Chapter Text
The first rays of the sun touched her and Mara knew that they’d prevailed against the tides of undead that attacked from the castle and the lake. Now came the time for burning the dead, taking stock of their losses and deciding how to gain access to Castle Redcliffe. Teagan had assured them that there was a secret way unknown to the undead but time needed to be taken now as they were all exhausted from last night’s battle. The villagers had mostly survived, only the innkeeper dying (to absolutely no one’s grief, least of all the barmaid who would take over the pub) and the mood was wearily jubilant. They’d survived but the worst – the necromancer or abomination within the castle’s confines – was yet to come.
Alistair used a rag to wipe off his Warden’s sword before sheathing it. Despite his youth, he’d been very well trained and held the right flank while Ser Perth had held the left, Daylen coordinating everyone to work in relative harmony. Mara’s spells had kept everyone alive and her newly learned Rock Armour spell had kept her alive as there was enough tactical skill in whatever entity had empowered the undead to send the bulk of the forces against the mages. Daylen and Neria, of course, had dominated the battlefield with their combat spells but Morrigan had proven to have a grasp of frost and lightning from the Primal school. Sten had devastated the fragile undead with his battleaxe and Daveth had flitted through the ranks with his daggers, hamstringing undead and throwing fire bombs at them, while Leliana had sniped them from afar with her bow. All in all, they’d turned the tide for the Redcliffe folk, and now they were being cheered. Even the mages.
Bann Teagan, a charming man in his early forties, gathered them altogether before the Chantry for the burning and final prayers. Villagers had cried out in horror as they realised that some of the dead had been their relatives serving in the castle. That boded ill for the survival of Arl Eamon and whoever else was in there, much to Teagan’s horror. But they were all too exhausted from the night’s battle to enter the castle without harm to themselves. So… a day of rest before some of them ventured into the Arl’s home tomorrow at dawn. Alistair, of course, was going, as would Daylen. Everyone else, including Mara, was ambivalent about it.
Once the dead had been burned, the greasy stench of cooked flesh lingering around the area, the people of Redcliffe began to take stock of what had been lost or destroyed during the siege. Mara sat down on the Chantry’s steps, unsure of what to do, and Alistair came up to her. Because of Neria and Morrigan’s hostility, Daylen’s disinterest in any man that he couldn’t f*ck, Sten’s cold dismissal and Daveth’s preoccupation with Morrigan’s breasts, he’d gravitated towards her and Leliana over the past week or so. His kindness was a balm to Mara after weeks on her own and Leliana herself was quite welcoming as well, believing that mages were no more or less people than herself. It reminded her of how much she missed Cullen and the Circle. She wanted to go home.
“I’m glad you made it through the night,” Alistair told her warmly. “That knife-wielding zombie came close though. Are you alright?”
Mara rubbed her skin. “My Rock Armour and Arcane Shield deflected most of it. I won’t be good for spellcasting though, not for a day or so.”
“I know. Daylen says you won’t be much use until we can deal with whatever’s in the castle.” Alistair sighed and looked up at the fortress’s looming bulk. “Bella’s given us free rooms at the inn. She’s renaming it the Warden’s Rest. But we’ll still have to share rooms because there’s only so many.”
She cast him a sideways glance. “Is this your way of asking me to share a room with you, Alistair?”
The ex-templar blinked. “Share a…” he began, letting it trail off before his face crimsoned. He was still fresh from the Chantry, she supposed, still a pure young knight who’d been expected to take oaths of chastity outside of marriage. “I, uh, no! Sten has told me I’m the only tolerable one. You’ll be sharing with Leliana.”
She sighed, suddenly exhausted beyond words. “I’m sorry for assuming. I… misread something you said, obviously.”
“Uh, I…” Alistair was crimson-faced now. “I-I better speak to Bann Teagan!”
He ran off and she buried her face in her hands. As always, her ability to misread people had come to ruin any rapport she’d been building with others. Maker but she missed the Circle where they all understood the half-Tranquil!
I wonder if I could persuade Daveth and Leliana to come with me across the lake to Kinloch Hold, she reflected as she looked up towards the lake where her home was located. Her grief and worry were reserved for the Circle, not for a dimly remembered family who’d surely moved on by the lack of contact. Other mages had some contact with their families but the Couslands had never once sent her a letter. It was a pity what happened to them, of course, and she prayed that Howe wouldn’t hunt her down for it. But she wondered what had possessed Loghain to believe the Wardens were a threat.
She wished Cullen was here. The templar with his easy charm could have won over anyone easily and she’d feel safer with his presence. But now he’d likely been persuaded to relinquish any hopes involving her and dedicate himself wholly to the templars. When she came home, things would be different between them, and she knew it was for the best but… it would hurt.
Between the sunlight and the exhaustion, she must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew was Leliana touching her shoulder gently. Despite being nuttier than a fruitcake, the Orlesian sister was charming and kind, her sincere interest in Mara’s wellbeing a far cry from Daylen’s distant concern and Neria’s hostility. She’d been one of the legendary bards of Orlais once before… finding a different path. Alistair hadn’t been able to get anything out of her and Mara wasn’t going to try.
“You’ll sleep better in a bed,” she said in that softly accented soprano. “Last night was… difficult.”
“It’ll be worse in the castle,” Mara said as she rose to her feet. “From the sheer amount of undead we faced last night – surely everyone who ever died in Redcliffe or Lake Calenhad! – I’m leaning towards abomination over necromancer unless one of the Mortalitasi has come down from Nevarra to wreak havoc.”
“Hmm. Alistair is insisting on going inside with Daylen tomorrow. Bann Teagan will accompany them. But no one else is volunteering,” Leliana observed as they began to walk towards the inn. “I suspect you have other concerns on your mind.”
“I was hoping I could talk you and Daveth into coming with me to the Circle,” Mara confessed. “It’s just across the lake and…”
Leliana sighed. “I understand your concern. But healing Arl Eamon must be the priority. I know that much about Fereldan politics.”
“I’d be useless in a castle full of undead,” Mara said suddenly. “I have few Primal spells, no Entropy…”
“I believe that Neria will be asked to accompany them tomorrow. She is not keen on returning to the Circle but is used to doing what Daylen wants her to do.” Leliana gave her a sideways glance from big blue eyes. “You and Alistair seem… close.”
“We talk. He’s kind. I thought… well, I thought wrong.” Mara felt her cheeks crimson. One templar in love with her and she thought they all were. Thank heavens that no one else had seen her gaffe. “I, there’s… it’s complicated.”
“Yes, your amor from the Circle.” Leliana chuckled softly. “Is he the one who gave you that lovely pendant? It’s the Prophet’s Laurel.”
“I know.” Mara’s hand closed over her pendant. “It was a gift. Because I was a Cousland.”
“Ah, yes. That poor family…” Leliana sighed. “One of the elves in the village was a spy for Howe. He was interested in what happened at the castle, which makes me wonder if there’s more to it than it seems.”
Mara felt a chill down her spine. “What do you mean?”
“I questioned Bann Teagan about the Arl’s illness. The symptoms are similar to a rare poison I… learnt about. Few in Fereldan would know about it, let alone how to cure it.” Leliana sighed again. “I know of the antidote but… getting lifestone outside of Orzammar is extremely expensive.”
“The Circle has it in stock,” Mara observed. “We have stocks of everything that can make a potion or poultice. It’s one of our biggest money-earners.”
“Once we can reach the Arl, if he’s still alive, I’ll be able to confirm my suspicions,” Leliana said as they reached the inn. “But even if we can determine it’s true… he’ll be dead in days. It lingers but it always kills in two weeks or less.”
“f*ck,” Mara swore. “Who gets to tell Alistair that?”
“He’ll take it better from you.”
The inn was already crowded as villagers, afire with nervous energy, had flocked to it in order to get drunk and celebrate. Daveth was there with Morrigan at his table. The Witch of the Wilds was sniffing at a flagon of ale suspiciously while the Warden waved them over to join him. “C’mon, you two, let’s have a f*ckin’ drink to celebrate!”
Mara reluctantly took a seat across from the acidic Morrigan. It was patently clear that the Witch despised her for being loyal to the Circle while Mara thought she was a stone-hearted bitch. Daveth, himself, was neutral on mages with more of a concern for his Chasind kindred. She wondered how he’d been recruited into the Grey Wardens and how he felt about Daylen leading them.
“Water, thank you,” she told the redhead who came over to ask for their orders. Drunkenness on top of exhaustion was a bad idea. Maker but she wanted to sleep. But if she did so now, her entire cycle would be altered and she’d be weary by dawn again.
“Well, last night sucked,” Daveth remarked, drinking from his cup of ale. “Tomorrow’s gonna suck more. Alistair an’ Daylen goin’ into the castle. What if there’s demons there?”
“There’s at least one,” Mara said grimly. “The scope of this, the entire castle being affected? Only an abomination could have such an effect. Not even the most powerful blood mage could manage this.”
“Well, f*ck. But Chantry Boy’s insistin’. You’d think his da was Eamon the way he’s carrying on,” Daveth observed. “Me, personally, reckon we should find one of the other Arls. Old Leonas Bryland ain’t half-bad and Duncan always spoke well of Gallagher Wulffe.”
They continued to talk and Mara dozed off again from weariness. When she came to, the sunlight had shifted, Morrigan was gone, Daveth was snoring with his head on the table and Leliana was catnapping in her own chair. She rubbed her eyes blearily and carefully slid out from the table. Around her, other villagers were drinking and celebrating, some few snoring their heads off. No one paid her much mind.
She returned to the village square to find Alistair and Daylen speaking to Bann Teagan. There was no sign of Sten or Neria but a well-dressed if dishevelled woman was there, begging Teagan to come with her in an Orlesian-accented soprano. Teagan said something to her and she stiffened before looking in Mara’s direction.
“Teagan, who is this woman?” she demanded.
“Mara of the Circle, Isolde,” Teagan told her. “She’s a friend.”
“Arlessa, please calm down,” Daylen was saying. “Tell us what’s going on.”
“Teagan must come with me!” Isolde insisted.
Alright, she’s from the castle. I have to assume that she’s not acting on her own cognizance. Mara dragged together the remnants of her mana and threw it in a blue-white wave at Isolde, washing her in energy. Her eyes widened and she shuddered.
“Dispel Magic,” she explained wearily. “If she’s from the castle, then she was under the influence of the abomination there.”
“Abomination?!” Isolde shrieked, her voice going higher. “How dare you?”
Teagan threw Mara a troubled look. “Isolde says that Connor, Eamon’s son, is the cause of this.”
“Let me guess,” Mara observed acidly. “He’s a mage and he wasn’t sent to the Circle and when his father got sick, he was possessed.”
“Oh Void,” Alistair swore softly. “If that’s true…”
“It isn’t Connor’s fault!” Isolde insisted. “It’s something the apostate did!”
“What apostate, Arlessa?” Daylen asked, eyes narrowing as he injected a coaxing note into his voice.
“Jowan.” Isolde sniffled. “He said he could teach Connor how to control his magic without the need to go to the Circle…”
“f*ck.” Daylen indulged himself in a rare curse. “Jowan’s a maleficar. And a f*cking idiot.”
“He’s also Neria’s best friend,” Mara pointed out. “How do you think she’s going to react?”
Alistair’s expression was troubled. “Is there any way Connor can be saved? I don’t think Arl Eamon’s going to be happy if we have to… well.”
“Aside from one or two very risky rituals, there’s no way to save an abomination,” Daylen said sadly. “The Circle’s not great but the alternative…”
Teagan’s expression was sick. “If what you’re saying is true, you’re talking about killing a child.”
“Killing an abomination,” Daylen told him grimly. “If we can contain Connor safely, we’ll have time to reach out to the Circle. But if the people of Redcliffe are in danger…”
“They are churls!” Isolde protested. “You must save Connor!”
Daylen squared his shoulders. “Mara, you’ve shown you can dispel magic, and Alistair’s a templar. If we bring… hmm… Daveth for the locks and Neria to try and coax Jowan into being of assistance, we might have a chance to contain Connor.”
Mara folded her arms. “He’s an abomination, Daylen. Even if we save him and they take him to the Circle… well, you really think they’re going to let him grow up to take the Harrowing? He’s already proven himself a failure by Circle standards. They’ll make him Tranquil as a precaution.”
Isolde shrieked in horror at her words and Teagan blanched. “Maker’s breath,” the Bann swore. “Isolde…”
Alistair now looked sick. “You’re talking about killing a child, Mara.”
“Yes, I know.” She sighed. “I don’t like it either. But Isolde condemned her child when she didn’t send him to the Circle. His blood – and those of the people who died over the past few weeks – is on her hands.”
“How dare you!” Isolde shrieked. “I’ll have you horse-whipped from Redcliffe for this!”
Mara glared at her. “Your selfishness killed dozens of people! Most of your castle staff are f*cking dead! You condemned your son when you didn’t call for the templars!”
Teagan closed his eyes. “Maker’s breath, Isolde, but they’re right. We need… we need to… end Connor’s misery.”
“Teagan, you batard!” Isolde’s shrieking devolved into semi-coherent Orlesian swearing.
Mara glanced at Alistair, who looked sick but reluctantly accepting of their need. “Daveth and Leliana are asleep. I don’t know where Morrigan, Sten and Neria are.”
“Then go and wake one of them. Me, you, Alistair, a rogue and Teagan will have to try and get access to the castle so we can open the gates.” Daylen’s expression was bleakly exhausted. “Maker have mercy on us all for what we are about to do.”
