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[maxernst]

Hi...thought I'd share the beginning of my first attempt at fan fic.  It takes place a few years after the events of DA:O when Alistair is called away to Weishaupt, but that will really ultimately be a framing narrative for a retelling of the events of the Blight.  It was a gay Alistair romance playthrough, but I don't think any real sex or violence warnings have to be attached--I don't intend to be any more brutal or explicit than the game.

1.  AMARANTHINE:  AN UNEXPECTED NOTE


     Maker, I hated visiting Denerim. It was understandable that the Wardens wished to parade the “Hero of Ferelden” around whenever there was a recruiting drive, but it was always difficult for me. As if the Joinings themselves were not bad enough—fortunately, we only lost one recruit this time—there were other problems. Queen Anora felt obligated to put on a series of state dinners for me, despite the fact that she had never forgiven me for killing her father. While I understood her point of view, I wished she would just avoid me rather than treating me to small talk and tight, chilly smiles. Then, there was Wynne, who was still serving as Anora’s advisor on things magical, much to the irritation of the Chantry.   Her healing magic had saved my life a dozen times or more, but I had forgotten how wearying her little sermons could be. I longed to tell her that I did not feel that age granted any particular wisdom and perspective in someone who had spent practically her whole life locked up in a tower. I held my tongue around her only because Alistair adored her. He saw in her the mother he never knew.
 
     I missed Alistair. He had not accompanied me to Denerim, insisting one of us should stay in Amaranthine to watch over the Warden’s main base of operations in Ferelden. Two weeks without him seemed an eternity; it was the longest we had been separated since the day I met him more than six years ago.    After so much time away and a long ride from Denerim, I was looking forward to relaxing in a nice hot bath with him.

     Barely pausing to receive the salutes of the castle guards as I reached Amaranthine, I dismounted from my horse and raced up the stairs. Alistair liked to take a nap at this time of the afternoon and I looked forward to surprising him in his sleep. I slowed my pace as I approached the bedroom to silence my footsteps, carefully opened the door and looked in.

     Alistair was not there. The room was dark and silent…and chilly; no fire had been lit for some time. On the desk was a sealed letter with the word “Aedan” written upon it. I tore it open and read:

     My dearest Aedan,

     I have been called away to Weishaupt. It seems that the Grey Warden leadership has questions about the   manner in which the Archdemon was defeated. As Ferelden’s senior Grey Warden, they insisted that I come at once. I will return to you as soon as I am able, my love.
     Yours Always,
     Alistair

     I dropped the letter to the floor and sat heavily down on the bed. Called away? Now? Wasn’t what we had done against the Blight enough? Two inexperienced Grey Wardens and a handful of companions fight off a Blight and they have the gall to question how we did it? They drill it into every recruit that a Warden can employ any means necessary, and then this? I shook my head and clenched my fists. This was insufferable.  

     The problem was that they knew things had not transpired in the usual fashion. I had been seen plunging my daggers into the Archdemon’s throat to deliver the deathblow, but—unlike all other Grey Wardens before me—I had not fallen lifeless, my soul destroyed when the Archdemon sought a new host and found me. Morrigan had found another way, and I had lived. And now the Wardens sought to know why…not that Alistair would have any answers that would suffice. If I weren’t so angry, I would have been amused by the lines “as Ferelden’s senior warden”. The Wardens placed much emphasis on seniority, and Alistair had joined six months before me, though he had deferred to my leadership from the start. In any event, Alistair had never known the full truth, only that Morrigan’s magic had somehow saved us.

     Damn it, how could he leave me without warning?   I supposed he thought he was protecting me, and knew that I would never let him go without me. I would simply have to go after him.

     I went back down to the gate. “Alaric, when did Alistair leave?”
  
     “Four days days ago, m’l…Aedan.” Although I am a Cousland--my brother is Teyrn of Highever--the recruits were supposed to remember that Wardens left behind all external titles, but sometimes they forgot. Rather sheepishly, he continued, “I meant to tell you when you arrived, but you were in such a hurry…”

     “I take it there was a messenger that arrived while I was away?”

     “Yes, and Alistair left the next day. He said nothing to the rest of us…perhaps Nathaniel knows what it’s about?”
     I shook my head. “His letter was explicit enough. It was official business…” I frowned. “Did he say what route he would be taking?” He isn’t travelling by sea, is he?” 

     “No, he’s riding…along the Imperial Highway, I imagine.”

      I nodded. We had once taken a ship to Nevarra and he had been unable to keep any food down the entire time. A voyage to Anderfels would be torture for him. He must have passed through Denerim while I was stuck at the interminable farewell feast that Anora had thrown to honor me. At least that meant I had a chance of catching up with him. I wore lighter armour and my horse was faster; I would make better time. If I had not caught him by the time I reached the Dales, I could probably find passage across the Waking Sea to Val Royeaux and arrive there before him. Beyond that point, it was hard to say which road he would choose. Of course, I could take a ship to Val Royeaux directly and arrive long in advance, but I preferred to find him as quickly as possible.

     “Did he take anyone else with him?”
 
     “No, he insisted on going alone.” 

     I sighed. Alistair was more than a match for a score of common bandits. In fact, only the bravest would dare attack a massively armored man on a warhorse, even if he were not recognized by the Grey Warden insignia on his shield.  Alistair had had it repainted; I wondered if Nathaniel recognized his father's shield, even so...No, Alistair was far from helpless, but if he were ambushed…well, I definitely wanted to catch up with him as soon as possible.

     “Alaric…I assume Alistair left Nathaniel in charge while both of us are absent? Tell him he’s going to be running things a bit longer than anticipated. I will be leaving early tomorrow morning.”

     He blinked. “Umm…Alistair specifically said that you are not to go after him, that you are needed here…” 

     Yes, he would say that. Alistair’s overdeveloped sense of duty frustrated me, sometimes. “I’ll decide where I’m most needed, thank you. Go and tell Nathaniel what I have told you. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to have the run of his father’s old castle. And I’m sure the Ferelden Wardens can survive without us for a time.” They had better be able to. I did not know if I would be coming back.

Modifié par maxernst, 28 juillet 2010 - 11:45 .

[Maria13]

Keep it up. Good stuff.

[Nithu]

A nice start

[maxernst]

Thank you. Here comes part two.

2. HIGHEVER:  A SORT OF HOMECOMING

I had not realized how much relief I would feel after departing Amaranthine. For once, I was traveling on my own, for my own reasons. No one was looking to me for orders, there were no political games to play to the Warden’s advantage, and—at least until I came close enough to be recognized—I was just another traveler on the road. Three days passed swiftly as I rode and I encountered no trouble on my journey.

It was almost sunset when I approached the castle at Highever, which had been my home for most of my life. I had been there only once since becoming a Warden, six years ago. I had not rested easily there—too haunted by the memories of the night of the deaths of my parents—and had cut my visit short. I hesitated, thinking that I could simply go to an Inn in the village. But no, Fergus would be hurt if I had been through Highever without paying a visit, and there might not be another chance to see him again for a while. Besides, Alistair might well have stopped here. He and Fergus had become good friends and he loved to play the doting uncle whenever Fergus’ family visited Amaranthine or we met up at the estate in Denerim.

In a moment of childish mischief, I considered sneaking into the castle and appearing unannounced in Fergus’ private quarters. Instead, I rode up to the gate and was immediately recognized and announced. Fergus met me in the entrance hall and embraced me.

“Aedan! How nice to see you again.”

“It is good to be here, but I hope that my visit is not at an inconvenient time. I am traveling somewhat—unexpectedly—and there was no chance to send a messenger ahead..”

“No need for formalities, little brother. You are always welcome here. I wish you would come more often though I…understand why it is not easy for you.”

“Yet you do not seem greatly surprised to see me.” I noted.

“No…Alistair thought you might be coming this way.”

I nodded. “So he did stop here.”

“Yes, he did. But let us talk of that later. I will show you to your room and then talk to our new cook and see what kind of a feast he can provide on short notice. Aelys and I will meet you in the drawing room shortly as I am sure you will wish a little time to refresh yourself after your journey.”

A short time later, I entered the drawing room where they awaited me. My attention was immediately captured by the formal family portrait from twenty years ago:  My father, the young Fergus standing beside him, and my mother seated in front, with me as a child in her lap. The artist had had real talent, capturing the strength of my parents, and a hint of mischief in my childish smile. My eyes blurred, thinking of them, and of that child who knew nothing of blights, betrayals and the long, blood-soaked road that lay ahead of him.

“Good evening, Aedan. Thank you for gracing our home with your visit. Shall I have a servant fetch some ale for you?” Aelys offered.

Aelys was Fergus’ second wife. It was difficult for me not to compare her unfavorably to his first, poor girl. Unlike Oriana, Aelys had been strictly a political marriage.  She was half his age, and had had a sheltered upbringing, as the daughter of a bann with estates near Highever. I supposed that Fergus had felt that continuing the Cousland line was of the greatest urgency. She had done well enough there, bearing two children, named Bryce and Eleanor after our parents.

“Hmm…oh, good evening, Aelys. I am sorry, I was distracted by that painting. I had not seen it in years and it brought back memories…”

She nodded sympathetically and Fergus added, “It wasn’t here on your last visit. We discovered it in the storage room a couple years ago. I’m surprised Howe didn’t destroy it, but I suppose the artist has been making something of a name for himself and he may have thought to sell it. Anyway, I was delighted to find it.”

Earnestly, Aelys added. “Fergus tells me that the place was a bit of a shambles when you last visited. We have been making many improvements.” She clapped her hands, “We must show you what we’ve done with the pantry…”

“The pantry?”

I must have looked somewhat pale, for she asked, “Is aught amiss?”

I swallowed. “Our parents…died there.”

Her mouth opened in a soundless “Oh”.

“Sorry, I…it’s just hard for me being back here. Please give me the full tour, and let new, pleasant associations form in the place of the old ones.”

* * * * *

After dinner, Fergus and I sat by a fire in his study. “Alistair told me that you might follow and that I should stop you.”

“Oh? And how did he suggest that you do that? Will you have me thrown in the dungeon? Must I be prepared to defend myself?” I arched my eyebrows and smiled.

“Ha! The last time I attempted to tell you what to do, little brother, you demonstrated your new fighting moves on me. After that, it is a wonder I am still able to continue the Cousland line.” He took a long swig of ale. “Aedan—does it ever bother you that…well, you won’t have children?”

I shook my head. “No…Alistair, I believe, would have liked children, but…you know there are many things I cannot tell you about the Wardens. I will simply say that it is not a good life for a family man. And that there are certain…burdens that I am glad I have a partner who understands. It is hard to keep secrets from all one’s loved ones.” I did not add that I did—I believed—have a child somewhere.  That was one secret I had hidden even from Alistair.

He nodded. “You know I meant no reproach. Alistair is as a brother to me and I—there is nothing wrong between you, is there?

“Never. It is nothing of a personal nature. Just some Warden business that Alistair believes is urgent and that he should handle without me.” I sighed. “Or maybe he just believes that the Ferelden Wardens cannot survive without both of us on hand. The thing is that he knows less than he needs to about the situation.” I clenched my fists. “I must go to him. How many days ago was he here?"

Fergus held up four fingers. So I had made up one day on him already. Fergus sighed. “I suppose you will insist on leaving early in the morning? I know that you wish to find Alistair, but I would like to persuade you to stay a little longer.”

I shook my head. “I must go. I promise that…when I return, I will try to see you and your family more often.”

He nodded. I could tell he was unconvinced. “Very well, then. I shall see you off in the morning. I hope you have a restful night and safe travels ahead.”

Modifié par maxernst, 28 juillet 2010 - 11:45 .

[Nithu]

More!

[Maria13]

Isn't it interesting how so many of us, male and female, see Alistair as a character to be cherished and protected (or even chased), yet he is a big lad, not unresourceful or unintelligent who can probably fend for himself pretty well?

[maxernst]

It's the core of his appeal, I think. In many ways, he is the archetypal knight in shining armor, but he's the least armored emotionally of all the companions...and he doesn't believe in his own ability to fend for himself.

[Maria13]

Yes, my thoughts exactly.


And he's HOT of course.

Modifié par Maria13, 07 juillet 2010 - 06:20 .

[nos_astra]

Very nice. I'd like to read more.

[DreGregoire]

Beautiful. Thanks! You've inspired me too. *hugz* I look forward to reading more

[maxernst]

Thanks for all the encouragement. Maybe this will help get me to keep going...I have a chronic problem with starting large fictional projects but abandoning them. Part of the problem is that I have a bunch of vividly imagined scenes in my head that I want to write but have difficulty putting the connective tissue between them. I might be better off just writing disconnected vignettes.


3. FERELDEN:  THE IMPERIAL HIGHWAY

I had not had a restful night. I did not know whether the dream was stirred by the strangeness of the room I had slept in for most of my life, the dark memories the castle brought back to me, or simple coincidence, but it was unmistakably a taint dream. I cried out in the night and awakened in a cold sweat, shaking. I reached out for Alistair to hold me and comfort me as he had so many other nights, then remembered where I was and why he wasn’t there.

The dreams had been coming to me more often in recent months, nearly as often as they had during the Blight. Though they were less vivid and terrifying than they had been then, when the Archdemon had been sending out his call, they were disturbing still. And lately there had been something different about them, something I couldn’t quite put into words. I had not spoken of this to Alistair out of fear that it was a sign that my Calling was nigh. While I knew I would not see old age, I had hoped for twenty years with him. I felt we deserved it, not that what one deserved counted for anything in this world whose Maker had turned away from it.

Fergus said nothing in the morning about it, though I expect he must have heard me. No doubt he thought it an ordinary nightmare, understandable enough under the circumstances. We spoke of nothing substantive over breakfast…politics, gossip (was there a difference between these?). I promised a longer visit when I had the chance and took my leave of him.

I climbed back on Phantom and rode west through the cool mist of early spring. Northern Ferelden is mild but damp, especially at that time of year. Fortunately, the Imperial Highway was built of brick, so I would not be slowed by roads turned to rivers of mud. The only disadvantage was the sound of Phantom’s hoofbeats on the hard pavement. I preferred not to announce my arrival in advance and worried that the noise might distract me from the sounds of others approaching. While I was not overly concerned—if faced with too many to fight, I did not doubt my ability to slip away even after battle had commenced—I would rather avoid a run-in with bandits, if possible.

There were not many on the road at this time of year. When summer and the fairs came, the road would be busy with merchants, but this early it was only local traffic and the villages in this part of Ferelden were small. I spent the next night at an inn near a crossroads…there was an old muddy trail leading south toward Redcliffe along the eastern shores of Lake Calenhad. Alistair had not stayed here. I wondered if he might have taken a detour to Redcliffe before setting out for Anderfels.

