The Last Warden

Chapter Six

Alistair stood gazing up at the thick and towering doors with a rising wave of panic. The journey to the tower had been uneventful, even their arrival marked by only a few curious stares. They hadn't been turned away outright; that should count for something, shouldn't it?

But no one had said stopping the Blight would be easy. And the mages, it seemed, were faring no better than anyone else. Knight-Commander Greagoir had looked almost unsurprised to see them, but there would be no answer to the Warden's treaty. What mages might yet live were sealed in the halls beyond the doors, the templar forces standing guard until the Right of Annulment arrived. Right. Those who might have helped them were going to be... purged.

It would be easy enough to wait. Fighting demons and abominations might have been what he was trained for, but he wasn't a templar, not really. The others could perform the Right, sort it out. But they just didn't have the time. They never did. And Greagoir had promised them support if they could help...

Behind him, Morrigan folded her arms. "Do you not find it strange that all of your supposed allies first require us to perform some gruesome task? Have the Grey Wardens always had such helpless friends, I wonder?"

"I have to agree with our bewitching temptress. Our arrival seems rather... well timed, does it not?"

"Step away, elf."

Zevran chuckled. "Mmm... intriguing."

"Enough." Alistair turned, raising his eyes to Sten. "Do you have something to add? Comment? Complaint?... What are you looking at?"

The Qunari was facing away, staring back across the hall. "These mages have an unnatural preoccupation with women holding bowls."

"Right. Very helpful."

The templar on the door was watching them, expression unreadable behind the narrow slits of his helmet. "Are you ready?"

Alistair sighed. "I certainly hope so."

"The Circle Tower" might not have been the most creative of names, but it was certainly apt. As the doors slammed shut behind them, they found themselves in a gently curving hallway with rooms opening to either side. From what he remembered, the path should curve around, leading to the central stairs that would take them to the tower's upper floors. The trouble had seemed to start with a mage named Uldred and that is where Greagoir suspected he would be. Just with – you know – a possible army of demons and abominations between them.

"Are you unwell, my friend?"

He blinked down at the elf. "I'm fine. Wonderful. Fabulous."

"Ahh, such cynicism does little credit to your charms." Already he was moving away, pushing through a splintered door and into the room beyond. This had been the apprentice quarters, perhaps, the rows of cramped beds empty. Glancing round, Zevran bent and began working the lock on one of the toppled footlockers.

"What are you doing?"

"According to your templars, the mages are all either dead or turned into hideous abominations. I do not think anyone will mind."

"We're not robbing the tower!"

Morrigan had slipped past him, bending to gather a stack of scattered papers from the floor. She ran a thoughtful finger along her chin.

"Is it anything useful at least?"

Shrugging, Zevran tossed aside a rusted amulet. Morrigan shook her head.

"Not particularly. But I do remember that Mother's grimoire was confiscated by the templars. Perhaps it is here. Perhaps we might look for it."

"Yeah, we'll get right on that."

He could still feel her glare as he stepped back into the hallway.

There were other rooms here, other passages, the debris of toppled stone and splintered wood thickening as they pushed on. But still it was empty, still there was no sign of...

The light broke as they rounded the bend, Alistair's arm moving to shield his eyes. It was contained, glaring and pulsating and almost... straining in the passage ahead. He almost didn't see the woman, alone and kneeling on the floor beside them. Old she was, back bent beneath the effort, rumpled robes pooling on the ground beneath her. She certainly didn't look like an abomination...

At their approach, she glanced up, lips pulling into something of a tired smile. Slowly, she came to her feet, offering a nod of thanks as Alistair lent her an arm. But when she stood it was straight, tall, hands moving to tame the strands of hair that had escaped her bun. And the eyes... there was nothing sluggish there. In fact, Alistair found himself stiffening, making quick work of straightening his armor.

The old woman laughed. "You are not templars."

"Not exactly, no."

She arched a brow. "I know you. Alistair, isn't it? You were at Ostagar. Duncan's new recruit."

"I'm sorry... I don't..."

"Oh, I doubt you would remember me." She chuckled. "But what business do Grey Wardens have in the tower? Have you come seeking aid?"

"I... yes, actually. But where is everybody else?"

Her lips drew thin. "So far as I know, I am the only one left. We did what we could. The apprentices, the children... but by the time I sealed the door it was too late."

Alistair's eyes strayed to the pulsating barricade.

"Do not worry; it will hold. I am Wynne, by the way."

"Greagoir... Knight-Commander Greagoir has ordered the Right of Annulment. We should get you out of here."

She nodded. "As I suspected. But I fear there may be others still trapped inside. And Uldred... Uldred must be stopped."

"...Yeah."

"Isn't that why you're here?"

"I... don't know exactly. Greagoir says he will not hold the Right until he speaks with the First Enchanter."

Wynne folded her arms. "Then your path would seem clear wouldn't it?"

Again, he found his eyes roaming. There was another set of doors, at the bottom of a short flight of steps and heavily barred. He felt himself stiffen, but could not say why. "Where does that go?"

Her eyes narrowed, but there was something resigned behind her expression. "Nowhere that concerns you. Now. Do we go or not?"

"We?"

"I will accompany you, of course."

Alistair ran a hand through his hair, meeting her eyes with a sheepish grimace. "Are you sure you're... up to it?"

Her lips pursed into a crooked smirk. "I may be no spring chicken, but there is much to be done."

"Right. Okay."

Turning to the others, he was surprised to find Morrigan already striding back the way they had come. "Where are you going?"

She whirled with a sneer, folding her arms. "You have the help you sought. I see no need to risk myself in another of your fool endeavors. When you are finished playing templar, I shall be waiting cross the lake." She was gone before he could speak.

Wynne was at his side, clucking her tongue beneath a spreading grin.

"What?"

"Oh, just the way you were watching her. One might say that you were... enraptured."

"With Morrigan? Enraged, more like."

"Oh? Find those swaying hips maddening, do you?"

"I wasn't... I didn't... didn't see anything at all really."

"Of course."

With a groan, Alistair turned to the barrier. "I can just tell this is going to be fun."