Duncan looked out over the field. Before him were warriors, men and women, the best the chantry and the templars had to offer. They had been called together to fight, to prove themselves, to showcase their skill before him so that he may choose from among them a recruit to join the ranks of the Grey Wardens. He knew what he was looking for, but he was hard pressed to be able to define it. Most thought the Grey Warden only recruited the most skilled, the most experienced, the fearless, the powerful, the honorable and the good. But that was not the case, skills can be taught, experience gained, the fearless are often reckless, the powerful often overconfident. In truth, when facing the destruction of all, honor is not that important and the good may not have the heart to do what is necessary.
He looked for a... something, a bearing, a demeanor, a toughness both mental and physical, a strength of mind of body but mostly of will, and above all character. He looked for those things innate to a person, those attributes that cannot be taught. He surveyed the candidates as they sparred, displaying their skill. There were a couple here and there that showed potential, perhaps. As his eye wandered over them it was caught by a young man. An initiate from the age and clothing. He studied him more closely. There seemed something familiar about him, but that was not unusual for Duncan. He had met so many people in his time in Ferelden, it was uncommon that a new face did not ring some bell for him. But that was not what drew his attention, he saw the way the lad carried himself and in that, a glimmer of what he sought. Duncan asked the Knight Commander after the young man and was told with a great sigh that he was a troublemaker with a willful streak and not worthy of the honor of fighting before him. Duncan, however, disagreed.
'Willful, huh?' Duncan thought, what a templar sees as willful to others may be seen as strength of will. And that he still has that despite the intense templar... training, speaks well of him, he thought. He requested that he be allowed to fight. The Knight Commander was not happy at the request, but Duncan was not here to make him happy and he knew he could hardly refused him since the tournament was being held in his honor. The Knight Commander called out "Alistair!" They young man looked up and approached them. Duncan's eyes widened. That was Alistair! Now, of course, he knew who he reminded him of. A memory, faded by time flashed before him, a face, a friend, one lost as so many had been lost to him over the years. Duncan smiled as Alistair's surprise and obvious excitement at being told he would be allowed to compete. He ran off hurriedly to collect his gear. Duncan looked over the rest, watching each potential with a heart now heavy. He had known that Alistair had been sent to the chantry, he had figured him safe and had lost track of him. He had not lived up to the promise he had made to his dear friends to look after the boy and now he was considering betraying them in the worst possible way. Could he truly take the child they had asked him to look after, to keep safe, a babe he had held in his own arms and now place him in the greatest danger he knew of? Subject him to what could bring his death? Call upon him to fight the worst creatures in the Maker's world, and sacrifice years of his life for the privilege? He saw Alistair enter the competition. Duncan was now unsure what he wished to see of him. Perhaps he will not show any promise, perhaps he is not suited at all to the Wardens and Duncan could then choose another with a clear conscious.
But as Duncan watched many of the other potentials showed themselves unsuitable. And more and more Duncan found himself watching Alistair with satisfaction, if unease. He had the talent and was well suited to his chosen discipline. He was patient, focused, disciplined in both mind and body. He fought initiate and knight alike, showing no signs of being intimidated nor overconfidence. Duncan could see he had a good heart and a thick skin and a strong spirit. The tournament was over and now he had to choose. The choice of recruits was clear, he had seen none better suited than him. The choice was now his word or his duty. His word meant much to him, as did loyalty to his friends. But his duty was greater. He was tasked with safeguarding all of the Maker's world against its destruction. It was the highest duty imaginable, and he knew all must fall to it. For it he failed, if the warden's failed that duty, nothing else in the Maker's world would matter. And there was this something, a shadow in the back of his mind, a whisper he could not quite understand, a thought seemingly just out of reach, like something just forgotten that made him uneasy. He looked out to Alistair. The lad's parents, his old friends, would never know the man their child had become. But both of them had known duty and had fulfilled their duty at great cost to themselves. One to the wardens and one to their country. They may not forgive him but they would understand, and he could live with that. "I will recruit Alistair."