A/N: At long last, here's chapter 5! Sorry it took so long, but there was a lot to say/do, and real life also got kinda busy. But it's here now! Enjoy! Many thanks to Isobel Kelte and socialkombat for the reviews!
Chapter 5 – A Joint Endeavor
Before too long, the mage and the templar found themselves in front of Duncan's tent, and before them stood the man himself, arms crossed and looking decidedly incensed.
"Ah, you found each other, at least. Good. Alistair, what were you thinking, riling up the mage that way?"
Immediately chastened, Alistair threw Melwiliel a sidelong glance, and seemed about to ask which one Duncan was referring to. He opted for an apology instead.
"I'm sorry, Duncan, but I..."
"And carrying messages for the Revered Mother? I know I said we had to avoid antagonizing anyone, but really, you could have politely refused, suggesting an affirmed be charged with the task instead."
Deep down, she knew it to be a sin, but Melwiliel couldn't suppress a perverse pleasure in seeing the young man receive such an upbraiding. She was lapping it up like a cat would a saucer full of milk.
"I know, Duncan, but she ambushed me. The way she wields guilt they should stick her in the army...", grumbled Alistair, looking positively sullen.
"Aye.", sighed Duncan. "And Uldred is not an easy man to deal with, I should know." He stroked his dark beard as his gaze strayed from Alistair to Melwiliel. "And don't think I don't see you smiling so smugly, young mage. I know some habits are hard to break. However, Alistair is no longer a templar, but a Grey Warden, as you may yet become. I expect you to work together, all of you. Understood?"
Dumbfounded, the elf managed to mumble an "Of course, ser.", as the grin slid off her face. Had she been so transparent? Apparently so. Discomfited by this realization, Mel tried to recall a few calming exercises: a mage had to remain in control at all times. Theory and practice were two very different things, nevertheless.
There was no time to muse on such thoughts, as two men approached the small gathering in front of the tent. The first was dark-haired, not exactly tall but lithe and slender; his disarming smile belied his shifty eyes. There was something odd about the man she couldn't quite place. The second, who followed closely behind, was broad shouldered, and carried himself with the assurance of one who has trained with weapons all his life. Duncan introduced them as Daveth and Ser Jory, respectively. Melwiliel started shifting uncomfortably as the new arrivals studied her, and then the wiry one spoke.
"So you're the third recruit, then? Well... you're not what I expected."
She didn't know whether to roll her eyes or scream out in frustration, but just sighed.
"And what *did* you expect then, pray tell?"
"Well, not a woman,... and not an elf,... and not a... a mage. Yet here you are."
"Daveth, does it matter?" asked Ser Jory. He had a mellow, and seemed more withdrawn, less outspoken. This was a man accustomed to taking orders and doing as he was told.
"Actually, Jory, it does. It's certainly a nice change from you!" He turned back to the young elf. "You see, we've been waiting for Duncan to arrive with you for a few days now. About bloody time you showed up! I was beginning to think they had cooked up this ritual for our benefit..." Ser Jory just shook his head, but this certainly caught her attention.
"Ritual? What ritual?" She turned and saw Duncan and Alistair approaching with a few packs in their hands. Mel hadn't even noticed that they had been gone, and shivered at the thought of what consequences could result of such inattention in the upcoming battle. She wasn't looking forward to facing darkspawn.
"Before you become a Grey Warden, there is a secret ritual we call the Joining which you must undergo.", answered Duncan. "I'm sorry you must face another trial with the Harrowing so close behind you, young lady, but there is no way around it." The Grey Warden turned to all three recruits. "But before the Joining takes place, you must go out into the Wilds and bring back three vials of darkspawn blood, one for each of you."
Daveth flashed a roguish grin. "We're going into the Wilds? I knew it."
Duncan simply sighed and gestured to the bags he and Alistair had brought. "Divide these supplies amongst yourselves, they might be of some use." When that task was completed, Alistair finally spoke.
"As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you."
"One last thing," added Duncan, "there is a ruin not far from here, a tower which used to be a Grey Warden stronghold. In it, you may find remnants of its archives which contained the treaties signed by the different peoples of Ferelden. Bring these back if you can." Alistair nodded soberly, as the recruits shouldered their respective packs, and Duncan laid a hand on Alistair's shoulder. "Watch over your charges, Alistair, and be back by nightfall. I will prepare for the Joining."
As Duncan headed back to the Magi Encampment, Daveth quipped: "Well then, into the Wilds we go!"
Her entire body vibrated and hummed with the thrill of fear and excitement. The Warden and the three recruits were pretty far from Ostagar now, plunging ever deeper into the Wilds. At least she didn't have to endure that pungent, acrid stench that had assailed her nostrils back at camp. Out here, the air was moist and thick, and her skin prickled as she saw the large, dark clouds hung low in the sky. There was the promise of the storm somewhere in that humidity. Perhaps tonight...
