He hadn't known it at the time but the first time Alistair laid eyes on her, he had lost his heart forever.
The night before a messenger had appeared in the warden's encampment in the ruins of Ostagar. Duncan was sending word that he was bringing a young Dalish woman back to the order with him. The younger wardens had immediately begun taking bets on whether she would be some hideous barbarian girl or if she instead stood a chance of being vaguely pretty. And then if she were to be passable, who would be able to get the girl in bed first? After all, rumor had it that Dalish women were quite promiscuous. One of the wardens remarked that Dalish women were easy to bed precisely because they were always hideous, without exception, and would therefore take anything they could get. Another observed that it was likely because the chantry wouldn't touch their heathen ways with a ten foot pole, and thus allowed their sins to run amuck. A third warden followed up with a snide comment regarding the useful applications of ten foot poles. A chorus of drunken laughter filled the night as the men ate and drank around their camp fire. The older wardens simply exchanged weary yet apprehensive glances; there were likely to be many reprimands when Duncan finally arrived if the young woman were to be subject to any advances or untoward conversation. Poor virginal Alistair shifted uncomfortably as he nervously laughed along to hide his discomfort.
Once the men's merriment had died down, the messenger continued; Duncan had likely foreseen this behavior and thus would not be bringing the woman straight to the warden encampment. Better to see if she survived the joining before they worried about subjecting her to the louts he commanded. Instead he would be sending her straight to Alistair.
This piece of information sent the men sprawling on the ground with laughter. The one sitting next to Alistair jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow and cautioned him between guffaws that should he turn his back on the elf for even a second she was likely to tackle him to the ground and rob him of his virtue in the middle of the ruined fortress for all to see. At this, Alistair's face burned a bright red and he found himself sputtering for a moment as the men's hilarity returned with renewed vigor. Finally having had enough, he had wrapped his cloak tightly around his shoulders and stomped away from the wardens' campfire towards his bed roll. He did not have to stand for this abuse, and so he wouldn't.
The night had passed without further incident and he now stood before a woefully disgruntled mage, receiving an earful about his glibness. Alistair had been cornered by the Revered Mother sometime mid-morning and sent on an "urgent mission" to track down one of the mages for her. He now found himself the target of said mage's frustrations with his current lot in life. When the mage finally stalked off in a huff, he smirked and commented to no one in particular, "You know, one good thing about the blight is how it brings people together…"
He chuckled to himself and shook his head as he turned to leave. He nearly jumped out of his skin upon noticing a rather feral looking woman leaning against a pillar less than five feet away. Maker, he'd be dead by now if she had been a darkspawn! Well…assuming that for some unholy reason he had managed not to feel the pull of the taint that near to his person. She was petite, almost comically so next to him. Her hair was a deep chestnut color, glinting with hints of gold and red in the midday sun and coming to just below her chin, while small braids hung down at regular intervals around her head. Her eyes were the most intriguing shade of green-gold hazel he could ever remember encountering, framed by long lashes and a delicate brow that Alistair would usually have attributed to nobility. But she was far too savage in her dress and serpentine in her stance to have ever seen the inside of an Arl's keep, and the swirling tattoo across her brow would have sent even the most worldly chantry priest sprinting for her alter. "Andraste's flaming knickers, you startled me!" he breathed out as he attempted to regain his bearings. He glanced down and quickly swallowed back the urge to stare at her rather revealing leathers, forcing his eyes back to her face with all of the effort he could muster in the moment.
She looked him once over, her shrewd gaze quickly analyzing every detail. She seemed to have assessed his entire being in the space of an instant, coming to the conclusion that he posed her not real threat, and relaxed her stance a little. "You are a very strange shemlen…" she observed in a thick brogue accent-and rather bluntly too, he noticed. He took one last breath to settle his racing heart.
"I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?" he asked cautiously. He was suddenly weary that he was about to tick off someone else. Maker knew he was already going to be chastised by Duncan when he heard about the preceding encounter.
Her lips twitched with vague amusement and she responded, "Would that make your day worse?"
He immediately felt like a fool again when he took a second look at her tattoos…her decidedly Dalish tattoos…He slapped a palm to his forehead; the Dalish recruit. "Blast! I should have recognized you right away. I apologize."
The humor departed her face as she gave him a quizzical look, "How could you recognize me? We've never met before."
Her alto voice lent a sultry effect to its sing-song quality, and it made her untamed features all the more haunting. Duncan had forgotten to mention she was pretty, very pretty in fact. So pretty actually, that pretty was doing her a disservice. Though, Alistair somehow suspected that, were he to inform her of the direction his thoughts had taken, he would quickly find himself on the wrong end of one of those nasty looking daggers at her waist. At that he squared his shoulders and decided to start over and behave like a normal human being. "I'm sorry, my name is Alistair, I'm one of the Grey Wardens. The youngest in fact—of the grey wardens, I mean. Or is that the newest? I don't think I actually know all the ages of the other wardens, now that I think about it…" So much for normal, he thought as he noticed he had begun rambling and quickly cut himself off before he made and even bigger ass of himself. Yup, definitely forgot the pretty part, and it was tripping up his self-control. Now if only he could dislodge his foot from his mouth. "As the, uh…junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining."
Her lips were quirked up a little in the corner again and she nodded in acknowledgement of his point, mercifully pretending to have not noticed his incoherence. "My name is Lyna." She replied.
"Well," he said, sucking in a quick breath. "I imagine Duncan is eager to get things started. Shall we gather up your fellow new recruits?" He was eager to leave his awkward bumbling behind.
"Ma nuvenin," as you wish she responded, rather more forcefully than he had anticipated, and Alistair found himself somewhat stung that she found his company so laborsome. She pushed herself up from the pillar she had occupied and wavered slightly upon becoming vertical. She closed her eyes and grasped the pillar for balance before taking a deep breath.
"Are you alright?" Alistair asked, hesitation clear in his voice. It was then that he took notice of the slightly sallow tint around her mouth and eyes. It might have concerned him more had she not just let him know his presence was tiresome, but he could not keep himself from feeling at least a little concerned…proper upbringing, you know.
"Yes…" she paused before releasing her breath. "Yes, I'm fine; eager to get going."
Alistair huffed a little to himself. Very well, if she was so keen on being rid of his presence he would dispense with the niceties. At length they found Ser Jory who maintained polite deportment, though Alistair could sense the man's curiosity and slightest sense of superiority to the elf beside him.
"Greetings," Ser Jory bowed to them both in all his haughty knightly-ness, though when he straightened himself he eyed the Dalish with more than a little skepticism. "You must be the third recruit we heard about." Lyna raised an eyebrow and assessed the knight with the same speedy calculation she did Alistair. "Not a great deal…but we have been waiting for your arrival" he quickly assured her as he his eyes turned away, a vague betrayal of his distaste at having been kept waiting by some knife ear evident in his voice. Lyna's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly at his tone, but still didn't reply. He closed his eyes and sighed at what he assumed was her ignorance, and his voice took on a tone of mild condescension, as if he couldn't believe he was explaining his own importance to someone no better than a slave. "Ser Jory is my name. I hail from Redcliff where I serve as a knight under the command of Arl Eamon." His eyes shifted back to Lyna. "I was not aware that they permitted women to join the Grey Wardens…"
"Ir abelas," I'm sorry, she demanded. "Is that going to be a problem for you Ser Knight?" Her eyes narrowed further as she crossed her arms and awaited the older man's reply.
Ser Jory paused and regarded Lyna again for a long while, clearly weighing his possible responses. While it was likely he didn't want to cause problems, it was obvious to Alistair that Ser Jory knew little to nothing of the elves beyond those that had served his liege in Redcliff. Alistair himself didn't know much about the Dalish, but he was well-read enough to know that they were an extremely proud people and held humans in great disregard for the continued subjugation of their people. And they certainly did not take kindly to men like Ser Jory. In reality, Alistair was impressed that she had yet to say more on Ser Jory's pride than she had already implied.
At length, Ser Jory finally replied, "You've obviously impressed Duncan, and that's enough for me. I hope we are both lucky enough to eventually join the Grey Wardens. Is it not thrilling to be given that chance?" Clearly he meant to remind Lyna that she was being elevated above the station of second class citizen and therefore needed to behave with more reverence. That did not please her at all.
"I would not be here if I had been given the choice, Shem." She bit back, her patience obviously tested and close to failing.
Ser Jory sighed and shook his head, as if he were dealing with a petulant child and decided not to answer the implied provocation. He turned to Alistair and continued, "I suppose since you're finally here, I'd best get back to Duncan. I shall see you there." And with that he left.
Lyna watched his departure with great distaste. "Ignorant shem…" Alistair heard her mutter, though it was unlikely that she meant it to be loud enough for Alistair to hear.
"I…apologize for Ser Jory's behavior. He will become accustomed to treating you as an equal with time. I assure you that Duncan will not allow it to continue once the Joining is complete." She seemed to accept that with a huff of frustration before Alistair turned and silently lead her towards the next recruit.
Upon finding Daveth it became quite clear that, unlike Ser Jory, a person's heritage was of little to no consequence to the man, so long as it came in an attractive package. In fact, it was obvious to Alistair that Daveth may have even considered himself something of a lady's man, assuming of course that those ladies made a living with their god given assets…Lyna on the other hand was having none of it, and her earlier encounter with Ser Jory had set her pride and her temper on edge.
"Well, you're not what I thought you'd be…" the thief declared, his eyes appraising her body with lurid intent. Alistair felt the elf beside him tense and glanced her direction to see her eyes narrow. He had definitely been right to keep his mouth shut about her looks earlier.
"Oh really?" she sneered and then her voice became dangerously quiet. "And what exactly did you think I'd be, shem?" It was maybe a harsher reaction than Daveth was due, but then she had already been tested once by human propriety…or lack thereof. Alistair noticed her hand slowly moving towards one of her daggers.
"Certainly not a woman, but…" his eyes continued to roam appreciatively, either ignorant or unmoved by the implied threat. "Here you are," the last part dripped with suggestion and smarm, and Alistair cleared his throat loudly in an attempt to remind the man that there were others listening to this exchange…also, he didn't particularly want the man's blood on his conscious, should he choose to continue. "Right, name's Daveth," he continued to Lyna. Turning to face Alistair straight on, he continued, "Shall I assume that your sudden appearance means Duncan is ready to send us to our deaths?"
Alistair rolled his eyes, "If Duncan was planning on sending you to your death, I hardly think he would have dragged your sorry carcass from the Denerim prison he found you in."
"You never know, what with all the secrets swirling about this place," Daveth countered. "Very well, lead the way; let's have this ritual over with." With that, Daveth fell in line beside Lyna, continuing his obvious perusal of her person.
"Ma emma harel, len'alas lath'din."You should fear me, dirty child whom no one loves, she swore, practically hissing, before quickening her pace to put Alistair between her and the licentious pig. She then turned to him, fire in her eyes, "I do not wish to offend Duncan by killing his other recruits, but just know that while I will suffer Jory's palpable ignorance, and this one will be dead by morning if this continues."
Alistair couldn't suppress the chuckle that escaped his chest, but he quickly choked it back when he saw her eyes flash. "I am sorry. Truly, I am; I've just been waiting for someone to put him in his place since he arrived." She didn't respond right away and so Alistair stole another sidelong glance and was pleased to observe the upturned corner of her mouth, though her glower stayed firmly in place as she spotted Ser Jory waiting for them a few meters from Duncan's position.
They found Duncan keeping company with a couple of the Warden Lieutenant Commanders around the bon fire in the center of the camp, discussing tactics for the upcoming battle. The conversation died as the small band approached and Duncan nodded to his companions in a request for privacy. They nodded in return and departed without a sound. Alistair noted that the youngest of the men looked at him and then glanced meaning fully at the elf before returning to him with a suggestive smirk. Alistair groaned. Apparently last night's conversation had not been forgotten.
"Ah, Alistair, I see you have all the recruits. I'll assume you are ready to begin preparations…assuming you're finished riling up mages." Alistair winced. He'd known he would be reprimanded, as Duncan had lectured the wardens at length about the need to play nice and get along with everyone in the camp.
"The Revered Mother ambushed me!" Alistair's excuse sounded whiney even to his own ears. "The way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army."
Duncan's brow lowered over his dark eyes in consternation, "And she forced you to sass the mage did she?"
Alistair pouted and apologized as Duncan lectured again about the necessity of avoiding more attention than was necessary…something about ammunition. Duncan then turned to face the recruits and began outlining the tasks before them. Alistair was a little surprised at the second task, unaware that the Grey Wardens could demand the support of Ferelden's races simply by flashing around a centuries old piece of paper. All the same, whether they needed the support or not after tomorrow's battle, those papers would still be invaluable somewhere down the line, he was sure.
At that, Duncan pulled Alistair aside, out of ear shot of the recruits. "Alistair, watch over your charges and return quickly and safely…particularly Lyna."
Alistair was taken aback by the concern in the senior warden's voice. He glanced over to see Daveth scooting closer to her in another attempt to woo the fiery woman. He spoke quietly to her, obviously much too close for her like and quickly found a knife pressed threateningly against his throat before the elf shoved him away hard and moved to the other side of the bonfire and the only slightly preferable company of Ser Jory. "Uh…Duncan, I don't mean to question orders, but of the three Lyna seems to be the most capable. If anything, I find myself more concerned for Daveth."
Duncan huffed out a little air in what amounted to a silent chuckle, "I have no doubt that she can more than protect herself from unwanted advances." His expression returned to its earlier stoicism as he watched her waver on her feet from the mild exertion. "But she is ill, poisoned by the darkspawn. She has proved far too stubborn to show it, but I have noticed her grow weaker throughout our journey here. Her keeper says she is a fierce warrior but in time it will take her all the same. The joining is her only chance for a cure, but in her weakened state, I do not know that it isn't as much a death sentence as leaving her would have been." Duncan sighed and redirected his gaze back to Alistair. "The darkspawn took her clansmen when the two of them encountered the beasts, and though she will most likely not speak of it, she is grieving heavily. She is likely to seek some form of vengeance in the wilds, but do not allow her to over exert herself, if you can. I fear that wasted energy in the wilds will negatively impact her joining."
Alistair's earlier irony had by this time given way to dead seriousness and he nodded his agreement to Duncan, his eyes still following the elf. Suddenly it all clicked together, the sallow tint to her skin, her seeming short temperedness with him, despite his kindness and joviality towards her, even her overly harsh reaction to Daveth's initial advance. He had originally taken her to be cold, calculating and…well, a bitch. Alistair knew only a little of what darkspawn poisoning looked like or was supposed to do to a person, but he now realized that she must be incredibly strong to be hiding it so well. Were he in the same circumstances, he doubted he would be half as otherwise open and friendly as she was being.
"Maker watch over your path, Alistair. I will see you when you return."
