Lying on the straw bed, Alistair stared blankly at the wall. His wounds were healed, but it didn't bring any of his strength back. Nor did it keep the shame from surfacing. Over the past days – it had been days, hadn't it, could he even tell – he had been consistently bled and questioned, unable to control himself. Each day it had been easier for the mage to take from him, weakened by blood loss and very little food.
Would the gnawing knotting in his stomach be so bad if he weren't a Warden?
Neria, Neria, sweet Neria, he though, closing his eyes as tears threatened to well. He had asked in detail about so many aspects of his life, never satisfied with the answers. No matter if they knew all he could tell. It almost sounded as if they would go to Ferelden to find her. They were insatiable.
The door broke open and Alistair shook his head, licking his cracked lips to whisper, "Please… n.. no more."
The inked qunari guard ignored his words, picking Alistair up to all but drag him out the door. He finally found his feet, though they stumbled and dragged as the massive, horned man hurried him down the familiar corridor. Soon he was on his knees, restrained and linked to the ground. He had learnt not to fight.
Light from the mages sparked in the corner of his eyes, as they prepared the ritual, and Alistair didn't look as their leader approached.
"Please…" Alistair whispered, nerves frayed away as he shook his stubbly cheeks, "There is nothing more."
"You have been saying that since day one, templar," Migel flatly said, drawing a familiar blade from his sash, "You should have learnt by now it will come out. There is no hiding anymore."
"You've taken it all," Alistair said, his voice cracking louder, "I cannot hide if I try."
Migel's lips turned in a knowing curve, and he pushed his black hair back over his ear, "Than this will be all the easier. Begin."
The mages surrounding him lifted their hands and joined together in a murmured chant, and sickly yellow light flared to life between them, a web of power coalescing. As Migel lifted the blade to Alistair's cheek, the ground heaved, and the sound of a close explosion vibrated through the stone all around them. He cut deep across the man's skin, and the mage turned as his cohorts were torn from their trance. One fell to his knees, the golden light sucking to him like a moth, and it wormed under his skin, eliciting a frightening scream.
"What in the Maker's name was that?" a greyed mage asked, staggering to his feet and paled from the interruption.
"Bloody Wardens," Migel murmured under his breath, striding towards the door, when a deeper, consuming rumble shook the tower.
Alistair pressed his hands to the ground, looking up at the mages as they fell. A deep-rooted clatter and numerous thuds was followed by the rending of mortar and stone. One of the doors broke off its hinge, and a rack of vials tumbled off the desk against the wall. Dust filled the room, and blood spattered from the flowing wound on his cheek as he coughed.
He had to blink rapidly to keep the particulate from his eyes, but Alistair saw the mages scrambling to get up. Another row of shelving collapsed, and the jars and books clattered to the ground. The man injured by the ritual's disruption had not moved, and the greyed mage was at his side.
"Ephram is dead," he said, visibly shaken.
"Where is that page," Migel snarled, turning on his heel. With a motion of his hand, a well of mana flared blue and the qunari guard closed the door as best he could. "We continue."
A carrot-topped young man frowned, "How do you expect us to channel without Ephram, there are only –"
"Do as I say," Migel cautioned coolly, striding to push Ephram's body from the enchanting circle, "We resume."
"You don't even know what happened," the greyed mage said, though he stood to take his position none the less.
"Our vassals shall deal with the matter," Migel said, retrieving his blade and standing before Alistair.
The templar looked up at him as the mages reassembled, each cutting the palms of their hands before joining into a chant to manipulate the Fade. Migel ran his hand through the slack cut on Alistair's cheek, sighing at the slippery warmth. Turning the blade with a malicious grin, he nicked down either of his shoulders, and the mage's eyes swam red as he uttered the words to draw the haze around them.
Alistair choked, closing his eyes as a new pain blossomed behind them. A ghost rushed over his skin, and the burrowing sensation bled out through his limbs and birthed a scream.
"I will not be so tempered with you anymore," Migel whispered, dropping a foot back as he summoned the blood to his will, "You know what she did. She would have the child by now."
Unable to form words even as he felt pulled out of control, Alistair's neck strained, vein ridges there spreading in fractals up to the cut in his cheek. He clenched his teeth with the dwindling control, nausea rousing his stomach as a separation fled through his limbs.
"Don't you dare touch him," Fiona hissed from her place by the door.
Migel turned, a maniacal grin gracing his lips as he said, "Keep your place, friends. Fiona… what a," His eyes darted from the two female mages to where the qunari slumped, half-frozen and asleep, "Pleasant surprise."
"Cut the sodding act, you have no right to torture this young man," Fiona coiled her fingers around the staff in her grasp. Anne-Laure met Alistair's eyes, tensing as his blood dripped to the floor.
