Thank you to my beta reader, WellspringCD, for her invaluable advice and making this chapter work.
Morrigan led the way through the Wilds, finding hidden paths and trails that Fearghal and Alistair would never have found on their own. Fearghal and Alistair followed in silence while Bane trotted ahead, sometimes with Morrigan, occasionally running back to the two men.
The atmosphere between the men was tense. Alistair glanced at Fearghal who seemed lost in his own thoughts. Alistair frowned; nothing about the man invited casual conversation. Several times he had found himself opening his mouth to speak, then closing it again.
He was surprised when Fearghal asked, out of the blue, "So how did you become a Grey Warden?"
Alistair glanced at his companion. The blue eyes were cool but there had been a genuine note of curiosity in his voice. He was also surprised that Duncan hadn't, at some point on their journey, explained that asking about a Warden's past just wasn't done, or maybe he had and Fearghal just didn't care about such courtesies. Maker knows, he doesn't seem to care about anything else.
Irritated, Alistair replied sarcastically, "Same way you did. You drink some blood, you choke on it and pass out. You haven't forgotten already, have you?"
"If you don't want to answer, then say so," snapped Fearghal.
Alistair felt a small surge of triumph at having needled his companion. "Didn't Duncan tell you anything about the Wardens on your way to Ostagar?"
Fearghal scowled. "I had other things on my mind. I wasn't exactly in the mood to listen."
Alistair raised an eyebrow but refrained from commenting. "Well, it's an unwritten rule," he explained. "We don't ask about a Warden's past. Some are recruited, but others are conscripted. When a man joins the Wardens, he leaves his old life behind him. There are no family names, titles or anything like that."
Fearghal gave him an unreadable look at this information, then drawled, "I can't imagine that you were conscripted, Alistair. You're far too good, more of a Jory than a Daveth."
Alistair bridled at Fearghal's tone. "I was conscripted, actually," he said, gratified as Fearghal's eyes widened in surprise. "I was in the Chantry before. I was training to become a templar."
Fearghal rolled his eyes and groaned. "Just my luck, good and religious."
"Hardly," snorted Alistair. "I was banished to the kitchens to scour the pots more times than I can count."
"So what did you do? Get one of the sisters pregnant?" asked Fearghal, grinning.
"What? N-no!" spluttered Alistair, blushing.
"Not caught in a closet with one of the brothers!" gasped Fearghal, feigning shock then chuckling as Alistair blushed an even deeper shade of red.
"What is wrong with you?" burst out Alistair angrily. "I didn't do anything!"
Fearghal burst out laughing. "Oh, I can believe that, Alistair!"
Alistair glared at Fearghal. "You shouldn't judge everyone by your standards," he growled.
Fearghal just laughed even harder. "Deflowering Chantry virgins has never been a challenge I've wanted to overcome," he told Alistair.
Fearghal eyed his companion, curiously. "Talking of which... if you were raised in the Chantry to be a templar, does that mean you've never... " Fearghal waggled his eyebrows and grinned. His eyes widened in shock as a thought struck him. "Maferath's balls, man! You haven't taken vows, have you?"
"No," Alistair assured him. "I managed to avoid the vows."
"So?" prompted Fearghal.
"So... what?" said Alistair, wishing the other man would just drop it.
"Have you ever... ?"
"Have I ever... seen a basilisk? Eaten jellied ham? Licked a lamppost in winter?" replied Alistair flippantly.
Fearghal chuckled, "Licked a lamppost... that has to be the coyest euphemism for it I've ever heard." He glanced across at Alistair, enjoying his embarrassment. "So, have you ever licked a lamppost?" he demanded.
"Have you?" Alistair shot back.
"Oh, many times," confirmed Fearghal, looking smug. "I've also ploughed the occasional furrow, but I definitely prefer lampposts."
Alistair was horrified as Fearghal's meaning dawned on him. "Y-you think I-I meant...?"
Fearghal looked at him quizzically.
"W-with men!" he continued, unthinkingly. "I'm not like that!" he protested.
Fearghal's face went flat. "Well, I am like that," he said coldly.
Alistair paled at the menace in Fearghal's voice. "I-I didn't mean... I just meant... for me, I mean... "
"Don't worry, Alistair. Your virtue is quite safe with me. Like I said, Chantry virgins don't interest me... even when they're no longer in the Chantry." Fearghal lengthened his stride and caught up with Morrigan.
Alistair watched him walking with Morrigan. How had he managed to put his foot in it so badly? 'Because you were afraid he'd think you were 'like that'; because you are afraid you are like that.' whispered a little voice in his head. Feeling utterly confused and miserable, Alistair followed Morrigan and Fearghal, a myriad of conflicting thoughts and emotions swirling around in his head.
He had felt so smug when they'd had talks from older templars about the vow of chastity they would take; about how it was important to keep their thoughts and their bodies pure, in the service of The Maker. While he sometimes would feel stirred by the sight of a pretty face, a shapely body, he'd never felt the powerful urges described by the other men as dominating their thoughts. And then he'd met Cullen.
Alistair lingered over his supper. It was Wednesday, which meant it was bath night; Alistair hated bath night. Every Wednesday night the boys in his year were herded into the large bath-house, a large stone building near the kitchen. Part of the bath-house was partitioned off into individual bathrooms that offered some privacy. They were reserved for those templars that had taken their vows. The boys bathed in a large communal bathroom containing twenty large tin baths; there was no privacy at all.
The problem wasn't the bathing; Alistair enjoyed lounging in a tub full of hot water as much as anyone else. No, the problem was getting undressed with the other boys. Even after all this time, they never got weary of tormenting him about it. It being the fact that he was circumcised; a practice from an earlier age that was now only observed by the nobility.
When he could put it off no longer, Alistair, reluctantly pushed his empty plate aside, went to fetch his towel, soap and washcloth and headed out to the bath-house. He slipped into the communal bathroom as unobtrusively as he could and was dismayed to find that he'd lingered too long. All of the other boys had already undressed and got into their baths. He brightened a little, noting that many of them lolled back, eyes closed, enjoying the hot water. He found an empty peg on the wall and quickly started to strip his clothes off.
"Well, well, if it isn't Lord Alistair," said a sneering voice.
Alistair froze, flushing. "I've told you before, Makinson. I'm not a lord."
"You've got a lord's cock!" chipped in one of the other boys, prompting an outbreak of sniggering.
Alistair shut his eyes briefly, flinching at the crude language, then carried on undressing.
"Yeah," agreed another lad. "If the Arl of Redcliffe really ain't yer old man, 'ow come you've 'ad yer cock cut?"
Movement in the doorway caught Alistair's eye. He looked up and saw one of the older trainees in the doorway. Alistair groped for the name. Cullen. Alistair didn't know him well, only enough to put a name to the face. It wasn't usual for boys to bathe on the 'wrong' night, but it did happen occasionally. Cullen looked around the room at the bathing boys, then at Alistair. Alistair blushed; Cullen would have heard the hazing. Alistair fervently hoped he wouldn't join in.
Cullen nodded at Alistair, his face neutral. "Alistair, isn't it?"
Before Alistair could reply, Makinson's voice jeered, "That's Lord Alistair to you, Cullen. Look at his dick!"
Alistair groaned, wanting the floor to open and swallow him up. Cullen's eyes swept slowly down Alistair's body, down to Alistair's penis, then he looked over at Makinson. "That's a very dirty mouth you have there, Makinson. Brother Vincent will be along in a moment with water for another bath, and you know how the sound echoes in here. I'd shut up if I were you."
Alistair shot a grateful look at Cullen then scuttled over to the remaining empty bath with hot water in it and stepped in, sitting down quickly and sinking back to lie in the warm water. He frowned. He definitely shouldn't have lingered so long at supper; the water wasn't as hot as usual. He lay back in the water, eyes half-closed, absently watching Cullen get undressed.
Cullen was tall for his age and starting to build up some solid muscles. He pulled his shirt off, revealing broad shoulders and a muscular chest. Alistair felt his breath catch, suddenly entranced. The memory of Cullen's brown eyes looking over his body made him shiver. Cullen sat on the bench and removed his boots and socks, then stood and started to unlace his breeches. Something deep in Alistair's belly clenched in anticipation as long pale fingers tugged at the laces, then pulled the breeches down, small clothes and all.
Cullen turned and fussed with his clothes, straightening them and hanging them neatly on one of the pegs. Alistair studied his back, watching the muscles move under the skin as Cullen moved. The broad torso tapered to a slim waist and hips. Firm muscles bunched under taut buttocks. Long, solid legs, planted solidly like stone pillars. Alistair swallowed and felt himself harden. Oh, Maker! Not now! If any of the other boys noticed, he'd never live it down. He closed his eyes and tried to think about something else.
After that evening Alistair had found more and more often that he lay in bed at night, hand curled around his cock, pumping furiously, remembering how Cullen had looked, naked, in the bathroom. Hot ,sticky fluid would spurt across his hand, his belly, and Alistair would flush with shame; a shame tinged with desperate longing. Occasionally he would run into Cullen and the older boy was always pleasant, always acknowledged him with a smile and a nod; Alistair would blush furiously and make his escape as soon as he could.
Gradually he had pushed Cullen out of his mind. He had even stopped wanking, burying those physical urges and desires under training and meditation. On the rare occasion the ache overwhelmed him, refusing to be ignored, he dealt with it as mechanically as he could; refusing to indulge himself in the memories and images that hovered on the edge of his mind. By the time Duncan had recruited him this had become force of habit.
"Oof! Watch where you're going, fool!"
Alistair had been so lost in thought, staring down at the ground, he hadn't even noticed that Morrigan and Fearghal had stooped. He'd walked straight into Morrigan, almost knocking her over.
"S-sorry," he stammered.
Fearghal rolled his eyes at Alistair. "We were just talking about stopping for the night."
"Sure." Alistair shrugged. He looked up at the sky, which was darkening; he hadn't realised it was getting so late.
"Morrigan knows of a cave nearby."
Alistair nodded, suddenly weary. "That sounds good," he agreed.
Fearghal turned to follow Morrigan. "Try to pay attention and keep up," he snapped.
Alistair flushed and set off after them.