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Tainted Dreams	By : wyldehart Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 3478 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: All characters and Dragon Age are property of Bioware/EA. I made no money, sadly.

Chapter List
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"Ahhh! Smell that air! Feel that breeze! Isn't Orlais beautiful? Isn't it wonderful? And the people! Ah! But they are fascinating as well, do you not agree?" Ambrose was saying as he shed his cloak and practically danced through a field of waist-high grass. Alistair rolled his eyes and gripped Elissa's hand.

This was as care-free and happy as they had ever seen him and it was better than his dark, brooding alter-ego. However, it was very clear to Elissa and Alistair that he was doing one thing: "You're gloating again. Stop it. Besides, it happened three days ago and you had your gloating time already," Elissa told him under her breath.

He blinked innocently at her. "Mei? Gloat? Nooo! I would never!"

"Yes, we needed your help getting past the border patrol-" Alistair began.

"-because he didn't buy the Grey Warden angle-" Elissa added.

"-and being the king and queen-consort didn't fool him either- Alistair continued.

-but that you would be able to talk you way past that stupid Chevallyer never occurred to us," Elissa finished.

"Che-vally-EY," Ambrose corrected slowly.

"What? It's spelled 'Che-vally-eer'," Elissa teased. He deserved it. Badly.

"Non, non. Chevalier! Do not forget it. The next city is-"

"How were you able to talk to him? He acted like he knew you," Alistair interrupted him softly. Ambrose looked off in the distance, his eyes vacant, even sad. "I do not want to say, Mon ve'erte."

"Come on, Ambrose. The truth. How did you become one of us?" Alistair prodded.

Ambrose sighed and turned to look back at them. On his face was an expression of anguish so bitter that it stung the soul. His long, black hair had come loose from its bindings in the wind, whipping it in tendrils about a face that seemed to have aged considerably in that moment. "I was Chevalier. Once. Many years ago. Does that satisfy? Or do you wish to dredge forth more bad memories, Mon ve'erte?"

Alistair took a step forward, unsure what to say. He looked into the man's sad, blue eyes and tried to fathom what was going on behind them. In his youth, Ambrose might have once been handsome. But now, he looked worn out, thin and weary. The lines on his face seemed deeper, the scars on his soul more clearly etched in white. His tan skin looked sallow and grey. The fact that he preferred armors in shades of black and grey only intensified the sense of wrongness about him. He always seemed to be carrying some terrible burden that he couldn't, or wouldn't shake. If he wasn't careful, it would kill him. "We would… like to believe that we are your friends and we are curious about you. That's all. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

Ambrose's features softened slightly and his full lips turned up in a slight smile. "I am not ready to embrace your kind of friendship where all things are shared. My past is painful. I was not a willing addition to the ranks of the Grey Wardens, you see."

The autumn air, which had been chilly before, seemed to warm a bit at that honest confession from him. His companions cheered inside. "You were conscripted, like I was! I was brought into the Wardens just days away from taking my final vows. I tell you, becoming a devoted warrior for the Maker was not my idea of a happy life. There was literally no way out for me. Duncan came along and pissed off everyone by choosing meover all the Templars he watched that day. If I were Leliana, I'd be tempted to say that the Maker Himself sent Duncan to me. If he hadn't come, hadn't chosen me… It would have been a fate worse than death," Alistair told him softly.

The tall, thin Grey Warden turned around and was hiking up the next hill as he spoke over his shoulder, "Really? Worse than death, you say? There is no fate worse than death save death itself and it was from deaththat I was saved." He crested the hill out of earshot, clearly ending the conversation. He was melancholy again and Alistair believed he had only himself to blame. Elissa hugged him and they walked together, slowly savoring the vista around them.

From the pass' snowy end, they had entered a land in full autumn bloom. There were trees decorated in amber and crimson along the road, which was remarkably well-maintained for its remoteness, but what took the Fereldans' breaths away was the rolling expanse of land that seemed to go on forever. To the north, Ambrose explained, there was more land and the Waking Sea. Elissa sighed wistfully, for she had been raised on its shores and missed it so. It was nice knowing that she might see its waters at least. To the south lay the Dales, a vast open region of land and forest that once belonged to the Dalish Elves. They still lived on it but they did so secretly for fear they might be forced into an Alienage or wiped out by resentful humans. It was a terribly sad way to live. But at least they were free, in their hearts and minds if not their bodies.

The warmer weather of Orlais was a welcome respite from the bitter cold that they endured coming here. It was still chilly and periodically a wind crept into ones armor to make it feel colder than it was but it was at least tolerable. The fur cloaks had gone into their packs for now. Grass, lots of it, swayed along either side of the gravel road. Once in a while, they would pass a farm or homestead. Twice, they even paid for shelter from intermittent fall rains in peoples' animal shelters. One old woman recognized them immediately as Grey Wardens and opened her home to them with deep respect and awe. She couldn't understand a word of Fereldan but when the whiskey flowed, she understood every smile and gesture of affection they offered. Her visitors were gone the next day by dawn and when she awoke, she was shocked to find that on her kitchen table lay a small fortune in sovereigns. Even though that whisky had given Elissa's companions each massive headaches, the company had been worth every stomach-relieving retch and every agonizing pound within their skulls.

One change that had occurred was to their companion. He seemed both at ease and on edge at the same time. He was happy to be home, that was clear. But he seemed reluctant to press forward even though he urged them on. Sometimes he seemed joyful and carefree and other times, he was distant and brooding. It was frustrating to determine which was which but they managed to deal with him whatever his mood. Once, he was so happy he kissed Elissa's cheek and danced with her in a wide, golden field of chest-high grain. She laughed as Alistair watched closely. He didn't think the man would do anything but he watched nevertheless.

A day after Ambrose's reluctant confession, Alistair ventured another query into his past. "Are the Chevalier anything like the Templars?"

There was a pause and then finally a thoughtful answer. "Non. They are both good fighters but the Templars are full of religious zeal where a Chevalier is ruled by the Empire, though they are largely on their own. There is a command structure. We were given assignments to various posts. But while a Chevalier may take an unwilling woman to bed, a Templar is generally of such moral fabric that he will not. If the Templar is ordered to take the unwilling woman to bed, he may do it if he is truly devout and his Maker orders him to or he may refuse without repercussion. The Chevalier, on the other hand, has no moral recourse and such refusal is punishable. A templar may take a mage's home and lands but a Chevalier may take anyone's home and lands… even if he is simply being cruel. And rape is… entertainment to them. Crossing one is certain death. There is no oversight. They answer only to the Empress or the Emperor, who generally lets them do as they please."

Ambrose watched carefully for their reactions and he was satisfied when he saw horror reflected in their eyes.

They paused at one point to gaze at a scenic vista that lay before them at the crest of a high hill. "You don't seem like the kind of person you're describing. How did you become a Chevalier?" Elissa asked softly.

He shrugged and started down the other side of the hill. "Ah. My childhood... I was sent to be a squire to one as a lad by my father. I don't even remember his name or who he was. Morally, I was not like that at all. It was a great moral conflict for me because I watched my fellows do what they wished when they wished it. Once, they tied a young woman to a post, naked, and took turns on her. When it came to mine, I touched her breast, her shoulder, looked like I was going to do it and I untied her ropes. I sent her on her way, much to the disappointment of my fellows. They began to tease me. They made 'virgin' references to my face. Little did they know that the girl returned me that night at my room in the Inn that I was staying and offered herself to me. I accepted, of course. She was beautiful, after all. She robbed me of my sovereigns before dawn and ran. Normally, such an act would be instant death but she had earned it." He refused to speak more of it after that and for a while, they traveled in silence.

"Silence" was punctuated by many things including child-like races through the tall grass and wheat that lined the roads. Alistair and Elissa found a great deal to occupy one another with as they traveled. They were always talking, laughing about some personal joke or discussing the kingdom. The Bannorn occupied their conversations a great deal as did discussions about what to name the baby. "Duncan" was a popular name and for a girl (though Elissa believed it would be a boy) Leilia seemed to suit. And they teased each other about the possibility of twins. They did try to involve Ambrose as much as possible but he seemed so sullen and subdued most of the time that they left him largely alone.

