Flora turned around, her eyes wide and wary. Her hair had half-escaped the plump crimson braid, twisting in lazy ropes to her waist.

"What's your name, child?" asked the elder of the two strangers, softly. He could see that she was nervous, wholly unused to being the centre of attention. Her fingers had wound themselves in the hem of her navy tunic, twisting the fabric upwards.

"Flor- Flora," she mumbled, dropping her eyes to the bloodstained flagstones.

"Flora…?"

"Flora of Herring, ser," she replied, deference ingrained after four years of residing at the bottom of a strictly enforced Circle hierarchy.

"It's good to meet you, Flora of Herring," said Duncan with equal solemnity, glancing over at Irving. "We need to talk. First Enchanter?"

Irving nodded wearily, suddenly feeling each one of his sixty five years weighing heavily upon him. "Of course, Warden-Commander. We'll go up to my chamber."

Twenty minutes later they had returned to Irving's fire-warmed, eccentrically decorated vestibule. From outside they could hear shouts and the splashing of water against boat hulls, as the Templars began their hunt for the escaped blood mage. Irving was sitting in a worn velvet armchair opposite Duncan, massaging his fingers into his temples. Alistair leaned against the fireplace, his amused gaze moving thoughtfully over the circular chamber..

Flora, had never been invited to Irving's office before. She was perched on a bench at the window, peering through the leaded glass at the Templars far below; the bright pinpricks of their torches moving against the twilight. She knew that they were hunting for Jowan, and that they were not likely to show mercy when they found him. He was a fool, she thought to herself sadly. He broke the rules.

Despite the fact that the conversation transpiring in the chamber was about her, Flora was only half-listening. She was brooding over Jowan's fate, miserably going over the events of that morning to see if she could have said anything differently to dissuade him from his purpose.

"She's only just passed her Harrowing," protested Irving weakly, fiddling with the First Enchanter's signet he wore around his neck "She's not trained, she has no discipline, no proper form- "

"Then if she can cast like that already, with no staff," Duncan said bluntly, his dark gaze boring into Irving's. "Her talent alone will suffice."

"Give us six months to train her."

"We don't have six months," retorted the Rivaini. "We'll be lucky if we have six weeks."

"She cannot cast offensively," warned Irving, already knowing that he had lost the argument "She has no aptitude for it.."

Alistair shrugged, interjecting cheerfully from beside the fireplace.

"When you have twenty Darkspawn charging at you, I wouldn't say no to a giant, golden shield."

Wynne turned to Flora, who still had her nose pressed up to the window. She was absentmindedly twisting a burnished ring around her little finger.

"Child, what have you to say about this?"

Flora turned around, bemused.

"Eh?"

"Warden-Commander Duncan wishes to recruit you into the Grey Wardens," said Irving carefully, raising his eyebrows.

Duncan watched Flora's face closely, with his dark, inscrutable gaze. She looked confused, her own eyes clear as seawater as she returned his stare. No response emerged.

"Do you even know what the Grey Wardens are?" interrupted Alistair, grimacing. Flora furrowed her brow, peered out of the window for inspiration, pensive as a woman watching for the return of a lover.

"They used to ride griffons into battle," she said, suddenly recalling a story that a visitor to Herring had told years ago.

"Why is that always the thing that people remember?" complained Alistair, as Duncan shot him a reprimanding look.

"We fight the darkspawn during a Blight," the Warden-Commander explained gravely to Flora, who peered at him with suspicious eyes through the gloom of the office. "And there's another Blight coming. We need those of your… ability.."

I've seen such natural, effortless, almost primal casting of magic before. I've seen life exhaled from the mouth; while the mage tilts their head to listen to the whispers coming from beyond the Fade.

I've seen it before, back in Rivain; where spirit healers are valued, rather than ostracised.

Flora felt as though she should have spent more time listening to her tutors rather than snacking. She wondered if news of the Blight had been brought up during some class discussion, and she had simply missed it

"You want me to join you? Leave the Circle?"

Duncan nodded, and there was silence for a moment, punctuated only by the crackling of arcane flames. He did not take his eyes from her, reluctantly admiring the meticulously sculpted features; the filaments of copper running through the mass of seldom-brushed hair.

What is it with me and redheaded mages in Circles? he thought to himself, wryly.

"But I've never been in a battle before," Flora breathed, the enormity of what Duncan was asking finally settling on her. "Why do you think I could be a Grey Warden? I don't fight."

"Because we have need of a shield that resists the most dangerous types of magic." Duncan stared at her, his gaze suddenly more heated than the flame boiling in the hearth. "And a healer of your skill is always valued. You could offer a great deal to our cause, which is the cause of all Ferelden. You are young, you ought to enjoy many more untroubled decades here."

His first thought was: far too young for you!

His second was: and she's a mage, all of her decades will be troubled, regardless if there's a Blight or not.

Flora glanced over at Irving, who looked down at his desk. The senior enchanter - the one who seemed the most worried that she had not had adequate training - was frowning; the fine lines around her eyes deepened to crevasses.

The first chance I get, Flora thought to herself, excitedly. I'll run away, back to Herring! Hahaha!

"I'll go," she said quickly, and Irving let out an imperceptible sigh. Duncan exhaled and offered her a slow, approving smile, inclining his head.

"Wonderful. Well, I see no point in waiting around. We'll leave now. Get your things."

The obedient Flora scampered out of the room. Irving leaned back in his chair with a groan.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he said fretfully, reaching into a lower drawer of his desk for a sheet of parchment. "She's powerful, yes, but raw power untrained is a dangerous thing. Set a guard on her when she sleeps. I can't understand how she evaded my attention all these years."

Dipping a quill in an inkpot, he began to fill out the papers of dismissal that would formally release Flora from Kinloch Hold's keeping. An unconcerned Duncan nodded, glancing over at Alistair.

"Can you find an extra horse from the village? We'll meet you at the Kinloch docks."

"Ah, good, I'd missed the smell of manure," commented the junior Warden wryly, sauntering out of the First Enchanter's office. His blasé manner was an attempt to disguise how discomfited he was by their new recruit; who looked nothing like any girl he had ever known in passing. With the hair falling like crimson seaweed, the clear, silver-grey stare and the underwater pallor of the skin; she seemed a creature brought up from the depths of the Waking Sea in a net, like something from the old Fereldan legends.

In the doorway Alistair paused, a grimace forming on the handsome, arrogant features as a cloud drifting over a summer sky. He turned back to Duncan, and when he spoke, the words emerged tentatively. It was clear that he did not want to openly question his mentor's decision - especially in the presence of others.

"Will it… be alright, do you think? Bringing her to Ostagar. There's not many other women there, apart from the Chantry sisters. And no other women in the Wardens. Will she be alright?"

The corner of Duncan's mouth curved upwards; he had expected nothing less from his honourable young recruit.

"That's why you're going to be her companion," he replied easily, amused by Alistair's bulging eyed reaction. "Accompany her everywhere. You'll be the envy of the camp, I'm sure."

"But… but- "

"And I'll keep an eye on her myself," the Rivaini added, for the benefit of the frowning, white-haired senior enchanter. "Two eyes, when I can spare them. Now go on and arrange the horses, Alistair."

Halfway down the circular staircase, Alistair bumped into Flora, who was carrying a leather bag and her staff in her arms. Despite being pink-cheeked from having run up and down the steps, there was a cold haughtiness - almost an unapproachability - to her beauty. She was the exact opposite to the friendly, round-faced and freckled girls whom he had spent his youth pining over.

"What shade of horse do you prefer?" he asked her to cover his nerves, raising an eyebrow. She gaped at him, eyes widening. He noticed that her irises were the colour of Dalish lanterns, a glinting, opaque silver-grey.

"I have to ride a horse ? I can't ride a horse! Oh no! Can I walk?"

Alistair snorted. "I'm afraid the Darkspawn won't have patience for that. Don't worry, I'll try and find one that's not too high off the ground."

He gave her a mock-salute and left her standing open-mouthed on the landing, his heart thudding uncomfortably fast against his ribs.

Flora arrived back in Irving's office, out of breath and quivering with alarm at the prospect of days spent on saddleback. The First Enchanter rose to his feet, suddenly looking very tired. Duncan was already prepared to leave, his swords slung over his shoulderblades in a gleaming cross.

"Here are your dismissal papers. Show these to anyone who challenges you."

Irving handed her a rolled up parchment as Flora approached the desk. She tucked the scroll inside the pocket of her tunic coat, clutching the plain, beginner's staff that she'd had since she arrived at the Tower. It bore no runes nor enchantments - she was not capable of crafting them - and it had been the subject of much derision from the other students.

Duncan tapped his foot impatiently, glancing out of the darkened window. Circle protocol dictated that a senior Templar must sign and verify all dismissal papers; with Greagoir leading the hunt for the rogue Jowan, his second in command was being located.

It took twenty minutes for the lieutenant to arrive, during which time Duncan had begun to stalk the perimeter of the study like a caged lion. Flora sat mutedly in an armchair, wearing a travelling cape from Lost Possessions, her staff across her lap. Finally, the officer arrived, the transaction was authorised and Flora was released into the custody of the Grey Wardens.

"Be careful, child," Irving warned as Duncan gestured for her to follow him. "Take care when you cast. The strength of your spells may surprise you."

Flora gaped, but could make no reply before Duncan ushered her swiftly out of the office.

"Do you have any more goodbyes to make?" the Warden-Commander threw over his shoulder as he led the way towards the stone steps. Flora shook her head, slinging the leather bag over her shoulder and the staff across it as she hurried to catch up.

"No," she panted, barely able to keep pace as he hurried down the circular stairway two steps at a time. "People here don't like me."

"Jealous of your talent?" enquired Duncan as they continued down.

Flora shook her head despite the fact that he was in front of her.

"No! Because I speak common, and because I hate books. Well, I can't read," she replied, cheerfully. "Also, I'm stupid."

Duncan glanced at her over his shoulder, raising a dark eyebrow.

"Hm. We'll see about that."

There's something familiar about this girl. I can't place my finger on it. Is it her colouring? Dark red hair, grey eyes- those cheekbones remind me of someone. Ah, well, it doesn't matter.

The Templars guarding the front entrance to the tower, on high alert after Jowan's escape, double and triple checked Flora's papers. When one of them suggested that they should verify the dismissal with the First Enchanter, Duncan lost his temper and bellowed at them. They were released quickly after that, the Templars glowering in their wake as they shut the vast wooden doors behind them.

As they stepped out onto the rocky outcrop, Flora paused, eyes wide. She could feel the wind on her skin, lifting her hair and rustling her clothing, the stones of the rocky beach pressed through the sturdy soles of her boots. It was the first time that she had been on solid ground in four years. Although the growing dark obscured any precise detail on the shore, she could just about see the glowing lights of a village and the shadowed outline of a Chantry. Behind her lay the Circle tower, rearing up vast and formidable from the rock like a chiding finger. All of a sudden, she felt rather frightened by the overwhelming vastness of it all; her world had suddenly expanded beyond measure.

"We'll take the ferry," said Duncan softly after a moment, watching her. "Ready to go?"

He could see the trepidation in her eyes, the quiver of her fingers as they wound themselves fretfully in her tunic. Still, Flora was a northerner and had not been raised to complain. She gave a stoic little nod, her gaze dropping to a more reassuring view of her feet.

"Mm."

Duncan led the way down a steeply sloping path, haphazardly lit by torches. Despite his near five decades, he traversed the uneven terrain with the agility of a far younger man. Flora stumbled after him, more used to treading polished wood and flagstones worn smooth by decades of feet. Every so often he glanced over his shoulder to ensure that she was keeping up.

Eventually they reached a small dock, consisting only of a wooden jetty jutting out into the dark waters of the Lake. A single boat was tethered there, the ferryman snoring inside. Duncan nudged the man's shoulder with the toe of his boot.

"We need to cross," he said sharply, as the man awoke with a grunt, looking around blearily.

"Ah! Only just come back from takin' the other one across," he grumbled. One rheumy eye appraised Duncan for a moment, before his gaze shifted to Flora.

"Nice souvenir you picked up," he grunted, lifting the oars. "Come on then, in you get."

Duncan stepped into the boat and lowered himself onto the bench. Flora clambered in expertly behind him, as comfortable as any fisherman's daughter ought to be in. She beamed with a child's delight; it was the first time she had set foot on a boat in four years. The Warden-Commander felt a twinge of misgiving as he shifted over so she could sit beside him on the bench.

She is very young. Perhaps I ought to have recruited someone more experienced.

Then he recalled the golden shield springing from her fingertips, impenetrable even by the most potent, dangerous form of blood magic. He remembered the way her lips pressed against the Tranquil's mortal wound, exhaling energy in a way he had not seen since his youth in Rivain.

That man should have died, and yet he didn't. We need that talent.

The journey to the shore took less than fifteen minutes. Duncan sat lost in thought for the majority; his mind returning to Ostagar and the preparations being made there to resist the inevitable third assault.

If we travel tonight until we reach the mouth of the valley and make camp there, we can reach the fortress within a week. Then Alistair can take out the new recruits into the Wilds to prepare for their Joining.

Flora spent the entire journey bent double over the wooden hull, trailing a hand in the lake water. Duncan scrutinised his new recruit; she made for a more pleasant view than the hoary old boatman. She was not tall; most of her height came from slender, coltish legs. Her figure was hidden by the shapeless navy tunic; she had not bothered to tie the cords that would gather the material in to define her waist. Her hands were small, the fingernails bitten, the wrists slender.

As they reached the mainland dock, Alistair came to meet them. Once the boat was tethered, Duncan stepped out, carrying the young mage's leather bag and staff over one shoulder.

"Pleasant trip?" Alistair enquired, eyeing a pink-cheeked Flora. "I've procured a horse for our newest recruit."

He gestured behind him to where three patiently waiting horses were tethered to a tree. Duncan nodded, placing a hand on Flora's shoulder to guide her.

"Let's go."

Flora watched Duncan hoist himself effortlessly onto his steed, a large grey charger which sat placidly beneath him on the grassy slope. She assumed that the horse in the middle, which had no saddlebags or baggage, was assigned to her. A feeling of impending doom swelled within her belly; fear of such a massive creature mingled with her utter certainty that she would never be able to control it. The horse appeared to be eyeballing her malevolently, as though sensing her trepidation.

Alistair, who had one foot in a stirrup, took pity on her and lowered himself back to the damp grass.

"Here," he said kindly, clasping his hands together. "Put your foot in here, then climb up onto the saddle. That's the most difficult bit in riding: getting on in the first place."

Flora, wondering why horses had to be so tall, wedged her boot bravely into the stirrup. She then yelped as Alistair boosted her up the rest of the way. She rested precariously atop the saddle for a few moments, and then inevitably began to slide. Mouthing in alarm, she fell off the other side and landed with a thud on the grass. Duncan surveyed her in mild distress. Alistair tried, and failed, not to laugh.

"Ow," observed a grave-faced Flora, flat on her back. "I ain't good at this."

Alistair let go of his horse's reins with a stern instruction to stay, and moved around to haul her up.

"Alright," he said kindly, clasping his hands together. "Let's try again. On my count."

This time when he boosted her, he grabbed her leg and held her in place on the saddle.

"Here, take the reins- no, the reins - the leather strap - and hold them. Your horse should just follow ours, so don't worry about guiding it. Just focus on…not falling off."

Flora nodded, gripping onto the reins so fiercely that her fingers turned white. Alistair hastily slung her pack over the rear of the saddle and arranged her staff on her back. He found that she was less intimidating if he did not look directly at her face; focusing instead on the mundane parts of her body: such as her knee, or an elbow

With an air of showmanship, the young Warden vaulted expertly onto his own steed. To his slight disappointment, Flora was not looking; her eyes tightly shut. Duncan glanced over his shoulder, his expression hidden by the gathering dusk.

"Ready?"

Without waiting for a response, he nudged the flank of his mount with his heel and the horse moved forwards, breaking into a canter. Clinging on with one hand, Flora twisted in the saddle to gape at Alistair.

"Why is he going so fas- "

Her horse, seeing its stable-mate disappear up the gloomy path, did not want to be left behind. It set off abruptly, ignoring the squeal of terror from its rider. Flora toppled forward helplessly, hearing Alistair yell behind her.

" The REINS! Grab them!"

Flora clasped her arms around the horse's mottled neck and clung on for dear life, moaning quietly into its mane. Alistair clicked his tongue and his own horse moved forward, bringing up the rear.

They rode at a consistent pace for several hours through the twisting hills and valleys of the Bannorn. Duncan was unwilling to spend the darkest part of the night camped in territory notorious for roaming bandits and outlaws. The Kingsway had never been constructed through this rough and hilly terrain, instead skirting the mountains to the west. Luckily, the arl of Redcliffe kept the roadways in relatively good condition, and the horses had no trouble with them.

In the early hours of the morning, they stopped at a trading post to water the horses. Alistair disappeared among the ramshackle dwellings to find feed for their mounts; Duncan eased himself down from the saddle with a slight groan, feeling the muscles of his legs ache.

You are no longer a young man, his conscience reminded him sternly. You can't ride that hard without cost.

Returning, Alistair slung a bag of grain from his shoulder, expertly filling and fitting the feedbags to each horse's muzzle. He joined Duncan at the well, gazing out over the pastoral patchwork of fields and farmsteads.

A full moon hung overhead, low and veiled in cloud. The night seemed deceptively calm; it seemed as if nothing could disturb the peace. For several minutes, the only sound was the quiet munching of the horses.

"I left coin for the feed," Alistair commented eventually, staring out at the rolling slopes of the Hinterlands. Before them lay the hilly lowlands, inhabited only by farmers and bandits. And in the far distance, silhouetted against the twilight, the mountains were just visible.

Flora was hovering beside the horses, uncertain whether or not to join them. The Warden-Commander stepped aside, gestured for her to approach.

"See the mountains to the south, child?" He raised a gauntleted hand. Flora stepped forward and leaned against the wall, staring off in the direction of his pointed finger.

"Mm," she whispered, her eyes moving over the craggy peaks. She managed to hide her disappointment that they were not travelling north, towards the Waking Sea and Herring.

"Look on the southernmost peak, where the pass is. Can you see a stone bridge?"

Flora squinted, leaning forward on the wall and peering where he was pointing.

"Is that O-Ostagar?"

"No, but it's the start of the road that leads there," Duncan said, glancing sideways at her.

For a girl who professes to be the child of peasants, she has a highborn profile. Prominent cheekbones, clear complexion, smooth forehead. I wonder if her mother had a dalliance with a local teyrn.

There's something in common between the young ones, Mage and Templar differences aside.

"How long will it take to get there?" asked Flora, staring at the shadowed outline of the bridge. Duncan glanced up at the moon, noting its position.

"We'll ride an hour more, make camp by the southern falls until morning. We should reach the pass by midday. Then it's four days ride to Ostagar."


AN: If Duncan's memory wasn't so Blighted, he'd remember where on his travels he had seen those cheekbones before! So excited to see some familiar names in the reviews - thank you so much and I hope you enjoy this new and improved version