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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.

Chapter List
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Anders sat in the restricted section of the senior enchanters’ library studying the text, The Framework of the Human Body, and jotting down notes. He honestly didn’t know why he even bothered anymore, except for the fact that he had to do something to keep his mind busy. He scanned the room only to find Rolan glowering at him from the doorway. The healer raised his middle finger to the templar before returning his focus to the tome.

Since the day he was released from the dungeons, one of the Chantry lapdogs followed him everywhere. Whenever he went to sleep, whenever he woke, there was a templar. He even had an escort when he got up to use the privy in the middle of the night. He never received a moment’s peace from the armored guards. As bad as that was, it wasn’t the worst thing Anders was made to endure. The worst affliction he suffered was from a shattered heart.

The day he discovered Solona had been conscripted by the Grey Wardens was the worst day of his life. It was only then he realized how much she had truly meant to him. She was his everything, and he cursed himself every day for never telling her that.

If only he had been wiser, less afraid of the things he felt, she might still be with him. The three times he escaped before the trouble with Karl in the Gallows always happened when he and Solona were becoming closer. He recalled the events leading up to his fifth escape perfectly.

He and Solona had been spending a lot more time together. Because he was being watched more closely, she would sneak into his room at night by seducing the templars guarding the hall outside his door. She would trade admittance inside for the price of a hand job or fellatio for the more stubborn guards. Then she would enter his chambers, wash her hands and rinse her mouth, and the two of them would spend the remainder of the evening together.

Sometimes they would cuddle and have long conversations. Most nights they would have sex at least once before she left before first light. During the day, Solona would find her way to the senior mages’ library where they would sit next to each other and study, which usually wound up being more conversation and childish play than research.

Two nights before his fifth escape, Solona agreed to join him in his room as usual. Although they had spent nearly the entire day together, Anders found he couldn’t wait for her arrival. The anticipation of seeing her, of spending time alone together, actually produced fluttering in his stomach. It was a sensation he had never felt before, and it scared the life out of him.

When Solona finally arrived, Anders took her into his arms and kissed her, deeply and passionately. He picked her up from the floor and carried her to his bed where he gently lay her down. After quickly removing his own robes, he made sure to take great time and care in the removal of hers. Most of his evening was spent caressing her body and making every effort to ensure his lips touched each part his fingers had.

When he finally moved to enter her, he gazed deeply into her lapis eyes. She was beautiful, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Words he had never spoken to anyone threatened to pour from his lips. Instead he captured her mouth with his and slowly pushed inside her. His heart felt as if it would burst from his chest in that moment, but he kept his rhythm at a gradual, steady pace. The taste of her kiss, the sensation of her body pressed to his drove him to the brink of madness. The pleasure was indescribable, as was the anguish. No matter how he tried, Anders couldn’t get close enough to her. The passion and the intensity of it were all-consuming, leaving him to feel as if he were drowning, dying, and the only thing that could save him was her embrace, her kiss.

He entangled his fingers in Solona’s hair then gave her one, final passionate kiss as he exploded inside her, his body shuddering as his seed flowed from him in waves of ecstasy. The healer had been with many women throughout his life, but that night with Solona was the most profound sexual experience he had ever known. He kissed her softly and stared down into her eyes as his entire being, his very soul, trembled.

She gazed up at him expectantly. He could see the words she longed to hear, the words he longed to say, but he just couldn’t bring himself to utter them. He caressed her cheek.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “That was amazing.”

“Yes, it was” she purred.

Anders rolled off of her onto the mattress. “I hate to say it, but I’ve got a long day ahead of me tomorrow,” he lied. “Wynne is supposed to show me some new method of using spirits to heal. Something about using less of my own mana.”

Her brow creased in anguished confusion. “Oh…Alright.” She gave him a half-hearted smile.

“I’m sorry,” Anders apologized. “But you understand, right?”

“Sure,” Solona nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I understand.”

She snatched her robes from the floor and pulled them over her head. She didn’t even bother to put on her shoes, choosing instead to carry them. After giving him a quick peck on the lips, she said a reticent “Goodnight” before scurrying for the door.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he called after her, but she didn’t acknowledge the words.

Anders avoided Solona the entire next day, taking great pains not to be anywhere he thought she might happen to show up. The following day, he was headed to the Hinterlands, away from Solona and away from the emotions he refused to let himself feel.

When he was captured and returned to the tower, the healer went back to pretending things between he and Solona were nothing more than friendship with the occasional benefit. That approach only lasted a few weeks until Anders could no longer bear it. He had to do something to get his mind off her.

