Arcane Warrior
Chapter 4
Road to Ostagar
It had been three days since they had departed from the tower and the capital city of Denerim could be seen as a silhouette on the horizon.
Duncan and Alim had been travelling on horseback day and night, only stopping to rest for short periods and to let the horses eat and drink some water. He had never seen a horse before, not in person, so naturally he was quite curious and wanted to study the creatures, but they hadn't had the time to do any more than mount up and ride.
Duncan sat in silence, studying the stew that was bubbling slightly over the fire. All Grey Wardens learned basic outdoor cooking, and stew was one of the most common meals because it was easy to make and had a lot of nutritional value, depending on the ingredients it was made with. It also gave the cook time to think; especially if they had done it so many times before that the process became second nature.
Thinking was what Duncan was doing right now, considering the new Warden recruit he had conscripted at the Circle Tower.
Duncan glanced up, studying the young elf named Alim Surana. Most recruits were taken in their twenties or thirties, but at first glance Alim didn't look to be a day over eighteen or nineteen. Older than he had been, but younger still than most. This was deceptive, of course. Elves always looked younger than they were, it wasn't quite known exactly why that was, but it was theorized to be a holdover from the days that they were immortal. However, it was his eyes that stuck out to him. They, different from the face around them, looked far too old.
The unnatural age in the elf's eyes made sense he supposed, considering that Alim had barely escaped the mess at Kinloch Hold with his life and was smart enough to realize that that was the case.
'No,' Duncan thought, carefully pulling the pot off the fire and setting it aside to cool for a moment. 'There is more far too it than that.' Alim's eyes had seemed too old from the moment he had first seen them; the young elf had just been better at hiding it at the time. Duncan supposed that he shouldn't be surprised, he had seen a similar look during his time with Fiona, an elven mage from Orlais who he had worked with when in his younger days.
Duncan had never entirely believed the Chantry's propaganda about magic. True, it could be dangerous if misused, but so could a sword, and there were far greater threats in the world than mages.
"Alim," Duncan called, pouring the stew into two smaller bowls. The young man glanced up, letting the small stone drop into his hand before he threw it to the side as he stood and came over to Duncan's fire. He thanked Duncan quietly as he took the bowl of stew. The silence extended for a moment before Duncan broke it.
"What were you doing over there?" he asked, referring to the stone. Alim glanced up, and it took him a moment before he realized what Duncan had meant.
"Oh, this?" he asked, telekinetically lifting the stone from the ground for a moment. Duncan nodded. "It's a magical exercise. It is designed to teach apprentices how to control their magic by using telekinesis to levitate small objects. I find it… calming. I have to focus so much on what I'm doing so that I don't have space in my mind to think about anything else."
"I was under the impression that levitation was relatively easy," Duncan said. Part of his interest was, in fact, curiosity. However, he also wanted to get a better insight for how Alim thought.
"Simple levitation, yes," Alim answered. "But levitating objects for long periods of time, levitating a sword and actually fighting with it as if you had a third limb, or even levitating oneself to give the illusion of flight, is more difficult. Especially that last exercise, I still haven't managed to succeed there, and I can't keep control of a levitated sword for more than a minute" He glanced up, studying Duncan. "Why do you ask?"
"It is my duty as Warden Commander to understand the people under my command," Duncan said. "This is especially important for recruits who have had… traumatic backgrounds." Well, that could apply to almost every Warden he had ever met, he ruminated with some small amount of grim amusement.
"How does learning about Circle exercises help you understand me, ser?" Alim asked. The young elf quirked his head to the side, his sharp eyes studied him every bit as much as he was being studied. That was good, he saw a lot of good leadership qualities in the young man, and an inquisitive mind that studied everyone around them, knowing how they thought and how best to understand them inside and out was among the most important of those qualities
"It's not so much the exercise itself as how you use it," Duncan answered. "You seem to know a great deal about these particular exercises, indicating that you have been using them as calming exercises for quite a while. This along with your pointed comments to the First Enchanter, make me suspect that there is something that happened at, or before you arrived at, the tower that continues to affect you."
Alim's eyes widened as Duncan continued, "and, judging from the fact that Irving didn't mention anything to me, you haven't talked about whatever happened to anyone, and that despite circumstances being as they are, it is still being held in the strictest of confidences." Duncan paused, giving Alim a chance to respond. When he didn't, Duncan continued. "Please understand, Alim, now that you have joined the Grey Wardens, you must leave behind not only your previous attachments, but also your previous prejudices and quarrels. As a Grey Warden, you will be expected to work alongside many different people, even those who may have wronged you in the past.
"You cannot let your personal feelings get in the way of your duty, which is to defeat the Darkspawn and the Blight. Do you understand?" Alim nodded, perhaps slightly sullenly. Duncan let his voice soften, he had made his point "I know it's hard, Alim. After all, we are still mortal. Hopefully no situation arises that you will really need what I am telling you. Also, know that if you want to talk about your problems, myself and the other Grey Wardens are willing to listen, please do not hesitate to come to us if you ever want to talk.
You should know that a warrior free of burdens fights much better than one who carries such heavy weight on his shoulders."
Alim studied Duncan for a moment before nodding again. "I'll consider what you said, commander." Duncan smiled slightly, not the best response he could have gotten, but much better than the usual one. Most were too stubborn to accept such advice, and though their responses usually contained a feigned acceptance, their posture and avoidance of eye contact was telling.
However, such advice almost always sunk in before the end in his experience.
"Good, and please just call me Duncan."
"But you are my superior. I could understand when I was still a Circle mage, you had no authority over me at that point, but now I follow your orders."
"That is true, but I have always preferred not to be called as such. It makes me feel old." Alim arched an eyebrow ever so slightly but smiled amusedly and nodded, acquiescing to the older man's request. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Alim's mind started to wander.
Flashback
Alim sat across from Leorah and sighed, he had just finished explaining to her the situation with Jowan and Irving, and that he was to leave the tower to become a warden, and he was worried about her response.
Would she lash out at him, angry that he had lied to her, and used her, in a way, to complete the task Irving had given him? Or would she praise him for completing his first and last official task as a circle mage and managed to become a warden?
He didn't know, and her silence was eating at him. "Oh Alim" she started, but didn't quite know what to say, so he simply closed the distance between them and kissed her passionately.
Now that he was a gray warden recruit and not merely a mage of the tower, he no longer needed to worry about getting caught. But would she face consequences for this? Relationships weren't forbidden outright, but they weren't approved of either. Mages like them were kept on a tight leash, but perhaps him not being a member of the circle anymore might mitigate things somewhat.
When they separated, he smiled and cupped her smooth cheek in his hand. She chuckled and started to tear up, here she was trying to cheer him up, but he ended up comforting her instead.
She held his hand against her cheek for a moment before sending him a look that he couldn't place.
"Thank you my dear, but you must go. You don't have much time left, and you mustn't waste it all with just me. After all, you can come back to the tower anytime"
Closing his eyes and sighing, he stood up and turned away before walking to the laboratory doors. He couldn't help feeling like they'd never see each other again, that by turning away from her and walking away he was cutting her out of his life entirely.
He no longer wanted to leave, no longer wanted to leave her, but he knew that duty compelled him to, and it was his duty that told him he couldn't come back for her.
He told himself that he would try, that he would come back for her and that when he did, he would do everything he could to see her happy again.
End Flashback
"Duncan, didn't you say that Ostagar was where the Darkspawn were attacking?" Duncan nodde. The fortress was located in the southernmost reaches of Ferelden, only just north of the Korkari Wilds and the Unchartered Territories, but the two of them had ridden their horses to the northeast instead, almost a full week's journey in the opposite direction.
"Yes, but we have to pick something up from Denerim before we go. It won't take long, and the fighting has not yet begun at Ostagar. That being said, we should not dawdle, either."
"What are we picking up?" Duncan shook his head slightly. He understood the young man's question and were the situation different he might have answered. But circumstances being what they were, he was afraid he could not inform the recruit of their purposes
"Just something for your Joining. I'm afraid I cannot reveal what it is just yet." Alim opened his mouth, but Duncan interrupted. "Nor can I explain what the Joining is just yet. You'll find out soon enough."
Duncan admired Alim's curiosity, he was not content to let mysteries stay as such for over long. This would help him in his future as a Warden, after all half of the job was tracking and chasing down clues. Alim bit his lip, still eager to know the truth but knew it was better to curb his tongue in this instance, so he remained silent and finished his stew.
Once the two men were finished with their supper, they put their supplies away in their packs and climbed onto the horses that Duncan had rented from the stable at the Lake Calenhad dock and rode off along the side of the imperial highway.
'It's been so long since I was last here, everything looks... smaller somehow' Alim thought to himself as he and Duncan entered the gates of Denerim into the bustling town square that was the market district.
The Chantry in this city had been where he was initially taken after his magic was discovered, he had stayed there for all of three days while the templars and priests decided among themselves what should be done with him before being taken to the Tower. He supposed he had gotten lucky, had the tower been beyond capacity for new apprentices he might have been placed in runed manacles and shipped off to another tower.
Possibly one where mage treatment was even less lenient.
Duncan led the way through the crowded market, ignoring the many cries of merchants hawking their wares and the babble of shoppers moving between stalls, considering items and haggling with the shopkeepers. Alim followed closely behind, his eyes rapidly shifting about as he kept a tight grip on his staff and the blade hilt hooked on his belt, weary of all the pickpockets and cutpurses the commander had warned him of.
Heading away from the rush of the crowds and towards a line of houses just off the market, Duncan quietly slipped into an alley and made a few turns before arriving at an old nondescript warehouse. Compared to the surrounding buildings, it was entirely too plain in appearance.
Alim tried to keep track of where Duncan led him in his head. Attempting to make a mental map of this place, all the turns combined with all the commotion and the crowds... If he wasn't careful, he would have easily lost track and would've never been able to find this warehouse again.
"Stay here for the moment. I'll be back before too long." With that, he entered the warehouse. He seemed to run his hand along the doorframe before he turned the handle. If Alim were a betting man, which he was not, he'd say that there was a trap in place.
Or perhaps a system of traps. Knowing what he did about the Grey Wardens from the many books he had read of them, he wouldn't put such deviousness above them.
Left on his own in the center of the back alley, he turned away from the door and stood to the side of it. He shifted his eyes back and forth, keeping watch for disturbances though he doubted Duncan much needed a guard.
But it seemed the passage of two Grey Warden's through Denerim's market district back alleys had not gone without notice, as a small rock whistled through the air and might have hit him in the side of the head were it not for a small movement from his staff batting it harmlessly away.
"Hey knife-ear!" called a sneering voice, "what are you doing out of your dump." Alim glanced up, narrowing his eyes at the sight of three human men approaching from another alley. All three looked rough, none of them seemed to be well armed but probably had knives stashed away in their loose clothes from the roguish look of them. No armor, just dirty clothes.
All in all, he didn't know what chance he stood if it came to a fight, he clearly had more protection than any of them, but who knew what they were capable of or if there were more of them watching on from the shadows. Alim gripped his staff harder with his right hand and tightened his grip around his spirit blade hilt with his left.
"Yeah," another of the men snickered, approaching Alim and pointed his truncheon at him "this here alley is too good for the likes of you." Alim raised his eyebrow, wondering at the intelligence of this group of humans, that they would ignore the obvious uniform bearing the gray warden colors in favor of simply seeing his ears.
Even the staff should've given them some indication of what he was, though to all but the most observant off alleyway thugs the hilt hanging from his belt must have just seemed an odd choice in accessories.
The three had formed a half circle and the man in front was invading Alim's personal space.
"Gentlemen" Alim said sardonically, "I would not recommend annoying me. In case your tiny brains cannot piece together the meaning of my uniform and my staff, I feel I must inform you that I am a Grey Warden mage.
"I will not hesitate to act in self-defense, but not until you throw the first. So, I suggest that you not start a fight you cannot finish and instead leave me in peace."
Truthfully, he wanted nothing more than to kick their teeth in, both for him and for every other elf they had harassed, and maybe even more. He wouldn't put physical assault or rape past these unwashed brutes.
But he had to hold himself back as he remembered Duncan's words. He might have to one day rely on these men to watch his back in skirmish, so he couldn't afford to antagonize them now, no matter how much he might have wished otherwise. Though there was no telling how much help they'd be even in that eventuality. He could see them being instantly skewered by a darkspawn spear as soon as it turned it's gaze on any one of them.
The first man snorted, though Alim noticed a spark of fear in his eyes at the insinuation that he was biting off more than he could chew, but he kept up his bravado in front of his companions. "Even if you are one of those freaks, we still have you cornered. Now I recommend that you take off that uniform and give it back to whatever warden you stole them from, apologize to your betters and get back to the Alienage before we lose our tempers."
Alim rolled his eyes, he had to prevent himself from antagonizing them further when the thug to the leaders right said "dirty little knife-ear thinks he can talk to us like that. Pretending to be a warden no less. The nerve..."
He didn't particularly mind the insult, but it made him pay closer attention to him if nothing else. He looked to be somewhere around Leorah's age but looked far, far older from all the stress lines and the grey balding hair, and he had a scar stretching from just above his right ear to the left side of his jaw.
The scar itself was the only thing that stood out as unusual on the man or any his companions. It cut his face cleanly in half, adding an air of distinction to his otherwise ordinary face.
A scar that he recognized, clear as day. His eyes widened as the scar resonated in his mind and made him remember that day, the day before he was taken away to the Chantry.
"You!" He cried out in a sudden fury, stomping forward and pointing his staff at him menacingly, the tip now crackling with a malicious sort of power and causing the three of them to back away in fear. All pretense of trying to appear as if he were simply waiting for them to throw the first blow swept aside by his newfound anger.
He could clearly see a glint of recognition in the man's eyes at being singled out by the elf. Alim growled, he must have accosted many elves since that day, but he hoped he stood out in the man's memory. White hair on the head of one so young was not an incredibly common trait after all.
"Is there a problem here gentlemen?" Duncan said as he exited the warehouse. The three started, staring at the armed and armored human that had suddenly appeared behind the fuming elf. Alim, hearing his commanders voice, reluctantly lowered his staff and reined in his rage at seeing that man again.
"No problem, ser," the man with the scar said, worried that the elf would rat him out to the authorities. "This little knife ear was just giving us some lip; you can go about your business and leave us to deal with him."
"I think not" Duncan said coldly, "you see, I am a Grey Warden, and this is my newest recruit. Now I ask you kindly to leave us be."
Two of the ruffians seemed inclined to follow Duncan's instructions. The scarred man, however, because of either sheer stupidity or stubbornness. "I feel sorry for you Grey Wardens if a murderous knife ear is the best you can get. I'd be doing you a favor if I killed it here and now.
You just say the word Warden, and I'll rid us both of this troublemaker."
Alim had had enough. With a hiss of rage, he let go of the hilt of his sword and thrust out his open palm, throwing all three men away from him in a wave of telekinetic energy. The two "smart" ones got the message and fled. The third let out a roar of rage and sprang to his feet and drew a large knife out of his sleeve. Alim raised his hands, fire licking at his fingers.
Behind and to the side of him, Duncan raised his eyebrow at the sight. Irving had told him that young Surana had no talent in elemental magic. He had however heard that demons of rage were made of pure fire...
"Come one step nearer, and I swear I'll kill you, you son of a bitch." Alim growled furiously. The man looked like he was seriously considering doing just that but was ultimately too proud to run from an elf, so Alim turned to Duncan and swallowed his pride.
If he wanted to keep to the Grey Warden ideals, he would have to move to take the matter out of his hands if he wanted to see that bastard punished for what he did.
He really wanted to kill the man who earned the name Skinner from back when he was a bandit chief in the bannorn, but he knew that the wardens didn't need any more enemies with their already tumultuous position in Ferelden.
"Duncan, that man... we must take him to the guards." Duncan rose an eyebrow at his recruit's request, but that 'murderous' comment had piqued his curiosity. Obviously, there was more to the elf than met the eye, and this thug before him had a part to play in that particular tale. "Why is it you wish this? I don't believe I was in that warehouse long enough for him to have done anything truly unforgivable to you."
"I-" he started but had to swallow the lump in his throat "-it has to do with what you asked me at camp. I can't say anymore, I'm... I'm too furious, and he'd probably just get off on hearing about it."
Duncan furrowed his brows in thought, a thousand different guesses of what he could mean coming to his mind, each darker than the last. Rather than dwell on what Alim could possibly be speaking of however, he looked up at the unwashed man who had brought forth such fury from the even-tempered young man. Upon looking at the man he thought that he did recognize him from somewhere, or at least heard tell of a man who bore such a distinctive scar.
Saying nothing, Duncan moved to pick up the man by the arm and handily disarmed him before pulling him along to the guard captain, ignoring his struggles and shouts of protest. Skinner tried to struggle against the warden commander, but his grip was iron, and his punches and kicks did little more than rumple Duncan's clothes.
After some words exchanged between the warden and the guard sergeant, a man with brown, neatly trimmed hair and a mace on his belt, the guard spat in disgust and ordered the man carted off to Fort Drakon.
He could only smile smugly, knowing that the man had finally gotten what was coming to him. The guards at Fort Drakon were famously unkind to their prisoners.
"Let's go, Alim." Duncan said quietly, leading Alim away from the marketplace. They walked in silence for a time, in case the other two men decided to ambush them. Eventually, however, Duncan spoke. "I feel there's a story behind your actions. Would you like to talk about it? Why you were so angry at that man?"
As they mounted their horses, Duncan eyed his recruit patiently, not wanting to strangle the information out of him but making it clear that his unexplained outburst at seeing a random thug was not something to be repeated without cause.
"…Sure. Now that he's finally facing punishment for what he's done, I feel I can finally talk about it. It has to do with how I was sent to the Circle…"
Flashback
Alim's heart pounded in his small chest as slipped silently through the cornfields of Lothering near the house his family stayed in. He looked slowly around, as if searching for something, or perhaps someone. He gulped quietly and tried to step as quietly as he could through the corn rows towards the safety of the house. His breathing stilled as he felt someone watching him, he tried to hasten his steps as his stalker sped up theirs before with a gasp he was tackled to the ground by a larger, stronger body than his own.
He tried to struggle his way to freedom, but the body on top of him quickly pinned his arms above his head.
"Got ya!"
"Okay Ahlam, you win" he groaned as the twelve-year-old girl rolled off of her seven-year-old cousin. He looked over at the girl, she stood a full foot taller than him, and her snow-white hair was pulled back into ponytail, but had some straw sticking out of it. He dusted himself off as she giggled.
"How many times have I beat you again?" she asked coyly with a mischievous grin only a little gremlin like her could pull off and Alim tried to glare at her but started chuckling, unable to stay mad at her for very long.
"I've lost count too; I blame your mum" Afya Surana was Ahlam's mother and Alim's aunt. The woman was a talented warrior, having married one of the town's templars after the death of her first husband. He then taught her all he knew so she could defend herself, and she seemed determined to teach Ahlam and Alim to be the same, but it was clear to all that Ahlam was the more talented of the two.
Ser Bryant would always tell him that girls were earlier bloomers than boys, but he wasn't certain if that made him feel better or not. Ahlam would always boast about her superior talent, he would always walk away and sulk and Ser Bryant and Afya would always laugh to themselves and mutter something about 'precocious youngsters'.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" a cold adult voice said. Both Alim and Ahlam turned, spotting a group of humans standing casually next to the corn field. Alim slowly pushed Ahlam behind him, never letting his eyes leave the smirking human leading the group.
"It looks like a couple of rats have wandered out of their hole." He turned slightly, grinning to his comrades. "What do you boys say? Up for a bit of fun?"
"Run!" Alim hissed and the shivering Ahlam nodded, taking off toward their house. It was their hope that if these men recognized the home of a well renowned templar they would quit the chase. But that seemed increasingly unlikely as they could still hear the sound of the ruffians chasing them through the field even still. Alim and Ahlam knew this area well enough to duck and dodge around the farmhouses that dotted the place, having played often in this area.
However, their short legs simply could not match those of the fully-grown humans. Alim desperately pushed forward, hoping against hope that some miracle would save them.
There was a flash of flying metal and one of the hunters fell, a throwing knife sticking out of his leg. At the end of the alley stood Afya, fury etched into every line of her face and her long white hair gleaming in the afternoon sun. Drawing her arming sword and kite shield, she advanced.
"GET AWAY FROM MY BABIES YOU BASTARDS!" she yelled, driving the humans back with the sheer force of her will. Alim and Ahlam quickly took refuge in their house while she held them off.
They huddled in a corner and clung tightly to each other, trying to drown out the sounds of battle coming from outside.
As skilled a warrior as Afya was, there were just too many of them. She managed to take down most of them, but in the end three of them managed to overwhelm her.
The two children screamed when the door was blown open and Afya, bloody and whimpering in pain, was thrown through. The men limped through the doorway and picked up the whimpering form of Afya "it's time we showed you your place, you knife-eared bitch!"
"MOMMY!" Ahlam wailed, rushing forward to her mother. Alim could only stare 'no… no this can't be happening.'
The bandit leader sauntered into the cottage and looked at the bruised and battered Afya lying across the floor before him, covered in blood and scrapes with her shield arm broken.
"I'm going to show you what happens when rats don't know their place."
He stared at her for a moment longer, before an enraged expression bloomed onto his face and he reared back before bringing his leg forward, slamming his heavy boot into her stomach again and again, the air leaving her body at each blow and sending her into a crying, coughing fit.
He seemed to relent, kicking her once more for good measure, before gesturing to the to the two men to hold her up, the men roughly grabbing her arms, Afya screaming in pain when her broken arm was jostled.
