Sorry about the wait. I was hoping to have the chapter out earlier, but work preoccupies quite a bit of my time. I was also working on drawing the concepts for my characters. I intend to put them up on deviantart soon, but they still require some work first. Also, thank you for the feedback. I really appreciate it. Anyways, enjoy!
Chapter 2
Sylvia relaxes slightly as she follows Quinn away from the kennels. Those mabari make her more than uncomfortable. She had seen the wounds those beasts had inflicted on her clanmates. One clanmate had even been mauled to death. The dalish elf shivers at the memory of the mutilated corpse.
She is also unsure of the tall man who had been watching Quinn muzzling the mabari. He seemed like most shemlen, but something was off. When she had looked into his vivid green eyes, she saw a cold, seething rage swirling in them. She knows that look. She had seen it in the eyes of her clanmates when they lost someone to bandits or shemlen. It is a desire for vengeance, and the man seems to be consumed by it. He's an explosion waiting to happen. It makes her weary.
So, the two return to exploring the camp. Sylvia keeps to Quinn's shadow, for the most part, refraining from attracting attention. She can't help but notice that it is getting increasingly harder to move around. Her body feels heavy and the amount of effort she has to exert in order to appear normal is exhausting. But the worst thing is the haziness in her mind, like a darkness slowly overwhelming her thoughts.
She barely listens to the mage prattle on about the camp. Despite his excitement, she isn't interested in these shemlens' things or the shemlen. Sylvia notices the looks that some of the shemlen men send her way, like a staving predator eyeing its prey. It's repulsive. For some, a simple glare scares them off, but others seem to like being challenged.
After some time, she thinks Quinn notices because he starts to flair some of his magic, making the pig-like shem shrink back. The dalish elf can only imagine the amount of trouble that he is inviting by doing so. Keeper Marethari had told her their Chantry claimed magic is a sin. That the shemlen were afraid of magic and acted violently towards it, locking up their mages in glorified prisons. This was one of the reasons those bastards killed her father. Sylvia lets out a sigh. Shem are such narrow-minded fools.
"Quinn Amell!"
The mage jumps and the elf turns her head, looking for the person who called out to her companion. She spots an elderly woman walking towards them, a confused yet scolding expression on her face. She is wearing robes and carrying a staff similar to Quinn's. Then, Sylvia glances at Quinn. This woman seems to make him uneasy.
"Hello, Wynne… Fancy meeting you here," he replies, nervously. The elderly mage stops in front of him and quickly looks over him.
"I'm suppose to be here. You, on the other hand…." Wynne trails off, eyeing him suspiciously.
"I'm suppose to be here, too," Quinn responds with a childish huff.
"You may no longer be an apprentice, now," she gestures to his robes and staff. Is that a symbol of his status? "But, I highly doubt Greagoir allowed you to come. Especially with your rebellious behavior."
Sylvia frowns. Rebellious behavior? This mage fits the role of jester rather than a rebel. And, he's been relatively compliant to that damned warden shemlen.
"Things… happened." Upon hearing the sorrowful tone Quinn has taken, the elf looks up at him. His expression is hesitant and regretful, somehow. She notices a hint of defiance in his eyes that she was unaware of before and his presence feels different. More guarded and alert. Is this the supposed rebel? "I'm a Warden recruit, now."
"What?" The elderly mage is clearly caught off guard.
He turns his gaze to Sylvia and gives her an apologetic look.
"If you do not mind… I need a moment of privacy with Senior Enchanter Wynne."
She huffs, but walks away, sticking to the shadows. She attempts to eavesdrop on the conversation, confused about Quinn's sudden change in character, but her ability to hear is muffled. Even her vision is slowly becoming more blurry. Another effect of the taint? The elf can only catch a couple words.
"…Things?"
"Undoubtly… disappr..."
"Why… not su…" Wynne sounds exasperated. "What… time?"
"I… accusation… imply… Think not know… I'd… you not... Definitely do wit… lecture…" The conscripted mage sounds as if he is trying to discourage the elder one's insistence.
"Out… youn..."
"Okay… Going… nquil… accus… cticing bloo… didn't…. Templars… frien... I decided... Phylactery ch… repository… his ph..."
"What!? …hinking!?"
"…..Templars… Ashera… Turn Jow….. wain is… out… basement… Irving…. iting. Greago… Aeon… Jowan… powerful blood magi… fled… ander Duncan … conscript..." Quinn's tone is becoming increasingly irritated. He gestures wildly, but Sylvia can't make them out. It's just a blur to her.
