Finding Alistair takes them longer than they would like, but there's really no helping it. He will still be in the camp after Tali and Sav can find a place to wash and pray, of that they're both certain. Besides, the opportunity to clean themselves offers Tali a chance at last to attempt fully cleaning the wound across her collarbone. She'll be lucky if she avoids infection, though she's no healer and she's not entirely sure that she has done, what with the way the skin around the torn scab is swollen, tight and slightly warm to the touch. Still, she waves off Savreen's concern, refuses to let her look at the gash, guilt thrumming through her as she thinks of how she can seem to do nothing but worry her cousin even as she fights back her resentment. The wound will scar no matter what either of them do now, the wound and more besides, more inside, in her heart and in their relationship. Nevertheless, Tali acquiesces at least to Sav's request that she find a healer in camp before too long. When she turns to wash the rest of her skin, she tries to ignore the rust red flakes of dried blood that swirl away in the gentle eddies of the river.
Though they both feel fresher after bathing, their hair especially, any other feelings of cleanliness are ruined when they have to put on their old clothes. There's no time to wash them—leaving them to dry would take all day—and they have nothing else to wear. In the end, though, their quick wash is less time-consuming than the nap both of them desperately need but can't afford. It will have to do for now. More importantly, it lets them turn their attention to finding the other warden recruits and Alistair. While the encampment at Ostagar isn't exactly huge, it is confusing, all wound up in the ancient ruins, and Tali's penchant for speaking to every mildly pleasant face (along with Sav's insistence that they stop by the healers' tent) slows them down considerably.
By the time they find the mystery Warden Alistair, Tali has had her wound bandaged, magically cleansed to ward off any burgeoning infection, and been lectured prodigiously for leaving it so long. What's more, the two of them have circled back around the two empty Grey Warden tents pitched next to Duncan's (they're smaller and more worn than either of them thought they would be) and they've spoken to two soldiers, Loghain himself (he frightens Talvinder, the Hero of River Dane, and though Savreen admires his history, there is something in him she cannot trust), a group of Ash Warriors, and both of the other recruits.
The first recruit, Daveth, is quick to smile and smirk, with a quick wit and quicker fingers that seem to itch after the purses of anyone passing him by. He says Duncan rescued him from the gallows in Denerim, and Tali isn't inclined to doubt it, what with the ease at which trouble finds him. Jory, the second recruit, is somehow less likeable. A knight from the shores of Lake Calenhad, he speaks at length of his wife, loudly proclaiming his honor and questioning Savreen and Talvinder's skills. It's enough to make Tali grit her teeth and force Sav to pull her away before she gets into a shouting match.
At last, though, the sound of shouts elsewhere catches their attention. As they approach the dais from which raised voices are emanating, spotting a figure in plate armor emblazoned with the Warden crest, the two of them exchange a sheepish glance. Tali at least recognizes the area, and she can tell by the look on Sav's face that she does, too: it's nearly exactly where they started from, just next to the causeway bridge. They needn't have gone and wandered around this entire portion of the encampment at all. They needn't even have gone more than about ten yards.
"What is it now?" an indignant voice calls. "Haven't the Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?"
"I simply came to deliver a message from the Revered Mother, ser mage. She desires your presence." While the response isn't snide, exactly, it does make Savreen and Talvinder glance between each other, confused. The voice is so young, it sounds as though this Alistair cannot be much older than the two of them. Which is unexpected. Hesitantly, they draw closer, unsure now if this really is Alistair, the Alistair they've been looking for, the Alistair that Duncan told them to find.
"What her Reverence 'desires' is of no concern to me! I am already busy helping the Grey Wardens—by the king's orders, I might add!" The mage, an older man, slightly balding, is positively fuming, hands balled into fists at his sides. But in front of him, standing with his weight on one foot, his head cocked to the side, and his arms folded over his dark blue gambeson, the Warden appears only mildly inconvenienced.
