142. Class Is in Session
Knight-Commander Greagoir was not entirely certain how much stock he put in these Wardens. They were children, all of them.
The morning after the mages arrived in Redcliffe, Gregoir stood post outside the Chantry and watched the forces that would combat the evil unleashed by the Tevinter magisters.
The Chantry was kind enough to lend out floorspace for the handful of battle-ready mages they had been able to gather. In return, Greagoir offered his small contingent of Templars to aid in clearing out and rebuilding the Redcliffe Chantry. He could only hope Cullen was doing well in watching the remaining mages—those too young or too old to fight—back at Kinloch Hold.
The Knight-Commander worried about him. The boy had once had a good, calm head on his shoulders; Greagoir had once hoped to groom him for officership. However, since the takeover, he'd become unpredictable. Greagoir hoped his own absence from the tower would be a chance for the boy to prove himself, rather than a mistake.
Greagoir stood at a post outside the Chantry, listening to the once-familiar sound of the Chanter singing out into the busy square. It was a brisk, bright late morning, the soldiers occupying the town happy to consort with the civilian ladies. It had been some time since Greagoir had been at a post like this. At times, he missed it: watching the townsfolk go about their business beside the Chanters' Board. However, the work he did at the Circle was far more important.
"A beautiful day, isn't it, Greagoir?" the First Enchanter's gravelly voice said behind him, and the mage came out of the Chantry to stand beside him. The enchanter's craggy face split into a smile and he tilted his head back against the sun. Greagoir stifled a distant pang of guilt, that something so simple as sunshine meant so much to his old partner.
"That it is, Irving," the Templar replied, keeping his stance and voice steady. "How are the mages faring this morning?"
"Enjoying the change in scenery, I suspect," Irving replied. "As, I dare say, are you."
Greagoir allowed a small smile. "It has been some time since I sat post at a Chanter's Board." He motioned across the square, where a young soldier snuck out the window of one of the houses. "What think you of this rabble we are to fight beside?"
Irving hummed thoughtfully. "I think there is perhaps no better prospect than magi, Templars, and common folk fighting alongside one another against a common threat. Wouldn't you agree?"
"An optimistic assessment, perhaps." Still, he had to hand it to his old colleague... "Certainly not one I would be against, at this point."
Irving chuckled, and the two men stood out in the sunlight, enjoying the morning for what it was. After a time, Greagoir closed his eyes and simply absorbed the sounds and scents of a bustling lakeside town.
Only when he heard a familiar voice on the breeze did he look up. Heading down the path from the castle were a pair of figures dressed in robes, with a third trailing a few steps behind.
Greagoir recognized the two in front, even at distance. One was obviously Enchanter Wynne, with her white hair and careful grace in walking. Beside her, that darker coloring and brisk tread could only be Felicity Amell.
Greagoir recalled easily the time she had come back to the Tower during the incident with Uldred. He had been surprised then to have the scholar stand up to him the way she had... yet he could not say he would be surprised if the woman approaching now would do the same. Miss Amell's carriage was stronger and more confident than it had ever been in the Tower, a different kind of wisdom guiding her steps. Felicity Amell the mage had been intelligent. Felicity Amell the Grey Warden was worldly.
Only as they drew closer, and the conversation the two women were holding started drifting over to them, did Greagoir recognize the third figure.
He had not seen Kazar Surana since the boy's conscription, and he fought not to let his jaw drop in shock. It was not only the strange robes made of leathers and furs, nor the long, twisted branch staff. It was in the deliberately calm way the boy moved, in his sharp, but assessing gaze as he returned Greagoir's stare.
If Miss Amell's fire had been stoked up, then Kazar Surana's had been tempered down.
"Well, now," Irving said, noticing what Greagoir did. "Would you look at that?" Irving stepped forward with a beaming smile and greeted them with, "It is so good to see all of you."
"And you, Irving," Wynne said, ever the diplomatic one.
Felicity, too, was beaming, holding a thick tome to her side. "We cannot thank you enough for agreeing to help. The mages could very well be the only possible way to ground the archdemon." She paused and nodded a brief greeting to Greagoir. "That's why we're here. We must discuss strategy so that we may begin preparations as soon as possible."
"Of course," Irving said. "Come inside. You will find everyone there."
Felicity nodded and stepped in, leading the way into the Chantry. Irving and Wynne followed easily, leaving Greagoir to stare at the boy who'd once let a maleficar escape.
Kazar looked up at him, his (illegally) tattooed face a mask, and that was strange enough. Then, there was a short nod... no sarcasm or bitterness, just flat respect, and Greagoir thought he must be in the Fade, for all the sense that made. It took him a moment to get over the shock, by which time Kazar had followed the other mages inside. Greagoir shook his head in bafflement and entered the Chantry building himself.
Felicity was gathering the mages in the back of the building, where the Templars had managed to clear a prayer area. Felicity had a number of maps and diagrams (of dragons, from the look of it) that she pressed against the walls, and Kazar froze them in place with application of ice magic. That made Greagoir raise his eyebrows. Mages were dissuaded from using their magic in such a frivolous manner of course... but still, that was fairly clever and controlled, and that in reference to Kazar Surana.
"All right," Felicity said, clapping her hands and turning to the assembled mages. He could see the wheels in her head turning as she did a headcount. Their small numbers did not seem to bother her overmuch, however, because she beamed and motioned for them all to sit in front of her. Not for the first time, Greagoir mused that she would have been a good instructor of apprentices. "So, hello everyone. Nice to see you again. We've come by today to talk about how you will be needed to take down the archdemon."
"And you'll lead us?" Petra asked doubtfully. "The bookworm who can't even string a fireball together?"
"Petra," Wynne chided. "Have some respect. These two are Grey Wardens now."
"It's all right, Wynne," Felicity said. Her face was flushed, but she plunged on. "Actually, no. I'll be needed with the other Wardens, so I won't be leading you. Kazar will."
That caused an uproar as several mages tried to talk at once.
"Kazar? This little brat?"
"He's a kid!"
"He'll fireball us all for fun!"
Once, Greagoir might have agreed with the protests, but watching him now... seeing how Kazar leaned back against the wall, watching the proceedings with more amusement than ire, made Greagoir doubt that was the case any longer.
As things got out of hand, Greagoir raised his fingers to his lips and blew a sharp, loud whistle that had them all immediately silent. "Let the Wardens speak," he barked in his best Knight-Commander voice, and they settled down.
"Thank you, Ser Greagoir," Felicity said with some surprise. "Strategically speaking, we mages are the best chance of putting the archdemon on the ground. Without that, the forces outside will merely be throwing themself upon the horde for nothing. So, we need strategy. Kazar, suggestions?"
"Yeah," one of the mages scoffed, "like he knows anything."
"And when did you fight the archdemon, Tatum?" Kazar asked. He pushed away from the wall with a smirk. "Anyone else here ever fight the archdemon? Hands up, now. No, just me? Yeah, thought so."
Kazar took a position beside Felicity, crossing his arms. "Look, this is easy. It's a dragon. That means it's a big lizard that flies. You take out the wings, and it's suddenly just an overgrown gecko with bad breath." Kazar was looking over them assessingly. "That means ice spells and thunder spells directed at the wings. Nothing big and fancy that wastes mana for a pretty boom... the army will need it down as fast as possible to mitigate the damage it does on flybys. So aim for the wings."
"Which reminds me," Felicity put in. "The archdemon will have a breath attack. So we'll need to make as much warmth balm- "
"Spirit," Kazar interrupted.
"Spirit? You're sure?"
"When it was blasting me in the face with it?" Kazar returned, but there wasn't any actual ire in the statement, just more amusement. "Yeah, pretty sure."
"Point taken." She smiled. "We'll need to make as much spirit balm as possible and distribute it amongst those most likely to be in close quarters with it."
One of the mages raised her hand. "Wouldn't blasting it get its attention? What happens when it comes after us?"
Kazar scoffed. "Hello? We're mages? That's what spell shields are for?"
"When have you ever used a spell shield?" Felicity teased.
"That's what I have meat shields for. Also not the point."
"Well I'll be," Irving whispered beside Greagoir.
"Feeling a little sentimental," Greagoir whispered back, "are you, First Enchanter?"
The enchanter's eyes twinkled. "They do grow up so fast."
Greagoir bit back an amused smile and turned his attention back to the proceedings. Felicity was going over the dragon diagrams, pointing out weak parts of its anatomy. Then, to everyone's surprise, Kazar summoned a large ball of fire in the air before them and shaped into a three-dimensional model of a dragon. The way he animated it, making it swoop and flap its wings, Greagoir could only assume they were telling the truth... Kazar truly had fought the archdemon before, or at least a dragon of some kind. As had Felicity, who stepped in and pointed out the weak spots on the fiery model.
Once that was done, Felicity started listing off potions they'd need for the upcoming battle and the necessary ingredients, delegating mages and sending each out with a shopping or foraging list. Once the last mage was off to try to find some mushrooms, Irving stepped forward. "That was very well-done, both of you."
Felicity bowed her head. "Thank you, First Enchanter. Our best form of attack right now is preperation. We will verify its effectiveness once we encounter the horde on the battlefield."
"That is my concern," Greagoir said, also stepping forward to engage the two Wardens (and how strange to think of them as such, when he'd known them since they were children... particularly Kazar). "You speak well of this hypothetical battle with the archdemon, but what of the rest of the horde?"
"That will be in the hands of the king," Felicity said, suddenly turning stiff.
"What she means," Kazar cut in blithely, "is that we've got several arling's worth of armed fighters to cut down the horde. You Templars? You should concentrate just on cutting enough of a path to give your mages a clear shot." Kazar looked up at him with a raised brow. "That's what Templars do, right? Guard mages?"
"Why, yes," Greagoir said with some surprise. "Yes, it is."
"Good." Kazar started past, heading out of the Chantry. "We'll see how well you do it on the battlefield."
"Take care of yourself, Mr. Surana," Irving called to his retreating back.
"Always do," was the answer before the door shut behind the slender form.