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Description

Personae Dramatis

Orla Amell - Mage, Grey Warden and Hero of Ferelden

Zevran - Ex-member of the Antivan Crows, acts as body guard to Orla

Sten - Qunari, member of the beresaad, came to Ferelden to answer the question of the blight.

Dane - Purebred Mabari war hound, adopted by Orla after the battle of Ostagar

Wynne - Enchanter of the Ferelden Circle who considers herself a mentor to Orla.

* * *
Orla had left the celebration early. If you slayed an Archdemon, people didn’t question you if you said you were tired. She was, though not in the way everyone clearly thought. Her best friend had left her for locations unknown and Alistair had… She didn’t want to think about it. At least the room provided by Arl Eamon was comfortable. One of the servants had brought up water in the bath. It was lukewarm, but that was easily fixed.

Orla put her hands in the water and heated it, leaving it steaming. It would have plenty of time to cool off while she started to remove the warden issued robes. It had taken a bit to get used to wearing it again before the final battle. While they were in hiding they wore what they could, and mages didn’t wear armor, even if it was lighter. The clasps on the gloves were easy enough to undo, and she tossed that on to the bed, the twin griffins freshly shined and polished.

She stared at them for a moment as they glinted in the candle light. Orla didn’t feel worthy of all the accolades she had been given. Hero of Ferelden, she thought, if this is what it takes to be a hero, then I don’t want it. The door opened with a low woof, Dane the mabari was announcing his presence. He padded over and started sniffing at the gloves as they sat on the bed. He looked up at Orla and wagged his tail, licking her hand.

“Oh, look who else left the party,” Orla said, scratching the dog’s head. He took it as an invention to jump up on her. It was hard to keep her balance with over a hundred pounds of war dog leaning heavily on her and licking her face. “Oy, boy,” she muttered, “down. You didn’t have to come check on me. I’m sure there’s still plenty of mutton at the feast.”

“He isn’t the only one come to check up on you,” Wynne said, standing in the door. Orla wasn’t really too shocked to see the Senior Enchanter there and didn’t look up from Dane.

“You didn’t have to,” Orla said, attempting to push the large dog off. He eventually did get the message and jumped on to her bed, the feather mattress sinking considerably under his weight as Dane started happily chewing his left leg.

“No, perhaps not. But I wanted to, and you should humor this old woman,” Wynne said, the tone making the last bit a jest. Orla didn’t make eye contact, however. At the moment she was glad that it wasn’t Irving. Orla idly pet Dane, who huffed once, happily, but continued to eat his foot.

“Alright,” Orla said, “You are the Senior Enchanter,” she said a bit wry, “I can’t stop you from giving your advice. You’ve always been very free with it.”

“Too free or not free enough?” Wynne returned, stepping in and pushing the heavy door shut, “Perhaps you think a bit of both right now,” the older woman stood there for a moment, and Orla could feel Wynne’s eyes on her, “I just thought I’d check up on you and tell you I think you did the right thing.”

Orla looked up then, her blue eyes red rimmed, “Did I?” she returned, “It doesn’t feel that way. I should…” she trailed off. I should be dead. A warden was supposed to die, and she could see how old stories would talk about lovers who committed suicide if this was the pain she had to look forward to.

There is no man out there who is worth your life, Orla. Especially not Alistair, Morrigan had said.

“You should what?” Wynne said, coming over and sitting down next to her, “I know it hurts now, but the pain will pass in time.”

“Will it?” Orla asked, turning her tear stained eyes on Wynne, “I’m sorry, Senior Enchanter, I can’t see how it will or how you would even know,” she snapped.

“Oh yes, no mage has ever fallen in love and had to leave that love behind before,” Wynne returned in her light tone, but there was steel behind it, “That would just be silly, wouldn’t it?”

“I… I’m sorry, Wynne,” Orla stammered.

“Oh, it’s okay. You’ll have to try a lot harder than that to make me upset,” Wynne returned, “Besides, it’s understandable. Right now I’m sure you feel like nothing could hurt more than this, but there are worse things,” she said, sounding a bit distant before turning her clear gaze on Orla, “He is alive and so are you. Because of you two, Ferelden is united and the Blight pushed back. That doesn’t at all diminish the time you had together. I did tell you, duty may separate you.”

“Who was… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask,” Orla said, wiping her eyes.

Wynne placed a hand on her shoulder, “Well, I’ve licked a few lamp posts in my time,” Wynne said, her tone jesting. Orla turned bright red. So that conversation had been overheard. By just about everyone. Perfect. “But I’ve only really loved one. He was quite the lamp post,” Wynne said sagely.

“What was he like?” Orla asked.

“Oh, quite handsome for a lamp post. And kind, he liked to listen. And a Templar,” Wynne said the last like it was nothing, but Orla was shocked. Noticing Orla’s confused stare, Wynne continued, “Not all Templars are focused on killing mages,” she pointed out, “Though in retrospect it wasn’t my wisest relationship. Love can protect you from a great many things, but it isn’t a shield against reality.”

“What happened?” Orla asked, curious and concerned. While it was obvious they hadn’t killed Wynne or made her Tranquil for it, the Templars weren’t known for being forgiving. It was part of the reason why despite liking Cullen in return, she had done nothing to return the obvious affection.

