Chapter 4: Conscripted
Flora turned around, wide-eyed, the bread partway to her mouth. She had barely noticed the two uniformed men at first, assuming that they were upper floor guards. Now that she was looking at them properly, she could see that they lacked the standard Chantry garb and their weapons were not the standard shortswords issued to the Templar.
"What's your name, child?" asked the older man with the dark complexion quietly, his hair shot through with grey.
"Flor- Flora," she replied warily, lowering the bread.
"Flora…?"
"Flora Cove, ser," she replied, deference ingrained after four years of residing at the bottom of a strictly enforced hierarchy.
"It's good to meet you, Flora Cove," murmured Duncan, glancing over at Irving. "We need to talk. First Enchanter?"
Irving nodded wearily, suddenly feeling each one of his sixty five years weighing heavily upon him. "Of course, Knight-Commander. We'll return to my office."
Twenty minutes later they had returned to Irving's vestibule. From outside they could hear shouts and horses' hooves against stone, as the Templars continued their hunt for the escaped blood mage. Irving was sitting opposite Duncan, massaging his fingers into his temples. Alistair leaned against the fireplace, his sardonic gaze moving thoughtfully over the scene.
Flora was peering out of the window at the Templars, watching the bright pinpricks of their torches moving against the growing twilight. She swallowed, knowing that they were on the hunt for Jowan, and that they would not be merciful when they found him.
He was an idiot, she thought to herself sternly. Despite the fact that the conversation going on over the desk was about her, Flora was only half-listening. She was brooding over Jowan's fate, miserably going over the events of that morning to see if she could have said anything differently to dissuade him from his purpose.
"She's only just passed her Harrowing," protested Irving weakly, fiddling with the First Enchanter's signet he wore around his neck "She lacks adequate training."
"Then if she can cast like that already, with no staff to channel through," Duncan said bluntly, his dark gaze boring into Irving's. "Her talent requires no further training."
"She cannot cast offensively," warned Irving, already knowing that he had lost. "She has no aptitude for it. She is purely defensive."
Alistair shrugged, interjecting cheerfully from beside the fireplace.
"When you have twenty Darkspawn charging at you, I wouldn't say no to a giant, golden shield."
Wynne turned to Flora, who still had her face pressed up to the window. She was absentmindedly turning a gold ring around her little finger.
"Child, what have you to say about this?"
Flora turned around, somewhat startled.
"About what?"
"Warden-Commander Duncan wishes to recruit you into the Grey Wardens," said Irving carefully, raising his eyebrows. Duncan watched Flora's face closely, with his dark and inscrutable gaze. She looked confused, her cloud-grey eyes narrowing as she returned his stare.
"Do you even know what the Grey Wardens are?" interrupted Alistair, grimacing. Flora furrowed her brow, lost in thought for a moment.
"They used to ride griffons into battle," she said, suddenly recalling a story that her mother had told her years ago. "They fought monsters."
"Why is that always the thing that people remember?" complained Alistair, as Duncan shot him a distinct shut up look.
"We fight the darkspawn during a Blight," the older man explained to Flora, who peered at him anxiously through the gloom of the office. "And there's another Blight coming. We need those who can heal."
Flora, feeling as though she should have spent more time listening to her tutors rather than snacking, nodded slowly.
"You want me to join you? Leave the Tower?"
Duncan nodded, and there was silence for a moment, punctuated only by the crackling of arcane flames.
"But I've never been in a battle before," Flora said, the enormity of what Duncan was asking finally settling on her. "Why do you think I could be a Grey Warden?"
"Because you embody the two inherent principles of a Warden: skill and sacrifice." Duncan stared at her, his gaze fierce. "You could offer a great deal to our cause, which is the cause of all Ferelden. We must not stand by while the taint overruns the land."
Flora glanced over at Irving, who looked down at his desk.
Maybe I'll get to visit my parents and go back to Herring.
Finally she nodded, feeling her stomach churn.
"I'll go with you," she said, and Irving let out an imperceptible sigh. Duncan exhaled and offered her a tight smile, inclining his head.
"Wonderful. Well, I see no point in waiting around. We'll leave now. Get your things."