"Yo….ruin…..life….How….So…poten….sted…"
"….ential? … trap….Circ…rison!"
The elf finally gives up on listening. Despite his apparent agitation, the mage seems to refuse to raise his voice. Instead, he seems intent on growling his words, making Sylvia think of a wounded, trapped dog ready to bite.
Sylvia leans against the tree she is using to hide. Her head is starting to ache and her body is feeling heavier. Her eyes slowly begin to close when she detects nearing footsteps. She hears the rustling of cloth with absolute clarity and the heaviness in her limbs dissipates slightly.
"Sylvia? Are you okay?"
She whips around and is instantly met by a pair of blue eyes. Quinn's unnaturally blue eyes that almost seem to glow at times, like now. The dalish elf is immediately aware of the mage's close proximity and shoves him away.
"Ah, sorry. You looked more flushed than before. I just wanted to be sure you were okay," he explains as he lightly taps the end of his staff against her head. Her headache eases a little. "I'm not very adept in creation magic, but I know the basics. Hopefully it can help you hold on til the Joining."
Sylvia crosses her arms and glares at Quinn. The last thing she wants is to appear or feel dependent on the mage's magic and she still doesn't trust him. He lets out a sigh, which she ignores. She looks over toward the elder mage, who seems upset, and points at her. Quinn looks at where the elf is pointing. Sylvia simply looks at him, waiting for him to say something about the discussion he just had with the elderly woman. Quinn attempts to avoid eye contact, but eventually relents. Sort of.
"She's disappointed in some choices I made…That's all," he mumbles, his brow furrowing as his countenance displays slight anger. The dark cloud that hangs over him disappears as quickly as it came, and his expression turns to a friendly, neutral one. "It's starting to get late. I think we should start looking for that warden Duncan told us to find. Alistair."
Sylvia nods, hesitantly, unsure of the mage's quick change in demeanor. While she couldn't hear the words properly, she knows his conversation with the other mage had turned out badly. Still, she didn't expect him to act like this. Maybe a joke or something, but not brooding. But then again, she really doesn't know this mage. His friendly behavior can be surprisingly deceptive. She was nearly fooled.
The two walk around camp, searching for this "Alistair" fellow. It only takes a moment for Sylvia to realize that the shem, Duncan, told them nothing about this man they are suppose to find other than his name and that he is a warden. But, Quinn insists on finding this Alistair without help even though Sylvia can tell the mage is tiring.
"Maker's breath! Is he invisible? Can Wardens do that now?" Quinn questions.
The elf rolls her eyes at his absurdity.
"I know, right? You'd think if a Warden could turn invisible, a mage could do it hands down."
Sylvia shoots a glare at him. That's obviously not what she was thinking. Then, by chance, she spots two men in Grey Warden regalia a short ways away. She smacks the rambling mage in the chest and points to the men, hoping the mage will seek their help. Quinn stares at the Grey Wardens for a moment and returns his gaze to the elf.
"How do you know they aren't imposters?"
Sylvia delivers a swift kick to the mage's shin. He lets out a loud curse.
"Alright, alright. Sheesh. Must you kick me?"
The dalish elf shakes her head and pushes the mage towards the two Wardens.
"Hello, Grey Wardens!" Quinn greets, enthusiastically. The men turn to look at the two recruits. One seems almost abnormally tall with a thick, long beard covering most of his face and smells of alcohol while the other, shorter one appears foreign. "Might one of you be Alistair, or know him? Duncan wasn't very descriptive."
"You must be the other recruits, huh?" the taller one replies with a snort.
"Does that mean you're Alistair?" Quinn asks. The thickly bearded Warden lets out a laugh.
"Nope. Name's Gregor. And this is Dominic," he points to the shorter warden. Dominic bows his head. "Last I heard, Alistair was in the temple ruins just over there." Gregor points to the ruins behind the mage's camp.
"Oh? So, Wardens can't turn invisible?" Quinn sounds disappointed. Gregor and Dominic give the mage strange looks. "Thanks, anyways!"
Quinn once again takes the lead as the two set off to the temple ruins. Having nothing better to do than glare at people, Sylvia glowers at the mage's back. She doesn't have anything against him, personally. He's just a shemlen who happened to be with Duncan when he conscripted her. Creators, Quinn is the only shem she can stand in the slightest, though his constant joking gets irritating. He's childish, but not. Odd.
Just as they start up a small ramp, the elf hears shouting.
"What is it, now? Haven't the Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?"
"That sounds like Lamont," Quinn notes, absently, causing Sylvia to look at him in confusion. Wasn't he imprisoned in a tower? How does he know people here? The mage notices the elf looking at him and elaborates a little. "He's an Enchanter at the Circle who was sent here with a number of other mages to help the army." He looks like he wants to say more, but closes his mouth. They stop at the top of the ramp, watching the two men bicker.
"I simply came to deliver a message from the revered mother, Ser mage. She desires your presence," the blonde soldier states.
"For Andraste's— Is he serious?" Quinn growls, his expression turning irritated. The mage—Lamont?—and the soldier continue to bicker and Sylvia notices Quinn's grip tightening on his staff. "Lamont's an ass, but this is pure provocation, whether the revered mother intended this or not. She probably did, the self-righteous hypocrite."
Despite his relatively neutral tone, Sylvia takes a step away from the mage and glares at him. This temper flair is far more unnerving than the one he displayed earlier. And once again, he seems to catch on to her wariness.
"Sorry," he apologizes. The mage appears to make an effort to calm himself and soften his features.
"Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must," the enchanter relents, angrily. As he begins stomping towards the recruits, he glares at Quinn. "I don't know what you are doing here, but step aside."
"Oh yes. Of course. Because I respond so well to assholes," Quinn retorts sarcastically with ease, as if it's a habit. Didn't he just get mad at the blonde solider for provoking the man? Enchanter Lamont rolls his eyes.
"Maker forbid your mind be as sharp as your tongue," the older mage grunts before walking around Quinn. Sylvia watches the man walk away and wonders why none of the circle mages seem to get along. They're all imprisoned mages, right?
"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."
Sylvia turns her attention to the blonde soldier who is now speaking to them.
"Along with a little unwarranted instigation as well, right?" Quinn shoots back. The soldier colors slightly.
"It's complicated… Well, not complicated, just…." The blonde pauses and looks over the recruits. The elf glares at him and resumes using the mage as a shield of sorts. "Wait, we haven't met, have we? I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?"
"If I am? Would that just ruin your day?"
"No. I just like knowing my chances of being turned into a toad."
Quinn rolls his eyes.
"If mages could do that, they wouldn't be held in a damn tower," Quinn responds, dryly. The blonde soldier seems to consider this. Then, the man's hazel eyes light up.
"Oh, oh! You're one of Duncan's new recruits! From the Circle of Magi, right? And the one next to you, is the Dalish recruit?"
Sylvia glares at the soldier, but notices her mage companion glance back at her. This blonde man isn't a soldier. He's a Grey Warden.
"That's us. Are you Alistair?"
"That's me! Uhh…" Alistair scratches the back of his head sheepishly. "Sorry about that. You know, earlier, with the mage. Not one of my finer moments."
"Why would a Grey Warden play errand boy for the revered mother?"
For a moment, the young Warden appears ashamed.
"Before Duncan recruited me, I was training to be a Templar, sooo… I think the revered mother meant it as an insult by sending me as the messenger, and I'm sure the mage picked up on that, immediately. "
Quinn tenses. Sylvia feels an uneasiness creep up her spine. Her clan had encountered Templars before. It hadn't been a direct encounter, luckily, and the clan quickly moved after spotting the religious knights. The rumors the clans heard about what Templars did had been more than enough reason not to remain. And attacking them would have caused far more problems than killing a normal shem. Templars are bad news.
"You're a Templar?" Quinn asks, hesitantly.
"No!" Alistair shakes his head, strongly. "I'm a Grey Warden. Besides, Duncan conscripted me before I took my vows. Thank the Maker. I'd have made a terrible Templar, with all that religious devotion and lack of cheese. Seriously, the lack of cheese in the Chantry should be a sin."
"I thought lyrium was cheese for Templars." Quinn seems to relax, returning to his jesting once more. Sylvia finds his fickle personality somewhat disorienting. Shem are so weird.
"That'd explain why the sandwiches always tasted bad." Alistair makes a face and Quinn chuckles a little. "Anyways… Back on topic. I'm Alistair—"
"Obviously."
"—and, as the junior member of the order, I will be accompanying you when you prepare for the joining."
"Oh? That's… somewhat disappointing."
"Haha. I thought the same thing when I prepared for mine, but it's for the best. Believe me. Have you ever fought a darkspawn before?"
Sylvia recalls the repulsive creatures she saw in the Brecilian Forest. Suddenly, everything turns black and her legs go weak. The elf quickly reaches out, grabbing at the mage's back, and tightly grips his robe to keep her upright. A heaviness washes over her, making her attempts to stay standing useless. A strange, alluring noise echoes in her mind as if calling out to her.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Eodyn cringes and looks back at the elven warden who caught him. He attempts to stash away his loot in his pouches without her knowing, but realizes he no longer has it. Serah had snatched the coin purse out of his hand before he even tried to hide it.
"Don't move. You and I will have words," she commands before running over to the noble Eodyn had just stolen from with a mabari following right behind her. "Pardon me, sir. I believe you dropped this." The noble whips around, facing the elven warden, and eyes her with suspicion. He snatches the coin purse from her hand.
"I bet you stole it, didn't you, knife-ear?" The noble accuses, pointing his finger right in her face.
"If I stole it, I wouldn't be returning it. And it's Warden. Not knife-ear," Serah retorts, calmly. The mabari growls at the man. She turns on her heel and returns to the elven recruit, her arms crossed over her chest. "You can't steal from the people here. The Grey Wardens are still regarded with suspicion since our return to Ferelden. If one of our recruits is caught stealing from noble…"
"I'm sorry," Eodyn apologizes. Serah rolls her eyes, but smirks.
"Just don't do it again," she warns as she places something in his palm. She winks and he looks at the item. It's a sovereign. She holds up two more. Here she is scolding him and she does the same thing, just on a smaller scale. "We'll consider this his donation to the Grey Wardens."
"How did you…? When did you…?"
"It's a secret~. I'll consider teaching you after the Joining."
"Oh? So we're finally going through with it?" Eodyn questions, growing impatient. It isn't really impatience. It is more like the elf is growing bored with the camp. Cedric practically ignores him, and the other wardens are busy during the day.
"Duncan has returned with two more recruits, so tomorrow, you will be beginning your Joining…" There is a pause before she adds, "That means no drinking with Gregor tonight."
Eodyn huffs, and then, sarcastically, mentions, "I bet Cedric is enthusiastic about this."
"I've already spoken to him. He bears no love for the Grey Wardens, but he is devoted to his country. With the Blight coming… that's all he needs."
"He's a self-righteous noble with a short fuse. How can you put that much faith in him?"
The mabari lets out an argumentative growl, taking offense from Eodyn's statement. Right, because this mabari is Cedric's. What's it name again? Serious? Serah pats the beast's head, calming it.
"… He's grieving in the only way he feels he can. I know he has a good heart." Serah runs her fingers over her braid. "He needs time and space. So, be good to him and watch his back. He'll return the favor."
Eodyn halts and watches as the elven warden continues walking. How can she defend a noble, one of the people who put the elves down and treat his people like wasted space? He feels anger building inside of himself, but quickly calms. An angry thief is a reckless thief. Besides, the Couslands were known amongst the alienages as fair and kind. Cedric just seems to be a awful representative of his family.
The elven recruit runs after Serah, quickly catching up to her.
"What… is the Joining, exactly?" Eodyn asks.
"It's your initiation. I can't tell you much more than that. Duncan will tell you more when the recruits are gathered together tonight," she answers, neutrally.
"Daveth mentioned something about going into the Kocari Wilds," he comments. Serah's disinterested expression turns into a scowl.
"Eavesdropping, huh? Ellen thought he might have been snooping."
"Was he wrong?"
"…No. You and the other recruits will be sent into the Wilds to begin the preparation of your Joining," Serah relents, knowing Eodyn would persist in his questioning. Once he has at least something, he refuses to yield.
"By ourselves?"
"No. Alistair will be accompanying you."
"Just Alistair?" Eodyn doesn't mind the junior Warden. If anything, Alistair's odd sense of humor and goofy disposition made him a decent human in the elf's eyes. But, the former Templar doesn't seem to fit the role of guide, or leader, or any other serious position, let alone be able to deal with the temperamental noble called Cedric.
"It's tradition for the junior Warden to do so. Besides, Alistair is a capable fighter. You needn't worry," Serah assures the recruit.
"That's not really my concern. I mean, what about Cedric? He's not very easy to get along with, and I doubt he'll listen to Alistair. Also, what if he tries to make a run for it again?" Eodyn explains.
The mabari lets out a huff of disagreement.
Serah slows to a stop. She stares off into the distance and seems to be thinking about Eodyn's words. After a couple moments, she lets out a long sigh.
"I doubt that he'll run. Not now, with Ferelden in danger from the coming Blight…. But, I will talk with Duncan."
The two elves return to the Grey Warden camp and Serah departs once more to attend to other matters with Cedric's mabari on her heels. Eodyn spots Cedric returning to the campsite as well, looking as broody as usual. The noble walks past, ignoring the elf as he passes. Eodyn can't help but glare at the young man. What made Duncan want to recruit the sullen noble? Is he even any good in a fight? Glorified tournaments and true combat are two different things. Does he know what it feels like to have to fight for his life? To have others truly depend on him?
Eodyn calms himself, knowing that getting angry at Cedric won't change anything. Life is unfair, and it will always be that way. It's a lesson he had learned when he was young. A lesson that he has never stopped learning.
The recruit watches as Wardens come and go, preparing for the coming battle against the darkspawn. He had listened in on one of the meetings held by the senior soldiers about the creatures. That was the first time he had seen one. Granted it was dead, but the genlock was still vile looking. He can only imagine what the horde looks like.
Quickly growing bored, Eodyn begins tending to his daggers, taking special care of the one he inherited from his mother. It only takes a couple moments of his time, though, because he had already cleaned and sharpened the daggers in the morning. Once again, he is left with nothing to do.
The elf finally takes to wandering again, keeping an eye out for Gregor. After all, a couple drinks won't hurt.
"Getting' antsy, eh?"
Eodyn glances over at the seedy man. Despite his sleazy appearance, Daveth is actually not a bad man. He may not be an elf but Eodyn knows he and Daveth share similar experiences. It makes him one of the few shem he can stand to be around.
"There's nothing to do," the elf complains.
"You just need to think outside the box. There's hidden potential everywhere," the man responds with a laugh.
"Trying to sleep with every woman in camp doesn't count as 'hidden potential.' And I've already been scolded for my sleight of hand by Serah."
"I'd like to be scolded by her." Daveth moves his eyebrows up and down repeatedly.
"Please, don't say that. Or do that." Eodyn cringes a little and the human thief laughs.
"Live a little."
Eodyn shakes his head and rolls his eyes.
"I have some information, if you're interested, by the way. I just need a little something in return," Eodyn hints. Daveth leans in, obviously intent.
"What's your price?" the man replies.
"5 silver… And an oath to secrecy. At least, until tonight."
"2 silver and 50 copper. And my oath of secrecy."
"No. 4 silver and your oath. Take it or leave it," Eodyn returns.
"Fine, fine…" Daveth gives in and slips the coin into the elf's palm. "I swear on my thieving hand to keep this information a secret…. Now, what is it?"
Eodyn scowls at his fellow thief, but begins, "We're being sent into the Wilds tomorrow to prepare for our joining. Alistair will be accompanying us, as well as two more recruits that the Warden-Commander brought back with him. Duncan is suppose to tell us more tonight when we all gather together."
"I knew it. Anything else?"
"No. Serah wasn't very keen on giving me that much."
"Serah just told you that? Seriously?"
"Well, I mentioned that you snooped around and told me about the Wilds," Eodyn admits, guiltily.
"Hey!" Daveth protests. "You sold me out!"
"Not really. Besides, she told me a little more because of it, right? And, didn't you just say you'd like her to scold you? Well, here's your chance. Maybe," Eodyn counters.
"Gee, thanks," Daveth mutters. "Two more recruits, huh? I wonder if we've got us a beauty or two." Well, he recovered quickly, didn't he? Eodyn shrugs.
"If there is, I doubt she'll like you lecherous gaze on her."
"You never know. 'Hidden potential,' remember?...Eh, we probably ought to return to the camp and wait for the others," Daveth states before walking off in the direction Eodyn just came from. The elven recruit's shoulders slump. At least, Daveth will provide decent company until Gregor or Duncan return to camp. Eodyn follows, a feeling of impatience coming over him once again.
So, there are the other two wardens-to-be. Mahariel's was longer that I anticipated and it was still going to be longer, but I felt that was a better cutoff point. I had a harder time with Tabris' section.
By the way, this is a more character-driven fanfiction, so I'm going to focus more on the characters than action. There will be action, just not a lot.
If you see any errors, I apologize. I try to proofread beforehand, but mistakes happen. Constructive criticism is appreciated.