boxofmisfits | A Sith & A Mage & Hijinks...

It had been a week now since that day they had decided to start traveling together.

It had been nice- traveling alongside someone else, having stories shared with him and even sharing some very heavily edited ones of his own given that edited stories were all he could offer without sounding completely off in the head. It had also been difficult given that Altair had to be very careful to not let even a slip of skin show. Wandering off on his own during times Anders was otherwise occupied to clean himself or to eat or drink.

Still, Altair preferred it to traveling alone- even if he had found a lot of ghosts along the way to talk to. Having a friend among the living was nice too.

As they traveled on this particular day, the light was quickly being replaced with the darkness of night.

Some old and unused path through a forest, that had once been a well-traveled road if the old rock fence he was currently keeping his balance on as he walked along the top of it rather than on the path through the trees was anything to go by- maybe the place had been settled some time ago. Maybe people had lived out here. It seemed likely, all things considered. Maybe they'd find something neat if they kept walking in this direction.

Who knew.

He wasn't so focused on that at the moment though, instead keeping his head tilted back so his face was turned up to the sky- knowing that the stars would be starting to come out soon.

"Do you ever wonder if there's life out there?" He asked his companion, breaking the comfortable silence they'd been traveling in for a little while.

It was a question that had been on his mind, all things considered.

Maybe there was a similar Empire to his own out there. Maybe a Galactic Republic or something like it. Or perhaps all the worlds out there were like this one- still so early in their development.

Altair wondered if this planet had even gotten to the part of history where they were wondering or theorizing about whether or not there was life out in space too. Maybe he was sounding completely insane to Anders by asking.

But then, a lot of things Altair had said and done since they first met probably seemed completely insane, so it really was business as usual.

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"Far too many people are idiotic, then. Still. I don't ever want to become one of those people who only talk without actually doing anything about the injustices they witness."

Altair let go of Anders's hand once they reached the remains of the house. He could still feel the terror the victims of the Templars had felt in their last moments, heat and smoke and ash and suffocating. He hoped that they could give them some peace by sending them off properly. He hoped they wouldn't have to stay here, lost in that pain forever. He knew how terrible a fate that was.

"I'd offer to say a prayer of my own people, but I don't think that'd be very helpful. Our faith is quite different from what people here believe."

He tilted his head toward Anders and then toward the remains of the house as though looking between them, "Just let me know what you need me to do to help."

Anders was the one who could cremate them- with magic, Altair assumed- but he wanted to help however he could too.

"Well, the burning part is the important bit. Our dead are burnt like Andraste was. Plus, there's the idea that this way they can't become walking corpses should a malificar stroll through."

Approaching the house, Anders took a moment to mentally prepare himself, before stepping into the charred remains. There were no animal corpses, thank the Maker, but it looked like none of their possessions had survived.

He looked down at the bodies. They'd clung to each other in their final moments, accepting death.

"Maker watch over you both. May you find peace."

With a flick of his hand, the bodies were lit anew.

"It's almost ironic. The Templars wear the symbol to represent the sword of mercy that was used to kill Andraste as she burnt, but they know nothing of mercy themselves. And what they do consider a mercy is worse than death for many mages."

As they entered the charred remains of the house, Altair just barely resisted kicking the body of the Templar who had died just outside it. The temptation was there as the Templar had been nothing and no one deserving honor in life or in death, but it was a bit juvenile even for him. So he resisted.

Instead staying close to Anders, so he could provide comfort in proximity at least.

His head tilted down at the sound of flames- a silent prayer of his own, and the wish for them to find peace. The place felt a bit lighter already- not entirely. But still. Just a little. Enough to be able to hope that the feeling of pain and fear would fade away eventually.

"I think I'll revise my earlier statement and say that the only good Templar and the only merciful Templar is a dead one. I don't want to imagine the cruelty necessary to do something like this and still consider oneself a decent sort."

Maybe he'd kick that Templar's corpse on the way out.

"Is leaving flowers for the dead something commonly done here? I think I'd like to leave some here for these two."

That would mean going out to pick some and coming back, but Altair was willing to take the time.

"The good ones are the ones who wake up and leave the Order." Anders watched the bodies burn, using magic to make it hotter so they would burn faster. "The king of Ferelden is a former Templar turned Grey Warden. He used to travel with the Warden-Commander during the Blight, before he was crowned. He said that the man was a Templar initiate before the Wardens recruited him, and he never wanted to be a Templar in the first place."

That was a good Templar in Anders's mind. One who saw the Order for what it was and took the first opportunity to get out. The Grey Wardens actually did fight evil in the name of protecting Thedas.

"Yes, Fereldens leave flowers for the deceased. I think they deserve it."

"That would count as a good one too, yes," Altair agreed, with a slight nod of the head. Choosing something different or dead, then. The only two possibilities for a good Templar. He could live with that, since it meant that it was unlikely that they'd ever kill a good one, since a good one would no longer act as the true believers did, Altair imagined.

"Were there any flowers near here?"

That was difficult to tell with just the Force as his guide. He could tell when there were obstacles in his way, but telling the difference between grass and flowers when just passing through an area was a bit beyond even him.

"That's the thing, isn't it? They can choose to be Templars, and they can choose to leave. But I can't choose to not be a mage." Not unless he were made Tranquil.

"There were flowers just to the east of here. I can show you where the patch is once I'm finished with this." He didn't want to risk the fire spreading.

"It is," Altair said, remaining close, despite being bad with high temperatures. Magical fire apparently burned hotter than the regular kind, or was perhaps made to burn hotter in this case. There was perhaps a bit of discomfort in his body language, though not so much that it was concerning.

Even if he was very uncomfortable he would still have stayed. He didn't like leaving the side of those he cared for in situations like these.

"They could wake up one day and say that they no longer want to be cruel, that they never want to lay a hand on a mage ever again, and yet..."

Well, it was difficult to tell what went on in the mind of a Templar. Not because it was terribly complex, but because Altair had never liked seeing the world in black and white. It was a too simple and too cruel way to see the world. He didn't want to think about what was necessary to look at a mage and not see a person with fears and hopes and dreams the same as any other living being.

"I'd rather not try to understand what goes on inside the minds of the true believers I suppose. I'm no stranger to killing, but what the Templars are doing is too sadistic and too systematic to describe in as simple a term as murder."

"The Chantry preaches that because we mages have such awesome power at our fingertips, then the situation is about even. We're dangerous, they say, and thus we're on equal footing with the Templars. We can light villages on fire, and thus we need to be kept under lock and key, for the protection of all."

He watched the bodies burn. It wouldn't be long now before they were both ash.

Glancing at Altair, he noted the discomfort in his body language. "You don't have to stand here."

"Fuck the Chantry," Altair said, with enough bitterness in his voice that suggested that there were a lot more words he'd like to say, "And fuck the Templars. Anyone with a working moral compass can tell that this is wrong."

That was what Altair wanted to believe, anyway.

"And I'm fine. I struggle a little around higher temperatures, but it's nothing I can't endure for a short while."

Which Anders had perhaps noticed already, given that Altair tended to stay a bit further away from the fire whenever they set up camp.

"What sort of friend would I be if I left you to do this all alone just over a bit of discomfort?"

"Someone from my Warden days once pointed out how ironic it is, that Andraste rebelled against a tyrannical empire, only for her followers to start one themselves." He wanted to believe that Andraste wouldn't want this, that she wouldn't have wanted her followers to use her words to enslave others. But perhaps she wanted this all along, and was just as bad as those she inspired.

It wasn't much longer before the bodies were nothing but ash and the fire died down. Putting a hand on Altair's shoulder, Anders steered him in the direction of the field.

"The flowers are this way."

A Sith & A Mage & Hijinks...

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