peopleofthedas | Apostates of Amaranthine chapter 106

Title: Apostates of Amaranthine: Chapter 106: "Now I see your fiendish plan"
Characters: Anders/f!Amell (Maggie)
Rating: M/AO (this chapter T)
Word Count: around 2200
Summary: Unlikely hero Maggie Amell attempts to rebuild the Grey Wardens and deal with continuing threats from the darkspawn, while trying to fit into a world that's a far cry from the tower. All this while the Chantry seems to wait around every corner, eager to remind her and Anders just what they think of mages who manage to escape Circle control.
In this chapter: This is the downside to expecting civility out of a professional monster-killer

"You want to do what?" Alistair stared at me.

"Bury them alive," I repeated.

"Maggie, that's… that's inhumane."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "So setting them on fire, cutting them in half, lightning, rocks, arrows… that's all fine. But snow is crossing a line?" I moved to the maps, looking at them. "This way we spare as many lives as we can."

"By killing thousands?"

"Thousands of invaders," I pointed out. He didn't look convinced. "Leave us," I said, gesturing to the mages and others listening in. They all did, after a moment, annoyed grumbles trailing in their wake. "Alistair," I finally said, when it was no one but us, "do what I say or send me home. I can't deal with this. You want me to be your general, well damn it, let me work! Don't second guess everything I say, and for Maker's sake, don't act like you think I'm some kind of maniac. At least, not in front of all them." I folded my arms, too annoyed to try and look respectful for anyone watching us from a distance. "You brought someone who only knows how to fight monsters in to be your general. Don't look at me like I'm some kind of lunatic because I'm treating them like monsters. That's all I know! It is the only way I can fight. If you don't want that, you don't want me."

He sighed. "I just didn't think it would be like this."

"What, your old age? Yeah, me neither."

"You're older than I am," he said without a pause. "And no, just… this. It doesn't feel like there's any honor in it."

"It's war," I pointed out. "What honor is there in two groups of people trying to kill each other?"

"There used to be," he said.

I considered that. "Nah, I think they edit out the nasty parts for the books. I mean, have you seen the shit that got published about us? Utter nonsense."

He looked resigned. "Fine. Do what you want. I'll back you. You know I will." Leaning over the table, he put his head in his hands. "I can't do this alone. All I can think of is my family. I'm so worried I can't see straight. If letting you go on a killing spree will keep you here, fine."

Well, now I felt guilty. Hopping up to sit on the table so we were closer to eye level, I put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey," I said. "Come on. You know me, if I want to go on a killing spree I go to the Deep Roads. I'm trying to prevent deaths here." He gave me a look of disbelief. "I am," I insisted. "Ours. Your kids', the troops here, the mages… those are the people I want alive. The templars? Screw them. Let them all die. Every one we kill out there is one less to wave a sword at us here."

"It feels wrong is all," he said. "It should be a fair fight, honest combat."

"There's nothing honest about combat," I said. "It's fighting. One person lives, the other dies. It just is. Why does there have to be some kind of deep honor or whatever in it? I just want to go home on my feet at the end of the day, instead of in a nice box." He didn't look reassured. "Look," I said, "you keep records. Write down that I did this over your objections. I gave the orders. Not you. Your hands are clean. History can judge me."

"And your hands?" he asked.

I only held up my scarred palm, shrugging. "Too late for me anyways."

Alistair sighed, sitting next to me. "You can't believe that."

"Maybe I'll be able to get some kind of 'extenuating circumstances' reprieve?" Shaking my head, I sighed. "That's really all I can hope for, but there's nothing to be done about it at this point."

He was quiet for a long time. "Didn't you tell me you'd rather go to the Void if the maker was such a… what was it… such a capricious ass that he would be more upset about blood magic than pleased about ending the blight?"

I chuckled. "Interesting how different the world looks when you're twenty two, isn't it?"

That night I fell into a fitful sleep. It wasn't just me, either. Anders was tossing and turning at my side. Every few moments one of us would kick or elbow the other.

"I just don't get it," Anders said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "I'm exhausted. Why can't I sleep?"

"No idea," I mused. "But I can't, either."

The next day Alistair looked no better than either of us. "I think the stress is getting to me," he mused over breakfast. "You know, unlike my relaxing life of running the nation, thank you very much once again for that, Mags."

"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled, stirring my porridge listlessly. "Ugh. Road food. Can I tell you how much I hate road food? You know, I figured making you king would get us a better quality of food."

"Now I see your fiendish plan," he said, smirking.

"So you do." I yawned and Anders cast a rejuvenation spell on myself, followed by another on Alistair and finally himself.

"You know," he said, blowing on his cup of tea, "the thing I can't stop coming back to? This is only us." Alistair and I looked at him blankly. He sighed. "OK, sleepy and sleepier, what do the three of us have in common? Something no one else in this camp has ever done. Or drank, should I say?"

"Ohhhh," Alistair said. At the same time my eyes went wide.

"Well this can't be good," I mumbled. "Maker, being here, I don't have the least idea what's going on in the order. In Orlais."

