1. The Tournament

Alistair laid on his bunk in the templar barracks, staring at the ceiling, following the cracks in the stones as he had done for countless nights since coming here. The entire barracks were empty except for him. Classes, training, sparring practice, had all been canceled, for there was to be a tournament today. The Warden Commander of Ferelden was coming to choose a recruit from among the templars to join the Grey Wardens and the tournament was being held in his honor to display the best that the chantry and the templars had to offer. Templars from all over Ferelden had come including probably the three best warriors the chantry had. Ser Kalvin of Denerim, whose talent with a sword could not be equaled this side of the Antivan duelists, Ser Eryhn, a woman of Highever, possessed of unmatched grace with blade and shield and Ser Talrew of Lothering, whose battle prowess had brought victory in many campaigns against Chasind raiders in the Korcari Wilds. Any templar that wished to could compete, but initiates could only with permission from the Knight-Commader Glavin. A few had asked and been permitted to compete. He had asked, nearly begged to be allowed to enter but his request had been denied.

He had been so angry, furious in fact, which in retrospect hadn't helped his cause any. He wanted so badly to compete, wanted to be given the chance to be recruited and get out of this place, wanted to do anything but be a templar. And, well... saving the world from darkspawn sounded like a pretty good option. Besides becoming a Grey Warden was a great honor. It wasn't that he wasn't good enough to compete that that level. He was. He knew that and so did the Knight-Commander. He was the best warrior of all the intiates there and he wasn't being allowed to compete. Why? Because he wanted to, that's why.

It was a punishment, and he knew it. The Knight-Commander had finally found something he wanted, something he cared about, something to take away from him. He had gotten used to the frequent corporal punishment, gotten to the point where he liked working in the kitchen. There was nothing they could do or threaten to do to make him submit and behave. He was a trouble maker, willful, obstinate and not worthy of being a templar but he was the best they had. He tried to explain the irony of what they were doing but they didn't care. He wanted out so they were going to make sure he stayed. If he had been content here, a good initiate who never caused trouble, they would let him go with a happy heart but now they held on to him with spite. This was payback, vengeful and petty and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

He heard the horn, the tournament was about to start. He should stay here, refused to be a part of it, show they hadn't beaten him but they had and they all knew it. And he did want to see the matches and the skill of the knights. He begrudeningly got up and made his way to the courtyard.

He walked around watching the first round matches. He fought the rising anger at seeing those fight he knew he could beat and tried to observe and learn. He found where the knights were competing but he had gotten there too late to get close enough to see them. Then he thought he heard his name called. He looked around and then saw the Knight-Commander motioning for him to approach. Fantastic! he thought. They weren't even going to let him watch. He walked up to him. Next to him was a man, dark skinned, black hair, Rivani. He had a calm demeanor, serious, but kind too somehow. That must be the Grey Warden, he thought. Great. He gets called out in front of the Grey Warden. Day just couldn't get any better.

The Knight-Commander said "The Warden Commander wants to see you fight. Go get your gear and try not to embarrass all of us." At least, that's what Alistair thought he said, but it was so incredible that he really didn't believe it. He looked back and forth between the two men. The Warden Commander smiled and nodded to him. Alistair turned and ran over several people and back to the barracks. He had to get his gear before the Knight-Commader changed his mind. He charged through the doors, running through the halls back to the armory. He grabbed his set of medium grade splintmail. It was only iron and he was going to be at a distinct disadvantage since most of the templars fought in their plate armor and all of the initiates had been allowed at least heavy armor to compete in. But he'd just have to be better. He pulled off his clothes, and buckled himself into the armor. He grabbed a wooden templar shield and a simple iron sword and ran back to the courtyard.

He forced his way through the crowd of onlookers and combatants to the templar in charge of the matches. "I get to fight!" He blurted out. The templar looked at him suspiciously. "Knight-Commander said so. See look." He pointed to where the Knight-Commander he sat with the Grey Warden. He nodded his head at the templar. Alistair heard protests from the other initiates and even some of the full templars that he shouldn't be allowed to compete. He had already missed the first round. But he didn't care, this was his chance and he didn't intend to waste it.

Rules made clear: No fighting dirty, this is a skill contest. The match was over when either one party conceded or was dealt what in the judges' opinion was a killing blow. His first match was against another initiate, the fourth son of a minor noble in the bannorn. At least it's better than being a bastard, he was wont to say. We'll see, Alistair thought, this isn't sparring practice. He blocked several showy blows, let his opponent feel good about pummeling him and then struck quickly and with force at the first opportunity. The templar judges reluctantly called the match. The other initiate protested but all three judged agreed. Alistair extended his hand to him but he refused. Alistair had expected as much and for the most part didn't care. He faked devastation at the slight. There were chuckles from the crowd. Alistair looked up to see if the Grey Warden had seen his victory and to his great surprise, he was watching him.

The next match was against a templar in full massive armor, who seemed almost insulted that he was being asked to fight an initiate. Alistair was patient and good at his chosen discipline. He blocked the blows he had to and avoided those he could. He was quicker in the lighter armor and would tire less easily. He could afford to wait and let the templar wear himself out, let him get frustrated by his lack of success. Alistair could play the waiting game, watch... and wait... for the right... opportunity and... then... strike. He swung with the sword, just hard enough to get his attention and then bashed him with the shield, knocking him back. Before the templar could recover his footing, Alistair followed it up with another bash. Then he changed targets and went after his sword. A stunning blow to the templar's wrist and he let go of his sword. He tried to retreat to regroup and recover his weapon but in the massive armor Alistair was too quick. Another blow brought him to his knees. The match was called. There was some light applause and again he extended his hand but the templar was too embarrassed by being bested by an initiate and refused. Alistair shrugged to the crowd and then, while trying not to be obvious about it, checked to see if the Grey Warden was still watching and he was.

The next match was another templar. He was different, he fought with patience and skill. Alistair finally gained an edge and knocked the templar to his back, with his sword at his throat the match was called. Alistair again extended his hand and this time to his surprise the templar took it. He helped him to his feet."Good match. Best one I've had today, obviously." He smiled.

Alistair responded. "I got lucky."

"No," the templar said shaking his head. "You are very good. Good luck to you." He said and then turned away.

Alistair fought several more matches and won them all and qualified to advanced to the next round. He was the only initiate still in the competition. Over and over and match after match, he besting each opponent. Finally there were only four combatents left: Ser Kalvin of Denerim, Ser Eryhn of Highever, Ser Talrow of Lothering and him.

His first match of the final round was with Ser Kalvin. He tried to keep up with the flurry of strikes, many he blocked, several to the great surprise of Ser Kalvin but there were too many and too fast. He realized he couldn't beat him but determined to last as long as possible. Finally he felt the knight's blade at his throat and the match was called. He extended his hand to Alistair who shook it. "Well fought." he said.

"Thank you." Alistair responded.

"You're good, very good. It was an honor."

"Yes, thank you, you too. I mean it was an honor for me as well." The knight smiled and walked away.

His next match was with Ser Eryhn. Alistair knew that he had to win at least one match to even be considered for recruitment but that seemed highly unlikely. As the match began, he knew almost immediately he was outmatched but was determined to make a good showing. He tried attack after attack but couldn't get any blow to land. He fell back into a defensive stance and waited for an opening that never came. After several tries, he was finally knocked back and the match called. She walked over to him as he regained his footing. She extended her hand and he shook it. "Quite a match there. I'm impressed and I don't say that often."

"Thank you." He replied.

"You have talent and skill and the inteligence to use both. Most any idiot can pick up a sword and a shield and figure out how to block with the one and strike with the other, but true mastery of the discipline takes, talent, study, time and hard work. You show a great deal of potential, keep working at it. Maker watch over you." She smiled and walked away.

The last match was with Ser Talrow of Lothering. It was a grueling battle of attrition that again he knew he couldn't win. Finally, exhausted, he took one more blow than he was able and collapsed to the ground. The match was called. He had lost the three final matches and no doubt any chance he had at being recruited. He tried to get up but couldn't. "Stay down." He heard the knight say. "Take deep breaths. Don't try to stand till breathing is normal and vision clears." Alistair took several deep breaths and then as he tried to stand the knight picked him up from under his arms and raised him to his feet.

"Good match. I was almost worried." The knight smiled. "What's your name again? Alastin?"

"Alistiar" he was finally able to say.

"I'll remember that, no doubt I'll hear it again someday. Maker guide your steps, lad."

His whole body hurt. He stiffly walked over to the edge of the arena and sat down and then laid down upon the ground. Soon the Knight-Commander would announce the winner and who the recruit would be. He knew it was useless but he prayed anyway. As hard as he ever had in his life. Then he heard the Knight-Commander speak and he thought he heard him say his name, but he had to be hearing things. He had lost all three final matches. He looked around and all were looking at him, some with indignant startes and some with surprise. He saw the Knight-Commander and the Grey Warden approach and slowly got to his feet.

"Here is your recruit." the Knight-Commander said with obvious distaste.

Alistair looked to him and then to the Grey Warden and blurted out "But I didn't win the tournament!"

The Grey Warden said "I did not ask for the tournament, nor did I offer recruitment as its prize. I came here seeking a warrior of character and I believe I have found him"

Alistair was taken back and stood there with his mouth hanging open. 'Warrior of character' that sounded a lot better than 'troublemaker with willful streak' that's for sure. Finally the Grey Warden said "Why don't you go collect your things. We leave immediately." Alistair nodded and then ran off to the barracks as fast as he was able, before the Grey Warden could change his mind.

He went to his bunk. Last time he would ever see this place. He looked through his things. There was so little there, few pairs of socks and small clothes, couple change of clothes. He didn't even really want to risk taking the time to change. Figured if they really wanted the old rusty splintmail and now cracked shield he would let them have them, and walk out of this place naked. He packed up his few things. He put his hand under the pillow and pulled out a book he had long ago borrowed from the monastery's library Tales of Calenhad. He put it on the bed and then took off his initiate's amulet and threw it next to it. He grabbed his pack and made his way to the front doors.

As he approached he heard voices talking and whoever they were, they were not happy. It was the Grey Warden and another voice, female... the Grand Cleric... Alistair felt his heart sink. He turned the corner and saw the Grey Warden standing facing the Grand Cleric who had not only a few templars behind her but several members of the Denerim city guard. This was not good.

He stepped up and heard the Grey Warden say, "I do not see the problem. I requested permission to choose a recruit from among the ranks of the templars. The tournament was held for that purpose."

"But you were not given permission to choose an initiate." she said. Oh no, Alistair couldn't believe it. She wasn't going to stop him, not now.

"If that was an issue why were other initiates allowed to compete?" He asked.

The Grand Cleric had no answer and said "He was not to be allowed to compete."

"Why was that? It would seem that since he made it to the final round he had more than enough skill and talent." He stopped letting the Grand Cleric know that he knew she had no answer, or at least no answer she wanted to give. He continued. "From what I have heard of him, it would seem that he may very well better serve the Maker as a Grey Warden than a templar."

"You would interfere with a templar's duty to the Maker, to protect his world from magic." The Grand Cleric said trying to change the focus of the conversation.

"The duty of the Grey Wardens is the greatest in the Maker's world for if we fail it will not matter if magic is unsanctioned or not for the world itself will fall. When a blight comes, will the templars be willing to stand against the might of a darkspawn hoard, fight an archdemon. For if they wish to take on that responsibility I will gladly retire today."

"There has not been a blight in over 400 years." The Grand Cleric said.

"So that means there will not be another one? That is the same thing that was said after the first blight, the second blight and the third blight, but another came. and each time only the Grey Wardens stood against it."

The Grand Cleric looked to Alistair and said "I will not allow his recruitment." Alistair was crushed. He started to speak, to beg if he had to. Then the Grey Warden grabbed his arm. Alistair bit his tounge and prayed. "If he tries to leave with the initiate, arrest both of them." She said to the guards and started to turn away.

The Grey Warden replied "Then you leave me no choice." The Grand Cleric looked satisfied. He continued "I will conscript him."

Her eyes became wide. "What?"

"I have the right given to the Grey Wardens by King Maric." Alistair knew that the Grey Warden had pulled rank on the Grank Cleric. For while the chantry held much power, there was nothing more respected in Ferelden than the name of the king who had freed this land from the Orleasians. He could see the soldiers waiver. Willing as they had been to obey the word of the Grand Cleric, they were not willing to go against the will of the king. And she knew it.

"You would... risk... do that." She said obviously surprised.

"That I take such a drastic measure should prove to you how much I believe that he will serve the Maker better as a Grey Warden than a templar." Alistair could tell she was fuming. She decided to change tatics and turned her attention to him.

"Come now, Alistair, do you really wish to leave us?" She said as sweetly as possible.

Duncan spoke up "It does not matter what he wishes. I have conscripted him. He has no choice in the matter." Alistair knew that the Grey Warden was taking the fight and the responsibility on himself. He knew that Alistair wanted to leave, wanted to be recruited. He had faced and stood up to the Grand Cleric, risked her wrath to help him. No one had ever done anything like that for him... ever.

The Grand Cleric knew she had lost and didn't like it but she had no choice. If the Warden Commander was willing to push the issue she knew that Cailan would uphold the order of his father. She addressed Alistiar. "If you are to go, I must ask one thing of you. You are not yet a templar, you have not taken your final vows yet. One of those vows is an oath to the Maker that you will never reveal templar secrets to anyone. It is vital to the security and safety of all templars that these secrets are not learned by anyone so that they be used against the chantry. So I must ask that you give me your word, your solemn promise before the Maker that you will never reveal any templar secrets to anyone. Not even to the Grey Wardens."

Alistair looked to Duncan, who slightly nodded to him. He looked back to the Grand Cleric and croaked a "Yes, I give you my word."

She looked appeased and said dismissively "Then good luck and Maker watch over you." She turned and walked away.

"Come." the Grey Warden said. They walked by the guards and out of the chantry's door. "By the way," The Grey Warden said as they stepped into the evening air. "My name is Duncan."