From the Ashes: Glimmers of Hope (ch. 26) (Patreon)

“You didn’t say anything,” Theron remarked in a quiet voice as we set up camp. We rejoined the villagers, but they were giving us -- or, rather, Shale -- a wide berth. As a result, we didn’t really need to take watch. Apparently, Shale didn’t need to sleep, but it was decided that it would be best if at least one Grey Warden was up at all times. Alistair could feel the darkspawn the best out of the three of us, but Theron was rapidly catching up. Likely because of how tainted he had been before becoming a Warden.

We sat around a campfire, our tents arranged around it while remaining on the edge of the Honnoleth Village camp. We were given an extra tent for Morrigan to get her private one. Well, given was bit of a stretch -- more like Morrigan extorted a tent by threatening to set people on fire. Also probably accounted to why people were giving us a wide berth.

“You came back. Didn’t seem like I needed to,” I responded, my tone low. A bit of clay was in my hands that I was manipulating with Mold Earth. The village of Honnoleth was being sculped out, as was the hill it sat on. The surrounding area was being fleshed out as much as I could, but I needed to see it to give the sculpture the detail that it needed. “I am a bit surprised though. I thought you’d be running back to Merrill and Tamlen when you heard that we’re dying.”

“Tamlen is dead,” Theron told me, making me nearly drop the cay sculpture. There was grief in his tone as he gazed into the fire, the light reflecting off of his eyes. I looked at him, but he didn’t meet my gaze. “We went off the beaten path. Found some old ruins -- elven. We were excited. Ecstatic, really. Went right in hoping to find elven artifacts. We… heh… we talked about you while we did it. What a shit you were.”

“Nice to know I left an impression,” I responded, amused despite myself.

“You did. Gave us something to prove, I think. Tamlen and I spent the next two years hunting for ruins. We left for days at a time. Weeks once. Got into all kinds of trouble. The Keeper had our hides every time that we came back, but without fail, we went right back out in our search. When we stumbled across some shemlen that started talking about some elven ruins, it felt like a gift from the Creators.” Theron admitted, a sigh escaping him.

“We went in. Dealt with some giant spiders at the start, but the deeper we went in… there were undead. Ancient undead. Dealt with them easily enough -- magic reanimated them, but their bones were made of dust. At the heart of the temple, we found a mirror. And a blighted creature -- a bear, I think? We didn’t know at the time,” Theron spoke, spilling his guts on what happened. “Tamlen approached the mirror. He saw something in it. Didn’t really say what, just that he couldn’t look away.”

He shook his head, “He touched it and the thing exploded with light. I was a half dozen feet away and I got infected with the taint. Duncan found me outside the temple -- I don’t remember leaving though. I was unconscious. Tamlen must have dragged me out, but by the time Duncan found me, he was long gone. I only survived as long as I did because of the Keepers' magic. Becoming a Grey Warden was meant to save my life. Tamlen… Tamlen is dead.”

If he was lucky, I didn’t say. If Tamlen was infected with the taint, it was just as likely that he had become a ghoul. For Tamlen’s sake, I hope that wasn’t the case.

“I’m sorry that he’s dead,” I told Theron, knowing that the words were worthless. How many times had I heard the words uttered to me? How many times did I get angry at how useless they were? You’d think I would be able to do more than just utter them right back. However, there wasn’t much else to say.

“Are you?” Theron questioned me, an angry edge in his voice. “You’ve made your hatred for the Dalish no secret. If anything, you’ve been confusing me. You hate me, yet you saved me and then you continue to hate me and my people.”

“I don’t hate you, Theron. If I did… I would have saved you from the darkspawn so I could kill you meself,” I told him with a shake of my head. He was throwing the word around. He didn’t understand what hate truly was. How it poisoned your soul and twisted you into becoming something you didn’t think was possible. “If I hated the Dalish, I’d be wiping your clans off the face of Thedas one by one.”

I inclined my head to him, “I thought Tamlen was a decent enough sort. He didn’t deserve his ending. Then again, few rarely do get the deaths that they deserve.” I said, offering a shrug. “So, I’m sorry that he’s dead. And that you lost a friend.”

Theron scowled at the fire, but it didn’t seem directed at me. “I was expecting a fight,” he admitted, sounding like he wanted one. “You judge my people -- our people -- so harshly and you barely knew us. You saw but a fraction of what the Dalish are before you left. I… also judged you. Harshly.” He admitted as we both looked into the fire.

“I found your clan a week after what happened… happened,” I told him, a sigh in my voice that matched his. “Maybe there is more to the Dalish, but you weren’t what I wanted when I needed it. And you still aren't."

“So you went back to the city. I… didn’t believe the tales, at first. When Shianni first reached out to us. It sounded like a fantasy -- city elves were rising up against their shemlen masters? I thought the tales were exaggerated. But, they weren’t, were they?” Theron asked me, his tone quiet.

My gaze drifted to the tents, wondering if those inside were still listening to us behind the thin canvas. My gaze flickered to Shale, who was openly listening to us. Staring right at us. “Less than an open revolt like you’re making it sound,” I told him in a low tone. However, our eyes met for a moment, a message passing between us. Theron caught it, nodding at me. “But the Rabbits are a force to be reckoned with.”

“As are the Dalish,” Theron returned. “Despite what you may think of us, we do more than dig through ruins for pieces of elven lore. We fight for our home. In our own way,” he told me before he stood up, going to head into his tent and leave me to take watch. However, he paused before he entered the tent, not looking at me as he spoke. “It’s been two years. Do you still feel the same as you did?”

“Every day,” I answered him, recalling exactly what I had said to him. Even if those that committed the deed suffered for what they did. What I inflicted upon them was the cruelest of vengeance upon them. They weren’t dead, but I made sure that they wished that they were. They were likely back in Denerim, waiting for me to step down those steps, and they trembled at the fact that I hadn’t stepped down them in months.

And I still felt the same. Vengeful. Hateful. Morrigan’s mother's words rang in my ears like a bell because I couldn’t deny them.

I wanted to watch the world burn. Quench the flames in seas of blood and salt the earth so nothing may ever grow on Thedas again. All I could do was direct that feeling into something productive. Else I would burn up from the inside out.

Theron didn’t look pleased with the answer but he nodded all the same before he went inside of the tent. Once he was gone, Shale began to thump over, looking down at me with an unreadable expression made out of stone. I looked up at it, cocking an eyebrow in response to its unreadable gaze.

"It intends to keep watch? Afraid that I shall squish it while it is sleeping?" Shake questioned.m, sounding curious.

"Among other things," I admitted. "Still have things to do," I said, pointedly reaching into my bag to pull out one of the books I had gotten from Honnoleth. One of the books I needed to read and understand before I could make heads or tales of the more advanced subjects. The old demon’s memories actually hurt me in a way -- some of the knowledge overlapped, but it was referred to by different names, but I was trying to fill in the gaps of my knowledge.

"It does not like to sleep," Shale observed.

"It does not," I agreed. The demons no longer plagued me each night. I had the taint to thank for that. It seemed to repel them. Or interfered with them finding me. I wasn't really sure. Either way, I could sleep without being tempted by demons, but the dreams about the darkspawn were no more pleasant. Already, I could hear Alistair and Theron starting the trash around a bit, whimpering on the occasion.

"It still requires it, though. I have witnessed what happens when mages like it go too long without sleep. Soon it shall be barking the most mundane of orders are me," Shale stated, making it sound like it was an inevitability.

I squinted at the page I was on before deciding to cast Light to illuminate the book. A small orb appeared over the book, letting me read without straining my eyes. "Most likely, but that implies that you would follow those mundane orders."

Shale made a dismissive sound, "I won't. Unless it commands me to squish birds. And darkspawn, I suppose."

"The former being the greater of the two evils, I take it," I remarked, making Shale nod, seemingly missing the dry sarcasm. "Is that what happened to your former master? Morrigan thinks that his wife ordered you to kill him for one reason or another."

"It is a possibility," Shale admitted, catching my attention. "I do not recall crushing my former master. I'm told that I did, but I do not recall the act itself. I hope that I killed it, though. It was most unpleasant." That was interesting. Shale didn't recall killing Wilhelm? Well, I suppose it meant that it was still a possibility.

"I'll put it under maybe. Was he really that bad?" I asked, reading the pages of the tome about the delicacies of magic. It's subatlies that eluded me. I needed to learn.

In terms of illusions, I was doing quite well, yet I had hit roadblocks. Phantasmal Killer was the evolution to Phantasmal Force, where the illusions were so powerful that if I made a person believe that they were standing in a bed of lava, their skin would begin to burn. I improved my illusions, the detail of them, their believability, and how they felt, yet I had never managed to cause physical harm to someone with them.

Something was missing and I had absolutely no idea what. It was like some part of the more powerful spells was fundamentally broken or something. Either that, or I needed to deepen my understanding of the magic.

"It was. Always experimenting and ordering me around… if it was the whiny mage's wife that ordered me to kill the whiny mage, then I shall thank it. What is the proper way to give thanks between soft fleshy creatures?"

"Can never go wrong with a fruit basket," I responded. "Experiments?"

"Constantly. These crystals were among them," Shale remarked, gesturing to itself. "But I recall little else about them." Very interesting, but not entirely relevant. The crystals themselves were of interest -- I could hear the Fade twinkling from them, almost like a wind chime. They attracted magic, channeled it, and I had no idea for what purpose.

With that, we settled into a comfortable silence. I stayed up through most of the night, only going to sleep when Alistair took watch, giving me a tired and pointed look. I regretted going to sleep almost as soon as I closed my eyes.

I heard singing in my ears. A terrible symphony of noise that was unlike anything I had ever heard before, yet, it was compelling. Better than the rowdy songs at the Maid, better than the choir singing in the Chantry, better than even Kallian humming a tune to herself when she thought no one was listening. It was tempting to get swept away in the song. To just close my eyes and listen to it as its terrible hum filled my veins.

I stood before Ostagar, the ruins of it. My body was my own. I watched on as a group of darkspawn began stripping the body of King Calian, fostering his body on a large rough wood cross that he was left to hang by. His ribs had been carved in, his stomach ripped open that rotted entrails spilled out of. His brilliant golden armor was divided up, trophies of sorts.

The field of the dead had been completely ransacked. The dead were gathered up and turned into feasting piles, the humans and darkspawn alike. The stench was putrid, the air filled with the stench of the taint and rot. Their weapons and armor were stripped away, also divided up through the horde.

What I didn't see was the horde. I took a step forward and the entire Fade rippled around me as the scene of the massacre of Ostagar became a tunnel. A deep road, I think. The ceiling was much higher than I thought it would be, more than a hundred feet up, I think. The walls were lined with dwarven statues that wielded battleaxes. The darkspawn horde were huddled inside of the tunnels, practically on top of one another. They hissed and shouted wordlessly, but they were coexisting peacefully. If you took away their monstrous appearances, it might even be sweet.

I took another step, the area rippling around me and while I remained underground, the part of the deep roads I was in changed. I saw buildings in a great canyon. They were built into the walls of the canyon, connected through hundreds of stone bridges while the buildings themselves seemed to cover the walls. It was a Thaig, I think. Not sure which one. However, I did see something else.

The Archdemon sat perched upon the uppermost bridge, curled up almost like a cat. Its black and purple scales were twisted and molted, odd spikes jutting out almost at random. In some places, it looked like the scales had cracked open where the muscle beneath grew too quickly. A single arm draped off of the bridge as the Archdemon overlooked the canyon that was teaming with darkspawn. Thousands of them.

I winced as the song thundered in my ears, screeching in them now that I was so close to the Archdemon. I blotted it out -- the song and its urgings. To gather here. To breed. To prepare.

"Prepare… for what?" I spoke, my words lost to me because I heard nothing but the song. A sweet and terrible melody.

The Archdemon heard me, it seemed because the moment the words left my lips, it shifted, turning its head to me and pinning me with the gaze of two large violet eyes that rested in pools of black. The song became louder and louder and louder, demanding that I-

…

"Puh!" I gasped, lurching up and just about punching Theron in the face with my thrashing arms as he shook me awake. He looked concerned as I settled down, my skin clammy with cold sweat and my heart beating faster than a hummingbirds. I settled down into my bedroll, dragging a hand down my face as I tried to retain what I had seen.

"What did you see?" Theron asked, his tone quiet.

I took a moment to answer, choosing to cast Presentation on myself to clean myself up. It wasn't quite as refreshing as a bath, but it was more refreshing than dealing with damp clothes. "The Archdemon," I muttered. "Stood right next to it, close enough to touch. The song got so loud when it looked at me…" I breathed, taking a breath.

"I saw it too. It seemed to be in a durnlurgen thiag," Theron offered while I shook my head, gathering my wits.

"Are we leaving?" I asked him, earning a nod. Good. Because I needed something to take my mind off of what I saw.

The Archdemon was being cautious, I thought to myself. Biding its time. Gathering its strength. Uncertainty pooled in my gut because, when the horde surfaces in earnest… I think it was going to be far too late to do anything to stop the horde. It would sweep over Ferelden like the tide.

We broke down camp in relative silence. All of the Grey Wardens had bad dreams that night. We shared what we saw, but we had no actionable information. In the meantime, we traveled with the villagers of Honnoleth, who slowed us down considerably, but given how important Matthias was, I decided it was worth the delay. Leliana spent a lot of time away from the group, choosing to raise the spirits of the villagers, who sorely missed their homes.

She sang runes, danced on the occasion, and provided a shoulder to cry on. Morrigan kept to herself as well, choosing to spend her time pouring over the tomes we received. Sten didn't say a word to anyone, simply going through the motions of the day.

It took us three full days to reach Redcliff. The first thing we did was pass through a small village called the Crossroad -- a intersection that marked the north, east, south, and western roads of the Redcliff arling. It was completely overrun by refugees, I noticed. Matthias and the villagers from Honnoleth joined them, quickly putting themselves to use.

The best way to describe the situation was organized chaos. It was a complete and utter fucking mess, but at the same time, everyone seemed to have a general idea of what they were doing. Trees were being felled to put up a defensive wall around the village, there were clear markings of order between the various villages, and there were communal pots that had stew bubbling in them.

There was a lot of talk of going to the actual village and castle of Redcliff, more talk of marching up the imperial highway and escaping Ferelden through Denerim or by Gwaren. People were scared and uncertain. They had faith that the King would contain things at Ostagar, and like Honnoleth, there more many that hadn’t even known that the army had fallen. I imagine that Elissa would come in soon and start sweeping them up, imposing order to the mess, but for now, we had grander concerns.

We moved along the road, approaching the high ancient walls to Redcliff village. The gate was left open, though guarded rather well with a few dozen soldiers. They let us through easily enough, but I spotted a runner that headed down into the village to alert someone to our approach. Redcliff village itself was more of a small town -- normally, it might house somewhere between two and five thousand citizens. Now it harbored just about everyone in the southern Ferelden, pushing it well over capacity.

Off in the not so far distance loomed Redcliff castle. It was seated upon an island just off of the village, and the only thing that connected it to the mainland was a narrow bridge. There was a reason why Redcliff hadn’t been cracked during the occupation. It was about as unbreachable as you could get. Especially when you had to approach it from a bridge right into a killbox. Attacks from the water would be similarly repelled because the walls were built down into the waters of lake Calehad.

“Wait,” Alistair spoke as we started to near the bridge to Redcliff. I turned to him, as the rest of the part did, wondering what was going on because his voice was thick with nervousness. “I… have a small confession to make.”

“Does… Arl Eammon secretly hate you or something? Forbidden from returning to Redcliff?” I questioned, thinking that was about the only thing that could explain why he suddenly seemed so shifty. Cold feet at the very last moment.

“I hope not,” Alistair quipped before he shifted in his saddle. “I’m… a bastard. King Maric’s bastard,” he blurted the revelation forcefully, as if he were shoving the words past his lips. I tilted my head, looking at Alistair while Leliana gasped dramatically. Theron seemed clueless and Morrigan was rolling her eyes to the high heavens.

Huh. Huh. “Now that you mention it… I do see the resemblance between you and Calian,” I remarked, seeing it. Alistair's hair was darker, and his jawline wasn’t as pronounced, but they had the same eyes. Same cheekbones. Same build. I took a moment to process the information while the truth continued to spill out of Alistair’s mouth.

"I didn't mean to keep it a secret! Well, I mean, I did," Alistair corrected. "I just, well, I thought you should all know. Before you were told."

Theron looked at Alistair, "So… you're king now?" He questioned, seeming to have a rough idea of how a monarchy worked.

"Maker, I hope not," Alistair breathed, the idea sounding genuinely terrifying to him. "Look, I've never met my father. I grew up in Redcliff, in the stables -- Leliana, would you please stop looking at me like that?" He pleaded while Leliana fluttered her eyelashes at him, smiling from ear to ear.

"I cannot help it! It is like a story, no? A bastard prince must rise from his humble beginnings to save the kingdom -- the whole world -- in a time of great need. There are many such tales in Orlais," Leliana remarked, making Alistair shake his head.

He waved his hands in front of him, as if he were trying to ward Leliana off. "No. Not a prince, bastard or otherwise. I'm a Grey Warden. We can't hold land or property," he stated, his tone firm, as if it was an unyielding rule as certain as the sun rising in the morning.

Theron shook his head, "You humans confound me. What is a bastard?" He asked and I noticed that Sten was equally interested. Do Qunari not have bastards?

"Alistair, it seems," Morrigan quipped, clearly amused with how uncomfortable he was. "His father was not married to his mother. Thus, he is illegitimate and not a contender for the throne of Ferelden.” Alistair scowled at Morrigan, thoroughly annoyed with her and her barbs.

“You’re making fun of me. For being the bastard of a king?” He questioned, squinting at her while Leliana tried and failed to stifle her giggles.

“There was once a Ferelden king that drooled upon himself with such frequency and volume that he required an attendant to constantly wipe his chin. I’m sure your ancestors would be very pleased to see that the apple has not fallen far from the tree,” Morrigan responded, laughing in delight, much to his chagrin.

Alistair was the bastard son of King Maric. That was a surprise. And very, very, very interesting because, in theory, it meant that the Therin bloodline wasn’t extinguished. People were stupid. Despite being completely unequipped to lead, they’d throw Alistair on the throne without hesitation because of who his father was. Meaning, despite how little Alistair may want it, there was a very good chance that Arl Eammon fully intended to make him a candidate for the throne.

There was also Elissa. Nobles liked binding important families together for legitimacy. So, marry Alistair and Elissa together? A Cousland and a bastard Therin? Would that work for the nobility of Ferelden? It made sense to me -- I’m sure Alistair being a bastard would have a lot of weight in some other situation, but Calian was dead, mounted on a couple of sticks back in Ostagar if my dream was to be believed, and he didn’t have any kids of his own according to my spies.

“Well, you’re not just a bastard, but a royal bastard,” I said, joining in on the ribbing. That caught his attention, and I knew he was going to find a way to use that line at some point. “But thanks for the heads up. Would have been real awkward finding out when we met the Arl,” I decided, catching a flash of movement from down the bridge. It was Bann Tegan, the Arl’s brother.

I noticed that he was trying very hard to not seem distressed.

“It doesn’t change anything, right? It’s never meant anything to me. I just want to be… Warden Alistair. No one else,” Alistair stated, his tone certain. It was a rare thing that you saw someone that knew exactly what they wanted out of life. However, just because you wanted something didn’t make it so. I said nothing to avoid an argument, but I knew that one way or the other, Alistair would at the very least be a contender for king.

I would help him avoid it if I could. Alistair was rather judgmental, but he seemed like a decent bloke. I didn’t want to betray him after putting him on a throne… but I would if I needed to.

“Alistair, I couldn’t care less about who your father was even if I tried,” I told him, urging Argo forward and I heard him let out a sigh of relief at that. We met Bann Teagan halfway down the bridge, and he held up a hand, gesturing for us to come to a stop.

“Alistair! It is you,” Bann Teagan announced, relief coloring his tone as Alistair unhorsed himself, striding up to the man. Bann Teagan closed the distance, clapping Alistair on the shoulder, “Elissa Cousland sent word ahead of your arrival. When I heard about the King, and the army, I feared the worst.”

“And here I thought you wouldn’t recognize me if I wasn’t covered in mud,” Alistair remarked, sounding happy that he was welcomed so warmly. I did wonder about that. How welcomed had he been if he was forced to sleep in stables before being packed off to the Chantry? “How are things here? I’m seeing refugees everywhere,” he remarked, making a pained expression flicker over Teagan’s face.

He let out a small sigh, “Things could be better, I will admit. My brother has fallen ill,” Teagan explained and I rolled my eyes up to the sky as I suppressed an annoyed groan. That was ill timing.

“How ill?” I questioned, looking back down and Teagan seemed a bit surprised to be addressed by me. His eyes flickered down to my armor, then to the assortment of company we kept, squinting a little at Shale, who squinted a glare right back.

“Is he okay?” Alistair pressed, sounding worried.

Teagan met his gaze, his lips tightening, “My brother has been poisoned. He has fallen into a coma that he hasn’t woken up from. We sent a missive to the Circle for a healer, but we haven’t heard back yet. I suspect that the missive was intercepted,” he informed, and instantly, I saw Alistair start to redden with anger.

“Well… at least we know he’s worth assassinating,” I remarked while Leliana gasped slightly at the news. Alistair rounded on me, his eyes blazing with anger and the remark didn’t earn me any points with Teagan either. “Do you know who did it?” I asked, ignoring their evident displeasure.

“As of yet, no. He has been weakening for the past two weeks, but he slipped into a coma just yesterday. Isolde has been distressed. Conner too,” Teagan added, his tone morose. Meaning that Eamon was poisoned before the battle of Ostagar. For what? Who were his enemies? Was the poisoning the cause for the delay in the forces from Redcliff. “She’s… ordered a number of the Redcliff knights to search for the Urn of Sacred ashes.”

Wow. “What the fuck?” I blurted, not quite able to help myself. What the actual fuck? “In the middle of a Blight? During a refugee crisis? Is she an idiot?” I questioned, making Teagan glower at me.

“You are speaking of your betters,” he growled in a low tone, taking the insult personally. Were they fucking? I couldn’t care less.

“My betters decided to send away hundreds of able-bodied knights in search of a mythical urn of ashes belonging to Andraste instead of, I don’t know, sending them to Ostagar. Like the king asked. Which could have changed the battle. But no, I’m sure those brave knights of yours are much better spent wandering the sodding countryside instead of keeping the peace here. Or fighting darkspawn in a Blight that’s going to consume the country,” I stated, my tone scathing as I shook my head. “Fucking nobility. Fuck. If you want to die so badly, slit your writs and jump off a bridge. Don’t drag the rest of us down with you. Fuck me.”

Teagan sputtered. He couldn’t have looked more shocked if I had slapped him. I saw that Alistair was angry as well, but he also saw my point. We just walked into a right mess. Arl Eamon was in a coma, meaning no influence that we could use to gather up the squabbling nobles. The Redcliff army, which was supposed to be untouched on account that it wasn’t at Ostagar, was instead scattered in the wind looking for the Ashes of Andraste, something that probably wasn’t even real.

All the while, the entire Arling was completely overrun with refugees.

I turned my horse around, heading back into the village and pushing through the rest of the group, making Alistair call out, “Azoth, what are you doing?”

“Going to deal with this shit before it gets any worse,” I decided. The shit had piled high, and it was time to grab a shovel.

Little did I know that things were about to get much, much worse.