Alistair is right, against all rationality. Talvinder feels herself start to sober up quickly, more quickly than she would ever think possible. In the quarter hour it takes for her and Savreen to make their way across the King's encampment—back over the causeway bridge, through the tents, all the way to the appointed meeting place—the bubbly feeling has started to slip away, the heat in her cheeks die down. By the time they hear the King's raised voice, she would swear she's barely even tipsy.
"Loghain, my decision is final. I will be on the field, by the Grey Wardens at the van in this assault. The men need to see their King—" As Savreen pulls aside the entrance to the King's tent, the first thing Tali sees is Loghain Mac Tir, hero of the River Dane and liberator of Ferelden, practically spitting in anger at his son-in-law.
"You risk too much, Cailan!" Duncan stands there placidly, trying to avoid adding fuel to whatever fire Tali and Sav have walked in on, but he beckons them over with a wave of his hand. Hesitantly, they move to stand next to him, weaving around a Circle mage representative and his templar handler as they do so. Seeing these other advisors, Tali is now even more unsure of why it is she's here, why Sav's here, why they've been summoned at all. "The Darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero, chasing glory on the front lines." Cailan rolls his eyes, and it strikes Tali for a moment as such an Alistair expression on his face. When he speaks, it's glib, smug, as though he's about to play a card he's had squirreled away for quite some time.
"If that's the case, perhaps we should wait for my uncle's health to improve. Or we might even wait for the Orlesian forces to join us after all. I can send Celene a letter, say the word." The instant Cailan mentions Orlais, the word rolling from his tongue, Loghain's anger redoubles. Tali thinks she sees about three new veins pop out on his forehead as he clenches his jaw, icy blue eyes flashing under heavy, dark brows.
"I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves, your highness. Empress Valmont—" he puts emphasis on her title, as if to tell Cailan that he has noticed his informality, the use of her first name— "is not needed, nor are her troops." His voice strains with the effort of hiding his seething frustration, and Cailan seems to know that he has succeeded in pushing a button. But he is not yet done, and he keeps pushing.
"It is not a 'fool notion.' Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past. Celene has been a guest in my castle—she attended my wedding to Anora, among other occasions. Surely you remember the peace talks; they were only ten years ago. You cannot be growing so old already that you would forget—" This is where Loghain explodes, his already pale skin going a stark white as the anger takes over. The mention of his daughter and the Empress together in the same sentence has hit a sore spot, one that even Talvinder can tell hides a deeper story, deeper even than Loghain's hatred for Ferelden's occupiers, and coupled with Cailan's dismissal of the peace talks, Loghain finds ammunition for his response.
"How fortunate that Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century! All for the sake of 'glory' and a pretty face. Mark my words, Cailan. That fascination with glory and prettiness and legends—it will be your undoing." The tent goes utterly silent, and it's as though no one dare breathe. When Talvinder chances a look at Savreen, her cousin's face is studiously expressionless. The silence stretches, lengthens. Cailan's jaunty, careless attitude is gone, and he narrows his eyes, squares his shoulders, and takes a step toward Loghain.
"You will remember, surely, Teyrn Mac Tir, which of us is king." The moment hangs in the air, the words full and weighty. As Loghain stares down Cailan, Talvinder remembers the stories, the way Loghain fought at Maric's side. She remembers when she was ten, the celebrations of the peace talks between Celene, the new Empress of Orlais, and King Maric of Ferelden. She remembers the panic that ran through the court when Maric disappeared only five years later. She wonders, as she watches anger flare between the two men in front of her: what does Loghain see, now, in Maric's son? She won't know. Loghain lowers his head, eyes flashing and stormy.
"Our current forces will have to suffice, then. Duncan, are your men ready for battle?" Turning suddenly to Duncan, Cailan is back to business. He's not quite so jaunty again, but he has thrown off most of the tension—though he keeps some of it in his eyes, his shoulders, the way he draws himself up to his full height, making himself taller and larger and brighter in his gold armor, gold hair, gold skin. More imposing even than Loghain. Duncan, to his credit, handles the shift well—perhaps he is used to Cailan's changing nature, Tali thinks.
