Arcane Warrior
Chapter 5
The King's Camp
Crossing the bridge that spanned the gorge, Alim permitted himself a moment of rest to shake off the aches and pains of his long journey.
Leaning on the ramparts, the young elf took in the endless swamps and forests, the snow-capped peaks so tall they seemed to pierce the sky. At least a hundred feet below him in the gorge, the army of Ferelden made preparations for the coming battle. His keen purple eyes took in the barricades being assembled, companies of spearmen, pikeman and halberdiers, swordsmen of all varieties and archers and various other types of armed warriors going through various drills, while the wind was alive with the sounds of shouted orders and boastful cheers.
Further back, nestled at the northern mouth of the gorge lay a massive camp, itself heavily fortified and packed to the brim with the best of Ferelden's soldier, along with many of their retainers, servants, stewards, priests, armorers, camp followers and laborers.
It was clear that this was an experienced and well-prepared host; had Duncan and King Cailan never mentioned those missing nobles, he doubted he would have even noticed.
He just stood there for a moment, slowly taking it all in and adjusting himself to this new life of his. He had only ever read about such things as the sights he now bore witness to, and while he had a particularly vivid imagination, as all mages did, it was still far more than he had been prepared for. There were more people here than he had ever seen in his life as well, making him feel dizzy, as if he was afraid of losing himself in the crowd. While this world was much larger than what he was used to, that being the circle tower as well as what faint memories of the countryside around Lothering he had left after all these years.
He had to remind himself that this, Ostagar, was only a small corner of Ferelden, which was itself a small country on the south-east of Thedas, which itself was only the one continent of their world.
In the grand scale of it all, he suddenly felt very small.
She sighed, frustrated that Captain Varel had seen fit to assign her with the task of picking up his custom sword from the quartermaster rather than send one of the runners who frequented the camp, acting as messengers and attending to the needs of the soldiers. She ran her hands through her short hair as she walked down the ramp, she could be doing something better with her time; training, speaking with her brother or one of her few friends or better yet drinking with her brother or one of her few friends...
She supposed that she'd better get this over with now before her captain started throwing things or whatever nobles did when they were upset.
A few seconds after walking by an unusual sight, her mind not registering it at first, he stopped in place and backed up a few paces until she was near the bridge that led away towards the large ominous tower that could be seen from every part of the fortress.
Leaning forward with his hands on the railing of the bridge was a young elven man, obviously a mage judging from the beautiful staff he carried with him. He was not garbed in the fancy vestments of a circle mage, but the blue uniform she recognized from the Grey Wardens who camped with the rest of the soldiers. But it differed from their uniforms as it seemed to lack any thick armor plates.
He was tall for an elf, standing a little higher than her own brother, his frame was muscular but willowy and his eyes were large with the typical elven slant and were a deep shade of violet, save for the color they reminded her of one of the larger deer she had seen when out on hunting trips. His skin was on the paler side, as if he had not spent much time in the sun before coming here.
She quirked her head to the side curiously at the sight at the exotic elf who smelled of jasmine mixed with sweat. Observing him for a moment or two to see if he noticed her gaze, she walked over to the bridge to have a few words with him.
"Enjoying the view?" a woman's voice asked teasingly, and Alim turned to see one of the King's soldiers approaching; a young woman with raven hair, pale skin and fade-fire blue eyes.
She wore a black, high-collared gambeson adorned by the Chantry sunburst emblazoned across the back as if to say, 'the weight of the Chantry lay on her shoulders.' A bandoleer looped over her right shoulder and assisted to secure her single pauldron. Metal, jointed fingers clicked as she patiently tapped her gauntlets, arms crossed and partially cradling her only elbow guard. Scratched and well-worn metal protected her legs, while traveled leather boots clicked with each step as the steel toe and heel met the stone floor. A crimson sash accented her martial appearance, secured by two matching belts and warning away potential threats.
Held to the back of her bandoleer by a leather strap and a steel hook was a swordstaff, a large red gemstone secured in a cage of steel reinforced wood poked over her right shoulder, the shaft of the weapon was a rich brown wood wrapped a cloth the same crimson as her sash, and the long, wickedly sharp blade sat in a sheath of leather attached to the strap securing it to her body.
A quiver of arrows was strapped to her bandoleer next to her polearm on her upper back with a large longbow lazily hanging off the quiver. Unlike other bows he had seen, it seemed to have a small shield bolted to the front with a small gap through which the arrows would be aimed.
He could safely assume two things from her eclectic of weapons and armor, one; that she was skilled in a variety of fighting disciplines, and possibly other areas, and two; that she was a somewhat eccentric person if she went around armed to the teeth at all times.
Though, perhaps not at all times, as this was a war camp after all. He may simply be assuming as she was one of the first armed people he had seen since leaving the tower. Perhaps carrying weaponry suited to fighting at varying ranges was the norm, and that it was Duncan and the templars who were the outlier.
"It's not so pretty once the darkspawn swarm all over the landscape, but for the moment, it's nice enough." She said, walking up to stand beside him and leaning her arms against the railing like he was doing.
"Are you perhaps speaking from experience?" Alim asked, quite curious about this dangerous looking woman.
"Well, three battles worth of fighting those monsters certainly counts," she said, gazing upon him with her startlingly blue eyes. "If nothing else, it certainly gives you an appreciation for the simple things in life. Ah, but where are my manners? Corporal Marian Hawke, Third Company of the King's Own," she introduced herself, offering her left hand, the one without the sharp steel gauntlet.
Alim took it, feeling her impressive strength. "Alim Surana, of the Grey Wardens."
He noted a glint in her eye, she clearly seemed impressed with his 'choice' of affiliation.
"A pleasure to meet you Alim" she bowed her head playfully, a slightly flirtatious lilt in her voice. "I've seen the Wardens in action since the army arrived. The King's trust is well-earned, I can say that much. If you don't mind, why are you not in the main camp with your fellows?"
"In truth, I've only just arrived," the elf admitted sheepishly. "I'm a new recruit to the Order and our Commander, Duncan asked me to get equipped and find another Warden here in this camp."
"There's no shame in that." She said with a stunning smile that he couldn't look away from. "Everyone has to start somewhere. Well, I'd be happy to show you around. Captain Varel has me running an errand up here, so I'm heading to the quartermaster anyways."
The two soldiers fell in step, passing companies of archers going through drills along the ancient bridge. "As I understand it, this is the King's Camp, correct?" Alim asked.
"Right," said Hawke. "The bulk of the army is down below, but this space on the cliffs has been reserved for the King and his entourage, along with most of the other nobles. We have the Circle of Magi here, along with a pack of those bloody Templars lurking around them." He cocked an eyebrow at her apparent dislike for templars, usually it was only mages and mage supporters who held any level of dislike for the knights of the Chantry. "Teryn Loghain is here, the Grand Cleric… If you're looking to find key figures in the army, this is the place. Myself, I'm down in the valley below at the main army camp with the 'real soldiers'."
She chuckled lightly as they neared their destination.
"So, what brings a 'real soldier' up here then?" Alim replied with equal good humor. He was not so eager to be anywhere in particular, just as content with continuing their easy conversation.
"Captain Varel had a new greatsword forged for himself by the blacksmiths up here. The main camp has its own logistical staff, but on occasion, we've asked those in the King's Camp to help out. It's a job for a runner, actually, but the captain wanted at least some of us to know the layout of the defenses on the cliffs in case we're ever forced to retreat."
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that" he replied, thinking of what would happen if the vanguard garrison retreated from the darkspawn and what the long-term implications of that would be.
"Agreed. The King's Camp is very secure because the trails and paths leading up to the cliffs are narrow, winding and have their own natural defenses. It's good if the darkspawn try to storm the heights, but there's no way the army will be able to quickly retreat up them en masse. That's one of the reasons why the bulk of the army is encamped on the low ground; if the darkspawn attacked, there's no way a significant force could deploy from the heights to stop them in time."
He hummed in thought, it seemed to him to be a good strategy, if flawed. "Before I left the tower, First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Graegoir were arguing about most of the senior enchanters having left, are they down there?" he asked, "no. I raised the issue with the higher ups, but they are still kept under lock and key in their quarantined little area of the king's camp." She said, and he could see the honest irritation in her eyes.
"Maker forbid they be allowed to use their powers for good" she muttered bitterly.
He furrowed his brow in thought, if the forces down below were intended as shock troops, then it would make sense to have a contingent of mages with them, their wide area spells could devastate the darkspawn ranks. Depending on the mage a wide area spell should be able to take down at least a dozen darkspawn, and that would, if nothing else, soften their forces up significantly for the archers to engage them in long to mid-range, spearmen and halbardiers to engage them at mid to close range and leave the rest to the swordsmen and other close-range fighters.
That's what he figured anyway; he had not thought of anything on this scale before. He had some idea of the size of the fortress and valley below, and the numbers of men and women who must've been assembled but it made his head hurt to think of the full scale of everything that was going on here.
"How's morale? Will the army hold?" Alim asked, dropping the subject.
"They'll hold, I promise you that," Hawke replied firmly. "The King thinks this is all going to end with one huge battle the bards will sing about for centuries, and most of the men are determined to prove him right. As for me…" The young woman gave a small shrug. "I like to hope for the best and plan for the worst. In either event, we'll have our work cut out for us," she finished, looking to him with a smile.
The two entered the King's Camp proper, and Alim took Hawke's tale to heart, purple eyes catching every detail possible for future reference. The mages had their own encampment on the southern side, 'quarantined' as she said, just behind the battlements, their tents hidden behind a crude palisade and surrounded by the armored sentinels of the Chantry.
Several of the mages were moving about the camp, though the grand majority of those did so under templar guard, the Chantry was as always unwilling to allow their control over the Circle to slip, even in the face of the Blight.
Further west, the young elf could hear the barking of warhounds and men crying out in pain, while groups of priests roamed around the camp, offering blessings and comfort to the assembled soldiers. To his pleasant surprise, Hawke was not the only armed woman present; more than a few soldiers were female and were armed and armored much the same as their brothers in arms.
On the southwest side, nestled in the ruins of a collapsed dome and overlooking the valley, two great tents had been erected. The first was an opulent, lavish domicile; its rich, bright yellow silk befitting a king, while the second was a more utilitarian structure of heavy green and grey canvas. Banners flanked the entrance ways; the first tent marked with the hounds symbol of the Theirin line, while the second had standards depicting a golden wyvern on a field of green, the emblem of the Terynrir of Gwaren.
'That must be Loghain's tent', Alim realized, thinking back to his grandfather's stories of the Teryn and his rise to power from a simple farm-boy to Ferelden's most trusted general. "Have you met Teryn Loghain, Hawke?"
"Eager to find out if the man matches the legend?" she asked him with her hand on her hip.
"Doesn't everyone?" replied Alim with genuine enthusiasm. For so many, Loghain was not merely a powerful noble, but a symbol of Ferelden's triumph; the vanquisher of the Orlesians and proof to the rest of Thedas that in Ferelden, any man could rise to greatness on the basis of his merits alone.
'Unless you're an elf or a mage, of course', he mused darkly.
"How often does one get a chance to meet one of the country's greatest heroes?"
"Touche," Hawke remarked. "Well, I've only met him once or twice, but he seems a decent man, if a bit stern. He's a very good general: he's tough, smart, knows how to inspire the men. Just don't go expecting a new drinking buddy; he's not a very sociable man, especially not these days."
"Has something happened?"
"Well…" Hawke paused for a moment, blue eyes glancing about. She put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him in close. He blushed when he felt her breath on his ear as she started to whisper "I really shouldn't gossip, but it's better you learn this from me instead of accidentally treading on dangerous ground. From what I've heard, Loghain and King Cailan have been arguing lately about Queen Anora, and while the teryn is loyal to the king, he's also the type to stand by his daughter no matter what it costs him or anyone else. Combine that with disputes over battle strategy, and the two are not particularly pleased with each other right now."
Alim nodded in understanding, taking it all in. He had known that Cailan had been married, of course, the proclamations of a royal wedding some five years earlier had reached all of Ferelden, though they had found out little about the specifics. "So Loghain isn't merely Cailan's top general and his father's best friend, but also his father-in-law. I think I'd rather face the harrowing again than be in Cailan's place right now."
"Exactly. And he's known Cailan since the King was a babe, so they're not really the type to stand on ceremony together" Hawke elaborated. "Myself, I think one of the only reasons we're doing so well is because of Loghain's strategies. Just… be careful what you say around him."
Frowning, Alim considered the implications. The two most senior leaders of the army quarreling: if they could not resolve their differences and focus on the fight ahead, it could prove disastrous. He had always heard that the nobles of Ferelden were a fractious bunch; he just hoped it wouldn't end up costing them all in the end.
He sighed in exasperation; it was just like the fraternities but on a larger scale.
"This way" Hawke urged, and the two turned north to an impromptu supply depot. Teams of laborers, many of them elves, distributed crates full of weapons and armor to waiting soldiers, honing their blades on grindstones and repairing broken mail links. The young woman had to speak up to be heard over the constant ringing of hammers against metal. "Quartermaster Bagley? You have Captain Varel's sword ready for me?"
"Just give me a moment," the quartermaster replied irritably, engrossed in the contents of a ledger. Finally deigning to look up, the portly man gave an infuriated scowl at the sight of Alim. "You there, elf! Where's that armor I asked for half-an-hour ago? And why are you dressed so preposterously?" he demanded, stabbing a stubby finger at the elf's armor.
"Because I am a Grey Warden?" Alim asked dryly, secretly enjoying the sight of the human's face turning red with shock, "and do you treat all your servants so poorly, or is today a special occasion?"
"Oh, I, eh…" stammered the quartermaster, realizing he had said far too much. "Uh, pardon my rudeness, Grey Warden, it's just that, well, things have been mixed up a bit, and those elves that have been hired are no help at all…"
Alim gave a contemptuous snort. "Truly? Workers aren't very productive when their boss holds them in contempt, you know. I'll have you know that elves are very hard working and strong if given the opportunity to show it.
"Perhaps it would be best if you treated them better in the future, ser," the elf suggested frostily. "Now then, if you're done insulting potential patrons, I am going to need supplies, while Corporal Hawke here has to pick up a sword for her captain."
"Right right, of course. Give me a moment," babbled the quartermaster, scurrying away before they took further offense.
"Well, you definitely get results," said Hawke. "I'm rather impressed."
"I guess beautiful women inspire me," Alim jested, hoping he hadn't overstepped his bounds.
Hawke laughed, flattered. "A romantic, then? Do you think that's an advantage or a liability in a Grey Warden?"
"I suppose we'll find out soon enough," replied the elf.
Ducking away for a moment, the quartermaster re-emerged mumbling excuses about cluttered inventory before passing Hawke a greatsword with a ring-shaped extension to the cross guard, the hilt stamped with the emblem of a bear.
He was impressed when she took it, not being weighed down by it at all. It seemed that, in addition to her skill in a variety of weaponry, she was very strong as well. She was growing to be more and more appealing to him by the moment.
"Uh, I apologize for any offense I have caused you Warden, these past few days have been very stressful is all, and I am honestly at my wits end. Again, I apologize." The quartermaster said, bowing in respect. Alim thought for a moment and seeing his apology to be genuine and that he was not just kowtowing because of his position, "your apology is accepted. But maybe you should treat your servant's better in the future..." he replied, offering a bow in return.
"Yes ser, I shall try to be more forthcoming in the future. Again, sorry for the confusion."
The soldier smiled as Alim passed the armory staff, elves and humans alike, some coins, oblivious to the look of contempt coming from the quartermaster. "A romantic indeed. Shall I assume that rescuing kittens from trees is next on the agenda?"
"You disapprove?"
"Hardly," Hawke chuckled. "When the threat is this big, it's so easy to lose sight of the little things, and the people fighting it. Good to see that not everyone is focused solely on death and glory."
"And what about you, Corporal? What drives you?"
"My family," Hawke stated. "My little brother is part of the Third Company as well and watching out for him is a full-time job. Oh, if you meet him don't take offense to anything he says, he's a bit of an arse. My mother and younger sister are back in Lothering, and right in the horde's path if we fail. Just another reason to fight, right?" she said, cracking a weak smile.
"We won't fail, Hawke. If the rest of the King's army are anything like you, we'll have the darkspawn running for the hills in no time." Alim stated with all honesty.
"Flatterer," the young woman replied with a pleased smirk. "I should return to my unit. But it was nice meeting you Alim, and good luck to you."
"You as well, Corporal... May the Maker watch over you and yours."
"He'd better, or I'll have some stern words for him. Farewell." He smirked at the way she talked about the maker 'I think I'm in love'.
"Oh, don't worry, love," a new voice interjected, and a thin human emerged beside Hawke, taking her unarmored hand and raising it to his lips.
Her smile dropped and she cocked an eyebrow at the handsome but roguish man.
"See I'm a Warden too, and you can count on me and my mate here keeping you safe. That said though, life is fleeting, and stranger things have been known to happen than a lovely bird like yourself getting slain by those monsters. If there are any last requests, I can grant for you…"
Hawke fixed with him with a stare cold enough to snuff out an inferno. "Shall I take that as a no, then?" the newcomer asked.
A swift motion and the newcomer were on the ground, rubbing his now-tender jaw. "Interesting companions you'll have to fight alongside, Alim," said Hawke, relaxing her fist. "I'll see you around."
"Same to you, Hawke," the young elf said, smiling despite himself. "Now why did you ever think that would turn out well?" he asked the human who had so rudely propositioned the young woman, even as she disappeared into the crowd.
"He who dares wins, isn't that right?" came the reply as the human sprang to his feet.
Crude as he might have been, he did not lie; he was indeed wearing the uniform of the grey wardens, the medium variant that resembled his own but with the addition of a breastplate and some layered plates protecting his hips and thighs. At his hip was a short sword with a dagger on the opposite side, while a winged shortbow and fully stocked quiver hung across his back.
His brown eyes were quick and more than a little shifty, looking around as if he was expecting danger to come from every corner, and he looked rather uncomfortable and out of place amongst so many soldiers. "Besides, ain't people supposed to like us Wardens? Vanquishers of the Blight and knights in shining armor and all that?"
"Maybe not to that extent, Ser…"
"Daveth, just Daveth. And you're definitely not what I thought you'd be."
"Alim Surana. And what were you thinking I'd be?"
"I don't know" Daveth said, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "I was kinda hoping for someone blonde, buxom and near-sighted-" Alim shook his head and suppressed a laugh 'he reminds me of Anders' "-though knowing my luck, you'd be some great brute of a knight, all scarred up and with a penchant for hitting first and asking questions never. I wasn't expecting an elf though, and definitely not one who's better with women than I am.
"Still, good to meet you. It's about time you came along; I was starting to think they'd cooked this ritual up for our benefit."
"The Joining?" asked Alim, genuinely curious. The human might be something of a scoundrel, and likely had a rather colorful past, but he had no reason to doubt him at this juncture. "What do you know about it?" came the inquiry as the two moved away from the depot and any potential eavesdroppers.
Daveth motioned him closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "See, I happened to be sneaking around camp last night, and I heard some of the Wardens talking a bit. Sounded like they were going to send us into the Wilds."
"Any idea why?"
"Not sure. Might be a test of our fighting skills, see if we can cut the mustard as Wardens," Daveth suggested. "There's plenty of dangers in that forest; cannibals, witches, barbarians and monsters, lots of stuff to pose a challenge. Hope you're up for it. I know Jory is."
"Jory?" Duncan mentioned that he was a knight, but he was curious for any details Daveth might have had on who he was to work with.
"Ser Jory, he's the other recruit. A decent fellow for a knight. Bit stiff though, probably needs a good woman," Daveth said bluntly, turning to wave over a human in his mid-thirties. "Oi, Jory? Come over 'ere, the final recruit has arrived!"
"That is a relief," the man said, giving Daveth an odious glance, resentful at being seen near the flippant rogue. Jory was a solid, heavyset man, hair thinning away from his wide forehead while his dark beard was meticulously trimmed around his chin, not a hair out of place. "How do you do? My name is Jory, knight of Redcliffe."
Jory wore the uniform of the gray wardens as well, but his was the far more armored heavy version. He was carrying a helmet under his left arm, and there was an ornamental greatsword on his back. What was it with humans and their need for overly large weaponry?
"Good to meet you, Ser Jory, I'm Alim of Kinloch Hold," the elf answered politely. Experience had taught him to beware human nobility and their knights, but Jory seemed like a decent fellow. "Has Daveth told you about the Joining?"
"Indeed, though it's rather strange that they would require further tests from us. We are Wardens after all, correct?" the knight posed.
"That said, I was not aware that elves could even become Wardens."
"Oh, you've done it now, mate!" Daveth cackled.
"Maybe they need to start letting in less humans." Alim rebutted, instantly defensive.
"I meant no offense," Jory stammered. "It's just that all of the current Wardens here seem to be human. Not that I've had much time to meet with them; Duncan has insisted that we recruits stay up here in the King's Camp." It was plain as a pike that Jory resented being treated as a fresh recruit, and Alim idly wondered how the pair had been recruited.
"I just can't wait to prove myself on the field" he said, eager to get underway and prove himself worthy of the standard he bore.
"Well, I'm sure that we'll be able to defeat anything we come across," Alim declared. He supposed only time would tell if either of them proved reliable in combat. "By any chance, have either of you met a Warden named Alistair?"
"Yeah, he was around here just a little while ago. Had to deliver a message to the mages," Daveth explained, shuddering visibly. "Me, I wouldn't go near those spooky types for all the gold in Denerim, but apparently he used to be a templar, so them mages shouldn't worry him."
A templar, wonderful. "Spooky types huh?" he said, and just to mess with them he held up his left hand and summoned an ethereal sword. He smirked when they backed away in surprise, he dispelled it.
"Ah, so you are a knight enchanter then?" Jory said, "knight enchanter? Not sure I've ever heard of such a thing." Daveth said to him in response.
"Knight Enchanters are mages who have been given special dispensation from the Chantry to serve in battle as well as serve as the Divine's personal bodyguards along with the knights divine. This is because they have taken steps to become templars themselves, and therefore have a resistance to the creatures of the fade that most mages lack."
He had to bite back the urge to correct him, for even though knight enchanters and templars were connected, they were not, in fact, one and the same. Templar talents came about by deconstructing knight enchanter talents and teaching the skill set to non-mages, giving rise to the popular misconception.
"Though the willpower and control necessary to even be considered for the position are nothing short of legendary. Never thought I would actually meet one, let alone one so young." Jory explained, and he could only blush in embarrassment at the praise.
It really was not that impressive, and Jory was clearly overstating matters. Willpower and control were second nature for any mage if they wanted to rise past being an apprentice. If he had to say, martial talent was more important.
"Well look at this, the learned knight preaching to the ignorant little thief. Where have I heard that one before" Daveth replied sarcastically, and Alim intervened to prevent the impending argument "thanks, I appreciate it. I think Duncan's expecting us to join him shortly, we might be getting to the Joining soon."
"Hope so, the waiting's killing me," said Daveth. "Nice to meet you, mate. If those mages turn you into a toad, try not to come near me, okay? Can't stand the things." Alim sighed, he knew Daveth meant well, but...
"Best of luck to you as well," offered Jory, frowning as a new figure approached their gathering. "Perhaps these are our orders now."
Panting, the elven messenger skidded to a halt before the Warden recruits, leather satchel flapping at his side. "Begging your pardon, Wardens, but I-" he wheezed, doubling over. "I have-"
"Bit weedy looking, isn't he?" remarked Daveth. "Hope you're a bit tougher than that, Alim."
Alim ignored the human's jibes, handing the messenger his water skin. "Stand easy, runner. What's your name?"
"It's—it's Pick, ser," the elf answered, drinking deeply.
"My name is Alim, Pick, and I'm no ser. Rest for a moment; you're no good to anyone if you've collapsed from exhaustion. Your message can wait for a few moments."
"Oh, I only wish," Pick blurted, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Teryn Loghain wants to see you, and he's not a man to keep waiting."
"An audience with the Teryn!" gushed Jory, visibly elated. "What a great honor! We should go to his tent right away."
"I'm sorry, ser Warden," the messenger spoke cautiously, "but I was told that the summons was for the elven Warden alone. He wants to see you, Alim."
'Well, I did hope for a chance to meet him, didn't I?' Alim told himself, gently refusing Pick's attempts to return his water skin. "Keep it, Pick, I have another. Daveth, Ser Jory, I'll see you back at Duncan's tent," he said, idly glancing to make sure his new armor was presentable enough. He felt nervousness stirring in his breast and tried to force it down. 'You've met the King, fought ghouls and slew a horde of giant spiders and a rage demon. Nothing should unsettle you now.'
It was a wonder how little that calmed his nerves.
As Alim walked over to the old tower housing the tents of Loghain and the King, he immediately noticed how quiet it was in comparison to the rest of the camp, the milling and chatting soldiers absent, replaced with stoic guards, hands at their weapons at all times. These were the elite knights of Maric's Shield, the King's personal bodyguards, and the elf felt more than one pair of suspicious eyes upon him as he approached Loghain's billet.
Standing before the green-and-grey tent was one of the most formidable women Alim had ever seen; tall, strong and clad in knightly garb bearing the wyvern of Gwaren. A two-meter long silverite greatsword was slung at her back, and everything about her demeanor proclaimed that she knew how to use it effectively. Her dark brown hair had been drawn into a short ponytail, while on another woman, her high cheekbones and wide lips would have been a sign of great beauty, but she was too cold and stern to be called beautiful in any traditional sense. She reminded him of Hawke in a way, but whereas Hawke was a kind and even chivalrous and diplomatic person, hers was a soul of iron; unbending and uncompromising.
He made sure to pace himself around her. He had always been attracted to strong and willful women, but he had the feeling that she would not respond kindly to any advances from anyone.
She also looked like an elitist likely to spit on anyone lower ranked than herself, as ironic as anything he had ever heard, considering that she started out as a farm hand.
Not that he would have tried with this one, infatuated with Hawke and sore over ending things with Leorah as he was.
"You approach the tent of Teryn Loghain, elf. State your business," the knight demanded, brown eyes boring holes right through him.
"I received a message that Teryn Loghain wished to see me, Ser…"
"Cauthrien of Gwaren, champion and bodyguard to Teryn Loghain," she declared bluntly and somewhat condescendingly. "You will watch your tone when speaking to him. He is not a man to be disrespected, and neither am I."
Before Alim had a chance to unleash a choice retort at her choice of words, the rustling of papers within the tent and a gruff male voice stopped him cold. "That will do, Cauthrien."
Teryn Loghain Mac Tir stepped out into the light.
'Hard' was the first word to came to mind when looking upon the teryn; hard, stern, and unyielding, much like his broadsword and tower shield.
Loghain had to be at least fifty, but age had not weakened him in body, mind or spirit, and Alim doubted if he would ever allow it to do so. From beneath great furrowed brows, dark eyes examined the Warden, looking past the crooked nose, having been broken one too many times, marked with the scars of battles and sieges aplenty, while his face was pale and drawn tight, clearly unaccustomed to smiles and laughter.
He was a hefty, solid man, bulked up further by the polished silverite plate armor he wore, a trophy of his triumph over the Orlesians. Everything about him suggested intense dedication and focus; he was the sort of man with no patience for fools, and would not accept weakness in himself or others, a man whose respect would only be earned, never given. He was a soldier's solder and a patriot, forged on the anvil of war, best friend of the late King Maric and the Hero of River Dane, and certainly not a man to be crossed.
"So, you are the elven Warden I've heard so much about. What is your name, ser?"
"Alim Surana, my lord, from Kinloch Hold at Lake Calenhad and formerly of Lothering," answered the elf, nodding in respect. "I was told that you wished to see me."
"I did. You are curious as to why?" Loghain asked, getting a muttered affirmation. "It is because at the end of the day, armies are ultimately comprised of soldiers. Your Order has been given a place of great honor in this host and the patronage of the King despite your small numbers, and I intend on making sure that respect is justified.
"Cailan's fascination with the Wardens goes beyond the ordinary, so a sober second opinion of you and your fellows is needed." The Teryn frowned, eyes narrowing. Alim nodded, what the teryn was saying made a great deal of sense to him, but he seemed a bit... off. "I cannot help but feel you are familiar ser, though I doubt we have met."
"We have not my lord, but my grandfather would have been known to you," explained Alim. "His name was Valen Surana, he fought alongside you as part of the Night Elves during the Rebellion."
Loghain gave the barest flicker of a smile, though on his features that barest flicker might as well have been an explosion of joy. "That is a name I have not heard in quite some time. A good man, your grandfather. I've never seen his equal with a bow before or since. You come from a worthy legacy, Alim Surana. Make sure you live up to it."
After the war was over, Valen was given the position as Bann of Lothering, he eventually married Eloni Surana and had two children, Afya and Theren Surana.
"Of course, my lord. And you can rest assured that all of the Grey Wardens will work to honor the King's trust." Alim told him with all the conviction he had.
"Will you now?" asked the teryn, eyebrow raised. Duncan had mentioned there were some in the army who held the Wardens in scorn, still bitter about the end to their, in the eyes of some, well deserved exile, but Alim had hoped that Loghain wasn't one of them. It was a vain hope apparently; Loghain clearly didn't trust them. "Are you aware that the King's father brought your Order back to Ferelden?"
"I am, my lord." He read at least ten books on the subject, and detailed biographies on each and every gray warden brought back through the Ferelden borders.
"Maric respected the Grey Wardens, and they have an honored place in the hearts of our people. But Maric would have understood that battles are won by strategy and discipline, not legends, particularly those so few in number. It's not an argument I'll repeat here." He said, and Alim looked to the ground broodily, swearing to himself that he would do everything in his power to prove his trustworthiness.
"I suppose you'll be riding off into the thick of the fighting with your fellows then, will you?"
"I am a Grey Warden, my lord," Alim declared, thankful for Hawke's prior council. "For Ferelden's sake, I will go where I am needed, and do what must be done."
"Fair enough," said Loghain, turning back to his tent. "Now, I must return to my strategies for the battle tonight. You will give your commander my compliments." Pulling the canvas flaps open, the teryn moved to enter but paused for a moment. "Are you a religious man, Alim of the Grey?"
"I believe in the existence of the Maker and Andraste if that's what you mean ser" he said, wondering whether the man thought him Andrastian or if he secretly worshipped the pagan gods of the Dalish.
Seemingly satisfied enough with his response, Loghain gave him a terse nod and turned back towards his tent. "Cauthrien with me," Loghain commanded as he ducked into the tent. Sniffing in disdain at the elf, Cauthrien followed.
"Well, that was interesting," Alim muttered under his breath. Grandfather Valen always spoken of Loghain's stubborn nature, but to experience it firsthand was something else.
Loghain might not respect the Wardens now, but for Alim, that was just another challenge.
"Alim?" the mage asked, "it appears you are a gray warden now; you have my congratulations but alas I am far too busy at the moment to entertain pleasantries."
She was an elder human, perhaps in her fifties or early sixties, and her every mannerism and words seemed very deliberate, the by-product of a life of intense discipline and dedication. Alim smirked, remembering all the lectures given to him by the motherly woman. She was tough, fair, and she did not suffer fools lightly. "Forgive me, senior enchanter Wynne," the elf said respectfully to the elder wearing the green robes of a healer rather than her normal pink and red senior enchanter robes, "but I was wondering if you could help me find someone."
"Yes, you must be looking for the other recruits. Good luck to you, good luck to us all in fact. To defeat the darkspawn, we must all work together, though it is not a notion everyone seems able to grasp."
"Yes, I figured as such" Alim reiterated, experiencing a sudden flare of worry. "Have you and the other mages been treated poorly by the rest of the army?"
"Not as much as you might think," Wynne assured him. "For the most part, I find they are simply relieved to have our aid. Mages are feared, often with good reason, but that fear should not preclude us from helping others, and if it helps to forge a positive impression of mages then so much the better."
"Have you fought the darkspawn yourself yet, Senior Enchanter?" Alim asked, "stragglers, yes, but not the vast horde the scouts speak of." Wynne pursed her lips, a gesture that in his experience always precluded a question. "Tell me, what do you know of the connection between darkspawn and the Fade?"
"The Fade? I don't remember having encountered anything like the darkspawn there."
He tried to think back, as hazy as those memories were, if he might have encountered anything unusual and not noticed at the time. Of course, everything was unusual in the fade, so he doubted he'd have noticed if he did.
"You are correct. They do not live there, as it were. It is a place home to many spirits, some benevolent, but many less so. And in the center of it lies the Black City, once the Maker's home-"
"Until the magisters of Tevinter breached its gates and corrupted it," Alim finished, thinking back to the lectures of the Chantry. "It was the First Violation, the act that brought the darkspawn into being in the first place."
"My, it is refreshing to see that our teachings have stuck," said Wynne, pleasantly surprised. "Too many assume that scholarly knowledge somehow unmans them."
"Well, I've always found it better to walk into a situation with eyes open" the elf reasoned, before posing the question that everyone pondered eventually. "Is the Chantry right, Wynne? Is that how the darkspawn were created?"
Still though, it seemed to him that the corrupted magister story was as good a theory as any, and with all of the Imperium's other transgressions against nature it was not all that far-fetched. Plus, he had seen the Black City with his own eyes upon visiting the fade.
The sight of it seemed to give some legitimacy to the theory, if nothing else. But he supposed it was just as possible that the two had nothing to do with each other.
"I cannot say that for certain young man," the mage confessed. "It may simply be allegory, a reminder that our actions have consequences. Without any reasonable alternatives, it is a good enough explanation for now, I suppose. But I doubt that Duncan wanted you to spend all your time listening to my lectures; you should prepare yourself for the battle ahead."
"Anything I can do to help you on that front?" asked Alim. "I'm supposed to find another Warden named Alistair, but I'm sure Duncan won't mind it if I took a few moments to assist the mages."
"Well said," Wynne remarked, drawing a long glass phial from a nearby pack. "Bring this to the kennelmaster; he and the hounds under his care are nearby. You won't need to return once that is done, just deliver it and he'll know what to do. As for Alistair, try the western ramparts. The message he was meant to deliver is for Senior Enchanter Ivan who has been preparing wards in that area for the coming battle."
"Thank you, Wynne. I'll deliver this right away," the elf said, taking his leave, a spring in his step. He had a thousand more questions to ask, but Wynne was right; he had work to do. Perhaps everything would turn out alright after all…
"This isn't good," mused the kennel master, examining the warhounds with an experienced eye. "I'd hate to waste such a promising member of the breed. Are you sure that this is all she had?"
"It was all she gave me," grunted Alim, staring piteously at the beasts. His good mood had lasted as long as it took to reach the kennels, quickly dissipating at the sight of so many injured dogs, many of them stricken with festering sores and lesions. The kennel master had explained that they had been infected with the darkspawn taint, and that Wynne's solution was designed only to give them a fighting chance.
Briefly, the image of the rabid ghouls ambushing them on the journey flashed before Alim's eyes, and he gave an unconscious shudder at the thought. The tales of past Blights had not truly conveyed the horror of the taint, and he'd hate to think of how many people were dying as a result of it seeping into their systems and at the reminder of what he might himself become if left untreated for much longer. Checking a small mirror in his pack, he could see that his skin was already a few shades paler, which only added to his worries.
"I assume it isn't enough?"
"Well, I'll try to make it stretch, but at the rate the dogs are getting infected, there's only so much we can do. Take a look at this fellow here," he explained, gesturing towards the mabari warhound isolated in a separate pen, brown fur marred with boils and swelling. "Prime example of a mabari here, probably cost a fortune to breed. His owner was a knight from Highever who died in the last battle, and the poor fellow swallowed darkspawn blood. One of the most valuable and loyal dogs in the world, and here he is, just wastin' away helplessly. Bloody darkspawn," the human spat to the side in disgust. "It just ain't right Warden, it just ain't right."
"Forgive my ignorance, but what makes these dogs so special?" Alim asked, having not read any books about mabari before, and was sorely lacking in knowledge of them. The dog was massive, a great deal larger than the others, thickly muscled and with a set of jaws that could crush a man's skull like a chicken egg, yet it whimpered in pain like a pup.
He felt a great tug at his heartstrings at the sight. He always had a fondness for animals but was more partial to cats like the ratcatcher at the tower.
"Mabari warhounds? Well, centuries ago, a magister bred them to be intelligent; they can understand and carry out complex orders, they can interpret our language, that sort of thing. Some people say these dogs are smart enough to talk and wise enough not to. And they're very strong; we use them in battle to rip knights from the saddle and break open enemy pike-formations and shield-walls. Only downside, depending on who you ask, is that they imprint on their owner.
"If he or she dies, then it's difficult to get them to accept a new master."
"Poor dogs," the elf said, staring at the sick hound with a mixture of horror and pity. The animal gave a miserable whine from behind its muzzle. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Well, come to think of it, might you be heading into the Wilds anytime soon?"
Increasingly grateful that Daveth had chosen to confide in him, Alim gave a noncommittal grunt. "It all depends on where the other Wardens decide to send me. Why do you ask?"
"There's a flower out there in the Wilds that could help improve the dog's chances. It's very distinctive, all-white with a blood-red center, usually grows in ground pools around dead wood, should be plenty at this time of year," the kennel master explained. "Bring me some of those, and I might be able to stabilize their condition."
"A cure for the Blight?" Alim asked incredulously.
"It's a treatment, not a full-fledged cure. I've found that an ointment made from the flowers can help them get better, though it's hit and miss. Something like the darkspawn taint, all I can do is offer what aid I can and hope for the best. Though if they do survive the initial taint, they grow immune to it, making them valued companions for the wardens."
"Then I'll definitely keep an eye out for them," promised Alim. Without hesitation, the elf knelt down before the sick mabari, meeting its eye through the bars of the pen. "Don't you worry, boy. You'll be back to normal again in no time."
Perhaps mabari were truly as intelligent as the kennel master claimed, for the dog stretched out its front legs and almost…bowed its head in acknowledgement. "I promise," Alim repeated, giving a quick bow himself, then left, his course set.
Alistair of the Grey Wardens sighed in frustration at the mage continued to harangue him. It certainly wasn't his fault that the Revered Mother had decided to make him a messenger, nor could he change his past to make it more palatable to the mage, who considered his mere existence an insult, let alone the message he had to deliver. "I simply came to deliver a message from the Revered Mother, ser mage, she desires your presence."
"What Her Reverence desires is of no concern to me, boy," the mage shot back. "I am helping the Grey Wardens, by the king's orders, I might add!"
Biting back his irritation, Alistair tried to maintain a friendly tone. "Should I have asked her to write a note?" he asked, almost flippantly. Instantly, he could hear Duncan chiding him in the back of his mind, reminding him of the importance of keeping good relations with the rest of Ferelden, and working together with all these diverse factions.
'Too late for that now, I suppose.'
The mage gasped in dismay at this disrespect, pride obviously stung. "Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!"
"So, I was harassing you by delivering a message?" the young human replied snarkily. 'Oh, Maker's breath, I've done it now. I really should have just stayed in bed this morning. "Sorry, Duncan, but I'm feeling sick, I think I might have the Blight. Grey Wardens aren't affected by the Blight, you say? Well, let's make it yellow fever then."'
"Your glibness does you no credit."
"And here I thought we were getting along so well!" Alistair crowed. "I was even planning on naming one of my children after you. The grumpy one." 'How very mature, Alistair. Why Duncan didn't want you joining the other Wardens in battle is entirely beyond me. You really do need to learn when to be quiet.'
A snigger, barely stifled, cut into the argument. Out of the corner of his eye, Alistair saw an elf about his age, possessing a staff, a bladeless sword hilt and Warden armor, smirking despite himself. 'Oh, wonderful, a recruit and another mage too. This is hardly the best first impression I've ever made. It could be worse, I suppose. I could be standing around without any pants on', Alistair mused, resisting the urge to double-check. If the twenty years of his life had taught him anything, it was that he had exactly that kind of ill luck…
"Enough!" the mage barked, eager to have Alistair out of his sight. "I'll speak to the woman if I must. Get out of my way, fool!" he snapped at Alim as he barreled past. Shaking his head at the display, the elf walked forward to meet the Grey Warden Alistair, the tapping of his staff against the ground accompanying his footsteps in an almost mystical way that set people on edge... or relaxed them, depending on who the person was.
When Duncan sent him to find the Warden, Alim assumed that the man in question was some kind of drillmaster, the sort of fellow to enforce discipline upon his subordinates with curses and fists. Nothing could have been further from the truth.
Alistair was a young man about his age, maybe a bit older, closer to a new recruit like himself than a veteran soldier despite already being a warden. His blonde hair had been cut short in an efficient military style, while faint stubble grew on the chin of his warm, smiling face. The young human wore his gray warden armor comfortably with a steel bastard sword at his side and a wooden heater shield overlaid with thick leather over his back, both bearing the gray warden standard proudly.
"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together," Alistair said with a cheeky smirk, moving to greet the elf.
"I know what you mean," Alim remarked dryly, remembering his conversations with Loghain and the other soldiers and non-combatants, people from all different walks of life who might never have met otherwise.
"It's like a party! We could all stand about in a circle and hold hands, maybe sing some jolly campfire tunes! That would certainly give the darkspawn something to think about."
"Might work. I have a wonderful singing voice," Alim preened, "I'll probably charm them back underground, maybe make the archdemon my pet."
The human gave a short, relieved laugh. "Ha-ha! Finally, someone agrees with my plans, dumb as they are. I don't suppose you happen to be another mage."
Daveth's description of Alistair rang out in his mind, and Alim steeled himself for some vulgar anti-mage bigotry. "Would that be a problem?"
"Hardly, no. I just always like to know what the odds are of being turned into a toad at any given moment. I'm strange like that. You must be the new recruit Duncan found in the tower… Alim, right?" he asked, snapping his fingers as the name came to him. "I apologize; I should have recognized you right away from the description he gave me."
"No harm done. You must be Alistair then."
"Yes, that's me," the young human admitted sheepishly. "As the junior member of our Order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining. Afraid you didn't catch me at my best there, what with the mage and all; wasn't exactly a good first impression."
"I was wondering about that actually. What was the problem?"
"With the mage? Well, the Circle is here at the King's request, and the Chantry doesn't like that one bit. Which puts me in an awkward position; I was once a templar, you see."
"Daveth had mentioned that, but I thought templars joined for life?" questioned Alim.
"Well, technically, I wasn't actually a templar," Alistair elaborated. "I had gone through all the training, but Duncan recruited me into the Wardens before I took my final vows. It's just as well, really. I'm not exactly the Chantry type; they want obedient and unquestioning soldiers to serve in the templars, and I'm… I think I could do a lot more good as a Grey Warden rather than sitting in a temple somewhere. Here, I have a chance to really make a difference, to make the world a better place."
"That's a very noble sentiment Alistair," Alim said, looking at the human with newfound respect. "I know where you're coming from; I've been given an opportunity the likes of which few tower folk see, and I don't plan on wasting it, especially when I can use my powers to help others."
"Sounds like we'll get along just fine," stated Alistair, feeling much more assured. "Anyways, I'm sure the Revered Mother meant it as an insult, sending me to the mages as a messenger, and he picked right up on that.
"I never would have agreed to help her, but Duncan says that we're all to work together against the darkspawn. Guess he didn't give them the same speech. Anyways, if you're here now, then Duncan's probably ready to get things started. We should head back."
"Agreed," said Alim, falling in step with the other warden as the two made for Duncan's billet. It was some distance from the western ramparts, so the elf took the time to quiz his new companion. "Alistair, could you tell me more about this Joining ritual? Duncan told me a great deal about the darkspawn and the Wardens on the journey here, but for some reason, he never mentioned this."
He clenched his hand nervously, still feeling the cut in his palm under his glove. For whatever reason the wound wasn't closing but wasn't bleeding either. It didn't even hurt, it just felt strange like there was a hole in his hand that both was and wasn't supposed to be there. Supposedly the taint had set in more than he thought, but he didn't know for sure. According to Duncan, grey wardens could sense tainted creatures, but Alistair wasn't giving him any odd looks.
"Well, I can't tell you much. I'm sorry, but it's one of the bigger secrets of the Order."
"One of?"
"I'm sorry," Alistair repeated, deliberately avoiding his gaze. "It's secret for a reason and rather dangerous, but that's all I'm allowed to tell you. I'm sure you'll get through it just fine. Duncan wouldn't have recruited you if he didn't think you couldn't handle it, or the life of a Warden."
The elf sighed, disappointed. He had wanted to know a bit more about his cure, but Alistair would not be moved. It seemed he was disciplined after all, despite his words. He'd just have to keep his wits and courage about him, whatever the challenge. "Have you known Duncan long then?"
"Somewhat. I first met him face-to-face when he recruited me about six months ago, but I had heard of him before that. He was one of the first Grey Wardens brought into Ferelden after King Maric rescinded the Order's exile and he's been leading us ever since. He's a good man; tough but fair, and I owe him a lot."
"How so?"
"Duncan… he was the first person who actually cared about what I wanted. I had been given to the Chantry at a young age, probably because my guardians couldn't think of anywhere else to put me. He actually stopped and asked what I wanted out of life, and a few hours after I gave him my answer, he gave me my uniform," Alistair explained, looking down on the blue and grey griffon livery with pride.
"Sounds like you made a good impression on him. He doesn't seem to be the sort to recruit simply out of sentiment."
"Yes, I think you're right, or at least, I hope you are. Duncan did say that my training for fighting mages would double against fighting darkspawn, especially the emissaries. So far, I haven't any reason to doubt him." The human's brown eyes swung back to him, questioningly. "He's a good man and makes do with what he has, and that includes me I guess."
"That was my impression as well," Alim added. "He asks a lot, but nothing he wouldn't expect of himself. You said you were given to the Chantry?"
"Yes, that's how many people join the templars actually. Orphans, cast-offs, younger sons of the nobility who have little hope of inheritance. The Chantry likes to recruit young you see, and train people in seclusion so they're more willing to accept orders. It wasn't what I would have chosen, but I came to appreciate the training itself after a while. Besides, my guardians weren't willing to have me back in any event."
"What happened to your parents then, if I may ask?" Alim gently inquired.
"My mother was a serving girl at Redcliffe Castle; she died giving birth to me. As for my father… well, he's dead, let's leave it at that."
The elf winced at the abrupt response. "My apologies."
"Don't worry; it's not your fault. And on the subject of our pasts, the Wardens have an unofficial rule: your past is your own and has no bearing on your service with us. A lot of people come to the Wardens running from something or discarding old loyalties; some even consider their old lives dead once they finish the Joining. If you don't want to discuss it, you don't have to." Alistair gave a small shrug as if it was no concern of his.
"I appreciate that, thank you," replied Alim, genuinely grateful. The nightmares from his past were better left dead and buried, true he had discussed one of them with Duncan, but he'd really rather leave his past behind. He was what he chose of make of himself, and the past had no bearing on the here and now.
He had let his past cloud his judgement despite himself; the elf had expected a fanatical mage-hater and discovered a very earnest and generous fellow instead. It was a lesson in open-mindedness that he vowed to take to heart.
A few minutes' walk brought the two to Duncan's personal camp, the Warden-Commander standing next to a roaring bonfire along with Jory and Daveth. "Ah, you found Alistair, did you?" Duncan remarked dryly. "Then we can begin at once, assuming of course, you're finished riling up mages, Alistair."
Alistair winced, he had hoped that Duncan might not have heard about his blundering attempts at playing messenger boy, but apparently word traveled too fast for that.
"What can I say?" Alistair jested, trying not to wilt under Duncan's stern gaze. "The Revered Mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army."
A dark eyebrow rose questioningly. "She forced you to sass the mage, did she?" came the disbelieving inquiry. "You know as well as I that we cannot afford to antagonize anyone, not at this critical stage in our mission."
"Of course, Duncan, I apologize," Alistair said dutifully, having heard this refrain before.
"Good. Now then, the four of you will be descending into the Korcari Wilds to perform two tasks," Duncan explained, drawing forth three valuable-looking glass vials from a pouch at his belt and passing them to the recruits. "First, you are to fill each of these vials with darkspawn blood, one for each recruit."
Taking the vial gently so as not to damage it, Alim immediately spotted the glimmer of magical runes etched into the crystal and the brass cap, the vial cold to the touch. "What is the blood for? Some sort of battle trophy?"
"For the Joining itself," Duncan answered. "I'll explain more once you've returned. Secondly, there was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain and garrison such a remote holding. It has come to our attention that several scrolls were left behind, magically sealed to protect them from the elements and thieves. Alistair, I want you and the recruits to retrieve them if you can."
"A bunch of old scrolls?" scoffed Daveth. "Anything important?"
"Why, interested in pawning them off?" Jory demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Just asking a question," the rogue shot back. "Bound to be plenty of darkspawn in the Wilds, and other dangers besides. Just want to make sure some ratty old parchment is worth us potentially getting killed."
"They are old treaties, as a matter of fact, dating back to the Second Blight," explained Duncan patiently. "They contain promises of support to the Grey Wardens, binding oaths of troops and support in the event of a Blight. With so many having forgotten the Order's importance and the threat of the darkspawn, it would be good to have something to remind them with."
"If they're so valuable, then I don't understand why they were abandoned Duncan," said Alim. "Surely such documents would be a prize worth keeping?"
"It was assumed that, after the outpost was abandoned, they would be retrieved at a later date. But it seems a great many assumptions have not come true" Duncan answered. "Still, the effort must be made. I do not doubt the King's convictions or the effectiveness of his troops, but no Blight has been beaten with little cost, and having additional allies we can call upon will prove valuable in the days to come. Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly and safely."
"We will" Alistair nodded to the older man with a resolute nod.
"Then may the Maker watch over you all," Duncan intoned with all solemnity. "I will be waiting here when you return."
So dismissed, Alistair and the recruits marched towards the wooden gate blocking the path that led into the Wilds. "I'll take the lead once we get down there, and keep watch for darkspawn, however I will not be fighting, this is your test, not mine." declared Alistair, securing his shield onto his left forearm to protect himself from darkspawn archers.
"This archive, what does it look like?" asked Alim.
"It's an old Tevinter ruin from the height of the Imperium," explained Alistair, frowning in disgust at the thought of the magisters. A sentiment that Alim fervently agreed with. "Before Andraste's time, they had built an outpost in the Wilds as a staging ground for slave raids, but when they saw what they were up against, abandoned it and established Ostagar. I think the Order took possession of it just after the First Blight.
"I should be able to find it, no problem. We'll have to be quick, though. If the King's scouts are right, then the horde will be massing for another assault in at least two days, and we don't want to be caught in the path of any scouting parties."
"So, we get in, get the blood and the scrolls, and get out. Sounds like a simple enough task" said Alim.
"Of course! We are all Wardens, are we not?" boasted Jory "what foe could possibly stand against us?"
'What foe indeed?' wondered Alim, setting his mind for the task at hand. Four men... three men and a darkspawn detector against any number of darkspawn as well as whatever native dangers lurked within the Wilds, all prepared to destroy them given the slightest opportunity.
'Come what may, I shall not be found wanting.'