Ostagar – Four Days After the Fall of Highever
From the top of the Tower of Ishal, the former Templar peered down the Imperial Highway, looking for any sign of travelers. Small groups of knights and men-at-arms from the various Banns, that supported the king, straggled in to bolster the Royal Army, but there was no sign of Duncan and the new recruits. They were close to being overdue and Alistair was beginning to worry…nay, fret over the idea that his mentor into the Grey Wardens might not return.
"Maker'sbreathMaker'sbreathMaker'sbreath," he said in one, rapid fire word. "How would I ever carry on without Duncan? What would I do?" He rubbed his hands together against the cold and put them on his cheeks for warmth. How in Thedas could he lead even part of the Wardens in the coming battle? His two charges thus far practically put him to shame in their wealth of experience – Ser Jory was a champion knight and Daveth was a near legendary scout and cutpurse from Denerim. Alistair raised himself up on his tip toes and saw a faint cloud of dust on the horizon.
"Please be Duncan, please be Duncan." It was times like this where he dearly wanted to make a stupid joke to someone, anyone. Alistair did not like being alone in his own thoughts. It made him…think.
"So, what do you think?" a voice called out from right besides him, nearly making him jump out of his armor and over the battlements. It was that sneak, Daveth. "Is it the old guy or not? He'd better hurry up, I'm really getting bored here…all this waiting around for the Darkspawn rot."
Alistair snorted, a little peeved at the surprise visit at first, but he was glad for another person nearby and Daveth was quite a talker. "I think we should send the Darkspawn a nasty letter, chastising them for tardiness. Knight Commander Greagoir has just the right 'look down my nose at you' way of writing that will surely get the Archdemon riled up."
Daveth let out a snorting chuckle. "You're a funny one, you are, Alistair. How in Denerim's festering alleys did you get hooked up with the likes of Duncan? No sense of humor, that one."
An image flashed in Alistair's mind, one of Duncan in tears, holding his belly and guffawing for all he was worth. It was a good memory, one that he would always carry in his heart. "No, he's got a sense of humor, trust me. He just doesn't show it much."
"I'll have to trust you on that one. So, what do you think, Al, we gonna win this one or what?"
Alistair wasn't sure if he liked the shortening of his name or not. The scout had this casual, back alley manner to him, rough and ready. Duncan told him that he caught Daveth trying to cut his purse and thus recruited the streetwise thief. He was almost as good as me, Alistair remembered Duncan saying, almost.
"I think that, between you and I, we're going to talk the Darkspawn to death. They'll be staggering around, holding their ears. 'Stop, please stop, you two! We'll go back to the Deep Roads!' Then, they'll tell the Archdemon not to even think of messing with us."
Daveth slapped his thigh. "Bwah! Now I know why I like hanging out with you, Al. If only we could get a pint of ale and a comely wench we'd be in hog heaven."
"I'd settle for a comely hog."
"Bwaha! Oh, Maker, we're all going to make a great team. If I could just get that stiff ass, Jory, to loosen up," Daveth said. Then, he made a mock serious face, pouting his lips. "I was the Champion of Highever and the melee winner of Redcliffe," he added, imitating Ser Jory in singsong fashion. "I've got a sword up my ass so far it's sticking out of my mouth."
"Awww, Ser Jory is a good guy."
The thief shrugged. "Yeah, you're right. I just love giving him manure. So, what do you think about Loghain? We can't lose with that guy leading the fight, huh? War hero and all that rot."
"Oh, Loghain is definitely the man we want on our side. You ever heard of the Battle of River Dane?"
"River Dane? Naw, we don't hear too much about glorious stuffs in the back alleys of Denerim."
Alistair had to smile at Daveth's rough, streetwise speech and manner. It had an endearing quality to it. "River Dane," he said dramatically, beginning the tale. He had read this story many times and loved telling it. "Loghain was the commander of King Maric's armies by the end of the Orlesian occupation and they had the chevaliers on the run. But, the Governor-General of the Orlesian force in Ferelden, one, Lord Severen, procured thousands of replacements from Val Royeaux. With his army renewed, Severen pushed back into Ferelden, driving towards Redcliffe. King Maric called an emergency war council and Loghain, Bryce Cousland, Rendon Howe, Leonas Bryland, and the other leaders of the rebellion came up with a master plan."
