In Search of Tranquility
Chapter One: The Portal
The Fade is the Realm of benevolent spirits and malevolent demons. The former might aid a human lost in dreams or near death – both states which bring us close to the Fade – but otherwise have little to do with humans. The latter, however, desire the power human blood gives them, and the sustenance they derive from devouring our souls. So it is that demons gather wherever the Veil grows thin, either places of magic or humans who use the power.
"The Testament of Uldred"
It had been a maxim of Killians' father that too much reading was no good thing. Knowledge, the old sea-dog had averred, complicated matters. "Learn what you need to get by, lads," he'd admonished his sons, "and trust your gut for the rest!"
Well, Killians' gut was in two minds about this. On the one hand, the idea of Captain Hook actively using magic, rather than 'borrowing' other peoples' went against all his experience. On the other, almost every instinct he had screamed at him that this was the right thing to do.
The Dark One might well have been driven out of Storybrooke by Belle. He might be exiled to the outer world, stripped of his magic and without resource. But Hook knew the Crocodile of old. He'd find a way back. Killian was determined that this time, he would be ready. To that end, he'd got into the habit of rummaging around Golds' shop. Gold often said he threw nothing away that might prove useful later, and he had spent many ages on his collection. Much of it was apparently worthless bric-a-brac – Rumplestiltskin was as much magpie as crocodile, it seemed – but there would be, Killian believed, a nugget or two somewhere among the dross.
He had come across the book only the other day. A heavy, leather-bound parchment volume, clearly of great age. It was called The Testament of Uldred and purported to be the work of one Enchanter Uldred 'a Mage of the Circle of Ferelden', wherever or whatever that might be. Much of the book was impenetrable to Killian, but from the parts he understood, he gleaned five matters of importance.
The first was that magic came from somewhere else, rather than, as he had always assumed, from within the user. There was, it appeared, a Realm known as the Fade, which touched all other Realms, but was separated from them by a Veil which only allowed passage in certain circumstances. Apparently, deep and clear dreaming took one into the Fade, as did a near-death experience. More importantly, in some way the mind of a magic-user was able to reach through the Veil and draw on the eldritch energies of the Fade – this was the source of magic, but every time a magician did this, the Veil around them was weakened a little more.
That in turn led to the third thing. The Fade was not uninhabited. Malignant beings – the book referred to them as 'demons' – lived in the Fade. Usually, they preyed upon each other, but the prey they desired most was human souls. They were drawn to practitioners of magic like ants to a picnic. Around every magic user, just beyond the Veil, lurked a horde of demons. Demons of Rage, Hunger, Sloth, Desire and Pride, each subtly prodding at that part of the magicians' psyche they were attuned to, all seeking passage to the material Realms.
That part Killian understood. In his experience, people who used magic tended, sooner or later, to fall into unpleasant ways. Even Emma Swan, the Saviour as they called her, had shown occasional flashes of darkness, quite apart from her normal cynicism. As for Regina, you could practically see the Rage demons floating around her. About the Crocodile, there was no doubt, it was only a matter of time before his personal Pride demon overcame him completely. If it hadn't already.
But the Testament held an answer to that as well. The Mages of the Circle, it appeared, knew of a secret technique called 'The Rite of Tranquility'. Properly executed, this Rite severed a mages' connection to the Fade and stripped them permanently of magic. It was final and irreversible. The Circle used it as a way to prevent unsuitable individuals from practising magic.
Here was the answer Killian was looking for. Armed with this Rite, he could ensure that the inevitable return of the Crocodile to Storybrooke would be a short and final one. Even more, it would allow him to effectively settle the hash of any dark witch or wizard who might appear there in the future. And if necessary, that could include not only Regina, but Swan as well!
The problem was that the Circle held the secret in their Tower, which was in yet another Realm, the Realm of Thedas. But that was the fifth thing of importance. Only half the book was actually pages. The rest was a cunningly-designed hidden compartment containing two items. The first was an illustration of a pattern to be drawn in the earth with lines at least a quarter-inch deep. This pattern, referred to as a Glyph, would, once activated, open a passage through the Fade to Thedas and the Tower of Magi. The second item was a heavy glass flask containing a thick, faintly-glowing blue fluid. According to the instructions that accompanied the diagram, all that was needed was for the caster to draw the Glyph, then stand in the centre of it and pour the liquid, called lyrium, into the lines.
All of which was why he was here, at the spot where some months ago, Swan, Regina and Elsa of Arendelle had confronted the Snow Queen Ingrid, scratching lines in the ground with a pointed stick. The instructions had said to choose a place where the Veil might be thinner, and while that went for almost anywhere in Storybrooke, a lot of magic had been used here, and it was secluded.
Killian felt a little strange. Here he was, conducting a complex magical rite in a forest, on a bright spring day. This sort of thing normally called for midnight, a full moon and, as often as not, a howling gale. On the other hand, he was damned if he was going to try and draw this complicated bloody Glyph by moonlight! Sometimes, you had to sacrifice style for practicality.
The Glyph complete, Killian made sure of his sword and dagger, suppressed his trepidations and his prick of conscience at not leaving a note for Swan, and stepped into the centre of it. He uncorked the flask carefully. The instructions had been clear, lyrium was poisonous and unstable. It should not be opened until just before use and must not touch the skin. Killian gripped the base of the flask in his gloved hand and rested the neck in his hook. Despite its apparent thickness, the lyrium flowed freely and easily, spreading along the tiny channels he had dug, filling in the Glyph. Killian replaced the cork in the empty flask and stowed it in his pack – there might be traces left in there, and he didn't want to be responsible for poisoning anyone.
The glow of the lyrium intensified, turning from soft blue to intense white, and then a cloud of purple mist hung in front of him. As instructed, he stepped through. There was a slight resistance, like an abnormally tough spider-web, and he was through.
It was daylight, but diffuse, coming from the whole sky, rather than a sun in it. He was in a shallow valley between rounded and oddly indefinite hills. There were trees – or stark, twisted things that might have been trees – dotted about and the yellowy brown stuff underfoot could be grass, or moss. At the other end of the valley was an pointed arch of wood or stone – he couldn't tell which – with the purple haze of another portal. So far, so good.
The only problem was the large black dog that sat in the path between him and his exit. The instructions had been very clear: pass through the Fade as quickly as possible and do not interact with its denizens. Killian moved at a brisk but steady walk, carefully avoiding eye-contact with the dog and giving it a respectful berth as he passed it -fortunately the path was a wide one.
The dog, however, had other plans. As Killian came abreast of it, the animal got up and approached him. As it did, its' shape blurred and shifted into that of a tall man in worn robes. Killian stopped, keeping his hand near his dagger. The other man was holding a thin stick which could only be a magic wand. Another bloody sorceror! Killian thought.
But the man didn't raise the wand. Instead, he came close to Killian, peering into his face as if studying him. Hook studied him back. A thin, haggard face, though the jaw was still firm and the eyes blazed fiercely, was framed in long dark hair shot with grey. After a moment, the man reached out and grasped Killians' arm, letting go immediately as if it burned him.
"You're here!" He blurted, in English with a British accent. "I mean really here, physically here! I thought I was the only one! Who are you?"
"Killian Jones." Hook replied carefully.
"I'm Sirius Black." The man told him. "Are you a wizard? Did you create those portals?"
"No and yes." Killian knew he had to answer, but didn't want to give too much away.
Black frowned for a moment, then said; "Where did you come from? London? You sound English."
"Maine, in the US. Town called Storybrooke." Hook watched for a reaction, but got none.
"Never heard of it." Black noted. "But it's on Earth, right? I don't know how long I've been here, there's no way to count time. You don't eat, you don't sleep and the light never changes. What's the date where you came from?"
"April the eighth." Killian told him. "2015."
"Jupiter! Nearly ten years!" Black shook his head. Then he looked back up at Killian. "Right, you need to go where you're going. The longer you stay in the Fade, the more danger you're in. Most people who come here are disembodied spirits, easy prey for the demons. If you're physically here, you're more dangerous, but all that means is that the demons who come after you are the more powerful ones.
"It was good to meet you, Killian Jones."
With that, Black strode off toward the portal Killian had arrived through. Killian hesitated for a moment, but something told him that, whoever Black was, he'd do more good than harm in Storybrooke. He headed toward his destination.
He had entered the Fade on a bright spring day. He left it at the fag-end of an afternoon in what felt like late fall or early winter. There was a cold wind, but he could see fires dotted around. There was the smell of woodsmoke, the clink of metal, human voices and the barking of dogs. Then something heavy and powerful shot out of the shadows and knocked him to the ground.
