310 réponses à ce sujet

[Maria13]

... and don't forget Morrie.

Yay you Batty! You picked up on something that I didn't want to make too explicit... Alistair's babymothers have problems.

[Maria13]

Chapter 73

Dragon 9:35 Parvulis/Kingsway Redcliffe/North of Lake Calenhad

Rous was not very familiar with the Redcliffe area but on that fine sunny morning, she found its hilliness exhilarating. She swept down on Hope from the castle across the narrow bridge and then past the Templars hall on the crest of a steep tor above the village. Several of the Templars were already out drilling and practising on the glade before hall the some in armour most not. She was feeling so excited that as she galloped past them she shouted out "Ahhhhhh Templaaaars!" at the top of her voice.

Most of them stopped in their tracks at being hailed so informally by a redhead on horse back but Knight Commander Harrith who was also there recognised her smiled cheerily and waved at her and Lawler, as they swept past. The narrow hillside path down to the village was rather steep so she slowed somewhat. She was happy to see Lawler follow suit. At the bottom, they trotted across the small dusty square towards the steps of the Chantry where they dismounted and Rous left Lawler with the horses as she knocked on the large doors to the temple. The door was shortly opened and some five minutes later Rous emerged with the tiny blonde woman with a page boy's hair cut dressed in the robe of a Chantry Mother and a light travel cloak.

"No," said the small blonde woman when she saw the horses, "no, no, no, no, noooo…"

Rous put her hands on her hips and said, "You have a choice Charbelle, Lawler or me. I'm sure Lawler will be very happy to take you won't you, Lawler?"

Lawler grinned at both the women and then bowed to Charbelle who was half a head shorter than he, "I would be more than happy, I would be honoured, Revered Mother."

"There, you see, Charbelle, you would be honouring him."

Charbelle turned to Rous put her arm around her neck and rather desperately whispered something into her ear. "No, sorry, you're not getting away with it. You come with me then, you can ride side-saddle you'll be safe. Lawler, if you will…"

Rous climbed up onto Hope and Lawler approached Charbelle, slipping his arms around her waist and then hoisted her up behind Rous. "You're very light Mother." He said as he did this and Charbelle blushed.

"Hold tight, Charbelle," Rous said. "Off we go." And she set off at a canter so as not to alarm her friend who was gripping her very closely.

"See it's not so bad…" She said after a while.

"It seems so far down…" Said Charbelle clutching Rous a little tighter.

"Strange to think you're a full mother now and yet younger than me." Said Rous in an attempt to distract her friend.

"Only in the Chantry."

"As if that didn't count… Are you happy there?"

"Of course I am. I know you think it strange, but yes. It's a quiet life, at the moment, not like during the Blight. I find it to my taste, lots of time for reading and study… As well as prayer."

Rous grunted.

"Oh I know you disapprove…"

"I don't."

"Yes you do. I can even pick it up in your letters. You're one of those people who believe that unless a woman has a man…"

Rous shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, "You're not a woman, Charbelle, and you're just a girl."

"I was twenty-one last name day, so I'm a woman." She said adamant.

Rous shook her head.

"I know as much about life as you do, thanks to the Blight— And my friend Rous."

"There is some truth in that, I guess." Rous conceded.

"All those racy stories you told me while you were getting better. You even tried to tell me what you did with poor, dear Maron and I had to put my hands over my ears!"

Rous looked behind them quickly to check Lawler hadn't overheard. "Shhhsh…" She said, "I did not… It must have been the fever… Even if I did, was trying to get you to come out of your shell."

"You certainly did, Rous, but I shall give you some allowance for the fever… Shell, what shell? Snails have shells, not I." Charbelle put her chin on Rous's shoulder, "How is Alistair?"

"He's well… Does too much, worries too much…"

"You sound a good match."

"I think we are… While we're on the subject…"

                                          ~...~

"So," Said Dean, "What's your friend's name again, Smarty Pants?"

"Gus," Said Alistair glancing at Fergus who'd just started heading back towards them from the bar, "And it's Sandy, not Smarty Pants."

"I happen to think Smarty Pants suits him rather well." said Fergus as he distributed the pints.

"Why thank you, Gus," Dean Replied, "What I want to know is why the likes of you are bothering with this jolly…"

"Well…" Said Fergus.

"Fun and games is it?"

Alistair cleared his throat.

"'Nuff said." concluded Dean.

"Gus has as much experience as I do…," said Alistair defensively.

"Good to know." said Dean looking at his short split nails "is that why you two were fighting?"

Alistair glanced down at his torn breeches.

"It was… over a woman." said Fergus fingering his bruised chin.

"Not exactly…" Alistair specified.

"So now my sister isn't a woman?" demanded Fergus, "how dare you!"

"You were just jealous, Fer— Gus, I mean…"

Dean pulled a dagger out from one of his belts and with a thud buried it in the wooden tabletop between them, snarling, "Stop it!" After a few seconds silence, while the knife still quivered in the wood, a serving wench began to approach hesitantly, Dean waved her away, "Don't worry luv, just sorting some issues here…"

He bent low over the table and in barely a whisper so both Alistair and Fergus had to lean forward in their turn, hissed, "You want to come rather than leaving it up to me to select my own team, fine… But no ars****ry in the field are we clear on that? Sandy?"

"Yes." said Alistair eyeing Fergus.

"Gus?"

"Aye." Replied Fergus with a totally blank expression.

"Well and good, then." there was a pause during which Dean examined them in turn as if he had never set eyes on them before and then took a hearty mouthful of his ale. "Now about this business…" He said wiping the froth from his lips with the back of his hand.

"A unit of Orlesian Templars is coming to retrieve a mage from the Tower to take her to Orlais. We need to intercept them and take the mage from them." Said Alistair.

"Alive?" asked Dean.

It was a good question, thought Alistair, he needed to make it obvious. "Absolutely, that is the whole point."

Dean grunted. "Can we count on the mage to assist us?"

"Not really. No. She knows we're coming but…"

"Do we know anything about these Templars apart from the fact they're Orlesian?"

"No." Replied Fergus.

Dean shook his head his mouth down turned.

"There is this…" said Alistair, producing a small vial sealed with wax from his sleeve and laying it carefully on the table. "As you know, I never completed my training… but I understand you will know how to use this."

After Fonst and Jora had been informed that their request had been approved Alistair had suggested something that might help track Mage Vallet. The free mages had put their heads together and Fonst had finally announced that they may be able to oblige.

Once Fonst and Jora had withdrawn, Alistair had raised an eyebrow at Oswyn. "Currents." Said Oswyn, "My guess is the currents in Lake Calenhad. That's how they're communicating. Sealed vessels, with wax perhaps. Mages, they'll probably have lots of that kind of thing available… I'll put it to the test one day."

Back in Highever Dean picked up the delicate object between his stubby fingers. "A phylactery, eh? Not too shabby." He put it in the purse at his belt. "That should help track 'em."

"We have horses, too." Fergus added. "Do you ride?"

"Usetah."

"Not looking so bad now is it?" Fergus asked jovially.

Dean rolled his eyes "Last I recall, horses didna fight…" He commented wryly.

                                                  ~...~

There was one fire and then there were two. It didn't seem to make sense. They were somewhere north of Lake Calenhad now, in a wooded area, a few miles from the nearest village. The Orlesian party when they left the Tower earlier that morning had gone out of their way to keep away from anything remotely resembling a road.

"Just tells you everything you need to know about them and their mission." Fergus had muttered and even Dean had snorted in agreement.

But now, two fires had been kindled. "Let me scout." Fergus had suggested and both the other men had nodded. Alistair was no scout, Dean probably wasn't either but there was a certain knowledgeable stealthiness to Fergus once they'd set out.

Fergus returned about half an hour later. "Four of them and the mage are around one fire… The fifth, youngish lad, is by himself next to the other."

"What's his mood?"

"Mood?" Fergus echoed.

"The young'un's." Clarified Dean.

"I…" Fergus closed his eyes, "Well, he's hunched up, glaring at the flames, face grim… Serious, I guess." He concluded.

"And the others?"

"They're getting tight, passing a skin around, boisterous…"

"Not good." Said Alistair.

"Not good for the mage…" Dean agreed, "but not bad for us."

"You have a point." Alistair conceded.

There was a moment's silence then Dean said, "I'll go an' speak to 'im."

"The young one?" asked Fergus, "but he's Orlesian… I speak Orlesian so does Alis…, I mean Sandy, but you?"

"And I speak TEMPLAR, an' that's what's needed here," Replied Dean, "You," He said pointing a finger at Fergus, "Scout an' keep an eye on the others, make sure she don't come to harm. Sandy stay here, lad." He touched Alistair's arm.

"But…" Objected Alistair.

Too late, it seemed, Dean was gone.

                                                   ~...~

When he heard a rustling in the bushes, the boy reached for his sword and slowly got to his feet.

"'Allo lad, mind if I cosy up?" Dean said looking in the direction of the fire. Puzzlement and suspicion vied in the young man's eyes, but eventually, with lips pursed, he gave a curt nod. Then he pointed to Dean's sword, Dean drew it very slowly and, for a moment, the young man froze. Dean laid it on the ground with the hilt towards the boy.

They both settled for a while, the lad mostly looking broodily into the fire and occasionally glancing at Dean. He had a very round head, an impression to which flat laying light brown short hair only added, a lumpy nose, deep pockmarks on both cheeks and high cheekbones. He was large but gangly with long limbs, probably hadn't quite stopped growing yet, Dean thought, hadn't filled in either. Tough life.

After about ten minutes, Dean drew out a skin and drank from it. Then he offered it to the lad, who shook his head.

"Well, I knows it ain't as good as the Orlesian stuff… You're Orlesian aren't you?" Said Dean pointing at him.

The lad nodded. "Bit far away from 'ome." Dean remarked and proffered the skin again. This time the young man took it and served himself a sip, scowling and then spitting the beverage out. Dean laughed.

"Fine, so it's no better than ******, ain't it?" Dean gestured towards his groin and the young man laughed too and returned the skin to him with a wry expression.

Dean drank some more and coughed. The young man hit him on the back. "Why thank ya." Said Dean once he'd recovered. "What's your name?"

"Guy." said the young man pronouncing it the Orlesian way.

"Gui, I'm Dean."

"Dean." The lad repeated.

"Gui," said Dean, "You's a Templar ain't ya?" He said indicating the boy's armour that lay in a pile a few yards away.

"Yes." He replied cautiously in Fereldan.

"Me too. Look…" Dean pulled up his right sleeve and flushed the old blue sunburst tattoo on his biceps. The boy looked at Dean's face uncertainly and then run rough fingers over it. "Vinct…" Dean's very scanty Orlesian failed him.

"Vingt ânées?" Asked the young man.

"More…" said Dean, "More."

"Plus."

"Yeah, that's it, plu'" Dean repeated. Guy sat back on his knees his hands crossed in front of him and for a while studied Dean very carefully, overall, he looked rather impressed. Dean took that as a cue, "Why ain't you wit the others Gui, your brothers?" He asked gesturing in the direction of the other camp.

Guy shook his head and looked into the fire. "La jeune fille… déshonorant…" His hands fisted and then opened, he clenched them and opened them slowly several times.

Dean reached over and touched him. "We're here to get her, the jeyne fill." He said quietly, Guy glanced at him. "We don't mean to harm her, either… I swear by the Maker and my honour as a Templar. Will you help us?"

