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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Alistair leaned back against his pack with a contented sigh and pulled Elissa tightly against him. They had been traveling for four days now without incident or inclement weather and he was reminded just why he'd enjoyed the open road so much. Her nightmares, if you could call them that, were fleeting images of torment that caused distress but thankfully, no sleep-walking and required no rescues. The result had been a picture-perfect start to a long journey and it was time to celebrate a little. He filled both their cups with a sweet, red Antivan sherry he'd found in the palace wine cellar and offered some to Ambrose, who sat apart from the pair, his back to them as usual. He declined the offer.
"C'mon, Ambrose! Live a little! We're going to be traveling together for the next five weeks or so and the least you can do is be friendly," Alistair urged, topping off his cup with what he assumed was Ambrose's share. He and his wife were curled before the fire under a heavy woolen blanket, his hands casually touching and caressing her breasts and belly underneath. He wasn't thinking anything of it, though he half-worried he might get slapped for doing it out in the open but Elissa seemed to be enjoying it. As long as she was happy, so was he. "This is nice, isn't it? I miss traveling the road with you."
She sighed happily against him, her cup to her lips. The sherry was wonderful; sweet and strong without bitterness. "Mmm. No need even to pitch the tent. The weather's been perfect! I hope the rest of the journey is this delightful," she agreed, her cup held out for more. Alistair happily obliged.
"If the rest of the journey is this delightful, Fergus may find himself on the throne for the next twenty years until our baby is old enough to inherit!" They both laughed, almost spilling the sherry and then shared a long, determined kiss. Ambrose peered over his shoulder at them just at that moment and frowned. They were always kissing and laughing or teasing one another. For some reason, it bothered him.
At first, Ambrose assumed that Alistair was trying to control his wife's actions but the more he watched, the more he realized how much the union was more a partnership than anything else. They bordered a strange kind of symbiosis with each one needing the strengths of the other to survive. It was healthy and heart-warming to watch but broke Ambrose's heart for reasons he was unwilling to accept. He turned away from the happiness behind him and shut them out of his mind. He couldn't bear to watch or listen.
Eventually, Alistair broke Ambrose's mental exile with a question. "So tell me: Are Orlisian Grey Wardens anything like us? And I still have some sherry if you'd like."
Ambrose shook his head. "I do not drink that swill, Antivan or no. As far as our Wardens, they Feel the same as you but in Orlais, our Grey Wardens are not kings and queens! They are far more humble, knowing that when you become part of the Grey, you give up the life you led before."
Alistair curled his lip in anger, his gold-brown eyes flashing hotly in the firelight. "HEY! That's not fair!" he snapped. "Elissa's entire family, save her brother, was murdered shortly before she became a Grey and I was conscripted from a life of blind devotion to the Maker by our last Commander. We gladly rose to serve Fereldan as her only two surviving Grey Wardens and continue to do so still!"
Ambrose's green eyes narrowed above his crooked nose and thick, black mustache. The lines around his eyes aged him far beyond his forty or so years. "Yet you do so from your thrones!"
"Don't you do your research? We are doing what was necessary for the kingdom. The king was murdered, his army abandoned during the Blight by his own father-in-law who used his death to usurp the throne. His daughter was no less treacherous and I was the only surviving heir, courtesy of King Maric, who couldn't keep his pants on around pretty serving girls. I didn't want to be king but Fereldan needed me…"
Elissa sat up against her husband and added, "…and Alistair needed me. We needed each other. I had no wish to be queen but only to be by his side, however I could do it. I loved him as much then as I do today. Politically, it was a perfect union; a daughter of Highever's former Teryn and the throne of Fereldan. It was one my father had attempted to make between Cailan and me as a child but was fortunately a failure."
Ambrose grunted and turned away again, chewing on a piece of dried turkey. "So. You had no choice…" he murmured.
Alistair shook his head slowly. He enfolded his arms around his wife and settled back against the pack. "There were choices. But Grey Wardens have a nasty habit of choosing what's best for the people and not what's best for themselves. We chose to rule because we were Fereldan's only other option. I was not about to let that-that bitch rule Fereldan, not after what her father did to my family and especially not after what she did to us. A tyrant born begot a tyrant made. To do anything less would have gone against everything I believe in."
Ambrose grunted again. If it had been him, he was ashamed to say that he would have done the same. Something told him this happy pair could be content wherever they called home but being Fereldan's ruling pair was a job they took to proudly, lovingly, if sometimes reluctantly. They were Grey Wardens first, lovers second and the king and queen third. Ambrose grudgingly respected that and ended the conversation there, despite Alistair's nagging attempts to start it again. There was no more he could say on it. No more he wanted to say on it.
