caspar

The Dalish awoke long before the sun was up, and Jamie reluctantly got up with the rest of the company. Morrigan made jabs at Alistair, comparing him to a toadstool for wanting to help a half sister who wanted nothing to do with him. Caspar and Zevran remained in their tent for quite some time, and Merry and Pippin were already playing with the local children. Jamie smiled to himself watching the pups when a boy tugged on his tunic.

“I thought shemlen would be much uglier. You’re not that ugly,” he said, meaning well in that ignorance of children. Caspar must’ve emerged from his tent and been nearby because Jamie heard a familiar guffaw followed by laughter that trailed off in the direction of the river they were camped near. Jamie shook his head lightly and smiled to himself, then noticed the armorsmith having an argument with his apprentice. Jamie caught snippets of their argument, but decided to stay out of it for now.

Once they had all eaten breakfast and had gotten their things ready, the hunters of the clan saw them off towards the Brecilian Forest. Jamie remained quiet as Caspar took the lead. He knew how to navigate through the forest in a way that Jamie did not, and he seemed to be right in his element. Caspar was a tracker, inspecting foliage as they moved and noting where their path led. He warned the group to be wary of bears as well as the werewolves, and Jamie did his best to remain alert.

Almost immediately, Caspar picked up the trail of something urgent and he quickly dashed into the thicket. Alistair and Sten remained at the rear, watching their flank for any attacks from behind. Morrigan and Leliana remained on the lookout while Zevran and Jamie ran after Caspar. Soon, they found one of the Dalish hunters that had gone missing. He was gravely injured, but he didn’t look bitten. “Let me splint his leg. I can carry him back to the clan where they can look after him,” Jamie said, looking up at Caspar. The blonde elf gave a single nod. “Zevran, go with him. Meet us back here. We’ll scout the area,” Caspar commanded.

The Dalish were grateful to have one of their hunters back, and it boosted their morale to know that maybe there was hope of finding more of the hunters and finding this Witherfang. Maybe the Grey Wardens would pull through for them in this time of need. After returning the injured elf, Jamie and Zevran began their trek back to wherever the group had left off.

“So… I cannot help but notice how you stare at our friend Caspar, Jamie.” “What? What are y–” “There is no need to deny it. I do not mind sharing as long as he does not, he is under no oblig–”

Jamie interrupted him as he spoke, not wanting to hear more of it. “It’s curious that you two became so cozy so quickly. What are your intentions with him?”

Zevran laughed and raised his brows, looking over to Jamie who “Do I detect a bit of jealousy there? Feeling a bit territorial?” “I’m just asking what your intentions are. You did try to kill us all, remember?”

“And now I owe him a blood debt, as I owe him my life. It has brought us closer together, I think.” “Is that a smirk? Are you smirking at me?” “What? I assure you sir, there is no smirking here. Nope, no way. No smirk here,” Zevran replied, clearly smirking.

“Just… forget it,” Jamie huffed, stepping more quickly. “Wrong way, my lord,” Zevran teased.

Once the group was back together, they pressed onwards. Werewolves charged at them until a they arrived at a bridge and three large creatures stood on the other side. Before the company could attack, the leader began to speak, taking them by surprise. Jamie had already proven himself the more diplomatic of the bunch and attempted to speak with the werewolf.

“My name is Jamie. I only wish to bring back the hunters to the clan– we don’t want to fight you. The Blight is–”

“We cannot trust you! Zathrian has sent you.”

The creature suspected them of being sent by Zathrian and introduced himself as Swiftrunner. He warned them that the time for peace had long passed, and every word he spoke about Zathrian was laced with venom. Clearly, there was bad history between them, but Jamie didn’t know where to begin with that. Oddly enough, Swiftrunner did not wish to fight them either, but the company would not relent. They needed to find Witherfang, and if Swiftrunner was protecting him, then they would need to fight their way through the forest. The werewolves retreated into the forest, and so the company continued to press forward in their advance.

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The light of the bonfire burned brightly as the elves played music and roasted what meat they had gathered that day. Jamie sat on one side of the fire, doing his best to ignore the way Caspar sat on Zevran’s lap. A man sat beside him and gazed at the bow still strapped to Jamie’s back. He read the runes engraved on it quietly and smiled. “Do you know about Sylaise?” he asked.

Jamie nodded, turning his attention to the man. “I do. She was the keeper of the hearth and giver of fire. I had a Dalish friend once. He gifted this bow to me. It once belonged to his father.”

“You must have meant a great deal to him. The Dalish do not pass on their relics and legacy to just anyone, you know.”

“I… I know. I didn’t realize it at the time, and I regret not letting him know just how much he’d meant to me when he was alive.”

“Life has a curious way of making us aware of how important someone truly was to us once they are gone. You remain guarded about who you are. I have seen you, but have heard you speak the least of all of your companions. Your eyes betray great sadness in you. My name is Athras. I am one of the clan’s hunters,” he said. Jamie was surprised. For all of the wary looks he was getting for being shemlen, this man was welcoming, and even talking to him as though he were speaking to a friend. Jamie appreciated that.

“My name’s Jamie. I… I suppose I’m doing the best I can. That’s all we can do, right? I’m a Grey Warden. We’ve got to uphold our morals and do our duties, despite those in power smearing our name and belittling the sacrifices we’ve made,” he said quietly.

“Sylaise is the Hearthkeeper. She is the sister of Andruil the Huntress. While Andruil loved to run with the creatures of the wild, Sylaise preferred to stay by her home-tree, occupying herself with gentle arts and song. She gave us fire and taught us how to use it. She showed us how to heal with herbs and with magic, and how to ease the passage of infants into this world. And again, it is Sylaise who showed us how to spin the fibers of plants into thread and rope,” Athras said, smiling at Jamie and reading part of the inscription on his bow.

“We owe much to Sylaise, and that is why we sing to her when we kindle the fires and when we put them out. That is why we sprinkle our aravels with Sylaise’s fragrant tree-moss, and ask that she protect them and all within. This bow has a prayer of protection upon it. It is made of Dalish-crafted ironbark– the toughest material you can possibly get. Superior to steel and lighter beyond measure.You have quite the relic weapon on your hands. I can tell you you garner many looks for having such. Some might believe you stole it, as it is so rare a thing.”

Jamie nodded slowly, not realizing that his gaze had drifted towards Caspar. He was suddenly aware of it when he noticed the other staring right back. Both quickly looked away from each other, and Jamie turned back to the man  beside him. “My wife had one similar to it… unfortunately, she was among those sent out last week. Zathrian confirmed her death, but I don’t believe it,” he said quietly. “I believe she might be out there somewhere.”

Looking at the man, Jamie nodded slowly. “I’m sorry to hear that. We’re going out tomorrow to begin looking for Witherfang. Perhaps if… If there’s anything I find, I can let you know. Maybe I can look for her,” Jamie offered. He didn’t want to make promises he could keep, but he could and he would look for the man’s wife. He was very grateful and gave Jamie a brief description of what she looked like, what she had been wearing, and things she kept on her at all times.

“Ma’serannas. Thank you. May the gods protect you,” Athras said. “Now, try to get enjoy yourself and get a little rest. I am retiring for the night, but will see you off in the morning.” The hunter patted Jamie’s back before getting up and padding off elsewhere. Jamie sat alone for a while, gazing at the fire and at one of the bows from his quiver. He turned it slowly in his hands, remembering his friend and wishing he could have told him about finally meeting a real Dalish clan and staying with them. Jamie slipped his arrow back into the quiver and someone to his right caught his attention.

A boy maybe a few years younger than Caspar stood by himself, leaning against a tree and looking out towards the group of elves that sat across the way from him. The boy didn’t have vallaslin on his face, and he looked like he wanted to go over there. He turned to look at Jamie and quickly looked away when he saw the man looking back at him. Jamie knew it was none of his business, but he was curious, and so he got up and walked in his direction.

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“Stop right there outsiders, the Dalish have camped in this spot. I suggest you go somewhere else, and quickly–”

The huntress immediately lowered her bow and signaled to the men behind her to stand down the moment she saw Caspar at the forefront of the group. “Andaran atish’an, my friend. You have come a long way,” she said, immediately changing her demeanor from hostile to friendly. “I bid you the welcome of our clan. These are curious companions you have,” she said, once again eyeing the company behind Caspar. “Might I ask the purpose of your visit?”

”Aneth ara, ni. We have come on behalf of the Grey Wardens, sister,” Caspar replied. Jamie remained quiet, opting to follow Caspar’s lead whilst in the Forest. These people, although not his clan, were still his people and Jamie thought it best for Caspar to speak to the Keeper about the Grey Wardens treaty for the Blight.

