No More Heroes, Chapter 4
Title: No More Heroes, Chapter 4
Characters: Leliana & Anders, Gorim, Harrowmont, Felsi
Rating: T
Words: 2,100
Summary: The Blight has not ended. Alistair departed during the Landsmeet and both Loghain and the Warden perished in the siege of Denerim. In its wake, the scattered companions undertake a search for a wandering drunk and the witch that could save them all. ~ Leliana & Anders make their way out of Haven, following word of Alistair. ~
Previous Chapters
"It's not that I don't appreciate the irony..." Anders had lagged behind again, stomping the snow from his boots as he bent to trail a careful flame along the sodden hem of his robes.
Stopping in the path ahead, Leliana arched a brow.
"What?" He grinned. "Blatant abuse of power, right? Shirking this heavy burden of responsibility to toy with forces that at any moment could rage out of control, threatening women and children and innocent puppies?"
She could not help but giggle. "I was merely wondering why you would go to all the bother when in moments they will be wet again."
"Comfort." Spreading his arms wide, he did a half-turn to let her admire the effect. "It's the simple things, you know? If you like, I could do something about your hair. It's looking a bit-"
A snap of his fingers produced another tiny flame, but this one flared, exploding past Leliana's shoulder as she shrieked and threw herself aside.
"On second thought..." Looking down with a sheepish grin, he found her rump planted firmly in a drift, arms folded and dripping as she glared up at him. "Ooh. Sorry."
"You have a peculiar definition of comfort." Leliana did her best to scowl. "Help me up." She waited until he bent to offer his hand, tightening her grip as her boot took him in the knee and sent him sprawling into the snow beside her.
Anders' curse was muffled, one arm groping blindly for her, but already she was rolling away, filling each hand with a ball of the fluffy powder. When finally he raised his head, the snow was clinging to his spluttering lips, more erupting against the side of his head as she loosed.
"Hey! Hey!"
Scooping two more handfuls, Leliana crouched across the path, laughing as he attempted to regain his feet in tangled robes. "You are not the only one with skills."
"Fair point. Would you consider a truce?"
She pretended to debate for a moment, smirking as she let the snowballs fall. "For now."
"So I should watch my back?" He bowed aside as she climbed back onto the path, ushering her ahead of him. "I'd much prefer to watch yours."
Starting out again, she sighed. Many of the mountain passes were too narrow for them to walk abreast and, in truth, she had been leading for most of the day. Two nights they had slept beyond the relative comfort of Haven's walls, but the warmth of the lower hills had yet to reach them. She tried to recall how long their previous journey down the mountain had taken, realized that she could not. Already the days were blurring, memory replaced by recited words, the sound of Her laughter lost beneath half-composed ballads. Soon it would be a tale of deeds, nothing more. For the first time in her life, Leliana had a sense that that was not enough.
When she did not retort, Anders leaned close. "As I was saying... me, hunting a templar. Funny, don't you think?"
"He wasn't a templar, not really." Her words were distracted, the unthinking slip into past tense giving her pause. If the man in Haven had spoken true, Alistair was alive. There was still a Grey Warden - a hero - left in this world.
"Not a templar? I thought you said he was a templar."
She stopped exasperated, turning to look up at him. The similarities that she had seen between the two men had faded, his face grown almost familiar now… and it seemed he was learning to read her as well.
His eyes narrowed, head tilting with concern. "What?"
Too long had she been traveling alone; perhaps she had leapt too eager at the promise of company. At first she had thought it only his vague resemblance to Alistair, but the jests - the flirtations - reminded her of Her. She had enjoyed these few days, enjoyed them too much.
"It is nothing. He simply did not take the vows."
"Ah." Anders grinned. "Well, I suppose that's alright, then. But you're sure he doesn't harbor any mage-hating tendencies?"
"Not unless you are Morrigan." Turning, she started back down the path.
"And how about you? Nothing to say about my wickedness? No nagging admonitions planted by those Sisters of yours?"
"We all have a chance to atone, to make ourselves better than what we were…"
"Better?" He laughed. "Not much chance of that."
But the words had sent her thoughts back again, searching for the phrases, the melodies to capture all that they had almost accomplished. And so they continued on in silence. When Anders spoke again, he seemed hesitant to interrupt her, prefacing the words with a gentle cough.
"So... did you ever wonder whey there were no dwarves in Haven?"
She turned to look back at him, following his gaze off to the side of the path. At first she saw only snow, smooth and unbroken, but soon her eyes were able to pick out its upper edge, the half-buried support beams staggered at even intervals. They were staring at a wall of ice.
"Oh, Maker."
Lifting his robes, Anders stepped carefully from the path. Before his boots could sink, a row of dark faces appeared above the wall.
"Human camp's up the mountain!"
"We're going down, actually."
"Go then!"
Glancing over his shoulder at Leliana, Anders rolled his eyes. "My friend here is a bard. Songs to warm the heart in exchange for something to warm our bellies."
Above them, someone snorted.
Still Anders smiled, taking her by the hand to help her off the path. She resisted the urge to hit him as she pushed her forward like an offering. "Would you laugh at tales of the mighty Grey Wardens? News from the battle of Denerim?"
"Hah! I was at Denerim! Most of us were. Fat load of good it did us, fighting beside humans."
But there was movement now behind the wall, muted curses and the clattering of arms. Leliana had not seen a break in the hard-packed snow, but a dwarf appeared at its center, stepping out to wave them on. "Be quiet, all of you! I know her."
As they approached, she saw that it was not one wall but two, the sections overlapping to give the appearance of solid ice. It was a moment before she looked down at the dwarf, struggling with a vague recollection. "I am sorry, but I do not know..."
"How's the belt treating you?" He tapped a finger against the scales at her waist. They were heavier than the rest of her armor, but finely worked, the intricate links lighter and more supple than they first appeared.
Recognition dawning, she smiled. "You are the dwarf from the Denerim market, no?"
"Gorim." He shook her hand, extending the gesture to Anders as well. "And you... you traveled with the Warden."
"I did."
She need not say more; his expression was one of sympathy, a sense of loss that seemed to be shared by everyone they met. "Come on inside. I can't promise it'll be the best of welcomes, but this might be a story worth hearing."
They followed the dwarf between the walls, her gaze falling on the soldiers manning the battlements on the other side. By their armor, they might well have been the same that had marched on Denerim, but there was something hushed and heavy here. Guards stared blankly out across the featureless land and everywhere others slouched, lifting their heads only long enough to glare.
Tents and lean-tos were crowded in haphazard rows, but Leliana's eyes strayed to the marvel that lay ahead. Here the mountainside loomed, but the snows had been reshaped and hollowed, conquered by the ageless will of the dwarves. It was the beginnings of a sprawling pueblo, a shadow of Orzammar come to life in shades of purest white. Igloos, too, dotted the deeper reaches of the camp, construction halting only briefly as they passed.
This high in the mountains, the ice would barely weep with the changing of the seasons. These structures might well last for years. She had to wonder at that. The dwarves were not returning home; they were settling.
It was to the pueblo that Gorim led them, through the mouth of one of the starkly geometric caves. Leliana had prepared herself to duck, but the space beyond was wider than she had imagined, cut into the deepest snows of the mountain. Walls and ceiling formed deliberate corners, carefully covered lamps reflecting on surfaces that had been polished until they shone with a wet, white light.
Round the edges of the room waited a ring of half-formed benches, but the tools lay scattered around them, for the moment abandoned. Only the seat at the ring's furthest edge stood completed. High-backed and massive it loomed - this icy throne - the old dwarf sitting stiffly upon it seemingly unmindful of the cold beneath him.
"Well, that looks comfortable." Anders had followed her gaze, leaning close to whisper in her ear.
But Leliana recognized the old dwarf now, had glimpsed him only briefly in the very assembly chamber that this room sought to mirror. As if sensing the thought, he raised heavy-lidded eyes to hers.
The other dwarf that had been standing before him fell silent, pausing in the midst of an angry gesture. The two had been alone in the room and she had not heard their words, but still the argument hung between them, seeming to reverberate against the walls. By his thick and battered armor, this was one of the soldiers, the scowl that he turned on them no more welcoming than those of his comrades.
"Humans?"
"Friends of the Grey Warden." Gormin inclined his head. "They seek food, shelter."
"So we built the wall to let just anyone stroll through?”
"They are refugees, the same as us."
The soldier scoffed. "That's surfacer thinking."
"In case you have forgotten, Doric, we are all sufacers now." Gorim met the other dwarf's eyes unafraid, but a cough from the elder silenced them both.
Leliana took the opportunity to step forward, bending into a deep bow. "Lord Harrowmont."
His smile was soft, tired. "You were indeed one of the Grey Warden's companions, the very same who sided with Bhelen against me."
"We all face many difficult decisions, My Lord. But I am glad to see that you are well. I had heard that you were to be executed."
He chuckled. "And so I was... in the tradition of my people. I was cast into the Deep Roads, but it seems that the darkspawn have moved on, come entirely to the surface. I was able to escape through one of their holes virtually unmolested."
"You were exiled. But…" Leliana looked to the soldier, the question left unspoken.
He folded his arms with a deep glower. "As were we. When the battle turned, Bhelen - King Bhelen - shut the doors behind us."
"What, and leave his entire army on the surface?"
That glare was turned on Anders now. "We lost many. Only perhaps a sixth of our strength remains." He sighed. "I might have done the same."
"So Orzammar is defenseless."
"Orzammar will stand!" Subsiding, Doric shook himself and turned his face away. "Bhelen always did favor the casteless. Maybe he means to arm them in our place."
"The transition has not been easy for any of us." Looking past them, Harrowmont raised a hand, signaling to a girl loitering in the doorway. She hurried forward, bearing a tray with three chipped mugs.
Leliana did not sniff too deeply of the black ale but it was warm, the feel of the cup welcome as she turned it between her hands. Words failing, she bowed her head.
"…surprised we have any left," the girl was saying.
But Leliana’s eyes were locked to the old lord’s boots, their gold on gold filigree gleaming in the light of the lamps. "Lord Harrowmont... those boots... where did you get them?"
It was the girl who answered. "From your Warden. Traded them for a barrel of our finest ale. Drank up twice that much before he was done with us."
"Hush, Felsi." Gorim lay a quieting hand on her arm. "The Warden... the other one. He passed this way, too."
"When?"
"A week, maybe more."
Anders was shaking his head. "And he left his boots behind? I know templars don't tend to be the brightest candles on the altar - but what sort of a moron climbs a mountain barefoot?"
"He was headed down, same as you." Gorim shrugged. "And there's not much human armor that can fit dwarves - boots, gloves, some of the larger helms. He insisted on giving something in return."
"Oh, brilliant. We're looking for a fair-minded popscicle."
But Leliana was smiling now. "Did be say where he was going?"
Harrowmont sighed, nodding sadly from his frozen throne. "He said that he was going home."
Characters: Leliana & Anders, Gorim, Harrowmont, Felsi
Rating: T
Words: 2,100
Summary: The Blight has not ended. Alistair departed during the Landsmeet and both Loghain and the Warden perished in the siege of Denerim. In its wake, the scattered companions undertake a search for a wandering drunk and the witch that could save them all. ~ Leliana & Anders make their way out of Haven, following word of Alistair. ~
Previous Chapters
"It's not that I don't appreciate the irony..." Anders had lagged behind again, stomping the snow from his boots as he bent to trail a careful flame along the sodden hem of his robes.
Stopping in the path ahead, Leliana arched a brow.
"What?" He grinned. "Blatant abuse of power, right? Shirking this heavy burden of responsibility to toy with forces that at any moment could rage out of control, threatening women and children and innocent puppies?"
She could not help but giggle. "I was merely wondering why you would go to all the bother when in moments they will be wet again."
"Comfort." Spreading his arms wide, he did a half-turn to let her admire the effect. "It's the simple things, you know? If you like, I could do something about your hair. It's looking a bit-"
A snap of his fingers produced another tiny flame, but this one flared, exploding past Leliana's shoulder as she shrieked and threw herself aside.
"On second thought..." Looking down with a sheepish grin, he found her rump planted firmly in a drift, arms folded and dripping as she glared up at him. "Ooh. Sorry."
"You have a peculiar definition of comfort." Leliana did her best to scowl. "Help me up." She waited until he bent to offer his hand, tightening her grip as her boot took him in the knee and sent him sprawling into the snow beside her.
Anders' curse was muffled, one arm groping blindly for her, but already she was rolling away, filling each hand with a ball of the fluffy powder. When finally he raised his head, the snow was clinging to his spluttering lips, more erupting against the side of his head as she loosed.
"Hey! Hey!"
Scooping two more handfuls, Leliana crouched across the path, laughing as he attempted to regain his feet in tangled robes. "You are not the only one with skills."
"Fair point. Would you consider a truce?"
She pretended to debate for a moment, smirking as she let the snowballs fall. "For now."
"So I should watch my back?" He bowed aside as she climbed back onto the path, ushering her ahead of him. "I'd much prefer to watch yours."
Starting out again, she sighed. Many of the mountain passes were too narrow for them to walk abreast and, in truth, she had been leading for most of the day. Two nights they had slept beyond the relative comfort of Haven's walls, but the warmth of the lower hills had yet to reach them. She tried to recall how long their previous journey down the mountain had taken, realized that she could not. Already the days were blurring, memory replaced by recited words, the sound of Her laughter lost beneath half-composed ballads. Soon it would be a tale of deeds, nothing more. For the first time in her life, Leliana had a sense that that was not enough.
When she did not retort, Anders leaned close. "As I was saying... me, hunting a templar. Funny, don't you think?"
"He wasn't a templar, not really." Her words were distracted, the unthinking slip into past tense giving her pause. If the man in Haven had spoken true, Alistair was alive. There was still a Grey Warden - a hero - left in this world.
"Not a templar? I thought you said he was a templar."
She stopped exasperated, turning to look up at him. The similarities that she had seen between the two men had faded, his face grown almost familiar now… and it seemed he was learning to read her as well.
His eyes narrowed, head tilting with concern. "What?"
Too long had she been traveling alone; perhaps she had leapt too eager at the promise of company. At first she had thought it only his vague resemblance to Alistair, but the jests - the flirtations - reminded her of Her. She had enjoyed these few days, enjoyed them too much.
"It is nothing. He simply did not take the vows."
"Ah." Anders grinned. "Well, I suppose that's alright, then. But you're sure he doesn't harbor any mage-hating tendencies?"
"Not unless you are Morrigan." Turning, she started back down the path.
"And how about you? Nothing to say about my wickedness? No nagging admonitions planted by those Sisters of yours?"
"We all have a chance to atone, to make ourselves better than what we were…"
"Better?" He laughed. "Not much chance of that."
But the words had sent her thoughts back again, searching for the phrases, the melodies to capture all that they had almost accomplished. And so they continued on in silence. When Anders spoke again, he seemed hesitant to interrupt her, prefacing the words with a gentle cough.
"So... did you ever wonder whey there were no dwarves in Haven?"
She turned to look back at him, following his gaze off to the side of the path. At first she saw only snow, smooth and unbroken, but soon her eyes were able to pick out its upper edge, the half-buried support beams staggered at even intervals. They were staring at a wall of ice.
"Oh, Maker."
Lifting his robes, Anders stepped carefully from the path. Before his boots could sink, a row of dark faces appeared above the wall.
"Human camp's up the mountain!"
"We're going down, actually."
"Go then!"
Glancing over his shoulder at Leliana, Anders rolled his eyes. "My friend here is a bard. Songs to warm the heart in exchange for something to warm our bellies."
Above them, someone snorted.
Still Anders smiled, taking her by the hand to help her off the path. She resisted the urge to hit him as she pushed her forward like an offering. "Would you laugh at tales of the mighty Grey Wardens? News from the battle of Denerim?"
"Hah! I was at Denerim! Most of us were. Fat load of good it did us, fighting beside humans."
But there was movement now behind the wall, muted curses and the clattering of arms. Leliana had not seen a break in the hard-packed snow, but a dwarf appeared at its center, stepping out to wave them on. "Be quiet, all of you! I know her."
As they approached, she saw that it was not one wall but two, the sections overlapping to give the appearance of solid ice. It was a moment before she looked down at the dwarf, struggling with a vague recollection. "I am sorry, but I do not know..."
"How's the belt treating you?" He tapped a finger against the scales at her waist. They were heavier than the rest of her armor, but finely worked, the intricate links lighter and more supple than they first appeared.
Recognition dawning, she smiled. "You are the dwarf from the Denerim market, no?"
"Gorim." He shook her hand, extending the gesture to Anders as well. "And you... you traveled with the Warden."
"I did."
She need not say more; his expression was one of sympathy, a sense of loss that seemed to be shared by everyone they met. "Come on inside. I can't promise it'll be the best of welcomes, but this might be a story worth hearing."
They followed the dwarf between the walls, her gaze falling on the soldiers manning the battlements on the other side. By their armor, they might well have been the same that had marched on Denerim, but there was something hushed and heavy here. Guards stared blankly out across the featureless land and everywhere others slouched, lifting their heads only long enough to glare.
Tents and lean-tos were crowded in haphazard rows, but Leliana's eyes strayed to the marvel that lay ahead. Here the mountainside loomed, but the snows had been reshaped and hollowed, conquered by the ageless will of the dwarves. It was the beginnings of a sprawling pueblo, a shadow of Orzammar come to life in shades of purest white. Igloos, too, dotted the deeper reaches of the camp, construction halting only briefly as they passed.
This high in the mountains, the ice would barely weep with the changing of the seasons. These structures might well last for years. She had to wonder at that. The dwarves were not returning home; they were settling.
It was to the pueblo that Gorim led them, through the mouth of one of the starkly geometric caves. Leliana had prepared herself to duck, but the space beyond was wider than she had imagined, cut into the deepest snows of the mountain. Walls and ceiling formed deliberate corners, carefully covered lamps reflecting on surfaces that had been polished until they shone with a wet, white light.
Round the edges of the room waited a ring of half-formed benches, but the tools lay scattered around them, for the moment abandoned. Only the seat at the ring's furthest edge stood completed. High-backed and massive it loomed - this icy throne - the old dwarf sitting stiffly upon it seemingly unmindful of the cold beneath him.
"Well, that looks comfortable." Anders had followed her gaze, leaning close to whisper in her ear.
But Leliana recognized the old dwarf now, had glimpsed him only briefly in the very assembly chamber that this room sought to mirror. As if sensing the thought, he raised heavy-lidded eyes to hers.
The other dwarf that had been standing before him fell silent, pausing in the midst of an angry gesture. The two had been alone in the room and she had not heard their words, but still the argument hung between them, seeming to reverberate against the walls. By his thick and battered armor, this was one of the soldiers, the scowl that he turned on them no more welcoming than those of his comrades.
"Humans?"
"Friends of the Grey Warden." Gormin inclined his head. "They seek food, shelter."
"So we built the wall to let just anyone stroll through?”
"They are refugees, the same as us."
The soldier scoffed. "That's surfacer thinking."
"In case you have forgotten, Doric, we are all sufacers now." Gorim met the other dwarf's eyes unafraid, but a cough from the elder silenced them both.
Leliana took the opportunity to step forward, bending into a deep bow. "Lord Harrowmont."
His smile was soft, tired. "You were indeed one of the Grey Warden's companions, the very same who sided with Bhelen against me."
"We all face many difficult decisions, My Lord. But I am glad to see that you are well. I had heard that you were to be executed."
He chuckled. "And so I was... in the tradition of my people. I was cast into the Deep Roads, but it seems that the darkspawn have moved on, come entirely to the surface. I was able to escape through one of their holes virtually unmolested."
"You were exiled. But…" Leliana looked to the soldier, the question left unspoken.
He folded his arms with a deep glower. "As were we. When the battle turned, Bhelen - King Bhelen - shut the doors behind us."
"What, and leave his entire army on the surface?"
That glare was turned on Anders now. "We lost many. Only perhaps a sixth of our strength remains." He sighed. "I might have done the same."
"So Orzammar is defenseless."
"Orzammar will stand!" Subsiding, Doric shook himself and turned his face away. "Bhelen always did favor the casteless. Maybe he means to arm them in our place."
"The transition has not been easy for any of us." Looking past them, Harrowmont raised a hand, signaling to a girl loitering in the doorway. She hurried forward, bearing a tray with three chipped mugs.
Leliana did not sniff too deeply of the black ale but it was warm, the feel of the cup welcome as she turned it between her hands. Words failing, she bowed her head.
"…surprised we have any left," the girl was saying.
But Leliana’s eyes were locked to the old lord’s boots, their gold on gold filigree gleaming in the light of the lamps. "Lord Harrowmont... those boots... where did you get them?"
It was the girl who answered. "From your Warden. Traded them for a barrel of our finest ale. Drank up twice that much before he was done with us."
"Hush, Felsi." Gorim lay a quieting hand on her arm. "The Warden... the other one. He passed this way, too."
"When?"
"A week, maybe more."
Anders was shaking his head. "And he left his boots behind? I know templars don't tend to be the brightest candles on the altar - but what sort of a moron climbs a mountain barefoot?"
"He was headed down, same as you." Gorim shrugged. "And there's not much human armor that can fit dwarves - boots, gloves, some of the larger helms. He insisted on giving something in return."
"Oh, brilliant. We're looking for a fair-minded popscicle."
But Leliana was smiling now. "Did be say where he was going?"
Harrowmont sighed, nodding sadly from his frozen throne. "He said that he was going home."