It was easier, after that. He didn't have to see Eamon, even though the Arl came twice more. Although he knew the revered mother thought he was ungrateful and silly, Adela spoke up for him. If he didn't have to see Eamon, he didn't have to be reminded of what he didn't have, and he could find some solace in what he did.
The thing that made it the most bearable, apart from his occasional conversations with Adela, was the training. He'd been wondering when the real training would start. In fact, once the boys had a rudimentary understanding of the Chant and the Canticles, those mornings in the classroom stopped. He was grateful to have nothing more to do with Brother Bertrand, and even more excited to start training with actual Templars.
It was a little confusing at first, because it seemed to have nothing to do with actual fighting. They spent a lot of time simply standing still while Ser Reynard circled them, correcting their stance or trying to prod them off balance with sudden thrusts of his shield. Alistair found he enjoyed trying to control his nervousness as the silent templar circled them. There was something highly satisfying about managing to keep his balance when Ser Reynard tried to catch him off guard.
On other days they practiced focusing their willpower, which bewildered him for months. He didn't know he had willpower. He certainly didn't know how to focus it.
It wasn't until Ser Reynard showed him what was a templar was capable of that he began to understand.
They were on the practice field and Ser Reynard had set up a practice dummy. Alistair was excited - he thought they would finally be starting to train with swords. Instead, Ser Reynard had them line up behind him.
"This is what you're training for," Reynard said. He spread his arms and focused and suddenly the training dummy was engulfed in light. A shockwave rolled over them from where the dummy stood and Alistair caught his breath.
"What was that?" he asked, once the wave had passed. "And why is the dummy still there?"
"That was what we call holy smite," Reynard said. "And the dummy is still there because it's a talent that works against the spirit and not the body. The dummy isn't alive, so it doesn't get harmed."
"What would happen if you used that on a person?" another boy asked in a small voice.
"A normal person would be stunned and a little injured. A mage on the other hand..." Ser Reynard turned and faced the boys. "A mage would lose much of his power, if not all, depending on the strength of the Templar who smote him."
"And if we learn to focus our will.." Alistair said.
"Eventually you will be able to perform a smite like that too, Alistair," Reynard said, his lips twitching in a half smile. "But it will take time. Holy Smite is the most powerful of our abilities. I showed it to you today because I think some of you..." he turned his eyes on two of the boys in particular and Alistair was very relieved their cold blue gaze wasn't focused on him "... needed a little bit of encouragement."
It boiled down to discipline. For the first time in his life, Alistair felt like he was in some form of control of what he did. He listened intently to all of Ser Reynard's lessons and diligently practiced the exercises he was given. Although he was by no means the best student in the group, he was certainly one of the most focused.
Alistair turned eleven. A package came for him from Eamon, but he had the revered mother send it back to Redcliffe without even looking at it.
One of the advantages to being eleven was that he was given his own room. The other boys had been gossiping about it and looking forward to it for months, but Alistair found he was dreading it.
He had never slept in a room alone before. At Redcliffe in the servants quarters he'd shared a room with three others, all children of the serving staff who might be needed for chores at any time. When Isolde had him removed from there he slept in the stables, with the horses and at least one other stable hand. He was used to noise - the noise of other boys, the noise of animals. He found the idea of being locked in a cell to sleep - in silence - terrifying.
It was worse than he'd thought it would be. Nightmares plagued him. It felt like he woke every couple of minutes, and every time he woke up he felt confined, alone and afraid. It was pitch black in his cell - the high window only ever let in starlight and that was never enough to give him even the smallest idea of what shapes might lurk in the corners. He would roll into a ball and squeeze his eyes shut, his heart pounding and his breath coming short and fast, longing to sleep but not able to.
On the third night he woke up screaming. The nightmare had been of nothing - nothing he could give a name to - just a brooding, dark evil. He was certain it was in the room with him. He couldn't stop the scream from pouring out of him. Every time he took a breath he felt it gather again in his chest and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't keep it in.
Brother Mica came to him that night and managed to get him to calm down enough to sleep. But the same thing happened the next night. And the next. Until finally he would feel the scream starting as soon as he walked in the door of his cell. He hadn't slept properly in a week - he was nearly delirious. He fell asleep at meals.
After a week Brother Mica took him to the Revered Mother. By this stage Alistair barely knew what his name was. The fear had almost completely consumed him.
The Revered Mother spoke to him, but he couldn't understand her words. Finally she sent Mica away to fetch someone. Alistair was sitting staring blankly at a wall with his arms wrapped around himself when Sister Adela came in.
"You seem to have some affinity with the boy," the Revered Mother said. "Get some sense out of him will you? He's got half the Chantry awake every night with his screaming."
He recognised her when she knelt in front of him. The eyes were kind, the smile was genuine. He took a deep breath and blinked.
"Alistair?" she said, touching his knee. "Alistair can you hear me?" He blinked again and nodded. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"
He clamped his lips shut and shook his head.
"Insolent boy," the Revered Mother said. "I don't know why we put up with his antics, really I don't."
"Your holiness," Adela said softly. "He might be more willing to talk if we're on our own."
"Huh," she replied. "Well, if I'm to be turned out of my own office.."
"I'll take him with me, your holiness. I think it might be better if he's outside in any case."
"As you wish, sister. Go then."
Adela held out her hand to Alistair. He grasped it firmly and stood up as she led him out of the Revered Mother's presence.
Her hand was warm and soft and human and he suddenly felt like if he let it go he would sink into the earth and never be seen again.
"Where would you like to go, Alistair?" Adela asked him. He didn't answer, but simply walked out of the building towards the river. He stopped when they got to the water's edge and took a deep breath, slowly letting his hand drop from the sister's, suddenly more aware of his surroundings and embarrassed - so, so embarrassed that he really, really wanted to plunge headfirst into the freezing water there and then.
Instead he turned to face Adela. "I'm sorry, sister," he said.
"What are you sorry for, Alistair?"
"I shouldn't have.. I didn't.."
"Brother Mica told me you've been having nightmares," she said. "He said they started when you moved into your room."
He nodded. Suddenly exhausted, he sank onto the ground near the river. Adela sat facing him, tucking her legs under her Chantry robe and clasping her hands in front of her. He didn't know why she was talking to him. He didn't deserve her attention.
"I'm being silly," he said. "That's what Isolde would say, any way."
"Isolde? Is she the Arlessa?" He nodded. Adela's face turned grim. "I've heard about her."
"It's just so quiet in there. I can't sleep, and when I do I have nightmares. And then I wake up and I can't stop myself from screaming because the cell is.. dark....and..cold... and I'm alone and.... it's exactly like the nightmare and.. and.." he realised his breath was coming in sobs and there were tears streaming down his face and he really, really, really wished that the ground would swallow him up.
Adela reached forward and took his hand in hers. She didn't offer any words, or tell him he was being silly, she just sat there, holding his hand until his tears stopped and he could breathe again.
"Would it be better if you slept in the dormitory with the other children?" she said.
He nodded.
"Well," she got up and brushed off her robe. "I don't see any reason why you shouldn't. They only put the initiates in their own rooms and there are never enough single cells any way."
"You mean, I could move back to my old bed?"
Adela smiled at him. "I'll speak to the Revered Mother."
He bit his lip. "But then everyone will know that I..."
"No they won't," she said. "Well, the ones who don't know already won't, any way. We often have to put the initiates back in with the other children, you know. The monastery isn't never-ending."
The thought of not having to sleep in the cell again was enough to make him not really care if the other initiates thought he was a coward. They already hated him. And the Chantry orphans were much nicer than they were.
He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand and sniffed.
"You might want to wash your face in the river, Alistair," Adela said. "Then we'll take you back to the Revered Mother."
He nodded and tried to smile.