Alistair thrust his sword into the genlock in front of him, then planted a boot on its chest and slid the body off his blade. He quickly surveyed the battlefield. Soris had managed to flank a hurlock that Sgt. Kylon was fighting, and was sinking his twin daggers into its back. Ser Perth was fighting another hurlock. As he watched, the former Redcliffe knight used his shield to bash the creature in the face, sending it flying. Alistair grinned. In only a few months, his little band of Grey Warden recruits had gelled into a formidable fighting unit, working well together in spite of their disparate backgrounds.

As those were the only two darkspawn left, he trotted over to Ser Perth - well, as quickly as he could trot, given that the ground was littered with corpses he had to carefully navigate through to keep from tripping. The creature had managed to get to its feet again, but in a matter of minutes the two warriors had it down for good. Even though the archdemon had been slain six months ago, the roving bands of darkspawn could still be quite large, although now that they were leaderless, they were less well organized and seemed to lack the sense of purpose they had formerly had. But they were still leaving blighted lands wherever they went, and he was grateful to have something to focus on that kept him distracted from his grief for brief periods. Between battles, his mind still returned to his loss like a tongue returns to the gaping hole left by a pulled tooth, filling him with a dull ache.

oOo

They arrived at the gates of Orzammar the next day. At the sight of Alistair's Grey Warden armour, a cheer broke out from the merchants and customers in the crowded marketplace that existed year-round just outside of the entrance to the Dwarven kingdom. He fought the urge to duck his head in embarrassment. It was this way everywhere he went, but Warden Darrian had delivered the killing blow - these accolades rightfully belonged to him. But you are the only Grey Warden left in Ferelden, and the people need this - need to celebrate our victory as they face the months and years of rebuilding ahead of them. So, he held his head up high and smiled, shaking every hand thrust in front of him and graciously enduring every hug and pat on the back.

In spite of being tired from the day's journey - all they really wanted was dinner, a bath, and a bed - they were ushered in to an audience with King Harrowmont.

"Warden Alistair! It is so good to see you again." Harrowmont crossed the throne room and grabbed his hand, shaking it enthusiastically while grasping Alistair's arm with his other hand. "To what do we owe the honor of your visit?"

The informality of the king's greeting put Alistair at ease immediately. "My Warden recruits and I are just passing through, King Harrowmont. We are traveling to Jader so they can formally join the Order. Allow me to introduce them."

He turned to his companions. Soris looked ill-at-ease, so he began with Ser Perth. "This is Warden-Recruit Roland." Alistair paused as the former knight brought his fist to his chest in the traditional Fereldan salute.

"It is an honor, King Harrowmont."

Alistair turned to the former Denerim city guard next. "Warden-Recruit Gareth." He waited as the man greeted the king in a similar fashion before turning to Soris. "And, Warden-Recruit Soris."

The elf carefully mimicked the greeting the two warriors had given, and Alistair was pleased to see Soris's shoulders relax a bit when he was done.

He turned back to the king. "I am afraid we cannot stay long; we'll be leaving tomorrow once we're resupplied."

Harrowmont was already nodding his head. "I understand, Warden. Allow me to offer my estate for the night. I'll instruct my servants to make ready for your arrival." He was turning to signal for a servant when Alistair interrupted.

"No need, Your Majesty. We're Grey Wardens, not nobility. We'll be just fine at the inn we stayed at the last time I was here." A quick glance at his companions told him they didn't agree, but he'd had enough of being fussed over for a while.

A shrewd look came into Soris' eyes as he piped up. "Warden Alistair, wouldn't it be better to avoid the crowds of people we would attract if we stayed at an inn?" A roguish grin flashed across his face, reminding the senior Warden of Darrian so much that he smiled in spite of the weight of grief that briefly settled onto his chest.

It was impossible to miss the hope suddenly blooming in the eyes of his other two recruits, so he suppressed a sigh and turned back to the king. "Thank you for your hospitality, Your Majesty. We would be delighted."

oOo

Soris was chafing at the bit to go exploring - his eyes were wide with wonder as he took in the sights of the dwarven city, even as he tried to appear nonchalant - so as soon as they had settled in at the estate, Alistair sent him out to sell the loot they had picked up along the way. The city elf was the best man for the job, anyway. Soris had a knack for haggling that was a wonder to behold, another similarity to his cousin that made Alistair smile through his sadness. He sent Kylon and Perth out as well, with instructions for the three of them to meet him at Tapster's in two hours. They all deserved a little recreation, after the months of fighting.

Alistair changed into a pair of plain brown trousers and a dark green shirt, then pulled on the comfortable, soft leather boots he kept for city use. He strapped his sword to his side out of long habit, and hoped he would be less noticeable without his armour on. The Warden stepped onto the streets of the Diamond Quarter with no real destination in mind, but he had some time to kill before meeting up with his recruits, so he allowed his feet to take him wherever they would go. The first time he'd been here, they had come to persuade the dwarves to honor their treaty with the Grey Wardens. He shook his head a little as memories of the difficulties they had encountered trying to gain their support came back to him. Everywhere they had gone that year there had been dozens of problems to solve before anyone would agree to honor the treaties, and Orzammar had been no different. But Darrian had tackled each of them, determined not to take 'no' for an answer from anybody, no matter the hoops that had to be jumped through.

But more than that, the city elf had also gone out of his way to assist people, even when there wasn't anything to gain - especially if the person who needed help was poor. A smile came to Alistair's face unnoticed as he remembered trekking back and forth from Dust Town to Tapster's to persuade a father to reconcile with the daughter he had disowned for delivering a casteless child. Darrian's impassioned plea for the child had touched even Zevran's heart, although the assassin never admitted it. He would never forget the look on Darrian's face when father and daughter embraced for the first time since Zerlinda's son was born.

oOo

The time passed by without notice, and he was surprised to find he had arrived at Tapster's, as though his body had remembered the way even as his mind had been lost in memories. He grabbed a table at the far back of the bar and ordered four mugs of Brakien Brew, the only dwarven ale that didn't taste like feet - much. Kylon and Perth arrived together a few minutes later, chatting amiably. The two men had become fast friends since their first meeting; the similarities between a knight's job and a guard's helped, but their temperaments were remarkably similar as well.

Soris arrived not long after, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement. Alistair waved him over and handed the elf a mug as he took a seat. "So, how did haggling with the dwarven merchants go?" Given how shrewd and tightfisted they were, he wouldn't be surprised if Soris had made less than usual, although Darrian had always had more success than he'd expected.

"Well, they're craftier than the Denerim merchants," he replied, pitching his voice low, "but no match for me, of course. I managed to sell the loot and buy all the supplies we need, and still have some gold left over."

"That's a bit hard to believe," Kylon said, a mock disapproving tone to his words. "Some of that coin wouldn't have come from the merchants' purses by any chance, would it?"

Soris gave the ex-guard an aggrieved look, as if the very thought that he would stoop to pickpocketing had deeply wounded him. "Are you questioning my integrity, ser?" he asked haughtily. "Perhaps you'd like to step outside?" The elf tried to keep his expression serious, but a mischievous smile crept onto his face despite his efforts.

Alistair chuckled as he listened to the good-natured banter, but he couldn't help noticing that Roland's laughter seemed a bit half-hearted tonight, something that was out of character for the easygoing man.

"Something on your mind?" Alistair asked after catching his eye.

The ex-knight cleared his throat. "Well, we'll be reaching Jader in a couple of days, right? I was just wondering… well, what will happen then? After we join, I mean."

Alistair noticed Roland glance quickly at his companions, who had both quieted and turned to look at him with keen interest. So, they've been discussing this amongst themselves. He took a deep breath. "That will be up to the Warden-Commander of Orlais. He will assign us to wherever the Order needs us most."

His recruits exchanged uneasy glances between themselves, and Alistair could guess what was worrying them. "It's likely that we will be sent back to Ferelden, but there is no guarantee of that." As much as he would prefer to reassure them, it was his job to get them ready for any possibility. "Or, they may send some of us back, and send the rest of us elsewhere. His priority will be what is best for the Wardens, as should yours."

A wistful smile touched Alistair's lips as he recalled his first months in the Order; he'd stuck like glue to Duncan, following him around like a puppy. Looking back now, he could see that he had leaned too heavily on the older man for support. When Duncan had died, he had been lost, unable to assume the responsibilities that had been rightfully his. I can't allow them to become dependent on me.

The senior Warden sat up straight and his voice took on an authoritative tone that, truth be told, still felt a little out of character. "All of you have months of experience fighting darkspawn now, something I didn't have when I joined. And the Wardens will make sure you're fully trained and equipped before sending you anywhere." He took the time to look each of them in the eye. "If I didn't think you would succeed as a Grey Warden, I would not have accepted you as a recruit. You'll be fine."

He watched as the three of them relaxed back into their chairs a bit, somewhat reassured. Alistair was just raising his hand to catch one of the server's eye - a second round wouldn't do them any harm - when he noticed a familiar-looking dwarf winding her way around the crowded tables, looking in their direction. She was holding a small box in front of her with both hands, as if afraid she would lose it.

The woman stopped next to Alistair's chair and cleared her throat, obviously nervous. "You probably don't remember me, but you and the Warden... the other Warden, I mean..." She bit her lip and started again. "I'm Zerlinda. Warden Darrian helped me reconcile with my father."

Alistair gave her a reassuring smile as he lightly rested a hand on the woman's arm. "I do remember you. How is your son?"

Zerlinda smiled with pleasure. "He is doing well - crawling everywhere, in fact. It's hard to keep up with him sometimes."

"That's wonderful; I'm glad to hear it," he said as he nodded encouragingly.

"I can never express how grateful I am... to both of you. You saved our lives." She glanced down at her hands, then held the box out to Alistair. "I'd like you to have this."

As he took the box, Zerlinda continued. "I had this made for the Warden... I was going to send it to him, as a token of my appreciation, but now... Well, I would like for you to have it."

Alistair opened the box and pulled out a small silver medallion on a silver chain. It was round, about the size of a sovereign, with the image of a griffon engraved onto it. He swallowed the lump in his throat; his first reaction was to protest that he didn't deserve this, but as he looked back at Zerlinda, the words died on his lips. Her expression was a mixture of anxiety and hopefulness, and he simply said, "Thank you. Truly. It's beautiful," and put it around his neck.

oOo

Alistair had insisted they go back to the estate after a few rounds, eliciting loud protests from his recruits that they could stay a little longer and still be fine the next day. But when they had gotten up from the table, they had been surprised to find themselves not so steady on their feet. Soris had been so drunk that he could barely walk ten paces without bumping into something; exasperated, Alistair had finally just slung the elf over his shoulder and carried him the rest of the way.

After the din of the tavern, he welcomed the quiet of his room. Alistair crawled into bed with a sigh. Lying there, staring up into the darkness, his hand reflexively closed over the medallion. It was the only tangible connection to Darrian that he had, and he treasured it. His thumb caressed the raised lines etched onto it as he remembered his friend's dogged determination to let nothing stand in his way of doing what he felt was his duty. The Warden's eyelids grew heavy as sleep tugged at him, and his thoughts drifted back over the past few months of training his recruits as they made their way to Jader. It dawned on him how much he'd learned from Darrian. Alistair's eyes closed as fatigue overwhelmed him. You taught me so much about being a good leader, he thought as he drifted off to sleep. I promise I'll make you proud of me.

Legacy is a Secret Santa present for Ygrain. Many thanks to Suilven for beta reading this little story for me. I know how busy you were organizing this exchange, and I truly appreciate your help! :)