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CHAPTER 4

The ruins of Ostagar were overwhelming. Briar felt like she was going in circles, not helped by the fact that Draven seemed torn between staying at her side and going off to investigate the new smells. Finally, she made for the outskirts of the camp; wondering idly just high up they were.

When they had crossed the King's Highway, she hadn't looked down; busy listening to Duncan but she had been dimly aware that they were too high up for comfort.

Now she wanted to know just how high. A quick glance was all she needed to know that she preferred the other side of the camp; the one that led towards the Kocari Wilds, where the ground wasn't a hundred feet below.

As she was picking her way back towards the cesspool that was camp; she stepped out between old, vine covered pillars and blinked. Two men stood on the circular stone; one looking almost sheepish and the other… he looked angry.

Mage, she quickly identified, taking in the giveaway robes with a mental sigh. Mages were always accompanied by Templars and given that this was the eve of battle; no doubt the Chantry was here as well. Just what she needed to make her month, a lecture on the Maker.

The mage was giving the youth –though in all honesty, he was probably only a few years older than her- a piercing look, as if contemplating unleashing some sort of deadly magic in his direction. "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!"

Briar arched an eyebrow, having noted the way the man's posture had straightened just a fraction at reference to Grey Warden's, wondering if this was Alistair. She could see his profile and could instantly see he was fairly handsome. His reddish blond hair caught the afternoon sunlight and reflected it, cut short with just a bit more at the front; he was a man who liked his hair.

All in all, a handsome man indeed.

"Should I have asked her to write a note?" The man asked, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he was trying not to smile.

The mage wasn't as amused. "Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!"

Now the man was openly scoffing. "Right… I was harassing you by relaying a message."

"Your glibness does you no credit."

"And here I thought we were getting along," The man was being openly sarcastic now; folding his arms over his chest. "I was even considering naming one of my children after you… The grumpy one."

Briar clamped both hands over her mouth, mildly surprised to find she was on the verge of laughing, she had been so sure she would never laugh again.

"Enough!" The mage threw his hands into the air exasperatedly. "I will speak to the woman if I must! Get out of my way, fool!"

Briar stepped aside in order to avoid being trampled; turning her head to watch the mage storm away. When she looked back, the man was half grinning at her in a slightly puzzled way; already walking towards her.

"You know," He began, still smiling his odd little grin. "It's so heartwarming how a Blight can bring people together."

She arched an eyebrow, wondering if he was being purposefully asinine.

To his credit, he realized she wasn't finding him amusing and looked sheepish again. "It… it was a joke, I do that. So… uh," He seemed at a loss for what to do with his hands, finally clasping them in front of himself. "Are you another mage?" Now he looked worried, envisioning just how he would look as a toad.

"If I am?" She asked, just to hear what he would say.

"I'd rather not be turned into a toad if it's all the same." He quickly said, frowning when he realized she was actually smirking at him. "Have we met?"

"No."

It seemed to dawn on him then; his brown eyes widening before narrowing. "You're Duncan's new recruit." He said finally, looking her over in a way she wasn't used too. He was appraising her as a fellow warrior, not… a possible match.

Briar was thrown off for a moment, the only other non-related male who had looked at her like that had been Ser Gilmore, and then Duncan. She felt her throat close up, trying desperately not to think of Ser Gilmore who had undoubtedly died defending Castle Cousland.

What Briar didn't know was that Duncan had gone to Highever seeking a recruit, preferably the Teyrn's only daughter who had been rumored to be just as good with a blade as Ser Gilmore, possibly even better. Alistair had met the Teyrn's son, Fergus, who had laughingly described Briar as 'a woman with a beautiful face and an ugly temper who could slice your throat with either her words or dagger'.

Fergus hadn't been lying about the beautiful face.

When Briar didn't offer a response, Alistair smiled hesitantly. "Well, glad to meet you. As the junior member of the order, I'll be going with you when you prepare for the Joining."

Her brow furrowed. "The Joining?"

He looked uncomfortable now. "Ah…. I can't really…. Talk about it, not yet at any rate." He said slowly; staring down at her intently.

She nodded, clearing her throat. "I'm…" She hesitated, having almost introduced herself as Lady Cousland but that simply would not do. Most Grey Wardens, she had learned, gave up their last names; it was a tradition. And even if she did not, being a Cousland didn't really matter so much besides being her family name (not that she wasn't proud of being a Cousland, she was) simply because Grey Wardens could not inherit titles. "Briar."

"Right, that was the name." Alistair nodded, once more smiling, the golden . "You know… I just realized that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?"

Despite everything that had happened within the past month and her still raging beneath the surface grief and anger, Briar actually smiled. True, it was a small; half smile, but a smile regardless. "You want more women in the Grey Wardens, do you?"

His smile broadened. "Would that be so terrible? Not that I'm, you know, some kind of lecher or anything."

She arched an eyebrow.

"Please stop looking at me like that." Alistair hastily cleared his throat; obviously casting about for another topic; one that would lead him out of these waters. "So… out of curiosity, have you actually fought a Darkspawn before?"

"No."

He looked like he might tell her about his own Darkspawn encounters then seemed to think better of it.

Truth was, Alistair could have told her all he could about the Darkspawn and it wouldn't have prepared her. There was no preparing for Darkspawn; how they looked, their stench… the noises they made. His eyebrows drew together in a frown. "I suppose we ought to go find Duncan… the Joining and all…"

"What were you and the mage fighting about?" She asked suddenly.

Now he looked even more uncomfortable, if that were possible. "Well… the Circle is here by the King's request and the um, the Chantry doesn't really…"

"Like that."

He nodded, a hint of amusement creeping back into his eyes. "The Chantry likes to remind the mages just how unwelcome they are, which puts me in an awkward position. I was once a Templar."

Even Briar had to wince at that one, trying to picture this… clown, as a Templar. She honestly couldn't see it, but didn't say anything. As they apparently would be… Grey Wardens together, there was no point in alienating him. "That would be awkward." She offered hesitantly.

Alistair grinned, pleased she was at least making an attempt at talking to him. "I'm sure the Revered Mother meant it as an insult –sending me as her messenger- and the mage picked right up on that. I never would have done it but Duncan says we're supposed to cooperate and get along. Apparently they didn't get the same speech."

"Apparently."

***

The Grey Warden's were situated on the edge of the royal camp, or at least where King Cailan and his entourage had pitched their tents. Close enough to be near incase of trouble but far enough away where Briar could almost pretend they were alone.

Not that she fancied being the only female in this group of five, and not for the reasons most other women would assume. She had been greeted with 'you're not what I expect' by Duncan's other two recruits: Daveth and Ser Jory.

By not what they had been expecting, they meant: why are you female?

Daveth had been roasting what looked suspiciously looked like either very small cats or rather large rats; his lank black hair falling into his face. Ser Jory had just been standing off to the side, staring across the way as the Revered Mother delivered a sermon to a group of soldiers clustered at the foot of the small stage she was preaching from.

Duncan was talking on the other side of the large, blazing fire that marked the center of their camp with Alistair, who looked a bit worried.

Unsure what to do, Briar dropped down on a wooden bench and just stared into the flames. Now that she wasn't moving, she was becoming acutely aware that she reeked. It had been about a week since her last bath –which had been in a cold stream without the benefits of soap. She smelled like stale blood, body odor and something else she couldn't and didn't want to describe.

"Here, budge up."

Draven, who had settled himself at Briar's feet, raised his head and looked questioningly at the man now trying to sit besides his mistress; letting out a low warning growl.

Daveth stared down at the Mabari hound, offering a nervous smile. "Now now, doggie, I promise, I'll behave m'self." He gingerly sat down; offering Briar a trencher. "I promise, the breads not too stale."

Briar stared down at the trencher, the first she had ever seen made of bread. She had seen the wooden trenchers the men in the Castle Cousland garrison had used, inch thick pieces of wood that had been cut into square shapes with an oval indentation in the center, a bowl of sorts. This… trencher, Daveth had given her was almost the same, crudely made and edible. Much more practical she supposed, as it meant less equipment to tote around.

"Is this… rat?" She asked hesitantly, staring down at the lumps of meat that floated in the center of the bread bowl; surrounded by something she was going to assume was sauce.

Daveth frowned, staring down at his own trencher. "Well what else would it be? Ain't no rabbits, not this close to camp but… rats a'plenty."

"Charming." She murmured, her stomach growling; informing her that it didn't care where the food had come from, the actual appetizing smells were enough to say it was time to eat.

Daveth watched her intently, a smile playing his lips when the new recruit finally took a hesitant bite; the gravy he had made from a few castoff vegetables the chef for the King had thrown out along with a pinch of flour he had helped himself too. Sodding chef, Daveth had tried to beg a few but the man wouldn't even sell them, so… when his back had been turned, Daveth had nicked what he could; along with a dollop of the cream (for the King's own meal no doubt), a pinch of flour and a small bit of spice.

When satisfied that she wasn't going to hurl it into the flames, Daveth chuckled and dug in himself.

Briar had a feeling he was laughing at her and focused on the meal. After living off of dried jerky for weeks, this was… delicious. It was better than a feast, or perhaps she was simply starving. The gravy had begun to seep into the bread; softening it, making it delicious as well.

She finished the stew portion and broke off a chunk of the bread; offering the rest to Draven.

He sniffed at it delicately, huffing.

"You'll go hungry." She cautioned.

Huffing again, he took it gently from her.

"That's what I thought."

"Right smart mutt you got there." Daveth said through a mouthful of bread.

Briar closed her eyes, groaning. She didn't open them when a snarl, followed by a yelp and a flurry of motion beside her occurred, already knowing what was happening.

"Oy, your dog, it's-"

Briar opened her eyes, staring at Ser Jory who was now staring down at the ground and followed his gaze. Draven had pounced on Daveth; knocked him off the bench and pinned him to the ground.

Daveth was shrieking, though he quickly clamped his lips together when he seen the Mabari's drooling jaws; closing his eyes in time to avoid getting spittle in them.

Alistair and Duncan had joined them at this point, Alistair looking amused while Duncan seemed both amused and exasperated. "Briar, if you would…"

Sighing, she stepped over the bench and placed a hand on Draven's massive head; feeling a sort of malicious enjoyment at the sight of Daveth cowering there under the Mabari. Draven would not kill unless on command, but there was no need to fill Daveth in on that. "He is not a mutt, he is a Mabari war hound, try not to forget it."

Daveth nodded frantically, not about to risk opening his mouth just yet.

"Draven, off him."

Letting out what was unmistakably a derisive snort, Draven did.