"Ah… Warden Commander, so good to see you again. You're here to pick up the armor? I'm very pleased to say that Wade has just finished." Herren's voice was cheerful as he leaned against the wooden counter, but then he was always happiest right before he got paid.
Wade burst out of his workshop, wearing a scowl as he rubbed his hands roughly across his heavily stained apron. "And I wouldn't let a festering swine wear it!"
"I don't see anything wrong with the armor - it's amazing!" Herren attempted to pacify the armorer while offering Duncan an apologetic smile.
Wade ignored him as he brandished pieces of the armor he was working on. "Are you blind as well as stupid? It's garbage! I need more time to make it perfect."
Duncan sighed, rubbing at his forehead to soothe the throbbing starting there. He'd been in a foul temper since arriving in Denerim two days ago, and dealing with Wade wasn't helping. But the finicky armorer was the best in Denerim and Duncan knew it was best to humor him. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, hoping to offset the impatience he was feeling before he spoke again. "I defer to your judgment, Wade. But that armor must be on the next caravan to Ostagar."
Wade's face flushed scarlet as he blustered, "I'm an artist – you can't put a deadline on art!" He stormed back into his workshop, muttering loudly to himself.
Duncan turned stern eyes on Herren. "Convince him to finish on time, and I'll pay a bonus."
Herren nodded eagerly, "Of course, Commander - anything for the Grey Wardens."
Duncan exited the armory, squinting through the glaring sunlight toward the bustle of the marketplace. Instantly, his nose was assaulted by the stench of over-run sewers and garbage, too-ripe produce, and greasy market food. He didn't relish having to weave his way through the crush of people that seemed to fill every street.
He'd been away from Ostagar for more than a month in his quest for Grey Warden recruits. It felt like he'd visited every city, town, village, and freehold in Ferelden. Denerim was to be his final stop before heading back to Ostagar; he'd returned here to collect armor from Wade's Emporium and supplies for the Joining from the Warden's cache as well as scout for additional recruits. But every delay, every mislaid plan was keeping him here far longer than he'd anticipated. His gut had been telling him for weeks that he needed to hasten his return to Ostagar, to the rest of the Ferelden Wardens. The letter he'd received this morning only confirmed it.
Duncan fingered the rolled parchment in his pouch, extracting and smoothing it before sinking onto a bench outside Wade's Emporium. Ignoring the contents for the moment, he smiled fondly as he thought of the lad who had penned the letter. Even though Alistair was one of the newest Grey Wardens, having been part of the last Joining six months ago,Duncan had known the lad since he was just a babe. He could almost see him writing this letter - his head bowed over the parchment, shoulders tense as he clenched the quill in callused fingers, the tip of his tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth as he focused on making every letter just so. He'd received many letters from Alistair over the years, and every time he wondered at the careful penmanship likely beaten into him during his many years studying at the Chantry.
Duncan,
Evan has asked me to tell you that all of Ferelden's Grey Wardens, except you of course, are now at Ostagar. The two new recruits, Daveth and Jory, are also here. They're camped in the ruins instead of in the valley with the rest of the Wardens, just like you ordered. Jory has been drilling with the King's troops. But Daveth - he's been spending his time getting into trouble. Evan says the next time Daveth gets caught stealing, he's going to let the King's guard put him in the stocks to teach him a lesson. From what Daveth has told me, I don't think it'll make much of a difference.
Evan has also asked me to tell you that King Cailan recently requested a Warden accompany each of the patrols he sends into the Wilds so his soldiers are alerted if darkspawn are nearby. The darkspawn numbers are increasing, and Evan says that he and the other Wardens are seeing things that make him think the Darkspawn are becoming better organized.
In the last couple of weeks, patrols have encountered genlock scouts in advance of larger groups that also have hurlocks, alphas, and even emissaries. The darkspawn have been setting traps for the troops. Not just simple snares, but more elaborate ones where genlocks get the patrol's attention and then lure them back to the larger group. Just last week, an entire detachment was nearly wiped out when they were lured into a ravine where the genlock archers rained arrows down on them. The darkspawn put the corpses on display in places where our soldiers are most likely to see them, like at trail crossroads just outside Ostagar. It's almost as if they're purposely trying to frighten the troops. It seems to be working; I've heard that desertions have increased.
Evan is concerned that sending Wardens with the patrols will only further reduce our numbers, which are already too few. He fears that these occasional skirmishes will take their toll and make us ineffective should there be a large, organized push by the darkspawn. He's also concerned that the king isn't taking the darkspawn threat very seriously. The king speaks of victories and glory, but says nothing of the men losing their lives every day. Maybe he has to talk that way to keep up troop morale, I don't know.
There is one more thing I need to tell you about. What I wrote earlier about all of the Wardens being here – that's not entirely true. Kalvin is gone. He was part of the group ambushed in the ravine. We can only assume he's dead as his body wasn't among the others at the crossroads. Evan was surprised Kalvin didn't sense the group of darkspawn waiting in ambush. But the truth is Kalvin was never very good at sensing them. He made me swear not to tell the other Wardens. Maybe if I'd told you or Evan, he wouldn't have been out on that patrol. Or maybe if I'd been with him instead of with the new recruits, I'd have sensed the darkspawn and we'd have avoided the ambush. Either way, I feel like it's my fault Kalvin and those men died. I'm the only one left from my Joining now.
I hope you return to Ostagar soon. Safe travels and may the Maker watch over you.
Duncan felt some relief that Evan, his second in command, wasn't sending Alistair out with the patrols. In retrospect, Duncan wasn't sure he'd done Alistair any kindness when he recruited him. The lad had a good heart, and it was obvious from his letter that he was not taking the death of his comrade well. But Duncan recalled that in the end, it was the lad's strength of character that had convinced Duncan to recruit him into the Wardens.
Duncan almost didn't recognize Alistair – he'd filled out considerably since the last time Duncan had seen him. Where was once an awkward man-child now stood a warrior in meticulously shined armor, his sword moving in fluid arcs as he deflected attacks with his shield. While he wasn't the most skilled fighter in the tourney, there was something about Alistair's easy confidence as he faced off against each opponent that reminded Duncan of the lad's father.
With each victory, Alistair would remove his helmet, a sheepish grin on his face as he offered his hand to his opponent, pulling them to their feet and clapping them on a pauldron. Even as he reached the latter stages of the tourney, and was bested by one senior Templar after another, Alistair stayed enthusiastic and upbeat. Each time he rose to his feet, dusted himself off, and offered his opponent hearty congratulations on their victory.
Alistair grinned widely as Duncan approached at the end of the tourney, his grip strong as they clasped each other's arms affectionately. "I thought I did pretty well – up until the end that is."
"I understand congratulations are in order – that you're to take your vows this afternoon." Duncan watched as the grin dropped from Alistair's face, his complexion suddenly ashen. He knew from Alistair's letters that he was desperately unhappy in the Chantry, and the lad's reaction to Duncan's query made that clear. "You do have other options – you could join the Wardens."
Duncan chuckled to himself as Alistair struggled to contain his excitement, not unlike a pup ordered to sit and then presented with a treat held just out of reach. "You'd let me join the Wardens - with you? Yes – I would much rather do that! How soon can we leave?"
Duncan had learned long ago to trust his gut when it came to these things. Alistair was obviously miserable in the monastery, and Duncan saw no need to leave the lad there to suffer any further. The Grand Cleric had stubbornly refused to release Alistair from her service, and Duncan had been forced to enact the Right of Conscription. Alistair's obvious glee at leaving likely didn't help her attitude. He knew his actions hadn't earned the Wardens any friends among the Ferelden Chantry.
With the recent loss of a Warden at Ostagar, Duncan knew it was imperative that he find additional recruits. In his travels across Ferelden in preparation for this latest Joining, he'd found few that showed promise. Daveth, a cutpurse who had the unfortunate luck of choosing Duncan as his mark, was a habitual offender the City Guard planned to hang until Duncan conscripted him. Jory was a former knight of Arl Eamon's who had done well enough in the Highever tournament to garner Duncan's attention. There had been another, the daughter of Teyrn Cousland in Highever, but her father had been insistent that she not be recruited. Duncan had complied with the teyrn's request; he was loath to use the Right of Conscription too often for fear of further alienating the nobles.
Duncan knew the Wardens needed to tread carefully; it hadn't been that long since King Maric had lifted the Wardens' exile from Ferelden. The king had traveled into the Deep Roads with the Wardens, seeing and experiencing first hand their battle against the darkspawn. Duncan had considered Maric a close friend and ally. Maric's son, Cailan, was a good man but he wasn't the leader his father had been. Evan was correct in his assessment of their young king; he was far too concerned with personal glory and besting his father's heroic exploits. Cailan looked to the Wardens to give him opportunities for greatness, which meant he was generous in allowing conscriptions and granting other Warden requests. It was unfortunate that the other Ferelden nobles didn't share Cailan's need for generosity.
Since returning to Denerim, Duncan had approached Vaughan Urien, the Arl of Denerim's son, in the hopes that he could enlist Vaughan's assistance in identifying other potential recruits. Despite orders from the Arl, who was at Ostagar with the army, the young noble was far from cooperative. Like so many other aristocrats he had dealt with in his journeys throughout Ferelden, Vaughan showed him only thinly veiled hostility and smug superiority, and he certainly didn't believe that another Blight had begun.
Duncan rose from the bench with a sigh and pushed through the crowd in the market. His hands twitched with the memory of a time when a crowd such as this would have kept his hands busy stealing from unsuspecting shoppers. Even after all this time, his eyes wandered over the crowd, identifying the most lucrative marks.
A flash of red on the edge of the market captured Duncan's attention. A young, female elf moved gracefully through the crowd, her arm linked with a tall human's. A delicate hand gestured dramatically as she spoke. Duncan couldn't hear her tale, but the girl's body language and the mirthful reaction of her companion told him more than any words. As the sun glinted off the copper highlights in her hair and a wide smile brightened her expressive face, Duncan's heart lurched in his chest. His thoughts suddenly filled with ghosts from his past.
As he set up camp, Duncan watched Adaia move on silent feet through the jumbled ruins. Deft fingers traced the worn symbols etched into the stone, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Adaia turned to Duncan, emerald eyes regarding him thoughtfully. "I wish I could read what these symbols say. Imagine the knowledge we'd gain if we could translate them. What if they hold the secret to defeating the darkspawn? Or impart some other great wisdom?"
Duncan stacked wood in the fire pit and sat on debris from the ruin. "Or some king bragging about what a great ruler he was? Or even better, maybe they're a recipe for rabbit stew?" He gestured at the fire pit, "Care to do the honors?"
The music of her laughter echoed off the remains of granite walls, bringing life to the stillness that surrounded them. "Is that your not-so-subtle way of telling me that you're hungry?" She perched next to him, a negligible gesture summoning flames to the kindling. "It's your turn to cook, you know."
Adaia leaned back into him and his arm wrapped around her, pulling her tight against his chest. His breath caught as she turned to gaze up at him, a dazzling smile playing across her soft lips. His fingers tangled in her hair as he buried his face in the lush red waves, breathing in her unique scent of wildflowers and leather. "Our meal can wait." His lips traveled along her jaw until finally reaching the searing heat of her lips. She groaned as she melted into him, her nimble fingers working quickly to strip him of his armor.
The abrupt return from his memories left his head pounding and his chest aching. The emptiness from Adaia's loss was as fresh now as it had been five years ago. These lapses into memory seemed to be happening more frequently. Perhaps he could blame the lack of rest; his dreams made sleep unpleasant of late.
Duncan's eyes searched the market again; he flinched when he caught sight of her. This young elf had to be Zoya. She looked so much like her mother, but then she had always favored Adaia strongly. He hadn't seen the girl since shortly after her mother had been killed.
Duncan could only stare blankly at Valendrian. He must have misheard - she couldn't be gone. There was no way Adaia would have let herself be captured by the Templars. The Elder lay a sympathetic hand on Duncan's shoulder. Duncan looked up numbly as the door to the Elder's home flew open.
Brilliant green eyes, so like Adaia's, glared at him. She howled as she launched herself at him, pounding at his breastplate with her small fists. "Where were you? Why didn't you come? Why didn't you stop them? Oh Maker, they killed her. Right there on the docks. Why weren't you there?"
Unspent tears burned his eyes as he gently captured her hands to keep her from hurting herself. He held her tight while she sobbed and screamed in anguish until her tears were exhausted and her voice gave out.
Cyrion stormed into the Elder's home, prying Zoya away from Duncan and tucking her under a protective arm. His eyes were bloodshot and deeply shadowed, his lips pulled back in a snarl. "You've no right to be here, shem. This is all your fault – you just couldn't let them be. Get out of here and leave us alone."
Valendrian's face expressed his condolences even as he silently pleaded with Duncan to leave. Duncan turned and made for the door, pausing with his hand on the handle and his forehead resting against the smooth wood. He wanted nothing more than to comfort the girl; he knew he was a coward for leaving. Zoya was right - if he'd been in Denerim, had known Adaia had been detained by the Templars, he could have saved her by conscripting her into the Wardens. But then if he'd conscripted her years ago as he wanted, none of this would have come to pass. An ache began at his core, threatening to consume him. He turned back to speak to Zoya, but Valendrian shook his head sadly. Duncan had no rights here, no claim on the girl. He hung his head in guilt as he silently retreated.
His chest tightened as he watched the girl from a distance. Duncan had left father and daughter alone in the Alienage to grieve, and he'd not returned there since. And now here she was in the marketplace, with a human – Duncan couldn't help but wonder what the lass was up to.
Whatever she was doing in the marketplace, he had to admire her focus. It took an old thief to know it, but Zoya was observing a residence on the market's outskirts, continuing to chat with her human companion while she kept discreet watch. When it was clear the residence was empty, she nonchalantly approached the building with her companion, picking the lock so quickly that one would never know that she had not just simply opened the door, and entered. His heart caught in his throat when the laundress returned a short time later and entered the residence with Zoya's companion in tow. His concern grew when the man left alone shortly after. Where was Zoya?
Duncan calmed his breathing and wondered if the girl had kept up the skills Adaia had taught her. She'd obviously maintained her lockpicking talents, so perhaps she was equally adept at the other abilities her mother taught her. Adaia had been an incredibly talented woman – she could stealth her way through a crowded market without notice, could pick the most complex dwarven lock, and was deadly with a blade. It was her skill with magic, with the Fade in particular, that made her an invaluable companion. It was these skills that provided Duncan the excuse he needed to continue to seek her assistance over the years. Before Adaia's death, she'd been passing much of what she knew to her daughter. But Zoya had been young when her mother died; her training was incomplete. And without Adaia or Duncan there, she would have had no one to continue her instruction.
He sighed in relief when Zoya and her companion emerged from the alley and headed back through the market. They were now wearing different garments, which explained Zoya' interest in the laundress. But how had she escaped the residence without Duncan seeing? A flicker of hope burned in his chest - could it be that she had her mother's affinity with the Fade?
Duncan followed the pair through the streets and across the bridge, careful to stay out of view. They weren't making any efforts at stealth. As far as anyone would see, they were just two companions out for an afternoon stroll. But if Zoya was anything like her mother, she would be very aware of her surroundings. If anything was amiss or anyone showed an interest in their movements, it was likely Zoya would be prepared to respond.
He was shocked when the pair reached what seemed to be their destination. What business could Zoya have at the Pearl? Duncan bristled as the human opened the door and gestured for Zoya to enter; he could see her fighting to keep her face neutral despite her apprehension. Surprised by the instinctual need to intervene, he fought the urge to follow them into the brothel - Zoya would be sure to spot him. There was no way of telling how she would react to seeing him, and it was probably best that their reunion not happen in such a place.
Duncan turned back the way he'd come, his feet taking him to the Alienage. He needed to speak with Valendrian, and it was not likely to be a pleasant discussion. Years ago, he'd deferred to Valendrian when he had tried to recruit Adaia into the Wardens. He wasn't going to repeat that mistake with Zoya. His gut told him that he'd found his final recruit – he wasn't leaving Denerim without her.
A/N - Thank you to all who have read, reviewed, followed, and favorited. Your support and encouragement has been a wonderful thing! And a special thank you to my glorious beta, Eve Hawke *hugs* For those of you who were readers of the original posting, we have now caught up to where we ended the first time. I'm excited to finally venture into completely new chapters - I hope you stay tuned...