Pitiless Games, Chapter 15: Drunkard's Prayer

[aithne]

Chapter Fifteen says its goodbyes, and is called Drunkard's Prayer (and on AO3. Full text also below the cut.) Chapter is SFW; story overall is rated M.

Title: Old Roads: Pitiless Games
Rating: M (for the sexytimez, and for occasional graphic violence)
PC: Amell
Word Count: ~132k, ~5k this chapter
Spoilers: At this point, it's not so much spoilers as it might not make any sense if you haven't played through Origins/Awakening... Also, this chapter and the next have spoilers for da2.
Summary: Amaranthine is destroyed, and Warden Amell travels to Vigil’s Keep to take command. But one either must play the game of politics or be used as a pawn, and like it or not, every last one of Kathil’s demons are about to come home to roost... Amell/Zevran/Cullen, post-Awakening, multiple viewpoints, Part 5 of Old Roads.

Author's Note: This chapter contains minor spoilers for Dragon Age 2. Proceed at your own risk.

Fifteen: Drunkard's Prayer

---

In the time before sorrow we were joyful,
our songs were sweet and welcoming.
We knew not hunger, for we feasted in gardens.
We knew not grief, for we were ever-living.
We knew love, only love, only love!

Oh, my daughter.
Oh, my thousand-petaled daughter.
Oh, my mountain-born daughter.

My every breath sings of your absence.

—from the Canticle of Demons, stanza two: of the Voice

---

Kathil:

They held the celebration after all.

She did not dance at it; she was still weak from her sojourn into the Fade and the rigors of her return. Nathaniel was handling the day-to-day business of the Wardens for her, and she slept, ate, and cared for Cerys. She sat on the dais in the great hall of the Vigil and greeted what seemed like an endless stream of well-wishers that night, Zevran and Cullen beside her, the warhounds flanking them.

What had truly passed the day she had confronted the Grand Cleric was a secret that the Grey Wardens held close. Even those who had been there had not seen the whole thing. If any non-Wardens wondered where Kathil had vanished to for a fortnight, or why she was pale and still even now, they did not ask.

She did get to see Nathaniel dance with Sigrun, both of them lit up like Wintersend candles. Jowan managed a turn around the floor—with Delilah, of all people! (And a scowl appeared on Gwen Rylock's face when she saw Jowan dancing with Delilah. Hard to say why, of course, but Kathil had her guesses.) Oghren wrestled a suit of armor and lost, and Felsi dragged him away from the hall with the light in her eyes belying her grumbling. Alfstanna sat near Kathil for a time, and the two of them talked about inconsequentials, exactly as if they were family.

Teagan and Alistair were there, without their respective wives. Kaitlyn hadn't wanted to travel, and Rima had unspecified business in Denerim that needed an eye kept on it. As she sat on the dais, watching the dancers, she saw Teagan doing a turn around the floor with Alfstanna. Alistair, of course, was in high demand—all of the women and no few of the men wanted a chance to dance with the King. Currently, he was dancing with Leliana, who she could tell was trying to coach him. Bless Leliana. She never changed.

Emris, Alistair's guard captain, had arrived with him, his Mabari Yvrenne following. "The litter that she had by Lorn worked out very well," he'd told her when they'd arrived. "I'd like to repeat the breeding. Yvrenne's coming into heat right now."

She'd laughed, and assented, much to Lorn's delight. Fiann's first heat was just past, and he had been very confused by the fact that he was not allowed to breed her. It would be another two years before Fiann would have her first litter, to allow her time to come into her full growth. But between Yvrenne and Kerrither's Dracene, Lorn was already doing his part towards repopulating Ferelden with the finest warhounds in Thedas.

The music was provided by various guardsmen and farmers and merchants who knew various instruments, and was mostly simply country dances. The current song bumped to a close rather than ended—they had rehearsed, of course, but there was evidently some disagreement about how "The Green Man's Daughter" ended—but the laughter that came from the dance floor was good natured as partners bowed to each other and split off.