“Well they found out when I was with child. It turns out that while you can hide it for quite some time by dressing correctly it’s pretty hard to keep a secret in a tower full of people who often have nothing to do but gossip,” Wynne said ruefully, “He was reassigned and my son taken. I never was able to say good bye to either of them,” her voice was distant for a moment giving Orla the impression the Senior Enchanter was spending a moment in the past. In a happier time, perhaps, “So I do know a bit of what I’m talking about, young lady.”

“I must have sounded like a spoiled brat,” Orla muttered, looking down at her hands.

“No, not at all,” Wynne said, gently guiding Orla’s head to rest on her shoulder. She could almost recall being comforted like this by her mother, long ago. It was sad that the two she could claim were most like parents were in no way related to her, “You are a strong young woman who just gave up what she cherished above all to ensure her homeland’s future. I think you’re allowed to be bitter about that, at least for now. Have faith, child, in the long run though these things will balance out.”

Orla swallowed once and nodded, “I can’t stay here though. I don’t want to see it,” Alistair and Anora. King and Queen of Ferelden. A perfect, painful compromise.

“Understandable, child. So, where are you off to next?” Wynne asked, still holding her. Orla couldn’t stop the tears that started down her face. Leaving was going to be just as painful as staying.

“With Sten, his ship leaves in three days,” and Zevran had also offered to travel with her, she realized. A mage, a Qunari, an elf and a dog. And it still wasn’t half as strange as her collection of comrades had been this past year and a half. “If I write a letter for… the king… will you…?” she couldn’t finish.

“Of course, Orla. Of course,” Wynne said, hugging her as she finally gave way to exhausted tears, “Anything you need.”

***
Alistair,

I know the Queen will read this letter, so for her sake I will not say everything I want to say. Everything I wish I could. However, I don’t think I need to say it. You know what I would say, what I want to say. That being said, I wish you and the Queen all the best and an heir before the year is out.

Arl Eamon asked for me to stay on as a magical adviser to the Crown, but you know I can not. Both because of my status as a Warden and because of our history. Perhaps his goal was to make Queen Anora uncomfortable, I don’t know. I will not give him the satisfaction either way.

Allow me to suggest someone to serve in my stead.

I know Wynne will not be staying on, she plans on traveling with Shale to find a way to reverse the Golem’s condition. However Petra, who told us about Wynne’s accident during Uldred’s bloodbath at the tower, is an excellent choice. I studied with her a great deal, she is smart, talented and has a very level head on her shoulders. She will advise the Crown sagely in all magical matters. You could not ask for a better one. And it should be of great comfort to your Queen to know she prefers to spend her evenings with women. Not that I think you’ll fall for her, but given her late husband’s reputation I would rather not ruffle feathers.

If you wish to know more about her qualifications, Wynne will be able to tell you more of Petra. Trust me though when I say you could not ask for a better adviser.

That being said, when you are reading this I will be gone. A ship is leaving, I won’t tell you its name, for the North. Sten, Zevran, Dane and I will be on it. Sten is returning to Par Vollen, and we are going with. It may be suicide, but at least it will be a creative suicide. Though I doubt it will come to that. I will return to Ferelden soon, My King. Until then, I wish you all the best.

May Andraste Guide and Keep You,

Orla Amell, Enchanter of The Lake Calenhad Circle, Warden of the Grey

* * *
The pier was cold, with salty air blowing in her face. The blue and gray Warden robes and the staff afforded her space among a busy dock. There was also Dane, half her size and all muscle. Zevran nearby wearing a short sword openly and a few hundred daggers hidden amongst his armor also did a lot to discourage any ideas.

“Do you see him?” Orla asked, squinting her eyes and scanning the docks. An eight foot Qunari should not be hard to find. Even if he didn’t have the horns. Her nose wrinkled as it was hit by the smell of rotting fish. Zevran, on the other hand, must have felt right at home. Antiva City was a port, after all, and it would explain the deep breath he took along with the quirked grin on his face.

“You do not think it would be so hard to lose a giant, no?” Zevran noted, his tone chipper. It was a mood that right now, Orla did not share. It was the start of spring and the weather couldn’t decide if it wanted to be hot and humid or cold and humid and it left her somewhere between freezing and sweating.

“Well, if we can’t find him, I hope you’re very good at coming up with snap travel plans,” Orla returned dryly.

“Ah, the places I could take you and we would not even have to leave the bedroom,” Zevran said with an over stated sigh that made Orla roll her eyes.

“I’ll wait with baited breath,” she returned, in something close to a monotone.

“Perhaps they’ll have us bunk together!” Zevran’s tone with so bright he had to be joking. At least, Orla hoped he was joking. The answer on her tongue was cut short though as Dane started barking and dancing happily before rushing forward, knocking a few dock workers off their feet. Dane, apparently, thought he could tackle a Qunari.

Sten stood his ground, even as the paws messed the paint on his chest and placed a large hand on the dog’s head, “You seem to get lost too easily, kadan,” he said, his gaze on Orla.

“First dock I’ve ever been on with the intent to leave,” she returned with a shrug. Sten just nodded. Words were not something he indulged in. “Is the ship nearby?” she asked, walking over and placing a calming hand on the happy, barking dog. If she didn’t know better she could have sworn Dane was trying to tell Sten everything of the last couple days. Or maybe he was. Mabari were smart, after all.

“Yes,” Sten returned, nodding his head in the other direction. The meaning was clear. The ship was that way. Orla glanced back over the port and out into the city of Denerim. Parts of it were still smoking, but they could rebuild without her. “Kadan,” Sten said, snapping her back to present.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head, “Let’s go,” she said firmly. Before I change my mind, she added silently.

