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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight	By : Serena_Hawke-Theirin Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 13108 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Alistair was keenly aware of the meaning behind Duncan's words. The ones he left unspoken. Daveth's pyre would have to wait in case others needed to be set. It was very possible that the two Grey Wardens would have four funerals to perform that evening instead of just the one.

The young warrior's gaze met Solona's, and his stomach lurched with the notion that, even after all they had been through together, she might not survive the night. Although he couldn't say that he and the mage were friends exactly, he still had a great deal of respect for her. Beneath that tough, cold exterior beat the heart of a woman who was worthy of more than the fate that was possibly about to befall her.

Duncan stood at his full height and reached out a hand for his protégé. "Come on," he said. "We will deal with this later."

Alistair took the commander's wrist and rose from the ground. He turned to follow the older Warden only to bump into the largest man he had ever seen. The giant's eyes narrowed and his brow creased as he stared down at the young Warden. Whoever the hulking man was, he was as intimidating as the void.

"S...sorry," the smaller warrior stammered.

The behemoth's glare softened and the corners of his mouth curved into a smile. It wasn't frightening or threatening, but genuine and humble.

"It's alright," he said, his voice unexpectedly quiet and unassertive. "No harm done."

"Alistair," Duncan interjected. "This is Sithig. He's an Avvar from clan Stormhold."

The tall man waggled his head with a morose frown. "No. I was born Sithig Ar Agnis O Stormhold. I haven't been that man in a long time. I am no longer Avvar. No longer clan Stormhold. It is just Sithig now."

Alistair had heard stories of the Avvar. Being a former templar initiate, he was well versed in the history of the mountain people. While the Chantry preferred those in training to stop at their carefully calculated stories of Andraste and her husband Maferath, the young warrior found the narratives on the Alamarri and Avvars to be far more interesting. The red stripes beneath Sithig's left eye and his words told Alistair that this man must have done something terrible, a betrayal of his people that was beyond forgiveness.

"Jory and I found Sithig in the woods. He was fighting off a hurlock with two more spawn lying dead at his feet."

It was then that the young Warden noticed that the larger man's left bicep was swathed in a crimson stained cloth. He internally cringed. He had been exposed to the taint, which meant that Duncan intended him to take part in the Joining along with Solona and Jory.

"I still don't understand why you stopped me from killing the last one," Sithig wondered aloud.

"It is part of the ritual I spoke to you about," explained the commander. "In order to take part in the Joining, a recruit must first kill a darkspawn. If Jory had not slain the final spawn, we would have had to wait to perform the rite. I am not sure you would have survived the delay."

"Because I have the night-gangers' sickness inside me," the Avvar confirmed.

Duncan nodded. "Yes. The Joining is the only way to stop its progression from taking your life over the next few days."

"And if I take part in this ritual of yours," Sithig questioned. "I will become one of your clan? A Grey Warden?"

"If you survive the Joining," the older man reiterated. "Yes, you will be a Warden."

"If he survives?" Jory asked with an arch of his brow. "What do you mean if he survives? Can this Joining kill us?"

"We Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are," Duncan explained. "Fate may decree that you pay your price now."

The knight scowled as he mulled over the commander's words. Alistair only hoped he didn't try to back out now that he knew what could happen. He had witnessed first-hand the terrible price a man paid if cowardice took over during the ritual, and he was loathe to see it again.

"I am ready," Jory finally told the commander. "It is the sworn and sacred duty of a knight to defend his land and its people. I will do what I must to see that done. If I pay with my life, then that is what the Maker requires of me."

Duncan turned to Solona. "And you?"

She folded her arms over her chest with a bored expression. "I've already faced the Harrowing, and I passed that test. This should be simple in comparison."

Alistair wanted to tell her what was about to happen, to explain that, unlike the Harrowing, wits and cleverness had nothing to do with the Joining. It wasn't about who a recruit was or where they came from, how smart or how ignorant they were. It was all a matter of physical constitution and spiritual fortitude, not mental strength.

"Very well," the commander said with a terse nod. "I will go and prepare the ritual." He turned to his fellow Warden. "Alistair, please keep an eye on things while I'm away."

The younger man clapped a fist to his heart. "Of course, commander."

