146 odpowiedzi w tym temacie

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 124:  Doomed Quest

“You okay Snowflake?” Varric asked the large warrior as Isabela steered them into Forlorn Cove.

 

Alistair didn’t reply for several moments. Finally, he sighed, “I’m tired, Varric, so ****** tired. When I step off this ship, I’m going to have to put on my Arl-Commander happy face and I don’t know if I can do it. I’m not the same person I was . . . what is it, four, no five months ago.”

 

“You’re wondering if you did the right thing about your father,” the shrewd dwarf noted. Alistair turned and looked at him without saying anything. “Look, Snowflake, I know this whole trip didn’t go like you expected or hoped. We may not have a lot in common but this . . . this is something I understand. You remember hearing about my greedy bastard of a brother, Bartrand. I had two choices: kill the backstabbing nug-licker and put him out of his misery and mine or let him live in a nice padded cell with rare moments of lucidity and understanding of what he did in his red lyrium-induced madness. I still don’t know which option was the better one. You had a choice between duty and mercy, with some personal business thrown in. You may never know if you were right, but you tried to do what was best. That puts you way ahead of the game as far as I’m concerned.” Varric scowled, “And if you ever repeat a word of this conversation to anyone you have to tell me about the bet that earned Magpie that bronze leather armor.”

 

The warrior laughed for the first time since he spoke to Zevran and held his hand out to the dwarf, “Thanks Varric. Just for that, I’ll tell you anyway.” He leaned down and whispered.

 

Varric’s jaw dropped and then he snorted, “You’re a lucky bastard, Snowflake, don’t ever doubt it.”

 

“I thank the Maker for my Janna every day,” Alistair fervently replied.

 

“Ready to go ashore, sweet thing?” ‘Admiral’ Isabela sauntered towards them.

 

Alistair rolled his eyes, “Aye aye, Admiral.” He picked up his pack, and then stopped. “Isabela, would you come by the Vigil before you leave? This trip turned out to be more than any of us bargained for and I want to do something for you. As long as I’m Arl Commander you have sole rights to dock your ship here . . . for legal activities of course,” he grinned. “And barring war or some other emergency, blah, blah, blah. I’ll draw up a letter for you in case somebody questions your right to be here. We’re not far from the Vigil, you know, and Janna will be glad to see you.”

 

Her eyes lit up, “Aren’t you sweet? I’d like to see that sexy wife of yours again.”

 

“Maybe we can get in a game of Wicked Grace with Hawke and Anders, I can already feel Blondie’s purse getting lighter,” Varric rubbed his hands together.

 

The pirate and the dwarf watched Alistair climb the path away from the cove until he was out of sight. “Do you think he did the right thing, Varric?”

 

“I don’t know, Rivaini, I don’t know. I don’t even know if there was a purely right decision, just not completely bad choices that would wear on that man either way. Gotta say I’m glad it wasn’t me.” When the dinghy returned, Varric followed Alistair to watch his back for the short distance home. Isabela planned to sail to the city to unload some goods she managed to acquire then return to ‘her’ cove and anchor the Siren’s Song, gleefully avoiding paying the harbor master.

 

Alistair wanted to be home but still he walked slowly, almost dragging his footsteps. He felt, “. . . removed, like a part of me is still in the Fade, or in that obscene lab.” When he saw the walls of his home, he stopped and stared, trying to sort himself out before he went inside.

 

Jannasilane was worried, though she hid this from the children. Alistair’s quest to find the truth about his father was taking more time than he planned. He sent word that it was more complicated than expected so she wasn’t worried about the delay; she was worried about the danger he faced and the probable outcome. She remembered when Zevran came to visit them in Denerim, shortly before Duncan’s name day. The elf was uncharacteristically hesitant to talk.

 

“Ah, Pocket Goddess, motherhood definitely agrees with you. You are more beautiful than the purest madonna, and more enticing than any seductress,” he bowed low and kissed her fingers before whirling her into an impromptu dance. “And speaking of motherhood, where are your little angels?”

 

Alistair watched in bemusement, “Zev, I know you like to flirt with my wife, and who can blame you, but this is excessive even for you. What’s wrong?”

 

“Perhaps,” the Antivan swirled them until they were sitting in Alistair’s lap, “I just wanted to cuddle.” He batted his eyelashes at the warrior. Even though she knew their friend wasn’t telling them something, Jannasilane had to snicker at Alistair’s reaction. Zevran huffed and quickly removed himself; leaving her alone in the warrior’s embrace. “Fine, fine, you are correct. I warn you, I am still not sure that telling you this is the right thing.” He frowned and bit his lip, something they never saw him do, “Alistair, information has come to me that your father did not drown. A . . . contact inside my former organization saw a document in their Archives indicating that the Crows kidnapped your father and sunk his vessel.”

 

Alistair’s jaw dropped and he stared at their guest for several minutes. “Wha- are you, are you sure?”

 

“I did not see this for myself, you understand, but his information has been generally reliable in the past.” Zevran held his hand in the air and tilted it back and forth, “I think it is 80% probable that such a document exists. Certainly, it would be a daring coup, though what is odd is they sent no word or ransom demand. If you kidnap a mark rather than kill, it is usually for ransom either in the form of gold or power. I know your relationship with your father is complex, at best, but the alluring and handsome ass on the throne suggested I tell you, that you would never forgive me if I did not.”

 

“What can I do?” the man who remembered the lonely boy he used to be muttered to himself as much as his wife and friend.

 

“Do? I suggest you do nothing,” Zevran counseled, worried. “After all this time, over a decade, at the Crows’ mercy, I find it hard to believe that he could still be alive. One does not trifle with the Crows.”

 

“My Ali,” Jannasilane spoke softly, “I will support you whatever you decide, this is truth. But think very carefully about the danger you face; I fear Zevran is most likely correct and I do not want you to add your death to that of your father.” Alistair promised to think very carefully, but a month later decided he had to go. He left with Isabela and Varric a week after his son’s first name day.

 

She never saw his mission ending happily, but she shortly realized that not going, not knowing when he had the opportunity to discover the truth would hurt him and that hurt would never really heal. Southern Thedas was uneasy after Kirkwall; the Chantry even disbanded the College of Enchanters and forbade them to meet. However, even though tensions were higher between mages and templars, only a few mages actually tried to escape. Some of the templar hunters were more severe in their methods but so far, nothing upset the fragile calm recently established. It wouldn’t last forever, but it should last long enough.

 

“I’ll miss you,” Alistair whispered and kissed her good-bye. “I have to do this, I have to know.”

 

“I know, my Ali, and I shall miss you. I love you, always.”

 

“And I you, always.” He kissed their children, wiped their tears, and left with determined steps and a heavy heart.

 

Saykor interrupted her memories, “Lady J, the sentries tell me there is a man just standing and watching the Vigil. He’s not close enough for them to identify, just that he’s a large warrior and isn’t acting in a threatening manner. The guards are all on alert and a small group is assembling in order to confront him, what do you want to do?”

 

Jannasilane smiled, she knew in her heart it was her Ali, “I shall go meet this man. If he is a Grey Warden we will know before we reach him.”

 

The dwarf didn’t bother trying to dissuade her, “I’ll tell the men to wait for you.”

 

Jannasilane raced to their bedroom to change. She was determined to greet her overdue husband in something other than garden dirt. She threw on her bronze leather armor, remembering how much he liked seeing her in it, and armed herself just in case she was wrong about the man’s identity. She wasn’t. When they were close enough for her to sense him, she raised her hand, “Stop. It is my Ali.” She ran forward.

 

The warrior watched the group approach, his attention focused on the small woman in bronze leather. The closer she came the more present he felt. When she started to run, he did as well, bracing himself when she jumped into his arms. She peppered kisses all over his face until he grabbed her hair to hold her still and kiss her deep, practically absorbing her into himself, “Maker, I missed you,” he said softly when they finally stopped to breathe. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, shuddering from the force of great gulps of air.

 

Jannasilane didn’t care that his fingers were bruising her skin. She never minded her Ali’s bruises. The haunted look in his eyes worried her, though. They held so much sorrow and pain she hurt for him. Jannasilane gently stroked his hair while he held her, murmuring phrases of love and support. When he was calmer, she put her hands on either side of his face and kissed him softly, “You can tell me later, my Ali, right now you need to be with your family and your family needs to be with you.”

 

“Yes,” he whispered fervently. He smiled slightly, thanking the Maker for blessing him with a woman who understood him so well. “I can’t think of anything better,” he began walking towards the grinning guards and the Vigil.

 

His wife laid her head on his shoulder and sighed, “You can put me down, you know.” She made no move to leave his embrace.

 

“I haven’t been able to hold you for months, I’m not going to let you go now,” he murmured and tightened his grip. “You know, I think we’ve had this conversation before.”

 

Meanwhile, Varric caught up to them, “Hello Magpie, you’re looking well. At least, your legs are,” he teased.

 

“You didn’t have to follow me, you know,” Alistair responded and shifted his arms to block the dwarf’s view.

 

“I got used to watching your back, Snowflake,” Varric hoisted Bianca over his shoulder and joined the Vigil’s men.

 

The moment Stroud realized the Commander was home he interrupted the children’s lessons so they could wait at the gates. As soon as Alistair got near, Martelle and Janice Lynette each grabbed one of Duncan’s hands and ran towards the warrior. “Da! Da!” the toddler shouted.

 

Alistair sucked in his breath and knelt. He let go of his wife and grabbed all three children in a giant bear hug. He stood and spun around in circles, making the little girls shriek and the toddler laugh and laugh. “The three of you have grown so much I can hardly hold you all,” he pretended to complain when he finally stopped spinning.

 

“Da,” Duncan chortled.

 

Just as her mother did earlier, Martelle rested her head on her father’s shoulder, “Are you back for good, Daddy?” she asked hesitantly.

 

Alistair kissed the top of her head while Duncan tried to grab his nose, “I can’t think of any reason to ever leave Fereldan again, my precious Martypants. Everything I want and care about is right here; I missed my family so-o-o-o much.” He blew a raspberry on DJ’s forehead, causing the toddler to giggle.

 

“I missed you, Uncle Alistair,” Janice said shyly.

 

The warrior smiled softly, “I missed you too, J-Lynn. After all, you’re part of the family.” She sighed happily and rested her head on his other shoulder.

 

Later, they finished tucking tired children into their beds and retired to their own bedroom. “Thank you, Jannalove,” he pulled her into his arms once again, “thank you for knowing I needed this time for just family. I’m sorry I was gone for so long. Everything just got stranger and stranger . . . How are you? Any, er, complications?” he asked, referring to the Beast. He knew it was selfish but he really hoped she wasn’t pregnant again with someone else’s child.

 

She flushed, “Um, not really, my Ali. I started drinking the tea made with Wynne’s recipe so that if the Beast came, at least I would probably not become with child. Just once, Blake and Zevran came to make sure all was well,” she shrugged her shoulders and looked at the floor. “They stayed in the room next to ours. It was the only time,” her voice trailed to a whisper.

 

“Good, if anybody knows how to hide a relationship, they do. I will be cross if you wore that desire demon outfit Isabela gave us as a wedding present. I don’t want anybody else seeing you like that,” he said with a smirk.

 

She smiled and looked at him through her lashes, “That is just for you, my Ali. Do you wish me to put it on?”

 

His eyes blazed at the thought but he shook his head, “Not tonight. I just want to be with you as you are now, my love. I want to get to know you all over again slowly. Very, very slowly.”

 

“My name is Jannasi-” she started with a smirk and ended with a squeal when he picked her up and threw her on the bed.

 

“Quiet, minx,” he commanded and encircled her wrists above her head with one hand. He grabbed a fistful of her hair with his other and stroked his face with it, “You are so beautiful, even more than I remembered. I missed your hair on my pillow or veiling us from the world when you were above me; so fine, so alive and silky and you.” He nuzzled and nibbled her ears, reveling in her reaction, “You are so responsive to my touch and when you look at me as you are now,” he spoke, his lips a whisper above hers, “I feel like I am the only man in the world and capable of anything. Open for me, Jannalove.”

 

“Always, my Ali,” she murmured before his lips engulfed hers. Thus began their feast of the senses as they reacquainted their bodies, savoring the taste and scent of each other, arching into the other’s caresses, looks of love accompanying the music of endearments and gasps of arousal.

 

True to his word, Alistair didn’t hurry, no matter how tempting he found the woman in his arms. When they were both near the breaking point, he rolled onto his back and positioned her above him, “I want to watch you fall apart, Jannalove, every quiver of your breasts and every ripple of sensation as you go over. I want to see the desire darkening your eyes before they blaze brighter than the sun,” his voice, husky with need, washed over her and she lost herself in him. Alistair couldn’t control himself any longer and arched his back in a wordless yell as he emptied himself, holding onto her for all he was worth.

 

“Maric would have liked you,” he said when they finally recovered enough to breathe normally. “He told me I was a lucky man to build a life with the woman I loved. I always thought Rowan was his great love, but now I’m not so sure. “

 

“Does this mean you are ready to tell me what happened, my most handsome Ali?” Jannasilane propped herself on her elbows, ignoring his grunts, and looked into his eyes to see if the haunted expression was back.

 

He smiled slightly and ran his fingers through her hair, “It’s a long story and on the way I met Morrigan’s sister, partied with a Tevinter magister or two, and encountered the new Arishok.” He began with searching the Crow Archives and didn’t reach the Fade until two hours later. Her eyes got rounder and rounder but she never once interrupted him. He got up and put on loose cotton pants before filling a goblet with water and gulping it down. He poured himself another and silently asked if she wanted some. She shook her head and he returned to sit cross-legged on the bed. “The magister had my father hooked up to some horrible contraption so he could tap into the power of our supposed ‘dragon-enhanced’ blood. Varric tried to destroy it and we all ended up in the Fade. That was the only conversation I had with my father.” When he finished he stared into the now empty goblet, “I keep wondering if I did the right thing.”

 

She moved the goblet from his hands and put hers on either side of his face, “Look at me, my Ali,” she commanded softly.  “If you were not such a good man your decision would not burden you like this. You have much compassion and a strong sense of duty; these are all truths. I do not know that it is wrong to choose mercy over duty; I do know that it feels right to me that your father is finally at peace. It hurts me to think of him being tortured all this time, though torture is too clean a word. Nor am I sure where duty even lies in your poor father’s situation. Thedas has moved past the time of Maric and Loghain, this you know.”

 

“He was right; I am a lucky, lucky man. Maker’s breath I’m glad to be home,” he buried his face in her hair and held her tightly against him. He lay her back down on the pillows, “Are you still drinking Wynne’s tea?”

 

She blinked at the change of subject, “No, not for a few weeks now. I don’t like to drink it when it is not needed.”

 

“Good,” he smiled wolfishly, “I was thinking it’s about time we tried for another baby.”

 

She stretched against him, “I think I would like that, this is truth.” She pulled at his waistband, “These will have to come off . . . why did you put them on?” Her curiosity was idle until she felt his face flush. “Alistair?”

 

“Umm, it s-seemed disrespectful to talk about my father without any clothes on,” he admitted sheepishly. She bit her lip but couldn’t stifle the snickers that escaped. The snickers turned into giggles, the giggles into laughter, the laughter into shrieks when he began to tickle her. “I’ll teach you to laugh at me, woman,” he mock growled. Soon their play became more sensual and moans replaced laughter. When he finally fell asleep, Alistair was able to let his encounter with Maric rest in peace.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 125:  Snap!

Alistair patrolled the ramparts studying the area around the Vigil and reflecting on the two years since his father’s death. As far as his personal life was concerned, he couldn’t imagine being happier. The bond between him and his Janna was stronger than ever; all their children, four counting Eamon’s daughter Janice, were healthy, intelligent and lively . . . too lively, according to the cook. He liked to think Lane Maric was conceived his first night home, but was happy to admit there were plenty of other opportunities, thank the Maker. Eight year-old Janice Lynette wasn’t showing any overt signs of magic, but he took the precaution of asking some of his mages to be alert. While some children manifested magical talents as early as five years, he knew the next two were the most likely. Tambra Hawke volunteered to work with the girl, stating that her training under her father’s tutelage would help. He couldn’t argue with that, most mages never got one-on-one training.

 

Ferelden now had a respectable number of Grey Wardens and just as many Warden Cousins. Amaranthine’s soldiers under Garevel and Alec were the best-trained troops in Ferelden, possibly all of Thedas. The majority of his Banns were satisfied, “They wouldn’t be members of the Bannorn if they were all happy with me,” he snickered to himself. Elsewhere, tension was the rule. Blake was rarely in Ferelden these days. Zevran stayed with Anora to protect her and young Will while His Majesty traveled to distant lands to negotiate various treaties and gain more allies. He told Alistair in a private conversation he was also chasing leads for a way to reverse the effects of the Joining. He was very disturbed by the little Alistair told him about Corypheus. The militant faction in Orlais was lobbying Empress Celene to reattach Ferelden to Orlais’ hip. Her cousin Gaspard strove to oust her as she had outmaneuvered him years previously when she took the throne and he had the loyalty of the chevaliers. Civil war threatened to become a distinct probability in their near future.

 

Add to that the fracturing relationship between mages, templars and the Chantry. The Divine’s sympathy to the mages was causing many templars to gnash their teeth at her actions. Some felt marginalized or betrayed and went rogue, becoming excessively zealous in their search for ‘apostates.’ Alistair scowled into the distance; a group of rogue templars recently attacked one of his Warden patrols and Zeke was seriously injured. He knew Knight-Commander Greagoir wasn’t going to be happy when he received the Warden-Commander’s missive. “It’s bad enough that, in order to reassure the queasy-I-mean-faithful that I understand the dangers of magic I have to pair every one of my mages with a templar-trained warrior when they go on patrol. I don’t like it, Anders definitely doesn’t like it, none of us does but, as Stroud pointed out, perception is important. Many people are sympathetic to mages but many more are leery after Kirkwall. If reorganizing our patrols is all it takes to reassure them that we still protect them, well, it’s a small enough step I’m willing to take for now.”

 

“Zeke will recover, Commander,” Captain Garevel joined him. “His face will be scarred though Anders assures him the scars give him a dashing appearance and make him more attractive to the ladies.”

 

“Better warn the City Guard,” Alistair responded to his captain’s attempt to lighten his mood. “We don’t want any riots caused by swooning maidens.”

 

“Yes, swooning is bad,” Garevel deadpanned. He sighed, “Healers Brody and Anders were more concerned about his arm, but now feel he’ll make a full recovery, eventually. Have you spoken to Larson’s widow, sir? If not, I should accompany you. I knew her and her family before they married and a friend might help soften the blow.”

 

“No, she was away. I have people waiting to inform me the moment she arrives home. Damn, I hate this,” Alistair briefly closed his eyes in anticipation of the pain he would be inflicting on the poor woman.

 

“It shouldn’t be necessary,” Garevel angrily replied. “Those templars had no business attacking our patrols! Now one of my men is dead and one of your Wardens severely injured. What is your response, Commander? The men are rightfully angry and it will help if they know you have a plan.”

 

Alistair rubbed the bridge of his nose, and then crossed his arms before replying. “I’ve sent word to the Chantry in the City of Amaranthine asking the Revered Mother to keep their assigned templars within city limits for now. If they have evidence that something is wrong and requires investigation, they need to inform me so we can work together. This is partly for their protection. Templars have a legitimate purpose, and I don’t want those pursuing their duties with honesty and honor to suffer because of these zealots. I want the size of our squads increased, preferably to ten men units but definitely no less than eight. They’ll have to be out longer but I don’t see a way around that. We’ll need to use Janna; just, wait until I return and then try to assign her to patrols closer to the Vigil. I’ve sent word to our tavern-outposts to expect more Wardens and Cousins to supplement their ranks and not to assume any templars are friendly.”

 

“After I speak to Widow Larson,” his shoulders slumped and then straightened, “I will personally meet with the Revered Mother in Amaranthine before heading to Denerim. By the time I arrive, I’m sure Knight-Commander Greagoir will be there so we can meet with Grand Cleric Blythene. I have a very strong suspicion neither of them know anything about the group that attacked us. Maker, I hope one or both of them will have more information. I sent some of our best scouts to backtrack these ‘templars’ and then join me in Denerim. If they were willing to attack Grey Wardens and Amaranthine soldiers then I doubt they were more polite to any peasants in their path.”

 

“Andraste’s breath, this is a mess,” Garevel muttered. The politics of the situation forced upon them could become a maelstrom very easily. “I suppose you will have to inform the Crown, as well.”

 

“That’ll be fun,” Alistair looked positively glum at the prospect. “I’ll wait until after I meet with the Grand Cleric and the Knight-Commander. I find having as much information as possible is always best when speaking to Her Majesty.”

 

“What are your orders in the event we come across more Templars?”

 

“Effective immediately, they will be confronted and informed that without written authorization from either Knight-Commander Greagoir of Fereldan’s Circle or Grand Cleric Blythene of the Denerim Chantry, with their official seal, they need to leave Amaranthine until they get it. If they are on the main road, be polite but firm. You can escort them to the City of Amaranthine until they are safely boarded on a ship, make sure the ship sails,” Alistair added parenthetically. “Otherwise, escort them to the border so they can go to Denerim. If we encounter templars off the main road, be more forceful. Unless their leader is an idiot, they will at least listen to you. If they persist, restrain them, remove their weapons and escort them out of my arling. If they attack, engage and treat them as any other band of thugs or darkspawn. I will not let my people be hurt because somebody happens to wear the uniform of a templar.”

 

“For all our sakes, I hope this was an isolated incident,” Captain Garevel replied and took his leave.

 

“You and me both,” Alistair muttered to the empty air around him. He massaged his temples in an effort to stave off another headache.

 

When he reached Denerim, Greagoir only had more bad news, “There were problems at the White Spire during a meeting of the College of Enchanters and now many senior mages and templars are dead. The remaining mages fled to Andoral’s Reach and voted to free themselves from the Circles. Lord Seeker Lambert nullified the Nevarran Accord, removing all templars and Seekers from the Chantry, probably so they can pursue the mages and put them down. I’m sorry Alistair, I know you were fond of her but Wynne,” his breath caught for a scant second, “Wynne was one of the casualties.”

 

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair murmured and bowed his head for a moment.

 

“Maker guide us and Andraste preserve us,” Grand Cleric Blythene was just as saddened and horrified. “Such folly is only going to lead to chaos. Surely, the mages know they can’t withstand a templar army.”

 

“I’m sure many of the templars believe the same,” Alistair replied and exchanged a look of understanding with Greagoir. Neither of the men believed the mages were as helpless as the Grand Cleric believed, and any violence wasn’t likely to remain at Andoral’s Reach. “This may explain why templars attacked my people.”

 

The minute he was back at the Vigil, he called for Varel, Garevel, Jannasilane, and his senior Wardens to meet him in the conference room. “We need to be prepared,” he began and detailed everything he learned in Denerim. “We can’t assume all mages and all templars are headed towards Andoral’s Reach. We’ve already met one group of templars and need to be prepared for more. Thanks to the Lord Seeker, we assume any templars are hostile unless they demonstrate otherwise. As far as I’m concerned, if they don’t have a writ from the Crown then they can get the Fade out of Amaranthine. The same goes for any group of mages. I daresay some will think we’ll take them in because Grey Wardens have always used mages.” He proceeded to outline other changes in an effort to be proactive.

 

“Commander,” Anders didn’t always agree with Wynne but he respected her and regretted the loss of a healer and a woman who tried to help people. “We should make sure all the guards and Wardens know the Litany of Adralla. If blood mages try to seek sanctuary within the ranks of Grey Wardens they may try to influence you, us.”

 

“That is a fair point and one I am inclined to agree with,” Seneschal Varel nodded at the mage. “Did you not use this Litany of Adralla in the past? Perhaps our people should begin to use it regularly. If a blood mage seeks to influence any of us they will likely do so before making themselves visible.”

 

“Good idea. Those that don’t know it need to learn it. We can’t do much elsewhere, though I’ll pass your idea of the Litany to Zevran. He’ll know what to do with it. I bet one of Finn’s books has the exact wording. Where do we stand with the reinforcements for our Warden outposts?”

 

Stroud answered, “It is going slowly, Commander. As you are aware, many of our Wardens travel alone or in pairs. They could be in the Brecelian Forest, the Korcari Wilds, or even the Deep Roads. The most we have been able to do is send word to our ‘inn keepers’ to keep them in place until they can be reorganized. The larger groups you speak of may make it harder to track down any darkspawn.”

 

“I know,” Alistair rubbed his temples. Jannasilane frowned. He wasn’t the only one to feel the stress. “It can’t be helped. Their Warden senses won’t help them detect mages or templars, and templars are very well trained soldiers. If being able to protect themselves means some darkspawn escape, I’ll accept the trade-off. Ferelden’s been without Grey Wardens before and I don’t want that happening again. War between mages and templars, if it spills over, will be a bigger threat to the people we protect than a small group of darkspawn. We won’t ignore the creatures, but we may not be able to focus all our attention on them for the moment. If there are any signs of more than the typical foray, I’ll reassess. Fortunately, the darkspawn are being quiet. ”

 

“You come close to involving Grey Wardens in political matters,” Stroud observed.

 

The Warden-Commander shrugged, “I prefer to think of it as making sure we are prepared to defend ourselves from any threat and not allowing rogue elements to interfere with our duties. Policing the Arling is still the responsibility of Captain Garevel’s men, but since they help ensure the safety of our Wardens, we can say that any attack on them is an attack on any nearby Wardens and a deliberate interference in their duty. It’s a squishy argument,” Alistair acknowledged, “but it’s the best I can come up with at the moment. Our Wardens elsewhere in Ferelden will have to be more circumspect, and we are not going to be looking for trouble.”

 

“That would give those who resent the Grey Wardens holding such a prize as the Arling of Amaranthine ammunition against us. I do not envy you, my friend.”

 

“You have a headache, my Ali,” Jannasilane moved behind him and began to massage his forehead after the others left. “In fact, you have been getting them for some weeks.”

 

“Stressful times, my love.” He leaned his head back so he was resting on her bosom, “At least I have you to make me feel better.”

 

“And what of all our Wardens? I do not think you wish them to lay their heads on me as you are doing now,” she smiled a little when he eyed her reproachfully.

 

“Let them find their own . . .  wait, what do you mean ‘all our Wardens?’”

 

All levity drained from her expression, “You are not the only one to have so many headaches, my Ali. In this meeting, at least three of you had headaches. Jean-Marc narrows his eyes as if the light is too bright, Anders pulls on his ponytail, Nathaniel clenches his jaw and Sigrun rotates her shoulders. After you started to suffer them, I became more aware of our Wardens. Seneschal Varel, our soldiers and the Not-nows do not have these headaches. Oghren tugs on his beard before taking a drink and he is the least headachy person I know.”

 

“That’s because he usually causes them,” Alistair retorted and resolved to consult Zevran. “Could it be poison?” he suggested doubtfully.

 

It was her turn to shrug, “Like the Woolsey did to our Rio? I do not know; this is truth. I think it unlikely.” She glanced away from him into the past and remembered grief. Alistair kissed the back of her hand and rubbed his cheek against it until she looked back at him and smiled.

 

The nightmares and singing began a few weeks later.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 126:  It’s Not True, It Can’t be True

No poison, no illness as far as their healers could discern. Mhairi reported that some of the Wardens assigned to her area also complained about headaches. Nathaniel stayed at Soldier’s Peak, poring over old texts with Avernus. Now many of his Wardens said they heard humming or singing in their heads. “It shouldn’t be the Calling, not with the younger Wardens and not so many at one time,” he rubbed the back of his neck. He’d sent a message to Commander Clarel asking if she knew of anything that might infect Grey Wardens only but he still hadn’t heard back. He was debating whether to send a follow-up; it wasn’t like her to ignore a request from a fellow Commander.

 

The doors to his office opened simultaneously and Stroud and Jannasilane entered. “Go ahead, little girl,” the senior Warden bowed courteously, “what I have to say can wait.”

 

“I am not little,” she scowled automatically. She went to Alistair, “Tambra and I are ready to leave with the children, my Ali. Some of the guards went ahead to make sure we run into no trouble,” she placed her hand on the side of his face and rubbed her thumb over his cheek.

 

He turned her hand so he could kiss her palm, “I miss you already,” he admitted. “Be safe, my love. I will see you again in a few days.”

 

Before she left she stood in front of Stroud with her hands on her hips, “This is not your Calling, my Jean-Marc. You are not to leave before I return,” she ordered and flounced out of the room.

 

Both men watched her go. “I had a quiet word with former Knight-Captain Thornton. She will be safe with him, Commander,” Stroud said quietly.

 

Alistair snorted. “So did I,” he admitted and the two Wardens grinned at each other. “Furthermore, I think Oghren and Nathaniel both had ‘a quiet word’ with the man. Well, in Oghren’s case ‘quiet’ is relative. I’m sure the man blanched, though that was probably from the dwarf’s breath. I’m glad somebody so patient is staying with Hawke.”

 

“After hearing about the trouble in the Hinterlands I no longer have reservations about your agreement with Greagoir,” Stroud stroked his mustache.

 

When Alistair returned from Denerim, he informed his senior advisors that Connor, Kinnon and a templar or two were going to escort the younger apprentices to Amaranthine. The Knight-Commander was worried about their safety. They were too young to make the trip to Andoral’s Reach and they couldn’t stay in the Circle now that the mages officially disconnected themselves. If the Seekers came, they might kill them outright or make them Tranquil and Greagoir wanted to prevent that if he could. “These are miserable times, Commander, and these children won’t suffer if I can help it. I’ve always believed mages need the Circles . . . perhaps I’ve been more severe following a conservative interpretation of our mandate than needed. My Knight-Captain is a good man and greatly more progressive than I am. He will do what is necessary but isn’t heartless and is very patient. I would have stepped down years ago but I knew he would never take my place, or rather be promoted to it. The Order needs more templars like him but under the recent and current Lord Seekers there is no place for compassion or anything but ruthlessly following their example.”

 

The aging Knight-Commander sighed, “I’ve made mistakes but I thought I was doing the Maker’s work. If I was wrong, I shall find out soon enough. Knight-Captain Thornton is prepared to leave the Order in order to protect the children. I trust him, Petra and Kinnon trust him, and the children are comfortable with him. I know I ask much of you and we rarely agree on anything but I don’t know of anybody else as able to understand the needs and difficulties of these young mages. I understand if you say no or if you can only offer a temporary solution.”

 

“What else could I do?” the Arl Commander shook his head. “Their focus may be different but at their core Templars and Grey Wardens are about protecting people. I was happy that Tambra purchased Old Stark’s farm a few years ago. Nobody else wanted it and she could repurpose as she liked without anybody knowing what she was doing. She told me once she wanted a safe and private place to practice new spells.”

 

“And now she has made it available to these children. The Champion is a fine woman. I believe Zeke plans to assist Kinnon until his arm fully heals.  The young magelings will benefit from the training two mages who have never lived in the Circle can provide. However, I did not come here to discuss the children but the Grey Wardens.” He frowned slightly, “Have you heard from Warden-Commander Clarel? I am still not convinced that I do not experience the Calling.”

 

“Janna will be gone for a few days, which will allow me to fully sense what the rest of you do. I just find it too coincidental that even Wardens with less than a handful of years experience feel their Calling at the same time as more senior Wardens. It doesn’t make any sense.”Alistair drummed his fingers on his desk, “If I don’t hear from my Orlesian counterpart soon then maybe I should send somebody to talk to her, it’s possible she never got the message. I’ll decide after a few non-Janna-buffered days.”

 

“I should be the one to go,” Stroud volunteered. “Not only am I the oldest and most senior Warden, I was not recruited by you and will seem less biased. If you and the little girl are correct then the Wardens face a most dangerous foe.”

 

“Put like that I’m not sure which answer is best,” Alistair said sourly. “Anyway, I’ve decided to recall all our Wardens. The Cousins can maintain the tavern-posts and track any reports without going underground. Whatever we’re dealing with, they need to know and I prefer not to inform them via messages which might not be delivered.

 

Alistair didn’t sleep well. The first night without Jannasilane’s presence was bad but the second night he felt the full force of what his Wardens were experiencing. “Maker,” the breath shuddered out of him as he recalled the nightmare. He could still see the heads of Janna and his children bouncing from the hands of one darkspawn to another. He didn’t sleep the rest of that night and very little until his wife returned from helping Tambra settle the apprentices in their new home. The only good news he heard while she was gone was that the Divine arranged a Conclave between mages and templars at the Temple of the Urn of Sacred Ashes a few weeks hence. Perhaps by then both sides would be tired of fighting and willing to talk.

 

“Connor decided to stay rather than join his fellow mages. He is grateful Her Majesty offered sanctuary in Redcliffe for the mages but he cannot bear to go back,” Jannasilane informed Alistair when she returned. She frowned, “You do not look well, my Ali.”

 

“I’ll be fine now that my snuggle-bunny has returned,” he pulled her into his arms and playfully squeezed until she squealed. He laughed and loosened his hold, “I needed that. Well, you should be glad to know I don’t think any of us are experiencing the Calling.” He tilted his head thoughtfully, “You never believed it, not for a single one of us. Why is that?”

 

“It is truth that all the Wardens hearing it is too much coincidence. It is also truth none of you feel different.”

 

“What do you mean, little girl?” Stroud joined them. “Commander, our Wardens await you in the main hall, per your instructions.”

 

“First, tell us what you mean, Jannalove.”

 

She struggled to put her thoughts into words, “It is hard to explain. I sense you are both Wardens, this you know.” The two men nodded. “Each of your Wardenness has its own . . . flavor? scent? I am not sure what to call it. I do not have to see your faces to know my Ali from my Jean-Marc from Nathaniel from Sigrun . . . any Warden I have been around for some time I learn to recognize by their specific Wardenness. I have also felt the changes as you became more Wardeny. If you, Jean-Marc, were really at your Calling, I think I would sense the change in your Wardenness but you feel the same as before the headaches. This is truth. I do not feel a change in any of our other Wardens,” she shrugged.

 

“Huh,” Alistair stared at her. “Well, that just confirms what I suspected before you left. Let’s talk to our Wardens, shall we?”

 

The entire Fereldan Order of Grey Wardens and Cousins filled the main hall. When Alistair stepped onto the dais, the room became still as more than a hundred men and women stopped whispering and focused their attention on their Commander. Alistair scanned the room, making eye contact with several of his people. “I know some of you are concerned,” he began, “and you have a right to be. Before I explain I want any Warden who has not experienced more headaches, nightmares, singing or humming in their heads to step forward.” He waited several moments but nobody moved. He nodded his head decisively, “As I thought. First, let me assure you that regardless of what you think you are not experiencing your Calling.”

 

He gestured towards Stroud, “Warden-Constable Stroud has been a Grey Warden for more than two decades and Warden Nina less than two years. I find it fantastically odd that both would hear their Calling at the same time. You all know that you change after the Joining. As your Warden abilities mature and strengthen, you change a bit more. I’ve checked, and we are all the same as we were before the headaches started.”

 

One of the younger Wardens raised his hand, “Commander, sir, what else can it be?”

 

“A fair question and I wish I had an answer for you. I know what an Archdemon feels like when it’s pushing its way into your head. This is similar, I admit, but I’m convinced it’s a trick. This lacks a certain depth or intensity; I wish I could explain it better than that. Before we can look for the source, we need to defend ourselves against this attack. The last thing anybody needs is for the Grey Wardens to act as crazy as the mage/templar maniacs are doing.” He outlined his plans. The Cousins were going to be in charge of the tavern-posts and research any rumors about darkspawn. They wouldn’t go underground, but they could keep the surface free from the creatures until the Wardens were ready to resume their duties. Meanwhile, he would be helping his people strengthen their mental walls with different meditation techniques and experimenting with the Litany and mana cleanses to ease sleep. Finally, Avernus and Anders were going to research potions. If Woolsey could poison Riordan and mimic the symptoms of the Calling, then perhaps they could create a potion that would block the false Calling.

 

For the next few days, Alistair did almost nothing but help his Wardens strengthen their meditation techniques and memorize the Litany of Adralla. He built on Blake’s efforts in front of Weisshaupt’s gates. Instead of chanting the Litany at the same time, he had groups do so in rounds, like a song. He couldn’t say for sure, but it felt like it was working, like waves or ripples constantly spreading. “At the very least, no blood mage is going to get close to us in order to control our minds. If it’s somebody like Corypheus . . . I don’t know. If they’re using the taint, rather than focusing on individuals . . . Could they be hundreds of miles away? That is a very scary thought. Our will might be our only defense.”

 

Clarel’s long-awaited reply saved him from further brooding. He wasn’t reassured.

 

“My friend,

 

I know of what you speak. This is a troubling time for all Grey Wardens. We are Called and must respond. Fortunately, we have a plan, one that I will divulge in person. It is extreme but the rewards will give Thedas peace from future Blights. I implore you as a friend and request of you as a senior officer that you bring all Wardens in your command with you to Montsimmard without delay.

 

"In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice."

 

Your friend,

Clarel de Chanson, Commander of the Grey of Orlais”

 

Alistair wanted to curse. He wanted to howl in frustration. Instead, rather than alarm his men, he went into his office and punched the wall. Then he cursed. “I wish there was a bandit or darkspawn so I could cheerfully bash its head into the ground,” he growled at the empty room. With a sigh, he sat down and tried to think of the best way to respond.

 

Stroud entered the room. He’d observed Alistair reading a letter and guessed it was from Orlais. “Not the response for which we hoped, I assume,” he said after closing the door. He scanned the missive and shook his head, “I can’t even begin to guess what sort of plan the Commander is preparing. I presume my journey to Montsimmard will have a slightly different purpose than anticipated."

 

“We know one thing,” Alistair said glumly, “Whatever this is; it is definitely not limited to Ferelden. You are going to have to try to dissuade her from whatever she, or somebody, has planned. Come on, I need to spar before my head explodes. Fighting helps me clear my mind.”

 

“Yes Commander, let me just get my heavier armor and helmet,” Stroud replied with a straight face.

 

“Scared?” the larger warrior teased.

 

“I prefer to arrive in Orlais in one piece.”

 

“Hah!”

 

A few days later Stroud was ready to leave with Alistair’s reply.

 

“My favorite Commander in Montsimmard,

 

My Wardens and I are under attack. I know what you are thinking, but I remember Urthemiel and while there are similarities, I am convinced this is some vicious fraud for a sinister and unknown purpose. Warden-Constable Stroud will explain more fully as I hesitate to put words to paper. He can describe what I mean better than I can, anyway. My Wardens remain with me as we investigate and build our defenses against this enemy. Whatever or whoever it is. I beg you to hold off on what you’re doing.

 

Your friend and comrade,

Alistair Therein, Commander of the Grey of Ferelden”

 

They decided not to risk messenger birds so Stroud carefully tucked the message away. “Try not to get killed before you get there. I swear I think the templars and mages are trying to do as much damage as possible before the Conclave ends their fun,” Alistair shook his head.

 

“I will endeavor not to get killed before I see Commander Clarel,” Stroud responded with a slight smile.

 

“Do not even joke of such things, my Jean-Marc.” Jannasilane entered from the Commander’s private quarters and glared at him. Alistair beat a hasty retreat.

 

“I did not mean to upset you, little girl. It is dangerous, but Grey Wardens face danger every day. I promise to take what care I can,” he bowed.

 

She surprised him when she held his face between her hands and kissed him. “You are an especially dear friend and I worry, this is truth,” she admitted. “I am most unsettled by what is happening to my Wardens, this too is truth.” She didn’t tell him how afraid she really was. She tried to convince herself it was simply bad memories of the last time somebody went to Orlais.

 

“Ah, little girl, I will take every precaution. I have every reason to return to my friends and home,” he said quietly. “And my family, even if I can only call them as such in the privacy of my mind,” he thought of Martelle and her mother. “Pray that Commander Clarel is not lost to reason. She is a good Commander with many good Wardens. Her only failing of which I’m aware is that she taught you to swear.”

 

Jannasilane laughed, just as he intended. “Maker guide and protect you, my Jean-Marc,” she hugged him tightly.

 

Stroud wrapped his arms around and kissed the top of her head, “Maker watch over us all,” he whispered before letting her go.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 127:  Just What We Need

“I do not like this, my Ali,” Jannasilane paced in the Commander’s office while he completed some paperwork. “We still have not heard from our Jean-Marc.”

 

Alistair put down the report he was reading and studied his beautiful, compassionate, exciting, and now fretful wife. He sighed, “My love, Stroud is one of the most capable men I know. Even with all the stops I made it’s still going to take him at least twice as long as it did me to get to Montsimmard. I admit if we don’t hear soon I’m going to be concerned, but not yet. I didn’t have to dodge manic mages and testy templars every blessed step of the way. Relax, my vivacious vixen, you always worry more when you’re weaning one of the children.”