“Excellent!” Zevran piped up, “So, which of us will be holding her hair as she vomits over the edge for the first few days?” his tone was entirely too chipper.

“What?” Orla started, shooting the elf a startled glance, “It’s not that bad, is it?”

Zevran didn’t say anything, falling into a bouncing step next to the giant Qunari and large dog, leaving Orla standing there for a moment, “It isn’t that bad, right?” she asked, trying to catch up.

It couldn’t really be that bad.

* * *
Dear Maker, It was worse.

Orla groaned, holding on to the edge of the boat, the taste of bile burning her tongue and throat. Next to her Zevran stood looking out over the sea, patting her back gently.

“I hate,” she wretched, “all of you.”

“Blame the ocean, bella. After all, you are the only one here able to cast spells, though I don’t recall seeing you make a man vomit so. Other reactions, however, yes,” he mused. Orla turned her head slightly to the side, her blue eyes narrowing at Zevran. All three of him. There were so many ways she could make the elf’s cocky grin catch on fire. Literally on fire.

Her stomach turned again but there was nothing left to expel into the sea, leading to a rather uncomfortable dry heave. Zevran took her by the shoulders with a strength you wouldn’t expect of someone so wiry, “Alright, bella ragazza, it is time to get you off deck, I think. And then something in your stomach, no?”

“So it can come right back up again?” Orla returned, “Maker, no. I refuse.”

“Ah, Orla, I don’t think you could fight me off right now if you tried,” he said, practically carrying her bellow deck. For what they had paid for passage on this ship, Orla thought they were ripped off. One small room with three bedrolls for the three of them and a dog. Said dog was gnawing on a bone at Sten’s feet as the large Qunari cared for Asala, his sword. Zevran sat her down next to the eternally shifting wall of the ship.

“I was not meant for the sea,” she managed as Dane padded over, woofed in a comforting way and licked her face a few times before laying down next to her.

“Obviously, Kadan,” Sten said, not even looking up.

“Or perhaps it is a sign that the water was not meant to consume such a beauty as yourself,” Zevran said smoothly, handing her a wooden stein, when she didn’t take it, he held it to her lips and tilted her head. Despite not wanting a drop of it she found herself drinking, only to find it bitter and burning her already tender throat. She started coughing.

“Is it rancid?” she gasped, pushing the cup away. Not that Orla had ever heard of water going rancid, but there was a first time for everything. Zevran held on to the heavy cup, his face more serious than usual. He shook his head at her question.

“They put beer in it,” Sten said matter-of-factly, “To ward away illness. Does no one in this land know how to boil water?”

“I am pretty sure that starting fires on ships on purpose is not something often done,” Zevran returned in response to Sten’s grumbling, “But he is correct, we would not want you getting sicker,” Zevran said with a nod, holding the cup back up to her lips. This time, Orla took it. She wasn’t going to be catered to like a child.

A small sip though and she was trying not to cough it all up, “Maybe they put it in to make you sick,” she groaned.

“You are drinking it a bit fast, bella,” Zevran pointed out, “Slowly,” he said, handing her a hard biscuit, “And if this stays in it’s correct place perhaps we can move you back on to cheese and the smoked meat, no?” he suggested as Orla took the bread.

Cheese, just the mention of it, brought to mind Alistair. Her face must’ve fallen because Zevran sighed slightly, “No cheese then. Though, truth be told, you are not missing much. These things do not store so well on ships.”

“You are doing no favors by coddling her, elf,” Sten said firmly, the grayish, red painted giant didn’t look up from his blade.

“Ah, my Qunari friend,” Zevran cooed while Orla coughed on some biscuit, “Orla’s emotions are in a delicate state. If you like I could teach you to recognize these signs. I imagine it would make you quite popular!”

“No,” Sten said tersely, “and we are not friends.”

“Truly? You call her, what is the word, kadan? Surely I have grown on you too,” Zevran returned, his tone more teasing than hopeful as he steadied Orla while she slowly ate the hard bread.

“She has earned it; you have not,” Sten replied, turning the blade over and taking a whetstone to the other edge.

“Now you are just being hurtful,” Zevran said with a mock frown.

“You can both knock it off,” Orla said, holding the biscuit in one hand and the cup in the other. “Seeing cheese won’t depress me,” she pointed out, “I did what I had to do.” Even if she hadn’t wanted to. The sank back against the hard wood of the wall, watching every wave that the room seemed to make. “How long will this boat ride be?” she said around a turning in her stomach. Every wave or movement the ship made her insides seemed to lurch with them.

“Weeks,” Sten said simply.

“Do not worry, bella,” Zevran said, “The worst of it should pass soon. The first time is always the worst, they say. So true for a very many things.”

“Zevran?”

“Sí?”

“Did you just make the last three days of me retching into a sex joke?” Orla snapped, not amused.

“Oh no, Orla. Unless of course that is what you wanted it to be! After all, I live to serve,” he said happily.

“If only that service meant silence,” Sten interjected.

“I’d tell him to be quiet, but I think he’d explode,” Orla returned. She was more tired than hungry now, her eyes half closed. Zevran took the cup and the bread as she sank down the side of the wall into the matted, itchy bed roll. A few minutes of sleep, that was all she needed.

* * *
Orla dreamt she flew through the sky as a hawk, Morrigan cheering her on from the ground. The world and all it’s cares so far beneath her. She landed on the mast of the boat, her feathers ruffled in the wind. She could see for miles. Ozone made her feathers rise. She could barely take flight before it hit the mast of the ship, starting sails on fire. Clouds, like hands, reached out the grab her as the very fade changed.

“Kadan!” Sten’s voice snapped her awake, the sudden sitting up turning her stomach, but at least this time she didn’t vomit. For a moment she stared at the Qunari blankly as thunder rumbled and shook the boat. It wasn’t a dream!

“The boat’s on fire!” Orla exclaimed, trying to make it to her feet. Sten’s response was a simple nod. “Sten, where’s Zevran and Dane?” she said, almost falling over as the ship lurched. Sten handed her her staff while helping to steady her.

“Above. I hope you have your strength, kadan,” Sten said simply, “You will need all of it.”

Orla nodded, though she felt light headed and dizzy which caused the boat to spin in ways not even related to it’s pitching back and forth. The sounds of battle were obvious as they poured down from the decks. There was also screaming and a feeling of… wrongness. She hoped whatever was going on she had the strength to fight it. Her energy, her mana was all but tapped from the days of seasickness.

Running above deck was like running into a fiery nightmare. Lightning crashed down from the clouds circling above and the water twisted and churned beneath the ship. She felt the demon before she saw it, the boiling pit of rage was the source of the fire on the ship. Shades also came forth, as if from nowhere, but she could see the veil in tatters. She couldn’t help but to stare for a moment, not quiet believing the amount of energy that was being thrown around. Where had it come from?!

“Get the bloody mage up here!” she recognized the voice as the Captain’s as another sailor took her firmly by the arm, grasping to the point of causing pain and hauled her the rest of the way above deck. As bad as the first glance from below was, this was worse. Screams echoed out to sea with no where to go, always seeming to end up back on deck. The smell of burning flesh hit her hard. It said a lot about the last year that she was all too familiar with it.

The sailor who grabbed her all but threw her towards the captain who took her by the robes and shook her with one hand while pointing with the other, “You did this?” the question was also an accusation.

“No!” Orla snapped, trying to push out of the grip without resorting to frying him. Even this sick, electrocuting someone would have been easy. It didn’t come to that though as Sten took the Captain’s hand and squeezed it, quickly turning it a rich shade of purple. Orla took the moment to steady herself, looking out over the carnage, catching sight of Zevran plunging his short sword into a shade’s physical form, the ‘body’ leaving an inky film behind.

“How dumb would I have to be,” Orla snapped, leaning heavily on her staff, “to do this in the middle of the sea with no way off a boat? Are you daft? What would this,” she paused, turned and hit a shade full in the head with her staff, the weapon discharging electricity when it hit, “even gain me?!”

The captain pulled a dagger out as the chaos around them grew worse, “You’re an abomination, a maleficar! You’ve cursed my ship!”

“Have you ever seen an abomination?” Orla snapped backing away from the knife, her staff held in front of her chest, “I’m not one. And if I was, the angry Qunari with the four foot sword behind you would be the first to kill me,” she returned. And at that point, it would be a mercy. At that point she would not be truly alive.

“All I know, witch, is if I kill you this will e-” the Captain stopped mid sentence and looked down at his chest. The tip of a short sword was there, spreading a red stain down his chest like split wine. His expression was bewildered as it was pulled out, leaving him to slump down on the deck, his last breaths coming out in a spitting gurgle.

“Zevran!” Orla snapped, half relieved, half angered, “They’re going to throw us overboard!”

The elf shrugged, “I do not think that matters right now, as in a few moments there will be no boat left. Besides, what type of bodyguard would I be if I let him kill you, bella, hm?” Zevran said, and ducked, avoiding a club from a sailor who had seen it happen. Sten grabbed the sailor’s head from behind and crushed it like an egg in his hands, dropping the bloody body on to the deck.

“Parshaara,” Sten snapped, “If we do not take care of this it will be the demons that kill us, not the sea or these bas.”

“Right,” Orla nodded, whistling for Dane. She saw the dog running towards her, covered in blood and ash. “Good boy,” she muttered as he stood behind her, balancing her without having to be ordered, “Get behind me,” she shouted to Zevran and Sten. Sick or not, she had to do this. Lightning crackled between the tips of her fingers and the apex of her staff, growing in intensity with each arc. She could feel it under her skin, raising her hair and crackling over the metal studs in the Grey Warden issued robes.

Orla extended her hand and the lightning arced outward jumping from form to form, making no distinctions between man and demon, as long as it was in front of her. But their captain had just tried to kill her. She didn’t feel too sorry for them. She’d worry about how they’d deal with a boat full of angry sailors after the immediate threat of death passed. Though as it was there wouldn’t be very many sailors left to be angry.

When the crackling stopped, Orla fell to her knees, dizzy and drained. She looked up, while there were some people twitching and writhing on the floor, the bulk of the demons seemed gone. The storm above them continued to rage however, “It’s not over,” Orla muttered. Sure enough, shades came out of the wood of the boat.

“Where are they coming from?” Sten growled, his sword ready.

Orla shook her head, scanning the sea and finally pointed, tired. Learning to shift in to a hawk from Morrigan had it’s advantages. Even as dizzy as she was, she could sharpen her vision, “There, just outside the storm, a ship.”

“How could they be doing this from there?” Zevran asked, a knife in one hand a dagger in the other.

“Blood magic,” Orla said weakly, watching an Arcane Horror rise from the deck, it’s long spindly hands moving as unnatural sleep came down upon them and the storm cleared above them the ship in the distance closing in.

Description

Personae Dramatis

Orla Amell - Mage, Grey Warden and Hero of Ferelden

Zevran - Ex-member of the Antivan Crows, acts as body guard to Orla

Sten - Qunari, member of the beresaad, came to Ferelden to answer the question of the blight.

Dane - Purebred Mabari war hound, adopted by Orla after the battle of Ostagar

Wynne - Enchanter of the Ferelden Circle who considers herself a mentor to Orla.

* * *
Orla had left the celebration early. If you slayed an Archdemon, people didn’t question you if you said you were tired. She was, though not in the way everyone clearly thought. Her best friend had left her for locations unknown and Alistair had… She didn’t want to think about it. At least the room provided by Arl Eamon was comfortable. One of the servants had brought up water in the bath. It was lukewarm, but that was easily fixed.

Orla put her hands in the water and heated it, leaving it steaming. It would have plenty of time to cool off while she started to remove the warden issued robes. It had taken a bit to get used to wearing it again before the final battle. While they were in hiding they wore what they could, and mages didn’t wear armor, even if it was lighter. The clasps on the gloves were easy enough to undo, and she tossed that on to the bed, the twin griffins freshly shined and polished.

She stared at them for a moment as they glinted in the candle light. Orla didn’t feel worthy of all the accolades she had been given. Hero of Ferelden, she thought, if this is what it takes to be a hero, then I don’t want it. The door opened with a low woof, Dane the mabari was announcing his presence. He padded over and started sniffing at the gloves as they sat on the bed. He looked up at Orla and wagged his tail, licking her hand.

“Oh, look who else left the party,” Orla said, scratching the dog’s head. He took it as an invention to jump up on her. It was hard to keep her balance with over a hundred pounds of war dog leaning heavily on her and licking her face. “Oy, boy,” she muttered, “down. You didn’t have to come check on me. I’m sure there’s still plenty of mutton at the feast.”

“He isn’t the only one come to check up on you,” Wynne said, standing in the door. Orla wasn’t really too shocked to see the Senior Enchanter there and didn’t look up from Dane.

“You didn’t have to,” Orla said, attempting to push the large dog off. He eventually did get the message and jumped on to her bed, the feather mattress sinking considerably under his weight as Dane started happily chewing his left leg.

“No, perhaps not. But I wanted to, and you should humor this old woman,” Wynne said, the tone making the last bit a jest. Orla didn’t make eye contact, however. At the moment she was glad that it wasn’t Irving. Orla idly pet Dane, who huffed once, happily, but continued to eat his foot.

“Alright,” Orla said, “You are the Senior Enchanter,” she said a bit wry, “I can’t stop you from giving your advice. You’ve always been very free with it.”

“Too free or not free enough?” Wynne returned, stepping in and pushing the heavy door shut, “Perhaps you think a bit of both right now,” the older woman stood there for a moment, and Orla could feel Wynne’s eyes on her, “I just thought I’d check up on you and tell you I think you did the right thing.”

Orla looked up then, her blue eyes red rimmed, “Did I?” she returned, “It doesn’t feel that way. I should…” she trailed off. I should be dead. A warden was supposed to die, and she could see how old stories would talk about lovers who committed suicide if this was the pain she had to look forward to.

There is no man out there who is worth your life, Orla. Especially not Alistair, Morrigan had said.

“You should what?” Wynne said, coming over and sitting down next to her, “I know it hurts now, but the pain will pass in time.”

“Will it?” Orla asked, turning her tear stained eyes on Wynne, “I’m sorry, Senior Enchanter, I can’t see how it will or how you would even know,” she snapped.

“Oh yes, no mage has ever fallen in love and had to leave that love behind before,” Wynne returned in her light tone, but there was steel behind it, “That would just be silly, wouldn’t it?”

“I… I’m sorry, Wynne,” Orla stammered.

“Oh, it’s okay. You’ll have to try a lot harder than that to make me upset,” Wynne returned, “Besides, it’s understandable. Right now I’m sure you feel like nothing could hurt more than this, but there are worse things,” she said, sounding a bit distant before turning her clear gaze on Orla, “He is alive and so are you. Because of you two, Ferelden is united and the Blight pushed back. That doesn’t at all diminish the time you had together. I did tell you, duty may separate you.”

“Who was… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask,” Orla said, wiping her eyes.

Wynne placed a hand on her shoulder, “Well, I’ve licked a few lamp posts in my time,” Wynne said, her tone jesting. Orla turned bright red. So that conversation had been overheard. By just about everyone. Perfect. “But I’ve only really loved one. He was quite the lamp post,” Wynne said sagely.

“What was he like?” Orla asked.

“Oh, quite handsome for a lamp post. And kind, he liked to listen. And a Templar,” Wynne said the last like it was nothing, but Orla was shocked. Noticing Orla’s confused stare, Wynne continued, “Not all Templars are focused on killing mages,” she pointed out, “Though in retrospect it wasn’t my wisest relationship. Love can protect you from a great many things, but it isn’t a shield against reality.”

“What happened?” Orla asked, curious and concerned. While it was obvious they hadn’t killed Wynne or made her Tranquil for it, the Templars weren’t known for being forgiving. It was part of the reason why despite liking Cullen in return, she had done nothing to return the obvious affection.

“Well they found out when I was with child. It turns out that while you can hide it for quite some time by dressing correctly it’s pretty hard to keep a secret in a tower full of people who often have nothing to do but gossip,” Wynne said ruefully, “He was reassigned and my son taken. I never was able to say good bye to either of them,” her voice was distant for a moment giving Orla the impression the Senior Enchanter was spending a moment in the past. In a happier time, perhaps, “So I do know a bit of what I’m talking about, young lady.”

“I must have sounded like a spoiled brat,” Orla muttered, looking down at her hands.

“No, not at all,” Wynne said, gently guiding Orla’s head to rest on her shoulder. She could almost recall being comforted like this by her mother, long ago. It was sad that the two she could claim were most like parents were in no way related to her, “You are a strong young woman who just gave up what she cherished above all to ensure her homeland’s future. I think you’re allowed to be bitter about that, at least for now. Have faith, child, in the long run though these things will balance out.”

Orla swallowed once and nodded, “I can’t stay here though. I don’t want to see it,” Alistair and Anora. King and Queen of Ferelden. A perfect, painful compromise.

“Understandable, child. So, where are you off to next?” Wynne asked, still holding her. Orla couldn’t stop the tears that started down her face. Leaving was going to be just as painful as staying.

“With Sten, his ship leaves in three days,” and Zevran had also offered to travel with her, she realized. A mage, a Qunari, an elf and a dog. And it still wasn’t half as strange as her collection of comrades had been this past year and a half. “If I write a letter for… the king… will you…?” she couldn’t finish.

“Of course, Orla. Of course,” Wynne said, hugging her as she finally gave way to exhausted tears, “Anything you need.”

***
Alistair,

I know the Queen will read this letter, so for her sake I will not say everything I want to say. Everything I wish I could. However, I don’t think I need to say it. You know what I would say, what I want to say. That being said, I wish you and the Queen all the best and an heir before the year is out.

Arl Eamon asked for me to stay on as a magical adviser to the Crown, but you know I can not. Both because of my status as a Warden and because of our history. Perhaps his goal was to make Queen Anora uncomfortable, I don’t know. I will not give him the satisfaction either way.

Allow me to suggest someone to serve in my stead.

I know Wynne will not be staying on, she plans on traveling with Shale to find a way to reverse the Golem’s condition. However Petra, who told us about Wynne’s accident during Uldred’s bloodbath at the tower, is an excellent choice. I studied with her a great deal, she is smart, talented and has a very level head on her shoulders. She will advise the Crown sagely in all magical matters. You could not ask for a better one. And it should be of great comfort to your Queen to know she prefers to spend her evenings with women. Not that I think you’ll fall for her, but given her late husband’s reputation I would rather not ruffle feathers.

If you wish to know more about her qualifications, Wynne will be able to tell you more of Petra. Trust me though when I say you could not ask for a better adviser.

That being said, when you are reading this I will be gone. A ship is leaving, I won’t tell you its name, for the North. Sten, Zevran, Dane and I will be on it. Sten is returning to Par Vollen, and we are going with. It may be suicide, but at least it will be a creative suicide. Though I doubt it will come to that. I will return to Ferelden soon, My King. Until then, I wish you all the best.

May Andraste Guide and Keep You,

Orla Amell, Enchanter of The Lake Calenhad Circle, Warden of the Grey

* * *
The pier was cold, with salty air blowing in her face. The blue and gray Warden robes and the staff afforded her space among a busy dock. There was also Dane, half her size and all muscle. Zevran nearby wearing a short sword openly and a few hundred daggers hidden amongst his armor also did a lot to discourage any ideas.

“Do you see him?” Orla asked, squinting her eyes and scanning the docks. An eight foot Qunari should not be hard to find. Even if he didn’t have the horns. Her nose wrinkled as it was hit by the smell of rotting fish. Zevran, on the other hand, must have felt right at home. Antiva City was a port, after all, and it would explain the deep breath he took along with the quirked grin on his face.

“You do not think it would be so hard to lose a giant, no?” Zevran noted, his tone chipper. It was a mood that right now, Orla did not share. It was the start of spring and the weather couldn’t decide if it wanted to be hot and humid or cold and humid and it left her somewhere between freezing and sweating.

“Well, if we can’t find him, I hope you’re very good at coming up with snap travel plans,” Orla returned dryly.

“Ah, the places I could take you and we would not even have to leave the bedroom,” Zevran said with an over stated sigh that made Orla roll her eyes.

“I’ll wait with baited breath,” she returned, in something close to a monotone.

“Perhaps they’ll have us bunk together!” Zevran’s tone with so bright he had to be joking. At least, Orla hoped he was joking. The answer on her tongue was cut short though as Dane started barking and dancing happily before rushing forward, knocking a few dock workers off their feet. Dane, apparently, thought he could tackle a Qunari.

Sten stood his ground, even as the paws messed the paint on his chest and placed a large hand on the dog’s head, “You seem to get lost too easily, kadan,” he said, his gaze on Orla.

“First dock I’ve ever been on with the intent to leave,” she returned with a shrug. Sten just nodded. Words were not something he indulged in. “Is the ship nearby?” she asked, walking over and placing a calming hand on the happy, barking dog. If she didn’t know better she could have sworn Dane was trying to tell Sten everything of the last couple days. Or maybe he was. Mabari were smart, after all.

“Yes,” Sten returned, nodding his head in the other direction. The meaning was clear. The ship was that way. Orla glanced back over the port and out into the city of Denerim. Parts of it were still smoking, but they could rebuild without her. “Kadan,” Sten said, snapping her back to present.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head, “Let’s go,” she said firmly. Before I change my mind, she added silently.

“Excellent!” Zevran piped up, “So, which of us will be holding her hair as she vomits over the edge for the first few days?” his tone was entirely too chipper.

“What?” Orla started, shooting the elf a startled glance, “It’s not that bad, is it?”

Zevran didn’t say anything, falling into a bouncing step next to the giant Qunari and large dog, leaving Orla standing there for a moment, “It isn’t that bad, right?” she asked, trying to catch up.

It couldn’t really be that bad.

* * *
Dear Maker, It was worse.

Orla groaned, holding on to the edge of the boat, the taste of bile burning her tongue and throat. Next to her Zevran stood looking out over the sea, patting her back gently.

“I hate,” she wretched, “all of you.”

“Blame the ocean, bella. After all, you are the only one here able to cast spells, though I don’t recall seeing you make a man vomit so. Other reactions, however, yes,” he mused. Orla turned her head slightly to the side, her blue eyes narrowing at Zevran. All three of him. There were so many ways she could make the elf’s cocky grin catch on fire. Literally on fire.

Her stomach turned again but there was nothing left to expel into the sea, leading to a rather uncomfortable dry heave. Zevran took her by the shoulders with a strength you wouldn’t expect of someone so wiry, “Alright, bella ragazza, it is time to get you off deck, I think. And then something in your stomach, no?”

“So it can come right back up again?” Orla returned, “Maker, no. I refuse.”

“Ah, Orla, I don’t think you could fight me off right now if you tried,” he said, practically carrying her bellow deck. For what they had paid for passage on this ship, Orla thought they were ripped off. One small room with three bedrolls for the three of them and a dog. Said dog was gnawing on a bone at Sten’s feet as the large Qunari cared for Asala, his sword. Zevran sat her down next to the eternally shifting wall of the ship.

“I was not meant for the sea,” she managed as Dane padded over, woofed in a comforting way and licked her face a few times before laying down next to her.

“Obviously, Kadan,” Sten said, not even looking up.

“Or perhaps it is a sign that the water was not meant to consume such a beauty as yourself,” Zevran said smoothly, handing her a wooden stein, when she didn’t take it, he held it to her lips and tilted her head. Despite not wanting a drop of it she found herself drinking, only to find it bitter and burning her already tender throat. She started coughing.

“Is it rancid?” she gasped, pushing the cup away. Not that Orla had ever heard of water going rancid, but there was a first time for everything. Zevran held on to the heavy cup, his face more serious than usual. He shook his head at her question.

“They put beer in it,” Sten said matter-of-factly, “To ward away illness. Does no one in this land know how to boil water?”

“I am pretty sure that starting fires on ships on purpose is not something often done,” Zevran returned in response to Sten’s grumbling, “But he is correct, we would not want you getting sicker,” Zevran said with a nod, holding the cup back up to her lips. This time, Orla took it. She wasn’t going to be catered to like a child.

A small sip though and she was trying not to cough it all up, “Maybe they put it in to make you sick,” she groaned.

“You are drinking it a bit fast, bella,” Zevran pointed out, “Slowly,” he said, handing her a hard biscuit, “And if this stays in it’s correct place perhaps we can move you back on to cheese and the smoked meat, no?” he suggested as Orla took the bread.

Cheese, just the mention of it, brought to mind Alistair. Her face must’ve fallen because Zevran sighed slightly, “No cheese then. Though, truth be told, you are not missing much. These things do not store so well on ships.”

“You are doing no favors by coddling her, elf,” Sten said firmly, the grayish, red painted giant didn’t look up from his blade.

“Ah, my Qunari friend,” Zevran cooed while Orla coughed on some biscuit, “Orla’s emotions are in a delicate state. If you like I could teach you to recognize these signs. I imagine it would make you quite popular!”

“No,” Sten said tersely, “and we are not friends.”

“Truly? You call her, what is the word, kadan? Surely I have grown on you too,” Zevran returned, his tone more teasing than hopeful as he steadied Orla while she slowly ate the hard bread.

“She has earned it; you have not,” Sten replied, turning the blade over and taking a whetstone to the other edge.

“Now you are just being hurtful,” Zevran said with a mock frown.

“You can both knock it off,” Orla said, holding the biscuit in one hand and the cup in the other. “Seeing cheese won’t depress me,” she pointed out, “I did what I had to do.” Even if she hadn’t wanted to. The sank back against the hard wood of the wall, watching every wave that the room seemed to make. “How long will this boat ride be?” she said around a turning in her stomach. Every wave or movement the ship made her insides seemed to lurch with them.

“Weeks,” Sten said simply.

“Do not worry, bella,” Zevran said, “The worst of it should pass soon. The first time is always the worst, they say. So true for a very many things.”

“Zevran?”

“Sí?”

“Did you just make the last three days of me retching into a sex joke?” Orla snapped, not amused.

“Oh no, Orla. Unless of course that is what you wanted it to be! After all, I live to serve,” he said happily.

“If only that service meant silence,” Sten interjected.

“I’d tell him to be quiet, but I think he’d explode,” Orla returned. She was more tired than hungry now, her eyes half closed. Zevran took the cup and the bread as she sank down the side of the wall into the matted, itchy bed roll. A few minutes of sleep, that was all she needed.

* * *
Orla dreamt she flew through the sky as a hawk, Morrigan cheering her on from the ground. The world and all it’s cares so far beneath her. She landed on the mast of the boat, her feathers ruffled in the wind. She could see for miles. Ozone made her feathers rise. She could barely take flight before it hit the mast of the ship, starting sails on fire. Clouds, like hands, reached out the grab her as the very fade changed.

“Kadan!” Sten’s voice snapped her awake, the sudden sitting up turning her stomach, but at least this time she didn’t vomit. For a moment she stared at the Qunari blankly as thunder rumbled and shook the boat. It wasn’t a dream!

“The boat’s on fire!” Orla exclaimed, trying to make it to her feet. Sten’s response was a simple nod. “Sten, where’s Zevran and Dane?” she said, almost falling over as the ship lurched. Sten handed her her staff while helping to steady her.

“Above. I hope you have your strength, kadan,” Sten said simply, “You will need all of it.”

Orla nodded, though she felt light headed and dizzy which caused the boat to spin in ways not even related to it’s pitching back and forth. The sounds of battle were obvious as they poured down from the decks. There was also screaming and a feeling of… wrongness. She hoped whatever was going on she had the strength to fight it. Her energy, her mana was all but tapped from the days of seasickness.

Running above deck was like running into a fiery nightmare. Lightning crashed down from the clouds circling above and the water twisted and churned beneath the ship. She felt the demon before she saw it, the boiling pit of rage was the source of the fire on the ship. Shades also came forth, as if from nowhere, but she could see the veil in tatters. She couldn’t help but to stare for a moment, not quiet believing the amount of energy that was being thrown around. Where had it come from?!

“Get the bloody mage up here!” she recognized the voice as the Captain’s as another sailor took her firmly by the arm, grasping to the point of causing pain and hauled her the rest of the way above deck. As bad as the first glance from below was, this was worse. Screams echoed out to sea with no where to go, always seeming to end up back on deck. The smell of burning flesh hit her hard. It said a lot about the last year that she was all too familiar with it.

The sailor who grabbed her all but threw her towards the captain who took her by the robes and shook her with one hand while pointing with the other, “You did this?” the question was also an accusation.

“No!” Orla snapped, trying to push out of the grip without resorting to frying him. Even this sick, electrocuting someone would have been easy. It didn’t come to that though as Sten took the Captain’s hand and squeezed it, quickly turning it a rich shade of purple. Orla took the moment to steady herself, looking out over the carnage, catching sight of Zevran plunging his short sword into a shade’s physical form, the ‘body’ leaving an inky film behind.

“How dumb would I have to be,” Orla snapped, leaning heavily on her staff, “to do this in the middle of the sea with no way off a boat? Are you daft? What would this,” she paused, turned and hit a shade full in the head with her staff, the weapon discharging electricity when it hit, “even gain me?!”

The captain pulled a dagger out as the chaos around them grew worse, “You’re an abomination, a maleficar! You’ve cursed my ship!”

“Have you ever seen an abomination?” Orla snapped backing away from the knife, her staff held in front of her chest, “I’m not one. And if I was, the angry Qunari with the four foot sword behind you would be the first to kill me,” she returned. And at that point, it would be a mercy. At that point she would not be truly alive.

“All I know, witch, is if I kill you this will e-” the Captain stopped mid sentence and looked down at his chest. The tip of a short sword was there, spreading a red stain down his chest like split wine. His expression was bewildered as it was pulled out, leaving him to slump down on the deck, his last breaths coming out in a spitting gurgle.

“Zevran!” Orla snapped, half relieved, half angered, “They’re going to throw us overboard!”

The elf shrugged, “I do not think that matters right now, as in a few moments there will be no boat left. Besides, what type of bodyguard would I be if I let him kill you, bella, hm?” Zevran said, and ducked, avoiding a club from a sailor who had seen it happen. Sten grabbed the sailor’s head from behind and crushed it like an egg in his hands, dropping the bloody body on to the deck.

“Parshaara,” Sten snapped, “If we do not take care of this it will be the demons that kill us, not the sea or these bas.”

“Right,” Orla nodded, whistling for Dane. She saw the dog running towards her, covered in blood and ash. “Good boy,” she muttered as he stood behind her, balancing her without having to be ordered, “Get behind me,” she shouted to Zevran and Sten. Sick or not, she had to do this. Lightning crackled between the tips of her fingers and the apex of her staff, growing in intensity with each arc. She could feel it under her skin, raising her hair and crackling over the metal studs in the Grey Warden issued robes.

Orla extended her hand and the lightning arced outward jumping from form to form, making no distinctions between man and demon, as long as it was in front of her. But their captain had just tried to kill her. She didn’t feel too sorry for them. She’d worry about how they’d deal with a boat full of angry sailors after the immediate threat of death passed. Though as it was there wouldn’t be very many sailors left to be angry.

When the crackling stopped, Orla fell to her knees, dizzy and drained. She looked up, while there were some people twitching and writhing on the floor, the bulk of the demons seemed gone. The storm above them continued to rage however, “It’s not over,” Orla muttered. Sure enough, shades came out of the wood of the boat.

“Where are they coming from?” Sten growled, his sword ready.

Orla shook her head, scanning the sea and finally pointed, tired. Learning to shift in to a hawk from Morrigan had it’s advantages. Even as dizzy as she was, she could sharpen her vision, “There, just outside the storm, a ship.”

“How could they be doing this from there?” Zevran asked, a knife in one hand a dagger in the other.

“Blood magic,” Orla said weakly, watching an Arcane Horror rise from the deck, it’s long spindly hands moving as unnatural sleep came down upon them and the storm cleared above them the ship in the distance closing in.