It had been easy...too easy...to distract Alistair with the demon statuette. The man's eyes had lit up with the passion of a collector, and he had accepted the onyx figure eagerly...
...leaving the plate gloves that the defeated Revenant had dropped lying un-noticed on the ground.
Will considered them now as the small camp fire died and the group slept. The gloves were heavy and glowed faintly with the same eerie light as the helmet. He traced his fingers over the cold metal and shivered; a familiar nausea welling in his stomach...the helmet had felt the same way. He was sure the gloves and helm belonged together...stamped with the same Tevinter seal...etched with the same flowing blue script.
Will's eyes flicked up guiltily towards Alistair's sleeping form. Why didn't I tell him about these? He drummed his fingers gently on gleaming surface. Because he'd try to take them. I'm not willing to give them up. Why? The truth of the thought chilled him.
He leaned over and untied the helmet from his pack, bringing it closer to the gloves...and the nausea hit him again; this time hard, washing over him in a torrent. His hands grasped his thighs as he fought for control, a cold sweat breaking out on his face, trickling down the back of his neck. And yet as the feeling subsided, it was replaced with something else...a sense of having been strengthened...invigorated.
He knelt...placing the gloves and helmet before him on the ground, his eyes bright with anticipation. These items were a puzzle. A mystery for him to solve. Bringing them together induces a physical response in those nearby...and an unpleasant one at that! But were they dangerous? Will fought against the urge to look at Alistair again. He tried to push against it but the doubt was there. He knew that Alistair was right to be concerned, but these pieces of armour were unlike anything he'd seen before. They were powerful...he could feel that...Maker, he could taste it! The power rippled over the metal when he touched it, flowing over his hand like honey; smooth and tangible.
Was it possible that there was a full set out here somewhere? Will recalled Leliana's recount of the Imperium's attempt to invade these forests. Tales of ancient battles and evidence of their relics. Will sighed, suddenly overcome with weariness. What am I doing here? How can it possibly be me in these forests...me a Grey Warden? Fergus was the adventurer...the warrior...the first born trained to deal with responsibility. I'm just the scribbler...the visionary...the dreamer. How can I fight darkspawn and slay an Archdemon?
He puffed out a heavy sigh and looked up at the sky, the silhouettes of the ancient trees dark against the emerging daylight. He closed his eyes tight against a sudden and overwhelming grief for all that he'd lost; images of his family flashing through his mind in quick succession.
The face of his brother – you have to protect them.
The face of his father – A Cousland always does his duty.
The face of his mother – It's your responsibility now.
The distorted reflection of himself in the helmet - There' no one else.
Because I have to.
He eyed the gloves warily as they lay before him on the damp ground and thought back to the vision by the tombstone. I disturbed whose wards? What were they there for? What does it have to do with this armour?
So many unanswered questions...could they all be resolved by simply wearing these pieces?
He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully...before purposefully reaching down for the left glove. He slid his hand in quickly, picking up the right glove and repeating the process before he could change his mind.
A rush of power that he revelled in...triumphant... joyful...confident. He could feel the metal against his fingers, a prickling sensation building in the well of his palms as he stared at them in wonder. He flexed his fingers slowly and the sensation intensified, crawling over the back of his hands, seeping through his fingers. Will's head started to swim, his senses thick and dull, and he rocked back slightly on his knees. The prickling sensation was uncomfortable now, as if the inside of the gloves were studded with thorns, and he raised a hand in front of dazed eyes, absently noting a small trickle of blood running down his wrist. Oh bug... His eyes rolled back in his head before he hit the ground with a heavy thud.
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Will's consciousness drifted in a world of pain and confusion. Fiery sparks danced before him in the darkness and outlandish voices hovered on the edge of his understanding. The voices drew him down in a dizzying spiral, dragging him towards what looked like a Blacksmith's forge. He seemed to hover before it, blinking in confusion as he looked down at his body. It looked unsubstantial, translucent, as if it was just a washed out memory of himself. Yet the blood congealing on his wrists was a vivid crimson, and the closer he got to the forge, the darker it became.
Will tore his panicked eyes away from the sight, his head turning frantically, trying to find something that made sense to him. Figures emerged from the gloom surrounding the forge and the distant echo of hammer against anvil rang in time with his heart thudding in his chest. Will tried to calm himself, squinting into the shadows, trying to make out the figures before him. He opened his mouth to speak, to question, to demand to know what was happening, only to find himself mute, his mouth hanging open in stunned silence.
His world shifted, and Will was slammed sideways before being yanked back to the forge...this time in foggy daylight. A figure in black robes positioned himself before a full suit of silverite armour, his pale hands outstretched. Recognition stunned Will as he realised what he was looking at...his gloves and his helmet. There is more to be found he thought as a fierce thrill shot through him. A third figure lounged insolently in a doorway, a greedy smile on his face, his arms crossed over his breastplate. A whispered name formed in Will's mind...Alaric...he was the first...
Will turned his attention back to the robed man, and realised that he now had a wide eyed boy pushed up against the wall beside the armour. He can't be any more than 17, Will thought in horror, watching as the boy trembled violently against the larger man, who stood with one arm crushed into the boy's throat, the other touching the breastplate.
The hair on the back of Will's neck stood up, the painful sensation in his hands intensifying as the atmosphere grew thick and cold. This is wrong... A blue light started to pulse from the hand over the breastplate, growing larger and more concentrated with every beat, sending ripples into every crevice of the armour, making it gleam with an un-natural light...and the boy's breathing grew ragged and sharp...his skin clammy and pale, and his eyes dark and fearful.
More words were muttered...words Will couldn't understand...and he was cold now, paralysed by the revolted fascination of what was happening before him. He watched, helpless, as the robed figure drew a dagger from a sheath at his waist, his lips never pausing in their whispered incantation, and with no hesitation slit the boy's throat deeply, letting him slide bodily to the floor beside the armour.
The boy clutched helplessly at his throat as he gurgled weakly, blood bubbling around his lips...his life flowing steadily towards the armour. Will watched as the blood pooled around the shimmering boots, and then stared in wonder as the blood was drawn over the boots, drenching them. The blood flowed upwards in a continual stream until the entire suit was coated in sticky, shining gore and the armour seemed to throb once, before the blood seeped into the metal, seemingly disappearing.
The robed man grinned triumphantly, "It is done. This is yours." He rasped to the man in the doorway, and then raised a weary hand to his head, his face pale, his eyes sunk deep. Alaric laughed, his voice full of longing and victory, gleefully vicious. He marched over to the robed man and took him by the shoulders, embracing him like a brother, and Will felt it. He knew what it was like to know the armour was his, to possess it fully, and a seed of envy flickered in the pit of his stomach. Will forced himself not to look at the broken body of the boy on the floor, or at the robed man shaking lyrium light from his finger tips, instead he focused on the armour that had been created, crafted into a thing of power. I have to find the rest. His eyes glowed with dark ardour, and his lips twitched into a smile before he felt himself tugged backwards, as if by a rope tied round his waist, pulling him into reality. One word followed him back to wakefulness...Juggernaut.
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Will woke flat on his back, squinting into the sunlight, a tight band of pain over his forehead. He blinked in confusion as he tried to make sense of what had happened and then raised himself to his elbows as a figure loomed above him. "If you think you've quite finished sleeping, we would all like to leave now." Morrigan stood staring down at him, her head blocking out the sun, giving her an angelic halo that made Will chuckle despite himself.
Morrigan snorted and turned her back on him haughtily, but not before her quick eyes had taken in a pair of plate gloves she hadn't seen before, smears of blood on the man's wrists and dark circles under his eyes. He looked hung-over, she sneered to herself, knowing full well that they were travelling light, so it was unlikely.
They left quickly, without any fuss, Alistair leading the way, Will and Leliana following. Morrigan watched, her eyes narrowing as she studied Will. Leliana had been chattering like a songbird for half an hour now, but had been unable to engage Will in any conversation. His eyes seemed to be searching the forest for something. He'd run his hand over any ruined outcrops as if 'feeling' for something, and his eyes shone with a light she hadn't seen there before, almost as if he were fevered. Yet he didn't seem to be ill. On the contrary, he moved with vigour, his only words now, to hurry Alistair forward, deeper into the forest.
Morrigan cast her eyes back to the gloves and wondered again where they'd come from. Had he been carrying them in his pack all this time? She'd never seen him wear such things before, knowing that he preferred the grip of his own skin on his sword over any protection such metal casings would provide. She knew him to be a dangerous man. All warriors were dangerous and despite Will's bookish leanings and his curiosity for the unknown, he was a human noble, and their type always trained their men folk to kill and maim. Morrigan tapped her fingers idly on her leg as she followed behind. The Idiot-Warden wants the old lady to look at that helmet. To find out what is was that he sensed. Well, I think I'll take a look myself before the day is out... She dropped her gaze to the dried blood around Will's wrists ...and I'll spare some time to work out that little puzzle too.
She frowned slightly, her brow creasing delicately. Was she softening to this group of foolish simpletons? She tossed her head, shaking the thought aside. No. It was just a little mystery to solve; something to pass the time as they travelled. Something to block out the incessant chatter of the little bard ahead of her. Morrigan walked behind, her eyes following the direction of Will's gaze as he continued his mystifying search of the forest. She couldn't shrug off the unsettled feeling she'd had on seeing Will passed out on the floor when they woke that morning, and the sudden flash of sneering arrogance in the man's eyes on waking. Something wasn't right. In fact, something was potentially very wrong indeed.
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Thank you, thank you, thank you, Setrus. For more this week than just reading though a silly chapter.