 

“You’ve been waiting to say that, haven’t you? Are you thinking to compete with Varric, my wonderful warrior?” she accused with one eyebrow lifted in amusement. Then she blinked, “Wait, do I really?”

 

“With Martelle, you told Sigrun to put on a warmer coat and Garevel he was working his men too hard. When it was Duncan’s time you made Oghren drink a glass of milk. He volunteered for lots of patrols after that. I think you also offered to knit somebody a scarf but he or she convinced you it wasn’t necessary. You even told Carver scowling was bad for his digestion and he’d feel better if he smiled more.”

 

“No, I didn’t . . . really?” She groaned, “Why do you all put up with me?”

 

Without any regrets, Alistair gave up on paperwork and walked over to the love of his life, “Because every single one of us adores you. Because they all know that, even if it was a bit excessive, you did those things because you care about them.” He opened the door and they walked out.

 

She slanted her eyes up at him, “You do not say I did anything silly with you, my Ali. Do I not worry over you?”

 

He grinned, “You give me special attention and I don’t mind at all. It gives me more opportunity to savor your extra voluptuousness before you’re back to your normal perfection.”

 

“That’s a pretty way of saying I’m fat,” she snorted.

 

“No way,” he denied. “I’m saying that your wonderful curves are different, and I get to explore them as if for the first time. Extra icing on an already spectacular cinnamon bun and all too quickly gone, I can just eat you up. However, that will have to wait; right now, we have a date in the sparring ring. You can work out all your frustrations trying to take me down,” he drawled.

 

Jannasilane stuck her tongue out at him, “Gloating does not look attractive on you, my Ali.”

 

“It’s not gloating,” he grinned widely. “It’s remembering how much I like you under me,” he waggled his eyebrows in a playful leer.

 

She blushed and shook her finger at him, “You would not say that if anybody else was around to hear you.”

 

Their words were normal but they had an edge, an indication of the tension they were all feeling. The Litany coupled with some mana cleanses late at night filtered only some of the affects of their pseudo-Calling so the Wardens could sleep a little easier. The meditation exercises to build their mental walls helped more. However, squads of active men and women now temporarily housebound were feeling increasingly restless. Alistair didn’t blame them; they signed up to fight darkspawn not some sort of invasion into their own minds. He made a decision, “It’s time small groups of our Wardens tested their walls to make sure they can sense darkspawn without interference. I want Nathaniel to lead a small group to Kal Hirol. Even if there are no darkspawn they should still be able to pick up something in the areas the dwarves haven’t fixed yet.”

 

“Maybe Carver should take a group to the Wending Wood. Merrill hasn’t said anything, but it wouldn’t hurt to scout the area. I don’t think there are many refugees from Kirkwall left at Velanna’s old site.” Jannasilane was talking about Merrill’s determination to help the elves of Kirkwall after war broke out. She followed Alistair around like a kicked puppy until he finally said she could set up a camp in the Wending Woods, not too near the road. At first, there were dozens of elves, but gradually they moved back to what was left of their homes or to other cities. Merrill could at least be satisfied they were in better health and had some new skills and knowledge to take with them. The handful remaining had no plans to leave. They liked the peace of the woods, once they got used to the wildlife, and they were still close enough to the City of Amaranthine to look for employment or to trade. The workers at the silverite mine, and the quarry regularly stopped by, as did the Grey Wardens and soldiers from Vigil’s Keep.

“That should improve his disposition,” Alistair agreed. “Theirs’ must be the slowest courtship in the history of courtships.”

 

“We should ask Leliana,” his wife snickered. “A bard would surely know the answer.”

 

They were just stepping into the ring when the commotion began. Guards on the ramparts pointed and one ran to the Arl-Commander, “Commander, sir, emergency flares were just spotted in the direction of Hawke’s farm and Kal Hirol. And, um, sir, the sky over there is, it’s green.”

 

“I am coming, too,” Jannasilane forestalled Alistair. “If something is wrong near the farm, Tambra may need help with the children. They know me.”

 

“Can’t argue with that,” Alistair reluctantly agreed. “But no farther unless I say otherwise,” he warned.

 

Not sure what they might find, Alistair took a dozen of his Wardens as well as two squads of his soldiers with them. He knew any other patrols would already be on the way. He’d been Arl and Warden-Commander for over a decade; never had one of his patrols signaled for help. He didn’t need to tell his men to hurry, they felt the same sense of urgency and quickly settled into a fast pace. Alistair hoped Tambra and the others could manage for another three or four hours until help arrived. He didn’t need to look at Anders to know how the unusually silent mage was feeling; the man’s impatience was almost a physical force.

 

The closer they got, the sliver of green became better defined as a green ray of light. “My Ali,” Jannasilane rubbed her forehead, “that is from the Fade.”

 

“I’m very much afraid you are correct, Jannalove,” he responded. “And if that’s the Fade we have to expect demons and possibly blood mages.” He passed the word to his men.

 

When they reached the farm, Kinnon was trying to hitch panicked horses to the wagon loaded with the frightened apprentices. Some of the soldiers ran to help him and hold the horses still. “Commander, Lady Jannasilane, thank the Maker you came. One of your patrols is over the ridge with the Champion and Ser Thornton,” he pointed. “We had no warning. We were down in the practice room with the children when we heard an explosion. My first thought was the dwarves were blasting in Kal Hirol, they do sometimes to clear out rubble, but we realized it was too close. We left the children downstairs while we investigated. Commander,” he started to shake again, “the sky tore open to the Fade and demons are coming through! Mistress Hawke told me to get the children back to the Vigil while they held back the demons until it was safe to retreat but there are so many.”

 

“You did well, Senior Enchanter,” Alistair briefly clasped the other man on the shoulder, calming him. “Go to the Vigil. They’ll take care of you.”

 

“Commander, sir, if I might speak?” The soldier barely waited for permission, “I can drive the wagon while the Enchanter rides with the children, help keep them calm. I grew up around horses and if they get skittish, I can probably manage them a bit better. I’ll come back with a group of mages and more smiters to help deal with whatever weird stuff is going on.”

 

If the situation weren’t so serious, Alistair would have laughed at the relief washing over Kinnon’s face, “Excellent idea. Take Lady Jannasilane with you, please.” He ignored the glare she gave him.

 

“Well, ain’t that just what we needed, a sodding storm of demons coming down. I hate the friggin’ Fade. You humans shoulda come up with something better’n that,” Oghren grumbled to Jannasilane.

 

“I do not like it either, my Oghren, it makes my head ache. This is truth,” she grimaced.

 

Tambra was the first one to see them, “I’m glad you’re here. Kinnon and the children are safe?” When the Arl-Commander nodded she continued, “I’m not sure what scared him more, the number of demons or having to drive the wagon. The demons are mostly milling around near the tear. I have to say, it’s not like any tear I’ve seen or heard about. When your patrol arrived, we quickly realized there weren’t enough of us to go against that many demons so we formed a loose circle around them, ready to dispatch any that wander too close. I can’t answer for when they first arrived, but I’m fairly confident no demons evaded our network to roam freely after we encircled the area.”

 

“Good thinking, we didn’t encounter any on the way here.” While waiting for the smiters, Alistair got tired of saying ‘templar trained warriors’ and adopted the term some of his people used, he organized his men into small groups and distributed some around the perimeter Hawke formed. Eight groups of three, one more than the demons he saw, with a smiter or mage in each trio. Others he paired and set to walking a circle farther from the demons but still within help and eyesight of the stationary trios. They served a dual purpose; deal with any demons that might get past the first defenders and warn anybody else away from the danger. “Don’t attack until I give the signal,” he warned. “I count seven demons, have there been any others?” he looked at Tambra for answers.

 

“Not that I know of,” she shook her head thoughtfully. “Frankly, I’m surprised. As you can see, different types of demons can come through so I have to ask myself why no more than seven?”

 

“The seven deadly sins?” Anders quipped. He was back to his normal self now he knew Tambra was safe.

 

“The ray from the Fade ends in that spiky little cloud, it is difficult to see among the demons, but it is there,” Jannasilane spoke up from behind them.

 

“Janna,” Alistair gritted his teeth. His expression promised retribution later.

 

She ignored him and concentrated on the demons. “I am not sure, but it feels as if a piece of each demon is still in the spiky Fade cloud. The cloud feels . . .  I can only say it feels full. Perhaps this is why there are only seven. Do you have any ideas on why they haven’t moved farther from where they, um, landed?”

 

“You can feel the energy of the Fade?” Tambra had never heard of anyone experiencing the Fade quite that way, especially a non-mage.

 

“It is part of my sensitivity to magic, I think. I do not understand, how does this happen?”

 

Tambra shrugged her shoulders, to ease tension as much as indicating she didn’t know, “I don’t know. If you’re right, maybe they can’t wander further until that last bit of them is in our world. Father never taught us much demonology,” she smiled wryly. “I can’t even begin to imagine what sort of magic caused this.”

 

“So . . . definitely not the children,” Alistair said thoughtfully, thinking ahead to questions the banns and others would be asking him.

 

Anders spoke up, “You can confirm this with Professor Warren. He wasn’t the Circle’s best mage, as I recall, but he’s an extraordinary scholar and teacher. I don’t know whether this is intentional or it's an accidental byproduct of some ritual, but I think it has to be the result of powerful and complex magic and possibly more than one mage. There is absolutely no way one of the children, or even most of the mages I know, could accomplish this. I hate to admit it, but I might even be glad you have so many smiters. Maybe,” he added.

 

“Well, it’s time to send these things back where they came from. Each squad of three will concentrate on a different demon, the last squad can help were needed. You,” Alistair turned on his wife, “will stay out of the fighting unless you are directly attacked. I want you to observe and concentrate on the Fade energy thingy. With your sensitivity you might be able to warn us if more demons start to come through.” She frowned and nodded. Any edge she could give them she would.

 

Alistair’s plan seemed to work. By concentrating on different demons, the unwelcome visitors couldn’t coordinate their efforts in any fashion. Soon, “More are coming through!” Jannasilane could feel the pounding in her head to match the pulsing energy from the Fade as seven more demons came through.

 

“Maker’s blasted navel,” Alistair thought. They were too close to the demons’ doorway. “Fall back!” he yelled to his men, “Fall back into your original positions!” Slowly they moved to the perimeter Tambra created earlier. As soon as they felled the last demon, they scrambled, hoping to be in place before the next round of demons. When they didn’t come right away, the Commander turned to Jannasilane, “Jannalove, you’re so pale.” He cupped her face in his hands.

 

She smiled wanly, “It is just an achy head, my Ali. I will feel better if you could do a mana cleanse.” Color quickly bloomed over her features and she sighed in relief. “I feel much better now, this is truth. Concentrating on Fade energy is very tiring. I do not think you will see more demons for a little while, my Ali. The energy is very low and not, it does not feel focused.”

 

He frowned, “But you don’t say there won’t be more demons.” She shrugged and shook her head. She couldn’t promise that. There were definitely going to be more demons. “Just what we need when the world is going insane: a never-ending supply ready to come through from the other side and a limited number of soldiers to fight them. This isn’t like last time, when we closed Fade tears before it was from inside the Fade.”

 

“I remember those in the Blackmarsh, but these feel different. I do not know where they need to be closed, but I think it is not the same method.”

 

“First things first,” Alistair signaled to call in one person from each three person team while gathering in the outer perimeter soldiers. While he and Jannasilane were speaking, the reinforcements from the Vigil arrived. “People, we have to assume that until we find a way to close this tear the demons are going to keep coming in waves. I know it’s too early to say it’s a pattern, but here’s what we know. One cluster of demons came down and were milling around the dense Fade cloud, the spiky energy ball. The minute we defeated the last of those demons, another group started to come through. It only took them a few moments to, I guess you can say they took shape; it wasn’t enough time for us to get back to our positions on the inner perimeter. The only reason we don’t have a third group yet is that the energy in the Fade cloud is too low. Don’t kid yourselves there will be more demons. We need to contain them and at the same time we need to conserve our energy.”

 

“Alistair, if you want to use my farm as a base, you are welcome to do so. I don’t think I feel comfortable staying here while demons are just over the hill,” Tambra said wryly.

 

“Thank you, Champion, that will be a tremendous boon. You, of course, are free to stay at the Vigil as long as you like,” the Commander smiled gratefully. “Since each group of demons only had seven that may be all that the tear can handle at one time. For the moment, let’s assume they will continue to appear in roughly the same locations as they did before. It’s a small area, there can’t be much deviation.” He drew a circle in the dirt using the point of his sword. “Here is the Fade cloud,” he marked the location with a smaller circle, “and here are about where the demons popped up.” He added x’s to his drawing. He drew two larger circles around the first one. “Pairs will continue to patrol the outmost perimeter. Watching for demons isn’t easy; they can be very sneaky and pop up behind you. However, I am hoping your biggest efforts will be in keeping others away. I don’t want any innocents caught in the middle if we can avoid it.”

 

Alistair looked around to make sure he had everybody’s attention. Never was he more grateful for the quality of the men and women under his dual command than he was just then. They were serious, focused, and ready to act on his word in spite of their fear, quite obvious in some of them. “Of course, only a fool wouldn’t be afraid of demons on the loose,” he thought. “This inner perimeter of our three person teams,” he pointed, “we need to change our methods. When the next round appears, teams two through seven will each be responsible for a demon,” his sword connected the teams’ locations with a demon spawning point. “However, you are to watch only. Team one will also be watching all the demons. When one approaches the halfway point,” he drew another circle, a dotted line, “team one will signal the attack. If you don’t or can’t see team one and any demon actually reaches the halfway point, then you can engage. That should be enough distance that any smites won’t affect our mages. Bows, crossbows, smites and magic attacks only until they are near your perimeter. If you coordinate your attacks they might not even reach you but if they do then at least you will have time to get into position before the next round of demons.”

 

“Commander,” the soldier from team one spoke up, “what will we be doing?”

 

“You’re going to be overseeing the entire field and helping where needed or redirecting the efforts of the other teams. In addition, and this is very important, you need to carefully observe and record the Fade cloud and demons. When do they spawn; what types of demons; how long before they move away from the center; how much time before the next spawning and how much time it takes after the last demon from the current round is defeated; and any other details you can record. If there is a pattern, we need to find it. I am going to send Saykor with enough additional troops to coordinate three shifts. Watching can be mind numbing after a while, I don’t want any shift to last longer than seven hours. Mistress Hawke,” he turned to the Champion, “I know you’re tired and I’m grateful for everything you’ve done and the use of your farm. I am going to ask you to stay at the farm until Saykor arrives so you can help him set up a command post with as little disruption to your property as possible.”

 

“Gladly, Arl-Commander,” Tambra appreciated Alistair’s courtesy. “I will go get started right now, if one of your new arrivals will take my place.”

 

Alistair quickly directed the newcomers to change places with Tambra, Zeke, Connor, Thornton and the other templar, and the first patrol to respond to the green sky. Hawke and company went back to the farm to begin setting up. “I better go to the City of Amaranthine to talk to the templars and city guard. If any demons got away, they should know about it and be ready to work together. Of course, they may not be willing to listen to me after our last conversation,” he pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“Do you want to go closer to the source of the ray from the Fade, my Ali? Perhaps we can see a way to close it,” Jannasilane suggested, looking up into the sky.

 

He blinked, “You want to get closer? Do you really think it will help?”

 

Jannasilane shrugged, “I do not know, but perhaps we can find out more.”

 

Alistair thought for a few minutes. So far, only Nathaniel and Stroud knew she could shift into a griffon. He had to decide if the chance to know more about the tear was worth revealing her secret. She believed it, but he wasn't so sure. He thought about the unending stream of demons coming their way and reluctantly agreed with her, “If anybody comes from Weisshaupt I’ll just send them to the demons.”

 

Anders and Oghren were on team one and the troops watched curiously as Janna move to an open area. Anders’ jaw dropped when the air shimmered around her and instead of the familiar Poppet, there was a magnificent griffon. Alistair stroked her head affectionately before hopping onto her back. Their people watched the two of them flying up into the sky, mouths agape.

 

“Heh heh heh,” Oghren chuckled. He was one of the first to recover, “I knew there was something hinky about that Morrigan story during the fight with the Archdemon. Didn’t know it was Cherryplum, no wonder the Archdemon didn’t like her. Turn around, Sparklefingers; we got a job to do. Ooh, wonder if I can get me a ride.”

 

“Didn’t you turn green when you got on the ship? I heard you were more seasick than Varric after a hangover,” Anders teased.

 

“Waves is unnatural and that surface dwarf is a crossbow wielding wimp,” Oghren answered crossly.

 

Anders snorted, “And riding in the air is normal? I wouldn’t mind giving it a try myself, though,” he added wistfully. Resigned to being land bound, the two focused on the Fade cloud.

 

Jannasilane flew higher and higher, until just before the air became too thin for Alistair to breathe. “This is interesting, my Ali, the higher we came the more separated the Fade energy. That opening is quite large, and the Fade energy is spiraling downward until it can come together.”

 

Alistair frowned, “I may be mistaken . . . I’ll have to talk to somebody . . . but I think that means whatever happened didn’t happen near Tambra’s farm. The tears in the Blackmarsh, they happened because that Orlesian baroness person weakened the veil with her blood magic stuff. It provided a focus for the Fade. At least we know why the demons aren’t constantly coming through. For now, anyway. Let’s go back down and see if Anders has any ideas.”

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 128:  Maker and Andraste Preserve Us

No good news waited for Alistair and Jannasilane at the Vigil. J-Lyn’s magical abilities had surfaced under the stress and messages arrived from Highever, Lothering, Gwaren and Denerim. While Jannasilane saw to J-Lyn and the other young mages, he went to his office to read the missives. Every single one said the same thing, the sky was torn and demons were coming through. He called a meeting of the acting Seneschal, Nathaniel, and Captain Garevel. “Ours isn’t the only tear in the Veil. I don’t know what happened, but it’s bigger than any of us can imagine. All of our people elsewhere report similar occurrences.”

 

“Maker’s breath, how do we combat an invasion of demons?” Garevel voiced what they were all thinking.

 

“One at a time,” Nathaniel said with uncharacteristic humor.

 

Alistair coughed to hide his amusement while acting Seneschal Candira looked shocked, “Candira, right, I need to remember that,” he recalled. “Dark humor aside,” he cautioned them, “Nathaniel is not wrong. We can only do what we can, and that is to deal with the tears near us. I’ve drafted messages to Denerim and our tavern-posts. I’m also going to send a report to Her Majesty and Zevran. They are two of the smartest people I know and the best at knowing how to use the little bit of information we have. Our tavern-posts are going to have to work with local guards and militia. I’m going back to the City of Amaranthine to talk to the Revered Mother, the senior templar, and Constable Aidan. We need to be prepared for more rifts to appear and we can only do so much. With our Wardens under attack, they can’t help as much as I would like. I wonder .  . .” his eyes narrowed as a thought crossed his mind then he shook it off. “Anyway, if the templars who remained in Amaranthine are willing to ignore mages in order to chase demons it will help. I suppose we should be thankful not all templars left their posts. I’d rather be proactive but the most we can do until we know more is contain any outbreaks the best we can. People are going to be scared and I don’t blame them. I’ll listen to any ideas no matter how insane they might be. This whole situation is insane; I have a hunch normal strategies won’t be enough.”

 

Professor Warren and Jannasilane were waiting for him, “The apprentices are settled in our personal sparring chamber. The Professor and Kinnon both thought they would be more comfortable for tonight if they weren’t separated.”

 

The elderly Professor, a former Senior Enchanter at Fereldan’s Circle, spoke softly, “Blankets and pillows will be fine for the moment. The important thing is they are all alive. Being together will help reassure them of this fact. However, I am afraid there is another matter we must discuss.”

 

Alistair looked at Jannasilane, she smiled but it was one of acknowledgment not reassurance. He repressed a sigh, “Let’s go into my office.” He shut the door and sat down behind his desk before asking, “So, what’s the problem?”

 

“Now that we all know young Janice is indeed a mage we can introduce her to the other apprentices and adjust her class work accordingly. Indeed, your foresight helped alleviate what could have been a dangerous and frightening incident. One of your ‘smiters,’ such a quaint term, quickly performed an acceptable mana cleanse. Young Mistress Guerrin, like many budding mages, was not even aware of what she did until after the fact. It is best for all the children there are as few changes as possible. To that end, Kinnon and I will work out an appropriate schedule. With your permission, I would like your children and the magelings to attend academic classes together. It is a new world, Arl-Commander, and a frightening one. The more we can normalize their activities, the better for all,” the elf sat back and smiled pleasantly.

 

“The small library is no longer sufficient but in the older section of the Vigil there are some rooms of the correct size,” Jannasilane narrowed her eyes and visualized. “I think one of them might have been an old dining hall though now it mostly is used for storage. Since some of our Wardens and a number of our soldiers will be at the Hawke farm, Thornton’s charges can sleep in the guest rooms they had before. What we need to figure out is a place for the older apprentices to practice casting the more advanced spells. The rooms we spoke of will be fine for some spells, but when it is time to practice fire and lightning spells . . .”

 

“Absolutely not,” Alistair was firm. “I will not allow them to practice anywhere inside the Vigil, I have enough to deal with at the moment.”

 

Professor Warren blinked at the unusually sharp tone, “My apologies. I did not mean to suggest such a thing. I realize that much is happening and I’m afraid I let my concern for the children override any thoughts to your exhaustion. We can certainly address this later.” He started to rise but Alistair stopped him.

 

“No, now that we’ve started, let’s get this finished. You’re right that the children need as much normal as we can provide, even if normal is in short supply. I don’t know if any of the students will need more advanced training in potions but now that Voldrik Glavonak has left, you can use his lab. It’s about as safe as anything you could have had at the Circle. Any accidental explosions will be contained,” Alistair smiled wryly. Before his brother Dworkin built the lab, the eccentric dwarf’s experiments frequently made life more interesting. “That doesn’t help with spells. We don’t have time to build a magically neutral stone room like the Circle or the one Tambra built for herself. None of the unused rooms at the Vigil is far enough away in case a spell gets away from someone. So, we need distance and isolation from innocent bystanders, freedom from distractions . . .”

 

“I thought at first of the abandoned quarry south of here, plenty of room and no danger of fires but it is too far away. Well, with demons it is too far,” Jannasilane tilted her head.

 

“Yes, the demons do make things more difficult,” Professor Warren sighed. Alistair knew they were lucky to have such an excellent tutor but sometimes he had to hide that the man’s fussy mannerisms irritated or amused him, depending on his mood. When he and Jannasilane decided, shortly before Lane was born, that the girls were old enough for a tutor, Alistair approached Knight-Commander Greagoir. If J-Lyn proved to be a mage then a teacher experienced with young mages would be the ideal solution. Every respectable library in southern Thedas boasted copies of Senior Enchanter Warren’s books but unlike some scholars, the older elven mage enjoyed teaching. He was quite interested in seeing the relics young Finn studied and easily convinced to relocate to Amaranthine, as long as Greagoir and the First Enchanter agreed.

 

Alistair snapped his fingers, “The Forlorn Cove.”

 

Professor Warren blinked, “Yes, I believe that will do quite nicely. It is not too far for the older apprentices and as your pirate friend rarely anchors there it is suitably private,” he blushed a little. Isabela couldn’t resist teasing him the few times she visited. She always threatened to tuck him into her bosom.

 

While the apprentices, now twelve in number, got used to their new situation and the fact that their worst fears were running around Ferelden Alistair and Jannasilane were busier than ever. When Alistair was reorganizing and retraining their troops to deal with the new threats Jannasilane worked closely with Candira to make sure the Vigil was better supplied than usual to make up for the predictable trade inconsistencies. She suggested to Kinnon that it might be a good idea for the apprentices to concentrate on different types of healing potions to provide relief from different demon attacks. She also worked with Anders and Brody on training many of the servants to recognize different types of injuries and how to treat them until a healer could help and prayed they never had to use that knowledge. The Arl and Arlessa traversed the Arling, visiting Banns, farmers, and city leaders. They helped them establish different escape plans in case a tear opened near them. Some promised to send people to learn from their healers. Alistair also made regular trips to Hawke’s farm. No matter how busy they were, they carved small holes in their schedules in order to spend as much time with their children as possible.

 

Due to the mages and templars fighting, and now tears in the Veil disrupting everything, Arl Eamon’s arrival a few days later was the first they heard of the tragedy. Alistair was in the large conference room. A map of Ferelden was on one wall and a large map of Amaranthine was on the tabletop, painted in fine detail. Small bits of raggedy green cloth indicated the locations of the known tears. He was moving small colored blocks around, “With Cousins at our tavern-posts, Denerim and Soldier’s Peak we have to rely more heavily on our soldiers and Wardens.” A number of the black blocks were in small groups off to one side.

 

“So many of our men are stationed at the farm that we’re stretched a bit thin,” Captain Garevel frowned. “Surely by now everyone in the Arling knows to avoid this area and it’s not likely somebody will just stumble across it, it is pretty far from any common thoroughfare. We could just keep the trios in place, which would free up -”

 

“Sir, please wait! Commander,” Candira shouted as she hurried towards the conference room

 

“Alistair!” Arl Eamon leaned against the doorway, gasping for breath.

 

Jannasilane jumped up from her seat and hurried to his side. She helped him to a chair, “Please sit before you fall, my lord. Seneschal, please bring the sherry we keep in our small sitting room upstairs. And ask Warden Brody to join us,” she added. Never had she seen Eamon look so ill since he recovered from Jowan’s poisoning. He was pale, distraught and shaky.

 

“Take a minute,” Alistair was also worried.

 

Eamon waved away their concerns, “I’m sorry to burst in on you like this, Arl-Commander.” Now Alistair was really worried; something must be very wrong for Eamon to use his title rather than his name. “Rifts, such as the one you reported to Anora, are occurring all over Ferelden, Orlais, the Free Marches, and maybe beyond. They are just fallout from a much larger explosion. Alistair, Jannasilane,” he looked at them in sorrow, “Divine Justinia is dead, murdered.”

 

Except for Candira’s gasp, his listeners were stunned into silence. Alistair sat down heavily. He and Jannasilane reached for each other’s hand. Garevel and Candira froze in place. Eamon took a shaky sip of sherry and then turned the glass around in his hand, “A giant explosion killed her and almost everyone at the Peace Conclave. It destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes and tore a giant hole in the sky. They are calling it the Breach and it is spitting out demons as I speak. With the mage, templar, and Chantry leadership decimated . . . I don’t know.”

 

Nobody said anything for several minutes and the quiet became increasingly oppressive. Jannasilane stood and wandered the room as if she didn’t know what to do with herself. She stared blankly at the table map. Hesitantly, she picked up some of the green blocks near Tambra’s farm, “If we put up signs on the outer perimeter . . . Divine Justinia was murdered? She was so kind and was trying to make things better . . . who did it?” She looked at Eamon in bewilderment.

 

Alistair gently moved the blocks from her hand and pulled her onto his lap and into his arms. “Signs aren’t a bad idea. They’ll at least free up some of our men,” he whispered softly. He looked at Eamon again, “That’s a good question. You said almost everybody died. How many survivors and are there any suspects?”

 

“Just one, one of the Tal-Vashoth hired to keep the peace between the different factions. It sounds incredible, but they say she stepped or fell out of the Fade and that they saw the figure of a woman behind her,” Eamon shook his head. He was still finding it hard to accept, “She is both a survivor and a suspect.”

 

“How can we help?” Alistair mentally ran over the resources at his disposal.

 

“At the moment, continue what you are doing to keep your Arling safe. We don’t yet know if there is anyone left to take charge though Anora did send messengers. There aren’t many templars left in the Denerim Chantry . . . would you be willing to train some of our warriors if they don’t agree to teach them some basic skills? We may not be able to close these rifts but at least we can protect our people from demons.” Eamon asked quietly.

 

The Arl-Commander rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah, I get that. Talk to them first and if they refuse, I’ll do what I can. I’ll send one of the smiter Cousins back with you to Denerim. He can help your soldiers get started on the meditation techniques they’ll need to learn. He’ll also be able to suss out the best candidates. The meditation will help even if they don’t undergo any further training. Talk to Grand-Cleric Blythene; if she’s willing to send some sort of notice to the other Chantries in Ferelden then any templars still on duty know they can follow suit with the locals. It will be better if she authorizes the training.”

 

Eamon smiled slightly, “I see you’ve learned a few things over the years. Her Majesty said she would send word as soon as she knows something; I’ll stay at Felsi’s until then and spend some time with Connor and Janice Lynette. If you’ll excuse me,” he started to rise but Alistair stopped him.

 

“Umm, about Janice,” he began, “she recently began manifesting magical abilities. She’s fine, just a little scared and uncertain. Luckily, Connor was here to talk to her. I was going to send a courier as soon as I knew the roads along the Pilgrim’s Path were safe from demons.”

 

The older man sighed, “Well, I won’t say I’m surprised. The possibility was one reason I asked you to keep her with you. Perhaps I’ll go talk to Connor first and ask him how best to broach the subject with my daughter. I know you have many things to do,” he nodded his head and left.

 

“Andraste preserve us, this is a disaster,” Garevel stared out the window.

 

“We survived the Blight and we will survive this,” Alistair stated forcefully. “Candira, please assemble our soldiers, Wardens, and servants in the courtyard so I can address them all at one time. We’re almost done here.” He quickly made some decisions, freeing up as many troops as he could before he was ready to leave the conference room. “Maker, I’m not looking forward to this.”

 

“Perhaps we can start a collection, my Ali? Some blankets, potions . . . an explosion that big must have caused a great deal of harm to any around Haven. Once we know who is in charge we will be ready to send these items. We can let the people of Amaranthine know we are doing this and take their offerings with us.”

 

“That’s a generous thought, my love, but a caravan of goods will be a target for bandits and others. I can only spare so many soldiers and at some point the amount of goods will outweigh the risk.”

 

Captain Garevel spoke up, “Commander, I have a suggestion . . . if you decide to do this, tell the people that for every wagon load of goods they must supply three able people as drivers and guards as well as the beasts to pull it. All must be armored and if not trained soldiers at least able to draw a bow or handle a sword with some competence. Whoever leads the caravan reserves the right to reject any wagon overloaded with goods or people who will be more hindrance than help in a fight. On the way, they can spar with our men for a short period each day. When they return, they will be better able to help defend their homes than when they left. Some will leap at the opportunity even in these difficult times just to get the training.”

 

Alistair mulled it over, “Increase protection at the same time we increase the size of the caravan; that could work. Good thinking, Captain, you can be in charge of organizing it.”

 

“Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down,” the Captain replied.

 

“I know. You’re a good man to have at my side,” Alistair told him. Jannasilane and Garevel discussed some of the details until they reached the courtyard where people crammed together waiting for news. The Arl-Commander looked around at his people, took a deep breath and let it out. He pitched his voice so they could all hear, “We know what caused the rifts at Hawke’s farm and elsewhere. As you know, the Peace Conclave designed to bring the Chantry, the mages, and the templars together and end the fighting was at Haven in the Temple of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Some currently unknown enemy caused an explosion so big that it ripped through the sky into the Fade and caused smaller tears resulting in the rifts. Divine Justinia V and the leadership of the three groups are all dead, along with dozens if not hundreds of others.”

 

The small murmurs and fidgets stopped. Nobody moved or spoke. Alistair would have sworn they didn’t even blink or breathe out of pure shock. Even the dwarves and Dalish who were skeptical of the Chantry were stunned. The mage and templar war affected everyone and non-sympathizers were as invested as any in a peaceful solution.

 

Alistair waited several minutes. “Until we know more the most we can do is continue to work together to keep Amaranthine safe. Captain Garevel will organize a relief effort to help those injured and dispossessed by this catastrophe. The chapel will stay open night and day for all who wish and for any donations. Before we return to our duties, I want to say a few words about the Divine. Janna and I met her on our honeymoon; she was a kind and wise woman. She was also not afraid to make changes that would better serve all the people of Thedas, even if those changes were not popular. I liked her. All of Thedas, not just the Chantry, will feel her loss for a long time, Maker bless her and keep her.”

 

“Andraste guide her,” Jannasilane said softly.

 

In Orlais, after finally reaching Montsimmard, Stroud was having his own difficulties trying to convince Clarel that she and her Wardens did not hear the Calling. She insisted that she had a plan and the cooperation of all the Wardens was vital; any impediment was treason to the Order. When Stroud refused to comply, she ordered her senior Wardens to imprison him. He made his escape when his captors had to deal with a sudden invasion of demons caused by the Breach. Regretfully, he left his fellow Grey Wardens to live or die while he began a life of running and hiding. 

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 129:  Inquisition Reborn

 “I hope this isn’t more bad news,” Alistair muttered to Jannasilane when a courier arrived from Haven. “We’ve had our quota.” The mood at the Vigil was subdued as they performed their duties. Even the children too young to understand what happened were either quieter or crankier.

 

“Most pessimistic of you, my Ali,” she replied with a hint of a smile. It was almost two weeks since Eamon arrived with the news about Divine Justinia.

 

When they reached her, she was talking or arguing with acting Seneschal Candira, “I have a missive for the Arl of Amaranthine. Please take me to him and tell me where I can place my proclamation.”

 

“Under whose authority do you come here with your ‘proclamation’?” Candira was trying to be reasonable.

 

“I’d like to know that as well,” the large warrior said with a genial smile and steady gaze.

 

For a moment, the courier stood tongue-tied with awe, “The Hero of Ferelden, I can’t believe I’m standing next to the Warden who slew the Archdemon. Wait until I tell my Ernie that I met him and the Herald of Andraste.” As soon as she thought of the Herald she recalled herself to her mission, “Arl and Warden-Commander, sir, the Inquisition is formed anew as authorized by the late Divine Justinia V in a writ to her Left and Right Hands. I’ve been tasked with putting up these notices and delivering this letter to you and the Arlessa.”

 

“She means you,” Alistair said in a teasing aside to his wife. “I’m glad to know some survived the explosion at Haven. I’d like to see the notice you want to put on my walls,” he smiled and held his hand out expectantly. The courier placed both letter and notice in his hand. He handed the letter to Jannasilane and read the proclamation. He smiled again, “Seneschal, I see no reason not to post this here in the courtyard, perhaps by the gate. You were correct to question the courier and I appreciate your diligence on our behalf. Our friend here no doubt has many places to go and can’t linger, but if she wishes please see she gets a good meal for her troubles. Safe travels to you, mistress,” he nodded his head cordially and left with Jannasilane to read their letter in private.

 

“My dearest friends,

 

I need not tell you these are troubling times. Divine Justinia’s murder has shaken southern Thedas to its core and we are all still reeling from the shock. The Chantry, those who remain bicker and maneuver for position rather than help the people looking towards them for solace and guidance. To be fair, some of them at least merely want to return to a semblance of order and are floundering in a world gone mad. The Divine, in her wisdom, authorized the re-establishment of the Inquisition in the event the Peace Conclave was unsuccessful.

 

To that end, I am asking for your help and support. The remnants of the Chantry hierarchy do not trust us. You will hear we are heretics because we support a false prophet, the Herald of Andraste. They refer to the lone survivor of the blast. She is a Tal-Vashoth mercenary who stepped out of the Fade with the assistance of a woman many believe was Andraste herself. Certainly, she did not survive without some sort of divine intervention. I believe this fervently. Nor did she survive unscathed. The Fade marked her hand and this mark is the source of the power she now has to seal the rifts.

 

Even she cannot seal the main breach alone. We need to build up our strength and gain enough allies to help us. Alistair, you have done so much for Ferelden and it is unfair to ask you to do more but you of all people will understand. I beg you to join us and bring your Wardens. The people of Ferelden and Orlais respect the Hero of Ferelden and you have the ability to inspire them. We will need a leader who is not a part of the Chantry and I can’t think of a better candidate. In all honesty, many months ago, Seeker Pentaghast sought the Warden and the Champion to fill this role but her efforts to find them were unsuccessful.

 

If you know where the Wardens of Orlais are currently, please ask them to come with you. We received no reply to our many requests. I am sure you remember the Chantry in Haven. We are using it as our headquarters. I pray we see you soon.

 

Give my love to my most adorable goddaughter.

 

Your friend,

Leliana”

 

Other than a muttered, “Bet that puts the Chantry’s knickers in a twist,” neither spoke after they finished reading it. They just stared at the piece of paper lying on the Commander’s desk. Finally, Alistair poked at it with his finger, “So, a new Inquisition. Did you know the last one disbanded when the Nevarran Accord formed the Templar and Seeker orders? The Divine must have had serious doubts about the Conclave’s success; and now Leliana is in charge, or partly, at least . . . she helped us a lot during the Blight. She helped me understand what I did wrong when you left.”

 

Jannasilane agreed, “She’s a very good friend.”

 

“But I can’t do as she asks,” he looked at Janna. “I can’t leave Amaranthine and I can’t send my Wardens until I know they’re strong enough to stand against this attack.”

 

“Our Wardens,” Jannasilane corrected him softly. She went to his window and looked out, beyond the walls of the Vigil. She turned around, “I will go.”

 

“No!” he burst out. She came willingly when he pulled her into his arms, “I love you, Janna.” She stroked his cheek and hair but said nothing, just waited. He closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were full of sorrow, “You’re right, of course. With your unique abilities, you might be more useful than I am, and Leliana will believe you when you explain why I have to refuse. Maker’s sorrow, I will worry about you every minute you are gone. You are my heart, my soul, my courage.”

 

“I felt the same when you were gone,” she said softly.

 

“Oh, ouch,” he grumbled. “I’m sorry I put you through that.”

 

“No, do not regret it, my Ali,” she shook her head, “you needed to do exactly what you did. I would not be a proper partner if I prevented you from acting when you felt so strongly. That wound you would still carry. I am very much afraid, this is truth, but if I do nothing when there is even a small chance I can be useful then I will feel as if I failed you, our children, and myself.”

 

“You have never failed me,” he said sternly and then smiled ruefully, “you do make it hard to forbid you from leaving. Not that I think you would listen to me. You will not go alone, however, my love. Nathaniel and one of our smiters will go with you. Nate is the best scout we have and one of our most trusted and discreet friends, in case . . .” He picked her up and began carrying her upstairs, “Right now, I am going to show you how very much I love you. I am going to fill you with memories to keep you warm while you’re gone and add to the memories I’ll rely on to survive without you. We’ll work out the details of your departure later.”

 

He undressed her slowly, as if by doing so he could put off the time of her leaving. Their lovemaking was both tender and desperate as they sought to imprint their very essence upon the other. When she was lying in his arms afterward, she felt they already said goodbye. He interrupted her thoughts, “Should we tell the children before I talk to Nathaniel or after? I don’t want them hearing from the servants or one of our soldiers first.”

                                                                                                               

Jannasilane sighed, regretting the rush of reality, “Before, but not until after dinner, my Ali. Let us have this last bit of normal family time.”

 

“Agreed. If somebody could figure out how to mine it, they’d make a fortune. ‘Normal’ is rarer than gold or diamonds,” he brought her hand to his lips. “It’s a good thing we didn’t promise each other normal as part of our wedding vows.”

 

She chuckled, “We have had some normal over the years, though perhaps we need to adjust our definition. I know this, my Ali, I would not trade the last ten years with you and our family for all the normal in the world; this is truth. I love you and am yours, always.”

 

“And I you, always,” he replied huskily. “Maker, I am a lucky, lucky man.”

 

They decided to have a quiet family dinner in their private wing. After some debate, they asked Eamon and Janice to join them; partly this was for Janice’s benefit but mostly for Martelle’s. Eamon was shrewd enough to know something was up but followed their lead and kept his conversation limited to mundane topics and the children’s activities. Another time he would have found dinner with four young children a novelty.

 

Jannasilane tried not to show sadness or fear, but couldn’t stop her eyes from glistening with unshed tears as she memorized the happy scene around her. Lane was the youngest but he was also the most sensitive to others’ emotions and toddled over to her after dinner, “Mommy sad?”

 

She picked him up and hugged him, taking solace in the chubby arms wrapping around her neck, “I love you, my little Lane.” She looked at the other children who were staring with varying degrees of concern and held out her other arm, “I love you all so very, very much. I want you to remember this.” Alistair stood silently behind her, his hands resting comfortingly on her shoulders, while the girls and Duncan gathered around the woman who stole his heart so many years ago. She continued after giving each child a kiss, “Our friend, Leliana, has asked for our help. The demons near Mistress Hawke’s farm are because of a giant explosion that occurred near Haven, a small town in the Frostback Mountains. It caused rifts to open up all over Ferelden and Orlais, each one a doorway for demons. She wants your father to go help them and bring the Grey Wardens with him, but this he cannot do. Instead, I will leave tomorrow and go to her. I do not know how long I will be gone.”

