The Last Warden

Chapter Twenty-Two

"It is called Winter's Kiss. It grows only in the high places and is said to be the favorite of Empress Celene." Leliana had paused beside Sten, following his gaze to the flowers growing along the road. "In Weisshaupt they cultivate entire fields of them."

The Qunari grunted, turning his eyes quickly away. "They are useful, then?"

"Not in the way you mean. But they are quite beautiful, no?" She laughed as she bent to pluck one of the buds from the roadside. "If you like them, perhaps I could braid some into your hair?"

Alistair passed them up, trying to hide a grin as the big man glowered. The walk to Orzammar had been uneventful so far, even the growing cold and the rising of the mountain road doing little to slow them. It should have been disquieting and yet...

He found himself falling into step beside Wynne. Glancing back over her shoulder, she smirked. "You have been avoiding me."

"Me? I... no I haven't. Why would I do that? You're my favoritest mage ever."

Perhaps he had been avoiding her. Just a bit. After a decidedly awkward morning conversation, he and Leliana had agreed that it was best to keep what they had... keep their relationship something of a secret. They had both been able to return to their tents before anyone else was awake, sneaking out again after they made camp that night and... Well, he had certainly seen spending a lot of time in forests and overgrown fields and that one convenient hillock by the lake and...

"And yet you seem to have gone all red and mottled. How cute."

Wynne, though, Wynne had just seemed to know.

"So I suppose you have some sort of motherly advice, then? Some warning about distractions or heartbreak or how we're all just going to die anyway?"

She chuckled. "I was merely going to say that it is nice to see her smiling again."

"Ah. Still feeling guilty, are we?"

Glancing sideways, she saw him smile. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it is only good to know that there is some happiness left in the world."

"Oh, come on. I've seen the looks. I know you want to say something."

"Now that you mention it, this might be a good time to tell you where babies come from."

"Maker's breath! I know where babies come from!"

Wynne laughed, shaking her head as a hand clapped Alistair on the back. Zevran caught him as he stumbled in surprise, throwing a companionable arm round his shoulders.

"Congratulations, my friend! I had almost begun to doubt that you... ahh, well. Never mind that now." He grinned. "You know, I have some herbs from home should you find yourself in need of increased—"

"—Whoa. Okay. We aren't actually talking about this, are we?"

"If you prefer, I could speak with Leliana."

"She wouldn't... wait. Would she?"

Zevran chuckled at his panicked expression.

Alistair sighed. "Does everyone know, then?"

"That you are an insufferable child?" Morrigan had stopped in the path ahead, turning to watch them with a withering glare.

"Ahh. See, my friend? I, too, have often been called insufferable. Usually right before I ended up in bed with someone." Zevran looked between them with a wicked smirk.

"Not helping."

Morrigan turned on her heel, stalking away up the path.

"Tsk. Such jealousy. Perhaps I should comfort her, yes?" He hurried after her before Alistair could protest.

Looking to Wynne, Alistair rubbed a hand behind his neck, realized how stiffly he'd been standing. "You don't think she's actually...? I mean, why would she...?"

"I don't know, Alistair." Her eyes narrowed as she watched Morrigan lengthen her stride to keep ahead of Zevran. "But I would not take her lightly."

"Great."

* * *

"Veata."

Alistair shielded his eyes, leaning back to follow the rise of the looming mountain doors. He almost didn't see the dwarf glaring up at him, the other guards stiffening at his back.

"Oh. Um... hello." Why did such a little people need such big doors anyway? "I... I have need to speak with your king."

"Another human messenger?" The dwarf scowled. "Like I told the last one: Orzammar is sealed."

"Sealed? Why?"

He sighed. "King Endrin Aeducan has returned to the Stone. Until the Assembly sorts out the matter of succession, we've enough problems of our own. You can go back and tell Loghain that we don't bow to him or any surfacer lord."

"Good."

He snorted. "You're not one of his, then?"

Fishing in his packs, Alistair retrieved the treaty, handing it over for the guard's inspection. "I am Alistair of the Grey Wardens. This treaty compels Orzammar to aid us during a Blight."

The dwarf's eyes snapped up, flickering shadowed. "A Blight then. They said the Deeps had gone quiet." He shook his head, stepping aside to usher him through. "This is the royal seal. Only the Assembly can help you."

Glancing over his shoulder, Alistair nodded to the others.

The guard, though, held up a hand. "You're all Grey Wardens?"

"No... just me."

"Then I can't let them in. Just you."

"But they travel with me."

"Look, we've got enough problems of our own. We don't need a whole crowd of surfacers stirring things— By the Stone! Is that a golem?"

Shale had moved up the ramp to the doors, scowling down at the dwarf. Alistair was suddenly aware of just how many eyes were on them.

After a long moment, the guardsman shook his head. "You can take three."

"Three? Why three?"

He shrugged.

"But that-that's completely arbitrary!"

"Or you could go in alone. It's your choice, Warden."

Shale followed as he stomped back down the ramp. Everyone began speaking at once, but Alistair cut them off.

"Leliana."

"Yes." She moved to stand beside him.

"Zevran?"

"If it is all the same to you, my friend, I would rather not spend my final days buried in some stinking tunnel."

"Fine. Sten?"

"No."

"I haven't even asked a question yet. Or is that just a 'no' on general principle?"

He almost smirked. "My injuries have healed. I swore to fight at your side, not stay behind and mind your dolls."

"I..." Alistair leaned close, voice dropping to a whispered hiss. "They're not dolls. Figurines. Action figurines. And... well, they're coming in with me." He patted his pack.

Sten quirked a brow.

"Fine, fine. Yes, you can come. Shale?"

"I am to stand here, am I? A statue to be gawked at by passerby?" They were staring still. One dwarf had skidded to a stop, tripping over himself in his haste to get away as the golem growled.

"Will you behave?"

It snorted.

He looked to Wynne with a sigh. "Do you mind?"

"Perhaps I could use a rest. We will make camp nearby, should you need us."

Zevran slipped an arm though hers, steering her toward the clustered merchant stalls. "There could be worse fates, yes? Come, let us see if we can find you something more suited to this dreadful weather. I am thinking fur, something to accentuate your—"

She glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. "—Do not tarry, Alistair. If you do, I cannot be held responsible."

The elf chuckled. "You know, I have always wondered what it is like to be a toad. Particularly when it comes to..."

They passed mercifully out of earshot, leaving only Morrigan.

"And I?"

"What about you?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You will need my assistance."

"Oh, I doubt that. And sorry, all full up. You heard what the dwarf said."

The glare flickered to Leliana.

"Or how about this? I don't want your help. In fact, I'm looking forward to having an entire mountain between us. And if you happen to – I don't know – wander off into a blizzard while we're gone... well, that would be immensely helpful."

She seemed to hesitate, lips pursing before turning and stalking off into the snow.

"Alistair..." Leliana lay a hand on his arm, but he was already making his way up the ramp. Once they passed the guards, her grip tightened forcing him to stop. "Alistair."

They stood in a long and high-ceilinged hall, the path lined with wide and imposing statues. Fascinating, really. Well, perhaps not as fascinating as he suddenly pretended they were...

"You are cruel to her."

"Yeah... well, she deserves it."

She folded her arms. "Sometimes that may be true, but you do not even give her a chance. She is trying to help, in her way."

"And that doesn't seem suspicious to you?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why are you defending her anyway?"

"Trust me, I am not. But it has been worse since the Dalish. What happened?"

"Nothing happened!"

Sten and Shale were watching them, some of the dwarves standing before the statues turning to gawk.

Flushing, he bent to Leliana's ear. "The... shapeshifting thing. I... saw it."

She pulled back to look at him, smirk twisting bemused.

"Oh, yes. The Swamp Witch does seem rather fond of losing her clothing." Shale loomed behind them now. "It feared that more than the darkspawn, I think. Oh, how It cowered!"

Leliana laughed.

"A sensible disdain for the fleshy bits, I thought. But then It simply stared. Disgusting."

Something flickered behind Leliana's eyes.

"Shale! Just... give us a moment?"

With a shrug, the golem stomped away.

"I..."

"It is... understandable. Morrigan is a beautiful woman."

