Written in response to a DAWC Challenge for a potential Warden reacting to conscription with rage. It's been a while since I've played the mage origin, so forgive me if I'm missed something.
Got some Dragon Age inspiration by listening to "Bottom" by Tool. And it resulted in this. Apparently my brain is functioning on not a whole lot...I've corrected this now, but your story alert may have said the song was "Broken". It is in fact definitely "Bottom". Yeah. Dolt.
[insert standard disclaimer here]
The Bottom
My compassion is broken now
My will is eroded
And my desire stolen and it makes me feel ugly
I'm on my knees and burning
My piss and moans are the fuel that set my head on fire
So smell my soul burning
Twelve years.
It had been twelve years since she was dragged to this place. To this prison.
At least, that's what they told her. She'd have counted the days if they had taught her how to count. But they never did. Instead, they taught her to fight. To defend. To survive.
But what's the point? What's the point of all of that when one is forever confined to a life of servitude in a place like the Circle?
She considered that some were luckier than others. Some of the mages – the ones that knew which sweet words to use and whose arses to kiss – they made it far. Far enough to even be given special permissions to leave this place.
Something that she would never see happen to her.
She was too different...too angry...too risky...
Why they hadn't already decided to just get it over with and make her Tranquil already, she'd never know.
I'm broken, looking up to see the enemy
I have swallowed the poison you feed me
But I survive on it
And it leaves me guilt fed, hatred fed, weakness fed
And I feel ugly, and dead inside
Shit adds up at the bottom
Her Harrowing came...and went...without incident. Despite all of his worry for her, Irving never flinched. He knew she'd succeed. The First Enchanter even pulled her aside when all was said and done.
"Congratulations Miss Amell," he mumbled in his weakened old-man voice. "I always had faith in your ability."
"Just not faith in me," she responded bitterly.
She wondered why he even bothered.
"I'd like you to escort our guest to his quarters," the man continued, ignoring her remark completely.
"Guest? Do you really think you should be exposing me to the outside world?"
He nodded. She complied. Reluctantly.
New quarters with the senior mages...leaving her old life behind. And escorting this rather large bearded man to his guest room was her first task.
Oh yes, I can hardly wait to see what wonders lie ahead...
"So, who are you supposed to be?" she asked, when the footsteps that broke the uncomfortable silence being the only noise became too much to bear.
"I'm Duncan," he replied. "I am a Grey Warden."
"Should I be impressed?"
He chuckled. "If you wish." He glanced sideways at her. "Do you know much of us?"
"Are there books about you?"
He nodded.
"Then, no," she said. "Books are more useful for starting fires."
"We are an ancient organization of warriors. We stand for the freedom of Thedas against the darkspawn. We are necessary for defeating the blights," he said. There was no pride in his words. They were merely statements.
"Oh, how noble," she said, rolling her eyes.
"Not all of us are with honour," he replied. "But what we bring is enough. You know, many of our most powerful recruits have been mages."
"That sounds...just great," she replied. "Anyway, here's your room. See you around." She spun around and began to walk away from him.
"Wait...Miss Amell, was it?" he called after her. "I am here seeking recruits. Perhaps you might be interested in—"
"Save your breath, Warden," she interrupted. "I'm not."
Without a further word, she stomped off, leaving Duncan to wonder.
You've left me no choice but to go inside and rebuild
What's broken
Too much, too far, too late to lie down now
I must arm myself to fight you
By making weapons out of my imperfections
It's all I have left
There's no other choice
"Let's go, Jowan," she demanded. "You've destroyed your damned phylactery. I'm tired of being here. Especially considering my phylactery is already gone."
"Yes, yes…of course," Jowan replied. He caught up to her, grabbing for her arm.
She spun around angrily. "What?"
"I just…I wanted to thank you for helping me."
She shrugged. "Whatever…"
They continued through the halls of the lower levels of the Circle Tower – the air was cold. Musty. Damp. And something wasn't…right.
She knew it…the second her hand landed on the handle to the great door to the basement, she knew it.
"Lily! Jowan!" exclaimed the Knight Commander once the door had swung open. "And you…Amell…I should have known you'd have been involved in this. Irving, I warned you about this damned girl."
The First Enchanter remained silent – his eyes met hers and he pleaded for her to behave. He knew it wouldn't happen.
Punishments were being discussed…worked out – right in front of them all. Lily would be sent up the Imperial Highway to the Aeonar. Jowan would be killed. Immediately. For her part in it, she would likely also be killed.
But Jowan wasn't ready to die. Just as he wasn't ready to be made Tranquil.
The knife was drawn. From his pocket. Across his palm.
The blood was spilled. From his hand. On to the floor.
She was left reeling in his wake. He escaped. Would she ever see him again? Her so-called friend?
The Templars recovered. Knight Commander Greagoir demanded retribution. With Jowan escaped, his phylactery destroyed, she would pay. And Lily would pay.
Not for their mistakes…but for his…
"No!"
The voice was familiar to her and she spun as Lily was led away in chains. The man from earlier. The Grey Warden. Demanding her life and her service in their Order.
"I invoke the Right of Conscription. You cannot stop me from this," the man called Duncan said abruptly.
Greagoir tried to argue. Irving appeared hopeful.
But no one looked at her. No one seemed to see the hands balling into fists at her sides. Or the sparks…the bits of flame…the seething…
He turned to her then. "I hereby conscript you into—"
"No!" she screamed.
Then everyone looked to her.
"Don't talk about me like I'm not standing in the same fucking room as the rest of you," she growled. Irving took a step forward, but she raised her hand towards him. "I refuse to be bargained over. Tossed around like some piece of property. This is not for you to decide. Any of you."
"How dare you," Greagoir snarled at her. "You insolent—"
"How dare I?" she scoffed. "How dare you! You think you're righteous? You think that you're working in the name of fucking Andraste? Tell me Knight Commander…are you privy to the actions of your recruits? Do you know what they do to the young apprentices? Do you understand that children as young as they are should not be touched the way they touch them? Do you have any idea what is going on within these walls?"
He stepped back, preparing to smite her abilities into oblivion. He carefully eyed her as she held her palm up towards him; summoned a flame to her hand.
"Do you worry, Knight Commander, that perhaps your charges have taught me too well?" she sneered. "You might be able to remove my ability to reach into the Fade…but will it be in time to prevent the burning blast of fire you shall feel?"
"Enough," Irving interjected. "Stop this madness."
"Madness?" she exclaimed. "What madness is this? That I am to be traded like chattel between these Orders is madness.
"I'm sorry that you feel slighted by this request," Duncan said, stepping in between them. "But we have been given the right to do this. We require recruits. And you are a suitable recruit."
"Fuck your right!" she screamed. "Fuck your recruits and fuck you!"
Duncan threw his arms up. "Greagoir, we will be conscripting this woman. Tell your men to stand down."
"I…told you…I'm not going with you!"
Her voice was shrill. Without warning, she spun away from the Grey Warden in front of her. The flame returned to her hand in an instant and she launched a burst of flame at the Knight Commander that grew in size as it approached him. It exploded upon impact and the man, and several of his Templars, were thrown in the blowback.
Smoke filled the hall as the explosion echoed off of the walls. One of the Templars from the far side of the room rushed to the scene, attempting to close the distance to make his efforts to dispel her mana worthwhile. She spied him out of the corner of her eye, sending a bolt of lightning from her fingertips directly into his head.
Her temporarily distracted state allowed Duncan to approach from behind and strike her in the back of her head with the pommel of his blade.
She collapsed to the floor with a thud.
I'm shameless, nameless, nothing, and no one now
But my soul must be iron for my fear is naked
I'm naked and fearless
But I'm dead inside
You see, shit adds up, now I'm dead inside
Hatred, weakness, and guilt keep me alive
At the bottom
Duncan strode throughout the fortress at Ostagar, head held high. Several of his newest recruits followed dutifully. The young Warden Alistair trailed in the rear. The small group came upon a number of mages, focusing their energies as their minds flitted about in the Fade.
"Enchanter," Duncan called to a nearby mage who had been leaning against a tree, watching her fellows. "I am looking for my newest recruit. Have you seen her?"
"The Amell girl?" she asked. "Yes. She is in the tent…over there." The woman motioned for one of the structures and Duncan nodded in appreciation.
He headed over to the tent, pulling back the flap and stepping inside.
"Ah, there you are," he said. "Have you finished collecting the ingredients for the potions we require?"
She turned around and nodded. "Yes. I've begun to work on them as you requested."
"Good," he said wistfully.
"Is there anything else, Warden?"
He shook his head. "That will be all. Thank you again."
"Of course."
She nodded and turned around, busying herself once more.
Duncan swallowed hard. Her eyes. Her soulless eyes haunted him.
But he needed recruits. He needed mages. If he couldn't use her Fade-driven powers as he originally intended…then he would use her for her other abilities.
After all, a Tranquil mage was just as valuable as a Harrowed mage.
Lyrics from "Bottom" (1993) by Tool (Keenan, Jones, D'Amour, Carey, Rollins).