Chapter 29: Cantet Vigilate
Morrigan watched the Wardens as they made their way through the bowels of Redcliffe Castle, clearing it of undead as they went. Despite not having all of their heavy-hitters, they made good progress through the dark passages with the two mages supporting the two melee fighters.
The Warden – Celestine -seemed to have recovered from her earlier ordeal. Morrigan felt she should have been sneering in disdain at the other mage's lack of control, at her recklessness, but instead she felt curiosity underlined by a worming fear – a preposterous thing, something she would never admit to anyone, yet, there it was.
She'd been trained in the occult and arcane since her earliest memories; her life had been steeped in knowing the unknown, understanding the enigma, thirsting for knowledge. The old adage was true after all – knowledge was power – and power was a means to survival. The Wilds had taught her many things: how to hunt, how to fight, how to hide, how to flee, but that was ever at the crux, to survive. So Morrigan pursued that which she did not comprehend with steely resolve and razor sharp cunning; why else would she have agreed to her mother's foolish request?
Already it was turning out to be a worthwhile decision; these Wardens were a shrewd bunch, despite their youth and despite how much she disagreed with some of their decisions. There was an undercurrent of pragmatic wisdom in everything they did – even the fool Alistair was more than he made out to be, his entire character a defence mechanism. While strongly contrasting hers, it followed its own rules of survival, something she could respect, even as she attacked it; either she would break him, or he would become so assured of himself that not even the most powerful demons would be able to sway him.
Elisa and Erik were interesting to say the least, educated minds hiding behind facades of boisterousness and passivity. But everything they did held an undercurrent of desperation, a need to hold onto one another, a need to cling to what little they had left from whatever world-shattering event had brought them to the Grey Wardens. Through it all shimmered a knowing only gained through first-hand experience; these two did everything with a calculating care that hinted towards their knowledge of what could happen, if everything went wrong. Their reaction to what had happened at Ostagar was testament to that; it was almost as if they expected it.
Morrigan wondered how they would fare without each other – it was the only weakness she could pick up; their reliance on one another was far too great, something to be exploited. She toyed with ideas on how to do something about this, that was, if she were to do something about it. She only needed Erik, but it would probably be best if Elisa remained, to provide that selflessness factor that would no doubt come into play once they confronted the Archdemon, much like with Alistair and Celestine. Best leave nothing to chance.
Ah, Celestine. Somehow things always came back to her. The girl was the only other mage of considerable power the witch had ever met, barring herself and her mother. The way she wielded the elements was nothing short of astounding; she'd been watching, studying for a while now. While her casting might at times have seemed casual or uncontrolled, Morrigan felt how the Veil was turned into an iron vice by the young woman's mind. It was almost as though she were unable to let the Fade flow through her without restraint. Even when she had seemingly lost control before the blood mage in the cell earlier, there had been a subconscious brace that held back her power. She had proposed the idea of a mental ward to the mundanes to assuage them, but the truth was there was no such thing. At least not unless it were an item that had been specifically enchanted to assist in such a process; even then the mage would need to focus some part of themselves for that to work. The blood mage had been a fool in every sense of the word - to do what she'd pieced together, to come up with the theory that he had – his understanding of magic was clearly very limited – the only defence a mage could ever truly rely on was the fortitude of her own willpower.
Morrigan had been angered by Alistair's Silence, for stopping the events from playing out as much as blocking her connection to the Fade, but in retrospect it would have harmed Celestine in the long run had she killed the prisoner, and she was far too interesting for Morrigan to want to see her come to harm. . .just yet.
The group was silent as it moved through Redcliffe Castle, the only sounds from the passages they moved through were the metallic ring of weapons cutting through rotting limbs and the roar of entropic and primal magics.
~o~
Sorana's eyes grew wide as they drew nearer to Kirkwall's harbour entrance. She had not thought there would be much left in this world that could impress her. She'd been wrong. Steep walls of smooth stone cut out of the mountain's living rock welcomed them. Two gigantic sculptures of bronze stood sentinel on either side of the only path that would allow for entry into the former Tevinter city's docks. They were slaves, faces forever buried in hands with nothing in the world to hope for. From their necks hung gigantic chains, linked to a gatehouse that doubled as a lighthouse. These could no doubt be dropped into the water, blocking off the harbour entrance. There was a reason Kirkwall had earned its moniker. The remnants of its former status as a Tevinter slave-trade hub were as effective in practice as they were in symbolism.
The ship was thrown into shadow as it passed between the statues, the walls of stone blocking out the sun. The eldest Hawke shuddered involuntarily as the temperature plummeted, rubbing her bare arms while the vessel drifted towards the other side of the cleft through the stone.
The sight that greeted them seemed intent on impressing one thing: despair. The city was carved out of the mountains surrounding the sea, much like the gates. Adorning the ascending rows of buildings and streets were more bronze representations of slaves, their hands either raised in silent eternal pleas, or used to cover their faces. Large two-faced representations of Wardens with two sets of arms were dotted around buildings that wept suppression and authority from their very stones.
Sorana reached out and gripped the nearest rigging, hand clenching around the fibrous rope. She felt a large hand come to rest on her shoulder and jerked around, coming face-to-chest with the first mate of the vessel, his dark Rivaini skin contrasting sharply with his deep red tunic. "Aye lass, welcome to the City of Chains. Now you know what it felt like for the slaves of old. There is no hope here."
Sorana slowly turned back to face the approaching docks, a peculiar odour and the cry of gulls already apparent. Her eyes hardened as she clenched her jaw. Well, 'City of Chains,' how do you feel about one of your own coming home?
~o~
Erik had walked back down into the village from the windmill, Leliana in tow, after he had congratulated the knights for their part in the defence. Ser Perth and the others remained at their station in case the undead made an appearance again. Sten took the dogs either to hunt, scout, or patrol, along the borders of the village, the Qunari rarely inclined to speak.
Leliana split off when he passed the inn, stating that she wanted to check on the barmaid, who'd been very helpful in procuring supplies for them once Elisa had strong-armed the man into assisting in the fight the previous night.
Erik looked around; there were people scattered about the village, but without the bustle that would have been normal for such a place. Instead, most were whispering to one another, staring off into space, or rocking quietly in some corner. It was all too familiar…nobody ever took fighting against the undead well – against the remains of former friends, family – not soldiers, and definitely not mere villagers.
He eventually made it to the Chantry where most of the fighting had taken place. There were still smouldering pyres near the lake-shore where the deceased's remains had been given their last rites.
"Sister – look! It's the man I told you about."
"Shush Bevin, don't disturb the Warden, he and his friends saved our lives."
Erik smiled to himself as he turned towards the boy and his older sister; it seemed that some still had the wherewithal to hope, even in the aftermath of such trials.
"Bevin, is it? I believe I still have something of yours." he commented, unbuckling the ancient elvhen sword he had used the previous night, its metal still strangely warm.
~o~
Samantha looked on as the First Enchanter drew from the pool of Lyrium, the liquid mineral glowing brightly. She noted its distinct scent – the air after a lightning strike. It was a large quantity; the Templars would have noticed its absence from the stores. If they were not already aware that it had been the First Enchanter who had collected it, they would surely be searching the tower for whom it had been.
The older man took no notice of Samantha, rarely anyone did. It was not that she was plain, quite the opposite in fact, but Tranquility drained her features of life and vibrancy. There was no energy, merely a state of being. She drifted, another cog in the machine that was the Formari.
The former noble, former mage, watched dispassionately as the glowing of the lyrium increased. Observed how the ethereal spirit-energy of the Fade followed after the mage leader's will. She saw the large rat in its cage – the animal twitched at the first gentle caress of magic – then it spasmed, toppling over.
The First Enchanter sighed heavily, rubbing his temples and looking at the now-dead rodent. Without turning,he instructed: "Note three-hundred and fourteen: despite adequate power and willing subject, specimen twenty failed. It seems forceful application of spirits results in either subject turning into a demon, or both subject and specimen ending up deceased. Application to the Amgarrak Theory remains unviable."
Samantha looked up from the parchment she'd been writing on as a loud hammering came from the door. The First Enchanter sighed before moving to unbolt the portal to his laboratory.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone