Three Armies

CONTENT:
Rating: Teen
Flavor: Adventure/Drama
Language: who knows
Violence: no
Nudity: no
Sex: no
Other: none

Author's Notes:

This is gonna be short, because... face it, it's boring. And I cut out all the boring parts! HAH!

Oops... now I got... Ideas! (And I've been doing some re-reading. You can tell, can't you?)

Three Armies

==#==

"Hm hm hm hm-hm, they yell and fight, yell and fight...," the Templar hummed.

"Alistair," Bannon complained.

"What? It's a catchy tune - Whoa."

The Wardens crested the last hill before Redcliffe and stopped, looking down at the plateau above the city. There was now a second city, of wood and canvas, tents and wheeled aravels.

The armies of the Grey Wardens.

"Whoa," Bannon echoed. Then he called out, "Are you going to shoot at us again?"

"Who are you talking to?"

"The Dalish sentries."

"I don't see..."

"That's kinda their thing." Bannon looked around. There were a few trees the wild elves could be hiding in. Or maybe they didn't have sentinels here. "Huh."

The rest of the group was catching up to them, so Bannon shrugged and started down the slope. "Guess they don't-" A white-fletched arrow slammed into the dirt right in front of his foot. "AGH!" he squawked, leaping back.

Zevran laughed, and there was a stifled giggle from Leliana. Alistair put his gauntleted hands over his mouth.

Three Dalish Hunters glided out from the trees, led by that insufferable raven-haired Dakorien. He looked to be biting his tongue to keep from smiling. When he came within reach, he swept up his arrow and smirked at Bannon.

No, wait, he was smirking past Bannon, and if Bannon turned around and saw the assassin smirking back, there were going to be some bloodied noses.

No. No, losing his cool would just make him look even more foolish. He ignored them both. "That was a little slow," he commented dryly.

"Just a joke, Warden," Dakorien said with a smile.

"Didn't know the Dalish had a sense of humor."

"There is a lot about us you don't know."

Bannon just scowled at him and his superior attitude.

Dakorien stepped back, lowering his head deferentially. "I meant, the Dalish would be happy to teach our city brethren more about their heritage. But the shemlen will not allow us inside their city."

Bannon could imagine the panic that would ensue if even a handful of tattooed wild elves came walking down the street. He gestured for the Hunters to escort them through the encampment, and grilled Dakorien about his tribe's new leadership, their preparedness for war.

Lanaya was still the tribe's Keeper, though now that they were joined by other tribes, they might find her a new First. One of the clans had already travelled across the sea to the north. Bannon had to wonder if their forest ships were watertight enough to become actual ships. That must be some sight.

Leliana as concerned that the Dalish travelled as a whole clan, which left noncombatants like children mixed in with the warriors. She suggested that all but the Hunters return to their northward trek. This was met with some resistance, as none of them wanted to leave their children and other folk without protection in the human kingdom. And no one wanted able-bodied Hunters to leave the Redcliffe muster, and thus weaken the fighting forces.

It was ridiculous. Since the demon attacks on Redcliffe, the city was half empty; there was enough room to house the Dalish - if the Dalish would deign to live in a house, and if the humans would allow them in. Bannon thought maybe the Alienage elves could foster the Dalish noncombatants. Ironically, because the city was between the castle and the Alienage, they hadn't suffered as much loss.

Dakorien was also concerned about provisions. The Dalish didn't want to overhunt the surrounding lands. Bannon thought it was a moot point, since whatever they didn't eat was likely to become Tainted anyway. From the looks they gave him at this suggestion, they didn't agree. Finally, Alistair said, "There's plenty of fish in the lake."

So they would just have to arrange for fishing, preparation, storage, and distribution.

Next down the road, closer to the city's first bridge, was the mage encampment. They had a communal feast hall/practice hall/meeting area set up. For the number of mages strolling about, there were very few Templars.

Knight-Commander Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving were still at the Circle tower, cleaning up Uldred's mess. A secondary commander, Harrith, was in charge, along with Senior Enchanter Erwin. There was a happy reunion with Wynne, and then Bannon addressed the issue of maintaining the armies - housing, latrines, laundry, and provisions. They directed him to the tent of a young redhead named Finn, somewhat of a scholar.

"You can't tell me magic can't do laundry," Bannon insisted. "And create food."

"You just can't create something out of nothing," Finn insisted. He had a cultured voice and accent, like a north Ferelden nobleman.

"Well, can't you turn rocks into bread?"

"Well... no! That's - There are fundamental principles of matter."

"And can't you make fireballs out of thin air?" Bannon argued.

"That's energy, not matter."

Alistair said, "What about the giant stone fist?"

"That's not matter," Finn tried to explain. "That's a material manifestation-"

Wynne just said, "You boys just don't understand."

Alistair said, "What about freezing? Mages can freeze things, right? So freeze the fish."

To which Morrigan said, "Your frozen food would keep, but it would quickly thaw in your backpack."

"In the winter, we would cut blocks of ice out of the lake and store them in the ice house," the Templar replied. "With sawdust between them. And they last nearly through the summer. We can keep fish in there for weeks."

Finn thought about it. "Well... we can freeze the fish. And then I suppose if several mages cast Blizzard, we could collect enough snow..."

"Why do you have to make a snowstorm?" Bannon complained. "Can't you just cast 'Snow' to make... you know, snow?"

"Most mage spells are, for some odd reason, quite destructive." Finn frowned in thought. "Makes you wonder why they keep teaching those... But! This brings us back to the inalterable fact that matter cannot be created nor destroyed."

Said Alistair, "You can create a snowstorm to create snow, but you can't create snow?"

"Exactly!" The mage smiled brightly.

"That makes no sense," Bannon said. Alistair nodded.

"It does if you've studied magic!"

Wynne gave him a sympathetic look. "Finn, it's hopeless."

Then Zevran said, "Why do you not just create fire and dry the fish? That is what we do in Antiva. Then you will not have to fuss about with ice and snow and cumbersome food melting in your pack."

Alistair replied, "Except the fish wouldn't be dried so much as turned into fiery ash."

"Well, the mages must learn a little more self control, I think."

"An intriguing idea!" Finn said. "I would dearly love to continue to study this problem and work on a solution! Instead of, say, going into - ulp! - battle? I-I-It is really important the armies stay fed!"

"Sure," Bannon said offhandedly.

"Oh, thank you!" The young man grinned again. "This will be astounding! Think about it! I could design new, useful spells. I could - They could write my name in history books! I would have spells named after me...!"

They left him to his dreams of fame and magic laundry.

The next army was inside the city proper, the Redcliffe militia. Bannon couldn't help but notice a significant number in the practice yard were elves. Armed and armored. Of course, that was only practical. He supposed it was better to die fighting the Blight than to be killed in a Purge to 'even out the numbers.'

They met with Teagan, and explained the fishing and food storage situations. He told them he'd get someone right on it.

And then it was on to the castle, to some rooms with actual beds, and a nice dinner of, yes, fish. Afterward, Eamon and Teagan requested Alistair go talk with them in private. With a look of doom cast back at his comrades, he followed them out.

Perhaps they had to tie Alistair down and force him to agree to put forth his claim to the Ferelden throne. Or they had a lot of crying and wailing to get through, and didn't want the embarrassment of anyone else witnessing it.

==#==

Later that evening, Bannon found Alistair outside on the cliffs. There was an out-of-the-way goat trail that may have been part of a paved walk before most of it had fallen into the lake waters below. Around a bend, up some crooked stone steps, there was a broader area, flagstones intact. Alistair was leaning on the rail, looking out over Lake Calenhad and the shoreside docks. He looked pale, and Bannon feared for his health.

"Alistair, are you all right?"

"No," the knight said glumly, not looking up.

"What's wrong?"

"Well, it's... it's all real now, isn't it?" Alistair turned. "This is it. We're marching to Denerim, and I'm going-go-going to... to take..." His voice went dry. he returned to the rail, breathing in the lakeside air.

Bannon frowned. "So...," he ventured cautiously, "you're contemplating jumping?"

Alistair chuckled despite himself. "There's an option."

"Hey, come on." Bannon started to remind him that the Archdemon could still attack them on the road, but after actually seeing the beast... it didn't seem so funny anymore. "Look, you won't be alone. Arl Eamon won't let you do a thing without an army of advisors. All you have to do is smile at the people, look good, wave, and do whatever Eamon tells you to."

"A puppet king?"

"There's worse things," the elf said. "Look, you want Eamon to be king instead of you, right?"

"Yes!"

"Well, there you go. He will be. What is that you tell Leliana? 'Tell me what to put in the stew, and it will be just like you cooked it'?"

"Oh, yeah, you know that never really works," Alistair admitted.

"It's gonna be easy," Bannon assured him. "It's a time of war. You're a trained knight, and you know a lot about combat."

"Great, I get to send people to their deaths."

Bannon punched him on the arm, since he wasn't wearing armor. "Now you're just trying to feel bad. You're not sending anyone to war. We're all going together. These are darkspawn, this is a Blight, not some inter-arling skirmish. We all fight, or die. And the Wardens lead at the front of the army."

"Like Duncan," Alistair mused, looking down at the lake below.

Bannon nodded, thinking back to that fateful battle. "The king had no business being there; his people needed him. But you're a Warden, first and foremost, and there's no sense in leaving the Grey Wardens home when there's darkspawn to fight."

A little smile tugged at Alistair's lips. "And there will be plenty of chances to be heroically killed before I have to do any politicking. Thanks, Bannon." He smiled at the elf. "You always know how to make me feel better."

"Anytime! And if that didn't work..." Bannon rummaged in his bag. "I've got your royal regalia here to make you feel better!"

Alistair turned to look on in curiosity, and the elf pulled a brilliant purple cloth from his bag, whipping it into the air with a mighty flourish. Alistair gasped, and nearly jumped over the rail. "What the-!? The Paisley Monstrosity!? How!? Did you!? You... Bu-Bu-Bu...!"

Bannon grinned. "You're speechless, I know."

"Th-That-That thing was destroyed!"

"No, Alistair... it is immortal! There's no stopping it! You must wear it! Ooh, it will look lovely at your coronation!"

"Blbeebpleblkkukk!" the Templar exclaimed, or at least that's what it sounded like. He reached out and snatched the Paisley Monstrosity from Bannon's hand, then whipped it back and over the rail.

The Wardens leaned over to watch it plummet, but as it was cloth, it didn't exactly plummet so much as waft and drift slowly... Then a gust of wind picked it up and hurled it past a cliff outcropping and out of sight.

"Well," said Alistair with no small measure of relief. "That's the end of the Paisley Monstrosity!"

"A dynamic character with an ability to survive certain death, and a questionable death scene leaving no corpse? Yeah, we'll never see that thing again!" Bannon pushed back from the rail. "Come on. They're probably finished packing by now."

Alistair breathed deeply, then released it. "Yeah. Time to go."

==X==

End Notes:

"A dynamic character with an ability to survive certain death, and a questionable death scene leaving no corpse?..." 25,000 Bloodsong Points if you know where this is from. (And thank the Maker for searchable archives!)

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