"Should I have asked her to write a note?" Snark oozes from him in waves, and Talvinder takes a moment to look him over. He's tall, maybe even an inch or two taller than her, and his warm brown skin is a few shades lighter than her own, splattered with freckles. His hair, though, is distinctly lighter, somewhere between reddish blonde and brown, and cut short. He's built like her, but again a little larger, more muscular. The build of a strong warrior, as is backed up by the sword belt on his waist. Broad shoulders and a strong jaw, with a long, slightly curved nose, give him a regal appearance—one that might rival Cailan's—though his sarcastic demeanor mitigates that somewhat. What's most surprising to Tali are the faint points at the tips of his ears, given how much taller and broader he is than any elf she's ever known. With his fine features and the strange grace about him, however, elven blood would make some sense.
"A note—tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!" The continuing argument and the mage's stuttering shout pulls Tali sharply from her appraising reverie, just as she's about to arrive at the conclusion that she finds this man disarmingly handsome.
"Yes, I was harassing you by delivering a message." The slight wobble of his head emphasizes the Warden's words, making the sarcasm doubly biting.
"Your glibness does you no credit, boy."
"And here I thought we were getting along so well! I was even going to name one of my children after you. The grumpy one." Tali can't help it. At that, she lets out a bark of laughter, though she claps a hand over her mouth as soon as Sav gives her a withering look. The mage and Warden both turn to look at her, and the Warden puffs slightly, as though thrilled his joke has landed somewhere, even if Tali feels slight shame for laughing. The mage, on the other hand, is not happy.
"Enough!" With a growl, he begins stalking away. "I will speak to the woman if I must! Get out of my way, fool!" Blustering as he goes, the man storms between Tali and Sav, and they step aside to let him pass. The Warden sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, pinching it between gloved fingers, and then speaks again, a touch tired, voice facetious.
"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together." Once more, Tali laughs, though she's as surprised at her reaction as Savreen, and the Warden, even.
"I know exactly what you mean," she says, exhaustion making her bold. So what if she wouldn't say it normally? She has no idea what else she should be saying, how else she should be feeling. At least this breaks through some of the numbness that chases her. At least it isn't anger at Sav. At least.
"It's like a party: we could all stand in a circle and hold hands. That would give the Darkspawn something to think about." Tali chuckles again, closing her eyes as she does so and missing the repeated look of surprise the Warden throws at her. A beat passes while he looks the two of them over, eyes taking in Talvinder's height and muscles and Savreen's lithe, long build. "Wait, we haven't met, have we? I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?" Sav speaks before Tali can, though she's opened her mouth to respond.
"We haven't met. Are you Alistair?" Tali watches as her cousin steps forward, holding out a hand. Alistair nods, confirming his name, and then takes Sav's hand and shakes it once, firmly, as a spark of recognition lights his eyes.
"Duncan told me there would be recruits looking for me. That makes you them, I suppose? Glad to meet you. As the most junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining." Most junior member? Tali is surprised by this revelation, but tries not to let it show.
"We're pleased to meet you. I am Savreen, and this is my cousin Talvinder." Alistair's attention turns again to Tali, and he offers his own hand to her, in a reversal of Savreen's motion. She takes it, noting the firmness of his grip, and can't help but count how many times Alistair shakes her hand in comparison to Sav's. His eyes, she notices, are brown, bright like lacquered wood in the sunshine.
"Right. Those were the names." He says it absently, eyes still locked with Tali's. She can feel something like embarrassment flooding her face, and turns away to hide it, gently pulling her hand from Alistair's. Her kara tinkles lightly against a buckle on his glove, steel against steel, and it appears to startle him back to the moment. He blinks, and then seems to yank randomly at the first thought that comes to his mind. "You know...it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?"
"You want more women in the Wardens, do you?" Tali can see the instant regret on Alistair's face as she challenges him, attempting to regain her footing in the conversation and shake that shared moment from her mind. He swallows, eyes glancing side to side.
"Would that be so terrible? Not—not that I'm some drooling lecher or anything. I didn't mean it that way –" When Sav chuckles slightly, he turns to look at her, exasperation and a little bit of anxiety clouding his expression. "Please stop looking at me like that, I swear I'm glad both of you are here. The bird Duncan sent, the message—I know you can hold your own." He shifts, uncomfortable on his feet, and then grins crookedly, raising one eyebrow in a sort of plea. "Besides, I'm sure you're both better suited to being Wardens than I am." His bashful expression and the sincerity behind his words make both Tali and Sav smile. Relief crosses Alistair's face, and he takes advantage of the change in tone to switch topics away from his ill-chosen subject of conversation. He clears his throat, and then asks "So, I'm curious. Have you ever actually encountered Darkspawn before?"
Tali can feel the faint smile slip from her face. To her side, Sav's expression hardens. Unsure what to say, Tali turns to her cousin, the older one, the one better with words, who sighs and answers.
"No, truthfully, we haven't." Thankfully, though, Alistair doesn't seem to judge them for it. He simply nods and crosses his arms over his chest, one hand resting slightly curled against his chin.
"When I fought my first one, I wasn't prepared for how monstrous it was. I can't say I'm looking forward to encountering another, no one ever does. But you should be prepared. And know I'll have your backs." Again, the sincerity of his words rings out like a bell, and Tali realizes she is intensely grateful that this man is the one who will be with them through whatever lies ahead. Next to her, Sav smiles softly and inclines her head, but Tali knows it will be at least a little longer before her cousin trusts Alistair. Before she trusts anyone, after Highever. Those thoughts pass through Tali's mind in an instant, and the name of Highever feels like an icy bath, a shock to her system. She feels like stumbling. Sav reaches out to steady her, and Tali startles at the touch, reflexively yanking her arm away. Pain flashes across Sav's features, and for some reason, Tali doesn't try to correct Sav's misapprehension. Tali knows the reason, inside, but she pretends she doesn't, even to herself. It's better than the anger.
"Anyhow," Alistair's words feel like they come ages after he last spoke, though Tali knows that it's only been a few seconds, at most, "whenever you're ready, let's head back to Duncan. I imagine he's eager to get things started." His nonchalance surprises Tali. Either he hasn't noticed the tense moment tha just passed, or he's better at hiding things than he seems.
Savreen nods, and their small group turns. As they begin walking down the slope of the dais, back towards Duncan, she asks Alistair the question on both her and Tali's minds.
"The argument we happened to walk in on…what was that about? I wouldn't have expected to find such discord in the king's camp before a battle."
"With the mage, you mean?" As Alistair answers, they pass the mages' enclave, and all three of them look at it reflexively before he continues. "The Circle is here at the king's request and the Chantry doesn't like that one bit. They just love letting mages know how unwelcome they are. Which puts me in a bit of an awkward position." He pauses, unsure of what his new companions' responses will be, and continues with reluctance. "I was once a templar." The admission hangs in the air for a moment. Though Sav and Tali aren't Andrastian, they are more than familiar with the templars, the mage-hunters. Memories flash through Tali's mind, of the templars who came to the Gurdwara, seeking one of the young apostates sheltered there. Of the way the Granthi sent them away, empty-handed, of the way their fathers barred the authority of the templars in Highever Keep ever after.
"That would be awkward," Tali acquiesces, eyeing Alistair with a guarded expression, though his clear discomfort at his past affiliation comforts her somewhat. When she looks to Savreen, Tali can see that she, too, is glad to find Alistair less than enthusiastic about the templars. Alistair continues, speaking half for the two of them and half for himself.
"I'm sure the Revered Mother meant it as an insult—sending me as her messenger, I mean—and the mage picked right up on that. I never would have agreed to deliver it, but Duncan says we're all to 'cooperate' and 'get along.'" As they approach the Warden tents, both them and the fire sheltered by some ancient pillars, Alistair ruefully remarks, "apparently, they didn't get the same speech," before turning his attention to his commander, who sits on a stone in front of his tent. Duncan looks up from the report he's reading, and then sets it aside and stands. Sher and Abarie bound up from where they sit and return to flank Sav and Tali, falling into their normal places with a few short yips and some bounces of excitement.
