Chapter 6 – The Joining
Ceri was stumbling with fatigue by the time the camp came into view. Morrigan had faded back into the shadows as soon as they reached the edge of the trees, ending her unwilling duty as guide. One good thing had come of her assistance: they had retraced their path through the wilds without seeing so much as a Darkspawn shadow. Too tired to think, Ceri just focussed on putting one foot in front of the other, her eyes fixed on Alistair's armoured back as he led them towards safety and with any luck the chance to sit down and rest. Her dogged determination to keep up despite being ready to drop had won her grudging approval from Morrigan, who had volunteered some information about the ruins as they walked.
The soft rattling from her quiver reminded Ceri of the precious scrolls she carried, entrusted to her by Alistair after he'd wrapped them in a piece of cloth to protect them from the arrows. He told her it was the safest place; by using her quiver the four of them still had their hands free to deal with any trouble that might arise. The thought of trouble drew Ceri's tired musings back to their meeting with Morrigan's mother. It was small wonder that Morrigan was surly and rude, not with the example provided by the older woman. Although she had parted with the scrolls willingly when Ceri asked for them, the woman had observed the group with scorn in her hooded eyes. Everything she said seemed measured, as though she considered each word with minute care before deigning to impart it. The whole encounter had left Ceri feeling like there was something going on behind those dark eyes that sparkled with deadly amusement, like the woman was toying with them for her own purpose. Her insistence that Morrigan escort them back out of the wilds had only served to reinforce this impression and worsen her already irritated daughter's mood.
She was jerked from her hazy state by a large hand shaking her shoulder. Looking round in surprise she realised they were back in the camp, standing before Duncan who was watching her with concern.
"Sorry," she muttered, pulling the quiver off her back and fumbling for the scrolls, "I was miles away."
She handed them to the elder Warden who nodded in approval as he checked them for damage. He glanced up at the recruits, his eyes straying back to Ceri as she struggled to stay on her feet.
"You have done well," he said with a smile, "and have returned far sooner than I had expected. It is our custom that the Joining take place at midnight. You are free to spend the intervening hours as you wish."
Ceri rubbed her face, trying to pull herself together enough to think clearly. It was hopeless; her eyelids felt like they were weighted with lead and her brain seemed to be packed with cotton wool. As Duncan disappeared into his tent and Daveth drew Jory away toward the main camp with the suggestion of finding something to eat, Alistair looked down at her like he was just realising how tired she was.
"Why don't you get some sleep?" he suggested. When she didn't answer straight away he tugged on her arm to get her moving, leading her toward her own small tent. "It's about three hours to midnight, more or less. That's time for a quick nap at least."
Ceri nodded absently as she ducked beneath the canvas tent-flap. She laid out the bedroll making sure to leave room for Khan before pulling off her gloves and boots. As she set to work on the laces of her armour Alistair spoke again from outside.
"Let me have your armour and I'll get it cleaned for you. It won't do it any good to sit around with blood on it."
When she'd pulled on the heavy shirt, she pushed the flap aside to hand the armour out. Alistair grinned at her sleepy expression.
"You look like a tousled dormouse," he told her. "Don't worry about oversleeping. I'll call you when it's time for the Joining."
Ceri crawled into the bedroll, shifting slightly as Khan lay down against her back. She was asleep within seconds.
xxx
Alistair had finished his careful inspection of Ceri's armour when Duncan joined him at the fire.
"What is your opinion of the recruits?" Duncan's expression was unreadable as he watched the younger man set the gloves aside.
"Jory is a strong fighter but he spooks easily," Alistair began cautiously. "Daveth shows promise; he's quick and smart enough to keep out of trouble."
"And the lady?" Duncan prompted. "What of her?"
"She needs training in close combat but she's the best archer I've ever seen." Alistair's eyes were shining as he warmed to the topic. "She took down a Hurlock standing right behind Jory with an arrow to the head. The fletching kissed Jory's cheek but it was obvious that she'd done it intentionally to scare him."
