A day for family dinners... even in the Fade.
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Title: The Last Warden, chapter 6
Characters: Alistair, Morrigan, Zevran, Sten, Wynne (Goldanna, Duncan, Cousland, Brosca, Mahariel, Aeducan, Surana, Amell, Tabris)
Rating: T
Words: 2,250
Summary: The Warden died during the origin story. As they make their ways through the Circle Tower, Alistair encounters some strangely familiar faces.
Alistair stood gazing up at the thick and towering doors with a rising wave of panic. The journey to the tower had been uneventful, even their arrival marked by only a few curious stares. They hadn’t been turned away outright; that should count for something, shouldn’t it?
But no one had said stopping the Blight would be easy. And the mages, it seemed, were faring no better than anyone else. Knight-Commander Greagoir had looked almost unsurprised to see them, but there would be no answer to the Warden’s treaty. What mages might yet live were sealed in the halls beyond the doors, the templar forces standing guard until the Right of Annulment arrived. Right. Those who might have helped them were going to be… purged.
It would be easy enough to wait. Fighting demons and abominations might have been what he was trained for, but he wasn’t a templar, not really. The others could perform the Right, sort it out. But they just didn’t have the time. They never did. And Greagoir had promised them support if they could help…
Behind him, Morrigan folded her arms. “Do you not find it strange that all of your supposed allies first require us to perform some gruesome task? Have the Grey Wardens always had such helpless friends, I wonder?”
“I have to agree with our bewitching temptress. Our arrival seems rather… well timed, does it not?”
“Step away, elf.”
Zevran chuckled. “Mmm… intriguing.”
“Enough.” Alistair turned, raising his eyes to Sten. “Do you have something to add? Comment? Complaint?... What are you looking at?”
The Qunari was facing away, staring back across the hall. “These mages have an unnatural preoccupation with women holding bowls.”
“Right. Very helpful.”
The templar on the door was watching them, expression unreadable behind the narrow slits of his helmet. “Are you ready?”
Alistair sighed. “I certainly hope so.”
“The Circle Tower” might not have been the most creative of names, but it was certainly apt. As the doors slammed shut behind them, they found themselves in a gently curving hallway with rooms opening to either side. From what he remembered, the path should curve around, leading to the central stairs that would take them to the tower’s upper floors. The trouble had seemed to start with a mage named Uldred and that is where Greagoir suspected he would be. Just with - you know - a possible army of demons and abominations between them.
“Are you unwell, my friend?”
He blinked down at the elf. “I’m fine. Wonderful. Fabulous.”
“Ahh, such cynicism does little credit to your charms.” Already he was moving away, pushing through a splintered door and into the room beyond. This had been the apprentice quarters, perhaps, the rows of cramped beds empty. Glancing round, Zevran bent and began working the lock on one of the toppled footlockers.
“What are you doing?”
“According to your templars, the mages are all either dead or turned into hideous abominations. I do not think anyone will mind.”
“We’re not robbing the tower!”
Morrigan had slipped past him, bending to gather a stack of scattered papers from the floor. She ran a thoughtful finger along her chin.
“Is it anything useful at least?”
Shrugging, Zevran tossed aside a rusted amulet. Morrigan shook her head.
“Not particularly. But I do remember that Mother’s grimoire was confiscated by the templars. Perhaps it is here. Perhaps we might look for it.”
“Yeah, we’ll get right on that.”
He could still feel her glare as he stepped back into the hallway.
There were other rooms here, other passages, the debris of toppled stone and splintered wood thickening as they pushed on. But still it was empty, still there was no sign of…
The light broke as they rounded the bend, Alistair’s arm moving to shield his eyes. It was contained, glaring and pulsating and almost… straining in the passage ahead. He almost didn’t see the woman, alone and kneeling on the floor beside them. Old she was, back bent beneath the effort, rumpled robes pooling on the ground beneath her. She certainly didn’t look like an abomination…
At their approach, she glanced up, lips pulling into something of a tired smile. Slowly, she came to her feet, offering a nod of thanks as Alistair lent her an arm. But when she stood it was straight, tall, hands moving to tame the strands of hair that had escaped her bun. And the eyes… there was nothing sluggish there. In fact, Alistair found himself stiffening, making quick work of straightening his armor.
The old woman laughed. “You are not templars.”
“Not exactly, no.”
She arched a brow. “I know you. Alistair, isn’t it? You were at Ostagar. Duncan’s new recruit.”
“I’m sorry… I don’t…”
“Oh, I doubt you would remember me.” She chuckled. “But what business do Grey Wardens have in the tower? Have you come seeking aid?”
“I… yes, actually. But where is everybody else?”
Her lips drew thin. “So far as I know, I am the only one left. We did what we could. The apprentices, the children… but by the time I sealed the door it was too late.”
Alistair’s eyes strayed to the pulsating barricade.
“Do not worry; it will hold. I am Wynne, by the way.”
“Greagoir… Knight-Commander Greagoir has ordered the Right of Annulment. We should get you out of here.”
She nodded. “As I suspected. But I fear there may be others still trapped inside. And Uldred… Uldred must be stopped.”
“…Yeah.”
“Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“I… don’t know exactly. Greagoir says he will not hold the Right until he speaks with the First Enchanter.”
Wynne folded her arms. “Then your path would seem clear wouldn’t it?”
Again, he found his eyes roaming. There was another set of doors, at the bottom of a short flight of steps and heavily barred. He felt himself stiffen, but could not say why. “Where does that go?”
Her eyes narrowed, but there was something resigned behind her expression. “Nowhere that concerns you. Now. Do we go or not?”
“We?”
“I will accompany you, of course.”
Alistair ran a hand through his hair, meeting her eyes with a sheepish grimace. “Are you sure you’re… up to it?”
Her lips pursed into a crooked smirk. “I may be no spring chicken, but there is much to be done.”
“Right. Okay.”
Turning to the others, he was surprised to find Morrigan already striding back the way they had come. “Where are you going?”
She whirled with a sneer, folding her arms. “You have the help you sought. I see no need to risk myself in another of your fool endeavors. When you are finished playing templar, I shall be waiting cross the lake.” She was gone before he could speak.
Wynne was at his side, clucking her tongue beneath a spreading grin.
“What?”
“Oh, just the way you were watching her. One might say that you were… enraptured.”
“With Morrigan? Enraged, more like.”
“Oh? Find those swaying hips maddening, do you?”
“I wasn’t... I didn’t… didn’t see anything at all really.”
“Of course.”
With a groan, Alistair turned to the barrier. “I can just tell this is going to be fun.”
* * *
Panting, Alistair leaned heavy on his sword. Three floors and still they had found none alive, save Wynne. Oh, they had found plenty of spirits and demons and an abomination or two but…
“-Blood all over me again? And…” Zevran groaned, slouching against the wall. “I think some of it may be mine.”
“Hush.” Wynne bent beside him, hands roaming over his shoulder and down his arm.
He grinned. “Ahh, my darling Wynne, you have a marvelously tender touch.”
“Egad. Do you ever shut up?”
Beside them, Sten snorted.
Alistair, though, was looking ahead. There seemed to be only one door remaining on the floor. He turned back to Wynne. “Is this it?”
She nodded. “The stairs are just beyond. That is where Uldred will be.”
“Great.” Squaring his shoulders, Alistair pushed the door aside.
It loomed there, huge and hulking and bent. He almost didn’t see the body, the mage slipping from the creature’s grasp to crumple to the floor. It looked like an abomination but somehow larger… thicker… The very air seemed suddenly heavy, coming in harsh, gulping, gasps. Its skin was bubbled, the face melted half away, but as he sank to his knees Alistair could have sworn he saw the… creature… smile…
* * *
The air was thick, the mists hanging heavy. Away the landscape stretched, barren and endless but always it was shifting, sliding from woods to walls to caverns wherever he attempted to fix his eyes. But it was warm here, comfortable… right. Alistair breathed deep. Someone was cooking, cooking something wonderful. The path seemed to twist, sloping away beneath him. Smiling now, he followed the scent.
“Alistair!” The woman was none that he had ever seen before, her face lined and tired despite the beaming smile there. But as she threw her arms around him, he laughed; sweeping her off her feet, he knew.
“Gol-Goldanna?”
“Little brother.” She pulled back to look at him, wetting a pair of fingers to wipe a smudge from his cheek. “How you’ve grown.”
“Have I?”
“And a Grey Warden now, I hear. Mother would be so proud.” Stepping aside, she gestured to the table behind her, already laid for the feast. The man there raised his head, nodding with a thin-lipped smile.
“Duncan? You’re alive?”
The old Warden shook his head with the rumbling chuckle. “Of course I am. The Blight is ended, Ferelden united. I had intended to invite you to return with me to Weisshaupt, to the rest of the Wardens…”
“Duncan, this-this is Goldanna, my sister. Siiister… sister...”
She punched him playfully in the arm.
“And a truly marvelous cook. I doubt that you would want to leave such a family.”
“Family.” He blinked, realizing for the first time that they were not alone. “These-these are all your children?”
Goldanna only nodded, moving away to tend to the meal.
The closest was a small boy, no more than five, curled on the ground and cradling something in his lap. His hair was dark, hanging wild cross his eyes, caring nothing for the earth that stained his fine but rumpled clothes. He laughed as the pup wriggled free, springing from his arms to roll yipping in the dirt.
Alistair crouched beside them, reaching out a hand.
“Careful, sir. He’s a mabari.”
Hard to reconcile this tiny thing with the beast he had seen in the hills above Redcliff. But it stopped now, still on its back, ears twitching as it fixed him with wide, dark eyes.
“They only ever have one master. S’called imprinting.”
“You know, I’ve heard that.”
As if in response, the pup sprang to its feet, pulling back its lips to snarl.
“See? He’s not for you. He only does what I tell him.” The boy stroked an idle hand through that bristling fur, holding Alistair’s gaze with a thoughtful smile as he rose to his feet.
“Right.”
It hit him hard and low, tiny arms wrapping round his thigh. He almost staggered, but there was a giggle beneath the squeaking growl. “You’re dead!”
The dwarf blinked up at him with a wicked smirk, her dark hair pulled tight into a pair of tiny pigtails. She could have been no older than the boy, but already her cheeks bore the strange geometric brands of Orzammar’s casteless.
Alistair quirked a brow. “Am I?”
She nodded vigorously. “I gotcha!”
“No you didn’t.”
The dwarf whirled at the sound, releasing her hold on Alistair’s leg to scowl up at the other boy. He was little taller than she, but lithe and lean, long hair tucked back behind pointed, elven ears. Eyes narrowing thoughtfully, he stretched to poke a finger against Alistair’s chest. “Here. You’ve got to get him here.”
“How? He’s too big.”
The elf shrugged. “A bow would do it.”
“You and your bow.” She stuck out her tongue. “Stab anything enough times and it’ll go down, no matter how big it is. S’better that way.”
He left them to their argument, chuckling beneath his breath. There were still others at the table. A dwarven boy, his face unmarked, sitting stiff and silent beside Duncan. His hands were folded before him, the picture of propriety, but his eyes roamed restless, feet swinging impatiently. Sensing Alistair’s glance, he grinned.
Two others were huddled together, an elven girl and a human boy. Her fingers whirled above one of the empty plates, raising it on its end with a trembling shudder. It spun there, faster and faster before toppling to the ground with a crash. The boy threw back his head to laugh. Goldanna turned at the noise, shaking her head with a wistful smile.
She bustled to Alistair’s side, a firm hand on his shoulder pressing him onto the bench. “Here, time to eat.”
Another girl moved round, bearing a large and fragrant covered tray. Slight and elven, she wore a long, pale dress, her golden hair worked with small white buds. She had kept her eyes averted but at Alistair’s glance she raised them, holding there.
“Hi.”
The girl said nothing, setting the tray down as her eyes narrowed.
“Uh… what’s your name?”
She leaned close, silent still. He didn’t see her hand move, didn’t feel the pain until he looked to the blood pooling from his belly. Blinking at him, she pulled the dagger free, bending to whisper in his ear.
“Wake up.”
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Title: The Last Warden, chapter 6
Characters: Alistair, Morrigan, Zevran, Sten, Wynne (Goldanna, Duncan, Cousland, Brosca, Mahariel, Aeducan, Surana, Amell, Tabris)
Rating: T
Words: 2,250
Summary: The Warden died during the origin story. As they make their ways through the Circle Tower, Alistair encounters some strangely familiar faces.
Alistair stood gazing up at the thick and towering doors with a rising wave of panic. The journey to the tower had been uneventful, even their arrival marked by only a few curious stares. They hadn’t been turned away outright; that should count for something, shouldn’t it?
But no one had said stopping the Blight would be easy. And the mages, it seemed, were faring no better than anyone else. Knight-Commander Greagoir had looked almost unsurprised to see them, but there would be no answer to the Warden’s treaty. What mages might yet live were sealed in the halls beyond the doors, the templar forces standing guard until the Right of Annulment arrived. Right. Those who might have helped them were going to be… purged.
It would be easy enough to wait. Fighting demons and abominations might have been what he was trained for, but he wasn’t a templar, not really. The others could perform the Right, sort it out. But they just didn’t have the time. They never did. And Greagoir had promised them support if they could help…
Behind him, Morrigan folded her arms. “Do you not find it strange that all of your supposed allies first require us to perform some gruesome task? Have the Grey Wardens always had such helpless friends, I wonder?”
“I have to agree with our bewitching temptress. Our arrival seems rather… well timed, does it not?”
“Step away, elf.”
Zevran chuckled. “Mmm… intriguing.”
“Enough.” Alistair turned, raising his eyes to Sten. “Do you have something to add? Comment? Complaint?... What are you looking at?”
The Qunari was facing away, staring back across the hall. “These mages have an unnatural preoccupation with women holding bowls.”
“Right. Very helpful.”
The templar on the door was watching them, expression unreadable behind the narrow slits of his helmet. “Are you ready?”
Alistair sighed. “I certainly hope so.”
“The Circle Tower” might not have been the most creative of names, but it was certainly apt. As the doors slammed shut behind them, they found themselves in a gently curving hallway with rooms opening to either side. From what he remembered, the path should curve around, leading to the central stairs that would take them to the tower’s upper floors. The trouble had seemed to start with a mage named Uldred and that is where Greagoir suspected he would be. Just with - you know - a possible army of demons and abominations between them.
“Are you unwell, my friend?”
He blinked down at the elf. “I’m fine. Wonderful. Fabulous.”
“Ahh, such cynicism does little credit to your charms.” Already he was moving away, pushing through a splintered door and into the room beyond. This had been the apprentice quarters, perhaps, the rows of cramped beds empty. Glancing round, Zevran bent and began working the lock on one of the toppled footlockers.
“What are you doing?”
“According to your templars, the mages are all either dead or turned into hideous abominations. I do not think anyone will mind.”
“We’re not robbing the tower!”
Morrigan had slipped past him, bending to gather a stack of scattered papers from the floor. She ran a thoughtful finger along her chin.
“Is it anything useful at least?”
Shrugging, Zevran tossed aside a rusted amulet. Morrigan shook her head.
“Not particularly. But I do remember that Mother’s grimoire was confiscated by the templars. Perhaps it is here. Perhaps we might look for it.”
“Yeah, we’ll get right on that.”
He could still feel her glare as he stepped back into the hallway.
There were other rooms here, other passages, the debris of toppled stone and splintered wood thickening as they pushed on. But still it was empty, still there was no sign of…
The light broke as they rounded the bend, Alistair’s arm moving to shield his eyes. It was contained, glaring and pulsating and almost… straining in the passage ahead. He almost didn’t see the woman, alone and kneeling on the floor beside them. Old she was, back bent beneath the effort, rumpled robes pooling on the ground beneath her. She certainly didn’t look like an abomination…
At their approach, she glanced up, lips pulling into something of a tired smile. Slowly, she came to her feet, offering a nod of thanks as Alistair lent her an arm. But when she stood it was straight, tall, hands moving to tame the strands of hair that had escaped her bun. And the eyes… there was nothing sluggish there. In fact, Alistair found himself stiffening, making quick work of straightening his armor.
The old woman laughed. “You are not templars.”
“Not exactly, no.”
She arched a brow. “I know you. Alistair, isn’t it? You were at Ostagar. Duncan’s new recruit.”
“I’m sorry… I don’t…”
“Oh, I doubt you would remember me.” She chuckled. “But what business do Grey Wardens have in the tower? Have you come seeking aid?”
“I… yes, actually. But where is everybody else?”
Her lips drew thin. “So far as I know, I am the only one left. We did what we could. The apprentices, the children… but by the time I sealed the door it was too late.”
Alistair’s eyes strayed to the pulsating barricade.
“Do not worry; it will hold. I am Wynne, by the way.”
“Greagoir… Knight-Commander Greagoir has ordered the Right of Annulment. We should get you out of here.”
She nodded. “As I suspected. But I fear there may be others still trapped inside. And Uldred… Uldred must be stopped.”
“…Yeah.”
“Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“I… don’t know exactly. Greagoir says he will not hold the Right until he speaks with the First Enchanter.”
Wynne folded her arms. “Then your path would seem clear wouldn’t it?”
Again, he found his eyes roaming. There was another set of doors, at the bottom of a short flight of steps and heavily barred. He felt himself stiffen, but could not say why. “Where does that go?”
Her eyes narrowed, but there was something resigned behind her expression. “Nowhere that concerns you. Now. Do we go or not?”
“We?”
“I will accompany you, of course.”
Alistair ran a hand through his hair, meeting her eyes with a sheepish grimace. “Are you sure you’re… up to it?”
Her lips pursed into a crooked smirk. “I may be no spring chicken, but there is much to be done.”
“Right. Okay.”
Turning to the others, he was surprised to find Morrigan already striding back the way they had come. “Where are you going?”
She whirled with a sneer, folding her arms. “You have the help you sought. I see no need to risk myself in another of your fool endeavors. When you are finished playing templar, I shall be waiting cross the lake.” She was gone before he could speak.
Wynne was at his side, clucking her tongue beneath a spreading grin.
“What?”
“Oh, just the way you were watching her. One might say that you were… enraptured.”
“With Morrigan? Enraged, more like.”
“Oh? Find those swaying hips maddening, do you?”
“I wasn’t... I didn’t… didn’t see anything at all really.”
“Of course.”
With a groan, Alistair turned to the barrier. “I can just tell this is going to be fun.”
* * *
Panting, Alistair leaned heavy on his sword. Three floors and still they had found none alive, save Wynne. Oh, they had found plenty of spirits and demons and an abomination or two but…
“-Blood all over me again? And…” Zevran groaned, slouching against the wall. “I think some of it may be mine.”
“Hush.” Wynne bent beside him, hands roaming over his shoulder and down his arm.
He grinned. “Ahh, my darling Wynne, you have a marvelously tender touch.”
“Egad. Do you ever shut up?”
Beside them, Sten snorted.
Alistair, though, was looking ahead. There seemed to be only one door remaining on the floor. He turned back to Wynne. “Is this it?”
She nodded. “The stairs are just beyond. That is where Uldred will be.”
“Great.” Squaring his shoulders, Alistair pushed the door aside.
It loomed there, huge and hulking and bent. He almost didn’t see the body, the mage slipping from the creature’s grasp to crumple to the floor. It looked like an abomination but somehow larger… thicker… The very air seemed suddenly heavy, coming in harsh, gulping, gasps. Its skin was bubbled, the face melted half away, but as he sank to his knees Alistair could have sworn he saw the… creature… smile…
* * *
The air was thick, the mists hanging heavy. Away the landscape stretched, barren and endless but always it was shifting, sliding from woods to walls to caverns wherever he attempted to fix his eyes. But it was warm here, comfortable… right. Alistair breathed deep. Someone was cooking, cooking something wonderful. The path seemed to twist, sloping away beneath him. Smiling now, he followed the scent.
“Alistair!” The woman was none that he had ever seen before, her face lined and tired despite the beaming smile there. But as she threw her arms around him, he laughed; sweeping her off her feet, he knew.
“Gol-Goldanna?”
“Little brother.” She pulled back to look at him, wetting a pair of fingers to wipe a smudge from his cheek. “How you’ve grown.”
“Have I?”
“And a Grey Warden now, I hear. Mother would be so proud.” Stepping aside, she gestured to the table behind her, already laid for the feast. The man there raised his head, nodding with a thin-lipped smile.
“Duncan? You’re alive?”
The old Warden shook his head with the rumbling chuckle. “Of course I am. The Blight is ended, Ferelden united. I had intended to invite you to return with me to Weisshaupt, to the rest of the Wardens…”
“Duncan, this-this is Goldanna, my sister. Siiister… sister...”
She punched him playfully in the arm.
“And a truly marvelous cook. I doubt that you would want to leave such a family.”
“Family.” He blinked, realizing for the first time that they were not alone. “These-these are all your children?”
Goldanna only nodded, moving away to tend to the meal.
The closest was a small boy, no more than five, curled on the ground and cradling something in his lap. His hair was dark, hanging wild cross his eyes, caring nothing for the earth that stained his fine but rumpled clothes. He laughed as the pup wriggled free, springing from his arms to roll yipping in the dirt.
Alistair crouched beside them, reaching out a hand.
“Careful, sir. He’s a mabari.”
Hard to reconcile this tiny thing with the beast he had seen in the hills above Redcliff. But it stopped now, still on its back, ears twitching as it fixed him with wide, dark eyes.
“They only ever have one master. S’called imprinting.”
“You know, I’ve heard that.”
As if in response, the pup sprang to its feet, pulling back its lips to snarl.
“See? He’s not for you. He only does what I tell him.” The boy stroked an idle hand through that bristling fur, holding Alistair’s gaze with a thoughtful smile as he rose to his feet.
“Right.”
It hit him hard and low, tiny arms wrapping round his thigh. He almost staggered, but there was a giggle beneath the squeaking growl. “You’re dead!”
The dwarf blinked up at him with a wicked smirk, her dark hair pulled tight into a pair of tiny pigtails. She could have been no older than the boy, but already her cheeks bore the strange geometric brands of Orzammar’s casteless.
Alistair quirked a brow. “Am I?”
She nodded vigorously. “I gotcha!”
“No you didn’t.”
The dwarf whirled at the sound, releasing her hold on Alistair’s leg to scowl up at the other boy. He was little taller than she, but lithe and lean, long hair tucked back behind pointed, elven ears. Eyes narrowing thoughtfully, he stretched to poke a finger against Alistair’s chest. “Here. You’ve got to get him here.”
“How? He’s too big.”
The elf shrugged. “A bow would do it.”
“You and your bow.” She stuck out her tongue. “Stab anything enough times and it’ll go down, no matter how big it is. S’better that way.”
He left them to their argument, chuckling beneath his breath. There were still others at the table. A dwarven boy, his face unmarked, sitting stiff and silent beside Duncan. His hands were folded before him, the picture of propriety, but his eyes roamed restless, feet swinging impatiently. Sensing Alistair’s glance, he grinned.
Two others were huddled together, an elven girl and a human boy. Her fingers whirled above one of the empty plates, raising it on its end with a trembling shudder. It spun there, faster and faster before toppling to the ground with a crash. The boy threw back his head to laugh. Goldanna turned at the noise, shaking her head with a wistful smile.
She bustled to Alistair’s side, a firm hand on his shoulder pressing him onto the bench. “Here, time to eat.”
Another girl moved round, bearing a large and fragrant covered tray. Slight and elven, she wore a long, pale dress, her golden hair worked with small white buds. She had kept her eyes averted but at Alistair’s glance she raised them, holding there.
“Hi.”
The girl said nothing, setting the tray down as her eyes narrowed.
“Uh… what’s your name?”
She leaned close, silent still. He didn’t see her hand move, didn’t feel the pain until he looked to the blood pooling from his belly. Blinking at him, she pulled the dagger free, bending to whisper in his ear.
“Wake up.”