Darkspawn blood. They had him drink darkspawn blood. Images of the horde trampled through his head, clawing and gnashing. Disorganized and afraid and fleeing. But not yet. Not quite yet.
Castiel shuddered awake, a cold sweat dotted his brow, hands scrambling for purchase on bedsheets. Alive? Was he alive?
Martha sat on a stool by his bedside. She smiled as soon as she noticed he was awake. "Welcome," Martha said. "And congratulations." They were in a small antechamber, a hearth, desk and single bed the only things in sight. The floors and walls were unadorned.
He struggled to push himself into a sitting position. "W-What happened?"
"You're now a Grey Warden," she told him. "Come on, let's get you something to eat."
The idea was strangely enticing.
He hobbled through high-ceilinged hallways, leaning against the steadying hand Martha kept at his elbow. She told him about the stronghold, how many Wardens lived there, and some of the dynamics of the Wardens in Montsimmard. Apparently there were issues between the Circle and the Wardens over escaped mages receiving protection from the order. Castiel wasn't surprised.
They came to a long dining hall with a smattering of circular tables. Blood red light from the setting sun poured in through the high windows, and a few other Wardens were gathering for their evening meal. "We eat a lot," Martha laughed when Castiel's eyes went big at the sheer mass of food in the room.
His stomach gurgled. Strange. He wasn't used to being hungry. Senior enchanters at the White Spire often commented on his poor appetite. "Why?"
"No one's quite sure, but it is a ubiquitous trait among Wardens. Come on, let's find somewhere to sit."
Castiel thought he liked Martha before, but now he was sure of it as she piled his plate with food. Orlesian roasts, Fereldan puddings, Antivan wines, Rivaini stews—Castiel had never appreciated food so much in his entire life. "This makes me happy," he remarked to no one in particular.
"New Wardens often say that," Martha grinned.
They ate in companionable silence after, but soon Castiel's mind caught up with him.
"You're not Fereldan," he said to Martha.
"No. I'm from the Free Marches. Markham, actually."
"Why are you in Orlais?"
"I go where Weisshaupt points me," she smiled. "If they point me anywhere, that is. Politics. Anyway, I'm only here for a short while, then a group of us are going to Ferelden to help build up the order over there."
Before either could speak again, a few other Wardens joined them, and offered congratulations to Castiel and condolences to Martha for having to drag the new person around with her. She laughed, and claimed she didn't mind. Castiel hoped she was telling the truth.
"You're lucky, you know," Martha said to Castiel with a smile. "Usually only those with the best chance of surviving the Joining are allowed to try."
Castiel looked up from his bowl of stew and frowned.
"The Orlesian Commander of the Grey has a weakness for those in need," she explained. "He's allowed several blighted people to undergo the ritual, I've heard."
"Much to the First Warden's displeasure," said one bearded man.
The elf at the table scoffed. "He doesn't know what things look like here in the south."
"Anderfels snow must fill his ears," the bearded man replied.
"I wonder if he actually cares for Ferelden at all." The elf's words were surly and dismissive.
Martha made a sound of displeasure. "I wouldn't be going to Amaranthine if he didn't care."
Castiel asked, "Are new recruits being sent, too?"
"Of course."
"Will I be going with you?"
Martha shrugged. "They need mages. If you think you're fit enough to travel, then I'm sure you would be welcome."
"I imagine Kinloch Hold isn't sending many people," he commented, mostly to himself.
"Probably not. Good thing you're with us then," she smiled, but Castiel couldn't feel its warmth.