“The Grey Wardens? You have joined their ranks? How… unusual. Please excuse my surprise, I will take you to the keeper right away,” she said, motioning for the other archers to continue to watch the path as she led the group into the camp. The walk wasn’t too far, and Caspar slid right into speaking almost nothing but elvhen to the woman who led the way. Once they arrived, they were introduced to Keeper Zathrian, who lamented not being able to honor the treaties, as they had no spare manpower to do so. He had sensed the corruption of the Darkspawn from the south, but was unable to move their clan further north to safety. The Brecilian Forest had an infestation of werewolves, and they were claiming the lives of the clan’s hunters one by one. Those who weren’t outright killed were bitten and fell extremely ill. They were running short on food and supplies. Alistair seemed a little annoyed, but Jamie elbowed for him to be quiet. “We will help whoever we need to for these treaties to happen,” he hissed quietly, audible only to the two of them.

Zathrian gave them a small tour of the immediate area. Sick and injured warriors writhed in pain, and the keeper explained that the situation was getting so desperate, that they would soon be forced to slay their brethren, as they would not be able to care for them any longer. Caspar spoke to the keeper in elvhen, brows furrowed as he concentrated on what the keeper said. Jamie didn’t know what was being said, but chimed in anyway. “Is there anything we could do to help your clan, keeper?” he asked.

Zathrian turned to them and nodded. “The affliction is a curse that runs rampant through their blood. It is agonizing and will eventually bring death or corruption into becoming something monstrous. The only thing that could help them is overcoming the source of this curse. That is no trivial task,” he said.

“Are we going after the leader of the pack?”

“No, it’s not a werewolf. It’s the one who made the werewolves come to be. There is a great wolf named Witherfang. It is through his blood that the curse came to be. If he is killed and the heart is brought to me, then perhaps I could destroy the curse,” he said. There was a certain glint in his eye, but with the situation as grim as it was, Jamie didn’t look into it overmuch. The keeper had sent a group of hunters into the forest a week ago who had not returned, and he did not want to send anymore of his clan and afford to lose them. Jamie looked to Caspar and nodded slowly. “We will look for Witherfang, but we’ll need supplies first,” Caspar said. Zevran murmured something into Caspar’s ear and the elf agreed. “We need supplies and to rest. Having daylight on our side will allow us to find this Witherfang and not set ourselves up for ambush in the night.” Jamie looked at him, quite impressed with the decision. Before Alistair or Morrigan could interject, Jamie agreed, and so they were to spend the night at the Brecilian encampment among the Dalish.

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Class was starting in about ten minutes. That gave Jamie more than enough time to sequester Caspar in the empty library. They had been talking about their respective eclectic tastes in music, and Jamie wrinkled his nose with a delightful smile. “Let’s dance. Here. Now.”

Caspar raised his brows, giving Jamie a skeptical side-eyed glance. “Are you mental?” he asked. They had just finished what was a failed attempt to study for the upcoming exam, but their topic of conversation proved the two were easily derailed from their original task. Looking around, Jamie ensured that the librarian was nowhere in sight– as a matter of fact, where was everyone? No matter. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and reached for Caspar’s hand, pulling him away from the table at which they sat. He flipped through his phone for a moment, then that big, bright grin of his stretched across his soft lips. Caspar laughed the moment Jamie pressed play.

“Ever watched The Breakfast Club?” Jamie asked with a big, goofy grin.

“Seriously?” he asked, still in disbelief as the music played. He looked around, then laughed again.

“Quite.”

Jamie began to shimmy with the other, and Caspar couldn’t help but acquiesce to the other’s comical request, both dancing to the music from Jamie’s phone just minutes before class began.

Jamie Cousland and Caspar Mahariel done by @raviollies !

[ music ]

“We are on holy ground. I can feel it,” Leliana said reverently. The temple appeared as though it hadn’t been touched in ages. There was a pile of armor with mummified remains, and Jamie wondered how many people actually made it up here since its creation. The thought unnerved him.

Up ahead, it appeared as though a knight awaited them. He stood silently and Jamie felt a cold shiver swim along his spine. With eyes narrowed, he walked forward, but Caspar wasn’t idly standing by. He walked ahead of Jamie, unafraid of whatever it was that was up ahead. The guardian eyed the company, then brought his pale white-eyed gaze to Caspar.

“I bid you welcome, pilgrim. I am the Guardian. The protector of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. I have waited years for this.”

“For someone to take the remains of some shemlen woman? Sounds like you got the bad end of the deal,” Caspar snarked, wrinkling his nose at the Guardian.

“No one can take the Ashes. They belong here. It has been my life, my duty, to prepare the way for the faithful who have come to revere Andraste. For years beyond counting have I been here, and shall I remain until my task is done and the Imperium has crumbled to the sea.”

“But the Tevinter Imperium is no longer as powerful as it once was,” Jamie chimed in, furrowing his brows and looking at the spirit with curiosity and wariness.

“Ah… Is it not? Then perhaps this is the beginning of the end. When my brethren and I carried Andraste from Tevinter to this Sanctuary, we vowed to forever revere Her memory, and guard Her.” The Guardian continued to speak to them of how those protectors failed their duties and spiraled into the cultists they faced today. The dragon was most certainly not Andraste, and the gauntlet ahead would determine if they were worthy to take a pinch of the ashes for themselves. The Guardian seemed to know a great deal of personal information about each one, down to what they felt. Jamie felt incredibly guilty over what happened to his family in Highever and wished he could’ve remained to fight. Caspar felt as though he failed Tamlen. Alistair lamented not being the one to die in Duncan’s stead. Leliana sought attention by lying about her visions to the maker, Sten felt guilt over the family that was slaughtered, and Zevran felt guilt over one murder over hundreds he’d committed. Morrigan furrowed her brows. “Begone, spirit! I will not play your games,” she said. Oddly enough, the Guardian respected her wishes before allowing them to proceed.

Ahead of them, Jamie felt as though their minds were being tested. Several spirits told them of their travels with Andraste and their relationships with her. They represented qualities that described what happened. Something about this all felt odd. Jamie wanted to believe that they were truly spirits of those who traveled with Andraste, but he couldn’t simply take their words for it. As they pressed on, Jamie watched Caspar walk towards something that Jamie could not see. Caspar was speaking to an invisible, inaudible spirit, and Jamie could scarcely make out what was being said before his attention snapped to a spirit just ahead of himself.

“My dearest child,” the spirit began. He was in the form of Teyrn Bryce Cousland. Jamie’s father.

“You aren’t real,” Jamie said brokenly, feeling his heart break all over again when he saw the father he loved so much.

“You know that I am gone, and all your prayers and wishes will not bring me back. No more must you grieve, my boy. Take the pain and the guilt, acknowledge it, and let go. It is time. You have such a long road ahead of you and you must be prepared. And so, I leave this in your hands. I know you will do great things with it,” he said. Jamie coudln’t feel the Teryn as he handed an item to him. His eyes filled with tears, but he did not cry as he took the amulet from his father’s hand and pulled it around his neck. Briefly, he looked towards Caspar to see he too held a similar amulet, and before he had a moment to thank his father, the apparition was gone. Whatever it was, Jamie wondered if it was all in his head, or if it was a spirit of the fade taking the form of his deceased father.

The time for wondering was over as suddenly, they were under attack once more. The temple held many surprises, and several puzzles that Jamie was sure would sent them plummeting to their deaths, but somehow, they made it to the end. An altar awaited them with a riddle and a wall of fire blocking their way from where the Urn of Sacred Ashes sat perched upon an altar up ahead.

“Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar, be born anew in the Maker’s sight.”

A trail of fire blazed before them, and Jamie’s brows furrowed. This was no mage’s illusion. Whether or not this was truly the Maker’s will, Jamie knew what he had to do. Slowly, he began to remove his armor and weapons. They had made it through the trial, this far, and when the other saw Jamie removing his armor, they began to do the same. Jamie walked forward and felt the fire’s flames licking his skin but not burning him. His heart pounded in his chest, and once he made it across, the others followed and the flames disappeared.

Jamie found it all a bit too odd. This whole experience had been incredibly odd. If this was a test of religious faith, why had Morrigan and Caspar been allowed to cross? They weren’t Andrastian. Neither was Sten, and Jamie was willing to bet that Zevran wasn’t either… still, they were able to pass the test to retrieve the ashes they needed.

The Guardian once again appeared to them, congratulating them on being worthy of the trial and bidding them farewell. After recovering their weapons and armor, they were free to take a pinch of the Ashes. Leliana nearly wept, and Alistair remained as reverent as Jamie. Morrigan was not at all impressed, and Zevran wanted to get out of this creepy place already. Sten reminded them that the dragon still awaited outside and that they needed to hurry out of there.

As they exited the temple once again, Jamie decided it was best not to antagonize a dragon that hadn’t done anything wrong unless it attacked them as they retreated. Just as he hoped, the high dragon didn’t bother with them, remaining preoccupied with itself high above them.

-

In a bit of an awkward silence, they began their descent back from the Frostback Mountain towards Redcliffe, but night had fallen. After the trials they had endured, it was time for them to rest. They had the ashes they needed for Arl Eamon, and hopefully they would have the support of troops that they needed at last. Tomorrow began a new day, and they would need to move faster to make up for lost time.

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Zevran was a sight to behold. He was handsome, witty, and exotic, hailing from Antiva. his silvergold hair contrasted with his tanned skin. He seemed to have latched on to Caspar from the moment his life was spared, and although he had the tendency to flirt with everyone– Jamie included– it seemed that there was blossoming affection between the two elves.

Jamie didn’t know why he cared so much. It’s not like Caspar had given him the time of day. Alistair was a great enough friend, but he was not inclined towards the company of other men, despite the others’ teasing. Jamie knew his mind shouldn’t be going in that direction. He had an important duty to uphold, but he couldn’t stop his gaze from lingering on Caspar. The elf seemed like such a different person around Zevran. He smiled, joked, and seemed even a little distracted from their worries. Jamie found himself gazing at the soft lips that appeared as pink as the inside of a strawberry, and the unruly, snowy blonde crown. There was something about his voice, the way he carried himself with confidence and purpose, and the way he got along (or in most cases didn’t) with the others that Jamie found himself drawn to. Caspar was free in ways that Jamie was not, and maybe that drew him to the other as well. He didn’t get it. Why was Jamie so attracted to someone who treated him like he didn’t matter– or like someone whose mere existence was a blight on this world?

He found himself staring at Zevran occasionally, too. Jamie felt pangs of jealousy that he didn’t want to admit to himself. He didn’t have an exotic accent. Jamie felt like he was too tall, a little clumsy, wore his emotions on his sleeve, and had the tendency to go out of his way for others who wouldn’t go out of his way for him. His hair was a boring chocolate brown, and there were no remarkable etchings on his skin. The Antivan looked amazing when he removed his armor. He was toned and lithe, and extremely desirable. And he was an elf. There was no way Caspar would even entertain the idea as far as Jamie was concerned, and he felt it coil in his chest, like a snake threatening to poison him. He didn’t want to feel that way. He had a duty to uphold, and there was no time for him to try to sway Caspar into his bedroll at night. He was nothing more than a shemlen. Zevran was carefree and determined to pursue his own needs, while Jamie felt like he carried the weight of Thedas upon his shoulders.

The two elves bantered on, and Jamie knew what was next. Zevran would go into Caspar’s tent, or the other way around. They weren’t exactly quiet, either. His eyes briefly met Caspar’s, and he quickly tore his gaze away, stuffing a rather large piece of cheese into his mouth and pretending he wasn’t watching the other two. Jamie felt foolish and awkward. Instead of waiting around to see what would happen, he got up from his spot and stalked off towards the creek by himself. Maybe a private swim would help clear his head. It was a bit warm that night anyway.

Unbeknownst to him, a pair of observant golden eyes were following him as he walked away from camp.

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“There were seven Old Gods, great winged dragons that were said to rule over the ancient world. The Chantry maintains that they are responsible for the original sin, that they turned humanity away from its true creator through deceit. Humanity’s faith faltered, and thus the Maker turned away from the world–but not before trapping the Old Gods in eternal prisons beneath the earth as punishment.”

-Codex on the Old Gods found in the Ruined Temple

Haven was creepy.

Everything about it screamed creepy cultists to everyone involved. From the child playing with human finger bones to the shady trader who turned out to have been concealing a murder, to the entire village all in the Chantry locked in some sort of cultist gathering.

Brother Genitivi had been held captive there. The man was a renowned religious author throughout Thedas, and his research got increasingly closer to finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes containing the remains of the prophet Andraste, the Maker’s Bride. The ashes were said to cure any illness, and the knights of Redcliffe had been sent out on a long and arduous quest to seek the ashes to cure their arl of the illness that befell him. None had been successful in their findings, and now Jamie knew why. Those who made it as far as Haven were slaughtered.

Jamie managed to bandage up the elderly man with Leliana’s help. Caspar, and Zevran wiped blood from their blades, and Sten and Alistair kept watch to ensure they didn’t get ambushed by any lingering cultists. The Frostback Mountains were unforgiving and cold, and still Brother Genitivi insisted on coming along with them to lead them to the entrance of the ruined temple. “Perhaps it was my mission in life to lead you here,” he said with conviction.

-

The temple was enormous. Perhaps long ago in its youth, it had been a sight to behold. Tall, sharp arches reached towards the top, but now, stalagmites of pure ice and mineral reached skyward to the stalactites that hung down above them. It was freezing in there, and Jamie was only too glad that his cloak was lined with fur. Brother Genitivi remained at the entrance, studying its grandeur with what little light came in as shafts from breaks in the wall. They needed to get out of there before night fell, or they would surely freeze to death in the darkness.

Jamie knotted his brows curiously as they entered. Some of the entryways to passages had statues guarding them. Some statues were of the Avvar tribes, men with bear pelts and strong physiques. There were statues of three-headed monsters. But most curious of all were statues. They appeared to be winged creatures with tall headdresses, but they didn’t look angelic and neither did they look demonic. Elysion had told him about statues in elven ruins that honored Arlathan, the great ancient city of elves– he thought it had all been myth and fancy, but the description seemed to fit. He didn’t say anything, glancing occasionally at Caspar to see if maybe he recognized any of it. Before he had a chance to really give it too much thought, they were ambushed by cultists that had holed up in the place. At one point, they had an adult bronto charge at them– Jamie thought they were creatures that lived only below the earth, but the Deep Roads and dwarven kingdoms were just below them, so maybe it wasn’t that strange.

They passed rooms full of ancient, crumbling books that were too old to read and turned to ash at their fingertips, but Jamie was able to salvage a few, and even some scrolls in cases. One of them

Caspar and Leliana sensed traps ahead and found them quickly enough, disabling them as the others remained alert for attackers. Jamie felt something in his chest akin to holy reverence as they walked into an ancient nave. Remnants of enormous paintings on plaster hung above them in the transept. Jamie could scarcely believe that he was here, in a temple of legend. Prophet Andraste’s remains could be here if it truly was her final resting place. He found it fitting that the mountains covered in snow reached towards the heavens like a bride to her groom. Aldous would have loved this place, Jamie thought to himself as his blue-green gaze swept around the ruins.

They pressed on, finding themselves battling against mages that summoned demons and ash wraiths. Crumbling walls gave way to hidden pathways in the stone that lead beyond the ruins. Jamie turned in time to see Caspar opening an old, abandoned chest that was tucked away out of sight. From it, he drew gloves that appeared to be of elvish design, and Jamie couldn’t help but wonder why there would be ancient elven gloves in a place like this. There was no time to think, though, as they pressed on through the cavernous reaches of the tunnels.

Small wyrmlings began to appear, attempting to attack them. Part of Jamie felt bad, but even the smallest wyrmling would grow up to be a full fledged dragon, and they were even deadlier, perhaps, because of their hunger for flesh. As they moved deeper, they found more cultists, and even a hatchery. Despite the freezing cold of the temple behind them, it was now scorching hot and humid, and the floors grew wet from melted ice and condensation. Jamie could hardly breathe anymore as the stench of bat guano and dragon waste became stronger. He thought they would forever be stuck there until they reached a cavern full of dragon eggs and cultists. Most of the eggs were broken, but some were still incubating, and they were the size of Merry and Pippin. Jamie found a golden ring with a dragon inscribed on it. Perhaps it had belonged to a cultist, or even to some person from antiquity, but it was stuck in one of the stalagmites. It took a bit of prying with a knife, but he dislodged it and took it with him while the others disarmed traps on the main path.

Eventually, they arrived at what seemed to be the end of the tunnels. It grew cold again and there were shafts of natural light up ahead. There were more cultists, and one who called himself Father Kolgrim. He attempted to persuade Jamie into defiling the ashes that were up ahead by dropping blood into them, but Jamie refused, and a battle ensued in which the cultists ended up slain on the floor. Jamie was glad to get fresh air as they pushed forward, and finally, they were outside once more.

Above them, there was a rumbling rush of air, and Jamie’s breath caught at his throat when he watched a Fereldan Frostback high dragon flying above them and settling into a spot on the rocky terrain high above them. It hadn’t noticed them– not yet anyway. “We need to walk slowly and get to the other side of this before it sees us,” Alistair suggested. Sten led the way, and Jamie kept his crossbow drawn just in case, but the creature was absolutely majestic to behold. He had seen a dragon in his nightmares. He had heard legends and stories, but this was the very first time he had seen a real dragon up close, and it was beautiful and terrifying.

Thankfully, it hadn’t noticed them and they managed to slip into the ruins ahead of them.

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Neighboring kingdoms often believed that Ferelden was utter chaos. In contrast to other monarchies throughout Thedas, power in kingdom did not come exclusively from the royals and the nobles. The king had to work hard to maintain the support of all of its people instead of having absolute power. Instead, the power came from the support of freeholders from the bannorns. Jamie knew very well just how valuable it was to rally support from the people more than her nobles, and though the Blight didn’t care for the wars of men, there needed to be a united front to battle what was coming.

“There is the royalty– the Theirin family. They have held rule over all of Ferelden since King Calenhad brought all of the fractured Alamarri tribes together in the Exalted Age. Then, there’s the teyrnirs. Currently there are two– well. Were. I don’t know. Highever to the north was governed by my family, the Couslands. I don’t know what’s become of it now. Gwaren governed by the Mac Tirs was in the south. There were refugees of Gwaren in Denerim– the teyrnir was overrun by darkspawn and Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir did nothing to stop it. Are you surprised? Because I’m not,” Jamie said, sounding a little bitter, to be honest. For some reason, he found himself explaining Ferelden’s feudalism to Caspar. Not that the elf cared about it at all, but maybe it would be important for him to know when it came time to rally everyone at the Landsmeet. “Then there’s the arlings. Teyrns appoint trusted arls to watch over fortresses that they cannot. Arls are a bit more prestigious than banns, but banns do not necessarily answer to them. Currently, there are six arlings. Then, there is the bannorn. Banns ppointed by the people and typically remain the same, but they can be voted out if the people so choose it. Basically, they watch over everyone and have a castle,” Jamie explained. “Teyrns are loyal to the king. Arls are loyal to the teyrns, but mostly the king. Banns are loyal to the king and teyrns, although they can be loyal to arls on occasion– such as Bann Teagan of Rainesfere being loyal to Arl Eamon of Redcliffe.”

There was no doubt that he knew the chain of command like the back of his hand. Jamie was raised to become a teyrn, and Highever and her people would be overseen by him. This wasn’t to be so now, but that knowledge still lived in him, and would be very useful as they traveled the land, gaining support. As they made their way through the Ferelden countryside, Jamie was quick to point out whose lands they were in, and what teyrn, arl, or bann they were loyal to. He knew this was all foreign and probably boring to Caspar, but it was nice to be able to walk beside him for a little while at least and not have him glare daggers at him.

Jamie cracked a rare grin when Caspar told him that shemlen politics were strange, and that the Dalish were not as complicated. Jamie knew it was partially due to the fact that they were nomadic, free peoples, and because they had no monarch among them. “Elysion would tell me stories about when he lived among the Dalish,” he said, recalling the man fondly. “He served honorably at Castle Cousland and was a great friend. That’s how I know a bit of elvish, and how I got my bow, Sylaise,” he said reverently. His heart was heavy at the thought of Elysion’s death at the hand of Arl Rendon Howe’s men. “Arl Howe will pay for his death.” Before he got the opportunity to hear Caspar’s thoughts, they stopped short. They were in Oswin, Bann Loren’s lands, and there was an altercation up ahead.

-

Traveling through the bannorn, the company learned that civil war was starting to break out. Teyrn Loghain was attempting to forcibly seize the lands of banns who didn’t offer their support to him. They discovered that one of King Cailan’s honor guards was being held prisoner in Oswin, Bann Loren’s lands, and nearly killed for not disclosing the location of a locker full of King Cailan and King Maric’s armaments. The man’s name was Elric Maraigne, and he gave Jamie and Alistair the the exact location of the locker in Ostagar and the key to open it. He knew they Wardens hadn’t quit the field, and that Loghain had to be brought to justice.

They needed to use the treaties quickly. Jamie felt a coil of anxiety in his stomach and he grew quiet the rest of the trip. They needed these Maker-forsaken ashes, they needed the support from the Circle of Magi, they still needed to find the Dalish elves, and they needed to venture out into Orzammar to rally the support of the dwarves. He hoped there would be enough time.

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Back at camp, Leliana had prepared food for them, and after everyone ate and washed up for the night, they began to retire to their tents. Alistair approached Jamie and rubbed the back of his neck– a nervous tick he was picking up from the noble. “Hey, Jamie. I was thinking about what you said back there after meeting Goldanna… I just wanted to thank you. I guess I never realized just how much I let others decide my life for me, and… that’s going to stop. I’m going to look out for myself more than I have been, and I owe it all to you. You’re a great friend,” he said, nodding at the archer. Jamie smiled and pulled Alistair in for a quick hug, then patted his shoulder. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. For as much as everyone teases you, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and you’re one of the strongest people I know. You don’t need to make everyone happy all the time. You need to do what’s best for you, and that includes not letting others walk all over you.” Jamie knew they were both around the same age, but sometimes he felt like an older brother to Alistair. “Anyway, I’m gonna go find some cheese before Pippin eats it all again,” Alistair said with a quiet laugh.

Leliana had been watching Jamie quietly for some time, and once Alistair left, she caught up with Jamie. “I lied to you, you know… About why I left Orlais,” she confessed quietly enough that no one else could hear. Jamie had a hunch about it since one of their previous conversations. He knew she was Ferelden born but raised in Orlais, hence the accent. He knew that she had been a bard who wished to seek asylum from the frivolities of life in the Lothering Chantry, but he didn’t buy the story entirely. Now that she was opening up to him, he was all ears.

“Maybe this will affect us, maybe not, but I think that you should know,” she said. “I came to Ferelden and the Chantry because I was being hunted in Orlais. I was framed. Betrayed by someone I thought I knew and could trust. Marjolaine. She was my mentor and friend. She taught me the bardic arts, how to enchant with words and songs, how to carry myself like a high-born lady or blend in as a servant,” she said, wringing her hands a little nervously as she spoke. Jamie knew she was telling the truth. “The skills I learned I used to serve her– my bard master. Because I loved her, and because I enjoyed what I did. She was a remarkable woman.” Leliana opened up to Jamie, telling him how much she loved Marjolaine, and what a fierce bard master she was. Leliana had been sent on a mission to retrieve some documents that turned out to be Orlesian spy documents. Marjolaine had been selling Orlais’s secrets to other countries like Nevarra and Antiva, thus committing treason.

Marjolaine doctored the documents to make Leliana look the traitor, and she was seized by authorities and thrown in a dungeon. The Orlesian guards tortured her in ways she couldn’t bring herself to describe in detail, but Jamie got the idea. She was given a traitor’s punishment. She was left for nearly dead when an opportunity presented itself and she was able to make her escape. Rather than seek out vengeance and end up recaptured, she fled to Ferelden.

“No more lies between us. At least in this. Thank you for listening and understanding,” she said, looking up at Jamie. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed gently. “Thank you for trusting me with this.” Everyone in their ragtag band of misfits had their own story to tell, though some were more of a mystery than most. Leliana smiled and kissed his cheek, then excused herself to retire to her tent.

-

Jamie walked towards the fire and took a seat, warming up and letting his thoughts roam for  while to nothing in particular. It had been a long, exhausting day, and he was still wrapping his head around everything that happened. From attacking darkspawn to learning new skills, the day had been anything but boring. It wasn’t long before everyone starting trickling off to bed.

Not far from where he sat, he could hear Zevran telling Caspar all about Antiva and the smell of leather, but even Zevran became tired and went off to bed. Merry and Pippin were happily playing with Sandal Feddic in the distance, and it seemed like the world was growing quieter. Jamie’s blue-green eyes rose up to find Caspar sitting quietly on the other side of the large fire, similarly staring into it, as if lost in his own thoughts. Against his better judgement, Jamie rose up slowly and walked closer. He sat nearer to Caspar, though not directly beside him, keeping a safe distance between the two.

“On dhea’lam,” he greeted quietly, looking up with a soft, tired smile. Good evening.

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