I decided it was unlikely. Though Alistair had grown up in Redcliffe, he knew that Arl Eammon had never quite forgiven him for failing to push his claim on the throne, let alone forgiven me for backing Anora. Not that I really believed that Eammon was so convinced that Alistair would make a great King, or in the importance of the royal bloodline. I rather suspected that his insistence that Alistair be King had more to do with his hope of controlling him; now that he had no kinship ties to the Crown, the prestige of his family had declined. It had always seemed to me that Alistair was only of interest to Eammon as Maric’s bastard, a potential political tool. Now that Alistair had renounced that heritage and was content as a Warden, Eammon had little interest in him. His brother Teagann, I think, had been more genuinely fond of Alistair, but I doubted that Alistair would take the time to visit Redcliffe for his sake.

Looking down on lake Calenhad from a hilltop the next day, I almost convinced myself I could see the rising spire of the Circle Tower in the distance. I wondered how Eammon’s son, Connor, was progressing at the Circle. I feared that they would judge him unable to resist possession and force him to become tranquil, rendering all the risks that had been taken to cast the demon out of him pointless. But perhaps I was wrong, for the circumstances had been unusual…I had heard no news one way or the other, but the Circle was a closed community and little gossip escaped.

Ahead of me to the west, the Imperial Highway climbed into the Frostback Mountains. This would likely be my best chance of catching Alistair as the steep climb into the pass would slow him down more than me. I dug into my pack and got my fur-lined cloak out in preparation for the chill mountain air. After one last backward glance at Ferelden, wondering when I would return to my homeland, I guided Phantom westward through switchback after switchback as we ascended toward the pass to Orzammar.

Modifié par maxernst, 28 juillet 2010 - 11:46 .

[Maria13]

Quite lovely.

[maxernst]

4. FROSTBACK MOUNTAINS: SNOW IN THE PASS

The following morning, I nervously watched the sky as dark clouds began to billow up behind the mountains ahead of me. At mid-day, the wind picked up and it had grew colder…cold enough for me to wonder if it might snow as I watched the clouds of steam formed by my breath. It was late in the year for snow in the passes, but by Andraste’s blood, this was a bitterly cold day. My wondering was soon answered, as large white flakes began to fall in ever-increasing numbers.

By mid-afternoon, the wind was screaming like the ghosts at the orphanage in the Denerim alienage, and the blowing snow was piling up in waist-deep drifts across the road. For a time, I continued to urge Phantom onward, but the strong headwind impeded our progress nearly as much as the drifts, and the blowing snow made it nearly impossible to see. I knew I would make little forward progress and risked wandering off the highway entirely in these conditions. Defeated, I sought out an east-facing cliff nearby that would afford some protection from wind and snow and did my best to set up camp. After much cursing, I managed to get a fire started on one of the patches of ground swept bare of snow by the swirling winds.

There was little I could do but wait the storm out. I huddled by my small fire and watched the world disappear behind a blinding white curtain as the day wore on. The snow slackened off, then picked up again in one great howling crescendo, punctuated by cracks of thunder as evening fell. I wondered if Alistair was caught in the same storm somewhere ahead of me and longed for the warmth of his body beside mine.

Morning arrived calm, clear and cold. The snow formed an undulating blanket across the pass, with drifts up to my shoulders in places. It was light enough that progress could be made, however, if slowly. It was fortunate that the road tracked through a narrow valley and there was little chance of losing our way. Phantom trudged slowly forward. If the roads were clear, we would likely be only a day’s ride from Orzammar, but now it would take at least three, unless the storm had been very localized. But I knew that we would reach there before my food ran out…unless the pass were blocked completely by an avalanche. I did not like to consider that possibility.

Later that day, I heard the unmistakable howl of wolves, first far away in the distance, then somewhat nearer. I was not overly concerned at first, for wolves do not often attack humans, unless food is scarce. But as the day wore on, though there was no more howling, the tell-tale sound of the snow crunching in the surrounding woods told me they drew ever closer. Although they still remained concealed by the dense spruce trees on the hillside to my right, I had little doubt that we were being stalked.

A lone wolf appeared on the road in front of me. Many would have been fooled, but I knew the bulk of the pack lay behind me. I could not yet tell exactly how many there were, but there were at least four more hidden in the forest nearby. If the road were clear, I was confident that Phantom could outrun the wolves behind me and I could easily handle the one wolf ahead with my bow. But with the snow, there was little chance of outrunning them once they made their move. Reluctantly, I decided to urge Phantom forward now, hoping that they were expecting me to turn back or try to go around and would not pursue. Maybe if I could just open enough space at my back…

No such luck. As soon as I began to quicken my pace, the wolves behind me sprang into view. Six more wolves…two larger ones, the other four likely adolescents, like the one ahead on the road. I have little skill in mounted combat, and my preferred weapons—daggers—are not suited to it. Seeing little choice, I slid my dragonbone daggers out of my sleeves, hurriedly lining the blades with a little mixture Zevran had taught me to make a few years back, and slowed Phantom to a halt so that I could dismount.

I leaped off Phantom on the opposite side from the wolves so as to use the momentary concealment to confuse them, and pushed Phantom to guide him in a direction I hoped would take him out of the battle. The key with wolves is to avoid taking a direct body blow that knocks you over—once they’re on top of you, it’s very difficult to break free. While a heavily armored man like Alistair might survive it, my sturdy leather coat did not offer enough protection against teeth and claws if my arms were not free to deflect them with my blades.

Springing from my temporary cover behind phantom, I landed on the back of one of the two larger beasts. It was caught entirely by surprise and I was able to dispatch it with a quick flurry of blows before it or any of the other wolves could assault me. But now I was surrounded by four wolves growling and gnashing their teeth. I swiftly recovered my balance, and moved like a dancer, narrowly eluding their assaults.

I steeled myself for the maneuver that would either seal my fate or turn the battle in my favor. In a single swift movement, learned through many hours of practice though I had not used it in earnest in more than two years, I whirled in a complete circle, my daggers flying in a deadly arc. One of the four retreated in time, avoiding my blades, but I struck the other three, and one of them froze motionless. Not dead, not yet, but paralyzed by the magical runes on the blade in my right hand. Praising Sandal’s skills for the umpteenth time in my life, I turned my back on that one to concentrate on the other three.

I was preparing myself for another swift pass of blades, when I sensed that the biggest remaining wolf had positioned himself behind me to my right and was readying to spring. I spun around and kicked it as hard as I could in the genitals before it could take me down, but the wolf to my left caught my forearm in his jaws. I wrenched my arm free, feeling a surge of pain as its teeth tore through my flesh and the dagger fell out of my left hand into the snow.

The wolf I had kicked was down and whimpering—wolves do not enjoy that particular maneuver any more than humans—and temporarily defenseless. Pressing my advantage I dispatched it with a single deep thrust to the throat, while twisting my body around to avoid the other two. I was panting by now and needed a little respite, so I did a handspring over a boulder that had slid down the hillside, landing on my feet on the opposite side. The wolves knew I was still nearby—they could smell me—but they were momentarily confused as to my exact whereabouts. While I took a moment to catch my breath, the wolf that had wounded me approached the boulder. I jumped over the rock, drove my dagger hard into its belly, and pulled up killing it instantly.

The wolf that had been paralyzed was coming to now, so I still had two to deal with, but both had been badly wounded and I was able to fend them off while recovering my other dagger. Fortuitously, the left-hand dagger has the fire runes on it so it had melted a little hole in the snow, making it easy to find. Wincing as I picked it up with my bleeding left arm, I eliminated the last two wolves with a dramatic sweep of both daggers. Breathing hard, I counted five carcasses around me. Oh, by Andraste’s ******, where were the other two wolves?

