There is only one way to prepare for a duel, really.
I really was going to stop this madness, cool it on the fic for a week or so... Have corporate visitors coming in and a final this weekend but... Ahh, madness ;D
Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9
Title: The Last Warden, chapter 10
Characters: Alistair, Leliana, Zevran, Sten, Isabela, Weylon, Ser Landry
Rating: T
Words: 2,300
Summary: The Warden is dead. Alistair has been challenged to a duel. Zevran knows someone who may be able to help... for a price.
“The Grey Wardens had nothing to do with the king’s death.” Alistair blinked at the blade leveled before him, holding steady in the old knight’s hand. “It was Loghain.”
“So you would now add slander to your crimes?”
He could feel the watching eyes, the marketplace falling silent. The dwarf Gorim had looked up from his stall; even the elven girl had straightened behind the gate, wiping the tears from her eyes with a curious stare.
Alistair lowered his voice, stepping close to the man. “Could we speak privately?”
Still he glowered, but after a moment he shook his head, sheathing the sword as he glanced round. “I doubt the value of your words. But perhaps your blade will speak more clearly.” Again his hand strayed to the hilt, eyes narrowing as he leaned close. “Meet me behind those buildings there when the sun is at its peak. I will have satisfaction, ser.”
Alistair watched him go, watched the eyes of the marketplace turn pointedly away.
“A duel then? Marvelous!”
He turned to the elf with a scowl. “And what would you know about it?”
“Very little, I’m afraid. I myself like to avoid a fair fight, when I can.”
“Great.”
Zevran’s grin turned wicked. “But I do happen to know someone that does. And she is in Denerim, last I heard.”
* * *
“A whorehouse? You brought me to a whorehouse?”
“Ahh, but we have another purpose here.” The assassin chuckled, laying a hand on his arm. “Though if our good ser knight will be making an end to you this afternoon… Perhaps it is finally time to rid yourself of that pesky Chantry purity, yes?”
Leliana stifled a giggle behind her hand.
“What? No… I’m not…”
“Relax, my friend.” He pushed the door aside with an exaggerated bow.
Alistair had never been in a… in a… place like this before. Wynne had remained in the marketplace to browse amongst the stalls, waving them off as she made for The Wonders of Thedas. Morrigan and Sten had followed as far as the door, their twin scowls doing little to ease his mind. Only Leliana and Zevran remained as they slipped into the close and musky hall.
“You could have waited outside, you know.”
Leliana blinked up at him with a playful grin. “Oh, I don’t know. This could be fun.”
“Right. Come to places like this often, do you?”
“Maybe.” Twining an arm through his, she steered them toward the common room.
It was surprisingly crowded for the early hour… surprisingly lively too. One of the tables toppled with a crash, a battered patron sent sprawling. Two others were still on their feet, blades drawn as they circled a lone woman.
“Oh, lovely place. Great idea. Remind me why we’re here again.”
“Just watch, my friend.”
The woman seemed to give ground as they advanced, but there was no fear, no worry there. In fact, she grinned. Dropping low, she spun, elbow taking one man in the stomach. Her palm connected with the side of his head as he staggered, another quick turn bringing her blade only a hairsbreadth from the other man’s throat. It pressed there, dimpling the skin as she leaned close.
“Our wager?”
Fear bulged behind his eyes, but so too was there resignation. Reaching slowly for his belt, he dropped a purse into her palm. Only then did she relent, sheathing the blade with a satisfied smirk.
“You may go.”
Sulking, he gathered his fallen comrades, making quick for the door.
“Ahh, Isabela…”
“Zev.” There were teeth behind her grin. “It’s been some time.”
“That was… that was… wow.” Alistair found himself running a hand through his hair.
“Witnessed that little encounter, did you?” Her eyes roamed low, appraising. He suddenly found himself wondering over the state of his smallclothes, suspecting she could somehow see them, even beneath his mail.
“Alistair of the Grey Wardens, allow me to present Isabela, captain of the Siren’s Call, queen of the Eastern Seas and the sharpest blade in Llomerryn.”
“A Grey Warden?” She arched a delicate brow.
“A pirate?”
The woman turned to Leliana.
“I… I have heard stories.”
