The Last Warden

Chapter Twenty-Nine

"So if the alienage is quarantined, why is the gate up?" Alistair paused, blinking up at the thick iron spikes suspended in the wall above. When last they had passed through this side of the market, the way had been barred, the guard on duty less than polite. The only elves they had seen were either dead or very, very drunk. He sighed at the memory, eyes straying higher. Mercifully, the hanging man had been taken down, the crows long since moved away to richer bones. Nothing stirred here now.

"Maybe they all up an' died. And none too soon, Maker preserve us." He hadn't seen the old woman passing behind them. Hitching her cloak closer around her, she spat on the ground. "I'd go no closer, I were you."

"So no one comes out?"

Her laugh was little more than a rasping cough. "Why would they? Blighted they are, wherever they go. They's lucky those Tevinters show half the pity they do, but I never heard a kind word about a Tevinter, me. Leave 'em to each other, I says; they's only elves."

Alistair moved instinctively, putting himself between Zevran and the woman as the elf took a step forward. "I thought you didn't care."

He chuckled beneath his breath, watching as she turned and stalked away.

"She may well be correct, at least in her assessment of these Tevinter healers." Wynne shook her head. "Charity is unlike them."

"Right." Alistair turned for the gate. It opened onto a long, stone bridge, the barrier stretching in distance if not in bars. "What with the conquering of the world and all that."

"And I would not expect Loghain to tolerate such a presence, even in the name of mercy."

"Unless he were to benefit from it directly. And if these elves are truly as troublesome as they say, why offer them healing at all?" Morrigan moved past them with a sniff, starting across the bridge.

"Wow. Wow. You really are just a bad person."

She paused to look back at him. "I suppose I should not be surprised that you would seek to lay all the world's ills at my feet. 'Tis a wonder you have time to consider anything beyond your navel with the way that you have been pouting."

"Upset 'cause I'm ignoring you?" He forced himself to meet her eyes, willing himself not to see the dream again, not to see her...

"Most men would leap at the opportunity you have before you. But I am to blame for neither your kingship nor your impending nuptials."

"My—" Wynne and Zevran certainly seemed to be taking their time catching up. Glancing over his shoulder he pushed past her, voice dropping to a hiss. "I am not—"

"—Then you plan to kill her? You seem to have no other choice."

He gaped. Morrigan was watching him, weighing, her lips twisting almost imperceptibly. "Maker's breath, you're jealous!"

Something flickered behind her scowl. As he turned away, her hand closed round his wrist. So surprising that warmth, her nails scratching, pressing... Again those fingers were wrapping round, the world seeming to spin, to place her again below him, pulling him down...

Alistair jerked his arm away. "Just... shut up. Just go back to Eamon's. Leave me alone!"

"You need me."

"No, I really don't." He whirled, glaring back at Zevran and Wynne, wincing at the smirk passing between them. "Are you coming? We haven't got all day!"

Still they saw no sign of life as the sagging buildings rose ahead. The inner gate was open, old and wooden as the homes clustered to either side. He should have felt pity, shock at the state of it but there was only wonder, surprise at the loosening of his shoulders, a bemused shame that he did not turn away in disgust.

Home. The feeling was calming – alien, of course – but it was better than the alternative. Even when Morrigan stopped beside him, Alistair found himself breathing deep.

"Charming."

"Shut up."

The stones fell away beneath their feet, the road turning to packed earth, puddled by the recent rains. Doors were shut and windows boarded but there were voices round the corner ahead, the hushed murmur of a large crowd.

"Spare a coin?" He hadn't seen the elf huddled beside the path. Burying a cough behind his hand, he blinked up at them through lank and filthy hair.

"Oh. Oh, sure." Alistair dug a hand into his belt, but Morrigan grabbed his arm.

"Don't touch me!"

"If we stopped to give handouts to every miserable wretch that we passed—"

"—Right, right, you're heartless. We know."

Her lips pursed as she shook her head. "You do him no favors."

"She is right, my friend." Zevran folded his arms. "He will only take what you give him and ask for more."

"You, you don't want me to help them? I mean, not at all?"

"I did not say that."

"I don't... I just..." Alistair sighed, flicking the man a sovereign.

"Good boy." Wynne, at least, smiled for him, crouching beside the elf. He squirmed at her touch but after a moment she straightened, wiping her hands on her robes. "He could do with a meal and most certainly a bath, but I sense no sign of this plague."

