Olivia found herself quite glad for Alistair's company, as it turned out. Where she had felt as though she were a lost child when she had been wandering on her own, he filled the silence with easy conversation. It gave her something to focus on beside how much she did not want to be here.

He was the first person who seemed to care about how she was faring, as well. He didn't ask her endless questions about her family, about her loss. He may not have even known. And yet his voice was kind when he asked her if she had ever fought darkspawn before, and spoke of how frightened he'd been his first time. She knew she was probably latching onto a friendly face in her brother's absence, but that did not lessen the comfort she found in Alistair's easy presence.

"So," she began, starting down the ramp, "if you don't mind my prying, what was that argument all about?"

He fell into step next to her, his armor clinking pleasantly as he did. "With the mage?" He scoffed. "The Circle is here at the King's request and the Chantry doesn't like that one bit." She swore she could actually hear him roll his eyes. "They just love letting mages know how unwelcome they are."

Olivia couldn't help but feel surprised at his tone. Her initial impression of him had led her to believe he had just as little patience for mages as she did. Yet he sounded rather disapproving when he spoke of the Chantry's treatment of them.

"Which puts me in a bit of a bit of an awkward position. I was once a Templar."

Oh. And now she was even more intrigued, as well as confused. He had the sort of golden boy look she had always imagined to be requisite for a Templar, but he hadn't struck her as particularly… reverent. She hadn't been around Templars and mages much in Highever, but what she had heard about the Circle…

"You were a mage-hunter?" she blurted, her steps halting as she turned to stare at him. He stopped as well. His brow furrowed a bit at her response and she bit her lip, abashed.

"Not that that's all Templars do, but…" He raised an arm to scratch his ear, his mouth giving a wry twitch. "Yes. The Chantry raised me until Duncan recruited me six months ago." He started walking once more, and she followed him instinctively. "I'm sure the Revered Mother meant it as an insult – sending me as her messenger – and the mage picked right up on that." He sighed now, and his next words held a note of petulance that made her grin. "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."

She chuckled. "And now you have the lucky task of following around green recruits. Making sure they don't get their heads lopped off or wander off a cliff face before they have the chance to be useful to the crown. You must have made someone angry." They had stopped again at some point, and they were in front of the quartermaster's stall. She perused idly, admiring the craftsmanship of his daggers.

Alistair laughed, and the sound was unrestrained and pleasant. "It's the Revered Mother – she fancies me. It makes all the other Wardens jealous and so they stick me with the tasks they don't want." He gave a dramatic sigh. "It's very difficult, being so devastatingly handsome."

"Oh, I'm sure!" she exclaimed, holding her hand over her heart. "I myself have to look away, lest I stare too long and my knees go weak."

His cheeks flushed, though she could see him struggling to quell it, and she laughed, victorious. With an awkward cough, he grinned at her and shook his head. "Somehow, I doubt you've ever swooned in your life."

There was a long pause in which Olivia could feel her skin tingling at his words. They were innocuous enough, yet somehow, he made it sound like a compliment. She turned away from him, suddenly needing to escape his gaze. She picked up a nearby sword, feigning great interest as she examined it.

"Good blade, that." The quartermaster had found his way to them. He scanned her with discerning eyes, taking in the longsword and dagger strapped to her back. "Though it looks as though you've already got yourself a good longsword. I could recommend some daggers or axes if you've a mind, though." Olivia touched the hilt of the sword at her back, finding comfort in the feel of the gilded heirloom under her fingers.

"I'm afraid I don't have much in the way of coin at the moment, ser," she responded with a polite smile. The words felt strange on her lips, and settled, heavy, intrusive, in her gut. "I will have to make due, for now."

He gave her a grunt and a curt nod, already turning to greet the next patron. "I'll be here when you do," he said as he did so.

With a last glance at his wares, she gave a long sigh. "I won't hold my breath." She turned to Alistair, affecting a wry smile. "I've heard that joining the Grey Wardens is not an ideal choice for those who enjoy the feel of coin in their hands."

He gave her an apologetic grin. "'Coin?' Ha. I've heard tell of this 'coin' you speak of. Sounds like a myth to me."

Olivia felt the corners of her lips turn up into a smile, and opened her mouth to respond. But the words died in her throat at the sound of a nearby voice shouting angrily.

"Please! I know you can hear me, all I want is some food! You can't treat people this way!" Her brows furrowed in curiosity, and she made her way up a ramp toward the sound.

She rounded a corner to find a caged man in filthy smallclothes, grasping desperately at the bars with white-knuckled fists. In front of his cage, an annoyed-looking guard steadfastly ignored his pleas. Her frown deepened at the sight of him, and he stood on shaking legs to stare down at her as she approached. His glare was only half-hearted, though. She could see exhaustion furrowed in the deep lines of his face.

"Huh. Someone finally comes and talks to the lone prisoner? I don't suppose you've come to sentence me." His words were low and bitter.

Olivia balked in surprise. "No, I… You haven't been sentenced?"

With a scowl, he crouched down to sit once more. "No. They put someone like me in a cage until someone important has time to decide what to do with me." He looked up at her, his eyes dull and hopeless. "I don't suppose you have a bit of kindness in you? All I want is food and water. They haven't fed me since I was locked up, and I'm starving."

She felt a rush of pity for the man, but underneath, something darker, a gnawing twinge that pulled at the corners of her mouth. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him, long and thoughtful. "Tell me why you're in there, first."

"I'm a deserter." He heaved a loaded sigh. "Or so they think. I bet there's no arguing them out of it though – armies are funny that way."

Her frown deepened. "Did you desert?"

"I wasn't deserting!" His voice was insistent, and there was an edge of desperation to it. "But when you catch someone sneaking around camp in the middle of the night, what else are you going to think?" He glared at her now, fierce and indignant. "Does it matter? All I want is a bit of food and water!"

She blinked owlishly at him, finally shaking her head, feeling as though she had water in her ears. "A prisoner shouldn't be left to rot and starve just because his jailers can't bother to look at him. I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you." His voice was heavy with relief. "Maybe you can ask my guard for his. He's still got some dinner. I saw him put it in his coat."

Olivia looked now to the guard, who was still ignoring her presence, and she frowned deeply. He chanced a glance at her from the corner of his eye, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

He looked away quickly.

She and Alistair exchanged a look of unspoken annoyance.

"Well, now I know you're not blind. Are you deaf as well, that you couldn't hear this man pleading with you from three paces away?" He continued to pretend as though he couldn't hear her, so she planted herself firmly in front of his face, her hands landing heavily on her hips. "Is it really so difficult to spare a bit of food for a doomed man?"

The guard seemed to snap then. "And 'ow exactly am I supposed to do that? Since nobody sends me nothin' to feed him with, the only way he'll get that is if I give him mine!" She raised a pointed brow. He flinched. "I'm gonna need that food later! I 'ave a long shift of standing 'ere doing nothin' and it works up a man's appetite!"

Alistair made a small noise of disgust from behind her. "Who could imagine such a terrible fate?" His question was dry and scathing.

Her eyes bored, relentless, into the guard's. "So you miss one meal." She made no attempt to pretend at sympathy. "This man is about to be hanged."

The guard looked away from her, his face still reluctant, and he wrung his hands in front of him for a long moment.

Finally, Olivia huffed in outrage. She snatched her coin purse from her belt and held it out to him, glaring. "Here. Since simple human decency seems too hard for you, I'll give you ten silvers for it."

Indignant, the guard huffed. "I was gonna give it anyway." Still, his hand snatched out and took the purse from hers, replacing it with a sorry lump wrapped in brown paper. She didn't want to find out what it was he had hoarded away, and was sure it was only barely fit for consumption. It would have to do "I had nothin' to do with it though!" he added quickly. "If anyone asks why he's burpin' I'm gonna say it was you! Just so you know." She gave him one last look of revulsion before walking back to the prisoner and handing the package through the bars of the cage.

He smiled at her so thankfully she had to look away. "Much obliged. May Andraste herself rain blessings upon you!" With desperation, he began ripping into the paper.

"Maker go with you," she mumbled to him. She forced herself to turn away, and shook her head.

She glanced up at Alistair, eyeing him through the chunk of black curls that hung in front of her eye. He must have thought her a fool for handing the last of her coin to that idiot, and no doubt he was impatient to get to Duncan and finish his task. But when her eyes found him, he was looking at her with something else in his eyes. It was an odd expression, one she couldn't quite read.

"Come on," she said to him sourly, looking away from his gaze as she stalked past him. "Let's just get to Duncan. It's about time we get on with this Joining."


NOTE: I apologize if this chapter was slow, but I wanted to establish some important characterization for Olivia here before she becomes a Warden and everything gets all crazy, because Cousland's life has a lot of turmoil in quick succession and it's important to me to establish a clear difference between Olivia Cousland and the Hero of Ferelden.