at him and pulled him into a hug; I could feel him shaking slightly, whether due to nerves, repressed grief, or sheer relief I couldn’t have guessed.

He turned back and gestured; several soldiers, who stood at the ready with torches lit, slowly approached the pyres and touched the flames to the dry wood. The crowd watched silently as the flames whooshed and caught, rising high into the afternoon sky.

The last two pyres, the nobles’ and Duncan’s, had yet to be lit. Cailan stepped forward and accepted a torch from a nearby soldier; he gestured to Alistair to do the same. Alistair put his hand on Aedan’s shoulder, and the two stepped forward together to accept a second one. All set, Cailan bowed and carefully lit the pyre holding the handful of nobles, while the new Warden-Commanders did the same for Duncan’s. Tears streamed down all three faces, mirroring my own sadness as I bid a last farewell to the man who, had I the choice, I’d have chosen as a father.

The pyres would burn for hours, I knew, in order to reduce the bodies to ash; some of the mages had been volunteered to use their magic to augment the pyre’s flames if necessary, since it had been difficult to find enough dry wood. We all watched for a while, then slowly, the crowd began to disburse. I could hear captains calling out orders to march, and the main body of the army returned to their tasks, breaking camp, patrolling the perimeter, or whatever other activities a standing army did when the battle was over.

I turned to Cailan. “Good speech, your Majesty.” I grinned as he huffed at me. “No, seriously. That was amazing. I’m impressed that you’re so eloquent.” My teasing grin died, and I reached out and squeezed his hand. “Duncan would have been proud.”

I’d have said more, but we were interrupted by a breathless scout bursting through a last clump of soldiers and nearly bowling over Riordan in his rush to reach Cailan.

“Your Majesty! My Lord!” he called to Cailan and, apparently, Aedan.

“It’s been a long day,” Cailan complained tiredly. “It’s not exactly good timing, Scout…er…”

“Ruald, your Majesty.” He bowed, belatedly, face flushed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, but this can’t wait. There’s a group of soldiers at the south perimeter, your Majesty.”

“I imagine there are several, Ruald. This is important because…?”

“They aren’t ours! At least, they weren’t fighting in the battle. They’ve just come from the Wilds, they said. They say…they say they’re from Highever.”

There and Back - Chapter 112 Edited version

elyssacousland — Tue, 19 Jul 2016 02:33:57 GMT

This is the version of this chapter with no descriptive sex. If you prefer to read the naughty bits, please see my previous post.

Chapter One Hundred Twelve: *No Regrets

“If you wanted to run your hands through my hair, my dear Leliana, you had only to ask, yes?”

Leliana sprang away from the blond elf like someone had hit her with a taser. It might have been hilarious, if it hadn’t been so shocking and serious and horrific a moment before. As it was, not one of us didn’t gasp, twitch, jump, fall over, scream, or otherwise express horror, which rapidly transmuted into humour, as the reality of Zevran’s survival sank in.

Aedan leapt out of my arms, lunging towards the supine elf; oblivious and uncaring who was watching, he showered kisses on the former Crow’s face before burying his own face in Zev’s neck and sobbing unrestrainedly. Zev reached up awkwardly to rub his back, murmuring endearments in Antivan.

Alistair, behind me, barked out a semi-hysterical laugh, and that broke the ice for everyone else; the entire group began talking and laughing, too happy to even speculate on the strange events that had brought us to this point.

As for me, I froze, kneeling where Aedan had left me moments before, staring open-mouthed at the assassin in shock, mind reeling. How? It isn’t possible, unless… Something occurred to me, and I narrowed my eyes, turning my head to examine my companions who were all celebrating in obvious relief. So Morrigan sticking around wasn’t for my benefit, after all, as she’d claimed. Who? Someone did that damned ritual, but who?

Zevran blinked at me over Aedan’s head, confused as well. “I rather thought I’d wake up dead…or not at all, as the case may be.”

I frowned. “You’ve used that line already.” He’s genuinely surprised to be alive…strike Zevran and Aedan off the list of suspects. Aedan was far too afraid he’d died to be the one. I looked around some more.

Alistair wasn’t on the list in the first place – I knew where he’d slept every night since we’d gotten back together, and it wasn’t with Morrigan. Anders was deep in an embrace with Solona, a blissful look on his face as he held her like he’d never let go, and I crossed him off my mental list as well. A quick look at Jowan, Wulf, and the dwarves showed obvious shock, and I decided none of them were likely suspects either. Sten looked pissed off, and I wondered if he regretted his hasty decision to become a Warden and submit himself to a magical ritual given that it looked like no one had had to die to end the Blight in the end. Loghain also looked angry, but I ascribed other reasons for his anger – probably just pissed off he’ll have to go to Orlais after all. I didn’t think he would have agreed to the ritual to save his own life, much less the rest of us, without serious convincing – and Aedan, likely the only one possibly capable of it, obviously hadn’t even tried.

Riordan looked weary, but also alarmed, and the look on Dougal’s face mirrored that almost exactly; it was clear they were both concerned that somehow the Blight hadn’t been ended, and the Archdemon was going to reform. I pondered the idea, briefly; it was, I supposed, just possible that Avernus’ altered Joining potion was somehow ineffective, didn’t render quite the right sort of taint to effectively kill an Archdemon, and Zevran – and the rest of us who’d recently Joined – weren’t technically Grey Wardens.

But then my gaze fell on Conrad. The normally confidant redhead stood, looking around and avoiding eye contact, neither obviously shocked or worried, and his usually pale face was flushed red as he rubbed nervously at one wrist with the other hand. My eyes narrowed further as I stared at him, noticing for the first time how his shoulders slumped as though he carried the weight of the world on them – or was really, inexplicably sad. Son of a…

I stood on shaky legs, and Alistair held out one arm, clearly expecting me to leap at him. I reached out and squeezed his hand, quickly, before slipping around him to walk up to Conrad. I stared at him for a moment, considering the unhappiness that was apparent.

“You,” I began, and he winced. “You did the ritual. With Morrigan.”

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and then, finally, met my eyes. “Yes.”

I was stunned at the sheer despair on his face, and I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my head on his shoulder.

“Thank you. You saved him. Thank you.” I babbled a few more thanks as he slowly, awkwardly, put his arms around me to pat my back. I could feel him shudder, and I went up on tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Do you love her?”

He didn’t answer out loud, but I could feel the tremulous bob that indicated he’d nodded.

“You’ll see her again, I promise. And your son will be fine. I will help you find her, I swear.”

He nodded again, and his arms tightened once before releasing me. I stepped back and eased backwards into Alistair’s embrace to find Riordan, Dougal, and Loghain watching me with varying degrees of skepticism and concern. I almost laughed – they were giving me the look they should be levelling at Conrad – but managed to refrain. The other Grey Wardens, newer to the Order as they were, seemed to be missing the seriousness of what was happening, and for Conrad’s sake, I was relieved.

I tilted my head, and Alistair and I stepped sideways slightly, the three worried Wardens following us and Conrad reluctantly accompanying them. Riordan looked almost angry, and I sighed. “Look, there was a ritual, okay? One that meant the Warden who killed the Archdemon wouldn’t die. Duncan knew about it and had decided against allowing it. I thought he’d told you, told everyone...” Their unimpressed expressions made it clear that wasn’t true. “But obviously not. Apparently Conrad didn’t ask permission.” I noticed Conrad playing with a wooden ring on his finger and smiled softly.

Their unconvinced expressions spurred Alistair to defend me. “It’s true. Aedan, Duncan, and I all knew. Duncan forbade us from going through with it. I assume either he thought no one else would do it without permission, or he spoke with Morrigan and believed she’d accepted his refusal on everyone’s behalf.”

“And just what are the consequences of this ritual, young lady?”

Dougal took his age way too seriously, I decided, and I suppressed a giggle. “Nothing you need to worry about, old man.” He looked startled, but even Riordan twitched a smile. Loghain glared at me as though he’d be able to divine why they were asking me by burning a hole through my forehead with his gaze alone.

“No, seriously. I trust Morrigan. I don’t know what exactly she plans, but I know the Blight is over, the Archdemon is truly dead, and she intends nothing bad for Ferelden or Thedas as a whole. Honestly, it will be okay.” I purposely avoided mentioning a baby. I want Conrad to be the one to find her, not one of the others.

Conrad agreed with me, confirming what I’d said, also not mentioning the child, I noticed. Apparently satisfied, Riordan finally allowed us to return to the celebration with the others. Someone had helped Zevran up, and while his arm remained over Aedan’s shoulder for support, he looked remarkably hale for a dead man. I kissed my brother’s cheek, and squeezed Zevran gently with murmured thanks for keeping Aedan safe. I exchanged hugs with everyone, more than slightly relieved that the little family I had come to care about were safe – with one exception, whose absence made my heart ache.

I finally got the opportunity to curl myself into Alistair’s arms – he threw off his gauntlets, lifted me up and kissed me aggressively, plundering my mouth and making me fervently wish we were somewhere more appropriate, and cleaner. When he released me, I buried my face in his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“Duncan died saving me. I’m sorry.”

He pulled away from me slightly, and I looked away, reluctant to see the pain or censure I expected in his eyes. He lifted my chin with one hand, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Duncan was never coming back, Sierra. Not after this. He would have been devastated to survive this battle. There is nothing to apologise for – not to me, or anyone else. He would have been happy to die to save your life, and I’m nothing but grateful that not only did he succeed, he won’t have to go die in the Deep Roads alone.”

“So…I did him a favour?” I sniffled, caught between relief the battle was over, and remorse that Duncan hadn’t survived somehow against all odds.

Alistair chuckled. “I suppose so, yes. That’s how he’d see it, anyway.” He kissed my forehead softly. “I love you. And it isn’t your fault he died. Knowing you, you were off trying to save the world, or something, when he saved you.”

“I…” I blushed. “In other news, I did learn how to control that crazy smite that kills mages, more or less. The one I used at Ostagar.”

“I’d like to see that!”

“You find me a handful of mages you want dead, and I’d be happy to show you.”

“Think you could teach me?” He looked sort of…enthused.

“Honestly, no.” He frowned, and I hurried to explain. “Nothing personal. I just don’t think your magic resistance is high enough. I’m pretty sure mine is barely high enough. I was holding five emissaries’ mana at the time. Pretty sure my brain was trying to drip out my nose, actually. It was awful.”

He touched my face gently. “That explains the blood then. We should have Wynne or Anders check you out, just in case.”

I nodded. “Once the injured are taken care of, I promise.”

By this time, I saw a group of mages and a bunch of the Tranquil, supervised by Irving, approach Riordan. After some discussion, a subdued Conrad, Sten, and Jowan were left with them as they began the laborious process of draining and preserving the Archdemon’s blood; once that was done, Sten had already started talking about how we could get the most scale and bone from the beast. A Warden had to do most of the work, given the risk of becoming tainted during handling, and Sten looked positively enthusiastic about the prospect.

The rest of us escorted a limping Zevran to the infirmary area, where Wynne was already bossing around a group of mages and a handful of others who were helping bandage, distribute potions and poultices, and generally aiding their efforts. She did a brief once-over on Zevran, healed an ankle he’d apparently sprained in his sprint to the Archdemon, and declared him healthy. She checked me over as well, clucking at the dried blood on my face, but found nothing of concern. Anders’ mana was too depleted to aid much, and he’d apparently already taken almost a toxic dose of Lyrium while trying to save a soldier who’d lost an arm to an ogre, so he stayed with us as we all sought out Cailan and the rest of the command structure.

We found the King near the infirmary, shouting orders and making arrangements to have camps set, guards patrolling to watch for any lingering darkspawn, the infirmary moved to cleaner, drier ground, and had already arranged with Irving to have the mages begin scouring the ground saturated with darkspawn blood with the hottest fire they could manage. Sereda had some dwarves with some sort of medieval flamethrowers aiding them; I wasn’t sure it would work, given the sheer quantity of taint I could still feel around us, but figured it was better than doing nothing.

We left Cailan there, after assurances were given on both sides that everyone was fine; Cailan hugged both Alistair and I, and my husband flushed, embarrassed but also pleased by the acknowledgement in front of the nobles gathered nearby. All of the Wardens, and our one remaining non-Warden companion, Leliana, finally headed to the new camp, assembling in the tent that would eventually be Cailan’s. Our gear had been brought with his tent, so we had all our packs available when we arrived. We shed our armour and most of us collapsed in a rough circle on the ground, exhausted; despite how tired we were, though, I felt a bit wired and restless, and it seemed the rest of the group felt the same.

We spent a while sharing stories from the battle; apparently Alistair’s group had taken down the first general, while Aedan’s group spent their time killing ogres as they searched the battlefield for the second. I told them about the ambush from the north, the emissary hunting party, and the general who’d come after me, as well as Duncan’s heroic end.

The group was quiet after that, contemplating the brave, selfless man we’d known as a commander and a friend. Alistair just held me, his sorrow muted by foreknowledge and his desire not to increase my guilt. No matter how many reassurances I received, no matter that no one else blamed me, I knew I’d never stop feeling guilty for Duncan’s death. It might not have made sense, given that his survival, in many ways, would have been a worse outcome, but I doubted that when I closed my eyes, I’d ever stop seeing his sightless gaze and the pool of blood spreading around us, as I held his lifeless body in my arms.

Aedan, however, was more concerned about other details. “They were really hunting you?”

I nodded. “I’m guessing they had several groups, or maybe the Archdemon could just pay attention to any group that started having unexplained losses? But it was like they figured out what was going on, and so any time I stole mana or killed an emissary, the rest were just waiting to attack the space they assumed I must be standing in.”

“Why in the void would the Archdemon care to hunt a particular noblewoman, out of every other soldier on the field?” Loghain’s brows furrowed in confusion, and I sighed as those all around me burst out in defense of my skill and value as a target for the darkspawn.

Aedan halted it with a gesture. “A story for another time. For now, I’d suggest we rest.”

We all agreed, and finally scattered to our own tents. The battle had taken a full twenty-four hours, and I felt every one of those hours as a separate clump of grit in my eyes, which were struggling to stay open. It was warm, with the spring sunshine pouring down on the camp, and we didn’t even unpack our bedrolls, not wanting to contaminate them, instead laying out some blankets and collapsing on top fully clothed. Alistair kissed me sleepily, and then we both passed out.

I woke some time later, after the most dreamless sleep I’d had since becoming a Grey Warden. Alistair was curled up around me like a protective mabari, and I grinned to myself at the image. I had no desire to get up – cleaning my armour could wait, and I didn’t want to see anyone else, really. With the possible exception of my brother, but given the earlier events, I didn’t imagine anyone except Zev would be seeing him anytime soon.

So I laid in a tiny space, surrounded by the man I loved, and tried to come to terms with everything that had happened.

The Archdemon was dead.
So was Duncan.
Zevran had survived.
Morrigan was pregnant, and in a relationship with Conrad, of all people.
I was married, a princess, and lived in Thedas. I hadn’t been back on Earth in months, and had no intention of going back again, ever, if I could manage it.

In a little over a year, my life had changed drastically, but almost all of it was for the better, and I spent a few minutes just being thankful for my life. I snuggled up closer to Alistair, and my movement must have woken him; I felt his arm snake around my waist, pulling me closer to him, and a sleepy, confused kiss was pressed to the back of my head.

“Eugh,” Alistair complained, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t kiss me until we manage a bath, if I were you.”

He pulled me, rolling me onto my back and, leaning over me, pressed a soft kiss to my lips, drawing it out and leaving me chasing after him for more as he pulled away. “We need to have that bath soon, then.” I giggled, and he rested his forehead against mine with a smile. “You okay?”

I nodded and smiled back. “I will be.”

We spent the early evening helping with organization – carrying the wounded, retrieving bodies for the pyres, chopping wood – whatever was needed. The feeling of the taint around us was heavy, but I could sense no darkspawn, and the mages had already begun incinerating the darkspawn corpses left after the battle and scouring the ground with fire. The Dalish had already withdrawn, promising to search both the Brecilian forest and some of the Korcari Wilds for pockets of darkspawn in their travels. Apparently while I’d been sleeping, Cailan granted Lanaya permission to establish an elvish settlement near Ostagar in any untainted land they could find. They had agreed to take in any of their city brethren who managed to make their way there, also.

I was proud and impressed – perhaps, for once, Thedas would have a true leader determined to at least try to change the fates of the elves, because Maker knew, neither Maric, nor Anora, nor Loghain, nor any of the other nations had even made gestures towards that end. The settlement also meant we had a reliable meeting place should the Grey Wardens need to speak to the elves, and I wondered if Aedan would consider establishing an outpost there as well. The Dalish took their dead and wounded with them, and I knew their Keepers would be as capable as the army’s healers in keeping their wounded alive.

The dwarves had also gathered – they hadn’t yet left, but they were planning to march as soon as the worst of their wounded had been stabilized. They promised to scout the countryside to our southwest for darkspawn remnants as they travelled, as well. Gorim had already bid Sereda goodbye; from what I’d seen, the Queen had a former casteless, now military caste man at her side, and I wondered whether he was her second, or her future husband. She’d kept a professional distance from Gorim, and he’d returned the favour; it was sad, but it seemed they’d both come to terms with their separation.

I received another small shipment of sovereigns from Dallard, and a letter admitting he was able to charge far more for the bola launchers than he’d initially thought, and thus felt obligated to share the extra proceeds. I was impressed with his honesty, and hoped I’d get the chance to thank him in person sometime.

Our mages were put to work in the infirmary, Anders and Wynne working on the most severely wounded with a couple of other Circle mages, while Jowan and Solona spent their time healing more minor wounds and lending mana when the others needed help for something particularly difficult. Sten and Conrad had assisted Irving and the handful of Tranquil in storing and preserving the Archdemon blood; they had placed it into individual glass bottles, which apparently Duncan had arranged to be brought, and packed into crates. We had a dozen of the small wooden boxes full, each holding enough Archdemon blood for an entire nation for the next several hundred years. Apparently Aedan intended to ship half of it to Weisshaupt – we expected a delegation from the First Warden in Denerim before long, given Duncan’s declaration of independence – and keep the other six in Ferelden.

“Not that we won’t share it if they run out,” he’d assured Riordan, “but to use as leverage against backlash for splitting off from them.”

Sten had begun the delicate process of stripping the scales and hide from the carcass. I was surprised again by his skill – he’d done the same to the Living Andraste, but I couldn’t imagine why a warrior of his skill was also trained in such a craft. He explained that, in Seheron, the children assigned to become warriors initially learned to fight while hunting – wild cats, bears, wolves, some large reptiles he didn’t have a word in the common tongue for – and that bringing home their skins was a sign of their prowess, allowing them to advance in the ranks.

Riordan informed us that, as the hide would need to be tanned and cured immediately if we didn’t want it to rot, it was expected that the entirety of it would be used for armour and weapons for local Grey Wardens. I briefly wondered if Paider could be convinced to create me another set of armour out of Archdemon leather. Probably not.

Late that night we all gathered again from whatever tasks we’d been doing, settling around the fire at our camp. Leliana was off somewhere, which left everyone present a Grey Warden, and Aedan and Riordan took the opportunity to discuss some things with the group of us.

“We will tell everyone that Duncan perished while killing the Archdemon.” Riordan levelled a glare at Conrad. “We know that isn’t true, however the means by which Zevran survived, as happy as we are about the outcome, will have unfortunate consequences should the Order become aware of them. As it is, I expect the First Warden to rage and shout about you leaving the Order, but nothing will come of it. Should they learn that Zevran survived killing an Archdemon, I fully expect they would call on any alliances necessary to grant them the forces required to come and apprehend him for ‘testing’, whether they had his Majesty’s permission to enter the country or not.”

Zevran smirked. “Let them come.”

Aedan smacked his arm. “Let’s not start a war, shall we, love? Besides, aren’t you supposed to be laying low?” I was pleased to see the two rogues had not left each other’s sides since Zevran had slain the dragon, constantly touching and sharing glances that conveyed their relief and gratitude. I smiled and snuggled into Alistair’s arms, feeling pleasantly warm despite the cool air of the spring night.

“Not to mention what they may do to Conrad for agreeing to the ritual, and Morrigan, should they ever find her. As I was saying, the official story will be that Duncan killed the Archdemon. King Cailan has agreed to back this story; very few outside of ourselves know it to be untrue, and those we are aware of have already been contacted and agreed to maintain our secrecy to prevent a civil war within the Grey Wardens.”

