Alistair,
I am now departing Highever, The tournament concluded. What I have seen with my own eyes compels me to return to the wardens as swiftly as I am able. I have left a number of missives imploring certain other candidates to join our cause, but at present I send only three recruits thus far. I leave them in your care. It is time to move out my friend, they will meet you there, I will join you all soon, under the banner of the king at Ostagar.
May the Maker watch over us all
Duncan
Alistair sighed heavily, he was not a leader. He glanced over the notes Duncan had sent in advance trying to gage the new recruits before her met them.
Ser Jory
Knight from Highever (won the Tourney).
Originally from Redcliff
Family: Wife (with child)
Fighting style: Warrior, very honour orientated
Favoured weapon: two-handed Greatsword
Volunteered to join the order
Daveth
Fellow from Denerim
Originally from a village on the outskirts of the Korcari Wilds
Family: None
Fighting style: Rogue, dirty fighter
Favoured weapon: dagger, can duel wield and also knows how to handle a bow
Conscripted willingly
Cliodna
Elf from Denerim Alienage
Family: Husband (deceased), Father and Cousins
Fighting style: unknown.
Favoured weapon: unknown, can wield a short sword.
Conscripted under slight duress.
Alistair read through the notes again. Not that there was much to get through. He could not believe Duncan was asking him to do this! He felt a small well of pride, which quickly dissipated into a wave of panic. He could not be a leader, over a decade in the Chantry had drummed that into him!
And Yet Duncan had chosen him, trusted him. He obviously saw something, or at least he thought he did in the young Templar. And Alistair trusted Duncan implicitly, so he could do this! Well, he would at any rate. Hopefully. Oh Maker! He ran a hand through his hair, carefully avoiding flattening the carefully sculpted spikes at the front.
He stowed the notes and made his way toward the entrance of the camp. He was still getting his bearings here, but the layout was pretty straight forward. If all else failed, he could always fall back on his roguish good looks and winning personality. Or, you know, questionable humour and a well-placed wink. It was then that he saw them approach. Well, here goes nothing, he thought. 'Ho, there!' he greeted them with a sheepish smile, 'welcome to Ostagar.'
She could feel his presence without opening her eyes. She could even distinguish which "him" it was, from the waves of nervous energy rolling off him as he shifted from foot to foot. She silently contemplated continuing with the ruse of sleep, when she became aware of the other "him" as he nonchalantly sank down on to her bed.
'Maker's Breath! Can't a girl get some sleep, it's not like I had a busy night or anything!' The young elf rolled onto her side to glower at the two other magi, pushing her long silvery hair from her face. This called the nervous "him" to start, and on recovering himself he asked 'Are you alright? Say something, please!' She blinked slowly at him once, then propped herself on one elbow to extract her pillow from beneath her. She then projected it at her friend with vicious accuracy.
'Nice shot!' exclaimed the other young man, 'though if I were you, I'd have used my shoe.' 'Hmmm, a very good point and well made fine ser.' She scooped up one of her shoes from beside the bed and quickly sat up. With her pale blue eyes twinkling, she shifted to her knees and held the slipper high ' I yield! I yield!' he chucked, holding his hands up in surrender.
It was at this point that the previous evenings events caught up with the feisty shoe wielder, and she fought to contain an almighty yawn. Seizing the opportunity, her friend plucked the slipper from her grasp, ruffled her long curtain of silver hair and stuck his tongue out at her.
'Go boil your head, Damien Amell!' She pouted, tucking her mussed up hair behind her pointed ears.
'I'm so glad you're alright! They carried you back in this morning, I hadn't even realised you'd been gone all night!' 'Why Thank you kind Ser, when a girl has been forcibly plucked from her bed, and endured a full night of something that can only be described as "harrowing", all she wants is to be woken early to find two men in her bed!' She smiled sweetly back at him, ad revelled in the blush creeping slowly up his neck.
'I've heard of apprentices that never come back from their harrowings' he replied quietly, not able to meet her eye. 'Was it really that dangerous?' She quickly exchanged glances with Damien, and realised he had already been asked this very question. She sighed heavily and looked up at him once more. 'Jowan, we're friends, but don't ask me this. You know I can't tell you.'
Suddenly she found herself unable to look at him, her fingers becoming very interesting. She needed to cut her nails again she noted. 'Eilonwye' he implored, and she could just tell he had big brown puppy eyes, 'Just a hint and I swear I'll drop it!'
Still focusing on her soon-to-be-talons, she felt Damien tense beside her. Chancing a glance at Jowan, she saw that he was indeed sporting his trademark puppy dog eyes. He was also hugging her pillow to him as a child might a stuffed animal. She softened slightly and replied gently 'It is a test of skill, nothing more.'
She could feel the piercing deep blue eyes of Damien still on her, but felt his body relax somewhat, as he now knew she would not share the true nature of the harrowing with their apprentice friend.
As Jowan opened his mouth again, she raised a delicate pale hand and offered a sympathetic smile 'patience my friend, you'll go through it soon enough.'
Jowan dejectedly accepted that she would divulge no further secrets, and turned away with a scowl. 'And now you get to move up to the nice mage quarters upstairs with Damien, and I'm stuck down here not knowing when they'll call me for my harrowing!'
This stung; coming from one of her two long standing friends at the tower. Damien moved as though to chastise him, but Eilonwye put her hand on his arm and shook her head. 'They'll summon you to the test when you're ready.' She spoke softly, trying to offer him comfort in some small way, and flinched as he whirled back around to them, fire in his eyes.
'I've been here longer that you have' he spat, 'sometimes I think they just don't want to test me!' His voice then dropped to barely a whisper 'You do the harrowing... the Rite of Tranquillity… or you die.'
She jumped from her bed at this and grasped both of his hands in hers. 'They're not going to kill you Jowan!' He couldn't meet her eye. 'They might not. But the ROT is just as bad… maybe worse.' A tear escaped his eye and splashed on to her wrist.
He immediately dropped her hands and backed away from her 'Sorry Eila. I shouldn't waste your time with this'. He gestured towards Damien, who had appeared at his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. And then he was gone, having hurriedly removed himself from the room.
Eilonwye watched him leave in silence. Then she turned to Damien, unshed tears in her eyes. Damien returned her gaze, deep blue into sky, and something unspoken passed between them.
'I was supposed to tell you to see Irving as soon as you woke up' Damien stated pensively 'and I do believe congratulations are in order.' Eila took a deep breath and allowed her lips to form something resembling a smile. Taking this as his cue, Damien proffered his arm. 'Allow me to escort you my lady' he said with a glint in his eye, internally smiling as she linked her arm in his and replied 'Why thank-you Messere!'
Blood. There was blood everywhere. And it everything hurt. Was it his blood he mused as he rolled on to his side. And then he saw her, sprawled on the floor a little way from him, covered in blood. It soaked her new robes, and had stained her hair.
Panic setting in, he forced himself forward, crawling through even more blood, reaching for her tiny hand. Cold, so very cold. He tightened his grip and felt the bile rising in his throat, but then he also felt something else. A very faint, but hopeful flicker. She had a pulse.
A small groan escaped hip lips and her eyes flickered open. Relief was short-lived however, as more figures began to stir, and others resolutely did not. He looked back down into her pale eyes and watched as comprehension dawned there.
She gripped his hand back as they helped each other to rise. She was hurting, he knew. But the deepest pain came not from any bodily injury, but a betrayal. The unspoken communication passed between the two once more and they turned to face the Knight Commander, both having accepted what must surely come next. He offered up a silent prayer, his eyes resting on the First Enchanter. She squeezed his hand, and he hers and they both knew. Knew that whatever must come next, they would face it together.