Apprehensively, I looked around and saw Phantom perhaps a hundred strides up the road beyond me. The wolves had driven my poor horse into a deep snow drift against the forest edge. Even from this distance I could see Phantom was badly hurt. One of the wolves was also obviously limping, probably kicked. Hurriedly, I pulled Falcondin’s Reach off my back and fished an arrow out of my quiver. Though I am by no means the marksman Leliana is, I am not incompetent, and was able to catch the injured wolf in the chest.

But even as I let the arrow fly, I heard Phantom give a terrible shriek, and saw him topple over, felled by a devastating bite on its left foreleg that must have crushed bone and torn sinew. Fearing the worst, but helpless to do more from this distance, I continued to rain arrows at the remaining wolf. It howled in pain and ran off, but I feared I was too late.

I ran to Phantom, nearly falling in the snow in my haste. When I reached him, my heart sank. His breathing was shallow and rapid, his gums nearly white and he appeared completely unresponsive to my approach. He bled profusely from three wounds, the worst of which was the shattered left foreleg that had brought him down. While I had brought health poultices that could ease his pain, and would suffice for my own wounded arm, in my haste to follow Alistair, I had failed to bring the supplies needed to cope with more serious injuries. Cavalierly, I had supposed that if I were to be so badly hurt in battle as to need them, I would be done for and have no chance to use them. I had completely forgotten about Phantom in my preparation for the journey.

With a heavy heart, I murmured a few words of comfort to Phantom, though I do not think he could hear them. Then I raised my daggers and gave him the quickest ending I could….something else I had learned from Zevran. He deserved better, but as I have often said before, what we deserve counts for nothing in this Maker-forsaken world.

Modifié par maxernst, 28 juillet 2010 - 11:46 .

[DreGregoire]

Phew, I'm exhausted just reading it. Poor Phantom . Keep it coming

[Starlight]

A nice reading. I especially love the part in Highever. I always feel sad for what occurs to PC's parents and Ser Gilmore. It is great that Immort creates a mod for the PC to reunite and recruit Ser Gilmore.

maxernst wrote...

It's the core of his appeal, I think. In many ways, he is the archetypal knight in shining armor, but he's the least armored emotionally of all the companions...and he doesn't believe in his own ability to fend for himself.

I agree. Alistair is really cute. Though he isn't romanceable for male...



I'll have my finger crossed and wait for more.

[maxernst]

Starlight wrote...

A nice reading. I especially love the part in Highever. I always feel sad for what occurs to PC's parents and Ser Gilmore. It is great that Immort creates a mod for the PC to reunite and recruit Ser Gilmore.

maxernst wrote...
It's the core of his appeal, I think. In many ways, he is the archetypal knight in shining armor, but he's the least armored emotionally of all the companions...and he doesn't believe in his own ability to fend for himself.

I agree. Alistair is really cute. Though he isn't romanceable for male...

I'll have my finger crossed and wait for more.

Thanks!  There are mods to deal with the not-romanceable for male problem, however. 
re:  Highesver--I loved the "Dragon Age Motivational" poster that said: "Human Noble Origin --because seeing your whole family killed in front of you has no emotional consequences."

Just a short piece now...I hope to update again later today:


5. ORZAMMAR:  A STOP FOR SUPPLIES
 
Four days after Phantom’s death I finally emerged from snow-choked Gherlon’s Pass into the valley at the gates of Orzammar. Although the surrounding mountains were cloaked in fresh snow, the valley itself was not. As always, there was a cluster of merchants around the gates, trading food and other goods from the surface for dwarven weapons and jewelery.
 
As I sloshed my way through the puddles on the Imperial Highway, a fellow hocking his wares called out to me. “Ho! Traveller! I didna; think I’d be seein’ nobody comin’ outta Gherlon’s Pass for a’ least a week after that storm. You must be an ‘ardy sort.”
 
He looked a bit seedy and the random assortment of goods suggested a scavenger or a thief. Still, he might have some news of interest. “A stubborn fool, more like it.” I remarked. “So you’ve been here a while? Was there no snow at all in the valley?”
 
 “Only a bit o’ snow, but lotsa rain. I came up from Redcliffe ‘bout a week ago, an was hopin’ to go back, but my cart ain’t gonna make it through the snow. Didna’ think it’d be this bad so far into Bloomingtide. Is it gettin’ clearer at least?”
 
“It’s been melting for the past couple of days, but it’s still more than waist-deep in places. You’re here for a while I’m afraid. What about the highway to Halamshiral?”
 
“It’s clear…so the Orlesians are ‘ere in force, curse ‘em. Getting’ all the spring business when the prices are best ‘ere.
 
Alistair was probably well clear of the mountains by now, then. “So nobody’s come out of the pass before me since the storm hit? What about before? I’m looking for a big blonde man on a chestnut warhorse, carrying a shield with a silver gryphon on a blue background?”
 
The man gave me a calculating look. “I mighta seen ‘im. Can’t remember, maybe you could uh…jog my memory a bit.”
 
I rolled my eyes. “I could just ask one of the Orlesians, you know.”
 
“Ah, c’mon, you wouldna’ do that. You’re a Fereldener like me, we oughta stick together. I gotta family to feed back ‘ome, an’ this delays eatin’ into my profits.”
 
I sighed and handed him a few coins. “Yeah, he got here a day or so after me. Six or seven days ago.”
 
I frowned. There was little hope of catching up with him on the highway, especially since I was now on foot, and Orzammar was not a good place to buy horses. “What about Jader, do you know if the road there’s clear?” From Jader, I could find passage across the Waking Sea to Val Royeux. 
 
“Not much snow. The road ain’t paved so it’d be hell with a cart after all the rain, but if you can get through the pass, you oughta be able to get to Jader, easy.” I nodded and thanked him. Jader it would have to be, then. 
 
But before I set out, I would have to go somewhere I had thought to avoid until it was time to make my final journey: Orzammar. I wanted to get the tear in the sleeve of my coat repaired. I knew that Janar could handle the necessary repairs here, and finding someone experienced in working with Drakeskin was not that easy in unfamiliar cities. I was not about to trust the Felon’s coat to an unknown armorer. Besides, after the frigid nights in the pass, I could use a warm and dry place to spend the night.
 
 
           

Modifié par maxernst, 28 juillet 2010 - 11:48 .

[DreGregoire]

That Alistair moves fast for a man his size! Dang it! I'm dying here! *winks* heh My problem though not yours. Keep up the great work. I'm looking forward to more.

[DreGregoire]

I agree. Also I've used both mods myself, but the being treated as a female by Alistair bugs me a bit. I love it though. I take it in and out of my games as needed. .  I suppose I could just write out what really happened. I have a good imagination heh!

Modifié par DreGregoire, 19 juillet 2010 - 12:17 .

[maxernst]

It is a little jarring at times, but when I go through retelling the story to Leli, I'm going to leave in the part where I tell alistair how handsome he is and he said something like "not a woman like you"...just to indicate how flustered Alistair is by the question.

[maxernst]

6. JADER:  A DOCKSIDE TAVERN 
Two days later, I reached Jader shortly before sunset. I was fortunate to arrive before the city gates closed for the night. I had never been there before, but I was familiar with the city through correspondence with the Warden post there. The Chantry had a large presence in Jader, partly owing to the supposed birthplace of Andraste shrine (though everybody knew she was from Ferelden), partly because of its proximity to Orzammar. Most of the llyrium trade for Orlais came through the city and I was certain I could find a ship bound for Val Royeux.
 
