Author's Note: So... it's been awhile. I'd hoped that this wouldn't happen, as I made sure I'd written several chapters ahead before I even started posting, but viruses of both the biological and technological varieties struck myself and my computer at relatively the same time. We're both still sick, but struggling to get better; however, updates will be scattered, and I'm sort of afraid to write anything new for fear of losing progress in another spontaneous crash. Fortunately, I should have access to a reliable computer again... in a couple of months. Eesh. Oh, also, I discovered Skyrim. Ever played it? It's an epic timesuck.
My thanks goes out to the usual suspects for this chapter, and man, have I missed talking to both of you.
Chapter Three: This Feeling Is Not Sadness
The candlelight was soft, brighter than the embers in the fireplace, but only illuminating the desk it was mounted on and Solona, the flame dangerously close to singeing her haphazard bangs as she repeatedly pushed them every which way with agitated fingers. She frowned at the simple, blank page on the desk in front of her, willing words to fill it of their own accord; she knew she would have to leave soon, that Duncan was eager to rejoin his order at Ostagar and she would have no time to write Anders the long farewell she desired. However, after nearly half an hour she'd only managed to scribble out: "Dear Anders."
Solona couldn't put what should have come next into words; she could still hardly believe any of it had happened herself. Not to mention, the last time she and Anders had spoken hadn't ended well—not that that excused her from saying goodbye, as they fought all the time. When she thought of Anders, she felt the sting of rejection, of a boy who flung himself over and over again at the idea of freedom, and she was sure Anders thought her a fool for seeking compromise with the chantry, for asking him how he intended to stay hidden away from vigilant templars.
Despite all of this, Anders was still the closest thing she'd ever had to a real friend, a boy who had been dragged to the Circle from outside Ferelden, a boy who had been torn from his mother and felt the loss everywhere, ached everywhere from it. And instead of letting everyone know just how torn he was, he held everyone at bay with a quirk of his lips and a wry comment on someone's height, hair, whatever he could draw attention to. Solona might have loved him once, in a young girl's way, with the desire to hold his hand and smooth away his long, flyaway hair before he'd begun to tie it back himself, to flirt with so many people who weren't her as he called her Loony and flicked the tip of her nose or traced her eyebrows whenever she started to look too serious.
Slow burning anger coiled in her gut when she thought of someone with a spirit as big as Anders' locked away in the basement, alone. She needed to tell him, somehow, why she wouldn't be there when he was released, but she feared that telling him everything would only make his solitary confinement even more present and unbearable than it already was. In the end, she settled for: "Joined the Wardens. Love, Loony." It wasn't much at all, but at least he would know she wasn't dead—she hoped that would be enough.
She folded the note, simply pinching it closed between her fingers as she blinked away a mist of tears she hadn't realized was there. She swallowed down the lump in her throat and blew out the candle before returning to her bed, where all of her meager belongings were already laid out and waiting: her nightdress, her mostly unfilled grimoire, a few books to improve the magic she'd only just begun to hone, enough crafting supplies to last her until Ostagar where she could hopefully replenish her resources, and her staff, which was still weird for her to own—she had easily forgotten it when she'd gone down into the basement because they were only rented out to apprentices during lessons with their mentors. She owned nothing else, not even a cloak to wear over her robes, which were still clammy after a night of some poor Tranquil mage trying to scrub away blood before it could stain them too badly.
She sighed, trying to expel worries and regrets along with her breath, and picked up the satchel holding her books and herbs and bottles, securing it over her shoulder as she lifted her staff, tested its weight and texture in her hand like she'd been too preoccupied to do the day before. She had already left notes for Gwynlian and Wreda, and she felt she was as ready as she would ever be; she nodded once at her bed, as if it represented all of the Circle, and set out to find a templar who might be inclined to deliver her note to Anders. She couldn't ask a mage, as she was certain the templars would reinforce security in the basement after what she had helped Jowan accomplish; she doubted a templar would even feel inclined to grant her request, really, but she had to at least try.
Solona had just reached the door when she heard the telltale slap of feet hitting the floor, and she turned to see Wreda hurrying toward her. Before she could say anything, Wreda threw her arms around her, pulling her into a hug that threatened to crush her sternum, stealing the air away from her lungs. She returned the embrace as best she could, laden by her belongings, and when Wreda broke away she refused to meet her eyes, hiding them behind her long, black hair.
When she spoke, her voice was thick and strangled as she made every effort to resist crying. "For luck." She held out her hand to Solona and unfurled her fingers, revealing a sprig of dried heather on her palm: the charm she'd made years ago, cut from the wild heather that managed to grow on the rocks Kinloch's Hold was built upon. Her tone and the angle of her hand left no room for Solona to turn down her gift, and she accepted it, tucking the purple blossoms into the elaborate belt of her robes.
"You'll find a way, Wreda," Solona encouraged, suddenly just as choked with emotion as she thought of Wreda and Gwynlian, more of the life she knew that was being left behind. She couldn't manage to say anything more, so instead she hugged Wreda again, dropping her satchel and staff on the floor with a clatter, and stared at the fireplace over her friend's shoulder until her vision was blurred by tears. Then she blinked and cleared her throat, pulled away and picked up her things, and gave Wreda a crooked smile, which wobbled as Wreda responded with a customary grimace.
Afraid of presenting herself as a sobbing wreck in the lobby, Solona turned abruptly on her heel and left the girls' dormitory and the life of a Circle mage. As the door closed behind her, she looked from left to right, along the expanse of corridor, trying to think of a templar she could approach for a favor. Deciding that the best way to go about it was to simply ask around, she began walking toward the library, greeting each templar she passed to gauge his reaction and resolutely ignoring the entrance to the basement.
She was either overlooked altogether or received a nod and maybe some kind of grunt, but it wasn't until she had just reached the stairs to the second floor that she thought she might have a chance. The templar standing sentry at the banister fidgeted as she came closer, and when she said good morning, he stammered an actual reply, revealing the identity of the man underneath the imposing helmet. Solona smiled, just a little uncertainly. "Hello, Cullen."
Cullen's gauntleted hands twitched, started to reach up as if to remove his helm, but they halted and fell back to his sides. He nodded, once, and Solona got the impression he was trying to return her smile, just as uncertainly. After another moment of silence, he spoke again, his voice hollowed out by a strange sort of echo underneath the helmet, "I'm glad you're all right. Not just the Harrowing, but… yesterday."
Solona's brows dipped in a momentary frown at the memory of both, but then she swallowed and cleared her throat again. "Thank you."
"I was there," Cullen added, his armor clanking as he shifted his weight again. "At your Harrowing, not… there." He seemed to want to move past the subject of Jowan as quickly as Solona did, and hastily went on, "I… knew you wouldn't fail. I just wanted to, you know, congratulate you."
"You were there?" Solona asked, her hand shooting up to scratch the usual spot at the nape of her neck almost unconsciously at Cullen's praise.
"They… uh… picked me to strike the killing blow if you… uh, failed. But I knew you wouldn't." Cullen was rocking back and forth now, his hands clenching and releasing, a perfect contrast to how still Solona had become.
"They… picked you?" Solona asked, unable to keep a small frown from twisting her features. Did templars truly assign such a task at a mage's Harrowing? She knew Cullen to be one of the better templars in the Circle, one who was stationed to guard against maleficarum and abominations, but who didn't eye every mage who walked the halls as if he would be possessed at any moment.
The thought of him being assigned to kill her as a test of his resolve left an awful taste in her mouth. She gave the slightest shake of her head, unable to spare any more time before she had to leave, and held out the note in her hand. "I was wondering… I'm sure you're not supposed to, but I can't do it myself." She bit down on the inside of her cheek, steadying herself, and said in a rush, "This is for Anders, just to tell him why I've gone."
She waited with baited breath for Cullen's response, and after a second she thought he would decline, but then he took the note from her, folding it down once more before tucking it into the ceremonial sash around his armor. Then he reached up and removed his helmet, running one hand over short, blond curls as he looked down to meet her gaze, the weight in his expressive hazel eyes a shock to Solona after dealing with impassive steel. "I'll try to get this to him, but I can't promise anymore than that." He appeared to have more to say, as if silently fumbling over words, so Solona waited, staying the urge to cross her arms against the cold and her nerves in case Cullen misinterpreted the gesture as impatience.
"I'm sorry about… about yesterday," Cullen said finally, his voice heavy. "I'm sorry a maleficar used you. It's why… it's why we stand here, in these halls. We have to be vigilant, so something like that doesn't happen again." His words sounded just as much like an apology as an attempt to convince them both. Before Solona could say anything, not that she could think of anything to say, Cullen added with more conviction, "I wish you luck in the Grey Wardens."
"Um… thanks, Cullen." Solona finally gave into the impulse to close her arms in on herself, silently adding I'm sure I'll need it as she gave him the barest of smiles. "I guess I shouldn't distract you anymore."
She began to turn when Cullen blurted out, "Oh, you're not distracting—I mean, you are, but…" He fidgeted, issued a burst of laughter at his own awkwardness, and reached up to scratch at the top of his head, successfully hiding part of his face behind his armored forearm. "I think you'll make the Circle proud."
"No pressure," Solona joked, giving Cullen a small wave with the fingers peeking out over her right elbow, then turning and leaving the library before Cullen could laugh or reassure or do much more than resume his post—if they spoke any longer she'd wind up spilling all of her emotions onto his boots. Her pace slowed at the basement entrance, which she noticed had been scrubbed clean of blood sometime in the night, and somehow the everyday appearance of the stone and carpet and torches impacted Solona somewhere in her sternum, staggered her psyche.
Yesterday, her life had almost ended; yesterday, her friend had left her and the woman he claimed to love to their own fates in a room full of angry, defeated templars. Yesterday, her new life had begun with the Grey Wardens, and she had yet to figure out why. There were so many thoughts, too many to process at once, from Jowan's betrayal and the uncertainty of Lily's fate, to the gnawing fear of war that had yet to become more than an eventuality to her, and most prominent was her curiosity about exactly what Duncan thought she could bring to the Wardens.
Well, the best way to find out was to ask him. Solona turned forcefully from the basement door, silently willing one last goodbye to Anders and hoping that Cullen would be able to get her letter to him, before walking briskly to the Circle Tower's lobby, intending to reach her destination before she could think herself back into her bed and denial and choices that would be made for her. When she rounded the last bend of the corridor and stepped into the lobby, she noticed Duncan already waiting near the great doors that were the tower's sole entrance, standing close to but not quite leaning against the pillar that marked the center of the room—a position more akin to awareness and defense than boredom.
As she approached, Duncan drew away from the pillar and hefted a larger pack than Solona's onto both shoulders, then tested the scabbard and sheath fastened to either side of his belt, ensuring his weapons were secure. "Are you ready?" he asked, his deep voice echoing in the lobby despite his near-whisper. Solona wondered how long he'd been standing there, waiting for her to do what she needed to leave the Tower behind; she decided then that she would be able to like him, once the ever-present thrum of nerves running through her blood began to abate.
"As I'll ever be," Solona answered truthfully, confirming this to herself as she spoke: there was nothing left here for her new life, with everything waiting for her at Ostagar. Duncan merely turned to the templars guarding the door, who responded in kind by pulling open one of the massive doors, the weight of the wood creaking and resonating through the lobby. Duncan slipped through the door when it was open enough for him to proceed, while Solona approached more slowly, her legs and arms and everything tingling as each footstep brought her out of the prison that had been her home for over half of her life.
As she passed the waiting templars, a rush of fear coursed from her throat to her feet, and for a moment she was terrified they would disagree with her recruitment, that it had all been cruel false hope and they would close the door on her before she could follow Duncan. But then her foot crossed the threshold, landed on the steps carved into the rocks rising out of Lake Calenhad, and her other foot was allowed to follow suit; she stood in the open air of Ferelden, surrounded by mist and pre-dawn light. She heard the templars begin to almost immediately close the door behind her, and the sound spurred her into action, descending the stairs as quickly as she dared to catch up with Duncan—it wouldn't make her look good, to slip and break her neck before they even officially left the tower.
The man who ferried passengers to and from the tower, Kester, waited below at the single dock, already sitting at the stern of the boat. He rose as they approached, but remained in the boat as he greeted them, fitting in directions for where their packs should go and where they should sit while he chatted aimlessly. Solona sat in the middle of the plain vessel, noting the amount of care that had gone into maintaining it over the years, and watched wisps of fog rise from the waves lapping against stained wood.
It was still too early to see the shore clearly, but as Kester brought them closer, Solona leaned forward and peered intently through pale darkness at signs of sand and grass and huts, too eager to pay much attention as he continued to talk. It seemed to take forever for the boat's bow to draw alongside the dock, and when it finally did, Solona pulled herself onto faded, warped planks, and stumbled to her feet. She ran along the short expanse of dock, too excited to be self-conscious, and kicked off her shoes to sink her feet, orange stockings and all, into wet grass.
She felt a rush of emotion again, this time blurring her already-limited view of Lake Calenhad's shore with nostalgia as she dug her toes into soft earth like she hadn't done since she was a little girl. She heard Kester's limping gait on the dock behind her, and when he caught up to her he took off his cloak and held it out to her. "You look like you need this more than I do, missy," he said, draping it over her shoulders when she continued to just look at him in surprise.
It was then that Solona realized she'd been shivering, her robes and shift offering little protection from the morning chill. "I… thank you." She adjusted the cloak more firmly around her shoulders, drawing it together to shield her from the mist and the faint breeze that just barely touched her cheeks, stirred her hair.
Duncan spoke from her other side, startling her—when had he even gotten off the boat?. "There will be more equipment available once we reach Ostagar. In the meantime, I suggest you hold onto what you already have," he added wryly, holding out Solona's satchel and her staff. Solona took them sheepishly, securing the strap of her pack over her shoulder and grinning as she pushed her hair away from her face.
Duncan's smile was distracted, and almost instantly after his jaw set in a more business-like manner, thanking Kester for the use of his boat before saying to Solona, "We'll have to move quickly, and I apologize for the strain this will put on your recovery from yesterday's events. Fortunately, we will have use of the Imperial Highway for most of the journey." He began to climb the hill from the shoreline to the road, leaving Solona no choice but to slip her feet back into her shoes and hurry after him, shouting another thanks to Kester over her shoulder.
The hill would have been daunting to her if she hadn't spent most of her life running up and down winding stairs, and she made it to the crest before Duncan, using her new staff to ease the ascent. She felt fit to burst, as if the idea of being able to go anywhere left her wanting to go everywhere at once, and she rose onto the balls of her feet in anticipation before turning to Duncan. "How long will it take to reach Ostagar?"
"I estimate a few days at the most, if the weather remains favorable." Duncan's tone remained dry with amused understanding, and he resumed his quick stride as Solona ambled behind him, caught up in the lightening sky and its fading stars, the crumbling arches of what must have once been an outpost guarding the lakeshore, the slow chirping of birds awaking. She spared one last long look at the Circle Tower behind her, at the people still within, at the senior enchanter she would have eventually become if she had remained. Then she heard Duncan calling her name from some distance away and whipped around, jogging after him as he continued to rapidly close the distance to the highway; she was admittedly a little winded when she caught up with him, and resolved to explore later.
By the time they stopped and set up camp for the night, Solona was spent; while she was no stranger to climbing long staircases, she hadn't had to do so iall damn day/i either. Duncan veered off the highway sometime in the early evening, liking the look of a copse of trees by a streambed that led to Lake Calenhad, and Solona nearly fell where she stood in relief; while the flask of lyrium had helped abate her migraine, she had spent the last half of the day queasy, sweaty, possibly sunburned, and definitely blistered—her feet were damn sure to let her know her thin shoes were not meant for travel. She limped after her… mentor, she supposed, and when she approached the designated site, she flopped unceremoniously onto the ground, planting her hands behind her to keep her upright.
Duncan only chuckled and tossed her his water skin. "Fill these up in the stream, and I'll get a fire started."
Solona eyed the skin that had landed between the V of her legs, her tired mind taking a moment to catch up to Duncan's order, and then she let it roll off the skirt of her robes as she kicked off her shoes and removed her stockings, grimacing at how damp they were from sweat. She bundled her stockings into her shoes, shoved them into her pack, and took her and Duncan's water skins to the stream, liking the idea of water too much to even groan when her feet screamed at her to get off of them already—besides, the soft grass was easier on the sensitive pads than the hard stones of the old Tevinter highway. She all but stumbled onto the streambed, exhausted, and held up her robes with one hand so she could step into the cold water and soothe her aching feet while she filled Duncan's water skin, keeping it upstream from her legs in case Duncan was squeamish about drinking her foot water.
She heard laughter from somewhere in the trees and looked up to see Duncan watching her as he collected deadwood from the ground, and she flashed another sheepish grin, one of many that day. The older man was pleasant enough company to travel with, she'd found, as long as her mind wasn't taken up by perceived inadequacy and the events that had led her to this point, but as they'd been covering so much ground so quickly she hadn't quite had the time to mull over her thoughts. They were catching up to her now, however, weighing down on her tired, throbbing shoulders.
What she remembered most was the smell of blood magic, rotten and corrupted, sweet and metallic, the scent thick in her memory; it made her stomach churn just thinking about the way the templars twitched like marionettes in a puppet show as they screamed in agony. She remembered Lily's eyes, wide with fear and disbelief, bright with tears as she threw her life away on a man who had lied to her; Jowan's haggard face, twisted in contempt as he made the templars' blood boil, as he glared down at Solona for disrupting his hold on them.
The thought of Jowan prompted so many emotions, swirling around in her like oil on water, but what remained was a deep-set rage. His use of blood magic had felt unnatural, wrong, prompting Solona to recall every word from Transfigurations, and she'd wanted nothing more in the world than to stop him, stop the terrible keening in her soul. He had come to her and Lily for help to escape a fate worse than death, had lied and used and betrayed them, and despite his claims to love and friendship he had still left them behind in favor of his own skin.
Not to mention the unrest he may have begun in the Circle—the mages would hear of his escape and consider blood magic as a solution, and the templars would begin to suspect every mage in the tower of dabbling in the forbidden school. With luck, the first enchanter would be able to calm the fire before it started, but the knight-commander had been so angry; a hapless apprentice had been studying blood magic right under his nose, and managed to slip out of his prison with no way to track him down—he could be near their camp, putting as much distance between himself and the templars as possible. While she still abhorred the Rite of Tranquility, Solona felt as though she could kill Jowan for what he'd done.
Solona turned back to her task, dismissing her fury in favor of more pressing matters. She tossed Duncan's filled water skin onto the bank and lowered her own, and as she waited for water to rush into the open mouth, she caught a distorted glimpse of her reflection in the stream and flinched. Once her own skin was full, she promptly swallowed several gulps of water, then sealed it as she limped back to her satchel for a single bar of soap.
Rather than undo what the sun had worked so hard to accomplish and soak her robes again, Solona merely knelt on the streambed and ducked her head into the water, wetting her hair so she could wash away nearly three days' worth of oil and grime. Once she was finished, the top of her robes were a little splotched with water and suds, but she was still relatively dry from the neck down, and the blood stains in her blue skirt were barely visible. She figured, once her hair was dry, she would look less like she had had quite a few brushes with death in the past two days.
Sure that Duncan was probably laughing at her again, she wrapped the soap back up in the sheet of waxed paper she kept it in and stuck it in her pack before limping toward the trees to help him set up camp, feeling more awake and refreshed after plunging her face into icy water. Duncan had her collect kindling while he arranged what he'd already gathered, and after Solona returned with several armfuls of branches, she held her hand as close to the base of the improvised fire pit as she could and conjured a small flame, putting a bit more effort into willing the fire into being than she typically had to. She felt the magic pull from her reserves, less taxing than it had been just the night before, and was fairly certain she would be reasonably prepared by the time they arrived at Ostagar. "What else needs to be done?" she asked, eager to stick her feet back in the stream or sleep, she wasn't sure which was more desirable.
"I will finish setting up camp," Duncan said, already opening his larger pack of equipment. "You will need to try to recover as much as possible before we reach Ostagar, and that does not allow you much time."
Solona elected to stand in the stream, feeling the water push lazily against her calves as it flowed past, and watched Duncan silently as he went about getting everything ready before nightfall. She really iwasn't/i used to this sort of activity and had such a short amount of time for this to change, and yet she was still expected to aid the Grey Wardens in a war against the darkspawn. "Duncan? I'm not the only recruit you have, am I?" It wasn't exactly the question she wanted to ask, but still valid.
"No, there are two others," Duncan answered. They were both silent, listening to the crackle of the fire rising in volume as the flames steadily grew. Then he addressed the silent question that had been rattling around in Solona's head since the moment he'd recruited her: "While I admit I came to the Circle hoping to find a mage for the Grey Wardens, I will also tell you here and now that I do not recruit out of pity—had I not thought you had the potential to join, I would not have made the offer."
Solona slowly paced along the streambed bordering the length of their camp, unconsciously running her tongue over her split lip as she scrutinized her own self-worth. Duncan watched her calmly from over the fire, and when she remained quiet, her only sounds the soft rustling of her robes and the splashing of her feet as she moved, he added, "Irving spoke highly of you, and it's true, your magic will give you an advantage against the darkspawn." He held out three fingers, as if tallying his reasons. "You are frank, resourceful, and compassionate; I believe this will serve you well in the Wardens."
She scratched her head, ruffling her wet hair. "As long as it all works for somebody," she muttered, thinking of templars and enchanters who expected her to mind her tongue and learn magic she wouldn't be able to do anything with. The idea of her freedom came back to her in another rush of elation, and brought with it the question of her phylactery: would it still be held in Denerim? She wasn't sure if it mattered now, if she was accepted into the Wardens—there were reports of apostates and even maleficarum in their ranks, in the past, and she didn't think Greagoir was the type to send a group of templars after her; she'd deal with that issue if it came up.
"So," Solona said, stepping out of the water as it began to numb her ankles, the air around her cooling as the sun dipped below the horizon. "Wardens: they fight darkspawn." She sat off to Duncan's left, stretching her legs out so her feet were close to the warmth of the campfire. She felt the weight of Duncan's scrutiny and turned to grin, but wound up yawning instead. "Just wanted to be clear about all of that history in the textbooks."
Duncan nodded and reached into his satchel, pulling out a cloth and unwrapping more of the food the Tranquil had packed for their journey south. Solona took what she was offered, eating slowly so she wouldn't upset her stomach, even if she was ravenous. It wasn't until she was nearly done eating that Duncan said anything, eventually confirming in the grim tone he seemed to adopt every time he discussed darkspawn and his order, "This life will not be easy, and you will be expected to stop the darkspawn threat at all costs; Wardens are humans, elves, and dwarves, united by this sole purpose."
He wrapped up what was left over of their meal and tucked it into his pack to keep away scavengers. "Get some rest. We'll have to cover even more ground to reach Ostagar tomorrow," he advised. As Solona found she was already falling asleep, she merely nodded her thanks to him and crawled into the simple tent Duncan had pitched near the fire, more for privacy than for any sort of protection from the elements; he needn't have bothered, as she was used to spending most of her life sleeping where others could keep an eye on her, but she appreciated the gesture.
She had thought sleep would be difficult to come by on her first night away from the Circle Tower, caught up in the world around her and burdened by expectations, but Duncan's unrelenting pace had left her bone tired. Solona flopped onto the bedroll laid out for her, burrowing into its warmth until she was covered up to her nose. She was certain that this courtesy Duncan had granted would only last the night, so she intended to make use of it, listening to the fire, the crickets, the frogs, the burbling of the stream until all noises faded away and she slept.
Waking in a tent a day's trip away from the Circle Tower had been strange and wonderful… and painful. Solona had groaned, cocooned in her bed roll, as every limb in her body warned her not to move, but she and Duncan had to dismantle the campsite and rejoin the Imperial Highway before the sun rose, giving her little time to loosen her aching muscles before they were traveling again. By the time the sun rose and cleared away the morning mist, they passed through the outskirts of the arling of Redcliffe and left the shores of Lake Calenhad, the last landmark familiar to Solona.
As they traveled further south, the road became worn, even broken in some places, and Duncan and Solona had to cut through waist-high grasses and tall, fragrant evergreens; the land was beautiful and wilder than northern Ferelden, but it was also rougher on Solona's thin shoes. When they set up camp again for the night, Solona washed out her stockings and wrapped them around the blisters along the soles of her feet, trying to provide them with some kind of extra protection until they reached Ostagar. She was as tired as she had been the night before, falling asleep almost the moment the sun went down, but lighting the campfire was a little easier and when she woke up the next morning she wasn't nearly as sore.
Their third day was marked by a bright sun, burning off the mist before mid-morning, but Solona noticed the road was at an incline, leading them higher toward the snowy wastes beyond the known world; soon the air became thinner, colder. By the time the ruins of Ostagar became visible in the distance, its Tevinter architecture apparent in remarkable domes and arches, the sun was at its apex in the clear blue sky, and Solona nearly walked herself right off the highway gaping at the surrounding mountains and forest of legend: the Korcari Wilds. Tales abounded amidst the wide expanse of trees, rife with spirits and wolves, toxins and sunken ruins, cannibals and witches.
Duncan provided a more business-like perspective as they drew nearer, the gates erected by the king's army marking the end of the highway and the beginning of the occupied fortress, and Solona was able to nearly match his stride, barely limping, as he moved quicker still toward his destination. "It's fitting that we make our stand here. It was once used by Tevinter to watch for Wilders invading the northern lowlands, and now we face a different foe amassing within the forest.
"There are few Grey Wardens within Ferelden at the moment, but all of us are here." His head turned just enough to catch Solona in his periphery, and she tried to stop gawking at everything and adopt a somewhat more impressive stature to compliment his. "This Blight must be stopped here and now. If it spreads to the north, Ferelden will fall." Duncan seemed about to say something else to her, but the sun glinted off something quickly coming toward them, and both his and Solona's eyes were drawn to a man running past the formations of soldiers to meet them at the gate.
"Ho there, Duncan!" His voice was light and cheerful, suiting his fine blond hair and bright blue eyes.
"King Cailan?" Duncan's surprise was a pale shadow of Solona's, who tripped over her own feet and nearly stumbled straight into her mentor's back for all her efforts to avoid otherwise, biting down on her tongue as she did so. She was relieved the king's attention was still on Duncan, who continued, "I didn't expect—"
"A royal welcome? I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun!" King Cailan smiled, clasping arms with Duncan as if they had known each other for years, veterans who sat around campfires and swapped war stories; never mind that Duncan didn't quite seem the type for such things, but then again Solona hardly knew the man so far. What did the Grey Wardens do when there were no darkspawn haunting the surface? You could never seem to find them anywhere when they weren't warning the people about Blights.
Duncan's greeting was more reserved but respectful, bolstering Solona's opinion that Cailan was more enamored with the legend of Duncan's order than with the man himself. "Not if I could help it, Your Majesty."
"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all! Glorious!" King Cailan stood tall and cavalier, his golden ceremonial armor reflecting the sun's light, and somehow it seemed a little too big for him, as if he were made for the armor. Solona realized her lips were pursed in her scrutiny of the king just in time, letting her features slip into something more neutral just as his attention turned to her. "The other Wardens told me you've found a promising recruit. I take it this is she?"
Cailan's eyes were just as shrewd as Solona's must have been, sizing her up as he smiled; his grin widened after a moment, and she assumed he must have decided she wouldn't disgrace her new order, at least. He brushed off Duncan's polite attempt to introduce them to handle it himself. "Ho there, friend! Might I know your name?"
Before Solona answered, she felt Duncan's eyes on her, as well as Irving's voice in her head, telling her she was an apprentice no longer and needed to shed a more positive light on the Circle. "Uh… Solona, Your Majesty." She wondered if Cailan was anything like the first enchanter, a man who was more inclined to respond to his own name and occasionally forgot he even had an honorary title.
The king nodded to her. "Pleased to meet you! The Grey Wardens are desperate to bolster their numbers, and I, for one, am glad to help them." He stepped closer to Solona, his voice even more cheerful as he said, "I understand you hail from the Circle of Magi. I trust you have some spells to help us in the coming battle?"
It was the weight of Duncan's gaze still on her that kept Solona from frowning at royalty; she was fairly certain that King Cailan had never thought once of the mages in the Circle prior to the emergence of darkspawn—had he even bothered to visit the senior enchanters already gathered in the camp? "I am only recently out of apprenticeship." Her tone might have still been a little too frosty, despite her best efforts to remain polite.
"Your abilities are still above those of other men. That the Grey Wardens have recruited you says much." The king, to his credit, seemed to have picked up on Solona's growing distaste for their topic of discussion, and hastened to add, "Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Ostagar. The Wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks."
"We'll see about that," Solona muttered under her breath, more out of honest nerves than to be disagreeable, although she was irritated by Cailan's assumption that she would know exactly what to do in a war simply because she could throw a bolt of lightning at his face. She couldn't really blame him, however, as she was sure this was the popular opinion regarding mages; at least he didn't offer any sort of false sympathy for her "curse." She inhaled and folded her arms across her chest, and added a much more gracious, "Thank you, Your Majesty."
Cailan nodded again, seeming satisfied with their meeting, before impatience crept into his features, turning the corners of his mouth down and his eyes upward in a dramatic roll. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but I must return to my tent," he said, the hint of a sigh coloring his speech. "Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies."
Duncan spoke again, and Solona practically felt his eyes leave her periphery as he turned his attention to the king. "Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week." They'd received the message from the arl from one of the sentries standing guard on Redcliffe's outskirts—why Cailan hadn't already sent for the arl's troops, Solona didn't know, but she was certain she would soon find herself a fish out of water as it was without the added complexities of military strategy.
"Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory!" Cailan's grin was back in place as he turned to Duncan, sounding as if he fancied himself a warrior king in a child's storybook. "We've won three battles against these monsters and the next should be no different."
Solona's eyes darted to meet Duncan's, her eyebrow raised in askance for clarification. "It sounds as if the Blight is almost over," she commented, her tone lighter than the unease the king's boasting nature was beginning to inspire deep in her gut.
"I'm not even sure this is a true Blight," Cailan scoffed. "There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, we've seen no sign of an archdemon."
"Disappointed, Your Majesty?" Duncan beat Solona to the words that had been on the tip of her tongue, itching to slip out; she was beginning to see the king more and more as a boy who played with his toy soldiers, pitting them against his darkspawn figurines with more regard for how impressive the battle looked than how many made it through alive.
"I'd hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god! But I suppose this will have to do. Now, I really must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens!" His last attempt at a joke did nothing to appease Solona's reservations, who was now convinced that if the king was leading the troops into battle, they would all be doomed by his desire for his name in legend. Oblivious to her less than charitable thoughts, King Cailan offered Duncan and Solona one last grin before leaving.
Solona followed Duncan's lead and bowed after him, then stared after the king's retreating back, not bothering to hide her disbelief now that his attention was elsewhere. She caught the shake of Duncan's head, a long-suffering sort of dismissal, before he turned to her. "What the king says is true," Duncan informed, his words slow and careful. "We've won several battles here already."
"But?" Solona let her arms fall to her sides, and Duncan motioned for them to walk away from the gate to the nearby bridge, where Cailan's shining armor was already nearly halfway across—would he wear that plate in battle, or settle for something less… noticeable?
"Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger with each passing day. By now, they look to outnumber us," Duncan went on, drawing Solona's focus back to the matter at hand. "I know there is an archdemon behind this, but I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling."
"Why not? He seems to regard the Grey Wardens highly."
"Yet not enough to wait for reinforcements from the Wardens of Orlais. He seems to think our legends alone make him invulnerable, but our numbers are too few. We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference." They halted just in front of the bridge, and Duncan turned to face her directly. "To that end, we should proceed with the Joining Ritual without delay; I am sorry to put you through another ordeal so soon, but we are pressed for time."
Solona sighed, wondering why he hadn't brought up information like this before. "Could I at least get something to eat first?" she asked, her fingers running along the smooth grain of her staff as her other hand pulled at her hair.
Duncan chuckled, an apology in his eyes. "I think that would be in order for both of us. I must attend to business with Loghain, but there is another Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair; find him, and he will see to the supplies you need before we must begin preparations." His manner slipped back into preoccupied diplomacy, the same Solona had first seen in Irving's office, and he offered her a slight nod of farewell before crossing the long bridge to the encampment on the other side.
Solona stood where she was, rocking from side to side as she watched her last lifeline to the Circle Tower walk away, leaving her to her own devices in an old fortress amidst a throng of people she didn't know. Her nerves buzzed under her skin, making the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end; while she was expected to fight a horde of monsters feared for tainting the land as much as its people, she was also free to meander through the fortress without the watchful eyes of a templar on her back. The only problem with this was she wasn't sure how to interact with these new people, and she wasn't sure if they would be pleased to have anything to do with her.
She drew her cloak more securely around her shoulders, as if it were some kind of shield against prejudice and superstition, and determined there wasn't much she could do with her staff aside from letting people wonder if it was a weapon or a walking stick. Unless she cast any spells, most people wouldn't be able to smell the usual ozone that accompanied magic, and the templars would be unable to do much beyond watch her once they discovered she was to be a Grey Warden. Which she would be closer to accomplishing once she actually crossed the bridge and found this Alistair, whoever he was.