A/N: Oh damn, it feels nostalgic to go back from Ao3 to FFN after so long, tbh. I have decided to publish my rewrite of OEaH now in a separate story after all, because the mish-mash of old and new did not mesh well and is confusing for reader seeking out to, well, read the story only to be greeted with a vast dip in quality after a while, when reaching my old version from 2011 again. A lot has changed since then, especially regarding my (way of) writing and I want my labor of love story to reflect that, hence the rewrite.

However, my main focus will always be on Ao3 now, which means that publishing chapters there takes priority and thus Ao3 will always have the latest chapter of this ongoing story, with FFN trailing two chapters behind as the backup version. If you want to read the up to date version of this story, do seek me out on Ao3 under the same nickname (Merilsell) and same story name via goggle and you should find it easily enough.

For all new people: Welcome, I hope you enjoy your stay. This will be far more than just a simple rehashing of game events. I'll give the Dalish origin and Warden and all her companions more substance and depth with lots of added (and canon divergence) scenes, and more extensive/in depth-dialogue. I'm a very character-focused writer, who likes to take things slow but steady. No matter if it is character development, or the relationships to each character. It all makes it more realistic, imo.

So buckle up as you return with me to Dragon 9:30- this is going to be a looooong story :)

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*~Home is behind
The world ahead
And there are many paths to tread
Through shadow
To the edge of night
Until the stars are all alight...~*
- Pippin; LotR, Return of the king

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Chapter 1: New People And Old Problems

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Ostagar was brimming with hectic activity.

People rushed back and forth in between the widespread mass of tents, barking orders at servants and soldiers alike. The sound intermingled with the metallic clang of swords clashing and grunts of exertion of men and women testing their skills against each other.

Trails of green leaves mixed with scarlet upon cracked white stone hushed aside whenever a messenger rushed from one place to another. Placed amidst nature as the ancient tevinter ruins were, it was no surprise to find evidence of a waning summer here, instead of only cold, splintered stone. After all, its strategic placement at the edge of the Korcari Wilds was the reason why the ruin still existed and why they all were here for the upcoming battle.

Dressed in the heavy armor set of standard Warden uniform, Alistair tried to ignore the commotion around him. Between two sets of crumbling stone pillars and under the warmth of the midday sun, he had found his own little place of respite. It was far from being quiet here, and yet it was a vast improvement from the boisterous volume of the main Warden camp. Besides, he needed time away from them to lick his wounds, or more like his wounded pride. His fellow Warden – a gruff city elf from Gwaren named Deyron – had sent him down on his ass more times during their long sparring match than he cared to count.

Damn these weaselly, dexterous rogues with their stabbing knives and daggers everywhere! They already had one weapon more than him to stab someone with, so, to even out the chances, they should at least be forced to slow down during a fight. Of course, no one had told Deyron that before their match. The elf, despite being half his height, had bestowed upon him a beautiful collection of arse bruises, which would turn a simple task such as sitting down into a painful ordeal for the next couple of days. Alistair snorted, wryly amused at his own predicament. After all, the sparring match had been his idea to begin with, to work on the shortcomings of his training he still needed to iron out. Especially when it came to facing dual-wielding, stabby rogues, which had turned out just as well as he'd thought in the end. At least killing darkspawn would be more forward in the upcoming battle - or so he hoped.

"Hey, doll."

Speaking of stabby rogues, one of them stood propped against the adjutant wall, his body turned toward the unfortunate female soldier next to him. Daveth was one of the recruits Duncan had found earlier, though Alistair wasn't quite sure what his mentor had seen in him. It couldn't have been his smug sense of superiority nor his lack of respect for women, that was certain.

"Wanna release some tension before the battle?"

As far across the area as they were from where he sat, Alistair couldn't see the woman's expression. If she was cringing even half as hard as he was at Daveth's words, this conversation wouldn't last long.

"Oh yes, sure," she said. Her ensuing laughter was bright, friendly.

Wait, what? Alistair blinked. That… worked ? He'd never understand women – oh. Still reeling from the unexpected turn of events, he nearly missed the resounding slap Daveth received.

"Thank you. I feel much less tense already," he heard the woman say as she turned around and stormed away, leaving a dumbfounded Daveth behind.

Shit. He shouldn't laugh, he really really shouldn't - especially since his aptitude for flirting was virtually non-existent. Alistair coughed to stifle said laugh and hid his grin behind a hand - with questionable success. The female soldier had stormed off toward his general direction. When she passed Alistair, within his secluded spot, their eyes met. Noticing his amusement, she smiled at him.

Alistair sputtered as he quickly glanced away, the heat rising in his cheeks. Still fixating on the ground, he took several stabilizing breaths, peeved with his inability to even look at a woman without turning into a beet-red, bumbling idiot. Maker, would this ever get easier?

