Morrigan leads them to Ostagar's gates and then leaves them, deflecting Marian's thanks with brusque words and disappearing. Marian shrugs and pounds on the gates until the sentry lets them in. He can't tell her what time it is, only that it's third watch, which spans the first half of the night, but he says he expects to be relieved soon.
Marian looks longingly at the food tent, far in the distance, but turns and trudges over to Duncan's fire with a sigh.
Duncan stands at his bonfire, staring into its depths. "Here," she says abruptly, holding out the sack of scrolls. She doesn't care if she's interrupting his private meditations; it's late, she's tired and hungry and cranky.
Duncan turns with an easy smile. "You were successful, then? Good. I've had the Circle mages preparing. With the blood you've retrieved, we can begin the Joining immediately."
This sets her mind buzzing. The Joining is a magical ritual, then? She wishes she knew anything about the magical properties of darkspawn blood; without knowing, she can't guess at its purpose. Rodercom's Uncommon Calling has a section on magnifying rituals, and she has wondered if painting the sigils in blood might magnify the effect. Alistair mentioned that all Wardens can sense the darkspawn when they're nearby – obviously a magically instilled talent. Perhaps the darkspawn blood is used as a focus? Eshaba, in particular, is sensitive to its conducting material, and it's easily linked to a subject, but how do they invert its inherent desire to throw energy outward?
Marian theorizes happily, cursing her lack of reference materials, until she realizes that the hum of conversation has stopped. She looks up. They're staring at her, and Duncan looks both expectant and gently amused; she realizes that she has just drifted away from a somewhat important conversation, and that perhaps inattention due to the library in her mind might not be as easily explained or excused here as it is at the Tower.
"Sorry," she forces herself to say, hating every moment of it. "Could you repeat the question?"
"Are you ready for the Joining?" Duncan asks, all amusement banished like it's never existed.
"Oh," Marian temporizes, glancing longingly at the army camp she knows is in the distance, where the food and bathing tents are. "You couldn't give us half an hour, could you?" She brightens as she remembers what's in her pack, and that it gives her a legitimate reason for delay. "I have something for the kennel-master."
Something chills deep in Duncan's eyes, and Marian opens her mouth to take back her request, but he surprises her by nodding. "Best you finish anything left outstanding," he says. Alistair's eyes flicker toward Duncan and then away, so quickly Marian almost misses it; but there's a crease between his brows that wasn't there before.
Trouble's coming. But without knowing from where, or who, all Marian can do is keep her eyes open.
They break from Duncan's fire and Marian immediately steps over to the kennel. "I brought you something," she says to the kennel-master with a smile, digging in her pack. "I'm pretty sure this is the one you wanted..." She liberates the flower and rolls her eyes when she realizes that it's showered dirt over everything in her pack.
"Let me see that," the kennel-master says, his eyes intent. He gently smooths out a twisted petal, tracing its blood-red base, and smells the center. "That's exactly it," he says with a grin. "Wonderful! Hold on for a minute while I mash it?" He steps away before Marian can point out that it's the middle of the night and she has other things to do.
"Of course I'll wait," she says to empty space.
"Aren't you done yet?" Alistair asks from behind her, and she swallows her breath while simultaneously twisting to look at him and launches into a coughing fit.
"Would you quit that?" Marian asks when she finally has her breath back. "Maker, you're irritating."
"All part of the service," Alistair says blandly, but the gleam in his eye speaks for him. Then he sobers. "But really, we should get moving. Duncan's waiting."
"I know," she says. "But..."
"Thanks for waiting," the kennel-master says, appearing as abruptly as he'd disappeared with a potion pot in his hand. "Mind giving me a hand? I need a Grey Warden for this part."
"I'm not a Grey Warden yet," Marian says, shrinking backward a little. "He is." She jerks her thumb at Alistair.
"Oh no," Alistair says, outright backing away. "Dogs and I don't get along. You do it, if you're so eager. Leave me out of it."
The kennel-master sighs. "I hate to ask, but otherwise I'll have to put him down."
Marian groans and surrenders. "Hold this," she says to Alistair, dumping her pack on him and turning away before he can answer. "What do you need?"
She ends up muzzling a mabari that comes up to her waist while the kennel-master smears flower paste into its wounds. She decides to put something nasty in Alistair's bedroll at the next opportunity.
