We Gather Together
Alistair turned to the three recruits after Duncan walked away.
"Right, you've got time for a quick clean up if you like before we do the ritual. I wouldn't recommend eating anything beforehand though," he said.
Daveth and Jory both elected to nip back to their billets to remove the worst of the gore and the mud coating them. That left Amelie standing uncertainly in front of him. Out in the Wilds, with tasks to complete, the girl had been quick and decisive, able to motivate and encourage the other recruits. Meeting the strange Morrigan and her mother had been an unexpected test, but again, Amelie had handled it well, behaving as courteously as if she were dealing with two noblewomen. Alistair knew he hadn't handed the encounter nearly as well as Amelie had, but he hadn't been trained to handle a woman showing a significant portion of her lady bits. Erm, not handle. Deal with. Definitely. He wasn't going to think about Morrigan's lady bits and handling in the same thought - arrgh! he'd done it again. Amelie. Yes, she was still here, still looking at him.
"This will be a chance for you to pick up your gear from where you left it earlier and get sorted out a bit," Alistair suggested.
Amelie blushed, and hefted her bag. "This is my gear," she answered.
Well, didn't he feel like a total tosspot now. He'd seen exactly how little there was in Amelie's bag when she'd stowed the treaties in it. She had a few health poultices, herbs and some biscuits. No spare socks, nothing warm, nothing to change into from her armour. Dear Maker, hadn't Duncan thought to get anything for the girl?
"Well, that's simply not acceptable," he said, adding when Amelie reddened further, "I'm not telling you off, Amelie. I'm saying, we're going to get some stuff for you. First, let's go see the Quartermaster."
"Um, Alistair, I don't have any money, well, some, a few pennies," she mumbled, still clearly mortified.
Alistair ruffled her hair, like he used to do to younger initiates at the Chantry. "Remember all those weapons and helmets I made Jory carry back? We'll trade to the quartermaster to get bits and pieces you need. Plus, there's the money we took off the darkspawn. As you killed all of them by yourself, I think we should spend it on you."
"I didn't kill all of them," Amelie protested, her blush fading. "Jory prodded a couple of the short ones with his sword and Daveth hit one of the big ones on the head with a rock. You did a lot of the work."
"So you say now. I had to run pretty fast to get even a single swing in at them, the speed you were hacking away." Alistair grinned at her. "You lied to me, you're obviously an experienced slayer."
Amelie's eyes brightened. A big fat tear rolled out onto her cheek. "It was only my second time fighting for real. The first time was when ...was when..."
When her parents were murdered, Alistair finished silently. Dear Andraste, please let me have a conversation with this girl without shoving my foot in my mouth all the way up to my knee. How much more of a fool can I get? I don't know how to deal with a crying girl. I don't think I've even seen a girl cry, unless you count Isolde's tantrums, and I don't want to count them, because Amelie has nothing in common with Isolde apart from the obvious. Alistair looked down at the ground. Instead he found himself looking straight down the front of Amelie's armour and noticing how nicely she filled it.
Don't think of her as a girl, don't think of her as a girl, he chanted in his head. That way lies cold baths and lightning strikes. Let's pretend she's a boy. What did I do when one of the little initiates started crying? I pretended I hadn't noticed. Fine, I have a plan, nope, a strategy - implement it.
"Well, I'm extremely impressed then, Amelie. I'll need to work hard to keep my place as Duncan's favourite with you around," Alistair said lightly.
"I don't think we need to compete," Amelie replied in a stronger voice. "I'm clearly far superior to you, Alistair."
"Oh ho, fighting words! What's your cooking like?"
Amelie grinned back at him, a huge cheeky grin that transformed her countenance. Alistair's heart skipped a beat. It's like the sun and the moon and the stars have all come out at once, he thought. La la la, she's a boy, she's a boy, she's a boy, he sang in his head.
"Better than yours, and I've never cooked anything in my life," she was saying.
"Has Duncan been slagging off my cooking? How dare he! I make an excellent lamb stew and and a tremendously good leftover soup."
"From leftovers, I take it?"
"No, I call it that because there's always plenty left over," he joked and she giggled, actually giggled. "Come on, grab some of this gear and follow me. The quartermaster's is over this way."
Alistair put Amelie in charge of the trading, saying her feminine wiles might secure them a better deal. "Though I am adamant my eyelashes are longer than yours," he finished.
The transaction turned out to be more of a sale than a trade. The quartermaster had few clothing items and they were all far too big for Amelie. Alistair picked out a shirt and blushingly suggested it as a nightgown. Amelie blushingly agreed. In the end all they bought was the shirt, a pack and some bandages.
"We need women!" Alistair announced after they finished haggling and were walking away.
"That's not something you say very often," Duncan interrupted. They hadn't heard him approach. "In fact, you're usually saying the exact opposite. 'Arrrgh, women! Protect me, Duncan!'"
"Duncan! You're just showing off in front of Amelie," Alistair protested. "He doesn't normally have a sense of humour, you know. Normally, he's all grim and gritty in a 'if I smiled my face would crack and fall off my skull' way."
"Well, yes, when I've only got your jokes to listen to." Duncan grasped Amelie by the shoulder. "How are you doing, my dear? Is this rapscallion taking good care of you?"
Amelie shook her head. "He's already tried to trick me into doing all the cooking, Duncan."
"That's a lie! A big, fat, pustulent lie!"
She ignored Alistair's interjection. "He says I need at least three pairs of socks."
"He's right. How many pairs do you have already?" Duncan asked.
Alistair jumped in to answer. "Now you ask! Some commander you are, you should have checked days ago. Amelie, you wouldn't believe the number of lectures Duncan has given me on the importance of dry feet." He gave the other warden a quick, warning glance.
"The Revered Mother assured me the only way you ever learned anything was through constant repetition or regular beatings, Alistair. I'd rather not see your hairy arse every day," Duncan bantered.
Amelie laughed in a very unladylike fashion.
"Don't laugh yet, missy," Duncan continued. "Now I've got you, you can beat Alistair for me. My tongue could do with a rest."
"You've been using your tongue on Alistair's arse?" Amelie shot back, then clapped her hand over her mouth. Duncan roared with laughter.
"Great," Alistair said bitterly. "Now I've got two of them picking on me."
Duncan clapped Alistair on the back. "Don't worry, lad. It's going to be fun."
"You always say that, and I never believe you," Alistair replied. "Have we got time to go scrounging?"
"Yes, the mage hasn't finished the potion yet. Where are the other two?"
"Getting cleaned up a bit. I did warn them not to eat."
"Um, why is eating a problem?" Amelie enquired.
Duncan and Alistair exchanged glances then Duncan shrugged.
"It isn't, if you don't mind violent vomiting. Not everyone reacts like that to the potion but better safe than sorry," he said.
"Puke is incredibly difficult to get out of chainmail," Alistair remarked jovially. "Right, let's go twist some arms, young recruit."
Alistair led Amelie over to a section of the camp which seemed to be swarming with Chantry sisters.
"I should explain. I grew up from age ten in a monastery. While it has left me with horrible nightmares, I'm also quite good at talking to Chantry busies in their own language." Alistair paused, a bit panicky. "Er, are you devout?"
"Yes, extremely. How dare you speak so of the devoted Chantry sisterhood!" Amelie scolded sternly. She giggled when Alistair winced. "Got you."
"I think I preferred you before I'd actually met you. Now, no giggling or smirking. Can you look cold? And sad? Yep, that's perfect. Stand here being miserable. Give me your bag and take this empty pack."
Alistair approached a sister with an ample bosom. He smiled politely and waited for her to speak first.
"Yes, child, do you need something?" the sister asked.
"Not I, sister, but that young lady over there requires some, ah, female assistance," he said, avoiding the sister's eyes.
"Oh, indeed?"
"Amelie is a new recruit to the Grey Wardens, under unfortunate circumstances." Alistair lowered his voice. "She escaped the darkspawn with only the things she stood in, not even a spare pair of socks, never mind unmentionables or anything else."
Alistair hoped the sister wouldn't ask too many questions. He knew Amelie's true story would wring the heart of the hardest Chantry busy. He also knew that the condolences from strangers would not be acceptable to the girl.
"I've bought a shirt for her to use as a nightgown. That was all the Quartermaster had which was suitable. I got a few bandages as well she could maybe use as replacement unmentionables but ..." Alistair let his voice trail away bashfully. He wished he could blush on command.
"Oh, the poor child. I'm sure we can find some clothes for her. Leave it all to me, Warden."
The sister rushed over to Amelie, grabbed her and pressed the girl against her chest. Amelie's face vanished completely. "Poor darling. So young and so brave. Come with me."
Alistair watched as Amelie was dragged into the Chantry encampment. He knew she'd come back with a pack stuffed full of everything the sister thought the girl might need. Yep, big bosom usually meant big softy in his experience with Chantry sisters. He also thought a little fussing would keep Amelie from brooding about the ritual. Amelie had already shown an incredibly brave front in the face of danger and the unknown ritual. Alistair didn't know much about women but he was pretty sure that new clothes distracted most of them.
Anxiety snatched at Alistair instead. Amelie might be about to die a horrible death, right in front of him. He'd tried to make this last half hour entertaining at least, tried to be reassuring. Duncan had said Amelie was his own age. Certainly she fought like an experienced warrior. Alistair couldn't quite shake his first impression of her, as a lost child, nearly blue with cold, however. He liked her too, probably more than he should at this point. It had been easy to not get attached to Daveth and Jory. Neither had shown much humour or adaptability.
"Please, Maker, let her live. Let her, especially, live," he prayed, more fervently than he had managed in years.