Alim tried to shield Ahlam from what was happening, he hugged her close with her face buried in his chest. But two more men had grabbed the two of them and threw them to the floor, one of them roughly twisting his hand in Ahlam's hair and making her shriek in pain as the other grabbed his wrists and forced them behind his back.
"You kiddies make sure to pay attention, this is what happens when wats like you try to pretend your actual people."
The two men forcing the children to watch, the leader struck Afya in the face over and over again.
"The Tevinters had the right of it, you knife-eared rats are barely fit to lick my boots. In fact, do it! Lick my boots, give them a good spit shine and I'll let you off with a beating."
The men threw her to the floor and backed off, the leader placing his filthy, mud-caked boot before her face.
Afya struggled to straighten her body, trembling in pain as she rose from the ground looked up into his leering face. "Fuck you" she spit in his face and swiped her unbroken arm before her, the dagger hidden in her sleeve falling into her hand and slicing his face open from above his ear to his opposite jaw.
Skinner, the infamous bandit chief that had murdered, pillaged and raped his way all throughout the bannorn screamed and grabbed at his face, trying unsuccessfully to stop the bleeding. "You fucking bitch!" He slammed his fist into her gut, knocking the air from her body and making her fall onto his arms like a sack of potatoes.
"You filthy whore! I'm going to... No, I'm fucking done with this shite. You two, kill them!" He violently ripped his sword from its scabbard and viciously twisted his fist in her hair, pulling her back until her back was perfectly straight before he stabbed his sword into her mouth and down into her chest all the way down to the hilt.
The men holding the kids kicked them to the ground, but he couldn't hear anything. He was in complete shock and couldn't hear anything over the ringing in his ears, not the bandits screaming at them, not Afya screaming, not Ahlam crying and pleading... Nothing.
The men behind the elven children drew their weapons with every intention of killing them, and in that instant something broke. That was the last straw, as everything that happened over the last twenty minutes built up before something inside of him broke. Whatever dam that was in his body burst, and something poured forth from the broken forth from his body like floodwaters, bathing the entire house in an eerie purple light.
"DAMN YOU ALL!" he screamed, and suddenly the ground around the house began to tremble before it started to shake as if an earthquake was assailing the small area of farmland, the floor began to groan in protest and break apart all around the, all around the village the trees began to lean heavily as an invisible force whipped the wind into a fierce gale.
His eyes glowed a pure and furious white with the light of the heart of the fade.
"What the fuck… this kid's a mage!" the man shouted, backing away, his men having long since fled already. Alim walked menacingly out of the room after him, the storm that he had conjured lashing out at anyone who approached his cousin and aunt, staying away from them and sparing them further pain. He heard human screams of pain in the chaos of the magic storm, and he smiled in sadistic glee at the sound. These evil people should suffer for hurting his family!
An almost inaudible shaking and metalic scraping sound came from the basement which where Ser Bryant kept the armory. They reacted to the magic field he had summoned and burst through the floor and surrounded him in a whirlwind of steel.
Alim smiled sadistically once again and moved to kill the man, but he simply didn't have the stamina to keep it all going, whatever it was. All he knew was that it was powerful, and it responded to his every command.
Before too long his sight started to dim and he slowly collapsed to his knees, still trying to strike out at the humans but simply not having the strength to do it. He watched the murderers flee, his cousin crying and shaking Afya's lifeless body, and in through the door ran Ser Bryant.
The knight looked around in shock, anger and sadness around him at what had happened before walking over to crouch beside Alim.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I should've been here sooner. I never thought this would happen. I'll take you to people who will look after you, and I'll make sure Ahlam gets the treatment she needs and Afya..." He lifted Alim up as the boy closed his eyes and slipped into unconsciousness, hearing no more.
Flashback End
"… After that, I woke up at the Chantry in Denerim. I later learned that that man had gotten away from punishment by claiming that he was just caught up in magic explosion from an elven child." Alim finished. He and Duncan had left the city and were heading south on the old Imperial Highway to Ostagar. Duncan was silent, his gaze haunted.
"Of course, he got away with it. I was just an elf child, a mageling no less, and he was a human. Of course, the authorities took his story at face value instead of investigating the scene. I think Ser Bryant knew the truth, but I don't know if he ever told anyone or if anyone believed him if he did."
He was startled out of his spiteful musings when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he looked over to see that Duncan was giving him a reassuring look. He stopped talking and looked down to his horse's neck.
Duncan and Alim continued their journey silently, each lost in their own thoughts.
Almost a week later, with Ostagar a not too far off the horizon now, Alim awoke to the sensation of Duncan shaking him by the shoulder.
"Duncan-"
The older Warden silenced him abruptly, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "The camp is in danger, and we are about to be attacked. I need you to stand watch over the horses. If I am to fall, you are to ride to Ostagar with all haste and inform the other Wardens of what has transpired. Do as I say!"
Heeding Duncan's words, Alim quickly took up his staff, heart pounding with tension. He would have liked to eat something before any fighting was to be done, but the urgency of the Commander's tone suggested that there was simply no time. Drawing his sword from his back, Duncan covered it in ashes from the fire pit to dull the shine of the blade. "I'll be back shortly. Stay quiet and stay safe."
Alim stood next to the horses after Duncan had stealthily crept into the brush, forcing himself to breath slowly and stretch out his limbs in preparation for battle. Until his recruitment, he had never been outside of the Tower's walls, so the sights and sounds of the countryside were largely alien and unfamiliar, particularly after nightfall, where darkness and weariness worked to befuddle the mind.
For the first few nights, everything was a source of peril; the wind whistling through the trees became bounty hunters and templars intent on slaying him, the rustling of small animals through the undergrowth became darkspawn, ready to pounce. Time had taken the edge off, but now, roused from slumber and facing peril, the fear returned.
He now understood how dwarves coming to the surface for the first time felt, going barefoot and gripping the ground with their feet out of fear that they would fall into the sky, jumping at every unfamiliar sound thinking it was some alien threat.
Blood pounding in his ears, Alim willed himself to calm down as he peered into the night. The fire had long gone cold, but his elven eyes saw in the dark well enough and he could see neither hide nor hair of an enemy. Refusing to relax his vigilance, the elf considered how Duncan, with his lesser senses, could have known of a foe's presence when he did not.
Simple experience? Had he been so weary as to be oblivious to the world around him, even in sleep?
Then he caught the smell, a rank, vile odor, the combination of rotting meat and vomit. An instant later, Alim heard limping footsteps on fallen leaves, a thick gurgling cough, broken only by deranged mutterings as the figure staggered into the clearing.
It was a human, a farmer by the looks of him, his practical garb soiled with dirt and blood. A chill ran up Alim's spine as he saw the newcomer's face; pale white and waxy with black veins pushed against the skin, blotchy and pallid and covered with weeping sores. Tainted yellow eyes stared in the elf's direction, while blackened saliva ran down his jaw to stain the grass. "It's so beautiful," he muttered, raising arms covered in lesions. "It's so wonderful to hear…"
"Who are you, ser? What's wrong?" Alim asked, activating his blade and holding it in a defensive stance. This man was very, very sick, and as much as he wanted to give aid, Duncan's warning was fresh on his mind.
"It's the song!" ranted the human, coughing forth a fresh batch of saliva. "I hear so much now, I understand everything! The whole world, united in song! It will be beautiful!"
"What song?" demanded Alim. Behind him, the horses whinnied in fright. "I have some medicines that might help you ser, but you need to stay right where you are." For all of his bravado, he had never killed anyone before, ghoul or no, for it was clear that was what this man was. The thought of doing such, even to a ghoul, made his stomach turn.
"You do not understand, you do not listen!" barked the pitiable creature. A chunk of hair and skin fell from his skull, and he shambled forward, reaching behind his back. "But I will make you listen."
The knife emerged, a crude, rusted thing, blade sodden with blood, both red and black. "Stay back," Alim warned, aghast at the sight. Had Duncan fallen, silent and unnoticed in the darkness?
"This is your last warning. I don't want to hurt you, but I will if I have to. Stand down."
The vile stench accompanying the stranger increased many-fold, and Alim turned to see a half-dozen more emerge from the night to surround him; men and women, all bearing the same sickness. "We will make you listen," the first snarled, rushing forward headlong. "Listen listen listen listen listen listen listen LISTEN!"
The blow was poorly directed, a mad slash that Alim quickly dodged before running the assailant through with his sword before he kicked him off the blade. But then the others were upon him, lashing out with shovels and pitchforks and blacksmith's hammers, frenzied, wild, driven insane, completely unconcerned with self-preservation. They were beyond reason, beyond saving.
Only one course of action left.
Alim met their advance, sweeping his staff and knocking a few to their backs, twirling the blade and driving it into one. Shockingly, the madman seized the guard and pinned the sword into his own body. Alim fought to pull his arm back, but the foe had a strength that was utterly unnatural for someone so sick and mortally wounded. The third of their number lunged for the elf, hands closing around his neck.
"You will listen!"
Gasping for each breath, the air now rank with their rot, Alim dropped the staff and punched his assailant straight in the mouth, once, twice, thrice, sending him spinning away, spitting black blood.
He was too shocked by the sudden and horrifying situation to even think to use his magic.
But there was more, always more, swarming him, burying him under the weight of numbers, the night split with the sounds of their insane ranting, the screams of the horses and the elf's cries of defiance. His blade fell to the ground where it dispersed, and his belt knife shone for a moment before he plunged it into a foe's heart, he was dimly aware that whatever ague had affected them so might be contagious…
One moment he found his back pressed against the ground as his enemies bore down on him, biting and clawing at his clothes and flesh, but the next moment all the pressure suddenly lifted as Duncan appeared, left hand ripping one of the attackers off him while the sword in his right impaled the lunatic. The remaining three abandoned Alim and launched themselves at the older Warden but Duncan was too fast, and three severed heads fell to the ground in the blink of an eye. "Are you alright?" Duncan asked, pulling Alim to his feet. "Have you suffered any wounds? Did any of their blood enter your mouth, anything of that nature?"
"No, I don't think so," Alim replied, quickly running his hands over his body to check. His body was covered in bites and scratches, but through some miracle none of the ghouls had managed to break his skin or clothing. But then it dawned on him that he was not wearing his gloves or boots, having taken them off to relieve soreness and not having had the time to put them on when he awoke. There was a long, jagged cut on his palm that would surely scar, but the more pressing concern was the black blood seeping from it. Thinking back, the ghoul who grabbed his sword must have done it when he was focused on beating back the one at his throat.
"I owe you my life, but this... I think your efforts might have been in vain" he said, showing his hand to Duncan.
He was going to die... He was going to turn into one of those freaks and then he was going to die. Alim almost laughed at the grand irony, having survived everything that he had only to die of an infected cut on the eve of battle.
"This looks serious, but fortunately I know of a cure."
Duncan's words were short and to the point, but Alim latched onto them in his desperation.
"What is the cure?" Alim asked, but Duncan simply turned away.
"You are to be a Warden, Alim Surana," Duncan replied, striding over to the final attacker who was still lying on the ground and spitting out broken teeth. Rearing up, he made to attack, only to be cut down with a quick slash. Duncan, the elf noted, was fairly splattered with the ink-black blood of their attackers, but seemed to pay it no heed, making him think that perhaps the gray wardens must have some level of immunity, and it became apparent to him what the cure was. It seemed there had been more out there, all of which Duncan had dispatched. "The Wardens look after their own."
"What in the Andraste's name was wrong with them? They were utterly out of their heads!"
"Ghouls," Duncan explained 'so it really is as I thought then' he thought sourly. "Men and women infected with the darkspawn taint. It strips them of their reason, their sanity, everything but the will to serve their dark masters. There should not have been any this far north…"
"Could something have happened to the forces at Ostagar, then?"
"Unlikely. If they were either destroyed or forced to retreat, then we would know. There is only one truly efficient route for the horde to take in order to enter Ferelden from the Wilds, but there are passes acceptable for small bands such as this. We should be cautious."
"Agreed," said Alim, suppressing a shudder of fear at what would happen to him if they delayed. "We should leave this place immediately, in case more arrive."
"Yes" Alim muttered, calming the horses before throwing his things together. Within minutes, they were gone, speeding into the darkness as safely as they could manage, the blood and bodies of the ghouls the only signs of their passing.
They crested a small hill two days later, and Alim finally laid eyes upon the ruined fortress of Ostagar for the first, but certainly not the last time.
A thousand years earlier, the Tevinter Imperium had stretched across the boundaries of the known world, an empire fueled by dark magic and slavery, commanded by the twisted magisters. The Imperium had advanced in every direction, seeking new lands to conquer and resources to exploit, before eventually finding their way to the edge of the Korcari Wilds, a strange and inhospitable wilderness at the southern edge of Thedas.
Even for the Tevinters, with their endless hunger for land, slaves and blood, the idea of conquering the Wilds ultimately proved to be unfeasible. The land was too harsh, too distant from the Imperium's settled territories, and the cold swamps and forests provided little of material value. Moreover, the Chasind Wilders that dwelt within paradoxically seemed to be both too scattered and few to make the Imperium's slave trade profitable, while at the same point being able to unify into considerable hosts to bedevil the northern invaders.
And so, the unstoppable Tevinter war machine halted their southwards advance, and to shield themselves from the Wilders, erected the fortress of Ostagar. Built high upon the cliffs overlooking the Wilds, Ostagar had repelled numerous Chasind assaults during the Imperium's reign and had never been breached or captured by the enemies of Tevinter.
Of course, it was eventually all for naught. The First Blight had destroyed much of the Imperium over the course of nearly two hundred years, weakening its hold over the outlying territories. Andraste's Exalted March had nearly finished the job, forcing the Imperium to abandon southern Thedas before the Prophet's betrayal at the hands of her mortal husband Maferath. Ostagar had been vacated and left to rot, but even time and neglect could not bring it down.
The sight of the old fortress was breathtaking, and Alim allowed himself a moment to stare in wonder. Ostagar had been built to protect a narrow pass that led into the fertile heartland of what was now Ferelden, and he was stunned by the sheer hundred-foot walls that covered the gorge and by the numerous old towers built along the ramparts, one in particular along the eastern side of the fortress reaching several hundred feet, almost as tall as Kinloch Hold. Looking upon the old ruins, Alim suddenly felt small in the face of it.
Even a thousand years later, the fortress still held up considerably well. The craftsmanship abilities of dwarves were truly something to be respected.
"How big exactly is the army?"
"Just over ten thousand men," Duncan answered. "A considerable host, but not as large as it could be. When I left King Cailan at the assembly point, many of Ferelden's nobility had yet to commit their forces. I can only hope since the following battles, additional reinforcements have arrived to bolster our numbers."
"You mean they've already engaged the darkspawn?"
"Three times prior, and after each battle the darkspawn simply retreated into the Wilds to bolster their numbers with reinforcements emerging from the Deep Roads. By now, they look to outnumber us significantly."
"Will the forces we have be enough to stop the darkspawn? If nothing else, Ostagar looks like it can be defended."
"I do not know if our numbers are sufficient, but you are correct in your assessment of our defenses. Even a thousand years later, Ostagar is a bastion to be respected. It must be, if we are to stop the Blight."
"And what if we can't hold them here, Duncan?" Alim asked. "If the fortress is breached, then what?"
"Then Ferelden will fall," the elder Warden intoned gravely.
Leading their horses on, the two Wardens dismounted at an impromptu bastion on the eastern edge of the fortress meant to watch for threats coming along the road. The horses left in the hands of trained grooms and a report made about their recent nighttime ambush, they made their way beneath the shadow of the largest tower, a massive edifice that overlooked the entire fortress and the lands around it. "This area of the fortress has been designated as the King's Camp. The bulk of the army, along with the full-fledged members of the Order, are encamped in the valley below."
The elf's eyes widened. "The King's Camp? You mean-"
"Ho, there! Duncan!" came the enthusiastic boom, and Alim turned to witness the speaker approach, accompanied by a quartet of knights in full plate, the human's massive golden armour, silver greatsword and long blonde hair shining in the sun. For a moment, the elf froze in utter disbelief.
"King Cailan," Duncan greeted the newcomer, giving a small bow. "I didn't expect-"
"A royal welcome?" the King of Ferelden quipped, placing a friendly hand on Duncan's shoulder. He was a young man in the prime of life, perhaps about twenty-five years of age, a great bear of a man standing at an even six feet, vigorous and well-built, with a confident demeanor and a lust for life.
He was the heir of Maric the Savior and a scion of Calenhad the Silver Knight's bloodline, inheriting the land that his father had liberated from the yoke of the Orlesian Empire and restored to its former glory; yet if he felt the weight of all that history and the shadow of his lineage, he gave no sign of it.
For better or for worse, Cailan was not an elder statesman or a peerless diplomat, but a fighting king, a man far more comfortable drinking with and warring alongside his soldiers than politicking with domestic nobles and foreign dignitaries. Alim felt tremendous respect for the man already.
"I was beginning to think you'd miss all the fun!"
"Not if I could help it, Your Majesty," came the wry reply.
"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all. Glorious!" Cailan crowed. "The other Wardens told me you found a promising recruit. I take it this is he?"
"Indeed, Your Majesty. Allow me to introduce-"
The King gave a small snort of derision. "There's no need to be so formal, Duncan, we are to be riding into battle together, after all." Walking over, Cailan enthusiastically shook Alim's hand as if they were two old comrades finding each other again, and not a King and the lowest of his subjects. "Ho there, friend, might I know your name?"
"I am Alim Surana Your Majesty, of the circle of magi Kinloch Hold," said the elf. In ordinary circumstances, he might have considered bowing, but Cailan didn't appear to be particularly overly concerned with courtly formality.
"Pleased to meet you. The gray wardens are desperate to bolster their ranks, and I for one, am happy to help them. You said you are from the circle; I trust you have some spells to help us in the upcoming battle?"
"I will do my best of course, Your Majesty."
"Excellent, we have too few mages here and another is always welcome." Once again, the large man extended his hand, and Alim reached out to shake it.
"Allow me to be the first to officially welcome you to Ostagar Alim. The wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks." He smiled widely at his king's praise.
"What is the status of the army, Your Majesty?" asked Duncan, eager to get down to business. "Have any more nobles committed their troops?"
"Troops from Highever have arrived, at long last," Cailan answered. "About a hundred men under Bryce's son Fergus arrived about a week ago. I put them to work as part of the scouting teams."
"But Teryn Cousland himself has not come?" Duncan inquired.
"No, he hasn't, and neither have the troops from Amaranthine. It's very strange; young Fergus told me that his father and Arl Howe would be no more than a day or two behind him." The King gave a shrug, as if the absence of two of his more notable vassals was a triviality. "Then again, the Coastlands are rather stormy this time of year, perhaps the weather delayed them? I'm sure they'll arrive eventually, but as it stands, I don't think we'll need any more men, not with how swimmingly the battles have been going."
"Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week."
"Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory," Cailan remarked mockingly, rolling his blue eyes. "We've won three battles against these monsters already, and the next should be no different. We've been tracking the horde's advance through the Wilds, so by the time they approach the fortress, we'll be ready to send them scurrying back into their holes."
"You sound very confident of that, Your Majesty," Alim remarked evenly. The King seemed entirely at ease about the impending darkspawn onslaught, and the elf had no idea if Cailan was simply putting on a carefree front for the sake of morale, or he truly believed the Blight was no challenge to his forces.
For the sake of Ferelden, he hoped it was the former.
"Overconfident some would say, right, Duncan?" Cailan jested.
Duncan maintained a diplomatic, cautious tone in the face of Cailan's self-assurance. "Your Majesty, I'm not certain the Blight can be ended as quickly as you might wish."
"To be honest, I'm not even sure this is a true Blight. There have been plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, no sign of an Archdemon."
"Disappointed, Your Majesty?" Duncan inquired wryly.
"I'd hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding into battle with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god. But I suppose this will have to do."
"We should return to your tent, Your Majesty," one of Cailan's bodyguards said, a heavyset man with greying hair. "Most likely Teryn Loghain will wish to review our strategies."
"Yes, Elric, of course. Sorry to cut this short, but I must return before Loghain sends out a search party," Cailan sighed in frustration. "Farewell, Grey Wardens."
As the King departed, Alim let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. "Well, that was unexpected."
"To an extent," Duncan explained. "King Cailan is a major ally of the Wardens in Ferelden, and is one of our strongest advocates, especially with the Blight at our doorstep. And what he says is true; they've won several battles against the darkspawn so far."
Alim caught the elder Warden's worried tone. "But at first glance, he seems to be taking it rather lightly." Duncan gestured for them to start walking into the camp, and he compliantly followed his commander.
"His glibness stems in no small part from our presence. He believes that our legend alone makes him invincible, a belief he ferments to further inspire his men. I stated before that much would be expected of you; now you see why. To that end, we should proceed with the Joining ritual immediately."
"Is this some sort of initiation rite?" asked Alim, genuinely curious.
"Of a sort, it is also your cure. Each Grey Warden must go through the Joining in order to become a full member of our Order. For the moment, I cannot tell you more. Suffice it to say that we do what is necessary."
Alim frowned as he heard that most weighty of phrases. Duncan had explained a great deal about the Wardens and the darkspawn on the journey, but the Joining had never come up. Why would he have to hide it? "Very well then. What do you need me to do?"
In response, Duncan tossed him a pouch of coins. "Feel free to explore the King's Camp as you wish, all I ask is that you do not leave it for the time being. There is another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair; once you've prepared yourself as you see fit, find him and inform him that it's time to summon the other recruits, a knight named Jory and an archer named Deveth.
"Once that is done, the next step of your initiation begins."
"Understood, Duncan, and thank you."
"Do not thank me just yet. There are many trials left to come," the older man intoned, bowing to the recruit before he turned and walked away.