Thank you to my beta reader, WellspringCD. You're doing a grand job, lass!
They had to fight several more groups of darkspawn before the crumbling tower came into view. It was just a shambling ruin; the roof was long gone and rubble lay scattered where parts of the walls had collapsed. A broken chest lay under the remains of a broken stairwell, empty. All four men peered glumly into the empty chest, then whirled at the sound of a soft chuckle behind them.
"Well, well, what have we here?" The feminine voice held a mocking tone. The woman descended the ramp at a leisurely pace. Fearghal was aware he was gawping like a slack-jawed fool and got a grip on himself. He glanced at the others; Jory had gone rigid with shock, his eyes bulging; Alistair was staring open-mouthed at the woman, blushing furiously; Daveth had composed himself and was grinning appreciatively at the unusual amount of skin on display.
The woman's appearance was unusual, to say the least. Black hair, pinned up; tawny, almost yellow, eyes; a strikingly beautiful face. She moved slowly, with a feline grace. Fearghal had never seen anything like the clothes she wore. The top was a scrap of fabric that barely covered her full breasts; a skirt that appeared to be made out of bits of leather, knee-high leather boots. The whole outfit was adorned with feathers and jewellery. Fearghal noted the staff strapped to her back. A mage? An apostate?
"Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?" The woman spoke almost to herself, as if musing out loud; her speech was oddly old-fashioned, archaic even.
"What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?" Her gaze swept over the group of men below her, finally resting on Alistair.
"Don't answer her, she looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby," warned Alistair.
"She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is! She'll turn us into toads!" muttered Daveth nervously.
Fearghal winced; it took all his self-control not to roll his eyes and bury his face in his hands groaning.
The woman seemed almost amused. "Witch of the Wilds? Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?"
"We would first know who you are and where you come from," ventured Fearghal, unwilling to admit to being an intruder or a scavenger and slightly irritated at the woman's accusation.
Fearghal found himself agreeing silently with the woman. Grey Wardens! Are they all such fools?
"You are the intruder here. I believe the first question is rightfully mine," asserted the woman haughtily. "I have watched your progress for some time," she told them. "'Where do they go?' I wondered, 'why are they here?'" The woman sauntered past them casually, over to the chest but didn't spare it a glance. "And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long." She turned to face them. "Why is that?"
The woman looked at Fearghal. "You there, handsome lad. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine. Let us be civilised."
Fearghal hid a smile; it had been a few years since anyone as young as this woman had called him a lad. Her attempt at flattery was obvious, but he recalled what his father had taught him as a young boy. Unless you have evidence to the contrary, always treat a woman as if she is the finest lady.
He bowed to the woman. "I am Fearghal. A pleasure to meet you."
The woman smiled delightedly at him. "Now that is a proper civil greeting, even here in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan." She tilted her head to one side. "Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is there no longer?" she ventured.
"'Here no longer?'" burst out Alistair. "You stole them, didn't you?" he accused indignantly. "You're... some kind of... sneaky... witch-thief!"
Fearghal clenched his jaw, fighting the very strong urge to turn around and thump Alistair. Damned fool! Just as we're getting somewhere he has to go and antagonise her again!
"How very eloquent," scoffed Morrigan. "How does one steal from dead men?"
"Then who removed them," asked Fearghal before Alistair could open his mouth again.
"'Twas my mother, in fact," Morrigan informed them.
"Can you take us to her?" asked Fearghal quickly, hearing Alistair take a deep breath.
"There is a sensible request. I like you." Morrigan smiled warmly at him. "Follow me then, if it pleases you," she instructed, heading briskly out of the ruined tower.
Fearghal turned to scowl at his three companions, then headed after her. He was past caring if they followed or not.
Behind him, Fearghal heard Alistair snort. "I'd be careful. First it's," his voice took on a high-pitched, breathless tone, "'I like you'..." then returned to normal, "but then 'Zap!' Frog time!"
"She'll put us all in the pot, she will. Just you watch." Daveth's voice held a note of genuine fear.
"If the pot's warmer than this forest, it'd be a nice change," grumbled Jory.
Morrigan led them deeper into the Wilds. Fearghal tried to memorise the way she brought them, but the paths wound and twisted through the trees. He could only hope she'd at least point them in the right direction when they headed back to Ostagar. Suddenly, the trees cleared and they found themselves outside a small, wooden hut.
Morrigan's mother was an elderly woman, who seemed a little... well, batty. She spoke in confusing riddles that seemed to puzzle her as much as anyone. There was something sharp about her eyes though that gave Fearghal pause. He tensed, expecting trouble, but the meeting was amicable enough. The old woman disappeared into the hut and reappeared bearing several scrolls. Alistair practically snatched them from her, inspecting them briefly, before stowing them in his pack and thanking her, albeit grudgingly.
To his relief, the old woman instructed her daughter to lead them back to Ostagar. Morrigan didn't seem pleased, but didn't argue. Her stiff manner didn't invite conversation, so Fearghal was content to follow in silence. His companions mumbled and muttered uneasily but mostly kept their thoughts to themselves. It was almost dark when Ostagar came into view. Morrigan bid them an abrupt farewell before vanishing into the darkness before they had a chance to reply.
The glow of Duncan's fire was welcome after the eerie gloom that had overtaken the Wilds as they neared Ostagar. Bane leaped to his feet and threw himself enthusiastically at Fearghal, who laughed and fussed the dog. Alistair watched curiously; the transformation was amazing. One moment he was a dour, menacing man with an air of barely-contained rage and violence about him, the next he was laughing like a boy at the antics of his hound, his face wreathed in a delighted smile.
"Were you successful?" Duncan's voice broke into Alistair's fascinated scrutiny of Fearghal and his hound.
Alistair nodded and rummaged in his pack, drawing forth the vials and the aged parchments.
Duncan indicated a stewpot warming at the side of the fire. "There's some food there, make sure everyone gets something to eat. I'm going to finalise the preparations. I'll be back soon."
Alistair crouched down beside the pot and grabbed the pile of large bowls Duncan had left there.
"Right, lads! Grub's up, come and get it," announced Alistair, ladling stew into the bowls and passing them out to eager hands.
Fearghal watched in amazement at the sheer amount of stew Alistair managed to polish off. He himself was a big man but Alistair easily ate twice the amount he had, and Fearghal was stuffed to the gills. Fearghal felt warm and full and, strangely, at ease.
"Are you part Mabari or something?" he asked, laughing.
Alistair was startled. Fearghal had been cold, if not downright hostile, all the short time he'd known him. He shrugged, blushing slightly at finding himself the object of the other man's attention.
"I think Bane was hoping for leftovers but you've cleaned the pot," said Fearghal, still chuckling. His hound laid his head on his paws, looking depressed.
"What can I say? I'm a growing boy," Alistair joked.
"Yeah? What you goin' to be when you grow up then? A belly dancer?" demanded Daveth, grinning.
At that, they all burst out laughing.
Duncan returned bearing a jug of small beer and some tankards. He filled them up and handed them out. The atmosphere was companionable as they sat round the fire drinking their beer. Emboldened by the easing in Fearghal's manner, Alistair leaned forward, indicating Fearghal's shield.
"May I ... ?"
Fearghal nodded and passed it over. Alistair turned it over in his hands, admiring it, then slotted his arm through the enarmes on the rear. It was surprisingly light, for all that it was obviously strong and sturdy. Almost reluctantly, he slipped his arm free and handed it back to Fearghal.
"It's a superb shield," he murmured.
"That's Highever's device, isn't it?" asked Jory.
Alistair saw Fearghal stiffen.
"My wife's at Highever," continued Jory, oblivious to the effect his words were having on Fearghal.
Alistair watched Fearghal's eyes go dead. He saw Fearghal glance at Duncan and was surprised to see Duncan give him a warning look and shake his head.
"Are you from Highever?" asked Jory.
"It's just a shield I picked up on my travels," grated out Fearghal, his jaw tight.
"So where are you from?" asked Daveth curiously. "You must be from somewhere? You got family?"
The tension that was suddenly in the air was almost palpable. Bane sat up growling softly, then whined and laid his head on Fearghal's knee, gazing sorrowfully up at him. Fearghal raised his tankard and downed its contents in one gulp.
"No. No family." Fearghal glared at Daveth, who visibly quailed. If looks could have killed, Daveth was pretty sure he'd be dead.
Duncan stood and the other men followed suit. "All is ready, we can begin the Joining immediately." He looked round the recruits. "Let me be clear. You are not volunteers. Whether you were conscripted or recruited, you were chosen because you were needed."
He looked pointedly at Fearghal, who glared back at him, his eyes full of impotent fury.
"There is no turning back now. You must gather your courage for what comes next." Duncan tore his eyes away from Fearghal and looked at Jory and Daveth.
"Courage? How much danger are we in?" asked Daveth, his eyes wide.
Duncan sighed. "I will not lie; we Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later."
"You're saying that this ritual can kill us?" demanded Fearghal. Alistair watched him closely. There wasn't a hint of fear, just that barely-contained fury he was becoming accustomed to seeing.
"As could any darkspawn you might face in battle. You would not have been chosen, however, if I didn't think you had a chance to survive."
Alistair was baffled when Fearghal burst out, "I had a chance where I was! I could have done something." There was no mistaking the anguish underneath the anger. "You should have left me there, not dragged me here... to this!" Fergus gestured around him, his contempt plain.
"There was nothing you could have done," Duncan told him sorrowfully, "and you would never have left." He met Fearghal's scowl unwaveringly. "You are needed here," he added firmly.
Alistair prepared to draw his weapon as he saw Fearghal clench his fists at his sides. He'd been warned that some men balked at taking their Joining. Fearghal looked as if he was just a moment away from attacking Duncan.
The tension eased somewhat when Daveth interrupted, "Let's go, then. I'm anxious to see this Joining."
Jory concurred. "I agree. Let's have it done."
Duncan looked across at Alistair. "Then let us begin. Alistair, take them to the old temple."
Alistair nodded, then beckoning to the others, he led the way to the site Duncan had chosen for the Joining.
The old temple was secluded and offered some privacy from prying eyes. The four of them assembled there and awaited Duncan.
"The more I hear of this Joining, the less I like it," muttered Jory, pacing nervously.
"Are you blubbering again? scoffed Daveth.
Fearghal gave them both a dirty look and wandered over to the edge of the temple. Alistair watched him apprehensively. The man was like a tightly coiled spring.
Alistair was relieved to see Duncan heading up the ramp. His enthusiasm faded when he saw the chalice Duncan bore. He'd not admitted it to himself until now, but he was dreading the Joining.
Duncan strode across the temple and set the chalice down on a ledge. "At last we come to the Joining," he announced. "The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint."
"We're... going to drink the blood of those... creatures?" gasped Jory
Duncan nodded. "As the first Grey Wardens did before us," he explained. "This is the source of our power and our victory."
"Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint. We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the Archdemon," added Alistair.
"Those who survive?" Fearghal looked expectantly at Alistair, who was silently cursing him.
Duncan intervened, to Alistair's relief. "Not all who drink the blood will survive, and those that do are forever changed. This is why the Joining is a secret. It is the price we pay." He glanced over at Alistair. "There are only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said from the first. Alistair, if you would?"
"Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry out the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you," intoned Alistair, his head bowed.
Duncan reached for the chalice. "Daveth, step forward." Unflinching, head held high, Daveth stepped forward and accepted the chalice offered by Duncan. He paused for a second then raised it to his lips and drank, grimacing slightly at the bitter taste as he swallowed. For a moment nothing happened and he handed the chalice back to Duncan, then his body jerked as his muscles started to spasm. A keening wail of pain escaped his lips as his eyes rolled back in his head and he staggered, dropping to his knees. His body convulsed as his body rebelled against the poison and he gagged and retched as his stomach tried to expel it. Frantic hands scrabbled at his throat as he choked and struggled for breath. He collapsed to the ground and was still.
Duncan crouched down and checked for a pulse. "I'm sorry, Daveth," he murmured sadly. He stood and looked at the two other recruits. Fearghal stood watching, his face closed but his eyes held both horror and accusation as he gazed back at Duncan. Jory looked terrified, his eyes wide and round.
"Step forward, Jory," commanded Duncan.
Jory backed away, his face pale and sweaty, shaking his head. "But... I have a wife. A child! Had I known... " As his back bumped against the wall, he reached up drew his sword.
"There is no turning back," Duncan warned, his voice low and dangerous.
"No! You ask too much! There is no glory in this!" babbled Jory, brandishing the huge two-handed sword in front of him.
Alistair risked a glance at Fearghal. He was watching the two men closely, his face impassive but a spark of interest in his eyes. Alistair readied himself. He didn't doubt that Duncan could handle himself against Jory, but he didn't trust Fearghal an inch further than he could throw him. Duncan set the chalice down on the ledge and drew his dagger. Jory swung wildly at him, not even grasping his sword with two hands. Duncan easily parried the blow, knocking the large sword aside. He stepped in close and slipped the dagger between the joints of the warrior's armour. Jory's eyes went wide with shock and pain as the knife slid between his ribs; it was a killing blow. His eyes closed as he slid down the wall, blood frothing between his lips.
"I am sorry," murmured Duncan as he lowered Jory's body gently to the ground. He wiped his dagger clean and replaced it in its sheath.
Duncan picked up the chalice and turned to Fearghal. "The Joining is not yet complete," he said.
Fearghal met Duncan's eye steadily. "My father had no idea about this, did he?" he asked, his voice soft but hard.
Alistair was surprised to see a flash of shame cross Duncan's face.
"We do what is necessary. It isn't always noble," Duncan retorted, his eyes flinty.
"You extracted a promise from my father as he lay dying!" burst out Fearghal. "He thought he was saving me," he laughed bitterly.
"And you refused my offer," Duncan reminded him. "Lest you have forgotten, I invoked the Right of Conscription."
"I suppose I should be thankful he's dead and will never know how little your word is worth," Fearghal spat out contemptuously. "You betrayed him, just like that bastard, Howe. I despise you and I despise the Grey Wardens."
Alistair was aware, in some corner of his brain, that he was gaping and that he should probably close his mouth. His eyes darted to Fearghal, then Duncan, then back to Fearghal. Duncan's voice brought him up short.
"You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good," thundered Duncan, thrusting the chalice at Fearghal.
Fearghal snatched the chalice from Duncan. Raising it to his lips, he tipped his head back and drained it of its contents.
"From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden," said Duncan, regaining his composure.
Fearghal lowered the chalice, then tossed it to the floor, glaring defiantly at Duncan.
Alistair watched as Fearghal's body convulsed, and his hands came up to his head. He could see Fearghal's jaw clench as he attempted to bite back a moan. Fearghal swayed but, incredibly, stayed on his feet, almost bent double, for several more seconds before his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed and lay still. Duncan crouched by his side, feeling for a pulse.
"He lives," said Duncan, with a sigh of relief.
"Maker's breath, Duncan! He drained the cup. He drank two doses of the poison," said Alistair.
Duncan nodded. "He's strong. His will is strong."
Alistair groaned. "The downside being that he seems bent on pitting his will against you... us." He hesitated, then asked. "Who is he?"
Duncan sighed. "It's a long story, and now is really not the best time. We should attend to Daveth and Jory before he comes round. I'll tell you more later."
As they busied themselves removing the corpses of the failed recruits, Duncan asked, "How did he fight? Out in the Wilds?"
"You mean you conscripted him without having seen him fight?" he asked incredulously.
Duncan's lips twitched in a small, rueful smile. "Let's just say that his reputation preceded him."
Alistair's eyebrows went up, but he refrained from asking any more questions, although he had several.
Duncan's eyes twinkled; he was well aware of Alistair's inner struggle. "I went to test a knight, Ser Roland Gilmore; by all accounts Fearghal was apparently even better than Gilmore, but there were other considerations that made recruiting him seem unlikely, if not ill-advised even. However, circumstances changed suddenly. I had the opportunity to recruit Fearghal and Gilmore was... no longer an option."
"But he didn't come willingly, you had to conscript him?"
"I had to conscript him, then hit him over the head to get him away," Duncan admitted.
"Hit him over the head? No wonder he seems so pissed off!" exclaimed Alistair. "Anyway, you were asking about how he fought. He's extraordinary." He shrugged. "I've never seen anyone fight with a shield like he does." He grinned sheepishly, a little embarrassed at how impressed he sounded, then frowned. "He worries me, though. He's reckless and... well, it's like he doesn't care if he lives or dies. Not necessarily what you want in a team."
Duncan nodded thoughtfully. "I promise I will explain more later. For now I'll just say don't be quick to judge him. He's been through a lot. He's lost a lot. Right now he probably doesn't care if he lives or dies. I think if we give him time, he'll come around. He's fiercely loyal and would fight to the death for the things he cares about."
Alistair snorted. "Let's hope he comes to care for the Grey Wardens then," he said, although his dubious tone implied that he thought this was unlikely.
Behind them, Fearghal stirred, moaning softly. Alistair went over to him and crouched down. He was still out cold, but would probably wake soon. He looked down at the man and felt a stirring of sympathy. From what Fearghal had said during his Joining, his father had died recently; was grief the cause of his anger? For all his bitterness and fury, there had been glimpses of a different man; a man who treated strange women in the forest as if they were nobility; a man who laughed with pleasure at being reunited with his hound.
Duncan joined Alistair as Fearghal whimpered and thrashed around restlessly. "Not long now," he opined.
Fearghal stared in terror at the enormous dragon that reared above him. The creature flapped its huge wings and fixed Fearghal with a baleful eye, as if the monstrous creature was somehow taking his measure. Fearghal looked around, frantically searching for an escape; there was none. An unearthly shriek filled the air. The awful noise both repelled him and drew him closer. Fearghal struggled but found his feet moving towards the mighty dragon.
Fearghal's eyes flew open. Duncan was leaning over him, his dark brown eyes warm and full of concern. Alistair peered over Duncan's shoulder anxiously.
"It is finished. Welcome," said Duncan softly.
Fearghal felt a surge of relief. He wasn't alone with that... thing. He allowed Duncan to help him to his feet.
"Two more deaths. In my Joining, only one of us died, but it was... horrible." Alistair shuddered. "I'm glad at least one of you made it through,"
Fearghal was surprised at the note of genuine relief in Alistair's voice.
How do you feel?" asked Duncan.
Reality and memories rushed back in. Fearghal's face hardened. "I still can't believe you killed Ser Jory," he muttered.
"Jory was warned that there was no turning back, as were you all. When he went for his blade, he left me no choice." Duncan's voice was calm. He'd let Fearghal rattle him before the Joining, he wasn't going to let it happen again. Besides, it wasn't the first time he'd been forced to kill a man.
"It brought me no pleasure to end his life," asserted Duncan. "The Blight demands sacrifices from us all. Thankfully, you stand here as proof they are not all made in vain."
"Did you have dreams?" asked Alistair, desperate to change the subject. "I had terrible dreams after my Joining."
Fearghal nodded, looking uncomfortable at the admission.
"Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn, as we all do," Duncan explained. "That and many other things can be explained in the months to come."
"I can't wait," muttered Fearghal sarcastically.
"Before I forget, there is one last part to your Joining," said Alistair, frowning. "We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us... of those who didn't make it this far."
Alistair held the pendant out to Fearghal. For a long moment Fearghal just looked at it and Alistair feared he would refuse it. Eventually he took it from Alistair's hands with an abrupt nod.
"For Daveth and Jory," he murmured as he slipped it over his head.
"Take some time," said Duncan kindly. "When you're ready, I'd like you to accompany me to a meeting with the king."
"I don't need any time," said Fearghal.
Duncan looked uncertain. "Are you sure? I really don't think... "
"I'm fine," insisted Fearghal stubbornly.
"Very well." Duncan turned and led the way out of the temple, leaving Alistair to make his way back to their encampment.