CHAPTER 5

..x..

The rest of the journey south was largely uneventful, their conversations revolving around darkspawn and the Blight. Everil had observed the interactions between her two companions, their relationship vaguely reminding her of a father and a son. To her, Duncan was obviously the tough love sort of leader, firm and down to business, yet with a good heart.

Alistair seemed to be the kind, loyal and dutiful sort. Committed to their cause. She found that he was a lot like her in some ways. At times coating serious matters with humor, while Duncan fruitlessly tried to hide his amusement behind disapproving sighs. Still, despite pretending to take matters lightly, the way he spoke of their work said otherwise.

After nearly a month of traveling on foot—and occasionally via carriage rides offered to them by friendly travelers—a fortress began to appear in the distance. She could see the obvious signs of wear and tear from the hundreds of years of weather erosion. And despite that and the additional damage obviously caused by past battles, it still looked solid and capable of defending an army. They were nearing the ruins when a group of soldiers emerged from the gates, marching towards them.

"Oh, look!" called Alistair with a sarcastic grin. "They're sending us a welcome party!"

Following his line of vision, Everil looked towards the incoming men. The king himself was heading towards them, escorted by two of his knights. He was young, in his late twenties, the same age as her older brother. Golden armor shone brightly under the glare of the afternoon sun, while his long, blond mane flowed with the wind around his handsome face. Everil still remembered that image from the few times she visited the royal palace and felt a slight sense of relief upon seeing his familiar features.

"Duncan! Welcome back!" The king's cheerful grin made him look even younger.

"King Cailan! I didn't expect—"

"A royal welcome?" Cailan jested as he shook the commander's forearm. "I was beginning to think you'd miss all the fun."

"Not if I can help it, Your Highness."

"Then I will have the mighty Duncan at my side in our last great battle to save all of Ferelden. Glorious!" Cailan excitedly proclaimed with open arms before regarding the other Warden. "Alistair! Good to see you back. I hope your journey was an interesting one."

He stiffly bowed to their monarch. "You have no idea, Your Majesty."

The king then looked past the two of them to the one standing in the back, brows going up in surprise. "Everil? Is that you?"

She gave him a polite bow of the head. "Yes, sire. It has been some time."

"It certainly has. I didn't expect to see you with the Grey Wardens. Are you their new recruit?"

"Yes... I am."

"Well, they chose well," he chuckled, fists on his hips. "I guess those times you watched your brother and I spar paid off. That little girl from back then would beg us to teach her how to swing a blade."

She smiled weakly. "Well, I never was one to play with dolls."

"That's certainly true." He let out another laugh.

Alistair eyed the two curiously, vaguely noticing the familiarity with which they spoke. The hierarchy in Ferelden's nobility was clear and somewhat organized, though outsiders would probably think otherwise. Power in the country did not quite rest solely on one man, as it did on some other nations throughout Thedas. Though the king ruled over all, he depended heavily on the fealty and support of the rest of the nobility. And it was in the Landsmeet—the gathering of the entire noble class—that he was expected to gain and maintain the favor of his sworn vassals. There, the lords argued and voted on decisions that would affect everyone. To the point where their united voices even had the ability to topple a king's rule.

The Couslands had once carried a great deal of influence in the Landsmeet, thus it was natural for them to keep a close relationship with the crown. Teyrns could only be named by a king and were responsible for a large portion of his territory, rising over arls and banns whose fealty they also maintained. Arls were next in rank, holding smaller homesteads, some serving beneath a teyrn. The banns followed down the chain as individual rulers under the arls. And if the arling resided in a teyrnir, then they also served the teyrn. Such order mostly kept the peace amongst the lords and helped foster cooperation during times of crisis, as each ruler was expected to provide aid and resources to their respective vassals.

"At any rate…" Everil found herself unable to hold back the question any longer. "Your Majesty, did my brother make it to Ostagar?"

"Yes, just about a week ago." Cailan's brow furrowed upon noticing the swift change in her mood. "Which reminds me... I expected your father would be here by now. Where is he?"

A brief pause followed as she cast her gaze upon the ground. "He's… dead…"

"What...?" His blue eyes widened in disbelief.

"Arl Howe of Amaranthine…" She drew in a shuddering breath. "He and his men attacked Highever Castle. He betrayed my father and killed him and my mother while our troops were away. I would have died too, had it not been for the Grey Wardens."

"Your parents…" he murmured in shock, the news still dawning on him. "W-What of your brother's family?"

She wore her lip and looked away in silence.

Revulsion promptly befell his features, mixed with an anger rarely seen by his subjects. "I… I can scarcely believe it… Did Howe honestly think I would let him get away with such treachery!" Cailan scowled and stepped closer to her before placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "His actions will not go unpunished. As soon as we are done here, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice. You have my word."

She stubbornly shook her head. "I want his head. Let me kill him myself, Your Highness."

"I know you are angry," he spoke calmly, regarding her with kind eyes. "And you have every right to be. But the rest of the nobility may not look kindly upon you if you act on your own. Even if he is the guilty party."

"But—"

His stern look silenced her. "Your father told you to come to me, no?"

"I… Yes, sire."

"Then do as I say and let me handle it." Cailan softened his stare. "Now, I imagine you wish to tell Fergus what happened. Unfortunately, he is out in the field scouting at the moment. I hope you can understand that I can't send for him until this is over."

Everil closed a hand into a fist, hanging her head. "I am not eager to tell him…"

"Of that, I have no doubt… But for now, I suggest you vent your grief against the darkspawn."

She nodded mutely.

He sighed regretfully. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but I should head back to my tent. Loghain no doubt waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies."

"Your uncle sends his regards and reminds you that Redcliffe's soldiers will be here in less than a week," said Duncan, drawing the king's attention.

"Hah! Eamon just wants in on the glory. We've won several battles against these monsters, and tomorrow will be no different."

"Are things going that well?" Everil questioned, unsure. Based on what she heard from her father, they were supposed to be fighting a horde of monsters. That he was speaking so nonchalantly about it all seemed to contradict the Wardens themselves.

"I'm not even sure this is a true Blight," the king replied, seemingly annoyed. "There have been plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas there has been no sign of an Archdemon."

"Disappointed, Your Majesty?" asked Duncan, arching an eyebrow at the young monarch.

Cailan spun to look at the fortress behind him, its solid walls towering over the forest below. "I had hoped for a war, like in the tales. A brave king fighting alongside the fabled Grey Wardens against the Blight…" He shook his head with a sigh and returned his gaze to them. "But I suppose this will have to do. I should go now before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens." He nodded at her. "Lady Everil."

"Your Majesty," Everil uttered as they all bowed. The three of them watched him head back across the massive bridge ahead, his retinue close behind him. She craned her head to her companions. "King Cailan didn't seem concerned about the darkspawn. What makes this a Blight, exactly?"

"Despite our victories, the number of darkspawn is increasing to the point where they threaten to outnumber us," Duncan answered gravely. "Only an Archdemon can command forces this large. But we have yet to see it in the Wilds… So although I believe there is an Archdemon behind this, I cannot make the king act solely on our suspicion." He gestured for the bridge, urging them to continue walking to the king's camp.

"Why not? He seems to regard you highly." Everil trekked next to him, Alistair and her hound trailing after them.

"Yet not highly enough to wait for reinforcements from the Grey Wardens of Orlais. We are too few in Ferelden, yet he thinks our legend alone makes him invulnerable. This is why we will have to look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference."

Teyrn Loghain. The Hero of River Dane. She had heard plenty of stories about him since her youth. He was a hero throughout the kingdom—the farm boy who helped their king reclaim his throne and free Ferelden from the Orlesian usurper who enslaved his people. King Maric Theirin, Cailan's father, had rewarded him with land and the title of teyrn soon after the war. Everyone knew who he was and what he did to ensure their freedom. She had the honor of meeting him a few times during social gatherings before but had never truly spoken to him.

"All right. What do I need to do?" she asked firmly.

"You will undergo the Joining Ritual, as all Grey Wardens have," the senior Warden responded before stopping at the end of the bridge and turning to them. "Before we begin, I need you two to fetch the other recruits. Alistair knows who they are. Once you find them, meet me at our camp. Your hound can stay with me in the meantime."

They parted ways, with Duncan and Bjorn heading towards a large bonfire at the far end of the fortress. She followed him with her eyes, then craned her around to observe the king's camp. Several tents were erected throughout an open field within the walls of Ostagar, all seemingly sectioned by where they hailed from. A yellow tent could be seen off to the left in its own corner, the bright burlap clashing with the dreary grey and brown of its surroundings. A flag with the royal seal of the two mabari dogs facing each other flew over it, marking it as being that of the king. Some soldiers sparred a distance from it, clashing their weapons while others watched. A few feet to the right was another tent, the burlap the color of the sky as the flag of a yellow drake hung over it—the coat of arms for the Gwaren teyrnir, belonging to Teyrn Loghain's family. More soldiers were formed outside, while some sat by campfires nearby. Barking could be heard coming from the kennels in the same direction, no doubt originating from the mabari hounds they were to use in battle.

The voice of a chanting woman also reached her ears as a Chantry sister stood upon a platform near the center of the camp, praying to the Maker for the soldiers who knelt before it on the ground. Her eyes continued to the right, seeing more tents and more men. Then she craned her head up to look at the open sky over them, mesmerized as the jagged edges of the ruins seemed to touch the clouds. Ostagar was certainly imposing, fit for battle despite centuries of exposure to the elements. It seemed they were already using it well.

"I told you it was a good defensive position," she heard Alistair say next to her, drawing her attention.

"Yes. It's incredible."

He nodded and motioned for her to follow. "Come on. I think I have an idea where the others are."

"Before we go... I have a question," she said, taking a step to him.

He paused, facing her. "Yes?"

"What is involved in this Joining Ritual Duncan mentioned? And why are there no details of it in books?"

Alistair reached up to scratch the back of his head. "I'm afraid I can't tell you. It's sort of… A secret. Which is exactly why there are no records of it."

She gave him a critical eye, hands on her hips. "A secret? You seemed eager to talk to me about the Grey Wardens before. Why is this an issue?"

"Look…" he sighed, regarding her with an apologetic look. "I wish I could tell you. I really do. But none of us is allowed to discuss it with anyone who hasn't already undergone the ritual. All I can say is that it's dangerous and unpleasant. I'm sorry."

Everil pursed her lips, not exactly liking his answer. "Very well..."

Throughout the weeks of travel with the two men, she hadn't really questioned how one became a Grey Warden. The warriors held a great deal of history, yet they were very secretive about the inner workings of their order. No one knew what abilities they really held or how they obtained them. The mystery brought on rumors and legends she was not sure were true but only added to the allure of joining their ranks. However, it also sparked antipathy in many people, which was part of the reason her mother was not exactly warm towards them. The only common knowledge in existence was that they accepted skilled recruits with any background—even criminals—and that they were relentless when it came to defeating darkspawn and Blights. Sometimes resorting to non-so-heroic deeds to stop them.

The pair went in the opposite direction as Duncan, heading towards a group of tents set up at one corner of the ruins. They passed a couple and she stopped upon seeing people in robes gathered in a circle outside their campsite. She observed them curiously as they summoned some sort of flowing energy from a pedestal in the middle of their circle. It was filled with a glowing blue substance, the light of it almost mystifying.

"Mages," Alistair quietly answered her unspoken question.

"I've never seen one before… I thought they were not allowed outside the Circle of Magi?"

"They had to make an exception at the king's request. And let's just say the Chantry isn't too happy about it."

Everil heard many things about mages, particularly that they were dangerous and prone to demonic possession. This was supposedly due to their connection to the Fade—the world where demons and spirits resided, as well as where consciousness went when one dreamed in their sleep. But she also heard mages were incredibly skilled and powerful, useful traits when utilized for good.

She sent him an inquisitive stare. "Why does the Chantry not approve? Do they think the mages will become possessed while outside the Circle?"

"That and they don't like mages, period. They just love letting them know how unwelcome they are anywhere they go," he voiced in a sarcastic tone as they resumed their stroll through the camp. "To them, they're walking disasters waiting to happen. Prone to abusing their powers if left unchecked. That's why they lock them away. To keep the rest of the world safe… by their logic, anyways."

Seems a little harsh to me… she thought sympathetically.

When they turned a corner, a young woman wearing red robes was hurriedly heading towards them. The Chantry's golden symbol of the flaming sword gleamed over her chest, marking her as one of their sisters. "Ser Alistair!"

He groaned upon seeing her. "Ugh, I think I just summoned them..."

The girl stopped before them, hands clasped together over her skirts. "Ser Alistair? The Revered Mother wishes to speak with you."

The Warden quirked an eyebrow. "Why would she need me? Shouldn't she be calling for Duncan, instead?"

"I don't know, ser. She only told me to come fetch you as soon as she heard you'd returned."

Everil blinked up at him. "Word spreads quickly around here..."

"Yeah… I'll be right back," he sighed irritably.

"I'll be here." She smiled a little, watching him follow the nun.

Letting out a huff, Everil gazed around warily, itching to go out and look for her brother. To tell him what happened and make sure he was safe. But despite the tightness in her chest, she knew her hands were tied. And just when she thought she could trust her Grey Warden rescuers, it seemed they had a few surprises in store for her. She just hoped to live long enough to see Fergus again. I must… I have to at least tell him about Oriana and Oren.

A few moments of silence followed as she waited with arms crossed until a loud clatter coming from behind her startled her out of her thoughts. Everil turned, spotting an old woman on her knees while trying to lift a box. She wore similar robes the mages did, made of grey-blue wool and trimmed with white fur. "Are you all right?" she asked as she stepped towards her and knelt to help pick up the glass bottles scattered over the ground.

The woman met her gaze with surprise. She had pale, wrinkled skin and snow-white hair that showed her age pulled into a ponytail and away from warm blue eyes. She reminded her of her grandmother, a lady whose kindness knew no bounds.

"Oh yes, thank you. I misjudged the weight and almost made a mess out of these lyrium potions," the old woman said in a gentle voice, then chuckled with embarrassment. "You would think I would know better by this point. We use them to help cast our spells all the time."

Everil offered her a small, friendly grin. "It's all right. Let me help you. You hold that end and I will hold this one."

"You are too kind."

They both hoisted up the box before walking it over to a nearby table, carefully setting it down. "Thank you, child." The elder woman ran a hand over her forehead and gave Everil an inquisitive stare. "I haven't seen you around here before. Are you perhaps the new recruit Duncan brought?"

"Yes. And I take it you're one of the mages? Will you all be fighting in the front lines?"

"No, we'll be assisting from the rear. We're defenseless when casting spells, so we are no good for front line assignments," she explained and straightened up, dipping her head. "Now, since you assisted me, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Wynne. It is a pleasure to meet you."

She returned the gesture. "The pleasure is mine. I'm Everil."

"Such a pretty name. Simple, yet pleasant to pronounce." Wynne's smile broadened. "Your order will be fighting alongside the king, it seems. Please watch yourself out there."

Everil smiled. "I will..."

A male voice disrupted their exchange. "How utterly insulting of you!"

The two women looked towards the source in time to see one of the mages glaring daggers at Alistair, who didn't seem at all fazed by it.

"I don't mean it in that way, Ser Mage," he calmly told the man. "I'm only delivering a message from the Revered Mother."

"We mages are too busy for this! Helping you Grey Wardens at the king's request, I might add."

Alistair put on teasing a grin. "Should I have asked her to write a note?"

"Your glibness does you no credit," the mage bit out angrily. "Fine... I shall go talk with the woman if I must. Move aside, fool!" He stalked past him, heading towards the Chantry's tents at the other side of the camp.

"And here I thought we were getting along so well!" Alistair called after him, a hand by his mouth "I was even going to name my firstborn after you! The UGLY one!" The mage ignored him, waving him off before disappearing behind a group of soldiers walking by.

Meanwhile, Everil approached him with a puzzled frown. "What was that?"

"Oh, nothing…" He moodily folded his arms. "The Revered Mother knows I used to be a Templar, so she suddenly felt the need to use me as her messenger."

"Wait… Aren't Templars the knights who protect the Chantry, guard the Circle of Magi, and hunt mages?"

He paused. "Yes. That's right..."

"And you were one of them?" Everil curiously looked him over. "I can't imagine the Chantry would easily let one of their knights go so easily."

Alistair let out a humorless chuckle. "Yep. Long story..."

She tilted her head. "So why did you deliver that message if you knew it would anger him?"

"You should try saying no to the Revered Mother. I'm sure you'll enjoy sitting through her sermons as much as I did. Not to mention Duncan said we should try to cooperate and get along. Obviously not everyone got the same speech..." he uttered in annoyance before giving her an anxious grin. "You know, I'm glad you're not a mage. I think it would have made the situation even more awkward."

"Yes. It definitely would…" she chortled lightly.

"Well, come on. Let's find the others before we get sidetracked again."

They crossed the mage camp, heading south through the ruins. Soldiers chatted as they passed them by, all seemingly in good spirits despite all the battles they likely witnessed. More Chantry sisters also strolled along their path, carrying buckets of water and loaves of bread under one arm. Then they could see what seemed to be a blacksmith's workshop in a corner, bordered by wooden pikes and with pieces of armor and weapons stacked on top of wooden crates. An anvil sat at the center as a rugged man banged on a sword with his hammer.

"There he is…" Alistair muttered to himself, spotting a man by the smithy as he led her towards him. He was a rogue with sun-kissed skin and black hair pulled into a ponytail. His lean body was clad in leather armor and he carried two daggers at his sides. The man was speaking to a female soldier who was standing guard outside the makeshift workshop.

"What do you say we go grab a drink by the fire?" He wiggled his brows with a seductive smile. "Maybe we can warm each other tonight too… We're about to fight darkspawn, after all. It could be our last night alive." The woman crossed her arms and silently narrowed her green eyes at him, blonde hair up in a bun. She was clad in chainmail, with a sword almost as long as he was tall.

"Shall I take that cold stare as a no?" He grinned, clearly unaffected by the rejection. "If that's the case, it's your loss…"

"Hey, Daveth. You should probably stop before you get your head chopped off."

The rogue spun to look at the grinning Grey Warden behind him. "Well, I see you and Duncan are back." His eyes shifted to the woman standing beside him, a smirk spreading over his face at the sight of her. "Who's the pretty little lady next to you?"

Everil reached out for a handshake. "I'm Everil. The new recruit. Pleased to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine..." Daveth smirked mischievously, taking her armored hand and bending over to give it a kiss. She withdrew her arm with a disgusted look. Many noblemen had kissed her hand like that in a gesture of respect, but this man clearly had other intentions.

"How odd though. I didn't think you Wardens accepted women in your ranks," Daveth said to Alistair, ignoring her glare.

"I can handle myself better than some men, so don't concern yourself with what's between my legs," Everil rigidly interjected. "All you have to do is watch my back and I will watch yours."

He snickered lecherously. "Oh, but I most certainly will watch your back."

"Right…" Her eyes darkened. "Just don't get too distracted back there…"

"Anyway!" Alistair cut in this time, drawing the rogue's attention and possibly saving his life in the process. "Have you seen Ser Jory?"

"Yeah… He's somewhere up over there," he answered with a bored tone, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. "Said he needed some time to pray or something…"

"All right. Let's go get him." Alistair stepped towards a set of stairs as the two of them followed him. They climbed the stone steps to what appeared to be a plaza of sorts, with a statue of a praying woman at the center and soldiers gathered around her. Another Chantry sister was chanting to the men, bestowing upon them her blessing. The injured were being treated a distance to the left, more nuns tending to their wounds as they moaned and groaned in pain. Everil sent the wounded a sympathetic look while they walked, seeing the agony on their faces even from afar.

"Ser Jory!" Alistair called as they approached the statue.

A man in armor rose from his knees and Jory turned to face them with raised, thick brows. He was a balding lad, probably in his early thirties, with ivory skin. He wore heavy iron plate armor and a large sword was sheathed at his back. "Ser Alistair. You've returned," he greeted, stepping towards the group.

"Yeah. Here's the new recruit we brought." He gestured to her. "Everil, this is Ser Jory. He's a knight from Redcliffe."

"A pleasure." She extended a hand.

"Good to meet you." He shook it.

"Well, now that we're all together, let's head over to Duncan." Alistair motioned for them to walk with him.

The group made their way back down to the campsites, crossing the dirt road to the great hearth burning at the center of the ruins. Their Warden-Commander was standing beside it with arms crossed, Bjorn lying by his feet as he rested from their long journey. Duncan shifted his gaze to them as they grew near, patiently waiting for them to gather before him.

"Alistair. One of the mages came to me earlier with complaints…" he told him as he came to stand beside him.

"Ah…" The younger Warden released a breath. "So you heard about that already. What can I say? The Revered Mother ambushed me. With the way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army."

"She forced you to sass the mages, didn't she?" Duncan disapprovingly shook his head. "The position of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden is fragile, even after King Maric allowed our ranks to return from exile. We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair. You must be mindful of this when dealing with our allies."

"You're right, Duncan. I apologize…"

Listening to the conversation, Everil observed the two, recalling what the history books said about the order. Grey Wardens were exiled from Ferelden during the Storm Age—two hundred years ago—for having attempted to overthrow the then King Arland Theirin at the request of the desperate nobles seeking their aid. The tyrant had ruled that period with an iron fist, taxing Ferelden's people to the point of starvation and executing any who opposed him. Even members of her own family were killed by him when seeking to dethrone him. In fact, the Couslands took arms with the Grey Wardens during battles against the king's armies. However, despite their efforts, they lost the rebellion and were massacred. At which point he decreed no Grey Wardens were to ever set foot in Ferelden again. Several generations of Ferelden's rulers upheld the decree, being wary of the order and their intentions. Until their late king allowed them to return about twenty years ago.

"Now, to the matter at hand." Duncan drew the attention of his recruits. "Before we can proceed with the Joining, you are to travel into the Korcari Wilds and complete two tasks. The first is the retrieval of three vials of darkspawn blood, which we will need for the ritual itself. Alistair will be going with you."

Ser Jory stared at him with a frown. "What? We're going into the Wilds to fight darkspawn? Is that not dangerous?"

"Facing such dangers will be part of your test. You must demonstrate that you have what it takes when fighting the vile creatures themselves."

"And what's the second task?" Everil asked.

Duncan reached into the pack at his side, pulling out a rolled-up piece of paper. "The second shall be for you to retrieve a number of scrolls from an old Grey Warden ruin in the Wilds." He handed the document to Alistair. "This map holds its location. It should be fairly easy to find."

She tilted her head. "What are the scrolls for?"

"They're old Grey Warden treaties if you're curious. Promises of support from the dwarves, mages, and elves of Ferelden, all signed centuries ago." He crossed his arms, running a hand through his beard. "I thought perhaps they might prove useful in the coming days. If we were to ever require their aid, we can at least have something to remind them with."

"I see… It sounds like we have our plan. Let's get it done."

"I agree," Ser Jory said from beside her.

Duncan shifted his gaze to his apprentice. "Take care of your charges, Alistair. Be swift in your steps and return safely."

He gave a firm nod. "We will."

"May the Maker watch over your path," their leader solemnly said to them, sending them on their way.

The party followed the dirt path heading towards the gates, passing by more soldiers who watched them as they went. Several guards were posted by the way to the Wilds, keeping watch for any threats to the camp from the outside. They were allowed out with a warning from the soldier, who shook his head as they disappeared into the wilderness beyond.