Six

The former mayor was sitting on a felled log with his sword across his lap, sharpening the blade.

Halvas liked that the man had an appreciation for keeping his gear in order. That was a good sign for a new recruit, especially for one who hadn't come from a background as a soldier, mercenary, bandit or cutthroat. As the mayor of a small waterside trading post on the outskirts of Arlathan, he was much more used to managing docks, directing cargo, overseeing a market and trying to keep the peace between the mostly human inhabitants of his town and the many Dalish who occupied the forest.

Rook had sent Julius to the Wardens, but it was unclear whether it was as a punishment or a chance at atonement. The Joining chalice had answered the question, when the man awoke on the ground after drinking from it, alive. There were many mysteries in the world Halvas would never fully understand, but over his many years entrusted with initiating new Wardens, he had come to trust in the judgment of the cup. He couldn't always see the minds or the hearts of those he handed that poisoned drink to, but it could, and it knew. He had seen strong, brave warriors fall to its test and seen those he thought would never survive, like Julius, come out the other end.

"Joiner," he said as he looked up from his sword. A small cookpot was bubbling behind him. There were other Wardens about but none with him. He was new to the order, and even without Weisshaupt he had not had the time to build strong bonds with any of the others yet. That wasn't helped by his demeanor, dark and contemplative, still very obviously struggling to process the choices he had made that had led him to this point.

The people in Lavendel seemed to like him, however, even if he didn't engage much. Whenever the man came across any bit of gold, he would find the first person he could and give it all away, passing it out of his purse quickly as if the very touch of the metal on his fingers burned him. He had adopted a self-imposed and strict vow of poverty, to the point that he shunned and looked at gold with utter disgust. After what he had done to his village, the deceitful deal he had struck with the gods in exchange for wealth, Halvas could understand him.

"You saved those men's lives today," Halvas said, cutting straight to the point of his visit.

"Couldn't watch someone make a choice they'd regret," the mayor answered, brushing the praise aside.

"Still, it needs to be said," Halvas said with an approving nod.

"How's Beckett?" Julius asked.

"His physical wounds will heal," Halvas said. His mental scars, however, only time would tell.

"That's good," Julius said, lifting his sword close to his face to inspect the edge in the dim. "I wish I could have done more, but I'm still piss-poor excuse for a Warden with this thing."

"Recognizing that you have more to learn is the first step toward improving," Halvas said, imparting another line of his learned wisdom. If it was Greta, she might roll her eyes at hearing it for the thousandth time. "Seek out Kalli, up by the fort. She will train you right."

He would have offered to do it himself, to take the new Warden under his wing and train him for half a year in the field, but he knew he didn't have that kind of time left.

"I'll do that, Joiner," he said, placing the sword back on his lap and working an area he wasn't fully pleased with.

"Beckett told me there was another who left town with them, Ivon, the dwarf. Short beard, big hammer. Did you see him?" Halvas asked, pivoting to the other point of his visit.

"No, Joiner, there was no one like that with the others."

"As I thought," Halvas said, confirming his suspicions about exactly where Ivon had gone. That Ivon had left before dawn and still hadn't returned was concerning. Halvas wasn't worried about him having been killed by darkspawn, he was too experienced and too strong a fighter to be overwhelmed by the rabble present in the marshes, even if another ogre had somehow come to the grove. That wasn't the type of danger that worried him.

"You've had a trying morning, but could I interest you in a patrol? To the corrupted grove, and back. Less than an hour," he offered.

"Not to sound ungrateful for the opportunity, but I'm not much of a fighter," Julius answered.

"I can handle any darkspawn we might run across," Halvas said, dispelling that concern. "But I need a second set of eyes and someone with a sharp mind," in case I begin to lose myself under the shadow of the blighted tree, he thought, but didn't say.

"If you think I can help, then I am at your disposal, Joiner," Julius agreed.

"Take some time. Eat whatever it is bubbling in your pot and regather your strength. Seek me out at the east gate when you're ready and we'll set out."

"This place… it's horrible."

Julius craned his neck upward, looking at the thick tendrils of blight that wormed over the cliffs and snaked up the trees, choking the life out of them. No doubt what he was seeing was not so different compared to what happened to his home, when he had struck that cursed deal with Ghilan'nain.

The grove was unusually abandoned. There were no darkspawn lurking about in the black pools today. Halvas reached out with his blightsense to feel for them – he didn't trust it as wholly as he once did due to the strangeness of this new blight, which broke old, established rules wantonly – but received no return. He sheathed his sword and lowered his arm, bringing his steel shield to his side.

"Why would anyone want to come here?" Julius asked as he edged forward, cautiously, his sword still drawn out in front of him as if the arms of blight would suddenly come to life and wrap around him.

The sentinel tree in the middle of the grove answered in Halvas' head, a steady, heavy drumming that vibrated against his consciousness.

"Do you feel anything from that tree, the big one?" Halvas asked, pointing.

"Like what?" Julius asked, which pretty much answered his question.

"Nevermind," Halvas dismissed. "Stay alert. Keep your eyes open. Look for any sign of Ivon."

"You're sure he came here?" Julius asked.

"Yes," he answered without elaborating, as he strode down into the grove, his feet sloshing into the flooded water.

It was eerie how calm and quiet the grove was today. Thorne had returned to Lavendel after Halvas had spoken to Julius but before they set out. Thorne, Davrin and his companions had swept the wetlands, clearing out dozens of darkspawn, according to their report.

The Dalish woman from Arlathan had investigated and purged a demon that had taken refuge at the bottom of the well at the old farmland. The Nevarran death mage had reported back about the curse at the abandoned manor – not a curse, but also a demon that had lured greedy treasure seekers to their doom. Thorne and his companions had burst a massive blight boil in the flooded lowlands past the grove and defeated an ogre there. And the Inquisition scout had tracked the trail of Lavendel's healer and Flynn's teacher, who had been missing and was, unfortunately, found dead in the cliffs.

Rook and his people were gone nearly as quickly as they had come, leaving Lavendel and the Wardens to fend for themselves once more. Thankfully, he hadn't stirred up anything while he was out cavorting around the marsh, playing hero. What, exactly, he had come looking for, still wasn't clear, but Commander Evka and her companion seemed pleased when he left, slipping back through the eluvian at the rear of the fort.

As Halvas looked around, what Rook hadn't done was eliminate any of the blight. He might have cleared out darkspawn, but neither he nor any other Warden had yet figured out how to get rid of the twisting arms of rot that had webbed across the land. Nor had the darkspawn stopped regenerating, or whatever it was they were doing, that brought them back to the wetlands anew each day. No one had figured that one out either yet, and their numbers were too few to post round-the-clock surveillance on the hotspots where the darkspawn seemed to like to congregate. Their first priority was to protect Lavendel, and that required their swords and shields remain close to the town.

They had sent out pleas for assistance to the other nations of Thedas, but it would be weeks before any aid could arrive. And, if they had heard correctly from reports from Thorne, the blight wasn't isolated to the north. The south – Ferelden and Orlais and the Free Marches – was under threat too.

The Wardens had strongholds there, Vigil's Keep in Amaranthine was strong and their forward forts in Ostagar were well staffed nowadays. The Inquisition had not sent the Wardens of Orlais into exile following their missteps during the Breach Crisis a decade ago, but the false calling of the ancient darkspawn Corypheus and his machinations had cost them much of their strength. The Wardens had rebuilt, but what they had lost in experienced men was replaced by young blades. The Free Marches were arguably the best off, but the Wardens there covered too much ground and the independent city states offered little in way of support outside of tall walls for Wardens to find brief respite within.

Most of their strength had been recalled to Weisshaupt anyway – a move that seemed reasonable when the First Warden had made it under the shadow of a threat of a new Blight – but one that had proven fatal as he had concentrated much of their power into one place where it had been overwhelmed and destroyed. No one living could have fathomed the destruction that Ghilan'nain had unleashed on Weisshaupt. In hindsight, another path would have been better, but any reasonable leader would have made the same call when the signs of Blight were showing in the north.

"Those are… bodies," Julius muttered with some horror as he grew closer to the blighted tree, noticing the emaciated limbs and bombs that clung to the trunk of the tree, lashed to the tree and held in place with long ropes of black blight. Halvas had observed the same the first time he saw it, wondering at why the blight would do such a thing, and whether the tree was feeding off the death of the victims it had claimed. Like so many things with this new blight, he had no answers.

"Keep your distance," Halvas advised. The tree had been no threat before when he and Ivon had come here – it was trying to ensnare them willingly, and not by force – but he wasn't sure how it might act around a rookie Warden and the last thing he needed was one of theirs getting grabbed and strangled by the blight.

Julius took the advice without hesitation and headed toward the cliffs, avoiding the black water and the blighted trees in favor of searching around the slime-slickened rocks. He kept his sword out and in his hand, walking slowly, almost half crouched, his eyes sharp and alert as he surveyed the area. Halvas spared him one look to ensure that he was alone and safe, and when convinced that he would be fine on his own for a moment, he trudged through the murky water toward the great tree.

As he grew closer, the tree seemed to notice, as the thrumming across his consciousness seemed to grow more intense. He could almost feel a warmth in the air, a calmness, and soothing. The branches of the dead tree seemed to stretch out like long fingers looking to scoop him up, embrace him and pull him close, where he would be safe and secure. The tails of blight that hung from the branches swayed like hanging willows, and the balls of blight in the boughs seemed almost like plump, juicy fruit. He felt like he could sit a while and rest under its long, powerful arms, and be at peace.

Halvas shook his head, tossing the illusion away, as if it were a pastel-colored screen that someone had pulled across his eyes. He stepped sharply back, his boots splashing the water, as he separated himself from the sphere of influence of the tree. The sound in his head grew suddenly discordant, a sharp spike that jammed inside his temples as if he was being stabbed from the inside out as he recoiled from the tree. It snapped at him like a serpent, calm and watchful but startled by a sudden movement as it lashed out in self defense. He brought a hand to the right side of his face, his fingers feeling for some sort of wound, but finding nothing.

He continued to back away, taking a wider circle away from the tree as he headed toward the stone platform, the place where Ivon always liked to sit when they came to the grove. As he grew closer, he paused for a moment, not seeing the flat, stone outcrop like a table where the dwarf always sat. Instead, the blight was bulging more widely from the wall and it looked like a fresh tumor of pinkish-orange flesh had swallowed the stone. Halvas quickly glanced around, looking at the rest of the blight and trying to remember how it looked the day before and the day before that. As far as he could remember, the blight wasn't encroaching any further, except in this one place. As he grew closer to where the stone used to be, he stopped suddenly.

Next to the new bulb of glowing, pulsing flesh, was a large, dwarven hammer.

He stepped closer and picked it up by the haft, noticing the worn blue wrap. The head of the hammer was still caked in dried black blood, having been recently used to crush darkspawn. He turned it over, looking at the warrior's crest of House Raed, a warrior caste house of Orzammar, who generations ago had an errant son leave topside with his true love, stolen from her father to a place where they never would follow.

Without a doubt, it was Ivon's hammer.

Halvas looked at the dimly glowing lump of blight and he could feel it across his blightsense and hear it in his ears, pulsing like a heartbeat. He could feel the sense of calm once again emanating off the tree, a peace, a restfulness that seemed to penetrate him to his core, that touched the blackness in his blood and accepted it as its own. The music in his head swelled, not so distant and not so quiet, peaceful and beautiful.

Beautiful. That was the word Ivon had used to describe the tree. Halvas understood it now as he considered it again, closing his eyes as he listened to that music, as he focused his senses against the thump of the heartbeat in his head, until he could almost feel his body match its slow, relaxed speed. He could feel the blighted tree reaching out to him and, within it, he could feel another sensation.

Halvas reached his hand down until it touched the sac of flesh on the stone tablet where Ivon always chose to sit. It was warm, not so unlike a person's flesh, still soft and alive, not cold and dead and rotted like a darkspawn. His fingers recoiled at the feeling, too real, too familiar, but the call across his senses forced him to return. He touched the flesh again, pushing, applying more pressure until his fingers pierced through the outer shell of flesh. It was slimy and bulbous, warm and wet, as he pushed further, fingers moving as much as they could, exploring, feeling for whatever was inside. He kept going until his entire hand had been swallowed by the blighted bulb and it began to take in his forearm. When he was nearly down to his elbow, the tips of his fingers touched something hard and cold. The stone table.

Halvas wrenched his arm, keeping his eyes closed, keeping his mind focused on the song, on the sensation, on the small bit of irregularity he could feel there, one discordant note, like a notch in a wheel that made it bump every time it revolved back to the ground. He stretched his fingers, feeling, reaching, searching for what he didn't know. And then, his hand brushed against something else, something that wasn't flat stone.

His hand twisted as he reached for it, running over it with his fingers until he could get a hold around it. Halvas clutched his fingers, locking onto the mystery item, the out-of-place note that he could hear in the song. As he grasped it, he pulled his arm, sliding it out of the slimy clump of flesh. As his hand emerged – the hole where it had come out closing itself as if there had not been a Warden's arm plunged into it just a second earlier – he held his delved treasure up to his face.

The thin silver chain dangled with the small silver amulet hanging at the bottom, a small locket with a face of glass, and inside, a few drops of black darkspawn blood. The Warden's Oath. Every Warden wore one. Those who survived never took them off willingly. Those who failed their Joining had them placed around their neck as they went to their pyre, honored equally for their sacrifice and the price that they paid in an instant, compared to their brethren who paid it more slowly.

Halvas recognized the amulets well, as he carried several empty ones in the pouch upon his belt with his other Joining supplies. He looked at the amulet, finding no other distinguishing marks upon it other than that it was a legitimate Warden's Oath pendant. Finding it, on the stone seat where Ivon would sit, finding it within a fresh bulb of blight, and finding it next to Ivon's hammer resting on the ground, left little doubt in his mind now.

Ivon was gone. He had succumbed to the taint and was claimed by the great tree that had called to him so strongly. As Halvas looked at the dangling amulet before him, he knew that this was the end Ivon had chosen, that he chose it willingly, and that he had gone in peace. His Calling was now complete. He had chosen his way, as all Wardens must.

The tree seemed to shiver at the recognition, its blighted tendrils waving slightly in the wind, whispering inside his head, calling for him to join too.

"What's that you have there?" Julius asked, as he approached from behind.

Halvas palmed the amulet and tucked it away into one of his pockets.

"It's what we came to find," Halvas said.

"Your friend–"

"Has been called home," Halvas confirmed. It was the taint that had called him, but Halvas hoped that he now went to the halls of his ancestors, back to the Stone, and to the mighty dwarves who would be proud of the life he had given in service to the Grey Wardens and to protecting this world of theirs. "Come, we should head back."

Ivon had met his end, but he had done it on his terms. He had defended Weisshaupt, slaughtered darkspawn in the wetlands and drifted away in the way he wanted. The time that he had, he had used well.

Perhaps there was something beautiful in that.