Thank you for the kind words, everyone. I'm glad you're all enjoying this.
---
Part 16
When Bryn awoke again and shifted in bed, she was relieved to discover the debilitating weakness had disappeared. She was by no means back to normal, but she no longer felt as though any simple movement would send her tumbling back into sleep. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself from the bed and to the bathing area. By the time she finished, her legs shook and her arms trembled, and she kept upright by willpower alone, but she was relatively clean and felt human once more.
Her steps faltered as she spotted an unfamiliar figure seated beside the bed. She pressed on, though, certain that if she truly stopped, she'd fall to the floor. She refused to show that much weakness to anyone. The man glowered, the lines marking his age deepening with his scowl. A soft fuzz of grey covered his skull, a strange contrast to the rough planes of his face. His eyes seemed nearly white at first, but Bryn quickly realized they were simply the palest ice blue. He wore a full suit of armor, his black breastplate adorned with the golden griffon of the Grey Wardens. She opened her senses to him to confirm her suspicions--yes, he was a Warden. She could feel the taint coursing through him, like a river about to crest its banks. He was on the cusp of his Calling.
"I'm not entirely sure how to address you," he admitted as she approached the bed. He crossed his arms, the movement sending a scraping noise reverberating throughout the room. "Usually I would simply call you by your given name, but you haven't relinquished your claim to other titles as most of us do."
Bryn blinked. That was…not the greeting she expected. "Bryn will do," she said. She tried not to show her relief at resuming her place in bed.
"Very well. I am Jorn, Commander-in-Chief of the Grey Wardens."
Bryn nodded, unwilling to be more courteous than that.
Humor flared in the man's glacial eyes. "Not one to stand on pretense, I see. I can appreciate that. Let us get right to the point, then." He levelled that intense stare on Bryn, but she refused to let herself be affected by it. "We must know how you survived."
She shrugged, settling into bed. "Luck."
"That is not the answer."
"It's the only one you're going to get," she snapped. "You've kidnapped me. Kept me drugged. And you expect me to cooperate with you?" She narrowed her eyes.
"Not really, no." He waved a hand to someone at the door. Bryn followed his gaze to see Fiona and another mage enter the room. She frowned--the taint was present in the human male, easily detected by her Grey Warden senses, but not in Fiona. Was Fiona not a Warden? If not, why was she at Weisshaupt?
"You've met Fiona," Jorn said. "And this is Yanic."
Fiona's eyes darted from Bryn's to Jorn's, and she stepped forward. "Commander--"
Jorn held up a hand and the elf subsided, her eyes flashing. "Yanic is quite adept at discovering secrets, Bryn. It will be less painful for everyone--particularly yourself--if you stop treating us like the enemy."
Bryn's heart rate increased as Yanic withdrew a small knife from his belt and held it over his palm. The tiniest grin graced his lips. Blood magic. Dear Maker--Jorn was going to resort to using a blood mage to comb through her thoughts? She had no doubt this mage could do it--she'd seen evidence of the destruction that could be wrought on a person's mind and soul by a blood mage when she'd encountered the tortured templar, Cullen, at the mages' tower so long ago.
Once he had access to her thoughts--he would not only learn the truth, he could control her. She would become a danger, a liability, to both Ferelden and Alistair. Andraste's ashes. But if she revealed what she knew voluntarily--they could seek out Morrigan. Harm her, perhaps. Kill the child--Alistair's child. As uncertain as she was about the babe, that was a fate she could not visit upon her friend nor the child. And what would they do to Alistair?
Bryn steeled herself. She would not give up her secrets willingly.
"You are the enemy," she said softly. "You've proven it more than once, now."
"Bryn, Bryn."
She gritted her teeth at the condescending tone in Jorn's voice, regretting her acquiescence to him using her given name. The man rose from the chair beside the bed and strode calmly across the room to gaze out of the window.
"You gave us no choice, don't you see?" he said over his shoulder. "You know something that could save future Wardens. The destruction of an archdemon without destroying a Warden's soul--isn't that worth sharing?"
Bryn crossed her arms. "No."
"No?" Jorn turned, his brows drawn into a deep vee. "That's rather a selfish stance, don't you think?"
"You might as well kill me." Bryn jutted out her chin and glared at the older Warden. "I won't tell you anything."
Jorn sighed. "Yes, I'm afraid you will. Yanic?"
"Commander," Fiona barked. "A word." Something passed between the elven mage and the Commander-in-Chief. His eyes narrowed, but he and the blood mage followed when she strode into the hall.
Her heart thudding in her breast, Bryn thanked the Maker for the reprieve. She cast about in her memories for any defense against blood magic and came up with little. She remembered a few lines from the Litany of Adralla, but would it even work without Wynne being with her? She repeated those snippets she recalled, praying they would be enough. She had to resist. She would resist.
Her gaze snapped up as she heard movement at the door, but it was just Fiona. Alone.
"Please, child. Tell him what he wants to know." She sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze intense.
Bryn shook her head.
"He will not subsist for long. He's given me a day, no more, to convince you to tell me what you know, without the use of blood magic. After that…" Her hands clenched, the knuckles turning white. "Please. I don't want to hurt him like that."
"Hurt who? Jorn?" But that made no sense. Why would her silence hurt the Commander-in-Chief?
"No, not Jorn. Damn it." She launched herself up from the bed and began pacing. "I did not support this plan. Jorn acted without my input. Typical male hard-headedness. He wouldn't see that the way to learn what he wanted to know was through gaining your trust. We're not evil, Bryn. I swear to you."
Bryn looked down at the covers draped over her legs. "I know. Wardens do what they must."
"His Calling compels him to act. He wants to leave a legacy, you see." Fiona paused. "You've sensed the taint in him."
"In him, yes." Bryn regarded the elf for a moment. "Not in you."
"No. I no longer carry the taint…but that is a tale for another time."
Bryn forced herself to pay attention to the rest of Fiona's words, though the reason Morrigan had bade her to seek out the elven mage now was clear. No longer tainted. So it was possible--somehow--to have the taint lifted? Maker. Ruthlessly, Bryn quashed the hope that lifted her heart. It could not be so simple. Nothing ever was.
"Weisshaupt learned of the Blight in Ferelden too late to act. Jorn had wanted to be the one to destroy the archdemon, like Garahel. But then word came that the Blight was ended and the Warden who dealt the killing blow yet lived--and his obsession with discovering how grew." Fiona crossed her arms. "He won't relent. Please, for the love of the Maker, tell him."
The plea in Fiona's voice was heart-wrenching to hear. Seeing the elf with the Commander-in-Chief, Bryn would never have guessed her feelings ran so deeply. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I--I can't."
"You're protecting him, aren't you? Alistair?" Her voice softened as she spoke his name.
Bryn's heart skipped, but she held the other Warden's gaze. "No."
For a long moment, Fiona did nothing. Then she nodded slowly. "I see. No…you're right. You have no reason to trust me. No reason to believe that I am not consumed with this quest like Jorn." She bit her lip and stared at the floor, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Finally, she retrieved something from beneath her tunic and marched to the bed.
Bryn frowned as Fiona dropped the item into her hands. An amulet, much like the one she'd rescued from Eamon's desk nearly a year ago, the only reminder Alistair had of his dead mother. This one, in fact--could be its twin.
"Alistair has one like it," Fiona stated.
Bryn turned her confused gaze back to the elf. "How do you know that?"
Fiona opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. She took a deep breath, obviously gathering herself. Bryn couldn't make sense of the woman's trepidation. "It was Maric's idea," she said finally, her voice small. "He thought that each of us having one of the amulets would give me a connection to him." The barest of smiles curved her lips. "He was right. It was all in my head, of course, but sometimes I thought I could almost touch him."
"You knew Alistair?"
Fiona shook her head, her smile turning sorrowful. "Knew him? No, not really. I wish I could have, though. He sounds like he's become quite the man. Much like his father."
"Wait. Just…wait." Bryn struggled to piece the information into some kind of pattern that made sense, but the puzzle refused to fit together. "I don't understand. You knew King Maric, and he suggested that you and Alistair have the same amulet…the only thing he has of his moth--" Bryn's eyes widened. "Oh, Maker."
"And that's why you can trust me." Fiona nodded. "I would never do anything to hurt my son."
very awesome!
Retour en haut