"I didn't... I mean, she saved me and then fell on top of me and did the shifting thing and I..."

She quirked a brow at that.

Alistair pinched shut his eyes. It couldn't get any worse... and Maker only knew if Shale would... "She... she kissed me."

The silence stretched long. "She kissed you? While laying naked on top of you?"

"No! No, this was... before..." He winced, opening an eye slowly.

"And what did you do?" The whisper was flat, her expression unreadable.

"Maker's breath! I didn't enjoy it. And I slapped her... well, I had slapped her. But I guess that's—"

"—You should not have hit her." She turned without another word, stalking away up the hall.

Alistair gaped after her, shaking himself as Sten appeared beside him. "That was unnecessary."

"What? I should have lied? Isn't that against your Qun or something?"

"There is a difference between lying and volunteering more than is required."

"Is that why you don't talk?" Alistair looked sideways at him. "And what would you know about it anyway? I can't picture you in a romance. With anyone."

Sten sighed.

Another set of doors loomed before them, opening onto the city proper. Alistair found his eyes roaming upward, the levels of stone-carved walkways ringing a great and glowing pit. So high it stretched, the entire mountain seeming hollow.

"...kinslaying traitor!"

"It is Harrowmont who is the traitor!"

A dwarf dashed in front of them, falling to his knees as another plunged his sword between his shoulder blades. Alistair stumbled back. The square before them was crowded, the dwarves all armed and heavily armored, seemingly fighting amongst each other. There were guards here too, but they seemed to be having little effect.

"These are my makers, then?" Shale snorted. "Charming."

One of the dwarves swept the legs from beneath another, swinging his maul to bring it down on his head in a crushing blow. The golem gave a surprised rumble of approval.

"What is going on here?"

The nearest guardsman turned, sparing them a distracted glance. "Great. Surfacers."

"I'm Alistair of the Grey Wardens. I have a treaty obliging—"

The guard spun, ducking beneath the sweep of a mace, gasping as a dagger pierced his belly instead.

"Oh yes. Let us just walk in and ask the dwarves for help. It's plans have always gone so well before. I am sure It has nothing to fear."

Alistair glared up at the golem as he drew his sword. But Shale was already moving, striding into the middle of the crowd to unleash a bellowing roar.

The dwarves stopped as one, blinking up in stunned silence. Only the guards seemed to recover, turning swift blows to knees and bellies as they herded to others away. "Go on, go!"

Alistair goggled. "You're not going to arrest them?"

The guard's eyes narrowed as he looked up at him. "Might as well arrest the whole city then. Bloody fanatics everywhere. You have my thanks for the interruption, surfacer, but this isn't exactly the best time to be visiting Orzammar."

"Why? What's going on?"

He sighed exasperated. "King Endrin has returned to the Stone, sick over the loss of two of his sons. The third, Bhelen, has laid claim to the throne, but some say that Endrin named Lord Harrowmont his successor. And until the Assembly breaks their deadlock and chooses one of them..." He gestured round as his men began dragging the bodies away.

"So this is dwarven politics?"

"At their finest. Though it's not much different on the surface, what I hear."

Alistair sighed. "But there are more important things. I have a treaty obliging Orzammar to assist against the Blight."

"A Blight. You're a Warden, then?"

He nodded.

"You might try the Assembly, though they don't have the authority that a king does. And I guarantee you we can't spare the troops until this gets settled."

"So what? We just have to wait? We don't have that kind of time!"

The guard shrugged. "Bhelen and Harrowmont are where the power lies. Whichever way it goes, you might do better talking to them."

"Right. You're sure the Assembly can't help?

"My mam's second cousin's husband is a deshyr." He leaned close, lowering his voice. "Trust me; they're all useless."

"So... this Bhelen is the king's son? That should make him king, right?"

The guard shrugged.

"Where can I find him?"

"You'll usually find his man Vartag somewhere near the Assembly chamber."

Alistair turned with a nod of thanks.

"And Warden? Whatever you can do to end this quickly, I suggest you do it."

They found their way easily enough, those they passed giving them a wide berth despite the whispers and wondering glares. Word must have spread, for soon not even the guards questioned them. He had always heard that Wardens were well-respected in Orzammar, but most of the outright gawking was directed at Shale. Still, it kept things quiet.

"You know, you are pretty useful to have around."

The golem snorted. "No doubt."

Pushing through the Assembly doors, they were immediately greeted by a broad and sneering man. "Warden. Vartag Gavorn. I represent Lord Bhelen."

"How did you know who I was?"

He smirked, looking pointedly at the others.

"Oh. Right."

"And you've got a golem. With an army of those, there's no telling what we could do."

Shale growled.

"I need Orzammar's help against the Blight. I'm told Lord Bhelen is the one to speak with."

Vartag nodded. "And Lord Bhelen would love to help you. But you'll understand that this is a delicate matter. Harrowmont has already sent assassins. How do I know what I can trust you?"

"Maker's breath! I don't care who's king! The Blight is what's important!"

The dwarf's eyes narrowed. "I'm afraid that's not enough to prove your loyalty."

"Prove my...? Fine. What do I have to do?"

"Just an errand. If you could just—"

"—An errand?" A thought occurred to him. "What about a gift?"

Vartag arched a doubtful brow. "It would have to be a bloody good gift."

"Like a golem?"

He grinned, eyes gleaming now. "Yeh? Well now, I think that just might do it."

* * *

"I will crush It. I swear that I will squish It's head between my hands and laugh as It fountains blood."

"And yet you haven't." Leaning close, Alistair lowered his voice, casting a wary eye toward Vartag as he led them through the palace. "Because you know I can't actually give you away. And I don't intend to."

Shale snorted. "It has a plan, then?"

"Not... well, not exactly. But we'll meet this Bhelen and then..."

It growled.

"See? Like I said, you're useful."

"I will remember this day when the birds come."

But as soon as they had entered the palace, Alistair had felt it again. It tingled still along his spine, the vague sense that he had been here before, that this was where he was supposed to be. This was the right choice. It had to be.

Vartag paused before a thick-carved door, ushering them inside. Crossing the threshold, Alistair stopped dead. The dwarf looked up from his desk, fixing them beneath a familiar smile.

"Alistair." Leliana had not spoken to him since the entry hall, but she stared up at him now with open concern. He felt her fingers curl over his, realized that his hand had gone to his sword. Slowly, he let her pull his hand away.

But Bhelen had noticed too, coming quick to his feet. "Listen to your woman, Warden. You beg an audience and then draw on me in my own house?"

"No, I... I didn't mean." His stomach twisted, the need to retch suddenly overwhelming. "Do I... know you from somewhere?"

"We all look alike to you, do we?" The dwarf snorted. "No matter, it's the same with you surfacers. But Vartag tells me you're in need of an army. Unfortunately, so long as the usurper Harrowmount continues to make his ridiculous claims, I don't have the authority to grant it to you."

Alistair swallowed hard. "What would it take?"

"Me on the throne."

"You... king...?"

"As I should be. I am an Aeducan, the king's only living son. So you support me and I support you. Do we have a deal, Warden?"

One by one their eyes turned to him, waiting for him to speak. Alistair took a step back. "No. No... we don't."

"What?"

"I-I'm sorry, I..." His fists balled at his sides, nails digging into his palms. "I have to..." Whirling, he pushed his way through the door.

Maker, what was wrong with him? He didn't see the dwarf, the woman gasping as he crashed into her. And yet that glare was familiar, so familiar. The dwaven girl from the Fade.

He had been expecting it, really, ever since the forest. There had been two dwarves in his dream; it only made sense that he would see them here...

"What are you staring at?" She pulled away. He hadn't even realized that he had grabbed her arm.

"Alistair? What are you doing? Who is that woman?" Leliana and the others stood behind him, blinking in surprise.

"I... you can see her?"

The dwarf shook him off.

"Yes, I can see her."

Looking again, he saw the fear behind the woman's eyes. The features were softer, he realized, the hair red instead of brown, the brand on her cheek different than the one he had seen. But her face was the same, he would swear it. With a final, parting glare she ran off.

"Alistair." Leliana lay a hand on his arm. "Who was that?"

"I have no idea."