"Wh…what happened then?"
If there was one thing that the young Warden loved, it was sharing stories. In another life he might have been a minstrel, doing puppet shows for the children. Ah, if only he had his puppets with him now. Uh, maybe not. I don't think Daveth would appreciate puppets.
"Well, Loghain devised the strategy to win the war, once and for all. Teyrn Cousland would lure the Orlesians to the River Dane and Loghain would trap them. At the river, the Couslands retreated across the narrow bridge and appeared to be in disarray. Sensing victory, Severen sent the chevaliers across the bridge and began deploying into lines of battle, confident that he would end the rebellion then and there. It was then that the Couslands turned, backed by Loghain and King Maric. Arrows flew, thick and heavy, into the Orlesian ranks. Loghain's elite pikemen then charged in, hurling the chevaliers back into their own men, who were still trying to cross the bridge."
"Maker's teeth, that sounds good."
"The archers from the Waking Sea rained fire down on the bridge. Chevaliers and their horses plunged into the river as confusion tore their ranks. The Howe's had already crossed the river and then struck Severen's army from behind. The battle turned into a rout and then into a massacre. With a lance, Loghain unhorsed Severen and they fought on the banks of the river where he smote the Governor-General and drowned the chevalier in the mud. The Orlesians surrendered and Ferelden was soon free. Loghain wears the Orlesian's armor to this day as a symbol of Ferelden spirit and independence."
"Well, I'll be a randy billygoat, that's a great story, Al! Hey, look there," Daveth said, pointing up the Imperial Highway, "it is Duncan."
Alistair practically leapt out of his armor. "Well, what do you know, you're right. Hey wait…there's only one person with him. He said he had almost twenty hopefuls."
"Twenty? Well, Al, I don't know about you, but one girl, who looks like she's had the manure kicked out of her, don't equal twenty. I don't know my letters too well, mind you, but…."
The gate was opening up and Alistair peered down to see Duncan, stone faced, astride his horse. He knew the man well enough to see disappointment. This recruitment trip did not go well. Next to him rode a ragged, filthy looking girl with matted, tangled black hair along with a mangy Mabari hound in tow. It was a pathetic sight. What was Duncan possibly thinking? What happened to the other possible recruits? "C'mon, Daveth, let's find out what happened."
The two tore down the steps of the tower to the ground and raced to the front gate. As they approached, he could see Duncan, on foot, talking to the girl and then pointing her to the Warden's tent where she could bathe and find refreshment.
"Where'd Duncan find the likes of her?" Daveth asked. "She needs a bath by the looks of it. I wouldn't pay two coppers for her at the Pearl."
Alistair watched, noting that her face was entirely expressionless and her eyes looked like those of a corpse. She nodded stiffly at Duncan's words and then walked towards the tent as Duncan took the hound to the kennels, likely for a bath of his own. The Ash Warriors would take good care of the mutt. "Hey, maybe we should introduce ourselves? Looks like she could use a friend." Curiosity also gripped him. Why was she the only one? Was she the only one left?
They took a few steps, trying to catch her at the tent entrance, but she went around to the side and squatted down. He was about to call out to her, but she put her face down into her dirty hands and began shaking uncontrollably. A river of water seeped down through her fingers as she rocked back and forth like a child. Alistair couldn't bear to watch for another second. It was like someone had reached down through his throat and tore his guts out. "C'mon, Daveth, let's go. I need to talk to Duncan," he said, his earlier mirth freezing in the cold air.
Daveth snorted, but followed him. "What the dickens happened out there? How are we Wardens going to fight the Darkspawn now?"
Alistair had a snappy comeback, but it refused to leave his mouth. "Duncan will know what to do," was what he managed to say. "Duncan will make it right." Oh, Maker, he wanted to do something for that wretched girl. He wanted to tell Daveth about the Joining. He wanted all of this to be over. But, he realized, as the hidden bastard son of King Maric, what he wanted never seemed to matter.