Drink
She can smell nothing but blood. The blood seeping slowly out of Daveth's mouth, the blood pouring out from underneath Ser Jory, but more than anything, the strange, alien scent of the blood of the Darkspawn. She looks to Duncan. He is changed somewhat, though she cannot tell quite how. His eyes, though still kind, have a certain sadness to them. She looks across to the only other living creature, the boy she had met earlier... Alistair was his name. He looks troubled. She swallows dryly, pushing the shock of Jory's blood to the back of her mind. There is no time for grief. There is never time for grief in war. Still, as Duncan takes the cup again and their eyes meet, she can't help but wonder how it had come to this.
The day had been eventful, to say the least. They had arrived at Ostagar as the day dawned, after many weeks of walking. There had been no time for pleasantries, not even a bath or food, before she was ushered in front of the King of Ferelden. She recalled his likeness, though she coul dnot tell from where, and could not help but feel proud as she introduced herself as Lady Aeducan of Orzammar. She could see Duncan's disapproval at her choice of title, but King Cailan looked enthralled. He was tall, handsome, valiant and foolish, just as she imagined a human king would be. Yet she had found herself endeared by his eagerness, if not perturbed by his lack of concern at the Darkspawn threat. To hear the young man and his cohorts dismiss the Blight so carelessly seemed blasphemous to her, but she held her tongue for once. He was a necessity, a token to take in to battle to raise moral. She understood the post; she had not been made commander in Orzammar for nothing, after all.
She was itching for the ritual to begin, and was relieved when Duncan sent her to meet one of his fellows who would lead them on the first test. She had expected much from the Grey Wardens after the kindness and valour she had found in Duncan and his men... but she had not expected someone like him. As she approached, he seemed to be a fair bet; well-built, clean shaved and youthful, a new recruit perhaps, but a warrior no doubt. However, as he opened his mouth and a rich, joyful barrage of wit cascaded out... she had to admit, he surprised her. And, more shamefully, he made her smile. She hid it quickly, before he could see, and did not show it as they continued out into the wilds with the two men she would be trialled with.
They had found a delicate balance out there, the three men and the dwarf. Daveth had been her favourite, a quick, snarky thief with a practical mind. Ser Jory, a knight (which she had assumed meant he was from the Warrior Caste) seemed a decent man, but there was a fear in him that she did not like, a cowardice that seemed at odds with his refined skill in the battlefield. He seemed to care so much for the title of Grey Warden, something she could not understand given the fact he seemed so proud of being a Knight of Redcliffe. She had asked Daveth as they walked together if he found the same pride, and he had answered "For me, it was the Wardens or death. I'm beginning to wonder if they might be one and the same thing."
She looks down at his body in the dirt. If only he had known. His eyes are glazed white, yet she still sees the richness that was once behind them. She remembered the sparkle that caught them when they were set upon, the joy he found in fight... and she remembered that one moment they sparked with fear, too, when the witch-woman had set upon them. His pracicality seemed to dissolve in that moment, as Jory tried to talk him out of his old wives tales. They all became equal in her eyes at that moment, all nothing in comparison with this dangerous creature and her mother, whose presence chilled the dwarf right to her core. Yet for all her fear, she had been intrigued also. That was what drove her, and would continue to drive her; the thrill of the fear that dogged her in this new world. The knowledge that every breath could be her last.
Duncan now approaches with the chalice. The smell is almost unbearable. The sound of her heart thumping in her head drowns out the words that spill from his mouth, and yet she does not hesitate when he hands it to her. She does not stop to even think as she swallows the hard, metallic liquid. It must be done. There is no turning back. There is nowhere to turn back to.
The pain grips her out of nowhere. Her heart feels like it is swelling in her chest, bursting through her lungs, as a searing pain burns through her temples and out of her eyes. She cannot feel anything now as a vision comes before her; a vision of a demon.
She reaches for her sword, but her arms wont move. The demon looks to her. Their eyes meet. She knows somehow that it is trying the speak to her, and something deep in her gut is aching to hear its words. Its eyes are all at once the eyes of a friend and a foe, of a treasured lover and a fatal enemy.
She calls to it, or tries to, as she realises that no sound is coming from her throat. Why? Her first thought is it is some kind of magic, something put in front of her to trial. Still she calls, screaming to it, begging it for answers, though she does not quite know of what she asks. It stares at her, it's eyes giving her all the answers it can.
As she longs for it, the demon calls again, the cry splitting through her eardrums, her throat, her heart, her stomach. She weeps.
She falls. Darkness comes.
A/N And from here... the story can actually begin!
Thanks to all the people who have reivewed/added the story to their alerts so far. I'd love to have some more feedback from you, now the story is about to kick off. Next chapter is at Flemeths place.
