What's this? I met the deadline! :D Thanks to my amazing friend ShebasDawn for her help and betareading this! :)
Btw, the song mentioned in this chapter, "Watkins Ale", is real. It's a ballad from the late 16th century, so bawdy it was considered "unpublishable" in the old books. You can listen to it here (remove the spaces): youtu. be /Gg-4FRqN8sM?feature=shared
Conscripted
Captured in the morning, imprisoned at noon, almost eaten alive by early afternoon. This definitely wasn't one of Anders' best days.
The Templars found his tent and disarmed his glyphs at sunrise. 'Hit by Smite' immediately went to the top of his list of worst ways to wake up. He spent the next few hours being half-carried, half-dragged through the dusty roads – not that they were cruel, for once they were almost decent, he just didn't intend to make it easy for them.
By noon, they were all tired of it. When their leader suggested a short break at Vigil's Keep, all the Templars agreed. Perhaps the Warden Commander would be kind enough to rent them a cart that would take them to the Tower! Anders was happy with the detour, too. From what he'd heard about the new Warden Commander, he was a mage and not the biggest fan of Templars. Maybe there would be another chance to escape.
Man, how wrong they all were.
oOo
When they arrived at the Keep, the Wardens weren't there. Or anybody else. By the state of the buildings, no one had been living there for some time. The Templars' mood plummeted – and with it, their decency. They dragged him to the dungeons and locked him in a cell, the dried bones of its last inhabitant scattered across the floor, and left to rummage through the other rooms for any forgotten booze.
"Hey! At least leave the torch here!" he called after them as they were walking out. They didn't bother to reply, except for Biff, who flipped him off. He'd always been the biggest cretin of all the buckheads in the Tower.
Anders walked over to the stone bench along the right wall, careful not to step on any bones. They weren't the dried bones of someone who'd died decades ago, he noticed; in fact, they looked disturbingly fresh and… gnawed? He shuddered. What sort of a beast – no. He would not think about it. It was just another day in another dungeon. He got this.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. What time was it now? Around two pm? That would be… about eight hours since the Smite. The effects should start lifting soon… in an hour or so, he should be able to feel his magic again. He wouldn't be able to cast properly for a few more hours after that, but simple, basic spells should be fine. If the bucketheads found the booze upstairs, they might forget to come and smite him again, and if the lock on the gate didn't have anti-spell protection, he might get another chance to escape. All he needed was a little luck.
With a sigh, he wrapped his arms behind him. As frustrating as it was, all he could do right now was to wait.
Just before they woke him up this morning, he'd been having such a lovely dream, he was lost in a forest, and an elven girl with the cutest tattoo on her face came to his rescue. Maybe he could continue it now… Pleasant, easy, no need to worry about rules of logic or reality, it was one of his favourite tricks whenever he had to spend empty hours in a cell. Made the hours fly by.
The elven girl was giggling at his jokes, and he finally decided to take it to the next level. He slowly leaned closer to kiss her… sweet Andraste, what a stench! Like a rotting corpse and a pile of soiled underwear, unwashed for at least a decade. Disgusted, he pulled away. The girl growled.
Anders' eyes snapped open. What in the Void was going on? The stench was so horrible he almost choked. And he had this feeling… there was something here, something worse and more disgusting even than the Templars. Something that made all the hair on his body stand up.
He could hear more growling sounds now; whatever it was, there was more than one. And they were creeping closer, up the damp dungeon corridor, occasionally rattling the doors of the cells they passed by.
He tried to summon his magic, but its flow was still disrupted by the Smite. If he focused as hard as he could, he might be able to cast chain lightning once. Maybe twice. The Templars were his best chance, though.. If he yelled hard enough and if they got here quickly enough… then again, perhaps it wouldn't be wise to yell? Perhaps if he sat very, very quietly, the monsters wouldn't notice him…
Then they stepped into his line of sight, tainted caricatures of humans, their rotting skin pulled tightly over their skulls, eyes flashing from deep sockets, yellow teeth barred, and any hope Anders had evaporated.
He screamed.
oOo
Nobody came. He screamed, he begged, he promised to never run away again (with his fingers crossed behind his back), but there was no response.
The monsters – Anders would guess they were the infamous darkspawn, supposedly defeated by mighty Grey Wardens just a few months ago – paced in front of his cage, pawing at him through the bars, saliva dripping from their mouth.
He plastered himself to the wall, trying to come up with a clever plan, but there was nothing. Fighting his way out through them was impossible. Two lightning chain spells was all he had in him. And then… then he'd try to shoot lightning into his own temple and hope it'd be strong enough to spare him the fate of the previous inhabitant of the cell.
One especially determined monster unsheathed his axe and struck the bars. It resisted, but one or two more blows would do it. Here it was.
"When he had done to her his will, they talked but what I shall not skill!" a tone-deaf chorus of Templars suddenly boomed from upstairs. "At last she said, spare your tale, gimme some more of Watkins ale!"
Anders never thought he'd cry for joy at the sound of drunk Templars. Even if it was painfully obvious they were not coming to rescue him. A squad of Templars, even drunk, should be more than enough to deal with a bunch of dumb monsters. Right?
The Templars sobered up so quickly it had to be a world record. One moment they were singing 'Watkins ale', and the next they were charging at the monsters.
For a moment it looked like they might succeed. They were all experienced fighters, and had much better equipment. But the monsters were oddly coordinated; when one of them was attacked, all of them reacted. Worse, it seemed each and every monster within a five mile radius knew about the fight and hurried to help their friends.
One by one, the Templars fell. Anders sat in the furthest corner of the cell, pulling his knees up and covering his head with his arms. He couldn't make himself watch. Even though he didn't like them – Biff especially was a jerk and Anders often imagined the world without him – this was... this… This was too much, too horrendous; not even the worst criminal deserved an end like this.
As he listened to the munching and crunching, he realised there was no hope. This was it. This was the end. Even if a miracle happened and he got all his mana back before the monsters turned their attention to him, there was no way he could win where all the Templars had failed. And now he could hear footsteps; more monsters must be coming from upstairs. There was no reason to prolong this any longer.
He got up, eyes firmly closed; the last thing he'd see would not be the gnawed remains of Biff and the other Templars. As he started to softly chant the lightning spell he tried to picture the rare moments of freedom, the faces of people he'd met that had helped him and made him believe in humanity again, the delicious wine and food, all the colours and smells of nature…
Suddenly he felt an icy wind on his face, followed by a fierce battle cry. Surprised, he opened his eyes to the most surreal scene. A thick veil of snow was quickly changing the dirty, bloodied underground into a winter wonderland. Where just a moment ago twisted monsters feasted on fallen Templars, grotesque ice statues now stood, glistening in the light of the torches. In the middle of it all stood a human and a dwarf, whacking the frozen monsters to pieces with businesslike efficiency. A little behind them, at the foot of the stairs, a young elven mage in sleek, black armour chanted spells.
In a few minutes, the three newcomers were done with all the monsters. Amazing. And terrifying.
"I could get used to this," the human woman said, with a little perplexed giggle, looking around her.
The dwarf's reply was an unimpressed belch. "Nah. We were far over our average time," he said. "Though it's true we don't have neither the pike-twirler nor the silly assassin with us…"
The mage wasn't interested in the banter; he just stood there, alert and silent, as if he was listening for something. After a moment, he finally lowered his staff. "I can't sense any more in close proximity," he said. "I'd say we're safe for now, but we'll have to check for any holes asap. Just my luck."
He walked down the steps, right to Anders' cell. "It's okay now," he said in the same soothing voice Anders had used on a stray kitten a couple of days ago when he'd tried to feed it. "You're safe. We're Wardens, and we've dealt with all the monsters. I'll let you out now… Oghren, could you?"
The dwarf bashed off the lock in one blow.
"Is that really wise?" the woman asked warily. "We don't know who he is or what happened here – they had to have a reason for locking him up."
The young elf glanced at the dead Templars – or rather, what was left of them – in front of his cell. His brow furrowed. "Well-"
"That wasn't me!" Anders blurted. "Thanks for saving me," he added, when the boy looked up at him again. "I'm Anders, and I'm a healer. I know a few lightning spells, too, but I'm primarily a healer. And anyway, I've been hit by the cursed Smite, and couldn't have cast anything at all – if you hadn't come, I'd be dead!"
The elf snorted. "Relax. No one's blaming you for killing them. It's pretty obvious you're not a darkspawn." He glanced at the woman and rolled his eyes. "We can talk about the rest later. I'd kill for fresh air, and if you don't want it to be you, let's go join the senechal outside."
oOo
Anders blinked, almost surprised that it was still a sunny spring day outside. After the horrors he'd witnessed in the dungeon, it felt almost surreal.
The senechal, a tall, grey guy nearing his sixties, must have been hiding somewhere as well; the young elf had to call for him several times before he appeared, a bit dishevelled, but otherwise fine.
"I'm sorry, commander," he said, dusting off his clothes. "This is not how your arrival to the Keep was supposed to be."
The elf laughed. "No, that's just-"
"Commander?" Anders blurted, before he could stop himself.
The elf turned to him, surprised. "Yes?"
"Ah… um… sorry. I just – I didn't know you were the commander. I didn't know-"
-the Wardens had a junior section. Anders choked the words back. He didn't want to return to the cell. But, it was so hard to believe! While the black leather armour and staff shaped like a striking black cobra looked badass, the rest was… well… cute. The elf was in his late teens, twenty at most; he had clear white skin, the cutest elven ears Anders had ever seen, and eyes of an odd, violet colour. All in all, he looked more like a porcelain doll than a mighty Warden Commander; that he dyed his hair, which reached his shoulders, the same violet shade as his eyes, only made the impression stronger.
"That's right, we didn't have time to introduce ourselves properly, did we. I'm Airam Surana, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. These are my newest recruits. The lady is Mhairi," – he pointed at the woman, who gave a curt nod, "-and Oghren, one of my Blight companions-" he turned to the dwarf, but found he wasn't there.
"Oghren?" The elf looked around and finally spotted the dwarf near the parapet, peering through the crenels to the road below.
"And another Blight companion of yours is coming," the dwarf said. "Hehehe. Seems the pike-twirler can't live without you, boss!"
"Al is here?" The boy ran up next to the dwarf. "I didn't think he'd come in person… But this is great! Come on, we must give him a proper royal greeting."
"Royal greeting?" The senechal looked like he might have a heart attack. "Do you mean his Royal Highness, Alistair Theirin, is coming?"
"Him and a whole platoon with him, it seems. Come on, let's go! Oohh, I do hope they brought some food!"
oOo
It really was the king, riding on a beautiful white stallion. And behind him, a platoon of royal guards… and another squad of Templars. Anders stayed well behind the others, looking humbly at the ground. Maybe he'd get lucky and they wouldn't spot him.
"Your Majesty," the boy commander said, kneeling down; the rest of them immediately followed. "Allow me to welcome you to Wardens' Keep. Alas we only arrived today ourselves, and-"
"What in the Void are you doing?" The king almost fell off the horse, so quickly did he try to get off. "You don't kneel in front of me, or anyone else!"
"Your wish is my command," the boy chimed in fake humility, before the king pulled him up and gave him a bear hug.
"Cut that crap! You know what I think about it. Anyway, it's great to see you again."
"It's great to see you too, Al," the boy replied.
Since the others now got up as well, Anders followed their lead; better not stick out in any way. He dared to shoot a few furtive glances at the king's men, wondering how they would react to the boy commander's joviality.
To his surprise, they were smiling, as if all of this was perfectly natural. The only ones who looked grim were the Templars, and… oh, no. Oh, Maker, please no. Not her! But there was no mistaking that scowling face. Rylock, the leader of the third squad, Greagoir's beloved pet. Anders swallowed. It would be fine, he told himself. It had been over a year since they'd met. Why would she recognize him? He was just one of the many mages-
Their eyes met. Her eyes widened a little bit, and Ander's blood turned to ice. But, she wouldn't do anything in front of the king, right?
The king and the young Warden, unaware of any drama, continued their friendly bickering. The king greeted Oghren as if they were old buddies, then the boy introduced him to Mhairi, and now – No! No, don't turn their attention to me–
"And this is my latest addition." The boy turned to him, grabbed his arm, and pulled him closer. "We found him just shortly before you came-"
"Please step aside, Your Highness! He is a dangerous apostate!" Rylock jumped off her horse and joined the king, amidst shocked silence.
"Who's the lovely lady?" the boy commander asked; there was a steeliness in his voice that hadn't been there a moment ago, a steeliness that sent shivers down Ander's spine.
"Ser Rylock. Explain yourself or I will have you arrested for publicly maligning the Hero of Ferelden," the king ordered.
Anders closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I apologise, Your Majesty," he said with a bow. "I believe she means me."
"That's right," Rylock confirmed. "That man is Anders, a dangerous mage who continuously violates the rules of the Circle of Magi. This is the seventh time he has escaped from the Circle Tower. We got a report that he was captured, and he was supposed to be back at the Tower already. There were supposed to be eight Templars accompanying him. Where are they?"
She addressed the last question directly to him and he felt panic rushing through him. It wasn't his fault they were dead, but she would never believe that.
Before he could answer, however, the boy commander cut in.
"Ah! You're the one who was always running away? I knew the name sounded familiar," he said with a smile. "As for your question, Ser Rylock, I'm afraid those Templars are dead. Darkspawn attack. We've been fighting our way through the Keep the whole day – we only finished right before you arrived, in fact." He turned to the king, frowning. "You need to hear this, too – something very odd is going on here."
"There are some rooms in the left wing that are usable," the senechal suggested, stepping forward.
Rylock didn't intend to give up that easily, however. "The Templars are dead? They were all accomplished soldiers. It is hard to believe that they would fall to a few darkspawn, while he would survive."
"Ser Rylock." The boy commander slowly turned to her, and the change in his voice and his whole manner was so sudden Anders took a step back. "Are you accusing me of giving His Majesty a false report?"
"You are a mage, too," she said. "Your Highness, I must insist on a investigation-"
She didn't get any further. One of the king's men pushed her to her knees, a blade on her neck. "Remember your place," he growled. "Do not talk to His Highness and the Captain General as if you were their equal."
Ah, the shock on her face! A balm for Anders' soul! To see her down on her knees was a most pleasant change – usually it was the other way around.
"Now that's one title I haven't heard for some time," the boy Warden said. "Wait, I know you. You're William! Second regiment, third battalion? And I see other familiar faces." The boy smiled at the king's men who swelled with pride and joy as if it was the Maker himself who praised them.
"Yes. All the members of the Royal Guard have earned the Order of the Griffon," Alistair confirmed. "I am the best guarded monarch in Thedas! Let her go, Will. I believe she's learned her lesson."
"I humbly apologise for my transgression, Your Highness. But, please, reconsider. This man is a criminal. Please allow me to take him back to the Tower."
"No." The boy commander folded his arms. "Forget it. He's a Warden recruit."
"I am?" Anders asked, a faint hope rising in his heart.
"Are you sure about this, Air?" the king asked.
"I am, Al. All he did was run away from the Tower. I can assure you, and I can also prove it, that he had nothing to do with the death of those Templars."
They stared at each other for a moment, then the king nodded. "If you vouch for him, that's good enough for me," he said. "But is he really okay with it?" The king turned to him. "Do you think you have what it takes? Being a Warden is not as fun as Air makes it seem."
An image of monsters crunching on Templars popped in front of Anders' eyes. He shuddered. "I am aware, Your Highness," he said seriously. "I do not know if I'm good enough, but I will do my best."
"Good answer," the king said with a nod. "Alright. Enough with the idle chit-chat. I have an important message from Ser Shwara, and from Erwin – and I'd like to hear more about the darkspawn."
"Alright. Just remember, we only arrived a few hours ago, and had to fight our way through the Keep. It's a mess. I don't know if there's any place to sleep, or if there's any food."
"If I may, commander," the senechal stepped forward again. "As I said, the rooms in the left wing are not that badly damaged. A bit of cleaning is all they need. I shall check the supplies right away; the monsters did not seem interested in food, so the pantry might be untouched. If not, there are some farms nearby. If His Highness would be willing to assign some of his men, we could have everything ready for supper and the night."
"Of course. They'll all help. That also includes you and your men, Ser Rylock. William is in command."
"Great idea," the boy commander agreed. "Just don't forget the Warden's stamina, senechal. You may want to visit the farms even if the pantry is untouched. Anders, Oghren, Mhairi, you guys get some rest, then join as well."
As he followed the senechal back into the Keep, Anders pinched his arm; he flinched, genuinely surprised it was real.
The girl, Mhairi, shot a suspicious look at him. He smiled at her. Life was beautiful.