The vision had come like a sudden storm, but lingered like a season. Night by night Leliana dreamed of green eyes, a bloody rose blooming upon a burning bush. No dream had held her so thoroughly as the ever present nightmares of the chevalier, carefully, stoically tucked in the furthest corners of her mind. By day she prayed, sequestering herself in the cloisters of the Chantry. Her sisters sought her out, bidding her eat, rest, bathe. She complied, albeit absently, captivated by a message only the Maker himself could have sent.
And so she waited.
The burden of knowledge, of what was to come, carried Leliana through the late summer as word of the war to the south filtered through the town. The streets seemed busier of late, farmers from the outlying hamlets bordering the Korcari Wilds renting rooms and building tents for their families, warning of dead livestock and strange cries echoing from the swampy jungle.
Motivated by the sense of urgency rising in the air, Leliana took her prayers to the streets, moving amongst the people, sharing the Maker's wisdom and grace to the worried populace. Ser Bryant remained at her side as escort when he was not on duty, a silent observer as the sister traveled from homestead to homestead, listening to concerns of family members involved in the fighting, offering comfort and understanding in return. In another universe Bryant might have considered himself Leliana's first disciple, witness to the every day, but ever so needed miracles she wrought through word and song.
It was a beautiful day when the bandits attacked. Leliana was chatting idly with Bryant, sharing the gossip of the town with a casualness and lack of intent that would never have existed in her previous life. A devout Templar, the tall man had sworn himself to celibacy, married to his faith in Andraste. They got along easily, united in their commitment to their Lady and unburdened by the complications that often poisoned friendships between men and women.
"And then!" Bryant laughed, brown eyes sparkling as they walked back from one of the further afield residences. "You won't believe it, but the boy lost his weapon, shield, AND boots as the horse went-" an arrow whirred out of the bush, slamming into Bryant's shoulder with enough force to throw the Templar into Leliana's side. Luckily for the sister, the force of the man falling into her pushed her out of the path of the missile meant for her, bolt skittering off into the underbrush.
Blood pouring down his side and cursing his decision to forego plate mail for a studded jerkin, Bryant hauled his sword from its sheath awkwardly, right arm hanging limply from the shoulder. As he settled into an awkward fighting stance, a large man in patched leather armor charged from their left with a roar, battleaxe slicing down towards the injured man. Without thought, Leliana yanked a dagger free from the templar's belt, and lunged forward into a roll. Hot blood gushed over her wrist as the sharp steel slid easily into the highwayman's chest, and as he slid off the blade with a garbled moan she spied his accomplice readying another arrow at her companion.
The knife left her fingers like a lightning bolt, glittering in the afternoon sun as it whistled toward the bowman. He cried out as it sank into his collarbone, dropping his bow as he turned to stumble away.
"Let him be." Leliana murmured, hand raised as Bryant moved as though to pursue their ambusher. Her gaze turned to the dead man at her feet, blue eyes filling with sorrow as she continued, "Enough blood has been shed before the eyes of the Maker this day. Please, let me take a look at your wound."
The Templar nodded silently and allowed the sister to examine his injury, and remained so as she cut the shaft in half with an apologetic glance.
"Come, my friend." Leliana carefully cleaned the blade of her borrowed weapon and returned it to its hilt. "We are not far from the next farm. Let us get you some proper care."
From that day forward, Leliana began caring for herself once again, convinced that the Maker desired she be ready as much as waiting to witness his divine influence on worldly events. Mornings spent in prayer were now devoted to fitness, practicing old skills with weapons borrowed from her steadfast companion, Bryant. She ignored the whisperings of old fears and anxieties, memories of steel biting into tender flesh, focusing upon the love and purpose invoked by the visions.
The leaves were just beginning to change when word came from Ostagar of the looming final engagement. Families, the sick, the elderly, all were streaming into the gates of the quiet town, straining available resources as worried farmers abandoned the late harvest for the security of the Chantry's walls.
Leliana busied herself with her duties, roaming the masses with a blade secreted on her person for the first time in years. Between prayer with families of soldiers and informal lessons with young children, the sister's eyes would lift to the heavens, fear darkening her serene gaze. The dreams had grown darker as of late, shadows of things to come flickering through her mind as she slept. She felt as though she had been given a frame, but the image inside composed of vapor and sand.
Dear Maker, she prayed. Give us the strength to endure these uncertain times. Give me strength….
King Cailan's mighty army, bolstered by the renowned Grey Wardens of Fereldan, was readying for the final assault on the Darkspawn horde massing just out of sight of Ostagar. Throughout the encampment, the united forces of Fereldan sharpened blades, practiced spells, and trained its greenest members in combat formations and integrated tactics. Guard rotations were doubled, and scouting units came and departed at an increased pace, while packs of Mabari hounds and their handlers roamed the far perimeter of the staging site.