"It was the Commander herself that levied my right to extract the information from him by any means necessary," Migel remained within the triad of mages, the sickly yellow light misting around him. He smiled again, "My, my, Fiona, I've never seen you so worked up over a man. What is special about this one?"
Fiona's eyes flecked to Alistair, the pain on her features hardening as she said, "Stop this. There is no reason to make him suffer."
"Oh but quite the contrary, he will lead me to some of the greatest magical revelations of our age. And in the wake of a Blight, Grey Wardens have more influence than ever – the masses look to us for guidance, beacons in the dark, defenders against the tide."
"Stop your dark fantasy, and let the bloody templar go. He's an ignorant sod," Fiona snapped, "He wasn't even the one who killed the archdemon. There is nothing you need from him!"
"He has taught me a great deal about the one who did though, Fiona," Migel released Alistair's restraints, and at his command the man rose with empty eyes. Blood dripped from his fingertips, "Certainly you can appreciate magic to forgo death – magic to evade one's calling. You would deny it to others?"
Alistair made a muffled sound, trapped in his limbs as Migel issued another command, and he took the offered dagger. An Arcanum word broke the circle of concentration and let Alistair free to move on cotton feet towards Fiona.
"Don't do this," Fiona hurriedly said, dropping back and tugging Anne-Laure with her. She looked to Alistair's face, "You are stronger than this."
"There is no where to go, Fiona."
Spinning her head, Fiona glanced to the door and saw Siobhan there, "Commander…"
"Obligé de me débrouiller par moi-même…" Anne-Laure murmured, and raised her staff. Before she could speak, another rumble shook the tower, the sounds of explosion closer this time. She fell to the side as rock and dust rushed in the door with a burst of air.
The mages on the ground, Siobhan raised her sword, only to be tackled as Alistair regained some semblance of self. Fiona coughed in the dust, letting crack an explosion of fire towards the cluster of mages at the opposite end of the ritual chamber. Migel staggered from the flames, snarling as he captured the older woman in a crushing prison. Gaining his breath, he cut his hand, and Alistair wrenched to his feet at his command.
"Enough," Migel cried, the air still stagnant with dust. There was yelling filtering in from the halls and the floors below. Right then, a bolt split the air and embedded in his shoulder, knocking him off balance.
"What are you doing!" Leonie said from the door, hurrying to Anne-Laure's side as the mage roused.
"We're saving Al," Brant said, cocking another bolt to shoot Migel in the foot and pin him in place before he could cast. "Not stop for afternoon tea."
The other mages were rolling on the ground, struggling to get up as their robes still smouldered with flames. Leonie brandished her broadsword and advanced towards them menacingly. A pair dropped to the ground, and when the third moved, a bolt cracked him in the shin, and sent him squealing to the ground.
"Stop where you are," she said.
Eyes bloodshot, Migel spoke in a multi-faceted tone, "I am just beginning-"
Another bolt flew, snagging Migel's neck and spurting a fount of blood. Floundering, he drowned and gurgled, unable to move far before he slumped face down. Behind them, Alistair and Siobhan crumpled to the ground, and all that was left was the coughing and distant sounds of panic in the floors below.
"Well, that was easy," Brant said, flashing a white smile as Leonie guardedly swung her sword between each of the prostrate mages. Fiona fled to Alistair and Siobhan, ensuring they were alive before she cast a healing aura.
"Siobhan," Fiona said, as the woman's head lolled, and she reached out to stop the Commander before she turned her face into the door jam.
"Fiona, where am -" Siobhan's eyes flashed as she tried to sit up, only groaning as her body protested, "Where is Migel?"
"He's dead," Brant said as he walked over, offering another complacent smile.
The echo of feet down the hall brought a troupe of Wardens with weapons drawn, crowding to their fallen comrade and backing Brant into his companions. He raised his hands defensively as they spoke, and he replied with equal vigour.
"Stop," Siobhan said with as much force as she could, "They are not the enemy. I order you to stand down."
The Wardens turned to her, eager to defend their Commander, but as she spat something quick, they relinquished their weapons. Fiona looked back to Alistair, her smile softening as she saw his eyes open, though he still lay on the ground.
"Are you alright, dear?" she quietly asked, touching the faint scarring on his cheeks and neck.
Alistair flushed as he thickly swallowed, and closing his eyes replied, "I don't know."
Neria opened her eyes. It was difficult, they were caked with sleep, and the brightness in the room made her want to close them again.
"Thank the Maker," Nathaniel said, and she rolled her head to him. He stood up and went to the doorway, "Anders!"
"Nate," she croaked, scarce moving before she shuddered and started to cough. Each hack brought a clench of pain through her core, and she clutched her chest as she lay back on her side, struggling to breath. "Nate…"
"Stop moving," he said, snagging some water for her as he sat back on the stool and put a hand to her forehead. "It's good to see you open your eyes."
