The Warden & Alistair: Vampire Hunters?

[bamftastik]

Admittedly, the idea for this started out as a bit of a joke. Let's put vampires in the DA universe, haha. But what if it was the taint? The mythology's already there - the fact that humans/elves/dwarves can contract it, the fact that the Wardens themselves will one day turn...

I dunno, really... but so far it's fun!

Title: Tainted, Prologue & Chapter 1
Characters: Mahariel, Alistair, Duncan, Sten, Avernus, Levi, Herren
Rating: T
Words: 1,000/2,400
Summary: When Tamlen attacked the companions' camp, Tia Mahariel found herself unable to stop him. It was a mistake that cost her everyone she loved. They walk the world now as tainted creatures and Tia has sworn - along with Alistair - to hunt them down. For they are Grey Wardens, and it's only a matter of time before the taint takes them too.



Prologue

There was a time when people didn't believe in darkspawn. With the Blight ended, they'll forget again soon enough. We thought we understood them, that the archdemon was the worst of it. With it dead, the darkspawn would be little more than mindless animals. We were wrong.

The taint could take people too - humans, elves, even dwarves. I'd seen the effects firsthand. I'd seen people I love bound to the archdemon's song. There was only one way out: a quick death. But I couldn't even manage to give them that.

Duncan was the first. That's how we knew that something had changed. I can't say why we went back to Ostagar again. The first two times hadn't ended well. But Alistair, my partner - maybe he figured that with the Blight over, we could finally lay those memories to rest.

Duncan should have been immune; all Grey Wardens are, at least for the first thirty years. But Alistair said he had already begun to show signs, even before I'd met him. He'd been planning his final trip into the Deep Roads. I suppose now I understand the reason for that. No one's ever seen an old Grey Warden. But it doesn't kill them. No, that would be a blessing. I wonder how many of them are down there still.

I don't know how he survived but - whatever happened - he had managed to make it though the battle, elude the darkspawn that came after. But there is no hiding from the taint once it's in your blood. And, by the time we found him, he was something else.

Like I said, I'd seen the taint. We both had. But that wasn't Duncan. When he came striding into our camp that night, he looked exactly as I remembered him - proud, vibrant, smiling with some secret that we couldn't possibly guess. It was more than just the shadows. I thought I was dreaming.

And when he attacked us... well, I panicked. Blessed Mythal, he was quick. Strong. Certain. The only thing he shied from was our fire, but I didn't notice it at the time. It was only by chance that there were still weapons lying half-buried in the mud, only chance that Alistair's hand happened to fall upon a dagger made of silver. Softer than steel, I'm not sure who would have wanted such a weapon, but it did the trick. Alistair was never quite the same after that.

With the archdemon gone, those who were tainted were freed from its song. Darkspawn have always been mindless creatures, but those who had minds of their own before... you'd hope they'd become themselves again. And you'd be wrong.

They're quicker than us. Stronger than us. Fire, silver and daylight are the only weaknesses that we have found. I suppose I should thank the Creators that we have any advantage at all. Because, unlike their darkspawn cousins, the tainted didn't return to the ground. That had never been their place. I once heard of a woman who simply returned home after the Blight. The song might have been gone, but the hunger never left her. Half the village was dead before some lucky archer chanced to strike her with a lighted arrow.

Most of them make new lives, though, reveling in their hunger, their power. But they can be killed. And I have to say, we're getting pretty good at it.

Sometimes I wonder if it's not a futile effort. There seem to be more of them these days, as if the taint is spreading. For me and Alistair, it's too late. In twenty more years - twenty-five if we're lucky - we'll be just like them. We won't let it get that far, of course. We've sworn to end it for each other when the time comes. And - Creators preserve me - sometimes I pray that I go first.

But first, I have a debt to pay.

I wonder if he's out there. I wonder if he knows that I'm hunting him. I said I'd seen the taint before. I said I'd lost someone I love. His name was Tamlen.

He came to us much like Duncan had, but this was during the Blight, when the archdemon still held its sway. Tamlen. The withered, pitiful thing that collapsed at my feet couldn't have been the boy that I had known. But never could I forget that voice, rasping but so familiar, begging me to make an end to it. I held him there on the edge of camp, listening to his pleas, crying with him… but I failed him. I failed them all.

Wynne came and knelt beside us, thinking to offer healing. But Tamlen... Tamlen stirred at the smell of her and, before I realized what was happening, he had torn out her throat. Then he was in the camp. He cut through my people - warrior, mage, assassin, it made no matter - before I could catch my breath. And I... I let him.

I can only guess that he left Alistair and I because we're Grey Wardens. We're tainted already and would join him soon enough. But the others...

I ran and Alistair followed. I don't even know what happened to them, couldn't even bear to see what I had done. But I know they're out there. I've had word of them, every one.

And that's why we do what we do. That's why we hunt our friends. Before this curse takes me, I swear that I will find them. I swear that I will give them the clean death that I should have given them long ago. And Tamlen... I loved you most of all. Know that I'm coming for you. Know that you're going to die.

My name is Tia Mahariel and I'm a Grey Warden. I'm guilty, tainted and someday I might be just like the rest of them. But not today.

-----

Chapter 1

The first one was easy... and, by that, I simply mean that we didn't have to look very hard. The letter was waiting for us with Master Wade, a smith in Denerim who occasionally provides us with supplies. It was he who forged my silver-threaded mail, the silver inlays on Alistair's breastplate. Weapons too - though not without complaining that he's an armorsmith, more than a simple blade-maker. Alistair still carries the dagger that killed Duncan, but Wade managed to work some silver into the tip and edges of his longsword and forge a similar shortblade for me. I make my own arrowheads - silver, too - even the ones that I bind and soak in oil. You can never be too prepared when it comes to the taint.

If Wade wonders at all the silver, he hasn't mentioned it. I think his partner, Herren, suspects something, but he's never done more than roll his eyes and complain that we're driving away the customers that can actually pay. That day, he was complaining about something else.

"Message for the Warden! Message for the Warden? I'm not your personal answering service, you know."

The note was short, to the point.

I have what you seek.
-A.

Reading over my shoulder, Alistair groaned. "That's just what we need."

There was a time when Alistair and I were the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden. It's not true anymore - there are the Orleasians rebuilding in the north, had been Riordan who gave his life to end the Blight. But it wasn't strictly true before then either. Maybe Tamlen wasn't the first of my mistakes.

As we approach Soldier's Peak, Alistair starts grumbling again. "'End the Blight at any cost.' Isn't that what you said?"

"It's what the Grey Wardens have always done."

"Right. And now the Blight's over."

I stop, turning to look up at him as our boots sink deeper into the snow. There was a time when he deferred to me in almost everything, when he was still half a child. We both were. I try to tell myself that I'd rather have this hardened soldier at my back in a fight, but I can't help but miss the way things used to be.

"It's never over."

"Maker's breath, Tia. We're talking about blood magic."

"Everything seems like blood magic lately. Maybe it's time we leveled the playing field."

The words are harsh, but I don't mean them to be. I've had my doubts about Avernus - have never stopped having them, in truth. Every part of me wants to turn from the fortress and run as far and as fast as my legs will carry me.

But he says that he can help us. Hope feels strange these days.

The Veil is thin here. I'm no mage, but even I can feel it whispering across my skin. Soldier's Peak is full of ghosts - more than memories, more than regrets. We've fought them, spoken with them, brokered a demon's deal that sent ripples through the Fade itself. As we pass beneath the broken gates, the courtyard is empty. Even the Drydens have fled, merchants with their own ties to this haunted place, old companions to whom I had once granted stewardship. Only Avernus remains.

"Last chance to walk away." Alistair tries a smile - another shadow of the past - but his voice is hushed and heavy and my hand's already on the weathered door.

It's cleaner than I remembered. The Drydens had at least made their way into the main foyer, stacking it with crates and doing their best to thin the encroaching dust. But there's no one here now. Nothing's been touched in weeks. Somehow, it feels colder inside than out.

"Where is everyone?"

I shake my head, slipping my bow from my shoulder as Alistair draws his sword. "You'd prefer another welcoming party?"

"Good point."

"Me, I like the quiet."

The scream seems to erupt from the very bowels of the keep, a howling moan that sends dust raining down from the rafters. I shriek, sending an arrow thudding into an old and sagging wardrobe.

It passes as quick as it had come and Alistair chuckles. Striding forward, he jerks the arrow free and hands it back to me. "What'd the cabinet ever do to you?"

"Shut up." I pretend not to notice the way his hand trembles. Examining the arrowhead, I curse beneath my breath. Bent, useless. Damn.

Neither of us mentions the scream again; neither of us dares to speculate. Yet, we move more quickly. Caution is one thing, but I get the feeling that both of us would love something to hit. Besides, we know where we're going now.

Avernus' tower is separate from the main keep, accessible only by a high, exterior bridge. It's held up well enough and, for a few brief moments, I'm grateful to be beneath the sun again. The scream comes again as we approach the final door and this time we're almost ready for it. At least I don't kill any innocent pieces of furniture.

"Avernus!" I throw open the door and step into the shadows. Letting him know that it's us… letting whatever else is in here know exactly where we are.

"Warden." My eyes haven't adjusted; the voice seems disembodied, smugly welcoming. It's almost lost beneath the panting - heavy, rumbling gasps that seem to suck the stillness from the air. Someone else is here.

The old mage strikes a match, lighting a single candle at the room's center. As I watch, the flame seems to multiply, flickering to life in the sconces lining the walls.

"Neat trick. Might be something we could use."

Avernus smiles, an unsettling and twisted thing. He looks much as I remembered him - exactly the same, actually - bald and sallow cheeked, aged beyond comprehension. It's the blood magic. Behind me, I feel Alistair stiffen.

"We mages do have certain... advantages." He paces forward, revealing the thick-legged table behind him. "To summon fire at will, among other things. Perhaps that is why the tainted took the Tower first."

I'm not listening to him; I seem to be moving forward through no will of my own, drawn to the table with its rattling and straining chains. He's bound there, writhing and growling like a great beast, testing the limits of metal and wood. It's only as I draw closer that I see the chains are silver, the skin smoking where they cut deep into his wrists and ankles, leaving a hissing gash where they wrap round that massive, heaving chest.

Creators, no. Sten.

Alistair asks the question that I should have, dividing his looks of horror between the old mage and the dying Qunari. "The Tower? They're in the Tower?"

"Oh yes." Avernus stalks to my side, admiring his handiwork. "The Templars chiefly, from what I hear. They have finally found a way to fight back against us vile mages." He rasps a laugh. "With this creature's speed and strength added to their - shall we call it - devotion... well, I'm sure you can imagine."

"Great." Alistair keeps his distance, but inches close enough to watch Sten over my shoulder.

He's dying; I don't know how I know, but I do. "What have you done to him?"

"We cannot expect to understand the taint unless we study it. I had a mind to write and ask for your assistance in bringing me one of the creatures, but as fortune had it this one came to me. Bound for Seheron he was and thought to spend the night in a place he knew would be abandoned."

"How did you manage to capture him?"

He smirks. "As I said... advantages."

Sten growls, twisting toward the sound of our voices. His eyes are bloodshot, teeth jagged as they seem to become in all of those with the taint. He gnashes them at me, but there is no recognition there.

"Ah. He is hungry." Avernus moves deeper into the room, disappearing into a shadowed corner.

Alistair steps close. "Hungry?"

When Avernus returns, he is dragging another chained figure by his side. The man is naked, filthy, human. When he peers up from beneath lank and tangled hair, I gasp. "Levi."

But Avernus holds up a warning hand. "You knew the price, Warden." Dragging him closer, he pushes Levi down toward the table, offering Sten his neck. It looks as though it has already been torn and healed and torn again. He doesn't even struggle.

"What happened to the rest of the Drydens?" I know the answer, but can't keep the words from my lips. Anything to drown the sound of Sten's meal.

"In order to continue my studies, I had to keep the beast reasonably healthy. You understand."

Creators help me.

"Your Levi has proved more resilient than most." Avernus steps round the table, pulling a thin silver dagger from his belt. "Of late, I have been studying the skin. They heal remarkably quickly, you see, and it is hard and cold as stone. Silver is the only thing that can truly cut it." He presses the blade against the meat of Sten's thigh, flaying it in one quick, clean motion. The Qunari bucks, but it's Levi who screams.

"Stop it!" I dart forward, but Avernus tosses the strip of skin in my direction and I catch it instinctively. I drop it immediately and Alistair doubles over to vomit.

"I thought I might make you a new set of gloves, Warden."

"You sick bastard!" Alistair's righted himself and drawn his sword.

"Stop there." Avernus waves his hand and again the flames dance, leaping from the walls to form a line across the floor. They hiss higher, ringing the table round, blocking us out. "Remember Warden. You asked for this."

We can only watch as he jerks Levi away from Sten, only scream as he smiles and buries his own face in the man's neck. Avernus' eyes never waver from mine as he drinks deep, blood running from his lips and down across Levi's naked check. When at last he is sated, he throws back his head with a hiss, letting the merchant crumple to the ground.

Still the flames dance between us. "You're one of them."

"But I could not very well study myself, could I? I am a learned man above all else."

"You said it was blood magic."

"And so it is, in its way. The same and yet not. I've merely found that the taste of living blood does much to keep the taint at bay. It is something you would do well to consider, Warden."

"What!?" Alistair darts forward, sword flashing, but Avernus only sneers as the flames leap higher.

The old mage laughs.

"Alistair!" I pull him back as he reels from the fire, whispering close in his ear. "Just keep him talking."

He looks at me helplessly, but moves again toward the barrier. "I always knew you were crazy, but if you think we'd even consider that..."

"And why not, boy? You've already lost. Don't you want to live forever?"

The table is sturdy - it would have to be to support Sten's weight - and the chains are thickly forged. But where the two meet... I can just spot the rings that the chains are looped through, the brackets already loosening where they were melded to the wood. I glance toward Avernus, see the intricate patterns he is working in the flames between him and Alistair. It's now or never. Andruil guide my hand.

I whip the bow from my back, nocking an arrow before either of them can turn. It streams through the flames, but finds its mark and I'm already saying a silent prayer of thanks as I nock the second. Sten howls as I free a leg and then an arm. That's all it takes.

The table collapses as he twists sideways, ripping his other arm free. It's slow that he staggers to his feet, but Avernus' flames have done their trick. We're on the outside of the ring; he and Sten are trapped within. My old friend looks down at him for a long moment, chest heaving still, eyes wide and wild. One huge hand wraps round the mage's shoulder and suddenly he seems a small and frightened thing. When the arm is ripped away, the scream is unlike anything I have ever heard.

It's not a slow death. Sten doesn't feed, but when he is through there is nothing of Avernus left. What few bits of flesh weren't scattered into the flames blacken and turn to ash - the way their kind always die. Alistair looks away, but I force myself to watch. I did this.

When it's over, Sten bends double, panting. Now is the moment. It would be nothing for those long legs to step through the flames and finish us both.

Raising his head, he looks at me. I can't read his expression but, then again, I never could. Straightening stiffly, Sten turns and steps across the barrier.

But he moves slowly. I watch as the flames seem to wrap round his ankles, trailing with him as he comes to stand before me. I realize I'm holding my breath. He could tear my head from my shoulders now and it would be no more than I deserve.

When he falls to his knees, I gasp. He buries his head against my middle, burning still, twitching with the pain of it. Oh, gods. I pull away carefully, kneeling before him, surprised to look up and see his features twisting openly.

Drawing my blade from my side, I hesitate. But Sten sags, resting his head against my shoulder with the faintest of whimpers. I drive the blade home.

I hold him until the ash takes him, spreading from fire and silver both. It seems the flames died with Avernus, sputtering low as Alistair helps me to my feet. I approach the remains of the old mage slowly, fishing in his blacked robes to find the silver dagger and tuck it into my belt.

Alistair follows my lead and begins gathering up the chains. It's a moment before he finds his voice, but I know the question even before he asks it. "He was a Warden..."

"Yes."

"So that's what's going to happen to us?"

"Not if we don't let it."

He hesitates. Dropping the chains, he closes the gap between us, pulling me into his arms. I rest my head against his chest, but find that the tears won't come.

We'd killed Sten. We'd kill them all. And the only solace left is the knowledge that we will one day kill each other.