“They’re going to figure it out,” Anders complained. “Someone will have noticed, someone we didn’t realise. They’re not stupid, and rumours will get out.”

“They may question what happened,” Dougal allowed, “however with several senior Wardens and King Cailan telling the same story, they will have no proof. They cannot march against what will become a hostile nation based on rumour.”

“They’re not stupid,” Riordan agreed, “but they are also confidant in their knowledge. They know that a Grey Warden must die to end the Blight, and may not question it if they know Duncan was the only Warden to perish.”

I was nervous about the plan, but given how much else we were going to be hiding from Weisshaupt – my Joining, my unusual knowledge of the Blight, my invisibility against the darkspawn – it was just one more thing to add to the list.

“They’re going to want his body,” Dougal informed us.

“Absolutely not.” Alistair didn’t even hesitate. “He was a Fereldan Warden, a hero, and he’s the one who separated us from Weisshaupt.”

“He’d be entombed with the others who ended Blights, like Garahel. Are you sure?”

“We are.” Aedan jumped in to back Alistair. “While I don’t disagree that he was a hero worthy of that honour, we neither need them testing his body and somehow determining he didn’t actually kill the Archdemon, nor do we want them claiming him in some way. We ended this Blight without them, and the victory should remain ours. Sending him back is just opening the door to submitting to their authority again.”

“He was born in Highever,” Alistair added. “I think it would be nice if we built some sort of monument there, and sprinkled his ashes.”

Riordan nodded. “Fine. I believe that is all-“

“One more thing.” Conrad finally spoke, though he wilted slightly under Dougal’s disapproving stare. “I would like to formally request that I remain assigned to Ferelden, now that the Blight is over.”

Everyone stopped and gaped at him except me; I knew he wanted to remain nearby in case I could actually come through with helping him see Morrigan again.

“Are you certain?” Dougal looked concerned. “This split from Weisshaupt…you may not ever be able to return to Jader.”

“I will miss a few friends there, it’s true, but I have no real reason to stay. No family, no life outside the Wardens. I think the split is the right thing to do; I’m more than a little sick of Weisshaupt’s politics. I’m proud of what we accomplished here, and I’d like to help continue to rebuild.”

Aedan examined his face critically for a few moments, then turned to Alistair with a raised eyebrow. My husband shrugged and nodded. “Can you accept less senior Wardens as your Commanders? Aedan and I were left in charge by Duncan, and we need to know you’d accept our authority.”

“I have no trouble with that. I’m not looking for advancement within the Order; I’m perfectly happy not having to manage reams of paperwork and dealing with reluctant recruits.” He grinned.

Aedan chuckled. “Welcome to the Fereldan Grey Wardens, Conrad.”

The meeting broke up after that; I still hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Leliana, but assumed she was helping Wynne in the infirmary or something similar. Pyres for those who’d perished were planned for the following day, most of the soldiers finally able to rest since the bodies had been collected and the wood chopped; in our camp, which was at the centre of the army’s larger encampment, it was finally completely quiet.

I stepped into Alistair’s arms when we got into our tent, turning my face up for a kiss, before looking unhappily at the blankets spread on the ground, the bedrolls still off to the side. “This sucks.”

“I like our tent,” he objected.

“Not that. I want to be clean. I want to be able to use our bedrolls and not worry about getting them tainted or covered in blood. I want to be able to touch you!”

“I have something to show you.” He grinned, leaning down to pick up a bag I’d never seen before, then dragged me out of our tent and across the camp to the command tent. Fumbling about inside, he thumbed on a glow lamp Cailan had borrowed from the Circle, and ushered me inside.

“What’s all this about?” I stopped, confused. In the centre of the pavilion was a camp stool, surrounded on three sides by blankets hung from the crossbeams of the large structure.

“A shower.” Alistair looked immensely pleased with himself. “With the blankets, nothing else will get wet, and no one will be able to see from outside. As long as we’re quick, the water will soak into the ground and no one will even know we were here by morning. Though if we’re kind, we might want to lend it to everyone else – I’m sure they feel the same.” He wiggled the showerhead at me before placing it on the little stool.

“You made me a shower? When did you even have time to do that?”

“I’m good at sneaking out of chores. Raised by the Chantry, remember? I snuck away from the clean-up when no one was looking.”

I laughed at his impish grin and pressed up against him with a smile. “Remind me to reward your bad behaviour when we’re done here.”

His eyes darkened as he leaned down to kiss me, but I slipped away, pulling the tunic I’d been wearing since we’d shed our armour earlier over my head. “Last one clean loses.”

I quickly shucked the rest of my clothes and bolted for the little makeshift shower stall as Alistair sputtered and began peeling himself out of his clothes. “No fair!” he whined, and I laughed as I began the first wash of several I planned for my thoroughly filthy hair.

He joined me before long, and we spent half an hour splashing and washing, giggling like maniacs as we finally got clean. Even before fighting the Archdemon, it had been difficult with armies around us, and while we’d washed up as best we could, our sex lives had suffered drastically from my need to wash before getting intimate. Not that Alistair was complaining – I was sure he didn’t want to touch me, either, when I was covered in equal parts mud, sweat, and darkspawn blood.

He had me sit on the little stool and helped me wash my hair for the third time before carefully combing some conditioner through my unruly curls with his fingers, and then I let him sit and returned the favour. He was so gorgeous, sitting at my feet, head back, eyes closed in contentment, water streaking down his incredible body, that I just couldn’t wait anymore. I rinsed the soap out of his hair, then turned off the water and slid wetly into his lap, kissing him passionately. We made love slowly, reverently, releasing all our pent-up grief, relief, and desire in a primal celebration of life.

When I could breathe normally again, I pressed a soft kiss to a bite mark I’d left on his shoulder, and his breath hitched.

“I’m sorry.”

He chuckled. “You need to stop apologising for things that aren’t your fault.” He rubbed the sore spot ruefully. “Though I’m going to milk this for all it’s worth, just so you know.”

I laughed and swatted him, then groaned as I climbed to my feet, still exhausted after the battle. “In private, I should hope.”

“Well, yeah – it would be a shame to survive the battle with the Archdemon only to be killed by your brother for discussing our sex life where he could overhear.”

I raised one eyebrow in mock irritation. “Never mind that - it would be a shame not to have a sex life to discuss, if your wife was displeased by your public bragging.”

He paled. “You wouldn’t.”

“I might.”

His frown morphed into a mischievous grin. “Then I guess I had better show you why you don’t want to do that.”

I threw a linen dress over my head without smalls, and sauntered past him as I collected my things. “Then you’d better hurry, unless you want me to start without you.”

I shrieked in laughter as he made a grab for me, and then darted, laughing, out of the tent, leaving him to get dressed and follow; instead of running back to our own tent, however, I ran smack-dab into my brother. He looked at me, confused; his expression cleared up to a mixture of amusement and disgust as I tossed him the shower head.

“Your turn!”

There and Back - Chapter 112 Unedited, NSFW version

elyssacousland — Tue, 19 Jul 2016 02:30:49 GMT

This is the NSFW, smut-included version of this chapter. If you prefer less detail, please see the next post - edited version.

Chapter One Hundred Twelve: *No Regrets

“If you wanted to run your hands through my hair, my dear Leliana, you had only to ask, yes?”

Leliana sprang away from the blond elf like someone had hit her with a taser. It might have been hilarious, if it hadn’t been so shocking and serious and horrific a moment before. As it was, not one of us didn’t gasp, twitch, jump, fall over, scream, or otherwise express horror, which rapidly transmuted into humour, as the reality of Zevran’s survival sank in.

Aedan leapt out of my arms, lunging towards the supine elf; oblivious and uncaring who was watching, he showered kisses on the former Crow’s face before burying his own face in Zev’s neck and sobbing unrestrainedly. Zev reached up awkwardly to rub his back, murmuring endearments in Antivan.

Alistair, behind me, barked out a semi-hysterical laugh, and that broke the ice for everyone else; the entire group began talking and laughing, too happy to even speculate on the strange events that had brought us to this point.

As for me, I froze, kneeling where Aedan had left me moments before, staring open-mouthed at the assassin in shock, mind reeling. How? It isn’t possible, unless… Something occurred to me, and I narrowed my eyes, turning my head to examine my companions who were all celebrating in obvious relief. So Morrigan sticking around wasn’t for my benefit, after all, as she’d claimed. Who? Someone did that damned ritual, but who?

Zevran blinked at me over Aedan’s head, confused as well. “I rather thought I’d wake up dead…or not at all, as the case may be.”

I frowned. “You’ve used that line already.” He’s genuinely surprised to be alive…strike Zevran and Aedan off the list of suspects. Aedan was far too afraid he’d died to be the one. I looked around some more.

Alistair wasn’t on the list in the first place – I knew where he’d slept every night since we’d gotten back together, and it wasn’t with Morrigan. Anders was deep in an embrace with Solona, a blissful look on his face as he held her like he’d never let go, and I crossed him off my mental list as well. A quick look at Jowan, Wulf, and the dwarves showed obvious shock, and I decided none of them were likely suspects either. Sten looked pissed off, and I wondered if he regretted his hasty decision to become a Warden and submit himself to a magical ritual given that it looked like no one had had to die to end the Blight in the end. Loghain also looked angry, but I ascribed other reasons for his anger – probably just pissed off he’ll have to go to Orlais after all. I didn’t think he would have agreed to the ritual to save his own life, much less the rest of us, without serious convincing – and Aedan, likely the only one possibly capable of it, obviously hadn’t even tried.

Riordan looked weary, but also alarmed, and the look on Dougal’s face mirrored that almost exactly; it was clear they were both concerned that somehow the Blight hadn’t been ended, and the Archdemon was going to reform. I pondered the idea, briefly; it was, I supposed, just possible that Avernus’ altered Joining potion was somehow ineffective, didn’t render quite the right sort of taint to effectively kill an Archdemon, and Zevran – and the rest of us who’d recently Joined – weren’t technically Grey Wardens.

But then my gaze fell on Conrad. The normally confidant redhead stood, looking around and avoiding eye contact, neither obviously shocked or worried, and his usually pale face was flushed red as he rubbed nervously at one wrist with the other hand. My eyes narrowed further as I stared at him, noticing for the first time how his shoulders slumped as though he carried the weight of the world on them – or was really, inexplicably sad. Son of a…

I stood on shaky legs, and Alistair held out one arm, clearly expecting me to leap at him. I reached out and squeezed his hand, quickly, before slipping around him to walk up to Conrad. I stared at him for a moment, considering the unhappiness that was apparent.

“You,” I began, and he winced. “You did the ritual. With Morrigan.”

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and then, finally, met my eyes. “Yes.”

I was stunned at the sheer despair on his face, and I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my head on his shoulder.

“Thank you. You saved him. Thank you.” I babbled a few more thanks as he slowly, awkwardly, put his arms around me to pat my back. I could feel him shudder, and I went up on tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Do you love her?”

He didn’t answer out loud, but I could feel the tremulous bob that indicated he’d nodded.

“You’ll see her again, I promise. And your son will be fine. I will help you find her, I swear.”

He nodded again, and his arms tightened once before releasing me. I stepped back and eased backwards into Alistair’s embrace to find Riordan, Dougal, and Loghain watching me with varying degrees of skepticism and concern. I almost laughed – they were giving me the look they should be levelling at Conrad – but managed to refrain. The other Grey Wardens, newer to the Order as they were, seemed to be missing the seriousness of what was happening, and for Conrad’s sake, I was relieved.

I tilted my head, and Alistair and I stepped sideways slightly, the three worried Wardens following us and Conrad reluctantly accompanying them. Riordan looked almost angry, and I sighed. “Look, there was a ritual, okay? One that meant the Warden who killed the Archdemon wouldn’t die. Duncan knew about it and had decided against allowing it. I thought he’d told you, told everyone...” Their unimpressed expressions made it clear that wasn’t true. “But obviously not. Apparently Conrad didn’t ask permission.” I noticed Conrad playing with a wooden ring on his finger and smiled softly.

Their unconvinced expressions spurred Alistair to defend me. “It’s true. Aedan, Duncan, and I all knew. Duncan forbade us from going through with it. I assume either he thought no one else would do it without permission, or he spoke with Morrigan and believed she’d accepted his refusal on everyone’s behalf.”

“And just what are the consequences of this ritual, young lady?”

Dougal took his age way too seriously, I decided, and I surpressed a giggle. “Nothing you need to worry about, old man.” He looked startled, but even Riordan twitched a smile. Loghain glared at me as though he’d be able to divine why they were asking me by burning a hole through my forehead with his gaze alone.

“No, seriously. I trust Morrigan. I don’t know what exactly she plans, but I know the Blight is over, the Archdemon is truly dead, and she intends nothing bad for Ferelden or Thedas as a whole. Honestly, it will be okay.” I purposely avoided mentioning a baby. I want Conrad to be the one to find her, not one of the others.

Conrad agreed with me, confirming what I’d said, also not mentioning the child, I noticed. Apparently satisfied, Riordan finally allowed us to return to the celebration with the others. Someone had helped Zevran up, and while his arm remained over Aedan’s shoulder for support, he looked remarkably hale for a dead man. I kissed my brother’s cheek, and squeezed Zevran gently with murmured thanks for keeping Aedan safe. I exchanged hugs with everyone, more than slightly relieved that the little family I had come to care about were safe – with one exception, whose absence made my heart ache.

I finally got the opportunity to curl myself into Alistair’s arms – he threw off his gauntlets, lifted me up and kissed me aggressively, plundering my mouth and making me fervently wish we were somewhere more appropriate, and cleaner. When he released me, I buried my face in his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“Duncan died saving me. I’m sorry.”

He pulled away from me slightly, and I looked away, reluctant to see the pain or censure I expected in his eyes. He lifted my chin with one hand, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Duncan was never coming back, Sierra. Not after this. He would have been devastated to survive this battle. There is nothing to apologise for – not to me, or anyone else. He would have been happy to die to save your life, and I’m nothing but grateful that not only did he succeed, he won’t have to go die in the Deep Roads alone.”

“So…I did him a favour?” I sniffled, caught between relief the battle was over, and remorse that Duncan hadn’t survived somehow against all odds.

Alistair chuckled. “I suppose so, yes. That’s how he’d see it, anyway.” He kissed my forehead softly. “I love you. And it isn’t your fault he died. Knowing you, you were off trying to save the world, or something, when he saved you.”

“I…” I blushed. “In other news, I did learn how to control that crazy smite that kills mages, more or less. The one I used at Ostagar.”

“I’d like to see that!”

“You find me a handful of mages you want dead, and I’d be happy to show you.”

“Think you could teach me?” He looked sort of…enthused.

“Honestly, no.” He frowned, and I hurried to explain. “Nothing personal. I just don’t think your magic resistance is high enough. I’m pretty sure mine is barely high enough. I was holding five emissaries’ mana at the time. Pretty sure my brain was trying to drip out my nose, actually. It was awful.”

He touched my face gently. “That explains the blood then. We should have Wynne or Anders check you out, just in case.”

I nodded. “Once the injured are taken care of, I promise.”

By this time, I saw a group of mages and a bunch of the Tranquil, supervised by Irving, approach Riordan. After some discussion, a subdued Conrad, Sten, and Jowan were left with them as they began the laborious process of draining and preserving the Archdemon’s blood; once that was done, Sten had already started talking about how we could get the most scale and bone from the beast. A Warden had to do most of the work, given the risk of becoming tainted during handling, and Sten looked positively enthusiastic about the prospect.

The rest of us escorted a limping Zevran to the infirmary area, where Wynne was already bossing around a group of mages and a handful of others who were helping bandage, distribute potions and poultices, and generally aiding their efforts. She did a brief once-over on Zevran, healed an ankle he’d apparently sprained in his sprint to the Archdemon, and declared him healthy. She checked me over as well, clucking at the dried blood on my face, but found nothing of concern. Anders’ mana was too depleted to aid much, and he’d apparently already taken almost a toxic dose of Lyrium while trying to save a soldier who’d lost an arm to an ogre, so he stayed with us as we all sought out Cailan and the rest of the command structure.

We found the King near the infirmary, shouting orders and making arrangements to have camps set, guards patrolling to watch for any lingering darkspawn, the infirmary moved to cleaner, drier ground, and had already arranged with Irving to have the mages begin scouring the ground saturated with darkspawn blood with the hottest fire they could manage. Sereda had some dwarves with some sort of medieval flamethrowers aiding them; I wasn’t sure it would work, given the sheer quantity of taint I could still feel around us, but figured it was better than doing nothing.

We left Cailan there, after assurances were given on both sides that everyone was fine; Cailan hugged both Alistair and I, and my husband flushed, embarrassed but also pleased by the acknowledgement in front of the nobles gathered nearby. All of the Wardens, and our one remaining non-Warden companion, Leliana, finally headed to the new camp, assembling in the tent that would eventually be Cailan’s. Our gear had been brought with his tent, so we had all our packs available when we arrived. We shed our armour and most of us collapsed in a rough circle on the ground, exhausted; despite how tired we were, though, I felt a bit wired and restless, and it seemed the rest of the group felt the same.

We spent a while sharing stories from the battle; apparently Alistair’s group had taken down the first general, while Aedan’s group spent their time killing ogres as they searched the battlefield for the second. I told them about the ambush from the north, the emissary hunting party, and the general who’d come after me, as well as Duncan’s heroic end.

The group was quiet after that, contemplating the brave, selfless man we’d known as a commander and a friend. Alistair just held me, his sorrow muted by foreknowledge and his desire not to increase my guilt. No matter how many reassurances I received, no matter that no one else blamed me, I knew I’d never stop feeling guilty for Duncan’s death. It might not have made sense, given that his survival, in many ways, would have been a worse outcome, but I doubted that when I closed my eyes, I’d ever stop seeing his sightless gaze and the pool of blood spreading around us, as I held his lifeless body in my arms.

Aedan, however, was more concerned about other details. “They were really hunting you?”

I nodded. “I’m guessing they had several groups, or maybe the Archdemon could just pay attention to any group that started having unexplained losses? But it was like they figured out what was going on, and so any time I stole mana or killed an emissary, the rest were just waiting to attack the space they assumed I must be standing in.”

“Why in the void would the Archdemon care to hunt a particular noblewoman, out of every other soldier on the field?” Loghain’s brows furrowed in confusion, and I sighed as those all around me burst out in defense of my skill and value as a target for the darkspawn.

Aedan halted it with a gesture. “A story for another time. For now, I’d suggest we rest.”

We all agreed, and finally scattered to our own tents. The battle had taken a full twenty-four hours, and I felt every one of those hours as a separate clump of grit in my eyes, which were struggling to stay open. It was warm, with the spring sunshine pouring down on the camp, and we didn’t even unpack our bedrolls, not wanting to contaminate them, instead laying out some blankets and collapsing on top fully clothed. Alistair kissed me sleepily, and then we both passed out.

I woke some time later, after the most dreamless sleep I’d had since becoming a Grey Warden. Alistair was curled up around me like a protective mabari, and I grinned to myself at the image. I had no desire to get up – cleaning my armour could wait, and I didn’t want to see anyone else, really. With the possible exception of my brother, but given the earlier events, I didn’t imagine anyone except Zev would be seeing him anytime soon.

So I laid in a tiny space, surrounded by the man I loved, and tried to come to terms with everything that had happened.

The Archdemon was dead.
So was Duncan.
Zevran had survived.
Morrigan was pregnant, and in a relationship with Conrad, of all people.
I was married, a princess, and lived in Thedas. I hadn’t been back on Earth in months, and had no intention of going back again, ever, if I could manage it.

In a little over a year, my life had changed drastically, but almost all of it was for the better, and I spent a few minutes just being thankful for my life. I snuggled up closer to Alistair, and my movement must have woken him; I felt his arm snake around my waist, pulling me closer to him, and a sleepy, confused kiss was pressed to the back of my head.

“Eugh,” Alistair complained, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t kiss me until we manage a bath, if I were you.”

He pulled me, rolling me onto my back and, leaning over me, pressed a soft kiss to my lips, drawing it out and leaving me chasing after him for more as he pulled away. “We need to have that bath soon, then.” I giggled, and he rested his forehead against mine with a smile. “You okay?”

I nodded and smiled back. “I will be.”