"Aider?"

"Yeah, noose ader…"

                                                ~...~

The youngest had gone his own way in disgust but unfortunately, the four most experienced and hardened remained.

She was exhausted not only from the walking, they had tried to make haste, indecent haste, she thought, that of the murderer slinking down the alley, and they were all extremely fit men as most Templars were wont to be. But also, because she had been the subject of numerous draining castings on their part even though she had attempted to make it clear to them that she would not offer resistance, they persisted in disbelieving her. She had eventually concluded that it was out of spite; they had been enjoying themselves at her expense.

Until now, she had only poorly understood how much of her vital energy was tied up with her being a mage. She was presently sitting on the ground leaning against the trunk of a tree. Those wretched shackles that they had clamped around her wrists as soon as they had lost sight of the tower were pinning her arms behind her back, yet she felt she was floating a few yards above the ground, light-headed and dizzy. Unreal as if something that were underlying her personality, giving it presence, form and mass had suddenly gone missing and with it, a considerable amount of her stamina.

Alternatively, perhaps it was simply fear that was incapacitating her, she was usually very good at self-analysis and self-questioning but now she was finding it hard to concentrate to fix her mind for any amount of time on one thing, one issue. Of course, things were getting bad, they'd already emptied one skin between the four of them and now another was doing the rounds. She'd put up with the leering and remarks since they had left the Tower to the extent that she'd given up attempting having any meaningful conversation with any of them, except the young one who actually seemed embarrassed by his seniors and was too shy to talk, because they always ended up in the same sordid cul-de-sac.

She put her face against her bent knees in an effort to both block out the view of the increasingly inebriated Templars and to concentrate on something more worthwhile utterly distant from the present.

It was not to be, "Eh, eh, 'Pina or whatever the f*** your name is…" Said the one called Denis the leader, obviously. "Look at us… Don't hide, you f****ing mage…" He stood over her and she felt a hand grab her hair and yank her head back so it knocked against the tree trunk. She exhaled slowly. "Look at me… Aren't I pretty enough for you?"

Crispina tried very hard to keep her features composed while taking in Denis' shaggy facial hair, the bristling eyebrows and slug-lipped mouth. For all that, he would not have been entirely unattractive, she thought, if only he'd wash a little more frequently, because he smelled of stale sweat now, overlaid with cheap booze; if his nose weren't smattered with broken veins through too much drinking, lyrium abuse or both, and the whites of his eyes not yellowy and blood-shot and his skin not grey and flaky for the very same reason.

"You g****ing mage, Antivan b***h…" His insults were getting more imaginative… She had to suppress a dangerous and indecent urge to giggle at her own unvoiced joke. "Move that arse… Over here!" He said pointing.

He seized her arm and pulled her abruptly to her feet. All her effort went into keeping her face completely blank as he did this, not showing pain, humiliation or fear. He himself moved back a few paces and it was obvious he expected her to stand in front of him, so she did.

He glared down at her, he was about a head and a half taller, "On your knees, b***h!" Behind them, the others chuckled.

Slowly, cautiously she complied. Once she was on the ground, he shot her a satisfied smile almost infantile in its glee. "Now bend low, pretty one, show my brothers that nice tight bum of yours and kiss my boots…"

For just a moment she hesitated, Denis gave her a backhanded slap across the ears. She lowered her face towards his scuffed muddy boots. She didn't quite put her lips against the worn leather but made the appropriate mouth movements. Everything was silent for the next minute or so, except for the crackle of the fire, as if the four Templars were holding their collective breath.

For some reason she couldn't determine she suddenly stopped and looked up. Next to Denis' face and just behind it she saw another one. If Denis was hirsute, this one was clean-shaven Denis' hair was dark whereas this ones was pale, short to his long, hazel eyes to his blue. The apparition put a finger to his lips as if admonishing her. Like most mages, she didn't really believe in the Maker's sacred envoys or benign Fade spirits, but for one single beat of her sceptical heart…

Denis shuffled but before he could say or do anything, she lowered her face again and renewed the mock kissing with fresh vigour. Denis giggled.

It was the last conscious sound he was to ever make.

Because following on from it, there was a kind of whooshing noise followed by a throaty stutter and a sickening dull thud that then gave way to a gush of warm liquid. Crispina looked up just in time to see the blond man himself spattered in blood casually step past Denis' now headless body and push it to one side with a twist of his hips so it did not fall on her on its way down.

Another step and he was in front of her like a wall of metal, clad in full Templar armour, she realised, brandishing his freshly bloodied sword.

A precaution that, from what she saw peeping to the side of his legs, was wholly unnecessary because no sooner had the three other Orlesian Templars recovered from the shock of Denis's decapitation than they were set upon by three others in their turn.

"Surrender, surrender" gasped the one called Leon in Fereldan.

The large man in front of her pivoted elegantly on his heels. "Where is the key?" He asked her in Fereldan-accented Orlesian, his eyes were hazel.

"…" Another of the Orlesian Templars, Charles, starting throwing up for a moment Crispina felt the same. Her saviour waited patiently. "Pouch…" She gasped finally.

"Ah-ha." Said the big guy and he turned to the headless body and began tugging at its belt. Crispina felt ill just watching this. "Ca y est.…" He said showing it to her.

"I speak Fereldan." Said Crispina, sounding horribly peevish even to her own ears.

"Of course you do." He said amiably. He squatted down behind her and started fiddling with the shackles. "Everything alright over there?" He shouted over her shoulder.

"Yeah," replied an older man.

"There you go," He said releasing her. Crispina gasped when they metal fastenings came loose, as suddenly her wrists were flooded with pain.

Now he was in front of her, and, holding her left hand, was rubbing her wrist with his thumb to restore the circulation. "I read some of your essays, Mage Vallet." He commented. "Name's Sandy by the way…" It was as if they were two normal people who'd just met in the market place or at a country dance or something.

"Did you read the one about violence being the last resort of the incompetent?"

He paused in his rubbing. She watched his eyebrows gather on his forehead. "Not that one, no." He said slowly.

"I can recommend it." She snapped. Why was she being such a total b***h?

He sat back on his heels and regarded her. "Am I being chastised?"

She waved her newly freed hands in Denis' general direction. "You… Killed him."

Sandy scratched the back of his head, looked at the corpse and then at her. "Yep, I did. Would you have suggested another approach?"

She ignored the sarcasm. "You could have asked him to yield…"

"Then you might be the one lying there." He pointed out quite reasonably.

She took a deep breath.

"He was making you kiss his boots." Sandy added.

"But he wasn't…"

"He wasn't what?" He asked keeping his voice gentle. "Look there, your robe, the seam on your left shoulder…" She turned her head to look. He touched it, touched her skin through the rent making her jump. "It's been torn…"

"I…"

"And that mark on your neck." He touched that. "How did that get there?" He looked away for a moment and then back at her. "Mage Vallet, are you all right?"

She drew a deep breath, "One of them… Caught me alone… That's all…," she mumbled.

He gazed towards the remaining three Templars who by this time had been securely bound. "Which one?" He asked. There was suddenly a feral gleam in his eyes.

"Sandy." She touched his arm.

"Hmmmm…" He replied turning back to her.

"Nothing more happened. It didn't go further than that." Crispina said adamantly.

"Are you sure now?" He asked.

Crispina looked him straight in his hazel eyes. "Certain." She said.

"Well, no more killing I guess then," He said. "After all I don't want to classed as being doubly incompetent now do I?" He got up with a bit of effort it seemed, using his sword for support.

"Anyway…" He said by way of farewell and ambled over to the other side of the fire. She saw him speaking to a dark haired man with a beard, also in full Templar armour. It was clear that they were speaking about her through the glances they were casting in her direction. After a few moments, the other man came towards her.

"Buenas noches, sra Vallet." He said in Fereldan-accented Antivan.

The surprise must have shown on Crispina's face, who were these men? Within the Tower, if all the Fereldan mages agreed on something, even those who loved their nation, it was that Ferelden was an especially ignorant and backwards country.

"Mi difunta esposa era antiveňa…" He explained rather bashfully.

More mystery: An Antivan wife? She nodded in an attempt to recognise his grief. He had kind eyes. "Grateful if you could help me to my feet."

"Of course." He said.

"What's your name?"

"Gus," He said, "My name is Gus."

                                              ~...~

Sandy took third watch. At first, he wandered around the small encampment. He passed her by several times; he seemed to be checking that she was asleep. Between her eyelashes, she peeked up at a rather stern beautiful face illuminated by the torch he held. Eventually having collected some wood he went over to re-kindle the fire.

Crispina hunkered down opposite him. He had removed most of his armour save for the breastplate and the gaudy Templar cummerbund had become a convenient scarf, but he seemed to be shivering as he held his hands out towards the flames. He didn't seem to be surprised she was there.

"I am sorry if I sounded ungrateful earlier."

"You were, quite naturally, a bit worked up." He said.

"But it doesn't excuse…"

He shrugged. "My take on it is that we had a philosophical disagreement…" He said, "Or was it a moral/philosophical disagreement or a philosophical/moral disagreement…? Those things have always confused me…"

"Alright, alright," Crispina replied. "Next thing I know, Sandy, you're going to tell me you are just a simple Templar…"

"I never got to be a Templar." He smiled at the fire.

"But you always wanted to be one, huh?"

"No. Not at all. Honest." He said looking at her. "Back to this disagreement…" He said.

"Uh-huh."

"My position on the matter is that there are lines that as a man you do not cross. One of those lines is behaving towards women like our late friend Denis was…"

Crispina went to say something.

"No, no, no. Let me finish here, then it's your turn…"

"Fine."

"I've killed so many things… Some of them, I couldn't even name… Some I wouldn't even want to name… That troubles me not at all. But I've also killed many obviously sentient beings, elves, dwarves, humans and such… Crowds of them, in actual fact. Some of them trouble me, will always trouble me… I do have a conscience… But what that man was doing, was about to do to you, in my view, puts him beyond the pale. He's definitely towards the very bottom of any list I would lose sleep over…" He paused. "Your turn."

"He hadn't laid a finger on me. We don't know that he would have." Sandy looked at her incredulously, "That would be an assumption on either of our parts. Even if he did, he could have grown to regret what he did wrong but death denies him that option, it's final, can't be undone…"

"But potentially..."

"Our moral judgment should not ride on potentials, only on facts, evidence. Especially when the penalty is final."

"I wish I could have you as an adviser." He said wistfully, "But not possible… Too dangerous for you and for me… I believe his behaviour indicated he was going to act in a certain way and I intervened to prevent that."

"An indication is just that, not a fact. Your precautionary intervention could have taken another form. Should have taken another form."

"'Precautionary intervention', huh… You know what? I'm feeling a bit tired, been a long day…" He looked up at the sky that was just beginning to turn pink at the dawn. "Day or two… Can we leave this here, agree to disagree?"

"We can, if you tell me one thing…"

"Which is what?" He fiddled with the cummerbund ****** scarf around his neck.

"Why… How did you get to kill so many? I'm intrigued."

He shook his head and smiled to himself. "Oh, we had a little problem here a few years back. Just some local issue, you know? Called a Blight…" He grinned at her. "We're all children of the Blight here in Fereldan now, you see, for good… or for ill."

Modifié par Maria13, 23 juin 2011 - 11:16 .

[Addai]

Interesting chapters. I'm curious where it's all going and how it will tie in with Morrigan/ Flemeth.

