Raviathan suppressed a sigh. "Morrigan, what am I doing wrong?"
The yellow-eyed witch laughed at his consternation. "Nothing," she said in her sultry voice. "Maybe you just aren't a bear on the inside. It has been a long time since I learned this skill. I remember little of the struggle. Perhaps it is harder if you change into something with a smaller or larger mass the first time, so try something that is closer to your size. A wild cat maybe."
That option hadn't occurred to him as he had been focused on a form to help him fight, but the idea had possibilities. He liked cats, even had a long-haired orange cat as a child, though pets were considered a luxury in the alienage. Dales had been a sweet little beastie, and Raviathan had mourned for his treasured pet when the cat had disappeared during a lean winter. Later Raviathan grew to understand what could drive the other elves to such extremes when the rats started to become less and less available, but he never forgave the nameless elf. His mother had sung to him as he cried, one of the few times when she allowed tears without recrimination.
A cat would be easy. He understood how they moved, their prowl and curiosity. He'd have to see the specifics of a wild one though, and while Nijel had pointed out tracks or kills left in trees, the forest cats had an almost preternatural ability to hide. "It's hard to find one to study in the wild. They're pretty crafty."
"'Tis true," Morrigan said. "I have not mastered that form yet myself. They are elusive to me even when I am a bird. Perhaps a wolf would suit you then."
"Aren't we hunting those? Besides, they're awful beasts."
"Awful? What makes you opine so?"
Nibbling on his lower lip, Raviathan considered her question. At times the differences in their backgrounds amazed him, her way of thinking alien to what he considered common sense. The only thing they had in common was their status as apostates, and even then, she had no notion the fear that an apostate in the city lived with on a daily basis when templars lurked around every block. In many ways, seeing through her experience rocked his view of the world to the point he needed a few minutes if not days to wrap his mind around the concepts.
"You've lived in the Wilds your whole life, so you don't know what it's like to have a lot of people in one place where you can't farm or hunt for your own food. It's just not possible, so we rely on farmers for our lives. If you're hunting a deer, a wolf is a competitor, but that's all. Wolves target farm stock for an easy kill. As a farmer that's your livelihood, but if you live in the city, there's nothing to do but starve. As a hunter, you at least have the option of finding something else."
A disgusted frown touched Morrigan's lips, Raviathan had to force away the thought of how full those lips were, how kissable that little pout could be. His fingernails bit into his palm, leaving little white crescents in his flesh. He didn't even want Morrigan! The old lusts, the ones that had nearly destroyed his standing in the alienage, had gone unsatisfied for too long. The pressure in his groin mirrored the heavy yet hollow feeling in his stomach, the disgust he felt for the unquenchable desires that hounded him. He turned his attention to the leaves rustling in the night wind.
"'Tis most strange. How you live so dependent upon one another."
Even with his attention turned elsewhere, Raviathan remained too aware of her skin showing pale in the moonlight, of how easy it would be to take advantage of Morrigan's offer. How he hated his traitorous body.
"I think your feelings on wolves are perhaps unfair."
With an effort, Raviathan brought his mind back to the conversation. Surprised by the melancholy turn of his fellow apostate, Raviathan asked gently, "Morrigan?"
She leaned back, her face to the stars. "Nature is savage and unforgiving. It is the way of animals to be hunted as food for others or territory, and this I understand. Even apex predators can be injured and find their end comes early." She hesitated before adding, "'Tis unfortunate that these creatures must be hunted for being what they are, not what they provide."
Well, of course wolves were hunted for what they were, vicious animals that killed, sometimes without eating the livestock they slaughtered. Killing wolves on sight was simple self defense. Raviathan expected that pointing out such a fact would alienate Morrigan, so he decided on tact. "I have heard of nobles who hunt for sport only, kill the animals and leave them. I've always found that distasteful. If it's any consolation, we do try to utilize as much as we can from the animals we've killed." In all honesty he was surprised that Morrigan cared, but then maybe she felt more of a kinship with animals having spent the majority of her time with them rather than humans. "I don't think a wolf is for me though."
"I have noticed your fondness for the halla. That might be a good form for you."
While a halla didn't have a bear's size or power, Raviathan had been awed by them from first sight, their delicate grace and noble bearing. With coats as pure as fresh snow and elegantly-twined horns that glowed like coalesced moonlight, the creatures were beyond beautiful, encapsulating all that was perfection in nature. His heart expanded whenever he caught a glimpse of a halla in the wild as if the creatures held the spirit of hope inside them. The problem with Morrigan's suggestion was that he didn't feel worthy enough to be one of the revered creatures. They were special, not for him. "What was the first animal you ever turned into?"
"A giant spider. It is still my preferred form though I use others more often. Your first form will always be special, a mark of who you are."
"A spider?"
Morrigan hesitated, her eyes closed and mouth tense. "At that time, I needed something that set me apart from Mother. In that form, I could distance myself."
You found a way to not hurt, Raviathan knew. Flemeth could not have been an easy mother, and with no one else in Morrigan's life to help her through the years, only the old crone, the child must have been desperate to claim a space Flemeth couldn't touch.
"I understand," Raviathan said, his voice matching the quiet of the night.
Morrigan made a show of shaking off her mood, but Raviathan could see the pain she couldn't hide. "I have come to understand more of nature's ways since that time. The raven, as you know, a woodpecker, raccoon, a few types of snake, and a skunk."
Though she didn't look at him, he could tell by her demeanor she was testing him. If Alistair had heard Morrigan could turn into a skunk, he would have laughed his little templar ass off. In truth, Raviathan wanted to tease her, but she didn't take jests well when she was the focus. As it was, Morrigan had been teaching him how to understand an animal's essential nature, and mockery in return for that gift would be unchivalrous at best.
In some ways, the form suited her. Skunks had attractive coloration, and Morrigan did love her decorations and stylized rags, a vanity she liked to indulge in more than she let on. Skunks enjoyed the benefit of a reputation in the form of a sharp reply for those who attacked them, a similarity that spoke volumes about Morrigan.
"I can see that." At her glance, he gave the witch a sly grin. "While admirable from a distance, nobody dares to poke a skunk with a stick."
A little laugh warmed her countenance. "Am I only admirable from a distance?"
Would a light kiss on her bare shoulder be so bad? No, Rav. You aren't going to be stupid, and getting involved with her would be stupid. You're smarter than your damned cock.
Right?
Maker's ass. She wasn't even interested in him. Not really. While Raviathan was sure she would receive pleasure from the act, that wasn't her goal. Bedding him was more for her ego, or in a hope to have some control, but not out of affection or even desire.
Yet he couldn't get his mind off of sex, a problem made worse around Morrigan's open display of flesh. Raviathan swallowed down the bitter hollowness that clawed inside him, the dull ache that never left him at peace. The temporary relief he found when alone inevitably made the self disgust worse.
Only with Ness had he felt any peace.
A growl from Raviathan's stomach gave him the excuse he needed. "I think I should check if dinner is ready."
She gave him a nod as he took his leave, her own stomach seeming not so hollow as his.
Raviathan made his way through the thick brush to camp. Though the distance from the rest of the party made the two vulnerable to attack, that was the only secure way to discuss magic. With Morrigan's ability to transform, either for escape or attack, Raviathan wasn't worried for her safety.
Echos of Raviathan's nightmares hung in the back of his mind as he walked back to camp, dream memories that veiled the forest in sinister shadows. Yet the beauty of the forest couldn't be denied, even with the horrors and monsters. How strange his life had become in a few short months, by turns terrifying and filled with awe.
As a child, Raviathan had imagined forests as hills with trees on them, a few animals, maybe a river or lake interspersed. All his games with his cousins, when they pretended at being Dalish or woodland bandits, were framed by the mud puddles and shabby apartment constructs of the alienage.
Raviathan's few experiences outside of Denerim consisted of training in a flat farmlands and tame woods where his aunt taught him herbs or his mother showed him how to use a bow. He had never seen a waterfall until his trek with Duncan, never seen a real forest or mountain. Words like glen, ravine, canyon, bog, or cliff had been abstractions to be read about, not experienced.
He was completely unprepared for the variety of landscapes, the scents and unexplained noises that came with a true wilderness. He expected the forest floor to be covered in grass or bare earth, not thick ferns and brush that spread out in a lush multitude that made passage impossible.
Raviathan had no idea about the variety of flora he would encounter outside the city walls, how the tiny leafed beech trees fluttered in the wind and turned the light a soft green. In other areas, pine and ironbark were interspersed with mammoth sequoias that dominated the sky like ancient kings. The forest lay thick with hillocks and cliffs, with stone-framed creeks or rushing rivers fed by natural springs. Thorn bushes that would bear small juicy berries in summer lined the rivers in ten foot high growths. Waterfalls born from the spring rains flourished, their crashing babble adding to the constant twitter of dull-colored songbirds and their brightly-hued cousins. Bright purple mushrooms and intense green lichen grew from the decaying corpse of a fallen tree. Even as the violence of the forest overwhelmed him, Raviathan couldn't help but love it.
If only he could understand the forest as Morrigan did. This might not be her realm as the swamp was, but she had a natural feeling for the place.
Maker's ass. He wasn't terrible at magic, was he? All he had to compare to was Solyn. She had been every bit as hard as his mother, but he always got the sense she was impressed with him. Each time he reached for the mana to power the shapeshifting spell, it just fizzled out in a directionless wash of wasted energy, unable to take form because he couldn't understand how to channel his power.
Understand the soul of the creature, Morrigan had said. The first transformation was one of the most important as it was the deepest echo of your soul. Perhaps that was why he was failing. As she said, he probably wasn't a bear on the inside. But what was he missing?
As far as understanding the creature, bears were big and strong. What else was there to understand? They liked to sleep, were protective of their young, enjoyed fruits and fish. He admired their power, their sheer size and force of muscle that made them incredible. Though well-developed compared to his kin, Raviathan would always be weaker than most humans, a fact that tore at his spirit each time he thought of the archdemon waiting for him.
At the camp Sten repaired armor while Leliana searched for more firewood, which left Alistair on cooking duty. The templar tried to remain upright and winced each time he had to bend over to tend the rabbit. He snatched the spit, blowing on the carcass to put out the fire. More charred rabbit. The human hadn't been kidding about his cooking ability.
To be fair, Raviathan should have done the cooking tonight and let Alistair rest, but lessons with Morrigan were hard to arrange with the constant proximity of the party. Raviathan sat on a rock and put an arm over Venger's shoulders and spoke to the dog in a low voice. "I don't suppose you have anything better?"
In response the dog whined in concern. Raviathan scratched the dog's ears. "Guess I'll have to make do then. Hope you caught something tasty earlier."
The angry rumbling of his stomach drove Raviathan to get his portion of food. Some root vegetables Morrigan had been able to scavenge and beans rounded out the meal. The provisions would last for another week before they'd have to head back to restock. Raviathan took the offered hind leg, which was thankfully less charred, while Alistair divided up the rest of the food between himself, Sten, and Leliana. Raviathan never seemed to get enough food lately. He went to devouring his dinner with a fury that outdid the dog.
Alistair sat down on the rock next to Raviathan, his back at an unnatural angle to ease the pain of damaged ribs.
"So. You've been spending a lot of time with Morrigan lately."
Thinking a reply wasn't required, Raviathan shrugged. He supposed it would be rude to scoot away, let alone leave. Of all his companions, why did Alistair have to sit next to him? Sten was at least quiet if not downright dour but would occasionally say something when prodded. Leliana could prattle on so, and on the most ridiculous subjects, but he didn't mind. Her chatter gave him a chance to be quiet and reflect.
Alistair and Morrigan never seemed to get tired of bickering, a habit that wore on everyone except the dog. Raviathan nibbled at his lip as he thought about the two. As much as they fought, Alistair hadn't done anything to her in retaliation. Was Alistair biding his time? Lothering had been chaos, but what would he do to Morrigan when they went to fulfill the mage treaty? What was the man capable of? If he got mad or disapproved of Raviathan's decisions, what would the templar do?
Solyn had been more than capable of defending herself with magic against almost anyone, anyone except templars. The day Raviathan found her mutilated body burned in his mind like a brand still raw to the touch. Never turn your back on a templar. Never think you're safe from them.
Like so much else in his life, Raviathan felt as if he were scrambling around in the dark. He needed information. Would Alistair tell him the truth? Even lies spoke about a person's character. He would need to separate fact and fiction, and that would tell him more about Alistair. "I've been curious, Alistair. What can a templar do?"
Alistair glanced at him in surprise. "Um. Well, we're trained to fight. Essentially. But to anyone but a mage, I guess I'm just another guy in a metal suit."
"Duncan recruited you for a reason. You're a good enough fighter, but you're more than that, aren't you? What kind of training did you get?"
"He thought my templar skills might come in handy against darkspawn magic." As Raviathan hoped, Alistair perked up with the compliment, and he sounded less glum. "Templars gain a resistance to magic after a time. We're not immune by any means, but mind magic becomes less of an issue the more discipline we have, and we can disrupt spells and drain mana. Mana is what mages use to power their spells."
"Mind magic," said Raviathan. He hadn't heard of any spells like that. Was that blood magic? Solyn had told him a bit about it, why it was evil, but not much else. "What exactly is that?"
"It's supposed to be something that was first learned from demons. I've never seen it myself, but the other templars talked. Wanted to warn us about what could happen. Maker's breath, there were so many stories. One was forced to kill his fellow templars. He said they suddenly looked like demons that were taunting him. One of the older templars, oh I can't remember his name, starts with an H. Henry? Harrold? Anyway he killed a friend he knew for ten years when under the blood mage's spell." Alistair shuddered then winced from jarring his own injuries. "Another said he had no control. The blood in his body forced him to move as if he were a puppet, but he knew everything he was doing and couldn't stop. He killed his comrades, people he had known for years, his friends, and couldn't stop. There were so many stories like that."
The magical manipulation sounded too close to what Solyn had told him about demons. Her voice echoed up from a memory pushed down into the deepest, most forgotten corner of his mind. The demon will ride you, use your body. You will kill us all, and there's nothing you can do about it!
Cold sweat drenched Raviathan's body. If he ever gave in to a demon, he would become an abomination. The night his family learned of his magic, his beloved aunt screamed her fear into him. Raviathan felt his heart pounding at the memory, his breath coming faster. With a force of will, he pushed the memories back down. Don't think about it. Don't think about that night.
The templar was talking to him. What?
"Rav? Are you alright? Rav," he said, shaking the elf's shoulder.
Raviathan had to clear his throat before he could rasp out, "Fine. Um. Guess that seems pretty horrible." Alistair was watching him closely. Maker's ass! Had he just given himself away? "I'm fine. Really. I guess…" He had to swallow some water to down the bile that threatened to rise. "I guess your cooking just got to my stomach."
At the continued gaze of the templar, Raviathan forced a weak grin. "Poor Sten. Got the most charred bit. Maybe will see qunari vomit later."
"Charming." Alistair cracked a half smile as he looked at his plate, empty save for bones. The templar didn't seem entirely convinced, but he was willing to leave off for a bit. "At least my food has some taste to it. Your cooking makes gruel taste spicy."
"Really?"
Alistair frowned at him. "Can't you taste your own food? No wonder."
"I…" With a slow dawning of awareness, Raviathan realized he hadn't been thinking about his cooking. Not since… he slumped as he thought of Ness. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Um. I'll try to work on that."
"It's not a big deal." Alistair watched him with a touch of concern. "Wonder why they call it gruel, anyway. Like it's not awful enough, it has to sound cruel, too. Do you think that was intentional?"
Letting Alistair prattle on, Raviathan took the time to center. His mother would have chided him for getting so easily sidetracked and losing control of the conversation. Raviathan gave himself a mental shake. Ever since Duncan had recruited him, he had no sense of balance, always reacting with no reflection. When Alistair's musings on culinary tortures started to ebb, Raviathan brought him back to the topic. "What else can you tell me about templars?"
Alistair shrugged, which garnered another wince. "What do you want to know? Some stuff needs to remain secret to the templars, but I can answer a few questions."
Now that he was talking to an actual templar, he wasn't sure what to ask. All his life they were people to avoid or run from. They were the enemy. He hadn't ever thought beyond that. Templar. Run. That was easy. So, what to ask? "Okay. How does the hierarchy work? Are templars in charge, or is the Chantry?"
"Fair enough since that's pretty common knowledge. The Chantry is in charge. The templars have a strict hierarchy with the Knight-Commander of each nation at the lead. The one for Ferelden, Greagoir, usually stays at the Circle Tower, but every chantry has a minor Knight-Commander, like Lothering did."
Raviathan listened as Alistair went through the various ranks and duties. Though Raviathan never cared for military history, after Ostagar he understood his life depended on his ability to learn. As a Grey Warden recruit, Raviathan expected to follow orders, but that notion had long been driven from his head. Sten's smart comment the other night on his lack of experience had stung, but the qunari's assessment remained true. Raviathan needed to get better at commanding.
When Alistair finished the lecture, Raviathan asked, "But if they're an army, why do they bother to take orders from the Chantry? Why not use them as advisers instead?"
The power of the Chantry came from the faith of the believers, but who wielded that power could be templars as easily as priests, as far as Raviathan knew. Both trained for years to become experts in the Chant, and to his mind, the only difference was how much metal a person carried on their person, but clearly this was another area he sorely lacked knowledge in.
"Because the Chantry controls the lyrium trade," Alistair said with a sourness that surprised Raviathan.
"So? What does that matter to the templars?"
"Lyrium isn't just for mages. The Chantry gives lyrium to templars to sharpen their abilities. But who knows. Maybe it doesn't even do that."
He hadn't seen Alistair like this before. Angry, mournful, ridiculous, but there was a very deep rage here that he hadn't expected. Raviathan felt like he was treading on dangerous ground. "But mages use it. For, uh, mana, like you said. Doesn't it do the same for templars?"
"It affects non-mages differently. It's blue poison to any non-mage who hasn't been trained, and even then it turns the brain to mush after a while. Older templars have to retire when their bodies can't take the lyrium anymore, and it isn't pretty. Gets to the point where they can't feed themselves. But all templars have issues within a few weeks if they don't get lyrium. Confusion, delusions, weepiness, loss of muscle control. Nightmares. Depends on how long you've been on it and how well you can fight off the need for more."
"Wait. You mean they addict you to lyrium?" Alistair may annoy him, but he didn't deserve that fate.
"Yes." Alistair's lips thinned as his voice turned resentful. "And they feel perfectly justified. Keeps all the little templars in place now, doesn't it. Just in case they became a little too… sympathetic. Maybe a few get tired of killing teenagers who go through the Harrowing. Maybe they actually might like someone they're suppose to be guarding but who they're sworn to kill."
Raviathan's jaw worked and he stared hard at the fire. Would Alistair still continue treating him as an equal if he knew? "Some of that may be true, Alistair, but there are some right monsters among the templars. They kill people who wanted nothing other than to be left alone. Like Morrigan and Flemeth. They've done nothing but help us, but templars would be only too willing to slaughter them like sheep. And then there's the Dalish. You've seen how they live, always on the move, and the templars aren't killing random wild mages, they're going after the clans' Keepers. Their leaders. That would be an act of war if the Dalish were treated like humans. Then there are those who go beyond killing. They enjoy it Alistair. Templars aren't victims."
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Raviathan shut up. His grief over Solyn's death struggled to the surface like the dead, a grief buried but not burned away, never cleansed from his soul. All the sorrow he felt scraped up from inside, choked his throat like a skeletal hand. Now that he had a templar to talk to, Raviathan felt as if he was picking at an infected wound and couldn't stop, even though he knew he was making the pain worse. Why had he no control over himself anymore? He chanced a glance at Alistair, afraid he had overstepped and given too much away.
"Oh," said Alistair as his eyes narrowed in anger, "and a templar has never lost their life to a blood mage?" He shook his head, putting his plate aside.
"Okay," said Raviathan. The effort to make his voice calm forced the muscles in his neck into wire-tight tension. "Blood mages are terrible. I'll admit that. But you don't think templars go too far? You don't think there are those who take pleasure in killing mages? Mages don't have a choice, no more than a person controls the color of their eyes. Templars choose. That's the difference, Alistair. They may face some ugly choices, but they chose to do that."
Absently worrying at a hangnail, Alistair sighed. His voice took on that vulnerable quality it did at times, especially when he was feeling lost. "I never wanted to be a templar. I never really had much choice in the matter. I saw a Harrowing once. The girl was just about to turn seventeen and scared to death. When she took too long the templar in charge beheaded her."
Alistair bent forward then winced with a grunt before straightening, a hand pressed against his ribs. "I remember blood, so much blood, pooling on the stones." He closed his eyes, his skin a few shades paler, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "It made me sick. I didn't want any part of that, not ever. And the tranquil just started cleaning up, like it was nothing. Like it was nothing more than someone spilling soup in the kitchen."
The cords of Alistair's neck stood taunt, and he kept his head lowered. "Some of them really believe in the Chantry's laws and don't care. They're confident that they carry out the Maker's justice. Some see it for what it is and try to act out of compassion, but they don't usually last. It makes others numb, so they don't feel. At all. Like they're dead inside."
When Alistair gazed at the fire, Raviathan saw misery reflected in his eyes. "And others, the guilt eats them inside out so they hate everything. Some were just bullies and took it as a chance to indulge and push other templars to that way of thinking as well. Then add lyrium to it. Those who are sick of it want to stop… and… just can't."
Maker damn it! He didn't want to see the templars' side. Rage was so much easier when the templars were all faceless monsters hiding behind helmets and Chantry righteousness. By Alistair's own admission, the templars were monsters who could be as lacking in compassion as a snake eating a mouse. At least a snake killed for survival.
If Alistair hadn't admitted the failings of templars, Raviathan could blow him off as a Chantry sympathizer, but no.
That didn't excuse those so full of righteous fire that they hurt the weakest with no remorse, or the true monsters. The sadists. They hurt people. Not even lyrium addiction could excuse what they did to Solyn. Having sympathy for Alistair, letting his guard down, it was only going to bite him in the ass. He couldn't trust this human. He couldn't.
He wouldn't!
At Alistair's silence, the old, intrusive thoughts that had plagued him nearly half his life battered at his brain, and with those thoughts all confusion about the templars fell back, pebbles washed away in a tide of invasive images. Raviathan couldn't remember having gone without a woman for this long. Someone, anyone, to ease this tension.
So far the one thing he really liked about living with humans was their willingness to take partners without the confines of a relationship. He briefly fantasized about holding a small pale breast with a pink aroused nipple peaking through his fingers, letting the nub roll down his tongue and hearing a woman's panting arousal as he worked her wet, then pulling off her clothes, sometimes fully stripped, sometimes just enough to reach what he wanted.
There was the anticipation, when he had them weak and ready to beg him, and just before they crested, burying himself in hard and deep. Wet, red flesh holding him tight. The euphoria of spilling himself inside their bodies, clutching them down to his pelvis as his mind went deliriously blank. The need was going to break him.
With those thoughts came a familiar wash of self disgust that left him sick to his stomach. The thoughts died away, and he felt eviscerated. Maker damn his eyes. He had thought, had hoped, he was past this compulsion that had nearly cost him everything, his standing in the alienage, his father's respect, his marriage. He had come precipitously close to becoming an outcast, yet he couldn't stop.
In that hollow desperation, his saving grace come to his mind. He was glad Nesiara was going to be married to someone better. Her life had been nothing but pain since Howe took over Highever. Maybe something would finally go right for the poor woman.
The ache and disgust tightened in him, made his body feel pressurized as if crushed under a rock. He mentally shook himself, forcing his brain to concentrate.
Huddled inward, Alistair sat on the rock next to him, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the fire. Raviathan turned over Alistair's stories as he considered the man. What the templars said to recruits wouldn't include the uglier version of events, of course, like their predilection for torture. The recruits would get horror stories to fuel their paranoia and force a divide, a narrative that didn't allow for mage sympathy. More, they forced the inexperienced to be killers. If that was Alistair's experience, Raviathan understood his gratitude towards Duncan.
Was it possible that Alistair was a mage sympathizer? Raviathan nibbled at his lip. No, that idea was ridiculous considering the way he reacted to Morrigan and Flemeth. But that begged the question, what were Alistair's motivations? Where did his sympathies lie?
Don't trust. Watch and learn. How does he react? Is the submissiveness a ploy? Was his joking manner a cover? Raviathan narrowed his eyes as he studied Alistair's posture. Whatever the truth was, Alistair was neglecting Raviathan's instructions.
"Sit straight," Raviathan scolded him. "Have you been doing the deep breathing like I told you?"
An abashed moue pulled at Alistair's lips. "It hurts. A lot."
Raviathan narrowed his eyes, a look that caused Alistair to lean away. "We are in a forest with rain, rivers, and waterfalls filling the air with water. It's freezing at night. Do you want to get pneumonia?"
"No? I mean, no."
Instead of chiding further, Raviathan got up to remove Alistair's armor. Here lay another aspect of martial knowledge that Raviathan remained ignorant in. He knew a bit about armor, mostly the leathers his mother favored for stealth and because leather was more affordable. She had told him the weak points on other forms, but those had been rusty scraps scrounged from Maker knew where. Squiring for Alistair and figuring out which buckles to undo and which to leave was its own education.
Eyes closed, Alistair stood through the process without word or complaint. A flash of pain showed in the tightening of Alistair's forehead or a grimace, but he stayed silent. Raviathan had to stand on the rock to get Alistair out of his shirt without having him bend over. Alistair shivered in the cold, his skin turning red and skin prickling, but again, remained silent and followed orders.
If not for watching Leliana go through the process, Raviathan would have suspected Alistair liked being serviced as if he were a lord, treating his equals as lessers. However, he had seen the discomfort Alistair endured rather than enjoyed. More than anything, Alistair seemed ashamed to receive Leliana's attentions. Part of his Chantry upbringing?
The campfire obscured some of Alistair's injuries with warm light, so Raviathan had to examine the bruising from inches away. He gently palpated the areas he knew were healing, making sure the ribs stayed in place, that the range of motion of Alistair's arm remained consistent with the accelerated healing spells Raviathan had performed. Truth be told, Alistair healed quickly.
"You're doing well. If you want, I can make a painkiller to help you sleep tonight."
"That really bitter stuff?" Alistair's face screwed up.
"Up to you if you want it."
At Alistair's frowning nod, Raviathan started heating up water. A little honey would ease the bitterness, so Raviathan added a fingertip's worth along with a few dried chamomile flowers. If Morrigan hadn't decided to sleep away from the main camp, Raviathan would have cast another spell, but he could do that later while Alistair slept, as he had done for everyone in the party over the last few weeks.
If he hadn't needed to hide his healing spells, he would be able to direct the magical energy with more focus to the needed ligaments and muscles as well as help reduce swelling. Raviathan scowled at the warming tea, his lower lip between his teeth. His father had been the cautious one regarding Raviathan's abilities, would have kept him from healing entirely. That caution was needed now, more than ever with humans and a templar as his constant companions, but that didn't stop Raviathan's conscience worrying at him.
The fights Raviathan had with his father had never been able to stop him, not when Raviathan saw a person in pain. But he was healing family and kin, not using his powers around a templar. There was no help for it, and waiting for Alistair to show his true nature wasn't reasonable. Considering the injuries the whole party was taking, Raviathan would have to get rid of Alistair.