We spent the early evening helping with organization – carrying the wounded, retrieving bodies for the pyres, chopping wood – whatever was needed. The feeling of the taint around us was heavy, but I could sense no darkspawn, and the mages had already begun incinerating the darkspawn corpses left after the battle and scouring the ground with fire. The Dalish had already withdrawn, promising to search both the Brecilian forest and some of the Korcari Wilds for pockets of darkspawn in their travels. Apparently while I’d been sleeping, Cailan granted Lanaya permission to establish an elvish settlement near Ostagar in any untainted land they could find. They had agreed to take in any of their city brethren who managed to make their way there, also.

I was proud and impressed – perhaps, for once, Thedas would have a true leader determined to at least try to change the fates of the elves, because Maker knew, neither Maric, nor Anora, nor Loghain, nor any of the other nations had even made gestures towards that end. The settlement also meant we had a reliable meeting place should the Grey Wardens need to speak to the elves, and I wondered if Aedan would consider establishing an outpost there as well. The Dalish took their dead and wounded with them, and I knew their Keepers would be as capable as the army’s healers in keeping their wounded alive.

The dwarves had also gathered – they hadn’t yet left, but they were planning to march as soon as the worst of their wounded had been stabilized. They promised to scout the countryside to our southwest for darkspawn remnants as they travelled, as well. Gorim had already bid Sereda goodbye; from what I’d seen, the Queen had a former casteless, now military caste man at her side, and I wondered whether he was her second, or her future husband. She’d kept a professional distance from Gorim, and he’d returned the favour; it was sad, but it seemed they’d both come to terms with their separation.

I received another small shipment of sovereigns from Dallard, and a letter admitting he was able to charge far more for the bola launchers than he’d initially thought, and thus felt obligated to share the extra proceeds. I was impressed with his honesty, and hoped I’d get the chance to thank him in person sometime.

Our mages were put to work in the infirmary, Anders and Wynne working on the most severely wounded with a couple of other Circle mages, while Jowan and Solona spent their time healing more minor wounds and lending mana when the others needed help for something particularly difficult. Sten and Conrad had assisted Irving and the handful of Tranquil in storing and preserving the Archdemon blood; they had placed it into individual glass bottles, which apparently Duncan had arranged to be brought, and packed into crates. We had a dozen of the small wooden boxes full, each holding enough Archdemon blood for an entire nation for the next several hundred years. Apparently Aedan intended to ship half of it to Weisshaupt – we expected a delegation from the First Warden in Denerim before long, given Duncan’s declaration of independence – and keep the other six in Ferelden.

“Not that we won’t share it if they run out,” he’d assured Riordan, “but to use as leverage against backlash for splitting off from them.”

Sten had begun the delicate process of stripping the scales and hide from the carcass. I was surprised again by his skill – he’d done the same to the Living Andraste, but I couldn’t imagine why a warrior of his skill was also trained in such a craft. He explained that, in Seheron, the children assigned to become warriors initially learned to fight while hunting – wild cats, bears, wolves, some large reptiles he didn’t have a word in the common tongue for – and that bringing home their skins was a sign of their prowess, allowing them to advance in the ranks.

Riordan informed us that, as the hide would need to be tanned and cured immediately if we didn’t want it to rot, it was expected that the entirety of it would be used for armour and weapons for local Grey Wardens. I briefly wondered if Paider could be convinced to create me another set of armour out of Archdemon leather. Probably not.

Late that night we all gathered again from whatever tasks we’d been doing, settling around the fire at our camp. Leliana was off somewhere, which left everyone present a Grey Warden, and Aedan and Riordan took the opportunity to discuss some things with the group of us.

“We will tell everyone that Duncan perished while killing the Archdemon.” Riordan levelled a glare at Conrad. “We know that isn’t true, however the means by which Zevran survived, as happy as we are about the outcome, will have unfortunate consequences should the Order become aware of them. As it is, I expect the First Warden to rage and shout about you leaving the Order, but nothing will come of it. Should they learn that Zevran survived killing an Archdemon, I fully expect they would call on any alliances necessary to grant them the forces required to come and apprehend him for ‘testing’, whether they had his Majesty’s permission to enter the country or not.”

Zevran smirked. “Let them come.”

Aedan smacked his arm. “Let’s not start a war, shall we, love? Besides, aren’t you supposed to be laying low?” I was pleased to see the two rogues had not left each other’s sides since Zevran had slain the dragon, constantly touching and sharing glances that conveyed their relief and gratitude. I smiled and snuggled into Alistair’s arms, feeling pleasantly warm despite the cool air of the spring night.

“Not to mention what they may do to Conrad for agreeing to the ritual, and Morrigan, should they ever find her. As I was saying, the official story will be that Duncan killed the Archdemon. King Cailan has agreed to back this story; very few outside of ourselves know it to be untrue, and those we are aware of have already been contacted and agreed to maintain our secrecy to prevent a civil war within the Grey Wardens.”

“They’re going to figure it out,” Anders complained. “Someone will have noticed, someone we didn’t realise. They’re not stupid, and rumours will get out.”

“They may question what happened,” Dougal allowed, “however with several senior Wardens and King Cailan telling the same story, they will have no proof. They cannot march against what will become a hostile nation based on rumour.”

“They’re not stupid,” Riordan agreed, “but they are also confidant in their knowledge. They know that a Grey Warden must die to end the Blight, and may not question it if they know Duncan was the only Warden to perish.”

I was nervous about the plan, but given how much else we were going to be hiding from Weisshaupt – my Joining, my unusual knowledge of the Blight, my invisibility against the darkspawn – it was just one more thing to add to the list.

“They’re going to want his body,” Dougal informed us.

“Absolutely not.” Alistair didn’t even hesitate. “He was a Fereldan Warden, a hero, and he’s the one who separated us from Weisshaupt.”

“He’d be entombed with the others who ended Blights, like Garahel. Are you sure?”

“We are.” Aedan jumped in to back Alistair. “While I don’t disagree that he was a hero worthy of that honour, we neither need them testing his body and somehow determining he didn’t actually kill the Archdemon, nor do we want them claiming him in some way. We ended this Blight without them, and the victory should remain ours. Sending him back is just opening the door to submitting to their authority again.”

“He was born in Highever,” Alistair added. “I think it would be nice if we built some sort of monument there, and sprinkled his ashes.”

Riordan nodded. “Fine. I believe that is all-“

“One more thing.” Conrad finally spoke, though he wilted slightly under Dougal’s disapproving stare. “I would like to formally request that I remain assigned to Ferelden, now that the Blight is over.”

Everyone stopped and gaped at him except me; I knew he wanted to remain nearby in case I could actually come through with helping him see Morrigan again.

“Are you certain?” Dougal looked concerned. “This split from Weisshaupt…you may not ever be able to return to Jader.”

“I will miss a few friends there, it’s true, but I have no real reason to stay. No family, no life outside the Wardens. I think the split is the right thing to do; I’m more than a little sick of Weisshaupt’s politics. I’m proud of what we accomplished here, and I’d like to help continue to rebuild.”

Aedan examined his face critically for a few moments, then turned to Alistair with a raised eyebrow. My husband shrugged and nodded. “Can you accept less senior Wardens as your Commanders? Aedan and I were left in charge by Duncan, and we need to know you’d accept our authority.”

“I have no trouble with that. I’m not looking for advancement within the Order; I’m perfectly happy not having to manage reams of paperwork and dealing with reluctant recruits.” He grinned.

Aedan chuckled. “Welcome to the Fereldan Grey Wardens, Conrad.”

The meeting broke up after that; I still hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Leliana, but assumed she was helping Wynne in the infirmary or something similar. Pyres for those who’d perished were planned for the following day, most of the soldiers finally able to rest since the bodies had been collected and the wood chopped; in our camp, which was at the centre of the army’s larger encampment, it was finally completely quiet.

I stepped into Alistair’s arms when we got into our tent, turning my face up for a kiss, before looking unhappily at the blankets spread on the ground, the bedrolls still off to the side. “This sucks.”

“I like our tent,” he objected.

“Not that. I want to be clean. I want to be able to use our bedrolls and not worry about getting them tainted or covered in blood. I want to be able to touch you!”

“I have something to show you.” He grinned, leaning down to pick up a bag I’d never seen before, then dragged me out of our tent and across the camp to the command tent. Fumbling about inside, he thumbed on a glow lamp Cailan had borrowed from the Circle, and ushered me inside.

“What’s all this about?” I stopped, confused. In the centre of the pavilion was a camp stool, surrounded on three sides by blankets hung from the crossbeams of the large structure.

“A shower.” Alistair looked immensely pleased with himself. “With the blankets, nothing else will get wet, and no one will be able to see from outside. As long as we’re quick, the water will soak into the ground and no one will even know we were here by morning. Though if we’re kind, we might want to lend it to everyone else – I’m sure they feel the same.” He wiggled the showerhead at me before placing it on the little stool.

“You made me a shower? When did you even have time to do that?”

“I’m good at sneaking out of chores. Raised by the Chantry, remember? I snuck away from the clean-up when no one was looking.”

I laughed at his impish grin and pressed up against him with a smile. “Remind me to reward your bad behaviour when we’re done here.”

His eyes darkened as he leaned down to kiss me, but I slipped away, pulling the tunic I’d been wearing since we’d shed our armour earlier over my head. “Last one clean loses.”

I quickly shucked the rest of my clothes and bolted for the little makeshift shower stall as Alistair sputtered and began peeling himself out of his clothes. “No fair!” he whined, and I laughed as I began the first wash of several I planned for my thoroughly filthy hair.

He joined me before long, and we spent half an hour splashing and washing, giggling like maniacs as we finally got clean. Even before fighting the Archdemon, it had been difficult with armies around us, and while we’d washed up as best we could, our sex lives had suffered drastically from my need to wash before getting intimate. Not that Alistair was complaining – I was sure he didn’t want to touch me, either, when I was covered in equal parts mud, sweat, and darkspawn blood.

He had me sit on the little stool and helped me wash my hair for the third time before carefully combing some conditioner through my unruly curls with his fingers, and then I let him sit and returned the favour. He was so gorgeous, sitting at my feet, head back, eyes closed in contentment, water streaking down his incredible body, that I just couldn’t wait anymore. I rinsed the soap out of his hair, then turned off the water and sat down to straddle his lap, my breasts pressing up against his chest, and kissed him passionately.

It took only a moment of shock before his arms were around me, holding my slippery wet body to his, plundering my mouth with demanding kisses, and I could feel the evidence of his sudden arousal between my thighs. I adjusted slightly until I could feel him at my entrance, hard and hot, and I slowly slid down his length with a moan.

His hands went to my hips and he lifted me back up, only to drop me back down as he thrust his hips, burying himself inside me with a groan. “I love you, Sierra. Oh, Maker, this feels so good.”

I dragged my lips down his neck, scratching my chin against his stubble as I sucked on his tender skin. He gasped, as I nipped at his pulse point, and drove himself into me again, and then I felt his finger on my pearl, gentle but insistent. I was already close, my relief, exhaustion, love and arousal all mixing into a heady combination, and I cried out; he pulled my face forward until my mouth pressed against his shoulder with a hissed warning, and I took the hint and bit him, stifling any further noise.

It took maybe three more thrusts until I was shuddering in completion, trying not to bite hard enough to draw blood as pleasure sizzled down every nerve ending, and Alistair followed me over the precipice a moment later as my muscles massaged his length inside me. His fingers dug into my hips as he thrust erratically, groaning softly in my ear.

I felt him soften and slip out of me as I sat collapsed against his chest, catching my breath. When I could breathe normally again, I pressed a soft kiss to the bite mark I’d left on his shoulder, and his breath hitched.

“I’m sorry.”

He chuckled. “You need to stop apologising for things that aren’t your fault.” He rubbed the sore spot ruefully. “Though I’m going to milk this for all it’s worth, just so you know.”

I laughed and swatted him, then groaned as I climbed to my feet, my hips sore. “In private, I should hope.”

“Well, yeah – it would be a shame to survive the battle with the Archdemon only to be killed by your brother for discussing our sex life where he could overhear.”

I raised one eyebrow in mock irritation. “Never mind that - it would be a shame not to have a sex life to discuss, if your wife was displeased by your public bragging.”

He paled. “You wouldn’t.”

“I might.”

His frown morphed into a mischievous grin. “Then I guess I had better show you why you don’t want to do that.”

I threw a linen dress over my head without smalls, and sauntered past him as I collected my things. “Then you’d better hurry, unless you want me to start without you.”

I shrieked in laughter as he made a grab for me, and then darted, laughing, out of the tent, leaving him to get dressed and follow; instead of running back to our own tent, however, I ran smack-dab into my brother. He looked at me, confused; his expression cleared up to a mixture of amusement and disgust as I tossed him the shower head.

“Your turn!”

There and Back - Chapter 111

elyssacousland — Tue, 05 Jul 2016 04:00:37 GMT

Chapter One Hundred Eleven: Overload

My nose started pouring blood as I picked up the mana of the fourth emissary. My vision went blurry, my balance was off, and I started to sway unsteadily on my feet. One more, Sierra. Just one more. Not that I had any idea what I’d do with the general once the emissaries were subdued, but I could only take it a step at a time.

I spent a moment trying to adjust to the flood of mana, removing my helmet and gripping my nose to stem the bleeding, before reaching out once again. I was so distracted by my headache as I stripped the last emissary that I didn’t feel the change, didn’t notice what was happening with the darkspawn around me. I was completely oblivious to the approach of the general, who’d clearly been watching the horde move around me and had deduced my location.

I looked up just in time to see an axe descending towards me, with not enough time to dodge, and I closed my eyes in resignation. I’m going to die on this God-forsaken hill. I’m sorry, Alistair. But the blow never came, and I opened my eyes again as a sword deflected the axe away from me.

I was roughly shoved aside by an armoured figure, and fell on my ass – between the pressure in my head and the push, I completely lost my balance. When I managed to regain my equilibrium, I looked up to see Duncan standing over me, engaging the now-enraged general. And then the rest of the noise from the battlefield filtered in to my awareness, and I looked around in a daze to see Riordan beheading one of the emissaries whose mana I held, while Conrad and Loghain stood back to back fighting a group of hurlocks. Further away, a group of soldiers fought their way through the horde to reach Cailan, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

The battalion had arrived, and brought a group of Wardens with it.

I scrambled to my feet, finding the daggers which I’d dropped in my fall, the pressure in my head now more bearable as the emissaries were slowly eliminated; I pivoted back and grabbed the mana from the darkspawn-from-hell Duncan was fighting just in time to see the Warden Commander freeze as the general shouted in his face, something unintelligible and unspeakably dark.

He just stood there, looking confused, as the general’s axe was embedded deeply in his side.

I shouted, my voice lost in the clashing of swords and the battle cries around me; it felt like slow motion, like something out of a cheesy action movie, as Duncan slowly crumpled to his knees, then began tipping backwards to the ground.

I felt the pressure in my head flow out around me before I knew what I was doing, and the remaining three emissaries and the general were knocked off their feet by a powerful blast wave that completely missed Riordan, Loghain, and the rest of the people around me. The emissaries landed in pools of their own blood, none of them rising again, but the general rolled over, clearly dazed but alive. He was bleeding from the mouth and one eye was badly damaged, the socket deformed, the black eyeball drooping, but he slowly struggled up to his knees, trying to stand.

I screeched angrily, gripping my daggers and preparing to lunge at it, when a great sword descended in my peripheral vision and the general’s head flew a couple of feet, bouncing a little ways down the hill; arterial spray of darkspawn blood arced out and covered me as I looked over to see Cailan standing, chest heaving with exertion, leaning on his blade for support.

I turned back and dropped to my knees at Duncan’s side; Cailan did the same, and helped me roll him over to rest against my lap. I wasn’t surprised to see his vacant stare, blood trickling out of his slack mouth, but I had hoped he could have survived. I cried and wrapped my arms around his ruined torso as Cailan pulled the heavy axe out of his wound and dropped it. With shaky hands, I closed the eyes of the man I wished had been my father, then buried my face against his shoulder and broke down completely.

I sobbed for what could have been only a minute, or might have been an hour – I couldn’t honestly say one way or the other – until finally Cailan and Riordan approached me. Cailan pulled me into his arms as Riordan gently, reverently shifted the body I held back to the ground. The Warden pulled off his own cloak and threw it over the corpse, before setting the two swords Duncan had fought with across his chest.

Cailan lifted me to my feet, and without letting go, half-dragged, half-carried me towards the camp behind us. The army that had arrived had mopped up the rest of the darkspawn that ambushed us, and the dead were being painstakingly laid out for later cremation; I didn’t really register any of it as Cailan lowered me to the ground in what I realised had been set up as a makeshift infirmary. All around me, warriors screamed or moaned in pain from horrific injuries, while the remaining mages, Irving and a couple of others, did their best to tend the wounds.

Irving came over immediately, kneeling in front of me and asking me something; the question didn’t even penetrate the haze I was surrounded by. All I could think of was that Duncan had died because of me. And now someone else would have to die to slay the Archdemon, someone who could have been saved, maybe my brother, or my husband, or one of the others I’d come to love like family over the last year, and it was my fault.

I twitched, startled, when Irving’s magic aura swelled and he ran healing magic over me; it didn’t last long before the exhausted-looking mage stood and spoke briefly with Cailan. The words ‘shock’ and ‘comfort’ penetrated the mist around me, and then Irving was gone. I felt Cailan settle to the ground behind me, pulling me back into his arms, as he started whispering comforting nonsense in my ear.

I finally stirred when Riordan knelt in front of me again, offering me the daggers I had dropped when I had seen Duncan fall.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Riordan had to lean in to hear me over the noise around us. “Pardon?”

“It’s my fault,” I elaborated. “I’m sorry.”

“Sierra-“ Cailan began, but Riordan silenced him with a gesture.

I continued sadly, “I got him killed, and now you’re going to die.”

Riordan sighed and took my hand. “It’s no one’s fault but the darkspawn’s, and the one to blame is dead. You are not responsible for his death, any more than you will be responsible for mine. And, my Lady, I was always going to die in this fight. I do not wish to return to Orlais to await my Calling, and we both know I don’t have much time. As for Duncan…you thought of him as a father, and he thought of you as a daughter. I cannot imagine any way he would rather die than to protect his little girl. I know he is at the Maker’s side, and I guarantee he does not harbour any regrets about how he died.” His voice cracked and wavered on the last words.

Surrounded by screaming, injured men, my brother-in-law and my honourary father’s brother-at-arms held me while I cried, mourning the bravest, best man I’d ever known.

Finally Cailan was called away, and it forced me to start pulling myself together. Riordan, looking as depressed as I felt, offered me a scrap of cloth to dry my eyes and blow my nose, then gave me a hand up.

Something occurred to me as I looked at his sympathetic face. “Wait, what are you guys doing here? You’re supposed to be taking down the Archdemon.”

Riordan nodded. “So far, it hasn’t come close enough for the mages or bolas to get a hit. We wondered if it might wait until the generals were both dead to come nearer. We were wandering more-or-less aimlessly, killing ogres and the like, looking for the general, until we heard you’d been attacked. Duncan,” he swallowed, his voice cracking slightly, “immediately knew it would take the intelligence of a general to pull off such a feint. And we were the closest Wardens, so we came to ensure the general was killed.”

My head snapped up, glancing around at the other Wardens where they were aiding the injured to reach the infirmary. “Then you need to get back out there!” I hissed. “What if the Archdemon lands while you’re here? Don’t wait for me. I’ll be fine. Go, go, go!”

I made a shooing gesture, and Riordan tried to chuckle, almost succeeding. “Going, your Highness. Right away.”

I didn’t waste any time herding the four of them together. They spent a few moments checking their light packs for supplies, and I ran to get them a few extra potions from the camp. As they were all shouldering their bags, I felt a foreboding, sickening presence, and looked up in time to see the Archdemon fly over. Its scales reflected almost blood-red in the torchlight; it let out an ear-shattering roar, presumably angry that its general had been killed, and I shuddered. It circled once, then winged off in the direction of the main body of the horde.

“Hurry!” I demanded; Loghain began muttering at me in irritation, even as the three Orlesians laughed at my antics. I began ushering them down the hill, when a voice rang out behind me.

“Hold!”

I sighed and turned; the Wardens all bowed to Cailan, while I just scowled at the delay. His news made my mood even worse.

