146 odpowiedzi w tym temacie

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 49:  Welcome to the Deep Roads

 

Aeducan Thaig wasn’t difficult to maneuver. Not only was it close to Orzammar it was one of the last thaigs to fall to the darkspawn corruption.  The regular patrols kept their presence to a minimum. Fortunately for the Wardens going through the old thaig helped them find their ‘Warden balance’ before they reached the darker, stronger miasma of darkspawn in Caridin’s Cross. It was difficult at first for them to distinguish living darkspawn against the tapestry of memories clinging to the stone.

 

“Is this what dwarves mean when they say the Stone remembers?” Alistair asked Oghren, grimacing slightly at the onslaught against his Warden senses. He had a new respect for Riordan’s commander and was more resolved than ever to ask the older Warden to help re-establish the Grey Wardens in Ferelden.

 

“Yup,” Oghren, they quickly learned, was more comfortable answering straightforward, yes-or-no questions than any other. “So, you and the Warden can sense the dead ones, too? And sexy, little Cherryplum, even though she’s not a Grey Warden?” He didn’t really care, but he didn’t want to think about Branka too much now that they were going to find her. It hurt.

 

“Why do you persist in calling her ‘Cherryplum?’” Alistair asked in some exasperation.

 

Oghren looked up at him in disbelief, “Because she’s small, round in all the right places and bursting with sweet juiciness. If you don’t know that you’re doing something wrong, boy,” he snorted. “I’ll take her off your hands if she’s too much woman for ya,” he offered with a leer.

 

Alistair closed his eyes and prayed to the Maker to give him patience, “Not a chance, not ever.” He took a deep breath and changed the subject, “About the darkspawn, we don’t sense the dead ones like they were ghosts or something. It’s difficult to explain . . . I think of it kind of like a building filled with just your thoughts and memories. You can move from one room to the next and everything is yours. After you’re a Warden these things keep trying to intrude and sometimes even get in. You always feel them yelling or growling at you, see them trying to attack you, hear their scritching as they try to get in. When we’re on the surface we quickly learn to pinpoint where they’re coming from. They stand out in our minds like a bleeding sore pulsing with malevolence. Down here, it feels like a foul smelling fog surrounds us, like rotten eggs, the essence of all the darkspawn which were here before. It’s thicker here than in Aeducan thaig.  We can still sense the darkspawn but not as clearly, like the way sounds in a fog are sometimes distorted. We need to focus differently, using more energy. It’s . . . unpleasant.”

 

“Huh,” Oghren replied thoughtfully and took another swig from his flask.

 

Jannasilane joined them. She stood close to Alistair, “I do not like this place, my Ali. The scent of so much darkspawn makes me sneeze. Oghren, are we close to finding Ortan thaig?” She relaxed a little when Alistair brushed his hands over her hair.

 

“You can tell the Warden we’re getting closer, Cherryplum,” he openly ogled the small woman leaning against the over-sized human. He liked curves on a woman. “If you ever get tired of the boy here and want to try a real man, just let me know.”

 

She blinked, “Um, I do not see this happening but thank you,” she added politely.

 

“Maker,” Alistair breathed out while rubbing the bridge of his nose. It was no use saying something to the dwarf; he didn’t seem to understand the meaning of the word ‘appropriate.’ He once again scanned the area with all his senses, “Darkspawn around the corner.”

 

Oghren once again demonstrated why he had earned honors as a warrior. It wasn’t a large group but the others hardly had time to draw their blades before he was done. Once the creatures were dead around him he stood his axe on its head and leaned on the handle, eyeing Jannasilane with a certain respect. “That scream of yours sure came in handy. Never met anybody who could out-shriek a shriek, my ears are still ringing.”

 

“We have some extra earrings . . .” Jannasilane began.

 

“Earrings! What self-respecting warrior wears earrings?” he bellowed in disgust.

 

“Those whose ears are not ringing,” Sten answered him.

 

Zevran piped in, “Yes, all the stylish fighters who do not wish the battle song of the lovely Pocket Goddess to pound in their heads wear earrings enchanted by Wynne of the magical bosom. If you are concerned about your manhood I am sure there are some very plain ones you might find acceptable. Unless you prefer something more sparkly and dainty.”

 

“Huh,” Oghren snorted in disgust. He peered sideways at the older mage, “Magical bosom? Never heard of one of those. Hmmm, does it-”

 

“Stop right there, dwarf,” Wynne commanded. “He’s just being irritating. You should be warned he has a habit of stirring things up for his own amusement. Now, do you want the earrings or not?”

 

Oghren eyed Jannasilane speculatively, “So, Cherryplum, you gonna shriek like that all the time? Never mind, of course you are. Gonna be a lot more darkspawn. Hmm, well, alright. But only while we’re down here fighting, you understand.” He muttered something about surfacers and their strange habits. He stood still while Leliana and Jannasilane inserted the earrings. He enjoyed their closeness; it had been quite some time since a woman’s soft curves were so close. He took the opportunity to pinch their bottoms before they could move away.

 

Alistair grit his teeth. “She’s tough. After all, she survived dwarven ale,” Blake reminded him with a sly grin. Alistair wrinkled his nose at the reminder but didn’t respond. Blake admired the architectural details he could see through the depredations of the darkspawn. “The roadway must have been grand at one time,” he mused. “The dwarves certainly deserve their reputation for masonry.”

 

When they rejoined the others they heard Oghren talking to Morrigan, “. . . all the things I could do to you.”

 

“Ugh, Warden, he’s leering at me again,” the witch complained.

 

“Morrigan, you know what they say: those who can, do and those who can’t, leer,” Blake advised.

 

“What? Hey . . . why you . . .” Oghren huffed.

 

 “I understood darkspawn were more driven during Blight, but I didn’t expect them to be quite so smart or tactical. On the surface we ran into some, but mostly they were grunts. Down here, and at Ostagar, they set traps, use ballistae and even have domesticated brontos,” Blake noticed.

 

“I wish I’d had time to learn more about them, but we were so busy getting ready to fight the Blight on the surface . . . it was one of those things we were supposed to have time for later.” Alistair frowned, “Maybe they’re smarter down here in the Deep Roads because they’re that much closer to the Archdemon or maybe they’ve always been intelligent but not as driven. I think I like the former answer better.”

 

“Whoever told you darkspawn were dumb didn’t know what they were talking about. I thought you two were Wardens? Sure, most darkspawn aren’t much on thinking but they breed faster than a noble hunter can clean your pockets. That means enough smart ones to cause trouble. Course you could be right that there are more of ‘em because of the Archdemon,” Oghren shrugged. He didn’t really care why. He only cared about finding Branka, “By my reckoning the old road to Ortan thaig should be down here some.” He looked around at the ruins, shaking his head sadly, “You wouldn’t believe it to look at it but this was once one of the main crossroads for the dwarven empire. If you were going to any major thaig or city you probably were going to come through here. Ah, sod it.” The dwarf gruffly pushed forward and led the way out of Caridin’s Cross.

 

Ortan thaig was . . . different. So many ruins infested with spiders. Jannasilane shuddered. Oghren was enthusiastic. “Look at these marks, Branka was definitely here. If she were still here she’d have lookouts; she always was a bit paranoid. At least we know we’re on the right track. Let’s go.”

 

“Ghostly dwarves? Aren’t spiders, deepstalkers and darkspawn enough?” Morrigan complained after they fought their way through living threats to get to the heart of the ruined thaig.

 

“The Stone remembers. I’ll have to tell the Shaperate the memories can attack as well,” Oghren muttered while swinging his battle-axe. Afterwards they came across an odd dwarf by the name of Ruck. Whatever his crimes in the past he was paying for them now. He’d fled into the Deep Roads and fed on darkspawn flesh to survive. His mind was rotting, he was at least halfway to being a ghoul and he was barely scraping out a lonely pathetic existence in Branka’s old campsite, determined not to face up to his crimes and bring shame to his mother. With patient conversation the Warden was able to get some clues about Branka. Varying degrees of pity and disgust were predominant in the subdued group that left the twisted dwarf. Zevran even suggested that killing him would be the merciful action but Blake wouldn’t make that decision.

 

Finally their perseverance was rewarded. They found one of Branka’s journals among a few other items. She detailed where they were next headed, ‘in case we don’t make it, someone should know.’ Oghren’s homely face lit with joy when she took the trouble to mention him. Not even the fact that they would have to head to the Deep Trenches, now called the Dead Trenches because of the hordes of darkspawn living there, could dim his happiness. “Looks like we’ll see Bownammar after all. Branka’s tough as the nails she makes; if anybody can survive the darkspawn this long she can. Let’s move. Cherryplum, get ready to sing,” the dwarven warrior didn’t wait to see if the others were coming or not.

 

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 50:  Horror and Betrayal

 

Alistair knew he would never forget his first view of the Dead Trenches. Later he would be able to describe it in great detail. “. . . We were tired and dirty after days of traveling small roads in an effort to avoid the larger darkspawn groups. There were so few of us, only two of us Grey Wardens, we couldn’t take the risk. Remember, we had to stay alive in order to fight the Archdemon. Being killed by an ogre in the Deep Roads was not an option. We came out on a high ledge overlooking . . . well, overlooking a trench. Maker! There were so many darkspawn, thousands at least. That trench, so far underground, was as bright as the noonday sun from the number of torches being carried. I felt my Janna trembling and pulled her against me. She wasn’t scared like I thought; she seemed to be listening for something. Then we, Blake and I, felt it: a roaring in our heads and a wind blowing over the horde below. The Archdemon had arrived . . .” Alistair would always pause then before continuing.

 

The Archdemon was exhorting its troops to fight and destroy its enemies, to demolish everything and everyone in their path. They responded with grunts and shouts of approval and marched out. When the Archdemon flew away it glided right by the Wardens. Alistair got the distinct impression it was taunting them, laughing at them, letting them know it wasn’t worried about them at all. It gave a contemptuous flick of its tail as it turned away. Alistair hadn’t felt so small in years. He looked at his fellow Warden, Blake was just as grim. For what seemed like hours but was barely minutes none of them moved, the enormity of their task and burden weighing them down.

 

Jannasilane broke the spell. She pulled Alistair’s face down to hers and held it firmly in her hands. She looked into his eyes and spoke fiercely, “Now is not the time, my Ali, but you will defeat the beast. This is truth,” and she kissed him hard on the mouth for emphasis before letting him go.

 

Blake’s expression lightened, “I’m glad you didn’t jump on top of the dragon this time, Package.”

 

“I have grown up since then,” she responded with dignity. At that the others chuckled in amusement, except Oghren who looked confused.

 

“My friend recently discovered she likes fighting dragons. She jumped right on top of a high dragon before we could even blink,” Leliana explained.

 

“A most glorious sight to be sure,” Zevran confirmed.

 

Oghren guffawed, “A little thing like her?”

 

Jannasilane stamped her foot, “I am not little!”

 

The dwarf looked her up and down, leering, “No, you’re not little.”

 

That bit of byplay gave them all a chance to settle and they went forward in a much better frame of mind. Their task was daunting, the Legion of the Dead couldn’t help and the Deep Trenches were huge. The small group traveled a long ways before they found their next clue although Oghren might have wished they didn’t. They heard a voice, saying the same thing over and over in a creepy, sing-song chant:

 

“First day, they come and catch everyone.

Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat.

Third day, the men are all gnawed on again.

Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate.

Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn.

Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams.

Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew.

Eighth day, we hate it as she is violated.

Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin.

Now she does feast, as she's become the beast.

Now you lay and wait, for their screams will haunt you in your dreams.”

 

They finally found the source, a female dwarf called Hespith. Branka’s captain and lover turned ghoul. She hinted at Branka’s involvement but wouldn’t, or couldn’t, explain further than that and ran from them, deeper into the Trenches, rather than say any more. They could hear her repeating her litany in the distance. Oghren grumbled about making changes if knew of Branka’s ‘interests’ but Jannasilane didn’t believe him. Or not totally, she saw the hurt he tried to hide. She didn’t say anything but from that moment she disliked Branka intensely. The warrior was coarse, rude, unhygienic, frequently irritating and a bit lecherous but he was not a bad man. He was a good fighter even drunk. Whatever problems Branka had with her husband he did not deserve to be publicly humiliated.

 

They made their way into Bownammar. “Never thought I’d see this place,” an unusual reverence colored Oghren’s voice. The others thought Bownammar was a spooky and eerie place but far worse awaited them.

 

Beyond Bownammar they faced a horror they didn’t expect, the meaning of Hespith’s litany. “An immense blob, a giant congealed pudding on top of an angry octopus,” was how Alistair described it. “We could tell it was female only because of the numerous, ummm, er, pairs of breasts it had. One pair stacked above another. And the smell . . . think of the worst thing you’ve ever smelled, add it to the darkspawn and you still won’t be close. I think we all suffered nightmares for weeks after that.”

 

The creature trapped them in her lair with a tentacle fence blocking off any exits. More tentacles popped up from the ground and smacked them around and ‘she’ vomited poison at them when they got close enough. The layers of fat acted as armor, absorbing a lot of damage without the creature being significantly harmed. When her guards joined the creature Jannasilane’s battle song rang out, echoing off the walls of the small chamber. A tentacle erupted from behind her, grabbing her and throwing her into the darkspawns’ grasp. Only her quickness allowed her to escape and from that moment she made lightning attacks and moved away. Finally their efforts paid off and with one last foul emission the creature sagged, lifeless. In the quiet that followed their victory the only sound was heavy breathing.

 

“What . . . what was that?” Leliana asked shakily. Even the Wardens weren’t much better.

 

Hespith answered from a rafter above, “Broodmother. It’s why they need us, why they hate us, why they feed us. With the men, they’re merciful. The women they want, to touch and mold, to change until you are filled with them like they changed Laryn. They forced her to eat our friends. She drank her husband’s blood. She ate and grew; she swelled and turned grey and smelled like them. They remade her in their image and she made more of them. And Branka,” Hespith choked, “I am dying of something worse, dream friend, betrayal.” She turned away from them and disappeared behind the ledge over the former dwarf, Laryn. They never saw her again; all Zevran found when he ran up the ledge was a deep drop.

 

“Branka allowed her house to be turned into darkspawn?” Blake asked incredulously.

 

Oghren was reeling from Hespith’s revelations, “She must be wrong. Genlocks come from dwarven broodmothers, shrieks from elves, hurlocks from humans and ogres from Qunari. Branka knew this. She hates darkspawn with a passion, she couldn’t have . . . that water-tart Hespith’s mind is gone and she, she misunderstood. That’s gotta be it. Our entire house, over two hundred dwarves, no, she must be wrong. She has to be.”

 

Alistair pitied the dwarf. He didn’t say anything, didn’t know what anybody could say. He believed Hespith and thought Oghren did as well even if he didn’t want to admit it.

 

Staring at the immense body before them in horror Jannasilane made a request, “Kill me before that can happen. Promise me that if captured you will make sure they cannot turn me into . . . into that.” Leliana nodded in agreement. Neither Blake nor Alistair wanted to think of having to make that decision but knew it was one promise they couldn’t avoid. Fortunately Jannasilane didn’t seem to expect an answer. Alistair’s arms wrapping around her was reassurance enough. Even though Morrigan said nothing she fully agreed with the toy; death would be infinitely preferable.

 

“I hope we don’t require Branka’s assistance. I’d rather take her dead body back to Orzammar than cooperate with someone so psychotic. Even if we find her alive I’m not sure we can trust her to honor any agreement. Oghren’s opinion is worthless, he hasn’t seen her for at least two years and doesn’t want to believe she’s a murderer,” Blake thought as they trudged forward. “This tunnel better lead to something.”

 

“Does it still plan on finding this Branka? She does not seem to be the most dependable sort of ally,” Shale asked Blake.

 

“We need the dwarves for our army. That means finding Branka whether she still lives or not.”

 

“She’s alive,” Oghren said, annoyed at the thought, “if that Hespith stayed alive then Branka did. She has a fierce determination to find the Anvil of the Void, a will of steel. She’s alive, and will be wary. Look out for traps and the like.”

 

The air around them seemed to beat down on them, encouraging them to turn back. Only their strong determination kept them going forward. When they heard a stone clang behind them Oghren, who’d been quiet since the broodmother, jumped, “What was that?” He got his answer when a figure appeared on top of a high wall. “Branka?!” he yelled as joy filled his homely face.

 

“Oghren, what a surprise,” she answered flatly. “And who is this with you, some lord’s lackey?”

 

“Be respectful, woman, these are Grey Wardens . . .” Oghren sputtered angrily.

 

Branka sneered, making Jannasilane want to fly up and tear the woman’s tongue out, “Oh, a high up lackey then. I don’t care why they’re here; I suppose the little lordlings are battling for position. The only thing that matters is the Anvil of the Void and reclaiming our territory, our glory.”

 

“Does that include sacrificing Hespith and the rest of your house?” Blake’s tone was light but he didn’t bother to hide the contempt from showing in his eyes, she was too far away to see it.

 

Branka bridled, “There’s only one way out, Warden. And that’s forward. Let’s see if you’re as clever as those of your order are reputed to be.” They could hear her justifications and warnings about traps as they moved on. Fortunately they were able to leave her behind quickly enough.

 

“Caridin was quite clever, if these traps are any indication. They are quite unusual,” Leliana observed.

 

“They don’t make somebody a paragon for no reason,” Oghren huffed.

 

“Can the Assembly vote to un-paragon somebody?” Jannasilane thought that if anybody deserved such a dishonor it was Branka.

 

Oghren shook his head, “Nah. Once it’s done it’s done. The Assembly may be more cautious in the future, though.  What is that?” he pointed his axe at what appeared to be a giant head. When they got close enough its eyes started to glow and the ghosts of dwarven warriors appeared. “This ain’t no trick of the stone. Must be one of Caridin’s gimmicks. Crazy smith . . .” The others were left to guess as to which smith he meant.

 

Finally they were past all the traps. They stepped down one narrow corridor and came face to face with a golem, a golem named Caridin. “Caridin, the Paragon smith? The Anvil of the Void is what we seek. Did you create me?”

 

“Shale? Is that truly you? You were one of the most loyal and strong dwarves to volunteer, and the only woman. It is good to see you again,” if a steel golem could smile then Caridin was smiling. Shale was dumbfounded by the realization she was a she and once was one of those small squishy creatures. She certainly didn’t remember. They all listened intently as Caridin explained why he wanted the Anvil destroyed.

 

Blake eyed Caridin as he considered the other’s request. “I agree that the Anvil is an unfortunate invention. Enslaving living creatures to an eternity of service, no I don’t like that. He is a Paragon. Certainly he appears to be a lot more reasonable than Branka. Since Harrowmont really didn’t seem to care if I found Branka dead or alive something from a living Caridin should be as good as the bones of a dead Branka.” He nodded his head, “If you can help me with the Assembly we have a deal. Now -”

 

Branka came barreling up behind them, full of anger and defiance. “No! The Anvil is mine!” No explanation or appeal to reason or decency mattered. Her obsession had obliterated everything. When the Warden defied her she yanked out a control rod of her own, “Caridin’s not the only master smith here. Golems, obey me, attack!” Oghren hesitated only briefly before joining the fight against his wife.

 

Shale and Jannasilane each made straight for the mad dwarva. The others could take care of the golems easily enough; at least Branka could only use the control rod on some of the golems. Paragon Caridin was immobilized and could only watch the battle from behind his steel prison. Branka was fast, almost as fast as Jannasilane. She may have been a smith but she’d learned a few tricks that made her seem almost magical, at one point Jannasilane and Shale were surrounded by Branka replicas, each one able to attack independently. When Branka finally lay dead on the ground the golems controlled by her froze in place, looking like Shale in Honnleath.

 

Caridin was unfrozen by her death. He sighed as he looked at the carnage, “More death because of my creation. I shall create a crown for you to take back and give to the contender of your choice. I wish to know nothing about it. All I want is your word that you will destroy the Anvil as discussed.”

 

“If you do this you will be throwing away a major advantage,” Morrigan warned.

 

Alistair shook his head, “It enslaves living souls. It must be destroyed.” He was adamant.

 

Zevran shrugged elegantly, “Living souls are enslaved all the time. Many of them are called peasants.”

 

“How would you like it if I made you into a golem? Wouldn’t you like to be as strong and powerful as Shale?” Blake lifted an eyebrow at his lover. He wondered if Zevran really was so nonchalant about the issue or if he was just being, well, just being Zev.

 

An airy wave and dramatic sigh prefaced Zevran’s answer, “You would wish to destroy the perfection standing before you? And to give up all the delights I can offer in my current form? Do as you wish.”

 

Blake gave a slight bow to the lithe elf before turning back to Caridin. “Done,” Blake agreed. He watched the Paragon golem walk up a narrow ledge where the Anvil shone with an odd light. While Caridin worked he moved to Oghren’s side where the dwarf was standing by his wife’s body. “I’m sorry it turned out this way, Oghren.”

 

“Always knew the Anvil would kill her but she wouldn’t listen to anybody else. Stupid woman.” Even his beard braids seemed to droop as he stared at the woman he married years ago. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin to look the Warden in the eye, “Reckon I’ll come with you to the surface. You young whelps could use somebody who knows something about darkspawn. I’m a warrior, fighting is what I do best. If them creatures are moving to the surface then that’s where I should be, at least for now. I had some surface ale once. I’d like to try a bit more of it, though it lacks the kick of some of our special brews.” His expression dared the Warden to refuse him.

 

Blake considered the warrior before him. Oghren was annoying but greatly skilled. He was bound to irritate Morrigan, which was both a plus and a minus but should at least be entertaining. Maker knew he could use a little amusement. His mother would have been appalled but he rather thought his father would have understood. He could understand the other man wanting to get away from Orzammar, at least until the memories became less painful. “Very well, Oghren, you are welcome to come with us. Another skilled warrior will be very useful to have with us.” He carefully kept his expression blank as the warrior went to Morrigan. He couldn’t hear what he said but the dark-haired witch’s expression was priceless. He turned away before she could look at him.

 

“Are you sure?” Alistair asked quietly. “Don’t get me wrong, even drunk he’s a better fighter than many I’ve seen. But will he be too . . .” he stopped speaking when he saw an exchange between the b-witch and the dwarf. His hazel eyes warmed with appreciation, “Of course this might mean Morrigan won’t talk to me as much. I withdraw my hesitations.”

 

Blake snorted, “Good to know you have your price, Alistair.” Alistair flushed a little but grinned before returning to Jannasilane and Leliana. Blake saw that Caridin was almost done and walked up the ledge to join him. When he got there he looked down and felt a little dizzy looking into the swirling stream of boiling lava.

 

“It is done,” Caridin pronounced and gave him the crown. Blake looked it over appreciatively; it was a thing of great beauty. He carefully set it down and picked up the largest hammer he could find. He struck the Anvil once, twice, then thrice before it cracked open with a sound of thunder. He dropped the hammer among the wreckage and stared at it, hoping he’d done the right thing. He looked up as the ancient Paragon moved beside him. Caridin didn’t say anything while he stepped to the edge and then leaned forward so he could fall and be swallowed up by the lava below.

 

“Stone guide you and may you achieve the death and rest you seek,” Blake whispered. The Warden picked up the crown and slowly walked down the path to join the others where they were gathered around some large sign. “What’s this?”

 

“It’s the names of all Caridin’s volunteers. The Shaper would brown his drawers to get a copy of this,” Oghren whooped.

 

“If there is some way to make a copy I could perhaps study it later. It might help me remember something,” Shale rumbled. She was still disconcerted to find out she used to be a dwarf, knowledge which would take some getting used to.

 

Alistair moved forward, “Might as well. It won’t take but a minute and we’re here now.” He took out some paper and made some rubbings. “That should do it, one for the Shaper and one for us.”

“Let’s hope this big hunk of metal can still be of use to us,” Blake was in a sour mood.

 

Oghren grunted, “Well aren’t you in a pissy mood.” He sneered his contempt of the nobles, “Those deshyrs have been trying to destroy the city for years. Haven’t managed it yet. Are you ready to go or are we going to stay here and jabber like old women?”

 

A couple of days later they were finally out of Orzammar. “I never thought I’d find rain so beautiful,” Blake remarked as the icy downpour sliced through them. “We’d have been gone sooner if Bhelen and his supporters didn’t smuggle weapons into the Assembly in case the vote didn’t go their way. At least we have our troops. Hopefully I won’t see the inside of Orzammar for a long time.”

 

Oghren stopped to squint up at the sky. “Give me a moment. That sky, it seems to go on forever, so bright, and wet,” he sputtered. “Makes me feel a bit dizzy.”

 

“Take your time, I want you in top fighting condition,” Blake replied.

 

“Right you are, Warden, right you are. Well,” Oghren shouldered his axe, “let’s make whatcha call it, daylight.”

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 51:  Oghren Conquers the Surface

 

“So, what do you do with her legs?”

 

Alistair blinked, “Whose legs?”

 

Oghren snorted, “You and Cherryplum . . . dwarven legs aren’t much use as accessories. She’s almost as short but her legs are longer.”

 

“I didn't do anything with them. I don't know what--”

 

“Ah, say no more. Just got 'em outta the way and went about your business. Good on you, son,” the dwarf chuckled.

 

Alistair reddened and hoped Jannasilane couldn’t hear their conversation, “Uhm. Thanks.”

 

Oghren was adjusting to the surface surprisingly well, as long as nobody talked too much about the sky. He leered, ogled and propositioned his female companions on a regular basis. He took delight in teasing Alistair, trying to see just how red he could make the younger man blush. He wouldn’t admit it but he had a lot of respect for the fighting abilities of the people he found himself traveling with, “When it comes to fighting there isn’t a nug-humper in the bunch. The Warden is smart to let the kid take the lead on the battlefield. Ha! I don’t think the pike-twirler even knows he’s doing it. He’s got a nose; he’ll be a general one day if he toughens up some. Heh heh, I can help him with that. Whoever heard of a general blushing like a little girl? Speaking of little girls . . .” He watched Cherryplum approach him. It was obvious even to him that she and Alistair loved each other and that the Warden was carrying on with the elf, although he didn’t like to think of that. Dwarves just didn’t do that, certainly not openly. “I’m on the surface now; they do things different up here. Better get used to it. She seems like a nice girl, though, so what are you doin’ sharing a tent with both Wardens?”

 

Jannasilane stopped midstride, eyes and mouth wide open, “What?”

 

“Did I say that out loud? Sorry, I was just thinking and trying to understand things up here. Is it normal for one woman to be with two men? In Orzammar that might happen with noble hunters but not decent women like you.” Oghren tried not to be embarrassed. The last thing he wanted to do was offend the one woman who stood up for him against Branka and tried to be nice to him. His ears turned as red as his beard, “Look, it’s none of my business. You don’t gotta answer. Umm, did you want something?”

 

“I suppose it does seem strange,” Jannasilane struggled to talk calmly despite her discomfort. She’d been dreading the day somebody asked her about their unusual arrangement. “My Ali talked to you about the darkspawn in a Warden’s head.”

 

“Yup. Sounds rather nasty,” he added.

 

Jannasilane nodded her head, “Yes. And it is hard to sleep when your enemy finds it easier to get at you. It is even worse during a Blight. Blake had no time to build up his defenses or even learn how before all the other Grey Wardens were killed at Ostagar. Somehow being close to me blocks some of that. Perhaps this is because I am the daughter of a Grey Warden even though I am not one myself. My poor Wardens suffered from not sleeping until we discovered by accident that I am a, I suppose you would call it a natural buffer while they sleep. Ferelden needs them healthy and alert. So for now . . .” she awkwardly shrugged, hoping this conversation was done.

 

“So it’s sleep, not sex,” Oghren pondered. “Even though you and the kid are bucking the wild bronto?”

 

“That came later.” Jannasilane blushed furiously. “What was it like, being a warrior in Orzammar?” She was not going to say one more word about her sleeping arrangements or her relationships with the Wardens. To his credit Oghren didn’t push for more information. Didn’t stop him a few days later from asking if he would get to sleep with her if he were a Warden but he showed some restraint even then. He almost felt at home when she hit him; Branka might have used a hammer but still . . .

 

Blake fell into step beside Oghren and Sten, “Oghren, we’ll be in Denerim soon. We used up a lot of our supplies in the Deep Roads and need to restock. I don’t know if you know this or not but Loghain has a price out on our heads, so it would be best if you don’t say anything about traveling with Grey Wardens.”

 

“Has he been swilling too much bad ale or was he always crazed as a deepstalker? Doesn’t he know Wardens are needed against the darkspawn?” Oghren scowled.

 

Blake answered, his tone dry as dust, “Apparently he’s not a believer. And we’re in his way. I would prefer not to kill anybody who might be useful later so just keep a low profile.”

 

“Hey, is that a dig about my height?” Oghren narrowed his eyes at the younger, taller man. Next to him Sten snorted. It might have seemed an odd pairing to some but the two warriors got along quite well. Possibly because neither was that interested in talking a lot, something that could not be said about the rest of the Warden’s companions. Or it could be because they were both strangers in a land of humans.

 

“You wish him to comment about what is not there?” Sten offered helpfully. Blake left the two of them jabbing at each other.

 

“Oghren is adjusting to the surface surprisingly well,” Zevran remarked. “Although I believe the added variety of alcoholic beverages now available to him might be helping. I have met a few dwarves recently come to the surface and they were definitely more skittish than our warrior friend.”

 

Blake looked back at the dwarf, “I dare say leering at the women and annoying Wynne help take his mind off the sky above his head. I remember Alistair telling me once about one of the other Wardens who could out drink the rest of them put together. He and Oghren would have gotten along though I doubt there’d be any ale left for anybody else.”

 

“Yes, and he seems to have a ready supply though I wonder where he keeps it,” Zevran said lightly as he studied the dwarf. “On second thought perhaps I do not wish to know.”

 

“We’ll be talking about the blasted weather next,” Blake mentally groused. To the casual observer they were as comfortable in each other’s company as always but ever since he tried to spend the entire night with Zevran things had been a little off between them. “The Deep Roads and the exercises I’ve been doing with Alistair help, but I still had nightmares without Package. It’s a good thing Zev is tough and quick because I might have hurt him when I started thrashing.”

 

Zevran was also thinking of that night, “I was surprised when the Warden asked to stay. Now I understand why he didn’t do so before; those nightmares of his are fearsome things. My ribs are still bruised; fortunately I am quick and a light sleeper. Pocket Goddess must be stronger than I imagined, though I daresay that large tent makes it easier to avoid blows. Still . . .”

 

“So, uh, Warden,” Oghren cornered Blake after they set up camp for the night, “we’re friends right? I was wondering, is there any way we could look up a girl I know who moved to the surface? I’m sure she’s done being mad by now. It would be nice to talk to somebody who knows . . . you know.” The dwarf actually scuffled his feet and wouldn’t look the Warden in the eyes.

 

Blake raised an eyebrow, “An old girlfriend? Any idea where she might be? We’re not going everywhere in Ferelden, you know. Even if it seems like it at times.”

 

“I ain’t stupid,” the warrior sputtered. “She works at an inn on Lake Calmebad, something like that. It’s near that Circle of Mages the old lady lives in.”

 

“Lake Calenhad. Fine, next time we’re in the area we can look for her.”

 

Oghren grinned, “Good on you, Warden. I’ll think of you when we . . . eh, no, that’d be kind of gross.” The dwarf disappeared into his tent leaving Blake with a pained look on his face. He shook his head to clear it of all mental images Oghren’s words created.

 

A couple of days later Blake and Alistair were hunting together. Jannasilane had volunteered to watch camp while the others looked for herbs and game. She decided to take advantage of the quiet to clean and air out her and the Wardens’ bedrolls and some other domestic chores. Zevran stayed behind as well. He wanted to think about the Warden and what happened the other night without interruptions. Other than asking him to help her tie some rope between trees so she could hang blankets and furs for airing she was quiet. He wasn’t used to such a companionable and soothing silence with a woman and he felt himself more and more relaxed, more able to focus his thoughts.

 

“I thought you’d jump at the chance for some alone time with Zevran,” Alistair remarked.

 

“I didn’t see you making any efforts to stay behind with Package,” Blake said irritably.

 

“She told me to go away. She said we might not notice the state of our bedclothes but she was tired of waiting to see if they would run away in the night. Then she gave me that look. I thought Morrigan could say a lot with an eyebrow but my Janna is pretty good at it too.” Alistair grinned as he thought of her, the way she looked up at him with that fierce look in her eye and daring him to disobey. His grin faded and he looked at his friend more closely. Contrary to what most people thought he was quite observant, at least when it came to his friends. It hadn’t escaped his notice that after the night Blake spent with Zevran they hadn’t hooked up again. Neither man seemed terribly happy. Talking with Blake could be slippery so he decided to be blunt, “What happened with you and Zevran? I would have thought spending the night instead of just a few hours together would make you happier, not tenser. And don’t deny it. Janna and I both noticed.”

 

Blake snarled at his friend, “It’s none of your concern, Alistair. Shouldn’t you be happy I’m not with the assassin?” Alistair blinked at the venom in the words but didn’t answer. He just set his chin and waited. Blake rubbed his temples, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take my frustrations out on you. I just thought, I thought I could finally spend the night. I don’t like leaving him, as if he was a convenience and nothing more. Those meditation exercises have helped a lot and I can use my Warden sense more effectively. Instead I had another nightmare and . . . damn it. I lashed out, kicked him in the ribs before I could wake up. It’s only luck I didn’t actually hurt him,” he finished bitterly.

 

Alistair frowned, “You didn’t have that problem when . . . before we reunited with Janna in Denerim. Was this just a Grey Warden nightmare or something else?”

 

“You’re right. Neither of us slept well but . . . hmmm,” Blake tried to think back to before the nightmare. “We had just -” he caught the look on the templar’s face, “never mind, I won’t go into details. We were falling asleep and I was thinking it was nice, kind of like when Dairren visited and he would come to my room.” He concentrated, “I think I was dreaming of home, before Howe betrayed us and then the darkspawn.”

 

“You were dreaming of Howe and the darkspawn when Jannasilane tried to wake you,” Alistair pointed out.

 

“And while she was gone we did our exercises at night, one of the last things before turning in. Now we do them in the morning,” Blake mused. His face cleared, “Maybe if I make some adjustments . . . I don’t always want to leave my lovers in the middle of the night. I like having options.”

 

“Since you really seem to like him for some odd reason maybe you should talk to him.”

 

Blake peered sideways at his friend, “I could list all the ways I find him intriguing. He has a very skillful tongue, and then of course,” he laughed when Alistair put his hands over his ears. They moved on in good humor and were able to bag some small game and returned to camp flushed with success. Blake handed everything to Alistair and made a beeline for Zevran.

 

Alistair grimaced at being stuck with cleaning all the furred and feathered results of their hunting. He looked up to see Leliana and Jannasilane giggling at him. He stuck out his tongue and had them laughing harder.  He couldn’t help smiling, though, when they came toward him. “They really are a pretty picture.”

 

Jannasilane started to hug him but wrinkled her nose, “You are quite fragrant, my Ali, Leliana and I will begin cleaning the birds and you can clean the rest. Then,” she emphasized her words by shaking her finger at him, “you will go clean yourself. I did not air out all the blankets so you and Blake could stink them up in one night. I will get what you need. You are not allowed into the tent until you are more odor free.” Matching actions to words she disappeared into the large tent and brought out several items which she sorted into two piles, one for each Warden.

 

“. . . so if you’re still interested I’d like to try again,” Blake leaned back against the tree and toyed with the elf’s blond hair while he waited for an answer.

 

His companion smiled seductively, “But of course, my dear Warden, there are so many things we have yet to do.” He was relieved to see wicked heat replacing the discomfort of the past few days in the Warden’s grey eyes. “It so happens that while you were speaking to Alistair I had an illuminating conversation with our pocket goddess. I will understand if you feel you cannot stay. We will simply make the best of what time we have, yes?”

 

Blake felt a much more pleasant tension rising and leaned down to kiss the other man but stopped abruptly when he saw Package, “What is she doing? Those are my clothes.”

 

Zevran looked back and chuckled, “That is a subtle hint that you need to clean yourself before you can enter your tent. She worked very hard while you were gone to clean and freshen your bedclothes and the tent itself. I think you and Alistair will be pleasantly surprised.”

 

“Subtle? Ha, maybe for Package. Care to join me? We shouldn’t disappoint a lady, after all.”

 

“Especially not a goddess,” Zevran answered and winked.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 52:  Auld Lang Syne and Again

Leliana was nervous. She finally had the opportunity to face Marjolaine on more even ground and she felt both eagerness and dread. “I thought the last time we saw each other was the end. Because of her Tug is dead and Sketch, who knows where he is now. I hope he’s safe. I started a new life and never did anything to hurt her even though part of me wanted to. What does she want this time?” Jannasilane insisted on going with her which meant Alistair as well, for which she was grateful. The presence of the large warrior made her feel safe and less vulnerable. She knew Blake would confront her former lover for attacking their group and she couldn’t let him go without her. He didn’t know Marjolaine and would be at a disadvantage. Blake was clever but one didn’t get to be a bard master in Orlais by being stupid.

 

Zevran was having similar thoughts about Blake, only the object of his concern was a note his Warden received from the Crows as soon as they stepped foot in Denerim again. Blake planned on dealing with an experienced bard and then speaking with the Crows to demand they cease their assassination attempts. Zevran shook his head, “These Fereldans and their straightforward approach to difficulties. I shall go with him to help him avoid any traps they might have for him. I, Zevran Arainai, deliberately putting my head in the lion’s den . . . my former associates would laugh themselves to death at the thought.” A little disgruntled he continued sharpening his blades while waiting for Wynne. He would be scouting the market under the guise of escorting the elderly mage while they waited for the Wardens to finish dealing with the lovely Leliana’s former mentor.

 

Blake was feeling supremely confident this morning. His good mood probably had something to do with the recent understanding between himself and Zevran. He supposed he owed Package a thank you for talking to the elf. “I wonder if Zev would have believed her if I hadn’t had that nightmare. He certainly wouldn’t say anything to hurt her but I know he suspects, or did suspect that our arrangement was . . . fluid.”  He would definitely have to think of something. Actually he owed much to both of his friends and tent mates. One evening he entered the now-pleasant-smelling tent to see a canvas wall in the middle and his friends blushing nervously. Haltingly Alistair explained that if he wanted Zevran to join him then they could have some privacy and he would still be able to sleep. The ‘wall’ was even enchanted so that most sounds from one side were unlikely to be heard on the other. Blake was touched, “I don’t think I should take advantage of their offer but it means a lot they even thought of it. I’m not sure if it was harder for him or her, a bit of a tossup that. Ah, this looks like the place.” His eyes grew steely, “Let’s take care of this situation. I won’t have any of my friends threatened or harassed.”

 

A token guard of two Qunari mercenaries was quickly removed from duty. Later Sten would correct them and say they were Tal-Vashoth and definitely not of the Qun. Blake studied the attractive, sophisticated brunette waiting for them. Subtle, seductive and deadly was his final verdict. He listened to the exchange between the two bards with the occasional interjection from Package. “This Marjolaine doesn’t know what she’s dealing with. Package is as stubborn as a mabari in defense of her friends. The Orlesian will never believe that Leliana has no plans to move against her; it’s what she would do if the situation were reversed.”

 

"Oh, but you are me. You cannot escape it. No one will understand you the way I do, because we are one and the same. Do you know why you were a master manipulator, Leliana? It is because you enjoyed the game; you reveled in the power it gave you. You cannot change or deny this."

 

Her words hit Leliana like a blow and Blake finally spoke up, “She will never let you alone, leave you in peace; you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.”

 

Pain and grief swam in her eyes but her voice was resolute, “I know. This ends now, Marjolaine. I will not let you endanger me or my friends any longer.”

 

"You think you can kill me? I made you, Leliana. I can destroy you just as easily." Her words were vicious and her guards as quick and skilled as she.

 

When Marjolaine lay on the floor with the rest of her dead associates Leliana was distraught, “I killed her . . .  Marjolaine is dead! I – I need to think.” As soon as they were out of the house she left to go back to camp.

 

Alistair looked after her, perplexed. “Why is she so upset? The woman tried to kill her.”

 

Jannasilane put her hand in his and leaned against him while she looked after her departing friend. Her eyes were full of pity and sorrow, “Maybe, but she loved Marjolaine once. It was the only option and she knows that but it doesn’t mean it was easy.”

 

“No,” understanding dawned. “I suppose it wasn’t,” Alistair agreed. He leaned down and kissed her, “Luckily she has you for a friend.”

 

“Leliana will be fine. Now let’s find Zev and get this next meeting over with. I wonder what they want.”

 

“Hopefully it’s not to finish what Zevran started,” Alistair grumbled.

 

Blake raised an eyebrow, “Are you referring to the seduction or the assassination?” He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of finding ways to make Alistair turn red in embarrassment. Jannasilane tried not to giggle but she wasn’t very successful. Blake ignored the mumbling and led the way to the market where they soon found Zevran. He’d left Wynne in the Wonders of Thedas. “Marjolaine is no longer a problem and Leliana went back to the camp. Shall we see what your old friends want?”

 

“Former associates yes, friends no,” Zevran corrected softly. “One of the vendors, Cesar, is a Crow but I have seen no signs of a trap so far. Either they are very, very good or the people you see are just what they seem to be.”

 

“Maybe you’re not as good as you think,” Alistair was pleased to finally be able to tease the Antivan about something. Then he felt guilty at the elf’s crestfallen expression.

 

“Alas, perhaps you are correct,” Zevran peered up through his lashes at the templar, “I am better. Thank you for pointing this out to me.” He smiled in satisfaction when Alistair groaned and threw up his hands in defeat. “Now, my dear Warden, if there is a trap it will be in the tavern. Since the Gnawed Noble is reputable, if expensive, I doubt we will find any significant danger on the premises. If you insist on this meeting let us get it done.”

 

Master Ignacio, Cesar’s associate, was waiting for them. He deliberately ignored Zevran’s presence and spoke only to the Warden. “You’re looking for help?” Blake asked incredulously.

 

Ignacio permitted himself a slight smile, “It is rare that one who crosses paths with the Crows emerges unscathed. Such a one is of interest as a possible . . . associate. Your civil war has stirred many rivalries and, you are an intelligent man, I need say no more.”

 

“If I do this I want no more Crows coming after us,” Blake warned.

 

“Regretfully, this I cannot do. One master has a contract on you and will not rest until it is completed or he and his cell are dead. This is why we have stayed in business for so many years. But if help is requested then perhaps he will be met with silence, yes? The guild master has already decreed there will be no more contracts taken out on you,” Ignacio gave an elegant ‘what can you do?’ shrug.

 

Zevran confirmed the information, “Normally it is one contract, one master. Only once that I know of the entire guild was contracted. An entire noble family was killed and a princely sum changed hands.”

 

Alistair and Jannasilane silently watched the discussion. After it was done the group retreated to the main room of the Tavern and grabbed an isolated table in the corner. “What do you think?” Blake asked. Zevran was silent. He knew without being told the question was addressed to the others.

 

Alistair shifted uncomfortably, “I can’t say I like the idea. No offense Zevran but I never really saw myself as an assassin, it’s just not . . . er . . . umm . . . honorable,” he finally blurted. He hunched his shoulders and stared down at the table. He could feel his face flaming under the twin scrutiny of the rogues.

 

“No, I suppose it would not seem so to a Fereldan,” Zevran was amused rather than insulted. He rather thought the large templar looked like an adorable, albeit overgrown, child in trouble with the adults. He decided to indulge himself a little and patted the man’s large hands, “There, there, do not worry, my young friend. I am not insulted but if you feel you need to soothe my feelings I am sure I can think of something.” His pats changed to caresses. He and Blake chortled at how quickly Alistair moved his hands back and glared at him. “Is it just your sense of honor that is abused or is there another reason?”

 

“I hate you both,” Alistair mumbled under his breath. Then he straightened up and cleared his throat before answering the question, “Do we really have time? If word gets out people who currently are on our side may wonder if we are as bad as Loghain says we are. And can we even trust this Ignacio to not betray us?”

 

“Your Ignacio wears his cloak of lies very well. I am not sure but I think he was telling the truth,” Jannasilane offered softly.

 

“I rather like that, cloak of lies. Ignacio may be a weasel but he was speaking truly. Our reputation is one of our most important assets. We would not get many new contracts if people could not trust us to honor our bargain. Double-dealing is bad for a business such as ours. This does not mean that in a few years Ignacio and the Crows might not take another contract, even though it is considered impolitic to act against the Wardens. It is reasonably safe to say that he speaks truly when he says that he will offer no help on the current contract."

 

Blake knew it hadn't been easy for Zevran to face his former associates. He reached under the table and squeezed his lover's knee to show his appreciation. He studied Package who still seemed troubled, "What about you?"

 

"Grey Wardens have always had to make hard decisions, make great sacrifices. Kill one person to save a village; take contracts of assassination to insure the only Wardens left have a better chance to survive and defeat the Archdemon. I do not really like it but I would rather see you and my Ali live a while longer. I would take 100 contracts to keep you alive," she replied seriously.

 

Blake smiled slowly. He picked up her hand and brought her fingers to his lips for a gentle kiss, "I adore you, Package. Thank you." He let go and leaned back against his chair. "If it makes you both feel better I rather think this will benefit us more than just having fewer bounty hunters and other thugs on our tails. You remember Paedan was working against us and any sympathizers. Well, this official in Orzammar is as well. He is a Loghain supporter from way back."

 

"Well, that's interesting," Alistair said nothing more but he was thinking a lot.

 

"Might I suggest we try and find out if popular opinion is shifting? Perhaps venture away from the market," Zevran offered.

 

"Riordan is still alive, I can sense it. Maybe we'll have better luck finding him," Jannasilane's eyes lit with hope. The others didn't have the heart to say anything. To a man they believed it was wishful thinking on her part.

 

Blake shrugged, "Let's start with the Pearl, Sanga owes us one and brothels are as good as taverns for finding what people are saying."

 

"Often better," Zevran added, "if you gain the confidence of the right worker."

 

"How? Never mind, I really don't want to know," Alistair actually shuddered at the thought that the elf might really tell him.

 

They left for the Pearl. They meandered, sometimes splitting into pairs, and listening to conversations. It did seem as if more people were unhappy with Loghain but they were still too scared to do anything about it.

 

The Pearl was full but surprisingly a number of people were gathered in a semi-circle. It didn't take long to find out why after one man was thrown and then another. Zevran lifted an eyebrow, he smiled knowingly and finally he chuckled, "Ah, Isabela, looking as lovely as ever and still putting men in their place."

 

"Zevran, as I live and breathe . . . come to apologize for leaving me bereft of my husband," the tall dark beauty taunted the Antivan. Wavy hair was held back by a blue scarf, a foil for seductive dark eyes and full lips in a strong face. Her naturally dusky skin was tanned darker by the sun, a bit weather-beaten but this gave her looks an earthy, accessible quality which she used as she desired. Her figure rivaled Jannasilane’s and the scant, tight-fitting armor displayed her full bosom admirably. Alistair had a hard time not staring, she was so blatantly sexual.

 

“Do you two wish some time to become reacquainted?” Blake kept his voice light and jovial while struggling to ignore the flare of jealousy in his gut. It was obvious to a blind chantry sister that the Antivan and the Rivaini had a sexual history. Knowing that Zevran preferred women made him feel uncharacteristically unsure of himself. He could certainly understand her appeal when she turned her attention to him. She frankly appraised him and made it very clear she approved of what she saw. “Of course Zevran would bed her while determining how best to kill her husband. If ever a woman was made for sex it’s Isabela.”

 

“A Grey Warden? Charmed I’m sure, sweet thing,” the pirate purred huskily. She looked at Alistair and Jannasilane, who were watching with wide eyes. Isabella was amused, “and are you Wardens as well?” Lazily she traced a finger down the front of Alistair’s armor, grinned at the young girl and sauntered back to her table.

 

“Y-yes,” Alistair was grateful he only stuttered instead of squeaking, “I am. J-Jannasilane isn’t.”

 

Blake saved him from further embarrassment, “Your fighting skills are impressive. I don’t believe I’ve seen anybody fight like that before.” They bantered back and forth, Isabela offered to teach him after a card game. “Why don’t we board your ship and you can show me what’s below decks?”She smiled and looked at Zevran invitingly. “Zevran too, of course.”

 

Just then Jannasilane spoke up, “May we come? I’ve never been on a ship before.” She didn’t understand why three pairs of eyes looked at her in disbelief and one in speculation.

 

“Um, my love? I don’t know if you want to do that,” Alistair shifted from one foot to another as she looked at him perplexed.

 

Isabela took Zevran aside, “Zev, is she really that innocent? Not exactly your normal type of companion.”

 

Zevran smiled before explaining to the interested pirate, “the Pocket Goddess is a delightful companion in many ways but she is young and quite innocent in some areas, he a bit less so. Life has been rather entertaining since I met the Wardens I can-” he broke off as Isabela sauntered towards the pair in a predatory manner.

 

She grinned to herself when the handsome warrior looked as if he didn’t know whether to run and hide or fight. “Relax, lover, I’m not going to hurt you. Unless you want me to,” she added wickedly. She tilted Jannasilane’s chin so she was looking into her eyes. She bent down and gave the smaller woman a soft kiss on the lips. Jannasilane froze as the pirate ghosted soft kisses over her cheeks until she could whisper in her ear, “You are quite a pretty little bird, sweeting. I would love to have you and your warrior join us in my bed. Are you ready for an orgy of limbs, not knowing whose hands are touching you, whose lips are kissing you, who is holding you in their arms?” She leaned back and waited.

 

Jannasilane looked up at Alistair uncertainly. She bit her lower lip, not realizing that Alistair and Isabela both felt a flare of desire. She looked back at the pirate woman, “Y-your b-b-bed?”

 

“Yes, sweeting, my bed,” her eyes danced with mischief as she eyed the twin flames in front of her. When she judged she’d teased the young girl enough she relented. “Never mind, sweeting, perhaps some other time we can have a bit of fun.” She looked up at Alistair, “Bye, lover.” She hooked her arms in Blake’s and Zevran’s, “Shall we go, men?”

 

Alistair and Jannasilane watched Isabela sashay out of the Pearl with their friends. Once they were out of sight Alistair cleared his throat, “I think I could use a drink.” He signaled one of the waitresses and they were silent until pints were set in front of them. Alistair took a couple of gulps and relaxed a little, “How do you think Blake will fare with two Zevrans?” Jannasilane blushed and smiled at him. One hand crept across the table to his. Together they got comfortable and prepared to wait for their friends.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 53:  Two Down, One to Go

“Alistair still won’t tell me what he and Package did while waiting for us to come back from Isabela’s ship. I only know he has less money and he’s not happy,” Blake responded to Zevran’s query. For two days Alistair had been, well broody was the only word that seemed to fit. Zevran frowned a little, the templar was also becoming increasingly irritable and if something didn’t happen soon he was afraid of what might happen. “She won’t tell me either. She just says to give him time,” Blake was watching the small woman next to Leliana.

 

“I am sorry she hurt you, Leliana,” Jannasilane told her friend.

 

Leliana smiled, “Talking to you and Blake helped me see things more clearly. You were both right, just because I enjoy the life we are leading with its surprises, danger and adventure doesn’t mean I am like her. Marjolaine taught me much but I do not have to follow her path; I can use those skills to forge my own. I admit, before the refugees started pouring into Lothering I was becoming rather bored in the Chantry.”

 

“And now you are with us,” Jannasilane slipped a friendly arm around the redhead’s waist.

 

“And I think it is impossible to be bored when traveling with you and the Wardens,” Leliana giggled and reciprocated the gesture.

 

Normally Alistair, who walked nearby but apart from the others, would enjoy the sight and sounds of the two women together; it usually brought a smile to his face. Now he barely noticed he was so wrapped up in his own thoughts. “What is wrong with me? I thought family accepted each other, looked out for each other and instead my sister turned out to be a shrew who was angry at me for being born and wanted nothing but a share of my ‘riches.’ Did she really think that just because the king was my father I would be rich? I’m nothing but his bastard, the child he wanted no part of.”

 

That night after dinner he was just sitting and staring into the fire, or rather brooding and staring. Only Jannasilane was left. She began to clean as was their custom and then decided it was time to take action. She stood directly in front of him with her hands on her hips, “Alistair, this must stop. You are hurting yourself and I do not like it. Blake is worried as well.”

 

He looked at her standing so fiercely before him in her leather tunic. She’d already removed the chestpiece and skirt for the night. The firelight flickered behind her, casting a dancing pattern of light and shadow on her skin. Need grew in him, need for her, need for his mate. He fisted his hand in the front of her tunic and pulled her forward freeing one breast in the process. He latched on, sucking and biting. Jannasilane wrapped her arms around his head and bent her head forward, her hair veiling them from the world. She shuddered as her own desire grew. He lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist before embracing her, his hands cupping her rear through the leather. Quickly he stood and strode to their tent. “What about the dishes,” she gasped.

 

“To the Fade with the pots and pans,” he growled. “We’ll get them later. Now shut up.” To make sure of it he covered her mouth with his, his tongue plundering. He wasn’t gentle when he removed her clothes and began kneading the full curves of her glorious bottom. “Maker’s breath, you’re a fever in my blood and I hope it never burns out,” he groaned and began trailing bruising kisses back to her breasts. She responded by tightening her legs around his waist, any discomfort ignored in the rush of pleasure. “One thing I like about this new armor, it makes it easier to do this,” he entered her in one hard thrust.  After a minute he collected himself enough to be concerned, “Did I, am I hurting you?”

 

“Only if you stop, my Ali,” Jannasilane answered with a sultry smile. “If you can give it I can take it, I assure you.”

 

“I am a lucky, lucky man.” He closed his eyes in relief and then renewed his efforts. Later, while they lay with the sweat drying on their bodies he gently stroked her. “Thank you,” he said.

 

She propped herself up on his chest and looked at him, “For what are you thanking me, my Ali? I believe I enjoyed myself quite well. I am bruised but well-used, you could say.”

 

He gently traced one finger over her swollen lower lip, “You have definitely been hanging around Zevran, or perhaps Oghren, too much. Thank you for letting me, I don’t know, purge myself of the sour thoughts I’ve had since Denerim. I know I haven’t been good company. I was disappointed sure, I’ve had dreams of a real family for so long, that somewhere somebody cared for me and Goldanna was kind of a last chance. Then I began to be jealous, jealous of you and Blake because you both had that. Everything either of you said about your homes . . . it was always clear that you were loved. Maybe I was always jealous but it didn’t matter because I had a sister and I hoped . . . well, now I know.”

 

Jannasilane looked at him unblinking. He couldn’t read her expression as she pulled him up into a sitting position. She knelt in front of him and cradled his handsome face in her small hands, “When my parents were murdered, I was devastated. I did not think I would ever get over the pain and then I met the last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden. Soon I had a new family: a brother, a sister and you. You are the strongest, bravest, kindest man I know and I feel blessed by Andraste that you love me even a fraction of how much I love you. Somebody, I forget who, said there were two kinds of families and only one was the one you were born with. You have family Alistair, people who care for you. They just aren’t the family of your birth.”

 

“No, I am the one blessed. I was blessed on the road to Lothering even if I didn’t know it at the time. I love you, Jannasilane Alenahaella,” he kissed her forehead and just held her as if she was the most precious jewel in all of Thedas. Finally he sighed, “Well, duty calls,” and he stood.

 

She looked up at him slyly, “Is that what you call it?”

 

He laughed, “Dishes, minx, dishes. You stay in bed; I’ll take care of them.”

 

She put on one of her robes, ignoring that last comment. “Come, the faster they are done the faster we can be back here together.”

 

“I like the way you think,” he opened the tent flap and followed her out.

 

“You were very sexy when you stood up to her and defended my honor,” Jannasilane fluttered her eyelashes at him, something she’d been practicing. “And your handsomeness is stronger in your new armor.”

 

Alistair grinned, “Was I? I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

 

“I still wish I could have cut out her vicious tongue,” she mused.

 

“My hero,” Alistair put a hand on his heart and made her laugh.

 

“Whose tongue do you wish to remove, Package? You are so bloodthirsty,” Blake joined them.

 

The warrior sighed, “My sister. While waiting for you and Zev we went to visit her. Meet her, really. It did not go well.” Alistair continued to explain in more detail while Jannasilane went to the camp fire.

 

“I’m sorry she wasn’t as you hoped, Alistair,” Blake said. Now he understood why his friend had been in such a foul mood. “People look out for themselves. At least now you stand up for yourself.” He clapped the big man on the shoulder, “I’m glad you’re feeling better. You were starting to worry me. I’m the one who is supposed to get broody and sarcastic, you’re supposed to be sunny and optimistic.”

 

Alistair looked at the dark-haired rogue, “I’ll try to keep that in mind,” he said drily. He rolled his shoulders and joined Jannasilane. He wrapped his arms loosely around her and examined the camp site, “Wow that was fast. I can’t believe you got the dishes cleaned up while I was talking to Blake.”

 

She shook her head, “You know I did not. They were all done when we came out.”

 

“Perhaps they did it themselves. The pot called to the kettle who called to the pan and they marched to the water followed by the rest of the dishes,” he said whimsically.

 

“While the soap, scrub brush and drying towel brought up the rear,” she giggled.

 

“And they sang, no whistled cheerfully the whole time they were working,” he finished.

 

Jannasilane leaned back against him. “Well, to whoever is responsible, thank you,” she addressed the general area.

 

A voice came from one of the tents, “You’re welcome.” Oghren accompanied his words with a loud belch. “It was the least I could do after the show you provided, heh heh. I’ll never doubt you again, boy; you do know what to do with a woman.” He chuckled to himself when the kid and his Cherryplum stood red-faced and gaping before retreating quickly to their tent. “Now, I wonder if I can maneuver a look-see at that witchy woman. Too bad her tent is so far away, probably got the area booby-trapped too.”

 

The next day Alistair and Jannasilane avoided Oghren but couldn’t avoid many teasing references to shows and performances since most of their companions heard Oghren, all except Morrigan and Shale who were too far away. Even Wynne teased Alistair, telling him it was time he knew where babies came from. “It is good to see our templar friend back to normal,” Zevran commented. “I was beginning to worry that I might not be able to use all the material I have accumulated, which would be such a waste.”

 

“Perhaps you can use it tonight, in our tent,” Blake invited him.

 

Morrigan was berating Alistair about his sister, “And you gave the woman money?”

 

“Err... yes?”

 

“Why would you do such a thing?”

 

Alistair looked at her for a long moment, “I did it because for me it was the right thing to do.”

 

“This woman is a parasite who will appreciate nothing you do for her, you know this!”

 

Alistair became exasperated with her harping on the subject, “It's moments like this when I truly appreciate the difference between you and me.”

 

Morrigan scoffed, “'Tis moments like this when I truly wonder at the difference between you and a toadstool.” Alistair shook his head and moved away to walk with Sten, wanting a silent companion for a change.

 

Jannasilane waited until he was gone before stepping beside the temperamental witch, “Now that you are in a good mood I have a question for you, Morrigan.”

 

“What, pray tell, do you mean by that?” Morrigan asked imperiously.

 

“Teasing or berating my Ali always seems to put you in a good mood,” Jannasilane said matter-of-factly.

 

Morrigan’s lips quirked, “It does help ease the cloying atmosphere created by the foolish grins and lingering looks you share with the idiot and the ones between the Warden and that elf. At least we all now know he’s reasonably good in bed. ‘Tis the only reason I can think of to put up with him.” She waited to see how the toy would respond.

 

Jannasilane surprised Morrigan with a wicked grin, “He surpassed ‘reasonably’ some time ago, I think.”

 

“Good for you, then. So what question do you have of me?”

 

“What happens to your clothes when you shift shapes? Why don’t they tear or fall off, depending on the creature?”

 

The witch looked down on the younger woman with interest, “You are the first to ask me about clothes. Not even the bard with her fanatic interest in shoes and fashion asked me such a question. Very well, I don’t mind answering. As Flemeth explained it to me as long as I wear clothing made only of organic material I need do nothing. It does not matter if it comes from plants or animals. When I concentrate on the form I am shifting to it will shift just the way my skin does. I do not even have to think about it.” She paused to see if the toy understood. “Non-organic material, such as these earrings, will not shift when I do. If I turn into a wolf it is possible they will still appear on my ears. Should I shift into a bird, I am unsure what would happen to them. They might simply fall to the ground or they might end up under my skin. Nor can I be sure that when I shift back they won’t end up somewhere distinctly uncomfortable.”

 

“Yes, having them end up on the bottom of your foot would not be good for walking. Thank you for answering. I admit I have been curious about it for some time. I thought possibly it was two spells at once, one for shifting and one for storing.”

 

Morrigan half-laughed at the idea, “It would be convenient to have a storage chest in the Fade; travel would be much simpler but it doesn’t work that way, I’m afraid.”

 

“This is probably best. I do not think I would like demons pawing through my smallclothes,” Jannasilane wrinkled her nose at the prospect.

 

The beautiful witch coughed to hide her amusement at the absurd image. “It couldn’t be much worse than the dwarf doing so.” The toy nodded in agreement. They continued walking together in silence. Morrigan actually found it comfortable walking with her; she had asked her question and didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with inane chatter. “Yet she talks a lot of nothing with the self-righteous bard. Is she a chameleon by nature or artifice?” She thought about it and came up with her own answer, “Definitely by nature. She blushes too easily to be able to lie well. Secrets, yes, we all have secrets.” Several minutes later she said, “Eleven.”

 

Jannasilane blinked in confusion, “Eleven? Eleven what?”

 

“It is eleven times you have looked at your templar since I answered your question. Are you afraid he will disappear?”

 

“I look because he is very handsome and I like to watch him,” she shrugged.

 

“Why is Jannasilane talking to Morrigan? That can’t be good,” Alistair was uncomfortable with the way the two women were looking at him.

 

Zevran looked the templar up and down, which only increased Alistair’s discomfort. “Perhaps they are admiring the handsome figure of a man you are in your new green armor. Your eyes positively sparkle, though that could be due to the charms of the delectable Pocket Goddess. Master Wade surpassed himself. I dare say he found you to be . . . inspiring. I do so love to see a man in personally tailored armor; it really highlights your assets.”

 

“Uh, okay.” Alistair knew he was turning red and was relieved when Blake joined them. “We’ll be in the Brecelian Forest soon. I don’t know how long it will take to find the Dalish, hopefully only a few days. Maybe we won’t have to jump through hoops for this last treaty like we did for the first two.”

 

Blake snorted, “Not bloody likely. I’ll be satisfied if it doesn’t take forever like it did in Orzammar.”

 

Alistair grinned, “Well, you did say I’m supposed to be sunny and optimistic; just doing my job.”

 

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 54:  The Last Hoop

“At least it didn’t take long to find them,” Alistair muttered to Blake as they were escorted by Dalish guards to their Keeper.

 

Their group had been quickly surrounded by the unfriendly elves and Blake had no doubt if he hadn’t said he was a Grey Warden some of those arrows pointed at them would have been released. He made no moves toward his weapons but he noticed that Package and Zevran were fingering their daggers and Morrigan had a spell ready. Shale looked threatening, an easy feat for a golem; everybody was alert and ready for trouble. Blake put on his most diplomatic smile, “Keeper Zathrian, a pleasure to meet you. I am Blake and this is Alistair, my fellow Grey Warden.”

 

Zathrian was a stern-looking older elf who was not happy to have visitors but he answered with brusque politeness, “Greetings Grey Wardens. Such courtesy from an outsider is most unexpected. We are aware of the Blight so I presume you are here about your treaties. I am afraid we are in no position to help you.” He explained their difficulties and led them to a secluded area of camp where several elves were suffering from a painful ailment.

 

“So you see, Grey Warden, too many of our hunters are suffering from the werewolves’ curse and we don’t have enough to be of any assistance. If I had the heart of the werewolves’ leader, Witherfang, I might be able to cure our hunters but that’s a difficult task.”

 

Blake considered their options. They could return to Redcliffe but he wasn’t sure they had enough troops without the Dalish. They could look for another clan but the search might take days or weeks. “We’ll do what we can to help your hunters but I need more information.”

 

Zathrian seemed satisfied and told them what to look for. “Be careful in the forest, Grey Warden. Should you or one of your companions become stricken with the curse there is nothing I can do without Witherfang’s heart.”

 

They gathered some supplies and information from some of the other elves before heading deeper into the forest. As they were leaving Jannasilane pulled Blake aside, “Be careful. That Zathrian has much deceit and he feels of blood magic,” she whispered.

 

Blake wondered what the old elf was hiding. He hoped it was just secrets of the Dalish they routinely kept from outsiders; frankly after their experience with the Circle he was more concerned about the blood magic. Very quietly he chanted the Litany of Adralla just in case Zathrian was trying something. Alistair noticed and got ready to do a mana cleanse or even a smite if need be. He waited until they were further away before asking for more information.

 

“Beyond worry over his clan and distrust of outsiders I can’t put my fingers on anything specific,” Wynne said after much thought.

 

“He is definitely hiding something but it could be explained by the Dalish’ normal suspicion of outsiders and determination to keep their secrets. But I would not trust him, my dear Warden,” Zevran added. Leliana and Morrigan agreed with his assessment. “He strikes me as one who would be ruthless in pursuit of a goal regardless the cost.”

 

Sten looked at the Warden, “Does it matter? You have agreed to find this Witherfang, if he even exists. Let us get on with it.”

 

“He agreed to help the hunters, which may not be the same thing,” Jannasilane eyed Blake thoughtfully. His eyes crinkled slightly at her understanding. “I do not like this keeper. When he spoke of the curse’s beginnings and of Witherfang there was something ‘other’ about his words. It is truth he wants the heart of Witherfang. It is truth he wants to cure the hunters. I am not so sure that they are the same truth.”

 

“What we know for sure is that there are werewolves, they may come from Witherfang, they infected some of the hunters and Zathrian hates them with a passion. We need to be careful but there may be some other way to end the curse.”

 

“He said nothing about ending the curse, only curing the hunters. Perhaps ending the curse would result in the deaths of all infected if they aren’t cured first and therefore it is not his primary concern,” Morrigan suggested. “Or perhaps he has some other reason; he does remind me a little bit of Mother.”

 

They moved forward in ones and twos, all the narrow trails would allow. Blake led the way with Morrigan at his side since she had the most experience in the wilderness. Oghren, in the middle of the line, peered from one side to the other nervously, “Does it seem like these trees are watching us?”

 

Leliana looked around cautiously, "They say the Veil is thin here, and all manner of strange things may be seen. I hope it is not like Soldier’s Peak where we kept walking into old memories."

 

“From what Sarel told us about the history of this place I would not be surprised. Let’s hope we don’t number among those who enter the forest only to never be seen again,” Wynne frowned.

 

Gathering his courage Oghren hoisted his axe on his shoulders, “At least the trees block the sodding sky. Let’s set some fur flying.” As if his words were a signal they were attacked by a group of wolves and werewolves, some rabid. “Scream at ‘em like you mean it, Cherryplum and slow the bleeding nug-lickers down some. Wee-hoo!” Alistair couldn’t help grinning at that even as he faced several of the beasts.

 

A short time later they were confronted by a talking and very angry werewolf who called himself Swiftrunner, “The forest spoke truly, my brothers, Zathrian has sent humans of all things. You do not belong here; go back to the treacherous Dalish.”

 

“You speak?” Blake asked, surprised.

 

Swiftrunner spat out the words, “Yes, we have regained the power of speech and are no longer mindless beasts, thanks to the Lady.”

 

“Look, I don’t want to fight you, I just want to talk,” Blake remained calm.

 

The werewolf glared at him and shook his head. “Did not Zathrian send you? He wants Witherfang’s heart and nothing more. The treacherous Dalish won’t stop until then. We protect Witherfang. Come, brothers,” Swiftrunner howled to his brethren. Fortunately nobody was injured in the ensuing skirmish. Seeing that the Wardens would not be easily defeated the werewolves retreated into the depths of the forest.

 

Carefully the Wardens ventured further into the trees, conscious of unseen eyes upon them. They found ironbark only to be attacked by a tree, then more werewolves and, of course, the ubiquitous darkspawn. They interrupted their search when they discovered a wounded Dalish hunter and carried him back to camp where he could hopefully be healed. Alistair delivered the ironbark they found to Varathorn while Blake took Package with him to try and get more information from the Keeper. Stubbornly Zathrian refused to believe the werewolves could speak intelligently and was adamant that they were nothing but savage beasts and could not be negotiated with. Blake hoped they weren’t getting into another Branka situation but the keeper’s arrogance, brusqueness and single-minded determination did not give him much confidence.

 

The forest and many of its denizens, when they re-entered, actively worked against them, reminding them of Swiftrunner’s words. The Wardens even found a magical barrier preventing them from entering a section in the depths. “We need to find somebody or something to help us; I’m tired of getting turned around in this unnatural fog. I’m tired of being attacked by the blasted trees,” Blake finally said.

 

“Huh, I thought trees were supposed to stay in one place. The Shaper never mentioned anything about them getting a splinter up their bark and attacking anybody. I prefer sinking my axe into darkspawn,” Oghren groused. “What’s next? Are the flowers going to fling themselves at us?”

 

“I’d like to pelt you with petals, my love,” Alistair whispered to Jannasilane. She smiled up at him.

 

Morrigan overheard and groaned in disgust. “This forest has addled what few wits you have. I hope we are done soon or even your toy won’t be able to stand you.”

 

“Ah, I think it is sweet and romantic,” Leliana disagreed.

 

“I heard you liked her covered in ale,” the dwarf added. “Pickled Cherryplum, yummy.” He smacked his lips and leered.

 

“At least he is no longer comparing her to those feathered fiends of the sky.”

 

“Or singing,” Sten added his opinion. General Lee barked his agreement.

 

Wynne had the last word, “I am sure Alistair has learned his lesson about abusing fine ale and misusing his vocal chords. Unlike young Jannasilane his singing has no affect on the darkspawn or any of our other enemies and none of this gets us any closer to where we need to go.” Only somebody looking closely could see the twinkle in her eye behind the stern visage. For his part Alistair found himself envying his love because she could use her hair to hide a face he knew was as scarlet as his own.

 

“Yes, now that Alistair ‘hates us all’ once again we should turn our attention to our current problem,” Blake shared an amused grin with Zevran. “Let’s go.” He began walking in what he hoped was a new direction. He snickered to himself when he heard Zevran regaling Alistair with a list of pleasurable things he could cover Package in without suffering the ill-effects of dwarven ale. “I’ll have to remember some of those for when we have more time,” he thought.

 

“You want us to retrieve an acorn?” Blake couldn’t believe they were being asked something so trivial. With some difficulty they had made their way to this glade only to meet a talking oak tree, one who spoke only in rhyme. “Of course, why should I be surprised? What else would concern an oak tree other than the safety of its acorns?” He shrugged his shoulders, “Get your acorn from the hermit and you’ll help us get into the center of the forest. Got it.”

 

Leliana had to be pulled away by her friends. “Just think of the stories it could tell, the history it has observed, what we could learn,” she gushed.

 

“Yes, it would be fascinating to come here some other time,” Wynne agreed as they walked away. “I’ll have to remember to inform Senior Enchanter Torrin. He is one of our most dedicated scholars and his particular field of study pertains to spirits on this side of the Veil as well as creatures of legends and myth. He doesn’t like to leave the Tower but for this opportunity he would surely make an exception.”

 

By the time they reached the ruins the werewolves used as their lair all of them were tired of the forest. Even the Deep Roads were almost beginning to seem preferable. Once they stepped inside the ancient structure Oghren was relieved to have a roof over his head once again, “Finally, some stone overhead even if it does smell like wet dog.”

 

“This is most unusual, the architecture looks Tevinter but all the trappings appear to be elven. The structure is quite ancient. Fascinating, there is so much we don’t know and so many questions we don’t even know to ask,” the teacher in Wynne remarked.

 

Oghren got to see Jannasilane attack a dragon and that was just one of the surprises they encountered. The final surprise was meeting the Lady of the Forest and learning the truth about the curse. “Package did think Zathrian wasn’t telling us everything, so this news shouldn’t be so surprising,” Blake remarked. “We will try and persuade him to come speak to you but I don’t know how successful we’ll be. I believe he wants Witherfang’s heart and nothing else,” he frowned.

 

Swiftrunner and the other werewolves were angry but the Lady managed to calm them down. “Go, stranger, and do the best you can. Surely this has gone on long enough.”

 

The Wardens didn’t have to go far; Zathrian had followed them to the top of the ruins. Blake crossed his arms, “We need to talk. You created this curse and you need to end it. I’m sorry about what happened to your family centuries ago but now the only ones suffering are those innocent of the crime, including your own people. We’re taking you to the Lady of the Forest to talk.”

 

Zathrian frowned at the young man, “You do realize that she and Witherfang are one and the same?”

 

Blake shrugged, “I don’t care. She’s still been more honest than you have.” The Keeper bridled at the disapproval in the Warden’s voice.

 

“And will you insure my safety?” he asked with bad grace.

 

“As long as you don’t start anything,” Blake answered. The Warden’s companions surrounded the Keeper to make sure he didn’t slip away.

 

Blake had to give the old elf credit; surrounded as he was by unfriendly werewolves he maintained his air of passionate disdain. “The old . . . he’s so full of hatred and bile I’m surprised he’s not foaming at the mouth,” Blake watched the ‘discussion’ between Zathrian and the Lady. He wished Zathrian would surprise him but instead the keeper insisted he wasn’t going to end the curse. Even when Swiftrunner rashly said they should all be killed Blake knew his answer, “We’re not helping you, Zathrian. This curse needs to end. You need to stop putting your needs ahead of the needs of your clan.”

 

“Then you can all die!” Zathrian shouted. It seemed like one spell: the werewolves were paralyzed and sylvans, shades and demons appeared to fight on the Keeper’s behalf. Even Morrigan was impressed, or would have been if she had a moment to think about it.

 

The battle raged. Finally Morrigan and Wynne were far enough away so Alistair could use his templar skills to free the werewolves from their imprisonment. Their added strength tipped the battle and Zathrian was defeated. Perhaps it was the awareness that he was going to die or perhaps the battle allowed him to vent some of the spleen built up over the years but he agreed to end the curse. He even smiled a little, a sad but surprisingly sweet smile when he said that. Without inflexible hate to support him his age seemed to catch up with him, “And what about you, Spirit?”

 

In a gentle voice full of longing she answered him, “You are my creator, Zathrian. I have experienced joy, pain, friendship . . . so much of what your world has to offer. But I want nothing more than to return to my home.”

 

Zathrian bowed his head. The werewolves crowded around the Lady in order to say good-bye while Zathrian pounded his staff on the ground. Whatever else he did or said neither Morrigan nor Wynne could catch but when his body slumped to the ground the spirit disappeared and the werewolves were once again men and women.

 

The new humans stamped their feet and waved their arms. They flexed their fingers and shrugged their shoulders as they acquainted themselves, some for the first time, with their new form. Swiftrunner approached the Warden, “Thank you, stranger, for freeing us. It . . . it is an odd sensation, being human once again.” His words were disjointed but his meaning clear. “I do not know what we can do to . . . repay you.”

 

Blake had an idea, “There is a Blight and we’re building an army to fight the darkspawn. If you’re interested you could help.”

 

“We have come across these creatures . . . these darkspawn in the forest. They are a . . . poison to the land. Some of our brethren have been lost to them. I will speak with the others,” Swiftrunner left the Warden. He was gone for several minutes before returning. “We are willing but do not know if we can help you. We . . . do not know what these bodies can do.”

 

“First you’ll go to Soldier’s Peak, an old Grey Warden base which is being put to rights. Sten, Oghren, I want you to stay here with Swiftrunner and help them collect anything they may need or want to take. After we speak to the Dalish Alistair, Jannasilane and Leliana will return here and lead the way to the Peak. There Levi and his family can make sure they all have at least rudimentary armor and weapons. Alistair will be in charge. Alistair, I want you to assess their skills and divide up their training amongst you as you see fit. The rest of us will resupply in Denerim and meet you there.”

 

Alistair nodded and looked at Swiftrunner, “Soldier’s Peak is pretty isolated. You’ll at least be able to become used to being human again in some privacy. The only people there are Levi’s family and a mage who keeps to himself in one of the towers. I think you’ll surprise yourselves at how quickly you adapt.” What he didn’t add was that it was probably a good idea for them to get away from the forest and the Dalish sooner rather than later. He looked at Blake and realized their leader had already considered the possibility of retaliation.

 

“Now that the curse has ended the forest seems much less hostile,” Wynne remarked as the bulk of their group returned to the Dalish camp. Even Morrigan couldn’t disagree.

 

“I suggest we be careful in case the Dalish are unhappy with the death of their Keeper,” Zevran warned.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 55:  Soldier’s Peak Once Again

Fortunately Zevran’s warning was not necessary. “It didn’t hurt that we found Danyla on our way back. She was in bad shape from the transformations but we were able to take her with us. The happiness of her reunion with Athras helped soften the blow. And that Lanaya had her own suspicions about the curse . . . I wonder how much she actually knew? Doesn’t matter, we’ll have the Dalish with us as well as some of the former werewolves. I think she was more upset that Zathrian lied about the reason for his longevity rather than that he created the curse. That certainly dealt a blow to the hopes she had that they might be regaining their alleged immortality.” Blake looked around the Peak approvingly, “You’ve done a great job, Alistair. I didn’t think their training would be so far along in such a short period of time. Our business in Denerim was done faster than I expected.”

 

Alistair shrugged nonchalantly but he was pleased, “It wasn’t too hard. They’re quick and transitioned pretty easily. Most of them prefer two blades and melee fighting but a few gravitated to other weapons. Having Leliana along helped a lot. She was able to help train the archers and between her and Janna they didn’t have a chance not to talk; Leliana probably has enough material for a hundred stories. As you can see they are more comfortable talking with each other as well as Levi’s family. I was thinking . . . and don’t look so surprised,” he narrowed his eyes at his friend before Blake could come up with some clever remark.

 

“Yes, Alistair?” Blake schooled his features into polite interest.

 

“I was thinking that we shouldn’t take them to Redcliffe, at least not right away. Maybe the Dalish won’t be able to tell them from other humans but the less opportunity they have to find out the better. We have to go to Lake Calenhad, right?”

 

“And then back to Orzammar, yes,” Blake was really curious now.

 

Alistair watched his charges for a minute. All those people gave him an idea of what the Peak would look like when it was a functioning base again. “Some of them want to stay with the Drydens and learn their trades but I was thinking we should leave the rest of them at Lake Calenhad. They can either camp in the forest or stay at the Inn. I daresay Fred will feel more comfortable with people patrolling the area around the Princess; he’s still a bit jumpy after those Haven fellows. We can introduce Stryder, the one who used to call himself Swiftrunner, to Greagoir. When it’s time for the mages to go to Redcliffe they can travel with them and the templars.”

 

Blake nodded his head thoughtfully, “And perhaps they can get some more training from the templars. There’s plenty of room by the Lake. Greagoir might be glad of some extra hands, he’s not thrilled about the mages leaving the Tower with little to no escort and he lost a lot of men during Uldred’s rebellion. Good thinking, Alistair,” he clapped the other man on the back.

 

Two people walked toward them. Stryder was arguing with Jannasilane about who was faster, “We may not be as fast as we were but we’re still quicker than most humans. A little more training and you won’t be able to beat us in a sparring match.”

 

“It is truth you are quick but you are forgetting that I am also quite fast. I am nimble as well and can easily dodge under your attacks,” she teased.

 

“Finally admitting that you’re a little Package?” Blake teased.

 

She ran to him and gave him a friendly hug, “I am glad you are with us again and not in Denerim, even if you insist on saying I am little.”

 

Stryder couldn’t help grinning at that. He acknowledged Blake with a quiet word, “Warden.” He turned to Alistair, his manner respectful and warmer, “Alistair, ser, I think we’ve reached the point where it won’t help us to stay here for training. The family of Dryden has been very helpful with armor and weapons; we are eager to repay the debt we owe to the Grey Wardens.”

 

“I agree. The Warden and I have been talking . . .” he strode off with Stryder and explained the plan. Blake and Jannasilane watched them go. He noticed how all the werewolves, “former werewolves,” he corrected himself, respected Alistair and how easily his friend dealt with those who came up to them. Even Levi and his brother Mikhael treated Alistair differently than before. “He’s changed a lot since we met. Does he even realize they see him as a leader? It’s thanks to you, at least in part.”

