The Maker's Tears

Alexander Amell woke to the sound of pitter patter. He opened his eyes, trying to adjust to the dimness of his tent. He tried to identify the gentle sound that surrounded him. It sounded like small pebbles being bounced off the heavy canvas of his tent. He sat up, shaking the last of sleep from his head and crawled to the end of his tent. He opened the flap and peered into the early morning.

His eyes widened at the sight of the rain pouring from the sky. He had never beheld such a sight in his life. He had lived most of his life in the Tower, sequestered away from the natural world. He had never seen such beauty as the world bathed in crystal. Where was it coming from? Would it ever stop, did he want it to?

He watched the drops fall from the sky, they looked like tears. He remembered a teaching from one of the acolytes of the Chantry. She had said the Maker wept whenever there was suffering and pain. Alexander's thoughts went to Ostagar, to the massacre at the hands of the darkspawn. He had lost Duncan, the only friend he had in the outside world. Were these the tears of the Maker bathing the world in grief?

Alexander held out his cupped hand and captured the drops. He brought his hand to his lips and drank them. His mouth was flooded with cool sweetness, if they were tears they did not taste like his. He remembered the last time he wept. It was after his Harrowing, he had made it through the gauntlet of the Fade with his mind and soul intact uncorrupted by a demon. His tears had been hot and bitter, born from relief and anger that he had been placed into such peril. He remembered hearing the Templar sheath his sword, had he failed in the Fade and had become an abomination his life's blood would have been spilt that night. Alexander shuddered and drew his cloak around him hoping to shield himself from the memory.

If these were indeed the Maker's tears they were not born out of sorrow. He could smell their sweetness on the earth. He looked at the forest around their campsite, it appeared more verdant, more alive. No, these tears seemed to bring the promise of renewal. He embraced the belief that these tears were not born to grieve but to give life. Alexander took a deep breath relishing the cleanliness in the air. Feeling refreshed he laid back down on his bedroll. Soon the camp would come alive with the clatter of his companions waking for now he would enjoy the soothing sounds of the Maker's tears.