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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight	By : Serena_Hawke-Theirin Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 13108 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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When darkness began to settle in on the cliffs, Aveline managed to find a small cave that tunneled deep into the walls that the Hawkes’ and their new companions could utilize as a shelter for the evening. In their hurry to escape Lothering, the only one of the family who remembered to pack a bedroll was Gabrielle and only because she had readied her things earlier the day of the attack. Because of her age and delicate nature, the children afforded Leandra the sleep sack while they made due with the thin blankets they had brought along.

They set up their makeshift beds by the light of three glowstones Wesley pulled from his pack. The odd stones radiated an eerie lambency throughout the inside of the grotto as its temporary inhabitants maneuvered around the cave. As they settled in, Carver volunteered to take first watch at the entrance to ensure they wouldn’t be surprised by any darkspawn or wild animals while they slept. It was an offer uncharacteristically brave for the young man, but Gabrielle expected it had more to do with the fact that her brother was more unnerved by the confined space than he let on.

The weather outside was frigid, and it was at least ten degrees colder in the cavern. Although Wintesend had just passed and it was technically spring, the season that brought warmth to other parts of Thedas was more elusive in Ferelden, especially in the southern half. Gabrielle pulled her father’s old wool coat from her pack and wrapped it around her shoulders. It helped, but her teeth still chattered from the dank chill in the air.

More than anything at that moment, the apostate wished for a fire, but she knew it would just smoke them out of the cave. She lit a small flame within her palm to garner at least a semblance of warmth, but a glare from Wesley prompted her to quickly snuff it out. As much as she wanted to defy the templar, she was just too exhausted to argue.

Their evening meal consisted of hardtack and dried pork that Wesley brought along. It tasted like ass and had the consistency of shoe leather. The stuff was difficult to chew and wholly unpalatable, but it was better than nothing and at least eased the hunger pangs in Gabrielle’s stomach. No one said a word as they ate. The tension between the travelers hung thick in the air, and the sounds of howling wolves and roaring darkspawn in the distance only added to the unease. By the time she was halfway through her meal, Gabrielle found she could no longer bear the strained atmosphere.

“So,” she began. “Aveline…you were at Ostagar?”

“Yes. I’m…” The redhead sighed. “I was in the king’s army. My company was on the front lines, part of the first charge. It was a position of honor. I lost a lot of good men out there, but we were holding our own. They were pushing us back, but we continued to fight. When the beacon was lit to signal Loghain’s charge, I thought we were saved. I put everything I had into the battle knowing I needed to wait just a little longer for help to arrive. Then, I heard the horns sound the retreat.”

Her face took on a haunted quality, intensified by the glow of the lyrium etched stones. “When it happened, I looked around me at all the death and destruction and the vast number of enemy that continued to advance. It was then that I knew my men wouldn’t survive the battle, so I did the only thing I knew to do. I ordered them to run…to go home and tell their families of the coming danger. I continued to fight, to try to afford them the chance to get away. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the king fall, and any hope I still had died with him. I ran. Maker help me, I ran like a fucking coward.”

She gazed over at her husband. “The only thought in my head then was Wesley. I had to find him, to warn him.”

“But with everything going on,” the apostate questioned. “How in the void did you find each other?”

“I traveled north toward Redcliffe where he was stationed, but I had to stop to rest. I was at least two days out of Ostagar and hadn’t slept or eaten in that time. I was wounded, exhausted, and the cold was taking its toll. . I even had to shed my armor because it was just too heavy to bear anymore.

“I found a cave to hole up in for a few hours, hoping to at least get a little sleep before I started out again. In all honesty, I began to question whether or not I was going to make it at all. I didn’t have my pack or any supplies on me, just the sword I carried into battle. I nestled down the best I could in the darkness and shivered against the cold. That night was the first time I prayed in a very long time.”

The warrior’s body trembled, but more from recollection than chilled bones it seemed. “While I was propped against the wall of that cave, half frozen, a light appeared and I heard the quiet, whispering voice of a woman. It said, ‘Do not be frightened. I will not harm you.’ Then I saw her…An odd woman, very pale with ebony hair and golden eyes. She wore a long black dress and a heavy black cloak with a hood. A small ball of light floated inches above her head.

“She knelt down next to me and covered me with a blanket, then offered me a piece of hardtack and a canteen of water. She then said, ‘Turn northeast. You will find him there, where the Merchant’s Path meets the cliffs.’ Then she disappeared. Right before my eyes.”

A cold shiver ran up Gabrielle’s spine. The woman in black was an old legend her father told her when she was still a young girl. Most of those tales spoke of a vengeful and malevolent witch who roamed the lands looking for her next victim to torment or use. Malcolm always spoke of the mysterious woman with a hint of bitterness and disdain. He never claimed to have met her personally, but his distaste for the witch was always apparent.

“You met the woman in black?” Leandra asked with bewilderment.

“Maybe,” Aveline shrugged. “I’ve heard the stories. I thought they were bullshit. Tales parents told their children to goad them into behaving. Now,” she paused, appearing as if she was contemplating her next words carefully. “I considered not following her directions. I can’t explain it, but something kept telling me I should.” She chuckled. “Wesley didn’t believe me. He said that it was probably just some apostate using blood magic to mess with my head and make me doubt the Chant.”

“It was, Aveline” the templar piped in.

His words were followed by a fit of coughing and Gabrielle noticed him swipe a trickle of blackened blood from the right corner of his mouth. Wesley looked to be just inches from death. His skin was pale and mottled and his lips held a light blue hue to them. He was also trembling like a leaf caught in a zephyr, but then again, so was she.

Maybe it’s just the cold.

The knot in the apostate’s stomach refuted her musings. In her heart, she knew it was something more. Her father had a similar look the day of his passing. His skin had been just a bit less dappled than the templar’s. Gabrielle had her suspicions as to the man’s illness, but she kept that impression to herself.

“What other explanation could there be?” the templar asked in a hoarse voice when he was finally able to speak again.

Aveline’s shoulders lifted then dropped. “I don’t know. What I do know is, I found you exactly where she told me I would.” The warrior returned her attention to the elder apostate. “Anyway, we followed the Merchant’s Path back toward the Imperial Highway. Around dusk, we spotted them. The bulk of the horde traveling north from Ostagar. That’s when we doubled back toward the cliffs and ran into the stragglers that were broken off from the rest of their ilk. We then trekked east further into the bluffs, fighting the creatures off as best we could and trying to find our way back to the Merchant’s Path. That’s when we ran into you.”

“Shouldn’t we have found it by now?” Gabrielle queried. “The Merchant’s Path, I mean.”

“There are too many darkspawn in that direction now,” Aveline explained. “We have to find another way.”

“So, we’ll have to go through Southron Hills,” the mage surmised.

“It looks that way,” the redhead confirmed. “We should reach the foothills sometime tomorrow. I’m just hoping to find some sort of path soon. I’m not sure how far into these cliffs the darkspawn have gotten.”

The apostate waggled her head before pulling the top of her blanket over her shoulders. She didn’t want to think about it anymore, let alone talk about it. It felt like weeks since she had slept and her legs burned from all the running she had done that day.

She rolled over onto her side to face the wall. Her eyes began to grow heavy as her body gave into her need for rest. Her mind, on the other hand, had different plans. Her worries and doubts began to swirl around in her head.

What was to become of them? Even if they were to make it all the way to Gwaren and eventually Kirkwall, what then? She heard her father’s voice, his final words to her, echo through her mind.

Take care of them, Gabrielle. You’re the oldest. It’s your responsibility. Your duty is to your family. Never let anything or anyone get in the way of that.

The young apostate felt tears stinging her eyes. But how, father? How am I supposed to do this? I have no idea what I’m doing. Why did you leave all this to me? Why did you have to die?

She choked back the sobs that threatened to overtake her and tightened the blanket around her body. She squeezed her eyes tight, willing the tears to go away. Behind her lids, in the darkness, she saw an image of him. Her father stood tall and proud. Not as she remembered him when he died, but younger, younger than she ever recalled seeing him.

When he spoke, his voice was not his usual resonating, deep tone, but softer…kinder. ‘Don’t worry,’ he encouraged. ‘It’ll get better. Trust me, Gabs.’

When Leliana procured the horses on their way out of Lothering, she only managed to haggle with the old farmer enough to gain four of the mounts. Since Solona had no idea how to ride one of the animals, Alistair was kind enough to offer to share his horse with her. It was a bit awkward at first, straddling the pommel with her fellow Warden’s groin pressed into her ass and one arm around her waist to steady her. Although it was uncomfortable as the void, having him so close to her made the experience more bearable.

During the ride, the mage tried to muster her composure and dignity as best she could, even though she felt she might fall at any moment. She was grateful that Alistair never made mention of the fact she was such a poor rider. He simply held her closer and corrected her balance with a shift of his arm when she began to slide a bit too much to either side. She knew he couldn’t be any more comfortable than she was with the precarious situation, but he never once whined or complained about it. In fact, he had hardly said anything at all.

When Solona tried to make small talk, he never volunteered anything, and when she asked questions, his answers were always short and to the point. Even Morrigan’s jabs at his character, intelligence, and smell failed to get a rise out of him. He would simply ignore the witch by urging their horse to trot a little faster to get further out ahead of the woman. After a while, both the mage and the witch finally gave up completely, resolved to the fact that he wasn’t interested in conversation or the exchange of insults.

Solona couldn’t help but be saddened by the development. Since the night of the battle, the man she considered her dearest friend had left her. There had been the odd moments of recognition of the man she knew on occasion, but any levity between them never broached the sternness in his hazel eyes. She realized the events of Ostagar hit him hard. They were difficult for her as well, but she thought his mood might lighten at least a bit the further away from the ruins they traveled. Instead, it just seemed to become worse.

By the time they stopped to make camp the evening of their second night out of Lothering, the mage’s mood was nearly as dark as her riding companion’s. She had to do something. It was completely uncharacteristic of her to push anyone to speak when they wished not to, but her concern for Alistair was beginning to overwhelm her. She had lost so much, so many people in her life, that she couldn’t bear the thought of losing the tentative connection she and her fellow Warden shared.

Solona ordered Alistair to take first watch for the evening and waited for the others to retire before she attempted to approach him. When everyone else was safely tucked away in their tents, she found her fellow Warden sitting by the fire staring into the flames with a sullen expression and mindlessly running a whetstone across his blade. When she finally ambled over to him, he peered up at her with a sad smile. It was the closest thing she had seen to friendliness from him all day.

He stared at her for a long moment, appearing as if he wanted to tell her something, then turned his attention back to the weapon laying across his lap. Something was wrong, and it was more than just the events of Ostagar. She could see it in his hazel eyes, feel it in her bones.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” she asked flatly.

Alistair shrugged as he turned the blade to sharpen the other side. “You can sit anywhere you like.”

His tone was coarse, making him once again seem completely uninterested in her presence. The coldness of his attitude put a knot in Solona’s gut. She clutched the amulet hanging from the chain around her neck as she took a seat next to him.

“You know,” she teased. “If you don’t stop frowning like that, your face is going to stay that way.”

His shoulders and chest shook with a harrumph as he continued his task. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll try to put on a happy face for you when I find the time.”

The mage rotated her body to face him. “Fine,” she huffed. “If you won’t tell me what’s wrong with you on your own volition, I will simply be forced to order you to talk.”

He heaved a perturbed sigh and turned to her with his left brow arched, daring her to pursue that endeavor. Anger and frustration swirled in his darkened eyes, prompting her own temper to flare. She was fed up with his poor attitude and brooding, and she planned to have it out with him. Their conversation would either bring them closer together or sever their ties completely ensuring they were nothing more than traveling companions.

“I offer you this, Alistair,” she said with glare. “Either you tell me this instant why you are behaving like a petulant child, or I will make your life so unpleasant, so miserable, you will wish Flemeth never rescued you from that tower.

Solona expected him to fight back. To shout at her. In those brief moments leading up to her threat, she had prepared herself for the worst. Instead, his entire being wilted and his hazel eyes began to glisten. His throat visibly constricted when he swallowed. His tongue raked across his lips as he inhaled a deep breath and held it for a long moment.

With his brow furrowed in penitence, he uttered a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

The mage’s countenance softened in the light of his words and expression. “I just want you to talk to me,” she told him. “I miss you.”

They were words Solona never meant to utter. She loathed the idea of anyone knowing her true feelings. It was a lesson she learned long ago after she professed her love to Anders and he responded by feigning sleep and running away two days later. Unfortunately, her confession to Alistair was out in the open, and there was nothing she could do to take it back. Her fellow Warden turned his gaze to the fire.

“We should arrive at Castle Redcliffe in two days,” he declared in a soft voice. “I haven’t been there in a very long time.”

“Missing the stables, are we?” she quipped. “If you’re really feeling nostalgic we can always move your tent closer to the horses.”

“Funny,” he muttered, but there was no hint of mirth in his face or his voice.

She knew right away it was definitely the wrong approach, but she was trying to backtrack against the revealing slip of the tongue she had made. He wet his lips then clamped his teeth down on them. He intended to clam up again, in a worse mood than before. She had to find a way to recover from the setback.

“Why don’t we play a game of Confessions?” she suggested.

Alistair’s lids constricted as he concentrated harder on the flames. “I don’t really feel like games tonight, Solona. Thanks anyway.”

She bumped her shoulder against his. “You can ask me anything you want,” she prodded. “Anything.”

His face screwed up in contemplation for a minute before finally giving a satisfied nod. “Alright,” he agreed.

“But,” she added. “I get to ask the first question.”

Alistair waggled his head with a sigh. “Fine,” he bristled before his tone turned sarcastic. “Ask away. I’m an open book.”

“So you said Arl Eamon raised you?” Solona queried.

Alistair’s sneered upon hearing the question. “Did I say that?” he snarked, his inflection biting and hostile. “I meant that dogs raised me. Giant, slobbering dogs from the Anderfels. A whole pack of them, in fact.”

“You’re supposed to answer honestly,” she reminded him with feigned indifference. “Besides, you didn’t allow me time to ask my true question.” He indicated for her to continue with a deep frown and a wave of his hand. “I was just wondering why? Was he your father?”

“No,” he answered firmly.

“So do you know who…” she began, but he cut her off.

“I answered your question,” he maintained. “Now it’s my turn.”

Solona straightened her shoulders then clasped the pendant that lay against her chest. She already knew what he was going to ask, and she was prepared for it. She had every intention of giving him the same type of reply he had afforded her.

“Very well,” she prompted.

He released a slow breath then turned to face her. “You told me before that Anders was your lover. I gathered by your reaction, the memory of him was less than pleasant. What did he do that hurt you so badly?”

Damn!

She should have known better from the last time they played the game. Alistair was much shrewder than he let people believe. She couldn’t even get out of it by revealing an embarrassment. She told him she would answer any question he had. She had established the rules at the beginning, and if she attempted to deflect his inquiry, she would lose his friendship. The movement of her thumb increased as it rubbed across the tiny sword and flames on the amulet. She inhaled a deep breath.

“Anders…” she began. “Was my lover. For many years. Six if you count his time in the dungeon and all the times he escaped the tower. Closer to five if you want to be technical. I loved him. From the very first moment I saw him. I was only a girl. Eleven to be exact. He was twenty-two. Of course, he didn’t know of my existence at the time. I simply adored him from afar.

“He was the man of my dreams. Tall, blonde, rebellious, charismatic. Larger than life. When I was thirteen, another female apprentice and I crept out of our dormitory to attend a party on the mage’s floor where I knew he would be in attendance. I had overheard him speaking about it earlier that day. When we arrived, he was already drunk and high on blood lotus and elfroot. He noticed me from across the room and I encouraged him to approach with a salacious smile. We ended up in the classroom’s supply closet that night where I gave him my virginity.

“He was angry as the void when he discovered my age.” She shook her head with wistful smile. “I lied to him that night, telling him I was eighteen and had just passed my Harrowing. He confronted me a few days later, and I seduced him by playing with his cock through his robes and kissing his chest. We had sex again. That continued for several weeks. He would tell me he didn’t want to see me anymore, that I was far too young, but those meetings always ended in a passionate tryst. After a while, he stopped trying to convince me that he wanted nothing to do with me, and began approaching me for the sole purpose to fuck me.

“That went on until after I turned fifteen. He began to spend more time with me outside of the odd coupling. We became closer. I made the mistake of telling him that I loved him one night. He pretended he was sleeping, but I knew by his breathing he wasn’t. Two days later, he was gone.

“When he returned, it wasn’t a month before we were together again, but when he felt we were becoming too close, he ran. After the first time he escaped when I was fifteen, he promised me he wouldn’t leave me again. He ran from me four times in total, and broke my heart more each and every time. His last escape earned him a year in the tower’s dungeons. I haven’t seen him since before that escape. I discovered I was pregnant the day he was brought back the last time. I took a potion. He never knew.”

Tears began to stream down the mage’s cheeks upon that confession. She had no idea why she was telling Alistair of that horrible event of her life, or what prompted her to reveal the details of her relationship with Anders. She had never spoken of it to anyone. Not even Jowan. She was ashamed of both her actions and for so blindly loving a man who would never return her affections. Would never care.

Alistair wrapped a comforting arm around Solona’s shoulders and she buried her face into the crook of his neck. He backed away from her long enough to unstrap his steel chestplate and throw it on the ground then immediately took her into his arms and began rocking her gently in his embrace. She clung to him as if her very life depended on it, her sobs muffled by his broad chest. Never in her life had she felt so close to anyone. Not Anders. Not Jowan. Not even her parents.

He put his own troubles aside just to be there for her. No one had ever done anything remotely like that before. It was in that moment, that second when Solona finally realized, she loved Alistair. Even if he never shared her feelings, even if they would never be anything more than just friends. It didn’t matter. She was hopelessly, desperately in love with him.

Many people considered the woman in black to be a bad omen, a sign of impending disaster or death. In truth, the woman in black was responsible for much more. While there are several accounts of men who met with their deaths after an encounter with her, there are also tales of those who crossed her path and were greeted with kindness and even compassion. Sometimes, a visit from the woman in black brought about something as simple a change in paths or careers.

Over the years, I have discovered the wandering witch was responsible for guiding men into despair and doom, yet others she led to hope and victory. Yes, there were deaths, but she also carried with her life, birth, and rebirth. She healed many and changed the lives of many more. I never saw her as the monster most of the world believed her to be. I only hope that, in the end, the same can be said for my life.

It was quite some time before Alistair and Doc would officially meet. Unfortunately, because of everything Solona told him about her ex-lover, Alistair held a deep hatred for Anders before they were ever introduced.

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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight