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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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Dusk was settling in over the countryside. Lake Calenhad was alive with fish flopping to catch their supper within hues of deep violet and bright orange. In the center of the lake, on a small island between the two shores, stood a dark, high-reaching stone tower with a sharp, elongated spike protruding from its apex. Even from that distance in the failing light, anyone could see there were no windows. No exit or entry save a set of great double doors in the front.

Alistair sighed as he folded his arms over his broad, steel plated chest. It was a place he honestly hoped he would never have need to see again. He had only stepped foot through those doors once, but that one time was more than enough. He had been an initiate, a templar in training sent to Kinloch Hold to attend the Harrowing of a young female apprentice. Observing a Harrowing was one of the final steps to becoming a templar, and it was that event that prompted Alistair to decide the life of a Chantry knight was something he didn't want any part of.

The girl's name was Eva. According to her dossier, she was nineteen years old, the same age as Alistair at the time, and very talented in Spirit magic. The files described her as being sixty-four inches tall and one hundred forty pounds with black hair, brown eyes, and dark skin. She was sent to the Circle at the age of nine and was the only mage born to either side of her family in three generations. Her father was a smith by trade and she had one older brother. Her favorite color was green and her favorite food, vegetable stew. She was well-liked by her instructors as well as her fellow apprentices and was characterized as helpful, friendly, and kind-hearted.

Alistair studied the file every chance he got on the journey to the tower, ensuring that, by the time he and Ser Wesley arrived, he knew all there was to know about Eva. From everything he read, he was sure the girl would pass her Harrowing with flying colors. Being such an upstanding young apprentice, how could she not?

When the chimes of the large clock in the Harrowing Chamber rang in the hour, Eva entered the room wearing a lovely set of green robes. Alistair was genuinely surprised that she didn't look anything like he had pictured her. Her skin was a bit lighter than he imagined, and she had an hourglass figure with the greater part of her weight distributed at her breasts, hips and buttocks. She looked terrified, but tried to hide her apprehensions with a nervous smile that revealed a large gap between her two front teeth. Her nose and cheeks were peppered with dark freckles, making her appear much younger than her nineteen years. She was adorable and someone the young initiate wouldn't have minded becoming better acquainted with. As she lay there, lost in the Fade, Alistair even entertained the thought of befriending her if he were assigned to Kinloch Hold after gaining his commission.

Then it happened. Eva's entire body began shaking violently and her lids popped open to reveal inky blackness where her eyes had once been. Before the clock had time to click with the next second, the templar nearest her raised his greatsword high into the air and, with the full might of his weight, separated Eva's head from her body in a tremendous spray of blood. Instead of dropping into the metal bucket at the head of the table, the force of the blow had been so great that it sent the appendage flying across the room where it landed and rolled next to Alistair's right boot.

Alistair stared down into the dead eyes of the young woman, no longer ebony, but rich brown irises floating in a field of white. He held his breath, attempting to stem the tide of tears that threated to fall. It was then he realized he never knew anything about the apprentice. Her friends would soon mourn her as the templars who were gathered there went on about their day as if the world hadn't just lost one of its lovelier creatures.

Hey, initiate! Toss that over here so we can get rid of it with the body.

That's what the templar who dealt the killing blow said to him. As if Eva had been rubbish which needed to be taken out with the rest of the trash from the kitchens. Like she had been nothing and her life had been completely meaningless. Her favorite color had been green, the shade most likely the same as the robes she wore. He imagined she had donned her best that morning when she discovered she was finally able to take her Harrowing, never expecting it would ever be adorned in splatters of crimson.

When he went to bed that evening, lying atop one of the bunks in Kinloch's initiates' dormitory, Alistair wept for Eva. He thought of all the apprentices who came before her and met such a terrible and gruesome end. They had been people, just like him. The only difference was they possessed magic. Nightmares of the apprentice's lifeless eyes haunted the young warrior's dreams that night, and when he awoke at dawn he made the decision to leave the Order. He didn't care how Grand Cleric Marcine felt about it.

Unfortunately, he found leaving the templars a more difficult prospect than he imagined. Because he had been signed over to the monastery and the Grand Cleric's care when he was ten, he was bound to a life of servitude as repayment for the Chantry's benevolence. Marcine employed guilt to keep him there, but he insured everyone was made aware of his unhappiness through flippancy and poor attitude.

His way out finally presented itself when he was allowed to compete in a tournament in Denerim. The tourney was to be a grand affair with the winner receiving both accolades and a chance to be recruited by the Grey Wardens. Alistair had always heard that being a Warden was a dangerous profession, but he surmised that killing tainted creatures was a damned sight better than murdering innocent young mages. He thought he was sunk when he failed to make it into the final round of the tournament, but for some reason unfathomable to him, he was the one Warden Commander Duncan recruited in the end.

At first, the Grand Cleric refused to allow him to leave, but Duncan invoked the Grey Warden Right of Conscription. Marcine was left with no choice. By royal decree she was obliged to comply. It was the happiest day of Alistair's life, and he was grateful to Duncan every day after for saving him from the fate he seemed destined for.

"Any sign of him?" he heard Daveth ask as he took his place next to Alistair.

The former templar initiate waggled his head. "Not yet. I was really hoping to be the void away from here by now."

"I know," Daveth agreed. "That tower gives me the willies."

The young Warden tightened his arms in an effort to drive away the chill in his bones. "You and me both, man."

Alistair ran his tongue across his thick lips as he considered what to do. Should he go ahead and set up camp for the evening or wait for Duncan a little while longer? The light was fading fast, and he despised the thought of pitching tents and gathering wood for a fire in the dark. With the commander gone, Alistair was left in charge of taking care of the recruits and making the important decisions. It was a role he loathed. In his entire life, he had never been allowed to make any decisions for himself, let alone anyone else. He was no leader, and certainly didn't want to be the one responsible for the well-being of the two men Duncan left behind. Besides, Alistair wasn't completely sure he trusted either of the two recruits.

Daveth was a thief by trade, a career criminal whom Duncan conscripted in Denerim after the man cut the commander's purse strings. Duncan explained that it was because rogues were needed in the fight against the darkspawn, that their talents for stealth and chicanery were effective tools against the creatures. Alistair certainly understood the benefit for such skills, but Daveth wasn't exactly what the young warrior considered good at his profession considering how many times he had been caught pickpocketing before that day.

Daveth also wasn't the most inconspicuous character in Thedas. He was tall and lanky with dark hair, the kind of man that anyone who met him knew from the first the man was up to no good. He was a common street thug. Nothing more, but like Alistair, Duncan must have seen something more to the rogue.

The second of the recruits, Ser Jory, was a knight from Redcliffe who had served under Arl Eamon Guerrin. They were introduced to him at a tournament in Highever, where he emerged the victor of the melee. The short, barrel-chested man was likeable enough, but he always seemed too caught up in the accolades and glory he thought being a Grey Warden would bring him. He had even left behind a pregnant wife to join the order, unaware that he would likely never see her again or even meet his child.

What Jory didn't seem to understand was being a Grey Warden meant sacrificing one's life for the greater good. Even if a recruit survived the Joining Ritual, which most didn't, they would never be free to pursue their own goals and interests again. The Grey Wardens was a lifetime commitment, and usually a thankless one at that. Alistair didn't mind that part so much. It wasn't as if anyone had ever been grateful for his being born.

The young Warden narrowed his lids, trying to discern any movement from the tower, but it had grown too dark to see that far. An icy blast of wind ruffled his sandy blonde hair and his hazel-green eyes began to water against the frigid Ferelden air. He used the back of his gloved hand to wipe away the fluids that threatened to drip from his half frozen nose and sniffled. The muscles of his scruffy jaw tightened when he licked his chapped lips as he concentrated on the island's dock.

Jory appeared on the Warden's other side. "Alistair, do you think we could at least go into that tavern over there and grab and ale while we wait? It's freezing out here."

"Yeah," Daveth put in. "My balls are so frozen, they've set up permanent residence in my ass. I'm pretty damned sure I'm going to be a woman if we don't get somewhere warm soon."

Great. Now they're complaining.

Alistair supposed he was out of choices. He had to make a decision. Would those two even listen to him? He shook his head with an exasperated breath. He really didn't want to do this.

"I don't know. I guess the first thing we should do is start gathering firewood."

Daveth scowled. "I'm with Ser Chunky. An ale sounds perfect."

The knight glowered at the thief. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? I'm not fat, I'm just wearing a lot of padding beneath my armor."

The rogue harrumphed "Yeah, and cutting Duncan's purse strings was a complete accident. My knife just slipped."

"Okay, guys," Alistair said in an attempt to diffuse the situation before it turned into an all-out fight. "Don't you think we have bigger things to worry about right now? I know I'd rather not freeze to death. Duncan would find us here, bodies frozen to the ground. He'd have to pry us off the dirt with a paring knife. Nobody wants that."

Jory's face screwed up in a confused grimace and Daveth's stare made it clear that he considered his temporary leader a complete idiot. They were facial expressions which Alistair had become very accustomed to over the years. Because of his lame attempts at humor, especially when he was feeling overly nervous or reluctant to do something, most people thought him simple-minded.

Good job, Alistair. That worked brilliantly. Now they'll never take any orders from you.

He had to regroup somehow before they decided to go off on their own. Alistair knew going to the tavern was a horrible idea. Although there were some in Ferelden who respected the Wardens, most didn't trust anyone who wore the blue and grey. They were too secretive, too mysterious, and, worst of all, their appearance usually meant trouble was on the horizon.

The longer he stood there in silence under the weight of their stares, the more he lost his grip on the situation. Alistair had to find a way to convince the two men to listen to him. But how? Especially when he knew that he would have a difficult time obeying the orders of someone like himself. Mercifully, his inner turmoil was alleviated by Jory.

"Wait, I think I see something moving in the water," the knight announced.

Alistair peered out over the water. In the thick fog he could just make out a dim glow moving toward them. It was the small ferry boat used to transport visitors to the tower across the lake. It was Duncan. It had to be. There wasn't a device in existence that could have measured the young warrior's relief upon seeing that approaching light.

"Maybe now we won't freeze," Daveth quipped, ensuring Alistair was fully aware of the thief's lack of faith in his ability to lead.

The jab stung for only a moment, but Alistair could hardly blame the man. If Duncan hadn't returned that evening, there was a good chance they would have all perished in the cold. Either that, or the younger Warden would have been left to explain to the commander the reason his two recruits were gone.

Thank the Maker for small favors, he mused as he headed toward the dock.

Along the way, he wondered how many mages Duncan had brought with him. The king sent word to Highever by raven that more were needed for battle. What would a company of the magically gifted say about having a former templar initiate in their midst? Perhaps a few of the Chantry knights were escorting the mages anyway, and it really didn't matter.

As the boat finally came into view, Alistair recognized Duncan, but instead of a group of mages, there seemed to be only one lone soul in the commander's company. A woman by the looks of it, thin with dark hair and large, bright eyes that reflected in the glow of the ferryman's lamp. She was young, maybe twenty at best, and if it hadn't been for the angry expression she wore, Alistair imagined she would have been absolutely stunning. Alistair surmised that most mages would have been terrified at the prospect of leaving the safety of the Circle to go off and fight darkspawn, but not her. She seemed more frightening than frightened.

When the vessel finally landed and was tied to the pier, Duncan stood and hopped up onto the wooden platform. Once his feet were on solid ground, he held out his hand to help the young woman out of the craft. Instead of accepting the commander's offer for aid, the mage simply arced a brow, grabbed the nearest post and pulled herself up and out of the boat. A small smile crept across Duncan's face at the woman's tenacity. She was definitely no delicate flower.

The Warden Commander turned to address the men he had left behind. "Gentlemen, may I introduce Solona Amell, the Grey Warden's newest recruit."

I am man enough to admit that I shed a few tears while writing this chapter. Alistair Theirin had the purest heart of anyone I have ever met in my long years of walking this world. He was my best friend, my husband, and I miss him more than I can ever express in mere words.

-G
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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight