"Ser Flann, step forward," Alistair called out as soon as the young elven woman had been cleared away, Russil's name sounding strange coming from the Warden-Commander's mouth. It was still jarring to see him as an adult and a superior on the other side of this pedestal, when the first time they had met, Alistair had just been the strange bastard son of a servant at the castle when Russil began squiring for Arl Eamon. Russil recalled his return to their village as a young man, standing shoulder to shoulder with him and the other Warden, when the first wave of undead came rushing down that hill. They had raised their swords together then, and again at the gates of Denerim. It was partially for this reason that Russil knew it was right for him to be here, and no other knight of Redcliffe in his place.
Where others had been paying respect to the Warden-Commander as they took their turn, Alistair bowed his head at him when he passed the chalice over, and Russil returned the gesture before drinking from the goblet. He tried not to dwell too much on the taste or the odor; he'd burned through corpses and swallowed more tar-like beverages distilled by dwarves before. This was on par with the worst he'd ever imbibed, but nothing so terrible to make him wretch in the same way he had seen Ser Agrona do. Calmly, he put the chalice back on the pedestal and waited.
A worn amulet pressed against Russil's chest, underneath the layers of his shirt and tunic, a relic that he had held close to his heart since the day he had received it fifteen years ago. Perhaps it was not truly as blessed as Mother Hannah would have had them believe, no better a trinket than any other carving of the Chantry's symbol, but it had been with him through the worst and the best of days and it comforted him to think it was at least a very lucky gift, if not a ward of protection from the Maker. His piety could never match up to Ser Perth's, but he did pray now that he would be able to endure this impending suffering. And if not, that at least others would be able to follow in his place and bring the Grey Wardens to victory against the Blight.
In retrospect, Russil had led a fulfilling life, even without planting roots in it, and had no regrets. There were no experiences that he thought he had missed out on in all forty-one years. He was no longer youthful and sprightly anymore; compared to the majority of these recruits, he was practically ancient. They were but children when he had already been knighted. As a younger man, he had traversed the span of Ferelden on adventure, fought back evils in defense of his lord and his land, seen and done more than the average citizen could ever hope to aspire to. It would be ideal to come through this experience just as well, but if this was where his questing stopped, he would be satisfied with what he had accomplished.
The subsequent waves of agony were insurmountable. His head was throbbing, his joints so sharp with pain and pressure that he wished he could remove his limbs. Russil had been brutalized, stabbed countless times, and beaten within an inch of his life before, but this was like every single injury in one great blow. Every battle scar and every bone that had been knit together felt like they were going to split wide open again. When he finally opened his eyes again he was on his back, dazed and in anguish, panting for air that refused to enter his lungs. He felt like he was drowning. Tears were blurring his vision, but he could see people standing over him.
"Maker...h-have mercy... I can't--" he gasped, and could see the pity in Alistair's expression as he looked down. "Just-- Please...end this..." Russil managed to wheeze one more time, grabbing for the man's leg. He shut his eyes then, and began to convulse violently, until his heart was stopped by the swift and sharp pressure of the Warden-Commander's blade. To anyone who was looking closely at Alistair, they may have noticed a prayer fleeing his lips as he removed the tip of his sword. The sorrow lingered in his voice as he called up the next recruit to the challenge.