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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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“Do you believe that man?” Solona questioned incredulously as the two Wardens stepped out of the Chantry.

Alistair was unsure if the mage’s inquiry was directed at him or if she was just ranting to herself. If she were speaking to him, it would be the first time since he revealed the secret of his parentage to her the previous evening. Just as Cullen had six years before, Solona rejected him the moment he told her he was Maric’s son. Where Cullen became angry and called Alistair a liar, however, Solona simply walked away from him. As much as losing his fellow templar initiate’s friendship hurt, it paled in comparison to his fellow Warden’s reaction.

All morning long, Solona had completely ignored Alistair’s presence, choosing instead to give orders to her companions in general terms when she wanted to relay a message to him. He had hoped he would get the chance to speak to her, to try to explain on their ride into Redcliffe, but she opted to walk in lieu of riding in the saddle with him. It broke his heart, but he knew it was his own damned fault. He should have told her that first night they played Confessions instead of waiting until the last minute. At the same time, there was every possibility she would have had the same reaction.

“He’s always been an ass,” Alistair told her, hoping his words might start a conversation as they made their way to the tavern to meet up with the rest of their companions.

Solona scowled then halted in her tracks. For several moments, she studied the toe of her boot as if she were trying to decide whether or not she was going to speak to him. The lines in her forehead deepened just before she turned her face to look him directly in the eye.

“Was he always such a coward, as well?” she asked with a haughty arch of her left brow.

Tears began to well up in Alistair’s eyes the instant she spoke to him. He had never felt such a sense of relief in his entire life. He could see by her expression, she was still annoyed with him, but she didn’t hate him. He could live with her displeasure. What he couldn’t bear was the notion that she despised him.

“Let’s just say, he’ll never win any medals for bravery,” the warrior replied.

She heaved a sigh. “I just find it rather sad that the future King of Ferelden is willing to fight for these people while he hides in the Chantry to ‘protect the women and children’. What a complete load of bullshit.”

“You weren’t taken in by his charms then?” Alistair teased. “His attempts at flirting and flattery didn’t turn your insides to jelly?”

Solona rolled her eyes. “Well, they certainly turned my stomach. The gall of that man. I simply asked if his wife was among the village women. I never expected he would turn that into, ‘I’m not married, my lady, but I would be lucky to find a woman as lovely as yourself.’”

The warrior laughed. “I loved your response. ‘Very lucky, indeed. Though it seems my luck would end with such a proposal.’ That was priceless.”

She placed her hand on her chest then presented him with a smirk and a tilt of her head. “Always happy to entertain his Majesty.”

Alistair’s expression wilted to a contrite grimace. It was obvious she was trying to move past the tension between them, but was having a difficult time of it. He wanted to wait until they were alone, in a more relaxed setting to talk to her, to apologize, but he realized it wouldn’t wait.

“Solona,” he began. “I’m sorry.” She stared at him with the mask of indifference she wore so well. “I never meant to hurt you. I was just afraid I would lose you…your friendship, I mean. The only other person I have ever told stopped speaking to me entirely afterward. I didn’t want that to happen again…especially not with you.”

Her shoulders lifted then fell with a heavy breath. “I suppose I can understand that, Alistair,” she sympathized before taking a step forward and shoving her index finger into his chest. “But if you ever even think of keeping anything else even remotely like that from me again, I will beat you to a bloody pulp.”

An uneven grin curled his lips as he flourished a quick arc of his brows. “Only if you catch me first,” he challenged before spinning around and taking off in a dead run toward the tavern.

The crunching of dirt and rocks under foot behind him declared her assent to his challenge. As he bade the muscles of his own legs to move faster, he could never remember hearing a lovelier or more welcome sound.

Somehow, the Wardens managed to survive the night and the waves upon waves of undead assailants, as did their companions and most of the men in the village. As everyone awaited the arrival of Revered Mother Hannah and Bann Teagan, who were still inside the Chantry, Solona surveyed the gathered crowd. The men there, the ones who fought at the side of the Wardens, ranged in age from boys barely old enough to hold a sword to those nearly too frail from time to grip a hilt. Each one was bruised and bloodied, exhausted and haunted by a hard won battle most should have never seen.