Isabela pursed her lips. “And they intrigue you, do they?”
“Very much so, yes.”
“Mmm.” Her smile turned languid, eyes narrowing. “Perhaps we can discuss them later… sweet thing.”
That gaze returned to Alistair. “Now, Zev. Is there a reason you have brought me such… delightful company?” No. Forget the mail. Those eyes could peel off his very skin.
“Our dear Warden has been challenged to a duel. One that he is certain to lose, I am afraid.”
“Hey!”
Isabela, though, had stepped close, running a hand along his arm and up his shoulder as she circled round. He felt the lump rising in his throat.
“He is strong, fights with brute force. Effective, in its way. But I am afraid that he lacks the required… finesse.”
“As I have been telling him. And I have also been able to do little about the hair, sadly.”
“Hey!”
Isabela stepped back with an appraising nod. “Still, it would be a waste to see the end of such a pretty thing. I will do what I can. But there is, of course, a price.”
“Right. Of course there is.”
She tilted her head as she blinked up at him, feigning some approximation of sweetness. “I merely wish to get to know something of my student. Let us have a game, a test of skill.” Bending to the table, she retrieved a deck of cards, running them deftly between her fingers.
“Yeah. All right.”
“Alistair…” Zevran nodded apologetically to the woman. “…if I may have a word?” He steered him forcefully to a nearby corner.
“What?”
“You will not win against Isabela. No one does.”
“So what should I-?”
“-There are other options, my friend. She is a woman of varied… appetites.”
Alistair goggled. “What? You… you can’t really be suggesting that I…?” Glancing over the elf’s shoulder, he saw Leliana deep in conversation with the woman, the pirate’s hand lingering against her arm. He moved quick, closing the gap to wrap an arm round Leliana’s waist.
“Alistair!”
Isabela chuckled.
“I… uh… I thank you for the offer. But I… I think I’ll take my chances.”
The woman shrugged, lips pursing in bemused disappointment. “Luck be with you, then.”
Still he held to Leliana, dragging her toward the door. “Zevran. Let’s go.”
“If it is all the same to you, my friend, I think that I will stay.” Folding his arms, he leaned against the wall beside Isabela.
“Can I trust you to come back?”
“Do not worry.” He grinned. “I would not miss the show.”
* * *
The day was warming as they made their way back to the marketplace. Wynne rejoined them after a time, pouches loaded with recent purchases. Herbs and potions, she said. Absolutely essential. Still, the purse at Alistair’s side felt noticeably lighter.
But they had come here for a reason. Pausing before the door, Alistair sighed. It hadn’t taken many questions to find the home; Genitivi was well-known, even if their inquires had drawn a few odd looks. He supposed any man who spent his life searching for the Urn would seem a bit mad… And what then of those who pinned their hopes on a madman?
The pitted wood rattled beneath his knock. Once, twice, a third time. Alistair had half-turned when the door cracked, one narrowed eye visible in the gap.
“Can I help you?”
“Brother Genitivi?”
“No…” The speaker paused, curious. “I am his assistant… Weylon.”
“Weylon. We need to find Brother Genitivi. It’s about the Urn.”
The man must have been short, peering up at him through shadowed eyes. “He is not in.”
“Can you tell us where he is?”
His gaze seemed to shift, squinting along the street in either direction.
“Can we come in? Would that be better?”
“Are you one of them? Came they did, but I drove them off, called the guards. Still… not safe. They think it’s theirs, theirs alone. Brother… Brother Genitivi…he went… But I fear there is no hope…”
“We have called upon a dead man. I fail to see how this is helpful.”
Alistair glared up at Sten before turning back to the cowering scholar. “Where did he go?”
The man blinked out at them, distrustful still. After a moment, he shook his head. “His research… led him to a village called Haven, high in the Frostback Mountains.”
“Haven. Right. Thank you. If he’s there, we’ll find him.”
Weylon only glared a moment more before slamming shut the door.
By now the sun had nearly reached its peak, glaring bright across the rooftops of the market. Alistair sighed.
“You plan to go to this… Haven.” Sten fell into step beside him.
“Can we argue about it later, maybe? I’m a little busy at the moment.”
“Very well. If you survive.” The big man lengthened his stride.
“I’m glad somebody finds this funny!” He shook his head. “Maker’s breath…”
But Leliana was at his elbow now, tilting her head with a wondering pout. “And what was that about?”
“Oh, the usual. Sten wants me dead.”
She chuckled but quieted quickly, stilling her features. “Not that. Back at the Pearl.”
“What was what?”
“The… rescue. You practically threw me over your shoulder and dragged me out of there like a piece of meat.”
“Oh. I’m… sorry?”
Resolve cracking, she let herself smile. “A sweet gesture, but I can take care of myself, you know.”
“It was Isabela. And something Zevran said. I… I just didn’t like the way she was looking at you, I guess.”
“Oh? Is there a reason she should she not look at me?”
Alistair sighed. “‘Cause she’s… well, you don’t know what she was thinking.”
“Of course I do. Did you not think that perhaps that I was trying to help? To smooth things along?”
“‘Smooth things along’? By flirting?”
“Why not?”
“Well… she-she’s a woman, for one.”
“And women cannot flirt? She is quite beautiful, you know. Strong, confident… Why would I not?”
Alistair skidded to a stop, blinking down at her. “What?”
Giggling, she leaned up to place a lingering kiss on his cheek, slipping an easy arm through his.
“I really don’t want to know, do I?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Marjolaine - the woman who trained me to be a bard… Once she and I were caught in a terrible storm. We found shelter beneath some bushes, but we were already soaked to the skin and freezing and…” She was watching him, he realized, smile turning wicked.
Alistair quirked a brow. “…Wet frocks?”
“Perhaps. But that is a story for another time, no?”
“I think I’m starting to see why bards are so popular.”
As they approached the alleyway, Zevran fell into step beside them. If possible, his grin was wider than usual.
“Had fun did you?”
He tsked. “You insulted our dear Isabela. Something had to be done to soothe her wounds. Many things, in fact.”
“Yeeah… Sorry I missed that.”
“As am I.”
The knight was already waiting when they arrived. There were others at his back, similarly armored and scowling just as deeply.
“I thought this was supposed to be a duel.”
“They are merely here to see justice served. Hold your… people back and they shall do the same.”
Swinging the shield from his back, Alistair shrugged it into place. “You do know that Loghain quit the field, right? Left Cailan and the Wardens to die?”
“Do you deny that the king was in the Warden’s charge?”
“No, but-”
The knight unsheathed his blade, one foot falling over the other as he circled. “-Then defend yourself.”
“I still don’t see how killing you will prove that I’m not a murder…”
With a grunt, the man threw himself forward, sword singing in a low arc. Alistair ducked, blocking, but already he had darted aside, balance and speed belying his age.
“Look. Could we just maybe-”
“-Spare me your lies!” Again he spun, blade rebounding off of Alistair’s shield.
“Guess not.” He ducked low, deflecting again, using the momentum to slip past the turned blade. The shield’s edge took the knight hard in the chest, Alistair’s own blade coming round to slice behind his thigh. The plate was weaker there, the old man’s gasp bitten beneath a scowl.
“Well struck, ser.”
“Had enough then?”
Smiling now, the knight spat. “Would that I could have given my life that day, could give it now to see the Wardens pay. But if I have to settle for you, so be it.”
Again, they struck; again, they parried. He could not say how long the minutes stretched, how many times they stirred the dust with their circling. His shield was growing heavy, but he could see the other man wearying as well. Skilled or not, Alistair was still the younger man. The longer this went on, the more the scales would tip.
With a sigh he threw his weight behind the blow, shield taking the old knight in hip, chest and shoulder. The sword clattered from his hand, legs buckling as he sank to his knees. As Alistair’s sword came round to rest against his throat, there was a small smile there.
“The day is yours, ser.”
None of the other knights made as if to move. A few were already walking away. Glancing over his shoulder, Alistair looked to the others. Sten and Zevran both nodded; even Leliana gave him a resigned smile.
With a shake of his head Alistair sheathed his blade, bending to offer the man an arm.
The knight only blinked at it, scowling suspiciously. “Mercy, then?”
