Chapter 36: Crossroads - Pretty as a Painting

Once the road ended into a mushy bog due to the recent glut of rain, they moved up to the Imperial Highway. The sun warmed them as the exercise loosened cold muscles. Despite the crisp day Raviathan felt dirtier than he had in his life. Even in winter when water was harder to obtain frozen pipes and clothing took days to dry, Raviathan had never worn the same clothes day in and out for a week. He felt rank. Could be that’s why Venger didn’t stink to him?

The wind that had felt wonderful before now started to chap his skin, and everything felt coated and irritating. After a mile Raviathan and Morrigan continued their discussion of wild animals. Her knowledge about them seemed endless and was a pleasant way to distract from his growing discomfort. They spoke in low voices while his fingers scratched Venger’s neck. Alistair trudged behind the three, his moping back in full force. If a stranger saw them they were likely to assume the lone human was traveling separately.

Farmlands became more frequent though forest, fields, and wetlands remained common. Morrigan eventually slipped into silence. Considering she had never spoken so much with any one person besides her mother, Raviathan wasn’t surprised that she tired of speech. She was growing more agitated the further they moved from the Wilds, which was understandable. She would probably open up again once the newness of the situation wore off, and he could wait a few days while she adjusted. With the humans quiet Raviathan began to contemplate the swift and fickle nature of change. Just a week ago he and Duncan had walked down this road. The one human he had trusted. If only Duncan had been willing to talk more about the Grey Wardens. It was something he could easily forgive Duncan now. The Joining had changed so much for him.

A few weeks ago he had been getting married. He had lived in that alienage filled with routine for years. He could see his future reflected in the routine of others. Years were drawn out in the increasing slump of the dockworkers as they became more worn down. From that alone he had known how he would look at thirty, at forty, fifty, and so on. He had seen the future ghosts of his own children growing as he had watched all the other elves age. It was the same dance played out from one generation to the next.

Now that Duncan was gone Raviathan wondered how much had weighed on the man. He had kept eyes on all of Ferelden, nobles and commoners alike, and in many ways more than the king had. That had been striking and something Raviathan had not really appreciated until now. It was like when he went to work. His father had always gone to work every morning, just as the sun rose or seasons came and went. It was routine and to be expected. As he got older he appreciated more of what his father did, but it wasn’t until he went to work himself that he saw the patience and care, and the burden, that his father carried effortlessly.

Raviathan had felt cheated out of his freedom when he heard he had to marry. That was nothing to feeling cheated out of his life by that noble. He had resented it when his father had withdrawn after his mother was killed. More than any other time he needed his father, but something inside his father’s heart had shut down with the loss of his wife. Now that Ness was gone, Raviathan understood that pain a little better as well. He had seen his life with Ness, how it was going to grow deeper with time, could see the decades that lay before him as they grew old together. Losing her had cut deep after only a couple months together. Her death would have been devastating after two decades.

“Look lively, gentlemen. We have newcomers, led by an elf of all things.” The dark man chuckled. Raviathan snapped out of his reverie to see a group of humans, all in leather armor and well armed, barricading the passage off of the Imperial Highway. The Highway fell away a wagon’s length beyond the ramp. Stowed in the remains of the ancient road were broken crates along with a small wagon and chests. The other end of the Highway started again in a rubble strewn half wall miles beyond the village. The only other ramp was miles behind them, effectively cutting Lothering off unless they wanted to make a half day’s journey to go around.

“Uhh,” started a dimwitted thug with heavy brows, a thick jutting lower lip, and a scant bit of reddish fuzz clinging to his balding plate. “These don’t look like regular refugees.”

“The toll applies to everyone, Heinrick.” The dark man filled his role as jovial highwayman with vigor. “That’s why it’s a toll and not a refugee tax.”

“Oh right,” said the dim thug as comprehension wormed its way into his dull if slightly more observant brain. “You pay, or we get to pick your corpse.”

The dark man grinned. “Now then...”

An image of Nesiara crying shot into Raviathan’s mind. Her terror because of men like this filled him with a sudden white hot wrath. How many people had they hurt because they could? How many deaths could be laid at their feet? How many rapes? The weak or innocent never have a chance in this world, and it was because of men like this. Bright red hair flashed in his mind’s eye along with a smile that had been stolen. Shianni hurt because of humans with swords.

Not allowed to scream.

Before Morrigan or Alistair could react, the elf rushed the bandits, drawing his sword and dagger. Before the shocked bandits’ weapons were half drawn, one bandit went down with a slashed throat opened to create a red macabre grin.

With a curse Alistair pulled his sword and shield, just getting his defenses up in time for a crossbow bolt to thud into the wooden shield and not the side of his face. Venger raced forward to catch the bowman’s arm. Heavy jaws penetrated through the armor, his neck thrashing, pulling the man off balance and down to a knee. Once on the same level, the bandit’s face and throat were ripped apart before he could do more than choke. Alistair bashed his shield into the leader, dazing the man as he countered the dim bandit’s thrust.

Snarling in rage, Raviathan took down a third bandit with ruthless force just as Morrigan froze another running back behind a wagon to ready his crossbow. The frozen bandit’s brown eyes stared blindly forward, crystallized by ice. Raviathan swung down his blade with as much force as he could muster. Instead of cracking through the ice to cut flesh, the man shattered. Icy chunks of flesh and bone lay scattered about. Disgust rose in Raviathan’s throat. One part of his mind checked off bits of anatomy as he identified lungs, kidneys, liver, and so on at a glance. He shut away his revulsion at the icy chunks of human and turned to finish the job.

Alistair had his back to a wagon and was defending against two men. Venger ran forward, sinking his teeth into the dim thug’s thigh. He yelled, twisting his torso to cut down the dog. When his arm raised to level a strike, Raviathan’s dagger penetrated the vulnerable underside of the man’s armor. The thug almost dropped his claymore. When he tried to turn to face the two opponents, Venger pulled, forcing the man off balance. The dog went after the man’s sword hand, and there was a satisfying crunch of bone followed by a scream.

“Look out!” Alistair yelled.

Raviathan spun and was just able to deflect the bandit leader’s first sword strike. Despite being dazed earlier, this human was still stronger than an elf, and they were trained in the same style of combat. Given that they might be equals in skill, stronger would always beat him. Going for the unexpected, Raviathan dropped to a knee, keeping his sword up for protection, struck with his dagger at the man’s leg, and pushed off hard to roll to the side. Morrigan’s chanting finished, encasing the man in a brownish aura. The leader staggered but was able to keep his feet and turned to face Raviathan. Finally able to get a killing blow on the bandit he had been fighting, Alistair turned and slammed his shield again into the bandit leader, causing the man to stagger and fall to his knees.

“Wait, wait,” the bandit started, lowering his weapons. Raviathan sliced open his throat without hesitation.

There was a moment of stunned silence as the three looked about at the bodies. Alistair slumped on a crate as he looked about, bewildered at the speed at which the bandits were killed and mass of blood. He saw the frozen chunks of bandit and turned pale before looking away. “What happened to you?” he asked the elf.

Raviathan shrugged. “They were bandits. I should feel sorry for them?”

“No,” Alistair said, watching him nervously. “Not that. You were just a lot more cautious in the Wilds.”

Raviathan shrugged as he looked at the corpses. How much did Alistair know about him? If he explained about Nesiara, would that information get back to the templars? He can still turn me in. They could use Ness against me. His father knew how to be wary, but not Ness. “I’m not going to search that body,” he said, indicating the frozen chunks that were starting to thaw as the spell wore off. “Morrigan, go through these,” he said, waving a hand at the corpses, “while I take a look at the stockpile.”

Raviathan scratched the dog’s head as he pulled out his lock picks and began going through the bandits’ stash. As a general rule, refugees didn’t have much, but they must have been filched down to their clothes. Raviathan tied two purses of silver coins and a smaller pouch of gold to his belt. There was a small pile of jewelry, but the rest were odds and ends: clothing, a few vases, three carpets, a finely wrought lamp, some spectacles that looked to be made of gold, and whatever else the bandits thought worthy of keeping. At a soft bleating, Raviathan looked over the side of the Highway. In the crook of the L-shaped ramp was a little makeshift corral. Inside, a small rather sweet looking lamb and a few chickens ranged. An ox tied to a post grazed with no concern for the violence on the highway. With the bandits gone, the refugees would enjoy a fine supper.

“Find anything?” Raviathan asked when he turned around.

“Some coin,” Morrigan called back with disinterest. “Not much beyond a bit of tack.”

“We can sell the weapons then,” Raviathan said. “Especially the crossbows.” The close combat required by a sword intimidated most untrained people whereas a crossbow didn’t need a lot of strength and could be deadly at a distance. It was a good weapon for farmers and refugees who weren’t skilled in fighting but needed some defense. “Let’s gather what we can.”

With the work done, Raviathan got his first glimpse of Lothering as they turned to the village.

“So here we are. Lothering. Pretty as a painting,” Alistair said, and for the first time it looked like he would do so without bursting into tears. Morrigan snarked at him and he replied with as much in return. Raviathan traded annoyed looks with Venger about the two then went back to reviewing the village from his vantage on the Highway. Tents lay strewn about the muddy hovel with a few stone buildings centered around the city proper just beyond a thin canal. A templar was guarding the entrance to the city. Thank the Maker that all templars wore that same uniform. It at least made them easy to spot and prepare for.

The refugees had probably more than tripled the population of the town. Well, Maker’s bloody stubbed toe. Food would be at a premium, so there went his hopes for restocking. That little corral of farm animals the bandits had confiscated would help, but they needed more than meat. They needed tents and camping equipment. With their meager funds, inns wouldn’t be common in the near future. There weren’t any tents close by which meant the bandits probably had a safe house or camp far outside the city.

Raviathan glowered at the templar guarding the main entrance to the village. While that hateful moron stood there with his thumb up his ass, refugees had been frisked down to their knickers. Completely useless. Raviathan glanced at the dark clouds coming up from the south. Winter’s snow, already late in the season, would soon be on them. Best bet was probably to get out of Lothering after they got whatever news they could. Supplies they would have to find elsewhere.

Silence. Raviathan realized he had probably been addressed and turned to regard the two who were watching him. “I’m sorry. What?”

Alistair was doing his best to stand tall and put some authority into his voice. “The treaties. Have you looked at them?” Raviathan stared at him. Had that templar been hit on the head? “We have treaties for...”

“I’ve read the bloody treaties,” Raviathan snapped at him. “What in the Maker’s name do you think I’ve been doing every morning for the last week? I could make copies from memory.”

Morrigan smirked at the templar who flushed as all the authority leaked out of him. “Um,” he stammered. “I still think Arl Eamon is our best bet. We may even want to go to him first.”

It was a simple plan, but at least they were finally starting to talk about strategy. “What’s your opinion on the matter, Morrigan?”

“I think you should take this battle directly to your enemy,” she chimed in, gratified to be asked. “Take out this Loghain like chopping the head off a snake.”

“Oh,” Alistair replied with contemptuous snark. “We’d only have to sneak into Palace past all the royal guards and the Teyrn’s personal militia and...”

“I was asked my opinion and I gave it!” Morrigan shot back.

“Quiet!” Raviathan growled as Alistair was about to retort with some derisive comment judging by the look on his face. Was that really as far as either of them had thought? Alistair was in mourning, but he had expected more from Morrigan. She really knew nothing outside of the Wilds. He paused for a moment then said, “I think we should split up.”

After an alarmed second they both started in at once.

“But we’re the only two Grey Wardens left. If something happened...”

“We’d have no way of contacting each other. What if...”

“This makes us more vulnerable. We’re stronger as a team...”

“If one falls, how would the others find out? We’d lose any progress...”

Raviathan raised his hand for silence. “Hear me out. The Blight comes first. Loghain is secondary to that. If we split up, we can get more done, and time is vital. I’ve got the best chance of the three of us to meet with the Dalish. Besides, humans might make them hostile. The Brecillian Forrest is close, so I’ll go there first. After that I’ll head to Orzammar. With any luck the pass won’t be snowed in. If not, I’ll have to get a guide. Morrigan shouldn’t go anywhere near the Mage’s Tower. Alistair, as a templar, they’ll be most receptive to you. I’d say go to the Circle before this Arl Eamon in case there are politics at play with Loghain. At least the treaty will be fulfilled if something happens to you. Morrigan should go to Orlais to contact the rest of the Grey Wardens. She can fly over the mountains quickly and borders won’t be a problem for her. The other Wardens need to know what happened, and they’ll have the tactical knowledge we need to fight the Blight.” There. That seemed succinct enough.

