FanFiction - The Hero of Ferelden (Complete Story)
Débuté par
Sisimka
, janv. 20 2010 05:57
#226
Posté 14 février 2010 - 09:05
bl00dsh0t
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Hands down best chapter of the story!!!!! Moar
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#227
Posté 14 février 2010 - 10:20
Sialater
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Good job on that fight! Writing battles are tough, I've found, when you don't actually fight with swords in real life!
#228
Posté 14 février 2010 - 10:28
Sisimka
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Thanks for all the great comments!
@Sialater - I study martial arts and we do a lot of weapons work. When I'm writing close combat or one on one matches I can usually visualise how the momentum of a particular block or strike will affect the character. I've even practiced a move to make sure it works in RL before committing it to paper.
Yeah, I'm a nerd. Fun times.
@Sialater - I study martial arts and we do a lot of weapons work. When I'm writing close combat or one on one matches I can usually visualise how the momentum of a particular block or strike will affect the character. I've even practiced a move to make sure it works in RL before committing it to paper.
Yeah, I'm a nerd. Fun times.
#230
Posté 15 février 2010 - 05:54
Sisimka
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Val Royeaux
For the fifth time that evening Alistair silently thanked the Maker he was not the emperor of Orlais. They had been in Val Royeaux for approximately five hours and by his count he’d had this thought approximately once per hour since his arrival. The nobles he’d met thus far were all so stiffly polite and seemed more interested in outdoing one another with the ridiculous nature of their hats or their proximity to the empress rather than greeting a neighboring monarch. At least Celene had been unfailingly polite and the warmth in her expression as she had greeted him had appeared genuine.
The Empress of Orlais was a formidable woman. That was the only word he could think of to describe her. He wondered what she was like beneath all the makeup and the ornate headdress and gown. Did she ever drop the façade of being empress, or was that was a skill unique to himself, being able to forget he was king for a while and be just Alistair again?
He was in the guest quarters at the palace and the opulence was astounding. The rooms were all large and airy and the windows were so huge that every available space was flooded with natural light. Now, with the setting of the sun the rooms were bathed in a rosy glow and Alistair was drawn to the window to take in the view. The palace was the highest point in the city and across the towering spires and varied stone buildings he could see the water. The details were lost with the distance, but he thought he glimpsed the golden glow of the Blazing Sun and felt a pang of longing for his cozy stateroom.
He looked to the south. The Grey Warden headquarters were a few hours’ ride in that direction. Alistair pulled the amulet from his neck and touched the gem in the centre. She was there. The sense of her was still faint, but stronger for his proximity to her. Alistair was confident they would find her tomorrow and his anger rose at the thought of dealing with Damien. But he clamped it down. Anger had no place at tonight’s banquet. He was here to negotiate an everlasting peace, after all.
Alistair stepped away from the window and looked down at himself. He was supposed to be dressing for dinner with the empress. By Ferelden standards, his outfit was ornate. Pale gold pants and shirt with burgundy trim and short coat about his shoulders in contrasting tones. Who designed these things? He felt like he was wearing a flag. The only comfort he took was in the sure fact he’d be outdone by the Orlesian nobility.
He looked up at a quick knock at his door and Zevran slipped in, his eyebrows rising in amusement either at Alistair’s expression or his outfit. Alistair smirked in return and held up a hand, “I do not what to hear it.” He took in Zevran’s leathers with a grimace and added, “We have one hour until this banquet, do you think you should find something less…assassin-like?”
Zevran laughed and dipped a bow, “As you wish, your Majesty, but if you will allow me a brief respite, I have some news to report.” The rogue had been down in the city using his eyes and ears and his expression had turned grim.
Alistair felt a flutter of panic as he asked, “What have you found out?”
Zevran replied, “Damien left the city yesterday, his destination unknown.”
Alistair’s first thought was we’re too late! “I think I know where he might be headed. Leliana is still here, Zev, he did not take her with him.” Alistair sighed and put his hands to forehead, rubbing as though it pained him. “Leliana would never have revealed what she knew so quickly, I fear he has used blood magic on her.”
Zevran took the news impassively, as if it were no surprise to him that Damien would be capable of such an act. Alistair was fighting that rising anger again and in order to vent some of it he said, “What is it with Grey Wardens and blood magic? The end never justifies the means! We’re supposed to be the protectors of humanity!”
Giving air to his thoughts helped and Alistair took a deep breath to clear his head. He looked up and realized that Zevran still did not know the full extent of what Leliana had revealed. The elf was standing quietly by and regarding him with a curious expression. Alistair was struck then by the former assassin’s loyalty and friendship. Both he and Aedan had come to rely on Zevran as more than just another set of blades.
He beckoned his friend over to the arrangement of chairs beneath the windows and said, “Want to hear a story, Zev? I am no bard, but in this case, I think you’ll forgive me my lack of flair.”
+++++
As they rode south Alistair replayed the previous evening over in his mind. The banquet had been a rigidly formal affair and after the first hour he had given up trying to remember names. Fortunately his advisor, finally dressed in something other than drakeskin leather, had remained at his elbow the entire evening feeding names and pertinent details to him in a low whisper. There had been a few raised brows at his advisor’s obviously pointed ears, but Zevran’s suave and easy manner had won many admirers and even Celene herself had complimented Alistair on his choice of staff.
Alistair couldn’t help the smile that came at the memory of Celene’s first reaction to his companions. She had looked from Zevran to Oghren with arched brows and commented drily, “I see the rumours of a united Ferelden are true! You have already accomplished much as King, Alistair.”
The stone walls of the castle that housed the Grey Warden headquarters slowly rose above the tree tops and Alistair plucked the chain from his neck, pulling the amulet out of his armour. He felt for Leliana and her signal was steady, though he could tell she was still unconscious. She had been unconscious for three days and he feared for her mind, if not her baby. His gut clenched and Alistair found himself hoping this did not end in bloodshed. Thedas needed Grey Wardens and he refused to believe the entire Val Royeaux order was complicit in Damien’s actions.
They were greeted at the gates by two wardens who introduced themselves as Marc and Louis. Marc was the senior warden and bowed graciously toward Alistair before inviting him to enter. Alistair restrained the urge to wrap his fingers about the warden’s neck and demand to know where Leliana was, and tried to maintain his neutral expression.
Alistair and Zevran followed the wardens to the main hall where they were offered rest and refreshment. Alistair took the first opportunity to ask if Damien would be joining them. He carefully studied the wardens’ faces as they prepared to respond, knowing Zevran was doing the same, and could discern no hidden agenda. Their expressions were open and honest as they answered.
“Likely you will meet the Commander when you return to Ferelden, Alistair, he left two days ago. In fact, we are surprised by your visit here today.”
Alistair replied with, “Damien and I had some…unfinished business to take care of.” He paused and then asked, hardly daring to hope, “Has Jean returned? He left Ferelden just before we did.” As he uttered the traitor’s name he struggled to school his features into a look of polite interest.
Jean was indeed in residence and was summoned. Alistair tried not to pace the hall as he waited for the young warden to arrive. When Jean finally entered the room it was with the air of a condemned man walking toward the gallows. Alistair took a step forward, a hand instinctively reaching for his sword, but Zevran grasped his arm and slipped in front of him and with a terse nod toward Jean said quietly to Alistair, “Perhaps we could take this meeting somewhere more private?”
The raised brows on the faces of Marc and Louis indicated they were not sure if this was a good idea, but curiously, they deferred to Jean and the pale young warden led Alistair and Zevran from the hall. As soon as they were out of earshot, Alistair reached forward to grab the Orlesian’s arm, spinning him in place and growled, “Where is she?”
