Blood Wound Chapter 26

[miri1984]

Title art by the delectable cave_fatuam 

There was an air of tense anticipation in Amaranthine when the got there, and it didn't help that Velanna thought it was all right to accost elves and accuse them of being pathetic because they weren't Dalish enough. The people of the city - his people - he reminded himself, were afraid. He could smell it.

Ser-Pounce-A-Lot hated it and refused to come out of Anders' robes. Nathaniel's hand was never far from his bow and Anders occasionally sparked with lightning. His own hands periodically iced over, nerves strung so tight from the never ending barrage of near-death that he was somewhat astonished he hadn't accidentally frozen a random citizen.

He hadn't done that since he was an apprentice.

In his defense, it had been pretty funny.

He found himself a new staff at one of the market stalls - a beautiful piece, well balanced, expensive and everything any mage might want, but as he hefted it in his hands and handed over most of the coin he was carrying he felt wrong. He remembered the rough feel of the wood of Wintersbreath, the way ice seemed to crackle over its surface even before he'd reached into the fade, the way it had seemed to leap to his commands and shook his head.

The staff was beautiful.

He hated it.

He slung it on his back anyway and stomped back towards the entrance, where Anders and Justice were talking animatedly. Or at least, Anders was talking with animation and Justice was standing as still as the statue of Andraste Anders was leaning against. Nathaniel had left to speak with his sister, saying he would meet them back at the keep, and Velanna had grumbled something about the city being too smelly and stalked out the gates to wait for them

"No, no, no, you see the Templars are organised in a hierarchy that promotes the ones who… do the worst get the most credit, you know, the more mages you've captured, the more harrowings that have ended in death the more…"

"But this is a religious order, is it not? Does not the worship of Andraste preach mercy and compassion to…"

"To everyone except mages Justice. It's all well and good to be merciful and compassionate as long as it doesn't…"

"Shut up Anders," Alim said.

Anders looked up and eyed the staff on his back. "Ooooh, Commander you bought Spellfury? I've been eyeing that for weeks. I didn't know there was that much coin in the warden coffers!"

"There isn't," Alim said shortly. "Not any more, any way."

"Woolsey will have a fit."

"I needed a new staff, Anders. I can't defend Amaranthine with a twig."

"I know for a fact that there are at least three other staffs for sale in the markets that are approximately a tenth of the price of that one."

"I'm the Commander of the Fucking Grey, Anders, I need a good staff."

The older mage rolled his eyes. "Fine. Fine."

"We need to get back to the keep, I want to get Oghren and Sigrun up to speed on this talking darkspawn and see what we can get out of his research."

"Are you truly going to make the elf a grey warden, Commander?" Justice said as they started towards the keep. Velanna came into sight, arms folded and foot tapping, just beyond the walls.

Alim blinked, looking at how straight she stood, then thought of the slow spread of corruption, the dark tendrils of the taint that clawed at his own body and would soon claw at all of the other wardens at the Keep.

He rubbed at his face. "She wants it."

"She is unaware of the implications of her request," the spirit said. "She will lose her extended lifespan. Suffer debilitating dreams…"

"I know, Justice."

The spirit was silent for a few moments.

"It is not just, the sacrifice wardens make," he said finally.

Alim sighed. "No. But it's necessary."

Justice hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "True."

Anders flirted with Velanna all the way back to the keep. Alim suspected that after the first rejection he was simply curious to see if he could make the elf explode with rage. It was only Nathaniel gently but firmly telling him to shut up that stopped him - that and a rather pointed comment from Velanna about the size of his fireballs. The mage spent the last leg of the trip sulking and patting his cat.

There were more than the usual number of people milling about in the courtyard and Alim spared a worried glance at them as he made his way past the private who gave him letters… what was her name again?

"Feels wrong," Anders said, frowning. "You should deal with this as soon as possible. I really don't like the look of it. Of them…"

Alim nodded. "Neither do I."

Anders shushed Pounce, who had emerged to sit on his shoulder and had fluffed out his tail. There was a definite air of… anticipation, much the same as the one in Amaranthine, but here… here it was more concentrated.

More dangerous.

"Everyone get inside. I'll speak to Varel and come back out as soon as possible." He could hardly make an impression now, covered as he was in dirt and darkspawn muck, ragged, tired and filthy. He didn't look like an Arl - he looked like some gutter-rat city elf - the commoners would look down on him and not listen to a word he said…

I could make them listen.

Alim bared his teeth and pushed through the double doors to the great hall, where he was met immediately by an anxious Garavel and a scowling Woolsey.

Anders slipped away, grinning, muttering about having work to do, and Alim made a tiny vow that when the crisis was past he would hand the wardens over to Anders - templars and the First Warden be damned. See how he liked it.

"Commander the nobles…"

"Commander I hear the caravans are finally getting…"

"We have to convene…"

"…a new staff Commander? I wish you would send requisitions to me for approval there is limited coin in the treasury…."

Alim held up a hand. "Can this wait until I've got the darkspawn goo off my robes? Possibly?"

Garavel looked grim and shook his head. "Ser, the Seneschal needs you immediately, there is unrest in the courtyard… he thinks there might be a riot!"

Alim pursed his lips. "Yes. I think he may be right. Tell him to meet me down there, I'll make myself decent enough to get through to them."

"We might not have time…."

"Garavel, if I go down there now they'll mistake me for the elf that nicked their coinpurse last week. Give me ten minutes to at least wash my face. I'll be there."

"Ser."

Alim hurried to his room, where he stripped off the robes he'd found in the lair of the talking darkspawn. As he washed and redressed his mind was buzzing unpleasantly. If the commoners really were on the verge of rioting he didn't know what he could do to stop them. He pulled a comb through his hair and tied it back, using some magically applied grease to slick it down - it would be a nightmare to wash out again later but he didn't have the time to do anything else, then slung Spellfury on his back and made his way back down.

It was much worse.

People surged against the barrier that the soldiers had made, uncaring of edged weapons, he knew because the call of blood sang to him from several areas. So strange that he could pinpoint exactly which of the peasants were wounded, which were closest to breaking.

They were all very, very close.

One spell, and you could make them all turn around. Follow your orders, do your bidding. The blood is there to use, you would not even have to harm anyone.

"Fuck that," Alim muttered under his breath.

"We have to stop them," Varel said.

"Perhaps I can persuade them to leave…" Alim chewed at the side of his cheek. The peasants were shouting things - accusing him of not sending troops to protect them (he had), of abandoning them to the darkspawn (he hadn't). "Maker's breath, their collective mental capacity has gone down…."

"Mobs are never very good at reasoning," Varel said. "Persuasion isn't likely to work here. They're not thinking. They're reacting."

Garavel nodded in agreement. "You do not coddle rebellion, m'lord," he said. "You put it down."

Alim allowed himself a small smile and settled his staff into his hand. "Put it down you say?"

The spell came easily - one of his best although he rarely used it these days. He held it contained for a few moments as he turned to Varel and the Captain. "You might want to stay behind me, sers," he said. "Unless you feel like catching up on sleep?"

The two men and the blonde private what was her name? he would have to find out later took prudent steps backwards and he released his magic into the crowd. As the first few peasants slumped over, breathing steadily, there was a brief outcry and a desperate scrabble for the exits. One or two of the peasants managed to get outside the gates before the spell forced them into sleep.

Alim surveyed the carnage - not carnage, they were all still alive - with a satisfied nod. "Get the troops to clear them out, Varel," he said.

"Commander," the seneschal had a small smile on his lips. "They will still be angry when they wake."

"True, but they'll be angry away from here. Let them riot in the streets of Amaranthine if they must, just not in my front garden thanks. Or at least, not until I've had a bath."

Varel chuckled and started giving out orders to the soldiers and Alim allowed himself a grin as he made his way back up to his quarters. A bath. Some food. New robes.

Then back to warden business.