He was pinned by a massive weight, and smelled dog. A lot of dog. A face was inches from his own. A blocky head like a mastiff, with powerful jaws and gleaming teeth. He heard a low, menacing growl, then oddly, the dog pulled back a little and put its head to one side. Killian met its eyes and saw there not savagery, but a great deal of intelligence. The eyes seemed to be asking Are you going to play silly buggers, or be smart and lie still? Killian took the second option.
Then a rough male voice said, "All right, Redtooth, let him up, let's have a look at him!"
The dog moved off Killian, who got to his feet. Facing him was a stocky man wearing chainmail and a helmet made from reddish metal. He held a businesslike-looking sword pointing squarely at Killians' midsection.
"I can see you're armed, stranger, and you might be better with a sword than me. But my friend here can perforate you before we have time to find out!" The soldier told him.
His friend, Killian noted, was a tall, fair-haired woman wearing studded leather and holding a longbow, with an arrow nocked and pointed at Killian.
"I think we'll take these." The man said, stepping close and relieving Killian of his weapons and pack. He considered the hook, then said: "!'ll leave you that, but if you try anything funny, Redtooth there will likely remove the other hand for you. It's getting close to his dinner-time, and he ain't any too fussy when he's hungry."
Redtooths' answering growl, Killian felt, contained more grim humour than threat.
"Come on, stranger," his captor went on, "we'll see what Teyrn Loghain makes of you. Must be close to his dinner-time, too, so don't get your hopes up!"
Without being too obvious about it, Killian took as much of a look around as he could while being marched along. His captors walked behind him, and the swordsman managed to refrain from prodding Killian along with his weapon. The dog, on the other hand, paced him. It was a big brute, waist-high on Killian, with a heavy, muscular body supported on long, powerful legs. It was short-haired, a tan colour, but there were patterns traced on the fur in a red dye.
The place seemed to be some kind of ruin, being used as a military camp. Armed men and women were everywhere -there seemed to be no bias of gender, he saw men in leather armed with bows and daggers, and women in plate armour carrying massive two-handed swords. There were also a few people wandering around in robes. Some were clearly priestesses, from the reverence they were shown by the soldiers, but others, of both sexes and in different robes, were generally avoided.
They finally arrived at a large pavilion. Two armoured guards stood at the entrance, one looking royally bored, the other berating a small, slight figure in peasant clothing.
"...and get it right this time, idiot!" The guard snarled, before cuffing the lad around the head. "Now get going!"
"Yes, sir, right away, sir!" The boy yelped, and took off at a run, but not before Killian noted his pointed ears.
"Bloody Elves!" The guard scoffed. "Less brains than your mabari, Joachim!"
"Could say the same about you, Teg." Killians' captor replied.
The female archer spoke for the first time. "You wouldn't say that, Teg, if you'd spent six months being run ragged around the Brecilian forest by the damned Dalish!"
"Oh, don't give Sara a chance to start on her forest yarns!" Joachim pleaded. "We got a prisoner here for the Teyrn. He awake?"
"You ever known him sleep?" Teg replied. "Go on in!"
Despite its size, the tent was sparsely, Spartanly furnished. In the centre was a table, at which a man was sitting, poring over a map, an empty plate and cup near his elbow.
"Six days." He was muttering. "Six days to get back, and in that time, they..."
"My Lord?" Joachim said.
The man, who Killian guessed must be Teyrn Loghain, looked up. He had a blunt, square face with a strong jaw. From under a heavy brow, cold grey eyes studied Killian, but there were dark circles under the eyes, and the face was pale. Killian put Loghains' age at close to sixty, but the thick hair was still jet black, worn long, with a thin braid hanging down each side of his face.
Loghain got to his feet. He was wearing heavy plate armour with the ease of long use, but was otherwise unarmed. He approached to just within arms' length then barked. "So what is this, Joachim?"
"Stranger in camp, my Lord." Joachim answered. "Found him on the southern side, nearest the Wilds. Wouldn't have got him at all, but Redtooth caught his scent."
"So," Loghain looked Killian up and down. "Spy or thief?"
"Neither." Killian told him. "Just a traveller, lost in the Wilds. I saw your camp and came here in the hope of a bed and a hot meal. I'm looking for the Tower of Magi."
Loghain gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Well, that's a new one, I'll give you that! Unfortunately for you, the only travellers in the Korcari Wilds are Chasind barbarians, apostate mages and Chantry missionaries. You don't look like any of those to me!"
