The second Cousland child was born a girl - the most desired hand in all Ferelden. Then she was revealed as a mage. Plans change and plots unravel. On the eve of the Fifth Blight, Ser Elissa Cousland, Knight-Enchanter, returns home to serve in her father's army. The Great Game is afoot, and it threatens to destroy Ferelden - and perhaps unknowingly doom the world. An AU, multi-origin, canon-divergence take on Origins. Expect things to rapidly diverge from the game.
An Errant Spell [Dragon Age]
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Elissa I
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Part One: Magic Exists to Serve Man
Elissa I
The Waking Sea raged against the white cliffs of Highever as howling wind and distant flashes of lightning announced the storm's arrival. The city's ancient walls were made of the same white stone, though the scars of Ferelden's tumultuous past could be seen in them. Castle Highever proper towered over the city itself and the blue banners of its ruling family fluttered in the wind.
Ser Elissa Cousland pulled the hood of her robes up and shifted in her horse's saddle. The beast was hardly the same quality as the horses she had learnt to ride, but she knew she was lucky to have been given one at all. The two templars riding beside her - one to the right, one to the left - rode imported Orlesian warhorses. One carried a Chantry banner, the other only his sword and shield.
Her escorts were there for her protection, according to the First Enchanter. What the Templars thought she would accomplish by running, she didn't know. Her family could hardly take her in - no matter the nobility of her blood, she was a mage.
Once, when she had been a dumb little girl, she had confided in a fellow apprentice that she could've been queen. Her fellow apprentices had taunted her relentlessly for it, and it had taken years for her to stop being called 'your majesty'.
"Has it changed much, my lady?" the templar to her left asked. That, admittedly, was also why she had been unpopular. A mage she might be, but her father was the third most powerful man in the country. So she was granted a measure of protection - so the templars looked, but didn't touch.
"Not that I can see," she said. Her staff bounced against the side of her horse as the wind buffeted their small party, though the sound was lost in the clanging of the Templar's plate armour. The main road into Highever was a repaired section of the Imperial Highway and Elissa was thankful for it as she looked over the side of the raised road at the smaller dirt paths that fed into it.
The ground seemed to be more mud than solid earth and quite which bits were the paths was beyond her. Despite the bitter cold, she had been outside so rarely that she still relished the rain.
Elissa knew she should count herself lucky - she had been let out of the tower a few times for drills, which was more than most mages her age could say. That she was heading home - albeit, on assignment - was an unfathomable privilege.
She had almost said no.
Emotions warred within her as she rode beneath Highever's gatehouse. Whispers raced thick and fast between the men stationed there, and what few travellers had braved the storm seemed even more interesting. It was not every day that a mage rode openly into a city, and even though her staff was more martial than most, Elissa was unmistakably a mage.
She would never have been allowed out of the tower looking like anything else.
Highever had changed. It all looked smaller, of course, but it was more than that. Everything had fresh paint and she could see no empty shops, no crumbling buildings. The scars of the Orlesian occupation were fading into mere memory. Now the prodigal daughter returned, riding as a herald of war.
The sweet shop her brother had taken her to was still there, she realised with a faint smile. She almost made to detour there - but her minders would not take kindly to it. She had the impression that they were not eager to watch a mage they had to treat with kid gloves. The Chantry was the biggest difference - the once humble stone building was now grander than the Cathedral in Denerim.
They rode up the slowly rising streets as the sky continued to pour down and the flashes of lightning got ever closer.
"Might we have a barrier, my lady? That lightning looks -" the younger templar asked, the one not carrying the banner.
"Don't be absurd. We've no need of such... frivolous spells," the older one said. Which, Elissa was forced to admit, was true. It really would've been a ridiculous waste of magic to raise a barrier over the templars.
"Halt, and state your business!" the sergeant of the guards at the front gate of the castle shouted. They wore finer armour than the guards manning the city walls - half-plate of fine Amaranthine silverite - and seemed far more serious.
"I am Ser Kellan, escorting Ser Elissa Cousland to reinforce the muster of Teyrn Cousland," the older templar said.
"By the Maker, it can't be - you've returned after all this time, my lady?" the guard said, all of his discipline deserting him for just a moment. He was older, his beard laced with grey, and his skin was weathered.
"I can't let my father march to war with a substandard mage, now can I?" she said. A smile spread across her face. Ser Kellan could hardly have enjoyed that, she thought.
"I'll send a runner to the Teyrn right away, my lady. And have someone get your room ready," the guard sergeant said.
"I would appreciate that, Sergeant...?"
"Sergeant William, my lady," he replied. Named after her grandfather, then.
"I'll be sure to mention your warm welcome to my father - now if you could have someone take our horses to the stables. Oh, and prepare some guest rooms for my escorts," she said.
"We will not be -" Sir Kellan started, but then stopped. She was sure he had just realised that insisting on watching her sleep would be received... poorly.
Their horses were led away to the stables after Elissa retrieved her staff and bags from her own horse. The templars did the same - none of them were willing to trust any stable boy with so much lyrium. Elissa had a full war load of potions, of course, and the Templars had their own supply.
"I've never seen Highever before, my lady. It's very pretty," the younger templar said as they stood somewhat awkwardly in the gatehouse waiting for the runner to return. Ser Kellan did not seem happy with the young man's slip of the tongue regarding her rank.
"It is. I hope the weather will clear up before the army departs. The view from the castle is -" Elissa began, but she was interrupted by the arrival of the runner.
"The Teyrn will see you in the main hall, my lady," he said. Elissa gave him a nod and began to walk. She felt a flash of embarrassment as she realised she'd started in the wrong direction.
The castle was as it was in her memories, all wood and bare stone. Tapestries depicting Cousland history covered most of the walls - Bann Conobar's murder, Bann Haelia's victory over the werewolves, and Teyrn Elthea's surrender to Maric. There were some new ones, depicting more recent history - Ardal Cousland's last stand at Lothering, where he slew seven chevaliers before being overcome, her mother's fleet sacking the port of Jader, and her father's triumphant return to Highever.
She traced a hand along that one and felt the work. It was well-stiched, far better than her mother could ever have managed. She had no circle of kneeling Banns, no thunderous crowd, but she couldn't help but feel a connection to the tapestry.
Elissa pushed open the doors to the central hall and felt something all too much like fear seize her heart. She had last seen her father as a little girl, more than a decade ago. The wound was still raw and ragged, her cries as she was sent away still echoing in her mind.
He looked much the same as in her memory. A few more grey hairs, some of the muscle she remembered had faded with age... and yet she could hardly recognise him. Her father had been so tall and now their eyes were level.
Elissa was glad she had so much experience at holding back her tears.
"The Chantry has heard your request for aid, your grace, and we have dispatched a skilled Knight Enchanter to aid you in this war," Ser Kellan said.
"It is... appreciated. I'm sure one of the servants will show you to your rooms," her father said as he gestured towards the Templars.
"As you wish, your grace," Ser Kellan said, bowing his helmeted head towards the Teyrn. He and his underling left the hall, and Elissa found herself alone with her father.
"You've grown, pup," he said, and her heart nearly shattered at the words.
"Little girls tend to do that when you don't see them for a decade," she said, the bitter words bubbling out of her mouth like bile. She regretted them the moment she'd finished speaking them, but she could hardly put them back in her mouth.
"You know we couldn't, pup," her father said. She knew it was true, knew that whatever privileges might have been granted to her, that was one the Chantry would never consider. She was too valuable as a reward for good behaviour.
"I... I know," she said. He was closer to her now and extended his arms. She leant into the hug and the warmth of it was so achingly familiar, even if the height felt wrong.
"Never think that I loved you any less, my darling daughter," he said, and a part of Elissa wanted to argue with him. A part of her whispered that if it had been Fergus, he'd have found a way. An apostate teacher, something, anything. But she was the second child, the spare, the daughter. So she was packed off to the Circle.
She said nothing and just allowed herself to cry. She had no energy for bitterness, the bone-deep weariness of the long ride and the spiritual weight of her return home crushing any drive towards conflict.
"Come on, then. Everyone is waiting," he said. She followed her father mutely through the once-familiar halls of the castle, to the private apartments at its core. These were separated from the administrative and military parts of the castle, and a good distance from the guest rooms. The fires were piled high with wood, and their crackling glow promised a rare spot of warmth in the cold of the castle.
Her mother looked much like her father - aged, certainly, but gracefully. By the Maker, she thought, her brother - she had last seen him as an awkward boy of fourteen, and now he was a man. She felt silly for being so surprised at that, for she had aged much the same, but she had been.
Fergus was taller even than her father, his dark-blonde hair long but well-kept. Standing to his side was a woman Elissa had never met but knew of - her sister-in-law, Oriana. Standing nervously next to her was her nephew - her brother's son!
"Is that really you? Where's my cute little sister?" Fergus asked, and Elissa laughed. Of all her family, it was her brother about whom she had the least reservations. He had not shipped her off to the circle. The whispers of jealousy at his life - at his wife, his child, his freedom - were easy to ignore.
"I don't recall being particularly cute, Fergus. In fact, I remember promising to hit your knuckles with my practice sword if you ever referred to me like that again," she said with a smile.
"Ah, that's right - my cute sister went to a different Circle. You're the mean sister," Fergus replied.
"That's right - but look at you!"
"I do look pretty good," Fergus said.
"She's talking about me, daddy!" Oren said.
"I'm not sure, I think your aunt is really just impressed with my beard..."
"She doesn't care 'bout your beard, daddy. Even mummy hates your beard!" Oren said. Elissa smiled fondly at her nephew, but she also thought it was time to step in.
"Want to see something cool?" she asked Oren and crouched down to get at his eye level. He nodded frantically.
She reached for the barest sliver of power and mentally thanked Surana for all the exhaustive practice with precise magic. She held her hand palm-side up, and little motes of light rose up from it. They danced in the air, a swirl of chaotic light and colour before they returned to her hand and took the shape of a Mabari.
"Wow..." Oren said as he tentatively put his hand through the image of the Mabari. It scattered into distinct lights, before reforming and barking at him. He laughed and began to chase it around the room, giggling all the while.
"Well, far be it from me to criticise your work sister, but I don't think that will frighten the darkspawn," Fergus said. They had all sat down at this point, the comfortable chairs and couches in the family apartments one of the few modern luxuries of the old castle.
"I didn't spend my time in the Circle learning how to make pretty lights, brother. Maker, that would've driven me mad. Actually, learning that spell almost did drive me mad - it was only thanks to a friend that I got it down at all. I'm really more suited towards the less subtle stuff," Elissa said.
"Now that sounds like the girl I remember. Couldn't sew for the life of her, but could hi me with a practice sword harder than any ten-year-old should be able to!" Fergus replied.
"A friend? We've so much to catch up on, dear, and so little time before you have to leave again - do tell your poor mother something to reassure her you haven't been -" her mother began, but Elissa interrupted her.
"Been what? Cavorting with boys? I think you've forgotten that my marriage prospects are somewhat depressed as of late," she asked.
"I was going to say entirely friendless, dear. But if you have met a lovely young man, do tell your mother about it. Fergus has been entirely unreasonable and not fathered a single granddaughter for me to coo over."
"No, I haven't begun a torrid romance with a fellow mage. The friend I was talking about is Tabitha Surana. We were always in advanced classes together, and we had the same enemies, so we stuck together," Elissa explained.
"The same enemies?" her father asked. The tone of his voice was a dangerous one, one she recognised. He had talked to the Templars who had taken her to the tower in the same manner.
"I assure you, Father, the Templars remembered your words. You know how children are - gather enough of them in one place and some will be cast out for one reason or another."
"Surana... that's an unusual name. Is she from outside of Fereldan?" her mother asked.
"No, she's from Denerim. Oh - she's from the Denerim alienage," Elissa explained. She had been uncomfortable with the elves in the tower at first herself, but to a Templar a mage was a mage regardless of how pointed their ears were.
Her family looked uncomfortable for a moment, before her mother changed the subject.
"Did you see the new Chantry on your way in?" her mother asked.
"It's... big. Bigger than the one in Denerim, from what I remember," Elissa replied.
"That so-called Grand Cathedral is a national embarrassment," her father said. He had travelled across much of Thedas, acting as an ambassador for the new government after Maric's rebellion. Elissa had always loved his stories about wondrous and far-off cities like Val Royeaux or Minrathous. She still didn't quite believe that the Archon's Palace actually floated in the sky, despite reading about it in several books.
"Forgive me for getting him started on it. But yes, the Chantry was quite exacting on the price to have you assigned here. Your father thought he'd escaped having to pay your dowry, the fool. No daughter of mine would be anything less than terrifically expensive," her mother said. Elissa laughed.
"The whole thing!? Usually, they just ask for donations for a Court Mage - though mostly those are the children of minor nobility. They are pretty hesitant about letting anyone with a relation to real power go," Elissa said.
"Perhaps by the end of the war they'll be satisfied you're not about to use me to ferment rebellion and assign you here for good," her father said.
"I doubt it, father. Every noble family would be demanding the same arrangement," she said.
"And why not - certainly, it would make nobles much less likely to try and hide their mage children if they knew they would return as court mages. But, be that as it may, I've another plan," her father said.
"Another plan? You do know they have my blood, and could track me from Rivian if they cared to?"
"Your blood? No, I don't plan on aiding your escape. Rather... presenting another option. Pup, what do you know about the Grey Wardens?" her father asked.
"The Grey Wardens? Not all that much. I imagine I'll be learning more of them if we're to fight the darkspwan," she replied.
"Did you know that they recruit mages?"
"Yes, though I can't imagine the chantry lets them hang onto them so I can't -"
"They recruit mages as full members. Grey Warden mages have the right to move freely across all Thedas, and are the only legal mages outside of Chantry supervision south of Tevinter. There's the danger, of course -"
"Father, I'm a Knight-Enchanter. I've no desire to run from danger."
"Nor would I expect you to. But not every Grey Warden survives their recruitment process, and I would not put you through that without an alternative," her father said.
"An alternative - you had another plan?"
"Of course, pup. I have a fast ship to Tevinter waiting in the harbour, though I'm glad you won't need it. I've a few friends there who would've taken you in, but..."
"But I'd had to have abandoned Ferelden forever, and never seen any of you again. No, father - I've no desire to run. Not while my home is under attack. Not while you and Fergus march into battle."
"Andraste save me from brave children," her mother muttered, but Elissa could tell from her expression that she was proud of her. She tried to control her face. She hadn't thought that would still matter so much to her.
"Duncan - the Warden Commander in Ferelden - will be her tomorrow. He's allegedly here to look at some of the local knights, before swinging south to Denerim, but shockingly he'll conscript my own daughter out from under me. Then we'll all be off south to Ostagar, though both Loghain and Duncan agree the true battle there won't be for some months."
"I see why King Maric sent you to Orlais," she replied.
"Hah - he had enough spies. No, Maric just thought I was the most cosmopolitan of his nobles. Can you imagine sending Loghain to negotiate with the Emperor?"
"Only if Maric had wanted to fight another war."
The conversation continued for some time, and despite the occasional sharp edges, Elissa enjoyed herself. It was strange to talk to her parents as an adult and be the one sanitising things for them. Her father didn't need to hear about the wandering hands of Templars, or how dangerous the harrowing really was. Not at first. She would tell him all she could, in time, and she hoped he would tell the King - or someone who could do something.
She owed her fellow mages that much.
They ate dinner that night in the apartments, rather than the main hall - she would make an appearance there tomorrow night, but she had no desire to face the full court tonight. She ate the food - roasted lamb with mint, smoked fish with goat's cheese and sweet spices, bread so soft and white it seemed almost like a cloud - with ravenous hunger. She drank the wine - Antivan, a gift from Oriana's mother - just as eagerly.
She had almost forgotten what such fare tasted like after a decade of the dull, bland food served to apprentices. Half the reason she'd been glad to face her Harrowing was simply to get the better food the Enchanters were given.
They were all tired after such long and heartfelt discussions, so Elissa retired to her room not long after dinner. Her old room had been kept as it was and the sight of it nearly brought Elissa to tears. None of the clothes were there, of course, but all the toys and knickknacks of her girlhood were exactly where she'd left them. Jewellery given as nameday gifts, her old practice swords and armour. Toys and dolls, and all the things she had been so cruelly ripped away from.
In the corner of her room stood a tall mirror, of Tevinter make. It had been a gift to her father from the Magisterium, on completion of his embassy to the Imperium. She had never seen so fine a mirror before or since, and a part of her wanted to yell at her mother for leaving it here. Though, she thought, perhaps it had just been put back in the room for her arrival.
She studied her reflection for a brief moment - a young woman, tall and broad-shouldered. Her dark blonde hair reached her shoulders if she wore it loose, though ever since her Harrowing and assignment as a Knight Enchanter she had taken to wearing it in a braid. Her skin was pale - the sort of sickly ivory that comes from not seeing the sun, rather than the beauty of careful treatment and cosmetics. Her green eyes were the only hint of her mother in her appearance, beyond perhaps the shape of her nose.
Elissa walked over to the stand with her old practice swords and reverently removed the only real weapon from the rack. It had been her tenth nameday present from her mother - a long dagger made from silverite and glittering with runes. It was of Tevinter make, though her mother had told her she'd plundered it from the hold of an Orlesian galleon.
No Southern mage would be allowed a weapon like this, she knew. Even a Knight-Enchanter like herself, who were among the most trusted mages, would be allowed any sort of physical weapon beyond their staff. She had only learnt to use her staff as a physical weapon during her time as a squire to a senior knight-enchanter - and even then, it'd had the air of something secret and forbidden.
"You must have a name," she whispered to the knife, the crackling magic contained by the lyrium runes warm against her skin. It had likely changed hands many times since its forging, and she was sure its name was lost to history - but it was so fine a blade that surely it'd had one. She put the knife back in its sheathe and laid it down gently on her bedside table, amongst her old stuffed animals.
Her bed in the tower had been cold and hard, and she had never truly gotten used to it. Even Tabitha had called her spoiled and silly for it. Perhaps she was, but she got her first good night's sleep in ten years
Elissa I
The Waking Sea raged against the white cliffs of Highever as howling wind and distant flashes of lightning announced the storm's arrival. The city's ancient walls were made of the same white stone, though the scars of Ferelden's tumultuous past could be seen in them. Castle Highever proper towered over the city itself and the blue banners of its ruling family fluttered in the wind.
Ser Elissa Cousland pulled the hood of her robes up and shifted in her horse's saddle. The beast was hardly the same quality as the horses she had learnt to ride, but she knew she was lucky to have been given one at all. The two templars riding beside her - one to the right, one to the left - rode imported Orlesian warhorses. One carried a Chantry banner, the other only his sword and shield.
Her escorts were there for her protection, according to the First Enchanter. What the Templars thought she would accomplish by running, she didn't know. Her family could hardly take her in - no matter the nobility of her blood, she was a mage.
Once, when she had been a dumb little girl, she had confided in a fellow apprentice that she could've been queen. Her fellow apprentices had taunted her relentlessly for it, and it had taken years for her to stop being called 'your majesty'.
"Has it changed much, my lady?" the templar to her left asked. That, admittedly, was also why she had been unpopular. A mage she might be, but her father was the third most powerful man in the country. So she was granted a measure of protection - so the templars looked, but didn't touch.
"Not that I can see," she said. Her staff bounced against the side of her horse as the wind buffeted their small party, though the sound was lost in the clanging of the Templar's plate armour. The main road into Highever was a repaired section of the Imperial Highway and Elissa was thankful for it as she looked over the side of the raised road at the smaller dirt paths that fed into it.
The ground seemed to be more mud than solid earth and quite which bits were the paths was beyond her. Despite the bitter cold, she had been outside so rarely that she still relished the rain.
Elissa knew she should count herself lucky - she had been let out of the tower a few times for drills, which was more than most mages her age could say. That she was heading home - albeit, on assignment - was an unfathomable privilege.
She had almost said no.
Emotions warred within her as she rode beneath Highever's gatehouse. Whispers raced thick and fast between the men stationed there, and what few travellers had braved the storm seemed even more interesting. It was not every day that a mage rode openly into a city, and even though her staff was more martial than most, Elissa was unmistakably a mage.
She would never have been allowed out of the tower looking like anything else.
Highever had changed. It all looked smaller, of course, but it was more than that. Everything had fresh paint and she could see no empty shops, no crumbling buildings. The scars of the Orlesian occupation were fading into mere memory. Now the prodigal daughter returned, riding as a herald of war.
The sweet shop her brother had taken her to was still there, she realised with a faint smile. She almost made to detour there - but her minders would not take kindly to it. She had the impression that they were not eager to watch a mage they had to treat with kid gloves. The Chantry was the biggest difference - the once humble stone building was now grander than the Cathedral in Denerim.
They rode up the slowly rising streets as the sky continued to pour down and the flashes of lightning got ever closer.
"Might we have a barrier, my lady? That lightning looks -" the younger templar asked, the one not carrying the banner.
"Don't be absurd. We've no need of such... frivolous spells," the older one said. Which, Elissa was forced to admit, was true. It really would've been a ridiculous waste of magic to raise a barrier over the templars.
"Halt, and state your business!" the sergeant of the guards at the front gate of the castle shouted. They wore finer armour than the guards manning the city walls - half-plate of fine Amaranthine silverite - and seemed far more serious.
"I am Ser Kellan, escorting Ser Elissa Cousland to reinforce the muster of Teyrn Cousland," the older templar said.
"By the Maker, it can't be - you've returned after all this time, my lady?" the guard said, all of his discipline deserting him for just a moment. He was older, his beard laced with grey, and his skin was weathered.
"I can't let my father march to war with a substandard mage, now can I?" she said. A smile spread across her face. Ser Kellan could hardly have enjoyed that, she thought.
"I'll send a runner to the Teyrn right away, my lady. And have someone get your room ready," the guard sergeant said.
"I would appreciate that, Sergeant...?"
"Sergeant William, my lady," he replied. Named after her grandfather, then.
"I'll be sure to mention your warm welcome to my father - now if you could have someone take our horses to the stables. Oh, and prepare some guest rooms for my escorts," she said.
"We will not be -" Sir Kellan started, but then stopped. She was sure he had just realised that insisting on watching her sleep would be received... poorly.
Their horses were led away to the stables after Elissa retrieved her staff and bags from her own horse. The templars did the same - none of them were willing to trust any stable boy with so much lyrium. Elissa had a full war load of potions, of course, and the Templars had their own supply.
"I've never seen Highever before, my lady. It's very pretty," the younger templar said as they stood somewhat awkwardly in the gatehouse waiting for the runner to return. Ser Kellan did not seem happy with the young man's slip of the tongue regarding her rank.
"It is. I hope the weather will clear up before the army departs. The view from the castle is -" Elissa began, but she was interrupted by the arrival of the runner.
"The Teyrn will see you in the main hall, my lady," he said. Elissa gave him a nod and began to walk. She felt a flash of embarrassment as she realised she'd started in the wrong direction.
The castle was as it was in her memories, all wood and bare stone. Tapestries depicting Cousland history covered most of the walls - Bann Conobar's murder, Bann Haelia's victory over the werewolves, and Teyrn Elthea's surrender to Maric. There were some new ones, depicting more recent history - Ardal Cousland's last stand at Lothering, where he slew seven chevaliers before being overcome, her mother's fleet sacking the port of Jader, and her father's triumphant return to Highever.
She traced a hand along that one and felt the work. It was well-stiched, far better than her mother could ever have managed. She had no circle of kneeling Banns, no thunderous crowd, but she couldn't help but feel a connection to the tapestry.
Elissa pushed open the doors to the central hall and felt something all too much like fear seize her heart. She had last seen her father as a little girl, more than a decade ago. The wound was still raw and ragged, her cries as she was sent away still echoing in her mind.
He looked much the same as in her memory. A few more grey hairs, some of the muscle she remembered had faded with age... and yet she could hardly recognise him. Her father had been so tall and now their eyes were level.
Elissa was glad she had so much experience at holding back her tears.
"The Chantry has heard your request for aid, your grace, and we have dispatched a skilled Knight Enchanter to aid you in this war," Ser Kellan said.
"It is... appreciated. I'm sure one of the servants will show you to your rooms," her father said as he gestured towards the Templars.
"As you wish, your grace," Ser Kellan said, bowing his helmeted head towards the Teyrn. He and his underling left the hall, and Elissa found herself alone with her father.
"You've grown, pup," he said, and her heart nearly shattered at the words.
"Little girls tend to do that when you don't see them for a decade," she said, the bitter words bubbling out of her mouth like bile. She regretted them the moment she'd finished speaking them, but she could hardly put them back in her mouth.
"You know we couldn't, pup," her father said. She knew it was true, knew that whatever privileges might have been granted to her, that was one the Chantry would never consider. She was too valuable as a reward for good behaviour.
"I... I know," she said. He was closer to her now and extended his arms. She leant into the hug and the warmth of it was so achingly familiar, even if the height felt wrong.
"Never think that I loved you any less, my darling daughter," he said, and a part of Elissa wanted to argue with him. A part of her whispered that if it had been Fergus, he'd have found a way. An apostate teacher, something, anything. But she was the second child, the spare, the daughter. So she was packed off to the Circle.
She said nothing and just allowed herself to cry. She had no energy for bitterness, the bone-deep weariness of the long ride and the spiritual weight of her return home crushing any drive towards conflict.
"Come on, then. Everyone is waiting," he said. She followed her father mutely through the once-familiar halls of the castle, to the private apartments at its core. These were separated from the administrative and military parts of the castle, and a good distance from the guest rooms. The fires were piled high with wood, and their crackling glow promised a rare spot of warmth in the cold of the castle.
Her mother looked much like her father - aged, certainly, but gracefully. By the Maker, she thought, her brother - she had last seen him as an awkward boy of fourteen, and now he was a man. She felt silly for being so surprised at that, for she had aged much the same, but she had been.
Fergus was taller even than her father, his dark-blonde hair long but well-kept. Standing to his side was a woman Elissa had never met but knew of - her sister-in-law, Oriana. Standing nervously next to her was her nephew - her brother's son!
"Is that really you? Where's my cute little sister?" Fergus asked, and Elissa laughed. Of all her family, it was her brother about whom she had the least reservations. He had not shipped her off to the circle. The whispers of jealousy at his life - at his wife, his child, his freedom - were easy to ignore.
"I don't recall being particularly cute, Fergus. In fact, I remember promising to hit your knuckles with my practice sword if you ever referred to me like that again," she said with a smile.
"Ah, that's right - my cute sister went to a different Circle. You're the mean sister," Fergus replied.
"That's right - but look at you!"
"I do look pretty good," Fergus said.
"She's talking about me, daddy!" Oren said.
"I'm not sure, I think your aunt is really just impressed with my beard..."
"She doesn't care 'bout your beard, daddy. Even mummy hates your beard!" Oren said. Elissa smiled fondly at her nephew, but she also thought it was time to step in.
"Want to see something cool?" she asked Oren and crouched down to get at his eye level. He nodded frantically.
She reached for the barest sliver of power and mentally thanked Surana for all the exhaustive practice with precise magic. She held her hand palm-side up, and little motes of light rose up from it. They danced in the air, a swirl of chaotic light and colour before they returned to her hand and took the shape of a Mabari.
"Wow..." Oren said as he tentatively put his hand through the image of the Mabari. It scattered into distinct lights, before reforming and barking at him. He laughed and began to chase it around the room, giggling all the while.
"Well, far be it from me to criticise your work sister, but I don't think that will frighten the darkspawn," Fergus said. They had all sat down at this point, the comfortable chairs and couches in the family apartments one of the few modern luxuries of the old castle.
"I didn't spend my time in the Circle learning how to make pretty lights, brother. Maker, that would've driven me mad. Actually, learning that spell almost did drive me mad - it was only thanks to a friend that I got it down at all. I'm really more suited towards the less subtle stuff," Elissa said.
"Now that sounds like the girl I remember. Couldn't sew for the life of her, but could hi me with a practice sword harder than any ten-year-old should be able to!" Fergus replied.
"A friend? We've so much to catch up on, dear, and so little time before you have to leave again - do tell your poor mother something to reassure her you haven't been -" her mother began, but Elissa interrupted her.
"Been what? Cavorting with boys? I think you've forgotten that my marriage prospects are somewhat depressed as of late," she asked.
"I was going to say entirely friendless, dear. But if you have met a lovely young man, do tell your mother about it. Fergus has been entirely unreasonable and not fathered a single granddaughter for me to coo over."
"No, I haven't begun a torrid romance with a fellow mage. The friend I was talking about is Tabitha Surana. We were always in advanced classes together, and we had the same enemies, so we stuck together," Elissa explained.
"The same enemies?" her father asked. The tone of his voice was a dangerous one, one she recognised. He had talked to the Templars who had taken her to the tower in the same manner.
"I assure you, Father, the Templars remembered your words. You know how children are - gather enough of them in one place and some will be cast out for one reason or another."
"Surana... that's an unusual name. Is she from outside of Fereldan?" her mother asked.
"No, she's from Denerim. Oh - she's from the Denerim alienage," Elissa explained. She had been uncomfortable with the elves in the tower at first herself, but to a Templar a mage was a mage regardless of how pointed their ears were.
Her family looked uncomfortable for a moment, before her mother changed the subject.
"Did you see the new Chantry on your way in?" her mother asked.
"It's... big. Bigger than the one in Denerim, from what I remember," Elissa replied.
"That so-called Grand Cathedral is a national embarrassment," her father said. He had travelled across much of Thedas, acting as an ambassador for the new government after Maric's rebellion. Elissa had always loved his stories about wondrous and far-off cities like Val Royeaux or Minrathous. She still didn't quite believe that the Archon's Palace actually floated in the sky, despite reading about it in several books.
"Forgive me for getting him started on it. But yes, the Chantry was quite exacting on the price to have you assigned here. Your father thought he'd escaped having to pay your dowry, the fool. No daughter of mine would be anything less than terrifically expensive," her mother said. Elissa laughed.
"The whole thing!? Usually, they just ask for donations for a Court Mage - though mostly those are the children of minor nobility. They are pretty hesitant about letting anyone with a relation to real power go," Elissa said.
"Perhaps by the end of the war they'll be satisfied you're not about to use me to ferment rebellion and assign you here for good," her father said.
"I doubt it, father. Every noble family would be demanding the same arrangement," she said.
"And why not - certainly, it would make nobles much less likely to try and hide their mage children if they knew they would return as court mages. But, be that as it may, I've another plan," her father said.
"Another plan? You do know they have my blood, and could track me from Rivian if they cared to?"
"Your blood? No, I don't plan on aiding your escape. Rather... presenting another option. Pup, what do you know about the Grey Wardens?" her father asked.
"The Grey Wardens? Not all that much. I imagine I'll be learning more of them if we're to fight the darkspwan," she replied.
"Did you know that they recruit mages?"
"Yes, though I can't imagine the chantry lets them hang onto them so I can't -"
"They recruit mages as full members. Grey Warden mages have the right to move freely across all Thedas, and are the only legal mages outside of Chantry supervision south of Tevinter. There's the danger, of course -"
"Father, I'm a Knight-Enchanter. I've no desire to run from danger."
"Nor would I expect you to. But not every Grey Warden survives their recruitment process, and I would not put you through that without an alternative," her father said.
"An alternative - you had another plan?"
"Of course, pup. I have a fast ship to Tevinter waiting in the harbour, though I'm glad you won't need it. I've a few friends there who would've taken you in, but..."
"But I'd had to have abandoned Ferelden forever, and never seen any of you again. No, father - I've no desire to run. Not while my home is under attack. Not while you and Fergus march into battle."
"Andraste save me from brave children," her mother muttered, but Elissa could tell from her expression that she was proud of her. She tried to control her face. She hadn't thought that would still matter so much to her.
"Duncan - the Warden Commander in Ferelden - will be her tomorrow. He's allegedly here to look at some of the local knights, before swinging south to Denerim, but shockingly he'll conscript my own daughter out from under me. Then we'll all be off south to Ostagar, though both Loghain and Duncan agree the true battle there won't be for some months."
"I see why King Maric sent you to Orlais," she replied.
"Hah - he had enough spies. No, Maric just thought I was the most cosmopolitan of his nobles. Can you imagine sending Loghain to negotiate with the Emperor?"
"Only if Maric had wanted to fight another war."
The conversation continued for some time, and despite the occasional sharp edges, Elissa enjoyed herself. It was strange to talk to her parents as an adult and be the one sanitising things for them. Her father didn't need to hear about the wandering hands of Templars, or how dangerous the harrowing really was. Not at first. She would tell him all she could, in time, and she hoped he would tell the King - or someone who could do something.