 

Jannasilane shook her head, “It was always in him. He’ll be a good king,” she looked both proud and sad. She looked up at Blake then, “I am not completely naive. My Ali says he will not be king if he cannot have me and this he believes. It is truth, for now. He is also a man with a strong sense of duty and honor.” Blake grunted but said nothing. Together they watched the warrior, each lost in their own thoughts. The following morning they left Soldier’s Peak accompanied by more than thirty former werewolves.

 

“Alistair, you speak Templar so why don’t you take Stryder to the Knight-Commander. I promised to help Oghren with a little project, I’ll tell you about it later.” They were standing on the shore of the lake, watching the sun sparkles on the surface of the water. For a change they were able to travel quickly from Soldier’s Peak.

 

“Good idea, for some reason he doesn’t think you respect his authority,” Alistair snickered. “Don’t forget to let Fred know he’ll have some protection around here for a few weeks,” he reminded Blake before heading off with Stryder. Jannasilane and Wynne went with them to do some trading with the quartermaster.

 

Blake went inside with Oghren, “There she is, that’s Felsi.” He pointed to a cute dwarva cleaning tables at the other end of the bar. “Back me up, Warden.” He slapped a cocky grin on his face and swaggered towards the young woman, “Is there a baker nearby because that’s a sodding nice set of buns.”

 

Felsi looked up in disbelief, “Oghren? What are you doing here?”

 

The Warden listened in amusement to their bickering. He told Felsi that Oghren single-handedly fought off a slew of golems and whispered to the warrior he should tell Felsi that finding her was fate. The way they insulted each other reminded him of the night that Zevran stayed in their tent. The grove they were camping in was too small for all their tents so he took advantage of his friends’ generosity and invited the Antivan. Package sighed theatrically when the elf joined them, “It is my misfortune to share a tent with three pretty men. I feel quite overshadowed.” She shook her head slowly and sorrowfully.

 

“I’m sure Alistair will take pity on you and let you bask in his loveliness,” Blake quipped and helped Zevran arrange his belongings.

 

“Yes,” Alistair said solemnly. “The Chantry teaches us to be kind to all those less fortunate than ourselves.” He settled her into his lap so she could lean against him. “So I will allow you to soak up my presence even though you have mousy, lifeless hair,” he kissed the top of her head and nuzzled the aforementioned hair. “Your dull mud-brown eyes may gaze adoringly upon me and I will strive to ignore your unfortunate skin,” he lightly kissed her freckles and rubbed his hands sensually up and down her arms. “I will even suffer the feel of your overly large bosom against my frame and allow you to place your barely adequate lips on mine.” He took possession of her scowling mouth and held her firmly in place, enjoying the feel of her in his arms. When she started to relax again he broke the kiss, “Ah, the sacrifices I make.” He only laughed and kissed her again when she elbowed him in a huff.

 

Zevran was a bit bemused; he had certainly never seduced a woman in quite that fashion. “Warden,” he said quietly, “are they always like this?”

 

Blake snorted, “More often than you’d think. I doubt you’ll be bored.”

 

“I never once thought I would be bored in your tent, Warden,” Zevran’s voice was a hoarser version of his normally silky tones and it cut straight to Blake’s groin.

 

Blake didn’t even try to hide the desire he felt when he looked into those amber eyes, “I can promise you that.” Slowly he traced the other man’s cheekbones and combed his fingers through that golden hair which had attracted him from the first. Gently he stroked the elf’s ear. He’d had elven lovers before and knew just how sensitive their ears were to touch as well as sound. When he rubbed his thumb across Zevran’s lips Zevran took the initiative. He opened his mouth so he could suck the Warden’s thumb, his tongue dancing around the digit in imitation of what it would do around his manhood. He was rewarded by the hitch in Blake’s breathing and felt his own manhood tighten. They paid scant attention to the closing of the ‘wall.’

 

“That was a good night. The canvas wall worked, or Alistair and Package suddenly got much better about not blushing.” He brought himself back to his current surroundings. Felsi and Oghren were still exchanging insults but it seemed friendlier so he stepped back to talk to Fred. As suspected the innkeeper was relieved to have some protection around the place even if it was only for a few weeks. He rejoined the two dwarves.

 

“Well, Felsi, it’s been good seeing ya but we gotta get back to business,” Oghren prepared to leave. “The war don’t wait for anybody.”

 

“But I haven’t called you an iron-bottomed nug-licker yet,” she protested.

 

“I’ll be back, you copper-skinned bronto,” he promised and left with Blake.

 

Once they were outside Blake wanted to know why he didn’t press his advantage and Oghren looked at him as if he were crazy, “Don’t you know anything about women? You gotta leave ‘em wanting more.” He belched and left to talk to General Lee about a chariot until Alistair returned.  

 

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 56:  Dearest of Mothers

They weren’t in Orzammar for long which suited Blake just fine. He and Zevran fulfilled the contract on the ambassador before they all left for Cadash Thaig. Shale felt a sense of recognition when they arrived but her memories came back fully only when they found a huge statue honoring all those who volunteered to become golems. She was still trying to reconcile the dwarf she used to be with the golem she was now. Blake found the thaig to be unusual, “Perhaps what I’ve seen so far isn’t typical but Cadash Thaig seemed quite green in comparison. Was it designed to be a farming community? Did dwarven engineering allow for sunlight to be magnified from small openings to the surface? I don’t recall seeing large portions of the ceiling collapsed.”

 

“The meeting with Harrowmont went well,” Alistair broke into his thoughts. “Orzammar is a lot more peaceful now, though some Bhelen supporters are still causing trouble. In a few weeks Redcliffe will be a very busy place when the dwarven army arrives. Hopefully they and the Dalish will all be there when we return after the Landsmeet.”

 

Blake shrugged, “They should. The Dalish were going to leave for Redcliffe as soon as their hunters were healed. We couldn’t easily send them a message after the Landsmeet and I gave King Harrowmont the most accelerated time table I was able to calculate. He understands that events won’t be as swift as I would like but we both agreed it wouldn’t hurt for his armies to have some extra time to get used to the surface. Oghren adapted well but apparently some dwarves suffer from ‘sky sickness’ when they leave Orzammar the first time.”

 

“Now why can’t the darkspawn suffer like that?” Alistair snorted in mock complaint. “Our jobs would be so much easier if we could stand by their holes and as they come out just whack them while they’re dizzy and nauseous.”

 

“The life of a Grey Warden is rife with such injustices,” Blake intoned in deep, solemn voice with a fist over his heart for dramatic emphasis. His response drew a chuckle from his friend.

 

That night at camp Blake left Alistair trying to explain to Sten why they left the former werewolves, who chose to call themselves the Wolf family, at Lake Calenhad. Sten was frowning, “The curse is lifted so the Dalish have nothing left to fear. It was their Keeper who started the curse so why would they be angry with the Wolf people? Retaliation is a waste of time and energy in such circumstances.”

 

Sometimes Blake felt sorry for Sten, though he would never let the big Qunari know. Oghren was adapting to the surface more easily than Sten to being alone in a sea of humans. The Qun and the Qunari way of life were far more different from human society than Orzammar. He couldn’t imagine how he would fare if the situations were reversed. For once he was glad to see Morrigan beckoning to him in her imperious manner. He approached her with good humor, “What say you, glamorous Witch of the Wilds?”

 

“Been spending time with your elf, I see. Some of his mannerisms have rubbed off on you, though I do not think this is an improvement,” Morrigan responded snidely. Blake’s grin was pure satisfaction. “I see; I’m glad he provides you with a diversion from your burden.”

 

“Morrigan, are you asking for details? I didn’t think you cared,” Blake quipped.

 

Morrigan rolled her eyes, “Spare me, please, I beg of you. No, as much as you might like to inform me of such things I wished to speak to you of my mother’s grimoire. I have finished studying it. It is not as I expected,” she frowned. Blake couldn’t tell what emotions flitted across those golden eyes, only that they weren’t happy ones. He grew serious and waited for her to explain in her own good time. He sat down across the fire from her and watched her pull out the grimoire in question. “I had hoped to find the secrets to Mother’s spells, ones she never taught me. Or ways to increase power or mana, something I might be able to use for myself. Instead . . . have you ever wondered how she has managed to live so long?” she asked in what seemed an abrupt change of topic.

 

“Other than something to do with demons? Let me guess, she eats children and drinks the blood of virgins,” Blake tried to lighten the mood.

 

“That is closer than you think, Warden. Flemeth’s spirit may be immortal but the body she uses does not last forever. Periodically she needs to find a new one to groom and, eventually, inhabit. This grimoire details how she selects and prepares the chosen one prior to displacing them. I . . . I recognized many of the rituals. I am to be her next victim,” she declared her voice uneven and tainted with fear.

 

“I’m sorry, Morrigan,” he shook his head. “I know you and she aren’t exactly close . . . What are you going to do?”

 

“Sorry! Do?! There’s only one thing that can be done. Flemeth must die,” her voice caught a little on that last word. “And I dare not be there for I don’t know if she could still possess me if I am near. I must ask you to do it for me,” she finished quietly.

 

Blake stared at her, “You want me to kill Flemeth for you?” She nodded but said nothing else. “I’ll be right back,” he stood and quickly left her fire to search for Alistair. His fellow Warden wasn’t hard to find. Alistair and Jannasilane were cleaning dishes with General Lee. He couldn’t help snickering a little; he’d discovered the secret to the cease fire between his mabari and his friend. While Jannasilane gathered and cleaned the utensils Alistair set out the bowls and plates for General Lee to lick clean. Only after the mabari was done did they take soap and water to the dishes. Blake stepped out of the shadows, “Don’t tell Wynne or Morrigan what you’re doing or you’ll get a lecture from one and who-knows-what from the other. You probably shouldn’t tell Oghren either.”

 

His friends jumped guiltily and then Alistair grinned, “His tongue is rough enough to really scour the dishes, making it easier for us. I could have used him in the chantry kitchen.” General Lee barked happily and rolled over so Blake could rub his tummy.

 

Blake obliged and then watched the mabari run into the forest. He turned to his friends, “We need to talk. As soon as you’re done here come find me at Morrigan’s fire.”

 

“It must be serious if you’re asking me to go there,” Alistair said quietly. “Jannamylove, do you mind finishing without me?”

 

Before she could answer Blake spoke up, “I mean both of you.”

 

“Now that General Lee has done his part we won’t be long,” Alistair frowned as they finished working. Somehow he knew he wouldn’t like whatever had their fearless leader concerned.

 

“So, what’s up?” Alistair sat down with Jannasilane next to him. He looked from their leader to the witch and back again.

 

Morrigan was sullen, “I do not know why you wished their presence, Warden.”

 

“You’re not asking for something small, Morrigan,” Blake snapped. “This could affect our whole mission. If you remember we don’t have so many Grey Wardens that we can risk one or two on what is undoubtedly a dangerous undertaking. Explain or this discussion is finished.” Steel eyes clashed with golden wolf eyes but Morrigan gave way with bad grace.

 

“Very well, I’ll see if I can explain in words the fool can understand,” she grimaced and collected herself. “That was stupid. I want them on my side and the first thing I do is insult the templar.” She took a deep breath and apologized, “I am sorry, Alistair. I am . . . upset. The Warden retrieved a grimoire for me from the Circle Tower. It belonged to my m-, that is Flemeth, a long time ago and she used to complain about losing it. Flemeth did not always like to teach me some of the more advanced versions of spells, telling me I wasn’t ready, and I thought I could use it to further my skills. And, if I am going to be honest, I looked forward to tweaking her nose out of joint later,” she couldn’t help a self-deprecating smile. “After a great deal of study I was able to get past the wards and begin the tedious task of interpreting Flemeth’s handwriting and rather cryptic notes. The grimoire wasn’t what I was expecting . . .”

 

“I take it you were disappointed,” Alistair ventured cautiously. “Was there anything useful at all?”

 

“Useful? Oh yes, you could say the information in it was useful,” Morrigan’s voice rose in anger. “Instead of notes on spells and potions she has studied in her lifetime this details how Flemeth would take a mage child and groom them until they could eventually be taken over, possessed, by Flemeth. This is the secret of her immortality, why her physical form does not age and decay with the centuries. When the current form nears the end of its usefulness she readies another, and mine is the one being readied. I will not stand by for her to take over my body, put it on like one of Leliana’s dresses and dispose of me in the process.”

 

“Morrigan wants us to kill Flemeth for her. She believes it possible that Flemeth could still take her over if she does it herself,” Blake added.

 

“And retrieve her true grimoire.”

 

“Would Flemeth move against you before the Archdemon was killed? I thought she wanted an end to the Blight,” Alistair stared at Morrigan, for once his expression gave nothing away. “And why send you with us if she planned on possessing you?”

 

“I . . . do not know. I see no way the Blight can help her. No matter how powerful she is she can’t control the Archdemon and certainly can’t defeat it. In the past it has taken years to defeat a Blight, decades even. She may not be able to wait that long. If she fought with you in my form would you notice? Perhaps sending me with you was a way to make me stronger, which I am. From what I’ve read that would make an easier transition for her.” There was nothing more to say. She would not beg the templar for her life.

 

Jannasilane spoke for the first time, “You are absolutely sure that this is what Flemeth intends?”

 

The witch shrugged irritably, “Do you really think I haven’t gone over it carefully to make sure? I’ve already . . . experienced some of the training? preparation? for this to happen. I would not have come to the Warden if I was not positive.”

 

“I am sorry, Morrigan,” compassion colored her voice.

 

Morrigan perceived it as pity, “Sorry? I am not some weak-willed twit who will wait for the axe to fall while wringing my hands and crying.”

 

“I do not believe you are weak of will, or are a twit. I am sorry that you had to experience such a betrayal by the one person you have known your entire life. This would be a blow to any, I think,” Jannasilane explained carefully. Morrigan accepted the explanation but still looked disgruntled.

 

After some time Alistair spoke, “Well I don’t really want Flemeth swooping down on us.”

 

“Yes, swooping is bad,” Blake dead-panned. Morrigan rolled her eyes and held her breath. “I want to know as much as possible about Flemeth’s capabilities and weaknesses,” Blake stated. He and Alistair drilled Morrigan with question after question.

 

Finally they were done. “This was a nice change,” Alistair said lightly.

 

“I sincerely doubt I’ll need to ask for your help again,” Morrigan snarled.

 

“You are so touchy. I was referring to actually knowing what we’re going up against for a change,” the warrior said with a raised eyebrow and slight smile. “Having information, being able to make a plan . . . it's rather refreshing, really.”

 

Morrigan gritted her teeth, oh how she hated to be in this position. “Thank you, Grey Wardens. I will be greatly relieved when ‘tis done.” She scowled into the fire as they walked away, “I hate being indebted to that fool templar. It is better than having the threat of possession, I suppose.”

 

They reached the edge of the Korcari Wilds in good time. The Wardens, Jannasilane, Zevran and Leliana left the others in order to seek out Flemeth. Blake smiled to himself when he heard Shale quizzing Morrigan about her mother. Jannasilane was comfortable; she’d been in the Wilds before. She and her parents sometimes traveled there to gather herbs and plants as well as to trade with the Chasind. Leliana and Zevran, on the other hand, were more nervous than in the Brecelian Forest. They looked around warily every time a marsh bubble burst. “It is only gas from decaying plants and things escaping to the surface,” Jannasilane finally explained.

 

“I have heard tales of swamps like this. Deadly creatures live in the murk and come out to attack handsome travelers such as myself,” Zevran responded.

 

Jannasilane waved her arm airily and moved ahead, “that is only when it is much colder and night has fallen. Besides, the darkspawn have probably already killed most of them.” She smiled wickedly to herself, knowing they couldn’t see. Alistair controlled himself with an effort.

 

“I am much relieved,” the Antivan replied dubiously. “Which way to the Witch of the Wilds? The sooner we get this done the better I will like it.”

 

“I agree with Zevran,” Leliana grimaced as she pulled her boot out of the muck. “Why do swamps have to be so sticky?” she complained. She and Zevran continued to cast nervous glances at every bubbling puddle.

 

Flemeth was waiting for them in front of her hut. “So, Morrigan has found someone to dance to her tune, and such a pretty tune it is. She wants my grimoire? Fine, take it and go.”

 

Blake stood with Package beside him and they studied the old woman. “And what will you do?” he asked suspiciously.

 

“Do?” Flemeth chuckled. “Perhaps I will leave, perhaps I will watch Morrigan and see what she does; it could be quite amusing. Perhaps I will stay here at least until the Blight ends. You are still planning on ending it, are you not?”

 

“I don’t believe you. Morrigan has helped us and we’re not going to let you use her to extend your unnatural life. This ends now,” Blake declared. His companions readied themselves for the fight.

 

Flemeth’s smile was a deadly one of malice and amusement, “A battle you want, a battle you shall have. You will have to earn my grimoire.” She immediately turned into a dragon.

 

Fortunately they were prepared for this, which is why Blake chose Zevran and Leliana to go with them. Thanks to Package they had experience fighting dragons. Even so it was a vicious battle. Flemeth was more cunning than the high dragon of Haven and soon began concentrating her attention on the smallest of them. “I suppose fighting the Archdemon will be something like this, only with darkspawn added for flavor,” his thoughts were grim as he dodged another blast of fire. Finally they were done and the dragon lay dead. Blake wiped his brow, “At least this was good practice for later. Let’s find that grimoire and then we can tell Morrigan that Flemeth is dead.”

 

Jannasilane hesitated before speaking softly, “I think perhaps it is more accurate to say that this form is dead, my Blake. I still sense . . . something.”

 

Blake looked at her, then at the dragon, “Well, this is the only form we can deal with, Package. We will just have to call it a day. Morrigan will have to be happy with what we were able to do.”

 

“Her face will probably crack if she has to be nice to me, so you better be the one to talk to her,” Alistair muttered. The others smiled, it was probably true.

 

Morrigan had been waiting on tenterhooks ever since they left camp. The relief that washed through her when she saw all of them alive and relatively unharmed, even the templar, was almost overwhelming. Blake left the others to come to the dark-haired witch waiting by her fire. He gave her the grimoire and a few other things stowed in a pack, “Flemeth is dead. This is all we found. I hope it’s what you wanted.” He was tired and wanted nothing more than a hot bath. Since that wasn’t possible he’d have to make do with a cold stream and the embrace of a hot-blooded Antivan elf.

 

“Thank you, Grey Warden. This means more to me than you can know. I doubt Flemeth is truly dead, but at least now I have some time to prepare for any future attacks. Maybe I will even find some clues in her true grimoire,” she watched him smile briefly and nod his head before leaving her, exhaustion evident in every stride.

 

Elsewhere, in a small dark space an intelligence was confused. “I do not understand; I have not sensed such a thing in centuries. But that small woman . . . it does not make sense.” Its thoughts ran around, rummaging through memories before finally coming to a stop, “I shall remember but I see no way in which it will matter.” It almost chuckled to itself, “It was unexpected, how amusing to know that some things can still surprise me.”

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 57:  Redcliffe Respite

It was nice being back in Redcliffe again even if it was only a brief respite. Eamon and the Wardens were frequently closed up in Eamon’s study going over plans and making sure they had done everything they could prior to leaving for Denerim. It was up to Teagan to confer with Ser Perth about the influx of troops they would be receiving in a few weeks since he would most likely be the face of Redcliffe greeting the dwarves and the Dalish when they reached the village. Some of the empty houses in the village could be used as temporary barracks for the dwarves and if that wasn’t enough they would use the chantry again. The elves would probably prefer not to be confined in buildings so they made sure suitable areas would be left clear for them to set up campsites, including grazing for the halla.

 

“Will they be insulted if they are not offered accommodations, Bann Teagan?” Ser Perth asked. “I do not wish to give offense to our allies by seeming discourteous.”

 

“I must admit that I am not that familiar with the ways of the Dalish myself. We can only hope that if we make it clear we are trying to think of what will be most comfortable for them,” his expression lightened when he saw the people coming towards them, “but perhaps our friends will have some ideas. My lady, you are looking lovely this morning and . . . Zevran isn’t it? Perhaps the two of you could give us some assistance in a matter of diplomacy.” He kissed her fingers before releasing her hand and speaking to the elf.

 

Jannasilane shook her head in mock reproof, “Please, Teagan, I have asked you to just call me Jannasilane. I have not much experience with diplomacy but if I can assist you in any way I will.”

 

“Prettily said, my most adorable Minit, though I suspect our esteemed Bann enjoys teasing you and making you blush. You do so most attractively.” Zevran’s words caused her to blush even more and he exchanged an amused glance with Teagan. “What would you have of us, my lord?” Teagan explained and Zevran sighed, “From my own experiences the Dalish can be quite prickly and our recent encounter did not change that opinion. I do not know if they will bring their entire clans or just their hunters but I think they will appreciate that you thought of the needs of their halla. I’m sure the Wardens will allow you to offer use of their tavern to the Dalish, though I doubt they will accept.”

 

“Everybody has to eat,” Jannasilane added quietly.

 

Teagan smiled, “An excellent thought my dear. Ser Perth, I will talk to Isolde and Eamon and suggest offering a midday meal to all troop leaders. It may be simple but it can act as a leveler. Alistair is lucky to have found a woman who is both lovely and intelligent.”

 

“Indeed he is,” Ser Perth bowed respectfully. “If you will excuse me, milord, I will begin making preparations. I will inform Murdock and request his assistance.”

 

“Good man,” Teagan nodded at the knight. Once Ser Perth left Teagan turned his attention back to the Wardens’ companions. “I have to agree with Eamon, what the Wardens have accomplished with your help is nothing short of remarkable. Tomorrow we will most likely be leaving to jump into a political maelstrom but this afternoon I ask that you join me at the tavern as my guests. I look forward to hearing more about your travels.” He offered his arm to Jannasilane and smiled at her.

 

“An opportunity to tweak Alistair, it is a shame I am such a slave to temptation,” Zevran thought. “Bann Teagan, since the most beauteous Pocket Goddess is in your capable hands I shall return to the Castle and convey your request to the Grey Wardens. I look forward to rejoining you shortly,” with an airy wave he left them without waiting for a reply.

 

Jannasilane cocked her head and wondered what mischief he was contemplating and then put it out of her mind. She put her arm in Teagan’s and looked up at him, “So which of our travels do you wish me to speak of first? Although you will have a better telling from Leliana.”

 

Zevran chuckled to himself. His timing was perfect. Morrigan was in the great hall sneering equally at Wynne where she was trying to coax Connor into showing what he knew and Leliana who was talking with the Arlessa about the differences of the chantries in Orlais and Ferelden. He waited just outside the door until Eamon’s study opened and the Arl exited followed by the Wardens.

 

Morrigan raised an eyebrow when the elf entered the room, “Didn’t you leave with the toy a short time ago? Did you lose her somewhere, perhaps?”

Zevran noticed the stiffening of the large warrior’s shoulders. “I wished to speak to the Grey Wardens. But I am a gentleman and left the Pocket Goddess of the magnificent . . . hair in the capable hands of the handsome Bann Teagan. I believe they were headed to the tavern,” he added innocently. Morrigan smirked while Leliana and Wynne couldn’t help looking towards Alistair.

 

Blake exchanged a look of wicked glee with the Antivan but otherwise kept his expression carefully neutral. He could just about hear Alistair grinding his teeth but the big man was learning and didn’t overtly respond to the elf. “What did you want to discuss, Zev?” He and Alistair agreed to let the Dalish use the tavern if they wished and Eamon agreed to leave instructions for a noonday offering for the leaders of the dwarves and elves.

 

“Grey Warden, there is very little else to discuss. I suggest we reconvene after dinner and tentatively plan on leaving for Denerim in the morning,” Eamon wanted to spend the afternoon with his family since Isolde and Connor would remain in Redcliffe.

 

“You are getting better, you know,” Leliana told Alistair as they made their way to the tavern. Blake and Zevran were just ahead of them.

 

Alistair looked at his friend askance, “Better at what? Discerning the best cheese, not inhaling my food before my host takes two bites, or-”

 

“Not responding to deliberate attempts to tease or harass you,” the bard’s mouth quirked.

 

“Disappointed that Alistair didn’t say anything about Package being with Bann Teagan?” Blake asked his lover.

 

Zevran thought about it, “I did not think he would say anything. Arl Eamon was with you so I did not think Alistair would go into a jealous snit in front of him. No, I was quite satisfied knowing he was irritated. I would have liked to see a flush of temper but he is becoming better at controlling himself.”

 

“Let’s see what I can do,” Blake said quietly. He slowed his pace until he was even with Alistair. In a show of concern he spoke to his friend, “Alistair, you do know that Bann Teagan will treat her with the utmost respect? Just because he is attractive and personable does not mean he will try and entice her away from you with his charms. He’s very considerate in that respect. Not that Package would be tempted away from you, of course,” he added hastily with just the slightest hint of doubt.

 

A muscle in Alistair’s cheek started to twitch with Blake’s words. With some effort he relaxed his face and then shook his head at his friend, “I’d say he’s corrupted you,” he looked briefly towards the elf, “But you had a perverse sense of humor before he showed up. You’re perfect for each other.”

 

When they entered the tavern Jannasilane and Teagan were seated at one end of the long table with some of the villagers standing nearby listening to her animated conversation. She’d barely touched the pint of ale in front of her while Teagan’s was nearly empty. “I hope that’s her first,” Alistair thought, remembering how little ale she drank in Orzammar.

 

“Wardens, come join us. My lady Jannasilane has been entertaining us with her account of a talking tree in the Brecelian Forest,” Teagan waved them forward and stood as Leliana approached. He wasn’t surprised when Alistair quickly moved to sit on the other side of Jannasilane and smiled to himself when the warrior brought her hand to his lips in a blatant but non-aggressive display of possession. “Did all of you see the poet tree?”

 

Leliana giggled musically, “It is difficult, is it not, to speak of such a being without falling into a pattern of rhymes? I have made my living telling stories to weary travelers and singing songs to crowded rooms but when we met the grand old oak I was speechless. Many battles, terrible battles, have been waged in the ancient forest and we needed to go into the very heart. They say if you feel the trees are watching you, they probably are. So many deaths at one time, so much blood spilled and soaked into the ground thinned the Veil between our world and the Fade . . .” she easily slipped into storytelling mode and enthralled all who listened. They could see the forest’s eerie green light, crunch the leaves underfoot, and feel the chill of fear when confronted by werewolves.

 

“Werewolves? Go on, I thought they were dead as Dane,” one listener breathed incredulously.

 

“Sh,” hissed others and listened to the pretty bard.

 

“. . . the price for its help? Retrieve an acorn stolen by a mad hermit,” Leliana’s eyes twinkled at their surprise.

 

“All it wanted was a bloody acorn? Wish I could pay my workers in acorns,” one farmer jested.

 

“Accordin’ to what I heard I thought you already were,” shouted somebody, causing a great deal of laughter to ripple around the room. The farmer was notoriously tight with his money. Teagan indicated they needed to get back to the castle and it was with regret that the villagers said goodbye the Wardens and their companions. The next morning they left for Denerim.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 58:  Barbed Words and Trouble

“He is more impressive, more compelling than I thought he would be,” Jannasilane remarked as they strolled the marketplace and listened to the rumors. “The snake was much like I expected but it is easy to see how Loghain carries the title Hero of River Dane. I did not like the way he looked at you, my Ali, or the manner in which he spoke to Arl Eamon and our Blake. I did not expect him to be quite so . . .” she narrowed her eyes in concentration as she tried to think of the right word. Loghain had surprised her. His obsession, even though it bordered on madness, had not dulled his intelligence, his cunning or his charisma.

 

She was worried about Blake and it was easy to see that Alistair was as well. Ever since Loghain and Howe left the estate Blake had been withdrawn. He said the right words and his movements were as smooth as ever but those closest to him could tell that he was shaken seeing Howe again. Alistair leapt on Eamon’s suggestion that they wander Denerim a bit and discreetly sound out the newly arrived Bannorn. Zevran and Leliana were using their talents elsewhere to determine the mood of the city.

 

“You do know you are not supposed to find someone else compelling.” He squeezed her hand playfully. “Perhaps we should go to the Pearl and visit Peggy,” Alistair suggested, winking at Jannasilane. “She was helpful to us before, maybe she can help us again.”

 

“Mmm hmmm,” Blake replied, his thoughts elsewhere. “When that smarmy piece of rat slime walked into Eamon’s I wanted to kill him right then. He wouldn’t have dared come without Loghain and Ser Cauthrien. She certainly detests him. Now that I’ve seen him without the distractions of king and surrounding army I can understand why so many of the Bannorn don’t want to go against Loghain. He has a presence people won’t readily forget. He should be too smart to listen to Howe. Does he not see or was Howe the only one who seemed to agree with him instead of Cailan about the Grey Wardens and Orlais? Or just the only one willing to get his hands dirty.”  He knew he had to shake off the cold rage he was feeling or he wouldn’t be able to concentrate. He forced himself to pay attention to the talk around him and finally something his friends said reached him, “Wait, Peggy? When did the two of you get to know one of the working girls at the Pearl? And just how helpful was she?”

 

Alistair muttered, “Thought that would get your attention but it took longer than I expected. And no, I am not going to give you any details.”

 

Inside the Gnawed Noble Tavern Blake recognized an older man sitting alone in a corner. Bryce Cousland always considered Arl Wulff a good example of a ruler and steward to his lands. He, and Fergus before him, had spent time with the West Hills army and on rare occasions the two families visited. Blake had a sneaking suspicion that they hoped he and one of the daughters would make a match but it didn’t matter now. The man seemed uncharacteristically withdrawn and remote so he approached carefully, “Good day, my lord.”

 

Wulff turned his head slowly, as if the words had to travel a great distance to reach him. He looked the young man in front of him up and down trying to place him. Recognition and grief caused him to briefly close his eyes; he sighed, “Young Lord Cousland, shouldn’t you be dead? I suppose you escaped and you’re looking for help to reclaim your family’s lands; well you’ll have to go elsewhere. West Hills has fallen, lad, and my sons with it; the darkspawn control it now. All of southern Ferelden covered by black clouds, the ground rotting beneath your feet, plagues and darkspawn raids going on until even the crows get sick of the smell of carrion.”

 

Blake’s shoulders sagged, “I knew it was bad in the south but I hadn’t heard about any specific losses and I had hoped . . . News doesn’t always reach me on my travels. I am sorry, my lord, I wish I had more than condolences to offer. I shall leave you alone in your grief.” He bowed slightly and moved away. Arl Wulff returned to his private contemplations before Blake could finish.

 

The Warden didn’t speak to his friends until they were well out of earshot, “I knew his sons, though not well. Highever was fairly peaceful so Father, as part of our military training, sent us to assist and learn from West Hills. It’s a wild and dangerous area. Arl Wulff protected his Arling by virtue of constant vigilance and rebuffing frequent threats from the Chasind, the Avvars, as well as the usual bandits and other predators. Patrols didn’t usually return without marks of at least one skirmish. You quickly learned to be on your toes. No amount of sparring or study could prepare you for the reality of combat. Not that it mattered when it would have counted the most,” he added bitterly.

 

He put his private concerns aside and redirected his attention to the task at hand. He saw a few other nobles he recognized and opted to eavesdrop rather than approach them directly. He didn’t want to bring up any upsetting memories as he’d done with Arl Wulff. Nor did he want them speaking of his own losses.

 

“I’m not sure we learned much that helps us,” Alistair sighed. “A number are willing to listen to Eamon but they also grumble about his timing.”

 

“That’s better than I expected. I’m satisfied that so many have a relatively open mind,” said Blake. “One thing you need to know about the Bannorn, if they have nothing else they’ll grumble about the sun in a noon sky. Now let’s go talk to your friend at the Pearl. Tell me how you got to know her,” he teased.

 

Jannasilane spoke up, “You and Zevran were gone with your pirate for such a long time. We did not meet my Ali’s sister right away and Peggy was quite concerned to see to our, our comfort.” Guileless eyes looked up at the dark-haired rogue. She began to blush under his intense scrutiny.

 

“Your comfort, eh? I wonder what you mean by that,” Blake continued studying her until she looked away and he switched his attention to the former templar. Alistair was looking ahead but Blake could see he was also blushing. He slapped the man on his shoulders and slipped his arm around her waist, “Never mind, I’ll find out soon enough.”

 

Elsewhere Leliana and Zevran were working together. Her trail became entangled with his so they decided to combine their efforts for the moment. After a while of moving through alleyways Zevran spoke softly, “I believe I see one of my former brethren ahead of us. Another is behind. We should separate, my dear Leliana.”

 

“You suspect a trap, then. Perhaps we can turn it around,” her eyes lit up with mischief.

 

“You are quite beautiful when planning something naughty, but I suspect that the trap is not for me. It could be for our fearless leader. If you were to circle around to follow our follower . . .”

 

The bard smiled, “I will be able to help no matter which trap is sprung.” Zevran admired her bardic training when she raised her voice so their pursuer could hear but not seem like she was raising it at all. “Zevran, this is pointless. I shall go back to the Chantry and see if some of the sisters have returned. If not I shall take another turn around the market.”

 

Zevran lifted her hand to his lips, “Until later, lovely Leliana.” Briefly he watched her carelessly dance away before continuing on his path. His pursuer didn’t hesitate to follow the elf. Zevran smiled to himself as he slipped into the shadows, “I can’t make it too easy or the pigeon will suspect something is amiss.” He continued on his way but with the air of a man who did not want to be seen. He allowed his shadow to catch slight glimpses here and there until he became used to Zevran being out of his sight for short periods. At the same time he gradually closed the distance between him and the target ahead. Being both the hunted and the hunter in this game was exhilarating and fired up all the old juices. Soon he recognized where he was being led, “Hmmm, an excellent spot for a meeting of the less-than-upstanding. It also holds potential for an ambush, but of whom?”

 

He allowed his pursuer one final glimpse before going deeper into the shadows. He eyed the crumbling wall and smiled; it was perfect. With a quick jump he silently climbed to the top of the wall and from there to the nearby rooftop. He would need to be especially careful; if these were Taliesen’s men as he suspected they knew of his predilection for working the heights. Zevran kept his body low as he searched the other rooftops but saw nothing. He watched and waited. “Ah, Ezhrude has improved,” he thought when he recognized his shadow. Ezhrude moved carefully as he searched but Zevran was interested to note that finding him was not the Crow’s primary purpose but more of a precaution against being attacked from behind. “Not improved enough but I shall let that pass for now. It will be more profitable, I think, to follow him. I just need to not fall into a trap myself.” Carefully he followed Ezhrude from the rooftops.

 

He flitted from one roof to the next and saw Ezhrude catch up to the other Crow. He thought it might be Greta but he was too far away to be sure. He did see her scan the skyline but he kept low and still as a statue lest he give away his position. The two Crows moved forward and he moved as well, keeping to the chimney shadows as much as possible. One thing he now knew, he was not their primary target. Oh, he was sure Taliesen didn’t plan on leaving Ferelden without him or his corpse but the other man was almost unnaturally patient. There was that one time . . . Zevran shook his head and concentrated. The area up ahead was on a path favored by the Grey Wardens whenever they left the Market District. Sure enough less than an hour later a man entered the area, signaled and faded into the shadows. Zevran crept closer.

 

“Have either of you noticed we’re being watched?” Blake asked the other two. “I haven’t been able to determine who but I’m pretty sure we’ve been under observation since we left the tavern; although they probably couldn’t see you, Package.”

 

She glared at him but before she could say anything Alistair interrupted, “If not it’s because your beauty is so dazzling it blinded them, my love.” He brought her hand to his lips. She snorted but couldn’t help smiling. Blake grinned at the two of them. “I wondered a few times if somebody was watching but I never saw anyone. Do you think they're Loghain’s spies, the snake’s spies, Crows or somebody else?” he asked their leader.

 

Blake looked around carefully, “I don’t know. Just be aware of any little thing that seems odd, other than Package that is.” The glare she gave him promised future retribution. Blake just laughed.

 

From his perch on the roof Zevran could see the Wardens and Pocket Goddess, “Braska, I was afraid of this.” Carefully he eased down and trusted that Leliana was in a position to help. He thought he knew where she was and if he was correct she had a good vantage point from which to use her impressive archery skills. Taliesen was smart so he probably brought the entire cell with him, which meant about 20 Crows.

 

“Let’s see if we can flush out whoever is watching us with a bit of foolishness,” Blake suggested. “We’re going to teach Package the Remigold. I’m not worried so much about who might confront us; I want to try to locate those who will attack from the shadows.”

 

Alistair pouted and fluttered his eyelashes, “But I don’t have a pretty dress.”

 

“Well, do the best you can,” Blake smirked.

 

Leliana did have a good vantage point. Not only could she see the Crow who followed Zevran she could see several others and was in excellent position to deal some damage. Her curiosity was piqued when bewilderment rippled among the hidden assassins.

 

Zevran couldn’t believe what he was seeing: the Warden stopped in the middle of the large alley and started positioning the templar and Pocket Goddess into what was definitely not a battle formation. He noticed his former associates were confused and realized that was the Warden’s game. He chuckled to himself when the dance lesson started, “My dear Warden, you are definitely not boring.”

 

As he was taking Package through the beginning steps of the Remigold Blake observed archers hidden in various recesses. “Do you see anything?”

 

“I see many things,” she snorted. “However if you mean possible attackers, yes. There are also traps at the bottom of the steps and in front of the archers opposite.” She twirled under his arm as he instructed and he led her back to Alistair.

 

“The bulk of them are going to be up there,” Alistair warned as he took over from Blake. “We should toss her up on the wall so she can do her battle song thing and then leap away. Can you handle that, my love?” he asked worriedly. Jannasilane grinned with devilish glee and nodded.

 

Hidden in the alcove atop the stone steps Taliesen was incredulous, “These Fereldans are mad, stark, raving mad. When this is done I’m returning to Antiva on the first ship,” he muttered to his second. She nodded in agreement. When the mad dancers were closer he decided it was time to end the frivolity. “So here are the infamous Grey Wardens frolicking in the back alleys. And where is the mighty Zevran?”

 

“Zevran is dead,” Blake answered calmly.

 

“Don’t even try, Warden. We know he travels with you,” Taliesen sneered.

 

Zevran had quietly slit Greta’s throat and couldn’t help rolling his eyes at the exchange. However he recognized an entrance cue when he heard one and he strolled into the alley behind the Grey Wardens, “Here I am Taliesen.”

 

The Crow leader spoke to his old comrade, “You can come back to us, Zev. We’ll tell them that you were infiltrating the Grey Wardens; it was a backup plan in case the first didn’t work. You don’t have to stay in this cold country.”

 

Blake narrowed his eyes, “He doesn’t need you.”

 

“You lie,” Jannasilane hissed.

 

Zevran shook his head sorrowfully, “I am not going back, and you should have stayed in Antiva my friend.”

 

Taliesen sneered at the elf and signaled the attack. Jannasilane’s battle song stunned the Crows long enough for Blake to disable the traps while Zevran and Alistair took out the nearest assassins. From her vantage point Leliana sent several arrows through Ezhrude and several other more distant attackers. Finally only Taliesen and two of his lieutenants remained. Blake and Zevran flanked Taliesen while Alistair and Jannasilane each took on a lieutenant. Leliana circled the alley in a diminishing spiral to make sure no surprises lay in wait.

 

Finally it was over. Zevran let out a gust of air and stared down at his former comrade, “So it is done, Taliesen is dead.” His tone was flat except for a tinge of sadness.

 

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Blake asked cautiously. The others backed away and gave them some privacy. They started looting bodies and looking for any useful items while the two rogues talked.

 

Zevran’s expression lightened and he smiled, “A very good thing indeed. It occurs to me that I have a freedom I have never had before. The Crows will assume that I also am dead. I could go anywhere I wished, start a new life.”

 

Blake felt a fist closing over his heart and slowly squeezing. He didn’t want Zevran to leave but he wasn’t going to force him to stay, either. It had to be the Antivan’s decision. His words were measured, “I’d like you to stay but I won’t hold you to an oath made at the point of a sword. You can go if that is what you want, or you can also stay here with us.”

 

“Could I?” he examined the Warden carefully.

