A.N: Thank you to all whom have read, reviewed, or both! If there are any issues please let me know. Also I know the joining is a bit different and I spared Jory but I have my reasons.
P.S: I do not own Dragon Age, Skyrim, or any of the characters
Chapter 25,
Elena's head felt as though it would split in two, a throbbing pain pushing against the back of her skull. Her vision swam in a sickly green haze that clouded her senses. As she staggered, trying to clear her mind, a roar ripped through the air, so loud and full of anguish that it felt like the very ground was screaming. Her eardrums throbbed with the weight of it, and the agony in that sound mirrored the pounding in her head.
Before her loomed a creature she had only seen in legends—the mighty form of a dragon, its once powerful body now twisted and grotesque. The scales that should have gleamed like polished obsidian were dulled and cracked, oozing from patches where the flesh had rotted away. Red pustules bubbled and swelled along the length of its body, filled with the festering taint that poisoned its very being. Veins, black and thick like vines of rot, crisscrossed its massive frame, pulsating with every labored breath the beast took.
Its wings, once proud and capable of blotting out the sky, sagged under the weight of disease, torn and riddled with holes, tattered like the remnants of a long-forgotten banner. It shifted, its massive claws digging into the earth, but even this movement seemed to cause it pain. A trail of dark, viscous fluid dripped from its maw, pooling at its feet, a testament to the slow death creeping through its body.
The dragon's eyes—once sharp and full of life—were now murky and white, clouded over by the sickness that had ravaged its mind and body. Yet, those eyes locked onto Elena with a terrifying focus, cutting through the haze of pain that filled her mind. The world seemed to stop as it stared at her, its body trembling with the effort to remain standing.
Hi, sos do dii fron... The words slithered into her mind, a voice so broken, so twisted by suffering that it barely sounded like her own. It echoed through her thoughts, deepened by exhaustion, Krii zey... krii Urithmiel.
The dragon—Urithmiel. She could feel the weight of its agony, the desperation in its voice as if it begged for release, for death.
"Vir, kolos hi!" She called out to the beast. "Fos lost koros wah hi!" The massive head swung back towards her, those hazy eyes boring into her soul. For a split second she saw the dragon sleeping before she felt the taste of tainted flesh upon her own tongue and she realized why the poor creature was tainted. "Zu'u fen siiv hi, ahrk zu'u fen oblaan aus." She promised and those eyes softened just ever so lightly before they flashed and it roared again.
The haze in her mind grew thicker, more oppressive. The roar, the creature's pain, her own mounting exhaustion—all of it pressed down on her, crushing her. Her vision blurred as the world around her grew darker, and the dragon's image wavered before her like a nightmare.
Then, mercifully, the blackness came, sweeping her into a painless, dreamless abyss. The last thing she saw was Urithmiel's shattered, hollow gaze—an eternal reminder of what the taint could do to even the most powerful of creatures.
XxXxXxXx
Meanwhile, Duncan and Alistair stood side by side, their expressions hardened by the trials of the day. Daveth's body, already set on a funeral pyre, crackled as the flames consumed him, his life claimed by the unforgiving taint. Ser Jory lay nearby in a tent, too shaken by the Joining to continue, his mind shattered by fear. The weight of the ritual bore down on the two seasoned Wardens, knowing that the outcome of the Joining was as unpredictable as it was deadly.
Now, their attention was on Elena. She stood before the chalice, her face lit by the soft glow of the pyre, the flickering light dancing off her black armor. Duncan handed her the tainted goblet, his expression neutral but his eyes betraying a hint of anticipation. He had seen many take the Joining, but this one felt different.
Alistair watched with tense expectation, remembering his own Joining, the fear and pain it brought, and bracing for what was to come. He had seen Elena's strength, her resolve, but even that might not be enough.
Elena lifted the chalice slowly to her lips. The dark liquid, thick and foul, glistened as she drank. But unlike Daveth or Jory before her, the moment the blood touched her lips, something changed. The goblet slipped from her fingers, clattering to the ground with a sharp metallic ring, rolling away forgotten. She did not convulse like Daveth or scream in terror like Jory.
Instead, she stood perfectly still.
Duncan's eyes narrowed in confusion. Alistair, too, frowned, taking a step forward instinctively, but stopped when he saw Elena's silver eye. It had changed, the color draining from it, becoming almost translucent, as if something otherworldly was washing over her. Her gaze was fixed on something neither Duncan nor Alistair could see, something distant and unreachable.
"Elena?" Alistair called out, his voice tight with worry, but she did not respond.
Her body trembled, though not from pain or fear. It was as if she were caught between two worlds, one foot still in the present, and the other somewhere far beyond their reach. Her breathing quickened, shallow and rapid, but still she did not collapse. Duncan took a cautious step closer, his experienced eyes searching her face for any sign of recognition, but what he saw was unnerving. Elena's expression was not one of pain, but of intense focus, like she was listening to something, someone, that neither he nor Alistair could hear.
"She's not... reacting," Alistair muttered, his brow furrowed with concern. He glanced at Duncan, looking for an explanation, but the elder Warden was just as puzzled.
"Elena," Duncan said, his voice steady but commanding, "can you hear me?"
No answer.
Her translucent eye flickered, her pupils dilating and constricting in rapid succession, as if she were seeing something unimaginable, something that existed beyond the physical realm. Her trembling intensified, her body almost vibrating with the energy of the taint coursing through her, but still she remained upright, defying the fate that had befallen so many before her.
Suddenly, her lips parted ever so slightly, and she whispered something too faint to hear. Duncan leaned in, straining to catch the words.
No answer.
Her translucent eye flickered, her pupils dilating and constricting in rapid succession, as if she were seeing something unimaginable, something that existed beyond the physical realm. Her trembling intensified, her body almost vibrating with the energy of the taint coursing through her, but still she remained upright, defying the fate that had befallen so many before her.
Suddenly, her lips parted ever so slightly, and she whispered something too faint to hear. Duncan leaned in, straining to catch the words.
"Urithmiel," she breathed, barely audible, her voice distant and hollow, as if it belonged to someone—or something—else entirely.
A cold chill swept over the camp, as if the name carried with it an ancient and dark power. Duncan's blood ran cold, recognizing that name from old texts, whispered only in the most secretive of Warden circles. Urithmiel—the name of an Old God, one long believed to be dead, but now... his name passed from Elena's lips as if she knew it, as if it were part of her very being.
Alistair exchanged a worried glance with Duncan, his hand inching toward his sword. "What's happening to her?"
"I don't know," Duncan admitted, his eyes never leaving Elena. "But this is not the Joining I expected."
Elena's trembling began to subside, her eye slowly returning to its normal hue, the translucence fading. Her breathing calmed, though her body remained rigid, as if she had just returned from a place only she had seen.
Elena's gaze swept over Duncan and Alistair, her expression unreadable, but something flickered behind her eyes—something neither man could quite place. She looked as if she were about to speak, her lips parting slightly, when suddenly her eyes rolled back into her head, her silver eye turning blank and pale.
Her body went limp in an instant.
Alistair reacted before Duncan could even register what was happening. In a flash, he closed the distance between them, his arms catching Elena just before she collapsed onto the unforgiving stone beneath them. The weight of her body sagged against him, her armor clinking softly as it pressed into his chest.
"Got you," Alistair muttered, more to himself than to her, his voice tight with concern. He lowered her carefully, keeping her head from striking the ground. His hands were steady but his heart was racing, the fear of losing another recruit fresh in his mind. The Joining was dangerous, but this—this was something else.
Duncan moved forward, his face composed but his eyes betraying a flicker of unease. He knelt beside Elena, his fingers brushing lightly against her neck, searching for a pulse. After a tense moment, he found it—a steady, albeit faint, beat.
"She's alive," Duncan said, more calmly than he felt, looking up at Alistair. "But something's happening to her."
Alistair held her close, his brow furrowed in worry. "This isn't like the others, Duncan. She didn't even convulse, she just... fell."
Duncan nodded, his mind working through the strange events that had just unfolded. "I know. There's more at play here than just the taint. Whatever she saw—whatever spoke to her—it's affecting her in ways we don't fully understand."
Alistair glanced down at Elena's pale face, her features softened in unconsciousness, but there was a tension in her body that hadn't been there before, as if her mind was still trapped in whatever vision had overtaken her. "What do we do?" Alistair asked, his voice low, unsure.
Duncan stood slowly, his eyes lingering on Elena before looking to the sky, as if searching for answers. "We give her time. She survived the Joining—whatever this is, she will either wake from it or not. We can't force it."
Cradling Elena in his arms, Alistair stood slowly, adjusting her weight carefully as though he feared she might break. Her head rested against his shoulder, her breathing shallow but steady. He looked down at her face, still pale and unconscious, before turning his attention back to Duncan.
"Let's get her to a tent so she can rest," Alistair suggested, his voice quiet but resolute. He hesitated, glancing back toward the pyre where Daveth's body still burned, and then toward the tent where Ser Jory lay, wrestling with his fear. "I know after my Joining, I woke up starving... so I'll grab some food for her and Jory." He tried to keep his tone light, but the unease lingered, the weight of everything they had been through hanging heavily in the air. "Maybe some mead too. Wash the taste of all this out of their mouths," he added, unsure of what else he could offer.
Duncan nodded, his expression grave but accepting. He understood the need to focus on the small things—the mundane—when the bigger questions loomed too large. "That's a good idea, Alistair," Duncan replied, his deep voice carrying an edge of thoughtfulness. "Make sure they both have what they need. Rest will do them good... and you as well."
Alistair shifted his grip on Elena, steadying her as he prepared to carry her away. "And you, Duncan?" he asked, concern threading his words. Duncan had borne the weight of countless Joinings, but tonight felt different. He had seen it in the man's eyes—the confusion, the uncertainty that even the seasoned Warden couldn't hide.
Duncan offered a faint, tight-lipped smile but shook his head. "I'll manage. You tend to the others."
Alistair gave him a brief, respectful nod, then turned his attention fully to Elena, her body still limp in his arms. She was lighter than he had expected, her strength hidden behind her armor and demeanor. Her presence, normally so commanding and sharp, was now softened in her unconscious state. He wasn't used to seeing her like this—vulnerable—and it unnerved him.
Without another word, Duncan stepped aside, allowing Alistair to carry Elena away. The elder Warden's gaze lingered on the two of them for a moment longer, his thoughts swirling with the strange events that had just transpired. Whatever Elena had seen during the Joining, it had affected her in ways he still didn't understand. She hadn't convulsed, she hadn't collapsed immediately like the others—there was something deeper, something hidden within her. And Duncan knew that it wouldn't be long before they were forced to confront it.
As Alistair moved through the camp, the distant sounds of soldiers and wardens in the background felt like a distant hum, drowned out by his own thoughts. The cool night air brushed against his face as he walked, careful not to jostle Elena as he made his way toward the tents. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something much larger, something none of them were prepared for.
Alistair finally reached the tent, ducking inside to carefully lay Elena down on a makeshift cot. He took a moment to adjust her armor, making sure she was comfortable, even though she showed no signs of waking anytime soon. Her face, usually so alert and focused, was calm now, but there was still a tension in her features, as if she were battling something deep within her mind.
He sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. "Rest now, Elena," he whispered, more to himself than to her. He stood for a moment longer, watching over her, before stepping back and heading toward the camp's supply tent. Food and drink—it was the least he could do, even if it felt inadequate against the unknown forces they were facing.
Duncan stood in the stillness of the camp, the weight of what had just happened pressing heavily on his mind. He stared down at the goblet that had fallen from Elena's hands, its metallic surface reflecting the flickering light of the nearby fire. Slowly, he bent down, his fingers wrapping around the cool metal. The goblet was just an object, a tool used in the Joining, but now it felt like a symbol of something far darker. Something he didn't fully understand.
As he stood, his thoughts churned, replaying the strange events that had unfolded moments ago. Elena's reaction to the Joining had been unlike anything he had ever seen. There had been no violent convulsions, no cries of agony like Daveth, and no collapse out of pure terror like Ser Jory. Instead, she had stood there, trembling, her silver eye becoming almost translucent, staring at something only she could see.
And then there was that word. Urithmiel.
Duncan's grip tightened around the goblet. The name sent a chill through him, as it had the moment it left Elena's lips. Urithmiel wasn't just any name. It was the name of the Archdemon, the very leader of the Blight. Only a select few high-ranking Grey Wardens knew that name, the secret passed down through their ranks to those who needed to know. And yet, Elena had spoken it, as if she knew the very being that led their greatest enemy. But how? Why?
The crackle of the fire and the quiet murmur of soldiers nearby faded into the background as Duncan's mind spiraled deeper into the mystery. The Joining was a brutal and unpredictable ritual, yes, but it followed patterns. The taint either consumed or transformed, and the Wardens who survived did so with visions of darkspawn and tainted creatures. But this—this was different.
Elena had been focused on something, something none of them could see. Her eye had become almost otherworldly, as though she was peering through the veil of reality into a place that even the Fade could not reach. And then she had spoken the Archdemon's name. Urithmiel.
The mere thought of it sent a ripple of unease through him. Only he and a few others knew of the name's significance. It wasn't something a recruit should know. It wasn't something Elena could have learned on her own. So why had she uttered it? Was the taint speaking through her? Or worse, was she somehow connected to the Archdemon itself?
Duncan turned the goblet over in his hands, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should. His thoughts raced, searching for an explanation. Was it possible that the taint, the very essence of the Archdemon, had recognized something in her? Could she be more than just a recruit, more than even he had anticipated? The thought unsettled him deeply. The taint was insidious, twisting everything it touched, but never before had it shown such... intelligence.
He glanced back toward the tents, where Alistair had carried Elena to rest. The younger Warden had been shaken by the Joining, as they all had been, but Duncan could sense his loyalty and concern for the woman he barely knew. She had already survived the worst, but Duncan knew that when she woke, the conversation they would have might be even more difficult than the Joining itself.
"When she wakes," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire, "we will need to talk."
But it wasn't just a conversation about survival. Duncan needed to understand what she had seen, what she had felt in those moments when the taint had overtaken her. The Joining was unpredictable, yes, but there were rules. And Elena had broken those rules without even realizing it.
With a heavy sigh, Duncan turned and began walking back to his own tent, the goblet still in his hand. His mind was a storm of thoughts, each one darker than the last. He would have to document everything—write down every detail, every strange occurrence—before the memory faded. This was too important, too dangerous to be left to chance.
As he entered his tent, the weight of his responsibility pressed harder on him. He set the goblet down on the small table beside his cot and reached for his journal. The flickering light of the fire cast long shadows across the canvas walls, and the quiet of the night only deepened the sense of unease that filled him.
Dipping his quill into the ink, Duncan paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. There was no clear path forward, no easy answer to the questions swirling in his mind. All he knew was that something had changed tonight. Elena had survived, but the cost of that survival was still unknown. And somewhere, lurking in the darkness of the Blight, the Archdemon—Urithmiel—was waiting.
Duncan began to write, the quill scratching softly against the parchment as he recorded his thoughts. The Joining was never meant to be easy, but tonight it had become something far more dangerous. And as the leader of the Wardens, he needed to be ready for whatever came next.
Because whatever Elena had seen, whatever connection she had to the Archdemon, it would not remain a secret for long.
A.N: Thank you for reading!