Jean’s face was filled with many conflicting emotions. The panic and the sorrow did not outweigh the regret, however. He lifted a finger to his lips and said, “Please…I cannot take you to her yet.”
Alistair felt he would choke on his own words as he tried to speak in normal tones as they passed a group of wardens in the corridor. “Why not?” He asked.
Jean whispered, “The mage…”
So it was blood magic then. Alistair’s stomach twisted with hatred and he clenched his hands at his side and took several more deep breaths. Killing Jean here and now would accomplish nothing. They needed information first.
They arrived at Jean’s quarters and Alistair had a brief moment to wonder why such a young and junior member of the order rated a private room, a large one at that. Zevran articulated his thoughts, asking, “Just what is your relationship to Damien, Jean?”
The elf did not look surprised when Jean answered in a low voice, “He is my father.”
Alistair’s first reaction to this pronouncement was horror. What kind of man would do this to their own son? In his mind Damien was no longer merely power mad, he was simply mad. Alistair’s second reaction was unexpected. He felt a deep sorrow for Jean.
Zevran was saying, “So it was you keeping an eye on Aedan all along then, and not Philippe.” Jean nodded quietly, no further answer necessary.
Alistair asked quietly but firmly, “Where is Leliana?”
Jean stuttered, “She is being held in the fade by a blood mage.” He looked down, avoiding Alistair’s eyes, “Damien left instructions that she be killed, but I have…neglected to pass these along to the mage.”
Zevran responded, “At least you are consistent.”
Jean looked up, surprised, and Zevran continued with, “Aedan also lives.”
The young warden slumped with obvious relief. Alistair shook his head, pity for Jean welling within him again. He pushed it aside and said, “We will deal with this mage, take us to her.”
Jean raised a hand and said, “I will, but we must be cautious. He is very powerful. If he was to learn of my…weakness… too soon, that Leliana should not be alive, he would be quick to remedy the situation.”
They left Jean’s quarters which proved conveniently located near the entrance to the dungeon. Alistair could not help the chill that crept up his spine as they descended the stair case. The last dungeon he’d entered had been at the Arl of Denerim’s estate when they sought to free Anora. He hoped this one was less populated.
The dungeon appeared deserted, in fact, and only Alistair’s footsteps echoed off the dark stone walls as they made their way along the main corridor. Jean put up a hand before they reached a closed door at the end. Alistair and Zevran flanked the door and listened as Jean went inside. The young warden was greeted by a surly voice, “Why do you continue to disturb me Jean? And where is the refreshment I asked of you last time you so kindly interrupted my work?”
Hoping the mage was distracted enough by Jean’s presence Alistair leaned forward, ready to rush into the room, but Zevran attempted to restrain him. As he turned his head toward the rogue, his foot touched the floor and hit the edge of a glyph. He was thrown backwards and skidded down the stone hallway with a screech of metal and laid there stunned for a moment. He raised his head and scrambled to his feet just as Zevran slipped through the door. The glyph had expired. Drawing his sword, Alistair ran back down the hall.
Zevran had barely made it through the door before he fell under the effects of a horror spell, becoming frozen in place as his limbs twitched and jerked. Jean was slumped in the corner behind the door. He’d been thrown there by the same repulsion glyph and with less distance to travel had connected with the wall with great force. Leliana was lying across from the entrance, her body curled upon itself on the floor. Her face was pale and completely devoid of expression, her eyes closed. If Alistair had not felt her presence with the amulet, he would have thought her dead. She was so still.
Alistair returned his attention to the mage and felt the telltale tingle of electricity building in the air. He quickly cleansed the area and prepared to strike. Zevran reached the mage first, aiming a low kick that effectively interrupted the spell before slipping behind him and raising the pommel of his dagger to stun.
Alistair stepped up and as he swung his sword and up and across Zevran ducked out of the way. They both flinched in the spray of blood as the mage’s head left its body and flew across the room. Alistair dropped his sword and immediately ran over to kneel by Leliana’s side. Colour was returning to her cheeks but she was still out. If she had been this way for three or four days, she would be very weak. He gently reached beneath her and lifted her into his arms.
Zevran was crouched before Jean, feeling for the young warden’s pulse. He looked up at Alistair and shook his head. The impact with the wall must have killed him outright and as Zevran tipped his head forward, it became apparent this was the case. Alistair swallowed and turned away from the gruesome stain on the wall. A part of him was glad Jean was dead, but that feeling warred with his sympathy for Jean’s predicament. They would never know more details of the relationship between Jean and his father, but it was obvious it had not been a happy one.
Zevran retrieved Alistair’s sword and followed him from the room. He then slipped in front of him and soundlessly ran ahead, checking around corners and opening doors as necessary, raising a hand once to halt Alistair’s progress until two Orlesian wardens passed by the entrance to the dungeon.
They managed to make it back to Jean’s room where Alistair laid Leliana on the bed. He and Zevran paused to clean as much blood from their amour as possible and then Zevran slipped into the hallway again. Their plan was to lower Leliana from the window and then exit through the main entrance themselves before riding around to retrieve her.
While he had a moment, Alistair sat on the edge of the bed and took Leliana’s limp hand in his. He was powerless to help her right now and could only hope that she would survive this ordeal unscathed. He hardly dared to think about the baby, or what would happen to Aedan if he lost them both. Though not a religious man, he found himself praying to the Maker right then, a steady stream of quietly whispered words he did not cease until he heard Zevran calling from below the window.
Using a combination of blankets and sheets from Jean’s bed, Alistair successfully lowered Leliana into Zevran’s waiting arms and watched as the elf gently lowered her to the ground, pausing to settle her against the wall and brush her hair gently away from her face before disappearing back around the castle.
Alistair met him in the corridor and they found their way back to the main hall and informed Marc and Louis that their business with Jean was concluded. As they bid them farewell, Alistair tried not to run for his horse. He wanted to be away before they discovered the two dead wardens in their dungeon.
The ride back to Val Royeaux was interminable and they arrived well after dark. Alistair and Zevran had taken turns holding Leliana in front of them and they were both exhausted from the effort. They rode directly to the palace and Alistair carried Leliana straight to his rooms where he instructed a servant to bring a healer.
A brisk knock at the door announced the arrival of the empress herself. She glanced from Leliana, who was laid out on is bed, to Alistair and seemed on the verge of making a smart comment before Alistair said, “This is the wife of Ferelden’s Warden Commander and she has been under the influence of blood magic for several days. Please, Celene, if you know anything of this let us clear the air now.”
The empress responded with, “Damien is beyond my influence and I will not meddle in the affairs of the Grey Wardens, Alistair. I would suggest the same to you, were the circumstances different. There is going to come a time when you must decide, because you cannot be both, are you a Grey Warden, or a King?”
Though it pained him to acknowledge her point, Alistair knew she spoke the truth. He nodded toward her and she continued, her voice softer, “But you have my sympathy and I will do all in my power to see she is now safely returned to Ferelden.”
The healer arrived. They stepped aside and let the mage examine Leliana. She lifted eyelids and patted her cheeks before she felt over all for broken bones. Then the mage closed her eyes and rested her hand over Leliana’s forehead. She then moved her hand toward Leliana’s heart and finally let it hover over her stomach a moment. She opened her eyes and looked at Alistair.
Alistair held his breath and from the silence that fell across the room, he was not the only one. The mage relaxed her shoulders and offered a satisfied smile. “She is very strong and she will recover, physically. She may wake tonight, or tomorrow.” She glanced at Leliana’s stomach again and then back toward Alistair, “You know she is with child?”
Alistair nodded, his heart in his throat, and was unable to ask the question. The mage saved him the trouble. “The baby is well.”
For the fifth time that evening Alistair silently thanked the Maker he was not the emperor of Orlais. They had been in Val Royeaux for approximately five hours and by his count he’d had this thought approximately once per hour since his arrival. The nobles he’d met thus far were all so stiffly polite and seemed more interested in outdoing one another with the ridiculous nature of their hats or their proximity to the empress rather than greeting a neighboring monarch. At least Celene had been unfailingly polite and the warmth in her expression as she had greeted him had appeared genuine.
The Empress of Orlais was a formidable woman. That was the only word he could think of to describe her. He wondered what she was like beneath all the makeup and the ornate headdress and gown. Did she ever drop the façade of being empress, or was that was a skill unique to himself, being able to forget he was king for a while and be just Alistair again?
He was in the guest quarters at the palace and the opulence was astounding. The rooms were all large and airy and the windows were so huge that every available space was flooded with natural light. Now, with the setting of the sun the rooms were bathed in a rosy glow and Alistair was drawn to the window to take in the view. The palace was the highest point in the city and across the towering spires and varied stone buildings he could see the water. The details were lost with the distance, but he thought he glimpsed the golden glow of the Blazing Sun and felt a pang of longing for his cozy stateroom.
He looked to the south. The Grey Warden headquarters were a few hours’ ride in that direction. Alistair pulled the amulet from his neck and touched the gem in the centre. She was there. The sense of her was still faint, but stronger for his proximity to her. Alistair was confident they would find her tomorrow and his anger rose at the thought of dealing with Damien. But he clamped it down. Anger had no place at tonight’s banquet. He was here to negotiate an everlasting peace, after all.
Alistair stepped away from the window and looked down at himself. He was supposed to be dressing for dinner with the empress. By Ferelden standards, his outfit was ornate. Pale gold pants and shirt with burgundy trim and short coat about his shoulders in contrasting tones. Who designed these things? He felt like he was wearing a flag. The only comfort he took was in the sure fact he’d be outdone by the Orlesian nobility.
He looked up at a quick knock at his door and Zevran slipped in, his eyebrows rising in amusement either at Alistair’s expression or his outfit. Alistair smirked in return and held up a hand, “I do not what to hear it.” He took in Zevran’s leathers with a grimace and added, “We have one hour until this banquet, do you think you should find something less…assassin-like?”
Zevran laughed and dipped a bow, “As you wish, your Majesty, but if you will allow me a brief respite, I have some news to report.” The rogue had been down in the city using his eyes and ears and his expression had turned grim.
Alistair felt a flutter of panic as he asked, “What have you found out?”
Zevran replied, “Damien left the city yesterday, his destination unknown.”
Alistair’s first thought was we’re too late! “I think I know where he might be headed. Leliana is still here, Zev, he did not take her with him.” Alistair sighed and put his hands to forehead, rubbing as though it pained him. “Leliana would never have revealed what she knew so quickly, I fear he has used blood magic on her.”
Zevran took the news impassively, as if it were no surprise to him that Damien would be capable of such an act. Alistair was fighting that rising anger again and in order to vent some of it he said, “What is it with Grey Wardens and blood magic? The end never justifies the means! We’re supposed to be the protectors of humanity!”
Giving air to his thoughts helped and Alistair took a deep breath to clear his head. He looked up and realized that Zevran still did not know the full extent of what Leliana had revealed. The elf was standing quietly by and regarding him with a curious expression. Alistair was struck then by the former assassin’s loyalty and friendship. Both he and Aedan had come to rely on Zevran as more than just another set of blades.
He beckoned his friend over to the arrangement of chairs beneath the windows and said, “Want to hear a story, Zev? I am no bard, but in this case, I think you’ll forgive me my lack of flair.”
+++++
As they rode south Alistair replayed the previous evening over in his mind. The banquet had been a rigidly formal affair and after the first hour he had given up trying to remember names. Fortunately his advisor, finally dressed in something other than drakeskin leather, had remained at his elbow the entire evening feeding names and pertinent details to him in a low whisper. There had been a few raised brows at his advisor’s obviously pointed ears, but Zevran’s suave and easy manner had won many admirers and even Celene herself had complimented Alistair on his choice of staff.
Alistair couldn’t help the smile that came at the memory of Celene’s first reaction to his companions. She had looked from Zevran to Oghren with arched brows and commented drily, “I see the rumours of a united Ferelden are true! You have already accomplished much as King, Alistair.”
The stone walls of the castle that housed the Grey Warden headquarters slowly rose above the tree tops and Alistair plucked the chain from his neck, pulling the amulet out of his armour. He felt for Leliana and her signal was steady, though he could tell she was still unconscious. She had been unconscious for three days and he feared for her mind, if not her baby. His gut clenched and Alistair found himself hoping this did not end in bloodshed. Thedas needed Grey Wardens and he refused to believe the entire Val Royeaux order was complicit in Damien’s actions.
They were greeted at the gates by two wardens who introduced themselves as Marc and Louis. Marc was the senior warden and bowed graciously toward Alistair before inviting him to enter. Alistair restrained the urge to wrap his fingers about the warden’s neck and demand to know where Leliana was, and tried to maintain his neutral expression.
Alistair and Zevran followed the wardens to the main hall where they were offered rest and refreshment. Alistair took the first opportunity to ask if Damien would be joining them. He carefully studied the wardens’ faces as they prepared to respond, knowing Zevran was doing the same, and could discern no hidden agenda. Their expressions were open and honest as they answered.
“Likely you will meet the Commander when you return to Ferelden, Alistair, he left two days ago. In fact, we are surprised by your visit here today.”
Alistair replied with, “Damien and I had some…unfinished business to take care of.” He paused and then asked, hardly daring to hope, “Has Jean returned? He left Ferelden just before we did.” As he uttered the traitor’s name he struggled to school his features into a look of polite interest.
Jean was indeed in residence and was summoned. Alistair tried not to pace the hall as he waited for the young warden to arrive. When Jean finally entered the room it was with the air of a condemned man walking toward the gallows. Alistair took a step forward, a hand instinctively reaching for his sword, but Zevran grasped his arm and slipped in front of him and with a terse nod toward Jean said quietly to Alistair, “Perhaps we could take this meeting somewhere more private?”
The raised brows on the faces of Marc and Louis indicated they were not sure if this was a good idea, but curiously, they deferred to Jean and the pale young warden led Alistair and Zevran from the hall. As soon as they were out of earshot, Alistair reached forward to grab the Orlesian’s arm, spinning him in place and growled, “Where is she?”
Jean’s face was filled with many conflicting emotions. The panic and the sorrow did not outweigh the regret, however. He lifted a finger to his lips and said, “Please…I cannot take you to her yet.”
Alistair felt he would choke on his own words as he tried to speak in normal tones as they passed a group of wardens in the corridor. “Why not?” He asked.
Jean whispered, “The mage…”
So it was blood magic then. Alistair’s stomach twisted with hatred and he clenched his hands at his side and took several more deep breaths. Killing Jean here and now would accomplish nothing. They needed information first.
They arrived at Jean’s quarters and Alistair had a brief moment to wonder why such a young and junior member of the order rated a private room, a large one at that. Zevran articulated his thoughts, asking, “Just what is your relationship to Damien, Jean?”
The elf did not look surprised when Jean answered in a low voice, “He is my father.”
Alistair’s first reaction to this pronouncement was horror. What kind of man would do this to their own son? In his mind Damien was no longer merely power mad, he was simply mad. Alistair’s second reaction was unexpected. He felt a deep sorrow for Jean.
Zevran was saying, “So it was you keeping an eye on Aedan all along then, and not Philippe.” Jean nodded quietly, no further answer necessary.
Alistair asked quietly but firmly, “Where is Leliana?”
Jean stuttered, “She is being held in the fade by a blood mage.” He looked down, avoiding Alistair’s eyes, “Damien left instructions that she be killed, but I have…neglected to pass these along to the mage.”
Zevran responded, “At least you are consistent.”
Jean looked up, surprised, and Zevran continued with, “Aedan also lives.”
The young warden slumped with obvious relief. Alistair shook his head, pity for Jean welling within him again. He pushed it aside and said, “We will deal with this mage, take us to her.”
Jean raised a hand and said, “I will, but we must be cautious. He is very powerful. If he was to learn of my…weakness… too soon, that Leliana should not be alive, he would be quick to remedy the situation.”
They left Jean’s quarters which proved conveniently located near the entrance to the dungeon. Alistair could not help the chill that crept up his spine as they descended the stair case. The last dungeon he’d entered had been at the Arl of Denerim’s estate when they sought to free Anora. He hoped this one was less populated.
The dungeon appeared deserted, in fact, and only Alistair’s footsteps echoed off the dark stone walls as they made their way along the main corridor. Jean put up a hand before they reached a closed door at the end. Alistair and Zevran flanked the door and listened as Jean went inside. The young warden was greeted by a surly voice, “Why do you continue to disturb me Jean? And where is the refreshment I asked of you last time you so kindly interrupted my work?”
Hoping the mage was distracted enough by Jean’s presence Alistair leaned forward, ready to rush into the room, but Zevran attempted to restrain him. As he turned his head toward the rogue, his foot touched the floor and hit the edge of a glyph. He was thrown backwards and skidded down the stone hallway with a screech of metal and laid there stunned for a moment. He raised his head and scrambled to his feet just as Zevran slipped through the door. The glyph had expired. Drawing his sword, Alistair ran back down the hall.
Zevran had barely made it through the door before he fell under the effects of a horror spell, becoming frozen in place as his limbs twitched and jerked. Jean was slumped in the corner behind the door. He’d been thrown there by the same repulsion glyph and with less distance to travel had connected with the wall with great force. Leliana was lying across from the entrance, her body curled upon itself on the floor. Her face was pale and completely devoid of expression, her eyes closed. If Alistair had not felt her presence with the amulet, he would have thought her dead. She was so still.
Alistair returned his attention to the mage and felt the telltale tingle of electricity building in the air. He quickly cleansed the area and prepared to strike. Zevran reached the mage first, aiming a low kick that effectively interrupted the spell before slipping behind him and raising the pommel of his dagger to stun.
Alistair stepped up and as he swung his sword and up and across Zevran ducked out of the way. They both flinched in the spray of blood as the mage’s head left its body and flew across the room. Alistair dropped his sword and immediately ran over to kneel by Leliana’s side. Colour was returning to her cheeks but she was still out. If she had been this way for three or four days, she would be very weak. He gently reached beneath her and lifted her into his arms.
Zevran was crouched before Jean, feeling for the young warden’s pulse. He looked up at Alistair and shook his head. The impact with the wall must have killed him outright and as Zevran tipped his head forward, it became apparent this was the case. Alistair swallowed and turned away from the gruesome stain on the wall. A part of him was glad Jean was dead, but that feeling warred with his sympathy for Jean’s predicament. They would never know more details of the relationship between Jean and his father, but it was obvious it had not been a happy one.
Zevran retrieved Alistair’s sword and followed him from the room. He then slipped in front of him and soundlessly ran ahead, checking around corners and opening doors as necessary, raising a hand once to halt Alistair’s progress until two Orlesian wardens passed by the entrance to the dungeon.
They managed to make it back to Jean’s room where Alistair laid Leliana on the bed. He and Zevran paused to clean as much blood from their amour as possible and then Zevran slipped into the hallway again. Their plan was to lower Leliana from the window and then exit through the main entrance themselves before riding around to retrieve her.
While he had a moment, Alistair sat on the edge of the bed and took Leliana’s limp hand in his. He was powerless to help her right now and could only hope that she would survive this ordeal unscathed. He hardly dared to think about the baby, or what would happen to Aedan if he lost them both. Though not a religious man, he found himself praying to the Maker right then, a steady stream of quietly whispered words he did not cease until he heard Zevran calling from below the window.
Using a combination of blankets and sheets from Jean’s bed, Alistair successfully lowered Leliana into Zevran’s waiting arms and watched as the elf gently lowered her to the ground, pausing to settle her against the wall and brush her hair gently away from her face before disappearing back around the castle.
Alistair met him in the corridor and they found their way back to the main hall and informed Marc and Louis that their business with Jean was concluded. As they bid them farewell, Alistair tried not to run for his horse. He wanted to be away before they discovered the two dead wardens in their dungeon.
The ride back to Val Royeaux was interminable and they arrived well after dark. Alistair and Zevran had taken turns holding Leliana in front of them and they were both exhausted from the effort. They rode directly to the palace and Alistair carried Leliana straight to his rooms where he instructed a servant to bring a healer.
A brisk knock at the door announced the arrival of the empress herself. She glanced from Leliana, who was laid out on is bed, to Alistair and seemed on the verge of making a smart comment before Alistair said, “This is the wife of Ferelden’s Warden Commander and she has been under the influence of blood magic for several days. Please, Celene, if you know anything of this let us clear the air now.”
The empress responded with, “Damien is beyond my influence and I will not meddle in the affairs of the Grey Wardens, Alistair. I would suggest the same to you, were the circumstances different. There is going to come a time when you must decide, because you cannot be both, are you a Grey Warden, or a King?”
Though it pained him to acknowledge her point, Alistair knew she spoke the truth. He nodded toward her and she continued, her voice softer, “But you have my sympathy and I will do all in my power to see she is now safely returned to Ferelden.”
The healer arrived. They stepped aside and let the mage examine Leliana. She lifted eyelids and patted her cheeks before she felt over all for broken bones. Then the mage closed her eyes and rested her hand over Leliana’s forehead. She then moved her hand toward Leliana’s heart and finally let it hover over her stomach a moment. She opened her eyes and looked at Alistair.
Alistair held his breath and from the silence that fell across the room, he was not the only one. The mage relaxed her shoulders and offered a satisfied smile. “She is very strong and she will recover, physically. She may wake tonight, or tomorrow.” She glanced at Leliana’s stomach again and then back toward Alistair, “You know she is with child?”
Alistair nodded, his heart in his throat, and was unable to ask the question. The mage saved him the trouble. “The baby is well.”
Modifié par Sisimka, 15 février 2010 - 05:56 .
#231
Posté 15 février 2010 - 06:22
Freckles04
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Yay! Leliana is rescued and everything is all right! Now they need to get back to Aedan before he kills himself by accident...
#232
Posté 15 février 2010 - 06:28
Maximus741000
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Leliana LIVES!!
There really is no word to describe this, but BRAVO! Truly there is more potential here in your writing than anything I could imagine. Thank you.
There really is no word to describe this, but BRAVO! Truly there is more potential here in your writing than anything I could imagine. Thank you.
#233
Posté 15 février 2010 - 06:36
Sialater
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Sisimka wrote...
Thanks for all the great comments!
@Sialater - I study martial arts and we do a lot of weapons work. When I'm writing close combat or one on one matches I can usually visualise how the momentum of a particular block or strike will affect the character. I've even practiced a move to make sure it works in RL before committing it to paper.
Yeah, I'm a nerd. Fun times.
Awesome, due to two herniated disks, I ask my husband (who studied those things) to tell me if I did it right. I can't do that stuff myself.
#234
Posté 15 février 2010 - 06:45
bl00dsh0t
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Another great chap, running out of compliments though ;D MOOAAARRR
#235
Posté 15 février 2010 - 06:47
Sisimka
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Thanks folks, we're turning into the home stretch here, not many chapters to go! I need to start thinking about my next project.
#236
Posté 15 février 2010 - 06:55
tallon1982
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Wow this is just an awesome job. You said you're almost done? I'm so going to be a sad panda lol
#237
Posté 15 février 2010 - 06:59
Sisimka
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Awww, thanks Tallon.
We've still got the final showdown with Damien and don't forget, Morrigan is still lurking about. We need to deal with the swamp witch!
We've still got the final showdown with Damien and don't forget, Morrigan is still lurking about. We need to deal with the swamp witch!
#238
Posté 15 février 2010 - 07:00
tallon1982
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Reach back like a pimp and slap da ho? lmao
#239
Posté 15 février 2010 - 07:02
Sialater
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Love the new chapter! Now, what are they going to do with Damien, hunt him down? Let him go?
#240
Posté 15 février 2010 - 07:36
Sisimka
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I think Aedan might leap of the page and deal with *me* if I let Damien go. I have something very special planned for our Orlesian Warden Commander.
#241
Posté 15 février 2010 - 07:43
tallon1982
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Feeding him to Morrigan? kidding! lol
#242
Posté 15 février 2010 - 09:24
ParalyzedHero
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I hope they cut off his head and feed it to the wolves, mwhahahaha, evil i say, evil ! (sorry, i had a wee bit of coffee).Sialater wrote...
Love the new chapter! Now, what are they going to do with Damien, hunt him down? Let him go?
#243
Posté 15 février 2010 - 10:15
Fumbles88
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Yey! My favourite chapter yet, it satisfied a lot of my questions and a lot of my desire for revenge =D I cannot even begin to describe how much I loved reading this chapter! Very VERY well done!
#244
Posté 16 février 2010 - 01:10
AdorableAnarchist
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Finally caught up... Wow. Simply, wow. Truly a great read.
#245
Posté 16 février 2010 - 07:50
Sandtigress
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Argh, no more to read! Enjoying it much, need my next fix! I stayed up an extra two hours to finish reading tonight, and even shut off Dragon Age. 
#246
Posté 16 février 2010 - 07:02
valen_morrow
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Thanks for the continual update, I'll be sad when this story ends but I'm sure I'll be reading your other stories in the future with as much anticipation as now.
#247
Posté 16 février 2010 - 07:32
Sisimka
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Sorry for late post today, had a little 'real' work to do before I got started on editing today's chapter.
Lothering
Aedan had a headache. Taren had simply run out of healing energy before being able to deal with most of his injuries. He was lucky none of them had been life threatening. Extremely lucky from Philippe’s account of the second half of the battle. When he’d come to and looked over the battlefield he’d been horrified by the sheer number of bodies that littered the ground. The wardens were huddled over by Lyek and Brenda and Yrisa had Luke in her arms as the lad sobbed. Philippe had been crouched at Aedan’s side and as he attempted to gain his feet had held out a hand, and then used that grip to lead Aedan off to the other side of the road, away from their companions.
The older warden had then recounted Aedan’s actions and Aedan had had to swallow against his rising stomach as he stole glances at the darkspawn he had mutilated. He had covered his face with his hands, then, unable to look further. Philippe was gentle but firm and his words did not need saying more than once. Aedan needed to learn control, and soon, before he endangered not only himself, but the wardens he was supposed to fight alongside.
He wanted nothing more than to wallow in his grief and his misery then, but he had his companions to think of. So after a few moments spent collecting himself Aedan joined Philippe and the other wardens. He paid his respects to the dead, but couldn’t watch as Eric and Rolf dealt with their bodies. Though he knew he was not responsible, he could not help feeling he had two more deaths on his hands. For the remainder of the afternoon he avoided the other wardens’ eyes and faces. He did not want to see himself reflected in their shocked and sorrowful gazes. He strode ahead of them, keeping his head down while he nursed the pain. He was almost grateful for the ache by the evening as it prevented him from thinking.
They did not make Lothering by nightfall and made camp perhaps two hours walk from the town. All was quiet and none of the wardens could sense darkspawn. They were all wary, however, and Aedan knew it would be a nervous and sleepless night for many, despite the fact they all needed rest. Aedan slipped inside his tent rather than sit at the campfire, he wanted to be alone. He lay down and took the flower from his pack. It was a sad looking little thing now, wilted and dry. But it still carried her scent and he pressed it to his nose and closed his eyes.
Aedan had met Leliana for the first time in Lothering. He thought back to the day of their first meeting and found himself smiling as he recalled the way in which she had tried to join their party. She had simply announced she was coming along. He had gaped at her standing there in her chantry robe, spattered in blood from their fight with Loghain’s men and wondered what kind of head injury she had incurred. He’d tried to reject her at first, not willing to be responsible for another woman – he had already regretted accepting Morrigan’s aid, the constant bickering between her and Alistair was wearing him down. But she had met them again by the bridge as they were leaving town and restated her case. Alistair had interjected then and Aedan had acquiesced, never guessing just how important to him she would become.
Aedan wrapped his arms around himself and hugged tight. The pain of his loss was greater than any ache in his head. Before he slept he sent a prayer to the Maker for Leliana, then for Alistair and Zevran, and for the companions they had lost in battle, and finally for himself.
Lothering was in bad shape when they arrived the next morning. It had been besieged by darkspawn, most likely the same horde they had met in battle the day before. They were greeted enthusiastically by the survivors and refugees attempting to restore order and repair the damaged buildings. They entered the Chantry and started asking around for Luke’s family. No one had heard of them and as they moved from person to person, Aedan began to suspect they would not be found.
He turned and gently took Luke’s arm and pulled him from the Chantry, ignoring the look of terror on the boy’s face. He walked around the building and sat him down on an old crate and then crouched down before him.
“You have no family in Lothering, Luke. You knew this, did you not? Did you say so for Brenda’s sake, or did you have something else in mind?” Aedan said. He caught a glimpse of Philippe hovering by the corner of the Chantry, but ignored him, keeping his focus on Luke.
Luke flinched at his sister’s name, and then answered, “I wanted to stay with you. I want to avenge my parent’s deaths…Brenda’s death. I want to be a Grey Warden!”
Aedan dropped his head into his hands and whispered, “Holy Maker.” He’d been right. What was he going to do with this boy? He looked up and his heart melted. He saw himself perhaps eight years ago looking up at Fergus as his older brother got to do everything he wanted to do, but was too young, or too small. He said, “Luke, Ferelden sorely needs Grey Wardens, yes, but you are so young. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you have much to learn and not all of it will be how to use a sword. If I take you with me know, you may not live long enough to learn even that.”
He held Luke’s gaze then, to make sure he’d made his point. The boy’s shoulders were square, but shaking, and the look of defiance in his eyes was crumbling. He wanted to reach out and hug him, but felt somehow that would be wrong right now, that the boy would appreciate a show of strength on his part more. He came to a decision.
“Luke, I want you to travel to Gwaren with the next merchant that leaves Lothering. That is where I will make my home when I am done here.” His voice broke a little as he continued, “That is where my…wife and I will raise our child.” Aedan stopped and looked away, blinking against tears for a moment, drawing in a gulp of air he did not really need. When he turned back, Luke was looking at him with a serious expression. “I will help you train and then we’ll talk about your future.”
Luke nodded carefully, trying to look like a man, and then his face clouded and he became a boy again as he said, “Only if you promise you will come…when you are done killing these darkspawn.”
Aedan caught his eyes, “I promise I will be there.” They shook hands, solemnly, and went back around the Chantry to join the rest of the wardens.
Aedan felt an enormous weight lift from his shoulders when they saw Luke off in the company of a merchant that afternoon. He slipped the merchant a generous pouch of coin, but suspected it was the heraldry on his armour and perhaps the slightly threatening look in his eyes that would guarantee the boy’s safe arrival in Gwaren.
The wardens left Lothering before nightfall and made camp in the same location as the previous evening. Aedan wanted to join the others by the campfire that night. He felt the need for company but experienced an unusual shyness. He wasn’t sure they would welcome him, he was afraid of the look in their eyes. Kayley stepped over to him while he was fiddling uselessly with the knots on his tent and invited him back to the campfire and when he followed her, the wardens all made a point to catch his eye and let him know they were still his men, his soldiers, his companions. He was humbled by their acceptance and he blinked tears away for the second time that day.
They turned south again late the next day and soon came upon a small band of darkspawn. They were evenly matched, one to one, and the battle lasted mere minutes. Aedan had barely had time to draw his sword before it was over and was grateful his control had yet to be tested.
The wardens were more jovial that evening at camp. Everyone’s injuries had fully healed and the day’s travel had been light with only the one skirmish. Yrisa entertained them with a story as they sat about the campfire and as had become his habit, Aedan let his mind wander. He thought about Luke first and sent a quick prayer to speed the boy’s journey before allowing his thoughts to dwell on Leliana. He was brought back to the present by the silence and realized everyone was looking at him.
“No guesses where he was,” Rolf said good-naturedly and the wardens shared in the laughter.
Philippe then repeated the question that they had been awaiting the answer to, “What are our plans, Commander? Do we head further south, or turn west again in the morning.”
That night Aedan dreamed.
She was waiting for him and as soon as he inhabited her consciousness Morrigan began talking to him. Aedan was afraid, this was not like his previous dreams where he had traveled with her and slowly become aware of her, he was just suddenly with her and he was expected.
“Ah, you are here.” She said. “After all the visits when your company was not wanted, you were extraordinarily hard to find when it was, Aedan.”
He ‘felt’ about himself, but had no real awareness of her body. He could not ‘see’ through her eyes an he had no idea where they were. He wanted to ask her what she wanted, but as usual, he was unable to talk. She anticipated his question however, and answered just as if he had asked.
“I two messages for you, Warden. The first is that your beloved has left the fade. I know not where she is, but she is no longer within the realm of dreams.”
Aedan’s heart rose and he could feel himself slipping away from her then, he didn’t fully understand what Morrigan was telling him, but he hoped it meant Leliana was alive. He wanted to wake up now, he needed to wake up. He had to defeat the darkspawn so he could go to his wife. Morrigan was calling after him and he could barely hear her voice.
“Not yet, Aedan, I’m not finished…he is coming for me, Aedan…”
His eyes snapped open and for a moment all was silent. Then he heard it, the crackle of electricity and the clash of steel. He rolled over and grabbed his sword and dagger and burst from his tent without stopping to untie the flaps. Darkspawn were emerging from the tree line, converging on their camp. Yrisa was summoning the power of nature and Eric had engaged a hurlock. The rest of the wardens were similarly rolling and fumbling out of their tents, weapons at the ready.
The wardens formed up, Rolf rushing to Eric’s aid and Taren dropping a rejuvenate spell over Yrisa. Aedan sought Kayley and they chose their first target. Philippe stomped the ground, his threatening posture immediately drawing the attention of the largest hurlock and engaged. As his blades sliced across a genlock’s neck Aedan was surprised by the spray of blood and gore. He was not wearing his armour! Only Eric had been partially armoured as he’d been on watch. This fight needed to be quick. Taren would not be able to heal them like this for long.
With a surge of adrenaline, Aedan stepped back from his next target, raising his guard. With little to protect him from their weapons he had to fight more defensively. Kayley managed a critical strike and the genlock dropped between them and they moved to the next darkspawn as one. After knocking it down, Aedan stepped on its chest and stabbed downwards, finishing it off. He looked up and saw Kayley had moved on and was overmatched by the hurlock she’d chosen. The creature was swinging a huge double-headed axe behind itself and was preparing for a massive strike. Aedan leapt forward and knocked Kayley out of the way, remembering too late he was also without armour. The axe caught him below the shoulder with a horrifying thunk, hitting bone before falling away as the hurlock prepared another swing. Aedan was rocked sideways by the blow and he was losing the grip on his dagger as his fingers turned numb. The pain began to run up and down his arm and the whole left side of his body felt crushed.
Aedan managed to duck the next swing and thrust his sword upwards, only to succeed in getting it lodged in the hurlock’s armour. With his left arm useless he tugged ineffectually on the sword with his right and felt the first stirrings of panic as it refused to come loose. The point had penetrated the armour and the hurlock was hurt, but it was not down and that mighty axe was spinning back again. Aedan did the only thing he could think of, he dropped to the ground. He finally achieved his goal and the sword slid free as he hit the ground and he lifted it over his head as he rolled away from the hurlock. He tried to use his left arm to lift himself off the ground, but it refused to hold his weight. He used his right hand instead, trapping his sword temporarily beneath himself as he pushed up. He looked over his shoulder and saw that axe coming down again and froze. He wasn’t going to be able to get his sword up in time.
The hurlock froze as well and Aedan blinked in confusion until the creature dropped to its knees, axe falling harmlessly to one side. Kayley was perched on its back, both of her blades sunk to the hilt into its flesh. She jumped off with a grunt and ran towards Philippe. Aedan shook himself out and followed. He could no longer feel his arm and he wondered what had happened to Taren. Let him not be dead, he thought as he slashed away at Philippe’s target. Between the three of them they downed the huge darkspawn and spun to take on more. The darkspawn continued to pour between the trees and at the sight of so many of them, Aedan’s control started to slip. He dragged himself forward with Kayley and Philippe, dreading every rise of his blade as he wondered if this would be the blow where he lost his mind, or the next one. His right arm was trembling when he finally felt the touch of healing magic. His left arm was still useless, but now he could feel it and it hurt! He clung to the pain, using it as a focus while he swung his sword up and down, back and forth, killing darkspawn after darkspawn.
Then it was over and all the wardens dropped to their knees and heels in exhaustion. The camp was littered with bodies and several of the tents had fallen beneath them. There was a genlock across the fire and the smell was shocking. Aedan used his sword to push himself up to a half kneel and looked over the wardens. Everyone was accounted for, they were all alive, but their injuries were great. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen so much blood. Taren was doing what he could, but he was pale and had deep shadows beneath his eyes. Yrisa was slumped in a heap by her ruined tent, shaking all over. Kayley was limping, a gash above her hip. Philippe was bleeding from a head wound and Rolf was flat on his back, having been knocked out at some point. Eric was relatively unscathed, thanks to his armour, and was crouched next to Rolf, patting the warrior’s face gently as he tried to rouse him.
Aedan started to shake then, as his fear and pain caught up with him. He’d kept his control, but at times it had felt he was barely holding on. He let himself fall back to a sitting position in the dirt, too tired to care that he was surrounded by the dead. He remembered that he had been dreaming of Morrigan before he’d woken up and he had the overwhelming sense it had not been a coincidence. He struggled to remember the dream, but all he could recall were her words as he’d come awake… ‘he’s coming for me’.
“I don’t know who ‘he’ is, but he’s not the only one, Morrigan. He’s not the only one,” he whispered to himself.
He heard a step and Kayley was standing in front of him and the look on her face was one of fury. He shrank from her angry glare as she started speaking, “How dare you knock me aside like that! Do you think I need your protection? What about yourself…just look at your arm!” He looked down at his arm and then wished he hadn’t. He felt like throwing up. Was there still an arm under all that blood…and was that bone he could see?
Then she sank down beside him and he pulled her close with his good arm and said, “Kayley, I’m sorry…and thank you. You saved my life there…”
She returned the hug and winced as the movement pulled at her hip and said, “Well…don’t do it again.”
Her voice lacked conviction though and he found himself responding with, “I’ll let the next one get you, alright?”
He couldn’t believe it when they both giggled at that, must be the blood loss, he thought.
Taren squatted down beside him then and after much prodding and poking seemed to succeed only in making his arm hurt again. He pushed the mage away irritably and said, “Save your strength, we need to move and then get some rest.”
The wardens collected what gear had not been ruined and donned their armour and packs over their variety of bandages and slings. Aedan looked around and shook his head. Ferelden’s Grey Wardens did not look so mighty this morning. The sky was just brightening when they finally left the camp and when Philippe turned to him for direction, Aedan looked toward the distant row of peaks just starting to reflect the rising sun.
“West,” he said, “We’re going to travel west.”
Lothering
Aedan had a headache. Taren had simply run out of healing energy before being able to deal with most of his injuries. He was lucky none of them had been life threatening. Extremely lucky from Philippe’s account of the second half of the battle. When he’d come to and looked over the battlefield he’d been horrified by the sheer number of bodies that littered the ground. The wardens were huddled over by Lyek and Brenda and Yrisa had Luke in her arms as the lad sobbed. Philippe had been crouched at Aedan’s side and as he attempted to gain his feet had held out a hand, and then used that grip to lead Aedan off to the other side of the road, away from their companions.
The older warden had then recounted Aedan’s actions and Aedan had had to swallow against his rising stomach as he stole glances at the darkspawn he had mutilated. He had covered his face with his hands, then, unable to look further. Philippe was gentle but firm and his words did not need saying more than once. Aedan needed to learn control, and soon, before he endangered not only himself, but the wardens he was supposed to fight alongside.
He wanted nothing more than to wallow in his grief and his misery then, but he had his companions to think of. So after a few moments spent collecting himself Aedan joined Philippe and the other wardens. He paid his respects to the dead, but couldn’t watch as Eric and Rolf dealt with their bodies. Though he knew he was not responsible, he could not help feeling he had two more deaths on his hands. For the remainder of the afternoon he avoided the other wardens’ eyes and faces. He did not want to see himself reflected in their shocked and sorrowful gazes. He strode ahead of them, keeping his head down while he nursed the pain. He was almost grateful for the ache by the evening as it prevented him from thinking.
They did not make Lothering by nightfall and made camp perhaps two hours walk from the town. All was quiet and none of the wardens could sense darkspawn. They were all wary, however, and Aedan knew it would be a nervous and sleepless night for many, despite the fact they all needed rest. Aedan slipped inside his tent rather than sit at the campfire, he wanted to be alone. He lay down and took the flower from his pack. It was a sad looking little thing now, wilted and dry. But it still carried her scent and he pressed it to his nose and closed his eyes.
Aedan had met Leliana for the first time in Lothering. He thought back to the day of their first meeting and found himself smiling as he recalled the way in which she had tried to join their party. She had simply announced she was coming along. He had gaped at her standing there in her chantry robe, spattered in blood from their fight with Loghain’s men and wondered what kind of head injury she had incurred. He’d tried to reject her at first, not willing to be responsible for another woman – he had already regretted accepting Morrigan’s aid, the constant bickering between her and Alistair was wearing him down. But she had met them again by the bridge as they were leaving town and restated her case. Alistair had interjected then and Aedan had acquiesced, never guessing just how important to him she would become.
Aedan wrapped his arms around himself and hugged tight. The pain of his loss was greater than any ache in his head. Before he slept he sent a prayer to the Maker for Leliana, then for Alistair and Zevran, and for the companions they had lost in battle, and finally for himself.
Lothering was in bad shape when they arrived the next morning. It had been besieged by darkspawn, most likely the same horde they had met in battle the day before. They were greeted enthusiastically by the survivors and refugees attempting to restore order and repair the damaged buildings. They entered the Chantry and started asking around for Luke’s family. No one had heard of them and as they moved from person to person, Aedan began to suspect they would not be found.
He turned and gently took Luke’s arm and pulled him from the Chantry, ignoring the look of terror on the boy’s face. He walked around the building and sat him down on an old crate and then crouched down before him.
“You have no family in Lothering, Luke. You knew this, did you not? Did you say so for Brenda’s sake, or did you have something else in mind?” Aedan said. He caught a glimpse of Philippe hovering by the corner of the Chantry, but ignored him, keeping his focus on Luke.
Luke flinched at his sister’s name, and then answered, “I wanted to stay with you. I want to avenge my parent’s deaths…Brenda’s death. I want to be a Grey Warden!”
Aedan dropped his head into his hands and whispered, “Holy Maker.” He’d been right. What was he going to do with this boy? He looked up and his heart melted. He saw himself perhaps eight years ago looking up at Fergus as his older brother got to do everything he wanted to do, but was too young, or too small. He said, “Luke, Ferelden sorely needs Grey Wardens, yes, but you are so young. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you have much to learn and not all of it will be how to use a sword. If I take you with me know, you may not live long enough to learn even that.”
He held Luke’s gaze then, to make sure he’d made his point. The boy’s shoulders were square, but shaking, and the look of defiance in his eyes was crumbling. He wanted to reach out and hug him, but felt somehow that would be wrong right now, that the boy would appreciate a show of strength on his part more. He came to a decision.
“Luke, I want you to travel to Gwaren with the next merchant that leaves Lothering. That is where I will make my home when I am done here.” His voice broke a little as he continued, “That is where my…wife and I will raise our child.” Aedan stopped and looked away, blinking against tears for a moment, drawing in a gulp of air he did not really need. When he turned back, Luke was looking at him with a serious expression. “I will help you train and then we’ll talk about your future.”
Luke nodded carefully, trying to look like a man, and then his face clouded and he became a boy again as he said, “Only if you promise you will come…when you are done killing these darkspawn.”
Aedan caught his eyes, “I promise I will be there.” They shook hands, solemnly, and went back around the Chantry to join the rest of the wardens.
Aedan felt an enormous weight lift from his shoulders when they saw Luke off in the company of a merchant that afternoon. He slipped the merchant a generous pouch of coin, but suspected it was the heraldry on his armour and perhaps the slightly threatening look in his eyes that would guarantee the boy’s safe arrival in Gwaren.
The wardens left Lothering before nightfall and made camp in the same location as the previous evening. Aedan wanted to join the others by the campfire that night. He felt the need for company but experienced an unusual shyness. He wasn’t sure they would welcome him, he was afraid of the look in their eyes. Kayley stepped over to him while he was fiddling uselessly with the knots on his tent and invited him back to the campfire and when he followed her, the wardens all made a point to catch his eye and let him know they were still his men, his soldiers, his companions. He was humbled by their acceptance and he blinked tears away for the second time that day.
They turned south again late the next day and soon came upon a small band of darkspawn. They were evenly matched, one to one, and the battle lasted mere minutes. Aedan had barely had time to draw his sword before it was over and was grateful his control had yet to be tested.
The wardens were more jovial that evening at camp. Everyone’s injuries had fully healed and the day’s travel had been light with only the one skirmish. Yrisa entertained them with a story as they sat about the campfire and as had become his habit, Aedan let his mind wander. He thought about Luke first and sent a quick prayer to speed the boy’s journey before allowing his thoughts to dwell on Leliana. He was brought back to the present by the silence and realized everyone was looking at him.
“No guesses where he was,” Rolf said good-naturedly and the wardens shared in the laughter.
Philippe then repeated the question that they had been awaiting the answer to, “What are our plans, Commander? Do we head further south, or turn west again in the morning.”
That night Aedan dreamed.
She was waiting for him and as soon as he inhabited her consciousness Morrigan began talking to him. Aedan was afraid, this was not like his previous dreams where he had traveled with her and slowly become aware of her, he was just suddenly with her and he was expected.
“Ah, you are here.” She said. “After all the visits when your company was not wanted, you were extraordinarily hard to find when it was, Aedan.”
He ‘felt’ about himself, but had no real awareness of her body. He could not ‘see’ through her eyes an he had no idea where they were. He wanted to ask her what she wanted, but as usual, he was unable to talk. She anticipated his question however, and answered just as if he had asked.
“I two messages for you, Warden. The first is that your beloved has left the fade. I know not where she is, but she is no longer within the realm of dreams.”
Aedan’s heart rose and he could feel himself slipping away from her then, he didn’t fully understand what Morrigan was telling him, but he hoped it meant Leliana was alive. He wanted to wake up now, he needed to wake up. He had to defeat the darkspawn so he could go to his wife. Morrigan was calling after him and he could barely hear her voice.
“Not yet, Aedan, I’m not finished…he is coming for me, Aedan…”
His eyes snapped open and for a moment all was silent. Then he heard it, the crackle of electricity and the clash of steel. He rolled over and grabbed his sword and dagger and burst from his tent without stopping to untie the flaps. Darkspawn were emerging from the tree line, converging on their camp. Yrisa was summoning the power of nature and Eric had engaged a hurlock. The rest of the wardens were similarly rolling and fumbling out of their tents, weapons at the ready.
The wardens formed up, Rolf rushing to Eric’s aid and Taren dropping a rejuvenate spell over Yrisa. Aedan sought Kayley and they chose their first target. Philippe stomped the ground, his threatening posture immediately drawing the attention of the largest hurlock and engaged. As his blades sliced across a genlock’s neck Aedan was surprised by the spray of blood and gore. He was not wearing his armour! Only Eric had been partially armoured as he’d been on watch. This fight needed to be quick. Taren would not be able to heal them like this for long.
With a surge of adrenaline, Aedan stepped back from his next target, raising his guard. With little to protect him from their weapons he had to fight more defensively. Kayley managed a critical strike and the genlock dropped between them and they moved to the next darkspawn as one. After knocking it down, Aedan stepped on its chest and stabbed downwards, finishing it off. He looked up and saw Kayley had moved on and was overmatched by the hurlock she’d chosen. The creature was swinging a huge double-headed axe behind itself and was preparing for a massive strike. Aedan leapt forward and knocked Kayley out of the way, remembering too late he was also without armour. The axe caught him below the shoulder with a horrifying thunk, hitting bone before falling away as the hurlock prepared another swing. Aedan was rocked sideways by the blow and he was losing the grip on his dagger as his fingers turned numb. The pain began to run up and down his arm and the whole left side of his body felt crushed.
Aedan managed to duck the next swing and thrust his sword upwards, only to succeed in getting it lodged in the hurlock’s armour. With his left arm useless he tugged ineffectually on the sword with his right and felt the first stirrings of panic as it refused to come loose. The point had penetrated the armour and the hurlock was hurt, but it was not down and that mighty axe was spinning back again. Aedan did the only thing he could think of, he dropped to the ground. He finally achieved his goal and the sword slid free as he hit the ground and he lifted it over his head as he rolled away from the hurlock. He tried to use his left arm to lift himself off the ground, but it refused to hold his weight. He used his right hand instead, trapping his sword temporarily beneath himself as he pushed up. He looked over his shoulder and saw that axe coming down again and froze. He wasn’t going to be able to get his sword up in time.
The hurlock froze as well and Aedan blinked in confusion until the creature dropped to its knees, axe falling harmlessly to one side. Kayley was perched on its back, both of her blades sunk to the hilt into its flesh. She jumped off with a grunt and ran towards Philippe. Aedan shook himself out and followed. He could no longer feel his arm and he wondered what had happened to Taren. Let him not be dead, he thought as he slashed away at Philippe’s target. Between the three of them they downed the huge darkspawn and spun to take on more. The darkspawn continued to pour between the trees and at the sight of so many of them, Aedan’s control started to slip. He dragged himself forward with Kayley and Philippe, dreading every rise of his blade as he wondered if this would be the blow where he lost his mind, or the next one. His right arm was trembling when he finally felt the touch of healing magic. His left arm was still useless, but now he could feel it and it hurt! He clung to the pain, using it as a focus while he swung his sword up and down, back and forth, killing darkspawn after darkspawn.
Then it was over and all the wardens dropped to their knees and heels in exhaustion. The camp was littered with bodies and several of the tents had fallen beneath them. There was a genlock across the fire and the smell was shocking. Aedan used his sword to push himself up to a half kneel and looked over the wardens. Everyone was accounted for, they were all alive, but their injuries were great. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen so much blood. Taren was doing what he could, but he was pale and had deep shadows beneath his eyes. Yrisa was slumped in a heap by her ruined tent, shaking all over. Kayley was limping, a gash above her hip. Philippe was bleeding from a head wound and Rolf was flat on his back, having been knocked out at some point. Eric was relatively unscathed, thanks to his armour, and was crouched next to Rolf, patting the warrior’s face gently as he tried to rouse him.
Aedan started to shake then, as his fear and pain caught up with him. He’d kept his control, but at times it had felt he was barely holding on. He let himself fall back to a sitting position in the dirt, too tired to care that he was surrounded by the dead. He remembered that he had been dreaming of Morrigan before he’d woken up and he had the overwhelming sense it had not been a coincidence. He struggled to remember the dream, but all he could recall were her words as he’d come awake… ‘he’s coming for me’.
“I don’t know who ‘he’ is, but he’s not the only one, Morrigan. He’s not the only one,” he whispered to himself.
He heard a step and Kayley was standing in front of him and the look on her face was one of fury. He shrank from her angry glare as she started speaking, “How dare you knock me aside like that! Do you think I need your protection? What about yourself…just look at your arm!” He looked down at his arm and then wished he hadn’t. He felt like throwing up. Was there still an arm under all that blood…and was that bone he could see?
Then she sank down beside him and he pulled her close with his good arm and said, “Kayley, I’m sorry…and thank you. You saved my life there…”
She returned the hug and winced as the movement pulled at her hip and said, “Well…don’t do it again.”
Her voice lacked conviction though and he found himself responding with, “I’ll let the next one get you, alright?”
He couldn’t believe it when they both giggled at that, must be the blood loss, he thought.
Taren squatted down beside him then and after much prodding and poking seemed to succeed only in making his arm hurt again. He pushed the mage away irritably and said, “Save your strength, we need to move and then get some rest.”
The wardens collected what gear had not been ruined and donned their armour and packs over their variety of bandages and slings. Aedan looked around and shook his head. Ferelden’s Grey Wardens did not look so mighty this morning. The sky was just brightening when they finally left the camp and when Philippe turned to him for direction, Aedan looked toward the distant row of peaks just starting to reflect the rising sun.
“West,” he said, “We’re going to travel west.”
Modifié par Sisimka, 16 février 2010 - 08:58 .
#248
Posté 16 février 2010 - 07:53
Sialater
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Uh-oh. Now who's after Morrigan?
#249
Posté 16 février 2010 - 07:59
Sisimka
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- 935 messages
Hehe, they all will be. I hope she's ready for guests!
#250
Posté 16 février 2010 - 08:21
Freckles04
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Excellent chapter. Ready for more!
