When they began the journey, Marian thought she was in pain. Today she knows she's in pain, a sadistic, grating pain that echoes through her bones and sinks deep into her muscles. It radiates from her arse up to mid-back and down through her knees. The stableman who takes her reins smirks as he leads her horse away, and she entertains thoughts of fireballing him until his head is the consistency of meat paste, but Duncan taps her on the shoulder and distracts her.
"This way," Duncan says, gesturing to the path leading into the fortress. It leads through truly gigantic arches to a path well-worn by many feet. She looks at the path and grimaces at the idea of walking, and Duncan must see the thought on her face, because he takes her arm and begins to lead her up the way. "I apologize for riding us so hard on the way here, but it was truly necessary," he says. "I cannot be absent on the eve of battle."
"I'll be fine," Marian says, and wills it to be so. It surprises her when it actually works, or maybe it's moving under her own power again; in any case, she feels less like she's going to die, and she detaches herself from Duncan's gently guiding hand with a smile.
Ostagar is situated on the top of a sharply inclined hill, and the path up to the main fortress is a series of switchbacks designed for artillery, built on the grand scale favored by the Tevinters.
It would be beautiful if she didn't have to climb to get there.
She follows Duncan up the path, keeping her eyes locked on his back; if she looks one more time to see how far they have yet to climb she's going to throw herself off the path and let gravity do what it will.
They reach the top and the switchbacks end, funneling into a single path that seems to bisect the ruins. The view is even more spectacular from here; she can see forever, it seems, over deep forest and swamp. Marian hurries a little to walk next to Duncan rather than a step behind and to the left, and that's when a giant in golden armor steps out, beaming at Duncan.
"Ho there, Duncan!" the giant calls.
"King Cailan?" Duncan says, surprised. He clasps forearms with the king while Marian hovers awkwardly in the background. "I wasn't expecting – "
"A royal welcome?" Cailan interjects. He laughs. "I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun!"
Duncan bows a little. "Not if I could help it, your Majesty."
The king is... not what she expected. He seems a little foolish, if truth be told, and it leaves her wondering how old he actually is. He's not as tall as she thought, either; he's only Duncan's height, and she doesn't think of him as a giant. Perhaps it's the very shiny armor.
Cailan laughs again, clapping Duncan on the shoulder. "Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all! Glorious!" He glances past Duncan at Marian, as if he is just noticing her. "The other Wardens told me you've found a promising recruit. I take it this is she?"
"Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty," Duncan says, gesturing to Marian.
"No need to be so formal, Duncan. We'll be shedding blood together, after all." Cailan turns to Marian, and while she's not impressed with his kingly demeanor, she's still bizarrely nervous; she's never met a king before, and she's not sure how to behave. "Ho there, friend!" he says, smiling. "Might I know your name?"
Marian ruthlessly stamps on the part of her that wants to be sarcastic, and answers, "Marian Amell, your Majesty." She follows Duncan's lead and bows a little, awkward with anxiety.
"Pleased to meet you! The Grey Wardens are desperate to bolster their numbers, and I, for one, am glad to help them." He seems genuinely pleased, and Marian relaxes a little. She smiles back. "I understand you hail from the Circle of Magi. I trust you have some spells to help us in the coming battle?"
"I will do my best, of course," she says cautiously. "But I've never been in battle before. I can make no guarantees."
"I understand," Cailan says, smiling a little. "We were all wet behind the ears once. We have several other mages here; perhaps one of them might ease your mind."
Marian had heard that some of the senior enchanters had left the Tower; at the time, she was busy studying, so she has no idea who might be here. It's not a bad idea, actually, and she looks at her king with more respect. Cailan's smile broadens, and Marian instantly feels herself flush red; somehow she's sure he knows what she's thinking. All her awkwardness returns.
"I'm sure the Wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks."
Marian mumbles something that sounds grateful in her head and retreats, thankful, when Cailan turns back to Duncan to continue their conversation. She lets it go in one ear and out the other as she brings herself back under control, an exercise of will that was one of the first things she'd learned in the Tower.
When she begins to pay attention again, Duncan gestures for her to move away; she does, but curiosity drives her to stay within earshot. "Your uncle sends greetings, your Majesty," he says softly. "And reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week."
Cailan snorts. "Eamon wants a piece of the glory, I'm sure," he says in the same soft tones, staring out over the Wilds. "Tomorrow will be no different than the last three battles. I'm not even sure this is a Blight, to be honest."
"You doubt me?" Duncan's voice is unusually severe.
"Of course not," Cailan hastens to say. "But... there's been no sign of the archdemon."
"Are you disappointed, your Majesty?"
Cailan sighs and steps away, turning toward his guards. "I'd hoped for a war like in the tales," he says, his voice suddenly louder. Marian frowns, confused. "Imagine, a king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god!" He turns, laughing, and Marian is suddenly struck by how handsome the king is, even if he is a little weak, a little foolish. A golden king, set against the darkspawn; yes, Marian can see where the stories will start already.
"If I'm any later, Loghain will send out a search party," Cailan says. "Farewell, Grey Wardens!" And then there's nothing to do but bow as he walks away.
Marian blows out a silent breath and gives fleeting thought to the hope that she hasn't made a total fool of herself in front of the king of all Ferelden; then she forces herself to forget it.
"Well, isn't he confident," Marian says without thinking, then frowns. Something about it seems off, though she can't put her finger on why. Something about Cailan seems off.
She puts that away to think about later too – the list of things she's promised herself to think about later is longer than her arm – when Duncan begins leading her into the fortress proper. "They've won several battles against the darkspawn here," he says. "Perhaps he has good reason to be confident."
Marian takes a long look at Duncan, who seems entirely unconcerned. "Yet you don't seem entirely reassured."
"The horde grows larger with each passing day," he says. "By now, it's likely that they outnumber us. I know that there is an archdemon behind this, and an archdemon can command hordes larger than anything we have yet seen..." Duncan sighs a little. "But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling."
"Why not?" Marian asks. "At least he'd listen to you, unlike that other poor sod he was talking about." Something moves in Duncan's face like she's pained him, but she rushes on, unwilling to wait to see where she's put her foot in it this time. "What would you advise him to do?"
"We sent a call out west to the Wardens of Orlais," Duncan says, his face smoothing back into calm. "It will be many days before they can join us, but they will reinforce our numbers several times over. I would have the king simply wait."
"Waiting doesn't seem like his strong suit," Marian says as they descend a small set of steps that lead down to a bridge splayed out over a deep, tree-filled crevasse. Duncan stops and so does she, but that leaves her nowhere to look except out into the wilds.
Everywhere she looks, there's scenery and outdoors and height and depth; every time she looks up, she's overwhelmed by the way the sky seems to go on forever in all directions. Her hand tightens on the strap of her pack.
"It's not," Duncan admits with a smile. "We must do what we can and look to Teryn Loghain to make up the difference." He enunciates the name very clearly, and Marian suddenly realizes who he's talking about, and who she'd just called a poor sod.
Duncan laughs and kindly leaves the matter. "We should proceed with your Joining ritual without delay."
Marian looks up, her attention caught by his mention of a ritual. "Right now?" She doesn't dare rub her arse, not right in front of Duncan, but she desperately wants to – it hurts.
Perhaps he can guess what's on her mind, because he grins and gestures over the bridge to the other side of the fortress. "We have until nightfall; you may wander as you will, but don't leave the camp. When you're ready, find a Grey Warden named Alistair and tell him it's time to summon the other recruits."
"Alistair," Marian repeats to remember the name. "Got it."
"Until then, I have business I must attend to. I will be at the Grey Warden encampment, which is on the other side of the bridge and to the left, should you have need." Duncan bows to her, just a dip of his head, then strides off across the bridge.
She is alone for the first time in a very long time. The army camps are far enough away that they're little more than muted bursts of sound when the wind shifts, which happens just enough to remind her that there are other people in the world. Marian shivers suddenly and, taking a tight grip on the straps of her pack, heads across the bridge.
A friendly soldier points the way to the magi encampment and Marian heads that way. She can see a few mages inside, but she can also see another mage in the distance, one she recognizes.
"Wynne!"