Flora stared at him, then nodded hastily and scuttled out of the room. Irving leaned back in his chair with a groan.
"I hope you know what you're doing," he said irritably, reaching into a lower drawer of his desk for a sheet of parchment. "She's powerful, but raw power untrained is a dangerous thing. Set a guard on her when she sleeps."
Dipping a quill in an inkpot, he began to fill out the papers of dismissal that would formally release Flora from Kinloch Hold's keeping. Duncan nodded, glancing over at Alistair.
"Can you procure an extra horse from the village? We'll meet you at the Tower stables."
"Ah, good, I'd missed the smell of manure," commented the junior Templar sardonically, sauntering out of the First Enchanter's office.
Halfway down the circular staircase, Alistair nearly bumped into Flora on the fourth floor landing. She was pink-faced from having run down the steps, a leather holdall and a long wooden staff gathered in her arms.
"What shade of horse do you prefer?" he asked her dryly, raising an eyebrow. She gaped at him, eyes widening. He noticed that her irises were the colour of Dalish ale, a rain-filled cloud tone of grey.
"I have to ride a horse? I can't ride a horse! Can't I walk?"
Alistair snorted. "I'm afraid the darkspawn won't have patience for that. Don't worry, I'll try and find one that's not too high off the ground."
He gave her a mock-salute, feeling rather sorry for her as he continued down the stairs. Pretty girl, he thought to himself, off-handedly. Unusual eyes.
Flora arrived back in Irving's office, out of breath. The First Enchanter rose to his feet, suddenly looking very tired. Duncan was already prepared to leave, his greatsword slung over his back.
"Here are your dismissal papers."
Irving handed her a rolled up parchment as Flora approached the desk, nervously. She tucked the scroll inside the pocket of her tunic coat, clutching the plain, standard issue staff that she'd had since she arrived at the Tower. It bore no runes nor enchantments, and had been the subject of much derision at first from the other students. When they realised how potent a creationist she was, the jibes had stopped.
Duncan tapped his foot impatiently, glancing out of the darkened window. Circle protocol dictated that a senior Templar must sign and verify all dismissal papers; with Greagoir leading the hunt for the escaped blood mage, his second was being located.
It took twenty minutes for the lieutenant to arrive, during which time Duncan had begun to stalk the study like a caged lion. Flora sat mutely in an armchair, wearing a travelling cape, with her staff across her lap.
Finally, the transaction was authorised and Flora was officially released into the custody of the Grey Wardens.
"Be careful, child," Irving warned as Duncan gestured for her to follow him. "Take care when you cast. The strength of your spells may surprise you."
Flora nodded, raising an impotent hand in farewell as Duncan pointedly herded her out of the office.
"Do you have any more goodbyes to make?" the Knight-Commander threw over his shoulder briskly as he led the way towards the stone steps. Flora shook her head, slinging the leather bag over her shoulder and the staff across it as she hurried to catch up.
"No," she panted, barely able to keep pace as he hurried down the circular stairway. "People here never liked me very much."
"Jealous of your talent?" enquired Duncan as they continued down. Flora snorted, shaking her head despite the fact that he was in front of her and unable to see.
"No! Because my father was only a fisherman," she replied, cheerfully. Duncan glanced at her over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow.
"Hm. Is that so?"
There's something familiar about this girl. I can't place my finger on it. Is it her colouring? Dark red hair, grey eyes- those cheekbones remind me of someone. Ah, well, it matters not.
The Templars guarding the front entrance to the tower, on high alert after Jowan's escape, double and triple checked Flora's papers. When one of them suggested that they should verify the dismissal with the First Enchanter, Duncan lost his temper and bellowed at them. They were released quickly after that, the Templars glowering in their wake as they shut the vast wooden doors behind them.
As they stepped out onto the rocky outcrop, Flora paused and inhaled the cool evening air, closing her eyes for a moment. She could feel the wind on her skin, lifting her hair and rustling her clothing, the stones of the rocky beach pressed through the soles of her boots. It was the first time that she had been on solid ground in four years. Although the growing dark obscured any precise detail on the shore, she could just about see the glowing lights of a village and the shadowed outline of a Chantry.
"We'll need to take the ferry," said Duncan after a moment, watching her closely. "Ready to go, Flora?"
Flora turned and stared up at the Circle tower, rising up vast and formidable from the rock. For a moment she felt a twinge of regret; then she caught sight of the ugly iron bars welded over the windows, which had obscured her view for four years.
She nodded and turned to Duncan.
"I'm ready."
Duncan led the way down the craggy path, haphazardly lit by standing torches. Despite his advanced years, he traversed the uneven terrain with fluid ease. Flora stumbled after him, more used to polished wood and flagstones worn smooth by decades of feet. Every so often he glanced over his silver pauldron to ensure that she was keeping up.
Eventually they reached a small dock, consisting only of a wooden jetty extending into the dark waters of the Lake. A single boat was tethered there, the ferryman snoring inside. Duncan nudged the man's shoulder with the toe of his boot.
"We wish to return," he said sharply, as the man awoke with a grunt, looking around blearily.
"Ah! Only just returned from takin' your friend across," he grumbled. One rheumy eye appraised Duncan for a moment, before his gaze shifted to Flora.
"Nice souvenir," he grunted, lifting the oars. "Come on then, in you get."
Duncan stepped into the boat and lowered himself onto the bench. Flora clambered in expertly behind him, as comfortable as any fisherman's daughter should be. For the first time, Duncan felt a twinge of misgiving as he helped her, shifting over so she could sit beside him on the bench.
She is very young. Am I doing the right thing?
Then he recalled the golden shield springing from her fingertips, impenetrable even by blood magic. He remembered the way her lips brushed the Tranquil's mortal injury, exhaling energy over the wound in a way he had never seen before.
That man should have died, and yet he didn't. We need that talent.
The journey to the mainland took less than fifteen minutes. Duncan sat lost in thought for the majority; his mind returning to Ostagar and the preparations being made there to resist the inevitable third assault.
If we travel tonight until we reach the south eastern pass and make camp there, we can reach the fortress within a week. Then Alistair can take out the new recruits into the Wilds to prepare for their Joining.
Flora spent the entire journey leaning over the wooden hull, trailing a hand in the water, a rather stupid smile plastered over her face. When they finally reached the dock, Alistair was standing there, arms crossed. As soon as the boat was tethered, Duncan stepped out, carrying her leather bag and staff over one shoulder.
"Pleasant trip?" Alistair enquired, eyeing a beaming Flora. "I've procured a horse for our new recruit."
He gestured behind him to where three horses were tied to a tree. Duncan nodded, placing a hand on Flora's shoulder.
"Let's go, child."
"So, Flora, are you any good at riding horses?" Alistair immediately asked and she blinked at him, as if awakening from a dream.
"Eh? Oh." With some difficulty she dragged her eyes from the boat and eyed the horses with trepidation. "No."
Duncan shot Alistair a warning look as he untethered his own horse. The younger Warden shrugged, shooting his commander a wry grin.
"Sorry, boss."
Flora watched Duncan hoist himself effortlessly onto his steed, a large grey charger which sat placidly beneath him on the grassy slope. She swallowed nervously, staring at her own horse, which eyed her back malevolently. Alistair, who had been midway through mounting, took pity on her and lowered himself back to the ground.
"Here, you'll get the hang of it," he said kindly, clasping his hands together. "Put your foot in here, then climb up."
Flora slung her bag over the back of the horse, tucked the staff awkwardly beneath her arm and clambered up the side of the saddle.
"Feels like climbing the Frostbacks," she hissed, then yelped as Alistair boosted her up the rest of the way. She rested precariously on top of the saddle for a few moments, and then began to slide. Helplessly, she fell off the other side and landed with a thud on the grass. Duncan surveyed her in mild distress. Alistair tried, and failed, not to laugh.
"Ouch," Flora said from the ground, wincing as she felt her sore tailbone. Alistair let go of his horse's reins with a stern instruction to stay, and moved around to haul her up.
"Alright," he said kindly, clasping his hands together. "Let's try again. On my count."
This time when he boosted her, he grabbed her leg and held her in place on the saddle.
"Here, take the reins- no, the reins- and hold them. Your horse should just follow ours, so don't worry about steering it. Just focus on…not falling off."
Flora nodded tightly, gripping onto the reins so fiercely that her fingers turned white. Alistair patted her comfortingly on the thigh, then slung her pack over the rear of the saddle and arranged her staff on her back.
"There we go, Flo," he said, grinning at her. She frowned back at him, her eyes wide and alarmed. "You never rode a horse before?"
"No!" she hissed back, hunched over in the saddle. "My ma and pa couldn't afford a goat, let alone a horse!"
With an air of showmanship, he vaulted onto his own steed. Flora muttered darkly under her breath as she side-eyed him, her head still rigidly fixed in place. Duncan glanced over his shoulder, expression shadowed.
"Ready?"
Without waiting for a response, he nudged the ribs of his mount with his boots and the horse moved forwards, breaking into a canter. Clinging on with one hand, Flora twisted in the saddle to gape at Alistair.
"Is that how fast he expects us to- ah!"
Her horse, seeing its stable-mate disappear up the gloomy path, did not want to be left behind. It set off abruptly, ignoring the squeal of terror from its rider. Flora toppled forward helplessly, hearing Alistair yell behind her.
"The REINS! Grab them!"
Flora clasped her arms around the horse's mottled neck and clung on for dear life, moaning quietly into its mane. Alistair clicked his tongue and his own horse moved forward, bringing up the rear.
They rode at a consistent pace for several hours through the twisting hills and valleys of the Bannorn. Duncan was unwilling to spend the darkest part of the night camped in territory notorious for roaming bandits and outlaws. The Kingsway had never been constructed through this rough and hilly terrain, instead skirting the mountains to the west. Luckily, the arl of Redcliffe kept the roadways in relatively good condition, and the horses had no trouble with them.
In the early hours of the morning, they stopped at the Crossroads trading post to water the horses. Alistair disappeared among the ramshackle dwellings to find feed for their mounts; Duncan eased himself down from the saddle with a slight groan, feeling the muscles of his legs ache.
You are no longer a young man, his conscience reminded him sternly. You cannot ride that hard without cost.
Returning, Alistair slung a bag of grain from his shoulder, expertly filling and fitting the feedbags to each horse's muzzle. He joined Duncan at the water pump, gazing out over the pastoral landscape of fields and farmsteads.
A full moon hung overhead, low and veiled in cloud. The night seemed deceptively calm; it seemed as if nothing could disturb the peace. For several minutes, the only sound was the quiet munching of the horses.
"I left coin for the feed," Alistair commented eventually, staring out at the rolling slopes of the Hinterlands. Before them lay the hilly lowlands, inhabited only by farmers and bandits. And in the far distance, silhouetted against the twilight, the mountains were just visible.
Flora was hovering beside the horses, uncertain whether or not to join them. The Knight-Commander stepped aside, gestured for her to approach.
"See the mountains to the south, child?" He raised a gauntleted hand. Flora stepped forward and leaned against the wall, staring off in the direction of his pointed finger.
"Yes," she whispered, her eyes moving over the craggy peaks curiously.
"Look on the southernmost peak, where the pass is. Can you see a stone bridge?"
Flora squinted, leaning forward on the wall and peering where he was pointing.
"Mm. Is that Ostagar?"
"No, but it's the start of the road that leads there," commented Alistair drily, glancing sideways at her. For a girl who professes to be the child of peasants, she has a highborn profile. Prominent cheekbones, long nose, clear complexion. I wonder if her mother had a dalliance with a local teryn.
There's something in common you've got with her, Mage and Templar differences aside.
"How long will it take to get there?" asked Flora, staring at the shadowed outline of the bridge. Duncan glanced up at the moon, noting its position.
"We'll ride an hour more, make camp by the southern falls until morning. We should reach the pass by midday. Then it's four days ride to Ostagar."
OOC Author's Note: The distances really threw me off at first writing this - because in game, you literally go straight from the Circle Tower to Ostagar. My first draft of this chapter had them take literally a single night to travel there; then I had to go back and edit in a longer journey. Oh well, all part of the creative writing learning experience :) Poor Flora, I think she was half-expecting being taken to Ostagar in a cage like when the Templars had dragged her away from her beloved Herring. You'd better learn to ride the damn horse, Flo, you've got a lot of journeying coming up...