Early summer sun was unforgiving as it soaked into his armor. The tourney was punctuated with a great deal of ceremony, drawing it out across the whole day, forcing Alistair to strip much of his gear. As the hours passed, Alistair began to realize that he wasn't going to be called in to fight; he was purposely being excluded as punishment for being difficult, head strong. At least he could watch and be amused; that was a nice change from the Chantry. After a while he made a game of looking for Thera in the crowd, with no luck.
At midday the horns sounded a break in the melee. Fighters left the field, awaiting the next round as they recouped their strength. He could now glimpse Knight-Commander Glavin, seated on a dais across the field, joined by Duncan, head of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. They seemed to be engaged in a heated whispering match; Alistair took what he was sure was considered an inappropriate amount of pleasure in seeing Glavin look so put out for a change, particularly when it was by a man more dignified and even.
After a moment of stony, obstinate inaction, the senior templar stood and gave a nod. Glancing to the left and right, Alistair couldn't spy anyone Glavin would be acknowledging; then realization dawned. Leaping up from his stool so hard it toppled over, Alistair pointed a hesitant finger at his chest. It was returned with an annoyed motioning of the hand, but he didn't care; he was too thrilled to let Glavin's disapproval spoil this moment. Running down the length of the wall he grabbed up his shed armor, strapping it on with such clumsy hurry that he had to right a few pieces more than once, leaving him feeling all thumbs. With a final deep breath, Alistair at last joined the other fighters in the courtyard.
It was sadly apparent immediately upon taking the field that Glavin wasn't the only templar who objected to his fighting. There were plenty of heated words and dirty blows to remind Alitair that he was unpopular, and uninitiated. Only Ser Erhyn treated him as an equal, even aiding him up after besting him in; to Alistair she embodied the true spirit of a Templar. Throughout the tourney he tried to model her example, showing compassion in his victories and humility with every defeat.
Called from the field for the last time, Alistair didn't feel as though he could lift his blade again. Cracked ribs cried out mercilessly, a cut on his shoulder stung like fire, and bruises to his back that hadn't fully developed were already throbbing. And almost all on the left side, he mused ironically. He'd taken Thera's advice to heart, but his weakness wasn't to be overcome in one tourney. Despite the handful of losses, he was pleased to have held his own and performed better than anyone might have thought.
Bending at the knees, Alitair crouched under the ropes at the edge of the field, wincing and grabbing at his side. Coming before the dais, he tried to stand with dignity under Duncan's wolfish gaze.
"You fight with a great deal of heart, young man."
Alistair shrugged a shoulder against the weight of his armor, then gasped with regret as pain shot up into his neck. "Yes, well...heart isn't really a useful defensive skill. Sad, really."
Glavin came off his chair, ready to chastise, but Duncan held up a hand for silence.
"I would strongly disagree with that assessment. Great heart can often be a better asset than a strong arm." The Knight-Commander made a contrary noise, crossing arms over his chest, but Duncan seemed to pay no heed.
Alistair really looked at the warden for the first time. He was not imposing, or forceful in his words, yet he could commanded great respect by sheer virtue of his presence. Duncan quietly inspired more awe than any fighter he'd ever met.
"I knew your father; his passing was a great loss to the Wardens. We owe king Maric our return."
Duncan clearly had a high opinion of Maric; Alistair decided to keep his thoughts on the matter private, and instead be diplomatic. "We should all be grateful to have the Wardens among us again."
Nodding thoughtfully a moment, Duncan scanned the field with hooded eyes. "The Templars perform a great service to Fereldan, both necessary and tireless. Yet Ferelden has a greater need of late and you, Alistair, have shown yourself equal to the task."
"Duncan, you cannot be so mad as this!" This time Glavin shot fully to his feet; Alistair fought with his entire being to check the grin twitching at his lips.
Before him Duncan stood, addressing all assembled, and Alistair felt the weight of the moment for the first time. He was being recognized for something, praised just for being himself; it was exhilarating. Still, he was as shocked as anyone by what happened next. "My decision is made; I shall recruit Alistair."
From the assembled fighters behind him, Alistair heard the discontented mumblings and outcries. He could hardly disagree; he hadn't been the best fighter on the field, not by a stretch. "But I didn't win the tournament!" They were hard words to say; by protesting, he risked the opportunity Duncan was laying before him.
"I did not ask for the tournament," Duncan responded unapologetically, "Nor did I offer recruitment to the Grey Wardens as a prize. That honor goes to the most suitable, not necessarily the most skilled."
Stepping down, he placed a hand on Alistair's shoulder; it was the warmest contact he'd had from anyone besides Thera. "I came here seeking a warrior of character, and I believe I have found him."
The words were both humbling and inspiring; his fortune seemed impossibly good. Too good, Alistair thought, as Glavin intervened. "Alistair is only weeks from taking his vows; he belongs to the Chantry and cannot be spared. Not even for you, Duncan."
Duncan's lips twitched into what Alistair regarded as the barest hint of a satisfied smile. "Then let it be known to all present that I invoke the Right of Conscription. From this day on, Alistair is a charge of the Grey Wardens, forfeited entirely by the Chantry."
Just like that, his life at the chantry was over. Alistair's breath exhaled suddenly, only then aware he'd been holding it. He stared at Duncan agape, wondering if the man were the Maker in human form.
"You cannot force our hand, Duncan! The Revered Mother will take this up with the king; we will have satisfaction for the imposition of your will." This time Alistair saw that Duncan did not bother to hide a placid smile. "As you wish, Glavin. But for now, Alistair is coming with me."
Terrified that somehow his good fortune would reverse, Alistair turned and ran with all the speed aching legs could manage to collect his gear. His head spun with disbelief. Nearly thirteen years of miserable solitude and half-hearted obedience were ended. Even more overwhelming was the reason; he was not simply to become a foot soldier, or even a knight. In one afternoon he'd achieved something many skilled warriors only dreamed of; he'd become a Grey Warden.
Alistair spun around eagerly, hoisting his pack, only to be stopped short. Anxious gray eyes took him in from head to toe. Guilt wavered in his heart at having forgotten her so easily. "Thera."
Her mouth curved upward just a little. "You're a Grey Warden now, Alistair. That's a rare opportunity. You deserve much praise."
Letting the pack drop heavily from his hand, Alistair threw his arms around her fiercely. "And I know who deserves the thanks. If you hadn't watched over me all these years..." He couldn't finish; it was too much.
She pulled away, wrapping fingers around his wrists. "I can't take any credit for this, Alistair. You were always meant for something better."
It was the gentle promise of years past; his chest ached at her words. "In my heart I know I would never have reached so high. I will carry that gratitude with me. Always."
Standing on tiptoes she pressed a gentle kiss to his jaw. "Then carry my love, too."
He wanted to speak, to say something of his own love; the masculine sound of a throat being cleared caused Alistair to start. Duncan appeared from behind a section of wall, arms folded patiently. "Have you said your goodbyes, Alistair?"
Looking down at Thera, he nodded slowly, trying not to let the sadness he saw there, or his own regret overwhelm him. She glanced at his arm, and smiled; he followed her gaze. "Look; my ribbon brought you luck after all."
He worked to smile in return, not wanting their last minutes to be colored by sorrow. "So it did."
"Let's see if you feel the same way about my salve."
Laughing in earnest, he stood staring another moment, then glanced to Duncan. "I should...well...it's time. Thera..."
She nodded somberly. "Go."
He turned to look back again and again as they crossed the courtyard; he would remember her that way always, in her gray dress, pretty eyes sad and hopeful, smiling back at him.