Arcane Warrior
Chapter 7: The Deep Breath Before the Plunge, Part 1
Alim didn't know where he was. He was floating in midair in the middle of what looked to be a gorge within an ancient hall, the majesty of the the many elaborate boxy carvings and towering statues of what looked to be dwarven figures subsumed by a cloak of filth and grime, the nobility of the designs all but consumed by corruption.
Any further looking around he might have done was interrupted by a terrible pain that pierced his head like so many tiny daggers scraping against his skull until he felt as if he were about to burst.
He hunched over and grabbed his head with a silent scream of pain.
Thousands, if not tens of thousands of voices erupted into being, all screaming indecipherable words into his ears. All around him, a teeming host of shadowy figures suddenly appeared around him, surrounding him and passing through him but not physically touching him.
Alim opened his eyes and would have backed away if he were standing on solid ground, for all he was able to see in any direction were the shadowy figures. They were so tightly packed together now that all he could see in any direction was a solid wall of shadow.
But then a new presence appeared, completely drowning out the others. The presence caused a feeling of utter wrongness that chilled his spine and curdled his blood. Alim turned around slowly to see that the wall was moving, the shadows were moving away to reveal what could only be described as an undead high dragon.
It was massive, but the magnificence of the draconic figure was marred by the rotting skin stretched taught against its bones and the tattered wings draped on its back. It had bony spikes sticking out of its hide in places a dragon wouldn't normally have them, and the normally gorgeous dragon eyes which were a fabulous mix of feline and reptilian were a sickly yellowy white, appearing almost blind to the untrained eye.
He shivered, as in those eyes he could see a great and terrible intelligence.
It looked directly at him.
It opened its mouth and roared at him, azure flames gathering in its maw, the sound was warped and horrid, a far cry from awe inspiring and terrifying roar of a proper dragon, and the flames rushed at him as he crossed his arms in defense...
And then the elf awoke, gasping desperately for air, the relieved faces of Duncan and Alistair looking down upon him, the latter laughing quietly with an immensely relieved look on his face. "It is finished" the older Warden said, offering his hand.
Alim started, seeing his hands, he had removed his gauntlets before the Joining, seeing that his skin was no longer pale or waxy. His skin had regained its smooth texture, and the dark chocolate coloring was back in full.
"Welcome Alim Surana, to the Gray Wardens" he said in an official, prideful sounding voice.
"Thank you Commander Duncan" he replied with a smile, mentally swearing that he would do whatever it took to live up to the pride in Duncan's eyes, he took the proffered skin of water to help sooth his dry throat.
Breathing deep to calm himself, he glanced at the bodies of Daveth and Jory, now lying on twin cots with a death shroud thrown over them, their weapons on the table nearby.
He closed his eyes to offer them a moment of silence. Daveth had gone honorably, a far cry from the thief he once was. 'Maker, Creators or whoever is listening, please give Daveth an honored place at your side. He did not deserve the death he so cruelly received.' Jory on the other hand had broken his oath, drawn a blade on his commanding officer, attempted to desert, and died with dishonor staining his name and memory.
"Two more deaths," Alistair grumbled, gently placing a sheet over the bodies. "In my Joining, only one of us died, but it was… horrible." He said solemnly with his head bowed in prayer, "I'm glad at least one of you made it through."
He gave a reassuring nod to his comrade, 'dammit Jory! Your life wasn't just your own! Why did you have to let your fears get ahead of your other priorities like your wife or child!'
He cradled his face in his hands, 'Oh what shall I tell Helena? Should I tell her a pleasant lie or the truth?
"How do you feel?" asked Duncan.
"I... the Joining is over, I feel fine." Indeed he did, he was no longer burdened by the immense pain of the taint, and he even felt better than he ever had.
His senses, it seemed, had only increased from what they were before. His hearing had sharpened and increased slightly in range, elven hearing was already a great deal better than a humans as their ears were capable of swiveling in place like a cats to listen to sounds coming from different directions, and his eyesight was better than it had ever been, he picked up details they used to pass over as unimportant, such as the cracks and chips in the stone, the artful swirls on Duncan's armor and how lifelike the griffon standard on Alistair's breastplate seemed.
His body felt lighter but stronger, and his magic more potent. He didn't feel any more powerful than before, there wasn't a greater quantity of mana flowing through his veins or anything like that, but what was there felt like it was of a greater quality than before, like any spell he cast would have more bite to it than he was used to.
That would likely take training to get under control.
It seemed to make some sense to him, he had heard stories about how one must be among the strongest to be considered for the gray warden ranks, and actually becoming a gray warden only made them stronger still. Many people thought it was because of some secret training regimen of the wardens, and perhaps there was, but now he suspected that the Joining ritual itself had something to do with it.
Alistair stepped in to change the subject. "Did you have dreams? I had terrible dreams after my Joining."
"Dreams... yes."
"Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn, as we all do" explained Duncan. "That and many other things can be explained in the months to come. For now, take pride in that you have become a Grey Warden in full."
"Before I forget, there is one last part to your Joining," Alistair interjected.
Alim said nothing in response, simply turning his attention to Alistair.
"We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant, something to remind us of those who didn't make it this far." He said solemnly, and Alim accepted the pendant without a word. He had been looking forward to working with Daveth, crass as he was, and even Jory, provided that he improved his attitude.
The deaths were still fresh in his heart, and the grief still too near.
"I know this is a great shock to you Alim, but there is little time to waste" said Duncan. "Take the opportunity to regain your bearings and get used to the changes you are now experiencing, there will be more to come, I assure you.
"In one hour's time, head over to the ruined hall directly beside the gorge. King Cailan will be briefing his officers on the next battle against the horde, and has requested your attendance."
"The King?" asked the elf. "Did he happen to say why?"
"Regrettably not," Duncan replied with a shrug. "All I can ask is that you attend promptly. Until that time Alistair, I'd like you to assist Alim in getting ready, then wait for us by my tent once the meeting begins."
"Of course, Duncan," said Alistair, looking relieved he wouldn't have to rub shoulders with the King and nobility. After Duncan left, the former templar turned to Alim with a relieved smile. "Well, since we have a little time, how about some supper? You haven't eaten since breakfast, right?"
The elf's stomach growled. "I probably should, but after seeing all that, I'm not sure how much of an appetite I'll have."
A strange smile crossed Alistair's face. "Trust me, you'll eat well."
Having eaten a few bowls of hearty vegetable stew with Alistair (more than he had ever known he could eat), he now approached the ruined hall where the war meeting was to take place. Daveth's shortbow was now strapped to his back along with the quiver. His staff had been taken by the quartermaster to be improved, a peace offering he said.
"You've arrived on time. Excellent," said Duncan, meeting Alim at the entrance of Ostagar's ruined great hall.
"Yes Duncan," replied Alim. "Have I missed anything?"
Duncan's frown told him everything. "Nothing good."
Like the rest of the fortress, the ruined hall had been re-purposed to serve the needs of the army, and while the roof had long since caved in, the walls were still solid and it was large enough to hold all of the senior officers. A mosaic of banners representing the army's various contingents had been put up, and Alim was still amazed at how many bannorns and arlings and knightly orders were present.
The place was packed with about thirty men and women, mostly nobles and officers of all stripes and social standings, though the elf had to stop himself from grinning ear to ear when he caught a glimpse of Hawke standing next to a graying captain, the dark-haired woman giving him a small smile in recognition.
Off to one side he caught sight of a tall man in heavy silver armor who must have been Fergus Cousland, for the sword Aedan had given to them was strapped to his belt and the shield to his back. Alistair must have spoken with him sometime before he awoke.
In the furthest corner, he saw Senior Enchantor Ivo fretting idly under the stern watch of a quartet of templars. From behind another unit of templars, a woman in the vestments of a Revered Mother of the Chantry examined the assembled gathering, her cold blue eyes finding them all wanting. Her gaze focused on Alim for a moment but then withdrew in disgust, turning back to the argument raging in the center of the hall.
"Loghain, my decision is final," King Cailan declared. His golden armour had been polished bright, and he looked every inch the shining King, ready to lead his countrymen to victory. "I will stand beside my men and the Grey Wardens in this assault."
'Commendable' he thought admiringly, respectful of King Cailan's intent to lead by example like his father before him.
"You risk too much, Cailan," responded Loghain. Ferelden's greatest general was staring at his sovereign as if he was a drunk or a madman, and Alim felt a selfish sense of relief that the Hero of River Dane was not leveling his dark gaze in his direction.
"The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines" Loghain said, a statement that he found very pragmatic, but also very hypocritical. The darkspawn horde, even so numerous as they were, were no more dangerous than the Orlesians in the war. Yet Loghain not only allowed, but encouraged Maric, Elrohir, himself and the other generals to fight on the front lines, and by all accounts Cailan was as fine a warrior as any of them were in their prime.
"If that's the case, perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us after all," the King stated lightly, drawing astonished gasps from some of those assembled and some murmurs, and shouts, of agreement.
Alim himself also agreed, the recent history between Ferelden and Orlais was filled with blood, and the only way to improve affairs between the two nations was to unite against a common enemy.
Or so were his thoughts anyway, as he had read about many great moments in history when nations united under a common banner to fight to fight an unfathomable evil. An example that could be applied here when Ferelden and Orlais were brought together along with many other nations to combat the fourth blight, under the banner of his own ancestor.
Loghain clearly disagreed, as his jaw clenched so tightly Alim could hear the man's teeth grinding in utter hatred. "I must repeat my protest at your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves!"
"It is not a fool notion," the King answered with surprising steel behind his words. Well, it was surprising for most of the assembled nobles, but Alim was an excellent judge of character, and the king was not as foolish as he seemed as anyone who actually fought at his side could attest to. "Our soldiers deserve better than to stand alone against this threat, and I would not see a single one of them fall for the sake of your pride. Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past, and you will remember who is king!"
He had to agree with Cailan, the darkspawn were a threat too all of Thedas, not just Ferelden. He would welcome the aid of Orlais in this, heck he'd even take Tevinter.
"How fortunate Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century!" came Loghain's bitter retort.
"You go too far, Loghain!" one of the assembled nobles shouted, his face was red as his well-trimmed beard, and his tabard displaying a green sun on a white field.
This man was Urien Kendells, the arl of Denerim. "He is your rightful King. Your place is to carry out his commands, not trod upon them!"
Loghain was a hero of Ferelden sure enough, and he had been made a teryn by King Maric. But even so he was but a farm boy from no great bloodline. He may not have necessarily agreed with the notion of bloodlines and nobility, despite being scion of two of the most noble bloodlines in history himself, it did seem as though Loghain was growing paranoid.
Needless to say that it seemed that the man was wearing out his welcome as far as the other nobles were concerned.
"Thank you, Urien," added Cailan, quickly composing himself. "I suppose that our current forces will have to suffice for now. I will assume that your units are all assembled and ready?" he asked to those assembled, receiving a chorus of affirmations. "Duncan, are your men ready for battle?"
"They are, Your Majesty."
"And this is the young recruit I met earlier on the road?" Cailan inquired, as all eyes turned towards Alim, some more welcoming than most, a few he would even go so far as to call scathing, but worst was the priest he had identified earlier. She looked down her nose at him as if he were nothing, no... less than nothing; a worm so far beneath her feet that it was not worthy of being stepped on. "I understand congratulations are in order."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," said Alim with a salute. "I stand ready to serve, wherever I am needed."
Arl Urien gave Alim a smug look. "Eager to escape the templars, are you?"
'Of course he would choose to comment on that. I'm a mage before an elf, after all.'
"Enough, Urien," Cailan interjected. "I don't care if he is a mage, for young Alim here possesses the honor and courage I would expect out of any of my knights. I know of many men twice his age who lack these qualities."
Urien huffed indignantly at the King's reproof, but did not challenge him, reserving an angry glare for the elf instead. "Every Grey Warden is needed now," Cailan continued. "You should be honored to join their ranks."
"Yes ser."
"Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan," Loghain remarked tartly, barely sparing the two Wardens a glance. "We must attend to reality."
"Fine then, speak your strategy. The bulk of our army and the Grey Wardens form up our battle line in the gorge and provoke the darkspawn into charging our position, correct?" He asked, drawing a finger across the map of Ostagar to indicate the battle line.
"At which point," said Loghain, belaboring every word, "you will alert the tower to light the beacon and signal my men to charge from cover-"
"To flank the darkspawn, I remember. I assume you've designated which units will form your force?"
"Of course, Cailan. All trustworthy and loyal men." Alim narrowed his eyes slightly. 'But to whom are they truly loyal?' Was his thought, as it was very clear that Loghain was hiding something.
The fact that he was betrayed by one thought trusted himself did not help his suspicious thoughts.
"Excellent, that's what I like to hear. Now, this is the Tower of Ishal you refer to, in the ruins? Who shall light this beacon?"
"I have a few men stationed there," stated Loghain. "It's not a dangerous task, but it is vital. My forces will be concealed from the darkspawn, but so too will they be out of our line of sight. We need the beacon to inform us of the precise moment to charge."
"Then we should send our best, send Alim and Alistair to see that it's done."
"With respect my King, if it's not a dangerous task I can do it myself." Alim said, earning a scathing glare from the mother at the audacity of a mage talking back to his betters.
"No, it's important that you both go." "Yes ser."
Loghain, of course, had his objections. "You rely on these Grey Wardens too much. Is that truly wise?"
"Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain!" Cailan shouted in exasperation, dismissing his general's concerns with a wave. "Grey Wardens battle the Blight no matter where they are from."
"Your Majesty," Duncan interrupted before the argument could go any further. "You should consider the possibility of the Archdemon appearing."
"There have been no signs of any dragons in the Wilds," Loghain stated bluntly.
"Besides, isn't that what your men are here for, Duncan?" asked the King.
"I… yes, Your Majesty,"
"Then it's settled. Now then Loghain, if you'd like to go over our specific tactics for this battle in more detail-" Cailan asked, only to be interrupted as Ivo approached the war table. The hands of the templars immediately went for their weapons, the Chantry's knights taking no chances with him, especially with the King within range of his magic. "Does the Circle have a suggestion, ser mage?"
"Your Majesty, the tower and it's beacon are unnecessary," suggested Senior Enchanter Ivo, licking his lips nervously before proceeding. "The Circle of Magi can-"
"No! We will not trust any lives to your spells, mage!" boomed the mother, barely-contained revulsion evident on her withered features. "Save them for the darkspawn, lest your unwillingness to bow before the Maker's commandments bring him to anger and doom us all."
"I am aware of his commandments, and what do you think we are doing?" the mage snapped in frustration. "Our powers can help Ferelden win this battle! We serve! We do far more good in this one evening than all your pious prattling will ever achieve!"
"Blasphemy!"
"Of course, because the task of saving lives should belong only to murderous, lyrium-addicted templars and holier-than-thou priests who demand tithes and donations from beggars who can barely buy bread for their families." Alim ranted, earning a burning glare from the mother and most of the assembled nobles, a nervous look from Hawke and a proud look from the aequitarian/libertarian Ivo.
"Enough!" Loghain roared, the sheer fury in the voice enough to make the belligerents back down. "The plan will suffice. The Grey Wardens shall light the beacon. Your Majesty, the King's Own will hold the center of the main battle-line, as you desire. Arl Urien, you will command the right wing, and Bann Darren will hold the left."
"Thank you, Loghain," Cailan said, sighing in relief. "I cannot wait for that glorious moment when I ride with the fabled Grey Wardens to stem the tide of evil." He said, his pose and manner of speech conveying nothing but hope, but Alim could detect a gleam of sadness in his eyes.
"Yes, Cailan," came Loghain's answer, his expression unreadable as he looked down upon the map. "A glorious moment for us all. Now then, when the darkspawn begin their advance-"
As Loghain continued his briefing, Alim weighed Cailan's words. Were two Grey Wardens really necessary to see that the beacon was lit? His posting simply might have been a diplomatic concession, a chance to show how the Wardens were truly instrumental to victory, and to ease the minds of those Chantry officials present, though he wondered how Alistair would take it.
It didn't really matter to the elf where they asked him to carry out his duties, as long as he had the opportunity to show the world that mages were not all evil beings who would give in to blood magic and become magisters without a seconds notice if given the opportunity.
Sharp purple eyes glanced over the map, and Alim took in the small figurines representing the positions of each unit in the army. If he was reading this right, then Loghain had brought all of his troops from Gwaren with him in his flanking charge, along with the army's heavy cavalry and the regiments of a few other nobles. The elf was trying to identify which heraldry represented each noble when he noticed Loghain glaring at him. Before he could react, the teryn swiftly rolled up the map, dark eyes never leaving Alim for an instant.
"I apologize, my lord. I merely wished to understand my duties within the larger scheme of the plan."
"That is not relevant, Warden. Simply complete your assigned duties and leave strategy to those qualified for it."
"You said something, Loghain?" asked Cailan.
"Nothing worth mentioning."
"Then perhaps I might be able to address my officers?" came the gentle demand, and Loghain quickly moved to let him speak. "When do you your scouts estimate the horde will be upon us Duncan?" Alim perked up, he did not know of any scouts, he had assumed that those he had found annihilated in the Wilds were all that there was.
"After the last battle, the darkspawn forces had drawn back farther than we had thought to regroup. It will be three days at most, and two days at the least before they will be upon us.
"This will give us ample time to bolster our defenses and modify the battle plan where needed."
"Very good, this will give you time to train your new recruit then.
With that, you are all dismissed."
So dismissed, the officers dispersed with Loghain leading his coterie to the flanking position, and Urien and the rest following at the heels of the King. Hawke and the grey-haired captain lingered behind for a moment, observing the elven Warden, reassured by his solid stance despite all of the faces looking down at him during the meeting.
"Corporal Hawke tells me you're a reliable man, Alim of the Grey," said the older man, "and I have learned to trust her judgement."
"That is wise of you, captain. I doubt Ferelden has soldiers any more loyal or dedicated than Hawke."
The Captain let out a barking laugh and looked over at the beaming dark-haired woman. "You shouldn't listen to this kind of talk, Hawke; it'll go straight to your head."
"Too late, Captain Varel," Hawke replied with a flirty smirk leveled at the elf, making him blush. If she had any doubts about the King's plan, then she was certainly keeping quiet about it. At the moment, her attentions were centered on the elven mage, and Alim felt his ardor burn at her gaze.
"It's a shame you won't be with us on the front lines, Alim. I suppose I'll have to take all your kills for myself."
"Well, ladies first, of course," Alim jested. "It would be rude of me to deny you the honor of first blood."
"There will be darkspawn aplenty for all of us, I'm sure," Varel declared. "Duncan, Third Company would be honored if you'd fight alongside us tonight."
"And it would be an honour to accept, but I must decline. The King has insisted that the Wardens take up position alongside his personal guard," Duncan said with an apologetic bow.
"Yes, it makes sense that the King would want you beside him when the time comes. Still, we'd best get on with it. Wardens." Varel saluted them and made to depart.
When they relayed their orders, Alistair didn't bother hiding his disappointment. "What? I'm not going to be part of the battle?"
"This is by the King's personal request, Alistair," Duncan explained. The wind had begun to pick up, carrying with it a taste of frost, and behind them Duncan's campfire blazed warmly against the growing cold of night. "Without that signal, Teryn Loghain won't know when to charge."
"And he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch, just in case, right?"
"I have to ask Duncan, is this the right call?" asked Alim. "I'm not questioning my orders, I'm willing to carry out whatever duty is required to stop the Blight, but it does seem like we could be of more use to you on the battle line." He fingered the hilt of Glamdring nervously.
"The King will not deviate from the battle plan now, and there are advantages to keeping you both in reserve," Duncan reiterated, all business. "The demands of duty are often not exciting or glorious, but they are necessary, and I expect you to carry out this order to the letter."
"Just so you know," piped up Alistair, "if the King asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line, darkspawn or no."
Duncan gave a labored sigh, and Alim had to stifle a laugh at the former templar's antics. "Well then, should we head down to the valley to join you once the beacon is lit?"
"I do not think that will be necessary. Loghain's flanking charge should end the battle decisively if all goes according to plan. If you are needed, we will send for you. Until that happens, stay inside the Tower."
"And if the Archdemon does make an appearance, what then?"
"Then we soil our drawers, that's what," Alistair quipped.
"Leave it to us," ordered Duncan. "I want no heroics from either of you."
"Is there anything else you would have us do Duncan?" the elf asked.
His expression darkening further, Duncan brought forth some familiar scrolls. "One last duty, before the battle begins."
"The treaties?" Alim asked. "What do you wish for us to do with them? Surely two to three days isn't enough time to secure allies from all over Ferelden."
"We've had the Circle re-apply the protective spells to them, but they must remain secure at all times. These are your responsibility now, Alim. Whatever happens, you must protect them with your life, and if the battle here does not go as planned then you know what you must do. Alistair, you will assist him in this duty."
"I… I understand," replied Alim, placing the treaties in the leather satchel at his waist. His pack would go into the baggage cart so he could fight unhindered by its weight. Beside him, Alistair accepted Duncan's command with a nervous smile, all levity vanished.
"Remember that you are both Grey Wardens now, and I expect you to be worthy of that title. Now then, you must sleep. It has been a long day for all of us, and we only have a few days to prepare for war."
"Yes Duncan" the younger recruits said before they both headed down for the main army camp to the Gray Warden's tent.
Alim walked out of the tent the next morning, stretching his stiff muscles in the crisp morning air of Drakonis, he had already eaten his breakfast with Alistair and the other dozen or so wardens in camp. Jory had not been lying he told him that all the other wardens camped out here were human, but there were some female wardens to his immense delight... and not a little trepidation.
He was still blushing slightly at the laughing he could still hear at his eating habits, even though none of them had been any better. That and the fact that none of them were very... modest. When they stripped for bed, they did so in front of everyone else.
He understood that the whole brothers and sisters in arms thing led to a lot of trust between each other, and he was used to such things back at the tower. But the other mages tended not to be very muscular, but absolutely everyone here was, almost to the point of being physically perfect.
Jena being extraordinarily curvy on top having such perfect musculature certainly didn't help matters.
With a sigh to calm his nerves, he decided to head over to the archery range to practice with his new bow. Once there, he unhooked the bow and began to fire at the red and white target.
With his enhanced vision, he could shoot a lot better than he thought he would for his first time holding a bow, but it was still not good enough. His arrows were making the target at least, but only the outermost ring.
He loosed another arrow which impacted with the second outer ring. He sighed, he had been at work for an hour already and progress was slow. His ears twitched when he heard light footsteps "hello again," spoke the lovely voice of one Marian Hawke.
He turned to look at her with a smile, "good morning Hawke, and..." There was a man with her, he had rather short black hair in a somewhat plain style, blue eyes a shade darker than Hawke's and a square shaped face. He had a farm-boy's build and wore a simple outfit consisting of a white sleeveless shirt that laced up in the front, dark brown trousers, a leather belt with suspenders, knee high boots, and leather bracers with a metal forearm guard strapped to them.
"This is..." Hawke began, but was interrupted "Carver, and I suppose you're that elf my who was flirting with my sister yesterday?" They clasped each others wrists in greeting, Carver squeezing slightly in an effort to intimidate him, quite the useless gesture as he was wearing steel gauntlets.
"Um..." he said intelligently, he could only raise an eyebrow in amusement when the overprotective brother act was met with a slap to the head.
"Don't worry about him, he was just leaving." Hawke said with a stern look and Carver went grumbling over to where they held the sword drills.
"So, aside from the embarrassing greeting, how are you doing?" She asked, drawing her longbow and lining it up for a shot. He took a moment to marvel at her form. Her feet were spread shoulder distance apart, her back was completely straight, the bow was held in her left hand with the arm perfectly aligned with her shoulders, and the arrow was held between two fingers of her right hand, and she drew it back to her ear with the upper left arm being in perfect alignment with her left.
She loosed the arrow, and it hit dead center on the same target he had been working on earlier.
She turned to look at his wide eyed face with a smirk that told him that she knew of his admiring of her body. "I-" he tried to explain himself, but she shushed him and grabbed his arms and lined them up at the target.
"You need to spread your legs more." She said, correcting his stance with her feet, and she lifted his arms to the appropriate position to shoot correctly. "Alright, shoot." She ordered, and looking down the shaft of the arrow and exhaling evenly, he let it go.
It hit the second innermost ring.
He lowered his bow with a disbelieving look on his face, Hawke chuckled and asked "are you sure this is your first time using a bow?" she asked lightheartedly.
"Well... there was this one time when I was six when I shot myself in the foot with Grandfather's bow." He said causing her to grimace. She shook her head to rid herself of the mental image and grabbed his wrist. "Come on, you won't get better right away and you need a break." She began pulling him toward the sword ranges.
"Now I have to ask, what has you all flustered?" Hawke asked with a smile over her shoulder "you were so eloquent last night and now your tripping over your words like a schoolboy."
"Well, the female wardens have this initiation that they put all the new recruits through... or so they told me. I managed to hold out last night without having to go through it but..." He ended his tirade with a heavy blush.
"Initiation? What... oh" she made a perfect 'O' with her mouth, "and you actually said 'no'?" she asked, half teasingly and half nervously.
"Well I... yes." He said, making her smile brightly at him. She had been concerned for a moment that the first man to catch her fancy in years would have succumbed to a night of passion like most men would... like her last lover did.
"You need to learn a lot more than archery if you want to survive here." She said, pushing him into a small ring and unsheathing the beautiful saber at her side and taking up her shield in her left arm.
"You want to do it here then?" She blushed slightly at the innuendo, he drew his sword and tightened his grip on his staff which he had since gotten back from the quartermaster. He was lucky if he could get one or two sword duels a week back at the tower, now here he was actually being dragged into one. He almost laughed in spite of himself.
"Alright, I'm ready Hawke." Almost before he could finish he had to parry a sword strike with his staff. She was a lot faster than he thought.
The two circled each other, trading only minor blows while she coached him about all the small errors he was making with his footwork. Apparently the melee training he had undergone at the tower was flawed, but then again he couldn't really expect any different from the templars.
She rushed him, and when he tried to parry her sword he quickly found that it was only a feint when she knocked the staff out of his hand with her shield and slapped him on the backside with the broad side of her sword. He yelped and looked at her like a surprised deer at a hunter.
She giggled and blew him a kiss playfully, and walked over to the side of the ring, swaying her hips seductively all the way, and put the shield down on the fence.
She faced him again, this time with only their swords between them.
He thought against picking up his staff, instead he kicked it over to the boundary and switched his sword to his dominant hand. "I'm not left handed" was his only answer to her questioning look. Well, technically he was ambidextrous and could use each hand equally well, but he was more used to using solid weapons in his right hand, his left was more accustomed to swinging around naught but a sword hilt with a spectral blade extended from it.
She merely smirked and rushed him again.
Alim and Marian sat against the side of the ring, leaning against each other and panting heavily, him more so than her. "You should... you should be a general" Alim commented on her stellar performance, "yes well, I don't really want to draw too much attention to myself" came her laughing reply.
He raised an eyebrow and looked at her beautiful skin flushed with excitement and dripping with sweat from their spar.
He had to look away quickly when certain parts of his anatomy started responding.
Unknown to him was that he was getting exactly the same reaction from her.
He suppressed a grin when he saw that their swords were stabbed into the ground, the blades crossing each other in an x. His staff and her spear were at opposite sides of the ring, and her shield was still perched on the fence.
They had spent a good portion of the day fighting their mock battle, attracting the attention of several passers by, both combatants and non. They had used every weapon in their arsenal, and she had beaten him handily every time.
True the Joining had increased his strength and stamina, but he was still too inexperienced with all of this. Hawke had been training her arse off her entire life in order to protect her family, and had only increased her regimen three years prior when her father died.
He yelped indignantly when something large and heavy plopped down on top of his head and a feminine voice said joyfully "so this is why you skipped out on the initiation last night," he paled slightly when he heard the loud and boisterous voice with the thick Rivaini accent that could only belong to Jena.
He leapt hurriedly to his feet to see none other than the incredibly forward warden, she wore the grey warden warrior uniform minus the breastplate and the top of her uniform slightly undone to show a generous amount of cleavage. He gulped and backed away, but she advanced forward to close the distance and reached a hand up to caress his face "so you skipped out on spending the night with me because you wanted the sexy tomboy?"
If Hawke was insulted by that remark, then she certainly didn't show it.
"That hurts me, you know?" she said, cupping her face with her hands and pretending to cry.
"Uh..." he uttered intelligently, 'damn it!' He thought to himself, fir it pained him to see a woman even pretend to cry.
He didn't know why, she was clearly just teasing him, it just bothered him somehow.
"Hey now, don't..." he started, but when he got within a few paces of her she simply grinned maniacally and moved to get him in a choke-hold.
"So how about it?" Jena asked, looking at a visibly stunned Hawke, "you, me and the sexy elf?" He almost sputtered at her proposition.
He was incredibly nervous when talking about sexual topics, of course he was quite carefree when actually doing it... and even then he never did it with more than one person at a time... or anyone besides other elves.
Now here were two human woman, both hot as hell fire who... he was distracted from his thoughts by Jena and himself being separated rather forcefully. Jena landed on her backside with a yelp of pain after Hawke punched her in the cheek.
Which was now bleeding slightly from Hawke's rather sharp gauntlet.
Any further musing he might have done was interrupted when the woman in question grabbed him and held his head against her shoulder. "The 'sexy elf' as you called him, is mine" she said, and even though he couldn't see her face, he could clearly hear the smug smirk in her voice.
'This isn't really happening right? Hawke and I flirted sure, but this seems to be a little much.' Alim thought in disbelief as he stared into space blankly.
'That's right, I'm still dreaming. I haven't woken up yet...'
Pride wounded, Jena stalked away with her tail between her legs. When he felt Hawke's arms slip away from his shoulders, he rubbed the back of his slightly sore neck, "sorry about that, I can get a little possessive sometimes" came her sheepish explanation.
"It's no trouble" he said, lacking anything better to say. He made a mental note to heal Jena's face when he got back to the tent, that and maybe massage her bruised ego.
All of this was moving too fast for him to keep track of.
One day he was living a quiet scholarly life, then he was dying and ready to sacrifice himself for his teammates, and now he was in a position any hot blooded male would kill to be in.
"Are you sure about this?" He asked, they were walking down a cobblestone road through a sea of tents. The tent's of the main army camp were not as big as those of the kings camp. But that was only to be expected, he supposed, with the absence of nobles who demanded lush accommodations.
Night had fallen and he was standing in front of Hawke's palatinate blue, but spartan tent, asking if she was certain in her decision to invite him to spend the night with her.
"Yes, I am sure. Now get your ass in here" she said, holding open the flap of the tent. He smirked at her and crouched down to crawl into the entrance, but when it looked like she was going to follow him in, he turned around and grabbed her around the midsection causing her to let out a squeal as they wrestled each other to the ground inside her tent, both giggling the whole way.
He grunted when she shoved him to the ground by his forearms, she straddled his hips, and her smirk was both a smug and salacious one as she captured his lips in a passionate kiss.
(This section has been cut from this story because of website regulations. If you want to view it anyway, it is available at Ao3.)
"Well..." Marian started to say through her panting breaths "I can die happy now."
Alim laughed haltingly as he had still not caught his breath "I concur" he agreed.
Smiling warmly at him, she pulled him into a kiss that, while lacking the fire and the lust of their earlier kisses, had no less passion.
Outside the tent, as far as ten tents away in all directions sighs of relief could be heard as after almost six hours, the insanity inducing noises finally stopped, and they could get some sleep at last.
But one person was not so happy the noises had stopped, or even started in the first place.
Jena was gazing absently at the utilitarian blue tent in the distance, her body half hidden behind a training pole and her eyes watery with tears. 'I knew it, I came on too strong again.'
Due to her loving parents and happy upbringing that gave her the freedom to grow up to be whomsoever she wanted to be, she had a free way with her words that shocked some people and made them think that she was more 'open' than she truly was, but was nonetheless a pure and virtuous woman. She, like any other woman, wished for love, and for a strong, kindly man to sweep her off her feet and shower her with affection.
There were other men like that in the grey wardens, true, just as there were men who were not so kindly. Her free way of speaking only seemed to scare away the ones she wanted, and attracted those she didn't.
Case in point, after she pushed the man she fell in love with upon first laying eyes on into the arms of that other woman, the woman's brusque and childish little brother approached her and propositioned her in an act of revenge against his sister. She didn't really understand his motivations... no, that wasn't true, she did. That was the worst part, she thought, that the way she acted when she was nervous pushed away men like Alim and attracted boys like Carver.
She said no of course, though when he began to act like a brat (an obvious inferiority complex rearing its ugly head) and started to make racial slurs about her love, she used her sheathed greatsword to smash his balls.
Dismissing these thoughts with a sigh, she turned away to walk sullenly back to the warden's tent, only letting a single tear fall from her gold eye.