Cailan ignored my glare. “Riordan, the surviving nobles and this battalion will accompany you to the rest of the army. You’re going to need all the help you can get, and we need a new command post – we’re too exposed on this hill. Please be ready to march in ten minutes.”

Riordan nodded as Cailan turned to walk away, and I heard Loghain rumble some sort of complaint, quickly quashed by the senior Warden. I followed the blond monarch as he headed back up the hill.

“Cailan…”

He turned. “I know, Sierra. But they’re not going to make it to the Archdemon, as it stands. We’ve had news of another group breaking off from the main body of the horde and heading towards us. We need to engage them before they can over-run the encampment – we need to protect the injured and get the Wardens where they need to go. They’ll never make it through with that group between them and the Archdemon.”

“If they down the Archdemon before Riordan gets there…”

“It’ll be fine. There are almost a dozen more Wardens down there somewhere.”

I shot him a horrified look, and then realised from his confused frown that Duncan hadn’t been as honest as he had implied. Not that he ever fully said, he just let me assume… I struggled to stifle the irritation that flared. Don’t speak ill of the dead.

“Cailan, the Warden who kills the Archdemon…he dies. Alistair is down there. Aedan is down there! If Riordan doesn’t get there in time…”

Cailan’s puzzled look morphed to one of pure horror. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought Duncan had!” Stupid Grey Warden secrets. “Cailan – we need to hurry.”

He nodded and raced off towards the milling nobles, shouting orders and demanding greater speed. I grabbed my own pack from the camp, my Earth items tucked in the bottom, rations and potions on top for ease of use. I realised I’d left my daggers somewhere, and headed back to the infirmary to find them lying amidst the injured.

The infirmary had gotten worse, since I’d walked away; there were men with missing limbs, head wounds, blood and guts spilling from ruined bodies, and I almost threw up as I retrieved my daggers and hurried away with alacrity. Greagoir approached me as I rushed, and I took a deep breath, hoping not to throw up on his boots.

“I saw what you did, with those emissaries.”

I sighed. “I lost the men you left with me. I had to do something.”

“Impressive work. One day I hope you will consent to teaching us that tactic.”

“Honestly, and I’m not trying to be rude, but I doubt it will work. I’m pretty sure I almost died trying to hold that much mana. Anyone with even slightly lesser resistance…well, it either wouldn’t have worked, or they’d have gone down in a blaze of glory.”

He nodded, disappointed. “Well, anyway, well done.”

“Tell me Cullen survived?”

He glanced over at a group of identical, helmeted templars in matching armour; I wasn’t sure anyone would be able to tell them apart, but Greagoir nodded. “He’s fine.”

“Good. Don’t forget Kirkwall.”

He nodded again, and I excused myself to go back and sit beside Riordan, who was slumped on the hill, just waiting.

“Hey, where’s Morrigan, anyway?”

“Flying around somewhere. We wanted her to locate the Archdemon when it got close so she could direct us to it.”

“Ah.” I considered. “But…does she know you’re over here?”

“I do.”

I jumped and swivelled to see the raven-haired witch smirking at me from behind.

“The beast has made two passes over parts of the army. There have been some burns, but none severe. I believe the bola launchers and Circle sheep are moving into position now. I suggest we move, immediately, if you still wish to arrive before it is downed.”

“We have to wait for the King,” I whined.

She scoffed. “He does not command the Grey Wardens, last I checked.”

“No,” Riordan responded before Loghain’s red-face could turn into an angry outburst, “but we have agreed to work together as a cohesive force. And especially now, without our Commander, we really don’t have much choice.”

“He’s not going to listen to a bunch of Orlesian Wardens,” Conrad opined, “never mind Loghain. And if the horde has moved as he says, he’s not wrong. We need him to have a hope of getting there.”

She sniffed, but I was surprised by the lack of response. She turned to me, taking in my tear-stained face. “Duncan perished?”

I just nodded, still too miserable, too guilty to talk about it.

“I am sorry.” She hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “I shall go check on Aedan and Alistair.”

Riordan agreed, and she shifted back into a blackbird, taking off to sail effortlessly over the horde. I knew that checking on the others was her way of helping me in my grief, and I truly appreciated it. I briefly wished I’d had the presence of mind to give her one last hug, but I knew she wouldn’t want it anyway.

Finally, Cailan had the battalion ready to move. He put me in the middle with the other Wardens and himself, directing those at the front to move as quickly as possible to engage the horde, and hopefully allow the four Wardens to slip through in the chaos.

I’d never done a forced march; it was much different than the rather casual walking through the Bannorn I had become accustomed to over the previous year, and I was grateful for all the training and travelling we had done. Earth Sierra could never have kept up. We caught sight of the forerunners of the horde before long, and then we came across a last hill before the plain on which the rest of the army fought. Cailan halted us at the top of the hill, hoping to use the geography to our advantage, and even Loghain mumbled reluctant praise at the idea. The battalion got into formation, the single mage not left with the infirmary wagons began casting glyphs down the hill in front of us, and the soldiers drew their weapons, waiting expectantly. It took only a few minutes before we were fighting again.

These darkspawn fought with much less cohesion than the previous group we’d faced, proof that the generals were what provided the organization, and the battle wore on with fewer casualties than we had experienced earlier. The Wardens engaged an ogre and took it down, and then I lost track of them for a while.

We’d apparently thinned the ranks of emissaries, and I came across only two; I stole their mana, and wasn’t attacked. The hunting was apparently over, for now.

We finally killed the last of the offshoot from the horde; the Wardens were ahead of us, moving fast towards the rest of the army. The battalion, moving as quickly as possible, followed in their wake, leaving the less wounded men to tend to those who needed aid.

We marched across ground that had already been fought for, and it squelched under my feet with each step, human and darkspawn blood mingling into a reddish-black ooze. There was no breeze, and the metallic tang of blood in the air was so strong that I could almost taste it. I wonder if anything will ever grow here again. With a brief glance at the battalion’s remaining mages, I wondered how thin the veil had become with all the violence and bloodshed.

I felt the Archdemon before I saw it, spinning in place to see it flying low, looking to do a strafing run over the entire battalion. I screamed out an order to run and hide, which was echoed by the four Grey Wardens; I had to give the troops credit – they followed orders. The men scattered, some dodging into the trees, others ducking behind rocks. Those that couldn’t get out completely dove to the ground, hoping to roll out of the way, or cowered under raised shields.

I took one quick look behind me to see Cailan being hustled away by one of his advisors before throwing myself down behind a small boulder with a handful of others. I heard screaming, as the Archdemon flew over – clearly not everyone had gotten to safety. I held my arm over my face as the wind whipped around me, stirred by the powerful flapping of the dragon’s wings, then ran out to help once the beast was out of range.

Only a dozen or so soldiers had been injured, most of those with non-life-threatening burns only. A few would have significant scarring – they screamed, trying not to touch the skin where it had been melted by spirit fire, or whatever those purple flames were. Again, the less injured helped the more severe back towards the makeshift infirmary. I hoped Irving was good with burns.

Abandoning formation, Cailan demanded that the remaining members of the battalion separate and make their way to the ongoing battle in smaller groups, hoping to avoid repeat performances; the Archdemon flew overhead once, then I lost it in the dim pre-dawn sky. The battalion edged forward through trees and uneven terrain, sliding down the hill the darkspawn had just climbed.

As we reached the plain, we heard the Archdemon roar over the distant army, and then a horrific screech. Squinting in the dim light, I saw one of the beast’s wings stiffen as it flew, and it faltered briefly before managing to catch itself mid-fall and rise again. The mages! A glancing blow, but they’re ready for it. The next time it tried to strafe the army, the co-ordination was better. Both wings slowed and one again froze, I assumed due to the mages’ combined frost spells, and then something impacted on the damaged wing. The bolas worked even better than I thought! The beast screamed, part of the wing shattered, and we all watched in disbelief as the Archdemon crashed heavily to the ground.

Riordan and the other Grey Wardens with him took off at a run, me and Cailan close at their heels with the rest of the battalion following along. We encountered a few darkspawn still fighting remnants of the army, and the Grey Wardens cut through them like a hot knife through butter. The survivors who weren’t too badly injured joined us as we ran, and the battalion’s numbers swelled again the closer we got.

As we finally approached, I could hear the Archdemon still roaring, followed by the crackle of flames; magic sizzled and swelled, mostly Circle magic from the feel, and I guessed the group of mages who’d helped ground the dragon were now trying to weaken it for the Grey Wardens who were hopefully fighting it. I could feel other magic, though, as well – darkspawn magic, not like the general, but I guessed there were at least a handful of emissaries casting. I put on a burst of speed, hoping to get close enough to interrupt them in whatever they were working on; I thought I could replicate what I’d done after the general had slain Duncan, now that I’d seen myself doing it again with more understanding under my belt.

Finally getting close enough to see, it was clear that the tactics we’d drilled for two months had been very effective. Each battalion was a cohesive unit, fighting groups of darkspawn that streamed towards the Archdemon. The mages split their time between slowing and damaging the ogres and the larger clumps of darkspawn, and throwing spells to weaken the Archdemon. The archers rained down death on the remnants of the horde, while a handful with more powerful crossbows took aim at the Archdemon itself. And distantly, I could see tiny figures swarming around the feet of the creature, dodging teeth and claws, scrambling away when it started breathing fire.

I raced towards the emissaries with the Grey Wardens pacing me, but just as I came into range to disrupt their spellcasting, the ground underneath my feet began to rumble. I was knocked over, my feet flying out from under me, and landed awkwardly on my face and one shoulder with a scream. I could hear the crunching and moaning of armoured figures hitting the ground around me, and guessed that all of us were down.

When the earth finally quit heaving, I slowly climbed to my feet, only to gape in shock. We’d made it to within a couple hundred feet of the Archdemon, but between us and it, a massive ravine had opened up, splitting the ground in front of us. There was a canyon, at least twenty feet deep and fifteen feet wide, with sheer walls and sharp rubble at the bottom, dividing us from the rest of the army.

Cailan immediately began shouting for the soldiers to form up, sending scouts out, half south and half north, to find a way around; Riordan paced beside the cleft, and I wondered if he was trying to decide if he could jump it, or climb. A few dwarves raced back to the woods we’d left behind, talking about cutting trees and building bridges.

I stayed where I was, reaching out angrily to seize the mana of the five emissaries who had cut us off from where my brother and my husband were fighting for their lives. I managed to control the shockwave, letting out the pressure quickly enough that I didn’t feel like my head would explode, and all of the darkspawn mages crumpled to the ground.

And then, nothing left to do, I watched helplessly. I was close enough to see them, now – both Aedan’s and Alistair’s groups were there, trying to take the beast down. It was injured, black ichor oozing out of its shattered wing, one leg deformed – from the crash landing, I assumed – and multiple wounds were sluggishly bleeding. The warriors took turns drawing its attention, the mages weakening, freezing, or electrocuting it, the rogues darting underneath or behind to bleed it further. Even Prince was there, tearing into a hind leg with his teeth. It was a war of attrition, and it looked like the Grey Wardens were winning.

To my surprise, despite its injuries, the Archdemon, receiving the first rays of morning sun, reared back, flapping its one good wing, blowing most of the Grey Wardens back a dozen feet, and sending the few it missed scrambling for cover with an enormous torrent of flames. Aedan went ass over teakettle as he’d dodged a flailing leg just as the wind kicked up, and they all regrouped with him, wearily eyeing the enraged dragon.

The mages and archers in the army, fighting against a renewed assault by the darkspawn, took a moment to switch from their attackers, sending a last volley of spells and arrows at the failing beast. A massive frost spell of some sort paralysed its good wing, while the arrows filled it full of holes, and some sort of lightning explosion impacted against its raised chin, rocking it solidly.

The beast fell, head crashing down to the ground, neck muscles too weak or too damaged to hold it up anymore, and it was clear despite the last gust of flame that the fight was all-but-over. One more significant hit to the neck or head would be the end of it, and the dragon’s position left those important parts vulnerable.

It was time for a killing blow, and Riordan, Dougal, Conrad and Loghain were on the wrong side of a chasm they could not cross.

I saw Aedan square his shoulders, and turn a sorrowful eye on Zevran. I couldn’t hear what was said, of course, but if I knew my brother, he was saying something stupid like ‘go on without me’ or ‘take care of my sister.’ Zev nodded, a strange, jerky head bob; I started to scream, only to see Aedan’s own mabari jump up and tackle him, take a mouthful of the back of Aedan’s armour and drag him down to the ground. Before anyone else could do anything about it, the Antivan was sprinting towards the now quiescent dragon.

I watched, horrified, clinging to Riordan, who groaned softly, as the love of Aedan’s life raised his sword, and as I had seen in the game, thrust it firmly into the back of the neck of the vulnerable, tainted creature.

A blast wave travelled out from the site of the assassin’s sacrifice, and we barely kept to our feet as it swept past us. A few of the soldiers closer to the beast fell, the darkspawn taking momentary advantage, until the brilliant light burst out from the corpse. I had to look away, the intensity agonising, so I couldn’t have said what happened to Zevran. I blinked quickly, only to see the nearest darkspawn actually incinerated by the explosion while the soldiers were left unharmed.

After that, it was a complete rout. Dazed darkspawn were slaughtered without a fight, while others turned tail and tried to flee, and the archers shot them in the back as they ran. On our side of the chasm, all we could do was stand and watch as the army mopped up the stragglers who weren’t successful at escaping. A couple dozen dwarves finally returned dragging two large tree trunks, which were stripped of their branches, lashed together, and dropped over the ravine.

Riordan and the other Wardens were the first to cross, followed by me, Cailan, and the other nobles. The battalion behind me had been instructed to begin gathering more wood for pyres, setting up a larger infirmary, and preparing for the dead and wounded, while the rest of the fighters – warriors and rogues, humans, dwarves and elves, mages and templars, sank to the ground where they stood, exhausted and shaky from the remains of their battle highs.

I found my brother, who was barely being restrained by the combined efforts of Sten and Alistair, as he attempted to break free and go to Zevran. Prince whined pitifully, Alistair tried murmuring reassuring nonsense, while Sten tried appealing to his logic.

“You cannot approach yet, Warden. It helps no one if you perish too.”

I didn’t think either would be successful, given the wracking sobs shaking his frame; I got in front of him and wrapped my arms around his neck, just holding tight until he slumped into my arms and we both sank to the ground, Prince burying his muzzle in the small space between our bellies. I suppressed sobs of my own, trying to be strong for my brother. Trying not to break down demanding forgiveness.

I looked around, catching Alistair’s eye and exchanging a meaningful glance I couldn’t have explained if I tried, but it was full of sadness, regret, but also hope and relief. I’m so lucky. Thank you, Maker, for sparing him. I broke the gaze to check everyone else out while Aedan cried on my shoulder. Nothing like feeling guilty for being relieved.

“Where is Duncan?” someone finally asked, and I just shook my head in sorrow as Riordan hurried to tell everyone he hadn’t made it and that we could discuss the details later.

I caught a last glimpse of Morrigan, who smiled sadly, raised one hand in an unexpected wave, and then shapeshifted into a bird and flew off. Sten had backed off and stood stoically cleaning his blade. The mages huddled together, Anders and Solona clinging to each other, the healer looking positively grey, while Jowan hovered awkwardly. I think they’re all out of mana, if their skin colour is anything to go by. Faren and Bel were bandaging up superficial wounds on each other, then started making the rounds to see who else needed it.

Leliana and Mornwulf spoke quietly, the bard’s eyes suspiciously bright. Oghren stood, holding his hammer sadly, staring at the place where the elf had disappeared.

“Never thought the nug-humper had it in him,” he muttered. “Sod it, this wasn’t supposed to be how it happened.”

“He planned it, I think,” Alistair wondered aloud. “He said something in Antivan to Prince just before he tackled Aedan.” He came over to where I held my brother and offered me a hand; I clung to it, needing the reassurance of contact with my husband.

I nodded, sniffling. “Why else do you think he Joined?” I sighed. “Do you think we can go look for… um…” I didn’t want to say the words ‘body’ or ‘corpse’, though I had no other terms that were more acceptable.

I glanced at Riordan, who had signalled a group of mages before staring at the Archdemon speculatively. “I think it will be safe.” He lowered his voice, speaking to Alistair and me alone. “I’ll make arrangements for the blood to be collected. Why don’t you go look?”

Alistair helped me hoist Aedan, but I still held my brother’s hand as we shuffled towards the dragon’s corpse. I heard clomping behind me, and guessed the other Wardens had come to help look, and pay their respects.

It was several long minutes before we found Zevran, his slight frame crumpled up against the beast’s neck where it couldn’t initially be seen. It took all of us to shift the dragon’s head so we could reach him, and Aedan dropped to his knees beside the assassin without touching him.

“It should have been me,” he moaned, renewed tears streaking down his face. “Why am I always the one left behind?”

I knelt to pull him into my arms again, letting him sob against my neck; Leliana patted my shoulder as she stepped past us, bending down to straighten out the body. Zevran looked unscathed, I noticed vaguely; his face was covered in dirt and darkspawn blood, but he was otherwise unmarked. Leliana eased him into a supine position, crossing his arms across his chest. She went to close his eyes, and then twitched, startled, as she realised they weren’t open. I’d seen enough death to know that was unusual – very few people who died in battle did so with closed eyes. The bard brushed her fingers against his temple, smearing some of the dirt and fondly smoothing back a lock of his hair, when a voice I never thought I would hear again croaked out softly.

“If you wanted to run your hands through my hair, my dear Leliana, you had only to ask, yes?”

There and Back - Chapter 110

elyssacousland — Tue, 21 Jun 2016 03:43:28 GMT

Chapter One Hundred Ten: Engagement

It was a miserable afternoon, overall, I had to admit. I hated not having anything resembling control, I hated feeling useless. I wanted to at least be down there swinging my daggers and using my darkspawn invisibility to help the armies. Cailan clearly felt the same, and the two of us silently commiserated every time our gazes met.

Messengers kept arriving every few minutes, delivering messages before running off with orders. A second wave of darkspawn joined the first, but two more of our battalions had entered the fray as well, and the army was holding its own. The Grey Wardens – we didn’t know which group – had killed a general and a massive collection of ogres. There was no news on casualties among the Wardens. The Archdemon had finally been seen, but flying high over the battle, not close enough even for the combined range of the mages. It was a frightening sight, its hide a malevolent burgundy-purple, purple flames jetting from its mouth as it roared overhead, and then disappeared into the clouds.

The golems had entered the fight, and had decimated a large group of darkspawn moving to flank one of the battalions.

The losses were light as these things go, apparently, but it was still staggering to me. Hundreds of soldiers had perished, and hundreds more would before this was over. It was all I could do not to cower down into a ball and cover my ears, crying and rocking in grief.

The fight carried on into the evening; torches had been lit around the battalions as best as they could, and while our visibility from the cliff was limited, apparently they could see fine down below. The battalions had spread out and lost some of their cohesion, small knots of humans, dwarves, and elves fighting back-to-back against the horde, but they continued to hold their own.

Off to my right, a blaze of green light lit the sky, and an unexpected battalion of soldiers smashed into the side of the horde, taking everyone by surprise and giving those who had been fighting for hours a much-needed break. The nobles on the cliff all started talking at once, no one sure where the battalion had come from.

And then a large, nondescript brown bird landed in the middle of the clearing near the map table, and when the brief flare of magic cleared, one of the Dalish mages Morrigan had taught to shape-change was standing there, wearing minimal clothing – apparently it was difficult to shapeshift while wearing a lot. I recognised the mage as one of those who’d been sent with Teagan to protect Redcliffe.

“What are you doing here?” Cailan practically shouted.

The mage, a strikingly severe looking elf with black hair, turned to him with an arrogant smirk. “If his Majesty does not wish a report, I can certainly leave. I have no doubt my skills can be better used elsewhere.”

Cailan winced and modulated his tone. “That’s not what I meant. You’re from Bann Teagan’s battalion, yes? Why are you all here? You’re supposed to be protecting Redcliffe.”

“The darkspawn never came. We waited, and I scouted very thoroughly. There are no darkspawn anywhere near Redcliffe, your Majesty. Bann Teagan thought we could be more use here than protecting the village from a non-existent threat.”

Cailan and I exchanged worried glances, and the mage became defensive. “Believe me-“

I cut her off. “We are not doubting your skills, trust me. What we’re feeling isn’t disbelief, but worry – we know a large group of darkspawn headed west. If they didn’t go to Redcliffe, where did they go?”