They should have been resting in their beds, clinging to their families which they helped to protect, to save. Instead, they awaited a grand speech from a man who never once bothered to peek his head out the door of the Chantry since the entire ordeal began. According to the mayor, Teagan had locked himself inside the sanctuary as soon as he heard of the trouble the village was facing every night and refused to come out.

As angry and irritated as Solona was with the Bann for his cowardice, her countenance turned to outright fury upon his ultimate arrival near mid-morning. The grin the man wore was almost enough to make the mage forget he was a noble and use both her magic and her fists to wipe the smug expression from his face. At that very moment, she couldn’t imagine detesting anyone more.

The bann held his hands in the air as if he were awaiting applause from a crowd too tired to care. “We did it, my friends,” he began with an even broader smile. “We managed to beat back the enemy and survive the night.”

Solona took a step forward to confront him, but Alistair’s fingers gripping her bicep brought her to her senses enough to stop her in her tracks. She shot a glare at her fellow Warden, but the slow shake of his head served as a reminder that she had to maintain control of her temper and her tongue. They needed Eamon’s help, which meant they needed Teagan’s. It was a bitter potion to swallow, but it was one she had to endure for the sake of duty. She heaved a perturbed sigh as she stepped back into place at Alistair’s side.

The revered mother walked forward and bowed her head. “Let us commend to the Maker those among us who perished.”

As the priestess spoke the names of the lost in turn, Solona scanned the crowd once more. She had no interest in wasting time on prayers to a nonexistent father-figure. She would remember the dead in her own way, in her own time.

Most of the gathered throng wore somber expressions with heads bowed low, others simply chose to close their eyes. One among them was different. One apparently shared her views of the ridiculousness of both the situation and the noble who clearly intended to take some of the credit for a battle in which he was too spineless to participate.

The mayor’s damning glare at Teagan spoke volumes about his opinion of the nobleman. There was a hatred in the village elder’s eyes she had rarely seen. The mayor’s glower moved from the bann’s face to her own, but softened slightly when their eyes met. She presented him with a small nod of acknowledgement and he returned the gesture, reasonably satisfied that at least she wasn’t buying into any of the pomp forced upon such an unfathomable situation.

Their stare was broken by the sound of Teagan’s voice as he addressed the crowd once again. “Although, many good people were lost, do not lose heart, my friends,” he beckoned with an air of feigned sympathy before gesturing to Solona with a wave of his hand. “This Grey Warden and her companions have been instrumental in aiding the village in its fight against such a terrible and horrific enemy.” He then turned his attention to her directly, but continued to speak loudly enough for everyone gathered to hear. “Please, Grey Warden, I ask for your help once more. It is my intention to enter the castle and find Arl Eamon, and I pray that you and your friends will aid me in my endeavors.”

Solona dipped her head in response, though the action left a bitter taste in her mouth. The man deserved no respect from her or anyone else, and she hated the pretense of affording it to him. Someday, his craven nature would catch up to him. She only hoped she would be allowed to be present to witness it.

“Of course, my lord,” she replied, her nostrils slightly flared in contempt. It was the best she could manage given the circumstances.

“Then meet me by the windmill at the entrance to the village,” he told her. “There we will make plans to free both my brother and this village from our enemy.”

The Wardens waited nearly an hour by the windmill for Teagan, leaving Solona to grow angrier by the minute. She was pacing so furiously, Alistair could have sworn she was wearing a groove in the dead grass and dirt beneath her boots. He thought to try to calm her down, but his own ire was raised too much to bother. He knew they would most likely end up feeding off each other’s tempers and that would end badly for everyone involved.

When the bann did finally arrive, he wore a smile that only served to make Alistair want to break the man’s nose more than he already did. As much as he disliked Teagan in his younger years, he absolutely abhorred the man now. Solona was right. Teagan was a coward, but until that day, the young warrior hadn’t realized how craven the man actually was.

“I’m sorry for the delay, my friends,” he apologized. “But I just made the most delightful deal.” He reached down and gripped the hilt of a sword sheathed at his hip and cleared it from the scabbard half an inch to reveal the top of the blade. “There was a boy who offered this sword to me in exchange for fifty sovereign. He said his grandfather fought dragons with it. Isn’t that marvelous?”

“Yes. Very lovely,” Solona replied with her best painted on smile, an expression which bore both obvious impatience and contempt.

