"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."
Alistair had spotted the person waiting for him out of the corner of his eye, and hadn't registered that she was, in fact, a girl. He did when he turned to face her, though. A short elven one. Oh Maker, and she's pretty too! Instantly, his mouth took over and ran away before his brain could engage. "It's like a party; we could all stand in a circle and hold hands. That would give the darkspawn something to think about."
She was giggling! Like… like a bell chiming, or something equally poetic and normally so not him. And giggling was good, it meant he only had his foot in his mouth, and not his whole leg like he usually would. Alistair felt like his brain was going to explode. She had big eyes, like elves did, and such a wonderful shade of green. Like the raw Stormheart he remembered in the armory back in Redcliffe. And her hair! It was the same color of Bloodstone ore. Oh Maker, was he rambling to himself in his head? Quick, think of something else to say! Wait, was that a staff in the sling on her back? Blast. "Wait, we haven't met, have we? I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?"
"I am indeed a mage." And back to the brain exploding. Soft voice with a hint of giggle making her a bit breathless, and she smiled at him. Smiled. At him.
"Really? You don't look like a mage. Uh… that is… I mean… how interesting." Smooth, Alistair. Real smooth.
Those doe eyes of hers were still giggling, even as she bit a very nice and soft looking lower lip to hold back another fit of laughter while he wrested control of his mouth away from whatever demon had taken it over. Templar training. He mentally puffed his chest with pride when he put together a coherent sentence. "Wait, I do know who you are. You're Duncan's new recruit from the Circle of Magi. I should have recognized you right away, I apologize."
Wrong thing to say. Maker. The laughter was gone instantly, her jaw clenched, and she lifted her chin. It would have been intimidating if he didn't have at least fifty pounds of muscle and a good foot of height on her. Oh, he felt like a right git. She sounded like she was going to cry, even as she bit out, "If you have a problem with my magic, say so now."
His voice, embarrassingly, pitched higher as he blurted, "No problem. It's just my background makes mages nervous. And nervous mages make me nervous." Fuck. "I don't want to be a toad; I like the way I am."
Alistair fully resigned himself to life with his entire leg shoved in his mouth, eventually dying of the fatal 'foot-in-mouth' disease when the angelic elf in front of him incinerated him being a prat. She might as well know whose name to put on his burial urn, so he sighed and pushed on, "Allow me to introduce myself: I'm Alistair, the new Grey Warden, though I guess you knew that. As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining."
And now he was suddenly aware that there was another definition of the word 'joining' that could be used in context with being around a lovely girl. Maker's BALLS, keep it together, Alistair! Just this once, for the love of the bloody Maker!
Fortunately, she didn't seem to notice the mental meltdown taking place only a foot away from her. Her brows drew together, and there was a rather charming little wrinkle between them. "I can't prepare on my own?"
"I know! I felt the same way when I did this. Unfortunately, they don't give us much choice." He gestured for her to walk with him. Out of habit drilled into him by the revered mother, Alistair absently held out his arm, and after a startled pause, she slid a slim-fingered hand into the crook of his elbow. "You know… it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?"
The mage-Maker-dammit, remember to ask her name, you dolt!-tilted her head at him in a way he was praying was flirtatious, eyelashes fluttering, "You want more women in the Grey Wardens, do you?"
"Would that be so terrible? Not that I'm some drooling lecher or anything." She let out a snort and covered her mouth, the giggle back in her eyes as they darted up to his face. "Please stop looking at me like that."
ANYWAY, moving on!
"So, I'm curious, have you ever actually encountered darkspawn before?"
"Have you?" It was a scared little squeak. Right, mage. From the Circle. Of course she hadn't.
The monsters of her world so far wore armor with the Templar heraldry stamped on it, or stalked her in her dreams, trying to find a way to the waking world. Alistair was tempted, just for a second, to play himself as brave and heroic in the face of the horde.
"When I fought my first one, I wasn't prepared for how monstrous it was. I can't say I'm looking forward to encountering another. Anyhow, when you're ready, let's head back to Duncan. I imagine he's eager to get things started."
She looked pale, well, paler than she had before-living in a tower for more than a decade if he guessed right would do that to anyone-so he gently rested his free hand over the hand she had in the crook of his arm. He hoped she found it reassuring.
"That argument I saw… what was it about?" Her eyes were darting about, trying to find something to help settle her, Alistair thought.
"With the other mage? The Circle is here at the King's request, as you know, and the Chantry doesn't like that one bit. They just love letting mages know how unwelcome they are." He didn't even try to reign in the sarcasm. She let out another, louder snort. "Which puts me in a bit of an awkward position. I was once a Templar."
Thank the Maker, she didn't try to pull away or yank her hand back. There was just a slight stumble in her step, then it was like nothing had happened. "You were a mage-hunter?"
"Not that that's all Templar's do, you know as well as I do, but yes. The Chantry… raised… me until Duncan recruited me about six months ago." He wasn't going to mention Redcliffe unless it absolutely had to be said. If he had his way, he'd bring up Cailan and his father about six days after never. "I'm sure the revered mother meant it as an insult-sending me as her messenger-and the mage picked right up on that. I never would have agreed to deliver it, but Duncan says we're all to cooperate and get along. Apparently they didn't get the same speech."
They had been crawling through the camp at a snail's pace, but the walk and the air had given a nice flush to her cheeks, and she didn't look nearly so scared as before. "You don't have to accompany me," she said it like she didn't want to be a burden, "Do you?"
"Don't worry; I'll try not to embarrass you." She rolled her eyes with a smile that said 'too late'.
"What about the other recruits?"
"Daveth and Ser Jory are here in the camp. Have you met them?"
"Yes, both of them." Her tone was cool, and Alistair noticed the way her mouth had pinched at the mention of Ser Jory. Jory had been rather a tool to most of the elves in the camp. He'd be keeping an eye out to make sure any elves in his company actually wanted to be there.
"That makes things easy, then. They'll both be back with Duncan by now."
"I look forward to traveling with you." The smile she gave him was the most unguarded, sweetest, and sincere Alistair thought he'd ever gotten. So, this is what it feels like to take a brick to the side of the head without a helmet on.
"You do? Huh. That's a switch." Thankfully, the mouth demon appeared to be taking a nap. "If you have any questions, let me know. Otherwise, lead on!"
Their strides became more purposeful, but before Duncan and the other recruits spotted them, Alistair's brain re-engaged for a moment and he gently tugged her hand. "By the way, what is your name? I can't just call you mage, or Lady Mage for the rest of your life."
"Oh!" Yes, he was thoroughly smitten. Full smit had been achieved. She was just too pretty when she blushed, and he was pretty sure he would run naked at the darkspawn horde if she asked when she smiled at him again. "I'm Gwyneth Surana. But you can call me Gwyn."