2 - A journey begins
The first impression his senses conveyed to him as he slowly found his way back to counsciousness was that of pain. It was dripping through the hazy clouds that filled his head, expanded into every corner of his self and, unnervingly, settled down. At first, it wasn't even a bodily feeling, more like a giant single thought that obstructed his mind. After a while however, it became apparent that there were actual body-parts connected to the pain, and although he noticed that most if not all parts were aching, the pain was now much easier to bear, somehow drifting into the background as more of his senses started to kick in. He then listened to the silence around him. It was... soothing.
Finally, his thinking became lucid, and the question formed in his head, the question that was always the first he asked himself when he woke up.
Do I have to get up early today?
He reflected on that for what seemed to be many minutes, but couldn't really make up his mind as to what day it actually was. Hopefully not someone's birthday. The last time he had forgotten Mothers birthday turned out be a remarkably unpleasant experience...
And then he realised that something was odd about that memory. Like it had suddenly become much more important, because of something that had happened...
A scratching sound reached his ear, causing his eyes to suddenly open. Light flooded into his world, and with it came the memories of yesterday.
They are all dead.
Skye Cousland remembered. He remembered how impossibly wrong everything was.
The nightly assault on their castle.
The hastily flight with Duncan at his side, leaving everyone alse behind.
His conscription into the Grey Wardens, against his grave protest.
The horrible ritual they called the joining.
And of course, the battle. Darkspawn in the tower. He and Alistair being overwhelmed...
He shut is eyes again. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to be waking up. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to be waking up ever again. But in that case, he couldn't close his hands around Howe's throat and squeeze, could he?
"Come now, you do not fool me. I saw your eyes open." The voice was not unfriendly, even a little amused. The silky voice of a female. It seemed familiar.
Skye looked up, trying to ignore the dizziness that flooded his head at the abrupt movement.
"Morrigan?" His own voice sounded rough, sore. The witch was leaning against a bookshelf a few feet away from him, her face mostly neutral but for the slight semblance of curiosity in her amber eyes.
"Indeed, 'tis my name. I am thrilled that you would remember", she claimed, not without a hint of sarcasm. "How are you feeling?" Her tone shifted with these words, becoming strangely hesitating, as if she wasn't used to asking such a question.
The pain was still sitting in his muscles, constantly gnawing at his composure. It wasn't too intense, but rather persistent, carrying with it the promise of many more days in pain to come. He shrugged. Looking around, he noticed that he was actually in the witches hut, which he had just seen on what he thought must have been the day before, when Morrigan and her strange mother had provided them with the treaties. However, he did not recall getting here, into this bed.
"You were severely injured by Darkspawn", Morrigan explained when he did not answer her question. "But then, Mother had no trouble healing the damage. I suspect you are fine, although there will be some pain in the days to come. 'Tis entirely to be expected after one has undergone an immense amount of healing." She eyed him suspiciously, as if waiting for him to complain or whine about the pain. As he did nothing of the sort, she seemed satisfied, shifting on her long legs to stand more comfortly.
Skye remembered the sudden assault on the top of the tower. After he had claimed the unholy life of the ogre, thrusting his sword deep into the creature's bulky head, he had let down his guard, just for a moment. He remembered being so exhausted. And one moment later the Darkspawn were all over them, coming from nowhere. He did light the signal fire for Loghain and his troops, however.
"So, is the horde defeated now?", he inquired tonelessly. Although, to be honest, he was feeling so thoroughly fucked-up that he found it hard to even care.
Morrigan frowned a little. "There was some sort of treachery, I believe. The battle... did not go well." She shook her head. "I am not certain about the details of it, but from what I gather, the King's men and your fellow Grey Wardens were all killed. The reinforcements that were supposed to march in... never did so." She cast a curious gaze at him, a hint of worry in her expression, as if she was not sure how he would take the grave news, and then added coldly: "It was a fool plan to begin with."
Skye let his head fall back into the pillows and let out an unwanted moan. What a bloody mess, he thought. How can everything go so wrong? Apparently he was rather lucky to be alive, even in he didn't feel that way. "How did I get here? And what about Alistair?"
"Your friend is outside. He was not injured quite as gravely as you and has been awake some time." A little pause, before she continued. "I sent him out. He was worried sick over you, it was annoying. As to your other question... it was my mother, of course." She suddenly seemed uncomfortable, and the word mother was strangely emphasized. "I suggest you get up and take a bath, if you can." She pointed to an ancient-looking tub on the other side of the hut. "Mother will want to talk to you. She does not take kindly to unwashed men." With a last disaprooving look, as if she had somehow expected him to to stay perfectly clean while fighting Darkspawn and then lying in bed to recuperate from his injuries, she left the hut. Cool air swept over his skin, and he suddenly noticed that he was naked from the waist upwards. He startled, and quickly pulled the sheets over his bare skin.
Blurred imagines flahed in his mind, of naked skin in his arms, fiery kisses, two bodies pressed firmly against each other in his own bed. Then noise, chaos, an arrow out of nowhere, blood on the sheets, a dead body on the floor, the body that had moments before been his lover.
Skye hid his face in his hands and quietly whimpered.
After he had finished cleaning himself up in the worn tub - the water was, much to his surprise, pleasantly warm - he draped his body in the simple cotton garments that were lying by the bed. The pain was still sitting in his muscles, but then he couldn't help but think it was strangely appropriate. There seemed to be no reason whatsoever for him to feel good about himself, what with the world going down the drain and all. Finally dressed, although still without his armor which he couldn't find, he peered about the small room in search for a mirror. There was none. Odd, he thought, two women living together and no mirror? He knew there were more important things to do than care abut his looks, probably anyway. Still, his thick, dark hair had a nasty habit of clinging to his head awkwardly when it was wet. It made him uncomfortable. Also, any reason to delay the unaviodable talk with Morrigan's mother was welcome. The woman, if that term was even applicable, had the most confusing demeanor and was equipped with a voice that would make a nug roast from the inside. Moreover she was a witch, a powerful one, or so it would seem. Of course, that also meant it was not overly wise to keep her waiting.
With a shrug, as if to convince himself that he didn't really care either way, Skye stepped outside.
It was a cool evening, but a large campfire was burning in front of the hut, keeping the cold away and painting the scenery in flickering, unsteady light. Skye immediately felt Flemeth's intense gaze upon him. Alistair was sitting by the fire, instantly jumping to his feet when he noticed him. His eyes were bursting with emotion, and he clearly wanted to say something, but kept his mouth shut, probably afraid to talk without Flemeth's permission.
"Ah! And here you are, our bold Grey Warden." The elderly witch spoke with amusement, but at least there was no sign of hostility in her tone. "Tell me child, have you yet refound your strength within the comfort of my humble hospitality? Have I successfully mended all the muscles and bones in your young, young body?" She let out her typical old-nutty-bat-laugh. Her eyes however, strong and ever so aware, filled with a semblance of hunger. Skye shuddered as he tried not to imagine what she might have done to him when he was passed out. Morrigan, standing a few feet apart from her mother, arms crossed before her chest, rolled her eyes.
"Yes", he replied firmly. Being questioned by Flemeth was beyond unpleasant, but if there was one thing he truly didn't care for, it was being toyed with. He straightened his shoulders. "Thank you for your help."
The witch burst out into what was yet another of her maniacal laughs. "Your politeness does you credit," she exclaimed, "but do not fool yourself into thinking that I would let you off so easily. Fortunately for you, it is not your gratefulness that I desire. You are not in my debt, for now." A sly smile tangled around her dry lips. "Let it suffice to say that I did not rescue you and your friend from that Darkspawn-infested tower out of charity."
Not that anyone would have believed that anyway. "Then why did you?" , Skye found himself asking.
"Well, you are Grey Wardens, are you not? The rest of your order are all wiped out by the Darkspawn. Surely it is not so incomprehensible that I would save the last Wardens, given that it was in my power to do so. This is a Blight, after all. Keeping one or two of you around might prove useful." Flemeth smirked and suddenly turned to Alistair. "And you, young man, do not be afraid to speak out. Restraint can be a wise measure, but to not use one's own vioce is folly. Words are the first power amongst many."
The blond Warden startled when spoken to, his deeply-troubled eyes jumping from Flemeth to Skye. When his mouth popped open, it seemed all the words he had held back before and stored for further use quickly vanished, leaving him speechless. "It's just... I'm just...I'm so relieved you're allright", he finally muttered. "Maker, I thought I was alone in this. This is so unreal..." His voice was hushed and flat. He apparently wasn't feeling any better than Skye himself, which was no surprise. The disastrous battle at Ostagar had him loose most of his friends.
"Do not let your grief get the better of you", Flemeth demanded. Her overbearing attitude was already pissing Skye off. "There is a dire task ahead of you. You will need all your strength. Fereldan's hope rests on your shoulders now."
Skye wanted to tell her that she knew the hell about his grief, but kept his mouth shut. Instead he tried to think about what she seemed to be implying.
"What are you saying, exactly?", he then asked Flemeth. "Do you really expect us to stop the Blight on our own?"
"What I expect of you is of little importance. You are the last Wardens of Fereldan. You do still have the treaties, I assume."
Skye's head was pounding. He had trouble thinking straight, as he was slowly beginning to understand what he had gotten himself into. Feeling a little numb and dizzy, he sat down before the fire and stared into the flames. The Blight was about to devour the whole country. And now the burden of putting a stop to the destruction had fallen to him, simply because there was not anyone else left. To him, of all people, who had never even wanted to become a Grey Warden. The conscripted noble's son, his family murdered, was to save all of Fereldan? He wanted to laugh, but even more he wanted to scream. He did neither.
Of course, there was also Alistair, but Skye had already learned that the blond man wasn't leadership material. In fact, the former templar recruit apparently liked following orders, and he had have no trouble accepting his junior companion as some sort of authority when they were in the wilds or the tower.
The weight that accumulated over Skye's shoulders, as he sat and burried his gaze into the ever-hungry flames, was beginning to suffocate him. He felt like he would be crushed if he stayed idle for one more second. The world was moving, but he had forgotten to move along and instead stayed behind. Something was pulling him towards his destiny. A destiny which shouldn't be his to begin with.
Why do things have to go like this? A purposeless question, of course, but he had always found it difficult to cope with the alternativeless of the present. It was almost as if he were but a machine, simply designed to react to the atrocities of life. Bad things happened, he dealt with it, somehow. Therewas no escape. The choice not to deal with it was nonexistant. Whatever one decided, whatever one felt compelled to do in the face of disaster and misfortune, one could never decide not to be affected. Not really, anyway, although some people certainly tricked themselves into believing they could. It was a fool's errand.
And now, he needed to deal with what lay ahead. He did not really care if it was a matter of fate or no, but a choice had definately been made for him. The taint was already in his blood. There was no escape from his own body. He had been assigned a role to play; a place amongst the order of things. The only choice left was to either accept this role, or deny it and face oblivion. Not such a difficult decision, was it? It made him angry. A deep, calm, brooding anger. It also offered a kind of certainty, however. The purpose was clear; to end the Blight. There was no need to ask questions pertaining the why, the who, the how. It was a simple necessity. This necessity was now beginning to fill Skye's mind.
Finally he freed his eyes from the lure of the campfire, letting his gaze sweep around the scenery until it finally met that of Alistair. The other Warden looked every bit as conflicted as Skye himself felt. They stared at each other for a while, their shared fate enabling them to understand each other without speaking. There was a question in Alistair's expression, a plea for support. Are you with me?
Skye nodded, rising from his cowering position and turning to Flemeth again. He noticed the odd feeling that the witch, who eyed him with content, had somehow been a witness to his inner predicament. Shuddering, he thought that it was probably best to leave as soon as possible and not stay any longer in the company of this unnerving person.
"Alright. So we take the treaties and gather allies against the Blight. Sounds easy enough." Skye's voice was more confident than he actually felt, leaving him surprised for a moment.
"We should be able to avoid the main body of the horde", Alistair complied. "And we should go to Redcliffe! Arl Eamon wasn't at Ostagar. He might be able to help us! Why didn't I think about this earlier?" It was heartlifting to see how quick he recaptured his hope. All he needed was to see his fellow Warden stand in resolve.
"Why, it seems your daring rescue was not in vain, after all", Flemeth spoke cheerfully.
It was not much later when three ominous figures stalked through the wilds, their hands always at their weapons, their backpacks crammed with provisions. The Wardens were accompanied by Morrigan, who would lead them safely out of the wilds. It had also been suggested that she aid them in their further travels across Fereldan, and although Alistair seemed rather uneasy about it, Skye couldn't help but feel safer for the presence of a cunning witch, adept in almost forgotten magic arts. Still, the three of them were a pathetic force against the vast hordes of darkspawn that were now swarming the lands, intent to wipe out all traces of natural life in their wake. They would have to rely on their instincts as Grey Wardens to avoid deadly confrontations.
They had been on their way for only some hours when Skye decided to set up a small camp and call it a night. The wilds lay covered with a dusty darkness, and there was little moonshine to ease their travels. It was Morrigan who had brought them this far, imbuing her staff with a magic shine to light the way. It was also Morrigan who lit the campfire and set about preparing a simple meal, while Alistair tried his best to put up the tents. They only had two of them, which meant the Wardens would be sharing one. It wasn't much of a problem, however, since they couldn't be sleeping at the same time anyway. Their Warden senses needed to be alert.
When Morrigan and Alistair had crawled into the tents, Skye sat alone at the small fire, trying not to let his thoughts wander. He felt a tension in his innards, a reminder of unbridled sorrow and fear. It had been there all the time. It would probably be there for quite some time, long after the pain in his muscles was gone. He tried not to care too much. He did not know how long he sat there, listening to the fire crackle und the winds softly brush the trees. But at some point there was suddenly another noise. His body tensed immediately, his hands reached to the hilts of his swords. Something was breathing, panting.
Before he could decide wether to wake the others, something nudged him in the side and whimpered. Skye let out a stifled scream, jumped into the air and swirled around with his blades ready.
Two dark button eyes, filled with the utmost sense of loyalty, looked up to him, questioningly.