"You found Alistair, I see. Good. I'll assume you are ready to begin preparations. Assuming, of course, that you're quite finished riling up mages, Alistair." Duncan has the sharp look of a father scolding a child, and, for a moment, Tali is reminded of her own father, reprimanding her after scaring away her first suitor, her dinner lehnga still soaked in mud, her face smeared with red paint. She'd been pretending to be a ghost, a long-dead ancestor who roamed the keep at night, about whom she'd spun a tale at dinner. While she'd thought it funny, the suitor had found it terrifying (as was rather the point). The memory is fleeting, though, as Alistair's response and the approach of Daveth and Jory break the moment.
"What can I say? The Revered Mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army." Though Alistair speaks with nonchalance, Tali can see in the way he raises his shoulders, lowers his head ever so slightly, stance turning crooked rather than straight, that he's heard Duncan, processed the chiding in his tone.
"She forced you to sass the mage, did she?" Duncan's gaze isn't withering, rather more exasperated. But Tali can see something even more surprising in it: tenderness, the kind she's so intimately used to as passing between her and her own father. The ghost incident, for example, had ended with her father laughing, pulling her into a hug, getting red paint all over him as he praised her ingenuity all while telling her never to do that again. Still, he'd never invited another suitor without asking her, first. Watching Duncan and Alistair, remembering her own father, Tali begins to understand just how close the two truly are. Duncan sighs, shakes his head, and continues. "We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair. We don't need to give anyone more ammunition against us." Tali feels even more of an outsider to this conversation, an interloper, when Alistair shifts and speaks softly.
"You're right, Duncan. I apologize." Duncan nods, and suddenly his demeanor shifts. He's speaking not just to Alistair now, but to all of them, and now he is the commander Tali expects, the commander she knows. The commander who dragged you from Highever Keep, the voice says. Her body feels far away, suddenly.
"Now then, since you are all here, we can begin. The four of you will be heading into the Korcari Wilds to perform two tasks. The first is to obtain four vials of Darkspawn blood, one for each recruit." Jory practically jumps at the news, drawing everyone's momentary attention, but he quickly shoves down whatever his reaction is. Tali cannot deny that this request seems strange, though Duncan's earlier words of secret Joining rituals silence her tongue. As she turns back towards Duncan, Savreen speaks.
"And what's the second task?" Duncan nods at her question, ignoring Jory as he answers her.
"There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned in the years after the last Blight, when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts. It has fallen into disrepair after the Wardens' expulsion from Ferelden, but recently we have discovered some scrolls were left behind." Here, Duncan turns to Alistair, rather than the recruits. "Alistair, I want you to retrieve these scrolls, if you can." Curiosity gets the better of Talvinder.
"What kind of scrolls are these?" she asks, unsure how any paper or parchment could be expected to have survived centuries of moldering and neglect.
"Old treaties, if you're curious." Though Duncan's voice is light, it is clear these treaties are important, things which should never have been forgotten, and Tali listens carefully. "Promises of support made to the Grey Wardens long ago, protected by magic to prevent their destruction. They were once considered only formalities, but with so many having forgotten their commitments to us, and with the recent nature of our return to the country, I suspect it may be a good idea to have something to remind them with." Duncan turns, picks up and rifles through a leather folio case, and then approaches the group again with a map, which he hands to Alistair.
"It will be an overgrown ruin by now, but the sealed chest should remain intact. If the magic has held, then these treaties should only be accessible to a Grey Warden." Alistair looks at the map, at its markings that, to Tali, seem only vague suggestions, and then nods, tucking it away into a leather pocket on his belt. "Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly, and safely. The battle will not wait for you for long." Again, the tenderness, the voice of a father to a son. Tali looks away as Alistair answers Duncan's entreaty, thoughts of blood on a stone floor and a poisoned hand twisting her stomach and her spine.
"We will." Alistair's voice is confident. Tali hears her own in it. Her hand slides to her belt, to the sheath of her father's kirpan.
"Then may the Maker watch over your path. I will see you when you return." Duncan dismisses them all, picking up his report and his folio case before lifting the flap to his tent and disappearing within. Quickly, Alistair turns to the rest of them, all business.
"Right. We want to leave before midday, but before we can, you all need to make sure your blades are sharpened, waterskins full, and please, for the love of the Maker, if there's any snacks you know you'll want, make sure you bring them yourselves. Meet at the gates before the noon bell." As Alistair speaks, Tali notices something like discomfort animating the line of his shoulders. "Daveth, Jory, after your weapons are ready, go to the supply master and pick up packs for yourselves, Savreen and Talvinder." He turns to the two of them as the men leave, running an appraising, if awkward, glance over their bodies. Tali and Sav look at each other, confused and bemused, as Alistair clears his throat and speaks. "Both of you, um, your armor has seen better days. Not that you don't look fine, of course! But you should see the quartermaster before we leave. Not that I've been looking." Both Tali and Sav stifle their laughter, but Tali can't help the pang that stills her chuckles as Alistair's face reddens and he turns away. "Well. Now that I've embarrassed myself in front of every recruit junior to myself, I'll just go jump off the fort's causeway." As Alistair marches away, Savreen smiles and turns with Sher on her heels, ready to leave, and Tali follows before pausing and turning back, nearly stumbling over Abarie.
"Alistair?" He looks up and back as she calls out, and she can't quite tell what compels her to say it, but she does. "I look forward to travelling with you." His brows furrow, but a small quirk lifts the corner of his mouth into a smile.
"You do? Huh, that's…that's a switch." And then Tali has to turn, has to catch up with Sav, and they're going their separate ways.
The walk to the quartermaster's station is both too long for silence and too short for any of the conversations Tali knows need to be had. Besides, the king's encampment is hardly private.
"Alistair seems kind," Sav eventually says, breaking the tension, and Tali breathes a sigh of relief. Conversation between them has never been hard before, and she's so patently unused to dealing with it that she doesn't know what to do. Though she supposes this is really her fault, at the heart of it all. Or Savreen's. It's her fault, and you know it.
"He definitely appears more approachable than Duncan is. Do you think he'll tell us what this Joining is?" Savreen frowns slightly, mouth pulling to the side as her nostrils flare.
"I have been wondering about that. Why keep it secret?" Tali shrugs, but Sav's question seems to have been rhetorical, and she continues. "And why do we need the blood of Darkspawn? It seems a strange request." As Tali mulls over her cousin's words, they reach the quartermaster's stand. He looks up from where he stands, polishing a breastplate, and doesn't bother moving closer.
"Well?"
"We've been sent to procure new armor," Sav explains.
"Got a requisition?"
"No."
"Got any coin?" Sav looks at Tali, and they both shift uneasily. They have such a small amount of coin already, they know they can hardly afford new armor.
"No." He snorts, turns the breastplate over, and goes back to work.
"Then you'll get no new armor. Hey, you!" he yells at a harried-looking courier, and she has no choice but to abandon what seems to be her sorely needed break.
"Yes, ser?" The young woman approaches, and Tali can see the tiredness writ across her features.
"Take this," he motions to a bundle on a wooden table behind him, "to Bann Dace's commander. If he's got any complaints, don't tell me about 'em. I'll give you the coin when you get back. And an apple, if you're quick about it." With a sigh, she does so, and she's gone in a flash, and the quartermaster seems to be ignoring Tali and Sav.
"Ser, we are with—"
"Doesn't matter who you're with," he says. "I've had every last sot in this camp asking for this and that for the last week. I work for the king. I don't work for every last Bann and Arl and their dog." He ends his words with a jab of his finger at Sher and Abarie, who whine and cock their heads. Tali is bristling, frustrated beyond measure, but Sav puts a hand on her shoulder and then steps forward.
