Life during a Blight was hard for anyone, but especially for a Grey Warden who was bastard half-brother to a king who liked swords.
I had responsibilities at the camp in Ostagar, but I knew that Duncan was plotting ways to keep me out of the fighting and away from danger. I would have hated him for it if I didn't love the man as the only person who actually cared that I lived for more reasons than just the one birth defect. And at least my duties weren't complete bullshit; I had a Junior Warden with my group of recruits when we ventured off for darkspawn blood, so I knew it was an important tradition.
I also knew that there were other junior Wardens who could have done it, but who also weren't of Maric's bloodline. Good try at subtlety though, Duncan. Really. (No, I'm lying, that was terrible.)
So when Duncan came back from his final recruiting stint looking murderously, if silently, angry and sporting a blood-soaked recruit, I didn't ask questions. I continued across the bridge to find the Circle Mage I needed to confront as though I hadn't seen my Hero return, after seeing that expression. I could ask him what happened later when he had some time to rest from his clearly arduous journey. It seemed as though he hadn't managed to get a Mage recruit, though, which was a little disheartening. The Wardens could truly use more Mages in their ranks, as their healing and death-dealing capabilities were immensely helpful to the order.
I figured that the recruit must be from Highever, as that had been the last stop on Duncan's little tour of Ferelden, and I remember he sounded hopeful about one of the young Knights there, one of Teyrn Cousland's men. I remember seeing him and his family very briefly when I was a small child in Redcliffe Castle. Arl Eamon had spoken highly of him as a man of honor and surprisingly the same of his wife, who had been quite friendly to me. I recalled two children vaguely, but that was many years ago and my one hope was that the Couslands chose their knights as Eamon did, based on their honorable personalities.
Oh lovely. There was that mage, pacing about and glowering, and he looked like one snarky bugger if ever I had seen one – and I saw one every day in mirrors and other reflective surfaces, so I knew. "Haven't the Grey Wardens asked for enough of the Circle?" He even had one of those sneering holier-than-thou voices that reminded me oh so much of my years at the Chantry. Truly lovely.
"I simply came to deliver a message from the Revered Mother, ser mage. She desires your presence," I was really trying to be nice this time, I swear.
His eyes narrowed as the insult became clear to him, "What her Reverence desires is of no concern to me. I am busy helping the Grey Wardens by the King's orders, I might add."
"Should I have asked her to write a note?" Honestly, how was I at fault here? Don't shoot the messenger!
"Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!"
I made sure not to roll my eyes, "Yes, I was harassing you by delivering a message."
"Your glibness does you no credit."
"Here I thought we were getting along so well! I was even going to name one of my children after you…the grumpy one."
"Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must. Get out of my way, fool," as I wasn't in his way as he stormed off, I found this a puzzling end to our otherwise delightful conversation. Until I noticed that he was being stared down by a young woman in well-fitted armor. His arm fell back to his side, deciding that shoving her was probably not a wise choice.
I smiled ruefully at her, nodding my head slightly after our departed guest. "You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."
Her decidedly unladylike snort surprised me, as did her dry response. "I know exactly what you mean."
"It's like a party! We can all stand in a circle and hold hands. That would give the darkspawn something to think about." I peered at her, curiously. "I don't recognize you, do I? Hopefully you're not another mage, come to turn me into a toad."
One eyebrow was raised in what I hoped was amusement when she answered, "My name is Aliara. You must be Alistair; Duncan told me to find you."
"Ahh, you must be Duncan's last recruit! I think I see the Cousland arms upon you now," I smiled, glad that I had kept up with the news, but it faded when her face went from guarded but amused to stony and still. "I'm one of the new Grey Wardens and I'll be helping you and the other two recruits with the Joining."
She nodded, head jerking down and back up in a stiff and rather painful looking motion. "It will be a pleasure to work with you. What can you tell me about the Grey Wardens and the Joining?"
Her manner was intense, but friendly, despite that moment of overwhelming coldness and I began to answer her seemingly endless questions as I searched her face for answers. She was rather lovely, I realized suddenly, not having noticed earlier (mostly because I was overjoyed to find someone with an actual sense of humor after Ser Grumpton). Her eyes were wide and vividly green which was charmingly unique considering the rest of her coloring; relatively average dark brown hair, cut short, and skin tanned darker than my own.
What struck me was how closely her eyes reminded me of Duncan's the first time we'd met. They were piercing, steady, and although much younger than my mentor's, I felt that same equanimity behind them. I hoped she would survive the Joining, because from her questions and responses, she seemed like an honorable person that I'd be glad to call a sister in arms. "You know, I wonder why there haven't been that many women as Wardens. And from the pictures I've seen, none of them ever as pretty as you."
Wow, how did that slip out? Excellent work, mind, let us hit on the new recruit immediately. She smirked and I prepared myself for mockery, "Perhaps we women are too smart for you?"
Ooh, she really did have a sense of humor. And she let that slip go! That was exciting! "Then what does that make you?"
"Incredibly unlucky," her tone was tart but her eyes cheerless, and her hand strayed to the pommel of her sword, as though it were some kind of lucky charm.
"Anyway, when you're ready to go, just tell me and lead on!" I didn't know exactly what had happened at Highever, but I wouldn't let any of the recruits feel too poorly on what could theoretically be their final day. Silliness was the key.
A ghost of a smile, but nothing more, damn. "Would it be alright if I cleaned up first, before the Joining and the battle? Some of my things are still a bit…messy." Considering that when I first caught sight of her I had thought she was some sort of walking bloodstain… an excellent idea, indeed.
"Of course. I'll just go round up the other two recruits and give you some time by the river. I'll come fetch you, too, in case you take too long!" I mock-scowled and shook my finger at her like an old biddy and her eyes lit up with laughter.
"Yes, of course, grandmother Alistair, I'll be sure to return quickly lest my ears be tugged," she curtsied gracefully, smirking as she trotted off.
I did as I'd said with a large grin, happy that at least one of the recruits responded well to my brand of silly. Daveth had been promising, but he was a bit too interested in sleeping with every woman that breathed to be a good fit and Ser Jory was…boring. A good man, by all means, but more than a little dull. Duncan definitely chose well with the final recruit, I decided, until Duncan pulled me aside to speak. There I learned that the recruit was the daughter of the slain Teyrn Cousland, my first thought rather uncharitable: Oh great, another noble to look down on the bastard. I felt terrible for thinking this, so when I learned that the only member left of her family was probably her – vicious Mabari – dog, I decided to try and cheer her up.
He looked so depressed about the fact that Teyrn Cousland had been betrayed, one of the few noblemen who understood duty and who respected the Grey Wardens, that I wanted to cheer him up first, though. "She said she needed to clean some of her things. Did you let her roll in the blood of her vanquished enemies as a dog treat?"
Whatever twinkle I'd managed to summon in Duncan's eyes went out, at that. He informed me, voice steely and filled with disapproval, that her father had bled to death and she had been forced to leave her mother to die with him in that pool of blood. The rest was from when she carried her five-year-old nephew to the small garden he liked best, the blood from his slit throat seeping insidiously even through the leather of her boots.
Hearing about the destruction of all I had ever dreamt of having made me want to seek her out more. I wouldn't say that I knew I would just be there if she needed to cry or whatever. I would put my best jokes aside for this recruit, who had lost much and might lose more before the week was out. Duncan must have seen my regret at the ill-made joke and sent me to fetch her as I'd promised with a gentle nod.
I found her sitting calmly on the edge of a ruined bridge, her chainmail and padded under-armor beside her, hair drenched and face scrubbed pink. She was still wearing a loose shirt and breeches, but they too were soaked. She must be cold, I thought, but even those clothes were ragged and the shirt had large splotches all about it, the color of rust.
A noblewoman's handkerchief laid on the palms of her hands, the crisp whiteness contrasting with her skin and the four dull red corners; the two white wings at the center seeming rude, even to me. It looked deliberate and my suspicions were confirmed when I watched her kiss each corner, reverently. She must not have had much time to mourn on the road with Duncan, at least not with complete privacy. I was an intruder; I could only see her profile, but I knew it was her very soul that was bared in this quiet place.
The stillness was broken as she began to fold the handkerchief so delicately that I sincerely wondered if she could be as fierce a warrior as Duncan had claimed, so refined were her movements. Then she paused, folded cloth held in mid-air, as though only just realizing that everything she had on was sodden, when she abruptly ripped her ruined shirt off and tucked the handkerchief into the – ahem – final undergarment that held her…womanly charms in place.
I had never actually seen that much naked woman before and, depressingly, she was still mostly dressed. From what I could see of her, her gaze was fixed straight ahead of her, fierce and cold, as she shredded the shirt into rough strips, useful as bandages maybe, and laid them out to dry in the sun next to her armor.
I panicked slightly when I didn't see any clean or dry clothes near her. Gentlemen were expected to always assist a lady, so I pulled my shirt off, hastily putting my mail back on – Ow, ow! Chest hair! – and approached her, wordlessly, arm extended and shirt in hand, eyes averted politely.
When I was still standing there for a minute or so, I dared to look. The woman was looking directly at my face, a bemused glint in her eyes –same color as the grass in the valleys around Redcliffe – and the corners of her mouth went up as I finally noticed her gaze. She nodded respectfully and thanked me, her voice strong but subdued, as though this situation was an everyday occurrence. Or maybe she was jut used to men like me, who startled as easily around women (especially half-naked ones) as rabbits around wolves. She pulled the shirt on without a shred of shame and I very valiantly looked away, though the smooth ripple of muscle under tanned skin fascinated me. Were noblewomen encouraged to go out in the sun these days? I wondered.
Her amused answer, the low chuckle, startled me – "I said that out loud? Oh, I'm sorry!" - but I liked her better for her answer.
"Only the noblewomen who don't think so highly of themselves."
I would always remember the muted sadness in her eyes, the slope of her shoulders, even as I saw that first true, if small smile. The quiet around us in the ruins and the quiet between us as we walked to Duncan's camp didn't bother me as it once might have, in the Chantry. I only knew that the quiet was acceptable because I had given her some tiny bit of laughter in the face of so much grief.