The man strode at a moderate pace along the paved road, occasionally passed by a peasant or farmer on their way to their own business. It was not his to inquire, and so he remained silent, ignoring their confused looks as they noticed him.

He was a tall man, by Fereldan standards, standing at well over six and a half feet. He was broad of shoulder and thickly built, but not overweight. He had not one ounce of fat on his muscular frame. He strode with an easy confidence about him, but his eyes showed his constant alertness. His left hand was hooked comfortably in the strap of the pack over his left shoulder, and his right hung by his side.

None of these, however, were the reason that the other travelers stared as he passed. He was clad from the shoulders down in a uniquely crafted chainmail, perhaps old Elven make. The chain itself was made of white steel, and the breastplate, shoulder plates and greaves were solid plate veridium, a rare metal found almost exclusively in the Free Marches, north of Ferelden. A massive blade hung on his back, sheathed in the qunari style: a long strip of leather with an open side that had two straps holding the blade inside the sheath, allowing for easy removal and return of the blade. The blade was crafted from the same white steel as the chainmail, and its hilt was unadorned except for an orb, about the size of a fist, locked into the pommel.

The man continued his journey eastward along the Great West Road, heading towards the village of Lothering, the rallying point for the men of his order. There they would wait for the forces of the Fereldan king to join them, and they would march south to Ostagar, the old Tevinter fortress on the edge of the Korcari Wilds, the wilderness south of Ferelden. There they would await their enemy's arrival.

As the sun sank into the west, the village came into view. The man adjusted the pack on his shoulder and entered Lothering. Obviously it had become a haven for all that lived south of the West Road, and refugees packed into any once-open space like sardines. The man felt a pang of sorrow, and his dedication to his duty strengthened with every face he saw. The Blight will not reach these innocent people, he said to himself. I will not allow it.

The man walked towards the Chantry, the large, rectangular building at the center of all villages in southern Thedas that served as their church. Here the Chant of Light was preached daily, and the disciples of Andraste, prophet of the Maker, worshipped her here. He shook his head sadly as he entered and saw the throngs of people attending the Chant. Religion would not save these poor sods.

"Anthatal!" The man turned as he heard his name, and quickly identified the speaker. A young man, perhaps twenty, with a kind face and short hair, pushed through the crowds and gripped Anthatal's offered hand in friendship. The man was beaming as he addressed his superior, "Anthatal, it is good to see you again."

Anthatal smiled briefly. "I feel the same, Alistair. How does it feel to be back in the Chantry?"

The young man rolled his eyes, "The Revered Mother won't stop bothering me about 'abandoning the Maker' and 'forsaking your inherent duties'. Just because I grew up in a Chantry doesn't mean I have to be a templar."

Anthatal shook his head, smiling again. "You haven't changed at all, Alistair."

"Oh, yes I have. I've got this." He smiled as he touched his thin goatee. "Duncan told me to wait a while, but I'm going to go ahead and let it grow in."

The older man forced a change in subject. "Where is Duncan now?"

Alistair pointed over his shoulder with a mailed hand. "In there, talking with the other veteran Wardens. You'd better get in there; you're late."

Anthatal took leave from his friend with a firm handshake and entered the indicated side room. An older man, perhaps forty, with a full beard, greeted him. "Good, Anthatal. You are here. I was beginning to worry."

"No need for that, Duncan. I wouldn't miss this party for the world."

Duncan chuckled. "I knew you wouldn't. We only have a few hours until King Cailan arrives, so we'll have to catch you up on the road. Get some rest for now, and we'll see each other again soon."

Anthatal nodded in agreement and took his leave, finding a pallet on the floor next to Alistair's. No matter how hard he tried, the young man couldn't get his friend to stay up talking all night, and Anthatal quickly fell asleep.