[Maria13]

Yeah, me too... Perhaps I shouldn't say that.

There is a plan. Somewhere...

[Maria13]

Chapter 74

Dragon 9:35 Parvulis/Kingsway North of Lake Calenhad/North Road/Redcliffe

At Dean's suggestion, they had hurled the Templars' swords into a nearby pond the previous night. Come the morning he'd added that perhaps the Templars' boots should join the swords as: "Ya can't go far or fast barefoot…"

They'd turned it into a competition after breakfast. Guy won on distance with Sandy not too far behind. Gus won the fanciest throw category, which they didn't even know existed until he announced his victory based on the largest amount of spins described by one of the boots he threw as it swung through the air. Mage Vallet stood under the tree watching the fun, looking as pale as someone with her rich brown skin could and slightly stunned as four full-grown males whooped and tossed footwear until all four pairs had joined the swords in the murky cold depths.

Then it was time to be serious again. Sandy who was wearing a coarsely knit woollen tunic under his breast plate, matching breeches, weathered brown leather calf-length boots, and still had the Templar cummerbund wrapped round his neck, lamented that he had not brought his writing box but instead offered Guy, whose surname was Auban, a pouch of coin.

Guy tried to refuse, making clear that what he had done had been done for honour and out of respect for a woman and a vulnerable person. Sandy and the others pointed out that he would need it if he were to settle in Ferelden, which was deemed the safest course of action for him. Sandy and Dean advised him that if he wished to continue being a Templar he should make a request of Gregoir. And Sandy went further and suggested that should he wish to settle in Denerim he might want to think about becoming a member of the royal guard, he told him he should speak to a certain Oswyn of Dragon's Peak and made sure the youth memorised the name. Guy then departed after lots of hearty pats on the back on foot towards Kinloch Hold.

Once he had left Sandy turned his attention to the remaining Orlesians.

Squatting down next to them he said quietly: "You guys… don't want to see you in Ferelden ever again."

Leon spat on the ground. F***k Ferelden the weather's awful here anyway…"

"Fereldans are all impious infidels and treacherous with it…" added Marc.

"Your women are ugly; the dogs are much prettier…" Said Clovis.

Waiting until their guffaws had subsided, Sandy, replied, "You guys are breaking my heart… But I'll only warn you this once. Next time it's your heads. We'll see to that, won't we?" He said glancing at Gus and Dean who nodded.

"Arsewipes." Added Dean.

"Motherf***ing Heretics." Leon shot back in Fereldan. Dean clenched his fists.

"Insofar as we can, shall all attempt to be civilised about this?" Sandy said. Then he got up and ambled over to where they'd tied the horses, extracting something from Dusk's saddlebags. He came back.

"I'd like you to ensure this gets to Divine Justinia."

Leon spat again. "Like f***."

"It's from the king of Ferelden." Said Sandy brandishing it, "But I see you're not too impressed."

"The King of scurvy, rabid dogs you mean," Said Leon, catching sight of the two mabaris on the grey wax seal, "King of this stinking dung pile. I'm surprised the bastard can write…"

"Oh he can write," Sandy assured them, "Believe you me, he can even muster a few words of Orlesian when put under pressure to do so. But anyway, this letter exonerates you from responsibility for what happened yesterday… If it doesn't get to the Divine within say… Twelve weeks, His Majesty will dispatch another to her by formal diplomatic courier, the contents of which will be somewhat different and will include a complaint that his first letter never reached her, mentioning you all by name…"

"And why would the King of Ferelden take such an overweening interest in the well-being of a mage… An Antivan mage on top of everything else." Said Leon glancing sideways at Crispina who seemed to be keeping her eyes resolutely on the ground throughout the conversation.

"The same question could be asked of the Divine… But to answer briefly, I believe the King of Ferelden has a certain weakness for mages. And sympathy for their plight." Sandy in his turn glanced over towards Mage Vallet. She'd been rather quiet this morning he thought.

"That figures, blasphemous bastard dog that he is…"

Sandy sighed and got up. "I shan't bother to explain in detail… But while the Divine before this one, and, really, I don't think this one is any better, was sitting safe and happy on her arse up in Val Royeaux, a mage from the tower, a female Elven mage at that, was helping a not quite Templar, now King, fight a Blight on the front line here in Ferelden." The end of the cummerbund had slipped and he tossed it nonchalantly back over his shoulder. "As far as I'm concerned Ferelden owes mages and Elves a particular debt. Call it gratitude, admiration, loyalty, honour… I dunno, not sure you people understand any of those things from what I saw of your behaviour yesterday."

Sandy bent down and tucked the sealed letter inside the quarrelsome Templar's surcoat. "Here you are, Monsieur Leon Rique, get that to the Divine and give her the King Alistair's fond regards. Bon voyage and all that, good luck dodging the wolves, they're kind of hungry this time of year, they can sense winter in the air…" He turned his back and took several steps away. "Ah, I forgot. Here's a very blunt dagger," He dropped it some ten feet away from the  Templars, "But hopefully it might still assist you in cutting your bindings."

"So you did write that letter." Gus whispered to Sandy once they were outside the Templars' hearing distance.

"I did, yes." Sandy replied smiling at him briefly showing lots of teeth.

"Is it prissy?"

"Maker help me, it's extra prissy I was in a particularly petulant mood the evening I put quill to parchment."

Gus grinned happily, "That's my touchy boy…" he said and slapped him on the back.

They then paired up: Sandy would take Dean north, to Redcliffe with him and Mage Vallet, who had been offered and accepted some woollen garb similar to Sandy's in place of her robe, although she had to roll up the sleeves and legs for it to fit her, would go east with Gus to Highever where she would pose as a distant cousin of his late wife until passage on a ship could be arranged for her.

"Give my love to Rosy." Gus said.

"I will." Sandy replied. "Mage…"

"Sandy." Crispina lowered her eyes for the briefest moment as Gus wheeled his horse around.

"Keep well." He wished her, "Keep writing."

"Be wise." She said in turn.

"Wise? Wise that sounds so old, Mage…" He complained.

"Someone like you needs wisdom, young or old…"

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Sandy asked.

But Gus was already heading on his way, from behind him Mage Vallet turned and raised a hand vaguely in Sandy's direction.

                                                                                          ~...~

"Well… So much for that…" Said Alistair raising a mute hand in turn.

"Can't win them all, Your Majesty." Quipped Dean laughing.

"Never even got to have so much as a half decent conversation…"

"At least she's all right."

"True enough." He started paying attention to Dusk, "Redcliffe it is then…" They set out at a good canter.

"Gus's sister…" Said Dean after a while.

"Yeeeeees…"

Dean shifted in the saddle behind him, "What colour's her hair?"

"Red."

"Nice, very nice… What's she like?"

In thinking about Cosy and thinking about her hair, Alistair could not stop himself thinking about her eyes, her mouth, her hands… Before he knew it, he was imagining her hands over him. Not the most comfortable way to ride a horse, Alistair. "Wonderful. Best thing that ever happened to me…" Such stilted words. His voice sounded choked even to himself.

Dean chuckled with gusto leaving Alistair in no doubt at all that the older man understood his position perfectly.

Alistair drew breath to clear his head a little. "What do you want in exchange for your help?"

"Just that you continue to look after Helena."

Now Alistair was in another fix because he couldn't recall setting eyes on Dean's daughter for a couple of months. He grunted non-committally and resolved to check up on her in person on a regular basis when he got back to Denerim.

"She writes to me every six weeks or so." Dean said.

"Really? But I thought…"

"I can't read." Dean belonged to an older generation of Templars whose education was greatly neglected. "But a friend of mine can, so he tells me what's in the letters. She'd doing really well, apparently."

Alistair was aware of that. She was acting as a healer for all the members of the royal household and he had heard many satisfied murmurs; even from Anora one of whose ladies in waiting had recently visited her for an undisclosed female ailment. "But still…" He added.

"Sends me money, too." His voice was full of pride. "And once even a bottle of wine."

Helena was paid a stipend and also allowed to keep what gifts her patients wished to press on her. Helena was no drinker that much he knew. "Look," He said, "You kept us two under control, you used your initiative more than once, I would like to do something for you…"

"A horse would be nice…" Said Dean patting Dusk's rump. "One that will last me, a young 'un but not quite as impetuous as this one 'ere. So these old legs don't get so sore no more."

"Done." Replied Alistair relieved. "But even though your legs might not get so sore…"

"What's between them will!" Quipped Dean. It was an old saying, apparently, that Fergus had told him on their ride. "Doesn't matter…" Dean added, "Those parts ain't so active now as they once were…"

                                                                                        ~...~

"Sandy…" Said Crispina.

"Yes… What of him?" Asked Fergus.

"Rather prideful, is he not?"

"Somewhat, Mage Vallet, somewhat." Fergus replied cautiously keeping his eyes well ahead.

"What's his story?"

"He… Err… Ah… Was rather active in the campaign against the Blight."

"Yes, he told me as much…" Mused Crispina. "Does he know King Alistair?"

"Why would you ask that?"

From behind Gus Mage Vallet smiled to herself and the prickliness in Gus's inflection. "Oh, I don't know… He carried a letter from him… He seemed to be very in tune with the King's thoughts and opinions…"

"Well, yes… I guess… He might know him fairly well…" he conceded.

"But how well?"

"How would I know Mage? I'm just, ehem… A soldier who was married to an Antivan."

"Who also speaks and understands Orlesian…" Gus tensed somewhat. "Oh don't deny it, I saw you cocking your head when Sandy was talking to those wretched Templars. The older guy, Dean was certainly not getting as much as you were, Gus."

"Well, my parents…"

"Were Orlesian?"

"No, no. Maker forbid, no. But they had Orlesian friends."

"Oh I see."

"Highever being a port…"

"Of course. Makes sense." Crispina decided to change tack. "This place you're taking me to in Highever, how many bedchambers does it have?"

"Why would you…? Enough it has enough." Fergus felt caught off guard.

"Enough you say? Curious."

"How so?" He murmured in reply.

"Not one or two, but enough? You couldn't count them, you don't know how many?"

"I… May not be entirely familiar with the place… Not with Highever, I mean but the place where we'll be secreting you…"

"Highever never struck me as being a particularly large… village, with many particularly large abodes."

Fergus pursed his lips and pulled at the horse's bridle. After a few seconds, they came to a halt and the gelding started grazing. Then he turned towards her looking at her over his right shoulder. "Mage Vallet, why do I get the impression that you are toying with me?"

"Perhaps because you gentlemen appear to be toying with me?"

Fergus sucked in some air, "If it helps any, Mage Vallet, I am Fergus Cousland, Teyrn of Highever. You will be concealed in my private residence while we arrange your passage to… Wherever you the whim takes you, as we have agreed. I have also been requested to arrange a meeting with Erno Fonst and some of his group before you leave, should you wish it. And before you ask, 'Sandy', was… is… Alistair Theirin. The King of Ferelden."

"Oh." Now that all her suspicions had been confirmed, Crispina felt a little dizzy once again especially since she had been so irascible with them both. She looked away.

"Well?" Said Fergus after a few moments, sounding somewhat annoyed.

Crispina collected herself, "Is Ferelden so small and disorganised that the monarch lacks a standing army and has to do such a thing himself?"

"No. We wanted to keep it confidential, obviously, this rescue of yours, but also we did it for…" He shrugged weakly, "Fun and games."

