Legend (Dragon Age Origins)

Chapter 11: Tavern Brawl

The summer air was crisp and humid, and the villagers of Lothering were grateful to see that the sun had begun to settle behind the green hills that engulfed their homes. The sky was cast in colours of blue and purple, a pretty contrast against the hundred or so refugees that camped beneath it at the village border, begging for food and money and mercy. Their tents were like hills of their own, pushed up against one another as they fought for space and privilege. Those who arrived late were forced to go without a tent, the supplies the village had to offer quickly running dry, and made their bed among the grass and mud.

Dru observed them as she and her two companions approached the village. These refugees were all humans from smaller villages and farmlands closer to Ostagar, which had been overrun by darkspawn already. 

The realisation stirred at the fear inside of Dru. They had hoped that the darkspawn would be too preoccupied with feasting on the bodies of the King's army to move deeper into Ferelden. But it appeared that they either underestimated the darkspawn's hunger or their number. Both a terrifying thought.

The trio weaved their way through the tents, avoiding the curious gaze of the dirty humans around them. Dru pulled her cloak tighter around her body, unsure if their interest was directed towards the Warden's notorious armour or Morrigan's own strange appearance. Fortunately, no one said anything or made a move against them. Most of the survivors were too focused on their own troubles to care.

A few children shoved past them, brandishing wooden sticks as they chased each other through the camp. A few men laid on stretchers outside a larger tent, groaning in pain as doctors tended to their gaping wounds. The other humans simply sat in their tents or in the dirt, holding each other's hands and praying to the Maker for mercy.

"Well, here it is," Alistair remarked as they passed the village gates. "Lothering. Pretty as a painting."

"Ah, so you have finally decided to rejoin us, have you?" Morrigan asked. "Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble, I take it?"

"Is my being upset so hard for you to understand?" Alistair shot back. "Just what would you do if your mother died?"

"Before or after I stopped laughing?"

Alistair frowned. "Right. Very creepy. Forget I asked."

"You have been quiet," Dru agreed.

"Yes, I know. I was just... thinking."

"No wonder it took so long, then," Morrigan mocked.

"Oh, I get it." Alistair glared at her. "This is the part where we're all shocked to discover how you've never had a friend your entire life."

"I can be friendly when I desire to. Alas, desiring to be more intelligent does not make it so."

"Stop it," Dru snapped before the two could dissolve into further bickering. A Templar was stationed at the village gates. Though the mage-hunter wore a helmet that entombed his entire head, Dru knew his judgement gaze was on them as they passed by.

Like most villages, Lothering housed a large central Chantry. Worship of the Maker was wildly popular throughout Ferelden, as it was in most countries of Thedas. Because of this, those of high power within the Chantry more or less governed the lands. 

The Templars were a military order that served the Chantry as its defenders, established to protect the innocent from magical threats. As such, their job was to hunt and capture apostates—the name the Chantry gave to mages like Morrigan who lived unchecked and uncontrolled by their organisation.

"So this is the village you were telling us about?" Dru asked Morrigan, attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible.

"Indeed," Morrigan replied. "Though I doubt there will be much to find at the hands of all these... people."