Late the sixth day out from the pass, they crested another hill. This vista was as stunning as the first but for one difference; on the horizon laid the shattered ruins of an ancient city rather than endless fields of gold and brown. Ambrose pointed. "Those ruins! Do you see? Halamshiral! We are so close to Lydes but rather than continue on, I would like to see the ruins. Do you hear?"

He turned around, prepared to snap at them and frowned as Elissa stood eyes wide, clutching her belly. Alistair, worry in his amber eyes, was there, his arm encircling her. "Mon Ce'aire? Are you all right?" Ambrose asked, suddenly fearful. She grabbed Alistair's hand and lifted the mail and plate armor of her shirt up over her swollen abdomen. She placed his free hand on a spot near the upper left of her belly and closed her eyes. Soon, Alistair's face lost all color and his eyes widened. Tears began to stream from them as he dropped to his knees and held her close. He kissed her belly and ran his hands across its smooth surface.

"My baby… My baby is moving. I felt my baby moving…! I… I cannot go further. We have to camp, Ambrose. This… is too important. I'm sorry. Explore tomorrow. For now, my knees are too weak to carry me and my heart is beating faster than I've ever felt it. My baby moved under my hand and I am… I can't… I…" and he sobbed happily against her. Ambrose blinked at the happy scene before him and closed his eyes. He turned before they could see his own tears, tears of pain that flowed down his bewhiskered cheeks. Grey Wardens cannot have children between them, he had once been told. Clearly, this was not true. Carefully, deliberately, he set up the camp around them, allowing them to embrace one-another in their special moment. He remembered a time, once, when his own wife did the same thing with his hand and the awe he had felt. It was the least he could do.

When dawn came, he was eager to descend the hill and make for the ruins, which were at least an hour away at their pace. He rushed breakfast, he rushed packing, and he all but shoved them down the road toward the ancient elven city. About half-way there, Alistair called a halt. "Okay, Ambrose, enough! We were specifically warned away from that place and now you want to just go dancing in like it's some great southern tourist attraction where we're guests eager to be entertained? Is there something there you need or can it wait for, oh, a safer place to explore? You know, the kind of place that won't turn us all into pin-cushions if we piss off the Dalish who might be lurking there?"

The tall, thin Grey Warden actually seemed to shift from foot to foot. He looked down at the ground, at the distant city and avoided Alistair's piercing golden gaze completely. "I have my reasons…" he muttered stubbornly.

These days, Elissa seemed softer than the men ever remembered her being and she only reinforced it as she approached him and gently touched his face with her fingers. Alistair bristled but kept his mouth shut. She had a way about her, a way that would serve her as a mother and a queen in years to come. Her methods of persuasion were unmatched as she asked him the simplest of questions, "…and those are?" Her efforts paid off as they always did. Even Alistair could not resist her charms and they had been married for four years, together more than five. He sighed.

"I… I am descended from elves, I was once told. A woman whose line gave my Grandmother the ser-name of '**Meriszan' is said to have lived here and I want confirmation of this. I have an amulet bearing what I assume was her symbol and if I find it repeated, I will know the truth. At least, I hope I will."

Alistair looked at Elissa and she shrugged. It was all on him. Great. "Why couldn't you do it before? While you were, I don't know, living here your whole life?" he asked irritably.

The way Ambrose gazed over his shoulder at the distant city was not unlike the way a thirsty man looks at a distant lake. Alistair was trying to be firm but his resolve was swiftly eroding. "I have not had the chance. I was raised more north of here and as a Grey Warden, I have been stationed closer to Val Royeaux than anywhere else near here. Duty, as it were, has kept me at bay. When I have had the chances, they have been ruined by circumstance or poor preparation. Also, I did not dare attempt it alone. I have… too few friends I would trust my back to." It was a bitter acknowledgment and it humbled his two companions.

This time, Elissa gave Alistair the sign he desired from her. He was startled to see her teal eyes well up with tears and her quick, short nod of approval. He rolled his eyes and wiped his face with his hand. "Damn. Fine. Fine. We will explore the ruin but don't you dare touch anything or it won't just be the elves you'll have to worry about!" The hug was eager and unexpected; it about knocked Alistair off his feet. He was also unprepared for the kiss Ambrose planted on Elissa's full lips. "AH! Hello! That's my wife you just kissed there!" Elissa, for her part, seemed equally surprised and happily dazed as Ambrose practically danced around them. He started up the road and left his companions to take up the slack behind.

Alistair looked at Elissa and she smiled in return. "Yes?" she asked.

"He kissed you…" he said.

"Yes. That does appear to be what he did. I think, anyway," she replied tartly.

"I should kick his ass for that."

"Hmm. 'Twould be a waste of a nice ass if you ask me. Just saying. A boot-print, let alone the scar I left him, would surely be amusing but highly unattractive. You really should be more forgiving, Alistair. He did it on the spur of the moment and it's not as if he wants to be more than friends with me anyway. There is no reason in the world to be jealous of the man!" She kissed him on the lips and held his hand firmly in hers. "Besides… You are the only man who has my heart and even though I have shared my body with another man and a woman to boot, I will never share my heart with anyone but you."

Startled by her naiveté and her reasoning for it, Alistair found himself questioning his jealousy himself. Even if Ambrose were to try something, as long as he still had Elissa's love, what did it matter who she gave her body to? It's not as if he owned her, after all. It was something to ponder and thinking on it relaxed him greatly as they continued on into the long abandoned city.

Where Ambrose had gone, they did not know as they explored the ruins. While they looked at the ancient symbols etched into the ancient stone and scuffed out by humans, Alistair gave Elissa a rough history lesson on what they gazed upon. "The elves," Alistair told her, "called this place Halamshiral: 'The End of the journey'. It was given to them, as part of the Dales south of here, as a reward for aiding Thedas against the Imperium during Andraste's rebellion. It was named because it was founded at the end of what they called, 'The Long Walk'. Many died during the Walk. But once established, Halamshiral floursished and the elves regained much of their former glory. But in time, the Chantry saw only a massive number of souls that needed Saving but they kept getting rebuked every time they tried to Save their pagan souls. When they couldn'tSave them, they tried their level best to destroy them and pretty well succeeded. The city was razed and every symbol of the elves' former glory erased from the stone or burned or demolished from the city and the memories of those who had once called it home. And people wonder why I resented the Chantry so much. 'If it at first you don't succeed, destroy all evidence they existed' seems to be thier motto. It really makes me mad. It goes for pretty much anyone who doesn't believe in the Maker."

Elissa was impressed as she looked up at her husband. "I was unaware that you were so familiar with the history of the Elves. I am duly impressed."

He winked down at her. "I once told you I studied history, my love. The history of Chantry-oppressed peoples was one of my favorite things to read about and part of the reason I am-" he was cut off by shouting. Angry words commanded someone to stop and put down the "implement" or he would be killed.

"I am warning you, Shemlan! Drop the weapon and cease what you are doing or I will fire my bow!"

A voice rich with strongly accented Orlesian replied, "I meant no harm! I am only seeking answers! I beg of you, allow me to continue. Please!"

Alistair cursed Ambrose's name under his breath as he drew his sword and approached the place where Ambrose crouched, a wax "weapon" in one hand and a sheet of clean parchment in the other, a partial rubbing visible in red on its surface. "Leave him be," Alistair snarled.

Suddenly, about twenty individual bows complete with its own deadly sharp arrow appeared. Each pointed tip was aimed at the royal couple, a few still pointing at Ambrose. They were surrounded by Dalish elves, each determined to inflict fear if not pain on those they aimed at. Alistair glanced sharply at Ambrose, who struggled to appear innocent. "You just had to touch something, didn't you? Idiot! Great. I always wanted to find out how far they can shoot their bows. I guess we'll get to find out, all up close and personal." Indeed, it was apparent that they were surrounded by many of the sharp barbs.

"Prepare to die, Shemlen…" the assumed leader snarled as he drew back his arrow.

To be continued….
- 16
- 17
- 18
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Tainted Dreams