A motion at one of the side doors of the hall caught Kathil's eye, and she sat up. A woman clad in cream homespun stood framed in the doorway. Celia's hair was caught up in a simple knot, and her face was bare, innocent of cosmetics. She simply was what she was—an attractive woman, aging gracefully. She was the subject of a number of curious glances, but no one who did not reside in the keep recognized her, it seemed.

No one, but Teagan.

Teagan looked dumbstruck, staring with his mouth half open. The two of them stared at one another for a long moment, and that moment said much. Kathil thought she understood, now, why Celia had stayed in the Vigil. And she understood, too, why her son Sionn looked so familiar.

Celia inclined her head, and Teagan crossed the room towards her. When he reached her, she took his hands in hers and spoke to him. He nodded, and she led him into the darkness beyond the hall.

"Who was that?" Alistair asked. He was standing near the dais, watching Teagan go. "She looks…familiar."

"Celia Mac Tir," Kathil said. "And yes, before you ask, Anora is still here as well. Don't worry, I think I'll be able to get them out of the country, now that she's had a chance to see Teagan." She glanced up at her old friend, the King. "We should talk."

He offered his arm to her; she rose and took it. People would talk, seeing the Commander leave the great hall on the King's arm, but she didn't particularly care. They went out to the battlements that overlooked the steep mountainside, the dark land dropping away beneath the walls. It was a moonless night, but the sky was clear and the stars were low and bright. Kathil went to lean on the battlement wall, looking down at the treetops below only barely visible in the starlight. Alistair did the same.

There was silence between them for a moment, a breeze sighing across the keep's roof, the distant jangle of music in the hall. "We're leaving," she said into that silence. "Nathaniel will be Commander after me. He'll be far better at it than I ever was."

Alistair's intake of breath with swift and shocked. "Why? You sent the Chantry packing—"

Kathil shook her head. "They'll try again, and again. The Grey Wardens will never have any peace while I'm in the Vigil. My presence distracts from our mission here." She glanced over at him, and smiled faintly. "Besides, I'm no good at staying in one place. You should know that by now."

"True enough." He shook his head. "So where are you going?"

"North. I….had a letter from the Orlesian Wardens. Laurens and Velanna have disappeared. They think it's something to do with the Architect."

Alistair shuddered. "Just knowing that thing is out there somewhere—"

"I know." Kathil looked down the hillside again. "So we'll go see if we can find him. Maybe try to look up Morrigan again. I am reasonably certain I know how to find her, now." Her dreams, since she returned from the Fade, had been filled with dragon wings and twisted mirrors. "The Circle of the Grey will likely eventually end up at Soldier's Peak, rather than Vigil's Keep. That should appease the Chantry a little. Out of sight, out of mind, and all that. Keili and Kinnon will stay here, it turns out, but Jowan will go."

Alistair raised an eyebrow. "I thought he and Keili were together."

"So did I." She chuckled. "Turns out that Keili has a thing for strong, handsome women who are deadly with a bow. She pretty much moved in with Maverlies a few weeks ago. I don't doubt that she and Jowan slept together, but let's just say that I'm not the only mage in the Wardens who has a weakness where Templars are concerned."

And hadn't that been a surprise, when Kathil had figured it out. Rylock had simply told her that she was going to Soldier's Peak with Jowan; there had been no room and no reason for Kathil to object. The two of them were rarely far from each other, these days. She didn't know if the two of them had figured out what was going on between them, but she trusted that they would eventually work it out.

"There's something else," she said. She slipped her hand into the pocket that was hidden in the full skirt of the dress she was wearing, and pulled out a small object. "I keep meaning to give this to you."

He held the pendant up to what little light there was. "A Warden's Oath? And well-worn, to boot. Who's was it?"

"Look at the inscription," she said, quietly.

"It's in…is that Orlesian?" I can barely read it."

"Duncan was conscripted in Val Royeaux," she said. "It belonged to him. It was passed on, eventually, to his daughter. She gave it to me, said that it should be with the Wardens."

He was staring at her. "Duncan had a family? I never—he never said anything!"