I made my way toward the docks and looked for a likely tavern. I paused by a sign with a glass of wine and an anchor—l’Ancre, I thought to myself, recalling my Orlesian lessons. Orlesian was the international language in Thedas; as a nobleman, I had had to learn it, even though they were our former oppressors. I walked into a moderately busy tavern of the rougher sort. Most of the clientele were men, the few women there were probably ****s. Along with the smell of spilled beer and wine, there was a slight whiff of urine.
 
I had a curious fondness for places like this—probably because I had had so few opportunities in my life to spend time in them. Growing up in Highever as the Teyrn’s son, I could hardly have gone to a dockside dive without attracting attention, and the situation was much the same now in Amaranthine. Besides, Alistair did not share my enjoyment of seedy taverns; he had not even been comfortable in the Pearl. Not that I intended to spend the night here; I’d walk back up to a proper inn near the Cathedral for that.
 
I sat down on a stool by the bar and ordered a pint of ale. Jader was close enough to Ferelden that ale was drunk as often as wine, and in any case, the wine here was likely no better than in Ferelden. A big brawny man of about forty who was sitting on a stool nearby, turned as he heard my voice and addressed me in my native tongue. “Evening, sir. My names Thibaut.” He raised his flagon to mine. “Salut.”
 
“Alan,” I said, using a name I had used often enough to answer to without a telltale hesitation. I studied the man as I clicked flagons with him. Thibaut had long dark hair, streaked with grey and reminded me a little of Riordan, though his beard was less carefully trimmed.
 
“And what brings you to this fine drinking establishment?” he asked waving his hand expansively.
 
“Need I have more purpose than this?” I asked indicating my flagon. “Well, in truth I am looking for seamen and I thought it a likely place.”
 
“Oh?” he asked, his eyebrows arching. “I’m the First Mate on Le Vertbois. Do you have a…liking for sailors?”
 
Had I given him that sort of look, I wondered. If so, I really needed to find Alistair before I began to make a fool of myself. I hid my embarrassment by taking a swig of ale. “Uh…not really, no. Why do you ask?”
 
He chuckled. “I hope I have not offended. But when I see a man who can afford to dress in drakeskin—and he addresses the bartender with the sort of formality rarely heard outside the court in Val Royeaux—well, I do wonder why he’s here, without any retinue. You don’t strike me as an apostate mage looking to score some black market llyrium. And I’ve known a chevalier or two who go to places where they won’t be recognized to seek pleasures their wives can’t give them.”
 
Curious now, I inquired, “What other reasons might someone like me be found here?”
 
“Well, if you were Orlesian, I’d think you were here to hire someone…for their Game, as they call it. But since you’re not, I’d guess you have some cargo to ship that maybe needs some special handling.”
 
“I suppose you could say I have cargo to ship, though I don’t normally think of myself as cargo. Nor do I require any particularly special handling.”
 
“Too bad,” he said, smiling. “Where are you headed, then?”
 
“Val Royeaux.”
 
He nodded. “As luck would have it, we’ll be heading back that way the day after tomorrow, though we’ll be stopping for a day or so in Val Chervin. I think the Captain’ll be happy to take on a paying passenger.”
 
“As long as I get there in no more than two weeks, that will work for me.” 
 
“So…Val Royeaux. You look like you can handle yourself. Maybe some courtier is hiring some skilled foreigner to help him in the Game…? Well, no matter, your business is your own, long as there’s no price on your head in Orlais.”
 
I assured him there was not. “No problem, then, Alain,” he said, giving me false name the Orlesian pronunciation. “Come down to the docks tomorrow and ask after Le Vertbois…I’ll introduce you to the Captain.”
 

Modifié par maxernst, 28 juillet 2010 - 11:48 .

[DreGregoire]

 Priceless I tell you!

[maxernst]

7. VAL ROYEAUX – Le Cheval Blanc 
The sea voyage was uneventful. I spent most of it trying to keep out of the way of the crew while still listening to their speech, which was quite different from the Orlesian I had been taught by my tutor. I wondered how Alistair was faring. I knew that he would have learned some Orlesian in the Chantry, but suspected that many of the words I was hearing on the ship did not appear in the Chant of Light.
 
We arrived in the harbor of Val Royeaux in early evening. It is a vast city with many high towers and colonnaded palaces. In many ways it was much as Leliana had described it to me many years, a large and beautiful city filled with the sound of the Chant of Light from the Grand Cathedral. At this time of year, every patch of bare ground seemed to sprout wildflowers; thinking of Leliana I stooped and plucked a single bloom of the white flower known as Andraste’s Grace. There were things she had not omitted from her account however, like the mounds of horsedung in the streets, the stench of which was not completely covered by the smell of the incense from the chantries, the beggars huddled in practically every doorway, and how many of the troubadors whose music filled the streets looked scarcely less destitute than the beggars. Leliana had always tended to focus on the more pleasant aspects of situations, but I suppose we all have this tendency when we are recalling places where we have been happy in the past.
 
Although I had not seen her since a brief visit to Amaranthine three years ago, Leliana and I kept in touch sporadically, still. I gathered that she had managed to clear her name and was no longer a fugitive—and that Marjolaine was no longer a problem. My correspondence to her had been sent to an inn called Le Cheval Blanc, and it was there that I headed. Alistair would not have come this far yet, I estimated that he might have reached Val Foret by now. So I felt I had time to drop in on Leliana.
 
The inn was busy with many people gathered for their evening meal. Although certainly a cut above L’Ancre in Jader, neither was it a place frequented by the nobility. The crowd was certainly colorful however—it was becoming apparent why Leliana complained of the dreariness of Ferelden clothing. These people were not so much clothed as costumed, as if every day were a festival.
 
A serving girl brought me a flagon of wine, bread, a soft goat cheese which was very good, and a sort of vegetable stew, which I ate while trying to catch the eye of the innkeeper. He was scurrying around from place to place through the crowd. Eventually, I gave up and decided to watch my fellow customers.
 
I noticed a silver haired man who was sitting near the bar had begun to strum a lute. He seemed to do so almost idly, as though he were practicing in private—but his skill with the instrument was unmistakable and throughout the room people began to turn toward him. A slender young man rose from a table near the back and began to play a wooden flute and the two of them were playing in tandem. They smiled at one another and the crowd began to clap in time.
 
A tall, statuesque woman with long black hair and dark eyes entered the room from the street; she was known here, I could tell by the way people’s eyes turned toward her. She smiled to the two musicians and began—in an extraordinarily rich voice—to sing. Soon many people were on their feet dancing, or even miming the story of the song. Some of the dancers and players were surely professionally trained, while others were merely enthusiastic. With a start, I realized that it was a tale Leliana had told me long ago, about a woman who had won a jousting tournament. For all I knew, she might have heard the tale in this very place. Although I still saw no sign of her, I could certainly understand why she would love such an inn.
 
Then the tale came to an end, the woman stopped singing and—after a short flourish—the musicians also ceased to play, and the dancers returned to their seats or stood drinking wine and chatting to one another. I turned to a short stocky, red-faced man drinking wine at the next table and asked, “So…was that planned? Does it happen every night?”
 
He shrugged. “Well…Mascarose has certainly sung while Renaud played lute before, but I don’t suppose he knew that she’d arrive at that particular time. Just your luck—always a pleasure to hear her sing. I guess it would be strange for someone who’s never been here before, but Thierry gives performers—good ones, that is—cheap rooms and wine. They give him some impromptu entertainment, which keeps the place lively. It works out for everyone.”
 
“Is that it for the night?”
 
“Hard to say…it depends on the mood of the evening. I’d guess there’ll be more later, but who knows?”
 
I finally managed to get the attention of the innkeeper and was able to request a room for the night. “I also am hoping to contact a friend. A red-haired musician named Leliana…? I have corresponded with her from Ferelden and she used this inn as an address.”
 
“She’s not here,” he told me brusquely.
 
I persisted. “Do you expect her return tonight?”
 
“She’s not a guest here at the moment and she comes and goes as she chooses.”
 
I sighed. I was tempted to bully the man into revealing where she might be found, but decided he was probably only being careful on her behalf. “I am certain that she would like to hear from me. Is there any way I might send her a message?” He looked noncommittal. I pulled out a scrap of vellum and penned a stylized A on it and handed it to the man, along with the flower I had picked earlier. “Please send her these and tell her that I am staying here.”
 
He looked at the single letter I had penned and laughed. “Aren’t you a confident one! Well, I shall see that she receives these, but I am not to be held responsible if she has forgotten you and fails to respond.”
 
I smiled. “That’s all I ask.” Leliana did not appear that night, though I stayed late in the common room.  It was a pleasant evening, however, as I enjoyed the sporadic music and dance performances through the evening, and drank rather more wine than I should have.  I declined the offers of several painted ladies and staggered off to bed alone.
 
Once again, my sleep was disturbed by a dream, but this one was like none I had ever had before. I dreamed that I was in a room where a young girl sat at a table, a single candle on the table providing the only illumination. She reminded me strangely of the young boy in the family portrait back in Highever, though it was a girl, and her was dark—I had been blonde as a child, though my hair had darkened to brown with age. Perhaps it was just her age--she could not have been more than five or six--that recalled the painting. She was deeply absorbed in reading; I could not see what it was, but it was a thick tome in a language I did recognize. It seemed an extraordinary thing for a child so young to be reading.
 
And then, her eyes lifted from her reading and she became aware of me. She picked up the candle and held it out in front of her, her eyes widening as she gazed at me. A mischieveous smile appeared upon her face and I noticed she was missing one of her front teeth. “I thee you,” she lisped, and giggled. And suddenly, I was awake in my bed, shaking and sweating as if I had dreamed of the Archdemon itself. Too much wine or…?

Modifié par maxernst, 24 juillet 2010 - 12:58 .

[maxernst]

 
8. VAL ROYEAUX – The Montfleurie Estate
 
I awoke later than is customary for me, with a throbbing head and my mind still disturbed by the dream, though I could think of no reason why dreaming of a child should be so disquieting. I went down to the common room to have some food to settle my stomach and ask the innkeeper if there had been any messages. None had arrived, so I sat down at a barstool to eat, wondering if Leliana was perhaps out of town.
 
As I was sitting there, a young man, probably a page in the livery of some noble house or other arrived, accompanied by a man with a trumpet. I idly watched as he spoke to the innkeeper who nodded to them and—to my astonishment—pointed at me.
 
The two men approached and the trumpet was blown—really not what I needed after a night of drinking. With an exaggerated bow and flourish, the page handed me a sealed note. I thanked him, puzzled and read the note:
 
Warden Commander Cousland,
 
The Comtesse de Montfleurie cordially invites you and Alistair to dine at her city palace this evening. A carriage will be sent for you this afternoon should you choose to join her.
 
Looking forward to making your esteemed acquaintance.
 
Sincerely,
 
Comtesse Sybille de Montfleurie
 
I looked up in some confusion. “The…Comtesse de Montfleurie?” The page nodded impatiently. How did this Comtesse even know I am in Orlais? She must be connected with Leliana, somehow.
 
A young man on the barstool next to me nudged me, “Friends in high places?”
 
“I don’t even know who she is.”
 
He laughed. “Hey, if you’re noticed by a Comtesse , I’d just go with it.”
 
Still confused, I told the page in as dignified a tone as I could muster that I would be most pleased to accept the Comtesse’s gracious offer, but explained that Alistair was not traveling with me and would be unable to attend. The page bowed again and strode out. I was glad there were only a few people in the common room at this hour of the morning to stare at me.
 
I hoped that this would prove to be a small private dinner rather than some large gathering. I had not brought any clothes suitable for such an occasion even by the less formal standards of the Ferelden nobility. I supposed I could shop for finery here, but was reluctant to add more baggage when traveling. At least there was a large public bathhouse from Imperial times near the inn, so I could at least avoid smelling like a man who had been traveling for three weeks.
 
As advertised the carriage arrived in the afternoon. Although the driver treated me with the most elaborate of courtesy, I had no doubt he had taken one look at my travelworn boots and cloak and dismissed me and all my countrymen as barbarians. The Montfleurie palace was on what was colloquially referred to as the “Holy Hill” near the grand cathedral. This part of the city was cleaner and had few beggars and street musicians. It was less lively than the district where the Le Cheval Blanc was located and the sound of the chant from the cathedral was the dominant sound. 
 
The driver and I passed through the gate into a courtyard with formal gardens. Leliana and a slightly older, dark-haired woman that I assumed was the Comtesse met me there, “Aedan, what a lovely surprise. Please meet my friend Sybille.”
 
I bowed deeply. “Enchante, Madame Comtesse. Thank you for inviting me to your beautiful home.”
 
“It is most delightful to meet you, Commander. Leliana has told me much of you, and my children will be so excited to meet a real hero.”
 
Leliana sighed. “A pity that you appear not to have upgraded your wardrobe since the Blight, however.”
 
“I am traveling light and was not expecting any formal occasions. I hope that I have not offended by being unsuitably clad.”
 
Sybille observed, “No, you are perfect as you are, much as I imagined you. The rugged Hero of Ferelden, ready to battle Darkspawn at a moment’s notice…it would have been disappointing had you shown up in a velvet doublet and fashionable shoes.
 
“Well, I am quite certain there are no Darkspawn in your palace grounds to battle, but being prepared is…something of a necessity for a warden."
 
Leliana made a little moue of disapproval. “I think we should shop for nice, pointed red satin shoes for you…perhaps tomorrow. But where is Alistair—I had assumed he would be with you?"
 
“Alistair…is the reason I am here, but also why I will not be staying much longer, so no shopping expeditions, I fear. I came to Orlais to look for him—it is a long story; I will explain later."
 
Sybille, “Ah, how disappointing. I had hoped to meet the other Warden as well. There is nothing wrong I hope...” she contined as she led me into her sitting room.
 
Although I was the only guest—Leliana appeared to be a semi-permanent member of the household and there were only five of us for dinner, counting Sybille’s son and daughter—the meal was extraordinarily elaborate by Ferelden standards. Snails in butter, stuffed quail, a variety of breads, cheeses and vegetables. After last night’s experience I was careful not to imbibe quite so much wine, though the wine was extraordinarily good.
 
It was a pity Alistair was not here, as he is far better with children than I am. I felt distinctly uncomfortable when Sybille’s young son—technically the Comte, since his father had died from an injury sustained in a tournament a few years ago—asked me if he could be a Grey Warden, too. I was quite certain that was not a future that his mother had in mind for him and was hesitant to appear to encourage him too much.
 
After dinner, I had a few moments to talk to Leliana alone while Sybille put her children to bed.
 
“So, Leliana are you and Sybille…?”
 
“She is a very dear friend. Yes, we are…together.   And I help her to…protect her interests.”
 
“I see. So you are back in the Game, after all, then?”
 
“I…well, I mostly look out for her security and I work only for Sybille. It’s not like with Marjolaine. But what about you? Why would Alistair come to Orlais without you?
 
“He is on his way to Weishaupt on Warden business. He left while I was in Denerim on a recruiting drive and I have been trying to catch up with him ever since. I think he is probably around Val Foret by now and I plan to head that way, and meet him on the road.”
 
“But why would he leave without you? There is nothing…wrong between you, is there?”
 
“Not at all…he felt I was needed in Amaranthine, but there are other people who can do what I do there. My place is with him. Always. So I will be setting out tomorrow.”
 
“Would you like company? ”
 
I thought for a moment. Leliana could certainly be a useful guide, as she knows the land and the culture…and has sharp senses for ambushes and traps. “Will Sybille not need you here?”
 
“She can spare me for a few days. It would be fun to travel with you again, just like old times…I almost miss it, as terrible as it often was…there was camaraderie around the campfire, a sense of a higher purpose…”
 
I nodded. “I would enjoy your company, should you wish to travel with me. I do hope you still have some footwear that’s more suitable for such occasions, however.”
 

Modifié par maxernst, 29 juillet 2010 - 04:35 .

[maxernst]

[list=1]
9. ORLAIS: THE ROAD TO VAL FORETlist]
 
Leliana and I hired some horses and rode out the next morning. True to her word, Leliana was wearing sensible leather riding boots, not the fanciful blue velvet shoes with high heels and a curving, pointed toe that she had worn the night before. It was a warm day—warm enough that I decided to take my drakeskin coat off and place it in my pack. I supposed that between my own senses and Leliana’s there was little risk of an adversary catching us by surprise. Riding along the highway through rolling hills dotted with vineyards and wheat fields, with wild flowers blooming in every fallow field, it was difficult to believe that I had been trapped in a snowstorm only three weeks before.
 
“I am surprised that you did not bring Conal with you,” she said after a while.
 
“Sadly, Conal passed on two years ago. I think the battles with that Darkspawn insurrection we had after the Blight—I wrote to you about it—cost him. He was never quite the same after that.”
 
“I am sorry to hear that. I just assumed last night that you had not brought him because it was a dinner invitation…”
 
“Did you learn so little of Ferelden in the years you lived there? A dinner invitation would always include a mabari; it would be like asking a man to visit you and excluding his wife.”
 
“Well, it is a little different in Orlais, you know.”
 
“Yes, I know. I’m surprised you don’t keep a wet dog at the Comtesse’s palace just to remind you of Ferelden. Or do you not wish to be reminded?”
 
She laughed. “It was not I who said Ferelden smelled of wet dog. I loved the people of Ferelden. Though of course, there were many things I missed from Orlais.” She moved her horse a little closer to mine, “So you have not gotten another hound?”
 
“A mabari chooses his master. It is not like...buying a pet.” I doubted that I would ever have another.
 
Two days passed uneventfully as we rode along the Imperial Highway, although we encountered plenty of traffic—mostly merchants peddling various wares, although there were also patrols and other travelers. Because of the number of people using the road, there were many roadside inns and taverns where one could stop for the night or for a meal. 
 
By the middle of the third day on the road, I was beginning to become nervous. We would likely reach Val Foret on the following day and I had thought to run into him by now. We had begun asking people we encountered on the road if they had seen him but no one had. Early in the afternoon, I sensed something in the distance. At first I thought perhaps it was Alistair, but there was more than one…tainted presence. I stiffened and pulled on the reins of my horse to slow down, scanning the horizon. Could there be Darkspawn here? Now? 
 
Leliana pointed to a castle on a rocky hilltop that was just barely visible above the tall cypress trees the Tevinters had planted to shade the road. “That is Coteaux du Roche. I suppose you knew it was here. Do you think Alistair might have stopped there?”
 
Coteaux du Roche was the main fortress of the Grey Wardens in Orlais, which explained what I was sensing.  I did not explain to Leliana that I had only known that the castle was not far from Val Royeaux, not its precise whereabouts. Neither did I add that I had no desire to go there; I had met Yves, the Warden Commander of Orlais shortly after the Blight. It had been very clear then that he was suspicious of my story about how the Archdemon had fallen. “I doubt it. Let’s keep moving. Perhaps he did not make as good time as I expected and is still farther ahead."
 
The fourth day broke and we had still had no sign of Alistair. :Leliana was doing her best to keep my spirits up with her music and reassuring words but she knew that my worry mounted with each passing hour. We stopped for mid-day meal at an inn that was styled on the mansiones the Tevinter Imperium had built to house travelers on offical business at regular intervals along every Imperial Highway. It was clearly a favorite with traveling nobles and our meal was expensive but exquisitely prepared, nearly a match for Sybille’s table. 
 
Although I had little expectation of success, I inquired as to whether he had seen a big broad-shouldered man from Ferelden with reddish blonde hair.
 
“Uh…would he have carried a shield with a gryphon on it? That’s the warden symbol, right?”
 
My throat dry, I nodded quickly.
 
“Yeah, he stayed here…not last night, but the night before I think it was.”
 
“He did?” I know I must have looked pale for Leliana took my arm.
 
“Oh, we must have missed him on the road.” She said, thanking the innkeeper for his information. “Aedan, relax. He probably just went into the bushes to relieve himself or stopped at a tavern that we missed or something. We’ll turn around and try to catch up with him.”
 
I buried my face in my hands, breathing hard, as we left the inn. “Leli…you don’t understand. I…if he was anywhere near the road, I would have known. It’s…it’s a Warden thing. You remember how Alistair always seemed to know when there were Darkspawn nearby? We can sense our fellow Wardens too. We did not pass him on the road. Either he went some distance off the road for some reason or—“ I broke off, unwilling to even voice my greatest fear. How could I go on without him?
 
Leliana replied urgently, “Are you sure? Maybe you just weren’t concentrating and missed him…or…” She snapped her fingers. “He probably went to Coteaux du Roche! You would not have been able to sense him with all those other Wardens around…would you?”
 
I looked up. “I suppose not, but…I don’t know why he would have gone there.”
 
“Then let’s ride back up there as quickly as possible. Do not worry so much. The Maker will watrch over him.”
 
I climbed back on my horse and followed Leliana back the way we came. I could think of no reason for Alistair to visit the Warden post, but I prayed she was right, even if it did mean dealing with Warden Commander Yves de Chardin again.
 
 

Modifié par maxernst, 28 juillet 2010 - 11:49 .

[maxernst]

10. ORLAIS: A RUINED KEEP
 
“Trap—right ahead!” Leliana called out.
 
I pulled hard on my horse’s reins to bring him to a stop. “What? On the road?”
 
Leliana shook her head and pointed, “Up there, along that path.” It was late afternoon and we had ridden almost halfway back to Coteaux du Roche when she called out a warning that had once been as familiar as the color rising in Alistair’s cheeks. The road turned sharply just ahead of us to avoid going over a steep hill, but a narrow trail wound in between the trees up the hillside. 
 
She dismounted from her horse to investigate.
 
“Be careful,” I said, unnecessarily. She moved forward cautiously and disappeared from view into the shadows of the trees. 
 
She re-emerged from the shade a short time later. “The trap has already been sprung—some sort of a net. There was a fight there, bloodstains on the ground. No one is nearby right now, though. Come look.”
 
I accepted Leliana’s assurance that we were alone—she was never wrong about such things. We tied our horses to cypress trees by the roadside and carefully followed the path.
 
“A horse left the road here,” she said quietly, indicating the horseshoe prints in the dirt. “Do you think…could these be from Alistair’s horse?”
 
I stared at the ground and sighed. “I don’t know. It’s a big horse so it could be…but I am not so skilled a tracker as that. I concentrated hard casting my awareness as far as I could but could sense no sign of the taint.
 
