The Last Warden

Chapter Three

Never had he been so glad to see a sunrise. Alistair sank heavy against the Chantry steps, letting the sword slip from his fingers. Still the sky was hazy, the rain threatening, but the light there was unmistakable. The creatures had turned from it, disappearing back into the hills, not routed so much as outlasted. He supposed they should be grateful.

But what of the cost? So few there had been and now there were fewer still. Already the men were dragging their fallen comrades round the side of the Chantry, giving them over to the pyre lest they risk facing them tonight. Already the heat rose prickling, already he had to turn his face from the stench.

Teagan sat beside him. Bloodied and exhausted, he still seemed tense, restless, leaning forward to rest elbows on his knees. "Where is your hound?"

Alistair let his head sink between his shoulders. "It's... not mine."

"But you recognized it, I'm sure."

It had appeared on the hills above, the howl numbing, paralyzing, a terror unlike anything he had ever heard. But their enemies had felt it too. The mabari had torn through them easily, apparently as eager for rotted flesh as for darkspawn blood. Larger than he remembered, its coat was thick and slick and standing on end, but he was sure it was the same. It, too, had disappeared with the coming of the sun.

He nodded. "It was at Ostagar."

"Let us be thankful for small blessings, then." His gaze turned again to the town, straying to the castle above.

Alistair, though, looked again to the pyre, to the wounded being carried up the steps. Leliana had accompanied the sisters into the Chantry. "To pray with them," she had said. Funny, after last night he had almost forgotten that she was almost one of them. Even Morrigan had gone amongst the wounded, doing what she could with herbs and poultices. Her skill at healing was meager at best, but already she had gathered ingredients, brewed a hasty batch of salves. She worked without a word, scowling silent and refusing to meet his eyes. Small blessings indeed.

She came to stand before them now, gaze hardening. Bending, she slipped forceful fingers beneath Teagan's chin, tilting his head upward. "I could attempt to heal it if you wish."

He grabbed her wrist gently, coming to his feet. "You have my thanks, but it's not necessary." He smiled, laying a kiss upon the back of her hand. "And I think it should look quite dashing once it heals."

Morrigan sniffed. "Or perhaps you just don't want an apostate laying hands on you."

Letting her hand fall, Teagan winked. He turned to Alistair then, stiffening as he again glanced cross the lake. "Do your people require more time to rest? Or shall we go now?"

"To the castle?"

He nodded. "Let us end this today."

* * *

The windmill perched high on the hills above the town, the other buildings seeming suddenly so small below. Here, though, here the castle loomed quiet and ominous, just across the gorge. Whatever waited there could take them easily if they attempted to cross the bridge.

Leliana had come to stand beside him, slipping close, too close to the edge. "Hey." He lay a steadying hand on her arm.

She blinked, eyes turning slowly to meet his.

"You're thinking of your dream again?"

She nodded. "It seems I always am, even when I'm awake."

"Trust me, I know the feeling." He followed her gaze to the hill below, to the inn still smoking there. There hadn't been time to quench the flames during the fighting, no time yet to search the wreckage from anyone who might have been holed up inside.

"It just feels... wrong somehow."

Alistair turned, not bothering to hide his surprise. "It does." Slipping his arm through hers, he stepped back from the edge. "But just... don't go jumping off of anything when you're awake, okay? Might need you yet."

There was something soft behind her smirk.

Morrigan, though, stepped round, peering fearlessly over the edge with a snort. Folding her arms, she whirled back to Teagan. "So this secret passage of yours... It seems awfully convenient, does it not?"

He sighed. "I did not tell you because I thought you would take the assault to the castle and I could not abandon the town. But you are right. We need to get to Eamon. We need to—"

"—Teagan!"

Alistair felt his eyes pinch shut. He had not heard that voice in years.

"Oh!" She gasped. "Oh Maker! Teagan!" Hesitant fingers fluttered at his cheek, trembling tears warring with revulsion as she pursed her lips. Lady Isolde. The Arl's wife.

"Isolde." He smiled down at her, sighing as she turned away from the puckering scar.

"Um... Lady Isolde? Hi. Nice to, erm... see you again."

She whirled, eyes narrowing. "Alistair? What are you doing here?"

Teagan lay a hand on her arm. "He's a Grey Warden, Isolde. He and his friends... they are here to help. But where is Eamon? Connor? How did you get out?"

"Connor! Oh Maker, Connor!" She fell against him, still refusing to meet his eye. "Teagan! You must come!"

Behind them, Sten grunted. "This is not helpful."

"She comes from the castle; it stands to reason that she is as cursed as the others. Perhaps we should kill her."

Alistair turned to Morrigan with a sigh. "We're not killing her."

Isolde straightened as he stepped forward, that old glare seeming to give her strength.

"Lady Isolde? What is going on? Where's Eamon? Maybe... maybe we can help."

She shook her head. "Teagan. I need to bring Teagan. Only Teagan. That's why... that's why it let me go."

Teagan blinked at that, laying a hand on her arm. "Then I will come."

"But isn't that...?"

"A trap?" He quirked a brow. "Perhaps. But then I will be caught in it, not you. Here. Take my ring, follow the tunnels as we discussed. I do not promise that it will be easy, but with any luck I will see you there."

Dropping the signet ring into Alistair's hand, he turned and followed Isolde toward the bridge.

"Great."