He turned back to his table, saying over his shoulder, "Take him out and hang him!"
"One moment, Loghain!" This was a new voice, younger but with the same confidence and authority. From the corner of his eye, Killian saw Joachim bow, as the newcomer advanced into the tent. Loghain had turned, and now the other man took his place beside him. This one was younger, fair-hared with an open, honest face, wearing gilded plate armour with a stylised dogs' head engraved on the breatplate.
"This is not your concern, Cailan." Loghain growled.
"Oh?" Cailan said quizzically. "A potential spy in the Kings' camp is no concern of the King? But leaving that aside, are you sure this man is a spy?"
"Spy or thief, he'd hang either way." Loghain pointed out.
Cailan shook his head. "You're too hasty, Loghain. Even a thief can wield a sword, and we've not so many men that another blade should be wasted. Given the choice between the gallows and a place in the army, I've found most thieves rediscover their loyalty to Ferelden.
"And if he is a spy, don't we need to know who he's working for?"
"Orlais, of course." Loghain snapped. "Who else?"
"To what end?" Cailan asked. "We've sent messages to the Empress and the Grey Wardens of Orlais, warning them about the Darkspawn. They know where we are and what we're doing, so why send a spy?"
"To make sure, of course!" Loghain told him. "To see if your army is really so far away from where it should be!"
"Loghain," Cailans' tone was that of a man exercising great patience with a respected but stubborn friend. "We've discussed this before. A horde of Darkspawn is gathering in the Wilds, a new Blight may be beginning. Where else should my army be?"
"The army of the King of Ferelden should be where it belongs!" Loghain said passionately. "Guarding the Orlesian border! A few Darkspawn raiders are a matter for the local Banns and the town militias. And do you think, Cailan, that even if this is a Blight – which I doubt – the Orlesians will hesitate to invade again, given the chance?"
"Enough!" Cailan snapped, in a tone of unmistakable command. "We will not restart this argument!" His voice softened, becoming almost humorous. "We have a guest to entertain, anyway." He addressed Killian directly. "Ho, stranger, where do you hail from?"
"The town of Storybrooke," Killian told him, "in the land of Maine, in the great Empire of America."
"Strange names." Cailan answered. "And your own name?"
"Captain Killian Jones." Hook replied.
"Equally strange. What do you say now, Loghain?" Cailan asked.
"I say this man is likely mad, Cailan." Loghain allowed. "I seem indeed to have been too hasty in my judgement. He is more in need of the Chantry, or the Mages, than the gallows."
"You may be right." Cailan agreed. "But let us see..." He came closer to Killian. "Your accent is strange, it is true. You are Human, not Elf, Dwarf or Qunari. You will pardon me, but you are not as groomed or fastidious as an Orlesian. That leather jacket and those boots might be Antivan, true, but you are no Crow, I think, to be captured so easily. As for those...leggings?...pantaloons? ...breeches? I have never seen their like before." He squatted down beside Killians' things, which Joachim had dumped on the floor.
"See here, Loghain, this blade." He was examining Killians' cutlass. "I've seen nothing like this. Curved, like a Dalish dar'misaan, but the hilt -see the knuckle guard? Unusual. The dagger is a dagger, workmanlike and plain. Still, it is not of Fereldan, Orlesian or even Dwarven make."
"The weapons might easily be Chasind, he came from the Wilds, after all." Loghain pointed out. "He could even be servant of the Darkspawn."
"A ghoul?" Cailan rose to hid full height. "Well, that is one thing we can easily test. Ho, guard! Ask Duncan to join us."
Killian was forced to fidget for a few minutes under Cailans' curious gaze and Loghains' contemptuous one -the older man had clearly decided he was quite mad. Then another man entered the tent, saying in a deep, rich voice, "You summoned me, your Majesty?"
"Indeed, Duncan." Cailan said. "The guards found this fellow wandering about the camp. We need to know if he is a Darkspawn spy."
The man called Duncan looked to be in his early fifties, dark-haired and bearded, both shot with silver. He had a weathered face with intense dark eyes, and was wearing a silvery breastplate over some type of robes. He gave Killian a measuring look.
"I sense no taint in him, Majesty." He said. "Yet I have seen no-one like him before. Where does he come from?"
"He claims to hail from the Empire of America, wherever that may be." Cailan said. "Loghain thinks he is mad, but I have my doubts."