A short distance up the path, hidden from the road by the first twist through the woods, a torn and bloodstained net hung between the trees. Leliana inspected the ground. The trigger rope was here, just before the bend, but the net fell here. The…captive must have cut his way out of the net and put up a fight. She studied the ground. “Several bodies were dragged in this direction,” she said softly.
 
The path forked ahead and Leliana studied the tracks in the dirt with a perplexed look. Then she nodded to herself. “One was pulled further up the trail, while the others were taken this way along the base of the hill." She peered into the shade of the trees. “Is that a mound of dirt?”
 
We moved along the path to find not one but three fresh mounds of disturbed earth. Whoever was buried here could have been lain to rest only a few days ago. My vision blurred with tears. Alistair? Could it really have come to an end like this? 
 
“Aedan, do not despair…we don’t even know if he was ever here. Let us investigate what’s further up the hill.   Trust in the Maker.” 
 
I wrenched myself away from the graves and followed Leliana up the hill, both of us moving with the utmost care. Anyone watching would have seen only a flickering of shadow where we passed. About halfway up the hill, I sensed that familiar feeling of taint, faint, but unmistakeable. I exhaled in relief. “Leli,” I breathed. “He’s here…he’s alive!” Or another Warden was, perhaps, but I felt sure. Perhaps I was imagining it, but somehow I felt there was something familiar about this one presence.
 
“They must have buried their fallen fellows and brought him up here as a captive. He was hurt,” she said, looking at the blood mixed with the dirt where he had been dragged along the path. “Can you pinpoint his location?”
 
I shook my head. “No, it doesn’t work like that. We must be closer to him here than on the road, though. Let’s keep going up the hill."
 
As we approached the hilltop, a ruined keep with a curtain wall and tower came into view. It was built of the same pale grey, porous stone that is common around Lake Calenhad, and overgrown with ivy. It looked old enough to date back to before Andraste’s Exalted March against the Imperium.
 
Leliana whispered, “I’m going to climb this tree and see if I can get a better view.” She clambered up an oak tree, thick-trunked and gnarled enough to have been planted when the keep was built. She returned after a few moments. “There is a lookout standing in the tower. I think I can get a clear shot on him, if I climb high enough in the tree.”
 
Leliana was the best archer I had ever known. Given a place of concealment and enough time to aim, she could fell almost anyone—or anything—with a single arrow. I silently offered a prayer to the Maker and watched the keep from the dense shade of the tree while I waited. She loaded the bow we had taken from Marjolaine’s house, carefully pulled it back and let loose her arrow. “Got him, “ she whispered. “I don’t think there’s anyone else outside the walls of the fort, so we should be able to approach unseen.”
 
As we moved out of the cover of the woods and made our way toward the walls, I could sense the taint more clearly. “He’s here…”
 
“There are five people inside the courtyard...no, six. Let me see if I can find a way up to the tower—that should give me a good vantage point. When you make your move, I’ll fire a scattershot to give you cover.
 
“Sounds like a plan.” Two against five was not promising odds, but Leli and I had faced worse in the past. As Leliana made her way to the tower, I crept to an area where the wall had partially crumbled to ruin and peered over it.
 
On close inspection, the keep itself had nearly collapsed and the brigands had doubtless judged it too unstable to use. Instead, the five of them had made their campsite in the courtyard and sat roughly in a circle around a fire in its center. Alistair lay bound in ropes and completely unconscious near the western wall, opposite the tower. For once, I was thankful for the taint. Had it not been for the corruption in his blood and mine, I would have thought him dead. He had been stripped of his possessions; I could see the Keening Blade holstered at the belt of a woman in leather armor with long brown hair. Fury rose in me.
 
“Have we heard anything back from the Wardens?” asked the woman.
 
“Nah,” said the man seated beside her. “They acted like they didn’t know whose shield it was, though they took it.”
 
“Impossible. Look at this gear—and the way the bugger fought—he’s got to be somebody important.
 
A third man spoke up from the other side of the fire, nearest Alistair. “They’re probably organizing an expedition to kill us all”, he added gloomily. “Let’s just kill him, sell his stuff and get out of here.  We got good money for the horse already.”
 
“We won’t get anywhere near what this stuff is worth from a fence. They’ll have to melt it down or sell it in Antiva or Tevinter—it’s too recognizable to risk trying to sell around here. A guy like this has gotta be worth more than a suit of mail to somebody.” 
 
“Maybe not, if he doesn’t wake up,” said the first man.
 
“I tell you, he’s gonna come round. Maybe when we know who he is, we’ll be able to get a ransom. But why would he have a warden symbol on his shield if he’s not from Coteaux du Roche?”
 
As they talked, I moved around the wall to my left. I wanted to come from that side, to get myself between them and Alistair, in case anybody got the idea of using him against me. If I moved quietly, the long shadows cast by the late afternoon sun would hide me from view…as long as I didn’t get noticed as I came over the wall. When I got into position, I scaled the wall, slid between the battlements and dropped down the other side. I took a deep breath, drew my daggers and carefully applied Zevran’s poison to them, then began to advance on the fire, still unnoticed.
 
As I moved past Alistair, toward the man who had wanted to kill him, Leliana released her shattering shot. One of the men yelped as Leliana’s shot struck his right shoulder and the fragments flew into the others, wounding them in various places. Taking advantage of the confusion, I pressed forward and killed the man nearest me with a flurry of daggers in his back. As he fell lifeless, the others had grabbed their weapons and were ready to fight. 
 
“I’ll go after the archer, while you handle this one,” called the man who had been seated next to the woman as he raced across the courtyard, holding a shield up to counter the arrows Leliana was letting fly from the tower. The other three came after me. The woman came at me from my right with the keening blade in one hand and a dagger in her right. I would want to avoid being struck by Alistair’s sword above all—being paralyzed even briefly would surely be fatal.  Two men also advanced, one clad in light mail with a broad sword and shield, and the wounded one with two daggers. It didn’t look like he would be able to do much with the one in his right, though—Leliana’s arrow had injured him badly.
 
As the three of them advanced on me, I darted forward and made two swift, sweeping cuts in front of me, scoring on two of them—not the woman, however, who appeared to be the most skilled of the lot. I then pulled back, narrowly dancing away from the keening blade, while blocking the mailed man’s sword thrust with the dagger in my left hand.
 
I made a quick feint toward the woman, then stabbed the man with the wounded shoulder in the gut. He fell and I yanked my dagger out of his belly and withdrew.  As I retreated, I ducked beneath the swinging sword of the man in mail and desperately deflected the keening blade with my left hand.
 
When fighting opponents with longer weapons, you inevitably are drawn into a dart forward, pull back style that tends to cause you to yield ground over time. I was becoming conscious of the wall not far behind me; Alistair lay close by me on the ground to my right. While that would make it difficult for either foe to get behind me, it also restricted my mobility. I could not tell how Leliana was faring—she did not appear to be on top of the tower any more.
 
The woman moved in on me now with a series of quick, punishing blows. I parried the two from the keening blade, but she caught me in the right side with her dagger.   I was not sure how badly I was hit, but the pain was sharp. Wincing, I forced a riposte that merely grazed her chin—I had been aiming for her throat.  But I noted with satisfaction the glazed look in her eyes, an indication that Zevran’s poison was taking effect. For a short time, she would be dazed and ineffective.
 
I glanced back over toward the man, just in time to see his shield flying toward my head. I pulled away and it struck my left shoulder—hard—knocking me off my feet. My head struck the wall behind me and I slid to the ground, stunned. He loomed over me, readying his sword for the coup de grace. I had failed. I turned my head away from that blow, seeking one last look at Alistair...

Modifié par maxernst, 28 juillet 2010 - 11:50 .