"That's because there isn't one." A familiar boy straightened from beneath a faded awning, moving to stand in the path.

"Oh. Hi... Soris, right?"

He scowled. "I thought it was you, but I-I didn't... What are you doing here?"

"I told you. We're here to help."

He shook his head. "Humans don't come here unless they want something."

"Right. That again."

Behind him, Morrigan sniffed. "We seek to uncover what it is that Loghain is doing so that we might use it against him."

"Oh." The boy's eyes narrowed.

Alistair looked between them with an exasperated sigh. "And to help you." He ran a hand through his hair. "But... why do you say there's no plague?"

Still he glared doubtfully, but after a moment Soris shook his head. "We have sickness, sure. There's always been sickness in the alienage. They say it didn't seem any different before."


"Before?"

"Before the Tevinters came." He sighed. "I was already... where you found me when it happened, when Howe took over. When they brought him – Vaughan – I thought he was only getting what he deserved. But he talked to me. He told me that we would have it worse, much, much worse. That even if they killed him he would die knowing that soon there wouldn't be an elf left in Denerim."

"But it's not a plague?"

"Not if you ask my sister. She'd chase the mages out herself if she could, says it doesn't make sense. But every time someone speaks up they disappear. We can't do anything. But you could... talk to her, I guess."

"Where is she?"

Soris nodded toward the crowd ahead. "She'll be the loudest one." He snorted. "The biggest one too."

Alistair didn't know what he had meant; only the Tevinter men stood out amongst the crowd, armored soldiers as well as mages. They seemed to be guarding a long and low building, one of them shoving aside an elf with the butt of his staff.

"Be patient. We are here to help you."

"Oh yeah? Then where are they? Let us see them!"

A few of the nearby elves cringed, shushing a woman at the back of the crowd. "Hush! You'll get us all killed!"

She turned away, folding her arms with a scowl. Seeing Alistair, she gasped. "You!"

He held up a warding hand, flinching instinctively. "Don't hit me." He should have been surprised to see her again, the girl from the gate who had thrown a bottle at his head, but somehow he found himself smiling.

"What are you—?"

But Alistair's eyes had gone wide, roaming to her expansive belly. Maker's breath, the child must be due any day. "Wow. You're really..."

She hissed, nodding for him to follow as she moved away from the crowd.

"So are you still... you know?" He tilted back his head, miming a long pull from an invisible bottle.

"Not that it's any of your business, shem, but no." The girl would not meet his eyes. "I... stopped. The day that you... that I..."

"Good."

Her head snapped up with a glare. But Soris was at her side now, laying a soothing hand on her arm. "This is him, Shianni. This is the one who—"

"—This is him?"

Alistair shrugged. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

"He says they're here to help."

"Like that's something we haven't heard before." She scowled over her shoulder at the mages before turning her glare on the others. Zevran grinned, dropping into a flourishing bow. Shianni smirked. "Thank you. For freeing my brother."

"Don't mention it. But you said you were... there before. How did you... I mean, why were...?"

They shared a long look. Finally, Soris sighed. "The man that you killed... he-he brought guards, took..." His eyes strayed to Shianni, saw her lips press thin. "... took my sister and my cousin and my betrothed, some of the other women... We were only trying to rescue them but they killed Nelaros and they had already... already..."

Shianni put a hand on his shoulder, soothing but firm, the glare that she turned to Alistair somehow challenging, as if daring them to speak.

"They took women from the alienage? But why would they...?"

Morrigan sniffed. "You truly are an idiot."

"They took... oh." His eyes went wide, straying to the girl's belly, unable now to look anywhere else. "Oh."

She didn't flinch, didn't turn away, but again her eyes flashed defensive. "I did everything I could to root it out. You saw. But it just wouldn't..."

Wynne smiled. "Perhaps it is the Maker's way of—"

"—Don't. Just don't."

"Why should the child be blamed for its paternity?" It was Morrigan who spoke, ignoring Alistair's surprised glance. "Its potential is not limited by a passing bit of blood."

"It will be human."

"And as such will have more opportunity than you. Surely you see this. It need carry nothing of its father unless you will it so."

Shianni's eyes narrowed, her chin rising almost imperceptibly.

They were studying each other, Alistair realized. After a moment, he chuckled nervously. "You never knew your daddy, huh? He never bought you that pony?"

"—I assume that one was necessary for my creation, yes. But if it was so, Mother never spoke of it." Morrigan folded her arms. "There are many creatures in the Wilds who devour their mates once the act is complete. Perhaps Flemeth was the same."

"Touching." He scowled, eyes straying back to the crowd. Still the mages and their guards stood before building, but one of them seemed to be watching them now. Touching the arm of the man next to him, he nodded in their direction. "So, these Tevinter—"

"—Arrived shortly after they say Loghain returned to the city." Shianni followed his gaze. "At first I didn't understand why this was different than any other sickness. But they only seem to quarantine the strong, the particularly beautiful... and any who speak against them. Valendrian, my uncle Cyrion."

"Then why haven't they taken you?"

She snorted, gesturing to her belly. "Too much trouble, I guess."

"We need to get into that building. See what they're guarding."

Shianni quirked a brow. "You'd... do that?"

"I said we were here to help."

She looked at him sideways but two of the guards were moving toward them now, one of the mages following slowly behind.

"Oh, no."

"You do sort of stand out."

"That is where we need to go, is it?" Zevran pushed between them, leaning close.

Shianni nodded.

"And you say they take only the strong? The beautiful?"

Alistair blinked. "No. No. Absolutely not."

"Hush, my friend."

"Oh come, on. We both know you're not the type to—"

"—Mmm?" He turned to Shianni with a wink, falling heavy against her arm. As the guards drew closer he slumped, hair falling cross his eyes with a pitiable cough.

Stopping before them the mage scowled, clasping his hands behind his back. "And what is this?"

"I..." Alistair hesitated, hiding his wince as a kick slammed hard against his shin. Zevran nuzzled closer against Shianni's shoulder with a shaking sigh. "I... we... our friend is sick. We-we heard about the plague, thought it might be..."

The man seemed for the moment surprised, glancing back toward his companions. Bending low, he raised Zevran's chin, studying him a moment before letting his head fall. "You made the right choice, though I can say nothing until we have examined him further." He nodded to the guards with a glare for Shianni. "But it may take some time. I would not wait here if I were you. The locals can be decidedly... unpleasant."

She stuck out her tongue, stepping quickly aside as the guards took Zevran between them.

"Wait." The mage's eyes darted to Alistair. Slipping free the blades at Zevran's back, he pushed them into his arms. "Keep these. They will not be necessary."

They turned away without another word. The assassin had not flinched at being disarmed, allowing himself to be led across the square and through the guarded door. Alistair cursed beneath his breath.

"Your friend is very..." Shianni shook her head.

"Yeah, they don't exactly have a word for it."

"I take it you have a plan?"

"Other than barge in and start hitting things? Not really."

Morrigan snorted. "Finally he admits it."

"Shut up. There's – what? – three mages, half a dozen guards?"

"You are assuming there is no one inside, then? Your tactical mastery astounds."

"But we have two mages and a templar. Maybe if we..."

Wynne moved to his other side, shaking her head with a sigh. "It seems we have little choice."

Across the square, one of the mages leapt, spinning to look at the door. Something thumped hard against it, once, twice before it jerked open. A man's face was just visible in the crack – one of the guards – shouting for the others. The view inside was obscured by the crowd but a sudden scream sent the elves scattering.

"Oh, Maker's breath!"

By the time they reached the door it burst wide, sending one of the mages sprawling. The elf in the doorway hesitated, shielding his eyes before giving the man a swift kick in the stomach. More elves were pouring out now, some of them fleeing, some of them turning on the guards.

Alistair drew his blade, taking one of the mages by surprise as Wynne silenced another with a counterspell. Morrigan seemed to be laughing as she thrust her staff at another. What elves had fought beside them didn't stay as the guards fell, running off into the warren of homes without a backward glance.

Ducking through the door, Alistair let his eyes adjust to the dim. More guards had fallen here and there were pallets, yes, but an unhinged inner door revealed cages, crates, something else that he could not quite make out...

"Slavers." Zevran sat with his feet propped on a distant desk, idly flipping through a stack of papers. "With buyers in Tevinter, Antiva, Orlais..."

"How did you—?"

He chuckled, coming slow to his feet. Closing the distance, he plucked his daggers from Alistair's belt. "Did you truly think these were my only weapons?"

"Yeeeah... just don't tell me where you keep the others." He shook his head, looking to the fallen men. "So you knew that that would work?"

"Not precisely."

Alistair shook his head. "I don't understand you. Not at all."

"In that you should count yourself fortunate, my friend."

Wynne had moved across the room, pausing to scowl at the cages. "There is another door here. It seems some of them escaped this way."

Alistair quirked a brow at Zevran. "Missed a few, did you?"

"They cannot have gone far."

"Right. I suppose since we've already started killing them... And thanks for that, by the way. Very subtle."

He dropped into a shallow bow.

The door opened onto a narrow alley that ran behind the building. There were gardens here, small but well-tended, washlines laden with still-drying garments. Alistair paused. There should have been people here. A breeze stirred the clothing, the open door at the end of the alley rocking back to bump against the wall.

"Hello?" He took a hesitant step forward. His boot sunk against something soft, the doll lying discarded in the mud. There were tracks here, the heavy steps of the guards, smaller, scuffling prints.

"Whoever was here left quickly." Wynne nodded to the wash, to the overturned scrubbing pail. "And not without a struggle."

"Their operation was discovered. It would only be reasonable to take what remained of their stock." Morrigan folded her arms. "Or dispose of it."

He didn't bother to scowl at her, not this time. Alistair threw open the door. They were apartments of a sort, if they could even be called that. And there were more tracks here, muddied footprints, food left steaming on untouched tables. Maker help them if Morrigan was right.

The hallways twisted and again they were outside, catching a glance of an armored figure hurrying through a distant door. He didn't have time to wonder where they were, to see still more gardens left empty, the broken planks patching wall and window. Did people truly live this way?

Pausing, Alistair put a hand on the door. There were voices now, hurried shouts. He looked to the others with a silent nod, pushing it aside.

"Stop. Right there." He found himself with an arrow leveled at his throat, the elven woman scowling as she sighted down the shaft.

"I..." There were others in the room, humans drawing their blades. "We-we're here to rescue you."

Throwing back her head, the woman laughed. "Rescue me?" As the color flooded into Alistair's cheeks, her laugh redoubled. But she fell silent then, steadying her aim. "You're here to cause trouble. We were promised no trouble."

"You were—? You're one of them? But you're an elf!"

"So?" Her eyes narrowed, aim suddenly shifting to where Zevran was slipping along the shadowed wall. "I said stop."

He raised his hands with a mocking grin.

Still Alistair was shaking his head. "You're selling your own people into slavery?"

"They are not my people. I am Tevinter and a servant of the Minrathous Circle."

"And you consider yourself an opportunist, yes? You tell yourself that in embracing that which cannot be changed, in profiting from it, you somehow prove yourself their better."

Alistair glanced over his shoulder at Zevran as the bow swung indecisive between them.

"I will shoot you."

"Tsk." He stepped away from the wall, expression unchanging as the woman took a step back. "I should hope you would do so quickly before my friend has a chance to— Ahh, well."

It exploded behind him with a rush of air, knocking Alistair to the ground. Rolling onto his back, he muffled a scream, covering his head with his hands as the insects swarmed and dipped overhead. He was not the only one shouting, the men swinging their blades uselessly at the hundred tiny stingers.

"Morrigan!"

It bowled through two of the guards closest to him, the giant spider leaning low to bury its face in one of their necks. Alistair goggled. A spider and a swarm of-of...

The elven woman let out a shriek, stumbling against him as she jerked open the door and fled into the alley. But the fluttering insects did not give chase, instead seeming to cluster together, shifting and reforming into...

"Wynne?!"

The old mage fell to one knee, looking to the fallen guards with a disbelieving chuckle. It was a moment before Alistair even noticed her nakedness, glancing away as Zevran helped her to her feet. Following the elf's openly appraising gaze, Wynne gave him a chiding slap on the arm. But it was to Morrigan that she turned, shaking her head with a bemused smirk. "You were right, it seems. That was... liberating."

"Do you now agree that there is more to magic than rules and books?"

"The rules are important, child. But I will grant that the Tower should not discount so-called wild magics out of hand. There is much that we might learn from each other."

Morrigan sniffed. Alistair made the mistake of turning round, of seeing her bend to retrieve her robes. He felt his cheeks flame, willed himself to breathe deep, to turn away. Wynne was just slipping her own robes over his head. Maker's breath. Between the two of them, he was better off just shutting his eyes.

"I-I thought you were teaching her healing."

"I am. But a teacher may learn just as much from the student. And I have been waiting for an opportunity to try that one."

"To try...?"

Beside him, he could hear Zevran chuckle. "You can open your eyes now, my friend."

Slowly, suspiciously, Alistair complied. Both women were dressed now, watching him with near identical smirks.

"I thought you two hated each other."

"She is an insufferable, old hag."

"And Morrigan is not to be trusted."

"Right." Alistair shook his head. "Just so we're clear on that."

There were more doors here, leading deeper into... wherever they were now. The voices ahead seemed to have stopped, the whispers hushed and frightened. At the bottom of another set of stairs, they found themselves overlooking a wide and open room. There were cages here, the man striding between them seemingly directing the sorting of the remaining elves.

He paused, not turning round. "You have upset our operation. We were assured that we would be able to trade in peace."

"Peace? You call this peace?"

The man turned round. He was a mage by his dress, a powerful one by his sneer. "It is certainly an improvement over the previous state of things, as I hear it. Denerim does a service to us and we do a service to Denerim."

"And who told you that?"

He smirked. "This, I think you know."

Morrigan shifted. "Selling your excess population into slavery. 'Tis a rather..." She trailed off, eyes straying to Alistair.

He ignored her. "So Loghain... gave you permission to take elves as slaves?"

The mage smiled, patting at something in his pockets. "But I am no fool. It is you that I should be bartering with now, is it not?"

"Bartering?"

"Come, certainly there is something I can offer you." He paced, studying them from beneath lowered brows. "If you were to let me and my associates go... I can provide evidence of your Teryn Loghain's complicity."

"You would... do that?"

"We would take the remaining elves, of course."

"No deal."

He seemed surprised at the harshness of the words. "Something more... personal then? You are a warrior of some renown, it seems. I can offer... augmentation. Power in exchange for my freedom."

"And the elves?"

"A necessary sacrifice. It is their blood that will fuel you."

"Blood magic now?" Folding his arms, Alistair smirked. "Wow. You really don't know who you're talking to, do you?"

"You know, my friend..." Zevran leaned close. "...if he truly does have this evidence of which he speaks, it may be easier to find if—"

"—We search his corpse?" Alistair sighed. "Yeah, I was afraid of that."

The man drew the staff from over his shoulder. "You have made your choice, then?"

"I don't think I really had one." He glanced back at Wynne and Morrigan. "Do you think we could do this with our clothes on this time?"

Wynne smirked. "I can promise nothing."

Leaping the railing to the room's lower levels, Alistair saw the air around the Tevinter mage begin to thicken. It seemed to burst outward from him, the force of it lifting Alistair from his feet. He could feel himself, twisting, contorting, the breath seemingly sucked from his chest in a shower of sparks. Pain, yes, but suddenly he was recalling the dream. This had been nothing, nothing to that.

Gritting his teeth, he twisted his head. A familiar figure shimmered there, just beside the nearest of the cages, looking from him to the bars with an impatient smirk. Suspended still, he cast about for the others, saw only Morrigan.

"Morrigan! The... locks!"

Surprise flickered there for only a moment before she turned away, setting a nearby guard aflame with an offhand gesture. Stopping beside the cage, she channeled a thin stream of cold at the lock before shattering it with a blow from the staff.

Alistair vaguely registered the gasp from the elves inside, the sneer behind her words. "Are you as useless as they say? Are you going to let others win your freedom for you?"

They did not hesitate, disarming the fallen guards and turning on the others. Alistair watched an old man draw a hidden dagger from his belt, leading the others in a ragged charge. He fell, then; he hadn't even see the Tevinter mage stumble.

He knelt now with one of Zevran's boots braced against his back, neck straining as the elf's dagger pressed against his throat.

"You, you then!" The man gasped. "The promised power... and more! One hundred gold, two hundred! Name your price!"

Zevran's eyes narrowed, watching the other elves as his lips twisted. Maker's breath, he was actually considering it, actually—

Before Alistair could take a step forward he jerked backward, blade slicing clean across the mage's throat. He fell heavy, flopping into an already spreading pool of wet. Zevran rolled him over without flinching, making quick work of checking his pockets. There were papers there, documents. Straightening, he tossed them at Alistair's feet.

The old elf was beside them now. "Thank you. I don't know who you are, but thank you." He sighed. "But let us not linger here any longer."