"Why?"
"He was insulting her again," Alistair admitted. "To be fair Duncan, he had it coming and he was lucky that was all she did. I wouldn't have blamed her if she'd actually shot him."
"Let us hope he profits from the lesson," Duncan laughed. "It won't foster good feeling if we have Wardens shooting each other over every insult. What else can you tell me about her?"
"She's smart and tough. She wasn't happy out there but she played her part in the fighting without complaint." Alistair nodded to himself as he thought back over the day. "I think she's got the makings of a good strategist too, but I could be wrong."
"Not from what I have seen," Duncan told him, "nor from what her father told me. She is like a Mabari, he said, fierce and loyal. She is intelligent, persuasive and has the most peculiar way of looking at things that lets her see solutions that others would never even consider. I believe he regretted those words when I mentioned recruiting her."
"It doesn't seem fair though," Alistair said with a frown. "She's such an innocent, hardly more than a child. Are we right to make her go through the Joining?"
"There is no alternative." Duncan sighed. "Alistair, you know we need every Grey Warden we can muster, now more than ever. Ceridwen may not be experienced at fighting but her studies have been extensive and she has a strong grasp of leadership and strategy. Not only that, her entire family was murdered less than a week ago. By becoming a Grey Warden she will have the protection of the entire Order should the perpetrator think to make a second attempt on her life."
"Do you know who," Alistair began but Duncan cut him off.
"It does not matter now. What matters is getting these recruits through the Joining."
xxx
"Come on, dormouse, rise and shine."
Alistair's cheerful voice dragged Ceri from a twisted dream where Morrigan watched with mocking eyes while her mother asked ever more nonsensical questions, laughing as Ceri stumbled over the answers. She sat up, rubbing at her gritty eyes and wincing as the muscles in her back and arms protested. Khan stirred, peering up at her with an interrogative whine.
"Go back to sleep," she whispered, scratching his ears. "I'll be back soon."
She saw her armour stacked by the head of her bedroll, now spotless and looking in better condition than it had when she'd got it the day before. Next to it was a bowl of steaming water, two pieces of cloth and a sliver of soap.
"Are you awake yet?" Alistair asked.
Ceri grabbed the cloth and began to scrub at the dried blood on her arms. The soap was rough, grey and pungent, unlike the stuff the mages had access to. It stung her skin as she worked but she ignored the discomfort in favour of being clean.
"I'm awake," she called as she rinsed the cloth out and wiped her face quickly. "Did you bring the water and stuff?"
"After what you said this morning, I thought you'd like to clean up," he replied, "that's why I woke you early. You've got some time before we have to go."
When she'd made the best job of cleaning herself up as she could, Ceri struggled back into her armour. She emerged from the tent to find Alistair waiting by the fire, his back to her. She raked her fingers through her hair trying to get it into some semblance of order, before tugging on his sleeve.
"I'm all set," she said, smiling as he turned round. "Thank you, by the way."
"You're welcome," he replied as they set off through the camp. "We Grey Wardens have to look out for each other, right?"
Daveth joined them as they passed the mages' encampment, taking up his former position at Ceri's side as she followed Alistair. They followed the path up into the ruins to the north of the camp, where Ceri had first met Alistair. Ahead she could see Duncan and Jory waiting for them, standing by a large block of stone that Ceri realised must once have been an altar before time and decay took their toll. Resting on its pitted surface was a large silver goblet. The full moon was overhead, bathing the scene in chill light. Ceri tried to block out Jory's voice as he began to complain about being tested once again. She walked to the edge of the ruin, the shattered columns suggesting where windows had once stood overlooked the camp. She could see the two great pavilions and the soldiers patrolling outside them. Focussing on the flickering of the distant fires Ceri breathed in the chill night air, thick with the scent of smoke. Suddenly Jory's voice broke through her contemplation as he snapped in response to Daveth's baiting.