"None of us do, really… the last of our people were turned away at the border, remember?" He sighed. "We would be just as much in the dark at home. Well, not really since we have much better candles there. But you follow."

"I remember," I said.

"It is nice to see idiocy knows no border. 'Hey, we've got darkspawn crawling out our asses! Well, we best not let those foreign Grey Wardens in here! No need for that!'" Anders looked disgusted. "Whatever it is, it can't be good."

"No," I agreed, "it can't." Sighing, I stood up. There was nothing we could do. I wasn't even a Warden at the moment, no more than Alistair. Just a carrier of poisoned blood. Even if I left and went home immediately there was little I could do from the Keep with the borders closed. I could only trust in Alain and the other commanders. In the meantime there was so much work to do.

The next several days passed quickly. I met with soldiers, ash warriors, mages, and spies. Nearly everyone who was of consequence among the fighting men and women in Ferelden had a small group within the camp. Everyone but the Wardens, of course.

Not that their absence went unnoted. I could hear whispers from people every few days, wondering when 'my' army would arrive. Several seemed to be counting on their presence.

It was both flattering and frustrating. To think they were so respected people assumed our comparatively small force could win the day was, of course, thrilling. But… knowing how disappointed everyone would be made me have trouble walking through camp. I knew the Wardens would come if I called for them. Just as much as I knew I could never call for them.

"How did you sleep?" Alistair asked. We were waiting on one of his top spies, an old friend.

"I didn't," I replied. "You?"

"Same."

I sighed, brightening only when a redhead slipped into the command tent. "Hello!" she said quietly.

"Leliana!" I jumped up, embracing her.

She kissed my cheek before slipping into chair. "I'm afraid I have bad news." She sighed. "It is nothing we haven't anticipated, of course, but… I have seen it. Confirmation is never good."

"Just tell me," I said, almost certain of what would come next.

"It is Orlais," she said softly. "The Empress… she is backing the Chantry."

Alistair cursed, arm sweeping half the contents of the table to the ground. "How many?" he finally asked.

"Two full battalions, at least," she said.

"Not good," I said. "That is… Maker, that is not good."

"How not good," Alistair asked.

"That's more than we have here," I said. "And they have templars, too."

"Can we get more men?" Alistair asked.

I shrugged. It had occurred to me, too. But Ferelden wasn't exactly a wealthy nation. "Do you have arms and armor for them?" I asked. "Food? Since I don't."

After a long pause Alistair sighed, muttering "no, not good at all."

I don't think many knew the financial state of the nation. We were still, even decades later, recovering from the blight. Our population had dropped dramatically. Not just the death toll, which was substantial enough that we would be recovering for another two or three generations, but from the massive numbers of people who simply left and never returned.

From what I knew, Kirkwall and Starkhaven's populations had exploded just as ours dropped. I couldn't claim I was surprised. Alistair had tried to find some way for those people to return home, but by the time it was even financially feasible for him to send boats, most had built new lives. After five, ten years… why would someone want to leave and start all over once again? I couldn't blame them.

There was nothing we could do but push on. Leliana's network of spies, mostly women hiding among the camp followers, sent us regular reports on the army's progress.

It was just as well that I had contracted a seemingly permanent case of insomnia. This would have kept me up nights.

Anders wasn't sleeping any better. Nor was Alistair.

I was starting to build up a strong idea of what the problem was. A letter from Nathaniel seemed to confirm my suspicions.

Maggie, it had read. Alain in Orlais managed to contact me. Two words, written on the inside of a doublet he had smuggled in: we're losing. Nothing we can do, but I thought you needed to know.

I passed it to Alistair over breakfast. He nodded silently and handed it back to me so I could destroy it before anyone read what it said. No one wants to see those words on Grey Warden stationary, not ever.

After a long silence, Alistair looked up with tears in his eyes. "It doesn't seem right," he said quietly. "After all we did, after how many died… for it to start all over again so quickly…"

I could only nod, wiping my eyes with a shaking hand. "I don't know what I should be doing," I said finally. "I feel like I should be there… but I couldn't get in the country if I tried."

Alistair had no more idea than me.

The next morning I woke to find Alistair outside our tent. "Maggie," he said quietly, "From now on, do what you want. Don't hold back. Win this, win it fast. I don't care how brutal you are, I don't care what anyone says about justice or fairness. End this war, open the borders, and get the Wardens marching. Understand?" I nodded, too surprised to reply. Alistair grabbed my wrist, eyes boring into me. "I can hear it," he hissed. "Don't lie to me, I know you can, too. You want to know why we can't sleep? Listen."

I closed my eyes for a brief moment, doing what he said. Like an itch I could never reach, a scratch at the back of my mind, there it was. The song.

"It's not…"

"Not yet," he agreed. "You weren't with us then, though. This… this is how it felt before. I think it's calling, telling them they're close. This was how we all felt for weeks until… well." He shook his head. "This, that letter… things are bad. They'll get worse."

"There's still a chance," I said, feeling hope fade even as I spoke the words.

"There's always a chance," Alistair agreed flatly.

We were, of course, lying horribly.

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