Neria furrowed her brow as she drank all of the water. Even then, it didn't abate the thickness in her lungs and throat. She softly huffed and closed her eyes. Flickered memories of feverish days surfaced, and she tugged the blanket twisted around her torso higher as she blushed, "You took care of me?"
"I did most of the work, truth be told," Anders said from the doorway, striding in to throw a chilled cloth over her face. "Nevermind what that healer from the Chantry wanted to do. Barbaric and outdated, I say."
"We had…" Nathaniel glanced aside, sitting back as he took the cloth from her and dropped it in the bowl of water on the nightstand.
"That's his way of saying you're going to have a nasty scar on your back. I think we got the affected tissue out though," Anders sat down on the bed, pushing her legs out of the way. "You should have had someone look at that from day one. The blade must have been poisoned."
"The Crows," she whispered, touching her throat. Neria turned her eyes to Nathaniel as he gave her more water. "Where – we're still in Amaranthine."
Anders and Nathaniel exchanged looks before the mage dropped his head, "We are."
"We finally heard word from the Vigil, but it isn't good," Nathaniel said, brushing his fingers over the coverlet she clutched. "But, your letter got through to the Queen. Garevel says the royal army arrived just in time."
Brow still furrowed, Neria began to wheeze and cough again as she tried to speak, only to lay her head back heavily on the pillow. Finally, she whispered, "We have to go home."
"You're in no condition to travel, Neria," Anders sighed.
"Where's Sigrun?" she whispered.
"She hasn't been herself," Anders replied.
"She ran into someone she knows in the city."
Neria exhaled out of her nose, unable to move, "But she's never been to the surface."
"But," Anders brightly said as he stood, snagging Nathaniel's shoulder, "It's about time to change that bandage."
A reddish colour crossed the bridge of Nathaniel's nose as he said, "Of course. Best she rests, too."
"Indeed, indeed," Anders said as he ushered the man out the door. Opening a satchel out on her desk, he glanced at her and said, "Least your fever broke?"
"Give me some lyrium," she whispered, eyes closed as she sagged into the bed, feeling an unnatural sleep wash through her. In a moment, she was out.
"Sorry," Anders sighed, throwing back the covers to gingerly roll her, "This is really for the best."
"Had us worried there for a bit, Al."
Carefully sipping the broth, Alistair looked at Brant from beneath his brow and quietly said, "Never call me that again."
Brant cleared his throat, unable to suppress a grin as he said, "Right, course."
They were sitting at a table outside. Alistair had been adamant about getting into the sun. From where they sat, they could see the rubble from the landslide that had taken out the northern side of the mage's tower. A large section of the fortress wall that seemed to hold back the mountain had crumbled too.
Licking his lips, Alistair closed his eyes, feeling the sun on his skin. They said he'd been in the tower a week. It felt like a lot longer. He felt old and spread thin. Like anything would break in if he didn't maintain himself. A rumbled whimper drew him from his thoughts.
Looking sideways, a pair of large wolfhounds obediently sat and regarded Alistair as he ate. Breaking his bread to dip it in the broth, he watched as the dogs eyes followed. He didn't hear Brant as he tore off bits to throw to each. Snapping them from the air, the dogs advanced closer, and one put its head in his lap.
"Alistair?"
"Hmm?" he looked back, plopping his hand on the dog's head and ruffling his ears.
"What is our plan now?" Leonie reiterated, the worry in her expression softening.
"Can we talk about this another day?" Alistair said, and he drained his broth, before snagging a water skein and getting up. He was away from the table before Leonie could protest. He beckoned the dogs with him. He walked through the halls onto the ramparts, and sitting against the wall, the dog flopped over his lap and Alistair gazed over the surrounding mountains.
He couldn't know about the others, he almost didn't care, Alistair thought as he ruffled the dog's fur. It provided a nostalgic comfort that made him ache inside. He just wanted to go home.
The sound of troubled breathing was followed by a scream, and Alistair opened his eyes. Two new recruits were in the dorm. He had been awake, either way. Sleep was not something that came easily. Each time he closed his eyes, he could feel the press of the cold stone, the weep of blood down his skin and the ever present chanting. He was thankful when a candle flared, followed by the quiet murmurs in a language he could not understand. It was noise. There were other people, there was light. It was freedom and security.
Reaching for his shirt, Alistair pulled it on and got out of bed as quietly as possible. He tugged the drawstring on his trousers and left the dorm. He almost tripped over the dog in the hallway.
"Oof, hey mister," Alistair whispered, and his voice echoed down the stone hall. Only a fraction of the lamps were lit, and he crossed his arms and tapped a bare foot as the dog circled back. "Better watch where you're going."
The wolfhound plunked its backside down and tilted its head, looking up at him.
"You have no idea what I'm saying, do you."
The dog crept forward and sniffed at Alistair's hand, earning a ruffle in return. Alistair knelt down and gave the dog a furious rubbing.
"You're cute and smelly enough," he murmured, "But you're no mabari."
The dog was oblivious.
"They are fine companions though," Siobhan said, standing in a robe with her arms crossed. "I think they know."
Alistair stood up, ruffling a hand through his shaggy hair as he said, "I'm not sure what they'd know."
There was another wolfhound at her side, and the one by Alistair trotted to Siobhan as she knelt to hug and pat the large dog, "That we need them. That they help us get better."
"Ualan always knew," Alistair said, his voice choked as he watched her stand.
Siobhan raised a brow as she said, "Walk with me."
Glancing back at the dorm, Alistair crossed his arms. It was late summer, and the chilly mountain air penetrated the fortress, "He was our mabari during the Blight. Well, I say ours, but he was hers."
"They imprint, if I recall?"
Alistair nodded, following her through the halls, "He found her after the defeat at Ostagar. One of the best soldiers we could have had."
"I can imagine Rowl fighting," Siobhan smiled tiredly and pat one of the dogs. "He is a push over."
"So I've noticed. Not above begging either."
Siobhan's smile softened, even as she chided the dog in her native tongue, "They should know better, they are fed well enough."
"I'm not sure it's ever enough for dogs, they might as well be Wardens. Bottomless pits."
Siobhan grinned, tucking some of her long, grayed hair behind her ear, "Yes. Will you be warm enough?"
"Me?" Alistair laughed, pausing by the door, "It's summer time. What, is this cold for you?"
"You aren't wearing shoes - or socks for that matter."
"Remember you're talking to a Ferelden native," Alistair murmured, holding the door for her. "Where are we going anyway?"
"I thought you'd like to see the aeries before you go."
"Before I," Alistair shivered slightly as the mountain breeze hit him, "You're letting me go?"
"See, it is cold," Siobhan held her robes close, a shadow over her eyes as they walked in the moonlight, "Alistair, I have not been myself for some time. I believe we have... been through something very similar."
Alistair's jaw hardened as they crossed the bridge, and his nostrils flared as he made to speak, but then the white-cliffs caught his gaze. It was a clear night, and the moon made them glow. The haze of his mind gave wings to what once would have been there, and he shook his head and looked down as he said, "Did Migel torture you?"
"Is it not torture enough to have another in your mind? Another forcing your hand?"
Shuddering, Alistair crossed his arms, "I am sorry. I should not diminish your experience, it is just I...I..."
They stopped together at the foot of the aeries, looking up the entrance of the nests. Siobhan touched his arm.
"I am sorry for all this. But without you - without what happened to you, I don't know how long Migel would have continued to control me," she quietly said, the lines around her eyes deepened from the shadows of night. "Fiona and your friends freed me in freeing you."
Alistair's shoulders drooped as Siobhan slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.
"The landslide almost destroyed them," Siobhan quietly said, motioning to the stone rubble in the distance. "Can you imagine? This is all we have left of them now. We have lost so much."
Alistair exhaled slowly, nodding as he said, "Seems that is the way of things."
Siobhan motioned to a hidden staircase, and it was almost too dark to see. His feet ached on the cold stone as they ascended, but it was liberating. Hadn't Neria always said that? She found freedom and clarity in the cold. The cold penetrated.
"I had planned to talk to you about all this when it was light," Siobhan murmured, but soon they emerged into a wide cavern. White stalactites strained, unable to reach them, but the full moon shone in through the pock marked openings of the carved edifice. "To show you the nests, to show you the view. Short-handing you again."
"No," Alistair found his voice, and he had to clear his throat as they walked towards one of the arched entryways, "No, I appreciate you bringing me here. Though in a way it only adds to the melancholy."
"Indeed," she replied, stopping as they looked out over the moon-gilded mountainscape. She traced a hand over the carvings that lined the exit. "I try to imagine that somewhere they exist and live contently without us. A life that is free."
"That is all anyone can imagine," Alistair replied, hugging himself as Siobhan took her hand back. They walked back through the caverns, his calloused feet growing numb on the stone.
"I am arranging for your expedited passage back to Ferelden."
Standing back up to tuck a found feather in his shirt pocket, Alistair's mouth dropped open, "Pardon?"
Siobhan turned around, and she inclined her head back towards the stairs. She spoke as they moved, "You have endured enough at the hands of those meant to be your closest allies. I will deal with the First Warden when he returns. You... you deserve to go home."
Alistair's mouth thickened, as he nodded and quietly said, "Thank you."
Glancing at him, Siobhan reached for his arm again and said, "I have dragged you around in the cold long enough. You know the way now. Return when it is light before you go."