"Fun and games." Echoed Crispina. She could hardly believe her ears. She recalled earlier in the day, the boot throwing, and the laughter.

"We're both fighters by training and inclination. We like to keep our hands in… It is the one thing we have in common… That and my sister Rosy…"

"What has your sister got to do with this?"

"She's his…" For a brief moment Fergus seemed to be fishing for the right term, "Mistress." He concluded.

                                                                                      ~...~

Alistair arrived at Redcliffe castle when evening was well advanced after having dropped off Dean at a hamlet on its outskirts. One of the guards on duty offered to take Dusk and accommodate him the old stables. He walked up the staircase to the main halls, his back aching and feeling every step in his stiff legs.

When he got to the top, the large doors opened and Bann Teagan and Lawler stood bathed in torchlight. He could see no sign of Cosy.

"Alistair…" Said Teagan and then appeared momentarily lost for words. "You must know that she is expected to recover well…"

Both Teagan and Lawler looked unaccustomedly drawn.

"Tell me what happened." He said quietly.

The fruit, bread and wine lay in front of him untouched. He had insisted on seeing her but the healer advised him she was sleeping and that it would not be right to disturb her. Nevertheless, he had opened the door to her darkened chamber and listened for a few minutes to Cosy's steady breathing before deciding to heed the healer's advice.

"Wynne performed some early healing." Teagan explained.

"That's good." He said nodding. Alistair felt very numb, none of this seemed real.

"I… It was mainly my fault." Lawler blurted.

"'Twas not." Said Teagan putting a hand on his arm.

"Just tell it straight and be done with it." Said Alistair, "I'm too tired for messing around."

"The day actually started really well…" Even Alistair couldn't prevent himself from smiling when Lawler described Rous cheering the Templars and picking up Charbelle. "We got to Lothering early so the three of us went to that Inn…"

"The King's Head." Interjected Alistair.

"To break our fasts, yes. Great meal. The lady insisted on paying." He blushed, "And then, well, around mid-morning the ceremony itself began. It was all right, I suppose, I've never been particularly pious. But Lady Cousland seemed to enjoy it well enough… I was sitting next to her; she seemed very involved most of the time. Even shed some tears…"

"As well as the re-consecration itself there were several readings from the Chant." Teagan added, "They alternated between Revered Mothers and Templars, even a mage at one point… But Lawler is correct, it was very long. I was seated next to Isolde and after an hour or so she started to fret and mutter, eventually Eamon had to take her outside…"

"So when did whatever happened, happen?" Alistair enquired.

"At the end." Said Lawler.

Teagan nodded.

"Lady Cousland insisted that Gregoir and the Templars attending should leave the Chantry first because the chapel would now be dedicated to them. The Revered mothers who had officiated, five or six of them including Charbelle, lined up to offer all attendees their blessings and good wishes as they filed out. We followed and then the rest of the congregation were to follow us. And then… Just as we had walked past her, one of the Mothers pulled a dagger from her robes—"

"Wait," Said Alistair holding up a hand, "One of the Mothers?"

Teagan and Lawler both nodded.

"F**k."

"Yep. Mid twenties red hair. I was arm in arm with Lady C and out of the corner of my eye caught a sudden movement behind us. Lady C gasped. Fortunately that first thrust missed but it was close…"

"Please." Said Alistair covering his eyes.

"It missed Alistair," Lawler reassured him, "It missed."

Teagan reached over and laid a hand on Alistair's arm.

"Lady C whirled around and reached back towards her hair with her right hand…"

"For her ironbark blade."

"Didn't know." Said Lawler shaking his head.

"Bregeth." Said Alistair.

"I see. Well unfortunately I was slower to react than Lady C, I… Well, the whole thing caught me by surprise it was what I least expected, a Chantry, a Revered Mother, I…"

"So Cosy… I mean Rous was fumbling for her knife while attempting to ward off the Mother's attack? What exactly are her injuries?"

"Two deep cuts to her left forearm, some cuts to her left hand and a superficial cut to her right thigh according to the healer." Said Teagan.

"F**k." Said Alistair again. "And what of this worthless Mother?"

"I cornered her but… I hesitated… I know, that sounds so bad but she was a MOTHER, Alistair, a Revered of the Chantry and a young woman to boot. I…"

Alistair sighed, recalling his own confrontation with Habren. "I know. It's a completely different kettle of fish when your assailant is not a male or an abomination of some kind… Far be it from me to blame you, Lawler, you did what you could…"

"The important thing, Alistair, is that Lawler got her away from Rous— No Lawler, don't bloody object, you did… I saw it, I was there…" Said Teagan.

"Then Gregoir intervened." Said Lawler

"Gregoir…"

"Yes, Alistair, Gregoir who was outside came back to see what the fuss was about and then waded straight in, hit her square on the jaw. Knocked her clean out. She's in one of our cells down below as we speak…" Teagan added.

"She's not right." Said Lawler, "Keeps going on about 'Anora' or something…"

"Not 'Anora'" Teagan corrected him, "More like 'aona'"

"'Aonar'?" Asked Alistair.

"Could be," Teagan replied, "'Aonar', sounds about it… What is that?"

Alistair licked his lips, suddenly they felt very dry. "'Aonar' is a special… Prison for mages. By all accounts extremely unpleasant… I heard about it when I was in training. I'm not sure whether it actually exists or it's just some kind of myth to keep would-be recalcitrant mages in line… First I've heard of a Revered Mother being sent there…" His brow creased as he said this, there was a stray thought, just on the edge of his recollection. He brushed it aside,"Does this wretched woman happen to have a name?"

"Lily." Teagan said glancing at Lawler, "She told us her name was Lily."

Tempted though he was he did not go to pay Lily a visit that night. The name seemed somehow familiar but he was too tired to make the effort to dredge it up. He had more important things to do. He'd washed quickly and then he entered the chamber in clean smallclothes and got into the bed as quietly as he could. Cosy was still snoring gently and seemed deeply asleep.

He didn't know how long after it was but at one point she stirred, turned towards him and murmured, "Ali… Thank the Maker…" he wasn't convinced she was fully awake, nevertheless he took her in his arms pulling her very tightly against him, noting that she was warm to the point of feverish.

                                                                                        ~...~

The next thing he knew someone was kicking his shins. He woke up "Ali, my Ali" She said ruffling his hair with her right hand. "I thought it was a dream." From the light coming past the curtains it was past dawn.

"No dream." He replied, "What did you do to yourself Cosy? Eh?"

"I…"

Alistair sat up and pulled the covers down from her. She wore a light nightdress and was clasping her left arm against her breast. From hand to elbow it was swathed in bandages. "It hurts…" She said unhappily wiggling her fingers and biting her lip.

"'Course it does." He replied. "You need some breakfast… So do I, actually." He said sitting up.

"I must look such a mess…"

As she lay against the pillow her hair looked stringy and she was flushed and careworn, but he didn't mind at all. Not one bit. The important thing was that Cosy was alive, if not quite well. The rest could be dealt with by means of lots of rest, feeding, some healing and a dunk in a bath tub. He stroked her face, "All that will be fixed. You'll be on your feet in no time." He said.

She started to cry, tears leaking from the corners of her green eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'm sorry…"

"Whatever for?" He asked brushing away the tears and kissing her quickly on her lips, they were cracked he noticed. Her breath was warm and sweet.

"I'm more scarring than woman…" She said.

"You say such dross sometimes…"

She thrashed feebly. "Help me sit up." He put a hand behind her waist and pulled her up. Then he piled the pillows up behind her. She sank against them with a quiet sigh.

"There you go." He said

"You know what happened?" She asked.

"Yes. Teagan and Lawler explained it." He said sitting next to her on the edge of the bed.

"Good. Don't let them blame themselves. It was completely unexpected." Her voice was very low, and she swallowed, it seemed speaking was an effort.

"So I gathered."

"I— "

"I don't want to interrupt but you need some breakfast, Cosy…"

She nodded weakly in response but added, "Just so you know, Alistair, it could have been much worse." At the time that particular comment puzzled him somewhat.

                                                                                       ~...~

It wasn't until early afternoon when Cosy was resting that he was able to visit Lily. He heard her before he saw her. She seemed to be moaning or humming disjointedly she slumped against the wall of the small cell head between her knees. She was still wearing her orange and gold robes, but they were torn and tattered in places and spattered here and there with brown stains. Her hair was red but more carrot-toned than Cosy's.

The guard pointed one finger to his forehead and swivelled it. Alistair nodded for him to go and went over and leaned against the bars… It was in this place several years ago that they had found Jowan locked up, he recalled, perhaps in this very same cell. The smell hadn't improved, musty and stale with a touch of unwashed dog.

And suddenly, he remembered, it all fell into place.

"Lily…" He murmured looking down at her.

She raised her face from between her knees and glanced up at him. Her face was more ravaged than Cosy's that morning. Her cheeks sunken, mouth virtually lipless, skin an unhealthy yellow, her eyes were dark brown but somehow vacant and the left side of her jaw was swollen and blue black. After a moment gazing at him she lowered her face again.

She mumbled something into her robes.

"What was that?" He asked.

Suddenly she threw her head back and howled, "PLEEEEEEEEASE, PLEEEEEEEEEEASE, DON'T SEND ME BACK TO AONAR! PLEEEEEEEEEEEEASE…"

He had no choice but to wait for her scream to come to an end, which it did almost as suddenly as it had started and she began to shake and shiver with silent sobs.

"Why would I do that, Lily?"

"Because I… Because I… Because… PLEEEEEEEEASE!"

Modifié par Maria13, 06 juillet 2011 - 10:02 .

[Maria13]

Chapter 75

Dragon 9:36 Verimensis/Wintermarch Kirkwall

The blade stood unwavering at her throat and she smiled.

He snarled, "You fight with a sword as if you were a mage." The smile brightened. "Your movement may be quick but it is inept. Your defence is too open. Your feints can be read from miles away…"

"But," Neriya prompted. "There has to be a 'but', Cully…"

                                                                                                      ~...~

But… Two months ago, the local Grey Warden Commander a pig-headed human Orlesian called Stroud had the idea of taking a band of them into the local deep roads for a sortie. What the purpose of that expedition might have been, neither Cullivan nor Neriya had been able to discern and Stroud took no care to explain. Equally, to say that neither Neriya nor Cullivan cared much for Stroud would be a grievous understatement.

At one point, they had ended up on an over crop, a group of Darkspawn down below them.

"Mage…" Stroud had breathed urgently. There was a certain brusqueness of tone to his words that didn't seem to be there when he addressed his fellow humans. When Neriya did not reply straightaway Cullivan together with Stroud had turned back towards her only to find her ostentatiously yawning in the Commander's face.

"Mage!" Stroud chided.

"Human…" Replied Neriya, "What would you have of me?" Her words dripped with contempt.

"It is Commander Stroud…" He hissed blusteringly, colour crowding into his cheeks just above his ridiculous toothbrush moustache.

"Then you can address me asBlight Queller or the hero of Ferelden, whichever title you prefer, Commander Stroud…" Neriya whispered back.

Stroud speechless and impotent had waved towards the darkspawn.

"How should I dispose of the charmless creatures, Cully?" Neriya had asked him, ignoring the human, "Ice or poison?"

"What you will…" he mumbled embarrassed, trying to sort out in his mind whether he was annoyed with or proud of her.

