Arbitrium

"That woman is the Arl's wife?" Celestine asked incredulously as Alistair shared what he knew.

"Yep, not to mention the reason for my eventually joining the Chantry."

"Well, I suppose I should be grateful then. Apart from pitying Redcliffe Castle's staff…if any are still alive."

The former Templar looked at her confused, "Grateful? That's the last sentiment I'd have thought of."

"Wellll, she did in a roundabout way lead you to the Grey Wardens, which led you to the Circle which resulted in getting me free of that place."

Alistair looked ahead, lost in thought as he contemplated what Celestine had said, almost colliding with a stalagmite. "Woah!" he exclaimed as he closely evaded it. "Maker I swear these caves have it out for me."

The Circle mage close behind him giggled, "Just be grateful Morrigan is too far ahead to see you."

This observation caused Alistair to try and regain his composure as quickly as possible, intent on not being made a fool of by the witch for the umpteenth time. They were silent for a short while as they walked through the dank corridor, the wet stonework occasionally giving way to natural cave. Sometimes these had ledges, the rest of the cave swallowed by the darkness of a place never touched by the sun; in these areas the crash of surf could be heard hundreds of yards below as Lake Calenhad's waters found their way into hidden grottos and caves that riddled the cliffside.

Eventually they reached a section where the stonework looked to be far better maintained, with the occasional torch sconce attached to the wall. With safer footing and no longer the threat of walking into some natural formation looming, Alistair dared to speak again, his voice lower this time, sombre. "When you put it like that…then I owe Isolde a debt I can never hope to repay."

"You're already repaying her by firstly, risking your life for the sake of her realm and family, and secondly, putting up with her exclamations and accent," Celestine responded, just as softly, her voice rich with a barely suppressed undercurrent of humour.

Alistair tried to contain his snort of amusement; he failed, garnering a look of annoyance from Morrigan as the sound echoed through the passage. Before the witch could say anything though, Elisa hissed loudly, "Oi, lovebirds, keep it down. I can see a door ahead and we don't want to risk alerting any dead that may be in the vicinity."

Alistair almost tripped over his own feet. Celestine had the urge to deny the Cousland's statement, feeling the blush creep up her neck, but the noble had been right, there was a door ahead and she could not retort without risking their exposure. Instead she settled for a glare, which only made Elisa's grin grow broader. Morrigan looked amused by the blond girl's comment, turning back to continue down the corridor with a smirk gracing her painted lips.

They stacked up on either side of the door, its aged planks looking to be petrifying under the mineral-rich dank conditions. Elisa pulled a vial containing a clear liquid from a pouch at her belt. Unstopping it, she carefully poured the substance over the calcified hinges. Celestine watched, fascinated, as the white rock that formed around the hinges started to smoke and hiss, crumbling away as the liquid seemed to eat it up.

At her questioning look Elisa grinned again. "Vinegar and concentration agent, I always keep some on hand for when I might need to deal with doors like these," she whispered, her normally cheerful voice giving the impression of echoing droplets of water and howling gusts of wind.

Fortunately the door had not been fitted with a lock, and instead used a bolt that after some work, Elisa was able to shift back using one of the smaller daggers that she had hidden in the greaves of her boots.

"Hmmm," Celestine hummed in amusement, receiving a questioning look from the noble. "Clunky they might be, but it would be far more difficult to hide a dagger in an Orlesian slipper."

The rogue breathed a laugh at this, but waved for silence as she hefted the door, slowly pushing it open, the grind of its aged hinges echoing ominously through the hall that awaited them on the other end.

Fortunately it appeared that there was no one to hear the noise, the room before them bare except for a heap of mildewed straw and a rotting set of stocks. Alistair moved towards the front of the group, having drawn his weapons, and scanned the lichen-covered walls, finally ending his search by resting his gaze on the dark doorway that was the only other entrance to the chamber. Elisa walked the circumference of the room, one hand feeling the wall as she passed. Finally she stopped and looked at Celestine, as there were no hidden doors that she could discern.

"Quench the torches," the mage instructed. "Let your eyes adjust to the gloom and then we'll move on."

They did as she bid, Alistair's vision taking the longest to acclimatize. Celestine looked at Morrigan. "Turn into something discreet and scout ahead. If you find something we'd have difficulty dealing with, come back and let us know."

The Witch nodded and vanished in a nimbus of olive-green energy, the sound of skittering retreating into the darkness.

By then they could make out that there was some light coming in through the far door; Elisa took the lead, testing the ground for any traps as they went.

They had been making their way through the dark corridors for perhaps two minutes when there came the distinct moan of an undead. Everyone froze as the sound echoed past them. Elisa vanished into the shadows, managing to - even in the colourless world of darkness-adjusted vision - melt into some part of the wall as if she were part of it.

Alistair took up the lead again, his shield arm tense and his fingers playing across the grip of his sword. Celestine hefted her staff, the oddly light metal a comfort even as she cursed her robes – the damnable attire had gotten in the way more than she could have imagined, living her life as a Warden. The Circle-issued robes had annoyed her during her stay there, but with every passing day she despised her wardrobe more and more vehemently.

The Grey Wardens inched forward, only two of the three there visible to the untrained eye. As they passed the threshold of the doorway from which the sound had come from they were greeted by another moan, this time accompanied by the shuffling of several sets of feet, and a thump, then a clang. Alistair looked to Celestine, who nodded, and he moved forward at a small trot.

They rounded a corner in the corridor, only to be confronted with a curious sight. The next room was lined with cells, thick iron bars set over the openings to the small alcoves. On the far side, light funnelled down a set of stairs colouring the grey world of darkness. There, five corpses were actively attacking one of the cell entrances, their attempts at breaking through the iron obviously futile despite their mindless insistence. Alistair charged forward as Elisa materialised behind one of the creatures, her long daggers plunging into its shoulders and tearing through its back. The creature fell with a groan just as Alistair swung his blade. It left a trail of condensation, painting its path towards its target. The force of the blow buried the sword halfway through the cadaver; the possessed corpse looked at it in confusion for a moment, before Alistair kicked it off, the rotting being falling to pieces under the force.

"Maker's majestic moustache, what was that?" he swore, and Celestine only grinned, a nimbus of mist and snow swirling around her one hand. Seeing her, he rolled his eyes, "Of course."

"Come now, finish up what you started," Elisa called from next to where she had brought down her second foe, one dagger having been buried in its neck and torn out sideways, while the other sliced into the chest, opening up the trunk.

Alistair politely motioned to Celestine. "Ladies first."

She smiled back sweetly, mocking, "Why thank you my good Ser."

She took the invitation earnestly though, as electricity coursed down her arms and along the staff. The current washed over the remaining undead, arcing from one to the next, growing in intensity. Finally the rotting bodies could no longer take the punishment meat, organs and rot expanding. Seconds later there was a wet bursting sound as the ripe cranial-neuro fluid boiled and the corpses' eyes popped.

Alistair hopped back, dodging the steaming remains of an eye as it sailed past him to splatter against a wall, surprisingly nimbly for someone armoured in splint-mail as he was. "Eww, Celestine, a little warning next time?"

The Circle mage herself appeared not to have anticipated this result and retreated to a corner of the passage to empty the contents of her stomach. Elisa seemed unaffected, crouching over one of the electrocuted bodies, studying the charred and smoking face, or, well, what was left of it.

Celestine took a moment to recover, but eventually the retching noises subsided from her corner. Straightening up, she wiped a remnant of bile from her lip, a look of disgust on her now pale face as she tried to flick away the bit of half-digested food. "Note to self, too much lightning is bad for the head… and my diet." Her tone carried a hint of bitter humour.

She breathed in, trying not to gag on the smell of weeks-dead walking corpses that had been flash-cooked. Smiling weakly, she looked from Elisa to Alistair. "So, let's see what your unliving friends were after."

The sarcastic-cheery look on her face fled when a weak voice called from the cell that the walking dead had been attacking. "Maker, I'd know that voice anywhere...Celestine?"

No, it can't be. Not him. Not here.

~o~

They sat together, piled up around the central mast of the merchant's vessel in the hold. They weren't the only ones cooped up in the dark space; there were several other refugees trying to get comfortable in the belly of the ship. Sorana had made sure that they got this spot though, the hatch above offering that extra bit of fresh air and the fact that they were in the centre of the vessel meant the sway was at its gentlest as the wooden hull cut through the waves.

The past day and following night had washed by them in a blur. They had all fallen asleep in the clearing where Bethany and Wesley had died and woken up just outside of Gwaren, the capital of Teyrn Loghain's realm, bringing with it unhappy memories of what had transpired at Ostagar. They had stumbled through the city, passing by everything in their bid to get to the Harbour, where, after some haggling, they had managed to barter for a position on a merchant's vessel heading for Kirkwall.

Leandra was leaning against Carver, quietly mourning the loss of her daughter. Aveline had sat by herself, staring out blankly after the death of her husband, her own hand having ended his life.

Sorana could not fathom what that had to have been like; to be sure, the Blight-sickness had taken hold of the Templar and would eventually have turned him into a mindless ghoul. But to be the one who wielded the dagger that would end your other half.... No, Sorana could not tell herself that she understood what the other woman was going through, despite the loss of her father and sister.

So she had sat down next to the flame-haired woman and wrapped an arm around her; the shift was subtle, but the corner of Sorana's mouth twitched as she felt Aveline lean into her ever so slightly. Both of them had suffered loss upon loss at the hands of the Darkspawn, and now they could only hope that by heading towards a new beginning, things would begin to look better.

Maker, keep my cousin safe or I'll make what the Magisters did seem like a quaint walk in the park.