“I couldn’t say.” The mage sniffed. “May I rejoin my battalion?”

Cailan nodded, his mind clearly already having moved on from the arrogant mage. “Send out as many scouts as we can spare. Find those darkspawn.”

“Do you think they’re heading for Denerim?” I wondered aloud.

“Let them,” one of the nobles I didn’t recognise laughed. “We evacuated the city days ago. They can do some damage to buildings, but they’ll find nothing else for them there.”

Cailan, however, was staring at the map as if he could divine the answers using his glare alone. He ignored our speculation, running his fingers over the edges of the parchment thoughtfully. The nobles talked amongst themselves, seemingly hopeful that the darkspawn had simply gotten lost and could be mopped up once the battle was over. I wasn’t convinced, and from his expression, neither was Cailan. He began tracing the route the darkspawn had taken heading west, muttering to himself under his breath.

And then I turned to him in horror, just as his fingers returned to our current location, the cliff overlooking the main part of the battle. The tingling in the back of my mind that indicated the proximity to the horde had changed, not only in size, but direction. Whereas earlier, the entirety of the horde I could sense was to the south, a large group had just appeared on my Grey Warden radar – to the north. There were never supposed to be darkspawn north of the scouting lines!

Cailan had come to the same conclusion, and I saw his skin go ashen as he realised the only way for a group that large to disappear was to separate into small bands, circle around, and come at us from a different direction – a direction we had absolutely no protection from.

Our doom approached us from the north.

The cliff I stood on, amidst few friendly faces and a gaggle of noble fools, was both a benefit and a curse. One the one hand, we could not be attacked from the rear by a second set of darkspawn. However, that came with the drawback of not having anywhere to retreat to. If we were overwhelmed by the darkspawn we had clearly underestimated, we had nowhere to run.

“Cailan, they’re coming,” I whispered, hoping no one would notice. Hoping he’d believe me, even not knowing I was a Grey Warden. Had Duncan told him I had special skills with regards to the darkspawn?

“How long?” He seemed to be taking me seriously, at least.

I considered. They were about as far away as the horde to the south had been when they first engaged. How long would it take darkspawn to cover that distance? “A few minutes. Maybe half an hour if they’re being cautious and scouting ahead.”

Cailan, while pulling on his gauntlets and helm, appeared to be assessing the crowd around us to determine who would be useful in a fight. He cleared his throat loudly, calling attention to himself, and the whispering stopped; the majority had no idea what danger approached us, and had been gossiping while I had been struggling to contain my panic.

Cailan hastily called Sereda, Eamon, Lanaya, Irving, Greagoir, a small handful of nobles, most of whom I didn’t know, and every messenger, mage, and scout we had into a nearby tent, dragging me with him by the arm. Prince followed me, and I gripped one of the spikes on his ridiculous armour lightly, thankful for the metal-lined leather that prevented me from slicing my hand on the sharpened point. He instructed one of those remaining outside to make sure every torch we could find or make was lit, leaving a confused nobleman to carry through with his orders.

“The missing darkspawn who we believed would attack Redcliffe are coming here.” The news was ominous enough to earn a complete hush in the small group that surrounded us.

“How can you be sure?” I didn’t recognise the dwarf, someone Sereda had brought with her to the meeting.

Cailan met my eyes, and I shook my head slightly. “You’ll have to trust me,” he replied, turning away from me. “I need you messengers to go now – run, as fast as you can. Those who can fly, do. The nearest battalion that might be able to render aid is southeast, past the hill.” Two mages and a handful of men in light leathers exited the tent at a run, faces pale and sweaty with fear. Cailan waited for them to be gone, and turned back to the rest. “What forces can we muster until aid arrives? We must hold out until they get here.”

They had a brief discussion – each noble had a handful of men-at-arms, we had a couple of circle mages, a dozen or so templars, a few Dalish archers, and the leaders themselves. I briefly thanked the Maker the nobles were dwarven and Fereldan, not Orlesian – at least most of them knew how to fight, and the Dalish Keepers were all mages, some offensive and some better at healing. All told, we had perhaps a hundred fifty combatants. And I couldn’t tell the size of the approaching horde, but from the reports of the group we expected to head to Redcliffe, we were outnumbered. Badly.

I barely listened to the conversation as Cailan quickly instructed everyone to have their men geared up and pulled into ranks north of the camp. I was trying to assess the size of the horde, and how fast they were moving, and didn’t even notice that the tent had emptied out until Cailan touched my shoulder.

“You alright?”

I jumped, startled, and then nodded with a shaky laugh. “Fantastic. What could possibly go wrong?”

He smirked, then slumped. “I need you to stay up here, Sierra.”

I looked at him, frowning. “What-?”

He interrupted me. “Alistair will kill me if anything happens to you.”

“And Ferelden will be thrust back into a civil war if anything happens to you! We’re going to need every capable fighter we have if we want to survive this, Cailan. I’ll not sit up here and wait for the horde to break through if I can improve our odds any. Besides, the darkspawn can’t see me. I’m in less danger than anyone else on this god-forsaken hill.”

“Why is that, again?”

I rolled my eyes. “Later. Could we focus on the approaching horde?”

He laughed. “Maker, it’s refreshing talking to someone who doesn’t treat me differently than everyone else.”

“Cailan!” I was exasperated. “Now isn’t the time! We need to get out there and get ready. And I need to be at the front lines. I can hopefully give us some warning, and a slight advantage if there are any emissaries. Can you put the templars with me? They might not be strong enough for my abilities individually, but I have an idea.”

Cailan nodded, and we left the tent. I weaved my way through frantic men and women throwing on armour and trying to limber up before the battle, Cailan on my heels, until we reached the area where the few soldiers we had were assembling. The King began shouting orders for mages, archers, and melee fighters, while I knelt in front of the mabari following me.

“Prince, go to Aedan.” He whined, and I rubbed his ear gently. “I know, but where I’m going, you can’t help. I’ll be fine – I’m in more danger with you than without.” I kissed his nose. “Give him that kiss for me, okay?”

He barked and nipped playfully at my fingers, then with a last lick, he brushed against me and took off at a run, nose to the ground looking for Aedan’s scent. I turned with a mournful sigh and approached Greagoir.

“Knight Commander?”

“What?” His irritated voice moderated when he saw me, helmet in hand. Now he has to be polite to me, I suppose. “Yes, my Lady?”

I’d already given him crap for calling me ‘highness’, so I figured I’d have to live with being a lady for a while, anyway. “I was hoping you and your men would stay with me. There are likely to be at least a handful of emissaries with this group, and with your help, we may be able to neutralise them before they get into the fight.”

“Most of my men don’t have your sort of range, my lady. Half of them can only smite someone within their sword’s reach.”

“I know. But have you been working with them, practicing sharing and holding mana, like I taught you?” He nodded. “I propose that I steal the mana of the emissaries, and then hand it off. I can only keep two, or maybe three, silenced completely at a time if I’m on my own, but if I have someone to take the burden from me as I grab them, I can keep going.”

“Can’t you just explode them, like you claimed you did at Ostagar?”

“I’ve never learned to control that. Not enough opportunities for practice! I’d rather we had a plan. Even if you leave a couple of men. Please? I won’t be able to manage alone.”

“And who will be watching the mages?” He had the audacity to glare in the direction of Lanaya and the other Dalish Keepers, and I groaned and face-palmed.

“I think we can trust them not to turn on us in the middle of a life-threatening battle, don’t you? And if one of them becomes an abomination, we’ll just back off and let it kill as many darkspawn as it can before they take it down.”

He grimaced at me, but couldn’t really debate my point. Finally, he nodded and assigned me three of the strongest templars in the bunch. I had them gather around as Greagoir stalked towards Irving with a completely irritated expression.

“Alright, fellas, here’s how it’s going to work. You all know how to hold mana?” They nodded, their helmets interfering with me becoming familiar with them. Creepy. “Any of you manage to form a shield yet?” They shook their heads. “Alright. I’ll pull the mana when they get close enough. Then one at a time, I’ll hand off as much as you can hold. Once the emissaries are disabled, I’ll take it back and use it for shields until we’re all empty again. Alright? And no running off, no engaging in the fight unless we’re directly threatened. I know you are told how much damage an unrestrained mage can do – these emissaries are the strongest mages you’ve ever encountered, and there isn’t even the smallest chance they mean well. Our job will be the most important of this battle. Understood?”

They all agreed, and I brought them with me to stand a few ranks back from the front line. I passed Cailan, and nodded gravely when I caught his eye. I briefly felt for the darkspawn, realising they were almost upon us. I held out two fingers towards Cailan, and he acknowledged it with a sigh.

He shouted some orders, and the soldiers drew their weapons. The archers stood at the ready, arrows nocked but bows not drawn – no point in wasting their strength when they couldn’t yet see what they were shooting.

The one thing that may have helped us was the thick forest at the base of the hill; the darkspawn wouldn’t be able to swarm us as a unit, because they’d have to weave through the trees. It was probably also what bought us the time to get ready. We were also up the hill, but it wasn’t steep enough to be much of an advantage.

Drawing my daggers, surrounded by three hulking men in templar armour, each with a hand on one of my shoulders, I slapped my helmet down on my head and concentrated on sensing magic in front of us, and ignoring the aura behind me from our own group of mages.

The first rank of darkspawn appeared through the trees, mostly genlocks, and the archers began firing. A giant fireball slammed into the centre of the line, and lit a swath of trees on fire. I looked over to see Irving standing in a circle with some of the other mages, chanting and holding his staff upright. Smaller bolts of elemental energy streaked past as well, and another clump of genlocks fell to the ground, seizing, as they were struck by lightning.

And then I could feel the first greasy aura of darkspawn magic, and I reached out and grabbed it, interrupting whatever the emissary had been about to do. I was jostled as the army around me engaged the darkspawn, but quickly regained my equilibrium, transferring the mana I held to the first templar.

It was mind-numbing work, ignoring the clashing of steel and the screams around me, pushing out my senses, finding magic, and taking it; it was immediately clear to me that, while the three templars with me were the strongest of those with us on the hill, they were nowhere near as resistant to magic as I. Each one could hold barely more than one emissary’s mana, and if I tried to give them more than they could take, they became lightheaded and woozy – one even developed a nosebleed, a thin trickle of blood running out under his helmet. So I disabled one emissary after another, and by the time I had half-a-dozen under control, our abilities were tapped.

Instructing the three to stay put, I changed tactics, racing out past the soldiers holding the darkspawn back, avoiding burning trees and slipping through gaps between darkspawn, looking for the emissaries I’d already disabled. Fireballs had started being thrown at our overwhelmed troops – I didn’t have much time.

It was dark, the only light coming from the fires, though I found I could navigate somewhat by following the taint. I found the first emissary, slitting his throat and releasing some of the pressure in my head, so I turned and grabbed the mana of the one who’d just cast the fireball. The pattern continued, and I worked my way through the woods, stabbing hurlocks and genlocks who presented convenient targets as I went.

I wended my way back towards our forces when I couldn’t find any more emissaries to kill. My daggers were dripping with darkspawn blood, and I was sure I had splashes across my armour, but I was unharmed. I left the woods and paused, awestruck, as I watched the battle unfold.

The soldiers, illuminated by harsh torchlight, fought like their lives depended on it – which they did, if we were being honest – and they each cut down multiple darkspawn for every man we lost. The nobles, identifiable in their flashier, though still functional armour, were a sight to behold, cleaving and slashing at darkspawn.

Even knowing Aedan, despite playing the game as often as I had, I had entirely underestimated the military prowess of the Fereldan and dwarven nobility as a whole. They may be foolish nobles, but that’s not all they are. I watched Cailan decapitate a hurlock alpha with his massive great sword, while some nobleman at his back slid his longsword into a vulnerable point in a genlock’s armour and kicked the corpse away to keep fighting. They were all impressive, the dwarves favouring axes, the humans mainly carrying swords, and they fought almost as well as the Grey Wardens I was used to fighting beside. But it still wasn’t going to be enough – despite their obvious skill, the greater numbers of the darkspawn were wearing them down.

That battalion better get here soon.

I spotted Irving and the other mages, conserving mana and concentrating on healing, no longer able to avoid friendly fire if they threw more offensive spells. A group of templars defended them from darkspawn that managed to break through to where they were standing.

I briefly looked for my three-templar group, unsurprised not to find them where I’d left them. I sighed and dove back into the fray, taking out a couple of genlocks and a shriek as I made my way towards Cailan.

The two of us fought side-by-side, protecting each other, as an endless stream of darkspawn came pouring out of the woods. Not being able to see me protecting Cailan’s back, the ‘spawn must have assumed he was a terrible fighter, leaving his back so exposed; it made it easy for me to find gaps in their armour or slit throats when they got cocky. The worst part was periodically getting coated in the spray off Cailan’s blade; I hoped I wouldn’t have to dispose of my new armour, if I survived, because I was pretty sure that there wasn’t enough money in Thedas to convince Paider to make me another set.

My arms were getting tired, the fight dragging on longer than any battle I’d been in before, when suddenly I froze, almost getting Cailan killed as I stared off into the woods, unseeing. He spun, decapitated the hurlock I’d completely missed, and dragged me back a few steps into relative safety.

“Sierra?”

I shook myself and focused on him. “Emissary. Or something. There’s magic, like I’ve never felt before. I…” I trailed off, thinking desperately. Nothing I’d encountered before had an aura this large, that…malignant. I shuddered. It’s so much larger…do ogres have emissaries? Is that a thing?

Something about that thought triggered a half-formed idea in my mind. Ogres…emissaries…when had I seen ogres and emissaries? And then it occurred to me.

“Son of a bitch! It’s the general.”

“What?”

“One of the Archdemon’s generals, the ones who help keep the horde organised…one of them is a mage. A really, really, nasty mage. And he’s almost here.”

Cailan blanched. “Can you…do your templar thing?”

“I don’t know. He’s much more powerful than the others. And I can’t transfer mana in the middle of taking it even if I had someone to share it with.”

Cailan looked confused, and I shook my head in frustration. “Never mind. I’ll see what I can do.”

I stepped towards the woods, needing to be slightly closer to the source of all of that magic. Cailan ended up back-to-back with one of the dwarves, being swarmed as soon as I stepped away, but the darkspawn just went around me, as usual.

And then I saw the general step into our clearing. He was a hurlock, that much was clear, but he was a good foot taller than the largest alpha I’d ever seen, and he wore a set of impressive, matching armour – a far cry from the scavenged garbage most of the darkspawn wore. He was carrying an enormous axe, instead of a staff, but he gestured with it and a bolt of lightning shot out towards our forces. I used the last of the mana I held to shield Cailan; the lightning arced around him and struck the dwarf beside him, who fell to the ground, twitching but alive. I turned back to see a huge wave of darkspawn move forward, seemingly at the general’s command. There were several emissaries scattered between the other darkspawn, and one at a time, they began casting.

I needed to interrupt the general, but I couldn’t leave so many other emissaries to attack Cailan’s position either. I’d never seen so many emissaries together; regardless of the size of the feint, there were far more than we should have expected. I snuck through the oncoming darkspawn, stealing mana and slitting the throat of the first emissary I encountered. It screamed and fell, and I ducked just in time to miss being decapitated by a nearby alpha. The alpha’s axe became buried in the skull of a genlock, to my amusement; I dodged away as three more darkspawn attacked the spot I’d just been standing in, and I paused, gaping.

I finally understood: this was a darkspawn hunting party – and they were hunting me.

I changed my tactics, stealing the mana of an emissary farther away, and stabbing a nearby one with my daggers before dropping to the ground and rolling away from the resulting attacks. More darkspawn died accidentally as they all tried to find me, but while I enjoyed their bad luck, I knew it wouldn’t last. I wasn’t going to be able to keep it up forever. I was fast, but my main advantage had always been surprise, and I’d lost it.

Instead, I crept to one side and grabbed the mana of the first emissary I saw, too far away for any of the darkspawn to guess my location and attack me. I could feel the pressure in my head – I was holding the entire mana pools of two emissaries, and I was close to my limit. I ignored it, closing my eyes and reaching out again for the third.

I felt like my head would explode; it was too much. But as I opened my eyes and glanced around, I saw two more emissaries start casting. Cailan’s shield had long worn off, and even if I replaced it, it wasn’t going to be enough to save him from two mages and a general trying to kill him. He was fighting desperately now, so many of those surrounding him having died to protect him.

I took a deep breath and reached out once more.

There and Back - Chapter 109

elyssacousland — Tue, 07 Jun 2016 03:46:55 GMT

Chapter One Hundred Nine: Insurance

The next morning, I found a very subdued Aedan sitting by the fire, dark bags under his eyes testifying that he hadn’t slept well. No one else was around, though it wasn’t that early by our normal standards, and I wondered if the sour expression on his face had scared everyone off. I sat down beside my brother and took his hand, resting my head on his shoulder as I picked at cold jerky I had fished out of my pack. We didn’t speak; I handed Aedan and Alistair some of the jerky, and we ate together in silence as we waited for the new Grey Wardens to wake.

About an hour later, the three men emerged from their tents one at a time, I assumed mostly drawn by hunger; Aedan had made an enormous pot of porridge, anticipating the need, and handed each of the men a bowl without a word. Once the three of them had finished of seconds and then thirds, he finally stood, glaring at them balefully.

“So would anyone like to explain what in the void that was all about? This was your idea, I’m sure of it.” He glared at Zevran.

Sten and Oghren remained impassive, turning their gazes to assassin, who winced. “Amore mio…”

“Just explain it? Please? What were you thinking?”

Zevran sighed. “I overheard you, yesterday. The three of you with Duncan in the command tent.”

“You were eavesdropping?”

“Not originally, no. I wanted to ask you something, and it was only when I got inside that I heard you talking about sensitive topics. And my natural curiosity kicked in when I realised you were discussing Grey Warden secrets.”

Aedan shuffled his feet, pouty expression still sullen, but suddenly I thought I knew exactly what had happened.

“You didn’t tell me, amore mio, that the Grey Warden who kills the Archdemon will die.” The assassin’s expression was recriminating.

“Zev-“

Zevran cut him off. “I know Duncan intends to be the one, but we all know that nothing is preordained. He could perish before getting near the beast. If you thought I would allow you, any of you, to take the risk of being the one, when I could prevent it, you are much mistaken.”

Aedan put his hands over his face, shuddering slightly. Zevran stood and wrapped one arm around Aedan’s shoulders, whispering something I couldn’t hear into his ear; Aedan drooped even further. Obviously uncomfortable with the emotional display, Oghren turned to me and picked up where Zevran had left off.

“The elf told me and big guy that he was gonna volunteer, and I wasn’t about to let the swishy nug-licker show me up.”

I snorted a laugh, and Zevran grinned at him. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, my dwarven friend. I can pretend you didn’t agree to it after finding out Sierra could be forced to make the killing blow.”

The dwarf flushed, and I gaped. “Oghren?”

“Whatever. Ancestors’ hairy asses, I know I owe you – all of you. I might be a no-good, drunken, exiled, useless dwarf, but I pay my debts. Don’t make it out to be more than it is.”

I blushed, knowing it was the closest the berserker was ever likely to come to admitting that he cared about any of us, and I was pleased to be included in that group. I squeezed his shoulder, and he smirked at me before waggling his eyebrows and asking if the rumours he’d heard about other Grey Warden ‘appetites’ were true, and if I’d care to demonstrate. Alistair wrapped an arm around me possessively, I slapped the back of Oghren’s head, and Zevran chuckled lewdly.

Aedan finally looked up, expression bleak.

“I didn’t want this for you.” He looked from Zevran to Oghren and Sten. “Any of you. Do you know you could have died?”

“We could have died, amore mio, any time in the last year. Killed by darkspawn, bandits, or trying to save an idiot from himself, what does it matter? We could have become tainted, ended up as ghouls. It doesn’t matter, now, yes? We all survived.”

Sten, looking longingly at the now-empty pot of porridge, sighed. “Parshaara! Enough. It is done. There will be three more Grey Wardens between the Archdemon and the destruction of Thedas. Is that not enough reason? Why must this endless discussion be necessary?”

“Sten…I understand why Zevran Joined, honestly, and Oghren was always going to end up as a Grey Warden, but…” I trailed off, confused.

Sten scoffed, refusing to answer, giving me the stoic Qunari silent treatment he always resorted to. Instead, Zevran answered. “What he meant is there will be three more Grey Wardens between the Archdemon and the only two people in Ferelden he respects, mia sorella. That was all I had to say.”

Sten growled. “I was sent by the Arishok to answer a question. I will have more to tell him now. And there are no Grey Wardens in Seheron. What if the darkspawn tunnel that far? I will protect my people. That is enough.”

Alistair chuckled in my ear, quietly enough that only I would be able to hear him. “Leliana was right. He is a softie.”

I snickered quietly, earning myself a disapproving glare from the softie in question.

“Enough talk!” Oghren stood up and belched loudly. “Now, by the soggy tits of my Ancestors, where’s the rest of my breakfast?”

*****

In the afternoon, scouts returned from the Wilds, indicating that they had seen the forces heading west toward Redcliffe, but Teagan had reported himself in position, so we weren’t too worried. The same scouts reported horde movements heading for a particular battalion, and the rest of the messengers hurried off to get the other groups moving. The mages and bola launchers headed out, and our camp began to pack up, hopefully for the last time.

It wasn’t until Riordan returned with Dougal and Conrad that we had a definitive report of the Archdemon leading the horde. Apparently it had sensed them, as they scouted in the Wilds, and had done a flashy fly-over, choosing not to attack them, presumably for the same reason it had left Duncan alone in the Deep Roads. Riordan hadn’t been as badly affected as Duncan, but he’d apparently been a bit dazed after, and had taken a while to shake it off. The other two were fine, so clearly it was something about being so close to their Calling rather than just being a Warden in general.

I found it strange that Duncan was so much more advanced with the taint than Riordan; Duncan had postulated that his exposure to the Architect and whatever magic he’d used to accelerate the taint in Fiona and the other Wardens that had encountered him hadn’t been entirely ameliorated by the dagger he’d stolen from the corrupt First Enchanter. No one could suggest any other explanation, so we sort of accepted it, if reluctantly.

We marched out and made camp several hours north of where we had been, the Wardens sharing space with Cailan, Sereda, Lanaya, Greagoir, Irving, several of the human and dwarven nobles, and their retinues. The three groups of Wardens would head south as soon as the location of the generals and the Archdemon were available, and I would stay with Cailan, overlooking the battle from a small cliff. The mages and bola launchers had joined the battalion down below us, ready to down the Archdemon as soon as it was in range.

We had an awkward ‘last supper’, no one wishing to appear too grim, but everyone knowing that any one of us could be missing from our next group meal. Conversation was stilted, and finally after enough uncomfortable silence, I asked a question I’d been dying to ask since we’d left Haven, but hadn’t had the guts. It seemed a good enough distraction to justify the discomfort asking might have brought.

“Those of us who were at the Temple of Sacred Ashes…what did you all see, after we passed the Guardian?”

Those who hadn’t been present watched the rest with interest; the stories had been told enough times that they knew what I was asking, even if they hadn’t been there. Everyone else shifted uncomfortably.

“I’ll start. I saw my father. Our father,” I amended, glancing at Aedan. “He told me that I was his daughter, and asked Aedan and I to take care of each other.”

“He told me to stop living with the guilt of leaving them behind,” Aedan added. “That he loved us, and was proud of us.” I hugged Aedan, and he rested his cheek against my head briefly.

No one spoke for a moment, and then Morrigan broke the silence. “I saw my mother…Flemeth. She was not dead, obviously, just speaking with me through the fade. She taunted me, saying she would be watching me. That was when I knew that if I wished to survive as myself, I would have to ask for help to kill her.” I reached out and squeezed her hand, surprised but pleased to see Solona do the same with her other hand.

“You know we’ll protect you, Morrigan, if you let us.” Solona looked earnestly at the witch.

Morrigan flushed and huffed, slightly offended.

“No one is saying you aren’t capable, Morrigan,” I interrupted before she could make some typical abrasive comment, “just that we are here for you if you need anything. We are your friends, if you will have us.”

She relaxed, and eventually even returned the squeeze I gave her fingers, before excusing herself from the group and slipping off, out of the camp.

Zevran went next. “I saw…a former lover. She forgave me.” He didn’t mention specifics, but I knew it had to be Rinna. Aedan reached out and clasped his hand, and Zevran smiled at him appreciatively. “She told me I could be a better man in future than I was when I was with her. I didn’t know what she meant, at first, but I think I’m finally learning.”

Leliana sighed. “I saw a former companion from when I was a bard – another one Marjolaine betrayed. He died before I escaped. He also forgave me for getting him involved, and for not being able to save him. He told me…to live my life, not to let others dictate my future.”

From the prequel to the game, I vaguely remembered a dwarf and an elven mage who had been captured with Leliana. I couldn’t recall which had not survived, but I supposed it didn’t matter. Leliana’s vague smile indicated the forgiveness had lightened the weight on her shoulders, and I was glad for her.

Sten grunted and stood. “I do not wish to discuss it.” He turned and headed towards his tent, and we all let him go. I felt a pang of guilt, hoping I hadn’t unintentionally hurt him. I had assumed he might see one of the other Qunari who’d accompanied him from Seheron, but given his response, I doubted it.

Watching him go, Alistair spoke without looking at any of us. “I saw Maric.” It was almost a whisper. “He…he told me he was proud of me. He told me that, in the rebellion, he didn’t know what to do, at first; that he didn’t know how to lead. He followed his mother, and then Loghain… anyone who would take the responsibility from him. But when he had no choice, he learned he could lead if he had to, that eventually he even enjoyed parts of it. He told me to trust myself, and to stand up and take responsibility, unless I wanted to live a life of regrets because I allowed someone else to make my decisions for me.” He looked over at me with a sudden, mischievous grin. “He told me he liked you, too.” I blushed and hid my face in his shoulder while everyone laughed.

That night, the Wardens had one last meeting, all sixteen of the Wardens and I crowded into one large tent. Loghain objected to me being there, but Duncan ignored him and kept talking.

He divided the sixteen of them, plus Morrigan and Leliana, into three groups.

“Riordan, Conrad, Dougal, Loghain, Morrigan, and I will be the first group. Our primary goal will be the Archdemon. Group two, led by Aedan, and group three, led by Alistair, will initially seek out the generals we expect to accompany the horde. Do not engage the main body of the horde. Defend yourselves as necessary, but as much as possible, go around, not through. Find the generals, defeat them, and then rally to wherever the Archdemon lands when it is grounded. Understood?” Duncan’s expression was grim and sorrowful; I knew we were all wondering which of our friends we would be mourning in the next few days.

Everyone nodded, and Duncan assigned Jowan, Faren, Zevran, Sten, and Bel to accompany Aedan, and Anders, Solona, Oghren, Mornwulf, and Leliana to Alistair. Prince was to stay with me.

“Now, one last item. We all know that only a Grey Warden can kill the Archdemon. The battalions have all been instructed to back off and provide ranged support only once it is on the ground; their purpose will be to protect us from the darkspawn it calls to defend itself when injured. The same goes for Leliana and Morrigan. For the Archdemon, there is a kill priority that I expect will be followed.

“As the most senior Warden, I will be the first to attempt to make the killing blow. If I am slain before I am successful, the next will be Riordan, followed by Dougal and then Conrad. Loghain has requested that he will be next.

“After that, the rest of you share equal priority. Alistair and Aedan are the next most senior, but not by much, and several of the rest of you have requested to be placed above them in the sequence. I am of the hope that none of you will be placed in that position, but if it happens, whoever is best placed to end it must do so.

“The last in the order is Sierra. While not technically a Grey Warden, there is reason to believe she may be able to kill the Archdemon. I cannot emphasize enough,” he looked at me grimly, “that this is only to happen if every single Grey Warden on the field has been confirmed as dead. We cannot take the chance that we are wrong, and the Archdemon reappearing after its death. Is that clear?”

Everyone else murmured agreement, but Duncan did not take his eyes off me until I nodded.

“Everyone, get some rest. The King has placed several servants at our disposal – if your armour or weapons require maintenance or repair, give them to the servants to deal with. Get some sleep; we march at dawn.”

We scattered to our tents after that; Alistair and I shared a snack of bread and cheese, eating silently, an unspoken agreement not to discuss the very terrifying nature of what would happen the following day. After we ate, we made love, desperately, clinging to each other, bruising each other in our need to be close. Several times in the night, one of us woke the other to begin again; it wasn’t what Duncan had in mind when he said rest, I was sure, but the connection felt far more critical to our survival than sleep.

As we lay, panting and recovering our strength, I cuddled up against Alistair’s muscular chest, my hand resting over his heart, one leg thrown across his.

“So…you talked to your father about me?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Not my idea, believe me. He knew.”

“Knew we would end up together?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Though that would have been good to know.” He chuckled, and I kissed his shoulder. “No, he knew how I felt. Called you a ‘spitfire’ and told me I should pursue you.”

“You didn’t exactly take his advice, at least, not right away.” I giggled. “Unless insinuating I was a prostitute is your idea of romance.”

He tickled me, digging his fingers into my side while I squealed. “No, I didn’t. I told him to go soak his head. The last thing I needed was advice on my love life from a dead guy, or so I thought.”

I chuckled and pushed myself up onto an elbow, looking down at my husband’s handsome face in the dim firelight shining through the wall of the tent. “Did it help? Seeing him?”

“Maybe.” He reconsidered. “Probably. You hear so many stories about Maric the Saviour…I think I had a little of the same insecurity as Cailan. I’d never be able to live up to his legacy. Hearing about him falling off a horse, or following Loghain like a puppy…being manipulated into killing the first woman he loved? He was human, just like the rest of us, but he still learned how to lead. It made me at least wonder if I could learn, too.”

“And you did. I don’t think you see it, but you could have led instead of Aedan, if you’d wanted. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever told you how proud I am of you.”

I could feel the heat of his blush against my lips as I kissed his cheek softly. He turned his head, capturing my mouth in a kiss, and then rolled me over and made love to me again, slowly, softly, reverently, until I was absolutely limp in his arms.

The morning came too soon; we geared up, sharing a last kiss and a frantic embrace, made less comforting by armour.

“Come back to me, or I swear, I’ll find you in the afterlife and kill you myself.”

“Stay safe, and do try to keep Cailan from doing anything stupid, would you?”

“I love you, Alistair. I won’t say goodbye – we will be together to celebrate when this is over.”

“I love you, Sierra. My wife. I will see you soon.”

We smiled tearfully, and stepped out into the pre-dawn light. The rest of the Wardens were assembled there, exchanging hugs and maudlin goodbyes amongst themselves.

Duncan kissed my forehead softly. “Be well, Sierra. Keep them safe, after I’m gone?”

I sobbed and clung to him, certain as I could be that it was the last time I would see the only father I or my husband had ever known. He carefully extracted himself from me, his own eyes suspiciously bright, and handed me off to Leliana while he said his goodbyes to Aedan and Alistair. She and I hugged until I managed to stop sniffling and wipe my eyes; she kissed both my cheeks and promised she’d see me after the battle.

Morrigan approached me as I pulled myself together. “After the battle…” she began.

“You’ll be gone. I know. I am grateful you are staying as long as you have. Are you sure you won’t remain with us? There aren’t many places in Thedas where you will be as safe as with the Wardens. You could live with us at Soldier’s Peak.”

“’Tis a kind offer. My destiny calls me elsewhere, however. I would wish…if I could, I would stay. I did not expect such feelings.”

“I will see you again. I know where you’ll be in a few years, after all.”

“I will miss you, my friend.” She actually hugged me, voluntarily; it was brief, and I almost missed it in my shock, but I squeezed her gently and then let her go. She shifted to bird form and perched in the nearest tree to await her group moving out.

Zevran kissed my cheek and promised to keep Aedan safe; I hugged him tightly, and demanded he keep himself safe as well. I refused to say goodbye, and he forced a cheeky grin as he walked away from me.

Oghren slapped my armoured ass with his gauntlet as he sauntered past, making me screech. “Have the kegs aired out for us when we get back, toots!”

I laughed.

Sten approached me stiffly, bowing formally. “It has been an honour, Kadan.”

“Sten…thank you.” I wrapped my arms around his enormous torso; he patted my shoulder tolerantly. “And I’m sorry about last night.”

He looked down at me, his expression possibly…amused? “It is not your fault I do not wish to engage in useless discussion of feelings.” He tilted his head slightly. “I do not have feelings to discuss.”

I laughed. “Of course you don’t.” I released him from the awkward hug. “I know you Joined to have more information to bring to the Arishok, but thank you for what you are doing. For us.”

“I will do my best to keep them safe. For you.” He looked uncomfortable at the concept. “If I should fall…”

“I will send Asala to the Arishok, and tell him what you accomplished here. He will know that you fulfilled your mission.”

“Thank you. Live well…Sierra.”

It was the first time he’d used my name, to my memory. I flushed and returned his bow as he walked away. I’m just glad he didn’t talk about whether he’d seek me out on the battlefield if the Qunari ever invaded…

I shared hugs with Jowan, Faren, Bel, Anders, Solona, and even Wulf, wishing them luck; the Orlesian Grey Wardens each solemnly clasped my forearm. And that left me with my brother.

“You’d better come back, Aedan. I am sure as hell not explaining all of this to Fergus by myself.”

He chuckled and ruffled my hair; I squawked and slapped his hands away.

“I love you, little sister.”

“I love you too, big brother. Don’t do anything stupid – no being a hero, okay?”

“Who me? I can’t be a hero. I’m a rogue, remember? More rascal than hero.” I gave him a dirty look, and he pulled me in for one last hug. “I promise.”

I didn’t want to watch as the people who meant everything to me walked away, but I lost my resolve, turning and waving until they were out of sight. I slumped to the ground, and Prince buried his face in my lap with a whine.

“I know, boy. I don’t like it either.” I cuddled the mabari until someone called me to attend Cailan.

My morning proved to be very boring. We were well north of any of the darkspawn, who were approaching our position in the southern bannorn from the Wilds. The horde had not yet arrived, and I could see the battalion below the cliff I stood upon, the men taking turns resting on the ground, fully armed, and people moving up and down the lines offering water skins and rations of some sort. Mage-ravens flew in, none providing any news.

And then, with a prickling feeling in the back of my head, dread filled me as, for the first time, I felt the massive size of the horde approaching. The battalion stood at the ready; the mages and archers loosing arrows and fireballs with abandon when the first of the horde appeared, and then the first wave of darkspawn rolled over the front lines like fog.

I couldn’t watch. I couldn’t stand to see men and women, some of whom I had met or even trained with, dying under that black cloud. I’d like to go back to boredom now, please.

I looked over at Cailan, who appeared to be having as much trouble as I was; he was standing with his eyes squeezed shut, his hand gripping the pommel of his sword so hard his knuckles were white. His jaw was clenched, his face pale, and I vaguely wondered if he might actually pass out. I slid over to him while the rest of the people on the cliff with us gawked at the horde and carefully peeled his hand off the sword, sliding my gauntleted fingers into his.

He shot me a shaky smile, and I squeezed gently, careful not to crush his bare hand. We stood there for several, very long minutes, wincing at the sounds of battle that filtered up to where we stood. I wondered where my husband, my brother, and my honourary father were and how they fared; if they were among the battalion below, I couldn’t tell.

I was drawn out of my fearful daze by a brilliant green flash of light off to my distant left; there was a sudden battle cry, and a second battalion entered the fray, slamming into the back of the horde.

I followed Cailan over to a large table that had been improvised from planks balanced over a couple of logs; it was covered in a large, detailed map of the area surrounding us. Cailan picked up a small figurine and moved it near to a second one, sandwiching a black lump of rock between the two. So far, so good. We shared grim smiles and then turned back to the messengers arriving, breathless with the news we’d already figured out for ourselves – the battle had begun.

There and Back - Chapter 108

elyssacousland — Tue, 24 May 2016 20:40:28 GMT

Chapter One Hundred Eight: Preparation

By the end of a month training and integrating armies on the plains of the Southern Bannorn and the Southron Hills, we were joined by Cailan, along with Eamon, Teagan, Nathaniel, and a large contingent of nobles whose troops we’d already assimilated, as well as Keeper Lanaya, Kardol of the Legion of the Dead, and Queen Sereda herself. The ruler of Orzammar leaving the city for the surface was no small event; it had been centuries since a Dwarven monarch had been seen on the surface. And many of the Deshyrs followed her, half out of curiosity, the rest out of obligation. The new military caste, made up largely of former casteless, was astoundingly well-disciplined, and outshone the grumbling, complaining warriors in almost every way.

It was weird, being left out of the decision-making for the first time in so long; Aedan and Alistair attended the strategy sessions with Duncan and Loghain, but the rest of us had to wait until they returned to fill us in. The large groups of nobles, dwarven and human alike, had been forced to choose representatives, instead of everyone attending every meeting. I was actually grateful not to be included, however, after hearing Aedan and Alistair describe the shouting and complaining between all of the various parties involved; it sounded like every board meeting I’d ever attended, and I didn’t miss that aspect of my job back on Earth in the slightest.

I’d managed to keep avoiding Loghain, both on the road and once we’d established camp, until one night after a particularly bad strategy meeting. He followed Aedan back to his tent, which happened to be next to the one I shared with Alistair, still deep in discussion with his fellow Wardens. Busy cleaning mud off my armour, I didn’t notice his arrival until he was practically standing next to me, and I flinched, scrambling to my feet.

Aedan took one look at my face, which I guessed was pale with anxiety, and proceeded to drag Loghain away from me, to the former Teyrn’s confusion. I heard Aedan hiss something at him, probably instructions to shut up, if I knew Aedan, as Loghain asked what was wrong with me. I couldn’t hear the rest of the discussion, to my relief, and I wondered whether Aedan had changed his mind about explaining my background to the taciturn warrior.

I soon learned that indeed he hadn’t, when Loghain approached me one day as I sat, alone, cleaning my armour after a brief encounter with a small party of raiding darkspawn. He walked up deliberately, and unless I wanted to obviously snub him by standing up and walking away, I was forced to wait and see what he’d say.

I remained seated, refusing to even make eye contact, never mind glance around to look for backup. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me look vulnerable. “Yes, Warden?” I hadn’t meant my tone to come out so harsh, and I winced.

Loghain wrinkled his brow, looking perplexed. “Do I know you, your Highness?”

“Ugh, don’t call me that.”

“It is who you are, though, is it not?” I shrugged noncommittally, so he continued. “What shall I call you, then? Lady Theirin?”

“My name is Sierra.”

“As you wish. But you didn’t answer my question, Sierra. Do we know each other?”

I looked up at him, rolling my eyes. “You expect me to believe you can’t remember?”

“Well, I hoped I had forgotten something. To my surprise, most of your companions have been relatively pleasant; your brother, who has more reason than most to despise me has been almost welcoming, compared to your avoidance and open hostility. I’m not as young as I once was, and I couldn’t figure out why I bother you so, particularly, if we had never met.”

I looked back to my armour. “Killing my parents wasn’t enough reason?” I asked in a deceptively mild manner.

“That was Rendon Howe, Princess. I had nothing to do with that.”

“Right. Because Howe would totally have slaughtered an entire castle, including children and servants, knowing that the King would have his head when they returned from Ostagar.”

“I knew he had evidence of treason committed by your father. I did not know he would kill everyone. He was supposed to arrest your parents and bring them before the Landsmeet with his proof.”

“And yet, when he disobeyed your orders, you punished him by allowing him to claim the Teyrnir as well as the Arling of Denerim? You definitely showed him.” I snorted in disgust. “I notice you don’t deny that he was aware that Cailan was meant to perish at Ostagar.”

“By the time I learned of his actions in Highever, I had no choice. The nobility had turned against me, and I needed him.”

Does he think I’m stupid, not to notice he avoided the question twice? “You needed him in order to start a civil war and try to make a grab for the throne? Ah, yes, I understand. Now I forgive you.” I suppressed a grin as I watched an angry-looking Zevran creep up behind the heavily armoured Warden.

“To-“ He stopped and sputtered, face red. “You do not understand the threat-“

“If you say one word about Orlais, I will allow my friend, behind you, to eviscerate you, as he so clearly wants to.”

Loghain stopped and spun, hand reaching for the pommel of his sword, only to find Zevran’s dagger pressed against his jugular, a feral grin on his face.

“We meet again! Zevran Arainai, assassin and former Crow, in case you’ve forgotten. At her service, just so we are clear, yes?” The elf winked at me, and I grinned briefly.

“Zev, put it down. The Warden and I were just having a light conversation. No need for bloodshed.”

“Are you certain? I haven’t assassinated anyone in days. My hands are itching, cara mia.” He lowered the dagger with a flourish, and stepped around Loghain to sink to the ground beside me. “If you insist, then. What are we talking about?”

“Warden Loghain was attempting to understand why I might be hostile towards him.”

“And the attempted assassination of your beloved and your brother wasn’t reason enough?”

I grinned at Zevran as Loghain shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, I don’t hold that against him too hard – it brought you into our lives, after all.”

“True. And what would you do without my awesome self?”

“Exactly. Now, planning to sell elves as slaves to Tevinter, on the other hand…”

Loghain raised his eyebrows, startled. “I didn’t…”

“Just because they weren’t successful, doesn’t mean you didn’t try, Loghain. I know about Caladrius. Another idea of Howe’s that you were only too happy to go along with, I suspect?”

“I…You…How…?”

It was vastly amusing watching Loghain, of all people, speechless, and I had to laugh at his stuttering. “Talk to my brother, Warden. If he chooses to tell you about my background, then come back and we can discuss things further. For now, allow me to say that I don’t just dislike you. I hate you, utterly and completely.”

Zevran cleared his throat. “I think you should know that we are watching you, yes? If you do a single thing to make me doubt your intentions, to hurt any of our friends or family, I will gut you like the pig you are. Yes?”

I nodded enthusiastically and squeezed Zevran’s arm. I had played the game enough to know that Loghain wouldn’t betray the Wardens, but his explanations for his actions had always seemed…lame. And I’d changed some things. Especially knowing he was to be transferred permanently to Orlais, it was possible he’d do something desperate or stupid.

“Your Highness,” Loghain whispered, the look on his face hard to read. “Believe me when I tell you that, regardless of my past actions, I am fully committed to the Grey Wardens. I did not understand, before. And your brother would say I neither asked nor listened, and he’s not wrong. But I do understand, now. Commander Duncan tells me you know about the dreams – I’ve had them too. I would not do anything to endanger the Grey Wardens, knowing what I know now.”

He stared earnestly at me for a moment, before bowing and turning to walk away. I was left feeling confused, off-kilter. I didn’t like not knowing what he was thinking, worrying about the consequences of my presence in Thedas. I turned to Zev for reassurance, to find him biting his lip, looking after the retreating back of the former Teyrn with a puzzled expression. When he caught my gaze, he shrugged expressively, and I slapped his shoulder.

“You’re not helping to reassure me, Zev.”

“I know, cara mia. I know.”

I sighed and went back to cleaning my armour.

Finally, after almost two months camped in the rain in the southern Bannorn, Shale and Caridin showed up. And the golem army they’d brought was far more impressive than what they’d predicted before we left Orzammar.

In the Deep Roads, wandering into Thaigs and hallways that no one but darkspawn had seen in centuries, the Paragon and our friend had found dozens upon dozens of inactivated but functional golems, bringing them to the surface for the first time since they’d been forged. They hadn’t even begun work on Shale’s goal of freeing them from the slavery of the control rods Caridin had created for them, but they would have plenty of subjects to work on when the Blight was over.

They approached the camp not from the west, as we expected, but from the south, through the Korcari Wilds. In their travels, the two sentient golems had unearthed lost maps and forgotten tunnels, and managed to find the routes the darkspawn were using to come to the surface; through cleverness and pretending to be deactivated when outnumbered too badly, they had followed part of the gathering horde right to us.

They brought interesting news, however: they had seen the Archdemon, and the beast was, at best estimate, a few days behind them on its way to the surface.

The news of the Horde’s movements and the imminent arrival of the Archdemon galvanized the armies and its leaders like nothing else could have. The complaining nobles stopped whining and took directions from Duncan, Loghain, and their monarchs; the separate army units that had been formed marched to their designated locations to wait. The golems would stay together, the need for the control rods making splitting them up prohibitive; the rest of the various combatants were mixed into their battalions.

The strategy was relatively simple, though I suspected there were many complexities I was not aware of or just didn’t understand: a large contingent would wait, for all appearances completely alone, in each of the likely locations where the horde and the Archdemon could appear. When they were spotted, messengers would be sent, by air and on foot, and the rest of the divided armies would arrive in their battalions from multiple different directions at once, coordinated by ravens, shape-shifted mages, and coloured magic flares. The unit responsible for grounding the dragon – the mages and bola launchers – would travel with the bulk of the Grey Wardens and our companions, who were to be divided into three groups that would head to where they were needed to confront not only the Archdemon, once it was down, but also the darkspawn Generals we expected to accompany the horde.

Finally, Cailan, Sereda, Keeper Lanaya, Knight-Commander Greagoir, the Revered Mother, and myself, surrounded by a small army of nobles, messengers, raven handlers, a few mages, and some templars, would travel as a group, staying to the rear of the conflict, ready and able to give orders and divert the various battalions depending on the progress of the battle. I was quite certain the only reasons I was included in the illustrious group of muckety mucks were to keep me out of the battle –whether I had Alistair or Aedan to blame for that, I couldn’t be sure – and to babysit Cailan in case he decided to engage in some moronic heroics. I was pretty sure he’d stay put; after feeling humiliated by being manipulated by Loghain, he’d developed some new-found wisdom. I hope.

There was a battalion, led by Teagan, going to defend Redcliffe against the feint we expected, who would join the rest of the armies once Redcliffe was safe.

Two nights before the expected start of the conflict, Duncan pulled Alistair, Aedan, and I in to one of the larger command tents to talk.

We all made ourselves comfortable, ignoring the handful of portable camp stools in favour of sitting together on the ground as though we were still at camp, travelling alone trying to unite armies against the Blight.

Duncan looked unusually solemn as he stroked his beard thoughtfully. “We need to talk…about the future of the Wardens once I am gone.” He held his hand up, forestalling the objections the three of us were about to start shouting. “You all know as well as I do that I will not outlive this Blight. Were it not for the imminent battle, I would already have gone on my Calling. If I have my way, it will be I who strikes the killing blow against the Archdemon – no one else need die for this. We need to face the reality that I will not be leading the Grey Wardens once the Blight is over.”

My brother, my husband, and I, as a group, subsided into pouty silence, and Duncan forced a smile. “I am honoured by your regard, truly, but that is not what we need to talk about.”

I looked up, wondering what exactly he did want to discuss.

“First of all, you are the most senior of the Fereldan Grey Wardens. It will be between you two to rebuild the Grey Wardens in Ferelden and deal not only with the Mother and the Architect, but defend against the Thaw as well.”

Alistair twitched. “But Riordan…”

“Will be returning to Orlais, should he survive. As will Conrad and Dougal. Despite their temporary defection, they are not Fereldan Grey Wardens. Loghain is not the only Fereldan who is suspicious of Orlais; they will not be tolerated here permanently, even should they wish to stay, especially not in a leadership role. Nor do any of them wish to take on that role. Whoever commands the Wardens when the Blight is over will be a powerful figure in Ferelden, regardless of nobility or birthright. Between Cailan’s regard and the respect earned if we successfully end a Blight faster than anyone in history, the Warden Commander will be a visible, influential person.

“No, I’m afraid it falls to you two. For what it is worth, I am sorry to leave either of you in this position.”

Aedan and Alistair shared despairing looks, and I giggled. “You look like someone’s just told you that you only have a week to live, not that you have been granted positions of power and privilege.”

“Easy for you to say, sister.”

“Hey! I’m already the stupid steward of Soldier’s Peak and a sodding princess, I’ll remind you. Warden Commander seems fairly benign by comparison.” I stuck my tongue out at Aedan and the three men chuckled.

“To return to my point,” Duncan sighed, rolling his eyes at my antics, “one of you will be named Warden Commander. I suggest you might want to figure it out in advance.”

“You aren’t going to choose your successor? I thought that’s how it was done.” Alistair looked confused, but less panicky at the concept of leadership than he could have.

“I think the two of you are more than capable of determining what is best on your own.”

Aedan and Alistair shared another meaningful look, and my brother raised one eyebrow. Alistair nodded, and they turned back to Duncan in unison. “We’ll share it.”

Aedan continued, “Can we be co-Commanders? We can share the administrative duties, take turns leading in the field and remaining behind to hold the fort. We can figure out the details later.”

Duncan smiled proudly. “That’s what I hoped for, to be honest. I suggest Sierra, as technically the third-most senior Warden, as a tie-breaker should you fail to find agreement on important decisions. I will write my recommendations up and send them to Weisshaupt immediately.” I scowled, and Aedan took the opportunity to stick his tongue out at me. I laughed.

“There’s something else we need to discuss, however.”

That sounded ominous. Aedan tilted his head curiously while Alistair frowned, recognising Duncan’s tone as being more serious.

“We need to discuss relations between the Fereldan Wardens and Weisshaupt.” Duncan rose, pacing back and forth across the small tent, three sets of eyes watching him attentively. “Cailan has some concerns, echoed by Loghain, about the politics at Weisshaupt, and what they will mean for the Grey Wardens left in Ferelden after the Blight.” He turned to me. “Do you know anything about that?”

“Very little. There was an expansion to the game, starting six months after the Blight, describing the events with the Mother and the Architect, but there was very little said about Weisshaupt. They sent a rather unpleasant woman to be a treasurer of sorts, which struck me really as a way of trying to assert some control, but that was all. And the next game mentioned the Grey Wardens almost as an afterthought – it was about the problems in Kirkwall with mages and templars and Qunari. There was supposed to be a third game, eventually, but I honestly don’t know if it’s been released yet. All that I know about Weisshaupt, really, was in a book written about your trip into the Deep Roads with Maric and Fiona, and it didn’t leave me with a favourable impression. The reaction to Riordan’s request for aid hasn’t improved that any.”

Duncan nodded. “I would like to disagree, but I have to admit I am also worried.” He sat down abruptly again. “There are some ways in which Loghain was not wrong. The fact of the matter is that Weisshaupt has always treated the Fereldan Wardens as subordinates of those in Orlais. My orders, messages from Weisshaupt…all of them come through Orlais. I have always had far more contact with Commander Clarel than directly from Weisshaupt.

“I have fought that, tried to keep the influences of Orlais on us to a minimum – and Clarel has no desire to be involved in Ferelden, which helps – but I have been thwarted at every attempt to change things. When I’ve sent communications directly to the First Warden, or have recommended that politically, allowing my orders to come through Orlais is a bad idea, I’ve been ignored or reprimanded. I requested that they send Grey Wardens from Nevarra, Antiva, or the Free Marches instead of Orlais when it became clear the Blight would be in Ferelden, but they refused and offered only those from Orlais, which were, of course, blocked by Loghain.

“Even recruiting more Grey Wardens has been difficult – they would routinely withhold Archdemon blood when I requested supplies. Before Ostagar, I had enough blood to perform perhaps one last Joining ritual. They claimed it was due to concerns that I would alienate the nobility if I recruited too freely, but there were plenty of good potential recruits who wouldn’t have ruffled any feathers.”

“So what is it you want us to do?” Alistair looked profoundly disturbed.

“King Cailan has suggested, and I don’t disagree, that once the Blight is over, ended without the help of the rest of the Order, that the Grey Wardens of Ferelden declare themselves as separate from Weisshaupt. He has promised to provide tithes in the form of coin, supplies, and accommodations at Soldier’s Peak indefinitely. In return, he has made some sensible requests to have the Wardens work with Ferelden’s armies, especially the scouts, to increase our access to intelligence on the darkspawn’s activities, and requested that we set up small stations throughout the country as watch posts and to foster improved relations with the people. He has recommended to Queen Sereda that Orzammar should have a more permanent Grey Warden presence, and suggested an alliance between Fereldan and dwarven Grey Wardens, as well as amending the treaty we currently hold so that Orzammar will provide aid only to the Fereldan Wardens. The Dalish have already agreed to such an amendment, and asked only for communication between the clans and the Wardens.”

“Would Weisshaupt even accept that?” Aedan’s brow was furrowed in thought.

“They wouldn’t have much choice, especially if we were backed by the Fereldan nobility and army. The worst they could do is refuse aid in future against the next Blight, but as we’ve seen, they can already do that, not to mention that it is unlikely the next Blights will begin in Ferelden anyway – it is far more likely they will be requesting aid from us. We could offer an alliance, treaties and the like, and we will have some leverage, once this Blight is ended, after all.”

Aedan looked confused, but I immediately understood. “Archdemon blood.”

Duncan nodded. “Blood, bone, scales…the last Blight was four hundred years ago. While they still have some stores of Archdemon blood, I imagine their supply is running low. We will have the only access to a fresh source. Which is another thing we need to discuss later.”

“So you think we should do this? Declare our independence, and hold the Archdemon blood hostage for their agreement? Can we even do it, be Grey Wardens, without Weisshaupt’s support?” Alistair looked like he felt ill, and I couldn’t blame him. I could only wonder what sort of ripple effect such a massive change would have on the Thedas that I had originally experienced only through games.

“I think you must. I don’t see the Fereldan monarchy accepting the hypocrisy we’ve seen – the politics, the control tactics, refusing to acknowledge Ferelden as its own entity – and continuing to support Grey Wardens if we’re still part of the Order. I don’t even want to think about what Weisshaupt’s reaction will be to Avernus’ altered Joining formula. I have sent a messenger with the new formula and what we know about it to all of the Warden Commanders in Thedas, as well as Weisshaupt – they aren’t going to be happy about it.”

“Duncan! You rebel!” I couldn’t help but be impressed.

We spent another few minutes discussing the processing required for Archdemon blood. It was certainly something I hadn’t known about from the game, and I was sure if Duncan hadn’t survived, the blood would have gone to waste. There were supplies needed, and only a Grey Warden could do any of the harvesting – the risk to anyone else who came too near the extremely tainted substance would be enormous. Aedan and Alistair secured Duncan’s agreement to inform the rest of the Grey Wardens about the process, just in case. Aedan also insisted he would offer the others a choice between remaining with the Fereldan Grey Wardens or being transferred elsewhere if they’d prefer.

When offered, not one wanted to leave.

That night, Alistair and I desperately made love in our tent; when we finished, as we cuddled together, something would set us off and we’d begin again. It probably wasn’t the healthiest way of dealing with our fear, and the grief we knew we would be confronting within a few days, one way or the other, but it was all we had, and it was enough just to be together in every way.

I was woken from a dead sleep sometime later by Aedan rapping stiffly on the fabric of our tent. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear my reply, I squirmed out of a confused, drowsy Alistair’s arms, slipped into a nightgown, and stuck my head outside of the tent.

“What is it?” It was raining again, and I was irritated not only to be wet and cold, but also awake instead of sleeping soundly with my husband.

“Have you seen Zevran?”

I rolled my eyes. “Aedan, believe me, I haven’t left this tent for hours. I’ve seen no one but Alistair.”

“I can’t find him. Sten and Oghren are also missing, as is Duncan.”

Alistair pulled a tent flap aside, crawling over me to stick his own head out. “They’re missing?”

Aedan looked absolutely inconsolable. I sighed. “Give us a minute to get dressed.”

Alistair and I scrambled into our armour haphazardly, tumbling out of the tent a few moments later. The three of us closed our eyes, trying to feel if there were any Grey Wardens in directions we didn’t expect. I could feel those I expected – the three Orlesians and our junior Wardens – but Duncan was apparently outside of my range. Alistair and Aedan found the same thing.

We searched the camp, and finding nothing, headed to Cailan’s encampment within the nearest battalion. We split up to better cover the ground, and I’d reached the southern edge of the battalion’s tent city when I caught a momentary sensation of the taint further south. Unable to determine, in that brief moment, whether it was Grey Warden or darkspawn, I fingered my daggers, debated my options, and headed out past the last row of tents. The sensation grew as I walked, and within fifty steps I was certain that what I felt was no raiding party; it was Duncan, but he wasn’t alone. Anxious, remembering what had happened in the Deep Roads, I followed the taint further from camp, into the woods and to a small clearing.

I gasped, covering the last hundred feet at a run. I could see Duncan, looking unharmed, with several darkspawn corpses at his feet. I could feel two more Grey Warden signatures that I didn’t recognise, which was strange, given we weren’t missing any other Grey Wardens, but what had me tripping over myself to hurry was what, or rather who, was standing next to Duncan. I could see white-blond hair, bronze skin, and long, elegant ears. It was Zevran.

And he was holding a chalice.

“Stop!” I shouted, and the elf paused as he raised the chalice to his lips. I stumbled, falling to one knee, before leaping back to my feet. I got perhaps twenty feet away, near enough to see Sten and Oghren lying in the mud, and to hear the elf’s words.

“I must, cara mia. Tell Aedan…tell him I am sorry.” And then he lifted the chalice, before I could stop him, and drank. His eyes rolled back and he screamed, once.

I reached him just in time to catch him as he fell, and unprepared as I was, I crumpled to the ground, the unconscious elf in my arms weighing me down. I settled him to the ground, scrambling to check his pulse, but my Warden senses told me what I needed to know before the throbbing under my fingertips reassured me: he had survived. And so had Oghren and Sten, from the taint I could feel resonating from their blood.

I looked up at Duncan, holding the chalice with a sad, wary expression on his face. “Aedan may never forgive you.” I looked back down at the Antivan, smoothing back a lock of hair that had fallen across his face.

“I know.”

“Then…why?” I stood, glaring at my honourary father.

“He forced my hand.” Duncan sighed, his frown deepening. “He volunteered. They all did. And when I refused, he threatened to tell Grey Warden secrets to anyone who would listen. He knew, Sierra. Knew he could die in the Joining, knew he could die killing the Archdemon. He wanted to be ahead of Aedan in the kill priority. He told the others that Aedan, or you, could die trying to kill the Archdemon, and they all insisted they Join.”

I sighed. I feel like I should have seen that coming. “I’ll kill him myself, if Aedan doesn’t.” I looked at the unconscious forms in a rough semi-circle around Duncan and sighed again. “You had to do this in the middle of nowhere?”

“Zevran’s idea. He didn’t want to chance Aedan stopping him.”

“Of course.” I rolled my eyes in exasperation. “I’ll go get the others to drag them back to camp.”

I found Alistair, first, frantically searching for me, worried I’d disappeared as well; I brought him with me to find Aedan, Faren, and Bel, insisting they follow me but not telling them why. I led them to the clearing, stepping aside to allow them to see what I’d seen and draw their own conclusions. It took a moment, the chalice now nowhere in sight as a visual clue, but the sensation of extra Grey Wardens in the clearing couldn’t stay unnoticed for long, and as a group, the four of them gasped.

“No!” Aedan fell to his knees beside Zevran, pulling the elf’s unmoving form into his arms.

I dropped to my knees beside my brother, arm around his shoulders. “He lives, Aedan. I checked before I came to get you. He’s going to be fine.”

Aedan shuddered and turned his face into my shoulder as Alistair checked on Sten and Oghren, confirming what I already knew – they’d all survived. Thank God for Avernus…or I suppose I should thank the Maker.

Easing Zevran back down to the ground, Aedan stood and squared his shoulders to Duncan, scowling. “How could you?”

He took one step towards the Rivaini before I was in front of him, hands on his arms, hoping to circumvent the explosion I knew was coming. “He volunteered, Aedan.”

“Doesn’t matter. He should have refused!” He waved his arm in Duncan’s direction, almost shaking me off.

“He did. And Zevran threatened to tell all of Thedas the secrets he’s managed to ferret out.”

Aedan practically growled. “So let him! We are separating from Weisshaupt anyway. What’s the difference?”

I had no good answer for that one, even though I suspected he didn’t really mean it. Fortunately, we were saved from an ugly confrontation by a moan and a shudder from the elf in question; Aedan immediately dropped to a knee beside him and gathered the semi-conscious assassin in his arms. “This isn’t over,” he threatened, and Duncan just nodded sadly. Aedan scooped Zevran up and headed off towards the camp. I hope Zev can convince him not to murder Duncan…

I turned to the two dwarves, and gestured to a sleeping Oghren. “Could you…?”

Faren sighed. “Why not? Isn’t the first time, won’t be the last…” He and Bel each grabbed an arm and hauled, dragging their red-headed friend back to his tent.

Alistair looked at Sten and whined. “Why do I have to carry the Qunari? He’s heavy!”

