The flap of butterly wings in Ferelden can set of a storm over whole Thedas ~Magiser Tlaxius, one of the last fools who tried to invide Ferelden

Dedicated to Suilven and Josie Lange, who poked me into this.

Thanks to my wonderful beta Seika for her help.

Their first meeting was… less than ideal. She appeared just as he was delivering the message from the Revered Mother to one of the Senior Enchanters. The man was an annoying fool, and Alistair couldn't resist making a few sarcastic comments. Watching the man storming away, muttering unflattering sinful remarks about where the Revered Mother can shove her orders was almost pure pleasure–marred with the tiniest speck of guilt, as he knew Duncan wouldn't like it.

Then, he turned and saw the most peculiar… woman. Girl. Well, a female elf. With skin white like the snow at noon on a crisp winter day; a pair of big, amethyst orbs glaring at him from under the veil of long eyelashes, fluttering like the wings of butterflies, and short, aubergine locks that reached to her slightly pointed chin. Of course, that wasn't what he thought at that moment. Those poetic thoughts came to him much later, as he lay in his tent, befuddled and dizzy. At that moment, all he could think of was, Wow. She's… wow.

He felt he needed to say something, you know, something clever. He opened his mouth– "You don't happen to be another mage, do you?" He groaned inwardly. Oh great, Alistair. Just great. Why did his brain always betray him like this?

"Of course not," came the reply in a tone that could only be described as icy cold. "This is just my walking stick, and I wear the robe because I love this shade of dirty yellow."

Luckily, this time his brain cooperated a bit and stopped the comment that the dirty yellow wasn't her colour at all before he said it aloud. But that was as far as its cooperation went.

"No offence," he said, "I was just wondering if I was in a danger of being turned into a toad."

Her eyebrows went up. "A toad? Tch. I'd never do something that crude."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean–"

"I prefer butterflies. They make pretty hair clips. And brooches."

"Butterflies? And... they don't fly away?"

"I freeze them before I attach the pin, of course."

"Of course," he repeated dumbly, not sure if she was joking or not.

"I'm looking for Warden Alistair," she said. "Do you perhaps know where I can find him?"

"That would be me. And you are?"

She sighed. "Damn. I hoped it wouldn't be you. I get out of that cursed prison, and the first person I need to work with is a mage hater. Just my luck."

"I'm not a mage hater," he hurried to explain. "It's just my Templar training-"

"Even better," she said dryly. "I'm going to talk to Duncan again. He can't be serious about this." She turned back and headed back to the camp.

"Oh, he can," he chuckled as he joined her. "Duncan is a great man, but when he makes up his mind, nothing can change it. He just stares at you in that Duncan-ish way, you know, like this–without saying a word, until you submit."

That made her giggle. "I know. He tried that on me, too, a few times, during our trip here. Ha! It's the oldest trick in the book–the only one old guys use, in fact. Greagoir tried it all the time. All you need to do is to stare back more and longer than they do, you know."

Alistair laughed, though he had a suspicion that she wasn't joking. One thing was sure, he thought as they walked to Duncan's fire–with this recruit, life wouldn't be boring.