Twitch in the right bicep, side slash coming, move! Torran ducked the massive blade as it thundered over her head, dropping into a roll and quickly coming up beside her opponent, arm whipping out with punishing force. The answering grunt as the hardwood of her practice sword pounded into her partner's kidney echoed in her ears, and she winced once again at the intensity of her newly gained Warden senses. She sensed her opponent's energy spike, body moving to deflect the quick swipe off her shield before the command to move had fully formed in her mind.
Around her, she could hear the rasp of clothing against skin as the audience shifted to move their circle with the bout. She took in a sharp breath, tasting perspiration in the air from her huffing opponent. The air filling her lungs tasted of damp plant matter, breakfast from three patrols ago, and the sickly sweetness she'd come to associate with the Darkspawn horde that was steadily amassing mere miles from Ostagar's bleached walls.
The dance continued, and she found herself marveling at the strength that suffused her body, the speed with which her reflexes reacted. The combatants picked up the pace, wooden weapons humming in the air as they delivered crushing blows into spaces vacated at the last possible moment.
"Maker!" Torran cried out as glare from the sun glinted off her opponent's plate and straight into her eyes, burning newly sensitive irises. She brought her sword and shield up into guard, blinking rapidly as she tried to clear her vision and locate her opponent. A leaf rustled to her right, and she swung her weapons out, trying to feel him as he closed in. Two seconds later, she felt the tip of the greatsword touch her chest.
"Yield?"
"Yes, I yield..." The Cousland girl muttered, rubbing moisture out of her eyes and grimacing up at Jory's ruddy face. "I don't understand. You've only been awake for one more day than I, and yet you're completely acclimated to...everything!"
"No need to worry, Torran." Alistair stepped out of the crowd as it disbanded, bored Wardens wandering away from the training area as the junior Warden addressed the newest additions to the Order. "You'll be back to normal before you know it. You're already farther ahead than most."
"I suppose."
"Come now," the blond man moved to rest a hand on her shoulder, finding air as she stepped back. "Did I ever tell you about Micah? Poor lad, didn't have the best of luck...wait, hey!"
Irritated, Torran cut the man off, striding away to place the wooden practice weapon onto a nearby rack. A slight frown creased her brow as her vision sharpened dramatically in the shadows of the ruin that housed the training gear. From the rough grain on the pads of her fingers to the slight whisper of air she could almost hear more than feel, her entire body felt as though she had been struck repeatedly by lightning to the point where flowed through her veins. The fight, even though she lost, had felt...fantastic. Never had she felt more alive, more aware of the world around her, than the weeks since she had awakened from the coma of her Joining.
With Bear trotting happily at her side, Alistair slightly ahead, plate mail casting rays of light that bit into her sensitive eyes like shards of ice, Torran had solemnly approached the gathered crowd of veteran Wardens. A hand waved from the right of the group, and she squinted, raising a hand to her brow as fuzzy vision resolved into the forms of a pale looking Jory and a smirking Daveth. She felt...well, she hadn't wanted them to die. Truth be told their familiar presences were fortifying as she found herself standing before a wall of armed, grim looking men.
From the count, not all had gathered to receive her into the group. Given her own preferences of late, Torran could understand how a Warden might avoid such activities. Her fingers trembled momentarily, the faces of Howe's men charging into the family quarters flashing through her mind, and she sought out Bear's head for comfort. A painful past might be what bound them all together, the Grey Wardens, never mind the painful future sure to come with this Blight.
"Brothers!" Alistair announced loudly. "It is a glorious day to be a Warden! Torran Cousland undertook the Joining three days ago with our fellows Daveth and Jory, and becomes the third of three recruits to survive the harrowing of the Taint. Surely the Maker shines upon us as we prepare to assault the Darkspawn forces? As least senior Warden, I submit to you the newest member of our family. Hail, Sister!"
One of the older men, perhaps even the oldest, based on the generous patches of silver hair on his head and beard, stepped forward. "Hail, Sister, and welcome. The Grey Wardens have been awaiting your arrival. It is with great relief, joy, and gratitude that we find you answering your first Calling to arms. It is with honor and fellowship that we will see you off when you answer the last." His words had the same feeling of ritual about them as had Alistair's. He and the others closed the remaining space between them after a shouted "Hail, Sister! Hail the Grey Wardens!" broke the morning air. Torran nearly jumped out of her skin as Alistair raised his voice with the Wardens, voice booming into her ear.
The introductions were blessedly brief, Alistair pointing to Erik, Lathan, Thom, Aren...the names came with firm handclasps and murmured greetings. Many bore blades, with a smattering of ranged weapons and pole arms sheathed securely and close at hand.
"Marek is our smith," Alistair explained as he gestured to a burly man to her left. Torran nodded politely, noting the marks of the forge peppering his massive form. "And over there, with the red beard...well, actually, we call him Red Beard...he's our Quartermaster. Anything you need to supply yourself, you get from them. Duncan suggested..." He paused as the final two men raised their hands in acknowledgement and departed, peeling off as many had following their own introductions. It was understood that it would be up to her to seek further conversation. "Well, it might be best if you stay away from the King's camp unless invited." Alistair finished lamely, offering a forced grin that Torran returned with a flat stare. She didn't want to be within ten feet of the royal compound if it didn't mean skewering Howe...and Loghain if I get the chance...upon her father's sword. She would consider her abstention part of the terms of Conscription, as long as they were making war on the same side.
"Now that you've said your hellos to the fellows, heh, why not give ol' Daveth a kiss? Maybe a lil' celebration is ord-" The cocky rogue swaggered forward with his arms outstretched before a bearish hand yanked him back by the shoulder, Bear's teeth flashing in a snarl inches from his face. "Aha, good mutt." He choked out, a weasley smile coming back to his face as he continued, white-flecked eyes meeting hers. "Ah mean, glad you made it, girl."
"...Likewise, Daveth." Torran shot him a withering glare, deciding she had preferred the memory of Daveth's valiant last words than being back in his lecherous presence.
"It is good to see you awake, Lady Cousland." Jory stepped forward, nodding respectfully to the young woman. "Maker be praised!"
The reunion with her fellow recruits turned into a stroll about the campground as the other men recounted their days since Awakening, culminating in a hot meal from the mess tent by the always lit center fire. As she sat amongst the men, Bear's head laid firmly on her thigh, Torran felt the noise of the chatter closing in on her, memories of countless nights (and morning afters) seated on benches with...with Rory...
Torran shook her head roughly, scrubbing her hands over her eyes and then through her hair. She'd come a long way since becoming a warden, the flashbacks receding from the hair trigger to just behind her thoughts. Steeling herself, she slung her shield onto her back and moved to return to her companions only to see the training circle empty but for the cloud of dust surrounding a wriggling Bear.
With a growl she strode away from the practice yard and whistled for her hound, determined to scrub the grit and sweat of hours of morning practice from her body. From what rumor that trickled through camp and reserved warden lips, the King would be calling men to arms any day now, bringing an end to the period of relative cleanliness she had enjoyed since the Joining.
Her steps echoed in her ears as she and Bear strode between tents, the arousal of combat settling to a slowly burning irritation, from being confined to the Warden camp with nought but Davek and Jory for company, to the way Duncan had been avoiding her since she returned to the land of the living. Unanswered questions plagued her, the documents Cailan claimed confirmed her father's treachery a heavy weight she carried at all times. She couldn't bring herself to open them, to allow Howe that final victory of destroying her faith in her incorruptible father.
As she neared her tent, tucked into a groove in Ostagar's crumbling walls at the edge of the camp her hackles immediately rose. A low growl rumbled from Bear's chest a moment later as he sensed her wariness, lips pulled back over glistening teeth as he slunk ahead toward the slightly ajar flap.
Torran's eyes narrowed, fist curling around her dagger as she ducked beneath the opening and drew it with a growl, faltering as she realized the small, bare space was bereft of another's presence. However, someone had been there, perhaps only moments before her arrival. Curled upon her pillow was a strange amulet of stone and what appeared to be the bone of some unknown creature, a small slip of parchment tucked beneath the beaded jewelry.
As Bear circled the tent with his nose pressed to the dirt, Torran quickly lit the lantern hanging from the ceiling and scanned the brief message. You will be betrayed by one experienced with such poison. Carry this into battle, heir to the Cousland destiny, that not all hope be lost.
Without warning a thunderous horn split the air, the former noble nearly leaping from her skin as the sounds of an army entering its final hours of readiness thrummed in her head. Stuffing the necklace and paper into her satchel with her father's letters, Torran tore off her practice gear and started pulling on her combat chain and leathers. The cryptic message and mysterious letters would have to wait, along with the longed for bath. For now, it was time to make war with the Darkspawn.
"The army is on the move, Mother."
"And the girl?"
"I made sure to leave the amulet someplace she would find it. The fools let me have the run of the camp thinking I was one of their scouts. I know their numbers, their leaders...Everything progresses as you have forseen."
"Good, good."
"..."
"What are you waiting for? There are plenty of chores to be done, child. Get out of my sight."
"...Yes, Mother…"
A/N: And that, my friends, is Chapter 5. The pace should pick up now that I've resolved some of the loose ends from the initial trajectory, and laid the groundwork for the new direction. Sorry for the wait, and thank you to everyone out there reading and faving the fic. HUGE ups to my beta, jediserentiy82! - Perching Kite
