Chapter Eleven
A Warm Welcome

Mahariel smelled Ostagar long before she saw its spires creeping up out of the hillside like weathered old bones. It stank of sweat, piss, and dog. The same pungent odor that seemed to accompany every large gathering of shems. Or maybe it was just the Fereldens.

"What is this place?" she asked, dashing to catch up with Duncan. The moment he'd glimpsed the ruin, the Warden had picked up his pace, eager to be done with his journey. From what she'd put together, the Warden had been on a tour of Ferelden, seeking recruits. There were two others awaiting them at Ostagar, one he'd pulled from the gallows in Denerim and the other a fancy knight or lord or some such from Highever.

She had to wonder at Grey Warden standards if a thief and a lordling and a half-dead Dalish were the best Duncan could do.

"An old Tevinter fortress."

Mahariel's face screwed up in disgust. Nothing good had ever come from those people. "Wonderful."

"Completely devoid of actual Tevinters, I assure you," Duncan's voice had a teasing little lilt to it. After two days on the road with the man, Mahariel had finally begun to understand the nuances of his voice. He wasn't a particularly expressive man; reading him took a little practice. Reminded her a bit of Tamlen's father, actually.

"It had better be," she grumbled.

"Most of Ferelden's forces have been camped here for weeks," the Warden explained as they passed beneath the first arch leading up to what was left of the fortress' gates. A shiver ran down Mahariel's spine. "They've already won three battles against the darkspawn."

"Then why are you so nervous about the next?"

"Because now the horde marches on Ostagar. And they might be bringing the archdemon with them."

"Oh, I see. This is a trap."

Duncan smiled. "Yes. We created a target the horde could not resist. And Ostagar is defensible. Here, we meet them on our terms."

"Easier to fight them here than one raiding party at a time."

"Yes. Much rides on the outcome of this battle. If the darkspawn make it north…"

"It isn't darkspawn blades that do the most damage in a Blight. I remember the stories."

"Then you understand that we—Your Majesty?" Duncan stopped abruptly, crossing his arms over his chest and bowing toward the approaching shems. The one in the gleaming golden armor stepped forward, laughing as he grasped the Warden's hand. "I wasn't expecting—"

"A royal welcome?" the golden shem teased. "And what is this?" He gestured to Mahariel. "Is this the new recruit the other Wardens mentioned?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Duncan nodded. "Allow me to introduce you."

Mahariel awkwardly imitated Duncan's greeting, which seemed to please the shemlen king. Everything seemed to please him; his smile hadn't faltered yet. "Andraste's knickers, man, we're about to spill blood together! There's no need to be so formal."

If this was the kind of man that shems followed… Well, it certainly explained a lot. "Might I know your name?" The king asked.

"I doubt it, but stranger things have happened," Mahariel arched a brow. Duncan gave her a sharp look which she pretended not to notice.

The king burst into giggles. "You've got a live one here, Duncan. Watch out for her." He gave Mahariel a little wink, inclining his head ever so slightly. If Duncan's bemused expression was any measure, this king was odd even by shemlen standards.

"Of course, Your Majesty," Duncan answered.

"I would love to stay and chat, but Loghain is just itching to bore me with his strategies," his majesty grumbled like a petulant child, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, we've already won three battles. What more is there to plan?" He turned with a sigh, the sunlight glinting off his golden hair. "I'm not even sure this is a real Blight."

"Disappointed, Your Majesty?" Duncan smirked.

The king did not even have the good grace to be embarrassed. "I had hoped for something like in the tales," he sighed. "The Grey Wardens riding into battle with the king, valiantly crushing the darkspawn threat!" The king pounded his fist into his open palm, just to make sure they understood the crushing bit.

Mahariel knew that look, knew that voice. And she knew it well. Tamlen had dreamt of glory, too, of the songs their children's children would sing about his deeds. Of the statues they would build and the histories they would write. Of course, it wasn't so much glory he sought as it was love and respect. Tamlen had only ever wanted to matter. And to Mahariel, nothing had mattered more. If only she had told him that.

"We shouldn't keep you from your duties, Majesty," Duncan said, offering another of his bows even though the king couldn't see it. Mahariel followed suit.