Wynne turns, and when she sees Marian she smiles. "Marian! I heard that the new Grey Warden recruit was from the Circle, but I didn't think Irving would let you out of the Tower."
"He didn't have much of a choice," Marian says, grimacing, and lets her pack slide to the ground. "Listen, I hate to ask, but do you have a rejuvenate in you? The ride here was absolute murder."
"If you'd paid more attention in my classes..." Wynne says, narrowing her eyes, but Marian can feel the cool wash of a rejuvenation spell seep into her skin. The pain in her back and legs begins to fade.
"Oh, thank you," Marian says, but Wynne cocks her head; then she feels a healing spell on top of the other.
"You shouldn't have let it get that bad," Wynne says, folding her arms. "And if you're going to be a Grey Warden, it's time you learned more than just the basic healing spells."
"I know," Marian says with a groan. "Well, now that I've passed my Harrowing, I'll have more time to learn other things."
"Congratulations! How did you do?"
Marian snorts. "Well, I passed," she says, gesturing vaguely to herself. "But I don't feel like I did. There was... " She pauses, waiting for the right words to come to her. "The demon, it... "
"Ah," Wynne says, tilting her head. "Mouse up to his old tricks?"
Marian stares at her, dumbfounded.
"You don't think you're the only one who fell for his tricks, do you?" Wynne asks, in a tone that Marian knows means that someone is being stupid and will be called to the front of the class for a demonstration. "Mouse has been Harrowing Fereldan apprentices for years, child. He has it down to a science. You slipped his grip, I take it?" Marian nods. "That's all that matters in the end. That, and now you know what lengths the demons will go to," Wynne says. Her voice has slipped into lecture mode, but Marian is too grateful to mind. "You must always be on guard in the Fade. You must make no agreements and make no choices, if you can help it."
It's more plain speaking than Marian's ever heard before. "Why don't you tell us this before the Harrowing?" she asks, bewildered. "Wouldn't it help?"
"It would," Wynne agrees. "If all we cared for was keeping mages alive. But we need to know who is susceptible to a demon's temptations, and the Harrowing is the way that has evolved over many years. It seems harsh, I know, but the truth is often so."
Marian stares, horrified. "Seems?" she says, then clenches her teeth until she thinks her jaw might crack; arguing with Wynne is always a terrible idea, always, but the utter heartlessness of what she's just said – and apparently believes – is too much to bear. "You know they took Killian, right? And Alys? And Jowan – " Her voice breaks, and she stops. She doesn't want to talk about that, and if she's absolutely truthful, Jowan was responsible for his own fate... but he would never have done what he did if he hadn't been terrified beyond reason of the Harrowing, and the Rite of Tranquility.
"They did not survive, I take it?" Wynne asks, and closes her eyes. "Maker preserve them," she murmurs. She looks honestly upset; Killian was Wynne's own special protégé, with not only a gift, but a flair for healing. Marian pushes away the shame she feels rising from her belly.
She deserves it, Marian tells herself. If only she could believe it.
"Duncan has given me a task; do you know the Warden named Alistair?"
"Oh, that one," Wynne says with a roll of her eyes. "You'll find him to the north, I believe. Follow the shouting."
Wynne refuses to elaborate, and a confused Marian picks up her pack and follows the path north to a small ramp. There aren't very many people around; a few elves are to the west, cleaning around a large table, and to the east is a small rotunda. There's no shouting, but there is a raised voice coming from the rotunda, and Marian heads for it.
There are two men there; one is berating at the other, who is waiting patiently for him to finish with a kind of calculated insolence. Marian recognizes the loud one as a mage, though she doesn't know his name; the other is a young man, about her age, wearing Grey Warden livery. She has no intention of getting between an angry mage and his target, so she leans against a handy bit of wall and waits for them to finish.
The mage storms off when he's done shouting, and Marian straightens when Alistair turns to her. He seems have shrugged off the confrontation as soon as it happened, a talent which Marian envies.
"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together," he says, smirking.
"Are you Alistair?" Marian asks.
"That's me. You're... you're the Grey Warden recruit Duncan brought, aren't you?" Alistair frowns a bit, digging furrows in his brow.
Marian recognizes the signs of an inveterate forgetter of names and leaps to his rescue. "I'm Marian. Pleased to meet you."
"That was the name!" Alistair says, snapping his fingers. "Sorry, I'm – "
"Bad at names? No kidding," she says, a slow grin crossing her face. He seems like a friendly sort. "That mage wasn't interested in togetherness; if you'd been any closer, I'm pretty sure he would have fireballed himself to get away."
"Really? You think so?" Alistair asks, clearly pleased at the idea. "I'll have to keep that in mind." He looks her over, and when he sees the staff poking out from behind her shoulder, he winces. "I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?"
"What gave it away?" Marian slaps her staff with shocking disregard for its formidable offensive capabilities. She sends a sly look Alistair's way. "Would that make your day worse?"
"Hardly," he says, though he does look like he wishes he could hide behind his shield. "I just like to know my chances of being turned into a toad at any given moment."
Marian tilts her head, considering. "Fair to middling?"
"Good to know," he says, chuckling uneasily.
"Oh!" Marian exclaims. "Duncan wanted me to get you; he said it's time to summon the other recruits."
Alistair looks so relieved that she has to laugh. "Lead on, then," he says, and she does.
"So who was that man?" she asks him as they walk down the ramps toward the camp proper.
"Enchanter Rydell," Alistair says, grimacing. He has an expressive face; it's easy to tell what he's thinking. She keeps catching herself staring at him. "Cranky bugger, isn't he? The Revered Mother sent me to fetch him. I suppose he has reason to be put out that she sent me, though," he admits, watching her out of the corner of his eye. "It was a calculated kind of insult. I was once a templar."
Marian stops dead and whirls on him. "You're a templar?"
She thought she'd left templars behind forever. Was she never to be free of them? And for it to be him – she'd liked him a moment ago, when he laughed at her jokes and treated her like a real person, not just a mage.
A new and more horrible thought strikes her – she'd heard in the Tower that mages who went outside the Tower are assigned their very own templars, who follow them around like mabari ready to strike.
Perhaps Duncan is more prepared for a mage recruit than he let on.
"Yes," Alistair says, pausing beside her. His face is faintly alarmed, and Marian starts working out the best way to petrify him – templars can't smite if they can't move, right? – and then make a break for the exit. It must show on her face, because he puts up his hands defensively. "Well, half a templar. Three-quarters? The point is, I never finished my training, I didn't want to be there in the first place, please don't turn me into a toad."
Marian pauses in reaching for her staff. "What do you mean you didn't want to be there in the first place?"
Alistair hesitates and drops his hands, and Marian is sure that he's deciding how much to tell her; eventually he sighs. "Look, I was given to the Chantry a long time ago. I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter, and then when the Revered Mother decided I was to be a Templar... Well, it was better than the other options." He chuckles, though there's a grim edge to it Marian doesn't understand. "I meant it when I said I didn't want to be there, you know. When Duncan recruited me, it was the best day of my life."
Alistair spreads his arms in what looks to her like the beginning of a smite and Marian instinctively flinches, stepping backward quickly. Alistair freezes. "I'm not – " He sighs loudly, dropping his arms. His armor creaks in protest at his sudden movements. "I'm not a Templar anymore." He raps one gauntleted fist on his cuirass, where the Grey Warden griffons are emblazoned; Marian belatedly realizes that's what he'd been trying to do before. "I'm a Grey Warden," he says earnestly. "Maker willing, so will you be."
A slow flush of shame begins to work its way up her neck. She knows better than to believe that every templar is like the worst of them, but Marian has spent so long hating them and when finally she escapes, there is Alistair; how can anyone blame her for feeling trapped? But she is leaping to conclusions; she can at least wait until those conclusions are warranted. Then she can fireball Alistair's head into paste and make her escape.
"I don't know a toad spell," Marian confesses.
"Thank the Maker," he says with a grin. "Porcupines? Cockroaches? Skunks? No?"
She returns his smile, trying to act like nothing has changed, then she turns and starts to walk again, leading the way although she doesn't know who she's looking for or where she's going; Alistair follows her without comment until she turns her head to look at him. "The templars took me away when I was little," she says, thinking of a tow-headed little boy with hazel eyes, alone in a little bed in an anonymous Chantry dormitory. "To be a mage at the Circle. I know what it's like not to have choices."
"Sounds like we both owe Duncan, then," Alistair says. He's not smiling, but his face is open and warm.
"You might be right," Marian allows.
She swoops in and rescues Daveth from the consequences of antagonizing women who wield swords, promises a magical blight-curing flower to the kennel-keeper, and disentangles Ser Jory from a Chantry service; Marian refuses the sister's blessing and walks away in the middle of her ranting. The likes of me, she fumes. If I were the kind of mage you're so afraid of, I'd...
And that stops her train of thought in its tracks, because they have every right to be afraid. Mages are more destructive than nature, than the worst of wild animals, than any of the sentient species, because they are all these things and more, and there will never be any way for her to put her magic down.
Chastened and silent, she follows Alistair to join Duncan and the other two recruits at his fire.
Duncan greets them with a smile. "You found Alistair, did you?"
"I followed the shouting," Marian says, looking at Alistair from the corner of her eye. He flushes a little. She debates asking Duncan about the conclusions she'd leapt to earlier, but it's not the time, not in front of the others.
"Good. I'll assume you're ready to begin preparations," Duncan says, then turns to Alistair, a sardonic eyebrow raised. "Assuming, of course, that you're quite finished riling up mages, Alistair."
Alistair returns an uneasy smile. "What can I say? The revered mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army."
"She forced you to sass the mage, did she?" Duncan sighs, in a way that makes Marian think he's done it before. Alistair must be something of a trial, and Daveth won't be any better. It makes her wonder why Duncan recruited them; Ser Jory seems the only sensible choice. "We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair," Duncan says. "We don't need to give anyone more ammunition against us."
"You're right, Duncan." Alistair takes a deep breath. "I... apologize." It sounds like something he's not used to doing very often.
Duncan smiles faintly, approvingly, and lets it go. "Now that you're all here, we can begin. You four will be heading into the Korcari Wilds to perform two tasks. The first is to obtain three vials of darkspawn blood, one for each recruit."
"Into the Wilds?" Daveth objects. "There's other things than darkspawn in there. There's witches, there's the witch - the Witch of the Wilds."
"Are you refusing?" Duncan asks politely, but Marian freezes like a mouse that's seen a snake; there's something of a blade being drawn from its sheath in his voice, something she never, ever wants turned on her.
"N-no," Daveth says, uncertainly.
"Good." Duncan turns back to the rest of them. Daveth licks his lips, just once.
"Surely the army has already spilled enough darkspawn blood," Ser Jory says. "Is it truly necessary for us to collect more?"
"You must work together to collect the components. It's just as much a part of the Joining as what comes after," Duncan replies.
"What else do you need us to do?" Alistair asks.
"There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outputs. It has recently come to our attention that some scrolls have been left behind, magically sealed to protect them. Alistair, I want you to retrieve these scrolls if you can."
"What if they're not there anymore?" Marian asks.
"It's possible the scrolls may have been destroyed or even stolen, though the seal's magic should have protected them. Only a Grey Warden can break such a seal."
Duncan sounds confident, but Marian can think of a dozen things that can go wrong even if they find the missing scrolls, and none of them are good. She's not even sure she wants to be a Warden, and all this seems like excellent reason to melt into the Wilds and start on her own quest to find her long-lost family. It's something that bears thinking about, in any case, and she may as well have a plan for fleeing, even if she never uses it.
"I don't understand," Alistair says, bewildered. "Why leave such things in a ruin if they're so valuable?"
"It was assumed we would someday return," Duncan says, a faint note of regret in his voice. "A great many things were assumed that have not held true."
"So, darkspawn blood and ancient scrolls?" Marian says.
Daveth sighs. "I suppose we'd better get to it before the light goes."
Duncan nods. "Alistair, watch over your charges. Return quickly, and safely."
Alistair nods in return, so serious that Marian could almost believe that his earlier foolishness was a dream. "We will."
"Then may the Maker watch over your path. I will see you when you return." Duncan turns back to his fire, dismissing them, and Alistair leads them to the barred gates that open out into the Wilds.