Lost in thought as he was, he didn't notice the hulking figure approaching him. Only as the person blocked out the sun with their sheer mass, he blinked up at them, recognizing his fellow Warden. "Oh hi, Junan. Nice of you to worry that I don't get sunburned. You know, my skin is so sensitive."

The bulky man raised one black, bushy eyebrow. "Makes sense for you to sit in the midday sun, then."

"Oh, that," Alistair replied in the same snarky tone. "Yes, I was hoping to develop a tan before the battle to look good, but alas..." Leaving the sentence hanging, he pointed at his naturally brown skin.

That elicited a deep chuckle out of the paler man. "What are you doing here, Junior?"

Maker, how he hated that nickname. With a bit of luck he could it finally pass on to the other recruits soon. "Enjoying the sun, until you came along, obviously." Alistair shot him a crooked grin and made a nod toward where Daveth stood. "Also watching the recruits, as is my task as junior member of the Order."

Junan's green eyes flitted over to the momentarily miserable rogue and quickly grasped the situation. "Maker's breath, he tried it again?"

"Yes." The laugh Alistair had suppressed before escaped his throat now. He shrugged a bit. "I'm not sure what Duncan saw in him, to be honest."

"You tell me, Junior. The first time the guy was in our camp he'd tried to pickpocket me."

"What?" Alistair looked up at him, eyes wide. "And still you haven't ripped him apart with your bare hands. Wonders never cease."

"Only because I respect the commander's decision too much and need my strength for the upcoming battle." Junan sighed and drove a large hand through his short-cropped dark hair. "But at least he isn't as stuck up as that knight, Jory. If I have to hear about his wife one more time..."

"Oh, jealous, are we?"

He snorted. "Hardly. Nothing wrong with seeking fleeting diversion, but attachments like that are only a hindrance to who we are and what we do, you know?"

"Yeah..." Alistair agreed, but his heart wasn't in it. Not that he minded when his Grey Warden brothers sought out, well, temporary company, but it simply wasn't something for him. With this life, it was probably foolish to hope for something… deeper than that, though he couldn't help hoping anyway. "Wait." He narrowed his eyes at the involuntary shade provider next to him. "Didn't you have a girl in Denerim?"

"One?" Junan laughed. "Please. One woman is not enough to handle..." He made a sweeping motion over his armored, muscular frame. "... all this."

"Alright." Alistair let his head fall into his gloved hand with a groan. "Forget I asked."

"However, I'm not an ass and am upfront with the girl about it. So she knows exactly what she is agreeing to when-"

"I get it, okay." His tone was harsher than intended, which only added to the new blush spreading across his face. "Spare me the details."

"Whoa, no need to get so defensive, Junior. After all, you asked me, remember?"

Alistair's anger deflated with a sigh. "I know, sorry. It is just-"

"Did Benson and Pirian tease you again for what happened in Denerim?" Junan exhaled with a shake of his head. "Maker, they act as if they were never your age and inexperienced. I told them to drop it, since it is your choice whether or not to spend the night -"

"Yes, I remember." How could he forgot the night where his fellow Wardens lured him into the Pearl under false pretenses? Fade take him, he didn't even know what that place was before. Sure, they had… odd decoration for a tavern, and the women sitting at their table seemed especially fixated on complimenting his appearance. As soon as his fellow Wardens confessed their plan to hook him up with one of them and told him what this place really was (no broth there, none at all), Alistair had bolted into the night, red-faced. The humiliation of the whole situation still gave him nightmares. Well, that and darkspawn.

"I think that, in their own twisted way, they wanted to give you a treat before we had to leave for Ostagar."

Alistair shifted in his stony seat, which only served to remind him of all the bruises forming on his backside. "Um, yeah. I'd prefer a book or a plate of cheese then, instead, thank you very much. Or those tiny Orlesian sweets packed in colorful wraps? I would have taken those too." He frowned at him. "But gifting a woman like a piece of meat? That is all kinds of wrong!"

"The possibility to spend the night with her, not the woman herself, more like." Junan halted with a shudder as a harsh gust of wind hit his pale skin. Ah, yes, Ferelden's legendary brisk weather in action, even in the late summer. Wonderful. High above a vast, stretching forest and close to the Korcari Wilds as they were, the air changed constantly between cold and stuffy. Especially the nights could be uncomfortable and nigh frigid with the howling of the wind in between the cracked stones of the ruins. "Look, Alistair," Junan said, patting him on the shoulder. "No one expects you to run after everything with two legs and tits like Daveth does. That is simply not you..."

"Oh, thank you for your vote of confidence."

"... But if you never even try to talk to women, you'll never find out what you like," Junan finished, despite the sarcastic interruption.

"Oooor maybe there are simply more important things going on right now than my non-existing success with women. Like… oh, I don't know, the upcoming battle against the darkspawn horde approaching Ostagar? And all the talk about it being a Blight?"

"Right." He audibly exhaled. "Back to business, then?"

"I'd prefer that, to be honest," Alistair nodded. "I will still have enough time to make an ass out of myself in between killing darkspawn, don't you worry." He made a face. "Besides, I already had my fair share of that today."

"You mean your sparring match against Deyron?"

"More like the fail thereof."

"Is that why you are out here instead back at camp?" Junan laughed out, then shrugged with his broad shoulders. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Junior. That guy is vicious with his blades. Even took me a few years to best him, so you still got a lot of time to do so - and get better when facing dual wielding rogues. You are young, and you are a fast learner. You will get there, believe me."

"Somehow you sound much more like Duncan than six years my senior right now..." Alistair grinned at his fellow Warden, actually relieved and pleased to be hearing encouragements instead of being teased, for once. While it was all done in a friendly, companionable way by his fellow Wardens, and not at all viciously like some boys did it back in Redcliffe or in the Chantry, it could still be grating at times. "But thanks. Speaking of him, have you heard anything about when Duncan will return from recruiting, well, the third recruit?"

"You mean… like a letter?" Mirroring his grin, Junan produced a folded document out of the small satchel at his belt. "Just came with the king's raven an hour ago. It is the reason I went searching for you, actually. I knew you could use some good news after the sparring gone wrong."

"Aww, you are too good to me..." Showing him a genuine smile, Alistair took the proffered letter to read it, feeling nearly giddy at the prospect. Unfolding it, he saw that Duncan's otherwise clear handwriting was scrawled, the words brief and choppy as if hastily written down. Not only was that odd, but he had obviously also changed his plans. He frowned up at Junan. "Didn't Duncan want to return to Highever or Denerim to search for another recruit?"

"Yes, I think so." His fellow Warden nodded and tilted his head. "Odd that he got stuck halfway in the Brecilian Forest, of all places, huh?"

"There is something written about a 'tainted mirror' he'd found in a cave, but he doesn't elaborate on that. Only that a Dalish hunter from a nearby clan got in contact with it." Alistair's frown deepened. "Huh, didn't know that mirrors could contain the taint. Or any other random object, for that matter. Is this going to be a thing now?" He grimaced. "Please say no."

Junan heaved his shoulders in a shrug. His massive armor creaked with the motion. "In all my years of being a Warden, I have never heard of such a thing. Must be Tevinter then, because, you know, all the bad shit originates from there."

"At least that is what the Chantry tells us," Alistair remarked offhandedly, his tone wry.

He grinned at him. "Well, you tell me. After all, you are the expert here, templar boy."

"Ugh, don't remind me. Six months later and I can still sometimes hear the Grand Cleric yelling in my ear. To this day, I still wonder how Duncan and I left her study in one piece." He focused back on the letter. "It also says that we should prepare the Joining, so it can start almost immediately after their return." Stopping his eyes wandered over the last written part again. "Wait… their return? Does that mean..."

"... the third recruit is Dalish?" Junan finished in his stead. "Yes, though if the mirror was indeed tainted and the hunter came in contact with it-"

"... then he is already tainted?" It would explain why Duncan wanted to conduct the Joining right away. "How can the hunter survive the entire way back?"

He snorted. "How the fuck should I know, Junior? I'm not exactly what you would call an expert regarding the Dalish. Though if the hunter arrives here, still standing on two feet after the forced march back, I say he has a good chance..." Leaning in, he lowered his voice. "... to also survive the Joining."

"Yeah..." Alistair uttered, lost in thought. The memory of his own Joining was still very fresh and vivid in his mind, and it wasn't something he relished remembering. Sure, it did mark the beginning of his new life, complete with freedom from the Chantry, yet he would have gladly missed watching how one of the recruits choked to death upon drinking the darkspawn blood. Maybe the Dalish would be luckier. After all, if the hunter could survive days of forced marching while being tainted, it meant he possessed a great deal of willpower and constitution. "I guess you are right."

"Of course I am." His bellowing laugh nearly got swallowed by the increasing noise of the people scurrying around them. Suddenly, the wind picked up, causing Alistair to shiver with its briskness. It howled in between the brittle stone and added to the overall volume of the area. "As for the Joining, Warden Constable Gable is dealing with the preparations. As soon as he's pulled the stick out of his ass far enough to be able to walk over to the mage encampment, that is. You know how he is." Junan shuddered, though the wind nor cold were the cause.

Right, that man was even more by-the-book than the most pious people back at the monastery. Nor had he any inkling what the word humor even meant. Needless to say, he and Alistair didn't exactly... get along well. All the more a reason to hope for Duncan's swift return, then. "At least you didn't try to argue or joke with him. Maker, I really thought he would wiggle his finger and turn me in a toad when I talked back to him yesterday."

Junan made a face. "Bad idea, Junior. Unless you like hours-long lectures about duty."

"Yeah, I already had ten years of that before the Wardens. So, no, thanks."

"Right." Junan shuffled on his feet, seeming eager to get moving. "Wanna go back to our camp and grab a bite to eat, then?"

Alistair hesitated, uncertain if he wanted to return there just yet. Then again, the king's troops' midday drill had just started not far from him, filling his respite with the noisy sound of clatter of armor and shouts. "Okay. What about… him, though?" He asked and pointed at Daveth.

"Eh, he can get his own food, as soon he is done… doing his thing." Huffing, he leaned in toward Alistair with a slight grin. "I have the feeling that if the Joining doesn't kill him, one of the women here will, for sure."

"That's… reassuring," Alistair quipped and stood up to roll his shoulders. He disliked the faint strain in his muscles and only hoped it wouldn't develop into a full ache later on. Remembering he still held the letter in his hands, he folded it and offered it back to his fellow Warden.

"Ah, no, keep it, Junior." When Alistair was ready to leave, Junan turned to him, chuckling. "I took it when Gable wasn't looking."

"Greeeaaat," he drawled in a sarcastic tone, steering toward their enclosed camp in the southern area of Ostagar with Junan in tow. "Whatever could go wrong with that, I wonder? Just so you know, if he tries to turn me into a toad for this, I'll duck and cover behind you."

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It took four more days to hear word of Duncan again. A scout had sighted him and the recruit at the outer perimeter of the Wilds, which meant he would arrive in an hour or two.

"That is good news, indeed. And about time as well, since I can feel the darkspawn closing in." Standing straight, Gable nodded sternly at the even smaller elf in front of him. "Tell the mages to prepare for the Joining. I will aid them in their task as soon as I am able."

The scout, a spindly archer, gaped at the Warden Constable for a brief moment before backing away. "R-right away, ser."

Then, Gable's gaze fell on Alistair, and he felt like shrinking under his hard stare. What the lanky elven mage lacked in height and stature he certainly evened out tenfold with his authoritative demeanor. "Alistair, go inform the king's encampment of the Commander's impending return."

"Now?" He asked, despite knowing better, and pointed to his plate filled with food. Suddenly, the popping and crackle of the campfire nearby became very loud in his ears. His fellow Wardens had stopped their chatter and instead stared at him. Everyone knew it was better not to argue with Gable, but his growling, empty stomach had momentarily overruled Alistair's sense of duty. And his sense of danger, for that matter. "Can I finish eating, at least?"

Narrowing his eyes at him, Gable made a tiny, annoyed sound at the back of his throat. "Did I not make myself clear enough?"

Right, so much for breakfast. Letting his fork clatter on the plate, Alistair stood up and put the food down. "Fine. But my breakfast better still be there when I return. I get so cranky when I am hungry, and you won't like me then."

Gable's groan made apparent that he didn't like him either way, but he tried to ignore this fact. Like the one that he'd have come face to face with Cailan to deliver the message, which was generally something he tried to avoid. Someone might get a wrong idea when seeing them side by side - or rather, the unfortunate right one. Despite being glad about hearing of Duncan's return, the prospect of meeting his estranged… What? Brother? Half-brother? … Managed to sour his mood nonetheless.

No. Alistair shook his head as he walked past the large sickbay, too occupied with his thoughts to notice the pained ramblings of the soldiers there. The term 'brother' was reserved for his fellow Wardens, because they were his family and cared for him, despite having known him for only half a year. Cailan, however, did not, nor did Alistair expect him to. There was no need to complicate matters by stepping into the king's life now. Being a Warden was what Alistair wanted, had chosen and was actually good at. Duncan said he was worthy of it joining the order, and that was all that mattered. For the first time in his life, he felt as if he belonged somewhere, and he was finally able to make his peace with the past and his heritage.

Turning the corner, he decided to take the longer way, past the ash warriors and the Mabari kennels. Alistair knew it would do little to postpone the inevitable, yet found himself adapting a slower pace. He wrinkled his nose as the wind turned and the reek of wet dog lashed out at him. As a Fereldan, he was not supposed to be bothered by it, but it also brought up childhood memories he wasn't exactly fond of. Despite his intention to dawdle, he walked faster again to pass the kennels and the memories associated with them. In the center area, a priestess held an impromptu mass for a group of soldiers. Jory was among them. Recognizing Alistair, the stout man waved to him, and he acknowledged the Warden recruit with a nod and a wan smile.

He wasn't exactly distant to him or Daveth, and had even trained with both many times over the past weeks, listened to their stories at the camp fire. It was his task as the junior member of the order to take care of them, yet was there a difference between them and his fellow Wardens. Maybe this was because Alistair had known them just for a few weeks, or perhaps this difference existed because they might still… die. He didn't want to think about that, or the impending battle against a massive darkspawn horde. Both would become inevitable in a short while, however.

Just as him arriving at the king's tent was. Stopping in front of it, Alistair gaped at its size. A garish mix of gold and crimson - the colors of the family regnant - it was at least five times larger than than his own. On its entrance, two deep red Mabaris facing each other were embroidered into the closed tent flaps. Alistair recognized the symbols as part of Ferelden's coat of arms. He was surprised to notice the absence of the otherwise omnipresent guard in front of it. Inwardly, he sighed. So much for relaying the message to someone else.

He wasn't quite sure how to proceed - nor if he even wanted to. No, that he didn't want to was quite apparent, but still - what to do now? He couldn't just waltz in there, and neither could one just… knock on a tent. He shuffled on his feet and had to force himself to not turn around and run the other way. This had been a bad, baaad idea from the start. The tent flap opened before Alistair could sink further into his misery. Steel blue eyes belonging to the Teyrn fixed on him as soon Loghain had stepped out of the tent.

"What do you want?" His voice was gruff, and its sharpness nearly made him jump.

Alistair cleared his throat in an attempt to reign in his nerves and swallowed audibly. The insides of his mouth had turned dry as dust. "I… came to deliver a message." Loghain showed no reaction. His presence loomed large, and it wasn't due to the massive silverite armor he wore. In another situation, Alistair would have been delighted to meet the Hero of River Dane, of all people, but now it only felt… intimidating.

Loghain continued to stare him down for another, torturous moment, before his assessing eyes narrowed. "You are that Warden, right?"

What, did my uniform give me away? Since he liked to be alive, Alistair bit his tongue to keep this quip from escaping. "Yes...?" he only said instead, unsure.

The Teyrn tilted his head, glowering. "Whatever business could you have with the King? Haven't your order done enough already, putting these idle fantasies into the King's head?"

Alistair was at a loss for words, which didn't happen often. Shocked to be yelled at for no reason, he only gaped dumbly at the man.

"Now, now, Loghain. No need to be rude." Cailan's blond head appeared between the tent's flaps. "My father didn't allow the Wardens back into Ferelden so that you could yell at them. They are here at my behest and are to be seen as equal to the crown for the battle."

"As you wish, Your Majesty," Loghain sighed. Every bit of his posture said that he was loathe to back down. It was no surprise, then, when he turned a final time before walking away with his guard in tow. "But perhaps you are putting too much faith in these Wardens, Your Majesty."

Cailan didn't reply and waited until Loghain was out of sight. His attention shifted over to Alistair, and his open and friendly expression brightened further. "Ho there, friend." Alistair winced at being addressed by… him. "Come on in."

Blinking blankly at the king, he mentally spurred himself into replying. "Oh, no. No. That won't be necessary, er, Your Majesty."

Hearing that, Cailan stepped out of his tent and closer to him. He was half a head shorter than himself and paler, Alistair distantly noted. The king smiled and made a polite but assertive sweeping motion toward the tent. "I insist, Warden. I heard you have a message for me. Such things are better not to be discussed out here in the open."

Well, shit. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't just turn and bolt from the literal King of Ferelden. And if he did, Gable would kill him with a snap of his fingers for failing to follow his orders. Twitchy, angry mages? Never good. Feeling like he was being thrown into a hungry horde of darkspawn without a weapon, Alistair ducked into the tent with the King following suit. His… half-brother. He tried really hard not to think about that fact and failed in the attempt.

Cailan gently pushed past him while he busied himself marveling at the sheer space and luxury the insides of his tent provided. It was probably not comparable to the King's palace in Denerim, he imagined, but it had a high pallet draped in satin and fur coverlets, and some carved, wooden furniture. Flowing, light silk drapes and heraldry in the royal colors adorned the thin walls and ceiling and somehow stayed in place there. Carefully rolled maps and parchments were stored at the far end of the tent, while a few were still strewn about on the table in its center.

The creaking of armor snapped Alistair back to attention. Cailan rolled his shoulders and grimaced. "Maker, how do you wear this heavy armor all day, Warden?"

He shuffled on his feet, flustered. "I'm… used to it, Your Majesty. Years of training and all that."

"Ah." The King smiled. "But of course. The Wardens recruit only the best, so that makes sense." Walking over to the small shelf serving as a cabinet, he uncorked a crystalline decanter and gave it a whiff before filling his glass half-full with red wine. "I'm aware appearance matters greatly as a king, for it raises morale in camp. Which is why I have to wear this blasted armor all day." He turned, motioning for Alistair to sit down in an upholstered chair in the corner.

"I… um, would remain standing, if that is, er, okay… Your Majesty." Unlike his own cramped tent, Cailan's was spacious enough in height that he actually could stand comfortably here.

"Suit yourself." Shrugging a bit, Cailan plopped himself down on his lavish bed and took a sip of his wine. He relaxed his posture, as far as his heavy, golden-plated armor allowed him to do so. With a sigh, he released the remaining tension within and looked up at him. "What is your name, Warden?"

He blinked, but remembered to answer him shortly after. "... Alistair, Your Majesty."

"Alistair, huh?" The King mused over that for a moment and made an odd sound at the back of his throat. "A good name. A strong name. Besides… Cailan is enough within these walls. Thin as they may be."

"I..." Alistair felt dread sinking into his stomach, leaden like iron. Maker's breath, the King knew who he was. There was no doubt left now. And how could he not? Looking at Cailan was like looking in a mirror and seeing a blonder, paler version of himself. "I'm expected to report back soon," he managed. A white lie, though much better than giving into the strong impulse to storm out of here and run into the Korcari Wilds, never to return.

"Hmm," Cailan hummed, swirling the contents of his glass around. "I see. I won't keep you long then, Alistair." His eyes meet his own and locked on, deep blue contrasting with hazel. The corners of his mouth twitched. "But you still haven't told me the message you're meant to deliver, you know?"

"Right." Alistair let out a breath and pressed his hands to his sides to stop them from shaking. "Duncan, our Warden Commander, has been sighted in the outer bounds of the Korcari Wilds. He is expected to return to Ostagar in about an hour or two."

Cailan laughed brightly. "Oh, these are fantastic news indeed. So we can fight side by side in the battle tomorrow, after all. Glorious. I was beginning to worry he'd miss out on all the fun."

"Fun?" Alistair's eyebrows shot up. He'd only faced darkspawn once so far, and there was nothing fun about that.

"Oh, you must think me a fool, Alistair," he said, equally good-natured, shaking his head. "But I truly believe we can stop the darkspawn here once and for all." He smiled at him. "Together."

Alistair forced himself to smile back, yet felt his eyebrows creasing to a frown. No, fool would be too harsh a word to describe his notion. A bit too optimistic, perhaps. Maker knew they would need Loghain's tactical expertise to make a difference in the battle. "No, I don't think you are, er, sire. C-cailan. Fun is just the last very thing that comes to my mind regarding darkspawn and a possible Blight."

"I'm not even sure if this is a true Blight at all. There are plenty darkspawn in the field, but, alas, there have been no signs of an archdemon so far."

"Yeah, such pity, that," he muttered under his breath and coughed to cover up his words.

"I was simply hoping for a war like in the tales." Cailan sighed, sounding way too enthusiastic about the matter. "A king riding side by side with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god… but I suppose this will have to do."

Alistair's eyebrows jumped up again, as he stared at the king. How was he supposed to react to that? Sarcasm? Honesty? At a loss for… anything, he stayed silent. Well… most of him did, anyway. As the silence stretched between them, his treacherous stomach decided to rumble its protest regarding the severe lack of food so far. Loudly. Great, this wasn't awkward at all.

Cailan chuckled at that. "You haven't eaten yet, Alistair?"

He wanted the Maker to strike him down this instant. "N-no?"

"Then come, stay. I happened to miss out on breakfast too, due to Loghain boring me with his strategy all morning."

"I couldn't possibly-"

"Yes, you can." Standing up, he ducked halfway out of the tent to order his guards to bring two servings of breakfast. Oh . Returning, he motioned Alistair to follow him. "Come, sit with me, Alistair. You haven't told me yet if Duncan has managed to find another recruit, or where you got your weapon training from. I am always eager to hear stories of the Grey Wardens."

"I… Fine." Realizing quickly that he had no choice but to comply, Alistair slinked after his in more than one way strange half-brother of a king. Suddenly, getting turned into a toad by Gable seemed way more favorable a prospect than… this.

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"Where have you been for so long?"

Alistair had returned to the Warden encampment after the most awkward breakfast of his life only to get yelled at by Gable. This day just kept getting better and better.

Dining with the king whilst answering all kind of invasive questions about my life. Alistair was certain this reply would go over perfectly with the Warden Constable, even if it was the truth. He could practically taste the electric currents Gable was about to shock him with. "The king had quite a few… additional questions," he said instead, settling for a half-truth. "I can hardly deny a royal request, can I?" Ugh, again with the challenging tone. When would he learn not to do that?

Gable's dark eyes glinted with anger, his already thin lips pressed in an even finer line. His sharp intake of air, a preparation to launch the tirade he must have been planning for the entire hour Alistair was gone was interrupted by an elderly woman appearing before him. Alistair blinked at the displaced guest in their midst, but more so at the chantry attire she wore. Long grey hair meticulously tucked into a bun, the woman placed her hands on her hips. With a proud, unyielding poise, her stern gaze focused on Gable. "Are you the one in command here?"

It was rare to see a hard-headed person like Gable falter, least of all struggle for words. Even more rare was to see his behavior mirrored in another. Getting no answer, or not getting one quickly enough for her taste, she whirled around to face Alistair. Uh-oh. "You!"

He winced at the force of her voice, suddenly feeling fifteen and back at the chantry again, about to be scolded. Alistair stood up straighter to show confidence that he definitely didn't feel. "Y-yes?"

"I need you to find Uldred, the mage leader here in Ostagar, and tell him that I require his presence."

His mouth once again ran more quickly than his brain did. "And you can't do this yourself? You need a Grey Warden for this?" As soon the words were spoken aloud, he winced again. One day this would be his undoing, for sure.

Despite being significantly shorter than he was, the woman still had no problem staring him down. Coming closer, she poked his armored chest, her voice clipped and demanding. "As the Revered Mother, young man, I have no time to spare to run after mages. And the reason he must come see me is in the interest of your order as well. Otherwise, I would have gone to the next servant to see it done."

Alistair backed away from her and nearly tumbled into a tent. Stabilizing himself, he resigned with a sigh. "Fine, Your Reverence." What was it with today and people with titles ordering him around and sending him on errands? "I'll see if I can find him."

"No." The Revered Mother shook her head and glared at him. "You will find him. Not maybe, not if. Ask the mage camp where he is. I'm certain they will provide you with information on his whereabouts." She pushed past the throng of men that had crept closer to the spectacle as it unfolded and left without another look at Alistair or Gable.

Great. Walking into a camp full of mages. After the awkward hour spent with his half-brother, the King, this would be just another highlight in Alistair's day. Well, at least when enduring the most stilted family reunion ever, there had been food, and lots of it. So, if he was going to be killed by the mage leader due to his templar background, he wouldn't have to die on an empty stomach.

At least there was that silver lining.

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Though he never had been there, the mage encampment in Ostagar was easy to find. Alistair simply needed to follow the trail of grim-looking templars and people in garish robes. Finding someone willing to speak to him was another matter, however.

The templars there eyed him as distrustfully as if he were a mage, and the mages looked at him as if they knew of his templar training by appearance alone. They did their best to either ignore or gossip about the displaced visitor in their midst. Alistair had last felt this uncomfortable while dining with his half-brother. He had neither been keen nor expecting to relive this experience so quickly. Then again, discomfort seemed to be his theme for the day. Wonderful. Walking past yet another giggling pair of young women watching him, he saw an elderly woman seated on a log near their campfire. Unlike the Revered Mother, she had no hard edges, and appeared downright… grandmotherly in comparison. Absorbed as she was in the book she was reading, she only noticed his approach when he was nearly standing in front of her.

Blue eyes blinked up at him and her gray eyebrow shot up, amused. "Are you lost, young man? This is not the Warden encampment, in case you have forgotten that."

"Um," Alistair winced, not having been expecting to be teased by her, of all the people here. Maybe she wasn't so grandmotherly, after all.

Putting her book aside and smoothing out the wrinkles of her red robe with her hands, the mage chuckled. "But where are my manners? Can I help you… um?"

"Alistair," he said, relieved to find her more agreeable to speak with him.

"Nice to meet you, Warden." She nodded, a small smile on her lips."My name is Wynne. I am the Senior Enchanter of Ferelden's Circle. What do you need of the mages? If this is about the Joining then..."

"No, no," Alistair rushed to correct her. He let out a shaky breath before continuing to speak. Despite her… mellow appearance, talking to mages always made him nervous. "But I'm searching for a fellow… colleague of yours, I guess?"

"Oh? This is a rather particular request, then. Yet I am certain I will be able to help you."

"I hope so, since the other mages won't stop glaring or… giggling." He cleared his throat, feeling the blush creeping back into his cheeks again. "I need to find Uldred for the Revered Mother. Can you tell me where he is and how he, well, looks?"

"Uldred?" Wynne said flatly, and her smile vanished. "Ah, our ambitious leader, yes." With the way she spoke these words, it sounded far more like disdain than admiration. "He is not present in camp right now, I fear. However, you will most likely find him to the east, up the ramp and into the secluded area of Ostagar, where your order wanted the Joining to be prepared. He is aiding with the last preparations there, as far as I am aware."

Alistair's face brightened. He knew exactly what place she meant and felt eager to get there before the mage could leave there again. "Thank you… Wynne. You saved me a lot of time with that information."

"Not a problem at all, young man." Nodding, her lips curved upwards again, as she added, "as for his appearance, simply keep your eyes peeled for a human man looking astonishingly akin to a rat or a weasel. Just without any fur."

"Err… okay?" While it wasn't his place to comment on the obvious dislike between them, he laughed at that. "Thank you again." With that, he turned and left in the direction Wynne had described.

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Alistair found Uldred quickly after that, thanks to Wynne's words and colorful description.

Walking up the ramp, the secluded area was larger than he remembered it to be. Sunlight flooded its aged, white stone floor and the tall pillars encasing the place etched their shadows into the ground. The mage had his back turned to him and seemed to be too busy with sorting items on a stone slab to notice him.

However, Alistair was far from being short and thus his large shadow falling onto the mage give his approach away. "What is it now? Haven't the Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?" His voice was cold, annoyed. Through its nasal tone, it also had a somewhat grating note.

"Huh?" Alistair mused, carefully stepping closer to the man's lean back. "How did you know that I'm a Warden?"

"Because it is always your order that demands more!" As Uldred turned around, he had to confess that Wynne hadn't been exaggerating about his looks earlier. He did share a certain resemblance to said animals, wizened and, well, weaselly, as he looked. However, underneath the hard lines of his scowl was an unmistakable intelligence. More importantly, Alistair's templar-trained senses screamed with the abundance of his magic. He felt a sudden intense flight or fight response and had to mentally will himself to stay in place. Uldred scoffed at his inaction. "Did you simply come up here to stare at me, Warden?"

"No, actually," Alistair put his chin up and felt himself revert back to the familiar pattern of sarcasm. In any given situation, whether humorous or not - especially when not - this was his first weapon of choice. "I came here to deliver a message, ser mage." Uldred raised a thin, questioning eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate. Alistair hesitated, fully aware of the impact his words would have. He liked being human and not a frog, after all. "The Revered Mother desires your presence."

The effect was almost immediate. Uldred's face twisted in disgust. "What her Reverence 'desires' is no concern of mine. I am busy helping the Grey Wardens — by your order's request, I might add," he yelled into his face before waving him off.

The dismissal annoyed Alistair more than it angered him, causing his tone to grow even more sardonic. "Should I have asked her to write a note?" He asked, knowing full well how challenging it sounded. Alistair idly wondered if he would live to see the end of this day in human form, but a huge defiant part of him simply didn't care.

"Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner."

What? His eyes narrowed on the man, not backing down from this odd spiral of escalation. It was too late for that, anyway. "Yes, how rude of me. I was harassing you by delivering a message." Behind him, Alistair could hear light-footed steps and became aware of the presence of yet another person being here. Which was odd, too, since this area was normally closed off to servants. For the moment, he was too focused on this stubborn and infuriating mage in front of him to check the person's identity, however.

"Your glibness does you no credit," Uldred spat, clearly at the fringes of his patience.

"Aww..."Maker, Alistair what are you doing? a small voice in his head warned him, but still he could not help but rile the mage even more. "... and here I thought we were getting along so well. I was even going to name one of my children after you… the grumpy one."

There was a long-drawn annoyed groan from the person behind him, sounding distinctively… feminine? Before he had time to turn, the mage spoke up again, with finality. "Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must." Uldred darted forward and shoved him aside. "Out of my way, fool!"

And then he was gone, finally giving Alistair a chance to quench his curiosity about the person looming at his back. Silly as it was, he felt victorious about having managed to fulfill this task. The sour-faced mage would now seek out the Revered Mother, despite all his reluctance and stubbornness. A large grin tugged at his lips as he slowly turned around to, well, her, he guessed. "You know one good thing about the Blight is -" Alistair froze, in both words and motion, and stared.

The person, an elven woman, stared back at him, equally silent, but also… challenging. There was blood in her long blond hair, Alistair distantly noted. Dark blood that sang to his veins and reeked of taint. Some of it covered her pale, freckled cheeks as well. What had instantly forced him into silence, however, had been her eyes and the way she looked at him. Maker, the color of her eyes must have been the deepest green he'd ever seen. More than that, her gaze was perceptive and keen, and Alistair felt himself shrinking under its sharpness. This woman was no fool, that much was already obvious. Nor a servant, either. That was impossible with the proud, unyielding way she bore herself in front of him, gloved hands held at her sides. Clad in leather armor tinted forest green, two long and curved daggers were belted at her hips. Oh. His gaze flicked to her forehead, recognizing the golden-brown swirling lines of a tattoo underneath the blood.

Oh.

The recruit. The Dalish… was a woman. Alistair swallowed thickly. Not that he minded, far from it. It was just so not what he'd expected when reading Duncan's letter. She was simply so… little ? Okay, maybe not that little, seeing as her head reached up to his chest. And while she was slender, as elves usually were, she obviously had a toned… figure, which spoke of regular training. Maker's breath, did he really stare at her figure just now? She must think him a drooling lecher. He mentally kicked himself into action to end this weird… impasse. "- how it brings people together," was all he managed, however, before falling silent again.

Her eyes narrowed, and she started to glare instead of stare at him. It made him want to run away, dig a hole and never come out again. Without breaking eye contact, she wiped impatiently at the sweat and blood on her forehead with the back of her hand, only to spread its smear further. She let out an annoyed sigh and swayed a little on her feet. She was also breathing audibly now, a harsh rhythm of in- and outtakes of air.

He suddenly remembered what Duncan had written about the Dalish hunter already being tainted and felt like kicking himself. Again. The blood on her body wasn't what sang to him, it was the blood in her body that did. He could feel her taint and it was jarring… To say the least. He took a step toward to her. "Are you -"

"Are you an idiot?" She cut into his words and passed out right after.

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Change Notes:

Um, everything? This is a complete newly written chapter from the scratch, shifting the focus away from Lenya and toward Ostagar, because this is where the plot takes place, after all. Also I wanted to write the first chapter from Alistair's pov since ages and thus I seized the chance for a(n already) more solid characterization than what I did in the starting chapters of the original. The next chapter will be (mainly) told from Lenya's pov, so we will finally get to know her better ;)

Reviews are most appreciated.