Usual disclaimer…just in case. I don't own these characters, but I do enjoy playing with them very much! No beta so hopefully I've spotted all the errors.
I know I said that this next chapter would be the last, and set in Ostagar. I didn't lie…exactly. – Author's note at the end explains where this one came from! Next one is the last, I promise.
Apologies to Duncan fans. He became a little mischievous; I think he's been spending too much time with Alistair!
Thank you also to everyone who has reviewed this story, added it to their favourites or their alerts list. It really is a huge boost to my confidence to know that out there in the internet ether someone likes my story enough to read it.
Alistair - 9:30 of the Dragon Age – 6 months prior to the Blight.
Duncan closed his eyes and shuddered slightly, mentally counting to ten in an attempt to control his temper. The Commander of the Grey Wardens was not accustomed to being kept waiting and he suspected that Grand Cleric Ainra was attempting to make a less than subtle point about who held the power here.
When she eventually entered the room her expression was one of righteous self-satisfaction. Smug, Duncan thought, before pushing aside his distaste and greeting her with a small, courteous bow. The Cleric sat down behind her desk ensuring a physical barrier between herself and the Warden. "Please, sit down." She waved a slender hand absently towards a chair and shuffled a pile of papers officiously.
Duncan smiled apologetically. "My thanks, but I prefer to stand. A warrior's habit, I'm afraid. We're not very good at sitting still."
"As you wish." Ainra stated coldly. "I understand you wish to speak of one our Templar's in training? Alistair, was it? What has he done, now?" She sounded resigned to a complaint and was not able to conceal a dissatisfied sigh at the mention of the young warrior's name.
Duncan considered her carefully before speaking again. "The lad has impressed me, actually. He demonstrated a remarkable determination and resilience in the Tourney. Resolute and unwavering in each of his combat rounds. These are qualities I have much admiration for."
"I see… Ainra replied suspiciously. She leaned back in her chair and eyed Duncan warily. "And for what reason are you telling me this?"
Duncan couldn't help but smile slightly. She was right to be distrustful. After all, he was the one holding the final Ace up his sleeve. "Alistair informs me he has yet to take his vows. Is this correct?"
The Cleric snorted in irritation. "Alistair has yet to do many things, Commander, one of which is to prove his commitment to the Chantry and to his calling as a Templar!" Her face was a little pink, Duncan noted. Good. Time to shake her up a little further.
"And therein lies the point, I believe. Alistair was not, as I understand, 'called' to the Chantry. He was placed here, by his guardian." He crossed his arms and studied her, his dark eyes never leaving hers.
Ainra was aware of being outmanoeuvred. She stood and moved to her study window, pondering her next words carefully. "You do know who he is, I take it?"
Duncan nodded. "I was friends with his father."
"Then you'll understand that by having him here, King Cailan graces us with much favour. What, exactly, are you proposing?" Her hands were shaking slightly, he noticed. No, she really doesn't want to lose the prestige of having Maric's son under her roof.
"I'll state it plainly, then. Alistair displays all of the qualities required of a Grey Warden. I would like to recruit him to our order. I believe he would be better suited to life with us, than to a life as a Templar. I assume, you agree that his…character, is not conducive to life in the Circle? You have mentioned several times in your correspondence to the King that despite his obvious virtues he lacks the sombre and stoic nature valued by the Templars."
Ainra coughed and smoothed her robes nervously. "You have spoken to the King, of this?"
"King Cailan has made me aware of many things regarding Alistair. But as to the matter of his joining the Grey Wardens, I believe he has earned that right on his own." Duncan found he was beginning to enjoy her discomfort.
"Alistair should remain with us. He was placed here by arl Eamon himself and I will not have his education or training disrupted on your whim." The Grand Cleric faced him down valiantly, but Duncan could see the uncertainty clouding her eyes. How much do you really want him, he thought.
"My whim calls me to recruit the necessary warriors to defend Ferelden from the Darkspawn and the evil that guides it. I uphold the sacred responsibility required to identify those who are able to bear this burden! You know of King Maric's decree in this matter? I urge you to consider this carefully." Duncan spoke quietly, but with such fervour Ainra drew back.
"I…I cannot….." She started.
Duncan exhaled sharply unwilling to negotiate further. "Grand Cleric, I came here today to respectfully request Alistair's removal from your supervision to my keeping. As you will not give assent to my request I am forced to invoke the right of Conscription in this matter. Alistair will leave with me tonight. I trust this makes things clear?" He bowed sharply and left before Ainra could speak, a mischievous smile played on his lips. I enjoyed that a little too much, he thought.
xxx
Duncan found Alistair waiting in the courtyard carrying a small pack of is possessions. He stopped and studied him. The grin on the young man's face was infectious and he couldn't help but return it. "Alistair, you don't even know the outcome of our…discussion. Why the smile?"
"Everyone knows the outcome, Duncan! The Grand Cleric's climbing the walls! We should probably start running now, you know." He beamed at the older man, unable to restrain his delight.
Duncan shook his head in mock despair. "Really, Alistair, it's unseemly. You could at least wait until we left the gates."
Alistair rearranged his face into a sombre glower for a few seconds before it dissolved again into amusement. "It's no good. I can't do it! We should go before anyone notices, do you think? Now perhaps? I've got everything I need. No need to hold back. Let's be off. Where are going, anyway?"
Duncan closed his eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath. "We'll go soon. Is there no one you want to say good bye too?"
That made Alistair's smile falter. "Not really, no. I just really would like to go. Now."
Duncan placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it slightly before letting him go and looking him up and down, noting the patched leather armour. "Soon enough. First, we need to get you some proper mail to wear!"
xxx
Cailan - 9:30 of the Dragon Age – 6 months prior to the Blight.
Cailan absently flicked through the pages of a book he'd had since he was a child. "A History of the Grey Wardens" he read the title quietly.
"What was that, love?" Anora asked from her place by the fire.
"Nothing, nothing..." He murmured stretching out with a satisfied sigh.
"Did I see a message with a Grey Warden seal today?" The Queen asked quietly, trying not to appear to pry. She eyed him carefully. He never could hide anything from her.
"Just a note from Duncan. He's uh…recruiting again. He wanted to inform me that the Order's numbers are on the rise. That's good, yes?"
"It is." She agreed. But why the contented little smile, she wondered.
Cailan closed his eyes in pretence at a nap and heard Anora's quiet puff of annoyance. He remembered stories heard at his mother's knee. Swords and monsters, magnificent glory and triumph. Fame and admiration. Lucky bastard! He smiled to himself in barely contained glee. Never amount to anything? We'll see.
Author's note:
Do I reveal my personal character flaw here? Why not? I'm needy! There, I said it. It didn't seem to me that this story had touched many people. I wanted to keep writing it for myself, but decided to cut some chapters out. What was the point, after all if not many people were going to read it? Then I had a few nice reviews…followed by a few more; and then some wonderful support from NOBLAHBLAHBLAH and Shineera, so I added a chapter back in for fun. That will teach me! *Slaps wrist* Must not reveal weakness again.
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