Arcane Warrior
Chapter 2
Bound in Blood and Magic
Part 1
Love
Jowan groaned and rolled over in his bed as he dragged himself back into the waking world. It took him a moment to gain his bearings, everything seemed to blend together into a colorless blur of half formed shapes, as if the mage's mind registered everything around him through a sort of fog. Eventually though the haze passed, and he was able to realize what had woken him; the soft sounds of clanking steel and the quiet murmuring of the templar sentinels who had entered into the apprentice barracks.
One would think they would be so much louder than they were, armored knights shuffling around in their ceremonial skirts with wooden sword scabbards hanging from their hips as they maneuvered between a maze of bunks each, with a heavy wooden chest laden with heavy tomes and small, personal trinkets.
Keeping his eyes closed and doing his best to feign sleep to avoid a confrontation, though he did his level best to try and listen in as they spoke quietly among themselves and tried to figure out why they were here. The guards weren't exactly kind to their mage prisoners, some of them taking a liking to waking them from sleep just to annoy them, knowing they could do nothing in return lest they be labeled as an abomination or a blood mage or other such rot.
"One of the quickest and cleanest Harrowings I've ever seen, saw through that last trap almost instantly." Jowan almost jerked up at those words.
The Harrowing!
One of his fellows had gone through their Harrowing, the last step required for an apprentice to become a full mage of the Circle! "Perhaps the Knight-Commander was wrong about this one, he doesn't really seem all that unstable to me."
"Yeah, and that swordsmanship display in there, I had heard tell around the tower that this one was good, but those
Knight Enchanters really are something else. We ought to bring him up to the training area, have a few practice sessions."
'Swordsmanship, Knight Enchanter? He did it, Alim really did it!' Jowan thought fiercely, almost jumping clean out of his bunk in happiness at the news of his friend's success. He was the only one they could be referring to after all, Alim wasn't the only apprentice in this generation being instructed in the path of the Knight Enchanter, but he was the best.
Most of the other apprentices and instructors simply owed that to First Enchanter Irving's prowess as his teacher. Jowan though, as one of the only people in their age group who actually knew Alim beyond 'that effeminate looking elf with the strange fixation on knighthood', he firmly believed it was due to Irving's teaching prowess and his friend's own natural talent.
Jowan internally celebrated, this meant that he wouldn't have to say goodbye to another friend! It was always so painful, to wake one day and see yet another apprentice who has mysteriously disappeared. Or worse, to roam the hallways one day and see a close friend bearing a sunburst brand upon their forehead.
But that hadn't happened, not this time.
The two templars lied the elven mage down on his bed before leaving the barracks as quietly as their armor would allow. Once the crowded room was silent once more, save for the snoring and murmuring of sleeping apprentices of course, Jowan opened his eyes fully and leaned over to try and get a better look at Alim. He didn't look that bad, and the Templar said that he had done rather well. So, the harrowing wasn't any kind of physical test or battle he guessed judging from the elf's unmarred and pristine state.
Squinting from the light beginning to stream through the stained-glass window adjacent to his bunk Jowan rose from his bed and started to get ready for the day, it would not be long before the wakeup call would go off. If Alim was at all like the previous survivors, he wouldn't be awake for a few hours yet anyway.
'True tests, never end'
Alim jerked up in his bed, panting. The final warning of the pride demon that had called itself Mouse echoed tauntingly in his mind. He looked around, expecting the demon to be coming for him. But no, he was back in the relatively albeit somewhat claustrophobic apprentice barracks, with its dozens of bunk beds all crammed in together with no regards to privacy or segregation of any form.
He closed his eyes and fell back to the bed, groaning both in tiredness and at the state of disquiet his mind had been left in.
'I don't get it' Alim thought. 'I was just asleep, so why do I feel so tired? I'm used to being taken to the fade, so why is this different? And then there's what that demon said, I get the feeling that I'll be meeting him again.' His eyes narrowed 'I don't look forward to it. Pride demons are extremely powerful and cunning.'
"Are you alright? Say something, please…" He heard a voice off to the side somewhere say, the noise knocking him out of his inner monologue.
Alim opened his eyes to see that Jowan's face was right in front of his own as he sat up in his bunk. "Jowan?" Alim asks, he had recognized the voice, but somehow just speaking his fellow apprentice's name out loud felt like it would ground him in reality.
"I'm glad you're all right. The templars carried you in this morning, I didn't even realize you'd been gone all night. I've heard about apprentices who never come back from Harrowings. Is it really that dangerous? What was it like?" Still disoriented from his experience, Jowan's rapid line of questioning came almost too fast for him to keep up.
"It was... harrowing" he smirked slightly at his pun when Jowan rolled his eyes in irritation. "Is that why they don't tell us what it's about?" he asked eagerly, "I know I'm not supposed to ask, but just a little hint, then I'll stop asking, I promise." His voice had taken on that disarming pleading tone which he only used when he was truly desperate, taking Alim off his guard.
'Why is Jowan pushing the issue so desperately?' he wondered, as despite the fact that Jowan was by no means the most talented mage in Thedas, or even the most powerful, but he was by no means the weakest or least talented. He had above average talent in Entropy magic, and a somewhat lesser amount of talent in Primal spells.
"We're friends Jowan. But please don't ask me this, you know I can't tell you." He said to his friend guiltily, as much as it pained him to keep secrets from his friend, he was a loyal mage of the Circle and giving away knowledge that was forbidden to apprentices wasn't something he was going to do.
"Huh, so much for friendship, I'll leave you alone then." Jowan said in response, obviously trying to guilt him into losing his composure and spilling the secret. Alim said nothing as he slid out of his bed and began his morning stretches. "And now you get to move to the nice mage quarters upstairs. I'm stuck here and I don't know when they'll call me for my Harrowing." Jowan whined, moving out of Alim's way. "Don't worry so much about it, I'm sure they'll call you for yours soon enough." Alim finished his routine and shook his limbs, feeling nice and limber.
"Easy for you to say. I've been here longer than you have… sometimes I think they just don't want to test me." Jowan pouted at Alim who looked up at him, eyebrow quirked. "What are you talking about Jowan? Why wouldn't you be tested?" "The Tranquil never go through a Harrowing. You do the Harrowing, the Rite of Tranquility… or you die. That's what happens." Jowan explained as though Alim didn't already know this, but what bothered him was the look in his eyes, it was almost as if he didn't see the Harrowing as an option.
"What does this have to do with you?" Alim asked warily, standing in the doorway of the apprentice barracks. "If… if they don't call apprentices to the Harrowing, it probably means… tranquility. You've seen Tranquil around the tower. Like Owain, who runs the stockroom? He's so cold. No, not even cold. There's just… nothing in him. It's like he's dead, but still walking. His voice, his eyes are lifeless…" Jowan shivered, the Tranquil unnerved everyone at times.
"Owain volunteered though, you know that. He felt he was too weak for the Harrowing and... It was his choice Jowan, there was nothing anyone could have done."
"Yes, I know but... I don't know how they do it exactly, but you're cut off from the Fade. It takes away your magic abilities, along with your dreams," Jowan hesitated as he reached the worst part, "and emotions." Alim rolled his eyes at Jowan's textbook definition of the tranquil, those were Senior Enchanter Ivan's exact words from their first class with him.
"You speak as though I don't already know all of this, Jowan." Alim frowned, he didn't like to think about the Tranquil, even while he may not let it show but they did actually unnerve him at times. "Apprentices can ask to be made tranquil if they fear the Harrowing. But the Circle also forces Tranquility on those they feel are weak. And sometimes they force it on Apprentices they think might be too… dangerous as mages." Alim raised his eyebrow at his friend at all these obvious statements that even the slowest mage would know, it was almost as if...
"I shouldn't waste your time with this. I was supposed to tell you to see Irving as soon as you woke up." Jowan swiftly changed the topic of conversation as he remembered his orders from earlier and Alim relented, still suspicious but not wanting not to think further along his previous train of thought.
"Master Irving? What for?" Alim asks, it wasn't often that Irving would ask to see him outside of an appointed time, normally though Alim just showed up. "He didn't tell me. About the Harrowing, I'd guess, but you never know with Irving. You'd better not keep him waiting, we can speak later." Jowan walked away in a hurry, and again Alim had to bury his suspicions.
Like the previous night, the elven mage wandered his way up through the tower. Of course, now he made his way alone, and the previously dark halls were bright and colorful, bathed in the light of large, stained-glass windows. As he walked though, he felt... off.
Somehow, even though he had walked these halls for years, it seemed different now that he was a full-fledged mage rather than an apprentice. The halls seemed... he didn't quite know how to describe the feeling, but it felt like an old friend he'd be leaving behind... although that didn't seem to be an accurate summation either as he knew he'd still be coming down here often enough as a teacher.
He entered the spacious library, listening with amusement to William trying and failing to control a magical fire. The younger mage was not bad at magic, just lacking in self-confidence. His nervousness allowing for his spells to escape his control and get the better of him. It was amusing to watch his telekinesis training backfire on him and... at least until he'd have to get him down from the chandeliers and explain to the templars why they shouldn't kill the poor boy.
Stopping at a particular shelf, almost more out of nostalgia than anything, he took a very particular book, a magic primer. Opening to the table of contents. This book was meant more for newcomers to the tower than anything and held introductions to the four schools and beginner magical theory in purposefully simplistic terms that even somebody learning to read for the first time could understand.
For most mages one of the four schools of magic came relatively easily to them while the other three were a constant struggle. Alim himself was exceptionally proficient in two schools. Not necessarily a rarity among apprentices, but not quite uncommon either.
Primal was the magic of the elements. Energy was summoned from the fade and bent into fire, ice, stone and lightning. The best known of the schools; it was widely considered to be the easiest to lean. While it was true that almost any mage could do it, there were not many who could use it with finesse and skill since it was the hardest to truly control.
Creation on the other hand had more peaceful applications and required an extremely high level of control. Abilities like healing stemmed from this school, as well as defensive glyphs and strengthening and energizing auras. Masters of Creation were also the most likely to be allowed outside the tower to be used by cities and armies.
Spirit: the magic pulled directly from the Fade was the least common branch, and thus was sometimes mistaken as being forbidden by the ignorant. It was the most subtle of the schools, it didn't require that the energy be transformed into an element or augment the body, rather it taught the user to affect the world with the energy itself, such as using telekinesis to lift objects as directed by the mind.
Entropy was the nastiest legal branch of magic, designed for the sole purpose of debilitation. It could cause bouts of terrible fear to take hold of the mind, put targeted individuals to sleep, or a talented mage could use a combination of the two spells to cause the target to suffer terrible nightmares, it could create auras to absorb the life-force or mana from the air around them or from any living being who gets caught up in the entropic aura.
Alim himself had a rather large talent in two of these schools. Outside of his Knight Enchanter training, he specialized in spirit and creation magic, the two schools most necessary in learning his more unique discipline. He knew he had no natural talent in primal or entropy magic and thus his instructors had steered him away from them entirely with a sole focus on the remaining two.
He had always wanted to devote some time to studying the other two, but he had never had the time in the past to see if he could overcome his lack of talent with sheer effort as some had in the past. Perhaps now that he was a mage and not bound... well, not as bound by the strict instructions of his superiors in the Circle, he finally could.
A little further into the library, some of the youngest apprentices were getting a lecture from a loyalist mage about the templars favorite mantra.
'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.'
This passage of the Chant of Light was the whole reason for the existence of the various Circles in Thedas. It was what gave the Chantry the right to run the lives of mages all over the continent. Alim found it incredibly ironic that the Chantry's own doctrine was what they saw as making them legal overlords over them all, rather like the way that the laws made solely by the human nobility were used to oppress the elves. He sometimes wondered if the Chantry ever stopped to consider the irony that in an effort to escape slavery under the magisters, the mage lords of Tevinter, they in turn enslaved the mages of all of Thedas.
'Probably, it's their whole bloody plan, right?' he thought bitterly in a rare moment of pessimism.
Alim knew why the laws had come to pass, of course.
In ancient times, the Tevinter Imperium had ruled almost all of Thedas. It had been run, in turn, by the Magisters, powerful blood mages whose cruelty had caused a great deal of suffering. That much was known fact, but the Chantry accused them of much more. It claimed that the Magisterium's arrogance was so great, that they had forced their way physically into the Fade and sought to take the throne of the Maker for themselves.
They were rebuffed, "twisted and cursed by their own corruption" and had become the monstrous darkspawn. To further damn their memories, the Magisters assault on the Golden City is said to have caused the Maker to turn his back on the world, leading to the current sorry state of affairs.
Once, a few weeks after Alim had first arrived at the Tower, he had asked why the current generation of mages were still being punished for the crimes committed by those who had died long ago. The answer the class had been given was, of course, that their being taken from their families and exiled to the Tower was not actually a punishment, but a way to defend them from those out in the world who feared their power.
He had gone on to ask why the apostates, those that managed to live outside of the Circle peacefully were hunted. If they were capable of making it in the outside world without hurting anyone, then why should they be bothered? The loyalist, the same one who was lecturing these children before him, had answered by talking about maleficarum, and how they were a threat to everything and everyone and cursed by the Maker. In so doing, she had conveniently ignored the bit about how the apostates in question were not hurting anyone.
But this realization only came to him in hindsight, that loyalist's words had him entirely convinced, at the time, that apostates and maleficarum were one and the same.
Wrapped up in these thoughts, Alim only realized that he was nearing Irving's office when he heard the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander arguing about something through the open door. Glancing in, he saw them, as well as a man he didn't know.
About forty years old, give or take, the newcomer had dark salt and pepper hair slicked back into short tail with a wild looking but neatly trimmed beard. He had dark skin denoting a Rivaini descent. His armor, unlike Greagoir's almost ceremonial suit, looked like it had seen a great deal of action, but wasn't of any uniform he recognized. It strongly resembled a traditional Rivaini design he had seen in a history book.
He wore silverite sword strapped to his back, almost unassuming in its design but flawless in its construction. The sword rested in a specialized scabbard which left a large portion of the blade's flat side visible and given its location he could only assume that the special scabbard made for easy drawing from the back.
From the large sash around his waist emerged a smaller sash, almost a ribbon, which in turn was tied around the scabbard of a long dagger. In form it matched the sword on his back, and it was easy to see that they were meant to be used together in one of the many sword and dagger styles he had read about.
But the thing that caught Alim's attention the most, cliche as that may have been, were his eyes. They were a bright amber, but somehow seemed darker, strained. As though they had seen even more of the world than his age would indicate. Despite this, however, they seemed calm, at peace. The man glanced up from the argument and noticed the elf hiding behind the doorframe but did not immediately comment on it.
"Many have already gone to Ostagar, Wynne, Uldred, and most of the senior mages. We've committed enough of our own to this war effort" Greagoir was saying furiously. 'War? Who are we at war against that would require so many mages to be let out of the tower?' Alim puzzled to himself, as even one senior enchanter was worth almost a dozen normal soldiers. The circumstances here must be dire indeed.
"Your own?" Irving retaliated in wry amusement as he crossed his arms "since when have you felt such kinship with the mages, Greagoir? I think it good that we are occasionally actually allowed to use our Maker given powers."
"How dare you suggest-" Greagoir started dangerously, before being interrupted by the unknown man, who had perhaps sensed that the argument was about to dissolve into an actual fight.
Needless to say, a fight between the two strongest individuals in the tower was not the most welcome of developments.
"Gentlemen, please." He had a rich voice with a commanding, no-nonsense tone. Surprisingly, he was actually able to get the quarrelers' attention, something that caused Alim's opinion of him to go up a few notches. "Irving, someone is here to see you," he continued. Irving turned to Alim, having just realized he was there.
Irving chuckled softly, honestly surprised that he was still able to get so caught up within his disagreements with Graegoir that he could lose focus of all else.
"You sent for me, First Enchanter?" Alim asked, stepping farther into the room.
"Ah, if it isn't our newest brother in the Circle. Come in, young Alim," Irving said warmly, all traces of his argument with Greagoir fading from his face at the sight of his apprentice. The warrior stepped forward to stand beside Irving, still studying Alim intensely.
"This is?" he asked, "yes, this is he" Irving confirmed. Alim wondered what Irving had told this man about him. Nothing bad, hopefully. Greagoir's eyes narrowed, despite having proved his worth he was still distrustful of the young elf.
"Well, Irving, you're obviously busy. We will continue this discussion later." Greagoir said, striding past them toward the door. Alim stepped out of the way, meeting the Knight-Commander's eyes for but a moment. Greagoir gave him a look, warning him to tread lightly, before continuing on his way.
"Of course." Irving answered, either not noticing the byplay or, more likely, dismissing it as irrelevant. "Well, where was I? Oh, yes. This is Duncan, leader of the Grey Wardens."
"A Grey Warden, here?" Alim said, his eyebrows shooting up. The Grey Wardens were a widely respected group of warriors, who's duty was to fight the darkspawn. Little was known about them other than this, but they were almost universally trusted even in Ferelden, where until twenty-some years ago, they had been exiled.
"Grey Wardens go wherever duty sends them." Duncan said seriously.
"You've heard about the darkspawn threat rising in the south, haven't you?" Irving asked. Alim nodded, having heard some rumors about a large incursion in the Korcari Wilds, which was the southernmost reach of Ferelden, just north of the uncharted lands, rumored to be home to hedge witches. "Duncan here has come to recruit mages for the Kings army at Ostagar."
He straitened his back at that, he would gladly go to war if he was summoned. He was a patriot after all, and the aequitarian beliefs were deeply ingrained in him after so long as Master Irving's apprentice.
"It is essential that we drive the hoard back in the south." Duncan said. "If we cannot, then Ferelden may face another Blight." His vioet eyes widened slightly at that, and he instantly went silent.
Each of the past Blights had lasted decades, the exception being the first which had lasted almost two centuries. Each time it happened, tens to hundreds of thousands of people were killed.
Men, women, children... humans, elves, dwarves, or qunari, the darkspawn did not discriminate, they hated all of them equally.
"Duncan" Irving chided gently "You're worrying the poor boy with all this talk of darkspawn and Blights. He just passed his greatest challenge, today is a happy day for him." Alim wasn't comforted by Irving's words, but he appreciated the intent.
"These are troubled times, my friend." Duncan said quietly.
"We should seize moments of levity, especially in troubled times." Irving responded equally softly, before turning back to Alim. "The Harrowing is behind you. Your phylactery was sent to Denerim. You are now officially a mage within the Circle of Magi."
"Thank you, First Enchanter." Alim said, bowing.
"I'm sorry," Duncan interjected, "but what is this phylactery?"
"Blood is taken from all apprentices when they first come to the tower and is preserved in special vials." Irving started, trying to shut Alim out of the conversation, but the younger man simply wasn't content with just sitting on the sidelines during such an important and grim topic.
"Should a mage ever leave the tower" Alim continued, "the templars are able to use the blood to find them." It sounded awfully like blood magic to him, but with all the other borderline hypocritical things the templars did, what was one more to add to the list?
"We have few choices" Irving said warning him to be quiet, and Alim took the hint and kept quiet. "The gift of magic is looked upon with suspicion and fear. We must prove that we are strong enough to handle our powers responsibly." He turned back to Alim, smiling. "You have done this. I present you with your robes, your staff, and a ring identifying you as a full member of the Circle," he said, handing the aforementioned items to Alim. "Wear them proudly, for you have earned them."
"Thank you, First Enchanter" he said with a smile filled with pride. Pride that he had to thereafter push down into the recesses of his mind. He was still far too shaken up by the Pride Demon's last message to him to allow himself to be overcome by any emotion, perhaps especially pride.
He took his new acquisitions from Irving's outstretched hands. The neatly folded exquisite blue and gold robes with many pockets hidden in their folds for potion bottles and other items he draped over his left arm to change into later, the gleaming lyrium-infused silver ring with the beautifully engraved dragon on the face he slipped onto the middle finger of his left hand, and the steel acolyte's staff he carried in his right hand to use as a walking stick as all mages did.
"Please, take the time to rest, or study, whatever you wish to do. The day is yours." Alim nodded, bowed slightly to Duncan, and turned towards the door. He would probably start by gathering his few belongings from his chest in the apprentice barracks and bringing them up to his new room in the mages quarters.
"If our business is concluded, I would like to return to my quarters for the moment" Duncan said behind him.
"Oh, and Alim," Irving called, and Alim turned back around. "Would you be kind enough to escort Duncan back to his quarters? I'm certain he will appreciate a little company."
"Of course, First Enchanter" Alim answered. It would be nice to talk to someone from outside the tower for a while. "And where are you staying, Ser Duncan?"
"On the other side of the tower on this floor," Duncan said as he fell into step beside Alim. "And you may simply address me as Duncan, I am no knight."
"On the contrary ser, you were able to prevent the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander's argument from escalating as well as bring the argument itself to a halt. I honestly never thought I'd see the day where anyone besides Senior Enchanter Wynne could boast that particular accomplishment" Alim said with a chuckle, only partially joking.
Duncan nodded with a small smile. He had dealt with those two often enough in the past to know that there was a great deal of tension in their dealings, despite the all too obvious being an underlying mutual respect. He had met with Wynne as well and knew firsthand that despite her mild mannered and wise exterior, she was a very stern and... oftentimes frightening individual.
"What's happening outside the tower, if you don't mind me asking?" he asked, as curious about the outside world as would be expected of a newly harrowed mage, if not more so. The only news he had received recently was of the darkspawn incursion, such was a topic of rumor and hearsay that would always rapidly spread, even to isolated corners of the world such as Kinloch Hold.
"Ah… I don't imagine you leave very often, do you?" There was no pity for him in his voice, which he'd already guessed would only vex him.
"We are permitted to walk the grounds," he muttered, blowing a sigh through his lips as his eyes misted over, wistful over imaginary landscapes and great cities and forests and grasslands which he'd only ever been allowed to read about.
"And thus, a good view of the other side of the lake?" Duncan did not mock him, but his matter-of-fact question baited his attention sharply back.
There were those, like Alistair or Desmond, who anyone could read by spending a few minutes with them. Daveth's easy, broad sense of mischief but ultimate loyalty to whoever earned it and Ser Jory's pensive obligation to duty but his naive arrogance from always getting whatever he wanted handed to him were unfurled scrolls.
The mage in front of him seemed to be lacking in self-confidence but kept his cards closer to his chest. Perhaps this was a consequence of his upbringing here in the tower.
He might not see it in himself, but if he was put into the group of recruits he'd just mentally named, he had a notion he'd be the one to lead them, mage or no, elf or no.
These where things Duncan did not mention, however. He'd not yet obtained the permission he'd come to the Circle to get. "It must feel rather isolated, all the way out here with a lake in between you and the rest of the world" he continued conversationally. "I, however, am not a good source of news, I fear. I am rather preoccupied with the darkspawn incursion." As he'd thought it might, that tantalized the lad with more questions.
Information about his Order and mysterious enemies of legend were more interesting than the tower and seemed more pressing at the same time. Irving had wrangled the conversation out of their hands earlier, insisting it be turned to more upbeat things. Pleasant or not, Alim wondered who had a better clutch on reality, his mentor, or the stranger?
On one hand, he knew Irving to be a gentle, kind, balanced man who did his best through passive stubbornness to help his charges. On the other, he didn't know Duncan, but in knowing the ways of the First Enchanter, he might not be as canny to dangers in the outside world as maybe he should. "Can you tell me more about the Grey Wardens and the darkspawn?" He wanted to make the decision of danger for himself, if he could, and that meant asking.
"Certainly." Irving was correct about the young man it seemed, and he'd already planted a seed in him which he was sure would grow. "I am intimately familiar with these subjects after all."
Drumming his fingers absently against the staff in his right hand, he tried to piece together what little he could remember of the past Blights. Considering the last one happened some four centuries or more ago, there wasn't much coming to his mental call. "About that horde in the Korcari Wilds," he recalled the name. "Have there been many darkspawn attacks?"
His tone had become deadly serious as he watched him begin give up wistful dreams for real threats. "If they are not stopped, they will strike north into the valley. We Grey Wardens believe there is an archdemon leading the horde."
The new term Duncan introduced didn't slip by and Alim pounced on it, hungry for more. "Archdemon?" He'd never heard of such a creature in all his studies and contact with the Fade. The word itself had popped up from time to time in history texts relating to the blights, but there was no solid information to be found regarding them whatsoever.
"Darkspawn do attack the surface in ragtag bands, but archdemons are capable of rallying the darkspawn, turning them into an unstoppable force. A horde of darkspawn … a veritable army. It is dire news indeed. I fear this is what we will have to face." Duncan said, making Alim shiver.
"Is it truly a demon?" He'd read many different bestiaries and dossiers of the creatures of Thedas and the spirits of the fade, and considering his recent Harrowing, he was that much more curious. "Or some sort of powerful Abomination? Or is that just what people call it?" The term 'demon' literally meant one of the more malevolent denizens of the Fade, but as Sloth had recently reminded, it was only a word. When people didn't understand something, it could become a convenient tag used to identify some other strange creature.
He decided to explain his question further when he saw Duncan quirk his eyebrow "you said it has the power to pull the darkspawn together in a horde, but if it's a Fade creature, how does it have so much effect in the material world? Did it possess something?"
"I do not know the answers to all of those questions," Duncan told her evenly, almost beginning to lose patience with him... almost.
"We believe the archdemon is one of the old gods of Tevinter, which the darkspawn continually tunnel beneath ground to find." It was a process he'd personally witnessed while even younger than this young elf, when he was almost newly made a Warden at fifteen. The Architect hadn't been heard of since, but Maric had not been led false. A Blight was coming, and no matter if the Architect had vanished or not, it had to be stopped. "But whether it is simply a dragon which a powerful demon has possessed and corrupted or something else, we do not know."
That statement in itself raised a whole line of questions in his mind, but seeing as they were nearing Duncan's sleeping quarters, he relented and asked the next question in mind "are the Grey Wardens an army?"
"We are too few," he said gravely, almost as if he thought it both a good and bad thing that more people were not Gray Wardens. "That is why we Grey Wardens require assistance from the king's armies and other sources."
Alim bit his lower lip pensively, but he believed him. Something about Duncan made him impossible to refute. Although he reminded him of an ice block floating in water where all you saw was the tip, he liked him. "That makes sense. So, the king is mustering an army to beat back this threat?"
"Yes." His thirst for knowledge was almost palpable, and Duncan found that very interesting. "Perhaps it will be enough… if we play our cards right."
"I've heard of darkspawn sightings, but an entire horde?" The very word 'horde' conjured up some very disturbing pictures in the back of his mind, each of them grimmer than the last. "There's really that many for the archdemon to call?"
"They usually move around in small groups," he agreed without affront, "but there are always more of them, lurking underground, biding their time."
Scrubbing his nose with his index finger, he turned his focus on his boots for a moment, his thoughts going rapidly one over the other before he met Duncan's eyes again. "I thought the darkspawn were destroyed in the last Blight?"
'If only that were so', he thought almost wearily. "We can't seem to eradicate them completely." More was the pity, but there was so little known about their enemy. What had survived about their origins had been registered into Chantry lore, and how much truth was in it, he did not know. "Somehow, they always come back."
That certainly didn't sound pleasant, he mused silently, but his mind had already clicked over to something else. "Why were Irving and Greagoir arguing about the war?"
For the first time, he did not immediately answer him, wanting to test him, instead. "It is not my place to comment."
Because his tone was polite, if firm, he decided to meet it with equal civility to see if he'd reconsider. "Please? I'd like to know."
Alim didn't give up easily, and he had finesse. The Grey Wardens were renowned for anything from one-time heroes astride soaring white griffons to a thin facade of the Order, maintained only to protect the worst of criminals. Desperate need bred requirements for many different skills, and although the griffons were extinct, he could certainly find use for a mage with a silver tongue. He gave him what he asked. "Greagoir serves the Chantry, and the relationship between the Chantry and mages has always been strained." A dire understatement, they both knew. "You've realized by now the Chantry merely tolerates magic? They watch only because they feel they must."
"Yes, I know," he agreed glumly. "I'm sure the Chantry would probably put us out like a snuffed candle if they could," he grumbled indignantly, "but they were arguing about the war?"
'Focused and stubborn. Good.' "Any mages who join the king's army can unleash their full power on the darkspawn. In fact, I'm counting on it. Greagoir may be afraid of what will happen. What if the mages decide they no longer want to be governed by the Chantry?" He waited to see what he would make of that, and his reply did not overly surprise him.
"What are your opinions on the matter?" he wanted to know instead of giving his own.
"I believe we must defeat the darkspawn one way or the other. My opinions end there." He closed the topic with a certain finality, having other ideas than drawing him into a debate about magic and the Chantry. Alim's reactions were more important to him than those concerns, all of which were trivial to him against the darkspawn incursions.
Recognizing he'd get nothing more out of the conversation along that path, he followed the meandering half-thought which had been percolating in the far most corners of his thoughts since he'd first seen him. "How many mages have joined the king's army?"
"When the king sent out the call, the Circle of Ferelden sent only seven mages to Ostagar. I asked king Cailan's permission to come and seek a greater commitment from the Circle."
Although he knew the Tower was not exactly Denerim as far as population went, that seemed like very few people compared to an entire army. Mages were powerful, of course, but putting only that handful into hundreds of soldiers seemed about as foolish as trying to fill a bucket with an eye dropper. The Circle wouldn't see it that way however, and he knew it from how Greagoir had been carrying on. "Seven is quite a few."
'Now who is trying to learn about who?' Duncan thought with an inner chuckle. "I hope to place a mage or two in every contingent. I cannot do with just seven. Mages will make all the difference in this battle." He hadn't any idea exactly how prophetic those words would come to be, albeit for different reasons than he would have thought. "The darkspawn have their own magic, and our resources must exceed theirs."
He paused, his mind floating over imagined terrors of bloodshed, battle, and worse – darkspawn who could wield magic as he could. Could he be brave enough? Would he make a difference if he was? A critical part of him had already made up its mind. "Do you think I could join the army?"
"I don't know," he countered pleasantly, "do you?"
There was another long, soul-searching pause, because truly he did not know if he would ever have the courage. Fleeing, screaming like a coward off the battlefield would not just be undignified, it would also be treasonous. It could get him killed. No more Alim Surana, last of his line.
He'd have to find out firsthand if one's soul really went through the Fade to the Maker once they died or not. It wasn't a particularly pleasant thought, but at the same time… What if that death happened because he was helping protect Ferelden and by extension all of Thedas? Wouldn't that be worth it? What if he had the pluck to actually stand his ground and do something good with his life and magic? Be the proof Thedas needed that mages could be forces of good in the world, not just forces of chaos to be feared. He could show the world that elves were a people to be respected, not just slaves or servants.
Maybe he could even be a spear head in giving the elves a new homeland, a new Arlathan, as it were.
"Yes," he told him finally. "I think I could help."
"Then perhaps I shall speak to Irving about this later." Their conversation had convinced him he'd found who he'd come seeking. Many of the communities put on great tournaments to show the mettle of the finest warriors, but he preferred to find his recruits in other places. The task was difficult enough as it was, but those like Daveth, Alistair, and now this young man were what he needed for the Grey Wardens beyond just skill with arms.
"Darkspawn are a greater threat than blood mages or even abominations. It takes decades for the world to recover from a Blight. I wish the Chantry could see that. We must stop at nothing to defeat the darkspawn – Ah listen to me," he interrupted himself, his features relaxing. "An old man's rantings can't be very interesting."
Alim had a very different thought about that and was honest when he hastily told him. "I do not mind, I learned much from what you said." It was not mere politeness which made him say it, and Duncan didn't seem that old to him anyway.
Duncan chuckled softly. "You are too kind."
He was afraid, however, that he'd wear out his welcome and his tolerance.
He had promised to speak to the First Enchanter, so perhaps he would. He hoped so, although another small part of him insisted that if he didn't, at least he'd remain safe in the familiar environment, rather than risking life and limb on a far-off battlefield. Then it would be out of his hands, wouldn't it? After all, he had tried. "I should take my leave now."
"Do not let me keep you," he told him affably, and watched him depart.
Duncan had given him so much to think about that his mind felt like a jar of bees was bouncing off the inside of his skull.
Everything in his life since he was seven had been ordered and safe, even if it was dull and occasionally irritating. What if the darkspawn were truly the threat that Duncan had implied? Nowhere would be safe. Darkspawn descended upon a land like locusts and plague together, slaughtering, burning, and would not be satisfied until everything was exterminated. There was no mercy, surrender, or living under another empire until a rebellion could carry the oppressed back to freedom.
Losing against a Blight would mean the end of elves, qunari, dwarves, and humans as entire species. Nowhere would be sacred, not even the stone walls of the Tower. The thought made a chill sweat bead along the base of his neck and dampen his robes in spite of the cool air circulating inside the edifice he called home.
Perhaps his subconscious was at the helm because he hadn't noticed where his feet had taken him until he realized he was standing in the doorway of his new quarters. Even though his belongings had not been brought up yet, he decided to change into his new robes.
Leaning his staff against the wall, he began stripping out of his robes. Not an overly difficult process, as it only consisted of three garments. A full-length vestment that clung tightly to the torso and arms but loosened at the waist to fall loosely around his ankles, a short mantle that fastened in the front and fell freely over his shoulders and upper arms and torso and a long open skirt fastened to a leather belt with a large iron buckle.
He changed into his new robes with as much ease, as they were different only in embroidery. Enchantments too, but they weren't things that one would physically notice.
They were predominantly blue, and had a gold diamond pattern along the torso, and intricate gold patterns along the blue skirt, cloak, and blue designs along the hemlines of the gold vestment. Mage robes were different between elves and humans. Human robes were thicker and heavier, and a bit plain as it was more difficult to imbue such intricate embroidery in the thicker material. But the material of the elven robes was thinner and lighter, and the senior enchanters such as Wynne took every opportunity to imbue as much finery as they could in their guided cage.
Even the illusion of freedom was better than no freedom at all.
Finished with his task, he set off downstairs to the apprentice barracks. He made his way down the stairs to the first floor and into his previous rooms and proceeded to collect his trunk. He chuckled as he heard some of the apprentices, mostly females and some males, comment on how handsome and distinguished he looked with his new robes and staff.
As a fellow apprentice he was always too short, not that he was actually that shorter than any one of them but as an elf he was always perceived differently from the rest of them. But as a full-fledged mage he was now all the rage it seemed, now he was seen as special, and all his previously unappealing traits were now sought-after ones.
He did not mind the negative attention from before and paid no attention to the new positive attention. Though as he heard some of the more suggestive comments, he suddenly felt the urge to bolt out of there but kept to a walking pace despite himself.
When he made it back to his room, he set down his trunk and lied down on his bed, suddenly exhausted. He rested a hand on his forehead and chuckled at how quickly his lot had changed with a mere advancement in rank. Though he suspected that that would soon change, as time passed his new increase in rank would lose its allure and he would come to be looked at as simply Irving's 'pet pupil' once more.
He sat up in a meditative pose and fought down his blush, regained control of his emotions and calmed his racing heart. Once he was calm, he stood up and decided to visit his favorite newly appointed senior enchanter. He exited his room and made his way to the mage laboratory as he had heard that she was recently placed in charge of the catacombs.
As he entered the large doors, he was warned by a nervous looking mage that Senior Enchanter Leorah was apparently in something of a bad mood. Leorah was an elven mage just a few years shy of being two decades his elder who was only recently promoted to senior enchanter just a fortnight past. Undeterred, Alim went over to greet her.
He smiled at her nervously fidgeting form, facing away from him and toward the doors to the catacombs. Even just shy of forty years, she was still very beautiful. Her fully gray hair was pulled into a tight bun with her bangs hanging down and framing her face, her vibrant stormy gray eyes were lined with light tear troughs, and her long ears that would twitch or redden adorably when she was embarrassed.
Her lithe body was covered by her newly made formfitting red and pink senior enchanter robes, proudly showing off her curvy but willowy elven body.
He had to shake his head to rid himself of his more amorous thoughts as his eyes couldn't help but drift to her shapely rear. Leorah was the Circle Tower's foremost authority on elvish culture and language, not to say there was more than enough of either to fill more than a few small tomes, and she was his instructor in such. Ever the curious child, he absorbed her teachings like a sponge, the two becoming fast friends over the years.
They even began to have 'secret meetings' around his fifteenth birthday. It wasn't easy however, to keep their meetings secret as the years rolled on, the templars were easy enough to mislead with excuses of elven meditation techniques, but the other mages were much more difficult, as they partook in such secret meetings themselves, but he was almost certain that Irving knew, as he seemed to know everything that happened in the tower.
Alim walked up behind her, and too preoccupied to hear his soft footsteps she seemed not to notice. "Hello Senior Enchanter Leorah" he said, placing his hand gently upon her shoulder. She jumped slightly at his touch, a small noise of surprise escaping her mouth.
Leorah was not ordinarily a jumpy person, and it was not easy to take her by surprise. On the rare occasion that anyone did though, she was more likely to punch whoever had the audacity to sneak up on her than to jump. The templars did not take it well when she knocked their helmets off though, but they always relented in the end as her talents in magic ran more toward healing.
"O-Oh, hello Alim. Congratulations on your Harrowing. Is there something you need?" She seemed nervous as she said the last part, but Alim chose to overlook it for now.
"Thank you, and congratulations on your promotion. Senior Enchanter, you must be thrilled." he said, making obvious his pride in her. She smiled widely at the look he gave her.
"Yes, it's been great, really. More responsibilities, having to manage things, make sure nothing goes wrong..." she trailed off with a worried look.
She was obviously bothered by something so Alim decided to be direct. "Leorah, What's wrong? You've wanted to be a senior enchanter for as long as I can remember. Now here you are newly promoted and completely on edge. Can you tell me what's bothering you?" Alim asked, sitting at the table beside her and resting a comforting hand on her arm.
Leorah looked at him for a moment before deciding to come clean. "Alright, the truth is there's a bit of a problem with the storerooms. They've been infested with giant spiders and I'm not sure what to do. I can't leave to deal with them myself and if anyone finds out about them, they'll think I'm incompetent. I've only just been promoted; I couldn't handle the shame." Alim thought on her words for a moment.
He had nothing else to do at the moment and ridding the catacombs of a nest of giant spiders would be good exercise. A poor excuse for wanting to aid his lovely teacher, he knew, but... "Alright, I'll help you." Her eyes widened for moment, and she looked about to say something, but then she closed her mouth and her eyes softened and gleamed with an emotion he felt he recognized but couldn't place.
More than two hours later Alim and Leorah emerged from the storerooms. Truthfully, it took him roughly half an hour to kill the few dozen or so giant spiders that had infested the caves and to burn their remains as well as the nest, but when he was about the leave the catacombs, Leorah opened the doors and came inside to check on him.
She had been worried about him but was more than grateful and even rewarded him with a few potions. Alim figured they might come in handy at some point, and as he thanked her and turned to leave the stockrooms, she stopped by gripping his wrist firmly and pulling him into a passionate kiss.
Alim shut the door of the mage laboratory with a smile. Happy with the wonderful feelings now filling his heart to the bursting.
Upon entered the hallway he ran into Jowan.
His new-found happiness, it seemed, was not to last.
"Hello Jowan," he said calmly, turning to face his friend. Jowan jumped slightly in surprise; he had just been about to announce his presence to his friend when it seemed that he already knew he was there.
This was not doing his nerves any favors.
"Oh, good. I was hoping to find you." Jowan whispered. Alim's smile lessened slightly at the nervousness in his friend's voice and the way he was looking around.
"What's wrong, Jowan. You're very jumpy today." He said imperiously, not liking this, and remembering how Jowan acted before...
"I can't say here. Let's go somewhere more private." He said skittishly, like a rabbit who would be scared away if he spoke too loudly.
"Jowan, this isn't like you." Alim said, following the nervous apprentice. "And why are we going towards the chapel? This is not exactly the most private of places for a mage."
"We need to be here. I'll explain in a second." Jowan muttered as he pushed the door open slowly, not wanting them to creak and possibly alert anyone. There were not any templars in the chapel at the moment, and only one Sister. Surprisingly, Jowan headed right for her, Alim in tow 'why is he...'.
"Ok," he said when they reached her alcove, "we can talk here." Jowan seemed to perk up when he stood next to the red-haired sister, making Alim suspicions return full force.
"Jowan you do realize one of the Chantry's sisters is right behind you, don't you? That's not exactly privacy as far as I'm concerned." Alim asked, studying her suspiciously.
She was certainly attractive enough, for a human (or a sister), she had red hair peeking out from under her white hood, which when put together with her red Chantry robes and vibrant green eyes... this was not his day it seemed. Each minute spent around Jowan today only seemed to add to his unwanted suspicions of his friend.
"Oh, I'm not a sister, just an initiate," she responded, 'which doesn't explain why you're here, or how you got a mage to trust you so much,' she smiled slightly as she stepped up to stand beside Jowan, 'or maybe it does' he thought with narrowed eyes, the feeling of wrongness in his gut only increasing.
"Alim, you remember how I said I had... met a girl?" Jowan said, rubbing the back of his neck. "This is Lily."
"You... You can't be serious, can you?" Alim asked backing away slightly, his eyes widening and his long ears drooping in disbelief, hoping against hope that the two would start laughing at their joke, for it could only be a joke. Mages were ostracized enough as it was, and that included any romantic life they could have had, but with a Chantry sister... Jowan, he could understand, he was always a little slow on the uptake, but she had taken vows against this sort of thing, she had given herself to the Chantry, mind, body, and soul.
"I am," Jowan said, gently gripping Lily's hand. "I know what your thinking-" 'I highly doubt it' "-but I love her." She smiled warmly at him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.
He wanted more than anything to explode at his friend, reminding him about Arthur and Conan who had similarly been taken in by the wiles of a Chantry sister. Both of them had thought they had fallen in love, and perhaps they did at that, but when the templars inevitably caught them in the act the sisters chose to, instead of face punishment or defend their lovers, label them mind domineering blood mages forcing them into illicit acts.
He wanted more than anything to explode at Lily, reminding her of the oaths she had taken, about how there must have been other initiates, sisters, mothers, or even clerics who had fallen in love but chose to keep to their vows and abstain. He wanted to ask her what she thought made her so special that she could indulge herself without consequences when all others who broke their vows so callously were punished!
But instead, he just used his breathing techniques to calm himself down. His own recent experiences with love made him want to give them the benefit of the doubt, against his better judgement or not.
"Don't tell me you've only brought me here to talk about your affair. This is your business, and not an issue to be discussed at this point. You both are already in too deep to go back to normalcy, so I won't try to talk you out of it." They both looked nervous at his stern look like a couple of small children caught doing something bad.
"No." Jowan said sourly, his face falling. "There is something else." He glanced helplessly at Lily, who was also frowning. 'Sod it all, this can't be good.'
"I was in the First Enchanters office yesterday, and I saw something very disturbing," she said, and Alim could hear the genuine fear tinting her voice, something that made him reconsider her being like Sisters Petrice or Guenevieve.
"They are planning to make Jowan Tranquil" she said lowly, and Alim could almost feel his heart stop and his blood run cold.
"No, no that isn't possible " Alim whispered in horror.
Death was not the worst thing that could befall a mage of the Circle, it may be a particularly final sentencing, but there was the possibility of a better life afterwards at the Maker's side. But no matter what, you were yourself right up until the end, whether you went begging and screaming or silently and with a smile, it was always your choice.
Tranquility, however, was far worse. Using some ritual involving a lyrium brand, the templars cut the mage off from the Fade. This took away the person's magic, which could be considered a good thing to some, because that was what allowed mages to be possessed by Fade demons. Hence the reason Tranquility was offered as an alternative to the Harrowing.
The flip side was that the process also removed all emotions from the victim. For all intents and purposes, the new Tranquil was an empty husk, able to exist, but not to truly live. Contrary to popular belief, however, tranquil still held their free will. It was only emotions and dreams that were lost, anything else like fighting ability or ambition or actual thoughts were still there.
There were some cultures that used tranquil mages exclusively as their armed forces. Since the tranquil did not know anger or fear, they could carry out orders to the letter without anything, not even common decency, getting in the way. Anyone could tell right from wrong, but it took emotions to care.
It got even worse since it wasn't just an option given to mages. Alim was sympathetic towards those like Owain that had chosen their path, then at least it had been their choice.
There were others, however, who had Tranquility forced upon them. Those whom the templars considered too weak to pass the Harrowing, and therefor were taken away and forced to be Tranquil. They were murdered without even having the finality of death. The first time someone Alim knew had been forced to undergo Tranquility, he had been 9.
He had spent much of that night hugging his pillow and crying, partially because of her loss, and partially to reassure himself that he still could. To reassure himself that he was still a person and not an empty shell like his former friend.
His horror slowly turned to rage. 'Those bastards are planning to take another friend from me?' he mentally hissed. 'Over my dead body.'
"Are you alright?" Lily asked worriedly, "you need to calm down, it's getting hard to breathe." This did not even begin to describe what was happening. Alim's fury was causing his magic to flare up, condensing the air around him. If anyone were to try to touch him, they would have had their hands go completely numb for their trouble. Alim closed his eyes, then started breathing slowly.
He used his breathing techniques again, forcing his rage down. Finally, he opened his eyes. "Why? What excuse have they come up with?" The blinding rage that had filled him was gone, but the two before him recoiled slightly at the cold hate in his voice.
"There are rumors, that I'm a... blood mage. They think that making me a full mage would put the Tower at risk." This admission made Alim pause. Rumors did not typically spring up from nothing, but to suspect Jowan...
"Are you?" Alim asked bluntly, hoping to goad an honest response from him by the shock factor of the sudden inquiry.
"Of course not!" Jowan insisted far too quickly, shaking his head vigorously. "But that doesn't matter. The templars only have to think I am. They'll take everything from me!" He wailed. "My magic, my soul, my love for Lily, all gone!"
"Jowan, I need to talk to you." Alim said quietly.
"But we are-"
"Privately" Alim insisted, dragging Jowan off towards the other side of the chapel. Lily started to follow but backed off as Alim's icy eyes turned on her.
"What is this about?" Jowan asked. "Lily is helping-"
"How much do you trust her?" Alim interrupted his friend again. "We only have her word that this isn't a trap."
"How could you?" Jowan hissed. "I know Lily. She wouldn't be a part of any trap!"
"Are you willing to bet your life on that? She's one of them."
"No, she isn't!" Jowan retaliated. "I love Lily, I trust her with my life. Please, understand that. I know how you feel on these matters, but she is not like them!"
" Fine. On your head be the consequences. Just know that I don't trust her." Jowan opened his mouth for a moment before closing it and walking stiffly back to Lily, followed by Alim.
"Will you help us?" she asked worriedly.
"I need to think on this... I won't tell anyone." He said, but then added when he caught Jowan's worried look.
"I understand, but please don't take too long." Lily said to him, and he nodded to her before he walked away to think about all this new information... as well as the suspicions that he did not want to think of but were fitting too well into place to be coincidence.
'Shite, I've picked a lovely situation for myself, now, haven't I?'