It was a nightmare born reality.

Florien stared at the cup, disgust curling in his stomach at the vile concoction. Twas no wonder in his mind on why the Wardens accepted blood mages into their ranks. To become one, one had to use it, to succumb to blood magic, to submit oneself to the Taint. Small hands, slender hands that hadn't spilled the blood of men in twelve long years was now covered in the vilest blood Florien could imagine. Now he was to take that-that stuff into him?

Madness, utter madness.

He reached for it anyway. He took the cup from Duncan's hands, his heart pounding painfully against his ribs, even his pulse points hurt. Daveth, poor Daveth. It killed him, this poison blood, this darkness calling him in. Tears slipped from his eyes as he closed them, bringing the Joining Chalic to his lips and swallowing that viscous liquid. He forced his throat to keep it inside, ordered his stomach not to push it back up before the poison killed him.

Burning pain, twisting agony that scorched and burned and killed, went down his throat and into his stomach, curling and gnawing at his insides like a wild beastial thing. He could feel its claws digging into his very soul, ripping him apart. He wanted to scream, opened his mouth to do so, but no sound came out. A shudder passed through his body, hands loosening their grip on the chalice, letting it fall to the ground with a clang. He couldn't see, he could only feel this pain, terrible pain. He was changing, he was dying, and he had done it willingly. He had taken this foulness inside.

Then the whispers came, assaulting his mind, before they grew louder and louder. So many voices, all inside his head and none made sense. Nothing made sense, except he was dying.

No.

He forced himself to think. He drew upon his will and snarled at this whispers inside his head, snarled at the darkness filling his pores and thrumming through his veins.

You. Will. Not. Conquer. Me.

Each word was a single thought, and each thought gave him power. It gave him fury. He would not die tonight. Twisting and snarling he fought death back, he shouted the voices silent. Then, as if it realized it could not take him it withdrew, curling up inside him and falling into a light slumber, ever there ready to wake and fight again. It was no mindless thing, it lived, it knew and was wise, it would take him by inches until it backed him into a corner, Florien would have to be ever vigilant from this day til his death to make sure he did not let this beast take him over.

He woke then, his body wracked with pain and eyes bleary. He gave a dry smile to Alistair, accepting his hand. A soft grunt escaped him when he stood on unsteady legs. Oh Maker did they have anything to get the taste out of his mouth? Perhaps some dwarven ale, that foul brew would be able to get it out of his mouth, he'd heard Templars speaking of it before. Surely that concoction could wash away the taste of Darkspawn and evil. Perhaps scraping his tongue or licking a lamp post would get it off his tongue.

"Two more deaths, only one of us died in my Joining. How are you feeling?"

Florien smiled more freely now, fingers running through the loose strands of hair framing his face. "That was worse than my Harrowing." It was the most diplomatic thing that he could say since his only other thought was how foul it had been and exactly how foul would probably make the templar blush. He didn't accuse Duncan of murder. It was blood magic, a dark ritual, and should anyone find out that that was what it would take to become a Warden… If the Chantry didn't try to destroy them for that, then the order would be destroyed simply because no 'decent' person would be willing to join, and if they were lucky the Wardens would get some apostates and maleficars. Which they already did, mind you, but the Order would not be able to survive on that alone. Jory would have either drunk from the cup, or died, or well both just as Daveth showed him they could.

"Get yourself ready, we have an important meeting with the King."

Florien snapped to attention at Duncan's quiet order. Looking over at Alistair the older Warden smiled and shrugged, making a motion of the pretty face would probably be the reason as to why Duncan had chosen Florien over Alistair for listening to the meeting. Great he was going to listen to the battle plans simply because he was a pretty elf, not because he had any real skills, but because Cailan would like to look at him. A faint scowl crossed his features and Alistair only laughed, patting Florien on the head.

"Better you then me." Was the glib reply before Alistair wandered off. "Make sure he doesn't make you dance the Remigold." Alistair shouted over his shoulder. Florien giggled, relaxing more at Alistair's jokes before straightening out his robes and making sure his hair was still in a tightly coiled bun at the top of his head. It was a quick process, checking himself mentally, feeling an odd increase of mana before he deemed himself worthy of an audience with a King, especially a King as lax as Cailan.

"I understand congratulations are in order?" Florien respectfully lowered his eyes, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks. He had taken no more than two steps in the direction of Duncan before Cailan's eyes had found him. "Yes your majesty." Feeling oddly ill at ease with so much attention on him, then the moment passed and Florien was once again in the background watching Loghain and Cailan fight. He started to drift off, mind falling back into his own thoughts, wondering how he was to fight and survive in this battle. He'd only fought with a handful of people, how was he to take into account hundreds of others when he was casting spells. Surely setting his allies on fire would be a good thing.

"We should send our best, this new recruit and Alistair."

Blinking as Florien was brought back into reality, his mouth opened and closed silently. He was to what? Somehow he felt some of his unease pass. It was a simple job, one that even a mere guard could do, but Cailan wanted Grey Wardens at the top of the Tower so Grey Wardens he would get. He felt as if death had touched his cheek, about to grasp his hair to take him forward before letting him go with a silent sigh and passed him over. Death, Florien could feel that specter here, even if it was only his imagination.

'HE LEFT THEM TO DIE! NO! NO! RUN! RUN!'

Florien could hear his owns screams piercing through his head from years past. How he wished Jowan was here, then thought better of it. Jowan would be no help here, not any more. Rubbing his face with his hand tiredly, Florien silently followed Duncan to the fire.

Alistair was unamused, his anger almost palpable as he protested against Cailan's orders. A worried frown crossed his features. "We should be out there." He offered, if only to help Alistair feel as if someone understood his feelings. Still something primal inside Florien, the integral part of him that never truly left the Fade, protested against this. Something was wrong, something dark was just over the horizon, and Florien knew that whatever it was, be it darkspawn or worse, that blood would soak the lands tonight and possibly sunder the Veil forever.

"Grey Wardens do whatever is necessary to end a Blight, glorious or not. If the King wants you on top of the Tower then that's where you'll be."

"Just so you know if the King Orders me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold I draw the line, Darkspawn or no." Alistair muttered with a scowl and Florien let his hand rest against the former Templar's arm. "But I'd like to see that." A teasing smile played on Florien's features and Alistair turned to him and grinned, anger momentarily forgotten. "For you, maybe, but it'd have to be a pretty dress." Duncan groaned rolling his eyes and pleading to the Maker for patience, wondering if this was how Genevieve felt when she had to deal with him and Fiona. "I think I can arrange that." Florien whispered conspiratorially to his fellow warden and Duncan fought back a smile as Alistair grinned, happy that the blond had found a friend.

When it was time for them to part, Florien waited for Alistair to say his goodbye before Florien went up to the Warden Commander. Overcome he threw his arms around the older man's neck, pressing close and holding onto him tightly. "Duncan…" His voice choked for a moment before he pulled back, staring into the dark wise eyes of a man who'd seen more in his days than several people in their lifetimes. How could he tell this man of the unease, of the desperate fear clawing at his gut, that there was danger out there. Pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth he moved to bite his bottom lip before settling on the words. "The Maker has turned his gaze away, tonight we are forsaken." Duncan's pupils contracted, eyes widening minutely before the grizzled man schooled his features once more. He rested his hand on Florien's head. "Then we protect men in his stead. Florien, watch over him if anything should happen." A faint tilt of his head indicated Alistair and Florien nodded. Letting go of his Commander Florien stepped back. "Duncan, thank you for everything and…goodbye." A tiny piece of his heart broke when he turned his back, knowing that by the time he reached Alistair by the bridge, Duncan had already made his way down to the battlefield.

Collecting his pack, Florien took everything he felt they needed. Poultices and lyrium potions, food, and any sentimental trinket he felt that they could not do without. He also took the treaties. If he was wrong then he would accept Duncan's punishment, and he hoped, he prayed to the Maker that it would not go as he feared.

How soon he had been proven wrong. Fight after blood fight, rooms filled with Darkspawn. It was his mother's voice in his ear that had Alistair and the guards stopping every room, searching through wooden crates and boxes to get everything they could carry. Florien even raided the bodies, his pale skin flecked with darkspawn blood as he rifled through pockets, his gaze almost remote as he kept himself detached from the gruesome task.

"What are they doing here, there shouldn't be any resistance here!" Alistair's voice filtered through Florien's haze and he turned, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Then perhaps you should tell them they're in the wrong place." "Riiiiight of course, it's all a mix up. We'll laugh about this later." A sound burst from Florien, somewhere between a giggle and a snort and he gripped his staff tighter.

Finally, finally they reached the top. Then they saw it. Florien's mind rejected the sheer size of the thing, it was absurd. Truly it was, and how on earth did it get all the way up here? Some of the doorways surely couldn't have allowed this thing to walk through. Had it simply spawned there, made of terror, death, and blood? Whatever it was it was going to die.

"Go!"

Florien shouted at the men, hand gripping his staff as he channeled his energy through it. Enchanting their weapons in fire, Florien then turned and sent a wave of foul magic at the Ogre hoping that the continuous spirit damage would weaken it by turns. He ripped the Veil here, throwing spell after spell, ice, then fire, lightening, and a healing to an ally. Florien's mana drained rapidly, he hadn't, not even in the Kocari wilds had he spent so much mana in a combat. Would this thing never die? Then as if time had slowed down Florien watched as Alistair made one final leap, scaling the creature and knocking it back. Florien watched in awe as the blond brought his sword down into the Ogre's skull, a sickening spurt of blood coating Alistair.

Rushing to the other side of the room, Florien raided the open barrels not broken by the Ogre, finding prizes before Alistair speaking to him. "We've surely missed the signal, let's light the beacon. Hurry!" Dragging his weary body forward, Florien waited til he had enough mana to cast a fire spell. Turning around he opened his mouth to talk to Alistair, to tell him it was done when he heard the sound of arrows.

He couldn't even scream blood welling up in his mouth, spilling out over his lips and down his chin as he tried to breath. Staggering back he lifted his hand, outstretched towards Alistair, though not asking for safety, not beseeching for help, but in a labored motion of dismissal. Run, run Alistair. He willed in his mind, eyes falling shut as his lifeblood poured from his body. He fell backwards, into an abyss, and he wondered as he fell if this was what glasses felt like when they were knocked off a table.