The two stared at him for a long moment. Raviathan waited, wondering at their reaction. What he said couldn’t have been that controversial. They both started again at once.

“Just fly across the border? And what should I do if some stray arrow or hawk...”

“But I’m a templar. The mages won’t want to listen to me. They hate me.”

“And I don’t speak Orlesian. I’d be useless in this task.”

“And a lot more can happen to an individual. It makes us more...”

“I don’t even know where the Grey Wardens are. How am I supposed to find them?”

“How would we contact each other? Or send information? We’d be even more lost.”

“Would they even listen to me? They might think me delusional or a spy.”

“And if Loghain has involved the nobles, well, what am I supposed...”

“I’m no servant to be sent off for this or that. If you want my help...”

“Right now we need to stick together.”

This? This is what the two could agree on? Even Venger had hopped forward on his haunches and pawed at his leg with a piteous whine. Raviathan started rubbing his forehead to ease a newly forming headache. Maker’s puss spewing ass. This was a nightmare. Alistair he could sort of understand being needy, but Morrigan was a surprise. Why did she even care? She couldn’t be that afraid of the world outside the Wilds. It’s because she wants something, the little voice in his head told him. Not like he trusted the templar any more than she did.

“Fine. Fine!” he repeated to shut them up. He sighed. “Let’s just head into Lothering. Get some news. We’ll decide from there.”

The two humans followed the elf and his dog in morose silence down the wide ramp. Raviathan pursed his lips, thinking they both pouted like children. He had a sudden urge to march the two back to Flemeth’s hut and continue without them. He whispered to Venger, “I would have taken you with me, you know.”

Venger’s powerful jaws opened in a slobbery doggy grin and all was right in his world again. Raviathan scratched the dog’s head, wishing it were as easy for him to find such peace.

Some of the refugees chatted freely enough. Most were put off by their armor and weapons thinking they were dangerous, which was startling to Raviathan. Never in all his eighteen years had any shem thought he was dangerous, especially considering he was in ill fitted and mismatched armor appearing little better than a lucky scavenger. These were the shems who had always intimidated him as a child or condescended to him as an adult. He wasn’t sure if it was that he represented something violent, which made them fearful, or if it was because they had fled their homes and were insecure. He suspected the latter to be true. If he had approached them at their farmsteads, he would have received hostile looks or threats, but like him, home and therefore security were gone. It had taken him a fortnight to start regaining his equilibrium. How long would it take them?

“Excuse me.”

Raviathan looked over to see a weathered elf approach. He had the look of a man whose face was prematurely lined, making him appear ten years older than he probably was, and the broad shoulders that indicated a life of heavy farm labor. What must have been his wife and daughter stood near a hastily erected fence made for the refugee camp. The woman was lovely, just the type he would have gone for if she had been a widow in the alienage. The daughter was going to inherit a lot of her mother’s beauty as she aged.

“Yes? How can I help you?” Raviathan asked, leaving Morrigan and Alistair to talk to some brothers who had been forced from their farm.

The older elf was ashamed of asking, clear when he couldn’t meet Raviathan’s gaze. “I beg your pardon. I don’t supposed you could spare any change?”

Raviathan had met many beggars in the alienage and knew a professional from a true cripple. This man was neither. “Here,” he said digging into one of the pouches lifted from a bandit. “A few gold. Will that do?”

The wife’s eyes filled with such gratitude that it made Raviathan feel ashamed. The man stammered quietly, “Th-thank you. I ... I thought another elf might understand.”

The wife came forward then still holding her daughter’s hand and hugged him. “Thank you.”

“Are you from here?”

“No,” the wife said. “My husband and I lived in a little village south of here. When the teyrn’s army came through, they warned us that the darkspawn were heading north then confiscated most of the town’s provisions for winter. We had no choice but to move with what we had left.”

“And then those bandits.” The husband spat. “We went to the Chantry, but no one cares about a few elves.”

Raviathan leaned in and whispered, “The bandits are dead. Hurry and get what you can, but don’t take your daughter up there.”

“Dead?” asked the wife in astonishment.

“You ... you killed them?” the husband asked, looking at the armor and weapons with renewed respect.

“Yes. Don’t make it obvious. Likely you’ll be mugged if any of the others see you.”

“Oh, this is wonderful news,” the wife said. “Maybe we can get Lyrra’s lamb back.”

“I’ll be careful,” the husband promised. “If we stay off the Highway as much as possible, we might be safe.”

Raviathan said, “You might be better in numbers. I’m sure the town is going to have an official evacuation.”

“He’s right,” the wife replied. “Take what will get us far but nothing bulky.” The wife kissed Raviathan on the cheek. “Thank you again. I don’t know how we can repay you.” The husband hugged him in thanks and ambled over to the Highway’s ramp with the invisibility of a good servant.

“Maker watch over you,” Raviathan said as Alistair and Morrigan came forward. The wife shrank back at their approach, her daughter clutched close, so Raviathan led the two humans to another area of the refugee camps where they could speak in peace. “Find out anything?”

“Nothing new,” Alistair said. “Just more nervous or scared people trying to outrun the darkspawn.” Morrigan looked bored. Raviathan thought her outfit was a fantastic distraction from the elves as many of the refugees cast looks her way.

Noon had come and gone. Though he hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of raw roots this morning, he wasn’t feeling hungry even after all the walking they did. Maker’s blood. He had walked more in the last three weeks than he had in all the years of his life, but the sight of the templar guarding the entrance to the village had robbed him of his insistent appetite.

Raviathan nibbled his lower lip as he glanced over at the templar. Perhaps now was as good a time as any for a test. “Alistair.”

The templar looked up with a blank expression. “What?”

“Go talk to that templar by the town entrance. See what information he has, and if they’re distracted enough not to notice Morrigan. We’ll make lunch,” he added to assuage the petulant man.

“Fine. Whatever.”

Morrigan glowered as she watched his back. “How do you know he won’t set them on me?”

“Because I’m going to follow and listen. It’ll at least give me some clue as to how much to trust him.”

Morrigan studied him. “You do not trust him? He is a fellow of your Order, is he not?”

Raviathan matched her look. “If all goes well, I’ll let you know why soon enough. If there’s an emergency, go east to South Reach. We can meet there. Venger, go help Morrigan find some wood.” The dog barked and pranced away, blissfully unaware of Morrigan’s wrinkled nose.

“Wonderful,” she drawled. Though he liked Morrigan well enough for a human so far, he turned away so she wouldn’t catch his smirk. The two shems could both be mightily annoying. Her competence in the Wilds and willingness to answer questions notwithstanding, neither were people he could trust. Having never felt lonely before, it had taken him the last week to understand the emotion. It seemed doubly strange considering he was never alone, but constantly with the two humans.

Settling on his task, Raviathan crouched behind a tent and some bushes in order to cloak in shadow. It was one of the skills he had picked up quickly from his mother’s training much to her delight. While discipline was strict, and he was to never disobey one of her rules or cause too much trouble, she did love mischief. The two of them had fun sneaking about the alienage and occasionally into the city. Though she had made it a game, these were a spy and thief’s skills he was learning. Only recently had he appreciated that as adult awareness opened up his child’s world view. Her masters had trained her to be an infiltrator, by turns a pretty but harmless entertainer or spy, one who had been the product of generations of breeding to be a tool for the magisters’ ambitions.

Cloaking in shadow was a skill that took years of training to accomplish. Everyone carried some spark of magic in them, some connection to the Fade. Only in mages did this spark take on a new awareness. To be a mage was an all or nothing shift in awareness. Though a mage might not have much more magical ability than the non mage next to them, some key difference Solyn had not been able to explain clearly allowed mages to tap into those energies as others could not. For all non mages, that connection to the Fade could be manipulated but only after years of intense training. For some thieves, that little spark of magic could be channeled into pulling Fade shadows around them.

Years of meditation and practice at grace needed to culminate into an understanding of shadow, of becoming part of the strange between state of existing yet insubstantial to light. Pulling shadows was hard to maintain and required constant concentration. Once learned, it only took a second or two to engage. It started with a brief meditation on the paradoxical state of shadows, vacant yet present, on the shifting of light that slid between the realms of conscious thought and dream. Movement was almost impossible when anyone first learned this skill. Each level had to be built with discipline and near endless hours of practice. Pulling shadows was like learning how to juggle daggers, then learning how to juggle daggers and walk a tightrope, then learning how to do both of those while dancing a jig on a wire, and, most importantly, never to fall no matter how the wire swung.

It was a skill that many more people could learn to do, as many people could learn juggling but rarely took the time necessary. But that was just one aspect of training, and not everyone could walk a tightrope. Cloaking was a skill that was hard to learn, and one that could be easily defeated. Tacks on a floor would cause any but the most proficient to lose focus. Foul weather, such as rain, would leave an obvious outline along with a trail of mud or the squishing of grass. A squeaky floorboard was enough to alert a vigilant guard. The wealthier the place, the better the guards, the more they knew what to look for and have defenses in place. Given these limitations, his mother had said it was still a useful skill, but one slip, just one, and a person could wind up exposing themselves right in front of a legion of hostile combatants.

I am shadow, Raviathan chanted as he pushed out all other thoughts. His mind swirled in veils of grey and black. Invisible as only a single shifting shadow among many, Raviathan snuck close enough to overhear while staying behind a low fence as an extra precaution. Since Alistair had to go around the fence, they arrived at roughly the same time. At least he didn’t have to worry about keeping his footfalls silent. There weren’t any dry leaves or twigs, and the sounds of refugees and barking dogs were loud enough to cover the creaking of his ill fitting armor. From further in the town, Raviathan could hear the sounds of a woman sobbing, a child crying for a parent, the far off angry shouts from a man. The town was besieged in chaos, and the refugees were adding to the panic.

Looking put upon, Alistair greeted the templar with a mild, “Ho there.”

The templar guard wore the order’s full armor: the purple and gold robed skirting, a helm that showed only shadowed blue eyes and the suggestion of a mouth, and a torso encased in heavy plate with a stylized flaming sword etched on the front. It was hard enough being around Alistair, but Raviathan hadn’t realized how much more intimidating templars were in full regalia. “Town’s full to bursting. You’ll find nothing here.”

“Oh, um,” Alistair fumbled. “Well, we’re just traveling through. So, why are there so many refugees here?”

“Haven’t you heard?” the templar asked indignantly. “Darkspawn have taken over the Wilds. The southern area is swarming with them. After the Grey Wardens got King Cailan killed at Ostagar...”

“The Grey Wardens did ... what?” Alistair asked in shock.

Raviathan almost lost his concentration and had to calm himself to maintain the cloaking. He hoped Alistair had enough wits not to say anything stupid. The templar’s muffled voice responded, “Surprised to hear that myself, but it’s what Teyrn Loghain said. He and the Arl of Lothering have gone north to Denerim. Damn shame leaving everyone in the gulch like it is.”

“Who-Who’s in charge then?”

“The Chantry has been trying to organize the town to evacuate, but it’s just us. You’d best be on your way as well.” Alistair started to ask another question, but the templar waved him off becoming brusque. “Look, if you need something, go to the Chantry, but don’t cause any trouble here. You understand?”

“Yeah, sure,” Alistair said in a daze.

“Move along then.”

Raviathan left back the way he came and uncloaked discreetly so as not to scare anyone. The air of panic was too high as it was. His mind whirled as he jogged over to the hillock at the edge of the refugee camp where Morrigan was setting a fire pit. Venger had already scrounged an old dead tree branch for a fire. Raviathan pulled a hatchet and began breaking it up just as he spied Alistair walking into the camp from the far side.

“Loghain is blaming the Grey Wardens for Ostagar,” Raviathan whispered to Morrigan.

“Considering he quit the field, that is not entirely unexpected is it?”