In an attempt to avoid Solona, Anders began spending a lot more time with his friend Karl, and things just progressed from there. Although Anders grew to love the man, he was never in love with him. He simply never felt the connection to him that he and Solona shared. He used Karl to avoid facing his feelings for Solona, and it was that manipulation that led to Karl’s transfer to the Gallows.

Anders heard voices coming from somewhere near the archway and recognized the high-pitched, cackling timbre of Senior Enchanter Uldred. Uldred was an odd little man, whom Anders never really trusted. He always seemed a bit shifty with his beady eyes, hawk-like nose, and sinister grins.

The healer turned to see the senior mage hand a slip of parchment to Rolan. “As you can see, Irving has given us permission to hold a meeting of the fraternities in this area of the library.”

Rolan pointed a thumb in Anders’ direction. “And what about him?”

Uldred waved his hands dismissively. “He can stay.”

“I’m supposed to keep an eye on him.”

“Young man, don’t you think that two dozen enchanters can keep one boy from escaping. Let him finish his research. If he gives us any trouble, we’ll send for you.”

Rolan shrugged. “I’m tired of watching the fucking princess anyway.” He handed the paper back to Uldred. “I’ll be in the dining hall. Just send someone to fetch me when you’re ready to get rid of his ass.”

The enchanter flapped his hand to shoo the templar away. “Yes, yes. We’d like to get this meeting started before we all die of old age.”

Anders couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of Rolan being dismissed by one of the gifted. The templar always wore his hatred for those who wielded magic on his outer bicep like a patch of honor. To see him be cowed by Uldred was a delightful spectacle. Although he was still miserable, it did lighten the healer’s mood a bit.

Once Rolan was gone, Uldred closed the door leading out of the library. He then sealed it with a glyph to prevent any interruptions or prying ears from hearing the details of the meeting. When his task was complete, he approached Anders’ table.

“Young man, you are the one who has escaped the tower several times, are you not?”

“And what if I am?” Anders drawled with a bored expression.

“Are you a libertarian, then?”

“No, I’m a loyalist,” he retorted in a snarky and arrogant tone. “Can’t you see my love for the Chantry and the Circles oozing out of my pores?”

Uldred glowered at him. “There is no need for such derision.”

The younger mage crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “I’m not a libertarian. I’m not anything. The First Enchanter seems to think promoting me would be a bad idea for some reason. Something about setting a bad example for other mages.”

“Then why are you in the restricted section of the Senior Enchanters’ library?” the bald man queried with a scowl

“Because I’m bloody brilliant,” the healer retorted. “The rest of the world will never know that, however, seeing as I was told I’d never see the light of the sun again.”

Uldred’s lips curled into a wide grin. “Good enough,” he exclaimed before leaning in close to the younger man’s ear. “How would you like some payback? Hmm? For the year you spent rotting in that dungeon? And let’s not forget your friend. That whole business of Irving and Greagoir sending him to the Gallows. What a nasty piece of work that was.”

Anders’ blood began to boil. Karl. Solona. All that study gone to waste. All his hopes and dreams dashed. All because he wanted to protect his mother.

He peered at Uldred from the corner of his eye. “And what is it you want me to do?”

“Join us,” Uldred hissed. The sensation of his hot, stinking breath and the menacing tone of his voice sent a cold shiver up the healer’s spine.

Anders bobbed his head in response then scanned the room. He recognized most of the enchanters present, but many were missing. If it were truly only a meeting of the fraternities, there would have been more. It was then he realized there were two groups who weren’t represented: the Loyalists and, more importantly, the Aequitarians.

Besides Uldred, there were twenty-three enchanters in the room. Representing the Libertarians were Senior Enchanter Uldred, seven junior enchanters, and five more senior enchanters. The Lucrosians counted four among them, and the Isolationists numbered seven, including an unassuming enchanter named Niall whom Anders had known since he was thirteen.

Uldred stood and raised his arms to quiet the chatter in the room. “As you are keenly aware,” he began. “We stand on the brink of a new Blight. I have just returned from Ostagar and bore witness to the devastation the darkspawn will cause. In fact, Senior Enchanter Wynne and I barely made it out with our lives. The King of Ferelden lies dead on the battlefield, as do all the Grey Wardens.”

Anders gasped, so loudly that it caused every eye in the room to turn on him. All the blood ran out of his face and his skin grew cold as ice.

“Solona,” he breathed.

