Over the course of his life and his career as a Templar, Alderic had been given few occasions to pray so fervently as he did then, in the hours following the Joining ritual. It had been hours since the ceremony had concluded, but with his eyes pressed shut and his mind far away -- fully occupied by desperate prayers and the lingering fog of lyrium -- all concept of the passage of time was lost on the newly-turned Warden.
He had returned to his temporary quarters much earlier, his conversation with Bethen and the heavy smoke from the funeral pyres both trailing after him. Drifting down the hallway where he and the other Templars had been situated, the two neighboring doors opening into pitch black rooms, now empty, only served as yet another reminder of what had been lost that night. Alderic had carefully removed his armor, a ritual in and of itself, but it had only taken a few restless moments lying on his bed to realize he would not be getting any sleep that night. His mind was still swimming, a nonstop assault of imagery made all the more vivid by the lyrium. There would be no rest for him, not for a long time.
So he had done what he could think of, setting off once again for the town's Chantry and leaving his armor behind. Given his current state, it suddenly felt much too heavy for him to carry.
There Alderic had remained, unmoving. At that late hour, with most of the town still well asleep, there was no one to break him from his communion -- no one to hear his words but the Maker, no one to see him save the stone face of Andraste staring down from the altar he knelt at. His prayers were not for himself, nor had they been when he had briefly attended the funeral held on the cliffs that night. Instead they were for the faces still clear in his mind -- many he knew, several he did not, all of which he knew he would remember until he drew his last breath.
'Eternal rest grant unto them, oh Maker, and let perpetual light shine upon them. Do not let them be abandoned in the hour of their death. Accept, oh Lord, the prayers which I offer for them, and call them to the glory of your golden city. May they find peace at your side.'
Then distantly, a rooster crowed, it's voice finding him like a bell through the darkness and awakening him much differently than those still in their beds. For the first time in hours, he opened his eyes, to find a few beams of sunlight beginning to creep through the windows. The last clinging remnants of lyrium in his veins made the light shine mercurial silver in the dimness of the Chantry. Only the previous night, he had watched the sun set through the same windows, but it felt like another lifetime ago. Had he really been there that long...?
At once Alderic realized that, with morning approaching, the town would soon be awake, and the Chantry would be busy with morning services and prayers. He had remained long enough, and had no particular desire to plague anyone with his current state. Reaching out to grasp the railing before him, he hauled himself to his feet -- no easy effort with his still sore muscles. Once standing, he wavered uneasily for a moment, grimacing and drawing a sharp breath through his teeth at the sudden rush of pain to his formerly numb knees, and the wave of nausea that rolled over him.
'Tomorrow is going to be miserable,' he thought to himself. For an entire multitude of reasons.
Once reasonably sure of his footing, he finally began to walk, opening the doors of the Chantry heavily. The motion immediately set his head spinning again, the ground slanting away from him, and he stopped to lean against the now closed doors.
Of the fact that someone was waiting for him outside, he was entirely oblivious.