 

“Mommy, I don’t want you to go,” Duncan pouted, tears threatening to spill past trembling lips.

 

She stroked the side of his face, “I do not want to go, my little Duncan, but I must. A mother’s duty is to protect her children, and if I can help Leliana’s Inquisition put an end to these demons threatening us all then I will. I cannot think of a better way to guard you than to make sure this danger does not come. Your father is a brave and noble warrior who is working with our Wardens to train them against this new threat and will continue to keep his family and the Arling safe.”

 

“Why do you have to go?” Martelle asked, glaring at her mother unhappily.

 

Alistair squatted down so he was eye level with his children, “Your mother has certain abilities related to the Fade that nobody else has. Since the threat is Fade-based, she is better qualified than I am, better qualified than anybody I know, to help. If it turns out she can’t, she’ll come back right away. Even so, that still means she’ll be gone for several weeks. If you paid attention to Professor Warren you know the Frostbacks are on the other side of Ferelden and she’ll have to travel slowly.” He sighed dramatically, “You will have to make do with your poor old father.” That teased a reluctant smile from his daughter.

 

“Aren’t you scared?” Janice Lynette asked in a small voice. She still missed her mother and the idea that her foster mother was leaving frightened her.

 

“Yes, I am afraid. This is truth,” Jannasilane admitted. She looked at each child in turn, “Knowing that you are all here, safe and healthy, will give me strength and help me to be brave.” She and Alistair stayed with them a while longer, playing games and answering questions before tucking them into bed.

 

Martelle was the only one who refused to let her mother kiss her goodnight. “I hate you,” she scowled and turned away. She didn’t turn around in spite of Alistair’s rebukes.

 

Eamon waited for them in the hall, “I wanted to speak to you, so Janice is sleeping here tonight. I think she feels safer here than at Felsi’s, in any case. How is Martelle?”

 

“She is very angry with me,” Jannasilane replied unhappily.

 

“Only because she loves you and is scared something will happen,” Alistair tried to console her. “The two of you are very close.”

 

Eamon agreed, “This is the first time you’ve gone away, isn’t it? Not counting your honeymoon of course, but that was hardly going into danger, unless there is something you never told me. She’s more accustomed to her father leaving for long periods of time.”

 

“I hope that is all,” she smiled sadly. They followed Alistair into his office. He asked the guard to send Nate to join them and then shut the door.

 

The old Arl smiled, “I won’t keep you long. I assume you know what you are doing, young woman, and I won’t try to argue you out of it. That doesn’t mean I won’t worry; I’ve become quite fond of you over the years. It was a good day during a dark time when Alistair found you.”

 

Alistair brought her hand to his lips, “That it was, my lord that it was. I thank the Maker every day.”

 

“Ahem,” Eamon cleared his throat and pushed back memories of Isolde. “If you are going to Haven there are some things you should know. You’ll want to take the northern route closer to Highever. The Hinterlands near Redcliffe are a hornet’s nest . . .  farmers were killed and homes destroyed if the owners didn’t help the mage zealots or if the templar extremists simply suspected they might have helped the mages. Adding insult to injury, the mages kicked my brother and his family out of their own home. I’m grateful they made it to Denerim safely.”

 

“That’s odd and not like the Grand Enchanter Fiona I met a few years ago,” Alistair frowned.

 

“Teagan didn’t mention her at all,” Eamon answered. “No matter, I was going to inform you anyway but now it’s more relevant in light of your plans. I sincerely doubt you need me any further, so if you’ll excuse me I shall leave you to your meeting. Warden Howe,” he nodded politely to Nathaniel.

 

“Arl Eamon,” Nathaniel replied just as politely. He looked questioningly at Alistair, “Commander, you sent for me?”

 

“Tomorrow you’re going with Janna to Haven,” the Arl-Commander stated bluntly. “Leliana wants our help,” he proceeded to explain. After some discussion, they decided Saykor and two Cousins would go as well. “Blaine is a decent healer and she’s a darn good fighter. I don’t want you to leave without some sort of healer, my love. The roads are too dangerous. Cragen is as good with a crossbow as he is with a sword even if he isn’t as good a smiter as Saykor. Just as important, they are extremely discreet if, well, you know.”

 

She understood, “I will share a tent with our Wardens in any case, just as I shared with you and Blake during the Blight. Saykor and Nathaniel will have to be able to sleep.”

 

“Mouse?” Nate wasn’t sure he heard correctly.

 

Alistair snorted, “Didn’t we ever tell you? We found out by accident that my Janna is a natural buffer against the typical darkspawn dreams we Wardens have. It’s not fair to her, and wasn’t then, but I don’t know if we would have made it, just two junior Wardens, without her in our tent.”

 

She smiled and shook her head, “I am glad I helped but you would have been successful without me, of this I am sure.”

 

“Well, I understand your desire for discretion. But, now that you have revealed you are a griffon, why not just fly to Haven?”

 

“That is an idea,” Alistair replied slowly. “However, only those here saw her shift. For now I’d like as few as possible to know, for your sake,” he directed the last part to Janna. “I doubt Weisshaupt would send anybody, not with all the demons between here and there, but people are scared. They may assume you’re a dragon or some sort of new demon and take potshots at you. Why would they believe you’re a griffon when everybody knows they died out generations ago?” his question was purely rhetorical. He gazed at a small map of Ferelden on the wall, “There’s a good chance you’ll see other rifts on the way. I don’t want you involved in the fighting but you can give whatever local authorities are in charge the information and what we’ve learned about fighting them, little as it is. Also, let the people in any villages you pass know about the collection caravan. I want it to stop in Highever until you send word about where to go from there. Getting the goods over the mountains is doable, but by the time it gets to Fergus you should know from Leliana where best to send it.”

 

Jannasilane sighed, “You thought of many things, my Ali.”

 

“That’s why he’s the Commander. He’s a thinker,” Nate said without expression.

 

“Not what any of my templar trainers said,” Alistair snickered.

 

“I would not want to be flying only to have a rift open around me,” Jannasilane said thoughtfully. Both men grimaced in agreement.

 

“Go and prepare for your journey while I update your traveling companions. I want you to stop by Soldier’s Peak and speak to Avernus and Levi. I want to give the old so-and-so some information. I also want Levi to stockpile supplies in case we need to evacuate our Wardens from the Vigil.” Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think of anything he might have forgotten.

 

“Do you think that is necessary, my Ali?” Jannasilane asked, startled.

 

“Probably not, but I want to be prepared. The banns can easily house our soldiers, they’ll probably be grateful for the extra protection, but our Wardens and the Cousins will need a place to go.  Candira and Garevel can discreetly make an evacuation plan in case the worst happens . . . unless a rift opens up inside the Vigil or very close we’ll all be safer inside than out. I think our people will be more comfortable knowing we have a plan for their safety.”

 

“You will be more comfortable as well,” Jannasilane noted shrewdly.

 

“You know me too well, Jannalove. I’ll see you later. We have a lot to do before you leave tomorrow,” he tried to smile.

 

The next morning came too soon. Jannasilane said goodbye to her children in the family quarters before going to the courtyard where the others waited. Martelle was still angry but did relent enough to give her mother a hug. Tambra Hawke was also waiting in the courtyard, “I’ll be traveling with you as far as Highever so I can check on some investments. Alistair also asked me to talk to Mhairi as long as I’m in the area.”

 

“Safety in numbers, right?” the warrior quietly remarked. He pulled Jannasilane to the side and cupped the side of her head, “I can’t very well tell you to stay safe but I can tell you to be careful. And don’t go looking for dragons without me,” he smiled slightly.

 

She put her hand over his, “I promise to be as careful as I can, my Ali. I want nothing more than to return to you and our family. And I will fight no dragons unless they plop down in front of me.” She snickered when he rolled his eyes. She stopped when he bent down to give her a kiss that sizzled her to her toes. “I’ll come back to you, always,” she whispered breathlessly.

 

“I’ll wait for you, always,” he responded and reluctantly let her go. He watched her rejoin the others and leave with a wave and a sad smile.

 

“Poppet’s tough,” Anders said quietly from behind him.

 

“Are you telling me you’re not worried about Tambra?” Alistair turned around with a raised eyebrow.

 

The mage laughed, “One thing I’ve come to accept about Hawke is that danger will find her if she steps out her door and she will sneer at it.” He sobered, “Of course I’m worried, but she’s not going into the heart of whatever caused the Fade to become separated by nothing more substantial than cheesecloth.”

 

Alistair didn’t want to think about it and changed the subject. He sighed, “Speaking of cheese, do you think there’s any more of that holey cheese Isabela brought back from Oswin?”

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 130:  Return to Haven

“Are we there yet? I’m tired of uphill, already,” the normally silent Cragen complained.

 

“Did you miss the part where Haven is in the Frostback Mountains?” Nathaniel smirked.

 

“He’s still annoyed that the pretty blonde in that last caravan we passed was more interested in Saykor,” Blaine teased.

 

The dwarf shrugged, “What can I say? She obviously appreciates the manly charms of the warrior caste. She was quite pretty, for a human, not scrawny at all like a lot of you. Present company not included, of course.”

 

“Of course,” Blaine snorted.

 

Cragen glared at them and Jannasilane smiled quietly to herself, “I forgot how much I missed it, the banter and the friendly bickering while traveling like this. At the Vigil, I would not get to know Cragen and Blaine as I have, nor would I have heard my Nate joking so much.”

 

“Why are you smiling like that, Mouse?”

 

Jannasilane shook her head and pointed up the mountain, “See those steps up there? We are near the end of our journey, when we finish climbing those steps we will be in Haven. At least it is not cold this time.” She only took a few steps before realizing her companions weren’t with her. She turned around to see them staring at her, “What?”

 

“My lady,” Cragen began and then just shook his head, “we’ve been walking in snow for days, Saykor is bundled up tighter than Oghren’s ale, I can see my words on the air in front of me; I don’t understand how you can say this isn’t cold. And you’re barefoot!”

 

“I like it,” Jannasilane shrugged. “I admit that last time I did want boots and a dozen warm capes. The dragon cult’s blood mages sent heavy icy wet winds against us. That I did not like at all.”

 

“I suppose this is pleasant in comparison,” Cragen grumped and began walking again.

 

Cullen liked being in the middle of all the sparring fighters. He could assess their strengths and weaknesses with half an eye while reviewing reports and making decisions. He wasn’t thrilled with all the visitors who came but he did like being able to see when new people arrived. Best of all, he didn’t have to listen to Roderick constantly whining or anybody telling him to be more diplomatic. He was happy to leave that to Josephine and Leliana. “More people,” he thought when he saw the small group entering Haven. “They don’t look like refugees, pilgrims or nobles, and they look like they can fight. Haven is crowded but I won’t turn away good fighters if they seem trustworthy.”  He blinked when they got closer, “I recognize that armor. I didn’t think I’d see her again,” he smiled and pushed the admin-board back into the hands of his startled assistant then quickly walked away to greet the newcomers.

 

“How do you know he’s a templar?” Blackwall asked Iron Bull. He normally kept to himself but he needed to see the blacksmith about strengthening his armor.

 

“It’s the way he trains his men to carry their shield, to better defend against magic or acid. We do the same,” the boisterous Qunari answered. “See that little dip and the angle? It – hmm, seems the new arrivals have distracted the Commander. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him leave to greet anybody.”

 

“Must know them,” Blackwall answered laconically.

 

“My bet is on the smaller female. The others look more like typical fighters.”

 

Leliana was looking over some information and calculating how it fit in with what little they knew so far. Finally, she stopped and addressed the shuffling feet behind her, “I hope you weren’t trying to sneak up on me. If so, you better practice,” she turned around with one eyebrow raised prettily.

 

“I know you wanted to know about anything unusual, but I don’t know if this is really what you meant,” the young man grimaced. “Anyway, Commander Cullen, he stopped examining the troops in order to greet some new visitors.”

 

“Really?” Leliana opened her blue eyes wide, “Do we know anything about them?”

 

“Not really. They look like fighters and the smaller woman has a lot of hair and no boots or shoes.”

 

The spymaster’s smile startled him almost as much as her answer, “I think I know exactly who it is. Thank you for telling me, you did the right thing,” and she was off.

 

Varric and Sera were sitting on the wall where they could see everybody in the village and the soldiers training outside the perimeter wall. “Okay Buttercup, in a fight, do you pick Seeker or Curly?” Varric asked.

 

“Duh, Cassandra. Cullen’s tough but she has more anger behind her. And Seekers are over templars, right? So, he might, like, hesitate to hurt a superior. She wouldn’t, not for half a second,” Sera rolled her eyes. “Who do you think is scarier, Cassandra or Leliana?”

 

Varric snorted, “Easy call. Cassandra is scary and tough, but Nightingale is the one you gotta watch out for. She’ll smile, slit your throat, and you won’t even notice you’re bleeding out until you’re dead at her feet. Hmmm, maybe I should write that down in case I want to use it in another book.”

 

“Hey, where is Cullen going? He is the stickiest stick in the mud I ever met, but there he goes not avoiding those people. Who are they?” Sera stared.

 

“I think I can answer that,” Leliana said from behind them, causing them both to jump. Leliana smirked, “You know some of them as well, Varric. I hope somebody tells Cassandra who they are before she says something about the Wardens. She’s been griping about them a lot recently.”

 

“Told you she was scarier,” Varric said smugly. “I think the day just got more interesting,” he hopped down and followed the bard. Sera did as well, curiosity screaming out her pores.

 

Former templar Cullen Rutherford was unaware of the tiny shockwaves he caused. He smiled broadly when he drew close to Jannasilane and company, “I thought I recognized that armor. Allow me to say that the woman wearing it today is even more stunning than the girl who wore it ten years ago,” he bowed slightly. Nathaniel and Saykor exchanged small grins; their Commander didn’t like people being too flirtatious with his love.

 

Jannasilane blushed and shook her head in disagreement before giving him a quick hug, “You have learned to be a smooth talker, Knight-Captain. I am most glad you survived Kirkwall.”

 

“Thank you. I highly disagree with the smooth talker bit, but I think I’ve learned a little since the Circle. One is that a woman shouldn’t confuse simple truth with blatant flattery. I thought you were beautiful then, but today you are even more so. However, I’m sure you didn’t come all the way to Haven for clumsy compliments. Oh, and I am no longer a templar, just a soldier helping the Inquisition,” he informed her.

 

“Bet the Commander doesn’t like him,” Cragen whispered quietly to Blaine. Her eyes crinkled in agreement.

 

“Ah, so that is why you feel more like my Ali,” Jannasilane said thoughtfully.

 

“High praise indeed,” Cullen couldn’t help chuckling. “Let me show you around. Um, space is rather tight but if you don’t mind staying outside the walls there is an empty cabin. It’s not in the best repair, and you might need to clean it up. The previous occupant was an alchemist and herbalist who died when the sky tore open. Most people would rather find a bit of space to pitch a tent but I have a feeling you won’t mind. Though, if you’re not staying for long . . . I should probably ask why you are here. There’s a reason Josephine is our diplomat and ambassador.”

 

Saykor rubbed his hands together, “A roof? I vote for the roof.” Years after leaving Orzammar and he still preferred more than a bit of canvas between him and the sodding sky overhead.

 

“. . . That Order has too many secrets,” Cassandra was taking out her frustrations on the straw target and only half-noticed that Cullen left and returned. She didn’t register right away that he wasn’t alone. She hit the target again, “The Orlesian Warden-Commander doesn’t answer any of our messages; I think she is deliberately avoiding us.” Whack, whack, whack. “The Hero of Ferelden is being equally unhelpful,” she ignored Cullen’s warning cough behind her, “Warden business, Warden secrets . . . sometimes I think that Order has outlived its usefulness.” She shredded the target and turned around, wiping her brow. “Oh,” she said, “I didn’t realize-“

 

“There are many things you do not appear to realize,” Jannasilane snapped. She stepped forward and glared up at the warrior, angered further by having to look so far up at the blasted woman. “Have the darkspawn somehow disappeared from Thedas, both above and below the surface? The Grey Wardens would surely be pleased to know that they no longer have to make sacrifices for such grateful people. Most do not relish all the time spent in the Deep Roads hunting the evil creatures but they do not shirk their duty. You did not fight the Archdemon; perhaps you think any able-bodied soldier can defeat one. You would be wrong. Perhaps you think there won’t be another Blight . . . would you be surprised to know that even as they prepare and train the Wardens hope so as well?” She stamped her foot as Cassandra just stood there and stared down at her, not realizing the Seeker was surprised into silence.

 

“Cassandra this is, Jannasilane Cassandra is,” Cullen tried to intervene but he was completely unprepared with how to deal with two angry women.

 

Iron Bull, Blackwall, and Krem watched the meeting between the Seeker and the small woman with interest. “Well, Chief, looks like the small one has spirit. Even from here she looks mad enough to spit nails.”

 

“I like the feisty ones,” Iron Bull laughed. “And all that hair, even my hands would be full.”

 

Blackwall respected Cassandra a great deal, “She shouldn’t speak to the Seeker like that,” he frowned.

 

“Oh ****, Seeker’s gonna take her out before we get there,” Sera exclaimed. “See, her body’s getting all tight like it does when she’s annoyed.”

 

“Ha,” Varric just laughed. “You don’t know Magpie. Curly looks like he doesn’t know which one to grab.”

 

“I know which one I’d grab,” Sera muttered.

 

Leliana ignored them and moved faster. She didn’t run; that would have alarmed too many people. Fortunately, her training under Marjolaine allowed her to move quickly without apparent urgency. “Oh no, she’s losing her temper and Cassandra is starting to get angry. I have to stop this before it goes too far. Janna wouldn’t be here without a good reason.” She quickly thought and then began running lightly, “I thought it was you,” she called out. Then she launched herself and wrapped her arms around Jannasilane, tumbling them both into the snow. “How is my goddaughter? And the boys and let us not forget that handsome husband of yours?” She laughed gaily and hugged her friend, snickering to herself when she saw Cullen’s look of relief.

 

“Leli,” Jannasilane hugged back. Contenting herself with one last glare at Cassandra, she stood and pulled Leliana to her feet. “I have much to tell you, this is truth.”

 

“Come, I know a place where we can talk without interruption,” Leliana began leading Jannasilane away from the others. She looked back at the Wardens and Cousins, “You can find a place to settle without my friend, yes?” They nodded and the friends walked away, chatting about family and fashion until they reached the broken bridge. “We won’t be interrupted and can’t be overheard here, what truly brings you to Haven, my friend?” Leliana’s blue eyes were alight with curiosity and worry.

 

Saykor was as relieved as Cullen, “You said a roof? Let’s go find that roof and then I could use a drink.”

 

“Well, then, I’ll wait for you in Haven’s one and only tavern. The ale is overpriced swill but there’s a lot of it. Good to see you again, Clam-man, Sobersides, don’t think I’ve met you two before, but you and Curly are welcome to join us. Maybe we can get in a game of Wicked Grace or Diamondback,” Varric mentally rubbed his hands together in glee. Nathaniel might not talk easily but Saykor, once he got some ale in him, was not quite as discreet. He ignored the Seeker, also knocked down in Leliana’s rush, on the ground.

 

“Very well, Sir Dwarf, we will meet you at the tavern you recommended and you can tell me why you are not in Kirkwall,” Nathaniel bowed slightly.

 

“Hey, if somebody else is buying I’m drinking,” Sera scrambled after Varric and began pestering him with questions.

 

Cragen lagged behind the others so he could be alone with Cassandra. He shook his head and looked down at her, drawling, “So incredibly beautiful, so amazingly stupid.” He offered his hand to her but she snatched hers away before he could finish talking. He shrugged and smiled while she gracelessly got to her feet.

 

“I am neither,” Cassandra glared haughtily at the young man. “And I am not one for idle flattery or shallow compliments. Who are you and who was that woman with the hair and the angry eyes?”

 

“Blind as well, or excessively modest, how often do you look in a mirror? Maybe you aren’t stupid, maybe we just came at a bad time. I know you were venting, and didn’t know anybody was listening. When she calms down Lady J will as well, all these Fade rifts make her edgy. My name is Cragen, by the way,” he smiled charmingly. His fellows called him Craggy Cragen, inspired by his features and disposition.

 

“Fine, Cragen is your name. Who are you?” the Seeker couldn’t believe the man was still flirting with her. He was easily ten years her junior.

 

Cragen sighed, “We’re from Vigil’s Keep in Amaranthine. Two of my companions are ‘useless’ Wardens, Blaine and I are Cousins to the ‘unnecessary’ Order and Lady J,” he shook his head. “Lady J is very protective of her Wardens and your little rant insulted her father, her husband, and many of her friends. Duncan, the Warden-Commander at the beginning of the Blight, was her father. Her husband, well, you did mention him, the Hero of Ferelden . . .” his voice trailed off and he shrugged his shoulders.

 

Several things clicked in Cassandra’s mind. She groaned, “She is the girl who fought with the Wardens ten years ago. Leliana told me about her . . . I couldn’t have had worse timing. That doesn’t mean I should be attacked for my opinions,” she added severely.

 

“You and she can work that out between you,” Cragen sidestepped an argument he couldn’t win. “So, you seeing anybody?” Cassandra gawked at him.

 

“It’s worse than I realized,” Cullen frowned. “Still, it’s a roof and Haven is overcrowded. Be careful, I don’t know what brews the old man was working on. Some might be explosive.”

 

Nate smiled, “Sounds like he would have gotten along with a dwarf who used to work at the Vigil. He specialized in explosions. Thank you, I don’t really care about the mess, after a few weeks on the road this seems like paradise.”

 

“I need to return to my duties. Good luck,” Cullen nodded briefly and left.

 

“Let’s at least clear out a sleeping area before we meet Varric for that drink,” Blaine suggested. “I don’t want to stumble into something that will blow up in my face.”

 

“I’ll clean out the fireplace and start a fire. We can bank it before we leave,” Saykor volunteered. As they traveled, the others discovered he had the most skill in starting a fire with very little. The three of them got to work. When Cragen rejoined them, he began helping. Soon the cabin was in reasonable condition.

 

Leliana was mulling over everything Jannasilane told her. “It’s unfortunate that Alistair can’t be here with his Wardens, but I understand. It is no coincidence. We just don’t know the connection, yet. Josephine will let us use one of her maps to mark places where the Veil is likely thinnest. Your observations will help the Herald of Andraste when she returns. It makes sense that more and larger rifts occur in those areas. I should have thought of that.”

 

Jannasilane nudged her friend playfully, “Not even you, my Leli, can think of everything.” She rubbed her forehead and the bard frowned.

 

“Janna, maybe you shouldn’t be here, not if the Fade bothers you so much.”

 

“My sensitivity is precisely why I am here,” Jannasilane smiled tiredly. “I just need a good mana cleanse to feel better. Saykor and Cragen are better smiters than cleansers and this close to the main breach,” she shrugged. “I’ll ask Cullen when we return.”

 

“He’s not a templar anymore,” Leliana warned.

 

“So he never uses any of the abilities he learned?” the smaller woman was surprised. “I shall have a word with him,” she decided.

 

“There is somebody else you should speak to,” the redhead suggested. “One Grey Warden is here, Blackwall. He hasn’t said anything but if he speaks to anybody about an attack, it will be you. You should warn him what. I know you didn’t tell me everything you know or suspect, Janna. I respect that. I also trust you enough to know if you learn anything which might affect the Inquisition you will tell me.”

 

She hesitated and then decided to broach another topic, “Your first meeting didn’t go well, but Cassandra is a good person. She left the Seekers because she doesn’t think they are doing the right thing for Thedas. The Wardens frustrate her with their secrets because she hates secrecy in any form even when she acknowledges it is sometimes necessary. She was a good Right Hand to the Divine, but Justinia left all tasks requiring diplomacy and discretion to me. Sometimes she becomes a bit too focused on what she sees is necessary, which currently is sealing the Breach and finding out who murdered Divine Justinia.”

 

“I’m sorry for your loss, Leli,” Jannasilane said softly. “I shall speak to your Seeker. Perhaps I am more on edge than I realized to have lost my temper so easily. Her words are not new ones, especially when there is no Blight.” She stood, “It is good to see you my friend, even under these circumstances.” They hugged and walked back arm-in-arm until parting at the gates.

 

Cassandra was attacking a straw dummy, though not with the same intensity as before. Jannasilane nodded politely and looked for Cullen. She found him and waited for him to finish talking to one of his soldiers before approaching, “Cullen,” she said softly.

 

Cullen smiled, “Janna is there anything you need?”

 

She grinned, “Is that a polite way of saying you’re busy? I wish to ask a favor of you, it will only take a moment of your time.”

 

“Of course,” he walked towards her, surprised when she moved further away from the people usually surrounding him.

 

“I very much wish for you to do a mana cleanse. The Fade gives me a headache and a cleanse takes it away,” she looked at him hopefully.

 

His smile faded, “Janna, I told you I’m not a templar anymore. I, I stopped taking lyrium. I can’t do as you ask, I’m sorry. Some templars, active templars, joined us. One of them will have to help you.”

 

She climbed on a rock so she could put her hands on his shoulders and look him in the eye. She didn’t like the pain and conflict she saw in them, “Cullen,” she said firmly, “my Ali still performs smites and cleanses. He taught many of his warriors how to do the same. None of them use lyrium.”

 

Cullen was surprised, “All recruits are given lyrium in a very diluted form before they actually learn those abilities. Those who don’t react well become either brothers or leave to apply their arms training elsewhere. But he was able to teach others without lyrium at all?”

 

“I don’t think he knew his trainers gave him lyrium. He always thought templars used it to make their abilities stronger, and maybe learn ones he didn’t know. He has never used it deliberately, this I know is truth,” she frowned. Her Ali wouldn’t like knowing that they gave him lyrium without his knowledge. The prospect of becoming like Carroll, the templar they met at the boat, always bothered him.

 

“If Alistair can do it, I can try,” Cullen said reluctantly. “What if it triggers cravings I can’t control? I hate to admit that I struggle with the temptation every day.”

 

Janna frowned, “I am sorry. I will ask another. I did not realize what a burden I was placing on your shoulders. You are a strong man, Cullen, or you would not have survived what that odious creature did to you, but I have no wish to bring you distress. This is truth.” She hopped down.

 

He grabbed her arm before she could leave, “No, let me try. I would rather know than not know, and it will be better if a friend is with me.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, closed his eyes and concentrated. It was both harder and easier than he expected to reach inside for his old abilities. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly and then took another. This time when he let it out, he also performed the cleansing. He opened his eyes and looked down at Janna, “H-how was it? I’m afraid I’m a bit rusty.”

 

She smiled brilliantly, “That was very good, I feel much better. How was it for you?”

 

“Actually, it was pretty good for me too. I’ll be glad to do it again whenever you like,” he said.

 

“I won’t tell my Ali you do it even better than he does,” she grinned at the relief she felt.

 

“It’ll be our secret,” Cullen chuckled. Neither of them realized a soldier polishing his sword overheard their last words. The man was so startled he nearly sliced off his hand.

 

The Commander returned to his duties in a much better frame of mind and Jannasilane looked for Cassandra. When she didn’t see the Seeker she decided she might as well talk to Leliana’s Grey Warden. A few quick words for directions and she stood at the door of the cabin he shared with the blacksmith. “Warden Blackwall,” she stated when he opened the door to her knocks, “we need to talk. I come from the Commander of the Grey of Ferelden.”

 

“You better come in,” the older man stated. He sounded resigned.

 

A quick look and Jannasilane knew they were alone. Seconds later, she attacked and the surprised warrior was on the floor with her daggers at his throat. “You are no Grey Warden,” she hissed. “What are you doing here, and why do you pass yourself off as a Warden? Tell me, Blackwall.”

 

“She knows I’m not a Warden but doesn’t know I’m not Blackwall? How is that possible?” He carefully swallowed; her daggers were very sharp against his skin. “I don’t know why you think I’m not a Grey Warden,” he said slowly. “I’m here for the same reason the soldiers out there are here: to help the Inquisition and restore order; to help the people of Ferelden and Orlais.”

 

She watched him watching her for several minutes and allowed his words to sink in, “That much is truth. I do not, however, think you are not a Warden, I know you are not a Warden. I sense this as truly as a Warden senses the darkspawn. There are only two Grey Wardens in Haven and they arrived with me.”

 

“May I sit up? I’m not as young as I used to be and prefer not to feel the hard floor at my back,” he moved cautiously when she acquiesced. “You are very fast.” Jannasilane smirked and he grimaced, “Several years ago I was recruited by a senior Warden but before we could reach his base he was killed in an ambush. Do you believe that, at least?”

 

“You speak the truth,” she replied steadily.

 

The older fighter raised his eyebrows, “I don’t know how you can be so sure, but I suppose I shouldn’t argue.” He leaned forward and put his chin on his clasped hands, “Maker’s balls, I don’t know what he saw in me, I’m not a good man . . . certainly I wasn’t then. I committed several terrible acts when I was even younger than you are. I was a greedy, proud, selfish bastard running from my past but he saw something worthwhile. He offered me the opportunity to become other, to become more.”

 

“Why not go to the Wardens?”

 

“I didn’t think they’d believe me. I knew what sort of man I was and I wouldn’t have believed me. So like a coward I ran. I came to Ferelden determined to become a better person, hopefully live up to whatever he saw in me. The Wardens’ habit of traveling alone or in pairs was useful, nobody doubted me when I said I was looking for recruits. In Ferelden, it’s easy to avoid cities and large villages. Mostly I helped farmers, good simple folk, defend their homes against bandits or worse. I know how to fight, it always came easily to me, and I trained those same farmers and peasants so they could better defend themselves when I was gone. With the mages and templars at each other’s throat, many people needed the help I could give them. That’s what I was doing when the Herald found me.”

 

Jannasilane tilted her head and frowned thoughtfully, “If you didn’t join the Inquisition you could have remained anonymous.”

 

“Aye, I could have. That would have been easy enough in the current chaos. But the Inquisition is about protecting all people, fighting the big evil so the little people can live. Isn’t that what Grey Wardens do? Helping farmers is worthwhile, but with the Inquisition, I have the opportunity to realize the potential the Warden saw in me. I’m not afraid of dying, I’m afraid of dying without proving to myself that I’m not just some craven dog.”

 

Jannasilane believed him. Oh, he wasn’t telling her the complete truth, and she did not intend to ask him about his past. She was satisfied he meant no harm and was committed to doing what he could to help; if he wanted to tell somebody the details of his past life then that was his business. Wardens didn’t ask each other because the Joining distinctly separated their lives into the no longer relevant past and the present. The man in front of her might not have had his Joining, but he was struggling to do the right thing.

 

“What will you do now? Should I leave?” Blackwall resigned himself to whatever she decided. He watched her frowning and thinking.

 

“Leave?” she finally answered, “No, I will tell Leliana the truth, that you show no worrying signs of whatever is attacking the Grey Wardens and that I see no reason for you not to stay as long as you can help. After this is over, you can come to Amaranthine and speak to the Commander about finally becoming a Warden in truth. I make no promises, however.”

 

Blackwall closed his eyes in relief, he couldn’t believe in his good fortune, “I won’t squander the gift you’ve given me, my lady. I promise you.”

 

“Leliana is my friend,” Jannasilane warned, “If she asks me specific questions I will not lie. I cannot, will not, treat her like that.”

 

“Fair enough. You humble me. I don’t deserve your grace but I will try,” he said gravely.

 

Jannasilane left, thinking about all she had learned. She hoped she was doing the right thing, Leliana was her friend and she didn’t like not telling her about Blackwall. She sighed when she saw Cassandra. This she could do for her friend, even if she was still irritated with the warrior woman.

 

Cassandra looked just as enthusiastic when she saw Jannasilane. She watched in resignation as the small woman with the hair approached her. She cleared her throat, “I owe you an apology -”

 

“I’m sorry I lost my temper -” Jannasilane spoke at the same time.

 

They stopped, looked at each other, and were about to speak at the same time again but Cassandra held up her hand, “No, you came to help us and I should not have been ranting. At least, not where others could hear me, my private thoughts should have remained so. I never meant to cause offense, and now that I have spoken with Leliana, I am ashamed that I spoke without knowing any facts. That is not a desirable quality in any one.”

 

Jannasilane shook her head at her, “No, I should not have attacked you because of your opinions. You are focused on a great danger and from your viewpoint the Grey Wardens are not helping. As the Right Hand of the Divine, you must have worked closely with Justinia, and you have my sympathies on your loss. She was a remarkable woman.”

 

“It is a loss to all of us. You met her? It must have been at Val Royeaux since I would have remembered seeing you during her one visit to Ferelden after becoming Divine.” Cassandra hesitated for a moment before speaking, “I passed the tavern when Varric was entertaining your friends. I believe the Qunari is not happy with you. That dwarf said he first met you in Kirkwall when the Arishok and his men were ravaging Kirkwall.”

 

“This is truth,” Jannasilane tilted her head quizzically.

 

“Did you really tell the Champion that she would do just fine, that ‘they were only Qunari’?”

 

Jannasilane bit her lip and shrugged, “Yes, I said something like that. I suppose he embellished a little, Varric does like to tell his stories.”

 

The warrior rolled her eyes, “Tell me about it. Many in Val Royeaux eagerly await his next book.” She looked down at the woman next to her. “You may not wish to indulge me but would you tell me more about the Grey Wardens? I don’t wish to cause offense when it is not warranted. I promise not to take up much of your time. Josephine will be sorry she missed you. She is a great admirer of you and the Commander.”

 

“I look forward to meeting her,” Jannasilane politely replied. “I don’t mind telling you about the Grey Wardens, a little bit anyway.” She looked around them and hopped onto the nearby wall, “There, now I do not have to keep craning my neck.” The two women talked for a time before separating.

 

Jannasilane thought a moment before going to the tavern, “My Wardens and Cousins are most glad to finally be here. It took much longer than I thought it would, longer than during the Blight, but we arrived safely. Leliana said she would send a message to Amaranthine so my Ali need not worry. I hope Martelle has forgiven me,” she sighed wistfully.

 

The place was crowded, filled with people laughing and shouting. She made her way to the center of the noise and smiled, Varric was telling one of his stories about Hawke. “You make it sound like she had gravy running down her chin when the ogre attacked. Somehow I don’t think the Champion would appreciate the image of her as a rolling, deadly donut,” she chuckled.

 

“Magpie, about time you showed up. Hey, a hero needs something to make them human. Come sit down,” the dwarf waved her over. A lanky elf with shaggy hair, a wide mouth, and joker’s eyes patted the seat next to her. “Sera and I saw you arguing with the Seeker, you know how to make an entrance, Maggie.” 

 

“Oh,” Janna blushed, “I am afraid I was not at my best and lost my temper.”

 

“The temper thing, that was obvious, yeah?” Sera grinned. “Seeker’s always so serious and warrior face and then you, well, you’re all hair and curves and you don’t even have shoes. She’s so tall and you’re, you’re really short for a human, it was like a kitten yelling at a confused wolf or something.”

 

“I am not little,” Jannasilane growled even as her friends teasingly echoed her words.

 

“Hmm, true, you do have a big . . . personality,” Iron Bull stated with a straight face. Sera snickered.

 

Krem coughed, “The chief’s just annoyed at your ‘they’re only Qunari’ statement. He’s not used to anybody not being impressed with his giant man bosoms. I’m Krem, by the way, second-in-command of the Bull’s Chargers. He probably won’t introduce me now out of spite.”

 

The large Qunari shook his head gently, not wanting his horns to hit any of the other patrons, “Careful Krem, I may decide to dock your pay. So, you’re Ferelden’s Hofette,” he studied the small woman while her traveling companions burst out laughing.

 

“Another nickname for the list,” Varric muttered, “I’m going to need a notebook just to keep track of them all.”

 

Jannasilane ignored him, “Pleased to meet you, Krem, I am Jannasilane, though I suppose you already know this. You are here to help the Herald of Andraste?”

 

“That’s right, finest mercenary group you’ll meet.” The Tevinter was getting a kick at how annoyed his boss was getting at being ignored by the unusual woman. “No matter how good your soldiers, sometimes you need outside help or a small group with special skills and we’re the best. The chief sees to that.”

 

“Flexible thinking and unknown faces,” Janna tilted her head thoughtfully.

 

“That’s part of it,” the Iron Bull answered. “And sometimes a merchant or noble just needs the extra force for unusual situations. Demons falling out of the sky definitely qualify as unusual in my book.”

 

“This is truth. They are most annoying,” she wrinkled her nose.

 

“Annoying? They’re a good bit more than annoying, I don’t have enough arrows for them all,” Sera scowled.

 

“Too bad the Herald isn’t here,” Varric pulled out some cards, “Wicked Grace anyone?” He began dealing cards, “Just a friendly game. This place is too crowded for anything else. The Herald, Solas and our Lady Ambassador went to some fancy party near Val Royeaux. This Vivienne could swing a lot of political power to the Inquisition if she’s impressed. I bet Ruffles wanted to make sure nobody spilled the soup, or blood. They should be back in a couple of days.”

 

“The Friends’ve heard of her. A lot of nobles are scared to get on her bad side,” Sera scowled at her cards and threw them down, “A fat lot of rubbish that is.”

 

“Friends?”

 

“Friends of Red Jenny,” Sera explained.

 

Jannasilane took two cards, “We met a Red Jenny in Denerim. Well, not really met. Didn’t even speak, all we saw was a hand out of a door. We found a small painted box and returned it. That was during the Blight.”

 

“Really? That was you? I used to play with those boxes when I was a child. One of our Friends was upset that we lost one. We don’t use them now, but the painted boxes meant something then. Too funny to think I could have met the Warden and the Hero of Ferelden before he was a hero and a nob. And the Warden’s the bloody king of Ferelden,” the elf snorted. “But I suppose you lot did all right by the people.” They played until Janna couldn’t hide her yawns.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 131:  Meet the Herald

“I don’t remember these dungeons,” Jannasilane placed a green marker on the ‘rift’ map.

 

Leliana moved another table next to the first. She decided since nobody used them, the dungeons were the best place to work on the rift maps. “I don’t think the cultists were using them, we found the door behind a book case. There, that should be good enough. Minaeve will join you for a short while and help identify places where the Veil might be thin. Cullen will send any of the templars who know of possible locations to you, one at a time. Some of the lay sisters are happily dying cloth and painting bits of wood for the map. Chancellor Roderick is scowling, of course, but even he acknowledges they will feel better if they have a purpose. My runner, Peter, will bring any rift updates. Have you met Mother Giselle? She is most interested in what you are doing and she and one of her fellow sisters want to work with you so they can take over after you leave.”

 

“Organized as ever,” Janna laughed.

 

Leliana grinned at her friend, “You haven’t met Josephine yet.” On that teasing note, she left and returned to her duties.

 

Jannasilane wasn’t alone for long. Soft footsteps preceded Mother Giselle, “Thank you for helping us, my child, I am Mother Giselle. With me on my right is Minaeve, a young mage who has been helping us greatly to better understand some of the creatures we face,” the young apprentice blushed at the praise. “Sister Dora assisted me in the Hinterlands and eagerly came with me to Haven, though that might be because she wants to explore new places.”

 

“With the way the world is changing you can almost do that without moving,” Jannasilane responded with a grin.

 

Sister Dora laughed somewhat ruefully, “You might be right, though the changes aren’t very good ones. I hope you don’t mind if I ask you questions about where you’ve traveled, my lady.”

 

“We shall have a lot of time to talk as we work on the map, this is truth,” the small woman agreed. “I hope to accomplish a great deal before the Herald returns. And please just call me Jannasilane or Janna.”

 

“What are all these, then?” Minaeve picked up a piece of plaideweave.

 

“I think there is a correlation between the size of the rift and the thinness of the Veil before the Breach,” Jannasilane explained. I know the Veil was thin here and here,” she placed two pieces of the brightly patterned material at Kal Hirol and the Dragonbone Wastes. “I believe there is a good chance the Veil was thin around Ostagar, but I do not know for certain. My understanding is that a place with a history of major battles is often a, a precursor to a thinner Veil.” She placed a square of dyed plaideweave on the map.

 

Minaeve confirmed her statement, “That is what I learned in the Circle and from my clan before that.” The apprentice pointed to the Brecelian Forest, “You have two pieces sewed together, one of each, here and here,” she moved her finger to Ferelden’s Circle at Lake Calenhad.

 

“That category is my squishy one, this is truth,” Jannasilane admitted.

 

“How is it squishy?” Mother Giselle asked, eyeing the young woman with interest.

 

“During the Blight one mage instigated a rebellion. When we went there with the Wardens’ treaty, demons and abominations ran rampant. The remaining templars were waiting for reinforcements and the Rite of Annulment.” Minaeve gasped and Janna nodded soberly, “Yes, it was very bad. My Wardens saved the Circle, but there is no doubt that as a result the Veil became thin, or even torn. A sloth demon even sent us into the Fade for a while,” she shuddered at the memory. “The templars and mages have been working together since then to repair the damage.”

 

“So, it is more likely to be torn now,” Dora nodded her head thoughtfully. “And the Brecelian Forest?”

 

“Ah, well, I know the Veil is thin, and has been for a long time. The Dalish warned us about roaming the woods for some spirits, trapped inside trees, watched and attacked interlopers. However, since any Dalish have probably moved elsewhere and there are no settlements I know of, investigating it for rifts can wait. In my opinion,” Jannasilane hastily added.

 

Mother Giselle sighed, “I am sure you are right. Difficult as it is to leave them be for now, the Herald of Andraste has to concentrate her efforts where they can do the most good.”

 

“Yes,” Janna stated. She picked up a piece of wood painted a bilious green, “This is a rift.” She then tied some orange yarn around it, “Now it is a large rift. This is the one we have been monitoring in Amaranthine,” she placed it on the map. “I consider a large rift to be one that can send six or more demons at a time. On the way to Haven we passed other, smaller rifts.” She placed more pieces of green wood on the map. The Herald has closed some rifts,” she picked up a piece of wood painted blue and placed it carefully on the map. “If you know which ones were large, then we need to wrap them with orange yarn as well.”

 

The apprentice picked up several pieces of dyed cloth, “Every Circle has to be considered as possibly having a thinned Veil. Young mages makes a lot of mistakes early in their training.” She didn’t mention the Harrowings.

 

“I see that Kirkwall has several areas marked,” Dora noted. “Is that because of the blast and what happened with Meredith?”

 

Jannasilane shook her head, “Partly, Kirkwall was wrong before then. I am afraid Varric’s city will need much attention.” Sister Dora became Jannasilane’s most consistent helper as Mother Giselle had many duties and Minaeve didn’t have much to contribute after the first day. Dora, also from a small village, was only three years older than she was and it didn’t take long for the two young women to become friendly.

 

“Maybe I’ve been looking at your map too long, but I think I see a pattern,” Dora said on the third day of working together.

 

Janna rubbed her temples, “Let us hope the Herald of Andraste can use this information.”

 

Dora frowned, “Another headache? I thought it was better for you down here because the thick walls acted as a buffer.” She’d soon learned about her new friend’s sensitivity to the Fade.

 

Whatever Janna might have responded was forestalled when a small group of people entered their work area, “I hope this map they’re working on isn’t a waste of time,” a tall Qunari woman was saying.

 

“I hope so as well,” Janna retorted with a raised eyebrow. She winked at Dora. “If it does turn out to be a waste of time then it was my time wasted and not yours.”

 

“Gracie, I have some more information from Leliana,” Blackwall handed her the notes and joined Krem who was watching from the side until he could speak to Hairful.

 

“I am so pleased to meet you, Lady Jannasilane,” a beautiful Antivan with a soft voice responded. “I have been an admirer of you and your husband for some years; you are practically legends in some circles. You have already helped us a great deal. We passed Cullen training soldiers in rift management per your guidelines. Now, when somebody reports a rift to us we can reply with a plan of action to minimize their danger until the Herald of Andraste can close it. It adds to our credibility which will only help us in the long run.”

 

“Bragaara Adaar,” the Qunari strode forward and shook her hand, “I didn’t mean to make light of your efforts. Leliana intercepted us as soon as we entered the gates and said you were testing out a theory. If it means I can travel more efficiently then I’m all for it.”

 

“Yes, I understand how tiring constantly crisscrossing the country can be, this is truth,” Janna agreed.

 

“I looked forward to meeting a woman who claims to know about the Fade,” Jannasilane looked to the back of the group where a bald elf was studying her. He walked forward, “You are not even a mage, so such intimate knowledge is even more interesting.”

 

Janna frowned very slightly when he drew closer, “Know about the Fade? No, that is not truth though I may know a little more than many. I was trapped in it twice and do not care for it. It is more accurate to say that I am sensitive to it. You, I sense the Fade about you, and your magic is also very Fade-y.”

 

“Interesting,” Solas replied. “Forgive my manners, I am Solas. I have indeed studied the Fade a great deal and have been helping the Inquisition in my small way.”

 

“Solas has been more than just a little helpful,” Bragaara noted. “You must also sense my hand, then.”

 

“Ye-es, but not as steadily. The energy seems to be quiet for the moment. I imagine it flares up greatly when near a rift.”

 

Bragaara nodded in agreement, “That’s right, it does. It gets more intense at other times, though I am not sure why.”

 

“My dear, this little map of yours appears to be informative. I see a pattern emerging,” a tall, beautiful, exquisitely dressed woman had been ignoring them while studying the results of their efforts. “You can change these areas to definitely thin and, if I understand your assistant correctly, add one of your combination pieces here.” She pointed.

 

“Yes,” Solas agreed and indicated other updates. “The pattern is clear. If you will excuse me,” the elven mage left, to Jannasilane’s quiet relief.

 

“I too must return to my duties,” Josephine smiled. “I would love to talk more when you have the opportunity, my lady, I have so many questions. My office is just upstairs,” she turned around in a rustle of silks.

 

“Thanks for your help, Josephine,” Bragaara said to the retreating Antivan. She turned to the small human, “The Inquisition would flounder if it depended on my diplomatic skills.”

 

“Yes, more than once my Leliana rescued a situation we were hopelessly bungling, this is truth,” Jannasilane smiled at the memories.

 

“I am sure you are more capable than you let on, Herald,” Madame Vivienne drawled with one eyebrow elegantly raised. “You don’t look like an Arlessa, unless the Ferelden nobles I’ve met in the past were the anomaly. I suppose we should be grateful the Hero of Ferelden deigned to send any help at all.”

 

Blackwall scowled from his place against the wall, “Arrogant ******, I can see how that mage fit well in Celene’s court.”

 

Janna didn’t like the woman either. “Yes, you should be very grateful to my Ali that he killed the Archdemon before it could destroy the magnificence of the Grand Cathedral or any of Orlais’ other beautiful buildings. I know I am grateful for my most wonderful Ali every day,” she nodded her head vigorously.

 

“How quaint,” Vivienne just looked amused. “You don’t need more of my help down in this dismal place. I shall leave you to . . . all this. Later, my dear,” she waved her hand airily and sauntered away.

 

Bragaara sighed and waited until the mage was out of earshot, “I’m sorry Jannasilane; she likes to unsettle people. I think it’s how she takes their measure.”

 

“Or she could just be a ******,” Blackwall pushed himself off the wall.

 

“Your eyes are whirling like crazy, Spitnails,” Krem noticed with a grin. “I bet that’s what they looked like when you were arguing with the Seeker.”

 

Jannasilane smiled a little and shrugged, “It is truth that I do not look like an Arlessa. I thank the Maker every day for my Ali and our family; this is also truth.”

 

“So, do you believe I walked out of the Fade?” Bragaara got right to the point.

 

“I do not understand why it is so unbelievable,” Jannasilane pursed her lips thoughtfully. She blinked a little at their surprise and Dora’s somewhat scandalized expression, “The Tevinter magisters did it, though they did not like the results. However, I do not believe there has ever been such an explosion of the Fade, unless that is how Fen’Harel sealed the elven gods, according to the Dalish legends. If this Breach could cause rifts to appear and spit out demons across nations, why couldn’t it suck people into the Fade? I find it odd that others weren’t pulled in and you survived unharmed, more or less. I think somebody helped you, whether it was Andraste or another.”

 

“So you don’t think it at all strange?” Blackwall grunted.

 

“I still think it’s strange,” Bragaara frowned.

 

Jannasilane snickered then burst out laughing, “Strange? Stranger than werewolves or statues who speak? Stranger than finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes? Maybe, but during the Blight we encountered much that was strange or unusual. To me it is strange to remember the girl I was when I first met the Wardens. She came from a farm near a very small village. That girl was fascinated by the Chanter in Lothering, she’d never met one before or been to such a large place.”

 

Blackwall guffawed, “You mean those stories Varric tells are true?”

 

“This I cannot answer. I can only say that many strange things happened, not that Varric reports them truthfully. I think, perhaps, he exaggerates.” The others laughed, for the dwarf did like to embellish his tales and each retelling was unique. “Lady Bragaara,” Jannasilane grew serious, “I have not yet gone to see your Breach. I do not know if I will be able to go more than once and waited to see if you wished to be there when I did.”

 

Bragaara nodded, “Yes, if you think you can learn something that might help us. However, I want to go to Lothering and Redcliffe first. I’d like you to accompany me. We can seal the large rift near Lothering and you can send word to your waiting caravan to go The Crossroads. It’s the base for many of the relief efforts in the Hinterlands and your people should easily be able to avoid any small rifts. Redcliffe is where I could really use your presence. Leliana said you know it fairly well and can tell us if anything is unusual, by Redcliffe standards not yours,” she noted dryly. “Fiona and the mages are there and she wants to talk about an alliance.”

 

“Fiona? I met her a few years ago,” Jannasilane answered slowly. “Yes, I would very much like to know why my friends were kicked out of their home. Arl Teagan is a good man and has always been sympathetic to mages; it makes no sense to dispossess him and his family.”

 

“Making enemies out of friendly sympathizers who might be powerful allies? I can’t say it sounds like a smart move. We’ll leave first thing in the morning. This is a diplomatic mission,” the Herald of Andraste rolled her eyes, “so we’ll keep our group small. You’re welcome to bring one or two of your companions with you, but no more than that.”

 

Blaine said she would stay behind to help Cullen and his men train to fight with mages. No matter what the Herald of Andraste ultimately decided, some mages and templars were going to fight with the Inquisition and needed to learn how not to hurt their own people. Nathaniel and Saykor were going to scout the way to the Breach because, as Saykor put, “Some people were stupid as nugs when **** happened,” and they didn’t want any surprise bandit attacks. That’s how Jannasilane and Cragen ended up accompanying the Herald, Cassandra, Sera, and Solas to Redcliffe.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 132:  Redcliffe is Disturbing

“Yo, Elfina,” Sera elbowed her on the road to Redcliffe, “that templar in Lothering certainly remembered you. He said you were all grown up, or some such rubbish. I mean, you couldn't have been a kid hanging onto the Warden’s armor - that would just be stupid."

 

Cragen shrugged, "Well, she's small enough to dangle from somebody's belt."

 

Sera grinned, "You mean like some elfy good luck charm?"

 

"The Commander always says the day they met was the luckiest day in his life."

 

"I was the lucky one. He is my always," she tapped her ring lightly.

 

"Maybe I'm a sap, but of all their adventures together the day they met is my favorite story," Cragen admitted quietly to Cassandra.

 

The warrior was surprised, "No, I think you demonstrate more depth than the comments about her being a lucky charm." She called out to Jannasilane, "We may have more in common than either of us could guess; I was little older than you were then when I found myself in the middle of events involving betrayal and conspiracy at the highest levels."

 

“Perhaps, Seeker, you would be willing to tell me more about such undoubtedly fascinating events,” Cragen said, looking for any excuse to spend time with the amazing warrior.

 

“I, too, am curious,” Jannasilane nodded, oblivious to the one-sided flirtation.

 

In Haven, Nathaniel and Saykor were getting ready to scout the Breach. “Let’s take our fellow ‘Warden’ with us,” Nate suggested.

 

Saykor agreed, “Lady J might trust the guy, but I want my own take. On the plus side, he not only was helping farmers defend their families he was teaching them how to fight more effectively. We know one big minus, are there more?” The dwarf frowned, “Nate, there’s something else . . . have you felt different since leaving the Vigil?”

 

“So it isn’t just me,” the rogue said quietly. He double-checked his supply of arrows, “The Calling doesn’t feel as strong as it did. Is that what you mean?”

 

“Yeah, everything I know about the Wardens and their Calling, I’ve met a few in the Deep Roads, it’s not something that ebbs and flows. It’s supposed to get steadily stronger. In that respect I’m feeling better, and these last few weeks have been pretty good; fewer responsibilities, no paperwork, no recruits whining or complaining . . . but, sod it, I want to get back to the Vigil and the Wardens,” he grumbled.

 

Nathaniel stopped what he was doing, “So do I, but I thought it was because of Sigrun. We never said anything,” he shrugged and didn’t elaborate. “If you’re feeling that way, and I know you don’t have the same personal interest, maybe this attack is more complex than just a false Calling.”

 

“Whoever created this magic, maybe the ‘Calling’ is stronger when around other Grey Wardens and the Commander played right into that when he recalled all his Wardens to the Vigil.”

 

“To be fair, that may have been more tactical than magical influence. Let’s face it; Alistair will always want to know his people are as trained and prepared for some new enemy as possible. It’s one reason nobody is permanently on the road and we have to spend some time at the Vigil. Even if he knew this urge to gather was part of the spell, I think he would have still called everybody in. When we return, I’m going to risk asking Leliana to send a message to Alistair, coded of course. I’m ready,” Nathaniel hoisted his pack.

 

“Let’s go grab ourselves a Warden,” Saykor settled his crossbow and battleaxe in place and the two Grey Wardens went in search of their ersatz fellow.

 

Sera was teasing Jannasilane, “You remind me of a merchant traveling through Orlais a few years ago. Well, you remind me of what he was selling, when you’re not being all elfy, that is. They were these small stuffed toys made of really soft fabric and squishable. He called them plushies. That’s what you are, one cute little plushie I could pick up and cuddle.”

 

“I am not a toy and I am not little,” Jannasilane scowled at the elf.

 

Bragaara couldn’t resist joining Sera, the only one who could break through the stern façade she wore, “Oh, I don’t know. I could easily pick you up and squish you in a great big hug. I bet your Ali does it all the time.” She and Sera grinned at each other over the smaller woman’s head when Jannasilane turned bright red. She called after Jannasilane when she stalked away from them, muttering something uncomplimentary, “Hey, I’m sure it’s some sort of blasphemy to say that about the Herald of Andraste.”

 

“What happened?” Cassandra demanded.

 

Solas permitted himself a small smile, “I think your friend just received a new nickname.”

 

“Plushie!” Sera and Bragaara answered the unspoken question in unison.

 

Cragen snickered, “The Commander will like that one. He’s always picking her up.” His comment caused Sera to double over with laughter.

 

Cassandra rolled her eyes at all of them and joined Jannasilane where she stood looking over the outskirts of Redcliffe village. “They were just teasing,” she said when she saw the other woman’s frown.

 

Jannasilane shrugged, “No, look down there. I have been to Redcliffe many times; something is not right.”

 

“I’ll inform the Herald. I do not like this; we should move forward carefully,” the warrior turned to the others and shared Jannasilane’s concerns.

 

The mayor’s guard, who were actually some of Arl Teagan’s soldiers assigned to assist the mayor as needed, huddled together trying to figure out how to deal with the rift and demons at the gates to the heart of Redcliffe village. “Do you sense it?” Solas asked Jannasilane who was studying the rift and scowling.

 

“It feels different,” Bragaara opened her hand and looked back and forth between the rift and the glow in her palm.

 

“Somebody has used magic on it,” Jannasilane huffed.

 

“They have somehow altered time around the rift.” Solas’ nostrils flared, “I did not think any knew of such magic.”

 

The Herald took command, “We’re going to have to move quickly; one, two hits and shift. Makes me wonder how Fiona got to Val Royeaux,” she said to herself.

 

After clearing the rift they soon found out no one was expecting them, including the Grand Enchanter. “There are many blood mages here,” Jannasilane whispered. Bragaara nodded slightly, showing she understood. Sera’s eyes widened and muttered something about her being elfy again. Jannasilane quietly spoke to the few people she knew and didn’t like what she heard. Neither did anybody else.

 

“I want to know what Fiona has to say for herself,” Bragaara stated. Only her tense jaw indicated how angry she was after they found the hut full of skulls.

 

Fiona denied ever going to Val Royeaux. Jannasilane frowned; the Grand Enchanter’s denial rang true and false at the same time. “What were we to do? Our situation was becoming more desperate by the hour and then Magister Alexius appeared to offer his assistance,” Fiona tried to defend her actions. Jannasilane glared at the woman, she fought for mage freedom and then indentured them all to a magister without so much as a vote.

 

“How convenient,” Bragaara drawled, causing the older elf to flush angrily.

 

 

Magister Alexius entered and forestalled any argument, “Now, now let us remain civilized. The Inquisition requires mages to help you seal this Breach of yours. They are mine, therefore you need to discuss terms with me. What can you offer me to convince me to lease my newest soldiers to you?” Fiona protested, claiming their deal was indentured servitude with a path to citizenship and not becoming part of his army. He dismissed her, “I changed my mind. You’ll be a much quicker return on my considerable investment this way. Herald?”

 

Jannasilane didn’t like him and didn’t trust him. Whatever he planned, she could sense this negotiation was nothing more than a deception. In Ferelden, he would be bound to honor the initial agreement with Fiona. Changing the terms as he did negated the agreement and Fiona was free of him, or would be if one or both were Fereldan. Bragaara wasn’t inclined to make a deal just yet, so Jannasilane held her tongue. She’d have a chance to tell the Herald what she knew soon.

 

A young man entered the room and Jannasilane frowned slightly, she sensed the taint within him. She frowned even more when he pretended to stumble into the Herald’s arms. Alexius cut the meeting short and ushered his son out of the room, barking for an unhappy Fiona to follow. Once they were gone, Bragaara slowly opened her hand to reveal a crumpled note. “He wants us to meet him in the Chantry,” she said quietly.

 

“The only truth in this room was Alexius’ concern for his son,” Jannasilane told her. The Herald nodded agreement.

 

“Let’s go see what Felix has to say,” Bragaara decided, against Sera and Cassandra’s advice. “Trap or ally, there’s only one way to find out,” Bragaara carefully opened the Chantry’s large oak door. They didn’t see Felix; instead, they saw another mage confronting demons and a rift.

 

“Well don’t just stand there,” the man said. “It’s not fair for me to have all the fun.” After the demons were gone, he watched the Herald close the rift. “It's truly fascinating to see you in action. I was half-convinced the stories were just stories. Oh, they would just love you back home,” he smirked in amusement. He bowed, “Allow me to introduce myself, Dorian of House Pavus, mage extraordinaire and former protégé to Magister Alexius. You obviously got Felix’s note; he should be here soon.”

 

“His father was concerned for his health,” Bragaara replied. She studied the Tevinter, as did everyone else. “You’re going against your mentor?” she cautiously asked.

 

“Hard to believe, I know. Alexius used to be different; we theorized about the possibility of time travel but could never put theory into practice. You had to come by the rift at the gates; he’s obviously learned a thing or two since then. Ah, Felix,” he greeted his friend.

 

“I shouldn’t have played the sick card; I thought Father would never stop fussing. Herald, my father is a good man but he’s misguided. He can’t accept that I’m ill and Mother is dead. He feels guilty that he didn’t prevent the ambush and in desperation listened to the Venatori who said they could help him. The Venatori are a curse, a plague that rises up occasionally and reinforces the stereotype of evil Tevinter magisters. Some of us want Tevinter to move forward and take our place in this world instead of moaning about lost glory.” Felix shook his head, “Herald, my father has no intention of helping you; it’s a trap. All this, this madness,” he waved his arm, “it has to stop. I need to get back before Father realizes I’m gone. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

 

“Be careful Felix,” Dorian said, “I really don’t want you to die.”

 

Felix smiled sadly, “There are worse things than death. Dorian, Herald,” he nodded and left. Jannasilane stopped him at the door and spoke to him quietly for a moment, and then let him go. She rejoined the group contemplating the sparkly Tevinter mage.

 

“The Venatori is a nasty cult who wants to return Tevinter to the bad old days. I wish to stop them. They give Tevinter a bad name,” he twirled his mustache.

 

“A Tevinter magister wishes to ally with us? Against his own mentor? Does this sound suspicious to anyone else?” Cassandra narrowed her eyes at the mage.

 

“How do I know I can trust you,” Bragaara demanded.

 

“You don’t really. And for the record, my father is the magister in the family, not I.” Dorian rolled his eyes, “If I wished to do you harm I could simply not have warned you. Rather elaborate to warn you about a trap only to be a trap myself don’t you think? I put myself at risk, you know.”

 

“Gain our confidence, learn about any weaknesses, then inform your masters, it has been done before,” Cassandra wasn’t convinced.

 

Bragaara made her decision, “I think . . . Jannasilane, what is your opinion?” she abruptly asked.

 

Jannasilane blinked, “He is very pretty, and sparkly. He may even be the prettiest man I’ve ever seen.” Dorian couldn’t help preening smugly. Janna walked towards him and he had a chance to see her eyes whirling as she studied him in turn. “Your magic, it is very cool, like the Mor-Mortalitasi of Nevarra but you are not one.”

 

“How fascinating you are,” the Tevinter murmured. “No, I am not but my concentration has much in common with theirs. I’ve never met anybody who could sense a magical specialty.”

 

“Do you wish to join the Inquisition, to help us seal the Breach?” she asked him.

 

“I wish to help you restore order and put a stop to the Venatori’s plans, they really are nasty creatures. If we kill them, even better. I’m not much of a joiner but I don’t like that hole in the sky any more than you do,” he answered.

 

“Even if it means killing Felix’s father, your former mentor, a man you still care about?” Everybody silently waited for his answer.

 

Dorian closed his eyes, pained by the thought, and reopened them. He sadly stared down at her, “I hope we can find a way to save him, to steer him away from his current course, but I have already accepted that it may not be possible. I do not think I can deal the killing blow myself, however.”

 

Jannasilane stepped away from him moments later and turned to the Herald, “He speaks truth. I sensed no lies nor did I sense any blood magic controlling him.”

 

Bragaara was startled, “You can sense that?”

 

“I can sense that he is not a blood mage, this is truth. I do not know if I can sense when a person is being controlled by a blood mage but Cragen recited the Litany of Adralla, which should have broken or at least disrupted the blood mage’s hold. I sensed no such disruption, this is also truth.”

 

“Huh,” Bragaara replied. “Well, you confirmed my decision though I wonder what your Ali would think about you gushing over how pretty and sparkly another man is.”

 

“Humph, nobody is as handsome as my Ali, this is truth,” Jannasilane sniffed.

 

Stifling a grin, the Herald turned towards Dorian, “We welcome your assistance, though I haven’t made my decision regarding the mages just yet.”

 

“Fascinating,” Dorian repeated. He bowed flamboyantly to the Herald, “I shall take my leave and meet you in Haven. It will do neither of us any good for you to be seen in Redcliffe with me.”

 

“I hope you are right,” Cassandra said to the two women. “I, for one, look forward to leaving this village.”

 

“Lady J is pretty reliable in these matters,” Cragen said in his Arlessa’s defense. “Do you wish a mana cleanse, my lady?” he asked Jannasilane.

 

“Not until we are well out of Redcliffe. I think it not wise to alert any to templar abilities in our midst and I am not sure how much distance is needed as buffer.”

 

“I agree,” the Herald stated. “Let’s go. The morning after we reach Haven we’ll go take a look at the Breach. Maybe you can find out something that will help me come to a decision about the best way to seal it.”

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 133:  Facing the Breach

Jannasilane was waiting for Blaine to join her, Saykor, and Nathaniel before discussing Redcliffe. She rolled her head on her shoulders, “I will be glad to have this Breach business done, this is truth. I wish to be home with my Ali and our children.”

 

“About that,” Nathaniel explained his and Saykor’s theory, “Leliana let me use her birds to send a message to Alistair. I don’t know that he can do anything about it, but maybe our mages can come up with something.”

 

“Somebody thinks they are very clever,” Janna frowned.

 

Blaine came in and flopped onto the bed, “I’m exhausted. Cullen was on a real tear today and it’s all your fault,” she accused Jannasilane.

 

“My fault? I have not been here,” Janna protested. She stared at Nate and Saykor, who were grinning like schoolboys.

 

“Did you tell Cullen that he does it better than the boss?” Nathaniel’s eyes twinkled. The soldier who overheard their lady and the former templar was not discreet and the gossip ran through the ranks like wildfire, though his interpretation had nothing to do with templar abilities.

 

“He has more experience than my Ali, this is truth,” Janna stated seriously. Busy with her maps and trip to Redcliffe she didn’t hear any of the rumors about her relationship with Commander Cullen and was nonplussed when the two Wardens and Blaine burst out laughing. She turned bright red when they explained, “When, what, how . . . no, do not tell me. I do not wish to know. As if either of us,” she huffed.

 

“Don’t worry, Lady J,” Saykor quickly reassured her, “when your templar friend heard the rumors, well, the surprise on his face could be seen across Haven. He got angry that somebody would ‘impugn the reputation of a woman who has done so much for Ferelden’ and that he was ‘insulted that any would consider he was capable of such dishonorable behavior.’”

 

“He said the men obviously had too much time on their hands. That’s why training was rather brutal, though more for them than me,” Blaine chuckled.

 

“I was going to ask Cullen to come with us to the Breach tomorrow, but now . . .” Janna’s voice trailed off and she worried her bottom lip between her teeth.

 

The Wardens became serious. “Mouse, he’s going. He’s not letting silly rumors prevent him from what he sees is his duty. Neither Saykor nor Cragen are good enough if you need a mana cleanse. The rift in Amaranthine is as a mud puddle to the Amaranthine Ocean when you compare it to the Breach. We scouted it while you were gone. I won’t tell you any more, you’ll see soon enough.” The two Wardens also decided not to tell her what they thought about the red lyrium until afterwards.

 

Early the next morning the two Wardens with Varric and Sera trailed after the group going with Jannasilane to the Breach. Bragaara, Leliana, Cassandra, Dorian and Cullen were with her. Dorian wanted to see the Breach for himself; Cullen and Cassandra allowed him to go because they didn’t trust him enough to let him out of their sight for an extended length of time.

 

“Why doesn’t Elfina want Solas with her?” Sera asked them. “He’s the one that seems to know all about it, Mr. I-walk-in-the-Fade-for-fun.”

 

“She’s afraid his magic might throw her off,” Nate explained. “The Herald has to be there, but she wants as clean an impression as she can get. Besides, we don’t want all our mages around if Commander Cullen has to perform a mana cleanse,” he added. “And she doesn’t trust the elf. He may not be lying but she does sense a lot of him is hidden; it bothers her that when she sees him she thinks of Flemeth.”

 

“Plushie’s more elfy than a lot of the elves I know,” Sera rolled her eyes.

 

“I hope the Breach is more like the rifts I have seen and not the tears I saw in the Blackmarsh,” Jannasilane noted.

 

“Oh, why is that, adorable girl?” Dorian asked. He started calling her that after she said he was pretty and scolded one of the soldiers in Haven who was giving him a hard time for being a Tevinter. Her obliviousness to the influence she had on others charmed him completely; it was so refreshing.

 

“They had to be sealed from within the Fade, where they were guarded by desire demons. Yech,” she grimaced.

 

 “You’re not a mage and yet you walked the Fade to seal rifts?” he asked incredulously.

 

Janna shook her head, “No, we were trapped there by a darkspawn. We sealed the rifts while we searched for a way out.”

 

“Like the sloth demon at Lake Calenhad’s Circle?” Cullen raised his eyebrows.

 

“A darkspawn can wield that type of magic?” Dorian asked at the same time.

 

“Yes,” Jannasilane answered. “In Amaranthine after the Blight we had to deal with two groups of very intelligent darkspawn battling for control. They were most annoying; this is truth. They didn’t cause the rifts, however; an Orlesian noblewoman and blood mage some decades, or even centuries, ago caused it when her people rose up against her. She was taking their children. A version of the village housed the souls of the people, keeping them from passing on, as they should. Something like that. I was quite happy we escaped.”

 

“Fascinating,” Dorian replied. It was his favorite expression around her and the Herald.

 

“Horrifying might be more accurate,” Cassandra disagreed.

 

“In this, I think I agree with Cassandra,” Bragaara stated. “My company ran into some darkspawn a few years ago, they were bad enough without extra intelligence and advanced magical skills.”

 

“What is it, my friend?” Leliana asked some time later. They were near the base of the temple.

 

“The lyrium feels different,” Janna wrinkled her nose.

 

“You’re sensitive to lyrium, too?” Dorian nodded thoughtfully, “That makes sense, with its connection to the Fade and magic. Is it hurting you?” he asked in concern. The others waited for her answer.

 

“No, not hurting me. It is more of a vague scritchy feeling inside my head, like . . . maybe I’ll know more when we’re closer.”

 

“I think your reaction last time was more pleasant,” Leliana teased.

 

Janna blushed and stuck her tongue out at the bard, “You are a bad, bad woman.”

 

“Will it interfere with examining the Breach,” Bragaara got down to business.

 

“No.” Jannasilane was positive.

 

“It was about here that you challenged the dragon,” Leliana stated, effectively changing the subject. “A high dragon, of course,” she added. “You scared us all, Blake and Alistair were very angry with you.”

 

“You actually challenged a dragon? That’s so-o-o . . . woof,” Sera started looking around for another one. The two Wardens grinned at each other, Zevran entertained several of them one evening with a dramatic, and exaggerated telling of that event complete with his interpretation of Alistair’s actions afterward. “Do you think we’ll find another one?” Sera was practically on her toes.

 

Bragaara winked at her, “I promise to take you with me if we hear about one.” Sera smiled happily.

 

“I thought Blondie was kidding,” Varric shook his head and grumbled. “I’ve had enough of dragons. We had to clear them out of the Bone Pit.”

 

“We are very close, prepare yourself. It will be unpleasant,” Cassandra said somberly. They were about to enter the field of statues, the remains of people running from the explosion. After a stunned moment Jannasilane began swearing in Orlesian, every curse Clarel and Nalia taught her dropping from her tongue with increasing frequency.  

 

“Whoever is responsible for this needs to die, preferably slowly and in considerable agony,” Dorian’s nostrils flared. “I don’t care if they are from Tevinter, Orlais, or the other side of Thedas.”

 

“They are still hot from the magic that caused this,” Jannasilane said after she calmed down enough to speak properly. She began walking quickly to the other side and the final path to the Breach.

 

“Commander,” Saykor spoke quietly, “Cherryplum needs a mana cleanse to clear her mind before she confronts the Breach.” Cullen nodded and rapidly moved to her side. Dorian waited with the Wardens until the templar finished. The mage was white with anger. Sera stalked from one figure to another, muttering imprecations the whole time.

 

“You told me there was much red lyrium, my Wardens. This is more than I expected,” Jannasilane stared at the lumps and hills growing near the Breach. “It feels,” her voice trailed off and she raised one eyebrow at her Ali’s trusted seconds.

 

Nathaniel nodded his head, answering her unspoken question, “Yes. That’s what we thought but hoped you wouldn’t agree; it needs testing, of course. We can discuss the details later.”

 

Her look promised a great deal of discussion but she didn’t say anything further. Instead, she started moving away and down, “There is much less lyrium on the other side and will be less likely to interrupt my concentration once it is blocked by the Breach.” She didn’t want to admit how scared she was, her friends would worry more and fear wouldn’t change her actions.

 

“She’s absolutely terrified,” Saykor waited until she was out of hearing before speaking. “I heard her talking in her sleep one night. Haven is so close to the Breach she doesn’t sleep well.”

 

“Mouse is good at facing what scares her,” Nate said somberly. He watched her, as did the others.

 

“She and Alistair have had much practicing facing their fears since Lothering,” Leliana added softly. “I am not sure the Archdemon was the worst.” Cullen didn’t say anything. He watched Jannasilane intently so he could act as soon as possible. He still felt guilty for hurting her years ago when they first met and was determined to protect her from further harm if it was in his power to do so.

 

Jannasilane ignored her companions and concentrated on moving forward. Years of meditating with her Ali stood her in good stead now as she cleared her mind in preparation for the ordeal in front of her. She relaxed her body, closed her eyes and slowly breathed in and out, then again even deeper and a third time still deeper. The Fade pressed against her, pounding at her. She opened herself towards it a little at a time, her vision unfocussed through half-open lids. The headache started to build but she ignored it while she studied the Breach. If she could just . . . BAM!

 

Cullen was running before she fell to the ground. He picked her up, her body besieged by spasms, and quickly performed a mana cleanse before he started running back and out of the temple. He yelled at Dorian to cast a barrier then ran past the statues and down the path until he was far enough away to examine her. Blood streamed from her nose and leaked from her eyes. He cursed and performed more cleanses until Dorian got closer, “Do you know any healing magic or anything else that can help her?”

 

“I’ll do what I can,” the mage answered somberly. Leliana was pulling out health and regeneration potions but the minute a vial touched her friend’s lips Jannasilane began to squirm.

 

She managed to push herself out of Cullen’s arms and crawl a short distance before she began retching. She didn’t notice Leliana holding back her hair and supporting her. When she was finished she was too weak to do anything but roll away and lie shivering, “C-c-old, s-so c-c-cold.”

 

“Cullen, take off your breastplate and then wrap your furs around the two of you, creating a cocoon. Dorian can send a little heat to start warming her up,” Leliana commanded. The former templar didn’t hesitate. He quickly dumped his most prized armor on the ground and removed the tie on the back of his cloak. He shrugged his fur back on and picked up the small woman before sitting down again so he could practically swaddle the two of them in the now voluminous cloak.

 

“I didn’t realize it would affect her so much,” Varric said worriedly.

 

“She knew,” Leliana and Cullen replied simultaneously.

 

Bragaara shook her head in surprise, the sun glinting off the decorative nevarrite bands on her horns. “She’s got more balls than most; I hope it was worth it,” her voice softer than her choice of words.

 

“Yeah, I mean, it wouldn’t be right, Plushie going through this and not getting **** out of it. Stupid elfy human, stupid Fade,” Sera unconsciously stepped close to the Herald for comfort.

 

“She’s no longer shivering, at least,” Cullen noted. “For months after we met, I sometimes dreamed of holding her in my arms, but not like this. I never told her and she certainly never encouraged me,” he added quickly when he realized he spoke aloud. “Besides, Alistair is a lot bigger than I am.”

 

“The boss still doesn’t like it when people flirt too much with Cherryplum,” Saykor confirmed.

 

“Silly man,” Jannasilane murmured drowsily.

 

“You’re awake,” Leliana smiled.

 

“Yes, and doing quite well,” Dorian, after a quick examination, was amazed at how quickly she was recovering.

 

“I will be fine, I am just tired,” she tried to get down.

 

Cullen stopped her, “No. Your punishment for worrying us is that you have to stay in my arms. I might even carry you all the way back to your cabin,” he threatened.

 

“Fine,” she huffed but was too tired to do more.

 

Nathaniel came forward with a damp handkerchief. He grasped her chin firmly in one hand and gently washed away the blood drying on her cheeks. “Did you tell Alistair?” he asked sternly. She just tilted her chin up mutinously in answer. “You should have told him, us,” he berated her. “You scared us, my Lady Plushie Mouse.” Sera snickered in the background. Even Cassandra couldn’t help thinking she looked like a child being scolded by her parents and smiled a little.

 

“Why?” she answered back fiercely. “I would still be here and my Ali would worry even more than I know he already is and our children would be more frightened than they are now. Do not fret, my Nate,” she spoke more softly now, “I would not have come to the Breach alone, even if none from the Vigil were with me. It scares me too much,” she admitted. She yawned.

 

“Janna,” Leliana got her attention, “my friend, before you fall asleep . . . did you learn anything?”

 

“Yes,” Bragaara stepped forward. “I’m sorry this hurt you, but were you able to get a sense of anything that might be able to help us?” She sat next to Cullen so the small woman didn’t have to twist her neck to speak to her. Cullen shifted his hold so Janna was more upright.

 

She curled into his warmth and considered how best to answer, “As I suspected, the focus point, if that is the best word, to closing the Breach is in the Temple and not in the Fade itself. In that respect, it is like the rifts. I think it is more powerful than you realize.”

 

“That’s not good,” Varric grumbled.

 

“Go on, Janna,” Bragaara encouraged.

 

“The rifts, when you close them you do it by directing your mark at the spiky energy ball. The Breach is much denser and more active. It is like a, a contained cyclone of Fade energy, “she brought her hands together and formed a circle with her thumbs and fingertips. “It is also angry,” she tilted her head and rethought her words. “Rather, it is full of anger, the anger of the one who created it. I sensed a great deal of magical power, frustrated pride, malice, anger. Even more than anger, the one responsible hungers. For what I do not know, I could only sense his, I think his, hunger for something. Something for which he is willing to risk all. He is most dangerous,” she added.

 

“Maker’s breath,” Leliana’s eyes widened. “No wonder it hurt you so much.”

 

“Can I close it? If I have enough power, that is.”

 

“Oh yes. You will need a great deal of power; this is truth. Even he had assistance from other mages, this I also sensed. If you gain the cooperation of the mages in Redcliffe you will be able to draw on them and they can expand your mark’s power.” Janna felt Cullen’s arms tensing around her and looked up at him.

 

“What about the templars?” he asked quietly.

 

She patted his arm and he quirked an eyebrow, “Templar magic is different. Templars focus their energy differently than mages, this I know from my Ali. Magic caused the Breach and it will be easier if you can get the mages to help. This does not mean Templars cannot help, but you will need more of them than you will mages if you must rely solely on one group or the other. I think about five templars for four mages, maybe three. The more people you have the easier it will be, this you know,” she nodded her head affirmatively. She leaned back against him and yawned, “I saw the Divine . . . and you. Something held her and you were running, . .  . there were spiders,” she shuddered. “I hate spiders.”

 

Cassandra leaned forward, “Did you see anything else? Anything to help us identify the monster responsible for Divine Justinia’s murder?”

 

Jannasilane stared at the Seeker and tried to focus her thoughts against the fatigue beginning to overwhelm her, “I am sorry. Images of many things flashed by, but I was concentrating on finding a way to close the Breach and did not have time to explore possible clues, even if I could do so. I cannot tell you if they were flashes of memories or thoughts or . . . the Fade is a tricky ******,” she ended by paraphrasing Zevran.

 

“That’s one way to put it,” Cullen muttered dryly while Cassandra stared at the ground in disappointment. “My lady, is there anything else you can tell us that will help us close that thing?”

 

“The other mage, Solas, he can tell you how many mages you will need better than I,” she stifled another yawn. “I am sorry I do not have a better answer for you, but I do not know any more on how to seal it. I’m sorry,” she repeated and yawned again. “I will think on it and if I remember anything to help you, I will tell you.”

 

“You’ve done plenty. I won’t lie, if you think of anything else, even better, but you’ve confirmed some things and given me information to help me decide on a course of action,” Bragaara reassured her. Janna didn’t hear her; she was fast asleep.

 

Cullen stood and shifted her around until she draped bonelessly against him like a tired child, “Looks like I’ll be carrying you after all,” he murmured with a smile. “Leliana, I’ve got her. I have a number of nieces and nephews I’ve carried to bed. If you will tie my cloak around us so she stays warm I can take her back to Haven.”

 

“Fortunately for your reputation we do not have to traverse all of Haven to get her to the Wardens’ cabin,” the bard said with a smile.

 

“After the drills he put them through? I doubt any of his men dare say a word,” Saykor chuckled. Cullen was already walking. The others soon caught up and exchanged ideas, theories, speculation and the occasional teasing remarks. Bragaara mostly listened; Cassandra was too caught up in her own thoughts to join in; the Wardens kept their worry to themselves while talking to the others. Whenever Jannasilane stirred, Cullen nodded to Dorian and the mage moved away so the templar could perform another cleanse.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 134:  While They Were Away

Martelle was one unhappy little girl. Her mommy was gone, her father was worried, and her best friend was mad at her. Even Strake disapproved of her, and he was her bestest friend ever. All because she lied, she didn’t hate Mommy but it was too late to take it back. Pinktara was the only one who understood. Maybe Daddy did, but he was busy with Warden and rift stuff.

 

A month after his wife was gone Alistair woke from a fitful sleep to screaming down the hall. “Martelle,” he panicked and ran to her. J-Lynn and the boys watched fearfully from the doorway.

 

“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” Martelle cried, “Come back, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t!”

 

Alistair’s heart nearly broke to hear her. He picked her up before she could hurt herself, a real possibility considering how hard she was thrashing. “Baby,” he whispered, “Martypants, your Mommy knows you love her and were just angry. She knows you didn’t mean it,” he repeated over and over until she woke up.

 

“I didn’t, I really didn’t, I love Mommy,” Martelle sobbed. Janice Lynette, DJ, and Lane climbed onto her bed to comfort her and Alistair wrapped them all in his arms. Martelle’s sobs subsided into sniffling hiccups and eventually they fell asleep in a giant pile.

 

When Janna sent a message from Highever Alistair shared it with Martelle.

 

“My dearest Ali,

 

We are safe in Highever with ten, I repeat, ten, wagons of goods to help the refugees. Fergus and Mhairi will help safeguard them and add some of their own. I am most proud of our people’s generosity this is truth.

 

Tell Martelle that I love her; she needs to hear it this is also truth. Do not forget to tell Duncan, Lane, and Janice Lynette that I love and miss them all.

 

I will write when possible. The roads are still not safe for lone couriers and I cannot ask someone to risk themselves for personal reasons; just know that you are all in my thoughts and I find comfort that you are all safe. I love you, my Ali, and the family we made together. When I return I will cover you in hundreds of kisses and hug our children until they squeal.

 

Love and kisses always,

 

Your Janna”

 

“Feel better, my Martypants?” Alistair kissed the top of his daughter’s head. She wiped a tear away with the back of her hand and nodded. “I declare today a family day, no lessons, no Arl stuff. I’ll ask the cook to put together a basket and we’ll have a picnic in Mommy’s garden. You are also invited,” he bowed to Pinktara, Nugflutter, Crumpet, and Poorfella who woofed acceptance from where they lay in a pile by the window.

 

Martelle giggled for the first time in weeks, “Silly Daddy.”

 

“I’m hurt,” Alistair struck a dramatic pose with his hand over his face. Then he swatted her playfully on the rear, “Go tell the others. I’ll let Tina and the Professor know.” She ran off happily. He watched her go with a smile on his face, a smile that faded once she was gone. He sighed, at least one worry was off his mind, and maybe he needed a family day as much as the children did. Anders joined him on the way to the kitchen, “Did you hear from Tambra? They made it safely to Highever.”

 

Anders grinned, “Yep. She says she doesn’t know how long she’ll be away but Mhairi is letting her stay at Warden’s Pint, since it’s more central to her investments, whatever they are. I’m planning an extravagant and personal homecoming when she returns,” he waggled his eyebrows but Alistair’s lackluster response surprised him. “Commander, Alistair, is something wrong?”

 

“I’ll need to work on my poker face,” the warrior sighed. “No, not really, I just worry about my Janna. She didn’t tell me because she didn’t want me to worry, but I know her. She’s scared to her toes to face the Breach that created all these rifts. Her sensitivities? It’s going to hurt her, a lot, and I can't do anything. It might even . . . I don’t know how much, just that it’s going to be very, very bad.”

 

“I’m sorry, Alistair, I didn’t realize it would be so hard for her, but Poppet’s one of the toughest people I know and she’s not alone. And you didn’t tell her you knew because?”

 

“She’d worry more if she knew that I knew that she knew,” Alistair answered. He narrowed his eyes at the now laughing mage, “What’s so funny?”

 

“You two are just so cute,” Anders teased and moved away before the big warrior could respond.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

                                                                                    

“It’s not going to hurt the forest if I carefully cut down a few trees, it is a bit overgrown,” Tambra was patiently explaining her plan to a Dalish clan she found near Highever Woods. Technically, nobody actually owned this area of the woods. It was too remote and too hostile for anybody to lay claim to it but that didn’t deter Hawke. It wasn’t the Bone Pit, after all. Most Fereldans prized Highever Hardwood as much as the Dalish did Ironbark. If she could come to an arrangement with the clan to harvest just a few trees she could carefully store it until she could sell it. Magic was a useful preservative.

 

“I will think on it,” the Keeper responded suspiciously.

 

“Thank you,” Tambra replied with a smile. “This clan is even pricklier than Merrill’s, and they were harassed by Meredith’s templars,” she thought. She nodded respectfully and left to return to Warden’s Pint. She would only hurt her cause if she stayed. She was almost home when somebody grabbed her from behind. A mana cleanse prevented her from casting a spell.

 

“Forgive me, Champion, I could not risk you alerting others to my presence,” Stroud whispered in her ear. “It would be dangerous for us both.”

 

Tambra stopped struggling and turned around in surprise. Her eyes widened when she took note of his condition, the Warden was filthy and gaunt, worry and disappointment had etched grooves in the side of his face, “Stroud, you look terrible, what’s wrong? No one is at the Pint except me. We’ll get you to a hidden entrance I’m working on and then I’ll go in as I normally would. Food and a bath, then you can tell me how I can help.”

 

“Thank you, Mistress Hawke,” Jean-Marc replied. “That sounds like an excellent plan.”

 

She regretted that she didn’t have stew simmering, but that was a waste for just one person. She sliced meat, cheese, and bread for sandwiches and thought about the Grey Warden in the other room. Stroud was not a man given to dramatics or paranoia so she worried about what he was going to tell her. His insistence that all their interactions occur in a room with no windows also concerned her, “Maybe I should reset my wards. At least my other traps are in good order.” She snickered to herself, “Nobody expects a mage to use something as simple as a snare.”

 

Her mabari whined at the front door to the tavern-post. “Ok boy,” Tambra opened the door, “I doubt anybody is traveling the roads but you keep an eye out and let me know if anyone is coming. It’s getting dark and I’m going to lock the door now.” The war dog ran out in a businesslike manner and Hawke shut the door with a smile, “There, if somebody is watching and listening, they should have no reason to suspect I’m not alone.” Her smile faded as she looked around the empty tavern. Slowly she began wiping down tables and closing the shutters one window at a time, all part of her normal routine. Once she was safe from potential prying eyes, she went back into the kitchen. Tambra looked at the plate of sandwich makings with dissatisfaction, “That man looks like he hasn’t eaten properly in days. I’m not as good as Bodahn or Orana, but I can make a decent omelet. At least it will be something warm to eat.”

 

Stroud felt much better after bathing. He appreciated the Champion’s forethought in providing a change of clothes belonging to the Wardens normally stationed here; when he escaped, he had to leave most of his belongings. He finished arranging his armor so it could air out just as she knocked on the door. “This is a most pleasant surprise,” he smiled when he saw the omelet. “I trust you plan on dining with me, mistress,” he gestured politely.

 

His stomach rumbled and Tambra laughed, “Yes, but after living with Anders I’ll fix my plate first, if you don’t mind.” Somewhat ruefully, he acknowledged her prudence and they sat down at a small table. Tambra helped herself to a small portion of the omelet as well as making a sandwich. “The Warden’s Pint is locked up and my mabari is outside scouting for potential travelers and other strangers,” she explained. While he ate, she told him about some of her endeavors, keeping a light social note to their dinner until he was ready to explain why he grabbed her in the woods.

 

Stroud stared at the few crumbs remaining, “Forgive my poor manners, Lady Champion, you were indeed wise to provide for yourself first.”

 

“Nonsense, I haven’t spent all this time with Grey Wardens without learning something. Just watching Alistair eat is an eye opener,” she waved away his concerns. Tambra set her elbows on the now empty table, and rested her chin on the pedestal of locked fingers, “Now, tell me why you couldn’t approach me more directly.”

 

“You must think me paranoid,” Stroud leaned back in his chair and contemplated the woman across from him. “Be wary of any Wardens you do not know personally, my friend. The situation in Orlais is much worse than I feared and I have never been known for my optimism.” Tambra raised one slender eyebrow and nodded in acknowledgment. She might even have smiled slightly at his description; it was hard to tell in the dim light. “It took time to get to Montsimmard, not only did I have to avoid mages and templars battling each other I had to avoid the combatants in Orlais’ civil war. Gaspard is making his play against his cousin for the throne.”

 

“Of course he is doing so now,” Tambra rolled her eyes.

 

Stroud smiled without humor, “Yes, it does sound like Alistair’s description of the Blight when people took advantage of its distraction and darkness for their own ends though I believe the Duke planned his move some time ago. I reached Clarel without significant incident; I was just in time, apparently. She and all her Wardens were preparing to move, I know not where. We spoke.”

 

“I hope your presence means our Fereldan brethren are on their way,” Clarel said politely, despite her obvious harried agitation. “I can delay our departure for a short while so they can join us. Our plan will be more successful with more Wardens.”

 

Stroud frowned, “Please, Commander Clarel, I beg of you to wait. We are convinced this is no true Calling but a trick, an attack. I know not how somebody accomplished this feat but if Corypheus could influence the minds of Grey Wardens then we must consider the possibility that another has learned something similar. Think, Commander, is it not odd that your newer members are affected just as much as your most senior Wardens? One who knows confirmed that we are no different than before the nightmares began, yet noted changes in our younger members as they matured into their Warden abilities. From my own experience making my way here I can tell you that my ‘Calling’ was not as strong when I was alone on the road as it was before and as it is now. Conversely, I experienced a wish, desire, dare I say compulsion to be with my fellow Wardens. I have usually enjoyed the company of my comrades but never felt a strong urge to seek it.”

 

Clarel listened; her brow became increasingly furrowed in thought. “I see. You make an interesting argument, Constable Stroud, and I will consider it carefully,” she said slowly. “Let us speak again after dinner, if you will do me the honor of joining me in my suite. I am sure you must be tired after your journey and would appreciate the opportunity to refresh yourself. I have questions and wish to put my thoughts in order first and I am sure you will be better able to answer once you have rested.”

 

“I would be honored, Warden-Commander,” Stroud bowed and retreated.

 

“During that time I did indeed ‘freshen up.’ I also endeavored to discover Clarel’s plans. I learned only that all the Grey Wardens in Orlais were meeting for some great purpose and that others were to join them. When I joined Clarel for dinner, she had me arrested. She was quite impervious to my arguments and said I was a traitor to the Order but that I could still have a part to play in her grand plan. A small squad of her elite and most trusted senior Wardens guarded over me while Clarel led the bulk of the Wardens to their destination. We were to follow in two days, presumably so her Wardens did not see me and ask questions. I have a reputation, one that should not lead to my arrest. A fade cloud, a rift as I now know, opened and I took advantage of its presence to escape, leaving my fellow Wardens to face the demons coming through. They took my armor and weapons from me when they arrested me, so I picked up pieces as I could. A Grey Warden’s focus is considerable; I knew they would soon be after me whether or not they killed all the demons. I have to assume they got word to Clarel and her people to watch the approaches to Amaranthine.”

 

Stroud got up and began to pace, “Alistair needs to know of my failure. I went to the Free Marches, hoping to throw my pursuers off track and to reach some of my old contacts. I very much fear that Commander Kevain is either in agreement with Clarel or no longer in charge. Every post or drop off I knew was either a potential trap or abandoned. If it weren’t for Isabela, I wouldn’t be this far ahead of them. She smuggled me aboard her ship and weighed anchor in a few ports, with ‘secret’ stops outside them, before dropping me off on this side of the Waking Sea. If they followed her progress, then they needed to investigate every illicit rendezvous.”

 

“Isabela is very adept at being sneaky,” Tambra smirked. “And if I know my favorite pirate she offered him the ‘comforts’ of her cabin. She’s been itching to test the limits of Warden stamina.”

 

“Yes,” Stroud agreed, oblivious to her speculations, “fortunately for me, you are correct. She was very accommodating and I owe her a great deal.” He began pacing, “I need to contact Alistair. You are a good friend, Champion, but I know Alistair did not give you the key to our encryption and Mhairi did not give you control over our hawks which begs the question, where are Mhairi and the Cousins who are supposed to be stationed here?” He gritted his teeth as Hawke explained.  The Cousins went to Orzammar to warn the dwarves about possible rifts in the Deep Roads and Alistair’s strategy to deal with them until the Herald could close them; there were few travelers due to the mage-templar war and the rifts so Mhairi thought her time better served organizing the teyrnir’s additions to the relief caravan. “So little girl opens herself to the Breach? And the Commander let her go?” He shook his head in exasperation, “She has great courage and the same sense of duty as a Warden to face such a danger to herself.”

 

“Is it really that bad?” Tambra bit her lip, startled. “She never let on once during the entire time we traveled to Highever. I only know she was determined to help if it meant fewer demons to threaten her children.”

 

“Ah, an argument Alistair could not counter,” Stroud sighed, “nor can I. Maker and Andraste watch over her and protect her.”

 

“Let it be,” Tambra murmured softly. She continued after a moment, “Mhairi didn’t want to leave the Pint completely unattended so I volunteered to stay while the Cousins were gone. This works out better for me, anyway. I go to the village every two or three days, Mhairi every day, so it will be easy enough for me to contact her. She can send your message to Alistair.” She plucked at her bottom lip, thinking, “How much time do you think you gained due to Isabela?”

 

The Warden stared into the fire while he calculated, “No more than three, possibly four days. They are determined and they are clever. They are also completely loyal to Clarel and will not wish to disappoint her; she has been a good Commander.”

 

“Until now,” Hawke frowned.

 

“Until now,” Stroud sighed. “Or she has chosen another’s counsel over mine, which I believe to be a mistake but does not make her a bad Commander. I got the impression, but have no evidence, that another hid from my view when they arrested me. That would explain her unexpected actions when I joined her.”

 

“I wish there was more time,” she complained. “I had a plan to get you out of here safely when the Cousins returned, allowing you more time to rest and recover.”

 

Jean-Marc was already shaking his head, “I will not endanger you any more than I have. Tonight’s rest will be enough. Knowing that Alistair will receive my information removes a burden from my mind and is all I ask.”

 

“Maybe we can do a little better than that. They won’t be looking for two people, will they? If Mhairi can send one of her people here, and I tell my brilliant mabari to stay and guard until I return, we can buy you some more time. How familiar are you with the hills of Crestwood?” she asked. “Zeke and I were exchanging stories one day about hiding, me from templars and he from whatever authorities or rivals were chasing his band of smugglers. There are several caves but the one I’m thinking about should be excellent for a long-term hidey-hole. We should check it out.” The two started planning.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

                                                                                    

“She’s still very cold,” Cullen was concerned but he needed to return to his duties. “You’re sure all she needs is rest?” He turned the full weight of his stare on Dorian and Blaine. The others, minus Cassandra, Sera, and the Herald, waited for their reply.

 

“Commander,” the sparkly mage answered without his usual levity, “She needs to keep warm and sleep, maybe an occasional mana cleanse, but she will be fine. Amazing really, how quickly her body is recovering considering the severity of her reaction to the Breach. She has to recover not just physically but mentally. That’s really why she needs to rest.”

 

“Mouse is very strong, stronger than I think even she realizes,” Nate added. “We’ll take good care of her.”

 

Cullen waited until Cragen built up the fire before carefully placing her on the bed. “If you mages will step outside I’ll do another cleanse before I go.”

 

Jannasilane wasn’t unconscious; she felt like she was deep underwater, sometimes she moved closer to the surface only to drift back down again. During those moments, she couldn’t respond but she could hear some of what they were saying though the words were muffled and distorted.

 

. . . . . .

 

“Yo, Dimples, Lady J is still cold. If Cragen builds that fire up anymore I’m going to be one roasted dwarf.”

 

“Even all the blankets piled on top of her are only doing so much,” Nate said from under the covers where he was currently holding her close in an effort to warm her.

 

Blaine frowned; she was afraid this would happen and hoped their lady would forgive her for what she was about to suggest, “I can’t send any more heat that way without hurting one of you. The only thing left to try is skin-to-skin. I was really hoping that two Wardens surrounding her would be enough, she responds better to you than us. If you remove your shirts, I’ll remove Lady J’s clothes except for her smalls. We should respect her modesty as much as possible.”

 

“You sure this isn’t just a ploy to see my manly chest in all its glory?” Saykor smirked but quickly complied.

 

Blaine rolled her eyes and smiled, “For the sake of our lady I’ll control myself.”

 

“Would the two of you cut it out?” Craggy snarled from the fireplace. He stormed out saying they needed more firewood.

 

“What’s his problem?” the dwarf asked in surprise.

 

Nate and Blaine looked at each other and sighed. “Our craggy friend isn’t having any luck with the object of his unreciprocated flirtation,” the rogue replied. “That on top of worrying about Mouse . . .”

 

. . . . . .

 

“The Herald left for Redcliffe this morning. Leliana, Dorian, and some others followed separately; I think they have a plan to turn any trap around onto Alexius. If all goes well they should be back with the mages in about a week. How is Lady Plushie?” Cragen returned from the village. “Oh, the laundress didn’t charge much for doing our clothes. She said she’ll get to them later today or tomorrow, that Lady J deserves her best.”

 

“Our mage friend had the right idea,” Nate answered with a smile. “She feels a lot warmer and is sleeping more comfortably. I think we will soon be able to leave her to rest alone.”

 

Saykor shook his head and replied with a mock grumble, “Never thought being in bed half-naked for two days with a beautiful woman would be so sodding boring.”

 

“I’m sure the Commander will be relieved,” Blaine answered drily.

 

“Don’t worry Dimples, I’m saving all my best moves for you,” Saykor grinned at the mage.

 

“I certainly hope so,” Blaine blushed and smiled.

 

. . . . . .

 

Jannasilane slowly woke. She stretched cramped limbs and disturbed the grey kitten on top of the pillow next to her head. “Mrreow!” it protested and swiped at her nose in a huff. Annoyed blue eyes watched her warily.

 

“Who are you? Are you lost? You are most adorable, this is truth,” Jannasilane propped herself on her side and slowly reached out with one hand. She gently scritched it behind the ears until it started to softly purr. She looked around the empty room and frowned slightly, “I wonder how long I slept.” She shook her head and got out of bed, “No matter. First, I must get dressed and find something to eat. Then I have much to discuss with my Wardens and Cousins.” She continued chatting to the kitten, “You are such a dark, pretty grey, except for your front left paw. That is quite black, as if you dipped it into Lady Montilyet’s inkwell. Blue eyes are most unusual, or have they just not changed yet?” She opened one of the shutters to let in more light. Her stomach rumbled loudly and the kitten hissed in alarm. “Do not worry, I shall not eat you. Let us go find the others.”

 

Before she could bring the kitten to the table the door swung open and Nathaniel rushed in, followed closely by Cragen and Blaine. The normally reserved rogue picked her up and swung her around before embracing her in a giant bear hug, “I worried, Lady Plushie Mouse,” he whispered before setting her down. “I did not look forward to telling Alistair we lost you to the Fade.”

 

“None of us did,” Cragen added and pulled out a chair for her at the table. “We’ve been cooking outside in order not to disturb you. Saykor’s watching it now; I’ll tell him you’re up, I’m sure you’re hungry.” He temporarily left the cabin.

 

“This is truth,” she said as her stomach once again rumbled loudly. The kitten mewed loudly from the bed, demanding attention. “My new friend also wishes to eat,” Jannasilane smiled. “Where did she come from?”

 

“Sister Dora, she’s not sure where the mother came from but she had her litter a few weeks ago. This one is the feistiest and most independent of the lot,” Blaine brought the grey fluff to their Arlessa. “The good sister thought you might like the company of something smaller than you are,” she said with a straight face.

 

“Pffftt,” Jannasilane imitated Sera perfectly. The kitten leapt from Blaine’s hands, ran up Jannasilane’s shoulder, and gently patted her cheek. “See, somebody agrees with me,” she stroked the little feline.

 

“Good to see you awake and out of bed, Lady J,” Saykor grinned when he and Cragen brought in stew and roasted rabbits. He grinned even more when he saw her eclectic ensemble: a pair of his pants that stopped mid-calf, Nate’s shirt billowed over the waistband while it fit closely across the chest and sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and finally one of Blaine’s vests that ended below her hips. With her hair all over the place, she looked like a ragamuffin.

 

“I am most glad to be awake. I think I slept enough; this is truth,” she answered with a grin of her own. After they all, including the kitten, had food in front of them, she became serious. “We must speak about the temple.”

 

“Do you remember anything else, my lady?” Blaine asked softly.

 

Jannasilane thought while she ate. Finally, she answered, “Nothing that will help the Herald seal the Breach. I have told her everything I can about that. She went to Redcliffe to secure the mages, did she not?”

 

“Aye, Leliana, the sparkly mage you like, and many of Cullen’s men went as well. They’re going to make sure that pompous Tevinter ass doesn’t spring his trap,” the dwarf replied. “None of ‘em trust the guy. Oh, and that crazy elf and the Seeker went, too.”

 

“Good. I wish to speak to Fiona before we leave,” her expression didn’t bode well for the Grand Enchanter. She toyed with the little food remaining on her plate. “I did see images,” she said reluctantly. “Nothing as coherent as the memories in Kal Hirol, these were just flashes that vanished almost as quickly as they appeared. I could not even tell if they were echoes of what happened, memories from someone that had nothing to do with the Divine’s murder, or even thoughts echoing from my own mind. One face was horrible and distorted, like that of the Architect, but gone before I could tell if it was him or not. I saw people who appeared to be Grey Wardens. I could not tell what they were doing, but I don’t think it was good.”

 

“The Wardens have to be from something else,” Cragen frowned. “Nobody has seen any Wardens other than us and Blackwall since before the Conclave. You said you felt a lot of malice and anger, couldn’t they have distorted the images you saw?”

 

Jannasilane shrugged unhappily, “This I do not know, the Fade is tricky. There is something else, the red lyrium.”

 

Nate sighed, “We,” he indicated Saykor, “sensed it too. It feels tainted, like the Blight, but I don’t understand how that’s possible.”

 

“I told ya before, the Stone’s alive,” the dwarf added. “I went to the Shaperate a few times, especially before going into the Deep Roads, and none of the records mention anything about red lyrium. I wanted to know as much as possible about the sodding darkspawn and anything else we might find. I didn’t even find a hint about corrupted lyrium. The first I heard of it was from Carver when he told us about that ancient thaig. It can’t be easy to corrupt, but it looks like somebody actually found a way to grow it. Howe and I agree that we should take a small amount back to the Vigil for study. The box we asked for should be ready soon. If it’s really Blighted, our people will find out and we can tell Leliana or the Herald. We already took the precaution of telling Cullen how to handle it, as a templar he’s aware of the dangers of lyrium, adding the same precautions for handling dead darkspawn isn’t much of a stretch. He’s not a reckless kind of guy.”

 

“This is truth,” Jannasilane agreed. “We leave shortly after the Herald and Leliana return. That should be enough time to finish what we need to here. I will be most happy to go home, this is truth.” The others, minus Cragen, agreed. He kept his thoughts to himself.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 135:  What Were You Thinking?

“Don’t go in there,” Nathaniel warned Sister Dora outside the cabin. They were a few feet away and could still hear raised voices from inside.

 

“I thought Janna was having tea with Fiona,” the Chantry sister frowned. “Cassandra wants the Grand Enchanter to come see her. Apparently, some of the mages are complaining to the Seeker.”

 

Nathaniel coughed, “It started that way, but Mouse isn’t happy with some of Fiona’s decisions. I think, well, you’re welcome to wait with me. Do you know anything about fletching arrows?” In answer, Sister Dora took a handful of arrows and began expertly repairing the feather/cloth combination the archer used. “I guess you do,” he noted.

 

Inside the cabin, Jannasilane was glaring at Fiona. “You talk of freedom and then pledge all the mages with you to a Tevinter magister?! Are you insane? You didn’t even call for a vote,” she yelled. Starphire meowed her agreement and stared at the mage, blue eyes full of rebuke.

 

Fiona glared back, “You were not there. I was their representative, their voice. We were desperate, we expected the Templars to storm the village at any moment. I was trying to prevent a massacre.”

 

“There weren’t enough templars to do any such thing, most of them were with the Lord Seeker, remember? You were in Val Royeaux. The only templars near Redcliffe were the zealots who were busy fighting the mage zealots. Between them, they were tearing up the Hinterlands. Arl Teagan was not unsympathetic, but you still kicked him out of his own home! How dare you? You represented the mages when you were Grand Enchanter, but still called for a vote to stay or break away completely. Yet when it comes to signing their lives to Tevinter you couldn’t be bothered.”

 

“I, no, we were afraid, I’m sure the templars were coming for us,” Fiona frowned and rubbed her forehead. “You are mistaken; I was not in Val Royeaux. I have not stepped foot in Orlais since we first arrived in Redcliffe.”

 

Jannasilane said nothing, she was too angry. She removed the kettle of boiling water from the fire and performed the rituals Josephine taught her, rinsing the teapot with hot water, carefully adding tea leaves before slowly pouring the hot water over them. She replaced the cover and wrapped it in a towel to keep it hot while the tea steeped. When the ambassador offered to teach her she only agreed to be polite, that and she had nothing better to do while she waited for the Herald to return from Redcliffe. To her surprise, she enjoyed the ceremony and Josephine’s preferred blend. So much so that she asked Josephine how she could arrange for a tea service and a selection of teas be sent to her in Amaranthine. She felt calmer when she turned her attention back to the Grand Enchanter.

 

“Lady Montilyet showed me how to make tea the way they do in Antiva,” she said, confusing Fiona with her change in subject. “In Antiva, women technically do not fight or run a business; those are considered very unfeminine pursuits. The ritual of preparing and offering tea is a way to conduct a business meeting while appearing to follow the feminine ideal. All women from the poorest washerwoman with tin mugs to the richest noble with the most delicate china participate. It is a sign of national pride. Indeed, in some circles refusing an offered cup insults your host and marks you as quite gauche. I think that is the word the ambassador used.”

 

“I never heard that,” Fiona said cautiously.

 

“Neither had I,” Jannasilane replied with a shrug. “Perhaps it is an unwritten convention, perhaps the Inquisition’s ambassador exaggerated. You do not believe you were not in Val Royeaux, this is truth,” she confused Fiona once again.

 

“How can you know that?” the elven mage was getting annoyed again.

 

“I sensed both lies and truth in your words, I did not understand at first how that could be.”

 

Fiona’s shoulders sagged, “I wish you were wrong. I don’t remember being in Val Royeaux; indeed I don’t believe I was, but when the Herald told me she spoke to me a part of me wondered . . . some things are fuzzy. I don’t like it; it’s not good for a mage’s mind to be so unclear.”

 

“Could it be blood magic? We spoke to many people in Redcliffe; a surprising number of Tevinter mages arrived ahead of Alexius.”

 

“Blood magic? Before I became Grand Enchanter, I was a Grey Warden, with all that experience I think I would know, but maybe. There are other magics, however, for a short time, I do not know that I wouldn’t prefer blood magic,” Fiona grimaced. “As far as not asking for a vote, you are right. I should have and I don’t understand why I didn’t. I have a feeling that Tevinter magisters have a much greater understanding of blood magic and its subtle uses than we do here in the south. I was not happy to make an agreement with Alexius, but my memory is clear.”

 

Jannasilane stared at Fiona thoughtfully, “Perhaps it was no longer needed? You say you believed you had no other choice. That was not truth but you thought it was. I did not sense blood magic at work when we saw you.”

 

“Meaning I was manipulated, as were others, long before Alexius showed up so conveniently,” Fiona answered bitterly. She wrapped her hands around the cup of tea placed in front of her, “How could I be such a fool?”

 

“This was a plan long in the making. This so-called Elder One,” Jannasilane sniffed at the title, “he must be insane as well as powerful. What normal person wishes to create a demon army? Does he really think he can control it once he creates it? Or does he even care?”

 

“Maybe that’s why he wanted us,” Fiona mused, still bitter at her own stupidity. “I am surprised the Herald offered us refuge as partners, after we, I, was so foolish. At least closing the Breach tomorrow will undo some of what I did.”

 

Somebody knocked at the door and Sister Dora opened it, “Is it safe to come in?”

 

Jannasilane snickered, “I think we are done yelling at each other.”

 

“I came with a message,” Dora sat down. “Grand Enchanter, Seeker Cassandra wishes you to come see her when you have a moment. I think some of your mages have been making demands.

 

“Oh,” Fiona sighed, “they need to remember they are not in a Circle where everything was provided for them. We don’t need any more trouble. I better find out how difficult they’re being,” she stood. “I am glad we had this talk. Sister, my lady,” she moved towards the door.

 

“Are you still planning to return to your ‘most handsome Ali’ and your ‘most wonderful children’ immediately after the Herald seals the Breach?” Dora teased. “Or will you wait a few days?”

 

“Children? You and Alistair have children?” Fiona turned around in shock. “That means I’m a gr-,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

 

“What do you mean?” Jannasilane demanded even as she moved to the elf’s side where Fiona was gripping the door tightly. She and Dora helped Fiona back to her chair before Dora discreetly left the two of them.

 

“Nothing, nothing,” Fiona insisted. “I was merely surprised to hear that you had a family. It is unlikely for a Warden.”

 

“You lie,” Jannasilane was blunt. “What do our children have to do with you?”

 

Fiona stiffened, “Why would I lie?”
 

“I don’t know, but you are. You started to say you were a gr . . . . andmother,” Jannasilane filled in the blank on a whisper.

 

“Of course not,” Fiona blustered. She tried to look the younger woman in the eye but couldn’t maintain her gaze into the whirling orbs.

 

Jannasilane ignored her protests, “My Ali thought his mother died giving birth to him. Growing up he dreamed he was part of a real family who loved him instead of being the king’s unwanted bastard living in the stables.”

 

Her words shook Fiona but the elf refused to admit the truth.

 

Jannasilane sensed weakness and pressed. “After he became a Grey Warden he looked for more about his mother and found out he had a sister in Denerim. He wanted to meet her and warn her about the coming Blight. That miserable shrew accused him of murdering their mother and then demanded money from him.” Even now her lip curled at the memory. “He was so hurt; this warm, generous, compassionate man who desperately wanted a family to love and care for.”

 

“Stop,” Fiona bowed her head, “yes, it’s true, I’m his mother. However, it’s not true that nobody wanted him. I met Maric when I was a Grey Warden, I can’t tell you about the mission. I was a bitter woman who had no use for nobles but Maric was . . . special,” her voice softened on the last word. She shook her head, “We became close and I became pregnant, though we separated before I realized it. Maric didn’t know about our child until I came to Denerim with Duncan, he was my friend and Maric’s too. Alistair was just a tiny baby.”

 

Fiona smiled at the memory, then her smile dimmed, “I was still a Grey Warden. You weren’t’ there, but Weisshaupt was not a place to raise a baby any more then than it was when the First took Alistair. Maric was thrilled. I was surprised actually; he was king and had an heir. I think he would have taken Alistair in, but I begged him not to. I begged him to make sure Alistair had a normal life away from court.”

 

“Would that have been so bad?”

 

“Don’t be naïve. First, he was a bastard. Just because his father was king didn’t mean people wouldn’t whisper and say things to hurt him. Maric was different, but I’ve seen nothing in all my years to improve my opinion of nobles in general. Some might try to use him but they would never accept him, not the illegitimate son of a Grey Warden, an elf, and a mage. I don’t know which is more damning,” she sneered, “Remember Loghain?” She looked down at her trembling hands, “I thought he would have a better life, maybe adopted by a childless couple or somebody far away from court. It wouldn’t have worked, would it? He looks too much like his father. But the stables? I expected better from Maric,” she tangled her fingers together to keep them still.

 

“To be fair, the stables were warm and dry; stable boy was camouflage to protect both him and Maric. I am not sure how much Maric knew or what he could have done by that time. You need to tell my Ali the truth; he deserves to know who his mother really is,” Jannasilane was implacable.

 

“Why? He is the Arl of Amaranthine; do you really think others in the Bannorn wouldn’t hesitate to use this information against him? I may not be a Grey Warden any longer but I will always be an elf and a mage; he will always be illegitimate,” Fiona couldn’t bring herself to call her son a bastard.

 

“This is truth,” Jannasilane admitted. “However, they would have to be willing to go against their Majesties, Teyrn Cousland, Arl Eamon, and Arl Teagan among others. Also, you must realize that the Warden Commander of Ferelden is the Arl of Amaranthine, not Alistair Theirin. If my Ali thinks his leadership is a liability, he will resign and just be a Grey Warden. Knowing his mother or being Arl, this choice he would make without hesitation.”

 

“Will you tell him if I do not?”

 

Jannasilane frowned, “I . . . do not know. If I tell him and you never contact him he will believe you are rejecting him, that you never wanted him. Nothing I say will change that, this is truth. If he senses I am keeping a secret from him, when we have no secrets, he will be hurt. This is also truth.”

 

“I never wanted to hurt Alistair, you must believe me,” Fiona insisted. She stared at the younger woman, “You know the truth in my words, I don’t know how. The only way not to hurt him now is for me to tell him the truth, isn’t it? I really don’t have a choice; the only decision I have to make is how to tell him. Can we talk again before you leave? I, I need to think.” She left quickly, for once eagerly anticipating her meeting with the Seeker.

 

Jannasilane and Starphire looked at each other after the Grand Enchanter left. Finally, Jannasilane sighed, “Was I right to force her to tell me, my friend? My Ali was so hurt when his ‘sister’ turned against him so strongly. I cannot discuss this with any but you. If she does not choose to reveal herself, I do not know; this is truth. At least she probably will not visit all the time,” Jannasilane rolled her eyes; she didn’t look forward to that possibility. Starphire padded over and rubbed against Janna’s feet where they didn’t quite meet the floor until Janna picked her up and rubbed her nose in the soft fur. “I cannot wait to go home, my Ali and my children are so much in my thoughts and dreams it is hard to not jump out of my skin. To come this far and be away this long, I wish to tell them I saw the Breach disappear. For this I can wait until after tomorrow to leave, Maker, grant me patience.”

 

She decided to go for a walk and clear her head. She picked up Starphire and put her in her special pouch, “Might as well try it out now while we there’s time to adjust it. Once we leave it will be weeks before we get home.” Nobody was outside the cabin so she wandered towards the village. Cullen was busy and Cassandra was effectively dismembering straw targets, not that she had any desire to seek the Seeker’s company. “I hope those are not me,” she whispered to her feline companion. “I could find Lady Montilyet, but I’m sure she’s busy and I would have to force myself to not stick my tongue out at Vivienne on the way. Leli is also very busy trying to find out more of the Elder One’s plans. Varric, no,” she decided, “I do not feel like going to the tavern. I don’t really want to talk to anybody. I want,” she saw Blackwall talking to the Iron Bull and Krem; “I want to hit somebody. Not you,” Jannasilane reassured the small kitten.

 

“Krem,” she approached the three warriors.

 

“My lady,” Krem bowed slightly, “I’m glad to see you haven’t ‘faded away.’”

 

“Hey, Krem,” Bull protested, “I’m the boss, I make all the jokes.”

 

“Sorry Chief,” the Tevinter didn’t look at all repentant.

 

Jannasilane grinned, knowing the Qunari was a spy made her uncomfortable although she did wonder if he knew Sten/Arishok. “Probably not,” she decided. She did like his Tevinter second-in-command, “I was hoping you’d spar with me. I feel itchy.”

 

“Are you sure you should be sparring so soon my lady?” Blackwall asked.

 

“I need to, I think. I feel itchy,” she repeated and shrugged.

 

“Well, it it’s a workout you’re looking for, I’m your man. I love to hit things,” the Qunari asserted looking down at her with his good eye.

 

“I do not wish to hurt you,” Jannasilane smiled at him for the first time. “I know how delicate you Qunari are.” Behind his leader, Krem choked on laughter and grinned.

 

“You’re just trying to provoke me,” Bull laughed. “This should be fun, and short.”

 

Jannasilane narrowed her eyes at him, “I am not little and I asked Krem. However, if Krem agrees and you insist we should go to the other side of the pond where the druffalo roam or my friends will try to stop me.”

 

“I’ll defer to the Chief, if I don’t he’ll sulk,” Krem agreed.

 

“Watch it, Krem de la Krem.”

 

Krem sighed, “He loves that one.”

 

“This is gonna be fun. You’ll want to get some armor on. There’s a logging site out there nobody’s using, it’ll be a good place to go at each other. I’ll be waiting,” the Qunari chuckled and moved off with Krem following.

 

Blackwall sighed and shook his head, “If you’re determined to do this Gracie, I’ll go with you.”

 

“I appreciate your concern Blackwall,” Jannasilane nodded her head for emphasis, “but I need to do something. I feel -”

 

“- itchy. I know lass, when I was younger I felt the same after being cooped up for a few days.”

 

“Yes, there is much to do at the Vigil between the children, my garden, the Wardens, and my duties as Arlessa,” she made a slight face, thinking of Vivienne. “I do not have much time to be bored, this is truth.”

 

“Tell me about Amaranthine, I’ve never been to that area of Ferelden. Been to Denerim, some small farms bordering the Brecelian forest, but most of my time has been to the south and west of the Bannorn.”

 

“There are many different areas from the Blackmarsh to farmlands. Vigil’s Keep is very old, a thousand years or more, I think,” she began. She was starting to like Blackwall and hoped she wouldn't regret her earlier decision. He was older than most recruits were but given the life span of a Grey Warden, he was still young enough to give service. It wasn’t far to the site where she was meeting the spynari, as she sometimes called Iron Bull in her head, and she spoke of her home during the entire walk except when she briefly entered her cabin to change into her armor.

 

“I was beginning to think I’d have to spar with Krem,” Iron Bull greeted her. “I’m tired of beating up on him.”

 

“My armor is always a little tighter after somebody cleans it so it took a little longer than usual,” she explained without apology.

 

“It makes your rack look good, and you got a great one, so I’m not complaining,” he leered good-naturedly. Blackwall shook his head in annoyance but knew it was no good remonstrating with him. Janna said nothing. She tilted her head and looked at him; her eyes whirled slowly as she studied him. Iron Bull forced himself to remain relaxed, something about the way she seemed to see into him, “She’s like one of the tamassrans when they evaluate you for your role or if you need to be re-educated. Kind of spooky.” He shook himself mentally and flexed his bicep, “Like what you see, little Wildling?”

 

 “No,” she answered him literally. His jaw dropped and Krem and Blackwall looked startled. “I do not trust you. I do not like the Qun, it goes too far, and you spy for them. I will be very angry if you do something to hurt my Leli, this is truth.” She thought a moment and then added her biggest indictment, “You would never make good Wardens.”

 

“Hey, I like redheads. Red looks over all my reports before I send them on. We don’t like all this demon crap, and the Inquisition is the only group doing anything about it. I can’t speak for afterwards, but for now I’m more liaison than spy.” He didn’t let on he was insulted and watched her steadily to see if she believed him. It was the truth, at least until he got other orders. “I thought you wanted to hit something?”

 

Janna blinked, “I am ready to spar if you are.” Soon they were circling each other, rather, she circled and he pivoted with his maul in his hands. Finally, she made the first move, feinting to his blind side only to attack his good one.

 

“Alright! Game ON!” he shouted happily.

 

A short time later Nathaniel and Cragen headed toward their cabin looking for Jannasilane. “It was nice of Lady Montilyet to give these sketches to Lady J by way of thanks,” Cragen referred to the carefully rolled and wrapped parchments they carried.

 

“Nothing gets by Leliana,” Nathaniel shook his head in amusement. “She suggested it. I admit I’m curious after the number of times I’ve heard about the Urn. I’m glad they included some of the sketches of how the temple looked before they started any work. Our favorite bard says they are very close to what they found during the Blight.”

 

“Too bad an artist didn’t travel with them, the Vigil could have a permanent display chronicling their journey,” Cragen said with his tongue firmly in cheek.

 

“Craggy, you jest, but that would actually be kind of nice. It would also be a nice reminder to some of our visitors of what Alistair did for them. It doesn’t take long for people to start asking, ‘What have you done for me lately?’” He opened the door to the cabin and saw a disgruntled kitten.

 

Starphire greeted them with an annoyed, and loud, “Mree-EOW.”

 

“Lady J was here, she always carries Starphire with her,” Cragen frowned.

 

“This probably means she’s doing something we wouldn’t approve.” Nathaniel looked at the kitten in contemplation, “Do you know where our lady is?”

 

“Meow,” Starphire purred.

 

Feeling a little foolish, the rogue picked up the kitten and the two men followed her ‘directions’, accomplished with a series of hisses and purrs. “If Anders could see me now,” he snickered to himself, thinking of Ser Pounce-a-lot. All amusement fled when they reached the logging site. “STOP!” he commanded.

 

Cragen tackled Jannasilane and rolled them away from the Iron Bull. When they got to their feet, she pulled away from his grasp and crossed her arms, glaring at the two of them. Nathaniel put down Starphire and strode toward his mistress, “What were you thinking?” he demanded. “We’re leaving in two days, you were hurt and took three days to recover, and now you’re trying to get hurt again.”

 

“We were sparring,” she answered him with a frown of her own. She sighed, “I felt itchy.” Nathaniel lifted one eyebrow in silent query, relieved when she shook her head slightly.

 

“Hey, could somebody get this little fiend off me?” Iron Bull complained. The minute he set her down, Starphire ran to the large Qunari and climbed up his armor until she was sitting on his shoulder. She boxed one ear and scrambled to the other, hissing her anger and boxing the other. He tried to grab her but she was too fast and agile and he didn’t want to hurt her.

 

Everybody turned to look at him, surprised into silence at the spectacle. “Sure thing, Chief,” Krem responded with a twinkle in his eye. He tried his best but was no more successful than his boss was.

 

Jannasilane shook her head, amused now, and walked over to the Qunari, “Lean down.” He did so and she held her hands out to the kitten, “Enough Starphire. He did nothing wrong,” she waited for the young feline to leap into her arms. Starphire did so, but scratched her on the chin in rebuke. “There is nothing wrong with sparring,” she said in exasperation. “If you are angry that I left you in the cabin, too bad. I did not wish you to be hurt.” She held the kitten in her arms, stroking it until she was purring.

 

“I have healing potions with me,” Blackwall informed the men from Amaranthine. “I stood ready to interfere in case she was in danger of serious injury.”

 

“Me too,” Krem agreed. “I have to look out for the Chief.”

 

“Thanks, Krem,” the Qunari answered sarcastically.

 

Nate nodded to Blackwall, “I’m glad somebody was thinking sensibly. However, she knows Alistair insists on a healer being present at all times when his people are training or sparring. He urges them to test their limits, short of deadly blows, but takes precautions. It also gives our healers the opportunity to practice monitoring their fellows during battle and healing without exhausting their mana.”

 

“Makes sense,” the Iron Bull thought about Dalish. She wasn’t the best healer, but if she could get better with practice . . .

 

Jannasilane’s shoulders sagged, “I’m sorry, my Nate. I just needed to do something,” she added plaintively.

 

“Gracie is eager to go home,” Blackwall added helpfully.

 

Nathaniel gently tucked her hair behind her ears and placed his hands on her shoulders, “We all are, Mouse.” Then he grinned, “Since you are so eager to ‘do something’ you can practice your archery.”

 

Cragen laughed at the look on her face but the others looked confused. “Why?” Blackwall asked. “It’s not a bad idea, mind, but most melee fighters don’t use the bow.”

 

Jannasilane wrinkled her nose and answered, “There were never more than ten of us together during the Blight before the Landsmeet. Our enemies usually outnumbered us, by either one large group or several smaller ones. My Blake insisted we all learn ranged tactics to minimize the risks. My Ali continues that training with all our troops, soldiers and Grey Wardens both. He also makes our mages learn how to use daggers or a small shield and short blade. I am not very good.”

 

“Only because you lack patience,” the rogue answered with a snort. “You don’t need to become expert, just adequate. And since you have all this time and energy you can practice.”

 

“I hate you,” she grumbled.

 

“Uh huh, Cragen’s going to set up some targets while I get your bow. You are doing this,” he warned.

 

“Chief, I’d like to stay and pick up some pointers. You know I’ve been eager to learn,” Krem reminded his boss. Iron Bull agreed and left them to it.

 

“I’ll be glad to get you started,” Nate offered. He always enjoyed introducing people to the art, “I can borrow a couple of bows I think would be good for you when I get Mouse’s.”

 

Blackwall grunted, “I wouldn’t mind giving it a try, myself.” Nate nodded and suggested a crossbow might suit him better. With only a few minor interruptions, that’s how the group spent the rest of the afternoon.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 136:  The Breach and What Came Next

Early the next morning the mages, accompanied by Cullen and Inquisition forces followed the Herald to the ruined temple and the Breach. The refugees and townspeople gathered to watch, cheers and prayers falling from their lips in equal measure. “Few understand the weight the Herald carries on her shoulders,” Jannasilane murmured to Starphire. They were sitting at the very top of the Chantry; Jannasilane could see most of the path to the temple from that vantage point. “I remember my Ali and my Blake, knowing they were the only ones available to save the world was a most difficult burden. Fortunately for Thedas I think Lady Adaar is as strong as they were and are.” She stroked the kittens fur, “You fit most well in this harness, Starphire; it is like the one I have for my Nugflutter. Although, when that Vivienne saw you poking your head out and hissing at her, I very much wanted to laugh.”

 

She stayed until the Breach was closed, sometimes talking to Starphire, sometimes silent. Nathaniel, the only one who shared her fondness for heights, joined her for a time. “I will be glad to leave, my lady,” the rogue admitted. “Now that we have done what we came to do, I fear we are more burden than aid. Haven strains to accommodate the number of people here.”

 

“This is truth,” the Arlessa sighed. “Tomorrow morning cannot come soon enough, but I promised Leli we would wait. I am not sure if she does not trust Solas or merely wants confirmation that the Breach is completely sealed. Is the red lyrium safe?”

 

“Saykor has it now. We decided that one of us would always carry it; we don’t need somebody with more curiosity or greed than wit finding it.”

 

“Most wise, I think, my Nate. There, the mages begin, I can feel a difference,” she gripped Nathaniel’s forearm and held her breath. Together they watched the green column fluctuate then flow back into the sky until all that remained was a green scar. The two friends hugged each other, “She did it! The air is much clearer and purer.”

 

“The townspeople are already celebrating,” Nathaniel grinned and pointed. He saluted in the direction of the temple and together they left to rejoice with everybody else.

 

Casks lined the low wall opposite Seggrit’s small shop for easy access, musicians (including would-be musicians) played what instruments they could find, and people danced into the night. Saykor and Blaine danced around the edges with a few departures into the shadows. The Iron Bull celebrated by picking up Jannasilane and tossing her into the air and catching her, time and again, to Sera’s giggling delight and shouts of ‘higher, higher’. He finally stopped when Starphire managed to leap from her pouch onto his shoulder and began scratching him.

 

Blackwall chuckled into his ale when she scolded the Qunari warrior, “Here lass, you can share this bit of wall with me till you’re steady on your feet again. I promise not to chuck you into the air like a child’s toy.”

 

“It is good people have this moment,” Jannasilane nodded her head for emphasis. “Tomorrow is early enough to begin the more difficult work of finding this ‘Elder One,’” she sniffed and rolled her eyes.

 

“You’re really leaving, then? I’m sure the Inquisition could use you.”

 

“I did what I came to do, though I do not know I provided much assistance. It is time to return to my family as I promised.”

 

“Safe journeys to you, my lady. I hope to see you in Amaranthine when this is all over,” he bowed slightly.

 

“Good luck to you, Blackwall, I think – what?” both fighters immediately turned when warning bells rang across Haven.

 

They followed the Herald and the Seeker to the front gates where Cullen was directing his men, “You, you, and you,” he pointed to three of his sergeants, “get your teams together and make sure those trebuchets are ready when I give the signal.”

 

“What colors march on us?” Josephine asked the question for them all.

 

“None,” Cullen replied tersely. “This won’t be easy. Haven is no fortress, we must control the battlefield.” Pounding on the gates interrupted him.

 

“Let me in, I can’t help if you don’t let me in,” somebody pounded on the gates again. The Herald rushed to remove the bar. The heavy gates swung open to reveal a templar, rather the end of a templar. The body fell and a young man of about twenty stood alone with a dagger in his hand. He had eyes only for the Herald, “The templars come, but I suppose you know that already. The Elder One is mad you took his mages, he comes for you,” he pointed to a ridge where the enemy Commander stood next to the Elder One.

 

“So this is how the order responds,” Cullen sneered, “I recognize the man leading them, a disgrace from Kirkwall, Samson.”

 

“Corypheus!” Varric whispered in shock, though few heard him.

 

“Control the battlefield!” Cullen yelled again and directed his men. “Use everything you got! Mages, you have leave to engage! We fight for the Inquisition, for the Herald, for our lives!”

 

Blaine, to Vivienne’s chagrin, was directing the mages, “Healers, half of you head to the Chantry . . . the injured can find you there. The remaining Healers stay to the rear and buff our soldiers. Any mages with good distance and area of effect spells join the archers. We want to take them out before they get close. The rest of you split into small groups, I want at least one group at each trebuchet. Some of the enemy is already too close. We want no friendly fire so be mindful of your surroundings and the Inquisition forces. Your job will be to supplement any melee and to provide cover for the injured. Mages, disperse!”

 

“I do love a fine-figured take charge kind of woman,” Saykor growled with a grin, taking down two with his crossbow. “Five.”

 

“Seven,” Nate responded.

 

“Show offs,” Craggy grunted.

 

“You’re a little late to the party, Mouse,” Nathaniel noted even as he notched another arrow.

 

She sniffed, “I took Starphire to the Chantry. Battle is no place for a kitten.”

 

“Janna!” the Herald yelled, “you and your men concentrate on the other side of the Chantry. Make sure nobody gets by you, we’ll concentrate on the trebuchets.” Bragaara’s plan worked and they stopped the enemy’s progress. Their satisfaction was short-lived, however, when a high dragon attacked them, spitting flames of red lyrium and forcing them all to run for safety within the Chantry’s thick walls.

 

“Herald, that dragon regained them ground you caused them to lose. We won’t be able to stop them; we can only control how spitefully we end this. We still have trebuchets; if we aim at the mountain we can bury them,” Cullen told her grimly.

 

“And bury Haven, this Chantry, and us with it,” Dorian grumbled.

 

“We have no choice,” Cullen began but Chancellor Roderick interrupted him.

 

“Wait, there is a hidden passage. I followed it on a whim and now I’m the only one left to remember. Is it fate or something else? I don’t know, but our people can escape if we have a little time.”

 

Cullen became even grimmer when he spoke to Bragaara, “This thing wants you. You’ll have to gain its attention and give us the time we need to evacuate.”

 

Bragaara answered just as grimly, “I know.”

 

“Maybe you’ll find a way,” Cullen responded with doubtful hope.

 

Meanwhile, in a nearby corner and unaware of Cole, Jannasilane placed Starphire in Blaine’s care, “You heard Cullen. Watch over my new friend, if you can,” she asked softly.

 

“What do you mean?” Blaine was confused. She understood about the cat, but she’d seen the Arlessa fight with her pack before.

 

“Like the Archdemon, I saw you in the Fade,” Cole answered, becoming visible. “The Archdemon didn’t like you.”

 

“This is truth,” Jannasilane nodded.

 

“Mouse,” Nate frowned at her, “Alistair won’t like it.”

 

“It could work,” Cole added helpfully. “The people can follow the Chancellor through a hidden path. The Elder One doesn’t know about it.”

 

“My Ali would do the same if he were here and had my abilities. But today, today,” her breath hitched, “today I am the Warden.” She kissed Nate, then, “For my Ali, tell him and our children I love them if . . . look for me towards Redcliffe.” She ran off to climb to the top of the Chantry.

 

Nate swore and approached the Herald and Cullen. Varric, who overheard the last bit, drew closer to the group, “Where is Maggie going? What does she mean that today she’s the Warden?”

 

“‘In death, sacrifice’,” Cole softly quoted the end of the Grey Warden motto.

 

“Ah, ****, I really hate that guy and his damned dragon,” Varric hoisted Bianca and waited.

 

Commander Cullen, Lady Herald,” Nathaniel got their attention. “Lady Jannasilane Alenahaella Theirin is even now climbing to the top of the Chantry. She will distract the dragon when it sees you and try to hold its attention long enough for you to reach the trebuchet. Even a few seconds will greatly increase your chances. Use them well. My companions and I will wait by the Chantry door. When you leave, we will follow. Our goal will be to interfere with anybody trying to stop my lady, Maker watch over her,” he walked away.

 

Cullen and the Herald stared after Nate, who looked ten years older and grimmer. “I don’t know how, but if she’s successful . . . good luck, Herald. Some of my men will leave now to load the trebuchets. Buy us as much time as you can, we need to get to the tree line, make that thing hear you.” He called to Leliana, “Help the Chancellor, Roderick knows a way out. Everybody, follow the Chancellor.” He concentrated on the people of Haven, trying to keep the panic down. He and his remaining men would be the last to leave the Chantry.

 

“I will not cry. Tears can wait until we are safe and I’m alone. Right now, the people need me, need us,” Leliana didn’t know what her friend planned. “Andraste guide you, my friend, my sister,” she whispered to herself before ruthlessly locking away her emotions. She led with Roderick, Dorian supporting him. They had to go out through the dungeon and one cell that looked like a gentleman’s library, “I always meant to examine this room more closely, but there was never enough time.” Her arrows were ready and her eyes sharp as she scouted for enemies.

 

Jannasilane mentally reviewed the geography between Haven and Redcliffe while she climbed, trying to think of the best places in which she might entangle the dragon, if she could lead it there. From the Chantry top she leapt to the tree and climbed even higher, letting the branches hide her from enemies below. The dragon, definitely not an Archdemon, was on the other side of the valley. She shifted and spread her wings, quickly flying high and hiding against the mountain shadows. She saw Inquisition soldiers leave the Chantry and swiftly go to the trebuchets. Her keen eyesight pierced the dark below and she smiled to see Leliana emerging from the Chantry walls with Roderick. She waited all her senses hyper alert.

 

Bragaara, Sera, Blackwall, and the Iron Bull left the Chantry, followed by Varric, Solas and the Wardens from Amaranthine. They didn’t make it far before red templars spotted them, special horrors among them. “I don’t know what they are, but don’t let them get close,” Bragaara shouted. “They’re shooting red lyrium!”

 

Nathaniel was watching the sky, looking for the dragon. “There it is, don’t lose track of it. Until it gets close, help the Herald.”

 

Cragen sent a crossbow bolt through one large templar’s head and Blaine paralyzed a Venatori spellbinder. Solas finished him off. “Teamwork is a wonderful, beautiful thing,” Saykor intoned.

 

“You say the sweetest things,” Blaine remarked while casting barriers. They continued fighting small groups of red templars and Venatori.

 

“She sees us,” Sera yelled out.

 

“Now would be a good time for your friend to appear, Varric,” the Herald muttered. From what she could see, the people escaping Haven were nowhere near the tree line.

 

Bragaara didn’t know that you couldn’t see the majority of the path from Haven. “Leliana,” Chancellor Roderick rasped painfully after they navigated the beginning of the path, “From here forward the path curves but there aren’t any turns. When I was here before, there were some side branches, they lead nowhere but some showed signs of past habitation. These tunnels and ‘canyons’, they must have been carved centuries ago, will take us almost to the tree line.”

 

“Thank you, Chancellor,” Leliana said softly, “Some of my scouts and I shall go forward to clear any obstacles.” She took one of the mages with her as well. They took care of the spiders readily enough and some brush that blocked the path, but the hibernating bear was different and Leliana was glad she brought the mage with her. He was able to create a series of paralysis traps and barriers that served to muffle sounds as well as keep the bear contained if it should wake.

 

Leliana was glad to get out into the night air. She turned to those still accompanying her, “We are far ahead of the others. I want one of you to stay at each side path to make sure nobody goes down them. I don’t want even the slightest delay getting those people out of here. Every second we take puts the Herald and those fighting with her at greater risk. I will be under those trees watching for wolves and other problems.”

 

“I’m staying with you,” Charter stated. “Two sets of eyes are better than one and we can watch each other’s back.” The pretty spymaster agreed and so they waited and watched. Charter had some rope in her pack that they used to create two guide lines people could grasp between the trees and the tunnels.

 

“Why isn’t the dragon attacking them?” Charter asked.

 

“Perhaps it is toying with them, perhaps it waits so that they cannot elude its flames easily, or perhaps it is exhorting the troops for the Elder One just as the Archdemon did. Without a doubt, it will not let them reach the trebuchets before it makes its move. You’ll see, unfortunately,” Leliana answered. “Where are you and what do you plan, my friend?”

 

As if it heard Charter, the dragon turned towards the Herald and prepared to attack. Before it could swoop low enough they saw a much smaller figure dive from high in the sky.

 

“Maker, I thought griffons were extinct,” Charter’s eyes were wide with wonder and new hope.

 

When it got close, it extended its talons and opened its wings. The griffon dug its claws into the dragon’s back and shrieked, “****** off, you sodding nughumper!”

 

Leliana choked on the chuckle she couldn’t stop, “Oh, Janna, you do know how to make an entrance.”

 

“Oh no, another one,” Sera called out and aimed.

 

Cragen clamped down on her arm, “Do not hit my lady.”

 

“What?” Sera’s jaw dropped when Jannasilane shrieked imprecations at the dragon.

 

Nate shook his head, “She really does spend too much time with Oghren.”

 

Varric whistled, “I thought Alistair was the special snowflake.” He plugged another red templar, “that’s thirty for me.”

 

With the templars’ attention divided between the new threat and the Herald, it was much easier for Bragaara to move forward. The Wardens concentrated on those aiming for their lady. Their purpose now diverged from the Herald’s, but still served her interests.

 

Now Janna implemented the dangerous part of her plan. She didn’t know if the dragon heard her words or not, so when she allowed the dragon to shake her off she shouted, “Braska!” She flew a short distance in Redcliffe’s direction with the dragon following her.  She had to keep the beast angry enough that the twisted creature leading the enemy couldn’t control it. She flew up and turned, dodging streams of red lyrium as she confronted the beast once again. This time she scored its neck. She didn’t dare damage the dragon’s wings this close to Haven. The Herald didn’t need the giant beast literally falling on top of her. She remembered the Archdemon and how deadly it was even when it couldn’t fly. She continued her cat and mouse game, leading the dragon farther away from Haven.

 

Roderick and Dorian were at the top of the tunnels. Roderick was breathing heavily, he didn’t look good. The templar’s blade went deep. “Thank the Maker,” Roderick wheezed. “You won’t need me to find the rest of the path.”

 

“Oh no, I didn’t support you this far to give up now,” Dorian protested. “Besides, I think some of your gratitude should go to the handsome, sparkly mage who helped you get this far.”

 

Roderick snorted. It was weak, but Dorian was pleased that the old man still had fight in him.

 

Bragaara saw lights near the tree line and sighed in relief. “At last, soon we can release the trebuchets.” She didn’t see Janna or the dragon, “It’s probably too much to hope that she defeated the stupid beast.” It was. It seemed like only moments later she saw the dragon in the distance, but no Janna.

 

Nate saw it too, “Please, Mouse, show yourself. Show us that it hasn’t won.” The dragon came closer and still no Janna. There weren’t many red templars left either, “Wardens,” he called and nodded to the Chantry. He locked eyes with the Herald and bowed slightly before joining them.

 

Bragaara nodded that she understood and resumed her mission. “Lady Jannasilane and her Wardens bought us more time than I expected,” she signaled to the Inquisition soldiers and they launched the first trebuchet. “The rest is up to us.”

 

“Herald, there’s trouble at the last trebuchet, nothing’s happening,” a soldier called out.

 

“Come,” Bragaara commanded her companions. The trebuchet was stuck and most of the Inquisition soldiers were dead. A new wave of red templars was moving forward.

 

When the Wardens reached the Chantry main hall, after dispatching a few more red templars along the way, Nathaniel stopped. “The rest of you follow the others through the path, then head towards Redcliffe and search for Mouse. I’m going to the top of the Chantry and pick off any more of the enemy when I can.”

 

“You do know there’s a dragon coming,” Saykor reminded him.

 

“Yes, when it gets to the outer walls I’ll come down. Until then I can still help the Herald.”

 

“I’m coming with you,” Cragen said. “I’d like to take out a few more of those bastards.”

 

“Fine,” Howe agreed. “No more than two of us can fit without getting in each other’s way. This makes two groups, a Warden in each, we can cover more ground in our search. Maker be with you, friends.” The groups parted.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 137:  One Step Forward

Determination . . .

 

Challenge . . .

 

Exhaustion . . .

 

Courage . . .

 

Sacrifice . . .

 

One step forward . . .

 

She was tired, so very, very tired. Every part of her body ached. This dragon was faster and more agile than she expected, causing her to contort her body in unexpected ways to avoid the red lyrium. It didn't help when she couldn't evade its scaly tail. “If I had known I would be fighting a dragon in this fashion I would have trained more as a griffon,” Jannasilane thought darkly. Visions of her beloved Ali and their children steeled her will.

 

It was hard, trying to dodge the dragon and watch the terrain below. Jannasilane knew that, at best, she only had enough strength to draw the dragon one more time. If she was to have any chance to survive, she needed to choose her ground carefully. “I will attack with the last of my strength but is it selfish of me that I do not wish to die? Andraste, if you hear me, please give me a chance to see my loved ones again.” Maybe the Maker’s bride heard her, maybe it was mere coincidence, but she found what she was looking for: an opening in the trees with a cave on the other side. If she lured the dragon closer, she could crash through the brush in front of the cave entrance. Once she shifted back to her normal form, the dragon’s breath wouldn’t be able to reach her in the back of the cave.

 

The dragon was starting to pull back, its master’s call reaching through its fury. Jannasilane once again faced it and taunted, flying towards it in challenge as she had done so many times before but this time the dragon resisted. She could only think of one thing to do, she let her wings stutter in flight as if she was weakening and hoped the beast’s bloodlust would rise in triumph. “Maker, guide me, help the Herald, protect my Ali,” she thought as she veered away with an apparent touch of uncertainty. She could sense the dragon’s renewed interest and dipped for just a moment. That sign of weakness clinched it and the dragon began chasing her with fresh vigor.

 

Jannasilane barely dodged the first stream. Soon she could hardly hear the dragon’s roar over her labored breathing and thundering heart. She wrenched her left wing trying to avoid another blast and couldn’t suppress a squawk when she felt searing pain in her hind leg. The dragon heard her and redoubled its efforts. Jannasilane dove through the trees, counting on them to slow the beast on her tail. She reached the cave, really an overhang, and pressed as far into the back as possible. She could feel the red lyrium burn pulsing; some instinct warned her not to shift. It took all her will not to move or make a sound. She didn’t have enough left to do anything else even though it grated on her nerves when she heard the dragon roar in triumph. She permitted herself a small sigh when she heard it flying away. “I hope it was enough,” her tail flicked unhappily.

 

An hour later, a large dark shape was moving through the night shadows. It didn’t move gracefully, it moved with an obvious limp, but the denizens of the forest left it alone. Did they sense the specialness of it? Did its size intimidate them? Jannasilane didn’t care, she was just grateful. She decided to stay in her griffon form until she was close to Redcliffe. She couldn’t move fast and knew that if she were in her normal form she would never make it. She couldn’t even completely furl her wrenched wing. She stayed near the road, hiding when she sensed other travelers. “At least if I die my Wardens will find it easier to find me,” she smiled with unusual gallows humor.

 

Take one step forward. Push back the pain. Take another step. Try to lift her injured wing off the ground. Watch for travelers. Rest a moment. Repeat.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 138:  Spirits or Delirium?

Alistair was sweating and sore. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” he glared at Oghren.

 

“Heh heh heh,” Oghren smirked and belched. “Your decision, pike-twirler; I’m just happy to oblige.”

 

Thanks to the rifts, Alistair actually had more free time than in all the years since he became Arl-Commander. The nobles didn’t stray far from their homes, since rifts were everywhere they couldn’t escape the problem if they wanted. When he received Nate’s message about feeling the false Calling less away from his fellows he immediately began testing the theory. He sent squads composed of six Cousins and two Wardens to patrol different areas of the Arling with one Cousin in command of each squad. Their orders were to stay away from the Vigil for at least three days unless the Cousins noted erratic behavior or deterioration in the Wardens. With the hope that they could resume their normal duties soon the Wardens felt less tension. Less tension and fewer people meant fewer disagreements for him to resolve. To keep his mind off his beloved he decided to begin training with weapons other than his preferred sword and shield. Today was maul day.

 

“Well,” he picked up the maul again and set it on his back, “one thing about the maul, I can really do some damage.”

 

“Yeah, and even to somebody else if ya ever get the hang of it,” Oghren snorted. In his attempts to remove and replace the heavy maul from his back, Alistair managed to hit himself more than once. “At least it’s early enough that only a few people can see their Commander bonk himself on the head.”

 

“Hey, I haven’t done that,” Alistair protested, “at least, not yet.”

 

“Commander, Arl-Commander,” Alan, who completed his Joining five years ago, raced to the training ring clutching a piece of paper. “Urgent message for you, sir, from Lothering. For your eyes only,” he added solemnly and waited for orders.

 

“Probably not darkspawn, then,” Alistair replied and began deciphering the code with foreboding.

 

Varel wrote, “Commander, Arl Teagan came. Grim. Lady Jannasilane in Redcliffe Castle. Needs healers urgently.”

 

Oghren and Alan watched the Commander worriedly; his face had gone from ruddy with exertion to pale as a ghost. Neither man said anything, but they knew only one thing would cause the large warrior such distress: something was wrong with the Arlessa.

 

“I’m goin’ with ya,” Oghren growled and planted himself firmly in front of the templar. “Whatever is wrong with Cherryplum, you need me at your back in case you get distracted. I don’t care if somebody has to tie me to one of them flea-bitten nags.”

 

“Of course,” Alistair appreciated the dwarf’s dedication and heart, “We leave in an hour.”

 

Oghren grunted, “Cherryplum’s tough, if she can survive the Archdemon she can survive this.” With a tip of his helmet, he swaggered off, acknowledging Alistair’s whispered ‘thanks’ with a brief salute.

 

Riding away, Alistair kept seeing the expression on Martelle’s face when he told them he had to leave for a few days. “I’m not sure, but I think she knows I didn’t tell them the complete truth. I couldn’t tell them their mother was in Redcliffe, not when I don’t know what I’ll find when I get there. What if . . .” he refused to finish the thought. They were riding hard, Zeke’s rejuvenation spells allowed them to cut days off their time.

 

Nobody complained about the hard ride. Some, like Anders, were particularly stricken, but none of them wanted to envision a future without Jannasilane returning to the Vigil. Alistair had their respect and their admiration; he was the mind and soul of Vigil’s Keep. She was the heart. Anders reminded them, “Poppet’s strong. And I,” he sighed ruefully, “I am going to wish I brought a pillow. My backside is going to curse me before we arrive.” His companions appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood.

 

Her pain called to him and he wanted to help but didn’t know how. Another came to him and said that together they could help the Griffonsong. He was relieved and began traveling to her, moving quickly without notice. “Redcliffe Castle is different from the Herald’s memories. I’m glad, I didn’t like that other castle,” Cole followed a maid to the rooms with the Wardens.

 

“Dimples is wearing herself out trying to keep Cherryplum’s fever down,” Saykor grunted. “The Commander can’t get here fast enough with Anders. Even cool cloths seem to hurt her.”

 

“I know. I cringe with every stroke, knowing I’m adding to her pain, but Maker’s breath, she’s hotter than Wade’s forge,” Nathaniel sighed. “I’d put her in a cold bath if I could but her injury makes that impossible. She senses Starphire, that kitten calms her somehow.”

 

“If we were still in Haven we could create a bed out of snow,” Craven came out of the bedroom with an empty bowl and almost dry cloths.

 

“Craggy, you just gave me an idea,” Saykor leapt up and hurried into the bedroom where Blaine tended their injured lady. “Dimples,” he began massaging her tired shoulders, “can you make ice?” Blaine turned her head to stare at the dwarf as if to reassure herself he still had only one head. He quickly explained, “If Lady J was lying on a bed of ice, would that help bring her fever down?”

 

“If the shock didn’t kill her first, then yes it could. What’s in that pretty dwarven head of yours?” Saykor explained his idea. Blaine thought about it and slowly smiled, “That’s a brilliant idea. It also means I’ll be able to use my mana more effectively.” He rushed off to find Teagan and she turned her attention back to her patient with renewed energy.

 

Cole waited in the shadows until the dwarf left. The kitten watched him approach with unblinking blue eyes. The boy spirit cast a veil between him and the mage so she wouldn’t see or hear him. “I came to help. I want to help. We want to help. Her pain echoes throughout the Fade. Demons want to come but friends guard so they can’t.”

 

“Cole?” Jannasilane turned bleary, pain-filled eyes at the boy, “The Herald . . . ?”

 

“She is safe. Many died but the others are safe. Now we are here to help,” Cole explained quietly. Starphire seemed to agree because she backed away and settled on the other side of her mistress, nuzzling her cheek and purring.

 

“Compassion and Valor brought me here,” a new voice explained. The powerful, resonant voice agitated the woman on the bed.

 

“Justice?” Jannasilane shrank away from him.

 

Blaine chewed her lip, “Saykor better hurry, now she’s delirious.” She tried to soothe her mistress, “Justice will be done, my lady. Haven will be avenged. Now, you need to concentrate on getting better, Arl Teagan sent a message to the Commander. Your Ali will be here in a few days, rest now.”

 

“He’s here to help, to explain,” Cole softly replied. “I am helping him.”

 

“Yes,” Cole/Justice lowered his voice. “I did a great wrong, my actions were not just. I realize this now.”

 

“Possession . . .”

 

“No.” Justice was emphatic, “That would be unjust. No, this is a temporary sharing with Compassion, Wisdom and Learning. I and the other spirits in the Fade saw the twisted creature that attacked Haven and the high dragon it corrupted. Your actions honored Valor. I found Wisdom; you lack important knowledge about the Griffonsong. Learning will help you and then you will be able to heal.”

 

Starphire butted her head, encouraging her to accept the spirit’s words.

 

Another voice spoke through Cole, a feminine voice that reminded her of Wynne, “Young Griffonsong, do you know how an oyster creates pearls?” Jannasilane nodded her head, a slight smile on her lips because when she and Alistair married Isolde described the process in great and mostly accurate detail. “Good,” Wisdom intoned. “They may be natural enemies but dragons and griffons share a similar ability regarding the taint of the Blight. As do Griffonsong whose shape shifting abilities are fully developed. Fortunately, you suffered your injury while a griffon and instinct started the process, protecting you even now from some of the effects of your wound. The Elder One, who wishes to be a god, infected lyrium with the Blight taint in such a way to intertwine them completely. While this means that red lyrium cannot be cleansed, it does mean that protecting yourself from the Blight also protects you from the lyrium. I must warn you, that you have no safeguards against proper lyrium.”

 

“How?” Jannasilane whispered tiredly.

 

Blaine thought she was merely slow to respond to her previous statement, “The Arl rode to Lothering shortly after we arrived early this morning. We weren’t far behind you. Seneschal Varel can send messenger hawks to Vigil’s Keep.”

 

Cole placed his fingertips on her forehead per Wisdom’s direction, “Calm your mind so Learning can show you.”

 

Jannasilane, with Cole’s help, relaxed so she could better concentrate. Learning spoke for the first time, her voice softer and more removed than Wisdom’s, a ‘Fadier’ voice. “Think about what it feels like to be a griffon. Remember flying through the air. Compassion will take away some of the pain so you can remember how your body reacted to the red lyrium. We will help guide you. Do you remember?”

 

“Ye-es,” she answered slowly. “I am flying, trying to avoid the dragon’s breath but I am tired and it hits me. The pain is bad, but now feels muffled. I feel,” she tilted her head, her eyes half closed as she tried to remember. “I feel something happening.”

 

“Yes, concentrate on that moment,” Learning encouraged her.

 

Teagan was tired from his fast ride to and from Lothering but quickly acted on Saykor’s plan. Soon, blacksmiths were working on a shallow basin the size of a small bed and maidservants were lashing together pieces of sailcloth while others gathered as much wax as they could find. Once the cloth was the correct size, they melted the wax and quickly spread it across one side before it could harden again. They would have worked quickly as he demanded anyway but the Arl’s promised reward made them eager to finish the contraption before morning.

 

Hours later, not long before dawn, an unusual procession traveled through the halls of Redcliffe Castle led by Arl Teagan. He entered Janna’s room first, “It’s been a long night, my friend. Let’s see if we can make you more comfortable,” he brushed back her hair and picked her up very carefully. “Maker’s breath, Owen’s forge isn’t as hot as you, I hope this works,” he moved stepped back out of the way.

 

“Teagan . . . pearls . . . trying,” Jannasilane murmured, causing Blaine and the Arl to exchange worried looks.

 

A group of servants stripped the bed and removed the mattress, leaving the woven rope supports bare. One woman stopped to look at Blaine, “Ma’am, we’re going to air out this bed so it’ll be nice and fresh for the Arlessa when she’s better. The Revered Mother is leading an outdoor prayer service because the Chantry doesn’t have enough room for everybody. None of us forgot what she and the Hero have done for us.”

 

“Thank you, Mary,” Teagan smiled gratefully. He looked down at the small woman in his arms, “Do you hear that Janna? Don’t you dare let my people down.” He watched the men bring in a boat.

 

“They’s still working on th’ metal basin, she’ll take s’me hours ‘fore she’s complete. One’m says t’ use dinghy fer non. So’s we stripp’d her insides ‘nd clean’d her up some,” the oldest man explained. “If’n it c’n float on w’ter, it c’n hold same.”

 

Teagan’s eyes twinkled slightly but otherwise kept his expression sober and respectful, “Good thinking, the important thing is to get her fever down. Thank you, gentlemen.” He blinked at the aroma beginning to fill the room, “It may be clean but Maker, that aroma . . . you can take the boat out of Lake Calenhad but apparently you can’t take Lake Calenhad out of the boat.” They filled the boat with water, lashed the sailcloth across the top with the wax side down, and finally placed a blanket and cotton sheet across the top per Blaine’s direction. “Aren’t you going to freeze the water?”

 

Blaine shook her head, “After she’s settled. She’ll be more comfortable and the ice more effective if it’s molded to her.”

 

“Ah, of course,” Teagan carefully placed her on top of the sheet and helped the mage arrange her for comfort and ease of treatment. “Ok, my dear, your water-soon-to-be-ice bed is ready.” He stepped back and waited with the other Wardens while Blaine froze the water and monitored the injured woman.

 

Jannasilane frowned, concentrating on making her Blight pearls. She smiled when she succeeded, “Better,” she murmured.

 

“It’s working,” Blaine confirmed to everyone’s relief.

 

“Very good, young Griffonsong, you are doing well. Remember to keep your pearls small enough that the healers can remove them more easily without injuring you further.” The sun was up before Learning was satisfied Jannasilane understood and was able to control the process. Before leaving, Learning reassured her, “You and your mages have many days work ahead of you. Be well, young Griffonsong, this experience has been most enlightening.”

 

“Learning and I join Valor now,” Wisdom said. “It is rare to see a Griffonsong in your world. Others come to help you,” she was gone.

 

“My Ali, Anders,” Jannasilane sighed.

 

“Yes,” said Justice.

 

“Yes,” Blaine unknowingly echoed the spirit. “If I know the Commander he and Anders are halfway here by now. You need to rest.”

 

Cole placed his fingers over her eyes, “Yes, rest and remember.”

 

Alistair didn’t slow down until they were in the castle courtyard two days later. He jumped off and ran up the steps followed by Oghren and the healers. Zeke patted the side of his horse’s neck and dismounted, “You did well. You deserve a good rest and some good feed.”

 

“We’ll see to it, ser,” a Redcliffe guard promised. “You go on and follow the Commander.”

 

Anders and Brody bumped against Alistair’s back when he stopped short in Jannasilane’s doorway. “Umm, am I seeing things?” His Janna was sleeping in a metal bowl and a grey kitten lay on her chest and stared at him with suspicious blue eyes. “Maker,” he was horrified when he saw the wound on her hip and thigh, “it looks, I dunno, evil.” He knelt by the bed near her head, “I’m here my love,” he told her quietly. “While you sleep I’m going to get out of my armor and clean up a bit. Even I can tell I stink.” He started to brush her hair back but stopped when the kitten hissed at him. “Fine, fine, I’ll wash first. Nugflutter is going to love you,” he rolled his eyes.

 

Alistair was fast but Anders and Brody were faster. “What do you think?” he asked quietly in an effort not to wake his wife. He sat next to her and brought her hand to his lips.

 

“Neither of us have ever seen anything quite like it,” Anders answered since he was the senior healer. “Red lyrium, well, I’ve never heard of any dragon spitting lyrium. Lyrium is bad enough and with her sensitivity, I understand why Blaine had trouble with healing spells. If red lyrium is tainted, I’d expect it to spread a certain way but it isn’t. I’m happy about that,” he added hastily, “I just don’t understand why it hasn’t made much progress and it seems to be lumpy.”

 

Jannasilane stirred then and partially opened her eyes before whispering, “Pearls, I made pearls, my Ali.”

 

He leaned over and kissed the top of her head so she couldn’t see his face, “Th-that’s good, Jannalove.” The worried warrior was surprised to see the healers smiling. Anders was even rubbing his hands together in glee. “Explain,” he barked, not caring how he sounded.

 

“I think Poppet just confirmed an idea that came to me when Saykor was filling us in.” Anders hesitated a moment then shook his head to clear it, “You know I was in trouble a lot when I was in the Circle.”

 

“You were legend,” Brody snorted.

 

“That’s what I keep telling Tambra,” Anders smirked. “Anyway, one time my punishment was to make accurate copies of some of the less used, as in more boring, tomes in the library. I had excellent penmanship,” he preened. “Odd, really, considering how much I hated to be stuck inside.”

 

“Your theory?” Alistair prodded impatiently.

 

“Dragons don’t contract the Blight. I don’t mean like Archdemons, I mean the regular ghoul-making kind. Why not? It’s not as if we’ve never seen young dragons and darkspawn fighting before. The taint, as we know, usually spreads easily. One of the books I had to copy included a lot of draconic theory. You’d think that would be interesting but somehow the author managed to make them so boring even my pen fell asleep. Anyway, one theory suggested dragons were immune, which I don’t believe. Another theory was that they have a natural defense that kicks in automatically. What if the same is true for Griffons?”

 

Now Alistair looked interested, “And if it is, then maybe my Janna has the same ability, whatever it is.”

 

“Yeah,” Brody was looking excited, “I mean we all know darkspawn and griffons were natural enemies and it doesn’t make sense that they were never injured in combat or never swallowed darkspawn blood. Lady J said she created pearls, oysters create pearls when it is protecting itself from -”

 

“- something stuck in its craw,” Alistair’s voice was dry as dust, he also remembered Isolde’s lesson.

 

“That explains it. Come on, Brody; let’s figure out the best way to remove these Blight pearls. Once we do, Poppet might start responding better to healing. Do you see this? The pearls aren’t the same.” Soon the two healers were lost in discussion, exchanging ideas and trying to come up with a plan.

 

Alistair bowed his head and nuzzled Jannasilane’s hair, “Thank the Maker. You surprise me once again. I love you so much; I’m not ready to lose you now. Anders and Brody will figure out what to do. We all want you home with us; the Vigil isn’t the same without you. Even Brownie misses you.”

 

“I miss you, too. I want to go home,” Jannasilane rasped. Alistair hurriedly poured her a cup of water and held it to her lips. “Thank you, my Ali. You look tired,” she gently caressed the side of his face.

 

“I’m better now that I see you,” he turned his head so he could kiss her palm.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 139:  Some Things are Best Forgotten

They left Redcliffe without disturbing anyone. They passed people going to the market, Druffalo peacefully grazing in the fields, and farmers tending their crops.”The Inquisitor did well to end the conflict tearing apart these lands,” the taller one remarked approvingly.

 

“Yes,” Cole replied.

 

“It was good to see Anders well and, despite his worry, happy again.  Now that I am back in the Fade I can see how unjust my actions were,” Justice said calmly.

 

“You helped him help his friends. He doesn’t blame you, why did you want me to make him forget?”

 

For a moment, the air shimmered in agitation. A fennec stared with its big eyes and then ran off. Cole waited patiently for Justice to reply. “Anders was a good friend, certainly a better friend to me than I to him. He might have been glad to see me and welcomed my help but soon he would have begun to doubt. Since we parted, he has worked hard to protect himself from any other as well as me. You know and I know his walls are strong, but he would start looking for weaknesses that aren’t there. The Warden-Commander is an honorable man who risked much to separate Anders and Vengeance. He, too, would have doubts and he might have hesitated to let Anders begin removing the Blight pearls.”

 

“Removing them will make her better. I don’t understand.”

 

“A little doubt can be good for mortals,” Justice began slowly. “It makes them question and seek better answers. Vengeance ate away at Anders, like a poison; too much doubt is a different kind of poison. It can make mortals hesitate to act when they need to. It can cause them to distrust others, be ineffective, lose confidence and invite fear. Fear can lead to bad decisions.”

 

Cole nodded, thinking about the other spirit’s words. “They would both be hurt, Anders and the Warden-Commander, if they doubted Anders was safe. We could tell them but they wouldn’t believe. Probably.”

 

Justice sighed, “That is most likely.”

 

“Are you glad you are back in the Fade?” Cole wanted to know.

 

“I did not leave by choice. Unlike others, I never had any desire to venture into the mortal world. I found it difficult to understand, to ‘gain my footing’ in a world where nothing was clear and nothing seemed to change. The Warden-Commander allowed me to remain with the Grey Wardens and I found a purpose in their just cause. In time, I came to understand a little why some of our brethren seek to enter the mortal realm by any means possible, there is much beauty here and mortals rarely seem to understand. I could feel memories layered over memories long after the ones who created them were dead. I inhabited Kristoff’s body. He was dead but his memories were not . . . a quiet dinner by the fire with his wife, how much he enjoyed her smile. There were sad memories as well such as faces of friends lost in battle.” They wandered further without speaking.

 

Eventually, Justice continued as if there had been no pause, “There are many injustices in this world.” Cole nodded his head in vigorous agreement. “Limited by a physical body meant I had to concentrate my efforts. Darkspawn are an evil cancer in this world and fighting them satisfied my purpose. Once we defeated those who attacked Amaranthine and killed Kristoff, many injustices clamored for my attention. The abuses mages have suffered for many mortal years were a particular outrage.”

 

“Because Anders was your friend,” Cole replied.

 

“Perhaps,” Justice considered it. “He had suffered injustices and knew of others. The notion of locking up children because of something simple like magic is incredibly unjust. I urged him to pursue freedom for his fellow mages but he declined. When the betrayers handed him over to waiting templars . . . I do not think Anders would have agreed to our merging if he thought he would live. He believed he was going to die and wanted to take as many of those responsible with him as he could.”

 

“But he lived. You lived.”

 

“Yes. And once we were merged I discovered his anger was far deeper than I believe even he realized.”

 

Cole looked up with a frown, “How could he not know how angry he was? The anger was inside him.”

 

Justice considered how best to answer what he only partly understood, “I have many times asked myself the same question and I am not sure I understand. As is often the case with the mortal world, there is no simple answer. Time is different in the Fade. It is always ‘now’ even when it isn’t. Mortals are formed by the ‘then’ but live in the ‘now’. Anders is busy trying to heal the Griffonsong. He is calling on his knowledge and experience but doesn’t need to remember every lesson or every event to do so. Those memories are part of his ‘then.’ Their ‘then’ isn’t always time related. When something is too painful, especially when they feel powerless to change it, mortals often push it away so it doesn’t overwhelm them.”

 

“Like Anders and his anger. They create memory pearls.”

 

“I believe this is so, yes. All mortals are a mix of virtues and vices, even the best of them have vices. When we merged, my quest for justice unlocked all his old rage, creating the fuel to turn Justice into Vengeance.” Justice thought a moment, “I remember one conversation with the Warden-Commander, and we spoke of justice. I was still new to the mortal world and had just heard about a sheepherder who stole grain from a convoy.” He told Cole the details. “I wanted to know why he wasn’t punished.”

 

Cole was intrigued, “What did the Warden-Commander say?”

 

“He said that in the Fade I could be pure Justice because that was an ideal but in the real world, the world of mortals, justice without mercy and compassion was a cold, hard, cruel thing. He said the just action wasn’t always the right action. I didn’t begin to understand until I returned to the Fade and became myself again. There is much beauty in Anders’ world, but I am glad to be in the Fade once again. The Fade is my home. It is harder to be pure Justice than it was before, but I believe that now I better understand what justice means.”

 

For a long time they were silent, two spirits slipping through the shadows. The Herald’s light blazed through the Fade, making it easy for them to follow. Before leaving, Justice looked at Compassion, “You walk a difficult road friend, and I wish you well. The realm of mortals is complicated.”

 

“YES,” Cole fervently agreed. Then Justice was gone and he made his way to Skyhold alone.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 140:  Restless in Redcliffe

Jannasilane was annoyed. Everybody was so nice and deferential and concerned she wanted to scream. Teagan was her friend and she appreciated his letting her recover from her injuries at his home. Maker knew she was fond of Anders; he was also a good friend. However, her Ali returned to Vigil’s Keep more than two weeks ago. Saying goodbye was hard, but they knew he couldn’t stay until she was able to leave, especially since neither Anders nor Brody were willing to give them a sense of how long that might be. “I can understand not knowing then, but still they say they do not know,” she complained to a sympathetic Starphire. “And,” she opened her wardrobe for emphasis, “they took my clothes so I cannot even go to the Village. Not that I would,” she mused. She couldn’t even wear smallclothes because they would irritate her wound, a wound the healers kept open so they could remove the ‘mature’ Blight pearls more easily and cleanly.

 

“Poppet,” Anders explained, “your pearls are maturing, I don’t know what else to call it, at different rates. Thing is, if they’re not mature we can’t take them out without tearing you up more on the inside.”

 

“What we want to do is keep your wound open,” Brody explained to her and Alistair. “We think it will be better for you in the long run if we don’t constantly close and reopen it. Another complication is that the red lyrium is interfering with our spells. We feel the less magic the better until more pearls are gone. Even now the few we’ve removed are starting to make a difference.”

 

“But they still do not wish me to even leave this room.” She and Starphire exchanged looks, “That was fine before, but now . . . I’m not weak anymore, just sore.” She opened the bedroom door, “This nightshirt will have to do. At least it falls below my knees. Come,” she and the kitten quietly stalked out of her room, pausing to smirk at the sleeping mage in the corner of her ‘parlor.’

             

She wanted to go outside but she didn’t want to talk to people so she decided to go to the battlements. When she reached the top of the back stairs, she was limping but she wasn’t going to turn back after being this close to relative freedom. The guards were surprised to see her but left her alone after nodding politely, for which she was grateful. She put Starphire down and slowly limped to the most eastern and northern place she could find and stared in the direction of Amaranthine. She climbed onto the wall and held onto the teeth at either side, “I must remember they are called merlons, not teeth; which is most odd since merlins are birds and these solid structures do not fly and never flew. Maybe if I close my eyes I can pretend I am home. Humph, I think I’ve been in that room too long.”

 

Oghren found her there a few hours later. Blue kitten eyes stared at him when he spoke, “There ya are; the sparklers are lookin’ all over for ya.”

 

“Pffftt.”

 

“Ha, knew you was getting antsy. Told ‘em they was makin’ a mistake, trying to keep you here,” he snorted. Oghren squinted up at her, “Hey, think you can come down now? I don’t like lookin’ at all that sky behind ya.” He pulled on the tail of her nightshirt for emphasis.

 

“Fine,” she grumbled. She stumbled a little when she came down but he caught her before she could fall, “I want to go home, Oghren.”

 

“Yeah,” he awkwardly patted her back. “Look, you wanna stay outside let’s just sit here awhile. Won’t hurt the sparklers to keep looking for ya a while longer.” He ignored her red-rimmed eyes and tracks of dried tears. Once they were sitting with their backs to the wall, he pulled out his flask and offered her first swig. To his surprise, she took a sip before handing it back. Starphire hopped into her lap and was soon purring happily under stroking fingers. “Do you think your little fluff ball is going to get along with your new friend?”

 

“Nugflutter? I don’t see why not. I think Ser Pounce-a-lot will struggle more,” she shrugged.

 

“Heh, heh, yeah,” Oghren chuckled. They passed the flask back and forth a few more times before the dwarf asked a question about Haven, “Did ya really tell the dragon to ‘****** off, you sodding nughumper’?”

 

She thought back and grinned, “Yes, this is truth. I wanted to make sure it knew I was annoyed with it.”

 

He nudged her, “Huh, I think it got the message. Listen; when you decide to go, I’m with ya. Old Oghren’ll make sure you get home safely.”

 

“Thanks, Oghren,” she sighed happily and leaned her head on the dwarf’s shoulder. That’s how Teagan, Anders, and Brody found them.

 

“Poppet, we were worried,” Anders started scolding her but Starphire stopped him by leaping forward and hissing at them.

 

Janna ignored both healers, “Teagan, do you plan on locking me up or putting me in your dungeon?”

 

Teagan raised an eyebrow at the odd question but answered with a small smile, “Of course not, my friend. You are always an honored guest. Why do you ask?”

 

“Because they,” she pointed an accusing finger at the two healers, “hid my clothes. In five days I leave to return to Vigil’s Keep with or without clothing. I appreciate what you’ve done for me, this is truth, but I want to go home,” she added plaintively.

 

Anders frowned, “Poppet, we didn’t want you doing too much and injuring yourself further. I can see from here you’re bleeding. I thought you understood that keeping the wound open so we could remove the Blight pearls more easily meant less damage to you.”

 

“That was weeks ago! You still don’t know how long it will take, do you?” Jannasilane glared at her friends.

 

Brody sighed, “No, we don’t. We’ve removed enough that you’re beginning to respond normally to healing spells. Remember, we agreed that we should only remove the pearls that are ‘mature,’ they can practically be plucked out without risk of breaking open or tearing your insides. For everybody’s sake, we don’t want any to rupture before we can destroy them. We still can’t estimate how long before we’re done since the maturing process is still inconsistent.”

 

“Keeping her prisoner here while you figure it out is rather drastic, don’t you think?” Teagan remarked drily. Brody flushed at his tone. “My dear Janna, Alistair left horses for you. I can send a message to the Vigil, if you like.” He helped her to her feet.  “Now that I know you are much better than I was led to believe, I would love for you to join me for dinner. I’m sure your friends,” he raised his eyebrow at the two mages, “will find your clothes.”

 

Saykor and Blaine left for Lothering early the next morning. They didn’t run their horses flat out, but they did keep up a fast pace so that they reached the small village well before the end of the day. Just outside Lothering Saykor pulled up, “That’s the road to Ostagar,” he pointed. “Once we send our message to the Commander, we will have nothing to do for the first time in I don’t remember how long. So, Dimples, I was thinking, tomorrow, let’s take a day just for us. Maybe we can find the place where the Commander met Cherryplum.”

 

“You smooth-talking romantic, you,” Blaine teased with a smile before agreeing. They entered Lothering.

 

The night before leaving Redcliffe, Jannasilane couldn’t sleep. At least she now had her clothes and armor back so she could leave her room if she wanted. Teagan said Ginetta liked to knit when she was feeling unsettled so she tried. “I really did try,” she told Starphire. After poking herself in the hand a few times, all she managed to accomplish was a tangled toy for the grey kitten. “Maybe I should look at the library to see if that Alexius person messed with Teagan’s books. That should not be too much dirt for Anders or Brody. What do you think, Starphire?”

 

“I think it’s time for me to look at your leg again,” Anders startled her from outside her door. “Since we leave tomorrow morning I want to give you one more check.”

 

“Hah! You just like looking at and holding her leg,” Oghren said from behind him. “Not that I blame you,” he added with a friendly leer.

 

“Just one of the many benefits of being a healer. You should try it some time; oh, you can’t. Dwarves can’t do magic,” Anders cheerfully retorted. He peeled back the bandage he and Brody applied a couple of days ago, “Interesting, the pearls seem to flow towards the opening, as if your body is pushing them towards the exit.” He delicately removed the ripe ones and dropped them into the metal bucket. “I think we can even close this up a little bit more. We’ll bandage the rest, with a dressing designed to keep it safely open, but you’ll be able to wear clothes more comfortably. I think we’ll be able to treat you more easily as well when we’re out on the road.” He stood and grinned at his charge and friend, “Once we’re on our way, we’ll find a secluded bit and you can shift. Now that you’re strong enough to do so I want to make sure your wing is okay. The longer it goes without treatment-”

 

“- the worse it will get and the harder it will be to heal properly,” Jannasilane and Oghren finished for him.

 

“Glad to know you listen to me. Redcliffe Castle is nice enough; I admit I’ll be glad to see the Vigil again. Maybe Hawke will be back,” he said wistfully.

 

Oghren snorted, “You better worry about what your furry, smelly friend will think of little blue eyes there,” he pointed to Starphire.

 

“I’m sure Pounce will be a perfect gentleman,” Anders sniffed. He ostentatiously ignored the disbelieving looks of his comrades. Privately he was more concerned about the young Starphire than the mature Ser Pounce-a-lot. In his experience, young cats were curious and sometimes annoyed older cats to the point of outright warfare. He hoped the Vigil was big enough.

 

The next morning Teagan helped Jannasilane onto the horse in front of Cragen, “Janna, give Alistair my regards. Be careful, all of you, the Inquisitor’s watchtowers are a great help but I doubt the roads are completely safe even so. Some of my men will accompany you as far as Lothering; Ginetta will have my head otherwise. Enjoy your homecoming, my dear,” he squeezed her hand and kissed her fingers before letting her go and stepping back. “Take care of her,” he warned the others.

 

“We will, my lord,” Cragen assured the Arl. As they started moving, he had a question for the woman in front of him, “Everybody is so protective of you, do you think it’s because we’re all fond of you or because -”

 

“Don’t say it,” she warned over shoulder.

 

“- you’re so small?”

 

Teagan chuckled, he knew his friend well.

 

“I am not little,” Janna declared and ineffectively jabbed him with her elbow. “I hate you all,” she muttered when everybody laughed. She looked down at Starphire, comfortably sitting in the travel pouch and making odd sounds, “You too?”

 

They rode into the small village only to pull up short when they saw something rolling across the bridge. “What,” Oghren stared, “is that?”

 

Saykor and a laughing Blaine pulled up in front of their lady, “What do you think of the Cherryplum Chariot Express?” He nudged the mage at his side, “Told ya they’d get here today.”

 

“I’ll pay up later,” she promised.

 

Meanwhile, Oghren had dismounted and was examining the two-wheeled buggy, carriage, whatever. He shook his head, “I told that stupid dog he could pull a chariot, even if I was thinkin’ of something different. I can’t wait to give it a try.”

 

 “While waiting for you we found a whole barn full of these, well, variations of this. Some guy named Barlin said the farmer who owned it, didn’t remember his name just that people called him Eccentric Eddie, had this idea for light vehicles which could be pulled by one horse and be almost as fast a rider on horseback. Poor sod never came back to Lothering, don’t know if he died or just decided to stay where he was. I’m a warrior, not a craftsman, but I like to tinker with things. Could never do that in Orzammar, not publicly anyway, step on somebody’s toes or be accused of lowering my caste,” he scowled and rolled his eyes. His years on the surface made him realize just how dangerously hidebound his home was. Oghren agreed with a loud snort and a drink from his flask.

 

“I think you did a wonderful job. Lady J, this is so easy to use,” Blaine enthused. She qualified her statement, “Well, it’s easy to use if your horse is used to pulling a cart. I was able to easily get the cart in position and put the gear on my horse by myself and without magic. We can go almost as fast as if we were riding. We’ve been experimenting; making sure it’s ready for you. I don’t think you’ll want to ride all the way to Amaranthine.”

 

By now, the others had dismounted and were walking around the ‘chariot’. They saw two large wheels with what looked like the back half of an open carriage between them, only simpler and lighter. A short wall, only as high as the seat, partly protected the passengers from dust, mud, or other splatters. Instead of being enclosed, the area under the seat was open, big enough for a couple of packs. It was wide enough for two people to sit close together, but not so wide that one person couldn’t touch both sides. Anders gaze traveled over hoops on either side and over the middle, “What are those for?”

 

Saykor and Blaine looked at each other, grinning. Blaine stood and began pulling on a rope hooked on the middle hoop. Soon heavy cotton covered the top of the chariot, “Dimples thought of it. We need something else in case of a heavy storm but it’ll provide some shade from the sun or protection from a light rain. We even cut some slits in the back so the air could go through. Got kind of stuffy without ‘em.”

 

“You should have seen them two days ago when they kept tipping over,” Seneschal Varel said drily. After somebody notified him that the Arlessa arrived and was talking to the crazy dwarf, he walked out to greet him. “It is good to see you again, my lady. I’m very pleased you have recovered enough to go home,” he smiled.

 

“Not as pleased as I am,” Jannasilane replied with a happy sigh. Then she frowned, “What do you mean, tipping over?”

 

“What’d ya have to tell her that for?” Saykor grumbled. “You can’t turn as tight as you can on the back of a horse, took a little getting used to. I knew the human was on to somethin’ so I kept working at it. See how these wheels are a bit wide and heavy, like for a hay wagon? These aren’t the original wheels. I figured part of the problem was the chariot was too light and with people too much weight was too far off the ground. So, I changed the wheels and axle to make them heavier. Makes turning less troublesome and a small rock isn’t as sodding likely to bump your occupants. Haven’t had time to figure out how to shackle two horses to it so right now only a horse strong enough to carry two riders should pull it since somebody else needs to drive.”

 

“I can learn,” Jannasilane scowled.

 

Varel spoke before any of the others could say something to irritate her further, “My lady, of course you can and should. I, however, will be more comfortable if another is with you. We don’t know how tiring it will be and, thankfully, you are better, but not yet fully recovered. The nature of your injury might make sitting in the required position difficult or unadvisable for a considerable period of time.”

 

His words might have worked. Then Anders spoke, “That’s right, Poppet. If you feel the need to lie down you can easily fit in the space under the seat. We should put a blanket and pillow in there for you.”

 

The Seneschal walked away, shaking his head. He didn’t smile until he was sure nobody could see him. It was so nice that some things were getting back to normal. He sent a message to the Vigil when they left Lothering the next day.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 141:  She’s Here, She’s Here

When Alistair returned home, he quickly shed his armor and handed it off to a waiting squire who’d clean it and put it back in his armory, “One perk of the job I don’t mind. Since my children are in the middle of lessons, I should have just enough time to bathe and change. Maker, I’m tired.” He decided that if he was going to talk to them about their mother he’d do so in her garden. He grabbed a sandwich and went to wait in Janna’s arbor. He felt closer to her there than anywhere else except their bedroom and her tower. Poorfella followed him. When he fell asleep leaning against the wall behind him she settled down at his feet and watched over him.

 

Martelle was still suspicious about the reason her father left, but she wasn’t going to repeat the same mistake she made with her mother. She flushed with shame every time she remembered her last words to her mother. “I’m glad Dad’s home,” she said to her brothers.

 

“I don’t like when Mommy and Daddy are gone,” Duncan fretted the entire time Alistair was gone. “Lane neither,” he added. Lane didn’t say anything. He hadn’t spoken a word since his father left the Vigil.

 

“Well, I don’t like it either,” their big sister admitted. “But Dad wouldn’t have left if it weren’t important. Neither would Mom. And they wouldn’t have left at all if they didn’t know we’d be safe,” she reminded herself as much as them. Her brothers each held one of her hands the short distance to their mother’s garden. They stopped at the entrance when they saw their father.

 

“Da tired,” Lane turned to his siblings and put his finger to his lips, “Shh.”

 

Quietly they tiptoed until they were next to their sleeping father. Poorfella moved aside so Martelle could help Duncan climb up to sit next to his father. Then she and Lane settled on Alistair’s other side. She couldn’t quite suppress a giggle when two-year old Lane calmly grabbed the sandwich from their father’s hand and began eating. His hands were so small that at least half fell to the ground where Poorfella disposed of the evidence.

 

Some minutes later Alistair woke with a snort and blinked his eyes. When he realized his children were next to him, he grabbed them in a big bear hug, “I am so glad to see you guys. I have news about Mommy.” He looked closely at his youngest son, “Did you eat my sandwich?”

 

“What about Mommy?” Martelle asked, chewing her lower lip.

 

“First, she’s fine. She’s safe with Uncle Teagan in Redcliffe. The bad person who created the Breach attacked Haven and your mother was very brave helping save hundreds of innocent people. She got hurt really bad but Anders and Brody are with her and she was a lot better when I left,” he kissed their heads.

 

“Mommy’s coming home?” Duncan asked anxiously.

 

“Yes, Mommy is coming home as soon as she’s strong enough. It might be a few weeks or even a couple of months, but she will be coming home.”

 

Martelle was thinking, “Won’t she miss us? Can I go to Redcliffe to be with her? Maybe I can help.”

 

“Uh oh,” Alistair thought when the boys chimed in that they wanted to go too. “Sorry, guys, it’s not safe enough for me to take you to Redcliffe. But,” he smiled as an idea came to him, “I thought we could use this time to plan a surprise for Mommy. We can brainstorm over the next couple of days and then come up with a plan. Right now, I’m hungry. Somebody,” he looked at his youngest, “ate my sandwich.” Lane just giggled.

 

Alistair was painting Janna’s surprise when Alan came to him with a message from Seneschal Varel. The warrior put down his brush and rubbed his hands on the old pants he was wearing before taking the piece of paper. He read it twice and then turned to the four children who were still and waiting. He grinned, “Mommy’s coming home. She’ll be here in just a few days. Good thing we’re almost finished, isn’t it?” The children dropped their paintbrushes and began dancing in a circle. Alistair watched them with a huge smile on his face before picking up his brush. He began whistling cheerfully as he painted one stroke after another. Alan eagerly spread the news around the Vigil.

 

“We’re almost home, Cherryplum,” Oghren was driving. “Be good to see the boy again. Gotta admit I miss Felsi yellin’ and throwin’ things at me. Hot.”

 

“I am most eager to see my family and everyone else, this is truth,” Jannasilane was straining forward in an effort to see her home.

 

Oghren nudged her, “Arrive in style and show ‘em you’re alright.” He handed her the reins and sat back to drink from his flask. Jannasilane eagerly took control.

 

Scouts on top of the ramparts were scanning the road for the first sign of their Arlessa. As soon as they sighted Jannasilane and party, they quickly notified their Commander and the Professor so they could begin their welcome home. The mages and older apprentices lined up on the forward ramparts and, on the Professor’s signal, brought forth wisp lights in a variety of colors they sent to line both sides of the road in front of the gates. Alistair stood in the middle of the open gates holding onto Martelle, Duncan, and Lane. When Janna was close enough to see the lights, they began to dance. Oghren murmured something about ‘sodding sparklers’ when he snorted ale out his nose.

 

She stopped the chariot a few feet from the gates. “Am I dreaming?” she murmured in wonder as she stared at the lights now dancing on either side. Starphire stared with unblinking eyes. People were cheering from the ramparts and the courtyard, shouting ‘welcome home.’ Martelle broke from her father’s grasp and began running. Oghren hastily scrambled down and helped her into the chariot where she threw herself into her mother’s open arms, “Mommy, I’m so glad you’re back. I don’t hate, you, I don’t; I was mad, that’s all” she sobbed. “I love you.”

 

“I know, my precious Martelle. I love you, too, so very much,” Jannasilane soothed. “And who are these giants coming towards us?” Alistair picked up the two boys and put them in the chariot as well. “You have grown so much, my Duncan and my Lane,” she hugged them until they began to squeal. She didn’t stop until Starphire licked Lane’s nose, causing him to jump and then roar with laughter. “I see you met my new friend. Her name is Starphire and she is from Haven,” Jannasilane pulled the kitten completely out of her pack.

 

“Pretty kitty,” Lane said and gently petted the young cat. Soon Starphire was purring loudly under all the admiring strokes.

 

Alistair watched for a moment, a huge smile on his face, before leading the horse through the gates. He’d give the children this time. When the horse’s nose reached the opening, a few people above began throwing flower petals. Jannasilane grinned and waved. The petals floated down slowly and Starphire stood on her hind legs trying to catch them. The children weren’t the only ones laughing at the sight.

 

After the children were down Alistair helped her out of the chariot and continued to hold her until Martelle began pulling on her mother’s hand, “There’s more.”

 

“More? More than the flowers and beautiful lights at the gates? You have been very busy, my daughter,” Jannasilane laughed.

 

“We helped,” Duncan jutted his chin forward pugnaciously.

 

“I know you did,” she kissed the top of his head. She wasn’t going to leave until she thanked everybody for such a splendid welcome home, “I missed my home, but knowing you were all here with my family gave me strength when I was sad, this is truth. Thank you, all of you.”

 

“Come on,” Martelle said impatiently and pulled on her hand to keep her from talking further. Alistair stayed behind to talk to Anders and Brody while several others wanted to examine the chariot. The little girl led the way to their mother’s garden where Janice Lynette waited with the Professor, who quickly left the ramparts before the flower petals dropped, and some of the younger apprentices. They created and controlled soft balls of light placed around the perimeter of the garden. Opposite the arbor was a brand new gazebo. A giant bow was across the entrance and on the steps underneath the bow sat Nugflutter, Pinktara and Crumpet. On either side of the steps Brownie and Poorfella bookended the smaller dogs.

 

Nugflutter barked happily when he saw his mistress. Jannasilane laughed, “I have missed you too.” She set Starphire down and looked around in wonder, “It is so beautiful. And to think you did all this for me.” She hugged her children and opened her arms to J-Lynn, “Thank you, I, thank you.” The Professor smiled and nodded, releasing Janice and taking control of her orb so the girl could greet her foster mother.

 

“I’m so glad you’re back, Aunt Janna,” the girl buried her face in Jannasilane’s shoulder.

 

“It was Janice’s idea to make the lights change color and dance, Mommy,” Martelle generously shared credit with her friend.

 

“Yes, quite an interesting exercise for my pupils and a humbling one for some,” the Professor’s eyes twinkled. “Summoning the light is an early achievement, the rest took more attention and finer control than they expected. I am most pleased you returned, mistress. Janice Lynette, we will see you later. No more classes until tomorrow,” he bowed to Jannasilane and prepared to lead the apprentices away.

 

“Thank you, Professor,” Jannasilane said. She gave the apprentices a quick hug and the Professor a chaste kiss on the cheek before they left. The lights, except for J-Lynn’s, slowly faded away.

 

Meanwhile Starphire and Nugflutter slowly approached each other on the main path between arbor and gazebo. They reached the halfway point and sat down. Nugflutter tilted his head to the left and his ears twitched thoughtfully as he studied the younger animal. Starphire tilted her head to the right, blinking her eyes slowly in consideration. They conducted their own question and answer session in a series of muted barks, growls and meows. They finished by lightly touching noses and butting heads. When Jannasilane turned around the two began running towards her in tandem. They didn’t stop until they leapt into her arms. She laughed as the little dog covered her face in ‘kisses’. “I am happy to see you too, Nugflutter, thank you for looking after my family. Now let us examine the pretty gazebo together,” the group moved forward.

 

“Garden,” Duncan smiled and nodded his head. He had a firm grasp of his mother’s good leg.

 

Alistair wasn’t far behind but he stopped to watch from the stable’s shadows. He enjoyed the rare moments when he could observe his family without their knowledge. He listened to his children’s explanation of how they came up with the idea, starting with Duncan’s one word statement during their brainstorming session, their wish to do something for her that would last, Tina’s suggestion they talk to Nathaniel since he traveled outside Ferelden and might have some ideas. Martelle was getting ready to explain Dworkin’s modifications when he joined them.

 

“Untie the bow, Mommy,” Martelle directed.

 

Jannasilane put down her furry friends, then bowed to the other four dogs waiting patiently, “Thank you for such a lovely homecoming.” Apparently, that was the signal they were waiting for; they barked and then left their ‘posts’. “It’s beautiful,” she marveled, running her hands over the padded benches at the sides before walking to the small table and chairs in the center. “It even has a stove,” she smiled.

 

“It’s better now that you’re home,” he looked around appreciatively, “a pretty place for my pretty wife to relax and admire the fruits of her labor.”

 

“Mommy, watch this,” Martelle left her mother’s side and began turning a small wheel on one of the pillars. An iron circle, painted white to match the rest of the gazebo, descended. Hanging at regular intervals were small lanterns with colored glass. When it was low enough, Martelle locked the wheel, “You can even come out here at night.” She watched her father light the lamps.

 

“Oh,” Jannasilane murmured. “Look at the colors glowing against the white paint.”

 

“I drew that one,” Duncan pointed.

 

Martelle nodded, “We all drew pictures, even Lane, then gave them to Master Dworkin. He said he could make them part of the lantern glass. The process might mess up the paper but the colors would remain for a long, long time. I don’t understand how,” she frowned thoughtfully.

 

“The how does not matter, my Martelle. The effect is most lovely and I will enjoy my new gazebo, this is truth. Thank you all, I am a lucky woman to have such wonderful children. I love all of you very much,” she sniffled and tried not to cry, even if they were happy tears.

 

“Everybody loves you, Mommy,” Martelle snuggled against her mother.

 

J-Lynn joined her, “It’s true Aunt Janna, everybody wanted to help do something special for you. We all think you’re very brave. The cooks and Orana made all your favorite foods; you have a ver- a veritable feast waiting for you in the dining hall.”

 

“Cinnamon buns?” Alistair asked, causing his family to laugh.

 

“I admit I am hungry,” Jannasilane sighed. “But first, I must do this,” she gathered all four children into a big hug.

 

Alistair knelt at her side, “And I need to do this,” he wrapped them all in his strong arms. “Maker, it’s good we’re all together again.”

 

“This is truth,” his wife sighed happily.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 142:  A Letter for Leliana

Leliana prayed fervently at the small altar she set up in her office at Skyhold, a letter from Amaranthine in her hands. “Thank you, Maker,” she said quietly before she stood. “Right, let’s see if this gets us any further,” she went to the war room with her letter.

 

Josephine studied her friend, “You look less burdened, Leliana. Good news?”

 

“Ah, you know me too well,” the pretty bard smiled. “Yes, Janna survived her encounter with that dragon, though it was a close thing.”

 

“Nice to know something is going right. These so-called Freemen of the Dales are beginning to irritate me; they pop up like flies,” the Inquisitor said as she walked in. “I’m glad your friend is well, she risked a great deal to help us.”

 

“Hear, hear,” Cullen added.

 

“I think you should read this,” Leliana placed the letter on the table. “I don’t know that it gives us new information but I think it does provide some clarification.”

 

“To my favoritest redhead in Thedas (and no, I do not mean Oghren),

 

Congratulations on being alive, you, the Inquisitor, and anybody else who survived the attack on Haven. Nathaniel and my Janna told me what happened. Thank the Maker the love of my life is a strong woman because when I saw her in Redcliffe (it’s a miracle she made it that far) I thought she was dying. I wasn’t the only one. She says she didn’t die because Cole helped her remember what she never knew. I don’t understand, I don’t know who he is other than somebody with the Inquisition, I don’t know that I care because my Janna is alive and after several weeks recuperating at Redcliffe she is finally home. Tell Cole he is a welcome visitor at the Vigil when the Inquisitor squishes this ancient Tevinter blowhard like a bug. I don’t suppose you could do that sooner rather than later. Only someone with delusions of grandeur calls themselves ‘the Elder One’. Does he even keep a straight face when he says that?

 

About this guy, is it really Corypheus? That’s the word I got while Janna was in Redcliffe. Leli, that’s bad, really, really bad; as bad as Archie or worse. Two of my Wardens were with Hawke when she confronted him in the Vimmark Mountains. I probably shouldn’t tell you this but since Varric was there as well I don’t think any of my fellow Warden-Commanders can get their knickers in too much of a twist. Corypheus claimed to be one of the magisters, a priest of Dumat, who tried to enter the Maker’s golden city. Now, as fantastic as this seems, there is or was evidence supporting his claim and makes him one of the first darkspawn. Even if he was asleep in a Grey Warden prison for hundreds of years he could still influence the tainted around him, in my book that means he is very powerful. Otherwise, why wouldn’t the Grey Wardens have killed him? Was the organization too weak from the Blight? Did they just not know and were keeping him prisoner until they figured it out?

 

Hawke is good at killing people. Varric and his Bianca have plugged plenty of bad guys. And my Wardens kill lots of darkspawn and other miscreants. They said Corypheus was dead, blood spilling on the floor, no movement, lots of stab wounds in important parts, etc. I gotta believe them. However, now he isn’t. A former Commander of the Grey, Larius, was with them. He wandered in and was trapped when he entered the Deep Roads for his Calling. He should have been dead years before. Do you remember Ruck? He was just barely above ghoul status. The same happens to Grey Wardens if they don’t die in battle. We’re not immune to the taint; we just take a much longer time to succumb to it, thirty years if we’re lucky. Larius was in those depths long enough for the darkspawn to not even notice him. He must have been a strong Grey Warden once if he was able to talk even semi-coherently when he encountered Hawke.

 

Ok, I can hear you telling me to get to the point already. Really, as a bard you should appreciate my giving you such background. There is a reason, my impatient friend. After Cory was cooling on the floor, Larius became more coherent. He said it was because he no longer heard Corypheus in his head. That could be true; both my Wardens said they also felt a difference. Larius was going to return to his former post and tell them what happened. He never made it. He could have changed his mind or bandits could have killed him. But. Two things occur to me: one is that Cory has an ability similar to the Archdemon and he transferred his essence? soul? into Larius. That makes a certain scary sense since Larius was probably more darkspawn than Grey Warden. The other thing is maybe he has the same magic as Flemeth; we thought we killed her once before, remember. We were wrong. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I kind of wish Morrigan was here to ask. She knows more about Flemeth than just about anybody.

 

However he managed it, I believe this darkspawn daddy is the source of the troubles we Grey Wardens are having. If you learn anything, I’d appreciate a heads up. I’m glad the Inquisition has such a strong fortress at its disposal. Skyhold, it sounds like a the title of a song, doesn’t it? I bet you’ve already thought of that. Martelle is telling me that I promised to have tea with her and I should give you her love before I go. She is so bossy, just like her mother. I am a lucky, lucky man.

 

Your friend and favorite Warden-Commander,

Alistair, one lucky bastard.”

 

“He doesn’t sound like any of the Grey Wardens I’ve ever met,” Bragaara was studying the letter.

 

“Meredith didn’t like him. She didn’t think he was serious enough,” Cullen’s eyes twinkled. The late Knight-Commander said a great deal more than he was willing to repeat.

 

“He doesn’t sound serious,” Cassandra snorted.

 

Josephine tapped her pen to her lip, “I daresay many people are fooled by his, let’s call it breezy, manner of speaking. Certainly, he provided us with a great deal of information though I do not believe it answers many of our questions. He raises questions that I find particularly disturbing. Morrigan, Morrigan, I have heard that name before,” she frowned while trying to remember.

 

“Flemeth? When did you battle the Witch of the Wilds?” Cullen wanted to know.

 

“This was during the Blight. Morrigan is an apostate who traveled with us; Flemeth was her mother. We discovered, rather she discovered, that Flemeth had plans to possess her body in order to prolong her own life. The Wardens decided that they didn’t want that to happen while they still had to deal with the Archdemon. I was with them when they confronted Flemeth,” Leliana explained calmly. “Celene has recently associated with an arcane advisor, a non-Circle mage whose description could be that of Morrigan. You may meet this advisor when we arrive at the Winter Palace; I hope to learn more about her before then.”

 

“I hope we don’t have to deal with Flemeth as well as Corypheus,” Cullen frowned.

 

Bragaara shrugged, “We’ll deal with whatever we have to deal with. I spoke to Hawke; she confirms what Alistair says, that Corypheus was dead on the floor. She has a Warden friend hiding in Crestwood, Stroud; she says he has information about the Grey Wardens in Orlais that might help us. She wants me to go with her to find him and bring him here. The Orlesian Wardens are searching for him as well.”

 

“Stroud is one of Alistair’s seconds. I trust him,” Leliana quietly offered.

 

“But I secured for you an invitation to the ball at the Winter Palace,” Josephine protested. “You have to attend; it is your best chance to warn Empress Celene she is in danger. If you don’t go, you will never be allowed to speak to her. Such an insult to Her Majesty will not go unnoticed or unpunished. You also risk losing the support of Orlesian nobles who do not wish to seem to be working against their Empress.” Bragaara frowned.

 

“I know Stroud. He and I are godparents to Alistair’s daughter. If you think it necessary I can write a letter for Hawke and Varric to take with them to Crestwood in case he needs further convincing. With luck, he will be here when we return from Halamshiral. I do not think it wise to leave him at risk longer than necessary. We also cannot count on you being able to get to Crestwood and back in time for the ball,” Leliana suggested.

 

“Nothing else goes as quickly or easily as it should,” the Inquisitor noted wryly. “I’ll go speak to Hawke and Varric. Maybe Solas and Bull can go with them.” They took care of a few more matters before disbanding to go about their various duties.

 

Leliana returned to her rookery and found Cole sitting near her desk, “She remembers me,” he said. “He even says I can visit but he doesn’t know me.”

 

“Yes. He loves her very much and you helped her, Alistair doesn’t forget such things. I don’t know what you are,” Leliana tilted her head thoughtfully, “but I think you have a good heart.”

 

“My heart is working but I don’t know why that matters,” Cole was confused. “This amuses you.”

 

The bard tried not to smile, “You remind me that I’ve had this conversation before. I mean you want to help people, take away their pain, not hurt them. It’s not always easy to do the right thing or help people; the important thing is to try.”

 

Cole nodded, “Yes, I try to heal the hurt. I understand, now.” He was gone.

 

Leliana blinked, “If you can hear me, thank you.” She smiled a little and got back to work, “I would love to see Alistair’s face the first time Cole disappears like that.” A minute later, she forgot about the boy.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 143:  Unexpected

“You are correct, my friend, this is an improvement over the cave in Crestwood,” Stroud remarked. He was quietly watchful when they reached Skyhold. He trusted the Champion and Leliana but recent experience had him looking for exits just in case.

 

“Ha, I’ll take a cave in Crestwood over a bunch of Orlesians in the Winter Palace. Gotta admit, it would be fun to see Buttercup among those fancy painted nobs. Do you think the Inquisitor can keep her from throwing pies in their faces or nicking the silver?” Varric chuckled.

 

Hawke looked sideways at her old friend, “Or she’ll encourage Sera in order to shake things up and see what dirt falls out.”

 

“Orlesian nobility is unlikely to let their masks slip for something so trivial. You are talking about people who will smile to your face while their associate stabs you in the back, literally,” Stroud quietly informed them. “People outside of Orlais frequently make fun of the Grand Game or trivialize it. That misjudgment is often fatal. Fortunately your Inquisitor has the accomplished and clever Leliana to advise her.”

 

“True, but don’t forget Ruffles,” Varric reminded them. “Never bet against an Antivan. Speaking of betting, ale and Wicked Grace in an hour?”

 

The Inquisitor returned a few days later. Stroud was meeting her soon but she and her advisors were taking care of a few matters at the war table. He wandered through the garden, trying to imagine what the little girl would do with the space. By his calculations, Skyhold could easily house two Vigils.

 

“Hello,” a young boy interrupted his musings. “Are you really a Grey Warden? I heard you were from Ferelden, do you know the Hero of Ferelden? Mother does, she fought with him and my father during the Blight but she doesn’t like to talk about it. Oh, I’m forgetting my manners my name is Kieran. I’m here with my mother; she’s going to help the Inquisitor. Have you met Inquisitor Adaar?”

 

Stroud studied the lad. He saw a boy, approximately ten years old, with a ready smile and open countenance. He reminded Stroud of Alistair. “I am pleased to meet you Kieran. Yes, I am a Grey Warden; you may call me Stroud. I was in the Free Marches during the Blight but transferred to Ferelden shortly thereafter so I do know the Hero of Ferelden; he is my Commander and a good man. I have not yet met the Inquisitor; I am to do so shortly. Perhaps you have some advice for me?”

 

“She’s Tal Vashoth, not Qunari. I only met her once but she was nice and took time to talk and ask me if I settled in okay even though she’s very busy. I don’t think she likes it when people don’t get to the point. I haven’t seen her lose her temper or anything; she stays polite but she seems more relaxed when they leave, as if she was holding her breath and finally let it out. She also doesn’t seem to like being called Andraste’s Herald,” Kieran narrowed his eyes in thought.

 

“Kieran! Kieran, where – ah, there you are,” a beautiful woman with dark hair, unusual gold eyes, and rather exotic attire joined them from the other side of the garden. “You, young man, are supposed to be studying,” she arched one eyebrow at her son.

 

“But Mother, this is Stroud, he’s a Grey Warden and he knows the Hero of Ferelden. You did tell me I needed to study the history of the Blight and I might never meet the Hero myself,” Kieran opened his eyes wide as he tried to convince her.

 

Morrigan’s countenance softened slightly and she murmured, “Clever boy.” She shook her head, “I would like a word with this Warden of yours. You haven’t finished cataloging the herbs in the garden, you can work on that while we speak and then, if Warden Stroud is willing, you may ask him about the Hero. Understood?”

 

“Yes Mother,” Kieran agreed with a sigh before turning to Stroud and smiling, “It was an honor to meet you, Warden Stroud. I hope we can speak later?” he asked with hope shining in his eyes.

 

“The honor is mine, young Kieran. I can tell you one thing before you go, the Hero is very fond of cheese and good cinnamon buns,” Stroud could practically feel Morrigan rolling her eyes.

 

Kieran beamed, “Me too,” he replied before running off.

 

“He will ask you questions until sun rises, if you let him. He has a slight case of hero worship where the Hero of Ferelden is concerned,” Morrigan said fondly.

 

“There are far worse individuals to admire; Alistair is a good man and a good leader. You should be proud of your son, he is well-mannered, intelligent, and observant,” Stroud replied.

 

“I am,” Morrigan smiled proudly as she watched her son. She turned and studied the Warden at her side, “You may call me Morrigan. How well do you know Alistair?”

 

The resemblance made sense now. Like many Wardens, he wondered how Alistair survived killing the Archdemon. The Commander’s theories made sense but he always sensed more, especially when he and little girl spoke of the apostate who studied old magics. They were easier when they talked about Morrigan during their earlier travels. “It is far less complicated than the Grey Wardens of centuries past creating the Griffonsong.” He kept this revelation to himself as he considered the witch before he answered, “I am proud to serve as his second-in-command and privileged to be godfather to Alistair and the little girl’s daughter. They have told me much of their time during the Blight and your assistance, but they are somewhat reticent when they speak of the last few days.”

 

“Ah,” she responded but didn’t elaborate. She looked at the Warden sideways, gold eyes amused, “‘Little girl’? The toy has more nicknames than any I have ever encountered,” Morrigan snorted. “If nicknames were butterflies I’d say she has a large net permanently attached.”

 

Stroud smiled into his mustache, “This is truth.” The witch couldn’t help smiling slightly at hearing Jannasilane’s expression coming from the warrior. “I do not think I even know all of them; I am sure during her time at Haven she ‘collected’ several more.”

 

“I find myself . . . curious,” Morrigan admitted. “You said they have a daughter; they are well and happy then? I was not a friend as I might have been. I was arrogant and didn’t bother to revise my initial opinion nor keep it to myself. I have learned since that time.”

 

“Youth is something we all must learn from,” he said politely. “To answer your question, yes. They are happy. They married some years ago and have two sons in addition to their daughter. In spite of recent troubles, the Vigil is a happy place. He is a good and fair Commander and Arl and she is a good Arlessa to the people of Amaranthine. They are unconventional but effective. I know all at the Vigil are relieved she survived the attack on Haven, the people are very devoted and loyal to them both.”

 

“Good,” she answered. “I won’t keep you any longer, I see Kieran watching us impatiently. I told him his father died fighting the Blight, that he was a good man who tried to do the right thing, but little else,” she politely warned him.

 

“I shall not tread in difficult waters. What you divulge is up to you, that is not my decision or responsibility. Be well, Lady Morrigan,” Stroud nodded courteously.

 

“And you,” she replied before leaving to return to her own research.

 

The moment his mother was out of sight, Kieran ran to the Grey Warden’s side and began peppering him with questions about the Hero. He included a few general ones about the Blight, Grey Wardens, and darkspawn but it became obvious to Stroud that the boy wanted a father figure he could admire. He didn’t want to build a fantasy figure in the lad’s mind and made sure some of Alistair’s flaws were included in the stories he told. When Hawke found him he took his leave, “Young Kieran, I must go but before I do so I can tell you the same thing the Hero tells his own children, if you wish.” Kieran eagerly nodded, as Stroud suspected he might, “He reminds them that good people try to do the right thing no matter how difficult. They avoid hurting others as much as possible and judge people based on their character and actions, not the circumstance of their birth. Good people take responsibility for their actions and accept the consequences of their mistakes. I think he would have liked your father, based on the little I know of him. Certainly he has a great deal of respect for all who fought with the Wardens during the Blight.”

 

“Do you think the Hero would like me?” Kieran asked wistfully.

 

“Yes, I think he would like you a great deal,” Stroud answered solemnly. He and Hawke left the boy with a smile on his face. They climbed the battlements where Bragaara watched the world outside Skyhold’s walls. She turned around when they joined her, “Warden Stroud, Plushie, I mean the Lady Jannasilane, said good things about you. I regret I couldn’t come to Crestwood to meet you there. I understand you have some information?”

 

Hawke couldn’t help rolling her eyes, “Does anybody but Alistair call her by her name?”

 

“Very few,” Stroud admitted with a smile in his voice. “Inquisitor, I wish I had good news for you. The Grey Wardens are all hearing their Calling; rather they believe this is so. I do not. Now that I know Corypheus is no longer dead, I am convinced he is somehow behind it, that he is mimicking the Archdemon’s deadly siren song in order to trick the Wardens into doing something desperate. At Alistair’s behest, I went to see Warden-Commander Clarel of Orlais; we feared she might be acting on this false Calling. I had to escape when I was unable to deter her from her plans. I have spent time piecing together what I overheard at Montsimmard and examining several old maps. Inquisitor Adaar, I believe they are going to an old Tevinter tower in the Western Approach. They need to collect some specific items so we might, if we hurry, reach them before they go further. At the very least, we should find more of the exact nature of their plans. I know only they involve magic but if Corypheus is behind the Calling then I greatly fear what will come.”

 

“I don’t think we should delay, Inquisitor,” Hawke frowned. “We can go ahead and watch the tower until you arrive. They may be looking for you but I doubt they’ll notice us if we’re careful.”

 

The Inquisitor agreed, “I doubt I can leave before tomorrow morning, but I’ll try. The Wardens are too powerful a tool for Corypheus for us to do nothing. Let’s hope we can stop what’s going on before it comes to fruition.”

 

Stroud and Hawke were gone within the hour.

 

“Blood magic,” Hawke spat the words, “nothing good ever comes of it.” She looked around angrily at the corpses of Grey Wardens in the ruined tower. After the Inquisitor joined them in the Western Approach, they confronted the Wardens and the person directing them, Lord Livius Erimond, a particularly smarmy Tevinter magister. He escaped after setting his puppet Wardens and demons upon them.

 

“I’d like to send some of my pointier arrows at his face,” Sera wrinkled her nose in disgust.

 

“Any tool can be turned to evil purpose,” Stroud replied wearily. He grieved to see his fellow Wardens used and sacrificed so easily. “Clarel feared there would be none left to defeat the next Blight. She probably felt betrayed and isolated; Alistair owed her a debt but did not come to her side and I am sure Venatori spies intercepted any letters she sent to Weisshaupt. I take no consolation in knowing we were correct in believing this a false Calling.”

 

“Well, now we know how Corypheus plans to get his demon army,” Inquisitor Bragaara hid the anger she felt behind a calm façade. “Where did that snake go? He said this was merely a test.”

 

“I believe they go to Adamant,” Stroud answered. “It is an old Grey Warden fortress and the only one of any size west of here. Desolate only begins to describe the area. In his arrogance, the magister said they were close to being ready. It will not take long for me to confirm.”

 

“Which means we may be in time to stop them,” Dorian’s nostrils flared angrily. “Erimond is a perfect example of the hated Tevinter stereotype. Worse, the man has absolutely no fashion sense. That alone should have precluded this Warden-Commander Clarel from listening to him.”

 

The Inquisitor shook her head, bright sun glinting off her horns, “Let’s go. Stroud, verify their destination and then, if you are correct, I need you to work with Commander Cullen on strategy.”

 

Stroud bowed slightly, “Fortunately, when I was a young Warden a small group of us followed the trail to Adamant. We stopped when we could see the ruin. It was a training exercise in endurance as much as anything. I willingly put my knowledge at your Commander’s disposal.”

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 144:  Adamant and the Warden’s Tragic Mistake

“Nothing ever goes as planned,” Hawke rubbed her head and sighed.

 

Stroud looked around with a slight frown, “Are we . . . . ?”

 

“In the Fade, the actual Fade? If that’s what you mean, then yes. I must say it looks much better in my dreams, where are the scantily clad and well-oiled young men peeling grapes? This must be the slums,” Dorian twirled the end of his mustache to hide his discomfort.

 

“****,” Blackwall grumbled.

 

“NO! N-n-n-n-o-o-o-o-oo,” Sera practically wailed. “It can’t be, no, no, nonono, this is stupid.”

 

Bragaara looked around, “This is where I was before, I think. That,” she pointed, “looks like the way out. I don’t know about you but I don’t think standing around here is a good idea.” Her companions agreed so they began plodding their way through the Fadescape.

 

Stroud said little. Adamant and Clarel weighed heavily upon him. He recognized some of the Wardens fighting them; they were from the Free Marches. That meant he would find more among the dead, people he recruited, trained, fought and bled with. He hoped they did get out; he wanted vengeance on Corypheus for using the Wardens and creating such fear among hardy warriors. He blamed Clarel, in part, for not listening to him and for considering such a drastic plan, no matter how afraid she was. “Did pride make her more vulnerable? Her ready assistance was not so politely rebuffed by Loghain and she, along with all the Wardens in Orlais and the Free Marches, were forced to wait and prepare for the larger horde coming their way. Even I was stung, all my years of hard work and the battles I fought were merely preparation. We trained to defeat the Archdemon. Never did we want another Blight but to be forced to watch it grow in strength because of one man’s blindness? Folly and madness. Did that sliver of frustration and discontent fester without her realizing, making her more prone to listen to the Tevinter snake? Regardless she has paid the price; she is in the hands of the Maker and will have to answer to him.”

 

Unexpected help interrupted his thoughts. “You need to recover your memories before you can leave,” ‘Divine Justinia’ told the Inquisitor. Wraiths guarded the memories, locked inside floating balls.

 

“You alright, Brags?” Sera asked after the Inquisitor recovered her first memories.

 

Adaar shook her head and rolled her shoulders, “That was . . . odd. There are still pieces missing but at least I know what to expect next time. The sooner we can get out of here the better.”

 

Unfortunately, the Nightmare now focused attention on them. He taunted them, he sent his Fearlings after them. He tapped into their minds and the Fearlings took the shape of what each of them feared. “Spiders! Why is it always spiders?” Hawke complained.

 

“You see spiders? That’s not what I’m seeing,” Blackwall grimaced. Sera was trying not to babble. The group pressed on. It was either that or give in to the Nightmare’s despair, something none of them was willing to do.

 

The Nightmare continued mocking and sneering at them, “Blackwall, the warrior who is nothing like a Warden, nothing at all.” “Sera, the elf who isn’t.” “Hawke, such a Champion. You couldn’t save Kirkwall or your family. Your mother died because you didn’t get to her fast enough . . . or because you were just too busy making yourself important.”

 

“Do not listen to it, Champion. You must not, any of you, let the creature insinuate itself into your thoughts and make you doubt yourself,” Stroud urged.

 

“Ah, Stroud,” the Nightmare purred. “You finally speak. Tell me, does your Commander know you lust after his woman? She has so much passion. Too much for one man? How does your desire for a woman who belongs to another square with your sense of honor?”

 

“Little girl would cut out your eyeballs and feed them to a darkspawn if she heard you refer to her as property,” Stroud laughed, confusing the Nightmare. He drew his eyebrows together angrily, “I will not listen to you rant on about things beyond your comprehension. Begone, demon!”

 

“As if Alistair has time to worry about all the men who think Janna is attractive and desirable,” Hawke rolled her eyes, “just as she doesn’t bother worrying about the women who swoon over him.”

 

“Handsome man, then,” Dorian twirled the ends of his mustache.

 

“If you like big, blond, strong men with warm, crinkly hazel eyes and a ready smile,” Tambra replied. Their banter would have been amusing elsewhere, but in the Fade, it thudded flatly against the miasma of despair surrounding them.

 

At last, Inquisitor Bragaara recovered all her memories. “The Wardens killed the Divine,” she said grimly. Stroud ground his teeth but otherwise remained stoic while the others were more vocal.

 

Hawke turned to him. “You’re not saying anything, you don’t even seem surprised,” she accused.

 

“I assumed they were under Corypheus’ sway, as were those in Adamant,” Stroud retorted.

 

“We’re running out of time, save your bickering for later,” the Inquisitor reminded them. They began running for the exit, the rift that led to their world and out of the Fade.

 

“Did you think you could escape my domain so easily?” the Nightmare sneered, finally showing them it’s shape, a horrific compilation of spiders and eyes and other nightmare things nobody wished to identify.

 

“Oh ****, we can’t get past,” Sera exclaimed.

 

“I will command its attention while you escape.” Stroud looked at Bragaara Adaar, “Inquisitor, it has been an honor.” He bowed slightly.

 

“No, I should stay,” Hawke protested. “Corypheus is my fault.”

 

Stroud shook his head, “A Grey Warden should rectify a Grey Warden mistake. No, this is what Wardens train for, so others may live. I have been a Warden for many years and this is my duty. Tell . . . I ask only one thing of you, Champion, a promise. I left a small parcel with Leliana in case I didn’t survive. She was to forward it to Amaranthine but I ask you to deliver it in person and tell Alistair and little girl . . . tell them that my years in Amaranthine were my greatest privilege and my greatest joy.”

 

Tambra’s eyes were suspiciously bright, “I promise. I will do so the minute we are out of here, you have my word. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

 

“This place does none of us any favors,” he replied. “All of you, go, live, and destroy Corypheus.”

 

“With pleasure,” Bragaara grimly answered. “We have to go, NOW.” Stroud readied his blade and rushed at the demon. He slashed its underbelly while the Inquisitor ran around it and raced towards the rift. They dove into the opening while Stroud battled behind them. Once they were on proper ground again, the Inquisitor sealed the rift. She looked around at the Wardens and the Inquisition forces still standing and waiting.

 

“Where’s Warden-Constable Stroud?” one of the younger Wardens asked.

 

The Inquisitor bowed her head a moment before answering. Everybody around became still and quiet, waiting for the answer they didn’t want to hear. Adaar stepped onto a small wall to better address the small crowd around her, “Warden Stroud was a true Grey Warden. I would not be here, none of us would be here, if he didn’t sacrifice himself in the Fade to prevent the monstrosity your folly, Clarel’s folly, from coming through to our world. I am proud to have known him even for such a short time.”

 

The Wardens hung their heads in shame. They realized the full extent of their actions and how easily they allowed the Tevinter to manipulate them. After a few moments, one of them had the courage to ask the question they were all thinking, “We have no senior Wardens among us, no leadership, what happens now?”

 

“You certainly can’t stay here. You’re still vulnerable to Corypheus and the Venatori . . . you should leave southern Thedas. Champion,” the Inquisitor turned to Hawke, “will you escort these ‘Wardens’ to Weisshaupt? Somebody needs to explain what happened here.”

 

“I promised to go to Vigil’s Keep. We’ll take the Ferelden route and then we can take a boat from the City of Amaranthine. If I can ask for a handful of templars to accompany us they can begin teaching the meditation exercises Alistair implemented and give Clarel’s Wardens help against any Venatori we meet on the way.”

 

“That’s Commander Clarel to you, Champion,” one Orlesian Warden sneered. Those around him shifted uncomfortably.

 

“The Hero of Ferelden? Do you think we can stay with him?” the young Warden who spoke earlier asked.

 

Bragaara shrugged, “That isn’t my decision to make. He was smart enough not to be a part of this mess but if he doesn’t take you, you go to Weisshaupt.”

 

“You may not have much choice,” Hawke warned the young man. “Not only was Stroud a trusted advisor he was a close personal friend to the Commander and his wife. They even named him godfather to their daughter.”

 

“Wardens die. It’s what we do, they should be used to it,” the sneering Orlesian shrugged dismissively.

 

Hawke controlled her anger, but it wasn’t easy. “Accepting his death doesn’t mean they can’t or shouldn’t mourn his loss, especially a loss due to another Warden’s stupidity or foolishness. I am quite confident that you will be going to the Anderfels.”

 

“That jumped up bastard is no hero of mine -”

 

“Open your mouth one more time and nobody will stop me from sending a fireball down your throat,” Hawke warned him.

 

“Not if my arrow gets there first,” Sera had bow in one hand and arrow in the other, her fingers itched to shut the fool up. “We lost a serious ‘stache today and you don’t get a say in anything.” Not a single Warden moved to help their comrade. Instead, they moved away from him, leaving a clear path for the mage and the archer.

 

“He’s going to need watching,” Bragaara quietly commented to Hawke. I’ll send a small squad of Inquisition soldiers with you as well as any templars Cullen can spare. They’ll stay with you until you’re on board and they see the ship sail. By then, his companions should be sufficient guard. They don’t look too happy with him.”

 

“There’s always one,” Hawke muttered. She smiled tiredly at the Inquisitor, “Thanks. I have to stop by Skyhold to get that package from Leliana but I’ll be as fast as possible. I don’t look forward to breaking the news to Alistair and Janna.” Bragaara nodded in understanding.

 

Fiona, with the Inquisitor’s permission and promise to return with the Inquisition forces, joined her on the journey to Vigil’s Keep. Tambra was curious but the Wardens, especially the one she mentally dubbed ‘the One who Sneers’, kept her too busy to ask questions. She stopped them when the Vigil was just barely in view, “Wait here. I’ll go ahead so the guards on the ramparts have a chance to recognize me. Seventy-plus troops are rather a large armed force to just stroll through the gates.”

 

“I’m coming with you,” Fiona calmly stated. She and an Inquisition standard-bearer walked with Hawke, Inquisition banner flying high, and walked to Vigil’s Keep.

 

Once they recognized the Champion, the guards informed the Commander. The gates slowly opened to reveal the Hero of Ferelden standing alone in the courtyard, arms crossed. Tambra saw Alistair in a new light, for the first time she realized just how intimidating and powerful he could be without saying or doing anything, just by being. He wasn’t Alistair; he was a Commander of the Grey and the Hero of Ferelden. She steadied a sudden case of nerves and approached him slowly, “I have n-news, we should talk privately. Janna, too.”

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 145:  A Warden’s Final Words

Alistair waited a beat and then sighed, “I knew today wasn’t going to be a good one. Lane is uncharacteristically cranky and my Janna’s in a mood.” He uncrossed his arms, “Hello, Fiona, I’m glad to see you looking well. Umm, are you part of the news or . . .”

 

“No, I took this opportunity to see you and ‘your' Janna. I’ll be returning soon,” Fiona smiled softly. “The Champion’s news is of higher priority and I have no desire to interfere in your business.”

 

“And . . . that small army is with you?”

 

“Just for now,” Tambra explained. “I’ll explain.”

 

“Huh,” the Commander replied elegantly. He motioned to a couple of his men. “Please escort – I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” he apologized to the standard-bearer.

 

“D-dreytonne, Commander, Hero, sir,” the young soldier replied in surprise.

 

“Really, Dreytonne? I like it, unusual but strong. Well, Dreytonne, my men are going to escort you back to your troops out there and then take you all to some of our training grounds near Felsi’s place. You can set up camp quite comfortably and if you don’t get on her bad side, she might even cook for you. Will that suffice?” The young man nodded wordlessly, surprised that the Hero of Ferelden and Commander of the Grey and Arl of Amaranthine was so, well, friendly. Especially after intimidating him, them, when they walked into the courtyard. His little sister back in Orlais was going to be so jealous. He couldn’t wait to tell her.

 

“Fiona, do you mind hanging around a bit while I talk to Tambra? I know you’re not a Warden anymore but I’m sure you could use food and a comfortable chair after being on the road for so long. Hawke can take you to the dining hall while I look for Janna. Oh, and you’ll stay at the Vigil while you’re in Amaranthine, won’t you?”

 

Fiona nodded her head, “I would like that very much, Alistair, thank you.”

 

“That’s settled then. Hawke, we’ll talk in my office; I’ll meet you there.” Alistair’s smile faded the moment he turned his back on the two women to find his wife.

 

That was hours ago. Telling Martelle her godfather was dead was the hardest thing Alistair had ever done. Watching his precious Martypants sobbing uncontrollably in her mother’s arms until exhaustion forced her to sleep simply broke his heart, Jannasilane’s too. While his wife watched over their daughter, he tracked down their sons. It didn’t take long; he just had to follow the noise. Duncan was yelling at his baby brother and Lane, well, the normally cheerful Lane was having a full-blown tantrum worse than his older siblings were together. Even Tina was at her wit’s end. By the time Alistair was done, both boys were quietly sitting guard outside their sister’s room. The younger boy didn’t remember Stroud very well, but he did understand Martelle was upset. One thing he and Duncan were alike in was their love and protective feelings for their big sister.

 

Now, now, Alistair was holding the package of letters. He turned it over before going back to their bedroom where he thought he’d find Janna. He frowned, “Where is she?” he wondered. “She didn’t look at me when I left her with Martelle. In fact, she seemed to deliberately keep her face turned away from me.” He noticed Nugflutter and Starphire staring at him from the corner next to the door closing off access to her tower. “Is my Janna up there?” he asked. The little dog barked and the cat blinked, he presumed in the affirmative. “I don’t think she should be up there alone. If you don’t mind, I’m going to join her,” he told them. “I hope I’m doing the right thing,” he thought as he climbed the ladder.

 

Jannasilane practically stuffed her fist into her mouth to muffle the keening sounds she could no longer control. Jean-Marc’s death hit her hard, much harder than she ever would have guessed. She didn’t want Alistair to see her like this. “It’s not fair, it’s not fair, not fair,” she yelled in her head. What wasn’t fair she couldn’t say, whether it was Stroud’s sacrifice to fix another Warden’s tremendous error, her Ali knowing how much she mourned another man’s death, or her Martelle crying herself to sleep, or something she didn’t want to admit.    

 

When her husband’s strong arms wrapped around she tried to pull away but all she could do was hide her face behind her hair. “I was jealous of him, you know,” he said quietly. “Not all the time, but sometimes I would catch a look between you or see him with you and Martelle. I admit I sometimes get jealous when another man pays attention to you, but that’s more of an irritation when he is being too persistent in his admiration. You are a beautiful woman and a man would be crazy not to notice. No, Stroud was different. He was our friend but with him, I could see you building a life with him instead of me, more easily as the Beast slowed down. Well, if we weren’t together I could see it. I know you love me; I never doubted that for one minute. It’s just, it’s just that I could see you loving him that way if things were different. He was in love with you, you know.”

 

“Stupid man,” she sniffled, “you are my always and my love. He was a good man and he deserved love in return. It’s not fair.”

 

“Well, I admit I wouldn’t like it if you did love him back like that. I kind of like being your only always,” he drawled.

 

“Stupid man,” Jannasilane repeated but she did raise her head. She pushed her hair out of her face and wiped tears out of her eyes with the back of her hand, like a child. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

 

Alistair looked into her tear-stained face, “You mean crying because a good friend is dead? Or,” he said slowly as another thought came to him, “or mourning another man you did love, at least a little?” He considered it a moment, “I’m not surprised, not really, I never thought about how you must have felt about him when I was the First’s ‘guest.’ I didn’t want to,” he admitted. “It was difficult enough to get past the fact that I didn’t even have the chance to be Martelle’s real father. Ironic that he’s the one who helped me get out of my funk. I hate to think of you isolated from all our friends and not knowing who to trust. I think, I think I’d be more surprised if you didn’t care for the one person who helped you out in so many ways.”

 

Jannasilane watched him closely but didn’t say anything. Alistair waited but when she still didn’t speak he continued, “You know what’s odd about our group during the Blight? It’s not that we became so close; it’s that those friendships continued strong after the Blight was over and we followed different paths. The tension keeping us together was gone. Fergus once told me that usually people who were great buddies while fighting together, after the fighting was over, went their separate ways and rarely thought of their ‘good buddies’ except as a fond memory during a difficult time.”

 

“You call Morrigan a fond memory?” she snickered slightly.

 

“Wench,” he retorted, relieved the storm was lessening if not passing.

 

Jannasilane shifted so she was kneeling in front of him. She grasped his hands and studied them, marveling at their size and strength and how gentle they could be. She brought them to her lips and held them against her cheek, “I love you, my Ali, my always, but you are correct. A corner of my heart loves and mourns Jean-Marc. I did not wish to shame you by letting you see this; this is truth. I most certainly do not wish to bring shame to you by letting others see how much I grieve. You do not deserve the disrespect and he would not approve; this is also truth.”

 

All right, hearing her say what he secretly suspected for so long hurt. Conversely, he felt relieved they could talk about her feelings from such a complicated time. She wouldn’t be his Janna if, after what they shared while he was imprisoned up north, she could consider the man ‘just a friend.’ He rubbed his thumb against her soft skin, “You are not a cold woman, thank the Maker. I wish you were never in that position, but it is what it is. Tambra wasn’t just talking sympathetic words; I know that Jean-Marc was happy here. Never once did either of you give me cause to regret my decision to make him my second. I can hardly blame him for loving you; I would only have blamed him for dishonoring the connection you and I share after I returned. He never did.”

 

“He respected and admired you a great deal, my Ali,” she softly replied. “He considered that first time when the Beast was clamoring as crossing a line that should never have been crossed. He was ashamed of his desire for another man’s woman, especially yours. He thought to burn out his unfortunate attraction before your return.”

 

“I thought I was the idiot,” Alistair couldn’t help remarking.

 

She ignored him, “I had my own reasons for agreeing but I was honest with him, I told him that you were the man I loved and you were more important to me than anything or anyone. That is how it began, the Beast, shared shame, and acceptance of the temporary,” she shrugged self-deprecatingly.

 

“Janna,” he began but she stopped him with her finger on his lips.

 

“No, my Ali, I love you. Your, your acceptance of my condition and your willingness to come up with a solution we could both live with means more to me than you will ever understand. If I didn’t already adore you, I would do so for that alone, but you can’t make me change how I feel when I am with another. Only with Rio did I not feel any shame because we were not together.”

 

“Don’t remind me of how badly I acted,” he begged. He thought about what she said and frowned, “So all these years when sometimes Blake or Nathaniel or . . . I knew it bothered you but I didn’t realize just how much. You should have told me.”

 

“To what end? So you can worry about me whenever . . . ?” she asked tiredly. “My Time will soon end, I think, and retire the Beast. Certainly, within the next couple of years. It is dormant more often for increasingly longer periods. Knowing this makes it easier to speak about how I feel, have felt. I think,” she frowned and tilted her head thoughtfully; “I think that my relationship with Stroud, because it started in shame, made it easier to purge some of my older feelings from previous encounters. In a way, I felt somebody was finally punishing me for bad behavior. Does that make any sense?”

 

“Come here, my love,” Alistair didn’t wait for her to comply. He pulled her into his embrace and just held her. He didn’t think he would ever fully understand his beautiful, complicated, passionate Janna but he thanked the Maker for putting her in his life. He nuzzled her hair and waited for her to relax completely against him. When she did, he finally told her the reason he came looking for her, “I brought Stroud’s papers; I thought we could read them together, or at least begin to look through them. We can wait until later, if you prefer.”

 

Jannasilane thought about it for several moments. She shook her head and shifted so she leaned against his side, “No, let us look at them now. Martelle may have questions to which only these documents hold answers. I would feel better knowing now rather than later, this is truth.”

 

“He was a smart man, even if Leliana’s curiosity got the better of her the contents would disintegrate before she could read them. I wonder if this is why he took one of our lock runes, they are kind of expensive. Hmm, three letters and what looks like a journal. I’ll put that aside, maybe the letters will tell us more about it. Let’s see, one letter for me, one for you, and one for you and Martelle,” he handed those to his wife and manfully suppressed his curiosity; sure she would tell him about them later. He began reading his letter.

 

“Commander, and dare I presume to say friend,” Alistair snorted, Orlesians were so formal. He included Riordan in that category after the man spent so many years in Orlais.

 

“Soon we go to Adamant and I doubt very much that I will return. I leave letters and a journal with Leliana in the event my forebodings bear true; two letters are primarily for little girl, one of which can be shared with Martelle if the two of you decide to tell her the truth of her conception. I am not asking you to do this, but merely wish her to know, if you do tell her one day, how much watching her grow has meant to me and how fortunate she is to have two such loving parents. To clarify, I mean you and her mother. I am quite safe in assuming little girl will share the contents of both with you. The journal holds no secrets; it is stories and anecdotes from my life before and after becoming a Grey Warden that my goddaughter will, I hope, appreciate. At least I can go to the Maker knowing I have done as much as I can for her.

 

Alistair, we have never spoken of this, but I am sure you suspect my feelings for your wife go beyond friendship. You are an intelligent man and where little girl is concerned you are particularly observant. I, however, would never have made her happy as you have. Knowing this has made it easy to be content knowing she does not return or even desire my love. I am satisfied with your friendship and trust, and being a part of your family as Martelle’s godfather makes me in terms happy, humbled, and grateful. Watching the joy you share is a beautiful pleasure and I am not alone in this. You are a better man and more generous than I could hope if our situation were reversed. Thank you for allowing me to be your second, and thank you for trusting me enough to be Martelle’s godfather. I rather miss that she has grown enough to rarely call me ‘Twodaddy.’”

 

Alistair stopped reading to think about Stroud’s words. He felt the older Warden was giving him too much credit. Would he have been as happy to watch his love being happy with another man, no matter how worthy? “Probably not,” he admitted to himself. It was weird reading about another man’s love for his wife, but Stroud did confirm suspicions he had over the years. He continued reading.

 

“After leaving the cave in Crestwood, I had some time in Skyhold to examine the fortress. It is easily double the size of Vigil’s Keep and much older. I indulged myself while waiting for Inquisitor Adaar to return from the Winter Palace and spoke to the masons and general workers whose efforts even Master Voldrik would approve. Skyhold may predate the fall of Arlathan by some centuries, it is a most fascinating place and one I believe you would enjoy visiting at some point. Be careful with little girl for surely she will get lost.

 

I do not know what others have reported, but events at the Winter Palace did not go smoothly for the Inquisition. Grand Duke Gaspard was claiming he was the rightful ruler of Orlais and the ball was an opportunity for the two parties to make peace. Unfortunate for the Duke, his sister was a much better player of the Game than either he or Empress Celene. She orchestrated the ball and peace talks so that she could assassinate the Empress and implicate her brother in the plot. Grand Duchess Florianne was only partly successful. The Empress, as you are aware, lives. The Grand Duke, however, does not. The Inquisitor successfully prevented the assassination and killed Florianne before the woman could return to her master, Corypheus himself. I believe you would say the old magister has his fingers in many a pie.

 

While waiting to speak to the Inquisitor about the Wardens, I strolled through the gardens and met a young boy, Kieran, who seemed familiar. He eagerly introduced himself and began asking me about the Hero of Ferelden. In case you forgot, this is you. He did not have the opportunity to ask many questions before his mother approached us. I believe you know her, Morrigan, your former traveling companion and more recently the Empress’ Arcane Advisor. She is a most beautiful and exotic woman. She sent her son to study the herbs in the garden so we could speak privately.

 

First, you should know that she regrets not being a better friend during the Blight and seemed quite pleased that you and little girl are happy and thriving. Second, her son has a case of hero worship for, appropriately enough, the Hero of Ferelden. He knows little of his father except he was a good man who died helping the Wardens defeat the Blight. He resembles his mother greatly but to one who knows the father well and cares to observe the boy closely one can easily see the father in the son.

 

I have been a Warden more than a decade longer than you have and I wondered, along with many of my brethren in the Free Marches, how you survived the Archdemon. Your templar background is plausible to some but now I am satisfied I know the truth. It is far less strange than the Wardens’ efforts centuries ago to save the griffons.

 

After we finished speaking, a conversation of allusion and unspoken statements, she was satisfied as to my discretion and allowed Kieran to question me about Grey Wardens, darkspawn, the Blight, but mostly you. He loves his mother but he clearly desires a father figure and in his mind you are the one to fill that role. He is a delightful child, well mannered, intelligent, curious, observant, charming, and outgoing. I would be proud to call him son, and I believe any man should be as well. I made sure to present you as a man with virtues and faults in order not to build an unrealistic image. I am not sure how successful I was in reducing the Hero of Ferelden to the status of ordinary man, but I did try. He also loves cheese and cinnamon buns. He was very happy when I told him I thought you would like him.

 

Now for more grim tidings, Hawke and I scouted the Grey Wardens in the Western Approach. When the Inquisitor joined us, we confronted them and a Tevinter magister, a Venatori worm who made my skin crawl. He sneered at us, confident that we could do nothing to stop his plans. He confirmed he was with Clarel when I arrived, that he was the advisor in the other room when she arrested me. He convinced Clarel that they could prevent all future Blights with one bold and extreme move: a blood magic ritual in which our warriors would sacrifice themselves so our mages could bind a demon to them. Ostensibly, these demons could sweep the Deep Roads without rest, hunting down and killing the remaining Archdemons and darkspawn. He conveniently failed to mention to her that the mages involved are forever bound to Corypheus’ will. Alistair, I was sickened when he commanded the small group of mages who just bound demons to attack us. Every demon was a former brother, every blank-faced mage a former comrade. I am glad you were not there.

 

We know they go to Adamant for the main ritual. This was just a test run. What worries me isn’t just that Corypheus is turning Wardens into demons for his personal army; it’s wondering why he needs to have the Wardens under his control afterwards. I very much doubt it is merely to prevent them from coming after him.

 

Before I leave, I want you to know serving under your command has been my greatest privilege and honor since becoming a Grey Warden. You are a great leader and deserve all the respect and loyalty offered by the denizens of Vigil’s Keep and the citizens of Amaranthine. My years in Amaranthine have provided me with the greatest joy and satisfaction since becoming a Grey Warden.

 

Your humble servant,

Jean-Marc Stroud, proud Warden-Constable of Ferelden”

 

The Warden-Commander took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He stared up at the sky and thought about everything in the letter.

 

Jannasilane’s letter was much shorter.

 

“Dearest little girl,

 

I write this in the likely event I do not return from Adamant and so take the liberty of telling you how much you mean to me. I never said the words because it wasn’t my place. Now, with the end of things nigh, I say them to you; I love you. I treasure the short time we were together and do not begrudge the fact you are with Alistair. He makes you happy and he is the right man for you, and this I could never be. If you blessed me with your love, I would soon destroy any happiness we might have for I am a possessive man. I am not capable of giving you what you need. That is my lack, not yours; and so, I am very happy for you. Knowing we were never going to create a future together made me appreciate our brief connection in a way I would not have done under other circumstances. I can tell you I am at peace with how we left things; this is truth. That you freely give me your friendship is a testament to your generous spirit and honors me beyond all desserts.

 

Observing your happiness over the years gives me great joy and warms me when I am most alone. Even more than our time at the Vigil, the moments I treasure are the perfection of your beauty when we said goodbye on the way to Amaranthine, Martelle’s birth, your wedding, when you asked me to be Martelle’s godfather, and the many times she and I had tea together. Conventional wisdom tells the Grey Wardens to keep an emotional distance in order to make the hard decisions. After serving under Alistair and watching the two of you together, I have my doubts. That aloofness might work best for some, but I am no longer sure it should be a standing guideline for the Order.

 

I do not know if you will tell Martelle the truth. That is a decision only her parents can make. If you and Alistair decide she should know, then I wrote her a letter so she understands how much she means to me and how lucky she is that Alistair is her father. I wrote the journal while I was holed up in a Crestwood cave with very little to do. I wrote about my parents, growing up in Orlais, stories before and after I became a Grey Warden. I thought Martelle might like to know more about her godfather some day. You might also find some of the anecdotes amusing.

 

With great love, respect, and affection,

Your Jean-Marc”

 

Jannasilane couldn’t even look at his letter to their daughter until her tears stopped falling. Alistair was still reading his much longer letter so she had time to compose herself. Martelle’s letter was much as he said, and she resolved to keep it safe until she was older, when she and Alistair would make their decision. She opened Jean-Marc’s journal, picking a page at random and started to read.

 

“His name is Kieran,” she looked at her beloved Ali. He was looking into the distance with a strange expression on his face. His hand, the one holding his letter, was trembling.

 

“Who?” she asked softly and stroked his shaking arm.

 

Alistair turned to her and blinked. His eyes were shiny with unshed tears, “My son, Morrigan’s son, Stroud met him in Skyhold. I wondered, you know, what he was like. Whenever you were pregnant, or one of the boys did something new or it was just their name day, even on the anniversary of when we did . . . it. I wondered. I half-expected a monster with wavy tentacles and fiery breath but he’s not. Morrigan is a much better mother than I would have guessed. She, erm, she told Kieran that his father was a good man who died helping the Blight. Meaning me, I’m the good man, though I didn’t die. Jean-Marc said the boy asked lots of questions about me and he likes cheese. He said, he said Kieran is a boy that any man would be proud to call son. I’ll never know him, this wonderful boy.”

 

“That’s good, isn’t it, my Ali? You can stop worrying,” Jannasilane soothed.

 

“Stop worrying?” Alistair snorted, “I’ll always worry, and wonder. But at least now I can worry about normal dad stuff, not creepy demon/Flemeth stuff.” He put his hand over her smaller one and then kissed her palm. “Well, I have plenty of time to think or worry about Kieran later. How are you feeling, my love?” He gazed into her face, looking for any signs of distress.

 

“I am glad we looked at his letters now, my Ali,” she answered him seriously. “I knew he loved me and it made me sad he continued to do so instead of finding it elsewhere. I worried he was lonely,” she frowned slightly. “He told me, well, you can read for yourself, but he was glad you and I are together. I do not like being reminded that one day I will grieve even more for you,” She gave him the letters and shifted so she could lie on his chest, one arm embracing her while he read the other two letters.

 

“We still have some years left, my love. We just need to remember to make the most of them rather than worry about what we cannot change.” He laid his cheek against her hair and began reading. When he was done, he carefully folded them with the first page of his letter. He kissed the top of her head, “We should keep these safe. The best thing would be to destroy yours and mine, but I can’t bring myself to do so, not yet. Your chest has a very good lock; can we keep them in there? I told you Stroud was a smart man; the second page of my letter is Grey Warden stuff and can go with my papers after sharing some of his concerns with my advisors. Looks like Corypheus is still going to be a problem for Wardens even though he won’t get his demon army.”

 

Very carefully, she placed them in her chest and locked them away. They still mourned but were more at peace when they descended the ladder to rejoin their family and responsibilities.

 

Later that night, when they were alone in their bedroom once again, Alistair gave in to temptation. “My love,” he caressed her warm, abundant, and naked curves pressed against his side, “what, erm, what was it like? W-with S-Str-Stroud? I know it’s none of my business and probably really bad timing; if there’s ever a good time for such a question.” He stared intently at the ceiling rather than look into her face. He refused to acknowledge even to himself that he was blushing miserably.

 

Jannasilane sat up, her jaw dropping in astonishment while she stared at her red-faced warrior. She shook her head in disbelief, “Why do you ask now, my Ali; it has been many years?”

 

Now he sat up and looked at her sheepishly, “Because then I would have had to look at him after you told me, if you told me. I don’t know if I could have done that.”

 

She snorted. “Do you really wish to know?” she asked, still disbelieving he even asked the question.

 

“Umm, yes?” he admitted.

 

“Well,” she straddled him so he couldn’t get away, “he was not a better lover than you, my wonderful warrior, if you were worried.” She watched him closely and realized that was one small doubt behind his question. She sighed, “I cannot imagine a better or more generous lover than you; this is truth. Jean-Marc was skilled but quite different. I will try to explain without going into details.”

 

“Please, no details are fine with me,” Alistair was beginning to regret he asked the question even though he still wanted the answer.

 

“Do you remember after we killed the high dragon in Haven?” she asked, blushing at the memories. He nodded and swallowed. “Well, Jean-Marc was much more comfortable in that area than we were. In fact,” she chewed her lip thoughtfully, “I think now that it, um, matched very well his desire, or need, to be in control, to dominate in intimate moments.”

 

“Did he hurt you?” her husband was serious now.

 

She moved her shoulders slightly, “That first time was the farthest he went in that direction . . . the Beast was clamoring and he was punishing us both. The Beast didn’t care and I, I admit I did not care either. Not then. I felt he treated me as I deserved. No,” she put her finger on his lips before he could speak, “it is what I felt. Any temporary pain or discomfort could not begin to compare to my feelings of failure. He did no damage, hurt me, or mark me, other than some minor bruises. I told you he was familiar in that area; he made sure not to go too far and . . . he asked me the same questions you did after Soldier’s Peak, when we returned from Weisshaupt.”

 

“Did he? That’s good, I think,” Alistair frowned. He looked closely at his Janna, “And you liked it?”

 

“To be honest, I think if he approached me differently that first night, if he had been gentle or seductive or even matter-of-fact, we could not have become friends. You would never punish me for any of my failures because you do not see that I have reason to feel shame,” she watched him to see if he understood. Alistair slowly nodded; he didn’t think she should berate herself for that aspect of her heritage, since there was nothing she could do to change it. She continued, “It is more fair to say I didn’t believe I deserved anything else and so felt a . . . a satisfaction. He could be gentle, on his terms, of course,” she added with a small almost-smile. “I never told him, but when he was gentle or simply less dominating, I missed you even more. And that made me feel bad on his behalf so I preferred when he was more controlling even if some of what he liked I did not.”

 

“You’re beginning to make my head spin,” her husband complained. “I don’t think I could be that way with you, I found that out after you challenged the high dragon and my anger released a darker edge that makes me uncomfortable. Mostly,” he added.

 

“You have your moments,” her eyes darkened in pleasant memory, and Alistair felt his manhood twitching against her bottom. She squirmed against him, “I like what we have, my Ali, a partnership where we are equal even when one of us cedes control to the other. I would never trade that for something I could have with anyone else. Love makes it even better and more precious.”

 

Alistair flipped them so she was under him, “I agree completely.” He braceleted her hands above her head and spoke softly against her hair, “So, my beautiful, complicated, passionate, surprising wife and love partner, is there anything you learned from that time you’d like me to try?” His eyes crossed when, after a moment, she shyly whispered in his ear. He gulped, he shuddered, and he kissed her. Then he replied, “I think I can do that.”