Uldred began to drone on, but the healer didn’t hear a word. He felt sick. It was all he could do not to vomit all over the marble floor at his feet. His throat closed. He couldn’t breathe. Heartbroken tears spilled from his amber eyes onto his cheeks.

There was an argument among the enchanters. What were they saying? He dropped his head between his knees and covered it with his hands as he started to rock back and forth. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Not anymore.

He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t find his voice. The only thing he could do was choke on the sobs washing over him in waves of misery. He wanted to die.

Maker, please let me die.

Up until that moment, Anders was sure he would never see Solona again, but there was always a slim chance that, someday, somehow, they might be reunited. Now someday would never come. She was gone. She was gone and he never told her how much she meant to him…how much he loved her.

He felt a hand grip his arm. “Anders…Anders! We have to get out of here. We have to do something.” The healer looked up with tear-filled, bloodshot eyes to see Niall standing over him. “We have to stop Uldred.”

Niall’s expression was one of absolute terror. His naturally pale skin had gone completely white, and his chocolate brown eyes were wide with fear. His lips trembled as he gasped for breath.

Anders’ face contorted with confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Uldred,” Niall replied with panic in his voice. “He’s gone mad. He’s going to use blood magic to take over the tower.”

The healer waggled his head. He simply couldn’t make himself care. If the tower and the templars were destroyed in the process, all the better.

“Let him,” he croaked. “Why should I give a Maker fuck?”

Niall backed away. “Not you too. I thought you were a healer…that you actually gave a damn about human life.”

“I’m not a healer,” Anders spat. “I’m not anything. This fucking place made sure of that.” He exhaled a heavy, protracted sigh. “Nothing matters anymore. Not the tower, not the mages, not me. Nothing.”

Niall pursed his lips. His brow furrowed in disappointment. He turned to leave, then stopped, not bothering to turn to look at his old acquaintance. “I’m going to help the others…if I can.”

Anders watched him walk toward the door. He didn’t want to get involved. The part of him that wanted to die, to join Solona, awaited the release of a life gone completely wrong. There was freedom in death. Freedom he would never otherwise know. Then he thought of his father. Was he really what that bastard always said he was? A lazy waste of space who would never amount to anything?

He stood. “Niall…wait.” The other man stopped and peered at the tall blonde man from over his shoulder. Anders sprinted to catch up to him. “I’m coming with you.”

The two men hurried to the stockroom where they found Owain rifling through some crates. Anders could hear shouting down the corridor coming from the direction of Irving’s office. They had precious little time.

“Owain?” the healer hissed, trying to gain the tranquil’s attention without garnering any from other prying ears. The stock keeper kept working. “Owain!” he repeated more forcefully.

The sedate man turned and walked toward him. “May I help you?” he asked in a lifeless, even tone.

“We need the Litany of Adralla,” Anders told him. “Do you have that here?”

“I am sorry,” Owain apologized. “But you are not allowed access to anything in the stockroom, Anders. By order of the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander.”

“Maker fuck.” Anders cursed.

The other two tranquil in the room eyed the tall mage for a moment before returning to their work. Niall placed a hand on the healer’s arm to calm his growing ire.

“And what about me, Owain?” the enchanter asked. “Can you give the Litany to me?”

“I am sorry,” the tranquil countered. “That is a restricted item. You must have a signed requisition from a senior enchanter to access restricted items.”

“Where is the Litany, anyway, Owain?” Niall questioned. “Is it even in the stockroom?”

The stock keeper pointed to a tall cabinet filled with scrolls standing against the wall behind him. There were no other tranquil near it. One of Owain’s assistants was digging through a crate, not paying any attention to her surroundings. The other had left the room carrying several large tomes.

“It is over there. On that shelf” Owain informed him.

Niall let out a low whistle. “How in the Maker’s name would you be able to find it in all those other scrolls?”

“Every scroll in the stockroom is categorized in alphabetical order,” the tranquil man explained. “It is within the shelf marked with the letter L.”

Niall gave Anders a knowing glance before addressing the stock keeper again. “So, where is this form I need to have signed?”

“I have the form you need in my desk,” he answered. “I will get it for you.”

Niall followed Owain to the desk, keeping his body between the other man’s gaze and the cabinet holding the Litany. Anders crept over and located the correctly labeled cubby. Fortunately for him, each scroll was neatly marked on the outside with its name. He rifled through them as quickly and quietly as possible before finally discovering the appropriate one. After a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, he pulled it out and stuffed it down the front of his robes.

While Owain remained distracted, the healer sidled over to the doorway. He had barely got a foot out of the exit, when he caught sight of Uldred approaching with a group of the mages from the earlier meeting. The healer ducked back inside the stockroom then recovered the Litany from his robes. After dropping it on the floor, he kicked it away a few feet then stepped out into the rotunda in time to run directly into Uldred.

“Hello again, young man,” the bald enchanter greeted with a leer. “Decided to join us after all, did you?”

Anders scanned the faces of the mages behind Uldred. In their midst he spotted the First Enchanter floating a few inches above the stone floor, his head drooping and arms dangling like a marionette’s.

“Irving has decided to be difficult,” Uldred explained. “You don’t intend to be difficult…do you, my boy?”

“Of course not,” the healer replied with a smug arch of his left brow. He was well versed in such guise, but he worried the senior enchanter might see through it. He tried to maintain his usual arrogant demeanor, but his insides had turned to slush. “I’m looking forward to watching this place burn.”

Uldred cackled, a high-pitched, malevolent sound which made Anders cringe. “As am I, dear boy. As am I.” The old enchanter regarded the female mage standing at his side. “Zaria, why don’t you take our new friend here and find Wynne.” His villainous grin widened. “If she does not wish to cooperate, you know what to do.”

Zaria presented the older man with a small bow. “Of course, Uldred.”

She pivoted on her heel and tugged at Anders’ arm to prompt him to follow her to the stairwell that led to the first floor. As she paraded the healer through the apprentice’s library, Zaria gave a nod to several mages and enchanters along the way. Each time she did, the person she directed began attacking anyone and everyone in the immediate vicinity.

Anders watched in horror as they all transformed into hideous, twisted creatures. Blood splattered across the bookshelves and the marble tile as claws and fangs ripped the flesh of templars and apprentices alike. Even the children who were unlucky enough to be in the library became victims of the abominations.

The healer had to force himself to swallow back the waves of vile that rushed into the back of his throat. The horror of the events unfolding before him were unbearable. To make matters worse, it went against his very nature to allow such atrocities to occur without attempting to aid those who were suffering. Several times, he had to stop himself from pulling away from Zaria’s grasp to help. The only thing stopping him was the knowledge that had to go along with the ruse until they located Wynne. There was no way he would be able to take all those abominations on by himself.

When they finally located Wynne, she was with a young female mage named Petra in the apprentices’ corridor near the children’s dormitories. The silver haired enchanter rounded on them as they approached.

“Anders?” she questioned, her brow creased in disappointment. “I never thought you would be a part of this.”

The healer glanced at Zaria whose attention was focused completely on Wynne. Two children, a boy and a girl peeked out from around the doorway of the dormitory. He had to do something before they met the same fate as the others.

No time like the present, I suppose.

He forced back his fear and used the entire weight of his body to ram his shoulder into Zaria’s side. She toppled over with a sharp gasp of surprise. The moment she hit the floor, Anders cast a spell of paralysis.

“That won’t hold her long,” he warned his mentor. “Gather every child you can and get the fuck out of here, Wynne. Uldred’s gone off the deep end.”

She waggled her head. “And where are we to go, Anders? The Circle is my home and I will defend it to the last.”

He pointed to the terrified boy and girl standing in the doorway. “And what of them? Are you just going to allow all of them to die?”

“If we try to get them past the templars, they’ll die anyway,” Petra interjected.

From the corner of his eye, Anders saw Zaria’s body begin to transform. Her skin bubbled and boiled as her face and body twisted into a grotesque, misshapen, monstrous lump. Within moments she had completely mutated into a humanoid-like shape writhing on the ground.

“It’s too late,” he breathed.

The healer rushed over to the children, took one in each arm, and sprinted toward the door leading down to the basement. He may not have been able to save all of them, but by the Maker, those two would survive. He stomped the middle of the door with his large foot, causing it to crash open then set the children down.

“Hide,” he told them. “Anywhere you can find. And don’t come out unless Wynne or Petra come to get you.”

Both children nodded in agreement before running down the narrow corridor toward the cellar storerooms. Anders circled and threw an ice spell at the abomination that was advancing on him. The spell glanced off the monster’s shoulder as it continued toward him. He pulled the staff from his back, rotated on his left foot and landed a hit right into the beast’s torso. It blanched for only a moment then raised its gnarled hands to cast. Anders threw a shield to block the incoming attack, then shoved the butt of his stave into the abomination’s chest. It screeched in rage as it reeled backward.

The healer kicked out with his foot and landed a boot to the creature’s gut, but it caught his calf and gave it a twist causing a sickening crack to echo throughout the chamber. Anders cried out in pain as his upper body toppled to the floor. As he attempted to crawl away, he felt sharp nails digging into his broken leg.

He closed his eyes, awaiting the fate that was about to befall him, when a brilliant light flashed across the room. As he lay there, lids shut tight, he heard the clinking of heavy plate echo throughout the chamber.

“Knight Commander,” he heard Rolan say. “What about them?”

“It looks like they took care of themselves,” Greagoir answered as he turned to march toward the next corridor.

Then, something caught his eye to make him stop. He pointed over to where Anders lay near the basement door and then looked to Cullen. “Check him templar,” he ordered. “If he’s still breathing, put a sword through his throat.”

“Yes, Knight-Commander,” the young templar concurred with a fist to his heart.

Seconds later, Cullen was kneeling next to Anders. He placed his fingers over the largest vein in the healer’s neck. Then he lowered his head to the mage’s mouth to determine if he could discern any breath.

“Run,” whispered Cullen as he placed a ring of keys on the healer’s chest. “As soon as we’ve cleared the room. It’s your only chance.” The templar then stood and spun on his heel to face Greagoir. “He’s dead,” he announced.

“You’re certain?” the Knight Commander questioned.

“Yes, ser,” Cullen lied. “That abomination tore him to shreds.”

Greagoir exhaled a long sigh. “At least something good will come out of all this.”

The moment the templars’ footsteps faded into the direction of the library, Anders opened his eyes to take stock of the devastation surrounding him. Black, tarlike liquid oozed across the ground toward his feet as he sat up and mended his fibula as best he could. Healing others came easy to him. Healing his own broken bones proved to be a lot more difficult. He shuffled to his feet and, after shoving the ring of keys in his pocket, gazed down at his attacker who was bleeding from every orifice.

He spotted Wynne several feet away, face down on the floor, and hobbled over to check on her. There was no pulse, no breath, only lifeless blue eyes staring up at him. He then moved on to Petra, and was relieved to find her unconscious with a gaping wound in her head where it hit the floor. The healer allowed a bit of mana to trickle from his fingertips to seal the bone and the gash.

Anders turned his head and looked down the hall toward the outer doors. There was no one there. No templars. No mages. The corridor was completely empty. His breath quickened as his flight instinct kicked in, and the part of him that wanted to die was forgotten. The templars were going to kill them all. Every man, woman, and child who possessed the gift would perish, whether they were innocent of Uldred’s crimes or not. He had to get out.

The healer placed the end of his staff on the ground and hauled himself to his feet. He used the stave as a walking stick to support his injury as he limped toward the outer doors as fast as he could manage. The pain in his leg burned, but not as much as the idea of freedom. Between the trouble in the tower and the Blight, it would take months for anyone to find him, perhaps years.

When he reached the outer doors, he expected to find resistance, but there was not a templar in sight. He took the keyring from his pocket and then jammed one into the lock. It worked on the first try.

Thank the Maker for small favors.

As the hinges creaked open, Anders heard the sounds of heavy footfalls in the hallway on the other side of the inner doors. He quickly slipped outside and began hobbling toward the docks. Before he reached them, however, the healer veered to his left and hurried toward the northern part of the island. Just as he neared the water, he used a cone of cold spell to form a layer of ice on the surface and began sliding across to the other shore.

By the time Anders toppled onto solid ground, his mana was nearly spent. He had no lyrium potions to replenish his magic and nearly fainted from the effort of trying to stand. After a quick glance around, he spotted a grove of trees nearby and somehow managed to stagger over to them. Once inside the tree line, he collapsed, blacking out to his surroundings.

As well-spoken as Doc was, those three little words were impossible for him to say back then. He loved Solona more deeply than he would admit, even to himself, but, as women often do, she rationalized that the absence of the words denoted an absence of the feelings as well. She somehow managed to miss all the signs that should have made it obvious. Instead, she told herself that, to him, she was only a distraction.

As much as Doc hated the Circle, as well as most everyone who lived there, it just wasn’t in him to sit by and allow others to suffer. Many times over the years I have seen the healer in him take over as he rushed into danger to help someone in need. He never cared for battle. The healer in him regretted any wounds he ever inflicted on others. The man saved my life more times than I can even recall, and he was always willing to give me a hand or arm when I needed it.

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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight