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In Our Eternity
May. 19th, 2018 01:16 amChapter Text
He lay curled up on the cave floor, humming softly. First he had fought with the Legion, shielding and healing them, and then when they had still fallen, he had coaxed spirits into their bones and fought with those instead, and then when his magic came more and more from the darkness inside him than from the Fade and the good spirits had grown afraid and would not answer, he fought alone. And now the darkspawn did not even realize he was not one of them, and did not come to attack him, and their silent song was dizzying in his ears and the Blight-fever spun his mind, so he gave up fighting and rested.
Alim Surana had all the Deep Roads for his grave, and living dead he lay in them.
“So you have come here at last, then,” said a familiar voice. “I had thought I had gotten the count wrong.”
“You’re dead,” said Alim. “I killed you. Though, I suppose I’m not surprised you didn’t stay dead, given you’re the same thing as Corypheus, probably. Or else we’re both dead, I suppose.”
“Not dead, neither of us, but dead to the world. And yes, I am like Corypheus—I did not lie to you, back then, I simply had no memory. You fixed that, strangely enough; when I reincarnated after that, I remembered. It must have gone wrong, the time before that.”
“And the Old Gods’ song—can you hear that now too?”
“No. Of the Seven, I alone have never been able to. We each changed differently, after we fell. I can control the physical course of the Blight, but never hear it. The priestess of Zazikel became the first broodmother. Corypheus, he could touch minds within the Blight.”
“I had a firsthand demonstration. Please don’t tell me you’re planning to do that as well.”
“I see no value in becoming a god. It did not go so very well the first time. Nor is the surface mine to take even as an earthly ruler, I have learned. So, my dominion is here.”
“Still awakening darkspawn? Is that what you want me for?”
“You’re too far gone for that, and turning you back is not what I want for you. You alone drank Avernus’ potion—yes, I know about that; I want to see what you can do in the Blight.”
“Control over the physical Blight itself—I still don’t know how you did that to Fiona, or what you did to the others with her.”
“How do you, a mage, light a candle or put it out?”
“By wanting to. But the Blight’s a miasma, not magic, except for sympathetic magic. It’s not the same.”
“Unless one is the Architect of the Blight.”
“What are you doing with me, then? I’m no threat. I’m dying. Even the darkspawn know it, unless you’re actually the one keeping them away.”
“You’re not dying. You are, but you’re not. The Blighted do not die unless killed. Most Wardens are killed, but the rest, they become the Blight.”
“Ghouls? Everyone knows that. What’s to stop me from offing myself, right here?”
“Ghouls are infants. And I will stop you. I know of Avernus, and I know some of your work, more these last few years, as the Blight grew stronger within you, and I will have what you know.”
The Architect scooped up Alim, carrying him in his arms. Whether it was a spell or the sickness, Alim did not know, but he was helpless to resist.
“You are changing now, and you may as well do it somewhere more comfortable. I could speed up the process, but I feel you would want to do it naturally, and will be stronger that way anyway. Sleep now.”
And darkness far blacker than that of the Deep Roads fell on Alim and swallowed him up.
An Interlude in the Deep Roads
May. 18th, 2018 08:42 pm“Hey Zev?” asked Alim. “Can I convince you to work your awesome massage magic once we set up camp? Sleeping on rock is fucking up my neck, and just throwing healing at it doesn’t work.”
“Of course. After all, my skills are ridiculously awesome.”
“Zevran, that line got old the second time you used it after stabbing an ogre,” said Alistair.
“But stabbing ogres is ridiculously awesome!”
“You have to admit, it is,” agreed Alim.
“Yes, you’re definitely thinking about some kind of stabbing,” said Morrigan darkly.
“I promise never to make that much noise again, okay?” Who would have thought that echoing was actually a property of stone, not just weird Circle surveillance architecture? And it had been just once!
There was no way to tell day from night in the Deep Roads, but eventually everyone agreed that it was time for “dinner”—the second meal since “breakfast”—so they made camp; building a fire, unrolling bedrolls, and painting spider repellant on everything around them. As soon as everything was mostly set up, Alim flopped onto his bedroll, facedown. “Ow,” he said, as he realized an instant too late that the bedroll was not padded sufficiently for flopping.
“Are you still in need of my awesome massage magic, my Warden?”
“Yes,” said Alim, into the thin pillow. “That would be double-awesome.”
“You should have your robe and shirt off, to do this properly.”
“Ugh. Sitting up. All right.” Alim sat up and unhooked and set aside his robes, then took off his (rather sweaty) linen shirt.
“Please don’t get naked,” remarked Morrigan, from the fire, as she stirred the stewpot.
“I’m keeping my pants on,” he shot back.
For some reason, a lot of people thought that mages wore their distinctive robes and nothing else. Even in the middle of summer, this was largely untrue; most people wore at least a linen shirt to protect the fabric. When it was not summer-temperature, one actually followed the official dress code, which dictated having under one’s robes not just that shirt but also leggings and smallclothes. Alim had left the Circle, but saw no reason to change his style of underwear, merely changing the externals to be more sensible for fighting. (Circle robes were nigh-impossible to run in. Circle shoes were little more than socks made to be noisy.)
Now wearing only his pants (and the smallclothes underneath), Alim lay facedown on the bedroll again, more carefully this time. Zevran had also partially disrobed, taking off his own armor and shirt. He dug around in his pack and produced a vial of scented oil.
“So, where does it hurt?” he asked.
“Left shoulder. No, higher up. Ow! There.”
“That looks like some adventurous sleeping, no? We’ll have to do something about that knot.”
“Any sleeping I do is adventurous. I’m pretty sure this counts as an adventure. Fighting darkspawn, stopping the Blight, the Warden business. It includes sleeping rough.”
“Well, yes, I suppose. Are you having difficulty sleeping, though?”
“I’m a Warden. I’m also a mage, and the Veil is weird here and there’s traces of lyrium in everything. So, yes. I’ll live.”
“There are herbs that can help with that.”
“I’m aware of that. I also don’t wish to be eaten by deepstalkers or darkspawn in my sleep. I’ll save the valerian for if someone actually needs it.”
A few minutes went by in silence, save for the crackle of the fire and occasional muffled curses and sharp intakes of breath from Alim, as Zevran’s fingers found painful knots. Zevran was putting most of his weight into the massage, working Alim’s back properly now that the worst of the shoulder was done, and his muscles flexed as he worked. (Leliana was looking on appreciatively while pretending to mend clothing. Zevran pretended not to notice, and secretly reveled in the attention.)
“Stew’s ready,” called Morrigan.
“Okay, that’s probably enough for your back,” said Zevran to Alim. “You should eat.”
“I’m not tired enough to skip food,” said Alim.
The stew was deepstalker, deep mushroom, and dried fruit—heavy on the deepstalker. The flavor combination was a bit odd, and a bit bland, but salted well enough. Zevran was strongly considering unpacking his entire mortar and pestle set and grinding part of a dried pepper, from his sadly dwindling supply, but Alim just shoveled the mess into his mouth.
“You actually like this stuff?” Zevran asked.
“It’s not oat porridge or lentils. It has a lot of meat in it. Therefore, I like it. Would be better with boiled walnuts, though. And milk.”
Zevran suspected that Alim would eat nothing but meat, nuts, and dairy, plus the occasional spring salad and seasonal fruit, if he could. The Dalish in the Brecilian Forest had certainly seemed to. Though, the ones who were not Wardens (or running around fighting) seemed to eat fairly small portions, which balanced out the nutritional intensity, he supposed.
Alim had finished eating, and was now leaning on Zevran. “Hey. If you are going to fall asleep, maybe you should be lying down.”
“Can you stay by me?”
Zevran had wanted to sharpen his daggers, but he could do that at breakfast, he supposed. He had cleaned them well enough after the last fight that they would be fine.
“Of course,” he said, curling up around the sleepy mage. They would probably regret not having their shirts on, later, but for now the skin-to-skin contact was nice. Especially for Zevran; despite the chill of the Deep Roads, Alim always ran hot. He said it was a Warden thing.
Alim was asleep in a few minutes, still except for the flickering of his eyelids as he dreamed. Zevran hoped it was not the “darkspawn Templar” nightmare again. He pressed a reassuring kiss to the tip of Alim’s ear, and then simply held him as he fell into sleep himself.
The next morning, the first one up was an unusually chipper Alim.
“So, I take it the massage helped?” Zevran asked, as he tried to choke down the absolutely dreadful Dwarven coffee.
“Wonderfully. I haven’t slept that well since we went into the Deep Roads. You are indeed incredibly awesome.”
“Maker’s sake, please find another word!” grumbled Alistair into his own mug.
Manuscript Tradition
May. 18th, 2018 08:23 pmChapter 1: From the "Blight Journal" of Enchanter Wynne
Chapter Text
“He’s a smart boy. Perhaps now he will learn that the dangers of blood magic are not ‘just’ infected cuts or possession? I’m not entirely sure what he actually did, since he passed out and started seizing halfway through explaining it, but I think he tried to amplify a blood magic spell with blight magic, using the link between darkspawn and all Grey Wardens as a sympathetic magic catalyst, if I had to guess. It backfired in some way, seemingly. Using one’s self as an active part of the spell itself is likely to.
“Blight magic! I knew we should not have hushed up what happened to Remille, but the Chantry and Irving insisted. People will do it if they know about it, they said. I thought it was ridiculous, as one needed access to the Taint to use it, and better to at least know it should never be tried. Not that that would stop Alim, but perhaps he would have at least known how not to injure himself. Not that that would be a deterrent to him either, but I do think he wants to live long enough to stop Loghain and the Blight. Anyway, I gave him a sedative, and he is definitely getting a lecture if he wakes up.”
—From the “Blight Journal” of Senior Enchanter Wynne, recovered from her belongings in Kinloch Hold after the events at the White Spire in 9:40 Dragon.
Long Road Ahead
May. 18th, 2018 08:05 pm“So, not surprisingly, in these tables you see a slight increase in mode average miasma indicator levels correlated strongly with years since the Joining--for about the first twenty years,” said Alim. “After that, the correlation gets a bit fuzzy, and around twenty-four years it just goes all over the place. Some Wardens had massively high levels, similar to the phylacteries we took from the ones who turned out to be hearing the real Calling after Nightmare was defeated, while others followed the normal steady increase seen in the younger Wardens. Of course, I requested to be informed if any of the senior Wardens started hearing the Calling, but Maker knows if they’ll actually tell me, or how long it takes, or if there’s even actually any causal effect between miasma levels and the Calling, or if it’s primarily or secondarily influenced by the magical binding to the darkspawn horde inherent in the Joining. Or, for that matter, if the indicators we’ve been testing for actually reliably indicate the quantity of miasmatic particles per measure, at that point or if they’re actually something else.”
“I doubt it is primarily the magic binding,” mused Zevran. “It could be just that it takes a while for increased miasma level to trigger the Calling. It appears to me that the resistance gained in the Joining eventually partially breaks down.”
“Well, obviously. The Calling eventually causes a form of ghoulification. Fiona even described it in her original debriefing about the Architect. Whom I keep having nightmares about running into again, since we found out the whole ‘Corypheus can take over people’s bodies and live indefinitely’ thing. No way he’s dead. I wish I’d just brought him in.”
“Well, one usually expects dead things to stay dead, no? Especially if you burn the body? Besides, Fiona’s report and what she’s actually said to us suggest that the Architect had some level of control over the actual progress of the Blight in others. Corypheus did not, or he would not have used the Nightmare demon, or at least not in Orlais, where he actually was. Perhaps his body-stealing was unique to him.”
“Or perhaps it wasn’t. We don’t know. Yeah, none of the people I had with me suddenly turned into a misshapen horror, but we know Seranni was there, and she ran off after talking with Velanna and we never saw her again. We looked, afterwards, but didn’t find anything. And the demon? Probably just for the scale of the thing. Fiona’s group was only a few Wardens.”
“In any case, we need to do more studies of older Wardens, to see how the resistance fails, and why. I have heard of similar things, with poison resistance--eventually the liver or kidneys fail, from overwork--but I am not sure it is the liver or kidneys affected here. By all accounts, the Calling does not cause symptoms of that.”
“No, it doesn’t. I’ve seen people hear the real Calling, I would’ve noticed. Still, might be worth doing a study on alcohol or drug consumption vs. Joining age at Calling. Or just studying more wardens. There were only 348 Wardens left in Orlais, and most of the ones who survived Adamant were younger mages. We only had phylacteries from 57 who were Joined for twenty years or more.”
“Still, if it does turn out that it is the miasma levels, we also isolated the resistance factor. Perhaps administering it would delay the Calling, no?”
“And again, we’d need more subjects, and I don’t want ones who are there because I pulled rank and ordered them. Phylacteries for testing are one thing. This is another. I can’t--” A knock on the door interrupted him.
“Letter for you, Messere Surana!”
Alim got up and opened the door. “That’s ‘Warden-Commander,’ for the sixth time” he said, taking the letter. “Wait, Weisshaupt? They never answer this quickly.”
“Is it good news or bad news?”
“I have to open it first,” grumbled Alim.
“‘To Warden-Commander Surana, of Vigil’s Keep, et cetera et cetera, the First Warden, Greetings’” he read. “‘In light of your recent--’ Oh. Are you shitting me?”
“What?” asked Zevran, brow furrowed.
“‘In light of your recent success in isolating the Blight miasma and the resistance factor to it, you are, effective immediately, transferred to Weisshaupt Fortress, and granted the title of Senior Warden-Enchanter. As this is a research position, your research leave is terminated upon receipt of this letter, and you are to report to Weisshaupt Fortress at the earliest possibility. You are directly ordered to bring your colleague, Messere Arainai, with you, by Right of Conscription if necessary. Additionally, Mage Warden-Retired Fiona is restored to active duty and assigned under you. Transportation costs for you, Messere Arainai, Private Fiona, your (plural) personal effects, and any equipment necessary to your research are to be paid for by the Wardens; a letter of credit is enclosed.’
“The rest is salary, responsibilities, people under my command who are already at Weisshaupt, oh apparently I report directly to the Chamberlain of the Grey, that’s interesting, I need to send ahead my measurements for a new set of uniforms; anyway, stuff I can read later, because I don’t have a choice about any of it. Damn it, I asked for a letter of command to the University of Orlais, under the Blight Treaties, and an extension of research leave, so I could study there! I doubt the University would have let me use the front gate, but with a Warden letter at least they’d have to give me lab access.”
“Also, they can’t conscript me. I am a Crow. That means I am not, technically, an Antivan citizen, and also not subject to the Right of Conscription under the Treaties.”
“I’m not so sure the Crows don’t want an excuse to have you out of their hair for good. If you were a Warden, that would be either close enough to legally dead, or just actually dead, for them to stop getting themselves killed by you without losing their honor.”
“That is a disturbingly good point.”
“Anyway, now I have to go find Leliana and Fiona. And this day was going so well, too.”
“I mean, I get why they’d want you back, given the role you played, but I thought you were out for good.”
“Well, technically,” said Fiona, “I wasn’t entirely out, just--”
“Permanent disability, of course, I’m an idiot,” finished Alim, running his hands through his hair. “Usually that’s ‘got your legs chopped off’ or ‘took an acid spell to the eyes and the healer wasn’t fast enough,’ but I suppose ‘inability to sense darkspawn’ would also work, especially if both you and the Wardens wanted an excuse to let you go.”
“But ‘if a suitable position opens up in which duties can be performed despite the disability, the Wardens may reinstate qualified individuals.’”
“Do you know anything about the First Warden? Or Weisshaupt?”
“I was debriefed at Weisshaupt, after the Architect incident. It was...odd. It felt half-empty, compared to the numbers in must have had, during the first few Blights. I’d say it was larger than Skyhold, really. Half the Wardens there were high-ranking officers. It was definitely an active fortress, with plenty of field troops, but also an entire wing of bureaucracy, and enough mages for a small circle. They were even set up to do harrowings, for mage recruits. A really advanced infirmary, though; I got to see several dissections. I already knew I was going to be leaving the Wardens, by that point, but I thought I should learn what I could, since the Circles didn’t allow it.”
“When I got to Vigil’s Keep at the start of my command there, I found a box marked with my name that the Orlesian Wardens had brought there. Books on anatomy and ‘somatic magic’, printed at Weisshaupt. Also, a pamphlet arguing in favor of considering the Blight a miasma like common illnesses. The Chantry finally unbanned that one two years later.”
“They were trying to find the cause of the Blight even then, over thirty years ago, and it wasn’t a new effort, as I gathered. There’s a reason the First Warden wants you close.”
“They just didn’t have the proper equipment. I didn’t invent the automatic laboratory centrifuge. Some fellow at the University of Orlais did, just a few years ago. I’m not sure the Anderfels had heard of it until I mentioned it in one of my reports a while back.”
“But anyway, that was Weisshaupt, thirty-odd years ago. I don’t know what it’s like now. As for the First Warden, he wasn’t First Warden yet, in fact he couldn’t have been Joined at all. You know more about him than I do.”
“He doesn’t like me, no surprise there, that whole ‘killed the Archdemon as a barely Joined adolescent and somehow survived doing it’ thing, but he couldn’t just put me in the rank and file somewhere in Orlais, after that, which made him hate me more, so he stuck me in a minor outpost in Ferelden and gave Soldier’s Peak, the fort everyone wanted now that the Drydens had cleaned it up, to someone with proper experience; and then Amaranthine and the Architect went down, and I shook things up again. So the First Warden’s only been the First Warden since 9:30 Dragon, and I am seriously messing with his ability to look competent, over here. Commander Clarel over in Orlais also thinks I make her look bad, especially after someone tells her that one of my men is actually a possessed corpse, and to her I’m all but spitting in her hard work to get her post as a mage, which to be honest is kind of fair, so the two of them decide to send me a bunch of Warden Templars, theoretically because I’ve got too many mage Wardens in one place, but really a message to keep my head down. And then the Anders Incident happens, because Anders managed to get into Orlais on one of his escapes from the tower and apparently kicked the shit out of one of these particular Templars, during a failed capture. At least, Hawke says that Anders says that’s why, and I have no idea where Anders is and those Templars are dead. So, at least this is a thing they can blame on me, to keep me at Nowhere’s Keep, Ferelden. And then the peace Zevran brokered with the Crows breaks down in ‘38, most of his guild of Ravens gets killed, he has to run, so I applied for research leave so I could be with him. Fortunately, the First Warden is considerably happier to leave Howe in charge, and he realizes I might actually do something useful this way, so he lets me go, but isn’t nice enough to actually make sure the University of Orlais will work with me. You know what I mean. So I end up here, eventually. And then we make a breakthrough that was really only a matter of time and equipment development, and then...this. I’m honestly not sure he doesn’t mean to lock me in a tower or kill me.”
“Lock you in a tower, probably. Senior Warden-Enchanter is a left-handed promotion; outside of emergencies, you can’t command non-mage wardens. I mean, it’s probably the command ladder you should have been on in the first place, no offense intended, but the usual step up from Warden-Commander is Senior Warden-Commander.”
“None taken. All I ever wanted to do was alchemical research--and not go to Aeonar, which was why I joined the Wardens in the first place. From what I’ve read of the Anderfels, my priorities might have been misplaced.”
“It’s not that bad. Sand everywhere, from the Blights, and the Volca and Colean seas make the weather very odd, but Weisshaupt is actually away from most of that, and just a few days’ hard riding from Hossberg, and Kal-Sharok too now, I’m told. I actually stayed at Hossberg Circle, for a few weeks after leaving the Wardens, before I transferred back to Montsimmard. There was exactly one other elf there, who’d been transferred in because they needed him to teach something, and it’s like that for most of the country, but being a curiosity is a little easier to deal with than, well, Orlais. Or different, at least.”
“Won’t turn me away from an inn because they want to brag they saw a real live elf? I mean, at least then I do get a room. But it’s going to get old pretty quick.”
“Leli, do your people know anything about the First Warden?”
“Not much. Why, is he sending you Templars again?”
Alim explained.
“The real problem is that three elves have to travel across either Nevarra or Orlais. You remember how we always had to send Alistair and Morrigan to shops, during the Blight? It’ll be like that, only we might well have to book passage on a ship. Zevran and I could handle what we’d get, ourselves, but Fiona’s old enough to be my mother, and shouldn’t be in a ship’s hold. So, have you got any humans you were planning on sending to the Anderfels?”
Leliana sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Three days later, they set off for Weisshaupt--Alim, Zevran, Fiona, and one of Leli’s people, a woman who was actually a legitimate merchant making a trade run to Kal-Sharok. The phylacteries and optic lenses and herb jars were in padded boxes, the research notes and litmus strips were in waxed leather envelopes, and the centrifuge was disassembled and carried on a packhorse of its own. Alim looked back at Skyhold, where he had lived and worked for nearly three years, at those who lived there he was leaving behind, and then away again, in front of him. It was a long road ahead.
A Detailed Report, With Illustrations
May. 18th, 2018 06:25 pmIt started, of course, as part of his report for the Arishok, which he was determined to finish even if he was probably going to be killed on sight if he made it back to Par Vollen. One can’t exactly give a comprehensive report on the Blight without showing what a genlock looks like, or how it’s different than a hurlock. So after battles, Sten would take his inksticks and a little water to activate them, and draw pictures of darkspawn corpses.
It was certainly worth putting in his report, though, just who were these basra who were fighting the Blight—the two “Grey Wardens,” the other two bas saarebas, the malodorous dwarf who (despite his utter lack of discipline) was admittedly quite a warrior, the “golem” who was also some kind of magically altered dwarf (this was shaping up to be a very good report indeed), and the reformed elven tallis (“Crow Assassin,” Sten reminded himself). So Sten drew them, too, first portraits, then in action (observing military techniques and the training given to bas saarebas)—all in service of the Qun.
And finally, he drew simply because they were his kadans, and he wanted to record every memory of them, to leave something in case the Blight or Loghain or the Deep Roads killed them all. He drew Leliana singing, and transcribed the song underneath (it wasn’t hard, it was already in that book the Dalish had given them). He drew Alistair and Oghren sparring, many times, and below each sketch he made copious notes about improving their forms. (Then, after telling them, he often had to cross out his notes and add more, because he’d thought he was short for a Qunari, but by Koslun, basra were tiny.) More pages had Morrigan and Wynne casting ice spells—“Really, child, focus, you’ll get no depth if you don’t, make the start of the beam smaller, like this”—and oh, how he tried to convey the splendor and terror of magic with mere ink, and nothing quite compared to seeing it. He made Shale pose while holding giant boulders, and, on one occasion, an abandoned cart, to convey the strength of ancient Dwarven artifice, until the “golem” started making pointed comments about him being “squishy.” And he drew the two elves, the Warden bas saarebas and the tallis, who were always together, draped over each other by the campfire, or teaming magic storms and shimmering barriers with blades in battle, and drew with quick penstrokes the bond he could see but not understand between them.
Sten drew the Circle Tower, and the confined but uncollared bas saarebas who had survived the demons, and the templars who were both more and less than Arvaraads; he drew Redcliffe Castle, the ruins of Ostagar, Soldiers’ Peak, and Fort Drakon, and the temples in the Brecilian Forest and Haven; and underground Orzammar, and copied the map the dwarven Arishok-aspirant had given the Wardens, and plotted as best he could with a compass the parts the map did not show.
And then, in the last few days, he drew the movements of the horde, the Orlesian Warden Riordan, and the dread archdemon (well, a rough sketch of it in the air, and then later a much more detailed picture of its body), but he also drew what could not possibly be mistaken for detailed intelligence: Morrigan scowling at yet another pot of stew, Wynne mending everyone’s robes, Oghren braiding his hair for the final battle (“like for a proving,” he’d grunted when asked), Zevran haggling with a merchant for vegetables.
In the end, his official report contained only about half the sketches he’d made that year. It was still four inches thick.