"That should do it," the kennel-master says. "I have to say, he's behaved nicely for you. Ever think about trying to imprint a mabari? I think this one'd suit you."
"Um," Marian says, taken aback. She backs out of the stall and accepts her pack from Alistair. "No? I've never had a pet, I'm not sure I could take care of one."
The kennel-master laughs scornfully. "A mabari takes care of itself," he tells her. "Come back after the battle, maybe we can see about imprinting him on you."
She agrees because Alistair is now poking her in the back to move her along. "Quit it!" she hisses as soon as the mabari keeper is out of earshot. "What are you, twelve?"
"Duncan's waiting," is all he says in return, pointing toward the north.
"I was hoping for some food," she tells him, wistful longing spreading through her.
"Better not," Alistair says, warning.
"Really?" she says. Some rituals can have that effect, she knows, but even knowing she might be bringing it back up in twenty minutes time doesn't quell the desire. "What about water?"
He silently unhooks his water skin from his pack and passes it over. She's never drunk from a skin before, but after a minute she figures out the mechanics, and takes a swallow, or maybe two, before handing it back. "Thank you," she says, but he doesn't answer. Marian starts walking.
Alistair leads her to the same rotunda she met him in earlier. Jory and Daveth are waiting, and she takes her place in the loose circle they form when Alistair stops. Marian glances around, but there is nothing in this bare place except a low table with a large silver chalice. A ritual compacted into a potion? Could it be done?
Marian carefully banks that thought before she drifts off again.
She looks up, and Daveth catches her eye. He tosses her a tiny bag, which, when she looks down, proves to be a coin-purse. She looks at Daveth in confusion.
"The quartermaster was still awake," he says with a shrug. "He pays good coin for some of that stuff from the Wilds, and that's your share." He tosses identical bags to Jory and Alistair, who only catches it after it hits his breastplate. He nods to Daveth and folds his arms; this is a more serious Alistair than she's seen before. It's a little disconcerting.
Jory starts to pace, adding to the tension. Marian wishes he'd just stay still; if she has to with his fidgeting through the whole ritual, she's going to scream.
Daveth kicks a loose stone at Jory, and he stops. "The more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it," Jory says, and Marian groans. The way he flip-flops between courage and weakness is driving her insane.
"Are you blubbering again?" Daveth says, disgusted.
"Why all these damned tests? Have I not earned my place?"
"Maybe it's tradition. Maybe they're just trying to annoy you." Marian knows which one she'd rather believe, and from his voice, so does Daveth.
If she had worlds enough and time, she'd spell his voice silent or his mouth shut. He's giving himself more nerves with his own talking and reminding her of her own, which she had successfully pushed away. Rituals are dangerous, after all, and something about Duncan and Alistair's demeanor is setting off warning signals in her brain. Just did she miss at Duncan's fire?
"Look, there's nothing we can do about it now," she says to Jory. "Unless you want to run, in which case I'm pretty sure Duncan would find you."
Jory sighs. "I only know that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way. If they had warned me... it just doesn't seem fair."
Marian's nerves are multiplying, filling her up until she feels like a glass with too much ice inside. She looks at Alistair, who is studiously ignoring all three of them, his head turned to watch the entrance to the rotunda.
"Would you have come if they'd warned you? Maybe that's why they don't. The Wardens do what they must, right?"
"Including sacrificing us?" Marian's head comes around so fast her neck hurts. She tries to speak, but her voice has temporarily deserted her.
Daveth shrugs. "I'd sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight."
Marian finds her voice. "Shut it, both of you!" She looks at Alistair again, whose shoulders seem to be climbing into his ears.
"Alistair?" She doesn't know what she wants him to say; she can hear Daveth and Jory continuing their bickering in softer tones, but Alistair won't even look at her.
She has no idea what's going on.
"Duncan," Alistair says in relief, dropping his shoulders and letting his arms unfold. Marian turns to Duncan who pauses, silhouetted in the frame of the empty doorway. He nods to Alistair, who nods back.
He crosses to the low table and turns to stand before it. "At last we come to the Joining," he says. He looks at each of them in turn with serious eyes; the world outside has gone away, the warm people sounds from the army camp, the small animal noises from the Wilds, the wind in the trees and the wet smell of nearing dawn. Jory and Daveth stand with her, scared and unsure.
"The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation," Duncan says, so solemn. "So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood... and mastered their taint."
Marian stares at the chalice with horror and sudden nausea. No wonder Alistair had warned her not to eat anything; she wonders if she'll bring it right back up, and if she'll still be counted a Warden if she does. Maybe they'll decide she's not fit after all, and send her back to the Tower...
Marian swallows, and swallows again to make sure it sticks. She won't go back, not ever. She'd rather die. If this is what it takes to make that happen, then she'll do it.
That doesn't mean she has to like it, or make too much of an effort not to vomit on Alistair's boots.
"We're... going to drink the blood of those... those creatures?" Jory probably thinks he's speaking under his breath, but it echoes in the empty space of the rotunda, bouncing off the stone walls. She winces.
Duncan nods. "As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. This is the source of our power and our victory."
"Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint," Alistair says, shifting a little in place; Marian can hear his armor creaking. "We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon."
Duncan speaks again, his words measured and paced, almost ceremonious. "We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?"
Marian wonders how many people have heard these words, and for how many they were the last words they'd ever hear.
"Join us, brothers and sisters. 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..." His voice drops. "We shall join you."
Marian's breath comes slow and shaky. If their aim is to scare them with all this ceremony, then they've succeeded.
Duncan turns and gently picks up the chalice. "Daveth," he says with grave eyes. "Step forward."
Daveth takes the chalice and, hesitating only for a moment, drinks deeply. She can see his throat moving as he swallows and then hands the chalice back to Duncan. He goes a little pale, a green that does not sit well on his complexion, and rocks on his feet. Duncan backs away, watching Daveth as intently as the rest of them.
Abruptly Daveth staggers backward, his breathing coming harsh and jagged in the silence. He screams, holding his head, but even that doesn't break the spell they've been put under, and no one tries to help him. He struggles to lift his head, looking at Duncan, then collapses to his hands and knees. His breathing has stopped, and he holds his throat as if he is choking.
Only then does Marian go for her staff, but Alistair takes her arm before she can reach it. When she looks at him, he only shakes his head warningly. He's not even looking at her. Reluctantly, she lets her hand drop, and he lets her go.
Daveth falls. Neither Duncan nor Alistair check him, or try to help; that can only mean that there is no help possible, that he's... Marian bites her lip until it bleeds.
She's never seen anyone die before.
"Maker's breath!" Jory says, horror-struck.
"I am sorry, Daveth," Duncan says, and the insane thing is that he really does sound deeply sorry.
The terror is a real thing living inside her now, instead of a part of her; it continues to grow until she's just a vessel for a seething and roiling ocean of fear filling her up.
Little mage, little mage... something whispers in her ear. She gasps and then covers her mouth; of all things, she doesn't want them noticing this, not when she's still not sure how much of a templar Alistair really is. Little mage, do you want to die?
In the abstract, she can admire its timing. This is the most vulnerable she's ever been.
Little mage, the demon whispers. They could not defeat us, not you and me together.
She knows it's true; an abomination with her body would be a fearsome thing. But it wouldn't be her. For all that she's so scared of the Joining she's going to embarrass herself any moment now, at least if she dies, she will be her own self while doing it.
I could give you anything, it coaxes. Your family. Your friend. You would never be weak again.
She closes her mind as firmly as she dares. She will not give in to her fear. My magic serves what is best in me.
Duncan sighs, and something in it is bone-deep weariness; she suddenly wonders how many Joinings he has presided over, and how many recruits he has seen fall. A momentary, not entirely welcome wave of empathy sweeps over her, drowning out the demon's sweet murmuring.
He lifts his head, and offers the chalice to Jory. "Step forward, Jory."
"But..." Jory looks again at Daveth, dead on the ground. "I have a wife. A child!" He takes a step back, and then another; he is close to the wall now, and he draws his sword from its sheath. "Had I known..."
Marian knows exactly what he's feeling, but she would not have chosen to draw on Duncan, whatever the circumstances. Duncan's eyes narrow.
"There is no turning back," Duncan warns.
Jory shakes his head, fear alive in his voice. "No! You ask too much!" He brings his sword up defensively. "There is no glory in this!"
Duncan gently sets the chalice down on the table and draws a little poignard from his belt, barely a handspan long and wickedly sharp. He advances on Jory, implacable, a juggernaut; Jory swings at him with shaking hands. Duncan dodges the first swing, deflects the second, and then he's inside Jory's guard, burying the poignard in Jory's sternum with a flick of the wrist that drives it straight through his scalemail.
Marian has both hands over her mouth. She's not sure what will come out if she drops them, so she doesn't.
Duncan supports Jory's weight for a long moment, then rips the dagger out of his chest and steps back, allowing him to fall.
Then Duncan turns to her, a heavy weight in his eyes. "But the Joining is not yet complete." He holds the chalice out to her.
Little mage... the demon whispers, urgent now. Do you want to die?
I'd rather die than be like you, Marian answers, and takes the chalice.
The smell of blood and rot hits her first, and she swallows hard to keep from vomiting; then she pinches her nose and drinks down as much as she can bear before she hands it back to Duncan.
The blood leaves a thick, gelatinous coating on her tongue and throat, and she swallows several times to try and get rid of it, but it lingers, tasting of rot and waste and disease.
I can still burn it out of you, the demon tells her, but she's not listening anymore, preoccupied with the distant changes she can sense in her body. Her blood is heating up, turning to fire in her veins, and there's an overwhelming sharp, stabbing pain in her head. She clutches her head in both hands – it hurts –
She screams, or she tries to, but she's curiously unconnected to her body; she can hear and see and feel, but she cannot move.
Something seizes her mind and abruptly rips it away from her body, flinging her into the Fade. Her mind is full of her own screaming, but with a deep breath she decides she can move again.
Then she looks up.
And up. And up.
The dragon screams defiance at her, and she just stands there, hands over her ears, too shocked to do anything or even move. It's huge and grossly corrupted, twisted beyond nature, but still she can feel a subtle, languorous song coming from the beast, softly beckoning to her. She sways on her feet, torn between the music calling to a part of her soul she hadn't known existed and the plain and simple fact that approaching any kind of beast that size is suicide.
It screams again, challenging her, but she clenches her teeth and pushes her hands harder against her ears. It doesn't block out the music, which she seems to be hearing through her very skin, but her nails digging into her skin is at least distracting.
She squeezes her eyes tightly shut, and it is only when she notices that she can't feel her fingernails in her scalp anymore that she realizes she has left the Fade. She's lying on the ground; Duncan and Alistair are leaning over her when she opens her eyes, and they both smile. "It is finished," Duncan says. "Welcome."
She sits up, and immediately regrets it; she presses her hands to her head and casts a healing spell, sighing in relief as the magic soothes all her irritated nerves.
Alistair stands back, giving her room. "Two more deaths. In my Joining, only one of us died, but it was..." He hesitates, and she can only imagine that he's searching for the words to describe the same thing that happened to Daveth. "It was horrible. I'm glad at least one of you made it through."
So am I. Marian pushes herself up off the ground and wavers only a little on her feet before finding her balance. It's been a long, hard, bloody day, and suddenly she is starving.
"How do you feel?" Duncan asks, his dark eyes unreadable.
"Like someone threw me off the Tower," she answers, lifting a hand to touch her head but thinking better of it when her head throbs. "And then landed on me."
"Such is what it takes to be a Grey Warden," Duncan says, but at least he sounds like he understands. It's nice to know that the person who would have murdered her without a second thought knows how she feels.
Maybe she's a little bitter.
"It's late," Duncan says. "Alistair will show you where you can sleep; tomorrow morning I'd like you to accompany me to a meeting with the king."
Startled, she agrees without question and regrets it almost immediately, but Alistair is beckoning her from the doorway and she reluctantly follows. "Why does he want me to go to the meeting?" she asks him. They head down the ever-present ramps.
"Now that you're here, you're the low man on the pole," Alistair says, almost with glee. "You're in for some great fun – running messages, taking dictation, and oh! Going to strategy meetings with good King Cailan." The sarcasm in his voice is so thick it practically chokes her.
"I could really learn to hate you," Marian says.
He laughs and leads her to a tiny tent pitched at the edge of the camp, points out the food and bathing tents, and mercifully leaves her alone. She is so tired that she collapses on the bedroll inside without even taking her hair down, but she can't sleep. She replays Daveth and Jory's deaths over and over in her mind. Could she have stopped it? She's not sure, but she could have at least tried.
She has enormous misgivings about what she's just done, but she can't see any way out of it except forward. She's a Grey Warden now, and there's a Blight to be fought. Fine. Now, if only she had the slightest idea how...
Decision made, Marian falls asleep between one breath and the next. She walks the pathways of the Fade alone, and tonight her dreams are her own.