Flight Risk went over pretty well, so I decided to do a series of Alistair "tweets" about his childhood in the Chantry. Next up, a series of Cailan's. No worries, still working on "Sneaking", but this is fun experimentation, and a great way to get into characters' minds and experiences; the limited number of characters forces me to distill the experience and emotion into the barest elements. And irony of ironies, my note is longer than any 'story' here.
Clipped Wings
After, they separate some of them from the others. "You belong to the Chantry now."
He thought Chantry people weren't supposed to lie.
No one else wants them.
There are lessons in letters and numbers, in history and etiquette. But the lessons that stick are the ones taught with a cane. Why does learning have to hurt so much?
Bastard, they whisper. They point and laugh and he pretends not to hear them. He's gotten good at that through the years. But he does still hear them; it does still hurt.
He doesn't mind kitchen duty. No one's around to call him a bastard. He can attack the dirty pots and dishes without getting in trouble. Here, he's angry, and he likes it.
The Chantry only teaches them about willing members, like Andraste. Some days, he wonders about Maferath. He waits to be struck by lightning. He almost wishes for it.
The Arl doesn't realize his visits only make things harder between him and the other boys. You never wanted me before; don't start now, he thinks. Bastard, he hears.
Visits stop. He misses the contact, but not the commentary afterward. The other boys still avoid him, unless they're picking on him when no one else can see.
New lessons: how to focus willpower and channel it. He likes this; it gives him something to think about other than his anger. And his sadness. And the fact he hides both.
Nights are too quiet. He misses the snuffling of horses, the stamp of hooves, the rustle of straw, the wind in the trees. He looks around. Smiles. Starts screaming.
At first the brothers come running, but their concern only veils annoyance. Later, they shout at him. Finally, they stop coming at all. Not even the Chantry cares.
The mage boy has more than a few visible scars. "I thought templars had fun," he said.
Alistair doesn't hide his own scars much better. "I thought mages did, too."
A day: up at dawn; make bed; say prayers; lessons; punishment; more lessons; more punishment. Focus the will away from this place. They can't hurt what they can't find.
Templars: holy soldiers, doing the Maker's work to protect Thedas from mages; mages from themselves. Glorious. Except he knows they're really mage hunters. Scary.
He's never had a choice in the matter. So he goes along with it. The discipline is nice, at least. If he can find some upside, he'll take it. They can't take that from him.
The blade is an extension of his arm. His arm is an extension of his body. His body is an extension of his mind. His mind works as he wills. His will is his own.
The king is dead and the nation is in mourning. He has to pretend it doesn't bother him. He's a bastard; no one ever wanted him. All he wants is to mourn, and he can't.
The coronation brings chaos to Ferelden. Alistair practices with his sword. Helps him focus on something other than his anger and sadness; they never really left him.
The screams keep him awake; give him a glimpse of his future. Lyrium links templars and mages with blue chains. He's a prisoner as much as they are.
He's not the fastest or the strongest or the best. But he tries his hardest. It's all he can do. Somehow, it will have to be enough. Though, it never has been in the past.
He has his arse handed to him on a plate; he knew he would. It didn't stop him from trying. They can stop him from a lot of things, but not trying. Or being himself. Alistair.
They shout over his future and his fate like he can't hear, and even if he can, like it doesn't matter. It does matter, to him. For once in his life, something matters.
Duncan wanted him badly enough to invoke the Rite of Conscription and fight the Grand Cleric for him. Alistair likes him already, if only because he wanted him.
In the Chantry there was only discipline (or punishment). The Grey Wardens have discipline and camaraderie. This is what was missing. For once, he's happy and wanted.
Rygel dies while Joining. Alistair watches but he takes the cup anyway. It's better than the Chantry. Duncan is pleased he survived.
"Well," he says, "It's what I do."