"Come on, mageling, keep up!"
She startled at the sound of Daveth's voice and caught up to him. Melwiliel hadn't realized she had been gawking at the wide expanses that surrounded them. Although there had been the days of travel along the Imperial Highway, this incursion into the Kocari Wilds drove home the fact that she was really *outside* the Tower. All around them, there was nothing else but the wilderness.
Or so she believed. As Alistair and Jory, who had taken point, rounded a knoll, both man gasped and signaled for the others to advance cautiously. Exchanging puzzled looks, Daveth and Mel followed. She too gasped in horror when she discovered oxen and soldiers, slaughtered, strewn amongst the wreckage of a few wagons.
"Darkspawn attack." Alistair spat out the bitter words.
"Oh Maker..." Jory was visibly shaken by the carnage. "There are so many... How does Duncan expect the four of us to survive out here? There could be an entire army of darkspawn hiding nearby, and we wouldn't know until they were upon us!"
"Be still, ser knight. One of the reasons I'm accompanying you is that Grey Wardens can sense large groups of darkspawn" said Alistair. "I assure you we are in no danger of running into the main horde. However, there may be stragglers, and we should..."
"Look!" Melwiliel cried out as she ran past the three men, skidding to a stop and falling to her knees beside a soldier she had just seen move. She swiftly feel in the familiar pattern of examining the man as the soft jingle of armor behind her told her the others had rejoined her. She felt at the man's neck for the telltale ebb and flow of his lifeblood: it was still there, but very faint. Ignoring questions and the entire outside world, the mage fell inward and became the healer.
As she cast the spells, furiously working in the hope of saving at least one of the soldiers, her hands hovered over the gaping wounds.
"Is she turning him into a toad?"
Daveth. In the back of the elf's mind, she could almost hear Wynne's voice: "Concentrate, child!" Staying centered, feeling the flow of energy that spills out of the Fade, keeping focused... And beneath her fingers, breaches in arteries mended, tendons snapped back together, muscles knitted themselves and skin closed up. The soldier gave a ragged, gasping breath, the sound of a man brought back from the brink, and Melwiliel sagged, completely limp from exhaustion.
As Jory supported the healed soldier while Daveth cleaned his superficial cuts, Alistair helped her up.
"That was a kind thing you did, but not exactly prudent, now was it?" The Warden arched an eyebrow as she shook the dust off her robes. She wasn't about to admit that she was indeed nearly drained, and had never before attempted to heal such extensive injuries.
"Perhaps you would have rather let him die, then?"
With a scowl, Alistair turned back to the now conscious soldier who was telling Daveth and Jory how his entire patrol unit had been wiped out by marauding darkspawn. Melwiliel seized this opportunity and downed a lyrium potion while none watched. Steadying herself with her staff, feeling slightly more refreshed, she joined the men.
"Thank you, my lady! Thank you!" Then, all of a sudden, the soldier was holding both her hands in his, her staff clattering to the ground; she really hoped he wasn't going to kiss them. "May the Maker bless you, you saved me!"
"I... um..." She literally didn't know what to say.
Daveth winked at her. "Well then! Now you know we're not keeping you around just for your looks!" Seething inside, she ultimately decided not to gratify him with an answer.
Finally, the soldier relinquished her hands, and started back towards the Ostagar ruins, using his sword as a crutch; the man would need plenty of rest, but he would live, and that, in itself, was a small victory.
Sighing, her gaze dropped from the retreating soldier to the ground, searching for the staff the First Enchanter had given her.
"Oh." Alistair had it, and held it out for her. "Thank you."
"Let's get a move on."
Kneeling in a bush by a pool of stagnant water, the mage retched, emptying her stomach of all its contents. Their small band had just encountered a few hurlocks and genlocks, and she still reeled from the fear that had sent her stomach roiling. Nothing, no stories, no advice, not any description in any book in any of the Tower's libraries, could have prepared her for this. She heaved once more.
In retrospect, though, it had all happened so fast. Ser Jory and Alistair had been upon the hurlocks in an instant, cleaving into limbs and torsos alike, with a sickening sound, while Daveth had let arrow up arrow fly towards the genlock archers. It had been all she could do to stay out of the way, and keep casting healing and rejuvenating spells. In fact, she had nearly forgotten that her staff could fire arcane bolts, and only started using those towards the end of the skirmish when her healing skills had been most needed. But at least she hadn't gotten anyone killed, and she was still alive herself, so that was something to be thankful for.
Sitting up and spitting out the bitter taste bile had left on her tongue, Melwiliel offered up a silent prayer to the Maker. As the mage got to her feet, she heard a cough behind her and turned to see Ser Jory, smiling and holding out his waterskin to her. Gratefully, she thanked him with a nod and washed down the bile that tinged her throat. However, when she lowered the waterskin, handing it back to him, there was now a smirk on the knight's usually placid face.
"What now?"
Blushing, Jory shook his head ruefully. "Forgive me, I mean no disrespect. It's just that..." His expression lit up with the first genuine smile she had ever seen on him. "You remind me of my Helena."
Eyes widening, the elf was shocked speechless by his words; in fact, she never would have expected to hear such a thing. Once more, her face must have betrayed her.
"Ah, I beg your pardon." he chuckled. "It seems I cannot make my meaning clear today... My wife, Helena, is with child, and not a day went by, at first, that didn't see her running for the privy to empty her stomach." Furrowing his brow, Jory turned and gazed out into the endless stretches of the Kocari Wilds. "The child will come with the spring."
Melwiliel was at a loss for words: she felt as if she was intruding on the man's private recollections of his wife, and although the words had been freely offered, she wondered if he hadn't been thinking out loud, just a bit. A question, however, came unbidden.
"You left your wife behind?"
"Absolutely not." he answered with a shake, turning to face her once more. "I did not *leave* my wife, it's nothing of the sort. I'll just return to her, once I become a Grey Warden, after the Blight is defeated, of course."
The Redcliffe knight seemed awfully sure of that. All Melwiliel could remember reading of the Grey Wardens was battle after battle, hunting down darkspawn, and when the time came, seeking out the archdemon in order to end the Blight. Nothing about living out their lives in the comfort of their own homes surrounded by children, grandchildren and friends. Garahel himself had died in the fight which had led to the archdemon Andoral's demise, after all. Of course, family had never been an option for her, as a mage, but she marveled that such a thought had never occurred to Ser Jory. She didn't have the heart to remark on it though.
"Perhaps we should rejoin the others, and find those treaties, then?"
Further along the trail, they found Alistair cleaning his sword and Daveth retrieving salvageable arrows from darkspawn corpses. Together, they resumed the search for the ruined Grey Warden archive.
Duncan, Alistair and the three would-be Wardens were back in the ruined temple at Ostagar, each recruit clutching a vial of darkspawn blood while Alistair stowed away the sealed treaties. The remainder of their expedition had been rather uneventful, if battling scores of darkspawn could indeed be called uneventful. After a few hours, they had finally found the ruins they sought, and the treaties it held, returning to the army's camp as dusk fell. And now they waited for Duncan to start the Joining ceremony. Although the night air was far from chilly in the summer's eve, Melwiliel shivered.
At long last, Duncan approached, retrieving each vial and emptying them in a large cup. "Alistair, if you please..."
"Join us, brothers and sisters." he recited solemnly. "Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you parish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that, one day, we shall join you."
"You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good." added Duncan as he motioned for Daveth to step forward.
The lithe archer took the cup, jesting once more. "Well... in for a silver, in for a crown as my dear old mum used to say!" He drank.
Within minutes, Daveth collapsed to the ground, gagging and choking, and Melwiliel barely managed to keep herself from rushing to the dying man. Duncan had been extremely clear on the matter, no one was to interfere in the battle between man and taint. Before too long, he was dead.
The leader of the Grey Wardens then looked over at the knight was staring, wide-eyed in horror, at the inanimate body. "Step forward, Ser Jory."
His hand flew in panic to the hilt of his sword, and he drew it. "No, wait! I have a wife... a child on the way! You ask too much, had I but known!..." His eyes darted from Duncan to Daveth's body, back and forth. Moving deliberately, the senior Grey Warden handed the cup to Alistair, drawing his own weapon.
"There is no turning back now, Jory." answered Duncan with poise, advancing in a cat-like fashion.
"There is no glory in this!" shrieked the knight, now positively frantic, as he launched himself at the Grey Warden. A flurry of blows erupted, but the scuffle was short-lived, as Jory slumped limply to the ground, his glassy eyes staring into oblivion. Mel stifled a yelp, clasping her hands together, wringing them in horror. Once more, she dared not interfere.
"Step forward, Melwiliel." This time, Duncan's voice seemed to resonate as some part of the mage's mind hysterically babbled something about the correct pronunciation of her name. She took one step, accepting the cup that Alistair held out for her.
The contents had the crisp mint-like aroma of lyrium, overpowering the bitter smell of darkspawn blood. Suddenly, the Harrowing Chamber flashed before her eyes. This scene was all too familiar to the young mage, and she knew there was nothing else to do but press on.
She drank, and a heartbeat later, jolts of pain shot through her body as she fell away into darkness.