Chapter Twelve

—JOINING—

Artha's heart was beating a little faster than usual, his nerves shared among the other recruits. They had gathered in what was left of an old temple but to whom he could not say. Curiosity was drained from his mind, chased away by this growing anxiety of this so called Joining. It was troubling to think about. But there was none more worried than Ser Jory, leaning against the ruined wall of the ancient temple which would be the site of their moment of truth, distractingly tapping his feet in a quick rhythm. The more he heard about this Joining, the less he seemed to like it.

"Are you blubbering again?" Daveth furrowed.

"Why all these damned tests?" the knight defended himself. "Have I not earned my place?"

The rogue marched toward him in frustration, highlighted by torchlight. "Maybe it's a tradition. Maybe they're just trying to annoy you." He stood now looking up at the soldier, toe to toe as if they were about to duel.

Jory was about to rebuke him again but Artha interjected, imploring them to calm down. "There was nothing we can do about it now."

The Redcliffe soldier was shaking his head, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I only know that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way. If they had warned me…" he was at a loss and slunk back against the wall almost in defeat. Perhaps he was right to be worried, that thought was certainly on Artha's mind, but he had the fortune of having his choices greatly reduced. "…it just doesn't seem fair."

Daveth's conviction was more firm however. He was set on what he had to do, especially once they had first faced the darkspawn out in the Wilds. "Would you have come if they had? Maybe that's why they don't. The Wardens do what they must, right?"

"Including sacrificing us?"

"I'd sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight," said Daveth. "You saw those darkspawn, ser knight. Wouldn't you die to protect your pretty wife from them?"

That, Artha could get behind, if it were a certainty. If his brother yet lived, then that would be his priority, to protect him and ensure no further harm came to Fergus. "You make a good point," if it was as simple as to making one decision for certainty, he added.

"Maybe you'll die. Maybe we'll all die but if nobody stops the darkspawn, we'll die for sure."

It seemed that Jory finally got it. He bobbed his round head and crossed his arms over his heavily armoured chest. He clutched his greatsword which was almost as big as he was, staring at the blade with a grim expression. "I've just never faced a foe I could not engage with this."

As their conversation quietened, they could hear songs and laughter within the encampment, soldiers trying to find any way to occupy their minds with distractions and merrymaking. Maker knew the three of them needed some of that as well. Something to rid their heads and hearts of the horrors of the Korcari Wilds.

While they continued to talk, Alistair appeared with a chalice and placed it onto a nearby table. Following behind him was Duncan. With every step that the faithful warrior took has this emanation about him, marching almost with a regal elegance that seemed to drown out all the noise in the background. In his Grey Warden raiment that was ripe with a hidden history, to Artha it was epic. He could pause for a moment and still hold their attentions.

Commander Duncan stood before the recruits who lined up in a line with Alistair at the head. "At last we come to the Joining," he said, walking over to the table and setting things down beside it.

Artha couldn't see over his shoulder to what it was but it was probably important and he could feel his nerves return in a fury.

The light that surrounded the man seemed to dim, like they were bowing down to the Maker's knight. "The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight," Duncan began. "When humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint."

Their eyes, each of their eyes had expanded into giant saucers and colour was drained from their faces. Ser Duncan grabbed the beautiful silver chalice which was now filled with the black tainted blood of monsters. "We're…going to drink the blood of those… those creatures?" Artha felt Jory recoiled in terror beside him. He had not brought his sword with him and now that seemed like an unwise decision for he remembered Jory had his and he could foresee this escalating.

"As the first did before us, as we did before you. This is the source of our power and our victory," Duncan replied, his voice unflinching as though he had anticipated resistance, part of the ritual even.

Then Alistair spoke and explained that those who survived the Joining became immune to the taint. "We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon," he said to them of the blood they had collected, the dark ichor that reeked of death.

"Those who survive?" Artha was flabbergasted, surely he had misheard them.