"Please, if you would listen, ser, we will not take more of your time than is needed." The gentleness in her tone makes him look up, and as Tali looks at him, really looks, she can see that his face is sallow with the need for sleep, with the patchy stubbled beard of a tenday shadowing his jaw. "We are the new recruits for the Grey Wardens, and we only need a few odds and ends to patch our armor before we venture into the Wilds. We have no coin, but if you take it up with our commander, Duncan, I am sure he will see you compensated." The quartermaster gives them both a long look, takes in the build of their armor, still the training armor they fled Highever wearing, seems to chew over his thoughts, and then, reluctantly nods.
"Fine. You've been more polite than most."
"Thank you." Sav, smiling gently, moves forward as the quartermaster beckons and points to his stock of armor. Tali follows, a little surprised by how easily her cousin persuaded this man, but not willing to question it. Her training armor has been fine, but she's lacking a chainmail shirt for under her char-aina, and if they're to be facing Darkspawn, she's not willing to go without it. And besides that, she'd left without retrieving the cloth for her patka. Before too long, Tali finds what she's looking for in a suitably long and wide mail tunic and a square bolt of cotton she can tie into a turban, and Sav finds greaves and bracers that will fit alongside her war bracelets and over her boots. Quickly, and before they can wear on the man's patience further, they bid the quartermaster farewell and hurry to the camp's blacksmith, seeking whetstones.
Tali can feel noon approaching when they finally head to meet Alistair and the others by the gates to the Wilds. Though the late summer morning had dawned cool and breezy, as the sun moves higher in the sky, its light grows warmer. By the time she and Sav arrive at the gates, swords sharpened, new armor donned, Tali can feel the faint touch of sweat between her shoulder blades. She can already see Daveth and Jory, waiting there with Alistair, each with a compact but full-looking bundle of supplies slung over their shoulders, and two more sitting at their feet, waiting for her and Sav. Daveth and Jory have both changed their armor: Daveth's thin frame is ensconced in leather, the deep brown contrasting with his black hair and his lightly tanned skin, and Jory wearing heavy chainmail—the shininess of which seems to emphasize the shine of his large forehead, making his receding hairline and pale skin all the more apparent. With a glance at her cousin, Tali speeds up, feeling as though they're late, despite the fact that the noon bell has yet to ring. When Alistair spots them, he motions to the guard by the gate, telling him to make ready.
"Our apologies. We didn't realize—" Tali begins, the words anxious to get out, but Daveth shrugs and cuts her off as he pushes a bundle of supplies at her. Tali and Sav take a brief moment to combine the precious little they've been carrying with them into the new packs.
"We had less to do. Pretty-boy over there," he jerks a thumb over his shoulder at Alistair, who is still speaking to the guard, "just told us bad jokes about cheese while we were waiting. Wonder why I let Duncan save me from the gallows, I do." Tali chokes on her laughter as she shifts the shield fastened around her shoulders, moving it to accommodate the pack of supplies wrapped in dark blue fabric. She turns to help Sav with her pack, though both Sav's swords are out of the way on her waist, and she doesn't truly need the assistance. I should say something, she thinks, anything, before we go out there and before she has to trust me with her life. But Tali's mouth is dry. What would you say? The voice asks, meanly, hissing in her mind. That it is her fault? But what she'd say doesn't matter. Even a whisper won't rise to her lips, no matter how hard she tries, and the chance passes as Alistair approaches them.
"Everyone ready?" Alistair asks, eyes containing what looks like Tali to be barely concealed anxiety. When no one objects, he turns back toward the guard, motioning for the four recruits to follow. "Right, now if you could all follow my orders and make sure Duncan doesn't get mad at me for, you know, letting you die, that would be grand." Tali can just about hear Daveth roll his eyes, though he does smile ruefully. Jory looks ill, as though he might be sick any second. Savreen steels herself, eyes calm but intent, and Tali knows that look, the careful preparation for whatever might be ahead. For her own part, Tali isn't sure what to think or how to feel about the venture ahead. But she doesn't know what else there is to do, so she squares her shoulders where she stands next to Sav, watches as Alistair nods to the guard, who opens the heavy wooden gate, and follows him through it, into the Korcari Wilds.
To Tali's surprise, the Wilds are, really, quite normal. There are wolves and marshes, and no small number of biting marsh flies, but they remind her more of the borderlands of one of the countless Southern Ferelden bannorns she's visited than she expects. Green and brown grasses rustle against each other all about, framing the ruined old Tevinter road they walk along. Moss clings to the stones. Somewhere, Tali can hear a marsh-bird singing. What sets the Wilds apart from anywhere Tali's been before is the feeling on the air. Each step the group takes is weighted with the tension of the oncoming Darkspawn horde, palpable and heavy. If it weren't for that, it might be peaceful. It might be beautiful.
And then, suddenly, Tali can hear labored, pained breathing, wheezing and whistling as though from grimacing lips. Sav notices it just before her and runs toward the source of the noise before Tali has even placed it: a soldier, clawing his way along through the mud and the tall grass. The man cries out with relief as Sav approaches, and then Tali, and together, the cousins pull him out of the grass and onto the road. In plain sight, they can all see he's an utter mess. Mud and gore smear his face and armor, and his nose seems to be broken, the source of much of the blood. His left leg explains his broken crawl, mangled as it is, the leather of his boot torn away as if it were nothing. He's had no luck in dressing his wounds beyond a makeshift tourniquet, tied tight enough above his knee to make Tali's stomach jump.
"Thank you, thank you, praise the Maker, I thought I was dead." The man nearly sobs with relief, hands shaking. As Sav pulls her pack from her back and begins hunting for anything that might help with the man's pain, Alistair steps forward and crouches close, pulling a waterskin from his belt and offering it to the wounded man, helping him sit upright. As he drinks eagerly, Tali notices the color of his livery, sees the coat of arms emblazoned on his sleeve. He's one of the king's men, from the arling of Denerim. Catching Alistair's attention, Tali jerks her head toward the coat of arms. He looks slightly nonplussed, but he nods. Even if he doesn't know specifics, he knows that this is one of the men from the king's camp. They wait for a moment before the soldier has finished drinking. While he gasps for air, lips still wet, Sav pulls a small pouch of herbs from her pack with triumph.
"Take these and chew, but keep them in the pouch of your lip. Don't swallow. They will help with the pain." As she speaks, she presses a large pinch of dried elfroot stems into the man's palm. Another moment passes as the soldier does as Savreen says, but it isn't long before Alistair speaks, asking the question on Tali's mind, too.
"Why are you alone?" The man shudders, skin going pale beneath the filth streaked across it. When he answers, his voice slightly tremulous with fear, slightly muffled by the herbs in his mouth, he closes his eyes as though to ward off the memory.
"Darkspawn. Ambushed our scouting party. I was the only one who got away. There's a whole forward camp of theirs, here in the Wilds. We were tracking signs of them—" Tali and Sav, their blood cold as ice, share a horrified glance. King Cailan's words are all that Talvinder can hear, his promises that Fergus and Sikander would be safe until after the battle, with their scouting parties. Out in the Wilds.
"Who was in your scouting party?" Tali blurts out, tearing her eyes from Sav to face the wounded man in front of them. He flinches at her urgency, at the fear in her eyes.
"A few other soldiers from Denerim, that's all." As Tali leans forward, desperate, nearly shouting, she can feel Sav's hand on her shoulder.
"What about the other scouting parties? Was there a group from Highever? Were they attacked?" Confusion and fear cross the man's face, and he glances back and forth between the recruits, clearly unsure as to why it is he's being interrogated.
"I-I don't know. But I've got to get back to the main encampment, to warn them!" Tali feels a kind of blinding fear gripping her limbs and is only stopped from shouting her questions again only by Sav pulling her back, out of her crouched position and up to her feet, gently but firmly.
"Can you make it back on your own?" Alistair asks, doing little to attempt to hide his doubt. On the ground, the wounded man looks at his leg, and then looks around.
"I just—I just need to tie a splint. Maybe a walking stick. I can make it, I'm sure of it." Their conversation continues, but Tali hears little of it, and pays it no heed. Thoughts of her brother, of her cousin, out here in the Wilds, with an approaching army of Darkspawn, paralyze her. She paces away from their small huddle, seeking air, gasping for ut, and Sav follows. Mute, Tali turns to face her cousin, whose mouth is set in a thin line, eyes wide with worry.
