Wilder

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XIV

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Alistair only ever witnessed one Harrowing during his time as an initiate in the Templar order.

The boat ride to the Tower was bad enough and even though it hadn't been overly long, at the time the swaying and rocking of the boat had been enough to slump Alistair over the side of the small vessel. He remembered how it felt in the Tower, the press and caress of magic against his skin that was both exhilarating and unsettling, the lightning and ice taste of it on his tongue. He remembered the vast, labyrinthine library because he had never seen that many books in his life. He watched apprentices pour over tomes as thick as his forefinger was tall and he remembered the smell of ink and parchment left behind in his nose. Many of the mages didn't spare Alistair and the two other Templar initiates a passing glance, but the glares some of them sent their way were filled with such a scathing hatred that he felt his cheeks burn crimson with shame.

The Harrowing Chamber was the last stop for the visiting initiates. His breath was shaky, and he felt utterly ridiculous clanking around in the armor and knowing he would be sore in the morning because his body was still undisciplined to the weight of it. But he was in awe of the Chamber itself, of the elaborate stained glass windows that arched high and encircled them, depicting the fall of the Imperium and the kaleidoscope patterns they cast in every direction. The taupe marble floor polished to perfection, bearing the Canticle of Threnodies in black marble circling the edges of the room.

Two other Templars were in the Chamber, their faces obscured by the face plates of their helmets, and Alistair was terrified of them even though he wasn't a mage - these silent, metal encased warriors, more hardened than Alistair believed he could ever be. They were nothing like the Templars he had met so far, who were all warm and pleasant conversation.

On either side of him stood the other initiates, standing proud, though trying not to strain under the weight of their armor or shift due to the unusual weight of swords on their hips. But Alistair was nothing like them. The two young men on either side of him were proud to be Templar initiates, ready to carry out their sacred duties and serve Andraste and the Maker. Alistair was only there because he had hopelessly resigned himself to his fate as a Templar, he couldn't fight it and didn't try.

Knight-Commander Gregoir explained that the initiates would be witnessing a Harrowing that day and that it should go fairly smoothly because the apprentice being Harrowed was quite skilled and possessed admirable restraint. One of the initiates standing beside Alistair ventured to wonder what would happen if it didn't go smoothly and in a stiff, detached voice Gregoir replied that if the apprentice failed the Harrowing, Templars were bound by their oath to slay the apprentice.

And yet, even with the Knight-Commander's assurances, the tension was palpable. No one dared speak or even breathe too loudly for fear of shattering the delicate silence and Alistair gritted his teeth together until his jaw hurt. He was filled with a near overwhelming desire to be anywhere but here, every one of his instincts telling him to run. But he stamped the insistent voice down, ignoring the weight his apprehension left in his chest.

First Enchanter Irving, who back then was clean-shaven and only mostly grey, crested the top of the stairs nodding in acknowledgment to the Knight-Commander. Then the mage wearing traditional blue apprentice robes trailed in behind him. She was a pretty thing with perfect alabaster skin that had likely never seen the harsh light of day, her narrow face framed by ringlets of spun gold. But it was her eyes that caught Alistair's attention the most - almost seeming to large for her face and the brightest shade of green he'd ever seen.

Those eyes were terrified.

And somehow in that moment when her eyes flickered in his direction, something in Alistair knew that she wasn't really ready for her Harrowing yet, and that it was not going to go as smoothly as Gregoir had promised.

Gregoir stepped forward and made a speech that Alistair was sure he'd given dozens of times before in his tenure as Knight-Commander. Then the girl approached the lyrium font, her movements stiff, her hands trembling. Irving caught her as her body went limp and her spirit entered the Fade.

After that, everything seemed to happen so quickly. The girl's body began writhing, contorting into positions it shouldn't have conceivably been able to. And then she was screaming, the sound no where near human, somehow making Alistair feel sick to his very soul, still able to hear it when he clapped his hands to his ears. When she finally stopped screaming the girl stood, opened her eyes, and Alistair's heart suddenly felt like a block of ice and his stomach crashed through the floors of the Tower into Lake Calenhad's waters. Her eyes were black, soul-less, no longer afraid but haughty and arrogant.

Her eyes immediately darted to one of the helmeted Templars as he advanced on her; she mumbled something under her breath, flicked her wrist in his direction and the Templar dropped to his knees, clawing at the neck of his armor, screaming. Somehow his fingers found the edges of his helmet and managed to pull it up and over his head. Blood raced down his face in macabre tears, dripped out of the corners of his mouth and nose to line his chin and neck. Alistair made no attempt to repress the shudder that racked his body when her mouth split into a chilling smile of utmost delight as she watched the Templar suffer.

Now the girl's previous terror became his own. Alistair wanted to shout but his throat was too dry, his heart beat so wildly behind the caging of his ribs he was sure at any moment it would burst through his chest and armor. Blood rushed and pulsed through his veins and it was difficult to breathe - or maybe he couldn't remember how to breathe. The two initiates on either side of him scrambled backwards in shock, but Alistair was positive that if he even tried to lift a foot to retreat, his legs would simply cease to bear his weight.

Then Alistair felt the manifestation of willpower as the Templars reached out through the ether for her magic. He felt when they found it, began pulling on the tendrils of the girl's magic, ripping it away as they deprived her, or rather, the thing inside her of her essence. The temperature seemed to drop with the sudden loss of magic in the atmosphere, and before Alistair could blink again a Sword of Mercy cleaved through the girl's chest from behind and blood began to bloom through the fabric of her robes.

When Alistair hit his knees and vomited, he knew he could never be stationed as a Templar in the Circle.

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Years after that failed Harrowing, Alistair stood in the main hall of Redcliffe Castle watching Jowan etch the runes he required for the ritual onto the floor, the same emotions he felt that day all clamoring for control. He wanted to yell, to shake Anouk and demand that she rethink this decision because she had no idea what forces she was toying with by allowing the ritual to be cast with blood magic. Another part of him wanted to walk away, to simply brush his hands clean of the entire situation and refuse to be part of it. But he knew the latter desire was not an option, Alistair was the only Templar for miles since the token force Redcliffe's Chantry possessed were all in the field searching for Andraste's Ashes, and even though he hadn't taken his vows Alistair was better than no Templar at all should things go awry.

Still, nothing stopped the anxiety that twisted through his nerves and made his hands shake. Alistair didn't understand how Anouk could come to the conclusion that this was best solution to Redcliffe's problems. He didn't know how the Chasind looked upon blood magic, but surely it was not condoned. Without much thought, Alistair's imagination began to run rampant imagining Chasind women dancing under the harvest moon while their shaman made a sacrifice to their pagan god in return for protection from the Witch of the Wilds.

Jowan's announcement that everything was ready made Alistair shake the image from his mind. Alistair blinked, refocusing and walked over to the three clustered circles drawn onto the floor. He crouched down inspecting the runes and lines, ensuring that nothing was smudged and there were no gaps. While Morrigan would be the one going into the Fade, all it would take is a simple, unintentional mistake on Jowan's part in the design of the circles for them to be dealing with three abominations instead of just one.

He looked up to Morrigan across the way, also crouched down to inspect the etchings. When she looked up and gave a single nod, Alistair announced, "Everything looks okay."

"I'll… get Isolde, then," Teagan said before turning and leaving the room.

Silence enveloped them, deafening in the loss of voices to echo against the stone walls. The look on everyone's face, even Jowan's, as Alistair looked them over said the same thing - are we really going to allow this? Tongue thick in his mouth, Alistair swallowed and brought his eyes to Anouk, her mouth set in determination. Aware of his gaze, her eyes flickered to his and his chest felt tight, achingly aware of every beat of his heart because what he could not fathom was the remorse Alistair had not heard in Anouk's voice when she made the decision to allow the ritual, now clouding her eyes.

Maybe he could still change her mind? "Anouk, there's still time to -"

"Tla."

"But -"

"Alistair!" Anouk hissed through her clenched teeth. Her hands were tightly fisted at her sides to keep from trembling, but Alistair saw it still and moreover, he recognized it. Anouk was not trembling from fear, or from anger, Alistair saw her shake the way she was now the night of the Joining - when she had wanted to flee but forced herself to stay. "Please."

Whatever Alistair was going to say next was lost when Teagan and Isolde re-entered the room. Red-eyed and undoubtedly terrified, Isolde approached Alistair with a small, folded up piece of parchment. Seeming to swallow her pride, the Arlessa met the eyes of the young man she had treated so miserably all those years ago.

"Please," she said weakly, handing him the parchment in her hands, "see that my husband gets this letter and tell him that I am so sorry… I was only trying to protect our son."

However genuine Isolde may have been, Alistair still found it difficult to feel sympathy for her, but bit back every harsh thing he'd ever wanted to say to her. Instead, he chose the more noble path and nodded, accepting Isolde's letter to Eamon.

"May I suggest that we proceed?" Morrigan interrupted. "The longer we delay, the more difficult it will be to separate the demon from the boy."

Isolde nodded. "Yes," she breathed, "yes, let us… proceed."

"My Lady, if you'll step into the circle," Jowan instructed, motioning to one of the three circles.

Isolde complied, stepping into the circle Jowan pointed to as Morrigan stepped into hers. Once inside her circle, Isolde immediately dropped to one knee, clasped her hands together and began rocking herself gently to and from in silent prayer. Only then did Alistair feel a stab of pity, not for Isolde, but for Connor. The Arlessa was known to be a pious woman, and magic was considered a sin against the Maker; Alistair wondered how Isolde had treated Connor in the time between when he started showing signs of magic and when Isolde hired Jowan.

"It, uh, might be a good idea to leave the room," Jowan said, "This… isn't going to be pretty."

Anouk shook her head fervidly. "No. I will see the consequences of this; whether Dmitri stays is his decision," she turned to Teagan, "but I would ask that you leave, Teagan."

Dmitri looked up, startled, obviously assuming Anouk would make them all leave the room. He gave her the smallest smile and nodded, "I will stay."

Teagan appeared conflicted though, mouth twisted into a contemplative scowl. Alistair cleared his throat, "I think the first face Connor should see is yours, Teagan."

"I… yes, perhaps you're right," Teagan said. When Teagan left, Alistair tried not to show how relieved he felt not to have him witness the ritual.

They gave the go-ahead to Ser Perth and his men stationed outside the three entrances that led into the main hall and all three doors slammed shut, while the echo of the locks sliding home assured everyone there was no turning back now.

Dmitri stood beside Alistair and crossed his arms. "You received enough training to know if this fails, right?"

Alistair tried his best to summon his most confident countenance, but he was sure it fell a little short. Nodding, he replied, "Yes."

"Good," his friend sighed. Then he looked up and across the room to where Anouk stood against the wall, still and stone-faced. "I don't envy her for having to make this decision."

"No," Alistair agreed, "but there were other options, no one needed to die."

Dmitri made no reply, simply shrugged and the two men watched Jowan make the final preparations for the ritual, cutting open his, Morrigan's and Isolde's wrists before stepping back into his designated circle. Jowan began speaking lowly, chanting almost, in what Alistair recognized as Arcanum, the words rhythmic and lyrical as the circles lit with magic. He felt the words as Jowan expelled them into the ether, caressing his senses just as the magic hummed through the atmosphere.

Alistair kept his eyes solely on Anouk's face needing to see her reactions as she witnessed the outcome of the decision she had made. Jowan's tone intensified, became louder, the rhythm of his words became harder and Alistair's mouth was filled with a sharp, metallic taste. The magic pulsed and hummed through the room in time with Jowan's words while Alistair fought every instinct he'd been taught in the Chantry, holding off on the buildup of his willpower.

Anouk's face went whiter than a sheet and her mouth dropped open when the spell began draining Isolde's lifeblood and the Arlessa's body raised a few feet from the ground, blood dripping from her wrists only to disappear in mid-fall. The lighted circle around Morrigan began to change color, glowing red as it danced and swirled around her. Then Jowan threw his bleeding wrists in the center where the three circles connected. Alistair felt the uncomfortable vacuum as the magic all rushed toward Morrigan. Every candle in the room blew out, but there was a soft thud as Morrigan's body hit the ground.

Now there was only to wait.

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Anouk crossed her arms over her chest tightly in a futile attempt to stop shaking as she stood in Arl Eamon's office waiting for Teagan. The ritual had worked, Morrigan killed the demon and Connor woke up with no memory of what had happened. Though Arl Eamon still laid comatose, the village was saved. So why then was Anouk filled with such disquiet?

She crossed to the window, looking out over the village, to the distant smoke plumes rising from the funeral pyres in the lake. Her chest felt heavy and it was a little difficult to breathe as she thought back on the ritual. Anouk had been aware Alistair was watching her the entire time and as much as she tried to remain placid, Anouk had not been prepared to see Isolde bleed away. She had not been ready to feel the press of magic against her skin as the spell filled the room and became a physical thing.

Restless, Anouk turned from the window, moving to the Arl's desk running her fingers over the cluttered surface. Everything looked frozen in time, as though the man was going to walk in any minute and sit himself down, ready to tackle that day's matters. Her prying was harmless considering the fact that Anouk couldn't read, born from a need to do something as she flittered through the papers. Eventually, Anouk's wandering hand picked up the only item sitting on the desk top that seemed out of place among the official looking documents and personal letters. An amulet, not unlike the one Leliana wore around her neck, but smaller, older.

I remember I had an amulet of my mother's with Andraste's holy symbol on it…

Anouk furrowed her brow, remembering Alistair tell them about his mother's amulet as they walked to Redcliffe. But hadn't he said he'd broken it? She walked back to the window for better lighting, holding the amulet close to her face. In the sunlight, Anouk could see the cracks that decorated the face of the amulet and in some places, whatever adhesive had been used to repair it had bubbled up through the cracks.

Anouk hadn't intended to pocket the amulet, but she heard Dmitri's footsteps approaching the study, the distinct scuffing of his left foot and the heaviness of his steps; and the quickest place for her to hide the amulet, and thus the evidence of her snooping was in her pocket. She looked up as her fellow Warden rounded into the study and for a moment he merely leaned against the doorframe, examining her. His dark eyes shone with a remorseful kind of affection as he looked at her, but Anouk was grateful that Dmitri could still look at her at all because both Alistair and Leliana were avoiding her eye.

"I want to tell you 'I'm sorry', but I admit I am at a loss," he said. "Your people do not apologize outright, correct? They ask for the forgiveness of those they've wronged?"

"You have done nothing that needs forgiven, diganeli," Anouk replied with a shake of her head.

Dmitri pushed himself off the wall, crossed the room until he was standing across the desk from her. "I have," he insisted, leveling her with the intensity of his gaze, "both Alistair and I have. We put you in the position to lead us when either of us would have been better equipped to do it, and in doing so we've inadvertently forced your hand. Of all of us, the most logical course of action would have been for me to take the lead when Alistair deferred, but instead I shirked my duty and gave it to you... Can you forgive me for putting you in this position?"

That Dmitri cared enough to adhere to her customs regarding this, made Anouk close her eyes against the sudden wave of emotion that threatened to crash over her. She could feel tears welling in her eyes, and she swallowed the lump rising in her throat. Asking for another's forgiveness required a depth of humility Anouk had rarely witnessed in grasslanders and outsiders, and among her people that humility was considered honorable. This seemly small action taken by Dmitri revealed to Anouk just how highly he regarded her.

When Anouk was sure she had her emotions under control, she opened her eyes and gave Dmitri a watery smile. "Yes, Dmitri. I can forgive you."

He nodded, offering her a bow similar to the ones she'd seen given to Cailan in Ostagar, with his arms crossed over his chest. "I'm glad." Standing to his full height once again, he said, "The funeral services are nearly finished. I imagine Teagan, Alistair, Leliana and Connor will return shortly."

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, "Tell me I did the right thing, Dmitri."

Sympathy overcame Dmitri's features as he gave her a sad smile. "I don't think there was a 'right thing' this time, love. And I don't think it's going to get any easier."

I think this is my favorite chapter so far.

It's 3:20 AM right now. Ugh.

I do have to say that my boyfriend is currently playing
DA for the first time and it is STRESSING ME OUT
to watch him play it when I've beaten it several
times. Haha. It's ridiculous! And I want nothing more
than to help him but he gets so cranky when I try, lol.
Oh well.

I'll probably not update again until after the 25th... maybe.
Feel free to consider this an early Christmas present :)

Uhm.. my birthday is on Friday! :D

Anyway. Thank you to... olivegbg, Cibiripilli, and
ShimmeringDjinn for reviewing the last chapter.
It really means a lot!

On that note - I hope everyone has a wonderful
holiday! Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Kwanza, Merry
Christmas and Happy Holidays!

-(gxr)-