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Caged Minds	By : Tanwen Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 11563 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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“ ‘Tis a fool’s errand, in my opinion,” Morrigan commented to Leliana and Viera Mahariel acidly as the three of them picked their way through dense foliage. Mahariel was in the lead, with Morrigan after her and Leliana bringing up the rear. All three were alternating between clearing their surroundings and keeping an eye out for trouble.

“If there’s darkspawn around, we have to do something about them.” Mahariel turned around briefly to look at Morrigan. “And yes, I know it’s only a rumor, which is why everyone else is back at camp in case it’s some kind of ambush.” She flashed a grin. “Hopefully, all that happens is that we get a few days of quiet girl time.”

“That sounds lovely,” Leliana sighed.

“Oh, goody. What shall we do first? Braid each others’ hair?” Morrigan asked, her usual cutting wit fully on display.

“Mine’s already braided.” Mahariel had long since found that the best way to respond to Morrigan was with a similar type of wit. She heard Leliana giggle softly while Morrigan huffed out an exasperated sigh. “We’ll have to find something else to occupy our time.”

“Admit it, Morrigan, you will enjoy a few days without worrying about Alistair’s cooking,” Leliana teased.

“Ah, but we must return to it eventually,” Morrigan countered. “If I never had to eat it again, that would be cause for celebration.”

Mahariel hacked another branch out of the way and saw a clearing ahead. Good. A break from hacking. “I’ll give you that one. I thought he’d improve with time. I guess I was overly optimistic.”

“Let us hope,” Morrigan said, “that your estimate of our task at Orzammar is not also overly optimistic.”

“We’ll see in a few weeks.” Mahariel scanned the clearing. Mostly open grass, with plenty of unruly branches hanging from the trees at the edges. A handful of stone pieces stuck up from the ground, covered in varying layers of moss. She waited, listening, then waived the other two forward. She hadn’t seen any immediate threats, but that didn’t mean she was about to let her guard down.

“I am seeing a suspicious lack of darkspawn, here.” Morrigan, naturally.

Mahariel groaned. “Didn’t we just get through discussing how that isn’t such a bad thing?”

“Wait.” Leliana’s voice is barely above a whisper. “There. To the left.”

Mahariel turned her head, slowly, trying to find what Leliana had seen. She spotted some figures lurking in the trees. At least seven. Best to assume more.

“Ambush.” Mahariel heard the smile in Morrigan’s voice without needing to look. “Shall we turn the tables on them?”

It was amazing, to think of how all of their combat skills had improved in the months they’d been traveling together. Mahariel was already thinking about how to set up the counter-ambush.

Leliana fingered the arrow she held knocked. “We need to convince them that we haven’t seen them, or we will lose the element of surprise.”

Mahariel nodded and moved forward, trying to project a relaxed and carefree air. She was aware of how many people still underestimated her — still saw her as only an uncivilized, ignorant Dalish hunter instead of the Warden that was trying to save their sorry asses.

“Can we get a more accurate count of our watchers?” she asked, turning to face Morrigan, smiling as though they were just three friends out for a stroll. It was a bit absurd, really, since they were all armed.

Hopefully, whoever was in the trees across the clearing would buy their little charade.

“I count eight,” Leliana said, tossing her head as though she were removing a strand of hair from her face.

“As do I.” Morrigan’s grip tightened on her staff, although Mahariel doubted that the motion could be seen from a distance.

“If you can get a glimpse of one of them, hit him with some Horror,” Mahariel said. “Then cast the biggest spell you can. Leliana, I’ll need some covering fire. Got any of those fire arrows left?”

“A handful,” Leliana replied. “Not enough to cover you the whole way, I think.”

“It’ll do.” Mahariel took another step forward. “When I start running, you two go. Ready?”

Leliana pulled the string that would light her arrow on fire in just a few seconds’ time. “Ready.”

“I will note that healing is not among my skills,” Morrigan said.
“Noted.” Mahariel broke into a run. Her world narrowed to the grassy area in front of her. The ground was too uneven, and if she lost her footing, their chances of turning the tables diminished dramatically.
She heard a scream ahead of her, and an arrow streaking through the air nearby. Leliana was a very good archer; she’d probably aimed as close to Mahariel as she could without actually putting her friend in danger.
Mahariel dove to the ground as one of the ambushers ran towards her. Her armor protected her from most of the pain, but it was still fairly uncomfortable. She sliced upwards and hit the leg of the ambusher who’d tried to rush her. Not her best effort, but enough to get him to stumble — giving her time to get to her feet.
She aimed a kick at her would-be attacker, ensuring he would stay on the ground, helpless, long enough for her to finish him off. The scream that she’d heard earlier — presumably, induced by Morrigan’s spell of Horror — was somewhere off to her right.
Mahariel went left.
Ahead of her, one of the ambushers seemed not to have gotten the message that things were going off the rails. He was still looking forward, his bow knocked, focused on the illusion that Morrigan had created out in the open.
Moving silently, she came up right behind the unfortunate warrior and ran him through the heart. He fell to the ground.
That was two she’d accounted for. Morrigan had taken care of at least one with her Horror, and she heard and saw Leliana’s arrows keeping the other five busy. Sooner or later, they’d figure out that there was someone behind their lines. Plus, Morrigan still hadn’t unleashed whatever big spell she had ready.
Mahariel abandoned stealth for speed, not caring how many branches she broke while she ran towards another of the ambushers. As expected, the five remaining fighters saw her.
She grinned and twirled her blades, running forward to engage them. One of them fell to the ground with an arrow in his chest before she’d gotten more than ten steps from her starting position. Four to go.
Mahariel parried a strike from the fastest of the fighters. Then she had to do it again. He was pretty good, she had to admit; almost as fast as she was. She had to trust that Leliana and Morrigan would cut down some of the other ones before they could make trouble for her.
More screams. More thumps. She danced out of the way of a second fighter who came up on her left. That was going to be trouble in a few more minutes. Mahariel started to feel fear for the first time in this whole fight. She realized that she had been backing up, on the defensive.
Then the air started to crackle, and both of the men in front of her screamed in pain before falling to the ground.
“All clear?” she asked, doing her best to keep the fear out of her voice.
“Clear,” Leliana confirmed.
Mahariel still didn’t relax until she saw both of them walking up, unharmed. Then, she grinned, sheathing her swords and holding her hands up in triumph. “Are we good, or are we good?”
Morrigan sighed. “Such displays are unseemly. Suppose there were more enemies waiting further out?”
“Then they’d be rushing us right now in our moment of weakness,” Mahariel said. Still, she did take a glance around, examining the edges of the clearing, before she turned her back on the area where the ambushers had been waiting for them. She deliberately kept the smile on her face. One of the things that she’d learned about leadership, since becoming a Warden. Always show confidence, even if you don’t have it.
Unless you want your followers to doubt you, and Mahariel needed Leliana and Morrigan to believe in her. Not just because she needed their help to defeat the Blight, but because they’d become friends. Leliana had admitted as much, even if Morrigan hadn’t — and probably never would.
Mahariel smiled to herself as she started the preparations to set up camp. She volunteered for third watch and settled down to get some sleep.
When she woke, it was with a splitting headache. She groped for her blades at her back.
At least, she tried to. Her hands, she discovered, were bound firmly behind her back. And she was kneeling on a cold floor.
I guess Morrigan was right after all.
Mahariel opened her eyes to take stock of her situation.
The room she was in was made of gleaming white marble — the same type of marble that she’d seen outside, but in much better condition, here. Mahariel twisted her head to the side and saw Leliana and Morrigan, kneeling in what looked to be identical positions to hers, hands bound behind their back. The three of them were in a straight line — Mahariel on the left, Morrigan in the middle, and Leliana on the right.
Mahariel’s eyes went wide as she saw the clothing that their unknown assailant had dressed the other two in. The top they were both wearing was barely deserving of the name, looking more like a long piece of fabric wrapped loosely around neck and breasts. The material was extremely flimsy, basically see-through.
The clothing that covered their legs — it didn’t deserve to be called a skirt — was made of the same gauzy fabric. It might have been opaque at a distance, but close up, it left little to the imagination. The only thing that was actually, properly covered was the crotch area, and Mahariel cynically thought that might be for hygienic reasons more than anything else. She wriggled her hips and felt the softness of her underclothes. Luxurious. Sensual, even, and she hated how easily that word had come to her mind.
Leliana’s outfit was orange, a few shades lighter than her hair — complementing it, making a contrast between the paleness of her skin and her shining red hair. She looked like a vivid sunrise. Beautiful. Mahariel cursed herself for the abhorrent timing of that thought.
Next to her, Morrigan was clad in an identical outfit of a rich midnight blue — again, a few shades lighter than her own hair. It added to the overall air of dark mystery that she took such pains to project.
Finally, Mahariel looked down at herself and saw that her own outfit was a deep emerald green color. The richness of the color put her in mind of some of the plants in the deepest parts of the Arbor Wilds, where her clan had been when she was a child.
Both Leliana and Morrigan were still out, under the influence of whatever it was that had rendered them all unconscious and allowed them to be brought here. Mahariel tried her bonds again, even looking over her shoulder to see what was holding her hands together.
The answer was… nothing.
Which meant magic.
Wake up, Morrigan, Mahariel thought. She wished she dared say something, even in a low whisper, but they were kept too far apart. She suspected that was deliberate. And shouting would only bring the attention of whoever was responsible for their current situation. So. She had no choice but to wait.
She felt like she had memorized every detail of the intricate molding on the walls by the time that the bobbing of Morrigan’s head caught her attention. Mahariel whipped her head around and gazed at her companion. Morrigan’s eyes went wide when she saw what Mahariel was wearing, and then looked down at herself. The mage muttered darkly under her breath as she moved her shoulders.
Nothing happened.
Morrigan growled and spoke again, presumably the same words. Then a third time, loud enough for Mahariel to catch some of the words. Still nothing.
While Morrigan continued to grumble and try additional spells, Leliana finally came back to herself, shaking her head and doing the same visual inspection that Mahariel had done. Coming to the same conclusions, apparently; she settled back on her heels and looked at the ceiling. Praying for help, maybe. Mahariel wished her luck.
To her left, something made a loud creaking sound. Mahariel turned her head in the direction of the sound and noted the others doing the same.
There were two large doors, there that seemed to have been carved directly from the walls. The same intricate patterns that ran along the top of the walls and columns were spread across the length and width of the door as well. Mahariel thought she saw some Dalish patterns in there, but she’d have needed more time to study the scene.
Instead, she focused herself to pay attention to the man who walked through the now-open doors.
He was Dalish; tall, at least a head taller than herself — and Mahariel had been of a height with the majority of the men in her clan. He had black hair, shaved on the sides and hanging down his back in a long braid. The lines on his face — underneath his high cheekbones and above his pointed nose — seemed to contradict the richness of his hair color. Mahariel decided to estimate his age based on the face, judging him to be about fifty. A very attractive fifty, she admitted, somewhat unwillingly.
The vallaslin he wore was one of the more elaborate designs Mahariel had ever seen: a symmetrical design, half of his face dark-on-light and the other light-on-dark. The two halves were connected by curving, thorny vines. It was in Elgar'nan’s honor, as her own vallaslin was for Ghilain'nain.
He wore loose and flowing robes that swirled as he walked towards them. They were white, an impossibly pure and bright color. As he came closer, Mahariel saw that the robes were covered in thick embroidery, the patterns matching his vallaslin.
The Dalish man regarded them for a long moment before turning his back on them and walking towards the elegantly carved throne that, somehow, Mahariel hadn’t noticed until that moment.
With the confidence and sense of the dramatic that he’d just displayed, he had to be the one behind their current captivity. Mahariel watched him carefully. If she learned his weaknesses, she’d have a better chance of finding a way to escape.
“Welcome to your new home,” he said. His voice was deep, and rich, and it sent a shiver up her spine. “My name is Rolen. I am delighted that you could join me.”
“You did not give us any choice in the matter,” Morrigan spat angrily.
“True. If there were another way I could have accomplished this, I would have,” Rolen said. “Alas, your heads have been filled with lies and false platitudes, and you would never have come willingly. I hope that, in time, you will see how wrong those around you have been, and that I only ever had your best interests at heart.”
“Our best interests!” Morrigan’s laugh was on the edge of hysteria. “Being kidnapped, placed into these ridiculous outfits, bound hand and foot and left to kneel in front of you like — like —”
“Obedient servants?” Rolen finished for her. There was something in his smile that made Mahariel very uneasy. Confidence that he knew something they did not.
Morrigan glared daggers at him. “What are these lies and false platitudes that we have been sold?” Leliana asked, much calmer than Morrigan. Mahariel was content to her friends do the talking; it gave her a chance to keep observing Rolen.
“That you are in a fight you can win,” Rolen replied, still utterly calm and composed. “This Blight is too much for anyone, even strong fighters such as yourself, to hope to push back. Ferelden is in disarray. You have done well to gain the allies that you have. I know you intended to travel to Orzammar next.” He shook his head sadly. “Even they would not be enough to save you.”
“You are clearly a mage of great power,” Leliana said, “to have done all of this. But I have never heard of a mage who can successfully see into the future.”
Rolen laughed, the sound echoing softly in the large, mostly empty room. “I never claimed to be able to see the future. I have lived for much longer than my appearance suggests. That experience allows me to see patterns that all others will, inevitably, miss.”
Arrogant, confident, and a strong mage. Mahariel tried not to think that they were in trouble. There would be a way out. There was always some kind of way out.
“So you claim that we will inevitably fail,” Morrigan said, apparently having gotten over her fit of anger. “You are so confident in this that you have gone to such extraordinary measures to bring us here. And again I must ask — why these outfits?”
Rolen smiled. “A man likes to look upon women who are dressed in a fashion pleasing to his eye.”
“Oh, I knew it.” Morrigan was seething now. Mahariel restrained herself from making a comment about how she wasn’t showing that much more skin than she usually did.
“This is all for you,” Morrigan continued, her anger building even hotter. “You bring us here, put us in these ridiculous outfits, and try to sell us some story about it being for our own good — when it is, in truth, entirely to feed your own desires and ego. You feel proud of yourself for having captured us and you wish to parade us around like trophies.”
“Correct, and wrong,” Rolen replied. He stood and walked over to Morrigan. She continued to glare at him in defiance as he laid a hand against her cheek. Mahariel idly wondered why Morrigan wasn’t spitting in his face. Perhaps it was something in the magic that he was using?
“I do feel proud for having captured you. I saw how well you acquitted yourselves against the mercenaries I hired,” he said, releasing Morrigan’s cheek and walking over to stand in front of Leliana. He smiled again, bending down and twining his fingers around the small braid that Leliana always wore.
“But I have no desire to parade you around. Yet.” Leaving Leliana behind, he made his way over to Mahariel. She looked up at him, noting every detail about him that she could. The lines on his face. The shape of his hairline. The color of his eyes — as gray as storm clouds.
Perhaps it was just because she was intently paying attention, but the touch he laid upon her face was gentler than the others. More tender than possessive. She filed that bit of information away for later.
“That will come later. After the Blight has passed.” He leaned in closer, and Mahariel saw that he was wearing some kind of chain or pendant under his robes. It looked like it was silver, but that was all the detail that she got before he pulled away. Straightening, he turned his back on them and went back to his throne.
“And after you’ve had sufficient time to have a change of mind about your situation.”
Ah. Mahariel had been waiting for that. She knew there had to be something he was planning to do that would make them play along with his little game.
“I suppose this is when you tell us how that’s going to happen,” she said. Now was as good a time as any to break her silence.
“Ah! She speaks!” Rolen leaned forward, his gaze as intent as hers had been a few moments before. “I should think that you would be most grateful, Viera Mahariel. They expect you to die, you know. Ending the Blight, ideally. If not, they’ll find a way to dispose of you afterwards. Can’t have a Dalish being held up as a hero. That would undermine their vision of us as ignorant and uncivilized.”
His words were an unpleasant echo of some of her own thoughts, when she was feeling particularly uncharitable towards some of the people she was trying to help. She did her best to control her expression. She couldn’t let him see any hint of agreement or sympathy.
“I do hate to disappoint you, but I don’t intend to tell you what’ll happen,” Rolen continued. “You’ll simply have to wait and see what it is, when it is your turn.”
“My turn,” Mahariel repeated. “And when will that be?”
“After both your lovely friends have convinced me of their devotion.” Rolen lifted his hand and snapped his fingers, almost idly.
Mahariel felt her stomach clenching as a row of … beings … walked through the door. They had probably been human, once. Perhaps some of them had been elves. It was impossible to tell, with their skin hanging loosely on their bones, their ears distorted and their eyes unnaturally wide. They walked forward in perfect synchronicity, four of them stopping in front of Mahariel, and four in front of Morrigan.
Mahariel was grabbed by both arms and hauled to her feet. “You have nothing to fear from my servants,” Rolen said. He was trying to sound reassuring, Mahariel was sure, but she wasn’t buying it. “They are merely here to conduct you to your room. I’m sure you’ll find it quite comfortable.” He smiled. It was a fond smile, loving and tender. He either truly believed what he was saying or he was a very, very, good liar.
She wasn’t sure which was the better option.
Mahariel cast an anxious glance at Leliana, wishing she could do something - anything - other than allow herself to be led away.
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Caged Minds