The Grey Path - Chapter Three

Title: The Grey Path
Author: The Phoenix King
Game: Dragon Age: Origins
Summary: Humanity's last hope isn't even human. Called upon to walk a path of blood, valour and duty, Sagramor Tabris must raise an army, rise to power and find his inner strength if he is to save Ferelden from the Blight.
Overall Rating: M/R
Pairings: Tabris/Leliana
Disclaimer: Dragon Age characters, settings, and all in-game dialogue property of Bioware

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Chapter Three: Sagramor of the Grey

The sun had passed its zenith by the time the elves returned to the relative safety of the Alienage, battered and scarred, but alive. The way back was a dangerous one; fearing that they might be stopped and uncovered by the city guards, they instead went through the poorer neighbourhoods and labyrinthine back-alleys that intersected the length of the city. If any of the humans they walked past were interested in causing trouble, then the sight of the blood on their clothes and Sagramor's merciless expression were enough to deter them.

By the grace of the Maker, the southern gate into the Alienage was unguarded, the human soldiers only concerned with the movement of elves in the city after nightfall. Their blades had returned to their hiding places within the laundry sacks, along with the stolen coins, and Shianni's injuries were concealed beneath a fresh, plain gown, so they were able to walk right in without arousing suspicion. For the first time in a long time, the sight of the wooden perimeter walls, sagging shacks and the vhenadahl tree made Sagramor want to dance for joy. He knew on some level that this sense of security was an illusion, but for the moment, the women were safe.

Valendrian, Cyrion and Duncan met them just beyond the mouth of the gate, the latter now bearing the blue-and-grey gryphon tabard of the Wardens over his armour. Pushing his way past the others, Cyrion embraced his son in a tight hug, whispering prayers of thanks for his safe return, but Sagramor was numb to it all. "You've returned!" the Elder declared in relief, examining the young men and women with paternal concern. "Has Shianni been hurt? Where is Tormi's daughter, Nola?"

"I'm fine, but Nola's dead," Shianni responded, downcast. "The humans…they killed her, Elder, and she did nothing wrong."

"We would have brought back her body," Soris added, "but there was no time, and we needed to look after everyone else."

"It was my decision, Elder," interjected Sagramor. "I made that call, and I alone should be punished for it."

The Elder sighed, not in disappointment with the youngster's actions, but out of grief for the slain girl. "You did the right thing, child. We must pay homage to the dead, but not if it means leading the living to the same fate. Ladies, would you take Shianni home? She needs rest."

"You two go with them," Sagramor told Soris and Galen as the women made for Cyrion's home. "Soris, you also might want to see that cut tended to. Once the women are settled, I'm sure the Elder will come and patch you up."

"Of course, child, Sagramor speaks truly. Go back home. I will attend to you as soon as possible."

"Right," said Soris, presenting Duncan's sword back to him. "Thank you again for your help, Grey Warden."

"It was my pleasure to assist, young Tabris. Now do as your Elder bids. All will be well," Duncan replied in an even, but commanding tone, wiping down the blade before re-sheathing it. His gaze met Sagramor's, and the young elf knew that Duncan understood the truth of matters.

Once the others had left, Valendrian turned to Sagramor, brimming with urgency and no small amount of desperation. "Now tell me, what happened?"

"Vaughan's dead, along with the palace garrison," Sagramor answered. "I don't think any soldiers escaped to sound the alarm elsewhere."

"But they will discover his death eventually," Duncan stated matter-of-factly. "The city garrison may already be on their way, as we speak. You have little time."

"It might be best for me to leave Denerim for a time," suggested Sagramor. "If they're busy hunting me, then they might leave the rest of you alone."

"You don't know that, son," Cyrion said. "There are plenty of places in the Alienage where you can hide, and we'll do our best to protect you."

"Then they'll consider the entire Alienage guilty, and punish you all. No, if I run, they'll have to chase me."

"Do you have any experience or knowledge of surviving in the wilderness?" Duncan questioned. "You may find it more difficult to stay on the run than you might think."

"What should I do then, Grey Warden? Staying here would only cause more trouble for everyone else, and I can't fight every soldier in Denerim all by myself!"

"So you would undertake the course of action, knowing that your chances of survival are slim, all to protect those who cannot defend themselves?"

"Yes," Sagramor said without hesitation. "Maybe it's foolish, but it's the only thing I can think of."

A cry of alarm sounded from the bridge into the Alienage, and another elf approached, panting in exertion and terror. "The guards are here! A full dozen!"

"Don't panic," Valendrian ordered softly, remaining calm in the face of potential disaster. "Let us see what comes of it."

Moments lately, the guards marched in, a dozen men as warned, all heavily armed and armoured. "I seek Valendrian, Elder and administrator of the Alienage," declared their Captain, a grey-bearded veteran who carried himself with the authority of a lifelong soldier.

"Here, Captain," the Elder said, stepping forward to greet the human. "I trust you are here about this morning's incident?"

The Captain scoffed at this. "That is a trivial matter compared to my business here today, Elder. Don't play ignorant with me, good ser, for you'll not prevent justice from being done." His voice rose to a volume suitable for chewing out raw recruits on the parade grounds at Fort Drakon, drawing every elf in hearing range towards him. "The Arl's son lies dead in a river of blood that runs through the entire palace, along with two other nobles of the blood! So too are the score of men assigned to defend the Arl's home while he fights alongside your King in the south! All of them, murdered most foul by elves from this very alienage!" Indignation coloured his voice, as he thundered, "I want names, Elder, and I want them now!"

As the Captain spoke, all Sagramor could think upon were Vaughan's threats, his promise of a purge to follow his death. He thought of the Alienage burning, of brutal soldiers going from house to house and slaying all they found, of more elven women seized and violated, of families destroyed and children orphaned. He thought of everyone and everything he knew and loved laid waste in the memory of a spoiled and depraved nobleman unworthy of his rank, his father's lands, his title and even his life.

He would not allow it.

"It was me," the dark-haired elf spoke, and Cyrion's jaw dropped open in horror. "I slew Bann Vaughan of Denerim, and the guards of the Arl's palace. I am the guilty party, Captain, and I acted alone."

The Captain gave an incredulous double-take at this. "You mean to tell me that one man did all that? Maker's breath, it's like a demon went through the palace! You expect me to believe that a single elf was responsible for the deaths of close to twenty-five men?"

"We are not all so helpless, Captain," Valendrian stated, his cool tone masking the steel of his defiance.

Grumbling under his breath, the Captain considered the situation. It was obvious that the elf had been involved in some fashion, given the shoulder wound and the blood on his clothes. But was he the only one? Privately, he doubted that a single man, much less an elf, could be responsible for all that mayhem. Then again, he was uncertain that any accomplices would surrender so quietly, and he had no desire to see his men ambushed and torn to ribbons in the narrow and winding alleys of the Alienage. A scapegoat on which to pin the blame seemed like the cleanest solution for all involved, and if this elf was so eager to martyr himself, then so be it. "Very well. I do not envy your fate, young man, but I do applaud your courage," he admitted grudgingly, before turning to his subordinates. "Arrest him! It's the cells of Fort Drakon for this one!"

The guards advanced, a few levelling spears at Sagramor in the event he attempted to fight back. But the elf did not resist as his wrists were secured with heavy iron manacles, nor did he show any sign of emotion when his father pleaded with the guards for his release. I will not show fear, he told himself as they began to drag him away. They may take my life, but they will not take my pride, and they will see that an elf of the Alienages dies without fear!

It seemed, however, that fate was not yet done with him, for Duncan walked over to the Captain, the tabard of the Wardens present for all to see. "Captain, if I may?"

The Captain frowned at this sudden intrusion, immediately recognizing his heraldry. "What is it, Grey Warden? I have the situation well in hand, as you can see."

