Chapter 15 is up!
Excerpt here:It seemed like such a good idea at the time.
When their group detoured from their original plan of heading back to Redcliffe, she was surprised at the lack of arguing from everyone. Her decisions were being questioned less, and Missa wondered when they started to become so resolute for her companions.
She knew dwarva work when she saw it. The base of the mountain pass was a good spot for travellers, and was well trod by traders and merchants alike. Missa’s ears had perked at the word golem, and she brought the dwarf-made rod on a whim, along with some boots that were, apparently, genuine Antivan leather. The perky merchant she bartered with was fairly insistent on practically giving his stock away, but who was she to argue?
Missa was no dust-brained Casteless stupid enough not to have heard of a golem, and of course knew of their legend. She still had no idea why she brought both items, considering that the rod itself seemed heavily adapted and scratched. Despite the modifications, she still recognised a few of the runes, however.
The boots, on the other hand, she did not know were genuine or not, and the reasons behind her purchase unsettled her far more then she thought.
Honnleath wasn’t so much of a diversion from Redcliffe, and put only three days on their journey. When they arrived the place seemed as isolated and as loony as Haven was, a quiet and disturbed community fractured this time by the Blight and not a cult.
Of course it wasn’t going to be as easy as simply strolling up and helping herself to a walking weapon. More strange, magic beasties to kill in a town already overrun with darkspawn, corpses littering the streets like trash. It felt right killing them, in a way; it reminded her what she was doing on the surface in the first place.
When Missa finally released the golem from its prison, she knew she had found a sizeable ally, relieved that their diversion was good for something. Little did she know, however, it would be so surly.
***
They left the village quietly, the bodies of darkspawn seeping into the muddy ground. Months ago they would’ve dragged them to a fire and burnt them, and Missa wondered when she had stopped caring.
The second day with the golem was interesting. The thing -Shale, its name- had interesting quirks, and Missa found herself amused mostly by whatever came out of the golem’s mouth.
“I have a song for you, Shale. It’s about a bird,” Leliana had said later in the afternoon, the mountains further away from them.
“Pah,” the golem rumbled. Missa smirked at the reaction, finding the golem’s repulsed reaction to animals amusing.
“But you’ll like this one! It’s about a bird who sings so loudly and horribly, that a man murders him.”
The golem stomped over to the bard, suddenly curious. “Oh? Make the noises from your flappy mouth, then.”
As Leliana started singing, Shale interrupted. “You promised me murder! Where is the squishing of the tiny feathered heads?” The bard scowled in irritation at being talked over.
“I haven’t gotten to that part yet!” Leliana stopped and glared at the golem further. Missa had collapsed into silent fit of laughter, hands held over her mouth to stop her from betraying any reaction. She refused to look at either Zevran or Alistair, for fear she would start giggling and like child, and would not stop.
Two more days passed by uneventfully, the weather getting colder and sharper. Missa missed the brief days of sun they had, thinking of warm lava and stone of her old home again. Bitterly she pushed aside memories, unsettled still by the events of the temple.
Soon they would approach Redcliffe. As she walked with Zevran and the pair of them talked about their far warmer homelands quietly nostalgic, she found they were being watched. Missa looked over her shoulder to see Morrigan saunter up to the pair of them, suddenly smug about something.
Missa made room so the three of them could walk together along the path, amused that the witch had joined them in a rare act of social niceties. “Morrigan,” she said in greeting. Zevran bowed once, watching them both as carefully as a fellcat.
“I am honoured to walk with such beauties today,” he said casually. “The Maker has blessed me indeed.”
Morrigan smirked at Missa before switching her gaze to him, golden eyes wicked. “I’d be careful were I you, Zevran.”
Missa snorted once, knowing the witch was up to something. “Oh?” He replied, his gaze just as iniquitously. “How charitable of you, my dear. What do you think I need to be careful of, exactly? What danger could possibly lurk ahead, that a beautiful woman such as yourself would insist in warning me? You flatter me, my lovely temptress.”
Morrigan dismissed his flirting with a sharp hand gesture and fixed Missa another self-satisfied look, but not before replying in her lightly caustic manner again. “You may find your charms lacking now that the Warden returns to Redcliffe. After all, her lover there might be awfully disappointed that you warm her bed at night, and seek to rectify matters.”
The elf fixed Missa an equally curiously amused glance as she gave a genuine belly laugh, humoured at the witch’s words. Morrigan walked away from them both with a smirk, travelling alone once more. Missa of course knew it was barb meant to sting, but she really did not care.
“Fancy a bet?” She asked. Missa didn’t exactly want to hear what he had to say on the matter, and drew attention to something else before Zevran could speak.
“I’m game,” he replied, tawny eyes warm, aware of her distraction attempt.
Missa grinned up, her gaze warm and inviting, as mischievous as he. “Let’s play ‘guess the lover,’” she said in an undertone. “Let’s see if you can work out who Morrigan was on about before they reveal themselves.”
Zevran laughed and Morrigan looked over at them both, an eyebrow raised. Missa leant into him and he wandered his hand down where he could squeeze a sizable portion of something. “That is a fun wager. What do I win if I guess correctly?”
She danced away from his hands and jogged up to Alistair, shooting Morrigan a knowing look before she reached him. “I’m sure you can think of something, Zevran,” she called out. “Surprise me.”
Missa had a feeling she would regret those words, but for now she was in too good a mood not to care. Alistair frowned at the exchange, an eyebrow raised. She shrugged and punched him in the arm for good measure, a grin on her face still.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Redcliffe seemed different, but the town still had an undertone of emptiness and oppression she came to associate with the place, despite the muddy streets and buildings appearing much more lived in and homely.
They walked the distance to the Arl’s castle, the gates open and guarded.
Ser Perth himself greeted them as they reached the courtyard, helmet tucked under one arm. Missa arranged her features into something that she hoped appeared serious, looking over her former lover with new eyes. “Warden,” he said with a bow, remembering the protocol she set when they first met.
She put her hands on her hips and nodded his way. “You’re greeting us, Ser Perth? I’m flattered,” Missa said wryly, looking him over on the sly.
“When my scout said you had arrived in the town, I had to check myself,” and he smiled politely. His tone and stance was every inch the etiquette expected, and Missa was impressed. She hadn’t spotted that their entrance to Redcliffe would be watched, and cursed inwardly at her lack of attention. She looked Ser Perth right in the eyes then and evaluated him boldly, trying to place things into her own sense order, slyness gone.
His eyes appeared too squinty and his chin too pointed. The knight’s hair was still nice -she liked long hair on a man- and his very human body large and muscled, but there was no spark for her there anymore. She mentally shrugged inwardly; she gave up years ago trying to work her hormones out, and resigned herself to taking what she could get when it came.
“When they said you were here, I had hoped… Oh forgive me, Warden, if my greeting is over zealous, but… You’ve been gone for a few weeks, long enough to find the Urn, or…” He stopped, flushed. He was genuinely shaken, and Missa was not vain enough to know it was about her. Something had happened since they left, and she wanted to know what.
“Has something changed?” She asked the Knight.
“ Forgive my ramblings, Warden. But you could not have come at a more convenient time.” She heard Zevran’s discreet chuckle to her left and she was beginning to regret her wager.
Missa gestured to her backpack. “I have a pinch of the Ashes in my bags, Ser Perth.”
“We found it!” Leliana explained, joy genuine, her face alight with happiness. “The temple is beautiful, Ser Knight. It exists.”
“If you find giant dragons and creepy cultists beautiful,” Alistair muttered. Missa was shocked he was joking, considering how much power this place held over him still. She raised her eyebrows, smiling at her salroka’s change since the last time they were here.
The knight gave her such a relieved look her stomach rolled again. Did he really think it would work? Surely it was just the ashes of a long dead woman... “I must take you to the Arl straight away. His condition… It is starting to deteriorate.”
As they walked into the castle, she felt Zevran brush past her. “I’ll be collecting my winnings in due course, my dear,” he whispered into her ear briefly. She ran a hand over her face to try and hide the smile, despite herself.
______________________________________________________________________________
The Ashes were given to the healers and Chantry sisters present straight away. They were handled with such reverence and awe that Missa almost regretted wrapping the pouch in her dirty laundry, even if it kept the relic safe and dry.
While she was welcome in the Arl’s private rooms to wait for the supposed miracle cure to happen, Missa was restless. Putting her cloak on, she suddenly thought of something. Walking past the room where Isolde’s blood had spilled in a mother’s sacrifice, she abruptly remembered the cost. She tightened her hood around her and walked to the dungeons, mind then on a human the castle had seemed to forget about.
Jowan was still there, but thinner, filthier and gaunt. When he saw her he shuffled over to the bars; Missa could see he was weak and ill, and she felt her stomach twist in disapproval at his treatment. “Hello again, Jowan.”
“Warden,” he said quietly. “Does this mean the Arl is awake?”
She shrugged. “Not sure. I got the Ashes, but… I don’t know what they’re doing with them. The healers and the Chantry Sisters insist it will work, though.”
Jowan leant against the bars, his head slumped. “That’s good, I suppose.”
Missa cleared her throat before speaking. “I don’t know what they’re going to do with you, before you ask.”
“Whatever it is, I accept it. I don’t think I can make up for all the hurt I’ve caused people,” he replied quickly, face pinched in misery.
It was on the tip of her tongue to say: never say never. Instead she shrugged. “You’re trying, that’s good enough. Isn’t that what your Chantry gabbles on about, constantly? Atonement, forgiveness and penance?”
Jowan thought about her words before speaking. “Some things cannot be excused.”
She looked away from him, eyes distant and focused on her own past. “Perhaps. The difference between you and I is that I know you cannot change what you did.”
Missa left him with a curt nod, but soon returned with a plate of hot food and a bucket of clean water. She left them by the bars of the mage’s cell without saying a word in return, trying to ignore the resentment building like bile at the back of her throat.
Modifié par soignee, 17 avril 2010 - 10:19 .
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