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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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We're weaker than we care to admit
We scratch and itch
We're graveyard shifting
Biting and barking
Fueling and sparking
That fire, that itch
And breaking the skin again!
~Nonpoint
After the Call set sail, as a matter of courtesy, Garrett allowed Solona to be the first to make use of the tub in his cabin, which earned the pirate another promise of a more personal reward from the young mage later. As many times as he rebuffed the advances of any female other than Isabela over the years following his breakup with Maggie, the captain found he was actually looking forward to spending time alone with Solona. She was beautiful, intriguing, and, best of all, willing to have a tumble with absolutely no strings attached. That evening certainly promised to be an interesting one.
While Garrett waited for Solona to finish her bath, he made the rounds, ensuring he spoke to each of his new passengers for at least a few minutes. At the end of every conversation, he made sure to extend an invitation to dine with him in the galley for that evening’s meal. It was an invitation all but two mages and one templar accepted, which meant Garrett would be the one to prepare the meal himself. Those people had been through enough already. There was no reason to torture them further with Ramirez’s cooking.
The exchanges were pleasant enough, filled with the usual friendly banter and painted on smiles typical of chats between strangers. Mistrust abounded on the part of both the mages and the templars, but no more than what Garrett expected, and all involved were polite enough to keep their misgivings to themselves. When the captain greeted Cullen, however, he made the decision to use more caution in his approach.
“How are you holding up, mate?” he asked, folding his arms across the lower half of his chest.
He carefully slipped his right hand into his duster so that he had better access to his left cutlass if he needed it, not that the templar would have noticed. The man’s eyes darted back and forth so quickly, Garrett wondered if he was actually able to see anything at all as he paced a small path across the planks of the deck. His hands wrung furiously, and, even given the frigid early spring breeze, rivulets of perspiration poured down the man’s forehead and cheeks. His blond curls were soaked with it, making it appear as if he had just been in the bath.
He stopped midstride and looked up at the pirate, his brown eyes filled with fear and his chest heaving like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. Although he had never seen it firsthand until the tower, Garrett recalled what Alistair had said about lyrium withdrawal. He also remembered the fact that that bastard Greagoir didn’t allow Cullen to bring any with him. The man was suffering and desperate and quickly becoming a danger to everyone on board.
Garrett knew he had to do something, but what? He supposed he could have one of the mages mix up a potion from the powder housed below decks. Somehow, though, the pirate was fairly certain potions wouldn’t correct the problem. Cullen needed something stronger, something that would enter his bloodstream faster. Then he remembered the souvenir Martinez had taken from one of the last templars that had been booted from the Call.
The pirate snapped his fingers to gain the attention of one of the nearby crewman. He was a short, scrawny little man with a head full of frizzy red hair and watery brown eyes. Because he was a fairly new member of the Call’s crew, picked up in Cumberland three or four months prior, the captain was forced to think a bit to remember the man’s name as he scurried over and presented Garrett with a curt nod.
“Somethin’ I can do for ya, Captain?”
“Aye, Orlov,” Garrett replied, finally recalling his crewman’s moniker. “Go fetch Mister Martinez. Tell him I need that booty he crimped from that templar a few weeks back, toot sweet.”
“Aye Captain,” Roberts answered with another sharp bow of his head before running to locate the first mate.
As he waited for Martinez, Garrett kept an eye on Cullen who had begun his pacing anew. The templar reminded the pirate of a tiger he saw trapped in a cage in Llomerryn once. He had the same anxious look about him, like he was ready to pounce in attack the moment he discovered an opportunity. His behavior was growing more troublesome, but Garrett was prepared to put the man down quickly if the situation called for it. No one on his crew was worth the life of some lyrium starved templar he didn’t even know.
Several minutes later, Martinez showed up carrying a small, rectangular wooden box. When he handed it over to Garrett, the First Mate was wearing a sly smile. It was a grin the captain knew well. One that told him Martinez was about to close a deal with a woman.
“Sorry about that, Captain,” the tall man apologized, though Garrett knew his friend was far from repentant. “I was in the middle of some very important and delicate negotiations when Orlov showed up.”
“Blonde, brunette, or redhead?” Garrett asked.
The other man gave a wink. “Blonde,” he replied before leaning in closer. “And I’m hoping a brunette for later…unless I can talk them into joining me at the same time.”
The Captain chuckled and shook his head. Martinez’s behavior didn’t come as a surprise. Quite the contrary. With that many women aboard, Garrett would have thought something was wrong with the man if he hadn’t tried to get up the skirts of one or all of them by then. His first mate was nothing if not consistent in his debauchery.
After he wished Martinez luck in his endeavors and dismissed him, Garrett returned his attention to Cullen and presented the box to him. “Here you are, mate. I’m guessing you know what to do with this ruddy thing.”
The templar licked his lips hungrily as he stared at the pirate’s offering for a long moment. He removed his gauntlets and threw them at his feet before hesitantly reaching for the box, his hands trembling as if they had been exposed to the cold for far too long. When his fingers were less than an inch from the lyrium kit, he snatched it with such ferocity it prompted Garrett to instinctively jerk his hand away.
Cullen yanked the lid open to check the contents. When he was seemingly satisfied with his findings, he knelt down on the deck and emptied a small amount of the glowing blue powder from the tiny vial inside into a small wooden spoon. When that was finished, he uncorked what appeared to be a miniature waterskin and carefully added the liquid from it to the powder. He mixed the ingredients together with the tip of a curved blade, then peered up at Garrett with desperate brown eyes.
“Would you mind helping me? I forgot to get the plunger ready first.”
The pirate shrugged. “Sure, mate. What do you need me to do?”
“Grab that tube with the handle on top,” he said in a quivering voice. “And that needle.”
Garrett picked up the tube and what he assumed was the needle Cullen had mentioned, but it was different than any needle he had ever seen. On one side, there was a piece of muted steel with a small hole in the flattened, top middle. That metal covered the top of a sharp, thin piece of gold just a bit thicker than a needle used for sewing.
“This?” the pirate asked, holding the piece of gold out for the templar’s inspection.
Cullen nodded. “Yes. Now put the thicker end inside the tube and turn the handle on top four times to the right.”
When Garrett had completed that task, the templar closed the box, carefully placed the filled wooden spoon atop it, and rolled back the left sleeve of his shirt. He then retrieved a long strip of cloth from a pouch at his belt and wrapped it tightly around his forearm and tied it before reaching out his hand to the captain.
After mumbling a quiet “thanks” when Garrett handed the tube over to him, Cullen placed the tip of the needle in the liquid contents of the spoon and slowly flipped the handle over from one side to the other. As the arm moved, the liquid began to disappear. When all but a miniscule amount remained, the templar moved the needle to the now bulging vein of his inner forearm, slid it under his skin, and slowly pushed the plunger back to its original place.
Within seconds, the panic and fear that had marred Cullen’s face since the moment Garrett first laid eyes on him altered to an expression of relief and satisfaction. His labored breathing eased, and his overly tense muscles relaxed. The templar peered up at the pirate with eyes glazed over from the effects of the drugs pumping through his blood.
“Thank you,” he grinned while stowing the contents of the lyrium kit back into their box. “I’m not sure how much longer I could have gone on like that.”
“So you’re feeling better now, are you, mate?”
“I actually feel human again,” Cullen replied as he rose to his feet. “For the first time in Maker knows how long.”
Garrett clapped him on the shoulder. “Glad to hear it, mate. I really wasn’t looking forward to running you through.”
“A fact that comes as quite a relief to me as well, Captain,” the other man said.
Although the templar seemed to be in better spirits and a much more stable state of mind, he still teetered on his feet a bit. Garrett couldn’t help but wonder just how long it had been since the man had eaten or drank anything. After going through such an ordeal, the last thing Cullen needed right then was to faint from hunger or dehydration.
“You’re looking like you’ve been keelhauled, mate,” the pirate observed. “Maybe you should find some grub and take a caulk.” When the templar countered the advice with a confused expression, the captain folded his arms over his chest and rendered a small chuckle. “Sorry about that, mate. Used to speaking to my crew. Get some food in your belly and then get some rest. You look like you could use both.”
Garrett called another of his crew over. “Take this man to the galley and tell Ramirez to make him a couple of sandwiches. Even he can’t screw that up. It’s the first meal he’s had in a while and he needs to keep it down.”
“Aye, Captain. I’ll see it done,” the man answered before addressing Cullen. “Follow me, I’ll make sure old Ramirez doesn’t kill ya.”
Garrett watched the two men until they disappeared behind the door that led down to the galley. When he turned around, he found Alistair standing next to him. The young warrior breathed a tired sigh.
“Shame, really,” he said. “What the Chantry does to its templars. At first, they just give them regular potions, pretty much the same ones the mages take. Then, after a while, they do their best to convince new templars that injection is better, not that all of them agree to it, mind you. Some go their entire careers happily taking potions, but the Chantry makes it clear it prefers its templars to use the more direct route. They say it makes templars stronger and makes their powers more effective. Best of all, they won’t need to dose themselves as often. Unfortunately, the Chantry neglects to mention it will make the addiction worse and the withdrawals even more unbearable. Not that there’s any love lost between Cullen and I, you understand. Personally, I can’t stand the bastard, but I can’t help but feel sorry for him with that kind of lyrium addiction.”
“Bad blood between the two of you, then, mate?” the captain inquired.
So far, Garrett was unsure what to make of Alistair. He wore a mixture of heavy plate and leather and wielded a longsword and shield, which conveyed him as a warrior. At the same time, he had used magic to dissipate that shield in the tower. Then again, Solona was most certainly a mage, and she used a sword. Perhaps it was common for mages to utilize blades in Ferelden. Maybe Cullen was nothing more to Alistair than a templar who had once hounded him in the confines of the Circle. Somehow, though, he was near certain there was more to the story than that.
Alistair heaved another sigh. “Cullen and I trained together as templars in the monastery in Bournshire.”
“So, you’re a templar?” the pirate interrupted.
“No. I trained as a templar. I was conscripted into the Wardens before I took my vows.”
Even after being in the tower for more than two days, Garrett had yet to see Alistair consume any lyrium. Then again, the captain had no idea how long a dose of lyrium would last. It wasn’t as if he had ever held a real conversation with one of the Chantry knights before that day.
“I suppose that means I’ll have to keep you stocked with lyrium too?” he questioned.
Alistair shook his head. “No. I’ve never taken the stuff personally. You only get your first draught after you take your vows. I’m just glad the Wardens got to me before I had to.”
There was definitely a story there. A templar in training who obviously had no interest in being a templar. Garrett’s left brow arched as he scowled at the younger man with confusion.
“If you ask me, mate, it doesn’t seem you were too keen on being a templar. Why didn’t you just quit? Or is becoming a templar an irreversible decision?”
“Not for most people,” Alistair replied with a grimace. “But I was fortunate enough to be a special case. Lucky me. The Grand Cleric decided that, since the monastery had paid for a few years of my upbringing, I owed the Chantry for the expense. It’s pretty common for orphans, actually. When you reach a certain age, they give you a choice. You can either become a brother in the Chantry or a templar. I had no interest in being a priest, so I chose the latter.”
“Sounds like a bloody load of horseshit to me, mate. If I were you, I’d have told the Grand Cleric to bugger off. But, then again, I’ve never exactly been fond of rules. One of the joys of being a pirate.”
“It wasn’t that simple for me, I’m afraid,” the Warden countered.
“Of course it was,” Garrett argued. “What were they going to do? Hunt you down and drag you back? I doubt they’d care that much about one lowly initiate once you were gone.”
Alistair wet his lips. “That might be true of most, but believe me, if certain people found out I left the templars to just gad about on my own, they would have found a way to get me back there. Fortunately, not even those people can argue my conscription.”
The pirate folded his arms across his chest and appraised Alistair through narrowed lids. He saw no hint of falsehood in the young warrior’s eyes. What had he done that was so bad in his youth to warrant such a perceived reaction from anyone? He said the monastery paid for a few years of his upbringing. Had he gotten into some kind of trouble where his parents or a foundling home decided he was better off with the Chantry? Whatever the reason, Garrett’s curiosity had certainly been piqued.
“Get in some trouble in your youth, then?” the captain pressed. “Trust me, mate. You can’t have done a bloody thing that I haven’t done myself at least once.”
Alistair’s shoulders drooped. “I suppose you’re going to find out sooner or later. It’s not about anything I did as much as it is about who I am.”
“You some noble prat’s son there, mate?” Garrett quipped with a smirk. “Did your daddy ship you off to teach you a lesson in manners?”
The Warden’s face hardened into a deep and angry frown. “No. I’m not some noble prat’s son. I’m some royal prat’s son. Maric Theirin’s illegitimate child, born of a scandalous affair between the king and a servant.”
Garrett’s brows arched in surprise. He certainly wasn’t expecting that reply. Once again, he gauged the truth of the other man’s words, and found not even the hint of deception hidden within those hazel green eyes. In fact, he appeared as if he were going to be ill, leaving the captain to wonder if he had the same look about himself.
Getting mixed up with the Grey Wardens and the Blight was bad enough, but that little tidbit of news made him seriously consider retracting his offer of aid. He was already going to have trouble with his buyers on the black market over the lyrium that would be missing from the promised shipment, which wasn’t going to make his crew happy. Then, there was the fact that every day he delayed potentially put Howe further from his reach. Not to mention, he was still wrestling with his emotions over Miriana and the fact that she was no longer bound to the Circle, which put him at greater risk for getting his heart ripped to shreds. Now, he had to deal with transporting and protecting the bloody future king of Ferelden.
Garrett released a protracted breath as Bryce’s words haunted him once again. He was involved now, and there was no turning back. It was at that moment that he realized, he was in it for the long haul. His part in the Blight wouldn’t culminate upon the delivery of a few passengers at Redcliffe. Some unseen hand was driving him to stay until the end.
Alistair looked absolutely miserable in his anxiety as he awaited Garrett’s response. The captain barely knew the man, but felt the need to put him at ease, or at least catch him off guard. Maybe putting some fight back into him would be the best thing for the young warrior.
The pirate’s mouth curved into an uneven grin. “So, you’re not only a bastard. You’re a royal bastard to boot.”
The captain expected his jest to raise Alistair’s ire, but the young warrior just shrugged. “I guess I am at that. Maybe that’s how I should introduce myself from here on out. It would certainly make for an interesting way to break the ice. Perhaps I should add that as an official title.” He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin with a feigned, regal air. “Alistair Theirin, Royal Bastard of King Maric Theirin and all around git, at your service, my good man. Now do be a good fellow and fetch me a mug of your finest ale. I’m feeling rather peckish at the moment.”
At first, Garrett was taken aback by the other man’s reaction. He imagined even the most minor noble would have tried to get in a punch at such an insult, but not Alistair. He not only took it in stride but found humor in the pirate’s impudence, and he was actually quite amusing. Other than the Couslands, Alistair was the first person of any importance Garrett had met who was good natured enough to laugh at himself, leading the pirate to believe there was a chance he would grow to like the prince.
The captain extended a brow. “You may be the future king and all, mate, but as far as I know, I haven’t given up my ship for a job as a serving wench. You can fetch your own bloody ale.”
“Are you sure it wouldn’t be a better fit for you, Captain?” Alistair retorted with a grin. “I think you might look good in a dress. You certainly have the legs for it. Though the chest hair might cost you some tips.”
Garrett chuckled. “Don’t flatter yourself, mate. I’m not shaving my chest for anyone. Not even for a lad as handsome as yourself. I can appreciate that you’re not a bad sort to look at, but I prefer the lasses, if you know what I mean?”
“Trust me,” the prince countered. “I’m definitely with you on that.”

Azure skies and billowing clouds quickly turned to inky blackness as an icy wind began to blow around Miriana’s ankles then travel upward toward her face. She shivered against the cold, but when she tried to wrap her arms around her chest for some semblance of warmth, she found she couldn’t move. It was Remus again, invading her dreams just as he had before. After two days in the tower, all she really desired was uninterrupted sleep, a chance to slumber and explore the Fade without fear or worry. It seemed Remus had other plans, however
“Who was that man, Miriana?” the Tevinter mage questioned.
Miri didn’t want to respond. In fact, she wanted nothing to do with Remus at all. Why couldn’t he just leave her be? She drew a deep breath, knowing it would be the only movement she was allowed unless he wished it to be otherwise. As much as she loathed the notion of doing his bidding, she was aware she really had no choice. He wouldn’t allow her to wake until she sated his curiosity.
She would answer his questions, but she certainly wasn’t going to tell him everything. In their excursion through the tower and their brief conversations, Miriana found she was really beginning to like Alistair. Revealing his true identity to Remus could only put the future king in danger. He would have enough of that just fighting the Blight, and Miri refused to add to his peril.
“His name is Alistair,” she replied. “He’s a Grey Warden. One of only three left in Ferelden, it seems.”
The Tevinter appeared before Miriana, his form bathed in an ominous red glow. “I heard rumors that all the Wardens were slain at Ostagar. Three survived?”
Miriana hesitated, unsure how well Remus would tolerate the news of her conscription. The idea of becoming a Grey Warden terrified her. How would the Tevinter react to that notion? Would it even matter to him? Perhaps it was the one thing that would finally persuade him to leave her alone. She had to remain cautious in her responses.
“Two survived,” she told him. “Alistair and my twin sister, Solona. The other was conscripted in the Circle tower.”
“Who? One of the other mages? A templar?”
“No,” Miri whispered. “Me.”
Remus gripped his left wrist with his right hand at the small of his back and began to pace. His face twisted into angry concern, and his chest rose and fell with every ragged breath as his feet shuffled across the unseen floor. He didn’t look in Miriana’s direction, but remained deep in thought, struggling with her revelation.
After several moments, he halted and turned to her with a grimace. “This will not stand. I will not allow it. The darkspawn taint will change your entire nature. It will corrupt you. You’re the only one who…”
“Who what, Remus?” she asked, her voice soft, yet pleading. “What is it that you expect of me?”
When his head drooped, a tear spilled onto his cheek. “To help me, Miriana,” he whispered. “I can’t do this on my own. The stone. The demons. I fight against them every day, but I don’t know how much longer I can hold onto who I am.” He searched her eyes, his own glistening eerily in the red light that surrounded him. “There’s a light inside you, unlike any I’ve ever seen. Don’t you understand? If you become a Warden, that light will be extinguished. If that happens, all hope is lost. I have no idea what I’ll be capable of…what they will be capable of then. Please. I’m begging you. Please help me.”
He took a step back and placed his hands on either side of his stomach. Within seconds, a smooth black stone covered with tiny crimson etchings and the size of a thumb glowed from the confines of his robe. Miriana had no idea what it was or how he expected her to aid him, but she could feel the sheer malevolence emanating from the object and recognized the form of several different demons crawling around and through Remus’s body. He was most definitely possessed. But how was he containing so many?
Miri’s entire body trembled with fright she hoped the creatures could not detect when she realized the full weight of the danger Remus’s obsession with her posed. She knew of absolutely nothing she could do for him, but she feared if she told him that, he would end her. There was nothing else for it. She would agree to his request and pray to the Maker a solution would eventually reveal itself.
She nodded her head. “Alright,” she agreed in a breathless voice. “I’ll help you if I can.”

That day with Cullen was the first time I had ever seen anyone put a needle in their body on purpose. It was an interesting enough display, I suppose, but not one I wanted anything to do with. And Alistair’s explanation of templars and lyrium only served to make me dislike the Chantry more than I already did.
The one thing I can say for my husband is that the man was charming to a fault. Even when he was self-deprecating, he did it in such a way that it put those around him at ease. I didn’t realize it at the time, but his self-depreciation was his way of coping with a serious lack of confidence. I just assumed he was a bit simple. It wasn’t until we reached the Temple of Sacred Ashes that I found out how wrong I was to underestimate him.
I was torn between hating Remus and just feeling sorry for the poor bastard. He was an extremely dangerous man, but only because he had attempted to do the right thing. As much as I am loathe to admit it, his swallowing that blasted stone was probably the only thing that kept Corypheus at bay as long as it did. As foolish as it was, his actions probably saved Thedas from a facing an enemy it wasn’t yet prepared for.
-G
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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight