Chapter 4 – The Bustling Military Camp

People. People everywhere. People running, people standing guard, people milling about, people carrying weapons. Mostly men, some women, the vast majority of them humans, with a few elves scurrying along, clearly servants sent on some errand or the like.

Melwiliel stood in the midst of this flurry of activity, at the entrance of the King's camp in the Tevinter ruins of Ostagar, on the threshold of a maelstrom of movement, color, noise and smell. Even the mess hall at the Tower had never been this noisy nor this busy, and it had certainly smelled a lot better. The mix of leather, sweat and the acrid stench wafting over from the latrines was certainly overwhelming, but she tried to remember that this was not the Circle, but a sprawling camp, with an army of perhaps hundreds of thousands of souls. As if she could ever forget.

Regretfully shoving away daydreams revolving around a "mass cleansing" spell, the mage attempted to find her bearings. Although just a small fraction of the vast military camp, the King's camp was large enough that she could easily have gotten lost, wasting hours searching for what, or rather whom, she had been sent to find. Duncan had asked her to seek out the junior member of the order, a certain Alistair, while he himself fetched the two other recruits, but Melwiliel did not have an inkling of where to start looking. Thankfully, this was the moment a skittish red-headed elf burdened with arrow-filled quivers chose to rush by her.

"Excuse me!..."

He barely slowed down, and Melwiliel had to lengthen her stride to keep up with him, as the man peered at her out of the corner of the eye, over his burden. Most likely a servant. She seethed inwardly.

"Could you please tell me where I might find the Grey Warden named Alistair?"

"Actually, I just passed him. He's on his way to the old temple, back where I came from, past the Magi encampment." came the terse answer. He eyed her robes warily.

The young mage thanked the man, and then the Maker for small miracles. She certainly had not expected to obtain an answer this easily, considering the odds. Turning heel, she made her way north.

Before too long, Mel found herself among Magi. A few were in the Fade, probably preparing for their next combat, and around them stood... templars, of course. She should have known the Chantry never let mages out of the Tower without an *escort*... And beyond them, she could make out Owain, the Tranquil who customarily ran the Circle's stockrooms, and next to him... Something lit up inside the young elf.

"Wynne?! Wynne!!"

Her task completely forgotten, she rushed up to her teacher, in leaps and bounds, utterly delighted to find a dear and familiar face.

"What?... Child, what in the Maker's name are you doing here? Is Irving sending apprentices, now?" The Senior Enchanter eyed Melwiliel's travel-stained robes. "But forgive me, it would seem congratulations are in order. You've been Harrowed, correct?"

Young Mel nodded breathlessly, and Wynne frowned.

"That still doesn't explain why the First Enchanter would've sent you to Ostagar, and alone to boot. Out with it, child!"

"I... I..." She hesitated, as she did not quite know how to phrase the unexpected, recent turn of events. Bluntness won out. "Duncan recruited me into the Grey Wardens."

Understanding dawned on Wynne's face, and the Senior Enchanter slowly nodded.

"Ah... I see.", she said with a warm smile. "Well, it's good to know that you were not traveling alone, at least."

"But... but Senior Enchanter... I'm barely out of my apprenticeship, and I know next to nothing of offensive spells, as you might remember. Me? A Grey Warden? That's insane, Grey Wardens are heroes, guardians, warriors, defenders... I'm... I'm just..." Melwiliel's voice died in her throat as she caught sight of Wynne's patient smile. Finally, the white-haired woman spoke.

"Please, just Wynne, you're a mage now, and no longer my student. You've been taught well, child, by all of us at the Circle. Use what you know, and have faith in yourself. Whatever the circumstances that brought you to be here now, you must trust in the will of the Maker. Besides," she chuckled, "I don't think Duncan is a fool, I've always believed that he had a good eye for potential. Don't forget that he'll always do what's best for the Wardens, first and foremost. Recruiting you was no accident. As for not being a warrior..." She furrowed her brows in annoyance. "Mages have always been pivotal in the fight against the darkspawn. Do not doubt that you could be just as instrumental as any of the others."

The young Surana nodded solemnly, absently tugging at a few strands of black hair which had escaped the bindings of her ponytail. She *wanted* to have faith in herself, but it was quite another to actually *believe* that she was worthy of becoming a Warden.

"Ah, you young ones already know everything there is to know about life and the world anyway.", sighed Wynne. "I've said my piece, now run along. You probably have much more pressing business than speaking with an old woman, yes?"

"Thank you, Senior... Wynne. I will think on what you have said." Melwiliel nodded, as she took her leave and resumed her search for this junior member of the Grey Wardens. As she walked away from the Magi encampment and its glaring templars, she didn't hear Wynne's grumbling.

"Well, at least she'll *think* on it... That's a start."

*****

A few more inquiries were necessary before she found the man she was looking for. He was speaking with another man, a Senior Enchanter who had always refused to teach apprentices, a tall, bald man by the name of Uldred. Neither man seemed particularly happy with what the other was telling him. As Melwiliel approached, she managed to make out bits and pieces of the conversation, and her heart sank when she realized she was going to interrupt yet another quarrel. It was the First Enchanter's study all over again.

"Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner! I am quite busy carrying out the King's orders, and have no time for a fool's errand!"

The younger man sighed. "I am simply delivering a message, ser mage."

"Well, you can tell her I don't take orders from... templars!" Uldred nearly spat out the last word.

"Ah, and here I thought we were getting along so well. I was even going to name one of my children after you... the grumpy one." The man in splintmail armor was absolutely seething now, and the elven girl wondered if it wouldn't be safer to return later. Much later.

However, Uldred simply turned his back on the younger man, and walked away. "Enough! I refuse to be insulted in this manner!" Mel had to jump out of his way, murmuring apologies and nodding to the Senior Enchanter.

When she turned, the fair-haired young men was pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed and head bowed. He look deeply, profoundly tired. Hesitating, Mel asked herself if this truly was the Alistair she had been sent to find. After all, Uldred had called him a templar, but he wasn't wearing the usual armor emblazoned with the sword of mercy.

Time stretched out as the mage dithered.

Finally, he looked up and saw her. "Oh, hello. Are you looking for something?" An incongruous question considering how bare the ruined old temple was.

Still unsure, Mel managed to croak out an answer. "I... well, I'm looking for Alistair, but you can't... I'm sorry," She turned, about to flee back down the stairs, when his voice halted her.

"Wait! Wait! I *am* Alistair," He caught up to her and groaned as he eyed her mage robes. "Oh, perfect, another mage."

"You have a problem with mages?" hissed the elf, temper flaring up. Oddly enough, Alistair seemed taken aback in surprise.

"What? No! Absolutely not! It's just that my background usually makes mages nervous."

"Oh, so you really are a... *templar*?" said Melwiliel as her mouth curled in distaste.

"No! I mean, yes. Well, in a sense." stammered Alistair. "In short, I was training to become a templar when Duncan recruited me." He paused and looked at her gingerly. "You're not going to turn me into a toad, are you?"

Melwiliel was speechless. Suddenly, it dawned on her that she must have looked extremely beside herself, not exactly surprising considering that she was entertaining furious thoughts about being saddled with a former templar. She chose her next words carefully.

"No, I'm not, don't be silly. I wouldn't know how!"

Alistair breathed in relief. "Well, thank the Maker for that. Listen, let's start over, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I'm Alistair, and you are?..." He smiled expectantly.

"Melwiliel, mage of the Circle, Duncan's new recruit. He sent me to find you."

*That* left him flabbergasted. He sputtered once more. "So... wait... *you're* the third recruit? But... you're a woman!"

"And do you have a problem with that, too?"

"Absolutely not. It's just that it occurs to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens, and there are none in Ferelden at this time."

"Oh." Well, well... Duncan certainly hadn't mentioned *that* when they had spoken. So she was to be the only elf, the only mage *and* the only woman in the Grey Wardens. Melwiliel suddenly felt alone. Very alone. A pang of grief stabbed her as she thought of the Tower, and its libraries, and Jowan... before she shoved it all aside and realized with a start that Alistair was still rambling.

"...not a drooling lecher or anything. Really." Melwiliel's eyes narrowed to slits and he fidgeted under her stare. "Please don't look at me like that."

"You're a very strange man."

"Ha! You're not the first to say so. Well, shall we go find the others? Duncan, Ser Jory and Daveth, I mean."

Nodding, she wordlessly fell in step beside Alistair and they made their way back to Duncan's tent, all the while peering at each other out of the corner of the eye, like a cat and a dog meeting for the first time.