A/N: I would like to thank everyone who has posted dialogues and cut scenes on the YouTubes and various wikis. They come in handy.

Duty's Journey – Chapter 12

Joining

Denerim – One month later, almost one year since the coronation of King Alistair

Alistair was having a very restless night, why he couldn't say. Things were going fine; Anora was out of his way and doing well, Ferelden was recovering nicely from the Blight and the famine that followed, and there didn't seem to be anyone trying to politically destroy him. At the moment.

But something was keeping him awake, like an itch between the shoulder blades.

"Good evening, your majesty."

Alistair bolted up, dagger he kept under the other pillow in his hand. He hated being paranoid, and hated it even more when it was justified.

Zevran leaned casually against the open window.

Alistair caught his breath, but did not put down the dagger, just in case. "We really do need some better security. So, have you seen her?"

Zevran nodded, fixing his penetrating eyes on Alistair. "You do not deserve her."

"What?"

"Not only did you let her go for foolish reasons, but you rutted with Morrigan on some flimsy excuse. But still she loves you. She could have any man she wanted, but she wants you." Zevran snorted as Alistair squirmed between pain and protest. "Now I am not sure who is the more stupid. You for doing this to her, or she for letting you."

"Now that's…" Alistair's shoulders slumped. His expression became that of a kicked puppy. "…completely true. I don't deserve her, but I want her back everyday. Is she alright?" Even though he had seen her in the Fade, had her reassurances, something hadn't sat right.

"No, she is not." Zevran frowned. "She is in a cold fortress filled with men who stare at her like she is some sort of freak. She has been attacked once already."

"Attacked!" Alistair got out of bed, ready to fight, not that he had any idea who to fight.

Zevran waved him down. "She defended herself well and her attacker will no longer be a problem, I assure you." Zevran's smile was wicked and dark, but faded quickly. Revenge has such short-lived pleasures. "Her injuries are all to her spirit, though she's chopped off her hair and lost all sense of style. Leliana would be appalled. I left Sten there. He will watch over her."

Alistair thought back to that last meeting in the Fade, where she had said she was fine. There was that momentary flash; short hair and frumpy clothes. He should have known. He sat back down on his bed heavily, knowing there was nothing he could do. "Thank you for your assistance, Zevran. I took care of the bills from the Pearl, by the way."

"Then I am well paid, your majesty."

"What are you going to do now? Going to go run up more, eh?"

Zevran put a boot to the windowsill and looked back at his former comrade. "No, I have been contracted for another mission. Good night."

And he was gone before Alistair could get out another word.

It was better not to know the business of assassins.

The Crag

Elinora dodged an axe swing aimed at her head. That one had been far too close. She'd only slacked off for about a month, but it had done some damage to her skills. But some things one never forgot, like the stench of Darkspawn blood and the thrill pumping through her veins.

It was good to get out and fight again. Really fight.

Sten and Finn seemed to be enjoying it as well. The two new recruits, a mage and a scrapper, were having a slightly harder time, but still holding their own.

One more vial to go.

The Crag was well named. It was once a dwarven thaig, but had been long abandoned, and for good reason. It had broken in half.

At some point a great upheaval had rent the place right down the middle. Darkspawn had poured out of the crevice and massacred the dwarves. The Wardens had come, too late, and set up a permanent base. They could watch and control the Darkspawn and perform Warden rituals without the interference of outsiders.

Including the Joining.

Battle done, it was time.

Elinora willed her hands to be steady as she poured each vial into the chalice, much like the one she had drunk from at Ostagar. She was playing Alistair's role now, to Rainer's Duncan. Could Alistair have felt this awful? Was he this worried about messing this up?

At least at Ostagar they had a bit of privacy. In the Crag, the initiates and the Wardens stood in something like a pit, other Wardens above them, their mages casting a shield to keep them in. It was like they were being tested, and, truth be told, they were.

She looked at the recruits, memorizing their names and faces. Sten she knew; stoic to the last, even though he probably had a very good idea what was going on. Elinora and Alistair had spent many nights by the campfire, talking about their lives as Grey Wardens. Who knows how much of those discussions he heard or remembered? The next was a mage named Tretan, human, Orlesian and snobby. He had protested the amount of blood that got on his robes. Last was a young elf, Atlantes, a runaway Treventer slave. He was twitchy and frightened. She hated to admit it, but if she were the gambling sort, she would bet against his survival.

Rainer began the ceremony. "The ritual of Joining is as old as the Grey Wardens themselves. During the first Blight, a few brave men and women drank of Darkspawn blood, taking on their taint, and mastering it."

"What?" Tretan gasped. "That is Blood Magic!"

Elinora shot him a quelling look. "It is our magic. It is the source of our power."

Rainer studied the protesting mage. "If you survive, you will be able to sense Darkspawn, and be immune to their influence."

"But not weapons." Atlantes added, half question, half statement of fact. Elinora shook her head and traced a finger down the scar from the archdemon. Atlantes studied her closely.

Rainer nodded, and Elinora lifted the chalice in toast to every Warden that came before her, that served beside her, and that would come later.

"Join us brothers," her voice echoed through the caverns. "Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you."

She held out the cup before her to see who would be the first to take it.

Unsurprisingly, Sten did.

He drank deep and pushed the cup back into her waiting hands. His eyes opened white and he bellowed a war cry that shook the caverns to their very core. He staggered to the wall, seething as he fought the taint within him. And then it passed. He took deep breaths and his face was flushed with fever, but he was still standing.

Which was more than Elinora could say about her Joining. She had passed out.

Atlantes took up the chalice next without hesitation. He drank, handed it back, and screamed. Like Sten, like all of them, his eyes shone white. He clutched his head and fell to his knees, keening and wailing, and then stopped. He collapsed to the ground, face down.

Elinora bowed her head; another lost. But her duties were not done. She lifted the cup and stepped toward Tretan. He stepped back. "I am no Blood Mage, girl. I will not be a party to this."

"I am sorry to hear that," Rainer whispered as he drew his sword. Tretan saw him coming and released an icy cone that froze the Commander where he was. The mage rounded on Elinora, to receive her dagger in his heart.

With his heart's blood spattered across her face, she breathed, "There is no going back."

A stunned silence filled the cavern, broken by the shatter of ice as Rainer freed himself.

And then Atlantes coughed and rolled over on his back, eyes still staring, but back to normal and burning with fever.

"It is done." Rainer's simple statement echoed.

They left the Joining Circle and retired to chambers closer to the surface. Sten carried Atlantes to the infirmary and remained to see to their fevers. Elinora watched them go proudly, then allowed Rainer to guide her to dinner.