"For goodness sake, would you both just give it a rest for five minutes?" Ceri walked back over to the bickering men, shaking her head. "You're really not helping."
Daveth grinned at her and gave a contrite shrug but Jory scowled.
"I do not relish things I cannot face with my blade," he muttered, kicking at the stones at his feet.
"It's his poor wife I feel sorry for," Ceri whispered to Daveth. "She must have had a spectacular honeymoon."
Their mirth was cut short as Duncan called them to order. He nodded to Alistair, who stepped forward and bowed his head.
"Join us, Brothers and Sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you."
Ceri felt a shivering thrill run through her. There was a dark undertone to those words, an undercurrent pulling at her mind as she tried to take in the meaning behind them. Alistair looked up at Duncan as the older man lifted the cup and turned to the recruits.
"Step forward Daveth." Duncan's voice was both gentle and commanding.
The thief obeyed, taking the cup from Duncan. Glancing over his shoulder he gave Ceri a cocky grin as he lifted the cup to his lips. She tried to return it but her face felt frozen, stiff and unresponsive. The air was crackling with tension now, raising goose bumps on her arms and cold sweat trickle down her back. Daveth drank from the cup and handed it back to Duncan. He turned, pulling a face at the taste of whatever he'd just swallowed. Ceri watched him straighten up, the stiff set of his shoulders relaxing.
"Piece of cake," he grinned.
Then his dark eyes went wide and his grin faded as he struggled to breath. His throat worked and his mouth gaped. Then his eyes rolled up in his head until only the whites were showing and he dropped to his knees. Ceri could feel the scream building in her throat as Daveth collapsed black-faced and twitching onto the hard stones. She clenched her jaw tight, fighting to keep the impending hysterics under control as she stared at the body.
Not 'the body', she screamed inside her head, Daveth. He can't be dead, it can't be real. It's a joke, he's just mucking about, trying to scare us.
She stared hard at Daveth's face, at the dark tint in his skin, the white where his eyes should be and the trickle of black liquid running from his open mouth, waiting for him to jump up and laugh at her for being taken in. It was a joke, it had to be.
Should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten
Alistair's words echoed up from the cold recesses of her memory. They had known that this Joining might be fatal, that the recruits might not survive and they hadn't said anything. Ceri's head jerked up at the sound of ringing metal; Jory was swinging his great two-handed sword at Duncan. The Warden parried the blow with ease, flicking Jory's sword aside as though it was a blade of grass. The sound of Duncan's sword crunching through the knight's chainmail hurt Ceri's ears and she threw up her hands to block it out. A roaring, whistling scream filled her head as Jory's eyes went wide and his pale face turned grey. He slumped against Duncan, who caught him and lowered his body to the ground. It had all happened so quickly, in jolting disjointed images, like a film with half the frames missing. Daveth dead. Jory dead. What next?
It's all wrong, Ceri's inner voice wailed. They can't be dead. People don't just die, not like this.
It couldn't be real. She'd had breakfast with them that morning, laughed and joked with Daveth. He'd promised to teach her to pick locks and pockets; he'd given her a little piece of bent metal he'd said was a real lock-pick and told her he'd show her how to use it properly the first chance they got, even if it meant sneaking into the mage's enclosure and raiding their supplies. Jory was a pain but that was mostly because he was scared and afraid that everyone would find out. That was no reason to die. Her eyes fixed on the knight's limp body. There hadn't been much blood when Duncan stabbed him. Wasn't there supposed to be lots of blood when you got stabbed? That's what happened in all the horror movies she'd seen: someone got stabbed and gallons of blood went everywhere.
It was the sensation of cold, hard stone under her hands that brought her out of her stunned reverie, made her realise that her legs had given way. She was sitting on the ground, far closer to Jory's body than she liked. She could see the blood now, draining out of the knight's body from the ragged hole in his chainmail, pooling around him and sinking into the cracks between the flagstones. A thin rivulet of blood wound its lazy way past her, the moonlight glinting on its surface making it look as black as Darkspawn blood. Ceri stared at the ground, struggling to make her mind obey.
Duncan was speaking again but she couldn't hear the words over the insistent screaming in her head. The cup came into view and she gripped it without thinking, grateful for something solid in a world that suddenly seemed to be built on shifting sand. She stared into the cup, watching the moon's reflection shiver and shatter on the black viscous surface as her hands trembled. It occurred to her that she didn't even know what the liquid was, except that Daveth had drunk it and choked to death. People shouldn't die like that; it wasn't right that you could eat breakfast with someone then be staring at their corpse less than a day later. But it happened didn't it? People killed each other every day: kids knifing each other on the way home from school or shooting random passers-by just because they could. She was sheltered, living in a comfortable, safe world and kept well away from the horrors of life. She lived in a nice area, went to a good school and stayed away from places that looked dangerous. Her friends might be boisterous, Mateo might be aggressive but they never did anything like this.
The whole world had come down to the cup in her hands. She could feel nothing except the cold metal under her fingers. She knew Duncan was watching her; he had to be, watching with his dark eyes that gave nothing away. Ceri's mind was racing, looking for an answer, for a way out. There had to be a chance of success, otherwise it wasn't fair. How did you get Grey Wardens if the Joining was a death-trap? Alistair had said he was the new Grey Warden, surely that meant that he had done this and survived? Or maybe this was the Wardens' way of getting rid of recruits who weren't up to the standard they wanted? That was more likely. There was no way they could really want her to be a Grey Warden, not after needing three men and a dog to keep her safe on one relatively easy mission. Maybe Alistair had realised that she was a liability after all, for all his encouraging words. This was what it had come to: drink from the poisoned cup or die at Duncan's hand. Jory must have refused to drink, that was why he had to die. They couldn't risk their dirty secret getting out.
Drink or die, Ceri thought desperately, or drink and die. What sort of a choice is that?
Her breathing slowed as a terrible calm came over her. She released a long tortured sigh and raised the cup to her lips, the vile liquid sliding down her throat and coating her mouth with a thick coppery residue. In that first moment it was only disgusting as the foul taste of the blood filled her mouth and nose and her stomach heaved in rebellion. Then everything began to burn like she'd swallowed scalding syrup. She could feel it all the way down to her stomach; blazing pain that seemed to be trying to claw its way out from everywhere at once. Her head buzzed and rang, fine burning tendrils creeping from her mouth, across her cheeks and clawing at her scalp. Ceri gasped trying to pull air into her starving lungs but it was thick with copper and bile and she felt panic grip her as she couldn't breathe. Her world narrowed, black and silver sparkles filling her eyes until she could see nothing else. Something was coming, searching for her, she could feel it but she couldn't see.
Open your eyes, she thought in desperation, open them. Wide. Wider. You've got to see it.
She could feel the blood pounding through her veins as her heart hammered in panic. Her pulse was roaring in her ears. Her eyes were open, she knew it, could feel the pain in the muscles of her face as she struggled to force them to open wider. Flashes of green fought against the black and silver. Was that her pulse she could hear? It didn't sound right, somehow. Suddenly she could see once more. A long bony head filled her field of vision; an impossible head covered with spikes and a cruel mouth full of long pointed teeth. Huge eyes full of vicious intelligence captured hers and the roaring began again.
Ceri screamed.
xxx
A cool breeze played across Ceri's skin, ruffling her hair and bringing the sleepy song of the camp at rest to her ears. She breathed deeply, dragging the clean air into her lungs, her senses gradually coming back. Her head was pounding, the insistent thumping setting off red sparks in the darkness behind her eyes. The burning had subsided but she could still feel it as a dull itch just under her skin. Her limbs felt heavy, the joints stiff and aching. Ceri flexed her fingers and was surprised when the lethargy began to ease. A hand gripped hers, fingers hot against her chilled skin. Somehow she knew it was Alistair even before he spoke.
"She's coming round." The relief in his voice made him sound very young.
Ceri opened her eyes, steeling herself against the pain she knew would follow. The pounding headache and the fuzzy feeling behind her eyes told her louder than any words that she had the mother of all migraines; she needed painkillers and sleep, preferably a lot of both. Her heart sank. There were no painkillers here though, were there? No aspirin to dull the pain enough so she could sleep it off. Duncan's bearded face came into view, his dark eyes searching hers.
"It is over," he said. "Welcome, Sister."
"How do you feel?" Alistair asked, helping her to sit up. He hadn't let go of her hand and he was holding her like she was made of spun glass.
"I feel sick," she replied, her voice rough and scratchy, "and I think someone put a rat in my brain. It's trying to eat its way out right now."
"You should get some rest," Duncan told her. "Nothing will happen before tomorrow morning."
Ceri nodded then hissed as her head protested the movement. Alistair winced in sympathy as he helped her stand.
"Alistair, go with Ceridwen and ensure she gets back to her tent safely. Then go and speak with Wynne. She will be able to provide something to sooth that headache." Duncan smiled at Ceri and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "The Joining affects everyone differently but some sleep should set all to rights."
Obediently Ceri let Alistair lead her away. He kept one hand on her elbow as they walked, ready to catch her if she stumbled. Every step renewed the raw pain in her head and set her stomach rolling like water on the boil. They reached her tent and he helped her ease herself down onto the bedroll.
"Two more dead," Alistair said, sounding sick himself. "Only one of us died at my Joining, but it was horrible. I'm glad you made it through."
Ceri tugged at the laces of the breastplate with clumsy fingers. Glancing up she saw Alistair look away, the rosy blush staining his cheeks visible even in the dim light from the fire outside.
"Right now this very minute, I'm not sure it's a good thing," she groaned, wincing as the motion of lifting the armour over her head made her stomach heave. "The way I feel, I think not making it through was preferable."
"Poor little dormouse," he chuckled. "I'll run over to the mages and get something for your head."
She stretched out on the bedroll, covering her eyes with one arm and scratching Khan's ears with her free hand. The Mabari grunted in his sleep but didn't move. It seemed like hours before she heard footsteps approaching once more but it probably wasn't more than about fifteen minutes. Alistair ducked under the tent flap and sat beside her. He held out a small glass bottle full of a vibrant red liquid.
"Wynne says this is guaranteed to make you feel better," he said, keeping his voice down. "I told her what you said about the rat and that you feel sick and she said it sounded like a, well I forget the word but she definitely said this would fix it."
"Migraine," Ceri rasped as she reached for the bottle. "The word is migraine."
"Sounds about right," he agreed. "You're supposed to drink it all in one go, Wynne said. Apparently it tastes pretty vile and if you sip it you won't finish it."
Ceri made a non-committal noise and sniffed the potion suspiciously. Ignoring Alistair's advice she took a cautious sip from the bottle. After all, she was in this state from drinking something without knowing what it was and she wasn't about to get caught the same way twice. The liquid was thick, warm and tasted of cloves.
Hmm, not bad, she thought as she downed the rest of the bottle in one gulp. Then again, after whatever was in that cup Duncan foisted on me, even vinegar would taste good.
She could feel warmth spreading through her as it had before but without the accompanying pain that she had experienced during the Joining. In the wake of the initial flush of warmth, Ceri felt the tightness in her head easing off. Although she was still muzzy, she thought she might actually be able to risk nodding without her head falling off.
"Well you're a better colour at least," Alistair said. "How do you feel?"
"Better than I did," she sighed. "I wouldn't have believed it could work so fast."
"Hopefully you'll be able to sleep now." Alistair shifted, then seemed to remember something. He held out a small silver medallion on a leather thong. "Here, this is for you. It's the last part of the Joining."
Ceri took it from him and squinted at it in the half-light. It was about the size of a penny, shaped like a locket but with no apparent means of opening it. On one side there was an engraved device of a rearing creature with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a big cat.
"Is that a griffin?" Ceri asked turning the medallion to catch the light.
"That's right. It's the Grey Wardens' crest." He watched as she tied the thong round her neck, the silver glistening in the firelight as it nestled in the hollow of her throat. "We take some of the blood you drank and put it in the medallion. Every new Grey Warden gets one. It's to remind us of those who didn't make it this far."
"Is that was it was?" Ceri murmured, touching the cold metal and thinking that she was unlikely to ever forget the look on Daveth's face as he died. "That's why we had to get the Darkspawn blood, right?"
"That's it." Alistair smiled as he got to his feet. "There'll be plenty of time to tell you all of the wonderful things that go with being a Grey Warden but right now you'd better get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a big day."
She watched him pull the tent-flap shut behind him as he left, the fire outside casting his silhouette on the canvas wall. She pulled the blanket up round her shoulders, pressing back into Khan's comforting warmth as she settled down. Sleep didn't come as swiftly as it had earlier that evening. Every time Ceri closed her eyes she saw Daveth's blackened face twisting into a mask of agony. She fidgeted and wriggled, twisting the blankets ever tighter around her body as she tried to think of something else. When she finally managed to blot out her memory of Daveth it was replaced by Jory's stunned expression as Duncan's sword tore through his body. She sat up, yanking the blanket from its stranglehold on her legs then kicking at it until it covered her properly again. At least her head wasn't pounding anymore, nor was it threatening to split down the middle at the slightest movement. She figured there must be something to what the mages did, if they could create a potion that cleared the worst of a migraine in less than five minutes. That gave her something to think about besides the horrible things she'd seen that night and trying to work out how the potion had worked occupied her mind and kept it from straying back to the disturbing images. Even then, the constant dull burn beneath her skin was a reminder of the events of the day. Still between Khan's rhythmic breathing behind her and the hypnotic dance of the firelight on the canvas, Ceri eventually drifted off into tangled dreams where shadowy figures watched her with malice filled eyes.
A/N - This chapter didn't work out quite as I'd expected - it was supposed to start with the recruits meeting Flemeth in the Wilds and go on from there but after two very awkward pages I realised that there was no way I was ever going to make it work. So I started again, and again, and eventually I managed to get there. Unfortunately it also ended up far longer than I'd intended so what was supposed to be a chapter covering the Joining and the Tower of Ishal is now just about the Joining. I'm typing the next part right now though so chapter 7 will follow in the next day or so.
I know I've missed out a lot of the action (and dialogue) from the Joining and I've moved some parts around. I'm working along the lines that Ceri was so freaked out by what happened to Daveth that she missed what was happening with Jory until Duncan actually killed him. In the game you witness the Joining as an outside observer but you never really see what the P.C. was thinking or feeling except for a couple of dialogue choices afterwards. I spent a rather long evening trying to imagine what it must feel like to have that chalice in your hands, knowing that in all likelihood drinking from it was going to kill you but not drinking would get you killed anyway. Maybe I shouldn't have done it clutching a boiling hot cup of tea though - it did add realism to the whole burning part though.
I did rather fancy the idea of Alistair staying with Ceri, at least until she fell asleep but it didn't happen (she refused to ask him, silly girl!) but at least I remembered to get the Warden's Oath medallion in, after it got left out in all three drafts. I figured if the Warden Commander's armour has the griffins on it, the Warden's Oath would as well. Besides, I like griffins - so much so that I got Wynne really angry when she was telling the story about the Grey Wardens by choosing "Griffins?" or the equivalent every chance I got.
As always thank you to everyone who is reading along and extra big hugs to my reviewers - your comments and encouragement always give me a boost and make it easier to keep writing. I'm sorry if the chapters don't come out as quickly as they might but I want to get them as good as I possibly can before posting - I can be rather obsessive about polishing chapters it seems.