After Duncan disappeared into his tent, Alistair and the two smaller recruits found a seat on the fallen log next to the fire while Sithig chose to settle himself on a nearby patch of dirt. They remained silent as they watched the flames, each lost in their own thoughts. After a long while, Jory finally spoke, his voice low and somber.

"His name is to be Eric. Eric Jordan Rayford. Named for my father and me."

"That's your name?" Alistair queried. "Jordan Rayford?"

The knight bobbed his head. "Yes, my mam called me Jory when I was a child, and it just sort of…stuck."

"And how do you know your child is to be a boy?" Solona questioned, her tone a bit more snobbish than Alistair thought proper given the situation.

He scowled. "A strange woman told us. It's an odd story, that one. My wife, Helena, and I were walking through the market in Highever one afternoon. We were browsing the shops and she was going on about one of the fancy children's dresses and how, if our baby were a girl, she wanted to buy such a dress for her someday.

"Then suddenly, out of nowhere it seemed, this woman in a long black dress and hooded black cloak appeared at Helena's side. She was as pale as a specter, with golden-yellow eyes, like a raptor, and her hair was black as night, as dark as her clothes if not more so. Without asking permission, she placed her hand on my wife's belly and said, Your child is to be a boy. He will be strong, like his father. The pride and joy of his mother.

"Helena and I just looked at each other in disbelief. I suppose we were both a bit shocked by the entire thing. I turned to ask the woman who she was, how she knew, but she was gone. Disappeared as quickly as she came."

"The woman in black," Solona breathed. "I've read stories about her."

"As have I," Alistair concurred. "But isn't that just an old legend?"

Jory shook his head. "I don't know, but I'll tell you this…I believed her and so did my wife."

The Warden felt a chill run down his spine. The woman in black was a legend as old as Ferelden itself. The stories of a dark woman appearing all over Thedas were vast. Some called her a bad omen and some a guide to lost souls. There were even those who said she was an agent of the Maker himself. The official stance of the Chantry was that the woman in black was simply an apostate who decided to take on the mantle of the legend every few years to make true believers question the Chant.

"We call her the wandering witch," Sithig said, interrupting Alistair's musings. "Among the Avvar, to see the wandering witch means that death is on the wind. It is said she is sent by the Lady of the Skies as a warning. Those who see her know they must alter their course or face death."

Jory's frown deepened. "My mam used to say much the same thing in the stories she told when I was a boy. The woman in black was always a death omen."

Jory was mentally preparing himself to die. Alistair saw it written all over the man's face as surely as if it were tattooed into his forehead. He knew with that line of thinking, the knight would never survive the Joining Ritual. He clapped a hand over the other man's shoulder.

"Don't worry about it," the Warden comforted. "It's just a silly superstition. It was probably just some apostate trying to play a prank."

"Don't get me wrong," Jory continued as if he hadn't heard a word Alistair said. "I'm not afraid to die. Never have been. I just wish I could have seen my son, held him in my arms just one time."

Before Alistair could argue with the knight any further, Duncan reemerged from his tent holding a large silver chalice in his hands. He strode over to where the others were and stood in front of the fire. The red and orange flames reflecting in his armor somehow made the realization of the events that were about to unfold even more ominous.

The commander addressed his recruits. "Please rise." He waited until the three did as they were directed before continuing. "And now, we come to the Joining. The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight when humanity stood on the brink of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint."

Solona grimaced with disgust. "We have to drink the blood of those…things? You're kidding right?"

Alistair felt panic begin to well up inside him. No. No. No. Not you too.

He gave a cough, hoping to garner her attention, hoping Duncan would forgive him for the interruption later. When she glanced in his direction, he glared at her, bidding her to look into his eyes. Maybe, just maybe he could help strengthen her resolve or at least anger her enough to get her mind off any trepidation she might be feeling.

Don't panic. You got this.

Ignoring both the mage's questions and Alistair's disruption, Duncan proceeded with the remainder of the speech he had given dozens of times. "We speak only a few words prior to the joining," Duncan recommenced. "But these words have been said since the first." He gave a small nod to his protégé. "Alistair, if you would."

The younger Warden tore his eyes from Solona's and straightened his shoulders before bowing his head. "Join us, brothers and sisters," he began in a soft voice. "Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish…know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten…And that one day…we…shall join you."

Alistair lifted his head to see Duncan hold the up the chalice and address Jory. "Jordan Eldridge Rayford, please step forward." The knight slowly made his way to the commander and stood before him. The heartbreak in Jory's eyes told Alistair everything he needed to know. There would be at least one more to add to the pyre that night.

Duncan passed the cup to the knight, who hesitated only a moment before taking it into his hands. "You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good."

Jory breathed a heavy, ragged sigh before lifting the chalice and taking a drink of the dark liquid inside. Alistair remained still as he once again lowered his eyes to the ground. He knew exactly what was going to happen, and he couldn't bear to witness it. He said a silent prayer to commend the knight's soul to the Maker. He heard the sputtering and the choking followed by screams of agony. In less than a minute, silence fell over the glade, marred only by the hissing and popping of the crackling fire.

"You will be remembered, Jordan Eldridge Rayford" Duncan lamented.

Alistair closed his eyes. Two left. He remembered how terrified he was after seeing the same thing happen to a fellow recruit at his own Joining. He wondered how Solona was handling it. He peered over at her, and was relieved to find that her expression was pure stone.

There you go. Keep that resolve up.

Duncan turned to Sithig next. "Sithig, you are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good."

The Avvar stepped forward without hesitation and took the cup from the commander's hand. There was no reluctance, no pause. He simply gulped down a good portion of the chalice's contents before handing it back to Duncan. Alistair had never even heard of anyone partaking of the Joining with such stride, such indifference to whether they would survive or perish. The man was obviously resolved to his fate either way.

Sithig reeled back a step and squinted his eyes against the pain and the visions caused by the taint. He grunted once and grabbed his gut before falling to his knees. Seconds later, he collapsed to the ground completely, his chest rising and falling easily.

Alistair held his breath as Duncan turned his eyes to Solona. He wanted to give her words of encouragement. To warn her not to panic. To have faith that she would survive, but tradition wouldn't allow for it. It had to be her doing, and hers alone.

Solona Madeleine Amell," the commander beckoned. "Step forward."

When she took the cup, Alistair noticed the slight tremble in her hands. He shut his eyes and concentrated. He was sure she couldn't hear his thoughts, but perhaps the Maker would be kind enough to somehow allow his words to seep into her soul. The image of a dark city on a distant, severed mountain flashed through his mind. It wasn't the first time he had seen it, and like every time it appeared before, he ignored it as he willed his words to reach the mage.

Come on, sweetheart. Don't be afraid. You've got this.

"You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good."

Alistair squeezed his eyes tighter, continually repeating the words, "You've got this," under his breath.

He opened his lids in time to witness Solona raise the chalice to her full lips. Alistair could see the thick black liquid enter her parted mouth, but there was no fear in her eyes. Her expression was one of total resolution. He held his breath again and waited.

She shook her head before placing her fingertips to her brow. Her entire form shivered as if she were freezing. Her limbs began to shake as her body wrestled with the foreign substance introduced into her bloodstream. Then, it stopped. She swayed back and forth as if she were in some sort of trance for only a moment before her muscles went rigid and she straightened like an arrow. She teetered on her feet, on the verge of collapse, and Alistair lunged toward her. The young Warden was at her side in a flash and caught her just before she hit the ground. He cradled her in his arms and brushed the fringe away from her brow. She was cold, colder than the wind that whipped through the tendrils of her sable brown hair.

Please. Dear Maker, if you exist…if you ever existed, let her live.

Suddenly, Solona's chest heaved upward as she sucked in a deep breath. Alistair's eyes filled with tears as his lips curved into a broad smile. She made it. She survived.

Jory was a good man and a good knight. Varric's portrayal of him was a travesty. The man who actually tried to run away and was killed by Duncan during the rite was a recruit from Alistair's own Joining. How that story got attributed to Jory, I'll never know.

On one of my many trips to Highever some years later, I actually got the opportunity to meet Eric, and invited him and his mother to the palace. When the young man arrived, he was angry and ashamed of his father. After speaking at length with Alistair and Solona, however, he left with not only a sense of pride, but a new outlook on life. He eventually moved to Denerim and became a member of the royal guard, "to carry on my family's honor," he liked to say.

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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight