Chapter Three, Part Two: Meet the Wardens
"All cleayaaah!"
Seven calls. Nearly dawn. Torran sat alone by a dying fire, body shaking with fatigue, eyes burning from exhaustion, and yet her mind wouldn't let her sleep. She had grown used to the quiet ambiance of night in the forest, comforted by the gentle murmur of life going about its business. The sounds of the army camp were jarring to her ears in comparison, stretching her nerves paper thin. Each sound triggered a memory that lay in wait behind her drooping eyelids, flashes of red hair and blood pooling from the gaping wound in- Her eyes shot open. She'd almost fallen asleep, again.
Several hours had passed since Daveth and Jory, her fellow recruits and Wardens-to-be, finally retreated to their bedrolls, chased away by her quiet refusal to engage in conversation. Jory, the large knight, was nice enough, but his continuous talk of his wife and child was enough to set her teeth on edge. Daveth, on the other hand, was a hardened rogue with leering eyes and a sharp tongue that he employed in teasing his well-mannered, if a bit dim, compatriot. The slight man had spent half the evening attempting to pry into her life, and, when that failed, used the other half trying to talk his way into her bedroll. An angry growl from a protective Bear soundly concluded that line of conversation.
And these are the people meant to be Wardens... Torran lay back, resting her head on Bear's warm flank. Twenty men, a girl, and a dog. After the stories Duncan had told her, of Garahel, or Sophia Dryden, she had been expecting a diverse group of warriors, heroes and anti-heroes, to share a fire with. Instead, as the sun began peeking over the hills of Ostagar, it was fresh faced boys and weary, hardened men who emerged from the tents of the Warden camp.
The camp was a simple affair. Each warden had a tent to himself, though a good number of men chose to sleep on bedrolls or even hard ground by the main fire. A smattering of men isolated themselves from the circle of tents around the main fire, settling down in dark corners made by fallen buildings and, of course, the stone walls that made up the core defense of Ostagar. A long ramp led down into the central supply base, with entrances to the camps of the King and the Chantry appearing at intervals like the spokes of a wheel.
She felt Bear tense, and followed his gaze to the man approaching their lonely fire pit. His stride was confident, but she could tell by the way his eyes flicked to her and away that he was nervous. The weak smile he cast her way as he reached speaking distance only affirmed her evaluation. He reminded her of someone she'd met recently... She scowled and pushed the thought away. It wasn't his fault the current focus of her ire was a fair haired Fereldan man.
"Ah good, you're already awake! I was afraid I was going to have to poke you with a stick, or something. Never surprise a woman armed with pointy things, I always say." He laughed weakly, trailing off as Torran's eyes narrowed in irritation. Bear clambered to his feet beside her, teeth bared in a menacing snarl. "...or a very big dog... Um, introductions, right. I'm Alistair, most junior of Fereldan's Wardens."
"What do you want?" Torran ignored his outstretched hand and forced her weary body into standing. "I thought recruits weren't supposed to mingle with full Wardens."
"Oh! Erm, Duncan sent me to fetch you and the other two recruits. We're supposed to see the quartermaster and get you kitted out before we depart." He bent to scratch Bear's head and then retrieved his hand quickly as the hound let loose a growl, chuckling nervously. "Heh, good doggie..."
"I see." Idiot.
"By Andraste's tits, she speaks!" Alistair's mouth closed with a snap as he glared over her shoulder at the two men approaching them. The first was dark haired man garbed in black leathers, twin daggers, and a sardonic smirk. Following behind him was a giant of a man in recently polished plate mail, the greatsword strapped to his back clanking with each step.
"Must you insist on using such foul language, Daveth?" The big man whined nasally, eyes lifted beseechingly to the heavens. "It's one thing to do so around men, soldiers, but quite another when around a lady! Forgive my crude companion, Torran."
"What? The girl spoke nary a word all nigh'! I never thought I'd say it, but blessed be the Maker for openin' a woman's mouth!" Daveth nodded in greeting to Alistair and then leered at Torran. "If you need any practice in using it...?"
Torran stiffened as he entered her space, hand sliding instinctively to her dagger's hilt. "Come any nearer and you'll have another hole to play with."
"By my stars, she's got a tongue on her too! I wonder what else you can do wi-"
"Quartermaster!" Alistair yelped, voice cracking as his cheeks heated up in embarrassment. "I mean," he cleared his voice with a cough, squaring his shoulders. You're a Warden, Alistair! Act like it, dammit. "We should get moving. Duncan wants to meet with us shortly to brief you on your Joining." Daveth and Jory shared excited grins at the news, but Torran remained dispassionate. The girl quietly gathered up her sword and shield and waited for Alistair to show them the way.
Odd girl. Alistair shrugged and headed across camp towards the ramp, the three recruits and dog trailing behind him.
To His Excellency Teyrn Bryce Cousland of Highever,
I have conferred with my counselors, and the marquesses of Orlais will not spare more than two-score Chevalier to bolster the garrison of Highever. It is detrimental to both Fereldan and my nation that such intrigues come with the beginning of the first Blight in over four Ages in this, the Dragon, but we must do our duty. I await your next missive, and hope that we can resolve this threat to the mutual peace of our nations.
