Things changed a little, after that. The dining hall was converted into an armoury, and the entire Chantry now ate together in the main hall. It was a noisy affair, but it was also cheerful and relaxed. Under the Revered Mother's watchful eye, the worst behaviour that occurred was the odd thrown piece of food.

Brother Bertrand and Brother Kristof disappeared completely. Alistair and the other boys spent a few entertaining evenings speculating on what had happened to them.

Bannik and Marcus were given penitences, and they seemed to have very little time left for bullying the other boys.

Two years passed.

Initiates became full Templars when they turned twenty. Alistair thought he would never get there. At sixteen, four years stretched out before him like they were fifty. The physical training was some consolation, but the doctrine was beginning to make his teeth ache.

O Maker hear my cry:

Guide me through the blackest nights

Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked

Make me to rest in the warmest places

Alistair's knees hurt. And the chant made him colder than he already was. Make me to rest in the warmest places - if only. He was so cold these days even embarrassment wasn't enough to reach his toes - and he was embarrassed a lot of the time.

O Creator, see me kneel:

For I walk only where You would bid me

Stand only in places You have blessed

Sing only the words You place in my throat

Maker, Alistair added in his head, could you possibly have blessed this chantry with more effective heating? He shifted, trying to distribute his weight in a way that wouldn't make his knees ache so.

"Keep still," Cole hissed from beside him. "Do you want more penitences?"

Alistair resisted the urge to snarl back at his fellow initiate, knowing that would just be more likely to bring the wrath of the Sisters down on them.

My Maker, know my heart

Take me from a life of sorrow

Lift me from a world of pain

Judge me worthy of Your endless pride

Oh, please lift me, Alistair thought. After six years of this, surely his knees should be desensitized to the pain by now. But it never got any better, he never found the right position and he nearly always managed to get into trouble.

The winter was particularly biting this year. The snows had come early and Lake Calenhad was completely frozen over. The roads were becoming impassable and only limited supplies were able to reach them from the rest of Ferelden.

Alistiar didn't understand why the Sisters and Brothers were so grim. The monastery was mostly self-sufficient with its surrounding farms and livestock. It shouldn't matter that they were cut off, but the mutterings amongst the Templars who were stationed there indicated that it did.

My Creator, judge me whole:

Find me well within Your grace

Touch me with fire that I be cleansed

Tell me I have sung to Your approval

Alistair really hoped that the Maker didn't require the chant to be sung with anything other than enthusiasm in order to approve of it. If he had standards like staying in tune he was in real trouble. And he didn't like the sound of being touched by fire in order to be cleansed. What of, exactly?

Ice sleds came and went from Redcliffe occasionally, but they were just as cut off from Denerim and Orzammar as the monastery was, and whatever it was the Templars needed wasn't going to come from Redcliffe. He had started to notice that Ser Malcolm and Ser Reynard were looking more haggard than usual, that they were more easily overcome on the practice field, that they were much much shorter of temper. The initiates had been treading softly around them for the last couple of days.

O Maker, hear my cry:

Seat me by Your side in death

Make me one within Your glory

And let the world once more see Your favor

The Maker must have a lot of room to either side of him if everyone was going to sit next to him after they died. Alistair tried biting his lip to distract himself from the pain in his knees. It didn't work. Now he had sore knees and a sore lip.

For You are the fire at the heart of the world

And comfort is only Yours to give.

"How old do you have to be before you start getting arthritis?" Alistair wondered as they filed out of the chantry, trying to shake the stiffness out of his knees.

"Older than you," Cole said.

"Maybe you get symptoms early. I'm probably going to be a cripple before I'm thirty."

"Why can't you be still during sermons?" Cole said angrily. "Every time I sit next to you I get into trouble."

"Hey, you didn't today!"

"No, but that's...."

"Quiet, boys!" came a harsh voice behind them. Sister Constance.

Alistair raised his eyebrow at Cole, who glared at him. "Stupid bastard," Cole mouthed at him. Alistair grinned and sketched a short bow.

At your service, he thought.

On the practice field that morning Alistair felt good. Better than he'd felt for a long time. He even managed to get a few hits on Eryhn. But there was something wrong. Ser Malcolm was distracted. He paced nervously next to the field, looking towards the Chantry every couple of minutes. When Kalvin cheated and tripped Talrew Malcolm didn't even notice.

"What's going on with the Templars at the moment?" Talrew asked at the midday meal. Alistair was sitting a few seats away from him - they weren't friendly, but at least he didn't openly deride him. "They're all so jumpy. I heard Malcolm shouting at one of the Sisters yesterday."

"I heard it's because the lyrium shipment is delayed," Eryhn said coldly.

"What?" Alistair said.

"You know, bastard," Kalvin said, letting the insult drip from his mouth casually the way it always did. "Lyrium? What we use to track malificarum?"

"So?" Alistair said between mouthfuls of stew. "There are no malificarum here. What do they need it for?"

"Are you really as stupid as everyone says you are?" Kalvin said. "You know what happens if a Templar doesn't take his lyrium."

"Hessarian curses his socks? The Maker strikes him from afar? Malificarum start bursting out of the ground?"

"Probably for him it would seem like that," Talrew muttered.

The other initiates were uncharacteristically grim as they ate.

"It doesn't happen often, this snowing in, does it?" one of the other initiates asked in a nervous voice. Alistair couldn't remember his name but he did know he'd only recently arrived from a different monastery.

"Not since I've been here," Alistair said.

"That's... reassuring," the boy said. "But I hope I don't get posted anywhere where it happens regularly."

Alistair rolled his eyes. Why was everyone so hung up on being cut off? "What is the problem?"

Eryhn frowned at him. She didn't like Alistair and made no secret of it, but she didn't like him for her own reasons, not because he was a bastard. He didn't mind not being liked by Eryhn. It was one of the only things that grouped him with the majority of initiates. Eryhn didn't like anybody.

"Templars need lyrium for more than just tracking malificarum, Alistair," she said. "They're addicted to it. Didn't whichever pack of dogs who raised you tell you that before you became an initiate?"

Alistair sat back in his chair. "Humph," he said. "Well, no. Being raised by dogs has its disadvantages, you know. They're not much for conversation."

"You mean you agreed to become an initiate, and they didn't tell you about the lyrium?" Talrew said, sounding slightly outraged.

"Hey, I was ten when I got here. And who said I agreed to this? My guardian put me here to keep me out of the way."

"You mean the Arl of Redcliffe, don't you?" Kalvin said.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Yes, I mean the Arl of Redcliffe."

"It's a good way to get of an unwanted bastard," Kalvin said, smirking slightly.

Alistair clenched his teeth. "Did you choose to be here?" he said.

"If you call being given a choice of this or common banditry, then yes I suppose I did," Kalvin voice turned grim. "There are worse things than being addicted to lyrium."

"Going without it, for one, it seems," Alistair said. "What will happen to Malcolm and Reynard if the shipment doesn't come?"

Talrew and Kalvin both looked at Eryhn. She raised her eyebrow. "They'll go mad," she said.

Alistair paced the halls that night. As a senior initiate he had some freedom now - of an evening he was allowed to spend time in the library or the practice fields if others were willing to spar with him. Most of that time he spent in the library - he'd discovered a love of reading that he felt compelled to hide from the other boys. But tonight he couldn't settle enough to read. His brain was buzzing. Probably what being doped up on lyrium feels like, he thought bitterly.

He had been hearing the cries for a while before they registered on his occupied brain. When finally he woke up enough to actually understand what they were - shouts and screams from a man - he was already running towards them, reaching automatically for a sword that wasn't there.

They were coming from the Templar quarters. Only Ser Malcolm and Ser Reynard were in residence at the moment, but he couldn't tell who the voice belonged to - it was too hoarse with fear and pain for any identity to come through at all.

The door was closed, but Alistair didn't hesitate. He pushed it open.

Ser Reynard was being held down on his cot by three brothers, although it took a moment for Alistair to recognise him - his face was so distorted with fear and rage. He thrashed from side to side, crying out hoarse words that made no sense. Froth bubbled on his lips. As Alistair watched, unable to move from horror, another brother approached with a small vial of blue liquid. Lyrium, Alistair realised. "It's the last of it," he heard one of the brothers say softly. "Pray to the Maker the shipment arrives soon."

The lyrium was delicately poured down Reynard's throat. Alistair heard the gulping as Reynard swallowed, and somehow that sound was more disgusting than anything he'd ever heard or seen before. The thrashing subsided and Reynard's body gradually stilled.

Carefully, Alistair backed out of the room, pulling the door closed as he went. He walked back to the dormitory in silence.

Once he was in bed, it took him nearly an hour to stop shaking.