Author's Note: A companion to Tricking the Past, I decided to write a short story of Alim's journey with the companions back to Circle Tower. It's not necessary to read this to get Tricking the Past, and it's not terribly necessary to read TTP to get this, though this can't really be considered "stand-alone", it's just a little extra to the story.
A Life In Theory
Chapter 1 - You Can Never Go Home Again
They were headed for Kinloch Hold, home to Ferelden's Circle of Magi.
Alim Surana checked the sky, enjoying the feel of the sun's rays on his skin as it dipped low in the sky, despite the chill in the air. He hadn't realized until he left the tower how good it felt to feel the heat of the sun, the wind on your face. The rain, nearly freezing in the early weeks of Satinalia, was a different matter entirely, but they had only run into a half day of it so far.
He had found he wasn't the only one adjusting to the new sensations of being outside as they traveled with the two dwarves, Oghren and Dagna. As different as night and day, Dagna had found Ferelden's rather variable weather exciting, shrieking in delight as the first drops of rain touched her face.
She had peppered Alim and Serena with questions about clouds then, and their role in the moisture cycle. The girl was adorable in her want to learn everything, if not a bit exhausting at times.
Oghren, however, was another matter entirely. Alim couldn't say the man was frightened of weather, or the sky, or anything really when one thought about it. But he had a... way... about him; a gruff sort of manner that reminded the elf of his own father, who had done much the same when something had troubled him. Instead of talking, he simply took a deep breath, as if stealing himself for something awful, and endured.
Occasionally Alim still caught Oghren looking up at the sky in confused wonderment, as if concerned how something so big could simply... stay up there all the time without walls to hold it.
The closer they got to the tower, though, the more Alim felt his own worry creep into his heart. He had left on less than desirable terms. Of course, Circle mages were never meant to leave at all, so that compounded the problem, certainly.
He remembered the last time the templars had hauled Anders back, the rebellious mage that some of the younger apprentices always swooned after when he sauntered by. Two black eyes and the bleeding lip none-withstanding, the blonde mage had still looked handsome, as the two enormous templars had dragged him past the dining hall, their message to the rest of them obvious.
This is what happens when you try to run, it said. We find you. We will always find you, and when we do, you will be sorry.
But they hadn't found him. Alim was positive if he hadn't made the decision to storm the Arl's estate in Denerim, he might have slipped past the templars for many more weeks, months even. The people of the Alienage had sheltered him as they would one of their own, even when those metal-clad monsters came knocking, Andraste's Flaming Sword bared across their silver chests.
Alim's eyes unconsciously slipped to Alistair then. Walking at the front, deep in conversation with Serena, he was unlike many of the templars stationed at the tower. Full of jokes and laughter, Alim found it hard to believe the man had lived the majority of his life in the clutches of the Chantry. All the initiates he had ever met had been so serious, so full of themselves and the Chant of Light.
And then there was Serena. Her conviction and faith were almost suffused into her very being. He hadn't gone a day in her company without overhearing her pray to the Maker, or murmur lines of the Chant under her breath. Alistair almost hated the Chantry, and seemed somewhat ambivalent about the Chant, whereas for Serena, it was simply a daily part of her life. The Maker, his Bride, they were always there with her. It was an odd pairing, really, when one sat down and thought about her and Alistair together.
But when you saw them together... that was when you knew. Their sense of humor complimented each other, and they seemed able to read each other's emotions in a way the rest of the companions, no matter how close they appeared to either of them, couldn't touch with a ten-foot-pole.
But their consideration to each other certainly extended to the party at large, too. Alim had never felt so at ease around such a large group before, so accepted. He didn't want it to go.
They were settled in camp a few hours later, the group split into its usual groups. Sten and Alistair were sparring nearby, the sound of their grunts drifted back to the camp. Oghren sat in front of his tent, shining his great sword with a rag and some borrowed polish while he waited to take on the winner of their bout.
Leliana was speaking with the ever-talkative Dagna, telling her a story about her childhood in Orlais by the sound of it. Zevran punctuated the tale with jokes and sly smiles, which caused the dwarven girl to blush furiously.
Wynne made a large batch of hot tea in the cauldron they usually used for preparing meals. Alim could smell the rich herbs, canavaris among them, as they wafted over to him. Dipping a ladle in it, she filled two mugs, handing one to him, and the other to Serena.
The Warden-Commander smiled her thanks to the older woman, nodding to Alim as she drank deeply of the hot tea. "Your tea is like a spell itself, Wynne," she said. "I love the smell of elfroot... so fragrant."
Alim took a gulp of his own tea, unsure how to broach the topic with her. He saw her pick up her journal and a bit of charcoal, opening it back up to a previous page. Giving him an impish smile, she began to draw him, her slender fingers flicking the charcoal across the page quickly as she roughed out his features.
Trying to hold still, she grinned wider, shaking her head. "No need, Alim, just go about your business. You don't need to be a statue for me."
"Oh, alright." He took another sip, as if the tea would give him courage. "How... how long have you kept a journal?"
"This is my second one since... last Summerday? I think I started my first one for this little journey last summer, yes." She sighed, the charcoal piece still whipping about the page as she colored in his dark shock of hair. "Morrigan got this one for me for my birthday, actually."
"Morrigan?" Alim said, surprised. "I didn't think you two were... friends."
"Oh, no, no, we're very close. We bicker like sisters, really. We argue, but neither of us actually mean anything by it. Morrigan really does want what's best for the group, you know? It just comes out... sounding very rude and awful sometimes." The brunette glanced over to the small fire nearby, where Morrigan's slight form could be seen hunched over. "Even now, she's making more health poultices for everyone, so we don't wear you and Wynne out."
"She can be a bit difficult at times, Alim, but... it was a lot in how she was raised, I think," Wynne added, filling her own mug with the hot tea. Serena nodded her agreement. "Her mother, or so I've heard, raised her to be very strong, and sometimes that comes out as..."
"Irritated," Serena supplied. "But she is wildly unselfish, when it comes down to it. We're a bit like a family here. Everyone helps everyone else, even if they don't like them very much, because it's for the good of the group. And considering how much trouble we get up to, it's bound that person is going to save your life at least once." Serena paused, considering the drawing before she rubbed her thumb over a section of it, nodding absently. "Your hair is like a... a horse's mane, if you don't mind me saying so."
"Oh, yeah... there was a girl, back at the tower. Emmaline. She uh, she liked it this way, and so I've just kept it, I suppose." Alim could feel a blush flutter up his skin and hoped the light was low enough to conceal it. "It isn't too difficult to draw, is it?"
"No, no, it's rather fun." She scooted over to the log he sat on and handed the journal over. "It's not perfect, but I think it captures your... thoughtfulness, you know?"
Alim nodded. Nobody had ever drawn him before, and the sketch, while small, was quite magnificent. Large black coal eyes seemed deep in thought as the charcoal Alim held a cup of tea, little swirls of steam rising up above it. "Do you have any others?"
"I think I've done just about everyone some time or another." She flipped the pages back. "See, there's Leliana... She was playing her lute, but her fingers were moving so fast. That's Zevran, of course. His braids were hard to get right, he's so particular, you know." The assassin was balancing a blade on his finger in the drawing, grinning broadly.
"Oh, and here's Alistair. I have lots of him, of course. He's so easy to draw now, just a funny little haircut and a smile, really. Then Peanut, though he won't ever stay still unless he's napping." She reached out and scratched the ears of the giant mabari at her feet. The hound snuffled in response, almost purring like a cat.
Nodding to the next page, she said, "Sten and his sword." Serena leaned in, whispering. "Word of advice: don't ever come between that man and his sword or you're likely to lose an arm, or worse."
Alim nodded, turning the page back again. The journal was already filled a third of the way, despite looking very new. Little coal and ink drawings covered the pages that weren't cramped with notes and maps.
An inky black drawing of Morrigan stood out on the next page, drawing Alim's eye. She was holding her hands up, a streak of fire winding down her arms as she prepared a spell.
"She's surprisingly fun to draw," Serena said lightly, her eyes watching Alim carefully. "Have you talked to Morrigan much?"
"Ah, just a few... a few times," Alim spluttered. "Here and there." Damn that blush.
"She likes you, I think," Serena continued. "She doesn't like very many people, but I think she was... a little bit amazed by your... your death magic, did you call it?" At Alim's slight nod, she smiled again, that sly grin Serena seemed to had perfected. "She's all by herself right now."
"Oh, well, I wanted to uh, talk to you about being a Grey Warden, actually," Alim said, blushing furiously again. "I was going to ask you..."
Serena waved her hand, cutting him off. "There's plenty of time for that. We won't reach the tower for another few days yet. Plenty of time to bore you to tears with Warden stories." She dug in her pack, handing him a crop of flowers. "Just give her these. I'm sure she's out, she was saying so earlier." Taking the flowers, he glanced over at the witch hesitantly before he felt Serena's hands on his, urging him gently. "She'll love them."
Standing up, he walked a few paces, unsure of what to say to the dark haired mage. He could hear Serena's faint giggle from behind him and he looked back over his shoulder. Wynne's quiet admonishments drifted over.
"You meddle too much, Serena. He'll be eaten alive by that woman."
"Oh, have a little faith," Serena said laughingly. "He's a big boy. Plus, she likes him."
"As if that makes a difference." The older mage huffed. "You are throwing him to the wolves, quite literally."
Serena simply laughed, draining the rest of her cup. "You know, I think it would be good if you threw yourself to the wolves every so often, Wynne." Standing up from the fire, she waved to Alim, flicking her fingers to where Morrigan sat. "Don't listen to her, you'll be fine."
Turning back, Alim made his way awkwardly over to the second fire, where Morrigan sat quietly weaving health poultices together. She looked up at his approach, her golden eyes taking in his face, his arms, his robes. His robes were new, at least, not the filthy ones from before. He'd purchased a new set in Orzammar before they'd left.
"Did you need something?"
"I brought these for you," he said, thrusting the flowers at her. His legs felt like jelly under her unyielding gaze and he sunk down to the ground beside her, despite her not inviting him to do so. She watched him do it without a word of protest, though, those golden eyes never leaving him.
"It's canavaris," he said stupidly. Of course she knew what it was, she had asked Serena for them. Alim's hand itched to smack himself in the forehead.
"'Tis true," Morrigan replied, taking the offered flowers. "Not many know their true name. Serena calls them elfroot."
"I studied herbalism a bit, back at the tower, so I know the flowers are more potent than the leaves." He glanced at the intrigue weaving she had done on the health poultices. Bound for durability as well as to hold as much of the salve as possible without drying out, they were brilliantly crafted. "Nothing like that, of course, but enough to know I wasn't accidentally poisoning myself."
"A good skill to have, certainly," Morrigan agreed, a small smile curving her full lips. She really was absolutely beautiful, Alim thought, watching her lips move as she spoke. Like some sort of exotic flower, or a jungle cat. "Especially when the assassin carries so many toxins on him."
"He seems nice enough." Alim had no idea what to talk about with this woman. He hoped he wasn't babbling. She was so... unwavering. So steady. She seemed young, younger than him, but who knew really? Alistair said she was a witch of the wilds... "Have you... been to the tower before?"
"Unfortunately. I helped clear it with the others, when that power-hungry mage went on a rampage, turning everyone into abominations." She frowned, picking up one of the poultices, her fingers slipping the bits of fabric between themselves. "An admirable notion, allowing the mages freedom, but really he only intended to bind them to him in servitude. Why trade your chains for a more bloody set?"
"Why have chains at all?" Alim pondered quietly.
Morrigan's eyes flipped up at that, her smile now more pronounced. "Indeed."
"Mages are treated as tools... or, or lackeys. We're meant to support others when they can forget we're dangerous long enough to let us cast; only to be shoved back in the closet when they've had us do what they needed. After Loghain, I hate feeling used now." Alim sighed, absently plucking the leaves off the canavaris, preparing them for her next poultice. "I used to not care, you know. I figured if I kept my head down, I wouldn't... I wouldn't run into any trouble. So much for that theory."
"Trouble, as you call it, is what makes life worth living." Morrigan touched his hand, gathering the prepared flowers, and he could have sworn he felt her fingers linger a tad longer than necessary. "I spent my entire life in the Wilds, until joining Serena and her... templar. I knew very little of the world of man other than what my mother imparted upon me, save that it was perilous."
"You've been with them a long time," Alim confirmed. He hadn't thought she would be in the same boat as he, as it were. The Tower, the Wilds... were they really so different? They kept you away from experiencing the world as it was meant to be experienced.
"Since the beginning, you could say." Her fingers weaved the leaves in now, a slight glow of green magic fueling the assembly. "We have seen a great deal, 'tis true."
"If you could, would you go back? Go back to the Wilds? To the safety of it?"
There was a long pause, where the witch seemed to consider her next words. "I... no. No, I do not believe I would. Even if my mother were there to welcome me with open arms, I know my place is here, next to Serena." Her golden eyes found his dark ones. "And what of you? The tower lies beyond. In a few days we shall reach it... Do you still wish to become a Grey Warden?"
"Yes," Alim replied. "I don't want to go back to the tower and live my life in theory." Boldly, he put a hand over hers, touching the soft skin lightly. He heard a tiny intake of breath from her and smiled. "There is a lot I have yet to... experience, and I wish to do it on my own terms now."
Morrigan's answering smile was slow. "Indeed."