She owed her fellow mages that much.
They ate dinner that night in the apartments, rather than the main hall - she would make an appearance there tomorrow night, but she had no desire to face the full court tonight. She ate the food - roasted lamb with mint, smoked fish with goat's cheese and sweet spices, bread so soft and white it seemed almost like a cloud - with ravenous hunger. She drank the wine - Antivan, a gift from Oriana's mother - just as eagerly.
She had almost forgotten what such fare tasted like after a decade of the dull, bland food served to apprentices. Half the reason she'd been glad to face her Harrowing was simply to get the better food the Enchanters were given.
They were all tired after such long and heartfelt discussions, so Elissa retired to her room not long after dinner. Her old room had been kept as it was and the sight of it nearly brought Elissa to tears. None of the clothes were there, of course, but all the toys and knickknacks of her girlhood were exactly where she'd left them. Jewellery given as nameday gifts, her old practice swords and armour. Toys and dolls, and all the things she had been so cruelly ripped away from.
In the corner of her room stood a tall mirror, of Tevinter make. It had been a gift to her father from the Magisterium, on completion of his embassy to the Imperium. She had never seen so fine a mirror before or since, and a part of her wanted to yell at her mother for leaving it here. Though, she thought, perhaps it had just been put back in the room for her arrival.
She studied her reflection for a brief moment - a young woman, tall and broad-shouldered. Her dark blonde hair reached her shoulders if she wore it loose, though ever since her Harrowing and assignment as a Knight Enchanter she had taken to wearing it in a braid. Her skin was pale - the sort of sickly ivory that comes from not seeing the sun, rather than the beauty of careful treatment and cosmetics. Her green eyes were the only hint of her mother in her appearance, beyond perhaps the shape of her nose.
Elissa walked over to the stand with her old practice swords and reverently removed the only real weapon from the rack. It had been her tenth nameday present from her mother - a long dagger made from silverite and glittering with runes. It was of Tevinter make, though her mother had told her she'd plundered it from the hold of an Orlesian galleon.
No Southern mage would be allowed a weapon like this, she knew. Even a Knight-Enchanter like herself, who were among the most trusted mages, would be allowed any sort of physical weapon beyond their staff. She had only learnt to use her staff as a physical weapon during her time as a squire to a senior knight-enchanter - and even then, it'd had the air of something secret and forbidden.
"You must have a name," she whispered to the knife, the crackling magic contained by the lyrium runes warm against her skin. It had likely changed hands many times since its forging, and she was sure its name was lost to history - but it was so fine a blade that surely it'd had one. She put the knife back in its sheathe and laid it down gently on her bedside table, amongst her old stuffed animals.
Her bed in the tower had been cold and hard, and she had never truly gotten used to it. Even Tabitha had called her spoiled and silly for it. Perhaps she was, but she got her first good night's sleep in ten years
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- Location
- Puerto Rico
Interesting intro.
Looking forward to more.
Hope that you have Elissa save Oren at least, with him going with her, becoming her squire.
Looking forward to more.
Hope that you have Elissa save Oren at least, with him going with her, becoming her squire.
I think this is a grammar error.
Elissa II
New
- Location
- Australia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Elissa II
Breakfast at the Circle was a rare privilege for lowly apprentices once they turned twelve, and even if it was granted for some special reason (sickness, mostly) the Sisters handing it out scowled and expected such ridiculous displays of gratitude that it never felt worth it. After morning prayers, where her mother was surprised that Elissa had improved her singing voice tremendously, she joined her family in the main hall for breakfast.
Even the stablehands were granted breakfast, though not in the hall and only bread and ale. What she would've done for bread and ale every morning in the Circle! The head table, where she sat very awkwardly beside Highever's Revered Mother, was laden with fine bread, saltfish, boiled legs of beef, and excellent soft, sharp-tasting cheese from West Hill. Ale and light wines were present in abundance, and Elissa had to remind herself that she had much to do that morning.
"It is good that you are going to fight the Blight, Ser Cousland," Mother Iona said as she daintily sopped up some of the juices from the beef with a piece of bread.
"I am glad to put my training to such a noble use, your reverence. 'Never to rule over him' is a popular quote, but I fear some do not hear 'Magic exists to serve man' before it," Elissa replied. Unlike her more academic classes at the Circle, she had been the best student of scripture her age on arrival and remained in that position until her Harrowing.
"Precisely, Ser, precisely. I am sure you and your comrades from the Circle will prove most valuable in the fight against the darkspawn," Mother Iona said.
"And one cannot forget the Templars sent with us. I have read that the darkspawn have mages of their own twisted kind, worse than even the basest human maleficar."
"Truly? I had not heard such tales, and now I find myself almost too alarmed to enjoy my meal," Mother Iona said, though a wry smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Elissa was initially surprised to find her so pleasant, then she remembered that her presence at Highever had bought the Revered Mother a new Chantry.
There were whispers all around the hall, of course, because her being taken to the Circle had been the gossip of the decade. She had worn her proper robes and been sat next to the Revered Mother so as to indicate that nothing untoward was going on, which did seem to have worked. After all, she could hardly be an apostate if she were sitting next to the most senior cleric for miles!
After breakfast was done, she followed her parents and brother up to the more administrative portion of the castle, where her father's public office was. This was the place he spent much of the working day, listening to reports and writing letters and such. He would hear petitions and dispense justice in the main hall, but only on certain days.
Her father's office had only a few new additions compared to her memory of the place. Most obvious was the large war table that had been hauled out of storage, a well-drawn map of Ferelden with little figures placed on it. Each represented a certain concentration of troops, with larger figures representing divisions or regiments, whilst small markers designated independent or split-off companies. There were also a few new paintings on the walls - one of Fergus, Oriana, and Oren and to Elissa's surprise, one of her. It had to have been painted from another painting as reference, for it was surely too flattering a portrait of her at ten.
"Now, pup, all our plans for the advance to Ostagar are in place - but we should go over them anyway, and I want you to know what we're doing," her father said.
"Much of Ferelden's forces don't actually seem to be there yet - or on their way," she said. It was true. Half the Royal Army was there, five thousand well-equipped heavy infantry, and most of Gwaren's forces but both Redcliffe and Denerim - the two most populous Arlings by far - had yet to commit any of their forces. Highever and Amaranthine were obviously the furthest from the gathering point, and their forces had yet to move.
"Aye, you've seen that, have you? Well, Loghain is unwilling to uncover us against a surprise Orlesian attack, and we're not sure how serious this is yet. All the signs point to just an incursion, but Duncan claims a Blight is stirring."
"A Blight? And this Duncan is a man of good sense?" Elissa asked, her alarm leaking into her voice. A darkspawn incursion was one matter, but Blights could last for centuries - and require forces from across Thedas to defeat.
"Very. You see now why we and Howe are moving, despite Loghain's reluctance. Even keeping the fleet fully manned and the coastal forts ready, we can add a good ten thousand men to the force at Ostagar, and damn the Kendells," her father said.
"I've heard that the Circle will be sending mages to support the army, but I was on my way here before it was decided. Do you know how many?" Elissa asked.
"Five in total," her mother replied.
"Five?! Five?! Andraste's breath, should Duncan make me a Warden, I've half a mind to head straight for the tower and conscript every damn enchanter there," Elissa said.
"Loghain was about an inch away from drawing steel on the Grand Cleric when he heard the news himself but I don't expect a short campaign here pup. If we can convince the Chantry that it really is a Blight, they'll release more mages to the army. We just have to hold Ostagar and keep the horde pinned for a few months," her father said.
"Do we have the men to do that, father? Even if we were to uncover everything, do we have the men to face the full might of the horde?" she asked.
"Not at all, at least not all at once in an open field. It's why our plan is to draw them to Ostagar piecemeal, then wear them down one battle at a time. Of course, it complicates matters that the only reinforcements who could be there quickly are Orlesian," her father said.
"What have they offered?" Elissa asked.
"Several divisions of Chevaliers are ready to ride at the Border right now, according to the King, and more might be on their way with a word from him."
"If we let a half dozen divisions into Ferelden, they may well not leave," Elissa said.
"Aye, father, Loghain, and Eamon all had to shout that at the king for several hours before he'd believe it. I can't believe they'd agree about anything. Perhaps that's what convinced the King," Fergus said.
"We have quarrels with them?" Elissa asked.
"Eamon thinks the Queen barren, and more besides," her mother said.
"And what do we think, father?" she asked.
"I'd like to believe she is, but all my agents tell me Calian has slept with just about every pretty young woman in Denerim, and there's yet to be a single royal bastard. Besides, I can hardly join Eamon's urging for an annulment with my only daughter unmarriageable. No, I suspect Loghain and I are doing the same thing - keeping our position stable to make a play at the Landsmeet should the King, Maker forbid, perish in battle against the Darkspawn."
"Who would Eamon have the King marry? Does he have a daughter?" she asked.
"He does - though she's too young to marry. She must be, oh, eleven now. His second child, after the son," her father answered.
"But not too young for a long betrothal, I suppose. Does Loghain really think he could be elected King? He's no bloodline, despite his heroism?"
"I don't believe he intends to put himself forward at all. The man may be blunt, but he understands politics. No, he'd put Anora forward. She is noble enough by birth, and has made a good impression at the landsmeet as an administrator," her father said. Elissa began to ask another question, but a knocking at the door interrupted her.
Fergus went over to it and opened it briefly.
"Begging your pardon, milord, but the Grey Warden his grace was waiting for has arrived. Shall I send him up?" the guard asked.
"Yes, right away," Fergus replied.
Duncan was not what Elissa had expected. His armour seemed almost mage-like, with flowing cloth interspersed with plates of intricately detailed silverite. He wore two blades, one a long curved sabre and the other a shorter weapon of similar design, at his waist. His skin was tanned and darker than most Fereldens', and his beard showed flecks of grey hair. That, if nothing else, told Elissa that he was at least competent.
"Your grace, thank you for meeting me so promptly," Duncan said.
"Think nothing of it, Duncan. May I introduce my children - Fergus, my heir, and Elissa," her father said.
"An honour to meet you both. And, of course, to meet the feared sea wolf of Highever in person," Duncan said. Elissa's mother laughed at the reference to her youth and smiled.
"I hope I have not proven too fearsome for you, Warden-Commander," she said.
"I am sure we shall have use of it in the days to come, your grace. You are a Knight-Enchanter, then? I had not heard of the full rank being conferred on to one so young in many years," Duncan asked.
"There are benefits to being a Teyrn's daughter, even as a mage. Really, though, it's more about trust and chantry politics than anything else - they get very nervous about any martially inclined mages," Elissa replied.
"So I have seen. The Chantry has been uncooperative as of late, and were your father not able to spirit you here I would have no mages at all," Duncan said. Elissa blinked. Her father looked shocked.
"None at all? They denied you the chance to recruit at the tower?" her father said.
"The Grand Cleric wrote to me after the trouble with getting the mages for the army. I intend to make another attempt at it, once the army has fixed the horde. If they still prove uncooperative, I shall have little choice but to liberally use the Right of Conscription," Duncan said.
"I know a few mages who might do well as Wardens," Elissa said.
"Are you decided, then? Once one commits to the path, there is no turning back," Duncan asked her bluntly.
"Yes. I'll not abandon Ferelden to the Blight," she said. Duncan nodded at her.
"Then I am glad to have you. Make your preparations, though we will not follow the army's route to Ostagar," Duncan said.
"You won't be?" her mother asked.
"I have only twenty wardens, and cannot count on reinforcements from Orlais. I must recruit more; some of my senior wardens are doing the same. We will go to Denerim - an old friend has told me of a youth who might be suitable, and there are always prospects there. Then we will take a boat through the Brecillian Forest - the Dalish there may have potential recruits as well," Duncan explained.
"The Dalish? I did not think they respected things such as the Wardens," Elissa said.
"They do not adhere to the Right of Conscription, but they recognise the threat of the Blight as surely as any human," Duncan said.
The discussion wound down sometime after that, and Elissa followed Duncan to the training yard. He was not only here for her - it was a Blight, at least to him, and he would recruit any suitable candidates. A few of the knights he had heard of, and he even gave the templars that loomed behind Elissa a look.
"Templars, really?" she asked.
"One of my Wardens was once a templar, Alastair. His skills have proven useful," Duncan said.
"I suppose. I have read that the darkspawn have their own mages," she replied.
The training yard was a large courtyard within the castle, covered with a wooden roof and with a sand floor. Racks of training weapons lined one wall, whilst another held the sharp weapons that were not permitted in the yard. A number of nervous squires huddled together there, all watching their master's swords.
It was full to bursting, the great muster having drawn seemingly every glory hound and ambitious young soldier in Highever to the castle. Many of the knights sworn either directly to her father or to his vassals were here, eager to win glory in what was sure to be the grandest war of their generation. Some wore suits of plate armour, often imported or even enchanted, whilst poorer knights made do with a mix of plate and chainmail.
The troops were a motley assortment. Some wore old-fashioned scale, including a contingent from the Storm Coast who looked especially striking in their locally made veridium scale, whilst other better-equipped units wore a mix of plate and chain. Most of the troops were camped outside the city, but a few were quartered inside the castle.
"It's a little busy here for a demonstration... sir?" Elissa asked. She was unsure how to refer to the Warden-Commander.
"Grey Wardens are not overly concerned with formalities or titles. Call me Duncan, or Warden-Commander if that is too informal for your blue blood," he said. Elissa laughed a little.
"Well, Duncan, there's always the cliffside if you want space for a magical demonstration," Elissa said.
"Yes, perhaps that's wise - still, let me watch the knights a little more. Some of them may wish to join us," he said. She nodded and stood beside him, her staff in her hands.
The knights were clearly far more skilled than the common soldiers, although the long-serving professionals were no slouches. Duncan sparred with a few of the braver troops - and handed them all resounding losses. He seemed too fast for a man twenty years younger than he was, let alone for a man with grey in his beard. His practice sword and dagger were a whirl of blunt steel, once disarming an opponent so dramatically that Elissa had to duck as his practice sword went flying over her head.
"Your father has done well to cultivate so skilled a group of knights," Duncan said as he placed the practice weapons back in their racks and returned his own weapons to his swordbelt.
"I'm not sure any of them lasted more than five seconds against you," Elissa said.
"A Grey Warden is not just a title. We have certain... advantages, perhaps. We can sense darkspawn, understand them - and take some of their power for our own," he explained quietly.
"And this power... there must be a price for it?"
"As there is for all things. There is the danger of the joining, which you already know of. Please, do not repeat that to our other recruits - it tends to make things difficult. Our lifespans, too, are reduced - though I joined younger than you, and I am no young man. And... Elissa, do not speak of any suspicions you may have as to how this is achieved to the others. For now, I will say no more of it," Duncan said. Elissa nodded slowly.
There could only be one way towards that power, at least to her knowledge. Blood magic of some kind or another. Much like the tracking phylacteries used by the Chantry, then, it was another piece of blood magic deemed too useful to refuse.
"I am sure you must tell every mage recruit that at one point or another. Still, I will say nothing of it to any fellow recruit," Elissa said.
They walked through the castle and as they approached the cliffside, the two templars caught up with them.
"Knight-Enchanter, we have been looking for you all morning. What is the meaning of this?" Ser Kellan asked.
"I am afraid that your question will go unanswered, ser, for I have been asked to join the Grey Wardens and accepted. Thus, by Chantry law, I am beyond your power," Elissa said. She relished the words, sweet as honey on her lips.
"Grey Warden - bah! You have deceived us, you and your damned father both!"
"I knew nothing of any such plans, ser. Andraste calls on mages to serve man, and there can be no greater use for magic than to stand against the great evil," Eliisa said. Duncan looked at the templars cooly, his expression neutral and unreadable.
"I have no proof this man even is a Grey Warden -" Ser Kellan began, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. Before he could draw it more than an inch out of its scabbard, Duncan's curved sabre was between the weakpoint of the templar's armour on his neck, resting above naught but cloth.
"I am the Commander of the Grey in Ferelden, and this young woman is my recruit. Should you have doubts, there are no concern of mine. Be wary, Templar, for the safety of my Wardens is of great concern to me," Duncan said. His voice was still warm - kind, even - but there was no doubt as to his resolve.
Ser Kellan let his sword go and it slid back into its scabbard. He raised his hands and stepped backwards.
"I shall write to the Grand Cleric on this matter, Warden-Commander. Of that, you have my word," he said. He turned to leave and beckoned his junior to follow.
"It is not wise to antagonise them, you know," Duncan said.
"I know, I know. I shall be better behaved next time, now that I've gotten to do it once," Elissa said. A smile curled at Duncan's lips.
They continued walking towards the castle and came to the rear of it, which faced the Waking Sea. There was no wall here, for a cliff hundreds of feet high formed of the nearly indestructible white rock that made up the castle walls was proof against any assault imaginable.
The view was beyond words - the previous day's storm was entirely gone and replaced with a sky so blue it seemed unending. Fishing boats and trading ships dotted the seascape, small dots of brown wood and white sails against the endless deep blue expanse. Sea birds squealed and squawked as they circled overhead and made their nests in the cliffs below them.
"Now that we are safely away from anything breakable or flammable, by all means, show me what you can do," Duncan said.
Elissa stepped forward and gripped her staff with both hands. She started by simply channelling the barest trickle of magic through it, and letting the enchantment within it work to produce small bolts of fire. She swung the staff rapidly, firing with great speed and accuracy. Then she surged her magic and thrust the staff forward. A great cone of fire followed, and then she summoned a burst of cold and of lightning to show she wasn't merely a pyromaniac.
"Fire will serve you well against the darkspawn. They fear it above all else," Duncan said.
Ellisa next demonstrated her capacity for protective spells—she conjured a form-fitting barrier around herself and Duncan and also demonstrated a bubble-shaped one. Then she had Duncan make a small cut on her hand with his knife and showed her abilities as a healer—not at the level of someone like Wynne or Amell, but she had been drilled in it extensively as part of her training to serve on the front line.
Then, at last, she withdrew the empty hilt from her robes and took it in her left hand. She could do this with her staff too, but the hilt she had made herself and directed the tranquil to place certain enchantments that were not often permitted on a mage's staff. She swung the hilt and a blade of pure magic, iridescent rainbow-coloured light, burst into life. Then she showed how - with more effort - she could conjure it from the head of her staff, too, or from thin air.
"A spirit blade? I have seen it before, and seen its strength. I think you will be a fine addition to the Wardens - and hopefully, you can teach any other mages we recruit such skills," Duncan said.
"It does require quite some work, but many more could learn it than the Chantry deems safe to teach.
They had many other tasks to get through - now that she was no longer under the supervision of the templars, Elissa had to be equipped with her own horse, her own tent and supplies. Her father had instructed the quartermaster to provide her with whatever she needed and left a great deal of gold for her to purchase things of her own in the city.
The stablemaster gave her an excellent horse, a roan palfrey imported from Orlais and well suited for the long distances a Warden might be required to cover. It seemed an agreeable sort, and Elissa was glad that her childhood lessons on riding had not faded away in the Circle.
Duncan had several candidates to talk to, so she split off from him and headed into the city. The feeling of gold in her coin purse was a strange one, after so many years in the Circle. She changed out of her robes before she left, into an excellent riding dress the servants had found in storage and altered to fit her. She left her staff behind, too, for it was simply too conspicuous.
More clothes had been found and altered for her - some of her brother's old breeches and jerkins, a nice gown that had belonged to her maternal grandmother, and a tunic of grey silk featuring an emblazoned griffon that Duncan had left for her. She was unsure if she would require the gown beyond tonight, being that she was headed for the front lines, but she supposed that if they called on the Queen in Denerim then it might not go amiss.
In the city, she bought a set of fine silver travelling combs and a hand mirror. She also purchased new small clothes and such, as well as new boots. She even made time to go to the sweets shop she remembered and enjoyed her afternoon in general.
She made sure to see her brother off - Howe's troops had not yet arrived, so he would lead the Highever men out to meet them on the North Road, the partially ruined section of the Imperial Highway that ran parallel to the Waking Sea, waiting at the exit for Highever for them. Her brother rode his magnificent warhorse through the streets of Highever, his knights behind him carrying the banner of the Couslands. He wore half-plate of fine red steel and a helmet of the same material. He waved at her, and she returned it - at once overjoyed to see her brother again and also guilty. He was marching off to war, and she was grateful for it - grateful for the freedom she had gained, grateful that she had been able to return home even once more.
As the Chantry bells rang for the fourth hour past midday, she headed home. With a few minor spells she'd been taught by her Knight-Enchanter mentor, she was able to break in her boots with supernatural speed - one spell she would make sure to teach any other Warden mage she met.
She put away her purchases and new clothes into her pack, though she left out her travelling robes for the next day, and then put on the gown the servants had altered for her. It was an extravagant thing, though obviously somewhat out of fashion. She was too tall for any of her mother's things, unfortunately.
As she entered the main hall, she was surprised to see Arl Howe sitting next to her father. She had not seen his troops on the road, though she had seen Fergus leave with the majority of the Highever men. Perhaps they would rendezvous with Howe's troops on the road - with their fast horses, the small party remaining at Highever could easily catch up to both of them.
Duncan was still there, sitting beside an empty seat on the high table. She made her way over to a chorus of whispers, but nobody seemed especially eager to insult the Teyrn in his own castle. She sat next to Duncan, and on her other side was Arl Howe. He smiled at her, pleasantly.
"His Grace is most proud of you, Lady Cousland. A Grey Warden - not what any of us had imagined for you, of course, but a very... noble endeavour," Howe said.
"Thank you for your kind words, my lord. I had not expected it on my summons here, but I am glad that Duncan saw fit to recruit me. I know that you had hoped that I might marry Nathaniel, before..." she replied. Food had not yet been served, though the servants had brought out wine and ale.
"Yes, a great tragedy - or perhaps Thomas, but yes. It seemed a low blow from the Maker, but you appear to have made the best of it," Howe said. Elissa began to respond, but she stopped as the Revered Mother rose. It was nearly time for the food to be brought out, so first there must be a prayer.
"Maker, my enemies are abundant.
Many are those who rise up against me.
But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion,
Should they set themselves against me.
In the long hours of the night
When hope has abandoned me,
I will see the stars and know
Your Light remains."
Revered Mother Iona sang, and the rest of the hall joined in with her. Elissa had no love for the Chantry, no devotion for templars and switch-wielding sisters, but when she heard the Chant of Light sung in such a number it was hard not to believe. She was grateful to the Revered Mother too, that she had not chosen from the Canticle of Transfigurations. She had sung those lines far too often for any beauty to remain in them for her.
She thought of her brother in the moments of silence that followed, even now marching the first steps towards war. She thought of her father who would follow him, and of her fellow mages who had been dispatched to the army. She did not know if she believed in the Maker, and the Chantry was clear that He had turned His face away from His creation, but she uttered a silent prayer, all the same.
Breakfast at the Circle was a rare privilege for lowly apprentices once they turned twelve, and even if it was granted for some special reason (sickness, mostly) the Sisters handing it out scowled and expected such ridiculous displays of gratitude that it never felt worth it. After morning prayers, where her mother was surprised that Elissa had improved her singing voice tremendously, she joined her family in the main hall for breakfast.
Even the stablehands were granted breakfast, though not in the hall and only bread and ale. What she would've done for bread and ale every morning in the Circle! The head table, where she sat very awkwardly beside Highever's Revered Mother, was laden with fine bread, saltfish, boiled legs of beef, and excellent soft, sharp-tasting cheese from West Hill. Ale and light wines were present in abundance, and Elissa had to remind herself that she had much to do that morning.
"It is good that you are going to fight the Blight, Ser Cousland," Mother Iona said as she daintily sopped up some of the juices from the beef with a piece of bread.
"I am glad to put my training to such a noble use, your reverence. 'Never to rule over him' is a popular quote, but I fear some do not hear 'Magic exists to serve man' before it," Elissa replied. Unlike her more academic classes at the Circle, she had been the best student of scripture her age on arrival and remained in that position until her Harrowing.
"Precisely, Ser, precisely. I am sure you and your comrades from the Circle will prove most valuable in the fight against the darkspawn," Mother Iona said.
"And one cannot forget the Templars sent with us. I have read that the darkspawn have mages of their own twisted kind, worse than even the basest human maleficar."
"Truly? I had not heard such tales, and now I find myself almost too alarmed to enjoy my meal," Mother Iona said, though a wry smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Elissa was initially surprised to find her so pleasant, then she remembered that her presence at Highever had bought the Revered Mother a new Chantry.
There were whispers all around the hall, of course, because her being taken to the Circle had been the gossip of the decade. She had worn her proper robes and been sat next to the Revered Mother so as to indicate that nothing untoward was going on, which did seem to have worked. After all, she could hardly be an apostate if she were sitting next to the most senior cleric for miles!
After breakfast was done, she followed her parents and brother up to the more administrative portion of the castle, where her father's public office was. This was the place he spent much of the working day, listening to reports and writing letters and such. He would hear petitions and dispense justice in the main hall, but only on certain days.
Her father's office had only a few new additions compared to her memory of the place. Most obvious was the large war table that had been hauled out of storage, a well-drawn map of Ferelden with little figures placed on it. Each represented a certain concentration of troops, with larger figures representing divisions or regiments, whilst small markers designated independent or split-off companies. There were also a few new paintings on the walls - one of Fergus, Oriana, and Oren and to Elissa's surprise, one of her. It had to have been painted from another painting as reference, for it was surely too flattering a portrait of her at ten.
"Now, pup, all our plans for the advance to Ostagar are in place - but we should go over them anyway, and I want you to know what we're doing," her father said.
"Much of Ferelden's forces don't actually seem to be there yet - or on their way," she said. It was true. Half the Royal Army was there, five thousand well-equipped heavy infantry, and most of Gwaren's forces but both Redcliffe and Denerim - the two most populous Arlings by far - had yet to commit any of their forces. Highever and Amaranthine were obviously the furthest from the gathering point, and their forces had yet to move.
"Aye, you've seen that, have you? Well, Loghain is unwilling to uncover us against a surprise Orlesian attack, and we're not sure how serious this is yet. All the signs point to just an incursion, but Duncan claims a Blight is stirring."
"A Blight? And this Duncan is a man of good sense?" Elissa asked, her alarm leaking into her voice. A darkspawn incursion was one matter, but Blights could last for centuries - and require forces from across Thedas to defeat.
"Very. You see now why we and Howe are moving, despite Loghain's reluctance. Even keeping the fleet fully manned and the coastal forts ready, we can add a good ten thousand men to the force at Ostagar, and damn the Kendells," her father said.
"I've heard that the Circle will be sending mages to support the army, but I was on my way here before it was decided. Do you know how many?" Elissa asked.
"Five in total," her mother replied.
"Five?! Five?! Andraste's breath, should Duncan make me a Warden, I've half a mind to head straight for the tower and conscript every damn enchanter there," Elissa said.
"Loghain was about an inch away from drawing steel on the Grand Cleric when he heard the news himself but I don't expect a short campaign here pup. If we can convince the Chantry that it really is a Blight, they'll release more mages to the army. We just have to hold Ostagar and keep the horde pinned for a few months," her father said.
"Do we have the men to do that, father? Even if we were to uncover everything, do we have the men to face the full might of the horde?" she asked.
"Not at all, at least not all at once in an open field. It's why our plan is to draw them to Ostagar piecemeal, then wear them down one battle at a time. Of course, it complicates matters that the only reinforcements who could be there quickly are Orlesian," her father said.
"What have they offered?" Elissa asked.
"Several divisions of Chevaliers are ready to ride at the Border right now, according to the King, and more might be on their way with a word from him."
"If we let a half dozen divisions into Ferelden, they may well not leave," Elissa said.
"Aye, father, Loghain, and Eamon all had to shout that at the king for several hours before he'd believe it. I can't believe they'd agree about anything. Perhaps that's what convinced the King," Fergus said.
"We have quarrels with them?" Elissa asked.
"Eamon thinks the Queen barren, and more besides," her mother said.
"And what do we think, father?" she asked.
"I'd like to believe she is, but all my agents tell me Calian has slept with just about every pretty young woman in Denerim, and there's yet to be a single royal bastard. Besides, I can hardly join Eamon's urging for an annulment with my only daughter unmarriageable. No, I suspect Loghain and I are doing the same thing - keeping our position stable to make a play at the Landsmeet should the King, Maker forbid, perish in battle against the Darkspawn."
"Who would Eamon have the King marry? Does he have a daughter?" she asked.
"He does - though she's too young to marry. She must be, oh, eleven now. His second child, after the son," her father answered.
"But not too young for a long betrothal, I suppose. Does Loghain really think he could be elected King? He's no bloodline, despite his heroism?"
"I don't believe he intends to put himself forward at all. The man may be blunt, but he understands politics. No, he'd put Anora forward. She is noble enough by birth, and has made a good impression at the landsmeet as an administrator," her father said. Elissa began to ask another question, but a knocking at the door interrupted her.
Fergus went over to it and opened it briefly.
"Begging your pardon, milord, but the Grey Warden his grace was waiting for has arrived. Shall I send him up?" the guard asked.
"Yes, right away," Fergus replied.
Duncan was not what Elissa had expected. His armour seemed almost mage-like, with flowing cloth interspersed with plates of intricately detailed silverite. He wore two blades, one a long curved sabre and the other a shorter weapon of similar design, at his waist. His skin was tanned and darker than most Fereldens', and his beard showed flecks of grey hair. That, if nothing else, told Elissa that he was at least competent.
"Your grace, thank you for meeting me so promptly," Duncan said.
"Think nothing of it, Duncan. May I introduce my children - Fergus, my heir, and Elissa," her father said.
"An honour to meet you both. And, of course, to meet the feared sea wolf of Highever in person," Duncan said. Elissa's mother laughed at the reference to her youth and smiled.
"I hope I have not proven too fearsome for you, Warden-Commander," she said.
"I am sure we shall have use of it in the days to come, your grace. You are a Knight-Enchanter, then? I had not heard of the full rank being conferred on to one so young in many years," Duncan asked.
"There are benefits to being a Teyrn's daughter, even as a mage. Really, though, it's more about trust and chantry politics than anything else - they get very nervous about any martially inclined mages," Elissa replied.
"So I have seen. The Chantry has been uncooperative as of late, and were your father not able to spirit you here I would have no mages at all," Duncan said. Elissa blinked. Her father looked shocked.
"None at all? They denied you the chance to recruit at the tower?" her father said.
"The Grand Cleric wrote to me after the trouble with getting the mages for the army. I intend to make another attempt at it, once the army has fixed the horde. If they still prove uncooperative, I shall have little choice but to liberally use the Right of Conscription," Duncan said.
"I know a few mages who might do well as Wardens," Elissa said.
"Are you decided, then? Once one commits to the path, there is no turning back," Duncan asked her bluntly.
"Yes. I'll not abandon Ferelden to the Blight," she said. Duncan nodded at her.
"Then I am glad to have you. Make your preparations, though we will not follow the army's route to Ostagar," Duncan said.
"You won't be?" her mother asked.
"I have only twenty wardens, and cannot count on reinforcements from Orlais. I must recruit more; some of my senior wardens are doing the same. We will go to Denerim - an old friend has told me of a youth who might be suitable, and there are always prospects there. Then we will take a boat through the Brecillian Forest - the Dalish there may have potential recruits as well," Duncan explained.
"The Dalish? I did not think they respected things such as the Wardens," Elissa said.
"They do not adhere to the Right of Conscription, but they recognise the threat of the Blight as surely as any human," Duncan said.
The discussion wound down sometime after that, and Elissa followed Duncan to the training yard. He was not only here for her - it was a Blight, at least to him, and he would recruit any suitable candidates. A few of the knights he had heard of, and he even gave the templars that loomed behind Elissa a look.
"Templars, really?" she asked.
"One of my Wardens was once a templar, Alastair. His skills have proven useful," Duncan said.
"I suppose. I have read that the darkspawn have their own mages," she replied.
The training yard was a large courtyard within the castle, covered with a wooden roof and with a sand floor. Racks of training weapons lined one wall, whilst another held the sharp weapons that were not permitted in the yard. A number of nervous squires huddled together there, all watching their master's swords.
It was full to bursting, the great muster having drawn seemingly every glory hound and ambitious young soldier in Highever to the castle. Many of the knights sworn either directly to her father or to his vassals were here, eager to win glory in what was sure to be the grandest war of their generation. Some wore suits of plate armour, often imported or even enchanted, whilst poorer knights made do with a mix of plate and chainmail.
The troops were a motley assortment. Some wore old-fashioned scale, including a contingent from the Storm Coast who looked especially striking in their locally made veridium scale, whilst other better-equipped units wore a mix of plate and chain. Most of the troops were camped outside the city, but a few were quartered inside the castle.
"It's a little busy here for a demonstration... sir?" Elissa asked. She was unsure how to refer to the Warden-Commander.
"Grey Wardens are not overly concerned with formalities or titles. Call me Duncan, or Warden-Commander if that is too informal for your blue blood," he said. Elissa laughed a little.
"Well, Duncan, there's always the cliffside if you want space for a magical demonstration," Elissa said.
"Yes, perhaps that's wise - still, let me watch the knights a little more. Some of them may wish to join us," he said. She nodded and stood beside him, her staff in her hands.
The knights were clearly far more skilled than the common soldiers, although the long-serving professionals were no slouches. Duncan sparred with a few of the braver troops - and handed them all resounding losses. He seemed too fast for a man twenty years younger than he was, let alone for a man with grey in his beard. His practice sword and dagger were a whirl of blunt steel, once disarming an opponent so dramatically that Elissa had to duck as his practice sword went flying over her head.
"Your father has done well to cultivate so skilled a group of knights," Duncan said as he placed the practice weapons back in their racks and returned his own weapons to his swordbelt.
"I'm not sure any of them lasted more than five seconds against you," Elissa said.
"A Grey Warden is not just a title. We have certain... advantages, perhaps. We can sense darkspawn, understand them - and take some of their power for our own," he explained quietly.
"And this power... there must be a price for it?"
"As there is for all things. There is the danger of the joining, which you already know of. Please, do not repeat that to our other recruits - it tends to make things difficult. Our lifespans, too, are reduced - though I joined younger than you, and I am no young man. And... Elissa, do not speak of any suspicions you may have as to how this is achieved to the others. For now, I will say no more of it," Duncan said. Elissa nodded slowly.
There could only be one way towards that power, at least to her knowledge. Blood magic of some kind or another. Much like the tracking phylacteries used by the Chantry, then, it was another piece of blood magic deemed too useful to refuse.
"I am sure you must tell every mage recruit that at one point or another. Still, I will say nothing of it to any fellow recruit," Elissa said.
They walked through the castle and as they approached the cliffside, the two templars caught up with them.
"Knight-Enchanter, we have been looking for you all morning. What is the meaning of this?" Ser Kellan asked.
"I am afraid that your question will go unanswered, ser, for I have been asked to join the Grey Wardens and accepted. Thus, by Chantry law, I am beyond your power," Elissa said. She relished the words, sweet as honey on her lips.
"Grey Warden - bah! You have deceived us, you and your damned father both!"
"I knew nothing of any such plans, ser. Andraste calls on mages to serve man, and there can be no greater use for magic than to stand against the great evil," Eliisa said. Duncan looked at the templars cooly, his expression neutral and unreadable.
"I have no proof this man even is a Grey Warden -" Ser Kellan began, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. Before he could draw it more than an inch out of its scabbard, Duncan's curved sabre was between the weakpoint of the templar's armour on his neck, resting above naught but cloth.
"I am the Commander of the Grey in Ferelden, and this young woman is my recruit. Should you have doubts, there are no concern of mine. Be wary, Templar, for the safety of my Wardens is of great concern to me," Duncan said. His voice was still warm - kind, even - but there was no doubt as to his resolve.
Ser Kellan let his sword go and it slid back into its scabbard. He raised his hands and stepped backwards.
"I shall write to the Grand Cleric on this matter, Warden-Commander. Of that, you have my word," he said. He turned to leave and beckoned his junior to follow.
"It is not wise to antagonise them, you know," Duncan said.
"I know, I know. I shall be better behaved next time, now that I've gotten to do it once," Elissa said. A smile curled at Duncan's lips.
They continued walking towards the castle and came to the rear of it, which faced the Waking Sea. There was no wall here, for a cliff hundreds of feet high formed of the nearly indestructible white rock that made up the castle walls was proof against any assault imaginable.
The view was beyond words - the previous day's storm was entirely gone and replaced with a sky so blue it seemed unending. Fishing boats and trading ships dotted the seascape, small dots of brown wood and white sails against the endless deep blue expanse. Sea birds squealed and squawked as they circled overhead and made their nests in the cliffs below them.
"Now that we are safely away from anything breakable or flammable, by all means, show me what you can do," Duncan said.
Elissa stepped forward and gripped her staff with both hands. She started by simply channelling the barest trickle of magic through it, and letting the enchantment within it work to produce small bolts of fire. She swung the staff rapidly, firing with great speed and accuracy. Then she surged her magic and thrust the staff forward. A great cone of fire followed, and then she summoned a burst of cold and of lightning to show she wasn't merely a pyromaniac.
"Fire will serve you well against the darkspawn. They fear it above all else," Duncan said.
Ellisa next demonstrated her capacity for protective spells—she conjured a form-fitting barrier around herself and Duncan and also demonstrated a bubble-shaped one. Then she had Duncan make a small cut on her hand with his knife and showed her abilities as a healer—not at the level of someone like Wynne or Amell, but she had been drilled in it extensively as part of her training to serve on the front line.
Then, at last, she withdrew the empty hilt from her robes and took it in her left hand. She could do this with her staff too, but the hilt she had made herself and directed the tranquil to place certain enchantments that were not often permitted on a mage's staff. She swung the hilt and a blade of pure magic, iridescent rainbow-coloured light, burst into life. Then she showed how - with more effort - she could conjure it from the head of her staff, too, or from thin air.
"A spirit blade? I have seen it before, and seen its strength. I think you will be a fine addition to the Wardens - and hopefully, you can teach any other mages we recruit such skills," Duncan said.
"It does require quite some work, but many more could learn it than the Chantry deems safe to teach.
They had many other tasks to get through - now that she was no longer under the supervision of the templars, Elissa had to be equipped with her own horse, her own tent and supplies. Her father had instructed the quartermaster to provide her with whatever she needed and left a great deal of gold for her to purchase things of her own in the city.
The stablemaster gave her an excellent horse, a roan palfrey imported from Orlais and well suited for the long distances a Warden might be required to cover. It seemed an agreeable sort, and Elissa was glad that her childhood lessons on riding had not faded away in the Circle.
Duncan had several candidates to talk to, so she split off from him and headed into the city. The feeling of gold in her coin purse was a strange one, after so many years in the Circle. She changed out of her robes before she left, into an excellent riding dress the servants had found in storage and altered to fit her. She left her staff behind, too, for it was simply too conspicuous.
More clothes had been found and altered for her - some of her brother's old breeches and jerkins, a nice gown that had belonged to her maternal grandmother, and a tunic of grey silk featuring an emblazoned griffon that Duncan had left for her. She was unsure if she would require the gown beyond tonight, being that she was headed for the front lines, but she supposed that if they called on the Queen in Denerim then it might not go amiss.
In the city, she bought a set of fine silver travelling combs and a hand mirror. She also purchased new small clothes and such, as well as new boots. She even made time to go to the sweets shop she remembered and enjoyed her afternoon in general.
She made sure to see her brother off - Howe's troops had not yet arrived, so he would lead the Highever men out to meet them on the North Road, the partially ruined section of the Imperial Highway that ran parallel to the Waking Sea, waiting at the exit for Highever for them. Her brother rode his magnificent warhorse through the streets of Highever, his knights behind him carrying the banner of the Couslands. He wore half-plate of fine red steel and a helmet of the same material. He waved at her, and she returned it - at once overjoyed to see her brother again and also guilty. He was marching off to war, and she was grateful for it - grateful for the freedom she had gained, grateful that she had been able to return home even once more.
As the Chantry bells rang for the fourth hour past midday, she headed home. With a few minor spells she'd been taught by her Knight-Enchanter mentor, she was able to break in her boots with supernatural speed - one spell she would make sure to teach any other Warden mage she met.
She put away her purchases and new clothes into her pack, though she left out her travelling robes for the next day, and then put on the gown the servants had altered for her. It was an extravagant thing, though obviously somewhat out of fashion. She was too tall for any of her mother's things, unfortunately.
As she entered the main hall, she was surprised to see Arl Howe sitting next to her father. She had not seen his troops on the road, though she had seen Fergus leave with the majority of the Highever men. Perhaps they would rendezvous with Howe's troops on the road - with their fast horses, the small party remaining at Highever could easily catch up to both of them.
Duncan was still there, sitting beside an empty seat on the high table. She made her way over to a chorus of whispers, but nobody seemed especially eager to insult the Teyrn in his own castle. She sat next to Duncan, and on her other side was Arl Howe. He smiled at her, pleasantly.
"His Grace is most proud of you, Lady Cousland. A Grey Warden - not what any of us had imagined for you, of course, but a very... noble endeavour," Howe said.
"Thank you for your kind words, my lord. I had not expected it on my summons here, but I am glad that Duncan saw fit to recruit me. I know that you had hoped that I might marry Nathaniel, before..." she replied. Food had not yet been served, though the servants had brought out wine and ale.
"Yes, a great tragedy - or perhaps Thomas, but yes. It seemed a low blow from the Maker, but you appear to have made the best of it," Howe said. Elissa began to respond, but she stopped as the Revered Mother rose. It was nearly time for the food to be brought out, so first there must be a prayer.
"Maker, my enemies are abundant.
Many are those who rise up against me.
But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion,
Should they set themselves against me.
In the long hours of the night
When hope has abandoned me,
I will see the stars and know
Your Light remains."
Revered Mother Iona sang, and the rest of the hall joined in with her. Elissa had no love for the Chantry, no devotion for templars and switch-wielding sisters, but when she heard the Chant of Light sung in such a number it was hard not to believe. She was grateful to the Revered Mother too, that she had not chosen from the Canticle of Transfigurations. She had sung those lines far too often for any beauty to remain in them for her.
She thought of her brother in the moments of silence that followed, even now marching the first steps towards war. She thought of her father who would follow him, and of her fellow mages who had been dispatched to the army. She did not know if she believed in the Maker, and the Chantry was clear that He had turned His face away from His creation, but she uttered a silent prayer, all the same.
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Elissa III
New
- Location
- Australia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Elissa III
Full of finer food than she could remember eating in a decade and more wine than was perhaps wise, Elissa stumbled up to the family apartments and into her room. An elvish maid was waiting there to help her out of the gown, which was dearly needed given the amount of Antivan red she'd drunk.
The maid left to clean the gown, and at last, Elissa was alone. She was alone in her own bed-chamber, with stone walls and a sturdy door that locked! She had grown used to flimsy screens and drapes, to templars just happening to walk by when she was undressed, to having no privacy at all. Now she at least had these two days in Highever, she thought to herself.
She drifted off to sleep ensconced in furs and comfortable blankets. The Fade was mercifully quiet that night, and she dreamed only her own dreams. Then she heard it - a wolf's howl, distant at first. Then closer and closer, and the wolves were joined by the thunder of armoured boots on stone and the screams of the dying.
A demon had her, and she had to wake up. She writhed in her bed and called on her magic in the Fade, but she could not escape the clutches of the foul spirit that held her. It seemed far too strong, drunk on blood and death, and fear gripped her heart. Her dream melted away and she saw an endless parade of flayed faces, all screaming at her.
Then she felt it all wash away. There was no more dream, nothing holding her in the Fade. She woke with a start and found her magic dampened. Her eyes flung open and she saw a figure standing over her, his sword glittering in the moonlight.
She moved groggily and lashed out with her leg. She wasn't able to get much force behind it with her leg still encumbered by her blankets, but her sudden movement startled the man standing over her and his sword missed her head. It slammed into the headboard of her bed and stuck there, the strong hardwood resisting the blow.
A cloud moved overhead, and a shaft of moonlight illuminated Ser Kellan's face. Elissa screamed and instinctively thrust her hand up to burn him, but only a tiny puff of flame emerged from her hand.
"No foul sorcery now, bitch," her snarled and abandoned his sword. His eyes leered at her, and that small delay saved her life. She reached into the pile of old stuffed animals on her bedside table and withdrew the knife she had left there. The enchanted silverite blade sang as she drew it from its sheath and slashed it across Ser Kellan's face.
He screamed in pain and hot blood squirted down onto her, but Elissa knew she had not slain him. She rose from her bed and tackled him, their combined weight sending him down to the floor. She used her knees to hold down his arms and stabbed him right through the eye, her enchanted dagger slicing through flesh and bone without resistance.
She stood, covered in blood, and stared in horror as through her open door she saw more men waiting. She was naked, armed only with a dagger, and they were fully armed and armoured. Without her magic, she had no chance at all. Her eyes darted around the room, and she remembered the lyrium potions in her pack - maybe, if she -
Then an arrow struck one of the men in the neck and before they could even turn around, another struck one in the weaker armour at the back of the knee. Elissa wasted no time and rushed for her pack. Her blood-soaked fingers fumbled at the buckles, but she got at a lyrium potion and drank the glowing blue liquid.
Her throat burnt, but she felt her magic roar back to life, the power the templar had robbed her of coursing through her once more. Her staff, she saw, lay snapped in half near her door. That was a setback, but her staff was merely a tool. She conjured a barrier around herself with a wave and thrust out her hand.
Ice flashed into existence around the head of one of the remaining men. He screamed silently and clawed at his head, but collapsed dead moments later. Another arrow smashed into one of the men, but his scale armour held and the arrow shattered. He lunged at Elissa, but she ducked under his spear thrust and swung her dagger towards him. It was too short by far, but the spirit blade she conjured from it cut the man from hip to shoulder.
Elissa turned and saw the mystery archer - her mother, dressed in a nightgown and holding her old bow.
"Darling - Maker's Breath, is that your blood?" her mother said, her expression changing dramatically as soon as she laid eyes on Elissa.
"I'm - I'm fine, Mother. It's not my blood. Ser Kellan tried to kill me," she said. She had never killed someone before, never used her long-practised skills in a true battle. She felt... numb, mostly. A part of her felt free.
"Their shields - these are Howe's men! He's betrayed us!" her mother said. Elissa grabbed some of the furs from her bed to cover herself, and then her heart sank. The door to Oriana and Oren's room was open.
Her mother realised it too, and the pair of them rushed through the door. Oren lay on the floor, his guts spilled across the finely embroidered rug. Oriana lay dead against the end of the bed, but the dead soldier next to her and the sword in her bloody hands told the story of what'd happened. It had been one of Fergus's old blades, Elissa's mind blankly supplied.
"No! My little Oren! What manner of fiend slaughters innocents?!" her mother wailed. She sank to her knees, the blood soaking the hem of her nightgown.
"Why... he was Father's friend. He... he stood up for him to the King. Why would he...?" Elissa said. She had not known Oren, not known her nephew or sister-in-law for more than a single night, and yet the loss cut her deeply. She remembered making him the mabari from the magelights, and the joy on his face.
"Howe is not even taking hostages - he means to kill us all. He has gone mad - he will hang for this if we do not flay him first!" her mother said as she rose from her knees. Her hand was trembling, but not with fear. Elissa had seen this side of her only once before when she had sat in judgement of a man found to have been an Orlesian collaborator during the war. Her mother, she knew, had none of her father's mercy.
"Where is father?" Elissa asked, as her senses returned.
"He never came to bed - he was in his office, getting everything ready for tomorrow," her mother said.
"He was not with Howe, thank the Maker. Mother, there is still hope - if we can link up with him... Fergus couldn't have gotten far. We can still catch him and double back," Elissa said. Her mother nodded.
"Yes, there is still a chance - but we must move quickly, darling. Ready yourself... your staff!" her mother said as she saw the shattered staff in Elissa's room.
"I'll be fine, mother. It's only a tool," she said as she picked up a spear from a dead soldier. She was more comfortable with it than a sword or a dagger - her training as a Knight-Enchanter had included how to fight physically with a mage's staff. She went back to her room and quickly donned her travelling robes, then she slung her pack over her shoulders.
Her mother emerged a moment later, dressed in boots, breeches, and a light silverite chain shirt over a jerkin. She wore a full helmet of the same material - there was no time for any more complex armour. In her hands she carried her longbow, made from dragonthorn and enchanted with runes of great power. At her waist was an arming sword, of similar providence. Both were from her near-legendary horde of plundered treasures.
Elissa shut the door gently to Oriana's room, then melted the lock shut. She did the same with the other rooms - she had no desire to see Howe's men paw over her dead sister-in-law, nor to have them steal her beloved childhood keepsakes. Her mother walked with near-silent footsteps to the stairs, then stealthily examined what lay ahead.
"There are four of them waiting down there - two with crossbows. Are you ready, darling?" she asked. Elissa nodded and cast a barrier over herself and her mother. She took her looted spear in a two-handed grip and with a nod from her mother, she raced down the stairs.
The two crossbowmen fired, but before their bolts could connect with her Elissa leant into her magic and let it carry her forward in a blur of frost. She skidded to a stop behind them, her control over the spell inexact without her staff, and thrust her spear forward into the back of the crossbowman's knee. He screamed and went down, but Elissa couldn't withdraw the head of the spear from his leg.
A greataxe smashed into her barrier and she felt it tremble dangerously. She rolled clumsily backwards, leaving the spear behind, and got to her feet. She drew her empty hilt in one hand and her dagger in the other.
The other crossbowman went down to an arrow through the eye, and then Elissa sprung forward. The axeman swung again, but she conjured her spirit blade and sliced through the wooden haft of his weapon before she plunged her dagger into his neck. She left it there as she whirled around and thrust her left palm forward. The last Howe soldier screamed as fire engulfed him.
She managed to free her spear from the still-living crossbowman, before she carefully finished both him and the burning man off. By all the laws of war and honour, these men had forefitted all rights of ransom and surrender.
"Andraste preserve us, it's the Teyrna!" someone called out. From behind a locked door, a few elvish servants emerged.
"Your grace, why has Arl Howe attacked us?" one asked.
"I cannot say... nor can I give you any path to safety. We must secure the Teyrn," she said. The servants nodded.
"We... we are with you, your grace," they said as they picked up the dead men's weapons.
That was the manner they fought their way through the castle in - picking up the survivors, soldier and servant alike. All fought with a ferocity beyond Howe's men. Highever was their home. Some fell, but Elissa's barriers and healing spells saved many. Her mother twice ran out of arrows, such was the speed with which she slew Howe's troops.
They came to the main hall, still done up for last night's feast. The tapestries on the stone walls were ripped and blood-stained, and the stone itself bore sword marks and arrow-scratches. Most of the tables were overturned, and some had been shattered entirely. The great double doors to the outer courtyard were still closed, but a battle raged inside the hall.
A dozen Highever troops, led by Ser Gilmore - a youthful knight with fiery red hair - huddled behind their cover as twice their number in Howe's troops rushed in through the opposite entrance to Elissa's party. Several knights led them, and one robed man in the rear seemed to be a mage.
Before he could cast a barrier, her mother had an arrow in his throat.
"Death to Howe!" her mother shouted. Elissa called on as much magic as she could muster and sent it out to all the Highever troops. Their swords burst alight with flame even as barriers formed around them. They gave a cheer and charged forward, regardless of the arrows that Howe's archers fired. Some of the barriers Elissa had cast faltered, but all of the Highever troops - both Ser Gilmore's party and her own - reached Howe's men.
She was with them, her magic nearly exhausted. There was no time to drink a lyrium potion, so all she could do was trust in her spear and her barrier. She batted aside the spear of one of Howe's troops, then slammed the but of her own spear into his face. He fell backwards, his face a bloody ruin, and then she thrust her spear forward into the gut of a lightly armoured archer. He screamed as his gambeson caught alight, clawing at as he died.
Ser Gilmore duelled one of the knights, his swordplay by far the finer. Soon he had the man disarmed, and then he slammed his shield into his helmet before he thrust his sword through a gap in his armour. Elissa's mother was worth several archers all by herself, firing with such speed and accuracy that she ran out of unengaged targets in moments.
Then it was over, and Ser Gilmore looked towards the Teyrna.
"Your grace, you're alive - and the young lady! We thought Howe's men had surely gotten behind us," he said.
"They were already in the castle, good knight - but your forethought to close the gates has surely saved us. How long can you hold them?" her mother asked him.
"With these men? Perhaps an hour, my lady. These gates were only ever a last resort - Howe's men had the main gatehouse before anyone knew what was happening," he said. Elissa walked over to the dead mage while they talked. She smiled as she saw the lyrium potions on his belt, and the staff in his hands. It wasn't the kind she preferred, but ti would be perfect for what she had in mind.
"If I could reinforce them, Ser Gilmore?" she asked him.
"Then with these thirty men, I could hold the bastards here for at least a day," he said.
"Stand back, everyone," Elissa ordered. She drank one lyrium potion, then another. She would need all the power she could muster for this spell.
She focused her power through the staff, calling on the primordial cold it favoured. Diagrams of blue light appeared in front of the gate as frost crept up Elissa's fingertips. She held on, despite the magic leaking from the spell. She could endure pain. With a crack like thunder, ice roared out from the diagrams and into the air. It raced past the top of the doors to the vaulted ceiling of the hall, as thick as a castle wall.
Elissa screamed as the frost threatened to turn her fingers to ice. She dropped the staff and muttered a healing spell, and felt herself calm down as she reversed the damage. The dead mage's staff was worse off - it shattered as it fell, for it was never designed to channel such power.
"Andraste's blood, what was that?" her mother asked.
"All I could give them," she replied.
"The Maker has smiled on us to bring you home, my lady," Ser Gilmore said.
"My father - is... is he alive?" she asked. His office was in the wing of the castle on the other side of the hall.
"He was last I saw him, my lady. He ordered me to hold the hall, but then he took an arrow in the fighting. He went to find you - the servant's entrance, I think," Ser Gilmore said. Her mother's eyes widened.
"Of course, that was always our way out in case... well, it makes sense he would head there if he as too injured to fight his way to us. Ser Gilmore, you must hold the inner keep for as long as you can. My daughter and I will find the Teyrn and make for the army. Hold for a day, and we will relieve you. Hold them, Ser Gilmore, and we'll butcher every last one of the bastards!"
"Aye, your grace. We'll hold the keep until the last," Ser Gilmore said. There could be no more words after that - the soldiers readied themselves as they moved the tables for cover, even as the servants stripped the armour and weapons from the dead. They too would fight - their family quarters were behind them, and there was no greater cause for courage.
Elissa and her mother made their way through the eastern wing of the castle. They faced more of Howe's men, including a Quanari mercenary who had taken two arrows to the neck and a frost spell to the head to slay. They came across a few more survivors and told them to head for Ser Gilmore's bastion in the main hall, but it seemed that both forces in this wing were near exhaustion. Ser Gilmore's defence of the main hall had prevented the bulk of Howe's men from getting into the castle proper, and so their advantage in numbers was far less than Howe must've planned for.
They took only a brief detour for Elissa to melt the lock of the family vault shut - the gold inside would be needed for the war to come - and then they were near the kitchens. Elissa felt her stomach rise as she saw the dead servants. Most had clearly been cut down when unarmed and fleeing, and a number of the women were stripped and violated. What monster, she wondered, would take the time to do... that in the heat of battle?
There was a cluster of dead soldiers - all Howe's - around the kitchens and for a moment she wondered if her father was a greater warrior than she'd thought. Then Elissa entered the kitchens and saw Duncan, his blades wet with the blood of a dozen men and his own armour untouched. Her father lay against the wall, his tunic stained with blood.
"Pup... you made it," he said. His voice was weak and unsteady. Elissa looked at him and decided damn the consequences. She downed her last lyrium potion, even though her hands were already jittery from overuse of the substance. Another dose might well knock her out or even kill her.
"Hold still, father," she said as she knelt next to him.
"Bryce..." her mother said, her words laced with pain.
"I'm sorry... you'll have to -" he began, but Elissa interrupted him.
"Hold still and I can save you, you damn fool of a man! Ser Gilmore has the main hall, and the gates will last at least a day. All is not lost, father," she said. She was no expert healer, and her work would leave a scar - but her father would live. Duncan looked at her.
"I will keep watch, Recruit," he said.
She called on all her classes with Senior Enchanter Wynne, all the times Amell had beaten her in healing tests. She was a magical brute, and she knew it. She did not have the finesse to cure sicknesses or deformities. An arrow wound? That, that she knew how to heal. Her hand glowed blue, and the ragged hole in her father's side knitted itself shut in moments.
"I'm... you saved me, pup. I - I can't quite believe it," her father said.
"We have to move, Bryce. We need to reach Fergus before his men leave camp in the morning," her mother said. Her father nodded and rose to his feet, wincing at his newly healed wound.
"Duncan, perhaps you'd best come with us," he said.
"I think so too, your grace. It would be best for the Wardens not to be further involved in this conflict," he said.
"I understand - you've already done enough. We'll provide you with a heavy escort for Denerim once we reach the army," her father said as her mother unlocked the secret entrance.
They moved quickly through the tunnel. Elissa conjured a small magelight so they could see in the pitch-darkness, so they could with quite some speed in the dark. They emerged outside the walls of Highever after unlocking the outside exit with an ancient Tevinter mechanism involving moving rings between poles.
Elissa extinguished her magelight, and they crouched in the long grass that concealed the exit. Howe's forces had surrounded the city's gates, but he had only a small force here - perhaps a thousand men. Riders - light cavalry - patrolled around his army, and as a squad neared them, they made themselves ready.
Her mother popped up and sent an arrow into the lead rider. It punched right through his cheap scale and into his heart. He fell from his horse as it reared up, the reins jerking in the dead man's mand. Duncan threw a dagger into another as her father tackled the one out of his saddle and slit his throat. Elissa conjured frost around the head of the last rider, leaving him to scream in silence until he died. He fell from his horse with a thud, and his head shattered into chunks of red ice.
"Quickly!" her father hissed. Elissa knew they'd been noticed by other patrols. They mounted the dead patrol's cheap riding horses and raced away into the night. Elissa used the last of her magic to give the horses unnatural speed and endurance. Then all she could do was hold on and ride, praying to a god she wasn't sure she believed in for salvation.
The other patrols chased after them, but with her haste spell, they had no chance of catching them. Their horses could gallop faster and without injury or tiredness, and all four of their tiny party were expert horsemen and women.
Once, one patrol did intersect their course by pure chance - but Elissa's mother turned in her saddle and cooly dispatched them with a rain of arrows. She held her longbow sideways in an awkward posture, but it allowed her to fire from horseback without slowing. Still, she had only her knees to control her mount while she fired, and it was clear that she was the best horsewoman of the four of them.
The first rays of dawn crept over the seaward horizon, and for a moment Elissa despaired that they would be too late - then they crested the last hill and saw the Imperial Highway and the Cousland army camped at its entrance. They had made it to Fergus just in time.
Full of finer food than she could remember eating in a decade and more wine than was perhaps wise, Elissa stumbled up to the family apartments and into her room. An elvish maid was waiting there to help her out of the gown, which was dearly needed given the amount of Antivan red she'd drunk.
The maid left to clean the gown, and at last, Elissa was alone. She was alone in her own bed-chamber, with stone walls and a sturdy door that locked! She had grown used to flimsy screens and drapes, to templars just happening to walk by when she was undressed, to having no privacy at all. Now she at least had these two days in Highever, she thought to herself.
She drifted off to sleep ensconced in furs and comfortable blankets. The Fade was mercifully quiet that night, and she dreamed only her own dreams. Then she heard it - a wolf's howl, distant at first. Then closer and closer, and the wolves were joined by the thunder of armoured boots on stone and the screams of the dying.
A demon had her, and she had to wake up. She writhed in her bed and called on her magic in the Fade, but she could not escape the clutches of the foul spirit that held her. It seemed far too strong, drunk on blood and death, and fear gripped her heart. Her dream melted away and she saw an endless parade of flayed faces, all screaming at her.
Then she felt it all wash away. There was no more dream, nothing holding her in the Fade. She woke with a start and found her magic dampened. Her eyes flung open and she saw a figure standing over her, his sword glittering in the moonlight.
She moved groggily and lashed out with her leg. She wasn't able to get much force behind it with her leg still encumbered by her blankets, but her sudden movement startled the man standing over her and his sword missed her head. It slammed into the headboard of her bed and stuck there, the strong hardwood resisting the blow.
A cloud moved overhead, and a shaft of moonlight illuminated Ser Kellan's face. Elissa screamed and instinctively thrust her hand up to burn him, but only a tiny puff of flame emerged from her hand.
"No foul sorcery now, bitch," her snarled and abandoned his sword. His eyes leered at her, and that small delay saved her life. She reached into the pile of old stuffed animals on her bedside table and withdrew the knife she had left there. The enchanted silverite blade sang as she drew it from its sheath and slashed it across Ser Kellan's face.
He screamed in pain and hot blood squirted down onto her, but Elissa knew she had not slain him. She rose from her bed and tackled him, their combined weight sending him down to the floor. She used her knees to hold down his arms and stabbed him right through the eye, her enchanted dagger slicing through flesh and bone without resistance.
She stood, covered in blood, and stared in horror as through her open door she saw more men waiting. She was naked, armed only with a dagger, and they were fully armed and armoured. Without her magic, she had no chance at all. Her eyes darted around the room, and she remembered the lyrium potions in her pack - maybe, if she -
Then an arrow struck one of the men in the neck and before they could even turn around, another struck one in the weaker armour at the back of the knee. Elissa wasted no time and rushed for her pack. Her blood-soaked fingers fumbled at the buckles, but she got at a lyrium potion and drank the glowing blue liquid.
Her throat burnt, but she felt her magic roar back to life, the power the templar had robbed her of coursing through her once more. Her staff, she saw, lay snapped in half near her door. That was a setback, but her staff was merely a tool. She conjured a barrier around herself with a wave and thrust out her hand.
Ice flashed into existence around the head of one of the remaining men. He screamed silently and clawed at his head, but collapsed dead moments later. Another arrow smashed into one of the men, but his scale armour held and the arrow shattered. He lunged at Elissa, but she ducked under his spear thrust and swung her dagger towards him. It was too short by far, but the spirit blade she conjured from it cut the man from hip to shoulder.
Elissa turned and saw the mystery archer - her mother, dressed in a nightgown and holding her old bow.
"Darling - Maker's Breath, is that your blood?" her mother said, her expression changing dramatically as soon as she laid eyes on Elissa.
"I'm - I'm fine, Mother. It's not my blood. Ser Kellan tried to kill me," she said. She had never killed someone before, never used her long-practised skills in a true battle. She felt... numb, mostly. A part of her felt free.
"Their shields - these are Howe's men! He's betrayed us!" her mother said. Elissa grabbed some of the furs from her bed to cover herself, and then her heart sank. The door to Oriana and Oren's room was open.
Her mother realised it too, and the pair of them rushed through the door. Oren lay on the floor, his guts spilled across the finely embroidered rug. Oriana lay dead against the end of the bed, but the dead soldier next to her and the sword in her bloody hands told the story of what'd happened. It had been one of Fergus's old blades, Elissa's mind blankly supplied.
"No! My little Oren! What manner of fiend slaughters innocents?!" her mother wailed. She sank to her knees, the blood soaking the hem of her nightgown.
"Why... he was Father's friend. He... he stood up for him to the King. Why would he...?" Elissa said. She had not known Oren, not known her nephew or sister-in-law for more than a single night, and yet the loss cut her deeply. She remembered making him the mabari from the magelights, and the joy on his face.
"Howe is not even taking hostages - he means to kill us all. He has gone mad - he will hang for this if we do not flay him first!" her mother said as she rose from her knees. Her hand was trembling, but not with fear. Elissa had seen this side of her only once before when she had sat in judgement of a man found to have been an Orlesian collaborator during the war. Her mother, she knew, had none of her father's mercy.
"Where is father?" Elissa asked, as her senses returned.
"He never came to bed - he was in his office, getting everything ready for tomorrow," her mother said.
"He was not with Howe, thank the Maker. Mother, there is still hope - if we can link up with him... Fergus couldn't have gotten far. We can still catch him and double back," Elissa said. Her mother nodded.
"Yes, there is still a chance - but we must move quickly, darling. Ready yourself... your staff!" her mother said as she saw the shattered staff in Elissa's room.
"I'll be fine, mother. It's only a tool," she said as she picked up a spear from a dead soldier. She was more comfortable with it than a sword or a dagger - her training as a Knight-Enchanter had included how to fight physically with a mage's staff. She went back to her room and quickly donned her travelling robes, then she slung her pack over her shoulders.
Her mother emerged a moment later, dressed in boots, breeches, and a light silverite chain shirt over a jerkin. She wore a full helmet of the same material - there was no time for any more complex armour. In her hands she carried her longbow, made from dragonthorn and enchanted with runes of great power. At her waist was an arming sword, of similar providence. Both were from her near-legendary horde of plundered treasures.
Elissa shut the door gently to Oriana's room, then melted the lock shut. She did the same with the other rooms - she had no desire to see Howe's men paw over her dead sister-in-law, nor to have them steal her beloved childhood keepsakes. Her mother walked with near-silent footsteps to the stairs, then stealthily examined what lay ahead.
"There are four of them waiting down there - two with crossbows. Are you ready, darling?" she asked. Elissa nodded and cast a barrier over herself and her mother. She took her looted spear in a two-handed grip and with a nod from her mother, she raced down the stairs.
The two crossbowmen fired, but before their bolts could connect with her Elissa leant into her magic and let it carry her forward in a blur of frost. She skidded to a stop behind them, her control over the spell inexact without her staff, and thrust her spear forward into the back of the crossbowman's knee. He screamed and went down, but Elissa couldn't withdraw the head of the spear from his leg.
A greataxe smashed into her barrier and she felt it tremble dangerously. She rolled clumsily backwards, leaving the spear behind, and got to her feet. She drew her empty hilt in one hand and her dagger in the other.
The other crossbowman went down to an arrow through the eye, and then Elissa sprung forward. The axeman swung again, but she conjured her spirit blade and sliced through the wooden haft of his weapon before she plunged her dagger into his neck. She left it there as she whirled around and thrust her left palm forward. The last Howe soldier screamed as fire engulfed him.
She managed to free her spear from the still-living crossbowman, before she carefully finished both him and the burning man off. By all the laws of war and honour, these men had forefitted all rights of ransom and surrender.
"Andraste preserve us, it's the Teyrna!" someone called out. From behind a locked door, a few elvish servants emerged.
"Your grace, why has Arl Howe attacked us?" one asked.
"I cannot say... nor can I give you any path to safety. We must secure the Teyrn," she said. The servants nodded.
"We... we are with you, your grace," they said as they picked up the dead men's weapons.
That was the manner they fought their way through the castle in - picking up the survivors, soldier and servant alike. All fought with a ferocity beyond Howe's men. Highever was their home. Some fell, but Elissa's barriers and healing spells saved many. Her mother twice ran out of arrows, such was the speed with which she slew Howe's troops.
They came to the main hall, still done up for last night's feast. The tapestries on the stone walls were ripped and blood-stained, and the stone itself bore sword marks and arrow-scratches. Most of the tables were overturned, and some had been shattered entirely. The great double doors to the outer courtyard were still closed, but a battle raged inside the hall.
A dozen Highever troops, led by Ser Gilmore - a youthful knight with fiery red hair - huddled behind their cover as twice their number in Howe's troops rushed in through the opposite entrance to Elissa's party. Several knights led them, and one robed man in the rear seemed to be a mage.
Before he could cast a barrier, her mother had an arrow in his throat.
"Death to Howe!" her mother shouted. Elissa called on as much magic as she could muster and sent it out to all the Highever troops. Their swords burst alight with flame even as barriers formed around them. They gave a cheer and charged forward, regardless of the arrows that Howe's archers fired. Some of the barriers Elissa had cast faltered, but all of the Highever troops - both Ser Gilmore's party and her own - reached Howe's men.
She was with them, her magic nearly exhausted. There was no time to drink a lyrium potion, so all she could do was trust in her spear and her barrier. She batted aside the spear of one of Howe's troops, then slammed the but of her own spear into his face. He fell backwards, his face a bloody ruin, and then she thrust her spear forward into the gut of a lightly armoured archer. He screamed as his gambeson caught alight, clawing at as he died.
Ser Gilmore duelled one of the knights, his swordplay by far the finer. Soon he had the man disarmed, and then he slammed his shield into his helmet before he thrust his sword through a gap in his armour. Elissa's mother was worth several archers all by herself, firing with such speed and accuracy that she ran out of unengaged targets in moments.
Then it was over, and Ser Gilmore looked towards the Teyrna.
"Your grace, you're alive - and the young lady! We thought Howe's men had surely gotten behind us," he said.
"They were already in the castle, good knight - but your forethought to close the gates has surely saved us. How long can you hold them?" her mother asked him.
"With these men? Perhaps an hour, my lady. These gates were only ever a last resort - Howe's men had the main gatehouse before anyone knew what was happening," he said. Elissa walked over to the dead mage while they talked. She smiled as she saw the lyrium potions on his belt, and the staff in his hands. It wasn't the kind she preferred, but ti would be perfect for what she had in mind.
"If I could reinforce them, Ser Gilmore?" she asked him.
"Then with these thirty men, I could hold the bastards here for at least a day," he said.
"Stand back, everyone," Elissa ordered. She drank one lyrium potion, then another. She would need all the power she could muster for this spell.
She focused her power through the staff, calling on the primordial cold it favoured. Diagrams of blue light appeared in front of the gate as frost crept up Elissa's fingertips. She held on, despite the magic leaking from the spell. She could endure pain. With a crack like thunder, ice roared out from the diagrams and into the air. It raced past the top of the doors to the vaulted ceiling of the hall, as thick as a castle wall.
Elissa screamed as the frost threatened to turn her fingers to ice. She dropped the staff and muttered a healing spell, and felt herself calm down as she reversed the damage. The dead mage's staff was worse off - it shattered as it fell, for it was never designed to channel such power.
"Andraste's blood, what was that?" her mother asked.
"All I could give them," she replied.
"The Maker has smiled on us to bring you home, my lady," Ser Gilmore said.
"My father - is... is he alive?" she asked. His office was in the wing of the castle on the other side of the hall.
"He was last I saw him, my lady. He ordered me to hold the hall, but then he took an arrow in the fighting. He went to find you - the servant's entrance, I think," Ser Gilmore said. Her mother's eyes widened.
"Of course, that was always our way out in case... well, it makes sense he would head there if he as too injured to fight his way to us. Ser Gilmore, you must hold the inner keep for as long as you can. My daughter and I will find the Teyrn and make for the army. Hold for a day, and we will relieve you. Hold them, Ser Gilmore, and we'll butcher every last one of the bastards!"
"Aye, your grace. We'll hold the keep until the last," Ser Gilmore said. There could be no more words after that - the soldiers readied themselves as they moved the tables for cover, even as the servants stripped the armour and weapons from the dead. They too would fight - their family quarters were behind them, and there was no greater cause for courage.
Elissa and her mother made their way through the eastern wing of the castle. They faced more of Howe's men, including a Quanari mercenary who had taken two arrows to the neck and a frost spell to the head to slay. They came across a few more survivors and told them to head for Ser Gilmore's bastion in the main hall, but it seemed that both forces in this wing were near exhaustion. Ser Gilmore's defence of the main hall had prevented the bulk of Howe's men from getting into the castle proper, and so their advantage in numbers was far less than Howe must've planned for.
They took only a brief detour for Elissa to melt the lock of the family vault shut - the gold inside would be needed for the war to come - and then they were near the kitchens. Elissa felt her stomach rise as she saw the dead servants. Most had clearly been cut down when unarmed and fleeing, and a number of the women were stripped and violated. What monster, she wondered, would take the time to do... that in the heat of battle?
There was a cluster of dead soldiers - all Howe's - around the kitchens and for a moment she wondered if her father was a greater warrior than she'd thought. Then Elissa entered the kitchens and saw Duncan, his blades wet with the blood of a dozen men and his own armour untouched. Her father lay against the wall, his tunic stained with blood.
"Pup... you made it," he said. His voice was weak and unsteady. Elissa looked at him and decided damn the consequences. She downed her last lyrium potion, even though her hands were already jittery from overuse of the substance. Another dose might well knock her out or even kill her.
"Hold still, father," she said as she knelt next to him.
"Bryce..." her mother said, her words laced with pain.
"I'm sorry... you'll have to -" he began, but Elissa interrupted him.
"Hold still and I can save you, you damn fool of a man! Ser Gilmore has the main hall, and the gates will last at least a day. All is not lost, father," she said. She was no expert healer, and her work would leave a scar - but her father would live. Duncan looked at her.
"I will keep watch, Recruit," he said.
She called on all her classes with Senior Enchanter Wynne, all the times Amell had beaten her in healing tests. She was a magical brute, and she knew it. She did not have the finesse to cure sicknesses or deformities. An arrow wound? That, that she knew how to heal. Her hand glowed blue, and the ragged hole in her father's side knitted itself shut in moments.
"I'm... you saved me, pup. I - I can't quite believe it," her father said.
"We have to move, Bryce. We need to reach Fergus before his men leave camp in the morning," her mother said. Her father nodded and rose to his feet, wincing at his newly healed wound.
"Duncan, perhaps you'd best come with us," he said.
"I think so too, your grace. It would be best for the Wardens not to be further involved in this conflict," he said.
"I understand - you've already done enough. We'll provide you with a heavy escort for Denerim once we reach the army," her father said as her mother unlocked the secret entrance.
They moved quickly through the tunnel. Elissa conjured a small magelight so they could see in the pitch-darkness, so they could with quite some speed in the dark. They emerged outside the walls of Highever after unlocking the outside exit with an ancient Tevinter mechanism involving moving rings between poles.
Elissa extinguished her magelight, and they crouched in the long grass that concealed the exit. Howe's forces had surrounded the city's gates, but he had only a small force here - perhaps a thousand men. Riders - light cavalry - patrolled around his army, and as a squad neared them, they made themselves ready.
Her mother popped up and sent an arrow into the lead rider. It punched right through his cheap scale and into his heart. He fell from his horse as it reared up, the reins jerking in the dead man's mand. Duncan threw a dagger into another as her father tackled the one out of his saddle and slit his throat. Elissa conjured frost around the head of the last rider, leaving him to scream in silence until he died. He fell from his horse with a thud, and his head shattered into chunks of red ice.
"Quickly!" her father hissed. Elissa knew they'd been noticed by other patrols. They mounted the dead patrol's cheap riding horses and raced away into the night. Elissa used the last of her magic to give the horses unnatural speed and endurance. Then all she could do was hold on and ride, praying to a god she wasn't sure she believed in for salvation.
The other patrols chased after them, but with her haste spell, they had no chance of catching them. Their horses could gallop faster and without injury or tiredness, and all four of their tiny party were expert horsemen and women.
Once, one patrol did intersect their course by pure chance - but Elissa's mother turned in her saddle and cooly dispatched them with a rain of arrows. She held her longbow sideways in an awkward posture, but it allowed her to fire from horseback without slowing. Still, she had only her knees to control her mount while she fired, and it was clear that she was the best horsewoman of the four of them.
The first rays of dawn crept over the seaward horizon, and for a moment Elissa despaired that they would be too late - then they crested the last hill and saw the Imperial Highway and the Cousland army camped at its entrance. They had made it to Fergus just in time.
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- Location
- Canada
Well, at minimum, it's going to be much, much harder for Howe to be on his bullshit with the Couslands both alive, and presumably thirsty for vengeance against him. Harder for Logain, too, given that Bryce Cousland was apparently just as big as voice in the Landsmeet as he is.
- Location
- Australia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Remember Loghain hasn't actually committed to the path he took in the game yet. Howe's actions were his own idea, and he only linked up with Loghain post-Ostagar. Per the DLC and Gaider's comments, Loghain only has suspicions about Cailan at this point. Bryce and Fergus Cousland both being alive and active changes the situation drastically.
- Location
- Canada
I suppose that's true! I just mean it in the sense that, in a theoretically post-Cailan, post-Ostagar world, it's much harder for Loghain to dominate the agenda/conversation (and to turn a blind eye to Howe, once they hook up together) in a world where the Couslands aren't allowed dead or outlaws.
Elissa IV/Kallian I
New
- Location
- Australia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Elissa IV / Kallian I
They were rushed through the camp with all haste, not even stopping to dismount. The camp itself was well organised, with a defensive ditch dug and an orderly dispersion of tents and cooking fires. The supply train was in the centre of the camp where it could be as well guarded as possible against raids, as were the precious warhorses. Shouts and whispers raced along with them. All of them were covered in gore, and their horses were obviously not their own.
Fergus, dressed only in breeches and an open shirt, stumbled out of his tent with bleary eyes as they approached.
"Father - Andraste's breath, what's happened?" Fergus asked as they dismounted.
"Howe has betrayed us, son. His men snuck into the castle and began to massacre anybody they could get their hands on. Without Ser Gilmore and your sister, we might've been lost entirely but the inner gates are still ours," her father said.
"Father... where is Oriana?" Fergus asked, and her father went still. Elissa looked away. Her mother stepped forward and cradled her son in her arms.
"I am so sorry, darling. By the time we woke, they were already dead," her mother said.
Fergus's wail was an ugly thing. He could not keep his composure, he could not maintain the facade that any leader needed. But his soldiers looked away, for that was the only service they could render him.
"No... I - it can't be. Sister, how could you -" Fergus said and guilt ate at Elissa's heart. If she had kept her guard up, if she had stopped the bloodshed overwhelming her in the fade -
"They had a Templar especially for her, darling. There was nothing she could do."
"Did... did they..." Fergus asked, but he could not say it. He could not speak the foulness into being.
"No, she would not let them. She died defending Oren. She took one of the bastards with her. She would not allow that, never," her mother said.
"She... she always said that she found swords so barbaric," Fergus said.
"I'm sorry Fer -" Elissa began, but the shivers from the lyrium were getting worse. She stumbled and fell, though luckily Duncan caught her.
"What's wrong with her?" Fergus asked.
"She's pushed herself to the brink - far too much magic and far too much lyrium. She needs rest, and to refrain from spellcasting for several days," Duncan said. Elissa felt weak all through her body - her legs simply refused to support her, and she couldn't hold on to Duncan's arms with any strength.
"She can use my tent, here, I've got her," her brother said as he picked her up with both arms. Elissa could hardly find the strength to speak, and as soon as he lowered her into a cot, she fell asleep.
She woke to find the camp much reduced. Only a small number of troops - all knights or other heavy cavalry - remained in the camp with their attendants. Perhaps fifty fighters, with three times that number in non-combatants. Her robes were covered in gore, so Elissa dressed herself in breeches, a jerkin, and her grey warden tunic. At least it would make who she was obvious.
Duncan and her father were waiting for her outside the tent. Neither of them looked to have gotten all that much sleep. Her father's blue eyes were haggard and hollow as he stared at the clear midday sky.
"Father... why are you still here?" she asked.
"I'm coming to Denerim with you. Someone has to alert the Queen and take the fight to Howe, and the army at Ostagar has Teyrn Loghain. I might not like the man, but he's the best general we have. Fergus will take the bulk of our forces South, as planned," he said.
"Is that really -"
"He needs something to do, pup, and your mother knows grief better than you or I. Let him vent his rage against the darkspawn, or would you rather see what he might do to the people of Amaranthine? They are my subjects too," her father said. Elissa nodded slowly.
"I understand. I still don't understand - I still don't understand why he did it," Elissa said.
"Sometimes men just go mad. Perhaps it is blight-sickness. Perhaps he was always capable of it," her father said. She had never heard him like this, so full of doubt.
"You could not have predicted this, father. Howe can have no hope of escape, after this. You told me once that any man could be assassinated if the assassin was willing to die in the act," she said.
"I spoke up for the man! I plead his case before King Maric - I restored him to Amaranthine! He was not just my subject, but my friend - we fought side by side for years against Orlais! The fault for this disaster is mine, daughter, and you will not sway me from this. All that remains is duty and vengeance," her father said.
"Fergus still lives. Mother still lives. I am still here, father. Do not throw away your life out of misplaced guilt," she said.
"It is not mine to give away, nor to hoard. You know that more than most."
"Then all I can say is that our people still need you. Not just Highever, but all of Ferelden. If Duncan is right and this is a true Blight, then this is our darkest hour. Teyrn Loghain is a great general, but he is no diplomat. No nation has stood alone against a Blight - never, in all of history!"
"You are right, of course. Come, there should still be some food on the fire. You will need your strength on the ride to Denerim," her father said.
She did need the food, though as much as it improved her mood it did not stop the shakes or the piercing headache. She had pushed herself too far in the battle for Highever, and only rest would allow her to recover from the after-effects of the lyrium potions.
Someone had found a nicer riding horse for her than the one she'd stolen from Howe's patrol, and she welcomed the comfortable ride as she and Duncan rode with her father and his elite guard towards Denerim. The two wardens were at the centre of the formation, both because of Elissa's injuries and Duncan's wish not to take part in further fighting.
Still, if any of Howe's men were watching the Imperial Highway, they were not eager to take on nearly three hundred riders, fifty of whom were heavily armoured knights. Merchants and travellers pressed themselves to the side of the Highway as they passed them by. Elissa longed to spur her mount onwards, to reach safety and reinforcements with greater speed, but their horses could only be ridden so fast.
It took their party a week to make it to Denerim, accounting for the need to maneuver around Amaranthine and any force Howe might have lying in wait there. By the time Dragon's Peak and the spire for Fort Drakon rose into view, Elissa had recovered from her abuse of the lyrium potions. She was still without a staff, but she had been able to ensure the health of their horses as they rode hard for Denerim.
The city guard opened the gates after a few shouted questions, one of them recognising the Teyrn and all recognising the banners of the Couslands. They rode through the streets at a more sedate pace, and Elissa marvelled at Denerim. She had only been here once as a girl, and it seemed like the largest city in all the world to her. Fort Drakon was as mighty as the Circle Tower, and the houses and taverns and shops and all the other buildings seemed to stretch on forever.
She knew that was not true, of course. Val Royeaux dwarfed Denerim, housing ten times the number of souls. Minrathous, the capital of the Tevinter Imperium and Queen of all cities, was said to house more than a million in its teeming spires.
Though it was wondrous, Denerim did smell worse than Highever. Her home, like Amaranthine, had a modern sewage system and sufficient public greenery. Denerim had neither and stunk of tanneries and dead fish and human excrement.
They made for the Cousland's manor, located in the palace district. It lay in the shadow of Fort Drakon, and had a direct view of the palace. During the Orlesian occupation, it had been the residence of a favoured subordinate of King Meghren and it was consequentially quite well furnished. Far more so than Castle Highever itself, though that was not unusual. A Denerim manor was an important investment for any Ferelden lord who wished to make waves at a Landmeet, and so they were often better outfitted than their actual seat.
The Cousland manor had been built for them by surface dwarves, a few decades after the unification of Ferelden. It was constructed entirely from stone, save the slate roof. Most of the exterior walls, and all the interior ones, were plastered a pleasant blue. Carvings of Mabari and laurel wreathes dominated the exterior facade, and the banner of the Couslands flew in the sea breeze.
"I have some business to attend to in the city - stay here for now, but after you have outfitted yourself, report to the Grey Warden Compound. It is not far from here. I trust you will have little difficulty finding it?" Duncan asked her.
"I assume it has a griffon statue or something like out the front?" Elissa asked.
"Quite. Do wear your warden tunic - we don't want any incidents with the templars," Duncan. Elissa nodded.
"Are you sure you don't want my help with whatever mysterious errand you're on?" she asked.
"I've several places to visit in search of recruits, and none would take all that kindly to a highborn mage," Duncan.
"Oh. That makes sense. I shall see you at the compound, then?" she asked.
"Unless something should delay me, yes," Duncan said. Then he turned from the front steps of the Cousland manor and walked into the crowd. It was early morning, and still, the streets of the Palace District were teeming with servants and soldiers and noblewomen on litters. Elissa thought she saw Habren Bryland - her most awful cousin - be carried past. She hoped that her father would not ask her to call on her.
Elissa took advantage of Cousland Manor's baths, a much-needed relief after a week of hard riding. The elvish maids brushed her hair, though it took two of them quite some time to fix all the knots. She handed them her poor riding dress and travelling robes, then got changed into her breeches and jerkin. She slipped her Grey Warden tunic on over it, as Duncan had instructed. Her pack and saddlebags would be taken with her horse to the Warden Compound.
She had much to do in the city, and her father had supplied her plentifully with gold. She needed a new staff and - now that she was no longer under the templar's thumb - some armour.
Most mages were not physically fit enough to perform the movements required for magic and wear any significant armour, by design, but Elissa was a Knight-Enchanter. She was no strongwoman, but her instructor had quite literally beaten fitness into her with a switch.
The market district was somewhat of a walk, but she enjoyed the freedom in spite of the smell. After years stuck inside the tower, and then only the tightly regimented training that followed her Harrowing, being able to walk down a city street was not a privilege she'd take lightly.
Kallian felt a sudden lurch and awoke with a start. She realised several things - she and her cousin Shianni were caught up in a tangle of limbs on the floor next to her bed, she hurt all over, and her father was laughing at them.
"Cousin!" she yelped from underneath Shianni's forearm.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. We were going to let you sleep in, only your groom was here early and -"
"He's here?" Kallian asked.
"And Soris's bride. So up you get, you need to get dressed!" Shianni said.
"Maker, what did you do to try and wake me up?" Kallian asked as she slowly rose to her feet.
"I tried poking you, and when that didn't work I tried shaking you. You, um, you took offence and tackled me," Shianni said.
"Let's agree not to tell this story to my future husband, dear cousin. He might run off and take his chances with the Dalish," Kallian said. Shianni laughed, then she stepped out of Kallian's sleeping area and pulled the ragged curtain closed behind her.
Kallian lived with her father, Cryion, in a small house. It was actually rather nice, as houses in the alienage went. Her mother had returned from a misspent youth with enough gold that they could still afford the rent, even after her death. That wasn't the only thing she'd returned with - Kallian's mother had been a skilled swordswoman, something that was absolutely forbidden for elves.
Every elf in the Denerim Alienage, where Kallain lived, knew that the one law they mustn't break was to carry a weapon. Humans could be tricked, bribed, or beaten over the back of the head with a bit of old wood, but never threatened with steel. Even her mother had only taught Kallian with wood in the shape of a sword. At least when it came to swords - she'd taught her how to throw very real knives, but even the city guards agreed that a knife was an alright sort of thing for an elf to carry.
Carefully, she got her wedding dress out of the battered old chest it had been resting in. Neither were really hers - the old ladies adjusted the few nice dresses in the entire alienage whenever anyone got married. Kallian would have to give it back after today.
She felt excited, she found. She hadn't been sure how she was going to feel, not until she'd actually put the dress on. On the one hand, marriage meant sex without having to sneak around and check you weren't cousins. It meant cute children, and not living with her father. On the other hand, as cute as her imaginary children might be and as excited as she was all the fun bits of marriage the bits between sex and having a few cute children were absolutely terrifying.
Childbirth was like a human. Most of the time, you'd be fine. They'd send you on your way, or buy your fish, or take you on as a maid - but every so often, they'd call you a thief or a whore or say your belt knife was actually a sword and string you up. Everyone knew someone who'd met a sticky end at human hands, and every generation of girls had the ones who died in childbirth. It didn't matter if you were strong, or brave, or clever - they could get you anyway.
Whatever she thought, there wasn't anything she could do about it. All marriages in the alienage were decided by the Harhen, or the parents of the elf in question. It was just the way it was done, and Kallian knew better than to complain. Elves had been complaining about the way it was done for a thousand years and accomplished nothing. So she pulled back the curtain and smiled when she saw her father's pride.
"You look beautiful, my dear," he said.
"I'm sure you've seen this dress before."
"But never on my daughter. I can't believe you're getting married. It feels like you were a little girl with a pretend sword just yesterday. Although..." he said.
"What?"
"Perhaps you could leave that part out of any fond childhood memories you tell your husband-to-be. We wouldn't want to look like troublemakers."
"I know, Dad. I - I'm not going to end up like Mum, I promise. I'll keep my head on straight and stay out of trouble. No adventures for me," she said.
"That's my girl. Go on, Soris is waiting for you, and I'm sure there are plenty of wellwishers already into the ale," her father said with a fond smile. She smiled back as the excitement of the moment crept into her face.
She wore her finest shoes - her mother's old Dalish boots, or she'd said they were Dalish, anyway - and walked out into the Alienage. Her house - no, her father's house, now - looked out onto the central square, and right onto the huge tree in the middle of it. The tree was the vhenadhal tree, the tree of the people. Nobody was really quite sure what it meant, anymore, but everyone agreed that it had something to do with lost Arlathan. Whatever it had meant, before the Elves lived in Aleianges, now it was the heart of their community. They celebrated every holy day under the enormous oak's branches, and every wedding was conducted in its shadow.
The Alienage was bursting with life. Children raced to and fro, small dogs barked and one harried man chased after an escaped chicken. Chickens were the only livestock permitted in the Aleinage, and they had to give up three eggs for every one they were allowed to keep. Kallian dodged a flying ball and gave the kid who kicked a rude gesture. He squealed and darted off, his friends laughing as they chased after him.
Nessa and her parents were packing a small handcart with their few meagre possessions. They'd lost their home to their human landlord, and none of them earned enough to afford anywhere else. There was simply no room for any other houses in the cramped confines of the Alienage. None of them were really the sort to get a good job, like being a maid or a groundskeeper for a manor, so they'd survived on odd jobs and manual labour. Last Kallian had heard, the three of them were heading off to Ostagar.
She hoped Nessa found something to do there other than spreading her legs, but she was pretty and desperate. Every girl in the Alienage said they'd never do something like that, but Kallian was pretty sure all of them would rather than starve.
Nessa smiled at her, and she tried not to let what she was thinking about show on her face.
"Good luck, Kal!" Nessa shouted. Kallian waved back and continued through the square. A pair of older elves, their hair fully grey, that she didn't recognise approached her.
"You are Kallian Tabris, yes? Only, we haven't seen you for-" the woman began before the man spoke up.
"Since your mother died. We were friends of hers," he said.
"I'm sorry, but I don't remember you two. But any friend of my mother is a friend of mine," she said.
"Thank you, dear. She would've been so proud to see you today - anyway, we won't take up too much of your special day. We just wanted to wish you well and give you this. We owed your mother quite a debt, and I think she'd want it to go to helping you start a life of your own," the woman said and passed along a small pouch. It sounded as though it was full of coins.
"Thank you, truly," Kallian said.
After she was tastefully distant from them, she looked inside the pouch. It wasn't full of coppers, as she had been expecting, but chunky silver coins. It was more money than she'd ever had at once in her entire life. She wanted to go back and thank them more, but the crowd had already swallowed them up and she really did have little time to waste.
She found Soris near the gates, dressed in his finery, and looking like he was about to throw up. He turned as she approached him and gave her a weak smile.
"Well, if it isn't my lucky cousin. Here to celebrate the end of our independence together?" he asked her.
"Lucky?" she asked.
"I've seen your husband, sister, and trust me you got the better match. Meanwhile, my bride sounds like a dying mouse," Soris said.
"Perhaps I'll get you a mouse cage for a wedding gift, then."
"Andraste's breath cousin, don't make me laugh or I'll throw up all over my doublet. It's the only one in the Aienage!" Soris said.
"Well, where are our opposite numbers? Everyone told me they were early?" Kallian asked.
"I think - oh, that'd be their party over there, I think," Soris said as he gestured towards a well-dressed group pulling several handcarts behind them.
Kallian could see what he'd meant about her being the lucky one. Her husband was tall, as elves went, and had the sort of square jaw and fine blonde hair that seemed almost too handsome. Soris's bride was, well, she was fine. Not pretty, but he could've done worse, she thought. Poor Elva had been matched with an old man three times her weight! Shianni was with them too, trying to lead them over to Kallian and Soris.
Her heart ran cold as she saw the other group approaching the wedding party. Well-dressed humans, already reeking of alcohol and with more of it in their hands. One grabbed a bridesmaid and tossed aside his drink.
"Let go of me! Stop, please!" the bridesmaid shouted as she tried to escape the human's grip. He leered at her and laughed. She wriggled free and dashed away, scrambling to get out of the human's reach.
"It's a party, isn't it? Grab a whore and have a good time!" he shouted to a drunken cheer from his fellows. They advanced forward, and almost as one the wedding party stepped backwards. Only Shianni stood her ground.
"Savour the hunt, boys. Take this little elven wench here... so young and vulnerable..." the human said as he advanced on Shianni. She snarled at him and for a moment Kallian thought she was going to go for a knife.
"Touch me and I'll gut you, you pig!" she shouted.
"Please... my lord, we're celebrating weddings here," one of the male members of the wedding party said.
"Silence, worm!" the human said as he backhanded the man so forcefully he was sent stumbling backwards.
"I know what you're thinking, cousin, but maybe we shouldn't get involved," Soris said in a low voice.
"Shianni will get herself killed!" Kallian hissed back.
"Fine. But let's try to be diplomatic, shall we?"
Kallian walked forward and tried to control her revulsion as the lead human turned to leer at her.
"What's this? Another lovely thing come to keep me company?" the human asked.
"You need to leave. You aren't welcome here," Kallian said. She hoped the stupid human would listen. He was looking for a fight, and if he got one it would be ugly for all of them.
"Do you have any idea who I am?" he asked. Kallian hoped he wasn't too noble, and then she saw Shianni. It was too late to interfere.
Shianni had snuck away from the group and returned with a sturdy old jar. She walked up behind the human, adjusted her stance, and swung as hard as she could up into his head. There was an ugly wet sound and the human dropped limply to the ground. Blood stained the jar where it had made contact, but there had been no crunch of broken bone.
"Are you insane? That's Vaughn Urien, heir to Arling of Denerim!" shouted one of the human's lackeys.
"Oh... oh Maker..." Shianni said, her eyes wide.
They were rushed through the camp with all haste, not even stopping to dismount. The camp itself was well organised, with a defensive ditch dug and an orderly dispersion of tents and cooking fires. The supply train was in the centre of the camp where it could be as well guarded as possible against raids, as were the precious warhorses. Shouts and whispers raced along with them. All of them were covered in gore, and their horses were obviously not their own.
Fergus, dressed only in breeches and an open shirt, stumbled out of his tent with bleary eyes as they approached.
"Father - Andraste's breath, what's happened?" Fergus asked as they dismounted.
"Howe has betrayed us, son. His men snuck into the castle and began to massacre anybody they could get their hands on. Without Ser Gilmore and your sister, we might've been lost entirely but the inner gates are still ours," her father said.
"Father... where is Oriana?" Fergus asked, and her father went still. Elissa looked away. Her mother stepped forward and cradled her son in her arms.
"I am so sorry, darling. By the time we woke, they were already dead," her mother said.
Fergus's wail was an ugly thing. He could not keep his composure, he could not maintain the facade that any leader needed. But his soldiers looked away, for that was the only service they could render him.
"No... I - it can't be. Sister, how could you -" Fergus said and guilt ate at Elissa's heart. If she had kept her guard up, if she had stopped the bloodshed overwhelming her in the fade -
"They had a Templar especially for her, darling. There was nothing she could do."
"Did... did they..." Fergus asked, but he could not say it. He could not speak the foulness into being.
"No, she would not let them. She died defending Oren. She took one of the bastards with her. She would not allow that, never," her mother said.
"She... she always said that she found swords so barbaric," Fergus said.
"I'm sorry Fer -" Elissa began, but the shivers from the lyrium were getting worse. She stumbled and fell, though luckily Duncan caught her.
"What's wrong with her?" Fergus asked.
"She's pushed herself to the brink - far too much magic and far too much lyrium. She needs rest, and to refrain from spellcasting for several days," Duncan said. Elissa felt weak all through her body - her legs simply refused to support her, and she couldn't hold on to Duncan's arms with any strength.
"She can use my tent, here, I've got her," her brother said as he picked her up with both arms. Elissa could hardly find the strength to speak, and as soon as he lowered her into a cot, she fell asleep.
She woke to find the camp much reduced. Only a small number of troops - all knights or other heavy cavalry - remained in the camp with their attendants. Perhaps fifty fighters, with three times that number in non-combatants. Her robes were covered in gore, so Elissa dressed herself in breeches, a jerkin, and her grey warden tunic. At least it would make who she was obvious.
Duncan and her father were waiting for her outside the tent. Neither of them looked to have gotten all that much sleep. Her father's blue eyes were haggard and hollow as he stared at the clear midday sky.
"Father... why are you still here?" she asked.
"I'm coming to Denerim with you. Someone has to alert the Queen and take the fight to Howe, and the army at Ostagar has Teyrn Loghain. I might not like the man, but he's the best general we have. Fergus will take the bulk of our forces South, as planned," he said.
"Is that really -"
"He needs something to do, pup, and your mother knows grief better than you or I. Let him vent his rage against the darkspawn, or would you rather see what he might do to the people of Amaranthine? They are my subjects too," her father said. Elissa nodded slowly.
"I understand. I still don't understand - I still don't understand why he did it," Elissa said.
"Sometimes men just go mad. Perhaps it is blight-sickness. Perhaps he was always capable of it," her father said. She had never heard him like this, so full of doubt.
"You could not have predicted this, father. Howe can have no hope of escape, after this. You told me once that any man could be assassinated if the assassin was willing to die in the act," she said.
"I spoke up for the man! I plead his case before King Maric - I restored him to Amaranthine! He was not just my subject, but my friend - we fought side by side for years against Orlais! The fault for this disaster is mine, daughter, and you will not sway me from this. All that remains is duty and vengeance," her father said.
"Fergus still lives. Mother still lives. I am still here, father. Do not throw away your life out of misplaced guilt," she said.
"It is not mine to give away, nor to hoard. You know that more than most."
"Then all I can say is that our people still need you. Not just Highever, but all of Ferelden. If Duncan is right and this is a true Blight, then this is our darkest hour. Teyrn Loghain is a great general, but he is no diplomat. No nation has stood alone against a Blight - never, in all of history!"
"You are right, of course. Come, there should still be some food on the fire. You will need your strength on the ride to Denerim," her father said.
She did need the food, though as much as it improved her mood it did not stop the shakes or the piercing headache. She had pushed herself too far in the battle for Highever, and only rest would allow her to recover from the after-effects of the lyrium potions.
Someone had found a nicer riding horse for her than the one she'd stolen from Howe's patrol, and she welcomed the comfortable ride as she and Duncan rode with her father and his elite guard towards Denerim. The two wardens were at the centre of the formation, both because of Elissa's injuries and Duncan's wish not to take part in further fighting.
Still, if any of Howe's men were watching the Imperial Highway, they were not eager to take on nearly three hundred riders, fifty of whom were heavily armoured knights. Merchants and travellers pressed themselves to the side of the Highway as they passed them by. Elissa longed to spur her mount onwards, to reach safety and reinforcements with greater speed, but their horses could only be ridden so fast.
It took their party a week to make it to Denerim, accounting for the need to maneuver around Amaranthine and any force Howe might have lying in wait there. By the time Dragon's Peak and the spire for Fort Drakon rose into view, Elissa had recovered from her abuse of the lyrium potions. She was still without a staff, but she had been able to ensure the health of their horses as they rode hard for Denerim.
The city guard opened the gates after a few shouted questions, one of them recognising the Teyrn and all recognising the banners of the Couslands. They rode through the streets at a more sedate pace, and Elissa marvelled at Denerim. She had only been here once as a girl, and it seemed like the largest city in all the world to her. Fort Drakon was as mighty as the Circle Tower, and the houses and taverns and shops and all the other buildings seemed to stretch on forever.
She knew that was not true, of course. Val Royeaux dwarfed Denerim, housing ten times the number of souls. Minrathous, the capital of the Tevinter Imperium and Queen of all cities, was said to house more than a million in its teeming spires.
Though it was wondrous, Denerim did smell worse than Highever. Her home, like Amaranthine, had a modern sewage system and sufficient public greenery. Denerim had neither and stunk of tanneries and dead fish and human excrement.
They made for the Cousland's manor, located in the palace district. It lay in the shadow of Fort Drakon, and had a direct view of the palace. During the Orlesian occupation, it had been the residence of a favoured subordinate of King Meghren and it was consequentially quite well furnished. Far more so than Castle Highever itself, though that was not unusual. A Denerim manor was an important investment for any Ferelden lord who wished to make waves at a Landmeet, and so they were often better outfitted than their actual seat.
The Cousland manor had been built for them by surface dwarves, a few decades after the unification of Ferelden. It was constructed entirely from stone, save the slate roof. Most of the exterior walls, and all the interior ones, were plastered a pleasant blue. Carvings of Mabari and laurel wreathes dominated the exterior facade, and the banner of the Couslands flew in the sea breeze.
"I have some business to attend to in the city - stay here for now, but after you have outfitted yourself, report to the Grey Warden Compound. It is not far from here. I trust you will have little difficulty finding it?" Duncan asked her.
"I assume it has a griffon statue or something like out the front?" Elissa asked.
"Quite. Do wear your warden tunic - we don't want any incidents with the templars," Duncan. Elissa nodded.
"Are you sure you don't want my help with whatever mysterious errand you're on?" she asked.
"I've several places to visit in search of recruits, and none would take all that kindly to a highborn mage," Duncan.
"Oh. That makes sense. I shall see you at the compound, then?" she asked.
"Unless something should delay me, yes," Duncan said. Then he turned from the front steps of the Cousland manor and walked into the crowd. It was early morning, and still, the streets of the Palace District were teeming with servants and soldiers and noblewomen on litters. Elissa thought she saw Habren Bryland - her most awful cousin - be carried past. She hoped that her father would not ask her to call on her.
Elissa took advantage of Cousland Manor's baths, a much-needed relief after a week of hard riding. The elvish maids brushed her hair, though it took two of them quite some time to fix all the knots. She handed them her poor riding dress and travelling robes, then got changed into her breeches and jerkin. She slipped her Grey Warden tunic on over it, as Duncan had instructed. Her pack and saddlebags would be taken with her horse to the Warden Compound.
She had much to do in the city, and her father had supplied her plentifully with gold. She needed a new staff and - now that she was no longer under the templar's thumb - some armour.
Most mages were not physically fit enough to perform the movements required for magic and wear any significant armour, by design, but Elissa was a Knight-Enchanter. She was no strongwoman, but her instructor had quite literally beaten fitness into her with a switch.
The market district was somewhat of a walk, but she enjoyed the freedom in spite of the smell. After years stuck inside the tower, and then only the tightly regimented training that followed her Harrowing, being able to walk down a city street was not a privilege she'd take lightly.
Kallian felt a sudden lurch and awoke with a start. She realised several things - she and her cousin Shianni were caught up in a tangle of limbs on the floor next to her bed, she hurt all over, and her father was laughing at them.
"Cousin!" she yelped from underneath Shianni's forearm.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. We were going to let you sleep in, only your groom was here early and -"
"He's here?" Kallian asked.
"And Soris's bride. So up you get, you need to get dressed!" Shianni said.
"Maker, what did you do to try and wake me up?" Kallian asked as she slowly rose to her feet.
"I tried poking you, and when that didn't work I tried shaking you. You, um, you took offence and tackled me," Shianni said.
"Let's agree not to tell this story to my future husband, dear cousin. He might run off and take his chances with the Dalish," Kallian said. Shianni laughed, then she stepped out of Kallian's sleeping area and pulled the ragged curtain closed behind her.
Kallian lived with her father, Cryion, in a small house. It was actually rather nice, as houses in the alienage went. Her mother had returned from a misspent youth with enough gold that they could still afford the rent, even after her death. That wasn't the only thing she'd returned with - Kallian's mother had been a skilled swordswoman, something that was absolutely forbidden for elves.
Every elf in the Denerim Alienage, where Kallain lived, knew that the one law they mustn't break was to carry a weapon. Humans could be tricked, bribed, or beaten over the back of the head with a bit of old wood, but never threatened with steel. Even her mother had only taught Kallian with wood in the shape of a sword. At least when it came to swords - she'd taught her how to throw very real knives, but even the city guards agreed that a knife was an alright sort of thing for an elf to carry.
Carefully, she got her wedding dress out of the battered old chest it had been resting in. Neither were really hers - the old ladies adjusted the few nice dresses in the entire alienage whenever anyone got married. Kallian would have to give it back after today.
She felt excited, she found. She hadn't been sure how she was going to feel, not until she'd actually put the dress on. On the one hand, marriage meant sex without having to sneak around and check you weren't cousins. It meant cute children, and not living with her father. On the other hand, as cute as her imaginary children might be and as excited as she was all the fun bits of marriage the bits between sex and having a few cute children were absolutely terrifying.
Childbirth was like a human. Most of the time, you'd be fine. They'd send you on your way, or buy your fish, or take you on as a maid - but every so often, they'd call you a thief or a whore or say your belt knife was actually a sword and string you up. Everyone knew someone who'd met a sticky end at human hands, and every generation of girls had the ones who died in childbirth. It didn't matter if you were strong, or brave, or clever - they could get you anyway.
Whatever she thought, there wasn't anything she could do about it. All marriages in the alienage were decided by the Harhen, or the parents of the elf in question. It was just the way it was done, and Kallian knew better than to complain. Elves had been complaining about the way it was done for a thousand years and accomplished nothing. So she pulled back the curtain and smiled when she saw her father's pride.
"You look beautiful, my dear," he said.
"I'm sure you've seen this dress before."
"But never on my daughter. I can't believe you're getting married. It feels like you were a little girl with a pretend sword just yesterday. Although..." he said.
"What?"
"Perhaps you could leave that part out of any fond childhood memories you tell your husband-to-be. We wouldn't want to look like troublemakers."
"I know, Dad. I - I'm not going to end up like Mum, I promise. I'll keep my head on straight and stay out of trouble. No adventures for me," she said.
"That's my girl. Go on, Soris is waiting for you, and I'm sure there are plenty of wellwishers already into the ale," her father said with a fond smile. She smiled back as the excitement of the moment crept into her face.
She wore her finest shoes - her mother's old Dalish boots, or she'd said they were Dalish, anyway - and walked out into the Alienage. Her house - no, her father's house, now - looked out onto the central square, and right onto the huge tree in the middle of it. The tree was the vhenadhal tree, the tree of the people. Nobody was really quite sure what it meant, anymore, but everyone agreed that it had something to do with lost Arlathan. Whatever it had meant, before the Elves lived in Aleianges, now it was the heart of their community. They celebrated every holy day under the enormous oak's branches, and every wedding was conducted in its shadow.
The Alienage was bursting with life. Children raced to and fro, small dogs barked and one harried man chased after an escaped chicken. Chickens were the only livestock permitted in the Aleinage, and they had to give up three eggs for every one they were allowed to keep. Kallian dodged a flying ball and gave the kid who kicked a rude gesture. He squealed and darted off, his friends laughing as they chased after him.
Nessa and her parents were packing a small handcart with their few meagre possessions. They'd lost their home to their human landlord, and none of them earned enough to afford anywhere else. There was simply no room for any other houses in the cramped confines of the Alienage. None of them were really the sort to get a good job, like being a maid or a groundskeeper for a manor, so they'd survived on odd jobs and manual labour. Last Kallian had heard, the three of them were heading off to Ostagar.
She hoped Nessa found something to do there other than spreading her legs, but she was pretty and desperate. Every girl in the Alienage said they'd never do something like that, but Kallian was pretty sure all of them would rather than starve.
Nessa smiled at her, and she tried not to let what she was thinking about show on her face.
"Good luck, Kal!" Nessa shouted. Kallian waved back and continued through the square. A pair of older elves, their hair fully grey, that she didn't recognise approached her.
"You are Kallian Tabris, yes? Only, we haven't seen you for-" the woman began before the man spoke up.
"Since your mother died. We were friends of hers," he said.
"I'm sorry, but I don't remember you two. But any friend of my mother is a friend of mine," she said.
"Thank you, dear. She would've been so proud to see you today - anyway, we won't take up too much of your special day. We just wanted to wish you well and give you this. We owed your mother quite a debt, and I think she'd want it to go to helping you start a life of your own," the woman said and passed along a small pouch. It sounded as though it was full of coins.
"Thank you, truly," Kallian said.
After she was tastefully distant from them, she looked inside the pouch. It wasn't full of coppers, as she had been expecting, but chunky silver coins. It was more money than she'd ever had at once in her entire life. She wanted to go back and thank them more, but the crowd had already swallowed them up and she really did have little time to waste.
She found Soris near the gates, dressed in his finery, and looking like he was about to throw up. He turned as she approached him and gave her a weak smile.
"Well, if it isn't my lucky cousin. Here to celebrate the end of our independence together?" he asked her.
"Lucky?" she asked.
"I've seen your husband, sister, and trust me you got the better match. Meanwhile, my bride sounds like a dying mouse," Soris said.
"Perhaps I'll get you a mouse cage for a wedding gift, then."
"Andraste's breath cousin, don't make me laugh or I'll throw up all over my doublet. It's the only one in the Aienage!" Soris said.
"Well, where are our opposite numbers? Everyone told me they were early?" Kallian asked.
"I think - oh, that'd be their party over there, I think," Soris said as he gestured towards a well-dressed group pulling several handcarts behind them.
Kallian could see what he'd meant about her being the lucky one. Her husband was tall, as elves went, and had the sort of square jaw and fine blonde hair that seemed almost too handsome. Soris's bride was, well, she was fine. Not pretty, but he could've done worse, she thought. Poor Elva had been matched with an old man three times her weight! Shianni was with them too, trying to lead them over to Kallian and Soris.
Her heart ran cold as she saw the other group approaching the wedding party. Well-dressed humans, already reeking of alcohol and with more of it in their hands. One grabbed a bridesmaid and tossed aside his drink.
"Let go of me! Stop, please!" the bridesmaid shouted as she tried to escape the human's grip. He leered at her and laughed. She wriggled free and dashed away, scrambling to get out of the human's reach.
"It's a party, isn't it? Grab a whore and have a good time!" he shouted to a drunken cheer from his fellows. They advanced forward, and almost as one the wedding party stepped backwards. Only Shianni stood her ground.
"Savour the hunt, boys. Take this little elven wench here... so young and vulnerable..." the human said as he advanced on Shianni. She snarled at him and for a moment Kallian thought she was going to go for a knife.
"Touch me and I'll gut you, you pig!" she shouted.
"Please... my lord, we're celebrating weddings here," one of the male members of the wedding party said.
"Silence, worm!" the human said as he backhanded the man so forcefully he was sent stumbling backwards.
"I know what you're thinking, cousin, but maybe we shouldn't get involved," Soris said in a low voice.
"Shianni will get herself killed!" Kallian hissed back.
"Fine. But let's try to be diplomatic, shall we?"
Kallian walked forward and tried to control her revulsion as the lead human turned to leer at her.
"What's this? Another lovely thing come to keep me company?" the human asked.
"You need to leave. You aren't welcome here," Kallian said. She hoped the stupid human would listen. He was looking for a fight, and if he got one it would be ugly for all of them.
"Do you have any idea who I am?" he asked. Kallian hoped he wasn't too noble, and then she saw Shianni. It was too late to interfere.
Shianni had snuck away from the group and returned with a sturdy old jar. She walked up behind the human, adjusted her stance, and swung as hard as she could up into his head. There was an ugly wet sound and the human dropped limply to the ground. Blood stained the jar where it had made contact, but there had been no crunch of broken bone.
"Are you insane? That's Vaughn Urien, heir to Arling of Denerim!" shouted one of the human's lackeys.
"Oh... oh Maker..." Shianni said, her eyes wide.
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Kallian II/Elissa V
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Kallian II/Elissa V
The human noblemen beat a hasty retreat with their leader slung over a shoulder, his hair matted red with blood. Shianni stared at her hands in horror, and nobody seemed to know what to do.
"It'll be okay, Shianni. He won't tell anyone he got knocked out by an elf. Just be ready to hide if he sends some guards looking for you," Kallian said.
"I hope so... Maker, I need to go get cleaned up," Shianni said. She walked away from the group, into the crowd that had gathered to watch the confrontation. It too dispersed, now that the humans had left.
"Is everyone else alright?" Soris asked.
"I think we're just shaken. What was that about?" his betrothed asked.
"Looks like the Arl's son started drinking too early," Soris said with a nervous laugh. Nobody looked quite convinced by that.
"Um, well let's not let this ruin the day. Uh, this is Valora, my betrothed," Soris continued.
"Then you must be Nelaros. Sorry about the welcome," Kallian said. Nelaros smiled nervously at her.
"It's not your fault. Soris said much of you - some of it was even positive," Nelaros said.
"Soris!" Kallian shouted.
"Oh, calm down Kal. I didn't tell him anything too embarrassing. Just about your childhood misdeeds, that thing with the guards when you were fifteen - I had to give him a sporting chance to run!" Soris replied.
"Cousins, huh?" she said to Valora. She laughed, her nervousness seemingly forgotten.
"I suppose we'll see you two in a little while," Nelaros said. He really was very handsome, Kallian thought. She had definitely gotten the better match.
The crowd swirled around them as the rest of the wedding party - those few members of the newcomer's family who had made the trip from Highever with them - went about unpacking their small handcarts. Some of their cargo was Nelaros and Valora's meagre possessions, but most of it was goods intended for trade.
A few of the wedding party went to Alartih's shop to try and sell their wares, while others simply started hawking them by the side of the road. Kallian was sure some of the more valuable items were stolen, but she had no objections to stealing in general. It was stealing from some poor bastard with nothing but a pot and a pair of shitty boots that was a sin, she reckoned.
Andraste, she thought, would take one look at an Alienage and go behead Lords until they fixed it. Her mother had read the forbidden Canticle of Shartan to her as a child, and she knew that unlike Her church, Andraste had been a friend to the Elves. Mother Boann was alright - she was willing to come and officiate weddings and funerals, which was more than any of the others would do. She'd even convinced the Arl to lower his egg tax from four to one down to three to one.
"Don't look now, cousin, but we've got another problem," Soris said. Kallian resisted the temptation to turn, though she was tempted.
"What now?"
"A human. Could be one of Vaughan's or just a random troublemaker," Soris said. Kallian moved so that her turn would look natural and then she was finally able to get a look at the newcomer.
He was tall, even for a human. His dark, greying hair marked his age, and his sun-beaten skin was darker than even the most hardy farmer at the height of summer. He looked Rivaini, she thought. He wore strange armour - gleaming silver plates mixed with long strips of cloth - and carried a pair of blades at his waist. One long, one shorter.
"If he's a guardsman, I'll swap husbands with Elva. That armour's silverite. Probably worth more than a dozen guardsmen all on its own," Kallian said.
"Whatever he is, we need to move him along. There's been too much wine and bad feelings today for him to be here," Soris said and Kallian nodded. They made their way through the crowd, which was already moving away from the human.
"Good day. I understand congratulations are in order for your impending wedding," the man said as they approached him. His voice was warm and deep, calm in a way that sent a warning shivering down Kallian's spine.
"Thanks, but please go. This isn't a good time for you to be here," she said. The human's hands weren't on his swordbelt, but the only knife Kallian had on her in her wedding dress was in her mother's boot. It was a small one, made for throwing mostly. Something about the human told her instinct that he was skilled, but there was a good distance between them and he wasn't wearing a helmet. She'd have a shot if it came to blows, but only one.
"What manner of unpleasantness might you be referring to?" the man asked, his tone utterly casual. Kallian's hand twitched, just a little. Soris looked at the man's swordbelt, and she knew he'd be no help in a fight.
"Wine's been flowing and the first punch's already been thrown, human. What if someone takes a swing at you? Trouble for both of us," Kallian said.
"Surely it has not escaped your notice that I am armed and armoured," the man said. His hands were still at rest and far from his sword. Kallian could almost feel her odds of landing her throwing knife decreasing.
"Do you intend to need them?" she asked. Her heart raced in her chest, her body tense and loose at the same time - ready to move, if she had to.
"Not unless I'm left without a choice," the human said.
"Then let's find another choice," she said. There'd already been blood split today, she thought. Surely a death would be a bad omen for her marriage, even if it wasn't her own.
"Ah, the diplomat comes out. It seems your temper isn't as fiery as I've been led to believe. What do you say, Valendrian?" the human asked as the Hahren emerged from the crowd. He was an old man, his hair fully grey, but an active one. His face was dramatic, with long ears, a sizeable chin, and a sharp nose.
"I would say the world has far more use of those who know how to stay their blades. It is good to see you again, my old friend. It has been far too long," Hahren Valendrian said. Kallian could hear the genuine affection in his voice for the human and started to relax. If the Elder knew him, then he probably wasn't here to cause trouble, she thought.
"This human's a friend of yours, Elder?" she asked.
"Indeed. May I present Duncan, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden," Valendrian said and Kallian's eyes went wide. Her mother had read her the story of Garahel, the Elf Warden who'd saved the world at the Battle of Ayesleigh in the Exalted Age, so many times that she knew it by heart.
"I'm - I'm sorry I was rude to you. And, you know, about threatening you," Kallian said.
"I was hardly forthcoming, and for that I apologise," Duncan said.
"But why would a Grey Warden come here, of all places?" Soris asked.
"The worst has happened: a Blight has begun. King Cailan summons the Grey Wardens to Ostagar to fight the darkspawn horde alongside his armies," Duncan said, and for a moment Kallian entertained the idea of asking him to recruit her then and there, Nelaros be damned. It was a childish fantasy, she knew, but she almost spoke up. She found her throat dry and felt a sick sense of unease in her stomach.
"Yes... I had heard the news. Still, this is an awkward time. There is to be a wedding - two, in fact," Valendrian said.
"So I see. By all means, attend to your ceremonies. My concerns can wait, for now," Duncan said.
"Very well. Children, treat Duncan as my guest. And for the Maker's sake, take your places!" Valendrain said as he turned on Kallian and Soris. Mother Boann had arrived, Kallian saw, and the small platform the Alienage used for important ceremonies was already drawing a crowd.
"Guess it's time, eh cousin?" Kallian asked.
"What are you being sombre for?" Soris asked her, and it struck Kallian that she had no answer for that. She should be happy. She had gotten a great match, a purse of silver as a gift, and would have a married life that every girl in the Alienage would envy.
Yet, something nagged at her. A sense that she still had much to do in her youth, that there was more adventure and excitement to be had. Even as she walked towards the platform, her betrothed already in his palace there, she thought about turning back and asking the Grey Warden to take her on.
But whatever mischief she might've gotten up to, she was not so spoilt as to refuse to walk up onto the platform. The sun shone overhead, though patchy grey clouds out to sea promised rain later on in the day. Sun on a wedding day was a good omen, she decided.
Everyone took their places, then Valendrian stepped forwards. He could not perform a wedding - only pagans and Tevinters were married by men - but we would say a few words. Mother Boann smiled at Kallian as the hahren stepped forward, a gentle, reassuring smile. Perhaps, Kallian thought, she could sense her strange nervousness. Shianni, who was one of her bridesmaids, gave her a similar look.
"Friends and family, today we celebrate not only this joining, but also our bonds of kin and kind. We are a free people, but that was not always so. Andraste, the Maker's prophet, freed us from the bonds of slavery. As our community grows, remember that our strength lies in commitment to tradition and to each other," Valendrian said. His voice was strong and projected well. Here, he looked strong and confident. Unbent by time or human boots.
"Thank you, Valendrian. Now, let us begin," Mother Boann said. Kallian took her place opposite her groom, and Soris his bride.
"In the name of the Maker, who brought us this world, and in whose name we say the Chant of Light, I -" Mother Boan began, but she stopped and turned to face the gates at the sounds of armoured boots and gasps of fear.
Vaughan had returned, and this time he had brought heavily armoured guardsmen in addition to his lackeys. Their swords were sheathed, but there were a half dozen of them and they all wore half-plate of red steel.
"Milord? This is... an unexpected surprise," Mother Boann said. The guardsmen avoided looking at her. Kallian tapped the boot with her throwing knife against the wood of the platform. She couldn't fight. Not here. There were too many of them, and if she killed one of Vaughan's alckeys, or Maker forbid the bastard himself, there would be a massacre.
"Sorry to interrupt, Mother, but I'm having a party and we're dreadfully short of female guests," Vaughan said. Kallian saw his leer scrape across the platform and shivered.
"Milord, this is a wedding!" Mother Boann said. She tried to position herself at the top of the steps, but Vaughan pushed her out of the way. She stumbled and tripped, and it was only luck that sent her back onto the platform rather than off of it.
"Ha! If you want to dress up your pets and have tea parties, that's your business. But don't pretend this is a proper wedding," Vaughan said. His men were ascending the platform, whilst the guardsmen formed a cordon around it. The cowards, she thought, were grateful for the chance to look awya from what was happening.
"Now, we're here for a good time, aren't we boys?" Vaughan said. Kallian saw Nelaros tense up beside her. His fine clothing had room for a knife. Maker, she thought, if he went for it...
"Just a good time with the ladies, that's all," one of Vaughan's lackeys said. The other laughed, a high, piercing laugh that made Kallain sick to her stomach.
"Let's take those two, the one in the tight dress, and... where's the bitch that bottled me?" Vaughan said as he pointed to the bridesmaids and Soris's bride, Valora.
"Over here, Lord Vaughan!" shouted one of his lackeys. He had Shianni by one arm, and she struggled against his grip.
"Let me go, you stuffed-shirt son of a -" Shianni started to shout, but one of the guardsmen gave her a heavy slap with his armoured gauntlet and she fell still.
"Not the face, Sergeant. Even so... oh, I'll enjoy taming her. And see the pretty bride..." Vaughan said as he turned to face Kallian. She felt her heart race, her hands twitch. She could kill him. She'd die moments later, and so would dozens of elves, but a part of her screamed to do it.
"Don't worry. I won't let them take you!" Nelaros said as he stood in front of her. He squared his shoulders and raised his fists, but a guard smashed his face with the pommel of his sword and Nelaros collapsed to the ground.
"Aren't you ashamed? He -" Kallian shouted out to the guards. She hadn't expected it to work, but it was her last idea. She didn't even get all the way through the appeal before one of them clubbed her over the back of her head and the world went dark.
Elissa spent almost an hour simply wandering between the stalls in Denerim's crowded merchant district. She bought a small journal with a set of travelling quills and inkpots from a Dwarf, and then enjoyed a meat pie from a baker. She had heard rumours about the meat pies in Denerim, of course - that was a favourite gory story of children across Ferelden - but the baker ran a higher class sort of place, and it certainly tasted like beef. The pastry, she was surprised to find, was more in the Orlesian fashion - a little sweet, and not just a container for the meat but a taste of its own to be enjoyed.
A mage and a noblewoman she might've been, but she was a Ferelden. She was able to eat her pie without getting a hint of gravy or pastry on her fine Grey Warden tunic.
"Out of my way - and what is that ridiculous outfit?" someone said. Elissa turned around and she saw none other than her horrible cousin Habren standing behind her with her arms crossed. She had a pair of bodyguards behind her, and a haggard looking maid. One of the guards was a Qunari, one horn replaced with gold-lace ivory.
"My uniform," Elissa said. Though she was a mage, her societal precedence was not actually diminshed... at least by some readings of the rules of etiquette. Both she and Habren derived their status from their fathers, rather than holding a title in their own right, so being disinherited by law did not actually make Elissa Habren's inferior.
"How... how dare you speak to me like that? Who is your lord? What up-jumped Bann has that ridiculous heraldry?" Habren asked.
"My commander is Duncan, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. You can deliver your complaints to him, if you'd like," Elissa said.
"A Grey Warden? No wonder you look so poor. I'd mistaken you for a proper knight, you see. But you have still been intolerably rude - I am the Heiress to South Reach!" Habren said.
"My apologies for not introducing myself. I am Ser Elissa Cousland. A good day to you, Cousin," she said.
"What - you can't be! She's locked up in the Tower for being a nasty mage!"
"I'm a Grey Warden now, cousin. Which means I can travel freely, and any Templar who tries to stop me will be hauled off to the Divine for a very nasty trial," Elissa said. Really, she knew, her smirk and general smug attitude were not wise. Habren could cause her trouble, if she complained to the right Tmeplar, but she just couldn't resist.
"I - I will take my leave now, my lady," Habren said as her etiquette training kicked in. Elissa could see she was fuming, but habren was too well-bred and well-trained to continue a losing social duel like this one. She'd retreat and plan a new course of attack. Elissa realised with a momentary feeling of horror that Habren might even invite her to her father's estate for a meal. That would mean hours sat next to her, all while being unable to be the slightest bit rude to her.
That nightmare firmly fixed in her mind, Elissa decided to make the purchases she'd actually come to the market district to make. Her father had given her the name of a well-regarded armourer, and she was able to find his shop with only a few questions and one wrong turn down an alleyway.
Master Wade was said to be very skilled, and his Emporium was certainly the place to go to purchase good armour. She had laso heard that he had a reputation for perfectionism, and her father had strongly cautioned her to go only for his second hand collection rather than ask for something to be made.
She entered the Emporium and could immediately smell burning lyrium and feel the heat of the forge Wade was working at. Mere charcoal and air couldn't get hot enough to melt silverite, and it struggled to work red steel. Only fiendishly complicated contraptions or lyrium fuel - or both - could work the sorts of metal a noblewoman might make use of for armour. Dragonbone, of course, was the finest sort of metal one could use but was incredibly rare. Silverite was much more common - in fact, its expense came from the cost and danger that the lyrium required to work it brought.
"Oh my, look Wade - we've a Grey Warden in the shop," a man who was manifestly not Master Wade said. He was thin and wore fine clothing, with a luxurious head of hair and a clean-shaven face. He stood behind a long counter, the better display pieces of the second-hand collection behind him. More, and some of Wade's lesser works, lay on shelves and mannequins around the shop.
"A Grey Warden, eh? Is she interested in something worth my time?" the master smith asked.
"Ah, only second-hand today -"
"Then I'm not interested in her, Herren! Not interested at all. You deal with her," Wade said, without so much as turning to look at her. Elissa blinked.
"My apologies. Wade dislikes being called away from his forge - still, if the piece you're interested in needs adjustment, he'll make sure to get right on it. Speaking of, what are you interested in... my lady?" Herren asked. He hadn't recognised her, but her clothing beneath the Grey Warden tunic was nice enough that he'd played the address safe.
"I'm in need of some armour - not a full suit of plate, and I need my hands free," Elissa explained.
"Ah, an archer?"
"I'm a mage," she said and Herren blinked.
"Truly? You must be one of the Knight-Enchanters. We've served one or two before, you know. Still, with your hands free... no need for bracers, since you're not using a bow. We've a nice silverite cuirass in your size, with faulds and a bit of chain attached to it - not a full shirt, you know, just to cover the gaps. Would you like more protection, or will that do?" he asked her.
"That should do. I've not fought in armour much before. Oh, and a helmet, of course," she said.
"Ah - we have a rather nice piece, recovered from a tomb by a plucky adventuring sort last year," Herren said as he retrieved a helmet from the shelf behind him. It was made from silverite, but its design was rather old-fashioned - it had a long nose-guard and an open face, with short, stylised 'wings' extending outward from the sides.
"Is that a real Grey Warden helmet?" she asked. Obviously, Duncan could have provided her with one in that style, but this one looked especially fine - runes glittered along its surface, and it was decorated with engravings of Mabari.
"Oh, very real. Would you like to inspect the enchantments?" he asked, and she nodded. Herren handed it over gently and Elissa extended her senses towards it. The runes engraved in it would cushion blows - a common enchantment for helms, as these things went - and protect her head from harmful magic. It would be expensive, but if she ran out of the gold her father had given her, she could just ask for the bill to be sent to him.
She tried the armour Herren had suggested. It was cut for a woman, which she appreciated, and with a proper gambeson it should fit her well with only a few adjustments. It bore no enchantment, but the lightweight silverite shouldn't slow her down, and the articulation built into it would allow her a full range of motion.
After that, it was just a matter of letting a muttering Wade take her measurements and handing his partner the requisite gold. She told them to deliver the items to the Grey Warden compound as soon as practical, and was assured that they would arrive before dusk.
Then she made for a shop she had needed no referral for - the Wonders of Thedas. It was a place that had loomed large in the imagination of every apprentice at the Circle, both for its staff and its content. The shop was staffed exclusively by Tranquil, mages who'd had their dreams and emotions stripped away by the Chantry. Some asked for it, rather than face the Harrowing, but others were never even given the chance to face the test.
Elissa had promised herself that if she learnt she was to be made tranquil, she would escape or die trying. Tabitha had promised her the same. Both of them were all too aware of what happened to women who were made Tranquil.
As disturbing as she found its staff, she couldn't avoid the shop - it was the only place in Denerim she could be sure of finding a mage's staff. The shop sold all manner of enchanted objects, but it did keep a number of staves in stock for Court Mages and the like - who were often somewhat wealthy.
She opened the sturdy doors of the shop and tried not to be impressed by the sheer quantity of magical items on display, often behind runed glass cases. A number of templars stood guard whilst a few Tranquil stocked the shelves, cleaned the floors, and so on. More worked in the crafting rooms in the back, but most of the items for sale were made at the Circle by the greater number of Tranquil there.
"Can I assist you?" The Tranquil greater stationed near the doors asked.
"I'm a Grey Warden mage. My previous staff was broken, and I need a new one," she said. One of the Templars approached, hearing that.
"A Grey Warden? We've no records of any Grey Warden mages in the country," he said, though while she could tell his power was gathered for a smite, it was still controlled.
"I'm a new recruit - I've only just arrived after a hard ride from Highever. Ser Elissa Cousland, Knight-Enchanter, at your service," she said. She felt the gathered power dissipate and gave the Templar a relieved smile.
"Ah, I've heard of you. How fares Ser Kellan?" the Templar asked. She considered her response for a moment before she spoke.
"I'm afraid he lost his life during the Arl Howe's attack on Highever," she said.
"Andraste's blood, an attack on Highever? How bad was it?" one of the other Templars asked.
"Ser Lynican is from the region," the other explained.
"The castle guards took quite a number of casualties, and so did the servants, but Howe was not able to sack the city, and my brother should have relieved Highever within a day of Howe's attack," she said.
"Thank you, Warden. Let me - let me stop bothering you," the other Templar said. Both templars returned to their guard posts, and the Tranquil greeter gestured for Elissa to follow him.
"We have a number of staves in stock at this moment. Do you have a specific preference?" he asked her.
"Something aspected towards fire and not too cumbersome," she said. There were a half dozen carefully presented staves on sale, and her eye was drawn towards one that had a thin haft of white wood and was topped at one end by an eagle of red steel. The eagle was basically ornamental, but the way it was mounted intrigued her. It looked fairly easy to remove - and her silverite dagger was just about the right size to fit in its place.
"That staff is aspected towards fire, Warden. The cost is seven sovereigns," the Tranquil said. Elissa winced at the price - that was more than all her armour had cost, and most of that had been the enchanted helmet. Still, it was a basically captive market - she would have no luck elsewhere, or if she attempted to haggle.
"I'll take it," she said and handed over seven sizeable gold coins. Each was more than most Fereldans would earn in a year.
She took the staff and felt the lyrium runes carved into it. It was better than her old staff, a fine object made for sale rather than a simple weapon or tool made by the dozen. This staff could've handled her spell to reinforce the gates of Castle Highever, though it would be close. She hoped to never again need that much power. Taking multiple lyrium potions like that was dangerous, and she had been lucky that she hadn't done herself any permanent damage that night.
Elissa left the Wonders of Thedas behind, her new staff in hand, and felt ready to face whatever challenges Duncan had in store for her.
The human noblemen beat a hasty retreat with their leader slung over a shoulder, his hair matted red with blood. Shianni stared at her hands in horror, and nobody seemed to know what to do.
"It'll be okay, Shianni. He won't tell anyone he got knocked out by an elf. Just be ready to hide if he sends some guards looking for you," Kallian said.
"I hope so... Maker, I need to go get cleaned up," Shianni said. She walked away from the group, into the crowd that had gathered to watch the confrontation. It too dispersed, now that the humans had left.
"Is everyone else alright?" Soris asked.
"I think we're just shaken. What was that about?" his betrothed asked.
"Looks like the Arl's son started drinking too early," Soris said with a nervous laugh. Nobody looked quite convinced by that.
"Um, well let's not let this ruin the day. Uh, this is Valora, my betrothed," Soris continued.
"Then you must be Nelaros. Sorry about the welcome," Kallian said. Nelaros smiled nervously at her.
"It's not your fault. Soris said much of you - some of it was even positive," Nelaros said.
"Soris!" Kallian shouted.
"Oh, calm down Kal. I didn't tell him anything too embarrassing. Just about your childhood misdeeds, that thing with the guards when you were fifteen - I had to give him a sporting chance to run!" Soris replied.
"Cousins, huh?" she said to Valora. She laughed, her nervousness seemingly forgotten.
"I suppose we'll see you two in a little while," Nelaros said. He really was very handsome, Kallian thought. She had definitely gotten the better match.
The crowd swirled around them as the rest of the wedding party - those few members of the newcomer's family who had made the trip from Highever with them - went about unpacking their small handcarts. Some of their cargo was Nelaros and Valora's meagre possessions, but most of it was goods intended for trade.
A few of the wedding party went to Alartih's shop to try and sell their wares, while others simply started hawking them by the side of the road. Kallian was sure some of the more valuable items were stolen, but she had no objections to stealing in general. It was stealing from some poor bastard with nothing but a pot and a pair of shitty boots that was a sin, she reckoned.
Andraste, she thought, would take one look at an Alienage and go behead Lords until they fixed it. Her mother had read the forbidden Canticle of Shartan to her as a child, and she knew that unlike Her church, Andraste had been a friend to the Elves. Mother Boann was alright - she was willing to come and officiate weddings and funerals, which was more than any of the others would do. She'd even convinced the Arl to lower his egg tax from four to one down to three to one.
"Don't look now, cousin, but we've got another problem," Soris said. Kallian resisted the temptation to turn, though she was tempted.
"What now?"
"A human. Could be one of Vaughan's or just a random troublemaker," Soris said. Kallian moved so that her turn would look natural and then she was finally able to get a look at the newcomer.
He was tall, even for a human. His dark, greying hair marked his age, and his sun-beaten skin was darker than even the most hardy farmer at the height of summer. He looked Rivaini, she thought. He wore strange armour - gleaming silver plates mixed with long strips of cloth - and carried a pair of blades at his waist. One long, one shorter.
"If he's a guardsman, I'll swap husbands with Elva. That armour's silverite. Probably worth more than a dozen guardsmen all on its own," Kallian said.
"Whatever he is, we need to move him along. There's been too much wine and bad feelings today for him to be here," Soris said and Kallian nodded. They made their way through the crowd, which was already moving away from the human.
"Good day. I understand congratulations are in order for your impending wedding," the man said as they approached him. His voice was warm and deep, calm in a way that sent a warning shivering down Kallian's spine.
"Thanks, but please go. This isn't a good time for you to be here," she said. The human's hands weren't on his swordbelt, but the only knife Kallian had on her in her wedding dress was in her mother's boot. It was a small one, made for throwing mostly. Something about the human told her instinct that he was skilled, but there was a good distance between them and he wasn't wearing a helmet. She'd have a shot if it came to blows, but only one.
"What manner of unpleasantness might you be referring to?" the man asked, his tone utterly casual. Kallian's hand twitched, just a little. Soris looked at the man's swordbelt, and she knew he'd be no help in a fight.
"Wine's been flowing and the first punch's already been thrown, human. What if someone takes a swing at you? Trouble for both of us," Kallian said.
"Surely it has not escaped your notice that I am armed and armoured," the man said. His hands were still at rest and far from his sword. Kallian could almost feel her odds of landing her throwing knife decreasing.
"Do you intend to need them?" she asked. Her heart raced in her chest, her body tense and loose at the same time - ready to move, if she had to.
"Not unless I'm left without a choice," the human said.
"Then let's find another choice," she said. There'd already been blood split today, she thought. Surely a death would be a bad omen for her marriage, even if it wasn't her own.
"Ah, the diplomat comes out. It seems your temper isn't as fiery as I've been led to believe. What do you say, Valendrian?" the human asked as the Hahren emerged from the crowd. He was an old man, his hair fully grey, but an active one. His face was dramatic, with long ears, a sizeable chin, and a sharp nose.
"I would say the world has far more use of those who know how to stay their blades. It is good to see you again, my old friend. It has been far too long," Hahren Valendrian said. Kallian could hear the genuine affection in his voice for the human and started to relax. If the Elder knew him, then he probably wasn't here to cause trouble, she thought.
"This human's a friend of yours, Elder?" she asked.
"Indeed. May I present Duncan, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden," Valendrian said and Kallian's eyes went wide. Her mother had read her the story of Garahel, the Elf Warden who'd saved the world at the Battle of Ayesleigh in the Exalted Age, so many times that she knew it by heart.
"I'm - I'm sorry I was rude to you. And, you know, about threatening you," Kallian said.
"I was hardly forthcoming, and for that I apologise," Duncan said.
"But why would a Grey Warden come here, of all places?" Soris asked.
"The worst has happened: a Blight has begun. King Cailan summons the Grey Wardens to Ostagar to fight the darkspawn horde alongside his armies," Duncan said, and for a moment Kallian entertained the idea of asking him to recruit her then and there, Nelaros be damned. It was a childish fantasy, she knew, but she almost spoke up. She found her throat dry and felt a sick sense of unease in her stomach.
"Yes... I had heard the news. Still, this is an awkward time. There is to be a wedding - two, in fact," Valendrian said.
"So I see. By all means, attend to your ceremonies. My concerns can wait, for now," Duncan said.
"Very well. Children, treat Duncan as my guest. And for the Maker's sake, take your places!" Valendrain said as he turned on Kallian and Soris. Mother Boann had arrived, Kallian saw, and the small platform the Alienage used for important ceremonies was already drawing a crowd.
"Guess it's time, eh cousin?" Kallian asked.
"What are you being sombre for?" Soris asked her, and it struck Kallian that she had no answer for that. She should be happy. She had gotten a great match, a purse of silver as a gift, and would have a married life that every girl in the Alienage would envy.
Yet, something nagged at her. A sense that she still had much to do in her youth, that there was more adventure and excitement to be had. Even as she walked towards the platform, her betrothed already in his palace there, she thought about turning back and asking the Grey Warden to take her on.
But whatever mischief she might've gotten up to, she was not so spoilt as to refuse to walk up onto the platform. The sun shone overhead, though patchy grey clouds out to sea promised rain later on in the day. Sun on a wedding day was a good omen, she decided.
Everyone took their places, then Valendrian stepped forwards. He could not perform a wedding - only pagans and Tevinters were married by men - but we would say a few words. Mother Boann smiled at Kallian as the hahren stepped forward, a gentle, reassuring smile. Perhaps, Kallian thought, she could sense her strange nervousness. Shianni, who was one of her bridesmaids, gave her a similar look.
"Friends and family, today we celebrate not only this joining, but also our bonds of kin and kind. We are a free people, but that was not always so. Andraste, the Maker's prophet, freed us from the bonds of slavery. As our community grows, remember that our strength lies in commitment to tradition and to each other," Valendrian said. His voice was strong and projected well. Here, he looked strong and confident. Unbent by time or human boots.
"Thank you, Valendrian. Now, let us begin," Mother Boann said. Kallian took her place opposite her groom, and Soris his bride.
"In the name of the Maker, who brought us this world, and in whose name we say the Chant of Light, I -" Mother Boan began, but she stopped and turned to face the gates at the sounds of armoured boots and gasps of fear.
Vaughan had returned, and this time he had brought heavily armoured guardsmen in addition to his lackeys. Their swords were sheathed, but there were a half dozen of them and they all wore half-plate of red steel.
"Milord? This is... an unexpected surprise," Mother Boann said. The guardsmen avoided looking at her. Kallian tapped the boot with her throwing knife against the wood of the platform. She couldn't fight. Not here. There were too many of them, and if she killed one of Vaughan's alckeys, or Maker forbid the bastard himself, there would be a massacre.
"Sorry to interrupt, Mother, but I'm having a party and we're dreadfully short of female guests," Vaughan said. Kallian saw his leer scrape across the platform and shivered.
"Milord, this is a wedding!" Mother Boann said. She tried to position herself at the top of the steps, but Vaughan pushed her out of the way. She stumbled and tripped, and it was only luck that sent her back onto the platform rather than off of it.
"Ha! If you want to dress up your pets and have tea parties, that's your business. But don't pretend this is a proper wedding," Vaughan said. His men were ascending the platform, whilst the guardsmen formed a cordon around it. The cowards, she thought, were grateful for the chance to look awya from what was happening.
"Now, we're here for a good time, aren't we boys?" Vaughan said. Kallian saw Nelaros tense up beside her. His fine clothing had room for a knife. Maker, she thought, if he went for it...
"Just a good time with the ladies, that's all," one of Vaughan's lackeys said. The other laughed, a high, piercing laugh that made Kallain sick to her stomach.
"Let's take those two, the one in the tight dress, and... where's the bitch that bottled me?" Vaughan said as he pointed to the bridesmaids and Soris's bride, Valora.
"Over here, Lord Vaughan!" shouted one of his lackeys. He had Shianni by one arm, and she struggled against his grip.
"Let me go, you stuffed-shirt son of a -" Shianni started to shout, but one of the guardsmen gave her a heavy slap with his armoured gauntlet and she fell still.
"Not the face, Sergeant. Even so... oh, I'll enjoy taming her. And see the pretty bride..." Vaughan said as he turned to face Kallian. She felt her heart race, her hands twitch. She could kill him. She'd die moments later, and so would dozens of elves, but a part of her screamed to do it.
"Don't worry. I won't let them take you!" Nelaros said as he stood in front of her. He squared his shoulders and raised his fists, but a guard smashed his face with the pommel of his sword and Nelaros collapsed to the ground.
"Aren't you ashamed? He -" Kallian shouted out to the guards. She hadn't expected it to work, but it was her last idea. She didn't even get all the way through the appeal before one of them clubbed her over the back of her head and the world went dark.
Elissa spent almost an hour simply wandering between the stalls in Denerim's crowded merchant district. She bought a small journal with a set of travelling quills and inkpots from a Dwarf, and then enjoyed a meat pie from a baker. She had heard rumours about the meat pies in Denerim, of course - that was a favourite gory story of children across Ferelden - but the baker ran a higher class sort of place, and it certainly tasted like beef. The pastry, she was surprised to find, was more in the Orlesian fashion - a little sweet, and not just a container for the meat but a taste of its own to be enjoyed.
A mage and a noblewoman she might've been, but she was a Ferelden. She was able to eat her pie without getting a hint of gravy or pastry on her fine Grey Warden tunic.
"Out of my way - and what is that ridiculous outfit?" someone said. Elissa turned around and she saw none other than her horrible cousin Habren standing behind her with her arms crossed. She had a pair of bodyguards behind her, and a haggard looking maid. One of the guards was a Qunari, one horn replaced with gold-lace ivory.
"My uniform," Elissa said. Though she was a mage, her societal precedence was not actually diminshed... at least by some readings of the rules of etiquette. Both she and Habren derived their status from their fathers, rather than holding a title in their own right, so being disinherited by law did not actually make Elissa Habren's inferior.
"How... how dare you speak to me like that? Who is your lord? What up-jumped Bann has that ridiculous heraldry?" Habren asked.
"My commander is Duncan, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. You can deliver your complaints to him, if you'd like," Elissa said.
"A Grey Warden? No wonder you look so poor. I'd mistaken you for a proper knight, you see. But you have still been intolerably rude - I am the Heiress to South Reach!" Habren said.
"My apologies for not introducing myself. I am Ser Elissa Cousland. A good day to you, Cousin," she said.
"What - you can't be! She's locked up in the Tower for being a nasty mage!"
"I'm a Grey Warden now, cousin. Which means I can travel freely, and any Templar who tries to stop me will be hauled off to the Divine for a very nasty trial," Elissa said. Really, she knew, her smirk and general smug attitude were not wise. Habren could cause her trouble, if she complained to the right Tmeplar, but she just couldn't resist.
"I - I will take my leave now, my lady," Habren said as her etiquette training kicked in. Elissa could see she was fuming, but habren was too well-bred and well-trained to continue a losing social duel like this one. She'd retreat and plan a new course of attack. Elissa realised with a momentary feeling of horror that Habren might even invite her to her father's estate for a meal. That would mean hours sat next to her, all while being unable to be the slightest bit rude to her.
That nightmare firmly fixed in her mind, Elissa decided to make the purchases she'd actually come to the market district to make. Her father had given her the name of a well-regarded armourer, and she was able to find his shop with only a few questions and one wrong turn down an alleyway.
Master Wade was said to be very skilled, and his Emporium was certainly the place to go to purchase good armour. She had laso heard that he had a reputation for perfectionism, and her father had strongly cautioned her to go only for his second hand collection rather than ask for something to be made.
She entered the Emporium and could immediately smell burning lyrium and feel the heat of the forge Wade was working at. Mere charcoal and air couldn't get hot enough to melt silverite, and it struggled to work red steel. Only fiendishly complicated contraptions or lyrium fuel - or both - could work the sorts of metal a noblewoman might make use of for armour. Dragonbone, of course, was the finest sort of metal one could use but was incredibly rare. Silverite was much more common - in fact, its expense came from the cost and danger that the lyrium required to work it brought.
"Oh my, look Wade - we've a Grey Warden in the shop," a man who was manifestly not Master Wade said. He was thin and wore fine clothing, with a luxurious head of hair and a clean-shaven face. He stood behind a long counter, the better display pieces of the second-hand collection behind him. More, and some of Wade's lesser works, lay on shelves and mannequins around the shop.
"A Grey Warden, eh? Is she interested in something worth my time?" the master smith asked.
"Ah, only second-hand today -"
"Then I'm not interested in her, Herren! Not interested at all. You deal with her," Wade said, without so much as turning to look at her. Elissa blinked.
"My apologies. Wade dislikes being called away from his forge - still, if the piece you're interested in needs adjustment, he'll make sure to get right on it. Speaking of, what are you interested in... my lady?" Herren asked. He hadn't recognised her, but her clothing beneath the Grey Warden tunic was nice enough that he'd played the address safe.
"I'm in need of some armour - not a full suit of plate, and I need my hands free," Elissa explained.
"Ah, an archer?"
"I'm a mage," she said and Herren blinked.
"Truly? You must be one of the Knight-Enchanters. We've served one or two before, you know. Still, with your hands free... no need for bracers, since you're not using a bow. We've a nice silverite cuirass in your size, with faulds and a bit of chain attached to it - not a full shirt, you know, just to cover the gaps. Would you like more protection, or will that do?" he asked her.
"That should do. I've not fought in armour much before. Oh, and a helmet, of course," she said.
"Ah - we have a rather nice piece, recovered from a tomb by a plucky adventuring sort last year," Herren said as he retrieved a helmet from the shelf behind him. It was made from silverite, but its design was rather old-fashioned - it had a long nose-guard and an open face, with short, stylised 'wings' extending outward from the sides.
"Is that a real Grey Warden helmet?" she asked. Obviously, Duncan could have provided her with one in that style, but this one looked especially fine - runes glittered along its surface, and it was decorated with engravings of Mabari.
"Oh, very real. Would you like to inspect the enchantments?" he asked, and she nodded. Herren handed it over gently and Elissa extended her senses towards it. The runes engraved in it would cushion blows - a common enchantment for helms, as these things went - and protect her head from harmful magic. It would be expensive, but if she ran out of the gold her father had given her, she could just ask for the bill to be sent to him.
She tried the armour Herren had suggested. It was cut for a woman, which she appreciated, and with a proper gambeson it should fit her well with only a few adjustments. It bore no enchantment, but the lightweight silverite shouldn't slow her down, and the articulation built into it would allow her a full range of motion.
After that, it was just a matter of letting a muttering Wade take her measurements and handing his partner the requisite gold. She told them to deliver the items to the Grey Warden compound as soon as practical, and was assured that they would arrive before dusk.
Then she made for a shop she had needed no referral for - the Wonders of Thedas. It was a place that had loomed large in the imagination of every apprentice at the Circle, both for its staff and its content. The shop was staffed exclusively by Tranquil, mages who'd had their dreams and emotions stripped away by the Chantry. Some asked for it, rather than face the Harrowing, but others were never even given the chance to face the test.
Elissa had promised herself that if she learnt she was to be made tranquil, she would escape or die trying. Tabitha had promised her the same. Both of them were all too aware of what happened to women who were made Tranquil.
As disturbing as she found its staff, she couldn't avoid the shop - it was the only place in Denerim she could be sure of finding a mage's staff. The shop sold all manner of enchanted objects, but it did keep a number of staves in stock for Court Mages and the like - who were often somewhat wealthy.
She opened the sturdy doors of the shop and tried not to be impressed by the sheer quantity of magical items on display, often behind runed glass cases. A number of templars stood guard whilst a few Tranquil stocked the shelves, cleaned the floors, and so on. More worked in the crafting rooms in the back, but most of the items for sale were made at the Circle by the greater number of Tranquil there.
"Can I assist you?" The Tranquil greater stationed near the doors asked.
"I'm a Grey Warden mage. My previous staff was broken, and I need a new one," she said. One of the Templars approached, hearing that.
"A Grey Warden? We've no records of any Grey Warden mages in the country," he said, though while she could tell his power was gathered for a smite, it was still controlled.
"I'm a new recruit - I've only just arrived after a hard ride from Highever. Ser Elissa Cousland, Knight-Enchanter, at your service," she said. She felt the gathered power dissipate and gave the Templar a relieved smile.
"Ah, I've heard of you. How fares Ser Kellan?" the Templar asked. She considered her response for a moment before she spoke.
"I'm afraid he lost his life during the Arl Howe's attack on Highever," she said.
"Andraste's blood, an attack on Highever? How bad was it?" one of the other Templars asked.
"Ser Lynican is from the region," the other explained.
"The castle guards took quite a number of casualties, and so did the servants, but Howe was not able to sack the city, and my brother should have relieved Highever within a day of Howe's attack," she said.
"Thank you, Warden. Let me - let me stop bothering you," the other Templar said. Both templars returned to their guard posts, and the Tranquil greeter gestured for Elissa to follow him.
"We have a number of staves in stock at this moment. Do you have a specific preference?" he asked her.
"Something aspected towards fire and not too cumbersome," she said. There were a half dozen carefully presented staves on sale, and her eye was drawn towards one that had a thin haft of white wood and was topped at one end by an eagle of red steel. The eagle was basically ornamental, but the way it was mounted intrigued her. It looked fairly easy to remove - and her silverite dagger was just about the right size to fit in its place.
"That staff is aspected towards fire, Warden. The cost is seven sovereigns," the Tranquil said. Elissa winced at the price - that was more than all her armour had cost, and most of that had been the enchanted helmet. Still, it was a basically captive market - she would have no luck elsewhere, or if she attempted to haggle.
"I'll take it," she said and handed over seven sizeable gold coins. Each was more than most Fereldans would earn in a year.
She took the staff and felt the lyrium runes carved into it. It was better than her old staff, a fine object made for sale rather than a simple weapon or tool made by the dozen. This staff could've handled her spell to reinforce the gates of Castle Highever, though it would be close. She hoped to never again need that much power. Taking multiple lyrium potions like that was dangerous, and she had been lucky that she hadn't done herself any permanent damage that night.
Elissa left the Wonders of Thedas behind, her new staff in hand, and felt ready to face whatever challenges Duncan had in store for her.
Elissa VI/Kallian III
New
- Location
- Australia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Elissa VI/Kallian III
The Grey Warden compound didn't quite have an enormous statue of a griffon out in front of it, but the massive central doors emblazoned with a metal griffon were close enough. It was a cluster of several buildings in the Palace District that had been confiscated from a collaborator after Maric's rebellion. He'd gifted it to the Wardens after inviting them back into the country.
Elissa'd heard that the Grey Wardens had once had a much grander headquarters in Ferelden, but she knew nothing more about it. Still, the cluster of fine buildings surrounded by a stone wall was an impressive estate, even by the standards of the Palace District. The main gates were open, and she could see that her horse was being taken care of in the stables. It wasn't alone in there - she could see quite a few other horses being taken care of by stableboys, so she hoped that she might meet some other wardens whilst she waited for Duncan to be done with whatever his business might be.
There were no guards posted, but one of the stableboys saw her tunic and rushed over towards her. He looked perhaps fourteen and very uncertain of her - especially of her staff.
"Would you be the new Warden recruit, milady?" he asked.
"I am," she said. He relaxed ever so slightly.
"There's another new recruit here, milday, and the cooks've just started getting lunch ready. Down that way to the eating hall, and the floor above for the Warden's barracks. Is that your horse?" he asked.
"Yes, though I've not had her long."
"She's a real beaut', very even-tempered too. Oh! You're the mage? Ask the steward to show you to your office, milady," the stableboy said. Elissa blinked in surprise.
"My office?" she asked him. Surely not every Warden was granted one, and they allegedly put no stock in titles.
"Seeing as how you're the new Senior Mage Warden, milday - on account of there not being any others, you've got the office. Think you're the first person to have it, really. Certainly the first since I've been here," the boy said.
"Thanks for the heads up. If anything arrives for a Ser Elissa Cousland, that's me. Just have it sent up there," she said and slipped the boy a silver coin. He grinned at her and gave her a sloppy salute before rushing off back to the stables.
She headed inside the largest building in the compound and found it reasonably easy to navigate. Much of the fancy furnishings had clearly been removed and replaced with more practical ones, but it was still a fairly nice place. Not nearly as nice as the Cousland Manor, but then the Grey Wardens were not lords over Ferelden's second and third richest cities - nor did they have the right to levy taxes and tariffs on half the country's sea trade.
It was very empty, with the only people she spotted on the way to the eating hall being staff of some description, and even then not many of them. She supposed with all the Wardens deployed to fight the Blight, there would be only infrequent visitors to the Compound.
The eating hall itself was a long room with a vaulted ceiling. It had a number of long tables and benches, along with space for a small high table at the head of the room, though there wasn't currently one set up. Several stands of armour stood below large portraits on the walls, though most of the sets were incomplete and damaged. They had, judging by the small plaques beneath each portrait, belonged to former Warden Commanders. Sophia Dryden's - the last Warden Commander of Ferelden before the Order had been expelled by King Arland - armour stand was entirely empty, though her portrait was clearly the best painted of the lot.
There were only two other people in the hall, both human men. One was big and broad-shouldered, with a ragged beard and long brown hair. He was dressed well, though not too well. She would've judged him a well-to-do merchant, perhaps, but not a nobleman. The other was dressed in the sort of leather and thick cloth that a street tough might prefer if openly wearing armour would arouse undue suspicion, and Elissa could see the fighting knives that his jacket - laying on the bench next to him - would conceal.
"Ho there - I suppose you're the other new recruit?" the well-dressed man said.
"I am. Ser Elissa Cousland, Knight-Enchanter. A pleasure to make your acquitaince," she said and the man smiled at her.
"Levi Dryden, my lady. Levy of the Coins, some call me - I'm a merchant you see, but my family's always been a big supporter of the Wardens," he said. Elissa blinked at the name - surely not? She had never heard what had happened to the last of the Drydens, she realised.
"Are you by any chance a relation of Commander Dryden?" she asked.
"I'm proud to say I am, my lady. We Drydens might've lost our titles thanks to old King Arland, but we never lost our pride. Now there's a Blight here in Ferelden, well - we're trying to help however we can. My brother's working down at Ostagar, working as a smith to the Wardens there," Levi Dryden said.
"I'm sure we'll be grateful for his work before this is done. What brings you to the Compound?" she asked as she sat beside him on the long bench.
"Oh, don't get him started," the new recruit said. He looked tired, his pale skin and dark hair caked with dirt and dust.
"Come now, Daveth - at least introduce yourself," Levi said. Daveth rolled his eyes.
"Fine then. The name's Daveth, your ladyship, and Duncan plucked me from the gallows only a few hours ago. Forgive me if I'm not up to your standards of politeness," he said.
"I think you'll find we have more in common than you might suspect. I was weighing my options between Duncan and fast ship to the Imperium myself," Elissa said. Of course their situations were different, but she would likely be travelling to Otsagar with this man, and a sullen travelling companion could be quite unpleasant for all involved.
"Not sure I'd've made the same choice, but you've got family here 'ain't you?" Daveth asked her. She nodded and he continued.
"If my 'ma were still around and I couldn't take her with me... I'd have said damn the ship and signed up too. You're a mage, then?" he asked as he saw her staff and put her title together properly.
"I am. I see you've got a nice pair of knives - are you any good with them?" she asked him.
"I'm still here, ain't I your ladyship? But really, I reckon a good crossbow will do me better against the darkspawn," Daveth said. Elissa laughed and gave him a small smile.
"I can't argue with you there. So, Levi, what were you going to say?" she asked the trader.
"Oh, I've just come to tell Duncan - well, I've found the way to the old Warden headquarters, up at Soldier's Peak," Levi said.
"I wasn't aware that the site had been lost. I just assumed it was destroyed during the battle," Elissa said.
"No, no it was never destroyed - the only way up the mountain is through a cave network, and it's quite the maze. Anyway, I'm sure you lot will have more important things to do, but Duncan said he might be able to come check it out in a few months," Levi said.
"If we can fix the horde at Ostagar, maybe... blights have dragged on for a hundred years, before. We might be glad of a secure headquarters before then," she said. Levi smiled at her.
They turned to less consequential conversation over lunch, and Daveth eventually joined in. They were a strange group - a noblewoman turned mage, a thief, and a more or less honest merchant - but it was an enjoyable meal. The food was good, too - fish stew with good bread and decent ale. The cooks had even found some pear wine for Elissa. She would've been fine with the ale, but the perry was appreciated.
After lunch, Daveth went to look at the armoury's stocks - he was a street tough and experienced when it came to back-alley knife fights, but his equipment was not suited to a real battle. Levi had to return to readying the next shipment of supplies to Ostagar, but he was kind enough to find the Steward for Elissa.
The Steward was an ageing man, perhaps fifty, with a bald head and weathered skin. Despite his grey-streaked beard, he looked lively and strong. He had a bit of belly perhaps, and his muscles were probably not as large as they had once been, but the strength remained.
"Ah, you must be Duncan's new recruit. I've had the maids get your office ready, though I'm afraid there's not really much of interest there, and get your quarters prepared. We've been bereft of a Senior Mage Warden for quite some time. Though, of course, you are only a recruit," the Steward said as he led her up the stairs towards a small tower. It contained a combination workroom/office on the lower floor and a small bedroom on the upper floor. The workroom was well furnished, but Elissa could tell that it had last been in use a decade ago - some of the reagents were long past usability, or even rotten. Still, the lyrium and the non-perishable reagents, or those under preserving spells, would still be useful. She made sure to recast the preserving spells and to check that the lyrium was securely stored.
The bedroom was tiny, with only just enough space for a bed and a wardrobe, but the bed looked nice enough. It was no Cousland Manor or Castle Highever, but the tower had a door that locked, and that was luxury enough for her. It even had a fine glass window with curtains, a true luxury. She opened them and smiled as she saw Duncan return... though, she thought, he seemed to have lost his sword along the way.
She thanked the Steward for getting the tower ready for her, then headed back down to greet Duncan. Something, she was sure, was up.
Kallian returned to consciousness unhappily. She blinked rapidly as the low firelight stung her eyes, and tried to get up. She felt weak and panic filled her for a moment as she thought she might've been paralyzed by the blow to her head. She could feel her toes though, and was able to lift her arm as the ringing in her head subsided.
"Maker keep us, Maker protect us, Maker keep us, Maker protect us -" someone prayed, to Kallian's side. She didn't recognise the voice, but she did recognise the one that interrupted it.
"Stop it! You're driving me insane!" Shianni shouted. Her voice was harsh and tense, like a bowstring about to snap.
"Wha - what's going on?" Kallian asked as she felt her strength return to her. She wiggled her foot, just a little, and she felt a surge of relief as she recognised the slight extra weight of the knife in her boot.
"Oh, thank the Maker you've come to. We were so worried..." Shianni said.
"Is everyone else alright?" Kallian aske as she sat up. She could see the room they were in now properly. It looked to be a simple storage room, plain stone walls with no windows and only one door. A few wooden shelves seemed to have been haphazardly cleaned recently.
"We're scared but unharmed. So far," Velora said.
"They locked us in here to wait until that... bastard is 'ready for us,'" the more composed of the two bridesmaids said.
"Shianni, did you carry your picks with you?" Kallian asked. If they could get the door open, they might have a chance against the one or two guards that'd be left there. Kallian was decent with a set of lockpicks, but Shianni had been even better before she'd grown up too much to enjoy the escapes of Kallian's friends.
"Where would I in that dress? Oh, Kal, don't tell me you wore those stupid boots to your wedding," Shianni said.
"Aren't you glad I did? So, new plan. We kill the first bastard through the door, take his weapon, and get out of here, Maker willing," Kallian said.
"We're five unarmed women. What makes you think we can kill anyone?" asked one of Velora's bridesmaids.
Kallian bent her leg closer to herself and withdrew the slim, deadly blade she'd kept in her mother's Dalish boots since she was a teenager. It wasn't her mother's ironbark dagger, but it was a piece of good steel she'd nicked off a drunken tough one night down by the docks. It was practically tailor-made to go right through a guardsman's chain mail.
"That's all fine for you, but what are we meant to do?" hissed Velora.
"Slam the door closed when I stab the first guy through. Don't get stabbed?" Kallian said. She hoped the bravado worked on them, and on Shianni, because Maker knew it wasn't working on her. It was a stupid plan that was likely to get them all killed. But... better to die trying to escape than just slit their own throats now, she thought. She refused to consider the alternative.
"Maker keep us, Maker protect us, Maker keep us, Maker protect us," the other bridesmaid continued to pray. Kallian wasn't sure what good that would do. Mother Boann's sermons had been pretty clear about how the Maker had turned His back on the world.
Kallian heard footsteps through the door. Armoured boots, perhaps four pairs. Four wasn't impossible. She'd heard about it being done before. In tall tales passed from criminal to street kid to Alienage elf, maybe, but it'd been done. Four armoured men with just a throwing knife and a wedding dress... maybe not yet.
She stood beside the door, while only Shianni stood in position to slam it closed. The others stayed where they were, looking down and preparing for what was to come. Kallian couldn't make that choice for them, even if she... even if she wanted to die instead.
The door opened and Kallian moved, lightning-quick. Her knife was already at neck height and she thrust it into - into empty air? She had simply stopped mid-thrust for no discernable reason at all. She tried to move, tried to dart away, but her body simply wouldn't respond.
Four armoured guardsmen moved past her after the first pushed her knife and outstretched arm out of the way. They chuckled at her, leered at her, and turned their gazes to the others. Only after they'd moved into the room could Kallian see the fifth man. He was short, with slick black hair and skin that had once been olive-coloured but had turned a pallid grey. He stunk of something that burnt her nose and stung her eyes, a foul stench she'd never smelt before. His hand glowed softly, and in his other hand, he carried a staff — a mage.
"My, you are a feisty one. I think I might keep you, rather than the ugly bride," the man said as he caressed her face.
"Hello, wenches--we're your escorts to Lord Vaughan's little party," one of the guards said behind Kallian. She couldn't look, couldn't so much as blink. She heard the praying bridesmaid continue, and then she heard the rasp of drawn steel and an awful chorus of screams and blood on stone.
"You - you killed her!" the remaining bridesmaid said. Kallian could smell it now, even over the mage's stink. Blood and vomit and all the other horrible scents of death.
"I suppose that's what happens when you try teaching whores some respect," the guardsman said with a sick laugh.
"Oh, sergeant? I should like this one, rather than that one. I think that might be better for the Lord's health," the mage said. She couldn't place his accent, but he wasn't a Fereldan.
"All the same to me, but if the Lord gets angry at you for pickin' the pretty ones, I had nothing to do with it," he said. Kallian was surprised to hear awkwardness, even shame in his tone. What could a man like that be ashamed of, she wondered fearfully.
"This one should remain intact enough for him, not to worry," the mage said. Kallian was still held paralysed by his spell.
One by one the guards bound the hands of the others and roughly pulled them from the storeroom. Shianni was the last, but even she went limply and without further resistance.
Kallian prayed silently as she heard the wet drops of blood falling into blood from behind her. It was all she had left. She prayed to the Maker, to Andraste, and at that point to anything that'd listen.
She felt herself blink. Then, just a little, she could move her left hand - unfortunately, the one without the knife.
The door opened and Kallian promised never to nod off in one of Mother Boann's sermons again. Soris was there, sword in hand. His clothes were covered in blood, and so was the blade of the sword. The mage turned away to face Soris as Kallian felt his control over her weaken again.
"Do you really think that will do anything to me, young man?" the mage asked. He seemed more offended than threatened.
"Not in my hands," Soris said as he threw the sword along the ground, through the mage's legs.
Kallian picked it up and swung in one smooth motion, the last vestige of the mage's spell on her breaking as she cut his head cleanly from his shoulders. Blood spurted from his ruined neck, the cut almost impossibly clean. The mage's staff clattered to the floor as his dead fingers twitched and spasmed.
"I - I can't believe they killed her. Are you all right? They... didn't hurt you, did they?" Soris asked her. Kallian shook her head.
"That fucker just froze me but... thanks, Soris. I think you saved me from something... something really bad," Kallian said. She didn't know what, but anything that could inspire shame in one of Vaughan's guards inspired dread in her.
"It's Nelaros you should thank, cousin. He went crazy on everyone who didn't want to get involved, and then that Grey Warden gave us his sword and crossbow," Soris said.
"Duncan? Why didn't he come himself?" Kallian asked.
"Said that he couldn't. Something about Grey Wardens being neutral," Soris said.
"Then it's up to us to rescue Shianni and the others," Kallian said. She picked up her throwing knife, then she looked down at the dead mage. He had a sizeable knife on his belt, though it looked a little odd. It had strange carvings and its handle was shaped like the neck of a dragon, with the pommel being the dragon's head. She took it from his belt and felt the weight - better for fighting than her little throwing knife.
"Take this and stay behind me until we find some other weapons," she said to Soris as she handed him her throwing knife.
They made their way down the corridor, Kallian in her blood-stained wedding dress and Soris gingerly holding her throwing knife behind her. Soris showed her the way, and soon they entered the kitchens. Lunch had been served, and dinner was hours away from being started, so only the head cook and a single elvish servant were in the kitchen.
"What's this? I don't recognise you, elf! Wait... is that blood?" The cook said, but before Kallian could answer him, the servant hit him over the back of the head with a heavy cast iron pan.
"You've no idea how long that shem's had it coming," the servant said as he gingerly put the pan back down.
"Have you seen a group of elven maidens?" Kallian asked.
"Yes. Dragged them to Lord Vaughan's quarters, they did. You should hurry if you want to help them. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm getting out of here before the storm hits," the servant said. Kallian gave him a nod, and he plucked the cook's coin purse off of his unconscious body and fled towards what looked like a servant's entrance.
"Kal? There are a couple of guards in the next room. Out of armour, but there's four of them," Soris said. Kallian smiled as she looked down at the sword Duncan had lent Soris. It was a finer blade than she'd ever seen, even in the hands of noblemen. The metal was a brilliant silver colour, and somehow both lighter and stronger than steel. Silverite, she thought, it had to be. Runes were engraved into the blade and glittered with blue light.
Four unarmoured men, not expecting an attack? That, that was much more doable.
"Stay behind me, Soris," Kallian said as she opened the door. She had the mage's knife in her left hand and Duncan's sword in her right. All four of the guards turned to look at her as the door swung open. But Kallian was already moving towards them.
She slashed the throat of one of them with Duncan's fine sword, blood spurting from the wound into the face of another. Without slowing, Kallian buried the mage's knife into the neck of the other guard on her side of the long table and let it go. He screamed an awful, raspy scream as he tried to pull the knife from his neck.
The two remaining guards clambered over the table towards her, but one slipped in his friends' blood and went down with a tremendous crash. The other swung at her wildly with a knife, but Kallian stepped out of the way of the swing and slashed out with her borrowed sword. The man fell to the stone floor, his chest a ragged red ruin.
"Mercy, mercy!" cried the one who'd fallen on the table. Before he could rise, Kallian pulled the knife from the neck of the dead guardsman and slit the begging guardsman's throat. Her wedding dress was already ripped and bloodied, so she took no pains to avoid the blood.
Soris followed after her and gingerly took a sword from one of the dead guardsmen. The two of them headed deeper into the Arl's estate, rushing down empty stone halls to reach their rendezvous point with Nelaros. Soris opened the last door, and Kallian's heart sank.
Nelaros was dead on the floor, his handsome face split in half by an axe wound. His one remaining eye stared blankly up at the guardsmen surrounding him.
"See? I told you there'd be more. Elves run in packs, like rodents," their leader said.
"Should we keep the knife-eared bitch alive?" one of his subordinates asked.
"They killed our boys. She dies," the guard captain said.
Kallian didn't speak to them. She had no more words for men such as them, only steel.
The Grey Warden compound didn't quite have an enormous statue of a griffon out in front of it, but the massive central doors emblazoned with a metal griffon were close enough. It was a cluster of several buildings in the Palace District that had been confiscated from a collaborator after Maric's rebellion. He'd gifted it to the Wardens after inviting them back into the country.
Elissa'd heard that the Grey Wardens had once had a much grander headquarters in Ferelden, but she knew nothing more about it. Still, the cluster of fine buildings surrounded by a stone wall was an impressive estate, even by the standards of the Palace District. The main gates were open, and she could see that her horse was being taken care of in the stables. It wasn't alone in there - she could see quite a few other horses being taken care of by stableboys, so she hoped that she might meet some other wardens whilst she waited for Duncan to be done with whatever his business might be.
There were no guards posted, but one of the stableboys saw her tunic and rushed over towards her. He looked perhaps fourteen and very uncertain of her - especially of her staff.
"Would you be the new Warden recruit, milady?" he asked.
"I am," she said. He relaxed ever so slightly.
"There's another new recruit here, milday, and the cooks've just started getting lunch ready. Down that way to the eating hall, and the floor above for the Warden's barracks. Is that your horse?" he asked.
"Yes, though I've not had her long."
"She's a real beaut', very even-tempered too. Oh! You're the mage? Ask the steward to show you to your office, milady," the stableboy said. Elissa blinked in surprise.
"My office?" she asked him. Surely not every Warden was granted one, and they allegedly put no stock in titles.
"Seeing as how you're the new Senior Mage Warden, milday - on account of there not being any others, you've got the office. Think you're the first person to have it, really. Certainly the first since I've been here," the boy said.
"Thanks for the heads up. If anything arrives for a Ser Elissa Cousland, that's me. Just have it sent up there," she said and slipped the boy a silver coin. He grinned at her and gave her a sloppy salute before rushing off back to the stables.
She headed inside the largest building in the compound and found it reasonably easy to navigate. Much of the fancy furnishings had clearly been removed and replaced with more practical ones, but it was still a fairly nice place. Not nearly as nice as the Cousland Manor, but then the Grey Wardens were not lords over Ferelden's second and third richest cities - nor did they have the right to levy taxes and tariffs on half the country's sea trade.
It was very empty, with the only people she spotted on the way to the eating hall being staff of some description, and even then not many of them. She supposed with all the Wardens deployed to fight the Blight, there would be only infrequent visitors to the Compound.
The eating hall itself was a long room with a vaulted ceiling. It had a number of long tables and benches, along with space for a small high table at the head of the room, though there wasn't currently one set up. Several stands of armour stood below large portraits on the walls, though most of the sets were incomplete and damaged. They had, judging by the small plaques beneath each portrait, belonged to former Warden Commanders. Sophia Dryden's - the last Warden Commander of Ferelden before the Order had been expelled by King Arland - armour stand was entirely empty, though her portrait was clearly the best painted of the lot.
There were only two other people in the hall, both human men. One was big and broad-shouldered, with a ragged beard and long brown hair. He was dressed well, though not too well. She would've judged him a well-to-do merchant, perhaps, but not a nobleman. The other was dressed in the sort of leather and thick cloth that a street tough might prefer if openly wearing armour would arouse undue suspicion, and Elissa could see the fighting knives that his jacket - laying on the bench next to him - would conceal.
"Ho there - I suppose you're the other new recruit?" the well-dressed man said.
"I am. Ser Elissa Cousland, Knight-Enchanter. A pleasure to make your acquitaince," she said and the man smiled at her.
"Levi Dryden, my lady. Levy of the Coins, some call me - I'm a merchant you see, but my family's always been a big supporter of the Wardens," he said. Elissa blinked at the name - surely not? She had never heard what had happened to the last of the Drydens, she realised.
"Are you by any chance a relation of Commander Dryden?" she asked.
"I'm proud to say I am, my lady. We Drydens might've lost our titles thanks to old King Arland, but we never lost our pride. Now there's a Blight here in Ferelden, well - we're trying to help however we can. My brother's working down at Ostagar, working as a smith to the Wardens there," Levi Dryden said.
"I'm sure we'll be grateful for his work before this is done. What brings you to the Compound?" she asked as she sat beside him on the long bench.
"Oh, don't get him started," the new recruit said. He looked tired, his pale skin and dark hair caked with dirt and dust.
"Come now, Daveth - at least introduce yourself," Levi said. Daveth rolled his eyes.
"Fine then. The name's Daveth, your ladyship, and Duncan plucked me from the gallows only a few hours ago. Forgive me if I'm not up to your standards of politeness," he said.
"I think you'll find we have more in common than you might suspect. I was weighing my options between Duncan and fast ship to the Imperium myself," Elissa said. Of course their situations were different, but she would likely be travelling to Otsagar with this man, and a sullen travelling companion could be quite unpleasant for all involved.
"Not sure I'd've made the same choice, but you've got family here 'ain't you?" Daveth asked her. She nodded and he continued.
"If my 'ma were still around and I couldn't take her with me... I'd have said damn the ship and signed up too. You're a mage, then?" he asked as he saw her staff and put her title together properly.
"I am. I see you've got a nice pair of knives - are you any good with them?" she asked him.
"I'm still here, ain't I your ladyship? But really, I reckon a good crossbow will do me better against the darkspawn," Daveth said. Elissa laughed and gave him a small smile.
"I can't argue with you there. So, Levi, what were you going to say?" she asked the trader.
"Oh, I've just come to tell Duncan - well, I've found the way to the old Warden headquarters, up at Soldier's Peak," Levi said.
"I wasn't aware that the site had been lost. I just assumed it was destroyed during the battle," Elissa said.
"No, no it was never destroyed - the only way up the mountain is through a cave network, and it's quite the maze. Anyway, I'm sure you lot will have more important things to do, but Duncan said he might be able to come check it out in a few months," Levi said.
"If we can fix the horde at Ostagar, maybe... blights have dragged on for a hundred years, before. We might be glad of a secure headquarters before then," she said. Levi smiled at her.
They turned to less consequential conversation over lunch, and Daveth eventually joined in. They were a strange group - a noblewoman turned mage, a thief, and a more or less honest merchant - but it was an enjoyable meal. The food was good, too - fish stew with good bread and decent ale. The cooks had even found some pear wine for Elissa. She would've been fine with the ale, but the perry was appreciated.
After lunch, Daveth went to look at the armoury's stocks - he was a street tough and experienced when it came to back-alley knife fights, but his equipment was not suited to a real battle. Levi had to return to readying the next shipment of supplies to Ostagar, but he was kind enough to find the Steward for Elissa.
The Steward was an ageing man, perhaps fifty, with a bald head and weathered skin. Despite his grey-streaked beard, he looked lively and strong. He had a bit of belly perhaps, and his muscles were probably not as large as they had once been, but the strength remained.
"Ah, you must be Duncan's new recruit. I've had the maids get your office ready, though I'm afraid there's not really much of interest there, and get your quarters prepared. We've been bereft of a Senior Mage Warden for quite some time. Though, of course, you are only a recruit," the Steward said as he led her up the stairs towards a small tower. It contained a combination workroom/office on the lower floor and a small bedroom on the upper floor. The workroom was well furnished, but Elissa could tell that it had last been in use a decade ago - some of the reagents were long past usability, or even rotten. Still, the lyrium and the non-perishable reagents, or those under preserving spells, would still be useful. She made sure to recast the preserving spells and to check that the lyrium was securely stored.
The bedroom was tiny, with only just enough space for a bed and a wardrobe, but the bed looked nice enough. It was no Cousland Manor or Castle Highever, but the tower had a door that locked, and that was luxury enough for her. It even had a fine glass window with curtains, a true luxury. She opened them and smiled as she saw Duncan return... though, she thought, he seemed to have lost his sword along the way.
She thanked the Steward for getting the tower ready for her, then headed back down to greet Duncan. Something, she was sure, was up.
Kallian returned to consciousness unhappily. She blinked rapidly as the low firelight stung her eyes, and tried to get up. She felt weak and panic filled her for a moment as she thought she might've been paralyzed by the blow to her head. She could feel her toes though, and was able to lift her arm as the ringing in her head subsided.
"Maker keep us, Maker protect us, Maker keep us, Maker protect us -" someone prayed, to Kallian's side. She didn't recognise the voice, but she did recognise the one that interrupted it.
"Stop it! You're driving me insane!" Shianni shouted. Her voice was harsh and tense, like a bowstring about to snap.
"Wha - what's going on?" Kallian asked as she felt her strength return to her. She wiggled her foot, just a little, and she felt a surge of relief as she recognised the slight extra weight of the knife in her boot.
"Oh, thank the Maker you've come to. We were so worried..." Shianni said.
"Is everyone else alright?" Kallian aske as she sat up. She could see the room they were in now properly. It looked to be a simple storage room, plain stone walls with no windows and only one door. A few wooden shelves seemed to have been haphazardly cleaned recently.
"We're scared but unharmed. So far," Velora said.
"They locked us in here to wait until that... bastard is 'ready for us,'" the more composed of the two bridesmaids said.
"Shianni, did you carry your picks with you?" Kallian asked. If they could get the door open, they might have a chance against the one or two guards that'd be left there. Kallian was decent with a set of lockpicks, but Shianni had been even better before she'd grown up too much to enjoy the escapes of Kallian's friends.
"Where would I in that dress? Oh, Kal, don't tell me you wore those stupid boots to your wedding," Shianni said.
"Aren't you glad I did? So, new plan. We kill the first bastard through the door, take his weapon, and get out of here, Maker willing," Kallian said.
"We're five unarmed women. What makes you think we can kill anyone?" asked one of Velora's bridesmaids.
Kallian bent her leg closer to herself and withdrew the slim, deadly blade she'd kept in her mother's Dalish boots since she was a teenager. It wasn't her mother's ironbark dagger, but it was a piece of good steel she'd nicked off a drunken tough one night down by the docks. It was practically tailor-made to go right through a guardsman's chain mail.
"That's all fine for you, but what are we meant to do?" hissed Velora.
"Slam the door closed when I stab the first guy through. Don't get stabbed?" Kallian said. She hoped the bravado worked on them, and on Shianni, because Maker knew it wasn't working on her. It was a stupid plan that was likely to get them all killed. But... better to die trying to escape than just slit their own throats now, she thought. She refused to consider the alternative.
"Maker keep us, Maker protect us, Maker keep us, Maker protect us," the other bridesmaid continued to pray. Kallian wasn't sure what good that would do. Mother Boann's sermons had been pretty clear about how the Maker had turned His back on the world.
Kallian heard footsteps through the door. Armoured boots, perhaps four pairs. Four wasn't impossible. She'd heard about it being done before. In tall tales passed from criminal to street kid to Alienage elf, maybe, but it'd been done. Four armoured men with just a throwing knife and a wedding dress... maybe not yet.
She stood beside the door, while only Shianni stood in position to slam it closed. The others stayed where they were, looking down and preparing for what was to come. Kallian couldn't make that choice for them, even if she... even if she wanted to die instead.
The door opened and Kallian moved, lightning-quick. Her knife was already at neck height and she thrust it into - into empty air? She had simply stopped mid-thrust for no discernable reason at all. She tried to move, tried to dart away, but her body simply wouldn't respond.
Four armoured guardsmen moved past her after the first pushed her knife and outstretched arm out of the way. They chuckled at her, leered at her, and turned their gazes to the others. Only after they'd moved into the room could Kallian see the fifth man. He was short, with slick black hair and skin that had once been olive-coloured but had turned a pallid grey. He stunk of something that burnt her nose and stung her eyes, a foul stench she'd never smelt before. His hand glowed softly, and in his other hand, he carried a staff — a mage.
"My, you are a feisty one. I think I might keep you, rather than the ugly bride," the man said as he caressed her face.
"Hello, wenches--we're your escorts to Lord Vaughan's little party," one of the guards said behind Kallian. She couldn't look, couldn't so much as blink. She heard the praying bridesmaid continue, and then she heard the rasp of drawn steel and an awful chorus of screams and blood on stone.
"You - you killed her!" the remaining bridesmaid said. Kallian could smell it now, even over the mage's stink. Blood and vomit and all the other horrible scents of death.
"I suppose that's what happens when you try teaching whores some respect," the guardsman said with a sick laugh.
"Oh, sergeant? I should like this one, rather than that one. I think that might be better for the Lord's health," the mage said. She couldn't place his accent, but he wasn't a Fereldan.
"All the same to me, but if the Lord gets angry at you for pickin' the pretty ones, I had nothing to do with it," he said. Kallian was surprised to hear awkwardness, even shame in his tone. What could a man like that be ashamed of, she wondered fearfully.
"This one should remain intact enough for him, not to worry," the mage said. Kallian was still held paralysed by his spell.
One by one the guards bound the hands of the others and roughly pulled them from the storeroom. Shianni was the last, but even she went limply and without further resistance.
Kallian prayed silently as she heard the wet drops of blood falling into blood from behind her. It was all she had left. She prayed to the Maker, to Andraste, and at that point to anything that'd listen.
She felt herself blink. Then, just a little, she could move her left hand - unfortunately, the one without the knife.
The door opened and Kallian promised never to nod off in one of Mother Boann's sermons again. Soris was there, sword in hand. His clothes were covered in blood, and so was the blade of the sword. The mage turned away to face Soris as Kallian felt his control over her weaken again.
"Do you really think that will do anything to me, young man?" the mage asked. He seemed more offended than threatened.
"Not in my hands," Soris said as he threw the sword along the ground, through the mage's legs.
Kallian picked it up and swung in one smooth motion, the last vestige of the mage's spell on her breaking as she cut his head cleanly from his shoulders. Blood spurted from his ruined neck, the cut almost impossibly clean. The mage's staff clattered to the floor as his dead fingers twitched and spasmed.
"I - I can't believe they killed her. Are you all right? They... didn't hurt you, did they?" Soris asked her. Kallian shook her head.
"That fucker just froze me but... thanks, Soris. I think you saved me from something... something really bad," Kallian said. She didn't know what, but anything that could inspire shame in one of Vaughan's guards inspired dread in her.
"It's Nelaros you should thank, cousin. He went crazy on everyone who didn't want to get involved, and then that Grey Warden gave us his sword and crossbow," Soris said.
"Duncan? Why didn't he come himself?" Kallian asked.
"Said that he couldn't. Something about Grey Wardens being neutral," Soris said.
"Then it's up to us to rescue Shianni and the others," Kallian said. She picked up her throwing knife, then she looked down at the dead mage. He had a sizeable knife on his belt, though it looked a little odd. It had strange carvings and its handle was shaped like the neck of a dragon, with the pommel being the dragon's head. She took it from his belt and felt the weight - better for fighting than her little throwing knife.
"Take this and stay behind me until we find some other weapons," she said to Soris as she handed him her throwing knife.
They made their way down the corridor, Kallian in her blood-stained wedding dress and Soris gingerly holding her throwing knife behind her. Soris showed her the way, and soon they entered the kitchens. Lunch had been served, and dinner was hours away from being started, so only the head cook and a single elvish servant were in the kitchen.
"What's this? I don't recognise you, elf! Wait... is that blood?" The cook said, but before Kallian could answer him, the servant hit him over the back of the head with a heavy cast iron pan.
"You've no idea how long that shem's had it coming," the servant said as he gingerly put the pan back down.
"Have you seen a group of elven maidens?" Kallian asked.
"Yes. Dragged them to Lord Vaughan's quarters, they did. You should hurry if you want to help them. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm getting out of here before the storm hits," the servant said. Kallian gave him a nod, and he plucked the cook's coin purse off of his unconscious body and fled towards what looked like a servant's entrance.
"Kal? There are a couple of guards in the next room. Out of armour, but there's four of them," Soris said. Kallian smiled as she looked down at the sword Duncan had lent Soris. It was a finer blade than she'd ever seen, even in the hands of noblemen. The metal was a brilliant silver colour, and somehow both lighter and stronger than steel. Silverite, she thought, it had to be. Runes were engraved into the blade and glittered with blue light.
Four unarmoured men, not expecting an attack? That, that was much more doable.
"Stay behind me, Soris," Kallian said as she opened the door. She had the mage's knife in her left hand and Duncan's sword in her right. All four of the guards turned to look at her as the door swung open. But Kallian was already moving towards them.
She slashed the throat of one of them with Duncan's fine sword, blood spurting from the wound into the face of another. Without slowing, Kallian buried the mage's knife into the neck of the other guard on her side of the long table and let it go. He screamed an awful, raspy scream as he tried to pull the knife from his neck.
The two remaining guards clambered over the table towards her, but one slipped in his friends' blood and went down with a tremendous crash. The other swung at her wildly with a knife, but Kallian stepped out of the way of the swing and slashed out with her borrowed sword. The man fell to the stone floor, his chest a ragged red ruin.
"Mercy, mercy!" cried the one who'd fallen on the table. Before he could rise, Kallian pulled the knife from the neck of the dead guardsman and slit the begging guardsman's throat. Her wedding dress was already ripped and bloodied, so she took no pains to avoid the blood.
Soris followed after her and gingerly took a sword from one of the dead guardsmen. The two of them headed deeper into the Arl's estate, rushing down empty stone halls to reach their rendezvous point with Nelaros. Soris opened the last door, and Kallian's heart sank.
Nelaros was dead on the floor, his handsome face split in half by an axe wound. His one remaining eye stared blankly up at the guardsmen surrounding him.
"See? I told you there'd be more. Elves run in packs, like rodents," their leader said.
"Should we keep the knife-eared bitch alive?" one of his subordinates asked.
"They killed our boys. She dies," the guard captain said.
Kallian didn't speak to them. She had no more words for men such as them, only steel.
Cornuthaum
Be kind to each other.
- Location
- Austria
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Given that there is no human way that Highever isn't going to ram a fist made of knights down Amaranthine's throat for (checks) perfidy in extremis on the eve of war, and the fact that the Teyrn and Teyrna survived, yeah, I can see that.
Also I guess Veilguard really gave you The Brainworms for writing DA stuff
Kallian IV/Elissa VII
New
- Location
- Australia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Kallian IV/Elissa VII
Kallian darted forward and flung the mage's dagger into the face of the guard captain. He collapsed screaming to the ground and Kallian got a two-handed grip on Duncan's sword. For an elf her size, that was really the more comfortable way to hold it. The other two guardsmen rushed at her.
She deflected the first blow with a quick parry and stepped out of the other's attack, slashing Duncan's sword across the first guard's face in a deadly riposte. Teeth and bits of flesh went flying as her cut scored a deep gash in the man's skull, but the man was still up. He swung his sword at her in a clumsy, brutal swing.
Kallian was out of room to back away, so she had to deflect the blow into the ground. Meeting it head-on would've been suicide, given how much larger the human was. She followed it up with a swift kick to the guardsman's chest. Combined with his over-extended swing, he was sent tumbling backwards. He grabbed at her as he fell, and Kallian fell with him. Her head hit the floor hard, and she rolled away from him desperately, only to see that he'd landed even worse - bits of his brain were leaking out of his helmet.
The last guardsman looked cautiously at her and Soris, then towards the door. He dashed towards it, but Kallain was able to slice at the back of his legs and bring him down. He screamed and clutched at his ruined knee as Kallain carefully aimed her next blow. It took his head off cleanly, the enchanted silverite edge of Duncna's sword able to cut through the simple chainmail protecting the guard's neck as though it were just more flesh.
Soris didn't say anything to her, but she could tell he was unnerved by all the blood. Kallian would be too, she thought, when her heart stopped racing and she had time to think. She thought she might've killed someone before, but that had been a scuffle in a dark alley against someone who'd gotten handsy. She'd stabbed the human a few times, but after he'd let her go she'd got away as fast as she could.
"Do you want your knife back?" Soris asked Kallian as she withdrew the mage's dagger from the guard captain's face. It wasn't bad as a throwing knife, but it wasn't especially suited towards it either. She'd gotten lucky that it had gone point-first into the guard captain's face - she'd really just wanted a bit of space.
"Oh - yeah, give it here," she said and wiped her blades on the guardsman's armour. It would be nice to have a set of good chain and boiled leather, but it wasn't exactly her size, and she definitely didn't have the time to put it on. Soris retrieved Duncan's crossbow from where it had fallen and carefully took the quiver full of quarrels from Nelaros's body.
She stuck the mage's knife into her belt. It was still a little bloody, but her dress was already ruined.
They continued on through the estate, though thankfully they were close to Vaughan's rooms. There were no further guards between them and the rooms, though they did see a few servants on their way through the estate. They, sensibly, fled at the sight of Kallian.
Vaughan's rooms were located in a very fine part of the estate indeed. There were imported rugs with intricate designs, the walls were plastered yellow, and the windows were all of clear glass, rather than being simple wooden shutters. The furniture was all imported from Orlais - delicate and finely carved.
Kallian kicked open the expensive hardwood door to Vaughan's room. He and his lackeys stood surrounding Shianni, who cowered on the floor. She had only the tattered remains of her clothes on, and bloody welts covered much of her skin. Kallian had clearly interrupted the noblemen as they were getting dressed, and some of them were bare-chested or only dressed in their small clothes. Each nobleman had a sword belted at his waist or grabbed from a nearby table and they all reached for them as Kallain entered the room. Soris followed her, his borrowed crossbow raised and ready to shoot.
"Don't worry; we'll make short work of these two," said one of Vaughan's lackeys as he moved to put himself between Kallian and Vaughan.
"Quiet, you idiot! They're covered with enough blood to fill a tub. What do you think that means?" Vaughan said, his hand resting uneasily on the hilt of his sword.
"It means you're going to pay for what you've done," Kallian said.
"All right, let's not be too hasty here. Surely we can talk this over..." Vaughan said as he moved his hand away from his sword. His men still had their own weapons, but they lowered them as Vaughan spoke.
"You... you really think there's anything you can say to talk your way out of this?" Kallian asked.
"Please, just... get me out of here! I want to go home!" Shianni sobbed. Her voice was hoarse and weak.
"Think for a minute. Kill me, and you ruin more lives than just your own. By dawn, the city will run red with elven blood. Think about it. You know how this ends. Or we could talk this through... now that you have my undivided attention," Vaughan said and the worst thing about it was that he was right. Nobody would care that he had abducted them, from a wedding even. Nobody would care that he and his vile friends had raped Shianni, and probably the others. Nobody would care about the poor girl who'd been killed for praying too loudly.
If she killed Vaughan, she would be signing the death warrants of dozens of elves.
"If you have something to say, then say it," she spat out. She wanted to kill him. It would be so easy - she could put her throwing knife into his eye from twice this distance black-out drunk.
"Here's our situation. You are skilled, obviously. We fight here, perhaps you could even manage to kill us... My father won't let that go. Your pigsty of an alienage will be burned to the ground. Or you turn and walk away... with forty sovereigns added to your purses. You take that money and leave Denerim tonight. No repercussions, and you can go wherever you like," Vaughan said. Soris lowered his crossbow, and Kallian hated him for it.
Forty sovereigns was more money than everyone in the Alienage had put together. It was enough to buy a half dozen houses outright, the good ones facing the vhenadhal tree.
"What about Shianni and the others?" Kallian asked. Vaughan laughed at her.
"I'm not done with them. I've only had the red-haired bitch, after all. You'll get them back if they behave," he said. Kallian moved without really thinking about it. By the time any words had formed in her mind, her hand was already committed to the throw. Her knife sailed through the air in a perfect arc and landed point-first right in Vaughan's eye.
"Should've let them go, you greedy bastard," she said. She'd have taken his deal, if she could've brought Shianni home. She'd have hated herself forever for it, but she would have taken the deal. Now... now the less witnesses the better.
"You - you can take the girls! Take all the gold on us-" one of the other noblemen began, but Soris brought his borrowed crossbow up. The bolt slammed into the man's chest and he went down and screamed in pain. Kallian advanced on the others and it was all over in a few quick exchanges of blades - they were all drunk, and could barely hold their swords. She pulled her throwing knife from Vaughan's body and shook it until the remains of his eye fell off of it, then slit the throat of the one Soris had shot.
Soris rushed to find the others, whilst Kallain crouched down next to Shianni.
"D-don't leave me alone... please... please, take me home," Shianni said.
"I will, I promise. Can you walk?" she asked.
"I... I think so. You killed them all, didn't you?" Shianni asked. Kallian helped her to her feet, and after a few moments of wavering, she was able to stand.
"Like dogs, Shianni," Kallian said softly.
Soris emerged from a side room with Velora and her surviving bridesmaid. They found some ill-fitting clothes for Shianni and avoided looking at the dead bodies.
"Is... she going to be all right?" Valora asked.
"Would you be?" Kallian snapped back at her.
"I - I'm sorry. Let's just... let's just get out of here," Valora said.
"I'll take the rear guard. I can't wait to leave this place," Soris said. He'd reloaded, with great effort, his borrowed crossbow.
Their flight from the estate came not a moment too soon - they saw a heavy party of guards rushing towards the estate and ducked into a back alley to let them pass. Kallian had a stolen cloak on over her blood-soaked wedding dress, and to hide her weapons. Time was not on their side, so they rushed back to the alienage as quickly as they could.
Once they were across the river - and knew that they'd beaten any sort of alarm across the river bridges - they were able to slow down a little. Kallian had been forced to carry Shianni at several points during their hasty escape, and both of them were on the verge of collapsing by the time they made it back to the Alienage.
They had to through the wall rather than through the main gate because they were armed and covered in blood. The gap in the wall wasn't really a secret, but a human street gang controlled it and charged anybody who wanted to use it. The usual charge would've been a copper a head, but the woman in charge of the passage took one look at them and asked the group for a silver for the lot of them. Soris flung her one, taken from Vaughan's room.
The passage through the wall emerged in an alley leading to the small square by the main gate. Kallian helped Shianni along as they walked back into the alienage, the familar sour stink for once a comfort.
Valendrian and the Grey Warden were waiting near the main gate. Two other humans were waiting with Duncan. One was a tall human woman with some kind of strange spear and fancy-looking armour. The other was decidedly less fancy, but both looked to be Grey Wardens, judging by the woman's helmet and the tunic the man wore over his cheap armour. The man looked distinctly uncomfortable being in the Alienage. The woman just wrinkled her nose at the smell.
"You have returned. Has Shianni been hurt? Where is Tormey's daughter, Nola?" Valendrian asked as he saw them.
"Nola didn't make it. She resisted, and..." Valora said. She couldn't bring herself to talk about what had happened to poor Nola. Kallian hadn't known her - they'd run with very different groups as children, and that had never really changed - but the worst part of it was that Nola had volunteered to be Valora's bridesmaid, because none of her sisters could make the trip from Highever.
"...they... they killed her," Shianni said. Her voice was still weak and raspy, and her throat was developing an ugly bruise.
"Nelaros, too. The guards killed him," Soris said.
"I see. Would the rest of you ladies please take Shianni home? She needs rest," Valendrian said.
"Of course," Valora said as she held out her arm for Shianni to take. She, and her surviving bridesmaid, walked Shianni carefully home.
"Now tell me: what happened?" Valendrian asked Kallian bluntly.
"Vaughan's dead," she said. She felt dread fill her stomach at her own words. They might've beaten the guards across the river, but she knew they couldn't be far behind them.
"Then the garrison could already be on their way. You have little time," Duncan said.
"Elder I - I don't know what to do," Kallian said. She fought back tears because she did know what to do. The guards would have their blood for Vaughan, and somebody would die a painful, awful death for it. All she could choose was if she paid for her own rash decision, or if someone else did.
"We need to leave -" Soris began, but they were out of time. The main gate rose up, and a dozen guardsmen in half-plate and armed as though they were going to war marched through it. They spread out into a crescent shape, blocking off both the main gate and the alley leading to the passage through the wall. One guard stepped forward and took off his helmet.
"I seek Valendrian, elder and administrator of the Alienage!" shouted the guard captain. He was in his forties, his blonde hair thinned with age and his beard only raggedly cut.
"Here, Captain. I take it you have come in response to today's disruption?" Valendrian asked.
"Don't play ignorant with me, elder. You will not prevent justice from being done. The arl's son lies dead in a river of blood that runs through the entire palace! I need names, and I need them now!" the guard captain said. The woman Grey Warden cocked her head at that, then looked to Duncan. He whispered something to her, and she seemed to relax.
Something about that hushed whisper convinced Kallian. She'd heard the legends and folk tales of Grey Wardens plucking a dashing thief from the gallows, of course. Maybe, she thought, there was a plan. Maybe she was going to sign her own death warrant. She wasn't really sure. But the idea that there might be a way out where she survived and nobody died for her convinced her to step forward, to take the last throw of the dice.
" It was my doing," she said as she unclasped her stolen cloak and let it fall from her shoulders. She stood before the guards in her blood-soaked wedding dress, her array of weapons shoved into the brass-studded ornamental belt.
"You expect me to believe one woman did all of that?" the guard captain asked.
"We are not all so helpless, Captain," Valendrian said quietly.
"You save many by coming forward. I don't envy your fate, but I applaud your courage. This elf will wait in the dungeons until the Arl returns. The rest of you, back to your houses!" the guard captain said. Kallian was surprised that his respect sounded genuine. She was surprised they were going to let her live long enough for the Arl to come back from the war. It probably wasn't a good thing.
The pronouncement of her impending death by some awful method - burning, breaking, or something even worse - left her... numb.
"Captain... a word, if you please," Duncan said, and hope blossomed to life her chest like the first sapling of spring.
"What is it, Grey Warden? The situation is well under control, as you can see."
"Be that as it may, I hereby invoke the Grey Warden's Right of Conscription. I remove this woman into my custody," Duncan said, and Kallian stopped in her tracks. A part of her couldn't really believe that her desperate gambit had actually worked. She stopped, and she laughed. It was not smart, but she just couldn't help herself.
She had no space in her brain left for coherent words, so she just sank to her knees and laughed.
"Son of a tied down - Very well, Grey Warden; I cannot challenge your rights, but I'll ask one thing: Get this elf out of the city. Today," the guard captain said.
"Agreed," Duncan said.
"Now, I need to get my men on the streets before this news hits. Move out!" the guard captain ordered, and his men turned and marched out the way they came. Kallian finally stopped laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all as the last of them disappeared from sight, and the sound of armoured boots on dirt faded to a distant echo.
"Are you injured?" Duncan asked her.
"No... no, I'm - I guess just a few bruises. I just... I didn't think that sort of thing really happened," Kallian said.
"More often than we Wardens might like to admit," Duncan said. He offered her a hand up. She took it and then handed him back his sword.
"Thanks for the help," she said.
"Were that I could have done more. You're with me now. Say your goodbyes, and see me when you're ready. We leave by sundown," Duncan said.
Her father had few words for her, when she trudged back to her house, still in her blood-caked wedding dress. He simply hugged her, not caring about the filth she was encrusted with.
"If... this is what the Maker has planned for you, then I guess it's for the best. Your mother would've been pleased," he said, and she knew that her departure would wound him greatly.
"I'm sorry it all fell apart," she said. She knew he had wanted a more settled life for her. With her mother's nest egg, and her would-be husband's work as a smith, she'd have been essentially set for life. Children and a house she owned, rather than rented from a slumlord at an exorbitant price. She had thrown away a life most of her fellows in the Alienage would kill for.
"Take care, my girl. Be safe. And wise. And... well, you know. We'll all miss you," he said.
She said goodbye to Shianni, but her cousin was in no state to talk.
All she had left to do was pack her things, get changed, and then she would leave the Alienage behind. As she walked through the main gate with Duncan and the two other wardens (new recruits like her, it soon emerged), she was struck with a terrible feeling that she'd never walk through those gates again.
The athletic, red-haired elf Duncan had recruited kept giving Elissa strange looks as they walked silently out of the Alienage. Perhaps, Elissa thought, she had noticed her reaction to the smell.
"Are you... are you a mage?" the woman whispered.
"I am. Ser Elissa Cousland, Knight Enchanter. A pleasure to meet you," she said.
"Knight-what? Oh, uh, I'm Kallian. I didn't think you were allowed to be a lord and a mage."
"You're not, or else we'd all be bowing and calling her 'my lady'," Daveth said with a chuckle.
"A knight's not a lord. But we're both Wardens, so it's not like it matters," she said as she remembered what her first years in the Circle had been like.
"Well, I bet it could come in handy. Wait, what did you mean?" Kallian asked Daveth.
"Well, her father is Teryn of Highever. So, as far as important fathers go, that's about a step short of the King," Daveth said.
"Oh," Kallian said.
"I, uh, don't suppose you know how to ride a horse?" she asked.
"What do you think?" Kallian snapped.
"Sorry. We just have a - nevermind," she said. It had been a stupid question, she thought.
"If you're a mage, why do you have a spear?" Kallian asked her.
"It's a mage's staff, except I replaced the stupid decorative head with a knife I had," Elissa said.
"Nice knife. Nice everything, really. Guess that's not standard Warden-issue," Kallian said.
"No. Well, the helmet used to belong to another Warden, but I bought it in a shop from someone who bought it off some adventurers," Elissa said.
"Right. So, rusty chainmail it is for me then? Or do I get the kids' uniform?" Kallian asked.
"We don't have long to get your equipment together, but I believe there is an old set of armour belonging to a fellow Warden that might fit you at the compound," Duncan said.
It turned out that there was a set of veridium half plate that had once belonged to Tarimel, an elvish Warden who was already at Ostagar. He had replaced it with a superior set of red steel plate, but the armour was still in excellent condition. They would have to have it adjusted slightly at Ostagar, but it took them only an hour to find saddlebags, a tunic, armour, and a Warden helmet for their newest recruit.
Once that was done, Duncan gave Elissa leave to visit her father before they departed. She would meet them at the city gates. Her horse was ready for her, her saddlebags in place, so all she had to do was put her armour away. She rode the fine Nevarran Palfrey that had been found for her after their mad ride to link up with Fergus's troop.
She walked through the front door of the Cousland manor with a sense of trepidation. She had been apart from her family for so long, and now she would be leaving her father behind once more.
"My lady, your father should be returning from his meeting with the Queen shortly. Shall I have your room made up, or perhaps something to drink?" the manor's head servant asked her as she sat her staff down in the spacious entry room.
"I - I'll be leaving Denerim earlier than planned, so there's no need to get the room ready. Some wine - I'd like some wine," she said. Her tongue felt heavy and her words were as imprecise as her first fumbling attempts to control her magic. The man nodded and returned silently a minute later, offering her a glass of wine as he led her to a more comfortable palace to wait.
Her father returned to the Manor perhaps half an hour after she'd arrived. He looked tired. Still, he smiled at her when he entered the room.
"Pup, you're leaving?" he asked her.
"The full story is long, and I'm sure I don't have all of it yet, but in short: Duncan plucked Vaughan Kendalls' killer from under the noses of the city guard by conscripting her. In order to keep some sort of calm on the streets, she's to be out of the city today," she said. Her father blinked in surprise.
"Vaughan Kendalls is dead?" her father asked.
"His hands wandered too far at last. Kidnapped poor Kallian from her own wedding!"
"I see why you have to leave earlier than planned, then," her father said. She raised an eyebrow at him.
"What, you think it proper that a lord have the right to rape as he pleases? Did we win the war against Orlais, or have I stumbled back in time?" she said.
"Of course not. But the man is dead, and his killer beyond any justice his father might wish to exact, so there is nothing to be gained by discussing the matter," her father said. Elissa flinched backwards. She felt extraordinarily stupid when the blow never came. She had left the circle, and there were no more Chantry Sisters to punish any sign of independent thought.
Her father pretended not to have noticed her reaction to his words.
"Has any news... has any news of Highever reached us?" she asked. Her father paused for a moment as though he wanted to return to their earlier topic, but his words were as inelegant as her own.
"A courier from Fergus actually beat us here, if you can believe it. Howe's men saw him coming and fled the city, which may have saved much of it. Fergus was unable to catch most of them, but his knights captured their baggage train and a few companies of mercenaries got overly greedy. Ser Gilmore lives, and held the castle," her father said.
"Thank the Maker he was able to organise that defence at all. I think it very likely he may have saved all our lives," she said.
"As do I. After securing Highever, Fergus spent a day or so there getting things in order and calling our other forces, before he sat back off South with the troops we'd originally planned to take to Ostagar. Your mother has taken command of the Terynir for now," her father said. There was more that had happened, she knew. A pyre for Oriana, and for Oren. Her father could not face the words, and she wondered how her brother could've found the strength to march away from Highever once more after that.
"And Howe himself?"
"Fled back to Vigil's Keep. The Queen has given me the use of the Royal siege engines and the Royal Army's reserves here; as well as much of Denerim's uncommitted strength. I will link up with our remaining forces in the North and finish this sordid business."
"I'm sorry I won't be there to help you," Elissa said.
"Your brother will need you far more than me. Rendon Howe's miserable old fortress I can handle without you. Fergus will need your strength, and not just against the darkspawn," her father replied.
"I - I will try," she said as she stood back up.
"I won't delay you for mere sentimentality. But... know I love you, daughter, and I am proud of you. I will leave you with one last piece of advice: do not think yourself disqualified from the Great Game, no matter your magic or the Griffon banner you march under. You remain a Cousland, and that nest of noble vipers down in Ostagar is at least as dangerous as the darkspawn," her father said.
With her father's warning ringing in her ears, Elissa rode out of the Cousland Manor's front courtyard towards the city gates. There Duncan, Daveth, and Kallian waited for her - the latter two looking distinctly uncomfortable on their horses. A few ragged cheers went up amongst the merchants and city folk who were still in the market district at the sight of the Wardens.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, the Wardens left Denerim behind and headed south - bound for the mysterious Dalish, Gwaren, and at last Ostagar and the darkspawn.
Kallian darted forward and flung the mage's dagger into the face of the guard captain. He collapsed screaming to the ground and Kallian got a two-handed grip on Duncan's sword. For an elf her size, that was really the more comfortable way to hold it. The other two guardsmen rushed at her.
She deflected the first blow with a quick parry and stepped out of the other's attack, slashing Duncan's sword across the first guard's face in a deadly riposte. Teeth and bits of flesh went flying as her cut scored a deep gash in the man's skull, but the man was still up. He swung his sword at her in a clumsy, brutal swing.
Kallian was out of room to back away, so she had to deflect the blow into the ground. Meeting it head-on would've been suicide, given how much larger the human was. She followed it up with a swift kick to the guardsman's chest. Combined with his over-extended swing, he was sent tumbling backwards. He grabbed at her as he fell, and Kallian fell with him. Her head hit the floor hard, and she rolled away from him desperately, only to see that he'd landed even worse - bits of his brain were leaking out of his helmet.
The last guardsman looked cautiously at her and Soris, then towards the door. He dashed towards it, but Kallain was able to slice at the back of his legs and bring him down. He screamed and clutched at his ruined knee as Kallain carefully aimed her next blow. It took his head off cleanly, the enchanted silverite edge of Duncna's sword able to cut through the simple chainmail protecting the guard's neck as though it were just more flesh.
Soris didn't say anything to her, but she could tell he was unnerved by all the blood. Kallian would be too, she thought, when her heart stopped racing and she had time to think. She thought she might've killed someone before, but that had been a scuffle in a dark alley against someone who'd gotten handsy. She'd stabbed the human a few times, but after he'd let her go she'd got away as fast as she could.
"Do you want your knife back?" Soris asked Kallian as she withdrew the mage's dagger from the guard captain's face. It wasn't bad as a throwing knife, but it wasn't especially suited towards it either. She'd gotten lucky that it had gone point-first into the guard captain's face - she'd really just wanted a bit of space.
"Oh - yeah, give it here," she said and wiped her blades on the guardsman's armour. It would be nice to have a set of good chain and boiled leather, but it wasn't exactly her size, and she definitely didn't have the time to put it on. Soris retrieved Duncan's crossbow from where it had fallen and carefully took the quiver full of quarrels from Nelaros's body.
She stuck the mage's knife into her belt. It was still a little bloody, but her dress was already ruined.
They continued on through the estate, though thankfully they were close to Vaughan's rooms. There were no further guards between them and the rooms, though they did see a few servants on their way through the estate. They, sensibly, fled at the sight of Kallian.
Vaughan's rooms were located in a very fine part of the estate indeed. There were imported rugs with intricate designs, the walls were plastered yellow, and the windows were all of clear glass, rather than being simple wooden shutters. The furniture was all imported from Orlais - delicate and finely carved.
Kallian kicked open the expensive hardwood door to Vaughan's room. He and his lackeys stood surrounding Shianni, who cowered on the floor. She had only the tattered remains of her clothes on, and bloody welts covered much of her skin. Kallian had clearly interrupted the noblemen as they were getting dressed, and some of them were bare-chested or only dressed in their small clothes. Each nobleman had a sword belted at his waist or grabbed from a nearby table and they all reached for them as Kallain entered the room. Soris followed her, his borrowed crossbow raised and ready to shoot.
"Don't worry; we'll make short work of these two," said one of Vaughan's lackeys as he moved to put himself between Kallian and Vaughan.
"Quiet, you idiot! They're covered with enough blood to fill a tub. What do you think that means?" Vaughan said, his hand resting uneasily on the hilt of his sword.
"It means you're going to pay for what you've done," Kallian said.
"All right, let's not be too hasty here. Surely we can talk this over..." Vaughan said as he moved his hand away from his sword. His men still had their own weapons, but they lowered them as Vaughan spoke.
"You... you really think there's anything you can say to talk your way out of this?" Kallian asked.
"Please, just... get me out of here! I want to go home!" Shianni sobbed. Her voice was hoarse and weak.
"Think for a minute. Kill me, and you ruin more lives than just your own. By dawn, the city will run red with elven blood. Think about it. You know how this ends. Or we could talk this through... now that you have my undivided attention," Vaughan said and the worst thing about it was that he was right. Nobody would care that he had abducted them, from a wedding even. Nobody would care that he and his vile friends had raped Shianni, and probably the others. Nobody would care about the poor girl who'd been killed for praying too loudly.
If she killed Vaughan, she would be signing the death warrants of dozens of elves.
"If you have something to say, then say it," she spat out. She wanted to kill him. It would be so easy - she could put her throwing knife into his eye from twice this distance black-out drunk.
"Here's our situation. You are skilled, obviously. We fight here, perhaps you could even manage to kill us... My father won't let that go. Your pigsty of an alienage will be burned to the ground. Or you turn and walk away... with forty sovereigns added to your purses. You take that money and leave Denerim tonight. No repercussions, and you can go wherever you like," Vaughan said. Soris lowered his crossbow, and Kallian hated him for it.
Forty sovereigns was more money than everyone in the Alienage had put together. It was enough to buy a half dozen houses outright, the good ones facing the vhenadhal tree.
"What about Shianni and the others?" Kallian asked. Vaughan laughed at her.
"I'm not done with them. I've only had the red-haired bitch, after all. You'll get them back if they behave," he said. Kallian moved without really thinking about it. By the time any words had formed in her mind, her hand was already committed to the throw. Her knife sailed through the air in a perfect arc and landed point-first right in Vaughan's eye.
"Should've let them go, you greedy bastard," she said. She'd have taken his deal, if she could've brought Shianni home. She'd have hated herself forever for it, but she would have taken the deal. Now... now the less witnesses the better.
"You - you can take the girls! Take all the gold on us-" one of the other noblemen began, but Soris brought his borrowed crossbow up. The bolt slammed into the man's chest and he went down and screamed in pain. Kallian advanced on the others and it was all over in a few quick exchanges of blades - they were all drunk, and could barely hold their swords. She pulled her throwing knife from Vaughan's body and shook it until the remains of his eye fell off of it, then slit the throat of the one Soris had shot.
Soris rushed to find the others, whilst Kallain crouched down next to Shianni.
"D-don't leave me alone... please... please, take me home," Shianni said.
"I will, I promise. Can you walk?" she asked.
"I... I think so. You killed them all, didn't you?" Shianni asked. Kallian helped her to her feet, and after a few moments of wavering, she was able to stand.
"Like dogs, Shianni," Kallian said softly.
Soris emerged from a side room with Velora and her surviving bridesmaid. They found some ill-fitting clothes for Shianni and avoided looking at the dead bodies.
"Is... she going to be all right?" Valora asked.
"Would you be?" Kallian snapped back at her.
"I - I'm sorry. Let's just... let's just get out of here," Valora said.
"I'll take the rear guard. I can't wait to leave this place," Soris said. He'd reloaded, with great effort, his borrowed crossbow.
Their flight from the estate came not a moment too soon - they saw a heavy party of guards rushing towards the estate and ducked into a back alley to let them pass. Kallian had a stolen cloak on over her blood-soaked wedding dress, and to hide her weapons. Time was not on their side, so they rushed back to the alienage as quickly as they could.
Once they were across the river - and knew that they'd beaten any sort of alarm across the river bridges - they were able to slow down a little. Kallian had been forced to carry Shianni at several points during their hasty escape, and both of them were on the verge of collapsing by the time they made it back to the Alienage.
They had to through the wall rather than through the main gate because they were armed and covered in blood. The gap in the wall wasn't really a secret, but a human street gang controlled it and charged anybody who wanted to use it. The usual charge would've been a copper a head, but the woman in charge of the passage took one look at them and asked the group for a silver for the lot of them. Soris flung her one, taken from Vaughan's room.
The passage through the wall emerged in an alley leading to the small square by the main gate. Kallian helped Shianni along as they walked back into the alienage, the familar sour stink for once a comfort.
Valendrian and the Grey Warden were waiting near the main gate. Two other humans were waiting with Duncan. One was a tall human woman with some kind of strange spear and fancy-looking armour. The other was decidedly less fancy, but both looked to be Grey Wardens, judging by the woman's helmet and the tunic the man wore over his cheap armour. The man looked distinctly uncomfortable being in the Alienage. The woman just wrinkled her nose at the smell.
"You have returned. Has Shianni been hurt? Where is Tormey's daughter, Nola?" Valendrian asked as he saw them.
"Nola didn't make it. She resisted, and..." Valora said. She couldn't bring herself to talk about what had happened to poor Nola. Kallian hadn't known her - they'd run with very different groups as children, and that had never really changed - but the worst part of it was that Nola had volunteered to be Valora's bridesmaid, because none of her sisters could make the trip from Highever.
"...they... they killed her," Shianni said. Her voice was still weak and raspy, and her throat was developing an ugly bruise.
"Nelaros, too. The guards killed him," Soris said.
"I see. Would the rest of you ladies please take Shianni home? She needs rest," Valendrian said.
"Of course," Valora said as she held out her arm for Shianni to take. She, and her surviving bridesmaid, walked Shianni carefully home.
"Now tell me: what happened?" Valendrian asked Kallian bluntly.
"Vaughan's dead," she said. She felt dread fill her stomach at her own words. They might've beaten the guards across the river, but she knew they couldn't be far behind them.
"Then the garrison could already be on their way. You have little time," Duncan said.
"Elder I - I don't know what to do," Kallian said. She fought back tears because she did know what to do. The guards would have their blood for Vaughan, and somebody would die a painful, awful death for it. All she could choose was if she paid for her own rash decision, or if someone else did.
"We need to leave -" Soris began, but they were out of time. The main gate rose up, and a dozen guardsmen in half-plate and armed as though they were going to war marched through it. They spread out into a crescent shape, blocking off both the main gate and the alley leading to the passage through the wall. One guard stepped forward and took off his helmet.
"I seek Valendrian, elder and administrator of the Alienage!" shouted the guard captain. He was in his forties, his blonde hair thinned with age and his beard only raggedly cut.
"Here, Captain. I take it you have come in response to today's disruption?" Valendrian asked.
"Don't play ignorant with me, elder. You will not prevent justice from being done. The arl's son lies dead in a river of blood that runs through the entire palace! I need names, and I need them now!" the guard captain said. The woman Grey Warden cocked her head at that, then looked to Duncan. He whispered something to her, and she seemed to relax.
Something about that hushed whisper convinced Kallian. She'd heard the legends and folk tales of Grey Wardens plucking a dashing thief from the gallows, of course. Maybe, she thought, there was a plan. Maybe she was going to sign her own death warrant. She wasn't really sure. But the idea that there might be a way out where she survived and nobody died for her convinced her to step forward, to take the last throw of the dice.
" It was my doing," she said as she unclasped her stolen cloak and let it fall from her shoulders. She stood before the guards in her blood-soaked wedding dress, her array of weapons shoved into the brass-studded ornamental belt.
"You expect me to believe one woman did all of that?" the guard captain asked.
"We are not all so helpless, Captain," Valendrian said quietly.
"You save many by coming forward. I don't envy your fate, but I applaud your courage. This elf will wait in the dungeons until the Arl returns. The rest of you, back to your houses!" the guard captain said. Kallian was surprised that his respect sounded genuine. She was surprised they were going to let her live long enough for the Arl to come back from the war. It probably wasn't a good thing.
The pronouncement of her impending death by some awful method - burning, breaking, or something even worse - left her... numb.
"Captain... a word, if you please," Duncan said, and hope blossomed to life her chest like the first sapling of spring.
"What is it, Grey Warden? The situation is well under control, as you can see."
"Be that as it may, I hereby invoke the Grey Warden's Right of Conscription. I remove this woman into my custody," Duncan said, and Kallian stopped in her tracks. A part of her couldn't really believe that her desperate gambit had actually worked. She stopped, and she laughed. It was not smart, but she just couldn't help herself.
She had no space in her brain left for coherent words, so she just sank to her knees and laughed.
"Son of a tied down - Very well, Grey Warden; I cannot challenge your rights, but I'll ask one thing: Get this elf out of the city. Today," the guard captain said.
"Agreed," Duncan said.
"Now, I need to get my men on the streets before this news hits. Move out!" the guard captain ordered, and his men turned and marched out the way they came. Kallian finally stopped laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all as the last of them disappeared from sight, and the sound of armoured boots on dirt faded to a distant echo.
"Are you injured?" Duncan asked her.
"No... no, I'm - I guess just a few bruises. I just... I didn't think that sort of thing really happened," Kallian said.
"More often than we Wardens might like to admit," Duncan said. He offered her a hand up. She took it and then handed him back his sword.
"Thanks for the help," she said.
"Were that I could have done more. You're with me now. Say your goodbyes, and see me when you're ready. We leave by sundown," Duncan said.
Her father had few words for her, when she trudged back to her house, still in her blood-caked wedding dress. He simply hugged her, not caring about the filth she was encrusted with.
"If... this is what the Maker has planned for you, then I guess it's for the best. Your mother would've been pleased," he said, and she knew that her departure would wound him greatly.
"I'm sorry it all fell apart," she said. She knew he had wanted a more settled life for her. With her mother's nest egg, and her would-be husband's work as a smith, she'd have been essentially set for life. Children and a house she owned, rather than rented from a slumlord at an exorbitant price. She had thrown away a life most of her fellows in the Alienage would kill for.
"Take care, my girl. Be safe. And wise. And... well, you know. We'll all miss you," he said.
She said goodbye to Shianni, but her cousin was in no state to talk.
All she had left to do was pack her things, get changed, and then she would leave the Alienage behind. As she walked through the main gate with Duncan and the two other wardens (new recruits like her, it soon emerged), she was struck with a terrible feeling that she'd never walk through those gates again.
The athletic, red-haired elf Duncan had recruited kept giving Elissa strange looks as they walked silently out of the Alienage. Perhaps, Elissa thought, she had noticed her reaction to the smell.
"Are you... are you a mage?" the woman whispered.
"I am. Ser Elissa Cousland, Knight Enchanter. A pleasure to meet you," she said.
"Knight-what? Oh, uh, I'm Kallian. I didn't think you were allowed to be a lord and a mage."
"You're not, or else we'd all be bowing and calling her 'my lady'," Daveth said with a chuckle.
"A knight's not a lord. But we're both Wardens, so it's not like it matters," she said as she remembered what her first years in the Circle had been like.
"Well, I bet it could come in handy. Wait, what did you mean?" Kallian asked Daveth.
"Well, her father is Teryn of Highever. So, as far as important fathers go, that's about a step short of the King," Daveth said.
"Oh," Kallian said.
"I, uh, don't suppose you know how to ride a horse?" she asked.
"What do you think?" Kallian snapped.
"Sorry. We just have a - nevermind," she said. It had been a stupid question, she thought.
"If you're a mage, why do you have a spear?" Kallian asked her.
"It's a mage's staff, except I replaced the stupid decorative head with a knife I had," Elissa said.
"Nice knife. Nice everything, really. Guess that's not standard Warden-issue," Kallian said.
"No. Well, the helmet used to belong to another Warden, but I bought it in a shop from someone who bought it off some adventurers," Elissa said.
"Right. So, rusty chainmail it is for me then? Or do I get the kids' uniform?" Kallian asked.
"We don't have long to get your equipment together, but I believe there is an old set of armour belonging to a fellow Warden that might fit you at the compound," Duncan said.
It turned out that there was a set of veridium half plate that had once belonged to Tarimel, an elvish Warden who was already at Ostagar. He had replaced it with a superior set of red steel plate, but the armour was still in excellent condition. They would have to have it adjusted slightly at Ostagar, but it took them only an hour to find saddlebags, a tunic, armour, and a Warden helmet for their newest recruit.
Once that was done, Duncan gave Elissa leave to visit her father before they departed. She would meet them at the city gates. Her horse was ready for her, her saddlebags in place, so all she had to do was put her armour away. She rode the fine Nevarran Palfrey that had been found for her after their mad ride to link up with Fergus's troop.
She walked through the front door of the Cousland manor with a sense of trepidation. She had been apart from her family for so long, and now she would be leaving her father behind once more.
"My lady, your father should be returning from his meeting with the Queen shortly. Shall I have your room made up, or perhaps something to drink?" the manor's head servant asked her as she sat her staff down in the spacious entry room.
"I - I'll be leaving Denerim earlier than planned, so there's no need to get the room ready. Some wine - I'd like some wine," she said. Her tongue felt heavy and her words were as imprecise as her first fumbling attempts to control her magic. The man nodded and returned silently a minute later, offering her a glass of wine as he led her to a more comfortable palace to wait.
Her father returned to the Manor perhaps half an hour after she'd arrived. He looked tired. Still, he smiled at her when he entered the room.
"Pup, you're leaving?" he asked her.
"The full story is long, and I'm sure I don't have all of it yet, but in short: Duncan plucked Vaughan Kendalls' killer from under the noses of the city guard by conscripting her. In order to keep some sort of calm on the streets, she's to be out of the city today," she said. Her father blinked in surprise.
"Vaughan Kendalls is dead?" her father asked.
"His hands wandered too far at last. Kidnapped poor Kallian from her own wedding!"
"I see why you have to leave earlier than planned, then," her father said. She raised an eyebrow at him.
"What, you think it proper that a lord have the right to rape as he pleases? Did we win the war against Orlais, or have I stumbled back in time?" she said.
"Of course not. But the man is dead, and his killer beyond any justice his father might wish to exact, so there is nothing to be gained by discussing the matter," her father said. Elissa flinched backwards. She felt extraordinarily stupid when the blow never came. She had left the circle, and there were no more Chantry Sisters to punish any sign of independent thought.
Her father pretended not to have noticed her reaction to his words.
"Has any news... has any news of Highever reached us?" she asked. Her father paused for a moment as though he wanted to return to their earlier topic, but his words were as inelegant as her own.
"A courier from Fergus actually beat us here, if you can believe it. Howe's men saw him coming and fled the city, which may have saved much of it. Fergus was unable to catch most of them, but his knights captured their baggage train and a few companies of mercenaries got overly greedy. Ser Gilmore lives, and held the castle," her father said.
"Thank the Maker he was able to organise that defence at all. I think it very likely he may have saved all our lives," she said.
"As do I. After securing Highever, Fergus spent a day or so there getting things in order and calling our other forces, before he sat back off South with the troops we'd originally planned to take to Ostagar. Your mother has taken command of the Terynir for now," her father said. There was more that had happened, she knew. A pyre for Oriana, and for Oren. Her father could not face the words, and she wondered how her brother could've found the strength to march away from Highever once more after that.
"And Howe himself?"
"Fled back to Vigil's Keep. The Queen has given me the use of the Royal siege engines and the Royal Army's reserves here; as well as much of Denerim's uncommitted strength. I will link up with our remaining forces in the North and finish this sordid business."
"I'm sorry I won't be there to help you," Elissa said.
"Your brother will need you far more than me. Rendon Howe's miserable old fortress I can handle without you. Fergus will need your strength, and not just against the darkspawn," her father replied.
"I - I will try," she said as she stood back up.
"I won't delay you for mere sentimentality. But... know I love you, daughter, and I am proud of you. I will leave you with one last piece of advice: do not think yourself disqualified from the Great Game, no matter your magic or the Griffon banner you march under. You remain a Cousland, and that nest of noble vipers down in Ostagar is at least as dangerous as the darkspawn," her father said.
With her father's warning ringing in her ears, Elissa rode out of the Cousland Manor's front courtyard towards the city gates. There Duncan, Daveth, and Kallian waited for her - the latter two looking distinctly uncomfortable on their horses. A few ragged cheers went up amongst the merchants and city folk who were still in the market district at the sight of the Wardens.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, the Wardens left Denerim behind and headed south - bound for the mysterious Dalish, Gwaren, and at last Ostagar and the darkspawn.
Cornuthaum
Be kind to each other.
- Location
- Austria
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Anora Theirin-Mac Tir really said "Rendon Howe, my brother in Andraste, you fucked up the most essential part of Perfidy, namely that you must win. Have fun with the survivors, and ready someone to pour your ashes into an urn."