The next day, their luck changed.
"Highwaymen!" Ambrose shouted as they drew their weapons. Elissa, her tall shield and specially designed plate armor gleaming red in the late-day sun, rushed the first man who was temporarily startled to see a woman leading the men. It would be his last mistake. Gutted, he was thrown aside by her sword and she turned to face another.
There six in all and they moved stiffly, as mechanically as a dwarven golem construct. That wasn't to say they didn't fight well. They fought with strength and determination but seemed reluctant to attack Elissa. In fact, they avoided her altogether. That gave her the opportunity she needed. Fine! If they weren't going to strike at her, then she would happily strike at them. Shield lowered in front of her, she rushed a man who flanked Alistair closely and was about to strike him with his dagger. The sandy-haired warrior-turned-king was ready for the blow but the distraction of another foe made it difficult for him to block it properly. Elissa struck before anyone had to think. The highwayman went sailing to the ground and she swept her sword from side to side. The thief blocked most of her attacks but her sword eventually sheathed itself in the man's face on the final strike. She watched blood spray out, spattering her new armor.
Her husband dispatched his opponent swiftly and the couple joined Ambrose just as he jumped out of the way of a thrown dagger from the highwaymen's leader. He swore in Orlesian, lunged at the big man and kicked him brutally hard in the ribs. No matter how good, how stiff leather armor is made, it is still light and flexible. No matter how strong, how well-protected you think your ribs are, when a steel boot lashes out and strikes them, they will break and it will hurt. The bandit gasped and doubled over. The Orlesian Grey Warden slammed the sharp edge of his sword down across the back of the man's unprotected neck, severing the head.
The final bandit seemed to shake his head, loosening the thrall which overcame them. He stared at Elissa, Alistair and Ambrose as if seeing them for the first time. His grey eyes were wide as he stared at them. "P-please don't kill me!" he shrieked.
"And why should we not?" Ambrose growled. His main sword was dripping with dark red blood, oozing down the blade and curled around his fist. His other sword, a massive glowing curved blade with intricate designs etched into the green metal, was unsheathed but held low at his side. The bandit's eyes were bouncing between the swords as if trying to decide which one was the deadlier of the two.
"We were ensorcelled! Bewitched with foul magic! We… We would never attack Grey Wardens or anyone armed as you are! We're small-time robbers. We go after easy prey and rarely kill anyone. We're… poachers. You know? We feed off poorly armed nobles and merchants but anyone with skill we avoid because… because of things like this happening. You've got to believe me!"
Ambrose sneered, raised his sword. "Excuses! You are thieves, villains! You prey on those weaker than you for your gain. I spit on you. May the maker find reason to forgive your sins…" His sword swept back and then curved in an arc for the man's neck. The fool was weeping, knowing his life was about to end. Instead of death, another fate intervened as Ambrose's sword met the massive one-handed blade Alistair carried on his back. The blades met with a loud clang, jarring Ambrose's hand.
The Orlesian's eyes widened with shock as he met the steely gaze of his Fereldan counter-part. Alistair lifted his sword, sweeping the other away from the terrified man. "No. We are not murderers and this man has surrendered. Besides, it's rather hard to interrogate a dead man. Let him speak. Commander?" Alistair's expression softened as he looked over his shoulder at Elissa. He stepped aside as she approached.
Elissa wiped her blade on the back of one of the dead robbers and drew near the man as he groveled. Her eyes were cold, her voice level as she spoke. "I believe you are not stupid enough to attack us on your own. But who made you do this?" she asked.
Realizing that the sharp-nosed man with the slight grin had bought him time, the bandit jumped on the opportunity to save his own life. If he had known it was his own king who had spared him, he would have surely pissed himself. He recognized Elissa as the authority instantly and dropped to his knees before her, throwing his daggers to the ground. Weeping, he said, "I don't know! Nobody hired us. It just happened! I had no control over my actions. It-it all started when we found the ring on that dead merchant. We stopped thinking clearly. We started searching for… something. Then we found you and all I could think of was killing the men and taking you, ser Warden, back to… back to them. Whoever 'them' is. Or wherever. It's that damn ring our leader's wearing. Something or someone wants you something fierce, Ser. I swear, that's the truth!"
Elissa looked up at Alistair who nodded once. She turned back to the groveling man. "I believe you. Where is this ring?" The man pointed at Ambrose's beheaded victim. He indicated the right hand. Alistair raised an eyebrow and walked over to the big man's body. He kneeled beside him and carefully removed the leather gauntlet. Sure enough, there was a fat, nondescript steel-colored ring. In the waning light, it took on a purple sheen and seemed to glow slightly. The king gripped it and yanked it off the stiffening finger. He cringed at the evil he felt flowing through it. "This thing is foul! We need to get rid of it immediately."
Elissa helped the prostrate man rise to his feet. "You are free. You may return top strip your comrades of their things if you wish but leave for now. You have been helpful. But be wary of who you attack in the future since next time, someone may not be there to prevent your death. It's just good advice, you know?"
The man nodded and ran away without looking back. Ambrose seethed as he came over to Alistair who was trying to use his Templar powers to negate the magic in the ring. Ambrose snatched the ring from him. "Fool! What are you doing?" Alistair shouted, watching in horror as the Orlesian put the ring on.
Ambrose's eyes widened, lost focus and then narrowed, the expression lost. He drew his blades and lunged at Alistair. He dodged, smacking him with the flat of his blade. Ambrose fell, rolled and lunged again. "Idiot! Pull off the damn ring!" The Orlesain lunged for him, his sword held up, ready to shove it through the gap in Alistair's armor near the shoulder. Elissa rammed him with her shoulder and shield, throwing off his aim but he was still able to push it through, though not as deep as it could have gone. Bleeding, Alistair jumped at him, slammed him to the ground and held him still so that Elissa could yank off the ring. Ambrose recovered almost instantly.
Elissa, panting, hauled Ambrose to his feet and raised her fist. He never saw the blow coming but felt it as his nose shattered under the force of her white-steel gauntleted fist. Blood poured forth from his face and she turned her back to him to help her husband. She threw an injury kit at him. "Alistair…" she murmured, kneeling beside him. He was pulling off his armor, wincing as he did so.
"This is a bad place to do this… Let's go somewhere down the road where we can make camp," she said. Alistair nodded and let her help him to his feet. Since the magic of the ring did not seem to affect her, she held it as they searched for a place near water to rest for the night. Ambrose remained silent and withdrawn and the couple did not encourage him to say anything. By nightfall, they found a suitable site.
Elissa helped Alistair peel off the rest of his armor and removed hers as well. Clad only in the padded shirt and breaches she wore under it, the Warden Commander looked over her shoulder at Ambrose. "I'm cleaning the wound that you caused. Granted, your head wasn't in the right place but I'm still going to be angry anyway because you shouldn't have put it on your finger in the first place. Your nose deserved to get broken."
The sun had set, bathing them in dappled moonlight as they walked among the trees to the narrow stream they found. Alistair stripped off the rest of his clothes and Elissa joined hers with his. Naked, he kneeled on the ground carefully and sat patiently as she cleansed his wounds, cleaned away the blood from his face, neck and chest. He put his hands on her bare shoulders, stopping her briefly. "While we're alone, now, I have to talk to you. I have been thinking about something and I need an answer."
She flashed a teasing smile and shrugged away from his hands. "After I'm done dressing your shoulder, we can play." She tried to ignore the fact that he wasn't smiling.
He stopped her again. "You told me that at Soldier's Keep, you drank a potion which allowed you to conceive the child you carry now. But that was two years ago! I'm not stupid, you know. Morrigan had a hard time accepting that but it hurts knowing you're making the same assumption. You've been keeping the truth from me."
She dropped to the ground before him, her eyes on his. "Why do we have to do this now?" she asked softly.
He held her arms, rubbing them with his hands. "Something or someone wants you badly enough to bewitch a ring and send a team of ill-prepared rogues after us. We could have died. I want to know if your pregnancy has anything to do with it. I want to know if this will happen again. Tell me the truth, Elissa. How did you get pregnant?"
She smiled, tried to be cute as she said, "Well, HOW should be easy enough for you to figure out. The rest is… Not so easy. You are correct that I was keeping something from you. Worse… Alistair, I lied to you."
He nodded slowly. "Okay. This is the part where you take a deep breath, tell me you love me and then tell me everything. Don't leave out a thing, do you understand? And before you start, know that you are already forgiven. I trust you had a good reason and I won't be critical of it. I just want to know."
She sighed and allowed him to gather her into his arms. Curled against his chest, she took a deep breath, told him how much she loved him and began her tale…
To Be Continued….
- 7
- 8
- 9
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Tainted Dreams