"Indeed, Majesty." Duncan said gravely. "He does not strike me as mad. Why is he here at Ostagar?"
"He claims to be seeking the Tower of Magi." Loghain told him. "But that is several day's journey to the north-west of here. That said, this pass is the best way out of the Wilds, which is why this fortress was built in the first place.
"But none of this solves the problem of what to do with him. If there is such a place as the Empire of America, we would not wish to offend them unnecessarily. If there is not, it is neither safe nor fair to leave a madman wandering around the camp."
"I may have a solution, my lords." Duncan said. "I am still in need of recruits for the Grey Wardens. I have three likely ones preparing for the Joining as we speak, but we have enough of the potion for at least one more.
"If I invoke the Right of Conscription, you cannot be blamed for anything that happens subsequently. If this man has indeed travelled alone through the Wilds, he will be a worthy addition to our number. If he is a fraud or a madman, he will not survive the Joining."
"Do I get a say in this?" Killian asked.
"Unfortunately not, friend." Cailan told him. "The Right of Conscription allows the Wardens to take anyone they choose. Even I cannot prevent it.
"You should think of it as an honour, Killian Jones of Storybrooke!"
Think of it as an honour. Killian brooded as he walked through the camp beside Duncan. Something that might be a death sentence or conscription into...what? He considered his options. They'd given him his weapons back, but he didn't fancy fighting his way out through an army, and given the calibre of the dog he'd already encountered, trying to sneak out probably wouldn't get him far. Go with it for now, then. He turned to Duncan.
"So, do you mind telling me what the Grey Wardens are, before I join them?" He asked.
"I take it you have no Grey Wardens in your Empire of America?" Duncan asked. Killian shook his head, Duncan went on. "That does not surprise me. The Grey Wardens hold no fealty to any one nation, and had there been Wardens in your homeland, I would have known about them and it. If there are no Wardens there, can I assume there are no Darkspawn, either?"
"We have a Dark One," Killian told him, "and what we call dark witches and sorcerors, but no Darkspawn that I know of."
"You are a fortunate people." Duncan replied. "There is no time now, Killian Jones, to tell you the full tale. For now, let this suffice. The Darkspawn are a product of ancient evil – vicious, relentless and cunning. They seek only destruction and death. For the most part, they dwell underground in the Deep Roads, but from time to time, they break out to the surface, either in small bands or larger armies, causing havoc. But at least four times in the past, a greater horde has arisen, under the leadership of an Archdemon, and sought to sweep across the whole of Thedas. This we call a Blight, and in the past they have sometimes brought all races to the edge of extinction.
"We Grey Wardens are an order drawn from all races – Humans, Elves and Dwarves – and embracing all callings. We include warriors, rangers, Mages and even assassins and thieves among our numbers. We exist for one purpose – to watch for Darkspawn and defend against them. When necessary, as now, we call on the aid of Kings and others to reinforce our small numbers.
"A horde of Darkspawn now gathers in the Korcari Wilds, ready to sweep north into Ferelden and beyond. This fortress, Ostagar, was built centuries ago to defend against invading Chasind barbarians, and guards the only pass into Ferelden large enough for an army. This is why King Cailan has brought his army here, and this is why the Grey Wardens are here.
"Let me be clear, Killian Jones, there is no turning back for you now. Either you will become a Grey Warden, or you will die. Whatever it was you sought before must be put aside until the Darkspawn are defeated."
"And after that?" Killian asked.
Duncan shrugged. "After that, the choice is yours. But I warn you, the Joining will change you. Whatever path you pursue, you will always be a Grey Warden."
I'll take my chances. Killian thought, but said nothing.
By now they had arrived at an area off to one side of the camp. It seemed to be the remains of an ancient temple of some kind. Four men were clustered near a table that had been set up near a pillared wall. As they came closer, Killian saw that on the table were four flasks of some dark liquid and a large silver chalice.
"Before we begin, gentlemen, I must introduce our latest recruit. This is Captain Killian Jones, of the Empire of America, who has made his way here from a distant land, through the Wilds, alone. A man of such resource and hardiness will be, I am sure, an asset to the order.
"Captain Jones, this is Alistair, the junior Grey Warden here." A young man in splint mail armour, with a shock of fair hair and a pleasant, open face that was somehow familiar. He greeted Killian with an affable smile and a measuring stare. Duncan went on.
"These are your fellow recruits. Ser Jory, a knight from Redcliffe," a well-built fellow in his thirties with a round face, a scrubby beard and a receding hairline, wearing chainmail and carrying a two-handed sword, "Daveth of Denerim," slim, wiry, dark, with a sharp face and restless eyes, dressed in studded leather and carrying a longbow, "and Cormac of Highever." Another well-built lad, dark hair tied back, a neatly-trimmed beard and clear eyes that held a trace of sadness. He was clad in an odd mix of scale mail and studded leather, and also carried a two-handed sword.
"At last, we come to the Joining." Duncan said solemnly. "The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when Humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of Darkspawn blood and mastered their taint."
"You mean," Ser Jory interrupted, pale-faced, "we're going to drink the blood of those...those creatures?"
"As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you." Duncan assured him. "This is the source of our power and our victory."
"Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint." Alistair explained. "We can sense it in the Darkspawn and use it to destroy the Archdemon."
"We speak only a few words before the Joining," Duncan told them, "but those words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?"
Alistair drew himself up, bowed his head and spoke solemnly and clearly. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And know that, should you perish, your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we will join you."
Duncan poured the contents of one of the flasks into the chalice, then picked it up and turned.
"Daveth, step forward." He said.
The wiry fellow took the proffered chalice, and a deep breath, then drank. As Duncan took the chalice from him, Daveth began to choke, clutching at this throat. Then he began to scream, or try to, he bent double, then sank to his knees.
"Makers' breath!" Jory hissed, as Daveth slumped forward to lie prone.
"I am sorry, Daveth." Duncan said sadly, as the dying man gave one final twitch, then lay still. With a sigh, he turned and refilled the chalice.
"Step forward, Jory." He said.
A look of panic spread over Jorys' face. "But I have a wife, a child!" He cried, drawing his sword. "Had I but known...!"
Duncan set the chalice down and drew a long, curved knife. "There is no turning back!" He said sternly.
"No!" Jory shouted. "You ask too much! There is no glory in this!"
He made a wild, one-handed swing at Duncan, seemingly reluctant to use a true, killing stroke. Duncan showed no such qualms, knocking the heavy blade aside with his knife, stepping in close and stabbing Jory in the side, just where the mail shirt and chausses met. Ser Jory gasped, almost in disbelief. Duncan reached out with his other hand and drew the younger man close, as if embracing him. "I am sorry." He said again, then pulled his blade clear and let the knight fall to lie dead in his own blood.
Duncan stared down at him for a moment, then tossed the dagger aside angrily. For a moment, Killian saw disappointment, sorrow and bitterness mingle on the mans' face, then iron control settled again. Duncan took up the chalice and held it out to Cormac.
"But the Joining is not yet complete." He said. "You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good."
With only a tiny hesitation, Cormac accepted the chalice and drank. Duncan took it from him, saying, "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden."
Cormac choked a little, just as Daveth had, but then things rook a different turn. The young man clapped a hand to his head and gave a deep groan, before collapsing to the ground and lying still.
The two Grey Wardens watched him for a moment, then Alistair said. "He did it! He mastered the taint!"
Duncan nodded. "So it seems. It will be some hours before he wakes, as it was with you." He filled the chalice one last time, and approached Killian.
"So we come to the point, Killian Jones. Will you attempt the Joining of your own free will? I do not wish to stain my blade with the blood of another recruit today."
Many called Captain Hook a villain, but the fact was that Killian, at base, suffered from an acute case of decency. When he reached out to take the chalice, he was thinking less of his own life than the look of conflicting hope and despair in Duncans' eyes.
Still, he was not about to let this go without at least one attempt at a good line.
"If either of those other two blokes had anything catching..." He said.
Alistair laughed, abruptly, nervously. Duncans' smile held more of approval than amusement. "That is the least of your worries, Killian." He said gently.
Throwing caution to the winds, Killian drank. The stuff was vile – but he'd expected that. The salt-iron tang of blood was something he'd experienced before, but there was something else. A fierce undertone of decay, of a rot that seemed as much moral as physical. He choked, the stuff burned as it went down, but oddly, his stomach didn't rebel. Sharp, agonising pains racked his body before centring in his head. A grey mist covered his eyes, then gave way to a green sky, against which loomed the form of a huge dragon. The dragon seemed to be aware of him, stretching down to bring one dark, fierce eye close to him. It growled, and for a moment Killian thought he heard words, harsh, alien words, in the sound.
Then everything went black.