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peopleofthedas2011-05-10 09:19 pm
bamftastik) wrote in peopleofthedas2011-05-10 09:19 pm
No More Heroes, Chapter 14
Ack! Sorry for the delay on this. Work has been sucking me dry. Also, this rambling beast now has a plotted ending and not too many chapters left to go. Hopefully this lights a fire under my butt! ;)
Title: No More Heroes, Chapter 14
Characters: Wynne, Alistair, Leliana, Morrigan, Loghain/Justice, Anora, Sten, Nathaniel, Zevran, Dog
Rating: T
Words: 1,800
Summary: The companions have returned to the outskirts of Denerim to perpare for the Final Battle (Take 2). Anders has been arrested by Cullen's Templars. Alistair came face-to-face with Loghain/Justice and promptly fainted. Now, Wynne finds herself giving unexpected advice. When everyone seems to be planning the battle without him, Alistair falls off the wagon with a resounding thud.
Previous Chapters
"Alistair." Wynne settled on the edge of his cot.
There were half a dozen others nearby, pallets and makeshift beds lining the walls of the tunnel's wide bend. Many such hollows they had discovered in the warrens beyond the city, fitting soldiers and survivors where they could, but never camping more than a handful in one spot. Some of these passages would have been built by the darkspawn themselves. If they were discovered...
Alistair lay on his back, staring toward the ceiling, one arm draped across his forehead. "I said I'm fine."
"You are not." She pushed his arm aside, probing gentle fingers against his temples. "You're exhausted, dehydrated, under nourished. And you fainted."
"Maker's breath, don't remind me."
In truth, he was physically little worse than the rest of the men, and Maker knew she had seen enough on that score. Wynne had even petitioned Ser Cullen to allow Anders to assist her – she remembered the young man from the Tower, recalled that he had some skill in healing – but the Templar had remained firm. They were holding him in the tunnel that they had claimed for their own and, by the curses that had echoed as she passed, he was doing little to help his cause. Cullen had not explicitly mentioned the Rite of Tranquility, but it would not be long before he decided that he could not spare a man to dampen the apostate's magics at all times.
She turned her attention back to Alistair. "Leliana says you haven't been sleeping."
He sighed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, that happens when you have a creepy witch swooping in to haunt your dreams."
"Morrigan." She had little doubt as to what the woman wanted – still she could see the Warden's words scrawled across the page, recounting that strange offer – and she approved of her methods even less. "They've stopped?"
"Those? Yeah."
"But not the archdemon."
Alistair barked a laugh. "The archdemon...? Those never go away, not really. All part of the Grey Warden thing. But now – now they're almost a relief. Because at least She's not there."
They were no longer speaking of Morrigan. Wynne sighed.
"I can feel it," he mused. "And, you know what? It is a relief. The archdemon's here, right here. And it means I'm going to die."
Wynne reached over and gave the short hairs of his chin a sharp tug.
"Ow! Hey!"
"Fatalistic nonsense." Sitting back, she shook her head. "I have had as much of that as I can stand."
Alistair ran a sheepish hand through his unruly hair, but his gaze hardened as he propped himself up on his elbows. "You're going to tell me I sound like Her, aren't you? Well, what about you?" He nodded to her breastplate, to the thick pads of embroidered leather stretched over her knees. "We were Grey Wardens. It's all taint and death and doom. What's your excuse?"
Looking to her hands, Wynne chuckled beneath her breath. She ran idle fingers over the softly-tinkling mail, over the worn scales that started just above her elbow. She would never have any skill with a sword, but there was something comforting in the armor's weight. Adjusting the still-strange magics, she let herself feel it. But it would not shield her from what she must do.
"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."
"We all mourn her, in our way." She looked up at him with a quiet sigh. "Have you spoken with Morrigan?"
Alistair blinked. "Morrigan? I... no. Not since we arrived, since I..." He scowled, flushing again at the memory.
"And these dreams. Did she speak to you in them?"
"Sure. Same as always. I'm a fool, I'm a child..." His eyes narrowed. "Why?"
Wynne steeled herself, forcing her hands to lay still in her lap. Maker, forgive her. But she would not see another child lost. "Alistair, when Morrigan comes to you... you must listen to what she has to say."
He goggled, lips moving in wordless disbelief. Still his face was a mask of confusion, but this was not her question to ask, not her choice to make. She could only caution that he see if for what it was. Blood magic, something inside her said, and worse. But it was still a choice.
"What are you... what are you talking about? What do you mean 'when she comes to me'...?"
Wynne's gaze strayed down the tunnel, saw Leliana come trotting to a halt as she scanned the shadows. She coughed.
The bard spun round, catching sight of them. "Wynne! Alistair!"
Wynne came swiftly to her feet, smoothing her leggings. It was an old nervous habit, she knew, and so strange without robes. Alistair watched her still, but if Leliana noticed anything amiss, she did not show it.
"Queen Anora wishes to see us. 'The Warden's Council,' she is calling it." She rocked excited on the balls of her feet, remembering herself enough to bend and give Alistair a quick hug. "You are well?"
"Yeah." His eyes did not leave Wynne.
But Leliana slipped between them, sparing Wynne an apologetic nod as she bent to help Alistair to his feet. "And I would speak with you. About Anders."
Alistair groaned, steadying himself against the rough-hewn wall, but soon enough they were moving through the tunnels. Wynne fell into step behind them, listening distractedly.
"...Even if I wanted to, I can't. The Joining requires the blood of an archdemon."
"She fought beside you before She took Her vows, no?"
"Briefly." Alistair shook his head. "But I wouldn't do that. Joining the Wardens is a death sentence. Literally. Even if we survive this, your friend would end up in a hole fighting darkspawn, the same as everyone else."
"But the Templars..."
"Won't kill him. Besides, you were in the Chantry. I thought you'd be on their side."
Leliana was scowling now. "And you have seen what it is that they do. You left them. On which side does that put you?"
Calling for the Right of Conscription had been a desperate stroke of brilliance on Anders' part; Wynne had to credit the boy that much. The Grey Warden order was perhaps the one place in which a mage could live free of templar supervision. But...
Alistair stopped, whirling on Leliana in the shadowed space. "I won't make another Warden. I won't condemn someone else to die." With that, he stalked away.
They caught up to him where the tunnel curved, opening into the now-familiar cellar. Anora sat at her accustomed spot before the maps with Nathaniel Howe standing nearest the entrance at her back. The rest of their companions sat or leaned against the walls – all save Anders and Justice. Thank the Maker for small favors.
Wynne had spoken with the spirit, had attempted to explain to Alistair when first he woke. But he had only stared toward the ceiling, asking no questions, reacting only when she ventured to compare the spirit to her own. His anger was for a dead man, but it made her wonder again at her own curiosity. They were alike, Justice and this nameless spirit that had extended her life. Would it linger, she wondered, living on even after her soul had fled? Was Loghain's fate a mirror of her own?
Shaking herself, Wynne pushed forward and took the empty chair beside the table. Scraps trotted over, letting her scratch behind an ear before stretching at her feet.
It was a shrewd move on the part of the queen, calling the Warden's companions. They had nearly accomplished what they now set out to do; they best knew the risks... and the cost. Still, the gesture was a hopeful one.
Conversation stopped when Alistair entered the room.
"Yeah, yeah, the last Warden's here. Dead man walking." Realizing what he had just said, he smirked.
Anora's expression turned to ice. "We have two Wardens."
"No, what you have is a corpse. And a mistake."
"It is good to see you on your feet. I have known women to stay abed many days after such a spell."
So much for gestures of good faith. Wynne cleared her throat, but it was Sten who spoke.
"Can a dead Warden kill the archdemon?"
Morrigan sniffed. "The act destroys both the archdemon and the Warden. Can a spirit such as this Justice even be killed?"
"How does everyone know about this?" Alistair glared at Morrigan. "How do you know about it?"
"I have known for some time."
"Great. That's just great." His fists clenched as he paced. "I would have loved to have known about it a year ago, half a year."
"We know now." Wynne's voice was soft. He did not look at her.
"The taint is in the blood. Is that not what draws it?"
Alistair whirled to face the young Lord Howe. "Why do you even care?"
"My grandfather was a Grey Warden."
Alistair snorted. "Why do I not believe you? The Howes are almost as bad as-as..."
"You think I am my father?" Nathaniel's brows drew low. "If you were your father, the archdemon would be dead and cold."
"Don't talk to me like I'm a—"
"Petulant child?" Morrigan moved forward on swaying steps. "Ignoring those who would help you as you nurse your wounded pride?" She stalked past him, speaking still to the room at large. "Would a dead Warden be an acceptable host, I wonder? We cannot be certain. The risk is too great."
"Wait... you're agreeing with me?"
She smiled softly, but her eyes darted to the entryway.
Alistair turned slowly, stiffening to see the figure that appeared from the tunnel's shadows.
Justice, too, paused to study him. "So. It seems you have… recovered."
The tone was enough to make Wynne wonder how much of the dead man truly remained, but Alistair had already spun away, making for the gear piled against the wall. "Where is it?" Stooping, he glared up at Sten. "Where is it?"
The Qunari grunted, pulling a bottle from the large pack at his belt. Alistair snatched it from his hands, taking a long and sloppy pull as he turned to the others, daring any to challenge him.
"You're right. You have a Warden. A big, magic spirit-Warden. Let him deal with the archdemon. Let him be the hero. I'm not staying here."
"Again, my friend?" Zevran's words were half in jest, but Alistair's eyes flashed as they swept past him. They faltered on Leliana, on Wynne, but he shook his head, taking another drink as he hardened his resolve.
He gave the spectre of Loghain a wide berth as he stormed toward the tunnel, pausing again to look back at them.
"Alistair." Morrigan ventured a step closer. "I would speak with you."
He looked to Wynne then, confusion giving way to resignation as he turned away. "Yeah. Alright. Come on."
Title: No More Heroes, Chapter 14
Characters: Wynne, Alistair, Leliana, Morrigan, Loghain/Justice, Anora, Sten, Nathaniel, Zevran, Dog
Rating: T
Words: 1,800
Summary: The companions have returned to the outskirts of Denerim to perpare for the Final Battle (Take 2). Anders has been arrested by Cullen's Templars. Alistair came face-to-face with Loghain/Justice and promptly fainted. Now, Wynne finds herself giving unexpected advice. When everyone seems to be planning the battle without him, Alistair falls off the wagon with a resounding thud.
Previous Chapters
"Alistair." Wynne settled on the edge of his cot.
There were half a dozen others nearby, pallets and makeshift beds lining the walls of the tunnel's wide bend. Many such hollows they had discovered in the warrens beyond the city, fitting soldiers and survivors where they could, but never camping more than a handful in one spot. Some of these passages would have been built by the darkspawn themselves. If they were discovered...
Alistair lay on his back, staring toward the ceiling, one arm draped across his forehead. "I said I'm fine."
"You are not." She pushed his arm aside, probing gentle fingers against his temples. "You're exhausted, dehydrated, under nourished. And you fainted."
"Maker's breath, don't remind me."
In truth, he was physically little worse than the rest of the men, and Maker knew she had seen enough on that score. Wynne had even petitioned Ser Cullen to allow Anders to assist her – she remembered the young man from the Tower, recalled that he had some skill in healing – but the Templar had remained firm. They were holding him in the tunnel that they had claimed for their own and, by the curses that had echoed as she passed, he was doing little to help his cause. Cullen had not explicitly mentioned the Rite of Tranquility, but it would not be long before he decided that he could not spare a man to dampen the apostate's magics at all times.
She turned her attention back to Alistair. "Leliana says you haven't been sleeping."
He sighed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, that happens when you have a creepy witch swooping in to haunt your dreams."
"Morrigan." She had little doubt as to what the woman wanted – still she could see the Warden's words scrawled across the page, recounting that strange offer – and she approved of her methods even less. "They've stopped?"
"Those? Yeah."
"But not the archdemon."
Alistair barked a laugh. "The archdemon...? Those never go away, not really. All part of the Grey Warden thing. But now – now they're almost a relief. Because at least She's not there."
They were no longer speaking of Morrigan. Wynne sighed.
"I can feel it," he mused. "And, you know what? It is a relief. The archdemon's here, right here. And it means I'm going to die."
Wynne reached over and gave the short hairs of his chin a sharp tug.
"Ow! Hey!"
"Fatalistic nonsense." Sitting back, she shook her head. "I have had as much of that as I can stand."
Alistair ran a sheepish hand through his unruly hair, but his gaze hardened as he propped himself up on his elbows. "You're going to tell me I sound like Her, aren't you? Well, what about you?" He nodded to her breastplate, to the thick pads of embroidered leather stretched over her knees. "We were Grey Wardens. It's all taint and death and doom. What's your excuse?"
Looking to her hands, Wynne chuckled beneath her breath. She ran idle fingers over the softly-tinkling mail, over the worn scales that started just above her elbow. She would never have any skill with a sword, but there was something comforting in the armor's weight. Adjusting the still-strange magics, she let herself feel it. But it would not shield her from what she must do.
"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."
"We all mourn her, in our way." She looked up at him with a quiet sigh. "Have you spoken with Morrigan?"
Alistair blinked. "Morrigan? I... no. Not since we arrived, since I..." He scowled, flushing again at the memory.
"And these dreams. Did she speak to you in them?"
"Sure. Same as always. I'm a fool, I'm a child..." His eyes narrowed. "Why?"
Wynne steeled herself, forcing her hands to lay still in her lap. Maker, forgive her. But she would not see another child lost. "Alistair, when Morrigan comes to you... you must listen to what she has to say."
He goggled, lips moving in wordless disbelief. Still his face was a mask of confusion, but this was not her question to ask, not her choice to make. She could only caution that he see if for what it was. Blood magic, something inside her said, and worse. But it was still a choice.
"What are you... what are you talking about? What do you mean 'when she comes to me'...?"
Wynne's gaze strayed down the tunnel, saw Leliana come trotting to a halt as she scanned the shadows. She coughed.
The bard spun round, catching sight of them. "Wynne! Alistair!"
Wynne came swiftly to her feet, smoothing her leggings. It was an old nervous habit, she knew, and so strange without robes. Alistair watched her still, but if Leliana noticed anything amiss, she did not show it.
"Queen Anora wishes to see us. 'The Warden's Council,' she is calling it." She rocked excited on the balls of her feet, remembering herself enough to bend and give Alistair a quick hug. "You are well?"
"Yeah." His eyes did not leave Wynne.
But Leliana slipped between them, sparing Wynne an apologetic nod as she bent to help Alistair to his feet. "And I would speak with you. About Anders."
Alistair groaned, steadying himself against the rough-hewn wall, but soon enough they were moving through the tunnels. Wynne fell into step behind them, listening distractedly.
"...Even if I wanted to, I can't. The Joining requires the blood of an archdemon."
"She fought beside you before She took Her vows, no?"
"Briefly." Alistair shook his head. "But I wouldn't do that. Joining the Wardens is a death sentence. Literally. Even if we survive this, your friend would end up in a hole fighting darkspawn, the same as everyone else."
"But the Templars..."
"Won't kill him. Besides, you were in the Chantry. I thought you'd be on their side."
Leliana was scowling now. "And you have seen what it is that they do. You left them. On which side does that put you?"
Calling for the Right of Conscription had been a desperate stroke of brilliance on Anders' part; Wynne had to credit the boy that much. The Grey Warden order was perhaps the one place in which a mage could live free of templar supervision. But...
Alistair stopped, whirling on Leliana in the shadowed space. "I won't make another Warden. I won't condemn someone else to die." With that, he stalked away.
They caught up to him where the tunnel curved, opening into the now-familiar cellar. Anora sat at her accustomed spot before the maps with Nathaniel Howe standing nearest the entrance at her back. The rest of their companions sat or leaned against the walls – all save Anders and Justice. Thank the Maker for small favors.
Wynne had spoken with the spirit, had attempted to explain to Alistair when first he woke. But he had only stared toward the ceiling, asking no questions, reacting only when she ventured to compare the spirit to her own. His anger was for a dead man, but it made her wonder again at her own curiosity. They were alike, Justice and this nameless spirit that had extended her life. Would it linger, she wondered, living on even after her soul had fled? Was Loghain's fate a mirror of her own?
Shaking herself, Wynne pushed forward and took the empty chair beside the table. Scraps trotted over, letting her scratch behind an ear before stretching at her feet.
It was a shrewd move on the part of the queen, calling the Warden's companions. They had nearly accomplished what they now set out to do; they best knew the risks... and the cost. Still, the gesture was a hopeful one.
Conversation stopped when Alistair entered the room.
"Yeah, yeah, the last Warden's here. Dead man walking." Realizing what he had just said, he smirked.
Anora's expression turned to ice. "We have two Wardens."
"No, what you have is a corpse. And a mistake."
"It is good to see you on your feet. I have known women to stay abed many days after such a spell."
So much for gestures of good faith. Wynne cleared her throat, but it was Sten who spoke.
"Can a dead Warden kill the archdemon?"
Morrigan sniffed. "The act destroys both the archdemon and the Warden. Can a spirit such as this Justice even be killed?"
"How does everyone know about this?" Alistair glared at Morrigan. "How do you know about it?"
"I have known for some time."
"Great. That's just great." His fists clenched as he paced. "I would have loved to have known about it a year ago, half a year."
"We know now." Wynne's voice was soft. He did not look at her.
"The taint is in the blood. Is that not what draws it?"
Alistair whirled to face the young Lord Howe. "Why do you even care?"
"My grandfather was a Grey Warden."
Alistair snorted. "Why do I not believe you? The Howes are almost as bad as-as..."
"You think I am my father?" Nathaniel's brows drew low. "If you were your father, the archdemon would be dead and cold."
"Don't talk to me like I'm a—"
"Petulant child?" Morrigan moved forward on swaying steps. "Ignoring those who would help you as you nurse your wounded pride?" She stalked past him, speaking still to the room at large. "Would a dead Warden be an acceptable host, I wonder? We cannot be certain. The risk is too great."
"Wait... you're agreeing with me?"
She smiled softly, but her eyes darted to the entryway.
Alistair turned slowly, stiffening to see the figure that appeared from the tunnel's shadows.
Justice, too, paused to study him. "So. It seems you have… recovered."
The tone was enough to make Wynne wonder how much of the dead man truly remained, but Alistair had already spun away, making for the gear piled against the wall. "Where is it?" Stooping, he glared up at Sten. "Where is it?"
The Qunari grunted, pulling a bottle from the large pack at his belt. Alistair snatched it from his hands, taking a long and sloppy pull as he turned to the others, daring any to challenge him.
"You're right. You have a Warden. A big, magic spirit-Warden. Let him deal with the archdemon. Let him be the hero. I'm not staying here."
"Again, my friend?" Zevran's words were half in jest, but Alistair's eyes flashed as they swept past him. They faltered on Leliana, on Wynne, but he shook his head, taking another drink as he hardened his resolve.
He gave the spectre of Loghain a wide berth as he stormed toward the tunnel, pausing again to look back at them.
"Alistair." Morrigan ventured a step closer. "I would speak with you."
He looked to Wynne then, confusion giving way to resignation as he turned away. "Yeah. Alright. Come on."
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And... LOLWTF? Everyone's complete indifference to the reality of Anders being held by the Chantry (I exaggerate, but YKWIM). I mean, sure, being a Warden is a death sentence, but he asked for it. It's better than anything they have planned for him, I'm sure.
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