Empress Celene I of Orlais
Duncan's brow furrowed as he read the pile of papers he had removed from the King's conference tent after the disastrous interaction between the Cousland girl and Teyrn Loghain. From what he could gather of the mismatched missives, Bryce Cousland had indeed been negotiating illicit movements of forces with Orlais, but to what gain he could not determine. He was certain, however, that there were missing pieces to the puzzle, and those pieces were undoubtedly in the hands of Arl Howe and Teyrn Loghain.
What manner of intrigues would interest the Empress of Orlais enough to ally with a Fereldan teyrn? He wondered, stroking his beard as he gazed through the letter in his hand. Moreover, why would Bryce Cousland, one of the heroes of Fereldan's liberation from Orlais, choose to ally himself with such a recent and unpopular enemy? Why would he risk it?
His sharp hearing picked up a group of people heading in his direction, and a glance at the timepiece hanging from a post in his modest tent confirmed the arrival of Alistair and the would-be-Wardens. "Enter!"
"Good morning, Ser." Alistair saluted Duncan with a fist across his chest, and the two men behind him quickly emulated the motion. Torran, standing slightly behind her companions, hovered by the entrance, arms crossed over her chest. A shadow moving behind the flap revealed the presence of her hound. "Here are our recruits, as promised. They have been fed, supplied, and armed, as per your orders."
"So I can see," Duncan appraised the three, noting Jory's new helm and thick leather sword strap, and Daveth's bandolier of vials and powders. Unlike the men, Torran had completely replaced her armor, exchanging the Cousland studded leather for a dark outfit of leather and chain. Oddly enough, she'd left her sword arm completely bare from the shoulder down, revealing the strange tattoo. A fingerless glove protected her hand, leather creaking as she clenched her fists.
"Today," The Warden Commander began abruptly, rising to his feet so he could pace before them. "You take the first steps on a long, difficult journey. At this moment, if any of you feel doubts, this is your last opportunity to put aside the duty for which you've been selected." Jory shifted nervously, but remained silent. Daveth and Torran remained impassive, as the traditional statement did not apply to them. They had been Conscripted, and the only alternative would be accepting the consequences from which they'd been saved.
"A Joining is no mere ritual of handshakes and empty words," Duncan continued, eyes distant. "It is a lifelong commitment that will affect, change, your mind, body, and soul. Today, and in the days immediately following, you will understand my words, but for now, your duties are simple. When we have finished here, Alistair will lead the three of you into the Korcari Wilds, where you will encounter darkspawn. You will find them, you will follow them, and you will slay them. For each you individually slay, return with a vial of its blood."
"H-how long will we be out there?" Jory stumbled over the question, heat rising in his cheeks as Daveth snorted and shot him a condescending sneer.
Coward. Torran thought scathingly, hands tightening around her biceps. Is this what Father wanted for me? Is this all the Wardens are?
"Until nightfall, no later. You are each responsible for at least three vials of blood, from three different darkspawn. Alistair?" Duncan's pace slowed as he turned to the only other Warden in the tent.
"Ser?"
"Take Jory and Daveth with you to the gate. Torran will follow along shortly."
"Yes, Commander." Alistair repeated the salute, then ushered Daveth and Jory out of the tent, sparing a single curious glance at the remaining recruit as they went.
"I need to know that you can do this," Duncan said finally, settling against the edge of his desk.
"What makes you think I can't?" Torran shot back heatedly. "I'm here, aren't I?"
"This." Duncan lunged forward, dagger appearing in his hand as if through a spell.
My little Oren... Torran flinched back, belatedly drawing her weapon in time to meet Duncan's weak slash.
"This is why I'm concerned about sending you out there." The Warden disengaged, giving the shaken girl space to compose herself. "If there were time, I would have you training daily to recover your confidence, but as it is..." he sighed deeply, lines in his face aging him beyond his years. "Fereldan is in need of Wardens now more than ever before. This Blight comes at a strange time, and events are moving in ways unheard of in the records and tales."
"Why are you telling me this?" Torran sheathed her sword, but Duncan could tell she was anything but relaxed. Her competitive nature wouldn't let her fail twice, and he fervently hoped she could harness that edge in the coming days.
"I'm telling you this because I need you, Torran. I have enough burnouts and boys within my ranks, and need more than the forced loyalty of another."
"Does this have anything to do with my father's framing?" Green eyes flicked from the paper's on Duncan's desk and back to his steady gaze.
"Having read the correspondence," Duncan spoke carefully, measuring his words, "and compared them to some of the missives I have been receiving from the other Warden Commanders, I am less and less certain of the truth to Teyrn Loghain and Arl Howe's accusations." He carefully folded the papers and handed them to the girl. "Read these later. When the Joining is complete, we will speak of this again, and what it means for Fereldan and this Blight. Now go, join the others, and the Maker be with you all."
Torran held his gaze for a moment and then bowed slightly, packing away the letters in her satchel before departing. The shadow hovering at the tent entrance chuffed once at the dark skinned man and then disappeared to his mistress's side.
Maker, watch over the new recruits on their quest. If ever the Warden's needed your favor, it is now. With a sigh, Duncan turned back to the business of command, trying desperately to force aside the feeling of foreboding slowly seeping into his bones.
Next Time: Hunting for darkspawn, hidden players, and the Joining.