"Poison it is then…" Neriya smiled grimly and pulled herself up to her full height and began to recite the words of the cast.

When she crumpled after the effort of the spelling, Stroud had stood locked to the spot leaving it to Cullivan to catch her as he muttered under his breath a strong Dalish cuss word directed at the Shem. Once he had steadied her he had an excellent view of what was going on down below. It shocked him.

Blood and other substances he didn't care to think about too closely appeared to be oozing from all the creatures entrapped within the scope of the spell. They were yowling dementedly and tearing at their own faces and stomachs with clawed hands doing apparently as much damage to themselves as the venom was. The smell not only from the roiling fumes of green poison but from the dying darkspawn beggared belief even at that height being, acrid, fetid and sweet all at once…

Overcome, Cullivan pulled his neck cloth over his face and turned to look at Neriya who still had the grim smile playing about her lips.

Later that night when they snuggled up close to sleep, another thing Stroud disapproved of, she whispered to him, "Alistair always used to say that you can't have a fry up for breakfast without breaking eggs…"

But Cullivan's perception of her had changed from that day onwards. He had seen her vulnerable, he had seen her strong, he knew she could be loving and affectionate, but he had never seen her so powerful or dispassionate about how she wielded that power.

                                                                                              ~...~

Back in the training hall in the Grey Warden compound Cullivan looked across his blade and into her dark eyes and sighed.

As if the sigh were some sort of signal Neriya's form began to waver, her outline shuddered as it were a reflection in the water or smoke in the air. Her figure turned diaphanous so Cullivan could see the plastered wall pitted by multiple slashes and thrusts through her body.

As the spell gathered force she laid a long white, now partially translucent, hand against the sword's edge, stretched out her fingers and then moved her hand through the blade as if the metal were not there.

Cullivan withdrew the sword from her neck, slid it into the scabbard at his side with a snap, and then turning abruptly on his heels, he stomped away from her. "Winning like that is worse than losing," He complained over his shoulder and not for the first time.

"Cully…" Neriya replied softly realising his pride was hurt. "I am so grateful for your sparring with me. Awkward, obnoxious mage that I am."

Still with his back to her, he flexed his shoulders under the grey padded sleeveless surcoat and relented "Oh, Neriya, at the end of the day… I would rather you sparred with me than someone else…"

Neriya her shape still flickering took a few steps and bent down to reach for her fallen falchion blade. She might as well give him all the disagreeable news at once. "Alistair wrote me."

"What… Again?" Said Cullivan frowning.

"It is only… The third time in six months."

"But it seems that now he has found where you are, he can't stop writing you."

Neriya slipped the falchion into the sheath on her belt. "That is the case…" She acknowledged, "But it is not so much for my sake… As for Niamh's… If you would but read the letters…"

Cullivan held up his hands, spread his fingers. "No. I don't need to, I trust you."

"They always have the same structure… 'Dear Neriya… I hope this letter finds you well, blah, blah, blah' for a couple of sentences, and then, 'Niamh Eleniel…' or 'The child we made together…', this time it was, 'Our sweet little girl…' That is the substance of his letter. Those paragraphs about… his… our child, as he says. Then he gives me some brief news of himself and signs off. They are not love letters, Cully, not by any means. If I were to describe how he addresses me it would be… Crisp and courteous. Formal. I get the distinct impression that he is still very angry with me for leaving him but feels obliged to keep in contact for her sake."

"And what of yours back?" He could not resist the temptation to ask.

"Detached… We exchange news, we… In this last one—" She paused. "He has a mistress, Cully, a human. A noblewoman in fact…"

Cullivan studied her features carefully.

She kept her face very still under his scrutiny. "That is as it should be." She added. "Anyway, this woman… Was attacked recently, in a Chantry by a Mother… Oh, she will recover, apparently. He calls her a 'my staunch Rous'. But imagine it, Cully, they do this to a human. A noblewoman from a prominent Fereldan family. What would they have not done to me? An elf and a mage. I would be ashes or weeds by now. And even him with me, perhaps."

"So you think you made the right decision leaving Ferelden?"

"Yes, I do, looking at it from that angle. We… It was sweet and felt right while it lasted but it was not to be. Not us."

They were making their way downstairs to the bath house, Neriya bringing up the rear. "I miss him sometimes. I think of his chunky human body, of the things he learnt to do to please me and only me, of the little gold curls around his…"

"Enough." Said Cullivan stopping dead on a landing.

Neriya smiled at him flirtatiously as she stepped past him, "He was my first, Cully, and don't they say that you always remember your first?"

"You are such a flat ears, Neriya."

"And you are so square, Cully. Your first was your Dalish wife, wasn't she? The one who bore you three children?"

"And what of it?" asked Cullivan, holding open the changing room door for her.

"Couldn't stand the woman in the end, could you? So much for pairing up within your clan…"

Cullivan sighed and muttered a swift prayer to Mythal humbly requesting domestic harmony in this relationship as he hung up his sword on one of the hooks in the changing room. Neriya was always teasing him, testing the limits of his tolerance. Sometimes he found it annoying, but most days it was bracing.

"… And yesterday…" Neriya was saying.

"Yes?"

"Orsino asked to see me…" Although she was a Grey Warden Stroud had agreed to Knight Commander Meredith's demand that Neriya should reside in the Kirkwall Mages' Circle in the Gallows district rather than at the Grey Warden Hall. "I suppose we're lucky Stroud didn't decide that you should live in the alienage." Neriya had quipped at the time.

"What did the Chief Enchanter want?"

                                                                                               ~...~

Neriya found Orsino supportive but distant. Whereas back in the Ferelden circle First Enchanter Irving had worked very hard at being seen as everybody's best friend or favourite uncle, Orsino was not the outgoing type. It was rumoured that he had had a harsh childhood and was mistreated but whatever the reason he was introverted and reserved. He had a reputation as a good thinker, a hard worker and a tough negotiator. An elf more given to standing by principles than compromise who had an extremely uneasy relationship with Meredith the Templar Commander who was, in her way, equally inflexible.

He was sitting behind his desk in his private study in profile with his long bony fingers steepled beneath his rather pointed chin, his peculiar ebony staff behind him propped up against the chair. Physically, Orsino was all angles. He gestured for her to take the chair opposite him. After a few routine questions and answers he cleared his throat. "The King of Ferelden…"

"Yes." Neriya did not dislike Orsino but since he had summoned her, she felt it reasonable that he should do the running.

"This Alistair Theirin." The Chief Enchanter added apparently studying the desk in front of him as if it were a rare and precious manuscript.

"Yes?"

"Uhum… Do you still keep in contact with him?"

"Why…?"

"I suppose you have a right to know, Neriya Surana." Orsino interrupted. "There has been certain… Information circulating about… Let us say… His inclinations…"

"'Inclinations', Chief Enchanter?"

"Political inclinations, I should specify, Mage Surana… His attitude towards the Chantry and the Circles etc."

"Chief Enchanter…?"

"Yes, Mage Surana?"

"Could you please…?"

"—Come out with it upfront, were you going to say?"

"Yes, precisely."

"Very well. Rumour has it, Mage Surana, that His Majesty Alistair Theirin has recently had a… Falling out with Divine Justinia V over an Antivan mage who was temporarily resident in the Ferelden Circle. The Divine in her wisdom sent some Orlesian Templars to extract the mage from Kinloch Hold, is it?" Neriya nodded, "Please forgive me Mage Surana, I have never had the pleasure of visiting Ferelden myself…" Orsino sniffed, "In any event the Orlesian Templars took the mage into their power only to have her… Removed subsequently from their custody, let us say, by another group of Templars purportedly working for His Majesty. His Majesty then wrote a letter to the Divine chiding her for her conduct. I understand there has been a polite but furious exchange of letters between Val Royeaux and Denerim ever since…"

Neriya smiled to herself. She could well imagine a polite but furious Alistair, teeth gritted, fingers white with tension, digging the tip of his quill into the parchment as he wrote. The Chief Enchanter must have seen the smile and tilted his head to one side. "Does this amuse you, Mage Surana?"

"I was just thinking how typical such behaviour was of the man I knew…"

"Then I think you have just answered my question."

"I am content to have shed some light on this Chief—"

"Please call me Orsino, from now onwards, Mage Surana. Perhaps one day you could introduce me to Alistair Theirin?"

"Who knows?" If Orsino had hoped that his previous words would be taken as a dismissal, that hope was in vain. Neriya remained seated. "But… May I ask what has stirred your interest about this affair?"

The Chief Enchanter reached back and laid a hand on his tri snake-headed staff as if to check it were still there.

"One of the arguments being put forward on behalf of King Alistair is that even though he recognises the Chantry's dominion over Chantry property, such as the lands on which Chantrys are built, the Tower of Mages or the Gallows here in Kirkwall and so forth, such authority does not extend to the surrounding land. Once the mage had left the environs of the Tower, so they reason, she fell under the legitimate protection of the Ferelden Crown…"

"Even though this person was a mage and an Antivan, you mean?"

"That appears to be the gist of their argument, yes." The Chief Enchanter continued. "Outside of Trevinter, within the sphere of power wielded by the White Divine we mages have no status, no independence and no safeguard… Until now. This quarrel … Could have far-reaching consequences for all of us mages, Neriya. Perhaps we are no longer entirely alone."

"What of the 'Mages' Collectives'?" She asked.

Orsino paused, "What of them?"

"Do they not defend our interests? When I left Ferelden unbeknownst to me they paid for an escort to keep me safe…"

The Chief Enchanter shrugged, "They only have limited local powers at most, they are not a unified force, much less one comparable in strength to the Chantry or a kingdom, even a duchy…"

She felt bound to remind him. "Even though I partake daily of your kind hospitality and the training you have provided me with is unmatched, at the end of the day I am first and foremost a Grey Warden, Orsino."

For the first time in the course of their conversation he turned his gaze on her, his small black eyes boring into her face. "And yet even here, since you are also a mage, the Chantry presumes to tell your order what to do with you and your order allows it."

"That's certainly true."

Orsino appeared to hesitate for a moment. "And you, as am I, as is your… Partner, are… an elf…"

"As apparently was Alistair's mother…" Although most of Ferelden was unaware of it, outside her country of origin and among mages Neriya had discovered that Alistair's ancestry was an open secret.

"Ah, indeed, I forgot. His Majesty is Elven blooded. No wonder he has such little time for the powers that be of the Chantry." The Chief Enchanter's thin lips twitched somewhat and one of his hands, which were always gloved, flexed. "What a strange background… One wonders how well he carries it…" He mused almost to himself.

"Oh Alistair Theirin seems to muddle along satisfactorily enough. He is a born survivor."

"I see." Orsino said. "In any event, mark my words, Neriya, there are interesting and challenging times ahead for us all. If I were you, I would keep in close contact with King Alistair Theirin."

                                                                                                       ~...~

"And Alistair didn't mention any of this in his recent letter?" Cullivan asked.

Neriya shook her head, "He never discusses politics… I don't either."

"Perhaps…" Cullivan hesitated, "the Chief Enchanter is right. By any account he is no fool. Sometimes I fear for you Neriya, as a mage. Sometimes I am fearful of you for the same reason."

"What are you saying there, Cully?" Neriya asked tugging her undershirt over her head rather that fully unbuttoning it. "Are you telling me to keep replying to his letters by any chance?"

"If I told you not to, you would anyway Neriya so what would be the point?"

"You visit your children and I don't complain, do I?"

"If this is about your little girl…"

"What else would it be about?"

"Neriya, Neriya…" He scolded lightly.

"Alright." She crossed her arms over her chest. "There are things between Alistair and I that even go beyond our child… Things that… Among them, we made a promise to each other, Cully, and we will both honour it."

Modifié par Maria13, 24 juillet 2011 - 08:11 .

[Addai]

*tickles Maria* Are you still updating? We're waiting.

[Maria13]

Oh cool!!! Yeah I am but I hit a glitch... Finished most of the chapter but left it in UK currently on hols in Spain but going back tomorrow... So should be there by end of week....

Plus writing on Ali/Leli for Kmeme...

[Maria13]

Chapter 76

Dragon 9:37 Nublis/Drakonis Highever

Alistair never knew what had become of the die set confiscated by the Grey Wardens more than two years ago now. It didn't matter, he was King, he was free he'd purchased a new set, very fine, just a few days ago in Highever's spring market.

One of the stalls had on display several sets of die in different materials, wood, glass and stone that had immediately attracted his attention. He picked up a few holding them in his hand weighing them up finally settling on a white set that made a pleasing clack when the cubes were shaken together. "What are they made of?" He'd asked the merchant. "Bone?""Fine dentine." Said the merchant scratching his chin. He had a large spotted nose and wore a striped robe that hung from his neck in various faded hues of red, green and black.

"What does that mean?"

"Comes from a big animal… Rare."

"It could be just bone covered with some sort of varnish…" Alistair moved them speculatively between his fingers. They were heavy for their size and very smooth to the touch.

"Could be, Ser, but ain't."

"How much?"

The merchant named an exorbitant price. Alistair laughed.

"As I said," He commented sourly, "They's is rare…" And held out his hand for Alistair to return them.

Alistair offered half the named price. The merchant sighed and raised his eyes to heaven. "You Fereldans…"

"I'm sure you didn't come all this way not to make a sale and insult your prospective clients…"

The merchant didn't reply but turned his bloodshot eyes to gaze drearily at the people thronging the market. In the end they split the difference and the merchant threw in a hair comb made from the same 'fine dentine' for Cosy.

On another stall Alistair bought a doll with a porcelain head and a sweet painted face for his Niamh. Bregeth had scowled at that, he'd attempted to buy something for her too but she had resisted.

                                                                                                      ~~...~~

Today he cupped the die in his hand and tossed them upon the hard wooden table. Sighed. A mediocre cast. Picked them up again…

Cosy had left any decisions made about the revered mother who had attempted to stab her up to him. Lily was clearly insane in the most unhappy way, she seemed to be in an almost constant state of panic and fearfulness. Someone had pointed out to him, Oswyn maybe? That if her insanity had clouded her knowledge of right or wrong this should be taken into account.

Alistair was not sure it was her judgement of right and wrong that was impaired but her fortitude. To put it bluntly she no longer had any. He had insisted on taking her to Denerim and therefore much as he may have wished to avoid her presence he was a witness to her almost constant keening, whimpering and weeping on the journey, she hardly slept at all. She was as frail as a spider web in the wind. If she was indeed the same Lily who had attempted to assist Neriya's erstwhile friend Jowan in his escape from the tower several years' ago, then at one point she must have had some pluck, some spirit. All that had been scoured out of her, what was left was a ruin of a young woman with a hollow husk of a personality.

Once in Denerim he'd asked Helena to pay her a visit. He hadn't had the heart to send Lily to Fort Drakon so he had sequestered her in a property in the city with one guard. The young mage had returned the next day with a quizzical look on her round face.

"Aeonar?" She'd asked.

"That's her story…" He'd replied.

Helena had tilted her head to one side. "Does it not resemble something more familiar?"

"You tell me…" He suspected he knew very well what she meant but he wanted to hear her unbiased view so he had to avoid giving her any hints.

Helena licked her lips, "Looks like lyrium withdrawal to me, Sire." She said eventually.

"She's a revered mother, I checked, what does a revered mother…"

"Sire, why should what she apparently is be more relevant that what actually ails her?"

Somehow most mages seemed to have self-confidence on tap as if it were inculcated into them at the Tower at the same time as spell-casting. Perhaps it was. Anyway, he envied them. "So you think she's ailing, Helena?"

"Yes." There was an expression of utmost sincerity on Helena's round face.

"Suffering?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Would this have affected what she did?"

"Sire—"

"Please explain."

"You want me answer a simple question with a simple answer, but… This is no simple matter. When I spoke with her started obsessing about Aeonar so in the end, after I had provided her with a calming draught, I asked her where it was…"

"And what did she reply?"

"It was like a riddle… She said it was everywhere and anywhere…"

Alistair shrugged.

Helena lowered her voice, "And then she said it was inside her."

"Inside her?" He glanced at the healer, this was interesting. Even as King he had no indication as to Aeonar's physical location any more than he did as an apprentice Templar. Perhaps there was a reason for that.

"Yes. Her precise words were: 'Aeonar is in my blood now and I will carry it with me wherever I go, especially in my dreams…'" Helena paused. "I think on a certain level she comprehends what was done to her."

"What would you mean?" He said frowning a little.

"Sire, they fed her lyrium, maybe other things as well… Either she was unaware of this, at least initially, or it was forced on her. Perhaps both in due course. I would also say she was living in fear for a considerable amount of time."

"She looks in a bad state to me…" Alistair admitted reluctantly.

"I believe she's permanently impaired. I can give her potions to calm her down and help her sleep, keep her on an even keel and to help her over the worst of it but I doubt she will ever be the person she was before… To answer your previous question, Sire … You must have seen more than your fair share of people in the final stages of lyrium addiction, as have I." The young healer added.

Alistair nodded grimly.

"Would you say they had free choice or all their faculties?"

He hesitated. "Not really… No."

"Well then…"

"What do I do with her, Helena?" He was almost pleading.

Helena lowered her head, "Sire, I am just a mage…"

How Alistair wished he could bow out of things in just that way sometimes. Things were so much simpler when they could be solved mainly by taking a sword to them.

But instead here he was: 'Sire this' and 'Sire that' and all the damned responsibility in this corner of Thedas, every difficult decision heaped upon him… Well, him and Anora… But still…

                                                                                                         ~~...~~

Back in Highever, Alistair who was today wearing a sleeveless black velvet doublet with the two Mabaris embroidered in red on the upper left hand side over a blouson with flared sleeves decorated with thin vertical lines in black and silver, flexed his shoulders as he collected the die simply recalling that thought. Black was not a colour he usually favoured but the occasion demanded some sobriety, he thought.

He'd solved the problem in the end, he'd thought of writing to Mage Vallet for her advice but as soon as he'd started thinking through what he should tell her, the answer was staring him in the face.

A few days after Mother Boann had approached him asking after Cosy and Lily's wellbeing. It didn't take much imagination to put two and two together. Now she had an assistant to help her every day, plus a guard popping a few times a week to check everything was all right.

Aeonar dwells inside Lily and the taint inside me, who is the most fortunate? And why do we always pay so dearly for what we do for love?

He needed to set those kinds of negative thoughts aside, especially now. Truthful though they may be but they weren't either productive or helpful. Look to the future, Alistair…

The tug of war with the Divine continued but every day that passed seemed to find both sides more willing to accept an uneasy stalemate, at least for the time being.

Alistair cast the die again. Better this time. Far better.

                                                                                            ~~...~~

The first day celebrations for Dragon 37 had actually been held on the first day this year and seemed to be significantly merrier than those of the preceding year. Of course, as regards Cosy's condition he'd had to be especially tactful and diplomatic with Anora but his wife had come around in the end. It was a question of deploying the utmost respect and affection whilst pointing out to each woman that she had her own talents and ambitions and that there was no overlap between their different spheres of power.

As a child he'd once seen a juggler in Redcliffe's main square tossing silver coloured skittles high in the blue sky at the same time as he walked warily over a wire strung between two posts. That was almost exactly what it was like.

He'd worn green, Cosy grey velvet slashed with silver satin and Anora blue silk. He'd taken care to dance with each of them the same amount of times and to keep them both amused. Of course tongues were wagging all around them, but who cared, he was a King's bastard, a mage's get, a half breed even (although most did not know about those two last, fortunately), and tongues had wagged around him all his life.

He'd gotten used to it… Hardened.

As for Cosy and Anora, they were tough girls themselves, accustomed to being the centre of attention, both for good and ill and bore it with grace displaying the most exquisite courtesy towards each other in public. He would rather make a clean breast of it; get it all out in the open. It would be healthier for everyone concerned, he thought.

"They'd scratch each other's eyes out if they could…" Fergus had warned him dourly looking at the two apparently exchanging pleasantries on the other side of the Great Hall, but then Fergus was always seeking to make trouble so Alistair very politely ignored him, rolled his eyes at Oswyn who was loitering nearby, took another sip of his drink and finalised the arrangements with the Teyrn for both him, Bregeth and Niamh to be at Highever at the critical time.

                                                                                                       ~~...~~

And here they were, the critical time was growing ever nearer, a matter of days, in fact.

But first there were other things to do, a cleansing of sorts… He wondered how much longer he'd be waiting…

Three throws later and he heard voices outside the door. He stood and scooped the die up in his hand hiding them in a pocket in his breeches.

The door creaked open and a gangly youth who seemed to be only in his late teens with unruly shoulder-length brown hair wearing a mages robes came through clutching a tall pile of books documents with some writing materials precariously balanced on top.

The young man was followed by someone else so tiny that only the top of their red-haired head was visible above the table between them.

The youth seemed relieved to put his stuff on the table his rather prominent Adam's apple bobbed nervously, then he glanced at Alistair bowed his head briefly and removing a thick tome from the pile, turned immediately to the seat next to him and to his companion. Alistair acknowledged the bow with a faint smile and remained standing at ease with hands clasped behind his back.

There was a thud and a young female red-headed dwarf took the seat next to the youth "I do hope you'll forgive me for not bowing or… Curtseying. We… Connor and I regret keeping Your Majesty waiting. I trust you will find it in your graciousness to forgive us… Our journey here was not as easy as it might have been."

Alistair smiled kindly at her. "Dagna… It's been a long time. I understand you've made quite an impression in the Circle…"

"Ah… Well that's probably because everybody in the Circle and by that I mean…" Dagna was wearing a long blue robe, clearly the wrong colour to be confused with a mages robe but of the same cut and fashion. She fussed about it arranging it on the chair. "all three hundred and twenty-seven mages, the one hundred and ten mage apprentices plus the seventy-one sundry staff, the six hundred and eighty one Templars, the…"

Connor touched her gently on the arm, Dagna jumped, hesitated for a moment and then said, "I'm gabbling, your Majesty, please…Well, anyway, in summary, it's because everyone is so nice to me there."

"You can call me Alistair, Dagna, we've known each other long enough… And you too, Connor, we're family, really, after all…" He said focussing for a moment on the youth, "But anyway, nice though they may be, I'm certain that isn't the full story… What do you think, Connor?"