I pulled Alistair’s shoulder until he leaned down towards me and I could whisper in his ear. “How about because there’s a reward?” He looked at me, confused, and I waggled my eyebrows in an Oghren impression. “What, you’re going to let Duncan claim it?” I punctuated my innuendo with a flick of my tongue over Alistair’s sensitive earlobe, smirking as he gasped. I released his shoulder and leaned over Sten’s prone form. “Come on, you big baby, I’ll help.” In the end Duncan and I both had to help carry all eight feet of hornless kossith back, depositing the big man in his own tent.

I turned to Duncan. “I get it with Zevran, but why did Oghren do it? Or Sten? Did they say?”

“I’ll let them tell you themselves. In the morning.”

He looked so sad, I stepped in and gave him a hug, kissing his cheek gently. “Goodnight, Duncan.”

And then I was dragged into our tent by Alistair, where I proceeded to give him his reward, and then some.

There and Back - Chapter 107

elyssacousland — Mon, 09 May 2016 20:18:46 GMT

Chapter One Hundred Seven: Aftermath

After the Landsmeet, things moved quickly. Cailan – it’s really weird to call him that again – moved into the Palace, and offered rooms for the Grey Wardens, our companions, and Nathaniel, so we all transferred from Eamon’s. It was nice, having more space and not having multiple people crammed into one room. It was also nice to no longer pretend that we weren’t married – Alistair and I were given a large, lavish room in the family wing near Cailan’s rooms, and Aedan and Zevran were next door. Everyone else had their own rooms down a long corridor, and he assigned us a small dining room where we could meet and share meals.

Denerim’s Palace was enormous, but surprised me somewhat with its utilitarian style. The walls and floor were mostly stone, nicely done and sometimes painted, but there were no marble frescoes or whatever else I might have expected in a royal palace. There were beautiful tapestries on some of the walls depicting moments in Fereldan history, few of which I recognised, but most of the walls were bare except for sconces.

I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised – in the game, Fereldans were always described as practical and not overly ostentatious, unlike the Orlesians. The only thing that made the palace truly grand was the scale – it was, by far, the largest building I’d been in, on Earth or on Thedas.

There were multiple guest wings, no less than four enormous ballrooms, half a dozen huge dining rooms and many more small ones. There were sitting rooms, map rooms, gardens, armories, and rooms just for displaying statues of famous Fereldans. And all of them were done in a lovely, but minimalist style. However, the bedrooms had beautiful, thick rugs, and beds so soft you could get lost in them, and the family wing had bathing rooms attached to every bedroom with tubs and soaps and bottle after bottle of sweet smelling shampoos. If they’d only had indoor plumbing, it would have been perfect; as it was, my little shower head worked marvelously, and the staff were thrilled not to have to haul hot water.

Cailan fired most of the upper-level staff that had worked for Anora, providing some sort of severance package, then had Kallian help him replace them with qualified Alienage elves, for the most part. Blake stayed on as his manservant, of course, and there were chamberlains and seneschals and Maker knew what other sorts of staff that I didn’t even try to get to know that Cailan hired. I met the maid responsible for cleaning our rooms, a young, nervous elf named Noni, and the three responsible for serving food in the Warden dining room, and figured they were probably the only ones I needed to know by name.

Duncan put Loghain and Wulf through the Joining the night of the Landsmeet, and both survived. Both were given rooms at the palace, which surprised me, but Loghain was apparently to be invited to the strategy meetings and having him stay somewhere else just didn’t make sense. Cailan apparently treated him as though he didn’t exist most of the time, which was probably for the best, though I heard that one night there had been quite a bit of yelling coming from the direction of Loghain’s room. No one knew what, exactly, was said, but apparently Loghain was much subdued after that.

Personally, I avoided Loghain like the plague. Most of my friends had seen some horrible things done at his behest, but I’d seen Thedas with Cailan and Duncan dead. Despite knowing, and approving, of his conscription, I still wasn’t sure I’d be able to avoid getting into it with him, and one way or another, that wasn’t going to end well. We were supposed to be hiding my origin from him – we didn’t need him telling the Orlesians when he was transferred to Jader – so staying away seemed the best policy. And Aedan wouldn’t even tell me the things he said – like any explanation for the stupid things he’d done since Ostagar – because he figured I’d be unable to resist going to talk to him.

Duncan had apparently offered the Joining to Kallian, but she declined. I learned that Cailan had been talking with her and had her convinced to stay and work with him to improve the lives of the elves in the Alienage; I wondered if she’d eventually end up as Bann instead of Shianni. Her temperament might be better suited to it, actually…We hadn’t seen Shianni at all since our visit to the Alienage, and I wondered what she would do if she didn’t become the Bann.

Aedan, Alistair, Duncan, Cailan, Loghain, and Eamon spent most of the next few days closeted in meetings to determine the strategy for fighting the darkspawn; the rest of us were left to our own devices, for the most part. Some of us accompanied Kallian to the Alienage again, recruiting fighters for the King’s new military unit, The Night Elves, named after the elves who’d fought with Maric and Loghain in the rebellion; Leliana dragged me to the market district to window shop for shoes; we had Master Wade make a set of armour for Wulf which was far superior to his old, cobbled together junk. Boring, but necessary.

A messenger came to the Palace one night for Wynne – Gorim’s wife was giving birth, and the midwife was concerned it wasn’t going well. Leliana and I accompanied the mage as we hurried to the small house in the Market District, willing to help in whatever way possible. Wynne disappeared into Riana’s room, leaving Leliana and I to console an overwrought Gorim. We heard talking, and then a rather loud argument; the midwife, a chubby middle-aged woman with an impressive scowl, stormed out and left the house, cursing mages to the Void. Leliana and I exchanged fearful glances, interrupted by Wynne bellowing for help.

Soon I was boiling a large pot of water and scouring cupboards for clean towels and linens, while Leliana went into Riana’s room to aid Wynne. They did something – I couldn’t have said what, for which I was thankful – and Riana screamed like the world was ending. I had to hold Gorim back as he tried to throw himself at the closed door, talking quickly and trying to convince him that Wynne had everything well in hand. I wasn’t sure I believed it myself, but it seemed to calm Gorim some and he slumped back into his chair.

At Wynne’s shout I grabbed the water and a huge armful of clean linens and went in, shocked by the blood pooled on the bed and splashing down onto the floor. It looked like someone had been murdered, and violently at that. Leliana was holding Riana down, a strip of leather between the dwarf’s teeth to bite down on; Wynne had what looked like one entire arm up inside Riana, the aura of healing magic suffusing the room. I set down my items, uncertain how to help, just as Wynne slumped and fell heavily to her knees, pulling a very bloody arm out of the petite woman.

“Got it,” she sighed, looking happy though incredibly weary, then levered herself to her feet and began scrubbing her hands in the hot water, while I used towels to soak up some of the blood. When Riana squealed again, Wynne turned back, tiredly, and bent over the end of the bed again.

“Push now, my dear. You can do it.”

And Riana did; her face screwed up, in pain or concentration I couldn’t be sure, and suddenly Wynne was holding a tiny, bloody, squalling infant. Riana collapsed back in relief, and spat out the leather strip, holding out her arms for her baby; Wynne carefully tied the cord and cut it, wrapping the baby in a towel and handing it to the exhausted mother.

“It’s a girl.”

Riana’s face transformed as she beheld the tiny girl, who’d stopped screaming to snuffle adorably at her mother’s chest; her skin was still slightly purple, her head cone-shaped and irregular, but it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. The three of us went to work cleaning up the blood and other fluids, then Wynne ran a quick scan over Riana’s belly and the bundled baby, declaring both to be healthy.

Leliana stayed with Riana and the baby, and I accompanied Wynne to talk to Gorim.

“They are both fine,” she said, and Gorim took a big breath of relief. “The baby was turned the wrong way, but I was able to turn her; unfortunately, it caused significant bleeding. I’ve healed her, and she’s safe now, but she lost a lot of blood. She’s going to be tired, and need a lot of help for a few months. And she should eat red meat, or liver if you can get it, to help her build her blood back up.”

Gorim promised to find her liver for every meal if that was what it took, and then he bolted into Riana’s room to see her with his own eyes. Wynne followed him with an indulgent smile, and I grinned as she took the baby from Riana, tightened the blanket around her, and handed her to a very awkward-looking Gorim.

I just about said ‘awwww’ out loud, but managed to stifle it; watching Gorim’s face was seeing someone fall completely in love at first sight. He may not have been her biological father, but that didn’t seem to matter; he was smitten. His expression passed through a variety of emotions, from frank fear, to love, to a fierce protective instinct, and Wynne actually had to encourage him to loosen his grasp a little. It was adorable, and all four of us women exchanged pleased smiles.

And then Revan wandered in, rubbing his eyes irritably and scowling at the lanterns. When he saw his little sister, however, he was all smiles, and he climbed into bed beside his mother as they very carefully placed the baby in his arms. The same array of emotions crossed his little face as Gorim’s, and I had to wipe away a tear as he declared he was her big brother and would protect her forever.

The three of us finally left, leaving the little family to sort itself into some sort of routine.

I had only one real chance to talk to Cailan before I left Denerim with the Wardens, leaving Cailan behind. Alistair and I found him hiding in a small sitting room we’d taken to using when we wanted to talk privately amongst ourselves, and if I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn Cailan was hiding in it.

“Cailan?”

He flinched and spun away from the barely ajar door, where he’d been peeking out at whoever was in the hallway outside; we’d come in through another door leading off the hall nearest the Warden dining room.

“Uh, hi!”

I saw his eyes flit guiltily back towards the door, and stepped past him, putting my eye to the crack between door and jam. Blake stood there, a polite smile glued to his face, as an angry-looking red-headed woman glared at him imperiously.

“I demand to be brought before the King immediately, do you understand me?” Her voice was loud, shrill, and extremely annoying, and I adjusted my age estimate down as her voice reverberated through the hallway. Not a woman – a girl. “I will not be treated this way! I was robbed, I say, right in the market…”

Blake deftly led the woman away, and her voice thankfully receded as she followed him down the hallway to the sound of his polite rejections.

“Thank the Maker,” came Cailan’s voice at my back, and I turned away from the door to see my brother-in-law on his toes, watching the same scene over the top of my head. “I thought she’d never leave.”

“What was that all about?” Alistair inquired, as he held his hand out to me and I ducked under Cailan to take it. He pulled me securely against his side, wrapping his arm too casually around my shoulders; I rolled my eyes and he flushed before turning his attention back to Cailan.

“Habren Bryland,” Cailan complained. “She’s been coming up with one excuse after another to speak with me. What she expects me to do about being robbed in the market before the Landsmeet, I have no idea. Honestly, who keeps a tiara in her handbag anyway?”

I pinched my lips together, trying not to laugh; I had a good idea who had stolen that tiara, and Cailan didn’t need to know. He continued muttering angrily, unaware of my inner amusement.

“Well you are the most eligible bachelor in Thedas at the moment, your Majesty.” Cailan grimaced, and I grinned. “I’m not sure why you’re surprised. Just think of all the shopping she could do if she were queen!”

Cailan shook himself like a wet mabari, shuddering in horror. “Can you imagine it? The country would be bankrupt in a week. Though perhaps I could convince her that the darkspawn have the best Orlesian silks…she’d probably annoy them to death – or at least into running away from Ferelden.”

Alistair guffawed, and Cailan smirked before running a hand through his hair ruefully. “I’m lucky you found Blake, Sierra. I don’t know what I’d do without that kid. He’s cute and innocent enough to lie straight to someone’s face without being caught. Habren will find herself out on the street before she knows how she got there.”

“You’d better not be throwing that child to the dogs, Cailan. He doesn’t deserve to be shouted at because you’re ducking the nobles you don’t like.”

“Honestly, no one’s given him any trouble. I watch. And he seems to think it’s all fun and games, really.”

“Has he done it to Eamon yet?” Alistair’s expression was amused.

Cailan actually giggled. “Twice. Funniest thing I ever saw.” Cailan sank into a chair, and only then did I notice the dark circles under his eyes. Someone hasn’t been sleeping any. “So what can I do for you two? You found me, after all.” He winked.

I relaxed and sat in a nearby chaise, while Alistair curled up at my feet, his head in my lap, eyes closed as I stroked his hair softly. “Nothing. We weren’t even looking for you; Aedan and Duncan are supposed to meet Alistair here. I just came along for the ride.”

Alistair opened one eye a crack while Cailan seemed to try and puzzle through my Earth vernacular. “Since we found you, though, how are you doing? You look tired.”

Cailan scoffed, clearly planning to ignore the question, until he saw Alistair and I both watching him seriously. He sighed. “I don’t sleep well,” he confirmed. “Bad enough we’re having a Blight without all the idiotic politicking everyone keeps doing. I thought I was supposed to be the foolish one? Compared to them, I look more constant than Anora.”

I winced at the mention of his ex-wife’s name; the Grand Cleric hadn’t waited long to annul that marriage, and Cailan was officially single again. “Have you made any decisions yet?”

I didn’t have to explain further; Cailan wasn’t married to her any more, but he still hadn’t decided what he was going to do with her. He’d mentioned exile in the Landsmeet, but so far she was still on house arrest in her old rooms in the Palace.

“Nevarra,” he finally answered, just before I’d given up hope of an answer. “I have a few contacts there. A friend of my father’s, a widower who’s already got heirs, needs a political-minded wife in his bid for power within the nobility. He has large holdings for her to run, and she could work her way into the women’s circles in Nevarra City, help him harness the rumour mill. It’s far away from here – and from anyone who might have thoughts of using her to foment rebellion. I already offered it to her, and she seems…accepting. Maybe even pleased. It’s better than she expected from the man-child she believes me to be – she thought I was going to have her killed to assuage my ego.”

I frowned thoughtfully. Truly, it seemed better than she deserved after all she’d done, but I couldn’t fault Cailan for not wanting to execute or ruin a woman he’d once loved. It seemed cruel to place her fate in the hands of the one she’d hurt the most.

“How does Loghain feel about that?” Alistair’s tone was almost defensive, and I could picture him taking Loghain aside and chewing him out if he’d been a jerk about it.

“Surprised, mostly. Relieved, I think, and while he isn’t happy, he’s not made an issue about it either. Maybe I really am growing up, if I can avoid fighting with Loghain about even that.” We all chuckled.

****

Within a couple more days, Duncan had us moving again, leaving Denerim behind. I was sad to lose my cushy bed, but strangely glad to have a purpose again. We were to establish a command post near where we hoped to engage the horde before it reached Denerim, and form patrol routes between the mages, elves, dwarves, and Fereldans who were slowly assembling to form our army. And then, the armies were to combine and train. Loghain’s plan was for mages, archers, and close-range fighters to be interspersed with each other, divided into small units that could be mobile and responsive, linked by fast-moving messengers, and the mages were all to be taught a spell that sent a small flare into the sky, in different colours for different messages.

Each mage would be accompanied by one or more templars, which was the only reason they’d been given permission to play such an important role; to my surprise, Knight-Commander Greagoir, who had accompanied those who’d arrived from Kinloch Hold, argued passionately with the Grand Cleric to provide Chantry oversight to allow the mages more freedom and influence.

We had sent Morrigan off to find the three dwarves and direct them to us, and she flew off in bird form with a caw. We’d left Gorim in the city with his wife and new daughter; he promised to catch up with us in a month or so, once she’d started to feel better. I wanted to encourage him to stay and be with his family, but he’d promised Sereda to act as a liaison between the two dwarven groups – the Warrior Caste and the new Military – and the Fereldans, so I knew he’d come regardless.

The weather, finally turning from winter to spring, was suddenly disgustingly rainy, and every single thing anyone owned at the camp was immediately covered in mud. I was grateful that it wasn’t so cold, but disgusted by the conditions at camp. People were eating, sleeping, and training in the mud and rain, and sickness started to spread among the gathered troops. Loghain soon had crews of men felling trees and building raised platforms for the tents to be pitched on, and had a roof built over an area that served as a mess hall; between that and the healers, who worked tirelessly with the troops, the illness was halted before we’d lost more than a handful of men.

The next month was busy. Every day more people arrived – elves, dwarves, mages, templars, and the first groups of the Fereldan army. The Wardens who were not patrolling the edges of the Wilds were divided among the groups, teaching the various armies tactics, as well as how to avoid becoming tainted. Our companions were divided with them, so each Warden had at least one helper. I was assigned with Alistair, of course; it felt really weird teaching experienced fighters anything, given how new I was to fighting, but the tactics we’d used successfully for months against darkspawn were relevant no matter how skilled the fighter. Emissaries first, then ranged and stealth fighters take out archers while melee hold the front line. There were several small skirmishes between darkspawn raiding parties and one or two of the units, and the groups handled themselves well, with few casualties and no one tainted.

There was a small group of mages who Wynne had been working with in Redcliffe while the rest of us had gone to Orzammar, and they continued to train together instead of being separated into the other units; they were going to be the part of the core team that would help ground the Archdemon, aided by the dwarves with bola launchers who also arrived partway through the month. The mages had been training at combining their magic – the concept was well-known in healing, but seemed to be a new development in offensive magic – and they had managed to greatly increase the range and accuracy of frost spells and paralysis.

The bola launchers were a revelation; they were mobile, mounted on little two-wheeled carts that could be pushed around like wheel-barrows, and each was accompanied by two dwarves trained in their use. They looked a bit like someone took two ballistas, turned them sideways, and mounted them side-by-side. There were both the traditional bolas I had described originally, but also weighted nets that could be launched – however, they’d made some changes in design. Instead of rope, they were now made of a thin, supple chain, and instead of rocks tied to the end, the weights were made of what looked like concrete poured right around the end of the chain. They were much too heavy to throw by hand, and apparently the only way to separate the weights from the chain was to shatter the entire ball. The launch was powered not only by kinetic energy, but also by some sort of controlled explosion, giving them the range required. I guessed it was Lyrium, given the race of the man who’d designed them. The dwarves with the launchers and the mages immediately began working together, target training on clumps of ground levitated by other mages. I felt confident that if the Archdemon came down close enough to breathe fire, they’d be able to ground it.

The dwarf in charge of the launch crews, as they called themselves, approached me shortly after their arrival to present me with a small, heavy chest from Dallard, my business partner of sorts. Opening it later in our tent, I was stunned to find over 100 gold sovereigns, along with a note explaining that he’d sold more units to Sereda than he thought, and had also started selling them to Nevarra. There’d been several high dragon sightings in Orlais and the Free Marches, so he promised more gold, as soon as he had more units built.

“I married rich!” Alistair exclaimed with a grin. “You’re going to be glad to have that when you find out how little coin your husband gets paid as a Grey Warden.”

I slapped his shoulder, and he laughed and kissed me.

“I should send it to Soldier’s Peak, see if Levi Dryden will stay on as my seneschal, and get him started on the serious renovations.”

In the end, I sent Levi a message, nervous about carrying around that much gold but unwilling to hand it to an unknown messenger. One of the Fereldan army leaders had access to ravens trained to carry messages; I hoped they didn’t frighten Levi too badly, or have an awkward run-in with Shale and the Golem army we expected any time. The reply took several days, and Levi assured me the he would be pleased to act as my seneschal for the time being, and he would have someone, a Dryden cousin, pick up my little lockbox and take it to Soldier’s Peak safely. Without other options, I agreed. It took only two weeks for the messenger to arrive by horse, take delivery of my little lockbox, and leave again.

Finally the three dwarves caught up with us, and Oghren, Faren, and Bel began working with both the dwarven armies and the rest of the Grey Wardens. Oghren was practically glowing, wearing the first real smile I’d seen on his face since we’d met; he’d cut down drastically on his drinking, and began gaining reluctant respect even from the warrior dwarves for his skill and hard work training the groups on tactics. He’d been approached by several of the former casteless to train them as berserkers. Knowing he wouldn’t be interested in any emotional response, most of us exchanged nods and didn’t mention it, though I admit I had to spent some time teasing him about ‘forging the moaning statue’ and other ridiculous innuendos I could remember from the game, making him actually blush.

Morrigan was back as well, and with Dariel – who was now an efficient bird messenger when required – had begun teaching a handful of the other Dalish mages how to shapeshift into birds. We were hopeful they could serve as messengers. She didn’t even complain about being asked, and I wondered if Aedan had already had the conversation with her, or if she’d actually just agreed. I’m not asking which; I like my ass un-burnt, thank you very much.