"No, of course not. I would like to speak with you later," the king glanced over his shoulder at the Warden and Lyna. "And your new recruit. May I seek you out at your tents?"

"This is your camp," Duncan observed.

"So it is." With one last smile, the king nodded farewell and was off, humming some happy tune Mahariel didn't recognize. His guard fell into formation behind him.

"He is not leading the charge, I hope," she said once they were gone.

Duncan shook his head, half-amused and half-reproving. A look she had seen countless times before. "That is the King of Ferelden, Mahariel, and he is our ally. There are not so many of us that we can afford to anger him."

"I don't think that man knows how to be angry, Duncan."

"Do not let appearances deceive you. The King is no fool."

Mahariel would be reserving judgment on that. No sensible person walked around in armor like that.

Okay, perhaps she wasn't in the best place to be judging people's armor.

"This Joining—"

"Yes. We should begin preparations immediately."

"I'm as eager to take care of this Taint business as anyone, but I was thinking a hot meal might be nice first. And I wouldn't say no to a nap."

As it happened, naps were luxuries not afforded to Grey Wardens. Not even Grey Warden recruits.

Once she'd been fed, Duncan had sent Mahariel off in search of an 'Alistair'. He was another Warden and tasked with helping the recruits prepare for the Joining, which was, as she had been reassured once again, definitely not a sadistic shemlen sex thing.

Just as she had expected, most of the shemlen at Ostagar did not notice her at all. The few that did see her looked at her with cruelty in their eyes. Also unsurprising. A lone elf, and a woman no less, must look like easy prey to them. Mahariel met every predatory stare, daring the shems to test her.

It was odd, being at Ostagar, surrounded on all sides by shemlen. On the one hand, looking out for trouble was exhausting and a good distraction. On the other hand, knowing that she needed to watch her back made her miss her clan all the more. She missed her family, her home. She missed knowing there was somewhere to lay down her burdens. She would have given anything to curl up with Tamlen one last time.

"Elf!" Mahariel flinched away from the shem blocking her path. "What are you, deaf? I wasn't shouting at you for my health!"

She snarled at the man, dropping into a defensive stance without really meaning to. After two days of travel and twice as many fighting the Taint, she was in no mood for diplomacy. If the shems saw fit to hang her for this, then...

"Crazy bitch," he grumbled, apparently oblivious to the danger he was in. "Take this to the king's tent." He waved a little square of parchment at her. "And be quick about it or I'll have your hide!"

Mahariel grabbed the fat shem's outstretched wrist, using it to yank him closer. "Mind the way you speak to me, shem, or it will be your hide." Out of curiosity, she snatched the note away. The man stumbled backward in shock, his thoughts written plain on his face. Any moment he would start shouting, calling for her death or imprisonment or whatever passed for justice among shemlen.

Mahariel rammed her face into his in one quick, powerful jerk. The shem hit the ground with a thud.

"That will leave a mark."

A woman in full plate stood off to the side, almost casual except for the hand resting on her sword's hilt. She was taller than any human woman Mahariel had seen. Broad, too, even beneath the armor, with pale, freckled skin and a jaw like a sledgehammer. The waning sunlight glinted off the orange of the woman's hair, tied away from her face by a leather band.

"Good," Mahariel said, maintaining her defensive posture. It was too bad Duncan hadn't already arranged for that armor he'd mentioned. "He could use the reminder."

The woman laughed, a short little bark, and dropped her hand from her sword. "He's not the only one." She extended her hand. "I'm Aveline."

"Mahariel." Hesitantly, she grasped the woman's hand.

"You must be new."

"Yes. I just arrived a few hours ago. With Duncan."

Aveline nodded like she understood. "So you're the new Warden."

"Is there anyone who doesn't know about me?"

"Him, apparently." The woman gestured to the shem laid out on the ground. "No one's given you too much trouble I hope."

Mahariel shook her head. "Nothing I can't handle. I'm trying to find another Warden. Alistair. Have you seen him?"

"Haven't seen him," Aveline smirked, "but I have heard him. Just head north until you spot a mage lighting someone on fire. That'll be him."

"He's a mage?"

"Oh no. He'll be the one on fire."

"Ma serannas, Aveline." Mahariel crossed her arms over her chest and bowed, finding the motion a little less stiff now.

"Good hunting!"