Connor blinked rapidly a few times, glanced at Dagna, turned to Alistair took a breath and said, "Your— Alistair, I think Mistress Dagna here has made an invaluable contribution to the Circle's overall knowledge in Ferelden, thanks mainly to her innovative perspective on magic and its practitioners, and her systematic approach to…"

Dagna snorted, "I think that's a polite way of saying I'm a dwarf…"

"Mistress Dagna…" Said Connor, "We've discussed this, it really isn't… You know how much I admire you and the other day, why even Chief Enchanter Irving said…"

Dagna propped her chin on one hand and let the fingers of the other drum on the table, her eyes glazing over. Observing this, Connor stopped in mid flow and rolled his own eyes at Alistair as if to say "What is the point?"

Alistair sat down opposite them, turned to one side, laced his fingers, and extended his legs crossing them at the ankle. "I understand you've been to Trevinter, Connor, what was that like?"

Connor's demeanour changed noticeably. He sat up a little straighter. "Well, you see…"

"Mage Guerrin came back from Trevinter with six diaries full of handwritten notes. He is currently meant to be condensing this content into some form of coherent narrative or commentary, unfortunately, I have seen little evidence of that…" Interjected Dagna.

From this exchange it became clear to Alistair that although Dagna's tendency to gush and her enthusiasm seemed to remain undimmed, part of her personality had matured, and she had acquired an air of seriousness that had not been apparent before. Little wonder, he thought, as he knew from experience if you dealt with mages daily, it was either assert yourself or let them overcome you.

"Dagna," hissed Connor, as if he had forgotten Alistair were there and could hear him, "I've told you, it's…" He cleared his throat and turned to address Alistair directly. "It's difficult, Alistair, very complicated, everything there was so… Different… I… My mother…"

Alistair held up a hand. "I understand." He did in a way. Of course he could not discern the actual events which lay behind this reticence, but Connor was blushing and blinking and looked terribly discomforted, possibly even ashamed… You and me both…

"Alistair, mage Guerrin, I think we need to make some progress here… I understand you have some other pending concerns, Alistair, and I'm sure you want to get this out of the way as soon as possible…"

Connor removed several quills from a wooden box and began to pare the ends carefully with a small knife.

"I do actually."

Dagna nodded in response and pulled out something from a pocket in her left sleeve, she unfolded it gently and placed it on her nose. "Forgive me Alistair…"

"Mistress Dagna has read so much it has affected her eyesight and she requires a corrective…" Explained Connor looking up from the quills.

"The harsh light here on the surface and Mages' dreadful handwriting don't help" Dagna added. "But mage Guerrin's is not, in truth, quite so bad…"

Connor flashed a quick smile at Alistair.

"Connor?" Asked Dagna, the young mage extracted some parchments from the pile of materials which he flattened on the table before him and a clay inkwell which he uncapped, "Ready Mistress." He chirped dipping a quill in the ink.

They began.

                                                                                                       ~~...~~

Alistair explained how Neriya and he had first met Morrigan and then how they had both woken up in Flemeth's abode following Ostagar. Connor's quill flew across the parchment with the scratching sounds of birds' claws on dried branches or mice running behind wainscoting and Dagna cleared her throat.

"Yes?" Alistair asked.

"So one moment you were both at the top of the Tower of Ishael and the next thing you knew you woke up in this woman Flemeth's hut in the Kocari Wilds?"

"That is correct…" He replied. "I woke before Neriya… She was more seriously injured… I think one or both of them healed her as they had me. For that much, I am still grateful. But… I was… Traumatized by what they told me had happened. Morrigan was chillingly detached when she told me about the rout and its aftermath. Liked her even less after that. The old lady seemed… Addled. She would say the strangest things…"

"How many days had passed?"

Alistair frowned. "I don't well know… and I have no real way of knowing, even now. They told me it was three for me. Neriya was under two days more."

"And how did they explain rescuing you both from the Tower?"

"Morrigan told Neriya in frivolous tones that her mother had changed into an eagle and plucked us from its summit… She then went on to say, apparently, that she didn't understand why her mother had chosen to save us… That if it were up to her she would have saved Cai—, the king, I mean."

Dagna and Connor exchanged a long look.

"So we have healing, transformation and precognition all in one package." Mused Dagna.

"I understand that is not common."

"No it isn't." Said Connor.

"Skin or shape changing, transformation, transfiguration, alteration or metamorphosis at will, call it what you wish, in itself is one of the rarest forms of magic. Why, in the tower we currently have only two mages with this facility. Well, one to be precise, the other is still an infant. As for the circles outside Ferelden but excluding Trevinter…" Dagna's eyes behind her lenses went slightly unfocused she appeared to be counting. "There are barely a handful altogether and that has always been the case, insofar as I know."

"There could be several reasons for that." Added Connor.

"Firstly, because, as of itself, it is rare…"

"Secondly, because it is difficult to apprehend such mages." Connor supplemented, Dagna nodded in assent.

"Thirdly— it is a form of magic, much like blood magic, that is inherently inimical to Chantry doctrine—" Dagna explained.

"And to most popular superstitions. Meaning that its practitioners, if apprehended alive, are more likely to be slain on the spot rather than taken to the Circle…"

"Fifthly, it seems to be inherited, goes in bloodlines, not learned, it cannot be acquired or if it can, only with exceeding difficulty." Said Dagna.

"It may well be that you are either born with it or you are not, is what Mistress Dagna means. Would you say there is a sixthly?" Connor asked her.

Dagna shrugged, "If there is it would be that it is difficult to keep such mages in confinement against their will. And they do not tend to be particularly talkative, either."

Alistair looked at them both, "Morrigan could…" he said.

"Morrigan?" Asked Connor.

"Could change her form. I saw her do so several times… But… It was not anything she ever cared to discuss."

"She was evasive about it?"

"Oh definitely."

"That is the usual way with such mages. Please list the forms you saw her take…" Suggested Dagna.

"Spider that was the most common one. Appropriately." Alistair just could not resist the temptation to add the word, "Bear, and uh… a swarm, don't know whether it was flies or bees or what… I hated that one. Kept well away."

"No eagles?" Asked Connor.

"Not that I saw. Not that I heard from any of the others…"

"Dragon?"

"A Dragon? Is that even possible, Dagna?" Dagna nodded silently. "Certainly not. No."

Alistair went on to give a very brief summing up of most of their campaign against the Blight and explained how Neriya had handed Morrigan the Grimoire that they had found in Irving's chambers in the Tower.

"So she requested your assistance in killing this Flemeth?"

"That is the case, yes, according to her interpretation of the Grimoire she was nothing but a vessel that Flemeth was readying to later take over so she wanted us to kill her mother for her."

"How did Morrigan say Flemeth would do that? I mean take her… body." Dagna asked.

"She didn't explain."

"I see, and, in any event, you refused?"

"We did, yes. Neriya and I were in agreement on this, insofar as we could see Flemeth had assisted us… Furthermore we had a Blight to quell… We couldn't go charging off cutting old ladies' throats at someone's say so, even if we liked and believed Morrigan, which we didn't… It was out of our way and we had bigger, more important things to do."

"And Morrigan took this how?"

"Badly of course… She was extremely unpleasant telling us we had let her down that we were no friends of hers… Neriya might have been somewhat put out by the histrionics but as far as I was concerned… Pah! Really, I couldn't care less…" Alistair shrugged, "She wanted some dirty work done, she should jolly well do it herself."

"So you never got hold of this Grimoire Morrigan said Flemeth had in her possession, the one that she said was the real one?"

"That's right, Connor. Never so much as set eyes on the ruddy thing, if it even existed… Good riddance, too…"

Then he got to the eve of the final in Radcliffe before the final push to relieve Denerim and summarized what Riordan had told them.

There was silence for a while. Alistair suddenly missed his die, wished he could have something to do with his hands. He clasped them behind the back of his head and waited for their questions.

"So you were told that whomever slayed the Archdemon would perish in turn?" Dagna asked cautiously.

"Yes."

"That is… Is not known outside of the Grey Wardens is it?"

"I don't think it is generally, no." Said Alistair looking at Connor, lowering his eyebrows. "I would ask you both to keep it that way…" They nodded.

"Of course." Dagna said firmly.

"How did you react?"

"I, well… I was very still that I recall. As Riordan continued speaking Neriya slipped her hand into mine. Neither of us really heard much more of what he had to say… By the time he'd sent us to our rooms to 'rest', he said, she was gripping my hand so hard her knuckles were white. I think we were both shaking by then, too. You have to understand, we were very young, we'd been through a lot already. This was… Unexpected. If we'd know from the beginning we might have been more resigned to it…"

"You don't need to justify anything, Alistair." Connor said really quickly. "We understand, we do… Don't we?" He said looking at Dagna.

"Of course we do." Dagna replied, for a moment Alistair thought he caught an expression of extreme dismay on her face, but she appeared to gather herself quickly. "My admiration for those of your order has suddenly increased… Exponentially" She added. "Many of my people… It is much the same with the Legion."

"Indeed."

"Well then…"

"It was obvious that Neriya… Wanted to be comforted, but at that moment, I really didn't have it in me. I needed to think. Get the buzzing out of my head. Take stock. Perhaps even get a little drunk, though Maker knows on what… She respected that so after giving her a quick kiss I went to my bedroom alone."

He then went on to describe how Neriya had approached him later that evening with Morrigan's proposal. Again there was that awkward silence in the room as both mage and the scholar digested this information. Alistair knew his cheeks were flushed; his hands weren't too steady either.

Dagna cleared her throat. "Incarnation… That is what she proposed metempsychosis…"

"In Trevinter it is dubbed paligenesia." Connor blurted.

Dagna turned brusquely in her seat and glared up at him over the top of her lenses. "You need to draw up those notes, Mage." She said sternly. She turned back to Alistair folding her ruddy squarish hands on the table before her. "It means, transmigration of the soul. It is an extremely old belief founded on the concept that the soul or spirit is distinct from the body or the flesh and can therefore, under certain conditions, travel from one to the other…"

"Transformation magic…"

"Is superficially similar, but not the same, Alistair. The difference being that there is one body that changes and the change is temporary. And there is still some dispute as to whether the transformation actually takes place in a physical sense or is some form of delusion… Metempsychosis, on the other hand, involves a movement of the spirit from one pre-existing carnal form to another, usually on corporeal death… Sometimes in other circumstances. It is what Morrigan seemed to be implying that Flemeth would eventually do to her…"

For a moment he felt as though he was back in the Chantry attempting to digest some abstruse lecture on an obscure theological point. "And what the Grey Wardens believe leads to the destruction of the Archdemon... Its soul is displaced." He said tentatively.

"Exactly."

There was another pause. Connor bent over his parchment scribbling energetically while Dagna gazed at Alistair. "It is on occasions like this that I am very happy that as a dwarf my beliefs are limited to ancestor worship and the Stone." She murmured. Her voice picked up, "So you did this." she said.

Time to come clean. He looked her in the eyes. "I did, yes."

"And when the time came and you slew the Arch—"

"We both survived. Yes. And just to make things crystal clear…" Alistair leaned forward, he put some urgency in his voice. "I delivered the killing blow… I'd almost hoped… I understand Neriya may have told it differently, but it was me. It is all on me."

Connor glanced up from the parchment the quill frozen in his hands. Dagna flinched and moved her gaze to the grain of the wooden table as if its whorls and coruscations could tell her something.

Alistair eventually broke the silence. "Please underline that." He instructed Connor. Connor nodded and scraped the quill over the parchment.

"Tell us what happened that night." Dagna said finally.

"I wrote it down…" Alistair said tentatively, "It's a bit… Well dramatic, but I thought it was the best thing to do given how quickly recollections can fade…"

Dagna nodded.