Duncan answered straight away, again, seemingly anticipating this line of questioning. "Not all who drink the blood will survive…and those who do are forever changed." The Grey Warden walked up to the young man and with his piercing Rivaini eyes scanned him for resolve. "This is why the Joining is a secret. It is the price we pay."

Then the commander gestured to Alistair who then took his master's place at the centre of them. "Join us, brothers," he started. "Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as see to the duty that cannot be foresworn. Should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day…we shall join you."

They spoke only a few words, but those words had been said since the very first. Small comfort they brought against the tide of imminent death, but Artha allowed the young Warden's words to fill him up.

Daveth was called up first, and unlike Jory, was more than ready to lay his life into the hands of fate, into the hands of the Maker Himself. He did not utter any prayers as he accepted the goblet but looked behind him and smiled faintly at his two companions. The sly roguish fellow took a sharp breath in and swiftly gulped down the cupful of blood, all the while Artha waited his turn, as well as making his own prayers.

At first there was nothing, Daveth just stood there and given the chalice back to Duncan. But then, it all changed. The thief, formerly of exact footing, master of his body was suddenly rocking about in a drunken stupor. He held his temple as though reacting to some sort of headache, shaking his head furiously and fell to his knees. He began to yell and cry and as Artha raced in to aid him he saw Daveth's eyes dissolve into white and empty orbs. Artha was implored to back away which he did and was left to watch on as Daveth's cries dropped into all out screams of agony and pain, rising up past the ruins and to the heavens before finally falling lower, clutching his throat and then silent and still upon the cold stone.

"Daveth…I am sorry," the bearded Warden spoke. "Step forward, Jory."

The Redcliffe knight quailed backwards. "Maker's breath…I have a wife. A child!" he wailed, and Artha realised where he was going. The man grasped his greatsword and held it in front. "Had I known—"

"There is no turning back... not now." As Jory took more steps back and Duncan a few steps forward, the latter man pulled out a small curved dagger.

Ser Jory rejected the man's wishes, the demands of this ritual and made to lunge at the Grey Warden. "No! You ask too much!" he cried but with every swing of his sword only cut air against Duncan who still advanced slowly.

"Jory, put the sword down, for Andraste's sake!" Artha beseeched him, trying to get close enough to disarm him, even if with his own hands.

He only shook his head furiously as his forlorn eyes welled up. "There is no glory in this!"

Now seemingly of his own mind and focus, Jory made a few more swings but the Warden simply parried them. Seeing to the flow, he continued the assault and for a brief while there was a struggle, but when Jory made another mistake in his footing laid him open and Duncan swiftly dug his blade into the boardy soldier. Again, Duncan echoed his words, "I am sorry," as he dropped the now dead body of the knight onto the ground.

Artha watched in horror and confusion at the events that transpired now before his very eyes—the death of two friends who shared in the terrors of the Wilds not a few hours ago, now lay still upon the floor. Sadness overcame him though prematurely maybe, for it wasn't over.

"But the Joining is not yet complete." He poured in another vial of darkspawn blood into the chalice and presented it to their only recruit left. "You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good."

Cousland huffed in a large intake of air and tore the gloved off of his hands to take the goblet. Then he took only a microsecond to look at the undisturbed blackness and raised it high to consume the liquid within. It tasted like any other blood, only a little bit thicker and he could not explain it but it tasted off, like he was eating the flesh off of a person's body.

At first he felt normal, no change, nothing like Daveth looked, but like the thief before him, felt his head being clouded, then a sharp but prolonged pain, like a gong had been banged in his head. He could not see what was happening but to Duncan and Alistair, he was looking exactly like Daveth did, the blueness of his eyes wiped away as he fell to the ground entirely…

But he was not dead…

He suddenly found himself on his two feet, under a corrupted green sky, looking up toward the terrifying figure of a dragon roaring with mighty breath over the landscape. The giant creature, covered in protruding horns and spikes craned its head down to him with his black eyes staring him down. The dragon roared again and Artha could feel it, the heat of the dragon's sickening breath.

…

Duncan knelt beside the young man that he had rescued from Highever a few days ago and whispered over his body, "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden."

…