Inhaling was the first mistake.
As soon as he opened his mouth to breathe, Alistair sucked in a chestful of water instead and immediately started coughing his lungs out. It felt like poison in his throat, the water. A kind of burn that resembled the embrace of a long lost lover–familiar but wrong. So wrong.
He sat up, instinctively attempting to thump his chest but only achieved the clanging of metal on metal. Gauntlet on breastplate. Even as he was attempting to push the bile out of his mouth, he caught himself thinking why he was out cold in armour. It made no bloody sense.
Despite his best efforts, Alistair had swallowed some of the water he ingested. It was a reflex. It had burnt his throat all the way down to his stomach but now as the coughing fit subsided, he felt a touch lightheaded. Not just his head, but his body too. It was as if the armour didn't weigh anything. As if he were suddenly stronger than a few moments ago. It was a dangerous feeling and Alistair immediately shot to his feet.
Alistair could hear fine but his vision was blurry around the edges. He felt the urge to do something, but knew not what. His mind raced, trying to focus on something. Anything. That was when Alistair made his second mistake.
He looked up.
Stalactites. They were called stalactites. He'd seen them in the deep roads. A sort of upside-down tapering column of rock caused by dripping water. Stalagmites were the one growing from the ground up. Leliana had told him. She knew a lot about a lot of things. But he knew some things too. For example, Alistair knew on sight that the stalactites weren't rock. At least, they weren't just any rock. No, it was lyrium. Red lyrium, to be precise, growing down from the ceiling. And the water… the water he'd ingested… it was dripping down from–
Alistair swallowed, though this time it was a reflex born from dread. Pure fear. He had been off lyrium for more than ten years. And now, to suddenly ingest it, even diluted… red lyrium at that… no wonder his body felt so responsive and active. It was starved of lyrium and having it back in any capacity had given him a high.
All this he worked out while gaping up at the natural formations of red lyrium that were seemingly growing out of the ceiling like they belonged. Like it was natural for lyrium to just hang out like this. Like he was somehow interrupting something.
"Right, then," said Alistair, still staring at the pulsing red veins in the middle of the rock. He pointed at it. "I'll deal with you later."
First order of business was finding out where he was. Usually he would have done that first, but the lyrium lemonade had rather distracted him from his usual operational efficiency.
Right, then.
Revised first order of business? Equipment check. He looked down at his armour. He didn't know how long he'd been in the water but, thankfully, it didn't have a corrosive effect on his maille. Then, the sword and shield. He'd been using Duncan's shield for well over a decade and, barring some minor repairs, it still worked for him. The wood and steel combination held fast. It was just wet, but he could deal with that. Being wet was the least of his problems.
Finally, he slipped Maric's sword out of its scabbard. The glowing blue runes told him enough–it was far from damaged. He nodded to himself. Whatever else was going on, knowing he could rely on what he had at hand gave him a small sphere of comfort within which he could operate. As long as he had a foothold, that sphere of comfort would grow. He would find a way. He always had.
With a quick swing, Alistair shook the few drops of lyrium water that had gathered on the blade and opened his senses up, curious if there were any darkspawn at hand. There weren't any. At least, there weren't any that moved like darkspawn. There were a few tainted bodies, but they were difficult to make out because he was surrounded by taint. The red lyrium. That was the source and, by the Maker, what a huge amount it was! Every single wall was lined with it! It was almost as if the stuff was sprouting from the cracks in the stone! His senses were very nearly overwhelmed–when one senses the taint everywhere, it ceases to be useful.
But then a thought struck him.
If every wall and floor was lined with tainted lyrium, and he could see the taint, then he ought to be able to get a map of his surroundings. Yes, with just a little focus, he could separate himself from the glowing red outlines in his head and look into the image instead of looking out at it. So, he set about doing just that. Resting his blade upon his shoulder, Alistair took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
Now focus.
The lyrium helped. He hated it, but it helped. Even having trace amounts, dissolved in water, in his system was enough to focus his mind into a razor's edge. With careful balance of breathing and thought, he separated himself from the image that was forming. Wall by wall, floor by floor, a map was lighting up behind his eyelids. Outlined in red, he could make out floors and rooms and corridors as if he were looking at an ordinance map.
On the one hand, he couldn't help but smile at himself for turning the darkspawn senses into a handy mapping tool. On the other hand, the fact that inanimate objects could be blighted to such an extent left him feeling queasy.
Hold on a moment.
He recognised it. When the map formed, he was able to recognise it. Many years he'd spent running around the corridors, climbing over the walls, and jumping through the windows of this place. He would be able to recognise it moments after being awoken from a drunken stupor.
It was Redcliffe castle! He was at Redcliffe castle!
And just as his eyes shot open at the realisation, the memory of why he was there hammered into his mind. The mages, Grand-Enchanter Fiona, the Tevinter slaver, Dorian, the Inquisition. Everything. He remembered leading a few key members of the Inquisition through the dungeons into the castle and then… something magicky? It was bright. Blinded him. And then…
Then he woke up in a pool of lyrium water without the faintest idea of how he got there. But just like this one, he would solve that soon enough. He had to. Red lyrium in Redcliffe? Growth like this? It took years if not decades. What had happened to everyone else? Who could he ask?
Clicking his tongue, Alistair strode out and closed his senses to the taint surrounding him. He didn't want a headache. He would need all his wits about him to navigate whatever fresh hell this was. He would have to find the Inquisitor. Maybe then he would get some answers.
However, in leaving the corridor behind, what Alistair found instead was trouble. A pair of chatting guards were entering as he was exiting. Their armour was strange–the wore Tevinter colours over maille but it was the helmets that were weird. Metal covered their entire face, with several holes punched into the surface to allow for breathing and sight. Alistair winced. It just looked uncomfortable.
The guards were spooked. They weren't expecting company from the way they gasped, and immediately went for their swords. Alistair, who had both sword and shield in hand, simply threw his arms out.
That's why you have your weapons out, kids.
"Ack!" said the guard on the left as the rim of Alistair's shield smashed into the pockmarked helmet. With so many holes, the steel didn't have a lot of strength and folded from the impact. Alistair heard a hard crunch. The guard immediately fell back on his arse, splashing lyrium water all around him. "By dose!"
Fereldan accent, Alistair thought over the ring of steel on steel when his pommel met the helmet of the other one. While it didn't carry as much force as the shield, it was more concentrated. The way the guard's head jerked back, he was definitely feeling it. So, Alistair quickly raised his sword hand, twisted his wrist, laid the face of his blade against the nape of the guard's neck and pulled him forward while stepping to the side. Disoriented from first being knocked back and then pulled forward, the guard could do nothing to stop his helmet from meeting the stone wall.
"By the Elder One," he swore.
Alistair shot him a look while he laid the sitting guard out. A swift kick to the face, the heel of his boot bending the thin steel even farther, resulted in the first guard falling back, spread-eagled. This allowed him to focus on the dazed one.
By holding the back of his helmet, Alistair drove the front into the wall over and over and over again. The goal was less to do damage and more to rattle his noggin and overwhelm his ear with noise. Take away his balance. So, when he let go, the guard took a step back and then promptly fell down. He sat there, holding his helmet, and Alistair held the tip of his sword under his chin.
"All right, lad," he began. "You and I are going to have ourselves a little chat, yeah? You're going to answer all the questions I have, and then I'm going to lock you both inside one of the many bloody rooms here and go my merry way. You won't get hurt, I won't get hurt. Bob's your uncle."
He squatted down, keeping both sword and shield between the guard and himself. "You reach for your sword, though, and deal's out." He pressed the tip of the blade against the man's gorget. "I don't want that. Do you?"
"No, sir," croaked the guard. "Not at all, sir."
Alistair nodded. "Well said. Seems like we have an accord." He kept the sword where it was. "Right, then. What's this about the Elder One I hear, and why is Redcliffe Castle covered in lyrium?"