"I can read it to you…" He retrieved a few pages from his sleeve.

"That would be most kind." Said Dagna.

                                                                                                  ~~...~~

Alistair cleared his throat and began: "I was determined not to give her the satisfaction of undressing me or seeing me undress so I went early to the room prepared for our assignation, removed my clothes and lay on the bed. I felt a fool and sick to my stomach. I also feared that Neriya and I had been the dupes of some cruel practical joke that played upon both our love and our deepest fears of premature separation. Everything else was a blur that evening in Redcliffe, Neriya and I had been told the end of our quest would almost certainly end in the death of one or both of us; after all we had been through, after… I tried not to give in to self-pity.

"The room was cold and plain, one bed, just one brazier, no help.

"But come she did eventually just after half an hour. Morrigan looked at me from the door and smiled. A cruel smile, spiked with callousness. I said something then to the effect of 'Let's get this over with.'

"Still smiling she shrugged, turned her back to me and disrobed. She then turned to face me naked and swaying her hips approached the bed, that self-satisfied smile still playing on her lips. The Morrigan I thought I had known hardly smiled at all, this one could not stop smirking. It seemed to me that it was the grin of a cat knowing that the mouse it had chased for so long was now definitely cornered."

Alistair looked up from the page. "Sorry got a bit carried away there…"

"I was younger then and far more inexperienced so I did not anticipate how my body would react. I had almost hoped I would not be able to perform, but in my confused state I could not seem to work out which humiliation would be worse, the humiliation of participating in this loathsome act or the more simple humiliation of sexual failure.

"There is a joke I'd heard bandied about in the barracks, it says that a man does not have sufficient blood to keep his head and his genitals working at the same time. As with most jokes there is some truth to that, I think, and I was unable to adequately resolve my feelings or thoughts on the matter in the little time I had available.

"She came to the bed and climbed on me. She put me in her. She handled that part of me as if it were a thing, an object, just there to be used. Clamped her thighs around mine.

"There is a deep feeling of warmth, satisfaction or even relief when one first enters a lover one desires. That was entirely absent here, the room was cold I was cold, she felt cold over and around me. It was as if the whole world had suddenly become suffused with ice and would never be warm again.

"Eyes closed, she began to move. She did this for some time…"

Alistair broke off, "I… Well, as it was happening… It was almost as if I were a spectator to the act rather than taking part in it. As if I refused to acknowledge what was happening. So I watched her ride… Me… but felt nothing… Simply nothing but that cold inside and out."

Neither Dagna nor Connor chose to comment so after a few beats he lowered his eyes to the scroll and continued to read, "Then she leaned forward and placed her hands on my chest to assist her balance."

Alistair gestured, "Two point of ice, here and here." And then, after a brief pause, he continued.

"This enraged me more than anything else. Anger surged through me. That she should treat me as a buffoon, handle me as if I were a thing, exploit me as a mere seed-bearer, was bad enough, but to also use me as a prop… I imagined sweeping her arms from under her, throwing her off me into the corner of the room, jumping after her and kicking her as she lay prone, taking a grim satisfaction in the dull contact my feet made with her body, until she whimpered and begged me to stop...

"For some reason, perhaps I had stirred under her, she picked this up.

"She stopped moving, her eyes opened, they were more golden now it seemed to me, her lips pouted wetly and she looked down at me, her hair obscuring most of her face as she did so. 'Alistair, I can use this, give me more.'

Alistair cleared his throat, "I was younger then but I realised I had made a mistake. Mages prey on the mind, it is their hunting ground, and the more inclined towards evil they are the more they ransack that estate. The Templars had given me some training in mental discipline and over the last few months I had had many opportunities to develop it in the field, in battle and so I used it here, I refused to look, to imagine, I closed my eyes, I blocked my mind off, attempting to separate it from my body.

"I think it was the right thing to do. I heard her sigh and felt her resume her motion.

"I do not like to think how long we were at this but eventually she moaned, spasmed and was still. My body, as if in thrall to hers, matched this and I came.

"She looked down at me with her gold/green eyes, gravely, almost as if with pity, and then dismounted. She collected her clothes, dressed quickly and left the room without another word.

"That was the last time I ever saw Morrigan, if I were to see her again, Maker assist me, I swear I would strike her dead on the spot."

                                                                                              ~~...~~

After a very long moment Alistair looked up from his folios, "That's all I wrote." Connor was still scribbling away but a look of sympathy swept over Dagna's features. Alistair felt a swell of gratitude towards her.

"I wrote this down some time ago but haven't really read it since then, before today. I'm a busy man… and, er, I don't like to think about what happened that night over much… I hope now to put it to rest somewhat. Those were dark days, very dark days."

Dagna nodded.

He arranged the folios neatly, smoothed them out, rolled them up tightly and slipped them back into his sleeve. "These are going on the fire this evening."

Connor looked up from his writing. Alistair folded his hands over each other.

"After that, I left the room, crept down to the kitchen. Kindled a fire from the ashes in the hearth there and heated some water. Took it to the tub used by the servants, found a tablet of soap…

"That tub was probably the same one they used to dunk me in as a child, partly to get me clean and partly as a punishment... I was pretty wild and would get into all kind of scrapes... It seemed so large to me then...

"Now I could hardly fit in it in comfort. My knees were almost against my chin... I'd also picked up a bristle brush from the kitchen and I used it to scrub myself hard anywhere she might have touched me… I remember wishing that I were a child again being scrubbed clean by Cook or one of the maids... Untainted, innocent..."

Why am I boring them with this? He thought suddenly... They are not interested in who I might be or my mawkish self-pitying wishes but what I did. His left hand strayed to the back of his head but he stopped the gesture before it got there...

"Neriya found me eventually still sitting in that tub after about two hours, by then the water was cold and scummy. And yet I still imagined I could smell that **** on me…

"Helped me get dry. Ushered me up to bed next to her. We didn't talk about it what was left of that night and I don't think either of us slept. When she brought the subject up a few days later I gave her a non-committal reply. But it lay between us…" His voice trailed off.

Another pause.

"I think we've covered the essential points." Dagna summed up breaking the silence. Again she appeared to be looking at him with some compassion, even through those severe eyeglasses of hers. Connor was still stooped over his parchments.

"Well," Alistair said, "that really is all there was to it..."

"When is the... campaign?" Dagna enquired.

"After the event, two months' time, early spring." Alistair replied briskly and leant forward and locked his hands around his knee,

"Good time." Murmured Connor as he was putting the finishing touches to his record.

"I think so," Alistair replied, he was grinning, but it wasn't a grin of happiness more a rictus of pure relief that the ordeal was over. "Can we go through what we agreed again?" He asked looking at Dagna.

"Well yes," She replied folding her lenses and replacing them in the pocket from which she had extracted them, for a moment her eyes blinked vulnerably, "No other copy in Fereldan shall be made. I will encode the document with mage Guerrin's assistance and keep it in my possession. Should anything happen to me Connor here will take charge of it. We shall also ensure that it is translated into dwarven runic and deposited in your Memory in the Shaperate. Then it shall be passed to an envoy of Keeper Lanaya, and the Dalish in turn will incorporate it into their lore using their tongue. After this the original will be returned to you in Denerim for you to dispose of as you see fit..."

"Thank you."

"Thank you, your Majesty, thank you for your trust and frankness. This will give us..." She glanced myopically at Connor, "much to think about and work on... Should we come up with anything..."

"You will be informed immediately," Added Connor collecting his quills and depositing them in the wooden writing box with a hollow clatter, "of course."

"Of course." Agreed Dagna.

"And naturally you're accepting Fergus' hospitality and staying for a further two days before departing for the Tower."

"Correct." Said Dagna, "and should we in that interval have any more questions or doubts..."

"Then, you'll put them to me. I understand." He launched himself to his feet, somehow he felt lighter in himself, refreshed, more at ease than he had for a while, as if he had been involved in an unpleasant but equally unavoidable brawl and now suddenly it were all behind him and he had awoken unscathed.

He paced towards the door behind Dagna and Connor and opened it almost with a flourish.

                                                                                              ~~...~~

The first thing he set his eyes on in the anteroom was Cosy who seated in a high backed chair, her hair gathered severely in a knot, her sea green eyes coming alive when she saw him. She immediately set aside her embroidery and attempted to get to her feet.

For a very brief moment Alistair wondered why she was having this difficulty but suddenly all the details of his current stage in life came flooding back to him.

Due to her condition she had taken to wearing gowns lately, this one was deep blue, especially made for her in fine lamb's wool with delicate silver thread detailing round the wide cuffs and décolletage. Shaking his head at his own distractedness he crossed the room towards her in barely three quick strides and, gently supporting her by the arms, helped her stand up.

As she did so the proud swell of her belly rose between them.

His child. Her child. Their child.

A future.

Alistair just about stopped himself from laying a protective hand over it, an intimate gesture best left for their time alone later, he thought. As it was he bent slightly forward and kissed her on the forehead.

But something more seemed to be expected of him, for a moment the small room was brimming with silent anticipation. Lawler met his eyes and was giving him his usual wolfish grin over Cosy's shoulder, behind his back he could feel Dagna and Connor's gaze on him and somehow he knew they all wanted more from him, that they were willing him on.

And then Cosy herself voiced it: "Is that all I'm getting, Alistair Theirin? I have put myself to the trouble of carrying your child around these months past in exchange for nothing but a lukewarm kiss?" She asked with mock tartness.

In reply he took half a step back, tilted his head, narrowed his hazel eyes and gave her a crooked grin.

Magic, he thought.

There was magic in the world every day but it was not what folks usually described as magic involving spells, chanting, mana and mages... Friendship and affection were magic and could redeem even the vilest of lost souls... Love, life and procreation were magic also.

Cosy leaned forward on the balls of her feet and pulled him towards her. Her gloved left hand rested on the nape of his neck, the other authoritatively circling his waist. He submitted gladly, closing his eyes.

As her tongue reached beyond his lips and began exploring his mouth, he fancied he felt their child moving between them.

Magic...

THE END




Author's Note:

This is the first thing of any length I have written.

Sincerest thanks to Addai, Esbatty, Lady De Modred, Naomis, Gaspode, Wayne and others who have helped me with their comments and encouragement. Not forgetting all those reading silently…

Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome and now more than ever. Especially since have a follow-up in mind, working title: The Elven Princess and Other Stories, so I really would like to avoid making all the same mistakes as here, especially when there are always plenty of new ones available…

Clariana

[Addai]

Oh wow, it's finished?! I still have so many questions!! But I suppose you can't write the ending until the DA writers theirs and we know what the OGB is all about. I will look forward to your follow up!

Anyway, I've already gushed at you a great deal but it's deserved. I think you have a fine storytelling talent and I hope you continue to use it. If you don't mind me saying, I especially enjoy your short stories and the smaller stories you wove into Dark Ritual. That is not a criticism of the larger story, not at all- because I think short stories have rules of their own and can be quite challenging, and you have some real gems. Please keep writing!

[Esbatty]

*claps*

I approve... I approve so hard!

A happy Alistair is a good Alistair. That boy deserves it. And I await the follow-up, considering the aforementioned Elven Princess lol

And again, I do like your version of Morrigan despite the fact she's got a bit more venom in her ways than I'm used to, but you don't make her out to be an out-and-out rancid b*tch.

So, I must say... ENCORE!