"Be that as it may, I hereby invoke the Grey Wardens' Right of Conscription. I remove this elf from your custody, and recruit him into my Order."

"What? You cannot do such a thing!" the Captain roared. "He is a murderer-"

"And the Right of Conscription allows me to recruit even kings into the Grey Wardens if I so desire," Duncan reminded him in a polite, even tone. "Moreover, the Right predates even the Chantry itself, and once it has been invoked, not even the King can override it. Speaking of which, the King has given us his blessing to recruit as we see fit. I will be travelling to Ostagar shortly, and would be happy to pass along your objections, if you wish."

"Son of a tied-down…" The Captain knew he was beaten, and acquiesced. "Very well then, Grey Warden, I cannot challenge your rights, but I will ask one thing of you. Get this elf out of my city, today."

"Agreed."

The manacles were unlocked, and the Captain propelled Sagramor towards the Grey Warden with a non-too gentle shove. "Take him then. Now, I need to get my men on the streets before news of the Bann's death hits." Casting one final glare at the dark-haired elf, the Captain led his men out, and within seconds, they were gone.

"You're with me now, understood?" Duncan asked Sagramor, still shocked from this sudden turn of events. "Please, say your goodbyes quickly. Time is against us, and the sooner we arrive at Ostagar, the better."

"I…" I'm going to be a Grey Warden, Sagramor realized, taking a moment to compose himself. "What is going to happen to everyone here?"

"For the moment, they are fine. There are far graver matters arising that endanger all, not just your people. This was not an act of charity, Sagramor. I needed a Grey Warden and I found one! That conscripting you saved your life is only circumstance. Ferelden needs Wardens to stem this tide, and I have no doubt that you are worthy to join our ranks. Now, how soon can you be ready?"

"An hour at most?"

"Very well, I will meet you back here in one hour's time. Bring whatever you might need now; your life here is over."

As Duncan departed, Sagramor closed his eyes, trying to process everything that had happened since he woke up. He had begun the day expecting to be wed to a woman he had never met, and now...I'm going to be a Grey Warden. It was unthinkable, impossible. He was a good swordsman, but not spectacular, and had never experienced the full extent of true soldiering. Until he struck down the guards in the Arl's palace, he had never even slain a man. How in the world could he be worthy? And what about his family and friends? How could he leave them to go chase glory abroad? At any other time, joining the Grey Wardens would have been the stuff of fantasy, a dream come true. Now, it felt like he was running away.

Then again, he supposed he didn't have a choice. The guards would hunt him if he stayed here, and if nothing else, becoming a Warden would help him do some good for the world. He only wished it hadn't cost everyone else so much…

"Well, it looks like Duncan got his recruit after all," mumbled Elder Valendrian, putting a hand on Sagramor's shoulder. "I have no doubt that your talents will be put to good use, as much as it will pain us to lose you, child."

"There's a whole wide world out there, hahren. I just hope I can do some good in it."

"You have already done much good here, child, regardless of what some might say. It only saddens me that it has taken this tragedy for you to find that world."

"As am I, Elder, believe me," Sagramor said, fidgeting uncomfortably under Valendrian's gaze. "I should get prepared if I am to be ready in time."

"One last thing before you go, Sagramor," said the Elder, tone becoming even graver than usual. "When you leave this place, you will do not as merely as a Grey Warden, but as a representative of our people. As such, I hope that you will act with honour and courage in all things, and never forget where you come from."

"Of course, Elder, you have my word."

"Then may the Maker bless and keep you, Sagramor Tabris. If you'll excuse me, I must tend to our people. Farewell."

Promise me, son, that whatever happens, you will choose to be a good man.

Sagramor headed back for home, stopping only to scour the blood off his hands and face at a nearby rain barrel. Frowning, he realized he hadn't seen his father since Duncan had invoked the Right of Conscription, and he felt his stomach drop with worry. Would he be disappointed that his son was leaving, or perhaps furious that he had little choice in the matter? Cyrion was a kind soul, but very protective of his child, and Sagramor hoped that protectiveness hadn't led him to do anything rash.

Right outside the front door to his home, Sagramor found Soris and Valora, the latter tending to the bruises and shallow cuts the former had gathered during the rescue. "Hold still, Soris," the girl said, dabbing away at a nasty swelling on his right cheek. "This herbal remedy my mother taught me should make the pain go away shortly."

"It's nothing, Valora, it's just a scratch!" Soris protested, only to mellow under the girl's tender dotage.

"You don't want it to get infected, do you?" the girl teased. "There's little worse than a gangrenous husband, so I hear."

"She's right, cousin," Sagramor contributed, smiling in bemusement. "Spending your honeymoon thrashing in bed, delirious and oozing pus from the wound hardly sounds like a good time."

"Hey, maybe Valora should take a look at your shoulder," Soris suggested. "All joking aside, she really knows her business."

Valora smiled, pleased at the compliment. "I was taught some herb-lore by my mother, back in Highever. I was hoping that I might help out those less fortunate here, maybe open up a clinic. Here," she said, passing him a small bundle of homemade poultices. "I brought these with me, just in case any of us were injured on the journey, but they'll make your shoulder good as new. I'll never truly be able to repay you for saving my life, but I hope this helps."

"I wasn't the only one who fought for you," Sagramor explained, taking the offered poultices with a nod of gratitude. "I think Soris would have stormed the palace even without me if it meant rescuing you."

"Truly?" Valora asked, eyes widening.

"Indeed. My cousin is a good man, and an honourable one. You could do far worse for a husband."

"Then I will be certain to treat him well," the girl said, giving the dark-haired elf a warm hug. "Again, thank you, for Soris, for saving me…for everything."  

"Just take good care of each other, okay?"

"We will. You have our word," said Valora.

Soris and Sagramor shook hands, perhaps for the final time. "You've always been my hero, cousin, it's just official now," Soris said empathetically, noticing the weariness on the other's face.

"It took great courage for you to join me, Soris, far greater than my own. Whatever happens, I wish you both the best."

"Will you see Shianni before you go?" Soris inquired gently.

"That was the plan," the dark-haired elf admitted, scratching the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. "Is she inside and settled?"

"Yes, Nesiara and I made sure she was alright," Valora explained. "I think she just needed a bit of space to herself, that's all."

Sagramor bowed in relief. "Thank you again. Normally, I wouldn't ask this, but…"

"We'll look after her, cousin. Count on it."

Forcing the lump in his throat back down, Sagramor acknowledge their dedication with a curt nod, withdrawing into the house. He had no doubt that their road would be a hard one; he only hoped that they would find happiness in it.

The cool of the Tabris home was a welcome contrast to the heat of the midday sun, and Sagramor allowed himself a moment of weakness as he took a seat at the dining room table. The shock of all the day's events, previously supressed by rage or adrenaline or sheer force of will, came surging forth, and he held his head in his hands, hoping against hope that the tremors would cease. It was many things; first and foremost his inability to save Nola and prevent Shianni's rape, but there was more to it than even such horrors. He had tried to follow his mother's injunction as best he could, and live his life with compassion and honour, but psychologically, killing Vaughan and the guards had been as easy as shrugging off a cloak. Then there was how he had killed the pleading and unarmed Vaughan. Good men didn't cut down helpless prisoners, even if the bastards had earned it. He knew that the nobleman had deserved every bit of what he had given him; all the same, the fact that he was capable of such cruelty was humbling…and terrifying. Exactly what else am I capable of? And what will I need to do to help stop the Blight?

"You're leaving, aren't you?" came a small voice, and Sagramor looked up to see Nesiara standing beside him, hands folded nervously into the pocket of a worn apron. "They said that you've been recruited to join the Grey Wardens, but I wasn't sure if it was true or not."

"It is. Duncan wants us to head out within the hour," Sagramor responded, rising from his chair. Lean, powerful hands touched her shoulder, and the dark-haired elf felt the girl tremble at his touch. She's afraid of me, he realized to his horror, and quickly withdrew. "I'm so sorry, Nesiara."

"For what? For rescuing me from one of the worst fates a person could experience? For being chosen to follow one of the world's most noble callings?" She gave a sad shake of her head. "You owe me nothing, Sagramor, an apology included. I just wish all this hadn't happened."

"As do I. What will you do now?"

"I'm going to go back home. Back to Highever," she whispered nervously. "There's nothing for me here, and after all that's happened…I can't stay."

"I understand. Is there anything I can do to help? Give you some money, maybe?"

"No," Nesiara replied, far sharper than she had intended. "No, I'll be fine. You and your family have been good to me, but all I need right now is to head home."  She brushed past him, her gaze welded to the floor, but upon reaching the door, she allowed herself to turn. "It would have been interesting, wouldn't it?"

"Positively amazing," he murmured gently. He couldn't take Nesiara with him; not on the path he was walking. The girl deserved a stable home and a loving family, not the hardships of a life on the march, always beset by danger. She had been promised to him, but by others, not herself; ultimately, he had no right to ask her on this journey, one which would conceivably end in his death. "Whatever happens, I wish you all the best. I do mean that."

"Thank you." The girl took a single step, and then paused. "I think your friend needs you more than I do right now. Go to her, and live well." And with the squeal of the door's hinges, she was gone. Sagramor stood there, watching for a moment as if she might reconsider, before sealing away the disappointment deep inside and turning to comfort his cousin.

Like most of the alienage folk, the Tabris family had but a single bedroom in their small home; in this case, two bunk beds, with improvised curtains of salvaged cloth to ensure privacy. Shianni was seated on a lower bunk, curled up in a ball, knees drawn up to her chest protectively. She gave an uncertain smile as Sagramor walked in, biting her lower lip. "I'll give you some privacy," the young man mumbled, red-faced and kicking himself for daring to intrude.

"No, it's fine," Shianni murmured, taking his hand and leading him to sit beside her. "You took all the responsibility for what happened. You're amazing, you know that?"

"It was the least I could do. The very least." He paused for a moment, trying to compose himself, seeing the bright green eyes of his cousin reflecting her own torment. "Are you
going to be okay?"

"I'm…alright," she replied in a hesitant tone. "If nothing else, I'm alive and safe now, and that's the really important thing. As far as the others know, Vaughan just…roughed me up a bit, nothing more. I just don't want them treating me like some fragile doll."

Sagramor nodded, patting her hand tenderly. "I haven't told anyone the truth about what happened. I think the Elder suspects, but I swear to you, not a word of it will pass my lips."

"You can't hide the truth forever."

"Probably not. But I won't indulge in rumour-mongering either." There was so much that he wanted to say, but his normally quick tongue was frozen, inadequate in the face of the horrors she had suffered. Instead, he pressed the pouch of stolen gold into her hands, and she gave a small gasp at the weight of it. "A thousand sovereigns would not be enough, but it's all I can do. I don't know if I'll ever be coming home, Shianni, and I may never get another chance to help you again."

"This is a lot of money," Shianni declared, dumping the sovereigns onto the bed for closer examination. "You'd honestly trust me with this much coin?"

"I would, and not just because of what you've suffered. Listen, Shianni, I pray that the humans will leave you alone after I've left, but if not, then that money will be needed. You have always tried your best to look out for everyone, and I know you'll do the right thing. Forty sovereigns could do a lot of good for everyone here. Besides, if I gave it to the Elder, he might return it, hoping that would curry some favour."

"You think that the humans will come back?"

"Maker, I hope not. But we might want to prepare all the same."

Shianni gave him a distrustful look. "And how can you be sure that I won't just drink the money away, or take it all for myself and simply leave?"

"Because you're put too much of yourself into the Alienage to abandon it now. And because you've always been the sort of woman to face her problems, not flee from them."

"That and drink them away," she muttered. After a moment's hesitation, she returned the grand majority of the coins into the pouch and stuffed it into the gap between the old mattress and bedframe. "I still think you're entirely mad, leaving all that with me."

"What can I say? I trust you, cousin."

"Apparently," Shianni responded, taking the remaining five sovereigns left on the bed and thrusting them into Sagramor's hands. "And before you get all noble and refuse, I have a feeling you're going to need the money. Please take it."

"Very well," said the dark-haired elf, submitting to Shianni's request. She was trying so hard to be strong in the face of all she had endured; he just wished he didn't have to leave her like this. "I should get ready. I'll, eh, leave you alone now."

Turning to go, Sagramor stopped as Shianni's slim fingers closed around his wrist. "They're going to write stories about you, you know? When the world was at its darkest, you were there, fire in your eyes." She embraced him, wholeheartedly, and Sagramor replied in kind, forcing the tears back. "I love you, cousin. Make us proud out there."

"I'm certain he will, Shianni," Cyrion's voice interjected, the older elf walking in, bearing a leather backpack. "He is my son, after all."

"Father-" Sagramor spoke, but Cyrion gently waved aside his protests.

"Here, for your journey," he said, placing the backpack on the kitchen table. "I called in a favour with Alarith, and he was able to give me this. From the stories your mother and grandfather told, a sturdy pack is apparently one of the most important things a warrior can possess."

"She was right," the young elf replied, testing the strength of the straps. Satisfied, he packed quickly, bundling as many clothes as he could and placing them within. An old worn whetstone and some polishing oils followed, along with Valora's poultices, a bit of old rope, an old saucepan, utensils, and a few other bits of necessary gear. Finally, some of the remaining wedding food had been wrapped up and packaged; this too made its way into the deep container. He would have liked to bring some of his book along for the journey, but he doubted the old tomes would survive the trek.

And then he was ready. His feet clad in heavy boots, the straps of the backpack sitting comfortably over his shoulders and his greatsword in easy reach, he was as prepared as he was going to be. That first step down this long road would be the hardest, but for the sake of everyone here, it was necessary. He only wished he could say something that would make it easier for all of them, but as before, his mind refused to obey.

It was Cyrion who broke the uncomfortable silence that followed. "This is not what I wanted for you, son, but if this is what the Maker planned, then I will accept. I just wished this price never needed to be paid."

"As am I, Father."

The older elf gave a sad smile, hugging Sagramor warmly. "Be strong, my son, and wise, and kind and…well, you. I have always been proud of you, and I know you will give me many more reasons to be so." He gave his son's shoulder a fond squeeze, and stood aside. "Now go. Be the hero we know you are."

Taking one last, fond look at the people and place that meant so much to him, and knowing he would never see them again, Sagramor Tabris strode out the door to meet his destiny.

********************************

Duncan met him at the gate to the Market District, leading two strong destriers by the reins, saddlebags and packs of supplies hanging from the horse's sides. "Are you prepared? Have your farewells been said?"

"As prepared as I can be, Duncan. As for my goodbyes," Sagramor shrugged, "I could spend a lifetime and it wouldn't be enough. This'll have to do."

"Well said," the Grey Warden replied, deftly climbing up into the saddle. "Can I safely assume you haven't ridden a horse before?"

"Correct," said Sagramor, clumsily aping Duncan's technique. The mare was well-trained and did not protest or shy away as, with great effort, the elf finally managed to sit himself astride the beast. "What's the plan?"

"We ride south with all speed, and pray that we are not too late to make a difference."

And then, with the flurry of hooves, the two were gone, racing away from home. At the edge of his mind, Sagramor thought he could hear Shianni saying goodbye, but the voice faded quickly, vanishing in the summer wind. The Denerim Alienage was falling further and further away, and his journey had only just begun…