A/N: This is a repost of the original Chapter 21, and while some of this chapter is going to seem familiar to those who read the original post, there have been some significant changes, especially the first meeting between Zoya and Alistair. My love to my fantastic beta, Eve Hawke, and lovely beta sister, Etaine M. Their patience and support was invaluable as I wrestled with this chapter and associated feedback. And a huge thank you to reviewers. Your feedback is always welcome – I hope you enjoy this revised chapter!

The ruins of Ostagar stuck up on the horizon like broken teeth erupting from diseased gums. Even so, there was something majestic about the ancient structures stretching up into the cloudless blue of the sky, their man-made silhouettes standing in sharp contrast to the jutting lines of the mountains beyond. Zoya closed her eyes for a moment, imagining what it must have looked like at the peak of its use, long before it crumbled into these tattered ruins and the darkspawn had brought their Blight.

The camp's occupants had been hard at work pushing back the forest that had reclaimed the old city. The stone structures were darkened with age, moss and lichen clinging stubbornly to their surfaces, but there seemed to be use in them yet. Banners representing the different armies lined the long bridge leading into the city, the bright cloths snapping in the breeze.

Zoya worked her way toward the edge of the stone approach, peering over it as they walked. Tents covered the valley floor, organized in rows that surrounded dozens of communal camp fires. From up here, the whole thing looked like a giant, drab quilt. "There are so many tents down there... Are all of Ferelden's armies here?"

"No. Teyrn Loghain has summoned only a portion of Ferelden's forces. I believe all but a small contingent of his army is here, as are the forces of Denerim and South Reach. The last I heard, Highever and Amaranthine's armies were on their way. And Redcliffe and West Hill's armies, as well as a detachment from the Bannorn, were standing by and ready to march if they're needed." Duncan rubbed his beard, his dark eyes scanning the valley. "But there should be far more troops, and I don't see Amaranthine's standard..."

As the ringing of armored boots striking against the stone bridge echoed across the chasm, Zoya's heart leapt into her throat, her head swinging toward the encampment. Men in ornate silverite plate - obviously no ordinary soldiers or guards - strode toward them. Her muscles started twitching, telling her it was time to beat a hasty retreat.

Sucking in a calming breath, she gave Duncan a sideways glance. His jaw tightened for a moment, but he never broke his stride - if anything, it became more purposeful. Would it ever cease to amaze her how imposing the man could seem? Duncan, the Commander of the Grey… her father.

Best to push that last title from her mind lest she forget that her role here was Warden recruit and nothing more. She fell into step at his heel, carefully watching him for clues to how she should react.

The heavily armored soldiers stopped near the center of the bridge, forming a semicircle that parted for a handsome human in elaborate armor. Out of the corner of her eye, Zoya saw Duncan bow with his arms crossed over his chest. As she replicated the gesture, the man strode forward, the sun glinting off golden armor and hair alike as he reached out to enthusiastically clasp forearms with Duncan.

"Ho there, Duncan! It is good to have you back! I was worried you would miss all the fun. Alistair told me you would be arriving soon. I'm sure he would tell you I have been pestering him mercilessly about your return. But now you are here and I will have the famed Commander of the Grey at my side in battle after all. Glorious!" The man turned to Zoya, blue eyes traveling over her from head to toe, and she tried not to squirm under his scrutiny. "And this must be your new recruit." He held out a welcoming hand.

Zoya shot a bewildered look at Duncan. Why would this human, who was obviously someone very important, waste any time acknowledging an elf? Once Duncan granted a subtle nod of approval, she reached out to tentatively grasp the man's offered hand. His grin widened as his fingers wrapped around hers.

"King Cailan," Duncan regarded the human with a neutral expression. "I would like to introduce you to Zoya Tabris. She hails from Denerim's Alienage."

By the Void! King Cailan? It was difficult to keep her expression neutral – she was clasping hands with the king after all, not something she could have ever imagined. And as the human raised her hand to his lips, Zoya arched a quizzical eyebrow at Duncan. His jaw tightened, but his stern look told her to behave herself and keep her mouth shut. Biting the inside of her cheek, she fidgeted as she fought to keep control of her tongue. The King of Ferelden! The humans gathered on the bridge probably wouldn't respond well if she snatched her hand away and told him to bugger off.

"There is no need to be so formal, Duncan. We will be shedding blood together after all." The king offered a brilliant smile as he clasped her hand between his, "Let me be the first to welcome you to Ostagar and to congratulate you on being chosen as a recruit." He released her, rubbing a golden finger and thumb along his jaw, "I understand the Wardens are desperate to bolster their numbers, yet your commander is strangely selective in his recruiting. Even so, I am glad to help in any way I can whether it be enforcing the Right of Conscription, encouraging the nobles to put forward candidates, or offering my own troops as support in battle." He leaned in as if to share a secret, grinning as he offered a sly wink. "I, for one, am glad to see a woman join the order. I was beginning to fear the Wardens only recruited old men and stodgy brothers, but you are certainly neither of those things. I am sure the Wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks."

She'd no clue about the other Wardens, but Duncan... an old, stodgy brother? Zoya ducked her head as she fought back laughter, a smirk tugging at her lips. The very idea of the cunning man wasting his days kneeling in a dim Chantry, muttering the Chant of Light to himself - it was ridiculous. But then was it any more insane than the King of Ferelden personally congratulating her for being conscripted? He'd likely be far less friendly if he knew what she'd done to end up here. She chewed nervously at her lip. Best not to mention it. "You're too kind, Your Majesty."

"So you are from the Alienage, was it?" He shook his head, "I regret to say that I have never been there. My guards all but forbid it. What is it like?"

What's it like there? He doesn't know? Now that she thought about it, Zoya hadn't heard of any royalty ever visiting the Alienage. And it seemed the only time the nobles ever came through those heavy gates was when they were looking for trouble, so maybe it was a good thing he'd never been there. A king would probably bring more trouble than any of them wanted. Even so, maybe if he saw how bad things were in the Alienage, how the elves lived within his city's walls… how could he not want to help?

Zoya offered her friendliest smile. "Ah… well, you don't know what you're missing, Your Majesty. The Alienage is quite lovely, especially in the summer when the flowers are in bloom… so fragrant and picturesque. The constant laughter of carefree children nearly rivals the beautiful melodies the minstrels sing of your glory. You should visit the next time you have a chance." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Duncan shaking his head, hiding the start of a grin behind a hand that shot up to stroke his beard. Apparently her tone wasn't lost on him.

"I had not heard that. I will be sure to visit, then. Perhaps you would consent to being my guide once we return to Denerim." A golden glove toyed with the pommel of the sword strapped to his hip, "And that may happen sooner than later, although I am sure your commander will tell you I am being overconfident. We have won far more battles against these monsters than we have lost. I had hoped for a war like in the tales - a king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god - but I suppose this will have to do." King Cailan chuckled as he shifted his focus to the commander, "Duncan, we have much to discuss, and Loghain is waiting back in camp to bore us with strategy. As much as I would enjoy continuing this visit, perhaps you could dismiss your recruit so you and I may speak privately. I am sure she would enjoy exploring the camp."

Duncan bowed his head toward the king before turning to her. "Zoya, please go ahead without me. You should be able to find Alistair in the main encampment, just on the other side of this bridge. Help him gather the other recruits and any gear you'll need for heading into the Korcari Wilds – he'll know where to find them and what you'll need. I'll meet you at the Warden's tent in camp as soon as I'm able."

Go into the camp and find the Templar – without Duncan? Just the thought of it left her stomach feeling like a sack of squirming worms. Zoya swallowed hard, her face twisting into a grimace as she bowed with crossed arms. "As you wish, commander."

Duncan pinned her with a stern look, but he didn't need to say a word – his admonishment came through loud and clear. Duty and loyalty to your fellow Wardens and the order… His eyes stayed focused on her retreating back as she slipped between the soldiers, driving her leaden feet toward the encampment.

~oOo~

The immense power being pulled from the Fade tugged at Zoya as if she was nothing more than a leaf in a whirlwind. Her own magic responded, bubbling forth unbidden, eager to twine with it. Eyes slipping out of focus, she could see the Veil billowing over the colorful tents tucked in among broken columns like a gauzy curtain in a summer breeze.

The joyous tingle of her power fled as someone bumped into her, nearly knocking her off her feet. As her focus shifted back to the mundane, a cold current shivered down her spine. Stealing a glance upwards, she found the Templars' dark eyes glinting at her through the slits in their visors. Andraste's flamey bits! She swallowed back the rising bile - how had she failed to notice them?

Zoya gasped, her heart nearly bursting from her chest as a hand gripped her arm. She froze, her muscles coiled in anticipation of defending herself. But her captor had a slender, wrinkled hand, not a gauntlet-clad one. Maybe luck is with me. A tense breath escaped through clenched teeth as her gaze shifted higher.

A white-haired human woman regarded her with a benign smile, "I do apologize, lass. I wasn't watching where I was going. Be a dear, and escort me to that bench around the corner. I fear I may have injured myself."

The strength of command behind that serene demeanor could have rivaled Duncan's, and it stilled Zoya's tongue and quieted any objections. Who was this woman? The considerable power she harbored shivered over Zoya through her touch. Stealing an anxious glance at the Templars, she nodded, offering the mage a supporting arm as they moved away from their line of sight. Settling her on the bench, Zoya started to retreat but was halted by a firm grip that belied the woman's advanced years.

"Where are you from, child? You're not from the Circle Tower, although you do look familiar…" The woman drew Zoya down to the bench, unyielding hands anchoring her as surely as her clear, blue eyes. The mage frowned as Zoya's jaw tightened and her face became as blank as a stone wall. "Yes, I suppose introductions are in order before I question you. My name is Wynne. I'm a senior enchanter at the Circle Tower. And you?"

Duncan's orders echoed in her head. Do what you must to get along with other factions in the camp – the priests, the mages, the soldiers, and even the Templars. He'd want her to be as polite and pleasant as possible. She loosed a heavy sigh - no harm was likely to come from speaking with the woman. "My name is Zoya Tabris, ma'am. I'm the newest Grey Warden recruit, from the Denerim Alienage."

"Please, just call me Wynne." The human regarded Zoya with scrutiny that seemed to lay her soul bare. "You're an apostate?" When Zoya flinched, her eyes seeking an escape path, the mage chuckled softly. "Don't worry, child, your secret is safe with me. Although you may want to keep a tighter rein on your power in the presence of Templars, unless you're trying to draw their attention." She squeezed Zoya's hands, "Has no one taught you how to restrain your magic?"

Zoya squared her shoulders, raising her chin as she met the woman's steady gaze. "I'm a Warden recruit – the Circle and the Templars don't have any say in how I use my magic." But as soon as the brash words left her mouth, she regretted them. Experience had taught her that Templars tended to act before they questioned. And Wynne was just being helpful – there was no reason to be rude. Zoya's mouth twisted into a grimace, "I've spent most of my life hiding my magic, but I guess I got lost in the moment. I haven't spent much time around other mages, and I'm not used to feeling that much power in one place." Even so, that was no excuse for her lapse in control. Shame cast her eyes down at her hands - Adaia had trained her better than that. "My mother taught me as much as much as she could while I was young. And there was another mage more recently that tried to teach me a thing or two."

"Your mother?" Wynne's eyes widened as she peered at Zoya, recognition flashing across her face. "No, it can't be…" She reached out to grip Zoya's chin with gentle fingers, turning her head side to side. "Adaia…" The name escaped her lips as soft as a sigh, "Was her name Adaia?"

Zoya's heart thudded in her chest, "You knew my mother?" She shifted forward, grasping Wynne's hands. This was an opportunity to learn more about Adaia's life, one she might never get again, but guilt cut through her excitement. While she was in no real hurry to do so, Duncan had ordered her to find the Templar and prepare for the Joining. But he might be occupied with the king all morning, and the last thing she wanted was to be stuck with this Alistair while they waited. And Duncan, of all people, would understand. This mage could tell Zoya about a part of her mother's life that even he knew little about. Shoving the guilt aside, she turned her full attention to the mage. "I'd love to hear anything you might remember about her."

"Surely your commander has better things for you to do than listen to me prattle on. We both have a battle to prepare for, and there's to be a Joining tonight, isn't there? Perhaps we'll have another chance to speak after the ritual." The mage offered a soft smile as she rose to her feet, smoothing her hands over her robes.

Zoya's hands darted out to capture hers, anchoring Wynne in place. "Please… I truly don't think Duncan would mind…" As the mage shook her head and started to pull free, Zoya swallowed hard, desperation threatening to choke her as unspent tears burned in her throat. "I just… my mother never told me about her time in the Circle. I might not get this chance again..."

Wynne's fingers squeezed hers and she nodded, sinking back to the bench with a sigh. "Perhaps a few more moments won't cause any harm." Her eyes became distant as she slipped into her memories. "I still remember when they brought Adaia into the Tower. She looked so small and vulnerable at the center of her Templar guard, her hands cuffed and clothes in tatters. But she had this look in her eyes, so fierce and defiant. I think that's what has stayed with me all these years - that look.

"Adaia was older than most when she came to the Tower. The rumor was that the Templars had snatched her away from the Dalish, which was quite scandalous as the Chantry usually doesn't molest Dalish mages. Of course, that she was allowed to apprentice and go through the Harrowing was nearly as shocking. But Irving, our current First Enchanter, saw her potential and convinced First Enchanter Remille to allow her to be trained and tested.

"Since I've been at the Circle, few apprentices have moved past their Harrowing so quickly. She had such a strong affinity for the healing arts, and her connection to the Fade… well, I'd never before seen its like. And she was so focused on her studies, spending most of her time in the library, distancing herself from the other mages - well, except for one of my own apprentices, Aneirin. I remember how fiercely protective she was of him, standing up to anyone, myself included, who dared treat him harshly." Wynne chuckled, "And Adaia in a fury… she was a sight to behold."

Her faraway look vanished as she focused on Zoya once more. "You really do look so much like your mother." The lines of the mage's face deepened, "She must have been about your age when she escaped. It happened shortly after the Grey Wardens, including your current commander, came to the Circle with King Maric on their way to the Deep Roads." Her face became almost hopeful, "I was told she and Aneirin were killed by Templars, but she must have survived or you wouldn't be here. Tell me, how is your mother? Is Aneirin also in the Alienage? You mentioned having a teacher besides your mother…"

Zoya took a deep breath, fighting against the band tightening around her chest. Would sharing the news of her mother's death ever get easier? "The Templars did kill her, almost five years ago now. But before that, she lived in the Alienage, serving as a healer and midwife."

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Wynne wrapped elegant fingers around Zoya's hand, her face full of sympathy.

Zoya looked down to avoid seeing the disappointment in Wynne's face, "I've never heard of anyone named Aneirin. I wish I had information to give you." Her mouth contorted as a frown pulled at it, "This other person... He wasn't really my teacher… Well, I don't know what to call him exactly. A friend, I guess." She choked back the bitterness that threatened to erupt whenever she thought of the deceitful mage, her voice sounding strained even to her ears. "His name is Anders - he said he was from the Circle Tower-"

Wynne's eyebrows shot upward as Zoya spoke his name. "So Anders made it all the way to Denerim this time? It's been quiet at the Circle without him around. He's an exceptionally skilled mage, another prodigy like your mother, but I never saw him take an interest in teaching. He always seemed more interested in escape plans and other... pursuits than mentoring any of the apprentices." The mage's face brightened, "Is he here with you? I'd heard Duncan was only bringing back one recruit from Denerim?"

"He's not here – I don't know where he is now." Not that I care! The words rang hollow as she tried to banish thoughts of Anders, and how he was probably being entertained by Isabela, from her mind. Zoya rolled her eyes, running a rough hand over her hair. "I'd imagine that after his experiences trying to instruct me, he may never want to do it again. And apparently his interests haven't changed - he's still focused on escapes and those other pursuits."

Wynne offered an understanding nod as she patted Zoya's hand. "Anders always was a bit of a free spirit, never one for duty and attachments. But life in the Circle doesn't encourage such things, well at least not the attachments." The mage bowed her head, seeming to lose herself to her thoughts as deep creases marred her forehead and a frown tugged at her mouth. She sighed, raising her head to meet Zoya's gaze. "I'm sorry, child. What were we talking about? Duty, I believe?" Her attention suddenly shifted to a point over Zoya's shoulder, the melancholy expression displaced by a more cheerful one.

Swiveling on the bench, Zoya's eyes swept over the camp, trying to find what had lifted the mage's spirit so quickly. The area around the nearby Chantry platform, where a priest preached to a crowd of prostrate worshipers, didn't seem to hold anything of interest. But the clearing to the west seemed to hold more promise. It was bustling with activity - soldiers, messengers and camp workers focused on their tasks.

The human soldiers were unremarkable in their uniformity, with the only obvious differences being a few variations in arms and armor. Even the women didn't look much different from the men, their bulky armor and helmets masking their femininity. Whether they were in plate or splintmail, or carried a sword or a crossbow, none of the humans seemed to stand out at first glance.

And she doubted it was an elf who'd caught the woman's attention. They were dashing about, doing their best to disappear into the background, a skill every elf learned at a young age. Zoya watched them with mixed feelings, well aware of the importance of this dangerous lesson. It was best to stay invisible as nothing good could come from drawing the humans' attention. The elves in camp seemed to have learned the lesson well, but it was one she continued to struggle with. She had a knack for finding trouble where humans were concerned.

Speaking of finding trouble… Zoya loosed a heavy sigh. She'd probably stalled long enough - her duties couldn't be postponed forever. But as she turned back toward the mage, one of the soldiers caught her eye. From this distance, there was nothing obvious to make him stand out from the rest. He wore splintmail and had a sword and shield strapped to his back like many of the other soldiers. Maybe her eyes were drawn to him because he was taller than most and was one of the few soldiers not wearing a helmet. Or maybe it was something about the way he moved. The other soldiers strode with purpose, their focus on their destination. But his pace was leisurely, his journey through the crowd seeming like a pleasant stroll through the market. Was this human the one who'd captured Wynne's attention?

The sound of a throat being cleared brought her back to the moment. Wynne's tone was far more lighthearted than it had been just moments ago. "Have you had a chance to see much of Ostagar since you arrived?"

"No, I didn't make it past the mage's camp before I got distracted." Turning her gaze away from the soldier, she offered Wynne a lopsided grin. Perhaps she could stall just a bit longer. "So I was wondering… Are there many mages in camp? Will you be fighting the darkspawn with the rest of the army? Battle mages taking on darkspawn - that sounds exciting!"

"Yes, I suppose it could seem thrilling to some." The elder mage chuckled, "There are only a handful of us here, but we'll be fighting alongside the army, although not on the front lines like the Wardens…"

Zoya nodded absently as the woman spoke, her attention drifting back to the soldier as he continued his stroll across the clearing. A wide grin lit his face as he stopped to clasp arms and chat with another soldier. He seemed so relaxed, almost carefree, as though he was on his way to a picnic instead of marching through a camp prepping for battle. She envied him - the last time she'd felt that light and happy, she'd been twirling among the trees in the Brecilian Forest. An odd flutter tickled her belly as his eyes flickered in her direction, and she quickly ducked her head, heat rising in her cheeks.

By the Void! He probably wasn't even looking at me. Get a grip! Her teeth caught at her lip as her eyes flitted around where she and Wynne were sitting. They were alone in their little corner of the mage's camp, but maybe he was just looking into the crowd. When she glanced toward the soldier again, his attention had returned to his companion.

"...and not all of the mages here excel in combat." Wynne's voice drew her focus once again, "You mentioned getting instruction in magic from your mother? The Circle trains mages to be well-rounded, but how much of that did she pass on to you, I wonder. What skills do you have, child?"

Zoya chewed the inside of her cheek, sneaking a peek at the soldier as she mulled over her answer. She startled when his gaze shifted back in her direction, and the words tripped over her tongue. "I… umm… My skills? With magic?" Running nervous hands over her hair, she shook her head, "Sorry, I-" As laughter slipped from her lips, she was surprised to see his smile echoing her own. Maker! Maybe he was looking at her! Zoya's cheeks burned red as she forced her attention back to the mage. How daft she must seem!

"Yes, your skills with magic, dear." Wynne chuckled.

As she loosed the breath she'd been holding, a corner of her mouth tugged downward, "My mother would have told you that my skills have little to do with magic, but I guess I get by alright. Her lessons were mostly about controlling and manipulating magical energy, but she wanted my focus to be on healing. We never got around to offensive spells - she figured there wasn't a point in me learning them if I could wield a blade and bow." A shudder passed through her as she remembered the few times she'd use such magic. She wasn't anxious to try it again. "How about you?"

Wynne smoothed her hands against her robes, "My dear, I'm an old woman who has spent nearly her whole life in the Circle - I'm about as well-rounded as they come." She laughed, "When I was young, I was focused on elemental magic - big, flashy spells. But as I got older, I learned an appreciation for the healing arts. And lately spirit magic has become a bit of an obsession…"

Zoya found her gaze drifting toward the soldier again. His companion looked like he was enjoying whatever tale the man was spinning, smiling and clapping the man's shoulder. What did his voice sound like? Or his laugh? Did he like to tell jokes? Or maybe he preferred telling stories? The need to know sent her mind scrambling for an excuse to talk to him. She shook her head as she chuckled. Who was she kidding… even if there was a reason for them to speak, she'd probably just say something idiotic. Now if she had Shianni's gift of gab…

The sound of masculine laughter echoed across the clearing. As his companion clasped his shoulder and hurried off, the soldier ran a casual hand through his hair and turned his feet toward the mage's camp. But he must have sensed her eyes on him, because his gaze swung in her direction. His eyes cast downward for a moment before shifting back toward her, a smile tugging at his lips.

As Zoya's hand stole up to nervously twist her braid, an eyebrow quirked upward, pulling the corner of her mouth with it. When his eyebrow arched in response, his grin widening, her breath caught. An odd dizziness left her feeling like her flesh had turned to gossamer. Shaking her head as she looked away, her hand lingered against her chest. What if the sensation she felt was a side effect of the magical barrier holding the darkspawn corruption at bay? Wynne was a healer - maybe she knew?

"Zoya… are you feeling well, dear?" Wynne squeezed her hand. "You look flushed-"

"What? Oh…" Heat burned in her cheeks as she turned back to the mage. "I'm sorry - I guess I'm a bit preoccupied..."

"I can see that." A smug smile settled on Wynne's face as her gaze shifted between Zoya and the soldier. "I may be old, dear, but not so old that I don't remember the joy of such… distractions." She chuckled as Zoya's cheeks blazed hotter. "I was asking about darkspawn, whether you'd ever encountered any."

She clasped her hands in her lap and locked her eyes on them. "Umm… yes. I've encountered them. Duncan and I fought the creatures in some ruins in the Brecilian Forest on our way here." Zoya took a deep breath, "I'm wondering… How much do you know about darkspawn corruption?"

"I've encountered darkspawn, but I don't know much about the corruption they carry. While infected soldiers have been brought back to camp, the mages haven't been allowed to treat them. The Wardens are fairly tightlipped about such things from what I understand." The mage's gaze shifted back toward the soldier, a smile crinkling her face as her hand raised in a friendly wave.

Zoya's heart leapt. Oh, Maker, he's headed this way! Biting her lower lip, she fought back a self-conscious groan, panic speeding her pulse as nervous hands flitted up to smooth down the tendrils that had escaped her braid. I'm such a mess – sunburned nose, face and hands smudged with dirt, and hair hiding all sorts of forest debris. Such a wonderful first impression I'll make... She'd been traveling for days and hadn't had a real bath in… well… she couldn't remember the last time she'd had one or worn anything other than her fighting leathers. What I wouldn't give for a bath, a pretty dress, Shianni to weave flowers in my hair…. and Duncan's whiskey flask...

Now that he was closer, Zoya was able to get a better look at him. As their eyes met and his gaze lingered, a smile lighting his face, her mind emptied except for one thought. Maker's breath, he's gorgeous…

Bowing his head slightly as he crossed an arm over his chest, he spoke in a bemused tone, "Good morning, ladies."

Zoya couldn't help but grin as his rich baritone reached her ears, the heat in her cheeks racing to reach the tips of her ears. Her lips parted but her voice was nowhere to be found. Shianni and Soris would be howling if they could see me like this! Her tongue fought to form words in a mouth that had gone dry, but all she managed was a whispery "Morning."

"Good morning, Alistair!" Wynne had no such problem getting out the words, her voice chipper. "We don't see you in the mage's camp very often. Is there something you need?"

Wait! What did she call him? No, he couldn't be... Zoya's heart thudded. For a moment, she worried the humans could hear it.

He quirked an eyebrow at Zoya as she gaped at him, offering her a lopsided smile before turning to Wynne. "Actually, you wouldn't happen to know where Senior Enchanter Edwin is?"

Wynne tapped a finger against her chin, "I thought I saw him head toward the temple ruins earlier. He may still be there."

"Thanks!" Curious eyes settled on Zoya for a moment, and she ducked her head, capturing her lip between her teeth. As she peered up at him through her lashes, he swallowed hard, running a hasty hand through his hair, "Well, I should probably go find him…" With a quick bow, he shot one last smile at the women before hurrying off.

Her gaze followed him, resting on the griffon emblazoned on his shield, her voice little more than a squeak when she spoke, "Did you say Alistair?"

"Oh… you two haven't yet met? I just assumed…" Wynne chuckled softly, "If I'd known, I'd have introduced you. Yes, that was Alistair, one of the Wardens - such a good lad!"

Andraste's fiery bits! She rubbed at her forehead, the butterflies in her belly replaced by boulders. "Are you sure?" It was an idiotic question, one she regretted as soon as it left her mouth. She swallowed hard, her stomach churning.

The elder mage regarded her with a raised eyebrow "Are you asking if I'm sure that was Alistair, that he's a Warden, or that he's a good lad?"

"All of those, actually." Her mouth shifted into a grimace, "Well, Duncan told me to find the Templar. And here I was feeling guilty for neglecting my duty. I guess I can call that mission accomplished."

Wynne turned a fond smile in the young Warden's direction. "Ex-Templar, my dear. Not that Alistair was a typical member of the order." She sighed, "He spent some time at the Circle Tower as part of his Templar training, but he wasn't there long - it didn't go well for him. He was involved in a failed Harrowing, a young woman losing herself to a demon." Bitterness crept into her voice, "But when he refused the order to strike down the abomination, Knight-Commander Greagoir sent him away. He was lucky he wasn't locked away. Instead he was sent back to monastery, declared unfit for duty at the Circle since his sympathies toward mages would make him vulnerable to our manipulations."

Zoya chanced a glance toward the human's retreating back. Her heart resumed its earlier thumping when he turned his head in her direction and their eyes met. He offered a small smile, one she was surprised to find herself returning, before disappearing around a corner. Dragging sweaty palms over her hair, her fingers laced together at the back of her neck, and she bowed her head with a heavy sigh, "Well… he isn't what I expected. When Duncan told me Alistair was a Templar, I guess that's all I really heard." Now he seemed more like the boy from the king's kennel than the monster she'd conjured. She offered the mage a wry grin, "I was imagining someone ten feet tall and wearing plate armor, zealot's eyes glowing red through the visor slit as he called upon the Maker to smite me. Isn't there some sort of rule that says Templars must be easily identifiable at all times so they won't be accidentally ogled by unwary apostates?"

The elder mage smiled sadly at Zoya, "It's unfortunate that both Templars and mages have been taught to fear and distrust each other. But over the years I've learned that there are more of us that aren't monsters than are. Perhaps if we took the time to look past the roles we've been cast in, we could find common ground." She patted Zoya's hand as she rose to her feet. "You're both Grey Wardens, my dear. In the end, that you are comrades in fighting this Blight may be all the common ground you need. I know you didn't ask for it, but my advice to you is to put old fears aside and give the lad a chance. He may surprise you."