Teagan didn’t seem to notice the woman’s affect as he continued gushing over his newfound treasure. “Of course, I would never give that much coin to a child, especially a foundling.” He shook his head with a sigh. “Poor lad lost both of his parents and his sister to the undead.”

“So, you didn’t pay him for it?” Leliana questioned with incredulity. “The boy could have used that money for food, shelter.”

“He was only ten or eleven,” the bann replied. “He probably would have just wasted it on sweets and toys. No, I did better than that. I traded an offer of a job in the castle’s stables for the sword. That way, he has someone to watch over him and he can learn a trade at the same time. An investment toward a future.”

Alistair groaned internally. He knew what a difficult life being a stable boy at Castle Redcliffe would be for the child. He certainly didn’t envy him. It was a despicable thing Teagan had done, but the warrior chose to keep his opinions to himself. Solona, on the other hand, decided to be a bit more vocal about the situation.

She arched a derisive brow. “So, you are forcing the child to pay you for the sword you took by working the rest of his days in a smelly stable? That hardly seems like a fair deal.”

The bann donned a sympathetic smile, as if he pitied the woman for her feminine stupidity. “Don’t worry, my lady. It was a fair trade. I suppose women simply don’t understand such things. Trust me, he will be taken care of. I even sealed the deal with a whole sovereign.”

“You mean the way Alistair was taken care of?” she inquired with a sneer, causing Alistair to nearly choke on the spittle he inhaled with his gasp. “I daresay, my lord, elven slaves in Tevinter aren’t treated as poorly as that.”

Teagan’s expression turned to one of indignation. He raised his finger in the air and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a grating voice carrying a thick Orlesian accent crying out his name. Alistair closed his lids and inhaled a deep breath. It was a voice with which he was all too familiar. One he had hoped to delay hearing as long as possible.

It didn’t surprise the young warrior in the least when the Lady Isolde ran straight into Teagan’s arms. They held each other much too closely for two people who were merely brother and sister by law. For several moments, they remained wrapped in each other’s embrace, completely oblivious to the onlookers surrounding them who were awkwardly trying to keep their attentions elsewhere.

“Teagan,” Isolde croaked against his chest. “I was so worried. I knew you were on your way to Redcliffe after I received your letter. When you never arrived at the castle, I feared you may have perished by the hands of those things.”

After a long pause, she finally pulled away from the bann just enough to stare into his eyes. The desperation in her own was almost enough for Alistair to feel sorry for the loathsome woman. Almost.

When the nobleman smiled down at her, Alistair questioned if anyone else noticed the affection in the man’s eyes for his sister-by-law. Even as a child, he could tell there was something more between the arlessa and her husband’s brother by the way they traded coy smiles and longing stares as they walked the castle grounds. Perhaps they behaved differently in the presence of more important onlookers, or maybe everyone just chose to ignore it. Either way, their feelings for each other were quite obvious at that moment.

“You should know that I’m not so easily bested, Isolde,” he reassured her. “I wanted to come find you, to rescue Eamon, but I had to stay and help the villagers defend the village. I’m sorry I worried you.”

Alistair could almost feel Solona’s anger upon hearing Teagan’s words. She was already beyond irritated with the man’s cowardice and false bravado, but he could tell she was near the edge of her rope. He wondered if she would be able to hold her tongue enough to garner the support they so desperately needed from the arl and his men.

“Teagan,” Isolde implored. “I need your help. Connor needs your help.”

The bann’s smile wilted to a troubled frown. “Connor? What’s wrong with Connor?”

“There’s a demon, Teagan,” she explained, her voice cracking with fear. “It allowed me the chance to search for you. To see if you still lived. You must return to the castle with me.”

“A demon?” Solona asked with a perplexed expression. “All of this carnage was caused by a demon?”

Isolde turned to regard the mage with a sneer. Alistair thought he recognized the hint of jealousy flash in the arlessa’s eyes. “Who is this woman, Teagan?”

The bann opened his mouth to explain, but Solona held up her hand to stop him. “I am Solona Amell,” the mage told the other woman. “Commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. We came to Redcliffe in order to seek Arl Eamon’s aid against the Blight.”

Commander of the Grey Wardens.

She spoke the words with such confidence and conviction, it left no doubt in anyone’s mind of the veracity of her statement. Her assertiveness and dominance of the situation, her mannerisms and patterns of speech reminded Alistair of the hardened generals and knight commanders he had encountered over the years. Any doubt he ever harbored about her ability to lead was quelled in that moment. She was truly the leader, the commander, the Blight demanded.

“I apologize for my abruptness, Commander,” the arlessa offered in an uncharacteristically subdued tone. “But you must understand, my son is in danger. I must take Teagan back to the castle with me, or risk putting Connor’s life in more peril.”

Solona’s brow furrowed as she gauged the truth of the other woman’s words. By the way the mage narrowed her lids, it was apparent she didn’t trust Isolde. The arlessa was obviously hiding something.

“Then perhaps we should all accompany you, Lady Isolde,” the commander suggested. “As a mage, I have quite a bit of experience in dealing with demons.”

“No,” the other woman refused. “It said to bring Teagan. No one else.”

The bann took hold of the arlessa’s hand and gave it a light squeeze. “Isolde, I need to speak to the Warden Commander for a few moments.”

“But…” she protested.

“Give us a moment,” he requested. “Please.”

As the Wardens and their companions traversed the narrow passageway between the windmill’s trapdoor and the dungeon, Solona began to wonder if gaining Eamon’s support was worth all the trouble. Teagan had asked them to enter the castle through the family’s secret escape route while he accompanied Isolde. The mage knew she probably should have argued with the nobleman over such a foolish plan, but quite frankly, she couldn’t have cared less if he survived the endeavor or not. The man was a coward and a braggart, and Solona had absolutely no use for him. If he got himself killed, the world would be unburdened from one less gutless and incompetent noble.

When they reached the end of the corridor and advanced through the heavy wooden door, the Wardens found themselves in what looked to be the castle dungeons, but it was hard to tell given the lack of light. The small orb in Solona’s hand did little to permeate the darkness, and she didn’t want to traverse any further in without getting a better feel for her surroundings. The smell of must and rotting flesh hung heavy in the air around them, telling the mage there was a good possibility they were about to be faced with more of the creatures they fought the previous evening.

When the torches along the walls flared to life all at once to light their way, Solona snuffed out the orb and immediately unsheathed her sword. She observed several dead and decaying bodies of soldiers and servants lying scattered across the floor, but none were moving. Not even a twitch. It seemed safe enough, but the mage remained cautious just the same.

“Thank you, Morrigan,” Solona whispered to the witch who stood a few feet behind her.

As she stepped gingerly over one of the bodies, the mage heard a familiar voice call out from somewhere near the end of the corridor. “Hello? Is someone there?”

No. It can’t be.

Solona hurried toward the cells at the other side of the passage, taking care not to step on the dead at her feet. The voice sounded like Jowan’s, but how was that possible? If he had been captured by the templars, he wouldn’t be in the dungeons of Castle Redcliffe. Would he?

When she reached the end of the corridor, Solona leapt across the body of a rather large guard whose throat was sliced from one end to another. She teetered on the balls of her feet for only a moment to catch her balance after a precarious landing before turning to face the inside of the cell to her left and her former best friend locked inside. The expression he wore was one of both shock and relief as he gripped the bars of his cage.

He had been stripped of all his clothing, even his smalls. Every inch of him was covered in cuts and bruises. In fact, she barely recognized him through the blackened eyes, swollen nose, and inflated and bloodied lips. He had obviously been the victim of harsh and unrelenting torture, and the purple and yellowed skin stretched taut over his bones bespoke of a man who had been forced to go hungry. The white of his knuckles around the bars made clear the great effort it took to keep his body upright as his bones and slight muscles tried to buckle under his own weight.

“Solona?” he breathed. “What are you doing here? How?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she told him in reply.

The Warden mage wore no smile when she spoke to him. All the emotions she felt the day he left her came back in a rush. Though she cared for him, loved him, she still harbored the anger, disappointment, and hurt against him for his secrecy and abandonment. She pitied him his current state, but she couldn’t keep the notion at bay that his predicament was his own doing. He betrayed her in the worst way possible, and no matter what he had been through, she couldn’t find it in her heart to forgive him. At least not at that moment, not yet.

“I…I made a mistake,” he confessed. “When I ran from the tower, I boarded a ship at Lake Calenhad Docks where I hid in the longboat until it reached Redcliffe. I was headed to the Hinterlands, when I was apprehended by a templar named Irminric. I only know his name because we were stopped on the way back to Redcliffe by Teyrn Loghain and some of his men asked him.

“Some of the teyrn’s men took the templar away while Loghain himself took me to a nearby inn to talk. At first, he only asked me a lot of questions about where I was from, my family, my time at the Circle, that kind of thing. Then, he asked me if I would do a great service for the crown by ridding the country of a traitor. He told me if I did, I would be rewarded with the title of Arcane Advisor to the King of Ferelden.”

Solona’s lids narrowed to glare at her childhood friend when he hesitated. The guilt swirling within his eyes caused her gut to tighten so severely, she had to fight the urge to vomit. Everything that happened in the village, the living dead, all those people, it was all Jowan’s fault. Using blood magic, he had unleashed a demon on Redcliffe. As well as she thought she always knew the man standing before her, she realized in that moment, she didn’t know him at all.

“What did you do?” she seethed through gritted teeth.

His shoulders slumped with an arduous sigh. “Loghain gave me a vial of poison to add to the arl’s tea. He told me the arlessa was searching for an apostate to teach her son magic in secret, to offer my services in that capacity.”

Solona barely managed to stifle a chuckle at that statement. Jowan was perhaps the worst apprentice in Kinloch who had been there more a year. The notion of him instructing anyone in the arcane arts was laughable.

“The boy is a mage?” she asked after regaining her composure. “And you thought teaching him to use blood magic to summon demons was a good idea?”

Jowan shook his head. “No! I never! I didn’t get that far…Not that I would have taught him that anyway. Solona, what’s happening here, it has nothing to do with me. All I did was poison the arl. I had barely been introduced to Connor at that point. Arl Eamon was dying. The physicians the arlessa called in said he was less than an hour from death. A few minutes later…that’s when Connor began attacking the guards.”

“So, the child is possessed, then,” Solona concluded.

“I believe so, yes,” her friend concurred. “The arlessa had me arrested immediately. She had her men torture me at first, then she came down to torture me herself. She was relentless, merciless. She demanded that I reverse whatever it was I did to Connor and Arl Eamon. When I told her I couldn’t, that I didn’t know how…” He shivered. “She came up with new and inventive ways to change my mind.”

Alistair took a step toward the cell. “How long has it been since you’ve had food or water?”

The prisoner shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied as tears began to stain his bruised and filthy cheeks. “Days, probably.”

The future king retrieved the waterskin from his utility belt then handed it to Jowan. “Here,” he offered. “Take it.” As the prisoner uncorked the skin, Alistair passed a few elfroot leaves through the bars. “I don’t have any potions on hand, but if you chew on these, it should help with the pain.”

“Thank you,” Jowan sniffled as he took the offering.

Solona couldn’t help but relinquish a small smile when Alistair met her gaze. Most people would have left Jowan to suffer after learning of his crime, but not her fellow Warden. He showed kindness and mercy she had never witnessed in anyone before she met him. His deed reminded her of why she loved him. Why, no matter what the future held for the two of them, no matter who he was or who he was to someday become, she would always love him.

Teagan always was a cowardly, slimy, little worm. He never had any real honor at all. From the ongoing affair with his brother’s wife to the way he treated his people, I just never found anything about the man that led me to believe he was worth the time it would take to kill him. The only duty I ever thought he would be well suited for was human shield, yet somehow I knew he would fail even that task.

Jowan really wasn’t a bad man. Like so many people back then, he just fell through the cracks. He was failed by the circle, the templars and, as much as I love her, even Solona. No one ever took the time to help him out of his shell, to find out who he really was and what he was good at. It’s not surprising, however. The chantry didn’t care if mages fell. The more mages who failed, the more tranquil they had to make runes for them to sell.

It wasn’t Solona’s fault. She was only five years old when she met him, and it never should have been her responsibility to teach him. Some people can handle growing up without the love and caring of a parent to guide them along the way. Jowan just wasn’t one of those people. My family and I have been lifelong advocates of mages’ rights and strong believers in allowing gifted young people to remain with their families. I only wonder how different Jowan’s life would have turned out if he had been allowed to remain with his family.

-G
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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight