9:30 Pluitanis 19

Kibannan Circle of Magi, Ostwick, Confederation of Free Cities

Evie pushed the heavy door open with both hands, stopping once it was only open maybe a foot. She slipped her head through the gap, leaning around to look inside. "Hello? I was told to..." She trailed off, her words stolen from her. Not quite what she'd been expecting.

It'd been a couple days since that silly Harrowing thing — she still wasn't sure why she'd had to do that, but she was starting to learn normal mages were silly about some things. She'd woken up in an unfamiliar room, told this would be her home for...well, a while anyway. It wasn't a bad room, really, all soft reddish woods and plush carpets and fluffy beds, but she still hadn't been able to help a moody glare at the woman who'd told her. Every time she saw her she still glared at her.

See, when Mum and Dad and Auntie Lyn had brought her to the Circle, they hadn't said she'd be staying here. She'd thought she'd be going home, once the Templars were convinced she wouldn't be...she didn't know, going crazy and hurting people or something. She still didn't know what to do with the thought that she wasn't going back. It was too big to deal with, so she avoided thinking about it.

Not that Mystrel was happy with that.

Anyway, yesterday she'd done pretty much nothing. Just sat in the room she'd be sharing with some other mages for however long she'd be staying here — which was a little awkward, since all three were a lot older than her, even the youngest a grown woman — reading books she'd found lying around. Had slipped over to the Fade for way more time than she'd needed to sleep, she was just bored. Cammy and its friends were always good for some fun, so.

(Actually, could spirits even be friends with each other? Evie wasn't sure if the word was appropriate. Cammy and the others it was almost always around sure acted friend-like enough, but...)

Then the next morning, shortly after breakfast — given in a big hall, the noise of the chattering mages almost painful, Evie feeling a little peculiar, everyone else in the room at least twice her age — a Tranquil man had come to find Evie. Before she could even try to stop herself, she'd cringed, stepping away from the eerily still elf. She'd never seen a Tranquil before being sent to the Circle. Mystrel had told her they existed, an almost un-spirit-like (or at least un-Knowledge-like) curl of disgust to its lips, but that hadn't prepared her. They felt...

Evie couldn't explain it, exactly. They felt wrong. Dead inside, as empty and cold as a rock, but somehow still living, filled with the low tingle of magic she could faintly feel in all living things. It was, just, wrong, she didn't know how to explain it, it just was. It made her sick, being near one, her breakfast crawling up her throat, her skin itching, almost shivering with a chill from nowhere. She tried not to let it show, it just felt rude to react too badly, but...it didn't really matter, did it? It wasn't like she could hurt their feelings. They didn't have feelings.

He'd told her she was expected somewhere, in the enchanters' wing. After barely two seconds, she'd slipped out from the hand he'd put on her shoulder, insisted on keeping a few steps between them as she followed. Touch just made it feel worse, no, no, no.

On the other side of the door she'd been lead to was a room. A sort of big room — bigger than her bedroom, even the foyer back home, but smaller than the State Hall, or the room the mages took their meals in. So, the third largest room she'd ever seen, maybe? Could probably fit twenty of her across the floor, head to toe, maybe more, the ceiling twice as high as a normal ceiling. Actually, she saw with a glance up, there was a balcony along three walls, with doors leading out above her head, so it looked like it was exactly twice as high as normal. Only three walls, because the last, to her right, was made almost entirely of glass, the winter sun lighting the dust in the air in slanted orangish beams.

At the sight of the browned grasses, the Sea slightly blurry with fog in the near distance, Evie's stomach clenched, almost as bad as when the Tranquil had touched her. Yesterday, she'd wanted to go outside for a bit, and the Templar at the door had yelled at her, would have shoved her back if she hadn't turned around on her own. They wouldn't even let her go outside. She could go and do pretty much wherever she wanted in the Dreaming, but still.

Anyway, the room was mostly empty. The stone floor was free of most any furniture, lines and shapes Evie recognized as runic enchantments of some kind carved into the floor. Evie didn't know what kind, Mystrel hadn't started teaching her that yet, said when she was older. There was one table, long, with six chairs behind it. Each of the six chairs had a person in it. Old people, mostly, wearing somewhat finer robes than most of the other mages, rings and necklaces — Evie hadn't really met any, but she assumed they were enchanters. The only one she recognised was Jeria, the First Enchanter, so that seemed a good bet. There were a few Templars here too, standing along the wall, out of the way, as though trying to sink into the shadows. Kinda hard to do that with polished armor on, but okay.

She couldn't see very much of it, but it looked like there were people on the balcony above, too. Lots of people. But she didn't have a good angle, couldn't see very well, tried to ignore it. "Um, you were looking for me?"

"Yes, Evie, please come in." That was Jeria, her voice and face soft with a gentle smile. Trying to be reassuring, maybe, but it really wasn't helping much. Evie slipped inside, wincing when the door slammed closed behind her, tried not to fidget. Everyone was staring at her. "Come up here, child, in the middle of the big circle."

For a second, she was confused, but she noticed Jeria's eyes flick downward, followed her gaze. Ah, that big circle — the greater part of the carvings in the floor made up a design of concentric rings, unfamiliar shapes and runes sketched in the spaces between, taking up most of the floor. Evie walked forward, trying to ignore how her skin tingled as she stepped over every ring. Stopping right in the middle, she glanced up at the balcony surrounding her, and immediately regretted it. There were dozens of people up there, mages and enchanters and Templars and Tranquil, all staring down at her. She forced her eyes away, looked to Jeria, the only person here she actually knew.

Another of the enchanters at the table, an unfamiliar man with grey hair and wrinkles on his face, shifted one of the papers before him, cleared his throat. "You are Miss Evelyn Trevelyan, yes?"

Evie blinked. Miss? Honestly, she felt most of that society stuff was very silly, but she knew strangers were supposed to, and almost always did, call her lady. Her grandfather was the Arl, after all, and people were supposed to care about that. Jeria didn't have to, because she was friends with Dad and Auntie Lyn, but she had no idea who this old man was. Brushing the thought off, she nodded. "Yes."

The next question was from another old person she didn't know. "I'm not sure if anyone told you, but it was decided you should be put through your Harrowing much sooner than would ordinarily even be considered. Knight-Captain Trevelyan believes you are a Dreamer and it was—" The woman had to raise her shaky voice slightly, cutting over the muttering leaking down from the balcony. "—it was decided precautions should be taken. The first question we meant to ask you today is, is it true?"

It took Evie a second, frowning at herself, to realise Knight-Captain Trevelyan was Auntie Lyn. At least, she was pretty sure? Auntie Lyn was a Templar, but Evie didn't know if she was a Captain or not, and there were a lot of Trevelyans. It took a couple more seconds to realise what the question was asking for. "Oh. Er. I guess so? I'm told I am, so."

"You're told you are?" This enchanter was a bit younger, maybe about Dad's age, her suspicious frown deepening the few lines on her face. "You don't know for sure?"

"I mean, I do, I guess." Evie shrugged. "I'm not really sure what that means. I mean, how it's different from being a normal person." Mystrel had gone on that ramble of being like a dragon among mages, or whatever, but that was really vague. She still had no feel for what that meant, what difference it made.

"When you sleep, you can alter the Fade at your whim? Change things?"

Evie frowned at the enchanter. "Yeah, see, I didn't know other people couldn't do that until Auntie Lyn told me so. I just thought that's what dreams are like for everyone." She probably would have gotten sent here way earlier if everyone hadn't assumed the spirits she talked about were just imaginary friends or something. At least, that's what Mum said she'd thought...

"How often do you encounter demons?"

She couldn't help a confused glance around the room at the sudden silence, the cold tension on the air. People always got so ridiculously terrified whenever the subject of demons came up, it was weird. Shrugging to herself, Evie said, "Sometimes? I mean, someone's always there, but they're mostly spirits. The ones that talk to me, anyway. But demons find me sometimes, yes."

Nobody seemed to like that answer, uneasy and fearful expressions taking many people's faces, shifting in place and muttering to each other. Jeria was still smiling at her, though. "What usually happens when you meet a demon?" she asked, the soft calmness in her voice easing a bit of the fear in the air. "You've been stumbling across them your whole life, yet you remain unpossessed. You must have some way of dealing with them."

Evie felt her face twist into a confused frown again. Didn't all mages stumble across demons every once in a while? Even if they couldn't change things, she thought that was just...mage stuff. Whatever. "It's not hard, really." There were a couple shocked laughs at that, Evie glancing up in their direction before shrugging it off. "Sometimes I just ignore them. If they get too annoying, the weaker ones I make go away, but if that—"

"Wait a second." That was one of the old enchanters interrupting, giving her an odd look of disbelief. "You can just...make them go away?"

"The weaker ones, sure. You can't?" By the looks the entire rooming was giving her, yeah, they couldn't. "I just kinda..." Evie trailed off, trying to describe how it worked. She couldn't, really. Lifting her hands to make a slow shoving motion, she said, "I just kinda push, and if I'm heavier than they are, they get pushed out of wherever I am. They can come back, but it takes hours, I never have to do it to the same one more than once a day."

"If you're heavier? What does that mean?"

Evie shrugged. "Not, like, heavy heavy, real heavy, but... I dunno how to say it. Only word I can think of. And, if they're heavier than me, and it doesn't look like they're gonna leave me alone, I just wake up. If I wait for a bit and go back to sleep they're usually gone."

The enchanters at the table were giving her very odd looks. One said, "You can just...wake up?"

What, other people couldn't do that either? Weird. "Sure. That's the only reason it was even a little scary. The, er, Harrowing...thing, I mean. That lyrium stuff wouldn't let me wake up. It was just a stupid annoying fear demon, but I couldn't run away." Scrunching her nose a little, she muttered, "I don't think I like lyrium."

Evie blinked, glanced up at the balconies surrounding the room. Most everyone still looked way too serious, almost like they were at a funeral or something, but a bunch of people were chuckling, muttering to each other. Apparently, that was a funny thing to say. She didn't get it, but okay.

When the noise had died down a bit, Jeria raised a hand, silencing the room like magic. Maybe it was magic, who knows. Turning to the other people at her table, she said, "I hope that alleviates your concerns somewhat. Dreamer she may be, but Evelyn has survived on her own for years, even with little to no true understanding of the inherent risks of her abilities. I believe her survival alone proves we can trust her to safeguard herself during her nightly forays beyond the Veil."

One of the Templars along the wall — that was the Knight-Commander, but Evie couldn't remember his name — let out a sharp huff, shifting in his armor. "If you mean to suggest we should leave the child completely supervised..."

"Of course not." She said it easily enough, but Evie could hear the hint of annoyance, a twitch in one eye. "I am simply suggesting she is no more a danger than any other mage here. I don't believe she requires..." Jeria trailed off, jaw working in silence for a second. "...special treatment."

Knight-Commander Whatshisname sniffed, but didn't say anything.

Another of the old people at the table, sounding really impatient, almost rude, said, "Perhaps, we can move straight to the evaluation, then?"

Evie blinked. Evaluation?

Your Excellency,

I cannot say your fears are unfounded. Yet, I do not feel there is any need for immediate action.

The rumors you heard are correct — it does appear the Trevelyan girl is a Dreamer. However, she survived her Harrowing without incident and, if her word and the Enchanters' opinion is to be trusted, is at little risk of possession down the line. Her explanation wasn't the most coherent, the vague ramblings of a child, but it seems greater magical power translates to greater defences against hostile demons. The First Enchanter, at the least, is confident. I'm inclined to cede to her judgement.

Even were she a threat, it'd be a shame to... I can hardly bear the thought. I don't mean to suggest I'm wavering in my commitment, but sometimes the things we must do horrify me. She is a sweet child. Tiny little thing, even for her age. She certainly appears a Trevelyan, with that Tevene nose and curly black hair, but she isn't old enough for the expected arrogance to set in yet. Honestly, the poor thing just seemed lost and confused. I'm not certain she fully understands what's going on, why she was brought to the Circle. Or what that means, how her entire future has been changed. She's just a child, and it had only been a couple days.

I will admit, her magical ability is somewhat unnerving. Since she'd been sent straight to the Harrowing, the Enchanters had no idea what she was capable of, what magic she'd already learned. So, they tested her, in front of the whole Circle — I believe the First Enchanter was attempting to quiet some of the wilder rumors that had been going around, ease minds as much as she could. And Trevelyan passed all the tests they came up with, though there had been peculiarities. She didn't recognise the names of common magics, had to be told the results of a thing. There was often a significant hesitation, much longer than a mage would normally need.

In fact, I'm left with the suspicion that Trevelyan passed far more of their tests than anyone had been expecting. The Enchanters had paled as the evaluation wore on, the room falling eerily silent as everyone watched. I have little direct experience with what mages fresh from their Harrowing are expected to be capable of, but I get the feeling Trevelyan would surpass most of them, despite her age.

Despite the fact that she'd gotten no formal training in magic at all. Shockingly, Trevelyan claimed that, before the evaluation today, she had never cast magic once in her life! I'd never seen shock on so many faces at once before. She claimed she only knew how to accomplish what they were asking of her because a spirit was whispering in her ear through the Veil — she'd been under the impression there would be some negative consequences for failing, perhaps the Enchanters could have been clearer. There was a little panic at the admission, the Templars on the floor with her even readied their blades, but it was settled without any violence. Apparently, this spirit is one of knowledge, has been teaching Trevelyan in her sleep for as long as she can remember. The First Enchanter informs me such things are not unheard of. Rare, of course, but Trevelyan is far from the first to have such a guide, and it's perfectly safe — spirits of knowledge are not the sort to cross the Veil, she is in no special danger from it.

For all I can tell, in the case of Evelyn Trevelyan, no intervention is necessary at this time. I'd suggest keeping an eye on the Kibannan Circle just in case, but I'm not especially concerned.

Your loyal servant,

Cassandra

9:30 Pluitanis 25

Ostagar, Chasingard, Kingdom of Ferelden

Lýna eyed the familiar spires of the old Tevinter fortress, jagged white monoliths stabbing so high into the air they were easily visible over the trees, watching as they grew ever closer, ever larger. And tried not to be too nervous.

By how her finger kept tracing the grip of her new sword, she knew she wasn't doing a great job of it.

She still wasn't sure what to think of this thing. The sword, she meant. While she'd been unconscious, unable to arrange such things herself, her clan had made sure she'd been sent off with the essentials — since she was going to war, that mostly meant weapons, along with a few potions and tinctures. She'd woken up to find her bow, complete with quiver full of arrows, and her father's old ironbark dagger laid out next to her. That was pretty much it. There were a selection of poisons at the bottom of her bag, along with a few surprises, Duncan probably hadn't noticed those, but she hadn't had anything more herself, and her clan hadn't much they could safely send off with her.

So, the sword and the armor were a bit of a surprise. Not to mention Duncan had just given them to her — from what she understood, humans weren't in the habit of just giving her people anything, especially weapons. She was under the impression it was actually against the law in most human nations for any of the People to carry blades at all, so. It wasn't exactly of terrible quality, either. The bits of metal Duncan had chosen to supplement her hunting leathers and the sword both were made of silverite. Lýna didn't actually know what silverite was — clearly a metal of some kind, gleaming an almost luminescent blue-white — but she'd been told it was one of the strongest substances known to humankind, and rare too.

She'd protested at the idea of carrying a sword at all, at first — the People generally didn't use longer blades, she'd never learned how. But she'd changed her mind when Duncan had actually shown her the thing (and insisted repeatedly she take it). It was rather shorter than what she thought was typical for swords of human make, the tip curving back somewhat. Small and light enough she could adapt the technique she'd been taught without too much difficulty, with the added bonus of extra reach. The blade was impressively keen, too — her finger had bled just touching it — and she'd been told it almost never had to be sharpened. If she'd be fighting anyone with full silverite armor or weapons, perhaps, but how often did that happen? The stuff was supposedly quite rare, after all, and darkspawn weren't known to use it at all.

Lýna thought the thing was almost superior to her old ironbark dagger. Not that she'd ever admit that aloud.

It was...reassuring was the word, she supposed, touching it. Ostagar would be packed with humans, an entire army of them, more than she'd ever seen before in her life — and this was after South Reach, which had been filled with more than she'd ever seen until she'd seen it. She, her clan, had been trying to avoid humans, for centuries, and they had good reasons for it. One of her people, the true People, walking into a place like this would normally be suicide. But it wouldn't be for her. She was different. She was a Grey Warden now.

If that wasn't a peculiar thought.

She knew it was true, she knew it'd be perfectly safe, but she still... Well, the little reminder was comforting.

Approaching the fortress, their little party split up — the uninitiated recruits Duncan had picked up here and there were to bring their creaking covered wagon down into the valley below, toward the gathered army at the neck, while she and Duncan continued up the cliffs, toward the fortress proper, where most of the leadership was camped. Peculiar, that they'd decided to separate themselves like this, but humans could be peculiar, she didn't bother giving it another thought. Since the hills in the hinterlands here acted as a natural barrier between separate river basins — the lands immediately to the north were higher than the wilds to the south — the path "up" the cliffs was mostly flat, curving along the side of the valley, descending as it narrowed. They must be approaching the mouth of the valley by now, but Lýna couldn't actually see for sure — the dense forest, the craggy mountainside immediately to their left, an occasional wall or column of half-crumbled stone, all of it restricted her sight to a stone's throw or so.

But she'd been here before. She could tell they were getting close.

Just as the path of pounded dirt and grasping mud shifted to eroded stone, flanked on both sides by rows of half-collapsed columns, voices called out to them from ahead. Lýna's eyes snapped to the approaching horsemen, hand instinctively going for her bow, but forced herself to stop before it even got halfway. It was fine, these were allies, she'd be perfectly fine. She took a long breath through her nose, darted forward to reclaim where she'd been following Duncan, a step behind and to his left.

Five riders were approaching, all gleaming in plate and scale. Four were more heavily armed than the last, a man in shining golden armor, pale hair whipped into a stream trailing behind him. As they neared, close enough for Duncan, with his inferior human eyesight, to pick out their features, he let out a low curse. At least, Lýna assumed it was a curse, she didn't think that had been Alamarri. "What is?"

Grumbling to himself, Duncan came to a halt, set to waiting for the horsemen to approach. "The one in the middle, without a helm? That's the king of these lands, lord of all Ferelden. He should not ride out alone like this, with the darkspawn gathered in force so near."

Lýna blinked, watching the man in his shining armor, so pretty with lines so delicate there was no way it was practical, and frowned to herself. In her awkward Alamarri, she asked, "He is fool?"

Duncan winced, shook his head. "I wouldn't say that. One thing Cailin is not is unintelligent. But he is..." He hesitated a moment, clearly trying to think of a word that wouldn't be too unflattering toward such a powerful person. "...exuberant."

"I know not this word."

"It doesn't matter," he said, shrugging it off. Then he nodded toward the King, everything about his bearing signaling an end to the conversation.

Still some feet off, lifting a hand high in greeting, the King yelled, "Ho there, Duncan!" The horses skittered to a halt, kicking up dirt and stones, the air quickly filling with dust and noise and the tang of sweating beast. The King threw himself to the ground with a flourish, the clang of his ridiculous armor rattling almost painful. Making for Duncan in a bouncing stride, smile face-splittingly wide, "I almost thought you wouldn't make it!"

Lýna noticed, as Duncan lightly chided the silly man for recklessly rushing out to meet them in person only to be brushed off with a laugh, that the King's escort weren't nearly so careless as the man himself. They had arrayed themselves two to each side, horses shielding him from the trees, hands on weapons and eyes sharp, moving unceasingly.

She mostly managed to hold in the flinch when one of the heavily armed human soldiers glared down at her. Mostly.

She turned back to the conversation in time to catch the King, arm half around Duncan and energetically slapping his back, cry, "Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side after all! There will be songs written about this one day, mark my words."

"As you say, Your Majesty." Lýna hadn't quite gotten the hang of reading humans' strange, too-blocky faces, but she was pretty sure that was exasperation.

"Anyway, my scouts tell me you're arriving with a fresh initiate. Is this—" His eyes turning to her for the first time, the boisterous man abruptly fell silent. "This— My word, are you Dalish?"

Lýna tried not to frown at the eager fascination — at least, she was pretty sure that's what that was, their (too hard, too thick) voices were little easier to read than their faces. She hesitated for a moment, trying to decide how she was supposed to respond to that, before giving up and just nodding.

Grin only growing wider, the man released his hold on Duncan, taking a half step closer to her; she somehow managed to not back away. "Pardon me, it's just I've never met a Dalish elf before. I've heard stories, of course, but those tend to be, um..." He shifted a little, suddenly uncomfortable. "...well, you know."

Yes, she was well aware of the ridiculous myths the humans had involving the People — some of them, anyway, she doubted she'd heard even half of them. The one about them abducting human infants to sacrifice them in blood magic rituals to invoke various demons was rather common, far too many seemed to think that absurdity was fact. She considered what she could possibly say for a couple seconds. "I know. Our stories of humans, also not good."

The King winced — she was pretty sure it had nothing to do with her laboured Alamarri. "Yes, well, I'm afraid far too many of us deserve it." Then the grin reappeared on his face, so smoothly it might not have gone at all. "I didn't know there were even Dalish in Ferelden anymore. Not for the last hundred years or so, anyway."

Lýna tried not to scowl. There had once been many clans living in these lands — this was the edge of human civilization, after all, they were far weaker here than in the west, or in the north. The human rulers of the area had tolerated them, for the most part, the People safer here than most anywhere else. They'd even started building villages, true permanent settlements, something that hadn't happened anywhere since the Second Fall. And then, only a couple generations past, the Alamarri had been conquered by the Orlesians, the very same Orlesians who had broken the Republic seven hundred years ago. They weren't nearly as tolerant — those who hadn't felt the change in the wind and fled were slaughtered or enslaved. It was only in the last few years the People had started to creep north again.

Seeming to realize he was treading on sensitive territory, the man — Cailan? Was that his name? — moved on, so smoothly he might not have changed topics at all. "Did you grow up in Ferelden? Or did Duncan pick you up somewhere else, I suppose I didn't ask."

Oh, they were going to keep talking, then. All right. Would really rather they didn't. Her Alamarri was not very good — she hated the thought she probably sounded like an idiot every time she opened her mouth. "First I see Duncan..." She hesitated, just for a second. "...by South Reach, but not grown there. We come out south, not long past. Yes?" She thought that all made sense. She'd never realized just how bad her Alamarri was until she actually had to use it. Hopefully one of the Wardens would help her practice, because this was just painful.

It took the King a moment to parse her broken Alamarri, but when he did his grin just stretched ever wider. "The Wilds you mean, far to the south? That's just...fascinating! I've only ever met a few people who have ever been much further south than we stand now. Well, other than the Chasind, of course, but they refuse to speak of their homeland with outsiders. You simply must join me at my fire tonight, I want to hear everything."

Lýna's mouth was already forming the first sound of a refusal when Duncan said, "I think that's an excellent idea." When she shot him a look, he shrugged. "You learn, is good." She was more than a little surprised by the Deluvẽ — it was very far from perfect, but it was good enough she could tell what he was trying to say. Duncan had demonstrated plenty of times he understood a fair bit of her language, but he hardly ever actually used any.

And, well, he did have a point. She'd be using Alamarri quite a lot for the foreseeable future, she'd best practice. Still, it took some effort to keep herself from pouting.

9:30 Pluitanis 27

Ostagar, Chasingard, Kingdom of Ferelden

With a sharp hit of a pommel at the inside of the human's wrist, hard enough even through leather to force her fingers open, the mock dagger clattered to the stone.

Lýna relaxed, straightening a bit and letting her hands hang at her hips. After a few days of practice, Marian knew she'd already lost.

For a few moments, Marian paused to gather her breath, bent over with hands planted on her knees as she desperately struggled for air. (Which Lýna thought was a little absurd, they hadn't been working that long nor hard.) Lýna waited for a little bit, but quickly turned away, looking over the valley to the south. They'd gone to one of the more isolated towers in the crumbling keep, across the bridge from where the King and his closest advisors were camped, the incessant noise and overwhelming stench of the army muffled and thin in the distance. Lýna could almost convince herself they were alone up here, just herself, the ancient stones, the trees so stubbornly forcing their way through the crumbling floor, the wind, and the puffing human woman at her side.

Almost.

As should be expected, Lýna wasn't the only new Grey Warden recruit — though apparently that jaunt into those ruins with Mẽrhiļ and Duncan had counted as her initiation, so she technically outranked most of them. This Marian was one of them...sort of. As Lýna understood it, Marian had made a deal with Duncan that she would join the Wardens proper if the other humans made a fuss about her being a free mage. She was perfectly willing to provide magical assistance in the meanwhile.

(Lýna still didn't quite follow why the Alamarri had such a problem with mages. It had something to do with their religion, she knew that, but her Alamarri hadn't been good enough to pick up all the relevant details either time she'd asked. For the moment, at least, simply understanding all mages within their lands, human or elf, were forced into slavery — not that they called it that — would have to be enough.)

While Marian was willing to cast whatever magic Duncan requested of her, she preferred to downplay her abilities whenever possible. That meant posing as a normal person most of the time. Which meant learning to fight with plain, physical weapons like the rest of them.

It'd quickly become clear Marian didn't have the proper strength for the standard shield and longsword to be practical — which wasn't a surprise, since she'd always been using magic to do the heavy lifting, so to speak. She'd been impressed with Duncan's dual-wielding style when he'd demonstrated it by knocking the piss out of one of the more annoying Warden recruits, and had asked if she couldn't learn that instead. Problem was, Duncan was very busy, so he didn't have a whole lot of time to make the investment necessary to teach her properly.

So Lýna was stuck with her instead.

Finally, Marian seemed to be finished gasping, though her voice still came out a little breathless. "How many times have I died now?"

She felt her lips twitch with a weak smile, too weak to survive more than a second. "Fifty-three." Until it was time for the rest of the recruits to undergo the Joining, Lýna didn't really have anything else to do, so they'd spent some decent time at it, the last few days.

Their little lessons weren't all beating Marian up, but...well, they were mostly beating Marian up. It'd given her a dark sort of satisfaction at first, smacking a human around, but by now it was just normal. Or maybe Marian was slowly growing on her, as Duncan had, she couldn't say for sure.

It helped that Marian had never been anything but perfectly respectful. She certainly couldn't say the same of most of the other humans in the camp. Not even most of the Warden recruits, actually...

"When you're sitting fifty-three to zero, maybe it's time to sit back and reevaluate the decisions that brought you to this point."

There was a word or two there Lýna hadn't picked up yet, but she got the sentiment anyway. Got it well enough she smiled to herself a little, the expression even surviving for a moment this time. "You are gooder, than you were. Is slow, but is growing."

"If you say so. It's 'better', by the way."

Lýna frowned, turned to look at Marian over her shoulder. She was a rather large— Well, no, she wasn't, actually, Lýna just wasn't quite used to humans yet. They all seemed big to her. The women tended to have narrower faces and proportionately larger eyes than the men, which made them look a bit less alien. Still strange, of course, just not quite as unnervingly wrong. Marian's normally messy hair clung close to her skull, glued together with sweat, looking even darker than it normally did. She was giving Lýna some kind of look, dark eyes sharper than usual, but she wasn't sure which. Human faces were so difficult to read. "Is it? What is 'bet'?"

"Oh, well, nothing, really. I mean, 'bet' is a word, just a different one, it's not important. But, 'better' means more good. We don't say 'gooder'."

...That was stupid.

With a sigh, Lýna nodded, trying (and probably failing) to commit yet another irregularity of Alamarri to memory. She'd pick it up eventually, it was just frustrating. She was well aware she sounded like an idiot child most of the time. "Yes. As say, are better, than you were. All skill take far."

"Long," Marian corrected absently, seemingly without thinking. Most of her corrections of Lýna's Alamarri were like that — casual and matter-of-fact, pointing out a thing Lýna had gotten wrong and moving on. Helpful, but at once not really making an issue of it. That was on the list of reasons she found Marian less irritating company than most all the humans in the camp. "Forgive me if I'm not exactly cheered with having the shit kicked out of me over and over again by a girl years younger than me and half my size."

Lýna couldn't help frowning a little — she couldn't be that much younger (assuming she could read age on human faces accurately, which wasn't a given), and Marian was exaggerating by quite a bit. But she didn't think it worth trying to figure out how to say what she wanted to in a language Marian could understand. Oh well. "I learn long past. Start...mibhe, nine years past. If you not having the shit kicked out of you, be strange."

To her confusion, Marian just smiled at her. At least, Lýna thought it was a smile. Quite a lot of her teeth were showing, and her eyes almost seemed to dance, in a way that might or might not have been magic. (It could be hard to tell with mages sometimes.) And she just kept staring, that odd crooked grin on her face, for long, awkward moments.

Eventually, Lýna got tired of waiting for her to...do something. "What?"

"I'm sorry, it's just—" Marian broke off, blinking to herself. Then, to Lýna's increasing confusion, her eyes tilted away, cheeks noticeably flushing. Looking quite uncomfortable all of a sudden, going so far as shuffling in place a little.

"What?"

Her face only going redder, the shuffling only getting worse, Marian muttered, "Nothing, really. I was just thinking, the accent and sounding so very serious like you do, I just thought... It doesn't matter, forget it."

That really didn't explain anything. But it was clear Marian didn't want to explain properly, and she looked to be getting more and more painfully uncomfortable each second Lýna remained silently staring, so she decided she didn't need to know that badly. By the feel of it Marian hadn't been mocking her, at least. "Ready?"

Marian let out a long, exhausted sigh, but straightened again all the same. Dipping into the light stance Lýna had beaten into her, props loosely gripped exactly as they should be. Marian had little reason to complain about being beaten up all the time, she was obviously picking it up quite quickly. In all honesty, she was learning far faster than any of Lýna's clansmen had, herself included. They had been much younger when they'd learned, but still.

Of course, her greater experience and speed still had Marian laid out on her back against the ancient stone in only a handful of blows.

Tipping against Lýna's knee she clearly hadn't noticed, the taller human hit the ground hard, her breath coming out in a harsh cough, both fake weapons jumping out of her hands to clatter away. She swore breathlessly, a hand rubbing at her side, the spot Lýna had struck with an elbow to knock her over probably already bruising. "I get the point, okay. Just, shit, is it really necessary to hit me that hard?"

Lýna smiled down at her. "I hit Clan that hard, in practicing. Why think I do soft now?"

Her only reply was a pained groan, Marian's eyes rolling away.

Well, not her only reply — she was sure Marian started to say something after that, but she didn't catch what it was. She was quite distracted by something else. It was a feeling, but not truly a feeling, a ghost of a sensation. Not exactly hot or cold, not exactly wet or dry, but yet all of them at once, tingling like bugs crawling over her arms and down her spine. It was a sound, but not truly a sound, not heavy enough to seem fully real. Like the harsh roar of high wind tearing through a forest, though far quieter. It sounded empty, meaningless noise, but it wasn't really, faint hints of song held deep within, alien, haunting.

"Lýna? What is it?"

She blinked, turned back to Marian. Must have been out it for longer than she'd thought. Marian had stepped rather closer, what Lýna thought might be a concerned frown twisting her too-wide face. "Darkspawn. Not far."

The flash of fear was obvious, similar enough she could read it, but Marian managed to stay mostly calm. "Right, okay. Uh, we should probably tell someone about that."

It took a second for Lýna to figure out what she meant. Shaking her head to herself, she said, "See first. Come." Marian didn't seem at all enthused about the prospect. But she followed along easily enough.

As new as she was at this Grey Warden thing, Lýna had found, on the handful of brief hunting trips she'd taken with Duncan and Alistair, that tracking darkspawn by feel alone wasn't difficult. True, she couldn't sense them from very far away — she was told she would grow more sensitive with time, eventually enough to even get a rough idea of numbers — but within her range she knew in which general direction they were with enough precision to be useful. Not that she could entirely describe how she knew. She couldn't say anything about the feeling of them pointed her a particular way. It might grow more intense the closer they were, but not quickly enough to give a proper impression. She just...knew.

She was starting to understand a lot of Grey Warden things were like that.

Hardly looking at their surroundings — she could probably do this with her eyes shut if she needed to — Lýna led Marian through the ruins, toward the cliff over the wetlands. She crouched right on the lip, staring downward. The drop was slightly lesser here, fifty feet at the most, and far more gradual, though she would certainly rather avoid picking over that mess of scree. (This particular weakness of the cliff was known, they had sentries and the occasional heavier patrol out this way for a reason.)

In the slanting afternoon light, Lýna could make out shuffling figures, just now crossing out of the trees. Bristling with crude armor, metal shards so haphazard and twisted a couple of them were stained with the bearer's own blood. Their skin was dark, but not dark in the way of some humans — instead they were a sickly, ashen grey, fingers and lips and even their eyes blackened. They carried weapons, short swords and axes in far better condition than their armor, gleaming silver in the sunlight.

Yep. Definitely darkspawn. Genlocks, specifically, which Lýna knew to be generally half a head shorter than her, but built like a boulder, heavy bones and thick with muscle, enough they were easily double her weight. Some of them probably triple. She knew they were beastly strong, the one time one had gotten into melee range on her it'd nearly knocked her sword right out of her hand.

But these ones wouldn't be getting that close. She made a quick count, putting their numbers at a round dozen. She could probably handle that many herself, at this range, but with a mage to help out it wouldn't be a problem at all.

Pulling her bow from her back, straightening just far and long enough to string it properly, Lýna glanced at Marian. "Can spell on arrow? To kill many."

Marian blinked at her for a second, probably trying to put together what she'd meant to say. "Oh. Yeah, I can do that. Any preference on what kind of spell?"

Lýna nocked an arrow, but didn't draw it back yet, tilting her bow so the tip hovered in front of Marian's face. "Fire always good."

With a quick smirk, Marian reached out, tapped a finger to the metal of the tip. It only took a second, a flash of light, a wave of tingling across Lýna's skin, and the magic was set. She must have put quite some power into it too, for Lýna to feel it like that. Casting the thought aside, she reoriented herself slightly, her boots scuffing against the rocks. Her eyes flicking over the darkspawn below, she drew back.

And almost unthinkingly drew back too far, loosening her elbow a bit even as the wood creaked at her. The legends had said Grey Wardens had greater strength and speed than common warriors, but she'd always assumed that was just legend. Turned out, it was true. It hadn't happened immediately, though. Slowly, gradually ever since the day Duncan had taken her, enough she didn't realize it was happening. Until she picked up her bow and she found it noticeably easier to draw than it'd been even yesterday. As disorienting as it could be sometimes, she certainly wasn't going to complain. She was easily as physically powerful as a human her size now, at least, many elves would give much just to get that far.

Of course, she also ate nearly twice as much as she used to, and was nearly faint with hunger whenever one of the camp's regularly scheduled meal times came around. Everything had a cost.

The slight correction put her thumb against her lip, and Lýna sighted down the shaft, angled up only slightly. She picked a spot in the middle of the pack of genlocks, where Marian's magic would do the most good, and waited for a brief break in the wind.

When the moment came, she fired automatically, the motion so practiced she hardly even realized she was doing it. The arrow darted away, white fletching ruffling in the breeze. A second later, it hit exactly where she'd meant it to, sinking into the neck of a genlock right in the middle of the pack.

And the world in front of her erupted in an explosion of fire.

Lýna fell back, hitting the tile hard, earth shifting under her and heat on her skin. A scorching wind whipped over the edge of the cliff, dust and burning twigs and pebbles flying over their heads. She noticed Marian, still crouched near the edge, seemed untouched by the blowing and the shaking, her hair eerily still, the air around her colored a faint blue. Even as Lýna watched, the human mage drew her hand back, sparks dancing between her fingers, and a bolt of lightning tore away, down toward where the darkspawn had been, leaving Lýna's ears ringing.

Scrambling to her feet, Lýna drew another arrow, leaned back over the edge of the cliff. And she froze, eyes going wide. Whatever spell Marian had put on that arrow had ravaged the forest in a circle fifteen feet wide, the rocky ground pitted and blackened, trees stripped of branches and bark, reduced to skeletal, smoking husks. It looked like most of the dozen or so darkspawn had been killed with that one spell, but she couldn't confirm it with a count — half the bodies had been completely incinerated. Marian was picking off the last few with narrow, booming strikes of lightning, so Lýna joined her. She only got off two shots before they were all already dead, the blood leaking from the few intact corpses indistinct against the scorched earth.

"That was easier than I thought it'd be." Marian rubbed her hands together, flecks of green light falling from her skin like dust. "I thought darkspawn were supposed to be hard to kill."

For long moments, Lýna couldn't find anything to say. She just stared at the human woman crouching next to her. That display just now... Lýna was belatedly coming to the realization that Marian was, quite possibly, the most powerful mage she'd ever met. Including the Keeper. Even Mẽrhiļ, who seemed to make the Keeper uneasy. That was... Well, she didn't know how to feel about that. Humans weren't supposed—

She meant, humans were supposed to be different than they were, sometimes. That was all.

Also, she was having an idea.

Republic — The Dalish word Lýna is using here isn't directly translatable, but this is a close equivalent. Most humans refer to the elven state in the Dales as a kingdom, but they had no king. They were instead ruled by a conclave of the heads of the various clans, who settled issues among themselves more or less democratically. The system is vaguely similar to pre-imperial Rome, hence my use of the term. The most similar government in canon Thedas (to my knowledge) would be that of Tevinter, which I find funny for multiple reasons.