And here's the next chapter! This one was difficult to write, as insanity is not something that comes naturally to me. If you've read Righteous Vendetta, you'll know who the character that's narrating this chapter is. If not... well... sucks for you. Also, I am back in control of my life, so I will hopefully get back to a more natural rhythm of updating this story.
Chapter 6: Piety
Still the images invaded his mind. Each moment he closed his eyes, he saw her dead face. Every time he saw a smile, she came to him. Every laugh, every sob, every emotion brought her again. He saw her on the ground, her blood filling the gutter of the road.
There it was again. The shocked expression, the dagger sticking out of her eye. And he grew enraged. Myr caused this. Myr threw the dagger. Myr was the mage who deserved to die.
He had followed her, relishing the moment that he could plunge his sword into her heart. But still his confusion festered like an open, porous wound as infection slowly crept in. Where was The Maker? Why did He not come to his aid? With His almighty power, He could toss Myr into an eternal pit of fire so that she may burn for eternity. That was only fitting.
Yet He did not. The Maker was absent, and he knew not why. Where was his god?
Myr's face was always in his mind, ever alongside Justine's. Oh how he wished that the dagger was in the albino's eye, not Justine's. Oh how he wished he could turn back the clock, change events. The maleficarum did not deserve to live yet Justine, a holy and pure soul, lay dead.
The Chantry would not help him. The Templars would not help him. Without her phylactery, they said it would be next to impossible to track her down. They ordered him to return. He refused. They sent a messenger to drag him back.
He killed the boy, dragged his corpse through the mud and left it for the crows.
Without The Maker, they would not be bound by divine rules. They knew nothing. The Maker demanded judgment! The Maker would want to see Myr's head adorning a pike. The Maker would want to see birds peck her eyes out, swords plunged through her frail body. The Maker wanted revenge.
He had a divine duty as a templar. For being an apostate, she would be punished. For being a maleficarum, she would die. For killing Justine, she will pay. If not with her life, then with the lives of those around her. If not for theirs, then he will tear apart slowly. He will watch her scream, watch her thrash.
And he would laugh.
ooo
Aaron trudged through the dirt and mud. Weary. Alone. The sounds of sucking as he dragged his feet up from the ground had long since faded into the background. He stared forward as the road stretched out before him. Vigil's Keep lay ahead, its elegance concealed by a veil of trees. But he knew his quarry was there.
Justine would finally be avenged.
He doubled his pace, shifting the weight of his armor to make it slightly more comfortable. Damned templar plate. Was it truly necessary to wear such heavy plate when mages could easily pierce it with magic? Anti-magic could only do so much to protect.
No. It was better to be able to be dextrous. What was the use of being completely armored if you couldn't even move? Aaron needed agility to defeat this foe. Myr was cunning, careful with a blade and capable of fighting without magic. He had long since discarded his greatsword, one more memory of Justine, in favor of two wickedly serrated blades a trader told him came from the lands of the Qunari.
They were fitting for the job they must do. Cruel, jagged edges that were not meant to slice, but to torture. Once Myr was disarmed and defeated, Aaron would slowly make sure she would harm no other.
The templar armor he carried over his shoulder in a sack was but a formality. Templars were respected by the populace, viewed as heroes by the common man. Though he would not use this armor in combat, unwieldy as it was, Aaron could use it as a way to gain trust or information from the inhabitants of the Keep.
Again he shifted his weight as the Keep started coming into view through the trees. From what he had heard, the place had been nearly destroyed by darkspawn, but there it was. Myr was here. Aaron would find her and she would die as she deserved.
Slowly, he neared Vigil's Keep. His eyes were locked on the broken gates, where a few guards stood watch on the roads. As Aaron neared, one halted him. After looking the templar over quickly, he spoke.
"State your name and business." The guard was bold, but not confrontational. Still, something about him irked Aaron. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, how he kept his back straight in a vain attempt to hold dignity. But Aaron could see the uncertainty in his eyes, brought about by seeing death and surviving. He was unhinged by the darkspawn attack.
"I am Aaron, templar and exterminator for the Circle of Magi." He shrugged, adjusting the weight of the damned armor. "I am under the belief that there is a dangerous apostate residing within Vigil's Keep. I've been sent to bring the mage to justice."
"You mean...?" The guard narrowed his eyes. Before he could continue, the gates behind him opened. Aaron stepped back, retaining composure despite the surprise. Slowly the wooden doors opened, creaking in defiance as they slowly revealed a small group of people. Each possessed weapons and armor, with the exception of one. He was blonde and had a staff slung across his back, proudly declaring that he was a mage. The guard saluted as the group passed.
"You are?" Aaron locked eyes with the tanned Orlesian man who spoke. He lead the group confidently, easily taking in the templar. A strong leader perhaps? Or simply a facade?
"Ser Aaron of the Order of the Templar." Aaron bowed slightly, which the Orlesian returned. "I take it you are Warden-Commander Darius? There are not many Orlesians in this reach of Ferelden."
"Indeed. I am Darius." Aaron found himself growing swiftly annoyed. Conversation was only polite formality. He cared little for talk. He wanted to hunt. "What brings you to the Vigil?"
"An apostate, ser." Aaron glanced over the blonde mage, who seemed alarmed by the statement. Aaron almost laughed. That mage was of no consequence. Only Myr needed to die. "I have received word that she has come to Vigil's Keep with the intent of hiding from the Order. She will not escape The Maker's wrath, however."
"If I could extend aid, I would. However, my men and I are to leave for the Wending Woods." More formalities. Aaron wanted to spit. Or to kill. Why could he only see blood?
"It is alright. I've fought this mage before and I know her weaknesses." Aaron nodded before looking to the gates again. The Orlesian turned away, heading down the road. Aaron stopped and pivoted, shouting to the Darius again. "Wait! Who is that mage with you?"
Darius turned slowly, looking at him curiously. The mage looked nervous, but smiled jovially anyway. Typical behavior for a wanted man. If Aaron was to turn him in, the Chantry might grant aid for bringing Myr to justice...
"Anders is a Grey Warden, so do not think of exercising your 'right' as a templar." Darius responded coldly. Aaron smirked but did not respond. After a long moment of looking at one another, Darius turned away. He continued down the road, dwarf, archer and mage in tow.
Aaron watched them for a long while, noting with some curiosity as Anders deviated from the group, taking the road north to Amaranthine while the rest of the group continued towards the Wending Woods.
Turning back to the Vigil, Aaron pushed past the guard, entering the Keep grounds. He immediately noted the distasteful disorganization of the place. People around him moved about completing one task or another. People stood on top of buildings repairing roofs. People repairing walls. People yelling for some underling to come complete some meaningless task.
The definition of chaos showed itself in these desperate people. A darkspawn attack, the immediate threat of annihilation likely made these people work harder than they have in their entire lives.
Nothing matters as much in the face of death than life itself.
ooo
"May the Maker watched over you." The priest bowed, moving so that Aaron could walk through the doors. Before him lay the Chantry, the holiest and mightiest place in all of the Vigil. The templar felt proud to look upon the statues of Andraste. His heart rose as he looked upon the paintings, the arches, the people praying.
This was The Maker's work. It was His divine power that allowed this to be created. The Chantry was a symbol of His omniscience, and the more Aaron thought of it the more he believed. Andraste was his savior, his light in the darkness. Without Her Aaron would be lost, doomed to wander Thedas without enlightenment.
And Aaron looked upon those worshiping and he grew disgusted. They only believed when was necessary for them. They only worshiped The Maker when it was convenient. Sure, when asked they would readily accept that they believed in The Maker, that they worshiped him. But they would only think about Him, only accept Him wholeheartedly, when they needed His help.
They were simply fair-weather believers, quick to judge and quick to run for help. These people did not give themselves completely to The Maker and His Bride. Aaron looked upon them and no longer did he feel pride in his beliefs, but anger at those who flaunted The Maker's power. How could they not see that it was their pride that caused The Maker to turn His eye from Thedas? How could they not understand that He would only return when all believed in Him?
"Do you want something, ser Templar?" Aaron broke him his thoughts, interrupted as he was by a peasant, an elf. Anger flashed through him at the insolence of the creature. Didn't she know not to talk to a human unless a human talked to her first?
Aaron looked at her a long while. He saw her shift on her feet. Why was she afraid of him? Why wasn't her faith in The Maker so implacable that she was capable of standing strong even when she was breaking social rules? She was pathetic, hardly worth living. It was best that she was dead, though Aaron knew killing her would only bring the ire of those around him. They would not be able to see that she was wasting space on The Maker's divine land.
"You dare speak to me?" Aaron raised his hand. He noticed her flinch, fearful. Pathetic, just as all the elves were. What happened to the heroic creatures that aided Shartan in Andraste's fight? What happened to the legendary elves that would fight with tooth and nail, stone and glass, to kill those that pushed them down?
"I-I'm sorry ser. I'll leave at once." The peasant bowed her head, running off. The urge to end that pathetic life burned within Aaron, but he resisted. She deserved it. She deserved to die for being a coward, for being an elf with no honor. But he knew her death would not serve the greater purpose.
For only one death mattered: That of Myr's.
Aaron walked towards the podium near the front, passing by the sporadic individuals praying in the pews. Why weren't they filled? Why were people busy building simple stone walls outside when prayer for sanctity was what was truly important? Walls and weapons do not matter. Only Andraste does.
The templar neared the podium, where a chanter stood, eyes upward and hands locked. There was a pious man. He rocked to the rhythm of the Chant, tears falling from his face as he recited the words of Andraste, the song of truth. Aaron stood listening to it for a long while, appreciating the perfect evirato voice of the Chanter.
He could feel The Maker around him. Aaron knew that there was still hope for this world, that The Maker still looked after His people, just from a distance. Deep within the voice of the Chanter he could feel The Maker and His Bride reaching for him, caressing his soul. He remembered his times as an initiate, during the long hours he'd spend with Justine listening to the Chanters. He remembered the joy he felt as the Chanters spoke of Threnodies, of Canticles.
Justine's face came to his mind then. And he grew enraged. Lost was that feeling of peace through The Maker. Replaced with it was his rage to the abomination that stole her from him. He would have his revenge, even if he had to bring this world to pieces to do so.
"Templar." Aaron broke from his trance. Swiftly he returned to the reality of the Chantry. Some time seemed to have passed, as the light of the windows fell at a much more slanted angle than before. A woman armored with the plate of the Templar stood a slight distance away. A longsword and shield was strapped to her back, her arms crossed.
"Do you need something?" Aaron sized her up. An older woman, possibly of a high rank. She had a stern face, likely hiding a life of cruelty and hardship. Such was the nature of a templar's life. There was no rest for the wicked, so the pursuers never rest either.
"I am Rylock, a Templar like yourself." Aaron cocked an eyebrow, curious about the two other templars who flanked her. They were hunters, designated to bring apostates to justice. Why would they be in Vigil's Keep?
"I am Aaron of Cumberland." Aaron bowed respectfully before signaling towards one of the side rooms. "Maybe it is best that we talk where wayward ears will not disturb us?"
Rylock nodded, leading him to a small room with a three beds inside. Judging from the weapons and armor scattered about, this was the current living quarters for the templar hunters. Aaron shut the door behind him after Rylock entered the room. She ordered the other two templars to stand guard outside, to which they obeyed unquestionably. Good. Templars should be unflinching when orders come.
"I was not informed of the Divine sending another unit to Vigil's Keep." Rylock stared, unflinching. Here was a dedicated woman, one who would do anything for her faith. "And you don't even wear your armor? If I was your mentor, I'd be spitting in disgrace. Why are you here?"
"I care little for your formalities." Aaron shot back. "I am here chasing a dangerous maleficar. Adhering to a code regarding armor would only hinder me. I care not for rules, only for results."
Aaron's response took the woman by surprise, it seems. She stared at him a small while before a smile crept onto her face. Confused, Aaron was about to question her, but she responded first.
"So you're a hunter too, huh?" Rylock sighed, running an armored hand through her stringy hair. From the looks of things, this woman hadn't washed in days. Likely she was too busy plotting how to bring in her target. "Maybe we can help each other out. I didn't know they'd sent another group after Anders."
"The Grey Warden is an apostate?" Aaron pondered that for a second. It was likely, as the blonde mage had seemed rather nervous. "I care not for him. I seek another, an albino elf by the name of Myr, who is charged with murder of a degree most foul, as well as for being a maleficar."
"You know of Anders?" Suddenly Rylock seemed intrigued, almost hungry for information. This woman took her job very seriously. "Where is he? When did you see him? Where was he going?"
"Your job is none of my concern." Aaron turned to leave. This woman could offer him nothing.
"Wait! I know of Myr." There it was again. Blood filled his vision, anger clawed at him. Even the mere mention of her name brought this fury back again. Pleasurable images of her body strewn across the rocks danced through his mind, tempting him so.
"Tell me!" Aaron didn't realize how much emotion he demanded it with, but Rylock only seemed amused. Conniving.
"It won't be free." Rylock, likely realizing that she had power over Aaron now, raised her head slightly, prideful. Anything to succeed, Aaron remembered his mentor telling him.
"Anders left for Amaranthine, separate from Darius. That is all I know." Aaron said quickly. Rylock suddenly seemed disappointed, as if she was hoping for something more. She thought for a second before smiling again.
"Not good enough." And the images started slipping away, as if the likelihood of them becoming reality was suddenly diminishing. Aaron grew enraged, drawing his sword at Rylock as she tried to walk past him. The templar stared at him, cold eyes not shirking in the slightest. They stood there for a long while, staring at the other.
"I like you." Rylock smirked as she finally spoke, laying a hand on the sword and lowering it. "Myr works in the castle as a serving girl. Rumor has it that she's unusually fast in completing her tasks. I can imagine magic plays a role in that."
Aaron sheathed his sword, exiting wordlessly. Rylock had what she demanded and Myr's location had been found. As he pushed his way past the templars guarding the door, he couldn't help but notice how shiny their armor was. Polished. They were recruits, likely on their first mage hunt.
He deposited his templar armor near the entrance of the chantry, taking with him only his two swords and light armor. That was all he needed.
Aaron remembered his first hunt, long ago. He had struck the final blow after his mentor, Knight-Commander Goodson, was knocked unconscious by a maleficarum. His greatsword had torn through his chest, ripping the mage near in two. Aaron was so afraid, so relieved by the win, that he had started laughing. Laughing while he stared at the bodies around him. Laughing as the blood spray rested upon his armor.
Now it was different. Before Myr it was just mindless slaughter. But there was a hint of truth to it, a hint of happiness. With every apostate killed, the world became safer. With every mage dead, the security of Ferelden became tighter.
The mages, invariably, tried to argue. They tried to reason, but the templars do not listen. There is no listening to the mad ravings of dangerous criminals. They were evil and deserved death. No amount of convincing could change that.
Yet he argued long hours with Justine about the nature of the Templar's duty. She thought it was cruel that the mages were sentenced death even if they were born outside of the Circle's influence. She just didn't understand that it didn't matter. They were all guilty. They were all abhorrent people deserving nothing but death.
But Aaron no longer cared about the mages as a whole. When he thought of apostates, of maleficarum, of murderers, he only saw Myr. He saw that albino elf drenched in Justine's blood. He saw her walking away, bloody dagger in hand. She even took Justine's honor by stealing the Templar's sword.
Aaron stooped as he walked under the portcullis, entering the main courtyard within the Keep. Taking the stairs to his right, he hoped he could find the kitchens somewhere in this tainted place. Once he purged the Vigil of Myr's evil, Justine would finally be able to rest.
He could feel the adrenaline, the anger, everything. Soon it would all come to an end. Justine would be avenged. As he strode down the long hallways, the winding turns, he started to feel his pulse quicken, a smile started to form on his face. Finally! The end was near!
Many elves turned as he kicked down the door to the kitchens. The workers turned abruptly, one woman in particular looked enraged, but none reacted faster than Aaron. The templar grabbed the nearest scullery maid – a small elf, likely not even of childbearing age – and shook her.
"Where is Myr!" Aaron nearly shouted, a wide smile on his face. The girl barely responded, her voice inaudible. Aaron shook her again, only to be assaulted by the angry woman.
"Let her down, fool!" Aaron just looked at her, unamused. There was an elf, unarmed and unarmored. Vulnerable. Yet she was yelling at a stranger with weapons? How foolish. She had to be taught a lesson.
Dropping the scullery maid, Aaron turned sharply, drawing his blade and stabbing forward. The quick move caught the angered elf by surprise, blade sinking into her stomach. A scream tore from the scullery maid's lips as the dying elf struggled weakly to speak. Aaron withdrew his blade, sheathing it. Unable to support herself, the elf collapsed, blood widening in a scarlet pool.
Already the other elves were running from the room, but Aaron was quicker. He threw a nearby pan at a serving elf, which impacted soundly into his skull. The elf dropped, stunned, allowing Aaron to collect him.
"Where is Myr!" Aaron shouted again, his smile widening even more. The elf stumbled over his words for a second, but finally formed a coherent sentence.
"You... you killed Maria!" Aaron rolled his eyes. Why do people only focus on the obvious? He was just trying to ask a damned question!
"Maria!" Aaron ignored the new voice, staring angrily at the boy he had captured. Something was off about this new voice, however... "Guards! Come quickly! There's a murderer!"
Aaron let go of the elf, who scrambled to his feet as he ran. Standing slowly, Aaron could hardly believe his luck. He drew both swords, relishing the moment before turning.
There she was, standing in the doorway, ears drooped in obvious fear. Funny how elves showed emotion so easily. They were like animals, untrained, stupid, dangerous and oh-so fun to squash. She backed away a step, but otherwise seemed ready for a fight. Good. Aaron didn't want a chase just yet. Chases were just before the kill, but now he wanted some fun.
"Finally... I've found you." Aaron locked gazes with her, relishing how her eyes widened with recognition. Phantoms from the past were never pleasant, especially when they were doused in blood. And when they desired yours.
Myr said nothing, instead backing away. She had no weapon, no way of defending herself except with magic. If Aaron was right, she would avoid that by any means necessary so as to preserve her illusion of not being a mage.
"Aside, elf!" Aaron found his smile dissipate as a man with a greatsword stepped past Myr, blocking the way. Judging from the uniform, this was the Captain of the Guard. The man glanced once at the corpse before turning his full attention at Aaron.
"Do not bare your blade at me, man." Aaron pointed a sword at Myr. "That elf is an apostate, a maleficar. This woman's death was not murder, for she was an accomplice of the mage."
"You expect me to believe that?" Aaron shrugged, charging. His first swipe knocked the greatsword away, the second grazing his chainplate armor. The man jumped back, and Aaron noted with some annoyance how Myr ran off. This guard was getting in his way!
"Aside!" Aaron shouted, his smile fading as the quarry was getting away. He was so close! How could this be! Justine's death had to be avenged, so one man's death must not impede that goal!
"You wish!" The guard charged again, but Aaron sidestepped the blade, lashing one sword upwards, slicing up the guard's neck. The second blade found a seam in his leg armor, cutting deep. The man gasped, falling. Aaron considered finishing him off, but decided against it, seeing as Myr had already disappeared at the end of the hallway.
Aaron took of running, grateful that he had the foresight to discard that blasted templar armor. Such a heavy weight would only hold him down. He skirted around the corner, catching a small wisp of white hair at the end of this hallway. Without stopping, Aaron felt the thrill come back. It wasn't all lost after all!
As he turned the second corner, though, he realized that it would be slightly more difficult than he had anticipated. Myr stood near the entrance to an armory, dagger in her left hand and Justine's longsword in her right.
"How dare you defile her memory!" Aaron shouted, enraged at how the elf had grabbed the sword. "Have you no shame, maleficar?"
"Something must be wrong with you." Myr shook her head, approaching slowly, cautiously. Aaron remembered her swordsmanship. Even with only a dagger, she had held off two templars. Now was not a time for anger, but for caution. "But, you know what? I've always hated your kind, so I took great pleasure in killing that templar, just as I did in watching you squirm."
Fuck caution.
Aaron charged, screaming. His swords moved before he thought of where to swing them, instinct guided his movements. His right sword slashed downwards, only to be parried by Justine's longsword. How disgusting that Justine's sword was now to be used against him. By extension, Justine's own sword had been turned against herself.
Aaron backed away, struggling to find some way he could fight this damnable elf despite the cramped quarters. Every muscle within him wanted to charge, wanted to slice this elf to pieces. He knew he needed to resist, to stay focused, but he felt his care slipping away.
Aaron smiled, charging and shouting incomprehensibly. He would have this elf's head.
His first overhead chop was parried, but knocked the elf off balance, the weight of it sending painful shuddering coursing through his right arm. He didn't feel it. He stabbed forward with his left sword, smiling as he saw the panic in her eyes as she barely dodged backwards.
But then she attacked him, her style more fluid, controlled. It was almost as if she was dancing, her blades striking lightly on his, driving him back with elegant movements. Aaron growled as a blade traced along his cheek, tearing skin from bone as it left a long line of blood below and above his eye.
He rushed with her strokes, punching her shoulder. The weight of the blow sent her off balance again, sending her tumbling backwards. Seeing an opportunity, Aaron stabbed at her. Pure ecstacy coursed through his veins as he felt sword meet flesh as his blade bit into her arm. She gasped, struggling to escape, but was trapped.
Aaron raised his blade, laughing now. She was trapped with his blade through her arm. Judgment was upon her finally!
His blade descended slowly. He could see her pained expression. Her fear. He could taste it. Oh how he had awaited this moment, this revenge! The Maker will have his dues and Justine shall finally be avenged. Aaron felt his smile grow wider, he felt the air part to let his blade pass. Finally. Finally! Oh sweet retribution! Sweet Andraste, how Her infinite kindness has allowed this moment to be bestowed upon him!
Wait? But what was this pain filling his body? What was this red light? Why was his arm stopping? Why was his grip on the blade slipping? Why was Myr not dead?
Aaron turned slowly as he fell to the ground, catching a glimpse of a pitch black robe, of a golden staff.
Why would Andraste deny him this?
ooo
He saw Her in his dreams. He saw Her glow lovingly, accepting him, caressing him. Aaron allowed her in, despite the darkness. And even in this darkness he could feel Her lovingly holding him.
Aaron sat up in the dungeon, smiling as he stared at Myr, who lay in the cell across from his. Andraste told him no. Andraste said to wait. Andraste knows she needs to live just a bit longer.
Aaron would not deny his savior. He obeyed, and Andraste was content.
For now they would rest. Andraste willed it to be so.