“Something to remember next time you decide to call Grey Wardens murderers.” When the knight made no move to take his hand he shrugged, turning to the others. “Let’s go.”
Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9
Title: The Last Warden, chapter 10
Characters: Alistair, Leliana, Zevran, Sten, Isabela, Weylon, Ser Landry
Rating: T
Words: 2,300
Summary: The Warden is dead. Alistair has been challenged to a duel. Zevran knows someone who may be able to help... for a price.
“The Grey Wardens had nothing to do with the king’s death.” Alistair blinked at the blade leveled before him, holding steady in the old knight’s hand. “It was Loghain.”
“So you would now add slander to your crimes?”
He could feel the watching eyes, the marketplace falling silent. The dwarf Gorim had looked up from his stall; even the elven girl had straightened behind the gate, wiping the tears from her eyes with a curious stare.
Alistair lowered his voice, stepping close to the man. “Could we speak privately?”
Still he glowered, but after a moment he shook his head, sheathing the sword as he glanced round. “I doubt the value of your words. But perhaps your blade will speak more clearly.” Again his hand strayed to the hilt, eyes narrowing as he leaned close. “Meet me behind those buildings there when the sun is at its peak. I will have satisfaction, ser.”
Alistair watched him go, watched the eyes of the marketplace turn pointedly away.
“A duel then? Marvelous!”
He turned to the elf with a scowl. “And what would you know about it?”
“Very little, I’m afraid. I myself like to avoid a fair fight, when I can.”
“Great.”
Zevran’s grin turned wicked. “But I do happen to know someone that does. And she is in Denerim, last I heard.”
* * *
“A whorehouse? You brought me to a whorehouse?”
“Ahh, but we have another purpose here.” The assassin chuckled, laying a hand on his arm. “Though if our good ser knight will be making an end to you this afternoon… Perhaps it is finally time to rid yourself of that pesky Chantry purity, yes?”
Leliana stifled a giggle behind her hand.
“What? No… I’m not…”
“Relax, my friend.” He pushed the door aside with an exaggerated bow.
Alistair had never been in a… in a… place like this before. Wynne had remained in the marketplace to browse amongst the stalls, waving them off as she made for The Wonders of Thedas. Morrigan and Sten had followed as far as the door, their twin scowls doing little to ease his mind. Only Leliana and Zevran remained as they slipped into the close and musky hall.
“You could have waited outside, you know.”
Leliana blinked up at him with a playful grin. “Oh, I don’t know. This could be fun.”
“Right. Come to places like this often, do you?”
“Maybe.” Twining an arm through his, she steered them toward the common room.
It was surprisingly crowded for the early hour… surprisingly lively too. One of the tables toppled with a crash, a battered patron sent sprawling. Two others were still on their feet, blades drawn as they circled a lone woman.
“Oh, lovely place. Great idea. Remind me why we’re here again.”
“Just watch, my friend.”
The woman seemed to give ground as they advanced, but there was no fear, no worry there. In fact, she grinned. Dropping low, she spun, elbow taking one man in the stomach. Her palm connected with the side of his head as he staggered, another quick turn bringing her blade only a hairsbreadth from the other man’s throat. It pressed there, dimpling the skin as she leaned close.
“Our wager?”
Fear bulged behind his eyes, but so too was there resignation. Reaching slowly for his belt, he dropped a purse into her palm. Only then did she relent, sheathing the blade with a satisfied smirk.
“You may go.”
Sulking, he gathered his fallen comrades, making quick for the door.
“Ahh, Isabela…”
“Zev.” There were teeth behind her grin. “It’s been some time.”
“That was… that was… wow.” Alistair found himself running a hand through his hair.
“Witnessed that little encounter, did you?” Her eyes roamed low, appraising. He suddenly found himself wondering over the state of his smallclothes, suspecting she could somehow see them, even beneath his mail.
“Alistair of the Grey Wardens, allow me to present Isabela, captain of the Siren’s Call, queen of the Eastern Seas and the sharpest blade in Llomerryn.”
“A Grey Warden?” She arched a delicate brow.
“A pirate?”
The woman turned to Leliana.
“I… I have heard stories.”
Isabela pursed her lips. “And they intrigue you, do they?”
“Very much so, yes.”
“Mmm.” Her smile turned languid, eyes narrowing. “Perhaps we can discuss them later… sweet thing.”
That gaze returned to Alistair. “Now, Zev. Is there a reason you have brought me such… delightful company?” No. Forget the mail. Those eyes could peel off his very skin.
“Our dear Warden has been challenged to a duel. One that he is certain to lose, I am afraid.”
“Hey!”
Isabela, though, had stepped close, running a hand along his arm and up his shoulder as she circled round. He felt the lump rising in his throat.
“He is strong, fights with brute force. Effective, in its way. But I am afraid that he lacks the required… finesse.”
“As I have been telling him. And I have also been able to do little about the hair, sadly.”
“Hey!”
Isabela stepped back with an appraising nod. “Still, it would be a waste to see the end of such a pretty thing. I will do what I can. But there is, of course, a price.”
“Right. Of course there is.”
She tilted her head as she blinked up at him, feigning some approximation of sweetness. “I merely wish to get to know something of my student. Let us have a game, a test of skill.” Bending to the table, she retrieved a deck of cards, running them deftly between her fingers.
“Yeah. All right.”
“Alistair…” Zevran nodded apologetically to the woman. “…if I may have a word?” He steered him forcefully to a nearby corner.
“What?”
“You will not win against Isabela. No one does.”
“So what should I-?”
“-There are other options, my friend. She is a woman of varied… appetites.”
Alistair goggled. “What? You… you can’t really be suggesting that I…?” Glancing over the elf’s shoulder, he saw Leliana deep in conversation with the woman, the pirate’s hand lingering against her arm. He moved quick, closing the gap to wrap an arm round Leliana’s waist.
“Alistair!”
Isabela chuckled.
“I… uh… I thank you for the offer. But I… I think I’ll take my chances.”
The woman shrugged, lips pursing in bemused disappointment. “Luck be with you, then.”
Still he held to Leliana, dragging her toward the door. “Zevran. Let’s go.”
“If it is all the same to you, my friend, I think that I will stay.” Folding his arms, he leaned against the wall beside Isabela.
“Can I trust you to come back?”
“Do not worry.” He grinned. “I would not miss the show.”
* * *
The day was warming as they made their way back to the marketplace. Wynne rejoined them after a time, pouches loaded with recent purchases. Herbs and potions, she said. Absolutely essential. Still, the purse at Alistair’s side felt noticeably lighter.
But they had come here for a reason. Pausing before the door, Alistair sighed. It hadn’t taken many questions to find the home; Genitivi was well-known, even if their inquires had drawn a few odd looks. He supposed any man who spent his life searching for the Urn would seem a bit mad… And what then of those who pinned their hopes on a madman?
The pitted wood rattled beneath his knock. Once, twice, a third time. Alistair had half-turned when the door cracked, one narrowed eye visible in the gap.
“Can I help you?”
“Brother Genitivi?”
“No…” The speaker paused, curious. “I am his assistant… Weylon.”
“Weylon. We need to find Brother Genitivi. It’s about the Urn.”
The man must have been short, peering up at him through shadowed eyes. “He is not in.”
“Can you tell us where he is?”
His gaze seemed to shift, squinting along the street in either direction.
“Can we come in? Would that be better?”
“Are you one of them? Came they did, but I drove them off, called the guards. Still… not safe. They think it’s theirs, theirs alone. Brother… Brother Genitivi…he went… But I fear there is no hope…”
“We have called upon a dead man. I fail to see how this is helpful.”
Alistair glared up at Sten before turning back to the cowering scholar. “Where did he go?”
The man blinked out at them, distrustful still. After a moment, he shook his head. “His research… led him to a village called Haven, high in the Frostback Mountains.”
“Haven. Right. Thank you. If he’s there, we’ll find him.”
Weylon only glared a moment more before slamming shut the door.
By now the sun had nearly reached its peak, glaring bright across the rooftops of the market. Alistair sighed.
“You plan to go to this… Haven.” Sten fell into step beside him.
“Can we argue about it later, maybe? I’m a little busy at the moment.”
“Very well. If you survive.” The big man lengthened his stride.
“I’m glad somebody finds this funny!” He shook his head. “Maker’s breath…”
But Leliana was at his elbow now, tilting her head with a wondering pout. “And what was that about?”
“Oh, the usual. Sten wants me dead.”
She chuckled but quieted quickly, stilling her features. “Not that. Back at the Pearl.”
“What was what?”
“The… rescue. You practically threw me over your shoulder and dragged me out of there like a piece of meat.”
“Oh. I’m… sorry?”
Resolve cracking, she let herself smile. “A sweet gesture, but I can take care of myself, you know.”
“It was Isabela. And something Zevran said. I… I just didn’t like the way she was looking at you, I guess.”
“Oh? Is there a reason she should she not look at me?”
Alistair sighed. “‘Cause she’s… well, you don’t know what she was thinking.”
“Of course I do. Did you not think that perhaps that I was trying to help? To smooth things along?”
“‘Smooth things along’? By flirting?”
“Why not?”
“Well… she-she’s a woman, for one.”
“And women cannot flirt? She is quite beautiful, you know. Strong, confident… Why would I not?”
Alistair skidded to a stop, blinking down at her. “What?”
Giggling, she leaned up to place a lingering kiss on his cheek, slipping an easy arm through his.
“I really don’t want to know, do I?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Marjolaine - the woman who trained me to be a bard… Once she and I were caught in a terrible storm. We found shelter beneath some bushes, but we were already soaked to the skin and freezing and…” She was watching him, he realized, smile turning wicked.
Alistair quirked a brow. “…Wet frocks?”
“Perhaps. But that is a story for another time, no?”
“I think I’m starting to see why bards are so popular.”
As they approached the alleyway, Zevran fell into step beside them. If possible, his grin was wider than usual.
“Had fun did you?”
He tsked. “You insulted our dear Isabela. Something had to be done to soothe her wounds. Many things, in fact.”
“Yeeah… Sorry I missed that.”
“As am I.”
The knight was already waiting when they arrived. There were others at his back, similarly armored and scowling just as deeply.
“I thought this was supposed to be a duel.”
“They are merely here to see justice served. Hold your… people back and they shall do the same.”
Swinging the shield from his back, Alistair shrugged it into place. “You do know that Loghain quit the field, right? Left Cailan and the Wardens to die?”
“Do you deny that the king was in the Warden’s charge?”
“No, but-”
The knight unsheathed his blade, one foot falling over the other as he circled. “-Then defend yourself.”
“I still don’t see how killing you will prove that I’m not a murder…”
With a grunt, the man threw himself forward, sword singing in a low arc. Alistair ducked, blocking, but already he had darted aside, balance and speed belying his age.
“Look. Could we just maybe-”
“-Spare me your lies!” Again he spun, blade rebounding off of Alistair’s shield.
“Guess not.” He ducked low, deflecting again, using the momentum to slip past the turned blade. The shield’s edge took the knight hard in the chest, Alistair’s own blade coming round to slice behind his thigh. The plate was weaker there, the old man’s gasp bitten beneath a scowl.
“Well struck, ser.”
“Had enough then?”
Smiling now, the knight spat. “Would that I could have given my life that day, could give it now to see the Wardens pay. But if I have to settle for you, so be it.”
Again, they struck; again, they parried. He could not say how long the minutes stretched, how many times they stirred the dust with their circling. His shield was growing heavy, but he could see the other man wearying as well. Skilled or not, Alistair was still the younger man. The longer this went on, the more the scales would tip.
With a sigh he threw his weight behind the blow, shield taking the old knight in hip, chest and shoulder. The sword clattered from his hand, legs buckling as he sank to his knees. As Alistair’s sword came round to rest against his throat, there was a small smile there.
“The day is yours, ser.”
None of the other knights made as if to move. A few were already walking away. Glancing over his shoulder, Alistair looked to the others. Sten and Zevran both nodded; even Leliana gave him a resigned smile.
With a shake of his head Alistair sheathed his blade, bending to offer the man an arm.
The knight only blinked at it, scowling suspiciously. “Mercy, then?”
“Something to remember next time you decide to call Grey Wardens murderers.” When the knight made no move to take his hand he shrugged, turning to the others. “Let’s go.”