 

“As a friend,” Blake added. He didn’t go any further because it might scare Zevran off. They’d never talked about their feelings and he realized he cared for the Antivan as more than a friend or casual lover.

 

Zevran lifted an eyebrow, “A friend, hmmm, I think I like the sound of that. Very well, I shall stay at your side and help you slay this pesky Archdemon.”

 

“Good, it’ll be easier to do this,” Blake said before sliding his hand into Zevran’s hair and holding him close while he kissed him.

 

“And so many other things,” Zevran murmured against his lips. He cupped the larger man promising future delights. Blake’s indrawn hiss was music to his ears. Zevran broke away with a satisfied smile. “I do believe we have other things to do just now.”

 

Blake took a minute to get under control before speaking, “We better get back to Arl Eamon. We’ve got a chance at the Landsmeet but it’s definitely not a lock, hopefully he’ll have some ideas.”

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 59:  Not another Hoop but Definitely a Hurdle

Alistair grunted, “I’m tired of the blasted Mac Tirs and their arrogance. What was she thinking? Going to Howe’s lair without reasonable guard was a fool’s game and she’s not supposed to be a fool. Now she’s stuck behind a magicked door and we have to find the mage to break the spell.”

 

“This is a good thing, my Ali,” Jannasilane began only to have her friends look at her as if she was crazy. She just lifted her chin and continued, “Riordan is here. I can feel him and now we can rescue him.”

 

“Janna . . .” Alistair didn’t know what to say, she seemed so sure even though it was improbable. “If he’s here maybe we’ll find evidence in Howe’s room, which we’re going to anyway,” he exchanged glances with Blake who frowned a little at her insistence.

 

Her smile was dazzling, “Thank you, my Ali. I know you and Blake have doubted but you will see.”

 

The Warden explored a chest in Howe’s rooms, “These are some of the papers Riordan was working on. I can’t decode the encryption but I recognize the writing.” Blake found a Warden amulet and more papers but nothing else. “The documents could have been stolen but there’s no way the amulet could have come from anywhere but Riordan’s bo- person,” he amended.

 

A door behind a tapestry led to the dungeons. “This is . . . disturbing,” Leliana said quietly. “Was this always the Arl’s room or was it converted for this access?”

 

“Somebody has an odd sense of entertainment even by my standards,” Zevran’s eyes pierced the shadows looking for danger. Carefully they descended to a small landing. A guard standing in front of a cell was distracted long enough to turn his back on the prisoner inside. He paid for his mistake. They stopped Jannasilane from going forward until the prisoner came into view.

 

“Rio!” she said happily and ran forward to hug him.

 

Riordan couldn’t believe his good fortune, “It is good to see you again, little one.” For just a moment he allowed himself to enjoy her presence and his new freedom. He looked at the rest of his rescue party and then down at the small woman in his arms. “You will never know how glad I am that you were not captured as well for Howe’s men are not kind to their female prisoners.” He let go of her and smiled to himself when she returned to Alistair’s side. “But surely you did not risk all to find me?” he questioned.

 

“No. I didn’t really believe you were still alive, though I am glad Package proved me wrong. Anora is being held and we have to find Howe’s pet mage.”

 

“Then you will need to go down and further into the dungeons, my friends. I would go with you but I am afraid that weak as I am I would be more hindrance than help.” Blake returned the documents and other items to him and Riordan quickly left. He smiled to himself when he heard Alistair promising never to doubt his love again. “It is good to remember there is joy in the world.”

 

The Wardens were sickened by the number of torture rooms and cages they found as they moved forward on their search. At least they were able to rescue one young man from further torture and free others. When they reached Howe the snake was waiting for them, a sneer on his thin face when they entered the last block of cells. “So, the mighty Wardens are reduced to attacking a man in his own home. Did Eamon lose confidence in his mighty powers of persuasion? You should have died at Ostagar,” his eyes never left Blake’s face.

 

“It appears that neither you nor the darkspawn could kill me,” Blake taunted.

 

“There it is, that damned Cousland arrogance always coming between me and what’s mine,” Howe spat the words out. “But your perversions will now come to an end. I sent Nathaniel to the Free Marches before you could seduce him away from his duty, away from what’s right and holy.” He scoffed at Blake’s confusion. “I saw you at the river, the two of you naked after a swim. He didn’t understand and ignored the sight of your poisonous root waving in the wind but I knew what you were about. There’s no way I would allow your contamination to spread. And your parents tolerated you! Your pathetic ****** of a mother licked my boots before I skewered your father. I let my men spread her legs like the aging trash she was but I wasn’t going to demean myself with her fil-”

 

Howe’s taunts stunned him and then created a red haze in Blake’s mind. He charged without his usual finesse, exactly what Howe had been hoping for. However the oily Arl underestimated how skilled the young Warden had become. Even as he lay dying on the floor, blood rapidly spilling from his wounds, Howe continued to spit out his poison. Blake watched and felt cold, empty, and dirty. Jannasilane put her hands on his arms to get his attention. She winced at the expression in his eyes, “Blake, he was lying. He wanted to torture you, do not let him succeed.”

 

“Was he? Was it all lies?” Blake blanked his expression. “Let’s make sure there are no more surprises before we go upstairs to rescue Anora.” He forced himself to put his emotions aside. He wouldn’t, couldn’t take any comfort offered by his friends, especially Zevran.

 

The hallways leading back to Anora were empty and put their party on edge. Even so they weren’t quite prepared to find Loghain’s second waiting for them with a large contingent of men. She wouldn’t listen to anything Blake had to say. “Ser Cauthrien, thank the Maker! These brigands are trying to kidnap me,” Anora’s words were the last words they heard before they were attacked.

 

“Take the Wardens, Loghain wants the three of them dead or alive,” Loghain’s second yelled. Many more men died in that battle but ultimately Ser Cauthrien won. Leliana and Zevran were left behind on the hard floor while the Wardens and Jannasilane were carted away. Fortunately for Anora she and her spymaid slipped away during the confusion.

 

Zevran helped Leliana to her feet, “We had best hurry back to Eamon and inform him of what has transpired.” Leliana looked around at all the death and her pretty features hardened. Quickly the two rogues made their way through the back alleys. “She does not know it but Anora has tied her life to that of the Warden. If he dies she will soon follow,” he thought grimly. The queen had a head start but Zevran and Leliana moved quickly and arrived at Eamon’s only moments behind her. Zevran crossed his arms as he listened to her, his stance making it very clear that she was not being completely honest. The only useful thing to come out of her mouth was the location of the Wardens. Fort Drakon was not what he wanted to hear.

 

As soon as Anora left for her room with Erlina in tow they began to make plans. “I was held there briefly when I was first questioned,” Riordan explained as he began drawing a diagram. “You will not be able to simply force your way inside; likely as not the Wardens would be killed before you could get to them as the holding cells are on the opposite end from the entrance. What I do not understand is why they also took the little one for she is not a Grey Warden.”

 

“They think she is, Ser Cauthrien mentioned three Wardens and in no way could Jannasilane be mistaken for you,” Leliana explained.

 

“Or they know of the closeness between the Pocket Goddess and her Wardens and plan to use that against them in some way,” Zevran added.

 

“By the Maker I hope you are wrong,” Eamon was troubled by the possibility. She was a sweet child and he knew that Alistair would be damaged if something happened to her. “Planning jailbreaks is something for which I am not equipped so I shall leave that in your capable hands. I shall go instruct the guards to make sure nobody tries to get in to the estate; at least not until after the rescue. I think it best if even they do not know the queen is in residence, fortunately she was still disguised as a guard. My resources are at your disposal.” The Arl left them.

 

Finally they had a plan. Riordan and Wynne would wait in the Wardens’ apartment. None of them believed that the prisoners wouldn’t have some injuries and the apartment was much closer to the Fort than Arl Eamon’s. Nor did they want to leave a trail directly to the estate and the queen. Morrigan would make sure that Her Majesty and maid stayed put and didn’t communicate with anyone. Leliana and Zevran would bluff their way inside with a ‘personal delivery’ while the warriors familiarized themselves with all of Arl Eamon’s men and would patrol the perimeter of the estate.

 

It took two days to get everything they needed and they used that time to gather a little more information. Leliana prayed to the Maker that their efforts would be rewarded and their friends returned to them. Eamon’s political skill was put to the test as he continued his normal activities and sounded out other nobles without giving a hint that anything was wrong or that the queen was his guest. Morrigan amused herself by doing little things to irritate Anora even if it was just a rustling sound in the wall or phantom bugs crawling across the floor.

 

Before daylight the bard and the assassin left without any observers detecting their departure.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 60:  Fort Drakon

“Mnghm,” Alistair groaned.

 

“Glad you’re awake. I’d hate for you to miss out on our deluxe accommodations. Ser Cauthrien is an excellent hostess; I’ve never had such a warm welcome. The cold stone floor and lack of blankets are especially nice,” Blake kept his tone light while he scrutinized his fellow Warden chained to the wall. Colorful bruises covered Alistair’s skin from head to toe; welts from the whip rose from his flesh and blood ran from various cuts. The manacles had to be cutting into his wrists and ankles from the force of holding up his weight.

 

Alistair blinked slowly to try and get his eyes to focus. It hurt to move his head, “Mnghm,” he groaned again. He tried to move and stared at the chain on his arm. He frowned and shook his arm to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. He looked at Blake and then at his feet. “Why do I have chains, don’t they know you’re the sneaky one?” he spoke as if he was trying to remember how to form the words.

 

Before Blake could answer a fellow prisoner in the next cell spoke up, “Yer the one what nearly pulled the head off one o’ them guards wi’ yer bare hands is why. Ain’t ne’er seed nuthin’ like it. Yer’s like one o’ them rage demons when they took yer friend away.”

 

Blake and Alistair looked at each other in alarm; Alistair started shaking his head in denial. Blake cleared his throat, “Our friend?”

 

“Yous don’t remember? Well, yer both were beat up more’n a bit and you,” he pointed at Blake with his chin, “was out. Little curvy bit wi’ lots ‘n’ lots o’ hair. Yesterday that was, ain’t seen her since. Been hours since I heard any screams. Seen lots o’ guards, though. Took her to the room t’other side o’ the racks most likely. More private like,” the fellow looked from one Warden to the other and took an involuntary step back. It wasn’t the steel in Blake’s eyes which frightened him it was the chill tendrils of death emanating from Alistair. It didn’t matter that he was chained and in a different cell; if death had a face it was that of the bruised and bloodied blond warrior.

 

Blake began looking for something to pick the locks while Alistair began testing his chains for weakness. Fear and rage gave him the extra strength to shift the wall mount of the chain attached to his shield arm. He focused his energy on that bit of metal but it was slow going. He worked through exhaustion and almost had it pulled out of the wall when he heard a familiar Antivan voice, “My dear Warden, did you miss me?” He paid no attention as Blake quickly filled them in and smiled grimly when he heard a harsh “Braska!”

 

“Drink this, Alistair,” Leliana said gently while Zevran began working on the locks. She held a health poultice to his lips and when he finished gave him another. He could feel the strong potion working inside him and giving him a sorely needed lift. “We will find her, Alistair, and you will need your strength.” Blake put on a guard’s armor and stood watch at the door until his friend was free.

 

The templar didn’t bother with armor other than a small shield. Finding something which might fit would take too much time. He grabbed a sword and started down the stairs where the racks were, the three rogues behind him. They didn’t see a cell but they did see a heavy wooden door with a guard leaning against it. The guard seemed to be giving all his attention to whatever he could hear inside the room and didn’t notice Blake creeping up on him until a dagger was at his throat, “Be glad I don’t have much time,” the rogue whispered as he slit the man’s throat. He opened the door and Alistair walked in.

 

Another guard was lightly kicking at the naked, unmoving woman lying on a meager pile of straw, “Come on you miserable cow, show a little life. Poking you now is like poking a corpse. Stupid Kane would have to break your stupid jaw; couldn’t just knock you silly before shoving himself down your throat.”

 

Those were the last words he ever said. Alistair picked him up by the throat and held him against the wall. The guard pissed his pants when he saw the face staring at him. Alistair said nothing as he squeezed his throat and gutted him like a pig. He dropped the guard in his own entrails and left him to go to Jannasilane’s side. His heart nearly broke when he saw her glazed and vacant stare, the pool of blood between her thighs. Leliana was tearing her sleeve so she could wrap up Jannasilane’s jaw before they moved her. The bard seemed unaware of the tears dripping down her face as she worked. Gently Alistair took one hand in his, “We’ll get you out of here I promise my love.”

 

The Antivan was filled with pity as he looked down at Jannasilane. He judged she had been left to lie in her own blood for some hours. He moved so he could look at Blake and pretended not to see the despair in his lover’s eyes. He set about removing the ties that were still in place, wincing as he saw how deeply the leather restraints had burned into Jannasilane’s wrists and ankles. When Leliana was done he helped her lift the broken doll of a girl into the arms of her lover.

 

Sensing him she mewled against his chest, “I’m sorry, Alistair, I didn’t know,” before lapsing into unconsciousness. Alistair carefully stood with his precious bundle, her blood mixing with his as it trickled down his body. The tenderness with which he held her was at odds with the menace and rage in his eyes. That the strong emotions warring within him didn’t tear him apart was a surprise.

 

They found their belongings in a chest near the door but didn’t dare try to clothe her for fear of doing more damage. Leliana slipped away and returned with several blankets. Carefully they wrapped her and fashioned a rough sling so Alistair could hold her but also be able to fight if necessary. They quickly killed any guards they encountered, leaving a dark red river behind them. Fortunately they encountered no trouble in the alleys and byways of Denerim though that could be due to the cold promise of death radiating from the templar. Once they got close to their destination Leliana, after a brief word of encouragement, left as planned.

 

Riordan and Wynne were watching for them. “You’re back, thank the Maker, we were so worried-” Wynne’s welcome died in her throat when she saw the bundle in Alistair’s arms. She didn’t need Zevran shaking his head to realize something was terribly wrong. The fear and sorrow in the Wardens’ eyes was enough. Alistair moved past her to gently lay Jannasilane down on the bed. Carefully he and Wynne removed the blankets swaddling her while Riordan, Blake and Zevran watched anxiously. Wynne couldn’t help hissing in horror at the sight of the broken girl lying before her. “I’m going to need a lot of hot water. Blake, Alistair . . . you need to leave her to me for now. Since you’re walking I am assuming your injuries can wait. We weren’t sure what you would need so we brought some clothes for all of you. I’ll tell you what I can when I can.”

 

Alistair set his chin, “I want to stay with her; she may need me. She lost a lot of blood.” He started to brush his hand over Jannasilane’s hair but stopped in case he accidentally hurt her.

 

The healer was blunt though her heart ached to see his pain, “Alistair, your emotions are all over the place and right now you’re a distraction I can’t afford if I am to give her my best. Do you trust me?” Reluctantly he nodded. “Then go and let me do what I need to do. You’ll be a greater help to her when you’re more settled. She will need you then.” The big man got up and limped out, his shoulders sagging.

 

At the door he turned, “You have to heal her, Wynne, I . . .” He pounded the door frame once and left.

 

“I know you do not approve of me, oh illustrious healer, but I can assist you,” Zevran did not wait for an answer. He picked up a cloth and gently began cleansing the blood from one hand. He gave Wynne a crooked grin, “I have a delicate touch and can provide you with references if you like.” He wasn’t surprised when she rolled her eyes and then ignored him after she was satisfied with his efforts.

 

With a deep sigh Wynne turned her attention back to the girl lying on the bed, “Now, my dear, you have been through a horrible ordeal. It won’t be easy for you but don’t give up,” she said quietly. Wynne continued to talk encouragingly while she concentrated on finding the source of blood loss. “Oh, child,” she breathed when she did. Zevran looked up but didn’t say anything.

 

Wynne spent hours with Jannasilane. When she finally stood she swayed a little and had to place her hand on the wall in order to brace herself and for once welcomed the Antivan’s support. “I feel 100 years older,” she looked down at the girl who was now sleeping courtesy of a small spell. Slowly she moved to the doorway and watched the inhabitants of the other room for a moment. Alistair was cleaning blades and armor with a controlled viciousness, Blake was standing by the window looking into nothing and Riordan was making soup that none of them seemed to care about. Alistair was the first to notice her.

 

“Some of her injuries were severe though not as extreme as I first thought when you laid her down. The burns around her wrists and ankles went almost to the bone; I don’t know if she will ever lose the scars but she won’t have any additional damage or lose even partial use. There were a number of cuts, tears and bruises but the worst injury and the one which took longest to heal was to her jaw. Broken jaws are troubling when there is no other trauma but what I don’t understand is how her larynx became scraped and torn on the inside.”

 

“One of the guards,” Zevran sneered, “broke her jaw when she fought against his use of her mouth. He did not let that stop him from continuing. At least they are dead now, a better death than they deserve.” “Or they soon will be, this I swear,” he promised himself. Fort Drakon would soon need an entirely new roster of guards. Riordan shook his head, his mouth a grim line of horror.

 

“We don’t really need darkspawn, do we?” Wynne felt sick at the level of brutality leveled against one defenseless girl. She put her hand over Alistair’s fist, “I need to speak to Alistair would you give us a moment?” Wynne waited for them to leave.

 

The young man watched her warily. “Alistair, there is no easy way to say this,” Wynne began. “I am so, so sorry. The blood she lost wasn’t from any of her injuries, not directly anyway. I’m sorry, Alistair, she lost the baby.”

 

“Baby? What?” Pain and new grief were naked in his gaze as he stared at her. “She was pregnant? I, I didn’t know.” He shook his head slowly, remembering the only words Jannasilane said when she was rescued. “I don’t think she did either, at least not until she wasn’t.” He explained what he meant.

 

Wynne bowed her head, “She wasn’t very far along and she’s so young, so inexperienced yet, yes, I can see that.” She looked him in the eyes, “Alistair, I can talk to her later but for now she needs rest. You are going to have to be strong for both of you. Physically there is no reason for her not to make a full recovery. I healed all her wounds. Emotionally . . . the brutality she suffered would be enough trauma for one person in a lifetime . . . losing a child as well,” her voice trailed off. For a few minutes they just sat in silence.

 

Alistair was the first to speak, “What can I do to help her? I’d like to take her away to a place where I can take care of her but that isn’t possible.” Wynne gave him some instructions and got ready to leave. Leliana was waiting for her at the Pearl. Tomorrow she would have to get some more supplies before checking in on her patients.

 

Zevran had disappeared from view but did not go downstairs as Wynne thought. Once again he was filled with pity, this time for both Pocket Goddess and the templar. Before the healer got ready to leave he went to find the Warden. “It is a good thing elves have sharp eyes to see in the dark for Blake did not light a single candle or lamp.” The Warden looked up as he approached but said nothing. The elf frowned but elected to sit by his side silently, watching and waiting.

 

While Riordan escorted Wynne to the Pearl Alistair took his place by the side of the bed. Gently he began rubbing Jannasilane’s skin with lotion, “Wynne was able to heal you, my love.” He spoke quietly to let her know he was there, although he wasn’t sure if she could hear him. “Wynne says the herbs I’m using will bring you comfort as well as help your body heal. They do have a soothing scent in spite of the elfroot, don’t they? I am so sorry you had to suffer. They will never hurt you ever again. Remember where you and Riordan went in Denerim? That’s where we are now. Zevran and all three of your Wardens are here. I love you so much, Jannasilane Alenahaella. I’m a better man and a stronger one because of you,” he kissed one small hand and held it to his cheek as he prayed. “Don’t leave me, my love. We can get through this, together. I promise. Maker, if you’re listening don’t let her suffer. I’ll gladly take her pain instead. She doesn’t deserve what those animals did to her and I don’t know if I can be the man I need to be without her.” He continued his soothing strokes and soft words of love and encouragement.

 

So much pain and then she found a place where she felt nothing. Surely the nothing was better than the not nothing. More pain and grief waited for her in the not nothing. She felt so cold inside, and empty. Why did she feel empty? “No, I don’t want to know,” she cried out to the not nothing. Briefly she ventured into the not nothing and then scurried back into nothing again. She didn’t know how long she hid before she started to feel healing magic and she came partway out into the not nothing. The pain was less but she didn’t understand the sense of loss and grief that no healer’s touch could fix. She could sense bones and flesh knitting back together, cuts and abrasions going away. She heard a voice far away and then nothing again.

 

There was a different voice now, a familiar one calling to her, tempting her out of the nothing. She heard words the closer she came and began to see the shape of the grief waiting for her. She hesitated and then continued moving forward. That beloved voice pulled her farther from the abyss of nothing. She began to feel movement along her skin. Relief followed each stroke. She felt warm drops on her hand and wanted to offer comfort. Slowly she opened her eyes and had to blink against the brightness after the darkness. She turned her head slightly and saw Alistair, so tired and worried. Realization filled her and she ached from grief. Tears forced themselves down her cheeks and her breathing hitched.

 

He heard. He saw. “I thought I’d lost you. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared,” he gently brushed his hand over her hair, and kissed her tears. “Are you in any pain, my love? Do you want anything? Let me help you,” Alistair was afraid and hopeful at the same time.

 

“You look so tired,” she croaked. Immediately he held a cup of water to her lips so she could drink. She was too exhausted to take more than a few sips. “I’m sorry, my Ali. Our baby,” she turned her head away.

 

“I know,” he whispered. “It doesn’t seem fair to mourn our loss before we knew there was something to lose, something to celebrate.” Alistair bent down and softly kissed her abdomen above her now empty womb before cupping her face and moving it back to face him. “The most important thing, my love, is that you’re alive and Wynne says you’ll make a full recovery. I will do everything I can to make you feel better. I love you so much,” it hurt to see her eyes so bruised and haunted but he was so relieved to have her back he couldn’t be anything but happy.

 

Jannasilane tried to smile, “I love you, too.” She began to shake, “I was so scared, my Ali. They, they hurt me until I welcomed the nothing. I do not wish to go back to the nothing,” Her tears were a swollen stream now.

 

“Shh, I’ve got you now and they will never hurt anybody again.” Carefully he sat on the bed and wrapped his arms around her. He had to fight the urge to tighten his embrace but didn’t want to cause her any pain. She burrowed into him and every sob; every tear was a hammer to his heart.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 61:  Darkness after the Nothing

Zevran was worried. Riordan had returned from escorting Wynne hours ago and Blake was still sitting downstairs in the dark. He didn’t say anything and he moved away if anybody got too close. “Warden, I never thanked you-”

 

Blake stopped him, “Don’t. You don’t owe me anything. Judging by my history you’re probably better off without me. I don’t seem to be good for the people I care about,” his words were harsh and full of self-loathing. Zevran felt both pain and pleasure at the Warden’s words. He didn’t know what to say and so said nothing, leaving Blake to go back to brooding. He barely noticed Zevran sitting down and watching him; his mind was filled with images from the night his family died and of Package in her cell. Howe’s words echoed in the silence inside his head. He remembered that day by the river with Nate, they’d been hunting, just the two of them. Fergus was newly married and opted to spend the day with his bride.

 

They were laughing at their lack of success and decided, since it was a sunny and unusually warm day, to bathe in the river before going home. It didn’t take either of them long to strip off their armor and dive into the clear water. Blake couldn’t help briefly admiring the sleek muscles of the other man. Sometimes he fantasized a little about the archer’s arms around him but knew it was just a fantasy. Nate was solely interested in women. However he couldn’t stop the predictable outcome of his admiration or prevent Nate from noticing.

 

Nate just laughed, “I suppose I’m flattered. I would be more flattered if you were that barmaid I was trying to impress last night.”He trudged to the riverbank and lay down on a sun-warmed rock to dry. “If you ever get married like Fergus I hope you know how to use that thing on a woman,” he teased the younger Cousland.

 

“I’m an equal opportunity kind of guy,” Blake retorted as he found his own rock to lie on. “You’re the same age as Fergus, how come your father hasn’t arranged a marriage for you yet?”

 

Nate shrugged, “He’s looking. But his standards aren’t the same as mine; his biggest concern is how a match will further his status. Without my cooperation he isn’t going to get very far and I want to at least be on friendly terms with my wife. My parents try to avoid being in the same room with each other. Who wants that sort of tension in their own home?”

 

Blake didn’t say anything. It was hardly a secret that Rendon Howe despised his wife. It was a miracle they had any children at all.

 

 He started to shake his head, “He killed my family . . . there was never a chance of Nate and I being together. I never even made a move in that direction. Why am I here? I didn’t protect Elissa and Maker knows I didn’t protect Package. . . . All that blood and I could do nothing. . . . Just like Elissa in the library . . . Maybe Howe was right in wanting to kill me . . . Supposed to save the world? What a laugh. I can’t even save one small woman . . . I can’t be the reason my family’s dead. . . I feel sick . . .” The same thoughts and images played themselves over and over in his mind, becoming increasingly devastating with each repetition.

 

Upstairs Jannasilane had finally fallen asleep and Alistair was lightly dozing. Riordan sat at the table and forced himself to eat. Every spoonful of the delicious soup tasted like paste but they had to keep their strength up. “I am glad my old friend did not see the pain inflicted on his daughter, though I do think he would have liked to see her and Alistair together. Or would he? The affection and love both young men feel for the little one complicates their duty. Even I cannot claim to be unaffected. I must remember to ask them how much they know about killing the Archdemon; after traveling with her I am not sure that they know all they must. Now is not the moment to speak; too much has happened and even I need time before broaching something so serious. I defy any with a claim to decency to remain unmoved by what happened at Fort Drakon. We must speak soon, however. Fortunately Duncan’s daughter is strong. How strange to think he was almost a grandfather; Maker that makes me feel old.”

 

He looked towards the bedroom when he heard a rustling. He walked to the doorway and smiled to see both occupants were awake. “You look much better, little one. Charming as you appear in a sheet and the arms of Alistair you might wish to avail yourself of the clothes we brought for you. I shall fetch you both something to eat.” He didn’t wait for a reply.

 

“Riordan’s right, you do look better. More than I expected, actually. It must be a trait you inherited, thank Andraste for that. All of a sudden I feel hungry enough to eat my own cooking,” he teased a smile out of her and felt his worry lessening.

 

“Truly a sign of starvation and we cannot have that, my Ali,” she replied and allowed him to help her into her nightshirt. It felt good to speak of something silly. She looked around for Blake but before she could ask about him she felt the siren call of the food Riordan brought. Jannasilane frowned to see nothing but broth in her bowl.

 

“Wynne’s orders, little one. She was afraid that after the trauma your body suffered anything else might not sit well. Eat this and if you want more you can have some bread to soak in it.” His mouth quirked at her frown; a frown which grew deeper when Alistair began wolfing down the contents of his bowl which definitely had more than broth.

 

She finished her broth and sat back on the bed, “Where’s Blake? Is he very injured?” She grew more worried when neither man answered her right away.

 

“He wasn’t hurt as badly as you,” Alistair was evasive. “That’s a good question. I would have expected him to be hovering at the door at the very least.” He left her in Riordan’s company using the dirty dishes as an excuse and went downstairs carrying a lamp against the darkness. “Blake?” he called. Receiving no answer he put the lamp on a shelf and looked around. He found Blake sitting against the wall, staring at him or rather staring past him. Zevran was nearby keeping watch but Alistair wasn’t sure what he was watching out for. “Blake, Jannasilane is awake and asking for you. She’s worried-”

 

Blake started shaking his head, “Why? I didn’t protect her any more than I protected Elissa. My family is dead and Package nearly died because I failed.” His bitterness and self-loathing scorched the air. “I should have been smarter . . .”

 

Alistair’s eyebrows nearly reached his hair line, “What narcissistic twaddle.” The rage he’d banked burst its dam and he lashed out. “The past few months haven’t been all silk sheets and grapes but not because of you and where you put your precious manhood. You’re just not that important. I thought you were better than to let some oily, smarmy . . . twit get under your skin. Your family died because Howe was a greedy, nasty, treacherous bastard who wanted more than he had and didn’t care how he got it. Your sister and my,” he had to take a quick breath, “my Janna were brutally raped because depraved animals were allowed to do whatever they wanted. Why? I don’t know. I only know for certain we were tired, outnumbered, and captured.  What I know is that right now the woman I love is worried about you and you’re going to see her if I have to carry you away from your damn pity party by your toes!”

 

Blake snarled. All the bitter emotions and rage of the past few days overwhelmed him and Alistair provided a handy target. He charged the bigger man. Every punch was a blow against Howe or those who raped his sisters. He was fighting back at all the self-doubts he’d allowed to build at Howe’s words.

 

The warrior barely had time to brace himself for the attack. Alistair retaliated, knocking his fellow Warden back a few steps. Soon they were grappling on the floor, exchanging blows and curses. Zevran nimbly danced out of the way.

 

Riordan came downstairs when he heard the noise, “This is hardly the time to-”

 

Zevran interrupted him, “Sometimes it is necessary to lance an injury to remove the poison festering inside.”

 

“Ah,” Riordan answered. He watched for a few moments, “Make sure they do not kill each other or do serious injury. The little one would be most displeased.” He went back upstairs shaking his head a little, wishing he was a young man again and could indulge in the desperate need to hit something, anything.

 

Finally Blake pushed himself away and lay back on the floor, breathing harshly. He could hear Alistair’s ragged breathing from where he was leaning against the wall. “Narcissistic twaddle?” he asked when he was sure he could speak.

 

“I’ve been waiting to use that phrase though I hoped to use it on Morrigan,” Alistair said drily. “Are you done now?”

 

Blake snorted, “Yeah, I think I’m done. Thanks. I needed that. And thanks for pulling your punches.”

 

Alistair almost grinned, “I wanted to hit you, not kill you. It felt good to hit something. Maybe we both needed it but I’m not sure Janna would understand.” He stood and offered his hand to Blake. Once Blake was on his feet the blond warrior rubbed his hands over his face before continuing, “You should know before you talk to her . . . the blood was . . . she lost our baby. Neither of us knew . . .”

 

“I’m sorry, Alistair, I don’t know what else to say,” Blake was stunned. “You would be great parents. Wynne did say she’d make a full recovery, right?”

 

“Yeah, well, her body anyway,” he sighed.

 

The Warden put his hand on Alistair’s arm and turned the warrior around to face him, “Hey, we didn’t stop my ‘pity party’ so you could start one of your own. Package is strong, probably stronger than either of us. She will get through this and I’ll help her and you any way I can. She has plenty of friends willing to help her as well.”

 

“Now that the two of you have that settled perhaps you will continue to the side of Pocket Goddess, yes? I would have enjoyed your combat more if some clothes were torn and I got to see glistening skin and rippling muscles but alas, I am doomed to disappointment once again,” Zevran sighed dramatically but secretly he was relieved that his Warden was no longer burdened by darkness. He motioned for Alistair to lead the way.

 

Blake lightly caressed the assassin’s cheek, “Thanks for staying with me, Zev. It means a lot to me.”

 

Zevran nipped the palm at his face, “Once you have satisfied Pocket Goddess as to your well-being we can speak more, my dear Warden.”

 

“Come on, you two, plenty of time for that later,” Alistair interrupted. He rolled his eyes at the cheeky grin Zevran sent in his direction. “I can’t believe I’m encouraging either of you,” he muttered. He leaned against the door jamb after Blake entered the bedroom where Jannasilane sat talking to Riordan. Judging by their expressions it was serious.

 

“Thank you for telling me, little one, I am honored by your trust,” he said quietly and bowed over her hand before kissing it. Riordan gave way to Blake after a quick examination assured him that the young Warden was well enough. “And now you see that the Warden is fit I will leave you in his company. Do not tire her overmuch, Warden, she needs her rest,” he admonished the young man.

 

Blake nodded, “I won’t be long.” He knelt down by the bed so his face was even with hers, glad to see some color and life in her face, “I’m sorry, Package. I’m so sorry about getting captured and sorry you bore the brunt of the guard’s . . . actions. Alistair told me what happened,” he winced at the pain flashing in her eyes.

 

“I think I would have liked to be a mother,” she said softly, lying back against the pillow. “And now I won’t.” She lost her newly regained color and looked wan and despondent.

 

Blake rested his head on pillow next to her. “I would have enjoyed seeing you get round with child and Alistair hovering like a nervous cat,” he tried to coax a smile out of her but the most he got was a tremulous movement of her lips. “It’ll happen, Package. Give yourself some time.” He waited but she didn’t answer. Instead she turned her head away from him and shrugged.

 

Jannasilane couldn’t imagine letting anyone touch her that way again. Blake stayed by her side for a few more minutes but she didn’t move. Finally he kissed her head, frowning at her flinch, and left her to rest. Her eyes stared at the wall but all she could see in her mind was the guards, one after another after another. She heard them jeering and swearing at her, their pants and groans in her ear. She clenched her jaw to prevent any sound escaping as the images began to overwhelm her. She thought of Alistair as she’d last seen him when they were taking her away. They hurt him because he tried to protect her. She cringed when she remembered the whip hitting his bare skin. He couldn’t see her where they made her watch as they hurt him before they forced her into that room.

 

Cra-a-ack . . . cra-a-ack . . . cra-a-ack. They were punishing him for trying to stop them from taking her. The whip, or riding crop, cut into flesh already showing bruises from boots and gauntlets. Cra-a-ack. Alistair fought fiercely when they took her away, nearly killing one of them before they contained him. Even chained as he was the smart ones were still afraid. His persistent struggles, his anger and his strength were more than human and every single person watching knew it. Cra-a-ack.

 

Jannasilane couldn’t stop herself from flinching with each cra-a-ack of the whip. The leather ties binding her wrists and ankles were starting to burn but she didn’t feel it in her distress over her Ali’s pain. Cra-a-ack. At first the guards holding her were content to force her to watch. Cra-a-ack. For one of them that was no longer enough and he began running his hands over her body. Her armor was long gone. Cra-a-ack. Some guards began clubbing him and the one holding her shoved his hand between her legs. Cra-a-ack. His fingers began pushing into her and his other hand was hard over her mouth. Cra-a-ack. Alistair was hit over the head and she was forced up against the wall. She could feel her jailor fumbling with his armor.  Cra-a-ack. When the bloodied warrior finally sagged into unconsciousness her guard violently thrust into her. Cra-a-ack. Alistair was cut down and removed. Cra-a-ack. Thrust. Cra-a-ck, cra-a-ack, cra-a-ack.

 

Alistair had been sleeping fitfully on the floor beside the bed and came fully awake at her first whimper. He wanted so badly to hold her and comfort her but she’d withdrawn and stiffened warily if anybody got too close, so much so that he was afraid to touch her and hoped she’d either fall into a more peaceful sleep or come fully awake. When she started thrashing and moaning in pain he didn’t wait any longer. He gathered her into his arms and stroked her hair and arms, “Shh, my love. It’s only a bad dream. You’re safe now and they can’t hurt you anymore.” She fought him but he kept repeating himself in a soft croon and never stopped stroking her.

 

Finally he broke through her nightmare’s grip and she woke. “Ali?” Her voice was thick with tears. She snuffled and gulped, “I was dreaming ab-b-bout what hap-happened. The, the guards made me w-watch wh-while they h-hurt you. Th-th-th-then one of them b-b-began to f-force him-hims-s-self-” she started sobbing too violently to speak. Alistair looked up at the ceiling and swallowed the bile rising in his throat at her words. After she calmed down she pushed him away, “I am no good to you, Alistair. You need to find somebody wh-who is cl-clean and whole. I am neither. Th-then there is the B-Beast. I know it hurts you when the B-beast rises.”

 

The building had been built as a sanctuary for Wardens and so no sounds escaped to the outside. But the walls inside were deemed unimportant and as a result the three men camped in the only other room could hear every word. Silently Blake motioned they should move down to the ‘store’ and give the wounded woman more privacy. Not wanting any more darkness he lit the lamp before sitting with his back against the wall. “If we could I would kill those vicious bastards over and over again for what they did,” he growled.

 

“Yes, it is unfair that their suffering has ended but that of the little one will continue for some time,” Riordan added and Zevran agreed. “What is this beast she mentioned? Is this something we can take care of on her behalf?”

 

“I too would like to know,” Zevran wondered to himself.

 

Blake made a decision, “Did Package ever tell you about her family’s history?” he asked cautiously. Correctly interpreting Riordan’s glance at Zevran he reassured the man, “Zevran already knows and has sworn to keep her secret, even from other Grey Wardens.” His lie served as a warning to the elf. “You didn’t have much time, why don’t you tell me what she told you and I can fill in the blanks.”

 

“I will protect Pocket Goddess and her secrets with my life, this I have vowed to her.” Zevran was very careful to make sure his expression did not contradict Blake’s words. “The vow itself is true enough,” he thought.

 

Riordan proceeded cautiously, “I believed her but it is a rather wild tale. I never heard a hint of it but it does explain how a Warden of several years could father a child. In a way it is harder to believe that a breeding program on such a massive scale as this must have been could have been kept secret.”

 

“Package first told us while we were at Soldier’s Peak. We know Grey Wardens don’t share all the Chantry’s views on blood magic so it’s not surprising that they had access to a wider range of magic. I don’t know who had the idea of trying to combine the essence of the diminishing griffon population with new recruits and Package is proof they were at least partially successful. She can sense darkspawn and Wardens, and her mother was able to conceive a child with Duncan who’d been a Grey Warden for what, ten years?”

 

“About that, yes.”

 

Blake shook his head, “I can understand the appeal of a ‘natural-born’ Warden and not having to depend solely on recruiting or the Right of Conscription. But their effort had its price and those who paid it are the true innocents, like Package.” He paused to let that sink in with his listeners. He relayed to them everything Package had explained about the Time of Becoming and the dangers. “. . . in extreme cases suicide, madness or a kind of desperate whoredom result. It was hard for a chantry-trained man like Alistair to understand much less accept but she was determined to be honest with him. She’s the one who calls it a Beast.”

 

“And her Time came while we were on the road together,” Riordan remembered the change that came over her even before their encounter with the spiders. She sat just that much closer, looked at him that much longer, her touch lingered that much more. Even the sway of her hips was just a little bit more. Now he doubted she even realized it.

 

The younger Warden broke into his thoughts, “She likes you, you’re an attractive man and she wasn’t averse to her Time coming in your company. She never would have gone with you otherwise.”

 

Meanwhile Zevran had been busy putting two and two together, “The Guardian’s words to her make sense to me now; hers is a cage from which she can never escape.” He looked at the Warden and very slightly nodded his head to show he understood and accepted. Then he turned to the Orlesian Warden, “I think it was good for her to be away from us for the time she was with you. However when we arrived in Denerim and found her . . . you had been missing for weeks and this Beast was tearing her apart. She was gaunt and pale, her eyes feverish. She was literally trying to hold herself together as evidenced by gouges in her arms,” he quickly demonstrated. “Minit was . . . haunted.”

 

“Alistair and I are both new to the Order. Our Wardenness, as she calls it, isn’t fully mature so when the Beast is in control . . .” Blake left the rest unsaid. His listeners were experienced, intelligent men. “At least I haven’t completely lied to Riordan. Package did allow me to tell Zevran about her condition before we even reached Denerim. Maker, I never thought it would be like this, though.”

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 62:  More Conversations in the Dark 

All was silent, if you didn’t count dreams and thoughts. Some slept fitfully and others did not sleep at all. Only the servants slept well. Shale stood at her post and watched, as she always did. She wished she’d been there to crush the tiny heads of those who hurt the Wardens and the mini it. Leliana moved in and out of sleep while memories of what she saw in Fort Drakon mixed with those of her own ordeal which had surfaced and refused to go back to their place. “I had the loss caused by betrayal but deep as that cut was it was not as deep as the loss of a child. She and Alistair would never have let that little one doubt it was loved,” she wondered what it would be like to be a mother.

 

Morrigan wrestled with a decision and tried to tell herself she didn’t feel such weak emotions as pity or compassion for the Wardens’ toy. Wynne’s was a healer’s sleep, light and listening for the slightest indication her services would be needed. General Lee whined. He knew something wasn’t right but didn’t understand what. Neither Teagan nor Eamon slept comfortably as concern over the Wardens and Jannasilane kept intruding. Oghren didn’t think there was enough alcohol in Thedas for him to forget the suffering coloring the depths of Cherryplum’s eyes, but he was going to try. Sten knew many elves joined the Qunari because of the bad treatment they received at the hands of humans but had felt contempt for those who persisted in feeling defeated or beaten down. He thought if they fully embraced the Qun they would no longer feel that way. Now he was glad he had never expressed that contempt. The small human’s ordeal opened his eyes.

 

Zevran held Blake in his arms as the Warden dozed. He offered what comfort his lover was willing to accept but that was little enough. Zevran was the one who thought to bring in a changing screen so that Pocket Goddess could have some privacy if she desired. In the dark he also kept watch over the hurt woman and the templar who suffered on her behalf. Blake knew Zevran was doing the best he could and was willing to offer everything he had to ease his pain but he wasn’t quite ready to accept it. Not when Package was still so damaged, so haunted. Riordan did not sleep much this far into his Wardenship for which he was grateful. The little one’s ordeal made the nightmares so much worse than usual. He found himself praying to the Maker, something he hadn’t done in years if not decades, to grant her peace and solace from her pain.

 

Alistair couldn’t sleep. Even if the cot were big enough for his frame he wouldn’t be able to sleep. All he wanted was to be in bed with his Jannasilane, holding her, offering her all the comfort he could give her but she wasn’t ready. He’d given her the choice whether he would join her in the bed and she’d hesitated. He stood there waiting for her answer. She looked away from him and plucked at the blankets. He sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, “Janna,” he waited for her to look at him. When she didn’t he put his finger on her chin and gently turned her to face him. “If you’re not ready you’re not ready. I can accept that. But I want you to remember something, I love you. I want to be at your side until the day I die and nothing, nobody will ever change that.” He stood up and moved the cot so it was right next to the bed. “I will only be an arm’s length away if you need me. I’m going to kiss you goodnight, now.” He moved slowly, giving her plenty of time to move away if she wanted. He felt her relax when he kissed her forehead and was relieved she didn’t stiffen or cringe when he gently kissed her trembling lips. Alistair could feel her eyes watching him climb into the cot. He closed his eyes and hoped he was doing the right thing. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt her small hand barely caress the side of his face before retreating.

 

In her room Anora was also restless. She kept replaying the private conversation with the girl traveling with the Wardens; one where she’d attempted to convey her sympathies over what had been done. The girl’s answer was not what she expected. “For what are you apologizing, Your Majesty? Are you sorry that I was taken with the Wardens or that the Wardens were taken at all? Are you sorry you weren’t successful in your efforts to get rid of the Wardens? Are you sorry Ser Cauthrien was waiting for us when we were leaving? Are you sorry you betrayed us? Are you sorry that my Wardens were hurt on your behalf? Or are you just sorry that I was raped by one guard after another, that as a result of their brutality I lost the babe I carried?” Anora didn’t know if the younger woman even realized that tears were streaming down her face. She knew she would forever remember the stark pain emanating from her. Jannasilane didn’t wait long for an answer, “When you are ready with the truth you may speak to me again.”

 

Anora sighed in the dark, “It seemed a logical move at the time. Alistair would be in Fort Drakon and not a threat, Father would no longer be regent, possibly exiled to Gwaren, and Howe dealt with as he deserved. I would have arranged for Blake’s release after the Landsmeet was over and my position as queen secured. Mother once told me that inheriting my father’s intelligence was a blessing but she hoped I was careful in how I used it. I didn’t know what she meant then but I think I am starting to understand.”

 

She was so tired. Her emotions were running all over the place. She was glad her Wardens were safe; happy to hear their breathing. She was grateful Wynne made sure they weren’t separated. She wanted to be alone so she could hide. She wanted Alistair’s arms around her but couldn’t bear the thought of his touch. Finally sleep claimed her but rest did not. A nightmare held her in an iron grip and tormented her. The rapes jumbled in her mind, coming so fast Jannasilane couldn’t keep track of when one ended and another started. When she felt the blood gushing from between her legs she screamed and screamed and screamed.

 

Alistair heard her thrashing and tried to determine if it was restlessness or something worse. When she screamed he moved, “Shh, love, it’s a dream, a nightmare, shh.” She didn’t hear him and lashed out with fists, feet, teeth and nails. Before he could restrain her she broke his nose again, “Get Wynne and Leliana,” he ordered Blake and Zevran. His voice was still gentle but firmer as he tried to get through to her, “Come back to me, my love, don’t let the bastards win. Shh, I have you now.” He repeated the words over and over until she finally calmed down, crying in his arms.

 

The two rogues didn’t have far to go. When Blake stepped into the hall the entire household was either outside the door or coming up the stairs. All of them displayed varying degrees of concern, even Morrigan. Wynne and Leliana slipped inside at Blake’s direction while he calmed everyone down. Some lingered and offered their assistance. Finally they returned to their rooms. With a sigh Blake settled into the alcove on the stairs to wait. He rubbed his temples, “Zev, would you go see how she’s doing? Since you’re an elf you might seem less threatening to her at the moment.”

 

“Your wish is my command, my dear Warden. Though it is an odd thing for an assassin to be deemed non-threatening,” he lightly touched Blake on the shoulder before silently leaving.

 

Blake leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. His blood was still racing from fear engendered by her screams, “I suppose it would have been the same for Elissa if she lived.” He didn’t even turn his head when he heard the rustle of silk sitting down next to him. “Is there something you wanted, Your Majesty?” At that moment he didn’t give a damn if she was insulted or not.

 

“I, maybe it’s not the best time but since we are alone I want to first offer you my condolences on the loss of your family. Your mother in particular was dear to me. I know her acceptance and kindness made things easier for me years ago,” she added. Anora shifted uncomfortably, “I also apologize for any of my actions which resulted in your capture. I never wanted you or your companion harmed.”

 

“Well this is interesting,” Blake opened his eyes and looked at the queen next to him, unsure how he would react. “Are you also sorry Alistair was captured?” he pushed.

 

“I’m not sure. I am trying to be honest with you, Warden. I spoke with your friend earlier and she asked me many questions about my intent before dismissing me.”

 

Blake laughed for the first time since rescuing the queen, “Package is a most unusual woman and one of the bravest, strongest people I know.” He studied Anora. She seemed to be deep in thought and not averse to listening. He decided to take a chance, “My father always admired your father’s intelligence and appreciated his devotion to freeing Ferelden from Orlesian control. But he also considered Loghain’s ability to detach himself as both an asset and a danger.”

 

Anora looked at him, “Go on.”

 

“In war a certain detachment makes it easier to weigh the benefits against the risks of various maneuvers,” he added. “It’s acceptable in part because those troops signed up knowing they were risking their lives.” He watched to see if Anora understood what he was saying. “My father taught us that when governing sometimes the most logical or most efficient answer to a problem isn’t always the best one in the long term. That you should never, ever forget that your decisions will affect people’s lives and not just soldiers. When he made the hard decisions our people at least felt they weren’t ignored. Many of the bodies,” he had to stop speaking for a minute, “many of the bodies I passed in Castle Cousland weren’t those of servants running away but of servants who fought back with anything at hand, even a frying pan. Sometimes I wonder if Duncan and I were able to escape because of all those little delays.”

 

Anora nodded thoughtfully, “I am glad you escaped. I appreciate your candor but now I shall return to my room. Good night, Warden, I hope your friend recovers soon,” she stood gracefully and left quickly.

 

Blake wondered if she understood that he was referring to her and not just her father. “She’s a very intelligent woman; I doubt she missed what I was saying. Is she willing to change? Maker, I’m tired.” He decided it was time for him to return to his room and try to get some much needed rest.

 

“She’ll be fine, Warden. Leliana’s stories helped calm her down. Nightmares are to be expected and the only harm done was to Alistair’s nose, which I fixed. At Jannasilane’s request I enchanted the changing screen as I did the canvas wall of your tent. Just move it next to her bed when she is resting. I will see you in the morning,” she smiled tiredly and left. Leliana was already gone.

 

Blake found Zevran lounging on the bed next to Alistair and trying to reassure Package, “My most delightful Pocket Goddess, in time nobody will remember your dulcet tones sounding in the night.” Her only answer was to burrow even farther into Alistair’s arms and under the covers until all Blake could see was the tip of a very red nose. He looked at Alistair who was looking at Zevran as if the elf was a few brains short of a nug.

 

Blake lay behind him and pulled Zevran against him, needing the contact, “Dulcet tones?” he mouthed softly against Zevran’s ear. Zevran shrugged. The Warden shook his head and tried to reassure her, “Package, your friends are concerned about you. You shouldn’t be embarrassed. There isn’t one of us who wouldn’t like to make those animals suffer more than they did. I’m so sorry you had a nightmare but we are here for you.”

 

Jannasilane was silent except for a few sniffles. Finally she poked her head from under the covers and spoke so silently even Alistair barely heard her, “Will the nightmares ever stop?” The room went completely silent.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 63:  Days of Darkness Past

Soft as it was Jannasilane’s question echoed in the silence. She might as well as asked if she would ever be whole, that was her real meaning and each of them knew it. The men looked at each other but didn’t speak. Blake didn’t know and Zevran didn’t want to tell her what he suspected. Finally Alistair broke the silence, “Mine never did.” Later Zevran would have sworn he could hear the stars blinking in the night sky.

 

Jannasilane shifted in his arms so she was facing him. She frowned a little as she searched his face for any clues but he avoided looking directly at her. Instead he concentrated his attention on the lock of her hair he was holding and fingering. She placed her hands on each side of his face and stroked his cheekbones with her thumbs until he glanced at her, “You do not mean the Archdemon or Duncan . . .” Her voice trailed off and she left the implied question hanging in the air.

 

He didn’t answer her right away. He let himself marvel at her hair, the way it seemed to wrap itself around his finger, “I love your hair. I don’t think I’ve ever seen hair so alive as yours. There’s something a bit wild and untamed about it; as if it holds hints to all the mysteries of the universe.” He sighed and looked so sad and hurt as he stared into the distant past that Jannasilane wanted to just hug him and tell him he needn’t say another word. Before she could he took a deep breath and looked her in the eye, “No, it happened years ago. I don’t have them often but sometimes . . . One nice thing about being a Grey Warden is that you’re expected to have nightmares so nobody asks you about them.”

 

Blake motioned to Zevran and the two of them carefully slid to the side of the bed but Alistair stopped them. “You might as well stay, I’m sure you’ve guessed enough anyway. Just, just don’t interrupt or I might never get it out. I told you the grand cleric didn’t want to let me go and that Duncan had to conscript me. She didn’t like that at all. You see, now she couldn’t punish me anymore for killing one of her favorite young templars.”

 

“Well that certainly surprised them, even Zevran is gawping,” he thought with dark amusement. He let that knowledge sink in before continuing, “I didn’t fit in with the other boys at the Chantry. The boys from noble families looked down on me and the others thought I put on airs. So I was a loner among my peers and I seem to have this knack for asking odd questions or saying the wrong thing to those in charge.”

 

Blake remembered when he first met Alistair. He was trying not to argue with some mage but ended up saying he would name one of his children after him, ‘the grumpy one.’ He smiled just a little and Alistair caught it.

 

“Yes, yes, my amazing ability to clean dishes is a direct result of my unfortunate words. I liked it, nobody else wanted to do it and there was absolutely no excuse for anyone else to be there so I wasn’t bothered. I was used to not getting along with other children so scrubbing pots and pans was comforting in a way, I could let my mind wander and not get in trouble. And I’m digressing,” he huffed a bit. It was even harder than he imagined to be talking about this.

 

Jannasilane kissed his cheek and laid her head on his shoulder. She slowly stroked his hair. He tightened his arms around her, relieved when after only a brief hesitation she snuggled closer against him. He nuzzled her hair a moment before continuing, “I guess I was an easy target. There was certainly nothing special about me, just another grubby urchin with a tendency to get into trouble. One night I was sneaking out of my room, I guess I was too used to sleeping in the stables. Sharing a room with all those other boys . . . I wanted to breathe and I knew just where I wanted to go. Overlooking the training arena for the templars was a hill. It was mostly woods but there was a small glade where I could watch without anybody seeing me. I used to pretend I was the one being trained to fight, that one day I would be somebody who couldn’t be pushed around. It wasn’t a secret place, exactly, just one not used much. It saw a lot of use that night.

 

“Well, well, somebody is out where they’re not supposed to be,” the speaker was a few years older than Alistair. Lucas was good looking with an innocent face, until you looked at his eyes. Those baby blues hadn’t been innocent since he was in swaddling clothes. Alistair instinctively avoided him as much as possible, him and his friends. Now he had no choice.

 

He jutted his chin out, “There’s no rule against being here.” He watched the others carefully, fists clenched at his side.

 

Lucas’s mouth moved into a tight little smile, “Not during the day. You younger boys are supposed to be snug in your bed not up to who knows what out of your room.” They began circling him. Alistair tried to keep his eyes on the leader, he was the most dangerous. “I’ve been watching you, Al-i-stair. You don’t seem to have any friends here, Al-i-stair. We could be your friends, Al-i-stair. Would you like that, Al-i-stair?”

 

The taunting continued until Alistair yelled at him, “Go away. I don’t want to be your friend.”

 

Lucas stopped. This was what he’d been waiting for. “Now my feelings are hurt. You have a fresh mouth, Al-i-stair. I think it’s time you learned what happened to young boys with fresh mouths,” he bared his teeth in an imitation of a smile. Soon Alistair was naked and shivering in the night air. Two of the trainees were holding him by the arms and he was still defiant. He was also beginning to feel a real fear but didn’t know of what. Lucas wasn’t very tall but he seemed like a giant to the boy he was tormenting. “Such a nice form you have, Al-i-stair,” he said as he explored the young body held for him. He squeezed firm young buttocks and Alistair squeaked, his mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ of surprise. Lucas swooped in and forced his tongue inside, plundering the virgin territory. He pulled Alistair’s body against him, squeezing and kneading his rear and letting the young boy feel his erection through his trousers.

 

Alistair was panicking. This wasn’t right! He’d seen men courting women in Redcliffe and sometimes they kissed. At the time he found it disgusting but this was so much worse. He began to struggle harder, tears streaming down his cheeks and when Lucas moved away he yelled at him, “Leave me alone! I’m not a g-g-girl!”

 

The others snickered. “That’s where you’re wrong, Al-i-stair. Tonight you’re not just a girl but our girl, our ******. And we’re going to show you the only thing a ****** is good for,” Lucas signaled and Alistair was forced to the ground, on his hands and knees. When he felt his rear being spread apart his eyes nearly popped out of his head. One of them covered his mouth, stifling his scream when Lucas rammed into him with all the force of which he was capable. “I like spirit, ******, keep on fighting me. It just makes my pleasure that much greater.”

 

He couldn’t have stopped fighting if he wanted. The burning pain was agony and all he wanted was to get away. He didn’t even hear himself crying, “No, no no, nononono, no-o-o-o.” Feeling Lucas’ seed spurting inside him was almost a balm to his torn flesh. When Lucas pulled out the others let go and he fell to the ground, whimpering.

 

The casual slap on his backside was an added insult, “Stop sniveling, Al-i-stair. You don’t make such a bad ****** but your lesson isn’t over yet. Everyone here gets a turn, one way or another. You need to learn your place here. On your knees, ******.” Alistair tried to scramble away but he didn’t get very far. He fell down and started to push himself up for flight but froze when Lucas laughed, “Isn’t he an eager one, waving his bum in the air for the next taker. Did you like it, Al-i-stair? You protested but maybe you protested too much. Which way do you want it this time?” They all laughed at the confusion on his face. Lucas licked the tears from his face, “Yes, you have so very much to learn.” This time it was Lucas holding him for the benefit of the others. Some used his mouth, others followed Lucas’ example, and some worked in tandem. Once everybody had a turn Lucas put a stop to it. “That’s enough, we may want to arrange another rendezvous, he was just so sweet,” he pet Alistair like a dog before standing and looking down at him. “Not a word, Al-i-stair, we’re not the only ones who might enjoy a little ****** like you at their disposal.” As one Lucas and his friends turned away and left him alone in the night.

 

Alistair gulped for air, “I’ll kill them all,” he said to nobody. He got as far as his hands and knees before he started retching. He felt sick to his very soul.

 

“Somehow I got dressed and made it back to the bedroom I shared with the other boys. I stopped by the stables on the way and cleaned up as best as I could. When I woke the next morning I thought at first it was a bad dream. Or maybe I just wanted to believe it, I did have bruises that weren’t there when I went to sleep and I was sore where I shouldn’t have been. If I had any doubts Lucas soon cleared them up with comments I shouldn’t have understood. He was careful enough not to say anything when somebody other than his cohorts was with him. He even pinched me sometimes and asked if I was ready to be his ****** again. This went on for two days before I gathered up my courage to tell somebody. I decided to go to the senior templar in charge of training and approached him at the end of the day when he was alone.

 

“Ser, may I speak to you for a moment,” Alistair asked as respectfully as he knew how. The taciturn knight turned around and regarded him with one eyebrow raised.

 

“Alright boy, but make it quick.” The templar’s face darkened when Alistair told him what happened and at first Alistair took heart. He was quickly disillusioned, “You snuck out in the middle of the night and now you come to me with some wild tale to cover up your bad behavior. I was going to let it go, Lucas told me he didn’t think you’d do it again. But apparently you didn’t learn your lesson.” He dragged Alistair behind him and grabbed a wooden paddle. Alistair tried not to cry but eventually lost that battle. His howls of pain were ignored; more than one boy had been disciplined by the trainer so no one thought anything of it. Once Alistair was crying uncontrollably, his rear burning and bruised from the paddle the templar stopped. “Tomorrow you are confined to quarters. Let that be a listen. I will not tolerate liars. Now get out of here.” He roughly pushed Alistair towards the door. The coarse fabric of his trousers was harsh against his skin, causing more pain when he moved.

 

He thought the worst of his ordeal over until Lucas and friends appeared. “We have been watching you, Al-i-stair. You have been a very bad boy, telling lies about me. You must be punished, Al-i-stair and it must be a lesson you will not forget. Our trainer,” he sneered contemptuously when he referred to the templar, “thinks very highly of me and told me of your attempts to discredit me. Bad, bad boy.” They dragged him to the then empty infirmary. His struggles amused Lucas. One of them put a gag in his mouth since they didn’t want his screams to attract unnecessary attention. Once again he was stripped naked at Lucas’ direction, “Such a shame to see bruises and welts on your pretty rear but you deserve it,” he took aim and slapped his hand on top of the deepest welt. “It is not enough.”

 

Alistair sighed and pushed his hair back as if he were pushing back the memories. “It was a long night; I won’t bore you with the details. Needless to say I didn’t complain again. I don’t think I would have survived another night like that. I was cleaned up and forced to drink health potions before two of them carried me back to my bed. I still don’t like the smell of elfroot. The other boys knew I’d been in trouble and they avoided me as if I had the plague. Since I didn’t want to see them either I didn’t care, I just wanted to be miserable in peace. For once I was grateful we only had cold water for bathing.

 

Lucas left me alone except for comments I pretended not to understand and I tried to be around other boys who I thought were vulnerable as I had been. I knew my interference was making him angry but I just couldn’t let anybody else be hurt if I could help it. Sometimes one or two would catch me in spite of my efforts . . . I got good at learning just how much trouble I could get in which would make me unavailable instead of more vulnerable. There were fewer incidents the older I got, partly because they were transferred after their training completed and partly because I was too big to be easily subdued. I studied hard and I trained even harder. Apparently there was no doubt about me becoming a templar. I’ll always be grateful to Duncan.”

 

“Did Duncan know?” Blake was curious. It was the safest thing he could think of to ask. It hurt to think of his friend as a defenseless boy, that while he’d been catching worms to put in Elissa’s bed Alistair was being abused.

 

“No,” Alistair shook his head. “All those years nobody ever guessed. I got so good at pretending innocence sometimes I even convinced myself that it had never happened. That I really was some clumsy, inexperienced virgin instead of . . . anyway I prefer jokes about my inexperience to ones about . . . you know.”

 

Jannasilane sat up straight and poked Alistair in the shoulder, “I hope somebody cut off their putrid male roots and shoved them down their throats.”

 

While Blake and Zevran were choking on her words Alistair smiled at her. He put her face in his hands and brought her close, “I really find this vicious streak of yours incredibly sexy.” When he kissed her she kissed him back with everything she had.

 

“While I appreciate and agree with the sentiments of Pocket Goddess,” Zevran pretended to shiver, “I hope she never feels the need for such occurrences to happen to any of us. I would also like to know if they still live. If so I willingly offer my services to change such an unfortunate situation.”

 

“Lucas was good at charming those in charge,” he told the assassin. “He used his charm to secure a position with the grand cleric, as part of her retinue. The old, er, she was blind to his true character. He flattered her, you see. I kept an eye on him as much as I could but was almost too late. He was attacking a young boy, an orphan turned over to the Chantry. He wanted to . . . use him as he had me. I’d stopped him before but this time he simply snapped. He charged me, but I was bigger and stronger now which seemed to infuriate him. When he picked up a weapon I defended myself. The grand cleric was furious. You probably met her at Ostagar,” he turned to Blake. “I don’t know what she would have done if the boy hadn’t confirmed my story. The knight-captain also backed me up. He said he’d heard rumors but been unable to get hard evidence.” Alistair shook his head, “Funny, he was the one who called me a liar all those years ago. I believe he warned the commanders where the others were stationed.”

 

“Now I understand the look you gave me when I said you I found you more attractive than either Morrigan or Package here. It was on the way to Lothering,” Blake added for Zevran’s benefit. “I’m glad you decided not to attack me.”

 

Alistair actually blushed, “Well, um, I learned that some men willingly preferred men. I accidentally saw two of the younger templars together and at first I thought one was being forced. And then he smiled at the other man, which really confused me. I never felt like smiling. And later they were joking around and teasing each other. This . . . arrangement,” he waved his hand indicating the four of them, “is unusual even by Grey Warden standards which are pretty unconventional. I mean, I know some of the male soldiers connected with each other but not as obviously as some of the Wardens. What I mean to say is I learned that’s what some people prefer and I’m okay with that. I don’t have to understand it. As long as nobody is being forced to do something they don’t want then it’s none of my business.”

 

Zevran stared at him for so long that Alistair began to fidget, “You, oh stalwart warrior, are one of the most remarkable and noble men I have ever met. I am honored to be your friend.”

 

“Cut it out, Zev,” Alistair protested uncomfortably, “I’m the same person I was yesterday but, uh, thanks for the compliment.”

 

“You Fereldans,” Zevran shook his head in mock disapproval.

 

Blake lightly bit his lover’s ear, “You could tell me how wonderful I am,” he teased, relieved to see the darkness leaving his friend, “instead of embarrassing our noble templar. You know you are challenging his low self-esteem.” Alistair rolled his eyes when the elf chuckled.

 

“Zevran is quite correct, you are the most remarkable of men, my Ali,” Jannasilane said tearfully. “I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better.”

 

“You did that the day I met you,” Alistair responded, wiping her tears away. “What happened to me was a long time ago. Horrible as it was I survived, just as you will. You’re stronger than anybody I know, stronger than I’ve ever been. The only thing I ask is that you don’t shut me out, that you let me help you, love you.”

 

“I think I can manage that,” she snuggled against him. “I am glad none of them were as big as you, this is truth.” She smiled against him when he started sputtering. Finally she began to feel some hope for the future.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 64:  Poor Gratitude to the Night Elves

“There is some sort of unrest in the Alienage which seems odd since almost none of them have been involved in the war and certainly don’t share the same losses from Ostagar. I’m afraid my father and Howe may be the cause.”

 

“It must indeed be something most egregious if the elves turned against Loghain,” Eamon frowned. “In the war against Orlais it was Loghain who gave them a status and respect nobody else had.”

 

Alistair lifted one eyebrow in query, “You mean the Night Elves? I heard about them, an archery division composed solely of elves due to the sharpness of their night vision. Huh, they should be friendly towards him.”

 

“Howe probably made it even worse, he never liked elven servants. If they were in his way he would probably just run over them without blinking unless his horse stumbled,” Blake added. “If it looks like we’ll be gone more than one night I’ll send word.”

 

“I will leave you to your preparations then,” Anora nodded regally. “Warden,” she added, “I would appreciate your coming to speak to me soon.” She left the room, confident Blake would soon join her. She was surprised to see Erlina arguing with the Wardens’ friend, Jannasilane. “It’s alright, Erlina. You can leave us, if she were going to attack me she would have done it before now,” she added drily and was amused to see the small woman flush.

 

When the door closed Jannasilane lifted her chin, “I lost my temper before and I apologize, your Majesty.” Her posture belied the humble words.

 

Anora regarded the young woman, girl rather, thoughtfully before waving away her words, “Under the circumstances you were more restrained than another might have been. I appreciate your loyalty to your friends and whatever else you choose to believe I truly regret that any of you, especially you, were harmed.”

 

Jannasilane relaxed, “There is something I think you should know.” The two of them spoke for some time, long enough for Blake to be kept waiting in the hallway with Erlina.

 

“What were you doing in there?” he asked when Package came out.

 

“Girl talk,” she said airily. Anora smiled to herself when she heard that, never in her life had she indulged in ‘girl talk.’ “I will wait out front in the sunshine,” and Package walked away.

 

While Blake was speaking to Anora Alistair took the opportunity to have a quick word with Leliana. The pretty redhead was surprised at his request, “You can trust me, Alistair. If it is possible it will be done.”

 

Teagan was outside arguing with Jannasilane when Blake, Alistair, Wynne, Zevran and General Lee left the estate. The Bann was exasperated and worried, “My dear Jannasilane, you’ve been through a terrible ordeal. You should stay and rest. I hate the thought of you being hurt again, especially so soon.” He was holding her hands between his as if that were enough to keep her from leaving.

 

She shook her head, “You are a good friend but I could not live with myself if I stayed behind when my Wardens need me. I am shorter than the elves as Blake was quick to point out,” she scowled a little at the reminder, “and therefore am less of a threat. Or at least will appear to be so. I hate to say that he is right but truth is truth. Wynne is an excellent healer and she would not allow me to go if I were not ready. I will not insult you by telling you not to worry but I promise to be careful.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and a friendly hug.

 

He gave up, “See that you do, my lady. I’m quite fond of you and would not care to lose you.” His blues eyes were clouded with worry in spite of his smile. Teagan watched them go and decided he could drink with the dwarf, entertain Her Majesty, or train with his men and the Qunari.

 

“Are you sure you wish to come, my love?” like Teagan Alistair was concerned it might be too soon. He brushed his hand over her hair as much to reassure himself as indulge his ever-present desire to simply touch her. “No one is forcing you to go or will think less of you if you stay behind.”

 

For answer she brought him to his knees and then grabbed hold of the sides of his head. She brought her lips to his in a kiss that seared his brain to mush and he could only blink like a stunned owl when she walked away. “I am fine, my Ali. I feel ready to burst out of my skin I am so itchy. This is truth.”

 

“I-itchy?” Alistair was mortified when his voice squeaked on the word. Blushing furiously he got to his feet and didn’t say another word. Blake and Zevran grinned at each other in relief and even Wynne permitted herself a small smile. General Lee barked happily and nearly knocked Jannasilane to the ground more than once before he settled.

 

“Wynne, we’ve heard rumors of a plague. If that’s the case do you need anything?” Blake asked after several minutes. “I’m almost hoping that’s the problem.”

 

“If true there is only so much that can be done and that only if the elves will cooperate. Their distrust of humans may be the biggest obstacle,” she noted.

 

“Which is one reason I am here, dear lady,” Zevran bowed handsomely before her. “I am to be an ambassador of good will if these elves do not recognize the worthiness of you humans.” Jannasilane snickered and Alistair rolled his eyes. He muttered something which was ignored.

 

They no longer were barred from entering and crossed the bridge, stopping a moment on the other side to get their bearings. “I've never been in an alienage. Life must be... hard here,” Wynne was dismayed by the conditions but tried not to show it.

 

“Alienages are very much the same everywhere, you are correct that it is not a kind existence,” Zevran answered her soberly for once. “Let me knock on some doors, a human may not receive an answer for it is almost always bad when a human makes an appearance here.” On the third try a door opened and after a brief conversation he motioned for the others to join him inside. Their host was none other than the elf they rescued from Howe’s dungeon. “You remember Soris? He is willing to tell us what he knows.” It turned out he couldn’t tell them much but suggested they talk to his cousin Shianni.

 

Shianni was dubious at first and scathing in her comments until she recognized the Wardens from Soris’ description. “Something isn’t right. I don’t believe in this quarantine of theirs. They appear to be taking healthy elves, such as Hahren Valendrian.  If their magic really prevents the plague then there should be no reason one of us can’t go in to see him or any of the others. Elves go in but never come out.”

 

Wynne shook her head, “I have been a healer for many years and have never even heard rumors of such magic as you are describing.”

 

“Perhaps a little subterfuge is in order. Are you willing to play along, Pocket Goddess?” Zevran’s eyes gleamed in anticipation. Blake and Alistair looked at each other then at the Antivan but before either could say anything he spoke up, “Remember, you wanted her here because she looks non-threatening.” He dismissed them and his own qualms, “To this end you should remove your chestpiece and gauntlets. We shall be workers from one of the brothels and our mistress wishes to protect her most popular worker, my most handsome self. You can hide your daggers in your belt-”

 

  “Jannasilane could never pass as a, er, a prostitute,” Alistair protested as Jannasilane’s shoulders and more of her breasts were revealed.

 

“She will after a couple more adjustments,” Zevran promised. “There are two sorts of humans who might come openly into the Alienage, three if you count stupid: nobles who know the elves will not dare act against them no matter what they do and those on the lower end of human society. We do not wish to be seen as criminals so . . .” He ignored her blushing while he loosened the laces at the top of her tunic in order to expose more of her magnificent bosom. Alistair gulped and would have said something but the Antivan’s next words dried up his protest, “Kiss her, Alistair. Kiss her hard and long and tangle your hands in her hair; that should be the final touch.”

 

The warrior sighed in mock resignation, “The things I do for the cause.” He ignored her hitting him and brought his face to hers. Alistair wrapped her hair around his fist and held her still so he could plunder her mouth with lips and tongue. He nipped her lower lip and after a moment she eagerly responded, refusing to allow any memories to take hold. When he finally let her go her face was flushed, her lips swollen and her eyes had a distinctly sensual glow.

 

Zevran smiled. “Now we go forth, allow me to lean on you my beautiful Pocket Goddess,” he placed his arm across her shoulders and she wrapped one around his waist. “Just follow my lead, bellissima.” As they neared the mages from Tevinter he began to argue, “It is silly to bring me here. There is nothing wrong with me and I don’t even live here.” He moved his fingers across her skin just enough to draw the attention of the guards to her beautiful golden flesh.

 

She shook her head violently, “But some of the others do or come here often. Our boss wants you protected. You, you are healers are you not? My friend needs to be protected from the plague. He is one of our most popular workers.” She tapped her foot to hide her agitation upon sensing they were not healers at all. The mages hesitated and she started to yell at them, “I will not have his blood on my hands because you do not wish to use your magic on him. You must do something!”

 

“Calm down, young woman, if you sense any hesitation it is only surprise to see a woman such as yourself here. We haven’t had any of your fellow workers come calling,” the mage Veras quickly appraised the two before him. The elf was easily acceptable but the girl with him was another story. “Then again, she’s unusual enough to raise interest. If she gives any trouble we’ll take her too and figure out what to do with her later.” He smiled grimly, decision made, “I’m afraid your friend here already has the plague and will have to be quarantined.”

 

Jannasilane couldn’t help paling at the words even though she knew they were false, “I’ll go in with you and make sure you’re settled. Mistress will switch my bottom otherwise,” as if remembering previous occasions she ‘unconsciously’ rubbed the top of her rear. Zevran noticed a couple of the guards shifting and hoped she wasn’t overplaying her role. He had to admire her courage in doing so after her recent ordeal.

 

Veras nodded, “You will have to. You must be quarantined as well.” He signaled to the guards, “Please escort these two inside.” Jannasilane held onto Zevran that much harder and hid her face against his shoulder as they were led into the building. She wasn’t sure she could manage to look convincing so did the next best thing.

 

From their position they could hear and see everything. “Blood mages,” Alistair exclaimed, “I wonder what they’re up to.” He was worried, he also noticed the guards shifting in place when she rubbed her bottom and knew they were shifting for the same reason he was.

 

“We’ll give them a few minutes inside and then attack,” Blake whispered. “Alistair, you start with a smite and Wynne you make sure you’re ready with the Litany of Adralla. If I know Zevran and our Package they’ll be giving any guards inside enough trouble.” He signaled General Lee to go around the back and take care of any guards in the alley.

 

Inside Zevran and Jannasilane looked around. They saw a few more guards, no beds and no healers or nurses; it was confirmation that the Tevinters were up to something and it had nothing to do with healing. Zevran had his own suspicions based on past experience. One man who appeared to be in charge was sitting behind a desk, “Bring them over here and let me look at ‘em.” He moved out from behind his desk and stood there with his arms crossed, a frown on his face. He pointed at Zevran with his chin, “You, over there.” He looked Jannasilane up and down, “You’re no elf. What am I supposed to do with you? Hold her,” he commanded two guards to grab her arms. “The hair is nice, very nice and you seem to be young and reasonably fresh . . . now open your mouth.” He didn’t wait and pried her mouth open, chuckling when she bit his finger, “You got some spirit, good, don’t make us beat it all out of you or it’ll drive down the price. You have good teeth, a positive sign.” He looked her up and down, mentally stripping her. She started to struggle and he calmly cuffed the side of her head, “Cease your efforts girl.” His inspection was thorough but completely dispassionate. Once he was done he casually backhanded her across the face, “I told you, not too much spirit. Put her with her friend.”

 

Zevran hated playing the part of a cowed elf but knew he must continue the role until it was time to strike. He lowered his lashes to hide the gleam in them when the leader of these guards started to touch Pocket Goddess. It was hard to watch her being treated thus but knew he had to wait. He promised himself the man would die quite soon. “I suppose I should be thankful that these are proper businessmen,” he grit his teeth. He anticipated the Wardens would attack any minute and provide a diversion. If not they would take care of these slavers on their own. His arms automatically went around her when she was shoved into him, “You were very brave, Minit, are you okay?” She nodded her head and Zevran breathed a sigh of relief. “Watch for my signal.”

 

“Quiet!” the nearest guard barked. Jannasilane took a small step away from Zevran in order to give them room to maneuver.

 

When they heard the faint sounds of a disturbance outside Zevran silently thanked Blake for teaching him some ranger skills in exchange for learning the assassin’s art. Before he finished his summoning he winked at Pocket Goddess and she immediately went into action, retrieving her dagger and attacking the nearest guard. Others drew near and she let out her battle song with all the fervor of which she was capable. Quickly they dispatched as many of the stunned guards as they could, leaving less than a handful to regain their wits and fight back.

 

While Wynne remained outside to tend to any elves wounded in the skirmish the Wardens entered the false hospice and relaxed to see no danger. Zevran was busily looting the bodies and any chests he could find, looking for information. Jannasilane was sitting on top of the desk frowning at a piece of paper in her hand. Relief was followed so hard by a burning ball of lust that Alistair stumbled on his way to her side. “I wish we had a desk at camp,” he muttered when he stood in front of her. She looked up and was mesmerized by the heat in his gaze.

 

She licked her lips and blinked when he groaned. “Th-they were slavers,’ she said when she could speak. She waved the piece of paper in front of him and he grabbed it.

 

He set his jaw and spoke through clenched teeth, “Ferelden does not tolerate slavery. This note doesn’t prove his involvement but if Loghain approved this then he has betrayed the very core of what Ferelden stands for.”

 

“Perhaps he does not see elves as citizens, or sees them as lesser creatures,” Zevran remarked without bothering to hide his bitterness.

 

“Then he has no business calling himself a Fereldan!” Alistair shot back. “When we talk about the people of Ferelden that is not supposed to be a club for humans only. Every citizen, be they human, elf or dwarf has the same rights as any other citizen. If they aren’t treated that way it is the fault of those in power and who should do better.”

 

Zevran slowly clapped his hands, “That is admirable, my lovely templar, but hardly realistic. Look around you, elves do not have the same rights as you humans.”

 

Alistair narrowed his eyes at the Antivan, “Are you trying to make me angry, Zev? Technically they do have the same rights but I’m well aware prejudice ignores that. I don’t know who’s at fault for the condition of the Alienage, any alienage. I don’t believe changing the status quo is going to be easy but a leader isn’t supposed to settle for what’s easy.” He glared at Zevran, daring him to say something.

 

“You’re both right,” Blake interrupted them. He cocked his head at his lover, “And you know Alistair better than that.” Unspoken was the ‘and me.’

 

“I do,” Zevran admitted. “I suppose this whole operation has touched a nerve, but it was good to hear the words out loud nevertheless.” That was as much of an apology as he would offer.

 

Once Jannasilane was fully armored they went outside and found Shianni talking with Wynne. As soon as she saw the Wardens she accosted them, “Well? What did you find? Some elves ran out but I didn’t recognize any of them. They’ve taken a lot more than that into their quarantine. Where are the others?” She stepped back in alarm when they told her their suspicions. “None have come out this way; they must have gone through the old apartments behind the alley. You can get to the docks from there if you know how.”

 

Before they left Wynne gave some instructions to the outspoken elf, “Once we have gotten to the bottom of this disgraceful event I will return and help you. You may not have enough of those supplies immediately on hand for our needs so please take this coin. I can do more for you faster when I return if all is ready. I shall see you soon, my dear.”

 

Traversing the labyrinthian hallways of the decrepit apartments they found many sites where it was obvious somebody was taken away and wondered if they would even find any of the elves still in Ferelden. Zevran was the only one not shocked to discover that the leader of the mercenaries herding the captives was an elf herself. Finally they reached the end of the trail: a large warehouse guarded by several men at arms and mages of every description. The man in charge of the entire operation was a blood mage surrounded by guards. Behind him were several elves in cages. He tried to bargain with them. When they refused he fought; he and his men did not go down easy.

 

“What a despicable man,” Wynne shook her head over the dead mage on the floor. “I believe you have the evidence you need, Warden. If you don’t need me I shall return to Shianni, I’ll feel . . . cleaner if we can at least give these elves a start on setting up a proper clinic.”

 

  Jannasilane waited impatiently for Wynne to leave. Once the mage was out of earshot she spoke quickly, “Can we leave the city? Just for a short time? We can go back to our old campsite, there is something I must discuss and I will not do it here.” She practically hopped from one foot to the other while waiting for the answer.

 

“Does it have something to do with your ‘itchy’ feeling?” Alistair asked but she wouldn’t answer.

 

Blake studied her, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to wait just a few hours before returning to Eamon with our news. I want to check out the Warden vault anyway. You and Alistair go ahead and we’ll meet you at camp.” She leaped onto him and planted a huge kiss on his cheek before jumping down and tugging Alistair away. The Warden watched them leave and then looked at Zevran, “Well, I’m ready to leave this place. Any idea what’s going on with our Package?”

 

“I admit that I am most curious,” Zevran answered. Without a backwards glance they left the warehouse used by the slavers.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 65: The Words ‘I Love You’ Can be Complicated and Itchy is Good Sometimes

Blake waited until they were locked in the vault before pulling Zevran into his arms with desperate urgency. He tangled his fingers in that golden hair and held the elf so he could kiss him, not caring if he was rougher than usual. His body shuddered from the force of his emotions. Zevran was just as ardent in returning the Warden’s embrace, but concern niggled at the edges of his desire.

 

Blake found a chest and sat down. Gently he cupped the Antivan’s face when Zevran straddled him and noted the concern in those beautiful amber eyes, “I love you, Zevran. One of the happiest moments in my life was when you gave me this earring,” he touched the item briefly. “Sometimes a part of me envied Alistair and Jannasilane. Their love, it has a purity to it that’s incredibly beautiful. Neither of us can claim to be pure,” he smiled slightly and Zevran responded in kind. “I’ve had many lovers, and enjoyed all of them, but you, you are the only one I’ve ever loved. I want you to understand before . . .” he hesitated.

 

Zevran listened carefully. He had no doubts about the other’s feelings but this was difficult territory for him. He knew Blake well. Unlike Alistair who enjoyed telling Pocket Goddess how much he loved her his Warden was much more reserved. Or perhaps discreet was a better word. When they were in camp he was more open in physical displays of affection or desire, it would have been pointless to try and hide it. But elsewhere he picked his moments to be open. They were alike in that. Even their unusual sleeping arrangements were explained away so that Eamon couldn’t be sure. He cleared his throat, “as you know, my dear Warden, I am no more accustomed to saying words of affection in my personal life than you yourself. Do not doubt you are important to me. I would brave the Black City itself to remain at your side.” Blake stopped any further words with a kiss.

 

“I know.” His eyes traced the Antivan’s features as if memorizing them. “I spoke to Anora earlier. She wants my support in the Landsmeet.” Zevran nodded sagely, he might not like her but he could not deny that she was an intelligent woman. Blake continued, “Alistair and Anora both underestimate how good a king he would be, but that’s just delaying what I need to say.” He breathed in the other’s scent as if for the last time, “Anora could be a good queen but I don’t trust her to rule alone.”

 

“Alistair as king . . . this might be good for Ferelden but it would hurt him and Pocket Goddess greatly,” Zevran studied Blake. He braced himself when he saw the misery in the Warden’s eyes, “but you are thinking you should be the one to marry the delicately beautiful and ruthless widow.”

 

“For the good of Ferelden they would both agree to his being king but inside something would die. Honor, and other considerations, would never allow them to stay together. Alistair’s a good man and a good friend but he is . . . vulnerable. The grand cleric didn’t die in Ostagar, more’s the pity. I remember her. He doesn’t realize it yet but she will be a threat to him the first time he does something she doesn’t like. I bet she got the whole story from that senior templar,” Blake sneered, angry at the thought his friend could still suffer from events long past.

 

“Twist the story and you have a king who was once anybody’s plaything and who murdered a templar . . .” Zevran narrowed his eyes, understanding the danger posed to a man who didn’t deserve such treatment. “She will have to die. There is little enough I can do for him, even if he must never know. I dare not tell the Warden, though he may suspect.” Zevran sighed, “The Bannorn would never respect him, at least those who are not his allies. The snickers behind his back, the rumors . . . they would destroy him in time. Either he would withdraw further and further into himself or do something totally repugnant to him in order to force their respect.”

 

“And once the Blight is over the Bannorn may decide Anora wasn’t confident enough or strong enough to prevent Loghain becoming regent. Doesn’t matter if it’s true or not, Ferelden could be torn apart by the power struggles,” Blake added.

 

Zevran carefully kept his expression blank, “So this is where we part. It has been an honor and a pleasure, my dear Warden.”

 

He tried to get up but Blake stopped him, “‘Couslands always do their duty’ were almost the last words my father said to me. I am a Cousland, I can’t not live up to that motto but I also am not the noble, selfless man Alistair is. I don’t want to lose you, Zev, you deserve better than to be a secret but I don’t want to be without you in my life at all.” He released Zevran then and allowed him to move away. “You don’t need to answer me now, just, please, at least think about it.”

 

“Anora won’t like it,” the elf said carefully with a lifted eyebrow. “It won’t be possible to hide our arrangement from her. We could say I’m your personal security expert or some such and that would do for most. We’re clever enough to pull that off. But not from an intelligent wife.”

 

“I don’t plan on trying to hide it from her. If this potential marriage is going to work then I have to be honest with her about our connection. She may not be completely happy but as long as our actions never become public . . . and I would never ask you to refrain from other companionship, especially under the circumstances.”

 

Zevran wished he could disagree with Blake’s assessment. He imagined Alistair and Pocket Goddess separated by the throne, the inevitable pain. And what would it do to him and Blake if they were together at such a cost? Would he lose Blake as well as his two friends? He was not so sure Blake was right about Anora but understood that his Warden wasn’t willing to take the chance on somebody he didn’t trust. He sighed, “Does Alistair know?”

 

Blake snorted, “Would you believe he first suggested it?” He shook his head at Zevran’s surprise, “It was shortly before we reached Redcliffe with the Ashes. You and I hadn’t been together long and we were anticipating Eamon’s decision to put him forward as king. I couldn’t believe my ears when he started to tell me I wasn’t bad looking.”

 

“That is an understatement,” Zevran whispered and eyed the sexy man in front of him. He chuckled, “Alistair is a man of many surprises. Perhaps we should see what other surprises await us at our old campsite.” He stood and offered his hand to his Warden, “I presume you wish to discuss with Alistair your impending marriage before you speak to Anora. I think I would like to be called High Commander of Their Highness’ Personal Security. Do you think I should seduce Erlina? She is rather attractive . . . perhaps the odd maid or two to establish my ‘other credentials’ as it were.”

 

“Only if you tell me the details,” Blake grinned in relief. At the door he stopped him once again to stroke the side of Zevran’s face and kiss him very gently, “Thank you.”

 

For once Alistair had a hard time keeping up with his love. She was quivering with so much energy he thought she might actually burst into hundreds of tiny pieces. She insisted on circling their old campsite several times to make sure they were alone. He watched incredulously when she started to remove her chestpiece and belted skirt, “My love? Y-you know Wynne said to wait a few weeks b-before, umm, uh, d-doing th-that.”

 

Jannasilane leapt into his arms and wrapped her legs around him. She planted kisses on his cheeks and bit his lip before taking possession of his mouth. His arms held her to him; his hands began automatically kneading her wonderful bottom. She then kissed her way to his ear and worried his lobe between her teeth, “I admit I feel incredibly sexy, my Ali. I want to have my way with you, though you might be hurt. I want your hands on me, my breasts, my rear . . . my womanhood. I want to feel you deep inside me, so deep we are like one.” Her tongue delicately traced the structure of his ear and he shuddered from the force of his desire. When she leapt backwards out of his arms he whimpered, his eyes glazed and then astonishment overlay his lust at her next words, “But right now I need to climb a tree.” She danced away and he watched her disappear into the branches of a tall oak.

 

When Blake and Zevran appeared they were surprised to see the templar standing like a statue, pieces of Jannasilane’s armor at his feet. His gaze was riveted to a tree. “Where’s Package?” Blake demanded after waving his hand in front of Alistair’s face to get his attention.

 

“She, she kissed me, told me she was f-feeling sexy and then went to climb a tree,” he pointed. His arm was trembling still. The two rogues looked at each other, then Alistair, and finally the tree where they tried to pierce the shadows for a glimpse of the small woman.

 

Jannasilane was near the top of the old tree. Her eyesight was sharper than Zevran’s and saw their leader and the elf approach her beloved Alistair. She hadn’t lied when she told him how she was feeling. In that moment Fort Drakon might as well have happened to somebody else. She felt so very much alive, among the branches. She closed her eyes and felt the sun and the breeze. Jannasilane allowed free rein to memories unlocked from a long time ago; she remembered flying among the clouds, skimming treetops, the cries of her kind on the wind. She felt wings unfolding for a lengthy stretch, clawed feet gripping the thick branch, long tail helping to maintain balance and opened her eyes. It took a moment for her vision to adjust and then she was delighted to notice just how much she could see. She could even see the individual soldiers on top of Denerim’s towers.

 

She flexed her wings until she was satisfied they would obey her commands. She performed a few test flaps and then launched herself into the air. Exhilaration filled her as she flew over the treetops and deeper into the forest before climbing higher into the sky. She amused herself with aerial somersaults and cartwheels before turning back to her Wardens.

 

“What was that?” exclaimed Alistair when a large creature flew into the air and away. He, Blake and Zevran were anxiously searching for signs of Jannasilane.

 

“I, I do not know. It is smaller than a full grown dragon but I know of no other creature so large and capable of flying,” Zevran shook his head, mystified and a little afraid. Blake said nothing, just kept looking.

 

When the winged creature returned and began descending in slow circles Alistair knew. He began laughing and pushed away the bows Blake and Zevran had ready. “It’s her, she did it! By the grace of Andraste she did it.”

 

“That’s . . . Package?” Blake’s jaw dropped open. He collected his wits and turned to the confused elf, “I didn’t say anything before because as far as we knew that part of the Griffonsong program was unsuccessful. They didn’t just want to create natural Wardens; they wanted to breed Griffonsong – people who could turn into griffons.”

 

“Maker’s breath,” Zevran breathed in awe at the majestic beauty just landing in the clearing. He felt truly humbled to be allowed to see such a miraculous event. Now that she was landed he could see traces of the Pocket Goddess he knew. Wings and body were the same dusky gold as her skin and the mane framing her head . . . that was, Alistair’s words came to mind, ‘shades of autumn streaked with white.’

 

Alistair ran to her side and for the first time had to look up to stare into her gorgeous eyes. He couldn’t help grinning and stroking that long neck, “You are one beautiful, magnificent griffon, my love. No wonder you felt ready to burst out of your skin.” She leaned her head down to rest it on his shoulder.

 

Blake watched them with a delighted smile on his face. His smile got even bigger when Zevran slid an arm around his waist, “You are correct, my dearest Warden, to separate them with a crown would be a crime of the greatest magnitude. I am yours in whatever capacity you will have me.”

 

“Maker, I do love you, Zevran Arainai,” he turned so he could embrace the Antivan. Their lips met in promise and shared purpose. Blake caressed that seductive face, “Shall we go see Package up close in her current form?”

 

Jannasilane was trying to nudge Alistair but he was confused, “I’m not sure I know what you want.” She lifted one foot, or perhaps arm since it was in front, and put it down again. Slowly she moved her wings. She tried speaking but couldn’t figure out how to make the correct sounds.

 

“I think she wants you to get on top,” Blake suggested with his tongue firmly in cheek. Zevran snickered slightly at the look Alistair gave his friend. She rolled her eyes but moved her head up and down in agreement.

 

“B-but I’ve never even been on a horse,” Alistair looked a little panicked. “How do I get on? How do I stay on?”

 

Zevran was walking around the Goddess; he couldn’t call her Pocket Goddess in this form. He stroked her back and hindquarters, marveling at the texture of her coat and muscles underneath. When her skin twitched at his touch he lifted an eyebrow and deliberately gave her hindquarters one long stroke. She twitched again more strongly. He grinned to himself and bent to look underneath her front legs.

 

“What is he doing?” Jannasilane wondered before she felt hands rubbing across her breasts. Zevran straightened up quickly when he felt something snapping painfully against his rear. She was glaring at him; he decided he probably shouldn’t tease her while she was in this form if even her tail was dangerous. He was reminded of Shale . . .

 

“What were you doing, Zev?” Alistair asked suspiciously, echoing the thoughts of his beloved.

 

“I had an idea but first I had to determine what happened to her most magnificent bosom,” Zevran answered innocently. “Now I know. I think if we put our belts together and drape them over the neck of the Goddess you can hold onto them. It should do for a short and, how shall I say it, non-acrobatic ride.” Alistair’s armor didn’t have a belt but linking her belted skirt to the belts of Zevran and Blake made a loop big enough to hang low on her neck. She then lowered her elbows to the ground so Alistair could swing himself up.

 

“Make sure your legs are in front of her wings and squeeze them to help keep your seat,” Blake suggested. He and Zevran chuckled to see Alistair grabbing the makeshift harness when she stood tall. She walked around the campsite to give Alistair a chance to get settled before starting to flap her wings. The rogues moved into the trees to give her more room.

 

Alistair was excited, nervous and a little bit scared. He clamped his legs and held onto the belts with a death grip when she began to leave the ground. He closed his eyes, “Maker don’t let me fall . . . or be sick.” He opened his eyes cautiously and then wide in wonder, “Woo-hoo!” he shouted against the wind. He closed his mouth quickly to avoid having the breath sucked out of him; talking while flying was definitely ill-advised. He was grinning from ear to ear when they landed.

 

“It’s getting late,” Blake warned. They’d all been getting used to Package’s new abilities though he would be happy if he never had to fly again. Zevran enjoyed it though, almost as much as Alistair.

 

Jannasilane shapeshifted back and put the rest of her armor on. She was glad to know that Morrigan was right about the clothes; she didn’t want to have to get undressed every time she shifted. Alistair caught her when she stumbled on the way out of camp, “Feeling tired, my love?” He was concerned she might have worked too hard.

 

“A little,” she admitted. Languidly she pulled his head down to hers for a sizzling kiss, “Sexy too.” And fell asleep.

 

“That puts me in my place,” he muttered with a smile. He picked her up and cradled her in his arms until they saw the city gates. Alistair hummed a little as they made their way back to Denerim.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 66:  Successor to a Buttercup

Leliana was smiling when she went to talk to the servants in the kitchen. They were the best place to start if she was to complete the task Alistair asked of her before he left for the Alienage. Erlina was already there instructing one of the maids on the proper way to prepare tea for Her Majesty and was intrigued to hear the pretty bard’s unusual request. She elected to take the tray up herself, sometimes Anora needed to be reminded to eat. She was not at all surprised to see the queen staring pensively out the window. “Come sit down, Your Majesty. See, I have a tray with some of your favorite foods.”

 

Anora sighed and sat down. She allowed Erlina to pour her a cup of tea and chose a biscuit in a rather desultory fashion, “The Warden is a very . . . capable and intelligent man. We discussed a possible alliance before he left. What is your opinion?”

 

“He is very loyal to his friend, is he not? Do you think he believes you were the real ruler of Ferelden while married to His Majesty?”

 

“Ah, but he is a Cousland. There is no other noble family higher in rank or regard, in spite of Howe’s machinations to the contrary. Duty to country is a part of their family’s motto and they have never shirked from it in all the generations since before Calenhad. I knew his parents. I think I can safely say they made sure all their children were well grounded in current events and taught to study the political climate. The Warden appears to be as astute as his father. We even discussed the possibility of marriage, though only in the most general of terms,” Anora wasn’t quite sure what she felt about that or even if the Warden was thinking of Alistair or himself.

 

Erlina knew her mistress well, “Perhaps it is good that you both have time to reflect on the exact nature of your alliance. I daresay it will take some time for the Wardens and the girl with the hair to find the source of the trouble in the Alienage even with that Antivan assassin.”

 

“Do you know that even after what she suffered she was kind to me?” She ate without thinking while she repeated the conversation to Erlina. Knowing that Cailan found some peace eased her grief over his loss. “I wish there was something I could do beyond a simple apology but wouldn’t seem as if I were trying to purchase her favor or buy forgiveness.”

 

“Perhaps there is, Your Majesty,” Erlina offered with a small smile. At Anora’s direction she sat down and prepared a cup of tea for herself. “The woman Leliana traveling with them was in the kitchen questioning the servants. She was asking them about small dogs – who might have some or where she might look. Not just dogs smaller than mabari, but truly small dogs. I think the large Warden, Alistair, asked her to find out. When the two of them were speaking I heard him mention her name, the girl with the hair, Jannasilane, so it makes sense that he was asking for her, yes?.”

 

“And you know where to find these little dogs?” Anora asked. She’d also noticed a slight change in Erlina’s voice when speaking of Alistair and hoped it was just admiration and that she wasn’t developing a tendresse for Cailan’s brother. That would not end well.

 

Erlina nodded her head, “There was no need to say anything earlier but a man did stop by the castle. Like many with goods or services he came to the back of the castle and spoke to the seneschal’s assistant. He had some small dogs such as those owned by many Orlesian nobles. He hoped to find a market among local nobility or the more prosperous merchants but your father came out and told him Fereldans didn’t need little balls of Orlesian fluff.”

 

“Of course he did,” Anora almost sighed. Really, her father’s paranoia or obsession about all things Orlesian was exhausting and responsible for much of their current troubles. “Do you think you could find this man, Erlina?” The pretty spymaid just smiled. “Of course you can, this is what we’ll do,” she leaned forward and outlined what she wanted. She sat back and ate a piece of fruit, “And Erlina, make sure he knows he will not lose any coin on the transaction if he does what you tell him. I don’t want anyone to know I had anything to do with this.” After Erlina left Anora smiled and began to eat more enthusiastically; it had been a long time since she felt completely happy about a decision.

 

So far Leliana was having no luck. Since the Blight most people weren’t interested in dogs unless they could fight the darkspawn. She decided to have lunch in the tavern and rethink her approach. “None of the dogs I’ve seen roaming the streets are anywhere close to small enough so I see no point in tracking down possible litters. I suppose a dog like Bon-Bon would not last long as a stray. Many of the ladies in Orlais thought of their small dogs as accessories as much as pets; Fereldan women are not so inclined to extravagant fripperies . . . Maybe I’ve been looking in the wrong places,” she smiled. Liselle, the pretty Orlesian woman who sold bath salts, creams, hair ribbons and other ‘fripperies’ could very well be the answer to her quest. “It will be nice speaking to her again. She is most attractive . . . I wonder if she likes shoes.”

 

“I think perhaps I can help you,” Liselle smiled at the redhead. It was nice to hear an Orlesian accent again. “A man was trying to get referrals, if that is the correct term, for his dogs. I spoke with him; he was most discouraged by a recent visit to the castle. Fereldans are a very practical people, no? and his dogs, they are not practical. He told me where to send a messenger if I thought someone was interested.”

 

“That would be lovely,” Leliana replied. “Perhaps while we wait you could tell me about these beads, they are very pretty but don’t seem quite right for a necklace.” Liselle explained how they could be used in braids or other hairstyles. If Morrigan had been forced to listen to the two of them talking about fashion and perfumes she would have turned them into toads and dared a templar to say she was wrong. “. . . fortunately we can chat in peace,” Leliana smirked to herself.

 

Anora was sitting in her room with a book in her lap. She discovered years ago that if she appeared to be reading she was free to let her mind wander and think without interruption. Whenever she turned a page she moved her bookmark, keeping up the pretense. Just then she was thinking about the Grey Wardens, specifically Alistair. “We had a decent marriage which is about as much as can be expected of an arranged match. Cailan loved me, though I am not sure how much of it was romantic. Perhaps with his other women he was looking for what Alistair has; it is obvious to the meanest intelligence that he and Jannasilane love each other and it is a beautiful thing to see. I was fond of Cailan but it was never a romantic love even if I frequently found him charming. Maybe if we hadn’t practically grown up together it would have been different. As it was we too often saw each other as brother and sister, friends not lovers. Alistair seems a fine young man; I just wish he wasn’t Cailan’s brother. Would he even consent to a marriage between us? He would have to give up everything he has, everything he values for duty. They both have too much honor to disregard the bonds of matrimony and maintain a relationship on the side. Too much honor to be prince consort? Some might think it a worthwhile trade-off but I suspect Alistair is different.”

 

She continued her musings, “The Warden is honorable but he seems to be the more pragmatic of the two. Perhaps that is partly due to his being raised as a member of the nobility with a keen awareness that politics is rarely a clean business. He is an intriguing man, certainly he has been tested. Blake Cousland is difficult to read and his personality is . . . almost overwhelming in its intensity. In some ways I would prefer an alliance with him. And yet I think he would be constantly challenging me, is this a good thing? Of course it wouldn’t have worked with my father; he was blind to any but his own vision. Cailan was no Maric but he too would have hated to see what Ferelden has become under my father’s thumb.” For the first time she truly admitted to herself that her father had gone too far, that he wasn’t motivated by Howe but his own beliefs. All her life she had looked up to him, idolized him even, and now she had to acknowledge that he wasn’t the man he used to be. It hurt.

 

The sun was setting when the Wardens returned to a chaotic scene at the estate. Leliana had planned well. At her signal the dogman put down his box of puppies and let it tip over. Curious dogs went everywhere, including the kitchen. When Jannasilane stepped inside she heard the cook screeching to someone to “get that undersized rat out of my kitchen!”

 

“Lady, they are not rats!” a man shouted at her from under the table where he was trying to retrieve one of the puppies.

 

“Ha!” belched Oghren, “they wouldn’t even make an appetizer for a deepstalker.” He made sure his booze was safe and continued watching the show.

 

The commotion brought everybody from upstairs. “The bard has flair,” Anora chuckled quietly. Teagan and Eamon were perplexed by the events but before either could say anything they heard laughter.

 

Jannasilane was watching one intrepid pup trying to herd General Lee. When the mabari started to turn tail in frustration she burst out laughing. The little dog heard and cocked his ears before turning around and running straight towards her. She got down to her knees and he jumped into her arms and began licking her face. “You are fierce and sweet, aren’t you? Isn’t he adorable, my Ali?”

 

Alistair looked at Leliana in gratitude before nodding his head at the dogman. When he nodded back Alistair squatted down next to Jannasilane and the little creature, “You’ll have to think of a name for him, my love. Buttercup II, maybe?” He carefully stuck his hand for the puppy to sniff and couldn’t help noticing he could probably hold two in one hand.

 

“Really? For me?” her eyes were wide when she looked at Alistair. He couldn’t help grinning when the little dog tried to climb into her chestpiece. She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek before disagreeing with him, “No, he has his own personality. I loved Buttercup but this is not she. He is more adventurous and curious than she ever was.”

 

“You’ll never have to worry about them getting too large for you to handle, miss,” the dogman said politely, secretly pleased that a good home was found for at least one of his dogs. “Two of them put together won’t get to be the size of a large cat.”

 

Morrigan sniffed, “You will need to be careful that the Warden’s mabari does not swallow him whole.” An odd statement since the mabari in question was cowering behind her legs. If she meant to shame the large dog it didn’t work.

 

“The mini it better keep the mini-mini flea puff away from me for I doubt I would even notice if I crushed its teeny head,” Shale cautioned in an amused rumble.

 

“For such a small creature it has large ears,” Sten remarked. It was true, shaped like the wings of a fringed moth the ears would have overwhelmed the little dog except for its energy and the intelligence in its dark eyes.

 

Jannasilane held up her new puppy and looked it in the face, “You do flit around a bit, don’t you Nugflutter?” He barked at her and she smiled.

 

Oghren spewed and coughed, “Leliana’s got a nug named Schmooples and you’re going to call that nibble-sized fluff Nugflutter? You humans are crazy as a bronto after eating too many deep mushrooms.”

 

“For once you are correct, dwarf,” Sten retreated from the foolishness. He decided to see if the new security measures were complete. On his way he cast a reproving look at General Lee for his unbecoming behavior.

 

Blake enjoyed seeing Package happy again, happy in a way unrelated to being a Griffonsong. He noticed Anora smiling quietly from the sidelines and unobtrusively moved to her side, “Smiling, Your Majesty?”

 

She might have taken offense but for the sly teasing quality in his voice. She inclined her head, “Contrary to rumors I am quite capable of smiling without any danger of my face cracking. It would take a much harder personality than mine not to enjoy a moment of simple happiness. They are quite rare these days.” His eyes crinkled appreciatively.

 

“I would like to further our earlier discussion, if you do not mind,” he offered. “Perhaps I can inform both you and Eamon what we discovered and then we can talk.” Blake waited until she acquiesced and then offered her his arm.

 

Zevran watched his Warden leave with Eamon and the queen. It was harder than he thought until he looked at Pocket Goddess. Right now, playing with her new puppy, “Nugflutter, what an odd name,” he could see traces of the child she was not so long ago. Even Alistair looked younger than he had in months. It all came down to moments, moments to treasure and remember. Perhaps he wouldn’t have so many private moments with his Warden in the future but he shouldn’t lose sight of the value of friendship, that those moments had a different and in many ways equal value. “But enough of this philosophizing, I think I shall go ask Leliana about her vision again.”

 

“Slavery is an abhorrent practice and one which my father has never endorsed. He said it was too reminiscent of how true Fereldens were treated by the Orlesian usurper. Truly he has lost his mind,” Anora frowned. “You have your evidence Grey Warden. Do you wish to speak of anything else?” She allowed him to open the door to her room and stepped inside without waiting to see if he would follow.

 

Blake grinned at her arrogance and shut the door behind him. He quickly schooled his expression into one of mild interest before she could turn around, “Before I left you asked me for your support in the Landsmeet.”

 

Anora contemplated him, her expression just as neutral as his own, “Does this mean you wish to talk about an alliance between us?”

 

“I think it should be cemented with marriage. I realize I am only the son of the highest noble family in Ferelden instead of a king but I think we might be able to work together,” Blake stated, “unless you prefer Alistair to me.”

 

“Do not mock me with false humility, Warden,” Anora snapped. “I know full well that many supported your father over Cailan as Maric’s successor even though your father was too loyal to even consider the matter. Those same people would be just as happy to see you on the throne with or without me over an unknown royal bastard.”

 

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” Blake said sincerely. “I do not usually make such a misstep. I never anticipated discussing marriage with anyone for several more years and I merely meant to lighten the mood, nothing more. I am truly sorry if I offended you.”

 

“I fear news of my father’s activities may have blinded me to the lightness of your remarks,” Anora said cautiously. “In case you were . . . concerned rest assured that I do not prefer Alistair to yourself. Quite honestly he looks so much like Cailan it makes me nauseous to contemplate a union with him. Is this what you wish?”

 

“You are one of the most beautiful women I have ever met, Anora,” Blake said truthfully, deciding to forego further formality. “I can think of at least 100 worse things than rebuilding and governing Ferelden with you. I believe if we work together not even Orlais will willingly engage us in battle, despite the pressure from some of their more militaristic elements.” They spoke for a short time while Eamon wrote notes to be delivered to the Bannorn first thing in the morning calling for the Landsmeet to begin. He got to his feet, prepared to leave, and took her hand in his. “One more thing,” Blake pulled her up and into his arms. Slowly he cupped her face in his one hand, giving her plenty of time to move away if she wanted. He barely touched her cheek with his lips when he whispered, “Your skin is so perfect, you remind me of my mother’s tea roses. They were a pale, warm pink and looked so smooth and inviting. You had to be careful for the prize was greatly defended by the thorns but if you were successful you had a bloom of rare beauty in your hand.” He didn’t kiss her while he spoke, instead just letting lips and warm breath skim the surface of her skin in a promise of intimacy to come. Her breathing speeded up and he felt his manhood stirring in response.

 

Anora admitted to herself she was curious, the Warden was so much younger than herself, hardly more than a boy in years. Cailan had never been selfish in their marriage bed, but he had also never focused on her with the intensity the Warden now displayed. The sensation was unnerving and pleasing. When he finally brought his lips to hers she was ready and willing to explore these feelings. She enjoyed the feeling of his skin, so much rougher than her own, against hers. She slid her hands into his hair while their tongues danced and lips branded. She moved closer into his embrace and felt his erection against her thigh. “Well, I daresay you’ve proved your point,” she put her hands on his chest to give herself a little room. “This marriage at least has a chance of working reasonably well.” She was pleased to see she wasn’t the only one who was breathing a little more rapidly than normal.

 

Blake grinned then, “In light of our betrothal I thought it best to seal the deal with a kiss.” He sobered then, “I think it best to wait until the Landsmeet to make any announcements. What is your opinion?”

 

“I agree,” she nodded, pleased that he was thinking of the implications. Blake had a charismatic and forceful personality combined with an intelligent and subtle mind. She would much rather have him working with her than against her, “Hopefully he is thinking the same of me,” she mused wryly. “Until tomorrow Warden,” and watched him leave until he shut the door behind him. She allowed herself to flop onto the settee and finally relax. The next day would be quite eventful and she hoped they were all ready for it. Her father would be formidable.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 67:  It is Done

Anora stood at the window overlooking the busy marketplace of Denerim. “All those people going about their business, some of them not yet realizing Loghain was dead at the hands of Maric’s bastard,” she struggled not to let bitterness overwhelm her. In her mind she could still see the man her father used to be and the little girl who adored him. She knew she needed to speak to the Wardens but she needed a few minutes to prepare herself to face Alistair again, “Hopefully he’s had the sense to clean my father’s blood from his face.” She shook her head, trying to shake off her anger. “If I’m to be fair my father’s actions justified his end; he committed so many crimes – or allowed them – that the Bannorn would have howled in outrage if he didn’t receive severe punishment. I think death would be preferable to banishment from his beloved Ferelden. But they never saw the man who brought rosebushes to my mother even though they cut him as he rode, or the man who taught me to play chess and draw a bow and was so pleased when I bested him.” The door behind her opened and she heard someone come in quietly and close it behind them. Her eyebrows lifted in angry surprise before she could mask her expression, “Alistair. Are you under the misapprehension that I wish to speak with you?”

 

He winced a little at the flatness of her voice but otherwise kept his gaze straight on hers, “I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now. I can’t say I regret what happened at the Landsmeet but I am sorry you are suffering the loss of your father.” He shifted a little, “Um, I thought you might want to see me privately before talking to all of us. So you could, I don’t know, curse, shout, hit me, spit, throw things at me . . . well, maybe not spit. That’s really kind of gross – and that’s it.” He shut his mouth and just stood there, prepared to take her anger.

 

“You are a very strange man,” she frowned at him.

 

“I get that a lot,” he muttered.

 

“I nearly had you executed. As a son of Maric you’re a threat to my throne and others might use you as a rallying point against me. The Bannorn might not have liked it but they wouldn’t have stopped me,” she narrowed her eyes to gauge his reaction. “Even if they suspected it was merely revenge they wouldn’t have done anything.”

 

He nodded slowly, “I know. Being Maric’s bastard has never done me a lick of good, unless that’s why Cailan sent me and Blake to the Tower of Ishal instead of into battle with the rest of the Grey Wardens. We’ll never know, now. I meant what I said at the Landsmeet, about forswearing the throne for me and any heirs I might have. I wanted to make that clear to everyone present. I never wanted to be king, I don’t want to be king and I don’t want anybody getting any ideas. I can serve Ferelden much better as a Grey Warden.”

 

“I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to forgive you even though technically you did nothing wrong. But that’s personal and right now I need to put that aside. I’d like to be alone for a few minutes; please tell your companions I will be with them soon,” she dismissed him and watched him bow and leave. “And don’t think for one minute, Alistair Theirin, that I didn’t notice you swore fealty to Blake and me, not me alone. Was that to leave a way out for yourself or just to make sure all knew you supported us both? Once this mad betrothal becomes a marriage it won’t matter.” She resumed staring out the window and turned her thoughts to her betrothed, “He is years younger than Cailan yet seems older in many ways. I do not think it is due just to the Blight; he seems to take life more seriously, more realistically. Though that wouldn’t be hard,” she remembered fondly. “Cailan could always ‘jolly me out of my excessive sobriety.’ We did have fun together. Will my new husband and I ever have fun? I’m not sure how I feel about his insistence on having the elf, the assassin in charge of his personal security. He said I would never have to worry about other women . . . well, if he and this Zevran are discreet . . . he certainly isn’t adverse to women.” She flushed, remembering her reaction to his kiss. Even if it was simply a political expediency it did have potential.

 

“Eamon has already left for Redcliffe. We shall join our armies there. I understand the dwarves and many of the Dalish are already encamped. Riordan has already left to scout the horde and will meet us there with his findings. We should leave first thing in the morning,” she looked around the room at the eclectic group. The Wardens and some of the others stood respectfully at her entrance and she was pleased to see that Alistair kept to the background. Her expression softened ever so slightly when she saw Jannasilane controlling Nugflutter.

 

“We’ll need to split up,” Blake spoke. “There are some things Alistair and I need to do, Grey Warden things.”

 

“Very well, Warden. I’ll trust you to arrange things with your companions and to inform me of the details shortly. Wardens, men,” she left them then.

 

Morrigan watched her leave, amused by and suspicious of the woman. She could respect a woman who knew what she wanted and had the resolve to fight for it even if it almost interfered with her own plans. She turned her attention lazily to the Warden, not realizing that just as the Queen had done her gaze warmed just a little when it passed over the Warden’s toy. “Warden, you have plans for us?” she managed to make her question a seductive invitation.

 

A short time later the Wardens left Denerim with Jannasilane, Zevran and General Lee. And Nugflutter, of course. The mabari was still leery of the small creature and stayed as far away as possible. Even though they left before the others and were moving quickly they would arrive at Redcliffe at least a week later. They weren’t able to travel more than a few miles before making camp for the night. Blake and Zevran were scouting, “or something,” Alistair thought while he and Jannasilane were left to watch the fire and set up the tent. Nugflutter slept by the warmth. “I’ve been wondering how you knew to change, my love,” Alistair asked.

 

Jannasilane stopped what she was doing and knit her brows in concentration, “After you told us what happened when you were young I dreamed. I dreamed I was flying high in the air. When I woke I just knew I would be able to change and my skin was itchy to try. Memories of being a griffon were, um, just there, as if a door were opened that had been closed and hidden. I have thought much about becoming a griffon. I think maybe it was because you trusted me enough to talk about something so personal and horrible. Some of the writing in her journal was before my mother was even born and spoke of the importance of a trustworthy Warden. She thought it was a warning to be careful but now I think it is more than that.”

 

“Hmm, I remember something like that,” Alistair squinted as if trying to reexamine the pages from memory.

 

“But now I think it is part of the, the recipe for change. I do not think the Grey Wardens wanted their Griffonsong to be able to change without them, or perhaps they wanted to protect the young Griffonsong. I do not know. But I think that deep inside the Griffonsong is the ability to know when complete trust has been reached between Warden and Griffonsong. Even if you had not said anything I believe somewhere inside I would know you felt you could. I am free now to change anytime, anywhere, with or without you. I feel this truth inside me, but the ability needed to, to be unlocked.”

 

“O-okay, you were pretty tired after you changed,” he was trying to puzzle it out. “Maybe the Griffon group was worried about danger to the Griffonsong, like when a young bird first tries to fly or when a cub is first learning to walk so they put in this safeguard. Or what they thought was a safeguard. I suppose it could even have been an accident; they were trying to do one thing and instead did another. Just like the s-sex thing,” he added, feeling the blush creeping up his face.

 

“Perhaps,” she flushed and lowered her eyes. “I’ve been th-thinking . . .” she shook her head, “n-never mind.”

 

Alistair looked at her, trying to figure out what she started to say. He understood but couldn’t help feeling a little hurt that she stopped speaking, nor could he prevent a slight note of disappointment in his voice, “It’s alright, Janna. We better finish setting up this tent or Nugflutter will have to sleep under the stars and in the cold.”

 

“It is not alright, my Ali,” she put her hand on his arm in emphasis. “I miss you and then I s-start to remember and get scared. I was thinking I would l-like to t-try but I am a-afraid. Afraid that I c-cannot res-respond, that I w-will freeze and then p-push you away. Th-that would not b-be f-fair to you.”

 

He shook his head, “I understand that, I’m not a complete idiot.” He knelt so he could see her face better. Alistair kissed away the tears she had yet to shed, “I love you, when you’re ready you’re ready. I can wait. Templars do get a lot of practice in self-control, you know. Have to in order to do a proper smite. Just talk to me, my love, don’t shut me out. For a long time I was sure I was . . . tainted, that I could never be with a woman because I thought I would fail or worse that she would be able to tell what happened to me and turn away in disgust. It was such a relief when I got to Ostagar and realized I could talk to women. Maybe not very well but at least they didn’t sneer. I found a couple of them attractive and was happy, if a bit uncomfortable, when my parts started to respond to them. Then you came along and scared me to death. You were so much more. Do you know how many days I chafed in my armor because of how much I wanted you?” He smiled at her.

 

“I love you, Alistair Grey Warden Theirin,” Jannasilane sniffed and threw her arms around his neck. She sighed in relief when he wrapped his arms around her. She always felt safe, loved and treasured when he held her like that. She nuzzled his ear and spoke quietly, “Do you think tonight we could try just s-sleeping together?”

 

“I’d like that. I’ve missed you.” They held each other for a few minutes and then reluctantly he leaned back, “However we have to get this tent up, first.” The kiss he gave her was almost chaste.

 

When Blake and Zevran returned with some rabbits to cook they found the tent up and the large warrior holding the tiny dog in his big hands. They were both looking at the griffon stretching her legs under the trees. Nugflutter was barking encouragement. “Helha, Blhake ‘nd Zeh,” her words were somewhat muffled and slurred but understandable. She shifted back to her regular form, “Talking is a lot harder than flying. Lips are much easier to move than a beak.”

 

“I prefer soft, flexible lips myself,” Zevran smiled. “The things that skilled lips can do-”

 

“We get it,” Alistair hastily cut off the Antivan and rolled his eyes. “We thought it would be a good idea to practice speaking. That way if she sees something as a griffon she can say so without having to shift back; which would be very inconvenient while flying. She can, sort of, say ‘left,’ ‘right,’ ‘up’ and ‘down.’ It’s a start.”

 

Blake nodded his approval, “She can practice flying on the way. We’re going to go through some deserted areas which will be perfect. I don’t know how often you’ll ever use the ability, Package, but you might as well find out what you can do.”

 

“So that’s why you wanted to separate us from the others,” Alistair considered their leader. “I couldn’t think of anything Warden-related we had to do but I wasn’t going to say anything, not when it meant no Morrigan for a few days.” The others laughed at him. He handed Nugflutter to Jannasilane. He gave the pup a quick scratch behind the ears and then picked up a bucket, “I’ll get some water. You know, he’s going to need some earrings,” he nodded at the ball of fur she was holding.

 

Over the next few days Jannasilane got a lot of practice being a griffon and no longer got tired after shifting and flying. She also was able to speak almost normally. Nugflutter got his earrings. Zevran devised a simple harness, a sturdy combination of metal and leather she could even put on herself so any rider would have something to grab. Alistair never got tired of flying with her; each time was as exhilarating as the next. Blake and Zevran took advantage of their last opportunity to be open with each other, building up memories for what was to come. They were all a little bit sorry to reach the Spoiled Princess late in the day.

 

“I’m going to deal with the Circle first,” Blake decided. “Alistair, you talk to Stryder. If all is well we will leave for Redcliffe tomorrow. Package can get us a room,” he didn’t wait for an answer but loped off to Kester with Zevran at his side.

 

Jannasilane made a decision. She spoke to Fred and arranged for two rooms, one for her and Alistair. She wasn’t sure how long Blake and Zevran might be at the Tower so she arranged for food and drink to be left in their room just in case they were late. When Alistair came looking for her she was in their room with a pot of stew and fresh bread, “Mmm, that smells good. I’m glad we have this time together, just the two of us.” He took off his armor and washed up before sitting down. “Maker, it feels good to relax. Stryder says they are anxious to be off; the templars were very helpful with training and after what happened before had plenty of equipment to fill any gaps but nothing but practice gets boring.” He sat down and just smiled at her for a minute, “You look really pretty tonight, my love. I’ve always liked that blue robe on you.” They talked and ate. They drank some wine. Nugflutter was asleep under the table. Alistair was idly glancing around the room when he noticed something missing, “Where is the rest of the gear? I don’t see Blake’s or Zevran’s stuff anywhere.”

 

“Speaking of . . . they have their own room. I’ve missed you, my Ali,” Jannasilane admitted shyly. “It’s only been a few days but it f-feels l-like f-f-forever. I f-feel okay. Wynne gave me a p-potion a-and r-recipe so I c-can’t b-bec-c-come p-pregnant u-until we-we’re r-r-ready,” she shifted her feet in an agony of embarrassment laced with fear.

 

Alistair froze. He gulped. If he could move he would have pinched himself to see if he was awake. “I-it’s only b-been a few days, my love. I d-don’t want to rush you, or hurt you,” in spite of his words he felt anticipation building. He didn’t notice his goblet tilting until she removed it from his grasp when she stepped towards him.

 

“It seems more than that; perhaps it is because of changing. I won’t s-say I’m not a little bit afraid,” she licked dry lips, “maybe more than a little,” she thought, “but I refuse to give in to fear.” She lifted her chin, “Soon we will be joining the army in Redcliffe and facing the bulk of the horde. I do not want to die without feeling your hands teasing my breasts, caressing my bottom. I wish to be filled with you once again.”

 

“You humble me,” Alistair whispered. “I’d like that as well. I love talking to you at night and waking up with you in my arms, curled on my chest like a blanket. What would you have of me?” At her direction he removed his shirt so that he stood there only in light trousers. He trembled when she began stroking her hands over him, more tentatively than she realized. He dropped to his knees when she kissed above his navel and started working her way up. Her breath sighing over his chest hair while her hands kneaded his muscles made him groan, “May I touch you, Jannalove?”

 

“Yes, please,” she nuzzled his neck, inhaling and filling her senses with him. His hands were so gentle as they moved over her skin. She allowed him to slowly open her robe, quivering when his hands brushed across her breasts. Alistair stroked her skin in long delicate caresses, the calluses from years of training and fighting at odds with the gentleness of his touch. He barely kissed her hair, murmuring words of love and desire. Tears filled her eyes when she realized what he was doing, holding his strength in check to replace memories of violence with tenderness.

 

Alistair felt a tear on his shoulder and stopped what he was doing. He wiped the tears from her face with his thumbs, “It’s okay, my love. We don’t have to do this now. You are so brave and strong-” she cut him off by laying her finger over his mouth.

 

“I do not wish you to stop, my Ali, you overwhelm me. I love you so much that sometimes I feel ready to burst.” She guided his hand between her legs, hot and damp with desire. He hissed when he realized she wasn’t wearing smallclothes. She groaned when he started tweaking her nub and sagged against him when he slid a finger inside her in one long slow stroke. He caressed the inside of her passage and she burrowed into his embrace. Jannasilane nipped his earlobe and he was the one to groan, “I want you, my Ali,” she breathed into his ear and began kissing her way to his mouth.

 

He slipped a second finger inside. Her response nearly broke his control but he was determined to give her as much pleasure as possible. When she kissed him he pushed his trousers down with his other hand, freeing his manhood before wrapping his arm around her once again. She tensed a little but relaxed when he didn’t move to enter her right away. He nibbled her lower lip and then kissed her brow, “When you’re ready, my love, when you’re ready,” he reassured her.

 

“Help me, Ali,” she begged. She became mesmerized by the glow in his eyes, brightening to molten gold. He grabbed her rear in both hands and kneaded the round globes before lifting her over the tip of his manhood. He positioned her until he was just barely penetrating her and moved his hands back to her rear, his fingers digging in. She didn’t care that she would have bruises, not from him; she loved how she could make him lose control. She reveled in his gasps as she lowered herself further and further until he was fully buried inside her. He moved then, maneuvering them until they were on the bed with his legs bent at her back.

 

He stroked her thighs and held his breath when she removed her robe and she was naked to his gaze, “You are so beautiful, my love, you make me forget to breathe.” His words made her feel powerful and treasured and she began to rock with the force of her passion. He waited to thrust until he felt her clenching around him. He couldn’t control himself any longer and threw his head back with the force of his release. Seeing him lose himself in their passion was enough to send her over.

 

Later, after their breathing was back to normal and their hearts no longer pounding, Alistair stopped stroking her hair and back, “My love, I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

 

She levered herself up from where she’d been sprawled on top of him. Jannasilane inched up until she could touch her lips to his, “No, my Ali,” she said and watched the anxiety drain out of his expression, “you did not hurt me at all. I am happy to say that I feel most pleasantly relaxed, this is truth.”

 

“Pleasantly relaxed, huh?” he said with a huge smile, “I suppose that’s a good start.” She nestled against him and he resumed stroking her after sending a brief prayer of thanks to the Maker.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 68:  Morrigan’s Offer

Darkspawn were attacking Redcliffe.

 

Blake had sent the mages, templars and former werewolves on ahead, saying that he and his friends would be enough to guard the cart of supplies the Circle was sending. He wanted the mages to have at least one day to speak to Wynne and get some instructions about fighting darkspawn. It wouldn’t hurt that they would have an extra day out of the Tower before the army left for battle. “That was the plan, anyway,” he thought sardonically, surveying the village. Instead they barely arrived before the darkspawn appeared.

 

“It could have been much worse, Warden,” Wynne said tiredly. “Thankfully they each had supplies with them because the darkspawn showed up almost on their tails. I don’t think the darkspawn were expecting the Dalish and the dwarves to be ready for them.”

 

“I wonder,” Blake mused. He took a deep breath and let it out, “Wynne, when we saw the fighting we left a cart full of supplies up in the field,” he pointed. “You and Morrigan take anything you can use and carry and then distribute the rest of it to the mages. I finally got your Knight-Commander to agree to let the mages have daggers, but he said they had to stay in the cart until we marched to battle.” He grit his teeth angrily at the paranoia of the man, even if it was understandable after Uldred’s revolt.

 

“Bet he regrets that now,” Alistair muttered sotto voce. On their way to the castle he noticed Oghren and the dwarves directing the others on how to dispose of the bodies without getting infected. Once again bodies were piled and burned alongside Lake Calenhad. “I don’t like this,” he said aloud. “It was too easy and there aren’t enough bodies.”

 

“If this is your way of cheering us up I fear you are failing quite spectacular, oh handsome templar,” Zevran replied dourly.

 

They saw several Dalish archers lined up on top of the castle walls, watching for more darkspawn. Shale met them, “I see it and the other Warden have finally appeared. The older Warden arrived just before the attack and went immediately to the human Arl. It should go join them immediately. They seem quite anxious.”

 

Riordan was with Eamon and Teagan; his news was not good. “This was just a diversion. The Archdemon is leading the main horde to Denerim. They should be there in two days at the most.”

 

Blake looked balefully at Alistair, “You need to stop this habit of being right. It’s most troubling.” A slight crinkling at the corner of his eyes indicated Alistair’s amusement in spite of the seriousness of the situation but he said nothing. Blake turned to Eamon, “how soon can we leave? The sooner the better.” After they made arrangements to leave the next day Riordan said he needed to speak to the Wardens alone and would wait for them in his room.

 

Teagan offered to escort them and answer any more questions they might have. When Blake and Alistair continued down the hall he smiled down at Jannasilane, “How are you faring, my friend?” Before she could answer he noticed movement between her breasts. He blinked; his eyes goggled and then he grinned when Nugflutter popped his head out. “Lucky pup,” he smirked and held out his hand for the little dog to sniff and lick.

 

“I was afraid he wouldn’t be safe in the unprotected cart. I told him to be still while we were fighting,” she explained, her cheeks stained red with embarrassment. “I thought perhaps he and Connor could look out for each other.”

 

“I think he would like that. You’ll find him in his room, probably sulking because none of us would allow him out of the family quarters after Riordan came.” He winked at her, causing her to blush even more, and returned to Eamon. “Of course there really isn’t much to talk about, the troops are well supplied and will be ready to leave at dawn. Mostly it’s the village and castle we need to make sure are protected while we are gone. Isolde will be the most difficult to deal with,” he sighed.

 

After Jannasilane left Nugflutter with Connor, who seemed quite happy to have the little dog for company, she went in search of her Wardens. Zevran had returned and made himself comfortable in their bedroom but Blake and Alistair weren’t there. She continued down the hall and passed an open doorway. Morrigan was inside and motioned her inside. “I wish to speak with you for a moment,” she said peremptorily.

 

Since the witch didn’t call her ‘Toy’ Jannasilane decided it must be important. She went inside and made herself comfortable in front of the fire. She waited but when Morrigan didn’t speak right away she tilted her head in curiosity. It wasn’t like the witch to not speak her mind. “Is anything wrong, Morrigan?”

 

“First I must warn you that I am no good at this sort of thing and my intent is not to cause you distress, though I most likely will do so,” Morrigan huffed. “It doesn’t help that you look like a rag doll in that oversized chair,” she scowled and then made an effort to smooth her features. “I know you regret losing the child you and your templar started but it’s for the best.” Jannasilane paled at the bald statement and went very still as she sought to absorb remembered pain. Morrigan hurried on, “I’m sorry, but I know no easy way to tell you this. You appear to know much about the Grey Wardens . . . do you know what happens to the Grey Warden who slays the Archdemon?”

 

If anything Jannasilane’s pain increased. Her voice was barely a whisper when she answered, “Y-yes.”

 

“I had wondered. Then I must say that you have my utmost respect, becoming involved in a relationship which is doomed from the start. Many would be tempted to either resist becoming involved or try to dissuade their lover from their duty. What you may not know is what happens if a woman is near and carrying the child of a young Warden,” she paused to gauge the other woman’s reaction. “If you were pregnant and anywhere in Denerim when the Archdemon is killed its soul wouldn’t go into the Warden, it would seek out the unborn child, a way to survive without being tainted. An unborn child, especially in the early stages would not suffer from the possession. It would be changed, but otherwise unharmed. However, it would probably still die because the mother’s body would experience great pain and distress, possibly severe damage, during the invasion, most likely dying in the process. Even if she, you, survived then you would definitely die later when the old god tore out of your body.”

 

Jannasilane blinked at the hard words and bit her lips, “N-no, I didn’t know that. If my death meant my Ali would live I wouldn’t hesitate . . . but you’re saying my child also would die, most likely . . . no, I don’t think I could risk that. Nor would he want that. How do you know this?” she didn’t really care but was giving herself time to sort out her thoughts. This news was unsettling at the least.

 

“Flemeth, of course. And she also told me the ritual and other spells needed to protect myself should I choose to enjoy the company of the men I was accompanying. Neither of us knew the chances of that happening were next to none,” she smiled grimly, perversely pleased at her mother’s lack of discernment. “I’m sorry, but it is not something which I can do for another,” she said apologetically.

 

“Thank you,” Jannasilane spoke softly and then her head snapped up, “That’s why you’re here.” She opened her eyes wide in disbelief, “You and your mother hope to save the old god somehow.”

 

Morrigan blinked, “I sometimes forget how clever you really are. But yes, that possibility is one reason. Does it matter? Your Wardens can live. Will you persuade or dissuade them from taking advantage of my offer?”

 

Jannasilane thought for what seemed like ages. She considered her life with and without her Ali; how much she would miss Blake . . . She contemplated the witch. For all her brusque ways she was not unfeeling. Morrigan didn’t have to tell her anything at all and in a strange way she did feel better. She didn’t need the other woman to tell her that one of the Wardens would have to have sex with her for this ritual to work. Could she stand by while Alistair had sex and created a child with another woman? “I suppose it is no different for me than it is for him to know I, that I . . .” she thought grudgingly. Finally she decided. “I will do neither,” she lifted her chin up. “I will support my Wardens whatever they decide but it is a matter for Grey Wardens. Blake, Riordan and my Ali will have to determine whether it is the best course and if they can live with the consequences of their choice.”

 

“Life and death are the consequences,” Morrigan scoffed.

 

“That statement is as naïve as you accuse me of being,” Jannasilane snapped back. “Do not try to pretend it is such a simple thing, Morrigan. Not one of my Wardens would father a child lightly and that is just one factor for them to consider. I will request they listen, but no more.”

 

“I think I liked you better when I thought you young and foolish,” Morrigan glared at the smaller woman.

 

Jannasilane snorted, her humor restored, “You do not. You’re just irritated I will not do what you want. I love Alistair so you still think me young and foolish.” Morrigan smirked but otherwise did not deny the charge. The two women sat in the dim light of the fire and watched for the Wardens. Sometimes they spoke but mostly they were quiet, Morrigan’s offer thick in the air. Both stood when they saw Blake and Alistair leave Riordan’s room.

 

“That can’t be good,” Alistair muttered. He examined Jannasilane’s face carefully; she was serious but did not appear to be upset.

 

“Wardens, I have something I must discuss with you,” Morrigan stated in her most imperious manner. She would have been horrified to learn that Blake figured out she used that tone to mask her uncertainties.

 

“Do you know what she’s talking about? What do you think?” Alistair asked his love.

 

Jannasilane nodded, “I think it is something she can best explain.” She looked at both of them, her manner as serious as they had ever seen, “Whatever you decide know you have my support and agreement. I will not advise you on what is essentially a Grey Warden matter.” She touched each of them as she left the room and closed the door behind her. She rolled her eyes when she heard Morrigan talk about a ‘loop in the hole’ but didn’t stop. “She certainly likes to be mysterious, that Morrigan.”

 

Zevran was still awake so she diverted herself by asking him to help her devise a convenient carry pack for Nugflutter. “I cannot always be popping him between my breasts. It is not good for either of us.”

 

“Worried he might smother in your magnificent bosom?” the elf asked slyly. “Many men could think of worse fates.” He seemed as glad as she to think of something other than the looming battle.

 

 Blake walked in some time later. He looked at Package, “I suppose that was interesting. Alistair went outside to clear his head; he said he wanted to think for a while before retiring. If he’s not back I’ll look for him in the kitchen.” He wasn’t sure whether or not to tell Zevran about Morrigan’s offer, “at least not until we’ve decided ourselves. I certainly won’t tell him if we decide against it. Morrigan was right about that, he would definitely urge me in her favor, but I’m not sure that’s the right thing to do. I’ m not sure it’s the wrong thing, either. Damn.”

 

 Jannasilane wondered but if Alistair wanted time to think, or anything else, she would make sure he had it. “Blake, I have been considering something since we learned about the Archdemon. Since Riordan can understand the darkspawn he and I could leave now. Once away from the army I can griffon-shift and we can fly towards Denerim. We might even reach the horde before they can enter the city and distract them, possibly lure them back towards your army. I have no doubt we will attract the attention of the Archdemon.” A part of her relished the idea.

 

“Absolutely not!” Blake nearly shouted the words, startling all three of them. He grabbed her shoulders so hard she knew she would have bruises and gave her a quick shake before releasing her. Then he embraced her, his arms tight as he apologized, “I’m sorry, Package. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He felt guilty because he had also thought of sending her ahead.

 

“Pocket Goddess, you are indeed brave and glorious to behold but we are not ready for you to die just yet,” Zevran said, his voice slightly hoarse from anticipated loss.

 

Blake sat down, “Zevran is right. I don’t see how you could survive with the entire attention of the horde dedicated to you. Riordan would almost certainly be killed before he could reach the Archdemon.” He sighed, “Your ability is unique and will certainly put you in greater danger than the rest of us. I won’t risk it unless there is some clear advantage to using you like that.” Blake smiled sadly, “Alistair isn’t here, why don’t we all go get something to eat. I’m starved.”

 

“Ah yes, the common Grey Warden complaint,” Zevran jested. “You have such appetites.”

 

With so many in the castle they weren’t surprised to see a few people in the kitchen. Servants were preparing as many provisions as possible for the army before it left and a few men were trying to settle down before retiring for what was left of the night. They greeted the Warden and his friends but weren’t inclined to linger after their arrival. “We’re keeping what’s left of the stew warm for any what wants it,” the harassed cook told them. “You can have that and some fruit, anything that can travel is being packed up so don’t go askin’ for anything else.”

 

“Do not trouble yourself, dear lady,” Zevran gave her a slight bow which flustered her. “That will indeed be a feast after much of what we have eaten on the road and we are most grateful. I shall serve us so you can continue the excellent job you are doing for the Arl.” He did just that while for a minute she almost forgot she was a married woman.

 

“You are a horrible man,” Jannasilane said with a small giggle when he set a large bowl of stew in front of her.

 

“For which I am incredibly grateful,” Blake smirked and aimed a leer at his lover. Zevran laughed and contented himself with fruit while he marveled once again at how much a Warden and the small woman with them could eat. Blake polished off two bowls of stew before he leaned back, momentarily replete. “I thought Alistair would be here by now,” he said casually. Jannasilane stared down at the table top, and made him think. “He’s ‘talking’ to Morrigan,” he said flatly, not sure whether to be angry or not.

 

“Yes, I believe so,” Jannasilane answered in a small voice. Then she lifted her head and looked him in the eye, “I meant what I said before, about supporting your decision no matter what you chose to do.”

 

“We didn’t choose anything yet. We were supposed to talk and then decide,” Blake was irritated and beginning to get angry. He didn’t like his friend going behind his back, Package’s too, on something so important. “I’m the leader of this group and I’m the one who should decide which, if either, of us performed some sex rite with Morrigan.” Part of his anger stemmed from the fact that he was relieved that Alistair acted the way he did.

 

Zevran stayed very still, trying to figure out what they meant other than just that Alistair was doing more than ‘talking’ to Morrigan. “Oddly enough Pocket Goddess seems accepting of what should be a betrayal by her lover. Nor would I think him capable of cheating on her, especially with the cold witch no matter how lovely she is.”

 

Alistair walked in, looking rather unhappy and haunted rather than pleasantly sated after sex with the talented Morrigan. He sat down at the table as if bearing the weight of Thedas, “It’s done.” He couldn’t bear to look at Jannasilane but she took him by surprise.

 

Jannasilane stood when he entered and watched him sit. She knew his decision was weighing on him; it would have no matter which choice he made. “My beautiful Ali,” she said lovingly. When he looked at her in surprise, his eyes begging for forgiveness, she smiled. She kissed him softly first on one cheek, then the other and finally on the lips, a benediction and was rewarded to see some of the somberness leave him. He hugged her then and buried his face in the crook of her neck, his whole body quivering with pent up tension. Jannasilane held him, stroking him until he was calm again. “There is nothing to forgive,” she whispered.

 

Blake brooded. He got up because he couldn’t stand to sit still so he paced. When Alistair was calm he filled a bowl with stew and set it down unceremoniously, “Eat.” He resumed his place at the table and glared at his friend. Alistair didn’t let that stop him from eating. He wasn’t hungry when he entered the kitchen but after Jannasilane’s reaction he decided he was starving. Blake didn’t wait for Alistair to have more than a few spoonfuls, “That was not your decision or your burden,” he began.

 

Alistair put down his spoon and leaned towards Blake, his entire demeanor forceful, “It was as much my decision as yours and no more your burden than mine.” He leaned back and looked around before continuing quietly, “We know that one reason you’re marrying Anora is so Jannalove and I can stay together. We probably wouldn’t be able to if I were king,” his entire face tightened at that alternative. “Instead you are the one to be king, thank the Maker, and this is one burden you don’t need to carry.” He picked up his spoon again and concentrated on eating.

 

“This is not the place to satisfy all my curiosity,” Zevran interjected, “but Morrigan, in her attempts to seduce the stalwart Sten, has boasted of her many talents. Tell me, Alistair, did you learn anything interesting? Something which perhaps you would wish to repeat with a different partner.” Alistair choked, coughed and blushed. Now Jannasilane was staring at her templar, wondering what new ideas he had. “Ah-ha! If you wish my help or advice in recreating the experience please, please let me know. Perhaps it is even something I do not know, though that is hard to imagine with my vast repertoire,” Zevran concluded pleasantly. He was confident the Warden would tell him the rest once they were in private.

 

A measure of harmony restored the four friends returned to their room for what remained of the night. 

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 69:  Denerim Under Siege

They made good time but the devastation of Denerim was well begun by the time the city gates were in view. Inspired by Anora’s speech the army surged forward and cut a swath through the horde. Even those who weren’t Grey Wardens could feel the presence of the Archdemon urging its troops to greater heights of destruction. Once the Wardens and the armies cleared the initial section inside the city they were able to make their plans for the Archdemon. The armies would continue to hold the gates against more darkspawn while regaining control of the rest of Denerim, but it would be a slow process.

 

“We have done well so far, better than I expected,” Riordan began. He waited for the mutterings from some of the Wardens’ traveling companions to die down before continuing. “Now we need to attract the attention of the Archdemon. I think perhaps the top of Fort Drakon would be best. I will leave immediately while you and Alistair, with a couple of your companions, make your way through the city. I can sense two generals already inside. Getting rid of them will certainly cripple the Archdemon’s defenses but might take too much time. This I leave to your discretion.”

 

Blake and Alistair looked at each other, grinned, then looked at Jannasilane whose eyes were whirling with anticipation, “Riordan, you wanna attract a dragon? You need Package. Nobody is better equipped than our little Package for getting the attention of a dragon. Package,” Blake kissed her hand, “I think this is the best way for you to use your talents.”

 

“Do not jump on its head without at least warning Riordan,” Leliana added.

 

“Challenge one high dragon without warning and they never let you forget it,” Jannasilane muttered.

 

Riordan’s eyebrow was practically up to his hairline, “I planned on going alone so I could move quickly.” The younger Wardens shook their heads, adamant that she accompany him. “Very well, I accede to your superior knowledge of the little one’s skills. Now, who will go with you and who will lead the armies and the remainder of your companions? Remember, a small group so as not to attract attention is best as you make your way to Fort Drakon.”

 

“Zevran, Wynne and General Lee will go with us,” Blake quickly said. “Oghren has led men into battle before so he’ll be in charge here.”

 

“Very well, I shall wait over there while you have any final words with your companions.”

 

Morrigan took Blake aside to argue with him, “Warden, I would go with you to see this through.”

 

He shook his head, “No. You know enough healing to take care of yourself but Wynne’s the best healer I know and will give us the best chance of getting to the top with fewer injuries. You, on the other hand, are very good at decimating enemies over a large area which means fewer darkspawn at my back. Besides, what you and Alistair did won’t work if you die before we’re done.”

 

Morrigan grudgingly conceded he had a point, “Very well. I have no regrets traveling with you, Warden. You helped me even though I know I did not make it easy. May you prosper after this battle is over. You will not see me again.”

 

She moved away and allowed him to speak to the others. She was able to avoid Alistair easily enough but the Toy was not so easily deterred. The small woman planted herself in front of the witch, “Since this is the last time we will see each other I wish to say thank you. Your words the other night did offer comfort, and you gave my Wardens a choice when you could have decided otherwise. I know it was in your interests, but thank you all the same. Be well, Morrigan.”

 

“I have never had any friends, and I can’t say I have any now. This is my own fault and one I cannot rectify it now. I think I would not have minded being your friend. What you and the templar, Alistair, have is special and a part of me envies you even if I find it confusing. I did not realize until the other night how much more he is than I previously thought. He was a considerate lover even though he did not wish to be with me and it was easier for us both because of it. I wish you, both of you, well.” Jannasilane briefly touched her arm and then left her.

 

There was nothing left to be said. Alistair and Jannasilane looked at each other, filled with emotion. Morrigan’s ritual may have given them a chance but the dangers each of them were going into could still mean the death of one or the other. Alistair cupped her face and caressed her cheek with his thumb, “I don’t dare do anymore for fear I will hold onto you and never let you go. I don’t want us to part without telling you one more time how very, very much I love you, my most wonderful and magnificent Janna. If we both survive I want to spend the rest of my life at your side and showing you how special you are.”

 

She covered his hand with her own kissed the palm against her face, “Your warmth chased away the cold encasing me after the death of my parents. You are my friend and the man I love beyond any words. I am the one who is lucky and nothing would please me more than to be with you for the rest of my life. I love you, my Ali, always.”

 

“Always,” he whispered before they left each other. They resisted the temptation to look back, which could only cause more pain and worry.

 

“So, little one, you have a talent for dragons,” Riordan said. There was a wealth of comfort and understanding in his voice, “Soon enough we will have to move silently but before we get to that point why don’t you tell me about your particular dragon talents.”

 

Alistair jogged to those waiting for him, “Right, let’s go slay that pesky Archdemon so we can get on with our lives. It’s taken enough of our time.”

 

“Really, Alistair, I doubt it will be quite as easy as that,” Wynne reproved with a chuckle.

 

“My dear Wynne of the magical bosom I have no doubt the courageous, handsome, noble templar and the brave, sexy, wicked Warden will prevail without breaking a fingernail,” Zevran jested.

 

“Quiet elf,” the mage sniffed, “one more word about my bosom and you may find you are not healed as readily as you might wish.”

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 70:  Battle Over Denerim

Riordan’s enhanced Warden sense and his knowledge of Denerim’s many alleys and back passages enabled them to reach Fort Drakon without too many encounters. They gained access to the top of one of the fort’s guard towers and barred the door against possible darkspawn incursion. “Fortunately for us the darkspawn we passed seemed more intent on wanton destruction than our presence. I wonder if they even noticed us in their frenzy,” he scanned the sky looking for their target.

 

“Riordan,” Jannasilane said firmly, drawing his attention to her and then threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, “For luck,” she said. She then retrieved what appeared to be a harness from her pack. She arranged it on the tower floor and then considered him, “My Rio, I think you had best lie down and close your eyes. I do not wish to accidentally knock you over the parapet and some dust will fly. Trust me,” she said when he hesitated. Jannasilane concentrated and once again reached into those ancient memories and felt herself changing.

 

Riordan felt a little ridiculous lying down when he should be looking for the Archdemon, “But Blake and Alistair were quite confident of the little one’s capabilities. There must be more than what little she told me on the way here.” He felt the hairs on the nape of his neck rising, “The air, it is different, heavier and there is a strange current. It feels like magic but the little one is no mage.” He felt a whooshing above him and a minute later she told him she was done. Riordan slowly stood and blinked, sure he must be seeing things. There, where Jannasilane should be, stood what he recognized from illustrations as a griffon. “I must be dreaming,” he reached out a hand to stroke the creature’s neck and encountered a mix of feathers and fur. “For the love of Andraste this is a miracle.”

 

“It is not a dream or a miracle, my Rio,” he recognized her voice though it was harsher and more guttural. “Come, help me with this harness and we shall ride the winds. The Archdemon will not fail to notice us now.” Hands shaking with wonder he did as she asked. Once he was seated she issued one final instruction, “Hold on and lean forward onto my neck if you wish to speak. Ready?”

 

“Ready, my friend,” he shouted back, eyes alight with anticipation.

 

She extended her wings and bunched her legs to spring into the air. She rose in lazy circles as much to seek the Archdemon as to let her passenger settle. She also wanted to be high enough to maneuver beyond the reach of arrows and bolts. “There, to your left, on the rooftop,” Riordan shouted. As if it heard him the great beast looked up and flew into the air to meet them. Jannasilane bugled a challenge and rushed to engage the enemy. The dragon faltered every time she sang, giving Riordan the opportunity to slash it with his dagger and Jannasilane to rake her claws across Archdemon hide.

 

Jannasilane was faster and more agile but much smaller than the Archdemon, nor did she have the strength or stamina of an old god. She sounded her battle song and flew out of reach, “We need to try something else, it is still too strong,” she shouted.

 

Riordan leaned forward, “We have weakened it but if I can get on its back I can better use my daggers,” he shouted back. She nodded her eagle head and circled above the injured beast, looking for an opening. She swooped down and dropped onto the creature’s back, singing. She dug her claws into its back and folded her wings so Riordan could quickly hop off. Once he buried his daggers into its hide she flew off and continued to harry the great dragon.

 

The deadly aerial acrobatics continued until the Archdemon disrupted Riordan’s efforts. He made an effort to save himself but only succeeded in tearing a wing before falling. “Riordan!” Jannasilane slashed the dragon’s head and dove down. She was unable to avoid sharp claws tearing her hindquarters but ignored the pain in an effort to save her friend. She extended her front talons in order to grab him and had to resist the urge to clamp tightly around him instead of loosely caging him. He grabbed her leg and she slowed her descent before angling up and away from the falling Archdemon.

 

The two younger Wardens were making headway. “Let’s at least try to find these generals,” Blake decided.

 

“Right, I don’t want them kicking us in the backside when we tackle the Archdemon. Even if we don’t find them we’ll at least eliminate some of darkspawn it can call on for help,” Alistair agreed. “Who knows, we might also help Jannasilane and Riordan get through undetected.”

 

They fought their way through sections of the city, defeating the generals on the way, and reached the Palace district in time to see the end of the mid-air fight. The men stared in worried fascination as they watched the small griffon bedevil the much larger dragon. Wynne was intrigued, “By the grace of Andraste, what is that creature attacking the Archdemon? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

 

“Umm, maybe it’s Morrigan. She can change shapes and doesn’t exactly like to follow orders, you know,” Alistair suggested. He kept his eyes firmly on the battle above rather than risk the clever older mage seeing the lie in his eyes.

 

“Perhaps,” Wynne’s voice was dry as baked sand. She didn’t believe that for a second but wasn’t going to challenge the Wardens to tell her their secrets. Whatever the creature was it was beautiful and graceful.

 

They started to move forward when they saw a figure fall from the back of the Archdemon. “Riordan,” Alistair hissed. His heart leapt in his mouth when he saw Jannasilane diving down to rescue him and he winced in sympathy when the dragon’s claws ripped gashes in her skin. “Fly away, my love. Get to safety before the Archdemon can destroy you,” his breath whooshed out of him in relief when she flew away with the older Warden. He couldn’t help notice she was less agile and hoped it was due to the way she was carrying Riordan. They also saw the Archdemon falter and fall, “They definitely did some damage; old Archie can’t swoop down on us.”

 

“Yes, swooping is bad. You are eloquent as always,” Blake snickered. He was trying to put Package’s injuries out of his head so he could concentrate. "Why don’t we go teach ‘Archie’ a lesson about messing with Fereldans?” The closer they got to Fort Drakon the harder they had to fight. The toughest and smartest darkspawn were stationed there to protect their leader. “Looks like the guards didn’t fare well,” Blake remarked when they got inside and saw dozens of bodies lying on the floor.

 

“Let us hope they managed to take out a genlock or hurlock before falling,” Zevran sneered. The memories of finding his friends in this place would rankle for some time yet.

 

“We’d best be careful,” was all Alistair said grimly. He forced himself to concentrate on moving forward. “Oh good, a necromancer, just what we needed to add excitement to our day,” he dealt out a smite and moved away from Wynne so he wouldn’t affect her with a mana cleanse. “Somebody’s been busy,” he looked around the kitchen at the piles of dead darkspawn bodies.

 

“Hmm, be careful. We don’t want to accidentally cut off an ally’s head – Sandal? Did you do this?” incredulous, Blake stared at the young dwarf, Bodahn’s ‘simple’ son. He didn’t have time to question the boy. Sandal had some more potions that they took with them. Sandal’s efforts helped but didn’t eliminate all the threats between them and the roof where the Archdemon dominated.

 

Finally they reached the roof. “Maker it’s huge,” Alistair muttered. They were momentarily stunned by the sheer, overwhelming aura of the giant beast. The intelligence and malevolence it directed at them was a physical force beating their minds and bodies, draining their will. They fought against it. Alistair shouted at Blake and pointed to the ballistae.

 

“Wynne, stay back. General Lee, guard our healer while each of us takes a ballista. Let’s weaken that bastard! Any soldiers that show tell the archers to try and pin its legs and the other troops to spread to each station. More of the darkspawn army will be joining us soon and I want our men to keep them out of our way,” Blake shouted back.

 

Minutes seemed like hours before she returned to the top of the guard tower. She meant to land lightly but her leg crumpled beneath her. Quickly she shifted back to her regular form in order not to crush the man she just saved. Jannasilane couldn’t help whimpering from the pain.

 

Riordan rolled away and opened the pack he’d left behind. He grabbed some health potions and poultices and returned to her side. He reached for her only to have her wince when he touched her arm. “Hold on to me, little one, and let me see what is wrong.” Jannasilane wrapped her good arm around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder while he undid her chestpiece and eased it down. “Your shoulder has become dislocated. I can shift your arm into place but it will cause you pain. Brace yourself,” he put her arm where it belonged. He kissed her hair and quickly removed her skirt so he could get to wounds on her hip and rear.

 

“You need to get to the Archdemon, I am barely scratched,” Jannasilane lied. She blushed when he ignored her and pulled down her small clothes in order to spread the poultice over the gashes. She couldn’t help sighing in relief.

 

“Drink this,” he gave her a potion and waited for her to finish. “You saved my life so I can continue the fight; it is no sacrifice to take two minutes to care for you. You, my beautiful, brave little one are a treasure and it has been my honor to know you. Rest now, you have done your part and it is time for me to do mine,” he gently held the sides of her face and kissed her forehead. “Here are more potions, may the Maker watch over you my friend.”

 

Jannasilane watched him leave, “And over you,” she whispered. She drank another potion before moving her arm. She grimaced but decided it was workable. She slathered more of the poultice over her gashes, and carefully pulled her small clothes back on. They would have to act as a bandage. She finished putting the rest of her armor back on and then tested her movements, frowning a little at her slowness. “I may not be able to move as quickly as Zevran, but I can still do some damage. Perhaps I should concentrate on some of the darkspawn which try to come at my Wardens from behind, at least my voice still works. I am Griffonsong; it is my duty help fight the darkspawn.” She grit her teeth and defiantly opened the trapdoor to follow Riordan.

 

Riordan joined the fighting from the tower and quickly ascertained their strategy and took control of the last ballista. The dragon attacked first one and then another of them but slowly weakened under their onslaught. Then their battle took an odd turn, the Archdemon appeared to swell with anger and diverted its attention to the tower from which Riordan previously emerged.

 

“There. It. Is. It shall pay for what it has done,” the Archdemon roared at the small woman joining the fighting. It was not at all confused by the change in form. Quickly genlocks converged on Jannasilane at their leader’s command. The hurlocks attacked with renewed energy, damaging the ballistae and preventing the Wardens from helping their comrade. The Archdemon lumbered towards Jannasilane, knocking soldiers out of its way. “She cannot be allowed to interfere further.”

 

Jannasilane gulped when the Archdemon recognized her and sent so many darkspawn at her. She did not see how she could survive but was determined to take out as many as possible, “at least my Wardens shall have their chance. I AM GRIFFONSONG,” she sang and dodged. She ignored the pain as she darted, her blades slicing and slashing at every opportunity.

 

Alistair couldn’t see her from where he was fighting. He could only see that the Archdemon, ‘Archie,’ wasn’t focused on him. “Here,” he grabbed one of the dwarves, “keep working this, I’m going to try to get around to its flank.” The dwarf took control and Alistair slunk, if a man as big as he could slink, against the wall until the dragon was between him and the ballistae. The bulk of the darkspawn troops were also on the other side of Archie. A flash of movement from the tower caught his eye as he was positioning himself for best effect; it was his Janna and she was surrounded. There was nothing he could do for her except pray and take advantage of the distraction she provided.

 

Then the Archdemon picked her up in its jaws and shook her like the rag doll Morrigan accused her of being before flinging her into the tower wall. Alistair could hear the thud of her body hitting stone even above the din of battle and felt his heart seize in his chest. The great dragon wasn’t done, it picked up dead bodies and broken wall and threw them over the small, still body of the woman who insulted it. Never in his life had Alistair felt so much pain, then rage. All the anger from every abuse, every slight, and every injustice he had ever suffered combined into one powerful ball of hot, fierce rage. In that moment he understood Oghren; the templar became a berserker. He ran forward yelling, “For Janna!” and sank his sword deep into dragon flesh. He no longer felt the darkspawns’ blows and arrows; his entire being was concentrated on destroying the Archdemon. He never noticed his fellow Wardens joining him. Nothing the Archdemon did could stop him.

 

Finally the beast sagged to its knees, wheezing. Many of its followers were dead. Alistair roared; he drove his sword deep into the dragon’s skull. Magical energies surrounded him and he twisted his blade deeper until he felt the creature’s essence explode. The force threw him into the air until he landed hard on blood-slicked stone. He knew no more of the bitter victory.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 71:  Two Weeks Later

Blake was pacing from one doorway to the other. Ever since that last battle he and Anora worked hard to put the pieces of Denerim and Ferelden back together. Riordan took charge of the thankless but necessary job of disposing of the darkspawn corpses so they didn’t infect the living. Somebody suggested an abandoned quarry a mile outside the city might be suitable; the only people who might be dispossessed were thugs and bandits. Once all the bodies were burned they were going to have a simple coronation ceremony to reaffirm Anora as queen and to honor those who fought. They decided to hold a more elaborate celebration combining their wedding with a joint coronation. When his dual duties didn’t take him elsewhere he paced or stared out the windows at Fort Drakon. In his mind he constantly replayed the fall of his two friends.

 

“We won but it doesn’t feel like much of a victory. I almost don’t care that the Archdemon is dead. Alistair and Package . . . Anora has been a good partner, maybe our marriage won’t be so bad. Of course there hasn’t been much to disagree on yet. Zevran has been so discreet I’ve hardly seen him,” Blake continued to pace.

 

Zevran’s admiration of and worry for the Warden-soon-to-be-king rose in the days following that last horrific battle. The people of Ferelden were happy and he would not deny them their pleasure but those responsible for that happiness were anything but. When Blake was not doing his duty as a Grey Warden he was doing so with Anora as the future king, “she insists on referring to him as her prince consort but this will not last, I think.”  When he could find time away from his doubled duties he did just as he was doing now. Rarely did he allow himself to find comfort, either with his lover or his other friends. “Warden, the inestimable Wynne has said countless times that wearing yourself to a frazzle, even a most handsome one, will not help our friends. You rarely sleep. And now that these floors have been cleaned they are quite lovely and will remain so if you do not wear holes in the tile as you are doing now.”

 

Blake whirled on him, “It’s been two weeks, Zev, two weeks. I know the mages say they are keeping Package in a deep sleep because she was hurt so badly and she gets too agitated to heal properly otherwise. The list of her injuries is bigger than she is . . . Andraste’s bloomers; I was worried we might kill her just taking her off that thrice-damned roof. If Wynne hadn’t put up that barrier when the Archdemon threw her . . .” He sat down next to Zevran, his shoulders sagging in discouragement. He banged his head against the wall behind him, “And Alistair, none of the mages can say why he won’t wake up; his injuries are all healed by now. It’s not a normal sleep, he looks positively bleak.”

 

“Bleak, that’s exactly how I feel,” Alistair thought. He only heard the end of the conversation outside his room. He’d had brief moments of wakefulness but he was careful not to let anybody know. Then he would have to face reality and that just hurt too much. “Oh, Janna, why didn’t you stay at the top of the tower? If I had known . . . I wouldn’t have done the, the thing with Morrigan and died with you . . . you wouldn’t have liked that. You’d probably break my nose again for not getting up and helping Blake. Oh Maker . . .” He opened his eyes only to shut them against the painful brightness. He tried again, this time only cracking them open a little while he got used to the light. He looked around the unfamiliar room and saw an unfamiliar young mage, an apprentice healer, sitting at a little table near the bed. The boy appeared to be unsuccessfully working on a spell, “W-wh-where,” his mouth and throat were too dry and thick to work right but it was enough.

 

The boy jumped up, knocked over his chair and stared at the big man on the bed. His eyes practically bugged out of his head and then a big grin practically split his face from one side to the other. “You’re awake,” the lad was so excited he didn’t notice his voice squeaking, “I gotta, I have to . . .” and he flew out of the room.

 

“Could have given me some water first,” Alistair resigned himself to waiting. He couldn’t help hearing the mage lad in the hall.

 

The young mage in question, Brody, ran right into Blake. “W-ward-, I mean, Your Maj-, Your Wardesty,” he was mortified. Then he remembered his errand, “I have to get the Senior Enchanter, he’s awake, the Hero’s awake,” and he ran off.

 

Blake and Zevran looked at each other, grinning, before rushing in the opposite direction and saw their friend struggling to sit up. “Tsk, tsk. Zevran, would you take a look at our friend? For two weeks he’s done nothing but lie in bed and now he can hardly sit up.”

 

“He is a bit thinner but still a well-made man,” Zevran teased. He poured a glass of water and handed it to the templar who nodded his thanks and drank it down. His hands were shaking but he managed not to spill. “We were quite worried about you, oh handsome templar. I am sure you wish to know of Pocket Goddess,” he sobered at the pain crossing Alistair’s face.

 

“Don’t. I already know,” Alistair closed his eyes for a moment. His fellow Warden and the assassin exchanged looks of concern. “The only woman I want is dead,” his voice was hoarse from two weeks of disuse. “Did you know the Archdemons can see through the eyes of the darkspawn? It left me a ‘present,’ I can see it raking its claws down her side and later throwing her into the wall. I can see what every genlock saw as its blade slashed her flesh and her blood spurted out. I can see every maul that crushed muscle and bone.” His listeners paled at the thought of being flooded with such pictures.

 

“She’s not dead, Alistair,” Blake hurriedly stopped him from continuing. “Yes, she has multiple injuries and came damn close to dying and if it hadn’t been for Wynne she would have,” he blinked at the disbelief on Alistair’s face.

 

“What my dear Warden says is true. She is just down the hall, asleep while mages monitor the progress of her healing.” For once he easily pushed the warrior back down on the bed when he started to get up, “No, no. You can see her a bit later after Wynne examines you and after you have a hot bath. You, my friend, are currently a bit fragrant to be visiting anyone recovering from injuries. You will feel better once you are clean and have clean clothes. Ah, I do believe I sense a magical bosom approaching,” Zevran spoke lightly but with compassion.

 

“Quiet, elf,” Wynne repeated words she’d said frequently over the past few months but there was no heat behind them this time. She was smiling, happy to see Alistair awake at last. “You had us all quite worried young man,” she kept up her gentle patter while she examined him.

 

“I better let Anora know, if she doesn’t already,” Blake looked around the empty hallway. “Won’t be empty for long once the word gets out,” he pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I didn’t know Archdemons could do that, either of those things,” he corrected himself. “Riordan will be interested. No wonder Alistair didn’t wake up; his own mind taunting him with such devastating memories. If it had been you hurt instead of Package . . .”

 

Zevran didn’t like that line of thought, “But it wasn’t and we are all here, my dear Warden. Perhaps later we can celebrate the fact we are all alive,” his eyes gleamed at the memories he planned on creating. The answering heat on the Warden’s face was quite satisfactory. He sighed gustily, “Alas that will have to wait.” One suggestive wink and he was off to arrange for the templar’s bath.

 

“Is she really alive, Wynne?” Alistair couldn’t help asking. He looked so vulnerable Wynne’s heart broke just a bit.

 

“Yes, Alistair, she really is alive and healing steadily.” She finished her examination and smiled at the young man, “Other than some weakness from being in bed for two weeks I pronounce you fit. Food, a bath and light activity should see you at the top of your form in no time. And before you ask you can see her after you are clean and fed. It’s been two weeks, young man,” Wynne said sternly, “another couple of hours will make no difference.”

 

Alistair sighed. He knew there was no point arguing and a hot bath did sound nice. He moved and got a good whiff of himself, “Whew, I really do need a bath.” He rubbed his hands over his face and grimaced, a bath wasn’t all he needed. He threw off the sheet and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stretched and looked around the room, hoping to find some clothes or a robe or something. “At least they kept my smalls on,” he grumbled. Not finding anything, “Even the stuff I wear under my armor would be nice,” he decided to stretch and do some light exercises while he waited for his bath. He was shaky at first, and his muscles definitely let him know that they’d gotten used to the soft life but he persisted until servants started coming in with his bath. He snatched the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around his waist, “Sorry, I couldn’t find any clothes and thought I might as well start to get back in shape.”

 

“No need to apologize, sir, we are all quite excited and happy that you are up and about,” the one in charge spoke up. Clara was amused by his blush and couldn’t help admiring his form. “My Ben should be so ‘out of shape;’ that little woman is very lucky to have such nice big muscles to hold her. I wonder if the rest of him is that big, “she mused. Judging by the way her fellow servants were glancing at him they were thinking similar thoughts, even Jake.

 

Alistair may not have noticed their interest but Zevran did when he came in behind them. He couldn’t fault them for their taste since the templar looked quite appealing with his muscles glistening with a light sheen of clean sweat. He decided to have a little fun and picked up a loaf of bread from the tray being carried in, “Alistair,” he purred. He noticed Alistair’s eyes gleaming at the sight of food, “Catch.” He threw the loaf across the room and Alistair had to drop the sheet in order to catch it. Even he noticed the sighs from some of the maids and turned a bright crimson. He glared at the grinning Zevran and quickly sat down at the small table. His annoyance couldn’t compete with his hunger. “The cook thought you might like some soup and bread before you bathed,” Zevran said. “There is more for afterwards. I know how much appetite you Grey Wardens have though I suspect she thinks I plan on eating it myself. She is quite suspicious of me for some reason.”

 

“That’s cuz of the way you flirt with her daughter every time you see her, Sugar Lips,” Clara explained.

 

“Sugar Lips?” Alistair choked. “Not Smarm Master?”

 

Zevran put his hand over his heart, “You wound me and here I am looking out for you and Pocket Goddess. I am most unappreciated.” He shook his head sorrowfully but received nothing but snorts and giggles.

 

Alistair was still hungry but he’d taken the edge off by the time the tub was filled. As soon as everybody but Zevran was gone he shucked his smalls and stepped into the hot water. “Oh,” he sighed, “this feels good.” He leaned his head back and stretched his legs, “I can even stretch out.”

 

“The better brothels usually have at least one large tub,” Zevran shrugged, amused at Alistair’s goggling. “Use your imagination Alistair and I am sure you will understand. Ah, I see that you do understand.” He perched on a chair near the tub, ready to offer his assistance if the large human needed it. “He would surely crush the lad if he fell on top of Brody,” he snickered to himself.

 

Alistair was busy scrubbing his face which also allowed him to hide his reactions from the elf. He couldn’t help thinking of sharing the large tub with Janna which only caused another reaction he wanted to hide. He tried to think of something else, “Where are my clothes? I can’t just wear my smalls all the time.”

 

“Too bad, I think I find the idea rather appealing however I shall put my desires aside and send Brody to fetch them,” he sauntered out and returned a moment later. “That lad is most in awe of you, my friend. I believe he would blink for you if he could.”

 

“Ha, he’s also in awe of ‘His Wardesty,’” Alistair smirked. It was nice to have something to tease Blake about for a change. He looked at Zevran sitting so patiently, “Zev, are you okay with things? I mean, it’s not going to be easy for you.”

 

Zevran would have diverted the conversation but the concern in those hazel eyes staring at him changed his mind, “It will not be so bad, my friend. I am to be in charge of personal security for His Highness and will have a place in the family quarters away from prying eyes. Certain opportunities will be rare but there are compensations. It is a freedom and a status I never thought to have when I was with the Crows. I doubt I shall suffer from a lack of willing partners if I so desire.” Hearing a noise out in the hall he opened the door to see Brody struggling with a pile of clothing. “Come in, my fine young apprentice. Our Grey Warden was wondering if he would have to stroll about naked, something which we might enjoy even if he would not.” Alistair snorted behind him and some of those in the hall strained their necks trying to see the man in question while Zevran guided the boy inside.

 

Brody stood rooted to the floor, trying not to look at the large man in the tub. Zevran was amused at his efforts and made it harder when he took the clothes from the boy. He offered Alistair a towel, holding it just out of reach and forcing Alistair to step out of the tub for it. Alistair glared at him and quickly secured it around his waist but not before young Brody got an eyeful. “Y-you’re really, really big,” he said in awe, and then blushed furiously. “I mean, I knew you were big, and not fat at all,” he added hurriedly, “but now that you’re awake you look even bigger. Are those scars from darkspawn?”

 

“Yes, Alistair is a very large man indeed. And a man of enormous appetites, more so than other Grey Wardens. You should be sure to let the kitchen know it will take much to satisfy him,” Zevran teased. The templar rolled his eyes and the young healer looked somewhat confused.

 

“Leave him alone, Zev,” Alistair sighed. He decided to answer Brody’s question, “Most of them are, some are from bandits and a couple of old ones are from training accidents. We were fortunate to have a talented healer like Wynne traveling with us.”

 

“I’m gonna be a healer,” Brody stated proudly. “First Enchanter Irving says I have an, um, affinity for it. I might even be a spirit healer, though I’ll probably never be as good as the Senior Enchanter or even Anders. Maybe I can even be a Grey Warden.”

 

Alistair looked at the lad; he was a bit older than he first thought. “How old are you, Brody? Have you gone through your Harrowing yet?”

 

“I’m seventeen, sir.” Brody’s shoulders sagged, “But First Enchanter says I’m not ready for my Harrowing yet, he thinks I get distracted too easily.”

 

“Same age as Janna,” Alistair murmured to himself. Louder, “The First Enchanter is right to make you wait. A Harrowing isn’t easy, nor is the life of a Warden. Focus and willpower are important for Grey Wardens too. We’ll have to rebuild the order here in Ferelden, and that will include mages. If you’re still interested after you go through your Harrowing let the First Enchanter know. Healers will be needed even if they don’t become Grey Wardens but that decision isn’t up to me.” A thought struck him and he sat up to stare at Brody, “You’re a healer. Tell me about Janna’s condition.” He had no idea how commanding he sounded.

 

Brody gulped, “Well, she was really badly injured. I’m surprised she’s still alive. Nearly every bone in her body was broken and she was bruised all over. She looks like a damaged eggplant. Even some of her internal organs were bruised with bruises. She was badly sliced up but those were trivial compared to the other injuries. Her lung was punctured and her liver, spleen . . . they were all torn up. She had a lot of swelling which made it harder to heal. We stopped the bleeding but we actually had to prevent the bones from healing themselves until we could get the swelling down or they might set wrong and have to be re-broken.  That’s why we’ve had her in such a deep sleep and at first in paralysis; we didn’t want to risk her moving and hurting herself further. Where the swelling is gone we’ve been able to repair the bones and tissue. We’ve had to be careful, too much healing energy and it will spill over into other areas. It’s a delicate balance. Any swelling that’s left is pretty minor and we’ve been able to repair all her internal organs and most of her bones. A lot of it is beyond my skill so I was sent to keep an eye on you after your wounds were healed,” he was more comfortable talking about his field of study. When he stopped he noticed how pale Alistair and Zevran had become. “But she’s a lot better now,” he hurried to add, “There’s no reason for her not to make a complete recovery. She’s going to need a lot of rest for the next few weeks but she will get better.”

 

“Try these, Alistair,” Zevran handed him some clothes. The dark brown trousers were a bit too tight to fasten at the waist and they had to use some string to keep the ends of the waistband in place. The cream colored tunic was more than long enough to cover the makeshift closure. It was full in the waist but not quite wide enough in the shoulders. Fortunately it was sleeveless so didn’t pull too much and a belt took care of the extra fullness at the waist. “That will do for going down the hall,” Zevran decided. He produced a pair of Cailan’s sandals. In footwear the brothers were almost of a size.

 

Alistair thought Brody’s extensive description had prepared him, but he was wrong. “She looks so small and fragile, like she’s not all the way here,” he thought. Her eyes were sunken and bruised. He understood what Brody meant by a ‘damaged eggplant.”

 

“You can hold her hand, Alistair,” Leliana told him quietly, her voice conveying sympathy and understanding. “She really is much better than she was. She may be asleep but I think she knows we’re here, go ahead and talk to her. I am glad you are back with us, your being here will help her, I am sure of it.”

 

He sat down by her bed and gently picked up her hand. He stroked it while he stared at her then brought it to his lips and kissed each of her fingers, “I’m here, my love. I thought I lost you and that I would never see you again but here you are. We won, Jannalove, though I’m sure Leliana told you that already, but it won’t feel like a victory until you’re well again.” He held her hand against his cheek and kissed her palm. The maidservant later told her fellows it was the most romantic thing she’d ever seen.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 72:  The Making of a Hero

“Wynne said I was healed, surely I can at least look at my Ali through a window,” Jannasilane pouted stubbornly. She held Nugflutter close and he licked the side of her face before barking at the person upsetting his mistress.

 

Brody shook his head, “She said you were almost healed.” He wished nobody told her the Hero of Ferelden was going to be walking through the streets of Denerim with an escort like a parade. “Can’t blame her, I’d like to see it myself,” he thought wistfully. He wavered, “Look, if you promise to be still I’ll go see if there’s anything we can do. The Hero will have my hide and the Warden my head if you get hurt. Then there’s the Orlesian Warden, Bann Teagan and the assassin and the pretty redhead.” He blushed whenever he thought of Leliana; he thought she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. She had such interesting stories and was always very nice to him.

 

Jannasilane rubbed her nose in Nugflutter’s fur, “I am glad Teagan brought you back from Redcliffe, Nugflutter. I know I am being most temperamental when I should be grateful, but I did so want to see my Ali get the recognition he deserves. And he looked so very handsome and sexy in his new clothes. I think perhaps he likes them as well but he is not comfortable with all the attention.” She leaned back against her pillows; she wouldn’t admit to herself that she was tired. She stroked her pup’s fur and remembered Alistair’s complaints.

 

Alistair won one battle when Wynne agreed to let him move his bed next to Jannasilane’s but lost the one with Leliana and Zevran. Wynne slowly woke her up and allowed them a few minutes before shooing him out of the room so she could work. He went down the hall to look through the clothes Brody brought earlier to see the two rogues discussing each piece. He reached for one of the tunics to try on only to have Zevran snatch it out of his hands, “That color is most unsuitable for you.”

 

“As long as it fits who cares about the color?” Alistair grumbled. Leliana winced and Zevran shook his head.

 

“You are an important person, oh mighty Hero, and your appearance must strike the right note. You wish to rebuild the order, yes? Definitely you must be seen as the capable warrior you are, ready to fight at a moment’s notice, even when you are not wearing your armor.”

 

Leliana nodded vigorously, “You are a most attractive man, Alistair, and wearing sleeveless tunics or vests allows people to see the strong muscles that brought down the Archdemon. Even the scars will remind them that you are an experienced fighter.”

 

“It is a good thing you do not prefer bright colors or anything too ornate. Simple clothes in neutral, dark or earthy colors will emphasize your humility. A little style sets you apart from just any soldier. Like it or not you are a leader. For now you are the one the people of Ferelden will think of when they talk about Grey Wardens. We want you to appear fit, strong, confident, mature, intelligent and capable of leading men against the enemies that threaten them,” Zevran was amused at the confused disbelief on the templar’s face.

 

“Huh,” Alistair grunted, “I’m not a hero.” He looked from one to the other, ending with Brody who seemed to agree with everything the other two said. “I do like not having sleeves, they always make me feel a little strangled, like I can’t move.”

 

“Until now you have never had clothing tailored to fit your build. I assure you, it makes a difference. Such things can wait, however. Now let the lovely Leliana give you a shave, a pirate’s scruff is not your best look.”

 

Alistair looked at himself in the mirror when they were done. The dark tan pants and green tunic fit him much better than those from earlier in the day. He could even secretly admit that he thought looked pretty good. He moved closer to the mirror so he could better see his face. Leliana had left him with thin sideburns that seemed to define the planes of his face while the beard, similar to Teagan’s but without the mustache, added a look of sophistication completely new to him. “I think I like it. Do you think Janna will?”

 

Leliana and Zevran looked at each other with wicked grins then back at the templar, “Oh yes,” they answered together.

 

“My Ali was most surprised to discover that Blake, Zevran, Leliana and even Teagan worked together to provide him with his clothes for the ceremony in black and Grey Warden blue with silver. Did you notice the griffon heraldry on the cloak? It is like the griffon on Duncan’s shield, the one my Ali carries with him. Arl Eamon surprised us all. The Arl is a most clever man; he had Owen make two steel armbands with griffons etched around them. I have a confession, Nugflutter; those armbands make his muscles look even more impressive and are most sexy. I wonder . . .”

 

“The seneschal says there’s a small balcony on the other side of the Palace, if you’re not too tired,” Brody said breathlessly. Jannasilane smiled excitedly and stood. When she swayed Brody ran to her side and caught her before she fell.

 

She was mortified, “At least this will give me a chance to learn how to walk again. Thank you for catching me, Brody.” She looked around the room for her pack, just as Alistair had two days previously. She frowned, “Brody, where are my clothes? I cannot prance through the Palace in just a night dress.”

 

“S-sit down while I look around,” Brody wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with the opposite sex but those few hurried encounters didn’t prepare him for spending any time with a female in a very thin night dress. He could even see her nipples! He didn’t dare look down. He quickly searched through drawers and cabinets and handed her a mustard colored garment which was long enough but, “I found this, I think it’s somebody’s tunic but it looks kinda big. There’s some belts and scarves, but nothing else.”

 

Jannasilane sighed; it was truly the ugliest color for her even when she was looking her best. She chuckled ruefully, “With all these bruises nothing is going to be flattering and I do not know why I worry. I should hope that I do not drown in all this fabric.” She looked at the young mage, “Do not worry, a belt will be fine.” Slowly she padded behind the changing screen. Every movement was painful but she ignored it. When she was dressed Brody couldn’t help laughing, she looked like a child in her mother’s clothes. Jannasilane stuck her tongue out at him and took the belt he offered. On their way to the balcony they passed a mirror and she stopped, horrified, “No wonder Leliana did not let me see myself. Even rats would run away in fear were I to step foot in the darkest alley.”

 

“The young miss is most incorrect,” the seneschal interjected, ignoring her start at his sudden appearance. “All know that a young woman who helped the Grey Wardens was most grievously injured. Your bruises are badges of honor and not one man worthy of the title wouldn’t be honored to have such a brave young woman at his side. If you will allow me,” he offered his arm to the bemused Jannasilane and, with Brody on her other side, assisted her to the balcony where she could look for Alistair. “I took the liberty of providing you with some light refreshments; all items approved by your senior healer, a most commendable woman. Good day, miss,” he gave her a shallow bow and left them.

 

Alistair found her there a few hours later, sleeping on the settee. She woke when she felt lips against her own. She blinked owlishly and then smiled at him, “My Ali, you looked most handsome. We could see you from here. How was the ceremony?” He picked her up and carried her back to her room, telling her everything.

 

“I think the Bannorn were relieved that the wedding would be in three months and that the official coronation would take place then. They’ll have a chance to get home and start repairs instead of waiting here. There will be an informal gathering tonight for any nobles still in Denerim, though many have already left. Anora and Blake arranged with several ship captains to have supplies brought in for rebuilding; when the Bannorn return for the wedding they can purchase them directly from the crown instead of having to place orders. I think Isabela may have been one of their contacts,” he chuckled at the thought of the self-styled pirate queen in discussions with Ferelden’s queen.

 

“Highever has been officially restored to the Couslands and a large portion of Howe’s vault in Denerim included as some recompense. The best news is that Blake’s brother, Fergus, survived. He was badly injured in the Korcari Wilds and so missed the battle at Ostagar. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Blake so happy. You’ll see what I mean tonight at the party,” Alistair smiled remembering Blake’s stunned expression when Anora produced Fergus and missed Jannasilane’s distress.

 

Jannasilane shook her head, “I am in no condition to go to a party, my Ali. I can’t even wash my hair and am hideous and -”

 

He cut her off, “Don’t ever say that. Not to me.” He pushed the door to his sitting room open and closed it behind her. As per his request a hot bath was waiting for them. Alistair gently put her down in a chair and quickly stripped down to his smalls. After a moment’s hesitation he put on the light britches he habitually wore under his armor before helping her out of her clothes. He picked her up and stepped into the tub, sitting carefully in order not to jostle her. She moaned in happiness at the soothing liquid heat surrounding her. “Just relax my love, let me wash your hair and bathe you.” Carefully he helped her dip her head in the water and she willingly bent forward so he could massage her scalp and back with strong, soapy fingers. He rinsed her hair and leaned her against him, carefully wringing the silken mass before placing it over his shoulder so it could hang out of the tub. A light sweat formed on his brow as he continued to bathe her, sliding soap-slicked hands over her breasts. Her purrs of pleasure made him glad he was wearing something or he might give in to temptation before she was ready. “Your legs seem awfully long for a short person,” he said, lifting one up.

 

“I am not – oh,” she gasped when he pressed the bottom of her foot. Alistair stopped what he was doing and looked at her in concern, “Nothing is wrong, my Ali, I was just, erm, surprised.” He stared into the glimmers of desire and felt his own starting to rise. He took a deep breath to steady himself before moving to her other leg. Jannasilane watched through her lashes as those strong hands moved over her so delicately, so carefully, and so thoroughly. She could feel his heart beating faster when he moved to her more intimate parts and understood why he wore britches. She snuggled against him and sighed, “You pamper me, my Ali. I think I like it, this is truth.”

 

“Nobody deserves it more, my love,” he answered her hoarsely. He wrapped his arms around her under her breasts, “Just relax, sleep if you wish, I’ve got you.” He enjoyed holding her like this, even if a part of him was uncomfortable. Alistair remembered he still had other news for her, “Fergus invited us to Highever to finish recuperating, Riordan too. Riordan said he could show us where he believes Duncan lived before his family left Ferelden. I’d like to put up some sort of memorial for him, too bad we can’t have a proper funeral.”

 

“Maybe we could do as the Dalish and plant a tree for him next to a memorial stone,” she suggested.

 

He kissed the top of her head, “I like that idea. Maybe we could take the acorn back,” he teased. She giggled. He sobered, “I think Fergus doesn’t want to go back alone to repair the damage Howe did to the estate. He and Blake have a lot of ghosts waiting for them. Riordan won’t stay long; he’s agreed to set up a training program at Soldier’s Peak for new recruits after he reports to his Commander in Jader. He might even know of a few seasoned and diplomatic Wardens who might be willing to relocate to Amaranthine at least until we can build up our numbers.”

 

“Amaranthine? Why?” she tilted her head back to look at him.

 

“Anora brought me up on the dais, introducing me as the ‘Hero of Ferelden’ and asked me what I wanted,” he rolled his eyes at the title. “I didn’t know what to say at first. I could hardly blurt out I’m just happy not to be king and then I thought of Ostagar and Duncan. I asked that the sacrifices of the Grey Wardens never be forgotten again. Not only is she going to arrange for a statue here in Denerim she’s giving the Arling of Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens. They can never be kicked out of Ferelden again. Not easily, anyway.”

 

“This is good news, my Ali. The Grey Wardens now have two homes instead of none,” she struggled unsuccessfully to hide a yawn.

 

“That’s it,” Alistair bundled her into a towel and put on some dry clothes then sat down with her in his lap. He started to brush her hair in long, soothing motions, “Go to sleep if you wish, Jannalove, let me take care of you. Remember that first night in camp after we met? I brushed your hair then, too. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed; I consider it the first truly intimate thing I ever did with a woman. Kissing you, caressing you, of course they are too but this,” he continued to talk quietly, sweet murmurings that continued even after she drifted into slumber. When he felt his own eyelids start to droop he picked her up and carried her across to the bedroom and lay down with her firmly wrapped in his arms. The healers nearby monitored their status and let them both sleep, satisfied with their patients’ progress.

 

When Leliana woke them later she was happy to see the sparkle back in her friend’s eyes, “You are looking much better, my friend. I come with refreshments and then I will help you get ready for tonight. Wynne said you may stay for no more than three hours and she will turn Alistair into a toad if you do not come back in that time.”

 

“Hey,” the big blond protested.

 

Leliana ignored him, “She knows you will not risk harm coming to your Ali.” The bard giggled, leaving her friends unsure whether what she said was true. She stayed while they ate and then shooed Alistair away so she could work with Jannasilane. The minute he was out the door she embraced the small woman, “You and your penchant for dragons, I was so worried about you Jannasilane. Blake was very high-handed with the seneschal; he refused to carry you further than necessary and browbeat the man into providing these rooms for our heroes. He used his status as Anora’s betrothed to great effect. To be fair, once the man saw how badly injured and still you and Alistair were he stopped protesting.” She unveiled a clear garnet colored silk dress and displayed it in front of Jannasilane.

 

“This is much prettier than that other garment,” Jannasilane’s muttered as she fingered the beautiful material.

 

“Yet you wore it anyway, you are more stubborn than vain,” Leliana retorted affectionately. She helped Jannasilane put it on and narrowed her eyes in consideration, “A little loose but that is probably for the best. It is not very full and will sit lightly on you, which is also good. The color is lovely against your skin and hair, even with the bruises. Why is it that bruises are ugliest when they are closer to being healed? Nothing can make that yellowish, greenish color at all attractive. A glamour charm will take care of that, it can’t hide all the bruises but it will hide those.” She draped the charm around her friend’s neck. “Yes, that is much better.”

 

Jannasilane let her friend’s chatter wash over her. She knew that arguing would get her nowhere and truthfully she did not have the sense or skill that the bard did. When she was done Leliana pulled her to the mirror. Jannasilane’s eyes widened in awe, the length of cream lace loosely tied around her waist, the ends almost reaching the floor, seemed to make her taller. She went closer to the mirror, she could still see the bruises around her eyes but Leliana did something so that now the color and shape of her eyes was emphasized rather than hidden, the lashes long and lush. Wisely the bard did not try to put rouge on her cheeks. Instead she deepened the color of her lips to a rich wine which drew the looker’s attention. Jannasilane put a hand to her reflection in the mirror, “I look pretty, not hideous or scary at all.” Even her hair was arranged differently, some of it side swept and gathered in a low ponytail over the opposite shoulder that mingled with loose curls down to her waist.

 

“You are more than pretty,” Leliana sniffed. “I believe Alistair will agree with me, I hear him pacing out in the hallway.” She opened the door to usher in the templar. His reaction was more than satisfactory. When he stepped into the room his jaw dropped at the transformation.

 

Slowly he approached her and stared until she grew nervous. A huge grin spread across his face, “You look beautiful, my love, I am the luckiest of men.” He offered his arm, “Shall we join the festivities?”

 

Leliana watched them go with a smile, “Morrigan should have let me dress her. Even the lowliest merchants would laugh her out of Orlais were she to show herself in those rags she insisted on wearing.”

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 73:  Highever

“There, that’s the last of it,” Jannasilane was ready to take a rest. She still got tired easily, “Though I am asleep many more hours than I’m awake,” she grumbled to herself and then looked around guiltily to see if anybody overheard her. She couldn’t fault the hospitality she and Alistair received from Fergus Cousland but neither man would be happy to see her up on the ladder cleaning Highever’s walls. “Blake was so eager for me to meet his brother; he seemed no longer to be carrying such a huge burden. They favor each other greatly, though Fergus has brown hair and dark eyes and is more sober in his demeanor. Of course that could be his grief. I bet he was quite the flirt before he married,” she thought, recalling how he greeted her at Anora’s gathering.

 

The two Couslands strolled across the room, calling out greetings but not stopping until they reached her and Alistair. Fergus brought her hand to his lips, “The small woman of immense beauty who traveled with this rapscallion brother of mine and helped the Wardens defeat the Archdemon. I would consider it an honor if you allow me to follow in my brother’s footsteps and call you sister.”

 

Jannasilane couldn’t help blushing, “You and Teagan must have attended the same school of charm,” she blurted out to the brothers’ amusement. She blushed even harder when chuckling came from behind her as the Bann joined them.

 

“You are too kind, my lady,” Teagan’s eyes twinkled at her as he bowed to her. “It is a relief to see you looking so well, and you, Alistair,” he smiled at the two of them. The large, handsome blond warrior and the strong, lovely woman at his side caused quite a ripple of interest when they entered the room. He held out his hand, “Fergus, it is so good to see you again, friend. I have only been to the Korcari Wilds once; it is a most strange place.”

 

“True. It also has pockets of unexpected beauty as well and a large variety of plants and animals where it is not spoiled by the darkspawn. I rather fancy the Dalish will do well at Ostagar with the Wilds to hunt. It was good of Her Majesty to cede them that land in recognition of their assistance,” Fergus agreed. Something in his voice caught Jannasilane’s attention but she had no time to ponder what it meant before Bann Sighard approached them with a request for her to accompany him to the queen.

 

Anora watched her approach, and stopped her from curtseying. “Please,” she indicated a chair next to her, “no formalities tonight. I have been politely warned by my seneschal that you are only allowed to attend for a limited time. I am pleased to see you looking so well; I was concerned when informed of your injuries.” Indeed she had been. To the surprise of the servants she stopped by every day while Jannasilane was unconscious to sit by her side for a few minutes and to check on Alistair’s status.

 

“Thank you, Leliana is very skilled,” Jannasilane replied, somewhat at a loss.

 

“That she is,” Anora chuckled, “but I think much of the credit has to go to your own recuperative powers and the attentions of a certain Grey Warden. Blake cannot leave yet but he tells me you both are going to Highever with Fergus,” she changed the subject. “Cailan always enjoyed Fergus’ company and I’m glad he won’t be returning alone to face what Howe did to his family home. We visited once, shortly after we married, it was a beautiful estate and the city was quite charming.”

 

“I look forward to seeing it. My father was from Highever but I have never been myself,” Jannasilane replied truthfully. “My Ali has never been either so it will be a new experience for us both. We cannot continue to trespass on Your Majesty’s hospitality forever, this is truth.”

 

Anora waved aside her concerns, “I hope this experience proves less exciting than your more recent adventures and to that end I wish to offer you the use of a carriage. The late Arl of Denerim, Arl Urien,” she clarified, “preferred that to horseback or walking across the square and had quite a collection, some of which escaped damage by Howe and the darkspawn. I cannot allow you to use one with the crest, which would only invite thieves in any case, but since there is no current Arl all property is under the Crown’s control. One of them is quite large enough for a party of six or Alistair to ride comfortably,” Jannasilane grinned appreciatively at the reference to her Ali’s size. “It certainly will not be needed before the wedding, if even then.”

 

“Th-that is very generous, it is truth that I was worried about traveling such a distance. I do not wish to be a burden to Teyrn Cousland or my Ali,” Jannasilane stuttered a little.

 

The carriage was as comfortable as Anora suggested it would be. Jannasilane missed much of the journey due to sleep but when awake she got to know Blake’s brother a little better. Fergus was both eager and reluctant to reach his home, something Jannasilane thought she understood. Fergus decided not to go through the city first, he wasn’t ready to face complaints or pitying looks from its citizens, all of whom would have suffered under Howe’s thumb. They approached from the coast; Jannasilane and Alistair found the views breathtaking. “There’s a small meadow not too far from Highever with a view of the Waking Sea. That was Elissa’s favorite spot when she wanted some peace from her older brothers. She’d sit, watch the sea and write really dreadful poetry,” Fergus looked like he wanted to both laugh and cry. He was silent a moment. When he spoke again they weren’t sure if he was talking to himself or them, “Oriana was a bit unsure of how she would settle in Ferelden, her life was so very different in Antiva, but when Elissa invited her to ‘her’ meadow I knew everything would be alright.”

 

“It was alright until that creature struck,” Jannasilane took a moment from atop the ladder to survey the dining room. Howe had left a mess. All the bodies from his ‘takeover’ were piled up between the city and the castle but not burned. That would have apparently been too respectful. New bodies were just thrown on top. They had to pass it on the way in and the stench was well-nigh unbearable. Inside the castle was somewhat better, but it was obvious that cleanliness was not a virtue Howe wanted to waste on Highever. The men took on the gruesome task of identifying the bodies and giving them as proper a sendoff as they could. Alistair, the former templar, was called on to say a few words at each ceremony until somebody arrived to take over duties at the Chantry. Not one of the sisters and brothers in the city or castle escaped Howe’s men.

 

Jannasilane found herself in the unusual position of ‘mistress of the manor.’ Neither Alistair nor Fergus would hear of her helping them and kept insisting she take it easy. The few surviving servants deferred to her in all things regarding the upkeep of the castle. Pots and pots of boiling water and soap couldn’t take away the smell of old blood and gore allowed to remain for months. She got all the servants together, “This castle will never be a home until we can remove all traces of that night. There is a plant my mother and I used for cleaning which is also most effective at replacing old odors with a pleasant, lemony scent.” She described it carefully, “It grows quite freely in the woods where I grew up and in the Korcari Wilds.” It was the same plant she’d used when cleaning their tent walls. One of the younger servants, a boy not much younger than she, offered to take her into the woods on a search mission. The next morning after Fergus and Alistair left half a dozen young men and women armed with handcarts escorted her into the nearby forest. Fortunately the plant grew quite freely and the filled the carts with it, pine needles and wild lavender.

 

Under her direction they created different solutions: lavender-enhanced for the family quarters; lemon-only for kitchen and dining areas; and pine-enhanced everywhere else. She wasn’t sure how much of a difference they would make, “But at least we will know which are more pleasing to Fergus. Hopefully the lavender will help to calm his thoughts. My father always liked the lemon-lavender scent in their bedroom and lemon-pine in his work room. Actually, I think he would have preferred nothing in his work room but my mother insisted.”

 

Now the walls and floors of the small dining room were not only clean, the stone practically sparkled. The more time they spent cleaning with the new solutions the happier they all were. It was hard work but her solutions did indeed remove all lingering traces of the massacre. There were many areas still to clean; it would take days for the entire castle to be washed, so Jannasilane suggested they start with rooms used for eating and sleeping. She’d been working so hard she barely registered the sounds of barking and men’s’ voices coming nearer.

 

“I should have guessed the rat-bastard would even lie about that,” Blake shook his head in disgust. He, Riordan and Zevran had just arrived only to see his brother and Alistair toiling over the dead. Days later and they were still not done. “I would have come home sooner if I’d known.”

 

Zevran shook his head, “No, my dear Warden, you would not. You would have worried and felt guilty while you and Riordan were satisfied that the darkspawn were safely disposed of and there was little chance of outbreaks of the Blight disease. I am sure our mighty templar, even weakened by battle, has been of great assistance to your handsome brother.” Fergus grinned at the outrageous elf.

 

“Probably,” Blake admitted. “Why is there a tent in the courtyard?”

 

Alistair smothered a laugh but it was Fergus who answered, “Your little friend is a very bossy Package. She won’t allow us in the castle until after we have bathed and changed. Even our servants stood behind her orders. We put on work clothes in the morning and deal with the dead. When we’re done we go into the tent, drop our filthy clothes into the waiting laundry kettle, bathe and change into the clean clothes waiting for us. Even with your arrival I know they won’t let us in until we complete the ritual so you go ahead. We’ll join you later,” shaking his head he and Alistair hurried into the tent. Neither wanted Jannasilane to know that they liked her routine; it gave them a chance to shake off some of the grimness of their days.

 

Blake didn’t answer. He was absorbed in looking around the grounds, noting the damage and listening to the echoes of the past. General Lee whined as if he too remembered the sounds of soldiers and servants crossing the courtyard, flirting or arguing with each other or just passing the time of day. There should be mabari pups training by the outer wall, their yips and barks a counterpoint to the human activity. The Cousland kennels were respected all across Ferelden and now they were empty and silent. Riordan and Zevran looked at each other and sat on the steps, allowing Blake time to remember. Blake came out of his reverie when Fergus and Alistair stepped out of the tent. Together they entered Cousland Castle.

 

“Something is different,” Fergus remarked when they entered the Great Hall. He sniffed the air of the newly refreshed room. A few of the servants had begun working on the walls and floor after the family quarters were finished.

 

“It’s yon Warden’s young lady,” one of the younger men answered eagerly. “She says as how we needs to make this a home again and we took her into the woods so’s we could fill our handcarts with some forest weed. She boiled ‘em up, said this stuff’d get rid o’ them nasty odors and it works right enuff it does. Hard work it is but Maker, these old stones shine like glass they does. She don’t mind getting her hands dirty, neither.” His admiration of Jannasilane blinded him to the efforts of his fellow servants to shut him up. He forgot she was supposed to be resting after her injuries until he saw the dark looks his lordship and the Wardens were exchanging.

 

“Come brother, let us check the family quarters for a hopefully sleeping Package,” Fergus and Blake marched off in one direction.

 

“I’ll check the kitchen,” Alistair said with the glint of battle in his eyes.

 

General Lee had run off the minute they were inside the Castle so only Zevran and Riordan were left. They watched one of the older servants cuffing the head of the talkative one, reproaching him for getting the Warden’s lady in trouble. “Shall we search for our wayward Pocket Goddess? Warn her perhaps that she is due for a tongue-lashing?”

 

“Let us go, my friend. I do not wish the little one to suffer unduly though she should be admonished if she has been overdoing. It is not so very long since she woke,” Riordan added, amused at the Antivan’s choice of words. They followed the sounds of barking.

 

Jannasilane cocked her head, “That sounds like General Lee and that means . . .” she took a breath and gathered her strength as she prepared to descend the ladder. The mabari came barreling around the corner closely followed by the diminutive Nugflutter who barked a warning. The war dog was unable to avoid crashing into the ladder and knocking her off her perch. Fortunately Zevran was close enough behind to leap forward and catch her in his arms before she could crash onto the hard floor.

 

“Once again a beautiful woman falls into my arms. I do adore this Fereldan custom,” Zevran quipped and kissed her hard before putting her down and shaking her. “Are you trying to turn my beautiful blond locks gray? You gave me quite a fright, bellissima.” He held her close, not sure which of them was trembling.

 

The minute she regained control of her legs Riordan whirled her into his embrace. Lightly he kissed her lips, “It is good to see you little one. You look well, even if you have been overdoing,” he gently rebuked.

 

She pouted mutinously, “I could not do nothing while my Ali and Fergus wore themselves out taking care of the dead.” She smiled then, “I am most glad to see you both even if you are scolding me. I certainly planned on descending less quickly,” she glared at General Lee who had the grace to be abashed.

 

“Then perhaps you should plan more carefully,” Alistair came running when he heard the commotion. It only took a glance for him to figure out what nearly happened. “Damn it, Janna, what were you thinking? Are you developing some perverse fondness for getting knocked into stone surfaces?” he yelled.

 

“I am no fragile flower,” she yelled back, though she felt like a foolish one at the moment.

 

“Oh no?” he said softly and took a step towards her. One look and she took off running with him pounding behind her.

 

“It is good to see things are back to normal,” Zevran remarked with a straight face.

 

Fergus and Blake were standing in the hall outside the bedrooms. “Mother would have loved this, the scent and the way the stone walls practically sparkle,” Fergus said quietly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them like this and you know how she was about cleanliness.”

 

“‘Cleanliness brings you closer to the Maker,’” Blake quoted softly. He smiled a little, “It took me longer than I care to remember to realize she was referring to my character and how I conduct myself more than the mud on my shoes.” He took a deep breath, filling his nose with the aromas of lavender and lemon, “It reminds me -” The two Couslands turned around when they heard running footsteps coming their way. Identical expressions of amused disbelief crossed their faces as Alistair caught up to Jannasilane and slung her over his shoulder and swatted her firmly on her bottom. “Time for a spanking, Alistair?” Blake’s tongue was firmly in his cheek.

 

The templar snarled, “Foolish woman was at the top of a ladder cleaning walls until a certain mabari knocked it over and sent her flying.” He stalked off without waiting for an answer, the love of his life squirming in his unloverlike embrace. Their bedroom door slammed behind him.

 

Fergus grabbed Blake by the arm and hurried down the stairs until they were out of earshot and then he started howling with laughter. “Poor Alistair,” he gasped when he could speak at all, “all this time he’s been waiting for her to get well enough . . .” he started laughing again.

 

Blake stared at him, eyebrow lifted, “You mean in all this time they haven’t ‘bucked the bronto?’ Oghren’s words,” he added quickly.

 

His brother shook his head, “We’d come in and she was usually taking a nap. She joined us for dinner and he’d watch the clock and his shoulders would slump in disappointment when she yawned and headed back up to bed. Your healer told him to wait until she could stay awake for five consecutive hours. Then he would know she was well enough for all normal activities.”

 

“So Alistair was disappointed day after day, not realizing that Package was tired because she wore herself out while you were gone - Andraste’s chastity belt, that templar self-restraint must be chafing him by now,” Blake chuckled.

 

“Not for much longer, I wager,” Fergus answered with a sly grin.

 

In their room Alistair slid her down in his arms until they were face to face. She was held off the floor by the wall at her back and the hard chest at her front. Lust and anger warred with each other as Alistair wrapped her hair around his hand until it rested at her neck. “I ought to beat you for scaring me like that,” he growled and then his mouth descended on hers, consuming her. She couldn’t move her head if she wanted to. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and embraced the force of his desire. Oh, she’d missed his passion. He tilted her head so he could access her neck and shoulder, biting and kissing in a display of dominance. She was disappointed when he unwrapped his hand only to cry out in exultation when he roughly shoved her robe down in order to ravish her breasts with teeth, lips and tongue. Her response spurred him to literally rip her smalls from her and begin thrusting with one finger, two and finally three until she shouted her release.

 

When she collapsed, boneless, in his arms he moved. Gently he removed her clothing and then his own. Her eyes widened in renewed desire to see him in all his glory and she reached for him only to have him shackle her hands in one of his and hold them above her head, leaving her stretched out for his perusal. He skimmed his other hand above her form, not quite touching the golden skin. He paused when he reached the scars from the Archdemon. Like those on her wrist they would never go away but these were a deep red and would probably never fade. He bent his head down and softly kissed each one from the top of her hip, down her rear and ending mid-thigh. His gentleness brought tears to her eyes, “I want you, my Ali,” she whispered hoarsely and opened to him. She offered him everything.

 

“I love you, Janna,” he said softly. Slowly he entered her until he was completely buried in warm flesh. He fought for control, not wanting to end too quickly after such a long fast. He rolled them over until she was on top and leaning against his strong thighs. Alistair held her there while he slowly moved inside her. His eyes blazed a heated trail as he watched her reactions from parted lips to jutting breasts to quivering belly. Finally he grabbed her hips and began to move as his body craved. The last of his anger and frustration dissolved when he found his release. When she fell against him he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed as if he would never again let her go, “Maker, it’s been a long time,” he said gruffly. He loosened his grip so he could stroke her hair and frame her face in his hands. He stared into those beautiful eyes full of love for him, “Our lives are dangerous enough, Jannalove, you don’t need to take unnecessary risks.”

 

She flushed because she knew he was right. She never should have gone up that tall ladder without somebody else nearby. Her father had drilled that elemental safety precaution in her head when she was younger but in her eagerness she had just barged forward. “I am sorry, my Ali. You were quite right to be angry with me.”

 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” he quipped. They lay together, reveling in the nearness of the other and murmuring quietly until hunger eventually drove them to leave.