King Alistair Theirin sat upon his throne, somewhat bored. He missed the combat that he took part in while following the Warden Garrett months ago. He sat there, while is council bickered back and forth about land in the south of Ferelden, so ravaged by the Bligh
While Alistair wasn’t completely listening, he understood one of the Banns was trying to claim land that wasn’t his, due to some long standing dispute over borders. Alistair knew there must be something more pressing than this. He had enough.
“Okay, enough,” Alistair said shortly. “Is there anything else we can talk about? I mean, you’d think that Ferelden had more important things to do than resolve a decades-old dispute between rival Banns.”
“Alistair,” said Eamon Guerrin, Arl of Redcliffe, “if we don’t resolve this now, it could lead to infighting between two arlings. Obviously we don’t need that right now.”
Alistair suddenly remembered his friend’s words, that Alistair should start thinking for himself.
“No, move on to another issue,” Alistair commanded. Things had been like this since he took the throne; people looking to capitalize off the Blight, to take things that were not theirs.
“As you wish, sire,” came Fenton, one of Alistair’s councilmen. “Right, well, there’s the matter of Bann Ceorlic wishing to receive some 130 sovereigns for the reparations of his personal chambers.”
“I wasn’t aware that Ceorlic’s land was so touched by the Blight,” Eamon said.
“Yes, well, we sent someone to look at it and it appears Ceorlic just wants to renovate. There’s no damage to his castle that wasn’t caused by poor taste in choosing the décor,” Fenton admitted.
Alistair sighed and got up off his throne.
“This is ridiculous,” he said, “come get me when you get to something worth doing, I’m going out.” He moves toward the door.
“Going out to mingle with the common folk again, Alistair?” Fenton asked with some disdain.
“You should try it some time, it’s refreshing” Alistair snapped, “Like I said, get me if you have something interesting to say.”
Alistair exited the chamber for his room to change into something less obvious.
“There’s something wrong with that boy,” Fenton said, shaking his head.
“He’s a good leader, he just has to adjust to ruling,” Eamon said.
“Yes, I hope he can do that before the Orlesians decide to move in on us,” Fenton said lowly, “the army the Warden built no longer stands for Ferelden, they have returned to their own parts of the country, and our own army was lost at Ostagar.”
“Quiet!” came Eamon. “Ferelden is secure enough. The Orlesians have pledged their support for us and are supplying us with aid. Don’t forget the last one to be so paranoid about the Orlesians was Loghain. Look how that turned out for him.”
Without waiting for a response, Eamon left the chamber, leaving Fenton with his thoughts. His treacherous thoughts.[
Chapter 3
Von Meddick stood at the large window in his castle. He looked out upon his land, located in the northern Free Marches, sipping his fine wine. He could see far, even in the night, due to the magical augmentation of his eyes.
He turned around at the sound of his communication mirror chiming on. He went to the ancient artifact, created centuries ago by Tevinter. In it, he saw the image of Garwain, his best infiltrator, and man in charge of the recovery operation at Weisshaupt.
“My lord,” came Garwain’s steely voice, “We have succeeded.”
“You have recovered his body?” von Meddick asked eagerly.
“Yes sir. We are in the designated location, and the mages are assembling now.”
“Excellent. Very good indeed. And Allon?”
“Taken care of.”
“Very good. There was no other choice, you know.”
“Spare me. I cared nothing for him.”
“Alright. Keep me updated,” von Meddick said.
“Yes sir,” Garwain responded. “What about when the Wardens find out?” he asked.
“Well, if you did your job right, they won’t.”
Von Meddick deactivated the mirror. He stared into the fire, smiling.
Alistair was enjoying mingling with the tavern folk. It was refreshing to get out of the castle. They of course knew who he was, and liked that he had come down to talk to them.
They joked around and Alistair answered questions about various things. He perhaps said too much when describing daily castle life. One asked about Garret Cousland, the great Grey Warden that ended the Blight. Alistair wasn’t surprised, but still was somewhat pained to think of him.
It was then that a messenger from the castle came bursting through the door.
“My king! Come, urgent news from Weisshuapt!” the messenger exclaimed.
Alistair knew that the news was not for the tavern folk, and rushed the messenger outside. He dragged him into a nearby ally.
“What is it?” Alistair urgently asked.
“The Ward-the Warden’s,” the messenger tried to speak but was out of breathe from running to the tavern.
“Spit it out man!” Alistair exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”
The messenger composed himself after taking a drink from his flagon. He righted himself and relayed the message.
“Cousland’s tomb has been opened!” he said.
Alistair felt the blood drain from his face.
“What?” Alistair asked. “Why? How?”
“It was discovered yesterday morning. A dead guard in the courtyard, and the tomb’s original seal was broken! It was hastily redrawn, but not from a Chantry mage,” the messenger said in a jumble.
“And? The….body?” Alistair whispered, his heart hammering away.
“G-gone.”
Alistair’s heart skipped a beat. Who would do such an act? Why would they want a body?
“Arl Eamon wants you back at the castle right away,” the messenger said.
A-alright. Let’s go together. Come on.”
The two began the trip back to the castle, Alistair’s mind racing the whole time. His friend. His dead friend’s body, stolen! He couldn’t believe it.
Chapter 4
Garwain entered the summoning chamber. It was a dark and cool, roughly a mile below the surface. He entered and saw the Warden’s body on a stone slab, surrounded by runes drawn by the blood mages in the roo
“How long?” Garwain asked of the head blood mage.
“We are starting,” he replied, “You may want to step back.”
“I’m fine, thanks,” Garwain countered.
The mage shrugged and gathered his team around the body. They began chanting, and the runes began to glow white hot. Garwain had to shield his eyes from the bright light coming from the body.
The mages kept chanting, and the runes began to hum. The sound increased to a roar. Garwain was thrown back as the Veil, the barrier to the Fade, sundered in the room. The soul of the Warden was thrust back into the body, which had been well preserved in his tomb.
Garwain hit his head on the stone wall and almost blacked out. The mages stopped chanting and the runes slowly darkened. The body continued to glow as the spirit resettled itself inside its body.
Garwain struggled to his feet. The mages dropped to their knees, weak after the ritual. Garwain shook off the cobwebs and went to the head mage.
“Is is it done?” he asked of him.
The mage nodded, unable to speak after such exertion. “Yes,” he finally choked out.
“How long until he comes to?” Garwain demanded.
“Well,” the mage gathered himself, “the soul is in the body now. The conscience must restore itself. Otherwise, the mind will snap.”
Garwain turned to leave the room, but the mage stopped him.
“There’s something else,” the mage said unevenly. “We’re not entirely sure what effect the Archdemon’s soul entering the body at his death will have on the Warden.”
“What?!” Garwain was livid. “What the hell do you mean you ‘don’t know’?”
“Well, this magic has scarcely been successful before. I mean, we need a strong soul, and the Warden’s got that. But, the Archdemon’s soul entered him when he died, destroying both. It’s not entirely impossible that we…..might’ve restored the Archdemon as well,” the mage stammered.
Garwain grabbed the surprised mage by his robes.
“You better be sure you’re wrong in the next few moments, or they’ll be your last,” Garwain threatened. If he was responsible for the Archdemon’s revival, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. He had, after all, lost a cousin to the Blight in Ferelden months ago.
“Y-y-yes,” stuttered the mage. “It’s impossible. Surely the Archdemon’s soul and the Warden’s soul separated after death. But, it could have…side effects on the Warden none the less.”
“Like?” Garwain demanded.
“Well, he could gain powers he didn’t have before, or lose ones he had. Can’t tell for certain.”
Garwain let the mage go. If there would be problems, surely von Meddick would have been aware of the risk. There’s no way that Garwain would responsible for complications.
He turned and briskly walked out of the chamber, leaving the mages panting and exhausted. He had another appointment to keep.
Meanwhile, a dark figure made their way along a lonely road somewhere. The figure abruptly stopped mid-stride. She removed her hood to reveal a pale-yet pretty face, beset with a pair of yellow eyes that didn’t detract from her beauty at all. The breeze ran though her dark hair, though she ignored it.
Morrigan stood still. She felt something had happened. She thought it could not be possible. But, she remembered that the ring she had given him worked well. She felt life. From a dead man.
She couldn’t believe it. She would not believe it. It was too painful when she felt his death. She couldn’t go through it again. Even though he had denied her offer, her feelings never tapered.
She sensed his soul somewhere in Nevara, just north of Ferelden. If Garrett being alive wasn’t odd enough, now he was hundreds of miles away from where they buried him. She immediately set into action.
To be continued...
Modifié par ztonkin, 15 mars 2010 - 04:40 .
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