"He wouldn't have. His lover was a Circle mage. He helped her escape to Tevinter when she got pregnant." She took a long breath. "Leliana introduced you to Amity, earlier. She's Duncan's daughter. You should talk to her. I think she's curious about her father. She never met him, and all she had of him was stories her mother told, and his Oath."

He looked down at the pendant in his hand, the little vial of black blood. "I will," he said. He closed his hand around it, and looked up at the stars. "There's something else I should tell you. Rima didn't come with me because she's pregnant again. The healers told her not to travel. It's early yet—too early to make a general announcement—but I thought you would want to know."

No matter how old she got or how long she and Alistair were good friends instead of what they had once been to each other, that little twist in her gut would never quite go away. She ignored it, and smiled at him. "I'm glad to hear it," she said. "You're a good father, Alistair. If there is any justice in this world, you will have a whole passel of fat, happy babies."

"And then there's a headache over succession," he said, and grinned at her. "Though by the time that's a problem, I'll be a little too dead to care, eh?" He pointed his chin back at the keep. "You know if we don't get back soon, people will talk."

Kathil snorted. "The important people know the truth. Everyone else can keep their sodding opinions to themselves." She leaned forward and propped her elbows on the wall. "It's a pretty night."

He made a low sound in acknowledgement. "That it is."

Neither of them moved to head back inside. For a long time they stood there in silence, looking up at the glittering night sky. I will miss this place.

She didn't speak, didn't move, just let the moment be what it was. The sky was a sea of stars, and she fancied that even from here, she could hear the restless waves of the Waking Sea washing Ferelden's rough and rocky shore.

---

Cullen:

If he didn't do this now, he would never have the chance.

He steeled his resolve and walked out onto the battlements. He'd spent an hour asking after Greagoir, and someone finally said that they'd seen him heading up to the battlements with his sword, a whetstone, and oiled wool. The former Knight-Commander was sitting on a wooden chair, tending the edge of his blade and watching swallows play in the updrafts that the walls of the Vigil forced.

There were other chairs around; this was a popular spot for guards and kitchen staff to take their breaks, and on fine evenings some people even carried tables out to eat and watch the sunset. For the moment, though, he and Greagoir were alone. He pulled a chair over next to him, and sat down.

Greagoir didn't even pause in his sharpening. "It's good to know that I at least can still do this," Greagoir said. He raised the blade and looked down the length of it critically. "You wanted something, Cullen?"

Cullen's mouth was dry. "What do you think you'll do, after we leave? Will you stay on?"

"I think not." Greagoir gave the sword another pass with the whetstone. "I'll return to the Blackmarsh. I'd like to learn to fish. Thirty years in a tower surrounded by water, and I never had time to learn. There are a few lakes, near Blackmarsh Village. And I think that scholar with all the dragon bones needs to have an eye kept on him."

And Wynne was there. "I understand," he said, quietly. "Was it you who sent me money, after I joined the Wardens?"

It had come in a small package with just his name written on the outside. Wrapped in a sturdy pair of socks had been a small fortune—five sovereigns, more money than he had ever seen at once. It had arrived just before Montclair had told him that they were leaving for Seahold, to apprehend a dangerous maleficar who had turned out to be Kathil. It was long since spent, of course, but he had always wondered who'd sent it.

"And the socks," Greagoir said. The edge of his blade protested against the whetstone. "Don't forget those. I thought you might need the money, and it wasn't doing me any good sitting in my trunk. Did you use it well?"

"Yes. I think I did." He'd stood in front of the dwarf's stall for ages and ages, trying to make up his mind. In the end, he had picked the set of pen nibs that had been the plainest but sturdiest, with the thought that they would last Kathil a good long time. They had cost two sovereigns, but he still saw her using them when she was writing letters and her endless Canticles. The price had been more than worth it. "The socks are good, too. I still have those."

Greagoir chuckled. "Thank Wynne. At least, I am nearly certain that she was the one who made me all the pairs I kept finding in my office. I still have a number of pairs left, and it's been years since any new ones appeared." He picked up the wool and began to methodically oil his blade, laying down the oil in a thin layer. In the sunlight, the oil on the metal reflected subtle colors against the steel.

Cullen bit the inside of his cheek. "I…just wanted to say, thank you. Wynne told me what you did for me—for her. When I was born. And for the money, and the socks, and for—"

Everything, really.

There was a faint smile on Greagoir's face. "I told myself that it was simply that I couldn't see sending any child, even a mage's child, to certain death in the Aeonar. Children came and went in the Tower, after all. I was good at only seeing the ones who were going to be trouble. In retrospect, I told myself many things. Some of which turned out not to be true." He inspected his blade with a critical eye. "I knew who you were the moment you walked into the Tower as a gangly Templar recruit. I've never been anything but proud of you, Cullen. Then, and now."

It felt as if the words hit Cullen square in the middle of the chest, with a force like a mule's kick. "Even when I drew on you?" he asked, feeling a little strangled.

Greagoir sheathed his sword. "Even then," he said. "Angry, of course, but also proud. You stood up for something you believed in—even if what you believed in was a mage that none of us had any business trusting." He glanced at Cullen with an unreadable expression. "You've done well, Warden Cullen."

His breath was coming back to him. "Thank you." They sat in silence for the moment, the sunshine coming down on them like a benediction. "So. Fishing, eh?"

"Indeed. I hear it's an excuse to sit in a boat and complain about how the fish aren't biting." One side of Greagoir's mouth quirked upward briefly. "It sounds relaxing."

He tried to imagine Greagoir sitting in a boat, alone on a still lake, with his line in the water. Vigilant, still. Perhaps with the shadowy form of Wynne next to him. He could see it, he thought.

They were set to leave in three days. It was long enough to sit in the sunshine with his father and be grateful for what had been, rather than resentful of what had not.

---

Leliana:

The leave-takings were informal, and swiftly done. First it was Jowan, Rylock, and a newly-made Warden named Calsine, leaving for Soldier's Peak. Calsine was one of the apostates who had chosen to shelter with the Wardens, and had taken the Joining rather than go to Orzammar. Then Greagoir left for the Blackmarsh, and Anora finally took her people to Amaranthine, where they would take ship to the Free Marches.

Then it was Kathil's turn to leave.

She'd turned over command to Nathaniel a few weeks ago and had spent the intervening time getting ready to leave. Leliana understood, she thought. The power that Kathil had wielded against those who would have besieged the Vigil was too close, and too tempting to use again. She had felt it, felt the brush of something that should have been dead many years ago brush past her mind.

She did not volunteer to go with Kathil and Zevran and Cullen. She might have, if Amity had not been there. But with Amity and Murena by her side, some restlessness in her had finally subsided. It had been there so long that she had grown used to it.

Perhaps they would go to Denerim. The Chantry had been shaken to its roots by Kathil's defiance of them, and it seemed as though every day brought news of village chantries quietly withdrawing from the greater organization, Templars choosing to leave the Order rather than comply with orders they disagreed with. There was a lyrium smuggling network that seemed to have sprung out of the ground like a mushroom circle, from nowhere and everywhere at once. It supplied the renegade Templars and chantries. Leliana suspected that Dagna had something to do with it.

There was opportunity in chaos. Leliana thought that perhaps she might be able to do some good as the Chantry struggled with the need to either change or die.

Kathil was saying goodbye to each of them in turn, to the Wardens, to Varel, to Seneschal Garavel and Mistress Woolsey. She hugged Keili and Kinnon hard, shook hands with Maverlies. She called Oghren a rude name and then embraced him, laughing as he grabbed her around the waist and picked her up off the ground. Sigrun poked her in the side with a finger, and Kathil punched her shoulder playfully.

Then she came to Leliana.

Kathil was wearing her armor, a sword on her belt. It was not Spellweaver but merely an ordinary longsword—if anything that came from Wade's forge could be called ordinary. Her face was still drawn and tired, the scar twisting the corner of her eye and mouth, but there was something bright in her black eyes. "I thought I was going to be here longer," she said. "I was going to run a renegade chantry, you know, and you were going to be its Revered Mother." Her smile was wide and lopsided. "I wanted to see how everyone would react to the idea that the Maker loves us and wants us to be happy."

"With some consternation, I suspect," Leliana said, and laughed. She pulled her friend into an embrace. "Be well, dearest. I would tell you to keep safe, but I know you better than that."

Kathil kissed Leliana's cheek. "You, too. I like her, you know. Amity." She glanced over to where Amity and Murena were perusing the bookshelves at one side of the great hall. "I'm glad it's her."

Unexpectedly, tears prickled Leliana's eyes. "That means more than you know," she said, quietly. "We'll see each other again, Kathil. I promise."

She wrinkled her nose. "Even if you have to chase me down clear across Thedas, I think." She tightened her arms around Leliana and then let go. "Be well, Lei. And wish me luck."

"Luck," Leliana said, and smiled.

As Kathil turned away, Murena made a beeline for Leliana, a book in her hands. Amity followed, a bemused look on her face. "I want you to know that I had nothing to do with her choice of reading material," she told Leliana. "Nothing whatsoever."

"What? Oh, Murena, love." She looked at the book her ward was holding and felt a very familiar sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. "Sweetling, The Rose of Orlais is one of those naughty grownup books we spoke of."

"I know!" The girl hugged the volume to her chest. "I want to read it."

"At least she will be practicing her reading?" Amity said to Leliana. "I couldn't dissuade her."

She laughed, and shook her head. "We will speak of it later, yes? For the moment, I have a pair of men I need to say goodbye to." She hugged Cullen and then Zevran, wishing them both well. Looking at Cullen, she thought she could see only traces of the Templar she had met during the Blight, the boy trapped in the cage. He had been the last survivor, the fortress that had refused to fall.

He was going to need that determination, she thought.

Zevran, too, was changed. There were new lines at the corners of his eyes, though the sardonic twist of his mouth was entirely familiar. "Take good care of them," she told him.

"As they take care of me, no?" He swept her a bow. "Goodbye, my bunting dove. I do not doubt we will meet again. The world is in the habit of bringing us together, is it not?"

"It seems so." She smiled at him, then stepped back and let him go. The three of them were shouldering their packs now, and there was laughter and shouting in the hall.

Cullen handed Cerys to Kathil, and she slipped the baby's sling over her head. Then the six of them—three adults, one infant, and two Mabari—walked out of the double doors, heading for the gate.

A small hand slipped into Leliana's. She looked down at Murena, who was regarding her gravely. "You cry, massime."

She used the back of her free hand to swipe at her eyes. "It is always sad when a dear friend departs, is it not?"

Then Amity was there, and her arm slipped around Leliana's waist. "It is," she said, her voice pitched low. "Do you wish to watch from the battlements?"

Leliana nodded, and they made their way to the wall walk over the rebuilt gate. They stood and watched as Kathil and her family walked down the rough-cobbled road that led from the Vigil, until they reached the bend in the road and vanished from sight.

Be well, my dearest friend. May Andraste bless your path with joy.

Then she took Amity's hand, and Murena's. "Shall we go see if Wade has finished that practice sword for you, Murena?" she asked.

The girl lit up and started walking, tugging on Leliana's hand. She and Amity laughed, and followed.

---

Warden Amell,

The situation here in Kirkwall is indeed somewhat dire. I have enclosed a report on the situations here that may spill over to affect the rest of Thedas. We have located Anders, as well. He seems to be involved in some sort of mage freedom movement. Erlina is working on finding out more.

The Friends of Red Jenny are active here, though mostly behind the scenes. Remy, Sionn, and Erlina have found plenty of work, and we may stay here past the year we initially intended. It rather depends on how the situation with the qunari that I have written more about in my report unfolds. Mother and I have also found employment, of a sort.

