Vhenan Aravel
Chapter 31: Plans and Tactics - Becoming Grey

Copyright© 2017 by eatenbydragons

Fan Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 31: Plans and Tactics - Becoming Grey - Raviathan, a city elf with too many secrets and regrets, undergoes a long journey in order to find his way in the world. Part 1 is a Dragon Age Blight fic with many additions and twists to the original story. This story starts off on the fluffy side, but beware. Thar be dragons, and it will dip into darker territories. I'd rather overtag for potential triggers than undertag. Rape and prostitution occur rarely in the overall narrative, but they are present.

Caution: This Fan Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Ma/Ma   Consensual   Magic   Rape   Reluctant   Romantic   Gay   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Fan Fiction   High Fantasy   Interracial   Anal Sex   Analingus   First   Masturbation   Oral Sex   Petting   Prostitution  

Even though it had stood for nearly a millennium, Ostagar was still the most impressive structure Raviathan had ever been in. The ruined old temple crumbled at the edges, but the main structure remained strong as the rock it was built on. The wall he leaned on now was the silent witness of battles and plots lost in the echoes of time. Was the mar on stone from a blade swung during a last stand, the crash of a wayward cart, a lingering scar from magic gone astray?

His fantasies ended with a renewed pounding in his head. The incessant bickering of the shems or a lack of sleep or hunger or stress from the trek in the wilds or the pressure from coming storm or the mass of darkspawn gathering to lay waste or the simple fact that he missed his alienage; any of these, or all of them, could be the cause of the incessant thumping of his skull. Now that he had seen the Wardens-to-be in action, Raviathan weighed the two men while trying to massage out the pressure in his forehead with his fingertips.

Although Daveth had panicked at the sight of the Chasind, Raviathan opined Jory was the greater coward. Jory hadn’t been raised with fears the locals of this area had been. Between the two of them, Daveth fared better with the darkspawn, and that was the enemy they were called to fight. Jory hadn’t been raised with tales of wildlings or witches, so perhaps he hadn’t seen the danger of the two apostates and only considered them weak old women.

Flemeth bothered Raviathan in a way he found hard to pinpoint. He would lay sovereigns to straw the woman wielded extremely powerful magic. The question that nagged at him was whether she was human or something else. Raviathan had no experience with an abomination, only his aunt’s stories, so he couldn’t be certain. She had seemed addled, but not out of control. However, there wasn’t a single human who had eyes like that by birth. Flemeth was a mystery that would do him little good to contemplate but fascinated him nonetheless. Now that Duncan knew about Raviathan’s hidden magic, there might be some opportunity to study more in the future. Get some books perhaps.

“Why are you bellyaching now?” Daveth glared at Jory. “Didn’t you want to be a Warden? I hear over and over about your ruddy tourney.”

“I have a wife is in Highever with a child on the way. If they had warned me… It just doesn’t seem fair.”

If nothing else, Raviathan had sympathy for Jory’s desire to protect his wife and unborn child. Neither he or Duncan had told him about Highever. As a very pregnant woman, she might have been spared the rape common of soldiers who had battle lust upon them, but soldiers did strange things. Raviathan had the bitter memories of a purge and what humans could do when they were freed from responsibility. If Jory found out about Highever, which would happen soon enough, would he desert? Raviathan guessed that worry was Duncan’s motivation for silence. It was a calculated choice and cruel. Would Jory respect a man who would use him so?

“Warned you how? That you would fight darkspawn? Maker’s arse, I didn’t think you were that dim.”

“More insults, is it?” Jory said, lifting his chin. The lines of his nose deepened in disgust. “You have no idea. Have you ever loved anyone? Has anyone even cared about you? Or were you a shame to your family from the beginning? No wonder you cannot conceive of what it means to protect those you love.”

That statement hit Raviathan like a slap. With his head bowed, long bangs over his eyes, he hoped the others would not notice his flinch. Since his flight from Denerim, he kept his mind far from the people he left behind. Damn Jory for returning his thoughts. How was Nesiara? Had she left yet? Would she be opening a shop with Valora? Would she already be gone from Denerim, looking for a new match? There was that boy from Dragon’s Peak. Maybe Ness’s parents were making that other match for her. Maybe his own father or Valendrian were helping her in whatever choice she made. Raviathan hoped her new husband would be a good man. With her necklace she could name any match she wanted and have enough for new tools, a shop, anything her heart desired.

Though he had lost faith with the Chant, he still prayed to the Maker. Anything for her. Maker, let my Ness be happy. Give her security and a proper husband who will cherish and care for her as she should be cared for. She is a good woman, Maker. It was fitting to end our marriage. I understand that. Maker, please watch over her. Let her have the match she deserved in the first place.

Guilt twisted his stomach again at the thought of Shianni. Maker, watch over Shianni. Let her heal and be whole. Keep her protected as I could not. Red on white flashed in his mind, and Raviathan violently pushed the image out of his mind. His heart thudded in his chest like the death throes of a dying animal.

Would his words be heard? He prayed now because there was nothing else he could do. If it did nothing, then so be it. It didn’t hurt or waste his energy to try. Maybe the Maker would hear him, maybe not. He wasn’t sure the Maker heard anything anymore, but that hadn’t stopped anyone from praying. It struck him as enormously petty for the Maker to turn His back on His creation. Anger he could understand, but this kind of rejection, of letting good people be hurt and damaged when they did nothing to deserve it, letting so much injustice run rampant in the world, what kind of god allowed that? The Maker was probably so distant that it didn’t make a difference whether His creation followed him or not. There was a catch in his thoughts though. He was praying to a god he had little faith in. Why should the Maker ever listen to him when he didn’t listen to men and women much more faithful, more devout, and especially more pure. What was his voice when compared to them?

Pure he was not. There were dozens upon dozens of elves he left back at home who could attest that. He had made his enemies, often by stealing the affections of the girls they sought or the parents he angered, but there were others who just always seemed to take a dislike to him. While the time the girls he had entertained had been pleasant on both sides, there were often hurt feelings when it was clear he did not have more than a passing interest. How painful that must have been for them had only recently occurred to him. There were the more obvious mistakes that had really hurt people, the ones that continued to haunt him, but the casual injuries were still cruel. He had made their hearts darker, more bitter. He was sure that most would get over it and recognize him for the idiot he was, at least he hoped they would, but there were a few that would really hurt for years.

Another elf, dead eyes staring at the noble’s muraled ceiling as her body was violated, hovered in his mind. The last time those eyes were turned to him, they were bitter with rejection. Just because the damage he had wrought was unintentional didn’t make it any less. He never wanted to be the instigator of suffering. Vaughan, though, he knew he was hurting people and didn’t care. At the memory Raviathan wanted to kill him all over again. Rage would flare, and he could feel the harsh beating of his heart every time he thought of the bastard.

Following that was an ever present guilt that wormed in his mind as Raviathan thought about the damage he had caused his fellow elves, but that was ended. Some were sorry to see him go, but there were others glad that the trouble maker was finally out of their lives. Those elves had made him feel bitter at first, a rejection all to close to what Nola felt. Now that he was away from the alienage, all the way on the other side of the country, he was ready to admit that they had been right. For the damage he had caused the alienage, he should have been exiled years ago. Nola, may you be by the Maker’s side, never to be hurt in this life again. So much harm came to you, and you deserved none of it.

“And what would you give to see that pretty wife of yours safe?” Daveth shot back. “Run from the horde here? Strapping a sword to your back doesn’t give you a spine.”

“Ha! That’s a funny considering how yellow you turned around wildlings. You talk of desertion to me?”

That damn templar just stood there and watched them fight. Damn all these loud shems. Raviathan wanted either quiet to contemplate or be done with this and find a meal, a willing woman, and a tent to sleep this day away. He didn’t move, save a flicker of his eyes to glare at the shems through his bangs. “Every man fears,” Raviathan said, his voice quiet yet catching their attention. “Daveth continued through his fear.”

That gave them pause for a moment. The moment was all too short for Raviathan’s tastes. Jory’s thin lips grew thinner. “Why am I the coward here? Both of you hesitated at the darkspawn or the wildlings. I did neither.”

“Your cowardice or courage is not the question,” Raviathan said in the same calm voice. “Your loyalties seem rather divided at the moment.” Why hadn’t Duncan told Jory that his life with his family was over? What was it about this final ritual that made being a Grey Warden so permanent? There were other knight orders that held loyalty as a core principle, yet they were allowed families. Raviathan had read about them on the journey here. Why were the Wardens different?

Red blotches mottled Jory’s face. “I’m not allowed to worry for my wife and child during a Blight?”

Emotions Raviathan couldn’t name boiled in him. How he hated Jory constantly going on about his wife and child, wife and child, wife and child. To the Abyss with your wife and child! You aren’t allowed that happiness any more than I am, you great bloody idiot! Neither of us have wives and never will again. You will never find comfort with her, see her soft in sleep in the morning, make her laugh, feel her warmth, see her hold her child. The rest of our lives we can only hope for a few lost hours of pleasure with random women. Your wife and child may already be gone from this world.

Raviathan closed his eyes. With a supreme effort, he reined his temper back in. What Jory would do when he found out about Howe’s takeover of Highever? Mostly likely he would desert the instant he had a chance. Raviathan said, “The darkspawn threaten everyone.”

“See that,” said Daveth with vindication. “Maybe you’ll die. Maybe we’ll all die. If no one stops the Blight, we’ll all die for sure.”

Jory paced, his temper close to breaking. “Why all these secrets?”

“The Wardens do what they must.” Raviathan closed his eyes to rest. Please, for love of the Maker, let these shems be silent.

Ness. Please be safe.

Red on white.

Fire. Fire and blood.

Never was Raviathan more grateful for a break from his intrusive thoughts as when Duncan walked up carrying a large silver goblet with regal griffins decorating the cup. “At last we come to the Joining.” Duncan’s calm voice took a dark cast, ominous in the deeper register. “The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. Only with great sacrifice do we have any hope against the darkspawn. The three of you have been tested, have fought as brothers in arms. It is time for you to Join, to be brothers in blood, to take your place in a long line of men and women who gave their lives before you. From the first, Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood thus mastering the taint set upon the world.”

Raviathan couldn’t take his eyes away from the goblet filled with black liquid. Oh Maker no. He isn’t telling us we have to… though he had suspected… but it was too repellent.

Jory stuttered, his eyes showing too much white, “W-we’re going to d-drink the blood of those…those creatures?” For once, Raviathan was in agreement.

Duncan continued unperturbed by Jory’s fear, his voice stern. There would be no argument. “As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you.” Alistair and Duncan had both done that? Duncan had the mettle of a man who would do what was necessary, but Alistair? “This is the source of our power and the only possibility for victory.”

Alistair piped up, “Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint. We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the Archdemon.”

Those words echoed, ‘survive the Joining.’ A quick glance at Daveth and Jory showed both men had caught the implications of those words. Daveth’s tongue flicked out to lick his lips, a tremor starting in his hands. Jory tuned a sickly shade and looked ready to empty his stomach.

Raviathan’s mind whirled in fragmented thoughts. Duncan had said often, Grey Wardens do what they must. He had just said that. Drink darkspawn blood? Raviathan had accepted the conscription to forgo torture and a hanging. Was it worth it? With the Grey Wardens he would be free from templars. Other Wardens had survived. Alistair and Duncan had not turned into monsters. Raviathan had already forfeited his life when he went after Vaughan. Was this any different? A delayed hanging?

Duncan watched all their reactions with calm resolve. So this was the secret he had kept. Raviathan saw sorrow in the old warrior, but that wouldn’t stop Duncan from doing what he thought necessary. Can I do this? Raviathan had put his life in Duncan’s hands since Denerim. Duncan was his friend and mentor. He couldn’t betray the old warrior.

Duncan’s solemn voice filled Raviathan’s ears as the ancient ceremony continued. “We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the First. Alistair, if you would.”

Alistair bent his head to intone the sacred words, “Join us brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us in the duty that cannot be forsworn. And if you should perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day, we shall join you.” The words burned into Raviathan’s mind. His mother had almost done this. Had she made a different choice, these words would have been hers.

Darkspawn blood. Could he do it? Run? Duncan turned then, handing the chalice to the first initiate. “Daveth. Step forward.”

The thief, for all his fear of witches and the cautious sneaking about, took the chalice without hesitation. He looked into the potion’s depths for a second before putting the chalice to his lips to drink. He handed the chalice back to Duncan with a grimace but otherwise seemed fine. Not so bad. Raviathan felt a sense of relief. It was disgusting, but he could do that. His heart continued to beat too quickly, but he could do this.

A second later Daveth staggered, grasping his head in pain. A choked gurgle tore from his throat. It sounded like he had swallowed his own tongue as he tried to scream. His balance gone, Daveth swayed then jerked up suddenly. His eyes had rolled back leaving only blind white orbs that glowed in the darkened temple ruin.

Jory backed away, “Maker’s breath!” Raviathan knew Jory would go for his sword rather than take the potion. The knight would run into the night if he could.

“I am sorry, Daveth,” Duncan said though the man was already too far gone. Daveth convulsed, clutching at his throat as he fell. Even his scream was taken away as a guttural hiss replaced it. The man fell to his knees then was dead. His body collapsed with a few twitches before it stilled. Without any hesitation, without so much as a pause, Duncan turned to the next candidate. “Step forward, Jory.”

That cold turning away chilled Raviathan more than anything. Daveth lay dead, Duncan the executioner, and… nothing? A few words of grief? Holy fuck. Raviathan could hear his heart thudding in his chest like a racing rabbit. Wardens do what they must. He had heard the words, thought he understood them, but this… relentlessness… it shocked him as nothing else. A flash of insight showed him what he would become, made him wonder and fear the experiences that would make him that unforgiving.

The warrior reached for his sword, sputtering, “No. My wife. A child.”

“There is no turning back.” The stern resolution in Duncan’s face would take no excuse. Raviathan had never been afraid of Duncan, but he was then. He watched frozen in horror. Would Duncan turn on him as well? Duncan’s words came back, the Grey Wardens do what they must. Fuck.

“Had I known!” Jory cried in panic. “No! You ask too much.” He backed away with his sword before him. “There is no glory in this!”

Duncan’s knife was out. Jory’s first swing came in high, but Duncan deflected it. Duncan parried Jory’s second attack swinging the warrior’s blade wide. Before Jory could muster a defense, Duncan’s curved blade sliced deep into the warrior’s belly. A disconnected part of Raviathan’s mind thought, angled up to puncture his lungs. He’ll be dead soon. Blood spurted out as Jory gave a last wet cry. His eyes went wide in pain. “I am sorry,” said Duncan as he held Jory’s dying body. The blade exited, and Duncan stepped away as Jory’s life spilled out and he fell.

The Grey Wardens do what they must, echoed in Raviathan’s dazed mind. Duncan continued, “Rav. It is your turn.”

Only an hour ago Raviathan had been tracing about the Wilds with these two men. They weren’t strangers. They didn’t do anything to deserve their deaths.

 
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