"Indeed they are, Your Majesty." Tali thinks about Oswin, head in Wenalen's lap, and she tries not to laugh.
"And I take it these are the only new recruits? I had hoped all four would survive, but no matter. Congratulations are in order regardless: every Grey Warden is needed now more than ever." Loghain rolls his eyes, glowering. Savreen nods politely, and Tali follows her lead. Thankfully Cailan does not require either to speak, and he moves along, looking down at the charts and scrolls on the table in front of him.
"To strategy, then. The Grey Wardens and I will be in the valley, where we will draw the Darkspawn into charging our lines. The next step?" The King turns expectantly to Loghain, who nods. Displeased as he may be, Loghain, ever the general, seems made to speak tactics and maneuvers.
"You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signaling my men to charge from cover and sweep the left—"
"Left flank of the Darkspawn's horde, yes, I remember. The tower—we are using the Tower of Ishal, yes? The one near the front gates of the ruins?" Loghain nods, Cailan continues. "Who shall light this beacon?"
"I have a few men stationed there now, guarding it. They could light the beacon. It's not a dangerous task, but it is vital, and should be done by those we trust." Cailan looks up, across the table, toward Duncan, Tali, and Sav. He seems to consider something for a moment, locking eyes with Duncan before glancing back at Loghain, and then once more at Duncan. Talvinder could swear the Warden nods, almost imperceptibly, but it could just as easily be a trick of the light, and Cailan is speaking again too soon to know for sure.
"Then we should send our best. Send Alistair and the new Grey Wardens to make sure it's done." The response is immediate. Loghain bristles, Duncan seems almost to feign shock, and Tali glances, uncertain, between the other spectators and Savreen.
"Cailan, you rely on these Grey Wardens far too much. This is unwise. That fool Alistair—" Loghain blusters, waving his hand about as he snaps at Cailan. Talvinder wonders, for a moment, why he's called out Alistair by name, how he knows him at all, let alone how he knows him enough to call him a fool.
"Enough, Loghain! Enough of your conspiracy theories. Grey Wardens battle the Blight, no matter how recently they've been recruited. And I've seen Alistair fight. I know this is the right job for him." Loghain scoffs.
"The right job. Oh, how you play favorites, Cailan." His voice drips with frustration, a step short of malice, but he falls silent when Cailan gives him a single, sharp look. Still, though, Loghain glowers. Cailan turns back to the others, looking about the table.
"Now. I have called you each here to ensure that each commander knows the plan for their forces. Are there any questions?" In that moment, as he brings the tenor in the tent back to relative calm, it is clear to Tali why Cailan won the support of the nobility at the Landsmeet. He sounds every inch a king, looks every bit Maric's son, as though a portrait of him come to life, commanding the attention of those around him. Duncan is the only one to respond, clearing his throat and leaning forward, palms down on the table.
"Your Majesty, regardless of what the scouts say or what we have seen, you should consider the possibility of the Archdemon appearing." His tone is grave, eyes piercing, dark and urgent. But Loghain just scoffs, the final shreds of his patience worn beyond function.
"There have been no signs of any dragons in the Wilds, and they would be rather hard to miss. Why have scouts if we do not listen to them?" This time, Cailan seems to agree with Loghain, nodding his head slightly, not fully looking up from the maps in front of him. When he speaks, it is almost with a flippant tone.
"Besides, Duncan, is that not what you and your men are here for?" Caught, Duncan is silent for a moment. He looks back and forth between the King and the general, and though nothing in his posture changes, he suddenly appears shorter, smaller when he steps back from the table, inclining his head.
"Yes, Your Majesty." With Duncan now silent, the mage across the table takes his chance to speak, eyebrows arched toward his bald forehead in an unreadable expression.
"Your Majesty," he begins hurriedly, as though anticipating interruption, "the tower and its beacon are unnecessary. The Circle of Magi—" And he's right to anticipate it, Tali thinks ruefully as his templar handler scowls, raises a gauntleted hand, and interrupts him.
"Silence, Uldred! We will not trust any lives to your spells. Save them for the Darkspawn." Her voice is crisp and cold, and Uldred seems to bite back a sneer, preparing to open his mouth once more before Loghain raises his voice and puts an end to the discussion.
"Enough!" Uldred and the templar fall silent, the templar mollified, Uldred silently enraged, if the grit of his jaw is any indication. "This plan will suffice. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon when the signal fires are lit."
"Thank you, Loghain." Cailan smiles again, as though his argument with his father-in-law had never happened. But Loghain does not smile; there is a tightness around his eyes as he looks at the King, even as Cailan claps a hand on Loghain's back. Tali cannot tell if Cailan notices or not. "I cannot wait for that glorious moment. The Grey Wardens of old, battling alongside the king of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!" Loghain grimaces and steps away, his movements indicating the end of the meeting. Hurriedly, he ushers Uldred and the templar from the tent, before throwing one last word back to Cailan.
"Yes, my son, a glorious moment for us all." There is a chill hanging to those words, a chill in the way he says them, and Tali sees Cailan's smile falter as it washes over him. But then Loghain is gone, and the smile is back, golden, boyish.
"Right-o, Duncan. I shall see you on the field." It is a dismissal, Tali knows, Sav knows, Duncan knows, as Cailan goes to ring a small bell and call in his retainers. But the last of the alcohol is slipping through Tali's body, pulling forth one last spurt of courage before it goes, and she hesitates, takes a step toward the king rather than following Duncan and Sav.
"Your Highness," she asks, voice dry and cracking in her throat. He looks up at her, and Sav and Duncan both turn, freezing in place.
"Yes? Did you have a question, Lady Cousland?" She swallows.
"My brother—and my cousin—you are quite sure they will return after the battle? That they are safe?" The tension in Cailan's shoulders lessens, and he smiles easily again as he reaches for the bell.
"My lady, I would swear on my life. All will be well. This time tomorrow, you two and your brothers will be reunited, and we shall all be celebrating a battle well won." Sav grabs Tali's hand then, pulling her toward the tent flap, and she knows she has no choice but to believe the King. The sun has set, the moon is soon to rise, and they must prepare for battle.
When they arrive back at the Warden tents, the atmosphere has changed completely. All the other Wardens have sobered up, the fire has been reduced to a small bed of coals, and all the food is cleared. Most of the Wardens at now at least partially clad in their armor, mismatched plate or leather or mail paired with the blue Warden gambeson, emblazoned somewhere with the dual griffon crest of the order. Dahna and Wenalen pray quietly, and next to them Roderick sharpens a huge two-handed sword, nearly as tall as him. Caomhin is in the midst of tying his hair into a braid at the side of his head, looping the cornrows over themselves as he watches Dahna wordlessly. In the edges of the firelight, Marion almost appears to be dancing, running gracefully through casting forms with her staff. Oswin and Huguette are still buckling their armor, and Alistair is nowhere to be seen as Tali and Sav duck into their tent to put on their own armor and gather their few treasured possessions to themselves.
When they reemerge, though, there he is, in his gambeson but not his plate, talking quietly with Duncan, whose words Tali can't hear. He hands the treaty scrolls to Alistair, along with something else she can't quite make out. Alistair nods, gently secures the scrolls in a pocket, and loops whatever else it is Duncan has given him around his neck before going to finish pulling on his armor. When Duncan notices Tali and Sav, now fully armored, he turns to approach them.
"I know that the meeting was…well. It was likely not what you expected. Do you have any questions?"
"So, we won't be fighting in the battle?" Tali thinks her question a reasonable one, at least if just to clarify what their role is to be after the beacon is lit. But Duncan seems to think she is disappointed. His tone is mildly apologetic as he responds.
"We need that beacon. Without it, Loghain's men won't know when to charge. After it is lit, I must ask that you stay in the tower." After a brief pause, he continues. "It may not seem exciting, but it is important." Tali at least knows that she understands, and of course Sav would too, she thinks to herself, Sav, the picture of pragmatism. But she remembers, then, to hope, just a little. If they aren't in the battle, will that mean they'll be able to find their brothers more quickly after its end? Perhaps it's a fool notion—after all, how would that change how quickly Fergus and Sikander and their men can return from the Wilds—but it's one that makes her happier to be at the beck and call of Loghain and the King.
"We understand," Savreen says. "The King mentioned a signal?"
"Yes." Duncan nods. "From the top of the tower, you'll have a clear view of the causeway above the valley. They're to light a smaller signal fire there when the horde is in position." In understanding, Sav nods back, mirroring Duncan's gesture. "Have you any more questions?" he asks them, but there are none that come to mind. They both shake their heads no, and Duncan turns back to look at all the other Wardens. The rest of the encampment has grown loud with the sounds of marching feet and clanking armor, and he raises his voice to a shout to be heard.
"If you all are ready, we must review the plans for the battle." Everyone turns, straightens up, and gathers a bit closer to Duncan. As Alistair approaches, he goes to stand next to Tali and Sav, something Tali can't help but notice—and something that Oswin can't help but notice, either, as he makes kissing faces at Alistair, who promptly aims his gauntleted middle finger back. Oswin dissolves into poorly hidden laughter as Tali pretends not to notice the whole exchange. Duncan begins to speak again, a stern expression directed toward Oswin and Alistair both.
"To business, then. The bulk of you all will be spread out across the vanguard line. Wenalen and Oswin, you will be with the archers; look for Bann Eismarch's colors. Marion, stay with the mages. You are to report to Uldred and Wynne, by the enclave. The three of you will be responsible for directing ranged attacks as you sense the Darkspawn, and Marion you'll be expected to coordinate with the artillery." Together, Wenalen, Oswin, and Marion nod. Duncan turns slightly as he continues, facing the next clustered group of Wardens. "Dahna, Caomhin, Huguette, and Roderick, you will be positioned with the infantry to either side of the King's guard. Dahna and Caomhin, you will join the Arl of Denerim's men, to the left, while Huguette and Roderick, you are to join up with Bann Frazier, and you will be positioned to the right. I will be in the center of the line, as close to Cailan as possible and in his personal guard. Is that all understood?" All the others acquiesce, but Alistair seems slightly confused at not having been given instructions. "Now. Alistair, you will accompany the two recruits to the Tower of Ishal, on the other side of the gorge by the great gates. There you will watch for the signal fires on the causeway and ensure that the beacon is lit."
"What?" Alistair is slightly shocked, his voice a little indignant. "You mean I won't be in the battle?" Duncan sighs slightly.
"This is by the King's personal request, Alistair. If the beacon is not lit, Teyrn Loghain's men won't know when to charge." In response, Alistair scoffs.
"So he needs three Grey Wardens standing up there, picking their noses and holding the torch all together. Just in case, right?" A couple of the others laugh, but not Duncan, who shakes his head.
"This is not your choice, Alistair, nor is it mine. If King Cailan wishes Grey Wardens to ensure the beacon is lit, then Grey Wardens will be there. We must do whatever it takes to destroy the Darkspawn, exciting or no, and part of that is currying the favor of the King. We were thrown out of Ferelden once, we must take care that it not happen again." Placated, though still clearly displeased, Alistair raises his hands and rolls his eyes.
"I get it, I get it. Just so you know, though, if the King ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold? I'm drawing the line." Again, a laugh. Even Tali finds herself grinning a little, the tension of the moment broken as she responds.
"Oh, I don't know Alistair. That could be an excellent distraction." Alistair turns to her, grinning now as well. He rarely holds onto his frustration for any real length of time, it seems.
"What, me shimmying down the Darkspawn line? Sure. We could kill them while they roll around laughing—if Darkspawn laugh, that is." At the idea, there's a line of chuckles that run through the group, Huguette's loudest of all. Oswin jokingly heckles Alistair, and Tali's grin is a full smile now.
"I think I'd like to see that," she says, faking thoughtfulness, tapping a finger on her chin as she tries to imagine the scene. When Alistair turns to look at her, he seems to consider for a heartbeat before responding, equally joking in his tone, though there's something serious behind it, even if Tali can't tell what it is.
"For you, maybe. But it has to be a pretty dress." In the front of their group, Duncan pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. He sighs deeply. Tali thinks she sees a hint of blush spreading on Alistair's ears, and surprisingly she feels blush creeping up her own cheeks as well. But then Savreen clears her throat, recentering and refocusing the conversation, and Tali snaps her gaze away from Alistair.
"Will the danger be great? What should we expect at the tower?" The even keel and serious nature of Sav's tone, so reasonable and thoughtful before battle, makes Talvinder's cheeks heat further. Battle. They are preparing for battle. No matter how confident the king is of their victory, it does not behoove Tali to forget that reality. Thoughtful, and clearly grateful for the redirect, Duncan considers Sav's question before answering her with careful, diplomatic words.
"Who can say? There is always danger. The tunnels beneath the tower go deep, but Loghain's men have secured it for now. There should be no trouble, but even the best-laid plans go awry. Do as needs must; I trust the three of you and your judgement." Again, Alistair rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, just not enough to let us actually fight with the rest of you. I see how it is." As seems to be a pattern, his words make Duncan sigh yet again, though there is a bit of a chuckle in his breath as well. He shakes his head as he answers.
"There will be plenty of battles, Alistair. Be patient." While that doesn't seem to be what Alistair wants to hear, he accepts it anyway. "The three of you are to remain with the tower's guards after lighting the beacon. If you are needed, we will send word. Do you have any other questions?" Talvinder turns and looks at Savreen, her mind blank, searching for a question, but she comes up with nothing. Sav, though, furrows her brow, eyes narrowing as she considers that which has not yet crossed Tali's mind in any serious fashion.
"What—what happens if the Archdemon appears?" she asks. Silence descends, tension, a grim mood blanketing over all of them.
"We soil our drawers, that's what," Alistair says at last, while the others mutter similar plans of terror or loss of bowel control—or both. Duncan appears prepared for this question—he had, after all, asked the King more or less the same thing not even an hour ago.
"If it does appear, then leave it to me and the senior Wardens. Alistair will know enough to protect you, but I want no heroics from any of you. Am I clear?" Savreen nods, and noticing that, Tali does as well. "That means you as well, Alistair," Duncan adds, and with a slightly petulant expression, Alistair reluctantly acquiesces with a brief incline of his head. Pleased at their assurances of limited heroism, Duncan moves on. "The army is mustering. There is less than an hour until we will move into our positions. I have told you all where you are to go. Finish your preparations and march out." The Wardens all nod or otherwise show their assent, and Duncan claps a single fist to his breastplate as he finishes speaking. "In war, victory."
"In war, victory," everyone echoes before standing, splitting off either to finish making ready or to find their attachments for the battle. Everyone but Tali and Sav, Abarie and Sher still at their sides, and Duncan, and Alistair. Almost hesitantly, Alistair approaches Duncan, says one more quiet thing to him that makes Tali avert her gaze. It feels private. It reminds her of her father. It reminds her of her last night at Highever Keep. She closes her eyes, whispers a nearly silent prayer—for herself, for her cousins, for her brother. When she opens her eyes again, Duncan has clapped a single hand on one of Alistair's broad shoulders and turned slightly to face Tali and Sav.
"From here, you three are on your own. Remember. You are now Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title." His words make Tali nod immediately, their air of authority and expectation one that is familiar, safe to sink into. To follow that injunction, to follow his directions, to be a Grey Warden: it is something she can do. Instructions are easy. Direction is comforting. "Make your way to the tower after the King's army has left this part of the encampment. You have some time, but not much. Do with it what you will." As Duncan turns to go, Alistair stops him, one last time.
"Duncan, I—" Alistair swallows. There is something in his eyes, a dread that Tali recognizes only too well, though she does not understand what fuels it. "May the Maker watch over you," he says at last, eyes trained on Duncan. Duncan closes his eyes for a moment, and his eyebrows relax, thick bushy lines accentuating just how tired his face really is. When he opens his eyes again, they are determined, but they are resigned, too.
"May He watch over us all," he says, and then he is gone, and Talvinder, Savreen, and Alistair have nothing to do but to wait for the battle to begin.