Blessings
by: Vema
Chapter One
Note: POSSIBLE SPOILERS AHEAD. I know how the Ser Otto quest ends – I'm taking liberties. :) He's too great a character to give up.
Pain was something Ser Otto was well acquainted with. The pain of training to be a Templar, the pain of resisting temptation. There was the pain of the fire, of learning to live a sightless existence. Of being sent on pointless missions, because Greagoir couldn't bring himself to tell the blind Templar that he could no longer be of use.
None of this compared to the pain of feeling his body being ripped open by the demon's pitchfork. The searing agony of the points catching on his organs and rending them open robbed him of conscious thought. All he knew was blistering anguish, and then the complete darkness of death.
He didn't realize until he felt consciousness inside him that he hadn't expected to awaken ever again. In the few agonizing seconds of the attack, he had made peace with his life, and given it up. The hot, wrong feeling of the orphanage was gone, and in it's place was contentment. Cool night air rushed over him, and the dampness of the soil was underneath his head. They had done it, he thought. The Grey Warden had slain the demon and brought the peace of the Maker back to the orphanage.
Quiet voices approached him, the Warden and her female companion, the one who had been a sister at the Chantry. He opened his useless eyes and tried to speak, but nothing came out.
"He's awake," said the melodic voice of the sister.
The snapped of the grass near his ear told him someone was kneeling near him. "Ser Otto," said the rougher, lower voice of the Warden. Bronwyn, the Warden, was not a delicate woman. He could not see her, but knew from her demeanor that she was battle hardened, and that she was stubborn, but there was an underlying kindness there. She would always do the right thing, he was sure of that, and Maker help those who got in her way. Her cool hand touched his forehead, and he felt healing magic coursing through his veins. Ah... he thought.
She had saved him.
His voice was as metal scraping on stone, raspy and hard. "The demon...slain?"
"Yes, Ser. Alistair is inside now, doing what more he can to cleanse the building of the horrors inside." Her voice turned grim. "Unfortunately, the elves will have to do the majority of that. It will take more that one day, I'm afraid."
"Thank you, my friend." His voice was still raspy, but he hoped some of the gratitude he felt came through.
She snorted. "Like I had a choice."
He groped for her hand beside him, and squeezed tightly. "Every day we are presented with the same basic choice, my child. To serve others in the Maker's name, or to serve only ourselves." Strength was returning to him, and he leaned up on his elbow, turning to face where her voice had come from. "Serving others is our highest calling, and you have done it today."
There was a pause, then her reply, short and tight. "The Wardens exist to serve the people."
"Some would not consider elves under that tenant. It is commendable that you do."
He was puzzled by her silence, the uncomfortable shuffle of her knees against the ground. "In the Circle... But you must know, Ser. There are no such distinctions. I do not remember a time I did not live within the Circle tower, with humans and elves in harmony and equality."
"One of the many points of Tower life that are beneficial, my dear."
"Are you able to stand?" she asked, her voice softer.
"Yes." He did stand, feeling a bit tired but it was nothing a few days rest wouldn't heal. "Now that my task is completed, I must return to report the demon's presence and defeat to Greagoir."
"Of course. Do you need passage with a merchant train or...?"
"No, I will find passage with some other returning Templars. I hope to see you again, Warden. Let me know if I may be of any assistance."
"Of course, Ser."
He bowed and walked away, his heart turning to lead. He couldn't fathom why he was so disappointed to walk away from her.