wait I just realized something
where is dog?!
FanFiction/Art - Final Chapter (Aedan), (12/27) Interludes
Débuté par
Sisimka
, févr. 25 2010 05:06
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#302
Posté 21 mars 2010 - 03:21
Sisimka
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Masticetobbacco wrote...
wait I just realized something
where is dog?!
Sorry, I am SO not a dog person, therefore I NEVER write about dog. I remember to mention him now and again, but it is generally assumed that he stays home with Leliana.
He is named Jack, btw, after my CAT.
#303
Posté 21 mars 2010 - 04:34
Masticetobbacco
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godamn...
well at least you weren't like bioware
"lololololol dog consumed too much darkspawn blood he iz dead lulz"
well at least you weren't like bioware
"lololololol dog consumed too much darkspawn blood he iz dead lulz"
#304
Posté 21 mars 2010 - 04:56
Sandtigress
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Poor Alistair. :-( Poor Brenna.
And isn't Jack our super-sneaky invisible rogue Mabari?? :-P I thought he was the one getting all the critical kills and perplexing Alistair!
And isn't Jack our super-sneaky invisible rogue Mabari?? :-P I thought he was the one getting all the critical kills and perplexing Alistair!
#305
Posté 21 mars 2010 - 11:35
Sisimka
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Sandtigress wrote...
And isn't Jack our super-sneaky invisible rogue Mabari?? :-P I thought he was the one getting all the critical kills and perplexing Alistair!
Right, so that means he is in Denerim with Leli and he'll take out the NEXT assassin all by himself...
#306
Posté 21 mars 2010 - 01:18
Miliat
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Sisimka wrote...
I was too afraid to let Brenna die. There were certain people who might have hunted me down! To be honest, though the idea was HORRIBLY tempting, I did not create her to die. I created her to marry Al.
I have wondered on and off as I write Al's chapters if this kind of tension would scare her off marrying him... it would be intimidating enough to marry a king without the whole assassination thing.
I've just caught up and I would be one of those people wanting to hunt you down! I'm loving Brenna!
#307
Posté 21 mars 2010 - 03:19
valen_morrow
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GO Jack !! may we see Jack kill next assassin?? Please?
#308
Posté 21 mars 2010 - 03:37
Sisimka
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valen_morrow wrote...
GO Jack !! may we see Jack kill next assassin?? Please?
You know what? I just think we might! *gets busy writing*
#309
Posté 21 mars 2010 - 06:43
Sisimka
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Chapter Eleven
Luke’s back sported a brand new sword when they left Orzammar. The boy kept reaching over his shoulder to stroke the hilt and drew the blade at every opportunity to admire the heft and shine of it. Aedan had decided to treat him to an early birthday present and the sheer joy on Luke’s face as he admired his new sword made the purchase worth more than its weight in gold.
Two days of travel lay behind them and with any luck only one day before them. Aedan could not conceal his eagerness to return to Denerim. He worried constantly about Alistair, Brenna and of course, Leliana. Oghren did his best to reassure him that between his soldiers and Runir, Alistair was in secure company.
Had Alistair sent Zevran to Tevinter and if so, what had the former assassin found? Could he thwart the plot against Alistair? Unconsciously he quickened his stride.
“Warden!” Oghren panted ad he ran up beside him and rapped a gauntleted fist against his arm. “Can we take a break? You’re wearing out these dwarven legs.”
Aedan looked over his shoulder and saw that once again he’d outpaced his companions. Darat lagged behind Oghren and even Luke showed signs of fatigue.
“We’ll be at the message post in half an hour, we’ll stop there.”
With a nod Oghren fell back and Aedan resumed his stride, letting his mind wander once more. He had been trying to compose a suitable response to the anger he expected from Leliana. Rationally he knew she could not fault him for Luke’s actions, but despite enjoying the boy’s company he had also second guessed his decision to take him to Orzammar. Perhaps he should have sent him back to Denerim with Runir? Would Leliana understand his desire to keep Luke close?
Squaring his shoulders he decided it would be alright. So long as he brought Luke home safe and sound, Leliana would forgive him. She was level headed and she trusted him. He knew that, just as he trusted her.
He looked up and caught site of the familiar cairn of stones that marked the message post. A booted foot protruded from behind the short pile of rock. Aedan quickened his step again to a chorus of grunts and cries from the two dwarves.
The foot moved and Aedan broke into a run, rounding the cairn of stones just as one of his wardens stood up. Aedan stopped short, chest rising and falling with panted breath. “Erald?”
“Commander! Thank the Maker you are here! Come, we are camped a ways away. Philippe asked me to wait by the road for you.”
The warden limped toward him and crossed his arms in salute. Aedan caught his shoulder and steadied him. “Maker, what happened to you?”
“It’s bad, Commander, those things.” Erald shivered and shook his head. “Best let Philippe tell you all at once.”
Luke, Oghren and Darat had caught up to them. Luke’s face lifted at the sight of the familiar warden and then clouded at the man’s obviously injured state.
Aedan offered his arm as support and the small group followed Erald off the road and into the woods. They walked for close to an hour before coming to the warden’s camp. No jovial gathering greeted them this time. The wardens reclined about the small fire were a tired and dispirited looking group.
Philippe pushed himself to his feet and walked slowly over to greet him and Aedan reached out to lay a hand on his second’s shoulder. “Philippe.”
Philippe looked past him, his expression curious and Aedan remembered he had a new recruit. He stepped aside and turned, indicating that Darat should come forward.
He gestured the group. “This is Darat, Champion of the Proving. He is our newest recruit. Darat, these are Ferelden’s wardens.”
Aedan started with his second. “This is Philippe, my second.” Then he continued around the campfire, indicating each warden in turn. “Taren, Kayley, Marin and Erald. Patrols usually comprise six wardens, but Runir was sent to Denerim.” Aedan’s eyes alighted on Luke and they exchanged a rueful smile.
Darat took Philippe’s offered arm and then moved around the circle of wardens, receiving grins and shoulder thumps by way of welcome.
Aedan returned his attention to Philippe. “Why are you camped so far from the road?”
“To discourage visitors, Commander. I pray all travelers stay upon the road this night and do not venture toward this forsaken place.”
Despite the warmth of the fire, coldness began to spread throughout Aedan’s body as he settled down beside Philippe. He turned to his second. “You are talking about the village you were investigating? Tell me everything.”
“They are all tainted, Commander, each and every one of them. The village is half a day from here. As we approached one of them came to greet us.”
“Greet you?” Oghren’s bushy brows nearly met his hairline.
Philippe shuddered visibly before he continued. “Yes. It, he, was quite civil…at first. They wanted to be left in peace. They wanted no contact with the outside. Maker, Commander, he was a ghoul, so tainted his skin was all but black and those eyes! Yet he still spoke as a man.”
Aedan’s brows rose. He thought of Hespith and Ruck and his stomach cramped. “What did you do?”
Philippe shook his head wearily. “He was the only one in the village with a lick of sense, Commander. We made camp not far away that night.” Philippe balled up his fist and thumped the ground. “So foolish, I thought if they had sent someone to parlay they would be unlikely to attack us outright. I was wrong.”
The older warden glanced across the fire at Taren and nodded in the mage’s direction. “If not for Taren we may all have perished that night. They outnumbered us three to one. They tried to drag Erald away with them! We killed them all and then he came back, the civil one, and he implored us to stop killing his people, but Aedan, they were mindless!”
Philippe always called him by name when he was upset. Aedan did not mind, he tended to be informal with his wardens, but now it scared him. He’d never seen his second so shaken, so beaten down. He glanced around the fire at the rest of his wardens, they all looked haunted. He looked to Oghren and Darat and then finally his eyes rested upon Luke. He needed to get the boy away from here as soon as possible.
He turned back to Philippe and gestured for the man to continue.
“I sent Kayley in to investigate and she reported the village was small. It seemed likely we had killed most of them that night. But the traps, so many traps. She worked nearly all day on securing a path we might take in. Most of the traps were around one building. We gained entrance…”
Philippe left off here and shuddered again. Erald spoke up then. Normally a quiet man his voice now had not trouble filling the silence that hung over the campfire. “It was the women and a child, Commander.”
Oghren growled then, standing up and walking toward the surrounding trees he leaned against one. Aedan swallowed and looked back toward Philippe. He reached out a hand, tentatively touched the senior warden’s shoulder.
Philippe looked up, his eyes clouded with anguish. “I couldn’t do it, Aedan. They are still there, tainted, most of them already ghouls. More of the men came up behind us; we battled our way out and moved our camp to here. They have not followed.”
Aedan’s head began to spin. Women and a child? He had to delay his return to Denerim to slaughter tainted women? His stomach roiled and he put his hands to his cheeks and took a deep breath. He turned his head sideways. Philippe regarded him with an expression that called for reproach. Aedan immediately sought to comfort the man. “Philippe, I cannot fault your hesitation.”
Relief flared briefly in the man’s eyes only to be replaced by resignation. Aedan felt it too and he cursed his duty, not for the first time.
“When will the wardens be ready to go back? We must finish this.”
Philippe glanced around the campfire and then at the sky. “Let us see if we can’t get a full night of rest and try for midday tomorrow. Perhaps the sun at our backs will firm our resolve.”
Aedan nodded, it was as good a plan as any. Philippe inclined his head toward Darat.
“You'll want to put him through the Joining tonight, Commander, we dare not approach that village otherwise.”
Luke was sitting next to Darat and Aedan’s eyes rested upon his son. He could not take Luke with them tomorrow. He turned back to Philippe, but his second had already anticipated his question.
“Erald will stay here with Luke, his leg was badly injured by one of those traps. Taren has done his best, but the bones…”
He didn’t need to say more. Aedan had broken both his legs and despite the healing he’d received at the time, they had bothered him for weeks afterwards. He’d not even been able to walk properly for two days. He nodded toward Erald and then turned to Oghren.
“Oghren, would you stay here with Erald and Luke. Please?”
He thought for a moment that Oghren might refuse him and they held one another’s gaze for a while. Then the dwarf simply nodded and turned away.
The ritual was hastily prepared and Darat survived the tainted cup. Aedan sat first watch, encouraging his wardens to rest. He tried not to let his mind wander, he did not want to think about what lay ahead of him. He thought of his beloved wife. Drawing his knees up, he wrapped his arms about them and rested his chin between them. He thought of Leliana and gathered his strength and resolve from their bond. She would be waiting for him. He would make it back to Denerim and to his love’s side. She would hold him and soothe him and the world would be a good and fair place again.
The next morning Aedan took a few moments alone with Luke. The boy sensed his somber mood and did not protest when Aedan drew him into a close embrace. He didn’t flinch as Aedan took his face between his hands and pressed his lips to his forehead.
“Luke.” Aedan hesitated, not sure what to say. “Son, you must stay here. I…I will be back. If something should happen, if someone comes, run, Luke, promise me you will run. Go to the road.”
Luke nodded soberly. His shoulders were squared and his face titled upward in a show of bravery, but he could not hide the fear in his eyes. He said in a low tone, “I will, Aedan. Maker watch over you.”
“Maker watch over us all.”
The sun crested the trees as they reached the outskirts of the village. It appeared deserted. Kayley slipped into shadow and approached the small hall that stood at its centre. Aedan heard the occasional grating click as she disarmed the traps at the stairs to the building and then she appeared before them once again and offered a short nod.
They walked slowly toward the building weapons drawn and at the ready. The only sound to be heard was the gentle creak of leather, the soft clank of metal and their footfalls. Aedan realized he was holding his breath and he let it out with a sharp sigh. Two other wardens copied him.
The door was barricaded and locked and after they cleared the debris Kayley set to work on the locks. The heavy wood creaked as they swung open and Aedan rocked back. The smell, oh Maker, the smell. He heard a gagging sound beside him but did not dare turn his head. Another warden took a deep, shuddering breath. All the windows were shuttered and the hall was dimly lit by a lone lantern. The floor was littered with bodies, and at first glance Aedan thought had been granted a reprieve. They looked dead. The hall was full of dead, discoloured bodies. Then one moved, rolled over in sleep and Aedan felt the bile rising in the back of his throat. A child whimpered and sat up, rubbing its face, and the lantern caught the silvered glow of those eyes, the tainted eyes.
Aedan wanted to run, he wanted to turn and run. He understood Philippe’s predicament. Already they had stood here too long, stunned by the sight before them. He shook his head, trying to throw off his horror and turned toward his wardens. The relief at finding them all there and with no men at their backs was palpable. He turned his head back toward the room and with a choked voice said, “Let us be done with this.”
Those nearest the door were ghouls. Aedan swept his blade down and across the first throat and before he lost his resolve he dispatched the second. The child began to cry and the rest of the bodies stirred. Those most tainted were the easiest to kill. They were mindless and ran at them and the wardens raised their weapons in defense first, offense second. But as they worked their way through the room it became harder and harder for Aedan to lift his blade. One woman looked at him with those greyed eyes and cursed him, her blistered hands reaching toward him as he swung his blade at her, trying for a single strike. He missed and had to chop at her again.
Finally only two women and the small child remained. They huddled at the far corner of the room. The women were the least tainted of those they had encountered and one of them had her hands wrapped protectively about the child. They both still had their hair and their skin was blotched rather than thickened and dark. The woman holding the child spoke. “Wait, please, you have to stop him. He’s mad.”
The wardens had dropped back and stood in a loose semicircle about them.
Aedan faltered, his weapons dropping down a little. “Who, the village leader? Where is he?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. He hasn’t been to see us since last night.” She dropped her head and her shoulders slumped and when she looked up again, her eyes were closed and her lips moved in prayer. When her eyes opened again she said, “Before he gets back, end this torture, please.”
Aedan’s heart twisted. She had asked him to kill her and she had pushed the child forward. His blades dropped lower as he howled inside. She had asked him to kill her. This was wrong, so wrong! He did not glance at his wardens, he kept his eyes forward. He sank to his knees and set his sword on the floor and beckoned the child forward. The woman let go of its shoulders and the child cried, its blackened face turning back toward her. The child no longer had hair and was young enough that Aedan could not tell it a girl from a boy.
The woman pushed the child toward him and Aedan felt the small bony shoulders beneath his hands. His vision blurred and his heart screamed at him to stop. He held the body against him and drew the head back and before he could take a breath he slit the child’s throat. As the dropped the body, he hunched forward, overcome with grief and despair.
A strangled cry slipped through the ringing in his ears. “No!”
A blow landed on the back of his head dropping him to his hands and knees. A flurry of sounds followed. Two more bodies dropped into view. It was done, the two women were dead.
Philippe helped Aedan to his feet and the two men leaned upon each other a moment. Then Aedan strode from the room without looking back. He leaned against the outer wall and gasped in fresh air. Finally he straightened and said to Taren, “Burn this place. Burn it to the ground.”
He stepped from the door with shaky legs and then froze. A high pitched wail drifted from the open doors. He shivered from head to foot, all his hair standing on edge. A Shriek? Hefting his blades he spun and ran back into the building but saw nothing. The wail came again. It sounded like...an infant?
The wardens had followed him in and Kayley immediately ran to a dark corner and began scrabbling at the floor. She lifted a trapdoor and disappeared down the dark hole. When she emerged she was carrying a basket. The wailing came again and Aedan looked inside. It was a baby, a pink cheeked, rounded and healthy looking. It opened its mouth and cried lustily.
Kayley looked up, her eyes full of fear. “We don’t have to kill it, do we?”
Aedan’s knees trembled and he shook his head from side to side. “Unwrap it, check it’s body, it doesn’t look tainted.” He prayed to the Maker as Kayley inspected the babe. He could not kill a baby, could he?
“Give me the baby.”
Aedan spun at the new voice. The leader of the village stood in the doorway. There was no doubting either his authority or the extent of his taint. How was this man sane enough to stand erect, let alone talk? He was holding a slight figure before him, one gnarled hand resting upon a shoulder. The other held a dagger at the throat. The sunlight was behind him and Aedan could not make out who it was until the head lifted and the light of the dim lantern caught a familiar face. The world began to spin away from him and Aedan staggered.
He gestured to Kayley. “Give him the baby.”
Philippe said in a low tone, “Commander?”
“I said give him the baby!” Aedan shouted.
Kayley’s voice was so quiet. “But…”
“Maker help me, he’s holding my son!” Aedan spun and wrenched infant from Kayley’s hands. The baby screwed up its face and bawled at him.
Philippe had stepped forward enough to see the shadowed figure being held in front of the tainted man in the doorway and a single word fell from his lips. “Luke.”
Aedan moved around the frozen warden and approached the village leader.
“Let my son go.” He did not recognise his own voice. He sounded like a wounded animal, his tone a choked snarl.
Suddenly the tainted man jerked forward and blood spurted from his neck. It splashed over the side of Luke’s face and the boy howled at the sting of it, closing his eyes and struggling to wrench himself free. The dagger drew a dark line across his throat and the gnarled claws curled into his shoulder, pricking through his leather armour and sticking there. The boy shrieked and pulled, tearing his shoulder free, strips of leather and skin pulling from away.
Aedan threw the baby at Kayley and ran to Luke’s side. He stepped over his discarded weapons and grappled with the man, pulling the dagger away from Luke’ throat first. He eased the boy away from the crumpling figure and then turning, aimed a kick for the man’s belt, casting him backwards through the door. The man landed flat on his back and a further spray of black blood flew upwards as the arrow drove through his neck, quivering as it stopped.
Erald stood behind him, his bow cocked, another arrow notched. He lowered the bow, staggered and dropped to his knees. His armour gaped where it had been torn by weapons and claws and his face was barely recognizable beneath the coating of blood. Marin leapt over the still twitching body of the tainted man and knelt by Erald’s side. Taren followed soon after.
The mage dropped down to the ground and began chanting, his voice reaching a fevered pitch before he began to sway. Marin reached out a hand to steady his shoulder and Taren kept on. When he finally looked up, his eyes were dull and his face looked as though he may never smile again.
“I am too late.” He fell over Erald and his shoulders shook. They had only been comrades, nothing more, but already the events of this day had been trying enough. Aedan pulled his gauntlets from his hands and knelt beside Luke. Darat had been holding him and relinquished his grasp, standing and stepping aside. The boy had stopped shrieking and had started to moan instead. Aedan smoothed the hair back from his face and his hand came away sticky with blood. Black, tainted blood. The smell, the odor of taint, rose from his fingers and Aedan retched. He began wiping the fluid from his son’s face frantically.
Luke shuddered and said, “Aedan, I can feel it crawling under my skin. It hurts.”
Aedan glanced down and saw that the small line around his neck where the dagger had scored the skin was puckering and swelling. The blood, the tainted blood had seeped into the wound. His shoulder was a chewed looking mess. Aedan scanned the rest of his body and saw that he had suffered many wounds. Scores of cuts and punctures marked his exposed skin, many of them blackened with a dried crust of blood and the thicker, fouler taint. Aedan shook the boy’s shoulders and then pulled him to his chest, wrapping his arms around him and sobbed into his sticky and blackened hair.
“No, Luke, no! Why didn’t you run? Oh, Maker no…” Where was Oghren? “Oghren,” he gasped.
“I think he’s dead. He killed so many of them but they kept coming. Aedan, I’m sorry. Am I going to die?” Tears spilled across Luke’s cheeks and his voice was so quiet, his tone so scared, it broke Aedan’s heart.
Aedan shook his head, his own tears flying from his cheeks and growled, “No.” But inside he felt the lie of his words. The taint had entered Luke’s blood. It was only a matter of time before the boy’s skin blackened and blistered, before his eyes began to take on that silvered sheen.
“Taren!” Aedan called to the mage and Taren clambered to his feet, looking over to him. He walked slowly over and dropped to his knees in front of Luke. He whispered and channeled healing magic at the wound on the boy’s throat, the tear in his shoulder and the myriad of cuts and bruises that decorated his arms and legs.
A hand dropped to Aedan’s shoulder and he looked up into Philippe’s grave face. He turned back to Taren and asked, “Is it too late? Taren, please tell me it’s not too late…”
Taren spoke no words and his eyes did not lift from the floor in front of him. Aedan had his answer.
He clambered to his feet and staggered outside into the sunlight and dropped to his knees beside the body of the tainted man. He lifted his fists and he pounded them on the dead chest again and again, uttering senseless cries of grief and despair. He knew his control, the focus he had worked on so hard over the past year, was slipping. He could feel it ebbing away and he didn’t care. He let it go. He welcomed the rage. He would tear this body apart with his bare hands.
Something pulled at his shoulders, gently at first and when he resisted, more roughly. A voice thundered in his ear. “Aedan, stop!”
Philippe knelt beside him. “Aedan,” he said more gently. “Stop.”
He looked at his second and grappled for his will once more. His chest heaved and his ears buzzed. Philippe’s lips were moving again and he couldn’t hear the words. He shook his and Philippe spoke again.
“There may be a way. Aedan, can you hear me? There may be something we can do for Luke.”
Aedan searched Philippe’s eyes. What had he just said? “What, Philippe, how? Tell me…”
“The ritual, Aedan. We make Luke a Grey Warden.”
Luke’s back sported a brand new sword when they left Orzammar. The boy kept reaching over his shoulder to stroke the hilt and drew the blade at every opportunity to admire the heft and shine of it. Aedan had decided to treat him to an early birthday present and the sheer joy on Luke’s face as he admired his new sword made the purchase worth more than its weight in gold.
Two days of travel lay behind them and with any luck only one day before them. Aedan could not conceal his eagerness to return to Denerim. He worried constantly about Alistair, Brenna and of course, Leliana. Oghren did his best to reassure him that between his soldiers and Runir, Alistair was in secure company.
Had Alistair sent Zevran to Tevinter and if so, what had the former assassin found? Could he thwart the plot against Alistair? Unconsciously he quickened his stride.
“Warden!” Oghren panted ad he ran up beside him and rapped a gauntleted fist against his arm. “Can we take a break? You’re wearing out these dwarven legs.”
Aedan looked over his shoulder and saw that once again he’d outpaced his companions. Darat lagged behind Oghren and even Luke showed signs of fatigue.
“We’ll be at the message post in half an hour, we’ll stop there.”
With a nod Oghren fell back and Aedan resumed his stride, letting his mind wander once more. He had been trying to compose a suitable response to the anger he expected from Leliana. Rationally he knew she could not fault him for Luke’s actions, but despite enjoying the boy’s company he had also second guessed his decision to take him to Orzammar. Perhaps he should have sent him back to Denerim with Runir? Would Leliana understand his desire to keep Luke close?
Squaring his shoulders he decided it would be alright. So long as he brought Luke home safe and sound, Leliana would forgive him. She was level headed and she trusted him. He knew that, just as he trusted her.
He looked up and caught site of the familiar cairn of stones that marked the message post. A booted foot protruded from behind the short pile of rock. Aedan quickened his step again to a chorus of grunts and cries from the two dwarves.
The foot moved and Aedan broke into a run, rounding the cairn of stones just as one of his wardens stood up. Aedan stopped short, chest rising and falling with panted breath. “Erald?”
“Commander! Thank the Maker you are here! Come, we are camped a ways away. Philippe asked me to wait by the road for you.”
The warden limped toward him and crossed his arms in salute. Aedan caught his shoulder and steadied him. “Maker, what happened to you?”
“It’s bad, Commander, those things.” Erald shivered and shook his head. “Best let Philippe tell you all at once.”
Luke, Oghren and Darat had caught up to them. Luke’s face lifted at the sight of the familiar warden and then clouded at the man’s obviously injured state.
Aedan offered his arm as support and the small group followed Erald off the road and into the woods. They walked for close to an hour before coming to the warden’s camp. No jovial gathering greeted them this time. The wardens reclined about the small fire were a tired and dispirited looking group.
Philippe pushed himself to his feet and walked slowly over to greet him and Aedan reached out to lay a hand on his second’s shoulder. “Philippe.”
Philippe looked past him, his expression curious and Aedan remembered he had a new recruit. He stepped aside and turned, indicating that Darat should come forward.
He gestured the group. “This is Darat, Champion of the Proving. He is our newest recruit. Darat, these are Ferelden’s wardens.”
Aedan started with his second. “This is Philippe, my second.” Then he continued around the campfire, indicating each warden in turn. “Taren, Kayley, Marin and Erald. Patrols usually comprise six wardens, but Runir was sent to Denerim.” Aedan’s eyes alighted on Luke and they exchanged a rueful smile.
Darat took Philippe’s offered arm and then moved around the circle of wardens, receiving grins and shoulder thumps by way of welcome.
Aedan returned his attention to Philippe. “Why are you camped so far from the road?”
“To discourage visitors, Commander. I pray all travelers stay upon the road this night and do not venture toward this forsaken place.”
Despite the warmth of the fire, coldness began to spread throughout Aedan’s body as he settled down beside Philippe. He turned to his second. “You are talking about the village you were investigating? Tell me everything.”
“They are all tainted, Commander, each and every one of them. The village is half a day from here. As we approached one of them came to greet us.”
“Greet you?” Oghren’s bushy brows nearly met his hairline.
Philippe shuddered visibly before he continued. “Yes. It, he, was quite civil…at first. They wanted to be left in peace. They wanted no contact with the outside. Maker, Commander, he was a ghoul, so tainted his skin was all but black and those eyes! Yet he still spoke as a man.”
Aedan’s brows rose. He thought of Hespith and Ruck and his stomach cramped. “What did you do?”
Philippe shook his head wearily. “He was the only one in the village with a lick of sense, Commander. We made camp not far away that night.” Philippe balled up his fist and thumped the ground. “So foolish, I thought if they had sent someone to parlay they would be unlikely to attack us outright. I was wrong.”
The older warden glanced across the fire at Taren and nodded in the mage’s direction. “If not for Taren we may all have perished that night. They outnumbered us three to one. They tried to drag Erald away with them! We killed them all and then he came back, the civil one, and he implored us to stop killing his people, but Aedan, they were mindless!”
Philippe always called him by name when he was upset. Aedan did not mind, he tended to be informal with his wardens, but now it scared him. He’d never seen his second so shaken, so beaten down. He glanced around the fire at the rest of his wardens, they all looked haunted. He looked to Oghren and Darat and then finally his eyes rested upon Luke. He needed to get the boy away from here as soon as possible.
He turned back to Philippe and gestured for the man to continue.
“I sent Kayley in to investigate and she reported the village was small. It seemed likely we had killed most of them that night. But the traps, so many traps. She worked nearly all day on securing a path we might take in. Most of the traps were around one building. We gained entrance…”
Philippe left off here and shuddered again. Erald spoke up then. Normally a quiet man his voice now had not trouble filling the silence that hung over the campfire. “It was the women and a child, Commander.”
Oghren growled then, standing up and walking toward the surrounding trees he leaned against one. Aedan swallowed and looked back toward Philippe. He reached out a hand, tentatively touched the senior warden’s shoulder.
Philippe looked up, his eyes clouded with anguish. “I couldn’t do it, Aedan. They are still there, tainted, most of them already ghouls. More of the men came up behind us; we battled our way out and moved our camp to here. They have not followed.”
Aedan’s head began to spin. Women and a child? He had to delay his return to Denerim to slaughter tainted women? His stomach roiled and he put his hands to his cheeks and took a deep breath. He turned his head sideways. Philippe regarded him with an expression that called for reproach. Aedan immediately sought to comfort the man. “Philippe, I cannot fault your hesitation.”
Relief flared briefly in the man’s eyes only to be replaced by resignation. Aedan felt it too and he cursed his duty, not for the first time.
“When will the wardens be ready to go back? We must finish this.”
Philippe glanced around the campfire and then at the sky. “Let us see if we can’t get a full night of rest and try for midday tomorrow. Perhaps the sun at our backs will firm our resolve.”
Aedan nodded, it was as good a plan as any. Philippe inclined his head toward Darat.
“You'll want to put him through the Joining tonight, Commander, we dare not approach that village otherwise.”
Luke was sitting next to Darat and Aedan’s eyes rested upon his son. He could not take Luke with them tomorrow. He turned back to Philippe, but his second had already anticipated his question.
“Erald will stay here with Luke, his leg was badly injured by one of those traps. Taren has done his best, but the bones…”
He didn’t need to say more. Aedan had broken both his legs and despite the healing he’d received at the time, they had bothered him for weeks afterwards. He’d not even been able to walk properly for two days. He nodded toward Erald and then turned to Oghren.
“Oghren, would you stay here with Erald and Luke. Please?”
He thought for a moment that Oghren might refuse him and they held one another’s gaze for a while. Then the dwarf simply nodded and turned away.
The ritual was hastily prepared and Darat survived the tainted cup. Aedan sat first watch, encouraging his wardens to rest. He tried not to let his mind wander, he did not want to think about what lay ahead of him. He thought of his beloved wife. Drawing his knees up, he wrapped his arms about them and rested his chin between them. He thought of Leliana and gathered his strength and resolve from their bond. She would be waiting for him. He would make it back to Denerim and to his love’s side. She would hold him and soothe him and the world would be a good and fair place again.
The next morning Aedan took a few moments alone with Luke. The boy sensed his somber mood and did not protest when Aedan drew him into a close embrace. He didn’t flinch as Aedan took his face between his hands and pressed his lips to his forehead.
“Luke.” Aedan hesitated, not sure what to say. “Son, you must stay here. I…I will be back. If something should happen, if someone comes, run, Luke, promise me you will run. Go to the road.”
Luke nodded soberly. His shoulders were squared and his face titled upward in a show of bravery, but he could not hide the fear in his eyes. He said in a low tone, “I will, Aedan. Maker watch over you.”
“Maker watch over us all.”
The sun crested the trees as they reached the outskirts of the village. It appeared deserted. Kayley slipped into shadow and approached the small hall that stood at its centre. Aedan heard the occasional grating click as she disarmed the traps at the stairs to the building and then she appeared before them once again and offered a short nod.
They walked slowly toward the building weapons drawn and at the ready. The only sound to be heard was the gentle creak of leather, the soft clank of metal and their footfalls. Aedan realized he was holding his breath and he let it out with a sharp sigh. Two other wardens copied him.
The door was barricaded and locked and after they cleared the debris Kayley set to work on the locks. The heavy wood creaked as they swung open and Aedan rocked back. The smell, oh Maker, the smell. He heard a gagging sound beside him but did not dare turn his head. Another warden took a deep, shuddering breath. All the windows were shuttered and the hall was dimly lit by a lone lantern. The floor was littered with bodies, and at first glance Aedan thought had been granted a reprieve. They looked dead. The hall was full of dead, discoloured bodies. Then one moved, rolled over in sleep and Aedan felt the bile rising in the back of his throat. A child whimpered and sat up, rubbing its face, and the lantern caught the silvered glow of those eyes, the tainted eyes.
Aedan wanted to run, he wanted to turn and run. He understood Philippe’s predicament. Already they had stood here too long, stunned by the sight before them. He shook his head, trying to throw off his horror and turned toward his wardens. The relief at finding them all there and with no men at their backs was palpable. He turned his head back toward the room and with a choked voice said, “Let us be done with this.”
Those nearest the door were ghouls. Aedan swept his blade down and across the first throat and before he lost his resolve he dispatched the second. The child began to cry and the rest of the bodies stirred. Those most tainted were the easiest to kill. They were mindless and ran at them and the wardens raised their weapons in defense first, offense second. But as they worked their way through the room it became harder and harder for Aedan to lift his blade. One woman looked at him with those greyed eyes and cursed him, her blistered hands reaching toward him as he swung his blade at her, trying for a single strike. He missed and had to chop at her again.
Finally only two women and the small child remained. They huddled at the far corner of the room. The women were the least tainted of those they had encountered and one of them had her hands wrapped protectively about the child. They both still had their hair and their skin was blotched rather than thickened and dark. The woman holding the child spoke. “Wait, please, you have to stop him. He’s mad.”
The wardens had dropped back and stood in a loose semicircle about them.
Aedan faltered, his weapons dropping down a little. “Who, the village leader? Where is he?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. He hasn’t been to see us since last night.” She dropped her head and her shoulders slumped and when she looked up again, her eyes were closed and her lips moved in prayer. When her eyes opened again she said, “Before he gets back, end this torture, please.”
Aedan’s heart twisted. She had asked him to kill her and she had pushed the child forward. His blades dropped lower as he howled inside. She had asked him to kill her. This was wrong, so wrong! He did not glance at his wardens, he kept his eyes forward. He sank to his knees and set his sword on the floor and beckoned the child forward. The woman let go of its shoulders and the child cried, its blackened face turning back toward her. The child no longer had hair and was young enough that Aedan could not tell it a girl from a boy.
The woman pushed the child toward him and Aedan felt the small bony shoulders beneath his hands. His vision blurred and his heart screamed at him to stop. He held the body against him and drew the head back and before he could take a breath he slit the child’s throat. As the dropped the body, he hunched forward, overcome with grief and despair.
A strangled cry slipped through the ringing in his ears. “No!”
A blow landed on the back of his head dropping him to his hands and knees. A flurry of sounds followed. Two more bodies dropped into view. It was done, the two women were dead.
Philippe helped Aedan to his feet and the two men leaned upon each other a moment. Then Aedan strode from the room without looking back. He leaned against the outer wall and gasped in fresh air. Finally he straightened and said to Taren, “Burn this place. Burn it to the ground.”
He stepped from the door with shaky legs and then froze. A high pitched wail drifted from the open doors. He shivered from head to foot, all his hair standing on edge. A Shriek? Hefting his blades he spun and ran back into the building but saw nothing. The wail came again. It sounded like...an infant?
The wardens had followed him in and Kayley immediately ran to a dark corner and began scrabbling at the floor. She lifted a trapdoor and disappeared down the dark hole. When she emerged she was carrying a basket. The wailing came again and Aedan looked inside. It was a baby, a pink cheeked, rounded and healthy looking. It opened its mouth and cried lustily.
Kayley looked up, her eyes full of fear. “We don’t have to kill it, do we?”
Aedan’s knees trembled and he shook his head from side to side. “Unwrap it, check it’s body, it doesn’t look tainted.” He prayed to the Maker as Kayley inspected the babe. He could not kill a baby, could he?
“Give me the baby.”
Aedan spun at the new voice. The leader of the village stood in the doorway. There was no doubting either his authority or the extent of his taint. How was this man sane enough to stand erect, let alone talk? He was holding a slight figure before him, one gnarled hand resting upon a shoulder. The other held a dagger at the throat. The sunlight was behind him and Aedan could not make out who it was until the head lifted and the light of the dim lantern caught a familiar face. The world began to spin away from him and Aedan staggered.
He gestured to Kayley. “Give him the baby.”
Philippe said in a low tone, “Commander?”
“I said give him the baby!” Aedan shouted.
Kayley’s voice was so quiet. “But…”
“Maker help me, he’s holding my son!” Aedan spun and wrenched infant from Kayley’s hands. The baby screwed up its face and bawled at him.
Philippe had stepped forward enough to see the shadowed figure being held in front of the tainted man in the doorway and a single word fell from his lips. “Luke.”
Aedan moved around the frozen warden and approached the village leader.
“Let my son go.” He did not recognise his own voice. He sounded like a wounded animal, his tone a choked snarl.
Suddenly the tainted man jerked forward and blood spurted from his neck. It splashed over the side of Luke’s face and the boy howled at the sting of it, closing his eyes and struggling to wrench himself free. The dagger drew a dark line across his throat and the gnarled claws curled into his shoulder, pricking through his leather armour and sticking there. The boy shrieked and pulled, tearing his shoulder free, strips of leather and skin pulling from away.
Aedan threw the baby at Kayley and ran to Luke’s side. He stepped over his discarded weapons and grappled with the man, pulling the dagger away from Luke’ throat first. He eased the boy away from the crumpling figure and then turning, aimed a kick for the man’s belt, casting him backwards through the door. The man landed flat on his back and a further spray of black blood flew upwards as the arrow drove through his neck, quivering as it stopped.
Erald stood behind him, his bow cocked, another arrow notched. He lowered the bow, staggered and dropped to his knees. His armour gaped where it had been torn by weapons and claws and his face was barely recognizable beneath the coating of blood. Marin leapt over the still twitching body of the tainted man and knelt by Erald’s side. Taren followed soon after.
The mage dropped down to the ground and began chanting, his voice reaching a fevered pitch before he began to sway. Marin reached out a hand to steady his shoulder and Taren kept on. When he finally looked up, his eyes were dull and his face looked as though he may never smile again.
“I am too late.” He fell over Erald and his shoulders shook. They had only been comrades, nothing more, but already the events of this day had been trying enough. Aedan pulled his gauntlets from his hands and knelt beside Luke. Darat had been holding him and relinquished his grasp, standing and stepping aside. The boy had stopped shrieking and had started to moan instead. Aedan smoothed the hair back from his face and his hand came away sticky with blood. Black, tainted blood. The smell, the odor of taint, rose from his fingers and Aedan retched. He began wiping the fluid from his son’s face frantically.
Luke shuddered and said, “Aedan, I can feel it crawling under my skin. It hurts.”
Aedan glanced down and saw that the small line around his neck where the dagger had scored the skin was puckering and swelling. The blood, the tainted blood had seeped into the wound. His shoulder was a chewed looking mess. Aedan scanned the rest of his body and saw that he had suffered many wounds. Scores of cuts and punctures marked his exposed skin, many of them blackened with a dried crust of blood and the thicker, fouler taint. Aedan shook the boy’s shoulders and then pulled him to his chest, wrapping his arms around him and sobbed into his sticky and blackened hair.
“No, Luke, no! Why didn’t you run? Oh, Maker no…” Where was Oghren? “Oghren,” he gasped.
“I think he’s dead. He killed so many of them but they kept coming. Aedan, I’m sorry. Am I going to die?” Tears spilled across Luke’s cheeks and his voice was so quiet, his tone so scared, it broke Aedan’s heart.
Aedan shook his head, his own tears flying from his cheeks and growled, “No.” But inside he felt the lie of his words. The taint had entered Luke’s blood. It was only a matter of time before the boy’s skin blackened and blistered, before his eyes began to take on that silvered sheen.
“Taren!” Aedan called to the mage and Taren clambered to his feet, looking over to him. He walked slowly over and dropped to his knees in front of Luke. He whispered and channeled healing magic at the wound on the boy’s throat, the tear in his shoulder and the myriad of cuts and bruises that decorated his arms and legs.
A hand dropped to Aedan’s shoulder and he looked up into Philippe’s grave face. He turned back to Taren and asked, “Is it too late? Taren, please tell me it’s not too late…”
Taren spoke no words and his eyes did not lift from the floor in front of him. Aedan had his answer.
He clambered to his feet and staggered outside into the sunlight and dropped to his knees beside the body of the tainted man. He lifted his fists and he pounded them on the dead chest again and again, uttering senseless cries of grief and despair. He knew his control, the focus he had worked on so hard over the past year, was slipping. He could feel it ebbing away and he didn’t care. He let it go. He welcomed the rage. He would tear this body apart with his bare hands.
Something pulled at his shoulders, gently at first and when he resisted, more roughly. A voice thundered in his ear. “Aedan, stop!”
Philippe knelt beside him. “Aedan,” he said more gently. “Stop.”
He looked at his second and grappled for his will once more. His chest heaved and his ears buzzed. Philippe’s lips were moving again and he couldn’t hear the words. He shook his and Philippe spoke again.
“There may be a way. Aedan, can you hear me? There may be something we can do for Luke.”
Aedan searched Philippe’s eyes. What had he just said? “What, Philippe, how? Tell me…”
“The ritual, Aedan. We make Luke a Grey Warden.”
Modifié par Sisimka, 21 mars 2010 - 11:14 .
#310
Posté 21 mars 2010 - 06:59
Miliat
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BWAH!
Not Luke! *is a mass of incoherent babbling*
Not Luke! *is a mass of incoherent babbling*
#311
Posté 21 mars 2010 - 07:07
Freckles04
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Oh. Wow. WOW. Great chapter. HORRIBLE chapter, but great. Poor Aedan. Poor Luke. And Oggy! Though, considering how he's not the nicest guy in Awakening, maybe death by ghoul is an okay end for him.
I can't WAIT for the next chapter. Seriously.
I can't WAIT for the next chapter. Seriously.
#312
Posté 21 mars 2010 - 07:15
MireliA
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Poor Luke! I hope he survives the Joining... please??
<gets up again when she realises how daft she looks>
<gets up again when she realises how daft she looks>
Modifié par MireliA, 21 mars 2010 - 07:16 .
#313
Posté 21 mars 2010 - 07:56
Apophis2412
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Still reading it. Still liking it.
#314
Posté 21 mars 2010 - 08:10
Maximus741000
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I can scarcely believe it, that was truly a dark chapter, a brilliant one; but darker than anything I've known. Oggers (my nickname for Oghren) can't be dead, he's yet to go through the story in Awakening, you can't possibly kill him off. Can you?
But Luke, poor lad. He will have to take the joining in order to survive his taint, but what a fate! He's 16 now, meaning he could be answering the Calling by the time he's 46! 46 years old and dying from the taint. And that's only if he survives, he's 16 and dying from the taint, how can he survive? Leliana will be heartbroken, I hope there's enough mercy in to avert the worst of this disaster, my enthralling bardic friend.
But Luke, poor lad. He will have to take the joining in order to survive his taint, but what a fate! He's 16 now, meaning he could be answering the Calling by the time he's 46! 46 years old and dying from the taint. And that's only if he survives, he's 16 and dying from the taint, how can he survive? Leliana will be heartbroken, I hope there's enough mercy in to avert the worst of this disaster, my enthralling bardic friend.
#315
Posté 22 mars 2010 - 05:40
Sandtigress
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Am I the only one who saw it coming? :-P
Terrific chapter Sisi, poor Aedan. And boy is he going to get it when Leliana find out...as if he weren't feeling guilty enough as it is!
Terrific chapter Sisi, poor Aedan. And boy is he going to get it when Leliana find out...as if he weren't feeling guilty enough as it is!
#316
Posté 22 mars 2010 - 09:41
bl00dsh0t
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2 Great chapters, plenty of intrigue I like 
MOARR!!!
MOARR!!!
#317
Posté 22 mars 2010 - 02:30
bloodtallow
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Wow. I am so impressed at your gutsy move to make Luke tainted and *maybe not???* kill Oghren. This is such an amazing story, Sisimka! I love your ability to bring a smile to our eyes or a lump to our throats, with the simple turn of a sentence.
*fervently hopes Luke survives the Joining*
*fervently hopes Luke survives the Joining*
#318
Posté 22 mars 2010 - 03:12
ParalyzedHero
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Hey Sisimka, Is there not another way to save Luke? I mean, if you spared avernus and allowed to continue with his experiments the same old way or without using wardens in his experiments? he would be able to save Luke.
I'm just saying!
I'm just saying!
#319
Posté 22 mars 2010 - 04:00
Sisimka
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It's a thought, definitely, PH, and were I writing about anyone other than Aedan, it would be a plot line to explore! I've sort of left Warden's Keep out of my stories, however, as Avernus and his brand of magic is not something Aedan would be willing to exploit. I'm not sure if he would even use it as a means to save his son... *is thinking about this* ...though who is to say making Luke a GW is a better choice. 
#320
Posté 22 mars 2010 - 05:04
Sisimka
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Chapter Twelve
The grey stone walls of the Landsmeet chamber seemed to swim before his eyes and Alistair blinked. The room had fallen silent. He looked over at the colonel from Fort Drakon and realized the man had spoken and expected a response.
He lifted his eyebrows at the colonel. “I’m sorry, Peter, could your repeat that?”
The colonel offered him a sympathetic smile. “I merely suggested that perhaps we could continue this in the morning, your Majesty. We are all tired.”
Tired did not even begin to cover it. Exhausted barely fit. How long had he been sitting here interviewing Ferelden’s army? More to the point, what purpose did he have in mind? Nevertheless it had felt good to be doing something.
He nodded at Peter. “Dismiss the men, we’ll continue in the morning. When will you implement the new strategies we discussed?”
“Already done, your Majesty.” Peter crossed his arms in salute and moved to dismiss the soldiers milling about in the hall.
His anger and fury had propelled him for hours and he’d ruthlessly interviewed soldier after soldier, questioning them intently. Every time a helm had been lifted to reveal an ordinary face he’d stiffened. However, after two years as king, most of these men were known to him. Little information had been gathered. People came and went from the palace and the fort all day, every day. But the activity gave him purpose. Without it he felt he might go mad.
Alistair had not realized how much he had relied on Oghren and Eamon. As he’d held Brenna in his arms he’d been nearly crippled by self doubt. Isolde’s accusations echoed in his head. Did he really need Eamon to hold his hand? Could he lead an army without Oghren? He rubbed his temples and pulled himself to his feet. Sleep, he needed sleep.
Eight guards fell into place around him as he left the chamber. Alistair barely registered the fact that he could not see the hallways and corridors around him. He merely relayed his destination and allowed himself to be led along.
His suite of rooms resembled a dormitory. Runir slept on the couch. A more natural colour tinted his cheeks and the swelling of his lips had subsided. The mage reclined in a chair next to him. Two guards sat in the corner engaged in a quiet game of cards. Alistair moved through to his bedroom and found his bed occupied by Brenna, Leliana and Riordan.
A number of thoughts crossed Alistair’s mind. He grinned at the first: There are two ladies in my bed! He grimaced at the second: Perhaps we should invite Celene and Isolde to complete the party and then a mage could cast a spell over the entire room and kill us all.
Alistair shook his head at his own disparity of thought. Though it seemed faintly ridiculous for them all to be holed up like this, each had taken comfort from one another’s presence. Alistair chose the couch at the end of the bed and sank gratefully into it. He clanked. He got up and removed his armour and then tried again. He slept.
A fine rain marked Celene’s departure. The weather kept the crowds indoors and Alistair found himself alone, with the exception of his guard and the ever present Runir, in bidding the empress farewell. As he glanced about the docks he noted the marked difference to her arrival. That day had been sunny and he’d been surrounded by his nearest and dearest. Aedan had been standing just over there with little Riordan in his arms. Leliana had been hugging Luke. He could hear Oghren’s gravelly laugh over his shoulder and at a wisp of air he could feel Brenna at his elbow. He glanced to his right, to where Eamon had been standing, and an overwhelming sadness took his breath away.
“Are those tears for me, Alistair? I shall miss you too, you know.”
Alistair cursed the armoured gauntlet that would prevent him from wiping his face and then just shrugged and indicated the drizzle that misted about them.
She held out her hands and he took them gently in his own. “May the Maker watch over you, Celene.”
She tendered the expected response and then withdrew her hands and turned toward her ship. Before she set foot on the boarding ramp she looked over her shoulder at him.
“I trust you will send word when our little problem has been taken care of?”
He nodded in response. “I will.” He offered no more apologies or assurances, they were beyond that. They spoke plainly now.
Celene held his gaze a moment longer and then resumed boarding the ship. Alistair stood alone on the dock until the ship left the harbour, finally moving only when it slipped out of sight beyond the headlands.
Brenna greeted him upon his return to the palace. Two bright spots of colour decorated her pale cheeks and Alistair rejoiced to see her looking so well. He moved to enclose her in his arms and his guard parted and then rejoined around them. With a chaste kiss to her cheek he let her go and simply took her hand as they walked toward his study.
Leliana waited for them. Alistair thanked the Maker for Leliana’s foresight in carrying one simple potion about with her. Had either Runir or Brenna consumed more of poison than they had, the simple decoction may have been less effective. They had been very lucky. A simple tray of bread and cheese sat on a small table and Alistair’s stomach rumbled. He’d not eaten since the previous evening. He reached for a piece of cheese and then froze in the act of lifting it to his mouth.
“I prepared it myself, Alistair, and both Brenna and I have eaten it.” Leliana’s voice was quiet and her words were supported by a short nod from his betrothed.
Anger flared briefly within him, banishing the sadness of the morning, and the cheese was tasteless on his tongue, but he chewed and swallowed, his hunger spurring him to reach for another piece.
Leliana began her report. “The kitchen staff is lined up outside. Many of them fear for their livelihoods, Alistair. Perhaps I should begin vetting them this morning as my first task?”
Alistair nodded his assent to the plan. The palace would not run itself. Dismissing all the staff last night had soothed his fit of anger and he had slept better knowing the halls were empty.
Runir spoke up. “I will accompany you to Fort Drakon?”
Swallowing his last piece of cheese, Alistair again nodded. He drew his shoulders back and looked the rogue square in the eye. “Today we execute two men, Runir.”
He’d thought those words would catch on his tongue, but they did not. His voice was steady, his tone firm. Brenna paled and he squeezed her hands. “Would you accompany Leliana today?”
Leliana piped up. “Please do, Brenna, four eyes are better than two, and this will be your staff we are interviewing.”
The four of them exchanged nods.
“Then we have a plan!” Alistair took a moment to catch the eye of each of his companions before adding, “Tomorrow we resume wedding plans.” He reached for Brenna’s hand once more. “I…we will not be cowed by this.”
Saying the words lifted his spirits and firmed his resolve. A more confident man left the study to make his way to the fort.
Alistair watched the execution. Though he drew no comfort from the death of two men, the act served to ease his mind. Two less assassins roamed the city, three if he counted Juilden.
He spent the early afternoon finishing the task he’d started the night before. Though the interviews seemed to serve little purpose, Alistair enjoyed connecting with the men. Many of the faces were familiar only a few names escaped him. Almost to a man the soldiers offered their condolences and assured him of their loyalty. Their open and honest faces heartened him and Alistair finished the task feeling he had done something worthwhile.
He beckoned the colonel. “Peter, I would like to spar with the men. I think we could all use some exercise.”
The man raised his eyebrows but held his tongue and with a terse nod left to do his bidding.
“Is that wise?” Runir rose from his seat beside the door and approached.
“If any of these men intended to kill me, they’ve had ample opportunity over the past two years, Runir.”
Alistair stood and stretched his legs and arms. “Besides, I’ve been sitting here all afternoon, I need to move!”
The rain and cleared and the dampness of the ground kept the dust low on the practice field. His footing slipped now and again and by the end of his third round Alistair was caked in mud. He loved it. The focus of using his sword and shield cleared his mind and the smell of sweat, steel and mud refreshed him.
He looked up and beckoned Runir. “Feel up to a match?”
The rogue gave him a lopsided grin and reached to his back for his twin blades. He stepped across from him and adopted an easy stance that reminded him of Aedan. They crossed swords and Alistair revised his comparison. Runir had Aedan’s posture, but Zevran’s speed. He stepped back and they circled one another a moment before meeting again.
Runir won the match on points but they both conceded each other was a worthy opponent.
“Not that I expected less, your Majesty.” Runir’s eyes twinkled, but his tone held a good measure of respect.
“Thank you, Runir. I hope we have the opportunity to test one another’s mettle again.”
As he now wore his armour everywhere, Alistair did not stop to change before leaving the fort. He merely sheathed his sword and called for his guard.
They were halfway between the fort and the palace with the mage struck. The first three of his guards, those in front of and to one side were suddenly thrown to the ground. A glyph of repulsion. Alistair immediately cleansed the area and reached for his sword and shield. One of the guards next to him stiffened in horror and a second was enclosed by the glow of a paralysis spell. The remaining three guards and Runir closed about him in a loose circle and all five of them looked about themselves warily.
This quarter of the city contained no merchants and the street was deserted. A flash of movement caught Alistair’s eye and he looked up. There, scurrying along the roofline was a man in the typical leather armour of a rogue. So the final two assassins had decided to team up on him? Assuming there had been and still were only five…
Not a thought Alistair wanted to entertain right now. He pointed out the rogue to Runir and the warden immediately set to scaling the wall of the closest building, moving with uncanny agility and grace up an almost vertical surface until he reached the roofline. He ran across the slate roof and disappeared behind a chimney. The mage struck again.
This time a fireball landed in their midst. The first three guards had just regained their feet and were thrown down again with the rest of them. The only man to remain on his feet was still frozen by paralysis. Alistair rolled to douse the flames licking along his armour and cursed the flash of heat that seeped through the joints. He regained his feet and seven men closed in around him once more, their backs to him, their swords all pointed outward.
He heard a scuffle and looked behind him just in time to see a leather clad man roll down a roof, tip over the edge and land with a muffled thud at his feet. It was the rogue. He looked up again and Runir crept over the roof, dropping from the gutter to land lightly on his feet. He nudged the body with is foot, turning it over and Alistair saw the rogue’s throat had been cut.
He felt the ball of lightning before it struck, that charge in the air, and he yelled for the men to disperse. Too late he realized his mistake. They were not fighting darkspawn, they were fighting men, intelligent men. As soon as he was exposed Alistair was caught in a spell of paralysis. Men emerged from the shadows, all of them with blades in hand, two for each of his guards and two more besides.
Alistair could not even turn his head to watch as the battle was joined about him. The muted ring of sword against sword reached his ears and cold rage stirred in his gut, tempered by resolution. At last he had the chance to defend himself. A frontal assault was something he could deal with. This time he had an enemy he could see. He mentally counted off the seconds until the spell vanished about him and then he cast smite. The men of Ferelden’s army were trained for this. They were led by a templar and had been drilled to resist his talents. All but one of them kept their feet, the poor unfortunate joining many of their attackers on the ground.
Alistair stepped into the fray. He approached the first available target and swung his sword, spinning and catching the man with his shield next. Runir slipped behind to flank and they quickly cut the rogue down before turning to find another target.
He found himself face to face with burly rogue who defied convention by carrying two swords rather than one. The twin blades swished in front of him, the unexpected length of the off-hand weapon catching him unaware. The sword tip gouged across his breast plate but instead of stepping back as expected, Alistair leaned into the move. He twisted his torso, turning the blade aside and swept his own sword out in an arc, catching the rogue at the junction of his neck and shoulder. His bold move paid off and the man was surprised. The resultant spray of blood as his head nearly left his shoulders spattered across Alistair’s bare face and he shook it from his eyes, turning to find his next target.
He heaved in a breath and fed his anger slowly into his sword as he raised his shield to stun his next opponent, following the move with a well aimed strike. Runir finished off the man and moved apace with Alistair as they turned to survey the street. Two of Ferelden’s soldier’s were down and only four of the rogue army remained standing, all engaged in combat.
The mage had obviously been restoring his mana for he chose that moment to strike again, throwing another fireball into their midst. Alistair resisted it and almost chuckled aloud at the mage’s disregard for friendly fire. He’d thought only darkspawn guilty of that crime. But he’d caught the direction of the spell this time and pointed it out to Runir. The rogue slipped away and Alistair turned to help his men to their feet.
A large group of soldiers led by the colonel jogged into view and the remaining four rogues laid down their weapons. The fight was won.
Alistair returned with his men to Fort Drakon. He held little hope of gaining information from the four men they had captured and was surprised by their willingness to talk. These men were not Brethren and in fact, none of them had even heard of the organization. They were mercenaries hired for this one specific task.
Runir escorted the mage into the fort soon afterwards and to the surprise of all, the man appeared willing to cooperate.
Alistair couldn’t help the shiver that traveled down his spine as familiar words greeted his ears. “Why not, I was not paid for silence.”
Runir answered this flippant remark. “You are not of the Brethren then?”
The mage titled his head and considered Runir a moment before replying to his question. “Indeed I am, my young friend, but I hold rank over the other miscreants sent to attend this task. My methods are my own and I did not expect to fail.”
The mage’s eyes slid to Alistair and he continued. “Rumours of your inability to rule and hold sway over your men are greatly exaggerated, it seems. Ferelden is not the country backwater I had expected.”
He shivered and added, “Though I can’t say as the weather agrees with me.”
The mage’s jovial manner irritated Alistair. He checked his temper, however, and continued with his questions. “Can you confirm the number of assassins sent to Ferelden?”
“Yes.”
Alistair quirked a brow at the man and the mage quickly amended his response. “Yes, I can confirm the number and yes, there were five.” He paused and then added, “Of which I am one. How many others have you so expertly dealt with?”
The colonel opened his mouth, but Alistair gestured him to silence. He faced the mage again and asked his next question. “What is your purpose in Ferelden?”
“Well, I would have thought that one was obvious, your Majesty.”
The derision in the mage’s voice failed to move Alistair. He simply moved on as though he had not noticed and asked his final question. “Who sent you?”
“You seem like an intelligent man. I think you know the answer to that question also.”
Alistair felt his temper begin to slip and it must have shown on his face. The mage hastily added, “Anora MacTir.”
Alistair nodded and turned away. He beckoned a guard and said, “We’re done here.”
The mage piped up behind him. “We are? I think not, your Majesty. We’ve not even begun to explore the ways in which I might be of service to you.”
Alistair turned around and fought to keep his lips together, despite the will of his mouth to gape at the audacity of this man. He remembered his anger when Aedan, against all reason, had recruited Zevran to their cause. It had taken him months to trust the former assassin and even now he half regretted his decision to send him to Tevinter in the company of his brother.
He studied the mage who returned his regard with cocky assurance. Could he ever extend that bond of trust? He didn’t think so. But a mage like this might hold knowledge that could be exploited, he could be an important asset to Ferelden. Zevran had definitely proved his worth over the years.
This was not a decision he could come to rationally, however. An image rose in his mind. He saw Brenna’s face as he’d held her limp body in his arms and had been unable to kiss her poisoned lips. His breath caught and he made his decision.
“Execute him.”
He did not stay to watch.
The grey stone walls of the Landsmeet chamber seemed to swim before his eyes and Alistair blinked. The room had fallen silent. He looked over at the colonel from Fort Drakon and realized the man had spoken and expected a response.
He lifted his eyebrows at the colonel. “I’m sorry, Peter, could your repeat that?”
The colonel offered him a sympathetic smile. “I merely suggested that perhaps we could continue this in the morning, your Majesty. We are all tired.”
Tired did not even begin to cover it. Exhausted barely fit. How long had he been sitting here interviewing Ferelden’s army? More to the point, what purpose did he have in mind? Nevertheless it had felt good to be doing something.
He nodded at Peter. “Dismiss the men, we’ll continue in the morning. When will you implement the new strategies we discussed?”
“Already done, your Majesty.” Peter crossed his arms in salute and moved to dismiss the soldiers milling about in the hall.
His anger and fury had propelled him for hours and he’d ruthlessly interviewed soldier after soldier, questioning them intently. Every time a helm had been lifted to reveal an ordinary face he’d stiffened. However, after two years as king, most of these men were known to him. Little information had been gathered. People came and went from the palace and the fort all day, every day. But the activity gave him purpose. Without it he felt he might go mad.
Alistair had not realized how much he had relied on Oghren and Eamon. As he’d held Brenna in his arms he’d been nearly crippled by self doubt. Isolde’s accusations echoed in his head. Did he really need Eamon to hold his hand? Could he lead an army without Oghren? He rubbed his temples and pulled himself to his feet. Sleep, he needed sleep.
Eight guards fell into place around him as he left the chamber. Alistair barely registered the fact that he could not see the hallways and corridors around him. He merely relayed his destination and allowed himself to be led along.
His suite of rooms resembled a dormitory. Runir slept on the couch. A more natural colour tinted his cheeks and the swelling of his lips had subsided. The mage reclined in a chair next to him. Two guards sat in the corner engaged in a quiet game of cards. Alistair moved through to his bedroom and found his bed occupied by Brenna, Leliana and Riordan.
A number of thoughts crossed Alistair’s mind. He grinned at the first: There are two ladies in my bed! He grimaced at the second: Perhaps we should invite Celene and Isolde to complete the party and then a mage could cast a spell over the entire room and kill us all.
Alistair shook his head at his own disparity of thought. Though it seemed faintly ridiculous for them all to be holed up like this, each had taken comfort from one another’s presence. Alistair chose the couch at the end of the bed and sank gratefully into it. He clanked. He got up and removed his armour and then tried again. He slept.
A fine rain marked Celene’s departure. The weather kept the crowds indoors and Alistair found himself alone, with the exception of his guard and the ever present Runir, in bidding the empress farewell. As he glanced about the docks he noted the marked difference to her arrival. That day had been sunny and he’d been surrounded by his nearest and dearest. Aedan had been standing just over there with little Riordan in his arms. Leliana had been hugging Luke. He could hear Oghren’s gravelly laugh over his shoulder and at a wisp of air he could feel Brenna at his elbow. He glanced to his right, to where Eamon had been standing, and an overwhelming sadness took his breath away.
“Are those tears for me, Alistair? I shall miss you too, you know.”
Alistair cursed the armoured gauntlet that would prevent him from wiping his face and then just shrugged and indicated the drizzle that misted about them.
She held out her hands and he took them gently in his own. “May the Maker watch over you, Celene.”
She tendered the expected response and then withdrew her hands and turned toward her ship. Before she set foot on the boarding ramp she looked over her shoulder at him.
“I trust you will send word when our little problem has been taken care of?”
He nodded in response. “I will.” He offered no more apologies or assurances, they were beyond that. They spoke plainly now.
Celene held his gaze a moment longer and then resumed boarding the ship. Alistair stood alone on the dock until the ship left the harbour, finally moving only when it slipped out of sight beyond the headlands.
Brenna greeted him upon his return to the palace. Two bright spots of colour decorated her pale cheeks and Alistair rejoiced to see her looking so well. He moved to enclose her in his arms and his guard parted and then rejoined around them. With a chaste kiss to her cheek he let her go and simply took her hand as they walked toward his study.
Leliana waited for them. Alistair thanked the Maker for Leliana’s foresight in carrying one simple potion about with her. Had either Runir or Brenna consumed more of poison than they had, the simple decoction may have been less effective. They had been very lucky. A simple tray of bread and cheese sat on a small table and Alistair’s stomach rumbled. He’d not eaten since the previous evening. He reached for a piece of cheese and then froze in the act of lifting it to his mouth.
“I prepared it myself, Alistair, and both Brenna and I have eaten it.” Leliana’s voice was quiet and her words were supported by a short nod from his betrothed.
Anger flared briefly within him, banishing the sadness of the morning, and the cheese was tasteless on his tongue, but he chewed and swallowed, his hunger spurring him to reach for another piece.
Leliana began her report. “The kitchen staff is lined up outside. Many of them fear for their livelihoods, Alistair. Perhaps I should begin vetting them this morning as my first task?”
Alistair nodded his assent to the plan. The palace would not run itself. Dismissing all the staff last night had soothed his fit of anger and he had slept better knowing the halls were empty.
Runir spoke up. “I will accompany you to Fort Drakon?”
Swallowing his last piece of cheese, Alistair again nodded. He drew his shoulders back and looked the rogue square in the eye. “Today we execute two men, Runir.”
He’d thought those words would catch on his tongue, but they did not. His voice was steady, his tone firm. Brenna paled and he squeezed her hands. “Would you accompany Leliana today?”
Leliana piped up. “Please do, Brenna, four eyes are better than two, and this will be your staff we are interviewing.”
The four of them exchanged nods.
“Then we have a plan!” Alistair took a moment to catch the eye of each of his companions before adding, “Tomorrow we resume wedding plans.” He reached for Brenna’s hand once more. “I…we will not be cowed by this.”
Saying the words lifted his spirits and firmed his resolve. A more confident man left the study to make his way to the fort.
Alistair watched the execution. Though he drew no comfort from the death of two men, the act served to ease his mind. Two less assassins roamed the city, three if he counted Juilden.
He spent the early afternoon finishing the task he’d started the night before. Though the interviews seemed to serve little purpose, Alistair enjoyed connecting with the men. Many of the faces were familiar only a few names escaped him. Almost to a man the soldiers offered their condolences and assured him of their loyalty. Their open and honest faces heartened him and Alistair finished the task feeling he had done something worthwhile.
He beckoned the colonel. “Peter, I would like to spar with the men. I think we could all use some exercise.”
The man raised his eyebrows but held his tongue and with a terse nod left to do his bidding.
“Is that wise?” Runir rose from his seat beside the door and approached.
“If any of these men intended to kill me, they’ve had ample opportunity over the past two years, Runir.”
Alistair stood and stretched his legs and arms. “Besides, I’ve been sitting here all afternoon, I need to move!”
The rain and cleared and the dampness of the ground kept the dust low on the practice field. His footing slipped now and again and by the end of his third round Alistair was caked in mud. He loved it. The focus of using his sword and shield cleared his mind and the smell of sweat, steel and mud refreshed him.
He looked up and beckoned Runir. “Feel up to a match?”
The rogue gave him a lopsided grin and reached to his back for his twin blades. He stepped across from him and adopted an easy stance that reminded him of Aedan. They crossed swords and Alistair revised his comparison. Runir had Aedan’s posture, but Zevran’s speed. He stepped back and they circled one another a moment before meeting again.
Runir won the match on points but they both conceded each other was a worthy opponent.
“Not that I expected less, your Majesty.” Runir’s eyes twinkled, but his tone held a good measure of respect.
“Thank you, Runir. I hope we have the opportunity to test one another’s mettle again.”
As he now wore his armour everywhere, Alistair did not stop to change before leaving the fort. He merely sheathed his sword and called for his guard.
They were halfway between the fort and the palace with the mage struck. The first three of his guards, those in front of and to one side were suddenly thrown to the ground. A glyph of repulsion. Alistair immediately cleansed the area and reached for his sword and shield. One of the guards next to him stiffened in horror and a second was enclosed by the glow of a paralysis spell. The remaining three guards and Runir closed about him in a loose circle and all five of them looked about themselves warily.
This quarter of the city contained no merchants and the street was deserted. A flash of movement caught Alistair’s eye and he looked up. There, scurrying along the roofline was a man in the typical leather armour of a rogue. So the final two assassins had decided to team up on him? Assuming there had been and still were only five…
Not a thought Alistair wanted to entertain right now. He pointed out the rogue to Runir and the warden immediately set to scaling the wall of the closest building, moving with uncanny agility and grace up an almost vertical surface until he reached the roofline. He ran across the slate roof and disappeared behind a chimney. The mage struck again.
This time a fireball landed in their midst. The first three guards had just regained their feet and were thrown down again with the rest of them. The only man to remain on his feet was still frozen by paralysis. Alistair rolled to douse the flames licking along his armour and cursed the flash of heat that seeped through the joints. He regained his feet and seven men closed in around him once more, their backs to him, their swords all pointed outward.
He heard a scuffle and looked behind him just in time to see a leather clad man roll down a roof, tip over the edge and land with a muffled thud at his feet. It was the rogue. He looked up again and Runir crept over the roof, dropping from the gutter to land lightly on his feet. He nudged the body with is foot, turning it over and Alistair saw the rogue’s throat had been cut.
He felt the ball of lightning before it struck, that charge in the air, and he yelled for the men to disperse. Too late he realized his mistake. They were not fighting darkspawn, they were fighting men, intelligent men. As soon as he was exposed Alistair was caught in a spell of paralysis. Men emerged from the shadows, all of them with blades in hand, two for each of his guards and two more besides.
Alistair could not even turn his head to watch as the battle was joined about him. The muted ring of sword against sword reached his ears and cold rage stirred in his gut, tempered by resolution. At last he had the chance to defend himself. A frontal assault was something he could deal with. This time he had an enemy he could see. He mentally counted off the seconds until the spell vanished about him and then he cast smite. The men of Ferelden’s army were trained for this. They were led by a templar and had been drilled to resist his talents. All but one of them kept their feet, the poor unfortunate joining many of their attackers on the ground.
Alistair stepped into the fray. He approached the first available target and swung his sword, spinning and catching the man with his shield next. Runir slipped behind to flank and they quickly cut the rogue down before turning to find another target.
He found himself face to face with burly rogue who defied convention by carrying two swords rather than one. The twin blades swished in front of him, the unexpected length of the off-hand weapon catching him unaware. The sword tip gouged across his breast plate but instead of stepping back as expected, Alistair leaned into the move. He twisted his torso, turning the blade aside and swept his own sword out in an arc, catching the rogue at the junction of his neck and shoulder. His bold move paid off and the man was surprised. The resultant spray of blood as his head nearly left his shoulders spattered across Alistair’s bare face and he shook it from his eyes, turning to find his next target.
He heaved in a breath and fed his anger slowly into his sword as he raised his shield to stun his next opponent, following the move with a well aimed strike. Runir finished off the man and moved apace with Alistair as they turned to survey the street. Two of Ferelden’s soldier’s were down and only four of the rogue army remained standing, all engaged in combat.
The mage had obviously been restoring his mana for he chose that moment to strike again, throwing another fireball into their midst. Alistair resisted it and almost chuckled aloud at the mage’s disregard for friendly fire. He’d thought only darkspawn guilty of that crime. But he’d caught the direction of the spell this time and pointed it out to Runir. The rogue slipped away and Alistair turned to help his men to their feet.
A large group of soldiers led by the colonel jogged into view and the remaining four rogues laid down their weapons. The fight was won.
Alistair returned with his men to Fort Drakon. He held little hope of gaining information from the four men they had captured and was surprised by their willingness to talk. These men were not Brethren and in fact, none of them had even heard of the organization. They were mercenaries hired for this one specific task.
Runir escorted the mage into the fort soon afterwards and to the surprise of all, the man appeared willing to cooperate.
Alistair couldn’t help the shiver that traveled down his spine as familiar words greeted his ears. “Why not, I was not paid for silence.”
Runir answered this flippant remark. “You are not of the Brethren then?”
The mage titled his head and considered Runir a moment before replying to his question. “Indeed I am, my young friend, but I hold rank over the other miscreants sent to attend this task. My methods are my own and I did not expect to fail.”
The mage’s eyes slid to Alistair and he continued. “Rumours of your inability to rule and hold sway over your men are greatly exaggerated, it seems. Ferelden is not the country backwater I had expected.”
He shivered and added, “Though I can’t say as the weather agrees with me.”
The mage’s jovial manner irritated Alistair. He checked his temper, however, and continued with his questions. “Can you confirm the number of assassins sent to Ferelden?”
“Yes.”
Alistair quirked a brow at the man and the mage quickly amended his response. “Yes, I can confirm the number and yes, there were five.” He paused and then added, “Of which I am one. How many others have you so expertly dealt with?”
The colonel opened his mouth, but Alistair gestured him to silence. He faced the mage again and asked his next question. “What is your purpose in Ferelden?”
“Well, I would have thought that one was obvious, your Majesty.”
The derision in the mage’s voice failed to move Alistair. He simply moved on as though he had not noticed and asked his final question. “Who sent you?”
“You seem like an intelligent man. I think you know the answer to that question also.”
Alistair felt his temper begin to slip and it must have shown on his face. The mage hastily added, “Anora MacTir.”
Alistair nodded and turned away. He beckoned a guard and said, “We’re done here.”
The mage piped up behind him. “We are? I think not, your Majesty. We’ve not even begun to explore the ways in which I might be of service to you.”
Alistair turned around and fought to keep his lips together, despite the will of his mouth to gape at the audacity of this man. He remembered his anger when Aedan, against all reason, had recruited Zevran to their cause. It had taken him months to trust the former assassin and even now he half regretted his decision to send him to Tevinter in the company of his brother.
He studied the mage who returned his regard with cocky assurance. Could he ever extend that bond of trust? He didn’t think so. But a mage like this might hold knowledge that could be exploited, he could be an important asset to Ferelden. Zevran had definitely proved his worth over the years.
This was not a decision he could come to rationally, however. An image rose in his mind. He saw Brenna’s face as he’d held her limp body in his arms and had been unable to kiss her poisoned lips. His breath caught and he made his decision.
“Execute him.”
He did not stay to watch.
Modifié par Sisimka, 22 mars 2010 - 06:15 .
#321
Posté 22 mars 2010 - 05:15
Sandtigress
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Yes, you go and be all kingly Alistair! Show that mage that Ferelden is no country backwater!
Nice chapter, Sisi, and great action! I laughed when Alistair clanked onto the couch. :-P And Aedan might take a little bit of exception to Leliana being in Alistair's bed in quite that way.... ;-)
Nice chapter, Sisi, and great action! I laughed when Alistair clanked onto the couch. :-P And Aedan might take a little bit of exception to Leliana being in Alistair's bed in quite that way.... ;-)
#322
Posté 22 mars 2010 - 05:36
Treason1
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Very nice chapter. I like how Alistair is firming up. While I do not wish hardships on anyone, they are definitely things that cause a great deal of growth.
#323
Posté 22 mars 2010 - 06:17
Maximus741000
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- 239 messages
Great chapter, go King Alistair! He certainly seemed to be thinking more firmly and independently in Awakening, it makes sense to give a bit of backstory regarding how and why.
I have to admit though, I found it funny how the mage requested to assist Alistair the way Zevran had... were he an elf from Antiva, perhaps he would be Zev's cousin. Now there is only one more objective; kill that **** Anora, even though she's less antagonistic in my fanfic; which I'm beginning to wonder why I made her that way.
I have to admit though, I found it funny how the mage requested to assist Alistair the way Zevran had... were he an elf from Antiva, perhaps he would be Zev's cousin. Now there is only one more objective; kill that **** Anora, even though she's less antagonistic in my fanfic; which I'm beginning to wonder why I made her that way.
#324
Posté 22 mars 2010 - 06:25
Freckles04
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Lovely chapter! I love your fight scenes...they're so well done. 
#325
Posté 22 mars 2010 - 08:24
Masticetobbacco
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good to hear alistair is rediscovering his balls
