Of Wardens and Pariah ch23--Here's Hoping

It was dark. And cold. And there was some less than subtle background noise thrumming at her temples, a discordant melody she couldn't ignore no matter how hard she tried. Trinne shivered, rubbed her arms in a futile attempt to warm up as she regained her bearings.

She was alone. That in itself was disorienting, even without it being pitch black. She summoned a spell wisp--for what little good its weak light would do--and started walking, wondering what had happened to the others. The wisp bobbed along next to her, illuminating just enough of the uneven, rocky path she could take a couple more steps. It wasn't until one of the rocky outcroppings wobbled and flickered, as if underwater, that the pieces clicked.

This was a dream. The realization did not bring the relief she expected. If anything, the aura of unseen menace increased. Wisps of glowing green fog drifted past, twisting and curling as they headed for some distant point. The song was getting louder, and she realized she'd drawn closer to the source.

With no better ideas, Trinne followed the fog. Maybe that was the point, anyway. It felt like that was where she was supposed to go. Her wisp trilled in concern as the green glow appeared ahead, and started trailing behind her. Since the green light was enough to see by now, she dismissed the spirit and continued on alone. The song was getting louder.

As she drew nearer to what was apparently the centerpoint of the dream, the thrumming in her temples increased, dread building a knot in the pit of her stomach. The song was getting louder. The jutting outcrop in the distance looked familiar--

If the downdraft of the dragon's wings hadn't knocked her down, she probably would've tripped over her own feet anyway. The archdemon landed heavily, screeching in warning, or victory, or rage, she didn't care. Even distant as it was, the mage would swear she could feel its breath against her face as she crab-crawled backwards, unable to tear her gaze away.

The huge head swiveled back and forth, white-marble eyes scanning the desolation of the Fade. Panting breath seized in her throat, choking out the scream building in her chest. Probably for the best, she had to concede, settling for a whimper as she shrank back.

It sniffed, took a step in her direction. Terror had lightning sizzling and crackling in her palms.

Another step. The song was deafening, in her head, it wouldn't go away.

The dragon's head swung in her direction, jaws working as hot breath washed out.

She screamed.

>>X<<

"Trinne. Trinne." Hand on her shoulder. Concern filling hazel eyes.

"No!" She lashed out, back of one hand connecting with a crack against flesh and bone.

"Trinne, it's me!" It was as he nudged her hands down it registered me meant Alistair. She stopped struggling, the hands on her shoulders comforting rather than constricting now. Breathing hard, she rested her forehead against his chest--missing the surprise in his eyes completely--and took a moment to banish the dragon from inside her eyelids. Replace it with images of tousled blankets and the snapping heat of the campfire embers.

"What the sodding Void was that?!" she demanded when she finally looked up. A wince tweaked her features at the red mark blooming along Alistair's cheekbone. "Sorry."

The warrior shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I have a very hard head. You sure you didn't break your hand?" he joked.

Trinne wiggled her fingers, feeling a couple twinge. She shook her head anyway. "Nope. No damage." She have to try to heal them when he wasn't looking...

"Pretty good backhand. Y'know. For a mage," Alistair teased.

She tried to glare at him but couldn't help the shaky laugh that escaped her lips. "I'm full of surprises, templar." Pause. "Though the terror definitely helped. Bringing me back to my original question: What. Was. That?"

He hesitated, tugging on one ear. "I'm assuming you saw the archdemon again?"

Trinne nodded wordlessly, raking one trembling hand through her hair.

More tugging at his earlobe. "How do I explain this..." Deep, sighing breath as he tried to collect his thoughts. "Part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That's what your dream was. The archdemon 'talks' to the horde, and we hear it, same as they do. It's how we know this is truly a Blight."

"Wait, so you're sayin' that wasn't a one time deal for my Joining?" Trinne tugged her knees in close to her chest and shivered. "I'm gonna be seeing it a lot?"

Alistair nodded apologetically. "It takes some doing, but you can usually learn to block out the dreams. Some of the older Wardens even said they could understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure can't. Anyhow, I heard you thrashing around and thought I should tell you. It was scary at first for me, too."

A half-smile quirked one side of her mouth. "I'm a big girl. I'll be fine. But... thanks, Alistair. I... I appreciate it."

He grinned. "Hey, that's what I'm here for. Delivering unpleasant news and witty one-liners. Think you'll be getting back to sleep?"

Trinne yawned wide enough to pop her jaw and glanced skyward. Pink was already teasing along the top edges of the trees. "Not really a point, is there?"

"True. Sorry. D'you think if we start cooking, the others'll get the hint and wake up?"

She giggled, stomach rumbling at the mention of food. "Won't know 'til we try, I guess. But you do realize living in the Circle didn't afford me much opportunity to learn to cook, right?"

"My dear lady, I'm sure I don't know what you're implying," Alistair drawled.

"Are all templars this thick? I. Can't. Cook."

"Ah, so I'll be doing all the work is what you're telling me."

She shot him a dirty look. "Pretty much. I mean, I can help, but you're in charge. Scary as that thought may be."

"Hey," he protested good-naturedly. "It's too early for you to be so mean."

Trinne rolled her eyes and laughed. "If you think that's mean, you haven't seen anything yet."

Alistair chuckled and started pulling supplies out of a knapsack. "Well, save it for later, will you? An extra pair of hands really will make this go faster."

"Very subtle," the mage grinned. "Just tell me what you need me to do."

He hesitated a minute, then nodded at the kettle sitting by the firepit. "Could you get some water and start it boiling? Porridge is about the limit of my skills when it comes to breakfast."

"Put some apples or something in it for taste, and that's fine with me," she assured him, lugging the kettle off to fill with water. She nearly dropped it on her foot when she thought she saw the archdemon in the reflective surface of the stream. The 'archdemon' turned out to be a weird-shaped tree branch and her over-active imagination, but Trinne still spent the whole walk back to camp trying to slow her heartbeat. And as she slung the full kettle on its hanger over the fire--which Alistair had coaxed back to more than embers while she was gone--the mage blurted the first question that popped into her head as a distraction, "So, how did you become a Grey Warden?"

Alistair looked up at her, brows raised in surprise. "Same way you did; you drink blood, choke on it, and pass out. You haven't forgotten already, have you?"

"Ha ha. So funny," Trinne muttered, plopping down almost-gracefully next to him.

"I do m'best," the warrior grinned. "What can I say?" He sighed, blowing out a slow breath as he cut up an apple, paying far more attention to the fruit then to her. "Let's see... I was in the Chantry before. They, you know, um, trained me as a templar. That's where I learned most of my skills."

"You mentioned the templar thing," she nodded, handing him another apple as he finished with the first one. "I gotta say, now that I know you a little, y'don't really seem the religious sort."

Alistair laughed ruefully. "You're telling me. I was banished to the kitchen to scrub pots more times than I can count. And that's a lot; I can count pretty high," he added hastily, forestalling Trinne's comment before she even opened her mouth.

"You're good, pretty boy," she laughed. "so, what happened?"

"There was a tournament. I didn't win, but Duncan still picked me to recruit. The grand cleric didn't want to let me go. Duncan actually had to conscript me, and was she ever furious that he did..." He laughed, faraway look in his eyes. "I swear, I thought she was going to have us arrested on the spot. I was lucky."

It was Trinne's turn to raise an eyebrow. Most templars at the tower had chosen the life and wouldn't trade it for anything. "You think this is better than being a templar?" I knew there was a reason I liked you... 

Alistair nodded. "Oh, I suppose Chantry life is good enough for some-" a glance at Leliana's tent- "but not me. This way there's less lyrium addiction, killing monsters who actually deserve to die, not to mention we're fighting the Blight and actually doing some good. Not just sitting in a temple somewhere." He sighed heavily, hands slowing. "I'll always be thankful to Duncan for recruiting me. If it hadn't been for him, you know, I wouldn't never... I wouldn't have..." His voice wobbled, and an attempt to slice into another apple missed and gouged his thumb instead.

Trinne winced apologetically and reached for the bleeding hand, curling her fingers around his thumb. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought him up."

Alistair sniffled, dropping the knife to scrub at his eyes with the other hand as the healing spell flickered. "No, it's... I shouldn't be... it's fine. He died a hero. They all did." He blinked, cleared his throat. "Can we... change the subject?"

"Sure," the mage agreed readily. "do you have a topic in mind, or am I supposed to come up with something?"

The warrior laughed shakily at her teasing tone. "I'm sure I can come up with something... You're getting better with those, by the way." He nodded toward her hand, still loosely wrapped around his thumb.

"Oh, thanks." Trinne hastily relinquished her grasp. Wouldn't want him getting the wrong idea... "You know what they say, practice makes perfect. Anyway, it's not like I reattached a limb or anything. I ever do that, I expect a round of applause."

This laugh was less shaky, and completely genuine. "I'll bear that in mind. I-" Alistair frowned, neck craning toward the road. "Did you hear that?"

Trinne nodded, already climbing to her feet. "I'll check it out. You keep workin' on breakfast."

"But what if-"

"Relax, Pretty Boy." Lightning crackled in her palm. "I can take care of myself, and worst case, I can scream really loud."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Alistair teased, dodging when she tried to swat the back of his head. "Go protect us, oh fearless leader."

She stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes at him as she left to see what or who was approaching the camp.

>>X<<

It turned out to be a very familiar pair of dwarves. Bodahn had apparently changed his mind about the dangers of traveling with Grey Wardens. Since he brought with him a wagonload of trade goods, and shared the fascinating tidbit that Sandal was a master of enchantment, it was an easy thing for Trinne to agree he could follow their ragtag band around.

"Protection in exchange for goods and services seemed fair to me," she explained it to the others when they sat down to eat breakfast. No one objected to the arrangement, and Trinne was too preoccupied to care if they did. Between the lingering shadows of her nightmare and the knowledge they would reach Lake Calenhad today, she didn't really care about anything else.

>>X<<

The few hours' walk to the lake was fairly uneventful, which was almost worse than if they'd been hassled by darkspawn or bandits. This way, there was nothing to distract her from mental images of Irving's I'm Disappointed In You face, or Greagoir scowling liking he wanted to execute her on the spot.

Stop it, Trinne, the mage scolded herself as she listened absently to Alistair badgering Sten about what he did while in the cage in Lothering. You're a Grey Warden now. They can't do anything to you. And Greagoir scowling at you is nothing new. You're Trinne Amell. When have you ever cared what the Circle powers-that-be thought about you?

Never! And I still don't. Trinne sighed, raking her fingers through her hair as she glanced at her companions. I care what they think, though. If I'm going to lead, I need them to trust me. And the potentially upcoming revelations aren't exactly the sort of thing that will inspire trust for a former templar or a Chantry lay sister, at least... 

"Taking a page from your fellow Warden's book, I see," Morrigan commented as she came alongside the Circle mage, interrupting Trinne's train of thought.

"Huh?" she frowned in confusion.

"You've gone quiet as the Cousland boy," the witch elaborated.

"And? I thought you liked that about him," Trinne sniped. "Don't I ask too many questions or something?"

"Indeed. However, the last thing we need is our esteemed leader worrying herself to distraction. 'Tis how mistakes are made and accidents happen."

"So, what, you're going to distract me in a different way?" She raised an eyebrow at Morrigan.

"In conversing with me, you did seem to at least pay some attention to the road," the witch sighed. "If subjecting myself to your questioning keeps us from wandering into trouble, I feel I have no choice but to make the sacrifice."

Trinne rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks for that. Anything in particular gonna be a safer topic of discussion?"

Morrigan shrugged. "There is no law that says I must answer everything you ask."

You'd prob'ly just ignore it if there was. "So... just ask you anything an' if you don't wanna answer you won't?"

"Precisely," the other woman nodded.

"It's as good a plan as any, I guess." Trinne was silent for a moment. "Flemeth. Is she really the Flemeth?"

Morrigan arched an eyebrow. "So she claims. Are you familiar with the story?"

"I've read the legend a dozen times since I arrived at the Circle, but but beyond that-" Trinne abruptly checked her stride as Dane danced in front of her feet, stick clenched his jaws. "Dog, I swear..." She took the stick and threw it. "No. And given how many times the legend was repeated before being written down, I'm sure it's not entirely true as I read it."

"How very... realistic of you," Morrigan commented, sounding almost surprised.

The Circle mage shrugged. "I'd had enough of my own stories get mangled or inflated beyond recognition as they made rounds through the tower t' know you can't take anything 'legendary' at face value." She glanced over at Morrigan. "How's Flemeth tell it? Not every little nuance or anything. Just the basics, if that's something you feel like talking about."

The witch snorted. "I do not mind, but it is curious you ask about a legend rather than poking farther about me."

"After you were so prickly last time?" Trinne shot back. "I have enough to worry about without adding concern you'll do me in for being too nosy."

Morrigan actually laughed. "An excellent point. So, now, even the simple version of my mother's tale is an intriguing one..."

>>X<<

Morrigan was right; even the short version of the story was interesting enough to keep Trinne's mind off her impending problems until they reached Lake Calenhad. The mix of emotions she felt as they topped the hill and the tower came into view defied description. This was home, or had been, until not too terribly long ago.

Behind her, Alistair whistled as he took in the intimidating silhouette--and the murky lake water that effectively cut it off from the rest of the world. "Any particular reason the mages built the tower in the middle of a lake? They have an aversion to practicality or something?" he joked.

Trinne shook her head, too nervous to even chuckle at the question. "The mages didn't build it. Templars didn't either. The Avaar did, with help from the dwarves. Tevinters drove them out, then Calenhad drove them out, and when the Denerim Circle was razed a couple ages ago, the Chantry decided to relocate to here." She nodded at the crumbling remnants of a vast stone bridge. "I s'ppose an old fortress in the middle of a lake appealed to them because it makes it harder for us to escape." She twisted a lock of hair around her finger, absently wondering how Jowan had managed it. "Also makes it a blasted pain to get to, though, so let's go see what we can do about passage across the lake." She could feel his questioning gaze on her back as she made her way down the hill, but Trinne refused to look back. If she looked at him, he'd ask what was wrong. And she was really dreading getting into that. Nothing much, Alistair. The Knight-Commander just hates my guts because I helped my best friend--who turned out to be a blood mage--destroy his phylactery and escape. So now there's a 'dangerous' blood mage on the loose and the templars have no way of tracking him and it's my fault. Never mind that Jowan wouldn't hurt a fly without provocation, he's evil now and so am I by association. Only reason I'm not dead or locked up is 'cause Duncan decided loyalty and friendship count for something. 

But she kept her mouth shut and headed for the docks.  Wait a minute... The mage squinted as they drew closer to the rough wooden planking. That's not the regular ferryman. Instead of the genial, older man who usually transported people across to the tower, a templar stood at the end of the docks. Arms crossed, face set in a disgruntled almost-frown, his presence was not a good sign.  Ugh, Maker, I did not need a snag like this. But there was nothing to be done at this point but keep walking.

"Hey, you! I hope you weren't plannin' on goin' to the tower. Because I have strict orders not to let anyone past," the templar--Car-something; she couldn't remember his name-- informed her as her feet hit wood.

Andraste's bloody knickerweasels. "How come?" Trinne demanded, mentally informing the Maker the reason better be damn good.

His eyes narrowed. "That information's need to know, and I see no reason you need to know."

Trinne, do not strangle the templar. Don't do it. Clenching her hands into fists, she matched his unimpressed stare. "I need to get across to speak to the mages. I'm a Grey Warden and we need their assistance."

"A Grey Warden, huh?" he scoffed. "Prove it."

Teeth grinding together and sparks sizzling around the roots of her hair, Trinne dug around in Alistair's knapsack until she found the Grey Warden treaty with the mages. "Here. I have this."

"Mmm, yes, well, I have some documents, too," the templar rejoined. "They say I'm the queen of Antiva. What do you have to say to that?"

That you must be really, really bored to consider this entertainment. "Aren't queens usually, y'know female?" she pointed out sarcastically.

He waved her off. "Don't question royalty. Anyway, it was nice break chatting, but off you go, shoo, leave." 

"Wait, no, we really do need to get across to the tower to speak with the mages," Trinne protested, crossing her arms and glaring at the templar--Carroll! That's his name. I think--as she kept a tight grip on the treaty. "Isn't there any way we can work out a deal of some kind?"

Carroll paused for a moment, deep in thought, and then nodded toward Morrigan, who had been doing an admirable job hiding in Sten's shadow up til now. "That... dark-eyed temptress in the back. Surely the tower would be far too dull for her? Because it... gets a little lonely out here, and you could just... leave her with me."

Rather than protest, or lob a scathing insult at the templar, Morrigan just stepped forward and smiled--a dangerous smile, one that reminded Trinne of the tower's mouser stalking a rat. "Ah, excellent. I have been hoping for new prey for some time now."

All the color drained from Carroll's face. "P-Prey?"

"'Twill take but a moment," the witch continued as if he hadn't spoken, sizing him up with a cutting glance. "Perhaps you should go aboard and prepare the vessel whilst we are away, Warden. We shall have to row ourselves across." She batted her eyelashes at the templar. "I fear the lad will no longer have the use of his limbs, or indeed his eyes, once I am done with him."

He shifted nervously. "Ah, maybe I should--"

"Oh, wonderful!" Morrigan smirked. "I can sense his terror! That will make the loving all the sweeter."

Carroll coughed into a gauntleted fist. "So, you said you wanted to go across, maybeweshouldgonow. Right now."

Fighting back a laugh, Trinne gave Morrigan a grateful nod. "Sounds like a plan. Cousland, Alistair, c'mon. We might be all the Wardens left in Ferelden, but we can at least try to make this look official." Badly as she didn't want Alistair to know about That Series of Events, she hated the thought--unlikely as it was--of Greagoir laughing in her face and sending her away empty-handed just for spite if she went alone. Both men looked more than a little surprised at her admonition, but dutifully climbed in the small boat. "The rest of you can wait at the inn, I guess." Trinne tossed her coin purse to Leliana. "Don't go too crazy; we don't have much."

"Of course," the redhead nodded.

Dane and Frida both whined as the templar loosened the rope that bound the boat to the dock and cast off.

"Go with Leliana," the mage instructed, pointing. Dane folded back his ears, but obeyed, Frida--miraculously--trailing  not far behind him.

Satisfied that the dogs would stay with Leliana--at least, hers would--Trinne turned back around and sat properly, swallowing hard as they drifted ever closer to the cold, looming stone of the tower. Nothing she could do now but wait to get there, and hope it wouldn't be as bad as she feared.