I thought I'd post the second chappie to this real quick – here it is! Nalia and Alistair in a tent – although doing nothing naughty. ;) Gamers will recognize the conversation between Duncan/Marathari/Nalia as it is taken directly from the game. The conversation between Alistair and Nalia later in the chapter has it's skeleton from the conversation choices given in the game, but the meat of it is mine. Enjoy!

LCailan

ooo

~Ostagar~

o

oo

o

"There are only a few Grey Wardens within Ferelden at the moment, but all of us are here. This Blight must be stopped here and now. If it spreads to the north, Ferelden will fall."

o

oo

o

Alistair had always found that time became irrelevant when battle was imminent. It was as if no one slept, not even in the dead of night. And so, one lost track of time. In the distance he could see Duncan standing at the huge fire near Cailan's tent. Beyond that, nothing but darkness. But he could feel them. Hordes of them, all of them horrid and frightening – he had never gotten used to how horrible the darkspawn were- although he was now used to the strange feeling that came over him when they were near.

His eyes traveled across the path and then towards the small elf who was lying nearby. He didn't dare move, in case she was sleeping, but Alistair knew better. Sleep had been impossible his first night after joining in spite of the pull of exhaustion. He recalled his own feelings of fear and inadequacy and even the regret at leaving the chantry, which had been the last place he wanted to be. That had been most surprising to him. And of course, how he had felt when feeling their presence.

The darkspawn.

Alistair shifted from one leg to the other, making himself more comfortable against the wooden storage crate. Outside, the fire crackled and popped, and then, for awhile, there was nothing but the howling of the wind. After that, a voice broke through the quiet, died once more. A war hound barked in the distance. Then, she moved. Alistair's eyes shifted towards Nalia's form, as she turned onto her back, still cocooned in her burlap blanket. Partly because he had been raised in the chantry from the time he was a little boy and partly because, well, he was painfully shy around women, he avoided her gaze. Her eyes had opened, for he had seen a split second glimmer from the fire burning outside. Unfortunately, he found himself tongue tied. He knew few women, and on top of that, he knew even fewer women who weren't human. Alistair's reality was that she would be the first elf he had known since…ever.

Could that be true? In a world where elves, dwarves and human coexisted, could he have been that sheltered? Nalia could tell the man she now shared a tent with was uncomfortable with her.

Shame. Is it because I'm an elf? Or is it something else? No matter. I won't waste my time on some socially awkward shem anyway.

She stared up at the ceiling of their enclosure. It kept out the night wind well enough, though places were worn thinner than others, and she could almost see the stars glittering through the canvas. It had finally sunk in. Nalia had realized she had passed the awful joining ceremony and was still alive. That meant she would never again see the ones she loved. Now that she was past the first test, Nalia had too much time to think. Too much time to recall how she had gotten here in the first place.

Tamlen…oh Tamlen! Why couldn't she have saved him? Guilt filled her once more over the demise of the only friend and the one who would have been her love. Why had they gone into those ruins? Why had he touched that mirror? It had happened so fast. The horrible battle with the wolves, and then the allure of a looking glass which had stood in the center chamber, clearly an object that hadn't belonged there. And Tamlen, always curious..

Tears filled her eyes and spilled, hot ad wet along her cheeks. Whatever magic the mirror had possessed caused her illness, a coma, the Keeper had said. And there had been no way to cure it, except…by the shemlen. Duncan. She still heard his deep voice, warning her of the dangers, and telling her that it was too late, that she must join him…

"The cure is only found by joining the Grey Wardens, it creates immunity, but we don't take just anyone. This is not charity. We enlist only the worthy, and you have certainly proven yourself. Should you join, it's unlikely you'll ever be able to return here."

Nalia stared, afraid of leaving her clan, her home…especially now, with Tamlen missing.

"I would rather take my chances with this illness," she replied thoughtfully. "No…no, I refuse to go."

It was then that Marathari spoke, her voice strong, yet gentle.

"A great army of darkspawn gathers in the south. A new Blight threatens the land. We cannot outrun this storm. Long ago, the Dalish agreed to aid the Grey Wardens against a Blight, should that day arrive. We must honor that agreement. It is your duty, and your salvation," she said, putting a hand on Nalia's arm. But the younger elf flung it off in shock at being rejected so unceremoniously.

"This is my home!" she sputtered, sky blue eyes wide. "It's all I've ever known! I can't..I cannot…"

Duncan frowned with gravity.

"A home that darkspawn may tear apart. This way, you can find a cure and protect your clan. Have courage."

Nalia's eyes filled with tears of uncertainty as she gazed imploringly at her Keeper. The elder elf sighed, and Nalia saw in her eyes sadness and regret, her mouth turned down into a frown.

"I cannot express my sadness at sending one of our daughters off into such danger, away from the clan that loves her," she said in a low voice. "But if this is what the Creators intend for you, da'len, meet your destiny with your head held high. No matter where you go, you are Dalish. Never forget that."

Nalia shook her head vehemently, her heart pounding.

"I refuse to listen to this!" she hissed, stepping away, her eyes narrowed with hatred, with anger, and with all too known fear. "I won't go! I won't!" she cried out. She stared at the man who had saved her life. Now, she hated him. Hated him because he was trying to take her away from her family. How could he? How could anyone?

Duncan spoke in that same tone of gentleness, his voice low.

"Very well. You leave me no choice. I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription."

Nalia stared at him in disbelief and shock.

"You're forcing me? You can't FORCE me," he said her voice shaking, and yet at the same time, Marathari was speaking in sadness.

"And I witness and acknowledge your invocation, Duncan of the Grey Wardens," she whispered, giving her consent…

The recollection filled her once more with that hot, burning hatred for Duncan of the Grey Wardens. An order of which she now belonged.

Without much ceremony, she spoke.

"Tell me about Duncan."

Alistair jumped, having nearly forgotten the elf who lay on the other side of the tent. Her voice broke through his reverie, somehow softer and higher pitched than he remembered, which was silly.

"Huhh..what?" he said, rather stupidly, blinking in the darkness. He saw that she had sat up, and her hands were folded over her thin frame giving her an unforgiving look. He could see her annoyed expression, even in the dim lighting.

Great. I don't even know her and already she hates me.

"Duncan," she repeated, slowly, as if he had a hearing problem. He was a shem, after all. Perhaps he did. "Tell me about him."

It was a question that the young warden had never considered, for in his mind, Duncan had been a savior, a particular kind of spirit from the Maker himself who had swept in and rescued Alistair from a fate worse than death. Taking the vows of a Templar. He would never look at Duncan as anything less.

"What do you…want to know?" he asked thickly. The elf was annoyed now.

"You were recruited, were you not?" she snapped. "You went through this horrid ritual of joining just as I did. Did you not ever once question who this man Duncan was? How he had come to find you? Anything?" she asked incredulously.

Alistair shirked away as if he had been smacked. Nalia almost felt badly.

"Are all elves this rude?" he asked defensively.

"Are all shemlen such blind followers?" she replied, the words hot on her lips. He bristled.

"I don't know what you're saying, elf," he said gruffly. "But I'm…not…this…shemlen, whatever you're saying," he stated. The fact that she raised her eyebrow in amusement only fueled his annoyance with her. She spoke, her tone less harsh.

"Oh? You're not human?" she questioned lightly. Alistair flushed like a ripe tomato. "Shem is our word for human. You should think before you speak," she said.

"Oh..ohh…"

He looked down, silent. The discomfort in the tent was high. Alistair finally spoke again, his cheeks still hot.

"Duncan is the leader of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden…which he would say doesn't mean much, as there aren't many of us here. Yet. Beyond that, he's a good man. A good judge of character. I owe him a lot."

He was staring down at the ground, kicking his boot into the loose dirt there. Nalia softened at his tone, not being used to speaking with such a quiet shemlen. She wasn't sure what to say when Alistair looked up.

"I suppose you are angry with him, so asking you what you think of him is pointless?" he questioned. Nalia sighed, looking away.

"I owe him much," she conceded. "If it is true, if I am sick and this was the only way, well then, he saved me," she said softly. Then she looked up at him. "You speak so highly of him. Were you never angry at your fate?" she questioned in a voice that was decidedly small.

Alistair looked down once more, away from her face.

"I owe him much as well," said he. "My fate was worse before Duncan recruited me six months ago," came the admission. Then there was a crackle and hiss from the fire outside.

Nalia contemplated his soft words. A worse fate than being pulled from a family? From a life one loved? She had never considered that. Slowly, she crawled across her blanket, closer to the fire, and to the quiet shem.

"Being a Grey Warden is better than the life you had before?" she asked in complete confusion. The warden did not look at her.

"Duncan was the first person to ever care about what I wanted. He saw how unhappy I was and he-"

There was a shy hesitation.

"I was raised by the chantry. As soon as I was old enough they began to train me as a templar."

Nalia tucked her legs under her thin frame, listening to him. It was comforting somehow, this voice in the tumult of the last few hours. She knew of the templars. Her clan had always found them ruthless, horrible, pointless murderers. Somehow though, this man before her seemed none of those things.

"You were a mage hunter?" she whispered. She saw the warden sigh and look saddened.

"The Chantry tries to control mages, yes. They feel that some who wield magical powers are dangerous, so they keep templars that train to hunt and kill apostate mages. That's what I was doing when Duncan recruited me."

Nalia had always made it a point not to speak with humans, but under the circumstances and her own curiosity, she found herself interested.

"So you didn't want to join the Chantry, I take it? You didn't want to be a templar?"

"It just…it wasn't for me," he explained softly, still looking at the ground. Nalia had the sudden desire to look into his eyes but he didn't move. "I believe in the Maker well enough, but I never wanted to devote my life to the Chantry. And killing…mages for no-"

He fell silent, shuddering for a moment.

"I spent years in that chantry, hopelessly resigned to my fate. I never had a choice. It had been made for me. Then Duncan came along. He cared about me. He risked a lot of trouble with the grand cleric to help me. Duncan saw I wasn't happy, and figured my training against mages could double for fighting darkspawn. Now, here I am, a proud Grey Warden. The Grand cleric wouldn't have let me go if Duncan never forced the issue. I'll always be grateful to him."

Nalia backed away, sitting on her haunches. Such a different tale from her own.

"Forced the issue?" she echoed softly, thinking of her own situation. "Did..did he invoke the right of conscription?" he asked him.

That was what made him look up, and Nalia could see his surprise.

"How did you know? Did he invoke…?" he began and then his face saddened. "Ah yes, for very different reasons, then. I wanted to go and they wouldn't let me, you did not want to go at all."

After this, there was a long bout of silence. Nalia wondered why Alistair seemed so…disappointed in her.

"At any rate," he continued then, "He does the best with what he's got, which isn't saying much since he's got me," he finished, and then lay down on his back, hands behind his head.

Nalia watched him for a moment and then lay down herself. Somehow, the junior warden's voice was preferable to the silence, and so Nalia spoke in a subdued way.

"Tell me now about the darkspawn."

Alistair turned his head to look at her in surprise, and Nalia met his gaze. She could have sworn that he blushed, but the moment was gone just as quickly as it had come.

But he did speak. He spoke about the chantry's beliefs and on the truth. He spoke about the arch demon, the one that was in her dreams. He spoke of how he could feel the spawn when they were close and how she would soon understand that. And he spoke of fighting. The whole time, she listened without much interruption finding his voice a comfortable distraction to her current situation.

Not like that situation was going to change, but still.

"The King seems pretty confident tomorrow's battle will go well," Nalia commented then, lying on her stomach but facing Alistair. He nodded.

"Confident enough," he said, though his tone held worry.

"I think him a fool," she uttered haughtily. "One should never underestimate their enemy. Anyone who is trained in fighting ought to know that," she sniffed. Alistair raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? So now you're the resident go to for battle advice?" he replied, his tone slightly caustic.

"You don't have to be so glib about it, shemlen," she snapped back, giving him a disparaging look. "It does you no service."

Alistair bristled again at being called a 'shemlen'.

"I don't understand why that word has to sound so…nasty," he grunted. Nalia sat up, rolling her eyes.

"When you were in the chantry did you ever get a proper history lesson?" she questioned. "You do know about my race and what you shemlen did to-"

She stopped.

"This is pointless," she exclaimed, and then lay back down in her burlap sack. Alistair, still irritated at her passive attack on what he considered his brain, flung himself down as well.

"Clearly," he replied.

Nalia wondered if he would say anything more, but soon the crackling of the fire was mixed with the deep breathing of her tent companion, for he had fallen asleep. She propped herself up on one thin arm, and watched him by the firelight.

He was strange, this shem. And by some weird twist of fate, he was now her companion in what lay ahead, be it good or bad. He lay sleeping, his cheek resting on the back of his hand, long fingers splayed in the hard-packed dirt. Even the hahren had smaller hands than this shemlen. She also found herself admiring the regal ness of his nose, the roundness his ears, which were quite different from those in her race. His face was smooth, unlined in sleep, and free from the blood writing which decorated the faces of her people, though a rogue lock of hair had fallen across his forehead. It was the first time Nalia could ever recall being this close to a human, and like with all things new, she was fascinated.

She lay down then, on her hand as well, closing her eyes after a long moment of thought to what was next. But she didn't want to think, and in spite of her belief that sleep was impossible, soon it gave her blessed relief.