"They know how to handle themselves. They'll be fine." Sav seems to hardly believe her own words, though. She takes a raspy breath in, lets it whistle out through gritted teeth, and then repeats herself, more slowly and deliberately. "They will be fine." Tali nods, slow and hesitant, and reaches a hand out to grasp Savreen's. She doesn't deserve this comfort, not after her jealousy and anger over the last week, but Sav reaches out too, and they have a quiet few seconds there before the sound of bickering pulls them back.
"What can a group of just five do against the forward guard of the Darkspawn army? We must turn back!"
"Jory, aren't you supposed to be a knight? Fearless and true and all that?" Daveth's voice is snide, irritated, though not fully without reason.
"This is madness!"
"Enough! We've been given a job, and we'll do it." Exasperation fills Alistair's voice, accompanied by a hint of stress. Tali wonders if he's ever had to order about men older than himself before now. As she and Sav walk the few steps back towards the others, Tali can see the wounded soldier hobbling back toward the king's encampment, a makeshift splint on his leg and a thick shrub branch tucked under his arm as a crutch. Something inside of her feels as though she's watching her last chance to find her brother disappear, and she does her best to shove down the anxiety that rises in her stomach. "Ser Jory, we will be prepared. Grey Wardens can sense Darkspawn. Daveth…" Tali watches as Alistair casts around for words, struggling to speak. Finally, he lets out a sigh. "Daveth, just focus on fighting Darkspawn, not Jory."
It's clear the conversation is done, and Sav hastily puts her pack back together before they all begin moving again. The tension that followed them before presses down upon them with even more insistence now, heavy and sour and constant, and it pushes them all to silence for a time. Before long, though, Jory and Daveth are back at each other's throats once more. Ahead of Tali, Alistair clenches his jaw, and she sees a vein pulse on his forehead. When they stumble across another body, this time long dead, that seems to be the final straw, ratcheting Jory's worrying up to a fevered pitch.
"We should never have come here," he chokes out, armor clinking and jangling as he trembles. Daveth, unshaken, rolls his eyes as he throws up his hands, disgusted by Jory's fear.
"Oh, for the—Andraste's tits! The good knight is more of a coward than the thieving cutpurse. Who would have thought!" Ignoring both of them, Alistair beckons Tali and Sav forward. Together, they pull the body from a marshy pool and onto dry ground, trying their best to not think about the scent. It doesn't work.
"Chantry robes. Some sort of wandering chanter, most likely." Alistair's face goes a little green, and Tali can't blame him, what with the smell. But it's clear there's nothing to be done, not with how long he's been out here, and so they lamely leave the man's corpse where they've set it, arms crossed in an approximation of a burial pose, and turn back to Jory and Daveth, who are now shoving and shouting.
"Hey!" It takes Alistair quite a bit to get between the two of them, and, seeing him struggle, Tali runs forward and grips Jory by the arms, pulling him back. It takes only a little effort on her part, and Jory goes with her, stumbling against her frame. She takes a moment to look at Daveth, whose lip is slightly bloodied, and, out of spite, tweaks Jory's arms just a touch harder than necessary before letting him go. "Have you forgotten that we're in the Korcari Wilds? That we've a job to do? If you're so afraid of Darkspawn, ser Jory, it might do you well to pay attention to your surroundings!" Alistair runs a gloved hand through his hair and squeezes the other around the hilt of his sword, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. Everything about his posture, his voice, his face, screams that this is something he's never had to do before, and he's uncomfortable. "And Daveth, you shouldn't antag—" Mid-word, he freezes, ears twitching, and then curses, spins on his heel, looking about wildly.
The rest of them watch, dumbfounded, as Alistair yanks his shield from his back and unsheathes his sword. As he speaks, though, the smell hits them all, sickly sweet and heavy, like rotting meat.
"Darkspawn." And then, like a phantom spoken into being, there they are.