Your suspicions were correct, I am afraid to say. The Veil is very thin here, and all of the mages we have spoken to have reluctantly told us of having the same dream—of a shadowy being beneath the city, something only partially awake and very dangerous. Even non-mages are occasionally possessed by demons, here. And if ever I thought that the Circle of Magi in Ferelden was cruel, the Circle here is a hundred times worse.

I've included details in my report. I hope this finds its way to you in a timely fashion. The Grey Warden who agreed to pass it along to Jader was under the impression that you had not been seen in months.

Sionn sends his regards and his thanks once more for Cadoc. He does not care in the least that having a Mabari marks him as Fereldan and a probable refugee. The two of them are inseparable.

I hope you are well.

Kindest regards,

Anora d'Orise

---

Zevran:

The boat rocked gently, spray blowing over the bow as it nosed its way through the waves and north. Cerys was exploring the deck, and he was keeping a watchful eye on her. She was beginning to learn to walk, which meant that the terror of her being mobile had just multiplied. She had a habit of vanishing from view abruptly, often enough that he thought that perhaps he should think about schooling her in his own skills.

They had passed the winter in Orlais, keeping their heads down, looking for any traces of Laurens and Velanna. Then Kathil had come across a reference that made her think that the two Wardens had gone to Antiva. There was darkspawn activity there that fell into a curious and familiar pattern—organization where there should be none, evidence of intelligence and forethought that the creatures were not supposed to possess without an Archdemon to guide them.

So it was off to Antiva with them; first to Rialto, to pay a visit to Ville, and from there to Seleny. The spring was warm, warmer as they made their way north on a fishing vessel that was outfitted suspiciously like a smuggler's rig.

Cerys pushed herself to her feet from where she had been inspecting a coil of rope. "Come here, mi tesoro," he called to her. "The men will soon be back here and you will wish to be out from underfoot, no?"

She toddled over to him where he sat in a sheltered place by the rail, only stumbling once or twice when the boat rocked unexpectedly. She was a year and two months old, now, and her shock of curly blonde hair was the same color as his own. At times, she looked as if she might be elf-blooded; other times, he thought she rather resembled Cullen. She climbed into his lap, and wrapped a hand around one of his braids. "Papa," she said, then started muttering in a mixture of Ferelden and Antivan, largely incomprehensible. The muttering got even more incomprehensible when she put the end of his braid into her mouth, mumbling around it.

He removed his hair from his daughter's grasping hands. Footsteps approached; he looked up to see Kathil and Cullen approaching. "Better?" he asked.

Kathil nodded, though she was still markedly pale. "Have I ever mentioned that I hate boats?" She was many things, but a good sailor was not among them. "Only three more days, thank the Maker."

Zevran patted the deck next to him. "Come, sit down. There is a fine breeze blowing, no? It could be far worse."

"It could be storming, for instance," Cullen said. "You didn't eat for most of the week after that time." He sank down next to Zevran. From the other end of the boat, men shouted to each other as the ship's boy clambered up the rigging above their heads. Kathil settled down on Zevran's other side. "Has Cerys been keeping out of trouble?" Cullen asked.

"Other than occasionally attempting to sample the ship, yes," Zevran said.

"Why the tar, is what I want to know," Kathil said. "I assume tar tastes like it smells. I have no idea why she keeps trying to eat it." She looked fondly at Cerys, who had one of Zevran's braids on one hand and waved at her mother with the other.

"I am sure that when she is older she will explain to us why she feels that boats are for eating," Zevran said. He leaned over to kiss her, and then to the other side to kiss Cullen. "For now, I am content."

A rare miracle indeed, that it was true, and they were free for once to live their lives as they saw fit.

It would not last, of course. Nothing ever did.

But he could hope that it would last long enough.

---

You're my water
you're my wine
you're my whiskey from time to time
you're the hunger on my bones
all the nights I sleep alone

Sweet intoxication
when your words wash over me
whether or not your lips move
you speak to me…

-Over the Rhine, "Drunkard's Prayer"

---

And because I love you guys, have the song that was playing over and over while I was writing this chapter: